#i had to quote the monster mash because it's been in my head for days

[simgerale]

it was a graveyard smash! 🎃🖤

#BL:G3 #the branham legacy #ts4 legacy #so many photos!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #didn't want to split this up into another post since i don't have to anymore (^: #i had to quote the monster mash because it's been in my head for days #🎃 HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!!!!!! 🎃 #that's danny in the robot costume btw lololol #number one grandpa

[iheartgracie]

jude duarte sad quotes

“She wasn’t even scared. She wasn’t sure she felt anything at all.”

“She couldn’t imagine how it had felt, and as the years went by, she couldn’t make herself feel it again. The horror of the murders dulled with time. Her memories of the day blurred.”

“I know it’s an honor to be raised alongside the Gentry’s own children. A terrifying honor, of which I will never be worthy.

It would be hard to forget it, with all the reminders I am given.”

“We are getting older and things are changing. We are changing. And as eager as I am for it, I am also afraid.”

“You may think salt is sufficient protection, but you children are forgetful. Better to go without. As for dancing, once begun, you mortals will dance yourselves to death if we don’t prevent it.”

I look at my feet and say nothing.

We children are not forgetful.”

“To go inside, we must ride between two trees, an oak and a thorn, and then straight into what appears to be the stone wall of an abandoned folly. I’ve done it hundreds of times, but I flinch anyway. My whole body braces, I grip the reins hard, and my eyes mash shut.”

“Oriana steps forward, probably to remind Taryn and me of all the things she doesn’t want us to do. I don’t give her the chance.”

“I turn my gaze to the floor. Though I hate it, I sink to the ground on one knee, bend my head, and grit my teeth”

“Valerian gives my braid a hard tug. I wince, useless fury coiling in my belly. He laughs and moves on.

My fury curdles into shame. I wish I had smacked his hand away, even though it would have made everything worse.”

“I want to feel something, something besides a vague queasiness. I want to feel more, but every time I look at it, I feel less.”

“I’m so tired,” I say out loud. “So tired.”

I sit there for a long time, watching the rising sun gild the sky, listening to the waves crash as the tide goes out, when a creature flies up to alight on the edge of my window. At first it seems like an owl, but it’s got hob eyes. “Tired of what, sweetmeat?” it asks me.

I sigh and answer honestly for once. “Of being powerless.”

“He doesn’t understand how much that makes them loathe us.

Not that I am not grateful. I like the lessons. Answering the lecturers cleverly is something no one can take from me, even if the lecturers themselves occasionally pretend otherwise. I will take a frustrated nod in place of effusive praise. I will take it and be glad because it means I can belong whether they like it or not.”

“There is nothing I can say to make them stop, and I know it. I have no power here. But today I can’t seem to choke down my anger at my own impotence.”

“What they don’t realize is this: Yes, they frighten me, but I have always been scared, since the day I got here. I was raised by the man who murdered my parents, reared in a land of monsters. I live with that fear, let it settle into my bones, and ignore it. If I didn’t pretend not to be scared, I would hide under my owl-down coverlets in Madoc’s estate forever. I would lie there and scream until there was nothing left of me. I refuse to do that. I will not do that.”

“When I was little, I used to sit at the bank all day, staring at faerie countenances instead of my own, hoping that I might someday catch a glimpse of my mother looking back at me.

Eventually, it hurt too much to try.”

“I want to scream at him: Do you know how hard it is to always keep your head down? To swallow insults and endure outright threats? And yet I have done so. I thought it proved my toughness. I thought if you saw I could take whatever came at me and still smile, you would see that I was worthy.

You’re no killer.

He has no idea what I am.

Maybe I don’t know, either. Maybe I never let myself find out.”

“I pinch my leg until pain washes everything away.”

“Do you know why Madoc won’t let me try for knighthood? Because he thinks I’m weak.”

“Jude,” she cautions.

“I thought I was supposed to be good and follow the rules,” I say. “But I am done with being weak. I am done with being good. I think I am going to be something else.”

“when the fun wore off and I still couldn’t stop, it was just terrifying. It turned out that my fear was equally amusing to him, though. Princess Elowyn found me at the end of the revel, puking and crying.”

“Here’s why I don’t like these stories: They highlight that I am vulnerable. No matter how careful I am, eventually I’ll make another misstep. I am weak. I am fragile. I am mortal.

I hate that most of all.

Even if, by some miracle, I could be better than them, I will never be one of them.”

“Is this fun?” I call to the shore. I am so furious that there’s no room for being scared. “Are you enjoying yourselves?”

“My foot slips on slick rocks, and I am under, swept downstream helplessly, gulping muddy water. I panic, snorting into my lungs. I thrust out a hand, and it closes on the root of a tree. I get my balance again, gasping and coughing.”

“We can curse you to wither away for want of a song you’ll never hear again or a kind word from my lips. We’re not mortal. We will break you. You’re a fragile little thing; we’d hardly need to try. Give up.”

“Never,” I say.”

“I think about how much I hate them and how much I hate myself.”

“a different person is looking back at me.

Maybe the person I might have been if I’d been raised human.

Whoever that is.”

“But when I see human families all together, especially families with sticky-mouthed, giggling little sisters, I don’t like the way I feel.

Angry.

I don’t imagine myself back in a life like theirs; what I imagine is going over there and scaring them until they cry.

I would never, of course.

I mean, I don’t think I would.”

“Knighthood would have been boring anyway,” Vivi says, effectively dismissing the thing I’ve been working toward for years. I sigh. It’s annoying, but also reassuring that she doesn’t think it’s that big a deal, when the loss has felt overwhelming to me.”

“not giving her the satisfaction of being shocked by what she said about our parents. She acts like we don’t remember, like there’s some way I am ever going to forget. She acts like it’s her personal tragedy and hers alone.”

“A wave of panicky frustration comes over me at the sight of her intent expression. I so badly wanted her to choose me to be one of her knights. And though she can’t now, a sudden awful fear that I couldn’t have impressed her comes over me. Maybe Madoc was right. Maybe I lack the instinct for dealing death.

If I don’t try too hard today, at least I never need know if I would have been good enough.”

“My stomach is sour with the lack of food, but I no longer feel hungry. I feel sick, eaten up with nerves. I try to ignore everything but the exercises I move through to limber up my muscles.”

“There’s no shame in surrender. As Taryn said, they’re just words. I don’t have to mean them. I can lie.

I start to lower myself to the ground. This will be over quickly, every word will taste like bile, and then it will be over.

When I open my mouth, though, nothing comes out.

I can’t do it.”

“I stagger past the tournament tents to a stone fountain, where I splash my face with water. I bend down, starting to clean the gravel from my knees. My legs feel stiff, and I am shaking all over.

“Are you all right?” Locke asks, gazing down with his tawny fox eyes. I didn’t even hear him behind me.

I am not.

I am not all right, but he can’t know that, and he shouldn’t be asking.”

“What happens when they turn out my pockets? What happens when they rip my stockings? What happens when they scatter my salt in the dirt?”

#judeduartequotes #badass jude duarte #jude duarte soft #jude duarte badass #judecardan quotes #jude duarte quotes #judecardan #judeduarte #jude duarte #jude x cardan #the cruel prince #the folk of the air quotes #the folk of the air

[kaissauce]

okay, phucker, do it

ok let's do this @rolli-zolli @ninikins

Horrortale: technically an alternate timeline instead of au. after a neutral run where undyne's queen the core malfunctions and food becomes scarce and people resort to eating humans because sans suggested it. Aliza is the protag. latest thing that happened in the ongoing comic was Aliza agreeing to go with Papyrus to solve his last puzzle. as for the appearance of sans he has a HUGE hole on his head and a red eye. he got the hole from undyne when she got his magic eye which was going to be used to power the core. sans didnt die tho and killed the guards holding him down and just took whatever eye was on the ground and used it as a replacement for his magic eye that's powering the core. i quote first words he said after putting the eye in his socket "who the fuck took my phone?". then the magic eye went apeshit and broke the core again. oh and also he made alphys braindead by quite literally scrambling her brain. yeah this au is rough sans hasn't really eaten anything since the core was destroyed since he decided not to eat any humans.

Dusttale: i think this was originally a korean au? basic rundown: too many genocide runs sans goes apeshit and tries to get his Lv up by killing monsters himself man went fuckin insane kills his brother blah blah blah edgy angsty au the ghost of papyrus haunts him n stuff. sans literally just looks the same except he has his hood on and sometimes artists draw him with papyrus's scarf. the cool artists draw him with his hood on and has the hood completely cover his face so u can only see his glowing pupils. although people call him dust sans he's actually named murder sans

Killer: so frickin similar to dusttale except sans goes apeshit because of the human being like "join me lmao". three different outcomes come from this. i think it was 1 sans joins human 2 sans joins human kills human later on 3 kills human or something. friends with color sans who is basically his impulse control. pretty sure his soul's fucked up and Color sans tries to make his soul un-fucked but Nightmare comes in and fucks up the progress. he has white shorts, his eye sockets are constantly pitch black and leaking tar or something also has a weird target thingy on his chest. OH YEAH ALSO HE HAS BEEF WITH UNDERSWAP SANS ALMOST FORGOT. basically swap sans tried to make killer good and then they had a fight, swap sans lost and was on the verge of dying thankfully swap papyrus was able to save him in time i think

Dreamtale: Dream isn't in the drawing but his brother, Nightmare is. Sooo he used to not look all goooy and have tentacles n stuff but then he ate a couple hundred apples and yeah. he's six years old apparently. Nightmare and Dream are supposed to be guardians of a tree that has 500 golden apples and 500 black n goopy apples. the golden aples are positive and the goop ones are negative. you're not supposed to eat either of them cus bad shit happens. Dream and Nightmare live in a village and for whatever reason they're all dicks to Nightmare because ooughh he's the guardian of negativity that's not baller. he also goes apeshit (do u see a pattern here) and eats a goopy apple n then becomes the goop man he is today. he fuckin eats 999 apples jesus christ. and the last one is eaten by Dream because if u eat all 1000 apples u become unstoppable and immortal. so that would be a bad thing if nightmare got the last one. wop wop wop these dude aren't sanses they only have the body of one if that makes sanse.

Error: manlet. he's literally an error and that's why he's like that. also he's technically not a sans now, the redesign for him was so that he could be in the creator's webcomic named Lucidia. Error sans, aka the destroyer of aus, finds aus to be mistakes so he tries to get rid of them. his process of doing this is simple: get the human soul to the void so that they can't reset, destroy the au. he primarily attacks using his strings which can wrap around one's soul and control them. he like some aus like outertale because of how open and empty it is. he likes to be alone and has haphephobia. if u touch him he'll glitch out and possibly crash. he crashes whenever gets overwhelmed. said crashing causes him to shut down and reboot and he's powerless while doing so. he's actually pretty easy to beat if you know how to push his buttons the right way. in the og ask error blog made by his creator Loverofpiggies he kidnaps Swap sans who tries to help Error become a better person. this ends horribly as error leaves Swap sans in the void who then becomes an error aswell due to being alone in the void too long. Error actually regrets doing that to swap sans

Aftertale: OK FUN FACT THE SANS OF THIS AU, WHO'S NICKNAMED "Geno" IS ERROR. aftertale is a comic made by LoverofPiggies it's been SOOOO long since i last read it so i cant really give a good summary. but anyways Geno is trapped in the loading screen with the human and will die if he leaves the loading screen. eventually from being in the loading screen for too long after the events of aftertale he becomes Error.

OOF WOWIE THERE'S SO MUCH TO GO

Underfresh: he's not even a sans either. "Fresh" is a parasite inhabiting a skeleton. his birthday is on 4/20 which is ironic cus he doesn't like drugs. he censors swears. he speaks 90's lingo and dresses like a neon sign. for some reason he has eyebrows and a gold tooth. the glasses he has can change text but normally defaults to "YOLO". he can't feel anything since he has no soul of his own and just latches onto the host's. instead he learns how to act from the people around him. not being able to feel actually bothers him a LOT

Echotale: Aka Gaster sans. uhhh this one was also a comic if i remember correctly. basically Frisk and G!Sans are the only ones in the au and they're trying to find the core to fix the fucked up timeline that they're in but the core keeps changing positions so that sucks.

Swapfell: originally made by Khhoppang who left social media. Started out as an Alphys x Undyne au so only those two were designed but Kh was planning to design more of the characters. before they could people had a field day with the idea of mashing two aus together and SO many people came up with their own designs for sans and papyrus. Khhoppang left social media because they got overwhelmed with all the art reposters and stuff, pretty sad. the appearance of the sans in that au is the purple one with a scythe (i dont think he has a scythe in the og design).

Swapfell Red: so basically this is the swapfell made by people that isn't Khhoppang. community made per se. Sans's appearance changes constantly because as said before many people made many different designs. typically he just looks like Swap sans but with red high heel boots and his color scheme fits underfell

Fellswap (gold): Au made by blackggggum. so swapfell is underswap turned fell, fell swap is underfell swapped it takes a bit to understand that. his appearance is somewhat similar to Swapfell red. He's kind to his friends but if ur his enemy he'll fucking deck you. he's blind in his left eye, the leader of the royal guard, and secretly into dressmaking. fun fact in this au Papyrus has autism

Xtale: uuuuhhhh so Cross is a complicated one. he's part of the royal guard along with papyrus. has beef with xgaster. responsible for the downfall of his au and then Underverse happens and Ink is all "oh cool someone to mess with" and they became friends for a bit then shit hit the fan

Underfell: OOOOO YES UNIRONICALLY ONE OF MY FAVORITES. So Underfell sans is actually a very powerful mf and constantly has his magic eye activated because he has so much magic. This au is also technically an alternate timeline where monsters "lost their humanity" as the creator put it. so basically trust in the underground is scarce. Sans and papyrus, contrary to many interpretations i fucking hate, are actually on good terms (and no sans doesn't call papyrus "boss" the creator said if he does he'd do it ironically and papyrus would hate it). Fun facts he pays Grillby in socks (grillby accepts the socks as payment and wears them), if u make grillby laugh he gives u a jacket that looks like his and it's heavily implied that sans made him laugh because their jackets are similar

Underswap: ah yes another classic that i love as well. originally made by PopcornPr1nce who fled social media because they hated how the majority fandom treated Underswap (Blueberry and Carrot were popular names for the fanon swap papyrus and sans). Swap sans is constantly infantilized by the community which sucks and i hate it so i draw my own very super cool version of him whom i kin because i am also very super cool.

Outertale: mainly an aesthetic au pretty sure there's no comic of it. basically, instead of underground they in space. outer sans dies in underverse after like minutes of screentime lmao

Epictale: a comic made by Yugogeer. the og comic was retconned and the creator loathes the original version and made a reboot that's much better. Sans actually dies very early in it because Yugo hates how Sans is almost always focused on in aus. also the creator hates how meme-y their sans has become (like him saying bruh every single sentence, using a rubber chicken as a weapon, cookies, etc.) he's friends with Cross but not in canon. He has a purple magic eye that makes him immortal and i think only epic gaster could remove it which is how sans was able to be killed when he fought gaster.

Temmietale: it's undertale but everyone is temmie, don't question it

Trainertale: it's undertale but it's Pokemon, don't question it

Dancetale: it's undertale but you dance instead of fight, don't

Mobtale/Mafiatale: im unsure if mobtale and mafiatale are separate or not but they are very similar. basically undertale but mafia it's self explanatory

Undertale: no clue which au is this one, nope not at all/j

Bittytale or whatever idk: so take sans, make him small. boom. never understood this au

THAT BASTARD INK: HOOO BOY SAVED THE WORST FOR LAST. FUCK THIS GUY/j. THIS DUDE. IS THE REASON IM STILL INTO UNDERTALE AUS. I LOVE EM SO MUCH. also technically not a sans. He comes from an unfinished au and ripped his own soul to escape said au and became an outcode. for so long he was just a soulless husk until someone drew him and he got splashed with paint which let him feel. soon he learned to keep the paint in vials so that he can be able to feel 24/7. And then he learned how to create things with a paintbrush and the paint and spent time alone drawing up his own world until a portal appeared and took him to the multiverse. now he encourages artists to keep creating aus. he's the protector of aus in the sense that he keeps other outcodes from disrupting the script of the au, so if it's pacifist and an outcode tries to kill people he'd stop them, if it's genocide and an outcode tried to help them he'd stop them. no matter what he wants the au to stay on script. fun fact the creator of ink and the creator of error never had them interact with each other in canon, that was all the fandom's doing. Contrary to popular belief he's not really considered "good" his alignment is officially "Chaotic neutral". I personally interpret him a lot more chaotic than in canon because it's fun but he's a pretty chill guy actually. he can just be a bit of an ass sometimes. According to the creator of Ink (who is Comyet) his interpretation in Underverse is not canon compliant. one of the biggest canon things that underverse contradicts is Ink deliberately not taking his vials. if he were to do that in canon he'd become a husk again which is the equivalent of him "dying". he was described as a walking corpse by Comyet, without the vials he can't function anymore. Like Error he's pretty easy to beat if you know his weaknesses. also he has fears of empty spaces and being alone

off topic kinda but i very much love how Error and Ink are opposites yet parallel even though they were completely written without the other in mind. Error believes getting rid of aus is getting rid of anomalies. Ink believes people interfering with aus are anomalies. Error loves emptiness, Ink hates emptiness. list goes on it's funky fresh.

also uhhh sanses missing from that drawing that i can name from the top of my head

Seraphim sans, Insans, Dusttrust, He who shall not be named because he's from an 18+ au, Swapswap (yes. that exists), Storyshift, Inverted Fate (very good au i suggest checking it out), Negatale, Oceantale, Template, Pale, Mafiafell, Farmtale

my phone is at 9% y'all are spared from me going on

#long post #ask #ninikins #rolli zolli

[scorpionyx9621]

I Hope Hopeless Changes Over Time: A Red Hood and Batman Fic

*Source of the image I found off of Pintrest. I tried to find the original artist but the link on Pintrest led to a dead Tumblr account. If anyone wants to find/point out the account to me so I can give proper credit to the artist please please do.*

I wanted to make a fic based on an ask I did from the lovely @dilfbatman about Jason and Bruce. I hope people enjoy this mini-fic that I've expanded upon.

TW: Blood, Physical Assault, Suicide Ideation, Swearing. Bruce being a shitty father but trying. Jason having demons 

3.75K words. 

Bruce was uneasy about Jason staying over at the Wayne Mansion. Even with other members of the family around. Jason has done so much wrong and has hurt so many people. However, at the end of the day, Jason still is his son. So when he gets a call from Jason in a hushed voice asking Bruce to stay the night. He hesitated for a second, but acquiesced, Jason was nothing if not independent, so to be asking Bruce outright to stay at the Wayne Manor meant something was wrong.

"Master Jason wouldn't reach out to any of us unless something was gravely wrong, Master Wayne." Alfred had reassured Bruce, who was staring absentmindedly at the glass case which housed Jason's old Robin costume. The costume that Jason had died in. Bruce always tried to repress the memory of holding his son's cold, lifeless body. The pain he felt from losing his parents burned in his heart as an everlasting stab wound. But the pain from losing Jason, his son, it was too much to bare.

"I'd be welcoming to Master Jason, but keep your distance. Master Damian is spending the night at Jon Kent's house, Master Richard is in Blüdhaven, and Master Timothy is with the Teen Titans tonight. I'll rest assured Jason doesn't try anything to harm you. But don't try to encourage a confrontation." Alfred explained. He always seemed to understand Jason to a tee after he came back to life.

"I don't know how you do it Alfred, you can read the boy like a book." Bruce had retorted. Cocking a half-smile to the man who raised him since his parents died.

"Master Wayne, Master Jason wears his heart on his sleeve. He always has. And one of the reasons why you two fight constantly is because, for as terrific as a detective you are, you are horrifically inept in reading the emotions of your children." Alfred had stated, those words bit Bruce. He wasn't expecting such sharp words from Alfred. "We failed Master Jason. And he's hurt, he's been hurt for years because of it. However he keeps choosing to come back and try and trust again. We needn't come at him with accusations of ulterior motives, but we should be supportive." Alfred stated.

"But cognizant of what Jason is capable of." Bruce added back. Jason may need help, but he's still dangerous. He has tried to kill Bruce and the rest of the Robins multiple times. He wants to trust Jason and warm up to him again. But the man who wears the Red Hood and stalks the streets of Gotham killing those he deems criminals is not his son anymore.

Alfred and Bruce greeted Jason as he walked in the large double doors of the Wayne Manor. The first thing Bruce noticed was the dark circles under Jason's eyes. It seemed as if the man hadn't slept in days. Jason was wearing sweatpants and a fitted black wife beater, accentuating his muscles. Jason would have looked more intimidating had his body language not suggested he was as disheveled as he was, physically and mentally.

"Thanks Alfred." Jason had said meekly towards the butler. He took one step into the mansion and looked at Bruce. Bruce noticed as soon as Jason's eyes met his, his tired irises contorted into anger. His lips pursed downwards but Jason chose not to say anything. Instead just walking past Bruce pretending not to acknowledge him.

"Master Jason, you will be staying in the guest suite on the main floor. I've already prepped everything for your arrival. Please make yourself at home." Alfred had said. Jason just shook is head as he headed towards the hallway leading the guest suite. Bruce didn't notice it immediately but the stench Jason had emitted stung in the air. It smelled like stale liqour and body oder. It seems Jason hadn't bathed in days. Bruce had wanted to say something but chose not to.

The evening went by quietly enough. Jason had taken a shower and changed into another fitted wife beater but still sported a tired energy about him. Alfred had put together a beef pot roast for dinner with red potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery over garlic mashed potatoes. A favorite dish of Jason's. The three of them ate quietly as Bruce continued to size up his son. He was conflicted. At one point he saw the man who blew up the head of a Gotham security force member with a torture decide he had created. On the other hand, he saw the boy who would beg for Bruce to buy him more books after he finished the maximum amount a library card would allow for a week in the span of 3 days. The son who told him being Robin gave him magic.

The dinner ended as it began. With awkward silence and the father-son duo eyeing each other. One with cautious trepidation and the other with abject hate. Bruce had decided not to go on patrol tonight as he felt he needed to be at the manor should anything happen while Jason was here. An uneasy sense of dread built over Bruce as he had said good night to Jason as the two passed by each other in the halls. Jason simply spat 'Bitch' at Bruce and walked into the bedroom. Bruce had been bad with other people's emotions, but something didn't sit right with the way Jason was carrying himself. He had decided to stay up tonight regardless. A sense came over him after being sworn at by Jason. A sense he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt as though his son needed help.

————————————————————

"You're a monster"

"Jason is a murderer"

"Stay away from Jason, he'll kill you."

"No one wants you around, Todd"

"You're just a good guy trying to be bad"

"This is the kid you had to replace me with as Robin? Bruce he's pathetic."

"I can't believe my daughter wasted the Lazarus Pit on a miserable failure like you."

"Maybe I'd be better off dead"

Jason tossed and turned. It's been days. He couldn't get the voices out of his head. Those whispery, moany voices that taunted and tormented him. He knew it was a result of the Lazarus Pit. Ever since Roy died and everyone left him the voices started taunting him again. He tried everything he could to get the voices to stop. He drank, he read, he worked out, he did everything he could. The only way the voices became quiet were when he was beating the ever-loving shit out of some criminals. This was not the mindset Jason had wanted. He wanted to go back to being supported by Bruce, the man who betrayed him. He knew that Bruce was weak. He couldn’t kill the Joker because of his weakness. 

Jason got up and walked over to the connecting bathroom to the suite that he was staying in. He went to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. Against his better judgement, Jason looked up to the figure he saw in the mirror. He took note of his jawline, his face, his green eyes, his muscles.. but one thing that caught his eye was the fucking skunk streak of hair at the top of his head. The physical reminder of his dip in the Lazarus Pit. He had just re-dyed the spot not two days ago and it already came back. He did everything he could to try to hide the streak. It’s what he hated most about his new body. The pit wiped away all of the scars he had on his body. And any new fresh scar or wound would just fade in a matter of moments due to the effects of the pit. The only thing that ever stayed was that damned streak. 

Jason had nothing but disgust and contempt for the man he saw in the mirror, which, ironically, was himself. 

“You’re just using the sarcasm to hide your hatred.” 

“It’s your fault that everyone hates you.” 

“Killing the sick of the masses to save those who are weak is your calling” 

“Those reptiles deserve to die” 

“I don’t want to kill unless I don’t have to.. I don’t want people to hate me..” Jason tried reassuring himself. The voices in his head kept getting louder and louder. “I want Bruce and everyone to love me again....” He continued to try to re-assure himself. It was a false sense of hope as always. His mind soon wandered to a moment where he was on top of Dick in a fight. Confronting his older sibling and reciting a quote he had heard from a Japanese philosopher and optimist as he had the barrel of a gun placed against his older brother’s temple. 

“Do you know what the most convenient phrase in the world is, Dickie? It’s ‘I’m sorry.’ Anyone who hears that is obligated to forgive, no matter how hurt or angry they might be... There's no more disgusting phrase in all the world. It's used to displace your suffering unto others so you can escape your sins... The moment you employ it, your suffering becomes the other person's. A thing can be unforgivable, but oh, if they apologize... I say there's no reason to accept that suffering. You don't have to forgive them. Cast aside the mask of your conscience.“ 

“Stop this. Please stop this.” Jason had begged aimlessly into the air. He didn’t want to live like this anymore. He didn’t want to live, period. He just wanted all of this to end. He had caused so much pain and so much suffering to the people of Gotham all so he could attempt to hurt Bruce. But those words kept repeating in his head. He knew he had to stop this. He needed help, he wanted to go to Bruce and explain what was going on but Bruce would just have him institutionalized. His murderer of a son starts hearing voices in his head? A one way ticket to a padded room. 

Jason suddenly stared back into the mirror and saw something he detested. The green eyes that stared into his soul. The one he hated more than anything else. Was himself. This thing was staring him in the face mocking him, and he wanted it gone. 

“Do it Jason.” the voice had beckoned from the mirror. “Kill them all. Slit Damian’s throat and watch the fucker bleed. Bash Tim’s stupid face into the concrete until there’s nothing but mush. Rip Dick limb from fucking limb. Watch Bruce as you choke the last bit of life from his eyes. I promise all the pain will go away once all of this is done.” the voice sounded almost sweet as it promised to do all of this. Jason just retched as he saw the green eyed monster promising poison to him. He felt his vision fade to black. 

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

STOP IT. SHUT. UP. 

*CRASH* 

Bruce had jumped up from the chair he was sitting on in the library, the voice came from the suite that Jason was staying in. Bruce didn’t have time to think. He just ran towards the noise. He threw the door to the suite open and ran to the bathroom. There he saw Jason in front of a heavily cracked mirror. Jason was hyperventilating and he saw blood oozing from Jason’s fist which was pressed against the mirror. Bruce saw from the reflection that Jason had split open the left side of his lip seemingly from a shard of glass. It wasn’t long before Jason glanced up at the imposing shadow in the mirror and noticed Bruce’s presence. 

“YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME BRUCE.” Jason had shouted at his reflection. Jason was shaking. Bruce had wanted to assess the injury that Jason gave himself. But he knew he was cornering a scared animal if he pressed any farther forward. Bruce stood their frozen. Pondering between trying to press forward upon a killer, or to check up on his son. 

“Jason, I just...” Bruce was cut off by another scream as Jason turned around. 

“IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL KILL YOU WHERE YOU FUCKING STAND YOU PIECE OF SHIT.” Bruce finally got the cue. The hitch in Jason’s voice. This is the same hitch his voice made when he was a kid and was angry at Bruce. Alfred was right. This is his son. And right now Bruce needed not to be the Batman approaching the Red Hood. He needed to be Bruce, to help his son. 

Bruce walked forward to Jason, still shaking as blood oozed from the gashes of glass on his fist. Bruce decided against everything in his gut telling him to stop this criminal. This monster who killed for sport and to prove a point. He needed to help Jason, his son. 

Bruce was knocked back by a fist to his chest. Glass imbedded itself into Bruce as he felt the sting of their shards. Jason was right, he was going to hurt Bruce if he approached. Oracle was right, Jason had been abusing venom. The quick gain in muscle mass was proof enough but the stinging pain in Bruce’s chest also proved that hypothesis. Jason barred his teeth as his eyes displayed a seething hatred. Bruce would have been frightened on any other day. Today, Bruce felt a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Bruce collected himself and got up to approach Jason again. 

“I TOLD YOU I’M GOING TO KILL YOU BRUCE. I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS. I WANT YOU TO DIE. I WANT ALL OF US TO JUST FUCKING DIE.” Jason screamed even louder this time. A hot stream of tears worked their way down Jason’s cheeks. Bruce no longer saw a rage-induced monster but the boy who took a tire iron to his gut on the streets of Gotham. The boy who would was thrilled at every opportunity he got to show Bruce the A’s on every test he got in school. This was his baby boy who needed his help. 

“Jason Peter Todd that’s enough.” Bruce said firmly, but not harshly. Jason stared directly into his eyes. “Jason. I want you to listen to me.” 

“Go to hell you motherfucker.” those words which escaped Jason were laced with poison. Bruce didn’t waver. 

“You can punch me as much as you want Jason and I’ll deserve all of it.” Bruce came closer to Jason. Jason proceeded to physically make himself smaller. Like a scared animal. Bruce remember what he did to Jason after he had seemingly killed The Penguin. How he beat Jason to within an inch of his life. His heart plummeted to his stomach as he saw Jason cower like a scared dog over his approach. 

“What are you going to do Bruce, beat me to a fucking pulp again? You hate me more than you hate the fucking Joker, don’t you?” Jason asked. Bruce truly saw the fear in those green eyes. He had to take a moment and realized just what he was doing. He unclenched his jaw and relaxed his shoulders as he approached Jason. This time he was back within striking range of his son. 

“Jason. I failed you. I have been failing you for the past 10 years since your death. I have failed this city and this family in providing the protection it needs. I couldn’t kill The Joker because I’m weak.” Bruce sucked at emotions and emoting. But Bruce hadn’t felt this shaky and wavering since the day he lost Jason. His son needed to know the truth. He deserved to know the truth. “Jason I never hated you. I hated the actions you have taken against the people of this city. But I’ve come to realize that the hatred and contempt I’ve held is because you do what I can’t do.” 

“Oh so now you’re coming over to apologize? I don’t owe you shit after what you’ve done to me.” Jason had stated. He may have been acting like a pinned animal. But his mouth will never not cut like knives. 

“Jason, when we had fought in the abandoned apartment. And you had the Joker with you. You had tried to shoot me after I had turned away from you.” Bruce said. Inching ever closer to Jason while trying not to be imposing. “In that moment, I threw the batarang because I knew you were going to retaliate against me. But I need you to know in that moment I turned away. I turned away because I decided I wasn’t to be the one to decide the Joker’s fate. He had taken your life and it wasn’t up to me to decide. I want nothing more than for the Joker to pay for the countless lives hes taken and ruined.” Bruce swallowed hard as he felt tears beginning to well in his eyes. “I failed you because I couldn’t kill the Joker. But in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to have my baby boy back. I wanted you back in my life. I still want you back in my life.” 

“Bullshit. Fucking BULLSHIT.” Jason spat at Bruce. The emotions were flooding out of his face. Anger, hatred, fear, but most of all sadness. Jason’s voice began wavering as he began to cry. “If you loved me why in the fuck have you never realized I’ve been trying to help the people of Gotham. Instead every time I take matters into my own hands all I meet are your fucking fists. I hate your guts Bruce. We’d all just be better off fucking dead. It’s all Hopeless. I’m hopeless.” 

Bruce took a deep breath. He tried to find his resolve. He wanted nothing more than to be able to reach out to his son again. “You’re absolutely right Jason. I’ll bet Gotham would be a whole lot better without me. Without the pain I have caused. And no amount of apologies will fix the pain that I have caused you. No words will ever take back the transgressions I have taken against you.” Bruce was crying this time. “But know this. You always have been my son. And I love you so much. The day I lost my parents was agony. The day I lost you, I felt like I had lost myself I felt I had died a bit inside.” Bruce choked out. “We both have done so much we regret. If I could take back all the times I hit you I would do it in a heartbeat. But no amount of sorry will take back that pain. I shouldn’t be in the position to be asking this. But I just want my son back.” Bruce swallowed. “You have every right to hate me, but I will never stop loving you. You aren’t hopeless and you never have been. You never have been a burden. You are valued by so many people. I. I love you my son. I love you Jason."

Jason’s face relaxed from a position of contempt and hatred and soon was overcome with years of pent up tears. Jason let out a hearty scream as he proceeded to weep and sob. As if a dam had broke and was threatening to engulf a town in an apocalypse. Bruce went against everything he had known and was screaming from the inside of his body and wrapped Jason in a hug. He was almost as large as Bruce himself and barely fit around his arms. But Bruce held his son and hugged him tight. Jason was crying uncontrollably. 

“I’m hearing these voices. They’re telling me I’m a monster and a killer and that I should kill all of you.” Jason shouted between sobs. “But I don’t want to. I’m so afraid Bruce. I don’t want to hurt anyone unless I have to.” 

“Just breath Jason. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Let it all out.” Bruce had solidified his resolve and worked on being there for Jason. He couldn’t run away this time. His son needed him more than ever. And Gotham be damned. He’s not making this mistake twice. He’s staying here. For Jason. 

It felt like hours before Jason had run out of tears and sobs. Jason was fading and seemed like he was about to fall asleep. The shards of glass that were imbedded in his hand seemingly prevented Jason from bleeding out. Bruce had saw Jason’s eyes glaze over as his breathing calmed. 

“Jason, I’m going to pick you up and take you to bed.” Bruce had said, asking for permission from his second son. Jason simply nodded as he starred off. He was numb now. The pain seemingly gone for the moment. Bruce lifted Jason up and was taken aback by just how heavy his son was. He truly was 225lbs just like his records showed. This wasn’t the son who hid under the cabinets when Bruce first brought Jason home. But Bruce still saw the boy as his son nonetheless. As Bruce laid Jason on the bed Alfred had approached with a first aid kit. Proceeding to begin to clean up Jason’s hand. Jason was so exhausted he barely felt any of the picking and pulling or the iodine going into his wounds. He kept his eyes fast forward on Bruce. 

“Bruce. I. I’m sorry.” Jason had said meekly. 

“Don’t apologize Jason.” Bruce had stated. He ran his hand through Jason’s hair, giving a soft massage to his scalp. “You get some sleep now. I don’t think you’ve rested in days.” 

Bruce had remembered the time he had read Jason to sleep. This time he had thought back to a poem that struck him from his phone. It was from a famous lyricist and singer. As Bruce pulled up his phone he had found the poem and recited it as Jason fell asleep. Things are far from perfect or even better. But tomorrow was going to be the first day of the rest of his and Jason’s lives. 

“They told me once, ‘there's a place where love conquers all’

A city with the streets full of milk and honey

I haven't found it yet, but I'm still searching

All I know is a hopeless place that flows with the blood of my kin

Perhaps hopeless isn't a place

Nothing but a state of mind” 

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

pHEW GOD THAT WAS LONG. I hope you all enjoyed the fic! This was my first published attempt at angst and whump and while I feel some parts are cringe. I am proud of what I made. 

Big thanks again to @dilfbatman for inspiring this fic. The inspiration of the title is the song Hopeless: by Halsey. The quote about I’m Sorry is from the character Shadow Maya Amano from Persona 2: Innocent Sin. And the poem at the end is the first part of the lyrics to the song Good Mourning by Halsey. 

#Jason Todd #Red Hood #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Whump #Angst #Hurt/comfort #Non-ship #Bruce being a good father #Jason trying his best #Jason getting the rest he deserves #The two have gone through so much but they can get help #TW Blood #TW Physical abuse #TW Swearing

[crystxlclear]

you’re just like an angel (your skin makes me cry)

a sudden desire oneshot 

masterlist // sudden desire chapter one

pairing: marcus pike x original female character (coraline meyer)

words: 4.4k

synopsis: coraline and marcus go to a halloween party. pining ensues. 

set in the future, in comparison to the current sudden desire timeline, after coraline accepts that suggestion 

warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF SWEET SWEET FLUFF, mutual pining (more so from marcus, unintentionally, though?), alcohol consumption/slight alcohol intoxication, established relationship

author’s note: you don’t need to have read sudden desire to understand this! (but please do)

this was meant to come out on halloween but i am a terrible procrastinator. but i mean this was too cute not to post? so i hope you all accept my extremely belated spooky-season offering. expect more of this sweet beautiful soft fluff when we get more into sudden desire, when we get to the baby-making stage (i gotta make up for the lack of smut somehow). This is really nothing of significance or particularly interesting, except i just wanted to write something halloween-ish

also it’s kind of obvious and i have mentioned it here and in previous sudden desire chapters but daniel is coraline’s brother and kimmy is his wife/cora’s sister-in-law, they’re in the next chapter! 

not beta’d because i have no friends to read it lmao

Coraline doesn’t usually go out on Halloween. Those evenings are usually spent curled up on the sofa, cocooned beneath her comforter, watching the entire Scream series back-to-back. It had become somewhat of a ritual, those films. Sat in the comfortable dark while she practically quoted the film back at the TV screen. An annual event since she was ten, when she’d managed to convince her dad to let her watch the first three films while her mom was out with friends. Her DVD copies were almost two decades old, now.

It must have taken something, or someone, special to break a habit so ingrained, a years-old routine. 

That was the moment Daniel Meyer knew, beyond all doubt, that Coraline Meyer looked at Marcus Pike as more than just a friend. 

Sure, she denies it. Sure she’s too damn stubborn to admit it, even to him. But for someone to pull Cora from her Scream-filled Halloween night bubble, it must take a lot. He isn’t blind, either. He’s seen the looks they give each other - those fleeting looks, a flush of red creeping to their cheeks whenever they glance between each other for a moment, that soft lingering smile on her face when she arrives at his house after a day spent with him - and he’s spent hours in his living room listening to her recall stories and gush about him like he hung all the stars in the night sky. 

Daniel Meyer knows his sister well enough to know that she only has eyes for him.

He’d been surprised when she’d rung him that Thursday morning, bright and early as the sun continued to rise high in the sky, proclaiming that she was, in fact, coming to their Halloween party. That surprise had disappeared, however, the second she’d mentioned Marcus was coming, too. He’d laughed and she’d asked why but he wouldn’t tell her, amusement peaking the moment he heard his name. It’s brilliant and he should have known, really. Of course, he should have known.

...

Coraline tugs awkwardly on the costume. It’s cheap and uncomfortable and she’d bought it last minute from some poorly-lit store in the city. It’s that cheap, plastic-like material that clings to your figure in the most unforgiving places, places it shouldn’t yet somehow moulds to. She’s just glad she didn’t pick one of the skimpier ones she’d tried, the ones that rested far too high on her thighs and squeezed her torso so tightly it felt like she was wearing a corset. She felt like she was about to burst straight through the thin material. Instead, she’d gone for the far more family-friendly option. 

Skimpy outfits aren’t a good idea for a family Halloween party.

Though, even in the most modest costume she can find, she’s still pretty sure that she looks utterly ridiculous. 

But that’s part of the charm though, right?

The costume she’s settled on is slightly more modest than the rest, now that she’s fished out those stupidly expensive thigh-high boots she’d bought for a red carpet event once, that rise just high enough to conceal the ridiculous amount of leg on show. Any other night, she wouldn’t mind in the slightest, but they tones the outfit down enough that she’s positive she won’t offend the eyes of the conservative parents whose kids run around with her nephews. 

It’s not a big deal. She doesn’t particularly care. She only cares what Marcus thinks. 

If he likes it, who cares what anyone else thinks.

The least-revealing costume in the store happened to be that of a special agent or a spy or something like that. It’s a little... on-the-nose. Still, she figures it’s fitting. 

The dress’ weird vinyl material that creaks and squeaks whenever she moves and there’s a pair of flimsy plastic handcuffs strapped through the belt loops along with an already half-worn away sheriff’s badge that shines dully under the soft light of her bedroom. It’s cheap - anyone can tell that - but the whole thing has been last-minute, Marcus trying his hardest for a solid month to persuade her to abandon her tradition and come to the party with him. Only for him. Only him.

She truly does love Halloween. And Fall is her favourite time of year. But she’d spent all week at Halloween parties with her castmates and friends - late night all weeks, far too much alcohol, far too many times hearing The Monster Mash playing insistently over loudspeakers - and, come Halloween night, the only thing she wanted to do was order pizza and indulge in her yearly marathon. She’s done that elaborate costume stuff all week, a thousand different costumes adorning her body, and pyjamas sound far more inviting. Halloween night is for relaxing, she thinks. If it weren’t for Marcus Pike, it would remain exactly that.

She’s still fussing over the ever-rising hem of her dress and thinking of just staying home when the doorbell rings, loud and imposing, almost scaring her as its shrill chimes cut through the soft music playing over her speakers. She huffs out a sigh of resignation, giving up on any hope she has of making herself feel better about what she’s wearing.

Marcus is standing at the door with a bottle of red wine in hand and a smile on his face. That smile falters when he sees her, for just long enough for her to think about running back upstairs and changing into something different. His parted lips finally form around the words his awestruck brain is fighting hard to form: “You look… -good.” It’s all he can muster. And he sounds pathetic.

“... Thanks?”

He shakes his head clear, that initial shock of seeing her looking so damn good dissipating the second she notices his wide eyes and drops her head back as she laughs. The long line of her neck sparkles under the warm flickering candlelight of her living room, thanks to that body lotion she wears. “You look great,” he insists.

She bites her lip as his eyes scan her figure from head to toe. She catches his eyes but she doesn’t mind one bit. She’s doing the same thing. And it’s infuriating because she’s unable to stop.

Of course Marcus looks good. Of course he does, because he always does. Even in sweats and a t-shirt, when she bursts through his door at 7am, coffee in hand, far too wide awake for the early hours of a morning. When he’s still half-asleep. He still looks good. He even looks good now, in a cheap vampire’s cape and plastic fangs. Perhaps it’s the all-black, his shirt stretched taut across his chest or the leather jacket he wears that fits him so well. 

Or, maybe, it’s just the slightly goofy grin he wears when he sees her laugh, dressed in her costume and swinging her handcuffs on the end of her finger, and the way his lips puff out a little when they fall over the edge of the fake fangs. 

She means to tell him just how good he looks but he speaks before she can.

“I brought wine.” He notes. He lifts the bottle - she’s pretty sure it’s expensive, but she knows absolutely nothing about wine - and she squints at the label, a half-hearted attempt at pretending she knows what all those words mean. She has no idea. 

She doesn’t even need to invite him inside, he just follows when she turns and makes a beeline for the kitchen. “Daniel will never let you inside with that,” she calls over her shoulder. Her eldest brother has hated wine since his wedding, when his best man had thrown up on his shoes outside the hotel that night, after one too many glasses. It was partly Coraline’s fault, though; they’d been drinking and laughing at the bar the entire night, the bartender plying them with drink after drink until someone hauled them outside to get some fresh air. Daniel had been pissed that his best friend and the smart and suited man behind the bar had been supplying his nineteen-year-old sister with copious amounts of alcohol, though he quickly forgave them at breakfast the next morning when their hangovers were so bad, they had to wear sunglasses indoors.

“Lucky for you-” She pushes up on her tiptoes and reaches to the back of the kitchen cupboard. She can feel the breeze on the back of her thighs and she hopes to god that her skirt doesn’t push up too far and reveal too much. A few moments clattering around blindly, she returns to two feet with two wine glasses. “-my brother is used to me being late.”

Marcus is already fishing for the corkscrew in the cutlery draw before she's even turned around. He swiftly pops the cork and is there waiting when Coraline sets the glasses between them. 

“Here’s to being late,” he proposes, holding his glass up for her to clink after he pours them both a generous glass. 

Here’s to being late.

...

They do turn up late. Two-hours late, to be exact. A little too tipsy. Or, at least, Coraline is. She’s in that semi-blissful state, caught somewhere between content happiness and that point where he knows she usually starts to cry, before the giggles force their way out and she’s hiccupping through adorable sobs of indistinguishable hysteria. 

He’s only seen her like that once after a particularly bad fight over the phone with Scott. And, while she’d insisted that the whole thing was hilarious, he never wanted to see her like that again. 

But, at least for now, they’re both smiling. 

And Marcus isn’t sure how anyone can be mad at Coraline when she’s smiling.

It seems like the rest of the street is having parties, too. The entire row of closely packed townhouses and luxury condos are humming with life; pop songs and fluorescent lighting fill the street. It feels like they’re in a movie, endless decoration spilling to the sidewalk, waterfalls of orange, black and purple. Everything is garishly bright and confused, all mismatched shapes and colours - surrealism, like a Dali painting, exaggerated and unusual and unnatural. It’s strange to see the neighbourhood like this, with its usually-pristine gardens, turned fantastical. 

The smell of the Potomac River drifts along the street, swirling in the gentle late-October breeze. It dances with the charred scent of fireworks that lingers low in the air, cinnamon and herbs, and the smell that lingers before the rain. It intertwines to make Halloween, in all its ghoulish glory. Yet, despite it all, the only thing he can smell is her perfume. It lingers on the breeze.

Coraline walks just ahead of him; she’s skipping down the street, light on her feet, her black heels cutting a rhythmic beat through the hum of the street as it comes alive. There’s been a smile on her face since they left her apartment, that bright blissful buzz of wine pulsing through her veins, and she looks no different from the kids and the teenagers that weave through the cars lining the street. She’s been holding his hand since they left, too. Tightly, like if she lets go, he’ll disappear. 

But he would never. He could never leave her.

She’s his best friend.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” she calls back to him as they near Coraline’s brother’s house. It’s the same as the rest of the houses on the street: lighting flashes through the windows - orange and white and purple, casting shapes across the front yard, the yard that’s draped in Halloween decorations - and the soft hum of music pumped through the half-open front windows. 

She turns to watch him, walking backwards, still holding his hand. He’s taller than her, even in her heels, so she glances up at him with a pout on her red lips. There’s a little bit of awe in his chest as he watches her navigate the cobblestones blindly, not even faltering on her heels once. She wears Halloween so well. She makes the party store costume look better than it has any idea being. Those that pass - kids, teenagers, their parents, varying degrees of effort in their costumes - watch as they walk, when she pokes a long nail at his chest. “You’re to blame.”

“It’ll be fun, love.” He poses.

She raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Oh, really?” Coraline turns to glare at him. “Dressed like this?” She gestures to herself and the dress she feels completely ridiculous wearing. “I don’t think so.”

“But that’s the point of Halloween.” 

She notices the way his brown eyes sparkle beneath the moonlight. 

Cora hums in contemplation. “I still can’t believe you talked me into this.” She repeats, but there’s a hint of a smirk on her lips. 

“You’ll get over it.”

...

Three hours into the party and Coraline disappears. One moment, she’d been swaying with her nephew, Elliot, to Fleetwood Mac, grinning and giggling as she spun him from side-to-side in her arms. Marcus had watched her from the refreshment table in the corner, engaged in a half-idle conversation with Cora’s sister-in-law, Kimmy, as she cleared the dirty plates and refreshed the chips. He thinks she noticed him watching her but she’s far too polite to say anything if she did. She just seemed to hum knowingly and sweep away towards the kitchen as he watched Coraline twirl gracefully to the soft melody of Dreams. 

She’d brought a jacket with her, the cold creeping in right as they’d made to leave the house, and the loose fabric brushed against her legs as she swayed on her heels. The breeze that wandered through the open living room window billowed beneath it. She looked ethereal like that; all beautiful and glowing and bright, basking in the vibrant flashing lights and overly-gaudy Halloween decorations that don’t quite fit the gentle songs that float through the room. Coraline had been deep in conversation with a seemingly endless stream of Daniel and Kimmy’s friends and there had been a tense set to her brow as a consequence. Now, she looks jovial and carefree and relaxed. The wine they’d drunk before they arrived - and the bottle she and Kimmy had been sneaking in the corner of the room, giggling like school girls as they filled their cups whenever Daniel wasn’t looking - probably helped her on her way but it’s refreshing to see her like this. Happy.

So much for someone convinced she wouldn’t have fun.

Marcus turned to grab another drink as the song finished, fading away into the next, and within a moment she was gone, lost in the slowly thinning crowd that danced through the living room. The two-year-old that had previously been in her arms was halfway across the room, tugging on his father’s Batman costume. The crowd that seemed to part for her and her giggling nephew had thickened again, spilling over the dancefloor where she’d spun moments earlier.

He finally finds her perched on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs back and forth idly, staring out at the Potomac River as the moon sparkles across its surface. There’s a paper plate of chocolate cake perched on her knees, stolen from the one Kimmy had taken from the buffet table earlier in the night. She prods at it absentmindedly with a fork, smearing the purple and orange frosting across the plate like she’s painting on a canvas. Pale moonlight scatters across her face; her eyelashes cast gentle arching silhouettes beneath her eyes and sloping shadows across the soft lines of her cheekbones. 

She doesn’t hear him at first. The music, Creep by Radiohead, plays in the living room. He knows most of the words to the song because Coraline has played it on vinyl so many times in the late evenings of summer, when the windows are open the whole way and the curtains billow in the breeze. Her brother has good taste, just like her; the pleasant nostalgia of eighties rock pouring through the speakers. It’s muffled by the closed door of the kitchen, slightly broken door that he’d offered to fix the first time he’d been for lunch jammed shut to allow her some peace and quiet. 

He enters as quietly as he can but the music spikes through the doorway when he opens it and draws her attention away from the glittering ripple of the water. She smiles fondly when she sees him, for a moment, and her head turns back to the view from the kitchen window. 

“You okay?” He asks. He settles in front of her, leaning back against the island opposite her. “You wandered off.”

She doesn’t seem upset. Her expression is soft and content. “I’m alright,” she insists.

The kitchen is quiet. 

The world seems so far away.

Everything that has happened before and everything that might happen after that moment doesn’t matter.

Everything will be alright.

Coraline huffs out a laugh and closes her eyes, tilting her head back to let the cool breeze of the open window sweep over her bare neck. “Just needed a bit of quiet. It’s a little-“ She makes a motion with her hands, almost like she’s strangling someone. Somehow, it makes sense to him. “-full-on in there.”

Marcus watches her. His dark gaze flickers across her face as she carries on kicking her legs gently back and forth, manoeuvring himself so the toe of her boot doesn’t slam into his shin. The world just carries on around them; the party continues in the living room, the music continues playing and everyone else moves on with their lives as Marcus and Coraline exist in that quiet moment where nothing but each other matters.

There’s a brief beat of silence filled by gentle guitars and soft lyrics.

She’s watching the water in awe. He’s watching her the same way. 

You’re just like an angel, your skin makes me cry.

“Cake?” She offers out half-heartedly after a moment’s contemplation, soft green eyes drawing back to his face. An affectionate smile tugs at her lips.

He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“Thank god.” The smile widens to a grin and she puffs out a small giggle. “You would have broken my heart if you’d said yes.” She hums as she brings a forkful of the cake to her lips, savouring the sweet taste on her lips. Her tongue darts out delicately to chase the remains. Her lipstick leaves a red spider web across the fork.

He won’t, but he’s never wanted to kiss her more than in that moment. The world stops for a moment when she meets his gaze as she does it, peeling her eyes away, cheeks flushing slightly. He won’t, but, god, he thinks she’s lovely. He won’t kiss her. Kissing her on the cheek or the nose or the forehead, that’s different. It’s familiar. It’s welcomed with a smile and she does the same to him, sometimes. Kissing her for real. That’s entirely different. He doesn’t kiss her unless she asks him to. Until she wants him to.

Whatever makes you happy. Whatever you want.

“That good, huh?” 

She nods. “I don’t know where Kimmy buys it from but it’s incredible.”

“Hmm, maybe I will take some.” He reaches for her plate but she tugs it away, a mock-offended expression on her face. 

“Hey!” She pouts. “Pretty sure that’s theft, Marcus Pike. Don’t make me arrest you.” She chides, patting the plastic handcuffs that rattle against her belt. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only one with the authority to actually arrest someone,” Marcus attests, quirking an eyebrow in amusement. 

“Not tonight.” She hums, tapping a nail against the badge that rests against her chest. She tilts her head and a bright smile crosses her red lips. She wears that gentle glow of wine across her cheeks, all pink and rosy. Coraline reaches up to card her fingers through the curls at the back of his head. Marcus sighs at the feeling of her nails scraping across the scalp at the nape of his neck. She leans closer for a second, so close that he can feel the warmth of her breath fan across his cheeks. Her eyelashes dip as she traces patterns across his scalp and dances the digits over her other hand up the bare expanse of his arm, prickled in goosebumps from the light scrape of her nails. There’s a blissful haze that passes her expression when she glances back out across the moon-drenched river. His breath hitches in his throat whenever she touches him like that. Whenever there’s intended intimacy behind it. That comfort that settled between them long ago.

Coraline doesn’t even realise she’s doing it, sometimes. It feels like second nature, now. 

She can feel her cheeks burning at the thought of it all.

She pulls her hand away from him all too soon. Marcus thinks about chasing her hand, pulling it back to hold him again with the lightest of touches. But he lets her go. Again. The moonlight casts silver shadows across her face like some kind of goddamn angel basking in the light. Instead, he just watches her as she picks the paper plate of cake back up, brings up another forkful and smiles in delight at the taste.

“Oh, really?” He answers in response to her earlier words, realising he’s spent far too much time watching her than he should. His hand brushes the outside of her knee before it comes to rest on the kitchen counter beside her leg. It’s unintentional. At least, he thinks.

You’re so fucking special. I wish I was special.

“Cora-“ He calls to catch her attention again. She turns her head to face him, her eyebrows raised a little in expectancy and surprise. “-you’ve got some frosting-“ Marcus swipes at the side of his mouth, where Coraline has a spot of purple frosting clinging to the corner of her lips, blemishing the otherwise-perfect red-paint. 

He steps forward again, reaching his thumb up to swipe the frosting away. She watches his movements at first, before her gaze focuses intently on his face and the dark-eyed gaze that follows the slow movements of his thumb. When he moves to pull it away, to wipe in on a piece of kitchen towel, she reaches for it, pressing the frosting-covered pad of his thumb against her lips. 

She grins around it when her eyes widen, swiping her tongue over the soft flesh, before pulling it back slowly. There’s a ring of red lipstick around his thumb. Her voice is low when she speaks, in tone and volume. She peers up at him through her lashes. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t know what she was doing. “You can’t let good frosting go to waste.”

He wants to swear. He needs to. Because all he can think of, right now, is kissing her. Again. He wants to taste the frosting still lingering on her tongue and he wants that red lipstick to stain his lips. He wants her hands in his hair, tugging and twisting as he presses his mouth to hers and he wants to feel her smile against him when the way she pulls him closer makes him groan. 

He wants to feel all that he can barely have. He wants the memories that linger when he’s in bed without her at his side, when their insane agreement isn’t in action. He wants more than fleeting moments. He wants it all. 

But he’s just being selfish. 

And, besides, she doesn’t want that, either. Not now. Not here.

“Do you want to leave?” It’s intended to be an innocent question. But, with all those thoughts and those hidden desires, with all those feelings he isn’t positive are anything more than shallow, unrequited and completely ridiculous and the swipe of her velvet-soft tongue over the pad of his thumb, it sounds loaded. He’s breathless. He groans to himself and steps back from her. 

Coraline doesn’t fail to notice the way his fingers skim the bare expense of her outer thigh when he moves. She half-wonders what he’s implying with it. She never knows what’s intentional between them anymore. She thinks it probably has meaning; she had his thumb between her lips just moments before. She isn’t even sure what she was implying. 

“We can get pizza.” 

“Pizza, huh?” She hums in contemplation, but there’s no decision to be made. In her mind, she’s already said he’s a thousand times, and she’s been ready to say yes since the moment they stepped through Daniel’s front door. As much as she loves Daniel and Kimmy and her niece and nephews, nothing sounds better than pizza on the couch with Marcus. “What kind of pizza?” She toys, musing the image over in her mind, finishing off the last mouthful of cake, already missing the sweet frosting.

But, intentional or not, goosebumps prickle across her skin. 

He’s leaning closer, now. He can’t help it. She draws him in with that damn smile. “Veggie.”

Her favourite.

“Tempting.”

“Very tempting.”

“From the pizza place on Pennsylvania?” Her eyes light up at the prospect. Her back straightens and they’re looking each other in the eyes. 

Marcus brushes a thumb across her knee. Coraline tries her best to hide the shudder that threatens to pull through her at his touch. Heat pools in her stomach and her chest and her breath hitches in her throat. “Where else?”

She groans, small and breathy, pushing its way from her mouth, almost like she’s been winded. Her eyes close over. Her eyelids flutter. Her head is swimming from the wine she’s drunk, head buzzing with that pleasant intoxication as the alcohol sweeps through her. She can’t help it. She can’t stop it. But she can’t tell whether it’s a response to the promise of her favourite pizza or the feeling of his warm palm against her leg. She doesn’t particularly want to know. But she brushes it off as the wine. It makes more sense.

It’s a little embarrassing.

Her eyes open again and he’s still looking at her, expectation and gentility in his gaze. “And garlic bread?”

He smirks in amusement. “Whatever you want, Cora.” His thumb brushes over her knee again. “Whatever you want.”

She grins. “How can I say no to that?”

“You can’t,” Marcus insists. He steps back from the counter and she slips off, smoothing out her dress and shucking her jacket around herself as the wind casts a shiver across her skin.

“Can I at least change first?”

He exhales a laugh through her nose. “Nope.”

“Oh, Marcus, come on!” She groans. His hand slips into hers; her delicate fingers curl around his, her palm soft against his work-calloused hands. “I look ridiculous.”

“It’s Halloween, love.” The pet name makes her legs feel weak. His voice is low and affectionate when he turns back towards her. He ducks his head and kisses her cheekbone. He lingers to whisper in her ear: “And you look hot.”

#sudden desire #sudden desire oneshot #oneshot #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x fem!oc #marcus pike x original character #marcus pike x female reader #halloween #pedro pascal #original character

[princeescaluswords]

And Stiles, as a neurodiverse character and minority character himself, has every right to re-evaluate his friendship with Scott. And yet you keep foaming that Stiles “must face the consequences” for not sharing his own trauma with Scott and bash Stiles for prioritizing his father over the shitty friend that gaslit him, victim blamed him, tried to isolate him from his other friends and support system, and immediately accused him of being a violent, dangerous, inhuman monster and serial killer

Well, now you’ve gone completely unhinged, but you’ve gone completely unhinged in an entertaining and enlightening way, so I think I’ll humor you.   I’m going to go through this line-by-line and demonstrate where fandom’s problems lie, even though you obviously meant this as incendiary and not reasoned argument.  I have to say I love how you repurpose things I put in my posts, 

“And Stiles, as a neurodiverse character and minority character himself, has every right to re-evaluate his friendship with Scott.”

Of course, he does.   Every neurodiverse and minority character and person (though it escapes me which minority Stiles belongs to at the moment) has the right to reevaluate friendships.   As every rich, neurotypical, heterosexual, white male has the right to reevaluate friendships.  No one should ever be forced to maintain a friendship or any relationship that hurts them, and the process of saying ‘is this good for me?’ may be a difficult one, but it is necessary. 

I want to point out that Stiles sought to renew his partnership with Scott.  Even in Status Asthmaticus, during the confrontation with Theo, Stiles was going to bring information to Scott, even if he believed that Scott didn’t want to talk to him.  He did reevaluate his friendship, and though he was mad at Scott, he still wanted a relationship.

Claiming that Scott has a right to reevaluate his friendship with Stiles doesn’t preclude Stiles having that right as well, and it’s disingenuous to claim that it does.  You wanted Stiles not to believe he was wrong, but you didn’t get what you want.  The production did that to you a lot, didn’t it?

“”And yet you keep foaming that Stiles “must face the consequences” for not sharing his own trauma with Scott ...”

I don’t think I foamed, but yes, I do believe that Stiles should have and did face the consequences of that choice.  Because Stiles didn’t just choose not to share his trauma with Scott.   He worked with Theo, a person he was convinced was a threat to his friends, because he Theo threatened him with blackmail about that trauma (but unlike when Gerard blackmailed Scott and Scott pretended to work with him, Stiles did not do one single thing to prevent Theo’s ultimate triumph).  In this case, the consequences of hiding the trauma about Donovan from Scott was that Scott didn’t believe him. 

I’ll try to walk you through it.   Why is Stiles’s trauma any of Scott’s business?  For the same reason that Stiles’s trauma was his father’s business and Lydia’s business.  They were all trying to find and protect chimeras from the Doctors, and Donovan was a chimera.  It wasn’t just Scott who held Stiles accountable -- the Sheriff asked him about it as well.   But saving the chimera was important to Scott, so when Stiles lied to him and concealed from him, Scott was rightfully upset.  

Stiles had every right not to share his trauma with Scott, but Stiles had no right to somehow demand that Scott not react to learning about the death of  a chimera he was trying to protect when he got it from other sources.

“... and bash Stiles for prioritizing his father over the shitty friend ...”

Look, I’m not bashing Stiles when I describe what he does.  Theo put Stiles in a terrible position, but Stiles still had options.  Stiles stans like you argue he’s the cleverest character on the show, but the fact is that when presented with Theo’s bargain, Stiles did not seek to subvert the promise.  There’s nothing wrong with Stiles prioritizing his father over helping Scott, but why is the person with seventeen speeding tickets, whose concept of lying is “reclining in a horizontal position”, whose own father hasn’t believed a word that has come out of his mouth since the day he could speak, or who did indeed break into the administrative office, keeping his word to Theo?  Even so simple as calling his father’s deputies?   Or Melissa?   

Again, it’s illustrative to look at Scott in a similar position in Season 2.  No one is going to blame Scott for prioritizing Allison, Stiles, and his mother over Derek, “who hasn’t been alpha of the year” (Peter’s words not mine), but Scott -- when blackmailed by someone just as ruthless as Theo -- found a way to help protect Derek anyway.   

“... gaslit him ...”

I despise how fandom misuses this term.  To quote --  “ Gaslighting intentionally makes an individual doubt their memories or perception of reality.”   This didn’t happen.  Scott asked Stiles first off -- did you kill him?  And Stiles didn’t deny it.  In order for Scott to be gaslighting Stiles, Scott had to know the truth, and he didn’t.   

“...  victim blamed him ...” 

Nowhere in that speech did Scott tell Stiles that Stiles did something to force Donovan to attack him.  Not once did he suggest that Stiles was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that his snarky comments to Donovan at the police station provoked the attack, or that Stiles put himself in that position.  Scott never said “I knew that you would do this and force me to take action.”

I know that Proof by Assertion is your favorite logical fallacy, but it’s nowhere similar to Stiles saying that Scott forced him to lie because he was looking at him the wrong way.  It’s not.  

“... tried to isolate him from his other friends and support system ...”

This again, didn’t happen.  Scott didn’t say Stiles should stay away from Lydia or Malia, he said -- and I’m going to quote because Stiles stans don’t remember the show very well.  “Don’t worry about Malia ... or Lydia.  We’ll find them.”   Malia picked Stiles up that very night.  Lydia was at the police station with Parrish.  Stiles could have gone to his ‘support system’ at any time.   Now, Stiles did drive Malia away, but not because Scott ordered him to, but because he was conflicted and a bit of a dick about it.

Fandom likes to exaggerate, turning Scott’s suggestion -- made at Stiles’ request -- that Stiles talk to his father, the police officer, about the death of Donovan Donatti, as throwing Stiles out of the pack.   It’s enlightening.  Scott put no conditions or terms on the suggestion.  Scott didn’t say “talk to your Dad or I’ll beat you” or “I don’t want you near any member of my pack” or “we’re not friends anymore”, but he did imply that they didn’t need Stiles’s help at this moment.  To Stiles Stans, who believe the world of the show must revolve around him, this is the highest treason.  But it is a consequence for lying to the pack and concealing things from the pack.  

“... and immediately accused him of being a violent, dangerous, inhuman monster and serial killer.”

When the f*ck did this happen? Because it didn’t.

I know when it happened, but it has nothing to do with Scott and Stiles in Lies of Omission at all.  Not to sound egocentric, but it has to do with me.  You do so enjoy trying to throw my words back at me.  I’ve used the term violent to describe Derek’s, Peter’s, and Stiles’s behavior, because they are violent.   I’ve complained that “some of us are human” is Stiles calling Scott an inhuman monster, because it certainly can be interpreted that way.  I’ve called Peter Hale a serial killer many times, because that describes his behavior.

Here’s a hint, my friend.  Rhetorical devices such as using your opponents own words against them are only effective if the resulting statement has the possibility of being true.  Otherwise, it’s just gibberish.   You reveal the utter paucity of your arguments and your complete lack of ethics by trying to say that Scott called Stiles a serial killer, and it gives you no advantage in the discourse.

But I do find it very enlightening.   It’s not Stiles you’re defending, in a way, it’s a trio of white characters who -- to your eyes -- are opposed to a minority character.  They all seem to blend together for you in a mish-mash of privileged and interchangeable white assholes.   It’s why you can argue that Scott was overtly hostile to Derek while ignoring Stiles’s trying to get Allison to shoot Derek in the head.   It’s why you pretend that Stiles would side with Peter when no one in the show hated Peter more than Stiles.   It can be argued that you’re not defending a singular character, but the privileged position of white males in the narrative.

An interesting thought, no?

#teen wolf racism #scott mccall defense squad #teen wolf fandom problems

[depizan]

I am so sorry, this ramble turned out long as fuck. Hence the cut.

I want fiction to prove me wrong.

While I was making dinner, I was pondering fiction - what I like, what I don’t, what I tolerate; various things people far smarter and more famous have said about fiction (the Timothy Zahn quote I posted here that will never die, Pratchett’s quote about how a world where Bond did not disarm the bomb and the third of three brothers didn’t succeed at the quest (or whatever the exact wording is) would be a dark place, Red of OSP on YouTube talking about Grimdark) and it all came together: I want fiction to prove me wrong.

That’s the unifying explanation for what I like, what I don’t, what I tolerate, why I have so much trouble trusting fiction, and all that good stuff.

See, depression and anxiety are a horrible combination. It’s like going through life with an evil narrator or backseat driver who points out every possible thing that could go wrong and expects those things to go wrong. Every light that turns green will have someone run the red. That blemish is skin cancer. If your boss wants to talk to you, it’s because you did something wrong and you’re going to be fired. If the person you’re meeting is late, either they’re dead or they were never really going to show up. There somehow could be a bomb or drugs in your carry on luggage, even if you didn’t put it there and you never let your luggage out of your sight.

It’s a world in which the worst is always the most possible, in which no one can be trusted, in which nothing will go well, and which will only end in death. Probably horrible death.

Somehow, the fact that I have never been t-boned by someone running a red light, haven’t had skin cancer, been fired (except from a horrible telemarketing job, and, honestly, that was a relief), been stood up (or had the person be dead), or found a bomb or drugs magically in my luggage does not help. Okay, pointing that out to myself is one of many tools I use to manage that evil “voice” in the back of my head, but it doesn’t cure anything.

Neither does fiction, of course. (Wouldn’t that be nice. Read this book, and your anxiety will be gone forever. Man, I wish it worked that way.) What fiction does do is let me spend time in a world that - at least if I’m choosing the fiction well - proves my depression and anxiety wrong. In a much more clear and dramatic way than simply not being run over on the way to work.

Characters come up against impossible situations, horrible odds, worst case scenarios...and prevail. Single starships take out armadas or moon-sized battle stations, plucky bands of misfits defeat terrible villains, friendship is true even when tested, James Bond disarms the bomb with seven seconds left on the clock, the junior dragonslayer befriends a dragon and saves their village, taking a stand and doing the right thing succeeds, and, above all else, there is always hope and hope is always right.

And for just a little while I live in a cloud of second-hand optimism. For just a little while, I don’t have a litany of terrible possibilities running through my mind.

So of course I hate grimdark, and I hate fiction that kicks you for having the gall to think that good could win, and I hate fiction that presents things that agree with the awful predictions the depression/anxiety monster makes. I want the kid saving starfish to save “that one” without it immediately being eaten by a seagull, damn it. Is that too much to ask?

And it’s not that there’s anything wrong with grimdark, or fiction where the bad guys win, or comedies. It’s that I don’t want them. And I don’t want to be tricked into seeing/reading them. Too much fiction gets off on tricking its audience these days. Which is why I have a lot of trouble trusting fiction. I want to know what I’m going to get, and outside of things I’ve consumed before and fanfic (which is, conveniently, tagged), I just can’t be sure. Maybe it is what it says on the tin, or maybe the creator is one of those assholes who gets off on serving people mashed potatoes and gravy disguised as an ice cream sundae.

That, that is what I object to. Being tricked into consuming something bad for me when I’m looking for something good for me. I want to know that the dog lives, I want to know that there’s a happy ending, I want to know that the work of fiction will prove me wrong, not right. Or I want to know ahead of time that it isn’t safe (for me), so that I can not get invested in it. (Reading something for a class, for example. Or going to a movie that is so not my kind of thing with friends. Or, you know, anything by Joss Whedon.)

That’s also probably why I’m so very wary of comedies. Even though my actual sense of humor can be really dark. (No, really. One of the reasons I keep poking at the Dark Meeting mission in SW:TOR - you know, the one where the Agent goes to Darth Jadus’s office for a chat and his “dark blessing”...or a little electrocution if you’re an idiot - is because it is one of the funniest moments in the Agent story. And one of the most horrifying. Like, simultaneously. It’s hilarifying. It’s horrilarious.) … You know, maybe the fact that I found comedies horrifying when I was growing up did something to my sense of humor… Aaaaanyway… *cough* Uh… … Wait, no, actually, that’s a really interesting outlier, because that scene absolutely matches one kind of humor I hate, but in this instance, I actually find it funny. (And it probably isn’t supposed to be.)

Lots of comedies do that. Swap out the expected way things should go for something awful. The child saving starfish doesn’t notice that sharks are eating them, or whatever. Haha. Because you don’t expect it. Because it turned something good into something horrible. Yay. *jazz hands* So why, when I universally hate that shit in comedies, do I find that SW:TOR scene funny? (And terrible. But still funny.) Is it because the Agent’s “arrogance” gets themselves hurt, not someone or something else? Is it because it doesn’t actually break genre, it’s just a reminder that you are playing a villain’s henchman instead of a hero? … It’s that. That’s it. That’s why it’s funny! It’s like being wrong genre savvy, but it’s wrong part savvy! It’s not that something unexpectedly awful happens. It’s that something expectedly awful happens, but it’s surprising because you forgot your actual role. Oh ho!

(Yeah, this is pretty much Mac’s random fictional epiphanies: the post.)

In any event, I want fiction that proves me wrong. Or, rather, I want fiction that proves my mental illnesses wrong.

And sometimes I have a very weird sense of humor. While also not getting (or hating) a lot of comedy. And spending a fair amount of time at work cheering up my coworkers by making them laugh. Comedy: even when you’re really, really picky about it, it’s the last refuge of the depressed and anxious.

#long post #Mac vs fiction #Mac has several epiphanies about what they like and why #Mac also has really bad depression and anxiety #mental health talk

[bbrandy2002]

My Love

Chapter 5: No Air

Series Premise: With a six week old daughter, Liam finds himself suddenly widowed. When the Royal Council demands he find a new queen and endure another social season, he gets a little help from someone unexpected–his late wife.

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Warnings: Implied thoughts of suicide.

—————-

Liam stirred mashed potatoes around his plate; making careless trails of tine grooves that ran across his plate into his roast lamb and asparagus. He could hear Drake speaking to him about a new development on the boardwalk–but wasn’t really listening. While he nodded and gave a half hearted smile so that his friend didn’t think he was rude, Liam lifts his glass of scotch, taking two quick sips, wishing to hell it would finally numb his tortured mind and take him away for a few hours.  Normally, the drink would leave him refreshed and relaxed, perhaps even incapacitated, yet he hadn’t felt its much desired effects since that night. The night he worked late while his wife tantalized him with texts of want and desire for him. The night he kissed every inch of her velvety, smooth skin and their bodies intertwined with unspeakable passion and devotion to one another. The night death stealthily entered into his bedroom, robbed him mercilessly of every truth he ever believed in and left behind nothing but bitter lies. It was the night Liam watched his purpose and meaning drift away into nothing. 

There is no perfect way to explain how it feels to lose someone. Liam dreaded being asked several times each day by friends and staff, how he was doing. How am I doing? 

He pondered that If all the great minds in the world can’t explain what love is, how does one properly define a loss. 

How do you tell people your heart was literally ripped out of your chest without rhyme or reason, leaving a void so painful that life was no longer something you desired. How do you answer that truthfully and not leave them feeling monsterous for asking. It’s a mindless question really, because in all honesty they want a false answer. He was fine. 

It had been exactly four weeks since Riley died. Four agonizing weeks of loneliness and sorrow- the kind a person will never fully heal from.  Liam’s face had grown paler and his eyes were sunken from lack of sleep and appetite. His tall, muscular frame was just starting to show evidence of wasting away and if one didn’t know better, might say he was ten years older than he actually was. He had grown irritable, withdrawn, and found no pleasure in things he typically enjoyed. If not for Ellie, who was quite possibly the only thing keeping him somewhat together now, he seriously contemplated the merits of pursuing the ultimate Shakespearean ending. 

As he prodded the asparagus and slid it back off his fork, he tried to imagine what Riley was doing at this exact moment. Liam believed in an afterlife; he wasn’t sure exactly what it entailed, but imagined a place where his wife was surrounded by beauty and color his mortal eyes couldn’t begin to imagine. Was she dancing carelessly through a field of her favorite lilies while her laughter carried a melody so sweet and magnificent, the angels were envious? He knew she didn’t have any close family, but perhaps his mother was keeping her company while they exchange funny stories of Liam’s mishaps and clownery.  Does she even remember me? 

No matter how glorious or wonderful her time might be there, one fact remained: there was a chasm that separates him from the greatest love he’s ever known. Until he would be able to break through that barrier himself, he would never feel whole again. Riley was his life and without her, he surmised, he no longer existed.

As he stared at the disarray of intermingled food on his plate, Ellie’s soft cry ripped him from his thoughts. Before he could lift the cloth napkin from his lap to attend to his daughter,  Drake was already up from his chair across from Liam, unhooking the baby from her glider and bouncing her on his chest. This wasn’t anything surprising; if it hadn’t been Drake, it would have been Hana or Maxwell. Liam wasn’t sure if they realized he had caught on to their patterns of, ‘just dropping by’, visits, while attending to his every need and want. Even if he wanted to be left alone, which in large part he did, those three friends most likely used the opportunity to heal themselves of the heavy hearts they were feeling too.

Drake, the ever proud godfather, handed the little girl to her daddy and grabbed an already prepared bottle from the refrigerator to heat up. 

“So, what do you think Neville’s plans are for this emergency council meeting tomorrow?” Drake asked, while he placed the bottle into the warmer and leaned back into the counter waiting for it to finish.

Liam let out a heavy sigh. “You know Lord Neville as well as I do-”  He bent over to pick up the rattle Ellie dropped on the floor and placed it back inside her tiny little hand. “I’m sure whatever it is he wants will likely end with me trying to pamper his spoiled ass and you wanting to kick it.”

Drake knit his brows with a chuckle. “Heh. I do find kicking that nutsack’s ass to be one of my favorite pastimes. Right after drinking my weight in whiskey, moping around the palace on your dime and pounding the hell out of myself to a picture of Madeleine.”

Liam’s face twisted as he stopped rocking Ellie for a moment to let Drake’s words sink in. Did he really just say that about himself? The more time he had to think about them, the funnier it became to him. 

“Drake-” He chortled with amusement. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Drake smirked and started to respond when the warmer beeped, letting him know it was ready. He grabbed the bottle, checking the temperature on his wrist and handed it over to Liam. “That’s usually the kind of ‘Drake Walker’ jokes,” he emphasized with air quotes, “Liv tells that makes the group laugh … thought you could use one. Looks like it worked too, since that’s the first time you’ve laughed or even smiled since …” 

With that unfinished quip, an awkward silence began.  Drake rubbed the back of his neck, feeling terrible for bringing up Riley’s death. Even if he didn’t actually utter those words, the smile that instantly faded from Liam’s face before he turned away from him, told Drake all he needed to know. 

Later that evening, after Drake left, Liam gave Ellie her bath and put her down for the night. With the baby monitor in hand, he stepped out onto the living room balcony-just as he had done every night for the past four weeks- to talk with his beloved. With a full, spring moon overhead, he could see her place of rest clearly and mused how the mound of dirt before her newly placed headstone was beginning to flatten out. Liam leaned against the railing, as he did every night and told her how much he loved her and missed her. He spoke about his day with Ellie and how it must have been Drake’s turn to spend time with them. 

Liam placed both elbows on the cool, concrete railing, clasped his hands together and rested his forehead on them. “My Love, I want to be where you are.” He lifted his head from his hands and glanced upwards toward the stars. “I’ve thought about it a million times since you left. All it would take is one pill and then you and I can reunite … be together forever.” 

Liam dropped his hands over the railing and rubbed the tips of his fingers along the roughened grooves of concrete. The scent of lavender from Ellie’s shampoo still clung to his hands and traveled with the breeze. He let out a heavy breath. “I’m stuck between two great loves though. You’re there and Eliie and I are here and I can’t leave her … I’m just …  really missing my other girl tonight.”

In the silence, Liam turned when he heard the calling out of his name from the living room. He rubbed the dust off his hands and elbows and made his way back inside to find Ellie’s nanny coming in for the night. It was the first time she would be spending the night there. Liam would be returning to his full time duties in the morning and an early morning, emergency council meeting meant her services were needed more frequently now. 

Rolling a suitcase through the foyer towards the stairs, she stops immediately to curtsy when she sees Liam.

“Your Majesty.”

He motioned with the monitor in his hand to the stairs. “Ellie’s been asleep for 20 minutes. I would imagine she will be out for another few hours and the staff prepared your accommodations earlier. Is there anything you need before I retire for the night”

She rolled her suitcase back and forth as she thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. I have everything I need right here,” she patted her suitcase with a playful smile.

Liam thanked the young, brunette and carried the luggage to her room at the top of the stairs. Once the door was shut, he drifted slowly to his bedroom. He had been in there several times, however, this was the first night he would sleep in the bed he’d shared with his wife. Obviously, his hand was forced in that decision; he couldn’t remain in Ellie’s room with the nanny coming and going throughout the night. It was time to face his fears.

After he showered, Liam perused his closet for the suit he would wear in the morning. He wanted something loose, but also knew that Neville had something up his sleeves and wanted to ensure his look didn’t allow the slimy bastard to think he could best him. While contemplating his options between the blue tie and black tie with the suit jacket he chose, a peculiar thought crosses his mind. 

Liam exits the closet after tossing the black tie over the hanging suit and leaves the bedroom. He walks back down the hall and stops in front of Amanda’s door and raises his hand to knock.

“Amanda! Open the door!”

He could hear faint scurrying inside and the closing of a dresser drawer.

“I said open the door, now!”

Amanda opened the door a few seconds later with a shocked, but puzzled expression. “Is there something wrong, Your Majesty.”

Liam gives her a questioning look. “How did you get in my quarters tonight?”

Flustered, she furrowed her brows. “What?”

He placed his hand on the barely opened door and pushed it in a little further.  “How in the hell did you get in my quarters tonight.” He asks again while peeking over her shoulder suspiciously.

Amanda let go of the door and under the watchful of the King, walked to the desk drawer of the guest room, opened it and pulled out a key ring. She held it up in front of her and jiggled it nervously. “Queen Riley gave me the key. After she had the baby, it was easier for me to have one when she needed me to drop by and she was nursing. I … I didn’t think it would be an issue to use it again since I’m caring for Eleanor now.”

Liam dropped his head and rubbed his thumbs over his tired and puffy eyes. Without knowing who killed his wife, everyone and everything suddenly became suspicious to him. He was edgy with everyone and completely annoyed by the lack of of lead yet.

 “My apologies for scaring you … I’m just … a little questioning of everyone. I don’t know who I can trust anymore.” 

Amanda placed the key ring back in the drawer and walked back before Liam at the door. She placed her hand on his arm and slightly squeezed with an understanding nod. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, sir. I want whoever took my dear friend away found also and if you need to question me to feel some reassurance, I completely understand.”

After he apologized once more for interrupting her nightly routine, he bid her goodnight and left her be. She turned the lock on her door and crossed the room into her own personal bathroom. As she stood before the large mirror that clung to the bathroom wall, she grabbed her toothbrush and looked at her reflection with a sinister smirk formed on her lips. She winked at herself in the mirror and gave herself a gleeful smile. “This is too easy and it’s only just begun. You haven’t seen anything yet … My King”

________

Liam glared at the bed he had not slept in since Riley passed away. His heart was pounding faster than he could ever recall; he had reached an anxiety level that was insurmountable. After several minutes of trying to control his breathing and his shaky hands, he finally pulled the duvet down and eased himself slowly onto the bed. Liam lowered himself down and tossed the blanket over himself and adjusted his head on the pillow.

After staring at the ceiling for several minutes, he knows he can’t do this. The bed felt so hollow and empty and was a constant reminder of her touch, her scent, her missing place on the other side of him. 

Liam rose from the bed and walked to her vanity in the corner of the room and grabbed a bottle of her perfume. Standing over her pillow, he sprays a generous helping on it and places the bottle back on her night stand. Trying once more, he crawls back into the bed, grabs her pillow, and snuggles his body and face into it. It wasn’t the same-it would never be the same-but it was all he had. “Goodnight, My Love.”

Just as his body and mind began to feel some comfort, he heard the small cries of Ellie followed by an unmistakable voice come through the baby monitor, that shot his eyes open quickly.”

“Baby mine don’t you cry. Baby mine dry your eyes …”

Liam threw the blankets off his body and twisted around to snatch the monitor from the table beside his bed. He placed the device to his ear, not sure if what he heard was what he thought he did.  He held his breath as the all too familiar voice carried through it and prayed it wasn’t a dream.

“It can’t … can it?”

Still carrying the monitor to his ear, he runs out of his room and across the hall to Ellie’s nursery. He stands before the door and braces himself for the possibilities that lie beyond it.

He carefully twists the door handle, still hearing the sniffles of his infant daughter and a song he hadn’t heard sung in a month.

His blue eyes widen with anticipation and he can feel the blood rush away from his eager mind as the door swung open.

He lets out a small gasp as the baby’s room becomes visible and immediately drops to his knees.

"Riley?”

#trh #king liam #choices the stories you play #trr #liam x mc #choices trr #trr fanfic #bbrandy2002

[starside-selfships]

Homecoming

Tonight was certainly not in my favor for the most part. To bring you up to speed, it was homecoming night for my younger brother, along with his friends, and I was an unpaid chauffeur for them. Whether I said yes or no to my mom, which the latter would result in a scolding, I would still be driving, whether I liked it or not. I had plans to meet up with someone tonight and now, unfortunately, I had to cancel those plans. Wonderful. So much for treating myself. Saying yes to avoid any conflict between my mother and I, I was driving my brother and his group of boys and girls, one of them most likely his significant other, to the nearby high school, the same one where I graduated from, but I don’t think any of that really mattered. Sure, there were going to be people there that recognized me, but it’s not like I planned on going inside to dance or mingle. Don’t get me wrong, I was gussied up for the occasion, but with how tonight was already progressing, going inside to try and get into the groove was not on my agenda. Little did I know that I was going to be completely wrong. 

We were nearing the school as I was in the driver’s seat and I focused on the road as best I could, overhearing the conversation in the back amongst the group of seniors about how my brother was probably going to get laid or something, followed by a roar of laughter. While he was of age, as am I, I didn’t think I would be hit with a strong dose of discomfort hearing those words coming out of their mouths. Yeah, they were in high school so it made sense for them to say stuff like that. Already I began to question this night before my thoughts started to shift towards a particular someone that made my smile return after it had been gone for hours. A demon, or imp rather, down in hell that no one knew, except for a few of my closest friends who I knew could definitely keep a secret, had my heart and more. My smile remained small, but it was genuine, a chuckle eliciting from me as I continued to drive and within seconds of starting to think about him, I noticed my phone vibrating in the front passenger seat out of the corner of my eye. Look, I am, and I quote from one of my favorite content creators, a “good fucking citizen” and I would never risk my life or others because of a single text message. However, this wasn’t a single text. Whoever was trying to reach me was literally trying to nuke my phone for I counted the vibrations from listening closely to them. I didn’t bother picking up my phone so I just counted. 1...2...3...4...5...not even five minutes and I’ve somehow counted 23 and rising text messages being sent to my phone. Was it that urgent or was someone just spamming me with nonsense because I can’t remember the last time I was spammed like that and my memory is on point, not to brag or anything.

Upon pulling into one of the many parking lots of the high school, my brother and his friends began unbuckling themselves from their seats and after setting the SUV into “park”, they all got out one by one, on both sides, putting on their masks. I forgot to mention that this homecoming had a theme, which was “Monster Mash”, so zombies, mummies, your usual batch of monsters from all types of media of course, along with the special monsters that only one or two people only knew and were ready to discuss and talk about at a moment’s notice. As much as I wanted to sit in the car, I knew I was going to have to go in at some point, so earlier today, I decided I was going as a werewolf, picking up a fitting mask from the city’s costume store, but instead of just having a mask and calling it a day, it evolved into something more homemade. I spent several extra hours turning my tux into a more fitting and lycanthrope-themed outfit, dark fur lining the edges and front of my suit, outfitting myself with wolf ears and covering my face in blood to represent claw marks. Thankfully, I remembered that I had an old wolf tail, cleaning it up and hoping that the appearance was pleasing to the eye in some way and to my surprise, it certainly was. Not like anyone was going to care honestly, but you know, what’s wrong with a little bit of effort, even if no one’s going to notice?

“You’re not coming?” My brother questioned as he reached for his mask and was about to head inside with the others, earning a shake of my head as a response.

“We’ll see, you go have fun, okay?” I said, seeing him run off back to this squad and closing the car door as I rested my head on the back of my seat and sigh heavily. Finally, no one could hear or see me cry, the lights on the inside roof of the car beginning to slowly dim, shutting off completely and leaving me in darkness. “Fuck.” I whispered, trying not to choke on my tears thanks to the numerous thoughts clouding my head, many of them were memories of my high school days and how they all just generally sucked. I’m going to spare you of the details, but in short, I was a teacher’s pet who did good, had good grades, and tried so hard not to get caught up in a relationship since, well, at the time I wasn’t into anyone and nor was anyone into me. Looking back at it, I’ve never been hit with an intense pain in my life. But then, my thoughts were interrupted by another vibration. “Alright, who’s trying to nuke my phone?” I told myself as I reached over and grabbed my phone in frustration, turning the screen on and discovering that the imp himself had been sending me a flood of messages, alongside his employees, including the hellhound. “Wait, what?” I was stunned, why was I getting all these messages from I.M.P? Unlocking my phone and going through the wave of texts and images, most of them being from Blitzo, I checked the ones belonging to Millie, Loona, and Moxxie first, working my way up from there.

Millie “Hey Eli!” “Just wanted to say that I hope tonight is great for you and Blitzo!” “He has a really big surprise for you!” “Have fun you two!”

Loona “Elijah” “Heard ya weren’t feeling great” “Shit sucks but Blitz has a surprise for you later tonight” “Ain’t saying shit, but I hope you have fun” “You deserve it, alright?”

Moxxie “Dear Elijah, I certainly hope your night is swell. I overheard from my boss that it wasn’t going as planned and not to spoil anything, but he has a surprise for you later tonight. Have fun!” “p. s it’ll be a nice break from him interfering with my relationship with Millie.”

And now, all that there was left to check was Blitzo, I didn’t bother holding back my tears. Who was going to watch? Most of his texts were pictures of him looking for an outfit, getting help from a smiling Millie, annoyed Moxxie, and a Loona who looked like she didn’t really care. That’s what the realization hit me soon after. I didn’t want to believe it, but I looked through every single text again and yeah, sure enough, it was real. The imp was my date. Blitzo was my homecoming date. Another text, the last one from Blitzo for the night it seemed, sounding ominous of course.

“See ya soon, Eli. XOXO”

My smile returned once again as I regained my thoughts, clearing my head and doing my best to ignore all the negative and previous ones that arrived earlier tonight, replacing all of them with one: the fact that the imp that nearly killed me by accident was my homecoming date. The two of us have talked and spent a lot of time together, but who would’ve thought that he would be the one I would fall for and make my better in a way like this? Yeah, I was into him the most out of everyone at I.M.P. Of course, Millie and Moxxie were married and Loona, I’ll be honest, she was someone who appeared that she wasn’t too keen on dating. Blitzo, on the other hand, ever since the two of us met with him pounced over my body with a double barrel shotgun aimed directly at my face, we’re never been closer. That story about how we met is a real doozy, but it’s certainly for another time.

After waiting a little longer, I finally left the vehicle and locked the doors, stuffing the keys in my pocket and trading it for my phone, holding the mask in my other hand, my body on fire at the constant, recurring thought that wasn’t leaving anytime soon, one that pushed all the others away, a splendid thought that was the only thing I could think of. Before I knew it, I was at the front doors of the school and I followed the couples and groups, most likely students, towards the gym, looking at my phone and expecting a text, but instead, just silence. I guess all I needed to do was wait for him, and that’s what I did as I was greeted with the sound of deep bass rumbling through my body thanks to the booming speakers, along with the bright spotlights that moved around at a rapid pace, mixed with multiple multicolored strobe lights. It was a party alright. With the song that was playing as well, it was a fitting one with the theme. And lost in this party, I assumed, was a neatly dressed imp waiting for me. I walked along the edge of the gym, avoiding the growing crowd of dancers and hoping to possibly run into Blitzo at some point, only to be stopped by, unsurprisingly, one of my high school teachers. 

“Elijah, is that you? Hey kid, what brings you here?!” She asked, leaning against the wall with a drink, a red cup, yes a red cup, and wrapped in a mummy outfit, bandages covering her body, along with one eye while the other was perfectly visible.

“Just chaperoning for my brother and his friends.” I answered, which was half the truth, but how could I explain that I was waiting for my demonic plus one?

“For a chaperone, you fit in right with the crowd, nice outfit! Did you make it yourself?”

 “Yeah, I did actually.”

 “I always knew you were one of the more creative ones in the class and it shows, awesome job!” I found myself getting blushy rather quickly at her compliment, rubbing the back of my head as I continued the conversation and it soon turned into one where my heart began to race rapidly. “So, tell me, do you have a date?” I wanted to lie, but then again, I was unsure of Blitzo was my date, or even if I wanted to say he was to others, so I took a deep breath and tried to make up my mind quickly.

“Yeah, I do, he’s a bit late though, it might be a while before he gets here.”

“Who said I was late?” The imp said, grabbing ahold of my shoulder gently and wanting me to turn around so I did, my eyes meeting his and I could see that his were that wickedly bright yellow, with a hint of red in the middle. Sinister, but always a joy to look at. “Hey, cutie.” I was about to open my mouth to compliment his outfit, resembling Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas, from top to bottom, only for my teacher to butt in. This was going to be a joy.

“Oooooh, and who might this be, Elijah?! He must learn from the best because his costume’s amazing!” This was going to be a real interesting night. I was already contemplating on going back to the car.

 “The name’s Blitzo, pronounced Blitz and the O is silent, also known as this handsome guy’s boyfriend.” He said, greeting himself to-

...HOLD UP, WAIT A MINUTE. Did he just say boyfriend? Was I hearing that correctly? I wasn’t crazy, right?

“The name’s Blitzo, the O is silent, also known as this handsome guy’s boyfriend.” He said, greeting himself to-wait a minute, did he just say boyfriend? Did I hear that correctly? I wasn’t crazy, right?

“Well, Blitzo, it was really nice to meet you. Elijah was, and still is, one of my best students, creative too, you’re a lucky one.”

“Oh, trust me,” He looked over at me, a look that read ‘I love you’, his eyes appearing as if he was going to cry, but his smile was wide. “I know.” He was being completely truthful with her and myself. Not a single word he said was a lie, at least that’s what I believed. Something told me that it was true, every single word was honest and straight from the heart. “Let’s go dance, yeah?” He said softly towards me, earning a soft nod in reply and so, the two of us made our way to the dance floor. I was so nervous to ask him a single question with a plentiful rushing through my head. “Shocked, huh? Don’t be, Elijah. I know the two of us have been together for some time and I may have heard from a little birdie that you were going to be helping out your brother for some dance.” I reminisced on when I remember talking about the homecoming dance and then it hit me.

“Damn it, Angel.”

“C’mon, you missed me. You’re glad she told me too.”

“Yeah, I did. But, like, didn’t you have some more important stuff, like work? And your horse to take care of?”

“Oh, don’t worry. Work’s slow and boring and Moxxie’s watching over her so, I’m free for the night! What better way to spend my night with my new boyfriend too?” He said, pressing his lips against my cheek and sending my heart sky high, my hand on his beginning to clench. “Easy cowboy, it was just a kiss. We haven’t even gotten to the good stuff, you know.” Okay, now he was just trying to get me flustered really early. We made jokes about that stuff, but was he being serious? About all of this?

“I was actually going to ask about that. Do you, like, you’re actually interested in me, right?” He stopped in his tracks and the two of us were halted together, surrounded by multiple dancing groups and couples, I could sense the music that was once pounding in my ears beginning to die out, soon Blitzo’s voice was the only thing I could hear. “All those times we’ve been together, from the day you were in my bed ready to kill me and only to discover you were in the wrong house to all those times we’ve spent in Hell and on the surface, to that one time you were actually full-on naked in my bed and I was nearly caught, you’re being honest with me, right?”

“Elijah,” Blitzo began, reaching for my other hand to hold it tight, gazing into my eyes and I soon lost myself in them, my focus and attention being grabbed and held by him and him alone. “I’m being one hundred percent honest with you. If I killed you, I would’ve missed a chance like this and, god fucking dammit, I’m trying not to cry here.”

“Trust me, I’ve already done that tonight, you’re good.” I joked, the two of us laughing as his claw-like hands gripped mine.

“But yeah, I’m serious. From the bottom of my heart, Elijah. No bullshit. I love you. Yeah, you’re a human and I nearly killed you, but that night I met you and nearly blew your brains out, was probably the fucking day of my whole eternal suffering, as they usually say. That’s, that’s what they say, right?” Hearing that filled my heart with an intense amount of joy and soon, I felt my worries wash away. Who would’ve thought that I would not only fall in love with a demon below the surface of this Earth, but an imp who was not only charming, but skilled at his profession? A professional that was basically assassination. Then again, he just straight up kills anyone he’s paid to kill alongside the other three. “You can cry all you want, okay?” I didn’t want to, especially in front of Blitzo.

“Oh, shut up. I love you too.” I said, earning a nice laugh from him. Moments later, the music shifted from the usual extremely bumping and loud beat into something more mellow, but you could still dance to. A song that people weren’t really a fan of, but for me, and surprisingly Blitzo, it was perfect. To my surprise, the imp knew the damn lyrics.

Oh, don’t you dare look back Just keep your eyes on me. I said, you’re holding back. He said, shut up and dance with me! This demon is my destiny. He said, ooh-ooh-hoo! Shut up and dance with me!

The two of us followed suit and already had the floor so who was gonna stop us? No one was certainly going to stop Blitzo and for me, I was already lost in the moment, I could only see Blitzo and I losing ourselves in the music together, singing and dancing along. No distractions or disturbances as we let loose. Unbeknownst to me, the crowd around us had cleared and it was just me and Blitzo dancing to the beat with a silent audience cheering on a human and his boyfriend, unaware that he was truly a demon. I didn’t care about any of that mess now, I was overjoyed to be dancing with my imp boyfriend under the moving spotlight, the two of us grabbing the attention of all the other costumed people standing by and watching us. It didn’t even feel like they were there.

Deep in his eyes I think I see the future I realize this is my last chance! He took my arm I don’t know how it happened We took the floor and he said…

Oh, don’t you dare look back Just keep your eyes on me I said, you’re holding back He said, shut up and dance with me This demon is my destiny He said, ooh-ooh-hoo! Shut up and dance!

The final chorus continued to play and the two of us were going at it, I could sense and hear quiet cheers and wolf whistles, yet Blitzo’s voice filled my ears and drowned it all out.

Ooh-hoo, shut up and dance with me!

And just like that, the music halted and the two of us were in a bit of a position, me dipping and holding his body down, our eyes locked onto each other, the crowd coming back to life with a roar of an applause. They witnessed everything and as much as I wanted to look around and see everyone, Blitzo kept my face looking directly at his. “Hey, don’t focus on them. It’s okay.” I smiled down at him and nodded, the music shifting back into something more exciting and full of life and sending the crowd’s back onto the floor.

 “I didn’t know you were so good at dancing, Blitzo.” I said, complimenting him on his dancing and wondering where he picked that up, then again, it hit me that he’s been bugging a married couple for Satan knows how long, and he’s been on the surface a few times.

 “You go around, you know some folks, you pick up some new things, learn a few tricks.” There was a small moment of silence. “Alright, I picked it up from Moxx and Mills.” I had a feeling. Right as I was about to say something while bringing back up onto his feet, I was the one to be dipped this time and caught off guard. “Now pucker up, cutie~” And with that, Blitzo kissed me sweetly and passionately, my vision getting blurry as my eyes fluttered and my heart was more soothed and relaxed. I will admit that Blitzo has kissed me on numerous occasions, but this was something he never pulled or did and it was immensely surprisingly and completely satisfying. I didn’t want to ruin the moment at all. In fact, I wanted to make it even better. So I decided to surprise Blitzo with something up my sleeve, slipping my tongue into his mouth and catching him off guard, only for our tongues to collide and intertwine with each other, his claws yanking and gripping me closer to his body, our lips still locked together for a good couple of seconds and right as we finally pulled away, there was an embarrassing amount of saliva attached to my lips and his, a dark blush hitting both our faces. “Well, that was, I wasn’t expecting you to do that.”

“Yeah, wasn’t expecting that kiss either, heh.” The silence between us was high but was soon broken with Blitzo speaking up again.

“Alright, I’m just gonna say it. I know you’re probably thinking it too, are you going to make love to me already or what?” My eyes widened in surprise, my body heating up in response and while I was expecting a lewd comment or question, he was just completely straightforward with it, no hints, or riddles, just straight from the head.

“C-Can we go to the car now, like, right now?” I asked, hoping he could sense the desperateness in my voice, along with the look of lust in my eyes. Yeah, he definitely saw it, without a doubt. That smile of his, how he licked his lips in front of me, shooting a sexy glare at me, tonight was going to be a ride, in more ways than one as Blitzo swiftly picked me up in his arms and carried me towards the car bridal-style, grabbing a few eyeballs as he did.

“Of course~” We soon made our way outside and Blitzo finally set me down, not even bothering to look around if there were any watchers who were late to the party, as if he were planning something.

“Something wrong?” He didn’t reply with a vocal answer, but instead, what came next was what made this entire night probably the best homecoming ever. I’m going to spare the details, but what came next was pretty saucy.

Sometime Later…

I found myself rising out of bed to the sight of several dimmed lights and within seconds, the awareness hit me hard. I wasn’t at home. I was in Blitzo’s home. “Morning, sleepyhead.” The imp to my side greeted, not wearing anything like me as I hid myself under the sheets. I half-expected him to be dressed in some cute horse-themed pjs, but no, he was full-on naked under the sheets, his legs touching mine.

“Hey, Blitzo. I, umm, should I ask how I got here?” I questioned, preparing myself for the story that Blitzo had to tell, this should be good.

“Before you ask, because I have a feeling that’s the first thing you’re thinking about, your brother and his friends are fine. They got home safely and then I brought you down here to rest!” Blitzo explained, my eyes widening in fear at the idea of what he could’ve possibly done.

“For the love of God, Blitzo, please tell me the car’s in one piece. Please tell me no one got hurt.” I begged, shaking in anticipation, and not even hearing the room door open as I turned to see Moxxie come in.

“Actually, I helped drive,” The other imp claimed. “Not to be rude towards your new boyfriend, Elijah, but I had a very strong feeling that if my boss were to drive, it wouldn’t be pleasant. That and he introduced himself and the rest of us to your brother and friends.” Blitzo, you did not. You did fucking not.

“What, they were nice!”

“Sir, excuse my language, but you fucking scared them!” When Moxxie said those words, I didn’t even want to imagine how he scared and possibly scared them for life.

“Oh my God, Blitzo, why…”

“Don’t worry about it, Eli, you’re lucky I didn’t tell them about our little love-making session.”

“Sir, that’s WAY too much information.”

I didn’t know how to feel exactly with my brother knowing about Blitzo and the others, but as the conversation between him and Moxxie continued, I couldn’t help but think about that night, what I experienced with Blitzo and the things we did together, how he confessed his love and then made love to me. It felt unreal to think about knowing that the imp I spent the most time with actually liked me that way. That’s when I smiled and felt really glad that night ended up being in my favor.

#star's notebook #otp: satisfied client #I LEFT OUT THE SMUT #I'LL SHARE THAT LATER #THERE IS SOME SUGGESTIVE STUFF BUT I WILL TAG IT AS #ns//ft #ALSO ITS A LONG ONE #WITH THE SMUT ITS LIKE 5K WORDS #I DIDN'T THINK I WROTE THAT MUCH BUT DAMN #I ALSO GOT A BIT EXCITED GOING THROUGH THIS AND PROOFREADING IT #THERE MAY BE A COUPLE OF ERRORS AND IM SORRY #blitzo #helluva boss #self ship fic

[the-roanoke-society]

i was working in the lab late one night...

when my eyes beheld an eerie sight...

welcome to the final post of horror aus for halloween 2020! i hope you all enjoyed the ride. i apologize for not having everything ready on halloween like i originally planned. remember that the inbox and dms are always open for questions, comments and concerns. if you missed them, here are parts one, two and three. all warnings still apply, so be forewarned.

i know things are scary right now. but to quote the infamous n. gaiman: fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.

take it from me when i say that we outnumber the monsters of this world--and more importantly, take heart.

click below the cut if you, too, like doing the monster mash (no offense but it is kind of a graveyard smash...)

there’s bloodstains beneath the carpet - a ∆ au inspired by the super, co-starring technical officer drake and @agents-of-virtue​'s agent annabelle

it was a new start. for both drew and matthew. a new city, shining with opportunities and adventure. they had no shortage of hope--but maybe did have a little shortage of cash.

all the same, the knox-edwards boarding house wasn’t that bad. grimy and with a level of grunge akin to a garage band circa 1995, sure, but nothing unbearable.

but as drew was stuck in the hallway holding up their couch, matthew trying to figure out who needed to pivot and in what direction in order to not have furniture stuck in the doorway, he overheard it:

“what? another one? are you serious?”

two people were walking down the hallway, and they didn’t look to be much older than himself, or matthew. a man and woman, close together, as if they were conspiring.

“wait, drew, i think i got it, turn left a little bit--”

“as a heart attack. that makes it four people in three months. i’m telling you bekah, something fuckin’ weird in goin’ on here. people don’t just up and vanish from their own homes, and--oh!”

“drew! are you listening to me? turn it left!”

oh shit. oh shit. don’t act like you were obviously eavesdropping, maybe they didn’t notice...

“drew!”

“hi!”

welp. all right. be cool.

“uh--hello!” but he yelped when matthew unexpectedly let go of the couch, and it landed on the ground with a hard thud.

but drew was still processing what he heard. four people in three months? what did that mean?

mini soundtrack sampler includes: rockwell, ‘somebody’s watching me’ + absofacto, ‘dissolve’ + barns courtney, ‘99′

won’t you cut me down? - a second chances au inspired by seven in heaven

joan, normally, wasn’t so forward. at least, not a society-thrown event where multiple agencies were represented, and especially not when he knew lilith was around and not above reprimanding an agent in front of god and everyone else in the room.

but he’d had quite a bit to drink.

the evening was winding down.

and josie... josie was breathtaking.

he couldn’t help it.

“joan--joan!” she laughed as he turned her, taking her elbow and leading her down a hallway close to one of the larger coat closets. “what are you d--”

her voice cut off abruptly to the tune of joan’s mouth on hers, and the closing of a closet door.

joan didn’t stop to think about how this particular door wasn’t room he distinctly remembered. he was tipsy and enamored and his wife consumed his senses. he didn’t care.

but he did care a while later, after they’d made themselves presentable again and opened the door to a manor that was much, much quieter than he was expecting.

and josie felt it too.

it was an odd sensation, to feel that he’d stepped out of one place and into another entirely.

josie asked quietly, “where... where did everyone go?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: jack white, ‘i’m shakin’‘ + konrad old money & sleep steady, ‘rage’ + k. flay, ‘blood in the cut’

my hands are growing colder - an inverse functions au inspired by eli

ginny knew erik wasn’t broken. she would rather have faced down a demon or some unholy thing sprung out of the gate than ever describe him like that.

but he was--unique.

beyond the understanding of most medical doctors, at least. even aly and caroline were struggling to treat his symptoms. it was like he’d become allergic to everything around him over the course of just a few days. his symptoms were sudden, severe, and left her nervous.

it wasn’t just allergies. she knew that. and if she had to seek help outside of the society, then so be it. all that mattered to her was seeing him brought back to health.

and late one night, during a despair-fueled search through some files in the archives that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years, she found a name: dr. isabella horn.

the fact that lacey, who’d been overseeing the roanoe medical wards for ages, hadn’t heard of her, should have been a warning.

but desperate times call for desperate measures.

the next day, they were on their way to a facility in the middle of the midwest--though ‘facility’ wasn’t quite the right word. it looked more like a mansion, with nothing but wheat fields all around as far as they eye could see. the horizon was only broken by the occasional oil derrick.

and they were surprised when they had to be buzzed through pressurized, completely sterile chambers to even get inside.

but there, right at the front of the welcoming committee, was a woman with dark eyes, and an easy smile.

“good afternoon! you must be ginny and erik, welcome. i’m dr. horn.”

but ginny didn’t trust her grin.

and that should have been the second warning.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: stevie wonder, ‘superstitious’ + the killers, ‘when you were young’ + the revivalists, ‘wish i knew you’

i saw your bones on the road - a pastel goth au inspired by the silence

meli would look back on it and realize with no small sense of irony how loud it was when it began.

the screaming, the terror. how she blasted her spotify on her furious drive to guiliana’s house in the blessedly quiet suburbs, eyes constantly searching the sky. she knew that the responsible thing to do would be to listen to the coverage on the radio, but honestly? she’d heard enough. she had more than half a brain, and she knew exactly what to do.

get her girlfriend and head--okay, maybe she didn’t know exactly what to do.

but giuliana was smart. they’d figure it out together.

the government didn’t know what they were, exactly. nobody did. meli only knew that they were calling them vesps.

it was a word that she mulled over frantically. linguistics was always a welcome distraction. she thought she’d heard it before, but all she could think of was the latin vespere. it roughly translated to ‘from the evening,’ or ‘from the night.’

from the dark.

perhaps that was an apt name.

the sunset had painted the sky in shades that were obnoxiously beautiful given the circumstances, and her jeep lurched in protest as she abruptly slammed the gear shift into park in the glow of guiliana’s porch lights.

in the distance, she could hear shrieking--but not that of human beings.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: mourning ritual, ‘bad moon rising’ + twenty one pilots, ‘ride’ + royal blood, ‘trouble’s coming’

waiting for the vultures - a time traveler’s husband au inspired by the houses october built

it had been dara’s idea.

“oh it’ll be fun! think about it, italy and the states celebrate halloween with way, way different aesthetics. think of this as getting a sampler of how america does it,” she said, sitting in silvano’s lap, charm volume as far up as it would go.

and he agreed. “all right--okay. a grand adventure across the country hitting as many haunted houses as we can.”

“geez, try not to sound too excited.”

he murmured into her shoulder, “i’m mostly excited to spend time with you. but if a road trip through october is what you want, then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

he was rewarded with kisses peppered all over his face and a very excited dara dragging him excitedly to best buy to pick up a camcorder. “what? of course we need a camera! if we record everything then it’s like--i don’t know. like it’s ours. we can go back to it whenever want, and we can show all our friends the cool places we saw when we get home!”

dara hadn’t known then.

she didn’t know it would start with one lone figure in a clown costume standing in front of the rv like he was going to charge at it. she didn’t know that they would end up surrounded, followed. abducted.

it had been dara’s idea.

and she would never forgive herself.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: van halen, ‘runnin’ with the devil’ + the 1975, ‘if you’re too shy (let me know)’ + afi, ‘miss murder’

#seraphim speaks #∆ #agent bracken #technical officer delta #agent annabelle #technical officer drake #second chances #agent nephilim #agent ainsel #inverse functions #technical officer alvinne #technical officer theta #pastel goth #agent agave #agent colombina #the time traveler's husband #agent pantalone #agent umbriel

[fireflythecinnamonjollyrancher]

it’s time for ~a year in review~

JANUARY

ya bitch went to paris and became like good, like REALLY good friends with my current roommates!!! we got to see some really beautiful sights, do some STRANGE things like watch a french indie movie and get fucked up at a french gay party club in the basement of our hostel. i apparently shaved my head again (per the use lets be real)

FEBRUARY

accidentally started my Com capstone like a total moron but took it like a mf champ. got to party at a friends place and watch all of “dont hug me im scared”. made a friend try a grap for the first time (he was a sophomore in college). studied a lot with kelli -- and by studying i mean we mostly bullied each other. WENT TO SEE WATSKY with a super dope friend (sad we fell out of touch but she’s living her best life and im happy for her). also like got to meet george watsky uhm WHAT wild. bullied my college in the snow and also manically shoveled the walk. was a bootlicker for the college and dressed in a taco suit

MARCH

WOOF i got pretty fucked up for capstones cast party and this is where the beginning of the end was for some of my friendships. however, other friendships were being built so im grateful for that. ran lights for a really awesome slam poet. FOUND THE KEY THAT WAS MISSING FROM THE THEATRE (turns out it was Sab whoops). spent a lot of time with someone who is no longer a friend -- her choice, certainly not mine. went home for spring break and took so many pictures of my cat. got selected as stage manager for comedy of errors which was a nightmare of a production but certainly not the worst.

APRIL

became a vegetarian!!!! joined/started the flat earth cult because of comedy. helped randi film her weird videos, which was so much fun! the bat came back to the theatre and Basil and I both saw them. comedy of errors opened and it was intense and i really hated every second. ranted about being in a scene for directing, which means i’d been in it for a second. that shit sucked bros oh my god????? he was never on time, he was so disorganized and didn’t understand his own character. organized a dinner for the cast because they had missed a campus dinner for the show. celebrated my best friends birthday!!!! “I can read!” was on the news with two others for comedy. also presented my capstone research for academic showcase day (i still can’t believe people listened to me rant about birth order)

MAY

more videos! this one was zak bagel bites with again my best friends. was elected president for APO and i couldn’t be more grateful. did a research proposal with a friend and i cannot BELIEVE we’re still friends after it because we really could have killed each other. physically fought the MONSTER that is jess (didn’t actually, really should have). helped two friends fall in love on accident/purpose. was elected as KPY president (damn) and forcibly elected as parliamentarian for LPH. ended my junior year. started work immediately after going home for my dad. mostly answered phones, worked 7:30-5 every day for the whole summer yikes. managed to pass junior year with a 4.0!!!

JUNE

 learned a lil how to quote and did NOT enjoy it. went to PRIDE with my wife and bought my first ace flag. it was actually petrifying to buy and wear, but i have one now which is awesome. holy shit got my first tattoo!!! it has faded a bit now but still looked awesome. it was the beginning of an addiction. picked up an internship at my old theatre company and... deeply regretted it as it pushed my 12 hour days to almost 18 hours. literally fell in love with the music director. 

JULY

a random woman complimented me??? so that was fun. watched after my old band directors kids (they were a nightmare i literally never want kids). got to hike and do all that fun stuff. went to the local county fair

AUGUST

my mom admitted to loving brooke more than me on her birthday (fair). got a card from my office team to celebrate my 21st a lil early. went back for SENIOR YEAR BOYS. got drunk at an old friends place. did marching band. moved in with two of my BEST FRIENDS IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD. took improv with friends which was lit. we even did a whole performance. met a new friend! my other roommate brought in a new kitten (which became a whole thing holy shit). used school sanctioned ipads to dick around. shaved my head againnnn. was sober at a party (woof why). got the drunkest i have ever been and puked everywhere and passed out on the stairs. have not ever reached that level again. also cracked my phone. fully assumed position as president of two clubs. started rhetoric (yucky) and theatre and diversity (also ick but for different reasons)

SEPTEMBER

became NOT sober literally the next day nice. started the MASH group i think??? which is like the only thing im proud of. it was around here. had to pick up a friend whos car broke down. went to pride in a local town with friends!!! that was fun. turned 21!! couldn’t celebrate bc school and stage management, but my two roommates still made sure i had a good time. marching band boys! we did a LONG ASS parade with my cute lil section. did mixers for KPY and APO! had our first football game. held a band rehearsal in the dark because the lights didn’t work which was funny and SO weird. walked to the trains with some really awesome friends. broke into the cemetery and stole a traffic cone and put it on a statue on campus bc mania. went to a friends musical career takeoff and ran her merch table bc the person who was supposed to run it showed up almost an hour late. someone showed up at the lib while i was closing with a friend asking for a place to stay. i hope hes good now. tried omegle again for whatever reason. tried to go to a local diner and was DENIED bc they went from 24 hours to closing at 10pm so i had a mental breakdown in my car at 2am in a McDonalds parking lot. FINALLY got to celebrate my birthday and go to the bars!!! well bar singular. but had a really good time even if those people aren’t really my friends any more

OCTOBER

homecoming boysssss!!!! also ace pride. worked the WORST thing I have ever had to operate in the chapel but the people were nice about it so i was kinda okay. also got to be a part of the dopest percussion show and ran lights and sound for it. rhetoric ended thank christ and i never want to talk about anti-war messages in MASH ever again. finally learned that my best friend has a partner and was ECSTATIC. worked a haunted house which literally sucked so hard but we made bank on it so im okay with it. were robbed (i still have suspicions who did it but ill keep my mouth shut). dressed up as a newsie for halloween, and my roommates and i all took pictures which was awesome. started my internship and movement and stage

NOVEMBER

LAST FOOTBALL GAME got drunk too often probably lol. got an impulse tattoo with my roommates. went to a soccer game. went to the trains drunk and also olive garden. did trauma training so i got to act hysterical (act?). did some KPY bonding. had a hella long saturday with a concert and everything. shot my shot and MISSED. did greek thanksgiving. played DD for someones birthday bc expired license. got my NEW license. had a horrible time driving to and from thanksgiving break. got to hang with my WIFE

DECEMBER

made it home somehow?? did box office for the children’s show as well as publicity which was a lot of work tbh. went on a double date with my roommates and their partner. did the filming for the college christmas card. had an awesome party at our place and i regret nothing. celebrated the moving out of our 4th roommate. worked my last gig at the museum. managed to scrape by again with a 4.0. threw a great party at my place for like 5 days straight (jesus christ). did a horrible puzzle. tried an edible (suffered for it). hiked in the mountains a lil. caught up with high school friends by drinking which was AWESOME. saw Frozen 2. went out with my fam bam. had a great christmas. also threw a new years party (what??? that just got over) and felt like a pretty good hostess (i just provided alcohol lol but it worked) and got to catch up with some great great awesome friends and keep people safe and off the roads for new years. 

all in all a damn good year. its crazy how quickly things change, but im grateful for the place that i am in. can’t wait to graduate this year and see what happens next!!!

#firefly talks #we're already planning a mash party boys #its gonna be a great last semester i cant wait

[loverontheleft]

Sore Winner

By request: here's a prompt Brendon comes out of the bathroom and he appears to be naked; like he's got his dick out you know, then you look down and you realize he is wearing nothing except for bright pink crocs.

-I think you were kidding, but I’m not-

Brendon x reader

Warnings: language, dirty talk, sex, spanking.

Word count: 2.7k

-||-

You’ve been on edge all day.

You woke up and checked your phone and realized what day it was and abject terror instantly struck. Brendon knew it too; he rolled over and took you in his arms, kissing your neck. “Ready for today, my love?” His voice is scratchy with sleep and you could turn in his arms and shove him on his back and sink down between his legs and blow him, just to have him moan your name in that voice - except. Except. Except it’s against the rules.

“Is it the end of the month already?” You asked him breathlessly, hoping for an error, a reprieve, something. He nodded, still kissing your neck and shoulder, fingers running over your side.

“It sure is, Y/n.” He let his tongue caress your earlobe. “And I’m so fucking ready.” He rolled onto his back, stretching and groaning. You watched needily, whimpering as his erection proudly tented the sheets. “I’ve got a really good one this month. I mean, a really good one.” He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “God, this is it. This is my month, I can feel it.”

-||-

You’re downstairs, wandering aimlessly from room to room before dropping onto the couch with a dejected sigh. “Alright, think,” you say aloud, rolling onto your back to ponder. “The rules are simple.” You review them. “Rule one - it has to be the last day of the month and both parties have to be awake. No springing it on them at midnight. Done.” You check it off mentally. “Rule two - anything purchased must be less than ten dollars, receipts available as needed.” Another check; you haven’t bought anything. “Rule three - all parties must still make seduction and sex a priority; no rendering oneself unattractive for the purposes of victory.” Check. “Rule four. No oral sex, but other positions as needed are fine…How the fuck did this even start?” You ask the question to no one; Brendon has been in the studio as soon as you finished breakfast. Brendon. This was all his stupid (yet hilarious) idea.

-||-

“Baby, I have an idea,” Brendon murmured. You turn and kiss him, legs wrapping around his waist, moaning when you feel him hard against you. You reach down and try to guide him into place, thrusting down to take him. You give him a frustrated look when you can’t get more than the head of his cock in you. “Along those lines, yes,” he said with a grin. “I want to play a game.”

“I love games,” you purred, running a fingernail down his chest and squeezing around the tip. “Count me in.”

“Don’t you want to hear the game first?” He gave you a knowing smile. “We have great sex, right?” You nodded, unsure of where this is going. “We always tell the other how sexy we find them, and then follow up with some ridiculous thing to prove our point. For instance, yesterday you told me I could read the phone book and you’d come. No touching, just me reading it aloud would send you over the edge.”

“Yeah…?” You tried to focus but you needed more of his dick in you. You managed to wiggle down and get the head plus a solid inch in your heat, but you needed more.

“I think, once a month, we should each try one ridiculous thing of our choosing and see if we can still make each other come.” He looked pleased with himself and his smile grew when you laughed delightedly. “There will be rules of course. But the main objective is to make the other come while doing or wearing something utterly ridiculous. The first person to come loses.”

-||-

“It was a good idea,” you muse, staring at the ceiling. “Can’t fault him there.” And, you admit to yourself, you’ve had some insane, and insanely hot, sex as a result. But this month Brendon is so confident and you have no idea what to do. You don’t want to lose; nothing happens - there’s no wager or bet or stakes - just bragging rights. But you’re both fiercely competitive and you’ve won the last two months. You’re unwilling to give up your title without a fight. “What the fuck can I do?”

You’re still pondering when Brendon comes in from the backyard and gives you a knowing smirk. “I’m gonna go shower, baby. You should...get in bed.” He must have been playing drums because there’s a sheen of sweat over his face and arms and his shirt is clinging to his chest and his hair is a mess. Good, you think. He’s been hard at work, and the harder he works, the harder, and more, he wants to play after. And if the eye-fucking he just gave you is any indication, he didn’t leave the studio to lose. Wait.

“Fuck.”

-||-

You stand outside the bathroom door, listening closely. “You better not be in there jacking off to keep from coming later,” you warn. He laughs and calls back that while he wouldn’t dream of cheating, he also doesn’t need to cheat to win. Damn. You head for the Halloween closet, grasping at metaphorical straws and literal costume pieces. Surely there’s something in here you can use. The shower is still going and you’ve got a bit more time. You’ve got nothing. Absolutely - oh. Well, that’s an idea. Would it-? The shower stops running and you scamper back to your room, stripping and climbing into bed. He didn’t tell you to strip, but you don’t feel like wasting time.

When he comes out of the bathroom, you’re curled up in bed, waiting for him. “You look good, fresh out of the shower,” you tell him, patting the spot next to you. “Highly fuckable. You always look good and you always look highly fuckable, but right now, in particular, I want your cock in me.” He grins and walks closer and that’s when you see them and you are slightly horrified and amazed and amused. “Brendon, what the fucking fuck are those?” He laughs and places a foot on the bed next to you. You rip your focus from his cock, which is showing some interest in your nude form and causing your mouth to water, since you can’t blow him anyway, and stare at his feet. “Where the fuck did you get bright pink crocs for less than ten dollars?”

“Your mom,” Brendon deadpans and you roll your eyes. “No, I’m serious; these are Cathy’s. She said I could borrow them for as long as I needed. I don’t think she knew what I was going to use them for, though.” He winks at you and you keep staring. “Oh yes. I’m going to fuck you while wearing your mother’s crocs.” His face turns smug. “Told you it was a good one.”

“I have a good one too,” you counter, tugging him into bed and straddling him. “And I really want to fuck you, so if you could-“ he grabs your waist and rolls you both over so you’re under him and his mouth is working over your neck while his fingers move down from your waist to your hip to your thigh before hitching your leg up higher so you can feel his hardness against you.

“You’re bluffing,” he murmurs. “You’ve got nothing.”

“Nope, I figured something out,” you sigh happily. “I’m wet enough that you could just - oh fuck,” you whimper when his fingers delve deep. “Yes, play with my pussy, rub my clit, fuck me,” you gasp, writhing under him.

“Oh, trust me, I’m going to. And you’re going to come so hard, even with me wearing your mother’s crocs.”

“Okay, you’re gonna need to stop mentioning my mother if this is going to happen,” you warn him and he grins, promising to not mention Cathy again as he shifts his hips so he’s aligned with you and you prep yourself - the delivery here is key - it’ll set the tone for the entire - he pushes in and you grab his hair, bringing his mouth close. “I’m carving pumpkins, it’s almost Halloween.”

His hips still and he gives you a strange look. “What?”

“All my friends are wondering what they’re gonna be,” you elaborate with a grin. “What’s wrong baby? Thought you were going to fuck me.” He nods decisively and his fingers are in your hair and his hand on your thigh tightens as he returns to his steady pace. You’re desperately trying to focus on the lyrics and not let yourself come but he’s using all of the tricks; lifting one of your legs and pushing it towards your chest, sucking on and licking at your neck, moaning your name, telling you how good you feel on his cock, how badly he wants to feel your pretty pussy squeeze his dick when you come on him.

“Fucking love you,” Brendon groans in your ear, “even when you’re quoting my lyrics at me, distracting and strange as it may be.”

“The monster mash is playing, you’re - oh fuck-“ he’s grabbed your hips and is angling you slightly so he can grind against you every time your pelvises are flush together. “Moving to the beat,” you manage, “and now we’re going to teach you-“

“It’s March, you know that right?” Brendon asks breathlessly. “Your song choice doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s getting to you.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“I’m totally fi-“

“To do the trick-or-treat.”

“I swear to god Y/n, this is killing my mood. If you move on to my chorus, I promise I will spank you with one of your mother’s crocs.”

You grin up at him. “We agreed you wouldn’t reference my mother anymore while fucking me. You know I have no choice now.” He groans and rests his forehead against yours, hips still rocking hard against you, mouth on yours to try to muffle your next words. “Everybody scream-“

“I’m gonna make you scream,” he tells you, tangling his hand in your hair and tugging gently. “I’m gonna make you scream my name while I fuck you hard from behind.”

“Promise? Everybody scream, it’s almost Halloween.” You’re panting, biting your lip, waiting for him to lose it. His thrusts have gotten shallower and sporadic and you think you might just win. He’s been pushing himself over the edge just by trying to fuck you into silence; all you’ve had to do is remember lyrics and stay composed as best as possible.

“That’s it,” he growls, nipping at your neck. “Hands and knees.” He pulls out of you roughly and together you flip yourself over so you’re burying your face in your arms, ass in the air, waiting for him to take you again. “You just love pushing me, don’t you?” You can hear the amusement in his voice. “Bad girl.”

“Mmmm,” you agree. “And bad girls should be punished.”

“And punished you will be,” Brendon promises you, and you can feel him grab at his feet, tugging. “Fucking pink crocs,” he says with a laugh, rubbing your ass gently with his hand. “Tell me to stop if you need me to.”

“And what if I want it harder?”

“Tell me that too.”

You’re grinning into the pillow and you wiggle your hips at him. “Do the trick or treat, do the tri-oh Jesus fuck,” you moan when he rocks back into you and spanks you hard with the shoe. “That stings,” you gasp, and he makes a concerned noise. “I didn’t say stop. Liked it.”

“My little freak,” Brendon groans, and you squeal with pleasure when the shoe makes contact again. He’s thrusting hard, his other hand wrapped around your waist and lightly teasing your clit. “You still okay, baby?” He murmurs this, his tone soft and tender and you brace yourself with your forearms and grind back against him, moaning your confirmation. “Good.” He pulls almost all the way out and you hear the whistling of the air through the holes in that damned shoe before the contact.

“Fuck,” you moan, “that one hurt more. Not so hard.”

He instantly drops the shoe and flips you over, kissing you gently. “I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, one hand cupping and caressing your face while the other runs over your body before sliding down your back and rubbing gently at the tender skin. “What do you need? Tell me what you need, I’ll make it happen, my sweet girl.”

Your breathing is ragged. “I need you to fuck me,” and you arch your back so his dick, currently pressed between your stomachs, twitches, hot and slick and hard. “And I need you to spank me because fuck it makes me hot, but not that hard, Jesus that rubber stings.”

“I can do that,” he promises as his forehead rests against yours. “I can do all of those things.”

“Yeah?” You turn under him, purposefully rubbing your ass against his leaking cock, moaning and whimpering as you do. “Gonna spank me, gonna fuck me good, fill me up, get me moaning your name, begging to come on your cock?”

“Fucking love you,” Brendon groans again, clutching at your hip and kissing your neck. “Jesus, you’re so fucking sexy, grinding up on me, begging me to fuck you, like I’m not about to bury my dick in your tight pussy, shit.” He’s breathless, his voice tight and constrained. “You’re sure you want me to spank you?”

“It’s almost Halloween, everybody scream.” You barely get the words out before his arm tightens around your waist and he jerks your hips up so he can fill you. “I haven’t, oh god. Brendon, yes, fuck me like that just - I haven’t learned my les- oh motherfucker, that feels so fucking-“

“Who’s bringing up her mother now?” Brendon says with a laugh and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You haven’t learned your lesson,” he agrees, and he’s fumbling for the shoe he dropped earlier. “We should fix that, yeah?”

“There’s a devil in the corner- oh my god,” you shriek, “fuck yes, do that again.” The shoe swings and his hand tightens in your hair near the roots and he tugs just as the shoe hits and you’re biting your lip trying not to come. “Baby,” you gasp, bucking your hips back needily. “Spank me, fuck me, make me come.”

“You wanna come?” Brendon’s voice is a low purr behind you and he spanks you twice more, smiling to himself when your sounds of pleasure move from high-pitched squeals to lower moans as you fuck yourself on his cock roughly. “You wanna come, even though you’ll lose?”

“I never lose when you make me come,” you quip, giggling to yourself and moving your hips in small circles. “Besides, you forget I know you. I can feel you. You’re close, baby. You’re so close to filling my pussy with your cum, fucking me hard and fast and rough, spanking me, pulling my hair as you come in me. Come in me Brendon, spank me and come in me. Spank your bad girl and fill up her pussy with your cum.”

“You,” and the shoe hits, “are,” and it lands again, “a bad,” and a third, “girl. Love you so much though, my bad girl.” His words are choked out, his voice tight, his hand on your hip tighter. He’s still spanking you and you’re moaning his name, begging him to come in you. “Gonna,” he grunts, spanking you one last time before dropping the shoe and bringing that now-free hand to your clit and teasing. “Come in you,” he finishes, and you both let out a moan of pleasure as his climax rushes through him and you gasp your victory before letting go and letting yourself come.

-||-

“I win,” you point out breathlessly when you’re both clinging to each other, trembling occasionally. “I win. You were so confident, and I still won.”

“No one likes a sore winner, Y/n,” Brendon teases sleepily, kissing your jawline while his fingers draw small circles on your stomach.

“If you didn’t want a sore winner, shouldn’t have spanked me with my mother’s croc.”

#you asked for it #brendon urie #brendon urie imagine #my work #brendon urie smut #brendon x reader #fanfic #imagine #fucking pink crocs #jesus #I am ashamed

[koedder-du]

SKAM FIC LOVE FEST | Day 5: Quotes ▸ Bits that made me laugh

even the rogue horticulturist by @kingofpoplouis

Even looks at him and squints, hard. "I love plants," Even says suddenly. Isak is taken aback. "O-okay? I'm happy for you, buddy." "I love flowers," Even says, taking a step closer to Isak. He's so close to Isak that he can see all of the individual hues and shades of blue that make up Even's eye color. Even presses him into the bookshelf and brackets Isak's body with his arms. He tucks the amaryllis behind Isak's ear. Isak can't breathe. "I know a lot about flowers," Even continues. His fingers trail across the side of Isak's neck. "I know a lot." Isak is scared but oddly aroused. He doesn't know why Even is threateningly talking about his green thumb like some kind of horticulturist serial killer. He doesn't know why Even is trapping him up against a bookshelf in his place of work. But fuck. Isak is so turned on.

heavy lidded eyes by @greathalesonfire

After arriving back at the school, Anja turns to them, “Thank you very much for coming along, I can tell the kids had a very good time.” Her voice catches a bit on the word ‘kids’, and Isak feels busted, like she’s his teacher and he just got caught doing something he’s not allowed to. Even just grins and throws an arm around Isak’s shoulders, making Anja roll her eyes good-naturedly.

Right in Front of My Salad by @cuteandtwisted

“Uh, I mean, like food. Like I like having big things in my mouth. Like, uh, you know,” Isak stuttered. “Bro, stop talking,” Jonas who had mysteriously made his way to Isak’s side whispered into his ear. Oh god. But Even was laughing now and it was so endearing that Isak didn’t even mind making a fool out of himself. “I’m a total moron. Sorry,” said Isak. “Not at all. I like having big things in my mouth, too. Well, size doesn’t really matter, you know. I don’t discriminate like that. Big, small, medium, doesn’t matter. As long as I have something in my mouth,” said Even. Oh my. “Big. Definitely big,” said Isak. “For me. I mean. I’m big.” “This is the most fucked up conversation I’ve ever witnessed,” said Mahdi. “Holy shit.”

ten meters by @spikettes

It takes him a few seconds to realize the chocolate doesn’t taste quite right. “Did you dip this in mayonnaise!?” Even collapses in a fit of laughter, rolling over and mashing the side of his face into Isak’s arm. “You’re a monster,” Isak says, leaning forward to grab the glass of water from the table and trying to ignore Even’s smile pressed directly into his bicep. “Really, fuck you.” “Fuck me,” Even agrees solemnly, dipping a piece of chocolate into the mayonnaise jar and eating it.

No Rain, No Roses by @fxckxxp

“This is terrible,” Isak’s voice breaks the silence in a whisper laugh. “Awful,” Even agrees. “Who’s idea was this?” Even slaps a hand to his forehead, letting out a low chuckle. “Yours.” “Fuck.” “Should we just get in bed?” Even suggests. “Fuck it. I’m going to. You made your floor. Now you have to lie in it.” Even stands, flopping onto the bed, which now feels like cloud nine. Isak stays still. “I was only kidding,” Even clears up.

The Balloon Intervention by lovelycarcass

“Er, I’m going to get us drinks. Do you want anything, Isak?” Even asks. Isak nearly gets whiplash when he jerks his head up. Even is addressing him. Those impossible eyes are fixated on him. His brain is screaming at him to say something. “Um, no it’s ok,” Isak mumbles, feeling his cheeks burn. He quickly averts his gaze and frowns at his laptop. “Oh.” Mikael groans out loud, startling Isak slightly. He glances over to see him slumped over his notes. Must be some killer paper. 

Call you by my name by @isaksfailedgreentea

“Can I get a name for your order?” “Errm... Even.” Even looked up from where he was writing things down on the coffee cup. Oh wait. Isak mentally face palmed himself and then flew himself to outer space without a spacesuit.

A Spoon Full of Sugar by @brooklynbabybucky

“Could I actually bother you for a spoon?” Even questioned, nodding towards his mug. Except Isak must have missed the nod— that, or his sleep deprived brain just ignored it and jumped right to the first thing it focused on. A spoon. Spoons. Spooning. God, a proper cuddle sounded absolutely heavenly right now. What Isak would give to crawl into bed, burrow into some cozy blankets, and curl into someone’s (Even’s) arms. They could just lay there, maybe Even would trace shapes into Isak’s back, or maybe he’d play with his hair— it didn't matter to Isak, either sounded lovely. It would be warm and comfortable and he’d finally be able to catch up on all the sleep he’d missed. Isak was so fixated on the idea of spooning with Even that instead of retreating back to the counter where he could grab a spoon— the metal kind one used to eat soup or stir coffee— he walked around the table so that he was standing right behind Even and draped himself across the other boy’s back. He looped his arms around Even’s chest and hugged him tightly from behind.

And you use it only for me by @skamisako

“How about that one?” Even asks, his tone dropping lower. “Umm,” Isak blushes even more furiously, still avoiding his eyes. “Didn’t read that one.” “Oh?” Even raises his eyebrows. “You mean from this series? Because there’s another one called the Tribesmen of Gor and I don’t know which to pick, you know? What do you think?” “They both look like crap, to be honest.” Isak mutters and quickly, his eyes widen almost comically as he most likely realizes he did not mean to say it out loud, Even guesses. Even throws his head back, laughing, because, wow. This boy.

Play That Song by @kapplebougher

Hey, I was walking by and couldn’t help but notice you were playing incredibly well. Are you an instructor here? He checked his hair in the bathroom mirror. My uncle’s been looking for pianists to play at his restaurant. Would you be interested? I’d just need your name and number. He Googled classical composers. He recognized a grand total of three. Was that Mozart you were just playing? He very nearly convinced himself to give up on the whole thing. Who’s your favorite composer? He checked his hair in the mirror again. Did you know I’m actually related to Beethoven?

Built from the Ashes by Sabeley

“You weren't sure if we were dating?” Isak repeated, clearly unimpressed. “What confused you? Was it all the blowjobs I’ve given you over the past week? Or the way I’ve been stalking you at work? Or that thing I did in the shower the other night that you really seemed to enjoy?” Even growled, his erection back in full force. Isak gave him a smug grin. “Or maybe it was the way I attempted to cook dinner for you Thursday and you actually pretended to enjoy it. I mean, what couple does that, right?” “Isak,” Even groaned, begging him to stop. “Oh, I’m not done,” Isak said and then continued. “Maybe it was all of the kissing? I can see where that might have confused you.” With each taunt, Even grew harder in his pants, silently cursing that this was his automatic reaction to Isak’s heckling.

#SFLF2018 #this list could go on forever #thank you to all the amazing writers in this fandom for putting a smile on my face countless times #* #fanfics #ffr #isak x even

[stephhannes]

I Was a 23 Year Old Widow & Here’s Where I Went From There

a friend sent me a link to a refinery29 article today (I’m A 31-Year-Old Widow, & I Don’t Know Where To Go From Here) and it felt exactly like something i would have written three years ago, when i was in my first year of widowhood. it basically is something i’ve written three years ago. i remember all of those same feelings, am i doing this right? how do i navigate being hot and young but also a grief-stricken widow? 

the most important lesson i’ve learned in the last three years is this: the world doesn’t revolve around me. 

every time i start freaking out about the nuances of grieving i remind myself, the world doesn’t revolve around you, dummy. and nothing has been more freeing. 

everything in my life revolves around my grief, but there is no one else around me that’s thinking about it as much as i am. so much of my anxiety was defined by if i felt like i was grieving appropriately, in a way that society would approve of- but society isn’t thinking about me and my grief. and if they are, who gives a shit? talk to me when your partner unexpectedly dies at the age of 23. 

when i came back to social media after nathan died, i remember getting comments on photos like “oh, it’s so nice to see you smiling!” that made me so self-conscious. is it too soon to be smiling? is it ok to be having fun with my friends right now? 

i returned to dating apps within a year of nathan’s death, and i kept it secret for a very long time. i didn’t want people to think i was moving on. i wasn’t moving on, i was lonely! i was afraid that people would see me on tinder and be like “oh, she’s not that sad i guess” i was that sad! that’s why i was reverting to the ol’ faithful coping mechanism of entertaining gentlemen callers! 

as someone forced to live in my own grief, of course i was out here catastrophizing every situation possible. i stayed awake at night stressing over ok so when i do eventually date again: when do i tell him that i’m a widow? (literally just whenever it comes up in conversation) is it weird to talk about nathan all the time? (not really, is it actually any different than when someone talks about their ex? if anything, it should be less uncomfortable, my ‘ex’ is dead, there’s no threat there) do i take down the pictures of nathan before inviting someone to my house? (no, it’s my house).

in the piece i wrote 20 days after nathan died, this is what i was panicking about:

And I know that it’s only been a few weeks since Nathan died, but I feel the weight of the 21st century coming down on me already. Theoretically, he and I were so lucky to have found each other so early, not having to navigate our 20s with awkward dates and rifling through dating apps. But in reality, now that’s where I’m going to have to find myself again. I don’t know how to date someone that I haven’t already known for 10 years. When do I tell someone I’m a widow? How much is appropriate amount to mention my dead fiancé during a blind date? When is the appropriate time to update my Facebook relationship status to ‘single’? When am I supposed to take off my engagement ring and show my face on 6th street?

What’s an appropriate tinder bio?

“Hi, I’m Stephanie. I used to be engaged but now I’m not! Hit me up!”

How do I navigate a new relationship with someone when I know that they will never know me as well as Nathan did? I can spend all day talking about who I was in high school, I can explain with detail every moment of my collegiate years, but no one will truly know who I was during those times because they weren’t there.

and here’s the update on that, 3 years later:

as previously mentioned, i’ve had success just bringing it up whenever it happens to come up. i played around with immediately being like “hey i’m steph i’m a widow what’s poppin?” but i think it’s a little more palatable to lure someone in with my insufferable personality and then be like “oh btw im a widow lol” 

i went through a phase where i would tell stories about my time in new york, but omit the fact that the reason i lived there was because of my fiance. or i’d tell stories about “an ex” without being like “well the ex is actually my dead fiance” but that felt weird, so i transitioned to just literally talking about nathan, my dead fiance, whenever i want to. and shockingly, it’s gone over pretty well. men are a lot more receptive to hearing about your ex that you’re still kinda in love with when your ex is dead.

my facebook relationship status is still not updated to single. but i did take it off my profile altogether after about two years. 

i took off my engagement ring about 6 months after nathan died. it was a whole thing. i was tired of people seeing it and assuming i was engaged, and asking me about it and then being forced into being like “oh haha well i’m not engaged anymore” i showed my face on 6th street and hated it, not because of my status as a widow, because i’m 26.

i’m banned from tinder, but my bumble bio is “self made hundredaire / used to work on broadway / never eaten a grape before / very passionate about the monster mash and sparkling water” people seem to like it.

if i could go back in time and whisper to myself “shhh you sweet summer child it literally doesn’t matter” god, i would. i sucked in high school, thank fucking god no one knows what i was actually like then. i was unbelievably depressed in college, we don’t need to re-live that in detail. i’m literally so cool now, and that’s really all that matters. like, i’m fun and a boss babe and smart and hilarious and mysterious (but let’s not focus on the mystery just yet) so does it really matter if someone doesn’t immediately know the nuances of my 15 year old psyche?

+++

when talking about my relationship with nathan, i’ve always framed it as “i know it’s not the end all be all of relationships” and i still firmly believe in that. like the ann druyan quote- “we knew that we were the beneficiaries of chance. we found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful.” we had a dope relationship, it ran its course, i learned a bunch of shit about myself and what i need moving forward, and now it’s time to move forward. 

and in moving forward, i have to keep reminding myself that accepting relationships as they come into my life is a fun and exciting experience. it doesn’t have to be daunting and serious and terrifying. part of that has been just forcing myself to get out of my head, stop overthinking everything, and remember that the world does not revolve around me. there’s something about being able to just take what i need, leave what i don’t, for as long as it lasts and being fine with things when they eventually end. 

it’s been kind of hilarious finally going through scenarios i used to agonize over in the middle of the night. everything that i imagined to be a huge deal has been actually, not a deal at all. i had a conversation with a friend a couple of months ago where i was like “i just want a toxic relationship to pass the time,” and she was like “are you saying that because that’s actually what you want, or are you saying that because you’re afraid of being genuinely intimate/vulnerable with someone that’s not nathan?” and i was like, ok first of all i didn’t come here to get dragged like that and secondly…yeah, maybe. 

the vulnerability thing is still tough for me- very much not a fan of talking about my feelings without masking it with comedy. but every step i’ve made in that direction, i’ve been able to do without guilt or questioning myself. 

the first time someone other than nathan slept in my bed, i was worried that i would end up upset- it was fine. i was like “oh, i forgot how nice it is to wake up not alone.”

when i found myself in a vaguely toxic relationship i realized “yeah ok, that’s definitely not what i want.” the last time that person left my house, my first thought was “i miss nathan.” and it wasn’t even necessarily nathan that i missed. i missed being around someone that made me feel like they idk…..cared about me as a person and like…..respected me. 

i spent a lot of time seeking out people that i thought were similar to nathan, and then i realized that the qualities i was attracted to were just the bare minimum of human decency.  the things that i loved the most about my relationship with nathan weren’t necessarily qualities that were exclusive to him (they were things he was very good at, but so are a lot of other people). his willingness to listen to me tell the same stories over and over, his patience with all of my anxiety, how much he loved just spending time around me, the way he valued and respected my opinions, his ability to remember very tiny details, our effortless rapport. 

and at the same time, i’m recognizing strengths in other people that fill in where nathan had some weaknesses. the fact that none of my friends liked him, his inability to cope with my depression, all of the times he’d ask for forgiveness rather than permission, his unwillingness to accept criticism when i was upset with him, or the way he’d continue to push buttons i’d repeatedly asked him to leave alone. 

+++

so maybe it’s the zoloft, or maybe it’s just growing up a little bit- but letting go of all of that anxiety has really allowed me to feel a lot lighter. it feels good to finally be present in all of my relationships, not concerned about how anything looks- rather, just concerning myself with shit that feels right. i’ve always been a pretty solid judge of character, and as soon as i stopped doubting myself, the quality of person that came into my life was immediately a lot better, weird. it’s almost like the only opinion that truly matters....is my own. 

[kaminaepicwin]

Twilight Princess, first play through, part Fifteen.

-Wait a second, are you trying to tell me that Midna was the Twilight Princess the whole time? I thought it was Link! I mean, that is the logic behind the normal game-name issue, isn’t it? Was the actually supposed to be a surprise? I admit that 26 year old me isn’t exactly the ideal or expected audience, so I have no idea if it was done well or not. -Off to the Twilight Realm Dungeon! Or the Trungeon, if you will. -“Is my sword more shiny than usual?”  -Is that the master hand? He certainly keeps trying to grab my ball, the perverted scamp. -So fun fact, my Wife apparently has some childhood trauma related to this enemy. Nothing to do with giant grabby hands, just anxiety because of the music and the stealing and the ever-present threat of having your work undone by a giant grabby douche. -Also the second grabby hand you fight has an interesting glitch I discovered. In the room with the spine of hookshot targets on the roof, it is super easy to set the wall up so that Grabby hand is just stuck on the other side of it, giving you plenty of time to get everything ready.  -The lighting effects in this dungeon are pretty neat. I know that it is a weird little comment, but it is mine.  -Zant…sure was an experience. His lovely little back-leans where he just looked up to the sky and said “oh noes I am le evilz” were amusing, and I got the impression from his actual fights that he 100% had no idea what the hell he was doing. Throwing temper tantrums on top of platforms, making little finger-guns at me, flailing around with swords he clearly didn’t know how to use, just… if they wanted to get across the message of an entitled whiney little shit-wizard than they did it. -I would be more okay with this, except the rest of the game has him in a very serious light, bitch-slapping us with no difficulty. Maybe the rest of his appearances were part of an act, putting on a brave face while he tried to be cool in front of strangers who didn’t know how much of an awkward chuckle-fuck he was, but that still doesn’t explain the lack of Link-being-bitch-slapped in his final boss fight. -Speak of being bitch-slapped, Midna popped his dumb ass like a balloon. It was kind of wonderful. She was all like, “BEGONE THOT!” and then… POP! No more Zant. -Except apparently yes more Zant? I remembered him saying something along the lines of “my master has been reborn in the world of light, but I cannot die until he does”, but I thought that was just him being full of bluster and hubris? You know, instead of hot air, which is what Midna popped out of him. -Except apparently yes, Gannandorf his-damn-self has not just been reborn in the Light-world, he is back in his old body (scar the size of my head and all), and is raring to go. -I addressed my confusion to my wife, admitting that I thought his previous quote was him being metaphorical, only to be told that “Zant is too badshit for metaphors.” Oh well, off to the castle to save the princess from the evil dark lord.  -And Kaiju Midna is here to save the day! She is truly wonderful, and I think link is suddenly regretting all of his short-jokes. Although I also feel that there was a lost-chance to have Link ride her around during a final boss fight like she rode us around during the whole game.  -Fought the Bokoblin Captain who jousted me using my good friend again. This fucker just won’t die. And in fact, he didn’t. He acknowledged my strength, gave me the key to his chastity belt the castle, and then fucked off. Huh. Very much wanted to murder him… -Lot of Dark-dark knights, but thankfully the Cave of Ordeals gave me some practice on those assholes. -*Me, facing Gannon’s Door*, “Welp, time to face the ominous music.”  -Gannon’s entire entrance scene is amazing. Sitting on the throne like a boss, almost convincing Midna to mercy kill Zelda, all good things. -Also neither of us remember the exact details, but at some point during this exchange I said, “huh, wouldn’t it be fun if we got to fight Zelda in one of these games,” to which my Wife only replied. “If.” -Which Gannon, buddy, darling, literally every other member of your race was a woman, and presumably you were raised by all women, how do you not know how to fight in a dress? Seriously, you should show more respect to the body you are possessing to kill me with. -Oh no Midna don’t teleport us away, whatever could possibly happen now that you are trying to monster-mash Gannon? *five seconds later, seeing Gannon posing dramatically in front of the setting sun, the crown of a lesser king crushed beneath his heels* Oh no Minda, who could have possibly predicted that this would happen if you tried to monster-mash Gannon? -Also apparently Zant survived? Even though we haven’t seen him since Midna popped him like a balloon, but here he is! -And now he isn’t. Good. We really needed that. Seriously, why bother with this? I am sure that they could have come up with some way to make it so that Midna popping Zant like a balloon was somehow that final piece of the puzzle to bring Gannon back, instead of Gannon being brought back into the Light world offscreen, Zant surviving being popped like a balloon but not showing up until the 2 seconds it takes him to snap his own neck, and the whole thing feeling cheap. -Hell, I spent about 2 minutes thinking about it. Gannon’s Warlock pact with Zant was that whatever Zant wanted, Gannon would want, and would make happen. Couldn’t this whole thing be Gannon setting Zant up to fail so that Zant would want “to live again/have another chance”, which Gannon would then piggyback on and abuse? I just feel like we needed *ONE* more scene, something to establish Zant being around, and we’d be fine, but oh well.  -And Midna survived? What a twist? -So… before I knew what *actually* was happening, when I saw Midna cry her single tear, I said in my Link voice, “Oh no, Midna, what’s wrong?” and then answer in my Midna voice, “Nothing, Link, just realizing I might actually have to put up with you more in the future,” in a kind of Tsundere kind of joking way?  -Except nope, no happy ending for my otp. Goth girlfriend has left us forever. -And yes, I have a Link and Midna Voice. Fight me.  

-And now for the part you all are waiting for, my final thoughts on the game, and comparison between it and Wind Waker. -Honestly, I ended up saying most of what I have to say now back 2 weeks ago in my post, “Twilight Princess, first play through, extra ramblings.” Wind Waker has the characters and art, Twilight Princess has the gameplay.-Something that I feel needs to be added to that is that Twilight Princess’s dungeons felt a whole lot more challenging and fun. Even though I didn’t always agree with every part of said dungeons, I found the puzzles a blast, whereas I cannot really think of too many memorable puzzles from Wind Waker. -Except for the Triforce block puzzle. Man, that thing stumped me for hours. No wonder it kept Ganondorf, master of evil magic and criminal mastermind out for centuries. -After giving the whole thing some more thought, I would say that Wind Waker makes a better story, but it isn’t just a story. It is an interactive game. And that means gameplay is kinda of important. Thus, Twilight Princess moves forward just enough to get my preference over Wind Waker. 

-Next up, I’ll be (eventually) doing skyward sword, because if I just go straight to BotW, I will never be able to go backward.

-If you have any questions feel free to send them my way.

See you, Space Cowboy

#LOZ #legend of zelda #a certain little bird #Twilight Princess #Sunbear Seeks Twilight #text #blind playthrough #Wind Waker #like a balloon #Zant #Ganondorf #Midna #Kaiju Midna #friend jousting #excessive sarcasm.

[midnightluck]

go summon up the dead ones

I was not gonna make my Bingo for @masbingo, and then Nari pointed out you could combine squares, so here is a one fic bingo for broken + revenge + ghosts + detective partners + “I want to be a monster that helps people”. It is Lovecraft inspired and not happy.

Ace compares the circle on the ground with the one in the book one more time. It's perfect, as it should be--he spent a long time measuring angles and using protractors to make it as precise as it needs to be. He snaps the book shut and stands in front of the circle, looking down at it.

He's gonna get one shot at this, he knows, and any distraction will cause untold destruction. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and concentrates. It's just there, and he just has to reach for--

"Ace! What have I told you about summoning in the living room?"

Ace's eyes fly open and his shoulders go tight. "Sabo," he says, trying to keep the flow. "What are you--"

"At least you rolled up the carpet this time, but this isn't chalk, is it? Oh, ew, is it blood?"

Ace closes his eyes and sighs, feeling something far away and very close snap.

"You're getting it out of the floor, you know. I'm not losing our security deposit just because you got art-happy without any ink around."

Ace turns around and there's Sabo, laying his hat upside down on the console and stripping off his gloves to drop inside. "Sabo," Ace says again. "I wasn't expecting you so soon."

"Obviously," Sabo says, wandering over closer to look over Ace's shoulder. "Huh," he says, and then falls quiet for a minute, then says, "That's some really neat work."

"Yeah," Ace says, because it took him ages to get the circles mashed together into something that might work, and even longer to paint it out.

“That price, though,” Sabo says, and whistles “You sure about that?”

Ace rounds on him. “Any price is worth it, you know it is.”

Sabo just shakes his head and looks it over one more time. “Shame about it, really," he says and then he walks right across it to get to his desk, stooping to pick up the dagger in the center and tucking it into his belt.

"Your fault--" Ace says.

"So what'd I miss?" Sabo asks right over him. "Any new cases, or are we still broke and unemployable?"

"Just the one," Ace says, settling against his desk to better stare at his interrupting partner.

"Oh, Ace," Sabo says, and the pity is heavy in his voice. "You're not really--"

"Of course I am," Ace says, locking eyes with him.

"Still? Hasn't it been months already?"

"Of course," Ace says, gesturing widely. "I can't just--I don't know how you're over it--"

Sabo shrugs. "You're just stressing yourself out. The guy's disappeared--"

"I've got a lead."

"It's over and done with."

"It's not over! It'll never be over--"

"You don't even know his name!"

"I do," Ace shoots back. "I haven't been just sitting around sulking without you--"

"Really?"

"Contrary to your opinion, I am not utterly useless on my own!"

"You sure about that?" Sabo asks, but he's already in front of Ace, reading the file in his hands upside down. "Huh, is that him?"

Ace blinks up at him. "You don't recognize him?"

Sabo hums noncommittally, leaning in, and Ace takes a second to just revel in the comfortable annoyance that Sabo has always inspired in him. "I missed you," he says.

Sabo glances up at him from where he's leaning and blinks at whatever he sees on Ace's face. "Hey," he says, reaching up to rest his hands over Ace's. "Hey, it's okay. I'm back now."

Ace's fingers tingle a bit under Sabo's, and he clenches them tighter. "And you're not leaning again, right?"

Sabo smiles a bit and raises one hand to Ace's cheek. "I couldn't even if I wanted to," he says, and his grin is the sharp one that shows teeth. "You know that. I'm here, Ace."

Ace closes his eyes and shudders out a breath, leaning into the feeling of Sabo's hand against his face. "Okay," he says, then takes a breath and tries again. "Okay."

"C'mon," Sabo says, and Ace's knees give out. He slides down til his back is against his desk, leaning his head on his knees and sobbing out all the pain of the past few months, for all he's lost and all he hasn't. Sabo sits with him and murmurs comfort until he's all cried out.

He runs out of tears surprisingly quickly, and looks up into eyes more familiar than his own.

"You good?" Sabo asks, sitting back on his heels. "Haven't cried since then, have you?"

Ace shakes his head, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief, and the sight of it makes Sabo huff a laugh. "Really? You kept that old thing?"

"'A handkerchief is a gentleman's best friend'," Ace quotes, and then blows his nose loudly.

"You're such a dork," Sabo says, and a shiver goes down Ace's spine at the familiar words. Sabo's smile is soft as always, but his eyes aren't.

"Yeah," Ace says, holding his gaze. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Sabo nods, then stands up off his knees in one smooth motion without using his hands, and Ace huffs a laugh. He'd forgotten Sabo did that, how had he forgotten? He'd spent a whole month practicing when they'd been kids, banging up his knees. What else had he forgotten while Sabo'd been gone?

He pokes the part of him that holds his grief, but it's hardening over into determination. "Okay," he says, looking up. "You're the expert. What next?"

"This lead of yours," Sabo says, tapping a finger on the photo. "Start there. Where do we find him?"

Ace scrambles up to stand next to him. "We?" he asks, a lump in his throat that may well be his heart.

Sabo shrugs. "I'm not letting you go alone," he says. "Besides, seems to me I've got some unfinished business with him myself."

Ace nods frantically, already snatching up the folder. "I've got the address of his last known associates," he says, talking fast. "I think he turned on them, too, which would make it easier--"

"A rouge, huh?" Sabo muses, and his fingers go tippatap on his thigh. "A traitor, even."

Ace nods again, because he knows how Sabo feels about traitors. Then again, he's a lot less forgiving himself these days. "Allies," he says, and it's Sabo's turn to nod.

"Maybe," he allows. "Gang? Drugs? What was he a part of?"

"Worse," Ace says, pausing at the door while Sabo tugs on his gloves. "He was a cop."

"Ooh," Sabo says, flashing his teeth. "You know what that means, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Ace says, shoving his hands into his pockets and widening his stride.

Sabo's a few steps ahead, and he hums and twists around to walk backwards. "Have you seen him?"

"No," Ace says. "Not since..."

"Good," Sabo says, turning back forwards and falling back to Ace's side. He catches Ace's surprised glance and says, "Is that horrible of me? I've always been a bit jealous with you, you know."

"I know," Ace says, because he does. Sabo just used to hide it better, always catching himself before saying anything. "It's fine."

"Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, huh?" Sabo muses. They walk in silence a bit, and Ace listens to the way their boots his the ground in sync. It's soothing, just like every other time they walked this path, back when his life was still whole.

The police station is as it ever was, and walking through the front door is nostalgic in all the worst ways. Jack's on duty at the front desk, and Sabo leans on it and smiles at him, bright and wide. "Hi."

Ace steps up next to him, and Jack looks up. "Ace," he says, then swallows. "Hey, man. How've you been?"

Ace stares down at him, and Sabo stifles a mean little giggle. Jack scrambles upright and says, "I'll just--go get the chief for you. Yeah. Uh, just a moment."

Ace paces a bit, turning a well-worn path in the lobby as Sabo perches himself on a chair and tugs his hat low over his eyes.

It's not an entire minute before the quick clack of shoes on linoleum heralds the appearance of a blond ghost Ace has been avoiding for ages. His sharp eyes scan the lobby, and Ace steps forward to draw his attention.

"Detective Phoenix," Ace says.

The man takes a few rapid steps forward. "Ace," he says, reaching out one hand.

"Detective Phoenix," Ace repeats, eyes firmly on a spot three centimeters to the left of the detective's head.

His hand drops. "I'm so sorry," he says, taking one more step. "Ace, you know it's not your fault--"

Ace dips his head and thrusts out the folder. "Do you know this man?" he asks, and it's a lot less effort than he thought it'd be to keep his voice even.

"This is about how I expected this to go, honestly," Sabo comments, rocking back just a bit on his heels, and Ace ignores him as hard as he can.

The detective does too, not even looking away from Ace. "Are you okay?" he asks instead, reaching out just the way Sabo had earlier.

Ace thought he would flinch, but he doesn't. He doesn't flinch or move, just looks up and lets the detective make the next move.

He meets Ace's eyes and falters. "Ace...?" he asks.

Ace holds out the picture. "Do you know him?"

"You have to stop this crusade," he says. "It isn't healthy. It isn't like you."

And where nothing else has managed, this is the thing that lights his rapidly-freezing fuse. "Like me?" he says, and runs his free hand through his hair. "Like me."

Marco takes a half step back, and Ace pretends not to notice. "Maybe it's awful. Maybe I'm not thinking clearly. Maybe I'm doing something dumb. But it's just like me, and if you think it isn't then you never knew me at all."

"But it's not like you, Ace," Sabo says, pressing up against his back and leaning forward to glare at Marco. "It's like me."

"I know," Ace says, shrugging Sabo off. "I can't let this go. He killed my brother, Marco, and I can't even--"`

"I know," Marco says, "But Ace, he'd want you to live. Sabo--" Marco cuts off, gesturing with one hand.

"Hey, leave me out of this," Sabo says. "This is all Ace's brand of crazy."

Marco huffs a sigh, and Ace sets his chin. "I'm going through with this, Marco," he says. "I'm gonna find him and stop him from hurting anyone else."

Marco sighs. "If I help you with this now," he says, slowly, carefully, "will you come to me afterwards? Will you let me help you?"

Ace swallows. There's a sadness in the slump of Marco's once-proud shoulders and frown lines carved into his forehead that weren't there months ago. None of this is fair to Marco, he knows, but then it wasn't really fair to him either.

Ace knows it's not a fair promise to make, but he really needs the help.

"If you help me now, I'll even come back to the force," Ace says and can't even tell if he's lying.

Marco's eyes are sharp, but he nods. And why shouldn't he? Ace has never lied to him before. "Then I'll help," he says, and takes the picture.

His quiet inhale is enough to tell both Ace and Sabo that he does indeed know the man. "Who is he?" Ace asks, stepping forward, and it's Sabo who puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Give the man some time," Sabo says, eyes on Marco. "He'll tell us."

Marco's eyes flicker from the photo to them, then back again. "This is..."

"You do know him," Ace prompts.

"Yes," Marco says reluctantly. "He was a part of the Second Division. Pretty new, joined after you..."

"Yeah," Ace says.

"It's not your fault," Marco hurries to say again. "Ace, look at me--"

"What's his name?"

Marco hesitates, but he hands the photo back. "Marshall D Teach," he says. "He was a good lieutenant, well-liked, and he quit after--"

Ace nods and Sabo scoffs. "Can't even control your own men, can you?"

Marco cuts his eyes away and then back. "It really shook everyone up," he says. "You really think it was Teach?"

Ace nods tightly. "He's been looking for something. He's making quite a ruckus in certain circles and throwing around a lot of cash. I think whatever it was he was looking for--" He cuts off.

"You think...he found it?" Marco asks.

Ace nods tightly. "Yeah. And I think Teach killed him for it."

Marco eyes him, considering, and then he spins on a hell. "Jack," he snaps, loud enough to make the desk sergeant jerk upright. "Get me the personnel file for Marshall Teach."

"Yessir!" Jack yelps, already running for the Records Room.

The wait is quiet and awkward, but it isn't long. Jack's back within three minutes, handing Marco a file and heading right back to his desk on the far side of the room. Marco opens the file and skims it, then closes it and hands it to Ace, glancing away towards where Sabo is looking over the Wanted bulletin board.

Ace accepts it, and then he looks up. "Hey, about that promise I made..." Marco jerks his head around to stare at him, and Ace swallows. "I need you to hold me to it."

Marco blinks at him, once, long and slow. "Okay...?"

"I...may have done something," Ace mutters, looking down and fiddling with the cuff of his jacket. "And after this I might not be... but I still want to help people.That’s all I ever wanted." He looks up and catches Marco's eyes. "So I might be...different. I might fight you. So hold me to that promise. Please."

Marco holds his gaze for a long moment before nodding.

Ace sways into Marco's space, just close enough for Marco to reach for him again, and Sabo slips in against Ace's side. "We've got to get going," he says.

Ace ignores him, turning his eyes to Marco. "I miss him," Ace admits, small and quiet.

Marco drops his hand. "Me too," he says, and doesn't try to stop them when Sabo chivvies Ace away.

Ace opens the folder as he walks, trusting Sabo to guide him. “Marshall D Teach,” he says out loud.

“Interesting guy,” Sabo says from beside him. "What's the file say?"

"Joined a year ago, exemplary service, in line for a promotion, no leadership potential. Looks like just your average cop."

"Until he went off the rails and killed, you mean?"

"Mmm, right up til then." Ace closes the file and tucks it into his other one, lodging both under his arm. "So, where is he?"

Sabo looks at him sideways. "Why would I know?"

"Because you always know," Ace says. "I solve them, you find them. Way it's always been, hasn't it?"

Sabo's grin is sharp, with a lot of tooth in it. "Maybe I know where to start," he admits.

"Of course you do," Ace mutters, but Sabo's already lengthening his stride and heading towards the south side. "And of course it's here."

Sabo drags him all over the south side, following some instinct Ace can't fathom. It leads them around three gang hideouts and over a meth lab and through one street tough who did not want to let them pass.

"You're doing this on purpose," Ace accuses, chest heaving as he stares down at the fellow.

"Me?" Sabo says. "Now, does that sound like something I'd do?"

"Yes," Ace says. "You've done it before."

"Have not," Sabo blatantly lies, stepping over--and on--the unconscious man. "C'mon, it's just around here somewhere."

"Are you tracking him by scent or something?" Ace asks grumpily but follows.

"Yeah," Sabo says, making a big show of sticking his nose in the air and sniffing. "Smells like...cherry pie and dirty socks." His nose wrinkles. "Not a very pleasant combination."

"Just...stop leading me into danger," Ace says, and Sabo laughs, heavy and unpleasant.

"Right down to business, sure, I can do that," he says, and ushers Ace around a corner and onto a main street. "And there he is," Sabo says, gesturing towards an opening door like he's presenting a prize.

"What?" asks Ace, looking around.

"What?" Marshall D Teach says at the exact same time, blinking, and Ace growls and pounces.

For a fat man, he's surprisingly fast, and Ace keeps his head up and his chest back and breathes deep as he chases him.

It's not a long chase, in the end; Teach turns off the main street and down an alley that's got a dumpster blocking off the back, and Ace follows.

"I'm gonna kill you for what you did to me," Ace says, and then the shadows come to life.

They swirl and writhe up from the darkest parts and wrap themselves around Teach's legs, and all his stomping and yelling does nothing. They squeeze tight and slam him backwards into the dumpster, head first, and present the lolling, unconscious mess to Ace.

"You really should kill him," Sabo says from where he's leaning casually against the wall.

"I know," Ace says, but doesn't move.

"It wouldn't even be that hard, you know?" There's a knife in Sabo's hand now, a familiar one that he shouldn't have, and he holds it out. "For all he's done to you. For all he's taken."

"I should," Ace says, not taking the knife.

Sabo crowds close and places it in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it. "Go on," he says, breath cold against Ace's neck. "Do it for me?"

And that gets Ace's legs moving. He steps forward shakily, and the things holding Teach in place twist and part to let him pass. It's easy to keep going, once he's started, though, and there's only a dull ache where his heart used to be.

He rests one hand against Teach's chest and lays the tip of the knife against the other side. It'd be so eay, wouldn't it? A quick little push, and the grief would go away. A single second and the past few months would be worth it...

"It's so easy," Sabo says. "C'mon, Ace. Isn't this what you've been waiting for? Dreaming about?"

Yes, it is, yes, but also no. He needs his revenge, sure, but he never wanted this. His hand is shaking, and he almost drops it because this isn't him, he's never killed, he wanted to help--

"The price you paid to summon me was your humanity, you know," the thing wearing Sabo's face says. "You're a monster now. No one could love someone who threw away their own heart."

"I didn't--" Ace protests.

"You did," not-Sabo says. "I broke your heart when I died, didn't I? And you thought nothing could be worse, didn't you?" Ace doesn't answer, and it's suddenly a foot taller and looming over him. "Didn't you?"

"Yes..." Ace whispers, because he really had. He'd thought he'd had nothing left to lose.

"There's always something left," the shadow-creature that has almost nothing left of Sabo in it says. "And you gave it to me. So kill him, Ace."

"I--"

"Kill him." This time the voice is everything, loud and in his head, and everything is spinning thoughts of blood and loss and the ache that Sabo left behind and-- "I don't--"

"KILL HIM."

And Ace raises the dagger. His head is spinning and so is his sight, but his left hand is a fine guide, and he raises it high and plunges it forward.

There's a snap that echoes, and then silence.

Ace holds his breath, staring down at the lax face below him, and there's a looming pressure behind him.

"That was dumb," the voice says, and it's back to being Sabo's.

"I know," Ace says, and he does, is the thing, he knows, but for all he thought he was heartless, maybe he isn't. Maybe not yet.

The not-Sabo sighs and slides around to pick up the shattered pieces of the knife. "Did you really have to stab the wall?" he asks, and it must be done pretending to be human, because nothing human moves like that, or has teeth that sharp, or eyes that glow. "Look what you've done to my knife."

Ace says nothing. He doesn't think there's anything to say.

"Oh well," it says and shrugs, a long, liquid, boneless movement. "Still, you know? No refunds."

It's only his humanity, Ace thought on the long nights he'd lay awake missing Sabo. It's only his humanity, he thought when crafting the summoning circle. "It's only my humanity," he says now, and doesn't believe it anymore.

"You're a monster," it says, smiling too wide and spinning, arms out. "A monster like me, Ace."

"That's fine," Ace says. "I may be a monster, but I'll be a monster who helps people."

It laughs, loud and awful. "Keep trying. I'll see you in hell one day." And with a screeching noise that makes Ace flinch, the thing that was never his brother melts into a puddle of shadows and is gone.

And Ace is alone in an alleyway in the worst part of the city, and he sinks to his knees, stares at his hands, and tries really hard to feel anything but cold.

#Portgas D. Ace #sabo the revolutionary #Marco the Phoenix #marcoacesabo #a handful of shoggoths #title from #hp lovecraft historical society #believe it or not this is the happy ending #mas bingo