#like if not for their circumstances I think they’d actually be best friends

[burgerputty]

Hate them so much

#scideon #scott pilgrim #gideon graves #scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim vs the world #spto #spto art #scott x gideon #I love to think about them just being 2 dudes that fight about game trivia #but also love the toxic crazy side of them idk #like if not for their circumstances I think they’d actually be best friends #and perhaps something worse

[ghcstao3]

Civilian Soap x Ghost

Ghost is in the Scottish Highlands for something, everyone else only knowing him as a visitor. He bumps into Soap a few times and is invited to stay for a round of drinks whenever he wants a break.

Something goes wrong and there is no safe house, so Ghost has to ask Soap if he can stay.

Ghost promptly gets a family meal to welcome him. He ends up being well clothed, shelted and fed as he slots perfectly into their dynamic. Rather close to Soap as the night goes on.

By the end of the stay Ghost is freely cuddling Soap on the couch like a happy cat and might as well be purring.

Ghost doesn’t exactly remember when or how he met John MacTavish, but in this moment, he’s never been more grateful.

Stranded in Middle-of-Nowhere, Scotland, with his only option for a safe house being barely less than 200km away when a low-stakes operation had somehow gone to shit, Ghost is sitting in a decrepit phone booth, praying for John to pick up his phone.

There’s finally a click on the other end of the line, as painfully early in the morning as it is, followed by a sleepy, “H’llo?”

“Johnny,” Ghost murmurs. His initial checks had told him he hadn’t been followed, but just in case. “It’s Simon.”

John seems to brighten up at this. “Simon! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I—“ Ghost grimaces beneath his mask. “I need a place to stay. But I can’t… tell you why.”

“‘S no biggie,” John says, then yawns. “Can you tell me where you are? I assume you need a ride.”

Ghost rattles off what he thinks is the location after squinting at some yellowing and torn flyers pasted on the sides of the booth, and for a long moment is met with silence.

He begins to worry the line’s gone dead when John exclaims, “Oh! That’s closer to my parents’ than my flat. I was actually goin’ up for a visit soon but I’m sure we can rearrange some things. I can be there in… say two hours?”

“Sure, yeah,” Ghost agrees before be can give it any more forethought. Because, yes it’s a place to stay—but with John’s parents?

He can almost hear John’s smile through the line. “Perfect. See you soon, Si.”

John hangs up, and Ghost puts the phone back on the hook with a sigh. Now, he waits.

And definitely doesn’t worry about meeting John’s parents more than he should. He’s friends with John—why should it matter? It’s not weird.

It’s not.

Ghost slumps against the side of the phone booth and lets his eyelids fall shut.

* * *

It had taken maybe two and half hours for John to arrive, but the drive to his parents’ is only forty or so minutes. John happily chats Ghost’s ear off the entire way, catching him up from the last time they’d talked, skillfully avoiding any mention of the situation Ghost is in.

John does his best to reassure Ghost over and over that he had talked to his parents, they’re fine with him staying however long he needs to until something more official comes along, and it helps a little.

Ghost still feels guilty for intruding.

But true to his word, John’s parents greet him with friendly smiles and welcoming words, ushering Ghost into their home with the familiarity of old friends—or perhaps even family.

The guilt does wear down little by little, as pleasant conversation is made, and, just as John had, no questions are asked about Ghost’s circumstances. Ghost wonders if that’s John’s doing, or if John had fed them some story just to avoid it. Either way, Ghost appreciates it.

He’d rather not think of his next steps for just a little while, as Price is surely piecing some of it together for him.

Ghost is made dinner later in the evening, and all three MacTavishes present insist there’s no issue in Ghost occupying John’s room for the night (he’d already promised to leave the next day, even if that means he winds up in a hotel instead).

He takes the couch anyway. He ignores the look John’s parents share when Ghost says, “It’s Johnny’s room, and I’m only here for one night,” ignores the blush that spans from John’s ears down his neck when they mouth ‘Johnny?’ in his direction.

And now, Ghost stands in the emptied out living room, just taking a moment to breathe. Because while he’s eternally grateful for the hospitality, he’s just a little worn out.

“You’re allowed to sit, you know.”

Attention pulled away from his thoughts, Ghost glances to John, who’s smiling crookedly as he holds an armful of pillows and a thick blanket. He dumps them on the sofa, plops himself down, and pats the seat beside him.

Ghost sits, and as he sinks into the cushions, realizes just how exhausted he is.

“You don’t have to tell me,” John is saying, “I mean, I know you can’t—but is this… was it a work thing that brought you here?”

Ghost hums an affirmative. His body is taking over before his mind can think twice, leaning over enough to rest his head on John’s shoulder. Tired, is all he can think. John laughs.

“There, there,” he teases. “Big scary military man’s a little sleepy, is he?”

Ghost swats at John with a mumbled shut up.

Civilian or not—there’s always been something different about him. With him.

John snorts. “Well, c’mere, then. Don’t be shy.”

Ghost complies easily, tucking further into John’s side like it’s second nature. Like it’s been months since he’s last seen the man.

Friends, is how Ghost has thus far labelled them. How Price would laugh his ass off hearing that.

At some point John begins to card his fingers through Ghost’s hair—he’s never worn the mask around him, never felt the need to—and between that moment and the next, Ghost is fast asleep, curled up with John like something a little more than just friends.

Fleetingly, Ghost thinks, just moments before his brain shuts off—I should visit him more.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #writing

[quillkiller]

pleasepleaseplease elaborate on bartylus as orpheus and eurydice variants please if you want

mil!!!!! you sent this to me 2 minutes before my shift started….. i was losing my mind…. they’ve been in my head ever since…. i just got home thank god !!!!!!

anyway. so i have this au/wip which is loosly (very loose!!) based on the eurydice and orpheus myth but also set in canon. i have a tag for it ’fic: don’t look back’ <3

here’s a little snippet:

”Barty,”

It comes out as a breath, as an exhale— but it almost shatters him. If he wasn’t on his knees already he knows they would buckle. Knows he would fall down at Regulus’ feet. He almost looks.

so regulus still goes to the cave, and he still dies. he doesn’t go out of the kindness of his heart, but because he’s tired and he did it all wrong and he can’t win and he just wants it to be over. he goes because he misses his brother and he wants his brother to live. he doesn’t care about the rest of it, the war, the two sides, voldy or dumbledore or the prophecy. he wants out and he’ll never get his brother back so he’ll do this one thing to (hopefully) save his brother even if sirius will never know <3 after that he’s done. he goes to the cave knowing he’s going to die and he wants to. he yearns for the dark and the quiet !!!! he’s 17 and he thinks he’s lived way too long and he just wants out now

he leaves barty a letter. it’s vague but barty figures it out. they spend one last night together because regulus is selfish and greedy and want him just one more night. they used to fumble around back at hogwarts. they were each others firsts and they trusted each other but they were never together. not actually. just stumbling into each others beds, shakey hand jobs, clumsy blowjobs, sloppy kisses. they didnt really talk about it either but not in an awkward way, they just didnt really need to. it was about comfort and love and boyhood and fear and safety and they’re just. so special to me. not dating, not best friends, but a secret third thing. just so completely intertwined but so different from each other.

- virginia woolf. this is the bartylus dynamic to me. like. everything was awful, their homes, their circumstances, their surroundings, their expecations. but they were also just boys. everythings awful but sometimes they’d sit in the slytherin common room and they’d make each other laugh. sirius left but barty is waiting for him at kings cross with a grin :,)

anyway. it all sort of stopped after they both took the dark mark. they still had each others backs and they’re always best friends and intertwined!! but i guess there’s just too much else to think about now ahdhdjajfjkd. but reg comes to barty the night before he leaves for the cave and they properly spend the night together. its messy and miserable and lovely and it feels like a goodbye. reg leaves before barty wakes up the next morning.

barty!!!!!!!! goes mad. mad with regret and anger and desperation and love and hatred and every other emotion under the sun. he wants him back and he will get him back. barty is smart, was top of his class, is a quick learner in all things magic. i don’t know how long it takes, if its months or years, but barty is on a rampage and he’s seeing red and he’s not sleeping and he’s not at all himself. he sees reg as a ghost, talks to him, he’s haunted. he aquires several forbidden books from shady sources about magic that has long since been banned. he will bring regulus back if it’s the last thing he does. eventually he finds either a spell or some magic ritual (haven’t figured it out yet) that existed back in the 1700s but has been banned almost immediately due to people just. coming back wrong. miserable and wailing. barty’s not seeing that though. he’s just seeing that he can bring him back. so he learns everything there is to know about the spell/ritual and then sets out to go to the cave. months or years later, i still haven’t decided. i think it would be a little sexy if it was a couple years after reg died.

that’s where the eurydice & orpheus myth comes in. basically barty isn’t allowed to look at regulus until they both get out of the place where he died. but it also differs because regulus so desperately wants him to look. regulus is miserable when he’s brought back. miserable and young and confused and angry.

by paul tran is and always will be rab when he enters the cave!!

so reg is trying to seduce barty to please look at him. please look at me. and barty wants to more than anything. the first time he finally takes a breath since regs death is when he finally brings him back. the relief overwhelming. and it lasts for 0.01 seconds because regulus doesn’t want to live. he’s so angry and he’s sobbing and wants to go back. but barty doesn’t want him to. and he’s telling regulus it’s going to be okay and they’ll be okay and he’ll protect him and take care of him. but regulus doesn’t care. and barty is desperate:/

sadly barty is greedy. and weak. and it’s been years and it’s desperate and he can’t remember the shade of blueish gray regs eyes were. and regs pleading hurts. and barty just wants him. he just wants him and wants to keep him and he was never ready to lose him and he isn’t ready now. but it all boils down to the fact that barty is equally impulsive as he is strategic. he spent years (?) trying to figure out a way to being regulus back and more of his friends died during that time. he’s done what he set out to do. so he looks. because reg is asking him to and because barty isn’t strong enough not to look at what he wants

and yeah.

#fic: don’t look back #THIS IS SO LONG IM SORRY……. #bartylus #ive missed them

[seungkwansphd]

i look good on you

pairing: producer!woozi x producer!YN word count: 965 synopsis: it's been months since you and woozi broke up, surrounded by a series of strange circumstances, but you haven't stopped thinking of each other and it shows. themes: exes to reconciliation, angst-lite, i stan poppi she's a laugh riot. lyrics borrowed from paper - kenzie and deny - monsta x.

a/n: i promise i'm working on 'room for interpretation', but that ad for 'paper' keeps popping up while i watch abbot elementary and it's stuck in my head.

“Hey Poppi, one sec?” you pulled your headphones off and walked into the recording booth.

“Sorry, it’s not right is it?” the singer looked up at you apologetically.

“Hey, you’re okay!” you smiled encouragingly at the young singer. “You sound great, it’s just…this song is about longing for someone that you aren’t with anymore. It should be more…heartbreaking.”

“I’ve never experienced that before,” she shrugged, making a funny face at you.

“Hmm,” you nodded, trying to think of how to describe the tone you were after.

“She looks good on paper, but I look good on you”

You sang briefly for her, stretching the syllables out in a slightly exaggerated fashion.

“A little more strain on the vocals. Like your voice is about to break, but you’re managing to keep it together.”

You nodded enthusiastically as she tried again. Much better.

…

You smiled happily as you watched another clip of Poppi’s interview. The song you’d produced for her had really taken off and she'd been doing such a good job with all of the press. For such a fresh new talent, you were really impressed with her and hoped to work with her again.

…

“Oh oh oh! Here it is! YN’s new song!” Hoshi screamed excitedly when the ad came on.

Jihoon’s head turned automatically at the sound of your name. Even though it’d been months since you’d broken up, he still couldn’t seem to help himself. He had been trying his best not to keep tabs on you, but he had heard through the grapevine that you’d been working with Poppi on their new album. He hadn’t had the heart to listen to it yet, but he was happy to see the success that she'd been having.

When the song came to an end, all eyes were on him.

“What?” he asked gruffly.

“Did you hear that?” Hoshi screamed. “Were you listening to the lyrics?”

“What?” Jihoon’s brow furrowed. Truth be told, he’d been too wrapped up in his own thoughts to really digest the lyrics.

“Hold on actually,” Hoshi started typing furiously on his phone. He brought his hand to his mouth dramatically. “We’re gonna leave because you need to listen to this. Alone.”

Jihoon did nothing to stop them, because he liked being alone more than most things. It was probably an hour more before he caved and played Poppi’s new song on his speakers.

‘My friends saw you with her

Then I saw the pictures’

Jihoon’s heart stopped.

‘No one moves on that fast’

He leaned back in his chair and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, thinking furiously. He tried to line up dates in his head. No.

He wanted to call you. Explain the situation because he now understood how it would have looked from your perspective, but what the hell could he even say?

“Sorry YN, the members all coordinated shenanigans that week because Vernon was having a dating scandal?”

Somehow he didn’t think that would cut it.

…

Your eyebrows raised as you read the headline. ‘Fans react to Producer Woozi dropping a surprise track’. You burned with curiosity, but it would have to wait until later. Today you were recording with Poppi again. Her label had been so pleased with the success of Paper that they’d contracted you for two more songs.

“YN YN!��� she burst into the studio unceremoniously, holding her phone out at you. “We need to listen to Woozi’s new song!”

“I-,”

“Right now, no negotiation! This is part of my creative process!” she barreled past you.

You didn’t put up a fight as you were itching to hear the song as well. You tried to avoid Poppi’s gaze and focus on the lyrics, but her eyes burned into you so you had to turn away from her halfway through. When it ended, you were silent.

“I’m going to start yelling,” she announced, giving you fair warning.

“Sleep won't come, you're depicted on the ceiling?!”

“I'm left with these feelings, and why is your old space so dark?”

She continued to shout lyrics at you until she ran out of notable ones and started again at the beginning.

“I think this song is about you!”

“Why would you think that?” you narrowed your eyes at her.

“I’m on stan Twitter! I know you and Woozi dated secretly. And then you broke up. And then Dispatch posted pictures of him with some other person. And then you wrote Paper. And then he just dropped this?”

You almost burst out laughing. The way Poppi was rattling off her thoughts felt very much like that ‘Conspiracy Theory Charlie Day’ meme. You were amazed, fans really had a way of sleuthing out the truth. If only there was some way to harness that energy to solve crimes.

“You should talk to him. Something seemed off about those Dispatch photos. The timing was so close to Vernon’s little dating scandal. Hoshi’s thing with Soohyuk too. Personally I think it was all a ruse to distract.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at her. This was getting a little ‘The Moon Landing was Fake’ for you, so you redirected her focus to the demo track. She urged you again, at the end of your session, to message him before giving you a hug.

[yn]: ‘hey. heard the new song, it’s really good.’

You jumped when your phone started ringing moments later.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Jihoon’s gravelly voice came through.

Your heart twisted in your chest. It had been so long since you’d heard his voice and yet it felt familiar as if no time had passed. You’d been doing your best to ignore this feeling…move on, but you missed him.

“Can we talk?” he brought you back to the present.

“...yeah. Yeah, we can.”

#woozi fanfic #woozi angst #svthub #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen angst #svt angst #kpop writer #lee jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #lee jihoon fanfic #seventeen scenario #svt scenario #seungkwansphd:writes

[theminecraftbee]

“You let the Entity eat Mumbo?”

“I didn’t mean to! Let is a strong word!” wails Grian. He’s been cornered to the side of his cave by Scar and Iskall. He’s covering his face awkwardly with his hands and cowering. Good. At least he knows how much of a serious idiot he’s been being.

“I can’t believe you!” Iskall says. “And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“It was fine!” Grian says. “It was - I had it perfectly well-handled. I already had the Rift and everything, all I needed to do was -”

“You don’t have a handle on the Rift either,” Scar says.

“Shut up,” Grian says. There’s a strange, ominous growl to his voice. Not for the first time, Iskall eyes the stone claws at the end of Grian’s fingers warily. His eyes have always been that weird blank black, but lately they seem especially so. For a moment, Iskall is quiet.

“Okay,” Iskall says. “Fine. You didn’t mean to.” Iskall doesn’t actually believe that, which is also a little terrifying, but he’ll get to that later. “You’re still going to march with me right to - I guess Ren?” He looks at Scar.

Scar shrugs. “I mean, I guess? We don’t have an authority for - for people who get their best friends eaten by their pet rock. I mean, I guess that could be an Xisuma problem, but sometimes I think Tango is better with that stuff and I am not letting Tango near the Entity.”

“What he said,” Iskall says.

“Ren’s going to throw me in jail if I do that. He’s already after my head!”

“Tough shit!” Iskall says.

“Gasp. You said a swear,” Scar says.

“Yes! Because the situation is fucking serious!” Iskall says. “I know it’s funny to say that Mumbo has - it’s been months Grian! Months of you saying he was fine! Months of - if the Entity hadn’t done - well, we wouldn’t know if it hadn’t been for that! Months!”

Iskall and Scar both shudder, remembering what they’d seen of the Entity. Yes, that had pretty thoroughly showed them just how Grian had been lying. Iskall’s never going near it again. All he can think of is flesh and blood and dripping viscera and a familiar face in a place it shouldn’t be twisted in ways it - and Grian had been claiming Mumbo was on vacation.

“I’m not - I have it under control. Look at Grumbot Prime. We have a - it’s under control,” Grian says. “Please. You can’t tell anyone. You can’t tell anyone. Please it’s under control I have it just let me -”

“No, Grian,” Scar says. “We’re going to take this to people who can help. And we’re going to hope it’s not too late.” There’s a long pause. “I’m - I’m not very happy with you,” Scar adds, and the tone that he says it in says everything else.

Grian falls silent. He’s just... staring now. It’s eerie. He’s almost completely still. It’s not how Grian reacts to things. Scar nods and reaches for Grian, and for a moment, Iskall is terrified. He almost stops Scar then.

Something is horribly wrong.

Nothing happens. Grian is nearly limp in Scar’s hands as he’s lifted up. Scar’s expression is odd and blank. It makes sense, given the circumstances, but Iskall is suddenly deeply, deeply aware of the purple light that bathes everything here and those damned stone claws Grian has these days that he’s still not using.

“We’ll get this sorted,” Iskall says, instead of any of his misgivings.

Grian is silent. Iskall looks at Scar over Grian’s head and, together, they start frog marching him to the shopping district, where hopefully they can get him in front of people who can figure out how to rescue Mumbo.

Iskall hopes.

(He feels like something is watching them.)

#hermitcraft #a bee fic #body horror #gore #...do i need to tag this with cannibalism please respond #grian #iskall #goodtimeswithscar #hey so i had this HORRIBLE thought about where mumbo could have canonically gone if we wanted to reach for the horror concepts because like #listen. listen. if we want mumbo to be missing. there's an easy way right there. #haha. hahahaha. haha. #anyway glad to write something that's fucked up for no reason again this is a return to form #this is just like. a SNIPPET of the idea here. not even a full thought. please elaborate if you have elaboration it is one am i don't.

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: mentions of death/su**ide

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

this took forever but i’m getting back in the groove! I got a little ahead of myself so I had to restart my whole timeline so it made sense. also yes asten is really determined to do this, you’ll learn why later

part sixteen

❝ WITHOUT A TRACE ❞

SATURDAY — AUGUST 8 — 10:04PM

SURPRISINGLY TO NO ONE, SLEEP WAS AVOIDED LIKE THE BLACK PLAGUE THAT NIGHT. Bentley, Nico, and Asten took to conversing quietly instead, all spread out on various parts of Bentley’s king sized bed. Nico was laying on his back across the foot of the mattress, bickering with Asten a little, but staring at the ceiling, mostly. He’d been jumping at shadows and flinching at the faintest of sounds for hours now. Bentley wasn’t even sure he’d seen him smile since they got to the Manor. Asten was posted up near the left edge of the bed, scouring the internet on Tim’s old laptop with a big bag of chips Jason had insisted they take up with them. He, as opposed to Nico, was taking their terrible circumstances in his stride, acting completely normal. Bentley was against the headboard, fiddling with his phone, trying his best not to be awkward.

Before they’d come up to Bentley’s bedroom, they’d been cooped up in the den, watching random movies on a quiet volume with Dick and Jason for company. It was the first time Bentley had seen Dick out of the hospital bed. Outwardly, he was just Dick Grayson. Charming, outgoing, fun-loving and even able to put Bentley’s jittery friends at ease; but Bentley could see the glimmer in his eyes that was dimmer than usual, the brief moments that he took to breathe and gather himself before he put the never-ending smile back on.

Jason had to have been seeing it, too. He was off to the side reading a book, but Bentley saw him react to things ever so slightly, like his finger twitching the slightest bit when Dick would shift uncomfortably, or the way his eyes flicked up for a split second when Asten’s Crime Alley drawl made a unmistakable appearance. 

After they successfully spent nine solid hours in the den, and skipped lunch, Dick practically begged them to eat something. (Bentley realized just then that he and Asten hadn’t eaten at all that day.) Dinner was quiet.

Bruce had let them know Damian had gone to a friend’s house — a family called the Kents — and Bentley was ninety-nine percent sure it was because of him, Asten, and Nico. Why else would Damian spontaneously up and leave? Duke was working on a school project at a classmate’s, Steph was swamped with college, Babs was staying late at the library, Tim was working over (which really meant he was in the cave.), and Cass was… well… doing whatever Cass did. (No one could really keep tabs on her, could they?) Bentley assumed it had to do with her upcoming dance recital next week.

Bentley didn’t mind. The meal was quick and quiet, and Alfred made some really good pasta stuff, that was so good Asten got a second helping. (Which Bentley considered really good, because he was Brazilian and Brazilians were very good cooks.)

And that pretty much led to now, ten at night, sitting in Bentley’s  bedroom that was pitch silent apart from Asten’s occasional crunching.

Bentley had exhausted all the games on his phone throughout the day, so now he was just kind of playing with his phone case. Nico’s phone kept going off repeatedly. (Bruce had called his parents to let them know what was going on, and they were coming back early, but their plane didn’t leave until morning so Nico had to stay with the Waynes until they got home.) Asten had said he called his uncle, but Bentley didn’t actually think so — he’d been near the bathroom door the whole time and never heard him say anything. But maybe he texted him. Either way, Asten was staying the night again, too. (As if Bruce would even consider letting him go home alone — He’d been checking on them nonstop, once every fifteen minutes at least. No one would know he was the calm and collected Batman based on the way he acted with his kids. Which was probably a good thing.)

“Bentley?”

It was the first time he’d heard Nico’s voice in quite a while, so both he and Asten perked up, glancing over at the blonde. His ocean blue eyes were locked on the ceiling. He was tugging on the strings of his light gray hoodie in a repetitive, rhythmic pattern, staring at nothing but deep in thought.

“Yeah?” Bentley questioned, picking at the edge of his clear phone case.

“What was your dream like? About her?” 

Bentley blinked. They hadn’t talked about the Secret Keeper since they got home, and he really hadn’t expected Nico to be the one to bring it up. He tapped on his phone lightly, exhaling.

“Uh… well… it was really realistic,” Was how he started, gaze focusing on the dark comforter he had over his legs. “I thought I was awake, and I started hearing her. Talking to me.”

He tried to hide the little shiver that shook him when he imagined the warped, strange mixture of her voice and Damian’s, but he wasn’t sure he hid it very well. “I tried to run but she was everywhere, taking peoples faces, their voices, just for me to look up and realize it was her and not them. I...” He looked down a bit farther. “I threw up when I finally woke up.”

Nico glanced over at him, blue eyes bouncing across his face for a few seconds. “Mine was really realistic, too. I woke up when my baby sister was crying, and I went to get her, but when I opened her bedroom door it was…” He trailed off, focusing back on the ceiling. “She, uh… started chasing me around my house. And none of the doors went to the right rooms, everywhere was a dead end, and I couldn’t find my parents or my sister, and I…”

Bentley glanced over at him, watching him blink the tiniest hint of glassy-ness out of his eyes. “Don’t be embarrassed,” Nico finally continued. “I threw up, too. Like four times. It always happens when I get really scared.”

A moment of silence passed.

“Was yours weird like that, Asten?” He questioned, glancing over at him.

Asten shrugged, not looking up from the screen that was lighting up his face and hair. “It… uh…”

Bentley watched his green irises move from the screen, to the keyboard, down to his lap, bouncing around there for a few moments. “I don’t… really want to talk about it.”

Nico blinked, looking back at the ceiling. “…Sorry.”

“S’fine,”

The room fell quiet, and Bentley kept fiddling with his phone. Maybe Asten’s dream had something to do with his parents or Brazil — that would make sense why he didn’t want to talk about it. Or maybe he was just terrified and didn’t want to think about it. Justifiably.

Bentley breathed in and out. “How’s your research going?” He said after a few moments, glancing over at Asten.

The blue-haired-boy shrugged. “I’ve pretty much dead-ended on my missing persons list. It totals up to forty-nine in the past four months, in and around Gotham. A lot of them are already… dead.”

Asten picked up the laptop and moved next to Bentley, adjusting the screen so he could see it. He had a spreadsheet open with a list of names and links to the articles where he’d found them. The whole thing looked freakishly similar to Tim’s — Asten wasn’t kidding around with his research, apparently.

“Research for what?” Nico questioned, sitting up on his elbows to gaze at them.

“I’m making a list of all the potential Secret Keeper targets. Trying to find something to go off of. To find her boss,” Asten explained, nonchalantly.

Nico wasted no time sitting up with a high-pitched: “To find her what?!”

Asten shrugged. “I dunno! Her boss, her leader, her dad, whoever branded her head.”

“Branded her head?”

“Yes, branded her head,” Asten clarified with a sigh. Nico pushed himself upright and shimmied up to the headboard, on the other side of Asten to look at the computer.

“Why in the world are you trying to find her boss?” He murmured, scanning the spreadsheet quickly.

“Because I want to destroy her,” Asten said, with a completely blank, serious expression on his face. Nico stared at him for a solid ten seconds before he frowned.

“What’re you gonna do? She’s killed people!”

Asten scoffed. “I’m going to make her life a living hell, thank you very much. Bentley said he’s in.”

Nico’s panicky blue eyes flicked over to Bentley. “For real?”

He shrugged lightly. Chasing down murdery metahuman supervillains wasn’t exactly his idea of fun, but if it would convince Damian he deserved to live with them, he’d do that five times over. After all, it’s what his whole family did, every single night. 

“Yeah,” He muttered quietly.

“If they harass you, harass them back,” Asten chimed, like it was some sort of nursery rhyme he learned when he was little. Nico gaped at him. “Fight fire with fire, they hit you, you hit them harder, all that jazz.”

“That’s illegal and immoral,” Nico murmured. “And I’m pretty sure fire plus fire just equals more fire.”

Bentley glanced up at Asten, who snickered: “Nothings illegal if you don’t get caught!”

Nico blinked a few times, in silence. “No,” He deadpanned. “How are her supposed victims going to help you find her boss, anyway?”

Asten shrugged. “I’m not actually sure yet. Just working with what I’ve got. Which isn’t much.”

None of them said anything for a solid ten seconds, all just glancing between each other and the computer.

“You guys can help me, actually. I’m trying to find anything besides being missing or dead that might link all these people together. If you want to see what you can find on some of them, that would be very helpful,” Asten explained.

“Helpful in finding a boss that might not even exist, of a lady who can kill you from four states away, that’s been personally attacking us. Sounds safe to me,” Nico muttered, and Asten elbowed him with a pointed glare. 

“Shut up,”

“Why are you so obsessed with destroying her? Gotham has police and superheroes for that,” Nico continued.

Asten stared at the screen in silence for a moment, something grim swirling in the back of his eyes before he pushed it away with a sharp inhale. “Because she’s been stalking us like a freaking psycho. If she’s gonna mess with us, she’s gonna know who she’s messing with.”

Bentley blinked. “If she can read our minds, I guess she already does.”

Asten glanced over at him for a moment, their eyes locking for a solid five seconds before he looked away again.

“True,”

“You think she can just always read our minds? Whenever she wants?” Nico interjected, glancing between them worriedly. “Because I don’t think a supervillain that knows we’re trying to catch them is going to be very easy to catch. Not to mention she’ll probably kill us.”

Asten shrugged. “I mean, if she can, she already knows. There’s no point in stopping now.”

“Uh, yeah, there is. It’s called not dying,” Nico sassed.

“Would you just help me?” Asten finally muttered, gesturing to the computer. “Just pick anyone on the list and see what you can find. It’d take me forever to do all these.”

Bentley obeyed, turning his phone the right way and choosing a name from the very top of the list: Titus Lancaster. 

He navigated to the internet and typed the name in, and immediately, several different results popped up.

The first one was on a website called Gotham’s Coldest Cases, and when he clicked on it, a picture of a boy with shiny, grayish-brown eyes was the first thing he saw. He was holding a guitar and sitting on the floor in front of a distant Christmas tree, wearing a red hoodie and gray sweatpants, smiling brightly up at the camera with dimples the size of craters. There was a red and black beanie pulled over his head, his deep brown hair only peeking out slightly from the front and back.

The headline beneath it was: New Jersey Couple Awakes to their Twelve Year Old Son Gone Without a Trace.

Bentley continued to scroll, watching the body of the article appear as he did.

Isabelle and Jonathan Lancaster awoke the morning of May 6 like it was any other day… little did they know, it wasn’t. When Isabelle Lancaster went to wake up her pre-teen son for school, he wasn’t there.

‘There was nothing in his room or in the rest of the house that would suggest he ran away. Even his cellphone was still charging on his nightstand.’ Says Eugenia Carlomile, head detective on the case. ‘No signs of forced entry or forced exit, no sightings of him or any suspicious persons anywhere outside of their house. We’re waiting for further evidence to continue our search.’

Titus Lancaster was last seen on May 5, when he and his parents parted ways for bed around 10:45pm. He was reportedly wearing a black hoodie with his last name and the number 16 on the back, and the Gotham City Middle School basketball logo on the front, with light gray sweatpants and a black and red beanie on his head. 

As of today, July 17, there are still no sightings of Titus. His family is holding an empty, closed casket funeral that is open to the public for anyone who wishes to grieve with them on July 27.

If you have seen or believe you have seen Titus Lancaster, or have heard any additional information regarding his disappearance, please contact the Gotham City Police Department at (856)-916-GCPD.

Bentley scrolled back to the top and saved the website to his favorites folder, before tapping his way back to the initial search results.

The second website that came up was Gotham News Network (GNN). When he opened it, there was a button at the top that said About the Disappearance of Titus Lancaster, but below that stood the large headline: Isabelle and Jonathan Lancaster Found Dead.

He took a deep breath, in and out, then scrolled down.

Isabelle and Jonathan Lancaster were found dead in their garage due to asphyxiation on July 28, caused by the trapped fumes of two running vehicles. Detective Eugenia Carlomile suggests this was a direct response to their missing twelve-year-old son, Titus Lancaster’s closed casket funeral the day before.

Bentley opted out of reading the rest of the article, saving it to his file with the other instead.

He couldn’t even imagine going missing, only to come back and learn your parents were dead.

The rest of the articles were repeats of those two, the only other relevant website being one called Gotham Areopagus. Bentley clicked on it, but it just ended up being a congratulations on their website for a group graduating from a children’s physics course there early in the year. Titus was among the list of names.

“I didn’t find anything about Titus, other than what happened to him and his parents,” Bentley said quietly, glancing over at Asten. “And that he took some class at a place called the… Areopagus?”

Asten nodded lightly, typing something next to Titus’s name. “It’s some rich kid's extracurricular class thing. I think people go there to just… take more classes? Nico’s been there.”

Bentley glanced over at the blonde, who shrugged. “It’s like, hands on STEM class stuff. I only went to a birthday party there, but there are year-long courses and stuff you can take.”

Bentley nodded lightly. He wasn’t going to ask what STEM meant.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know about it, nosebleed,” Asten taunted, nudging Bentley with his elbow. “Y’know, being the kid of the richest man, like, ever, and everything.”

Bentley shrugged. “I’m not from here, remember? I’m from Drew.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Asten continued. “You can look up someone else, then. It’s fine if you can’t find much.”

Bentley moved onto another random name, in the middle of the list: Davis Henderson.

Why did he recognize that name?

He typed it into his browser, scanning the results that popped up. The first one was on a news site called Right Now New Jersey, and when he clicked on it, the headline read: New Jersey College Student Assaulted at Work.

When he opened it, a photograph of an eerily familiar, blonde-haired-green-eyed guy came up. He was wearing a blue button up and a little waist apron, with a notepad and pen in his hands, smiling down at the camera. Behind him was a bar.

The bar Bentley went into when he was running from his father last year. It was that Davis, the waiter that tried to keep Bentley away from his father’s men, to protect him, only to get the butt of a pistol to his head.

21-year-old Davis Henderson was assaulted by an unknown assailant in the back room of the bar he works at. He was found unconscious with a blow to the head by coworker, Madison Langford, who called the police. ‘All I saw was blood, a lot of it, and I immediately called the cops,’ Said Langford, Henderson’s coworker in training. ‘I was so afraid he might’ve been dead.’

Henderson woke up confused and unable to give the police any description of his assailant or the incident in question. The camera system in the bar seemed to have been tampered with, as the exact time of the assault was cut out of the footage. More on this story as it develops.

Bentley quickly clicked off of that article. He could still remember the way the gun cracked as it collided with the waiter’s head. The way he dropped like a rag doll. The fact that it was all his fault.

He silently scrolled down to the next article instead, on the same website as Titus’s: Gotham’s Coldest Cases. The headline was: Star Princeton University Student Missing?

He opened it up and scrolled past the exact picture of Davis that was on the other website.

21-year-old Princeton University student Davis Henderson was declared missing on August 2nd, after not showing up to work or classes for 24 hours. 

He was last seen on surveillance walking between his home and work on August 1st at approximately 3:27am on 9th street, near Whitehouse Library and The Gotham Areopagus. He was wearing a blue button-up, black slacks, and black tennis-shoes. He didn’t make contact with anyone on or around the time of his disappearance, and there is no surveillance footage of him returning to his apartment complex that night or the following 48 hours.

‘I assumed he was sick when he didn’t come to class,’ Said Ethan Hunt, Davis’s classmate at Princeton University. ‘But he didn’t respond all day. I drove all the way to his apartment complex in Gotham, to make sure he hadn’t fallen seriously ill, but it was still locked and he wasn’t home.’

If you have seen or believe you have seen Davis Henderson, or have heard any additional information regarding his disappearance, please contact the Gotham City Police Department at (856)-916-GCPD.

Bentley sighed lightly and closed the website. Davis was so nice to him, and now he was… gone. Disappeared off the street.

And wasn’t Whitehouse Library the same place where The Secret Keeper chased Asten?

When he went through more of the search results, they were just repeats of those two stories, plus a few social media posts where Davis was tagged. Bentley scoured four different accounts of his, even going back as far as when he was a young teenager, but there was nothing that aided his search or seemed suspicious in the slightest. 

Bentley sighed heavily, glancing at the list Asten had made. “This guy was last seen in the same area where the Secret Keeper chased you.” 

Asten glanced over at him, then at his phone. “Who?”

“Davis Henderson,” Bentley stated, and Asten nodded, finding Davis’s column and typing a few things next to his name.

“I’m not finding anything on this Olivia girl but her dream and the reports of her going missing,” Nico stated. “She saw the Secret Keeper in her yard.”

“That’s fine,” Asten muttered.

Well, three down. Forty-six to go.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

#batboys #batfamily #batman #oc; bentley whittaker #oc; bentley #mb; a hundred ways to become a wayne #oc; asten #oc; asten evans #oc; nico #oc; niko rockefeller #oc; titus #oc; titus lancaster #batfam #barbara gordon #oracle #dick grayson #nightwing #jadon todd #red hood #cassandra cain #orphan #tim drake #red robin #stephanie brown #spoiler #duke thomas #signal #damian wayne #damian al ghul #dc robin

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Talking about my beloved Háma earlier this week got me thinking again about how Beregond is the Háma of Gondor. One of the ways Tolkien showed us how bound together Gondor and Rohan were as countries was by drawing explicit parallels between individual Gondorians and Rohirrim (like Boromir and Théodred), and it happens for everyone's favorite guards, too. They have some differences (I mean, Háma dies 😭), but they’re much more alike than not. 

Most importantly, they’re both soldiers—part of a very hierarchical, duty-bound structure—who nonetheless decide in key moments to disregard orders and follow their own judgment and good sense instead. Háma will let Gandalf violate the ban on weapons in Meduseld and Beregond will leave his post and literally slay anyone facilitating the burning of Faramir because their hearts and minds tell them that sometimes laws must be broken in service of a larger morality. That takes courage, independence of thought, and a strong sense of self. By disobeying, they both knowingly risk punishment—and, indeed, both are punished—but they do it anyway because they know it’s right. And ultimately, both are forgiven and honored because everyone can see they made correct, if unlawful, decisions. (This parallel is also replicated a little further up the respective hierarchies because Éomer and Faramir are also both noted mavericks who choose at pivotal moments to aid members of the Fellowship even though, by law, those outsiders should be arrested or killed. So, again, parallels between pairs of Gondorians and Rohirrim abound!)

I like that Tolkien takes care to show that it’s not just the folks at the very top of communities of Men that can have and display these really admirable and noble traits. It’s important for there to be a Háma and a Beregond so that we know these lands of Men are worth protecting—there is goodness there! And of course it fits very neatly with the “small hands do great deeds” theme of LOTR overall. Háma and Beregond each change the course of history when they trust to their own worth and hold to their own values, no matter the circumstances or consequences.

So that’s the biggest/weightiest parallel for Háma and Beregond, but it’s certainly not the only one. They both work for prestigious military units in the capital city of their countries. They both play formal roles in granting our major characters access to those cities. They’re both firsthand witnesses to the mental manipulation and torment of their leaders (Théoden and Denethor) by an enemy. They both get joyful moments witnessing the healing of a beloved lord. They’re both Gandalf enthusiasts in places where not everyone respects or welcomes Gandalf’s presence. They both demonstrate a willingness to draw swords on anyone they perceive as threatening their lords. They’re both pretty adept at rolling with it when things take a really weird turn (I mean, really, the legendary lost heir of Elendil shows up on Háma’s doorstep claiming to be friends with a mythical elf-sorceress, and he just goes with it. And Beregond has never seen a hobbit before and maybe isn’t even sure they’re real when one is thrust on him, and he immediately makes Pip his buddy!). 

Those are the canon parallels, but I would be remiss if I didn’t finish by specifying that @brigwife and I agree it is rock solid head canon that Háma and Beregond met somehow and became actual long distance best friends. It’s only natural that they’d get along given how much they have in common—just two absolute gems of the race of Men who would totally love and appreciate one another. And I’d like to think that even as Háma’s legacy is commemorated at his resting place in Rohan, there’s also a little memorial for him in Gondor built by Beregond in a beautiful, peaceful part of Ithilien. During Beregond’s lifetime it stands as a tribute to his enduring friendship with Háma, and in later days, when anyone who knew them is gone, it stands instead as a tribute to the enduring friendship of Gondor and Rohan.

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #rohan #gondor #háma #hama #beregond #guards and brothers #rulebreakers and freethinkers #if you know anything about how i feel about háma #you know what a compliment this comparison is to beregond

[heraldofcrow]

10, 18, 23, 44, 49 forrr Sephiroth!

(Me and you share some love for white-haired main villain who has a very special circumstance of birth and is trying to stand up against his destiny, take control over the planet and end up fighting blonde protagonist who is their completely opposite but they are so similar… But mine is from FF9 xD)

FAREEHA YOU INDULGE ME TOO MUCH, THANK YOU!! You know I am holding back so much from writing essays on my beloved, loll. I need to stay CALMMM <3

Also, are you talking about Kuja?? Omg, I actually kinda know him! They did a FF9 crossover on the FF7 Ever Crisis game recently and they made a reference to him via Sephiroth actually. A very toned down reference though, haha. Sephiroth is still good and just a kid in Ever Crisis.

Anyway, if you want some of these asks on YOUR blorbo, just say the word!

Now for my incoherent ramblings!

~

10: Best moment on screen (or in the book)

This is so hard to say because he has so many. He can just show up and everybody gets awe-struck, but I suppose I would have to choose Nibelheim because it’s just the most iconic and establishes his villain role in the story going forward.

I mean, it’s THE scene…the scene where we see this famous war hero that everyone looked up to and loved completely lose his mind and set everything on fire lol.

I love it because I just get the ultimate “Fuck humanity” vibe from his downfall. It’s pure rage exploding from one person and the one person that really should NOT have snapped because of how dangerous he is. It’s terrifying and sad and perfect. I love this moment. I love villains that turn against mankind in general because of a horrific experience with humans. It’s very…human…hmmm…

This could only maybe be topped if the full remake version of him ascending into a seraphim-like, Biblically accurate angel looks as cool as I imagine it will. Can’t wait to see him wipe out the solar system in 4k <3

18: What they’d go to see a therapist about

EVERYTHING LMAO.

Ok, let’s just say somehow Seph didn’t snap in Nibelheim and lose his mind, instead being strangely calm and reasonable, thus deciding to go to fucking therapy. 💀

He’d have to go for his entire existence for one. His problems started from the moment he was conceived and even before, because um…his birth was an extremely twisted and violating experiment even as a concept. He’d have to come to terms with the fact that his own parents injected him with the cells of some fucking eldritch alien abomination while he was still in the womb so that he could serve some higher purpose after his birth. So yeah. He’d probably want to talk about that.

Then he’d have to deal with everything else like: serious mommy issues, Hojo, his mom, Hojo, Shinra in general, Jenova, Hojo, being raised as a child soldier, not knowing what it was like to have a hometown or normal life, not knowing what having fun was or how to socialize at all until he was like…14, Hojo’s A+ parenting, Shinra’s A+ childrearing, fucked up brainwashing and conditioning, war PTSD from when he was like…literally still a kid, Hojo being his dad, whatever happened with Gast, lifelong dehumanization via propaganda and military rearing, lifelong lack of autonomy, whatever terrible thing that is definitely going to happen in The First Solider, being sent to commit genocide as a kid, possible bloodguilt, severe psychological trauma, his only two friends bailing on him, Angeal’s death, his entire relationship with Genesis and what happened with them (I love my bois but their communication skills need some serious work xD), Hojo, human experimentation, the fact that he was the weaponized pawn of a cold, industrial, genocidal, tyrannical, warmongering organization his entire life without fully realizing it because they were really good at lying and manipulation, and finally….mommy issues and Hojo.

This is just all the canon stuff I can think of. If any more of the fan speculation gets proven right, it’s gonna get worse lmao.

23: If they were a scented candle, what would they smell like?

and also probably

sdfghjuikfghsj sorry lmao.

That would probably be post-insanity Sephiroth. Sane Sephiroth is just a melancholy sweetheart, so probably something like sage and vanilla because errrr…something-something sweet + slightly bitter + herbal symbolism my beloved + green and silver-white.

(CRIME BRULÈE LMAOOO I NEED THAT CANDLE)

44: Their happiest memory

Aww ;-;

I am trying to answer these all according to canon or at least what seems implied within canon, so I think it’s technically being with Angeal and Genesis.

This playful spar scene is very important, and it’s one of the only times Seph seems genuinely really happy pre-insanity. Later, when he and Zack are on a mission, he literally just stops randomly to talk about it all cheerfully. I mean, having fun with friends was a pretty foreign concept to him, it seems—so actually having the opportunity with his buddies looked like it meant a lot.

49: Favorite toy as a child

I’m sorry to say, but I remember seeing in one of the game guides that Sephiroth was in battle or at least training for it from before he was ten years old, and considering that he was raised to be a soldier, I don’t think he had any other toys besides weapons, hehe. I mean, in Ever Crisis, he is a young teen and has a scene where he experiences “having fun” for the first time. It’s a big moment for him, so I don’t think playing or toys were concepts he knew or understood as a kid. Maybe he had a few favorite swords though!

Had he been a normal kid….hmmm….well he is part alien and has a black wing…maybe he’d like a stuffed birb toy…ONE WITH BLACK WINGS. HA!

No, that’s just my crow propaganda smh, I’ll shush—

Ok, wow I really need to shut up dghsjk—THANK YOU FOR SPOILING ME FAREEHA! <3

#i fuckin rambled #XD #guys if you ask me about my favs i go overboard sorry fdghbsj #asks #mutuals #ask game #sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #ff7 #ever crisis

[solkorolevastan]

I’m gonna rank the couples in The Lunar Chronicles and explain why because I’m immensely bored I apologize in advance. And also just because it’s in a lower position doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing like there are only 4 spots-

Also SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES-

4th PLACE

WOLFLET- it’s the whole alpha thing that caused this I’m sorry like they need a lil more screen time and a lot less calling each other alpha. But I did really love them just not in the book Scarlet. I loved them in Cress and Winter when they were separated and it was just immense amounts of pining and I think they’re the most solid/loyal couple in the series like they’d do anything for each other and I love that. Honestly they’re a top tier couple and I wish we got more time with them like SOSN was peak because we got to see them being domestic and like adjusting I loved it. If they were put up against most other couples then they’d win I swear

3RD PLACE

CRESSWELL-these two were almost in 4th actually cuz they’re one of my least favourite tropes where it’s like “experienced suave guy who’s so hot and elite and older” and like “naive girl who’s never left her house and this is in fact the first human she’s spoken too” but somehow they made it enjoyable like I loved how she was like his sight in Cress and how well they work together. He also helps her come out of her shell and know her worth. I also love the fact that he’s a slut in recovery. They’re also the funniest couple and they also had the most slow burn which I enjoyed and I loved their ending. They’re very fun and again in any other circumstance in other list they’d be higher up (I also don’t like that Thorne’s 20+ and she’s 16 like it’s a lil weird-)

2ND PLACE

JACINTER-ok I’m kinda sad I put them in second and not first but yeah they’re my babies. They’re the best amalgamation of tropes I’ve ever seen like they’re childhood best friends to lovers, they’re forbidden love, they’re sun x moon (LISTEN HEAR ME OUT ON THIS), they’re grumpy x sunshine. I also love how much they genuinely adore each other and fight for each other to be safe as much as possible. They also have immense amounts of chemistry and tension in every scene they’re in. I also love that even though Winter is obviously the most vulnerable one in the relationship it doesn’t feel like he’s constantly doting on her like it feels equal like she doesn’t feel like a child being taken care of because of her mental health. I could talk about them hours like the pining the immense pining and the way they talk about and to each other it’s so beautiful like I miss them sm and they’re not popular enough like they’re the cutest I also have a headcanon that when they both move to Earth Jacin eventually retires from being her bodyguard and goes to medical school and they get to grow old somewhere where it always snows.

1ST PLACE

KAIDER- I love them they’re my favourite book couple ever actually like they’re like the first couple I ever genuinely shipped. And they were perfect in EVERY BOOK LIKE I WAS STRAPPED ON THIS TRAIN WITH THEM THEYRE SO ENDEARING AND PERFECT. Like ugh I genuinely had no notes on them for like bad stuff that I didn’t like. Like as I’m typing I’m think of criticism??? They’re so loyal to each other it’s makes me wanna BAWL AND THEYRE SO IN LOVE IT JUST YES. One of the main reasons I love them is because we had the two of them for so long like in Cinder it was only two POVs (if you don’t count Dr. Erland) and we got to see how they felt constantly and they’re such lil idiots and I love them like they’re it. I also love how much they compliment each other and bring out the best parts in the other if that makes sense like Kai learns a lot from her.They did almost lose to Jacinter tho and it came VERY CLOSE

Welp that’s the end. If you read all of ; here’s a heart for the trouble🤍

#the lunar chronicles #tlc cinder #tlc thorne #tlc scarlet #tlc kai #tlc cress #tlc winter #tlc wolf #jacin clay #jacinter #kaider

[cosmicanamnesis]

he tastes like chocolate pt. 8

[part 1] [part 7] [part 9] [read on ao3]

December 31st, 12 hours to midnight

The first thing Steve did once he was home was shower, and proceed to spend a totally reasonable amount of time, shut up Robin fixing his hair before standing in front of his closet staring at his clothes.

Shit.

He really did dress like that all the time, huh?

In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have cared. But this was Eddie, and his metal band’s presumably also metal friends. If he went dressed like normal, they’d tear him apart, he just knew it. 

So he put on something comfortable and did what he did best: asked Robin for help.

“Steve!” Chrissy yelled as he came into the Waystation, smiling brightly. “Why do we let Robin cover your shifts? She’s a terror in the morning.”

Steve laughed as he came up to the counter and Chrissy started making him a drink. Robin came out of the back, decidedly not as chipper or peppy as her coworker.

“Two more hours and I can go home,” she muttered to herself. “What’s up, dingus?” She leaned on one side of the pickup counter while Steve leaned against the other.

“When you come home, I need you to help me find something to wear.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked, gesturing to the bright yellow pullover peeking out under his coat.

“I look like a tool is what’s wrong with it. C’mon, Rob, work with me here,” Steve groaned, leaning his head back. Chrissy giggled, sidling up next to Robin to slide Steve his coffee. “Thanks, Chris.”

“Of course. I don’t think you look like a tool,” she said, bending down to rest her elbows on the counter, chin cradled in her hands. “I like that sweater, it looks good on you. Brings out the green in your eyes.”

“Yeah, well, you guys have seen how Eddie dresses.”

“You don’t own anything like what Eddie wears,” Robin scoffed. Steve nodded, eyes wide, gesturing at her while he sipped his drink as if to say that’s exactly my point. She narrowed her eyes at him, looking him up and down as she thought, drumming her fingers against the counter.

“No, I asked him what I should wear, and he said, basically, anything other than what I wear to work. Actually, no, he specifically said something that would get me written up if I wore it here.”

“Well, that’s not a very high bar to clear,” Chrissy giggled.

“Oh, Chris, trust me, he looks like this all the time. He doesn’t have anything that would get him written up- OH!” Suddenly Robin’s face lit up. “But I do!”

“Robin, I appreciate the thought but I’m like, twice your size.”

“Yeah, Robbie, he’s not gonna fit in your clothes.”

“No, trust me, you’ll fit. Just, wait for me to get home, okay?” They were abruptly cut off when the door chimed and a group of college girls walked in. Chrissy immediately rushed to the front of the counter, leaving Steve and Robin to finish their conversation. Immediately the pair leaned in closer to each other.

“You’re gonna make me wear your pajamas, aren’t you?” Steve asked. The only clothes Robin had that might fit him were the oversized pajama shirts she insisted on wearing without pants around the house.

“They’re normal shirts, Steve, I just wear them as pajamas. I’ll be home in a bit. Go eat something. Preen. Style your hair again.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Steve ran a hand through his hair, feeling for anything out of place. Robin rolled her eyes.

“Nothing, you goof. Go home.” She gave him a loving but forceful tap on the forehead before stepping away to help Chrissy make drinks.

So home he went and there he waited, rifling through every article of clothing he owned three or seven times, trying to save himself from the fate of having to wear Robin’s pajamas, to no avail.

Robin came home and before he knew it he was sitting on her bed while she rummaged through her own clothes, trying not to think about what she and Vickie may have gotten up to in that bed the night before.

Suddenly, shirts came flying at him. Most of them were band tee shirts, and at least Robin had the decency to hand him the ones with bands he might at least be able to name a couple songs by so he wouldn’t make a total jackass of himself.

“Pick one. They’re all the same size, so any of them should fit,” Robin said, plopping down in her desk chair, spinning lazily back and forth while Steve examined the shirts.

“Uh… This one, I guess?”

“Green Day? Are you sure?”

“What’s wrong with Green Day?”

“I mean, nothing really, just historically like… Punks and metalheads… Ehh.” Robin grimaced, rocking her head side to side. Steve got the message. Maybe not the wisest decision.

“Well, why’d you throw it at me, then, genius?” Steve put the shirt down and grabbed a different one. “I don’t think, what is this, Fleetwood Mac is gonna fly at the metal band house show.”

“Guess that leaves Miss Joan Jett, then. Or Pearl Jam, but,” Robin shrugged and laced her fingers together behind her head.

“Nah, Joan Jett’s cool.” Steve sorted through for the shirt, the only white one in the pile of black.

“Hey, do you still have those pants you ordered online?”

“Uh… The black ones? Maybe, why?”

“Well, they were the right size, weren’t they? Just the wrong style?”

“Yeah, I mean, if by right size you mean tighter than hell, sure.”

“Exactly. You should wear ‘em.”

Steve sighed. He understood what she was getting at. Tight pants, rock band tee shirt, etc., he’d meet all the requirements of the genre and also, with any luck, Eddie would… Whatever. He took the shirt back to his room and dug through his closet to see if the bag of stuff he’d meant to donate was still in there somewhere.

It was.

Because of course it fucking was.

Robin came in after him a moment later while he changed, carrying another armful of clothes.

“Okay, and these,” she said, dumping them in a heap on his bed. “Are not all the same size, so I have no idea if they’ll fit you, but if one of them does, I think it’d tie the whole look together.”

Steve glanced over the pile. Plaid button downs, all of them, in a few different colors. Once he managed to wrestle the jeans on, he grabbed a flannel at random.

The red one was too small in the arms, the white one was too tight across the shoulders, the blue one somehow managed to be both too big and too small at the same time.

“Moment of truth,” Robin said from her place on his bed, handing him the green and black plaid shirt, the last one she had. Steve shrugged it on.

“Sleeves are too short,” he said, stretching his arms out.

“Does it feel okay everywhere else though?” Steve moved in it a bit, rolling his shoulders, reaching up over his head.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Wonderful! Just roll the sleeves up, no one’ll notice!”

Steve shrugged and unbuttoned the cuffs of the shirt, looking at himself in the mirror on the back of his door as he rolled up the sleeves. Might not get him written up at work, but it sure didn’t look like anything else he ever wore.

“Holy shit, Steve,” Robin said, leaning forward. He turned his attention back to her. “You look like a real person!”

“Oh, fuck off,” he said, rolling his eyes and she burst into a fit of giggles.

“I’m kidding! It looks good. Here, let me take a picture to send to Chrissy,” Robin smiled, pulling out her phone. Steve sighed and looked back at the mirror, fussing with his hair.

“Alright, do your worst,” he said, turning back to her, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

“Oh, I already took it,” Robin shook her head, quickly typing on her phone. “You’re ridiculously photogenic, Steve, you look best in candids.”

“Well, at least show it to me before you send it,” Steve pleaded, coming around to kneel on the bed behind her. She tucked her phone close to her chest to keep him from looking.

“Fuck off, Chrissy has seen you explode whipped cream all over yourself, what are you worried about?”

“Can a man not want to see his own picture?”

“I’ll just send it to you, too,” Robin pushed his forehead, shoving him away from her. “There, dingus, read it and weep or something. Chrissy says you look hot, by the way.”

Steve heard his phone buzz on the nightstand and got up to look. In Robin’s defense, it was a pretty nice picture. Might make it his profile picture or something. He saved the photo and moved to slip his phone into his pocket, but changed his mind at the last minute.

Might as well get Eddie's opinion, too.

December 31st, 8 hours to midnight

Eddie stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, wet curls dripping down his back, and turned the volume down on his phone. Wayne was asleep, and as much as he loved his nephew, Eddie knew he would only put up with so much Dio.

Once he was back in the isolation of his bedroom, as he turned the volume back up, he noticed a text from Steve buried amongst the group chat notifications. It looked like Lucas and Gareth were having a heated debate about fireworks, and good god Eddie couldn't care less.

He opened Steve's text and… Oh. He could feel the blush creep over his whole body. He liked how Steve looked regularly, the polo shirts were goofy but they suited him, but suddenly he looked more like the rest of Eddie's friends and that suited him, too. Eddie could only stare, the original mission of getting dressed himself all but forgotten.

He saved the picture and sent it to Barb.

B:

hes gonna be the death of me

Are you with him right now?

no he just sent this to me

asked if that was an appropriate outfit for the party tonight

Is it?

yes but more importantly he is really testing my self control

I'm sure you'll be fine. When did he start wearing glasses?

huh. dunno. never seen him wear them before

my coffee guy&lt;;3:

Look okay to you?

definitely. since when do you wear glasses?

Oh, god damn it. Do me a favor and pretend you didn't see those.

why? i like them

They look stupid, and my eyesight really isn't that bad. I can go without.

they look nice. you should wear them tonight

by the way im gonna be there early to pick you up. gareth wants me at the party early to actually sound check before the show

Well, I'm ready whenever I guess.

ill let you know when i get there

At that moment, Eddie became very aware of the fact that he was still wearing nothing but a towel. He sighed and tossed his phone on the bed, where it stayed blaring Metallica and Iron Maiden while Eddie got dressed in his "concert clothes," Jeff always called them. 

Eddie had three outfits that he cycled through for their shows, ranging from low effort to entirely over the top. The New Year's house show with his D&D group ranked in the low effort category. Ripped jeans and a black shirt that had the sleeves cut off and the sides slit open, with Corroded Coffin bleach-painted across the chest. Y'know, in case anybody forgot the name of the band. His other outfits were more elaborate, more leather, more chains. But this was a house party. 

A house party he was bringing Steve to.

He could class it up a bit, he supposed.

December 31st, 6.5 hours to midnight

"Okay, I gotta go catch the bus if I want to be at Dusty's party on time," Robin said, clipping new earrings in as she came into the living room to hug Steve goodbye. He paused his show and stood as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I love you, have fun tonight, I'll see you tomorrow." She pressed a kiss to his cheek before letting him go. He fell back against the arm of the couch, watching her frantically tie her shoes and pull her coat on.

"I love you too, be safe. Send me lots of pictures and give the nerds my love."

"Will do!" Robin gave him a thumbs up and rushed out the door, leaving Steve by himself to anxiously wait for Eddie.

He didn't have to wait long.

Not ten minutes after Robin left, Steve felt his phone buzz with a text from Eddie that just read, here. Steve shot a quick text back and grabbed his own coat, doing a quick pocket check to make sure he had everything. Wallet, keys, phone charger wrapped up and tucked into the secret inside pocket of the bomber jacket. Lens cloth for the glasses he was begrudgingly wearing, because Eddie said they looked nice, and he wanted Eddie to think he looked nice.

He swallowed his anxiety and headed downstairs.

Eddie was waiting for him, not in the parking lot across the street, but directly in front of his building, and not in his van, but on a… motorcycle? Some vintage Harley that definitely wasn't at their trailer the night before.

“What the hell?” Steve laughed as Eddie smiled at him, one foot on the curb to keep the bike upright. “Where did this come from?”

Eddie held a helmet out to him. “Remember when you asked me what Alexei said to me?” Steve nodded, taking the helmet, trying to puzzle out how to wear the helmet and his glasses at the same time. “He asked if I still wanted to borrow his bike.”

“And uh. Why are we borrowing your weird neighbor’s motorcycle?”

“We can park it in the yard,” Eddie shrugged.

Steve paused, taking in the situation before him, and tucked his glasses into the secret inside pocket of this coat.

"Do I just… get on behind you?" Steve asked, holding the extra helmet gingerly in his hand.

"Yeah," Eddie laughed, and flipped his visor down. Steve put the helmet on, praying for his hair, and kicked a leg up over the bike. “Ready, sweetheart?” Steve wasn’t sure he heard Eddie right, but he nodded anyway. "Great. Hang onto me.”

When Steve hesitated, Eddie laughed and grabbed Steve’s hand, pulling it around Eddie’s waist. That seemed to jolt Steve out of whatever shock he’d gotten stuck in, and he wrapped his other arm around Eddie and held on tight as they took off up the road.

Steve had never been on a motorcycle. He'd driven a convertible before, and it was both the coolest and least safe he'd ever felt in a car. This was completely different. Riding behind Eddie, arms around his waist like he'd fly off the back if he let go, Steve felt a wild kind of freedom. If only his parents could see him now, he thought.

He could barely appreciate the view of the city blurring past before Eddie was pulling into a driveway. Deep down, Steve almost wished the ride would take longer, just so he would have an excuse to keep holding onto Eddie. But as he pulled the helmet off and took in his surroundings, he realized it wasn't as unfamiliar as he'd expected. Eddie pushed the kickstand down and pulled his own helmet off, shaking out his hair as Steve took in the sight of the house he’d been in a hundred times before.

"Wait, hang on-" 

"Eddie!" Whatever Steve was about to say was interrupted by a kid with fluffy hair welcoming Eddie into the garage. Steve recognized him from the picture on Eddie's fridge of the sparkler fight.

"Steve?" A familiar voice called. 

Dustin was leaning against a speaker, breathing heavily like he had carried it himself, looking as confused as Steve felt.

Dustin, Steve, and Eddie all glanced quickly between each other, realization setting in. The other shoe dropped as they all spoke in confused unison:

"You two know each other?"

-------

AAAAAAAA here it is !!!! this chapter comes with art which i will link [here] once it's posted!!!

tagging: @original-cypher @avacrebs @dangdirtydemons @rainydays35 @changenamelater @phantypurple @alienace @renaissan-vvitch @krazyperson @steddiereid @kittsu-makes-glass @i-must-potato @jaywhohasthegay @henderdads @mightbeasleep @straight4joekeery @sharingisntkaren @micheledawn1975 @thehumblefigtree @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @potentialheartofdarkness @dreammetheworld08 @steveisabicon @biatcgh @alittlegreyfish @r0binscript @estrellami-1 @shitnshit

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fic #text

[coconutcordiale]

steady pt one (all my crimes are safe, beneath my heart)

pt one | pt two | pt three | masterlist | prequel

pairing- rooster x female bartender!reader (no y/n)

synopsis-

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you repeat slowly, staring down at your eggs like they’d tell you if he was messing with you.

He nods, cheeks a little rosy. From the hangover or from the way you just said his name like it hurt coming out of your mouth, you're not sure.

“Well, I can see why you go by Rooster,” you add drily.

warnings- feels like everything I write should be 18+ no smut but there will be in future chaps. brief allusion to past infidelity (no actual cheating!) angst, heartbreak & healing ❤️‍🩹, drinking (to cope- don't do this guys), slow burn, friends to lovers, guys I wrote a happy ending I swear it’s in the last chapter. for my lovelies that only follow me for filth that’s also in the last chapter 😂

length- 4.6k

an- this is a sequel to tailspin, but definitely can be read separate! Just know the reader has a past with hangman. one thousand apologies to my lovelies that wanted ms bartender to end up with hangman in tailspin, that unfortunately is not the story i had in me this time around :(

chapter title credit to only for a moment by lola marsh

d a y 1

Due to unfortunate circumstances, you’re awake.

To add to that misfortune, you’re decidedly not home in Coronado, and you’ve just dreamt about Jake Seresin for the last eight hours.

Your clothes are sticking to your skin because, ew, Florida, and now you have to endure the agonizing realization that this is still your life.

You don’t get to wake up in a better world where you met Jake Seresin when he was younger, before he settled down with someone else, before he wrote a story with someone that wasn’t you.

You don’t get to wake up in a moment where he didn’t take every part of your soul bared to him and crush it under his boot without a second thought.

When you wake up, and this is still your life, you figure you should just go back to sleep.

So, you do.

It’s not a permanent solution, but right now it’s the only one you have.

d a y 2 2

Beth is looking up at the ceiling of your new apartment, where the walls are too white, the smell too musty, with a bewildered look on her face.

You wonder, idly, if the smell played a part in your apprehension while signing your lease. You remember your chest being tight in the leasing office, heart racing like you drank too much caffeine (probably did—somehow you still haven’t learned that energy drinks are useless when what you’re really tired of is your life), as you considered having to face this, face yourself, alone.

You signed anyways because even though Beth is quite possibly the best friend you’ve ever had, sleeping on her couch was cutting into your sobbing in the middle of the living room time. Sometimes when you’re eating cereal and you suddenly remember it’s Jake’s favorite kind, or when you accidentally catch a glimpse of a dress you wore to the beach with him that one time, you just need to lay down on the floor and sob without any sympathetic glances coming anywhere near your vicinity.

You signed because your default is being alone and even though that seems terrifying at the moment, having someone else see you, really see you, seems worse. It’s a fair assessment, considering the last person that genuinely knew you dumped ice water straight into the cavity where your heart used to be.

Plus, in your own space, the clothes with memories mostly stay buried in the back of the closet, and Jake’s favorite cereal never gets past the front door.

“What is that?” Beth is still staring, trying to figure out where the source of the noise seems to be coming from.

You manage to stop thinking about Jake long enough to roll your eyes. “My upstairs neighbors are always singing to each other, laughing, just being as romantic as possible, as loud as possible. It’s no wonder this apartment was empty—they’re nauseating.”

You’d definitely like to meet the person who thought it was a good idea to put hardwood on every floor.

Beth sends a pitying look your way which you pointedly ignore in favor of shoving your new plates into the cabinet closest to you.

Once, in a fit of heartbroken rage, you’d gone upstairs to give them a piece of your mind for being so obnoxious. Do they not realize that other people live here too?

The door was open, grocery bags forgotten on the floor, and they were swaying in the middle of the living room to the radio that must’ve been left on.

Part of you wanted to throw up, people actually do shit like this in real life? But the rest of you took one look at the mustached man’s blissfully closed eyes and knew you couldn’t begrudge them for how in love they were. It’s not their fault, after all, that you have horrible taste in men.

Beth leaves you to wallow in silence shortly after, heading to work. This is your first night off in a while, you’ve been throwing yourself into covering every available shift at the bar just for something to do.

It also has the lovely side effect of getting you out of the house when Mustache gets home and starts his musical performances. You’re usually gone well before his other half walks through the door to give his one-man band an audience, giggling at his theatrics.

Except for tonight. The only person you know in this city, probably in this state, is at the bar with strict instructions for you to not come within a two-block radius. You have no idea what to do with yourself, too shattered to consider going out anywhere alone.

So, you drink.

It’s not a good solution, but right now it’s the only one you have.

+

Beth finds you on the floor of your bathroom the next morning. The whirr of your air conditioner is far too loud, but the cold tile feels nice on your skin, so there’s that at least.

“I think I made it all up in my head. Made it more than it was.” You’re trying to sound cold, logical, even as the words cut you to the bone.  

Hangovers have a way of making you bring the insecurities you try to bury right to the surface, they always have.

“That’s not true.”

“He said—”

Beth says your name, a little forcefully, putting a hand on your shoulder, making you look up at her. “He was drunk. That’s not an excuse, because he’s still a fucking asshole for saying it. But everything he said to you that night is only a reflection of what kind of person he is. Not of you. Don’t allow him to make you doubt yourself.”

“Okay,” you whisper, knowing you’re going to anyways.

You feel annoying, droning on and on about Jake because he’s the only thing that occupies your mind. You know you’ve internally rolled your eyes at friends in the past who did exactly what you’re doing right now.

But that’s the thing about heartbreak.

No one cares until it’s happening to them.

d a y 6 3

Two months after you move to Florida, you’re starting to think you might see light at the end of the tunnel. It feels like everyone looks at you like you should be over it by now because they don’t seem to know that you’ve only just peeled yourself off your bathroom floor. But instead of resenting your coworkers, your family, your friends for not realizing you’ll never get over it, you’re starting to consider they might have a point. That this isn’t the knockout punch you thought it was.

You’re starting to think it’ll be worth it, the growth you’re pushing yourself through, to finally be bathed in sunlight again one day. No matter how far away it seems, no matter how many months of pain you’ll have to trudge through to reach it.

Two months, almost to the day, you get a call from Jake.

Your hands shake as you go to answer, pride hightailing it from your apartment the moment you see his name on the screen.

Beth told you to block his number. You told her it didn’t matter if you did because you could always go and unblock it whenever you wanted to call him.

You never, not once, considered that he might be the one dialing you.

He says your name and you suck in a sharp breath as you get proof that this isn’t a pocket dial.

It’s like someone’s scraping away the scar tissue building around your heart with a razor blade.  

“Sweetheart?” He asks when you don’t say anything. You can hear the waves crashing in the background. You try not to picture him on the beach, golden hair soft and brushing across his forehead in the wind, long fingers wrapped loosely around a beer bottle.  

“Why are you calling me?” You croak finally, fighting to keep your hands steady on the phone.

He sighs heavily before answering like he expected this greeting. Maybe he did. You don’t feel terribly original about it.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“You shouldn’t be calling me,” you say desperately, but you can’t force your traitorous hands to hang up.

“I know, just…I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Jake.” Your voice almost cracks on his name. “You have to—you can’t call me that.” There’s a lump forming in your throat, you can feel the telltale burning at the back of your eyes.

“I’m sorry, swee—.” He stops himself, swallowing audibly, sounding thick and your heart wrenches at the idea that he might be on the verge of crying too. “Needed to tell you I’m sorry. For what I said, the night you left.”

You already knew what he was talking about, but hearing the words plainly pulls all the air right out of your lungs. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, trying to block the memory from playing like a movie in your mind.

But in every pause, every breath he takes, all you can hear is your world crumbling around you in your car while each syllable that left his mouth pulled a brick out of the home you'd built for the two of you in your heart.

You really think I have feelings for you?

“I’m so fucking sorry. Never should’ve said that to you, can’t believe I said that to you.” You can hear Jake’s southern accent slipping out as he gets more and more upset.

The knuckles of your other hand are pressed against your sternum, pressure hoping to distract from the throbbing radiating through.

What, did you think I was gonna fall in love with you or something?

You wonder if you should pinch yourself, if that sharp pain might work better to pull your attention from the tightness beneath your shirt, the way your skin is suddenly stretched too thin across your rib cage.

It was sex, sweetheart. You always knew what you were getting yourself into.

“I didn’t mean it. You have to know that,” he continues.

You’ll be back. Begging for my cock like you always do. For me to fuck you like no one else can.

You open your eyes, figuring there’s no use in trying to keep the tears from rolling down your cheeks. It’s not like he can see you anyways. It takes you a while to find your voice, you and Jake listening to each other breathe across the line.

“I appreciate the apology,” you say finally. You want to strangle yourself for the nicety, but at least you didn’t let it’s okay, come from your tongue reflexively, so small, tiny victory.

You take a shaky breath, trying not to let the tears stop you from speaking. “But I have spent the last couple of months believing that you never wanted me. I don’t kn—I can’t begin to explain what that feels like. You can’t unsay those things, Jake. You can’t take them back.”

“You’re right. I just miss you.”

You can’t help the loud sob that escapes you next. Can’t find it in you to be embarrassed about it, either.

“I miss you too,” you whisper, and even though it’s true you still hate yourself for admitting it, for the way your chest splits in two the moment the words pass your lips.

+

This time, Beth finds you on the floor of your kitchen. You don’t know where it comes from, this hold that the floor has over your broken heart.

You don’t tell her about his call. It’s easier than it should be, but you’re used to hiding everything about you and Jake.

“Thought I was getting better,” you rasp, voice hoarse from crying.

“You are,” she insists.

Right now, it doesn’t feel like that.

Sometimes you can ignore it, the ache in your chest, the phantom touch of his hands on you when you lay in bed at night.

But other times the only way you can fall asleep is by imagining him on your shitty mattress with you, whispering witty little things that make you giggle. Wrapped in his arms and tucked into the warmth of his chest. His fingers raise goosebumps as they run up your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake as they drift across your thighs.

Right now, it feels like all you’ve done since you left California is pretend to be a human being, going through the motions, instead of actually being a human being.

You manage a laugh, but it’s a pitiful, wet thing, as you gesture to your current state. “This doesn’t look a whole lot different than a couple of months ago.”

“It’s happening less,” Beth argues gently. “I know this is fucking cheesy, but healing isn’t linear. You get better, for longer and longer stretches. Until you’re not counting how many days you’ve held it together. Eventually, you get to count the bad days because they’re so few and far between.”

You really, really don’t know what you did to deserve Beth.

“When did you get so wise?” You ask, sad smile turning a little wry.

She just grins in response, pulling you up from your spot next to the pantry.

There’s nothing to say to Beth about the phone call. Nothing else to think. You’ve run the memory through your mind so many times, replaying it over and over again, that it doesn’t have the same jagged edges piercing your heart, smooth as a rock having been washed over by water for years and years.

You’ve thought about the things you wish you had said instead, the things you wish he had said. It’s not surprising, really, living in the moment with Jake was your exception, not your rule. You’ve always had a hard time enjoying yourself in the present. Memories and daydreams tend to live at the forefront of your mind more often than beautiful views right in front of you. You’ve often wondered if you’ll spend the rest of your life waiting for a moment that doesn’t exist.

You worry, briefly, if it’s bad to live this deep inside your own head.

d a y 7 7

Getting home from work one night to yelling upstairs instead of serenading, you pointedly do not focus on how pathetically invested you are in this deviation from their typical routine. Jake still dominates your thoughts, day in and day out, so it’s just nice to have something else to think about, you try to convince yourself. You’re not sure what they’re fighting about, but you figure you’ll have to live with some extremely loud makeup sex once they’re finished arguing.

You’re wrong, though, because an hour later the door slams and it’s blissfully silent for the first time since you moved in.

When you head to work the next day it’s much of the same, and you don’t think anything of it.

Your next night off is nearly a week later, and you tell yourself you should be thankful for the peace. That your heart absolutely does not throb in sympathy for the grief that’s sure to be filling the air of that apartment. You don’t miss the piano concerts, or the sound of feet shuffling along hardwood as she’s swept up in what you assume is a spur-of-the-moment two-step across the living room. You don’t miss his laughter, that adorable melodic sound that you would never expect to come out of the big guy it belongs to.

You see Mustache in the stairwell—apparently, you’re not the only one who doesn’t view a couple of flights of stairs as a death sentence—and you swear you see bags under his eyes.

Don't be weird, you scold yourself, you don't even know this guy. He's probably fine. Appreciate the silence while it lasts, guys that look like that don't spend very many nights alone.

+

You’re putting groceries away in the kitchen, another rare night off, when you nearly brain yourself with a carton of orange juice as someone stumbles through your front door.

“What the fuck?” You manage over your pounding heart, brandishing said orange juice as if it might help defend you, suddenly wishing you listened to Beth more when she was droning on about remembering to lock your front door.

“This isn’t my apartment,” your mustached neighbor says, looking around in a moment of pure confusion.

You’re busy thinking about how you probably should’ve picked up a knife for self-defense instead of a carton of orange juice.

“No,” you answer, suddenly biting back a giggle when you catch the perplexed expression on his rosy cheeks.

Why you’re amused, you have no idea. You should be concerned for your safety since a virtual stranger is standing in your living room.

He’s looking down at your rug with dazed wonder, eyes getting lost in the pattern beneath his feet. He must be hammered because his brain is clearly working on a toddler level.

“You live upstairs,” you inform him, instead of knocking him out with a lamp like you probably should.

You never were one for self-preservation.

He flops down on your couch. “That seems really far.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure, come on in, make yourself comfortable.”

“I can’t go on,” Mustache declares dramatically, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Leave me here to waste away.”

Both eyebrows are raised now, and you are definitely not looking at the way his bicep strains against his black t-shirt. Definitely not because that would be gross and creepy of you because he is very much drunk.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” You ask, mostly to make yourself stop noticing that strip of tanned skin that’s showing between his shirt and his jeans.

“Probably more than ten but definitely less than fifty,” he slurs.

“Oookay,” you say, trying to adopt your bartender voice and slowly making your way towards him like he’s a scared animal. “I think we should get you to bed, yeah?”

“I don’t want to go back there,” he scowls, pulling his arm away from his face, gaze fixed on the ceiling. If he wasn’t so visibly upset, it’d be cute.

Your eyes briefly flit up towards the ceiling as you register his meaning.

“She left me.” Tears are streaming down his face now, and you unconsciously press your knuckles against your sternum, trying to sidetrack the aching in your chest. “I don’t want to be up there alone.”

You let out a breath, weighing your options.

He wipes the tears from his eyes. “Sorry, I’m being dramatic.” His words are even harder to understand now, heavy with alcohol and tears. “I’ll get out of your apartment now.”

“I—no, it’s okay,” you tell him, voice a little thick. “You can stay here. I’ll grab you some blankets.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, and it’s a tiny little thing, like he’s trying to make himself smaller than he is. It doesn’t work, broad, imposing man that he is, but it wrenches your heart painfully either way.

You try your hardest not to listen to him crying himself to sleep, blinking back tears of your own under the covers.

+

“Do you want some coffee?” You ask Mustache the next morning, nonchalantly like you guys are old pals who wake up in each other’s places all the time.

“What I want is to simply pass away so the sun stops hurting my face,” he whines, and you can’t help the laugh that barks out of you.

His hands are covering his eyes, but your amusement must’ve sparked some sort of recognition of the absurdity of this situation because he peeks at you between his fingers, a blush rising up his neck. “Uh, sorry I’m a little fuzzy on the details of last night and how I ended up here.”

You’re staring at him with what you’re sure is a highly amused expression.

“All right,” he admits after a couple of moments of your silent enjoyment. “I’m a lot fuzzy on the details. As in, I don’t remember anything at all.”

“You thought this was your apartment,” you offer, a smirk still playing on your lips.

His face is incredulous as he pulls his hands down fully so he can get a good look at your place, significantly more colorful than what you’ve seen of his own. “I thought this was my…wait, what? How?”

“Don’t ask me, that’s probably a question for your friend Jack Daniel.”

“Ugh,” he groans. “It’s like I’m an eighteen-year-old again who can’t hold his liquor.”

That earns another giggle. "Don't worry about it. If I had consumed as much as you did, I wouldn't remember anything either." You pause, considering it, "Well, if I drank that much, I'd probably be dead, but that’s beside the point."

He scrubs a hand across his face, clearly still in despair, but you don’t miss the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Can I take you to breakfast? As a thank you, it’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t even know your name,” you admit, lips twitching upwards despite the awkwardness. You haven’t been this giggly in months.

“Rooster.”

You raise an eyebrow, hoping your face doesn’t betray the pit forming in your stomach. Weird name, plus a mustache, in Key West of all places? Odds are…

“It’s my—”

“Callsign,” you cut him off. “I figured.”

If he hadn’t already noticed your steely expression at hearing his name, you’re certain he’d have put two and two together by now.

Not exactly your best playing-it-cool moment.

“You don’t like pilots.” It’s not a question.

You shrug, trying your hand at nonchalance. “You lot are usually up to no good.”

It doesn’t really work, but he doesn’t call you on it and you’re thankful he owes you that at least.

“Have me figured out already then, got me dead to rights?” He asks, lips twitching upwards under that ridiculous pornstache.

“I could be wrong.” You manage a smirk. “I’m not, usually, but I could be.”

“We’re not all the same,” Mustache—because you’re not going to refer to him as Rooster even in your head—promises, and you wish you weren’t inclined to believe him.

You wish his stupidly handsome face didn’t seem so trustworthy, chocolate eyes so earnest. You wish you hadn’t heard heart-wrenching sobs wrack his entire body because you already know you’re going to have a soft spot for this one.

The façade on your face conveys nothing but disbelief, but he waves it away. “So, breakfast? If you come, I’ll even tell you my real name.”

“Are you sure you’re capable of standing upright, let alone sitting in a restaurant? How are you even still going right now? I’d be incapacitated right now if I were you.”

Mustache grins at that. “A skilled pilot can keep going for hours.”

+

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you repeat slowly, staring down at your eggs like they’d tell you if he was messing with you.

He nods, cheeks a little rosy. From the hangover or from the way you just said his name like it hurt coming out of your mouth, you’re not sure.

“Well, I can see why you go by Rooster,” you add drily.

Mustache—Bradley, rolls his eyes and makes a slicing motion in your direction with his fork, brandishing it like a weapon. It pulls another giggle from you and he smiles, warm eyes crinkling at the edges.

He clears his throat, and you feel the mood shift before you can even swallow another bite.

"I appreciate you letting me sleep on your couch. But I also wanted to apologize, I’m sure I was pretty annoying last night,” he says. “I talk about my ex a lot when I drink that much. In my defense, we did just break up.”

“The abrupt end of nightly serenading gave that away,” you snort, wanting to smack yourself on the forehead the minute it comes out of your mouth. “But really, you were fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ve been there.”

Why didn’t I just say, yeah you told me last night? Have I lost all my social skills in these past few months?

Bradley raises an eyebrow, and you make a face. “The floors are thin. So, I kind of guessed, with the lack of musical theater and stuff. But you did mention it, last night, so I put the pieces together.”

He nods. “We’re kind of in the same boat then, I’m guessing. So, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. And I’m sure I owe you, for whatever I made you listen to last night.”

Your mouth opens a little in surprise, having assumed that since you couldn’t really hear your neighbors below you, he couldn’t hear you. It doesn’t occur to you until right now, that the lack of an apartment above him obviously changes things.

He grimaces when he clocks the look on your face. “Like you said, the floors are thin. And it’s, uh, a part of my job to be observant. You seemed pretty upset when you first moved in. But lately, every time I’ve seen you in the stairwell or something, you seem better. Happier. Sorry, I’m probably coming off pretty creepy right now.”

The laugh that comes out in response is a little sarcastic, but you’re shocked you’re not more embarrassed, honestly. “No, it’s fine, I guess I’m just surprised that you noticed? Especially before, you seemed fairly…occupied.”

You cringe again at your words, feeling bad for bringing up his heartbreak so directly.

He tries to shrug, but the line of his shoulders remains a little tense. “A lot of it was habit, towards the end. I don’t know how much I said last night, but we were heading towards implosion for months. I wanted to work at it, that’s why I kept up with all the cute stuff. I thought it was a rough patch, something we’d get through with enough effort. But you can’t fix a relationship on your own, the other person has to want to do the work too.”

He’s saying stuff to himself that you’ve been having to hear from Beth, you’re a little jealous. “You’re a lot more together than I was at this stage,” you muse.

“I’m not, really. But hindsight, and all that, I can see now that she hasn’t been in love with me for a while.” He makes another face. “I probably should've known. Instead of having to have her tell me that.”

Apparently, everyone in the state of Florida is wiser than you.

There's pink gracing his cheekbones, like he’s just now realizing he exposed his defenseless underbelly to someone who is still, essentially, a stranger. “Anyways, thought I’d mention all that because it’s nice to have someone else around, who gets it.”

You’re suddenly, deeply envious of his openness, of the way he wears his heart on his sleeve. Taking a deep breath, you try to draw strength from his transparency, and follow his example, however small.

“Saying I’ve been there was kind of an understatement,” you admit slowly. “Still there is more accurate, so I would like that. I’m too broken, for hardly anything else right now.”

Bradley offers his coffee cup to yours for a cheers, a small, sad smile forming underneath the mustache. “Me too. Friends?”

You wonder, quietly, how this man has managed to pull more smiles in twelve hours than the last three months combined.

“Friends.”

Don’t get too attached, you tell yourself. He’s probably just lonely.

You’ll have to ignore that part of you that already knows it’s too late.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x you #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster angst #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster fanfic #rooster imagine

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

This is just a thought but…. How do u think stsg would react to u getting into a fight? Maybe just idk… some creep who tried getting too close or some old ex friend that picked the fight first. :3 like no SERIOUS injuries more of a bloody nose + bruised knuckles kinda thing…. (forgive me 4 not being more dramatic I’m v v squeamish when it comes to violence) I feel like you’ve mentioned this before but idk my memory isn’t the best </3 like. I’m sort of imaging u come home a little later sorta roughed up and they’re just. Immediately like what the fuck?? I don’t see them as the type to go out and beat the person up (toru maybe…… /hj I think they’d both be tempted but that would just be a heat of the moment urge I think…) I’m gonna be honest the whole reason I even thought of this was for the idea of sugu tending to ur wounds… maybe scolding u a little for getting into a fight with someone… toru not smiling for once in his life and instead just. Kissing ur forehead trying not to let it show how pissed off he is (not at u ofc !!!). hehe idk this was just a little brain thing,,!! I hope ur doing well thoooo !! — stsg anon :>

STSG ANON THE LOMLLLL I’VE MISSED YOU 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 it’s been so long since you sent this i’m so sorry for the wait!!!! it got lost in my drafts and i only found it just now T_T

BUT AAAAA I’VE MISSED YOUR STSG THOUGHTS….. this scenario appeals to me soso much!!!!!!! AND DWWWW i’m a big ol sensitive baby when it comes to violence/gore so 😭😭 that’s perfect!!!! they would be so worried and so protective….. definitely pissed off too. like. the kind of anger that just boils under their skin yk?? i agree with you that they aren’t the type to instantly go the violent revenge route tho!!! their priority is just to make sure you’re okay :((( they’re absolutely seething w anger and just . twitching bc they’re so upset on your behalf LMAOO but i think they’d put it aside to care for you!!!!

and as always i agree w you completely <33 sugu is tending to your wounds and scolding you the slightest bit….. but i think he’d be a little too worried and guilty to really sound convincing. i just see sugu as being soooo empathetic :(((( he sees you all bruised up and it physically hurts him. he just wants you to be okay!!!! and then toru…. him not smiling and kissing your forehead instead <///3 he’s sooo so precious and so worried . i think he’d also feel a little ashamed!!! stsg are just sooo protective of you that i feel like they’d blame themselves for not being there yk?? :’3 so they make it up by being extra sweet. sniffle… i love them sm……

BUT honestly. when they’ve taken care of you properly and heard your explanation…… i think they get to Work 💀💀 NOW I DON’T. think. they’d get into a physical fight….. there’s a chance but it depends on the circumstance. at the very least they’re making their way over to whoever hurt you and making sure they Know you have two guard dogs protecting you <33333 they may or may not rough said person up too idk honestly. i just think they’d find it hard to control themselves around someone who Actually hurt you 😭😭 (if it’s a creep then they’re def Resorting to Violence but maybe not if it’s old friend...) they’re a littleeeeee scary but so sweet.

protective stsg my beloveds…. tysm for the good food stsg anon <3333 i rlly did miss you so much!! i hope you’re doing well!!!! and having a super lovely day or night :3 sending you lots of kissies + these stsg plushies…… they love you Very Much <33

#I’M HUGGING YOU SOOOO TIGHTLY thank you for sharing your thoughts w me <3333 #god they’d be so OUTRAGED 😭… i just think they kinda see red when you walk through the door and they realize someone hurt you #i think they’re caught in a weird spot between deep anxiety and hot anger….. #bc you’re Hurt :(((( bc someone Hurt You >:(((( and they’re just. SO upset. they take it so seriously even if you insist it’s not ”that bad #…. i’m just imagining sugu applying the bruise cream and being sooooo so gentle all the while #he’s a cutie :(((( #toru is also so sweet and gentle w you…. treats you a little like porcelain i think……….. brings you lots of treats #ask tag ✩ #stsg anon !! ✩

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

what do you think was the moment that yuuji and megumi realised that they liked the other? which one of them made the first move? what would tsumiki’s opinion be of yuuji?

Let’s start with the easy one—Tsumiki would love Yuuji.

She’d be unspeakably thrilled Megumi found someone, and she’d love Yuuji for who he is anyway. He’s a good person. He has a great heart. And he genuinely cares about her brother. Yuuji and Tsumiki would be so disgustingly close. Megumi would be on the phone with Tsumiki and Yuuji would be like “is that my best friend???? Let me talk to her! Bestieee” And vice versa.

As to when they first realized they liked each other, I think Megumi borderline always knew.

I think Megumi is someone who is very self aware with what he’s feeling and has absolutely negative ability to actually address that. He knew before they went to the detention center that he liked Yuuji in a sort of vague, low level kind of way.

Like, was it love? No, they’d only just met. But Yuuji was genuinely kind and good. Megumi liked spending time with him. He was Strong and Fast in a way that made Megumi learn things about himself that he did not fucking know before.

I think that megumi very very rarely likes people, and that he probably never dated in pre-canon. So he wasn’t really prepared for liking Yuuji or planning to act on this.

It was in no way actionable information. Confess? Absolutely not. Experience the mortifying ordeal of being known? Ludicrous. Clown idea. He’ll put all these feelings down somewhere small and then one day he’ll die.

I think he regretted it after Yuuji died. I think a part of him wished he had told him, even if they would have never had time.

I think Yuuji didn’t even know he liked guys until he liked Megumi.

If I’m being silly (and being in the sea glass gardens universe), he didn’t realize until Nobara pointed out that his violent jealousy towards Okkotsu Yuuta, gods perfect man, regarding his relationship with Megumi was not a totally straight experience that he liked Megumi and it crippled him for days. He kept laying on the floor of Nobaras room and having baby’s first gay crisis. Nobara was ready to put him down like a sick dog.

If I’m being more serious, I’d like to think that Yuuji realized he liked Megumi during one of their softer moments together.

I think it was nothing of note. They were watching a movie together. Megumi made a dry, tiny joke that was par for the course when it came to his humor, and Yuuji thought to himself man, I love him. And he realized he didn’t just mean it the way he usually means it for his friends.

He didn’t realize how much he liked him until it already happened. Then he was in it, and he couldn’t get out again.

Then he kept lying on the floor of Nobara’s room having baby’s first gay crisis and she was ready to put him down like a sick dog.

I think that the one who made the first move would actually heavily depend on circumstance. I think Yuuji’s more like to make the first move in peacetime, but megumi’s more likely to do it when they’re in the heat of the moment/verge of death.

Yuujis a bit better with emotions than Megumi. He’s got that little bit extra bit of confidence that would let him do it behind the school, to risk it for the sake of having more. But megumi’s already had to live with the regret of not telling Yuuji once before. I think he’s the one most likely to let it all out in the heat of the moment and pick up the pieces after.

#sea glass gardens #nobara kugisaki #worlds most homophobic lesbian #homosexuality is happening to people who do NOT deserve it

[bardic-inspo]

1, 14, and 50 for the fic writer asks!!!

Thank you lovely!! 💜

[Fic Writer Asks]

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

Right now, Midnight Chimes is my only BG3 fic (hoping to change that very soon!) But honestly, its not a bad intro to my writing. It's an Astarion x Cursed Tav fic where the actual slow burn is between my Tav (Naomi) and the unfolding reveal of her curse/circumstances. Tav gets her own subplot, and the focus is on her/Astarion's subplots and less on the main BG3 plot (although that's sure there, too). It deals with a lot of themes I like exploring in my other work (grief, recovery, survival) with a more foreboding/haunted vibe that I've always wanted to toy with but haven't really in the past. Here's the summary/link:

[AO3 LINK]

For Fallout fic, I would say No Rest for the Wicked. It's technically set post-game, but doesn't really spoil the game itself. Featuring pining for old friends that aren't (yet) lovers, the seeds of a future OT3 (Deacon x MacCready x F! SoSu), domesticity, and the ache of just deep set emotional wounds that aren't healed yet. Angsty but hopeful, which is par for the course in most of my Fallout writing. Summary below.

[AO3 LINK]

Deacon gets it, he thinks. MacCready and Natasha are in love with each other. A kind of crazy, end-of-the-world, burn down bridges sort of in love with each other. And they’d be fine enough on their own without him. Right? “So, let me get this straight,” Deacon asks him. “You’re begging me to sleep with your girlfriend?”

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?

I would read absolutely anything by @electricshoebox. Riss does not miss and I would follow her into the abyss (heh, rhymes). Her writing is cozy to me like a nice warm blanket even when it's like. Angsty and heartwrenching. I just wanna wrap up in it and when I do, all is good.

Honestly, there's not much I wouldn't try at least once, even if it's only out of morbid curiosity. I might never go back to it again, but hey, now I know.

50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

Oh no, I have no idea what to talk about here! Haha. Um.

How about the fic that got me through the pandemic: @electricshoebox's beautiful Enemies to Lovers Slow Burn (featuring Deacon and MacCready from Fallout 4): A Line in the Sand. I don't have adequate words for how amazing this fic is, so I'm just going to drop the AO3 summary/link below, but you'll probably see me absolutely wailing (not always coherently) in Riss' comments if you take a gander down there. I'll never be normal about it ever.

[READ ON AO3]

#ask games #midnight chimes #reclamations #fic recs #a line in the sand #fallout 4 #bg3

[separatist-apologist]

Neon In The Nighttime

Summary: It's the end of the word as we know it. A west coast baker and the drummer of a metal band team up in Boston, MA thinking they're one of the last few people left alive after a viral outbreak turns those infected into blood hungry monsters.

Their destination: Los Angeles, California- the last place Lucien's eldest brother was living while gearing up for a presidential run. Lucien is desperate to escape the memories of his past life and what he had to do when his wife, Jes, became infected. Elain wants to try and reclaim the fractured pieces of the life she remembers before everything went to hell.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

She woke to the sound of wet hands slapping against the glass. Lucien was awake in an instant, pulling his seat back up as he fumbled with the keys. They’d been found by someone infected, pounding frantically against the window with those red rimmed, sightless eyes.

Elain nearly threw up in the seat well at the sight of the creature just outside. Flesh hung in bloated, rotting chunks from a broken, skeletal frame. One eye was wholly gone, plucked out so nothing but bleached bone remained. The jaw had come unhinged, leaving only the top, toothless half gaping in a silent, horrific scream.

Lucien screeched out of the sleeping spot on the side of the road along a long stretch of trees where more of those creatures—because they weren’t human, not anymore—shuffled and ambled toward them. 

“Do they just go on forever?” Elain gasped, gripping her thighs as she tried to catch her breath. “They don’t eventually die?”

“Oh, God,” Lucien whispered, his golden skin ashen. “Oh, God.”

He didn’t stop, and to their credit, neither of them threw up though she suspected they both wanted to. Lucien drove through Pennsylvania and into Ohio before he ever spoke a word.

“Have you ever been to Cleveland?” 

She almost laughed. “No. Have you?”

Those eyes of his clouded over. “For a show, a couple times. It’s not that bad, you know.”

“It’s Ohio,” she joked. Lucien offered her one of his half-smiles, the closest she’d ever gotten to a true one in the forty eight hours she’d known him. 

“Come on,” he said, pulling into the empty city. 

“Are you going to give me a tour of all the midwestern cities?” she asked, hoping that he might. Elain was half afraid that Lucien would find Eris and he’d leave her. How did she ask a stranger to let her live with him for the rest of their lives? She hadn’t quite figured it out in her head, but she knew she needed to make sure he understood she was asking as friends.

Platonic roommates was a thing, even in the apocalypse. 

“No,” he said, shooting her a sly glance. “But I know a place we can get some actual sleep.”

That was a relief. Lucien had dark circles beneath his eyes and she knew she hadn’t fared much better. Sleeping in a car was uncomfortable in the best of circumstances but knowing there were infected lurking in the woods all but guaranteed Elain was never going to get a good night's sleep again. Maybe not until they were further out west in the desert, where she thought it would be harder for a rotting corpse to amble about for a year. 

Lucien took them straight into the heart of downtown Cleveland. Whatever it had been before seemed a paradise to what it had become. More of that sewage smell wafted through the air while nearly all the buildings had been broken up and covered in layers upon layers of black spray paint and new growing vegetation. 

“I heard a pundit say once that humanity was the real virus,” Lucien told her, glancing at curling ivy. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” she responded. She’d heard that, too, declared so snidely over the radio while she’d been on her way to New York. “I think that’s a cop out.”

“Oh?”

“It didn’t have to be like this,” she whispered, hating the emotion in her voice. Lucien glanced over, knuckles white from where he held the steering wheel. “There were so many chances to turn back, to be better. To do the right thing. So many people tried, and I think it was greed that got in our way.”

“That’s still humanity—”

“No, that’s like, a couple power hungry assholes who decided the rest of our lives and the world itself was worth risking. I don’t think their behavior is some sweeping indictment of humanity as a whole. Do you think that?”

Lucien seemed to contemplate that. “No,” he finally admitted. “I don’t.”

“They sold us all out for money,” Elain said, her heart pounding in her throat. “And I hope they suffered for it.”

The leather groaned beneath his grip. “So do I.”

They didn’t say another word as Lucien wound his way up through a parking garage. He’d had to get out and break the bar to keep out interlopers while Elain watched. Lucien looked strong, so it didn’t surprise her how easily he’d taken it apart. No, it was the rage that flitted over his features. How the muscles in his back shifted beneath the long-sleeved, green shirt he wore and how when he’d looked back to the windshield, there’d been satisfaction etched on his features.

Gone, just as quickly as she’d found it, but still it was there. 

“This is as safe as we’ll ever be,” he said, unfolding a tarp from the backseat in an attempt to hide the gas cans in the cab. “We’ll sleep here tonight and make tomorrow a long day.”

“Fine by me,” she agreed. “Tell me about this place.”

Lucien made his way toward the stairwell, ignoring the elevators that no longer worked. Elain couldn’t help but walk to the pried open doors and peer into the gloom. Lucien waited by the stairs, his expression tight. 

“Careful,” he warned, as if she might jump straight to the bottom. It had been a long time since Elain had felt that suicidal. She offered him a polite nod. 

As they made their way down, Lucien spoke. “This place belonged to a friend of mine. He was from Ohio and I guess living in Cleveland made him feel like he hadn’t sold out. He was out in Los Angeles more often than he wasn’t, but he had this place and when I came through, he let me use it. I don’t think he’ll mind.”

Elain wondered if Lucien hoped he’d find his friend. Walking through the lobby of the building, she kind of hoped they did, too. Like Boston and Erie, Cleveland was miserably empty and gloomy to boot. The sunless sky made everything seem worse—gray and dull, a miserable existence along a muddy river. 

And still, lives had been lived here. Snuffed out thoughtlessly, and still pieces lingered. Elain found a stuffed brown bear laying face down in the stairwell and a discarded show in the once clean, open lobby. We were here, those things seemed to scream. Don’t forget us. 

Elain picked them up and Lucien didn’t say a word about it. As far as companions went, she was beginning to think she’d lucked out. Though sad, Lucien was at least friendly. He made her think of George and his assertion that killing was nothing like he thought it would be. Nothing like he’d seen in movies. Lucien, by that same logic, was nothing like the action heroes of the post-apocalyptic shows she’d used to watch. Though there was a gruffness to him, there was also compassion and kindness. He cared, deeply if she had to guess which made it easier to exist beside him.

She didn’t feel as though she needed to bottle so much. Maybe he felt the same, too, since he’d brought her here. What Elain wanted was to be his friend, to have that connection with another living person again. How awful to crave that desperately and find yourself stuck with someone that openly refused to indulge in any emotion but rage?

“Lucien,” Elain panted when they’d reached the tenth floor and were still climbing up. “How much—”

“Five,” he breathed, wiping sweat on the back of his shirt sleeve.  “I didn’t think it would be so bad.”

“We can’t do this on foot,” she wheezed, clutching at the metal rail to help take her up.

“Of course we can,” he replied, though he didn’t look as though he believed his own words. Elain certainly didn’t. They did make it to the fifteenth floor, gasping for air and dragging their legs behind them. Lucien pulled open the heavy door and with some unknown strength, managed to break into his friend's apartment while Elain kept her cheek pressed against the yellowing wall. 

Elain stumbled in behind Lucien, surprised by how normal it looked. Like they were merely renting it for the weekend. Behind her, Lucien managed to get the door to close, though it didn’t lock like he so clearly wanted it to. 

Gold records hung in black framed glass pictures on the wall, denoting the success of a metal band named Spring Reign. Leather furniture and sleek technology told Elain this had been someone with money and taste, given how orderly and nice everything was arranged. 

Pictures were hung along a shelf on the walls of the man who’d owned this place. His tan skin and green eyes were made paler with the make-up he used around his eyes, and his long, blonde hair seemed as though he’d made it stringy looking on purpose. There were photos of him with other celebrities, with politicians, and one that Elain pulled from the wall to look at closer.

It was two photos, side by side. The first was Lucien, a dark haired brunette, and a beautiful, red-haired woman. Sweat soaked and grinning in front of a burry crowd of screaming people. Lucien held a pair of drumsticks in one hand, his other casually flung around the redhead. It was clear the man who owned the apartment had taken the picture and kept it, Elain supposed, because they were friends.

The other was far more domestic. In some unnamed living room, Lucien and the blonde man held middle fingers up at the camera. Lucien sat beside a curly haired brunette woman lost in some forgotten conversation with the redhead from the previous photo. 

“That’s Tamlin,” Lucien said from behind Elain. With careful fingers, he pulled the picture from her grasp to look. “And that's Jurian—he played bass—and Vassa, she sang, and was our lead guitarist. We headlined for Tam and he took this picture of us. I didn’t know he’d kept it.”

Elain waited, watching how Lucien’s thumb swept over the smiling woman sitting beside him.

“And that’s Jes.”

“Your wife?” Elain asked, though she knew. “She’s beautiful.”

He nodded. “Yeah. She was…I met her when I was a fucking loser in high school. She was…” he trailed off, lost in memory. “She could have done better. Sometimes I wish she had.”

“Lucien,” Elain whispered, taking the picture from him when it looked like he might throw it against the wall. 

“It was our first big solo tour. All our shows were sold out, we had a huge following and for the first time everything was going right. And I could have brought her with me but…”

Elain waited as Lucien drew a breath.

“I didn’t want her there. I wanted it for myself and I knew if she came she’d hate it. She didn’t like the crowds, all the girls…” 

“Lucien,” Elain said patiently, looking up at the tortured man in front of her. “There was no way you could have known.”

“I was in Atlanta when they shut down the airports. If she’d been with me—”

“She still could have been infected,” Elain reminded him gently. “We didn’t know how it spread back then, or how fast newly infected people were.”

Lucien was staring at his hands, his eyes wide with horror. Elain could piece it all together. His wife had probably gone out in the early days and been attacked. And Elain could imagine she’d taken herself home to clean up the wound while trying to decide if it was worth going to the emergency room or not. Unaware she only had an hour—and that no matter where she went, she was already doomed.

And Lucien, who’d returned after days of trying to get home, to find her gone, but still alive. Elain swallowed.

“Did you—”

“Yes,” he whispered, still looking at his callused hands. Elain took them in her own. 

“She was already gone  by the time you got home. You didn’t…you didn’t hurt her. She couldn’t feel it. And she didn’t know it was you.”

His eyes found hers, wide and glassy with unshed tears. “How do you know?” he asked.

She didn’t want to relive it. Elain had spent months trying to forget George and the tunnel and everything that happened in the aftermath.

“I was in the Chesapeake tunnel when…” Lucien’s eyes widened. “The man in front of me was attacked. We thought it was drugs. Just someone on a bad trip who’d decided to walk through oncoming traffic. His name was George.”

Lucien didn’t take his eyes off her face.

“It’s a long walk back to the beginning,” she whispered, half lost in the glowing orange. “And with every step, he was getting sicker. I think he must have realized at some point. I think he knew what was coming, could feel himself slipping. He gave me his gun before he attacked me, and when he…when…he begged me to kill him.”

Lucien’s skin had grown pale, eyes practically bulging. 

“It was like that the second time, too,” Elain told him, closing her eyes. “Once you're infected, you have an hour or less before you’re gone and the virus takes over. You saw this morning. Our bodies are dead, we’re gone, but our brain is still alive. You didn’t hurt her, Lucien. If anything, you gave her a merciful death. Don’t you think she’d forgive you, though? If she knew what you were doing, don’t you think she’d have wanted you to end it before she hurt you?”

A tear slid down his cheek. “If we’d been together—”

“You didn’t know,” Elain said firmly. “None of us did. And I know this probably doesn’t make you feel better, but I’m glad you survived. And somewhere, I think so is Jes.”

He blinked, losing another tear despite how tight he clenched his jaw. “The time we had…sometimes I think it was enough. At least…at least we had it. It keeps me going, thinking about her, about before. And when you said…”

He drew a shuddering breath.

“Maybe you’re right. And maybe the word doesn’t have to be so ugly all the time. I think…when you said humanity isn’t a virus, that she wasn’t. And the love we had wasn’t, either. It was enough.”

Elain turned the picture over in her hands, popped off the little cardboard backing, and slipped it from the frame. 

“All we can do is go forward,” she said, offering him the photos. Lucien took them, his eyes locked on her face. “That doesn’t mean we have to forget. And that doesn’t mean the love we felt meant any less.”

Swallowing hard, Lucien nodded his head. “Was there…did you—”

Elain’s laugh was more scoff than anything. “I was engaged. I wish I could say he mourned me like this, but I don’t think he spent even a minute wondering about me.”

“His loss, then,” Lucien replied flippantly, tucking the photos in his back pocket. “I’d miss you, if you left.”

Elain didn’t want him to know how much that meant to her. Truthfully, she didn’t think anyone had missed her. In the scrambling aftermath, Elain was certain she’d never been anything but an afterthought. A last minute, “Oh and Elain, what happened to her—”

And that stung. Knowing everyone who had ever loved her likely had written her off as the first to die and likely hadn’t displayed even a fraction of the remorse that Lucien was still grappling with. 

“Good,” she said, forcing herself to remain light. She tried to dart away, but Lucien’s hand shot out, catching her elbow in warm fingers.

“I mean it. I…” He swallowed again. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

“It was self-serving—”

“Take the compliment, Elain.”

“Promise me you won’t abandon me if we find your brother.”

Lucien’s smile made her heart thud with hope. “What happened to competing cults?”

“Exactly,” she reminded him. “I’d let you be my equal but your brother would make you subservient.”

Lucien chuckled. “Come on, Elain. Let's see if the water still works.”

And for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Elain felt as if she could breathe again.

LUCIEN:

The water did work, and once they let it run, it was mostly clear. Cold, though neither of them had expected it to be hot. He let Elain bathe first, listening to her shriek beneath the frigid temperature in Tamlin’s once glorious shower. There was soap, at least, which was more than he’d had in a long time. While Elain showered, Lucien went to the fridge. If there was one thing he could count on, it was alcohol. 

Tamlin’s apartment was drowning in it. Bottles covered in dust were half filled with tequila and rum and though it was warm, there was a whole shelf of shitty beer sitting in a fridge that had contained nothing else. Tamlin had never been the vegetable type. 

Warm beer was fine with Lucien. He popped the top off one and took a long drink like a starving man. Fuck, but a little alcohol might help dull some of the pain radiating in his chest. Seeing that picture of Jes had been a wrecking ball against his heart. 

“Did Tamlin have a girlfriend?” Elain’s voice called from the hall, echoing in the silence. What he wouldn’t have given for just a little electricity. Some music, some television—a distraction from his constant thoughts.

“Probably,” Lucien called back. “He was certainly popular with them. Why? Did you find something?”

“Clothes!” she called back with a giddiness that made him smile. Lucien couldn’t believe someone had left this woman behind. No one was looking for her? That felt impossible. The only reasonable explanation was whoever it was that wanted to find her hadn’t been able to track her down after a desperate, frantic search. There was something special about Elain Archeron and the way she could see the ugliness of the world and find all the beautiful pieces anyway.

Elain sauntered out, combing through her thick, golden brown curls. 

Lucien grinned at the sight of her. “No more St. Patricks Day clothes?”

No, Elain had found a black bodysuit that had likely been worn for bedroom purposes. It looked good on her, though. Tight against her lithe frame so it hugged right against her skin while the fabric pulled in places to give her a defined, almost hourglass sort of shape. 

“Do I look like an action movie heroine?” she asked, pulling the strand of her wet hair into a long braid.

“Is that what you’re going for?” he asked. She did, he thought, minus all the gear those types seemed to wear. A sanitized, prettier version of an action heroine. No one would have believed a face like hers was capable of the sort of violence those movies demanded.  

Elain wiggled her hips with a smile. “Yes. Maybe if I look terrifying, I’ll feel like it, too.”

Lucien merely shrugged. “A sunbeam masquerading as starlight?”

Elain’s lips parted, eyes wide while Lucien instantly regretted saying such a thing. What had possessed him? Unable and unwilling to take it back, Lucien stepped away so he could shower, too.

“Good luck with that,” he said, poking her in the ribs before vanishing down the hall. She didn’t call after him nor did she say he’d made her uncomfortable. Lucien reflected that he hadn’t been wrong, either. Elain exuded light. It was her great tragedy, in his opinion, to exist in a place that no longer valued that sort of softness. That had stolen it from her in order to ensure her survival. 

Lucien took his time in the frigid water, careful to keep his mouth shut given the metallic tang that filled the glass space. Elain had been right—Tamlin had a lot of soap.

Deodorant, too. God, he’d forgotten how good it felt to slather it beneath his arms and not worry that he reeked to high heavens. Lucien intended to take it—and the spare he’d found in a closet—with him.

He assumed Tamlin wouldn’t care if he stole some of his clothes. Just as Elain had done, Lucien shrugged on a pair of tight black jeans and a matching t-shirt, short sleeved to show off his tattoos, which was a thing he still stupidly cared about. He ransacked Tamlin’s closet, taking everything that had been left behind.

It wasn’t like Tam was ever going to use it again.

Lucien returned, threading his own fingers through his hair to give himself a dutch braid that matched Elains. She’d dug out a lot of candles, from where, Lucien didn’t know. He followed the trail of them and the mingling scents into a room that made his throat tight.

“Look,” Elain said, holding a coconut jarred candle in her hands. Lucien was certainly looking—not at her, but at the room she’d found. Tamlin’s studio, once upon a time. All untouched, from the guitars on stands and the fiddles on the wall, to the box where he’d recorded vocals and the drum kit against a glass window.

“I found this,” Elain added, walking toward a tower of records. Pulling out a plastic case, Elain found a CD—The Exiles. 

Lucien could have wept. “We can listen to it in the car!” she said brightly. “Also, your friend was a big fan of Taylor Swift, so if we get bored—”

“We won’t,” he breathed, taking the CD out of her hand. Of course Tamlin would have bought one in every form he could get his hands on. Lucien bet he had the record, and a digital copy, too. 

“I found sticks,” Elain told him softly, nodding toward a cup on the windowsill. “If you wanted to play, I’d listen. I’ll even scream that I love you, if that helps.”

Lucien choked on his laughter. “Would you flash me, too?”

She rolled her eyes, still grinning. “I don’t believe that ever happened.”

“Oh, it did. Mostly to Vassa, but still.”

“Well, if Vassa were here I might reconsider,” she said, plopping in a leather chair. The mixing board was dead, a monument to the money Tamlin had once had and the dreams he’d so carefully cultivated. Lucien would have given anything to step into the recording box and hear his own voice—to manipulate the vocals, the sound of the drums, the guitar. Anything that might shake him from this nightmare.

Elain waited expectantly, hand outstretched. He handed her his record, thinking of the blood, sweat, and tears it had taken to make it in the first place. 

“Play The Grey for me,” she said, looking at tracklist printed on the back. Lucien smiled.

“I wrote that, you know,” he said, reaching for the sticks. A thin layer of dust coated the kit, but for the most part, the set was in perfect, gorgeous condition. 

“Of course. I’m actually a secret Lucien Vanserra fan,” Elain told him. “I had a poster of you—”

“Shirtless, I hope,” he said with a relish, flipping his sticks between his fingers. He didn’t have to look to see her roll her eyes. Lucien could practically hear it. Still, it felt good to tease her a little.

In his head, he could see it all so clearly. That last show in Atlanta and the hum of the crowd. Vassa tuning her guitar just off stage while Lucien stretched out his muscles and Jurian gulped down water. They hadn’t known it would be their last show together, didn’t know they needed to savor it.

He hadn’t told either of them goodbye. He’d just left in his desperation to get back to Jes. He didn’t know what had happened to Vassa and Jurian, but he hoped they’d gotten the hell out. That they were somewhere safe, and they didn’t hate him too much.

Lucien looked up to find Elain watching, his record still held in her delicate hands. Hands that were just as blood stained as his own. She smiled that bright, sunny smile and Lucien thought if Elain could find joy in this terrible world, maybe he could, too. And maybe, despite everything, there was still a place for musicians and bakers. 

Closing his eyes, Lucien counted in his head, just like he’d always done. Vassa started, and Jurian followed just behind, thrumming softly. Building into Lucien’s furious beat. Lucien had forgotten how it felt to lose himself this way. To give in to the ache in his arms, to lean into the pain because it felt good. Nothing in Lucien’s life had ever made him feel like playing music did. He still remembered when his mother had brought home that drum kit, desperate to find something that might focus her rowdy son. Lucien had taken to it like a fish to water and that it been the end of things. While his father groomed Eris to be a great politician, Lucien was left to run wild. 

The music in his head ended, dragging him back into the candle lit darkness with Elain. She had her head propped on her hand, watching him with bright eyes. “Teach me,” she asked. Jes had said the same thing, once. Lucien had blown her off, unwilling to share. There would be time, besides. He’d always thought so. 

“Come here,” he said instead, breathless and exhilarated. There was no such thing as time anymore. Every moment had to be selfishly seized lest they lose it forever. If Elain wanted him to show her how to play and he brushed her off, he’d never get another chance. Tomorrow they’d be back in the car, and though they’d have things to listen to, they wouldn’t have this.

Lucien yielded the stool to her, hovering just behind. She inclined her head to look up at him and for just a moment, Lucien was struck by how genuinely beautiful she was. He’d forgotten, having grown accustomed to her presence, her face, but just then, as he handed her his sticks, it was like he was seeing her for the very first time. 

“Now what?” Elain asked, unaware of his thoughts. Lucien reached for her wrists. 

“After me.”

#oops I forgot about this #elucien

[darlingmissmoth]

Hi, my name is Moth and, uh, with “encouragement” from @babacontainsmultitudes (aka: “you should do it” and I went “yeah okay”) I have decided to do… A little (not a little) rambling about the kiddads (mostly Twin Focused, but still) cause I have many thoughts and feelings, most of which I tend to keep hidden but I have a blog and I’m making that everyone’s issue.

This probably won’t be totally coherent because my thoughts like to jump from point to point erratically so I’ll try to organize to the best of my ability? But there’s a good chance I’ll be all over the place! And it’s probably going to be… Very Fucking Long as a warning lmao

Anyway, uh, stuff under the read more :)

I’ve seen a lot of wild takes about the kiddads and their actions, and the general view on Sparrow is… Very Negative, from what I’ve gathered. I’ve seen a lot more positive as of late, but I still see a lot of hate. Which I get! If you do a skim of all he’s done, it isn’t a great picture. Telling your kid you aren’t proud of them, training your kids from a young age to kill things, his anger and upset, it isn’t good.

Then, of course, there’s Lark who tends to excuse Sparrow’s actions or try to smooth them over, it appears he’s the main one who did Hero’s training, and his anger is rough as well.

Then we have Grant and Nicky, one of whom is Overbearing, the other Distant.

All in all, the kiddads are, well… Not Great Parents to put it lightly.

But I think a lot of people tend to view all their actions through the lives of their own lives or what is “rational”, totally forgetting that the circumstances around the teen’s raising, around the kiddad’s lives, are not rational.

At the age of 11, all of them got kidnapped by their grandparents! And sold into slavery! They weren’t sure if they’d see their parents again! And while most of them took it in pretty good stride, they were 11 and most likely didn’t see the inherent danger of the situations they were in until they all got spirited away to Castle Ravenloft, where they had to deal with their grandparents and, no doubt, the abuse they dealt.

Both Nicky and Lark went through Real Life Or Death Experiences (not to say the other kids didn’t, but they were the only ones we see in S1 who got anywhere near actually dying) - and of them, Lark was the only one who felt death. It may have been a fake body, but that doesn’t change the fact that he actually felt himself die.

Grant had to kill something in such a horrible and gruesome way that we actively saw the way it changed his life. He got fucked up from it! Really badly. Mans is numb and struggling to feel anything which, of course, leads to a lot of self hate and self destructive habits.

And then, after all of this, Lark was manipulated by one of their abusers to stab his father and release The Doodler, which he didn’t fully understand the consequences of because, again, he’s 11. He was A CHILD.

Now he’s saddled with the knowledge he ended the world. He doomed his family, his friends, all because of an impulsive decision that he was manipulated into doing, yet he isn’t aware it was manipulation. He thinks it was just… Him. He chose to do it.

And now he, and all his friends, are wandering around trying to figure out how to stop this World Ending Creature that used to live in his family’s blood and it all seems terribly hopeless. But they keep trying. Because what else can you do? What is your other option? And he’s given a prophecy that says that his (or his twin’s) first born is the Only Thing that can stop said World Ending Creature. At the age of, like, 15.

Sparrow, who feels just as guilty for it, takes this onto his shoulders because he probably doesn’t want that tacked onto his brother’s conscious as well. Raising a kid just to be a tool because it’s either that or they continue to let this creature that he and his twin unleashed.

What were their other options? What other choices did they have? Let the world - the worlds - continue to die? They had to do something, and the only thing that would have worked - apparently - is to have this kid.

Meanwhile, Grant gets a kid and they’re in the fucking apocalypse, so of course he’s going to shelter his kid. He remembers what happened to him when he was put under extreme stress and in a life or death situation and he doesn’t want that for his baby. He loves Lincoln so much, loves his husband so much. Was it right to totally isolate him? No! Probably not! But he was terrified of the world, and he had every right to be.

A lot of people judge the kiddads under the lenses of our current world, but they need to remember that isn’t the setting. That isn’t their world. Maybe when they were children, but not now. Not when we see the teens.

Their world is a dying one, it’s scary, it’s dangerous. They did the best with the trauma they were saddled with, in a world that they were the cause of and could die in every single day. Do you think you could do better? Truly?

They did the best in the situations they were in, and for Grant, maybe he shouldn’t have had a kid. But he did! His husband wanted one and they were given one and they were small and innocent and sweet and Grant was smitten instantly. And people seem to forget he was a good dad! Lincoln turned out good! He’s smart and kind and gentle. He loved his dads so fucking much and didn’t realize anything was wrong until he was shoved into a position he shouldn’t have been in.

Grant raised him well. He raised him with love and adoration and did his best.

Sparrow and Lark did, too. They love their kids! No one can deny that! Sparrow and Lark love their kids. But it’s a dangerous world, and they knew at least one of their kids is the only hope humanity has. They had to make sure she could defend herself, she could take it down when the time came.

People also point at the homecoming scene for Sparrow and Lark and I agree that it wasn’t good. They fucked up. But it’s also made so, so clear that Sparrow loves Normal deeply. He adores his son. But it’s also canon that Normal reminds Sparrow of his younger self, who Sparrow is not proud of, and he desperately wanted better for his son. And Normal, had Sparrow and Lark not manifested, would have never known his dad wasn’t proud of him.

Which means Sparrow never let that show! Sometimes parents aren’t proud of their kid’s decisions, that’s just the long and short of it. And that should be okay. It should be okay to not agree with something your child does. But the important thing is that you don’t show it. And Sparrow NEVER DID. He NEVER ONCE showed Normal that he wasn’t proud. He showed love first and foremost always.

Which is why it came as a shock when he revealed otherwise. So he was doing good! He was a good parent!

Did they fumble? Yes. I’m not saying that any of them are totally blameless. They messed up a lot. They should have made better decisions. But they were also horribly traumatized, lost their innocence of childhood at the age of 11, and had to grow up in a doomed world with guilt on their shoulders and the fate of the world in their hands.

All of this to say that they are complex. They are human. At the core of this sillyfunny podcast, that is something that remains consistent. These aren’t characters on a traditional Hero’s Journey. They are regular people thrust into impossible situations that have to figure out how to cope with it on their feet. They’re flawed, they make bad decisions, and that is the point. They aren’t meant to be perfect or always know what to do. All of them are shades of gray. None of them are truly evil or truly good because no person is.

They’ll fuck up. They’ll make bad decisions spurred on by guilty consciouses or emotions. Some decisions won’t be rational because humans aren’t. We are made up of emotion and memory and personal values, and we make our decisions based around those things.

They aren’t perfect. They aren’t meant to be. They are complex and they are beautiful for that.

I’m sure there’s more I could say, but this is long enough as is, uh. If you want to hear more I guess either dm me or shoot me an ask about specific characters idk

Thanks for reading

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #I'm not gonna tag individual characters #moth speaks #moth writes #Here u go fandom #Long rambling thoughts from a woman with too much time on her hands lmao