#But my one big fear is that I will be exposed to my comfort characters going through something that’s gonna REALLY mess me up

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

Every time I write Jax being a massive asshole in my fics I start to think “Am I going too far? Should I reel him back a little bit? I don’t think he’ll be this bad in the show” and then I see this from Goose herself

And I started going “Ok, now I’m thinking I gotta make him worse”

[eros-ghoulette]

So I was right?

Alphas belt won't fit anymore.

Characters: Alpha, Omega Word count: 687

Alpha looked into the mirror. His hair was still messy from sleep, and he wasn’t wearing shoes yet. The black button-up he was wearing wasn’t hanging as loosely as it used to. Don’t get him wrong, his shirts always fit him perfectly, but now it was actually wrapping around his skin, making it impossible to hide anything. His small love handles were exposed to everyone, and the tummy he grew was pressing against the fabric.

But there was a simple problem: his trousers. Or, more likely, the button he couldn’t close without fearing it might pop at some point. So he opened it again and breathed out in a relaxed manner; comfortable was something different.

The next problem emerged when he tried to find a belt. He replayed the moment when Omega told him to buy belts that were a little longer and not already on the last hole when wearing them. That was a year ago, and now his stupid decision backfired in the most obvious way. He had the feeling that Terzo wouldn’t be too fond of him showing up at the meeting with open trousers. No matter that they were retired, he and Omega were ordered to be at the meeting, and not a single ghoul wanted to wear their uniforms in summer, so he had to wear something else that was formal enough.

So there was only one option… admitting that the quint had been right and asking him for a belt. Hopefully, he was in his room; otherwise, Alpha would simply borrow a belt from his closet.

“Megs?” Without knocking, the tall ghoul entered the other's room. And lucky for him, Omega was just finishing tying his shoes.

“Hmm?” he made, and looked up. “What is it?”

“It’s not by chance that you have a belt for me?” Alpha asked, closing the door behind him.

Omega grinned knowingly, tilting his head to the side.

“So I was right? Never would have guessed,” he told him, the irony sharp in his voice.

“Save the jokes, you fucker,” the fire ghoul answered. “We only have fifteen minutes left, will you just give me a belt? Please?”

The quint stood up from his bed and walked over to Alpha, giving him a mocking chuckle.

“You know… With that attitude of yours, I don’t think I want to give you one of my belts,” he sighed dramatically and shrugged.

The guitarist rolled his eyes and took a step closer to Omega, who took the opportunity to lay his hands on Alpha’s sides, squeezing them. He loved those love handles and the way the other tensed under the unexpected touch.

“But I’ll be nice and give you one,” the quint then said and turned to grab one out of his drawer. “Under the condition that you admit I was right.”

If looks could kill, Omega would be dead.

“You were right,” Alpha mumbled, barely understandable.

“What was that?” he asked, even though he understood.

“You son of a-” the tall ghoul snorted, “You were right!”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Omega laughed and walked back to the fire ghoul, motioning him to raise his arms a bit. He began to put the belt on the other and pulled him closer by the waist after buckling it. The grin was still on his face, and the big ghoul knew that Alpha wasn’t as mad as he pretended to be, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“We’re gonna buy you bigger clothes tomorrow,” he told his pack mate, his hand finding its way to his tummy automatically.

“You have a weird obsession with my tummy, you know?” Alpha pointed out.

He earned himself another shrug and an agreeing sound: “Can you blame me? I don’t think so.”

Now the tall ghoul really let out a laugh, his right hand squeezing Omega’s butt and then coming to rest on his lower back.

“I wasn’t complaining,” he answered, his voice lower than before.

And when they arrived a few minutes too late to the meeting, there was a suspicious dark spot on Omega’s neck and Alpha’s face was deeply red. ______________________

I have no idea what this is tbh but i tried and this is the best i could come up with

let me tag you here @aweisz

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED

[coffehbeans]

G/t WAC Day 2

"Post a prompt/scenario you wish you saw more often"

Oh boi, there's so many things I want to see more stories of!

More adventurous stories. Usually, some g/t stories feel a little... Boring. Sorry. It's just, even when there's fantasy it mostly revolves around two characters interacting in a slice of life rhythm, in the same place (usually a house or an apartment) and it gets stale pretty easily. I talked about this in a post before. Put your blorbos in situations! Make subplots, or conflicts, explore your world, change the setting, raise the stakes, you know? I just wish giants and tinies stopped being fixed in the same setting the entire story, and if they are, make smth more interesting happen, idk. I struggle with this too so I understand.

Growth. It's still so underutilized in stories. But oh, not any type of growth, no, I wish there were more lowkey body horror growth scenes. Like, make the character terrified of what they're becoming, make the growth painful, almost monstrous smh, make me, the reader, terrified, idk lol. I just wish there was more horror-centered growth sequences and the existential dread that comes with becoming five stories tall.

Giant Kaiju battles. Yeah. This is so hyper specific lmaoo like, I've only read one story with giants duking it out in the middle of the city and it was so cool that I wanna see more of it. Preferably with the little humans running away, to add that sweet old tension!

Accidental city rampage. Like, I never see this trope, ever. Idk, maybe this is the climax of a story, or a giant is stranded in a planet of tiny people and ends up in the middle of a bustling city, or someone becomes a giant and is so confused they're stepping over cars and breaking stuff. It's just that underlying fear of someone unwillingly commiting so much destruction that keeps me on my toes.

Giant elves?? Idk, just a race of really big, really elegant giants.

Fairies and fairy worlds! I loved Tinkerbell as a kid and just wish to see more stories with that child-like wonder of discovering a magical society of cute, tiny fairies.

Bring back that trope of someone finding a giant in the forest but like, let it come to a tense climax. I've read some stories that have this trope and then... Nothing happens. It's just, the giant lives comfortably in a huge house or smth, or goes back to their dimension, or is friends with the government. Where's the drama?? Lmaoo like, make a climax where the giant gets captured and the whole world knows, or give the tiny a rescue arc but then the giant secret is exposed, idk make stuff happen lol you could even add accidental city rampage in this one, there's so many possibilities.

I think that's all I could think about!

[ephemerasnape]

Masked Man (Explicit) 🔞

⇉ Ashwinder Scout x OFC

“You’re about to find out what happens to pretty little shopkeepers who don’t pay their due.”

This one-shot takes place in the same universe as my fic, Paying the Piper, with the same characters.

Ashwinder extortion scenario gone wrong... Or, perhaps, gone right. 😉 CNC

↱ Smut. Pure filth. ☠️🔞

Read on ao3, or below.

The auburn Ashwinder Scout took a deep breath as he pushed open the back door to Oddments and Oddities.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this!

It’s alright, he assured himself, stepping through the doorway. We’ve agreed. Hell, she asked for this. Explicitly. She even left the door unlocked. But still…

The young Scout, Oswald, was not totally comfortable with the situation he was walking into, but, boy, oh boy, his cock sure was. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so excited.

Narrowing his pale green eyes against the darkness, Oswald quietly made his way through the shop and up the stairs. It was dead quiet, and he feared he sounded rather like an erumpent on the old staircase. But he wasn’t really sneaking anywhere, he reminded himself, it’s all just for show.

The pale Ashwinder continued to creep until he reached the very top of the steps and surveyed the shopkeeper’s living space in the dim light. Ensuring his mask was firmly in place, he walked towards the door to the bedroom, his heart beating out of his chest. Carefully, he eased the door open, expecting it to squeak. It didn’t.

There, as expected, was the shopkeeper, Elisabeth, sleeping peacefully on her stomach. Her long black hair splayed across the pillows all around her, her white nightdress creeping up just enough to expose a bit of thigh. Oswald swallowed, remembering how she’d promised not to be wearing any undergarments, and couldn’t help but let out a soft moan at the thought of what he was about to do.

As he approached the sleeping witch, his cock throbbed desperately with need. Hell. He wanted this just as much as she did.

He decided then and there to put away any doubts, any reservations, and embrace his role fully. He grinned underneath his mask, eyeing Elisabeth’s vulnerable body lasciviously. She wants it, he reminded himself.

The young Ashwinder reached down to unbutton his trousers with urgency, freeing his aching cock. He almost forgot to cast a silencing charm on the sleeping witch before he pounced on her.

Waking suddenly at the weight on her back, Elisabeth tried to scream, but failed to make a sound. Oswald chuckled, pinning the struggling witch down by her wrists as he leaned to whisper into her ear.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Elisabeth’s eyes went even wider with panic, her mouth open in silent protest.

“You’re about to find out what happens to pretty little shopkeepers who don’t pay their due.”

The small woman underneath Oswald bucked and scrambled desperately, trying to knock him off of her, but managing only to turn over so that he could see her terrified face better.

He knew it was an act but what an act. The Ashwinder felt his cock throb even more intensely at the idea of forcing her despite her protests. He wanted to do this.

I am a dark wizard after all..

“Calm down, love,” Oswald growled, insinuating himself between Elisabeth’s kicking legs. "If ya cooperate, this’ll be much more pleasant for ya.”

The Ashwinder leered down at the struggling witch, knowing that combined with his mask, his expression must look rather intimidating. Well, she wanted the big, bad Ashwinder…

Oswald pinned both of Elisabeth’s pale wrists in one hand and he hiked up her nightgown with the other, groaning as he discovered her completely unencumbered where it mattered. Let’s give her what she wants, then..

“Ready fer me, aren’t ya, you little slut?” he hissed, becoming slightly irritated as the witch fought to keep her thighs closed.

Well, she did mention wanting me to rough her up.. “There’ll be none of that,” he growled, smacking Elisabeth hard across the face with his free hand, causing her expression to contort into a grimace of pain and fear. He then wrapped his fingers around her throat, squeezing just enough to demonstrate her vulnerability without causing any actual harm.

“Be a good girl for me and I won’t hurt you,” he whispered, the threat subtle but impactful. Oswald gazed down at Elisabeth, eyes dark with lust as he felt her go slack in his grasp.

“That's it... Good girl,” he said as he released her pinned wrists and used his free hand to line his cock up with her entrance.

So wet.. Just as I suspected. She enjoys being afraid. 

Feeling an intense urgency to be buried inside the witch, Oswald forced his cock into the shopkeeper as deep as it would go, as quickly as he could manage. “Ahhh!” he groaned at the feeling of her tight heat enveloping him, and he wasted no time in beginning to fuck Elisabeth in earnest.

“I told you.. you’d pay,” he grunted in between thrusts, “that tribute.. one way.. or another..”

He released Elisabeth’s throat then, his hands roaming her body as he pounded her. “Gods..”

Somehow, her pussy felt tighter than he’d remembered. Perhaps this was part of the act – pretending to have her body fight him in every possible way.

The Scout was a kind and gentle soul, really, but deep inside of his psyche he couldn’t deny that the idea of forcing himself on a woman held a sort of primal appeal.

Oswald moaned at how amazing Elisabeth’s pussy felt as he slammed into her over and over again, fucking the helpless witch with abandon.

Still a novice when it came to sex, Oswald felt himself getting close far too quickly. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly while he tried distract himself by thinking of the Queen of Muggle England.

“Victoria,” he wheezed, and Elisabeth furrowed her brow in confusion. Oswald opened his eyes and gazed down at her lovingly, then remembered his role and schooled his expression to a more hardened one.

“I’m about to fill you,” he hissed, fucking her so hard it was as if he was trying to impale her womb with his cock. “Your pussy is mine.”

The shopkeeper’s wide eyes and silent protests just added to the experience as he jackhammered into her cunt wildly for a few moments before stilling deep inside of her, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“Merlin… Fuck,” he exclaimed, his hips stuttering against Elisabeth’s a few times as he emptied himself fully into her, then collapsed on top of the witch, panting.

Finally remembering himself, Oswald straightened up, fixing his intense gaze on the trembling shopkeeper.

“You’ll be a good girl from now on and pay the damn tribute, won’t you,” he spoke softly, stroking the witch’s face with mock tenderness and affection.

Elisabeth nodded.

“Just remember, if ya don’t, I can have a dozen men here in minutes...”

If you like Oswald, check out his main fic, Paying the Piper.

[the-s1lly-corner]

I want to request like. A cuddling session with Slenderman, who is having a bad day and we comfort him

(つ≧▽≦)つ

I'm addicted to the idea of him pretending to be okay with people calling him monster, but deep down he has this longing for it to stop, since he wanted to get along with the proxies and others he deemed second family.

So he like, rant about his day while reader comfort him.

Maybe get him a little fluster aswell （〜^∇^ )〜

(Take your time and have a good day/night)

All Entwined in One Web

obligatory im stuck in the 2015 era of the creepypasta fandom and ive been mulling over this sort of approach in my head for the past month because i revisited an old slenderman x oc fanfic that had a death grip on me and shaped the way i will interact with + and consume creepypasta stuff for the sake of saving grace and not revealing HOW cringe i was im not going to drop the fanfic name (unless yall dm me because!! i still wanna support the author even if it seems theyre inactive now!) i blame this author for making me a demon sympathizer/j/lh written kinda different than my basic bullet list of hcs! got silly with this one, sorry if its jarring compared to my usual stuff </3 this post is mostly just my hc on like. slender (and by extension all demon characters) being neutral and a simple part of nature that stems from zalgo (yay im finally dropping zalgo lore for my au since he functions differently in my au/hc!!) so take this with a HUGE grain of salt since i feel this deters from the main take people use (that ive seen, at least) this one ended up being more.. sad than i first intended and imma be honest i kinda got into my feelings when i was writing this anywaus i hope this isnt too cringe since i dont talk much about my HUGEhcs/au stuff/rewritten stuff so!! plus i dont usually write BIG detailed stuff like this sobsob tldr; slenderman isnt good or evil hes just a neutral piece of nature in the world and hes trying to cope with it. the demon gods really fucked up by making him sentient and able to process human like emotions

death is a force of nature and people curse it for simply being a part of life; people curse wild animals for being, and people will curse the weather

in this universe, or timeline, demons exist in a similar manner. slenderman exists simply because hes a part of that huge web of nature. of course, that includes every single ugly instinct that humans hate so so much. and he can understand why, even if its his nature.

the one responsible for that web, is zalgo. the beginning and end of everything. neither alive nor dead, all demons stem from zalgo in one way or another.

a solitary creature that prefers to stay alone in the comfort of its home, it doesnt tend to reach out to harm others unless theres harm. only really attacking people that threaten to expose it or get too close...

except, you... you were the one exception. regardless of how you managed to worm yourself into his heart, and become his lifelong companion, hes grateful for your presence when things begin to build up.

he knows that in the eyes of others, he ugly and vile, but he knows that ultimately thats what protects him. he insists that its better this way, sticking to the forest away from the prying eyes.

SURE, he could follow in his brothers footsteps and make a false human body and try to blend in with the people. but is that really efficient? is that really something he wants? hes a powerful being but that would eventually take its toll on him..

ultimately he resigns himself into your arms; once oozing powerful and command, now crumpled and curled.

he never had a childhood, when zalgo created him, he simply.

was

no adolescence, no developing, no growing. he was always what he was meant to be, but he likes to think that when youre holding him, that this is what it feels like to be so small and vulnerable.

humans had it so easy, hed think. theyre born and they die and the process repeats itself for everyone. they dont have to be feared or hated, or kill to survive.

yes, to him, being mortal was far more preferable to being condemned to being a lonely hermit who corrupts and breaks everything it touches.

even with your comfort, theres only so much that you can do; youll eventually pass on as well and hell be stuck in his cycle once more

but for now, as you hum softly and whisper nothings to him as you let him crumble; hell let himself weep just this once.

because as much as he envies your life, and what humans have, he cant deny that he cant bring himself to truly hate them, because like him, theyre simply a piece of natures web.

[ifishouldvanish]

(sorry, one more bc it's been on my mind for a long time)

I worry though, about... the dynamic. Can someone really find and bond with another through their grief and loneliness, without this grim depression they share becoming *worse?*

For me, personally, whenever I think about them... I think there's going to be a level of catharsis. They have something that would be very hard to find in another living being, and a certain love for humanity and the past that would be difficult to find among vampires, and this shapes them into shattered pieces which fit together. But would they still be able to find happiness? It kind of feels like they're two damaged clocks that have coincidentally been stuck on the same minute and hour hand. Would they be able to heal and move time forward?

Okay so like!!!!

I see it less about bonding over the shared grief itself and more about what their responses to that grief have exposed in each of them. Like, in the beginning and on the surface level, yes. It is the grief and loss and loneliness that brings them together. But they are foils!!! I'm telling you!!! They can learn from each other!!!

I've mentioned probably all of this before in scattered pieces across all my posts at some point but!! I think the lowest common denominator, the core of their dynamic, lies in how they seem to have established their senses of self.

Alucard struggles with how not to define himself by his father, and then having to define himself in opposition to his father. "Slave to our families' wishes" etc. And when that chapter of his life closes he's like, "welp, guess I'll just entomb myself here 🤷" until Trevor and Sypha are like "what?? Dude no??" And he's like "oh haha I guess you're right, I can uphold the legacy of the best parts of both of my parents!!" And they're like "ya!!" But then a month goes by without anyone coming round to say "hey!!! Share that knowledge with me!! Fulfill the role you've given yourself" and he is just... so fucking bored and unfulfilled?

He needed they-who-shall-not-be-named to come along so he could fill that role, needed Greta to come along so he could fill that role. He tells Greta about how rescuing others sort of fills a void for him/gives him purpose, which is honorable, yes. But like... It's also so sad imo?? This comfort in denying his sense of self? "I don't know what to do with myself, just gimme a shout if the world ever needs saving again"?? Like Alucard, honey, babygirl, sweetheart... you need to learn to live for yourself 🥺

Olrox on the other hand is... not selfish exactly, but he knows what he's about and he refuses compromise himself. You killed the only man I ever loved? Okay, then I'm killing you, and no, I don't care if your nine year old son witnesses it. You want the juicy story of why that boy is terrified of the big bad vampire? Okay, but you will learn about my humanity first so you can sit with your cognitive dissonance about it later. You think I'm just going to throw myself at your feet because you promise us all eternal night? How about you kindly go fuck yourself? You happily stump for Erzsebet because she promised you that she'll create a world that will allow you to relive your glory days? Couldn't be me!

Like obviously we have a much more limited viewpoint for Olrox because we know so much less about him and his past, but this is not a guy who's waiting for someone to give him a purpose. He acts alone, he doesn't play nice with others, he has his own agenda, and is even a little bit of a hedonist: investigating the relationship between the abbot and Erzsebet? Might as well fuck a hot monk while I'm at it. I said eat the rich, but I might as well look good doing it. You hate/fear me cause I killed your mom? Get over it already. You think the opera singing night creature is annoying? Well, I'm familiar enough with opera music to know he's actually reading you all for filth, so I think it's great!

I think at the end of the day, Alucard is a character who defines himself by others, not understanding why he still feels so empty and alone. And Olrox is a character who defines himself by his own terms, but in being caught between both human and vampire worlds has learned to push people away because he thinks he is better off that way. But by the end of the season, his worst fear is realized: I cannot do this alone. I am at the mercy of someone else's help.

But Olrox isn't like anyone else Alucard has rescued before. He's a fellow vampire. He's a fellow immortal. He's going to be around for as long as he is. And maybe, in that time, a little bit of that ego can start to rub off on Alucard. Maybe he can learn to live for himself without apology, without feeling like he has to atone for the sins of his father. Maybe, just maybe, he can learn to exist outside of the role of the mythical savior.

Because Olrox doesn't want one of those—heaven's no. He can take care of himself, thank you very much. But what if he could learn he doesn't always have to? Who better to restore his faith in the world than the guy who has his mother's conviction that all of this mess is worth saving so deeply ingrained in him that it's been the primary source of his identity for centuries?

I'm starting to ramble here so I hope this is coherent, but in conclusion: they would be so restorative for each other and look so hot together and that is why I believe in Alurox supremacy 🙏

[sirowsky-stories]

Collision

Part 5

Description: Pero knows what he needs to do, but knowing it doesn't help when he can't convince himself to leave while he's so confused about his own feelings.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x OFC, no reader insert, Pero's pov, conspiracy, cursing, angst, use of the word hackers, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity, AU fic. Rating: Mature/Explicit 18+ONLY Word Count: 5700 Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This is conversation heavy. And the next one will feature a small timegap to move things along a little.

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

   It takes two hours to set up the computer system and connect it to the safehouse’s secure network, but once it’s done, Will goes straight to work. True to his word, he’s not here for a vacation. Rather, he seems intent on unraveling this mystery completely, starkly offended that the people behind it have managed to sneak past his defenses.    Pero helps him get everything ready, but he can’t help with the search, so once the other man goes to work, he returns downstairs.    Where Gillian’s waiting.

   She’s leaning against the wall of the hallway that leads to the bedrooms, but when he comes down the stairs, she pushes off the exposed wood and crosses her arms over her waist.

   “Who are you really?” she demands, clearly jarred by Will’s earlier comment.

   He’s been waiting for this. Her natural inclination to help and care for others have kept her from prodding, and she’s seen how protective and tender he’s been towards Niki from the beginning of this mess, which has probably left her feeling largely at ease with him.    But now, when there’s another source of information, when she’s no longer alone with him and technically at his mercy, she’s seemingly decided that the answers which didn’t feel important enough to ask for before, have since become necessary.

   “Why don’t we take a seat. I’m gonna need some coffee for this,” he suggests, and then moves into the kitchen to start making the brew.

   He can hear that she follows and sits down by the breakfast table section of the kitchen island behind him, so he starts talking while he works.

   “In my late teens, I discovered that going through school being bullied or avoided by every kid I’d ever been around, had resulted in an exceptional ability to read people. I could tell from observing someone for just brief moments at a time, not just what type of character they were, but whether they had secrets, what kinds of fears plagued them, what their favorite things were, and so on.    And I was bitter and angry enough, even back then, that I saw no reason to use that skill for anything helpful. So, I started my own little criminal empire instead.”

   He turns around and leans against the counter once the coffee machine has started working, and when he meets her eyes, she looks only curious.    Through her work, she’s had to learn to listen to people and decipher the truthfulness of what she hears, while remaining as neutral as possible herself. He knows that she’s not gonna interrupt him, and that she’ll likely only asks questions if there’s something in his story that she doesn’t understand.

   “Like with most enterprises, criminal or otherwise, I started small,” he continues. “I tricked or blackmailed people out of things that were precious to them for one reason or another. Mostly money, because it was useful to me, but also because in this country that seems to be what everyone holds most dear, even those who don’t seem like they do.    And in the beginning, each successful scam was such a victory that I soon started thinking about bigger things. But I also understood from the start that if I was ever gonna have a chance to stay alive in the criminal world, I’d need an alias. So, I waited until I’d managed to create a completely separate person who could take the blame for all the stealing, before I went after my first big target.”

   “What do you mean by a separate person?” she asks, when he pauses to move one of the stools to the other side of the island, so that he can sit opposite her.

   “Another identity, but a ghost. Someone known only by name and voice, never seen, and entirely untraceable, both in person and online. He had no history and no future, he was just a voice on the phone, making demands.    I called that ghost Mr. Hood, because I only ever stole money from those who could afford it, and I never took more than a small percentage of what they really had. And if it was an item I took, it was never expensive paintings or jewelry. Instead, I would trick people out of their comfort items. Things with sentimental value, as a way of punishing them for their cruelty.”

   “Their cruelty?”

   “Yes. I specifically targeted people who were secretly abusive or criminal, or just mean motherfuckers who trampled all over everyone around them just because they could.    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that what I did was good, but I would never have taken from someone who was just going through life doing the best they could with as much humility and compassion as they could spare, no matter how much money they had.    I wanted the crooks. I wanted to punish people for their indifference and lack of appreciation for their own fortunes, not to mention the people they crushed along the way.”

   He stops himself there, because he’s getting riled up thinking about this. There are so many faces in his head. People who could’ve helped so many with their riches or their influence, but instead always did the opposite.    The faces of his worst bullies from childhood flood his mind, and he closes his eyes against the painful memories. The beatings and the degradation. The constant public humiliation.    If just one person had told them to stop-…

   “So, basically an evil Robin Hood,” Gillian suggests, interrupting his downward spiral and drawing him back to the present.

   He takes a calming breath, allowing her steady voice to chase away the sounds of his own bones breaking, etched into his memory bank forever.

   “Maybe not evil,” he quietly counters, not at all sure if that’s true. “But definitely dark.”

   “Hm. Well, given this place, I guess you were successful?” she ponders, and he nods.

   “Very. There are way too many needlessly cruel people in the world.”

   “You ever kill anyone?” she wonders, but the question isn’t accusatory.

   “Yes. When you take on people associated with drug cartels and mafia’s, you kinda have to be ready to spill blood to protect yourself.”

   “Whoa, whoa, whoa… You stole money from drug cartels?” she asks with a touch of disbelief, and when he nods again, her eyebrows hit the roof. “That’s ballsy…”

   “Not really. Those were the easiest paydays, because my victims had nowhere to turn. With the average rich scumbag there was always the risk that they’d involve law enforcement, which I could handle since my alias was airtight and my own identity was never at risk, but it would also mean having to abandon the mark.    Whereas with cartel members, if I could find a good enough fear or damaging enough secret, I could pin a person to a wall from which they had no escape in any direction. And best of all, who’s gonna believe that person when they try to explain to their boss that they were blackmailed into stealing the money, rather than pocketing it themselves?”

   “Shit. You really did have your own little empire,” she concludes, leaning back in her seat with a mildly impressed look in her eyes.

   “I’m not proud of it,” he admits, before getting up and turning his back to her while he pours himself a generous cup of the now finished beverage.

   “Why?” she challenges. “What happened that made you change tracks and decide to become a factory worker?”

   He doesn’t remember exactly when it had happened. When he’d decided that he was done with it, but he knows the reasoning behind it.    It hadn’t been obvious to him even as he’d walked away from Mr. Hood and everything he’d built. Not until years later had the reasoning finally become clear to him. But neither then nor now does he know when that seed had first been planted in his mind.

   “My own reflection,” he answers, staring down into the dark liquid, looking for a strength that it can’t give him. “Over time… seeing myself in the mirror got increasingly unpleasant. And it took me a long time to understand why, but I know now that it was because of how cold and dead my eyes had become.    I looked at myself and I saw someone worse than the people who had hurt me, and even though I didn’t realize it right away, it scared me so much that I couldn’t keep going.”

   It’s never made him feel stupid or less of a man to admit to himself that he went too far. But it does still make him feel guilty, which is why he won’t meet her eyes to find out what she’s thinking about him right now.    Part of him has always wanted to tell Niki, but then, that would’ve meant changing the dynamic of their relationship, and he’s been too scared of losing the comforting simplicity between them, to dare take that step.

   “And how does William fit into all this?” Gillian finally asks, and her lack of comments or further questions about his decision to walk away, gives Pero the confidence to look up at her again.

   She still just looks curious.    But this is a question that he can’t answer.

   “You’ll have to ask him about that. It’s not my story to tell.”

   With that, he decides that their conversation is over. For now, anyway.    Niki’s been alone for at least half an hour already, and while she should be out of danger, he doesn’t feel good about leaving her without supervision for very long. There’s still a risk of delayed complications or other problems emerging.    He takes his coffee and heads back to the bedroom, hearing no objections from the nurse, so he assumes that she’s satisfied with his answers for the time being.

   To his surprise, Niki’s awake again when he steps in, so he closes the door behind him to give them some privacy.    The room is so softly lit by how the daylight is filtered through the thick and richly green vegetation outside the windows, that she looks almost as though some masterful artist had painted her into existence.

   “Hey. How are you?” he asks while approaching the bed.

   “Still thirsty,” she replies, so he reaches for the glass of water with the straw, still standing on a tray on top of one of the monitors beside the bed.

   He raises the backrest once again, and she drinks in slow but long gulps this time, until the glass is completely empty.

   “More?” he asks, but she shakes her head.

   “I’m good for now. Thank you.”

   He sets the glass down and then takes a seat in the chair, leaving her sitting upright for a while to let the water settle into her stomach.

   “What’s happened?” she asks after a minute, and he realizes that he’s taken her hand and that he’s fighting strong emotions that are trying to claw through his chest.

   It’s a simple question, but he struggles to find an answer. Too much has happened, but not really around them, just inside of him. And how is he supposed to explain that when he doesn’t even understand it himself?    He runs a hand over his face in frustration. He wishes that he could hug her. That he could crawl into that bed with her and beg her to hold him, cradle him until he falls asleep, because he’s so tired.

   It’s only been two days, but he’s already exhausted in mind, spirit and body. How is he supposed to protect her when he can’t even stomach two fucking days of stress without crumbling into a nervous pile of uselessness?

   “Pero? Talk to me.”

   Her voice is soft, but there’s fear in it, and he hates hearing that.

   “Someone I know showed up here this morning,” he says, bottling up his emotions and forcing himself to stay on track. To be useful. “His name’s William and he’s the one who helped me find out who’s after you.”

   “That’s not what I meant,” she counters, squeezing his hand to urge him to look at her, clearly seeing right through his attempt to be stoic.

   He notices that her grip is getting strong again. She’s a mechanic, her hands have been calloused and sure for as long as he’s known her. Accustomed and comfortable working with metal tools and tightly wound nuts and bolts.    And when he meets her eyes, he finds them every bit as piercing but gentle as they’ve always been when directed at him.

   “I don’t know what to do…” he confesses, and all at once, the emotions he just buried are overpowering him again, even worse this time.

   He pulls free of her hand, even though all he wants is to hold it tighter, and drops forwards in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head fall into his open hands while he fights against desperate sobs, only just managing to hold them back.

   “I’m such a fucked up person, I don’t even have friends to ask for help! We’ve got an entire government and whole other country hunting us and the best I can do is run and hide because all I’ve got is myself,” he rambles, shaking his head between the fingers he’s digging into his scalp.

   “Pero-…” she tries, but he cuts her off.

   “Don’t get attached, don’t start caring, don’t let people manipulate you,” he rants, reciting the rules he’s lived by as if they’re some magical shield that’ll protect him against the pain which courses through him with each breath. “I’ve spent my whole life watching people say how much they love their friends and partners, only to use and manipulate and lie to them all the time! All the fucking time!    Love isn’t real, that’s what I always believed. Because how could it be when no one… no one I ever met or observed, actually seemed to care that much about their supposed loved ones? So, why make friends when I know that they’ll only hurt me down the line? Why give a shit when no one else does?”

   He pauses to wipe the tears from his eyes before they can fall. He’s not even sure why he’s crying, except for the pain. Which he also doesn’t know the real source of.

   “I don’t know how people do it… how they can live so falsely and act so happy. I mean, I can’t say if I’ve ever been happy. I don’t think so. But at least I’ve never strung anyone along with promises of a great future together, only to turn around and shit on them.    If that’s happiness then I don’t want it.”

   He falls silent then, with a final big sigh, and leans back in his chair with his head still hanging low against his chest. Feeling defeated by the entire world, somehow.

   “What do you want?” Niki asks then, and she sounds so careful.

   As if the question alone has the power to break him. And given that he’s been thinking about this very thing all morning, without coming up with any answers, it doesn’t seem impossible that it might.    Once again he tries to consider it. To put his life into perspective and search for the things that matter to him, along with the things that don’t. It shouldn’t be this hard to figure out, but it damned well is.

   “I’ve been trying to work that out, but honestly… I still don’t know,” he admits, but it’s not good enough.

   She deserves more effort than that, so he keeps talking, hoping that if he just spews out enough words, eventually the right ones will just fall out and make everything okay.

   “I want you to live and be free, and I want the baby to live. I know that much. I’m just not sure why. What it means to me, you, or the baby. I don’t know if it means what you might want it to. Or if you even want me like that.    We never talked about it, because it wasn’t supposed to happen, we weren’t supposed to be that to each other, but now everything’s upside down and because we never talked, we don’t know this shit, or anything about each other, and it’s all such a god damned mess.”

   The words run out, so he just sits there, staring at his own hands, too cowardly to meet her gaze and find out what she thinks about what he’s saying. Not because he worries that she might not like what she hears, but because he worries that she’ll look indifferent. That he doesn’t matter to her at all.    He’s never been concerned about her opinion of him before, since their relationship has never required her to like him, only trust him. Which she has.

   But everything really is different now. And maybe he is too.

   “Yo-…” she starts, but her voice seems to break under heavy emotions, and he can’t stop himself from looking up at her.

   She looks almost heartbroken, and it sends daggers through him.

   “You want the baby to live?” she continues, and she sounds so incredulous.

   As though she can’t imagine that he would actually want that. Which would mean that her heartbreak is rooted in hope rather than fear. That she wants to believe that he could love their child at least, if not her.

   “Yes, but…” he tries, and sees her breath hitch when he doesn’t continue.

   “But, what?” she prompts, and her voice is shaking now.

   “But…” he tries again, knowing what he needs to say, but afraid of what she’ll think. “Fuck. Look, I’m not a good person, I think a part of you knows that. And even though I’d like to think that I could be a worthwhile dad, I really don’t think I can.”

   Never before has he worried or even cared about being judged by others. The opinions of liars and betrayers and abusers have never mattered to him, and that’s what everyone around him has always looked like to his eyes.    Nikita is an exception, but only because he’s chosen not to look too closely at her. He’s never observed her. Never tried to know her, because if he’d found her to be like the rest, that would’ve ruined his ability to look at her as someone desirable.

   He knows now that she has lied for large portions of her life, although as far as he’s aware, only out of patriotism and necessity, which he can accept. But he still doesn’t know what else she is or has done. If she’s like the rest overall. And he isn’t sure that he wants to know.    But more than that, what plagues him is the knowledge that he’s no better than anyone of them. Equally unworthy of love since he’s never once offered his to anyone.

   “So, in other words, you want me to have the baby. Alone?” she counters, and she sounds upset now, so he thinks carefully before he answers.

   “I just want you to have the option. To not be forced in any direction, by anyone or for any reason, but least of all by me, because I’m not… I can’t be trusted with something like this.”

   “And what if you’re the only reason that I want to make that choice at all?” she ponders, still sounding upset, but also sad.

   Her words truly stun him, though. He sits frozen for a while, just staring dumbly at her, before he finds his voice.

   “But… I’m an asshole.”

   “Maybe, but not to me. I might not know anything about you, but I know that you’ve never treated me like a piece of meat. I know that I’ve never had to fear that you’d be offensive for no reason or pick a fight because you’ve had a bad day.    You’ve always been kind to me. Even now, when that means putting your life on the line.    Why would I not want to share this with you? You’re the best guy I’ve ever known.”

   If that’s true, then she must’ve known only the worst of mankind, which he doesn’t quite believe. But he also wonders if her current circumstances could be tainting her perspective of him, subconsciously putting him in the place of a knight in shining armor, when he’s really as far from that as anyone could be.

   “If I hadn’t thrown you out that evening, is that what you would’ve told me?” he challenges, and her expression shifts, from sadness to retrospection.

   “That’s impossible to answer since it would depend entirely on what you would’ve said. If all this hadn’t happened, would you even have let me talk to you again after that evening?”

   Crap. He hangs his head again, because she’s right. He probably wouldn’t have given her the light of day. More likely, he would’ve avoided her at all costs, hoping to not have to deal with the baby at all.    And if that was true then, then it still is now. Just hidden behind the fear of Niki dying for no fucking reason. Except…

   “…that’s not right either…” he mumbles, finishing the thought out loud.

   “What’s not right?” she asks, understandably confused since she hasn’t heard his internal reasoning.

   He looks up at her once more, somehow feeling like he’s seeing her for the first time all over again. Christ, she really is beautiful.

   “I’m terrified of losing you,” he confesses, and sees her features instantly soften. “Not because of any need to right my wrongs against you or because I just don’t wanna lose the closest thing I have to a friend.    I’m terrified because I need you. Because the thought of having to bury yo-…”

   Even finishing that sentence is too painful. The words are strangled in the depths of his throat while the unwanted image of a headstone and freshly closed grave flashes before his eyes.    Disturbed by the sight, he jolts to his feet and begins pacing, alternating between crossing his arms and restlessly fiddling with his shirt, or scratching his neck or running a hand through his hair, all while rambling uncontrollably.

   “I never let myself go there, because no one ever means it, it’s always just empty words, so why would I be any different? Me, the guy who’s actively avoided all attachments all my life, becoming a criminal and a thief and a god damned vigilante because I just can’t trust people.    So, why didn’t I see it from the start? Why the fuck didn’t I see it?!    I trusted you. From day one, I trusted you. How could I not see that it was because I wanted it to mean something? Because I wanted you to be the exception… the one that might say it and mean it. Even to me.”

   He stops moving. He’s right at the foot of her bed.    Nikita Morse. The woman he doesn’t want to live without. The woman he dares to care about, even though he doesn’t know her. The only person in the world… that he loves.    Turning slowly, he meets her gaze, and there are tears running her cheeks. Just like there had been that night, when she’d fled the anger that she had never deserved, but which she’d shouldered so gracefully all the same.

   “I will,” she whispers. “When this is over, I’ll say it… and if you believe me, you say it back. Deal?”

   Stepping around the foot of the bed, he goes to her side and leans over to kiss her instead of making some bland verbal promise. He’s never just kissed her before. Only while having sex, only as a gesture of passion, never to express care or affection.    This feels different. Like a spark moving from his lips into his blood, where it can course through him endlessly. It feels wonderful.    Until he remembers that this might not be over for a very long time, and that it might very well end with their deaths.

   “You hungry?” he asks, trying to distract himself and noticing that it’s getting close to lunchtime.

   His voice is thick with emotions much deeper than anything he’s ever felt, but it’s strangely not as crippling as fear or as paralyzing as lost hope. Instead, it feels empowering. Suddenly the idea that an entire government is on their tails seems less like an insurmountable obstacle and more like a climbing challenge.    How the fuck does that happen?

   “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I’ll be constantly hungry for weeks to come yet,” she tries to joke to get the weight of the world off her chest, while wiping her tears away.

   “Okay, I’ll go see what I can make for you,” he says, gently squeezing her lower arm before he leaves, hoping she’ll take it as a comforting gesture.

   Returning to the kitchen, he finds Gillian in the process of finishing a chicken soup.

   “You didn’t have to do that,” he offers when she looks up from stirring the pot.

   “I know, but between you protecting us and keeping an eye on Nikita, and William doing his part researching the bad guys, I kinda ran out of ways to be useful.”

   “Well, don’t worry, pretty soon you’re gonna be wishing you had less to do,” Pero cautions, and she stops stirring.

   “What do you mean?”

   She’s been around him long enough now to know that when he warns her about something, it’s generally life and death level serious.

   “We can’t just sit here and wait for someone to find us. Eventually we’ll run out of food, but I suspect we’ll go crazy before that.”

   “You’re leaving?” she asks, and she doesn’t sound happy about the prospect.

   “We need allies. Eyes and ears outside of this place, people that can warn us if our enemy is approaching. And we can’t find any by sitting around out here,” he explains.

   He can see that she realizes the truth of what he’s saying, but she seems worried about the prospect of not having him around.    She takes the pot off the plate and turns off the stove before turning to face him, and by then there are tears in her eyes, which surprises him.

   “You’re the only here that won’t crack under the threat of death. You can’t leave,” she pleads, but her words confuse him.

   “Gillian… you’re every bit as tough as I am.”

   “No,” she shakes her head firmly. “I’m not even close. I’ve been fraying at the seams ever since the hospital, I just never stopped long enough to let myself think about it.    Yeah, I’m a trauma nurse and I’ve seen some bad shit in the few years I’ve been doing it, but putting myself in between patients and bullets… actually preparing to gas people to death… No. I’m not cut out for any of this.”

   She’s about ready to curl into a ball and give up. He can see that in her eyes and the sudden tremors in her hands, and he doesn’t blame her one bit.    Niki’s doing good, so technically there’s no need for her to stay, and he was never going to force her to, no matter what.

   “Then take the truck and go back to town,” he repeats himself from the first night.

   She had rejected the idea then, but he can see that it hits her differently now. That she wants to go. But she also knows herself.    The tears have begun to fall, and she swipes at them with frustration as she starts rummaging through cupboards in search of a good bowl to serve the soup in. It isn’t pride or even duty that keeps her from taking him up on it. Just humanity. Just a stark unwillingness to leave them all and save herself, because that guilt would be worse than anything to her.

   But the fear is still there regardless, eating away at her, leaving her nervous and angry, stealing her joy and positivity, forcing her mind into dark places that only serve to increase her anxiousness.    He might not have ever wanted or sought friendship, but he knows what it looks like. And for the most part, it doesn’t seem to matter whether someone’s intentions are genuine or not, the gestures of comfort usually appear to be enough.

   So, since he feels responsible for Gillian’s situation, he steps closer to her and stops her nearly frantic search, by pulling her into a hug.    She’s not even shocked by it. Too desperate for the comfort it brings, she instantly abandons her efforts and lets him hold her while she allows herself to fall apart for a few moments.

   He’s struck by how small she feels when she curls in on herself between his arms, trembling and sniveling. She’s such an impressive person. By his standards, at least. It seems contradictory that she should be so small when she carries such enormous things within her.    But true to her character, she only allows herself a brief respite. Pulling away and resuming her task after no more than a minute.

   He reaches into the correct cupboard and takes out a perfect sized bowl for a portion of soup, which he hands to her without a word. She’s looked through that cupboard in her search, but was too overwhelmed to absorb anything she saw, which is why she now feels foolish. He doesn’t tell her not to, because that won’t help.    Instead, he turns to leave, giving her space to feel whatever she needs to.

   “Thank you,” she says before he steps out of her view, and he stops and turns halfway to look at her.

   “I owe you everything, Gillian. Don’t ever forget that I’m just a weapon. It’s you who are the hero of this story,” he says, and then turns away and heads upstairs.

   The computer system takes up the entire desk, and huddled in between the screens, cables and fan-assisted operating systems and hard drives, is a deeply concentrating William.    Pero has seen him work before, so the image isn’t unfamiliar to him, but the worried crease in the veteran’s forehead is something new. Which says something about how much of a mess they’re really in.

   “Any updates?”

   Unlike many other computer experts, Will’s time in the military has left him incapable of getting so immersed in the digital world that he loses touch with the reality around him, so it’s actually really hard to sneak up on him.    He doesn’t flinch or react to Pero’s voice at all, because he’s already heard him coming up the stairs.

   “Yeah, we’re definitely dealing with China. But not government. It looks more like some private radical with enough funds to finance a small war.”

   “Great,” Tovar sighs and sinks into a reading chair. “That makes this so much easier.”

   The sarcasm is partially lost in the fatigue, and he runs a hand over his face while he tries to think through how this information might change his course of action going forwards.

   “At least it’s not another fucking country on our tails,” Garin points out, and he’s right, that would’ve been worse.

   “True. But if it had been, we would’ve been able to work out the players, whereas with a private force, there’s no telling who or how many people stand between us and freedom.”

   “Now you’re being offensive,” Will tuts. “I’ll have that information by the end of the day.”

   “Seriously? These jackasses are dumb enough to leave a digital trail?”

   “Not an obvious one, no. But they’re using a cleverly concealed chatroom, masquerading as a social media DM thread, to communicate, and once I break the encryption, we’ll know everything they’re doing. I should even be able to backtrace their locations and set up a real-time tracking system.    It’s our homegrown jackasses that are proving to be a bigger issue.”

   “How come?”

   “Well… I suspect it’s the abundance of resources. Satellites and drone surveillance, probably an entire farm of hackers all focusing their efforts on us, not to mention thousands of boots on the ground to run down all leads and eliminate false trails.”

   “Right,” Pero grumbles, already feeling defeated.

   “Hey,” William calls his attention, looking up from the screens and meeting his eyes as he continues. “Don’t give up yet. We might not have an army, but that doesn’t mean we’re not dangerous.    They’re already scared of us, and we can use that.”

   “Yeah, I know. I just also know that this isn’t gonna end without bloodshed, one way or another.”

   “Probably not. So, what’s your plan? Cause I know you’re cooking up something, your head’s far too big to not have turned and looked all this over a dozen times already.”

   “More like a hundred,” Pero corrects. “But I keep coming back to one inescapable fact: we need better numbers. Allies.”

   “Okay, so how are you gonna find some?”

   “Doing what I always do. I’m gonna make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

   Will doesn’t look particularly happy about that, but then, he’s been at the receiving end of that offer, and it didn’t work out so well for him.

   “Don’t you mean threaten them?” he says quietly, and while there’s a hint of defiance in his eyes, he looks mostly scared. “Cause I can promise you, that’s how it feels.”

   But Tovar isn’t offended or rattled by that statement. The veteran is probably correct, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’d gotten himself into the shit that had followed, after Pero’s threat.

   “Yeah, that’s the point. If you hadn’t been a selfish bastard who cared more about the one percent of your money that I took, your fiancé would’ve been alive today,” he coldly replies, because he’s tired of Will’s endless attempts to make him feel guilty about their past. “And the really sad part about all this is that I already know I’m not gonna have any trouble finding skeletons I can use under the rocks that our intended assassins are sitting on, because that’s the fucking norm.    But hey, why don’t I ask them nicely? Maybe they’ll agree not to kill us out of the goodness of their hearts.”

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

Part 6

Thank you for reading, and remember: I have no taglist anymore. Follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications for updates on my writing :)

[wander-over-the-words]

Welcome to the World

Summary: Wanting to share a piece of himself with the man he’s committed to, Delta steps out of his comfort zone.

Characters: Augustus Sinclair, Subject Delta; mentions of Sofia Lamb, Eleanor Lamb, Big Daddies, Splicers. 

Pairing: Augustus Sinclair/Subject Delta.

Warnings: mentions of past forced suicide, firearm usage, human experimentation, slavery, potential body horror, smoking.

Notes: I watched a compilation of queer first kisses in animation and really wanted to write a first kiss for these two. But I got headcanons to keep, so here’s this: me continuing my unintentional tradition of removing Delta’s helmet but keeping his appearance a secret.

All material belongs to Irrational Games.

Fic also available on AO3.

…

Augustus’s hands are over his, supporting him as he lifts the helmet off of his shoulders.

He’s thankful; he needs that support. He feels his heart pound, trapped in his tightening chest as the air swarms his skin, distantly cold, his head exposed and uncovered, no longer hidden behind a mask. Fear holds him in its fist, squeezing the life out of him. He hears ghosts of the past whispering to him - Lamb’s voice, Eleanor’s scream, the rattling of a shaking gun - and it nearly makes him retreat back into the safety of his helmet. He comforts himself only by focusing hard on Augustus. 

Augustus, who was not there when Delta was forced to die, who is a remnant of the present, who is Delta’s light at the end of the tunnel. 

If he’s here, then Delta is okay. If he’s here, than Delta’s life is almost complete - just missing Eleanor. If he’s here, then Delta is safe.

Augustus’s head is ducked, shielding his own eyes; he’s doing it out of instinct, out of respect for Delta’s old wish to keep his appearance a secret, even though he now has permission to look. Or maybe he’s just preparing himself for what he’s about to witness.

Delta understands. In no world would a Big Daddy’s face be pretty; he doesn’t remember exactly what they did to him to cram him into this suit and render him a slave, but he can’t imagine he looks like a regular man under there. The ADAM alone has probably warped his image - he wouldn’t be surprised if he looks like a Splicer. 

Wouldn’t be surprised, but he would be devastated. He wants to be handsome, like Augustus. He wants a face Augustus can love, not one only the most devoted mother could.

Delta doubles over to place the helmet down on the floor of the train car and Augustus moves with him, crouching as the helmet is placed aside, then standing upright once Delta’s own hands leave the dome, Augustus’s fingers shaking just slightly. He’s keeping his head down, his eyes now glued on the helmet as Delta too straightens up where he’s seated on the train’s bench, Augustus standing before him.

Augustus stares down at the dome, licks his lips once, rubs his thumbs over his fingers as he hesitates, then he turns his head, keeping his chin pointed at the floor - and then slowly, he lifts it and looks at Delta’s face.

Immediately, he gasps, eyes widening, brow creasing, mouth hanging open and lip curling in a distinct, grief-stricken look, gaze flicking all over him, looking more distressed the more he takes in.

It’s like someone’s taken Delta’s own drill to his heart and blended it into mush, the pain is so intense.

He knew it: he’s ugly, he’s hideous, he’s terrifying. He never should have shown Augustus what he looks like, he never should have even considered it; he’d wanted to show Augustus the man he’d decided to commit himself to, but he should have known Augustus can’t love a face like his. It was a moment of sheer lunacy, the ADAM must be getting to him. Whatever that face is - it’s ugly and hideous and terrifying and he shouldn’t have shown it.

With a hiccup of a sob, vision blurring quickly, Delta throws his hands up, ducking behind his own palms to hide, covering his face from sight. 

“Oh,” Augustus says, “oh, no - Chief, I-I didn’t mean - That ain’t what - what I was sayin’. That ain’t what I meant…! I-I was just…” He then swallows so thickly that the gulp is audible, takes a breath through his nose, then forces a short chuckle that barely sounds like a chuckle at all. “I was just a little…surprised, that’s all. Just a little shell-shocked. Must’ve just made myself the only soul left in Rapture who knows what a Big Daddy is hidin’ beneath his mask…unless any of the, ah, the folks responsible for…for you are still…around…”

No, he doesn’t buy it. He saw the look in Augustus’s eyes - that’s the look someone gives to something awful. It wasn’t just surprise, it was…misery.

He feels Augustus’s hands on his wrists, though they don’t pull, just rest there.

“Please, now, honey, I…I swear, it wasn’t you that had me gapin’ like that, it was…I was surprised, is all…”

There’s a small tug at his wrists.

“You don’t need ta hide yourself away from me, chief…I ain’t afraid. Not of you. Could never be afraid of you, pumpkin…”

He sounds so genuine…

God. Delta hopes he isn’t going to regret this…

He mulls it over in his head, reminds himself that he trusts Augustus more than he trusts himself, then slowly, hesitantly, moves his hands down, away from his face. He peeks out from atop his fingers as they go, watching Augustus as he reacts for the second time to Delta’s face.

Even with the blur of his vision from where his devastated tears have made a film over his eyes, he sees the way Augustus winces, the way his brow furrows as he goes about looking Delta up and down again. 

“There, now…” Augustus mutters quietly, more to himself, it seems. “No reason ta…ta get all upset…”

It’s to be expected, he supposes - whether Augustus is scared of him or not, it doesn’t stop him from being ugly.

Pointing his chin down, Delta casts his gaze away, blinks once and involuntarily frees a tear from where it’d been trapped. He feels the icy cold rivulet travelling down his left cheek, just barely.

Augustus lets out another little gasp when he sees it, then scrambles to fetch his handkerchief from his pocket. 

His movement has Delta looking at him without lifting his head; he sees the look on Augustus’s face, how he appears more devastated than he did when Delta first removed his helmet.

Augustus acquires his handkerchief and starts to reach out with it, stops himself when he sees Delta staring at him, then he finishes the path to Delta’s cheek. He gently wipes away the tear.

And Delta…doesn’t feel it. 

“No, no…let’s have none o’ that, now,” Augustus whispers tenderly. “Get a load of me, makin’ you shed tears - the opposite of what I’m supposed ta be doin’...!”

(He can relate: he’d rather kill himself all over again than ever make Augustus cry - ever make him frown. Being what they are now, Delta is going to make it one of his life’s goals to see to it that Augustus is happy. Going to be the best partner he can be, whether he’s…he’s ugly or not - that is, of course, if…if Augustus still wants him, knowing what he looks like now…)

Delta lets out a soft note of whalesong - has less of an echo, now that his dome has been removed - and lifts a hand to pat the back of Augustus’s with his fingers, gentle. Sees the way Augustus looks at whatever mouth he may have when he makes that noise. Makes him wonder what it looks like when he…‘talks’.

He becomes distracted, though, when patting Augustus’s hand, involuntarily bringing it closer. Ponders on it, even as Augustus takes the cloth away and bunches it up awkwardly in one loose fist that hovers in the air, uncertain.

With all the anxiety of Augustus reacting to his face, it hasn’t occurred to him before: the constant smell of metal and something that he can’t put his finger on, something sweet, is gone from his senses, and he can smell…cigarettes. And…chocolate. And sweat. Salt. And…something sort of…spicy.

Delta sniffs the air. It’s coming from nearby, from…right in front of him.

It’s Augustus. That smell - it’s Augustus.

His cigarettes. The crème-filled cake Delta had brought back for Augustus to eat, the smell of it still on Augustus’s fingers. Augustus’s shirt, not changed in a while (understandably), infected with the natural salty smell of Rapture’s underwater air. And the spicy smell…it’s not particularly strong, but it’s…it’s nice. Almost…fresh. He thinks it might be the remnants of Augustus’s cologne, whenever it was that he’d last applied any. Or…perhaps an aftershave? He must’ve been able to shave whilst hunkering down in his bunker, after all; there’s only stubble on his jaw, not a full beard.

It hasn’t occurred to Delta until now, but…with all the time Augustus has spent by his side - sitting beside him on the train bench, leaning up against him, agreeing to be his sweetheart and letting Delta take him into his arms, so close that Delta could count every fleck of gold in his hazel eyes - Delta has never known…what he smells like.

It’s…It’s so nice because it’s…it’s him. It’s Augustus. He’s here, with him. It was one thing to share the train car together and to be in Delta’s arms and to sit in his lap, but now he’s…he’s here. 

Every other human left in Rapture, Delta has met with his helmet on, saw them through the porthole, an onlooker at their own little world in their cult with their Lamb, from the safety of his own little world, inside his helmet; he knows nothing of them but their looks and their intent to kill him. Separated from the rest of Rapture by a few inches of steel and glowing glass.

But Augustus is intimately closer than that: he’s an honoured guest in Delta’s bubble, whenever he spoke on the radio, but now Delta’s out of his own little world, and now they’re sharing the same air. 

In the same world now. Together. As they should be. As Augustus always said they would be, when the suit and the helmet are permanently gone.

Who else has he done this with? Who else has he stepped out of his comfort zone for? He can’t even remember if Eleanor ever saw him helmetless. Perhaps the last people to have seen him like this were the ones who sealed him away in the first place, who’d started all this.

A surge of emotion running through him, new tears welling up, Delta closes his eyes, at peace. Like his heart has been rebuilt. He just about feels the next couple of icy rivulets go down each cheek, pushed out by his shut lids. 

Augustus wipes away these tears too. He only knows because the coldness disappears.

When he opens his eyes again, Augustus is still standing there, still holding his handkerchief, still staring at him - him, who has his helmet off. There’s still that smell.

Augustus isn’t - He’s not…turning away. Not moving away from him. He’s staring right at him, standing close by, like always.

Does…Does he not mind…?

Getting caught up in his own thinking, Augustus’s gaze keeps flicking between Delta’s face and the empty air beside him as he fiddles with his handkerchief, uncertain, before stuffing it back into his pocket, not bothering to fold it or neaten it like he usually would. With the rag out of his hands and with his eyes pointing at Delta, he awkwardly hovers his hands before him, not knowing what to do with them, before he puffs a small sigh and lets his arms drop to his sides.

“...I’m not really sure what I expected ta see, honey, if I’m bein’ perfectly honest with myself,” he says, one side of his lips turned upwards just barely in a self-deprecating look, a sort of gentle seriousness in his tone. Trying to make light of a situation that is heavy enough to pin a man down to the ocean floor. “I…Well, I…I don’t s’ppose - what with your own preference of ignorance - that you really have anythin’ short of a clue either, do you? We were in the same boat, as it were. I, uh,” he looks around the train cabin, “I don’t recall pickin’ up a mirror when I climbed aboard -”

Delta cuts him off with a sharp growl, one hand lifting to stop him going anywhere, before Augustus can get any other ideas on how to present Delta’s own face to him.

He doesn’t want to look at himself. 

Well - he does, but…he doesn’t. He’s too scared of what he’ll see.

When he’s cured of his condition and out of this suit…then he’ll look himself in the eye.

Turning his head to look at him again, Augustus is wide-eyed at the sudden growl, but he easily translates Delta’s hesitation in his head and, brow furrowed and looking at Delta from under his eyelashes, he nods solemnly.

“I understand, chief,” he says. “Think nothin’ of it. Another time…maybe.”

Still the picture of hesitation, Augustus’s right hand starts to lift from his side, stops and flinches back towards himself, then starts drifting closer before stopping again midway, hovering before Delta’s chest.

“Can I…? I mean…D’ya think I could…?” he asks quietly, fingers uncurling, pointing towards Delta’s face.

There’s a little jump in Delta’s heart - Augustus is going to touch him. Not with a handkerchief this time, but with his own hand. 

Unlike the realisation that he’s never known what Augustus smells like, he’s long-since realised that for all the times he’s patted Augustus on the head or sat him in his lap or had him leaning up against him as they sat together on the train bench, he’s never known what Augustus’s skin feels like, his hair, his warmth. Just his weight against him, the very basics of the sensation of a body pressing to his. 

A hot fuzziness spreading through his chest as wishful anticipation starts to set in, Delta nods his permission.

“Alright…” Augustus whispers to himself.

It takes a moment, but Augustus’s hand slowly starts to move, starts to complete its journey, until finally, at last, he places his fingers tenderly upon Delta’s cheek.

And Delta doesn’t feel them.

No - there’s…Well, there’s a tiny sensation there, just barely, but too strong a numbness to let him feel textures. He can feel that Augustus is touching him, make out the vague shape of his hand, but he can’t feel his partner’s skin, can’t tell if it’s rough or soft. The smell of chocolate cake and cigarettes and sweat is stronger, with Augustus’s hand being so close, but that isn’t what he’d been hoping for when it came to Augustus finally touching him, skin to skin. 

There’s nothing there, not even when Augustus flips his hand to press the backs of his fingers against Delta’s cheek, prodding experimentally, before turning his hand over again.

Augustus’s eyebrows lift a little, his lips forming an ‘o’ shape, but whatever he’s getting out of touching Delta’s skin, Delta has no idea of; Augustus is the only one physically feeling anything in this situation.

There’s just nothing there.

He can only sigh, shaky and miserable. 

Of course, Rapture wouldn’t be kind enough to let him have this. He should’ve known. Too kind a gesture for a lady like Rapture.

A tiny wisp of a gasp escaping him, Augustus’s brow furrows more, obviously misunderstanding, and he lifts his hand from Delta’s cheek, intending on taking it back entirely until Delta looks at him; Delta doesn’t know how expressive his eyes are, but somehow Augustus understands, and the hand slowly returns to Delta’s cheek. Since Delta doesn’t move away or indicate any hurt, he keeps it there.

Carefully, Augustus’s fingers stroke over the skin of his cheek, gaze at first watching his own hand before endlessly dragging over the rest of Delta’s appearance, like he still can’t believe what he’s seeing. What’s worse is that there’s still that sadness in his eyes, that crease in his brow that tells Delta that for all of Augustus’s attempts to act like nothing’s as bad as it might seem, it’s still far from good.

It stings, seeing Augustus looking like that. He isn’t running for the hills, but he’s not inspiring much confidence either.

Augustus meets his eyes, as if remembering that this hulk he’s touching up is alive and sentient. He stares, there comes a twitch in his brow - Delta can see the anxiety in his eyes - and then Augustus swallows thickly and licks his lips to wet them.

His mouth opens, closes, then he says shakily, “It…It doesn’t…doesn’t hurt, does it…?”

Does what hurt? He has no idea what Augustus is talking about. 

Still, Augustus wants an answer and Delta has one to provide: he shakes his head.

Nothing hurts. Nothing is anything.

He can make out the chill in the air and the vague shape of a hand on his cheek, but besides that, the textures and feel of the world are lost to him.

Letting out a shaky breath, Augustus looks thoughtful all over again, taking his gaze from Delta’s as he continues looking him over. It’s less of an exploration now, he’s seen it all; now it’s like he’s just making mental notes. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

If Delta could remember what was done to him, maybe he could help him there.

He tries to: Delta grunts to get Augustus’s proper attention, then lifts a hand to motion in general to his face. Then he slowly slices the air, in a ‘cut it out’ kind of gesture, and shakes his head again.

Augustus’s eyes widen beneath his ever-creasing brow.

“You…You can’t feel…anythin’? Nothin’ at all? Not…Not even that hand I got on you right now…?” Augustus asks, never a more hesitant translation.

Delta slowly shakes his head again. 

Nothing. Only cold numbness.

Augustus can’t look more devastated, and it’s like someone’s caught Delta’s heart with a harpoon and tugged it straight down. He suddenly can’t meet Delta’s eyes at all as he practically throws his head down, ducking it and bending his spine, nearly doubling over like he could crumple at any moment. The hand on Delta’s cheek presses down, less about feeling his lover’s skin and more about stabling himself lest he fall.

Delta straightens in surprise, prepared to catch him.

“Oh…God…” Augustus whispers, his shaking hand coming up to clamp down over his mouth as he stares into space, eyes so wide that they look like they could burst from the sockets, his face paling. He looks like he’s going to be sick.

He says something else into his palm, something that Delta thinks might’ve been, “What have I done…?”

He must’ve misheard.

The reaction confuses Delta a little. Yes, it is tragic, this monstrous form he’s taken and the woes of having sensation stolen from him, and he knows Augustus cares about him greatly, but Augustus looks like he could collapse or faint, and surely, if there was any time to be doing that, it was when Delta first revealed himself. Regardless, what he does know is that Augustus’s care makes him feel loved, and his sadness is amongst the worse pains Delta’s ever felt in his life, so he gently lays a hand over the one Augustus has got on his cheek, whilst his other hand ducks under Augustus’s arm and delicately touches his chin, being careful in how he lifts it.

Hand falling from his mouth and head turning to face him properly, Augustus looks up at him wide-eyed.

Now that he’s looking at him, Delta hesitates, then transfers the hand he’d taken Augustus’s chin with to his face; it’s large enough that cupping Augustus’s cheek turns into cupping his ear and part of his neck too. Trying to comfort him.

Don’t worry about me, Delta hopes his eyes communicate. I’m okay. Promise.

Fact of the matter is: he doesn’t remember ever feeling, and he can’t miss what he doesn’t remember. Yes, he longs to feel Augustus’s skin against his, his clothes, his hair, his breath, every part of him, any part of him, but…but…

It’s not worth thinking about now. He is what he is.

Augustus stares him in the eyes, mouth opening and closing as he tries to process words to say - there only comes a quiet but serious “Chief, I-I…” before he gives up and falls silent again - and then his gaze moves to look at the hand that’s holding the side of his face, and what he does next lifts Delta’s heart right out from under his tummy, where it’d sunk down to when he saw how devastated Augustus seemed by his lack of feeling.

He does as he’s always done when Delta holds him like that: he places his hand over the back of Delta’s and pushes his face into Delta’s palm, shutting his eyes and relaxing like he’s come home, nuzzling firmly. His other hand comes away from Delta’s face at last, joining its brethren in holding the back of Delta’s palm, like he’s scared Delta will leave him at any moment (never).

And if he’s doing that, then that means nothing’s changed. They’re still…them.

The harpoon is pulled painlessly from his heart. The relief is overwhelming.

New tears are welling up all over again.

After a few moments, Augustus’s eyes open and look back up at Delta’s face, and he slowly smiles. It’s a sad smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless.

“...Honey,” Augustus says quietly, sounding tired, “lemme tell ya another truth when I say…I…I honestly don’t think it’s as bad as you’re thinkin’ it must be…Nowhere near, in fact.”

He doubts that, but if Augustus doesn’t mind it, then he can live with it.

And he must not mind it, because he’s still smiling at him, still holding Delta’s hand to him - and then his gaze flicks downwards, to whatever mouth Delta has. He looks back and forth, between his eyes and his mouth, the smile starts to fall as he appears thoughtful, and then he pulls his head from Delta’s palm, and he starts to lean up.

Delta’s heart leaps in his chest - he can’t remember romances he might’ve had back before the suit, but he knows enough to daydream about how soft Augustus’s lips have always looked, how inviting. To daydream that his own mouth is hopefully normal, so he can kiss him as softly and as passionately as he’s craved. On his mouth, his cheek, his forehead, nose, shoulders, hands, chest, tummy, thighs - he wants to kiss him everywhere, when he’s able.

His mind races: oh, gosh, his hands, what should he do with them? He always imagined having to lift Augustus up for their first kiss, but, oh, now they’re nearly face-to-face, so lifting isn’t necessary. Should he hold Augustus’s waist? Is that too much? Should he not move them from where they’re now hovering by his lap, where they’d fallen when Augustus had let them go? He might seem uncaring that way, and he’s never cared more in his life. Would it be intimating to hold both sides of Augustus’s face in his hands, big and encompassing as they are? It’s one thing to hold just one side of Augustus’s face, but being walled off in his giant mitts entirely? 

He doesn’t have time to make a choice: there’s a hint of touch on the front of his face, against whatever semblance of a nose he has, as Augustus’s nose reaches him, how close they are now, Augustus’s eyes half-lidded and his hands pressed upon Delta’s chest, the spicy smell of Augustus’s fragrance filling his senses, and Delta can’t close his own eyes - if he shuts them, he might open them again to find he was wrapped up in a daydream - and so he watches as Augustus leans in -

- and at the last second, like it’s an afterthought, turns his head, swerves, and kisses the spot between Delta’s mouth and cheek instead.

Delta flinches at the touch, surprised, heart aching at the fact that he can’t feel Augustus’s lips, just a pressure against his face as Augustus purposely kisses him hard, purposely presses against him, so he can at least feel that he’s there, that it’s happening. 

The pull of Augustus’s lips from his skin is audible, if even softly.

Still standing on the balls of his feet to reach Delta’s face properly, Augustus pulls back just slightly, still so close that with just one little lean, Delta could press his forehead to Augustus’s. And Augustus is smiling at him, tenderly and lovingly.

Somehow. Somehow, he’s managed it: to look at whatever face Subject Delta has been left with - with love.

Delta can only stare; there’s a small amount of pain in Augustus’s gaze, in the creases of his eyes, in the furrow of his brow, but Augustus looks no less lovely and no less perfect and divine than he always does. 

Even without their first kiss, Augustus has never made him so happy.

“Sorry for the quick deception, sweetheart,” Augustus says quietly, with only a hint of the usual charm but with all of the usual love, “but it jus’ occurred to me there that…we should be savin’ that kind of gesture for when we can both feel it happenin’. Ain’t fair if I’m the only one who gets to live that kind of bliss. Besides - I dunno what kinda yarn the rumour mill mighta spun of me, but, ah,” the side of his lips pick up, just a little, cheering himself up, just a little, as he cups a hand close to his mouth to whisper the secret: “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

He winks as he drops his hand, returning it to the spot over Delta’s heart.

Delta’s so elated and the line is so typical of his Augustus that Delta laughs, another noise that has less of an echo without his helmet, and his overjoyed tears spill as he shuts his eyes in his laughter - maybe laughing too hard at that one line, but he can’t help it, not when he’s currently walking on air, not when he’s been presented with perfection. 

The tears aren’t wiped away this time.

Delta opens his eyes and sees Augustus grinning at the infectiousness of Delta’s laughter, his gaze soft. The sheer relief could make Delta collapse; in lieu of that, he leans his head down so he can press his forehead to Augustus’s, whose only reaction is to smile instead of grin.

(It didn’t occur to Delta before, but…is he smiling too? With the numbness of his face, can he smile? Is he obliviously doing it now? He hopes he is. He feels like smiling.)

Delta nods slowly and, not the first time, certainly not for the last, thinks I love you.

[hellsgreatestperformance]

I have been wanting to write a post about Angel Dust for a while now to touch on my own portrayal and thoughts for him. I've done so before but as I continue exploring his character, he develops as a muse and things change. This post may even be just an outline, but I'm here to share things for those that want to know more about what I'm doing. Some random facts and background information.

Please do not ignore the disclaimer that comes later in the post due to potential triggering topics. They are being wrote about because of Angel's own experiences with them. As precaution, I'm using a read more for the entirety of this post. Two things before the disclaimer is mention of food (no images) and Angel's death (regarding overdosing), but not as discussed as later.

Name: Angel Dust Anthony Dinozzo ( Angel is not fond of his original name and dislikes being addressed by it. Very unlikely to share this name with anyone). Born into the Dinozzo Italian mob family in New York City.

Death: Perished from a drug overdose in the 1940's in his 30's.

Food: Angel has a preference for Italian dishes and likes to cook his own meals when capable. He takes cooking seriously and considers it a skill. Is very against the breaking of pasta and might fight you. Heavy preference for making his own sauces from scratch. Despite not having a huge sweet tooth, he does enjoy the occasional sweets. Italian desserts are his go to and his current favorite is "Hot Buttered Rum Biscotti". He can handle sweeter things but only in doses. However, aside from the first the only other thing he truly indulges in are marshmallows. They're soft, fluffy and squishy and he won't drink cocoa without them.

Dress Style: Compared to the skimpy attire he wears whilst working in the porn industry, or potentially when performing in drag ( verse dependent ), he's fond of more comfortable clothes. Often he likes wearing sweaters he creates himself that often are cold shoulder and expose his chest fluff. Shorts and skirts but rarely, if ever, jeans. He has a preference for sleeping in shirts that are too big for him and fall off at least one shoulder, or his partners shirts ( if dating someone or into someone ). However, he will wear pajamas and even though he's not entirely into pants, pajama pants are a big exception. He switches between men and women's clothing depending on his mood, comfort or where he's going. 99% of the time he will be wearing socks since he he dislikes his feet. He will still wear shoes like high heels that may show his feet, but he likely won't look at them.

His Room in the Hotel (W.I.P): Able to decorate it himself, most of his room is different shades of pink that compliment each other, but his favorite being a pastel. A canopy curtain that is pink decorated in cobwebs for his bed. A make up mirror ( as we see in the ADDICT video is in his room. Beside his bed is one made for Fat Nuggets, but this companion often likes to sleep with him. Hanging from the ceiling is a chair so he can be higher up ( since some spiders build webs high up in corners ).

Relationships: He's never had a true relationship before and only knows so much about them. But I'm writing this more so to say that I've learned Angel is loyal to someone he's dating. He cares deeply about them, they become his favorite person and he'll do anything to protect them. But getting there can take time. Angel tends to get in his head sometimes and question if they really care about him or if they're happy with him. He may even self sabotage out of fear. Angel is very against cheating. Whether he was ever ok with it, at the point I write him he's not good with sleeping with married men or men that are dating others ( exception, may be, if it's open and he's made aware ). If tricked and he finds out, your ass is grass. Angel gets very attached to the person he loves and can get pretty clingy. Unfortunately needs reassurance from time to time. And it's likely if you're his partner he will at some point get drunk and ask you if "you'd love him if he was a worm". It's him needing reassurance, even if it seems so silly. He probably won't remember asking it. What this means to him? Would you love him if he were a mess? Love him if he was fucked up? If he wasn't himself? At his lowest? He doesn't really like this vulnerability to be seen, so may often hide it unless he's not sober or feeling low.

DISCLAIMER:

This mainly revolves around depression, toxic masculinity, drug abuse, alcoholism and Homophobia. These are mentions but are important to his background. Please do not disregard these topics. They are likely to be mentioned unless asked otherwise. And I will always do my best to properly tag. But even if not mentioned, they will never be erased.

Drug Abuse/Alcohol/Depression: Used as a drug mule to transfer drugs, he eventually got into their supply and an addiction formed. He was careful with the amounts he dabbled in in order not to get caught. But it eventually went beyond this where he started acquiring drugs outside of the family. His depression a mixture of different factors; suppressing his sexuality, certain weights of being in the mob, feeling like an underdog in his family, and even stress. This led to his abuse of alcohol as well.

Toxic Masculinity/Homophobia (being outed): Angel experienced homophobia in his life. Not only was society against LGBT+, but being gay in a mob family was a crime in itself. Angel often hid who he was from everyone, even those he heavily trusted: Molly and his grandmother. His grandfather was heavily against homosexuality, so out of fear Angel suppressed this side. Angel didn't express internalized homophobia, and if he ever did, he didn't realize it. Angel has no issue being gay and explores it to his heart's content in hell. Angel would go to speakeasys to meet other gay men in his life that often required a password. The problem was when it came to an end and the place was raided. Angel was used as a bribe for money from the mob, thus outed. His grandmother disapproved and treated him differently, not that he was ever a favorite. The only two people, he was aware of, that didn't care were Molly and his grandmother.

Sadly, he was exposed to toxic masculinity at a young age. But some things have heavily stuck with him even in death.

Men didn't cry (Being Struck): The first time Angel cried in front of his grandfather he was struck and told to man up. Since then, Angel rarely cried, if ever. Often suppressing tears that stung his eyes to keep with the expected image. Often leading to him to express the pent up emotion through self destructive behaviors; such as drinking, drugs, throwing things (accidental breaking), or the occasional purposeful breaking of objects. If he cried, it was often in the privacy of his own room and usually followed by trying to cover up the evidence. The only person he ever cried in front of was Molly and it wasn't till after he knew he could. She had comforted him once and allowed him to break down. In hell, he rarely cries in front of people and hates when he does because it's vulnerability. He's often uncomfortable around men who cry and will either try to look past it to comfort them or may do nothing. Even though there's more comfort around girls, the same thing could happen where he tries to comfort or walks away unsure of what to do.

Sorry is weakness: Angel was taught by his grandfather to never say sorry. Because of this it is rare, even in hell, he'll use this word. He usually will try to apologize in a roundabout way or will say nothing at all. Even when he wants to show genuine accountability, this lesson surfaces and he has yet to overcome it. It's rare he will say it. However, a big exception is Valentino (and possibly Molly) because he's afraid of him and will do whatever he can to appease him.

Emotions are weakness: I guess this more so has to do with sadness and showing vulnerability. There are emotions that can get you killed. Vulnerability can be used against you. It's better to be tough as nails even when you can't always be. Because of this, there may be certain emotions Angel is uncomfortable around. Crying, as mentioned, is one. It's easier to walk away or try and quickly remedy the situation. For my own thoughts, when Niffty cried he felt slightly guilty and uncomfortable and wanted to quickly fix things. With Charlie when she cried and hugged him he felt uncomfortable, even if grateful.

Death: A lot of these things written in the disclaimer led to his untimely death. He took more than he thought and slipped away, and mixing alcohol with drugs is never safe.

One last thing I'd like to add down here is sex and physical affection.

Sex: Angel enjoys sex, especially when it's his choice. Realizing how open hell was, he eagerly explored and had various partners. He has no interest in topping outside of work and is a bottom. He can be submissive, but sometimes likes a little of control. Enjoys being dominated and has a wide variety of kinks. One of his biggest is being praised. He also just really responds to praise outside of this and loves when someone he's attached to praises him. Really enjoys sex when he's stressed or needs to let out some frustrations. Admittedly, he doesn't really understand asexuality and when dating someone who identifies as this, he will do his best to learn. He may at first think something's wrong with him and worry, until he understands.

Physical Affection: This is his main love language. Also, unfortunately, he can break boundaries. Angel is often use to people wanting this from him and isn't use to rejection, but little by little he tries to learn. He doesn't always like physical affection. May be awkward with being hugged since plenty of fans just touch him without consent. With people he really cares for he's more comfortable, and if he's romantically interested in you or think he is, if you give him permission to cling, he will.

Just as potential facts for my Angel Dust that may change and grow as I explore his character.

[anarcoqueer1994]

Was having bad

gender dysphoria

so I took it out on my comfort characters. Steddie fluff and gender affirmation <3

It's not that Steve necessarily wanted to be a woman all the time. He liked his masculine face, and hairy chest and the hard lines that made up his body. But sometimes he wanted to be seen as feminine, soft, pretty. She wanted to wear delicate little dresses, move gentler, speak softer. She wanted to be called baby girl and princess.

He sometimes felt like a huge contradiction, wanting to be masculine and feminine at the same time, wading between genders. He wants Eddie to call him his good boy, as well as his baby girl. She just wanted to be seen as completely him. Sometimes that him is a her or a they. Steve didn’t have the word for it but knew he wasn't completely a guy.

But he was afraid to tell anyone really. He just came out to the group as bi after they and Eddie started dating. And their friends were all so supportive. But this was scarier because he barely knew how to describe it herself. But she wants to be more open, maybe starting with Eddie.

Steve decided maybe a little date night was the best idea. Invite Eddie over for a home cooked meal, showing him his more feminine side. So that's what she did.

Before Eddie came over Steve needed to get ready. He had picked up a few items from a mall a couple towns over, careful to play it off like he was shopping for his girlfriend. Maybe more than he would like to admit it but he pick out clothes that reminded him of this one picture of Madonna from a magazine he saw last summer. She was in a white lacy, corset dress with a flowing skirt. It had matching arm warmers and a belt that said "Boy Toy", and of course a ton of layered necklaces and big teased hair.

Likewise, his dress was almost identical minus the heart decals on the tulle, white arm warmers, and a few pretty necklaces. He even found the iconic belt, and a pair of matching white pumps. He hopes it all fits, as she could not try on anything in store on out of fear of people finding out. He also picked up some makeup.

When Steve gets home, he gets to work. Eddie would be there in a few hours. He had to be perfect. Steve wanted to shave, thought it would help him feel more feminine, which is what he wanted at the moment. Immediately things start going wrong.

He knicks up his legs shaving, not even attempting his chest. He felt even less femenine with the tiny cuts on his legs. He hated to admit it but she likes the chest hair. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming sense of fraud. Maybe he couldn't be feminine? Do baby girls have broad shoulders and a hairy chest?

She tries to move past it, but the rest of the process doesn't go better. The panties weren't quite the right size to hold him in, the arm warmers didn't quite look as dainty and pretty as they did on Madonna's slender arms. The hair band looked silly in his hair, the necklaces lay over his exposed chest hair, and dress is tight on his broad shoulders. When she puts on the eye shadow and soft pink lip gloss, she doesn't feel pretty at all. Just feels like a fraud. The final straw is when's Steve twists his ankle trying to walk in the pumps.

She looses it, dropping to the ground by her bed, burying her face in her knees. She doesn't know why she can't stop crying. All she wants to do is throw all this shit out and pretend it never happened.

She is so caught up in his own sadness, that Steve doesn't hear the front door opening, Eddie knowing he can let himself in. He goes upstairs looking for Steve. Steve doesn’t notice as Eddie gets to the doorway. Eddie is confused why Steve is sitting in a dress crying on the floor, but more importantly he is so worried about him.

He walks over, dropping to his knees next to Steve. "Baby, what's going on?" Eddie’s voice is soft.

Steve freezes realizing Eddie is here already. He refuses to take her head out of their knees, feeling humiliated. He just whimpers "Can you just go please?"

Eddie gently puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. "No can do, sweetheart. Can't leave my baby like this."

Steve tilts his head up, tear filled eyes meeting Eddie’s. Makeup smudges from crying. "Eds, please. Just forget you ever saw this, it was dumb."

"Stevie, I promise you, whatever is going on is not dumb. Now won't you tell me what's wrong?" Eddie is soft, hand resting on Steve’s shoulder, careful to give them space though.

Steve sniffles, "I'm what's wrong, Eddie." another tear falls down his face. "I like being a guy, I do. But I...sometimes want to wear dresses, and be looked at like a girl, and just be beautiful. I want you to see me as both and neither, and I can't even explain. And I just look like some fraud in this dress, not pretty like Nancy or Robin. So I am not doing this right. My body is all wrong for it. And apparently I can't even be your boyfriend right, because I'm not good at always being a boy." Steve is shaking, tears falling freely.

Without a second thought, Eddie throws his arms around Steve, pulling them close. He whispers "Shh baby, shhh. It's alright." He runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, tracing little circle on his back with his other hand. After a while Steve’s breathing returns to normal, tears drying up.

They break apart, with Eddie standing up. Offering his hand to Steve. "Let’s see this dress, Stevie."

Steve shakes his head. "It's fine. I promise. We can pretend this never happened. "

Eddie knows Steve doesn't want that, can tell Steve really wants this, and all Eddie wants is to love and support Steve. He looks down, still offering his hand. "Come on, baby girl, won't you please show me, darling."

Steve feels this instant surge of euphoria, hearing Eddie call her baby girl. A blush covers her face, but silently taking Eddie’s hand, letting Eddie pull them up.

Steve nervously plays with the hem of one of the white lace arm warmers, refusing to meet Eddie’s eyes, terrified Eddie will see how pathetic he actually was, that he looked stupid dressed like this. The white dress and hair bow conflicting with his hairy chest and broad shoulders. The makeup didn't look right on his strong face.

But Eddie’s face is glowing, smiling like and idiot at Steve. "You look gorgeous, princess. "

Steve looks up, meeting his eyes. "I do?"

"Absolutely. You are so fucking hot however you feel, or dress like. And this pretty little dress makes your little waist look so dainty. You look so tiny baby." Eddie’s voice is low. He steps closer wrapping his arms around Steve's waste. "Can I kiss you sweetheart? Are you going to be my good girl?"

Steve nods, whispering "Yes, Eddie. Please let me be your good girl. Kiss me, please." He whines. Steve feels like he his heart may rip out of his chest and fly around the room, so full and light. He wanted to be able to float between genders and Eddie makes them feel like they can do that.

Eddie crashes their lips together, smiling as he tastes the strawberry lip gloss. He can feel Steve melting against his lips. When he pulls away, they are both nothing but smiles: Steve feeling seen and Eddie head over heals for every part of Steve.

He whispers "Baby girl, there is only one problem with this outfit."

Steve stiffens in his arms. "What is it?" Nerves taking over.

"You are just so so fucking beautiful, I will only be able to focus on ways to get you out of it." He smiles before pulling Steve back in for another needy kiss.

[enneamage]

I would love to hear you expand on “I really do think overall interpersonal decency came easily to him, he didn’t seem to have the traits that tend to make people act shamefully with other people. ” with Techno, if you’re comfortable!

I only know him through the dsmp, having watched other people, and have only seen two videos of his, so I can’t have an idea of who he was as a person/content creator.

And I’m curious how he differs from people who seem to have goodwill (those who haven’t been exposed for anything *heavy*, like the OTV crew as a whole. Fed can go to jail >:()

I’m going to go on a tangent with this ask, because I’ve been doing a real big think about stuff like judging character and trustworthiness lately. I could link those thoughts to recent events now, but next week I could also probably link it to recent events, and the month after probably isn’t looking too hot either. 

Starting off with Techno, he seemed to have a selfless streak and was fairly prosocial when it came to other people. The examples can be subtle enough to overlook at first glance, but also consistent enough to build up faith in him over time. I just feel like Techno, despite his online upbringing, was genuinely morality-pilled enough to be good to the people around him. I think he was good with boundaries while also being able to make people feel included, he seemed to have an eye for making people comfortable without much concern for his own desires overlaying that.

If I could distill a formula for overall trustworthiness I would treasure it always, but it seems like there’s a thousand ways to betray expectations. I’ve got a few red flags to watch out for when it comes to behaving badly with fans or even peers– I think indiscriminate validation-seeking is a big vulnerability to bad behavior, which now that I have that out on a screen makes sense to happen way more in online content creator circles. Social isolation is another big unfortunate one, if your opportunities for appropriate social connections are thin on the ground you’re more likely to lean into inappropriate ones, and fame / online work is isolating. If you need power to feel safe socially you’re going to relax around people who have less power, which could go south. If you don’t consciously have a map for how people your age should be acting, or still mentally relate to yourself as a teenager you may forget the line between a mental teenager and a real one. Lastly, if you feel like you want a second chance at being a teenager, at early-life naive friendships or first loves, but with all the advantages of being seen as desirable and having social status. It doesn’t have to be an overt power-hunger as much as a fear of one’s own weakness, that you won’t measure up to your own ‘technical’ equals so you gravitate to people who are ‘easier’ for you. 

(I ran the above list by a friend of mine and they made a refinement that I got permission to put here: if you have the indiscriminate streak but basically need power over other people in order to be able to relax socially, you’re probably not going to bring the mindfulness required to interact with people with less power than you to your interactions. Talking with people with less power or in different phases of life needs more thought/caution, not less, but if that’s what you’re inclined to seek out from them then that’s what you’re going to slip into.)

I might sound a bit scattered here– my mind is in a few different places at once but I can iron my thoughts out if anyone has follow-up questions.

[godunlap]

NOTES ON EP. 8 ( part 1/? ) 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚝. absolutely criminal in length, WHAT CAN I SAY, she does it 2 me.

here we go again guys WHAT THE FUCK???? sorry i always have to get that out first. [ i loved it ] not everyone's cup of tea i know but 'twas mine !!!

◌ the overlapping thoughts in the beginning? that's something she's going to need time to gain control over. looking back on her childhood, she didn't hear people's thoughts right away, it all started with persuasion. once the voices did start, they were overwhelming, but it was only a few people at a time, thinking relatively calm thoughts. - then she was exposed to the truth of how her parents felt about her, with nothing to block it out. this added to her parents resilience in keeping her locked up, the voices made it impossible to participate normally in society anyway. so cut back to the present & she's bombarded with several thoughts in times of CHAOS, it's a lot for her.

◌ so much to say about the sam/cate dynamic, VERY much in connection with @riordsam's portrayal because... yeah. but the loyalty displayed in such a short time was !! it says so much about them individually for one thing, but as a duo, i really am expecting so much of them in the future.

◌ the dead student was the final nail in the coffin for g.odolkin i fear. it was a blatant & brutal display of how (in cate's mind) they will never be left in peace & almost always hated & feared for who they are.

◌ now, with the switch up in public perception [ my mind's been going crazy over this thanks to @gadflies always having the most insightful questions at the ready ] this might actually have a hand in shifting cate's perspective. seen as the hero, she'll finally know what it's like to be loved & admired rather than feared. no matter how shallow, fleeting, or uninformed that 'love' may be. that said, i don't believe she'll be a big fan of the narrative rewrite being worked by v.ought because the woods & all their sins are being buried along with it.

◌ more on sam/cate but the scene following/during sam's hallucination of luke was SO INTERESTING!!! "do you want me to help you, sam?" the specific framing of 'help', respecting his choice in the matter but urging him to accept!!! once again zawn gets me thinking, the details of that scene : her hand placement, her choice of words, even body language / tone. she touches his face in a show of comfort, her words reflecting the same. cate tells sam to feel nothing because in her mind, this is the ideal. no more pain, shame, or guilt about anything that happened to them or anything they had to do now. her body language is extremely wary because she knows he's fighting a battle in his mind & she fears the outcome might be him abandoning her or turning against her.

◌ CATE WAS A LITTLE TOO GOOD WITH THE CAMPUS TAKE - DOWN. she went in with no hesitation, the beginnings of a plan & she bulldozed their whole shit. do i love that they went off & killed a bunch of innocent people for the sake of "supe superiority"? hell to the no, but i understand the progression of their characters & accept that this is the route they've taken. i plan to explore it to the fullest extent while taking my own liberties with cate post - finale & gearing up to the b/oys s4.

◌ sorry but the "that's your real superpower isn't it? acting like you're doing something when really you're doing nothing" OOOOF. this was one of the more disappointing aspects of andre's character for me. they built him up in the first few eps like he was gonna get to the bottom of things & free the kids from the woods & then... nothing.

◌ "you're a product to them, i'm trying to save you" in such a short time period cate has completely re - framed the past few years of her life. those people were not doing the right thing, meaning everything she ever did for them was wrong. stripping back the layers of the TOTAL denial necessary for her complacency has taken an extreme toll.

◌ the arm. . . cate had to be stopped SOMEHOW so u know, i get it. cool possibilities for the future !! (lea got my brain going again about a prosthetic arm possibly) I COULD SEE IT, definitely now after sitting with it for a bit. there's a few reasons / implications with this. 1st of all with vought money / tech, she knows she'd be very taken care of. there's also the fact that it might help in terms of safety? in potential combat, there's always the chance that an opponent might not know she lost an arm or even which arm she lost. it might give her an edge, buy her a second or two. then there's the heartbreaking idea that it might give her a new way to connect with people. one hand that wouldn't strike fear or distrust in the hearts of even her closest of friends & family to touch.

◌ my feariest fear is that they're going to go the route of pulling sam back from the precipice while pushing cate fully over the edge. while sam has at least a few moments of genuine doubt, cate showed no hesitation. with every move, she was sure. what i hope is that they realize very quickly that h.omelander is not a friend & they simply lump him in with vought, part of the system that needs dismantling rather than supes vs. humans.

this is INSANELY long, thoughts on cate post - finale will have to follow, also considering an alternate verse sticking with the idea that sam & cate liberate the woods, being stealthy about it instead & hiding out at shetty's to come up with a plan focused on taking down v.ought/godolkin as entities rather than targeting the individuals within the organizations.

[thefinalboss387]

Kuja Appreciation Post!

I’ve loved the Final Fantasy series for most of my life. I got into them at a pretty young age - I remember being 13 years old and eagerly waiting for Final Fantasy IX to come out - and honestly this narcissistic pretty boy right here taught me a lot about myself and my own struggles, and still to this day remains one of my favorite characters of all time. Take a peek behind the curtain with me if you don’t mind FF9 spoilers and a really personal childhood story haha.

Kuja is a character that immediately stands out from a crowd. He has such a dramatic, theatrical way of carrying himself, he speaks very poetically, he steals the show and chews the scenery every time he shows up on-screen, he has an array of slammin’ theme music, he has a very distinct appearance - feathers in his hair, an exposed midriff, a thong....

As the game goes on, it becomes clear that Kuja was created as a pawn, a puppet, which very much parallels his own mass-produced Black Mages. Although Kuja is the main antagonist of Final Fantasy IX, Garland - Kuja’s creator - is very much the mastermind of the game, the man with the grandiose plan that was ultimately behind pretty much all of Final Fantasy IX’s events. Kuja was inciting war between all the nations of one planet to further Garland’s plot to revive another planet, all the while scheming to overthrow Garland and use his worst fears against him.

Although Kuja acts prideful and in control, he actually suffers from a deep-seated inferiority complex. He was created as one of many identical Genomes, a mere pawn to be used by Garland, and ultimately rejected his purpose. His rebellion against Garland - how he dresses, how he carries himself, how he speaks, everything I mentioned I liked about his character - was a desperate need to express his individuality and reject the purpose that was given to him.

When the game came out, I was a gay 13-year-old boy in a fairly homophobic community. I was bullied and ridiculed by my peers for being feminine, made to feel like I had to suppress who and what I was by parents who casually made homophobic remarks and threatened to disown me if I ever came out as gay, constantly uncomfortable in my own skin, constantly monitoring how much of myself I was safely able to express at any given moment... My fear of being gay caused me to pretty much suppress my entire personality. It felt wrong to express myself - any part of myself - because such a big part of me was “wrong”, so everything else about me must be wrong too. I became angry, bitter, depressed as all hell, but I felt too alone and too deserving of that loneliness to ever reach out for help.

...So, yes, I was naturally very drawn to an incredibly androgynous and theatrical male hyper-expressing his individuality as a form of rebellion against the purpose others forced upon him.

Although Kuja’s actual sexuality is never really overtly expressed, Kuja is the character that ultimately taught little teenage me that it was okay to be gay, that it was fine - and even something to be celebrated! - to stand out and be unique from everyone else around you, that I needed to embrace every facet of who I was and love myself for it. Now, I am also a pretty theatrical and extravagant person - whether that’s Kuja’s influence on my life talking, or my own personality shining through after the years of suppression and self-loathing, is probably up for debate.

It was a long, emotional, twisted road to self-love and self-expression for me, and I had a loooooong way to go after Final Fantasy IX entered my life... but Kuja really was where that all started for me. It is ultimately up to ourselves to give our lives meaning, to decide who we are and love that person, to create an environment and mindset where we can feel comfortable in our own skin. That’s not something that anybody else can give you.

But it can be amazing where inspiration to do those things can come from.

[wolfeyedwitch]

☀️ - A nice day outside - Celeste :)

No. 5 EVERY WHUMPEE’S NEEDS

Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia

So. It's Celeste's big day.

CW for: blood drinking, drugs (vampire venom), temporary character death, cult-like behavior? I'm not sure how to tag that, but I thought it needed to be said. Let me know if there's anything else I should tag, or if you'd like to join the taglist.

Masterlist

---

It was a beautiful day to be Celeste’s last one alive. 

By now, she was 19 and had lived in the blood house for three years. She had learned all she could of the trade while still human. Madame had deemed it time for her to be turned. 

As was tradition, Madame Lucienne sent her off for one last day in the sunlit world. Celeste was given a small purse, a kiss on each cheek, and instructions to enjoy everything she would no longer be able to experience after this. 

She supposed she should be more afraid, or at least apprehensive, of what was coming, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be scared. All she felt was a strange sort of calm as she went through the day, enjoying what being human had to offer. 

She walked the city’s streets with no particular destination in mind, exploring whatever caught her fancy. She used the funds she was given to buy rich food, savoring the flavors. She would miss that the most, she thought. Elodie and the other vampires had never been able to fully describe the taste of blood to a vampire, but Celeste doubted it was the same as eating as a human. 

As the sun sank towards the horizon, she made her final preparations. She bought herself a sweet, wanting that to be the last flavor on her tongue. She gave the last of her funds to beggars, wanting to help them as almost no one had helped her. 

She headed back to the blood house, ready to end her life as she knew it. 

Everyone in the house knew of the night’s plans. They gave her reassuring smiles and comforting touches as she went to change into the simple shift she would wear for the process. 

Celeste didn’t need reassurance. She wasn’t afraid. Perhaps she should have been— there was no guarantee she would survive the process of turning, after all. Not all humans did. 

She was going to die tonight. Whether or not she came back was still in question. 

But Celeste felt no fear as she descended to the lowest floor of the blood house, below any floor that customers would see. It felt right, like this was where she was meant to be.

The room she approached wasn’t one she had seen before; it was off-limits to humans every night but their last. The door was heavy, wood and steel making a strong barrier against entrance or exit. The keyhole seemed to wink at her as the door opened from inside. 

The vampires of the blood house welcomed her in with sharp-toothed smiles.

Madame Lucienne looked otherworldly in the flickering candlelight. She gestured for Celeste to kneel in front of her, in the center of the room.

“Welcome,” she said, voice rich and deep. 

“Welcome,” the other vampires echoed.

“My children,” Madame Lucienne continued, “we have gathered tonight to welcome another into our world of night. Celeste, you are here to be offered a gift: a chance to leave the daylight world behind and be reborn as part of our family. Be warned, though: it is a chance only. There is no guarantee here. Will you accept?” 

This was it, Celeste knew. This was her last chance to back out. She could still say no.

(Except she couldn’t, not truly. She had to repay the training she had received; nothing in life was free. If she couldn’t repay it by working in the blood house, she would end up in the same situation as all the patrons who had debts they couldn't pay off.)

“I will,” she said, quiet but firm. 

“Then let us begin.”

The youngest vampire approached and knelt alongside her. He took her hand, turning it to expose her wrist and the delicate lacework of veins there. He brought it to his mouth and placed a kiss on the thin skin. 

Then he bit down. 

Celeste let out a small gasp at the sensation. No matter how many times she was bitten, the feeling never got less intense. Both the pain of the fangs and the bliss of the venom were as potent as the first time she had felt them. 

The vampire withdrew quickly. This wasn’t about having a meal. 

The next youngest vampire took his place, repeating the process on her other wrist. Vampire after vampire bit Celeste, taking a small amount of her blood and pumping her full of their venom. Her arms were swiftly covered in bites, making the more senior vampires get creative with their placement. 

Elodie was the one to lay Celeste down on the floor. The combination of vampire venom and blood loss meant her head was spinning too much for her to keep her balance any longer. Elodie then pushed the shift up Celeste’s legs, baring her pale thighs. The vampiress licked up the inside of one thigh with a wicked smile before biting down, her mark left nearly to the crease where thigh met body.

Finally, after every other vampire, it was Madame Lucienne’s turn. She sank gracefully to the floor and pulled Celeste’s head into her lap. By that point, the girl was nearly insensate. The vampiress smoothed Celeste’s hair back from her face with a small smile. 

“I do so hope you survive, mon petite ange,” she murmured. 

Her choices usually did. She chose her candidates well, and prepared them well. She made sure they were well-fed and healthy, bodies strong enough to withstand the strain of the transformation. By dosing the candidate with as much vampire venom as possible, she mitigated the pain of transformation that was sometimes too much for fragile humans to handle. 

Still, just as she had said: there were no guarantees. 

Madame Lucienne brought her wrist to her own mouth and tore it open. She held the bleeding wound to Celeste’s mouth. The girl drank easily, almost greedily— a good sign of how suited she would be to her new life. 

Then it was her turn to drink. 

She turned Celeste’s head to the side, exposing her as-yet-unmarked neck; hers would be the only wound to adorn the girl’s throat. 

The vampiress bit. She drank deeply, continuing until the girl’s heart no longer pumped blood through her veins.

Celeste was dead.

Now, they would wait to see if she would be reborn.

---

Taglist:

@kim-poce @cupcakes-and-pain @nonbinary-disaster @onlybadendings @neverthelass @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog @ghostfacepepper @someonesnamesblog @rainbows-and-whumperflies @extemporary-whump @thecyrulik @myhusbandsasemni @heart4brains @kixngiggles @whumpsday @whumppsychology @elrysdoesstuff @towerlesskey @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @haro-whumps @pigeonwhumps

[coriline]

About J. Laurens trust (in Hamilton)

“⟨In respect⟩ to the Commission, which you ⟨received from⟩ Congress, all the world must think your conduct perfectly right. Indeed your ideas upon this occasion seem not to have their wonted accuracy; and you have had scruples, in a great measure, without foundation. By your appointment as Aide De Camp to the Commander in Chief, you had as much the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, as any officer in the line—your receiving a commission as Lieutenant Colonel from the date of that appointment, does not in the least injure or interfere with one of them; unless by virtue of it you are introduced into a particular regiment in violation of the right of succession”

“The only thing I see wrong in the affair is this—Congress by their conduct, both on the former and present occasion, appear to have intended to confer a privilege, an honor, a mark of distinction, a something upon you; which they withold from other Gentlemen in the family. This carries with it an air of preference, which, though we can all truly say, we love your character, and admire your military merit, cannot fail to give some of us uneasy sensations. But in this, my Dear J I wish you to understand me well. The blame, if there is any, falls wholly upon Congress. I repeat it, your conduct has been perfectly right and even laudable; you rejected the offer when you ought to have rejected it; and you accepted ⟨it⟩ when you ought to have accepted it; and let me ⟨add⟩ with a degree of overscrupulous delicacy. It ⟨was necessary⟩ to your project; your ⟨project⟩ was the public good; and I should have done the same. In hesitating, you have refined upon the refinements of generosity.”

Source

I haven't ever put much attention to this instance in the Laurens-Hamilton relationship, however looking back in Laurens' character and personality is so valuable he trusted enough in Hamilton's opinion and moral to talk about his fears in accepting a new rank.

In general, Laurens looked to be a reserved person about his insecurities and fears, during the war his closest correspondence was with his father and Hamilton. Doing a quick research through him and his father's correspondence, the most remarkable characteristic thing in their letters are the amount of news about war, generally Laurens didn't expose his worries to his father. (Their correspondence)

“As a Soldier, as a Citizen, as a Man—I am interested to

engage in this work—and I would chearfully sacrifice the largest portion of my future expectations to its success”

From John Laurens to Henry Laurens, 10th march 1779

That phenomenon isn't strange, and it doesn't point an negative aspect exclusive from HL's parenthood, despite their letters lack of personal matters and are over all focused in communicating military matters, considering the time and their devotion to war it isn't a surprise: Laurens being the oldest son and starting to develop an “independence” from his father through his work in the war, was expected to matter about military matters and stop searching comfort in his father, starting to being perceived as an “equal” by his father.

In fact, what is strange is that Laurens revealed some of his worries to Hamilton, and even when a new rank can look poorly important for us, for Laurens was a big step. Again, during the war, Laurens develops (or reveals) the most characteristic parts of his personality and aspirations, far from his father's influence he could develop a circle of friends he could choose by himself, being in an environment where he could (try to) achieve his fantasies about honor and martyrs. It is pretty sure you don't need to read his letters to know the war was highly significant to him.

And is for this grade of importance that military life has on him, it's so meaningful he trusted Hamilton to share his worries about accepting a new rank. Being someone with the mind so filled with idealizations about how he had to be as “a Soldier, as a Citizen, as a Man” the fact he let himself share his preoccupations with Hamilton just can mean he admired Hamilton as a Soldier, Citizen, and Man, and he trusted enough in his judgement to know Hamilton would give him a sincere and trustful advise.

And let himself be enough vulnerable to search advice and some comfort in Hamilton.

If we talk about his younger years, the correspondence is much more affectionate and personal, but this does have some explanations. First, Laurens, being a student, had mostly academical worries and generally those worries were decided or highly influenced by his tutors and father (Again, it's during war where he gains some “independence”). Second, considering his position and the 18th century concept of masculinity, it was expected of him turning more serious and reserved, or at very least, nice in a way where worries or weakness couldn't be perceived, specially being in the middle of a war. Third, I suspect due to his great desires of perfection, in some way he limited himself in expressing worries and weakness.

However, it's pretty clear he broke this illusion of ideal man with Hamilton.

“For your own sake, for my sake, for the public sake, I shall pray for the success of the attempt you mention; that you may have it in your power to act with us. But if you should be disappointed, bear it like a man; and have recourse, neither to the dagger, nor to the poisoned bowl, nor to the rope.”

Source

The clear implication of Laurens' mental state is enough to prove to know Hamilton had a clear knowledge of Laurens' mental state, the fact Laurens trusted enough in him to reveal and trust those parts of him, not only going against of his hard self-views but also going against of what masculinity meant back then.

It's simply nice to see how Hamilton meant a secure place for Laurens (and how it was reciprocated), there are so many little details among them that just show how much they meant for each other. They both being obsessed with honor and glory, they were totally able to see that desired glory and achievement in the other, even after knowing their least liked sides.

 “I would not wish to have you for a moment withdrawn from the public service; at the same time, my friendship for you, and knowlege of your value to the United States, make me most ardently desire, that you should fill only the first offices of the Republic.”

Source

“Let me know fully Yr. Southern affairs. They are interesting and critical. You are judicious and impartial. God bless you.”

Source

Naturally, this isn't the only shows of trust Laurens had with Hamilton, but I had been thinking about this a time ago.

[refriedrambles]

Skipping forward to notes on Invasion of the Idiot Dog Brain to get a better grasp on GIR. (might do some for GIR Goes Crazy and Stuff too, but we'll see how much I got in me)

I know this isn't about the Tallest but I love how this episode opens. Like they're just confused,

Purple points out the kid behind Zim while he's talking about his improved security and "I'm glad it had a happy ending after all." "Me toooo."

Perfect, wonderful, I love it. They give no shits about being seen either

Zim's not nearly as frazzled as usual by being seen like he is slightly panicked but it's very muted. Whether that's cause he fumbled so hard in front of the Tallest (again) or the fear of being exposed he gets over it so quickly and just goes into fix it mode.

He love just telling people what he's doing, like he reveals his plans to Dib after they're solidly in progress when he thinks he has the upper hand, (unlike Dib blabbing immediately when he thinks of one) but he'll tell his minions anything and will inform the Tallest while he's in the middle of things or even afterwards with them though he doesn't go nearly as into detail with them. (It's like his only social outlet.) He's gotta at least try to look good to the Tallest

He just has the replacement part in his PAK and apparently has more up stairs? That's suspicious

Zim is so done with GIR in this episode. Like he's sorta but not really trying to work with him here. It's heavily reminding me of how he "fired" Keef in Bestest Friend. I still think he's mimicking someone or more likely multiple people who used to be in a position of authority over him at one point. But he almost always gives into GIR in the end. A good example this this little interaction

Big sigh, "Pretend it's a taco!" "If there are any changes in the data,"

big sigh again, "taco beam, just let me know." Turns away disgruntled with his brain

What's this episode about? Hurting Zim's pride. That's it go home lol

BUT GIR we're here to focus on GIR! He gets stuck on the taco commercial until Zim attempts to play into the taco thing. He goes into duty mode, he tries to focus, but it's simply not interesting to him

This show and mooses. I don't think I've ever seen A Room with a Moose tbh. And Mortos der Soulstealer. I'm pretty sure on that one

Notably Zim didn't yell at GIR or shout his name to get his attention in the lead up to GIR becoming the house. He's clearly exasperated by dealing with the bot, but he's not lashing out. Some character development there until things go wrong

This is flash of concern on Zim's face when GIR doesn't respond. He's wobbling between annoyance and concern as he carries him

There's the slightest moment dawning horror as Zim realizes GIR is the house now, but he shoves that down so quickly and just starts ordering him around like normal lol. And he's immediately hit with what he as expecting too getting squeezed like a chew toy

Zim can't let his guard down at all with GIR as the house even before it start to go bad. He's trying to stay in control of the situation and keep his authority over GIR so can't let his guard down at all

"BORING!" staving of the boredom is his life's mission

Zim's having flashbacks to the Doom song

"He's got to wear himself out eventually. I'll just wait. I can outlast him."

You learned nothing from the Doom song Zim. You danced cause you couldn't handle the singing, but you just let it happen again smh

Definitely agree that Zim struggles with threat assessment. Like he's scared that GIR is the house on some level (especially after the squeezing) but it's still just GIR too so not the biggest deal. (It's a very big deal.)

It is cute that GIR tries to comfort Zim with the things he likes tho

"Must obey the Taco man!" GIR my guy

"SWEET JUMPING CHILI BEAN." between screaming and begging. wtf Zim

Zim's so terrified of everything going on right now. Like the threat of being exposed, the being tossed around like it's nothing, the weight of GIR being the house hitting him like a brick. It's no wonder he looks like he's about to cry

Brilliant joke with the guy and the car

It is absolutely nuts that the base can turn into a giant mech dog

Zim even says please.

"Maybe you're right." Hope! "Maybe I've get a giant burrito too." And it's crushed lol

GIR is so used to used to ordering and outright ignoring Zim

Just places cup and starts to stink down the screen money still stuck to his face. This kid is so done with life.

Zim doesn't care at all about food service works despite his awful experience with it. I'm not even sorta surprised

He has the food and immediately knows how to deal with GIR again

"BUT I need tacos! I need them or I will explode. That happens to me sometimes." He almost sounds like he's gonna cry, but that's a pretty interesting line. Like he self destructs willingly a lot, but that implies it's also out of his control at times ooo

Absolutely destroyed the city

Full circle that's nice

Anyway~ Zim was good on his word and handed the tacos over, before trying to convince GIR to let him fix things. Good move on his part

I don't think this episode really says a lot about GIR that we can't gleam from non GIR centric episodes, but it does show a bit of a shift in how Zim deals with him when he's actively getting in the irken's way

I'm tempted to also watch Bad, Bad Rubber Piggy cause I do feel like it's a bit of a GIR episode and it's literally the next episode, but I'm gonna stick to my plan for now