#You know how some people make secret stashes for cigarettes or alcohol

[dreamy625]

This rockstar life - 4.1 Travelin' Band

So this is where the timeline really splits from reality, with Steve still in the band for the Adrenalize tour. Don’t worry about Viv, he'll be perfectly happy playing with Thin Lizzy or someone for a few years :)

Words: 4025 (sorry)

Content: Some mentions of alcohol

This rockstar life master list

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

== April 15th 1992 - Dublin ==

Dear Diary. Ah, I suddenly feel thirteen again! Kevin Peterson smiled at me in Geography, but I have three new spots and am totally gross so he must be blind. Blondie on Top of the Pops again…

Anyway, enough nostalgia. This will be my attempt to record for posterity our tour adventures April 1992 to… as yet undecided. Either for the biography I’m always threatening Steve I’m going to write about him, or just so that, when I’m an old lady, I can prove that I was once a cool rock chick (ha ha ha).

So I guess you’d call this the warm-up stage, although one club and then a massive stadium is a pretty weird warm-up! We're leaving for soundcheck in an hour or so, then they’re due on stage at 9pm. I’ve got to go and find Steve and try and make him eat something, but I’m rating my chances of success with that at about 1%. He’s been walking in circles round Joe’s garden since about 7am. I don’t think he’ll be hard to find, just follow the trail of cigarette butts. ----------------------------------------

McGonagles is surprisingly scruffy for such a famous venue. And small - Stevie looked like a tiger in a cage, pacing back and forth. I’ve seen the ‘In the round’ video of course, and a few bootlegs that Joe has a secret stash of, and the boy likes to move! Sav says in the early days he used to gallop around without looking and he had to take evasive action to avoid getting knocked off the stage! Happily no one went flying tonight though, and everything worked, and Joe only forgot the words once, and the crowd were insanely enthusiastic. So it was great. Surreal, but great!

And now I really must try and go to sleep, our flight’s pretty early in the morning. Sweetiepie’s already spark out and snoring - two nights of anxiety dreams and half a bottle of brandy will do that to a person.

Next stop, Wembley!

== 18th April - London, Wembley Stadium!! ==

Am I dreaming? I’ve dropped into a whole different world! I’ve just seen Elton John in a tracksuit!

== 19th April - London, Mookie Manor ==

I thought roller coasters usually warmed you up with a couple of gentle undulations before the ride got wild, but no, this one has gone straight for the big drop. I knew he got stagefright, and he was pretty twitchy at McGonagles, but this was a whole other level. He was okay yesterday - quiet, but you could see he was just concentrating really hard on remembering where he was supposed to be when, and getting the songs right obviously, but he could do that in his sleep.

Today though… I think it was seeing Robert Plant casually chatting with David Bowie and Roger Daltrey… he just went white, then grey, and rushed out of the marquee. Phil managed to haul him out of the gents loo in time for their stage runthrough, which went fine as far as I could tell, but then he vanished again and I couldn’t track him down. Backstage is crazy - there are dressing rooms and suchlike but, because there’s so many people, they’ve also brought in tents and portakabins and buses and there’s trucks and catering vans and flight cases all over - he could have been anywhere, so eventually I gave up looking because I was just getting in everyone’s way and went and watched the soundchecks from the press pit. Then Stacy appeared looking frantic and said ‘I think you’d better come, Steve’s…’. She didn’t even need to finish the sentence, I could guess and just asked where.

When I got to the hospitality tent, one of the roadies, Malcolm maybe, had him pinned up against a pillar. He’d drunk, I don’t know how much, presumably a lot, and apparently had started punching the wall, which had minimal effect since it was canvas, and then started on a table, and then taken a perfunctory swing at one of the bar staff when they’d tried to grab him. At which point Rick had run for Joe, and Stacy had found me. He was struggling against the arms holding him back, but went limp and hung his head when he saw me, instantly remorseful. I got him out of the marquee while everyone stared at us (you’d think this crowd, of all people, would be blasé about rockstar excess, but apparently we were still the afternoon’s entertainment) and into a taxi. All he said on the way back was ‘I can’t’ over and over. I’ve given him one of the pills he makes me look after so he won’t take a whole handful and he’s sleeping now.

Pretty scared about tomorrow. And it’s all going to be down to Joe and the boys - no hangers-on allowed backstage for the main event.

== 20th April - London, Mookie Manor ==

Wow. That was just. Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in one place before! I don’t think I’ve seen so many people before full stop! They said 70,0000. And millions more watching on television apparently. To go from a few hundred people in that sweaty old club to this! Yesterday’s freakout looks like a pretty reasonable reaction now. And of course he was fine, better than fine. Like Joe said, the second he steps on the stage, he’s 100% rockstar. It’s just getting him on the stage that’s the struggle. Really, I don’t know how he does it. I don’t know how any of them do it. I would be so completely paralysed with terror at the mere suggestion of going out in front of that crowd. I guess that’s why I’m not a musician! Well that and a total lack of talent.

Joe, I think, had the best day of his life! Prancing around in front of a massive crowd in those union jack jeans (I don’t know where he finds these things), and then sharing a stage with Bowie, Ronno, and Ian Hunter - basically all his fanboy dreams come true. He acts so cool and confident most of the time and then suddenly his inner geeky little kid breaks through. He was bouncing up and down so much he was practically levitating with excitement! Stevie was not quite so exuberant but, once the adrenaline wore off, he was pretty mellow, just sitting quietly in the bar with a big grin on his face.

We’ve got a couple of days off now, and then he’s back to rehearsals and I’ve got a big pile of work I’ve been ignoring. This rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle is not quite as glamorous as I had been led to expect!

== 19th May - Madrid ==

So here we are, first night of the proper tour. I was going to start before and record the pre-tour prep. But it was just like packing for a holiday really. All the instruments go with the stage set-up, so you don’t have to worry about that. And even Steve’s stage clothes go in travel cases and are looked after by the wardrobe assistant - this one is called Susie, and Steve has already nicknamed her Susie Sew. She seems lovely, but she’s about seven feet tall and six inches wide, so I hate her! If I looked like that I’d be a model, not washing a load of sweaty t-shirts every night!

These are supposed to be more warm-up gigs, so small clubs with minimal publicity. It sold out the day it was announced though, so that’s good. The club is apparently known as ‘El templo del heavy’ - The Metal Temple - so I don’t know how Joe squares that with his ‘we’re not heavy metal’ claims!

== 20th May - Paris ==

I was too tired to write anything after the show last night, and then we had to get up early for the flight to Paris, but today’s a rest day so we can be tourists. I haven’t been here since the occasional weekend trip on le TGV in my TEFL days, but of course Steve and Phil lived here on and off for years. They reckon it hasn’t changed - I don’t think the Parisians would allow it to! We went to le Centre Pompidou, and we’re doing the Louvre tomorrow if there’s time before soundcheck.

Lunch was hilarious. I ordered for us en français without even thinking about it, and then noticed Stevie staring at me with his mouth open. He went ‘You speak French?!’ and I’m like duh, I’m a translator, you know that! Apparently it had never occurred to him that that meant I could speak in French as well! Actually my conversational French isn’t that good - I’m more used to formal French and it makes me sound like someone’s snooty grandma to real French people. But he looked genuinely impressed. Even after living in Paris for three years, all he’d learned to do was ask for beer and cigarettes, and he insisted on me teaching him. Which was fine to start with - he’s a good mimic and can do the accent way better than me - but then the more wine we drank, the louder and more animated he got, and other diners started to stare and mutter. Then, when the waiter was bringing us dessert, Steve jumped up and intercepted him and decided he was the waiter now, with the whole folded napkin over the arm thing and everything, then he started waving menus at the customers at nearby tables and gabbling at them in exaggerated franglais - think Manuel* but French instead of Spanish. Honestly I thought they were going to throw us out! I had to lure him back to the table with tarte au citron, which was delicious of course. And then we left a REALLY big tip.

== 24th May - Munich ==

Another night, another disreputable little club. Look at me, so nonchalant already! Not really, not even slightly bored of this yet. I get to watch Def Leppard every night, how cool is that! They still look weird to me on tiny little stages, but they sound great. And Steve’s doing pretty good. Remembering Joe’s only comment on the Wembley freak out - ‘He does this’ - I was worried we were going to have a repeat performance every night, but actually he’s been okay. He goes quiet an hour or two before showtime, and he can’t eat anything, and I think the temptation to break his vow not to drink before they go on is always there, but there’s enough bustle in the dressing room to distract him and, now they’re into a routine, he’s definitely steadier.

== 26th May - Milan ==

The boys head back to Germany today, but I’m going home because I’ve got project meetings. I’m trying to get everything set up before we go further afield - it’s one thing to make a hop back across the channel to meet clients, quite a different matter when you’re on a whole different continent! I hope Stevie’s going to be okay on his own. He’s a bit pouty but trying to be stoic about it. And Phil, bless him, is going to keep an eye on him. Also hope I’m going to be okay on my own! I’ve never flown by myself before. Also faintly terrified about the client meeting. Never done one where it’s my project, there’s always been a proper grown-up in charge before. What if I say something stupid? What if I open my mouth and all that comes out is one of those anxiety squeaks? No one's ever going to book me again :/

I know people tend to think of me as Steve's nursemaid, but they don't see how he has to look after me too. There's things he's totally cool about, like travelling, that freak me out, and having him with me makes it much less stressful. Also just emotionally, he's just the only person who calms me down. He finds that strange, that he could be calming to anyone. I don’t really know how to explain it; somehow, because he’s as messed up as I am, I feel safer with him than I ever have with anyone else? I'm trying not to stress, and hoping that medication and meditation will be enough, in the absence of soothing Steve hugs, to not dissolve into a puddle of anxiety. It’s only a week and then we’ll be back together. And in Sweden, which is cool. I’ve never been there. I asked him what it’s like but all he could remember was pickled fish and Abba. He’s got a thing for Frida - another redhead, surprise surprise!

== 5th June - Copenhagen ==

Forgot to document the other Scandinavian dates, oops. Basically another two good gigs with happy shouty audiences and not too many wrong notes. And pickled herring is disgusting! Anyway, we’re in Denmark now, which is very clean and tidy, and everyone speaks English. I have learned two words in Danish - tak, which means thank you, and puttemus, which means cuddle-mouse and is Steve’s new nickname (especially because he wrinkles his nose in disgust when I call him that!).

I’m writing this at tonight’s venue, which is really tiny - I think my school hall was bigger than this! Steve always says that touring isn’t really travelling - you just see a hotel, a stage, and a bar, and could be anywhere. I definitely see the truth in that now. I thought we’d have at least some spare time in the places we’re in for two or three days, but he has to do interviews and radio spots and photoshoots everywhere and barely gets a minute to himself. I’ve been getting to know some of the other wives/girlfriends a bit better though, and today we all went on a little excursion to Tivoli Gardens, which is an old-timey amusement park. Took some pictures of the old classic rides and pretty buildings, but didn’t really fancy going on a wooden rollercoaster.

== 6th June - Roskilde airport ==

Oh god, so hungover. After the show we ended up going to a strip club as they stay open later than the bars. I have limited experience of such things, but it seemed kind of wholesome compared with the only one I’ve been in before, in London. Feel like maybe I should disapprove on feminist principle, but really if women want to make a bunch of money off men by writhing around on a stage in their knickers, that’s their own business. Also I was secretly thrilled to finally see some of this rock ‘n’ roll debauchery I’ve heard so much about! There’s this Danish liqueur made from cherries that they make cocktails with. It tastes like jam. And fun fact, when you drink too much of it, you throw up pink. Not looking forward to getting on this plane one little bit.

One more of these small club gigs then we’re back to Blighty and start getting into bigger places, arenas and such like. The boys are all very excited that they will finally get to play with their new in-the-round stage. This time the drum riser literally rises, ten feet in the air, as well as spinning round, which totally doesn’t sound like a deathtrap, honest!

== 15th June - Dublin ==

Back in the Emerald Isle and chez Joe. We’ve come over a few days early so the boys can, in the eternal quest to produce an album in less than three years, record some demos in Joe’s studio. I’m not sure how much actual music-making is happening, they seem to be using the majority of the time to play golf (mostly Joe and Sav), run up hills (mostly Phil), reacquaint themselves with obscure Irish brands of cigarettes (mostly Steve), and of course drink Guinness (everyone except Phil, and me because it is disgusting - yes, I am a traitor to my Irish ancestry!). There has also been a lot of reminiscing about when they lived here after the Pyromania tour, including visits to Booterstown and Belville House, where Steve, Phil, and Rick used to live (and which is now painted pink and looks like a birthday cake and about as un-rock ‘n’ roll as you could possibly get).

== 20th June - a plane somewhere over the Irish sea ==

Brilliant gig! Everyone sounded great, the stage and lighting looked amazing, and everything worked - all the fancy moving bits did what they were supposed to, and no one got flung off the drum riser! We couldn’t sleep at all last night, we were so hyper, bouncing around Joe’s kitchen at 4am until he came down and shouted at us to shut up! I think he’s happy his role as a hotelier is over - this morning he was muttering about it being like having raccoons living in his house!

== 21st June - Glasgow ==

Fucking freezing! It’s June! It’s meant to be summer?! How do people live here? Steve likes it. Must be his Northern upbringing. Freak.

== 24th June - Sheffield ==

Hometown gigs! Bit of a weird part of the tour actually. Most of the boys are thrilled to see their families and old friends - they had to make a VIP section twice the size of normal to fit them all in - but it’s been difficult for Steve. He hadn’t seen his parents since that horrible Christmas two years ago, but he couldn’t not invite them to the gig, so it was pretty awkward. Of course everyone was perfectly polite, we were in public afterall, but you could see the distance between them. I think Barry’s still angry, and Beryl obviously just misses him. She hugged him so tight, and didn’t want to let go. I know they all used to be so close, well, the boys and Beryl and the two grandmas anyway, so I’d hope they can get that back. But Steve doesn’t even look like part of his family anymore, and you can really hear how his accent has softened when he’s surrounded by proper working class Yorkshiremen. Not exactly a peacock among pigeons, but maybe a dove. He feels it too and it makes him really sad. He blames himself, but I’m not sure how you could stay tied to your roots while living such a vastly different life to the people you’ve left behind?

He doesn’t really even like being back in the city; he feels watched, like everyone knows him and is judging him for having ideas above his station. That period when they first got their record deal and people called them sell-outs and actually spat at them in the street has left deep wounds. There were a lot of problems with the sound last night, which was unfortunate, but it has provided Steve with an excuse not to see people or do local media - Joe and Sav are doing the interviews (wearing their team shirts of course - thank gods it’s the off-season or they’d be bickering about it endlessly!) - while he and Phil are here ostensibly helping to get the sound sorted out. Actually they’re just drinking a lot of tea and taking the piss out of Malvin, but it’s keeping him distracted from brooding which is the main thing. To be honest, I’ll be glad when this is done and we head back down south.

== 25th June - London, Mookie Manor ==

Back home again for a few days. Very convenient having Earl’s Court Arena basically just down the road from our house. Phil, Jacki, and Rory are staying over. We had to spend the evening building their bed as it had been sat in bits in boxes ever since Steve bought the house. Had to borrow spanners off the neighbours.

Rory has got so big and is into everything. It must be over a year since we saw him and Jacki as they mostly stayed in America while the boys were recording. I have no idea what to do with kids - they’re just loud and sticky agents of chaos to me - but Steve is really good with him. They’ve been playing hide and seek, and driving matchbox cars round the living room, and now Steve’s upstairs reading him a story. It’s really sweet. I wish… no I don’t wish, because we just couldn’t, for everyone’s sake. But in some ways, he really would make a great dad.

== 26th June - London, Earl’s Court ==

Very proud of the boys today - they won the Silver Clef award for outstanding contribution to British music! We had to go to the presentation lunch at the InterContinental Hotel on Park Lane. It’s super-fancy, inside at least, but unfortunately was built in the 1970’s so is a hideous concrete box. Kind of terrifying - they took pictures of all of us when we arrived and I did not know what to do with my face, I was trying to hide behind Stevie as much as possible. And he ate most of my lunch so the waiters wouldn’t look at me funny.

Really looking forward to the gig tonight. This is the biggest one so far, I think the biggest one until we get to America? Phil’s mum is coming and we’re going to sit together. She’s such a sweetheart - you can tell where he gets his golden retriever personality from!

== 30th June - Birmingham, NEC ==

Second of three nights here as the ticket sales have been so good. Not the most glamorous of venues though! And I’m so glad we have drivers to ferry us around - I would die if I had to navigate Birmingham’s road system! One thing in the NEC’s favour though is that it has got really good business facilities. I have a mountain of work to get finished before we go to Australia, ugh. Steve was a little bit sulky when I said I had to work the whole time, but he does understand really. Phil has taken him to the gym today, so I’ll look forward to hearing how that went :)

The bigger venues they’ve been doing on this leg do make such a difference to the experience, now I'm seeing Leppard as I know them from videos. And Steve is unleashed! He runs around like a greyhound, doing all his signature moves. It's really… I feel ridiculous writing this, but really sexy! Not that I didn't fancy him like mad already, but ‘Stage Steve’ is a very different animal. I think it's the confidence, even a little bit of arrogance, and the power he has over the audience. He’s just… magnificent! I haven't worked out yet if it's entirely put on, just a performance, or if it's tapping into a part of his personality that's usually buried. I'm not sure he knows himself. Either way it’s really quite something! And I knew the tight jeans were an essential component of that outfit…

Argh, stop thinking about that! Got to concentrate on the blasted book! Les deadlines ne sont pas optionnels!

== 3rd July - Belfast ==

So King’s Hall is the last UK gig. It’s a really cool building - Art Deco with an arched roof over the main hall. It’s not all that big though, so there was a lot of worrying about whether the in-the-round set-up would fit. It does, and it should be a great show for the audience because most of them will be so close to the stage. I’m going to watch from up on the balcony to get the full experience (I’ve always been in the VIP section or the press pit, which of course is amazing, but they’ve always said this show is designed for the people in the cheap seats at the back!).

After this, we've got a few days back at home, time to do laundry and repack for hot weather, then we fly out to Australia on the 7th. Another new place and the longest flight I’ve ever done - well, flights plural as you have to do it in two hops. Steve’s really excited, which is so cute. And I think he’s even excited about going on a tour bus again, although he grumbles about it; he keeps telling me stories of their escapades on the High ‘n’ Dry tour. This all still doesn’t seem fully real to me; I feel like I'm inside an MTV rockumentary!

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

*Fawlty Towers reference

[bowlerhatwearer]

What does Nikolia think of Grem's housemate Mothgo? (@sallychaosaura)

Greetings Anon ^^

I like to think, that for a while Nikolai was not aware that Mothgo even existed, it's kind of the humorous scenario were it was just, never brought up before and Grem thought Nikolai just knew, and then Nikolai one day discovers Mothgo carrying a few light-bulbs with Nikolai letting out a startled shout.

After that first encounter, with Grem and Mothgo explaining everything to Nikolai, I can see him going along, very well with her, he would be polite and is glad that she is around and values her as a great friend.

The only time I can see Nikolai being a bit grumpy, is when he needs a light-bulb, and they are all gone and he has to go/drive to a shop to buy more. However he is not mad or angry at Mothgo, but rather that he has to get to the store.

Yours sincerely

Bowler

[heavenbarnes]

feels so good to be us

Fezco (Euphoria) x Female Reader

Warnings/Contains: mentions of drug use, mentions of guns, implied violence (all canon-typical), swearing, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex (this is fiction, yours isn’t, wrap it), dirty talk, light degradation, light choking, rough sex, light slapping, oral sex (f receiving)

Word Count: 4.5k 

no secret that i fell in love w the guy whilst watching the show, so we’ll just see how this goes

She blew into town one day, seemingly out of nowhere, but not without purpose. Having reasons to be there was one thing, having reasons to stay was a whole other. Lacking in the latter, there was a lot to be grateful for in that one night.

The party that cracked on in a reasonable house, she was told by her friends that’d it’d be a good one. What she wasn’t told was that this was a party that was teeming with teenagers, horny ones in spandex and rhinestones.

A long way from home and everything was different.

Lucky enough, she poured herself a cup and hunted for a spot that was more around her age. Last thing she needed was to be caught up with a hoard of 17 year-olds looking to make trouble.

Whoever owned this house also came equipped with cash, judging by the indoor pool she stepped into, eyes up and trailing along the carefully carved architrave. Eyes far too transfixed to notice the young man on the lounger.

“You came looking for me?”

The voice made her head snap towards his direction, rolled smoke resting between his lips and steadily fingering a roll of cash. Narrowing her eyes at him in hesitation, she traced her finger around the rim of her cup.

“I don’t think so?”

He took his eyes from his counting and let them cast over her, that’s probably the first thing to pique her interest. Those kind of eyes you could fall into, pretty eyelashes too that almost made her want to smile.

She knew that he knew she was staring, but he hadn’t said anything about it, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You not from around here, huh?”

Straightening up and stepping forward a bit, she got closer so she didn’t have to shout across the room.

“No sir, I drove in this morning from out East.”

He nodded more to himself than he did her, tucking the money away in his hoodie pocket before leaning back on the cushion of the lounger. He took the cigarette between his fingers and tapped off some of the ash, eyes still nonchalantly drifting over her.

“Called it, I would’a remembered you otherwise.”

In trying not to let the corners of her mouth turn into a smile, it transformed into more of a pout, bordering on a frown. There was something about this guy, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

“You would’ve?”

“Yeah, cause you wearing clothes,” He answered, making any expression on her face dry out. “You seen those other girls?”

Looking down her front, she had to admit that her belted trousers and high-necked tank was considerably more than what any of the high-schoolers were wearing. Shrugging her shoulders with a nod that spoke of “fair enough”, she managed to draw a chuckle out of the guy.

“That and you cute.” The inflection was so cool she almost missed it, but that wasn’t to say it was lost on her.

Scuffing her sneakers against the poolside tile, he shifted forward along his seat and watched intently at the way she no longer fought the grin on her face. Didn’t know the guy from Adam, but he was already tweaking some kind of feeling in her.

“Who you here with?”

She lifted her head and gestured back towards where the noise of the party was drifting through the door. “My friends Ocasio and Seraphine, made me come to make friends but they didn’t say they’d be teenagers.”

He nodded knowingly, muttering something about knowing them too. “They all so young, why I’m only here for business.”

So the inkling in the back of her mind that he was a drug dealer was correct, making his first comment make a lot more sense. In an attempt not to seem like a total fucking loser, she shifted the conversation.

“They said I should look for some guy, said that I’d probably like him.”

The man lifted a brow, before throwing his gaze over her shoulder in his turn to admire the architecture. 

“Yeah? They give you a name, not a lot of people I don’t know.”

She thought on it for a moment, she knew it reminded her of That 70′s Show, and that is sounded remarkably fake at the time.

“Fezco, I think? If that’s even a real name?”

His shoulders bounced as he chuckled a little, eyes moving back to her own. He had one of those stares where it was intense, but there was nothing in you that wanted to look away.

“Nice to meet you too, mamas,” He lent back again and propped his foot up on the seat. “Do I get your name?”

In attempting to avoid looking like a fucking loser, she’d managed it anyways. Her cheeks burnt as she nodded with a nervous laugh, smiling out of necessity before offering him her name.

He made some remark about her still being cute, before they were cut off by a couple of young people tripping down the stairs and narrowly avoiding the pool. They made a line for Fezco, hoping to make a purchase off of him.

She couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, in the move of things she started to step back to where she came. An obvious cast of disappointment fell over her as she began to pull back from it all.

“Mamas,” That voice stopped her in her tracks. “Just lemme do this, I ain’t done ‘whichu yet.”

Just like that, she’d found a reason to stay. From that point on, you didn’t see her without Fezco by her side, with a hand on her lower back.

They were polar opposites, but MC. Kat said those attract so that could be said for why they’d done so well together. She was warm, kind, and so gentle it’d make your heart do fucking flips.

She was the softest thing that Fez had ever got his hands on, and he’d be damned if he was ever going to let it go. He was open with her, showed her all the bad things that he did and he’d done, and she chose to love him anyway.

If you asked Fezco, she felt like home, she was safe to come back to after a long day of doing things he wasn’t proud of. No matter how many times he made shitty choice after shitty choice, she knew the heart that rested in him was inherently better than anything.

Nothing made that heart fuller than seeing her own coming through, you want to talk big hearts? You start with her. She was the very definition of love, patient and kind, and it wasn’t uncommon for Fez to pinch himself in wonder of how he got so lucky.

The days she sat beside his grandma, holding her up as he brought the sponge along her back. Never a complaint, she’d just smile at Fezco, at the gentleness of his movements. The smile that said “I’d never want to be anywhere else.”

And if his boys were on their way around to fetch payment, nothing had to be said. She’d quietly tuck away in the bedroom, laying in silence as she daydreamed of a life where Fez was totally happy. In her visions they live in the countryside, he never has to look over his shoulder and he is forgiven.

She was always the delicate to his rough around the edges, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know exactly what was happening. You couldn’t mistake her kindness for stupidity.

“Mans, I don’t think you know what you getting into.” Fezco’s voice never shifted from that calm tone.

Nate Jacob’s shit eating grin made the hairs on the back of Fez’ neck stand up, the kid using his height to try and forge an ounce of intimidation. Unlucky for him, the man in front of him wasn’t a 17 year old cheerleader with daddy issues, he couldn’t scare him.

Nate would still give it his best shot.

“You obviously don’t know what you’re doing with me, I will fucking ruin you.” His bark through gritted teeth drifted up the hallway.

“You came to my house, ‘tryna start shit with me,” Fez never backed down, nearly chest to chest. “I never gave a fuck about you.”

The sound that came from Nate was a scoff, the disrespect was evident as he looked down on the other man. “So you’ve forgotten how you threatened my life?”

As he lifted his hand up towards Fez’ throat, he wasn’t able to clock her on his right quick enough.

She calmly padded down the hallway, shorts and her boyfriend’s hoodie draped across her body as she approached the scene before her. Left hand coming to lift the hem of the sweater and right coming to grip the glock stashed in her waistband.

By the time Nate Jacobs even knew she was there, he could already hear the safety coming off. His hand stilled as his eyes drifted over to her.

“Take another step, playboy.” Eyes staring down the slide and right at the guy in her sights. “Pick up your nuts, and get out of my house.”

Nate looked back to Fez, meeting an almost unfazed expression. His eyes came over to her and the barrel aimed between his eyes.

“The cops coming here didn’t teach you a lesson? You want them coming back here looking for guns too?”

Her laugh rolled around the room, drifting between the three of them as her eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, go ahead and call the cops again,” Her grip on the pistol never faltered. “I’m sure Fezco’s boys would love to hear about the little bitch that had the pigs sniffing around their supply.”

There was no missing the way Nate’s jaw clenched at the sentiment, the thought ticking over in his head that he might’ve finally met his match. The match that he’d tried to chat up in the convenience store, right in front of Fez with his own girl in the car.

“Everyone knows your name, Jacobs,” Fez wasn’t the only one he couldn’t scare. “Would hate for it to be dropped around the wrong people.”

The quarterback brought his arm down from her boyfriend’s neck, turning to face her with the gun only following his movements. Fezco stepped off him, making his way over to his girl.

He stood behind her, chest to her back as his hands rested against her waist. Lips moments from her neck as his eyes trained back on the teenager trying to raise hell in his own living room.

“Is that a threat?” The sour expression on Nate’s face was nothing short of unattractive. She didn’t know a lot about Maddie Perez, but she knew the girl could do better.

“No, it’s a fucking warning,” In an instant the gun was turned on it’s side. “I won’t say it again, get out of my house, before I fucking kill you.”

It didn’t take much more before Nate was dragging his knuckles out of the house, door slamming behind him. At that sound, she had the safety back down and was placing the gun in Fez’ hands.

He chuckled, turning her towards him with that same grip on her hips. His hands came back to put the gun in the band of his drawers, before he was shifting to cup her face. Fezco could feel the heat radiating off of her cheeks.

“Do I even ‘gotta tell you how fine you look waving my piece round like that?”

She matched his laugh, heart still beating wildly in her chest. Shaking her head, her lips came to Fezco’s, feeling the plush of his lips moving in time with hers. “I will definitely leave that up to you.”

“But you looked so good handling it, mamas.”

Brushing off his comment, she gripped his hand and lead him up to the bedroom, muttering something about him looking even better.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Fez stood in front of her, looking down at the woman who’d kill for him. He knew he’d found his absolute other half, there was no doubt about that.

He lifted the glock to her face, trailing the muzzle along her cheek before she turned her head gently and gave it a sweet kiss. He shook his head, leaning down to tuck it under their mattress.

Kneeling down before her, parting her knees so he could nestle in there, his face was so close to her own that she could feel the heat in his breath.

“You mean everything, baby, I fucking love you.”

That was what it was all about, the perfect balance that existed between them. Whilst Fezco might’ve been the guts, and she was the glory, there was no doubt that they’d always be what each other needed.

The first time in a while that Fez had felt was able to be vulnerable, was the moment he sunk into her arms after a grim night. She didn’t ask any questions, just wrapped him up in her and reassured him that she felt nothing but adoration for him.

On his part, he’d found paradise in a girl that was sweeter than an angel, but was always down to let him fuck her like a whore.

She wasn’t really down for a Halloween party, but she was always down to dress pretty and be on the arm of her man in the cleanest suit. Platform heels and a flowery mini dress, it was the godfather and the hippie, sat outside by the pool as the smoke from Fez’ blunt cast a cloud around them.

Thoughts drifted back to the moment they met, looking an awful lot like this.

Teenagers dipped in and out of the house to buy off her boyfriend, she just sat back with her legs up in his lap, feeling his fingers rubbing against her calf every now and then.

She said hello to the girls as they drifted past, but nothing felt better than when it was just the both of them, enjoying each other’s company as those under the influence stumbled around them.

Fezco let his hand drift slightly higher up her shin, calloused fingers coming to trace along the curve of her knee. She watched the movements of his touch, not ignoring the way her skin prickled underneath the graze of his nails.

Taking the blunt from his mouth, he turned to look at her fondly, hazy smile when he found her already looking back at him.

“This your song, mamas,” He referred to the Jack Harlow joint that was coming through the speakers. “You ‘gone dance for me like you do at home?”

She smirked, lifting her legs out of his lap and stepping out in front of him. “Depends if you’ve got the money to throw.”

Slowly spinning around for him, her hips swayed in a motion that he followed intently, catching onto the way her dress lifted with each movement.

“You trippin’ if you think ‘imma pay for what’s mine.”

Stopping the swing of her hips, she moved in closer to where Fezco sat with his legs spread wide. Moving between those legs, she bent over over and braced a hand on each of his knees.

“What are you tryna’ do, big man?”

Fez lent forward in his seat, lips coming to gently press to her own before he spoke in a hushed tone, better to keep his private moves private from the kids swirling around the both of them.

“I’m tryna’ blow your fucking back out.”

One thing could be said for Fezco, the man could keep his word. The minute he got her into the bedroom, large hands splayed across her hips and gripped tight enough to leave a mark.

Lips ran up the column of her throat, the graze of teeth left in the wake of his movements. Heady moans slipped off her tongue and filled the small room, coaxing Fez to move a little quicker.

His girl was getting impatient and he was never one to keep her waiting.

Turning her in his hands, he still had a mean grip on her waist as he moved her knees to perch on the edge of the bed. One large hand spread in the center of her shoulder blades as he pushed her chest down onto the mattress.

“Be a good girl and arch your back for me.”

Stomach dropping down and hips rolling back, she shook her ass for him as Fezco shifted up the hem of her dress, revealing the pretty lace she wore just for him. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them further apart till she got even lower.

One hand came back to slap the cheek of her ass, a sorry moan ripping from her chest as he massaged over the spot. Feeling the way his thumb traveled down the line of her underwear, grazing over where she was wettest for him.

Hooking around the band of the thin panties, Fez slipped them down her legs, sucking in a breath seeing how wet she’d been for him this whole time. She shook her hips, presenting herself to him like a meal he’d been waiting to be served.

“What got you so fuckin’ needy? Or you just always begging for it?” His voice rumbled through his chest, hitting her straight between the thighs.

“It’s always you, I just need you to fuck me.”

Two thick fingers dragged up her slit as she rolled her hips back for him, eager to catch anything that felt like pleasure. This teasing was nearly killing her, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to make her work for it.

“You ‘sposed to be a good girl but you lost your manners.”

Whining out, not caring how pathetic it must’ve sounded to him, she shook her ass again. Doing whatever she could to draw him and make him give it to her like she needed.

“Please, Fezco, I fucking need you.”

The sound of his belt coming loose was like music to her ears as his thumb gently dipped into her wetness. So close to getting what she wanted, he was never good at keeping anything from her. Especially not when she looked this pretty.

She felt him run the blunt head of his cock through her wetness, resting at her entrance for a moment. Tiny cries and whimpers still fell steadily from her pouted lips, Fezco sliding his hand down her back until his fingers fixed around the back of her neck.

“Drive me fuckin’ crazy,” With one thrust he filled her straight up. “I never felt anything like you, baby.”

Her cheek pressed against the mattress with his grip, filthy moans drifting through the air as she felt Fezco wrecking her. His other hand still gripped tight at her hip, pulling her back onto him with every thrust.

It was never better than when it was this nasty, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as he fucked her dumb, the only thing on her mind was his name as she sang it back to him. 

He loved the sound of her crying out for him, pussy clenching impossibly tight around him. Fez knew every spot within her, exactly what to do to make her come apart under his hands.

“You so fuckin’ tight, mamas,” He gritted his teeth as his hand slid from her neck to grip her shoulder. “Tryna’ make me buss’ quick.”

A filthy giggle rolled straight off her tongue, before it turned right back into another cry as Fezco hit that spot just right. The hand on her hip slipped under and before she knew it, her eyes were rolling back as his fingers moved quick against her clit.

He nearly ripped a scream from her, moving his hand back to slap her pussy, before rubbing that same spot. He was going to be the death of her one day, the way he always knew exactly what he was doing.

“Baby- I’m ‘gonna- I’m ‘gonna,” Her words dropped off as she moaned for him under the pressure of it all.

“You good, ‘lemme hear it.”

Clenching like a vice around him, her whole body tensed up as the white hot feeling of her orgasm rolled over her. There was no doubt the neighbors would know about it, the way he never let up on her, had her crying out off the top of her lungs.

Fezco dipped his hand under her throat, fingers lightly fixing around it as he pulled her up to kneel. Falling back against his chest as he kept fucking her through it, her hand came back to grip his thigh.

She knew he was near his end, his hips were stuttering and the way he was groaning in her ear, she knew she had him good. Turning her head, her nose brushed against his face so her lips were moments from his skin.

“Come in me, please, baby.”

That was all it took, his arm flying around her waist as he gripped her hard to him. Hips stilling deep inside her as he filled her up, a vulgar cry from her as she felt him hot and running in her. Sliding his hand down her chest, he crossed his arms against her, nuzzling down into her neck.

“Maybe you are a good girl, huh?”

There was no doubt that she wasn’t just good, she was the best. Who else was going to sit patiently with their feet in Fezco’s lap as he counted his money and chewed through a pack of cigarettes.

Couldn’t find another girl that’d stand by his side at the town carnival, looking just as sweet as the cotton candy she was placing on her tongue as locals came asking around for their friend Molly.

Hot summer days outside the convenience store, popsicle between her lips as her sundress flutters gently in the breeze. Fezco ready to round up anyone that stared just a little too long.

Maybe it was all that candy that went past her lips, but there was never anyone who acted, or tasted that sweet.

Hearing the door shut, her mouth naturally curved into a smile. He was home, meaning he was safe, meaning she was safe and content. Fezco rounded the couch to where she sat, one arm braced behind her on the cushion as he lent down to kiss her.

Hands naturally coming to cup his chin, she felt the scratch of his beard in her palms as his mouth moved gently against her own. His shoulders dipped with a sigh, one that told her he was just as happy to be home as she was to have him.

“You seem so tired,” She cooed as she separated their lips. “Let me take care of you.”

Her hand trailed down the front of his sweater, coming to rest on his belt. Fezco pressed her hand down, against his crotch, bringing their lips back together. As she moved her other hand to start undoing his belt, he squeezed her hands to stop them.

Placing a hand on either side of her thighs, he dropped to kneel in front of her, before wrapping his hands around her knees and parting them. Fez lifted each of her legs and draped them over his shoulders.

Rough hands pushed the bottom of his hoodie, that was currently covering her, up her body and exposing her scantily clad lower half. Shallow breaths came from her as he dragged her panties down her legs, shifting her hips closer to the edge of the couch.

“This the only place I wanna’ be right now, angel.”

Her breath came across as choppy as she relaxed back into the couch, feeling big hands grip the the skin of her thighs. Fez’ head moved between her legs, pressing a kiss straight to her slit.

Hands coming to hold his head, thumbs massaging against the skin as her hips rolled forward toward his mouth. Darting his tongue out, he drew it up and along her until it came into contact with her clit.

Drawing his tongue around the nub, he felt her legs tense up against his shoulders. Fezco’s hands gently rubbed at her legs, feeling her relax once again into him.

The soft little whimpers that only she could make fueled him like nothing else, dragging his tongue quicker in an attempt to draw any sounds out of her. Her hips bucked up with the sensation of his tongue, pulling his face in closer.

“God, Fezco, you always make me feel so good.”

Humming in response, the sensation moved through her from between her thighs and deep into her. The feeling of the tip of his tongue against her clit made her toes curl up, feet running along the length of his back.

Fez wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking the sensitive nerves and making her call out his name. Her chest rose, arching her back off the couch as her thighs tensed around his head.

He never let up, just continued the assault on her clit as she writhed beneath his grasp. Fez couldn’t get enough of this feeling, having her wrapped around him and completely falling apart in his hands.

She couldn’t believe how lucky she got, having a man that walked straight through the doors and got on his knees for her. There was never a moment where Fez didn’t have her feeling like she was in the clouds.

Her whole body burnt hot as his tongue dipped into her, before dragging back up. Eyes falling shut and fingernails running down the back of her head, every time he moaned at the feeling it hit her straight where she needed it. 

“You’re ‘gonna make me come, please don’t stop.”

Fezco’s eyes flickered up to her, watching the way her whole body moved for him and her head kept falling back in pleasure. To have her reacting so strongly to him, he hoped she couldn’t see the way his cheeks were starting to burn.

“Go ‘head baby, come for me.”

The high-pitch of her whine pierced the air as her hips stuttered against his mouth. She felt her body relax, the feeling of pleasure consuming her entirely as Fez let her ride his face out of her high.

As she came back down to Earth, he came back up to her, hand wiping down his beard and watching the glow of her face. Lazy smile across her face as she reached out for him, going back to his belt.

“You going to let me take care of you now?”

One day they’d roll out of this town together, find their peace and spend their time looking forward without a care. Until then they found peace in each other, holding one another close.

More than anything, they’d found hope in each other? That this wouldn’t be forever, that you could find forgiveness in whatever you’d done.

Whenever there was a doubt, she just echoed those words back to him with a smile, the ones that she’d never forgotten.

“I ain’t done ‘whichu yet.”

[griffintail]

I had this idea, I dunno if it’s dumb or not, but I figured if anyone knew it would be you! Y’know, cause you seem like you know way more than me about all these mcyt guys and gals? Anyways, I saw that a lot of people headcanon that Shlatt was Tubbo’s dad, and seeing all those dad!Shlatt AUs gave me an idea:

What if after Shlatt’s dead, after things have settled, after Tubbo becomes president and spends most of his time cleaning up the messes and mistakes Shlatt left behind- he discovers he wasn’t Shlatt’s only child. He finds handwritten letters in Shlatt’s files from a distant village, all of them fairly recent, asking him for child support money, or asking him to take “his mistake” with him. But the last letter Tubbo finds is a typed one informing Shlatt that the woman who sent all the previous letters has died, and that he has 1 month to come collect his child, or they’ll become a ward of the state; it’s been roughly 2 and a half weeks since that letter arrived. How would Tubbo react to all of this, and more importantly, would he take on the responsibility of becoming his new sibling’s guardian?

I don’t know how I became the person to come to for this lol. I hope you enjoy!

The Girl with the Horns

Pairings: Brother! Tubbo x Child! F! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of emotional abuse, Implied Buillying, Swearing

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

        Tubbo looked up the old White House building, taking a deep breath before going in. Inside, he immediately scrunched up his nose at the familiar smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

        “Damn it, dad.” He muttered under his breath before starting to clean up the building.

        He said he’d clean the building out himself as his father was the one who trashed it and now was that day. A lot of his presidency was cleaning up Schlatt’s mistakes before he even ran the rest of his new country. He sighed as he put another empty bottle in a trash bag. Schlatt had really lost it running things.

        Slowly but surely, Tubbo was able to get the White House to a much cleaner state. He was now in the main office and was searching the drawers for his father's inevitable “secret” booze stashes when he found some handwritten letters tucked in the very back of the drawer. Frowning, Tubbo took them out and saw them all addressed to Schlatt.

        Sitting down, Tubbo read the letter on top and his eyes went wide, back going straight as he reread the words before him.

        I want money for this child you helped bring into this world!

        A child?

        The rest of the letter was talking about asking for child support and Tubbo was floored. Quickly, he read the next letter and it was much of the same, demanding Schlatt to take responsibility.

        “Holy shit…” Tubbo muttered. “I got…I got a sibling?”

        He made his way through the rest of the letters, his heart clenching when the woman writing the letters called his poor sibling a mistake or made stabs at Schlatt.

        Then the last letter was a lot more formal. It was stamped with an official seal and dated. Schlatt had opened it as told by the broken seal but had obviously also put the letter back without a care after reading. Tubbo’s breath hitched as he read the letter though.

          Dear Mr. Jschlatt:

        We are sorry to inform you Miss Trentha has passed in an accident.

        Behind, she has left a five-year-old (Y/N), of which in our records has your name on her birth papers. We will give you a month’s time to make a decision; after, we will have no choice but to send (Y/N) to become a ward of the state.

                Tubbo quickly looked at the date of when the letter was sent.

        “Two and a half weeks!” Tubbo exclaimed as he jumped up. “Shit! What should I do?”

        He looked around the office he had spent time cleaning trying to process everything at once, words failing him. In a few short moments, he had found out he wasn’t an only child, that Schlatt hadn’t even looked back at this girl or her horrible mother, and that the sibling he just found out about was going to become a ward of the state! Schlatt had at least been kind enough to Tubbo to let Philza raise him but this child going into the adoption system…

        “I-I got to run L’Manberg. There’s so much to do.” Tubbo ran a hand through his hair as he panicked.

        But then Tommy’s words echoed in his head.

        You can’t become the next Schlatt.

        Schlatt was obviously going to let this child fend for themselves, Tubbo couldn’t be his father. He had to at least meet them. With a new will, he gathered around his friends, and with reassurances that they had L’Manberg covered, Tubbo set off on a horse to the village. It was a good three-day journey, so he’d only have roughly a week left to make his decision of what he was going to do.

        Coming to the village, Tubbo took a deep breath as he stared at it. What was she going to be like? She probably didn’t have the best raising based on the letters that the mother sent. Tying up the horse outside the main hall, Tubbo went in, going through the various processes to prove that he was indeed Jschlatt’s child and proving that his father was dead.

        After, they took Tubbo to a home where a bunch of children were outside playing but there was one that stood out among them and it wasn’t because she was sitting alone. It was because she had tiny horns on top of her head that were just starting to come in. Tubbo put a hand on his horns that were just starting to curl without thinking.

        “That’s (Y/N).” The man that led him here nodded to the little girl.

        “She’s five, right?” Tubbo asked.

        “Yes. She’s not very talkative, but you can introduce yourself to her.”

        Tubbo had few guesses why she didn’t want to talk. He went over, a few of the other kids were pointing at him. (Y/N) was using a stick to push images in the dirt, looking up when a shadow got in the way of the sun. Tubbo smiled when he saw her surprise when she looked up at him, he sitting next to her, wearing his casual wear rather than his suit.

        “Hi. I’m Tubbo.” He introduced himself to her.

        (Y/N) was silent as she stared obviously at his horns. “You have horns…”

        “Yeah, I do. I’m a ram just like you.”

        “Really?” She met his eyes now.

        “Mhm. I, uh, I actually knew your dad because he was my dad.”

        She shifted as she looked back at the ground. “Daddy was a bad man.”

        Tubbo winced, putting a hand on his neck. “Why do you say that?”

        “Mommy use to say that.”

        “Ah. Well…dad wasn’t the greatest, I agree. It wasn’t nice for him to leave you alone.”

        The little girl was silent and Tubbo tried to think of a subject change.

        “Do you like drawing?”

        She nodded. “Mommy wouldn’t let me use paper but I like drawing in the dirt.”

        “Oh…do you…have any friends?”

        She put a hand on one of her little horns and he immediately understood.

        “I get it.” He smiled gently, putting a hand on his horn. “I didn’t have a lot of friends until I met my best friend Tommy. I’m sure you will find some friends.”

        His heart melted as she gave him her first small smile. “I hope so.”

        He sat with her just talking away, the time passing so fast without either of them knowing as they talked. He felt like he learned so much but so little about her; yet, he loved every moment sitting with her. She had to go back with the other children of the orphanage but within a few hours, Tubbo made up his mind. He couldn’t leave this little girl with everyone else; he’d take her back to L’Manberg.

        So, in the morning, Tubbo put on his suit to be professional and he did the paperwork before waiting for them to bring (Y/N). (Y/N) came in timidly and Tubbo smiled gently as he crouched in front of her.

        “Hey, so, I don’t want to leave without you, would you like to come with me? I can introduce you to a few of my good friends.”

        “…They’re all nice like you, right?”

        He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, a few of them are pretty nice.”

        She looked around but nodded. “Ok.”

        He grinned as he stood up. “Then I’m going to take you back to my home.”

        They got the few things that she owned and Tubbo put them on the horse. After, Tubbo changed into more appropriate riding clothes before getting on with (Y/N).

        “Alright, here we go.” He muttered before getting the horse to go.

        Off they went to L’Manberg, Tubbo making sure they had shelter each night. It was a bit stressful for Tubbo on these few days. He had gotten used to not eating every day but he had to remember now to make sure (Y/N) ate. He also had to remember this was boring as hell for her so he tried his best to make little games as they galloped along. There was a point he went off on a bee tangent for half an hour after spotting one and pouted to himself when he saw (Y/N) had fallen asleep against him but he kept an arm wrapped around her so she didn’t fall off.

        As he got back to L’Manberg, he huffed as he saw Tommy and Fundy arguing as Quackity was laughing, Ranboo standing to the side awkwardly. Yeah, that’s how he expected his cabinet to act with him gone. He tied up his horse, grabbing (Y/N)’s things before taking her hand as he walked over to them. As the pair went over, (Y/N) hide behind him shyly.

        “Guys!” Tubbo called.

        “Tubbo! Tell this furry bitch—” Tommy started.

        “Oh, fuck off Tommy!” Fundy shouted back.

        They started having another go.

        “GUYS!” Tubbo shouted, making (Y/N) jump with the rest of the group. “I have someone for you to meet, so can you shut it?”

        Tommy spotted the little girl peeking out from behind Tubbo, noticing the horns first.

        “Holy shit, she has horns like yours.” Tommy went around Tubbo.

        “Yeah, this is (Y/N), she’s my little sister.”

        “A sister?!” Tommy looked at Tubbo surprised.

        Tubbo nodded. “I adopted her.”

        “I’m sorry?”

        “It’s a long story but I’m back and I’m got to bring her to my house,” Tubbo told them before walking off, feeling the little girl squeeze his hand tighter, probably getting overwhelmed.

        They got to Tubbo’s house and he looked around.

        “Er…You can have my room. I’ll need to make you a room.” He smiled at her.

        “Ok…thank you.”

        He patted her head between her horns. “I couldn’t leave you behind sis. Let’s get you settled in and I can make us some steak. Sound good?”

        She nodded.

        Tubbo knew it would be stressful learning to take care of another human while he had to run a nation but he had his friends to help him. He hoped he could do all this right.

[wearethestraydogs]

Armin x everyone hc’s

*Some intentionally romanctic, others not. Take it as you will.

*modern au

*TW: (a little) nsfw, mentions of self-harming and other mature themes.

•••••

Marco/Armin :

-✨ Besties ✨

-would cuddle with each other until they fell asleep.

-Armin has nightmares and panic attacks and he always goes to Marco whenever it gets too much.

-the type to slow dance with each other at prom

-takes each other to prom because no one asked them.

-sleepovers ( either it be with the squad or just themselves ) are a must.

-Korean dramas. All I’m gonna say.

-Just dance buddies ( and sometimes Connie joins )

-they have kissed each other once, on a middle school dare. They didn’t really know what to say.

-Marco loves to drag Armin over to his house to play Mario Kart or Minecraft.

-The loving supporters, will hold each other up for everything.

-Marco is the only one ( well Mikasa too, ) Armin trusts when it comes to his feelings and secrets.

-have matching bff necklaces. More like ‘promise rings’ for besties. Never take them off.

-Marco drinks, kinda, but Armin doesn’t. And Marco revels in that.

-Both know Morse code so they’ll literally be tapping to each other during class.

-Whenever Armin started to ‘stress-cut’, Marco would spend every waking hour with him, taking care of him, making him feel loved.

-Marco met Armin’s grandpa about a year before he died and has always comforted Armin after that.

-Armin’s Grandfathers last wishes to Marco was to “take care of him, make sure he’s okay and make sure he sees the ocean.”

-these are the bestie pairs.

Connie/Armin :

-these crazy bitches-

-met when Connie wanted to hide his weed stash in Armin’s locker and the blonde agreed.

-after that they became friends.

-they will literally jam to bts at full volume in their car.

- ✨ Just Dance for the soul ✨

-Mario Kart reigning champions.

-Connie knows Armin hates the smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke or weed so he keeps all that stuff away from him.

-founder of the #protectbabyArmin club.

-will beat up anyone who fucks with Armin.

-Onesie buddies. Got matching ones for sleepovers.

-Armin was the first to find out Connie was bi.

-Admittedly Connie has a crush on Armin.

-Wanted to make-out with him on several occasions.

-Armin will constantly be picking up drunk Connie from parties and bringing him home to rest and relax.

-These two could live off red-bulls and Poptarts for days.

-Study Buddies. ( more or less )

-Connie helped dress Armin. Like, took him to the mall for a major shopping spree and got him his own style instead of cheap hand-me-downs.

-ARMIN IS CLINGY WITH EVERYONE OKAY! And he will snuggle up to Connie whenever he’s not feeling too well that day and the baldy is always up for snuggle time.

-had to “fake” being Connie’s boyfriend so some creepo would stop hitting on Armin.

Sasha/Armin :

-same as Connie.

-Met her through Connie, at one of his parties.

-Will share food constantly.

-always getting boba and mochi.

-Sasha once walked in on Armin having a panic attack in the bathroom of Connie’s apartment, went into protective mode and started comforting and went to grab his plushies and snacks.

-will sit there and have a Disney marathon for no reason whatsoever.

-it’s just one of those days.

-cosplayers. Change my mind.

-Sasha taught him how to ask people out. He used it on someone and it worked.

-wEeBs. Breaking the fourth wall but oh well-

-will share hoodies if Armin’s are dirty.

-will also take Armin shopping.

-the vice-president of Connie’s club.

-Hugs. Needs them. Constantly.

Reiner/Armin :

-star football athlete and nerdy geek dynamic.

-teaches Armin the basics of flirting, kissing, sex…

-ngl, he wanted to fuck Armin. Thought he was pretty.

-Smacked his ass a couple of times.

-Head pats. Reiner will just randomly pat Armin’s head and ruffle his hair, it’s his way of showing affection.

-Will give Reiner answers to tests, only if he takes him out for some fast-food and binge watch some new Netflix show.

-Armin is good friends with Annie, Reiners almost “sister” and will constantly be stopping fights between the two.

-confessed to Armin he liked him but he was hella drunk so Armin didn’t think he meant it.

-also drives out of his way to pick up a drunk Reiner, who’ll talk shit about everyone and everything the whole ride home.

-Reiner saw Armin cry for the first time and hugged him, which was weird cuz Reiner hates hugs.

-tried to get Armin to drink, to no avail.

Mikasa/Armin :

-Childhood best friends.

-knew each other since they were five.

-she’s like a mother to him. Keeps him out of trouble.

-will SLAP anybody who hurts him. Has done it before.

-will constantly be around each other. Mikasa’s paranoid something may happen to him.

-cuddles and hugs. She’s kissed him on the forehead once or twice after a panic attack or anxiety spike.

-the one to take care of him when he’s sick.

-she’s so motherly it’s unreal.

-she listens to everything Armin has to say, and vice versa.

-completely understood when Mikasa came out as Aro/Ace. And Armin did everything in his willpower to keep any pervs away.

-Mikasa practically threw herself at Armin when she found out he was self-harming.

-Drowned

-showered him in love and support, bought him so many new plushies.

-will keep Armin as pure and innocent as she possibly can.

-didn’t judge Armin when he said he enjoyed dressing as a girl sometimes.

Jean/Armin :

-Jean is the biggest simp oh my lord-

Used to like Mikasa until he met Armin.

-always gets flustered around Armin. Blushing at nearly everything he says.

-Marco’s step-brother, met Armin through him.

-my dude is LITERALLY oblivious to Jeans attempts.

-will take him out to dinner, sit down to watch a movie, anything.

-loves to cuddle with Armin. And Armin enjoys it equally.

-Armin’s Jeans tutor, although Jean never studies and would rather stare at his blonde beauty all day.

-Jean doodles in Armin’s notebooks/textbook.

-they sit beside each other in science.

-would stay up late questioning life in general.

-Jean gets jealous whenever Eren comes back around.

-with get all pissy and bratty.

-Armin will have to take care of him.

-✨ pillow forts ✨

-TikTok dancers.

-American crime shows.

Eren/Armin :

-little to nonexistent.

-used to be BEST friends, like, soulmates.

-until Eren left without saying goodbye.

-Armin cried every night for the six months after that.

-frankly, hates Eren for that.

-though some part of him still loves him.

-Eren will come visit every now and then, just to see Armin.

-Eren hates everyone, accept Armin. He loves Armin, wants him to be his. But since he’s away so much…eh.

-HATES Jean. Despises him.

-It’s awkward trying to show Armin physical affection. Cuz it’s been so long.

-loves Armin. Is crazy for him.

-Armin doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. He hates the fact he’s here.

-whenever he found out Armin was cutting, he felt so heartbroken and to know he was one of the causes to it- made him cry.

-honestly though, Eren should just go back to Zeke.

[morporkian-cryptid]

1, 12, and 18 for Lupin, 7, 14, and 17 for Goemon, 2, 10, and 13 for Jigen, 6, 15 and 21 for Fujiko and 4, 11, and 16 for Zenigata!

(for the headcanon list. Also if that's too many you can just pick and choose which ones you want to do ^^ )

Dude. There's NEVER too many :D

Long post ahead.

Lupin:

1) Their physical weak spots

His limbs are so thin and noodly, there's no way they wouldn't snap in two if you simply blow on them.

His chest, actually. The sword blow(s) from Goemon left him quite weak, it took him months to fully recover, and it still hurts sometimes.

12) Grudges and vendettas

Lupin tends to not give much thoughts to the past or to the future, he lives in the present. However, there are certain cases where he'll hold a grudge - against himself, sort of: if he's failed to steal a thing, you can be certain he'll come back, because he hates the idea of failing to reach a goal he set for himself. As for grudges against others: if you've hurt his partners, always sleep with one eye open. Because he will be coming for you, no matter where you hide.

18) Things they’ll never admit

His weaknesses. His fears, his insecurities, when he thinks he might not measure up to a certain heist or villain. When a plan is crumbling down in front of his eyes and he doesn't have a backup. Anything pertaining to his relationship with his father and grandfather.

Depending on the situation, also his feelings for his partners. They know he loves them, he shows it in the most dramatic and romantic way possible; but openly expressing how much they truly mean to him, how he's afraid of losing them, or of them turning against him, or just them not loving him anymore, or talking about everything they've done for him without realizing, how much they've helped him heal... You'll have to pry that out of him with a crowbar.

Goemon:

7) Their tickle spots

He isn't ticklish at all. He'll just stand there like a brick wall, looking very puzzled as Lupin's squeezing his fingers on his stomach for some obscure reason.

14) Ingrained habits/forces of habit

Someone else asked me this one, so I'll answer it in a separate ask!

17) Regrets

Murasaki.

Jigen:

2) Their emotional/moral weak spots

I think he's too nice for his line of work. He's soft for women in distress, he spares people too easily, and he's too attached to a moral code that might get him killed. Mind you, the first two probably developed after he met Lupin, but they've always been traits that he's had, even if he stifled them in order to survive.

10) Fears/phobias

What if... hear me out... what if Jigen was claustrophobic (I might expand on that later if I figure out some more details)

Also I think it would be funny if he's arachnophobic, and his response to seeing a spider is shooting it.

Jigen's afraid he'll be outmatched someday. Not because he's scared of dying, but because there's still a small part of him, despite everything, that believes Lupin might cast him aside if he stops being useful.

Actually, nowadays he might be afraid of dying - a little. More specifically, of being killed. Because it's not just his life anymore, it would hurt the people he loves, leave a bleeding hole in their lives, and the idea of doing that to them hurts him (but he still gets into needlessly dangerous situations regardless, 1) to protect them and 2) because of the aforementioned moral code pushing him to accept duels to the death with his crazy exes)

losing Lupin

Overall, I think Jigen has more fears now that he knows Lupin than he did before. Because now he has something to lose, and he is something to lose.

13) What gets them flustered

I think Jigen would get flustered by genuine affection. He's used to Lupin flirting with him (and with anything that moves, really) so he kind of got numbed to it. But if Lup or Goe express tenderness with him, show him little attentions, genuinely tell him how much he means to them, how much they love him... That's gonna get him blushing. Lupin playfully telling him he's hot will not have much of an effect on him, but if Lup were to gently cup his chin and stare at him in wonder trying to memorize every little detail, speck and reflections in his eyes, Jigen would turn beet red.

It happens mostly with Goemon, because Goe might not talk much, but when he does, it's always very serious and genuine. Lupin notices it happen a few times, and the idea of making Jigen blush might actually be the push he needed to let down his mask in front of his partner and open up about his feelings (because "It's not 'making myself vulnerable' if I'm just trying to make my boyfriend blush, right?")

Also Lupin wearing his hat.

Fujiko:

6) Their vices (physical or emotional)

Fujiko has a secret stash of yaoi manga. It's not a vice, she just doesn't want anyone to know.

She smokes and she drinks. She doesn't smoke as much as the boys because nicotine would ruin her teeth and her voice, and that's bad for business; but she could drink Jigen under a table. She has some bad habits with alcohol, that rear their heads up after a particularly rough job, when she's tired of men and the world in general. She usually ends up pulling herself out of these bad passes, she just needs time to put her armor back on again; but sometimes her partners have to come check on her and help her before she sinks completely.

(wow. was not expecting this to get dark)

15) What it takes to make them cry

Anything that might make her money if she looks vulnerable. That's it. She can cry on command.

She never cries otherwise. Ever.

Maybe once, in Goemon's arms, after the pressure of a job coupled with her messy relationships with him and with Lupin got too much for her, and she couldn't untangle her feelings from her masks anymore

21) Turning points in their life

The obvious one would be meeting Lupin. Other than that, we know nothing of her backstory in canon, and I kinda like it like that.

Zenigata:

4) Best places to kiss on their body

E V E R Y W H E R E !!!

His chub. It must be SO SOFT.

...I did start writing a list but it was just a detailed version of "everywhere", so...

I SWEAR I don't even have a crush on him! I just like him so much and I think he deserves all the hugs and kisses. Mostly from Lupin. And from Jigen too. Please let Zenigata be loved

11) Bad or petty habits

His whole life is a mess of bad habits. The man lives off cup ramen, black coffee and three non-consecutive hours of sleep. Not to mention the cigarettes.

I don't think Zeni is petty at all. He's too honest and straight for that. If he's angry with you, he'll tell you upfront. (or punch you in the face, depending whether you're a criminal or not)

16) Dark secrets/’skeletons in the closet’

Oscar

I honestly have no idea, but if I find some, I'll get back to you!

[violetrose-art]

Corpse Bride Headcannons, Theories, and Ideas

This is just a list of the theories, headcannons, and ideas I came up with for Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. I might add more later on, so watch out

-Victor and Victoria were born and raised in a small English village close to the Atlantic Ocean called Burtonsville

-Victor’s full name is Victor Ichabod Van Dort

-When he was about four years old, Victor found Scraps as a mixed-breed puppy in an alleyway. Nell and William refused at first, but William saw how his son quickly became attached to the dog, so he let him stay. Sadly, when Victor turned eight, Scraps was brutally mauled and tragically killed while trying to defend his beloved owner from a bigger, nastier dog

-Victor’s favorite toy as a child was a stuffed horse he called Usher. He begged his mother to let him keep Usher until he was fourteen

-Victor learned to play the piano when he was about five years old. He was a fast learner and he picked up on it very quickly, and his tutor was greatly impressed by his skill. His favorite musicians are Mozart and Beethoven

-Victor works as an artist to draw many types of butterflies for the Lepidoptera Community, as well as a professional pianist. Originally, his father wanted him to work as a fish merchant and take over the family business, but Victor politely told him “no thanks” because he wanted to follow his own dreams. William was disappointed, but deep down he wanted his son to be happy. So he usually encouraged him, especially when Nell wasn’t around

-Outside from his butterfly works, Victor does paintings during his free time at home. The color theory that he studied was written by Eugene De La Croix·         Victor has been drawing since he was a child. His favorite things to draw are animals, butterflies, and other insects. He also does landscapes and people sometimes. He also likes to write sometimes, mostly a few poems and a couple musical compositions. Nothing he took too seriously, though. He also likes to sing when he thinks he’s alone

-In his childhood, Victor used to have a somewhat regular playmate named Humphrey. They were almost friends, but when William’s business became very successful and Victor’s family became rich when Victor was about eleven, Humphrey stopped coming over and the two boys haven’t seen each other since

-When he was a boy, he learned how to speak French because his mother thought it was “high-class” to be bilingual. Victor was diligent in his studies and thus has a good knowledge of spoken and written French. He may not be perfectly fluent, but he can carry on a decent conversation

-Victor is severely allergic to walnuts and poison oak

-Victor had a cousin named Mary whom he was very fond of, but she passed away when she was seventeen and he was six. She got lost in the woods and was attacked and devoured by a pack of wolves

-Victor doesn’t drink anything more than the occasional glass of champagne or wine. The reason? Mayhew once got him drunk and it turns out Victor is a CHATTY drunk. As in, he’ll tell you his life story at the slightest provocation. Victor was so embarrassed when he sobered up that he nearly swore off all alcohol forever. It’s very unlikely he’ll ever knowingly get wasted again·         After he and Victoria were finally married, Victor gained confidence and he stood up against Victoria's parents earning him some respect

-Victor HATES smoking. He was secretly offered a cigarette from Mayhew when he was fourteen and after the first inhale, he was coughing and gagging so much that he nearly threw up

-Victor is the tallest member of the Van Dort family, making him stand out quite a bit during family reunions

-He may not be a sporty person, but Victor enjoys cycling. He also loves a good game of chess

-Victor adores reading. His favorite writers are William Blake, Charles Baudelaire, Lewis Carroll, Edgar Allan Poe, and William Shakespeare

His favorite books are “Les Miserables”, “Dracula”, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “The Fall of the House of Usher” and other works by E.A. Poe. The play/book that he hates the most is “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” because he strongly dislikes this style of a love triangle in the plot line. He also has a fascination with penny dreadful. Yes, he knows the serial stories are really nothing but lowest common denominator trash, but he loves them anyway. He got hooked on them as a teenager thanks to Mayhew’s nephew, and he used to keep a secret stash under his mattress

-When she still rather young, Victor noticed that his daughter, Emily, became very interested in music, so he taught her how to play the piano as well as the violin

-Victoria was the one who taught her son, Edward, how to read and they bond over books and stories they both enjoy

-The worst day of Victor’s life happened about three weeks after Scraps died. Victor’s parents had some business friends over for tea, and forced a still-grieving Victor to come down and be social. Poor Victor made a bad impression, being quieter and clumsier than normal, culminating in knocking over one man, tripping his wife, and insulting said wife’s coat in apologizing. Nell, humiliated and enraged, turned on her son once the guests were off, screaming at him about what an embarrassment he was while they were still standing on the front steps. Victor was so horrified, embarrassed, and depressed that he came too close to taking his own life. He got his hands on his father’s straight-razor, snuck into the bathroom, and actually had it to his neck when a noise from outside the bathroom spooked him and he dropped the razor and ran back to his room as fast as he could. Fortunately, the distraction gave him time to realize suicide wouldn’t fix anything, and he made a promise to himself never to stoop that low again. His parents also apologized the next day, which helped a lot. Victor avoids telling anyone about it unless he feels he has to, certain they’ll think less of him for it

-Victor was born June 9th, 1867

-Victoria’s full name is Victoria Elizabeth Everglot

-When she was very little, Victoria had always wanted a pet (like a cat or a small dog) but her mother said that having a pet in the house was uncivilized and improper and that all animals were filthy and uncouth creatures

-Victoria’s favorite hobby is sewing and knitting. She often designs most of her husband’s clothes and others in her spare time

-As a child, Victoria tried to be closer to her parents, but often found the family maid Hildegarde as more of a mother figure

-Victoria loves to read in her spare time… even though most people call it scandalous for a woman to do such a thing. Her mother even said reading was too passionate for a young lady. At a young age, Hildegarde, taught Victoria how to read (something her parents never found out about)

-Her favorite books are “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “A Christmas Carol”, and any classic fairy tale. And her favorite writers are Charles Dickens, Lewis Carroll, Charles Perrault, Hans Christian Andersen, and the Brothers Grimm

-Victoria’s favorite toy as a child was a china doll she called Miss Liddie. By the time she was about eleven, she had grown out of it. Even though she knows she’s too old for toys now, she still misses Miss Liddie

-Victoria isn’t allergic to anything, but she does tend to sneeze if dust is in the air

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was nearly trampled by a horse-drawn carriage, which made her develop a slight fear of horses

-Victoria likes to sing whenever she thinks she’s alone. She doesn’t believe it, but she has a surprisingly lovely singing voice

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was entranced by the piano in her house and she immediately wanted to learn how to play but her mother had told her daughter many times that music was improper and too passionate for a young lady. But Victor always tells his wife that music is a wonderful way to express oneself and that he would be more than happy to teach her how to play

-Victoria used to have a regular playmate named Gwyneth in her girlhood. They were good friends, but when Victoria reached her pre-teen years, Gwyneth stopped coming over to play for some reason and she never heard from her since

-Victoria is the most beautiful member of the Everglot family

-When she was in her early teens, Victoria secretly dreamed of becoming a writer someday

-Victoria was born February 3rd, 1868

-Victor and Victoria had two children. Their names are Emily Alice Van Dort (age 15) and Edward Daniel Van Dort (age 10)

-When Victor and Victoria were married, they moved out of their parents houses and bought a beautiful two story house that sat at the edge of a large meadow that was right next to the forest… plus, the house was a good mile or so away from Burtonsville

-The Corpse Bride’s full name is Emily Charlotte Cartwell

-Emily was born into a wealthy family. Her parents, Lord and Lady Cartwell, couldn’t say ‘no’ to their daughter and they practically gave her everything she asked for, so she became incredibly spoiled, selfish, and incredibly naïve·         Emily was a hopeless romantic, often spending time reading romance novels and daydreaming about her wedding when she was alive

-When she was alive, Emily was blonde

-When she made it to Heaven, Emily was finally reunited with her mother and father

-When their daughter disappeared, Lord and Lady Cartwell were so sad and depressed that they wasted away and passed away in their sleep

-Before ascending, Emily considered Bonejangles to be one of her best friends. They used to sing and dance together all the time. He even taught her how to play the piano

-When she was alive, Emily knew how to ride horses. She even had a pet white mare she called Aphrodite

-Emily Cartwell died at age eighteen

-Lord Barkis’s full name is Barkis Finbar Campbell Bittern

-Emily met Lord Barkis while she was on an outing with her parents. Her parents had their backs turned while Emily was talking with Barkis. After only a few minutes of talking, she was instantly smitten with him and she accepted his immediate proposal of marriage… and her mother and father were not happy about it at all. Emily and her father had a huge fight and she decided to elope with Barkis… but for her, it didn’t go as planned

-Barkis told her that if they were going to be together, they would need money. Emily wasn’t sure, but in the end, she agreed

-On the night she was running away, Emily stole not only her mother’s wedding dress, veil, gloves, and best shoes, but she also stole the jewels from her mother’s jewelry box and a large bag of gold from her father’s office

-As Emily was waiting for her fiancé that night, Barkis snuck up behind her, stabbed her, knocked her out cold, took all of her money and jewels, and buried her alive. She woke up in a shallow grave and tried to claw her way out before suffocating to death. That's why her hand was sticking out of the ground

-Barkis was married six times in his life. He and his first wife were married out of love until he found her cheating on him and killed her. The second was an elderly widow for her money. The third one got away before he could even hurt her, but she drowned herself in a deep, rushing river. The fourth was a drunken lonely woman who “accidentally” fell out of a two story window. The fifth being Emily and the sixth being Victoria

-In the Land of The Dead, Barkis was brutally beaten and ripped apart before he was imprisoned in an iron coffin chained seven feet underground with other criminals like him for all eternity

-After he ran away, Barkis studied linguistics in French, Latin, German, and Russian in order to impress others… or use different fake accents to fool them with

-Barkis’s original first name was Bradford and he had a rough upbringing. His father was a violent alcoholic and his mother was a reckless prostitute and they both abused Bradford as a child until he ran away from home at age sixteen and changed his name to Lord Barkis

-Barkis has a twin sister who had a son named Hector. Hector greatly looked up to his uncle and when he heard about what happened to Barkis, he was taken aback, but he also felt he could use that to his advantage. When he turned 30, Hector came to Burtonsville to exact revenge on the Van Dort family… but he also developed a vile infatuation with Emily. Whenever he tries to woo the young girl (which always fails since Emily finds him repulsive and cruel), Victor gladly steps in the way every time and he always sternly tells Hector to stay away from his daughter

-Mrs. Van Dort’s full name is Eleanor Minerva Fitzackley Van Dort

-Nell came from a lower class family. She lived with her father, mother, and three sisters. However, Nell wasn’t happy with her place in society and she wanted to became something more

-Nell and William first met when she was caught in the rain one stormy day and he offered her a ride home in his fish merchant carriage. She declined at first, but quickly gave in when it started to bucket down. As they rode together, they started chatting and soon became very interested in one another

-Nell and William made their way back to the village just in time to witness Emily's soul disappear into the night as a swarm of blue butterflies

-When she learned about Mayhew’s death, Nell quietly wept in her room about it. She might be overbearing, but deep down, she truly does care for the ones closest to her. She also adores her husband and son, even if she does find them a bit irritating. She just has a hard time showing her emotions

-Mr. Van Dort’s full name is William Oscar Van Dort

-William loves talk about fish and his business, he always tries to weasel in the topic whenever possible to his wife and son's annoyance

-William used to take Victor on fishing trips when he was younger, which practically bored Victor to death

-While he tends to be the more passive one in their relationship, William does put his foot down when the situation calls for it

-It may not seem like it, but William adores Victor and he tries to do whatever he can to be there for his son

-When Victor turned sixteen, William gave him a silver pocket watch with a design of a fish on the front and his initials

-Lady Everglot’s full name is Maudeline Hortense Glottberg Everglot

-Maudeline and Finis didn’t plan on having a child in the first place and Victoria came as more of a surprise

-Maudeline had a sister named Marie who loved playing the piano. They didn’t get along in their youth and they drifted apart as they grew up. Maudeline wasn’t even invited to Marie’s wedding to Lord Frederick Cartwell

-When Marie died, she left her piano to her sister, but Maudeline never touched it. She felt it brought back too many memories and forbade Victoria from going near it was well

-Lord Eveglot’s full name is Finis Augustus Everglot

-While he was disappointed in not having a son, Finis deeply cares for his daughter. He just doesn’t know how to show it

-Even though they’re not good at sharing their feelings, Maudeline and Finis do care for each other to some extent

-Hildegarde has lots of grandchildren and she visited their home in the countryside as often as she could before she passed away

-When he was alive, Bonejangles was a freelance jazz musician from America and his original name was Dexter. He was finishing a gig in England when he died in a horrible carriage accident (he was run over), which also caused him to lose his eyeball

-General Bonesapart and General Wellington were actually General Napoleon Bonaparte and English General Wellington, two real historical figures. However, even though they hated each other at first, they became real pals eventually

-Although they don't say it out loud, people in Burtonsville make fun of Maudeline's hair cut, calling her names like "Rump Head" or "Hairmungus"

-Elder Gutknecht is one of the many Afterlife Lords, responsible for managing the dead after they pass. Among them include God, the Devil, King Vince, Hades, Hel, Osiris, Odin, Freya, and, the Hindu God Yama

-The Underworld is actually thousands of miles underground and due to the magic surrounding it. Mortals can't access it unless they die themselves

-After his death, Mayhew kicked the habit of smoking altogether and is very glad he did

-Elder Gutknecht has a fearsome Hellhound by the name of Infernius, his fierce and ever loyal pet. He guards the entrance to the Land of the Dead and can breathe fire that heats up to 900 degrees

-The fellow who was cut cleanly in half was an English gentleman by the name of Herman, who lived in Burtonsville years before. He ended up meeting his death due to an accident involving a rather large guillotine

-Generals Bonesapart and Wellington are the leaders of army of the Land of the Dead, but are only called into combat in times of great peril

-The people of Burtonsville sometimes call Lord Everglot “Everglut” behind his back

-Victoria has a cousin by the name of Dolores. Dolores is something of a freeloading con artist who moved to America when she left home. She considers herself a very attractive woman, but she just wears too much makeup and rather revealing clothes and is actually rather sleazy in reality. She also smokes, which Victoria and the rest of the Everglots are strongly against

-When he was alive, Elder Gutknecht used to be a wise sage that helped people in their time of need. He passed away when he reached the age of 102

-The Everglots were a family of nobles with a significant amount of money, but due to a bit of excessive gambling (by Dolores), they lost almost everything

-Almost every member of the Everglot family is rather ugly due to bad genetics. Victoria considers herself very, VERY lucky to have not inherited such genes (she unknowingly received her natural beauty from her late Aunt Marie)

-Pastor Galswells was raised in a strict environment. He was taught that kindness was weakness and to be stern and firm with everyone. He passed away shortly after the official wedding of Victor and Victoria and a new pastor took his place. His name is Pastor Ivan Blackthorp and he’s much kinder and friendlier than Galswells ever was

-The reason Victor named his dog Scraps was because he only ate table scraps

-The people of Burtonsville have a secret inside joke about the squatty walk Finis Everglot does where they assume that he would jump like a toad and snatch up a fly at any moment

-Burtonsville is well known for its raven population and there's an old legend saying they're messengers to the Land of the Dead

-For some weird reason, William Van Dort is known to mutter the words "Fishy, fishy, fish" in his sleep and it honestly creeps Nell out

-Paul, the decapitated head waiter, was actually a French man who served Marie Antoinette during her reign. Unfortunately, he was unjustly executed by association with the queen when the French Revolution broke out and he was never able to find his body after he died

-Several people have assumed Maudeline's hair is an actual wig and she's bald under it… only to be mistaken, resulting in a whooping

-Lord Barkis was a master of disguise in life and was never caught by the police as a result

-The Underworld has a prison known as the Iron Tomb and it holds some pretty infamous inmates who include Bluebeard, Caligula, Henry VIII, Mary I of England, and many more

-The Town of Burtonsville was actually built on an ancient burial ground, which is possibly why the Land of the Dead is connected to it

-After her death, Emily was made the official guardian angel of the Van Dort family

This is all I've got so far, but feel free to tell me what you think and tell me which one is your favorite

[dreamofmysoul-tsc]

Elias Carstairs, Matthew Fairchild, and the Disease of Alcoholism

I’m very nervous about posting this but I think it’s important. 

Now before you guys scroll past this post, I’m gonna ask that whoever may read this take some time to hear from my perspective. I would like to preface this by saying that I do not know, nor am I claiming to know, what it’s like to face racism and prejudice everyday, nor do I know what it was like to be queer in a time that was less than accepting and terribly cruel to LGBTQIA+ folks. I will not be speaking about either of those things here, as it is not my place to. However, I do know what it’s like to live with an alcoholic. I do know what it’s like to have an alcoholic parent and I have seen what addiction does to a person and their family firsthand. 

Final disclaimer, I am in no way trying to attack or target anybody. All I am doing is providing my own perspective when it comes to the discourse surrounding Elias Carstairs and the differing opinions I have seen in regards to Matthew. I would also like to state that my experiences are my own, and are in no way reflective of every addicts’ experience or the experiences of their children/loved ones. Addiction affects everybody differently. 

I am also not a psychologist or a doctor; everything stated below are my personal experiences as a child of an alcoholic. 

Now let’s get started. 

CW for alcoholism, substance abuse, abuse in general, and death

Elias

When I first started Chain of Gold I didn’t anticipate how much I was going to relate to Alastair. Honestly, I didn’t have strong opinions about him either way; I didn’t hate him, but I didn’t love him either. That was until it was revealed why Elias was sick all the time, and what really happened during his mission. I have never seen alcoholism portrayed in a novel ever. I’m sure there are novels which talk about it out there, but I have never come across one. And for the first time in my life, I felt like somebody understood. There are countless characters in The Shadowhunter Chronicles who have touched my heart, but I will forever be grateful to Alastair and Cassandra Clare for making me feel like I didn’t have to hide anymore, that I was allowed to talk about my father’s alcoholism. Because for 18 years, it had been my secret. For my mother, it had been even longer. 

My father has been an alcoholic for my entire life. I’m sure this is common sense for most people, but an alcoholic cannot be a 100% good and supportive parent. Those two things do not mix. Most alcoholics are alcoholics because of shame, pain, or other mental health problems that they have not sought therapy for. I would also like to say that alcoholism is a disease. It physically alters the brain to make the addict believe that they need to drink just as much as they need to eat or sleep. When you are constantly drunk, it can increase stress or anxiety in everyday life and leaves the addict at risk of developing depression if it was not already there. Many alcoholics suffer with depression, general low self esteem, or various other mental health problems before abusing alcohol; these problems are then exacerbated with daily alcohol consumption. 

My father never abused us, mentally, physically, etc, and he never has. He carries a lot of mental pain and shame with him, which he has continually refused to seek help for. He drinks because he does not like himself; he feels that he isn’t deserving of help. He feels like he messes everything up. And as a child, I used to make excuses for him. “Well, he never hurts us, so what’s the problem?” “It doesn’t affect his work, so what’s the problem?” I was naive then. No matter how “functioning” they may seem, an alcoholic cannot live a completely healthy, happy, and fulfilling life if they drink everyday, even if it seemingly doesn’t affect their work lives. Alcoholics are very good at hiding their addiction. I cried when Cordelia described finding bottles in odd places, or when Alastair described how he tried everything in his power to hide it from his sister and their community. I used to find beer cans stashed under the kitchen sink. Sometimes I’d find them in the spice cabinet. I don’t like inviting friends to my house because I can never be sure if my dad will be 100% sober. I didn’t want people to see him that way. I don’t want to see him that way. 

I have seen a decent amount of posts on various platforms of people wishing Elias dead or wanting him to be completely x-ed out of Alastair and Cordelia’s lives. And while I totally understand the protectiveness many people feel toward Alastair and Cordelia whenever their father is involved (I love them to pieces, too), as somebody who is a child of an alcoholic, I do not and would never wish my father dead. The thought of it makes me sick. Thus far, we know very little about Elias and his personality. We don’t know if he has ever physically harmed Alastair or Sona. This is not to invalidate mental or emotional abuse either, which are just as terrible. And while he does seem to be biased towards Cordelia, which in and of itself isn’t fair, there has been little evidence to show that Elias is violent or abusive. Of course Chain of Iron could prove me wrong, but as of now, I don’t want to immediately assume that Elias is abusive. Alcoholism does not equal abuse, although alcohol can be an expedient to violence. I do not want to invalidate the Carstairs’ experience if that is the case, but I do not want to jump to conclusions either. Of course you can call me lucky because my father has never harmed us in any way. But personally, I find that insulting. When a parent is an addict, regardless of whether or not they harm their children or how involved they are in their child’s life, they will end up leaving their child with mental scars whether it was intentional or not. My father’s addiction and the addictions of countless others cannot be measured on a scale. Addiction hurts everybody it touches, no matter how normal the addict may seem to the rest of the world. 

I know this Elias section is already so long, but I have a bit more to say before I move on to Matthew. Alcoholics make choices, many of them poor choices. They decide whether or not to seek help. They decide to drink another beer. They decide to drive drunk, even if their child is in the car with them. It is a disease which completely takes over every single part of their life. And while it negatively affects their lives and the lives of their loved ones, that does not mean that they are undeserving of help. Any addict, whether they’re addicted to alcohol or heroin or cigarettes, anything at all, needs help. And they most definitely should not be mocked or attacked for their addiction or their attempts to get help for it. Regardless of whether or not they are in recovery or in the thick of their addiction, there is absolutely no reason to mock them. There is no reason to tell them to “just quit drinking.” There is no reason to call them a “junkie” or a “drunk,” no matter what stage of their addiction or recovery process they are in. 

I am in no way excusing Elias’ behavior just as I in no way excuse my father’s behavior. He [Elias] needs to be punished for showing up to a mission drunk and consequently being unable to keep those four Shadowhunters from dying. He needs to apologize to his children. He needs to apologize to his wife. And he needs to recover. Addiction is an ugly, ugly thing. It never just affects the addict. It leaves their loved ones with scars, whether they’re mental of physical. Personally, I can’t stand the sound of metal beer or soda cans being cracked open anymore. I’m terrified of getting married. I can never feel 100% comfortable or safe around drunk people. I refuse to drink. I don’t like thinking about how the only time my dad has been 100% sober was when we visited my grandparents for a week and he had no opportunity to slip away to buy alcohol. I don’t like thinking about how my mother has had to deal with this for decades. I want my mother to be happier. But I also want my dad to recover. Living with an alcoholic isn’t black and white; I don’t hate my dad. I hate his addiction. I love him. He’s my dad. I don’t like seeing him that way. I know Alastair doesn’t like seeing his father that way either. But no matter how much you scream or cry or fight with somebody, people will not change unless they themselves want to. 

Matthew

This section will be much more brief because many of my thoughts surrounding Matthew are similar to my thoughts surrounding Elias. I would like to touch on two things, however.

I have seen people talking about Matthew, or more specifically Matthew’s friends, saying that they don’t understand why they [The Merry Thieves and Co] seem to be ignoring Matthew’s alcoholism or aren’t doing anything about it even if they do realize he has problems with alcohol. Part of it is because of historical context; alcoholism wasn’t considered a disease until very recently, and the beliefs that alcoholics can either a) stop drinking whenever they want or b) are abusive, useless members of society still persist to this day. But the other, bigger part of it is relatively simple: people won’t change unless they believe they can change. Addicts need to want to change in order to begin the recovery process. You can’t force them to. If their heart isn’t in it, they’ll attend therapy or AA meetings a couple times to appease you, and then they will start drinking/using again. Or they’ll lie to you even more, telling you that they did attend a meeting or a therapy session when in reality they bought another pack of beer. Matthew will not seek help unless he believes wholeheartedly that he can change. He needs to believe that he is worthy of change and he needs to truly want to get better in order to begin to make significant improvements in his life. Of course relapses will happen, but the point is that he wants to improve his life. He wants to recover. No matter how much James or Thomas or Cordelia or Lucie tell him to change, no matter how much they want him to get better, he simply will not unless he wants to. It hurts. It really does. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. You can love somebody so, so much, but your love is not going to make them better. Your love will not magically make their addiction go away. To reiterate what I said about Elias earlier, you can scream and cry and fight and give them all of the love until you’re blue in the face, but if they don’t want help, they will not seek it out. Matthew needs help, but more importantly, he needs to come to the realization that he is deserving of that help. He is deserving of a successful recovery. Every addict is.

Lastly, there is something about Matthew and Cordelia’s relationship that has never sat right with me. Children of alcoholics are statistically more likely to get into a relationship or marry an alcoholic because it’s what feels “normal” to us. And while I have always wanted Matthew and Cordelia to become friends, part of this is the reason why I don’t want them to have a romantic relationship. I don’t want Cordelia to have to continue that cycle, never able to escape the effects of addiction. I want Matthew to focus on himself. I want him to recover. I want his friends to support him. I want both Matthew and Elias to have a successful recovery, because the amount of addicts who die from their disease every year is staggering and upsetting. Of course Matthew is deserving of love, but he needs to focus on recovering, both from his addiction and his trauma, before he puts all of his energy into a romantic relationship.

----------

Overall, I want Alastair to have time to be himself, to not have to carry the weight of his father’s addiction on his shoulders. I want Elias to recover and to apologize for how he has hurt his family, whether it was intentional or not. I want Matthew to forgive himself and to realize that he deserves to take up space in this world just as we all do. And I ask that you, whoever may be reading this, to try to feel a little more compassion for these characters and addicts you may know or meet in your life. Or to put yourself in their shoes and the shoes of their loved ones. We should not be mocking them, or hurting them, and we certainly should not be wishing death upon them. There are far, far too many addicts who have died because of their disease and their mental pain. When dealing with addicts or the loved ones of addicts, I ask that you try to support them and encourage them to seek help, whether it’s therapy or AA or any number of support groups. The effects of alcoholism and drug addiction will stick with the addict in recovery and their loved ones for the rest of their lives. Some days will be harder than others. But the important part is that, when those hard days come, they have a support system of therapists, family, friends, even people online to remind them why they are in recovery and to encourage them and their progress, no matter how small. An addict in recovery, no matter how slow or fast their progress may seem, is better than an addict who has died because they never sought out the help they desperately needed.

If you read through this entire thing, thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to read through my personal experience. This topic is very important to me, and while I’m relatively new to tumblr, I still felt the need and the obligation to share my perspective. I’m not trying to sway your opinion of Matthew or Elias, just to maybe make some people think about this complex issue. If you aren’t a fan of either of them, that’s totally fine. If anything, what I would like you to take away from this is to be more aware of alcoholism and its effects. If something doesn’t seem right, speak up. I will be providing resources below if you or a loved one needs addiction counseling or help, or if you simply would like to learn more about this. If you have anything to add to this, would like to share your opinion, or have a question for me, feel free to reblog or message me in my ask box. Please be respectful, y’all! This is a sensitive topic and it affects everybody differently; I want this to be a civil discussion, not a witch hunt.

Thank you very much for reading and considering my point of view. 

Resources:

What is Alcohol Use Disorder?

SAMHSA (a helpline)

Alcohol Rehab Guide (this website also includes educational resources and a helpline)

Substance Abuse Helplines and Treatment Programs

How Parental Alcoholism Affects Children

[cockasinthebird]

Stuck? Stuck.

This year for the senior weekend trip, Hawkins High students gets to enjoy a lovely stay at a hotel so cheap it's a risky gamble to even set foot there, and a Saturday trip to the Indianapolis Museum of Art, to which absolutely everyone is equally excited about.

Which is not at all.

Steve groans and sits up in the hard bed he has to sleep in for two whole nights, sharing his room with three other guys from his year that he swears he has never ever seen before, despite them all knowing his name and history quite well.

The drive here hadn't been that long, although it felt like hours, nerve ridden and anxious to not sleep in the safety of his own haunted mansion. Sure it's nice to be surrounded by people on all sides if he were to tell the truth, but...

Billy fucking Hargrove had been staring at him all day, sat two rows behind on the bus, and whenever Steve turned to look, he was met with an icy stare and suspicious grin. Billy had even actively gone out of his way to bump into Steve, push him around and kick his bags away, to which Tommy had laughed and patted Billy on the back, that fucking traitor. Sure they hadn't talked since after the fight with Jonathan, but Steve didn't know their friendship had been so fragile.

With an exhausted sigh and jittery hands, Steve carefully closes the door to his room, then heads down the hallway to find the elevator. He can never sleep when he's away from home, yet Dustin had convinced him that this is a great idea! Get out and have some fun! People always hook up on those senior trips! And then he did that Chewbacca wanna purr of a sound, prompting Steve to push his cap down his face.

The elevator climbs slowly up to his floor as he thumbs his lighter, on and off, on and off. Who here would he even hook up with that he hasn't already before he got together with Nancy? And now that they're over and Billy is running the school instead, Steve's odds had fallen even farther into the pits of hell.

He just needs to get out for a smoke, and maybe flirt his way to a drink or two at the sleazy bar; this place doesn't look like it cares about serving minors alcohol, what with the water stained ceiling and floor, the peeling tape, and the creaky as shit elevator, as it barely can manage a ding once it reaches the 4th level.

It whines just the same as he steps inside and feels it bounce dangerously underneath his weight. It requires several attempts and hard jabs from Steve before the ground floor button registers his attempts, and starts closing.

When just in the last second, strong fingers curl around the rusty metal and pries open the doors again.

That grin, those curls, the sun-kissed skin.

Billy fucking Hargrove.

“Where you off to, Harrington?” he asks with a flash of predatory teeth and steps into the limited space.

Suddenly Steve is feeling hot and claustrophobic, heart racing both from the presence of his enemy, and from the fear that the elevator might not be able to support both their weights.

“Why the fuck should I tell you?” he snaps and does his best not to meet those blue skies that just won't give him the same courtesy of pretending the other doesn't exist.

“Could be you wanted some company,” Billy says with a low tone that hints at something secret and suggestive.

“And why are you up?” Steve doesn't really care to know, but thoughts of why Billy might be up and about this late flows freely. There would only be one reason, and maybe it's the second floor where all the girls are located.

But he doesn't press the 2nd floor button. Simply puts his hands in his denim jacket and leans with his back against the wall.

“Oh you know exactly why I'm awake this late, princess,” Billy drawls out and licks his lips.

Which Steve doesn't notice, if anyone were to ask. He pulls up a cigarette from the back he has stashed in his back pocket, and slips it between his lips to save time once they're able to get away from each other again.

Yet it's gone just as quick, as Billy reaches out and snags it away, just to place it beneath his mustache. And Steve stares daggers at him, all too quickly he's angry, but really it takes no time with Hargrove around, as his mere presence in Steve's life in a constant source of pain and fury.

“What the fuck you asshole, give it back!” Steve frowns and clenches his fist with a strong urge to punch. It's been too long since he's felt the bliss of nicotine, and he can feel it in his blood. “Get your own shitty cigarettes.”

“Why don't you come over here and take it, then?” Billy muses with a cocky grin that goes from ear to ear.

“Yeah yeah, very mature, give me my fucking cigarette back, Hargrove. I'm almost out of smokes and patience with you.” Steve turns to stare at him now, a few feet apart filled with air so tense you could cut it with a fucking butter knife.

“Well that was quick,” comes the response as a mean spirited chuckle.

“Oh don't be like that; you've been harassing me all fucking day you shit!” And Steve steps closer, up to where he can feel Hargrove's breathing. “What is your deal with me?”

Billy lifts up his chin, looking all brash and smug. “Do I have to one?”

“Why else would you be making my life a living hell?” Steve's fists clench tighter. “Isn't it bad enough you stole my best friend and 'knocked me off my throne'?” he says with possibly the most infuriated air-quotes anyone could ever manage.

“Nope.” Short and crude, the p popping loudly despite the cigarette caught between teeth.

“Then what the fuck do you want?!”

And as Billy's grin somehow grows more sinister, he doesn't get to answer before there's an abrupt jump of the elevator and a nerve wrecking screech.

The loud whir of cogs and mechanics silent. The elevator has stopped.

“Are... are we...” Steve dares not say, as if that would make it real and not just his imagination.

Billy shoves Steve away and steps over to press a button, any button, and when there's no response, tries a second button, then a third, then every other option there. Punches the keys over and over and over-

“Fucking stop that! You're just making it all worse!” Steve shouts and grabs on to Billy's sleeve to tear him away.

“Oh like you know how a fucking elevator works!” Billy snarls back and pushes Steve hard for having even dared to touch him. “I know your grades, I've heard the questions you ask in class, I bet even Max could answer half the shit you can't!”

Steve doesn't even have time to think before he flings his fist after Billy, who catches it perfectly on the nose. Cigarette flies from his mouth, blood drips onto the sticky floor, onto Billy's dirty boots and his clean, white tee. And he continues being unable to think, as Billy fucking laughs.

“God damn Harrington, I can't believe you had the guts to do that,” he sounds near insane as he talks, swipes his tongue up to lick his upper lip clean of dark red. “You know you're gonna regret that now, right?”

“According to you I don't know shit.” Steve stands with his feet too far apart, shoulders raised and fists aching for more. As much as he would prefer not to fight, since he always gets his ass kicked, the rush of seeing blood flow from Billy's nose is invigorating.

No matter how prepared he thinks he is, Billy's fist still feels like a goddamn boulder against his eye, and barely has Steve staggered backwards at the brute force, before Billy grabs him by the collar of his striped polo and shoves him into a corner; caging him there with his own broad, muscular shape.

“You punch like a girl, Stevie,” his voice low and... oddly sensuous?

He reeks of cologne, teeth sharp and perfect like a wolf, body sturdy and thick, pressed into Steve with such intent that he can feel every inch of power.

“What are you gonna do now, Harrington?” Billy's chuckles like thunder in his chest as they stay flush together.

Steve feels his heart beat in his swelling eye, lumping in his throat, beating against his ribs like xylophones, and somewhere between his legs. Red really is a great color on Billy's lips.

“What are my options?” he groans out and wants to move away from the insufferable heat that's gathering too far down.

Eyes jump around every one of Billy's strong features, looking like a damn model from afar and up close like this. Jaw square and stubbly, an ocean's view in his eyes, a thousand eyelashes that he doesn't deserve to have, freckles like a starry night that he didn't even know existed on Billy's perfect skin, lips so hopelessly inviting despite the wicked grin.

And maybe Billy catches how he's being admired right now, because his smile falters to a slightly slack jaw. “Doesn't seem like you have any,” he mumbles out, tone uncertain of something.

“I fucking hate you, Billy.” Steve can't move his head away, can't tear his gaze from where that tongue peeks out to lick his lips clean once more.

With a timid whisper, barely more than a breath, Billy utters out, “I hate me, too.”

Lips meet with obscene force, Billy pushing against Steve's mouth as if it's his only source of life, and immediately Steve opens up; tastes the metallic blood that still drips slowly down from Billy's wounded nose, and feels that captivating tongue intrude deep as it urgently memorizes every inch of wet heat.

It's as if they've both been starving for years, and now they're all too worried it'll end in the blink of an eye.

Billy bites and pulls at Steve's lower lip with a guttural groan.

“Fuck, Billy-” Steve nearly moans out and tries to buck out his hips.

“Shut the fuck up, Harrington, or I'll punch you again,” Billy growls and dives back in to lick where his teeth had just tortured sensitive skin.

“Mmh- ah-” and Steve pulls away to say, “Do it.”

“What?” Billy has never looked more dumbfounded.

“Fucking hit me again.” Steve licks his lips clean of Billy's blood and stares intensely down at him. “Slap me in the face.”

And Billy grins like the devil, bites down on his tongue, breathing staggered as he contemplates on whether or not Steve is serious. Then brings a flat hand across a pale cheek.

It stings and burns throughout his entire body, anger and lust confusingly mixing and making his blood pump faster, his cock growing harder. He pokes at the inside of that cheek where he can practically feel the red hand print form.

“God you're a freak, pretty boy.” Billy wags his tongue and stares with a confident brow. “This why Nancy Wheeler left you, huh? She couldn't keep up with your perverted desires.”

Steve doesn't speak, simply digs a hand in between them, and oh what an exciting bulge he finds there, one that forces out an “Arrh,” from stained lips and feels the hips below urge closer.

“Like you're one to talk.” Now Steve is the one to smirk, crooked and looking like the cat that got the cream.

Which Billy fucking hates. All he can do is press their lips together again and grind his full dick against Steve's hand caught between them. His movement irrepressible as he rolls his hips and swallows every single moan that spills from Steve's puffy lips, pleased and turned on by every syllable, irritated that Harrington can't just shut the fuck up.

It would be all too easy to get caught like this. But isn't that just exciting?

That thought strikes both of them at the same time it seems, because just as Steve moves his hand out of the way, Billy's flies down tear away at their belts, all the while maintaining the rhythmic dance of their ever so insatiable tongues.

Neither dares to utter a single word, because the wrong one could stop it all too soon, so they settle on hushed grunts and groans, barely a cursed word till Billy's hand shoves into Steve's trunks once his fly is down.

“A-ah- shit, Billy-” Steve moans out and closes both his hands in the denim jacket.

“Be fucking quiet, Harrington, I swear to God,” Billy hisses out with his gaze low.

Attention caught on how fucking long and hairy Steve is, the head of his flushed cock wet with pre. He doesn't waste any time with getting himself out as well, his own leaking erection girthy with clear veins snaking around. Not as long as King Steve's magnificent dick, but definitely wider.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out hard at the sight of them both out in the open like that, shiny and standing at full size.

A moan cuts through him as Billy brings his free hand up to muffle every sound, with such force that it knocks Steve's head into the wall. The pure display of dominance that that move is, makes Steve leak even worse and struggles to keep his eyes open.

“I said shut the fuck up,” Billy's voice deep and threatening.

Steve feels as if he's staring death in the eyes, and all he can do is whine and thrust his hips into the iron grip around both their throbbing cocks. It's dry and uncomfortable, but fuck if it doesn't get him to where he needs to go.

And once again their minds must be in perfect sync, because Billy brings up his hand, and Steve watches intently as Billy spits into his palm, clear blue eyes never looking up to catch how burning amber stares.

Finally he gives in, when that slick hand twists around the two of them, and Steve's eyes roll back between fluttering lids as his mind goes blank with searing pleasure. A calloused hand, thick veins, hoarse groans, all of it the only things to matter in his world now, as every practiced jerk of his all too hard prick tears away at his self control and shoves him into the deep end of urges he never realized he had.

Urges he doesn't care to ignore.

Never before has he heard Billy go this long without insulting him, and he kinda misses it. He fights to open his eyes again, and catches how Billy's brows are raised high up and pinched together, his mouth wide as he barely manages to choke his own moans before they grow too loud, stare locked down where he's fisting them together with such fervor he could light a fire with it.

Steve is aching to hear Billy call him names, throw around abuse like it's nothing and shame him for something, anything. Perhaps tonight will give him new material finally, call him a queer or gay, just to then overpower him as he always does when they fight, now maybe followed by... a handjob? A blowjob? As long as his hands are on him, Steve won't complain anymore.

Can't complain when he's so close. He hadn't realized how badly he needed release at all till Billy had started pushing into him just minutes ago. Had their constant struggle just been pent up sexual tensions? Was this what it was all leading up to? An inevitability? Billy pumping his closed hand around them in a gross as all hell elevator, feeling every single inch of Steve's painfully intense erection?

“Fuck, ah shit, lift up your shirt,” Billy's quick to groan out with labored breathing that stutters as he speeds up his hand as fast as he can go.

And Steve doesn't hesitate to do as told, brings both hands from Billy's jean jacket to his own striped polo and lifts it up as high as he can, what with the way they're crammed together in a corner.

Feels the heat gather, the coil in his gut tightening till it's seconds away from springing, the vice grip around him doing wonders in pulling him to the edge, then shoves him off as he cums, hips shoving into Billy's rough hand with short bursts as he moans against the one stealing away his air, feels how he ejects wet heat all over his abs in a toe-curling feat.

Shortly followed by Billy as he empties all he's worth onto Steve's stomach, forehead pressed on top of the hand covering Steve's mouth, eyes still unblinking as he watches what a gorgeous mess they're making. He squeezes their spent dicks till the last drop drips down his broad fingers, and then lifts up his hand.

Ensures that Steve is watching, as Billy sticks out his whole tongue and licks his hand clean, sucking on the digits till there's not a trace left.

Steve moans into his hand at that, and despite the fact that he's been depleted of all his energy, still feels it jolt through him and burn into his memory for forever.

Finally Billy pulls his hand from Steve's mouth, and wipes the spit off in his jeans as he steps away.

And Steve nearly collapses without the support of thick muscles to keep him up, boneless in the afterglow of the best orgasm he's had in months. But... what's he going to do with the way they've painted his abdomen? There's no fucking towels or paper here, and he can't just take off his expensive polo shit and use that! He stares down in slight panic and gestures with his hands as if he's just going to, what, wipe it off?

When his sight gets blinded by something soft that reeks of musky sweat, and he catches Billy's shirt before it would fall to the floor. He looks up to see Billy put his jacket on again.

“Use that to uh...” He points to the cum that slowly runs down Steve's exposed skin.

Although hesitant for very good reasons, Steve does eventually wipe himself dry with Billy's tee, and awkwardly hands it back, as if he can really use it for anything now.

And a prolonged silence fills the air between them, as Steve remains in the corner and Billy struggles a bit with the doors; no clue what floor they're on anymore, and the counter above probably hasn't worked in years.

“What happens now?” Steve asks cautiously from where he's sitting in the same corner, a spot that he dares not leave.

Billy groans out a complaint and shakes his head at the immovable steel doors. Then goes to sit next to Steve with only slight space between their bodies.

“You mean if we make it out of here alive?” he laughs, and hears Steve give a tired chuckle as well. “That depends...” his tone grows wary and serious. “Harrington... if you tell anyone about this, I will fucking kill you, you understand?”

Their eyes meet, and in Billy's there's a storm of mixed feelings. Fear of getting hurt, premature anger of being found out about, and maybe hope? But that could just be Steve projecting his own thoughts and feelings onto the other.

“And what if I don't?” Steve swallows hard around the anxiety that clumps together in his throat. “What if I don't tell anyone about... us?”

One corner of Billy's rather stern grimace quirks up. “Then I'll see you tomorrow night.”

[statement69420]

Jon sat on the roof of the institute, a cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling off the end of it. He looked down at the city below him. People going about their nightly routine, ignorant of what was going on behind the scenes, of the fears that ruled their world, of how truly horrible life was, and he wished he was like them.

He sighed and raised the cigarette back up to his lips. As he pulled it away and blew smoke from between his lips, he turned his head up to the sky. He couldn't see the stars but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew where they all should be, and it was almost enough.

Jon smiled, a cold, dark smile that was only full of anger. Anger at the world, at the beings controlling it, at himself mostly though. Not for anything in particular, but he needed someone specific to be mad at, and who better than himself.

Just as he raised the cigarette to his lips again, he saw someone else step through the window, leading to the small ledge he was sitting on. He watched as the tall figure emerged from it, and sat down next to him.

"Want some company?", The man asked, Jon looked over at him, taking in his all black appearance and tattoos.

"Why not?", Jon shrugged, smoke still billowing from his mouth, he pulled out his box of cigarettes and held it out to him, and the other man took one.

"Got a lighter?", Gerry asked. Jon nodded, not saying anything as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the lighter with the spider web on it. He flicked it on and held it up to the cigarette in Gerry's mouth.

They sat like that for a while, not talking, just smoking in silence, taking in the world around them. They watched as the archival staff left to go home, and he as Elias locked up the building and went on his way, but they didn't speak, not for a bit anyways.

Eventually Jon spoke up, "Do you think that there's a way to stop all of the rituals? To save the human race before fear wipes us all out?"

Gerry looked over at him, but Jon was still looking down at the street below him. He sighed and didn't answer for a while, but when he did, it was slow and precise.

"No. There's no way to stop it, just to prevent it, for another two hundred years, and then they'll try again"

"Then what's the point? Why are we going through all of this, if we won't really succeed", Jon asked, finally looking at Gerry. His glasses were fogged up a bit and his eyes were red, his cheeks wet.

"I guess it's so we can live, so everyone can live for a while longer, and who knows in two hundred years, we might not be scared of all these things anymore", Gerry said, "So don't stress yourself out over it"

"Fear is what makes us human", Jon said, taking a drag of his second cigarette.

"No. Emotions make us human, fear make us cautious. And that's good. But you can be human without fear", Gerry told him.

Jon's mind drifted to Georgie. She couldn't feel fear, he wondered what that was like, to not be afraid. He wished he had looked into those kids' eyes, be wished he wasn't afraid, it would make all of this so much easier.

"Fear makes us stupid and irrational", Jon countered, ignoring his thoughts.

"Yeah, I suppose, but so does love and hate and anger and happiness. I just think humans are irrational", Gerry shrugged.

Jon sighed. "And what happens when I'm not human anymore?", He finally asked the question he was avoiding.

"You'll still feel things, you'll still be you", Gerry told him, reaching out to grab his hand that wasn't holding the cigarette, "Is that why you're upset?"

Jon let him take his hand, but looked away."I'm scared", his words were almost a whisper but Gerry heard them.

"I know, but it'll be okay", He moved a bit closer, letting go of his hand and wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

"Will it?", Jon asked, still looking down.

"Yeah, you know why?", Gerry asked. Jon looked over at him slightly, still not lifting his head all the way.

"Why?"

"Because", Gerry began, reaching over to touch Jon's face, and guide it up towards his own, "I'm right here, and you're not getting rid of me that easily. Monster or not you're mine"

Jon looked at him, studying his face, he then leaned in, giving him a quick kiss. "I guess you're right".

"I usually am"

Jon smiled, and moved Gerry's hand off his face. He took his cigarette and put it out on the tile of the roof, he then stood up.

"What are you doing?", Gerry asked.

"No smoking in the institute", Jon said, "Let's go inside"

"Alright", Gerry put out his own cigarette and stood up.

They both stoped through the window one at a time. When they were inside and the window was shut, Gerry looked over at Jon.

"So what now?", He asked.

"I know where Tim's secret alcohol stash is", Jon smirked, looking over at him, "And I could really use the company"

[marshunter06]

Sad Bitch- Łaszewo (Trentney)

A/N: Sorry I’ve been absent, but my brain has been a bitch lately... I never imagined I would be writing a fic like this, but I had to get it out. The reason why I do have such a soft spot for Trentney is because I have a Trent in my life to keep me grounded and I’m so grateful for him

To be a good artist means one must be burdened with great suffering especially at the hands of oneself. This may not apply to all the arts and typically not with singers, but Courtney understood this more than anyone in the industry. It was never her intention to be this way, dissociating while her manager tried to plan her next move, but the weight of her own thoughts were just too much to carry. Back when Total Drama was still a thing, she hid her depression well, she often exploded into anger to keep people out. No one would dare befriend a fiery volcano just waiting to erupt, no one besides him at least. With a touch of his hand, she was brought back to reality to listen to the meeting with their label. His smile and bright green eyes soothed her dark thoughts away briefly, enough to put on her persona as a successful pop princess. His hand stayed put, right next to hers barely touching. It brings a warm feeling into her heart and soon she’s lost in a daydream with him as the focus. Still the sadness starts to ease into her thoughts making doubts plague her mind. Was she foolish with possibly falling for her best friend? Was it smart to trust Trent with her heart so soon after her final breakup with Duncan? Would it even be the final breakup? Duncan, the name still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. She still remembers everything about their failed relationship, every callous word thrown at each other without regard for the other’s feelings. A primes example of two toxic people made for each other. Their love always sizzled out leading to another prison both were too familiar to let go of. What happened to the young her who welcomed every change with a light in her eyes? Courtney doesn’t know when her old self died only to be reborn into a shell of who she was before, but when she finally realized what happened, it was too late.

“Court, you’re home.”

She blinks once then twice wondering when she got into his car. Her scenery magically changed from a corporate office to her newly purchased home.

“Here, I’ll walk you inside. I think I forgot my guitar pick anyways.”

“The silver one?”

“Yeah, did you find it?”

“No, I’ve been busy, sorry. It should be in the studio though.”

He simply smiles as he walks around to open her door; he doesn’t call her out on her obvious lie. She wasn’t busy, he’s been there with her as her demons pull her away from the real world, she just stares into nothingness. He tries to pull her out of it when possible, usually a nudge will do it, but sometimes the demons are too powerful to keep at bay for long. Lately it’s been worse. They’ve had to reschedule the label meeting several times already. He knows she’s heading down a dark path, it’s why he’s been making excuses to stay over despite him living an hour plus away due to LA traffic.

“Found it, you were right, it was on top of the piano.”

“Oh? Glad it’s not missing anymore, thanks for bringing me back by the way.”

“‘Course, can’t leave my fav girl stranded.”

“I would’ve been fine, really. You can go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Is that a promise?”

“I never break my promises.”

He only hesitated slightly then nodded bidding her goodnight. It was already late, the moon high above the sky with stars twinkling around the crescent shaped light. He was almost out the door when he turned back to tell her to look outside.

“The moon is beautiful tonight.”

“You tell me this every night.”

“And I mean it everytime.”

“We couldn’t even see it a few nights ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not still beautiful.”

“Trent, I think you’ve been awake for too long. Get some sleep tonight.”

“You too. I’ll call when I get home, so you don’t worry.”

“You can just text me, I’ll still be up.”

“It’s better to hear your voice.”

“You hear it all the time, you should be sick of it.”

“You’re kidding right? I get the honor of listening to the greatest singer of our generation, how could I ever pass that opportunity up?”

“Are you talking about yourself again?”

This gets both of them to smile, he knows he’s succeeded in pushing away her sorrow for a moment. It won’t last long though, they both knew this. She can only hope she doesn’t call him crying again tonight. He’s been losing sleep because of her, still he never complains.

After he leaves, she tries her best to get ready for bed. She gets distracted a few times, just managing to slip under her covers by the time Trent calls her letting her know he made it home safely. She keeps the conversation short telling him she’s tired, he wishes her sweet dreams as she tells him good night. She lays in bed tossing and turning until she’s on her side facing her window with the just a glow of the moonlight seeping into her dark room. She closes her eyes willing sleep to take over, but her brain runs wild bringing her further into its abyss.

You’re going to be sad and alone forever.

Trent doesn’t love you, no one does, you couldn’t even keep Duncan.

Your parents are ashamed of you, you’re the reason they divorced.

Cate’s won’t talk to you because you’re too much to handle, your own sister hates you.

You’re only famous because no one’s caught on that you’re talentless yet, the whole world will shun you soon.

The only reason you have hits is because Trent’s the one writing the songs, when he leaves you’ll be nothing.

What’s it like being a hurtful bitch getting karma like you deserve?

Honestly Courtney, you’re pathetic, why do you even try? No one likes a sad bitch.

Everyone’s tired of how whiny you are, just stop with your lame excuses, who cares if you didn’t get sleep?

The self hatred goes on and on until she’s drowning in negative energy. She’s suffocating and breathing isn’t helping, she can’t take in air fast enough, the room feels too confined. She needs to get up and get out, but she can’t, she’s trapped. Tears stream out of her eyes as her body continues to be paralyzed, her heart is erratic and she can barely breathe. It’s too much, the walls are caving in and she can’t do anything to stop it. She closes her eyes again trying to fight back with happy thoughts, but she fails again and again as her mind continues to tell her how useless she is. She’s losing the battle, she just wants it to be quiet, but her thoughts ring loud and clear with every word cutting into her soul. Pain, so much pain leaving invisible scars all over her. If she waits long enough she’ll blackout from the pressure, she just has to focus on her breathing. In then out, in then out, she can do this, she promised she could…

Her eyes snap open and she’s able to move once more. Her first thought is to call him, she should’ve just asked him to stay. She’s always felt better in his arms, his regular heartbeat bringing her back to earth. Why didn’t he fight harder to stay this time? Was he really sick of her too? He’s just like the others, he can’t handle her. The kindest person she’s ever met and even he’s exhausted being near her. The misery takes over and all she wants is to drown herself in alcohol and cigarettes. All bad habits she learned from her ex, though to be fair, she didn’t take much persuading. She’s always known she has an addicting personality, it’s why she tried to stay sober, but she needed an escape. A bottle or two of wine wouldn’t be too bad. It was with this thought in mind that she decided to go into the living room for her secret stash of sherry’s. She rounds the corner heading to her hidden cabinet when she spots it: a silver guitar pick on the coffee table. She stops dead in her tracks.

“Trent.”

She sits on the ground as she cradles the pick rubbing over the letter “T” confirming it was his. She feels restless as she continues to stare at the precious item left behind for her sake. He knew. He must have. Why else would he leave the pick again? She closes her palm and holds it close to her chest, she has an overwhelming urge to do something. She wants to go to him, so she does, she doesn’t bother with a jacket, she simply follows her heart running out in the dead of night. She’s out the door in a flash clearly not thinking as she leaves her car behind and doesn’t lock her door. All she knows to do is keep moving forward as she jogs into a sprint. The cold air hits her bare arms and legs, but she isn’t bothered.

She makes it a block before her brain catches up telling her this is a bad idea; she starts to spiral down in her thoughts again. Do you even know where you’re going Courtney? You’re such an idiot, you just moved. How do you know the way to his house already? He obviously doesn’t want you to disturb him, he’s never invited you over since you moved. Stop with your delusions, Trent doesn’t like you, he only puts up with you because you work together. What are you going to do now? You’re lost. You’re going to lose him just like how you lost everyone else in your life. Face it Courtney, you’re just a loser. All you do is waste time.

She collapses on the hard concrete scraping her knee in the process. She nearly drops the pick in her hands as she hides her face with tears streaming down her cheeks. She doesn’t know what to do and now she’s blinded by a bright light. She drops her hands, it wasn’t the moonlight nor the streetlight, so it must be a headlight. It’s the middle of the night, no one should be out driving in this neighborhood. She should get up and go back home, but she’s lost the strength. She’s not even slightly afraid as the car approaches closer. It slows to a stop right next to her as she continues to stare forward. She doesn’t hear him when he calls out to her. She’s tired and cold, all she wants to do is close her eyes. She opens her eyes when she feels a warm jacket draped over her engulfing her in a familiar scent.

“Sorry I’m late, didn’t realize you wanted to go jogging.”

“Trent?”

“Hey Court.”

He says her name with a smile, he doesn’t question her on why she was out in her pajamas at nearly three in the morning sitting on the ground. He helps her up and into the passenger seat as he drives them back to her place. He doesn’t yell at her, his voice is calm and gentle when he tells her she’s home. She removes her seatbelt and that’s when she notices the duffel bag in the back seat. He catches her gaze explaining immediately even though he would never ask her to tell him what went wrong.

“It’s just some spare clothes. I was going to leave it in the car. I figure I might be here a while since we’re going to start on the new album tomorrow… or today rather.”

“You can bring it inside. I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

She nods. He smiles at her again as he grabs the duffle in one hand with the other holding hers as they walk back inside her place. He doesn’t scold her on leaving her door ajar and unlocked. Once inside is when he notices the scrape on her knee. He immediately heads to the bathroom to grab the medical kit to help clean her wound. When she’s all patched up, he places a kiss on her bandaid as if it was the most natural thing to do. He notices her surprise.

“Sorry, Mom always did that for me whenever I got hurt. It took the pain away.”

She doesn’t say anything, she just opens her left hand where the pick had been the entire time. He takes it from her understanding that she was okay for now. When he looks at her again she’s overcome with another intense feeling, one that she never thought she would feel again so quickly. Panic starts to rise within as her brain feeds her false information. He pulls her out of the darkness as he wraps his arms around her keeping her safe and secure. The intruding fear leaves as she calms down. She pushes him away when his embrace becomes too much, he scoots over to give her more space.

“Are you ready to go to sleep Court?”

“Almost. I know it’s late, but I want to write for a bit. You can go to sleep first.”

“Inspiration strikes at any time. I’ll stay up with you.”

She pulls out her notebook armed with purple ink as it spills out on the page. He doesn’t interrupt, as she continues to put words on paper. It’s not often that she gets to write herself. She writes down all her haunting thoughts and with each line she feels a bit more healed. It’s therapeutic in a way, she wonders why she never did this in the first place, it would’ve saved her a lot more heartache. She passes him the notebook when she’s finished, he scans through the words until he reaches the end. He looks back up at her with a smile and a promise.

We've all been hurt before

If all's fair in love and war

What are we fighting for?

Baby, had the good intentions

Couldn't face another change of direction

Tell me what's the method to your madness

I'm just a fucking sad bitch, show me you can handle it

Save me from my own reflection

I can't take this tight rope tension

Tell me what's the method to your madness

I'm just a fucking sad bitch, show me you can handle it

A/N: This is only a glimpse of how I feel, I didn’t want to make the fic more dark, but it did to write it out. If anyone else is in the same boat know you’re not alone and that you can beat this. I’m still here and you here too.

[boseongkrp]

( OC, ha sooyoung (yves), she/her ) — introducing MIN GYURI, the 22 year old INTERN at boseong times, known around boseong as THE ICARIAN. the residents would describe her as stolen shots of blurry, guilty individuals at night, a wilted rose with blackened petals and prominent thorns, broken pieces of glass with droplets of wine and pooling together in its crevices.

now loading her interview....

PLEASE TELL US MORE ABOUT YOURSELF.

My grandparents were the first to move to boseong, and my parents in turn met here as well. They went to school together and were high school sweethearts. My mom found out she was pregnant with me after they graduated and so they had a shotgun wedding at the church and were together up until i was eleven years old. My mom had always been one to talk of her dreams, but she always seemed so sad. Looking at her was like watching a bird in a cage look longingly out the window. I didn’t fully understand her feelings. For a long time I was upset that she up and left my father and I without saying a word, but now I know exactly why she did what she did. My father has always been the distant type, his vices being alcohol, cigarettes, and taking the train to the closest city for days at a time. He was her cage.

I’m not too close to him now. As a kid I avoided having to be alone with him for longer than I had to be. I poured myself into my schoolwork, working hard to ensure i got good enough grades so that I could apply for university, and joined various after school activities to keep busy. Knowing my father would eat at work or something, i’d often go to my best friend sangwook’s place and stay with them for a little while before slinking back home. He’s my safe space, the only person in the world who knows everything about me and stays regardless. My mother once said people like that only come once in a lifetime, so i fully intend on keeping him in my life until he makes the decision to leave.

Plans fell through and I couldn’t go to university right after graduation. I didn’t have the funds and could hardly qualify for scholarships or loans. Instead, I followed through with my plan B, which was working for the boseong times. I’ve always dreamed of being an investigative journalist, and despite anything noteworthy happening in this small town, I figured it’d at least look nice on my resume. Plus it gives me an excuse to snoop around where i’m normally not welcomed. Sometimes people turn me away because they know where i’m from, and some spill everything because really, what power does an intern have? ( almost nothing, this i can assure you. )

I suppose I was hired because I’m fairly amicable, the type with an innocent face that lowers people’s guards. I’ve always been known for being studious and inquisitive, and not many people are particularly interested in the printing press anyway, so I was practically handed the job. I like to think logically, and puzzle pieces often fascinated me growing up. In life there are two sides to everything: the problems and the solutions. Fact or fiction. Discerning between the black and white while deciphering the gray had always been something I excelled at. I can be rather boisterous at times, and love going on adventures. I hate authoritative figures, and the immediate impulse to do something i’m not supposed to is something i often gripe with. That’s one of my biggest downfalls, though. I can never completely turn away from something once it’s piqued my interest. I’ll do anything it takes to find the answer to a question burning at the back of my head.

SO WHAT DO YOU THINK OF BOSEONG?

Boseong has always been regarded as the place i’m from, but never my home. Home to me has always been a place where i belonged, a place where i can set my roots down and grow into the person i’m meant to be. Boseong is the pot my roots have grown too wild for, too gnarled. I’ve been forced to conform to my surroundings when i want nothing more than the liberty of being able to spread my wings. I know that this place will never give me the luxury of doing so.

HAVE YOU EVER LEFT OR THOUGHT ABOUT LEAVING BOSEONG?

It’s the only thought that brings me to wake up every morning. Every day i wake up and tell myself that i’m one step closer to getting out of here, one step closer to never having to step foot on these soiled grounds. Ever since i was a child, my mother would often tell me that we’d leave this place and live better lives. She told me we’d move somewhere by the beach, where the sun was bright and the people were even brighter. We’d take the bus and go to aquariums and amusement parks and live a happy life together. I didn’t think she’d get up and leave without me, but that’s fine. I’ll get out of here and find her so we can be together again. I have a stash of money stowed away, and the second my best friend and i are able to get out of here, we’re going to run away and never look back.

WERE YOU CLOSE WITH HA EUNMI? WHAT WAS YOUR IMPRESSION OF HER?

We weren’t necessarily close, i only had a couple of after school activities with her a few years back. We were nothing but mere acquaintances and would partake in small talk every so often, but never bothered to go any deeper. Her friendly demeanor was what drew me to her, you know, you see someone with a sweet smile like that, it’s like, how could you not want to talk to them? Her energy was infectious. I regret not trying harder to be her friend, but her circle of friends seemed rather intimidating and i didn’t want to be involved with that mess. I never would have thought that something was wrong based on how she was at school.

DO YOU HAVE A DARK SECRET THAT NO ONE KNOWS OF?

<   R E D A C T E D   >

[mothmansfriend]

when i’m sad oh god i’m sad pt. 1

link to pt. 2

follows a very similar timeline to @tearxofink‘s fic Rules for a Functioning Alcoholic but will prob have differences (such as no established relationships) and takes place in @illogicallyinclined‘s hockey au after the mention of Remus possibly having undiagnosed bipolar disorder

update: i think its important to acknowledge roughly where this takes place in the big timeline bc D doesn’t really drink past freshman yr in this AU because of self preservation and trauma, alcoholism was more an issue before then in high school (when remus and d were Rowdy Boys) but the stress of Logan’s concussion lead to some heavy drinking that was caught quickly by Virgil because Remus Cannot Keep Secrets. 

summary: Remus has undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder and is dealing with a severe depressive episode in the aftermath of realizing that binge drinking with D wasn’t just his own search to Feel Something, but was also D’s relapse into alcoholism. Remus comes to the realization of lost time during manic episodes and refuses help.

tw: graphic descriptions of a depressive episode, self harm (burning),  suicidal thoughts, and suicidal intent (but not attempt). unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcohol abuse, mentioned alcoholism, undiagnosed mental illness, miscommunications on shared trauma, ask to tag if i missed any.

--

Remus doesn’t think he’s ever felt happy in his life. 

But that can’t be true. He’s sure it wasn't even two months ago he swore he’d never felt sad before in his life and he knows that one wasn’t true either.

Though, right now the younger Prince twin couldn’t even be certain he feels sad right now. He can identify some feelings, like dizziness (he stumbles through the lobby doors, it’s too bright out its giving him a headache that better not be a hangover), guilt (“Do you even think about anyone but yourself?” No, Virgil, you know Remus better than that. “You know how hard getting sober was the first time, D suddenly taking you out to the bar during the week didn’t raise any flags?” It didn’t, Remus is too self absorbed), and most importantly something he can’t quite label that came in through his lungs smoother than the cheap cigarettes he hates (but uses as an excuse to turn himself into a human ashtray) and settled deep inside him just under a month ago (weeks before D suggested goiung to the club on w Tuesday evening for the first time in almost a year) and it's getting heavier and heavier every day. Possibly, relief was felt when he was greeted by a totally empty apartment instead of a holier-than-thou brother trying to enforce ‘responsibility’ and his first real friend whom he recently enabled in a relapse. 

The normally obnoxious and loud man silently rides the elevator to their floor, tripping over his own feet as he exits not even offering a head bop to the cheesy elevator music. He enters the apartment and slams the door harder than necessary but can’t bring himself to feel bad. There's no elegance or emotion to closing his door, landing on his bed full clothed after barely kicking off his shoes and grabbing the controller to turn on Netflix and select the first Saw movie.

--

It’s halfway through the second movie when he hears someone return home and make what is probably lunch before leaving again. He takes a moment to wonder if his professors or classmates notice his absence or if they’re just thankful for it. He’s sober and he feels the burns on his ankles and arms throb in time with his black eye. God he wishes he wasn’t, but pissed off his last more-than-a-little-sketchy friend and he doesn’t have the energy to find the stash he knows D hid in the apartment somewhere.

--

Just as Saw II ends and the third begins, he opens his window and lights up a cigarette with a lighter he knows he stole from someone. The smoke coats his throat and the terrible burning taste of nicotine sticks to the roof of his mouth, the headrush barely makes it worth it. Remus considers maybe he needs something stronger, Virgil seems like the type to secretly smoke weed. Wandering minds think about the movie he just watched and the classic needle pit, he certainly isn’t afraid of needles. He slams his head into the glass of his window and takes another drag. The reality of that thought would be a bigger issue than many things he’s done, it’s not often that he rejects things his brain throws at him. He stares out the window and a group of students pass and he sees the exact moment they smell his shitty cigarettes as they look around and glare when they see him. He realizes how often people look at him like that and it feels like the first time that it bothers him. He puts the cigarette out in his lower calf and holds it there until the darkened skin and burning pain is all he can think about

--

The fifth movie ends marking around 10 hours of blankly staring at the screen. He’s only wearing boxers and the ratty t-shirt he’s been wearing for days. Both roommates are home. The group chat is going off Remus briefly saw a few messages, a reminder about practice Thursday morning, Patton looking for baking suggestions, Virgil asked if anyone heard from Remus because they didn’t finish their discussion.

Remus mutes the chat for the first time and when his phone falls off the bed, doesn't bother reaching for it.

--

The eighth movie ends. It’s been darkout for awhile, though he isn’t sure quite how long. Remus really feels as if his body has melted and merged with the bed. He hopes he’s dying. He eats stale chips he had hidden in his nightstand and can’t even get out of bed to smoke half a cigarette and put it out on his exposed thigh.

He falls asleep after silencing his brain as best as he can right now.

--

The next time he wakes up the sun is either setting or rising. He doesn’t really care. The hockey player doesn’t really know if he's stayed still this long, almost ever. If he thinks about it though he is pretty sure he did this last spring. He’s also pretty sure no one noticed last time either. Sleeping seemed to have helped a little and he figured he could probably make a trip to the bathroom and maybe the kitchen if he’s lucky, he noticed that pizza box under his bed is smelling pretty terrible. It’s been four days since he was home spoke to anyone, and no one has checked in on him. He hasn’t left his room since his return, the gatorade bottle of piss is evidence of such. And miraculously, he actually manages to throw out the pizza, steal a ziplock bag full of Roman’s cereal, and use the bathroom. While washing his hands he stares at the shower and decides it’s waited four days, it can wait one more. Just before heading back to his room, Remus swipes the mickey of vodka he saw behind the flour. 

He watched the sun rise through his half open blinds and doesn’t remember the last time he saw the sun rise. Remus had yet to touch the vodka, mostly because it hit the floor hours ago and he’s pretty sure he can deal for a few more hours. Today marks day five in a world without Remus Prince opening his fucking mouth to say some dumb shit that probably hurt someone and he didnt even notice. Remus can’t bring himself to care. He can’t stop thinking about how no one has asked about him since. He read the groupchat, Remus knows he’s a nosey bitch, no one has asked about him since a halfhearted response from Roman implying he hadn’t been gone long enough to worry. This sparks a kind of exhausted anger and Remus feels no amount of guilt for stealing his brothers vodka. The smoke weighing him down from inside lulls him back into the bone deep fatigue with no release.

--

It’s night again, likely early in the morning. Remus’s head is a deep echoing cave of different ways he could die if he just got out of bed. He’s been thinking about the hunting knife he swiped at someone’s house party months ago, for a few hours maybe. He’s had many thoughts like this before, about how fragile human skin is, about how fun it could be to slice open, how warm his own blood would be as it flowed out and he could reach in and feel his final breath. 

God, does he want that. His hand reaches out and grabs his chest pulling on any skin he can grip onto as tight as he could. He’s never been good at anything, he knows he has never been a good person, he can’t stop circling around what Roman could possibly mean that Remus hasn’t been gone for long enough to worry when he’s so sure he’s never been gone more than three days. His phone though, if he goes back far enough in his phone, he thinks Roman is right. Google Maps places him in places he doesn’t recognize in cities he’s never been to. His chest seizing up in a way he’s only seen on others. 

He’s always been able to hold onto even if his parents didn’t love him, even if no one ever liked him or missed him, that Remus Prince was never fake, he never played nice, he never pretended to be someone he wasn’t he never hid his feelings about anything. If anyone asked him, he’d tell them and it’s their fault if it hurt their feelings. But, how can that be true now? Who is he on these days he doesn’t remember. 

Forgetting where he was or getting distracted midway through a task or conversation were always normal for him, the ADHD if he had to guess; but the realization it wasn’t minutes or even hours that he forgot upsets him in a way he didn’t think he could recognize. Remus thinks that this might be the closest he would ever get to understanding how so many people fear him. and he does not like it at all.

The knife is so close. He lights a cigarette. No one else is awake yet. No one has realized he’s even at home. How long would it take to find him? Days? Weeks? How long is he usually gone? Would the smell be what finally pulled someone into to check on him? He puts the cigarette out on his leg. He knows the knife is in the bottom drawer of his desk under old notebooks and packs of pens dumped loosely inside. It’s less than five feet away. He wants it.

He sits up, swings his legs numbly off the side of the bed and stands up. It feels like the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. In a mere three steps forward he sits down on the ground behind his desk chair to wretch open the drawer and sees just how messy it is. His phone goes off and he pulls it by the wire to check, a reminder for practice at 6am. He shoots Coach an apology text for missing practice for the first time in his hockey career and throws his phone back towards the bed. His body feels so heavy as he shoves a hand roughly into the drawer to search for the knife, frustration when he can’t immediately find it leads to him slamming his head into the wooden desk leg before letting it fall onto the chair cushion as his hand wiggles around for a few moments, each second filling him with aimless anger. The drawer slams shut and he flops onto the floor. 

He can’t even find the energy to kill himself. Pathetic. He glares at the desk from his place on the cool floor until the fatigue brings him back to sleep. 

[skulldxddy]

@maxskulline​

There’s a stench of rum on his breath. Time didn’t dull the discomfort she felt whenever Guzma had an episode, whenever he’s drowning those damned feelings he didn’t wanna feel under bottles and bottles of booze, and more than sometimes shit much worse than that. He’s been drinking all week, disappeared from the surface of this wrecked planet for nights straight, and it’s been straining on her. Fuck knows what the guy’s been up to when she couldn’t see, but when he stumbled into her shack out of nowhere, with the slouched shoulders and the hopeless eyes of a lost boy, she didn’t send him away. 

“Saw my old man again,” that’s all the explanation he’s giving her, and everything she needed to hear to understand. Finally, some of the anxiety was put to rest. She ain’t the girl to ask many questions, but she leads Guzma to the shabby old bed she’s made a nest in, sat him down with gentle force and claimed her place next to him. Fingers fumbled with the stray threads of a shirt slowly coming undone. If he dared to steal a peek, he’d see chewed off nails and deep, hollow shadows beneath Max’s pink eyes. This last week’s been….. tough. Max hated that she had formed such a deep attachment to this guy, hated the sleepless nights of missing him, not knowing where he went, what he did. She’s just a step short of letting go and telling him all of that, but before this can even happen, she lights herself a cigarette and asks:

                    “So, how did that go?“ 

   When life gets fucked up, Guzma likes to drown himself deep. His largest, most destructive vice aside from his rage is no secret to the residents of the Shady House. Guzma flaunts his alcoholism like he flaunts his swagger, keeps his empty bottles scattered around his room like trophies; medals to his lack of self-control. They’re better to look at than bronzes and silvers and all the things that remind him of him. That don’t mean he ain’t gonna isolate and hide from time to time to protect his habit. No one can stop him if they can’t see how deep he bends.

   Sometimes, Guzma has no other option but to keep himself stashed away under lock and key because he’s like a beast off its leash when self-medicating; wild, manic, unhinged. He don’t wanna hurt his people and he sure as shit don’t wanna be like his old man. He just wants to feel that satisfaction of destroying things, the power, even if those things don’t feel it.

                      Especially if those things don’t feel it.

   And then he wakes up, forgetting all he’s done so he can start again the next morning, noon, evening—fuck it, he don’t keep track of time anymore. And after that’s when Guzma ends up here, banging on Max’s door as if she expected to be graced with his favourable company. A cigarette hangs from his lips, wispy smoke matching his mood as his eyes beg to be let in.

   Guzma makes himself at home on the side of her bed. For once, he looks small. He looks at her, but not at her, too far away to see her or understand there’s a brokenness in her eyes too. Guzma doesn’t say a word ‘til she joins him there, interrogates him. But she’s not interrogatin’. It’s just a fuckin’ question, Guzma, he argues with himself, trying not to fall apart. Don’t take it the wrong way. You got this. His demeanour changes entirely when she asks him that.

   “Oh, was fuckin’ great,” he cackles, takes his cig ‘tween his fingers as he throws himself back on the bed ‘n his other arm behind his head. “He try to hug me, tell me how prouda me he was.” Gaze held on the ceiling, Guzma tokes on the ol’ nic stick in an effort to hide the way his lip quivers. “I let ‘em have it for while, let ‘em think he still had hold on me. Then I tell ‘em where to stick it. Felt so fuckin’ good, Max. I said to ‘em, I said—fuck you. Fuck off me. I told you I ain’t never wanna see your damn fuckin’ face on my turf again. I said right to his face–I’ll crush you,” he lies, because that ain’t how the story here goes.

   Because he doesn’t wanna admit to her or to himself that the big bad Guzma hid away the instant that man was spotted. That he didn’t wanna be seen by him, didn’t wanna be known by him. There’s really somethin’ fucking wrong with him because whenever he feels on top of the world, he’s more confrontational than ever. Why couldn’t it be like that this time? 

                 Suddenly, his back aches.

   "Felt good, Max,“ he exhales clots of smoke, thousand-yard stare absorbing nothing.

                                                                         “Yeah .  .  . felt good.” 

[sweetpeasgirl]

One | Pain is Relative

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Female!Reader

Word count: 3042

Warning: Mentions of physical abuse, sexual assault

Summary: Reader goes to school early and has a run in with a ghoulie which leads to a certain dark haired serpent playing a class act hero

A lot of people chastise girls for their use of makeup. For painting their faces and ultimately changing their appearances. Of course, it's no ones business what these girls do with their faces. It's a matter of expression and, in some cases, of self preservation. Make up can be used to enhance natural features, yes, but it can also be used to save a girl some pretty hard conversations. When it comes to covering the garish purple stains under your eye, make up has become your best friend. Well, your only friend.

So, when your alarm clock blares to life at six in the morning and you roll out of bed with a renewed sense of urgency, your makeup is the first thing you grab. Last night was worse than it has been in a while but a little bit of concealer has always worked to hide a whole lot of your father's anger. It only takes minutes to apply; you've become a master at hiding the harsh truth of your bruised skin.

You aren't mad at him, not anymore. You haven't been mad for a long time. You haven't been anything for a long time. You've accepted your role as a minor character in the grand production that is Riverdale. You live on the wrong side of the tracks, with a man who despises you, and you wake up early every morning to hide the skin you're ashamed to show. You go to a school where learning is held second to avoiding getting hurt more than you already are.

Hurt is the one thing you are. More so hurting. Hurt is an emotion, hurting is physical pain. You aren't hurt, not because of your father at least. You're hurting because of him. But physical pain always subsides.

You manage to get out of the house within half an hour of waking up. That's another thing you've perfected; getting out unnoticed. In the morning it's easier, he's asleep and he will be until well into the afternoon. He doesn't work until the evening, if and when he decides to go. School doesn't start until eight, leaving you with over an hour to make your way there. No matter how much time you have, though, there is no way you'll willingly enter Southside High before seven forty. Anyone in there before that time is no one you want to run into.

Instead, with the time and the few dollars you have to your name, you stop by the only corner store in the South Side. It's more like a broom closet with a limited styling of junk food and a half decent brewing of tea. It's a different flavour on the mornings you can scrape together enough bills. On this morning it's peppermint. You once read somewhere that peppermint is a healing agent when applied to bruises. The irony is laughable when you pay the dollar and change.

The paper cup radiates heat, warming your icy fingers to that of a manageable chill. It's only early November but the temperature is steadily dipping lower and lower as the days pass. You expected it but that doesn't mean you welcome the cold air now. Part of that cold is probably to be blamed on the pending rain storm. The dark grey clouds are hanging heavy in the sky. You can almost feel them waiting to burst and soak you.

Naturally, you feel the first drop hit your face upon looking up at the ominous sky. You didn't grab your rain coat on your way out the door. You hadn't had time. His snores had quieted significantly and you had to get out of there as fast as you could. Now you're facing a different form of punishment, go figure. You'd take this kind of torture over the rabbit hole of alcohol and bruises that awaits you at home any day though. What's one soaked sweatshirt?

You tug the hood over your head as the rain increases to a steady downpour. By the time you make it to South Side High you're soaked to the bone. You get there around seven twenty, to make matters even better, and have to hold your breath as you go through the metal detectors to keep from panicking at the sight of the dimmed hallways. Anyone could be lurking around those corners; creepy teachers, drug dealers, ghoulies.

Serpents.

It's empty, or at least it seems that way, as you make your way to your locker. You rub your face, trying to clear the remaining water drops to appear somewhat presentable. It's a good thing you stash an extra hoodie in your locker for emergencies like this. You quickly peel the dripping one off your body and hang it on the lone hook, standing now in a camisole that isn't quite as wet. If anyone was around you wouldn't be so bold. Not in this school at least.

You take a moment to breathe, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the cold metal of your locker. It brings about some clarity to your mind. You need more sleep than you're getting each night but that would be a death sentence in itself. You sleep with your door locked and both eyes wide open for a good reason. When you have to, and there have been nights where you had to, you'll make quick work of climbing out your window. Your father's footsteps are heavy and make it easy to gauge when he's coming. You can almost hear them now.

"My, my, my," the sound of a voice makes you jump, "what do we have here?"

You whirl around to face a boy with a nasty grin and a dark look in his black eyes. His dark hair is greasy, and slicked back over his head. He has a scar down the left side of his top lip, ending with a minor one on his bottom. You had been so absorbed in your thoughts that you hadn't notice him sneak up to you. His stance is predatory, meaning you must be the prey that he's after. This is what you had been avoiding and you only hope he can't feel the fear that is already building in your chest.

You sink into the door of your locker, never moving your eyes from his, "I don't know what you mean."

He smirks at your quiet voice. He's feeding off the energy radiating off of you. It's no secret that this confrontation isn't going to end well. Right now your only plan is to distract him for long enough that someone with a sliver of decency will happen around the corner and rescue you. You really need a second plan though. There aren't many who would endanger themselves for a girl they don't even know and, let's face it, no one knows you.

"Oh but I think you do. A little tramp such as yourself, walking around with such revealing clothes. You've got to know just exactly what you're doing," he smirks at you, a sinister smile, and walks closer to you until he's a few mere feet away.

Nothing about him screams "good intentions" and images of your father the night before flash through your mind. Your cheek throbs at the memory and your stomach tightens. A shiver runs down your spine at the possibility of being hurt the same way again. Only this time it would be out in the open, in a place where you're supposed to be safe.

"Please don't hurt me," plan two is officially pleading with his lifeless eyes to spare you, "I-I was just putting on a different sweater."

He leans in closer, his face inches from your own. You smell the cigarettes on his breath and fight the urge to sink down the sturdy metal behind you. You're already showing weakness, that's the only thing you can do, but that doesn't mean you have to give up completely.

He grabs your hips, his fingers digging into bruises that were already there. You flinch, slamming your head into the metal. You're scared now. Before it was just unease and then anxiety but now your blood is running cold. If he has the nerve to touch you in the middle of an, albeit empty, corridor, then what else is he willing to do?

You really don't want to find out.

"Oh, darling, I'm not going to hurt you," you close your eyes as his hands slide up under your shirt, his fingers ice against your burning stomach.

You don't want to see what's going to happen next. You don't want to watch the one thing you have left being ripped away from you. You just slump all your weight against the sturdy structure behind you and will the feeling from your body. It really isn't that hard, you've had years of experience. Numb is just a state of mind.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" A new, angry voice interrupts the hands wandering up your shirt.

You crack your eyes open, focusing on the linoleum floor in front of you. He, the boy who cornered you against your locker, turns to face the new voice as well. You can feel his shoulders tense when he sees whoever it is who caught him.

Whoever is standing on the other side of the hall is dangerous but it's a different kind of danger than the kind you are used to. Your dad and this boy are two different kinds of threatening. One uses their power against weakness and the other uses their power against those preying on that weakness.

"We're just having fun, right darling?"

The boy cages you with an arm across your stomach and his body infront of yours, hiding you from the newcomer.

The question is rhetorical but you have a choice to make and a big one at that. This is the beginning of something, you can feel it, all you have to do is choose correct. You could speak out and ask for help, praying that whoever found you has a little more generosity left in him. Or you could stay silent, and continue to allow yourself to be hurt. You have no power over what happens behind the closed doors at home but here, right now, you have the chance to avoid more pain.

And you'll take any chance you can get.

"Help me," you sink down the locker and out of the boys grip, your voice but a whisper in the hallway, "please, help me!"

In a flash, as quick as the lightening currently striking the streets of Riverdale, the boy is ripped from infront of you and thrown into a set of lockers standing opposite to your own. You watch as a tall, dark haired boy grips your attacker by they collar of his shirt and holds him against the metal.

You notice the green serpent sewn onto his leather jacket. A serpent is helping you and, honestly, it doesn't bother you one bit. Anyone who is willing to help you is someone you wouldn't mind being around, gang member or not.

"If I ever see you touch her again, you're dead!" The serpent slams him into the locker one last time before letting him run off in a different direction.

You don't care where he goes, you're just glad to see him leave. Relief floods you and your numb facade cracks without warning. You don't realize that you're crying until the tears start to roll down your cheek. They drop off your chin and onto your still-damp camisole. They're hot; a strong contrast to your goosebumps covered skin. You don't know what to do now but you can still sense the serpent standing close to you. Unlike the first boy, you welcome his protective presence.

You clear your throat awkwardly, not looking up at him while your cheeks flame a crimson colour, "Thank you."

Your voice cracks and you scold yourself silently for appearing weak once more. You don't want the only person who's ever bothered to look out for you to decide you aren't worth it. Worth whatever this is.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he walks over to you and crouches infront of you. You can feel his eyes searing into your bowed head but you don't meet his gaze. You just continue staring at the ground. Something tells you that looking into his eyes will only make you cry more.

"Are you okay?" He places a warm hand on your shoulder, drawing from you another flinch that you don't expect. He doesn't seem to expect it either but he keeps his hand where it is, drawing his fingers around in soothing circles.

"Hey, I won't hurt you," he shuffles closer to you, placing his free hand on your other shoulder.

He sounds desperate, like he needs to prove that the display of violence only moments ago will never be directed at you. You want to assure him that you know that already. You don't know how you know that he won't hurt you, in reality you should probably be wary of his strength, but he just rescued you. There's a familiarity you haven't felt in a long time that emits from him. It seeps into your skin where he holds you and warms your tired bones.

You reach out and grasp his arm with both hands, running your fingers over the buttery leather of his jacket sleeves. You trail your eyes from the floor, over his grey flannel clad abdomen, and stop at his chest. You take a moment before looking into two striking chocolate eyes. They look hooded but also as if the the facade that they usually put up is gone just for you. However, when his heated eyes trace down your face and stop at your cheek they harden once more.

You take a moment to absorb the rest of his features. He has raven hair, as dark as midnight and brushed across his forehead in a way that makes you wonder if he's been running his hand through it. His skin is tanned, especially for the middle of fall. His top lip is sparse and his bottom lip is full. You kind of want to reach out and trace them but, well, that would be kind of weird.

A lot weird.

"I know," you stop swirling your fingers on his arm and glance down once more, "I know you won't hurt me."

Ice washes through your veins when you realize yiu should probably go now. You go to stand, readying to flee with a heavy pressure on your chest. You don't want to leave his side but you can't answer the questions you know he's going to ask. It will only endanger him. He saved you and now you have to save him. You have to save him from something you can't even save yourself from.

But his grip on you keeps you where you are. You don't have the strength left after last night, and now this morning, to fight against him. You don't even want to fight him, you don't want to go. His hand lifts your chin until you're gazing into his darkened eyes once more. He lightly skims his fingertips over the bruise that shouldn't be visible. It's bold against your flushed complexion, demanding the spotlight be directed on its grand debut.

When his eyes meet yours once more, they hold the note of a threat, "Did he do this?"

The irony is almost laughable but no sound leaves your lips. You just shake your head.

"The person who did this doesn't matter." Your words don't aid the growing murderous look on his face, they only add to it.

He seems like he wants to protest but he holds himself back, which you greatly appreciate. However, looking into his deep brown eyes, all you really want to do is erase the helplessness hiding beneath the anger. Before you can stop yourself you raise your hand to his left cheek, mirroring his hand on yours, and run your thumb over his tanned skin.

"I'm okay. I promise." He sighs at your words before doing something that surprises you and, well, probably himself too.

He draws you into his chest. What's more surprising is you don't struggle against him, you just snuggle closer. His shirt is soft and layered with the flannel you noticed earlier. He's astronomically taller than you, making for a perfect hug. He leans his head on yours and you let the heat he emits thaw your frozen body. You don't notice that you were shaking until you stop and melt into him instead.

"Just promise me that you'll come to me if you need help. Promise me." He whispers into your hair, tightening his arms protectively around you.

"I promise," you mumble into his chest, wrapped in a daze of pine musk and leather, "but I might not be able to find you."

He tenses and you can feel him shuffle around while still keeping an arm around you. You close your eyes and submit to the mystery he exudes. You don't even know his name, nor he yours, and you're already closer to him than anyone you've ever met.

"Here," he presses a cell phone into your fingers and shifts so your back is to his chest, "now you'll be able to. No excuses."

You feel your cheeks flush again as you type in your own number as well as your name. Now he has yours, all you need is his. He reads over your shoulder as you finish plugging in your information.

"Y/n," he murmurs your name, as if testing the way it sounds. To you, it sounds as if he's the only one who should ever say it. It's like music coming out of his mouth.

"What about you," you hand him his phone back and lean your head back on his chest in order to see his eyes, "what's your name?"

He grins down at you, filling your chest with butterflies as he slides his arms around your waist, "You can call me Sweet Pea."

[canadian-buckbeaver]

Rolling in the Mistletoe

My Secret Santa gift ( @undertalesecretsanta - great job guys!) for the amazing @rolling-in-the-undertale  She asked for anything regarding her and her wonderful bonefriend, Underswap Papyrus.  Well, normally Bucky isn’t one to share but hopefully you like this  ;D

Things are a little bleak for Jen.  It is the monsters first time experiencing Christmas on the Surface, and Papyrus’ brother, Sans, needs everything to be absolutely perfect for Santa’s big arrival.  Between Sans, work, and the loss of her ring, Jen isn’t feeling much of the Christmas spirit.  However, perhaps all it takes is a little help, nudge, and pun from her favourite orange hoodied skeleton to feel the magic of the holidays?  Or perhaps it takes a little more to see the sparkle?

Jen sighed, stretching out her back and arms, finally ridding herself of the kink in her back that had plagued her for the last three hours. It had been a long, long day.  One that she was happy to say was finally over.

As much as she loved little Sans and his enthusiasm, there were some days that she just wanted to be more like Papyrus and nap the day away. This had been one of them. She and the lanky skeleton had been up half the night wrapping “Santa’s” gifts. This was a task in itself.  Between the tape getting stuck in her hair, or paper getting caught between Papyrus’ finger bones, that task alone had taken forever.  But throughout the course of the year presents had been stashed in many different secret hiding places.  Many of these hiding places that had been forgotten and needed to be re-found so they could wrap. Trying to tiptoe around the squeaking house to avoid waking up Sans… well, it was something that will not ever be repeated. By the time that the wrapping was done, tape and scraps of wrapping paper were scattered around the room and in her hair, the sun beginning to peek into their window. After a quick dust and dump, they were finally in bed. She herself had fallen asleep almost instantly of her back hitting the soft mattress. She did not want to be woken up at the crack of dawn with Sans’ new To-Do List. When he shook them awake, she was shocked to discover that his list would have rivalled Santa’s list. Hadn’t they spent the entire year prepping for this one day, hell, one mere morning? What more was there that needed to be done? Yet, little Sans had indeed found more that needed to be completed.

Yet, that wasn’t the only situation that was spoiling her holiday mood. The week before, she noticed that the cheap, plastic ring that Papyrus gave her, her “promise ring”, was missing. Not wanting to alarm Papyrus she had slowly cleaned and torn the house apart, desperately looking for it.  Physically, it wasn’t worth much, but… she remembered when he had first given it to her.

* * * * *

Papyrus and her had a rare day off together, and had decided to go the movies with Sans. Napstabott was living his dream and slowly taking over Hollywood’s biggest roles, and he had generously invited them to see one of his new movies with some free movie tickets. Some of the results, however…

“I’m not sure. I think that I still prefer the original Terminator movie. I just can’t see an evil, robot assassin will suddenly start serenading you while they are chasing you through the factory.” Jen had said, walking out with the skeletons.

“Aw. So you think that they were tinkering with the wrong movie for him?” Papyrus asked, giving her a wink and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. Jen took a deep breath, smelling the familiar scent of cigarettes and honey, now intertwined with the hearty scent of fresh popcorn. His soul was thumping steadily, a stark comparison to her wildly thumping heart.

Sans had paused then, catching sight of the quarter machines by the doors. “These are an odd type of vending machine, Jen.” He remarked, eyeing the hard, sugary treats with slight disdain.

“Not really a vending machine, more like a Kinder Surprise Egg without the chocolate… and the illegalness.  I haven’t seen these Look at these in forever! Look at these! Bouncy balls, gumballs, glow in the dark dinosaurs…” Jen had listed off, already feeling her inner child’s joy bubbling up in her chest. She used to be obsessed with these when she was younger. “Oh! Look at the jewelry!” she had said, catching sight of the cheap doodads. Plastic rings, elastic necklaces and fake brass bracelets. Anything that could be fit in a small plastic container.

“Those aren’t real though, are they Jen?” Sans had asked, looking at the reflective pendant of one of the necklaces.

She shook her head. “Probably just made out of super cheap materials, designed quickly for a laugh and a single wear before they break. The same stuff and quality that you would get out of the dollar store.”

Papyrus, however was looking at Jen as she looked at the jewelry. She didn’t have much for accessories, though the more that he thought of it, the more he realized that he had never seen her wear anything fashionable. A watch on the odd occasion. Digging through his shorts pockets he pulled a quarter from his pocket. “Kiss it for luck?” He asked Jen, winking at her.

“Papy! Do you know how many germs are on that?” Sans demanded. “That’s disgusting!”

Jen, flushing slightly, opted to kiss his thumb instead. With a quick plink and plunk, the quarter bid them good bye. A quick twist of the wrist and a plastic container, coincidently with an orange lid, fell out of the machine. Burning with anticipation, Jen removed the lid… and saw it.

It looked like wires that had been painted gold, twisted and braided in enteric little shapes to form a band. A dark bead was wound in the centre, finishing the ring’s look. Jen and Papyrus stared at it. It was so simple, so… perfect.

Carefully picking it out of its container, Papyrus knelt to the ground. “Jen. I don’t have much to offer now. I’m broke, I’m addicted to honey, my smokes and all things sweet, but I’m also addicted to you. So, perhaps later, when we are ready, will you…?”

“Yes….” Jen breathed, extending her right hand. As if by magic, it fit her perfectly.

* * * * *

But now it was gone, gone as if it never existed.  

Somehow she had preserved. Between baking or burning cookies, assuring Sans that Santa would find him and Papyrus in their new home, cleaning (so much cleaning!!), hanging up yet another wreath, and still another day of not finding her ring, Jen had been able to escape the house, just in time for her shift at Swirllby’s. There was a fairly convincing smile on her lips, but if questioned she could blame it on the cold or snow in her boots.

Swirllby, after escaping the Underground, had opened up a bar on the Surface, one that had quickly become popular with both humans and monsters.  During its beginning days, it had assisted with the merging, and then the peace between both of the races.  Specializing in all foods greasy and drinks alcoholic, surely it would be the perfect place to get away from the holidays, at least for a little bit. Looking back days later, Jen would chuckle at her desperate thinking. If she thought that she was free of the Christmas chaos, she was sorely mistaken. Just cracking open the door of his bar caused a few well known carol notes to escape, and the thick smell of pine to assault her nose. The place was full of the Christmas spirit.  Out of the frying pan, and into the fire as they said.

* * * * *

Working Christmas Eve should be illegal, Jen decided a couple hours later, her feet aching and her back screaming in pain. Swirllby was a good boss and chef but some of his patrons were… well, they left a little to be desired. No consistency, no rhyme or reason. The monsters were just as crazy as the humans these days. Now the regulars were wonderful as always, understanding and sympathetic, and always had a kind word or simple encouragement to her, asking about Sans and Papyrus. These were the ones that Jen had come accustomed to, even looked forward to seeing every night.

But, as always, there were others she had to shake her head at. If you’re spending your Christmas Eve in a busy bar, complaining and about how busy and unprepared they are this holiday season, than you are in the wrong place.  You would be better using the final countdown to prepare for the big day, doing anything and everything to make sure that everything was prepared and ready as it could be. Instead, Jen bit her tongue, holding back her inside voice, and nodded sympathetically as they groaned and moaned, tossing down glass after glass of the special rum and Eggnog concoction that the fire bartender had made especially for the occasion.

Then there were the “holiday over-achievers”.  These were the people or monsters that were finished preparing for Christmas, baking done, wrapping completely finished and trees up and decorated as early as October or even in November. They were the ones that were truly enjoying the holiday spirit, basking in the warm glow of candlelight, cheeks rosy from sleigh rides, and the ones that reeked of turkey or ham or other holiday cooking. The very picture of health and relaxation. They were probably not the kind of people that a certain skeleton wouldn’t be explaining how to string a evergreen decoration properly through the banister, thoroughly saying how it would properly impress Santa by the number of twists in the length. If Jen didn’t know any better, she could have sworn that they just came off of posing for a Christmas card. She blankly nodded, pretending to make note of their special tips or their ideas, remembering their secret family recipes… the list went on. She felt herself salivating as she listened to them talk about butter tarts and cookies, cakes and pies. Sans would have fit in this group better here than her. He would be the one that would be naturally making conversation with them, listening to their talk and better contributing. Of all the times that she had needed the blue-eyed skeleton… well, by now he would be home in bed, visions of sugar plums dancing around in his skull. Papyrus, would be either asleep on the couch or in their bed, snoring soundly. The thought made her yawn, her body weary… but no. She still had much more remaining of her shift.

To complete the cozy picture, there were few Grinches or Scrooges that had settled up some sort of anti-Christmas convention, braving the holiday carols and snow to congregate together. They were noticeable by their dark, sparkle-less eyes, their closed expressions. Their mission? It was very simple. Try to bring everyone else out of the “conspiracy of Christmas” and to their dark side. They would whisper about consumerism, encouraging people to spend more and more, buying their friends and family more presents, sending more aide and donations to the various charities that always popped up this time of the year. How Christmas couldn’t be real because it was a holiday that originally belonged to the pagans, and how December 25th really couldn’t be the real, true birthdate of Christ. Jen nodded silently, listening to them as they drank shot after shot of whiskey, listening to them babble about the Fibonacchi sequence and the Mona Lisa, how it was all a big conspiracy and how they needed to alert everyone to their findings.

But, especially the stringy Scrooges, these patrons fit their description perfectly. It just wasn’t a good night for tips. Heck, she’d much rather be at home watching the Christmas specials or anime with Papyrus, Sans and the others. Sans had been wanting to watch the anime Parasyte for some time now, though she had a feeling that she would be spending it cracking awkward jokes with Papyrus, ignoring the gore and blood on the screen.

But, it was finally over. Last call was called and served, and the crowd of people finished their drinks. Sometime during the duration of her shift, a minor blizzard had blown in, whipping up snow and ice, and then the fresh snow fall thickly falling from the skies.  Hugs, kisses and many well wishes later from the clients and the bar slowly began to empty, people and monsters beginning to start for home. After Swirllby finally kicked out the remaining, lingering clients, the bar was finally, mercifully empty, even the last notes of the carols ceased. All that remained for her was a quick scrub of the bar and tables before her shift was finally over. Finally she was off, wishing Swirllby a Merry Christmas before starting off in the miserable weather. The snow was blowing around her, able to bite through the numerous layers she wore and chill her, while snow made itself at home in her boots. It was times like these that she wished that she had the ability to use Papyrus’ shortcuts. No cold or wind. No long, unnecessary walk. Just a quick little blip, and a quick gasp of darkness and she would be home.

Or better yet that Papyrus had shortcutted to the bar to save her from this horrid walk.

Then again, it was only a few blocks. She could already hear Sans telling her not to be as lazy as his brother and just do it. No problem… right?

As she began the long walk home, she slowly watched the snowflakes dance with the Christmas lights.  The flakes shimmered with the different colours, taking on reds and yellows, blues and greens before they settled on the ground. It was rather peaceful, quiet tonight. Not even a car drove by, not even another pedestrian walked by her. She had these sights all to herself. “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…” Jen whispered to herself, allowing herself to smile, before continuing on her journey.  She slowly walked, allowing herself to take in the sights and the joy of the silence. She decided that she would go home, run herself a quick, warm bath to warm up, before crawling into her pyjamas next to Papyrus and hibernating, at the very least, until the next night.

* * * * *

Thirty minutes of trudging through calf-high snow, for thirty minutes she had been watching the slowly passing displays of Christmas lights glow and blink at her, of darkened and peaceful houses. Thirty minutes of the wind howling through her ears, and snow stinging her eyes. Thirty minutes of hell and she was finally home. Her holiday mood was now long since destroyed, replacing it with a bah-humbug air. It might have been the third puddle she had stepped in, or the wad of snow that fell a tree. Now Jen just needed inside, a bath, and a week of sleep. She grumbled to herself, finding the porch light again turned off. No matter how often you mentioned it, the skeletons never remembered to leave the porch light on for her, leaving her in the literal dark. Grumbling slightly, she dug out her key out of her pocket and fumbled with the lock. After a few tense moments, the door’s lock finally gave with a small click, and was finally opened. Stepping through the door, she shook the snow from her long, dark hair, kicking off her sodden boots and flicking on the living room light…

Exposing a very skinny Santa, caught in the act of loading up the Christmas tree.

She froze, staring at the tall and lanky skeleton.  The red suit and pants dangled off of his skinny frame.  The pants were physically tied to his hipbones with his belt, reminding Jen of how those ‘baggies’ pants that were in style in the 1970’s or so were worn.  The red fur jacket was draped as flatteringly as a nightgown and the little Santa hat was hazardously sitting on his skull.  If a gust of wind had managed to come down the chimney, it would have fallen off in an instant. For a moment they stared at each other, “Santa’s” magical orange irises dimming into a familiar, tired gaze. “Hey Honey,” Papyrus said to her, again turning to the tree. “Rough shift?”

She couldn’t help it. After the stress of the long day, and the depressing walk home, this is exactly what she needed to come home to. She started to giggle, trying vainly to cover her mouth to keep quiet.

“Stretch… oh my god… oh stars… I knew that you would be putting the presents under the tree tonight but… what is with the get-up?” She asked, letting her gaze take in her bone-friend.  “How on earth did you find one that fit you?”

Stretch chuckled to himself, laying the last present under the tree before starting to come close to her.  “I’ve always dressed up as Santa throughout the years.  Just in case Sans happened to spy me. Had to keep the magic going for him.” he explained, a small sparkle lighting in his eyes.

Jen continued to giggle, looking at the threadbare, obviously fake, beard that hung like limp, broken streamers.  She could clearly see the pale string that he had used to tie it behind his skull.  The only illusion that held this Santa picture together was the darkness and the flickering light of the Christmas tree.  One which she had effectively ruined when she had turned on the lights.  But still, it was such a sweet thought, one that fit Stretch perfectly. He would truly do anything for his beloved brother. “The kids must not be leaving very good cookies out for you Santa, you’re nothing but bones.” She couldn’t help but continue to tease. This was the perfect opportunity after all.

Papyrus laughed quietly, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. She could feel his curved ribs underneath the get-up.  “Oh you know how it is, sweetness.  These days it’s all glutton-free cookies or the dreaded oatmeal raisin.  Health is in, goodness out.  Chocolate is becoming far too rare these days.” He fake lamented, resting his skull against her forehead.

“Then you should be lucky that I talked Sans into leaving you out honey cookies.” Jen grinned, nuzzling into the soft fabric of his jacket.  She could feel his soul gently thumping in his rib cage, calming her. Leaving her bad day in the crevices of her memories.  Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Even the suit smelled like his cigarettes and sweet honey.

It smelt of home, of where she belonged.

“I’m very spoiled, indeed.” Papyrus said, a gentle finger urging her face up.  “Having both you and Sans here, on the Surface… it is better than anything that is underneath the tree.” He said.

She felt her heart warm and her face flush slightly, causing her to look down. It wasn’t out of embarrassment though. He always knew what to say to make her feel warm and happy. “Hey, when we get married at town hall, instead of that tuxedo t-shirt, you should definitely wear this instead.” Jen said, gently feeling the soft, red fabric of the coat. “It brings out the colour of your bones better.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Just for you.” Papyrus grinned down at her. “And now that I officially chased away the remains of your day, may I draw your attention to one thing?” He asked, pointing up at the ceiling, to a spot directly above them. Jen looked up, seeing a splash of green against the white ceiling. “Mistletoe,” he explained. “Seems like Sans was trying to get himself into the special Christmas spirit.”

Jen recognized the little plant. The white berried, green stemmed plant was indeed hanging from the ceiling, right beside the doorway. “Slight oversight on Sans’ part. He realizes that he would have to kiss everyone that he meets at the door, right?”

Papyrus chuckled. “His dating manual had a quick little chapter on Christmas. Apparently if you meet someone under the mistletoe that means that the two people or monsters are destined to be soul mates. Live happily, ever after.” Papyrus explained, gently touched their noses together. “But talking isn’t what you do under the mistletoe.”

Jen flushed again, her warm blush darkening her cheeks, but she leaned forward to meet him halfway. Boney teeth gently touched her lips, magic crackling between the two of them, creating sparks that flew between the two of them. One of his hands crept up to her hair, tangling in the dark strands, urging her closer to him as he gently nibbled on her lips.  She gasped quietly, her mouth opening slightly, and allowing access to one another. Slowly their tongues beginning to tangle, beginning to play. His other hand still gripped the small of her back, pulling her even closer to him, pressing her into his rib cage, deepening the kiss further. Thoroughly tasting each other, lost to the world.  All that mattered was this kiss, each other, not the snow that howled or the cookies on the table.  So lost were they did not hear the little pitter-patter of feet coming down the stairs…

“Santa… what? And Jen? Jen, what are you doing?” Sans asked, rubbing at his eye sockets before squinting at them in surprise. Papyrus and Jen pulled back away from each other as if burned, staring with wide eyes at Sans. He looked terrified and slightly horrified. “But….” he turned up the stairs, already calling for Papyrus.

Jen looked to Papyrus, who looked as surprised and shocked as she did. “Great. Now what?” she asked him. Papyrus, for once, didn’t have an answer, or even a pun. With a small sigh, he shook his head.

Well. A very merry Christmas to them. Jen sighed quietly, shaking her head. Perhaps she could have asked the patrons at the bar how they would have dealt with this next time she saw them.

“Well, while he’s upstairs, how about I give you this?” Papyrus asked, handing her a small present.

“Shouldn’t you be going after him? Damage control?” Jen asked, hesitantly taking the box.

“That’s why you need to hurry.”

With a sigh she ripped the red paper, quickly removing the removing the ribbon. Upstairs, Sans was calling for his brother. On one hand she should be proud of Sans, standing up and looking out for his older brother. On the other… she opened the box.

She blinked, looking at the cotton fibres. Her plastic ring was nestled there, like it  was in a little nest. Threaded through the band was a thin silver chain, one that was made either of sterling silver or stainless chain. All those days looking for it, and he had it the whole time?

Jen looked up at Papyrus, intending to give him shit when she realized he was kneeling before her. A small, white box was opened, and a small gold band and black onyx glittered at her. “Jen… I’m still not put together, I’m still a mess, and I’m still completely addicted to you… will you please…?”