#it was so finicky but worth it

[booksncraftssapphic]

So I made a thing:

I play a mobile game called Epic 7, and it lets you make your own profile cards. So today I decided to spend over an hour making Alastor.

By the way, this was not drawn. This was made by layering shapes.

A lot of shapes.

[thefreelanceangel]

what, I wonder, is worse to be the only living thing alone on a dead planet

or to be as I exist half-dead, yet breathing alone avoided by all warmth and life

[inverse-problem]

drew some fanart for a day of maintenance because it's frankly tragic to me that there's no fandom for this game. here's orby, the (robot) player character's gay robot boyfriend, whose job is repairing satellites

anyway, if you like vehicular exploration games (with crane operator gameplay and visual novel elements) and gay robot romance and stories about worker consciousness, do check the game out! it's also on steam (or there's a demo on the itch page also). and there's a tie-in short story!

[lokh]

bro i fucking hate knitting

[moonstandardtime]

love my digital art class but god it is filling me with rage and hatred for adobe.

[labyrynth]

.

[evilminji]

DP X BNHA Idea!!!!!

Izuku goes missing during the USJ. He falls through a green portal!

I mean? Kurogiri IS there. And we don't know that ALL that neck piece does is support his body. Could be Support Tech too. Portals made by an artificial Quirk are finicky? Why the FUCK would a Nomu, no matter how intelligent, have any control over his portals?

That requires a clear visualization and conscious PREMEDITATED set of decisions.

Something he is no longer capable off. It's one of the major flaws in their shitty, shitty "research". The see only the end results of people working with their Quirks. Mentally processing information and MAKING DECISIONS as INDIVIDUALS WITH FREE WILL and? Reduce it all down to the Quirk itself.

It's bias.

They never saw PEOPLE as anything of worth, after all.

That's why Best Jeanist can have such a "weak quirk" and still kick so much ass. Miriko can be a terrifying war god of a battle rabbit. It was never the Quirk. It was the PERSON weilding it.

The Strongest Quirks in existence, in the hands of weak willed men, could be defeated by one determined quirkless man with a heavy rock or a gun. They would die like insects, cowering in the mud. And All for One never understood that. It's why he underestimated his brother. It's why he was always doomed to fail.

It's WHY... Izuku has no idea where he is.

And there are like... seven? No wait, more. Ghosts. Arguing over what to do.

They CAME OUT OF HIS CHEST!!! ( T^T)

At least Grandma Midoriya is here. She like Aunty Mitsuki and... oh hey! That's Aunty Mitsuki's uncle! At least he has family... sorta... dead family? He's gonna go with family. At least he has people he KNOWS with him, here to yell at the weird chest ghosts.

And Grandma hugs.

As they float in a... void a green. Ha ha... ohgodwherearethey...

There is a crowd forming. Apparently that portal guy is a NOMU? And Mr.? Cloud? Wants his body back. Has been following the portals the Nomu creates to try and tear his way in from the OTHER side.

.....TERRIFYING.

What side?! What side are WE ON? Please EXPLAIN.

And?? Now someone is shouting to break it up. There are skeletons gently shoving people and doing crowd control. And.... wait. WAIT! :O

Is that a HERO UNIFORM!!! That IS! And a crown! Is that part of his outfit? Or is this place RULED by a DEAD HERO?! *vibrates in hero nerd*

[elliespeach]

tear you apart part three | ellie williams

˗ˏˋ"you're a charmer, aren't you?" ´ˎ˗

pairing ellie wiliams x fem reader synopsis ellie owns her own vinyl store and the day you wander in changes both of your lives forever. she quickly becomes infatuated with you, desperate for your love that she believes is meant to be. when things in your life begin to spiral, ellie is there to catch you, but you'd never suspect she was the reason you fell in the first place. wordcount: 3.1k warnings: murder 😱 and stalking both cyber and in person, ellie is obsessive, manipulative, a gaslighter, a pervert lowkey, possessive and easily jealous, shes also so delusional like top tier delulu, shes based off joe goldberg so i mean put the pieces together. this is all from her perspective, most if not all of the inner monologue is ellie's thoughts about you, the italics is verbatim what she is thinking in that very moment if that makes sense. like joe, all of her actions are justified in her mind, and she doesn't see anything wrong with them. reader has a dysfunctional family. pls lmk if i am missing something! an: i cannot express enough how thankful i am for all the love for this story really it means so much. obsessive ellie nation rise once again, i come before you with this part and i hope it was worth the wait :) xoxo

watching you cry yourself to sleep on your couch made ellie’s heart throb. she wanted to be there for you, to hold you, to tell you everything was going to be okay, that she was going to make it all okay. but she knew better than to expect that you’d let her, after all, you still barely knew her. so how is it that she could lead you straight into her arms, where you belong? 

it was the next day, and although your state of mind was completely shattered by the events of the previous night, ellie was wide awake, ecstatic at her new idea on how to make you all better. she would hope that your encounter with her helped you, as much as it could but she couldn’t just rely on that, ellie had to take action. she never wanted to see you in tears over someone like that again. 

starting her day in the shop as normal, she filled orders, fixed a few finicky records and sold boring albums to boring souls who she wished was you. she spent the better part of the morning fantazizing about you wandering into her store yet again. needing help finding an album, or better yet just to talk to her. it hasnt even been more than twelve hours and she missed your voice already, replaying your conversation over and over in her head like her favorite movie. 

while the traffic in the store died down, ellie did more research on the newly found suzanna mavis. formally known as suzanna hardwick, she grew up in a cushy home, with preppy parents who supported every endenvour she seemed to possess. her facebook was littered with photos of shuana in every aspect of her life, along with her prized possession; a baby blue mercedes benz. but, there seemed to be someone missing, her husband of twenty five years was seemingly no where to be found on her social media. when ellie searched his name alone, mr. mavis seemed to have no social media at all. 

thats fine, ellie only needed suzanna. 

finding out where she worked required no effort at all as it was displayed clearly on her facebook profile. she was the assistant to some shareholder, blah blah boring. but the company name was one she recongized, their office building was just a few blocks down from her store. she passed it nearly everyday on her commute to see you. 

for ellie’s plan to work, she had to close the store early. it was barely noon when she found herself in the parking garage to suzanna’s building. there was a guard booth, but no guards and the garage itself was a ghost town of rich people cars. she spotted the blue mercedes, and her plan was in motion.. 

thanks to you so graciously and unknowingly, giving her suzanna’s personal cell phone number, she dialed and it only rang once, her preppy voice ringing in ellie’s ears. she almost felt her stomach whirling in anticipation, but the sensation quickly washed away into something more sinister. no. protective

“suzanna mavis speaking,” 

ellie paced back and forth near the elevator in the garage, “hey, mrs. mavis,” she rolled her eyes at her own voice, trying to sound not like herself, “i’m one of the guards down in the parking garage, looks like someone keyed your benz this morning.” 

ellie heard a loud sigh, then the distant sounds of heels clicking on the ground. “are you kidding me? you didn’t stop them?” 

ellie suppressed a sigh, “i was on lunch–” 

“your job is to guard our cars, if you can’t even do that–” her voice was shrill, and ellie’s patience was running low.

“ma’am, just come downstairs, the police need a statement.” 

ellie heard a few curses string from the phone before the call ended, she chuckled to herself before sliding her phone into her pocket. ellie slowly walked over to the blue mercedes, examining it up close. she crouched down, removing her small switchblade and flinging it open. she almost didn’t do it, it was unnecessary really. but the image of you so broken by her made ellie’s mouth twitch. how she had smiled at you while speaking about her husband, ignoring you, leading you on, preying on you. the switchblade moved as if it had it’s own mind, scratching the car from back to front in one swift movement. 

breathing out in relief, ellie heard the ding of the elevator behind her. 

she watched from behind a nearby car as suzanna stepped out of the elevator, a sour puss on her face as she made her way towards her car. she groaned when she saw the long, deep slice into the side of the car. ellie pulled up her handkerchief over her nose and while suzanna was busy inspecting her car, ellie pounced. 

she had a hand covering suzanna’s mouth, her switchblade pressed against her neck with the other. suzanna thrashed in her arms but ellie held her ground, “shh, shh!” ellie hissed in her ear, whisking her around and pinning her to her own car. “i’m not going to kill you, shut up–” 

ellie kept the switchblade at her throat, quickly looking around. with the coast clear, she slowly removed her hand from suzanna’s mouth. “take my money, please i don’t–” 

“i don’t want that either,” ellie looked suzanna up and down. her? you’re losing your mind over her? “i want you to speed up your big family move to california. leave tomorrow.” 

suzanna’s eye furrowed as if she was confused, “w-what?” 

“you’re moving to california at the end of the summer, are you not?” ellie’s paitence was growing thinner by the second, and the switchblade was pressed into her neck so deep any movement would draw blood. 

suzanna was shaking underneath ellie, and as she spoke her voice was weak, “what? my family was never moving to california, please i’ll give you anything!” 

shauna lied? why the hell would she lie about that?

“go anyway. leave the city.” leave you alone.

“i can’t just pick up my whole family and move to another state, we-we have a life here.” suzanna was trembling now, her voice shaking just as much as her legs.

well, if you won’t leave on your own. “i really didn’t want to have to kill you,” ellie said casually, almost annoyed. she moved quickly, snatching a clump of suzanna’s hair in her hand and whipping her around. ellie barely blinked as she slammed suzanna’s face into the baby blue mersedes. once. harder. twice. harder. three times. even harder. four times. as hard as physically possible. blood stained the blue on the car, and suzanna’s body fell to the ground as ellie let go. limp. dead. 

out of your life. 

– later that day 

ellie realized she had fucked up big time when she got back to the store.

the night she saved you, she shouldve given you her number. she had no way to check up on you, to make sure you were okay with the news to come. she would have to go back to her tried and true; “accidentally” running into you. before she could see online which bar you and your friends would overdrink at tonight, ellie found you standing outside her store. you came all this way to see me. 

“hi ellie,” you smiled brightly, illuminated by neon red sign on her store. you must not know yet. poor baby. 

“hey stranger,” ellie kept her voice calm, but she hoped that her bodys reaction to seeing you wasn’t visible. she could feel her face grow hot, and she did her best to hide it by keeping her back to you as she locked the stores door. she could smell your sweet perfume from here, and she cleared her throat before speaking again, turning to face you now that the redness in her face had diminished, “if you’re here for a vinyl, i’ll ring you up still–” 

“no, no, i came to see you.” you replied shyly, quickly glancing at your feet before meeting her gaze again with your soft eyes. while you had glanced away, ellie took you all in. she admired the dedication you put into your outfits, and she liked to believe you picked this one out just for her.

“oh?” was all ellie could say. she was busy imagining you standing in front of your mirror, trying on a thousand different outfits. ellie would’ve loved every single one of them regardless, as long as they are on you. she thought about you doing your makeup all pretty, how long that must take. detailing your face for hours, just for me. 

“yeah. i wanted to see if you’d like to get drinks with me tonight?” 

oh.

her eyes widened, never did she think that you’d ask her out. she wanted to be the one to wisk you away for a perfect date that you deserved. but ellie would settle for drinks for now, until she finally could take you on a real date. she composed herself, remaining casual. as casual as she could be. “yeah, i’d love that. we could go now, i’m done with the store for today.” 

“yeah, let’s go,” you flashed another smile at ellie, which she returned. it was like the universe was rewarding her for her good deed. you coming to see her, to ask her out. it seemed like everything was falling perfectly into place. now that suzanna was gone. 

ellie had been racking her brain all day about what suzanna had told her. that there was never any intention to move at all. that shauna had lied, for what? a reaction? why would she even want that kind of reaction out of you in the first place? 

what was shauna hiding?

“so, why’re you in new york? are you from here?” ellie inquired, for no other reason that to hear you talk. you’re here for your art.

“not from here, i moved here to hopefully make a name for myself as an artist. what about you?” ellie didn’t want to talk about herself, not when you were so lovely. but you were asking about her, and she couldn’t say no to you if she tried. 

“i moved here a few years ago,” ellie revealed, but immediately diverted the conversation back to you. “you’re an artist? well, now i have to see a piece of yours.” ellie’s looked through your instagram enough, she’s seen every one a million times already.

you laughed, looking away sheepishly. “i’m no picasso,” 

“no, but you’re you. so, they can’t be that bad, can they?” 

again, you blushed, giving ellie a shy smile. “you’re a charmer, aren’t you?” 

“i try, what can i say.” ellie shrugged, and you pointed out the bar to her.

she held the door open for you, the music already defenening her ears. it wasn’t a regular bar where you could sit and talk, it was a dancing bar. the bass in the speakers rumbled at her feet, sending shock waves up her spine. this wasn’t ellie’s crowd by a mile, but you looked back at her with the face of an angel and grabbed her hand softly to lead her towards the bar. ellie wasn’t going anywhere, not as long as you were here. 

reaching the bar, you asked for four green tea shots, two each. “yuck, green tea shots?” ellie teased, basically yelling over the music. this time ellie wasn’t worried if you wanted to over indulge, this time she could watch over you for real. and she wasn’t about to make the same mistake your friends made. 

you leaned into her so that you could speak into her ear, and ellie’s heart fluttered in her chest. you were close, very close. the top you were wearing exposed the entirety of your upper torso and she found it hard not to stare. “yes, green tea shots! keep up, ellie.” you laughed, pushing two of the shots to her that bartender left on the counter. 

ellie picked one of them up, holding it out for you to cheer to with your own, “i’ll do my best,” she responded, looking into your shimmering eyes. the things i do for you. you tapped her shot glass, and you both took down the shot with ease, although ellie’s grimaced face told you that she did not like shots, but she picked up the second one before you. 

her grimace didn’t go away with the second one, it actually went down worse for ellie. but it seemed her reaction made you laugh, and ellie was okay with the burning in her throat. before she could recover from the back to back shots, you took her hand again. the same electricity as before stirred inside of her at your touch and she barely noticed you brought her out to the middle of the dance floor, people on all sides dancing to the beat of the very loud music, that seemed to only get louder. 

but you started to sway your hips to the beat. 

and ellie’s breath caught in her throat. 

she realized way too late that she hadn’t eaten today, and those shots were already starting to make her head feel fuzzy. and now here you were in front of her, moving your body in ways that ellie had only dreamed of witnessing firsthand. literally. 

with the alcohol swiftly entering her system with every second that went by, she started to move to the music with you. only a minute went by before her hands were planted on your hips, unable to stop herself before doing so. though, you didn’t seem to mind, if anything it looked like you had closed the remaining gap between the two of you. not ellie.

with your bodies touching with every movement, and ellie’s hands on your hips, it became very intimate. very fast. ellie’s mind was no longer racing at the thought of you being this close to her, instead, it felt like it ignited something inside of her. between the sensual music blaring, the alcohol and most imporantly your chest brushing against ellie’s own every chance it got, she was losing control over herself. 

finally, ellie removed a hand from your hip, bringing it up to your cheek. she held it there for a second, looking into your eyes as she did. you stared back with the same intensity and ellie knew she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself. she watched as you glanced down to her lips, you saw the makings of a smirk before her lips were on yours. 

for a second, ellie thought she was going to wake up. that this had been a dream somehow, she’s had a similar one before with you in it, but when she felt your hands lightly tugging on her hair she knew she couldn’t be fake. ellie pulled you closer, the people around you both be damned, she just wanted more of you. her hands were now wrapped around you, resting on your lower back while your tongue slipped into her mouth. 

ellie groaned. which you shouldn’t have been able to hear, but you felt the vibration on your lips. ellie didn’t care anyway, not when your body was pressed against hers and she could feel very inch of you. 

ellie was no where near finished, but you had pulled away. the music was no longer muffled in her ears, and she was desperately clinging to the sensation you left on her lips. but your attention had been moved to your phone. 

“sorry, i could feel it buzzing non-stop in my pocket. my friend’s calling me, can we go outside?”

shit. shit. shit. shit. “yeah, no problem,” big problem. big big problem. 

ellie followed you outside, preparing herself for the worst. as the night air slapped ellie in the face, her thoughts became more clear. i kissed you. you kissed me back. 

you put the phone to your ear, and ellie made herself busy by pretending to look at her own phone, scrolling through her settings. 

“hey shauna, sorry i didn’t see your calls, i’m on a da– what?” your voice, that had been caring a rather happy tone turned cold, and undeniably shocked. 

“do they know who did it?” you asked, turning away from ellie and slowly pacing as you listened to whatever shuana was saying. you nodded your head a few times before speaking again, “do you want me to come over?” your voice started to shake, and for a second ellie regretted her decision. this will be good for you. in time you’ll realize she was no good for you. 

“okay…if you need anything, i mean anything shuana, please call me.” 

ellie looked up from her phone, an eyebrow raised slightly. “everything okay?” she chirped, sliding her phone into her pocket. you turned around, those beautiful shimmering eyes glistening with tears. “hey, whats wrong?” ellie moved closer, her tone soft and welcoming. 

“my best friends mom was just murdered,” you managed to choke out, and before you could say more, ellie’s arms were wrapped around you tightly. she knew you’d hurt for a while, and that was okay. she would be kind of weirded out if you weren’t, but with time she knew you’d be better. you’d both be better with each other. your face was buried in ellie’s neck with tears marking her shirt while she rubbed your back slowly. 

ellie was calming you the best she could, whispering a soft ‘it’ll be okay’ every few seconds that you remained in the crook of her neck. 

you spoke against her skin softly, your voice sounding weak and defeated, “can you walk me home, ellie? please?” 

“of course,” she kissed the top of your head, not letting you out of the hug until you pulled back. you locked your arms around hers, using her for support as she walked you home. 

ellie had to remind herself to ask you how to get there, after already taking one right turn by accident she was scared you’d question why. but obviously your mind was elsewhere. 

ellie knew her night with you was over, that she would remeince on your shared kiss for days to come until you felt well enough to see her again. to kiss me again. the walk was silent, not an uncomfortable silent but a shared understanding that the mood was low, and ellie was content just being with you, she didn’t need to talk. she was prepared to walk you all the way up to your door, and tell you to call her if you needed anything but when she stopped at the main door to your apartment, you looked back at her with doefully sad eyes. 

“can you stay with me?” 

can you stay with me. rang in her ears like a song. don’t smile. dont fucking smile.

“yeah, i’ll stay with you.” 

you brought her inside, and ellie looked around like she had never been here before. the apartment was dark, and you didn’t go to turn on any of the lights. instead, ellie followed you into your room, choosing to ignore the mess that was your apartment. she decided to focus on you, and when you sunk into your bed, ellie was next to you in a heart beat. 

she didn’t move to cuddle you, fearing she would be over stepping. im in your bed. and youre in it too. like a kid on christmas morning, but your soft crying brought her back down to reality. you shifted, bringing your body up against ellie’s for the second time tonight, resting your head on her shoulder with an arm draped over her. ellie wanted to hold her breath, scared you’d move at the slightest movement from her but you were leaning on her for comfort. her whole plan was to comfort you back to normal. 

her hand moved to your back, and the slow circles she rubbed lulled you to sleep. but ellie was still wide awake. 

————

tags <3 @aouiaa @kissmxcheek @spaceshipellie @strgrlxox @machetegirl109 @uraesthete @mousymaven @ucannotcompare @imahallucination11 @thatgiraffefromtlou @cjrights @sc0ttstre3ted @nicolicht @p1llowthoughtss @ellabsmasc

((sorry if you’ve seen this already and are getting tagged i totally forgot when i posted!!))

[undead-supernova]

Tolerance Break / Masterlist

Bonus Chapters

Part 4 / Part 5

warnings: mostly warning free outside of alcohol consumption, arguments, a hint of spice, and emergency cigarettes

pairings: bestfriend!modern!eddie x fem!reader

plot: sometimes you just gotta clear the smoke

wc: 5.2k

How the fuck did you end up agreeing to go to another karaoke night?

No, seriously. What the hell was wrong with you?

Okay, maybe you were being a little too mean to yourself. But didn’t you deserve it after everything that transpired between you and Eddie?

There was something that was beginning to float away from the two of you, something that felt familiar. It was exactly what you’d feared, the teetering in and out. No calls, no texts. Nothing there on your screen, left for dead on your bedroom floor most days as you blocked out any and all noise you could. Only listened to the kind of metal and screamo that sounded like fuzz, where their lyrics were practically incoherent from their gutteral screams. Played every goddamn Lego game on your Xbox and, yes, you specifically avoided clicking on Lego The Hobbit.

And to be fair, you hadn’t responded to any of the texts Eddie did send that first week. You had hope that he would show up like a knight in shining armor, taking your silence as a chance for him to be a hero—as if that was a justified response. 

Because silence equaled confirmation that you were done. And confirmation that you were done meant that Eddie had to respect whatever boundaries you’d put up. Despite this, you stared at the door whenever you came home. Left a light on in the middle of the night just in case his knock woke you. 

Just in case. Just in case.

But this wasn’t coping.

This was your own personal hell.

Because you also knew about the back and forth with Steve, the hopeful glances and longing stares. The missed chances and opportunities and the stupid, stupid mistakes that you thought about making. You also knew that your relationship with Eddie was going to change significantly. Maybe it already had.

You were leaning up against the side of your car, smoking an emergency cigarette from the pack stashed in your glove box. The anxiety was starting to eat you alive as you really came to terms with the fact that you were going to see Eddie for the first time in nearly a month. And, by the grace of God, you were going to be seeing him sober.

He would probably get there late knowing his finicky Tuesday schedule, sometimes having a longer shift than normal. Maybe he’d be all sweaty and grimy, frustrated and unable to talk to you. Or he could be bright and cheery and make conversation, blind to the magic of your lucky fishnets chosen for tonight.

How would he act? Would everything be okay? Did he even want to talk to you after what happened?

What even really happened?

Maybe he wouldn’t show up at all. 

Would it even be worth it to stay?

The sound of Robin calling your name woke you from your self-indulgent nightmare fuel. You looked up, watching her wave at you with Steve in tow, sporting a white crop top and a deep green button down left open, bracelets galore. Steve was in his work outfit, sleeves rolled up, button down unbuttoned and untucked. Disheveled wife beater clinging for dear life in this weather. Like he was straight out of a quirky 2000s movie. Except he didn’t look exhausted, just slightly tired.

You met them halfway, giving Robin a side hug to keep her away from the smoke.

But as soon as you pulled back, she grabbed the cigarette and crushed it under her Vans. Even went so far as to stomp on it. 

“Rob, seriously?” Steve asked. 

“Gross,” Robin replied, shaking her head at you. “So, so gross.”

You just wanted five minutes of unhealthy coping mechanisms—but you knew Robin was right. Getting back into smoking cigarettes just because you were in a perpetual state of sorrow due to your own actions may not be the best course of action. Maybe that’s why you felt better on your two-week tolerance break from smoking weed. It just felt better to have a clear head, especially if it wasn’t doing well in the first place.

Steve gave you an apologetic look, also giving you a side hug. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s probably for the best.”

“Should we go inside?” Robin asked, pointing at Go Ask Mary. 

What you noticed as soon as you sat down was that neither of them even mentioned Eddie. Didn’t tell you whether he was still coming or whether he’d be late. The three of you were ten minutes early to the scheduled time, so it wouldn’t be too bad, right?

Steve started chatting you up immediately, (almost unbearably) asking you how you’d been doing and if you’d seen anything good on Netflix or Max lately. You really didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to even look at him. Because if you did, you’d only see betrayal in his eyes, a mere reflection of your guilt.

As if noticing your discomfort, Robin butt in. “Actually, I was watching this documentary on that new NASA thing and apparently there’s this black hole—"

You were starting to feel sick to your stomach and it only increased when Eddie walked into the bar twenty minutes late. 

Despite telling yourself not to, you looked up at him.

He wasn’t grimy or dirty, like he’d showered before coming. Like he felt the need to clean up before, what, coming to a bar on a Tuesday evening? His hair was all volumized and bouncy, face glowing in the dim lighting. A Master of Reality Black Sabbath tee with his jeans and his leather jacket and his chains and his everything…

And despite Robin and Steve greeting him first, Eddie held your eye contact. 

You hated how that made you feel. Like you were the only reason why he was here. Like you were the only reason he was being social and staying out late. Like you made it worth it.

But neither one of you said anything to each other.

The last few weeks had been…quite unbearable if Eddie had to describe it. He spent nearly every night at his phone, talking to Wayne as if he was his therapist. Wayne bit the bullet and comforted him, tried to give him advice about the whole thing. But Eddie was in a fugue state, unable to truly manage his heartache, even with his stashed emergency cigarettes in his glove box. So, when he got the invitation to another karaoke night and Robin promised you’d be there, he made sure to leave work early, take an extra-long shower, and come prepared to talk.

When you said you’d get the first round, Eddie did his best to stay seated.

Because neither of you had said anything to each other and Eddie wasn’t really sure what that meant. He wasn’t even sitting next to Steve tonight because he felt so embarrassed…but what about you?

Because you looked tense, a tight smile on your lips that definitely didn’t meet your eyes. Your grip on your vodka Redbull was starting to concern him, all strained knuckles and shaky glass. Steve and Robin blabbered on, you and Eddie contributing when it seemed necessary, never actually talking to each other. 

By the time Robin said she’d get the second and you jumped at the chance to go for her, he’d given up on being polite.

He reached into his jean jacket pocket to find his black Bic lighter, his holy savior when it came to anxiety and fear. You were ten steps ahead of him, refusing to look back. Refusing to even look up, as if the idea of making eye contact with anyone in Go Ask Mary was borderline criminal.

Eddie glanced at Steve and Robin before standing up.

“Ooh, are you going to go talk to her?” Robin asked, taking a final sip of her first Coke and Bacardi to try to hide her smile. Steve mirrored her, taking a long gulp of his beer as he raised an eyebrow at the man.

The two were the definition of the phrase in cahoots.

Eddie only rolled his eyes in response, turning on his heels to follow your lead. 

You were in nearly an identical outfit to the one he last saw you in, with your black Joan Jett t-shirt replaced with a black Scene Queen crop top. A leather jacket. And there with it, a pleated black miniskirt that swayed with you as you walked, calling attention to your fishnets and maroon Converse. Red lipstick to match. Fucking hell— 

He was utterly weak for you.

And how did he open up a line of dialogue?

“This is awkward, isn’t it?”

You turned to him before looking down, watching the black lighter move between his fingers—always noticing his anxious habits but never truly calling him out. 

“I guess,” you replied, seemingly nonchalant.

But he was getting closer and…was that cigarette smoke on your jacket? Had you been smoking? Eddie thought about asking, but there you were beating him to the punch.

“Emergency cigarette, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Seems like you’ve been stressed about something.”

“It’s all over you, too,” he countered. “I wonder if there’d be a common denominator if we compared notes.”

He didn’t miss the way you scowled before trying to cover up your frustration. “It’s just been tough at work.”

“Oh, so is that why you haven’t texted me in three weeks?”

“Eddie—”

“Hey, it’s just a question,” he said lightly, throwing his hands up.

Before you could say anything, the bartender was sliding you the drinks.

“You left your jacket at my place,” you said as you handed Robin’s card to the guy. “It’s in my car if you want to grab it before you leave. Or earlier if you’d like.”

But Eddie wasn’t one to back down, was he?

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“And I don’t intend to,” you stated, scribbling on the receipt before turning to walk away. Eddie noticed you left his and Steve’s drinks behind. With a sigh, Eddie grabbed them and followed you back to the table.

After everyone was a bit tipsy, Robin found her way to the karaoke stage, followed by Steve. You noticed that Eddie was opting out, merely sitting there in silence. He nursed his whisky, nodding along to whatever conversation was happening, even if he was directly spoken to. It was already bad enough that he was sitting closer to you than he did Steve.

Was he trying to make you feel better? Was his silence to keep everyone from feeling weird? Did he tell Steve about what happened, and they were trying to play it cool? Lower the awkwardness? 

Your anxiety was starting to crawl along your skin resulting in you having to take your jacket off. The alcohol doing absolutely nothing to diffuse it. Even if you drank faster. Not that you would ever feel the need to expedite the process of any form of intoxication or inebriation. Not at all. Nope. Never.

But after another dreadful fifteen minutes, you needed out of there. 

Fast.

“I’m going to sing a song,” you announced, interrupting Steve.

Before anybody could respond or react, you shot out of your chair and walked over to the guy by the stage. He sat on a stool behind a podium, his laptop hooked up to a speaker.

“Pick your poison of the night,” he said with a grin. “The Eighties are your oyster.”

“Gladly.”

Eddie watched you scroll through the guy’s laptop, bouncing from side-to-side as you debated your choices. Nodding your head along to whatever he was saying.  

And he just couldn’t help himself from being a pest, from ignoring Robin and Steve, from walking over and ending up behind you.

“What’s the song choice?”

You flinched, turning to look at him with quite a nasty look on your face. 

“Why do you care?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you being so goddamn mean?”

Like before, you gave no answer.

Instead, you grabbed the microphone and stepped up on the poor excuse for a stage. As you lifted your foot, your skirt started riding up. Eddie didn’t mean to look up your skirt in a moment like this, scout’s honor, but he caught a snippet of…your…garter belt?

Were those your…lucky fishnets? No, he had to be mistaken. You already had a few pairs, there was no way you’d worn the lucky ones when you were being this mean.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you asked him, your voice sounding much, much harsher than it usually did.

“I’m not looking at you like—”

The track started and you shook your head, turning from him to put on a smile and face everyone else but him. 

Eddie didn’t stay, heaving a sigh before walking off to sit back down next to Steve and Robin. 

Clearing your throat, you let yourself groove through the beginning instrumentals, shaking off Eddie’s words and the fact that he didn’t stay to watch. Didn’t stay to show any support or be your biggest fan like always. But this wasn’t about him. 

         “There's a boy I know, he's the one I dream of.

         Looks into my eyes, takes me to the clouds above..."

You were met with a few cheers at the choice of song. Trying to play along, you held onto the cord of the mic, twisting it around your fingers, while moving your hips from side to side. Your pleated skirt moved with you, twisting and turning and twirling wherever you moved. 

For the first time tonight, you smiled.

         “How will I know if he really loves me?

         I say a prayer with every heartbeat.

         I fall in love whenever we meet.

         I'm asking you what you know about these things."

But something began to click in your head.

Because this was absolutely about Eddie. This was exactly how you’d been feeling for the last three years. Every little, tiny thing that had run through your mind whenever you were together. Whenever you were laughing or crying or going on dates that ultimately turned into duds. When you went to the aquarium or the movies or Jailbait Hemp… 

When you were sitting with him for the first time in this exact bar, wondering if he was going to be something more in your life, unable to predict where you’d inevitably be. 

         “Falling in love is so bittersweet.

         This love is strong, why do I feel weak?”

You closed your eyes as you kept going, determined to get through this without having a meltdown. If you just powered through it, then everything would sort itself out and you’d sit back down and Robin would tell you that the song was a good choice and Steve would say some dumb shit. And Eddie—

Eddie would say nothing at all. 

And at the end of the night, you’d tell Robin and Steve goodbye. You’d turn to walk away to your car and hope that Eddie would run up to you and demand to talk. But you’d inevitably be met with disappointment as you reached your car. He wouldn’t grab his jacket. He wouldn’t say a word. And the two of you would fade without a sound. Without even a goodbye. And you’d know then for certain that he never truly wanted to be with you. He’d made his choice.

         “If he loves me…if he loves me not.”

When you opened your eyes, you were shocked to see Eddie near the edge of the stage, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. 

         “If he loves me…if he loves me not.”

He was looking at you the way you hated, the way you secretly loved. Like you were the most precious thing in the world. 

         “If he loves me...if he loves me not.”

He was quiet, not even swaying, letting you sing no matter how terrible it sounded. Just making eye contact with you, watching you. You tried looking away, but nothing else could hold your attention long enough before you were back, trying to make sense as to why he was still there.

And there was something bubbling in your chest, something starting to unfurl.

         “How will I know if he really loves me?”

Something was starting to constrict your vocal cords and you had no way of letting it go.

         “I say a prayer with every heartbeat.”

Especially when Eddie was still standing there, and you were realizing that whatever you two had was over.

         “I fall in love whenever we meet.”

This chapter of your life was coming to a close. 

         “I'm asking you what you know about these things.”

Nothing was going to fix this.

         “How will I know if he’s thinking of me?”

There was nothing you could do.

         “I try to phone but I’m too shy. Can’t speak.”

Nothing.

         “Falling in love is so bittersweet…”

You started to choke up, sniffling as you looked at Eddie, with his pretty brown eyes and his intense fucking stare and his teeth digging into his bottom lip. Was this the last time you’d ever see each other? Was this truly the end? Was this the last look you’d get of him, forever lodged in your memory as the moment you lost the greatest thing to ever happen to you to someone else? 

         “I feel weak—"

Without hesitation, you dropped the mic, jumping down and running past Eddie. Robin and Steve tried to call your name, but you couldn’t do it anymore. You pushed open the front door into the tangerine glow of the sunset and felt yourself fall apart.

“What are you doing, Eddie?” Robin asked, shaking her head at him as he sluggishly made his way back to the table. “I mean, seriously.”

“This has gotten totally out of hand,” Steve said with a sigh, swirling a straw in his beer bottle.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Robin said sarcastically. “How do you think she feels?”

Steve nodded. “You literally didn’t want to keep going on dates because you’re into her.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed. “You said you were okay with it.”

“I am,” Steve said, throwing up his hands. “I get it. You feel how you feel. No shame in that. But I just think it’s kinda annoying when you’re not even doing anything about it. I mean, seriously, dude. It’s been, what, two weeks?”

“Three and a half,” Eddie corrected.

Steve gestured to him. “My point exactly.”

Eddie felt like an idiot. The way he watched you start to crack onstage, as if you were bending. Breaking. Falling apart.

“Are you really gonna just let her leave?”

Eddie turned at the unfamiliar voice. It was the drag queen that seemed to always be there, Luverne Bell, just out of drag this time. He stood there with his hands on his hips, still wearing a killer manicure. 

“What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Boy, I watched that poor girl thirsting over you a month ago, jealous as hell of that one with the hair,” she said, pointing at Steve before looking back at Eddie. “She sang to you tonight—fuckin’ Whitney Houston, the queen of all queens—and you’re questioning if you should be a big boy and go tell her you love her? Are you that stupid?”

“No, I…” Eddie gulped. “I guess I didn’t think about it like that.”

“Then go, idiot,” Robin said from the table. “You’re literally wasting time.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Don’t fuck it up.”

They were right. Eddie couldn’t back down. You needed him just as much as he needed you.

It felt odd how simple it was. 

Even when he was unsure of your feelings. Even when you had those awkward conversations. Even when he’d be on a date with Steve or talking Robin’s ear off about his frustrations—not to mention Jeff, Gareth, and Grant. (They got much more than they needed to.) Hell, even after you fought and stopped talking for nearly a month. No matter how hard this felt, loving you was simple.

And he planned to keep loving you no matter what.

Eddie nodded before walking towards the door.

He could hear Luverne Bell sigh behind him, saying, “I’m getting that fuckin’ invite to the wedding, so help me God.”

It was all completely hopeless.

This was probably the lowest you’d been in a long time, dramatically running off a stage at your favorite bar in front of the guy who you’d been in love with for the past three years. And now you were too weak to get in your car and drive far away from here, far away from Eddie. 

You tried being an asshole to him, tried to get him to push you away and leave you alone. It would be better that way, giving him a reason to never come near you again. At least then you wouldn’t be tempted to tell him that the sight of him with Steve made you want to throw up. Hell, you already did.

Tears streamed down your face as you lightly hit your head back on the brick wall of the building. You needed to distract yourself. Calm yourself down.

With the las bit of strength you had, you shuffled over to your car to grab another emergency cigarette. You caught the sight of Eddie’s jacket in the passenger seat and nearly screamed, wanting to run over the damn thing out of spite.

Maybe act on impulse and burn the damn thing. 

As if you’d ever actually do it.

You managed to successfully light your cigarette when you heard Eddie call your name. Turning, you could see him looking around to find you before he finally did. He called your name again.

“Don’t leave!” he said loudly. “Come back.”

With messy makeup and even messier hair, you looked him directly in the eye as you walked back over. If this was how everything was to end, you were ready. No matter how fucked up you looked. No matter how fucked up you felt.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“What’s there to say?” you asked, taking a strong drag.

“You can’t keep playing this game with me,” he said, shaking his head. “You really can’t.”

“Go back to Steve,” you choked out, fingers shaking as you took another drag. “I bet he’s better company than I am.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to go fucking be with Steve right now, alright?”

“Why not?” you asked loudly. “He’s all cool and hot and sexy and a big, hot, sexy hot shot. I’m sure he’s better than me in every way possible.”

This earned you another eye roll. “Oh my god.” He covered his face with his hands for a moment, dragging them down to his chin before giving an exasperated sigh. “I don’t see why you care when you’re the one who didn’t answer any of my texts, nor did you answer me when I asked you why like an hour and a half ago.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you lied.

“That’s just a shitty copout at this point.”

“You’re annoying,” you lied again.

“And you’re acting like a dick!” he exclaimed. “An outrageously humongous cockhead!”

You scowled at him. “Oh, I’m the cockhead? Really?”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Real mature. Nice.” You waved him away, taking another drag. “Go back to your boyfriend already.”

“Stop bringing up Steve, oh my god!” he nearly shouted.

A scoff left your mouth. “You’re the one dating him.”

“Yeah, well, I broke shit off with Steve three and a half weeks ago.”

You paused, pulling the cigarette from your lips. “You did?”

Eddie nodded. “Mhm.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know,” he said with a breathy sigh, fiddling with his lighter. “Just in love with my best friend over here, no big deal.”

“You’re…” You lost grip of your cigarette as everything began to swirl around you. 

He was…actually in love with you?

“You’re in love with me?”

His eyes widened. “You didn’t know?”

“I…wasn’t sure.”

“Right, even when I almost kissed you, or…?”

“Well…I just thought when you…you said you thought Steve made you happy…” you trailed, losing steam. You couldn’t continue, only shrugging in response before crossing your arms over your chest.

He tilted his head, trying to catch your eyes. “And now here’s the part where you say you’re in love with me, too, right?” You looked up, watching his lips turn up in a small smile. “‘Cause there’s no way I’m interpreting this wrong anymore.”

You looked at him questioningly, nearly playful in nature now, deciding to push him just a little bit further. “Oh, yeah? What makes you so sure?”

“Because tonight I realized that you have been nothing but jealous this entire time and making fun of Steve who, correct me if I’m wrong, you’ve never had a problem with before.” He drew closer, putting his hands over your crossed arms. “And there’s nothing I want to do more right now than kiss you and make all of this stupid middle school drama go away.”

“Are you not worried we’ll lose everything if it doesn’t work out?”

Eddie smirked. “What if I told you that I don’t care about that and all I want is to take you home and cuddle on the couch and watch Lord of the Rings?”

“The extended edition?”

“Literally what else would I be referring to?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose at you, eyes searching yours. “Mm, and why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I’m absolutely, positively in love with you,” you admitted. “That’s why I’ve been looking at you like that for almost four years.”

He grinned. “God dammit, I knew that was what you always wanted to say.”

“And yet you never said anything about it,” you noted.

“Well, I—” Eddie paused before his eyes lit up. “Holy shit. Holy shit! You were gonna tell me that day at the aquarium, weren’t you?” Your mouth opened but you were way too embarrassed to admit to it. He studied your expression before a smirk fell on his lips. “You were! I knew it. I fucking knew—"

So, you kissed him.

Uncrossed your arms and grabbed his face, keeping him from walking away. From running away. From doing anything else than being right here, right now. In your grasp, in your kiss.

And Eddie wasted no time, roughly grabbing your waist and drawing you in, breathing you in. You were trying to process what was happening, but it was all going by so fast. Because his hands were squeezing your hips, fingers flexing as if he was consciously trying not to hurt you. 

Instantly, you couldn’t fathom ever feeling this euphoric. This carnal hunger for something so soft and tender. For finally being able to get to this moment, this aching desire having loomed over you for so long.

Despite this disbelief, you needed to push back, not ready to give away your dominance. Did he even know you? 

You reached a hand down and grabbed his ass, pulling him against you, earning a gasp from him. When you squeezed harder, he jumped and let out a small yelp.

Laughter spilled from your lips as you watched his cheeks turn red, close to matching your lipstick. And you noticed it hadn’t really transferred to his mouth, saving him from more embarrassment. (You thanked whatever God was out there that you’d worn your sturdy lipstick.) 

Even so, your lips were still on his, unable to disconnect. Unable to let them go anywhere.

“You think that’s funny?” he asked, playfully trying to stare you down.

You wrinkled your nose, grinning. “Yeah, I do, actually.”

Eddie wrinkled his back at you. “Yeah?” He mimicked your voice, raising the pitch.

“Oh, yeah.”

Without warning, Eddie pushed you against the brick wall, slotting his thigh in between your legs. You swallowed a whimper, trying to stay quiet. Trying to sustain your dominance. But he had other plans, fingers slowly moving down your side until he grabbed your thigh and lifted it—roughly at first, but then carefully placing it snug around his hip. Delicately, as if the moment was meant to be cherished, as if you were meant to be handled with care. He dragged his fingers down your fishnets before curling his hand around your knee to quickly yank you up juuust a little further.

Eddie was moving his nose against the side of yours, shaking his head. “And what the fuck are you doing wearing these?”

“You don’t like them?” you whispered, pushing him further.

“Are you serious? I’m in love with them,” he admitted. “And you. Very much you.”

 “Told you they were lucky,” you responded with a playful shrug. 

“God, you’re frustrating,” he whispered before his lips met yours again. But he quickly moved, making his way down to your jaw. You wondered if he knew that you were getting dangerously close to losing your grip on whatever abstinence looked like. 

And then he reached the back of your ear and oh—

You let out an involuntary moan, having to lean away from the contact to catch your bearings. If you didn’t, you genuinely thought you were going to faint. 

“Maybe we could do some other things while we watch Lord of the Rings.”

Eddie tipped his head back as he let out a hearty laugh. “And what might that be? Watch the first, second, andthird?”

“It’s a—” Eddie quickly dipped back down, nipping at your neck. “Ah, fuck. It’s a surprise,” you finished, nearly moaning again. “Fuck, not for much longer if you keep doing that.”

“You want me to wait until we’re two and a half hours deep into Mordor?” he asked. “Do you know me at all? That shit is important.”

You shrugged. “Well, you could be two and a half hours deep into this pussy—”

“That was unnecessary,” he joked, shaking his head. 

Your smile widened. “It was kinda funny.”

“Just a little,” he admitted before moving his lips back to your jaw. 

“I could dress up as Sam?” you teased, feeling his teeth carefully grazing your earlobe. Another gasp escaped your lips. “Could call you Mister Frodo if you’d like.”

The vibrations of his laughter made tingles run down your neck.

“An intriguing thought,” he joked. “May I propose a trip to my van?”       

Now you fully pulled away from his face, wondering how serious he was.

“I’m not doing it in a parking lot.”

He feigned offense. “Why not? My van’s right there?”

“Eddie, I’m not having sex in your van.”

He tsked at you, leaving pecks on each of your cheeks. “You’re no fun.”

“How about a compromise,” you proposed, pressing a finger against his mouth. “How about you fuck me beforewe watch Lord of the Rings?”

“Does a joint happen to sneak its way in at some point?” he asked against your finger. You giggled as he removed it but continued to hold on. Smoothed his calloused fingertips over your knuckles.

“One before, one after,” you said matter-of-factly. 

He smirked. “I think I can manage that.”

You kissed him again.

And it really wasn’t so stupid after all.

[senseichaos]

Requests for hc of explaining to alastor those weird gacha life videos

Like those cringe 24 hours in heat or hated child becomes princess

I love old man Alastor not understating shit Abt the internet ☹️

LMAO I love this

HEADCANNONS

Explaining Gacha Life to old man Alastor

On special occasions you like to use the earth internet, which (in my head cannon) though expensive to use with Vox Techs finicky subscription service can be worth it if you use it for the right things

There's this weird nostalgia with using the earth internet, from the memes that you can't quite understand to the older content that makes you feel an odd familiarity from your living life.

Then there's the cringe content, like old animation meme videos to your personal favorite Gacha Life videos.

As it just so happens, when you open a gacha Life video, your friend Alastor appears behind you with an odd look on his face. He tilts his head, squinting his eyes.

"What is this picture box you're watching?"

You immediately have to explain the run down of gacha Life itself, but Alastor seems awfully confused still.

"But why does the little person in the picture box have those silly eyes and ears?"

You can't help but humor him, giggling softly as you try to explain the concept of a Mary Jane 'not like other girls' Gacha Life story.

The whole entirety of your explanation he cannot stop squinting and tilting his head in confusion, utterly confused with this whole 'Gacha Life' concept.

"So this is what earth children did in your time? How Interesting.."

You laugh, nodding softly.

"Every generation had some sort of odd gimic- wait 'till you hear about stuff like Roblox,"

Once again, he becomes confused. It's cute really, small times like this when you feel like you are a teacher educating wide eyed kids who hang onto your every word. Not that Alastor cares for much modern tech, anyway.

Thank you for the funny request anon, I really like to write sort of humorous stuff.

Lots of love!

[genshin-side-piece]

The Manicurist

Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+, Yandere themes, Yandere Behavior, Sexual Themes, Power Imbalance, Dark themes, My bad writing, Anything Else I Missed

Pantalone works with his hands.

Whether it's writing contracts or committing murder in the name of the Fatui, the man uses his hands a lot. As such, he tends to have issues with them on a regular basis. He suffers from cramps and fatigue due to spending most of his days with a pen in his hand. He’s found relief with medicinal stretches, but things get worse for him when the cold sets in for the winter. The touch of arthritis he’s developed as he’s gotten older will often flair up, forcing him to rely on his assistants to help him with the mundane things such as paperwork.

Being the high maintenance, rich bitch that he is, Pantalone has a team to keep him looking his best 24/7. He has an image to maintain. The last thing that should happen is that his hair should be a mess or archons forbid, he’s wearing last season's silks. He demands perfection, even if he’s a little too busy to notice when it doesn’t happen.

His hands though. He’s funny about them. Most of the staff aren’t allowed to touch them. Only his personal servant and maybe one assistant have actually seen the bare skin that exists beneath his gloves. The rest joke that to see, let alone touch the hands of the regrator is akin to seeing the face of the gods. The divinity of them is so assured, that some staff even spread rumors that he has a Midas touch and he hides hands, lest he turns everything he touches into gold. Others say he is the reaper of souls. One touch and you’ll fall stone dead.

It’s all nonsense, but Pantalone does little to stop it. There are worse things to be known for.

Because of his finicky nature surrounding his hands, the position of personal manicurist is often vacant. You’d heard the rumors surrounding the job. He had chewed the past candidates up and spit them out faster than a bad steak. But that didn’t deter you. A few inquiries into your predecessors had garnered key information. One had been let go due to extensive gossip. Another, insider trading. The list went on and on in terms of faults and failings, all while one constant seemed to emerge. None of the firings seemed to be skill based. If getting the job and then keeping it meant you had to be the sole of discretion, then you were more than ready to apply for it.

To your surprise, he takes you up on your application. It must have been a slow day in his office when it had arrived, because you hear back on it that afternoon. You’re summoned to his office the next day, where his personal assistant conducts the interview. From there, your skills are tested, retested, and looked into. His staff is thorough with their investigation. By the end, it feels like you’ve been flayed alive, but it’s worth it. At least that’s what you tell yourself when the offer letter arrives a week later.

The position itself isn’t a bad one. Being at his beck and call whenever he gets a hangnail isn't ideal, but you aren't one to turn down his money. Most mornings you find yourself seated next to him, silently filing his nails while he takes meeting after meeting. It’s not exactly satisfying, but it beats doing nails out of that crummy apartment you had before this. Slowly your mind began to drift further and you quickly stopped paying attention to what was going on around you. The discussion surrounding the economic distress in Mondstadt bored you to tears. You could have been anywhere but in Pantalone’s office at that moment, you would have been. Much to your own amusement, your mind decided to do just that. It started with going over the list of supplies you needed to give Pantalone’s assistant. You’d been carrying the silly piece of paper around with you for days, but neither you or the assistant had really had a free moment to discuss it. Pantalone had kept you both of your toes for nothing more than his own amusement. It was annoying, but you made a mental note to corner his assistant after this meeting. Celestia forbid you run out of Pantalone’s favorite cuticle oil and have to replace it with the generic stuff. How would he ever survive the indignity of it?

As you continued to work, you could feel the tension in his hands. If you had been paying attention like you were supposed to, you would have left it alone. But you hadn’t been and you didn’t. Instead, you wrapped your fingers around his and pushed your thumbs up into his palm in a circular motion in the hope to relieve some of the strain in the core of his hand. The soft sound that came from directly above your head snapped you out of your reverie. You stopped moving, your eyes falling on your oh so obvious blunder. You had been hired to do his nails. Just his nails. You had been meticulously instructed on how to do them and all that was permitted while doing them. Massages were not part of that list.

Your hands immediately released his and fell to your lap. Archons what had you done? You moved to apologize, but you stopped yourself before you ever even started. You couldn’t apologize. Pantalone’s one rule concerning his staff was that during meetings, they were to be seen and not heard. While you doubted any of the other attendees would really notice a mumbled apology over their terse voices, the point was Pantalone would notice and he would not approve. So you sat there, like an idiot. Power was everything to Pantalone. He exercised it with frightening regularity when it came to his servants. Your entire body shook at the endless possibilities of how he would choose to exercise it on you. Unlike the kitchen maids who messed up his food or the footman who sold his lesser secrets, you knew things. You had witnessed the assassination orders and secret plots to overthrow the governments of Teyvat. You had seen how dirty Pantalone’s hands really were. Firing you was simply not an option for him. That realization made your mind spin. In fact, you were so wrapped up in what he could do to you, that you completely missed his fingers gently brushing away the tears that fallen onto your cheeks.

By the time the meeting ends and the attendees are gone, you’re practically on your knees with regret. But he isn’t angry. Far from it actually. He liked your little snafu. He wants more of it. You’re asked if you think it would help with the horrible hand cramps he has and you’re all too quick to reply yes. He asks you about his other maladies as well. Can you help with those? Again, you answer yes. There are oils that will help with his arthritis, lotions for his dry skin. You even know a way to fix that one nail of his that likes to split when it gets too long. You offer them all to him in the hope that it will stay the hand of punishment that you thought was coming. It does. He smiles at you, telling you to advise his assistant of what you need. He expects all of it in due course, but for now, do that thing with your thumbs again. He says he hasn’t felt pleasure like that in years. Unbeknownst to you, his mind begins to wonder exactly how good those hands of yours can make other parts of him feel. He begins to wonder just how good you could make him feel.

Your relationship with him begins to change. It started as strictly professional. He provided you with a job and in turn, you provided him with a service. You had never worried much about your looks. A uniform and dress code had been provided for you on your first day. You think nothing of it when the laundress gives you a different one. It was more revealing than the last one, but you doubted he was really looking anyway. Pantalone cared more about you being good at your job than how much of your chest he could see thanks to the low cut of your uniform. You tell yourself he likes you because you’re calm, quiet, and diligent in your work. His hand resting on your hip, or his fingers toying with your hair is nothing. He’s playful when he’s in a good mood. Pantalone's favorite hobby is to tease and you know you’re the perfect target for it. He’s become an expert in making you blush.

Sometimes he worries about you though. He worries you’re not what you appear to be. That you know too much and that it’s a matter of time before it all comes crashing down. The result of his worries are that you are watched more than anyone else. Your room is often searched on a regular basis and he tends to test you more than the rest of his staff. He's fed you with trading tips, gossip, and fake Fatui secrets more than once, only to never have it get back to him. The fact that you pass every single time endears you to him. He finds it relief that out of everyone around him, he can rely on you to do as you're told.

The results of his diligence surrounding you yields an unexpected result. He comes to know you far better than any of his other servants. He’s aware of the boring things like your background and your family situation. He doesn’t find those parts terribly interesting. What he prefers are things like your perfume/cologne, what type of underwear you like, how you sound when you touch yourself. It’s terribly untoward to want to know that information. Pantalone knows that, but he doesn’t care. He’s gone past the point of no return where you’re concerned. He makes your life his business, even if he shouldn’t.

Eventually though, it all becomes too much. You do your best to ignore his less than palatable qualities, telling yourself others had it worse. But that didn’t mean you didn’t find yourself praying to the local archon about what you should do. You knew he wasn’t the most wonderful of people, but he pays you well enough to not mind or so he says. You try to grin and bear it, even if it grinds you mental health to dust, you try. But there comes a point where you can’t. When you have enough and ask to leave. Your request is denied. He advises you to reconsider. Pantalone is a powerful man and powerful men are more than capable of changing people’s minds should they need too. He should hate to have to employ such tactics with you. He doesn’t make a specific threat, but the implication is there. Your family, your friends, even you are all in his grasp. None of you would be safe from his wrath should you decide to invoke it. When you waiver, he switches tactics and softens his words. Pantalone tells you that you’re the best he’s ever had, that he can’t do without you. He needs you. It does little to convince you.

Pantalone purposefully ignores the main issue, which is his ever increasing hold on your life. He knows he’s been aggressive when it comes to you. The flirting, the nightly massages in his bed, the complete replacement of all your undergarments. It’s all too much for you. He’s too close. He respects that you want to be professional. He admires it. How many of his employees would jump at the chance to be in your shoes? How many would take advantage of his good will and fleece him for all they could? You? You just want to do your job. It’s a comforting thought. Too bad he had other plans for you.

In his effort to keep you, he offers a solution to one of your many woes. If his business dealings are a problem, then he understands. His work isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world and you sitting at his side 8 hours a day like the pet he thought you to be was a poor use of your time. Even the most loyal of dogs needs space, and so do you. He suggests that you come to him after hours, in the mornings and the evenings, as a way to give you a break during the day.

At first it’s a welcome change. His office had become a suffocating place. The issue had been made worse with the knowledge that your entire life had become his without you even knowing it. Now that you didn’t have to be in there, it is your hope that things can go back to how they were at the start. You believed that, until you walked in on him in a specific state of undress. The first time it happened, you thought it was an accident. You averted your eyes, apologies spilling from your lips as you hoped to appease him. He’d merely laughed off, telling you he was sure he could find a way for you to make it up to him. The fifteenth time it happened, it was all too clear what his motives really were. The fact that he insisted on a pedicure while wrapped in nothing but a towel had been mortifying. He only added to your humiliation by spreading his legs so you would have the perfect view of his semi erect c*ck while you worked. Afterwards, you were compensated for your trouble in the form of a small necklace and a half hearted apology. He assures you it won’t happen again, even though you both know it will. When it does, his feet have your full attention. He thinks it’s cute how you blush. How you try to conduct yourself with some level of decorum despite his c*ck being in your direct field of vision. It’s such a shame you’re so uncomfortable with it all. Perhaps it’s just a matter of being shown things can only get worse, especially for those who are chosen to occupy Pantalone’s private life.

He starts slow. That necklace he gave you as an apology, he wants you to wear it wherever you go. Since you aren’t in his office anymore, the uniform standards can be relaxed. Your hair doesn’t have to be so nicely coiffed. He’d like you to leave it undone or down. Your uniform seems uncomfortable, perhaps you should loosen it or better yet, stop wearing it. After all, he’s bought you some very nice things to wear underneath of it. Such a shame he never gets to see them. He’d like you to change that. Oh, you picked that for today, tsk tsk. How did something so modest get in the mix? Here, let him help you fix that. In fact, you’re such a mess when it comes to your normal outfits. Not to worry, he’ll decide what you wear for him from now on. Oh, but you’re so far away. Your room is on the other side of the house, Pantalone knows just how to fix that.

You want to scream. You want to run.

He knows it’s coming. Pantalone knows you well enough to know that your first instinct will be to run. He lets you try. It’s amusing to watch. How clever you think you are for stashing away one of the maids uniforms when you think he isn’t looking. How ingenious of you to stash your meager belongings near your chosen escape route. Pantalone almost had them moved, just to mess with you. But he opted not to. The game was more fun if you thought you were catching him off guard, at least until you actually managed to catch him off guard.

Pantalone had several key events coming up. The house would be quiet, the guards would be busy, he would be distracted. It would be the perfect time to make your escape. What a fool you made of him. He had never considered that you would choose to leave on a normal day, in broad daylight no less. It made sense though. Who would question one of the maids leaving the house, especially when it was at the height of the day, when Pantalone had neither the time nor the inclination to chase after you.

It’s late evening before anyone notices you’re gone. By then it’s far too late to launch a search. Your tracks are well and truly hidden by the night’s sky. Come the morning, the Gods blessed you further by sending a torrential downpour to erase any further traces of you. Pantalone isn’t one to be swayed by time or weather though. He’s a patient man. What kind of Harbinger would he be if he didn’t know how to hunt someone as harmless as you? It may take him a day, it may take him a year, but he will find you. When he does, well he has a nice golden cage all prepared, just for you.

[kandyshoppe]

So! I’m going to school to (hopefully) become a farm vet, and I also enjoy those hybrid Aus, SO! Farm Hybrid Au! (Or just farm au!)

Riddle: a rooster, specifically a red cornish. Cornish are known to be a bit aggressive, and finicky. I think he would have been a neglected chick and didn’t get to the full size, instead staying kinda small instead of becoming big like other Cornish.

Trey: Highlander cow, soft, sweet babys! They’re just happy to be here, and are stocky tough cattle. Their coats are double coated, so they can get matted but it’s rare with a proper diet and care.

Cater: a part indoor part outdoor cat, a beautiful orange tabby mix, who goes through moods of cuddle monster and hates everyone. Never a hiss from him, but a grumpy huff and he trots away.

Deuce: mastiff, a guard/live stock guardian dog breed. Big, aggressive to strangers, but love bugs once they get to know you. Specifically a Pyrenean mastiff, they’re polish, and suited for cold weather best.

Ace: definitely a Nubian goat, head strong, rebellious, LOUD, but they’re not aggressive! They’re actually very friendly, to their detriment since they will try to befriend predators!

Leona: farm cat, probably a Maine coon mix, cause he’s so big and fluffy! Maine coons are also very “dog like” and can learn tricks, to play fetch etc. They also tend to have a resting mad face, which Leona seems to have sometimes!

Ruggie: a stray dog that helps hunt vermin on the farm. I feel he wondered up once, and made sure to avoid the live stock (and their guard dogs) and got some rats or something. He doesn’t live on the farm by nearby in the woods with his pack of strays (including granny!)

Jack: another guard dog! Anatolian Shepard, a middle eastern breed suited for colder climates, and lovingly called “nanny dogs” and they will happily let goats jump on them. They’re a bit dominant, preferring to do their own thing vs what others say though.

Azul: cull duck! They’re a bit noisy, enjoying the sound of their own voice. They’re the white ones most people think of for ducks, small and fairly friendly but they do enjoy nibbling to show affection…

Jade: runner duck! They can’t fly, but enjoy scrabbling among rocks to find grubs, or in Jade’s case, mushrooms! They don’t waddle either! They run! They’re not as friendly as other duck breeds, being stand off-ish sometimes.

Floyd: just like his brother, a runner duck. He lives up to the runner in his name! Prances around, and enjoys tormenting the other animals on the farm. Someone stop him! Sneaks up on others and nips their feet. Has been kicked before, it didn’t stop him.

Kalim: brown Swiss, in the top three cattle breeds! They’re known for being fairly docile, calm and friendly. They’re very affectionate, and can get upset when not given affection from their handlers! This boy is BEGGING for ear scritches!

Jamil: Brahman bull, he can get aggressive much easier than Kalim. He’s also a very intelligent boy, as his breed usually is. But they’re also known to be shy, preferring to be alone or with a specific quiet few vs a large herd! Brahmans also are sensitive to the cold, so his hoodie is a need!

Vil: a jersey cow (my favorite!) they’re so pretty, but also the divas of milking cows. But it’s worth it for their thick, buttery and fatty milk! They’re also very curious, choosing to follow new comers vs hiding. They’re very social, but sassy things!

Rook: a trained hawk! (I’ve never seen a trained hawk around chickens but he is!) he was found as a baby and ended up bonding with the farmer I bet, so now he protects the others from birds, and more sneaky attacks! He enjoys sitting with Vil, a strange pair but it works.

Epel: a Southdown sheep, also known as “baby dolls” cause they’re so little and cute! He’s still a ram though, and hates being called cute! Head butts at will! Is mad that Vil has chosen him as their “calf” and follows him around, keeping him out of trouble. Vil’s no fun.

Idia: a British soay sheep, but he’s got a genetic mutation that makes him a deep blue instead of a dark brown. British soay are shy and flighty, they’re timid even among sheep breeds! Idia probably struggles with joining herds because of his color, which makes him more nervous about predators!

Ortho: à shetland sheep, another smaller breed, but quite friendly and inquisitive (which is rare among sheep, I’m sorry they’re dumb) Don’t let his size fool you though! Shetlands are one of the hardiest breeds out there! Small but mighty!

Malleus: a big black shire horse, now I don’t know as much about horses, but shires are docile and friendly draft horses! I bet cause of his size though, many of the other farm animals avoid him cause he’s scary. Shires are sometimes used for riding, and I bet he REALLY enjoys riding!

Lilia: a fell pony! They’re one of the smartest ponies, and while they can be finicky at times because of their intelligence, they are sweet ponies. He’s too intelligent for his own good I bet, enjoying to open the gates and wander out, but doesn’t close it and now EVERYONE is out and about!

Silver: an Icelandic horse (my brother’s favorite), they’re super sweet and hardworking sweethearts, with a beautiful grey coat! One of the friendliest horse breeds in the world, he’s just a big old love bug! Loves rolling around and laying in a nice patch of grass I bet.

Sebek: a shetland pony, but he’s one of the ones who give shetlands a bad rap. He’s nippy, and stubborn, and loves to whiney whenever he can! Likes the sound of his own voice. Is entranced with Malleus, and wants to be a big horse like him one day!

[formosusiniquis]

Modern au Eddie gets brought in to do a special dm/dnd episode of um actually with Brennan and Matt. Steve is there behind the scenes because they don't go anywhere without each other and he also wants to meet Emily -- he likes her chaotic player energy, one guess to why. He's hanging in the back of the studio quietly watching production, just hanging out and watching Eddie banter with people who are as obsessed with his thing as him and can match his intensity even if it's at different energy tones. Eddie and Brennan would be an unstoppable force and unmovable object I can just tell.

A question comes up about 1e or something, they deliberately made the questions strange and finicky cause they knew who they were having on and really the show isn't people getting answers if you wanted that you'd watch jeopardy. The show is nerds getting pissed and argumentative about the things they like. No one gets the answer, though they go to the fact checker booth a couple times over it. No one gets it except for Steve, who has listened to every loved one he has talk about this game for the last forever. Steve who has adhd/autism brain and it holds onto strange factoids and weird snippets of longer conversations that he has forgotten. Things like Erica and Dustin arguing about the validity of gender limiters on player stats. The cast have already danced around the answer, and the set has been so relaxed and lively he doesn't stop to think about why he shouldn't call out from behind the camera "um, actually." Cause they can always cut him out, he isn't even mic'd.

He does immediately regret speaking up. Not because he isn't right. He always knew he was right. But Steve learned a long time ago that him being right isn't always worth the scene that it then causes. Like now, Eddie is perched on the furniture like a gargoyle on a church roof, "I get that point right? That's my husband, what's his is mine." They'll never get invited anywhere ever again.

So he is surprised when the email arrives in his influencer inbox; but politely turns down the invitation to play in the next season of Dimension 20. And not just because Eddie is seething next to him when he gets the invitation.

[therottenkingsreckoning]

Contrary to popular belief, demons and angels are usually neutral towards one another, rather than in direct opposition. It isn't like the stereotypical "cats & dogs", but much closer to what happened with the evolutionary line of wolves & dogs (the angels herein being wolves). That's not a direct comparison, but imagine if you were to amputate your arm, fling it into a subspace void, and watch as it somehow mutated into an entire race of beings over the course of a couple millenia. Also in this analogy, both you and the arm-race are made out of magical fire and something like "the concept of entropy" taking vaguely humanoid forms.

It's worth noting as well that angel society and behavior are not unlike that of a beehive or ant colony, being fiercely loyal to their host God and rarely if ever seen outside of the Heaven unless on direct orders from said host. They carry a strong sense of order and justice as all Cosmics do, but in angels this will typically be expressed out of obligation, while a demon acting similarly is more likely to be driven by subemotional instinct.

I can talk more on the subclasses of sentient beings and the magical system here if anyone's interested! A lot of things are quite finicky or unstable, so it won't be a comprehensive breakdown of what is definitely true in every case. But I can still give you a basic idea of what is probably happening, like, most of the time.

[inoreuct]

zosan angst 👀 post whole cake island where zoro is mad for sanji not relying on him enough to help with his family drama. swears to become a better man for him. sanji thinks zoro is the ideal man (he’ll never tell him this though) and doesn’t have to deal with his family drama bc he can “solve it himself” they fight, their screams are heard by the whole ship who is all negatively effected by it. they come to the point of throwing punches (something sanji would never do outside of this intense monent). zoro grabs sanji by them shirt, gets sanji down on his knees, and is hitting him in the face. sanji stops hitting him back and breaks down crying, zoro sees this and stops being angry instantly.

“why can’t you just let me help you”, zoro wants to understand.

sanji’s sobs echo through the room his nose running with blood and tears, “ i never thought i was worthy of being saved.”

zoro’s eyes widen. sanji gasps out through tears, “im sorry”.

something breaks within zoro, he kneels to sanji’s level, and holds him tightly as he sobs into his neck

“i’m sorry too. you are worth more to me than you could ever think.”

zoro take’s sanji’s face into his rough calloused hands, wiping away the blood and tears, “let me me be there for you”.

i swear this prompt grabbed my brain cells and SPRINTED bcs this was slightly more than 1.6k words,,, thank you anon 🤭🤌🏼

Zoro catches a heel to the jaw, lets it whip his head to the side and rolls as he hits the deck. 

His blood is a metallic bloom in his mouth, rose-red as it splatters across the planks and drips from his chin. He’s half sure he just lost a tooth. He’s very sure he bit his tongue. 

He thinks he rather deserves this pain, even if he’s not exactly sure why.

It had started when they were back on the Sunny, after the whole shitshow on Whole Cake Island; Zoro had paced about the deck, strung tight as a tripwire, still itching with the urge to look over his shoulder and around the corners and unwilling to take his hand off Wado’s hilt.

He’d retreated to the men’s quarters alone, too wound up to seek out Sanji’s usual company as waited his turn for the shower and then scrubbed until his skin turned raw. He’d changed into clean clothes and lay down on his bed, put his hands behind his head, tried to breath in time with the gentle rocking of the ocean and found something still binding his lungs tight.

He was safe. They were safe. And yet, it had still felt like his skin was crawling. 

After tossing and turning for a good twenty minutes he’d given up trying to fall asleep and hauled himself out of bed, trudging to the galley for a glass (or a bottle, more like) of whatever liquor he could get his hands on. The ship had swayed as he’d grabbed a half-filled bottle of scotch, bumping the door shut properly with his hip because he knew Sanji was finicky about it.

He’d hesitated before going back to the shared cabin. His bed hadn’t been the only one empty, and there was cigarette smoke rising from the helm. 

Sanji had barely reacted when he’d settled beside the cook, elbows propped on the railing as he took a swig of his drink. It went down easy; everything Sanji had always did. Some nights Zoro found himself wishing for more of a burn if only to help him feel something. 

He’d eyed Sanji out of the edge of his vision, tongueing behind his canines as he noticed the way the cook’s hair was all over his face, more so than usual. Both his eyes— no, not his eyes, Zoro had realised. Both his eyebrows were covered—

And it had sunk in slowly, like a lead weight to the bottom of the ocean. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he’d muttered, half to the mouth of his bottle, and Sanji had sighed.

“What do you mean, marimo?”

“You know what I mean.”

And Sanji had. He’d tilted his head, taking in a bracing breath, lips pinched in something that was supposed to be a smile. “Not your battle to fight.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Zoro had snarled, suddenly angry, and it made him dig his nails into the peeling paper label beneath his fingers. “You— We do this shit together, curly, that’s what we agreed—”

And Sanji had turned away silently, pushing off the railing and walking off to God knew where, and Zoro had grabbed his wrist before he’d realised what he was doing.

“Do you just not trust me?” he’d gritted, desperation sharpening his tongue, a little voice wailing in his head and sounding a bit too much like his younger self for his liking. 

Sanji had barked a laugh, burning his cigarette down to a stub in one long inhale. “Now that’s bullshit.”

“Then? What?” I’d do anything, is what he hadn’t said. Anything for you to let me in. Let me help. 

“It’s not your fight, alright? Just leave it.”

Zoro had wanted to scream, just a little. He’d been distantly aware that his grip was in danger of crushing the bottle but he hadn’t cared at all. Sanji had shoved him away when he hadn’t let the matter go (because how could he?), and he’d shoved back, and then it had escalated until they were fighting across the deck and now—

He snaps out of his head when Sanji screams, a ragged thing torn out of his chest, abandoning all reason to tackle him bodily to the ground. Zoro stumbles and hits the deck hard, pain flaring sharp as his elbow jams into the ground and a fist sinks into his gut. He’s snarling as he rolls them over, as he pins Sanji’s wrists to the ground and lets out a grunt when a kneecap catches him beneath the ribs.

“Why can’t you just stay out of it?!” Sanji yells, right in his face, hair a mess and eyes wilder than Zoro has ever seen up close.

He falters. Just for a moment, but it’s more than enough for Sanji to slip out of his grip and wriggle away, and the pit in his gut grows ever larger. “They hurt you! They were hurting you!” he roars, scrambling to his feet, and it rather feels like someone has a crushing hand wrapped around his heart.

“It doesn’t matter!” the cook cries, swinging a fist towards his face, and Zoro dodges. Sidesteps, slams a foot down behind Sanji’s kneecaps and slugs his knuckles across a pale cheek if only to snap Sanji out of whatever the fuck is going on, he raises his fist again and—

Freezes. Bile crawls up his throat as his heart sinks. Sanji’s eyes are wet, so blue they’re nearly glowing in the darkness, and Zoro is so, so tired. He vaguely registers the rest of the crew behind them and he angles his body to hide Sanji from view; he knows the cook would hate their nakama seeing him like this. The hand he has wrapped in Sanji’s collar loosens, falling away like fluttering paper, and he drops to his knees with a heavy thunk.

Sanji shudders, and Zoro feels sick. His — he doesn’t know what they are, but Sanji is his — cook’s cheekbone is already bruising, blooming purple-pink, and guilt sinks its claws into his stomach. “Why can’t you just let me help you?” he hears himself plead, breathless and choked, and Sanji smiles with blood across his teeth.

“Because I never thought I was worthy of being saved,” he whispers, looking down at his trembling hands. There are tears dripping off his chin now, luminous streaks down his face that suddenly looks haggard in the starlight. “And I never wanted you to see me like this.”

Zoro thinks he breaks. Shatters right apart like the bottle of scotch on the ground not far away from them, amber seeping sticky into the wood. He’d have to apologise to Franky later, he thinks a little wildly, throat tight and fingers numb as he reaches out to pull Sanji to him.

The cook goes slack like a puppet off strings, hiding his face in the crook of Zoro’s neck as he really starts to cry. Zoro sits back on his heels and takes his weight, cards a hand through his hair so that it doesn't stick because he knows that Sanji would make a fuss about it being all over his face later, and it’s these tiny, trivial things that wrench a hollow sound from his lungs. “There’s no such thing as it not being my fight, you hear me?” It comes out more watery that he likes, but the laugh-sob Sanji lets out tells him the message got across. “If it’s your fight, it’s my fight. I’m with you till the end no matter what happens.”

“It’s pathetic,” Sanji hiccups, shoulders hitching as he tries to get himself under control.

“No, it’s not.”

“I’m pa—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Zoro hisses, at odds with the way he rubs a soothing palm over Sanji’s back. His knees are starting to hurt. He doesn’t care. “They hurt you. They put you through some fucked-up shit, cook, and then you had to go through it again. And you were strong enough to make it out but you— You could stand to give it a rest, alright?”

It’s times like this when he wishes he could be better with words, because Sanji looks a little like he might start crying all over again when Zoro takes a peek at his face. He presses his thumbs flat to wet skin, salt cooling in the night wind, dragging up along Sanji’s cheek as the cook sniffs. “Let me be there for you,” he rasps.

He feels like he’s been scraped raw from the inside out. Like someone had hollowed him out with a ladle and now his guts were spilling all across the deck. He doesn’t know how to describe the twisting in his chest when he thumbs rust-red iron away from Sanji’s bottom lip, regretfully cups the spill of colour spreading over the right side of his face. “Look at me?” he tries again, and Sanji does, fine lashes clumped with tears and inhale trembling. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, and Zoro is an open wound, raw and weeping as Sanji climbs into his lap and curls up into a ball. 

“You are worth so much. To the crew, to our friends—You’re worth more to me than you could ever know. So shut up and stop trying to deal with it alone,” he says in lieu of a reply, achingly quiet. He hopes it’s enough as Sanji digs lithe fingers into his shoulder. 

He welcomes the pain like an old friend. Bears it gladly, for if he could take all of Sanji’s he would. 

But he can’t— So he tries. Tries to be gentle, as much as he knows how, sits properly and folds his legs and rocks them back and forth because it helps Sanji’s breathing even out. Traces the spirals of his eyebrows and brushes his mouth over the bruise on his cheek, presses his silent apologies into skin.

Sanji’s spine bows beneath his hands, and the cook’s fingers are wound tight into the back of his shirt like it’s a lifeline. His pale hair tickles Zoro’s jaw, impossibly mussed and starting to curl with the sea air. Their crew is waiting. Worried, surely, but they can wait a little longer; Zoro will make it up to them.

For now, he thinks he and Sanji have earned this. 

fin.

[blueorchid-95]

something random I was thinking about but. There are Lore Implications in the Reginald Mimic Mask

In Operation Stage Fright, the handler distantly recognizes the Fabricator’s voice after she gives her first instructions to you. Once you get to the combat bit, Reginald fully recognizes her and identifies her order to kill you as “not an idle threat”, meaning he’s likely had experience with her while he was a field agent—and considering his concern, it wasn’t a good one. It’s also worth noting that she’s the only one of Zor’s henchmen that he’s genuinely afraid of in the main games—he doesn’t react to Hivemind or Caliente, and most other Zoraxis employees don’t get much of a reaction from him, like the Zoraxis defector during the train operation. (Note: these examples are all from the first I Expect You To Die game, where he is actively keeping himself emotionally distant from the agent.)

Later, during Operation Jet Set, Juniper claims that the plan has been “years in the making”, which tells us he’s been working with Zoraxis for quite a while. The plan he’s referring to seems to be the airplane traps, but that seems too small-scale to be worth so much credit, especially with the nuclear codes plan going on behind the scenes. It’s worth noting that this plan would also probably never work again: the agent’s death/disappearance would warn the Agency of Juniper’s alliance and they would take extra care when arranging transportation for the remaining agents to avoid a repeat incident.

This brings up a new question: What plan was Juniper referring to? What necessitated our death on that plane?

The nuclear codes, of course. The Fabricator can’t make a mask of such intricacy in such a short time, after all. Nobody could. I’ll admit that the world of I Expect You To Die is a little less than realistic (looks over shoulder at Agent Phoenix standing directly above boiling lava in Operation KBOOM) but between the sheer amount of masks and other relevant tech she’s made for the operation (the Citizen’s Arrest device, the snack cart on the airplane), there’s no way this would have been a fast-moving op.

So, with this in mind, it’s easy to assume this plan was in its preparation phase for many years until the week Agent Phoenix sends it all down the drain. Since it was so slow-moving, I can imagine Dr. Zor trying other things in the interim to keep the Agency from finding out too much—the Death Engine, for example. Something like that could also be used to support their regime once the long plan is through, and likely took just as long to make because it is another incredibly intricate project.

But I’m getting off track. Even with all of these important plans and many, MANY pieces of technology to create, the Fabricator still has a mask styled after the Handler, seemingly made only to fool an agent that nobody in Zoraxis thought they’d have to deal with again. Considering the time span of The Spy And The Liar against the sheer amount of projects she was handling, it is physically impossible for her to have made the Handler’s Mimic Mask. She can’t have just programmed it in to the original mask, because the game implies that there’s a separate mask for each world leader. After all, the Fabricator still has a mask stored in her desk despite sending one to Juniper already, and it wouldn’t make sense to keep passing the mask back and forth between imitations—plus, if Juniper has to have the Fabricator alter the mask every time he acts as a world leader (the only reason I could identify as to why he’d give it back to her after getting it) the plot would take much longer than it actually does because of the finicky technology that would need to be reworked each time. Plus, why the heck would Juniper give a functioning mask with all four relevant leaders back to the Fabricator? There’s nothing to be improved there, and even if she wanted to there’s no possible way she could add the Handler’s face and voice so perfectly in under four days, regardless of whether or not she already knew him. Not to mention that she seems to be a bit of a perfectionist, focusing on making the entire mask as perfect as she can—down to the smallest wrinkle. Therefore, I believe that all four world leader masks and the Handler mask are separate pieces.

So now we’re hit with the big questions: What, exactly, does the Handler have to do with any of this? Why did the Fabricator make a mask of him?

I believe that the two of them crossed paths when Reginald was an active field agent. There’s no way to know what happened between them, but whatever occurred prevented either of them from forgetting the other.

Perhaps, the Reginald Mimic Mask was made as a failsafe. In case the Agency managed to get ahold of the nuclear briefcase, Juniper could don the mask and infiltrate agency headquarters to retrieve it with very little question. But then Reginald became a handler, and the mask became essentially useless—if Reginald wasn’t out on the field, it would be near impossible to mimic him and get away with it. So, the mask sits in the Fabricator’s desk, forgotten and pointless—but then Agent Phoenix comes back from the dead.

How would the Fabricator have known Reginald was involved? Easy. The Masque of the Red Death. He explicitly tells us that he managed to “snag a ticket to the show”, so he’s sitting in the audience. Considering that the Fabricator is likely acting as the technical director or a similar backstage role, it’s not impossible to believe she could have seen him. However, her lack of reaction implies she doesn’t see him as a threat, so she fails to take action concerning him and his agent until she’s discovered that the agent is responsible for the destruction of the Death Engine.

If we subscribe to the theory that there’s five Mimic Masks instead of just the one, then the mask we encounter in Operation Eaves Drop is one that’s been sitting in storage, unused, in years. The Fabricator likely gave it to Juniper during Operation Party Crasher, and he retreated to his office to practice the new role after spending time with the guests. The mask we send up to him is likely the new world leader mask mentioned in Operation Jet Set.

This accounts for several factors. Juniper’s had years to practice and prepare to act as all of the world leaders, but he’s had hours at most to prepare for his role as the agent’s Handler. Therefore, when he needs to deceive the agent, his acting isn’t on point. He’s got all of the world leaders down, but he’s never even heard Reginald speak (unless you count the phone call that starts off the Operation Jet Set song on the soundtrack, and even then that isn’t much). He knows nothing but what the Fabricator tells him, and all of that information is from when the Handler was a field agent, since that’s the last time she had contact with him.

In contrast, though, I think the Agency set was built around the time Reginald was a field agent. Why? Simple: it was built for our handler, not us. If Juniper was going to retrieve the briefcase by imitating a certain agent, he’d need that specific agent to be out of the way first, stored away for an indefinite amount of time. So, build a small set to make him think he’s still at the Agency, and keep him there. If he discovers the illusion, use the citizen’s arrest device to keep him nice and imprisoned. That explains why there’s Zoraxis equipment in the locked drawer—Juniper forgot he left it there after so many years, likely only remembering when Agent Phoenix reached for the drawer. While the rest of Juniper’s set saw use as he practiced his roles (which incidentally also accounts for why the Zoraxis emblem is still polished if the set is years old—he’d need to clean it any time he wished to rehearse with it, which would probably be often during The Spy and the Liar considering how the plan is coming into play), he would have very little reason to maintain the Agency set—which explains why it’s so poorly designed. I mean, the logo falls off the wall with incredible ease, and we’re being given an agency meal in the medical wing, of all places. Juniper didn’t anticipate having to use it in the long run, since that set wasn’t designed for us.

Summarized, here’s our main takeaways from this:

Reginald must have been one hell of a field agent, since the Fabricator saw fit to make a Mimic Mask of him.

Whatever encounter Reginald had with the Fabricator likely proved decently traumatic for him. She seems unbothered by it.

The Handler Mimic Mask likely doesn’t look exactly like Reginald, because of the time difference. The Fabricator may have estimated how the Handler would look when he’s older to fit with the timetable, but human biology doesn’t always work how we want it to.

Overall, the fact that the Fabricator had a mask of Reginald’s face ready has allowed us to set several basic events on a timeline that makes relative sense.

I apologize for the wall of text. Thank you for reading though ^v^