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yesimwriting · 1 year

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Final Girl - Part 8

Series Masterlist (updated chapters 1 -9 and extras) Final Girl Masterlist

A/N this took awhile,, but i always want to put my best foot forward bc of how much this series means to me, which means i work when i’m in the right headspace for it and have the time to invest,, which hasn’t been lining up too much recently 😭 anyways i see all the supportive comments and appreciate them sm!!

also keep in mind that my priority is not the timeline, like if you’re feeling like the month before halloween is the longest month of all time,, it’s bc i want to give them bonding time before the heavy murder stuff!

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at the Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s/

Chapter Summary: Y/n tries to get back to normal and work on her friendships, but there’s nothing normal about surviving a serial killer attack, and it’s no one’s fault her friends keep noticing. She’s navigating the start of dealing with her trauma while also trying to be a good friend, especially since Billy hasn’t been feeling like himself lately. In a desperate attempt to feel like a normal, healthy teenager, Y/n crosses a personal boundary.

----

My mom has often told me that in many ways, I was born as an old lady.

She’d always say it after I tried being responsible. Suggesting that she give herself a curfew on weeknights, or at the very least, call if she was going to be late. Reminding her that there’s a reason people gave her the side eye when she took a visibly underage me into R-rated movies.

Now that I’m older, I guess she was right in a lot of ways. I wasn’t the kid-iest kid, if that makes sense, but there was one thing I was always good at: playing dress up.

With a mom like Gloria, it would have been hard not to. For years, my mom’s closet basically had the same magical properties as Disneyland. I thought that that mindset might have just been nine-year-old me, but apparently not, because Tatum and Sidney have been looking through it like it’s life changing.

“Okay.” Tatum picks up one of my mom’s shimmery wrap and tosses it over her shoulder. “It’s official, when I die, I want to be buried here.”

I look over in time to watch her observe herself in the mirror. “Then I hope you live for a very long time.”

She wrinkles her nose. “That better not be the only reason.”

“Course not, you know I love you very much, Tate-a-boo.” I make a quick kiss-y face, and Tatum almost giggles before returning the gesture.

Turning away from my mom’s dresses, Sidney smiles. “Please, for all our sakes, don’t let Stu hear you say that.”

After the joke settles, I practically snort. “Good point.” I step a little further into the closet, refocusing my attention. The only reason we’re all in here is because I wanted to borrow a pair of shoes before going out to the nail salon. It was Tatum’s idea, and the state of my cuticles made me agree. My social hibernation has not been good to them. “Okay, these are the shoes.”

Sidney steps out of the closet to give me the space to do the same. I slip on the shoes, happy with how they look with my outfit and their level of comfortableness. My mom rarely buys any shoes for herself that aren’t heels, so she ends up taking anything that’s remotely comfortable from my closet.

“I want to stay here.” Tatum’s hand brushes against the sleeve of something cashmere. “Maybe forever.”

“And leave your nail beds like that?” Sid glances away from the full length mirror that’s right outside of my mom’s closet. She turns her attention to her reflection, adjusting the fluffiness of her always, almost magically perfect bangs.

Tatum halfheartedly glares before stepping out of the closet. “You’re such a liar.” She raises a hand, studying her palm while walking out of the closet. “You told me they looked fine yesterday.”

Sidney almost smiles before throwing me a look. A quick raise of eyebrows that seems to say got her. “We’re gonna be late.”

----

The first nail appointment after awhile always feels like willingly volunteering to get a bunch of paper cuts. It’s not overwhelming painful, just a little irritating. After feels nice, though, now that my nails look fresh and I know I don’t have to worry about having my cuticles professionally gutted for a little bit.

And being around Sidney and Tatum is nice. Familiar in a way that’s still new. It’s weird in a good way. Like I could start throwing around cheesy terms like BFF and it wouldn’t even be dumb. It’d still be ironic, but I think they’d get the sentiment. It’s not that I’ve never had good friends, but this is different. A little more open.

Like right now we’re in Sidney’s room and we’re not talking about anything in particular, just going off of whatever comes up. I could probably say the dumbest thing in the world right now and it wouldn’t even feel unfitting or awkward.

“...Shut up, he was not that bad.” Tatum’s trying to sound more upset than she is. Somehow Sidney found a way to tell me about Tatum’s first boyfriend. A total middle school romance--they even went to the 8th grade dance together and held hands and had their first kiss under the bleachers. Sounds cute enough, but according to Sidney he was a total weirdo. Even by 8th grade boy standards. “He wasn’t.”

Sidney laughs again, the movement has her arm bumping into mine. “He tried to eat a live lizard because Stu dared him.”

“No way.” I snort. “Your first kiss was with a lizard eater?”

Tate sighs, dropping her head against the side of the mattress and crossing her legs on the floor. “Tried. It ran away and no one ever found it.” That’s still objectively hilarious. I can’t picture Tatum with anyone that out there, but then again, she is with Stu.

Not that he reminds me of an 8th grade boy trying to eat a lizard, but he was the one that came up with the idea. “Maybe Stu ate it.”

Tatum glares, halfheartedly shoving my leg as Sidney clasps a hand over her mouth to avoid laughing too hard. “I’ll ask him.”

It’s strange to picture them like that. A little younger, growing up together. “So you guys knew each other back then and now...”

She shrugs, “I don’t know...it just kind of happened. He was always hooking up with or seeing any girl with a pulse and I didn’t even see him like that until after--” She cuts herself off with no warning. “You know Sidney and Billy have a way nicer getting together story.” Tate snaps her head up to look at Sidney, whose expression immediately shifts. “Right, Sid?”

Sidney’s eyes briefly meet mine. There’s a bit of uneasiness there that I don’t get. What could the end of Tatum’s thought have been? What could she have been about to say that might have been--oh.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “Billy and I were hanging out for weeks--”

“You can say her name.” My throat feels drier than it did a second ago. “I won’t freak out if you mention Casey. Promise.”

Tatum’s eyes briefly shut. “That’s--” She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. I’m right. Why wouldn’t she think I’d freak out? After the way I acted at that party. “No one would blame you if you did.”

It’s easy to say that it doesn’t matter when you’re not the one that has melt downs. “Yeah.”

There’s a brief stretch of awkward silence, the light mood now tainted by the exact thing that’s kept me away from my friends for so long. Maybe keeping to myself was about more than the safety of others--maybe I don’t want anyone to know what I’m like now.

“It’d be weirder if you weren’t a little messed up about it.” Tatum hums the words with such casualness I can’t help but laugh, even when Sidney snaps her head to the side to give her a seriously look. “I’m serious, only a total psycho would be able to see that and jump back into things.”

Sidney sits up a little more, “And you took the SAT a week after it all happened. You’re doing a lot better than most people would be doing.”

I nod, glad that they’re at least good at pretending that I’m not a total mess. “Yeah, guess I’m just sensitive about it because I freaked out on Noel at that party.” Ugh. That’s been something I’ve been trying really hard to forget. “He probably thinks I’m a total freak.” My eyes squeeze shut at the memory of the party. I had been a total mess. I flip flopped on murder accusations like it was nothing and nearly ran to Casey’s house in the middle of the night. “He’s probably told everyone I’m a total freak.”

“You don’t know that.” Sidney’s nice for trying to comfort me, but it’s not the best argument. She picks up on my expression because she then immediately tacks on, “Okay, let’s be logical--why would he do that?”

“Why wouldn’t he after the way I acted?” Ugh. Every guy that knows him is going to think I’m a complete weirdo. This is what I get for trying to date. “And it’s not like he called after. He hasn’t even talked to me in class since.”

Sidney’s eyebrows draw together briefly before her hands move off of her lap and land on her comforter. She pushes herself to stand. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Noel’s a total scrub. You’re better off.” Tatum stands too, scratching the back of her arm once. She approaches the bag she abandoned near Sidney’s door, “I brought that eyeshadow I was telling you about. The sparkly, blue one that makes everyone look like Baby Spice.”

She exhales what’s almost a laugh and I find myself not being able to answer. That does sound like something I’d normally happily go along with. Even though Tatum tends to go for a more subtle look on the day to day, she has a solid makeup collection. Lots of trendy shimmers and bright colors that are fun to swatch and mess around with. But there’s something about the way she said it...breezed away from one topic to this.

And the way Sidney just got up like she was hoping that’d change something. I sit up a little straighter, trying to remember what it’s like to not feel paranoid all the time.

Sidney stops adjusting her hair and messing with her bangs in the mirror. “Or we could hold off on that and go to the video store.” Another change to a topic that normally I’d be all over. “I think Randy’s working, we could bug him a little and get something to watch later.”

Okay, another thing I’d normally want to do. It has been a minute since I’ve gotten to annoy Randy, and the itch is definitely there. Maybe they’re just trying to be good friends and cheer me up, but they’re spitting out suggestions in a way that feels like they’re really hoping one will stick.

“Are--do you guys know something about something?” Ugh. If this is my paranoia acting up, I’ll never recover. Why can’t I just go along with things? “I don’t know if it’s me and my head, but you’re acting kinda weird.”

“No, we’re just--” Sidney’s eyes don’t stay on me, they shift over to Tatum for the briefest second. I blink and almost convince myself I’ve imagined it. “You’re not crazy, we just don’t want to stress you out.”

I push myself onto my feet. “That is the worst thing you can say to someone you don’t want to stress out.”

Sidney’s eyebrows draw together like she’s worried. I almost feel bad for pushing. “Noel not talking to you isn’t an accident or your fault.”

“Sid.” I snap my head in Tatum’s direction. She hesitates beneath my stare and gives in with a sigh, “Okay, Noel’s a player who brags about crushing girls’ virginities and breaking up with them the next day. He talks about every girl he’s dated like they’re some kind of car and there are even worse things written about him in the handicap stall of the second floor bathroom.” Tatum pauses, considering how she’s going to word what actually happened. “You’re going through a lot right now and that’s the last thing you need, and we were worried about you, so we talked to Stu and Billy and basically...got Noel to back off.”

Oh my god. The embarrassment, anger, and shock are all fighting for dominance in my mind, but none of them overpower the other so the feeling is just really fucking bad. All I can picture is Billy and Stu talking to Noel like I’m some little kid or someone with brain damage that can’t make their own choices.

“You guys suck!” I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, exhaustion cutting into my irritation. “Like really suck. I’m not some child that can’t make her own decisions.” Ugh--I can’t even decide how to react. “It’s not like I was going to marry him or anything.”

Tatum watches me with a certain level of uncertainty. I don’t think I’ve ever snapped at her or Sidney before. “You’re not exactly a casual dater.”

“Well--I-I could have been.” It feels awkward, almost reluctant, and I hate myself for it. She’s technically right. I’ve never casually dated, but I’ve never seriously dated either, so it probably wouldn’t kill me. “Either way, it might have been a mistake, but it was my mistake to make.”

“I know, Y/n,” Sidney breathes the words slowly, “We didn’t mean anything by it, it wasn’t like a whole scheme or anything it just--” She’s trying, really trying. “We wanted to help you.”

I didn’t need help, I was fine. The genuine hint of worry in her tone keeps me from pointing that out. I just stare at her and then at Tatum. Why does it matter anyways? Everyone gets to be normal and do dumb things and have people they’re close with and relationships and all I have is the stupid ‘almost murdered’ label.

“Why does it matter enough for you to--” I cut myself off, not sure what I’m really asking or what I mean.

Tatum lets out a small sigh, the sound almost reluctant, maybe a tiny bit annoyed that she even has to talk about this. “Because you’re our friend,” she half shrugs like what she’s saying should have been assumed , “And we love you.” She presses her lips together briefly, “Duh.”

Sidney throws a look in Tatum’s direction, “Yeah, we love you so much we were willing to risk you being super mad at us because we were worried.” Sidney pauses to take a breath. “We shouldn’t have done it behind your back, and in the future we won’t meddle.”

When I don’t ease, Tatum tacts on, “If it makes things any better, Stu’s normally a total guy’s guy about this kind of thing and even he thinks Noel’s a total creep.” She scratches the back of her wrist, “And those two never care about this stuff, so, boohoo, we all love you.”

Okay, that doesn’t exactly fix things but it does take the edge off just a tiny bit. They all go way back, and that’s intimidating. And Tatum’s trying to be funny about it, layering on the sarcasm so that I’ll laugh. I hate that it’s almost working. “Well, as long as it’s just everyone being obsessed with me...” The joke feels like a bit of a betrayal, so I tact on something else, “I’m still mad, though.” That feels even weaker. I’m too in my head about all of it and still pretty embarrassed despite the fact that I didn’t do anything. It won’t last forever, but right now, it’s all feeling like too much. The safety of my bedroom feels miles away instead of the few blocks it actually is. “I think I-I’m gonna...”

“No,” Tatum huffs, “It wasn’t supposed to be a thing.” She tilts her head to the side, silky blonde hair bouncing with the motion. “We haven’t seen you in forever and it was more Stu and Billy’s thing, they’ve been ready to start a thing with him since like the 9th grade.”

More Stu and Billy’s thing? That almost makes sense for Billy, who Noel casually suggested could be a murderer. But Stu? Noel seemed to like him well enough. Maybe it’s a loyalty thing. I can see Billy and Stu having a bit of package deal friendship. You can’t hate on one without becoming enemy of the other. And with how generally protective Stu seems to be over his friends, it’d make sense.

But still. I am not a bargaining chip or an excuse or someone that needs their approval on who I do or don’t date.

“Let’s do whatever you want to do and then if you’re still mad, we can invite them over and you can yell at them.”

Tatum almost smiles, “You’re good at that.”

That...feels a little weird. “I’m good at yelling?”

“No, it’s like when you told off that reporter. One minute, you’re normal, but then, when you need to be--bam! You’re super bitch.”

I laugh, this time it’s genuine. “Super bitch strikes again.” The exit is still close, and some nervous part of me wants to cling to the out. I’m not sure if it’s out of some form of fear or genuine anger or both. But I do want to stay around them a little longer and go take way too long renting a video just to annoy Randy. “If I get to pick what we do, I say we go bother Randy and get a movie. He’s had it easy for too long.”

Sid half scoffs at my ominous tone. “How do you know?”

"Knowing whether or not Randy needs to be annoyed is my superpower.”

----

The video rental is surprisingly empty for early Thursday evening. Schools are out and it’s close enough to the weekend where normally there are more people stopping by to check out what they want to watch in advance. Today doesn’t reflect that. Good to know that my Randy distress radar is still in tact.

There’s an older man adjusting the latest release aisle, changing out movies. He’s the only employee that I see as I scan over the store and a part of me nearly deflates. Sidney did say she thought Randy would be working and I have no way of knowing. Our friendship has also been a victim to my recent hermit ways, and it’s likely suffered more than my connection with anyone else. At least my other friends are in a couple of my classes or need to walk down the same hallways. Most of Randy’s classes aren’t near mine and we only share a study hall, which he often uses as an excuse to leave early in order to get to work. Meaning that most days I only see him during lunch.

The door to the back swings open and behind a cart of VHS tapes, there’s a familiar face. Randy. I find myself smiling as I approach the counter he’s coming up from behind.

“Excuse me,” he glances up, a bit of surprise causing him to raise his eyebrows, “I was wondering if you have a copy of Child’s Play 2, but not the original, the extended cut with the alternate ending, Sorority House Massacre, uncut, duh, and/or Fox’s original version of Clueless.”

Randy blinks, unfazed by my bullshit. “I’ve been around you too long to fall for that last one.”

I almost laugh. I can’t believe Randy remembers my rant about the developmental nightmare that was the original Clueless pitch. Fox wanted a TV show, but they got a movie instead, and that took way too long for no reason. I had talked about it a lot longer than I meant to the other day at school. “You caught it.”

“Decoys are always more obvious than they seem to the person making them.” It feels like some kind of movie rule reference, vague enough for me to get how it applies but not so random I feel the need to ask. “So are you here to rent something or make my job harder?”

“A little of both.” Turning my head, I gesture to where Sidney and Tatum are. They’re in the same aisle, backs to each other as they scan through options. “We wanted something to watch and Sidney said she thought you’d be working today.” I tap my nails against the counter. “And I had this feeling that things have probably been too easy for you.”

Randy’s lips turn upwards but it feels a little different than a smile. “Yeah, nothing but peace since you...”

“Became a total paranoid PTSD recluse?”

He half shrugs, “Jack Torrence.” I roll my eyes, a little relieved that Randy’s joking about it instead of pressing. It’s part of the reason he’s a good friend to have. “You’re feeling better, though, right?”

Spoke a little too soon, but that’s an okay question. It’s not invasive, it’s just an offer. “Getting there.”

Randy nods, taking in the answer for what feels like a little too long for two words. Maybe he’s feeling the honesty of what does seem like a cop out answer. I’m not over it by any means, but feeling better is a process that’s starting to work. “That’s good.” He pushes the cart slightly before pulling back to place. “You’re good.” Randy lets out a breath, tugging and pushing the cart again. “I mean--deserve to feel good and normal.”

I grin at the stumble in words. It’s rare that we’re openly nice to each other instead of acting like little kids after one pulls the other’s hair. “I get what you mean.”

His lips part, but no words come out. Randy’s eyebrows draw together as his mouth shuts. What is--a firm touch on my shoulder snaps the question out of me. My head turns and some kind of comment about being rude to people in line rises and immediately falls back down. Stu! And then I remember my earlier conversation and it feels a lot more like: Oh. Stu.

It’s such an instant flip that for a second I don’t react. Stu pulls his arm around me in a quick attempt at a side hug, but I’m so stiff it’s more like being shoved into him. “Look who’s here.”

Bumping into him is by no means new to me. Small town, same friends, some overlap in hobbies. But this time it’s different. I promised myself that Stu and Billy would get scolded for meddling as soon as possible, but I didn’t expect run into him in public. It’s like being a parent with a child that’s misbehaving in church. You can’t do anything but redirect until you get to the car.

Stu drops his arm back to his side. “Thought you were doing something with Tatum and Sid?”

“They’re over there,” I gesture vaguely with a tilt of my head, trying to seem casual. I might not be willing to get into the whole Noel thing in front of Randy and the suburban mom trying to settle a dispute between two kids who can’t decide which movie to get, but Stu probably is. “I wouldn’t look too closely, girls’ night movies might make you sick.”

Stu misses by just a second. He does wrinkle his nose in a display of the kind of good humor I’d expect from him, but it doesn’t feel as natural. There’s nothing wrong about his reaction, it just feels lacking. Missing his usual brand of energy. “I have no issue with girls’ night movies.”

Clearly, I’ve been spending too much time with him because I get the joke instantly. Now it’s my turn to cringe. “Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because, buggsie, your life would be so boring without me.” The nickname does make my expression warp, but this time it’s more like trying to keep in a laugh than anything else. “If your only movie influence was Randy, you’d be a lot less likable.”

Randy sighs. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The words are just a little too sharp. They’re good enough friends in some senses. Not two I’d guess hang alone together, but I like to think at the end of the day they like co-existing. That doesn’t mean they don’t bicker from time to time in a way that feels different than when Randy and I fight like little kids or Stu and I fight like an old married couple too lazy to get divorced.

“No need to be bitter, dude,” Stu’s hand is back around my shoulder, “I gave you a whole five minutes.” That was a weird thing to say. Random, and not in a fun sort of way, but before I can ask, Stu’s pulling me forward. “You want to help me sneak up on Tay?”

I throw Randy a look that hopefully communicates my level of confusion and some sort of see you later. “Uh...” Stu’s already turning like I’ve answered, “Sure?”

When we’re finally closer to the shelves than the counter, Stu lets me go, his hand sliding down my arm a little before retracting. “So you go up to Tatum, talk to her, keep her distracted, and I’ll sneak up behind her.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He’s moving along so quickly and casually, but I’m still fixed on that last comment to Randy. It wasn’t banter-y and Randy didn’t say anything back, which feels a little weird. “That last thing you said, the five minute thing?”

Stu barely pauses, head tilting in a way that feels confused. “Oh. Gave him five minutes to make a move, but you know Randy, not a closer.”

It’s said casually enough that I could think Stu’s being serious, but there’s also a hum of sarcasm in there. And what he’s saying does feel too unrealistic to not be a joke. Randy and I are completely platonic, there’s no way he sees me like that. Plus, I’d like to think that if a guy I’m around that regularly liked me in any sort of way, I’d have at least somewhat picked up on it.

“Shut up,” I shove Stu’s arm, “You’re not funny.”

He holds his hands up in defense briefly. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

It’s said casual enough that I’m finally given a second to think. The nagging voice at the back of my head is finally given the opportunity to remind me that I’m supposed to be mad at him. Or, at the very least, irritated until I can tell him off for trying to make decisions for me behind my back.

“Interesting that you mention shooting you, be--”

“Ouch,” Stu hums, a little too pointedly, “Thought we were all good, angel.” I press my lips together, staring at the ground to avoid giving him anything to latch onto. “I’ve been on best behavior. Minding my business, just here to check something out.”

I stop, a motion I think is subtle enough but Stu picks up on it immediately. He turns and grabs my wrist. The contact is sudden enough to force me to look up. Stu’s watching me, his expression seems innocent, and not in that pretend way either. There’s a hint of confusion behind his eyes. I’m not sure I entirely believe it, but I think it’s possible that what I’m mad about isn’t coming to mind. He has no reason to think I’d know about it.

His hold is firm and oddly warm and bordering on distracting.

“Stu,” Tatum’s cheery voice snaps the two of us out of our stand off.

He pulls away quickly, eyes falling on Tatum. “There’s my girl.” Stu pulls her into a hug and gives her a quick kiss. “Y/n was going to help me sneak up and surprise you, but she’s in a mood.”

Ugh. Stu has a way of dismissing any type of reaction that doesn’t work for him as me being in a mood or pouting. “I am not in a mood.”

“Give her a break.” Stu’s hands are still on her. “Y/n found out about the Noel thing.”My gaze instinctually shifts back to Stu. His easygoing grin falters. Tatum smiles at him with a coy look that I guess could be interpreted as some kind of apology. “Don’t get moody, she pulled it out of us.”

It takes him a second, but Stu eventually eases off of her. He doesn’t look as content as before, but his expression hints at nothing else besides casual annoyance. “She can’t be too mad if she’s still hanging around you and Sid.”

“I got to tell them both off already.”

Stu turns, something smug tugging his face into an almost smile. It’s infuriating. “If that’s what you’re into, babe.”

Tatum scoffs and halfheartedly smacks his shoulders. “You’ve been around long enough that I don’t have to apologize for him anymore, right?”

“Right.”

Stu lets out a breath, “Geez, you two sure act like you love me.”

I am so not in the mood to say anything nice about Stu in front of him. “Maybe if you minded your business a little more--”

“Okay,” Tatum pushes herself into the budding argument and looks at me. “Save your energy for when there’s two of them.” Good point. If I yelled at Stu and Billy separately every time they messed up, I’d be yelling constantly. Tatum’s attention shifts back to Stu, “Is he around? Sid’s around the corner.”

Stu shakes his head once. “Nah, it’s still early and he only said he might call. He’s been a little out of it.”

Billy’s out of it? And out of it enough to not be around Stu for once? It’s not like they’re literally attached at the hip but a weekend evening where both me and their girlfriends are busy and they’re not hanging out together? That in itself hints at something being wrong.

I think through the last I heard from Billy, but nothing particularly stands out. He might have briefly mentioned his dad but not in a concerning way. Not in a way that indicated he’d have to spend extra time with him or anything.

Billy has also been weirdly absent. No recent warning-less appearances at my window. Has he been going through something and I’m just too caught up in my personal issues to notice? God, this serial killer nonsense has turned me into a terrible friend.

“He okay?”

Stu’s eyes flit up to meet mine. “You might want to hold off on the scolding, but last time I checked in, yeah. Just all angsty, you know how Billy gets.”

I blink. Last time he checked in. Maybe I’m idealizing their friendship too much, but I’ve always felt like they were looking out for each other. Closer than Stu’s current reaction warrants. Or maybe I’m overthinking things and Billy’s just taking some time. He doesn’t seem the type to want to talk about fuzzy things like feelings.

“We were going to ask you guys to come over, but if he’s not up for it, that’s okay,” Tatum says, “You can still come by later, but I think you should check in on him.”

Now I’m starting to feel antsy. Like I should go check in on Billy, but I don’t even know what that’d look like. The realization that I’ve never been to Billy’s house hits hard and with no warning. Whenever we all hang out, it’s at my place or someone else’s, and when it’s the three of us we go to Stu’s and sometimes my house. The thought rubs me the wrong way, like this one thing is pulling on the threads of our friendship.

He’s one of my best friends and I can’t even say I know what his room looks like.

“I’ll probably stop by soon.”

That makes me frown. Probably. Soon.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Tatum’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “Dewey wanted me to give you a head’s up that he’ll be trying to meet with you soon. He wants to go over some....stuff.”

Ugh, this again. I can’t escape it. “Yeah. He has my number, Dewey can call whenever, but the warning was nice.”

Stu shifts back like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “He wants to talk to her again?” He’s more offended than I am. “What? It’s not like anything’s changed.”

Tatum shrugs, “I don’t know. Dewey doesn’t give me the details.”

“Unless they have new evidence, they shouldn’t be dragging her back into it just because they don’t know shit.”

I should tell him to drop it. That this is my business and maybe it’s time we establish some firmer boundaries, but I can’t get the words to form. The whole thing feels hypocritical. I should be annoyed, but I’m not because he’s saying what I can’t.

It’s brief, but for a second it almost feels like Stu might be the closest to someone that gets what it feels like. The irony is insane, considering that there’s no way that empathy’s his strong suit.

“I don’t know. It’s not my thing.”

Tatum is understandably a little defensive, which is fair. Especially when considering our earlier conversation. This isn’t fair to her. “It’s okay.” The words feel like a flat cop out compared to Stu’s instinctual defense. “It’s not Tatum’s fault and Dewey was really nice about it last time--”

“Last time? You mean when they ambushed you at the hospital before they let you take visitors?”

My stomach knots at that. The feeling of waking up there, confused and unaware of what I’d just been through and then being made to feel like I was completely alone while Billy and Stu were waiting outside for me. “That’s not his fault.” A dry defense. “It sucks, but it’s for the greater good and it won’t take long.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince myself or him. “It’s okay.”

Stu half sighs. “I’m going to grab my movie and head out, maybe stop by Billy’s.” He tuns to give Tatum a brief goodbye kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll see you soon, Y/n. Make sure you get to yell at me before it builds too much.”

At that, I roll my eyes but still wave him off.

----

My eyes are on the phone again, staring down the extension on my nightstand like it’s keeping things from me.

Ugh. This is ridiculous. I snap my attention back to the homework in front of me. Some extra credit for my math class. It’s an attempt at damage control because the test I had to take the morning after being attacked by a serial killer is seriously bringing down my GPA. Too bad calc has never been my strong suit. The distraction that is my inability to move on from what Stu said is definitely not helping.

Even after Sidney, Tatum, and I left the video store, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Stu’s uncertainty and what Billy could be going through. Maybe Stu was playing down how much he knows because Billy didn’t want anyone else knowing. I could see that. Hope for that since the thought of Billy locking himself in his room and dealing with whatever it is completely alone tugs at my heart.

I could call. He might not answer, but that’s okay. It might make me feel better to just do something and it’s not like I’ve never called him. There’s also the more extreme option of showing up to his place. I’ve never been to his house, but he’s pointed it out before. Even though I physically could get there, that feels like too much. If I’ve never been over, it’s probably for a reason.

There’s also Stu. I could call him to ask about Billy. He’s more likely to tell me about how Billy’s doing than Billy. But that also feels weird for no reason. Again, it’s not like I never call them.

I glance over at the digital clock on my desk. 7:56. Okay--it’s not too late. Not weirdly late.

I stand before I can think about it too much, walking over to the phone. If it’s going to be distracting, I should just get it over with. Maybe having some kind of answer will make it easier to focus on things.

The phone rings about three times before there’s an answer. “Yeah?”

“Hey.” Okay, that one word feels super awkward for no reason. “Hi--it’s um--” Be more normal. It’s just Stu. “It’s Y/n.”

A quick breath that feels more like a laugh than it sounds. “Yeah, I figured that out.” Great, now he’s making fun of me. “I also know why you’re calling.”

“Really?”

I can feel his amusement over the phone. “You can’t stop thinking about me and want me to come over.”

I snort as soon as the words wash over me. What was I expecting? “You figured it out. This is a booty call.”

Stu sort of laughs. “Yeah? I can be over in five.”

Pressing my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, I sit up a little more. “Loser.” I reach over for a pillow and pull it on to my lap. “Okay, so actual reason, I was trying to do something for calc, so obviously my mind was wandering and thinking about literally anything else.”

“Obviously.”

My fingers brush the fluff of the pillow’s exterior. I brush the strands flat and then back into little spikes of hair. “And at some point, I started thinking about what you said at the video store. About Billy.”

There’s a brief silence, and then another one of Stu’s breathy-accidental-laughs. “Aw, you’re worried.” Ugh. “That’s cute, angel, I’ll make sure to tell him.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport.”

My nose wrinkles at that, nails smothering my pillow’s layer of fluff. “Is he okay or not?”

For a second, the only thing coming from the other side of the phone is the general static of someone’s movement. “Bossy.” I roll my eyes, but before I can tell him to spare me tonight, Stu continues, “Why didn’t you just call Billy?”

It’s a fair question, which only bugs me more. “Because there’s no way to call someone and ask if they’re okay based on a passing comment without sounding insane.”

I pinch the thin hairs of my pillows between my thumb and index finger. “And it’s less insane this way?”

Feels like it. “Kinda, yeah.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it. Billy’s fine, he’ll be back to his usual levels of brooding soon. Promise.” I don’t know what to make of that, so I just focus on my pillow. “It might help if you called him tomorrow. Let him sleep it off for a little longer.”

That’s probably a good suggestion. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” My eyes drift back to the still open textbook on my desk. My mom is out with Wells so I can’t even use her as an excuse to not be doing this right now. I briefly bite my tongue to give myself a second to think through what I’m considering. “You um--are you doing anything right now?” Even more awkward. Great. “I could really use an excuse to not work on calc right now.”

“Now it’s a booty call.”

Being friends with him is so annoying sometimes. “I hate you.”

“Ouch,” a brief shuffling before he speaks again, “You know I love distracting you--” I roll my eyes. “But tonight’s--”

“Shit, is Tatum over or something?” A hand flies over my mouth. Of course I’d call at a time where he had someone over and be a total mess. “I’m sorry.”

Some more static before a response, “No, it’s--” He sighs once. “Billy’s here and he’s--” Oh. My embarrassment is definitely doubling, but there’s still some relief there. At least he’s not alone. “Maybe you should come over, help cheer him up.”

“You’re kind of an asshole for not mentioning that earlier.” I push the throw pillow off my lap and let my back fall onto my cocoon of larger pillows. “And it’s fine, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm him or anything.”

“No,” Stu’s answer is quick but feels a little flat. Almost worried. “You--I think it’d be good for him to see you.” There’s still a bit of hesitance there, like Stu’s not telling me the full story. Maybe he can’t. “We rented a few movies and I think I might still have those sour gummy things you like.”

I really do love sour gummies. “Is Billy okay with it?”

“It’s my house, bug.” When I don’t say anything, Stu sighs, “Kidding. C’mon, he loves you.” I don’t know why I’m debating so much, it was my idea, but now it feels a little intrusive of me. “And we’re a lot more fun than calculus.”

“Not a high bar you’re setting there.” Stu pointedly scoffs. “Okay--if you’re sure Billy’s okay with it, I’ll be over in a few.”

“Need to go ask your mommy?”

I’m already pushing myself to my feet. “Shut up.” An ‘at least I have a parent that gives a shit’ nearly slips out and I just barely manage to bite my tongue. That’d be like reacting to a playful shove with a punch to the face. Besides, my mom’s not a factor right now. She and Wells are out to dinner with some friends. She left me with a 20 to order pizza and maybe rent a movie. “I can still not go.”

Stu chooses to ignore the (empty) threat, “See you soon, babe.”

I push open the door of my closet and search through it as quickly as possible. It’s not like I need to get dressed up to go to Stu’s, but my stained pajama pants from the ninth grade and practically threadbare tank top aren’t things I wear out of the house. Especially now that fall is making evenings a lot chillier. “I don’t get our friendship.”

“I keep you supplied with those awful sour gummies.”

I smile despite myself, grabbing something out of my closet. “That explains it.” Bending down, I pick up another article of clothing. “See you soon.”

----

“There she is.”

Stu pulls me into a hug before I can think to react. He’s always so warm and everywhere. I think it has to do with his smell. It sounds weird but he’s so consistent about it. Enough expensive laundry detergent to drown out most of the usual teen boy body spray musk to a level that’s tolerable and sharpens the slight hint of weed that seems to cling to him. Even that is balanced. Subtle unless you know to think about it. But now it’s a little more overwhelming than usual...fresher.

Like he just finished a joint. I stare at him for a second and while his eyes seem mostly normal, there’s a bit of a red tinge there. If it wasn’t for the smell of weed, I wouldn’t have noticed. “Are you high?”

The corner of Stu’s mouth pulls up into an almost smile. He’s amused. “That’s a fun way to greet me.” I give him a pointed look. “Mmm...maybe a little.” Stu extends an arm, halfheartedly punching me in the shoulder. Instead of dropping his arm like usual, Stu relaxes his fist in order to squeeze the top of my arm. “What gave me away, angel?”

“With you, it’s always a safe guess.” He sort of frowns, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Kidding. You smell like a dispensary.”

Stu squeezes my arm a little harder. “Judgy.” He tilts his head slightly. “And here I was going to offer you some.”

“No one likes me when I’m high.” That’s true enough. I get all paranoid and clingy. Randy won’t even smoke around me if we’re alone just in case.

He half scoffs. “Nah, that’s just for people that don’t know how to handle you.”

Handle me? I’m about to give him some sarcastic answer, but when my eyes meet his, the reaction freezes over. He’s staring at me with a concentration that feels more prominent than his hand on my arm. I don’t know why, but I feel the need the redirect and break the silence. “Where’s Billy?”

“In my room.” Stu swings a hand around my shoulder and starts guiding me forward. “C’mon, he’ll be happy to see you.”

I should shrug Stu off of me, but it feels easier to just let him. Besides, there are other things to worry about. From the vagueness Stu’s been handling mentions of Billy with, I half expect him to be in a straight jacket or something. “He--he does know I’m here, right?”

The only answer I get is Stu placing a hand on his bedroom door once we reach it. He releases me to push open it open. “Hey, feeling any better?” Billy doesn’t get a chance to reply before Stu continues, “Because I brought you a present.”

Weird...and kind of objectifying, but in a weird way. It’s not so much the words, but the way he’s saying them. This is definitely an ambush. Stu pushes the door open all the way before I can really react. I still make a point of smacking his arm. “Don’t make it weird.”

I turn my head towards Stu’s room. Billy is in there, sitting with his back against the headboard and he’s looking at me but there’s little recognition. It’s more like he’s seeing through me. I want to assume it’s part of some kind of side effect of being high, but I can’t quite get myself to dismiss it as something so casual.

Any fight directed at Stu evaporates into the air and morphs into this weird veil of tension. Not good or bad. Just heavy and full, bleeding through the room and into the hall where I’m still standing.

“Hi,” it feels like an attempt at cutting through the harshness, “I heard you were feeling bad so I thought I’d come back and make you feel worse.”

Billy’s eyebrows draw together slightly, like he’s considering how to react. He settles on a, “Yeah?” It feels smaller than the way he usually is.

I swallow my instinctual reaction. “Yeah--things aren’t looking too good in Iraq and everyone’s getting too comfortable with nuclear bombs.”

The corner of his mouth turns up into an almost smile. It’s not quite there, but the thawing of the icy layer behind his gaze is cracking. “Anything else?”

“I still think the Princess Diana divorce is kind of a bummer.”

Stu sighs dramatically. “Of course you’re on her side.”

“There is no other side, Charles is the worst.”

Stu walks fully into his room and practically flops onto his bed. His head hits Billy’s calf and Billy throws him a dirty look before adjusting. “Charles is next in line for the throne. That entitles him to all the girls he wants. That’s just history.”

I wrinkle my nose and halfheartedly glare at him. “He’s also probably inbred.”

Billy sits up a little further, reaching for what I’m assuming is a joint. “Definitely inbred.”

The small vouch of support is strangely easing.

Stu tilts his head to look at me briefly. “You two deserve each other.”

“Don’t pout.” Maybe not my smartest joke, but it’s too easy to pass up on.

He props his head up just to glare at me. “I can still kick you out.”

I roll my eyes and Billy wordlessly extends what he’s been smoking. Stu reaches for it absentmindedly and Billy moves his arm away. “You need to slow down.”

Stu doesn’t protest, which has to be a byproduct of his easy high. I’m so distracted by that it takes a second for it to click. If Billy isn’t handing off the joint to Stu, he’s trying to give it to me...the person who’s going to be around their mom and a cop before the night’s over.

“Can’t tonight.” I’m so going to get bullied for this, “My mom would know immediately, and then she’d kill all three of us.”

Billy sits up a little more, not fully taking his hand back but relaxing it a little. Stu drops his head back down, accidentally landing on Billy’s leg. I suppress a laugh when Billy lazily shrugs Stu off. It doesn’t work, because Stu still glares at me as he curls into himself slightly. “You could stay over, sleep it off.”

Maybe Stu’s more high than I thought. I take a step forward, feeling awkward about the distance. “I don’t see how that helps the my mom killing us all thing.”

“You could call her from my home phone, tell her you’re staying over at Sidney’s or Tay’s.” Stu doesn’t wait for my response before stretching out an arm in my direction. “Come here.”

It feels a little bit like a trap, but at the same time, standing this close to the door is probably weirder than anything Stu’s going to try. I walk forward and sit down on the edge of his bed. Stu smiles lazily and adjusts so that his legs are on my lap. They’re long. He’s basically an arachnid.

With Stu, a firm approach is usually best, but this seems harmless enough so I don’t kick him off of me. “You’re like a spider.”

He laugh-scoffs, stretching even further. “Like a daddy long legs.”

There’s a weird attempt at sultriness in his words. It’s so stupid I can’t hep the terrible laugh that comes out. “Shut up. You’re so gross.” Now I do want him off of me. He won’t move so I try dragging myself back a little. All that does is make me bump into Billy’s arm. “Sorry.”

Dismissing my apologetic look with a short wave of the hand still holding the joint, Billy sits up even more, angling himself towards me. “You should be.” It’s sarcastic, but still oddly flat, like Billy’s putting work into being a part of the conversation.

Stu, clearly feeling forgotten, softly kicks his leg. “Your sobriety’s bringing old Billy Boy back down.”

I lean back, ignoring the way my fingers brush against Billy’s. “I promise me being high would only depress him more.”

“I like you high,” Billy muses flatly, “You get all jumpy.”

I roll my eyes, trying to straighten to pull my hand back but Billy doesn’t let me get that far. His hand turns over and pulls his fingers between my own. It’s a casual enough attempt to pull me back into place, but his eyes are so quick to meet mine. There’s something almost nervous about the shift, and vaguely familiar. An uncertain, begrudging request for reassurance I’ve come to associate with people going through some sort of depressive episode.

“That was one time,” I mumble, “And it was because you guys are assholes and didn’t tell me that it was extra strong.”

Stu’s leg moves again, “It wasn’t extra strong, we just didn’t pace you.”

“Either way--assholes.”

Billy moves his thumb along my knuckles. “We’ll be nice this time.” He takes a deliberate hit and exhales the smoke in a way that lingers. I can feel the smell of it, a paranoid part of me thinking it’s already caught up in my hair and clothes and skin. Like my mom will just be able to tell already. Maybe it is already too late.

And it’d upset her. She’s already worried enough about how I’m handling all the killer stuff, if she thinks I’m acting out and smoking she’ll probably freak. This also wouldn’t be the first time I did something like this and didn’t tell her...or the first time I stayed over at a friend’s house to sleep something off.

It’s also objectively nice to be around them. Also, Billy’s whole slightly off thing is something I’ve definitely seen before. The familiarity finally clicks into place, a few memories of my mother from when I was younger. Bad ones, days in which things slipped through the cracks before my mom was diagnosed and started managing that part of herself.

“Even if you don’t smoke, you should call your mom...stay over.” Billy gets the words out stiffly, like some invisible force was trying to shove them back down his throat. “Keep me from being alone with that one.”

Stu lets out a sound that’s sounds a lot like a tired “fuck off”. The casual disapproval makes me smile.

Billy takes another, much shorter hit. I let myself observe the process. The way the smoke goes in, how he holds it in, and finally the way he forces it out. Billy wordlessly turns the joint around in a silent offering. I give in with an exhale and reach over. Billy doesn’t let me get that far, moving so that his fingers are almost to my mouth. I part my lips and let him hold the joint there as I inhale. He doesn’t give me long before taking it back. He runs his thumb along my knuckles. “Hold.” I struggle, but follow through. “Good. Now breathe.”

I let it out with a slight cough.

“There ya go,” Stu mumbles, patiently dragging his leg up my thigh. “You’ll feel better.” I wish I had more experience with smoking outside of them. If I did, I’d have a reference point to tell me if Stu’s weed is actually extra strong or not. I’m sure what he gets is considered good shit, since he definitely has the money and tolerance. “You should call your mom before you get all giggly.”

I openly frown. “I do not get ‘giggly’.”

“Yeah, you do.”

I’m not in an argumentative mood. Maybe it’s the atmosphere or the weed is already starting to cloud my judgement. I should call my mom, though. It hasn’t been that long since I left, which means she’s probably still out with Wells. It’ll be easier to just leave a message on the machine. She always checks when she gets home.

Ever since the first incident, my mom keeps a cell phone on her that’s always on, but it’s still weird to both of us. I don’t have the number fully memorized yet, it’s written on a note held to the fridge by a magnet back home...a few blocks away. The cell phone isn’t exclusively emergency, but my mom doesn’t love portable technology. She thinks they’re tacky and breed rudeness.

I tap Stu’s leg, “Up.”

Surprisingly enough, Stu listens, letting me go. I let go of Billy’s hand and reach for the extension on Stu’s nightstand. I quickly dial my number and leave a flat message. Staying over at Sid’s, have fun but not too much fun, love you and see you tomorrow.

In a moment of straight forward association, I almost went with telling my mom I was staying at Tatum’s, but I have to talk to Dewey soon and my mom will probably be there and that felt like a potential loose end.

Stu half snorts, “Love you and see you tomorrow, mom.”

I shove Stu’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Have fun but not too much fun,” Billy mumbles, a lot more subdued but just as teasing.

Rolling my eyes, I move back to the edge of the bed where I was sitting before. “It’s an inside joke.”

Stu leans forward and pinches my cheek. “That’s adorable.”

The patronization doesn’t sit well and my eyelids feel heavier than they did a second ago. “I hate you guys.”

“Clearly,” Stu breathes, reaching over and taking the joint from Billy. “Oh, Billy, forgot to tell you, Y/n’s supposed to be mad at us.” Billy tilts his head a little too far to one side like that’s news enough for him to be curious. “Tay told her about the Noel thing.”

Billy feels imbalanced, head leaning one way and spine straight. His eyes harden over again. “Really?” He takes my hand again, this time a lot less softly. “Over that asshole?” I let him run his knuckles over my hand again, even though this time it feels a lot less soothing. “If none of your friends like a guy, that usually says something about the guy.”

I’m sure there’s some kind of joke I could spin. Maybe about where he learned that one from. Get that from Cosmo? But the bordering on defensive look behind Billy’s eyes is overbearing and messing with my head. Stu is seriously in danger for bringing this up right now.

“It’s not about the guy,” I manage, “It’s about...” All the points I had feel a lot less concrete under Billy’s scrutiny...or maybe it’s the weed. Or both. I swallow, dropping my gaze to my lap as I try to really think. Okay, it’s definitely both. “Timing and boundaries.” It feels fractured. “Like even if a guy totally sucks, you can’t go over my head about it.”

Stu lets out a sigh, dropping his head onto one of his pillow’s. I glare openly. This is all his fault. Why bring it up now? Billy was just starting to act a little more like himself. “I don’t know what you see in him.” Ugh. It’s like he’s not even hearing me. “Especially with the way he talked about Casey.”

That last part hits its intended goal. Stu’s staring at the ceiling, so I can’t see his expression, but he seems to take my silence as a win. I don’t know Noel as well as they do, but he did talk about Casey at that party and it wasn’t exactly kind.

I squeeze what I can grab of the comforter like that will tether me here. It half works but it does nothing to ease the tightening in my chest. The memories mix uneasily with the start of my high. The dip of panic doesn’t suit the way my body wants to feel and it all blends together in a way that leaves me on edge and a little nauseous.

There’s the sound of someone moving, but I barely pick up on it. Billy smacks the side of Stu’s head. “Too much, asshole.”

Stu throws Billy an offended look before craning his neck to look at me. I must look as off as I feel, because Stu does sit up. “Shit,” he pushes himself back, “Sorry. I didn’t think--”

“You never think.” The words are pointed, but not completely angry. If I was feeling any better, I would’ve laughed. He slowly reaches forward and I don’t stop him from prying my fingers away from the sheets. “Your trip going a little bad?” I nod. “Don’t think about it.” Easier said than done. “You could end up like Stu the one time he smoked too much while watching one of those old horror movies where the special effects are basically held up by a string.”

That cracks at the panic a little. “What did he do?”

“Convinced himself that it was real and we were the ones that were off.”

I almost laugh. “Actually?”

“Shut up,” Stu sighs, a little bitter but not actually mad.

Billy ignores him, “Actually.” He turns my hand over carefully before running his fingers over the thin scar on my palm and up my wrist. “So you’re already doing better than him.”

For a second, I let myself study Billy. The wisps of hair falling forward, the slight pinch between his eyebrows, his focused expression. Billy almost always holds himself with a certain tenseness. Whether that’s force of habit or natural to him, I’m not sure. Maybe that’s why he gets along so well with Stu. They balance each other.

“Are you...” I don’t know where I’m going with this. “Are you feeling any better?”

His expression briefly clouds, pulling into something much more blank. He drops his gaze and for a second I feel like I might need to take it back. “Yeah--yeah, don’t worry.” Again, easier said than done. Billy clears his throat almost immediately after, like that will erase the fact that he actually responded.

“Good.” It doesn’t sound overly positive, but he hasn’t convinced me. “I’ve missed you, a little.” That feels a lot more real.

Billy angles his head downwards, almost smiling. “Only a little?”

“It’s not like you haven’t been around at all.” He traces an invisible line up my wrist. “Maybe more than a little, anyway.”

“Aw,” Stu hums, his hand finding a place on my back. He leans forward and rests his head on my shoulder. “You two are adorable.” I’m not really given a chance to answer before Stu lets out a sigh that I feel against my neck, “Don’t be mad.”

Honestly, I’m not feeling any anger. I’m a little annoyed at him and frustrated that I’m still not normal. That’s all there is. It’s too tiring to turn into anger. “’M not mad,” it feels like a confession, “A little annoyed at you, but not more than usual.”

He breathes a sarcastic, “Haha” into my shoulder.

With no warning, I start to unweave myself from them. I think they’re too confused to ask until I’m actually standing.

“Where are you going, angel?”

I don’t really know, so I can’t really answer. Stu’s room isn’t super familiar. I’ve been in here a couple times, most of them brief. I take a second to really take in the space. A lot of posters, the ones that aren’t directly bloody movie posters feature practically naked women and some combine the two. It fits him.

“Getting a feel,” I decide on, “You can tell a lot about a person based on their room.”

Stu moves to the edge of his bed, grinning at my focus. “Really?”

I move to pull open the drawer of his nightstand. “Mhm.”

“You’re not going to like anything you find in there.” He places a hand on the front of drawer but doesn’t stop me.

It takes me a second too long to realize what he’s getting at. By then, I’ve already taken in a cover of a magazine with a model that’s wearing even less than the girls on the posters, a box of condoms, a surprisingly neatly stacked set of polaroids, an old deck of cards, and a few random odds and ends all crammed in there.

My nose wrinkles, but I’m too distracted by the polaroids to make fun of him. I can only see the top one, but it’s innocent enough, an accidental snapshot that sort of looks like a blurry person on a couch.

“Polaroids?” I pick them out of the drawer and flip to the next one. A small lump that looks like a cat in Stu’s living room. Weird, I’ve never seen one in his house and he’s never mentioned having a pet. Maybe these are old pictures. Before I can snoop any further, Stu pulls the stack of photos away from me. “You’re no fun.”

He rolls his eyes as he moves the first photo back into place. “You’re nosy.” I don’t say anything because I’m not so high that I’m clueless. This is a little weird of me, but I can’t help the impulse. “What if the next picture had been me naked?”

“You take naked pictures of yourself and keep them in your nightstand?”

Stu intentionally ignores my laughter. “You don’t need pictures for that, baby, you can see the real thing.”

My laughter picks up again. “Yeah? Let’s go right now.”

At that, Stu does crack a bit of a smile. “Let’s make Billy strip first.”

“Deal,” I mumble through another laugh.

Billy drops his head onto a pillow, “Fuck off.”

I turn my attention back to the card deck and dig them out with my nail. “Any naked pictures hidden in here or am I good?”

“No promises.” With that as my warning, I begin to shuffle the cards absentmindedly. “Why? You wanna play strip poker?”

Ignoring him, I move back to my previous position on the edge of the bed. “Think I’m good.”

I drag the nail of my thumb along the edge of the cards and focus on the sound of them. Billy nudges my knee with his. I look up as he extends his arm, silently asking for the cards. I hand them over without thinking much about it. Billy begins to actually shuffle in a way that would fit Vegas.

He has to notice my mesmerized stare, but he says nothing. “Do you actually know how to play anything?”

My mom briefly worked at a casino when I was in the first grade and she’d have to bring me in sometimes, but I retained nothing. “Not really.”

That starts something. A process that should have been short and easy. Billy trying to explain different versions of poker and Stu trying to trick me, but only sometimes so I couldn’t know to for sure not trust him. It’s a mess of laughter and a refreshing lack of angst. Every once in awhile, someone insists that a loser has to take a drag from a joint, so everyone’s progressively getting worse. I’m pretty sure Stu’s cheating somehow, but I have no proof and I’m too out of it to get any.

It’s so lighthearted and genuinely fun that I’m fighting against the heaviness of my eyelids. It can’t be that late, but I’m already starting to feel drowsy. I’ve finally been given good cards, so I really need to get it together. “I won.”

Stu scoffs, eyebrows drawing together as he eyes the cards I just set down. “No--that’s not--”

“I won,” a yawn cuts my sentence in half, “Don’t be a loser about it.”

Stu picks up all the cards, ignoring my protests. He’s already mixed me up a couple of times. “I can let you have this one, because you’re--”

“Because you have to.”

Billy turns his ankle, tapping his foot against my leg. “Don’t be mean about it.”

That was nowhere near mean. “Dramatic, both of you.”

Stu’s mouth falls open in a mock gasp as he continues to gather cards. I don’t know what he’s doing until he drops them all back into his drawer and shuts it. He then walks towards his dresser, pulls out a T-shirt, and tosses it in my direction. “After all I’ve done for you.”

I pick up the T-shirt and fold it onto my lap but make no move to go to the bathroom to change. “I don’t want to go to sleep.”

“You’re half asleep already.” Billy ignores the dirty look I give him. “Just change in case you fall asleep.”

Stupid voice of reason. I scratch the back of my wrist and decide to give in. If for no other reason than the fact that Stu’s shirt is almost weirdly soft. Rich people must have access to different kinds of fabric. I reluctantly get up and find Stu’s bathroom.

I change quickly and take a second to make sure Stu gave me a long enough T-shirt. Thankfully, he did, so I don’t have to feel extra awkward about anything. I fold my clothes and bring them back with me.

“Looks nice on you, babe.”

Drowsiness hits harder without any distractions. I blink, unsure on how to respond. Stu’s always a flirt with everyone, but it feels a little weird to react to it while standing in his room at night in one of his T-shirts. “It’s the rich guy cotton.”

The corner of his mouth turns up. “And those legs.”

“Shut up.”

Billy turns onto his side, fluffing his pillow. “Go to sleep before he gets worse.”

“Yeah.” The two of them look comfortable, all settled. “I’ll crash on the couch.”

Stu props his head up on an elbow. “You don’t wanna do that. Living room’s creepy at night and you’ve smoked too much. You’ll get scared.”

“I’m not 12.”

“It’s safer here, you wouldn’t be alone if something happened.”

Ugh, Stu can never resist trying to get me paranoid. “Nothing’s going to happen.” That’s what I thought when I was at Casey’s.

“Just get in bed,” Billy mumbles, half asleep, “I know how this argument goes with the two of you.” When I don’t move, Billy sighs, “If I fall asleep and you get freaked out, I’m not helping.”

Stu lays back down, “He means it. He’s an asshole when he’s tired.” He pauses for so long, I briefly think he might have fallen asleep. “...’S not a big deal.”

True. It wouldn’t even be the first time we all fell asleep in the same bed. And Billy’s slept over in my room enough times for that to barely phase me. “Yeah.”

I walk over towards the bed. “Drink water,” Billy mumbles the words with his eyes still shut. I look over at the nightstand and there’s a glass there that wasn’t there before. I drink a few long sips until Stu sits up to steal the glass from me.

Rude. “Give me--”

He downs the rest of it in a few gulps, “Go to bed.”

I roll my eyes, but unfortunately do listen. Stu pushes me towards the middle, ignoring my surprised huff. I smack his arm before covering myself with his bed sheets. I barely get to reflect on how much of an asshole move that was before I fall asleep.

----

A/n fun fact, there’s a moment in here where Y/n came superrr close to accidentally finding out who Ghostface is :)

Taglist: @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129 @i-amnotokaywiththis @fvcking-gxddess @suckmyass-things @im-better-than-your-newborn @michibuni @bigenargy @marli-lavellan @mushy-mushroom04 @neenieweenie @lone-ray @the-ruler-of-death @andthevillainshallrises @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @dixbolik-bby @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @peachycupotea @my5tica1ien @agustdeeyaa @astrial @3ll0kittylvr420 @zoleea-exultant @slaypussypop-21 @aonungs-tsahik @finnydraws @slytherhoes @vxarak @xofeeeeelsxo @thewayiknowyou @yourslashersfinalgirl @winterridinghood @maggieleighc

#scream #Scream 1996 #scream imagine #scream x reader #Stu Macher #stu macher x reader #Billy Loomis #billy loomis x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #Poly! Ghostface x Reader #poly!ghostface #slasher #slasher x reader #final girl fic

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xxdjsunsetxdxx-blog · 9 months

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Random Ships I Like In No Particular Order:

* Loubbie- Lou Miller x Debbie Ocean- Ocean’s 8

* Sabina x Elena- Charlie’s Angels (2019)

* Macgyver x Riley- MacGyver (2016)

* Magnum x Higgins- Magnum PI (2018)

* Shoot- Shaw x Root- Person of Interest

* Rizzles- Rizzoli x Isles- Rizzoli & Isles

* Wondercheetah- Wonder Woman x Cheetah- DC

* Camren- Camila x Lauren- Fifth Harmony

* Blackhill- Natasha Romanoff x Maria Hill- Marvel

* Xialing x Katy- Shang-Chi

* Peggy Carter x Dottie Underwood- Agent Carter

* Supercorp- Kara Danvers x Lena Luthor- Supergirl

* Daniela x Carla- In The Heights

* Mira Harberg x Laurie- Irma Vep

* Judy Hale x Jen Harding- Dead To Me

* Florence x Madeleine- Gunpowder Milkshake

* Ronance- Robin Buckley x Nancy Wheeler- Stranger Things

* Eleanor x Drea- Do Revenge

* Harlivy- Harley Quinn x Poison Ivy- DC

* Wenclair- Wednesday Addams x Enid Sinclair- Wednesday

* Meddison- Meredith x Addison- Grey’s Anatomy

* Emily x Stephanie- A Simple Favor

* Mercymaker- Mercy x Widowmaker- Overwatch

* Akko x Diana- Little Witch Academia

* Dovesso- Professor Dovey x Lady Lesso- The School for Good and Evil

* Cassie Lang x Jentorra - Quantumania

* Spideypool- Spider-Man x Deadpool- Marvel

* Superbat- Superman x Batman- DC

* Batman x Catwoman- DC

* Princess Audrey x Wonder Woman- DCAU

* Jon Stewart (Green Lantern) x Hawkgirl (Shayera Hol)- DCAU

* StephCass- Stephanie Brown x Cassandra Cain- DC

* DinahBabs- Black Canary (Dinah Lance) x Oracle (Barbara Gordon)- DC

* DicKory- Nightwing (Dick Grayson) x Starfire (Koriand’r)- DC

* Wondermagic- Wonder Woman x Zatanna- DC

* Daphne x Velma- Scooby-Doo

* Cassie Dewell x Jenny Hoyt- Big Sky

* Choni- Cheryl Blossom x Toni Topaz- Riverdale

* Bechloe- Beca Mitchell x Chloe Beale-Pitch Perfect

* Khalopatra- Kleopatra x Frida Khalo- Clone High

* Talia Burns x Margot Fairmont- First Kill

* Question x Huntress- DCAU

* SuperWonderBat- Superman x Wonder Woman x Batman- DCAU

* Wonderhawk- Wonder Woman x Hawkgirl (Shayera Hol)- DCAU

* Dana Scully x Monica Reyes- X-Files

* Barbara (Barbie) Handler x Gloria- Barbie

* Julethief- Carmen Sandiego x Julia (Jules) Argent- Carmen Sandiego

* Seven Of Nine x Raffi Musiker- Star Trek

* Larissa Weems x Morticia Addams- The Addams Family

* Swanqueen- Emma Swan x Regina Mills- Once Upon A Time

* Alicia Florrick x Kalinda Sharma- The Good Wife

* Danny James x Cable McCrory- Bull

* Kim Possible x Shego- Kim Possible

talk to me abt them if you want :)

couldn’t fit all the tags lol

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arealphrooblem · 1 year

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Mutually Assured Destruction Part 10

Since I had one of these scenes written out for a long time, I was able to finish this very early and couldn't wait to post it!

Synopsis: Villain x Civilian. Civilian can sense other people's powers through auras but hides this ability. They are terrified of the most boring person at their office job, who hides the most powerful aura Civilian has ever felt.

Part one here

Part nine here

CW: Spicy! There is some heavy kissing in this snippet, as well as thoughts about having sex, though nothing sexual happens besides making out.

The next Saturday was the office Christmas party. Gloria, who had started wearing Christmas earrings the day after Halloween, had volunteered to help decorate and organize the whole thing. She talked of nothing else all week; the only relief Civilian ever got from it was their daily lunch dates.

“Are you sure we have to go?” Civilian asked for the upteenth time that Friday lunch.

“And deny Gloria the sight of us in our matching couples Christmas sweaters?”

Civilian’s stomach dropped. “You did not. You fucking did not.”

Jonathan only grinned and sipped his drink.

“I swear to God, Jonathan, if you bought one you will have to force me to put it on.”

Something in his eyes darkened, a heated, predatory glint. “That could be arranged.”

That statement should not send a fluttery swoop of desire in Civilian’s gut, but it did. Jesus, what was wrong with them?

“I guess you will have to find out tomorrow,” he said, eyes softening with his smile.

Truth be told, Civilian didn’t know if they wanted him to bring one or not.

***

The party was held in one of the giant conference rooms at a nearby hotel. Strings of lights hung from the drop tiles and at least five uniquely decorated trees stood in various corners. There was a bar and each party-goer had three free drink tickets. Civilian ended up giving two of theirs to another coworker and keeping one for a soda themselves.

Being inebriated around Jonathan would be a colossally stupid idea and not just because he was untrustworthy. He had shown up in a sharp, well cut suit that veered wildly from the bland white dress shirts and khakis he wore to work every day. The sight of him forced Civilian to admit that swirled among the complicated cocktail of their thoughts about Jonathan was an incredibly stupid, incredibly strong attraction.

They did not trust what would come out of their mouth if they lost their tightly reigned filter.

Maybe he should have bought those ugly Christmas sweaters.

Gloria’s eyes lit up when she saw the two of them walk in. “Oh my God, look at you! You two are such a striking couple, I simply have to get some photos for the company website.”

A brief look of panic crossed Jonathan’s face before he smoothed it over.

“No thank you, Gloria,” he said. Her hand jerked to a stop in an aborted movement toward her purse. “Civilian is very camera shy, it makes them incredibly uncomfortable.”

Gloria’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, probably at the realization that she couldn’t move her hand. Civilian’s gaze darted between her and Jonathan. For someone who wanted to remain hidden, he really played fast and loose with his power.

“We will send you some selfies if we take them,” Jonathan added.

Gloria’s hand drifted back to her side, free once again. She mustered up a smile, but Civilian could tell something had disquieted her. “Oh yes, please do.”

Jonathan gave her a winning smile. “The place looks beautiful; you have really outdone yourself. Have you thought about going into professional decorating?”

Civilian fought an eye-roll at this obvious manipulation, but Gloria ate it right up, gushing her thanks before waving them to the bar for their drinks.

“That bar didn’t come cheap you know!” she said, giving them a little push.

“Two hours,” muttered Civilian. “Two hours and then we are out.”

“You don’t like parties, Civilian?” Jonathan teased.

“I don’t like attention.”

“But you look so adorable.”

“Shut up.” They hoped in the dimmer lighting that Jonathan couldn’t see the blush.

Truth be told, Civilian might not have lasted twenty minutes if Jonathan hadn’t been with them, his ability to smooth over any awkward small talk like a superpower by itself. He knew more about these coworkers than they did, despite only working with them a fraction of a time.

The warmth of his hand remained a constant presence on the small of their back, and sometimes his voice would whisper in their ear some scathingly funny remark about a coworker neither of them liked much.

There were worse ways two hours but Civilian was ecstatic when ten pm came and they could go home.

Gloria caught them in the doorway, wishing them a Merry Christmas, thanking them for coming, as if this had been a personal party at her home. And then her eyes drifted up and whatever innocence in her goodbyes evaporated as she grinned.

“Oh, lookie up there! I forgot I put that there!”

Their gaze jerked upward to find a small green branch hanging from the doorway with a bright red ribbon. They bit back a groan. Of fucking course.

They instinctively jerked back, only to find that Jonathan affixed their feet to the floor. Of course — it would look bad for their relationship to recoil from a kiss. Jonathan looked down, gaze heavy with a silent question.

Civilian gave him an infinitesimal nod of their head, hardly daring to believe it. One of his fingers traces feather light across their cheek, brushing away their hair. Anticipation swooped dizzyingly in their stomach as he tipped their chin up lightly with two fingers.

Then he turned their face to the side, leaning in for a cheek kiss — chaste and professional but intimate enough to soothe their audience.

Civilian could come up with a hundred excuses for what they did next, but the simple reason was they just wanted to.

So Civilian closed their eyes and turned their face back to him at the last second. His lips land softly upon theirs. His fingers flinched and tightened against their cheek, frozen for a moment, and Civilian used this opportunity to press an unmistakably intentional kiss back.

Jonathan jerked back, and for a second Civilian got to revel in the sight of his wide, confused eyes and the barest hint of a blush on his cheeks before he slid his bland mask back on.

Someone whooped drunkenly behind them and Jonathan released Civilian’s face from his grip as if he had been burned.

A better person would have felt guilty.

Their mind made a half hearted gesture of guilt, but it was easy to ignore. One little kiss barely registered on the scale of fucked up things when weighed against this whole hostage/dating situation Jonathan has stuck them in. And honestly, he deserved to know what it felt like to be out of control, at the mercy of someone else’s actions. Even if it was over something as small as a kiss.

Jonathan walked them dutifully to their car in the parking garage, his hand absent from the small of their back. Even in their triumph, Civilian missed the heat of it.

He hovered behind them as Civilian gathered their keys. Unable to resist such sweet revenge for that first night, they turned back around and grinned cheekily at him.

“What — no goodnight kiss?”

Another shocked look crossed his face. God, Civilian could dine on that forever. Their grin widened and they opened their mouth to back track --

The next second, Jonathan had them pressed against the car door, mouth latched hungrily to theirs. Civilian hesitated only a second as they processed their shock before they returned it just as intensely. This was nothing like the mistletoe kiss. There was nothing chaste or soft about it. His hands gripped the side of their face, fingers twisting into their hair. His tongue licked into their mouth, thoroughly, like he was savoring the taste of them. The cold steel car seeped into their back and the bright heat of Jonathan’s body pressed against their front.

His teeth tugged at their lower lip before they moved to their jaw, dragging a fiery trail down their jawline to suck at the delicate skin below their ear. A full body shudder gripped Civilian, an obscene moan tore through their throat.

Heady, desperate desire exploded in their thoughts like a smoke bomb, suffocating any rationality in favor of pure need. But before their hands could wander down and do something irrevocably stupid, Jonathan pulled away with a sudden jerk, panting heavily.

They stare at each for one electric moment, his eyes nearly black with want, before he leans back in and presses his forehead to Civilian’s temple. His breath pants against their ear, sending little shock waves of goosebumps down their arm.

They closed their eyes and tried to remember that day on the mountain, the feeling of their heart slowing and skyrocketing, the gut wrench fear that had followed for days afterward. Instead they could only think of all the times Jonathan held their hand, or whispered in their ear, I delight in your delight, and a hideous tye-dyed frog plushie.

“The road this leads down is very dangerous,” he breathes.

“I know,” they whispered. “I still want it. Don’t you?”

He groaned so deeply that Civilian felt it in their chest, his fingers pressing against the back of their head.

“I want nothing more than to eat you alive,” he said.

“I hope that’s a metaphor,” Civilian joked, despite the bright jolt of desire those words sent deep in their gut.

He chuckled darkly before stepping away. Even under the dim streetlamps, Civilian could see the red flush that worked all the way from his collarbone to the tip of his ear. “If I were a bastard, I would give you exactly what you wanted. Unfortunately for you, tonight I remain a gentleman.”

Disappointment clenched in their gut, even though they know it’s the smart decision.

“When have you ever been a gentleman?” they whined anyway.

His eyes flashed with another predatory look. “You have no idea how many times I’ve been a gentleman.”

He picked up their hand and pressed a warm, lingering kiss against their knuckles.

“Goodnight, Civilian,” he bid them with a wink. “Sweet dreams.”

This time he did not wait for Civilian to get into their car before walking, perhaps as a way to save his tattering self control. Civilian climbed into their car and took a minute to press their forehead to their steering wheel and take several deep, calming breaths before starting the drive home.

It was the last time they saw Jonathan for a long, long time.

By Monday morning he was gone.

Part 11 -- The End

Taglist: @those-damn-snippets@heroes-villains-side-blog@anonymousewrites@follow-me-into-the-fog@sunnyside-world, @rivalriotrenegade@trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room@midnightsillusions@villain-obsessed-word-nerd@deflated-bouncingball @pickleking8 @cesspitoflove@to-sneak-away-and-hide@im-a-wonderling@hasel-anne@ghostly-writer@moonknight-s-cumdump@valiantlytransparentwhispers@galactic-squiddo@boomimhere@organizedchaos03@dungeon-roomba@vidiaka@powerflower119 @cbiom @meltedgallium@skevethefool@sarcasticlittlebook@lisapicklemagick @dragonfirephoenixflame, @royalmuffinsworld @sillypeachduck

#hero x villain #villain x civilian #enemies to lovers #this one has some spice in it #my writing #mutually assured destruction

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imyourpupil · 1 year

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Pick a pile: How does your Situation-ship see you?

Hello loves, close your eyes take a few deep breaths in and out, good now choose a photo of Jim Morrison with a lady friend of his. This is a general message take what you want, leave what doesn’t resonate.

1, 2, 3…

🌸🌸🌸

Pile one:

Cards pulled: two of cups, the hangman in reverse, justice

Wow, pile one this person‘s heart is awaken they see you as a serious option. They want to make romantic efforts towards you. They think you’re very very sexy , a queen/king they wanna give you everything the world has to offer, but something is holding them back they want to commit they just don’t want to rush too soon , they want to be with you, but they’ll have to make a sacrifice, a sacrifice for love

Things i picked up: Leo, teasing, “I only see you” ,strawberries , explicit photos

Song: the doors - hello, I love you

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Pile two:

Cards I pulled: the hierophant in reverse, nine of cups in reverse, ace of wands

Things are getting hot between you and this person, I don’t see this as a traditional relationship at all, very hot and cold. Someone (I think you) isn’t happy with the current situation. You want something stable, they aren’t providing that for you. you aren’t setting boundaries and they’re taking advantage of this. They like your back, your bum. they think you can be naive

Things i picked up on: libra, salty food, hard, nipples, karmic relationship, over thinking

Song: the doors - Gloria

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Pile three:

Cards I pulled : four of swords, the chariot, three of wands

OK so this person is full of anxiety I’m hearing that they don’t trust you. They are watching you like a hawk you amuse them I see someone’s smiling softly to themselves. Their heart is broken. They have walls up if they leave you don’t beat yourself up they need time to collect themselves. They aren’t ready for a relationship with you

Things i picked up on: taurus, poetry, reading, long hair, not liking chocolate, thin waist, smiling

Song: the doors - my eyes have seen you

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Thank you for taking your time reading the short message, I’d love for you to like, reblog, if you enjoyed this ❤️❤️

This is my first time posting anything tarot related, feel free to leave feedback :)!

Hope you have a wonderful day/evening/night , bye, bye!!

#pac #pick a pile #pick a card #tarot #pick a picture #pick a photo #tarot reading #psychic readings #free tarot #intuitive readings #intuition #pac tarot #pac reading

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indigomarina · 20 days

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Hazbin Oc x Canon Week: Day 2 - Date Night (FrostedApple)

For @hazbinocxcanon

Glacia/Gloria is from this if you want to see more of her. Lucifer is pacing back and forth in his chambers, running his hands through his hair nervously. He keeps glancing at his reflection in the mirror, rehearsing different lines. "Come on, Lucifer, you can do this. She's just a woman." Lucifer said, anxiously. "A gorgeous, enchanting, incredible woman. But still, just a woman!" He shakes his head, letting out a deep breath. "Okay, let's try this again." He clears his throat, "Gloria, my darling snow angel, would you do me the extraordinary honor of accompanying me on a romantic rendezvous?" he asked. He grimaces, smacking his forehead. "Too formal, too stuffy. She'll think I'm being a pretentious prick." Lucifer starts pacing once more, trying to loosen up his body language. "Hey Glori, you, me, candlelit dinner, some wine, maybe a little dancing after? Whaddya say, babe?" He immediately winces, shaking his head vehemently. "No, no, no! She'll think I'm some sleazy dirtbag trying to get into her pants! Damn it, Lucifer, get it together!" Lucifer takes a few calming breaths, his hands on his hips as he stares at himself in the mirror. Finally, he nods, a look of determination on his face. "Okay. Here we go. Simple, sincere, from the heart." He straightens his posture and plasters on his most charming smile as he practices the line. "Gloria, I was hoping you might join me for dinner tonight. Just the two of us, on a… on a date." Lucifer said. This time, he nodded, feeling more confident. "Yes, that's it. Clear, direct, no room for misinterpretation. She'll know exactly what I'm asking." With one last deep breath, Lucifer heads out of his chambers in search of Glacia, his heart pounding with anticipation. Some time later, Lucifer finds Glacia in the hotel's garden, tending to the frost-covered flowers. He takes a moment to admire her, then gathers his courage and approaches her. "Gloria, c-can I have a moment?" Lucifer asked. Glacia turned to face him, "Of course, Luci. What's on your mind?" Glacia asked with a friendly smile. Lucifer took her hand in his, "Glacia, I was hoping you might join me for dinner tonight. Just the two of us, on a… on a date." Glacia's eyes widen slightly, and a soft blush creeps onto her cheeks. For a moment, Lucifer fears he's overstepped, but then she smiles, squeezing his hand. "Yes, Luci. I would love to go on a date with you." Glacia accepted. Lucifer feels like his heart might burst with joy. "Oh-oh really? You do?!" he asked, hoping this wasn't a trick.

Glacia nodded, revealing it wasn't.

"Th-that's great!" he said happily. "Guess I've pick you up later?"

Glacia nodded, "Sure!" "Great! See you..tonight!" Lucifer said. He sped off, bumping into a wall, making Glacia gasp before he rose up, showing he was okay. Later Lucifer paces nervously in front of the hotel, fiddling with his bowtie. He's dressed to the nines in a dapper black suit, red vest, and shiny dress shoes. A bouquet of icy blue roses is clutched in his sweaty hand. "Okay, you've got this. It's just a date. With the most beautiful demoness in all the realms. No pressure." Lucifer muttered to himself, he tugs at his collar, "Ugh, why is it so hot out here?" Just then, the hotel doors open and Glacia steps out. Lucifer's jaw drops, the roses tumbling from his slack grip. Glacia is a vision in a sleek, off-the-shoulder gown the color of a winter sky. It clings to her curves like a second skin, the slit up the side revealing tantalizing glimpses of smooth pale leg. Her hair is swept up in an elegant twist, tendrils framing her face. "Gloria…you look…I mean…wow." Lucifer exclaimed. "Thank you, Luci." Glacia said blushing, smiling shyly. She takes in his dashing appearance. "You clean up quite nicely yourself~" Lucifer scrambles to retrieve the fallen bouquet, thrusting it towards Glacia with a nervous grin. "For you, snow angel. Though they pale in comparison to your beauty." he said sheepishly.

Lucifer offers her his arm, and they set off on their date. He takes her to a beautiful ice sculpture garden, where they walk hand in hand, admiring the intricate designs.

Lucifer points out a sculpture, "Look, Gloria! That one looks just like you, wifey, a perfect snow angel."

"Oh, Luci, you're too sweet." Glacia said, laughing.

Next, Lucifer takes Glacia to a fancy restaurant, where he has reserved the best table. They enjoy a delicious meal, talking and laughing, lost in each other's company.

Lucifer raises his glass, "A toast, to the most beautiful and enchanting woman in all of Hell."

"And to the most charming and attentive date a girl could ask for." Glacia said, clinking her glass against his.

After dinner, Lucifer surprises Glacia with tickets to a live performance of her favorite musical. They sit close together, holding hands, as they watch the show.

"Luci, this is incredible. Thank you so much." Glacia whispered.

"Anything for you, my snow angel." Lucifer whispered, squeezing her hand.

As the date comes to an end, Lucifer walks Glacia back to her door. They stand facing each other, both reluctant to say goodnight.

"Gloria, I had an amazing time with you today. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did." Lucifer said.

"It was perfect, Luci. The best date I've ever been on." Glacia said.

Glacia leans down slightly and gently kisses Lucifer on the cheek. Lucifer's eyes widen, and a goofy grin spreads across his face.

"I… I'm so glad you had a good time." Lucifer said, touching his cheek where she kissed him.

"Goodnight, my king. Sweet dreams~" Glacia whispered in his ear before going inside her room.

As Glacia closes the door, Lucifer stands there for a moment, his heart soaring with joy. He pumps his fist in the air, doing a little victory dance.

"Yes! She kissed me! On the cheek, but still! Best. Date. Ever!" Lucifer exclaimed excitedly to himself.

Lucifer practically skips away, already planning their next date in his head, determined to make each one better than the last, until he finally wins Glacia's heart completely.

#lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #glacia frostwraith #gloria forworth #hazbin hotel #frostedapple #frosted apple #glacia x lucifer #lucifer x glacia #oc x canon #canon x oc #when hell freezes over #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer x oc #lucifer morningstar x reader

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supportingjatpcast · 6 months

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Where to find the JATP Cast as of December 12, 2023

happy three years to this account! Time to do my thing and update yall on where you can find the cast now! this will be under a read more for those of you who want to scroll past! Have a good one!

Madison Reyes- Julie Molina (@themadisonreyes on Instagram)

Julie and the Phantoms

The Bad Seed Returns

All Kinds of Love (available on all music streaming platforms)

Allie Mitchell Must Win (in preproduction)

Charlie Gillespie- Luke Patterson (@charles_gillespie on Instagram)

Julie and the Phantoms

The Class

Love You Anyway

Chevel Shepard: Good Boy (music video)

The Rest of Us

Madison Park: better w/o you (music video)

Conséquences (six episodes)

I Am the Night (pilot episode)

Speed Kills

Charmed 2018 (Pilot and Episode 2)

Naomi Sequeira: Pastries (music video)

2nd Generation (episodes 1-6)

The Next Step (season 5, episode 17)

Degrassi: Next Class (season 4, episodes 8 and 10)

The Outlaw League

Totally Killer

The Get Back Girl (postproduction)

Suze

Deltopia

Debbie Gibson: Love Don't Care (music video)

Owen Patrick Joyner- Alex Mercer (@owenjoyner on Instagram and Twitter)

Julie and the Phantoms

Acapulco (season 2, episode 3)

Knight Squad

Henry Danger (season 5, episode 9)

Slime Cup (season 3, episodes 1-6)

The Thundermans (season 4, episode 15)

The Veil

It’s On

100 Things to Do Before High School

Nickelodeon’s Ho Ho Holiday Special

Something Here (postproduction)

Jeremy Shada- Reggie Peters (@jeremyshada on Instagram)

Julie and the Phantoms

Interrupting Chicken (season 1, episode 3)

Dragons: The Nine Realms

Multiversus

Adventure Time: Distant Lands

Cookie Run Kingdom (English version)

Scars

Denton’s Death Date

Adventure Time: Pirates of the Enchiridion

Voltron: Legendary Defender

Adventure Time

Mr. Student Body President

Spiderman 2018 (season 2, episode 1)

Cheerleader Nightmare

Blooms Adventure Time TD

When Jeff Tried to Save the World

DreamWorks Voltron VR Chronicles

Guardians of the Galaxy: The Telltale Series

Gloria Talks Funny

Cartoon Network Live

Surfs Up 2: WaveMania

Adventure Time: Finn & Jake Investigations

Lego Dimensions

Badly Drawn Animals

Adventure Time: All’s Well That Rats Swell

Code Name: S.T.E.A.M

Adventure Time: Game Wizard

Adventure Time: The Secret of the Nameless Kingdom

Adventure Time: Card Wars

Aliens in the House

Adventure Time: Ski Safari

Adventure Time: Explore the Dungeon Because I Don’t Know!

See Dad Run (season 2, episode 8)

Incredible Crew (season 1, episodes 1-18)

Adventure Time: Hey Ice King! Why’d You Steal Our Garbage?!!

Paranorman

Adventure Time: The Wand

F.3.A.R.

That’s What I Am

Batman: The Brave and the Bold (season 1, episode 18; season 2, episodes 6, 18, 19; season 3 episodes 1, 3)

Quantum Quest: A Cassini Space Odyssey

Parenthood (season 1, episodes 4-5)

Healing Hands

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs

Chowder (season 2, episode 24)

FusionFall

Cold Case (season 5, episode 1)

The Loop (season 2, episode 4)

Lost (season 2, episode 12; season 3, episode 21)

Ghost Whisperer (season 2, episodes 21-22)

Shark (season 1, episode 16)

Southern Comfort

Nip/Tuck (season 4, episode 13)

Bambi 2: The Great Prince of the Forest

No Rules

ER (season 11, episode 6)

The Incredibles: When Danger Calls

Team America: World Police

Miracle Run

Good Girls Don’t… (season 1, episode 4)

My Neighbors the Yamadas

Adventure Time: Fionna and Cake (season 1 episodes 2,3,5,7,10)

Vintage (available on all music streaming platforms)

Ballerina (available on all music streaming platforms)

Mad Love (available on all music streaming platforms)

Midnight Promises (available on all music streaming platforms)

Jadah Marie- Flynn Taylor (@thejadahmarie on Instagram)

Julie and the Phantoms

Family Reunion (season 4, episodes 4-5)

Home Invasion (season 1, episodes 1-6)

Sarah Jeffery and Jadah Marie: Audrey’s Christmas Rewind

Descendants 3

Descendants 3: Good to Be Bad (music video)

Ready Player One

Mann and Wife

Blue Bloods (season 7, episode 8)

No Safe Place (preproduction)

Sacha Carlson- Nick (@sacha_carlson on Instagram)

Julie and the Phantoms

9-1-1 l: Lone Star (season 3, episode 14)

American Housewife (season 3, episodes 6-7)

A Christmas Story Live!

Sacha Carlson & The Light (check out his band!)

Savannah Lee May- Carrie Wilson (@savannahleemay on Instagram)

Julie and the Phantoms

A Cowgirl’s Song

The Secret Lives of Cheerleaders

Knight Squad

Cousins for Life (season 1, episode 12)

Bizaardvark (season 2, episode 20)

School of Rock (season 3, episode 6)

Keep Moving (postproduction)

Booboo Stewart- Willie (@booboostewart.art on Instagram)

(look, i adore booboo. i do. but this man has 113 acting credits on IMDB, and there is no way that i am typing all of them out and including exactly what episodes of shows he’s in. love you all, but i do actually have a life outside of stanning the jatp cast, so im just linking his imdb page here. happy searching babes!)

Carlos Ponce- Ray Molina (@poncecarlos1 on Instagram)

(Carlos has 52 acting credits, and many are in Spanish, a language that i do not speak. check out his IMDb page here.)

Sonny Bustamante- Carlos Molina

Julie and the Phantoms

7th & Union

Law & Order True Crime (season 1, episodes 3-5)

New Shoes

Heaven’s Flume

Cheyenne Jackson- Caleb Covington (@MrCheyenneJackson on Instagram)

(Cheyenne has 66 acting credits. I'm not typing all that out, because I doubt that you want to read all of that. Check him out here!)

#julie and the phantoms #charlie gillespie #jeremy shada #julie and the fat ones #julie and the himbos #julie and the phat ones #madi reyes #madison reyes #owen joyner #owen patrick joyner

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skyriderwednesday · 10 months

Text

Not to be like 'Chronology final FINAL (2)', but hear me out-- (Comments and feedback are much appreciated, see the notes at the bottom. Titles in italics have been moved/updated since last time.)

The ‘Gloria Scott’ - Summer 1875 [1] (Framing: Winter 1882-3?)

The maths as stated don’t work, as 1855 + 30 = 1885, and these events can’t occur after A Study In Scarlet. 1875 would have to be Holmes’s second year of college.

The Musgrave Ritual - Spring 1879 (Framing: Winter 1882-3?)

It is stated to have been four years since Holmes last saw Musgrave. Holmes mentions telling Watson about the events of ‘Gloria Scott’. Watson must be living at 221b at the time, as his intro describes Holmes’s extremely messy habits in terms of lodging with him.

A Study In Scarlet - January to March 1881

Watson states the date he discovered Holmes’s profession explicitly as the 4th of March, which was several weeks after they moved in together. I find it likely that it was at most mid-January when they met, and that Watson spent February observing Holmes’s habits and trying to figure him out.

The Shoscombe Old Place - May 1881

It is directly stated to be May. Watson mentions his wound pension, meaning this case must be placed during the nine months he was set to receive it, as referenced in STUD (which would be from October or November 1880 to July or August 1881).

The Resident Patient - October 1881

Watson describes these events as being ‘towards the end of the first year during which Holmes and I shared chambers’, and then specifies that it was October.

The Valley Of Fear - January 1882 [2]

It is stated to be ‘in the late eighties’, but Holmes appears to still be getting used to Watson’s sense of humour, which he claims is ‘developing’, which points to it being earlier while Watson is still recovering from his illness. Any later and Holmes would already be very familiar with his closest companion’s personality.

The Yellow Face - Early Spring 1882

(I base this placement on character dynamics.)

The Speckled Band - April 1883

It is directly stated to be early April 1883.

The Beryl Coronet - February 1884

Watson is living at Baker St. It is stated to be February.

The Copper Beeches - Early Spring 1884

Watson is living at Baker St and appears to be unmarried. I will take it that references to SCAN, IDEN, TWIS, NOBL, and BLUE are self-promotion on Watson’s part due to publication order.

Charles Augustus Milverton - Winter 1884

I get the feeling this is an earlier case, as Watson’s attitude is oddly naïve when it comes to morality and the ability of the law to handle Milverton. I cannot see him behaving like this/holding these beliefs if he has already experienced Moriarty with Holmes for instance. He is also very jumpy while he and Holmes are performing their burglary.

The Hound Of The Baskervilles - October 1885 [3]

Mortimer’s stick is dated 1884, and Holmes notes this was five years ago (making it 1889), but Watson neither appears to be married nor in medical practice, and since this story was explicitly written as to have occurred before Holmes’s ‘death’, this precludes it being set after 1888.

The Greek Interpreter - Summer 1886?

I feel like these events are happening a decent number of years after Holmes and Watson met each other, as Watson refers to his relationship with Holmes as a ‘long and intimate acquaintance’, during which up to this point Holmes had ‘never’ referred to his family.

The Reigate Squires - April 1887

It is directly stated to be April 1887.

The Sign Of Four - July 1887 [4]

It is stated to be July (later mistakenly stated as September) 1888, but this contradicts both SCAN (March 1888) and FIVE (September 1887). There may also be a pearl missing as Mary describes their delivery?

The Cardboard Box - August 1887

Holmes mentions both A Study In Scarlet and The Sign Of Four by name -- which implies that Watson is a very speedy writer, as this would be only a few weeks later. However, this may be taken as self promotion on Watson’s part.

The Noble Bachelor - Autumn 1887

This story is dated to 1887 via Lord St. Simon’s age, and also by Watson calling the events a ‘four year old drama’ at the time he is writing (presumably 1891), but Watson is soon to be married -- which is not possible if he has not yet met his fiancée. Dating SIGN to July 1887 fixes this discrepancy.

A Scandal In Bohemia - March 1888

Watson explicitly dates the start of this case to the 20th of March 1888, and states that he hasn’t seen Holmes for several months after his marriage (which would be in the late autumn to winter of 1887 - possibly extending into Jan/Feb 1888)

The Stockbroker’s Clerk - June 1888

Watson states that he acquired his practice ‘shortly after’ his marriage, and that he was too busy to visit Holmes at Baker Street for three months. Counting most of March as the first month (per SCAN), that takes us to the June he states, which is the first time Holmes has visited Watson at his practice.

The Naval Treaty - July 1888

Watson describes these events as occurring in ‘the July which immediately succeeded’ his marriage, which is the July of 1888.

[The Second Stain - July 1888**]

Due to it heavily contradicting the events referenced as ‘The Adventure of the Second Stain’ in NAVA, I take it that the story of this name is heavily if not entirely fictionalised. This is when the real events that inspired it occurred.

The Crooked Man - August 1888

Watson states that these events began ‘one summer night, a few months after’ his marriage, which would make it 1888. It cannot be July, since Watson states in NAVA that the July following his marriage featured ‘three cases of interest’, and I doubt Holmes would be showing up at Watson’s home near midnight so early in their re-established partnership for it to be June, so I suggest it to be August.

The Five Orange Pips - September 1888 [5]

It is stated to be September 1887, but even if SIGN occurred in July of that year, Watson and Mary have not married yet for him to be ‘staying at Baker Street’ while she is away visiting her (dead) mother.

The Boscombe Valley Mystery - Spring 1889

(I put this story here as Watson has to be persuaded to go on the case with Holmes by his wife, and he shows more reluctance to do so than he will later)

The Man With The Twisted Lip - June 1889

I place this after BOSC, as Holmes takes it as a given that Watson’s wife will not object to him sending a note and running off on a case in the middle of the night. (I suspect he’s wrong and will be due a bollocking after breakfast)

The Engineer’s Thumb - Summer 1889

It is directly stated to be summer 1889.

The Dying Detective - November 1889

Watson describes this as happening in his ‘second year of marriage’, which, 1888 being his first, works out as 1889.

A Case Of Identity - September 1890

Holmes comments in REDH that the case of Mary Sutherland occurred ‘the other day’. Assuming he isn’t the type to use ‘the other day’ to mean several months ago, etc, this would put it within the last few weeks.

The Red-Headed League - October 1890

It is directly stated to be October 9th 1890

The Blue Carbuncle - December 1890

Watson states it to be ‘the second morning after Christmas’, making it the 27th of December. When discussing cases that didn’t involve a crime, Holmes cites the events of SCAN, IDEN, and TWIS. This also lines up with the publication order, BLUE being the seventh short story, and Watson states that of the ‘last six cases’ he has written up, three of them were legally free of crime (morally however…)

The Final Problem - April to May 1891

Holmes has apparently been working in France since ‘the winter of 1890’ when he suddenly shows up in Watson’s consulting room on the 24th of April. His ‘death’ occurs on the 4th of May.

~~ THE GREAT HIATUS: MAY 1891 TO APRIL 1894 ~~

The Empty House - April 1894

The date Ronald Adair was murdered is stated to have been March 30th 1894. Taking into account the time required for the inquest - which has just concluded- I estimate it to be the first week of April, which lines up with Watson's description of it being an 'April evening'. Additionally, March 30th 1894 was a Friday, which would likely have delayed the start of the inquest to Monday, April 2nd.

The Norwood Builder - Summer 1894

Stated to take place ‘several months’ after Holmes’s return. Watson has moved back to Baker Street and sold his practice.

Silver Blaze - Late Summer 1894

(I would like to set Silver Blaze to be after NORW, since I think Holmes and Watson deserve a fun case after that one. I believe it to be post-hiatus since Watson is evidently resident in Baker Street and does not appear to be in practice at this time.)

The Golden Pince-Nez - November 1894

It is directly stated to be November 1894.

The Red Circle - Winter 1894

Watson is living at Baker Street, and Holmes refers to his medical practice in the past tense. Though there are no other suggestions as to the time period, I feel safe putting it in 1894 as the year is said to have been particularly busy. (Taking up three volumes of Watson’s yearbooks!)

The Solitary Cyclist - April 1895

It is directly stated to be April 23rd 1895.

The Three Students - May 1895?

It is directly stated to be 1895, though Watson declines to give any more information than that. I suppose it to be around May, since the case involves university exams.

Black Peter - July 1895

It is directly stated to be ‘the first week of July’ 1895.

The Bruce-Partington Plans - November 1895

It is directly stated to be ‘the third week of November, in the year 1895’.

The Veiled Lodger - Early 1896

It is directly stated to be ‘early in 1896’

The Missing Three-Quarter - February 1896-7

Described as occurring ‘seven or eight years ago’ from the time of writing, presumably 1904. (I don’t see the point of ascribing it to one or the other currently, as it doesn’t make much difference to the order of surrounding stories.)

The Devil’s Foot - March 1897

It is directly stated to be March 1897

The Abbey Grange - Winter 1897

It is directly stated to be ‘towards the end of the winter of’ 1897.

Wisteria Lodge - March 1898 [6]

It is stated to be March 1892, but this is impossible as Holmes is presumed dead at that time. It also can’t be March ‘91 as Holmes is too busy at that time, and referencing REDH eliminates March ‘90 or any year earlier. Further, Holmes complains of boredom due to a lack of cases, which eliminates 1894 due to a very high number of cases in that year (he also won’t be back for a few weeks yet). Holmes is also busy in March ‘95, ‘96, and ‘97. It is not until 1898 that there may be time for him to be bored by March.

The Six Napoleons - Late May/Early June 1898

It must be the end of May or the start of June, as Beppo was arrested and sentenced to a year in prison in late May of the previous year. (I’d like to set this one near DANC, since Holmes deserves the praise.)

The Dancing Men - July 1898

Mr Cubitt says that he met his wife while in London ‘for the jubilee last year’, which would be Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, and that Elsie received a letter from America ‘about a month ago, at the end of June’, making it July.

The Sussex Vampire - November 1898

I date this story to after 1897, as that is the year vampires rose significantly in the public consciousness.

The Retired Colourman - Summer 1899

Amberley married his wife in 1897, and Holmes comments that the events that have resulted in their contact with him have occurred ‘within two years’.

The Priory School - May 1901?

Years listed with regard to Lord Holdernesse date the story post 1900, and wording makes it seem that that is not the present year.

The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax - Spring/Summer 1901?

Watson complains about feeling 'old', which suggests this story takes place later in the canon. However, there is no indication of him being married.

The Problem Of Thor Bridge - October 1901

It is directly stated to be October. Watson is living at Baker Street.

The Three Garridebs - June 1902

It is directly stated to be June 1902

The Illustrious Client - September 1902

It is directly stated to be September 1902. Watson has moved out of Baker Street, and is living in Queen Anne Street.

The Blanched Soldier - January 1903

It is directly stated to be January 1903. Holmes claims that Watson has ‘deserted [him] for a wife’.

The Mazarin Stone - Summer 1903

Watson is visiting Baker Street, and comments that nothing has changed in his absence, which infers this to occur after his second marriage. He also comments that a dummy of Holmes has been ‘used before’, referencing the events of EMPT.

The Three Gables - 1903?

Watson has not seen Holmes ‘in some days’. It appears that he is visiting Baker Street at the time.

The Creeping Man - September 1903

As originally published, the date is stated as September 1902, but when collected in Case-Book, this changes to 1903. I place it in 1903 as otherwise it would be extremely occurring extremely close to ILLU.

The Lion’s Mane - July 1907

It is directly stated to be ‘towards the end of July 1907’. Holmes is retired.

His Last Bow: The War Service Of Sherlock Holmes - August 1914

It is directly stated to be August 2nd 1914. Holmes has been undercover for the past two years. He is described as a ‘man of sixty’, but I’ll take that as artistic license since sixty is a reasonable estimate for someone in their late 50’s.

Notes:

This chronology was started in direct opposition to and due to frustration with Baring-Gould's chronology. Any comments or suggestions based on it will be disregarded.

For convenience's sake, I largely disregard publication dates except for when they provide vital context for when a story occurred. Unless stated otherwise, it will be assumed that Watson is writing the stories roughly in real time. This also saves me the headache of trying to account for Holmes referencing stories that Watson wrote while he was 'dead' (i.e. basically everything between SCAN and EMPT)

It is my aim with this chronology to take into account all stated dates, and take them as correct except for where they blatantly contradict others. (e.g. SIGN being dated to either July or September 1888, when FIVE references Watson's wife in September 1887 and SCAN refers to his marriage in March 1888; Wisteria Lodge being dated to March 1892 when Holmes is 'dead' at this time)

It is also my intention that Watson is only married twice, the first time to Mary Morstan in late 1887 and the second to an unknown Mrs Watson in late 1902/early 1903 (being strictly canonical, my own headcanons of him retiring to Sussex with Holmes aside)

I estimate that Holmes was born January 6th 1857, making him 18 at the time of GLOR and 24 at the time of STUD. Also by this estimate he would be 57 at the time of His Last Bow.

I estimate that Watson was born 23rd May 1853, making him 27 at the time of STUD. This would make him 61 at the time of His Last Bow.

#sherlock holmes #acd holmes #acd canon #i reject your chronology and substitute my own

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sapphic-bats · 3 months

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Let’s talk about Pre-Fall Crowley’s choir.

I’m still learning, so if someone more expert than me has a correction, be my guest.

There are, by my awareness, nine choir of angels. A helpful list is below.

Muriel claims that they are of a lower rank, and hence cannot open the logbook.

"You'd have to be a throne, or a dominion, or above."

And once Crowley manages the book open, at the nonchalant claim of an unchanging password, it stuns Muriel.

This, to even an untrained eye, is intentional. They want us to know which two options could fit Crowley, seeing as evidently he is, or was, quite powerful.

So let's talk about that.

First Argument: Throne

The description of a Throne angel is:

"The 'thrones'; also known as 'ophanim' (offanim) and 'galgallin', are creatures that function as the actual chariots of God driven by the cherubs. They are characterized by peace and submission; God rests upon them. Thrones are depicted as great wheels containing many eyes, and reside in the area of the cosmos where material form begins to take shape. They chant glorias to God and remain forever in his presence. They mete out divine justice and maintain the cosmic harmony of all universal laws." [Wikipedia]

So we can break that down.

Thrones are supposedly submissive, and peaceful angels. They are the chariots, or literally, thrones, of God. Being in the First Triad, with direct contact to God, they contemplate Her/His power and judgement.

Sound familiar?

Let's lay out a few of the reasons Crowley could have been a Throne.

"Submissive" angels. If he had foregone that demand, and questioned God by unintentionally challenging Her decisions, he would have been an unworthy angel.

2. He would have had direct contact to God, and therefore could have asked Her himself. That would have been inexcusable, and perhaps a seeming abuse of power.

3. To contemplate Her power and judgement, he could have truly and utterly contemplated. Been too good at his job, and disagreed with a "flaw" in the plan.

All evidence points to Throne, right?

Second Argument: Dominion

Now, the definition of Dominion angels is:

"Dominions are a group of angels in Christianity who help keep the world in proper order. Dominion angels are known for delivering God's justice into unjust situations, showing mercy toward human beings, and helping angels in lower ranks stay organized and perform their work well." [LearnReligions]

Right, not a huge eye-catcher, there. Doesn't sound like what we've seen of Angel Crowley.

But wait.

"The Dominions (lat. dominatio, plural dominationes, also translated from the Greek term kyriotētes, pl. of kyriotēs, as "Lordships"). Traditionally, they are held to govern the movement of stars, planets, and other celestial objects." [Wikipedia]

Oh.

Now that sounds more likely.

So, our reasons here are:

Being in the Second Triad, they fulfill God's plan, and directly govern the procession of it.

2. They, quite literally, rule the stars, planets, and celestial objects. What more evidence do you need?

3. They're known for delivering justness into unjust situations...

In summary, there are many different options for what Crowley's hierarchical position once was. The two most blatant, and likely, were not being an Archangel (in my opinion), but rather either Dominion, or Throne.

That being said, I am unsure which one he was. There is more obviousness in seeing that he made the stars, and saying he was a Dominion. But, then again, there is more logic and reason in imagining he was a Throne.

What do I think? Hard to say. I'd imagine, considering the blatancy of the plot, that Crowley was a Dominion, but in theory, I wouldn't be surprised if he was a Throne. Honestly, while writing this, I started thinking he might have been a Throne.

Please, do share your thoughts and theories!

#cw for possible frightening imagery #it's just biblically accurate angels though #good omens #crowley good omens #crowley #angel crowley #pre fall crowley #nine choirs of angels #analysis #gomens #good omens 2 #mythology #religious nerd alert

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firefox-official · 1 year

Note

what sitcoms do you like and who’s your favorite character out of them

seinfeld favorite is jerry community favorite is jeff its always sunny favorite is dennis modern family favorites are gloria + phil + haley + luke brooklyn nine nine favorite is jake superstore favorite is jonah new girl favorites are schmidt + nick

#any questions

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arkipelagic · 6 months

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[Gloria Capitan] may be the first environmental defender killed under Duterte, but killings had already been recorded even in the past two decades. Rappler data show that before Gloria, 115 had already been killed from April 2001 to April 2016.

Over the past two decades, most of these killings happened in the regions of Davao, Western Visayas, and Mimaropa, according to Rappler data and records from the Kalikasan People’s Network for the Environment (Kalikasan PNE). The killings started in 2001 and continued until 2022.

As of 2022, a total of 334 environmental defenders have been killed. For nine consecutive years since 2012, according to international organization Global Witness, the Philippines has been the deadliest spot in Asia for environmental defenders.

Of the 334 killings involving environmental defenders, 61 were traced to the Davao Region, while 40 happened in Western Visayas. Of all the recorded killings, more than a third came from the following five provinces: Davao de Oro, Negros Occidental, Bukidnon, Negros Oriental, and Palawan.

Many of the environmental defenders who were killed protested against the operation of businesses that pollute or destroy the environment in their communities, while some pushed for the protection of landscapes such as forests.

There were also defenders who served in the government, like forest rangers and municipal and community environmental officers, who were killed while on duty. But most of them were just trying to protect their homes.

#philippines #visayas #mindanao #luzon #environmentalism #x

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sunny-mercya · 3 months

Text

Casino Blues

02.2. All or Nothing

Rusty Ryan x Male Reader | Platonic! Danny Ocean x Brother Reader

Fandom -> Ocean's Trilogy

Masterlist | Previous / Next |

Linus thought, that the Royal Casablanca—the Casino of all Casinos—looked rather ordinary. Like a normal tourist vacation ship and nothing at all spectacular.

Though when they had stepped inside, Linus was astonished surprised—because the inside, the furnished set up, was so extraordinary and smelling—literally—like royalty.

Placing your sunglasses on top of your head, you gave the young lady at the receptions a warm smile of greeting.

»Good evening, Names DeVill—[Name] DeVill—and I would like to get a Chip for the Gloria Round. Start capital is five hundred million, plus the nine thousand insurance fee for my three staff members.« you said, gesturing to Linus and the Malloy Twins.

The way you said it, implies that you had been in Royal Bianca before. Otherwise, Linus couldn't understand how you could perform your acting so well.

»You had been here before or?« asked Linus you, when you had stepped through the double doors and into the lounge of Gambling Paradise.

»Mhm, yeah, when I was ten and then around age sixteen.« you replied, shushing Linus—who was about to ask another question—with a hold up of your fingers.

If the Gloria Round, a special Poker table—where there are only the Card games of the Madness Category being played—is only reserved for the grand players of the richest, then how come you're able to get one?

There was also the question, how you said "DeVill" as your surname—it does rings a bell in mind though—when it should be Ryan.

~~~

Linus, who stood next you—acting as your assistant—and watching you play, was getting just a tiny bit overwhelmed—anxiously even—with the way, how you played.

Now he could understand why Rusty had said, to never play against you. You really are merciless—mad—even.

It's the way how you sat there, so causal—leg swung over another—but also posture straight, implies a seriousness of professionalism.

But what really causes a disturbance towards the other players—bringing them out of their own concept and comfort, their confidence slowly breaking apart like biscuits being dunked into tea—was your ability of mimic.

You didn't really had a pokerface, it's more a type of jester—cheshire cat—one, with how you would glance at them, face stoic like stone—sometimes raising an eyebrow or moving your head in a certain direction of angle—and then you would break out into a smile, whenever you had a winning pair or bluffing them into a belief.

You had won every game so far and those games—be it; Devil's House, Texas Holden (the old original version), Jester Day or Crowns Deal—had been played in the last past hours at least more than thrice.

The nickname; Devil's Gambler was a true fit for you.

»My, my, Ladies and Gentlemans, where do you think you're going?« you begun, when the first player started to get up, after you had won yet again a round of Texas Holden—proudly proclaiming a Yeehaw.

»Through this whole evening, how many hours? Ten hours we've played all the card game at least over three times, except for Royal Flush and I believe it's the perfect game to end such glorious night, isn't it? Or do tell me, it seems that you're all—how do they say?—aah, yes, scared. The Royals of royals from the highsociety of richness, cannot be mere mortals and be scared from a single play of Royal Flush, now can they?«

Now you started to taunt them and it worked. They sat down on their chairs again.

„Linus. End the Game and get [Name] out of there.“

Linus didn't registered Rusty's voice, too engrossed with what you're about to do next.

»Exactly. That's what I thought. Now, I would say for this last round to make it into a majestic night, to make it truly a memorable highlight, we'll go; All or Nothing.«

„Fuck.“

All or Nothing meant, you betting the whole money—the sums you've won so far and what's still left in the Start Capital—you have.

And Royal Flush is not one of those simple card games, like Texas Holden—even though it belongs in the category of Madness Games—which could be, with good practice and some luck, won—no, this Card Game was the toughest and roughest of all of them.

Royal Flush is a game, which can turn you into a sobbing mess of self-doubt if you realise you're about to lose.

~~~

When you had started laughing, during the final set of Royal Flush, it had spooked Linus so much that he flinched visibly—thought for real, you were either about to lose or simply had lost it now—and then he remembered what Rusty had told him; make sure [Name], under no circumstances, drinks any kind of alcoholic beverage.

When Linus asked why, all he got was; Medications.

You're sober though—Cola the only drink you had all night long—and that's brought Linus minimal pressure of anxious he felt at the beginning back—because there was no reason for you to laugh so carefree during such a serious moment.

Why, thought Linus—swallowing hard, when you laughter got uncontrollably now, till you're just a wheezing mess at the table—are you like this?

»Game, set and match. Royal Flush.« you said, bringing your cards down onto the table and looking the last remaining player directly into the eyes. Grinning wicked wide.

„Games over, Linus. Get [Name] out of there, before he starts another game.“ „Linus. We meant it. Get out.“

»A pleasure it was to had you, prince of Monaco, as my opponent and bringing you to tonight devastating loss.«

Linus wanted to sob now. There's an actual prince and you beat his royal ass in a mere card game.

»So's mine. The son of Delpho DeVill surely care for another round, doesn't he?«

»Your highness, I apologise, but my Boss needs to attend another meeting now. Perhaps next time and nice to meet you.«

Linus pulled you up from the chair and out of the room, Virgil and Tuck following right away—from another room—with a luggage carrier full of bags, which are filled with way much money than Danny had said to win.

Rusty had to catch you, when—once being outside of the Ship and on the docks—you came running into his arms and prepped kisses all over his face.

It was clear, when you had started to dance with Rusty around—singing off key one of the songs you had at your wedding—and also accepting Rusty's marriage proposal, which hadn't even asked—as you two are already married—that one or more of your Colas had been spiked with something. You wouldn't have acted like this otherwise.

If you only had wanted to play more rounds and going to the auctions, then Danny or Rusty could've said; it's the Gamblers high which runs through your veins like ecstasy—but that wasn't the case.

»Linus, I know you probably have lots of questions and perhaps your confused, but later. Eventually.«

~~~

Besides what Rusty, in a moment of annoyance, had said to you—he had a few ideas how to make it up to you—didn't regret it, when he, as promised long ago, could finally pay you free.

So laying next to you in bed and having you cuddle up in his arms, was a heavenly bliss—Rusty wouldn't exchange for anything.

#male reader #x male reader #fanfiction #malereader #xmalereader #rusty ryan ocean's trilogy #ocean's trilogy #rusty x male reader #rusty ryan x male reader #rusty ryan

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inscrutable-shadow · 7 days

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Pygmalion's Folly

Made this for @delaureyjournal-whump with their OC Elian for the @artwhumpersanonymous art exchange! Everyone's favorite mad scientist the Doctor is here in a supporting role, having been conscripted by their colleague Dr Gloria Salazar to help her with an... art project. She is... lowkey ickier than them lol

contains: body horror, medical ableism, eye trauma, and gore.

also on ao3!

Elian didn’t so much “open his eyes” as he “became conscious.” His eyes didn’t close anymore. Hadn’t for a week or so. Not since the silver-haired doctor had poured… stuff… in them. It had hurt, a lot, and he’d screamed, a lot, but eventually the pain had faded and he hadn’t gone blind, so there was at least one upside to the situation. There weren’t many, but at this point he’d have to take what he could get.

“Good morning Elly! How are we feeling today?” This was the smiling doctor. He couldn’t move his eyes to look at her, but he knew she would be smiling. She was always smiling. She was kind to him, always trying to make him more comfortable with blankets and stuffed toys and decorating his room. Not that he could really feel softness on his skin anymore. He liked her, even though he was pretty sure this whole thing was her idea. She seemed to be the one in charge.

“I’m… fine…” he murmured through the stiffness of his jaw. He was fine. The drugs they had him on made sure of that. He’d done a lot of crying and begging in the beginning, but once the drugs started, he hadn’t been able to muster the will to care. “Please let me go,” he added, for the sake of it. The smiling doctor ignored him.

She cupped his cheek in her hand. It was warm, and he wanted to cry when she pulled it away, but he couldn’t do that either. “Excellent. We just have a few tests to run this morning, all right? And then we’ll be right back to making you beautiful.”

He would have blinked against the sudden flash of a penlight in his eyes, but of course he couldn’t. “Pupillary response normal. The resin ought to have cured enough to be scored and restore range of motion. Is that the color you would prefer? I will be unable to alter it later.” The silver-haired doctor was speaking now. Elian didn’t like them. They were always the one who hurt him. They put in the port in the back of his neck that delivered the drugs and God knew what else. They did the injections that felt like they were tearing his veins to shreds. They weren’t kind either. It didn’t seem like they wanted to be there at all. They were always cold with him, and addressed him like an object.

“It’s gorgeous. I don’t want to change it, do I, Elly? Aren’t your eyes the prettiest things ever?” He’d learned by now that she didn’t want a response to those questions. He remained silent until she continued speaking. “How are we with everything else? It’s an injection day, isn’t it?”

The silver-haired doctor nodded. “I will conduct the elasticity tests, and if all goes well, we can do an injection this morning and install the rigging in the afternoon.” Rigging? What was that? After nine weeks, he still had no idea what they were doing to him.

The smiling doctor squealed with delight from her position outside of Elian’s field of view. “Hear that, Elly? You’re almost complete! Just a few more steps and you’ll be perfect. When can I do the painting, Rowan? I think I’ve found the perfect shades.”

Rowan was what the smiling doctor called the silver-haired doctor. They didn’t seem to like it very much. Their face would always crease into more of a frown for a few minutes after she did it. “If his body does not reject the implants, then he should be ready to paint and lacquer the following week, after the last injection. And then I can wash my hands of this whole thing,” they added under their breath. The smiling doctor ignored this, too.

“Delightful! Run your tests, and I’ll check in on his nutrition.” Right. Something must have been keeping him going. They hadn’t fed him in at least a month. His jaw couldn’t open wide enough. The smiling doctor made clicking sounds at a computer that Elian guessed showed some kind of information on him, and the silver-haired doctor began the test.

They did this test every day, and it was the only time their hands on him were gentle. They pressed into every portion of his skin and muscle, cold, gloved fingers making him shiver less and less as whatever transformation they were working in him progressed. He didn’t like how it felt. As his flesh compressed under the doctor’s hands, he could feel each individual muscle fiber sliding and straining against the next. The surface of his skin felt oily, tugging at the rubber gloves when they moved across it. He felt like he was made of plastic. Or fiberglass. Fragile strands that shredded him as they snapped and scraped across each other. It was miserable.

“Skin surface is showing precipitated resin,” the silver-haired doctor commented, deep in thought.

The smiling doctor came into Elian’s view for the first time. Still smiling, but smaller and with concern on her face. “Is that good or bad? I don’t want delays, Rowan.”

They frowned again. “Neutral. I may alter the serum delivery ratio if his body is rejecting excess material. The animal testing showed no adverse effect to the timeline.” So they’d tested this stuff. He supposed that made sense. The thought of an animal going through this made him sick. “Even if it would affect it, a delay is more acceptable than experiment failure, is it not? You specially selected this subject. Surely you would not like to have to find another.”

Elian barely remembered his capture, didn’t know when the smiling doctor had set her sights on him. He’d made himself a picnic in the park, maybe, and fallen asleep in the sun. It didn’t matter. He’d woken up here. They’d had the decency to bring his wheelchair along. Not that he’d used it in weeks. Or moved under his own power at all.

“He’s not a subject. He’s a sculpture.” She put her (also gloved) hands on either side of his face, and though he could no longer see her, he could hear the doting grin in her voice. “And of course I don’t want to replace him. He’s nearly perfect already, aren’t you, Elly?” No response needed. He remained still.

The silver-haired doctor’s mood was only getting worse. “Helvete. Just get the seven-deviled infusion over with.”

Oh, no. This was always the worst part of the week. Elian had learned to mark the time passing by when the silver-haired doctor would bring the thick syringes made of metal and glass and connect them to the IV ports on his right arm and left foot (the silver-haired doctor had been annoyed that he didn’t have a left arm to put a needle in). They’d been left in since the second week, when the needles started bending on the way into his skin. He hadn’t wanted to think about what that meant, then. He still didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to know what he was becoming. (The smiling doctor had hinted at it. A… sculpture?)

The syringes were filled with a clear, off-yellow liquid that flowed like glue. The silver-haired doctor would screw them into the ports and flip a switch that Elian guessed heated whatever was inside so that it flowed better. It definitely felt hot when it went into him. It burned and it cut and it seared and it sliced. He felt every millimeter of condensed, vitreous agony as it crawled through his veins until it faded into a more general ache at the elbow and knee. He couldn’t cry, but he did emit a keening wail that increased in pitch and volume as the plungers went down.

The smiling doctor always pet his hair during this, whispering soft encouragement and running her fingers in soothing circles on his scalp. It was the only thing that made the experience even vaguely bearable. How could she be so kind to him and so cruel all at once? She seemed to love him, in her own way, even if that manifested as whatever sick experiment she was running. The silver-haired doctor hummed some vaguely unsettling tune that he didn’t know, and he got the idea it was more for their own amusement or to cover up the sound of his cries than for any benevolent purpose.

“He’s sweating resin, Rowan,” the smiling doctor noted a few minutes in.

“Yes, I noticed. I have already slowed the infusion rate.” More of this? Elian didn’t think he could bear it. “Odd, really. None of the prior testing showed this issue…”

The smiling doctor’s hand tightened in Elian’s hair for a moment before relaxing and giving him an apologetic stroke. “Surely he’s not rejecting the serum?” Her tone made it sound as if someone would lose an eye if that were true.

The silver-haired doctor gave a considering hum. “No… I do not believe that to be the case. When we place the rigging in a few hours, I shall do a core sample, and that should explain a few items. We may have merely supersaturated his tissues, and the rest of the hardening process will need to be completed externally.”

Elian didn’t understand most of those words, but none of them sounded good. Part of him was disappointed at the idea that he might fail whatever experiment they were doing on him. Why did he want to succeed at this horrible change? Was it the way the smiling doctor looked down at him while the infusions ripped through him, soothing and gentle and with something akin to love? She seemed to see some sort of purpose in him, to have specially picked him out as perfect for whatever this was. He… didn’t want to disappoint her. Not while she was so kind.

The pain faded, settling into his bones and leaving a heavy fatigue in its wake. That was normal. Once the fluid wasn’t pushing its way into his body anymore, he was always worn out. The smiling doctor was the one to flick the penlight in his eyes this time. “Pupillary response normal, still, though I think he’ll be going to sleep soon. Isn’t that right, Elly? Tired, are we?”

He was. His eyelids would be fluttering if they could close at all. “It will be just as well to sedate him,” the silver-haired doctor said. “Brady will be here soon, and I will need to cure this resin before the installation.”

“Better for him to sleep until that’s finished, I agree. Just a little bit of diazepam for you, dearie, that’s the ticket.”

“You will want propofol and most likely ketamine after the fact.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Rowan. Just finish your injections.” She never did stop smiling, even when she was annoyed.

Elian felt his consciousness sliding away from him gradually, and didn’t bother fighting it. There was no point in fighting any of this, really.

---

When Elian woke, it was to white-hot agony. Like someone had put a metal rod into a fire and poked him with it all over. His upper arm, his wrist, his thighs, his calves. Even his hips had circular patches of burning pain. He made a mewling sound in his dry throat. What had he done to deserve this?

“Elly? Shit. Rowan, he’s waking up—”

“Ahead of you. Adding ten ccs of—”

“Wait! Hold on.” Elian recognized this voice. The engineer. He was American, while the silver-haired doctor was probably British (though some of their pronunciations threw that into doubt), and the smiling doctor seemed to be Spanish. Elian had only seen him twice, both times to measure his arms and legs. “I’m testing something. Need him awake and aware.”

The silver-haired doctor made a disapproving sound in their chest. “Very well, but finish quickly. If his nervous system goes into shock, I will have to take drastic measures to correct it.”

“No delays, Warren, you’d damn well better do this right…” She didn’t sound like she was smiling now.

“Patience, Doctor Salazar. Isn’t that what Doctor Fairbank is always saying?” he shot back with a grunt, and whatever he did made Elian feel as if he were being ripped apart. His arm and legs moved of their own accord, as if hauled upward by some force, amplifying the pain in each of the points he’d identified earlier tenfold and sending his joints into a spiderweb of fractured agony. His vision was blurred, whether by tears or something else, he didn’t know, and he couldn’t tell what was going on. He wailed through his locked jaw, abjectly miserable.

“It will do you well to keep my words from your mouth,” the silver-haired doctor snapped. “Are you mad? Let the bone ossify around the grafts before you add load! You will break him in half!” They injected something into his neck port that lessened the pain, but only a little.

The engineer scoffed. “Live a little, doctor! If the grafts ossify and then the metal snaps, you’ll be blaming me, and it’ll be a hell of a delay. Might even ruin it.” Elian’s limbs lowered back to the table and he could have sobbed with relief. “I’m done, anyway, you can put him out, if you want.”

The smiling doctor carded her fingers through Elian’s hair encouragingly. “Easy, sweetheart, just a little more.” Then, in a much less soothing tone, “Where are those drugs, Rowan? Why do I even have you here?”

“You are trying my patience, Salazar. Anesthesiology is not exactly facile. Would you rather I left you to do it yourself?” Despite their words, cool liquid flooded Elian’s neck port, leaving behind a tingling sensation. A dense fog settled gradually over his senses, and whatever the smiling doctor retorted with was muffled as he slipped into unconsciousness.

---

The cycle continued after that. Waking up, elasticity tests, drifting in limbo as his pain waxed and waned. He didn’t even have the energy to be terrified when the silver-haired doctor used a drill bit to score the resin and carefully machine his eyes back into working order. The movement was as smooth and painless as he remembered it being, so really, it must have been all right. They even gave him a new arm at one point and he barely noticed. It wasn’t as if he could move either of them on his own.

Today was more of the same. He became aware of sound before his eyes opened, the smiling and silver-haired doctors’ familiar voices discussing something. Elian inhaled deeply, almost involuntarily, before blinking his eyes open under the harsh exam table lights. The silver-haired doctor was mixing something in a large basin, and Elian could identify the acrid smell of paint thinner, though it was hard to pick out over the ever-present chemical sweetness of his own resin-skin.

“Your ‘muse’ is awake,” they commented sardonically, only barely looking up. They were never pleased to see him.

The smiling doctor’s hands were in his hair again. “Good morning, Elly! We’ve got very exciting work to do today! The last step in making you truly beautiful!” He leaned into her hand, his scalp the only remaining portion of his skin that could still feel properly. Making him “truly beautiful”? He couldn’t understand what she meant by that. All he could feel was that she was destroying his body for her own purpose. And still, somehow, she loved him. He couldn’t hate her for that.

The silver-haired doctor sighed. “Are you ready? The varnish is properly mixed. I will apply it when you are satisfied with the appearance.”

The smiling doctor gave Elian’s hair a final pat and withdrew. “Yes, I feel inspired. This will be my best work yet, I think. It’s the least I can do for such an incredible canvas. He’s been so good to us, hasn’t he?”

“He is not violent. That is a welcome change. Otherwise, he is perfectly ordinary, if not borderline defective, and I cannot comprehend your obsession with him.” Elian couldn’t either, though he bristled at the idea that he was defective. He’d been perfectly fine the way he was before anyone had interfered. “Regardless, my purpose here is not to understand your motivations, it is to ensure the procedure is carried out properly. Do your ‘art’ and I will do mine.” They seemed in an even worse mood than usual.

The smiling doctor was a brunette woman in her early forties, with dark eyes that crinkled when she smiled (which was most of the time). Elian didn’t see her as often as she was present. She had a tendency to stand behind him, just out of his eyeline, though he was very familiar with her voice and her touch. This time, she stood in front of him, looping her back-length hair into a messy bun and rolling up the sleeves of her lab coat. It wasn’t her usual one: this one was already flecked with paint and stained with watercolor, and looked to be much older than any of the others he’d seen her in over the weeks he’d been here. She seemed more comfortable in it.

The tray she rolled next to the exam table held no surgical tools. Instead, carefully mixed cups of paint and a stack of palettes occupied the space. “Rowan, the music, please,” she murmured, gaze already distant, appraising Elian with the critical eye of a sculptor choosing which slivers of stone to remove from a block of marble. Her smile had faded, giving way to a look of intense concentration as she mixed her first set of colors. The silver-haired doctor dropped the needle on a record player in the corner and then vanished from Elian’s eyeline as soft strains of violin music filtered through the room.

“Good. I think we’ll be productive today.” The smiling doctor collected pigment on her brush and began to paint.

It was watching a master at work. In other circumstances, Elian would have been awestruck to watch the way she assembled color out of pigment, building light colors onto dark bases in each section of his skin until it replicated the original tone. She moved like a virtuoso, weaving seemingly random patches of hue into a tapestry so realistic he almost didn’t notice how hauntingly flawless it was. As it was, it made his stomach twist in odd ways to watch every one of his scars (of which there were many), marks (also numerous), and blemishes (few) melt away into painted smoothness. She was “making him beautiful,” whatever that meant.

He didn’t like how long the silver-haired doctor had remained out of sight. That was never a good sign for him, and even if he couldn’t hear them talking or laughing to themselves, it didn’t mean he was safe from whatever they were doing next. Elian tried tilting his head up to see if he could catch sight of them again, his atrophied muscles protesting even the slight movement.

“Ah-ah, Elly, hold still, dearie.” The smiling doctor was painting Elian’s chest, and caught him by the chin to bring it back to its original position. “I’ll change the angle when I want it changed and not before. Art takes time.”

The silver-haired doctor knew what he was after. “I am here, preparing for the next stage. You need not look for me. I will neither be relocating nor constructing new torments for you.” He had been worried about that, but he wasn’t exactly sure he trusted them.

“Hush, Rowan. The sound of your voice makes it difficult for me to focus.” The silver-haired doctor said something in a language Elian didn’t understand, though it sounded mocking, and was silent.

This made Elian a bit bolder, though. While the doctor took a moment to clean her brush, he looked up at her and asked, “Please, doctor, can’t I know what’s happening to me?” Both of them liked being called doctor. He’d learned that early.

She hummed softly, considering, then chuckled, “I’ve already told you, love. We’re making you beautiful. You were quite lovely before, of course. I just thought I could make a few small improvements.”

This didn’t seem like an improvement. He was in even more daily pain than he’d been before and he couldn’t even eat on his own. He wanted to be back at home, in his room with his own comforts instead of the smiling doctor’s hollow reassurance. She wasn’t a person who took kindly to being disagreed with though, her interactions with the other two had told him that much, and she didn’t seem likely to give him a better answer. She liked playing coy, teasing him. He lapsed into silence.

It was almost meditative, the faraway feeling of the doctor’s brush as she painted over his skin. The music transported him to an alternate reality in which he wasn’t being tortured for his utility in some sort of modern art piece. He could have fallen asleep if it weren’t for the almost-ticklish sensation of his freckles being filled in with a detailing brush. Telling time was impossible here. He had no way of knowing how many hours the doctors worked, he only knew how often they gave him his nutrition supplement, which seemed to be twice a day if the injections really were weekly. It could have been one hour or ten that the smiling doctor spent on her work.

Focusing on the words the two doctors were speaking to each other was difficult through the haze of soothing fatigue. He caught things like “sedate him” and “for the best” and “breathe the fumes,” which didn’t exactly sound good, but then another burst of liquid came through his neck port, and he found himself caring very little. He caught a glimpse of the silver-haired doctor wearing a gas mask and assembling some sort of spraying device.

“Easy, there, Elly. Just go right to sleep while we protect your skin, all right?” The smiling doctor pet his hair again before withdrawing. Elian was able to identify only the smallest fraction of a second of searing agony being sprayed over his arm before the sea of unconsciousness closed over his head.

---

He was surprised that they’d put him in his wheelchair today. He hadn’t seen it since the first week he’d been here, after the first round of injections, when the silver-haired doctor had declared his skin too fragile for him to be allowed to move freely. Elian hadn’t seen them since the last coat of material went onto his skin. He guessed their part in it all must be finished.

The smiling doctor had wheeled him down a set of hallways he hadn’t seen before and into multiple elevators until he was questioning how impossibly large the building must be. These people must have so many resources, if they could afford a base this size and kidnap him in broad daylight, not to mention all the equipment. How many others might they be keeping here? Not worth thinking about.

Now, she’d brought him into what looked like a dressing room and was comparing several satin fabrics to his new skin tone. “Want to set off your eyes…” she murmured to herself, along with other similar musings. In Elian’s opinion, pink was his best color, but the smiling doctor seemed to dislike how his already-pink hair contrasted with the soft rose of the fabric she had, and finally chose to dress him in azure instead. His limbs were articulated again, which made moving much smoother and less painful than it had been at certain points, and the smiling doctor manipulated Elian’s body to dress him fairly easily. He thought he could probably stand and dress on his own if he really tried, but she was a perfectionist and insisted on doing most things herself, anyway. What good would standing do him? It wasn’t as if he had the faintest idea where the exit was.

“There! I think that does it. Have a look, Elly, darling. See what you think.” That was odd. She’d never asked him what he thought about anything before.

The smiling doctor rolled a large, floor-length mirror in front of Elian’s chair, and he saw himself in his entirety for the first time since being brought to the lab. He recognized the face in the mirror as his own, but… altered. His usually pale skin was nearly luminous, highlighted on the cheeks and nose to emphasize the glossy sheen of the varnish. He’d known he must have been covered with the stuff — the silver-haired doctor hadn’t spared a square inch of him from the sprayer — but he hadn’t realized how artificial it made him look. His eyelids were solid pieces that raised and lowered themselves as the doctor tilted his head for him, and they opened much wider than usual, giving him an air of perpetual innocence. He was smiling, and a pang of dissonance ripped through him when he realized he couldn’t even feel it. It had been ages since he could feel his face. There was a plastic fitting over his teeth, preventing airflow and his mouth drying out. He would have thought she’d fix the gap between the front ones, but she must have found it charming. She’d rearranged the pattern of his freckles.

His arms perfectly matched on both sides, including the ring finger on his right hand he hadn’t noticed had been replaced. Articulated like doll’s limbs, with full range of motion, and those strange metal rings the engineer had installed on the day Elian had woken up during the procedure. The doctor had put him in a tutu, far from his first, with his hair arranged into a neat bun and tied with a ribbon in the same pastel blue as his clothes. He’d never danced ballet, though this ensemble was reminiscent of what he’d been wearing that day in the park. Was that why she’d taken him?

“Well?” she asked, bending to put his feet into pointe shoes, her ribbon technique showing she had experience doing so. His left ankle wasn’t articulated at all, but rigid, fixed in a pointed position, and the corresponding knee had several positions it could be locked into rather than a full range of motion like the other.

“I-” It came out more clearly than he expected. There seemed to be some kind of microphone set up that projected his voice past the veneers. “I don’t… understand…” It was still difficult to form consonants with his jaw and lips stuck fast.

“You were nearly perfect when I found you. All you needed was a few minor adjustments to be flawless. Some color correction here, a functional repair there. The smallest detail makes the work, after all. Wouldn’t you agree you’re much improved?”

Disagreeing with her didn’t seem like a safe thing to do, but how could he agree that being turned into a china-doll mockery of himself was an improvement? The image in front of Elian wasn’t truly of him at all, it was more of a sculpture vaguely modeled after him. The smiling doctor seemed enamored with it, though, and she played with his hair and beamed with delight while they looked in the mirror together. “Thank you, doctor. I’m perfect now.” The words made him sick to his stomach.

Another indulgent smile. “I’m so glad you feel that way. Now, the final step.”

She pushed his chair again, more long hallways and turns, until she finally brought him to a stop at the center of a stage in a small theater. The engineer was here, too, tinkering with some equipment. “Doctor Salazar. Everything ready?”

“Everything. Can I trust you not to damage him or will I have to monitor you? I’d hate to have to adjust the decorations again.”

The engineer shrugged. “If that stuff Doctor Fairbank put in him works right, there probably isn’t anything I could do to damage him. I’ll be alright.”

Her smile tightened. “He’s art, not equipment. Treat him as such.”

“Yeah. Right. Will do.” Elian was beginning to think he’d rather have the silver-haired doctor.

The engineer spent several minutes connecting carabiners to the ring-like shapes screwed into Elian’s bones. That horrible shattering sensation came back again whenever the cables took up the weight of his limbs and lifted them even slightly into the air, and by the time the engineer declared all of his testing complete, Elian felt as if he’d run a marathon. The pain alone was exhausting, and he’d been seated the whole time. That didn’t last long, though.

The engineer gave a signal to someone Elian couldn’t see, and all at once, the cables hauled him up out of his chair and into a standing position, balanced on the point of his fused leg. It felt precarious, and he swayed dangerously, but the metal ropes held him in place. The engineer wheeled Elian’s chair offstage, and he mentally reached out, insecure without it. He breathed heavily through his nose, anxiety fluttering in his chest. Was this the end goal of it all?

The curtain went up, the lights flared to life, and Elian squinted out at the empty chairs, save one, where the smiling doctor seemed nearly manic with excitement as she took her seat. Music arose from nowhere, the charmingly off-key notes of a music box, and the rigging pulled his limbs up and into the motions of a dance he wasn’t familiar with, rotating him delicately around his central axis and extending and retracting his leg to the rhythm. His muscles felt tense and stiff after weeks of disuse. Each smooth-yet-awkward movement was utter agony, and thick resin tears torturously gathered in his glazed eyes. He thought he could hear the crackling scrape of vitreous muscle all the way in his teeth. He wanted to scream, but the sound choked and died in his chest.

Elian looked out at Doctor Salazar, alone in the audience, the rictus grin lacquered onto his face. What was he looking for, some hollow comfort? Some sign that his life was not now utterly meaningless? Are you happy now? Am I what you wanted? Despair pooled in his gut as he watched the affection die in her eyes, along with the smile on her face.

taglist: @athenswrites @i-eat-worlds even though the doc is only a little in this lol

#original fiction #my writing #writeblr #coy writes #whumpblr #coy whumps #the doctor five card draw #gloria salazar

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