#even from my comfort people and activities
Text
Daisy
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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader
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Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.
But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...
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[5.5k words]
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Chapter 6 "The Book"
Green.
Green spanning as far as the eye could see. A thick, overflowing forest accompanied by such humid air it made you nauseous and slightly out of breath. It did well to shield you from the sun and you no longer had to use your blazer as a substitute for a poncho and avoid a sunburn.
It took you nearly two days to stop gawking at the luscious flora once you’d set foot in it and the ghoul had found it necessary to bark a threat at you a couple of times when your feet had stilled to take in the scenery. You didn’t let his grumpy nature affect you though. You’d never seen such a view and you let your eyes feast with mouth ajar and hands fisted. Sticky mud, twigs, and leaves clung to the soles of your boots and the vapor you were sure was radioactive frizzed up your hair.
You’d expected the forest to be brimming with life, from animals to insects, birds, and critters, but there was nothing. When you took the time to recollect the past three weeks while silently following behind your bounty-hunter-turned-tour-guide, you hadn’t seen any birds. The bombs wiping them out was the obvious explanation, they were gentle creatures, they didn’t stand a chance and it was a melancholic realization. Bird songs were the symphony of nature and it was painful to know you’d never be able to hear it.
You adjusted the backpack strap away from your throat and rubbed at the sore spot before taking a few springy steps to catch up with the ghoul. His pace had quickened for reasons unknown and you had to jog to be able to keep up with him. It was tedious considering the slippery ground actively worked on slowing you down, but you’d take this over going a faceoff with the sun any day.
Humanity’s traces could be spotted scattered amidst the greenery, bits of metal sprouting from the dirt, tattered cloth at the bases of the trees, or hanging off low branches, a plane wreckage in the distance. It was comforting that other people had passed by your route and left a piece behind, an echo of their presence. You wanted to believe they were good because so far there hadn’t been a soul you had encountered that hadn’t tried to attack you.
WELCOME FOR TO TILLBURRY
A bright red billboard was risen high above the treeline, fastened to a multitude of wooden planks nailed together. The once pearl white paint was now a deep yellow with spangles of rusty brown, the words were peeling off, weathered down by time, you could tell even from where you stood.
You stand shoulder to shoulder, except the ghoul’s is more at level with your cheek. He kicks some buildup off his shoes and opens his canteen.
The settlement is right down the hill. Tillburry. You made it to Tillburry.
“We made it?” you release your lips from their toothy prison and your face lights up with an untamable grin. You beam up at him and shake his arm excitedly. “We made it, Mister.” your eyes dart back to the sign, you’re practically vibrating next to him. “I can’t believe it!”
He pauses between swigs and glances down to where you’ve taken hold of his wrist. His lack of reply stirs your attention and you follow his gaze, then let go and step away with a wary expression.
“Uh…Sorry. I just got a little – ” you’re tugging at the frilly edges of your dress anxiously, one foot readies on its toes if you spotted even a glimpse of a rope peaking from behind his back. “ – I didn’t – No tying up, please? My ankles are still sore from last time, Mister.”
You’re an eye-bat away from bolting, again, and it never works because he’s scarily good with a lasso, but you’re stupidly optimistic. Last time you’d gotten on his nerve he’d tied you up and hung you from the ceiling lamp of an old farmhouse, gagged as well, mind you, because you wouldn’t stop talking. At least, he’d been kind enough to take your shoes off so you could stretch your feet and keep the blood circulation going. The fact that he’d used you as a sentient coat hanger was less nice.
Then again, you’d gotten another dose of his scent while he’d had dinner by himself and ignored your existence for a good hour or two. It wasn’t all bad, or maybe it was but you were too dependent on him to protest against his unorthodox punishments.
“Ain’t no point.” he clicks his tongue and glosses over his canteen before tucking it away. “You don’ learn nothin’ cept how to complain harder.” he taps a gloved finger against the center of your forehead, forceful enough to have your neck tipping back and you scrambling for balance. “Thought you were supposed to be smart. How come nothin’ sticks in that lil skull o’ yours?”
“Mm, have you thought about maybe…” your eyes squint at his rough gesture and you pull away with a wince. “Maybe a nicer approach to your lessons, Mister?”
“Nice don’t keep you alive, Darlin’.” he doesn’t spare a breath before answering and after a moment you reluctantly nod.
His malignity and somber methods were a necessity both for your development and safety yet you wished it weren’t so. You wanted for a kinder world and less spilled blood and were likely one of many, but no one had the privilege of choosing what they were born into. Despite all ill circumstances, you were still lucky to be taken under the wing of an expert, taught how to survive by someone who’d lived so long and accumulated enough knowledge to fill a library.
It wasn’t peaches and marmalade up here, although you had a can of both stuffed somewhere in the depths of your backpack.
The hand which had been resting on his hip reaches for the hefty tato sack slumped next to his boot and he secures it over his shoulder before nudging his head towards the welcome sign.
“Les go.”
You’re hot on his heel, stomping down the mucky hill with acute prudence, your dress was already dirty, you didn’t need to add mud stains to the extensive collection.
The peaks and roofs of ramshackle buildings loom above the shabby fence surrounding the settlement, dyed in varieties of reds and yellows, some fully, others unfinished because there was no more paint to spare. The vegetation became sparse and the soil soon gave way to dusty gravel that crumbled delightfully under your boots. Once close enough for a better inspection, you notice the defensive walls are nothing more than plates and pieces of different scrap metal bolted together. A swirl of barbed wire is draped on the top and rotting pikes are sticking out from the base.
It wasn’t exactly the warm welcome you were expecting.
Anxiety and excitement kept you glued to the ghoul, mostly hidden behind his unfriendly frame. A meager excuse came up as a means to start up a conversation that might ease your quickening pulse and sweaty palms. You decided to keep the silence, though, opting to restrain your questions for a later time, when there was less tension built up on his shoulders and his fingers weren’t instinctively gliding over the handle of his pistol.
You heard the marketplace before you saw it. Your stomach flipped once you stepped beyond the open town gates, now being able to put faces to the buzzing chatter lingering in the air.
“Holy moly…” you gasp with brows raised high and your step falters.
It was busy.
After years of solitude and countless dreams of a normal pre-nuclear war life, after nearly a month in the company of a single man who preferred action over word, the reality of civilization crashed into you like a boiling wave. Hot prickles pinched at random places around your body, beads of sweat are already trickling from your armpits and your skin becomes clammy. With a heart lodged in your throat, you stumble forward, giving in to the ghoul’s rough tug on your wrist.
“Keep movin’.” his rasp fails this time, impossibly outmatched by the turbulence simmering inside you.
“Mm…sorry.” it’s an empty apology, insincere because he sees your eyes flitting and knees wobbling.
You never expected the settlement to be this…overwhelming.
Strangers are passing by and blending together in a jumbled blur of worn-out clothes and limbs. Carts are being rolled between the isles, restocking items as soon as they’re bought, and smoke lingers high above your head, amassed from chimneys, food booths, and cigarettes.
You find it difficult to breathe the more information your short-circuiting brain is forced to process.
“Get your RadAway right here good people! Three for the price of one – ”
“ – Cactus fruit for sale! Fresh out the – ”
“ – Bullets, guns and more bullets – ”
Stalls were huddled together, adorned with junk and trinkets, things you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And even if the owners already had at least one customer looking over their products, they still hollered at the crowd bustling around them. There’s a heavy stench in the air, of car oil and lack of hygiene, sweat and musk blending in with roasting meats that smell like no animal you’ve eaten before.
Shopkeepers had the doors to their establishments open, waving over weary wanderers with promises of a good time and helpful products.
“Stimpaaaks! Rad-X and more! Whatever your heart desires! Save a life! Buy a stimpaaak!”
You avoided eye contact, keeping your sights low and only skimming over the intricacies of the stands. The flood of strangers was cordial enough not to bump into you, but when a roasted cricket was shoved in your face and behind it a pair of foggy blue orbs stared right into your soul you recoiled.
“Ah, no thank you, Sir!” you give the merchant a wide apologetic smile and lift a hand to your mouth.
You latch onto the ghoul’s forearm when the merchant’s face falters for a split second before he’s already trying the unfortunate person behind you. For a moment there you’d thought he’d pounce on you, there was no telling considering the man looked half-dead.
“Aww, was wrong, Sweetheart?” your bodyguard barks out a laugh, sneering down at you. “Don’ want a cricket on a stick?”
You don a thin-lipped, unimpressed expression and detach yourself from him.
“I’ll stick to crackers and canned beans, thanks.”
His teasing tone unwittingly shook off a part of your anxiety. The overstimulation eases to a broiling irritation and most of the smells and sounds fade behind a wall of ignorance. You still sweat more than you’d like, but your pulse nestles back into a steady rhythm. You take a breath and squeeze your palms a few times, working through an alien mental exertion as your face settles with neutrality.
“Suit yourself.” he snorts, guiding you towards a particular stand. “Dunno what you’re missin’ though.”
“Think I’d rather keep it that way.” you murmur under your breath and turn back for a more in-depth examination of the unappealing delicacy. “…Yeah.”
Bugs…Who eats fucking bugs?
There’s a steaming caldron propped up over a steady fire, but you can’t discern the scent and your upper lip is already twitching into a disgusted scowl. The owner has his elbows resting on the display counter, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled to just below his meaty biceps. His thick mustache spreads into a delighted smile and he abandons his hunched-over posture when he notices your uncanny duo approaching.
“Welcome! Browse at your leisure.”
“One o’ those.” the ghoul motions towards the cauldron and you’re ready to fight back nausea, anticipating a monstrous fiend turned snack to emerge.
You were wrong.
The man sinks a ladle inside the lively water and fishes out a potato.
“Oh.” you blurt without a second thought.
“What d’you think it was?” he tosses a few caps on the counter and plucks the boiled potato from the merchant’s ladle and you can’t help but grimace.
“At this point, nothing would surprise me.” you answer honestly, then cock your head with a face scrunched at the unnerving sight. “Doesn’t that sting? He just…y’know…took it out of the water?”
Does this man honestly have no pain receptors or is he just high again? Either way, you were left stunted every time he took a blow without a flinch. From bullets to hot potatoes, nothing could scathe him.
“ ‘S fine.” he blows away the steam and unfastens his hunting knife to cut a sizable piece from the top, then tosses it at you.
You catch it with a precious glint in your eye, graced with a bittersweet smile. Him willingly splitting food was a new addition, but an act you cherished fervently. A display of custody so fleeting and illusive it was unclear how intentional it was.
Then the heat finally registers and you’re forced to juggle the mushy piece between your hands.
The ghoul dips his half in the disturbed salt pile next to the fresh vegetable crate, and you mimic him once the potato has cooled enough to hold. He’s already moving and you follow closely behind while giving your treat a few more needed puffs and tapping off the excess salt.
“So what are we looking for now, Mister?” you ask and dodge bumping shoulders with a dazed old woman while adopting a steady tempo by his side. You’re looking up at him with wonder while sinking your teeth into the potato and he’s very tempted to lick his thumb and try to wipe off that incessant glee from your face.
“Trader’s shop.”
“Oh, right! For the Pip – ” a hand is harshly smacked over your mouth. He shakes his head curtly and his mouth dips into a short-lived frown; you clear your throat and nod in understanding.
Right…Everything from the vaults was considered a rare treasure on the surface. People were ready to kill for a single one of the items each of you was carrying. Caps flowed whenever a mint-condition lint roller was involved, let alone more practical things. And Pip-boys were at the top of the pyramid. They were priceless. Some would sacrifice a limb to get their hands on one because it meant they were settled for life.
You scan over the current of wanderers for any prying eyes but find none. It was too noisy; your words had been drowned out the moment they’d escaped.
Maybe you should try not to forget you aren’t living in a vault anymore…
You hold onto a wrinkle at the back of his coat as he cuts through the busy market, then wipe away the remnants of potato bits with the back of your hand.
Everything seems to have the same coat of decomposition to it, from the persons to the buildings, but it has a charm to it, it’s lively and somewhat welcoming.
Familiarizing your surroundings presents you with a feeling of peace and the anxiety is finally washed away for good. Well, as long as you keep reminding your self-centered doubt that nobody’s gawking at you or paying you any mind. You’re just a nobody lost in a sea of nobodies and you like it that way, just you and the ghoul minding your business, not being threatened or attacked or anything that would coerce you into taking action.
A safe haven. Finally.
A gargled moo pierces through the din of chitchat and your head snaps. And there, amidst the stalls a cow is lazily sloshing at a bucket of water while simultaneously rearing its snout around and sniffing the air because it has two freaking heads. It looks skinned, reminds you of your grumpy gunslinger and you can’t help but titter. You make a turn towards it, handholding with your nosiness. Then you reassure the concerned squeal at the back of your head that you’ll find your way back by the distinguishable cowboy hat sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd.
Just a closer look and then you’ll be right back by his side.
A two-headed cow. How fascinating!
Your escapade is short-lived. An iron grip takes hold of your backpack no more than five steps in and jerks you back. The strap digs into your throat and you gag with a backward blunder.
“Ehugh – ”
“ – The hell you think you’re goin’?”
The back of your head collides with a solid chest and you gaze up to meet an acquainted scolding face.
“The cow. It has two heads.” you answer candidly, blinking up at him, dumbfounded. “I – ” your lips purse as you briefly mull over your next sentence. “ – I wanted to see it up close?”
“ ‘S called a brahmin, Darlin’.” he’s unimpressed with your revelation, lets you go, and spares a brisk, disinterested glance at the mutated cow.
You dust off his crude gesture and smooth out your dress and backpack. His barbarian tactics are slowly losing their charm; he makes a mental note to up the ante in the future.
“How does it work though. With two heads?”
“Take one good look a’ me ‘n tell me if I’m a fuckin’ vet.” his arms are crossed over his chest, weight rested on one hip. You disregard his snappiness as your eyes roll from him back to the brahmin.
“Do they bite?” you know it’s probably a herbivore, but considering its disfigured state and the scarce vegetation along your journey, you have reason to consider other possibilities. With a palm placed on your waist, you tap a forefinger against your hipbone in thought. “Can I pet it?”
“No. Now move.” he grips your upper arm like a disgruntled father and drags you forward as you keep your neck craned to the side to stare at the cow over your shoulder. “Ain’t got all day.”
“But – ”
“ – You stray more than two feet away ‘n I’m puttin’ a leash on ya.” he hisses you into silence and presses onward, towards the last few remaining stands.
The thickness of the crowd lightens as you approach the end of the market. Once you manage to escape all the fuss and buzz you give a gentle pat to his wrist and he releases you with a warning grunt to keep close.
Given more room to note the architecture and structure of Tillburry, it reminds you of an old cowboy settlement rather than a pre-apocalypse town. The buildings are raised in such a peculiar array, all random and each one different. There are no traditional houses, per se, everything is turned into a business, from a shady hospital to a loud bar made guest house because even travelers need a bed sometimes. You see a few tire-ridden trailers, but even they have a makeshift sign plastered on the door offering services for caps.
A label scribbled with coal rests above the entrance to a two-story shack.
Trade & Barter – If it exists, we have them!
Mm…Maybe you could become the local English teacher, give the folk a few grammar lessons, put that multi-subject dossier in your head to the test. Make theory into reality and try your hand at machinery, build a lamp or do some testing and create a water purifier. From what you’ve read, it’s not that difficult, but the materials needed can range from tricky to impossible to scavenge.
You step onto the wooden porch of the trader’s shack, the bell above the door springs to life when the ghoul enters and you follow suit.
First things first, you had to figure out if you were going to continue travelling with him or if he was going to keep his word and let you settle here. There was a small chance he’d forgotten and if you didn’t mention it, he’d let you trudge along. Tillburry was a nice place, but you’d choose him over anything else if you had to pick.
“Evening good people!” a scrawny old man peaks from behind the counter accompanied by a symphony of metal clanks and a few curses. He dusts off his hands and plants them over the register with a crooked smile. “Mah name’s Hank. Now how can I help you lot?”
He eyes the ghoul in an odd manner, then you.
“Oh, it’s you…”
“Got another deposit t’ make, old man.” said ghoul slaps all five Pip-boys on the counter and rests on one of his elbows as he leans down. “Thousand caps up front, the rest every few months till you pay em in full.”
You have to squint when Hank’s eyes bulge out of his skull and he hastily stuffs the merchandise under his desk.
“You tryin’na get me robbed?!” he straightens to look over the windows then hunches down and continues with a hand cupped over the side of his mouth. “Where did you find so many?” he pauses then, a certain grimness to his face. “Never mind, don’t wanna know.”
Your vision is overflowing with all the junk strewn about, hanging off walls, stuffed in dusty display cases, over tables and windowsills, there’s items even on the floor. Most of it is weaponry and repair parts, a trinket here and there, a greasy comb, gold teeth, and a half-built robot of some sort. You lightly kick at a stray margarine cap abandoned on the floor, then stop when an elbow is roughly dug into your side.
You spare your assailant a bitter glare while tenderly massaging away the pain, then click your tongue but relent at the curt “behave” you’re tossed back.
The trader has the light strapped to his forehead shining down on the Pip-boys. He fiddles with each one briefly, turning the cog and testing the menus, then tries them all on his wrist to check the security of the straps. He’s humming, muttering something incoherent while evaluating the treasures from your vault.
“We doin’ business or not, Grandpa? They ain’t fucken’ fake.”
“I might be old, but I’m still a babe compared to you.” Hank spits back with surprising vigor and disappears under the counter. “Now have an ounce of patience you grumpy bastard. Gotta check em or else Imma be the one dealing with the consequences.”
“Sorry?” your attention darts back to the ghoul who’s suddenly avoiding eye contact. “How old did you say you were, Mister?”
“Ain’t you got junk t’ stare at?”
The remainder of his reply is cut short by a snort of a laugh erupting from behind the register.
“Oh, he’s ancient that one.” the trader resurfaces with an old plastic bag stuffed to the brim with caps, he ties it neatly and pushes it forward. “Been around since – ” he sputters, frozen solid as the edge of a hunting knife is pressed flush against the collar of his shirt. “Right…” he swallows once, then gently steers the blade away with the tips of his fingers. “Ain’t my story to tell, sorry Lil miss.”
“Sure ain’t.” the ghoul nods, lower lip slanted.
“Uhm…can I – ” you pipe in and set your backpack between the two before blood is spilled. “ – Can I trade too?”
“Sure you can.” Hank nudges towards you, hands clasped together and stubby fingers intertwined in silent anticipation for your upcoming offer. “Watchu trading?”
You’re rummaging through supplies, pushing away food cans and bottles of water until you reach the very bottom of the bag. You grip a thin, plastic wrapper and force it past the sea of provisions before showing your open palm to the trader.
“Is this worth anything?”
“Well, well.” he snatches the item and settles the glasses dangling from his neck on the bridge of his nose as he concentrates on the label. “Pristine condition too. You don’t see these around much anymore.”
“A toothbrush.” the gunslinger is scowling when you turn to look at him. “You brought a fuckin’ toothbrush?”
“Three actually. One for each of us and a spare in case I lost mine. Which reminds me!” you’re digging through the bag again briefly before plunging another packaged toothbrush into his face. “Here’s yours.”
He plucks the damn thing from your grasp while you keep up a sickly sweet smile, twirls it in his fingers and he would have been annoyed if he wasn’t already so thunderstruck.
“Why do you have to be like this…”
“Twenty-five caps.” the trader declares and stuffs the merchandise in his back pocket.
“Deal!” you exclaim and gather up the caps as soon as they’re set on the counter.
“Workin’ through your debt already, Sweetheart?”
You squint at the question and shuffle away from your interrogative companion. Your foot is already tapping incessantly against the floorboards, a dead giveaway.
“Yes?” you clear the lump in your throat and lift your nose towards a book hanging just above a display cabinet. “But also I wanted to buy – ”
“ – No.” short and stern, no wiggle room. “You ain’t wastin’ no caps on a damn book.”
“Why not? They’re my caps.” you ask, but are promptly ignored when he gives you a cold shoulder and turns back to Hank. You aren’t even graced with the courtesy of debate.
With a regretful look, you secure your backpack over your shoulder and give the tome a last, pained glance as you rub at your upper arm.
“Gimme five packs o’ Grey Tortoise too.”
Hank stacks the cigarette packs in the ghoul’s outstretched hand before leaning back with a nod, instigating the end of their trade.
“Good doing business, Cooper, now get the hell out before I go bankrupt.”
You snort before you realize it.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!”
Your body freezes and you’re looking straight ahead as your teeth clamp down on your lips. The laughter bubbles, pushing against your chest and throat and you barely manage to inhale a shaky breath.
“There somethin’ funny, Smooth-skin?” the ghoul, Cooper, tantalizingly engulfs you under his frame. Each hand is gripping the counter, on either side of you, as he forces his chest into your shoulder blades and leans down until his voice is right in your ears. “Hm?”
“No.” you rasp, and your jaw clenches immediately after as your vision blurs with tears and you’re fighting so hard not to fucking cackle. You’re suppressing yourself so violently that you’re shaking. “No, Sir.”
His name is fucking Cooper. The deadly gunslinger, the boogeyman, the ruthless killer, the zombie cowboy. Cooper…
You can’t breathe.
“I’m gonna…Gonna wait outside, Sir.” you proclaim with a strained voice and slip out of his dangerous embrace, ducking under his armpit and heading towards the exit with stiff footing.
After securing the caps and cigarettes in his bandolier, he’s ready to follow, but a curt whistle from Hank stops him and he turns back to see the man waving him over. Already lacking patience for the upcoming exchange, he sighs and spares you a once-over to make sure you’re out of ear reach, and then he’s back at the counter, glaring.
“Go on.”
You shift to the left of the door, leaning back against the windowsill and leaving your backpack to rest between your feet. The world is slowly dimming, crickets deftly chip in the distance and it would have been pleasant if you hadn’t known they can grow as big as your arm. A few people pass by, scuttling towards either their homes or the bar opposite of where you stand. Besides a muffled murmur, there’s nothing you can catch from the conversation and curiosity gnaws at your gut, but you don’t have the courage to peek inside the shop and risk getting caught. A steady whizz as the minutes pass by, you don’t care for being left out, there’s already too much you’ve witnessed and endured that you wished you never had.
An abrupt rise in octaves catches your attention and your eyes flick to the side. Something in their exchange wasn’t going right, a topic was unraveled that was acrid for both parties and you curse at your limited hearing for being unable to catch any particular words.
A storm comes out the door that nearly knocks the bell off and startles you. You step back to avoid him in his blind fury, a distinct “oof” escaping you when the book is blindly thrust into your stomach. The sun has sunken, and an array of moths flutter around the swaying light bulb above the trader’s entrance and despite Cooper’s soured mood, you’re happy to have him back. Plus, he’d relented and gotten you the book, either he or the shopkeeper had pitied you enough to hand it over.
You’re dancing around him like a butterfly, the title “The Count of Monte Cristo” bouncing in and out of sight as you twirl the tome around.
The bar is well-lit, Christmas lights hang from the windows and roof, and he’s headed straight toward it. The atmosphere is unpleasant, whatever discussion he’d had with Hank had left a sour taste on his tongue, pinched some nerve that you could only guess.
“Thanks, Mister.” you try with a soft note and secure your present under your armpit for safekeeping, hoping a little sugarcoating might help ease his frustration. “I’ll cherish it forever.”
He pays you no mind, not even when you pinch the sleeve of his coat to keep in toon with his hasty stride.
“I like your name.” you peep through the mingling silence and glance up to find a strained expression and a sharp glare directed away from you. Your smile does nothing and falters quickly.
There’s a gap there, one that didn’t exist until you left him to converse in private with the old trader. The lingering question of whether you’re staying here or going with him is dismissed for the moment despite the time you have together ticking away. There’s malice building on his features the longer he stays locked away in his head and your words drift past him without effect.
“Mister?”
No response.
It’s when you wrap a hand around his wrist just as he’s about to burst into the bar that he stops.
You release a breath and ignore your skittish nature yanking at you to run, or apologize and hope for the best. There’s a clog in your throat and you feel the air becoming harder to intake, but that doesn’t stop you.
“Whatever he said isn’t true.” your eyes search the display of shells fitted over his chest, then flick up to find his. “You’re not a bad man, Cooper.”
It’s a shot in the dark because you don’t know what was said or done. But this is better than leaving him to sulk. He gets to know that you’ll stick by him no matter what happens. You’ll be there, even if the whole world turns against him, he’ll have someone who will stand by him.
“I’m a rotten man, Sweet pea.” his gaze is steady as he replies. He doesn’t believe you and not because you’re naively spewing words of comfort, but because he’s seen a lot more than you. He remembers the things he’s done and will keep doing and he knows himself well and you’re just plain wrong. “You jus’ don’ know it yet.”
“You’re a survivor.” you repost, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “And we’re all a little rotten inside.”
He rests a hand on your head, then moves to slump an arm around your shoulders and puffs out a breath. He’s not up for such a conversation, not now, not with you.
You don’t know him, not really. You don’t know that his vials are running dangerously low while your presence is turning into a solid option to get more. There’s a good reason he’s kept you safe and barely scathed and it’s not a measly three hundred caps.
And you hadn’t done anything to deserve such a fate, but his life came before yours, a rule of survival that you’d never learn.
Hank had had his suspicions the moment he’d laid eyes on you, but it wasn’t his business and despite having grown soft from decades living in a settlement, he had no right to dictate how others survived in the wasteland.
It might be cruel to keep you in the dark while your life is being weighed by a constantly shifting scale, but the ghoul would rather you enjoy the time you have left. Maybe they’d be kind and sedate you before harvesting your organs and you’d remember him as the hero he wasn’t, or maybe you’d grow a brain and stay in Tillburry. At least now he has the caps to buy off two large whiskey bottles and wash away the image of your face when struck with betrayal.
He was a survivor, you’d said so yourself, he did what he had to do, but that stupid conversation and Hank’s stupid expression wouldn’t budge from the back of his eyelids.
“What’re you gonna do if she doesn’t stay here though?”
“There’s always Super Duper Mart.”
“Oh, by the way.” your voice is a spark in the void of hopelessness, ripping him out of the maze of thoughts he’d unwittingly fallen into. He leads you through a haze of clinking tankards and lively, drunken chatter, a heavy smog of cigarette smoke that makes your nose wrinkle, and dim lighting to hide people’s identities. But you’re just happy to be with him and it’s visible by the perky smile on your lips. It’s painful to look at. “My name is – ”
“ – Don’t.”
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@fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead @robin-the-enby @savanahc @whatthefuckrichard
@rockst4rkitty @lisnamavka @Iomlbillieeilish @itsyellow @cloudroomblog
@skykaykay @i-just-like-to-read @landlockedmermaid77 @enaelyork @maeplaysbass
#cooper howard#fallout tv series#the ghoul fallout#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#the ghoul fanfic#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#x reader#fallout x reader#fallout x you
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Hot take. Everyone needs to stop pointing at one character in Jade Winglet and be like “AH! They're THE asshole of the group! That one! That one specifically!” Because everyone is an asshole.
Moonwatcher won't shut the fuck up which causes people to feel bad (Reference; Winter Turning, Pg. 75) because, hypocritically, she only has a censor if it “benefits” (hard quotation because it has always failed her. Reference; Luna and Moonwatchers interaction) her.
Qibli is an ass, like, a HUGE ass. He pressures Turtle and berates the very thing he's self-conscious about. He's got massive main-character syndrome; he wants power, he always wanted power, but he wants COMPLETE control of power without any repercussions. One of the reasons he refused Darkstalker's offer was because he wasn't entirely sure he would slip something in there.
Winter is an ass, he literally attacks other dragons without thinking about it (Reference; Peril), he's quick to strike and like Qibli, berates Turtle for being “a waste of potential” to his tribe.
Kinkajou goes off on everyone's backs and uses the remnants of the magic scroll to control and transform Darkstalkers against his consent or will. She has essentially killed him via poison. The whole book and DS character arc was trying to push through a narrative that you shouldn't control people, that you shouldn't take away their free will, and that you shouldn't transform their being into a form for your desire and comfort. Yet it's completely flipped on its head because Kinkajou wanted to be “a little silly” with her solution in ending the IceWing and NightWing conflict. She does exactly just this and that makes her part of the asshole list.
Turtle is inactive, his inaction causes a lot of problems for the others in a negative way in order to preserve his own self. He uses animus magic on Anemone just to make sure that he doesn't get any attention but this backfires and his sister is left not only being used as a WMD by Queen Coral, additionally, she is also left feeling alone in her magic. Turtle just sat on the sidelines as he actively watched Anemone get used like a tool by her mother and groomed by a disgusting snotball of a power-hungry political obsessed eel bbq dragon. His “neutrality” was incredibly toxic towards the upbringing of his sister. Yet, despite being the one guy everyone likes to pounce on and beat down he's probably the LEAST asshole character out of everyone in Jade Winglet. You can point at Turtle's issue of “not doing anything” and dig deeper to realize he's a child for one (an even younger child when he enchanted Anemone) and for two it's an unhealthy trauma response from his family. He has helped and supported every single Jade Winglet member in their “fall/on their knees” development and all he ever got in return was those to treat him like garbage (with Peril being the only one who wanted to help him and realizing how shitty animus magic is for him and attempted to make a situation better by ripping up the scroll with good intentions in mind).
Peril is probably the most self-explanatory but she tries. I can't really say anything else about the flaming toaster oven w/ the pizza box inside it dragon that not everyone else has said negatively about Peril before. She's uncontrollable and she constantly talks about hurting others, yak yak yak… Brownie points is that she's attempting to become a better person and trying to find her own path in life.
Now that everyone has run away typing furiously in the comments reblogging tags about this and that I want to emphasize that everything I said above is about CANON CONTENT. You can LOVE YOUR ASSHOLES!!! I personally LOVE MY ASSHOLES!!! There is nothing wrong with acknowledging that the protagonists that you read aren't the greatest people in the whole wide world. I know I wouldn't want to be in the same room as Peril if she was an actual person; with that said that doesn't mean she ISN’T my favorite dragon in the whole gosh darn freaking series. Winter is a bastard, I love Winter. Qibli is a bastard, I love Qibli. Moonwatcher… Actually, no. Moonwatcher can not. (this last one is a joke and a personal opinion, if I was to look at her into it retrospectively and have a positive thing to say I would say she's very neurodivergent relatable, and her power is very autism-coded.).
Jade Winglet is full of bastards.
I love my Jade Winglet bastards.
Stop being in denial and using “well I don't like [Insert Jade Winglet Member] because of what they did with [Insert Plot Point Here]” and accept that your favorite is a bastard. Tired of hearing about this rank system on who's more fucked up than the other and debating if they deserve love and respect for that. Ofc they do. They're your favs, y'all don't need to push or morally justify trying to like your favs by putting another Jade Winglet member down. You aren't impressing anyone or going “GOTCHA!” for this thought process.
Now stop fighting you cursed dragon hyperfixated disaster fandom. (/j)
Drops Mic
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Radioapple Thoughts that live rent free in my mind
Alastor being the most jealous bastard in Hell because he's a possessive and obsessive little shit whose love only manifests as intense, crazed devotion
Lucifer knows by heart Alastor's measurements and has made many clothes for him, some he even sewed by hand
Alastor is jealous of Cat Alastor (no one gets it because the cat is basically him??? Or maybe not??? What even is that thing???)
Alastor's cane is sentient and it will play some love songs if Alastor is ever lost in his thoughts of Luci or sharing a quiet moment with Luci
Alastor is jealous of Angel Dust (Al, Angel flirts with everyone, chill)
Lucifer is the strongest being in Hell, period, and Alastor goes feral whenever he sees his little King show his true powers
Alastor is jealous of Adam (he knows Lucifer would not want anything with the guy that almost killed his daughter, but still, he feels nauseous when Luci talks about his time in Eden with the first man for a friend)
Lucifer, despite mostly using he/him, doesn't really have a concept of gender and he abhors gender roles in general, meaning he'll take whatever form he feels more comfortable with himself at the moment... And meaning Alastor will dress him up in all fashion choices from his time period as much as he can
Alastor is jealous of Lilith (ok, that one is forgiven. Also, it's always a treat to see the little king plead him to not hunt his ex wife even though his entire face is yellow and his eyes are twinkling in gratitude)
Lucifer and Alastor don't engage in sexual activities frequently, but they do adore the intimacy of being naked and vulnerable with someone who chose not to kill you. Shared baths where they clean and polish each other's hooves are common
Alastor is jealous of his own shadow (again, CHILL, that's literally a part of you!!! It just wanted to give Luci a pretty flower!!!!!)
Instead of a wedding band or a promise ring, they gifted each other rings made with the bones of their own ring fingers. In fact, body parts being used as accessories become very common for them. Lucifer usually gifts cufflinks while Alastor gifts earrings
Alastor is jealous of Stolas (that's the literally the most outlandish one, like, Stolas is a hellborn noble, Luci is only his boss. Ok, maybe they bonded over the bad divorce, the shitty parental figures, the beloved daughters they have no idea how to interact with... But Stolas has a boyfriend! That he clearly loves! Do not kill the first friend Luci made after the divorce)
The only times Alastor willingly watches TV is when he cuddles with Lucifer in the couch and they spend the next hour shit talking Vox' show
Alastor is jealous of Vox, but he'd rather be shot again than admit it (Luci said he wouldn't mind a quickie with the TV guy and said TV guy's far too much interested in Alastor's relationship with the King [Alastor, please, he likes you])
The "keep the musical pieces at 2 per day" rule is not for Charlie, but for them
Alastor is jealous of Alastor (all Luci did was make an offhand comment about Alastor looking more handsome while alive. Thank God time traveling is not possible for sinners)
Lucifer has terrible abandonment issues and Alastor being willing to fight for their relationship against threats that aren't even there while not even once blaming Lucifer for other people's action makes him feel very loved
Still can't eat Stolas, Alastor. Nor Angel. Nor the cat. Adam might give you a tummy ache.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin lucifer#lucifer morningstar#lucifer hazbin hotel#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor#radioapple#appleradio#duckiedeer
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Why don’t you do very heavy gore commissions for minors? Asking out a genuine curiosity and I’m not trying to be rude
Don’t worry, this doesn’t come off as rude! When I was a kid/teenager I was heavily desensitized by gore, both real + fiction, because I was exposed to very explicit violence as a VERY young kid & continued to get heavy exposure.. from looking into things myself and people online grooming with it, privately. (Talking, starting younger than 6..) Trauma worsens that for you, as much as people don’t really talk about it, and while I still love horror + gore, I am not desensitized to physical trauma of real people & I am healing from the damage mentally now. But again, I am 20 years old. I can handle these things with maturity + awareness in a way a child or young teenager can’t or typically doesn’t.
And my friends when I was a young teen were the same way, looking at very graphic gore— fiction/real, even if I wasn’t actively doing the same, looking back I truly do feel horrible + wish they did not do that. I personally do not feel comfortable potentially contributing to that, specifically supplying them with it on demand. Like, in a private conversation, a kid requesting a draw their character getting split in half or something very vile and crazy.. ew. If that makes sense. My art is also bordering semi realism so that is way different from if the gore was very cartoony and heavily stylized.
I think people don’t see drawing NSFW for a minor the same across all boards— NSFW also applies to very extreme gore after all. It’s just not appropriate. I mean, think about it, really. Would you stream gore for a 14 year old, as an adult? Would you send them images of blown up people, people getting tortured/dissected even if it was fictional— draw that stuff for them, Etc.?
Maybe people just don’t see it as the same. And I’m definitely not saying minors can’t enjoy a little blood, fun and horror. It’s just a personal thing with me overall.
So at the end of the day, if minors do look at my account and take in my gore art, extreme or not it is out of my hands. But I will never draw that stuff FOR them. Never.
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yet another question because i like your analyses ... what do you consider to be vertin's love language? what's her favourite to give and what's her favourite to receive. also can i ask the same for sonetto and schneider
The way my brain works is it latches into certain personality traits or in game events and then tries to find context in game to deepen these ideas/theories. A lot of these ideas end up getting exaggerated and honestly a new piece of in-game lore could change how I feel about them. Ngl, I started getting self-indulgent with this one. With that little disclaimer out of the way, here we go!
Vertin as the giver: The Provider
She can be over the top with her grand displays of affection, but Vertin will love you like she is going to lose you. Due to the Storm, she very well might.
Physical touch! Especially holding hands or touching people's hair. this post has all evidence your honor.
Providing for / fulfilling desires. Will spoil her loved ones rotten.
Your happiness is her happiness, but that also means your dissatisfaction/sadness/anger is her failure.
Will support your ideas, dreams, and from time to time, your mischief.
Will compliment and praise you. Cheesy but endearing.
Doesn't like mornings, but will always wake up with you.
If you say you lie about not wanting food (she can tell), she'll order more than she can eat by herself and ask you for "help". She always orders food with the intention of sharing
Wants to take you on trips and try new things together.
Attentive to your reactions and body language. It seems like she can read your mind at times, which makes things easier. Unfortunately, you can't read hers...
Vertin as the recipient: Comfortable as a Lover, Uncertain as the Loved.
In her mind, she is the one who is supposed to be providing for you so when someone does “too much” for her, she feels like she's taking advantage of them or letting them down in some way
Will hardly ask for anything aside from occasional favors. However, she'll always accept gifts no matter how bizarre or dangerous. Give her a rock and she'll treasure it in her room. Ugly shirt as a gag gift? She'll definitely wear it.
Likes to be involved and engaged in activities alongside you. Invite her to do things you're interested in/hobbies
Unlike Smoltin, the Timekeeper doesn't share many of her interests. She's too busy accomodating the needs of others. Ask her to play the piano or that you'd like to see her paintings. This will create an opportunity for her to open up about things she likes under the guise of doing a service for you. Really, it'll benefit both parties. NOTE: rejecting these aspects of her or dismissing her when she tries to share something with you is a big no-no. She'll stop trying to open up. (Smoltin would keep trying, but the Timekeeper will respect your perceived disinterest)
While she can "read your mind", confirming your thoughts wouldn't hurt. Let her know you enjoy doing things together or if anything is bothering you. You opening up to her is a huge deal for her! She wants to do everything she can for you and having your trust means a lot to her.
Ironically, Vertin will never tell you “everything” and that's something you have to accept. It's not even a trust thing, but due to the way she perceives time. She values her time with you and doesn't want to ruin these precious moments with negativity since time is so fleeting. She'd rather stay positive in case that day happens to be your last day together.
If an argument does occur, Vertin is the one who gets banished to the couch. However, she usually offers on her own when she knows what's coming. Even when arguing, she still wants her loved one to be as cozy as possible. She won't allow them sleep on the couch. She doesn't like arguing and will try to make things better as soon as possible.
Sonetto as the giver: The Guard Dog
Loyalty and protectiveness (comes with possessiveness) . Will sacrifice herself for her loved ones.
Nurturing; despite people thinking she's always going to obey, Sonetto will tug on the leash if anything endangers her loved ones; including her loved ones themselves. Expect a “debate” (it's not really a debate because she won't budge until you yield) on why you need to take care of yourself or else she'll do it for you.
Clingy; Just wants to be close. Doesn't like being separated
Learning about you; she wants to be part of your life not just a bystander in it. Your favorite foods, colors, etc. She wants to know everything!
Putting up with a lot. She will follow you to hell and back. She won't approve a bad decision, but will stick around because she doesn't want you to get hurt.
Will learn new skills just to help you. If she can't do something for you now, she'll work to become someone who can in the future.
Sonetto as the Recipient: The Puppy
Wants physical intimacy but is sometimes uncertain on how to initiate. Hugs, hand-holding, kisses, she wants it all. Will initiate once she feels more confident.
Verbal praise! Let her know she's done well or compliment her.
Reaffirmation. Tell her you like her to remove doubts (you'd be surprised how powerful telling a loved one “I love you” is. Propaganda to tell an important person in your life you love them because you'll never know when the last day you can say it will come.)
Encourage her to embrace her curiosity and explore the world with her. Be patient with her as she figures things out. Even better, be proud of her.
Helping her with her crosswords in the newspaper is great for bonding time. Also likes to have meals together
Won't steal your food but she makes puppy eyes at you without realizing. Food will be shared both ways.
She likes poetry and books the most but she's happy to receive anything from her beloved.
Big doggy, but little spoon. This is one is purely self-indulgence because big doggies alway act like cuddly puppies. Puppnetto is Canon.
Will never banish her loved ones to the couch. She doesn't stay mad long enough for that and will want to cuddle even if she's angry. Her puppy eyes make her immune to banishment as well.
Schneider as the giver: Bloody Valentine
Will kill for you and die for you
Will never keep her hands of the person she loves. PDA is imminent.
Flirty, playful, but likes to have serious and deeper conversations from time to time. This is a sign she likes you.
Clingy, but will disappear on you randomly to see if you chase her. Will reward you with lots of attention once you find her.
Will always choose her loved ones above all else
Schneider as the recipient: Wants The Love she Never Had
While she was the backbone for her family, she is a spoiled brat with her beloved. Attention, thoughtful gifts & gestures, and everything else she didn't have as a child (or had to earn herself) are expected.
Schneider values Stability and Loyalty in her partners. Despite her tough talk, she spent a majority of her life providing shelter for her family and dragging them out of poverty at her own expense. She wants someone who will stick beside her through thick and thin, despite the chaos in her life. NOTE: Sometimes she'll do something crazy just to see how her loved one would react
While she likes to tease and menace her loved ones, she will always remind them how much she loves them. She is someone who will prove it too.
Doesn't like to listen. She must be persuaded.
Dates to public places are fine, but when she's really into someone she'd rather spend more time alone with them.
Wants 6 kids, a dog, a cat, and a bird. She had 11 sisters! She's being reasonable here.
Is the one who keeps the bed and banishes people to the couch if she's mad. However, her loved ones will wake up in the middle of the night to find her sleeping against them on the couch. She loves you even when she can't stand you putting pineapple on pizza.
When it comes to food, what's yours is her's. Food thief! But, she'll be more than happy to feed you the same food she just nicked off your plate.
#reverse 1999#vertin#sonetto#schneider#ask#i started getting very indulgent and carried away#i love the pookies#i can't help it#the couch scale is important#it is a valid form of measurement#also the sharing food test#these are the trials couples go through
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I wonder what you think of if think they ever saw themselves together as (secret) gay couple, like marrige,boyfriends or was it more like "we are friends and song writing partners" that happend to do more "drunk things together" and that's what messed it up in the end, or do you think it was a pulling-pushing type of relationship? like did they break it up more than one time, all the time and the final drop was India?
Sorry for bad English!
John and Paul have a few things going for them and against them with regards to their perception of their relationship:
Pretty much any sexual activity between men was permitted without it being "gay" or "queer" or anything like that so long as the men involved didn't admit that they were gay. I guess kissing and penetration is what makes sex acts gay or queer to the early 20th century guy who was jerking off with his mate in the back of a car or whatever. Since this was just "getting off" and it was kept far away from their wives and families, it didn't count as gay.
This means John and Paul grew up at a time where it wasn't considered particularly bad to get off with your mate, do frotting and handjobs/blowjobs, whatever. It definitely wasn't something that you talked about openly (that's indecent) but it didn't make you a gay guy either. Even now in TYOOL 2024 men are weird about this and insist that getting aroused and climaxing with other men is not sexual at all and definitely not gay. That means that John and Paul had a large, large gamut to run without ever having to call themselves gay.
My opinion is that they did not call themselves gay or queer, or acknowledge that side of themselves for the beginning stages of their friendship. I think Paul has always had some inkling or self knowledge but honestly, from 15-18 years old that doesn't mean much lmao. I don't think John figured himself out for a longer period of time because he already had so much stress heaped on his plate, there was no need for him to add concerns about his sexuality onto them.
If John and Paul were doing anything "extra" in addition to the group wanks at this early stage then they just tossed it all under the "boys will be boys" column. And if everything stayed that way then nothing else would have happened.
Then they go to Hamburg. It's a brand new continent and a brand new world. This is where they see crazy ass sex stuff and more importantly, they encounter men and women who don't wrap delusions around their sexual activity. This is where they met gay men, lesbians, transgender people, cross dressers, etc. We can't know what it was really like but the point is that Hamburg was a huge turning point for them and it turned John and Paul from simple provincials into much more sophisticated sex havers. John got off with crossdressers and kissed other men on the mouth; Paul found a boytoy and comforted himself with his presence when John-and-Stu became too difficult to bear.
I doubt they considered themselves gay at this stage but their minds were broadened in a big way. They were exposed to different lifestyles and mindsets. And they had to learn fast and get used to it because their livelihoods depended on that.
After this, things become more slippery slidey. They could very well have gone on this way forever, doing gay sex stuff and refusing to call themselves gay. Except then Paris happened and neither of them forgot it. It never left their heads. Something happened there that we don't know about that, memories that they cherish. Who did John give a pearl necklace to considering there's no mention of him and Paul hooking up with ladies on this trip? Why did John hold on to the memory of couples tenderly kissing each other for so long? Why did John and Paul come back exploding with life and energy?
It's almost as if something happened where they convinced each other that they were a sure thing, that they could depend on the other one no matter what. That there was something else for them that wasn't just being mates or being part of a band.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
They didn't understand what they were to each other for a long time but that's because they were teenagers. It was a genuine friendship that they built in the beginning which honestly? I'm really glad that they had that. I also think that it's exactly this which lead to their relationship lasting for so long.
Like, John's problem was that he jumped into relationships and intimacy too quickly and it inevitably blew up in his face somehow. Paul's problem is that he's too cautious and he holds everyone at arms length. But by having a concrete friendship to build off of that they grew over time and through ups and downs, they ended up becoming each other's steady. It gave them stability and a deeper relationship that they never really managed with other people. That means that, for a long time, John and Paul would call themselves "mates" and it would be completely accurate. It wasn't until much later that the sex stuff started and then when it did, they still had the strength of that initial friendship to rely on.
When it comes to the "push/pull" dynamic you mentioned, they did have their ups and downs where they got used to "crisis moments" to pull them back together after being emotionally distant from each other (and I do have thoughts about that). But I don't think they went through a series of break ups and "we're back together" moments. I think that their relationship simply strained and strained and strained until it finally snapped under the weight of everything they couldn't bring themselves to say. I don't think they suffered any serious moments of breaking up once they put 1960 Hamburg behind them.
There are lots of people who think that John and Paul never figured out their mutual attraction due to their upbringing and while this is a possibility I do not think this is true at all. John Lennon and Paul McCartney are the most revolutionary minds of the 20th century, I don't believe for a second that they were just sitting there and didn't understand what was happening to them. I absolutely think that they figured out that they were queer and in love with each other. Maybe it was in 1961, maybe it was in 1967, but they did eventually figure it out.
The problem for John and Paul is that this revelation did not make their lives better and freer. It arguably made their lives much worse. I don't know if they could even consider the possibility of being together in some capacity because of the sheer virulence against homosexuality in the 1960s and that they were both raised to think that it was moral depravity. We can see that this provided roadblocks for both of them: John and Paul had to get wasted in Key West to simply say the words "I love you."
On the third hand, they did have examples of homosexual men like Victor Spinetti, who was apparently in a committed relationship with another man, to look at. Once they got to know Brian, they were introduced to the world of gay men, not all of whom were married to women. This once again broadened their minds and they had the revelation that you could just go off with another man and be his steady.
John and Paul would probably have liked it very much if they could be a couple together with their version of fidelity in the works. I doubt they would have made a legal commitment to each other in the form of marriage (their business relationship was certainly much closer than trivial marriage documents) but they would have liked being romantic partners. The roadblocks to this were 1) John's son Julian 2) their status as public figures 3) their upbringing telling them that this was wrong.
I have no doubt that John revealed something to Paul in India, more than his 🎤. As one of those revolutionary minds of the 20th century, John may have offered something similar to the above paragraph to Paul, hoping that if he presented it all of a piece then Paul would have to answer sincerely, from the heart. After all, John could be sure that Paul loved him, right?
Well. We know what happened after that.
#mclennon#john lennon#paul mccartney#took me years to answer this i'm sorry#don't worry about your english#i understood everything
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A Desperate Fool pt 2
written for @steddiemicrofic
Prompt: 'top' | wc: 510 | rated: T | cw: hurt/no comfort (comfort is coming I promise!), mentions of child abandonment, breakup fic, AU-Modern Rockstar!Eddie
This is a direct follow-up to my April submission A Desperate Fool
~~~
“Hey, Teddy Bear!”
Eddie quickly scans for the voice piercing the buzzing swarm of paparazzi outside his home. It’s a cold winter night, yet after his public outburst with Robin a week ago and the ensuing onslaught of viral videos, they never seem to leave. Attention that used to have him feeling on top of the world now only leaves him feeling like the scum of the earth.
The overtly personal nickname rings through his memories, filling him with hope and dread in equal measure.
If I’m your baby, Eds, then you’re my Teddy Bear.
A swath of red hair and a high fade catch his gaze against the light snowfall. The boy’s usual charming smile’s been replaced with a cold stare, while she’s actively scowling. Eddie rushes through the crowd, excited to see them after so long despite the circumstances. He pulls them into the safety of his home, slamming the door behind them.
“Did you honestly think Steve was the only person you abandoned?” Max asks, before Eddie can even say hello.
Abandoned. A low blow, throwing Eddie’s childhood in his face, at least before he was adopted in all but name by the Wheeler’s. But coming from Max, he thinks maybe it’s fair play. She’s always been more Harrington than Mayfield, Lucas too. Out of the bunch, they’ve always been Steve’s kids.
“Mike had to go back to therapy! Nancy actually cried,” she spits, pacing the foyer while Lucas stands stoic by the door.
“I didn’t think they’d-” Eddie starts before he’s interrupted.
“What? That your family wouldn’t be upset, feel as betrayed as Steve?” Lucas finally speaks up. “So when you bragged about outgrowing your roots, that wasn’t supposed to mean us too?”
Eddie shrinks in on himself. He’s being admonished in his own home, and he knows he deserves it. He knows, truly. He just can’t handle the overwhelming aches of guilt and regret, which pang louder with each disappointed loved one. Another reminder he’d surrounded himself with people who only care about Metal Munson.
He’s foolishly desperate to win back his family, people who loved him for himself. He wants to be Eddie again. His baby’s Teddy Bear.
“What-” he tries again, forcing words around the growing knot in his throat and watery eyes. He’s cried so much lately. “Why are you here?”
Max eyes him skeptically, glancing at Lucas and sharing a look Eddie can’t decipher. They make a silent decision, and she moves to stand by her husband at the door.
“Steve’s getting married this summer,” she states, like it’s nothing. Like it’s not the end of Eddie’s world.
The tears fall, then. He loses control of a sob before he gets his voice back. “To who?” he pitifully asks, pretending he actually wants to know.
“You don’t know her,” Lucas replies.
Her. Her. Herherherher.
“Oh,” Eddie says softly. He can’t stop shaking, or is the earth quaking beneath him.
Max sighs, sympathetic, and rips his world open further still.
“Steve wants to talk, but you’ll have to get through Nancy first.”
~~~
I SWEAR it's gonna get better!!! Some solid Eddie and Nancy comfort coming up next. Think I might keep adding on to this fic via prompts only but we'll see.
#eddie is officially a wheeler sibling in this fic#hurt/no comfort (but the comfort IS IN FACT on it's way)#rockstar eddie munson#modern au#steddie breakup#eddie munson whump#steddie microfic#steddie ficlet#steddie prompt#eddie munson#hurt/no comfort#max mayfield#lucas sinclair#lumax#steve and max#steve and max is still my favorite thing#QueenieWritesStories
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WOOO YOUR REQUESTS ARE BACK OPEN !! first of all, HII welcome back, how are you doing? are you doing alright? i hope you are !!! >> p.s, this is the same anon who requested tall husband!reader nd 141 <33 i'll be 🦗 anon from now on!!
i've come back with another (awfully long 😔) rq !! if that's fine....,,!!
okay so i absolutely adore m!readers, and i have another one for that, so the idea is kind of like,, reader is a bit older/the same age as [char], and he's transmasc! though, he didn't have time to transition in his earlier years- he's just recently started t. what do you think price, nikolai, alejandro, nd rudy's initial reactions are to him like being so giddy to start transitioning and just reactions to him changing his body in general? :)
sorry this is disgustingly long again, & feel free to delete this ask if you feel pressured at all <3
— sincerely, 🦗
Hey there! I'm actually doing better than I did yesterday, thank you :D And don't worry about sending in long requests, I don't mind it one bit! In fact, it helps me get a better feeling for what to write :> And don't worry, I was looking forward to writing this! This was probably my most anticipated request in a long time!
Price, Alejandro, Rodolfo and Nikolai with a Transmasc!S/O
Price: He knows that trans people exist. He’s supportive of them, but that doesn’t mean he understands what they’re going through. He’s never really had a phase where he explored his gender, he’s always felt comfortable being a man. However, he’s very understanding. As soon as you come up to him and tell him you’re finally getting your shots or your gel, he’s overjoyed. Yes, you’ve always been his boyfriend, ever since you came out to him, but you’re finally getting to go on the journey of getting HRT? He smiles along with you and gives you a big hug when you can barely sit still from glee. However, that joy doesn’t compare to actually watching you transition. You’re slowly growing a beard, your voice is getting deeper, your fat distribution is changing. He’s there to celebrate every step of it with you. If you’re alright with it, then he’d like to take a picture of you every once in a while so you can watch how far you’ve come yourself. However, he will sometimes make you go on a jog with him. Might force you to go to the gym with him as well since he can imagine working out could make you feel even manlier. Since he’s on deployment for months at a time, he always finds it to be a treat whenever he gets home. After all, he gets to see you transition so much in all this time. In order to celebrate all these milestones he will take you out on a lot of dates, with him paying, of course. You’re his most ideal man, you need to know just how loved you are. Lots of praise too, you’ve come so far, you’ve gone through so much, you’re so very strong. You’ve gone through things Price can’t even imagine. He’s definitely extremely supportive of you.
Alejandro: He’s never considered himself anything but a man either, but he loves trans people. In fact, I like to imagine that he’d actively stand up for them if someone is being a dick towards them. Alejandro is a well respected man who can make just about anyone shut up, he will not tolerate any bigotry. So, as soon as you come out to him, he gets a big smile on his face and immediately starts calling you his boyfriend. And, once you go on T, he’s just as happy as you are. You’ve had to live in such an uncomfortable body all this time, finally you get to feel like yourself. He’ll help you with your testosterone as well, if you let him, of course. Every time he delivers your shot to you or rubs the gel in he gives you a hug afterwards, shaking a bit with excitement, always raving about how happy he is for you. Sometimes he jokes about how hormones can also be exchanged through making out, but you don’t have to kiss him if you don’t want to. Again, it’s just a joke. You’re his handsome man and if anyone ever dared to disrespect or misgender you then they’ll end up with a black eye. As mentioned above, he does not tolerate bigotry in the slightest. Sometimes he’ll run his thumb over your beard and tell you just how gorgeous of a man you are, and how happy he is to have you with him. On your dysphoric days he’ll remind you that you’re the most wonderful man to have ever existed. Trans is just an adjective, you are a man, you’ve always been one. Sits you on his lap, wraps a blanket around you and lists all the traits that make you a man. And even if he can’t make the dysphoria go away, he’ll still stay with you and cuddle you until you feel better.
Rodolfo: I think there was a time in Rodolfo’s life where he thought he was better off as a woman, but that phase didn’t last too long, a year at most. He didn’t go through with anything either, but he knows what dysphoria feels like to some degree. Ergo he’ll never be a bigot towards trans people. He respects them quite a lot, being misgendered and referred to by the wrong name feels so disheartening, having to go through all of that for such a long time is horrible. So he feels a bit bad when you come out to him, thinking that he’s referred to you by the wrong name and pronouns for such a long time. He apologizes for that as well. Of course, he wishes you all the best and will support you through whatever you wanna do. In fact, if you wanna get surgery then he offers to split the costs with you, he just loves you that much. Once you tell him you’ve finally gotten the prescription for testosterone he’s ecstatic. On the outside he may seem calm, but on the inside he’s a bit disarrayed from the happiness he feels for you. He picks you up and spins you around because he’s just that giddy. Will also help you administer your shots or help you apply your gel, if you’re comfortable with that. He’s very observant, so after a few weeks he’ll tell you how you’re slowly starting to change. Like Price, he’ll invite you to do workouts with him so you can become stronger. However, he also offers to learn about other things with you. Is not above teaching you how to ride a motorcycle either, if you don’t already know. Riding one always makes him feel very masculine. As soon as you grow your first stubble, he’ll cradle your face in his hands before squeezing you so tight, you’d think he wanted to break a rib or two. Praises you so much when he sees you slowly change, he just loves you so so dearly.
Nikolai: Not trans himself, has never had a phase either, but if he likes you then he’ll actually pay for your surgery. He actually paid for Gaz’ top surgery because he’s like a son to him and wanted him to be well. You’re Nikolai’s boyfriend, so naturally he’ll pay for anything you might need. Top surgery, bottom surgery, testosterone, doesn’t matter, you’ll get it from him because he wants to be a supportive boyfriend. He’s a very observant man, so he likely had a hunch you were a trans man before you even told him. While he may not have said anything, he wasn’t particularly surprised when you told him. Asked you for your preferred name and pronouns and hasn’t referred to you as anything else since. He didn’t make a big deal out of it. Has threatened bigots before, though. When you told him you finally got to be on T, after all those years, he was happy. Again, he didn’t make too big of a deal out of it, but he told you how proud he was of you. Like Alejandro, he also joked about making out with you, though. Nothing serious, if you didn’t want it to be, however. Will also point out the small differences as soon as he notices them. As you change more and more, he subconsciously becomes more touchy with you. You’re just such a sweet man, he can’t help it. No real reason, just watching you become more and more content with yourself makes his heart flutter too, so he falls in love with you even more than he did before. If you want to, you’re more than welcome to wear his clothes too, regardless of whether they’re too big on you or not. Nikolai is a very tall guy, so there’s a good chance they are. As a joke, he teaches you the sacred art of grilling in summer. You’ll be able to make the meanest burgers around.
#cod#cod x reader#john price#john price x reader#price x reader#alejandro vargas#alejandro vargas x reader#rodolfo parra#rodolfo parra x reader#cod nikolai#nikolai x reader#transmasc!reader#male!reader#writing this gave me such gender euphoria you have no idea#One of these days I'm gonna go on T and become the most handsome man out there#Just thinking about how I'm gonna change makes me so euphoric I wish I was on T already#nothing makes me happier than writing transmasc readers#thank you so much for sending in this request!!! it made me so very happy!#my mind is kind of disarrayed right now because I'm just that giddy which means I can't think properly#so sorry if these tags are kind of jumbled haha!#I need more people as supportive as these guys in my life!#I am thinking about my future where I will transition and it makes me so happy. Thank you so much for that!#shaking with excitement right now! I hope you're doing well anon! I'm going to knit you a nice scarf to show my gratitude!!!
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Matt & Me🎀
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.
fem! reader x singer! matt
disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.
warnings - small mention of drug use
y/nn = your nickname in case your confused🩷
Chapter 6
It was after three o’clock the next afternoon when Matt called. “Alan’s on his way to pick you up,” he said. Alan Smith was another of his employees.
When we arrived at Matt’s house, I found him upstairs dressing. As soon as he saw me, he kissed me and asked, “How would you like to go to Las Vegas? We could really have fun and I could show you around my favorite places.” Not understanding his contradiction regarding my staying with the Barrises the night before, and feeling uneasy asking any questions, I answered, “I’d love to. When?”
“Tonight. We’ll load up the bus and head out about midnight, arrive in the morning, sleep all day, and see the shows and party all night.”
Excitement was in the air—Las Vegas. I’d never dreamed of going there and I really didn’t know what to expect. Actually, I really didn’t care where we went as long as I was with him.
I had two immediate concerns. One, I didn’t know if I could afford—or at my age should even wear—the glamorous clothes suitable for Vegas, but Matt said not to worry, Alan would take me shopping that afternoon.
It was a strange experience, shopping with someone I barely knew, particularly a man. He seemed as uncomfortable as I but assured me we would find something. He was familiar with all of the boutiques and took me to Saks Fifth Avenue as well.
As I selected a couple of outfits I worried about my other concern: the promised daily letter to my parents. How would I explain Las Vegas postmarks? I couldn’t. But I could prewrite letters for the time we were gone, number them one through seven, and have Arnold mail them from Los Angeles daily. My problems were solved. On to Las Vegas!
That evening Matt’s front lawn was alive with activity. There seemed to be people everywhere. The huge bus that George Barris had custom-designed for Matt stood in the driveway. The guys streamed in and out of it, loading suitcases, records, a stereo system, and cases of Pepsi-Cola. All the preparations and excitement made it look as if Matt were moving out, but in fact he always traveled this way. He was still uneasy about flying—a fear he later conquered—and felt much more relaxed driving. Because we didn’t know how long we’d stay, Alan and Gene Smith brought along whatever Matt enjoyed, so he would feel as comfortable as if he were at home. I was happy. It was the first time we’d be together without restrictions or curfews.
Just before midnight, they all gathered around the big bus; it was time to say goodbye to any visitors the regulars were leaving behind.
Matt was dressed in a white shirt, black pants, black racing gloves, and his everpresent yachting cap. As we pulled away, he yelled out the window, “We shall return,” and we hit the highway for Las Vegas, Nevada. I didn’t know what I was headed for, but I loved the idea of adventure.
And I felt proud; there was Gene to my right, me in the center, and Matt driving. I learned that Matt always preferred driving at night; it was cooler and there was less traffic. He came alive at night. There was a big difference between the daytime Matt and the nocturnal Matt. When the sun went down another personality took over, and on this particular night he was in great form. On a break between films, away from Colonel William, free of pressures and responsibilities, he could relax and play.
On the way to Vegas we all listened to music, nibbled on snacks, and drank Pepsis. In the front seat, Matt and Gene joked in their own language. Matt would say something and Gene would reply with completely made up words. When conversation lagged, they engaged in surprise attacks, punching each other. If Gene thought he’d landed a good one, he’d take off running toward the back of the bus, aware that Matt could always pull over and chase him.
These antics continued throughout most of the exhausting drive across the desert. I felt out of sync with the private jokes and crazy high jinks. It was quite obvious that the boys picked up on Matt’s every mood. I did not yet fit in.
Las Vegas
We arrived in Las Vegas around seven in the morning. I was tired and falling asleep when Matt called out, “We’re comin’ into Vegas. Look around—all you see is hotels. It’s called Sin City. Isn’t that right, Smiff?” Gene mumbled one of his silly replies and Matt laughed as usual.
The Strip looked quiet. There were a lot of taxis, some cars, and a few tired people strolling along the streets. I noticed it was extremely hot for 7 a.m., especially since it was only June.
We checked into the Sahara Hotel and to my amazement, despite the early hour, people were everywhere. Matt pointed to the casino, noisy with the rhythmic sounds of the slot machines, the sporadic ringing of bells, and an occasional yell from the craps tables.
“Is this normal?” I asked Matt.
“Honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Wait till tonight,” he replied.
That wouldn’t be easy. Despite being tired, I stood fascinated, watching the gamblers clustered at the various tables and the slot machines. Matt took my arm. “Come on, Baby. Let’s go up to the room. There’ll be plenty of time for this later. We better get some rest.”
We followed the bellboy to the suite, and the entourage efficiently began arranging the rooms to Matt’s liking. They unpacked his clothes, placing them neatly in his closet, lining up his shoes by color, and setting out his toiletries in the bathroom. In the living room, they set up his record player and speakers, lowered the lights to create the right atmosphere, and turned on all the television sets.
“Why do you always have the TV on?” I asked Matt.
“It keeps me company,” he said. “When it’s on, I feel like there are people around.”
He despised entering a quiet room, and soon I too adopted the habit of automatically turning on the TV whenever I walked into a room.
An hour later the assistants had the suite looking lived in, with everything in its proper place. Matt said good night to the boys and cautioned them not to wake us too early. He locked the bedroom door and got undressed and into bed. As I climbed in beside him, I noticed that he was taking a number of prescribed sleeping pills, but I didn’t pay much attention to them. I wasn’t knowledgeable enough even to suspect any potential threat.
I lay there blissfully happy: Finally we were able to spend an entire night sleeping together.
Matt was looking at me. “Do you believe this, Baby? After all this time, here you are. Who’d ever have thought we’d pull this off? Let’s not even think about you going back. We’ll have a good time. We’ll think about the other when the time comes.”
His words were starting to slur. His reactions slowed down. He pulled me closer and told me, again and again, “I’m glad you’re here . . .” And then—silence. I looked over at the bottles of pills near the bed and realized I still had competition.
When I awoke the next afternoon, I looked over at Matt and snuggled against him as closely as I could. He put his arms around me, holding me as he slept. I studied his eyebrows, his long black eyelashes, his perfect nose, and his beautiful, full mouth. After a while I ached from lying in the same position but I didn’t move; it might wake him.
I thought about the pills he had taken earlier. They mystified me but I felt Matt must know what was best for him and I decided to put the matter out of my mind.
He must have sensed that I was staring at him; he suddenly opened his eyes and started to laugh. “What are you doing? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were putting a hex on me.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, embarrassed that he’d caught me studying him. “I guess I’m too excited.”
Sitting up, he said, “Well, Little Girl, the first thing I need is a cup of black coffee. Press number four on the intercom and tell Billy to order us some breakfast. He knows what I like and just tell him what you want. Tell him to have it here in half an hour and to make sure the coffee’s hot.”
Getting out of bed, he flipped on the TV and walked into the bathroom. A moment later he stuck out his head and grinned. “Get dressed, Little One, I want to show you off a little.”
That was all I needed to hear. I jumped out of bed and ran into my bathroom to get ready. As I dressed in a casual summer outfit I could hear music coming from the living room. I cracked open the adjoining door and was surprised to see all the boys up and dressed, with breakfast set up on the dining-room table.
I finished combing my hair and walked out to the living room, where the guys greeted me with friendly smiles and hellos. Matt wasn’t there yet, so no one had begun eating. Everyone was pretty quiet. Although it was after four in the afternoon, it seemed like early morning.
About fifteen minutes later, Matt came into the room, all dressed up in a three-piece suit, and I realized that nothing in my wardrobe was suitable. He walked over to the stereo and put on his latest record, saying he’d just finished a recording session and wanted me to hear the songs. Then we all sat down for breakfast.
It was fun hearing his recordings before they were released to the public. He asked me what I thought of each song, and since I knew what the kids back in Europe were listening to, I felt my comments might be helpful. At least I wanted to believe they were. “I really like the fast-paced ones,” I said, “like ‘Jailhouse Rock.’ Why don’t you record more songs like that? These don’t seem as much like rock and roll as your earlier records.”
Matt shot me a look of such pure disgust that I was petrified. “Goddamn it,” he snapped. “I didn’t ask for your opinion on what style I should sing. I asked if you like the songs, that’s all—yes or no. I get enough amateur opinions as it is. I don’t need another one.” He got up and stalked into the bedroom and slammed the door. Trying to regain my composure, I fought back tears. I was embarrassed and confused. What was wrong with what I’d said? How could that upset him so?
Luckily, the boys had already left the table and were all doing odd jobs or were in another room. I didn’t know if any of them had heard Matt’s tirade, but I didn’t want to face them. I knew Matt had a temper—I had witnessed it in Germany—but never before had he directed it at me.
Slowly I rose from the table, wondering where to go. Matt’s bedroom door was still tightly shut and, although I was sharing his room, I hesitated to go in for fear he’d start yelling. Not knowing what else to do, I sat down next to the albums and started going through them, pretending to look interested. Soon I heard the bedroom door open and saw Matt standing in the doorway. He motioned to me to come over. Reluctantly, I put back the records and walked into the room, fearful of what he was going to say. He closed the door, sat me down on the edge of the bed, and—to my surprise—began to apologize: “I’m sorry, Baby. What happened before really had nothing to do with you. I just finished that recording session and it’s pretty damn good compared to what they usually want me to do for these movies.”
He talked more about his last film, the story line, the songs, the dialogue, all of which he thought were inane. _ I was beginning to understand some of his frustrations and dissatisfaction. I remembered our talks in Germany. Matt had been proud of his film accomplishments before entering the Army. He had talked hopefully about doing movies with more substance and fewer songs.
“y/nn, from now on I plan to keep my singing career and my acting career strictly separate.” He believed he was capable of performing more demanding roles than he was getting, and to prepare himself, he still studied certain actors whom he admired, such as James Dean in Giant and Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront and The Wild One.
“But I keep getting offered the same musicals, same story lines,” he complained, “and they’re getting worse and worse.”
His biggest problem was that these films and their soundtrack albums were always huge hits.
Shaking off his serious mood, he grabbed my hand and said, “Come on, Baby, we’re goin’ shopping.” This was Matt’s way of making up for his outburst, but it took me a little while to get over it. Forcing an enthusiastic smile, I went along. I was beginning to understand how everyone’s mood played off Matt.
Taking Gene and Alan with us, we jumped into a waiting limo and rode around until Matt spotted a boutique where glamorous gowns made of sequins, lace, and frills graced the beautiful mannequins in the window. He called out to the driver, “Let’s stop here.”
Taking my hand, he led me inside, followed by the entire entourage, surely the most unlikely band of characters ever to invade an elegant dress shop. The salesgirl was speechless.
“Hello, ma’am. I’m Matt Sturniolo and we’re just looking around. Maybe you could show us something that might interest my little friend over there.”
They both looked over at me. The look on the clerk’s face told me we were thinking the same thing: These clothes were far too sophisticated for such a young girl. But when Matt saw something he liked, he didn’t think in terms of age. While the saleswoman went to the back to rummage around for whatever she had in sizes six and four, Matt was rifling through the racks, pulling out a number of dazzling creations, asking me which ones I liked.
“They’re all beautiful,” I said. “I just don’t know how I’d look in them.”
“You let me be the judge of that,” he said, winking at Gene, who mumbled one of his made up words. We all dissolved into fits of laughter that brought the shopgirl rushing back with a huge selection of dresses. Matt designated his preferences and said, “Try them on. And pick out any others you like.”
Thrilled, I chose a half-dozen gowns with matching shoes and headed for the dressing room. The salesgirl followed. Away from Matt’s eyes she treated me like a little kid, but I was so enchanted with the clothes that I didn’t care.
As I posed in front of the mirror in a long black jersey gown and a pair of gold highheeled sandals, I hardly recognized myself. I definitely appeared older, very sexy and very sophisticated.
As I stepped out of the dressing room, the salesgirl mumbled, “Not bad for a kid.” Matt took one look and said, “Hot damn, we’ll take it.”
We stayed for over two hours, while Matt bought me not only the black sheath, but also a midnight blue satin, several lovely silks and chiffons, and a beautiful baby-blue brocade gown, all accented by matching capes and bags and shoes.
When we left the shop we found a crowd had gathered. Matt glanced at Alan, who immediately disappeared. Then he gave a number of people his autograph, said goodbye, and Gene quickly led us through the back of the shop and out the door, where Alan was waiting with the car ready to take us to the hotel.
Back at our suite, Matt said, “I’m hungry. Nate, order me a steak, but make sure you tell them well done. What do you want, Honey?”
“Hell, M,” Matt said, “I always tell them well done.”
“Well, tell them again,” Matt shot back. “I’ll be goddamned if it doesn’t always come back half raw.”
To Matt, raw was slightly pink. Everyone specified “burnt” when ordering for him.
Matt turned to Alan and said, “Hog Ears” (he had pet names for all his employees), “make arrangements for Red Skelton’s midnight show, and see if there’s anyone in the hotel who can do y/nn hair and makeup.”
“Hair and makeup?” I said. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
It was long and y/hc, casually combed. But beyond feeling he didn’t like my hair, now I began to think he didn’t like my looks.
“There’s nothing wrong with it, honey. It’s just that this is Las Vegas. Everyone has their hair done. You need to apply more makeup around your eyes. Make them stand out more. They’re too plain naturally. I like a lot of makeup. It defines your features.”
Defines your features? At that time it made a lot of sense—and Matt knew best.
While we waited for dinner, Matt put one of his records on the stereo and sat next to me, singing along with his own voice on the record. In that moment I fell in love all over again. When he sang about lost love or a life lived out in grief and pain, he delivered the lyrics with such conviction that I’d feel the hurt. He’d been a fan of country music since long before it became popular and was always impressed by the raw emotion in those recordings.
After dinner we got ready for the evening. At Matt’s request, Armond, a hairdresser at the hotel, came in and spent nearly two hours creating my new look. He teased and twisted up my hair with one long curl falling in front of my left shoulder. Then he applied my makeup so heavily that you couldn’t tell if my eyes were black, blue, or black and blue. It was that look of the sixties, only more extreme. That was what Matt wanted.
When I put on my brand-new brocade gown, my transformation from an innocent sixteen-year-old to a sophisticated siren was complete. I looked like one of the lead dancers in the Folies-Bergère.
“Goddamn, what happened to Little y/nn,” Matt said when he saw me. “You look beautiful. Nate, come here. Look what I found.”
Nate walked in and did a double take.
“Sure doesn’t look like the same girl we met in Germany, wearing a sailor dress,” Nate said.
Everyone laughed, and we left to see Red Skelton’s midnight show.
We arrived just after the lights went down, and the maître d’, using a flashlight, quickly led us to our table. Matt always tried to arrive unnoticed so he wouldn’t distract attention from the headlining star. But word always spread throughout the audience that he was there and within a few seconds, the whispering would start and heads would turn.
At the end of a show Matt would try to exit just before the house lights went up, but on that night we didn’t make it. The lights came on and suddenly we were surrounded by an enthusiastic crowd of people pushing and shoving, hoping to get an autograph.
Being just under five foot five, I was engulfed in the crush and I began to feel faint. I reached out for Matt as I started to panic and said, “I can’t breathe. I have to get out.”
At first he grinned, then his look turned to concern as he saw my desperation. Still smiling and signing autographs, he said to Alan, “Get y/nn out quick. I’ll be along as soon as I can.”
Alan took one look at me, grabbed my hand, and pushed his way through the crowd, out of the hotel. Once in the fresh air, I regained my composure. From that experience I learned to scout out the exits whenever Matt and I entered a crowded room.
When we came out a few minutes later, like clockwork, the limo was waiting. We jumped in and sped off to the Sahara Hotel for my first adventure in gambling. Matt wasn’t a serious player—it didn’t matter if he won or lost. He played for the fun of it. A cigar jutting impressively from his mouth, a drink in one hand, and his eyes squinting suspiciously at the cards, he gave a flawless impersonation of Clark Gable as Rhett Butler. I sat proudly beside him, his very own Scarlett O’Hara.
I’d never played blackjack before, but after a few hands, Matt thought I had the hang of it. He handed me five hundred dollars and jokingly said, “You’re on your own, kid. What you win is yours, and what you lose . . . well, we’ll have to discuss that later.”
I smiled and called for the dealer to include me in the game. I looked at my hand, counting on my fingers under the table. Nine plus eight is seventeen, then a five makes . . .
“Twenty-one!” I shouted. Throwing down my cards, I looked over to Matt for his approval.
“Let’s see,” he said, slowly scooping up the cards. Squinting one eye, he counted them. Then, leaning over to me, he grinned and whispered, “Sorry, Baby. It’s twenty-two.”
I was so embarrassed that I excused myself and took refuge in the ladies’ room. When I gathered up the courage to return, I tried again, and luckily ended up winning two hundred dollars.
For the next two weeks, we slept during the day and played at night. If there was a show, we saw it; if there was a casino, we played it. To help me adapt to this fast-paced life-style and unusual hours I would join Matt and the others in taking amphetamines and sleeping pills. Despite whatever misgivings I had about pills, I took them. In order for me to keep up, they became essential.
I was adapting. My inhibitions were dropping away and I became more assertive, especially after taking the pills. I liked the feeling. Even though it was an escape from reality, we were in sync and to me I was fitting more into his world. We were learning all about each other and using this trip to make up for the two years we had been apart. Both of us were falling more in love—and avoiding any thought of the moment when we’d have to part again.
Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.
This material may be protected by copyright.
a/n - long long chapter todayyy🎀
#matt stuniolo fanfic#matthew sturn#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo edit#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo x reader#nick sturniolo#Spotify
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Author Spotlight - Ob_Liv_Ious_Writer
In the run-up to the 2024 Awards we’ve asked some previous winners if they would be interviewed by us. We’re kicking off with @ob-liv-ious-writer author of No Ulterior Motive, which won Best Homeless Fic in 2023
Summary: When Peter saw a spelling mistake on the Stark Industries website, he decided that he had to fix it, no matter what the consequences could be.
When Tony saw that the hacker that managed to evade him was a reckless, too-skinny foster kid, he decided that he was going to offer him an internship.
No ulterior motives.
Not at all.
Excerpt: Ned was still too over the moon to properly fanboy. It felt like a miracle to see Peter happy again. Ned was glad. If anyone deserved a miracle, it was Peter Parker.
Hey, Ob_Liv_Ious, Thank you for answering our questions...
How did you get into Irondad? Honestly? I first found the fandom through a crossover fic from my marauders days. I don't remember what fic it was, but it kickstarted my spider-man obsession, and from there I found Irondad.
What's your favourite Irondad scene? My favourite scene has still gotta be the rooftop one. Hits different.
When did you start writing? For writing in general, I have been doing it my entire life. For fanfic, I think I remember reading everything I could find and then writing my own so that I had more to read.
What do you like about writing most? My favourite thing about writing is the way that it draws me in and lets me lose myself in the life of a character. It's always been a form of escapism, plus it's nice to have a product at the end.
Which of your stories is your favourite and why? No Ulterior Motive, it has to be. It's a story that I wrote at a very pivotal time in my life, plus it's one of the rare stories that I can look back on and still be proud of.
What's your favourite trope to write? Anything hurt/comfort honestly.
What inspired the story? It was long enough ago that I don't really remember, but I think the idea of Peter hacking SI just randomly came to me and I immediately had to write it lol.
Can you tell us a little about the experience of writing it -- did anything stand out or was there a particular person that helped more than others? Again, this was quite a while ago now (I wrote this fic when I was in my senior year of High School and now I'm in my second year of Uni lmao), but I remember writing most of this on the hallway floors between classes. The particular person who helped more than others was absolutely my girlfriend at the time, who motivated me and beta read. Additional points go to all of my old friends who had to put up with me talking about it 24/7 haha.
How did you feel to be a winner of the Awards last year? Epic!! I think this is a really cool project, even though I'm not very active in the community anymore since I don't have enough free time lol. It was nostalgic to look back on my fic, and it makes me really happy that something that helped me so much during my formative years is still being enjoyed by people.
Thank you again Ob_Liv_Ious_Writer for answering our questions and being part of the Irondad Creator Awards.
#irondad creator awards#irondad#spider-man#iron man#irondad and spiderson#spider son#fanfic#fandom awards#writers#Irondad Creator Awards 2024#Story Spotlight
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Hot take, but I think Gortash has immense self hatred and actively choses to be miserable.
It would be easy just to go back home. His parents love him now. He has the money to fix everything. He controls them. There's no way they can harm him anymore. And yet he doesn't. He stays away, in his fortress, in his Iron Throne. In scarcely decorated places that lack most comfort.
It would be easy to use his money to look spotless, splendid, to blend in with society and be just like the others, just how his parents always wanted him to be. But he doesn't. Instead, he continues to be eccentric. And worst of all, he wears all the symbolism of the hell he's just escaped. The tormentor of his childhood is everywhere.
It would've been easy to discard everything and run away with Durge. He got them to defy their father to a frightening degree. If he had tried, he could've convinced them. It would've saved himself, Durge, both of them if he did. And yet he pushed forward, even knowing what he did and what end would eventually wait for him.
Gortash apparently knew the brain was changing. But he decided to do and say nothing about it. I love me some unhinged Orin but I'd argue she'd be reasonable enough to postpone her bloodkin lobotomy plans if she caught wind of an elder brain changing into a netherbrain thanks to said bloodkin doing funny stuff. They could've prevented this whole story if my guy had simply said something. But he decided to just, not?
He's deeply contradictory. He's a genius, but his mistakes and faults in his plans are evident to even the greatest fools. He's determined to be loved, to be a hero, and yet when he's offered love, or heroism he turns away from it.
Also did I mention that he's the one person who can legitimately turn on his patron but refuses to? Ketheric can't because otherwise Isobel is forsaken. Durge and Orin can't because Bhaal can just barge in and control them like the puppets they are, but Bane? He doesn't have a hold like this over Gortash. Gortash doesn't even seem to fear him as much as he'd like. And yet that man refuses to turn his back on a deity who will torture his soul for fuck all reasons without really receiving smth in return. He just keeps going knowing he can't win.
Oh and the whole 'putting Bhaals handcrafted scion on a leash' bit? Normal people would stay a safe distance away from people that can and will gut them for minor reasons, but he decided to understand that as a challenge?
I'd argue he's just an arrogant maniac, but the utter disregard of his safety kinda goes against that. Being a tyrant is cool but you can only properly tyrant if you're alive, and Gorty over here is making 0 efforts to improve his life or keep it for that matter.
#like for someone who loves himself#hes doing a lot of shit that doesnt match that claim#my guy just went 'i can ruin myself' and dashed odf#i get that you can read twisted motivation etc into stuff too#but if you line everything up like that#it does seem kinda odd#bg3#bg3 spoilers#enver gortash#bg3 gortash#lord gortash
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hi ♡ i guess i'm back? 🥹
here's a little life update! i think you guys deserve it after my absence that lasted longer than even i expected it to last ;( i am very sorry about that. i miss everyone here and bangtan so much, you have no idea. the reason for all that is that for the past months i have been going through a lot of things and changes in my life. there were good and bad things happening, time flies extra fast, days melt into one and i didn't even notice the past half a year pass. although i think my absence was unavoidable in these circumstances i just thought that you guys deserve to know what's been up with me for the past months haha i have received a lot messages and reminders that people remember about me and that they miss me and i just want to send all of you my biggest apologies for leaving you for so long with no response, as well as all my love and gratitude! 🥺 i think i've been always fairly transparent on here so if anyone wanted to know more I'll leave some more details in the tags but basically I just hope that soon i will be able to become more active again and respond to messages ❤️❤️❤️ i hope everyone is doing great 🥰
#honestly... it was yoongi's comeback that made it happen. that made me have motivation to come back. i didnt expect it but here we are LOL#because for the past months i have been struggling a lot and i almost lost all the connections with my friends family and bangtan#i lost all my feelings and thoughts#i didnt miss anyone i didnt want to do anything i didnt want to be anywhere. i was completely submerged into my own head#i still am. it didnt exactly get better but.. its just yoongis impact jasbhdjdjd he made me remeber a lot#in october last year i developed a very agressive eating disorder and its gotten a lot worse at the begging of this year#and it has taken everything from me. it sucked me dry and still continues to do so. it made my mental health so much worse on every level#but im still here and thats what matters in the end right ❤️#from the good things - after long unfortunate and very stressful job hunting i finally got a stable job 🥰 and i continue my uni so far#that's why i was absent here most of the time. i decided to focus on my life and on trying to change something and to fight a little more#after jin's enlistment announcement... it was a wake up call for me#and maybe soon i will be back on track but im taking things slow. especially that its not easy for me at all#but i just wanted you to know that theres been a lot happening here so ❤️ im not just getting bored of tumblr and bts haha#i never stopped following the fandom i never turned off my notifications from media i never stopped looking up what they're up to each day#i just didnt have time and motivation to be active. because of my health i wanted to be quiet and away from eveyone and everything :/#even from my comfort people and activities#that sounds sad but. it's alright so please don't worry about me ❤️ I'm holding on just fine. got used to some things ❤️ trying to heal#so yeah i think thats that haha i think its enough and all basically#it may seem like very little but my life has always been very slow when it comes to big actions haha#anyway. love you all so much ❤️ thank you for not forgetting about me ❤️#soon i will try to answer some mesdages from my inbox. please wait for me just a little bit more ❤️ im very overworked right now#but im so sorry that you have to wait so long ❤️
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I've been doing a lot of grocery delivery in the country lately, so I ordered myself a nice bumper sticker so I fit in with everyone else's stuff :)
I've seen a lot of these lately, but they were all of a pride flag I don't recognize. Not sure which gender/sexuality has the red and white stripes with the blue with white stars in the corner, but I guess it's an ok design. The rainbow is the traditional LGBT flag, though, so I feel it symbolizes the collective queer community a little better and will be a little more noticeable/recognizable than niche flags, like this stars and stripes guy.
#queer#pride#rainbow#flag#gay#lgbt#fr tho I've seen so many q-anon and trump stickers that i feel like this'll either be really funny or I'll get my windows smashed in#for some reason the country here isn't just chill people eeking out a living doing what they can#it's all super well off people who immigrated from elsewhere in the us and are incredibly aggressive#I'm from the middle of nowhere. country folk are typically very kind even if they're a little ignorant to shit like being gay or trans.#but this is the kind of people where i got called a dyke twice just walking through kroger#i had the person behind me at mcdonalds yelling about my sticker that says i don't break for kids#anyone i know who has lived in that area for a long time hates all these new people#they've driven up housing prices to be just as much as in the city. they're all republicans who fled California or Illinois...#...and they brought with them their more radical views and hateful big-city attitudes#like yeah. this wasn't a place to be comfortably out as gay beforehand. now it's actively hostile instead of you get weird stares kinda shit
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venting in tags about gender n shit (long as hell) (u can comment and talk 2 me as always :3)
#okay so i got a really masc haircut about a month ago and i know it's just a haircut but holy shit has it changed EVERYTHING for me#like.... i've always leaned masc except 1) before i came out 2) when i was actively in love with someone who i knew liked femmes#and they always described me as a fem. because that's what i showed her. because i wanted to be with her.#but lowkey whenever i'm in a not-impressing-anyone raw-dogging-life-no-crush era i always resort to a very masc style#like masc being my default and i'd only lean fem to impress people whether it's for love or peer pressure in a specific setting#like ''dressing up'' has always been a form of drag to me. like something i HAD to do to fit in or impress my parents (scott favor core)#but ever since this haircut i've realized... i could just BE masc innately like i really don't have to be womanly if i don't want to#which i usually don't. again i have only ever dressed fem for other people. but it's not even being masc that attracts me on its own#it's like. being masc in a distinctly lesbian way. as in whenever i look in the mirror i don't wanna be like a Guy i wanna be a dyke.#like lesbian as a gender identity too sort of thing honestly. okay i've been waffling but basically i sort of want to call myself butch#but i don't know if i like... can?? if i'm allowed to???#everyone always says it's MORE than just wearing boy clothes and not wearing makeup and having short hair (which i already do all those)#i mean i've always id'd as genderqueer because it literally just means gender weird and i experience gender in a queer way#what's probably the most telling is that my friends (all queer) CALL me a butch lesbian#like every time they do i feel really internally validated. it's not just my clothes but my personality too ig is what people tell me#i have a higher pitched voice relatively speaking but apparently the way i talk is quote ''very clockably into women''#which?? gender euphoria asf. my best friend specifically he (gay trans guy) always uses butch to describe me very intuitively#people have also noticed that i ''transitioned'' in all aspects except hormonally. like ppl have commented and noticed my masculinzation#but at the same time i always feel rly haunted by my ex relationships because one wanted me to be more masc#(she's the one who came out as straight and would treat me like a man) which i didn't like and i didn't like playing up being fem either#bc now it feels like she (butch) won't believe me if i called myself butch too bc she remembers me being femme#idk i feel like there's her voice in my head all the time that sees everything i do through her eyes (i'm lowkey still in love)#i feel like even though this comes so naturally to me i must be putting on a performance#even though i've actually read stone butch blues and done research into the history and i truly love and id with the culture like i rly do#that im still just a sad imitation of a butch lesbian and can never really be a part of it because i used to enjoy dressing up sometimes#like it's so stupid but can i still be butch if i wore a dress to prom and i think i looked good in it??#even though i was envious of my friends who wore suits?? that i used to try goth makeup?? that i liked long dresses??#that i enjoyed stacked necklaces and rings on every finger???#and tbh ALL OF THAT CAME FROM A CONCIOUS EFFORT TO FEMINIZE MYSELF IN JUNIOR YEAR OF HIGHSCHOOL WHEN I WAS 16#because omfg it was 2 months before junior prom and i was worried that i was too masc and wanted to get comfortable with being fem
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i hate how normalized military is in the us im gonna rip my hair out
#i just. was talking w friends today#one of them was talking abt how he was almost convinced by the recruitment lady to join the navy and i was like. dude#and i was talking about how messed up it is that they send in people like that and catch kids like him#and my friends were like. you cant really blame her for doing her job. its her JOB like yes. it is her job. its fucking Bad#my best friend got all angry cuz his dad was in the navy. babe idc if he didnt actually fight he shouldnt have done it ♡#''people get drafted'' you have to dodge the draft.#''thats illegal'' yes. this is a requirement for if you are drafted. you Have to just not.#no one said action would be comfortable nor convenient. in fact it is going to be almost none of either#you are gonna have to face that the military murders human beings and your dad is not any better#and people who its ''just their job'' to do it chose that job. and they know#''you cant get mad at the worker woman; you have to get mad at the institution'' no im mad at the individual woman too#just because its your job to manipulate kids and kill Arab people doesnt mean its okay#''not everyone in the military is actively fighting'' no! they arent. but they are helping those that are.#they are not complicit but actively helping. you have to do anything and everything you can to just Not Fucking do that#ANYONE in the military has failed being a decent human 101. being in any part of the military means you are okay with centuries of genocide#and encourage even more. its not 'just your job' you are OK and more for relentless murder and i wish you harm#anyways. sometimes repeating & internalizing the things ur parents say means watch our for road traps and the beatles are good.#sometimes it is US propaganda and just because it is in your own house and coming from a loved one doesnt mean you cant not fall for it#edit not to mention him saying this the day after aaron bushnell died. dude#unethical jobs exist. it is everyones job to bring them down#''its just her job'' was Bushnells sacrifice not fucking enough for you??? and the millions of dead Palestinians????? christ
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cant stop thinking abt that reply to bram's post abt the abusive cluster b parents so just know if u were abused like that, first of all, samesies and it gave me cluster b pds as a result, second of all, i promise no one whos calling for understanding of cluster b ppl is invalidating ur experiences. if u feel like they ARE, i sincerely hope u realise u dont have to have a medical explanation for why others suck. if ur parents sucked, u can just say that, and its freeing, and focusing on behavioural patterns instead of diagnoses (which u most likely dont have access to when it comes to strangers) will allow u to weed out actual bad ppl and keep urself safe(er)
#i understand its easy and comfortable to latch onto labels especially when it comes to parents#i did it#then i was diagnosed w the same shit#that was my turning point i think#when i realised we have the same shit and yet i am actively working very hard to be kind and compassionate#i dont go out of my way to be mean#at some point u have to realise that some ppl r just evil and mean spirited#and pds arent indicative of how self aware or kind or polite or compassionate someone is#i'd argue most of us put in SO much work to know ourselves and our potentially harmful behavioural patterns#way more than a neurotypical who never bothered to look inward for even a second#'these stereotypes dont come from nothing'#no shit! my dad called me both borderline and narcissist as insults AND I TURNED OUT TO HAVE BOTH#but let me tell u smth#most of my symptoms? are fucking survival mechanisms i learned as a child to avoid getting hurt. because thats what the brain does.#u know what else didnt come from thin air? sayings like hurt people hurt people#plus my victim complex allows me to write banger complaint letters now so theres that#look around u and be very comfortable w the fact that ur probably surrounded by a bunch of cluster b ppl that u adore#bc we're just ppl too#and ur doing urself a disservice trying to spot us#cluster b ppl can be evil ppl just as neurotypicals but they can also be ur friend who struggles w insecurities and is a huge ppl pleaser#bc they read the ableist posts too and they know everyone in the mainstream world thinks theyre evil#and when if u told them 'well my cluster b parents were abusive' in a less accusatory tone#maybe theyd look u in the eye w compassion and say 'yea i know how that feels and im here for u'
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