#idc what anyone else says or what the reasoning behind it is he doesn’t deserve to be in u.a. esp not the hero course. he sucks lol

[samingtonwilson]

A Bid on Bucky

Summary: You spend thousands of dollars at a bachelor auction for Bucky when you could’ve had him for free this entire time.

Pairing: bucky x reader

a/n: this fic is damning evidence that idiots in love is my favorite genre, your honor. i’ve more likely than not used this gif before but idc because im lov it

Tony Stark is a humanitarian— a fact you have neither forgotten, nor will he allow you to forget. 

Oftentimes, he’ll remind you verbally and, other times, a visual reminder will be posted on the team’s social media accounts. The pictures of him at the elephant sanctuary he helped found in Thailand are your personal favorites.

If news of his latest cause is not filling the pages of The Times or showing up on CNN’s special segment of Billionaires Who Care with Christiane Amanpour, it’s being distributed via monthly text reminder of reasons to leave Tony’s special coffee alone— last month you were told, “His donations allowed the doors of Planned Parenthood to remain open in developing nations such as Burkina Faso, and all he asks for in return is that his teammates do not finish his goddamn coffee.” 

Of course, because you all live for him sniffing out your mugs at morning meetings to discover the culprit, his reminders only lead to greater coffee theft as it, in turn, increases the redness in his face when he finds the morally corrupt heathenous criminal— who is usually Clint. 

In true Tony Stark fashion, though, his favorite way to remind you all, and the rest of the world, is through a gala. A gala where champagne flows like water, money is no object, extravagance is to be expected, and, as a member of the team, attendance is mandatory. 

At first, you hated the damn things. It’s not like you’ve ever cared about the private island one guest owns which another guest is so obviously jealous of, or if the deal to buy a chunk of land on the light side of the moon before that hippie Elon Musk usurps it all has successfully closed. 

But now? Now that you’ve learned how to direct the money those snots brag ostentatiously about into causes you truly care for with a couple little sly techniques, you fucking love the things. 

You and Natasha have a game, actually. Whose Shameless and Absolutely Disingenuous Flirting Will Lead to More Money Donated to (Insert Tony’s Latest Cause Here)? 

Natasha is the current titleholder as Smelly Von Oil Tycoon’s wife shooed you away before you could close the million dollar deal and Cowboy Hat McFast Food Franchise would have given up his entire company if Natasha kept batting her eyelashes at him. But in the end, just as every other time the two of you have played, you both felt like winners because the almost obscene amount of money was helping fund housing for Rohingya refugees living in Bangladesh. The competitive edge to it is just for entertainment. 

This time, though, seeing as this event is an auction and you are in no mood to flirt with red-faced old men with paper-thin skin, you have taken to auctioneering with Sam. 

Motioning to a projected photograph of a luxurious Paris hotel room with a view of the Eiffel Tower in your best Vanna White impression, you grin as brightly as you can. “And the last item Sam and I will be auctioning off together is a two-night stay at Plaza Athénée in Paris. First class airfare for two is included, as are two tickets to the Louvre. You’ve been to Paris, haven’t you, Sam?” 

“Why, yes, baby girl, I have,” he replies with a grin as broad as yours, the spotlight and his natural charm causing his deep brown eyes to sparkle like diamonds. You think for a second that you can actually hear Bucky scoffing in the audience. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but I will say that it is called the City of Love for a reason.” 

“Of course, our unlucky-in-love Sam shared those kisses only with every bit of bread and cheese he came across but you can share it all with someone special.” At that, Sam elbows you gently in the ribs with a fond roll of his eyes. “We’re going to start the bidding at twenty-thousand dollars.”

Immediately, paddles shoot up and Sam begins calling out higher bids and paddle numbers while you lean your hip against the podium and take a long sip of your champagne which has since, unfortunately, gone lukewarm and flat. Your face pinches and you scan the crowd for a wandering waiter. 

Before you can, though, your head tilts just as you spot Bucky, a large button reading “BACHELOR #4” pinned to the lapel of his tux.

He’s laughing. Not openly and loudly like he usually does when the two of you are alone, but his shoulders are shaking and he’s grinning so the skin beside his eyes wrinkles. You think fleetingly that his cheeks might even be dusted in pink as he ducks his head. 

The sight makes you smile, too, and you set your champagne aside. It’s secondary now. 

“Congratulations to Mr. Baldwin and all the other winners of these wonderful vacations,” Sam says once the winner has been announced and ushered backstage. “Sadly, our time is up for the night.”

You nod and pick up your microphone again. “Yes, but you will be seeing Sam again tonight as a part of the Bachelor Auction. Give the crowd a spin, Sam, show them what they could be going on a date with.” 

Sam unbuttons his wine-colored tuxedo and spins slowly, a slight swing in his hips. He’s met with several wolf-whistles, a rose thrown on stage, and a brief retching noise courtesy of Clint, to which Sam replies with a wink and a scoffed, “The glory is too much to handle for the insecure and faint of heart, ain’t it, Barton? We got a doctor on retainer in case you pass out.” 

Sam holds out his elbow to help you down the stairs and you gratefully loop your arm through his, your other hand hoisting the hem of your dress above your ankles. 

You sigh after meeting one of the bid winners, smile falling from your lips the moment you turn away. “I should’ve bid on that Marrakech trip.” 

Sam cocks an eyebrow. He doesn’t seem to mind one bit that you have yet to release him and simply follows you as you head to the bar. “Enjoy it last time?” 

“You mean when I was there to locate stolen Chitauri weapons?” you let out a bark of sarcastic laughter. “Steve didn’t even let me glance in the relative direction of a souq when that was the only reason I volunteered.” 

“So that’s a no?” 

You take the fresh flute of champagne a waiter offers and nod your thanks. “That’s a hell fucking no.” A pathetic pout and, “I deserve to love Morocco.” 

“Makin’ that face at me won’t help your cause. Makin’ that face at Pervert Santa Claus over there,” he points to a man, rosy-cheeked with a white beard and wandering eyes, who you recognize as the winner of the trip. “That’ll get you what you want.”

You make a face, tongue sticking out as you gag, and set your glass atop the bar. “First of all, even the prospect of sex with me will make his heart give out.”

Sam laughs into his tumbler of whiskey and rolls his eyes.

You grimace openly when the eyes of an elderly man— his arm around a woman who looks to be barely in her twenties— linger a bit too long and smile when he visibly shrinks. “And B., I only flirt with them to get donations. I’d sooner never leave this tower again than get with one of these ‘I only donate money to boost my public image’ types.” 

He hums and a slow, lazy smile curves his lips. He nods his head in the direction of something behind you. “Barnes’ got a different ideology.”

As casually as you can, you turn your body to lean your elbows atop the bar and tilt your head ever so slightly to glance where Bucky is standing. 

Standing and laughing. How is he still laughing? 

Arching an eyebrow at the woman he speaks to, you lift your glass to your lips. “Doesn’t look like she fits the bill.” 

“You’re joking,” Sam laughs, shaking his head as he sets his elbows on the bar as well. His shoulder brushes yours and, despite the itchy fabric of his tuxedo, you don’t mind. “That’s Maris Scheufele.” 

Long, chestnut brown hair swept over one shoulder to keep her back bare, her gown is silky, liquid gold. Dripping in wealth.

You purse your lips and turn back to Sam. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” 

“Chopard heiress.” 

“Chopard like—” with wide eyes, you point at the sapphire and diamond earrings borrowed from Pepper on your ears and the matching ring on your left index finger. “Like Cannes Film Festival Chopard? Like that Chopard?” 

“Yeah, that Chopard.” He has to stop from laughing at the look you offer him. He thinks he might see your skin turn green in a matter of minutes. “She’s more loaded than Cigarette-Breath Du Rideshare-App-CEO from the elephant benefit.” 

You manage a small smile and a quick roll of your eyes, only to have them once again land on Bucky and the Chopard heiress. Maris. 

You aren’t jealous— per se. Jealousy is an ugly emotion, after all. Childish, and inconsiderate, and rooted in insecurity. 

Sure, she’s cuddled up next to someone you’re in the midst of denying feelings for out of fear and the prospect of being undeserving. And, sure, she’s covered in diamonds and you’re usually covered in dried blood, dust, and dirt from HYDRA facilities. But you aren’t jealous. 

You know you’ve wasted your time, his efforts, and your emotions being anything but happy with Bucky. Chances lost never come around again, right? So you’ve made your peace with it. You’ve had to make your peace with it.

With how much you’ve messed up, how many chances you’ve lost. With how perfect she is and how perfect he looks laughing with her. 

Perfect. 

So perfect that your teeth grit and the grip you have on your champagne flute tightens.

“He’s gonna bring in the big bucks.” 

You snort. “I thought he had different ideologies.”

“He does. But you know she ain’t gonna let him get auctioned off to anyone else.” A corner of Sam's lips turn up in disgust as he, too, stares at them with little stealth. Nick Fury would be ashamed in you both. “Lookin’ at him like he’s a piece of jerky.” 

“Jerky?”

“Old, dried up beef.” He then hums in agreement with his own words. “Nasty, hundred-year old beef.” 

With a laugh— a laugh that has the cadence of a sob— you drop your head into your hands. 

You meet Bucky’s eyes when you pick your head up, his head tilted in silent question. Perhaps at your wet, ironic smile, perhaps at the pull of your eyebrows. 

You shake your head in response and it’s when he almost immediately returns to laughing at whatever Maris Scheufele is saying that you straighten with a frown. 

What the hell kind of name is that anyway? Maris.

“What the hell—” you pause to take the glass from Sam’s hands and polish off his whiskey. “What the hell is so funny?” 

The glass is snatched back. “Not you finishing my drink, that’s for sure.” 

Shrugging as you continue to stare at Bucky and Maris, you mumble, “Put the next one on my tab.” 

Sam snorts as he asks for another drink, facing you as he adds, “S’an open bar, you cheap ass.” 

Once you’ve been able to secure a fresh, much stronger drink for yourself, you loop your arm through Sam’s again and set your chin on his shoulder. Your noses nearly bump when he looks at you and you both laugh softly. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” 

“You did.” He yelps and laughs when you pinch his side, lightly knocking his head against yours. Gentle eyes meet yours as he says, “Not tryna be harsh, but you had him and you let him go.” 

“I know.” 

“He spent weeks moping about it, you spent weeks moping about it.” 

“I know.”

“It was miserable comforting both you idiots.” 

“Yeah, you’re the real victim here.” 

Despite your dry tone, he nods in agreement. “You could tell him right now. Get all this bullshit over with and out in the open.”

Just the idea makes your heart rate spike. “He might reject me. Exact revenge for what I did.” 

“Barnes is a lotta things. Greasy, geriatric, testy, fuckin’ annoying as shit—” Sam hisses when you pinch him again, “— but vindictive ain’t one of ‘em.” 

Before Sam can convince you to move even an inch from the part of the bar you’ve dubbed yours for the night, warm fingers wrap around your elbow and tap your arm five times in quick succession. A secret identification code. 

A secret identification code that makes you smile despite yourself. You lift your head from Sam’s shoulder and hope you don’t look too eager as Bucky leans back against the bar, facing you entirely. “Look who it is.” 

He waves vibranium fingers and grins, a bit of that thirties charm you’d heard so much about shining in his blue eyes as he looks at you. “Hi, sweetheart. Wilson,” he adds with a playfully curt nod, chuckling when Sam returns it. “You were great up there. Prettiest MC I’ve ever seen. Almost had me buyin’ the trip to Morocco to make up for the shit Steve put you through.”

You feel Sam shaking in silent laughter and sigh when you hear his whispered, “For fuck’s sake.” 

“Only ‘almost’?” you ask with a pout Bucky grins at and wide eyes that have him swallowing over a dry throat. “What does a girl have to do for you to actually bid?” 

He shakes his head after a moment of simply staring, chuckling. “These poor bastards don’t stand a chance against you, do they? They’d probably sign their entire companies over to you and not think twice about it.”

“Just doing my part to save the Amazon,” you shrug. “Like you’re doing with the Bachelor Auction.” 

“‘Bout that,” he begins as he straightens his jacket and tie— all black. You trace his jaw, sharp and angular, when he glances away for just a second. “How long d’you think it’ll take Stark to put me out of my misery when nobody bids on me?”

“I wouldn’t be so negative. I know of one person who’ll definitely bid on you.”

His lips quirk up on one end, eyes dreamy as his head tilts in indulgence. “Yeah? Who’s that?” 

“Your heiress.” 

Bucky doesn’t seem to notice Sam jabbing his elbow into your ribs and cocks an eyebrow in confusion. “My what?” 

Though you weren’t planning on replying, Tony’s voice over the speakers doesn’t allow Bucky to question you further and you heave a sigh of relief. He calls all the bachelors to the stage and Sam pulls his arm from yours, bumping your shoulders together before he departs just as Tony begins telling a story of his first bachelor auction and how much he went for. 

Bucky remains still, however. Leant against the bar, eyes on you. 

“Bachelor number 4,” you say, pointing at the button he wears. You smile softly. “You’re needed on stage.” 

That seems to jolt him out of whatever stupor he was lost in and he stands straight. He takes a step forward and pauses, so close you can feel the heat radiating from him and smell his subtle cologne. “Bid on me if no one else does.” 

“I won’t need to.” 

Natasha finds you just as the bidding begins and orders herself a drink. She doesn’t say much, simply looking at you as you stare at Bucky standing next to Steve and Sam, and nods to herself. She remains a quiet, comfortable presence until Steve is brought to centerstage and nearly every paddle in the room shoots up. “You tell him yet?” 

“Nope.” 

“Thought so.” She nods her head to her left and you follow the movement to where Maris sits, back straight as she, too, looks at Bucky— but she’s grinning, paddle poised to be raised. “Scheufele being a cock block?” 

You’re visibly surprised when you turn back to Natasha, her ginger hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. “How did you— How the hell could you possibly know that?” 

With the crooked curve of blood red lips, she smiles. “I’m just that good. And Sam texted me about it ten minutes ago.”

She continues to watch you as the excited winner of a date with Steve rises from his seat. “He’s next.” 

“I know that.” 

“You gonna bid on him?” 

You snort, though unconvincingly, and shake your head. “And go against an heiress? I’ll save myself the embarrassment.” 

“Stark pays us buckets,” she tells you with a frown, picking a stray piece of lint off her silver dress. “You could afford to go against an heiress.”

Bucky’s eyes are narrowed as he looks over the crowd of people seated at their tables. The light bounces off diamonds and sequins, gold and shiny leather shoes. It stings his eyes, it makes him scowl. 

“And next, ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on Bachelor Number 4,” Tony announces, turning a bit to glance at Bucky as he trudges over, not bothering to look a bit more appealing. “James Buchanan Barnes, truly the human equivalent of a cat.” 

Bucky openly glares at Tony now.

“James enjoys silence, brooding, eating like a fuckin’ horse, and telling the same story more than once,” Tony continues, ignoring the roll of Bucky’s eyes. “Cute, cuddly, and a little dangerous, we’ll start the bidding at one-thousand.” 

Three paddles shoot up. One from Maris, and two toward the center of the room. Your shoulders tense, Bucky’s relax.

“Okay, do I see eleven hundred?” 

Two paddles remain lifted until Maris shouts from her seat in a lilting voice, “Three thousand.” 

Your jaw clenches, Bucky grins. 

Tony set his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Alright, three thousand going once—” 

“Thirty-one hundred!” 

It feels as if the entire room turns in their seats to gape at you, but you try to pay them no mind. You, wearing your jealousy and determination like armor, stand at the bar with an empty glass in your hand, waiting for Tony to call your bid. But before he can— 

“Thirty-two!”

Your eyebrows furrow as you look at Maris. “Thirty-three!” 

“Four thousand!” She’s smiling. A perfectly manicured eyebrow is raised in challenge. 

You see red. “Forty-three hundred.” 

“Six thousand!” 

“Sixty-five hundred!” 

“Seventy-five hundred!”

When you look at the stage in a bit of a panic, Tony grins expectantly at you and Bucky— Well, you don’t think Bucky’s ever looked so shocked in all the time you’ve known him. But when his eyes go from Maris to meet yours, you find yourself yelling, “Ten thousand!” 

The room goes silent, or maybe you’ve just tuned it all out, and Tony is shaking his head in amusement. “Ten thousand going once.” 

You turn toward Maris as she sits and tosses her paddle onto the table. “Ten thousand going twice.”

You face the stage again. Bucky’s expression is unreadable. “Sold to our beautiful teammate in blue.” 

A bright spotlight shines on you and you fight the urge to run from the room, from the Tower, from New York, and give your best smile. 

— 

It’s four in the morning, all the lights on the residential floors of the Tower have been turned off, and the world is peaceful. But your mind continues to race. 

You sit at the kitchen counter, container of Sam’s leftover cheesecake from your lunch out with him open before you. You twirl a fork between your fingers and stare at nothing in particular, your soft breaths the only sound in the room. 

You’d changed out of your dress hours ago, washed off your makeup and taken the pins out of your hair. You could barely meet the eyes of your reflection out of fear of judgement and you didn’t ask FRIDAY to dim the lights or lock your door just in case she laughed at you. 

Tony had yet to talk to you about paying the ten grand you bid on Bucky and you left the ballroom before anyone could so much as snicker. You knew you couldn’t hide forever, you just needed the night to come to terms with your own stupidity. 

Yet as you prop your chin upon your palm and sigh, you think you might need a day or two, too. 

Quiet steps down the hall are made purposefully louder as they grow closer so as to not startle you, the lights dim as bulbs flicker on to about ten-percent of their full brightness. You fear your heartbeat might be audible to everyone in a ten mile radius at the sight of his blue eyes, messy brown hair, and wrinkled black t-shirt, and take a deep breath through parted lips in a futile attempt to calm it down.

He offers you a small smile and walks to the fridge. “You want some water?” 

You shake your head— even though he can’t see you. “No, I’m fine.” 

There’s a beat of silence and you take a breath to steady yourself. “Buck, I think we should talk.” 

He takes out a glass bottle of water for himself and shuts the fridge, leaning against the sink. He’s still smiling. “I know.” 

“I—” 

“I’m not gonna hold you to this thing,” he interjects, rolling the bottle between his hands. He watches as you sit up straight and set your fork down. “I know you made the bid just to donate the money and save me from that married heiress—” 

“Married?” you repeat to yourself. 

“And you’ve made it clear you just want to be friends,” he continues, undeterred. “So it’s okay. Hell, I’ll pay for half of it so I’ll feel like I’ve actually done somethin’ to save the sea turtles.” 

“The Amazon.” 

“Right, the Amazon,” he amends with a quiet laugh. He takes a sip of the water and sets the botte aside. “So whaddya say, huh? We’ll go half and half, help this cause out a little, and you don’t have to go on a date with me.” 

“Bucky, you don’t understand—” 

“No, no, I get it,” he says, walking around the narrow strip of granite separating you to sit on the stool beside yours. Features soft but a little sad, he shrugs as warmth rolls off him in waves. “I told you to bid on me in case no one else did and you saw how much more Steve went for. You tried to raise the bids on me and got stuck since those billionaires didn’t want to shell out more than ten grand on the Winter Soldier. I get it!” 

“That’s not why I did it, Bucky. Not at all.” 

He lowers his eyes to his hands, staring at mismatched palms, and says nothing. 

“Honestly, I—” You stop yourself when it feels as if your heart’s lodged itself in your throat and struggle to swallow over it. “When I saw that Chopard heiress talking to you and laughing with you, and when she bid on you and almost won that date, I— Something happened.” 

He looks at you now, eyebrows pulled together. “What happened?” 

“I— I don’t know. I guess I was a little jealous,” you say with a laugh only to shake your head. There’s a subtle sting behind your eyes, at the tip of your nose, and you pray to every deity you can think of to stop any tears. “No, I was very, very jealous. You two looked so happy and perfect and I wanted to scream, and cry, and— Fuck, all I could think about is how much time, and energy, and emotion I’ve wasted pushing you away so neither one of us ends up heartbroken when I already am.” 

You sigh, unable to meet his gaze as he gapes at you, his mouth hanging open as you laugh mirthlessly. “It probably seems so stupid to you and I know you’ve moved on, but, holy hell, I wish you still had some kind of crush on me because I’m dying here, Buck. I mean I just spent ten thousand dollars to make you go on a date with me.” 

“You did,” he agrees. He’s smiling when you manage to look at him, “You spent ten thousand dollars on me when you could’ve just had me for free this entire time.” 

He grasps your chin between his flesh index finger and thumb and jostles you a little, gaze so adoring. “And what punk ass told you I moved on from you? Huh? That same goof who said it’s just a crush?” 

He leans forward and pauses just before his lips meet yours, as if waiting for you to pull away only for you to close the distance first. 

What starts off as just a light brush of your lips against his quickly turns into a deep, hungry kiss that quiets your mind and forces your heart into overdrive. The warmth of it reaches your toes and every hair follicle, especially as both his hands cup your face while your fingers tangle through his hair, the rasp of his stubbly beard against your soft, sensitive skin stealing your breath even more.

You pull away first and your voice is small, a bit hoarse as you ask, “So you still like me?” 

He sets his forehead against yours and his lips pull into a smile. “I’d say it’s a li’l more than that, sweetheart.” 

It’s hours later when the sun is up, the cheesecake slice is long forgotten, and Bucky’s pulled you onto his stool to straddle his lap, your lips swollen and a little painful, that you groan in embarrassment. 

He immediately leans away from your neck and looks up at you in concern, lips full and cherry red. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“I have to pay Tony ten thousand dollars.” 

Chuckling, he rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to your chin. “I’ll pay it.” 

“Then I’ll owe you ten thousand dollars.” You withhold a moan when he nips at a part of your neck that has your hips rolling into his, the hitching of his breath felt more than heard. “That— that just transfers the problem.”

You feel him smile, arm tightening around you. “I think I know of a way you can pay me back.”

“Sounds like you just discovered the world’s oldest profession.” 

A punishing nip under your jaw and you gasp as he laughs. “I’m still all for going half and half to save the sea turtles.” 

“The Amazon.” 

He sighs and leans back. “Fuckin’ Christ. Someone needs to save the fuckin’ turtles already, then.”

#i wish i could show y'all the dress i imagine her wearing but alas #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader angst #well. mild angst #VERY mild

[imaginedxlan]

Alpha Pt. 3 (Grayson Dolan)

a/n: I think its actually been two years since I wrote the first two parts of alpha but idc I’m actually in college now i feel like I have actual insight on how Mr. Alpha of ATO would act around y/n. 

After their date, or forced casual hangout according to y/n, Grayson doesn’t necessarily keep his end of the deal. 

y/r/n = your roommate’s name

warning(s): sexual allusions, cussing, drinking

(part one/part two)

_______________________________

When you return home from your, well you’re not actually sure what to call it, with Grayson, your roommate immediately sits up to see your face, looking for any indication of how your night went. She throws her chem textbook to the side and give you a look as to say well?

You close the door behind you before putting your face in your hands and taking a seat at your desk. You keep shaking your head, there is not a chance in hell you have feelings for this boy. The boy who preyed on a freshman at her very first college party. The boy who stalked you around all of your classes, got your phone number and somehow found out all about your life in the span of a week. You keep reminding yourself of the weird and uncomfortable things he’s done to distract you from the way he planned out an entire evening for the two of you, or that he actually helped you find your sister and her friends or how good he looked when the setting sun hit his tan skin in his topless Jeep only hours ago. Jesus, y/n, snap out of it. 

“Come on, spill!” Your roommate begs, she had to deal with your ranting about not wanting to go all afternoon, she deserves to at least know how it went. “What did you do? What was he like? How’d he dress? Oh my god did you hook up?”

“Ew, y/r/n, no!” You gasp at her last question. How could she expect you to hookup with someone you hate? “It was fine. We ate dinner in some park then he took me to that neon sign museum. Nothing fancy, he had a shirt on which was a first. He acted nice but I don’t buy it for a second.”

“Neither,” She replies, knowing the boy only from how you’ve described him. “He’s probably just trying to get in your pants so he can bug your sister about it.”

She’s right. You can’t fall into his trap, he has ulterior motive. They always do. You just have to go on and find some boy on your floor to kiss and get him out of your head for good. Every part of you wishes your sister hadn’t broken up with her boyfriend, he would’ve given Grayson a piece of his mind if he knew that he was bothering you. Unfortunately for you and her ex, y/s/n does not like to be tied down and she needed to “have her fun” for her last first semester. You and y/r/n talk for a little while longer, about classes and whatnot, but mostly end up talking about Grayson again. 

“We should go to bed.” You finally say, yawning and looking down at your phone screen that read 12:47 am. Your roommate huffs, obviously wanting to hear more about your night with the infamous Alpha Dog of ATO. “Recruitment starts tomorrow, we have to meet our groups at eight in the morning, remember?”

“I know, I know,” She replies, slipping out of her bed so she can gather her things to get ready for bed. You grab you toiletries bag as well and head toward the bathroom with her. “We’re talking about this tomorrow, don’t think I’ve let up.”

Recruitment happens over the span of four days, this weekend and next. It’s a dry rush period so no potential new members can be seen on frat property, giving you a good enough reason to avoid Grayson. Going into recruitment you’re already around ninety-two percent sure you’ll end up in Delta Gamma, just like your sister and your mom. The next few days of recruitment go well, you meet new friends from your rush group who help through the stressful process. Throughout the week you get sporadic texts from none other than Grayson Dolan wishing you luck with those days rounds, giving you unsolicited pointers of where to pref, and telling you that he saw you walking on greek row. You don’t respond to any, hoping he gives up on trying to woo you. So much for leaving you alone after one date. You pref Delta Gamma and Kappa Alpha Theta, but end up ranking DG first, not wanting to end your legacy but also because you felt you fit in most there. It was no surprise when you got a bid. Your sister is over the moon, shrieking over how her biological sister is now her deegster. You still have to get used to the lingo.

You come to find during bid day, which is Space Cowboy themed of course, that your new pledge class will be going out for bid-night with your bid day bigs. You don’t understand half of the things they’re saying to you, the language of sorority girls still lost on you. You’re added to a GroupMe with the new pledges of Alpha Tau Omega, just when you thought you could escape that fraternity as a whole, your bid night is with them. You almost immediately get a text from Grayson.

following in sissy’s steps? see you tonight miss delta gamma, anchor down ;)

What is it with him and these nicknames? You show your sister and she fake gags, saying she can’t believe he’s still texting you after all this time. She still has no idea about last weekend, you intend to keep it that way. When you get back to your dorm, you and your roommate talk all about bid day, she ended up going Kappa. Her bid night was with Phi Gamma Delta, or Fiji. If only you could have been so lucky. She can’t help but snort at the fact that you’re going to ATO tonight, she says it’s the universal pulling you and Dolan together. 

Your sister won’t being coming out with you tonight, having a lab tomorrow morning that she simply cannot miss. You’re partly grateful for it, now Grayson can’t let it slip to her that you two went out together. You end up getting ready in the room of a girl of your floor who you met today at bid day, wanting to base your outfit on someone else’s to blend in as much as possible. With the massive group of girls coming into his house, surely he won’t be able to find you. You meet up with your bid day big along with the girl on your floor’s and you all walk toward the ATO house together. You’re nervous, extremely nervous, but you don’t show it. As you near the house, you’re met with the mix of conflicting basses coming from any frat basement on the block. There are a few girls waiting outside the familiar house, and thats when you see it.

Grayson Dolan at the door, personally greeting every single one of your new sisters, his eyes scanning over every single one of the freshman walking into the door, earning him plenty of groans from the older girls. You don’t mean to say anything out loud, but you let an oh god slip. Your bid day big turns to you with a confused look.

“My sisters warned me about him,” You tell her, which is half of the truth. “Real scumbag I’ve heard.”

She just laughs, not even needing to agree with you for you to know she feels the same way about him. The closer you get to the front door, the more your stomach aches. If only you could be in your dorm watching Barbie Mermaidia with your roommate like last night. You try your best to hide within the group you came with, but it’s no use, he has his single file, one over strategy down to a science. 

“Hello you.” He greets you with a shit-eating grin. You hope the girls with you don’t catch him singling you out. “I’ll see you inside.”

“Fuck off Dolan,” Your bid day big calls over to him. “She’s not one of your play things.”

She pulls you inside before Grayson can say anything else. Luckily he doesn’t follow the two of you either. She gets you a drink and you socialize with the girls and some of the guys. You’re more focused on making girl friends tonight, as much as you’ve loathed your time at ATO, finding a group of girls to wander around greek row on a Saturday night is and essential part to your freshman year plan. You don’t even realize how drunk you’re getting, you follow your sister’s order to never take a cup from a brother, only ever allowing something you or one of your sisters have mixed to travel down your throat. You recall the words of your sisters earlier in the night, ‘bid night means black out ladies.’ You certainly don’t want to black out, but getting a little tipsy won’t hurt anyone. Toward the middle of the night you’re all dancing, body to body in their packed and sweaty basement. You have to admit, you’re actually kind of having fun. When you feel a pair of hands dig into your hips you don’t even flinch, simply moving your hips along to whatever shitty remix is coming from the massive speakers. You swing yourself around to face the boy and wrap your arms around his neck while his stay on your hips. You don’t recognize him, but from what you can see under the dim colored lights he’s cute. Mostly everyone in ATO is. He gives you a grin, letting one of his hands travel closer toward your ass, you don’t mind it, at least it’s not Grayson.

Grayson. Where is that boy? He said he’d meet you inside and it’s been at least an hour and a half. You don’t know why your mind is suddenly wandering off to Grayson. How he must look right now, definitely shirtless with some stupid phrase painted across his chest. How the sweat from the sheer amount of bodies in the house is probably making his tan skin glisten under the LED lights. How his hands are probably wrapped around a red solo cup so perfectly. You don’t even realize you’re biting your lip until your lips are connected with the boy you’re dancing with. You don’t hesitate to kiss him back, suddenly feeling all hot and bothered after picturing Grayson, wherever he is in this house. Snap out of it. Finding Grayson even remotely attractive would go against everything you stand for, your sister would probably smack your head to make sure there is still a brain in there. 

You keep drinking, everything practically going down like water at this point. Your speech is slurring and the room spins around you. You leave the boy you’re dancing with for another drink, finding the stairs to the main floor and gripping onto the handle for dear life. You stumble towards where some boy is pouring a mystery liquid into a cup and stop in front of it. Your new drink is swiftly taken from you and placed back on the table and you’re pulled from the crowd of people.

“How much have you had to drink.” It’s Grayson. He looks so good, you think. He’s shouting over the music for you to answer him. “I’m serious y/n, I need a number.”

You try and do the mental math but the only clear thought in your brain at the moment is how good he looks with his shirt off. You start to count on your fingers but lose track at five so you just shrug. He rolls his eyes, knowing that if anything were to happen to you your sister would beat his ass like it was somehow his fault.

“Why do you care, dad.” You mock him as he tries to think about what he should do with you. “I have to drink this much, I’m in a sos-sorotity you know?”

He can’t help but laugh at the way you’re butchering the words coming out of your mouth, the slurring evident on your tongue. “Okay, miss sorotity, follow me.” He grasps your hand, interlocking your fingers and begins to pull you up another flight of stairs that you’ve never been up. This house is massive. He pulls you into a room and locks the door behind him. Even with the room spinning you can make out a few features. A bed with a white comforter that lies low to the ground, a big frame holding what looks like a yearbook page of girls, and a lava lamp. 

“Is this your room?” You ask, leaning up against the wall for some stability. He just nods, fiddling with something in his drawers. “I’m not having, s-sex with you Grayson. You can’t make me.”

“I don’t want to have sex with you, sweetheart.” He mumbles back, pulling an article of clothing out of the open drawer. Once you process what he says all you can think is ouch. He’s fucked practically every girl on at this school, are you so repulsive you’re excluded from the campus wide Grayson Dolan body count? “Oh don’t be sad, I meant I’m not having sex with you tonight, y/n. Contrary to your hilarious nickname you came up with for me the first night we met, I don’t fuck drunk girls.”

You realize you may have said ouch out loud, have you been doing that all night? He’s only telling you this because he’s almost one hundred percent certain you’ll remember none of this in the morning. Between the jungle juice and natty seltzers, the only thoughts in your brain tomorrow will be getting to a toilet bowl immediately. He pulls out a shirt and a pair of boxers and tosses them your way. You don’t catch them, just start stripping your shirt off.

“Jesus, y/n, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were giving me a little strip tease.” He jokes with you, turning his head away from you, letting you keep at least part of your dignity. “Tell me when you’re done.”

“I can’t put them on, Grayson.” You whine, your drunken brain unable to comprehend how to put on a t shirt. You pick it up off the ground and hold it out for him to grab. “Help me.”

He huffs out and takes the shirt from your hands, he should at least be getting paid for babysitting you like he is. He pulls his shirt over your head and forces your arms through their respective holes. As he’s about to walk away from you again, you put and point at your shoes and jeans. He rolls his eyes and pulls both your shoes and socks of both feet before carefully undoing your zipper and shimmying the fabric off your sweaty legs, then pulling the pair of boxers over your hips. He’s usually taking underwear off girls, not putting a second pair on. His breathe hitches at the oddly intimate moment he’s sharing with you, you won’t remember any of it but he doesn’t usually do this. You suddenly feel very tired, almost collapsing on top of Grayson before he steadies your hips. He pulls back his comforter for you to slide under. You sink into his mattress and smile at your need for a bed being fulfilled. The lights shut off and you hear him unlock and open the door.

“Wait!” You call after him, making him stop in his tracks. “Can you stay?”

“You’re one needy chick when you’re drunk, huh?” He asks, walking back into the room and locking the door behind him again. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, you know that?”

You just give him a cheesy smile, not sure if he can even see you in the dark room, but you don’t care. You hear his shoes hit the ground and the bed dips next to you. You can still hear the music coming from the basement, it’s muffled but you can still make out every word. You roll over to face Grayson and he’s already looking at you.

“What’re you looking at?”

“You.”

A goofy grin graces your lips when he says it. If you were sober you’d probably protest, whack his arm or something, but now you don’t care. You let your index finger drag along his bicep, up over his shoulder and neck, around his face and then boop his nose. You can feel his face shift when he smiles. 

“You have a pretty smile,” The words leave your lips before you can even think if it’s an okay thing to say. He lets out a short laugh, finding your drunk self’s inability to filter your thoughts amusing. “You’re handsome, Grayson.”

“You’re drunk, y/n.” He teases you. “You need to stop talking before you say something you regret.”

You whine, faking a pout on your lips. “I think it when I’m not drunk too.”

He can’t contain his smile, pushing a piece of hair that has fallen into your face. “We’ll talk in the morning. Goodnight, y/n.”

You wake up with a pounding headache and no recollection of last night past kissing some boy in the basement of ATO. You rub your eyes, shielding them from the light coming in the large window. Large window? This isn’t your dorm, you’re not in your bed and that is certainly not your roommate passed out next to you.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” You whisper repeatedly as you try your best to slip out of the bed you’re currently in. Your shirt and jeans and shoes are strewn across the floor and your in someone else’s shirt and pants. Underwear is still on, two pairs now which is comforting. In your attempt to sneak out of whoever’s room this is you ram your knee into the dresser beside the door. “Goddamnit!”

Before you can continue gathering your things, the figure that you were just sleeping next to takes in a deep breath and let’s out a loud groan, stretching out his arms. “Y/n?”

You know that voice from anywhere, you’re so fucked. “Grayson?”

He sits up and runs his hands through his hair. The contrast of his tan skins against the white comforter is breathtaking. His hair is going in all different directions but he still looks good, how does he always looks good? His silver chain hangs loose around his neck and falls just belong his collar bone. You genuinely believe, at least physically, he is without flaws.

“Surprised?”

“Obviously I am!” You shout back, hurting your own head in the process. “Oh god, oh fuck, did we?”

“God, no, y/n.” He stops your spiralling. You let out a breath of relief that you didn’t even know you were holding. “You think I would have sex with you if I had any doubt that you would remember it in the morning? No, you were hammered and about to keep drinking and I saw where the situation was going so I room you out of it. End of story.”

“So I changed myself?”

“You were meant to, but you started whining like a three year old that you didn’t know how to put a shirt one.” He replies. You’re not really sure how to feel about it, but it’s better than the alternative. “I put your clothes on and put you to bed.”

You let out a sigh, plopping yourself back onto the bed now that you know who it belongs to. You wish you could remember last night, knowing you probably did and said some things in your drunken state that you’re sure you’ll regret if you ever hear of them. Grayson just looks at you, wondering what’s going on in your mind and thinking about what you said to him last night. How you complimented his smile and called him handsome. He couldn’t get it out of his mind. When you turn your body to face him, he scans your features. Hair a mess from both the dingy basement and the hours of sleep you just got, your mascara has collected under your eyes but you still look pretty.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You pull him from his thoughts of you, he didn’t even realize he was staring. He shakes his head and puts on his signature smirk to prevent you from thinking anything other than that he’s an asshole who’s mind is on girls 24/7. He has a reputation to keep and all.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to kiss me or something.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you.”

“Oh fuck off, Dolan.” You scoff at him before he makes the decision to bring himself just inches from your face. So close that you can feel the warmth from his body. Your first instinct is to touch him somewhere, anywhere, but you don’t act on it. “What are you doing?”

“Just getting a better look,” He replies making your eyes roll. Anytime you think you’re letting yourself fall for him he says something gross. “Do you want me to be doing something?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, y/n.”

It’s silent. There’s nothing to say. Your chest is moving up and down at a rapid pace, you’re not sure why you can’t seem to catch your breath but you can’t. His eyes flicker between your and and your lips. Before you can stop yourself you reach your hand to sit on his cheek and inch your body closer to his. The closer you get the more you can feel his hot breathe on your lips and without a second thought you bring your lips to meet his. Your brain is fuzzy and your body feels like it’s on fire but it feels right.

It doesn’t take long for Grayson to kiss you back, he’s actually shocked you gave in given the way you ignored him for weeks. He rolls over so that he can steady himself with him one arm beside you and the other gripping your waist. You can still barely breathe and he notices. He pulls away from you and give you the biggest shit eating grin. “Can believe you gave in.”

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

#grayson dolan #ethan dolan #the dolan twins #the dolan twins imagine #grayson dolan imagine #ethan dolan imagine #dolan twins

[porthecrawl-witness]

Hey, I'm so glad to see you're still working on this! I wanted to gush over on CoG but a n x i e t y. :'D I really love your world building, and every character is memorable in their own way. I just wanna squish everyone (especially Faye and Elle and Talbot, my bebes)

That said, I've decided to dub Talbot my gumdrop (he's colorful, can be a lot to chew on, not everyone's favorite but he sticks to you and has his own unique flavor, and the people who love him do a lot) idc if he can hold his own, I will throw down over this one if there's a fight lol. How would he react to that kind of thing? Also, how would the ROs feel about pet names in general?

Alsooo because I can't gush enough, I'm really glad to see nice ace options, being demi myself. You're great, you're doing great, I'd totally buy you desserts and caffeine. K thanks I'm gonna stop now before I embarrass myself.

...I...can I just have a minute to scream to myself, because thank you so much?

And, trust me, I get the anxiety thing! I’m working through it! Seriously, anon, I really appreciate you reaching out with the kind words.

...also...gumdrop? (I’m sorry, I’m incoherent) the way you’ve described Talbot is perfect, and really reassuring to me that the character has come across as I’d hoped!

So...I hope you don’t mind (and this probably wasn’t what you were asking for, but your message meant a lot to me when I needed to hear it!)...but...*ahem* a hypothetical situation, post throw-down in Talbot’s defense, huh?...

...each breath feels an effort, though not quite your own. These...assholes, you think, wishing you had the presence of mind to call them something else, had come out of nowhere.

They hadn't liked his look, they said. Or the way he had talked to them when they'd tried to approach you in the bar.

Their mistake had been following you outside. Talbot had taken some persuading to leave, but -- when he'd realized how serious you were -- he'd acquiesced with only a silent gesture toward the door.

He'd slipped his blue coat around you on your way out.

Funny, it's still there. As much a part of you as it is of him.

You've never been in a fight before. Not any meaningful one. It leaves your hands shaking -- trembling. Like a child who can't separate the nightmare of a thunderstorm from reality.

They had followed you out, the group of them, threatened *him*, because he didn't belong here. Didn't belong with you.

And he had smiled at their objections.

At you. At them.

You wish you could say they had moved first. Because Talbot's softer than anyone gives him credit for. Tamer. Sometimes you think that's your doing.

He's loud and he's colorful, but he's yours, and you would have been disappointed if he'd struck first. So, he hadn't.

But you had. 

At the first crude word, you'd launched yourself at them. The little reporter in their first fist fight. For Talbot.

The best of reasons, you think, as your breath finally catches up to you.

You hear a groan from behind you. A man's...Talbot's? But as you turn, he's still standing, obscured in the ugly alley light. He flexes his hand to wring the pain from it. Below, one of the men lies at his feet, jaw askew, one eye already swelling shut.

You open your mouth. "Are you --"

But he doesn't let you finish.

In a step, Talbot's hands are on your face, his forehead pressing to yours.

"You shouldn't have done that," even now, he smells of cloves and cinnamon, and it's with a dazed, sluggish thought that you remember he hadn't touched the first drop while you'd been at the bar. He doesn’t drink. Not these days. He says, "You're mad. Electric. Like lightening in the daytime."

You want to tell him he's full of shit. Anybody else and you would have.

He takes a breath. Ragged beneath his tattooed chest. "Don't fight for me."

"They --"

"Don't fight for me." He says again. He means it. His eyes are hard, even on you. They're so dark. They've no right to be blue.

"They deserved it." The argument feels weak. And immediately, you're angry you've said it.

"Not you," he says, "Not for me. Did they hurt you?"

"No." You don't think they had. Your adrenaline is still pumping, buzzing away in your ears to drown out even his voice.

"I -- " His lips press shut. Full. Beautiful as the rest of him.

You speak when he can’t. You say, "I wanted to look out for you. You don't need it, but..."

All at once, the ever-present pride bleeds out from Talbot's expression. It's only then that you see his nose is bloody. He'd taken a hit. Maybe a few. He’s taken them before. They’ve left him scarred where no one can see. Beneath the tattoos. Beneath the bluster. 

"I --" He says again. He makes it no further this time. It's several drawn breaths later, the warmth of him pressing closer as the noise from the wounded swells. "You're right. I didn't need it. But...you did it because you wanted to?"

He doesn’t know. It hurts you that after all this time that he’s unsure. Unconvinced. You might change your mind. He hopes you will. 

"Yes," you say.

Always because you want to. That's all that ever seems to matter to him. So, you say it again.

“Yes.”

He blinks. And then, he looks stricken. He looks like it’s finally clicked. You’ve drawn blood for him. The last thing he’d wanted.

And the only thing that mattered.

He’s so...beautiful. So much more than average. With a resolute nod, he says as much. "Then, that's all that matters.”

With little more than a click of his tongue, he releases his grip on your face. His hands move to pull at your coat -- his coat.

"Let us go? These...men --" No, you can already tell he doesn't like the term. "Cowards. They'll call the police."

One of them seems to have heard him. You try not to hold your breath when Talbot steps away. The blows that follow are brutal. Ugly. Uncivilized.

Like him. Sometimes. And sometimes not.

He joins you again, this time, his chest is heaving beneath the bloodied silk. His knuckles are split. They’ll need mending. You or Staci. You both love him, wretched as he is.

"I don't need you to fight for me." He takes your hand, the only indication that you're *more* to him. "But I'll love you for it, if you're so inclined? Only if."

You've never been in a fight before.

The thought seems new. The question uncertain.

The idea of coming to blows over someone. For someone. It, too, seems new.

You squeeze his hand. "I am."

"You don't think I'm...soft?"

"I think you're everything."

The dark in his eyes shines back at you. An abyss with a beautiful fall. He's no good. He's cruel and he's brutal and he's kind and he...

You swallow. You still don't know what he is. But he's yours.

As you are his.

For you, anon. Whoever you are. Thank you very much. Also, if you don’t mind, I’ll save the “pet names” part of your ask for something special?? I’ll update soon with that part of the response! 

#the porthecrawl witness #talbot #bonus content #i'm feeling weepy

[abbyfreemansmind]

Let’s talk about Hazbin Hotel

So, I finally sat down and watched Hazbin Hotel. I’d heard so much about it and felt the need to launch myself headfirst into having my own opinions about it instead of just listening to other people talking about it. This is gonna be a long post, so I’m gonna put it behind a neat little read more. Please note that this is coming from someone who genuinely enjoys adult humour and edgy humour and themes. I’ve got no problem with something that’s all swearing and raunchy jokes. It just needs to be done right.

Point 1 - The Plot The plot is describes as the Princess of Hell trying to open a new hotel to rehabilitate sinners so they don’t get exterminated during the yearly heavenly extermination to deal with Hell’s overpopulation problems. This plot is quickly undone through a few things that anyone can notice during the first viewing. 1 - Overpopulation? WHAT population? The scenery is most often noticeably devoid of any signs of life, outside of when background characters are called for. The scene where Charlie’s doing her news presentation is the most notable example of background characters. After this scene, we see almost nobody outside of the main cast and those weird little egg things. There are a few throwaway demons but outside of that, the streets are devoid of people. There aren’t even the corpses we had just seen during that opening scene. 2 - Charlie may as well be a total nobody what with all the power being the Princess of Hell holds. Just look at how the other characters treat her. You’d think the Princess of Hell would have some kind of benefit that would sway people towards agreeing with this whole idea. Instead, she gets mocked by just about everyone for reasons I can only guess involve winning her sympathy points from the audience. 3 - At no point does she give any proof that redemption would work. She basically says, “Hey guys! I hate seeing you all die, so I have this idea that has no backing evidence, that may or may not work, to try and get you guys into Heaven! Let me sing a song about it where I insult you all!”

Point 2 - Presentation I applaud the animators. Must’ve been hard, especially for Charlie’s overly fast song that really didn’t need to be nightcored, or literally any time Angel Dust was on-screen. Frame by frame. No rigs. All those stripes. All those colours that blend if you stare at them too hard or squint even slightly while watching. All that unnecessarily constant movement. It’s no wonder the thing took four bloody years to animate. Outside of animation, there are too many unneeded details and not enough needed details. Seriously. 1 - The turf war. We didn’t need this. We didn’t need this at all. If you take out the entire opening to it and the entire actual fight scene here, the episode still flows smoothly and we get the same amount of information and worldbuilding. In a pilot/first episode, you should only give the audience necessary details. Leave them wanting more, yes, but make sure they actually know what they’re getting into from the first episode. Make every scene count. Make it mean something. Don’t just shove every detail you can think of together and call it a day, especially if you don’t actually give the audience much information from it. 2 - Why is Hell overpopulated? Why isn’t Heaven? Why can angels go from Heaven to Hell, but demons can’t go from Hell to Heaven? Why does nobody care about being redeemed if Hell is so overpopulated that Angels annually come down and kill people because of it? Why does everyone treat the Princess of Hell like she’s worthless? Why doesn’t Angel Dust know about Alastor if they got into hell within 10 years of each other? Where is this supposed overpopulation problem? Would redemption even work in the first place? Why should I care about most of these characters (who are mostly complete jerks with no redeeming qualities other than “PROTAGONIST”, especially when two of the fan favourites repeatedly sexually assault other characters and, in one case, is both sexist and racist at one point)? Why are there turf wars? I should not be having to ask these questions. Don’t hold the audience’s hand, but don’t leave every single question you present in the show unanswered. Some of the questions presented make absolute sense to leave unanswered. Why does Alastor want to help with the hotel? Why are characters like Vaggie and Niffty, who do nothing all that bad, in Hell? These are questions that make total sense to leave unanswered for now. 3 - What crime is too terrible to be redeemed for? Charlie seems to think that literally everyone can be redeemed. That means murderers, rapists, abusers, tormentors... Certainly her song holds some kind of key to figuring it out! “Inside of every creepy hatchet-wielding maniac” Hmm... Okay... “All of you cretins, sluts and losers, sexual deviants and boozers” Uh... “So, all your cartoon porn addictions, vegan rants, psychic predictions Ancient Roman crucifixions end right here All you monsters, thieves and crazies, cannibals and crying babies" Oh... Also, did she imply that mental illness, alcoholism, drug dependency, plant-based diets/lifestyles, rabies and enjoyment of sex were sins in that song?

Point 3 - Edgy for the sake of edgy Hazbin Hotel tries to be an adult cartoon, but comes off as something a mentally disturbed teenager wrote during their emo/scene phase. 1 - The swearing and sex jokes. Oh boy. I’ve worked with children under the age of 15 who swear and crack sex jokes better than the adults in this show. The swearing and sex jokes are the only reasons this show couldn’t be aired as a Cartoon Network show aimed at edgy teenagers. It’s so poorly done that it in and of itself takes away from the quality of the show itself. Also, we have a character who’s name is an actual sex joke itself. Vaggie, full name Vagatha - a lesbian sex worker, of course. Fun fact for those who don’t know, but all of her previous character drafts had her name as some form of joke on the word vagina. This isn’t an accident, this is blatant and intentional. Also, here’s a pro tip for you! You can make an adult-oriented show without having swearing, slurs and sex jokes taking up a solid third or more of your script. 2 - The... “Representation”. Yes, Hazbin Hotel has LGBT+ characters! Yes, it has biracial and Latina characters! Charlie is bi, Vaggie is a Latina lesbian, Angel Dust is a gay man, Alastor is ace and biracial, Husk is pan, Niffty is Japanese (YIKES). Except none of it actually matters. No, really. Vivziepop was all like, “btw you can ship w/e, idc! also, i rlly like the fanon version of human alastor (who is whiter than marshmallow fluff even though he’s supposed to be half black)! :)” and threw all that out the window because... Who knows at this point. Now, if you look at the connected series, Helluva Boss, you get Moxie and Millie - an extremely obvious and loving couple. In Hazbin Hotel, you get Charlie and Vaggie who you probably couldn’t tell were a couple without somebody telling you that in the first place, what with all the loveydovey-ness going on with them. In fact, the biggest hint we even get is literally one line. “Life ain’t a musical, hun.” But then again, I’d be more apt to believe Charlie and Vaggie are friends, or Vaggie is pining after Charlie. Also, Charlie is a really bad girlfriend! She lets Vaggie get abused by practically the entire cast without so much as a single word in her defense and ignores everything Vaggie says. It came as no surprise when I remembered hearing about how the only reason these two are a couple is because one of the people on the team thought they were during storyboarding and Vivziepop just went with it. Also, fun fact, Vaggie fits both the angry lesbian and fiery Latina stereotypes. Charlie fits the stereotype for the bisexual cheater, what with how she seems to actually like Alastor more than her own bloody girlfriend. Alastor is canonically ace because he’s too full of himself to be with anyone else. Speaking as somebody who’s ace... WHAT?!��As much as I don’t like Charlastor, it’s partially more popular than Chaggie because Vivziepop actually made them act like a couple for an entire musical number. Also, he’s annoying. He not only kept telling Vaggie to smile (heck you dude), he also smacked her butt, which is a form of sexual assault, people. This was all played for laughs, along with Vaggie’s (actually very reasonable) anger. Niffty is Japanese. A yellow-skinned demon who’s boy crazy and obsessed with cleaning... Big yikes. Finally, Angel Dust. The kinky gay man porn star/drag queen/drug addict/prostitute who verbally sexually assaulted two guys. Where do I begin. When it came to this guy, Vivziepop must’ve been like, “Imma throw every stereotype for gay men on this guy and call it a character!” If you look a Helluva Boss again, you get Stolas, who verbally sexually assaults Blitzo over the phone and also cheated on his wife with him in the first place, so this isn’t a one-off. Also, he was originally AFAB, so that whole line about “Why are you all women?” is more than a little heinous and in extremely poor taste.

In conclusion, this show is terrible. Everything about it. It needs some serious reworking, because as it stands, it’s really truly not that great of a creation.

tl;dr: Needs a lot of work and “ThEy’Re In HeLl!!1!!one!!!eleven!!!11″ isn’t even remotely an excuse for the genuine problems in it. Remember, at least one actual human being on Earth, not in Hell, wrote this garbage fire. Also, the animators deserve a higher wage than whatever they’re getting to deal with these designs. I shudder just thinking about animating them, with or without a rig.

#hazbin hotel #hazho #hh #vivziepop #helluva boss #longpost #long post

[iamgaryrennells]

LITG Random Questions Tag

Thanks to @kingkassam for the tag and @lilithlibrxa for making this! I had A LOT of fun, as always. ✨✨✨

1. Favorite Girl?

Priya and Chelsea

2. Favorite Boy?

Gary and Lucas and Carl and Bobby

3. Favorite Route/LI and why?

Gary, definitely. He’s a sweetheart but makes mistakes, he’s hot and seems like a lad at times but he has hidden depths, the love that he has for his nan is the cutest thing for me especially because I can relate (and I miss my grandma so much), he’s playful and loyal and amazing and stupid and everything. His route has a little bit of everything: doubt, impatience, angst, drama, love, banter, good times... I just love it tbh.

4. Season 1 or Season 2?

Season 2, somehow I’m not tired of playing it over and over, unlike Season 1. I’ve only played Season 1 twice (the first time I loved it but the second time I only wanted the gems for season 2)

5. Twitter, Tumblr or Reddit?

Reddit and Tumblr. I love both.

6. Try and guess each s2 islanders’ zodiac sign

I have no idea about zodiac signs so I wouldn’t even know where to start 😬😂

7. If you could meet any islander irl, who would it be and why?

To get to know them and develop a relationship (romantic or friendship): Gary, Priya and Chelsea, Jake, Tim, Bobby, Talia, Rohan.

To pick a fight: Lottie, Blake, Felix, Jo, Marisol, R!Hannah and Hope.

8. Do you have an unpopular opinion about the game/characters?

Okay, here we go:

Lottie: I have a love/hate relationship with her, even though Gary is my favorite and she’s a pain in my ass during his route. I really think that the writers did her dirty. She had some character growth. I understand why some people don’t see it as growth, but I really think she’s a great character (in terms of her place in the story, not because I think she’s a good person or anything). She’s easy to judge but there has to be a reason as to why she is the way that she is. And maybe knowing more about her background would’ve helped us to understand her (again, I’m not saying that everything’s forgiven and forgotten).

At first I didn’t think Felix was that bad. Maybe because I was busy getting annoyed with Arjun.

I don’t think Rocco deserved to be treated the way he was treated. It is a game to get to know people and flirt with them. And yeah, he went behind everyone’s back and chatted every girl but the latter is literally the reason why they all are there. Idk, idk.

9. Which islander are you most like?

A weird combination between Gary and Chelsea. And a little bit of Kassam. I enjoy staying at home and chilling but I also get FOMO (even though at the end of the day idc and I still stay at home), I don’t care about drama but sometimes I cause without knowing I’m doing it because I’m a very chill person and most things don’t bother me but bother others... And I’m unbothered by everything, use sarcasm a lot and I’m pretty annoyed about everything all the time.

10. Most and Least favorite islander of all time and why?

Most: Gary; he’s literally the sweetest guy ever and he’s so layered and so amazing and he gets judged by the way he looks or acts at first but then you get to meet him and he’s SO wonderful. I also love Tim, Bobby, Jake, Chelsea, Priya, Rohan, and Talia.

Least: Erikah and Hope, probably.

Erikah; I haven’t played S1 that much and I can’t remember exactly why I don’t like her, but I know that I don’t.

Hope; do I even need to spell it out? She’s the worst. She’s rude, manipulative, toxic and doesn’t care about anyone or anything (this last is not exactly a bad thing imo cause you can car about whatever you want, just don’t try to come across as a good girl when you’re clearly not). The way she treats ANYONE who dares to look at Noah’s direction, even on day one, is just horrendous. You are in a game that invites you to flirt with other people, to get to know other people and change partners if that’s what you want. If you don’t want that, then why participate in it? She only talks about Noah and that’s it; when people try to talk about anything else, she says something rude and kills the conversation dead. The way she treats Priya (or MC or both) at CA is beyond awful; how she says that she and Noah are the ‘only good couple’ is beyond disrespectful; the way she talks about Lucas when Noah is literally by her side and then criticizes Chelsea for saying something along those lines is beyond hypocritical; how she doesn’t let Noah think for himself and manipulates him for her own interests is beyond despicable.

A lot of people are ‘bad’ or ‘do bad things’ in this game, but they’re true to themselves adn others and they show their true colors and accept them and try to develop from them, but these two? They don’t. And we’re supposed to be okay with that. Well, I’m not.

11. Which Islander would hit 1M followers first?

Bobby, definitely Bobby. Or Lucas. And Priya. And MC, obviously.

12. Which Islander would land a major brand deal?

Priya, because duh and Chelsea, because duh, too. Also, Lucas and Bobby and probably Gary.

13. Do you think any of the s2 islanders smoke? If so, who?

I haven’t thought about this, but I think Lottie would. Also Blake. Probably Shannon.

Gary, Carl, Marisol maybe, under specific circumstances.

14. What’s your season 3 bucket list?

MC speaking for herself, defending herself and dragging the people that needs to be dragged

Better challenges! Maybe physical ones

DRAMA, but juicy drama. REAL DRAMA. not who kissed who and petty name calling

MORE TIME WITH YOUR LI

better female LI

People reacting to MC according to their reaction, but really reacting. I can’t have Lottie hating me for taking Gary or Hope hating me for looking at Noah’s direction and then them complimenting my outfit. If i’m gonna have an enemy or a rival, I WANT THEM TO BE MY ENEMY OR MY RIVAL

More friendships, too. I need a combination between the Rap Crew and Priya + Chelsea

Better customization options for MC

female and male and non binary MCs

MORE TIME WITH YOUR LI

MC being the MC

SWEARING, LET ME SWEAR FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Less generic, more personalized. Each route has a certain thing that only happens then and there, the characters have unique lines and chats. stuff like that.

MORE TIME WITH YOUR LI

15. Do you read any fanfics?

Yesss. I just wanna say that WE NEED MORE GARY CONTENT OUT THERE BECAUSE OF REASONS. I’ve also read Bobby’s, Lucas’ and Noah’s.

16. If there was a Love Island the Game All Stars with islanders from S1 and S2, who would you choose to go back to the Villa?

S1: Miles, Rohan, Cherry, Levi, Mason...

S2: Shannon, Blake, Noah, Rocco, Arjun...

17. Which Islanders would struggle the most in quarantine and why?

Chelsea and Lottie because of FOMO. Felix, too. Henrik and Rocco would, too, but Rocco would manage with his spiritual travels or something.

#love island the game #litg season 2 #litg mc #fusebox games #litg #litg fandom #litgs2 #litg2

[rayoffuckingsunshyn]

really really long post

I don't know why the fuck I even try to piece myself together when I know dam well I'm a broken ass 400 piece puzzle with at least 147 pieces missing. I've had it all fucked up. The first time i knew i was in deep shit was when I first came out to my family and I remember my parents tried taking me to a therapist to make them make me understand that I wasn't gay. Lol my parent's logic is that if you're gay you're automatically trans. "You can't be femme and be queer, you can't be a masculine guy and be gay." The therapist explained to my mom that I wasn't trans and that i was perfectly fine and I just liked girls. Therapist was concerned about what would happen after i left the room so she gave me a card with her number on it and told me to call her whenever I felt I was in deep shit. As soon as we got out of there, my mom snatched that card from me. That moment, at that moment I knew it was going to be a shitty ride. I had so much anxiety but I couldn't do anything because I wasn't even allowed to have someone's number for safety. Imagine reliving that moment every day for the next 5 years. Just imagine feeling anxious and unsafe in a place you're supposed to feel welcomed, in the place you're supposed to sleep in. Imagine getting blamed for everything even if it doesn't correlate to you at all. Imagine having your parent not talk to you for 6 months straight when you live with them. Imagine getting blamed for your parent’s fights, their failures, their mishaps. imagine being told “if your brother turns out gay it’s your fault and i’ll never forgive you.” Just imagine that for a couple seconds, now think living that for the rest of your life. (: This isn’t the only time i felt i was in deep. i started realizing things after that, like why we would get things thrown at like the phone and other stuff. i remember this one time my brother and i were doing idk what but mom got mad and threw the phone at us. she missed but the wall behind us had a hole. all i could think was what if it would have hit one of us? what would have happened? It happened other times with other stuff of course. These are the little things that once you start adding them up you realize that i am the way i am for a reason. i know that the experiences you go through shouldn’t define you but how can they not when these experiences were the ones that shaped you? i get along with my siblings somewhat. my two older ones are very close-minded so i don’t really talk to them about personal stuff. but my younger brother is amazing. he’s gold. he is funny, witty, loving, innocent, caring. he’s my tiny bean. he says i stress him out lol i understand. i have really bad OCD and i often think about death. i often think about my brother dying. i know i would miss him very very much, i know his room would be empty, i know i won’t hear him humming or playing music, i know i won’t pick him up from school, i know he won’t be there to tell me some petty shit he did or how annoying dumb people are, he won’t be there to come up with some really big words i don’t understand and he has to explain, i know he won’t be there to ask how old am i and then say i’m immature. i would miss texting him from down the hall and then hearing him walking to my room with his heavy ass steps, barging in my room asking if i wanna fight. i would miss him calling me ‘alissa’. i would miss everything about him because he’s the best. he’s the sweetest. he’s the most open minded, understanding, mature, shy little dude. my little big brother. it’s sad to think that i only come home so that i can see my brother and sometimes my nephews. sad to think that i use school as a way to stay out of the house all day long. when i come home, no one says hi, i just go to my brother’s room, say “hey beautiful. i’m home” him: “hey stinky booty”. like i said, he’s gold. after that i just come to my room and stay here til i have to go to work in the middle of the night. this isn’t a way to live. i rarely ever talk to my parents. i mean they talk to me mostly to nag but i don’t respond. i kind of just learned how to tune them out, which is why i zone out a lot. see this is why i like music. it uses so much of my attention that i don’t have to focus or think about anything else but what i’m playing. it’s nice when my mind is quiet and there aren’t any thoughts running through it. idc how hard music gets from here on out, i still like it for the same reason that it uses so much of my attention. i guess this is why i hate affection. i hate it i hate it i hate it. i don’t know how to respond to it. it’s painful, it is embarrassing, it just isn’t my thing...at least not anymore. lol to think i once fell in love is kinda hard to imagine now. to love and to fall in love are two completely different things. i fell in love once and never again. oh man sometimes i wish she could see the damage she caused lol. i was madly in love with her, i would do anything and everything for her, i cared for her the same way i cared for myself, i was there after her surgery. to be honest it was a great feeling, to love so blindly and feel loved back. gosh we had plans and we acted on most of them...then it fell apart. i felt it. i felt it since we started to drift apart. it was those daily phone calls that turned into every other night calls. those visits at school that turned into 5 minute “if you’re not out there when i get there i’m leaving”. it was the long hour waits for a text back. the “oh sorry i was out with my brothers.” we were drifting and i felt it, yet i stayed. how foolish of me. it wasn’t until a couple weeks later a friend of mine which was a really good friend of hers that told me that a girl she went to continuation school with told her that her and my ex gf were dating and they had been dating since a couple weeks back. ohhhhh man my heart dropped, sank, shattered. FUCK. that hurt. but that wasn’t the most painful part lol oh no no no. that was just the beginning hun. i confronted my ex gf. she denied it all, of course, she sweet talked me and told me i was lied to and she was loyal, she would never cheat on me. i remember her bringing me food that day lol she put a little post it note in there saying “i love you” and i believed it for another couple weeks until the drifting happened again. i called out the girl she was cheating on me with and this is how it went “stay tf out of my relationship. you’re just a side hoe and that’s what you’ll always be. just a side bitch” she replied “that’s not what she says ;)” . SON LET ME TELL YOU! hunny i was a crazy bitch back then. but i was also in love so whatever. so i just screenshot the messages, sent them to my then gf, and i told her i was done. i wasn’t gonna be looked at as a fool anymore. again she sweet talked me out of it...this went on. this went on for 3 months. until finally one night she was like “babe we need to talk” oh fuck i knew exactly what was happening. i asked if she wanted to call me instead and she said she couldn’t handle it. she said something about i deserve better and how she told me since the beginning that she was and asshole and i shouldn’t be acting surprised when she had already warned me. she said i would have a great future but for now she wasn’t the one for me. my poor little heart. my mental health went to shit, i had anxiety for months, i was homesick literally from just going to school. i was a wreck. the most painful part though...later i found out that they were together since november and we broke up in february, the next day after she dumped me, she was posting pictures of her on social media...where i still had her/followed her. that was the most painful. knowing that even after she told me she wouldn’t cheat on me specially not with her (the girl she cheated with in the first place lol) knowing that all those times she told me she couldn’t see me or the times she would kick me out her job where she worked at this vietnamese bakery, it was because her side was coming later. knowing that she would lowkey text her and tell her to wait a bit cuz i was still there. knowing that the messages she was receiving and deleting when i was around her were from her side. it just all made sense. after that, never again. never fell in love again. i’ve loved many but never again have i fallen for anyone. i don’t think i can take it. i don’t think i can handle the pain, the anxiety, the depression, the gut feelings, the having to investigate what’s going on. i won’t be able to handle anything that adds to my already fucked up mental health. i hate affection for this too. to show affection and go all out is so embarrassing to me because i feel like i look stupid like in my head there’s this little voice “wow so foolish. you’re nothing but a fool for this person. they don’t want this. you’re so dumb. they’re going to leave you anyway.” it’s a constant thought in my mind and i hate getting called out when i actually do or say something that expresses even the slightest of feelings. i can’t handle it. i hate receiving affection as well. i don’t know how i’m supposed to respond to it, am i supposed to just stand there while they pour out their feelings? am i supposed to hug them? hold their hand? i don’t know. now don’t get me wrong, i have thought about falling again because tbh it feels nice. it’s a warm, fuzzy feeling. it’s missing them when you just saw them a couple hours ago, it’s the butterflies when you see them, it’s smiling when you see their pictures, is just enjoying their company even if you aren’t doing anything, it’s cruising and getting stoned listening to music. it’s all this and more. but it’s so so so scary. it’s frightening enough that when i feel the feels coming in or i wanna pour my little black heart out to someone i have to stop myself. talk to my self “bitch calm tf down you already know exactly how this is going to end.” that thought is always there.

anyway, i am a very empty hearted person for a reason. i am distant from my family for a reason. i don’t exactly like hugging strangers for reasons not stated above. Everyone goes through things but these are just a couple I’ve went through and still going through. they don’t define me but they did shape me.

now goodnight. it’s 4:01 am and i’m supposed to be up at 8:30.

#late night #thoughts