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more Cecil dating/marriage HCs (sfw)

Cecil's issues, how you deal with them, and the ways he compensates.

I feel like the old hag is super conservative about dating. He’s not a very eligible bachelor and he knows it. It’ll take a good three years before he considers dating, then another year to confirm and officialize it, then you’ll date for five more as he debates proposing towards the last two, THEN he gives you the Netflix password, and you finally get married at the decade mark.

Cecil’s style of attachment is avoidant 100%. He struggles immensely to bring down the self-protective walls he’s built up over the years even when you’re twenty years into marriage. In the weird middlemost lull of your initial dating phase, it often felt like he was just there to lick the icing off the cake. He wanted the humor, exclusivity, intrigue, and emotional crutch of a romantic relationship without putting the in the effort. When you got sick, he didn’t bother to come visit. Rather, he sent store-bought soup. When you told him about how a particular problem was slapping the shit out of you, he would listen stone-faced and offer painfully obvious advice on how to fix it, not understanding that you’d already figured it yourself and just wanted him to be there and nod along.

When you told him that, he snorted. “Go get a shrink if you need someone to listen to you that badly.”

Yeahhh, the seven year mark of dating Cecil was highkey insufferable. I’m sure at this point you were mostly staying for the money, and even that might not have been enough.

One night after another aborted date, you issued an ultimatum before he could leave. Either he started genuinely investing in the relationship or it was over because quote “I can’t stand the way you treat me like an emotional cumrag, Cecil.”

Firstly, pop off! Secondly, slay! He stood there blinking for a moment, jacket in hand. Then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Not in the ‘God that’s the fifth time Invincible screwed up today’ kind of way, but in the ‘No, no, you’ve got a point goddamnit’ kind of way.

“I don’t want this as a concession,” you continued. “I want it as a fullhearted effort. I want you to deal with all the aspects of this relationship that I have to deal with – the hard times as well as the good times – because it’s not fucking fair that you can walk it off like a high school fuck and I’m left bitter over a fifty year old.”

That got him good. You were too frustrated to laugh at how he gaped like a fish, then got more frustrated that you couldn’t find humor in it, that you should even have to be in this situation with a full grown man.

“No, you’re right. You’re right. I’m… I should’ve paid more attention to you.” He tried to play it cool but you could hear the waver in his voice. “I was busy with work, and I neglected to consider your end of the deal. I’m sorry.”

You nearly rolled your eyes, this was so overdue. “I accept. But it doesn’t mean shit if you don’t follow through.”

He shook his head heavily. “I will, I promise. God, I’m sorry to have put you through all that. What was I thinking?”

He actually sounded pained. “Hey, let’s not make it about you now, Mr. Director,” you half-joked half-warned. “Now go save the world.”

As he walked out, you slapped his ass for good measure. His aloofness and unavailability have stayed constant fixtures in your marriage, but both of you have learned to work around them as a unit, designating times to talk or eat or play or just be together. Later, he told you he appreciated you standing up to him.

“It’s a quality I appreciate, conviction.” You wiped the sweat off your brow with a gloved hand. Summer had descended on your garden with a vengeance. “Yeah, is that so?”

“Yeah,” he sipped lemonade, his shades mounted high. “It seems so.”

Don’t even mention work around him, he’ll explode. There’s about a dozen things for him to worry about at any given moment to the point where most nights for him are spent at the GDA putting out fires. He counts snatching three consecutive hours of sleep as a win. At least if you somehow have a baby, he’ll be ready for the night shift.

Speaking of babies, this man does not want a freaking baby. Last thing he can afford to worry about. Encourages you to get on the pill if possible and uses protection like a priest wears his cross.

It’s such a struggle to get him in anything but his formals. You guys regularly vacation in Geneva and Cabo and he SLAYS various bodies of water with his suit and tie. As a surprise one time you packed a loud Hawaiian shirt and khakis for him in his suitcase. As the days went on without a hint of flowery orange, you grew more and more dismayed. You found them in your luggage at the end of the trip with a note.

“Not in a million years.”

(You got him to wear it for your most recent birthday. You snagged a picture. He deleted it off your phone with his super secret government powers.)

(He keeps it on his own phone for your next birthday present. He knows how much it means to you)

Cecil doesn’t feel sorry for like 90% of the things he ‘has’ to do. But he really really really overthinks the rare things he does regret. That’s when the Immortal-age wine gets broken out from his private study retreat (man cave). He’ll duck and weave but when push comes to shove he goes to you like he always has, his sanctuary, his rock. On the unfathomably rough nights, when he gets lost in his own head and he stares bleakly at you like he’s stuck in the worst moments of his life, you’re the one who bears the burden of being the most important person in the GDA. It’s not Donald who washes Cecil’s unmentionables, it’s you.

A bath is in order. You worried he’d try to drown himself the first few times but it turns out he’s actually incapable of slumping that low because his shoulders automatically lock up from old scar tissue. His eyes widen when they do. You can tell it scares him a bit in this state to not have control over his body, and it seems he knows as well. He just watches you quietly as you shake unscented bubble bath solution into the tub, scatter sweet honeysuckle from the garden, check the warmth of the water, gently rub his aging body. He sighs from time to time.

You try not to let him drink too much; justify it with the risks of high temperatures and old age and alcohol and such, but it’s mostly because you’re worried about what would happen if he did.

After the bath, you help him out and wipe him down. It’s clumsily unromantic. His leg hair alone could reforest the Amazon. It’s funny because he does nothing but sit around all day and still manages to get the thickest callouses on his heels. You frequently joke about him strutting about in high heels to achieve this level of dermal encrustment, which earns you an exasperated groan. You quip back. You’d rather have this weariness than his self-inflicted horror.

Once, he spoke.

“It helps.” He mumbled thickly.

It startled you from where you were pressed against his front. “What?”

“The baths,” you felt his throat quaver as he swallowed. “They help.”

A heartbeat later, he finished with, “Thank you.” And pressed a weak kiss to your temple.

The next morning, Cecil is gone as usual. He leaves a Post-It dusted in perfume letting you know that the Whole Foods near you has a good deal on essentials and ‘the early bird is able to buy more eggs in this failing economy’. You snort and roll back over, lazing in the sun as you write a response which you snap to the fridge, ‘birds lay eggs grandpa’.

Mandatory Debbie appreciation!!!

Debbie is supremely used to dealing with grumpy, overworked, stubborn old men. She actually sends you care packages every Christmas as a thank-you for being Cecil’s emotional chew toy, and they always make you laugh because it’s filled with things only a mother would pack: high SPF sunscreen for the garden, cute notes tucked in between instant noodles, plenty of Asian snacks, buns, and chocolate, an outfit or jewelry she thought would look good on you, emergency care supplies (even though you’ve got emergency private care), a journal or two, good pencils/pens/erasers, and books she’s finished already and wants you to read so the two of you can discuss them at length. The ramen comes in handy when Cecil’s private chef gets his paid time off and the snacks readily disappear throughout the year.

In response, you schedule times to meet with her between her familial obligations and work. At first Cecil was more than a little combative about his spouse spending time with the divorcee of Omni-man – nothing against divorcees, he said, just Omni-man – but you wrestled him into agreeance by forcibly reviving his empathy through threatening his cuddles. You and Debbie talk about mundane things that you both miss, back when the biggest issues in your lives were what to make for dinner. You talk about how hard it is to live in the periphery of superpowered spouses. Her life has been shattered since Nolan left, and your presence has begun to fill in those cracks. You get the feeling she enjoys your company as much as you enjoy hers.

Back to our regularly scheduled bitchy old man media!!!

This goes without saying but he’s extremely accommodating of your hobbies. Do you like writing? A fully set up typewriter, new laptop, and paperback Scrivener tutorial show up on your bed. He’ll sign you up for workshops if you want. Got a thing for skydiving? 24/7 private jet just for you, baddie. Do shelves upon shelves of Funko Pops please you? Fuck it, drain his paycheck.

Cecil will do damn near anything to keep you happy. He tries his best to spend as much time with you as possible even with the GDA’s vice grip on his balls. As you’ve seen before, he leaves notes for you around the house as an endearing way to communicate with you, even if the contents aren’t all that endearing. He encourages you to see your friends under the condition that he’s always got your location – otherwise your imperceptible absence bugs him all day.

He fantasizes about just dropping it. Running away with you into some corner of the world, a sundrenched treehouse hideout looking out over seas of rustling, rolling prairie grass and creeks cold enough to steal your breath, the same way as it was when he was young. Before he got tough, before he got smart. Just two people in love sharing air and laughter and dreams.

Then his alarm goes off or Donald barges into his office. Cecil comes unwillingly back to reality, a dog collared every which way.

here's something wrong with this man and i really, really like it.

#cecil invincible #cecil stedman #invincible #stedhead #cecil stedman x reader #cecil/reader #cecil x reader #old man #marriage #loser old man #messed up old man

February 28, 2019

STAR YARD, BRICK LANE

by Stedhead

In the heart of London's Bangladeshi community, the '90s brought art, fashion, and nightclubs to Brick Lane and saw it gain global fame for its graffiti. Just a few steps through the narrow alley below Fournier St, the alcoves of Star Yard played host for years to a changing gallery of creativity and expression by many of the top urban artists of the day. Sadly in late 2017 @ldn_calling_blog reported that in the latest blow by gentrification the lot owners covered more than half the space with a shed and declared the rest of the lot off limits to artists. Isle of Man artist Stedhead studied illustration at Glyndwr University in Wales and in 2014 moved to London to pursue career opportunities. In April, 2017, toward the end of Star Yard's run, Stedhead added this work from her sketchbook to the gallery. @stedhead_art/ @stedhead_ink/

#art #streetart #urbanart #publicart #mural #graffiti #Stedhead #SteadheadArt #BrickLane #LondonStreetArt #LondonMurals