#And then throw said cancelled friends under the bus

[lovethatmakingcoffee]

at this rate the qsmp will explode by summer.

[slasherscream]

Wash Day

pairing:  jordan li x fem black!reader

"You wanna go out to dinner tonight? Know I've been busy this week. Feel like I've barely seen you." Jordan mutters against the shell of your ear. You shiver as he gives the skin a teasing kiss.

Already you're pouting, knowing what your answer has to be even though you wish so desperately that you could give a different response. "Wish I could, Jordan. But my night is already spoken for."

You're spun around by a hand on your hip, playful and fast so that you can't stop yourself from falling into his chest. Your hands grip his jacket for balance, and he reaches up to hold one of them with his own. "You got plans? With who? Cate? Cancel them."

"Brat." You laugh.

How demanding Jordan is would be less cute if they ever asked you to do something they themselves wouldn't. As it stands, with the way they do anything you ask at the drop of a hat, all you can do is roll your eyes and pretend to be exasperated instead of smitten.

"Fine, don't cancel. I'll just come with." Jordan sighs, as if seeing his best friend is a great tragedy (Which it is. Cate being there means you'll smack Jordan's hand away when he tries to sneak it up your skirt at dinner.)

"What if we want a girls' night?" You shoot back, grinning.

Jordan shifts. The hands on your waist are smaller now, but pull you in closer, "You're the one who's feeling bratty. Really have been neglecting you this week, huh baby?" Jordan smirks, in that condescending way she does when she realizes you're trying to get a certain reaction out of her.

"The plans aren't with Cate, and they aren't cancellable." You sigh, deciding not to rise to the bait of her tone, smirk, or the little circles she's rubbing into your skin.

"What are these oh so important plans?" Jordan asks.

"Do you know how many white boys have complimented my hair today, Jordan?" You ask.

"Pardon?" Jordan blinks at what seems to be a completely unrelated topic.

"Six! Six white boys complimented my braids today. I'm about to kill myself, if we're being honest. I must looked fucked up, and you didn't even say anything." You pout.

You've been having a bit of a rough day, to say the least.

"You look beautiful. What are you talking about?" Jordan asks, confused but nonetheless, wanting to make you feel better. "If you didn't look good I'd very politely... have Cate tell you. But you look great! You've been getting compliments all day, you just said it yourself!"

"Wow, you'd throw Cate under the bus, huh coward?"

"Cate isn't interested in making out with you every spare second of the day. I am. You can be mad at her. I've got stuff I wanna do." Jordan's grin is downright salacious. You smack her arm, trying not to smile.

"Ah. You are operating under the same delusions of the white man. I see that now, I'll let go of the anger." You say, sighing and kissing Jordan on the cheek.

"First of all, don't you ever fucking insult me like that again.... Second of all, what particular delusion am I sharing with the white man?" Jordan asks.

"White men only compliment a black woman's hairstyle at two points in time. When it's brand spanking, fresh off the lot new. Or when it's started to look like shit. I've had these braids in for longer than... is your business. So guess which compliment I'm getting right now?"

"I fucking refuse to say your hair looks like shit, and this conversation feels like a trap. You're always beautiful to me." Jordan says.

"Thank you, baby. But we live on a campus where the diversity win photographers lurk around every corner trying to get pictures of 'The Diversity Win Couple' in our most natural state. I need to take out my braids tonight before I talk crazy in the group chat, and Andre sends me a 'this you?' pic that will devastate my argument." You shake your head somberly, already imagining the fate that lies before you.

"You could stop talking crazy in the group chat." Jordan teases.

"You know damn well I'm not capable of that."

The two of you burst into laughter, unable to keep it together. Jordan has always been obsessed with how easy it is for you to make them laugh.

"Is that gonna take up your whole night, though, baby? We don't have to go to dinner early! We'll go wherever you want." Jordan insists, tone bordering on begging.

Whenever they come out of a particularly busy week, they spend the next two weeks glued to you. As if to make up for it. The clinginess is a stark difference from how they acted before you made things official.

"Jordan, look at the braids on my head."

"I'm looking at them."

"Are you seeing them with your eyes?"

"Yes, and my eyes are sending the image to my brain, which I assure you is working. What's your point here, baby?"

"How long do you think it will take me to undo these, detangle my hair, wash it, deep condition it, and then wash it again?"

Jordan squints at you for a long moment, analyzing your hairstyle and the utter displeasure on your face. "I dunno? Maybe... four hours?"

"I should fucking murder you. Just for that, you're helping me with wash day now."

Jordan's face breaks into a grin like sunlight breaking through clouds, "So I do get to spend the day with you, is what you're saying?"

"Yeah, baby, you get to spend the day with me." You click your tongue at them. Pitying them for the ache in their fingers they're about to feel. They complain about curling their God damn hair a couple of times a week. You suspect you'll be ready to kill one another by hour two.

But you also missed them a lot. Or whatever.

"Don't cut too high up, Jordie. " You whine, shifting his grip lower on your braid, to an acceptable cutting length of the hair extension.

"Baby... can I ask you a very serious question right now?" Jordan hums, obediently cutting where you instructed.

"What?" You ask, already starting to unbraid the piece.

"How... long... do you think your hair is?" Jordan, to be fair to him, does ask the question quietly and with the proper amount of hesitation.

"How dare you! Are you calling me bald?" You gasp, stifling a laugh.

"Don't do this to me. You are prolonging the process. We can cut these braids at least four inches higher than what we're doing right now." Jordan says, you can't see his face but you can tell he's also trying not to laugh. Bastard.

"My hair grew!"

"From the top of your head. It did not magically lower itself further into the fucking braid extension." Jordan loses the battle and laughs.

"Jordan Li do not fucking cut off any of my hair or I'll cry and then blow up this school."

"Of course, princess." Jordan kisses the top of your head and gives in to your terrorist demands because you're cute.

"So how am I supposed to do it, baby?" Jordan claps her hands and you smile at how eager she sounds to help.

"You're gonna want to section it off. Do like... eight parts of hair. That'll make literally every step after this easier. Then you're gonna comb the hair from the bottom, 'kay?"

"Got it."

Jordan starts the process of parting your hair, careful and slow. Fingers sectioning off eight chunks of hair that she keeps apart with the silky hair ties you hand her over your shoulder.

"You sure you don't want me to comb it, Jordie?" You ask Jordan.

"I'll be gentle, don't worry. You always say your shoulders hurt at the end of wash day. Which is crazy, because I've seen what you can bench. I've got you, baby." She spritzes extra detangler spray on each of the parts she just made.

You move around slightly, a little sore already from sitting still between her legs for so long, but smiling to yourself nonetheless. A pillow is suddenly shoved into your face and you lean away, confused.

"Sit on this one instead. It'll be better." Jordan says.

You switch out the pillows and tilt your head back to look at her. "Why're you always right? Is that your kink?"

"No, my kink is bossing you around." Jordan smirks and leans down to give you a kiss. Despite the awkward angle you can't help trying to deepen the contact. The feeling of her soft lips sliding against yours, firm but gentle, is always irresistible.

She hums and gives you a playful nip before pulling away. "Don't start something we can't finish."

"Who says we can't?" You shoot back, staring up at her.

"You will be pissed an hour from now if you glance at your phone and we haven't made any progress." Jordan runs her thumb along your bottom lip before pushing your head forward.

"Who says it will take an hour?"

"I do. If we start, I'm not stopping." Jordan's voice dips seductively and a line of tension runs up the length of your spine.

You smack her thigh for teasing you, "Shut up."

"Is this comfortable?" Jordan frowns, staring at the angle your head has to be at to fit in the bowl of the sink.

"No, but this is the best angle this chair can get me to." You say. Usually you just wash in the shower, but since Jordan is helping the sink makes more sense.

Jordan stands, scowling at how uncomfortable you seem. Suddenly he grins, "Baby! Make a chair with your shields. Something that leans."

You were getting a lot better with being able to make complex shapes, with less concentration. You stand up from the chair you'd dragged from the common room. Jordan pulls it out of the way and gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

It takes you a minute, but you conjure a shield that resembles a salon chair and the both of you let out identical cries of delight.

Jordan pushes you to sit down with a kiss on your forehead. "That's my fucking girl. Tell me if the temperature is too hot."

Jordan washes your hair with the perfect amount of pressure and thoroughness. He's nearly rhythmic in his methodical cleaning. You didn't realize your eyes had fluttered closed until you hear him laugh. You open one eye to glare at him playfully, knowing he won't get soap in them.

"What's so funny?"

"You're like a cat. You gonna purr for me, baby?" He smirks.

"If you keep going like that, yeah. Or I'll fall asleep. Please don't make me fall asleep. I'll fall on my ass." You say.

"I'll endeavor to make the rest of the wash as unpleasant as possible."

He does not do that. And at one point you do fall asleep. Jordan catches you before you can actually fall. 'Thank God for Supe reflexes', you both think. You spend the rest of the wash with your eyes wide open and Jordan laughing at you.

"Did we put too much?" Jordan asks, dabbing at another drip of oil and conditioner down your brow.

"No, this is typical. The hair has to be saturated. It's dripping because the oil is you know... getting hot and even more liquid-y." You say, eyeing the episode of Property Brother's you'd both decided on. "Hm. I think that woman should be put to death."

Jordan was keeping vigilant about dabbing at the sides of your face. You'd been in charge of one side, at first. But Jordan seemed to have a sixth sense for when the other side was dripping as well, and kept interrupting you before you could get to any trickles of oil. You'd given up and just started narrating the show for her as she wasn't taking her eyes off the line of your brow.

"Why? What did she do?" Jordan dabs again.

"She wants to put up a fence that blocks the view of the historical house that she did not have to buy if she wanted a fence so bad." You roll your eyes.

"Is the city gonna let her?"

"No."

"Haha. 500k down the drain." Jordan cackles.

"Anti-gentrification win!" You hold out your fist for a fist-bump and Jordan obediently obliges, oil soaked rag still held in her fist.

A comfortable silence falls over you two, besides the noise of the portable hair dryer.

"I really think we put too much, baby." Jordan mutters, dabbing again.

"I have been doing this since I was twelve, Jordan!"

"Play the video again, one speed slower this time." Jordan's eyes are glued to your phone.

You're sitting between his legs again, cushioned by the (superior) pillow of his choosing. You were trying to decide on a simple hair style when Jordan saw a picture of Mini Twists and got excited to see you in them.

("You've already seen me in mini twists, Jordie. What are you talking about?"

"You weren't my girlfriend the last time you wore them though! Now you are, and I get to look at you as much as I want."

So that had decided that.)

"Okay, I think I got it. 'M gonna start with a braid base, without making the parts too big, then start twisting the hair with two strands, and that will make it last longer, right?"

"Right." You smile at how focused Jordan sounds.

They're hot when they're in the zone. You just didn't think they'd get so into helping you with your hair. But you should have known, really. Acts of service paired with their inner perfectionist? You're completely relaxed at this point. You know Jordan won't have you walking out of your room looking crazy, come hell or high water.

"Is this okay?" Jordan shows you a picture of the back of your head, three rows of twists done.

You gasp, snatching the phone, "That's my head?"

"Uh... yes?" Jordan answers slowly.

"The back of my head? The head on my body?"

"Should I start over?"

"Fuck you! These are almost better than mine. Who's hair are you playing around in when I'm not here, Jordan LI?"

"Stop using my fucking government name." Jordan tilts your head back to look at him with a gentle grip on your neck, grinning down at you. "You play too fucking much. You sure they're good, princess? It's okay if I need to redo them."

"I'm gonna give you orgasms that will make you lose brain cells."

"Baby!" Jordan laughs, rolling his eyes. "I'm serious. Do any of them need redoing?"

"The first row is really fucking good for a beginner but the second row is damn near perfect." You say.

"I'll redo the first row then." Jordan kisses your temple before moving you to face forward again.

"I said they were good!" You protest.

"But the second row is better. I want the whole thing to look good. Don't want you feeling self conscious cause I fucked up the style, y'know." Jordan mumbles.

You tilt your head back to look at him, ignoring him sucking his teeth (a habit he picked up from you) at you moving.

"I love you, Jordie. Thank you for helping me today." You coo.

You watch his face go red with a grin. He grins back, leaning down to give you a gentle kiss. When he tries to pull away too soon you whine, holding him close by the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Wanna kiss you. You're sweet." You breathe the words against his lips, insistently continuing the caress.

He sighs, smitten, and let's you lead for a moment. Hand finding it's way back to your neck and tightening just enough to make you gasp. Still, he pulls away too quickly.

"I'm gonna fuck you up." You scowl at him.

"The only thing you're gonna fuck up is your neck, brat. This is a horrible angle for you." Jordan's smile is so soft at the edges it's your turn to blush.

"Speak for yourself."

"No, I'm too busy speaking on behalf of your neck."

"Well, I'm speaking on behalf of my-"

"Pussy?"

"I was going to say raging hormones but that's a lot more to the point, yeah. Or maybe I was going to say something romantic. You ever think of that, Jordie? Huh?"

"Were you going to say something romantic?" Jordan hums.

"No."

"Let me do your hair in peace." Jordan turns you forward again with a laugh.

"Turn this way." Jordan instructs, snapping another picture.

"I don't know whether you're worse than an Instagram hair stylist or a Mom." You ponder, words barely audible because your girlfriend is scary.

"Shut up and smile." Jordan scowls.

As if engraved into your genetic code the words make you do just that. You suffer through another 20 pictures being taken before you say enough is enough.

Jordan happily shows you the pictures, as if you hadn't seen yourself in the mirror just a minute ago. Or ever. The grin on her face so wide it looks like it hurts.

"You like it, baby?" Jordan asks again.

"It looks so good, Jordie. It looks like I paid someone honestly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You drape your arms around her shoulders. "How's this angle?"

"For what?" Jordan tilts her head to the side, puzzled.

"For kissing. Since you were so worried about the angle before."

Jordan scoffs, but she's the one to pull you in. She doesn't pull away this time.

A/N: i needed reader to have a goofball vibe because i have a goofball vibe. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anonymous ask saying you enjoyed it! a writers fuel is engagement. xoxoxo

[sunshine-theseus]

Meme Girls | Zecira Mušovic x Reader

Words: 2.7k Summary: doing a video with Zecira leads to a lot of unnecessary angst Warnings: angst, poor early a.m. writing request for - @wosofanfics note: y'all i'm sorry if this sucks. it has been proof read but i'm literally half asleep and it's 1:15am. i hope it's good.

“Welcome back to another episode of Meme Girls.” Laughter breaks out across the room as Zecira tries to introduce the video, tripping over her own tongue.

Aggie and I are sat on bean bags facing each other, Zecira between us. We were supposed to doing a football challenge with some of the other girls for someone’s YouTube channel but whoever was supposed to be joining the goalkeeper here had to pull out. That left us.

“To my- stop laughing! To my right side, Agnes Beever Jones!” I give a small cheer and clap as Aggie throws her hands up in the air, all of us laughing simultaneously. The camera man gives us a dirty look, a sign for us to hurry this up.

“And to my left,” I give her a wink when Zecira turns her head to look at me.

“Y/n, the hotshot, L/n!” I can hear some of the girls outside the door, cheering on as well as they pass by, some even whistling.

“Why does she get a cool nickname? That’s not fair.” Aggie complains, adjusting herself in her beanbag to look at me.

“I’m simply better.” A cheshire grin is thrown her way.

-

“When Emma tells you training is cancelled because of the rain.” The prompt is arguably quite easy but we both spend some time contemplating which photo suited it best. Aggie holds up a relatively old picture of Fran, clearly walking off the bus for a game, her thumbs are up, and earphones are in.

“Completely chill. A day to relax and have no worries, spend time with friends. Whatever you want.”

“Nah it’s time to celebrate. That call is rare and I’m appreciating every damn second.” I rather aggressively pull my photo from the stack of cards. A picture of me from last season after a UWCL game against Lyon, my shirt clutched in my hands as I knee slide into the corner after scoring the winning goal.

“Wow. You look really good there.” Zecira’s voice is pretty alluring as she compliments me, and I turn a fiery shade of red.

“This isn’t fair. Z is going to pick you because you’re in love or whatever.” The young striker whines.

“You and the fans with those stupid speculations. We’re just best friends.” I avoid looking at Z as I try to jokingly tell Aggie off, her eyes rolling at my denial. What I do miss is the light that dims in Zecira’s eyes as I say it.

“Whatever you say.”

We’re given a few more prompts before the media manager calls time. I end up winning 3-2, Aggie tossing a fit by throwing her cards at me. Her fake childishness is scolded by one of the onlookers, clearly too serious in comparison to us, but we only continue to laugh as we stand from the bean bags. I take hold of Zecira’s hand to help her up as well but pull too hard, the Swede falling forward as I rush to catch her. My hands slip under her shirt as I grab her hips and both of us blush a deep red as I try to apologise, trying to forget the feeling of her skin beneath my hands.

-

The next few days between Zecira and I are awkward. Between the tripping situation and the comments from Aggie, our relationship had been strained and neither of us wanted to bring it up, so we didn’t talk at all. The things fans had to say under the video didn’t help.

‘Zecira and Y/n are definitely dating right?’

‘Find someone who looks at you the way Z looks at Y/n’

‘New favourite friends to lovers.’

They were funny, sure, but untrue. At least that’s what I told myself whenever I looked at my best friend, dark hair tucked behind her ears while laughing at something Guro said, and I felt jealous. Or when I go to score a goal in training and she dives for the ball, her shirt riding up and the tight muscles of her abdomen flashing briefly, and I can feel my face heat up and my stomach tighten.

And eventually, due to popular demand, I’m back in another video, facing Sam in a ‘Meme Girls Championship’.

“Welcome to the Meme Girls Championship. Today we have the two winners of the previous games, Samantha Kerr and Y/n L/n. Are you ready?” Sam lets out a guttural scream and I simply nod, trying not to freak out about the tingle in my leg where Zecira and my legs touch.

“Here we go. When you make a tackle outside the penalty box, but the other team still get the penalty.” I flick through my cards, searching for the best one, but Sam is ready in no time.

She holds up a picture of Zecira and Ann-Katrin, standing side by side with sour looks on the faces. It’s good enough for a chuckle but I’m certain I can get a better one. I eventually land on a picture of Jessie. She’s dressed in an old training kit, hands covering her face, clearly disappointed in something.

Zecira takes a moment, looking back and forth between the two photos we’re holding up.

“Zecira. You’re in it.” Sam gives her a side eye, hinting at the fact she thinks she should win.

“Wifey Z. You know this is the better one.” The nickname had been a running joke between us for some time, so neither of us think much of it, despite the obvious fact we probably both wished it meant more.

“Mmmm, I have to go with Y/n’s.”

“No! These cards are unfair! I used that last time and you picked Jessie’s one of me breaking my shoulder!”

“Get wrecked Sammy.”

-

The comments under that video are unexpected. I don’t remember doing anything that would elicit any ‘couple’ comments, yet they were full of them.

‘I think Y/n just accidentally exposed their relationship at 1:17’

‘WIFEY? She knowwws. They’re definitely together, you don’t just call someone your wife.’

So apparently, I did imply we were a couple, but it was from a simple misunderstanding. The issue that comes with that is the inability to deny it. If you deny it, fans assume you’re hiding something, and obviously there was nothing to confirm, so we had to live with it.

Turns out it was hard to live with. Anytime either of us posted, those comments would pop up, asking us to confirm it. At games there were fans shouting it out. Even the girls began speculating whether we’d been secretly hiding a relationship for who knows how long. It was beginning to get tiring, especially when I have feelings for her.

I wanted nothing more to just go up and kiss her and tell her how much I like her, then the comments could be true, and I’d know that. Hopefully it’d also mean I’d get to hold her hand as we walk side by side and kiss her good morning every day. But I was certain she didn’t feel the same, so that was that.

~~~~~

It took a week after the video was posted for things to go back to normal within the team and between Zecira and I. Occasionally Millie or Jess would jokingly ask us ‘how the married life is’, or something along those lines, and we’d all just laugh.

It was a tradition between me and Z, that after a London derby, we’d pick a nice restaurant and go out for dinner. Both of us get dressed up and walk out of the stadium together, sign a few things and go. It started in 2021 and we hadn’t missed a dinner since. So obviously that’s what I prepared for when we had a derby coming up.

I had a new rusty orange, satin dress that I’d brought in preparation for the dinner. Hanging it on the rack in my cubby before I got changed into our warm-up kit always made me a little nervous, aware of the casual outfits that adorned everyone else’s wracks. I didn’t bother looking over at Zecira’s space, expecting her outfit to be hanging like it always was. Perhaps I should have.

-

The game was tough as always during a derby, and very physical. The likes of Katie McCabe and Caitlin Foord made it difficult to stay standing if the ball was at your feet and I knew I was likely to come out with bruises from the start. I must say I didn’t expect the black eye that began swelling after an elbow to the face from Lotte.

By half time I looked a wreck, and Emma was prepared to sub me off if they didn’t let up by 60 minutes. I’d lost count of the number of bruises that had begun developing on my legs and arms, even my torso was sure to be black and blue, and admittedly my eye was somewhat hard to see out of. I was also limping, a studs up tackle from Katie landing on the inside of my right ankle making the tissue rather tender.

“You’re going to look like that blueberry girl from Willy Wonka soon.” Zecira jokes as we make our way back out to the pitch.

“Heh yeah, dinner might be a little awkward for the other people around.” I get a smile back before she makes her way to the goal, and I head to the middle of the field to meet with Erin to do some short drills again.

-

The game ends in a tie. 2-2 across the board. I gathered more injuries as the game went on but nothing that wasn’t more than superficial, and I was buzzing to sign a few things and take some pictures with the fans before heading back and dressing up for dinner with my best friend.

Then I see them. Zecira is only a few people away from me at the barrier, talking to a guy. The conversation seems very interesting and sweet, nothing more than a footballer meeting a fan. Until they kiss. So, as her best friend, I make my way over. Why had she never mentioned him?

“Hey Z! Who’s this?”

“This is Tom. We’re dating, nothing official yet. He’s going to take me out for dinner tonight.” It’s hard to be upset when you see the smile that spread across her face. Her dimples were showing and there was a sparkle in her eye. But I wasn’t one to just let someone break a tradition after 2 and a half years.

“Tonight? What, after we go to dinner? You know, at the restaurant we’ve been waiting for a table at for months?”

“N- no I mean right after I get changed.”

“We always do tonight Z.” I start to seethe through my teeth.

“Well can’t you go like tomorrow or something?” I understand Tom was trying to help. I can only assume he wasn’t aware about the years long tradition between the girl he’s dating and her best friend. But I could imagine that if we were in a cartoon, steam would be coming out of my ears and my arm would be swinging, getting ready to knock him out in one hit.

“Uhhh, no. No we cannot. Because not only does it take months to get a table, we have to go tonight because it’s tradition. Routine. We’ve never missed a derby dinner once Zecira and like damn I’m going to let us start now. Not for some guy.”

“Common it’s just one. It’s not that big a deal. I’ll make up for it I promise.”

“Make up for it? There’s no making up this dinner. But have fun with Tom. I guess I’ll go get real dressed up, eat portions that are far too small and drink much too expensive wine by myself and be thrown looks all night. See you in training.” As I storm off, I catch glimpses of the remaining crowd that is yet to trickle out and realise perhaps I should have waited.

Now embarrassed as well as angry, I run down the tunnel in desperate search for an empty room. I eventually stumble into one and slam the door closed and lock it. The walls rattle and I hear something fall off one of them, but I find it hard to care as I search for the light switch.

Once I find it, it’s hard for me to hold back all the emotions that have been building up over some time. I rip my boots of and throw them at the door with all my might. I’m surprised the window doesn’t shatter.

“Stupid fucking feelings. Stupid fucking dinner. Stupid fucking Tom. Stupid fucking game.” The list goes on for some time as I cry, broken up every now and then by a scream.

Eventually I slump to the floor in the middle of the room and sob. My chest heaves and I struggle to breathe as I cry into the ground. The bruises and black eye are long forgotten as my lungs struggle to expand, and I begin to panic.

‘This cannot be fucking happening right now no no no.’ a panic attack is the last possible thing I need and I’m in a random room all alone. No one knows where I am. Everyone could have gone home by now.

My head is pounding. Or maybe it’s someone at the door. I’m not sure. I don’t have the energy to figure it out.

‘I hope someone finds me soon’ is probably the last thought I’m aware of having. But then someone’s arms wrap around me. Their perfume is familiar, but I can’t quite place it as they hook an arm beneath my knees and another behind my back. Most of my surroundings are lost, sight blurred and hearing fuzzy as I try to draw in more air, so I don’t know where I am until I feel a mattress beneath me.

I could identify the medical room beds in my sleep, and this was definitely one. After a few minutes of just resting there, my breathing started to slow and I came around. Newly aware of a hand gripping my own, I turn to the person beside me.

“Zecira? What are you doing here? You have dinner with what’s his face.”

“You’re more important. And, what you said on the field… you’re right. I was wrong in breaking tradition for some guy I’m not even really into. It’s- it’s just…” she trails off with a sigh.

“It’s just that, I needed something to take my mind off you.”

“Off me?”

“Yes. Look, after those videos we did on media day, and the one after, I couldn’t fathom the idea of me telling you how I feel and you rejecting me. I like you so much but I know you don’t like me back so I started going on dates. Tom was the only bearable one.”

“Wait wait wait wait. You think I don’t like you? Zecira, there aren’t enough words to express how much I like you. Seeing you with Tom, it, it made me mad about the dinner sure, but I was also jealous. I want to be the one kissing you and taking you on dates, holding your hand, celebrating a win.”

“What?”

“Kiss me you fool.” The angle is poor but despite it, we lean toward each other until our lips are connected.

It becomes quite a hungry kiss, but I pull away before it can get too heated, smiling at the girl in front of me.

“If we get ready and leave now, we could still make that reservation. Make it our first date?”

-

That’s how we end up hand in hand, waiting to be seated. The satin gown hugs me perfectly and compliments Zecira’s sage green dress.

“I’m really sorry for bursting up on you. Especially on the pitch.”

“I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t. Maybe you should’ve told me in advance but it didn’t warrant that reaction.”

“I should’ve spoken to you about what was going on.”

“Kiss me and we call it even?” her hair falls around our faces as she leans down to kiss me. It’s gentle and sweet and tastes like her vanilla lip gloss. Life feels good when you’re in love with your best friend.

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

Electric Love - Full Chapters

Want early chapters? Read on Ao3!

Chapter 2: Pleasantly Surprised

Notes: Support me by reading on Ao3! Kudos and comments help motivate me to see multi-chapter fics through to the end! I'll be posting announcements for the updates here. Chapters will come out on Ao3 BEFORE tumblr.

Word Count: 6863

"You want to make a deal," Vox realized, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly, and dead pixels flickered to life under his lip. This just got so much more interesting for him.

You lean back and cross a leg over your thigh. "Exactly. But I’ll have you know Mr. Big Evil Overlord, I’m nothing if not ambitious. If you think I’ll hand over something like this for just my life, then you won’t be getting shit."

“And remind me why I shouldn’t just kill you before you have the chance to blab?” Vox smirked as his eyes flickered over you like a shark considering its prey.

“Because you have no way of knowing if I’ve uploaded the information somewhere,” you grin back. “You don’t know if I’ve told anyone. You don’t know if I’ve written it down. You’d have no guarantee someone else wouldn’t find the clues I’ve left behind.”

“You’re not a total idiot,” Vox chuckled. “What is it you want then?”

“How about this,” you start slowly. What you wanted was something you doubted Vox would be willing to get involved with. Still, you had a golden opportunity in front of you and you’d be a fool to not at least try. 

“I know you snooped through my computer, so you already know I have quite a few friends in Valentino’s studio,” you sigh. “Not all of them are exactly pleased with their contracts, so here’s the deal. I’ll tell you how I resisted your magic if you promise to make Valentino terminate their contracts.”

“That’s it?” Vox grumbled as he thought it over. You weren’t expecting the easy grin as he shrugged. “We’re definitely talking over the details, but that’s simple enough.”

You blink, surprised at how ready he was to throw his companion under the bus for his own gain.

"You'd fuck over your closest friend, lover, fuck-buddy, business bitch for this?" You say, unsure of what to call Valentino. There were a lot of rumors about the ever-shifting relationship between Vox and Valentino.

"Without a second thought." Vox grinned, not showing any kind of remorse or hesitation in his voice. "A few of Valentino's fuck toys in exchange for knowing what can repel my hypnosis? It's a no-brainer."

"That's fucked up," you blink slowly. "But from a business perspective, I guess I can understand that." You hum as you think it over.

"Hm..." Vox nodded, thinking about the deal you were offering. "And the reason you want Valentino's contract on those souls to be released… It’s only because they’re your friends?”

"Yup," you sigh as you look down at the floor. "Not all of the friends I have in that circle want their contracts canceled. I can't say I understand, but that's their choice. However, some are desperate for a fresh start. I'm willing to do anything for them to have that."

"Why do you care so much about the well-being of other sinners?" Vox asked, looking at you with raised eyebrows.

You quirk an eyebrow back at him. "Why not?"

"So, you're just helping them out of the kindness of your heart?” Vox asked in disbelief. “No other external motives or personal gains at all?"

Your face scrunches up, "More or less, but I don't like it being phrased like that. Makes it seem… I don’t know. Just don’t dwell on it. It’s what any non-jackass would do."

"And you think you're a non-jackass?" Vox said with a sneering smirk. He didn't believe that you were helping those other sinners for nothing more than just the kindness in your heart. This was Hell. No one did that.

"I try," you snort as he shoots your phrasing back at you. "There are enough people in Hell doing their best to be the biggest asshole. With what little energy I have, I'd rather just focus on my passions and be nice to the people around me. It's a lot less tiring to be a decent person than a jerk."

Vox said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "That sounds fishy as fuck. You have to realize that. For all I know, you could be deceiving me right now with that sweet facade of yours."

"Do you really care what kind of person I am?" You sigh, growing uncomfortable with an overlord like him putting your personality under a microscope. "Regardless of my personal preferences, I have something you want, and you have the power to give me something I want. Plus, if I was trying to fuck you over, I wouldn't have let you go through my computer,” you add for extra measure.

"That's true," Vox said, nodding his head slightly in acknowledgment. "But I still refuse to believe that a sinner like you is only doing this out of the goodness of your heart. You must be getting something else out of it. What is it?"

You huff, getting frustrated. "I don't know what you want me to say, man. I just don't like seeing my friends suffer. Why is that such a hard pill for you to swallow?"

"Because it doesn’t make sense," Vox said his eye twitching in irritation that mirrored your own as he tried to figure out what you were planning. He didn’t like the idea of making a deal when he felt he didn’t have the full picture.

"Are you seriously telling me you wouldn't do the same for your friends?” You ask, finding yourself questioning his character just as much as he was questioning yours. “The other Vees?”

"Hmm..." Vox said, raising a hand to his chin and rubbing it back and forth as he took a moment to consider your words. He was standing here seriously considering screwing over Valentino. But he knew that the deal he was considering wasn’t of any real consequence to the other overlord. Vox had a hard time imagining what it would be like to have a mindset like the one you had. It was stupid on a fundamental level in his opinion, but he could see your point.

"Actually..." Vox said, finally replying to your question. "I suppose I would."

"Fucking hell," you say as you slump against your seat. "Finally."

"But..." Vox said, a smirk slowly returning to his face. He was on the cusp of believing you, but he wanted to see what would happen if he pushed your buttons just a little more. He’d be lying if he didn’t find a tinge of amusement at your frustration. "There is still this one, small, tiny, insignificant little detail that you're keeping to yourself... What is it?"

You groan as you resist the urge to grab Vox’s stupid bow tie and strangle him. "Oh my gooood, dude! I'm not like you! I'm not some big conniving evil mastermind! I'm a broke bitch who's living off of ramen noodles and discount veggies, who likes the people she gets high with on the weekend, and would like to not see them suffer. It's not rocket science!"

Vox's head tilted slightly forward, not bothering to hide his smirk as he got closer. "But to go so far as to develop an anti-aphrodisiac out of kindness? That's a whole new level of cotton candy bullshit. The only other person like that in Hell is Lucifer’s little bitch and unlike her, you ended up in Hell for a reason.”

"I'm going to kick your ass if you don't drop this," you sigh as you drag a hand down your tired face. "Do you want to make the deal or not?"

Vox smirked at how easy it was to work you up. Deciding not to push any harder before he had you locked under contract, he finally relented. "Alright. I won’t kill you for everything you’ve shown me today. I will convince Valentino to cancel the contracts that you ask me to, but only if you reveal to me how one may repel or counteract my hypnosis and agree to never tell another soul what you know."

You let out a deep breath. "Finally, fucking Christ."

Your eyes glow as you activate your magic. Stars and purple mist appear around you as you reach out your hand. Like any other sinner, your magic reacted to the binding contracts that made hell function. Anyone could make a deal, and the magic made it so you couldn't back out. No one could be trusted, and it was the only way to guarantee someone wouldn’t go back on their word.

You hold your hand out for him to shake. Once he did, the deal would be sealed, and you'd both have to hold up your end of the bargain.

“One last thing,” Vox adds as he recalls the pictures he’d seen on your computer. “I may be able to convince Val to drop most of the deals, but there’s no way he’ll relent his hold over Angel Dust.”

You frown, your hand flinching back as you think it over. As much as it pained you, Vox had a point. Angel Dust was different from anyone else under Valentino’s control. You had hoped Vox wouldn’t have come to the same conclusion you had before making the deal, but he wasn’t an overlord for nothing.

Vox waited a moment to see if you’d back out. When you let out a deep sigh and looked up at him, extending your hand again, he smirked. You were both one of the dumbest and smartest lower-class sinners he’d run into. It was refreshing and made him all the more curious about the accidental discovery. 

He took your hand and shook it, and his bright electricity lit up the room as the binding magics of Hell seeped into your minds and bodies. You were now both bound by soul to honor the contract. Vox didn't let go of your hand, though, as his intense stare continued to penetrate your eyes. “Now then…”

A weight feels like it’s been lifted off of your chest now that you know you’re safe and you managed to help at least some of the people you cared about. You smirk at Vox, not bothering to try and pull away. "Unlike with Valentino, your ability doesn't need magic to repel. Try using it on me right now."

"As you wish," Vox said, glaring into your eyes once again as he tried to use his hypnosis on you. Even though he already expected it, the fact that it didn't work still unnerved him. He didn’t like the idea of Hell being able to slip out of his grasp. He was already paranoid enough as is with the return of Alastor. 

There was a brief flicker of control, proving once again that you weren’t immune. However, it disappeared in an instant and your eyes didn't change to red and black spirals like the usual victim of his power. Instead, your hand tightened on his and your smirk grew as you proved your point.

"Interesting..." Vox said, staring at you with a mixture of skepticism and admiration. True to your word, he sensed no flare-up of your abilities or anything of the sort. “Now tell me how you do that.”

You let go of his hand and pull out your phone. You don't say anything to him, leaving him in suspense as you scroll through your pictures. Vox’s anxious energy only grows as he waits for you to show him what you’re looking for.

He’s not expecting the quiet chuckle when you find it, nor is he expecting to see the image in front of him as you turn your phone for him to look at. It's a picture of Vox from many many years ago. An old photo of him when he was still new to Hell and a completely different person. His TV head was an older model and instead of holding himself with sinister confidence, he was timid, frail, and honestly? Extremely dorky.

"I- h-how did you find this photo…?" Vox said, his facial expression softening slightly as you showed him the photo. He wasn’t expecting the flood of conflicting emotions. Embarrassment, rage, and…  a tinge of nostalgia.

"I stumbled across it on a forum when I was studying overlords," you say, before blinking and quickly correcting yourself. “Not the ones for Eternal. This was just some normal history of hell thread on a public domain.”

You took back your phone from him and smirked as you pocketed the device. "You crazy fuckers are great inspiration for character design. The outfits, the abilities, the psycho agendas. All of it is fantastic for creative inspiration.”

You lean back to sit on your desk as you shrug. "Once I saw that picture, I realized that you used to be just like anyone else regardless of who you are now. Confused and scared. After that, the hypnosis hidden in your products and media stopped working on me. It's not that I was scared of you before, it's just now I don't think I could be without reason.”

Vox stared at you with a look of mild shock and disbelief. This was the first time in decades that someone had acknowledged the fact that he was once a normal human being on Earth. A person who was lost and scared and wanted nothing more than to find their place in the world. The nostalgia he felt from seeing himself in that photo brought back a flood of emotions he quickly tried to stomp down before you noticed.

"Valentino's abilities are based on a chemical reaction, while yours is based on psychological origins. There's no magic counterpart to your abilities,” you say as you deliberately ignore the flash of emotion on his face. It wasn’t your place to push. “It just depends on the mindset of who you're using it on. That's probably why if you were to try using it on Alastor or another overlord, it wouldn’t work either."

"This whole time, it’s been something so… simple?" Vox thought about it for a minute. He felt a spike of panic as he thought about how easily Hell could simply stop falling under his spell if Alastor made a fool of him again. “Then… what’s stopping a̸l̶l̶ ̵o̶f̴ ̸H̶e̵l̶l̵ from realizing..? F̴̡̉ṷ̶͊c̶̲̀k̸̠͗!̸̤͆”

You flinch as Vox starts to short-circuit. The way his body jerked and his voice glitched out, it looked painful. That being said, if anyone asked, you’d deny it as much as you could that the change in his voice didn’t make you feel a certain way though.

"You pull them in with charisma, instant media serotonin, and promises of things that will benefit them,” you find yourself reassuring the overlord before he has a panic attack in your tiny office. “They want to look. They want to listen. They want to be convinced."

You give your best smile and do little jazz hands at him dryly, "In short, capitalism, bitch."

Vox barks out a harsh laugh, glitching again before his systems seem to calm down slowly. You had a point. Even if people one day stopped fearing him, Vox had what people wanted. He had the confidence, he had the charm, he had the products. He had power. 

"So, if I'm to understand you correctly…” he stated slowly as he tried to talk himself down from losing it in front of a stranger. “The reason why my hypnosis doesn't work on you is because you don’t fear me outside of circumstance and you don’t want anything from me aside from something that isn’t actually for you. So what? You’re a sinner who doesn't care about material possessions? You just do your own thing and don't care about anything else? That’s it?"

"Mm, I wouldn't say that entirely," you hum as you cross your arms. "There are plenty of things I want. I'm still just a person like anyone else. It's just that since I understand the motives and origin of the source pulling the strings, I can just… walk around them."

"Interesting... very interesting..." Vox mumbled, thinking over this. It was a completely new mindset that he had never even considered before. His hypnosis relies upon the desire for material possession and a sense of power at the expense of others. But you somehow managed to counter his hypnosis through willpower alone. 

He wondered just how far that mentality could be pushed. "So, when you say there are things that you want..."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, feeling a shift in his demeanor that made you feel somewhat uneasy. "Yeah…?”

"I'm just curious,” Vox grinned as he changed his approach and closed the distance between the two of you. He looked down at you like he was once again trying to solve a puzzle, only this one seemed far more… entertaining to him. “What exactly do you want?”

"Why do you want to know?" You ask, shifting back to give yourself space, only to realize he once again has you trapped.

"Because you seem to have a different mentality than the usual sinner here in the hierarchy of Hell. While it’s a unique perspective, I doubt you’re the only one who has it. As you mentioned before, there’s a good chance my hypnosis could be resisted by other overlords as well,” Vox explained easily as he noticed your discomfort with a sinister grin.

“Can you blame me for wanting to find out just how far that mindset can take you before you fall under my spell like anyone else?” Vox smirked as he watched you squirm uncomfortably.

You will the flush on your face to kindly fuck off as you look away from him. It was obvious he was just interested in seeing what it would take to regain power over anyone who managed to dodge the influence of his magic. You thought that there would never be a consequence to the countless nights you stayed up late reading fanfiction filled with romantic tension, but the habit was now biting you in the ass as your mind filled with scenarios the overlord was definitely not implying. 

 "That's a fair enough question then, I suppose,” you mutter as you push on his chest to get some space. 

Vox relents and backs up, giving you the illusion of control for the time being. It was easier to pry information out of you that way. You move from the desk to the couch he was on earlier and grab a pillow. The two of you had been talking longer than you expected, and you wanted to get comfortable. You sit criss-cross, holding the pillow in your lap.

"Well,I guess I want the same things a lot of people want… I think. I want to get better at the things I do. I want to be prettier. I want to fall in love one day, but with how fucked up everyone is here, I'm not holding my breath there,” you chuckle dryly.

“Uhhh, I like plushies, but I don't need any more of those..." you hum as your mind wanders on how else you can answer his question. You personally didn’t think any of this could help him in his endeavors, but he had asked.

"You want to fall in love?" Vox said, raising a brow curiously at you as he sat across from you. He had never expected any sinners in hell to say they wanted to fall in love so openly. It was so... "pure" so to speak. Vox thought about what you said and asked, "What's stopping you, exactly?"

You snort, "Experience."

You laugh about it, but it's hollow. "I don't live up to the standards media portrays. I'm not skinny, I'm loud, and I have boundaries. Name one person in Hell who would be into that. I'm like the pet a kid gets and likes for a month and then sends back to the pound 'cause they got bored."

"I see..." Vox said as he thought the answer over. It was true that you were the furthest thing he was used to seeing in media or on the streets. A lot of sinners came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, yet a lot of them were thinner than twigs. He hadn’t given it much thought before, but you did stick out a bit more than you would have on Earth where body types were more varied.

Your answer made a lot of sense, but it still made something inside of him shift uncomfortably. Media and social media often paint a distorted image of what is considered 'beautiful' that leaves people's self-esteem in tatters. Normally, his business thrived off of the low self-esteem of sinners and he never had to face what that emotion felt like. After all, he had it all. Money, looks, power. So to sit face to face with the reality of those schemes left a sour taste in his mouth.

"And what about your personality?” Vox found himself asking before he realized. A part of him felt shocked that he’d bothered to pursue the subject, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. “Surely your sugary disposition has attracted people in the past, right?” 

Your face scrunches. "Attracts them, sometimes sure, I guess..." You look to the side, trying to keep your energy nonchalant and starting to fail. "But that's never been enough for anyone."

You sigh, shaking your head. "Any other weirdly intrusive questions, or do you have dissected my morals to your satisfaction?"

"Hmm..." Vox said, his eyes narrowing as he continued to study you with curiosity. There was a certain sadness to the way you described yourself. Clearly, you'd been through a lot of heartbreak and rejection over the years. But he had to know more. So he asked, "How have you managed to sustain your cheery nature after all the rejections you've faced?"

"I'd go fucking insane if I didn't," you chuckle. "And besides, it's not all bad. I can focus on learning new things and work on projects when I don't let other people fuck with my emotions."

Vox chuckled, your candid answer eliciting a laugh from him. "So, you use the rejection as motivation for your work, huh? That’s… something I can respect."

"Everything is shit enough as is," you say tiredly. "I'm tired of being miserable, so I just do what I can to be less so. It doesn't solve everything, but it helps."

"Well, I must say, that's quite admirable,” Vox smirked as he used some of his standard ego-stroking techniques on you. He saw potential uses for your skills in the future and wanted to get on your good side now that the two of you had struck a deal. “Your ability to remain upbeat and optimistic even after all that you've been through... I'm very impressed. It takes a lot of willpower and strength to do that, something that most demons here in Hell rarely have. It is a very admirable quality to possess."

You cringe slightly at the praise. Even if Vox was saying it in a business-like matter of fact, it was something that you just couldn't accept. It felt fake as fuck and made you uncomfortable. Granted, even if it had felt genuine, you still would have struggled to accept any praise.

"You're mocking me," you huff.

"Hmm... I suppose it may come off that way." Vox grinned. “Ah’” he thought to himself. “Laid it on too thick. Interesting though…”  He enjoyed teasing you because you got so frustrated by it. "It's not my intention."

You roll your eyes, completely unconvinced. "Uh-huh."

You smirk, leaning down to rest your cheek on your hand. Despite everything that had happened, you found yourself starting to enjoy talking with Vox. It felt weirdly refreshing and kept you on your toes. "What about you? What do you want, Mr. Big and Powerful Media Man?"

"Oh, well, I suppose there are a couple of things I would like to have," Vox said, rubbing his chin as he thought. His voice had regained an air of confidence as he talked about himself. "To finally kick Alastor’s ass once and for all, for starters. That prick showing his face again really fucks up my main goal of becoming the top overlord in Hell."

Vox leaned back as he followed the trail of thought. “Although he’s not the only one. To rise to the top, I’d have to surpass Carmilla, Zestial, the giant fucking dino lady, hell, even Valentino.”

"Wait, wait, wait," you say as you sit up. "Valentino? Isn't he like, your closest ally?"

"Oh, he is," Vox said as he grinned in a way that made his teeth seem sharper and almost inhuman. "But he’s a resource who constantly threatens the ability to outshine me as well. It’s a… fine line. It’s not like I need to destroy him like several of the others, but he could stand to be knocked down a peg or two once I’ve gotten what I need from him.”

Vox truly looked the part of a villain as he shrugged like he wasn’t talking about someone he was so close to. “Once I do, I will be the top overlord in Hell! No more media competition... no more Alastor stealing the spotlight from me. The top media overlord role will be mine alone."

"Damn, that's cold," you chuckle. "Not my flavor of a lifestyle, but weirdly enough, I'm rooting for you.”

“Really now?” Vox smirked as he quirked an eyebrow at the unexpected response. 

“If it means Valentino gets kicked in the back of his knees along the way, I guess I can support the big backstabbing game just this once,” you shrug. While it may not have been the main part of Vox’s big schemes, you were a fan of anything that bit the shitty mothman in the ass.

"Fair enough," Vox smirked. Despite how sappy you were, Vox found a twisted delight in seeing how his business partner brought out a darker side in you. He wondered what kind of person you could be if he corrupted you over time. His sharp teeth flashed in the light as he started singing to the anti-Valentino tune you wore plainly on your sleeve. 

"I think many in Hell would agree that Valentino has made their existence in Hell far worse than it needs to be,” Vox says, looking to the side as if he were remorseful. “I’ve turned a blind eye to it for a long time… Perhaps too long. I care about him a lot… but I won’t let him stand in the way of what I want."

"Don't you guys like, date on and off, though?” You ask as you shift and look over Vox quizzically. “You don't love him?"

"Oh no, definitely not,” Vox said with a bitter laugh. He wasn’t acting with that response. For as much as he and Valentino went back and forth, it had been made clear how loveless whatever it was they had was, even if he had hoped for more once upon a time.

“We have a… mutually beneficial work partnership, that's all," Vox said, trying to hide the awkwardness that came with that statement. "A romantic relationship would do me no good because ultimately it requires me to be more emotionally vulnerable,” he stated as he tried to make it seem like things were the way they were by his choice and his choice only. “And as you've discovered, I'm not the type of person to be very vulnerable."

"Ah, just fuck buddies then," you nod. "Fair enough."

"Hm, yeah, that would be a fair assessment," Vox said, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't actually care. "It's more of a physical than emotional relationship anyway. I don't love him or anything like that."

"Fair," you say. "I can get wanting his power, but if you ended up taking him down completely, what would you do with the porn industry?"

“Who said that I’d take him down that far?” Vox frowned. He didn’t like that there was something to be considered there. He hadn’t dared to imagine what his afterlife would be like without both Vees by his side, but he had to admit, you were bringing up an interesting line of thought.

You shrug, “Humor me. I’ve listened to your crazy ideas about Hell domination. Just… consider it food for thought.” 

Vox clicked his tongue, uncomfortable with the thought and yet also somewhat intrigued. Without Valentino in the picture, he’d have control over a very large corner of the media industry. Ultimately he did crave power over all of Hell, but he’d never considered that as a possibility until now.

You look him up and down as he gets lost in his own mind. "Although,  now that I think about it… Hm… Don't get me wrong, you've got the whole sexy and evil thing down well, but you don't strike me as someone who'd be comfortable running that area of things, huh?"

"Well, that's the thing,” Vox mutters as he runs a hand over his screen. “In the hypothetical, it's not just his power and influence that I'd want. It's his industry and his influence over the masses. If I were to ever take over the media industry, I wouldn't leave the porn industry as is. I'd transform it into something much better and much more powerful than Valentino's industry. He simply lacks the vision for what the industry CAN be. And I could show everyone that stronger vision."

"And what vision is that?" You ask with a tilt of your head.

"A vision of technology and media that has the masses drooling for the products and services that we provide. A vision in which we truly have total control over the sinner population here in Hell and the population back on Earth.” Vox started, slowly getting invested in the hypothetical.

“I would expand the industries far beyond Valentino's limits, to the point where all other media and technology companies would be left behind in Hell's dust,” He said with a manic grin. He could feel the dead pixels under his lip as if it were blood dripping from his mouth. 

“I could make it so that everything in our industries is tailored to the needs and wants of the masses. All of it. Every person would seek us for entertainment, information, and technology, and we would give them just what they need."

"And what happens then?" You say, realizing you’d triggered his evil mastermind brain cell. It was both fascinating and somewhat terrifying.

"Then...?” Vox blinks slowly as he comes down from the power high. “You mean what happens after I take complete control over the media industry?"

"Yeah," you shrug. "You turn everyone into a mindless consumer, but then what? If there's no one left to beat, no one left to control because everyone is already under your control. Well, would that make you happy?"

"It would make me very happy," Vox said, smiling at the thought of having complete control over everyone both here in hell and back on Earth. "In fact, I would consider that as 'game set match.' Because once I have that level of influence over the masses, nobody can possibly hope to compete with me. I would be the one and only media overlord, and everyone would love me for it."

"Mm," you hum as you flip the pillow in your arms for stimulation. "You may have lost me there. I feel like if you controlled everything, then there'd be no room for new ideas. I feel like you'd get bored."

"Well, that's where you're wrong." Vox scoffed. "Even with complete control and domination, the media industry will continue to evolve and change. After all, new technologies will emerge and new trends will crop up as time goes on. With complete control over the media industry, it is I who would have the final say on such changes and innovations. There will always be new ideas to keep the industry fresh and new, but the underlying system will remain the same. The system of control and dominance over the minds of the masses."

"Huh," you say. "I don't really get it, but if it's what you're passionate about and it takes down the guy who hurts people I care about, then I'm not one to complain. It will kinda be weird being like one of the only people not brainwashed by your tech though."

"It's fine, you don't have to understand it," Vox chuckled. "And by then I will have ironed out this little inconvenience regarding the ability to resist my control, so you’ll be just as swept up by the ordeal as all the other idiots.”

"Well, before all of that, you have a deal to uphold," you remind him, with a smirk.

"Ah yes... the deal. I forgot about that," Vox chuckled. "I've gotten so caught up in my own world that I almost completely forgot that you managed to beat me in round one our little mind game."

You snort, "Had a feeling." You get off the couch, cross the room, and lean over him to grab a pen and start writing a list of names in your notebook.

Vox watched you and thought over the conversation as you worked. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had entertained his fantasies like that. Even if you didn’t fully agree or understand, you let him ramble and you even dared to suggest something like betraying Valentino in full. He couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Velvette had been bold enough to talk to him about something that could contradict or upset him. It was refreshing how you were both keenly aware of the danger he was and yet also… saw past that.

You look over the list twice before nodding with satisfaction and ripping the page out. You stand up and hold out the paper to him. "These are the souls you'll need to make Valentino release his contract with. Make sure no harm or repercussions come to them after the fact as well. Don't be sloppy or I’ll kick your ass."

"Of course, of course," Vox smirked, taking the paper from you and looking over the names. “Although, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t genuinely interested in seeing you try.”

He pocketed the list and hummed as he stood from the couch and looked around. The risk you’d put yourself at today with him, the vials, the deal. “You really hate Valentino, don’t you?”

"Of course I do," you cross your arms. "He's abused the people I care for countless times. Why do you think I made the repellent?"

"Well, I suppose that would be a pretty justifiable reason," Vox said, nodding. "So then... this is a personal vendetta for you.”

"Completely," you nod. "I don't give a shit about the political power struggle in Hell. As far as I'm concerned, you're all just as bad as each other. There's no point in me getting too invested. I just want my friends safe from his control over them."

"I can respect a person with strong convictions," Vox said, a slight frown appearing on his face as he considered your words. "Although I do mourn your lack of desire to get more involved. It serves me well enough, but if you ever wanted to play the game…"

You sigh as you wave away his words, "Yes, yes, I've been a great tool for you. I'm helping one evil to take out another. Yeah, yeah, just don’t get used to it.”

"I appreciate the help, is all," Vox smirked as he approached you and lifted your chin with a single claw. "But tell me... is it truly so bad? I mean, you're helping to make Hell a better place. If I can lessen the damage Valentino has done along the way, then his manipulative, abusive reign over the masses will finally come to an end. Is that so awful?"

"Depending on what you do after, it could be," you mumble as you hug your arms to yourself and look away.

Vox raised an eyebrow. "You think that my plan for domination would be detrimental to Hell? That I would use my power to spread nothing but misery for my ego?"

You look up at him, with a smirk. "Your words, not mine."

"Touche," Vox muttered, with a small smile. "I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said that that's not my intention after acquiring complete power and control."

You step up to him and straighten his pin-striped suit jacket. He'd fashioned himself to be the ultimate image of control and power and yet his suit had wrinkles from laying on your couch. "I have never once heard of a person hungry for power and control with good intentions."

"Hmm, I suppose that's fair." Vox grinned as you absentmindedly tended to his appearance. "Still, I believe that the people of Hell would be better off if I were the one in charge. I am far more capable than the other overlords, and I could ensure that Hell operates the way it should. The media industry would thrive under my rule, I would be able to improve the lifestyles of the sinners in a way that no other overlord has even attempted to do. It's all for the greater good."

You shake your head, the smile you give him unreadable. "Then I hope that works for the best. Truly. I'm sure I'll see how it plays out one day, we all will. After all, you do love to put on a show."

"Yes, I do love my dramatic flair," Vox said, smiling faintly as if enjoying a mental image. "And it seems you're quite a bit of a drama queen as well. You do love being mysterious and difficult to read, don't you?"

You snort, shaking your head. "I consider myself an open book, actually. You just spend so much time with other big politicians and villains that you forgot what a normal person is like."

"Hmm, perhaps," Vox said, a smirk coming across his face. "But I must admit, you are certainly a different type of person compared to the other sinners I've met. You are far more unique than I initially thought."

You giggle, giving a silly little bow. "What an honor to be one of the few the future ‘Great Big Overlord of Hell’ will remember. It's ironic, all things considered."

"Oh? And what's ironic about that?" Vox grinned, tilting his head curiously as he felt himself being pulled in by your energy. He never knew what to expect and he found himself realizing just how much fun he was having, despite everything.

You smirk up at him, leaning up on your toes. "Because for all of this, you don't even know my name." You say quietly with a playful smirk.

"Well, aren't you just a cheeky little thing?” Vox chuckled as you stepped back. He watched you as you smiled like you’d just won another match in the game the two of you had been playing.

“Fine, I'll admit you got me... I don't do the whole getting to know people before I try to manipulate them thing,” Vox shrugged before grinning at you with a spark in his eye. “Are you going to tell me or do I have to beg for that little bit of information?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, meeting his playful remark with one of your own. “Are you saying you would? Because I’m sure there are plenty who’d pay good money to see you on your knees.”

Vox laughed, while you internally screamed and did your best to play cool. Did you seriously just flirt with the egotistical maniac who broke into your home? Seriously?! God, you needed therapy. Or alcohol. Or both.

“You really are something,” Vox snickered. He’d never been so happy to have his expectations proven wrong before. This entire exchange had left him feeling more alive than he’d felt in years.

Your eyes widened as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Whether he was making fun of you, lying with his usual business bullshit, or something else, you had no way of knowing as he looked up at you with a downright devilish grin.

“As much as I hate to cut this exchange short, I believe I have a list to get started on.”

Your brain is too busy buffering at the unexpected action as he stands tall and straightens his suit jacket with a satisfied grin. That was a point for him in your little game that he took pride in.

“Until next time, Y/N,” Vox smirked as he used your computer screen to teleport out of the office and leave you standing there dumbfounded and with a blush dusted on your cheeks.

It took a solid minute before you snapped out of it at the realization he’d used your name. You smacked your forehead and groaned as you realized he’d been on your computer, which meant that he’d seen that your name was on the main user account for your PC. He knew the whole time.

“Fucking damn it,” you whined with embarrassment. 

[mixsethaddams]

Robin and Nancy? Robin and Nancy.

“It was never about Steve, just so we’re clear,”

Robin paused, mouth full of soda while she processed what Nancy was trying to say.

“What…uh…Steve?” Robin stuttered, trying to catch up.

“Why I didn’t like you, at the beginning,” explained Nancy, short curls bouncing around her face while she spoke. “It was never about him. And I wanted you to know that,”

Robin carefully set her glass down on the table. The diner was quiet, tuesday nights were never busy in any part of Hawkins. Nancy toyed with the edge of a napkin, throwing a quick glance around to see if their waitress was coming back with their food any time soon.

“Ok…thank you?” ventured Robin.

“I just…” Nancy cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, still looking down at the table between them. “Since we’re…doing this now, this, us… I need to get it out there,”

Robin’s stomach leapt at the mention of them being an us despite only a handful of unofficial dates as she leaned slightly over the table, raising her eyebrows to encourage Nancy to keep talking.

“Barb Holland was my best friend,” said Nancy quickly. “She meant a lot to me,”

Robin practically felt the floor fall out from under her.

“When she went missing you…” Nancy steeled herself again. “I heard you saying things about her that were cruel and mean and… You said a lot of things,”

Robin was frozen. She got the impression this had been rehearsed in the mirror.

“So I need to know why you did that,” finished Nancy with a sharp nod. “Why you said all that,”

Nancy’s gaze finally lifted from the table and locked onto Robin’s. Robin opened her mouth but nothing came out. She thought about Barb every day, but there were some things that not even Steve knew. There were some things that were too painful to remember.

“Well?” asked Nancy, her face like stone.

Robin took in a trembling breath and leaned back into her seat.

She didn’t know what do to, what to say. Barely knew how to say it. Never mind after being put so firmly on the spot like that. Robin’s mind raced. How would Nancy react if she knew the truth? Had Barb told her anything? Obviously not, if this was the conversation they were having.

The longer Robin stayed uncharacteristically silent, contemplating her next move, the harder Nancy’s face got.

Hell, Robin didn’t even know what that next move was going to be.

Robin thought of us. Whatever came next, it had to be to protect us.

“Truth is, Nance…” Robin started, folding her arms on the table. “I thought she stood me up, and I wanted to get back at her,”

Robin hated herself for finally admitting it. Hated admitting that the reason she spent two days backbiting and badmouthing Barb, her Barb, was for something so shallow. She’d heard the cheerleaders talk before a game. She’d picked up a few things on how to make someone feel guilty. All the little one-liners to make someone stomach clench and their mood plummet. Those girls were masters of ruining someone’s day and Robin used every piece of overheard ammo she could. Robin wanted to hurt Barb like she’d hurt her. Or at least, the way Robin had thought she’d been hurt.

“You and…” Nancy’s eyes grew wide. “Oh,”

“Yeah, oh” said Robin with a sarcastic laugh. “We were supposed to go out the day after Steve’s party. Right after school we were going to catch a bus to Jackson and spent the whole night just… walking around somewhere new, I guess? We had tickets to a movie and everything, my dad drove me out the day before so I could buy them,”

“Oh… Oh Robin,” sighed Nancy, putting a hand on Robin’s arm.

“She wasn’t in school that day, and I thought well maybe she skipped?” said Robin, her voice wobbling. “She never skipped but I didn’t want to think she was sick because then that would mean cancelling, you know?”

Robin quickly swiped a tear from under her eye with the edge of her sleeve.

“But then she wasn’t at the bus station either,” said Robin softly. “I didn’t even think about going by her house, her parents didn’t know about…me… I just went home instead. I think… I think if I had have gone there, that maybe I would have found out something was wrong sooner and not said the things I did,”

Nancy’s face had softened entirely. She was looking at Robin with wet eyes, trying to keep her bottom lip from pouting out.

“You didn’t know,” whispered Nancy. “It’s ok,”

“I swear, I swear I didn’t know,” said Robin.

“I know,” promised Nancy, squeezing Robin’s arm.

Their waitress appeared and dropped their plates between them. Nancy shuffled out of her side of the booth and pushed in beside Robin, grabbing her hand under the table to subtly lace their fingers together.

“I didn’t know about the two of you,” said Nancy quietly. “She never told me,”

“We never told anyone,” answered Robin. “I wish we did. If someone knew then I wouldn’t have been able to get away with trying to… bully her when she was already…”

“Gone,” said Nancy, finishing where Robin trailed off.

“I hate myself for it every day,” said Robin, clinging to Nancy’s hand. “Every single day I think I’d do anything if it meant I could take it back, and tell people how amazing she was instead,”

“She really was pretty amazing,” agreed Nancy.

Robin took a shaky breath.

“I… I don’t know if I can say this, you know, considering this, and all,” Robin squeezed Nancy’s hand for emphasis. “But… I really miss her, Nance. I think about her a lot,”

Nancy nodded.

“I do too,” she said. “And that’s ok,”

“It is?” asked Robin tentatively. “Some days it feels like I’m under water with how bad it feels,”

“It is,” said Nancy. “I get that way too sometimes. Thinking about how I could have stopped it,”

“You couldn’t-“

“You don’t need to do that,” said Nancy gently. “Thank you, but, you don’t,”

Robin nodded solemnly.

“We have each other now,” said Nancy. “We can be there for each other when it gets too much. I’ll keep your head above water if you do the same for me,”

“That sounds like a plan,” said Robin, feeling a small sense of relief.

“Good,” said Nancy. “Come on, don’t let your food go cold,”

Robin ate one-handed, the other still hanging on to Nancy’s. Thinking about Barb still made her world turn on it’s axis, but at least now Nancy Wheeler was there to keep her steady. She suddenly wasn’t alone with it anymore. They would face it together whenever they needed to.

They had each other.

Us.

[cherrycola27]

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and full smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

Chapter Moodboard courtesy of @thedroneranger

...........................................

Chapter 13: Electric Touch

Thursdays at the Hard Deck were normally pretty quiet. A few regulars besides the Dagger Squad, maybe a few girls out with their friends or the occasional group of office coworkers out for a pre-Friday happy hour.

However, this Thursday was very loud. Not because of the crowds, but because of Penny Benjamin, soon to be Mitchell.

The Daggers had taken a seat at the bar, and Penny was talking to them when her phone rang. She stepped to the back to take it. Moments later, everyone heard the unmistakable sound of her yelling.

Glances were shared amongst the group as they all wondered what could be wrong. All eyes shot towards Maverick, who was innocently sitting at the end of the bar.

"I didn't do anything—this time. I swear!" He held his hands up in mock defense as Penny came back out.

"You aren't going to believe it!" She huffed to no one in particular. "My band for tomorrow just canceled on me. Something about another bar offered them more money. What am I going to do? We always get a huge crowd when we have live music!" Penny grabbed the towel off her shoulder and threw it on the bar before taking her head in her hands and sighing.

Everyone was silent for a moment, trying to come up with a way to console Penny. No one was sure what to say. Bradley looked at you and raised an eyebrow. You knew what he was thinking. You knew what everyone was thinking, but no one was going to say anything to throw you under the bus. Well, almost no one.

"You know Hades is in a band. She's the lead singer." Jake pipes up after a few beats.

You shoot him a death glare as Penny comes to stand before you.

"You're in a band?" She leans on her elbows.

"Technically, I'm just filling in until they find a new lead singer." You tell her. "So you're in a band, and you didn't tell me?" Penny scoffs.

"The Styx isn't really the kind of band you normally have here, Pen. You can ask they squad. They unknowingly saw us a few months ago for Fanboy's birthday. We are more punk rock—alternative—that kind of stuff." You tell her, hoping she'll drop it.

"Listen, I'm in a pinch. Can you call the rest of your band mates and see if you can turn the emo down for a night and help me out. I mean, surely you guys know some pop or rock or something." Penny practically begs you.

She wasn't wrong, The Styx knew a wide range of songs.

"Fine." You sighed. "I'll call them." You grabbed your phone and stepped outside. Half an hour later, everyone had agreed, and The Styx would be playing at the Hard Deck on Friday.

................

You were silent as Bradley drove to the Hard Deck early Friday afternoon. You were going to a quick sound check before the Hard Deck opened and then you and Bradley were grabbing a quick dinner before The Styx went on.

In regards to Penny's wishes, you and the rest of the band had chosen and rehearsed some more upbeat pieces, some throwback rock, and a few surprises.

You'd also traded in your usual concert attire for a black sundress with cap sleeves that tied in the front. You could take the girl out of the punk, but you couldn't take the punk out of the girl.

Sound check and dinner went fine, but when Bradley brought you back and opened your door, you refused to get out.

"I can't do this." You said to him as he stood there with the door open.

"What do you mean, Angel?" Bradley asked you.

"I can't—I can't sing in front of these people." You told him, still not moving.

"Angel, darling, I've seen you get up there and sing your heart out dozens of time now. You've never once had any reservations. Why now?" Bradley inquires.

"Because—because I didn't know those people, and they didn't know me. At other bars, I'm just a performer, but the people here know me, they work with me, they've seen me around—I can't—I can't hide." You admit to him. You'd never been one to have stage fright, but the idea of not having the security of playing a bar and then never going there again weighed on your shoulders.

At other gigs, people didn't know your name, and you'd never see them again, but the Hard Deck was different.

This audience would be filled with people who knew you. What if you messed up? Made a fool of yourself? Everyone would know.

"Baby." Bradley spoke softly. "Everything is going to be fine. You're going to be amazing. Plus, if anyone says anything to you, I will personally take care of it myself. Now, you need to get in there and knock 'em dead." Bradley smiles at you before unbuckling your seat belt and helping you out of the car.

You nod and jump out, ready to head in. But before you do, Bradley grabs your hand.

"Woah, woah, woah, woah." Bradley, stops you and tugs you back to him. You curl against his torso. As he looks down at you. "I know you aren't about to get up there and sing without me giving you a good luck kiss. C'mon Kolasi, are you crazy?" Bradley chuckles. You lean up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his lips.

"Much better." He grins. "Now go be a rockstar." You turn away from him and run to catch up with everyone.

You take your place with the band and exchange greetings and good luck. Lyla let's you know that everything is ready for what you have planned.

After Penny introduces you, you all take the stage. The Daggers are all front row, with Bradley in the center, looking up at you like you hung the moon.

You start out your set with some eighties rock. Bon Jovi always puts everyone in a good mood. During the set, you move through some boy band hits, pop princesses, and a dash of country, but as it comes to a close, you have two songs left, and you're nervous for them.

After wrapping up the last bars of a Halsey song, Derrick puts down his bass guitar and grabs his saxophone from the case.

You turn to the crowd and speak into the microphone. "Well, we've got two songs left in our set, and we thought we'd change it up just a bit." You speak.

Everyone cheers and settles in. You find Bradley, still watching, still captivated by you. You take a deep breath. These last two songs would be the most special of the night. Not because you loved them, but because you were singing them to Bradley. They were for him.

You nodded to Derrick, and he and the rest of the band began to play.

You opened your mouth, and the words flowed from your red lips.

"We were crazy to think. Crazy to think that this could work. Remember how I said I'd die for you?"

Bradley's ears perked up. He recognized this song. He'd heard it faintly over the roar of the shower on more than one occasion. His breath hitched. You continued to sing, and Bradley couldn't ignore how undeniably sexy you looked and sounded right now.

He could feel the heat rising in his face and all of his blood rushing south as you began the chorus of the song.

"We might just get away with it. The altar is my hips. Even if it's a false god."

Your hips were an alter, and Bradley would gladly spend the rest of his life on his knees worshiping you.

His pants were definitely feeling tighter now as your body swayed with the beat. You looked right at him. Your eyes locked into his as you sang.

As you finished the song, Bradley really thought he was going to have to excuse himself to the bathroom, but if he got up, everyone would see how rock hard he was underneath his jeans. So, he stayed seated and took a long sip of his beer, trying to collect himself as there was some movement on the stage.

He looked around the bar and tried to think of anything except for you and what you might be wearing under your dress and what it would look like when he took it off of you tonight.

When he looks back at the stage, he's shocked.

You're standing up at the microphone with a red and black acoustic guitar in your hands. Bradley didn't even know you played. Is it possible that seeing you with it has made him fall even more in love with you?

You clear your throat as you grip the neck of the guitar and squeeze your pick in your hand.

"So we have one more song for you tonight, and I'd like to dedicate it to someone special. Bradley, this one's for you, Love." You say as you begin to strum the first notes of the song.

Bradley's breath catches jn his throat. He isn't sure where to look right now. He can't decide if he should focus on the way your fingers expertly glide over the strings of the guitar or how perfect your crimson pout is while you sing.

"All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life."

Bradley thinks about how he would never break your heart and how you've told him he is the one who made you believe in love—in soulmates.

The more you sing, the more he sees your inhibitions slipping. He sees you relax and enjoy what you're doing, truly for the first time that night.

"And I want you now, wanna need you forever. In the heat of your electric touch."

God, you looked so beautiful up there. You found his eyes and smiled right at him. There was so much love for him on your face. You loved him, and you wanted everyone to know.

You stepped away from the microphone and started playing in earnest, strumming every note without hesitation or fear, jumping to the beat without a care in the world.

The bridge of the song came up. You let go of your guitar and let it hang from your shoulder as you grabbed the microphone with both hands to sing it.

"I was thinking just one time. Maybe the stars align. And maybe I call you mine—"

You locked eyes with him, and it was like you two were the only ones in the room

"Maybe the moment's right—"

You threw your head back as you crescendoed on a note at the climax of the song.

You finished strong with the absolute biggest smile on your face. Everyone inside the bar gave you and The Styx a standing ovation, and when you looked at Bradley, he was beaming at you with pride. You couldn't help it, but a few tears came to your eyes. But it was true, Bradley really did bring you back to life.

He was the light in your darkness.

He gave you a reason to live.

He saved you.

After putting everything away, Bradley found you sitting on the back deck of the Hard Deck, watching the waves roll in.

"You were amazing." He tells you, coming to sit beside you. "Why did you tell me you could play guitar?" He asks you. "It never came up." You joke with him as he pulls your stool closer to him.

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you as you both stare at the ocean, enjoying each other's company.

"Bradley." You breathe out, breaking the quiet. He hums back in response. "Take me home." You say as you stand up between his parted thighs.

"Of course, baby. I can take us home, we can change into some comfy clothes and watch some more of that documentary. Bradley replies, missing the point.

"Bradley—" you sigh as you meet his confused expression. "Take me home, and take me to bed." You clarify for him. Your palm coming to rest on his bicep

His honey colored eyes turn almost black in an instant as he pulls you in for a kiss.

"Fuck—Angel. Are you sure?" He asks you as he pulls back.

"Positive." You confirm. That's all Bradley needed to hear. He quickly stands up and grabs your hand. The two of you weave through the crowd of people, not bothering to stop and say goodbye. Bradley doesn't let go of you or speak a word until he has physically put you in the Bronco and buckled you up himself.

"I love you." He says as he climbs in the car and starts it. He laces your fingers together, and the two of you drive into the night.

.................

You thought you would be nervous on the drive home, but you're not.

Then, you thought that the nerves would hit you as you rode in the elevator to your floor or when Bradley unlocked the door and pulled you in behind him.

But they didn't.

And they didn't come when Bradley pinned you against the inside of the door to kiss you. They didn't come when you kicked off your shoes and wrapped your legs around his torso. They didn't come as he carried you down the hallway while you pushed his tropical print shirt off his shoulders or pulled his undershirt over his head.

The nerves didn't come because you didn't have anything to be nervous about. You loved Bradley and he loved you.

He gently sat you down , your feet landing on the plush rug in your shared bedroom.

Bradley unbuckled his belt and quickly discarded it and his jeans, leaving him in just his tight, black boxers.

You cupped him through the fabric, and he kissed you— hard. He moaned against your mouth as you ran your hand over his covered length. You slipped your tongue between his parted lips and deepened the kiss.

The need for air became too great, and the two of you broke apart. Bradley pressed his forehead against yours as the two of you panted, sharing the same air.

His hands skimmed up your side before finding the knot that held the front of your dress closed. He slowly pulled at the fabric, tugging it lose, before spinning you around and dragging the zipper down the back of your dress. Bradley pressed featherlight kisses along the column of your spin as each new inch of skin was exposed to him.

Once the zipper was open, he rose back to his feet and gathered all of your hair away from the right side of your neck. He pushed it away as you lulled your head to the side to give him better access. His lips dances across the space, leaving a scorching trail in their wake as he pushed the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders.

It pooled in the floor at your feet. You stepped out of it and turned to face him.

You weren't wearing a bra, so Bradley had a beautiful view of your peaked nipples that were just begging for his lips to be wrapped around them or rolled between his callous fingertips.

His eyes trailed futher south to the lacy, onyx colored panties—if you could even consider calling them panties, that you were wearing.

The small scrap of black fabric left little to the imagination. The lace ran across the front of you before merging with silk ribbons that were tied and resting on your hips.

Bradley skimmed his hands across your tattoos before tugging each ribbon loose with one finger. The cloth easily fell away from you and joined your dress and his pants in the floor.

You stood there before him, bare and beautiful. It was a glorious sight. Down right heavenly.

You took a step closer to him and skimmed the waistband of his boxers with your fingers. "Well, Bradley, fair is fair. You've seen mine, now let me see yours." You teased him. Bradley smirked at you before pushing the fabric down his thick thighs and kicking them off. You sucked in a breath. Time felt like it stopped. Both of you were there, naked and unafraid, ready to take the next step in your relationship.

"Are you sure?" Bradley whispered.

"I've never been more sure of anything else in my life." You promised him.

Bradley cupped your face in his hands before placing a tender kiss on your lips, slotting his mouth over yours, trying to pour every last ounce of adoration he had for you into it.

He broke away from you, just briefly, to sweep you up into his arms. He carried you bridal style the short distance to the bed.

Bradley gently placed you in the center of the sheets, making sure your head was propped up on the pillows. Your hair fanned out around you like a halo. How fitting, he thought.

Bradley climbed over you. His large body covering yours. He kissed you once more before dropping his lips to your jaw. He followed the line of it to the place where it met your ear.

You shuttered as he kissed there before trailing them down the column of your throat. Bradley continued his journey further south, pausing to nip and suck the tender swells of the tops of your breasts before his tongue laved the valley between them.

He took your right nippled between his lips, sucking the dusty rose colored bud into the warmth of his mouth before rolling the sensitive bud between his teeth. His left hand cupped your other one, kneading and rolling the flesh, causing you to moan for him. He pulled off of you with an audible pop before turning his attention to the other.

Each flick of his tongue against your pebbled nipple sent another rush of wetness to your core. You were so worked up, your slick running down your thighs as you rubbed them together in search of some friction to provide the tiniest bit of relief.

But Bradley wasn't having any of it.

He grabbed your hips and stilled your movements as he dragged his hot, wet tongue across your stomach and over your navel before placing a kiss right above where you wanted him most.

You parted your thighs for him, silently inviting him to take whatever he wanted from you. He nudged them even further apart before lowering his face to be level with your core.

"You're so wet for me, Angel." Bradley praised you. He was so close you could feel his hot breath fan across your center. You clenched around nothing, as you waited for him to touch you.

"Bradley—please." You whimpered, yearning for him to please you.

He chuckled before leaning forward and placing a delicate kiss on your clit. Your back arched as you nearly jumped off the bed. Bradley's large hands found your hips and pinned your down.

"Easy there, Angel. Just relax. I'll take care of you." Bradley assured you as he stroked the inner flesh of your thigh. You took a deep breath and settled yourself again.

Bradley pressed another kiss to your clit before tracing your slit with his tongue, gathering your wetness before drawing the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth. A breathy moan left your lips as he lapped at your core, over and over again, drawing more sounds of pleasure from you.

Your fingers flexed against the sheets, desperately seeking something to ground yourself. With a particular harsh lick of his tongue, you jolted forward and clamped your legs around Bradley's head.

He eased your thigh open, keeping them nice and wide for his broad shoulders. Your hand found purchase in his hair. You tugged on his golden curls, the blunt tips of your fingernails digging into his scalp.

He growled at the sensation before sinking two fingers into you. He curled his left hand, stroking your walls with expert fashion. He found that spongy spot inside your velvet heat with ease, and he zeroed in on it, quickly sending you towards a release.

You cried out his name in a string of melodious whines and moans, that went straight to Bradley's cock as he rutted himself against the mattress.

He knew he needed to collect himself because the beautiful sounds you were making, coupled with your devine taste, was almost enough to make him cum.

Bradley kept a steady rhythm between his fingers and his tongue, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. It was overwhelming. You tried to pull away, but Bradley slipped his free hand under you and grabbed your ass, pulling you as close has he possibly could to him, before draping his arm over your hip bones and pinning you in place.

You threw your head back into the pillows and screamed before tugging your lower lip into your mouth in an attempt to control yourself.

Bradley continued to lap at your core as you ground against his face, but as he did, he noticed something was missing. You were quiet, too quiet

Bradley looked up at you. Your lower lip was rolled between your teeth in an attempt to silence the sounds that are music to his ears.

"Angel—" He breathes out as he crawls up the bed and hovers over you. You meet his eyes as Bradley draws his thumb over your lip and frees it.

"Don't get shy on me now. I want to hear everything. I want you to sing for me again. Can you do that? Can you sing for me, pretty girl?" Bradley asks you.

You nod your head rapidly. You could do that for him. You would do anything Bradley asked of you because you wanted to be good for him.

He was so, so good to you, and you wanted to be his best girl.

So, when his lips met your eager core once more, you let out a symphony of moans, just for Bradley, his own private concert.

"Bradley, Bradley, Bradley!" You chanted his name as you tossed a leg over his shoulder and dug your heel into his back.

"Oh fuck, fuck, o gam, o gam! Olokliróno!" You shouted, slipping back into your native Greek tongue as pleasure washed over you as you came.

Your chest heaved as Bradley eased you through your high.

He climbed up next to you on the bed, grinning.

You smiled at him shyly. "I'm sorry." You laughed. "For what?" He asked you. "For switching to Greek. It's my first language, I couldn't help it." You say.

"Don't apologize. Do you know how incredibly sexy it was to hear you shout 'oh, fuck, I'm cumming,' in your native language?" Bradley smirks at you.

You look at him shocked. "How did you know what I said?" You asked him.

"I started learning the language after you told me you were Greek." Bradley tells you. Your eyes go wide. You told him that over ten months ago, before you were dating. He'd cared about you that long.

Your heart swells as you kiss him.

"If you keep it up, who knows what else you might hear me say." You tease him as you kiss him again, tasting yourself on his lips.

Bradley chuckles and easily slides his body over yours, supporting his weight on his forearms.

You can feel the thick head of his cock at your entrance. He moves one hand down and collects some of your wetness before spreading it over himself.

His eyes meet yours, one final, silent ask for permission, reassurance that this is something you want. You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him as he pushes into you, slowly.

It's a stretch. You knew it would be to take all seven and a half inches of him. But it's a good stretch. It seems like it takes an eternity before Bradley finally bottoms out, and his hips are flush with yours.

You let go of the breath you are holding and wrap your legs around him, holding him still as you adjust to his size.

Bradley is dying to move. He's willing himself to hold back, even though he wants nothing more than to rut into your tight, wet heat. He knows that it's been a while for you. He also knows how important this is for you—for both of you, and he'll be damned if he lets his primal urges fuck this up.

You wriggle your hips, adjusting on the bed. Your walls flutter around him, and Bradley can't control the stutter in his hips as he curses.

"M'sorry." He mumbles, trying to calm himself.

"It's fine, Love, you can move." You tell him. Bradley nods. He pulls back about halfway before seating himself in you again.

A groan escapes his lips as he repeats the action over and over again, pulling out more each time until he's only leaving his thick mushroom tip inside of you.

Your arms wrap around his torso as you desperately claw at his tanned skin. His thrusts are deep, deliberate. You know Bradley is searching for your gspot so he can zero in on it and have you cumming around his cock.

He leans back on his haunches and tilts your hips upwards before rutting into you again. You let out I high-pitched moan and a string of Greek, and he knows he's found it.

"Is that it? Is that the spot right there? It has to be because it had my pretty girl making those heavenly moans for me. C'mon, Baby, get loud for me." Bradley encourages you as he ruts into you harder, deeper, faster.

The head of his cock kisses your cervix before dragging along the textured roof of your walls over and over again. A symphony falls from your lips as Bradley flexes against you.

His hands grip the meat of your hips, hard enough to leave brusies, marking you like a badge of honor. Maybe you should get his fingerprints tattooed on you so you'd always have them.

"Is that way you want? Does my beautiful girl want everyone to know who she belongs to?" Bradley goads you. You didn't realize you were thinking out loud when you'd said that last part, but it was true. You wanted everyone to know that you were Bradley's, and he was yours.

"Yesyesyes!" You babbled out as you nodded your head.

Bradley's eyes darkened. He loved the idea of everyone seeing the evidence of your lovemaking. He wanted everyone to know that he was the one who got to love you, to pleasure you—to worship you. That he was the only one worthy of that honor.

Maybe—just maybe—one day, if he is lucky, he'll get you pregnant, and then their would be no denying who's girl you were. God, the idea of you round and swollen and carrying his child only added to Bradley's pleasure.

"Fuck, Angel! You feel so fucking good. Gripping me so fucking tight. I could stay buried in you for eternity. You gave me a taste, and now I'm never going to get enough." Bradley cried out as you clenched around him.

The two of you moved in a syncopated rhythm, pushing a pulling in perfect harmony. Bradley praised you as you begged him for more.

In the back of you mind, you thought that he would have wanted to fuck you into the mattress until you couldn't walk tomorrow, but he surprised you once again.

Bradley wasn't having sex with you. He was making love to you. He was showing you over and over that he cared for you with the amount of effort he was putting in.

He listened to every gasp, every hitch in your breath, in order to make this a pleasurable experience for you. He cared about what you wanted.

You lifted your hips off the bed to meet his thrusts, urging both of you to the edge. As much as you wanted to stay wrapped up in Bradley, you wanted—nay—needed for him to cum inside you. To claim you as his own. To make you his just as much as he was yours.

Bradley could tell you were close. Each time he pulled back, your pussy gripped him, as if trying to keep him in place.

Sounds of your love making bounced off the walls of your bedroom. Wrapping you and Bradley in them.

Because this wasn't just sex between the two of you, it was something more. An ethereal connection the two of you had.

Bradley had never been so in love in his life. Truly, when he thought about it, Bradley didn't think he had even been in love with anyone until he met you.

You changed the very definition of love for Bradley.

You are the most beautiful, amazing, talented person he has ever known, and he doesn't want to live one day of his life without you.

He continued to rock against you, his thighs starting the burn, and his balls tight and, aching for release, but he wouldn't allow himself to let go until he felt you coming undone around him. He needed to make you feel good. It's the only thing on his mind.

Bradley's leaned forward, bracing on his forearms, invading your space, and sharing your air.

His head dropped to the crook of your neck as he peppered kisses there before using one of his hands to trace tight circles over your clit.

You tighten around him the timing of his thrusts, and the feeling of his fingers on your neglected bundle of nerves has your head spinning, but it's too much.

You wriggle under him, trying to get away from the sensation, but you can't.

"Bradley, it's too much." You tell him, and he understands. He pulls his hand back from your core.

Instead, he grabs your left hand and laces it with his, pinning both of them over your head. You close your eyes and cry out. "Love, I'm so close! Agápi, eímai tóso kontá!" As you thrash your head from side to side.

"I know, me too, Angel. Open your eyes. Look at me. I want you to look at me when you cum." Bradley grunts out, his voice strained with pleasure.

It takes every ounce of willpower you have, but you force your eyes open and stare into his. You squeeze his left hand with your own as your orgasm washed over you.

Euphoria floods your body as you cum for Bradley, chanting his name like a sacred prayer.

Bradley cums with you, babbling your name as he spills into you, your walls clamping around him, milking him for everything he has.

He collapses on top of you, and you welcome his weight as you card your fingers through his hair. You tremble against him as he whispers praises into your skin.

You don't know how much time passed, nor do you remember dozing off. But you're startled awake when you feel a warm damp cloth between your legs.

"B—Bradley?" You stutter out, your voice still raspy with sleep as you sit up.

"Shh, Angel, go back to sleep. I just wanted to clean you up." He tells you. You give him a sleepy smile as he finishes caring for you. Bradley tosses the cloth into the hamper, and you make grabby hands for him as he walks back over to the bed. He takes you in his arms, and you curl up to him as close as you possibly can.

"I love you." You tell him as you trace lazy shapes along his torso. "I love you too, Angel." He tells you as he cards his fingers through your hair. And in that moment, Bradley decides that this is exactly what he wants for the rest of his life.

He also knows that he has to practice his Greek one more time before the morning.

............

The next morning, you wake up alone. He worried at first, but when you hear the sounds of Bradley in the kitchen, you settle.

You take your time getting up and taking a shower. You're deliciously sore from the night before, and you couldn't be happier.

Post shower, you slip on one of Bradley's UVA tees and a pair of leggings. You pull your hair into a messy bun, and make your way into the kitchen.

Hydra and Cerberus are both at Bradley's feet, no doubt waiting for him to "accidentally" drop some bacon for them. You smile at the sight.

You can't recall a time when you have been this happy.

Breakfast is slow and easy. Bradley holds your hand through the entire thing. But when you get up to put the dishes away, he stops you.

You looked at him confused. But he gives you a reassuring smile before speaking.

"Hades—Angel, before I met you, I thought I knew what love was. And I never thought it was in the cards for me. But that all changed when I met you. You showed me what it meant to love and be loved. You showed me what it means to be so in love with someone it hurts.

I have loved you since the first day I met you. Angel, S'agapó, I love you. I love you more and more each day. I the way you laugh, and the way you smile, and they way you care for others.

You are the most amazing person I have ever met. And I don't want a day of my life to go by where you aren't in it, and I may not be able to stand at an alter and do it, but it doesn't mean that I can't ask you.

So, Ángele, tha me pantrefteís? Angel, will you marry me?" Bradley finishes his speech and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. He opens it to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. You reach forward and gingerly touch it and instantly see that it belonged to his mother.

"Bradley— I—we—" you stutter as tears cloud your eyes.

"We can't— not really. And didn't we say marriage was just a piece of paper?" You shake your head.

"I was so wrong to say that." Bradley tells you.

"My dad died when I was a kid. And my mom never remarried. When I was old enough to understand, I asked her why, and she said that when you married someone, you promised to give someone your heart forever. She told me she had already given her heart to my dad, and she couldn't give it to anyone else again." Bradley tells you.

"I didn't really know what she meant then, but I do now. I want to give you my heart forever—however long, that is." Bradley smiles at you. Your eyes flick between him and the ring in his hand.

You knew that your marriage would never be real in the eyes of the other Gods, but you didn't care. They never cared about you anyway.

And you no longer cared about completing your quest. As long as you had Bradley, you had no desire to be immortal. He gave you purpose. For the first time in your life, he gave you a reason to live.

And maybe it didn't make sense, but it didn't matter. He was right. Marriage was a promise to give someone your heart, and even without a ring, you'd already given Bradley yours.

So, before you can think too hard about it, you look Bradley in the eyes and answer him.

"Yes."

Special shout out to @thedroneranger for the amazing moodboad!

Taglist: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @desert-fern @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @withahappyrefrain @lt-spork @multifandomlover4life @beccaanne814 @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @roosterisdaddy36 @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @asshlyyyy @inkandarsenic @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @sunlightmurdock

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Prelude - Next to Normal Chapter 1

Instrumental

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Marie Moreau did not have time for deviations from her schedule. What with balancing a double major in Musical Theater and Mechanical Engineering, plus two jobs - every minute counted. Which meant it felt like she spent half her time bemoaning other people’s inefficiencies -- like the bus to the grocery store that was routinely behind schedule anywhere from two to twenty minutes. She hoisted the large paper bag back onto her hip before making her way into her small but cheery dorm room, five minutes later than she would have liked.

“Are you a bunny?” Emma, her roommate and closest friend, questioned in lieu of a greeting. “Or are you trying to fend off the inevitable deterioration of your eyeballs?” Despite knowing Marie’s proclivity for food that didn’t taste like it came out of a toaster oven, she never failed to tease her about her ‘rabbit food’.

“Excuse you, my grandmother didn’t need glasses until she was seventy.” she retorted, snatching the two bags of baby carrots from the smaller blonde girl and put one into the mini fridge. “They’re good! And they keep me from becoming a zombie after 3pm.” She ripped open the other bag, popping one into her mouth. Unlike the jokes most students make, sleeping well and eating at least some fruits and vegetables is part of how she doesn’t entirely fall apart. It’s just unfortunate that their school mandated meal plan had woefully limited selections in the nutritional department.

“You know what keeps me from being a zombie?” Emma laughed, holding up the six pack of Monster energy drinks she’d requested. “Sugar and caffeine.” 

“Touche. Those things taste awful and yet are the only thing to get me through finals week.” Not everything they say about college is an exaggeration - finals week at G.I.T. is a special kind of hell, especially for the engineers. Last semester, she’d canceled her voice lessons and her shifts at Jitter Bean to focus on studying. Camping out in one of the private study rooms, she worked her way through an entire notebook just for practice problems, and she and Emma would trade off quizzing each other. And her hard work paid off - she still had a screenshot of her straight A’s that she kept on her phone as motivation.

“Some of the new flavors are tolerable.” Emma remarked, perching on the edge of Marie’s desk. She sighed, having long since stopped trying to get the blonde to sit in the chairs. But ignoring Marie’s glares had become something of a specialty of Emma’s, managing to be just adorable enough to earn forgiveness from the older girl.

“I don’t have new flavor kind of money. That’s a whole extra dollar.” She said playfully, putting away the rest of their groceries. And while Emma looked mildly admonished, it was a massive improvement from a few months ago. When Marie first let slip about her history, Emma had overcompensated for a while. She would flush red whenever she caught herself complaining about her parents or invited Marie to something she couldn’t afford. But by the third or fourth time of Marie insisting she wasn’t offended (and a few awkward moments of her own which she’d rather not recount), Emma stopped apologizing.

“Sometimes, joy is worth an extra dollar.” The blonde pointed out, gesturing with the black and neon green can.

“And that’s why I buy carrots.” Marie said matter-of-factly, folding the paper bags up for future use. You never know when you’ll need it. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, unbidden. She smiled to herself as she tucked the bags in their place under her dresser.

“See, you are a rabbit!” Emma announced jovially, only to get one of their many colorful throw pillows thrown at her head. Adorableness doesn’t save her from everything. Marie began gathering her things, stuffing her work shirt into her bag and situating her headphones over her locs. She turned to the blonde as she pulled on her jacket, the slippery lining of the trench coat sliding over her toned arms.

“I gotta go. I’ve got -”

“The room booked for your rehearsal. Like always. See you after work!” Emma said cheerfully, popping a carrot into her mouth in spite of her complaints.

“You know I’d never miss Golden Girls night.” Marie said, smiling and snagging a few more carrots to go and ruffling Emma’s hair on her way out.

“Thank you for being a friend!” The blonde sang out as the door closed behind Marie. She squared her shoulders and zipped up her jacket before heading on her way to the music building.

Despite the differences between the two of them, Marie wouldn’t trade their friendship for anything. They were thrown together by luck last semester - courtesy of the university’s automatic roommate selection. She’d been skeptical when she saw dance major and night owl on the compatibility form, but Emma drew Marie out of her shell in a way that never felt forced or overbearing. They even have a secret signal for when they need to leave a party or event as fast as possible. She’s also taken it upon herself to ‘educate’ Marie on the various movies and television shows she loves. Mondays were Golden Girls, Thursdays were movie nights. Emma did have to quickly get used to Marie’s need for routine and desire to plan ahead - Emma is the kind of person to announce that the most important event is happening about five minutes before they would have to go. 

The ten minute walk from her dormitory to the arts building was another part of her routine she’d learned to cherish. It’s one of the few times where she can be alone without feeling lonely. She kept up a brusque pace nonetheless, her combat boots crunching shallow sheets of ice on the pavement. The brick buildings of the other dormitories and gray expanses of parking lots blurred together as she made her way through the familiar campus sidewalks. She began running over the different pieces she’s currently working on with her voice coach. Marie’s been working with the same coach since her mom died. She’s an older Russian woman with a traditional attitude, she loved Marie’s mom, and in turn, Marie herself. Taking voice lessons online felt a little impersonal, but it’s not like she could afford any of the coaches around here. And all things considered, Mrs.Petrov was kind enough, and she knew Marie’s voice inside and out.

She sighed in exasperation when she walked up to the practice room and found the door still shut tight. It seemed like every single week, this girl with a too-tight ponytail and a voice that leans a bit too nasally pushes her voice lessons five minutes over at least. Marie’s standing by the door, tapping her fingers impatiently against her arm. Finally, the girl (Christine? Justine? Who cares) left with her private tutor and Marie was able to get started. She walked brusquely into the room, the accompanying track already prepared on her phone. She let out a long breath, taking in the unassuming white room, featuring only a piano, a speaker, and a music stand.

She forced the irritation down, rolling her shoulders back a few times to focus her mind. She has 25 minutes to herself, to just be. Well, 22 now. Warming up is almost meditative for her, as she puts all other feelings aside to focus on her technique and pitch. Hums and tongue twisters roll off her tongue like second nature, and she lets her eyes flutter closed. It feels like a way to honor her mother, in her own small way - as a child, she hated warming up or practicing on anything she didn’t like singing. All she wanted to do was sing pop and R&B - some of the girls at school had fawned over how she sang just like Beyonce and she had never felt cooler. Time and time again her mother would patiently explain to her the importance of protecting her voice and the benefits of working her vocal chords, while she forced herself not to roll her eyes. Her mother was kind, but not a pushover - there was no amount of whining or pleading that could get her or Annabeth out of the bevy of drills their mother knew.

Marie shook the memories away - it gets even harder to keep her parents off her mind as she inches closer to another anniversary. Her counselor would remind her she can’t schedule her feelings, and she should allow herself to feel and grieve when it comes up. But sometimes, you have 22 minutes to yourself before you have to stand for hours making coffee for college students, and you’d like to actually get some real practice in. Her barista job was the worse of the two, which is why she casually suggested to Emma they do their girls nights after her shifts there. Nothing gets you through making the most obnoxious coffee monstrosities like the promise of comfy pants, shitty booze, and fun television. Adjusting her long locs into a loose ponytail, she begins working on her current recital piece, some irritating opera piece that (if she remembers the translated lyrics correctly) is about your lover dying of the plague. Or something. What it actually means is that she’s going to have the German lyrics running through her head through her entire shift at Jitter Bean. 

Most people would never understand the way it felt for her to finally get to let loose and sing. Even Emma didn’t quite get it - she might be a dancer, but she was driven by familial duty, not passion. And those who didn’t know her would say it was only for her mother, that she made music out of some misguided obligation to her late parents. Her mother may have introduced her to music, but it was more a part of her than anything or anyone else. It ran deeper than DNA, deeper than duty, it was like the need to breathe. More often than not, she was stopping herself from singing or humming along to the music playing or the song stuck in her head. 

She left the music room exactly as the clock turned over (because she’s courteous - unlike Ponytail), pulling her work shirt over her top. Somehow, the fabric of this shirt is both slippery and scratchy, the microfibers catching on her nails. Whatever I’ve got to do to get to Annabeth. She reminded herself. And besides, being a barista wasn’t the worst job in the world. She punched in her employee ID, starting her shift.

Into the fray. She braced herself, pulling the cap down over her hair and readjusting her name tag. And despite her coworker spilling an entire pitcher of iced coffee down her front, and the three professors that came in and backed up the line making small talk, it wasn’t a terrible shift. One of the interim professors brought in her baby, a chubby-cheeked infant with a babbling giggle that filled the cafe with joy, which improved her day immeasurably. Still, a wave of relief washed over her when she was finally able to clock out, the sunset giving the campus a pinky-orange glow. 

She opened the door to her dorm, only to be greeted by the smell of weed, nail polish, and popcorn. “Welcome home!” Emma called out, cotton balls wedged between her toes as she attempted to finish painting them a neon shade of pink.

“Sorry, Ems, I gotta shower before we can start. I changed shirts but I still smell like stale coffee.” She said, still slightly irritated, taking her coat off and hanging it up in the closet as she spoke.

“Butterfingers at it again?” Emma asked, her eyes trained on the job at hand. With surgeon-like precision, she brought the brush to her nail, only to drip a glob of the polish onto her leg. “Fuck!” She cursed under her breath, wiping the pink goop with her sock.

Marie suppressed a grimace - there are cotton balls right there! “Uh, yeah, Mike lost an entire pitcher down my shirt.” She said distractedly, still mildly concerned by her roommate’s choice of rag. She just shook her head in bemusement, snagging her shower caddy on her way to the communal bathroom. She stood in the hot water, letting it run off her shoulders as she let her mind wander. Auditions for the spring musical are arriving fast, and while she’s not deluded enough to think that she’d be the first freshman to get a lead, she does know that auditioning every year improves her chances drastically. She’ll have to pick her audition song carefully - the theater program has a reputation of being particularly judgmental about what number you choose to audition with.

But that was a problem for later. Once dry, she grabbed her dad’s old tee shirt and her sweats, shaking the water from her shower cap before putting it back in the caddy with her shoes.  And snuggled into Emma’s bed, the familiar theme song began to play, and Marie let herself relax. Life was good.

----

Jordan Li preferred to arrive early, no matter where they were going. She thinks it has something to do with her father’s inability to ever arrive on time. There’s always an excuse - each one slightly less believable than the one before. Besides, since she started working at the mechanics down the road, they realized how much smoother an introduction can go when she doesn’t have to apologize right away. There’s a few older folks who seemed to have taken a liking to them, and they’re always pleased to make small talk about their grandkids or dogs before she has to get started underneath their car. One of her favorites was an older gentleman named John, who had interesting taste in cars and a sweet disposition. He walked into the shop as the clock ticked over to 1 p.m.

“Ah, if it isn’t Miss Jordan today! I was telling your counterpart about the neighbor’s dog who destroyed the missus’ garden. I’ve never seen a cuter ball of chaos.” He chuckled to himself, already fumbling with his phone to pull out the picture he’d shown them the other day. He was enough of a regular to notice that there are “two” Jordans who work there but didn’t realize they were the same person. She never had the heart to tell him the truth. Besides, she likes hearing his stories twice over. 

“Hello, Mr.Henderson! I hope she’s able to salvage them - I know she loves her flowers. How have you been?” Brushing imaginary dirt from her hands, she reaches out to shake his hand firmly. Like a grandfather she never had, he barely treats the two sides of them any differently.

“Doin well, ma’am. And you?” He slowly makes his way to the small waiting area, his cane making a satisfying sound against the concrete floor. And she can’t deny the comforting sense of validation when he calls her ma’am - as antiquated as it is.

“Can’t complain. What am I looking at for you today?” She turned to him, despite knowing exactly what he needed. 

“I think the brake pads on my old Datsun are wearing a little thin. Mr.Jordan said he put in an order?” She chuckled, smiling as she pretended to check the computer. It was already pulled up - another benefit of being early.

“Oh, I see that here. It looks like Mark left the package out for me - he knew you’d be here.” They began unpacking the pads before looking back up to see John settling into the chair he always sat in - a maroon cushioned armchair that looked almost out of place in the shop. “You make yourself at home, and I’ll get right to it, sir.” She smiled again before getting to work. 

And god, does she love working there. Their father is actually almost proud that his “son” works as a mechanic (See, now that is a respectable job for a young man. Did you hear your cousin is a barista now?), but that doesn’t matter as much as they thought it would. It just feels good to work with their hands, to fix something for someone else. That was the idea of going into engineering anyways. At sixteen, it felt like the answer to all her problems. Prestige for her parents, money for their hobbies, and good work for their conscience. Now, it feels like another cage. Half her peers are remarkably chill about the concept of working for defense contractors - which is a fancy way of saying building weapons. But the worst part was how... clinically it was discussed. He’d get halfway through a conversation with a recruiter at the career fair before realizing she’d just given her resume to a subsidiary of Lockheed Martin. 

She finished up with John, and tidied up before making the short drive back to campus. She should be able to get to the engineering building five minutes before her office hours are supposed to start. She doesn’t miss much about Rochester, but they do miss the country roads. They’d just drive, as long as she could, blasting MF DOOM or the shitty fucking American Idiot CD that their cousin “forgot” at her house when Jordan’s parents tried to ban scary music. (This music is corrupting my son, Kayla! This .... just isn’t good for a young man’s mind!). She’d whined and complained to Ruby for days until she came over to visit for dinner one night. She remembers waiting eagerly until her parents went to bed, snatching the CD from where she’d stashed it, and popping it into his disc player - also courtesy of Ruby. They listened to it so many times he memorized where all the skips were. 

She might be an engineer by trade (or will be - once she’s finally out of this hellhole) but music is what makes life worth living. And not just listening to music, but making it. She used to say they loved math because it felt like solving a puzzle. But that was before she started making music. Something just clicks when they get the bridge right or work out a kink in the melody. It was a stroke of luck that their friends also wanted to make music - Luke was the first one to bring up the idea of a band, because of course he was. And Cate came up with the name - Replaced at 9. Her, Jordan, and Luke had all discovered their abilities around that age - with varying degrees of success and heartache. But it’s Jordan who basically writes all the songs - staying up late pouring over Garage Band, or taking electives on music production. There’s this feeling she gets when they finally get the sound they’re going for. It’s like all these pieces finally come together and create the story she was aiming for. They tried explaining this once but Andre just laughed at her and called her a sap. But they can’t help it - she’s been listening to this kind of music for so long, she wants to finally put their ideas to record.

When she was fifteen, a friend from summer camp burned a Paramore album and a My Chemical Romance album onto a series of blank CDs. The two teenagers gleefully took the camp’s collection of sharpies and labeled them Mozart and Jazz Classics, complete with flowers and hearts. That alone would have been enough to write this memory into her soul forever. But later that night, they were staring off at the girls cabin, leaning against each other in the kind of way that made their heart race.

“I wish I was a girl sometimes.” They whispered, twisting their hands together while staring off into the distance. Jordan froze.

“I turn into a girl sometimes.” She whispered back. And before she could convince herself it was a bad idea, she shifted, her body shrinking against her friend. Their eyes went wide, looking Jordan up and down. Her heart was in her throat, and she looked down at her lap.  “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to brag or anything, it’s kind of a curse. My parents hate it.” She said awkwardly, fiddling with her fingers. She didn’t want to switch back - she didn’t know why yet, but sometimes, being in this body just felt like home. After another moment or so, their friend relaxed again, leaning back against Jordan as if nothing had changed.

“I mean, my parents hate it too. That I want to, I mean. When I was a kid... I told them once, and my dad got real mad. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about....” She gestured at Jordan’s new body. Then she paused. “Do you... like it? Like, if their opinion didn’t matter, what would you...” She trailed off. Jordan considered lying. 

“If I could do what I wanted? I don’t know, I like.... I like being both, I think. That probably sounds insane.”

“Nah, I think that makes sense, kinda. I mean, as much as me wanting to be a girl forever.”

“If you could be, what would your name be?” Jordan asked. She had never heard of someone else wanting something like she did. Boys weren’t supposed to like or want anything feminine. Her parents had convinced her that this form was something to be ashamed of. That they had to over-perform masculinity to compensate for this secret shame. But maybe... maybe there was another way.

“Iris.” She said quietly but immediately - This was something she had thought about.

“Well, Iris, I hope one day we can live lives we can be proud of.” They said, staring off into the stars. 

They found her on instagram last year - celebrating her first day on estrogen, no less. He wished he knew what to say to her - how to explain what that moment meant. But he’d just kept scrolling, trying not to dwell on the way Iris seemed to glow with happiness. Happiness they weren’t sure they could ever find. He slid his car easily into his favorite spot outside the engineering building, shifted, and made her way inside. Ten minutes early - perfect.

And yes, her friends found it mildly irritating that he beat them everywhere, but it’s not her fault that Andre has an inability to go anywhere without forgetting something at home. And if she’s honest, she likes to take the extra few minutes to herself. They’ll arrive to band practice early, taking the time to practice a bassline or complex guitar riff. Or, in the case of her T.A. work, she can make a dent in the slog of emails before the underclassmen begin to pile in. Although it usually takes another 15 minutes or so before the bravest of the students will actually approach them to ask questions.

She never really understood why people were so intimidated by them, but Andre says they give off an intense vibe or whatever. There’s a few students who have gotten somewhat comfortable just... asking for help. Which is what she’s paid to do. But each of the four semesters that Jordan’s been working as Brink’s T.A, the professor has had to give various announcements to his students, reminding them to actually talk to Jordan first instead of emailing Brink every time they’re confused. But the worst are the freshmen who will email her during office hours from two tables over. She watched as this one awkward kid with a buzzcut and glasses pretended to be working vigorously while continuously refreshing his email on his phone. Taking a look at her email, she saw the telltale ‘Office Hours Homework Help’ subject line at the top of her inbox. She forced herself not to roll her eyes. They weren’t about to email someone who was sitting less than 30 feet away. They made direct eye contact with him and quirked their eyebrow, uninterested in dancing around the issue. 

“Yo, you still reading the intro to that textbook or do you wanna come over here and I can take a look?” They said, not unkindly. It took him a second to register that Jordan was speaking to him, but he nodded quickly, awkwardly wrangling his books and papers into his bag before shuffling over to Jordan’s table.

It’s not like they are entirely anti-social or mean - they just cut to the chase in a way that makes timid people uncomfortable. At least, that’s what she tells herself. But a well-placed compliment on the student’s band shirt and an easy-going smile was enough to put this kid at ease. Thank God, because he seemed to have slept through half of Calc I and all of Calc II. Jordan mustered up every ounce of their patience, slowly walking him through the partial derivatives he was stuck on.

“Ok, so here,” They said, pointing to a line in his work. “This derivative is actually x2, so you’ve got an extra 4 here.” The kid’s glasses made his eyes look even more owlish as he blinked up at them. 

“But I thought the derivative of y is 1?” He said, his browline furrowed, and they had to hide their irritation. Everyone learns at a different pace. Brink’s voice echoed in their mind, reminding them to keep calm and stay kind.

“It is, but this is a partial derivative in terms of x, so the y is treated as a constant instead of a variable.” He nodded, scribbling something down in the margins of his paper, but it was clear he didn’t quite understand what Jordan meant. Whatever - they aren’t here to teach this kid calc, they’re here to help him with his physics. To be fair, physics is like 85% calculus, but still. They have to stay on task. The rest of office hours pass without interruption, just a few more students with straightforward questions. It wasn’t long before they were pulling her silken turquoise jacket on, slinging their bag over her shoulder, and making their way home in the orange light of the sunset. Life was good.

| next >

[theblogtini]

The only reason I’m slightly “poor Harry” is because he may not have liked his role in the familial institution but you can’t tell me he didn’t love his family. Didn’t he even say at the end of the NF doc he misses his family and friends? 

I sure can, anon. In fact, I don't think he gives a damn about his family at all -- only what they can do for him. And that's the biggest tragedy in this whole thing. It isn't what's happening to "poor Harry" as some people like to lament cos he's actually getting far less than his just dessert. It's the realization for his family of how little he actually cares about them and how far he's willing to go to hurt them.

Let's see: He trashed and blackmailed his family as his grandfather was dying and then threw him along with his grandmother and father under the bus for bad parenting right after he died. He was doing the "documentary" and the book knowing that his grandmother was terminally ill AND all the while STILL had the gall to harass her for $$. He then spent the period leading up to her funeral making demands to his grieving family and was looking positively murderous at the service just because he didn't get to sit at the front row. He hara$$ed his father too in private while publicly slagging and erasing him since he isn't as useful as his iconic dead mother whom he relentlessly exploits for $$ and clout. He tried to character assassinate his brother and cast aspersions upon his marriage with a callous disregard as to how it'd affect his nephews and niece, which, given the history with his own parents, is especially vile and cruel. He slandered them all to incite attacks against them and the family business and get them cancelled. If that's love then no, thanks, anon lol

Oh but he loved his family cos he said he missed them? PLS. More like he missed the perks and their clout that he'd taken for granted. It was a meaningless and manipulative lip service to take the edge off of his treachery and mask his malevolence. Just like when he sang the late Queen's praises while also reducing her to a puppet and a senile old lady. Or when he said he loved his brother to bits before throwing him under the bus on Oprah. The same m.o. as when his wife said that Kate was a nice person after humiliating her with the waity Katie dig.

He's hurt and abused a lot of people. But because his mummy died his apologists keep infantilizing and feeling sorry for him instead of for those he's hurt. Or they keep making excuses for him and downplaying his malice because they bought into his PR and don't like to admit that they'd been totally wrong/fooled. And ofc there's also the good ole misogyny where it's always the woman's fault. As the other anon said, you don't see people say "poor Meghan". I wonder tho if they'd still say "poor Harry" if he'd done any of those things to THEM?

Sorry for the rant but I'm also so damn sick of this "poor Harry" business lol

Daaaaamnn🔥🔥🔥

[firespirited]

My best friend and sister is gone. Her pain calcified into cruelty. The doppelgänger is right here, representing hope that I might see her again and ongoing grief.

Yesterday is a blur, I feel like after a car crash, the memories are fragmented. I remember yelping like a hit dog and big sobs like in the movies, I usually cry silently. There was chocolate ice-cream and I was stuck inside myself with fear.

She said the strangest things but they did make sense, after a while I knew why 'she' despises me and when she began to be replaced and that she's now gone.

At some point I texted mum to throw me under the bus if she had to, to keep some form of relationship. We agreed to cancel family therapy, the confrontation could leave us stranded, the ego death of finding out she's not a 'good person' could damage her recovery.

She's not the she that's here now of course and yet. You're always left wondering if you met the real person and you're unbearable, your efforts to fix this cringeworthy and pathetic. It's not about me.

So I'm going to interact like a big girl with the pain golem wearing her skin until she's found her new place, she can't stand being here around me.

Then we wait. I've done this before, they didn't return. Paradoxical grief messes with your head. I have chores to do, I'm afraid to open the door. I want to set my collection and all my things on fire, I want to run away. I want to shave my head, mark the scars with something. I have a hand tremor that can't be hidden, she's going to see it and imagine bad things.

There are chores to do. Isn’t life surreal?

[kasienda]

tell us about Adrino fake-dating? 👀👀👀

Adrino lends itself to this trope so well in my opinion in that they are super comfortable in each other's spaces, and Nino is generally on board to do anything and everything to 1) earn Adrien more freedom, and 2) piss off Gabriel.

My personal beef with fake-dating is that it's often written where two characters are already in love and already KNOW they're in love, but are too nervous to say anything yet. And I struggle with the whole thing being able to solved at any point with one conversation. (Though it doesn't stop me from reading or enjoying them. Just makes me want to tear my hair out when reading! Haha!)

BUT! If I'm writing my own, I wanted to explore them both not having feelings yet (or at least not being aware of said feelings), and that they figure it out through the process of pretending! And when it's time for it to end, they both realize they really really don't want it to.

So I started writing one. And I'm not sure if I will every finish or post it because it kinda feels like a generic romantic dramedy to me? I feel like I just am making the dolls kiss! Haha! Like, it's an aged up no-powers AU. I don't usually write things without identity shenanigans! And I don't have anything unique to add to this trope at the moment, BUT I've been having fun with it this week especially since I've been home sick. So maybe!!

...

Here! Take my whole opening scene:

“Tomorrow's photoshoot was rescheduled to Thursday morning, your father canceled dinner tonight, but promises he’ll be available tomorrow—“

Adrien snorted. 

“And you’re to escort Lila Rossi to the gala this Saturday as her date.” 

Adrien dropped his spoon. “That will not be happening. I will go to the gala, but Lila Rossi will not be my date.” 

“Your father agreed to—“ 

“Any agreements my father made on my behalf are null and void if he didn’t get me to sign the contract.” 

One of the benefits of reaching his majority. Now, if only he didn’t need his father to keep paying for university.

“Adrien, I know you don’t like Lila—“

That was an understatement if ever there was one.

“—but your father is not going to take your refusal lightly without any repercussions. Especially if you offer no explanation.” 

He had offered an explanation. Lila Rossi was a snake and Adrien knew better than to let her anywhere close to him.

“It’s only one evening,” Nathalie continued. 

One evening that would turn into many. But he could read between the lines. Nathalie needed a reason. His father wanted him to date someone now that he was old enough for it to garner media attention instead of generate a scandal. 

“You don’t understand, Nathalie. I can’t bring Lila because I already have a date.” 

It wasn’t true, but it could be.

Nathalie sighed. “And does this date have a name?” 

Adrien contemplated dodging the question. He would have preferred to ask before he dragged any of his friends into the spotlight that might include his father’s ire, but Nathalie would argue on his behalf better if she didn’t think he was lying.

He wished he could ask Kagami, but she and Felix had gone public two months prior. He couldn’t throw Marinette under this bus because her career in fashion was only just beginning and getting tangled with his name would only make things more complicated for her. He was already providing her with all the connections and contacts she would let him, and he didn’t want to bring attention to that special attention by bringing her in as a date. Alya was attending university in the UK, and Luka was on tour with his father in the US. 

Which only left him one option anyway. And in many ways it was the best option because Nino was the most willing to do whatever was needed to get Adrien out from under the thumb of his father. 

Adrien glanced down into his hands, trying to sell nervousness that he absolutely did not feel. “I can tell you since you’ll know on Saturday anyway, but Nathalie, I’m hoping I can count on you for support.” 

She actually looked up from her tablet. A good sign. 

“It’s Nino,” he said softly. 

“Nino Lahiffe?”

Adrien nodded. 

“Doesn’t M. Lahiffe have a girlfriend?” 

Adrien shook his head. “Not since Alya left to go abroad. They decided they didn’t want to do a long distance relationship.” 

That much was true. The break up had been amicable. 

“And how serious is this relationship?” 

Fuck. It needed to be serious for Nathalie to pull out all the stops, but how long would Nino put up with the song and dance of it. 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I hope we last, but we haven’t been dating that long. So far though, it’s been amazing! Nino and I have always just… clicked, you know?” 

“I will do everything in my power to see that you get a fair chance.”

He swallowed at the sincerity in her voice. 

“Thank you, Nathalie.” 

She nodded and left. 

He whipped out his phone and pulled up Nino’s contact. Nino wouldn’t likely be awake for another few hours so Adrien wasn’t going to call him, but Adrien could at least warn him. 

…

Nino’s phone buzzed on the table beside his head. Nino groaned and rolled over - away from his phone. He really should have kept up his maman’s policy of charging his phone in the other room. 

But an alarm clock was yet another thing Nino really couldn’t afford since he had moved out on his own. He was barely breaking even as it was. 

The phone buzzed again and he sighed, fumbling blindly for both it and his glasses. 

He blinked dumbly at the text on his screen, and then read it again. 

Adrien: 

I had to tell my father that we’ve been dating. That we’re going to the gala together this Saturday. I’m sorry. I know you wanted to surprise everyone the  day of. Please forgive me. Call me when you’re awake. 

The implications were concerning in more than one way. 

Nino tapped out a response immediately. 

Nino: 

there’s nothing to forgive, love. It was bound to happen eventually.  I still need help with my suit though if you’ve forgotten.  Can we talk in person? I miss you.

Adrien:

I’ll be by in a few hours.  Can’t wait to see you. ❤️ 

Adrien was laying it on thick. Definitely not a good sign.

[taylortruther]

The story of Paul's early villainization is really interesting to me, because a lot of it is due to things John Lennon said about him in a few interviews — though it's hard to fully blame him because various actors were taking advantage of him (including a quack therapist who it seems mostly retraumatized him) and exacerbating the issues he had with Paul — but it's also a lot bigger than the axe John had to grind because he just.... fit the idea of a typical rock hero (politically outspoken, forceful, witty) much better than Paul, so magazines like Rolling Stone took his side. And the journalists actually kind of changed their tune when John started wandering away from that image in the mid-70s.

But then you have the fact John got murdered which resulted in his near instant lionization, and Paul being his ex-songwriting partner who was reaching his forties and losing his music sales force (the band's often a punchline nowadays, but Wings were kind of a big deal for a hot second) became the natural person to tear down in order to bolster John Lennon: Genius.

It's also incredibly sad because they'd had a difficult relationship and Paul found himself dealing with his talent being constantly called into question and brought down in favour of an estranged best friend he'd just lost in the worst way possible.

And weirdly, a lot of musical innovations people attribute to John actually came from Paul, because his image as a "hitmaker" like cancels his weirder ideas out in people's heads. (Another parallel to Taylor!)

Correcting the record on this has been an effort of about 30 years of active work on Paul's part, but it's very difficult to try and deconstruct a narrative that has a literal martyr while also trying not to throw said martyr under the bus. (a lot of people don't like John [for justifiable reasons, for the most part, though there's a ton of telephone going on re:the bad things he did] but Paul is clearly not interested in dragging someone he met when he was 15 and lost 43 years ago through the mud)

i feel so much for these musicians with long legacies, who have to rely on someone else (a bandmate, writing partner, etc.) to figure out the details. there is so much conflict there (thinking of hall and oates specifically rn.) i know taylor has felt some loneliness, doing this all by herself, but in a way, it ensures she will have little issue deciding what to do with her catalog later after she owns her re-records.

[is-thisa-story]

01x13 Ski Trip Rewrite

The gang plans a ski trip to Jackie's cabin, but Kelo is uninvited when Jackie discovers that Kelso kissed another girl.

ao3

In Forman’s basement Eric, Hyde and Fez are huddled around a map.

“Alright guys, this is no sweat. If we leave right after school, we should make it to Jackie's ski cabin by like six o'clock.” Eric says folding the map and putting it in his back pocket.

Hyde smiles at Eric. “Man, I can’t wait. A trip to my favorite place.” He chuckles at his own joke.

“And I'm betting that Alpine Valley is gonna give ‘The Kid’ many make out opportunities with you this weekend. ‘The Kid’ is in!” Eric says

“What’s with the whole ‘Kid’ thing?” Hyde turns his head in confusion

“It's cool…” Eric looked back and forth between Hyde and Fez, “It’s not cool?” He asked looking at Fez

Fez looks uncomfortable. “It’s not cool, dorky.” He answers not making eye contact with Eric,but is looking at Hyde

Kelso interrupts their conversation “Guess who made out with Pam Macy behind the gym?”

“Everyone.” Hyde says, rolling his eyes.

“No,me!” Kelso cries out as he points at his own chest in excitement.

Eric looks at Kelso with wide eyes. “Micheal, a lot of people hang out behind the gym.”

Kelso nods excitedly “Yeah, that’s what’s so great about it. Everybody saw it!” He’s buzzing with so much excitement as the guys roll their eyes at him.

“Oh, that’s great man!” Hyde says with sarcasm. “Yeah, because then everybody can tell Jackie.” Hyde points out. “You moron!” He screams at Kelso.

“Yeah, and then she’s gonna dump you.” Eric says slowly like he's explaining something to him. “And we won’t be able to go up to her ski cabin!” Eric says getting mad at the wrong thing, making Hyde turn his head to Eric and glare through his sunglasses.

“She’s never gonna find out.” Kelso scoffs and shakes his head like it’s obvious.

Jackie comes in slamming the back door angrily when she sees Kelso. “You are a dog Michael!” She comes up to Kelso poking his chest angrily “A dirty, dirty dog!”

“What did I do?” Kelso asked, acting aloof.

“You kissed Pam Macy!” Fez throws Kelso under the bus making him shriek.

“I trusted you Michael, and now all my friends are laughing at me. I can’t even show my face in the third floor bathroom anymore! And that’s not even the cool one.” Jackie said

“But, I..” Kelso tries to say something.

“No Michael, We’re through.” Jackie says going to sit down between Eric and Fez on the couch.

Eric and Hyde look at each other sadly.

“Okay, if that's the way you want it, we're through. And Monday, when we get back from that ski trip, it's over!” Kelso yells

Jackie shakes her head.” No Michael. You won’t be skiing this weekend.”

“Oh, that’s just great Jackie. Cancel the ski trip and disappoint all our friends!” Kelso says dramatically trying to manipulate Jackie.

“Oh no, no, no. We are still going.” Jackie says patting Eric and Fez lightly on their thighs.

Hyde and Eric smile at each other.

Kelso squeaks offendedly “Well, they’re surely not going without me. Right guys?” In the stretch of silence his friends don’t look at him in fear of breaking and agreeing with him.

“Oh, and did I mention my parents are not coming? So it’ll be just us…” Jackie says making the kids immediately agree with her.

Eric turns around and looks at Kelso opening his arms. “So, we’ll see you on Monday!”

—

In Forman’s kitchen Red and Kitty are talking about Eric's weekend away they’re going to have some fun. They stop when Eric enters the room.

“Now, Eric, you’re gonna be driving in snow, so I’ll put together an emergency roadside kit for you. In case you got into trouble.” Red informs Eric as he sits down at the table.

Eric nods. “Okay, that’d be great.” he says with a smile as he prepares his plate.

“Preparation makes all the difference Eric. Take kitty litter. I can't tell you how many times kitty litter got me out of a tight spot…” Red starts to drone on as Eric stops paying attention.

Eric starts day dreaming of Hyde and him in the cabin with a fire burning in the fireplace as their naked bodies are entwined under some fur blankets as they kiss and sip champagne.

“Oh God Eric!” Hyde moans. His hand comes out of the blanket holding a road flare with a disappointed look. “Oh, it’s a road flare.”

“A road flare can save your life.” Red’s voice comes out of Eric’s mouth making Eric come out of his day dream.

Back to reality Red is glaring at Eric’s spaced out expression. “I said a road flare can save your life!”

“What…” Eric confused before quickly nodding. “Oh check. Right, road flare! Right.”

“Okay new good. How was school today?” Kitty asked Eric with a smile.

Red quickly loses interest as Eric talks about his day at school. He starts daydreaming about his weekend alone with Kitty.

Eric interrupts Red’s daydreaming. “Dad, Dad, dad are you even listening?”

Red sighs “Of course I'm listening. And you know what I'm hearing? You need to buckle down. I’ve told you over and over again that school is so important.” Red trails on

Red becomes background noise as she daydreams too. She thinks about their weekend alone with Red dusting the places she can’t reach. Eric and Red are staring at her as she shakes her head out of the daydream.

—

In Forman’s driveway Donna, Fez, Hyde and Eric are getting the car ready while Kelso is pouting under the awning.

“Hey Forman, I brought my double sleeping bag, you know?” Hyde says with a flirtatious smile.

Eric blushes as he turns around catching a glimpse of Kelso. “Oh. Hey Kelso, um, look, I just wanna make sure we're cool 'cause this weekend is like really important for me and ...so, just, thanks for understanding.”

Kelso stands there with his arms crossed like a disappointing mother's look. “Yeah, I understand. I understand that we’re not friends anymore.” Kelso says childishly.

Eric rolls his eyes and tries to explain to Kelso that he brought this on himself.

Kelso stomps his foot. “I know I did, but that’s no reason for me to suffer!”

“No, that is a great reason for you to suffer! I’m going!” Eric turns around to head to the driver seat, but stops when his parents exit the house to see them off.

“Fine, go! See if I care! Oh, come on man! We’re…” Kelso stops when Red glares at him so he can speak.

“Well,” Red hands Eric a box filled with random objects. “Here’s your emergency roadside kit.”

“Kitty litter?” Eric says looking into the box confused. He looks back up to a glare. “Oh, kitty litter, right!” Eric says with fake remembrance.

“Um, honey,” Kitty comes up to Eric getting his attention, “I put some sandwiches in your duffel bag.” Kitty still looks nervous before she asks, “Now, um, why do you need such a big bag of oregano?”

Eric’s eyes slightly widen before coming up with a lie. “Donna’s Italian?...”

Both Kitty and Eric start laughing. Eric stops abruptly as he walks to the drivers seat. He slides in and hands Hyde the box who’s sitting in the back seat behind him.

Eric starts the car and waves his parents off. “Stay warm!” Kitty yells as Kelso thinks this is some sort of prank. Eric gets out of the driveway with one last wave they leave.

Kitty and Red go inside as Kelso stands in the driveway looking down the street in hope that his friends come back.

—

After picking up Jackie they’re all in the Vista Cruiser on the way to the cabin.

“I have never seen snow before! It is so beautiful!” Fez says in awe with his head pressed against the back of the window.

“Do you know what the best part of this whole trip is? That Michael is not here! He'd just be sitting here, telling me how cute I look in my fur-trimmed coat. I know I look cute, I don't need him here for that.” Jackie says annoying the whole car from the passenger side of the car and Donna sighing heavily between Jackie and Eric.

Hyde touches Eric's shoulder from behind him. “Forman man, what's all this crap that Red gave you?”

Eric briefly looks at the rearview mirror to see Hyde before looking back at the road. “I don't know, he's obsessed with kitty litter. I think he might be going insane. He jokes before the car skids on black ice. Everyone screams.

The car stops and theres a beat of silence as everyone calms down.

“Far out!” Hyde cheers being the first one to speak.

Donna looks around. “What the hell was that?” She asks.

“I guess we hit some ice.” Eric steps on the gas, but the wheels spin with no traction. “Oh great! We’re stuck.” he says with a sigh.

Everyone but Jackie gets out of the car. Fez comes around the car holding a snow call. “Look, I made my first snow ball! I love snow so much my fingers are numb with joy!” Fez says with excitement.

Donna turns to look at Fez “That's frostbite Fez.” She says with a sigh but a slight smile.

Fez looks offended “How rude!” He throws down the snowball. “I hate your white men's winter!” Fez pouts putting his hands in his armpit.

“Get in the car Fez, get in the car.” Donna says opening the driver side to slide in her spot. Fez goes around the car and gets in his seat he was in.

“Eric, do something!” Jackie yells as the driver side opens. Donna closes the driver's door when she was done talking.

Hyde hands Eric the roadside kit he was holding. Eric takes it but when he looks up he sees Hyde slightly shaking. “Go in the car, it’s freezing out here. I’ll figure it out.” Hyde didn’t question him and rushed back in the car.

While Eric was outside trying to figue it out, inside the Vista Cruiser Jackie was complaining loudly. “This is awful! We’re all going to die! And I love Michael!” Everyone groans and yells. “Shut up!” They scream at her at once. Hyde looks at Eric regretting his choice to stay in a car with Jackie.

“Okay, think Eric, think! Why kitty litter?” Eric whispers to himself.

Red’s face comes up in the sky as a figment of Eric's imagination. “Use the gum Eric.” Figment of Red said.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Eric asks, confused.

“I'm not here, you're imagining me. Now's who's insane mister smart mouth?” Red rolls his eyes annoyed. “Now, use the gum to stick the candle in the can. The candle heats the can which melts the snow behind the tire. Then pour on the kitty litter for traction. Now you think you can handle that?” Figment Red asks Eric.

“Yes sir.” Eric nods.

“Good, because you don't want me back out here. I may be a figment of your imagination, but I'm still freezing my ass off.” Red walks off disappearing as Eric gets to work.

—

Back home in Forman’s Basement Kelso is ruining Kitty and Red’s weekend alone, reminding Kitty about the time Red cheated. In the expense of her happiness Kitty said she forgave the bastard, Red. Kelso smiles getting up and leaving to go find a ride to get Jackie back.

In the Forman’s living room Red is lighting candles and humming happily. “Okay! Candles, Check. Chianti, check. Fancy nut mix, check” Kitty enters the living room and heads toward the stairs. “How’s my pretty lady!” Red smiles at Kitty as she continues to the stairs calling him full of crap. Puzzling Red.

—

Kelso’s bright idea was to pack a duffel and hitch hike. He catches the interest of a trucker, Gus who stops, letting Kelso in.

“Well, hello there!” Gus says in a flirtatious tone, going right over Kelso’s head as he smiles.

“Hey, thanks for stopping. Are you going all the way to Alpine Valley?” Kelso asks warming his hands up by the heater.

“Oh, I’m going…” Gus smiles at Kelso batting his eyes. “Wherever you’re going!”

Kelso looks at him with wide eyes. “Wow, that’s lucky!” He yells in excitement.

Gus starts the truck and continues on. “So, did it hurt?” He asks, blushing.

Kelso turns his head in the confused dog way. “What?”

“When you fell down from Heaven!” Gus finishes the pick up line.

Kelso smiles. “Oh!” He laughs ditsy. “No, I’m fine!”

—

The gang finally arrives at Jackie’s cabin, with the girls first and Eric following right behind carrying all the luggage. Fez and Hyde huddle up trying to keep warm.

“Alright! We made it! Donna says excitingly.

Eric nods dropping all the luggage. “Yeah, just in time, that storm is getting nasty.”

Fez falls to the ground holding onto himself. “I am so cold! The snow has stolen my manhood!”

Jackie grabs Donna and Eric's shoulder as she speaks to both of them. “Okay, there’s only one bedroom. It was gonna be for Michael and I but since our love is…” Jackie holds back a cry. “Dead, you two should take it.”

Eric and Donna’s expressions draw up in disgust. Donna shakes her head. “Jackie, I think we should have a girls night by the fire!”

Fez cheers, he stands and tries to run past the girls to the room but Donna grabs the back collar of his shirt. “Fez is kind of like the honorary girl? Right Fez?” Donna slowly steps on Fez’s toes making him yelp.

Jackie looks confused, throwing Donna a look. “Okay?”

Hyde and Eric try not to look rushed running to the bedroom. “We’re gonna check out the room!” Eric says over his shoulder following close behind Hyde.

“Don’t you need your bag?” Donna calls after them and the only sound she gets back is a closing door.

Fez collapses by the fireplace and Jackie sits down on the couch. “I am freezing!” Fez cries out. “The winter in my country is seventy degrees!” Fez crawls closer to Jackies legs. “We must hold each other for warmth!” He grabs her leg.

“Stop touching me!” Jackie yells, shaking her leg, jarring Fez off.

Fez lets go of her leg and curls up on himself. “Then I am going to die!”

Donna is looking at a cabinet of Liquor “Okay Fez…” Donna sighs. “Ooh! Amaretto!” Donna smiles, picking up the bottle and turning around. “This will warm you right up. Take a sip.” She opens it and hands the bottle to Fez.

Fez takes a sip and then smiles at Donna. “Yum, liquid candy!” Fez tips his head back and starts chugging it straight from the bottle. Donna’s eyes widen as she tries to grab the bottle back from him.

—

Red finds out Kitty is mad about him kissing a runner-up of Miss Wisconsin pageant over twenty years ago…He did not help his case as Kitty walks away from him in a huff.

—

In Gus’s truck Kelso is eating a burger and wearing Gus’s ‘Truckers make good lovers’ hat.

“Thanks for the burger” Kelso says with a mouth full. “Oh, and the hat!” Kelso remembering the hat.

“Well I just like to see that smile. See you coming down about your friend Eric.” Gus says, looking at Kelso and the road.

“Well, it's just…” Kelso sighs as he stuffs the rest of his burger in his mouth. “You know, he's always been there for me. Like, when people used to call me dumb, he'd say, 'Hey, he's not as dumb as you think!' People don't like to talk about it, but guy to guy relationships are pretty special, you know?” Kelso says looking down sad.

“They can be the most beautiful thing in the world!” Gus says.

“I don't know why I do this stuff! It's just like... I get these urges, you know, and I can't control them!” Kelso says not realizing the induction.

“Shoot! I wrote that country song!" He puts a tape, he made in the tape player. The song starts with Gus singing “I've been cheated, been mistreated! When will I be loved?”

—

In the bedroom at the cabin Eric is hovering over Hyde in bed, one hand tangled in his curly hair, the arm itself keeping him up and the other hand gripping Hyde’s side. Hyde has his hand touching Eric’s jawline and his other hand rubbing Eric’s back as they make out on the bed. Outside the bedroom door Music is playing, Jackie’s cries are still heard over it.

Eric pulls back, breaking the kiss. “Okay,” He nods and looks back at the door. “That’s probably just Jackie crying.” Eric tries to shrug.

Hyde nods, “Yeah.” He pulls Eric’s lips to his again. The crying gets louder making Hyde break the kiss this time lightly pushing Eric off of him. “Okay!” he sighs. “Alright that’s too much!” Eric gets up off the bed and head to the door. “Can you please go out there and break that record?” Hyde asks Eric as he opens the door.

Eric is the first one to enter the living room. Seeing Donna holding Jackies hand as she uncontrollable cries in her knees. “What’s going on?”

Donna is looking at the Tv. “Spy vs. Spy.”

Eric sighs. “No, with Jackie.”

Donna looks over and shrugs. “She’s been crying. When I asked she just cried harder.”

Eric nods as he heads to the record player. “Where’s Fez?” Eric sighs as the music stops.

Hyde finally joins them with his hair a mess.

“Fez? Oh! He drank an entire bottle of Amaretto before I can grab it out of his hands. He was dancing and taking off his clothes so I stopped looking at him. But I think I heard him saying he wants to make snow angels.” Donna looks around behind her. “I guess he actually went outside.” She stands from the couch and looks at his piles of clothes. “He’s in his underwear, because it’s not here.”

Eric walks up to Hyde. “Okay look, either you need to go get Fez or try to get Jackie to stop crying.”

“I like when you get all bossy.” Hyde smiles at Eric who’s eyes harden. “Okay! Um, I don’t want to be cold.”

Eric nods heading to the door, getting ready and heading out. Hyde pats Donna’s leg as he sits between Donna and Jackie. Jackie immediately hugs him.

“Okay, oh, oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, okay.” Hyde awkwardly pats her back. “Now i can see you’re upset.” Hyde gets more comfortable as he pushes her shoulder to see her face. “Now listen alright? If it’s any consolation…” Jackie briefly stops crying to hear him. “Pam Macy would give it up to anybody.” He ruins the moment with a joke.

Jackie stares into Hyde’s eyes and then cries harder as she gets up leaving the room to cry in the bedroom.

Hyde turns to Donna. “Well, I tried.”

Donna shakes her head and stands up off the couch calling him a dumbass and jerk.

“Come on, I’m goofing around.” Hyde says as he stand too.

“No you’re not. You’re a dick.” Donna slaps Hyde, pushing him to the couch as she walks past him to join Jackie in the bedroom.

—

Kelso is still talking to Gus about his problems. “It's so clear to me now! I can't just go around using people as my sеxual play things. You know what I mean Gus? I guess people feelings are way more important than those sеxual urges!” Kelso says looking at Gus with a big smile.

Gus looks like he’s on the edge of tears. “You’re good people son.”

Kelso smile widens. “You too man!”

Gus brings the truck to a stop with a sigh. “Well, this is where you get off! And one more thing. Next time, take a bus. You’re too pretty to hitch!” Gus informs Kelso as he gets out of the truck,

“Oh, Thanks man!” Kelso waves the truck off as it leaves. Gus honks his horn twice as he leaves. “Bye Gus!” Kelso yells.

Eric's voice carries in the woods behind Kelso. “Hey Fez! Fez!” Kelso turns around as Eric comes into view.

“Eric! Hey man!” Kelso greets a wide eyed Eric.

“Kelso! You’re here!” Eric says surprised.

“Yeah!” Kelso smiles. “I got a ride with the nicest guy! Listen, I’ve had a lot of time to think on the way up here, and well I’m sorry!” Kelso pleds with Eric as they walk to each other.

“Yeah,” Eric nods. “Yeah I’m sorry. I should never come up here without you man!” They get to each other and hug.

As they are hugging Fez finds them. “I am a winter nymph!” They look over at him standing there in just his underwear. “I love this snow! Hurray America!” Fez walks up between them and falls face first into the snow passing out from the mix of all the alcohol and cold.

They look at eachother then bends down to pick up Fez.

—

They make it back to the cabin. Jackie is on the arm of the lone chair with her back to the door and everyone in the room, as she still crys. Donna and Hyde are sitting opposites of the couch. They door opens with a bang as Eric and Kelso carry Fez in.

“Michael!” Jackie screams running to Kelso.

“Jackie!” Kelso yells throwing Fez over the back of the couch. Jackie runs and jumps on Kelso as they hug.

“You walked all the way here in the driving snow storm just to be with me didn't you Michael? And you would never, ever, do that for Pam Macy, would you?” Jackie says threateningly.

Kelso looks confused as he tries to process all the words she said. “No?” He says with a questioning tone in hopes that’s the right answer.

Jackie squeals in delight answering Kelso. “Lover!” She grabs his shirt to bring him in for a kiss.

“You know it!” Kelso smiles as he carries them to the bedroom.

Hyde sighs as he closes the door behind them. “There goes our bed.” Hyde says coming to Eric to hug him.

Fez is unconscious with half his body on the couch near Donna. She looks uncomfortable trying to not make eye contact with Fez’s groin. “Can one of you guys please put his pants on?” Donna sighs as Eric and Hyde try not to laugh.

—

Red and Kitty make up with a small kiss and a promise to maul each other at the movies.

—-

Eric and Hyde find alone time in the cold Vista Cruiser.

“Well uh, here we are!” Eric says a little too loud for an enclosed car.

Hyde nods. “Yup.” He looks around.

“So…” Eric carries on, “I still can’t believe that Kelso cheated on Jackie with Pam Macy. I mean it's just a seriously uncool move.” Eric tries to make conversation.

Hyde looks at Eric. “Yeah.” He says

“I ean to risk everything for…” Eric not quit finishing his thought.

“Eric,” Hyde makes Eric look in his eyes. “I will never do that to you. Trust me.” Hyde tries to comfort him

“Really?” Eric asks quietly.

Hyde smirks. “Absolutely.” He nods as he tries not to smile. “I would never kiss Pam Macy behind the gym… again.” He smiles holding back laughter poorly.

Eric’s mouth falls open in surprise, “When?”

Hyde pretends to lock his lips before bursting in laughter with Eric joining him.

—

Later that night Kelso and Jackie are still in the bedroom, Donna is on the couch sleeping, Fez has been laid down by the fire to keep warm and Hyde and Eric are staring into eachother’s eyes as soft music plays in the background.

“This night turned out okay.” Hyde whispers between them as he rubs his hand up and down Eric’s arm. “Pretty romantic.” He grips the back of Eric’s neck

“Yeah. Erics head moves closer to Hyde’s. “It’s just how I imagined it. Just you and me…”

Fez shoots up from his spot behind Eric. “I do not feel good!”

Hyde lets go of Eric’s neck and reaches above his head to grab a trash can, handing it to Fez who lays his head in there. “Thank you.” Fez's voice echoes from inside the trash can.

Eric looks into Hyde’s eyes. “Okay, maybe it’s not just how I imagined it.”

Hyde smacks his lips. “Cover your ears, this part gets pretty gross.”

Eric nods. “Yeah.” He lays back down next to Hyde, both of them covering their ears a little too late as they hear Fez empty his stomach into the trash can.

—The End

[ankle-beez]

seeing people in the notes being confused over the specificity of this remark so lemme summarize real quick:

Kyle Gass, Jack's bandmate on Tenacious D, made a cheeky joke about the Trump assassination attempt at one of their concerts. This got conservatives really mad, Jack said the typical lib shit of "jokes about political violence are not okay" etc etc and canceled the remainder of the tour, therefore throwing his best friend under the bus over something that people forgot about 2 weeks afterwards

this specific frame of jack black from the minecraft movie trailer looks like he just realized he threw his best friend under the bus because of a cheeky political joke just so he could keep getting booked for shitty kids movies for the rest of his life

[chasseusedetoiles]

I'm so tired of those fans I swear. They're the biggest haters, always using her as a gotcha online to gain audience and then throwing her under the bus when she doesn't do something that line up with the woman they have in their heads. Why do said fans want to see her breaking down so bad in public??? "She should've acknowledged Vienna during London N4!!!" yeah sure!! Let her talk about the fact she and her team + her fans were about to lose their lives during a concert they're performing and then let her sing Shake it off what could go wrong!! I'm sure this won't affect her or her crew's mental health during the performance!!

I think that some fans need to understand that no matter how much she shares with us in her songs, she's not our friend/sister/girlfriend/anything remotely closed. We're not entitled to her feelings. I can only imagine how much devastating it is to plan everything, to save money to attend the concert and then seeing it being cancelled but please. She's human too. And she doesn't owe you anything. That's the truth. She shares what she wants and keeps private what she wants to keep private. Simple as that.

so let me get this straight, when fans gathered on the streets of vienna, singing together and leaning on each other in the wake of the shows being cancelled due to a thwarted terrorist attack, that was celebrated. but when taylor and her team — who also could have lost their lives as a result of said attack — have a private dinner just a few days later, that’s criticised heavily and people are questioning taylor’s character. make it make sense.

[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

jacqueline wilson’s ‘love lessons’

tw: abuse, pedophilia, characters making Bad Decisions, long unnecessary spiel about my childhood like I’m running a recipe blog

It’s funny how loads of the authors who helped shaped me into the vaguely humanoid being I am today have names beginning with the letter ‘J’; Judy Blume, Jeff Kinney, John Green, J.K. Rowling (yikes, I know) … and Jacqueline Wilson.

I’ve never owned a Jacqueline Wilson book of my own; they were always borrowed from a friend, or from a friend of a friend, or from a friend of a cousin- you get the gist. Her books, for me, come with an entire aesthetic: something reminiscent of yard sales, and reading under the covers with a flashlight, and being lulled into a false sense of security by the deceptively innocent Nick Sharratt illustration on the cover until someone’s best friend gets mowed over.

So I knew what I was getting into when I picked up Love Lessons. I knew this was going to be Fucked Up; and boy, was I right.

(Here’s the part where I warn you about spoilers.)

From an abusive dad to creepy child predator teachers to slut-shaming and victim blaming, this book has it all.

The main character is Prudence ‘Prue’ King, who is homeschooled at the beginning of the book, along with her sister, Grace. Their parents remain rooted in the early twentieth century, and are very strict about- well, everything. No TV, no computers, not a single mobile phone in the house; their clothing worse than the orphans’ from Annie; and their father remains distinctly distrustful of modern institutions like the school and the hospital; and so on, and so forth.

Daddy King suffers a stroke, and has to be taken to the hospital. Meanwhile, Mrs. King (a floppy, spineless woman who lives in fear and awe of her, frankly horrid, husband) sends the girls to school, behind the then invalid Mr. King’s back. Cue Prue and Grace being the freakshows of the school, with their strange clothing and overbearing mother.

Grace manages to make friends, but Prue remains alone. The kids are dicks, the teachers are dicks… well, all of them but one. And that’s the art teacher, Mr. Raxberry (I just couldn’t get over that name; it seems like something you’d name a mythical plant from Pixie Hollow or some shit. I’m assuming it isn’t an actual name, since the spelling & grammar check on my computer doesn’t seem to recognize it), or Rax, as he’s called.

Oh, yeah; Prudence’s favorite subject in school is art, and she’s a whiz at it. This is relevant, because reasons.

And here’s where stuff gets murky. Prue develops a crush on Rax- which is perfectly normal. I’m definitely no stranger to it; I’ve had crushes on my teachers, my mum admitted she used to think one of her professors was cute. And yeah, as I grew older, I grew out of those crushes and now have a markedly more refined taste in men (unless he’s 5’ 7’’, born in ’97 and named Bang Chan, I don’t want him); and my mum married my dad, so I’m assuming she did, too. Admittedly, now that my dad teaches at a university, it’s icky to think that there might be students who have crushes on him- but I digress.

My point is, loads of us have liked our teachers. But I doubt the majority of us have acted on it.

And Prue actively showing her interest in Rax isn’t the worst part. That’s a spot reserved for Rax reciprocating her feelings.

Guess Ezra Fitz and Ms. Grundy (yes, I watched Riverdale; please don’t cancel me) have a new addition to the Creep Club.

The age of consent in the UK is 16, if I’m not mistaken. Prue is 14. She’s just barely become a teenager, and she’s being preyed upon.

Because that is what Rax is. He’s a predator; he preys upon this vulnerable girl who’s never been in a relationship before- hell, she’s never even had friends- her father’s abusive, so she obviously doesn’t have the best experience when it comes to men- she’s unpopular at school, with the students and staff alike- and he lures her in. I don’t care how bloody nice he is to Sarah, or what a good dad he is (well, he’s really not, seeing as he cheated on the mother of his children WITH A BLOODY FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD)- the guy’s a fucking pedophile.

I was staunchly stuck at a yellow light with him; like, sure, maybe Prue thinks he’s flirting with her- maybe she’s looking at this all wrong, she doesn’t know how relationships work- see, he drew a picture of Sarah, too, in his secret notebook- Prue’s just reading into this too much- up until he says he loves her.

Dude. Humbert fucking Humbert. She’s fourteen, for Christ’s sake, and you’re married. You have two children. She’s a child. She’s probably closer to your son’s age than she is to yours.

(This is the part where I bury my head in my pillow. And scream. Extensively, and with passion.)

The book does make some genuinely good commentary on slut-shaming and victim blaming and abusive parenting. And on one hand, I can see why so many people find issue with the romanticization of the when I kissed the teacher trope- but I can defend it, too.

The book is in Prue’s perspective. She thinks she’s in love with Rax, so obviously, she’s not going to throw in some valuable moral at the end- because she’s too young and inexperienced to think otherwise. And sadly, there are loads of instances of child abuse that go unreported because the victims just don’t know better.

What I have issue with is how the school dealt with it, ultimately. Prudence, a child, has to deal with the consequences of the actions of a literal child predator. Sure, Rax ‘clears his name’ by cooking up some bullshit story about how it was only a crush and he didn’t encourage it, but you’d think other adults would know better and, oh, I dunno- dig deeper into it, instead of blaming it on a child?

“She says you told Mr. Raxberry you loved him and he held you in his arms and fondled you.”

Which Prudence denies, because, again, she doesn’t know better. She then goes on to say that they did nothing wrong. To which the adult speaking to her, in this case, the principal, Miss Wilmott, goes on to say:

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true… I feel that there are some aspects of your friendship that could be considered inappropriate.”

FYI, lady, he kissed her- multiple times (not that kissing her once makes him any more redeemable), and told her he loved her, and admitted to fantasizing about running away with her and leaving his family behind. Fun fact: do you know Prudence is underage?

You’d think that Miss Wilmott would maybe give this whole fiasco a favorable ending, but it turns out she listens to school gossip;

“I haven’t been at all happy with your attitude. You don’t seem to understand how to behave in school. I’ve heard tales of unsuitable underwear and then a silly romance with one of the boys in your class. I feel that in the space of a few short weeks you’ve made rather a bad name for yourself… I don’t know whether you intend to be deliberately insolent but you certainly come across as an unpleasantly opinionated and arrogant girl… I can’t help feeling that you’ll be much better off elsewhere. I shall try hard to engineer a suitable transfer to another school.”

And then she comes out with this gem:

“If you won’t leave, then I shall have to ensure that Mr. Raxberry finds another position.”

“No, you can’t do that! He’s a brilliant teacher.”

“You should have thought of that before you started acting in this ridiculous and precocious manner. If I were another kind of headteacher, I would have Mr. Raxberry instantly suspended. There could even be a court case. He would not only lose his job, he could find himself in very serious trouble. Did you ever stop to think about that?”

Girlboss, gaslight and gatekeep. The fucking trifecta.

Also, by ‘another kind of headteacher’, does she mean the kind of headteacher WHO DOESN’T LET CHILD PREDATORS ROAM FREELY WITHIN THEIR HALLS?

This bitch is out here blaming a child, a literal child, for the crimes of an adult man.

The only time Prue seems aware of the fact that Mr. Raxberry is actually a very shit person is her immediate thoughts that follow after she tells Miss Wilmott she’ll take the fall;

I so wanted to save darling Rax- and yet why hadn’t he wanted to save me? Had he told Miss Wilmott it was all my fault, that I’d got a ridiculous crush on him, that I’d made ludicrous advances to him? … I wanted to tell this horrible, patronizing woman how hungrily he’d kissed me, but I couldn’t do it. I loved him. I had to help him.

NO, SWEETHEART; YOU MOST DEFINITELY DO NOT.

And maybe I’m going overboard with all these excerpts, but here’s what Rax has to tell Prue, after school, following her expulsion:

“I let her think the worst of you, the best of me, just to save my skin. I said it was ridiculous talking about a love affair between us. I said you simply had a crush on me, and that I was just trying to be kind… You were brave enough to stand up to me and force me to acknowledge the truth… I love you… That’s why I had to take a risk and see you this one last time. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care… Every night when I close my eyes, I’ll think of us together in this car and how badly I wanted to drive off with you. I’ll imagine us walking hand in hand at the water’s edge… I wish I wasn’t such a coward.”

(I burrow into the pillow further. I’m trying to suffocate myself.)

And that’s where I think Wilson went wrong. Sure, Prudence getting expelled for something that was completely out of her hands is unfair, and horrible, but it’s real. That shit can happen.

What’s bad is showing Rax in a positive light after all that. If only Wilson had written Rax to not be the Romeo he thinks he is. Make him ignore Prudence, throw her under the bus in front of her face, instead of this star-crossed lovers bullshit it’s made out to be. Show your younger audience that Rax is not a good man. I’ve got a little over two weeks left for my twentieth; I can see why this is unacceptable. But I was a little younger than Prue when I watched Pretty Little Liars, and my only gripe with Aria dating Ezra was that Noel Kahn was so much cuter.

It shows when you scroll down the Goodreads reviews; you’ve got adults giving it one or two stars, and teenagers giving it four or five, with their biggest complaints being, “but Toby was cuter!!!”

Other non-pedophilia related complaints regarding the book include: Prudence being unlikable- which I didn’t really notice, considering she reacted to some people way better than I would’ve, even at 19 (which probably says a lot more about me than it does about Prue, but oh well). Still, Prudence obviously isn’t the most prudent of people- and again, she’s fourteen. Look me in eye and tell me you weren’t an arsehole at that age (unless you’re fourteen now, in which case, I assure you that you’ll look back on yourself someday and go ‘wtf was I thinking’). Bringing up Toby’s dyslexia in an argument was low, though.

There were people who thought the Kings’ almost-Amish lifestyle was exaggerated and unrealistic, but I assure you, it may very well be real. There are 8 billion people on the world- it’s fair to assume that several of them are complete weirdos.

Grace was a sweet character, and I adored her with every fiber of my being. As were her friends Iggy and Figgy. Honestly, I would’ve loved a book about Iggy, Figgy and Piggy’s (mis)adventures too.

[niallloverontheloose]

"Stiles made a divine move, but he was only capable of doing that because Scott refused to let Stiles sacrifice himself or anyone hurt Stiles"

Look at what well known harasser and rabid Scott Stan - Derek/Stiles/Peter/Sterek/Steter hater Claude Frollo just posted in the Stiles Stilinski tag on purpose:

https://princeescaluswords.tumblr.com/post/661308239644868608/stiles-played-a-deadly-game-of-goo-and-chess

Hello @princeescaluswords 

Aren't you tired of obsessing all over a neurodivergent character you claim to hate and of using every single ableist trope and stereotype to belittle and demonize Stiles in an attempt to prop Scott up? 

"Peter claimed that chess was Stiles game, but Peter does tend to exaggerate" Funny how Scott stans are so bothered by Peter praising Stiles and pointing out that chess is Stiles' game to Derek that they need to lie and make shit up in order to belittle/invalidate it, isn't it? And by funny I mean ABLEIST  

The most hilarious thing though is that according to antis' own logic, Peter exaggerated when he said he was impressed by Scott's ingenuity in Season 2, too. Everyone who watched Teen Wolf knows that Peter Hale was being blatantly sarcastic and only did it to manipulate Scott into going to Jackson (which Scott did by the way), since Peter never even bothered to hide the fact that Scott can go die a miserable death in a ditch alongside Gerard for all Peter canonically cares and openly mocks Scott "my plan is to get Stiles to come up with a plan"  McCall's stupidity throughout the whole series. Thanks for proving a point, Escalus!

"Yes, Stiles did pull off a divine move in the episode of the same name, but he was only capable of doing that because Scott refused to let Stiles sacrifice himself or anyone hurt Stiles in order to save others. He found a way to save everyone, by doing the right thing" 

Scott/Posey fans really love to erase canon and give Scott all the credit for his friends' heroic actions and achievements, don't they? Another trait they have in common with Canon Scott McCall 

1• Stiles played a deadly game of Go against the Nogitsune AND a game of chess against himself (Void Stiles) simultaneously, repeatedly outsmarted and outwitted the Fox Spirit that chose him as his vessel, and then defeated it by making a Divine Move. Scott didn't do shit except whine, growl, obsess over Allison, make out with his new girlfriend, get his ass handed to him by everyone, be his usual useless self and throw jealous fits/temper tantrums somewhere in the background. Where he belongs 

2• Scott McCall doesn't have any claim or authority over his friends outside of Scott stans' self insert power fantasies and delusions. Scott also threw a tantrum because he didn't want Stiles to sacrifice himself and lock himself up in Eichen House to save his friends and everyone else. And yet Stiles ignored Scott's whining and did it anyway. Stiles found a way to save everyone, figured everything out, and did the right thing. And he did all that without conspiring with Gerard behind everyone's back, or lying to everyone, around him, or dehumanising werewolves, or selling the Hales out to the hunters, or violating rape victims. Unlike Scott, who did all those shitty things and still failed miserably at everything 

3• No one hurt Stiles in Teen Wolf Season 3B because everyone loves Stiles and no one wanted to hurt him. Not because a whiny, pompous, narcissistic fuckboy with a dumb true alpha title ordered them not to lol

4• Scott McCall doesn't have the authority to allow/or not allow anyone to do anything. Much to his and his fans' eternal chagrin 

"You probably would have figured something out. And Scott did. Repeatedly"

Again, that was sarcasm. Both Stiles and Theo used Scott's own narcissism, inflated ego and delusions of moralistic grandeur against him and mocked him for his self righteous hypocrisy to his face. And neither Scott nor his fans even noticed. Also: when did Scott ever figure something out exactly? When he tried but failed to assassinate Gerard? When he thought that he had gone from being utterly shit at lacrosse to being a star athlete in the span of a day because he was just naturally talented? When he threw Derek Hale under the bus and framed him for murder so that he could be free to stalk Allison and play lacrosse? When he claimed that Kira was a werewolf? When he accused Morrell of going around murdering people? When he assaulted and kidnapped Liam and then called Stiles because Scott can't even clean up after his own mess, let alone take responsibility for his own failures and shitty actions? When Theo played him like a cheap kazoo throughout Season 5? Seriously, when??????

As Peter, Lydia, Malia and everyone else have pointed out, Stiles is the clever, super smart one who always figures it out and never takes advantage of his talents.

Meanwhile, Scott is just a self righteous, judgemental, below average hypocrite who always takes the credit for his friends' heroic actions and accomplishments, judges and/or condemns others for things they never even did and conveniently gives himself a free pass for, and can't even plan his way out of a paper bag without his friends' constant help and support 

"They portray Stiles as chafing chained to a sub-par relationship with Scott, but Stiles literally has a break down when he thinks he’s done something for which Scott won’t be able to forgive him"

Nothing demonstrates Scott fans' ableism and utter lack of empathy more than them trying to cheapen Stiles' trauma and make it all about their fav. Stiles Stilinski got mentally and physically violated by a Fox Spirit who chose him as his vessel; sacrificed himself and locked himself up in Eichen House - supernatural prison/mental institution - to save everyone else; got abused by the wards; repeatedly forced to kill people; couldn't sleep; has been suffering from panic attacks since he was a child; remembered when his mentally ill mom abused him and called him a monster during his childhood; was stalked and brutally assaulted by Donovan; had accidentally killed his abuser to defend himself; and then got gaslit, dehumanised, judged and victim blamed by Scott for it; got blackmailed by Theo and abandoned by the abusive best friend whose ass Stiles risked his own life to save throughout the whole series ("You need me! You trusted him, too!") And yet Scott Fans will try to make it all about Scott instead... which is another trait antis share with Canon Scott 

Scott/Posey fandom's jealousy, ableism, hypocrisy & obsessive hate boner for Stiles and Derek specifically are as blatant and as creepy as ever. Teen Wolf got cancelled due to shitty ratings years ago, and Posey's career followed it down the drain immediately after. But his stans are still out there foaming at the mouth, spewing ableist garbage, and throwing tantrums just because people don't like their shitty fav and have the audacity to prefer Stiles and Derek to Scoot 

BUT SCOTT FANS ARE NOT OBSESSED