#I don’t know how my mom does it. she has it worse than me and she expects me to be more bounding and alive and USING my energy

[enigma-absolute]

…

[puppyypawsss]

It’s really fun and really cool when ur mom dismisses ur anxiety and makes u feel stupid and crazy and AAUUUHHVGBHHH.

[alittleemo]

.

[suguann]

Ex-husband!Gojo who doesn’t understand that the parents (mostly the moms who try to hide behind their giant sunglasses) at Mio’s soccer games talk, and he chooses today to pull you into his lap. Several sideways glances cast your way at how cozy you both must look as you watch your four-year-old daughter run in the wrong direction across the field because she got distracted by a butterfly.

He doesn’t hear what they talk about—aren’t they divorced? I’ve never seen anyone divorced act like that—or (worse) when they try to be subtle about their probing into Satoru’s dating life while you stand there with a stilted smile plastered onto your face. 

(More than likely, he’s listened to every word and doesn’t give it the same amount of thought or care as you do.)

“Gojo,” you hiss, trying to move off his lap to no avail. “I have my own chair.”

“Can you still call me that if it’s your name too?”

A huff. “Go bother somebody else—”

“Shh,” he tells you, tugging you further against his chest. “You’re missing the game. Mio’s finally found her way back onto the field again.”

“But everyone’s staring at us.” You catch the eye of a mother tearing into a pack of fruit snacks.

“So? Let them stare.”

Everyone starts cheering, and you both watch Mio chase the ball down the field, her little body ducking between the taller kids. 

“That’s my girl!” Gojo shouts over the other parents.    

And then Mio kicks the ball into— 

The wrong goal.

“Maybe we should have let her join t-ball,” you whisper, though you both clap as your daughter starts doing not-quite cartwheels in the middle of the field.

Ex-husband!Gojo who still does work around the house every Friday, and to your dismay, shirtless now that the weather is warmer.

The plate in your hands has a few scuffs, half of a cartoon character’s face scrubbed off to oblivion that Mio will have something to say about later. Doing everything to stop from staring out into the yard where he’s mowing the lawn because the window is right there, above the sink, to tempt you.

It’s difficult when his chest glistens with sweat from the early-summer heat and how those stupid gray cotton shorts (that you know he picked out with the sole purpose of torturing you) sit dangerously low on his hips— 

He looks towards the kitchen window, a crooked smile stretching across his lips. The blood rushing to your brain, that must be what makes you give a sudsy wave and cause heat to creep into your middle.

Ex-husband!Gojo who strolls into your room while you’re putting away laundry one afternoon, and unsurprisingly shirtless as he crowds you against the dresser. Front to back. His mouth at your ear.

That steady resolve you pride yourself in crumbles at your feet, and you swallow the tiny, helpless sound working its way up your throat. A slippery thing that slips out. “Satoru…”

“You know, these little shorts were always my favorite,” he tells you, his fingers playing with the elastic waistband.

“Were they?”

“Don’t you remember? Couldn’t get them out of the way fast enough.”

Your mouth is dry, something playing in a loop in the back of your brain. Early morning, breakfast cooling on the stove, crumbs stuck to your cheek, these shorts dangling off the leg propped up on the counter���

“Where’s Mio?”

A kiss to your nape, a knowing smile. “Taking a nap.”

Ex-husband!Gojo who works your shorts and underwear off your legs before pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

“Satoru, we—we can’t keep doing this—”

Your words trail off into a moan when he slaps your clit with the leaky tip of his cock, and wet sounds echo in the room.

“Yeah? Go on, baby,” he tells you, slowly splitting you open, stuffing you full, two puzzle pieces slotting perfectly into place like it should be (how it’s always been). “Tell me some more why we can’t keep doing this.” 

You can’t, not with how he’s filling you up in the way only he knows how. Not when he hooks two thick fingers into your mouth because you’re getting too loud, pinning you against the bed with your cheek buried into your pillow, every sound choking into nothing.

You wriggle underneath him, fingers clawing at the comforter and your back arching.

“Christ, look at you,” he growls, leaning over you, teeth bared. “Fucking look at you. You needed this, didn’t you?”

Ex-husband!Gojo who presses what leaks out back inside you with his thumb after he pulls out, wet and sticky circles between your legs until you fall apart again with a soft cry. His thumb is there again, at your entrance, pushing and stopping like a plug, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, “Can’t waste it.” 

And quieter, “Maybe it’ll take.”

(Who knows?

Maybe it will. Worse things have happened.)

Ex-husband!Gojo who stays for dinner for the fourth time that week, and none of the reasons have been because Mio asked if he could. It’s more about the fact that you’ve enjoyed how whole your family feels again, that you can pretend for a moment this is what you do every night.

(How it was probably always going to come back to this.) 

That your wedding ring doesn’t sit in the back of your sock drawer, and his isn’t tucked away in his wallet. That you don’t feel guilty when you think about saying I love you or wishing he’d stay longer—

“Daddy, you gonna lose,” Mio tells Satoru as Mario Kart appears on the screen.

“We’ll see,” he laughs, tugging on one of her pigtails until she’s giggling and swatting his hand away.

You lean back against the couch, watching them with a small smile you share with Satoru over your daughter’s head.

[estrellami-1]

How Steve Harrington Gets a Family

The first time it happened, Steve didn’t remember. He had no idea why Hopper was acting so weird until Joyce took him aside, sighing softly.

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs. “You don’t remember, do you?”

He frowns at her. “Remember what?”

“You called him dad, Steve.”

“I-” he gapes. “What?”

It goes like this.

He’d been hospitalized, after the Russians; he doesn’t know all the details, won’t for years, but Hopper had escaped from the reactor, thrown his weight—and title—around until someone had put Steve in a room, in a bed, gotten an IV into him, run whatever tests doctors run.

He was delirious with the truth serum still in his system and the adrenaline wearing off, groaning in pain and mumbling nonsense.

Hopper had put a hand on his head, said, “I’ve got you, Steve. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

“Dad,” Steve had mumbled, shifting into Hopper’s hand, and promptly passed out.

“Oh,” Steve whispers after Joyce tells him. He runs a hand through his hair. “Well, no shit he’s been acting weird, I mean why would he want me as a kid- shit, I need to apologize-” 

“Whoa,” Joyce says seriously, hands on his shoulders. “Slow down, Steve. You know Hopper loves you, right?”

Steve bites his lip on the snark that wants to come out, instead choosing to just blink at her.

“Christ,” Joyce laments, “I’m going back to school, everyone need so much damn therapy.” She takes a breath and looks Steve in the eye. “Hopper loves you, Steve. He’s considered you his kid for a long time now.”

Steve gapes at her. “No he hasn’t!”

Joyce raises a brow. “Uh-huh. And how many parties has he busted, exactly? And how many marks do you have on your record?”

Steve snaps his mouth shut. “Oh, shit,” he whispers, looking up at Joyce. “He- he does? Really?”

“Really,” Joyce confirms, pulling him into a hug.

“Oh,” he mumbles, before letting himself enjoy the hug.

Later, when he’s about to head home, he stops in front of Hopper, glancing nervously over to Joyce, who nods encouragingly. “Can I, uh. Talk to you? For a second?”

Hopper narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “No, nothing! Just-” he sighs, runs a hand through his hair, gestures Hopper out the door and around the side of the house. “So, Joyce and I were talking, right? And I was wondering why you’d been acting weird around me, and I didn’t even remember what I said in the hospital, so Joyce told me, and- and I don’t expect anything from you! At all! And it- how I feel doesn’t have to change anything-”

“Christ,” Hopper says, but he’s smiling. “I think you’re worse at emotions than I am.”

“Well I’ve never had to tell anyone I think of them as more of a father figure than my own father before!” Steve blurts out, then freezes.

Hopper bursts out laughing. “Jesus, kid, do you think before you talk?”

Steve’s not hurt. Really. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but at Hopper. “I’ll leave.”

A hand on his wrist stops him. “C’mere, kid,” Hopper says, pulling him into a hug.

Steve stiffens. “What?”

“Boy, you’ve been my kid since the third time I didn’t write you up for one of those damn parties,” he grouses.

Steve relaxes into the hug. “So. If I, uh. Were to, maybe, call you dad again…”

“Just see what I’ll do if you don’t,” Hopper says gruffly, and it’s really not that funny but Steve’s just so relieved that he cracks up anyways.

They pull apart after a minute, and Steve has a giddy grin on his face as he backs up. “Bye, Dad,” he says, before turning and running to his car. Hopper’s laughter follows him.

He’s been close to Dustin for a while now, but still refuses to call his mom Claudia. The most he’ll do is Mrs. H, even though every time she sees him, she tries to get him to call her by her first name.

He can’t do it. He can’t make himself. Maybe it’s the manners instilled in him, maybe he’s just awkward as fuck, who knows. But he chickens out every time.

That’s why, when she answers the door, he smiles. “Hey, Mrs. H.”

“Steve,” she greets him warmly. “Come in, come in. Call me Claudia. Oh, what is this? I told you you don’t have to bring anything!”

“Just some cookies,” he promises her, putting them down where she directs and falling into the hug she gives him.

“Dear,” she asks him later, when they’re sitting at the table with Dustin, “call me Claudia, please?”

Steve can’t look at her; passes the butter Dustin’s silently asking for. “Sorry, Mrs. H.”

“Jesus,” Dustin groans, buttering his roll. “If you can’t even say her name then at least call her mom.”

Steve’s cheeks are on fire. “That’s not exactly up to me, Dust,” he grits out.

“Oh, dear,” Claudia sighs. “I would love for you to call me mom.”

“Then we’d be brothers,” Dustin adds, “which we basically are anyways.”

Steve snorts. “I don’t think that’s exactly how it works,” he tells Dustin, but takes a breath and smiles at Claudia. “Thanks, Mom,” he says quietly. Claudia beams back at him.

“I don’t give a damn!” Claudia yells at the hospital receptionist, who really just looks exceedingly bored.

Steve knows the look of someone who’s grabbing their pepper spray. “Mom?” He calls, wet and wobbly, and Claudia spins around, running to his side.

“Oh, Stevie,” she murmurs, gently cupping his hands. “Oh, goodness, your face- have you gotten looked at? Has someone come to see you? Where’s Dustin?”

Steve opens his mouth to answer and promptly bursts into tears. “He’s f-fine,” he manages. “Ankle. Getting- getting helped. But- Mom-”

She hushes him, pulling him down into a seat next to her. “Let it out, Steve, there you go. Mom’s here, I’ve got you.”

He finally composes himself enough to pull back and look at her. “It’s not good, Mom,” he whispers. “I tried, I really did, and I know CPR but he was losing so much blood-”

“Steve,” she stops him, “I thought you said Dustin was fine?”

“He is, it’s just his ankle, but Eddie, Mom… he’s back there, they’re doing surgery, but he- I felt-” he grabs at his own chest, and somehow Claudia knows what he means. “Oh, dear,” she murmurs, pulling him into another hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers into his ear. “You did what you could, you kept him stable until the doctors could do their job, and now it’s their turn, okay? Let them take care of it. They’re gonna do everything they can.”

His eyes well up again. “He didn’t kill anyone, Mom.”

“Oh, I know that, sweetie. It’s okay. I never thought he did.”

“But they do!” He sniffs, wipes at his face. “And what- what if-”

She pulls his attention back to her with a hand on his face. “Did I tell you about the time a known serial killer came in?” She whispers. He shakes his head. “He’d been in an… altercation, with the police. Shots had been fired. We all knew who he was, but when he flatlined on the table, we got his heart beating again.” She grips his hand tightly. “Doctors take an oath, Steve. They’re going to do everything they can. Okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbles, letting her pull him into another hug.

“Y’wanna tell me about Eddie?”

“You know Eddie.”

“Mhm, from Dusty. I’ve never heard about him from your perspective before.”

“I didn’t really know him before today,” he admits. “I knew of him, in high school, a little bit, but then I graduated and he didn’t and then Dustin started raving about him and… I got jealous.”

“Oh, Steve.” She cards a hand through his hair. “You know Dustin will always love you. You’re brothers.”

Steve sighs. “I know, but… we’re also not. I love you more than I love the woman who birthed me, and I love Dust as much as I’d love any biological sibling I could ever have, but-”

“I know,” Claudia says. “It’s okay, dear. Keep going. Tell me about Eddie.”

“Right. So I got jealous, and then I really didn’t wanna meet him, ‘cause he actually sounded kinda cool and I’m just… me. And I know what you’re gonna say, but you’re biased as my mom.” Claudia just chuckles. “But then I met him, and… he’s really nice, Mom. He really loves the twerps. And he’s, like… kind? And I know nice and kind are synonyms but it’s different. Like he’s just… an inherently good person. That’s kind. Nice you can fake. But you can’t fake kind. Y’know?”

“I know what you mean,” she agrees.

“Okay, good. Well he’s kind. He-” Steve sniffs. “He called me a good dude.”

“Well,” Claudia says, smiling, “you are.”

Steve chuckles wetly. “I am now, maybe, but I wasn’t when we knew each other in high school, and I didn’t really expect him to say anything. And he’s so passionate, Mom, and he’s talented, and he’s selfless, but that backfired because it landed him here-”

Claudia hums, strokes a hand through his hair. “How long have you liked him?” He stiffens. “Oh, please, like I haven’t known this entire time. Honestly, Steve, I’m not an idiot. And I’m not some backwards idiot especially who thinks two boys who love each other are the greatest sin.”

“No, it- Mom, you love Robin, of course you’re fine with it, I just- I didn’t… I didn’t realize.”

“Oh, Stevie,” she sighs, running her hand through his hair again. “When he gets out, are you gonna do something about it?”

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Maybe. If- if he even wants to be friends-”

“Okay, now I know you’re talking crazy,” she teases him, grinning.

Just then Hopper walks in, looking around with wide eyes, stopping when he sees Steve. “Dad!” Steve yelps, standing and walking quickly towards him, stopping about three steps in. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters, because he knows the way the room is spinning and his vision is going out.

He’s out before he hits the ground.

He wakes up later to find he didn’t hit the ground, actually; Hopper had leapt forward and caught him the second he’d stopped walking and started swaying.

He blinks bleary eyes open and finds himself looking at a ceiling tile. “What-”

“Don’t move,” comes Hopper’s voice from beside him.

He turns his head to frown at him. “Dad? What happened?”

“You passed out. Jumped outta Claudia’s arms like she’d burned you when you saw me. Much as I love you, kid, the parent’s gotta go first this time, ‘kay? No more self-sacrificing bullshit and not getting medical attention when you need it.”

“M’kay,” Steve says. “Sorry, Dad.”

Hopper puts a hand on his head. It’s comforting. “Go to sleep, kid.”

When he wakes up again, he’s more lucid. He looks around, sees Claudia asleep in the chair next to him. Looks on his other side, and his breath catches when he sees Eddie. His eyes are closed, he’s still asleep, but he’s alive.

“Mom,” he whispers, tearing his eyes away from Eddie to look at her. He feels bad, a little, waking her, but only a little because he knows she’d tear him a new one if he didn’t. “Mom.”

She starts awake and tears up when she sees him. “Stevie,” she murmurs, cradling his face with her hand.

“Mom,” he says again. “He’s here.”

Claudia chuckles. “You can thank your father and I for that one. We raised hell.”

“I bet you did,” he says appreciatively.

“And you, young man,” she says, too full of love to really be mean, “next time you tell me when you’ve been half eaten, okay? Or have you forgotten I’m a nurse?”

“Didn’t forget,” he murmurs, nudging her hand with his face. “Just wanted to stay with you.”

“Oh, Steve,” she murmurs. “You beautiful boy.”

He falls asleep again.

He wakes up again later and looks over to see Eddie also awake, and also looking at him. “Eddie,” he breathes.

It’s hard to tell from where he is, but it looks like Eddie’s blushing. “Looks like I’ve got you to thank for saving my life.”

Now Steve’s blushing. “Ah,” he eloquently says. “No, I mean, just- what anyone else would do?”

“Are you asking me?”

Oh, god, is he teasing? Steve barely survived the flirting before, but now there’s nothing else to keep his attention off Eddie, nothing else he can blame the blush on. “…I just didn’t do much,” he belatedly says.

“Bullshit.” He shifts and hisses in pain. “Fuck, those bastards got me good. But that- that’s proof, y’know?”

Steve blinks. He doesn’t know. “What?”

Eddie grins at him. The stitches in his cheek pull, but don’t tear. “That you saved me.”

Abruptly, Steve tears up. He looks away, up at the ceiling, wills the tears to stay inside. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you-”

“No,” he answers quickly. Too quickly. There’s an awkward silence now. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I- I felt your heart stop, okay?” He looks over again, knows the tears are there, knowing they’re leaking into his hairline and across the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t sure the doctors were even gonna try that hard to save you. And now you’re joking with me, and-” he takes a quick breath, holds it. Releases it slowly. “‘M just glad you’re okay,” he finally says.

“Oh,” Eddie says quietly. “I, uh. Didn’t think you really… cared. About me.”

“I think I care more than I should.”

Eddie takes a breath. “I’m about to say something way too brave, and I’m only saying it ‘cause we’re both in hospital beds and I’m assuming you can’t just, like, walk over and punch me.”

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. But, uh. Anyways. I don’t… people don’t care about me. My uncle Wayne does, sure, and the kids, but that’s different, and- well. I’ll take whatever care you wanna give me. It won’t be too much.”

“Okay,” Steve says, “well I definitely don’t want to punch you for that, what the hell, but I hope you know you’re gonna get hugged for that as soon as I figure out how to undo all this shit.” He gestures to the tubes in his arms, and Eddie starts to laugh, then stops just as quickly with a hiss.

“Okay, abs got eaten, no laughing,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Shit, dude, stay in bed, you had like five people in here earlier who all told me specifically to not let you out of bed, though how I’m supposed to do that I dunno.”

Steve blinks over at him. “Five?”

“Well- four, now that I count. Dustin was here with his mom, he’s getting released later but was allowed out of bed for a minute and came to see us. Robin, and she looked angry, are you two, like, okay?”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, she’s just worried.”

“And then Chief Hopper, which- do you wanna explain why the actual Chief of Police was in here?”

“Ah,” Steve says, and blushes again. “He kinda, like… adopted me? Not officially, obviously, but he’s… well, I call him dad, so-”

“And Claudia?”

Steve hums. “‘S my mom. Dust’s my brother.”

Eddie snorts. “Jesus, Harrington, d’you just go around collecting people to call your parents? How many d’you have now, four?”

“Nah, just two. My parents fucked off pretty permanently by the time I was nine. And before that I had nannies when they were gone.”

Eddie blinks at him. “You- wait. Back up. You’ve been alone for the entirety of high school?”

Steve thinks. “I mean, I had Hopper, kinda, but that was before he became Dad, so… I guess?”

“Goddamn,” Eddie whispers wonderingly. “And you’re still sane?”

Steve snorts. “Jury’s out on that one, I mean I do willingly hang out with the twerps, so-”

“Fuck, don’t make me laugh, man.” He sighs. “I get it, though,” he says quietly. “Mom was an angel, but… Dad got to her, y’know? Tore her wings off, rubbed her halo in the dirt. Poured alcohol down her throat until she was dependent on it. And him. And when she-” he shakes his head. “Then it was just Dad, and he got sent away ‘cause apparently his new car wasn’t his, y’know? And I went to live with Wayne at twelve.”

“But now you’ve got Wayne.”

“Mhm.” He smiles a little. “Call ’im pops sometimes, ‘cause he’s my real dad now. Sometimes Wayne, sometimes Uncle Wayne. He doe’n’t care much.”

“What’s it like? Living with him?”

“It’s been a dream, honestly. He’s the nicest person I’ve ever met, and he’s got patience to rival a saint. Doesn’t care when I play my music loud, or forget to eat, or bring boy—uh, girls—over.”

Steve hums. “There’s still the house in Loch Nora, but I stay with the Hendersons most days. I tend to bring people I meet to Loch Nora, just ‘cause it’s empty, y’know? I mean, Dust’s a little shit, and he’d tease me regardless of who I brought home. Mom wouldn’t care. Hell, she’d probably give me a condom and lube,” he laughs. “And she’s teaching Dustin to be the same way. He’ll get there one day.”

“He’s a twerp,” Eddie agrees. “I didn’t know you, uh-”

“Mhm,” Steve answers. “Robin says I’m like Bowie.”

“Like Bowie- you’re bisexual?”

“That’s the one!” Steve says happily. “I can never remember the name.”

Eddie looks at him wonderingly. “Who are you, Steve Harrington?”

Eventually they get out of the hospital, and eventually they stop circling around each other. Eventually they kiss, and fall asleep on the couch, and make each other breakfast, and do certain things behind closed doors that Steve still can’t think about without blushing.

Eventually they’re outside the Munson’s trailer, working in the garden that Eddie, surprisingly, loved.

“Imma go in,” Steve says eventually. “Get a drink.”

“Alright,” Eddie says, not looking up from where he’s pulling weeds near his tomatoes. “I’ll be here.”

Steve has a bit of a headache already, and he knows drastic temperature changes don’t help. He didn’t think the trailer was that big of a difference, but it’s cool enough he’s got goosebumps breaking out along his arms almost immediately. Then he’s hit with a blast of freezing air when he opens the fridge, and his head begins to throb. “Fuck,” he mutters, shutting the door and grabbing for a glass, hoping the sink water isn’t too cold.

It’s cooler than he’d like, but it’s all he’s got right now, and he knows if he doesn’t hydrate it’s going to end up worse. He chugs two glasses, sets the cup down, and goes to sit at the table, rubbing his eyes.

It gets worse almost without him realizing: one second his relatively fine, the next he’s groaning in pain, trying to block out all the light by laying his head on his forearm.

A hand on his back startles him. “Dee?”

“Wayne,” comes the gruff voice. “Not Eddie. Y’got a migraine?”

“Mhm.”

“Y’take anything for it?”

Steve waves a hand. “Had water.”

Wayne leaves for a minute, comes back and presses two pills into Steve’s hand. A glass of water is placed in front of him.

He takes the pills, squinting, and lays his head back down.

“Nuh-uh,” Wayne says, “up you get, c’mon, you’re sleepin’ this off.” Hands at his shoulders guide him out of his seat, shuffle him slowly down the hall to Eddie’s cool, dark room. Lay him down and pull the blankets over him.

Steve sighs and relaxes into the bed, cracking an eye open to look at Wayne. “Thanks, Pops,” he murmurs, then winces when Wayne freezes. “S’rry. Wayne.”

Wayne pets a hand through Steve’s hair. “Pops works just fine,” he says. “I’ll tell Ed you’re in here.”

“M’kay,” Steve breathes, and lets himself fall asleep.

They’re at Hopper’s cabin, an annual We Saved the World semi-party that usually ends in at least one disagreement.

Eddie’s got most of the kids corralled away in the living room, with promises of an epic one-shot. The adults, Steve, Max, and El are in the kitchen.

He doesn’t know who started it, but someone teases him, and Hopper ruffles his hair with another jab. “Dad,” he complains good-naturedly, laughing.

“Steve?” El asks.

“Yeah?” He looks at her.

“Hopper is your dad.”

Steve glances at Hopper, who’s listening, but making no move to answer. “I mean… not, like, biologically, but yeah.”

“Me too,” El says. “Are you my brother, then?”

Steve flounders. “I- I guess if you want me to be?”

“You’re a good brother to Dustin,” she answers. “I haven’t had any good brothers besides Will, and we are the same age. I would like a good older brother.”

He smiles, tugs her into a hug. “I guess I’m your brother, then.”

She goes willingly. “Does that mean Joyce is your mom too?” She looks up at him, big eyes serious. “She is a good mom.”

“Uh,” Steve says, “that’s kinda up to Joyce.”

“Oh, honey,” Joyce says, because of course everyone had stopped talking the moment El had started. “Why don’t you call me Mama J?”

Steve smiles bashfully, accepting her hug. “Sounds good to me.”

When he tells Eddie later, his boyfriend laughs. “You really do collect parents!”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

You'll Be Home For Christmas

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You agree to do a favour for your coworker but it might be more than you can handle.

Character: Clark Kent

Day Nineeen of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - fake dating becomes too real.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"I know it sounds weird, but, my mom's getting up there..." Clark looks away as he pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

You're not sure how he does it. How someone like him can make himself look pathetic. He's a big man. Mountainous really. He dwarfs just about everybody in the office. Even the desks look tiny next to him. And the chisel of his face is so sharp yet in that moment, he looks heart-wrenchingly soft. 

"It's just you two this year?" You ask. 

"Um, yeah," he rubs the back of his neck then drags his hand around and down his chest. He shifts in his chair and clears his throat. "Look, I know I can be nosy but I overheard you and Maggie. You said you don't have any plans this year--" He cringes and leans forward, putting his elbows to the desk as he covers his face then peeks out between his fingers. "It's a dumb idea." 

"It seems like you're pretty stressed," you fold your hands behind you. You don't want to agree with his last statement and make him feel worse. 

"Yeah, after Lois..." he shakes his head, "my mom's convinced I'm going to be alone forever and she keeps telling me how old she's getting. Says she wants to live long enough to see me happy." 

"Wow, sounds worse than my mom," you kid but quickly deflate. "Sorry, I'm not trying to make light." 

"No, it's ridiculous," he heaves and drops his eyes. "I've asked two of my neighbours, I asked my mail lady, and oh, yeah, the girl who made my coffee today. I'm all out of shame." 

"Can I think about it?" You ask. You know you're going to say no, but you don't want to do it right away. 

He perks up and his blue eyes flick to meet yours. His brows rise hopefully and he rolls forward in his chair, "really?" 

"I didn't say yes." 

"But you're the first person not to say no," he smiles. 

Oof, there it is. You've always had a hard time in situations like these. You're a people pleaser in the worst way. 

"Anyway, I should get back to work," you say. 

"When-- when will you know?" He asks. 

You hesitate. 

"End of today?" He suggests. 

You nod. Alright. You just need to get out of there before you cave to that puppy dog sparkle in his eyes. A man who looks like that shouldn't be able to make himself so pitiful. 

✨

You don’t know why you said yes. You really were going to say no but when Clark came back to check in, you weren’t prepared. So absorbed in your work, that you forgot about the odd request. 

So here you are, right beside him, wound as tight as a spring as you try not to show it. It’s not how you imagined spending Christmas. When your typical traditional obligation felt through, you were almost relieved. Now that dread has returned but in a new flavour. Meeting someone else’s family is somehow more intimidating than your mother’s judgement. 

Clark’s own anxiety pales in his knuckles as he drives silently. Only the radio provides some softness in the tension between you. It’s always strange to spend time with coworkers outside the office and now you’re jumping headfirst into their most personal facet. 

You fidget in your seat and let your eyes blur out the window. You didn’t expect his mom to live this far, yet you should have. He’d mentioned before he grew up on a farm. It must have been nice in a way, peaceful, out where you can’t hear the city honking and hollering. 

The snow thickens as you get further into the country. His large truck doesn’t falter as he steers cautiously through snowed over tire tracks. Would the plow even get this far out here? If it did, you don’t imagine it would come very often. 

Your mind latches onto those random things to avoid the obvious. You’ve always been this way. Instead of worrying about your mother lecturing you about your stagnant work situation, you’re usually more concerned with how your hair lays or if she’s going to the like that bottle of wine you spent too much money on for her. 

“Thanks again,” Clark’s baritone rolls over you like thunder. “Really. I know it’s... strange. I’m just not ready to date again but... my mom...” 

“Trust me. I get it. My mom can be... a lot,” you chuckle, though it’s really not that funny. 

“Oh yeah? I didn’t want to be nosy, but...” 

“Right, uh, you know, my brother asked if we could have dinner on Christmas Eve instead and the rest of us agreed. She insisted that Christmas Eve isn’t Christmas...” Your heart picks up with the anxiety you bury deep down. “Well, she cancelled Christmas since no one agreed with her.” 

“Wow, really?” 

“Uh, yep,” you can’t look at him. It’s embarrassing. It’s like when your mother dumped your birthday cake in the garbage because you pointed out you were 13 not 12 that year. Or when she walked out of your graduation because your grandmother wouldn’t switch seats. “It’s whatever. Family, right?” 

“I guess,” he says. “My parents always loved holidays too. Especially when dad was around.” 

“I’m sorry about your dad,” you murmur. 

“Don’t be. Sorry if it seems like I keep bringing that up,” he sniffs. 

You look ahead to the sole structure as it looms closer and closer. A farmhouse that comes clearer through the drift of flakes, and a barn like a shadow near its rear corner. It’s like one of those classic festive paintings printed on an advent calendar or some 1950s domestic dream. 

He pulls up to the house and shifts in his seat. Concern needles in his cheek as he squints over the steering wheel. He wrenches the shifter into park and kills the engine. You sit futilely and let him take the lead. 

“Lights are off,” he mutters. 

You nod, unsure what to say. Is something wrong? 

He gets out and you watch the snow dust into his dark hair and across his broad shoulders. He is unfettered by the deep snow. You zip up your coat and turn to your door. You push it open and look out into the perilous carpet. 

Clark surprises you as he comes around. “Here,” he puts his arms out, “it’s deep.” 

You grab his hand and his other goes to your waist. He as good as lifts you and sets you down in the path he’s stomped through the piles. You thank him and awkwardly detach. He shuts the door and moves around you closely. 

He leads the way to the porch so you can walk through his footsteps. Your lashes catch the snow as you look up at the grey sky. You don’t think you’ll make it home that night. Shoot. 

Clark kicks off his boots as he digs in the pocket of his coat and pulls out some keys. He unlocks the door and gestures you in ahead of him. You try to clear off your treads before you enter. He reaches around the frame to flip on the light. 

He crowds you as he enters. You try not to step off the mat and make a mess of the floor. You slip free of your Adidas, not the best choice for the weather, and shuffle aside. He hangs his jackets and combs his fingers through his hair to clear the flakes out. The dark strands glisten with the moisture. 

“Give me your coat,” he reaches for you. 

“Oh, yeah,” you unzip your jacket and hand it over. It isn’t exactly climate appropriate either. You’ve been meaning to invest in winter gear. A lot of times your intentions are only ever that. “Thanks.” 

“Quiet...” he mulls as his eyes skim the ceiling and he hooks your jacket on the rack. 

“Yeah, a little.” 

“Ma’s probably laying down,” he utters with a hint of concern. “I’m gonna go check and see what’s going on.” 

“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” 

“No worries. She stays up all night reading,” he shakes his head. “Feel free to make yourself at home.” 

“Right, er, okay.” 

You back up as he passes you. He heads upstairs and you slowly pivot to take in the interior. The pale wood is marked with knots which give it an even more rustic atmosphere and the decor is simple but in a quaintly traditional way. The details etched into the slender drawer of a side table or the dainty trim of the area rug give a lived-in effect. 

You tiptoe into the front room and hug yourself as you feel a draught whisper in around the window. You find the light switch and flip it on to cast more light across the neatly arranged furniture. There's an old-fashioned iron firestove in the middle of the room, the flue built up to the ceiling.  

You can hear Clark moving around above. The rest of the house is silent. You look at the old grandfather clock standing against the wall. It’s just after eleven in the morning. 

You turn as the stairs creak. Clark appears in the doorway with a sober expression. “Mom’s just waking up. It might be a while. She... she’s having a tough day.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Is she sick?” 

“She is and she isn’t. Just getting older, you know? Ever since she broke her hip last year, she’s been a bit slower,” he explains. 

“Oh, gosh, Clark,” you say. “Is there anything I can do to help? You said she was planning on dinner but I can get all that started for her.” 

“Sure, she usually thaws the turkey in the sink overnight,” he says. “We should probably start there.” 

“Right,” you chew your lip. 

“It’s nice of you to offer but if it’s too much--” 

“No, no! It’s cool. I’ve just never stuffed a turkey on my own,” you say. “I was always just an observer.” 

Your mother never believed anything was done right unless she did it herself. Then she’d complain about having to do it. 

“I can help,” he offers. 

“Sure, sounds like a plan. I think she might appreciate the help, huh?” 

He smiles but doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, he only stares. He clears his throat and nods at last, “she would—will.” 

“Show me where it all is,” you show your palms, not wanting to presume too much. 

He beckons you after him as he leads you through the doorway perpendicular to the one you came through. He turns on another light. This place feels desolate with them off. 

“So uh...” he begins as he goes to the counter and peeks in the sink, “yep, turkey’s in here.” 

“Great, hopefully it’s dethawed,” you say. “Alright, do you mind if I poke around?” 

“It’s all yours. I’ll try to help but gotta be honest, as a kid, I was out in the field,” he stands back to watch you. 

“Right,” you come forward to look the turkey over. Good thing is it won’t need extra time due to being half-frozen. 

“Hum... do you know if your mother does stuffing from scratch or a box?” You turn back to him. 

“Scratch, probably,” he shrugs. 

“Cool, uh, I need bread,” you declare. It’s almost nice being in charge. A very new but refreshing feeling. 

✨

The smell of turkey wafts from the stove as you work at the other fixings. You follow the list on the fridge. The paper is a bit yellowed but you can read it nonetheless. At least Clark’s mother is a planner. Although a few of her ingredients are a bit... aged. Nothing you can’t use but the spices have a little extra dust on the caps. 

Clark appears again. He’s been pacing in and out, helping where he can, but he seems too restless to focus. You tap pause on your phone to stop the music. You don’t get any signal out here but you have a bunch downloaded. It helps ease the silence that thickens with the fall of snow. 

“So, how’s mom? She doing okay?” You ask. 

“Mom?” He hesitates, “yeah, she’s getting there. Sorry about this. I know the whole reason you did this was to make her happy. For me. I just didn’t expect--” He blows out a heavy breath and leans on the counter. “It’s hard when you get older and everyone you love starts to leave. Or change.” 

Your heart flickers. You try not to frown too deep, “I’m sorry, Clark.” You look back down at the bowl of soaking cranberries. You take your family for granted. The might be a little toxic but they’re there. 

“Not your fault. I just... I thought I had it figured out with Lois. Everyone was happy and my mom was ecstatic,” he clutches his hands together. You meet his eyes sheepishly. “I just wanted her to be that way again. And you’re so sweet and nice.” 

“Aw, Clark. Well, you know, I should thank you. At least I’m not alone on Christmas,” you try to pep yourself up. “Um, I gotta wait for these cranberries a little long. Could I use the bathroom?” 

“Right, er, it’s just down the hall,” he points towards the second doorway that interconnects with the same hallway that leads back to the stairs. 

“Thanks,” you wipe your hands on a dishcloth and leave him with a thin smile. 

As you flit out, your chest sinks. You think of everything you’ve said since you got there, how insensitive it must have seemed. And back in the car when you complained about your mom. Ugh, he must think you’re so ungrateful. 

You close yourself in the bathroom and tend to your business. You’d been holding it since he picked you up from your building. You wash your hands, pumping the soap bottle hard to dislodge a clog in the tube. You finally finish up but find the smell of mildew stuck to your hands from the towel. 

You come out of the bathroom and look up and down the hallway. You shift to see the framed picture a bit better. Those must be his parents, and little Clark. You can’t believe he was ever that small. 

There are other pictures across the table below. A cluster of frames; class photos, impromptu snaps of memories, and posed family shots. Beneath one, there’s a slip of paper. You try not to be intrusive but the fading font catches your eye. You lean in as you tilt the frame to see the full letter, the card bent and forgotten beneath. 

‘Our condolences. We were so sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. Please do let us anything we can do for you.’ The message is signed Mallory and Chuck. You blink in confusion. Maybe it’s an old card meant for his mother; for a grandparent. 

“She died last year,” Clark startles you so you whip up and nearly tip as you stand straight. “It’s my first Christmas without her,” he continues. “I’m sorry I lied but I didn’t want to be alone.” 

You shake your head. Confusion swells through your stomach and clouds your brain. The fog clears and your eyes wander up to the ceiling. 

“Your mom?” 

“I miss her,” his voice cracks. “She took care of me.” 

“Oh, well, yeah,” you quaver unevenly. You’re reeling. Why would he lie about that? And to get you here? You’re just coworkers. “That must be hard.” 

“Mhm,” he nods and pouts. As he comes closer, you tense, wavering with his steps. “You’re not mad at me?” 

Your lips part then close. The wind whistles outside and reminds you of how isolated this place is. Clark drove you here... 

“I’m just... wondering why you need to lie,” you eke out. 

“I know it’s wrong but... if I told the truth, you might say no.” 

You nod and as he reaches for you, you wince away. You hug yourself and push your shoulders up. You swallow, “Clark, what is the truth? Why am I here?” 

He tilts his head and his eyes drift to the side. The light fades in his pupils and his jaw clenches. His fingers twiddle by his leg. 

“To be with me,” he looks at you again and smiles. A smile shadowed sinisterly beneath the worn bulb above. “You’re alone too.” 

You stare at him. Terror floods your veins and paralyses you. You want to turn and run but you won’t get far. All you can do is bide your time and hope that you can find a chance and way to get out. But for now, with him so close, so much bigger, you have to pretend. That is exactly what he asked you to do, after all. 

[mediumgayitalian]

“Oh, fuck.”

The clatter of her practice sword on the ground is almost louder than the crunch that rings out from his wrist. He inhales sharply, biting back a shout — no matter how many times it’s happened, he will never get used to breaking a bone. That shit hurts.

“Fuck, fuck fuck. Fuck, Seaweed Brain, is it broken?”

“Think so,” Percy grits out. He tries for a smile, and Annabeth matches it, small and worried. He leans into the hand she cups over his cheek. “Not too bad, though. If I just dump my water bottle on it —”

“Absolutely not. Water healing leaves you achey when it rains, you know that.” Shifting to wrap her arm around his waist, she helps him stand, shouldering some of his weight like it’s his ankle that’s broken. He lets her, reaching down to squeeze the hand resting on his hip — I’m fine. We’re good. She turns her hand to wrap clasp their hands together — Okay. If you’re sure.

They walk together to the infirmary, taking their time. Aside from the pain pulsing from his arm, it’s not too bad — camp is as balmy as usual, and the spring break energy is practically visible, it’s so potent. The Demeter cabin has plants growing everywhere, flowers and fruit trees blooming as bright as a box of new crayons, and the air is filled with shouts of laughter and teasing. Annabeth’s steps fall in time with his, and she’s a comfortable warmth at his side, pressed from shoulder to hip.

“You still okay?”

“Yep.” He catches her eye, smiling crookedly at her. “Doesn’t even make my top fifty.”

She rolls her eyes, hipchecking him. “Don’t I know it, ya klutz.”

“Not sure I would call being flung from the St. Louis Arch being a klutz. Or exploded in a volcano. Or crushed under the sky. Or slashed by giants. Or chased by —”

“You’re talking, but all I’m hearing is Annabeth, please, please pinch me, as hard as you can —”

“Hey! Get those claws off me, gods you’re worse than an empousai —”

“— and when you’re done pinching me please put me in the tightest headlock you can manage —”

“I am injured! You are beating up an injured person right now!”

“— and then please just bite a chunk out of my shoulder —”

“Cut it out or I’m telling Mom!”

“Wimp,” she taunts, finally releasing him. “I don’t go running to Sally every time I lose a fight.”

“Wha — you do so!”

She ducks through the infirmary door, smirking like she can’t hear him.

“You literally — you snitched on me last week! I got grounded for two days!”

“And you deserved it,” she says primly.

He gapes. “I did not!”

“Anytime you two are done,” Kayla drawls, shoving a clipboard at them. They accept it with matching sheepish grins, cowed at her perfectly arched eyebrow and slowly tapping foot. “I got patients to deal with and older brothers to harass. Let’s get this moving.”

She is shockingly good at humbling people for a thirteen year old. The two of them turn to their clipboard, chagrined, letting her stomp away with an exasperated He’ll be with you soon! Don’t set off the sprinklers again!

“That was one time,” Percy mumbles, ears reddening.

Annabeth pats him on the back. “There, there,” she says mockingly. “The fact that it was one time definitely negates the fact that you flooded the entire Big House because you got jumpscared by a child.”

“Harley can be sneaky, okay. Let me live.”

“Literally no.”

Annabeth does most of the paperwork for him, ‘cause she’s a nerd because his wrist is far too swollen for him to write properly, so it takes maybe half the time it normally would. The infirmary is crowded as Hell, though (he knows, he’s been), so they settle in for the wait, amusing themselves by tearing little pieces off of a blank form, balling them up, and tossing them in increasingly harder places. Percy is winning 7-4, although Annabeth might just pull through if she manages to toss her paper ball into Travis’ wide-open snoring mouth.

“Hey, guys. Sorry for the wait.”

Aw. She missed. Percy was looking forward to that.

“Hey, Will.”

He drags his attention away from the son of Hermes to greet his friend, but frowns before he can open his mouth.

“Woah, dude, you good? You look exhausted.”

Will snorts. “Welcome to spring break, man.” He holds his hand out for the clipboard, scanning it briefly. “Sparring injury? Oh, thank the gods. I could use a break. Here, face me.”

He climbs up onto the minimal left over space on the cot, tucking his legs under his thighs. Percy turns to mirror him, hesitantly sticking out his arm — A break? he mouths to Annabeth, meeting her eyes over Will’s head.

She shrugs.

“Just spent four hours putting Jake’s nose back on his face,” Will mumbles, placing a careful hand on his fingertips and his forearm. Percy flinches — his skin is blisteringly hot. Like someone just dropped a hot stone onto him. “I never want to sing a skin cell hymn again in my life.” He prods at Percy’s wrist for a moment, gentle enough not to hurt. “Okay, hold still, I’m gonna fix ya right up.”

Healing hymns are familiar, by now, but Percy will never get tired of them.

The cool thing about ambrosia and nectar is that as pleasure food for the gods, it’s pleasant. It’s whatever taste you want, whatever you need to have most, you get it. But healing hymns are intentional the way nectar and ambrosia aren’t. Ambrosia and nectar happen to be healing for demigods — healing hymns were constructed to knit you back together, like you mother smoothing a bandaid over a skinned knee. They’re warm and sweet and deeply, endlessly comforting in a way most things simply cannot claim to be. They don’t feel like a medical procedure or a hasty patch job, they feel like someone gripping you tightly and promising you’ll be okay. They feel like getting carried to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. They feel like sitting down after hours of standing, like a drink of water when your throat is drier than sand. Healing hymns draw the pain and sick and ache from your body, and they feel like relief.

But this time, Percy can’t focus on it.

With every word, Will seems to get a little duller. Nothing like the horrible ash-grey he went in the war, dragging the poison from Annabeth’s body, but like his usual sunny disposition was dialed down a few notches. Enough that Annabeth frowns in concern, drumming her hands on her thighs, watching him closely.

“There,” Will says, pulling away. Percy turns his now-healed wrist, noticing the slight pant to Will’s breath, the strain to his smile. The shake of his blistered fingertips.

“You look overworked,” Annabeth says quietly.

Will holds his hands up in a what can you do gesture. “Spring break.”

“You said.”

“It’s just busy, is all.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Guys,” he interrupts, smiling tiredly, “there are two hundred ADHD demigods at this camp right now who have been trapped in a classroom for six months. There are three of us. I’m going to be a little drained; we’re all a little drained. But I’m fine, okay?” He gives them a second to scrutinize his expression, eyebrows raised in amusement. “I have been running my infirmary for years. I know how to pace myself, and I certainly know how to make sure my siblings are pacing themselves. If something goes really wrong, Chiron is a whistle away. I can go longer than you guys without sleep, anyway. Apollo kid health.”

“If you say so,” Percy says reluctantly. “I just — I can wear a wrist brace, man. Not every injury needs to be handled when it happens. You can tell people no.”

“I appreciate that, Percy, and I’ll keep it in mind. Anyways, I’ve got more patients. Stay off that wrist for the rest of the day, okay? It might be tender for a bit.”

Percy turns to Annabeth as Will leaves, frowning. He’s has never noticed the so-called spring break stress before (his camp spring breaks are usually a blast, but now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t think of a single spring break where he spent any time at all with Will, which is odd), but it can’t be good for him. There’s gotta be something they can do to ease some of the bruising under their friend’s eyes.

“I could set off the fire alarms again,” Percy suggests. “That’ll certainly get this place cleared out.”

Annabeth snorts. “I think that’ll cause more harm than good, Seaweed Brain. It’ll just fall in him to clean it all up, after.”

“Shoot.”

Percy counts nine of the forty cots currently unused. Will, Kayla, and Austin are rushing from cot to cot, handing out nectar, wrapping bandages, rattling off hymns at light speed. All three of them look exhausted, squeezing shoulders when they pass each other, knocking hips, exchanging tired smiles. This is so clearly something they’re used to.

Annabeth’s head rests on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t always like this,” she whispers. “When it was fully staffed…”

Percy exhales heavily. Yeah. He remembers. There was a lot less complication, once upon a time. The most chaotic the infirmary would get was when Lee would challenge his siblings to Hymn Karaoke — trying to heal with pop songs. There was a lot more laughter, at one point. A lot more people.

Percy sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. It never does well to dwell, but he — gods, he wish they all had more time. To sit with it, to acknowledge…everything. Siblings. Friends. A camp that’s smaller than it’s supposed to be.

Annabeth squeezes his hand again, and he squeezes back, resting his head on top of hers.

“Hey,” she murmurs after a moment, pursing her lips at the front door. “Look.”

Slinking through the entrance like a criminal is Nico, in all his dork ass black camp shirt glory. He looks around shiftily, like he’s trying to make sure no one sees him, and when his gaze lands on Percy and Annabeth his eyes widen. Annabeth smiles at him, but it does nothing to ease the spooked look to his face, back arched like a startled cat. He turns to leave, but before he can slip back out the door —

“Nico!”

The son of Hades whips back around so quickly he brains himself on the doorframe. Percy ducks his head and bites his lip, hard, because he can feel Nico’s glare at the side of his head like the press of hot coal, and if he laughs as badly as he wants to then the infirmary is about to look like a Spirit Halloween.

Will turns back to his patient, squeezing his eyes shut and rattling a hymn off so quickly it makes a burst of light pop from his whole body, and rushes over to where Nico’s standing. He only trips over two things, which is remarkable for him. Percy would be proud if he wasn’t a little embarrassed on his behalf.

“Nico! Hi!”

“He-ey, Will,” Nico says, voice cracking badly on every vowel. Annabeth shoves her face into Percy’s shoulder, body shaking.

“I didn’t know you were coming! I thought you were in the arena all day.”

Nico shrugs, shoes scuffing the floor. “I am. I just — uh, I got hurt? So. Came to see you.”

Will’s beam is so bright it hurts to look at, a little. Percy squints and realises that’s not just the excitement, actually — he really is glowing, faintly. His hands flap slightly at his sides.

“Well, you’re in the right place, then.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them say anything for a minute, rocking back on their heels. Will watches Nico closely, biting his lip. Nico looks resolutely at the floor.

“We weren’t this bad,” Annabeth whispers, “were we?”

Percy shakes his head. “Nah, there’s no way.”

“Gods. It’s so — I don’t know whether to smile or take a dip in the Lethe. It’s embarrassing and endearing at the same time.”

“Painful to watch, but I can’t stop looking,” Percy agrees.

“What’d you hurt?” Will asks, finally. “Did you pull your shoulder again?”

A look of panic flits briefly across Nico’s face until he smooths it to something neutral, aloof.

“Yep. Totally. During — sword fighting, I swung — I did this really big thrust, actually. Just — hugely powerful, training dummy exploded on impact.” He clears his throat. “Some might say too powerful. If you can imagine.”

Percy cradles his head in his hands. “Oh my gods — ”

“Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh,” Annabeth chants, “oh my gods, don’t laugh —”

A light flush dusts Will’s cheeks. He brushes a strand of hair behind his ear, fiddling with his earrings. “Woah, really? I’ve never heard of that before.”

Nico smirks, standing up a little straighter. “Well, it’s not the first time. I tend to go pretty hard.” Remembering his supposedly hurt shoulder, he exaggerates a wince. “Too hard sometimes, I guess. Could you do the — the energy thing?”

“Oh — gods, yeah, sorry. Hold on.” He stares at Nico’s shoulder, hesitating. “It, um, works better with skin-to-skin contact.”

“I have seen crystal vases less transparent,” Annabeth says, aghast. “In two years he’s going to remember this and try to drown himself.”

“I will be counting down the days,” Percy says gleefully.

On rare, rare occasions, the gods answer his prayers. Clearly, both Nemesis and Aphrodite are looking at him kindly today. Percy makes a note to scrape some of the good stuff off his plate for them both today. Hell, maybe he’ll skip the portioning and toss them an entire roast chicken each. Or something. They deserve it.

Will places both hands — interesting, Percy notes, his wrist was snapped cleanly in two and he only needed one hand, wonder why that was — on Nico’s shoulder and closes his eyes, screwing up his face in concentration.

“Huh. I’m not feeling much damage. You said it was your right shoulder?”

“I heal quick,” Nico says loudly. “I mean, some of the damage might have — um.” He clears his throat. His face glows a faint crimson. He clears his throat again. “Y’know?”

Will’s face is a similar shade.

“Right, right. Yeah. Um, brace yourself.”

Instead of starting to sing, Will closes his eyes, holding completely still. After a moment, the tips of his fingers begin to glow; soft, ambery yellow, flickering like lit candles. He opens his eyes again and focuses intently on Nico’s bare skin, tracing patterns around every defined muscle, leaving a trail of light behind. He lingers, for a moment, when he connects the last string of light, waiting until it has faded entirely from Nico’s skin to remove his hands and shove them in the pockets of his coat.

“That better?” he asks softly.

Nico swallows. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad, Nico. It means a lot that you — came to me. When you needed it.”

“I trust you, I guess.” Nico looks away. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,” Percy says thoughtfully.

Annabeth laughs, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be mean.” She pauses. “Me too.”

With a sigh that can only be described as besotted, Will steps reluctantly away.

“I have patients,” he says, in the same tone of voice Percy usually says I have midterms. “So I gotta…”

“Yeah, no, go. Do your —” Nico gestures vaguely. “Doctor thing.”

“Right. Yeah. I’m gonna — go.” He turns, walking back towards a group of Hephaestus kids who appear to be tightly entangled in some kind of net. After a few steps, though, he pauses, biting his lip, then darts back over to Nico, pressing a lightning-fast kiss to his cheek — “Um, bye. Thank you for visiting. Bye,” — and then runs back over to his siblings, shy smile on his face.

Nico’s jaw is brushing the floor of his father’s palace. He stands, still as a statue, for four entire minutes.

“I think he just died,” Annabeth observes, eyebrows climbing higher and higher up her forehead with every passing second “Damn. Survived so much only to literally die because a cute boy kissed his cheek. A true hero’s end.”

Percy, because he is a kind, concerned friend, clears his throat loudly.

“Yo, di Angelo, you alive?”

Nico startles so violently he falls right over. Percy shoves his fist in his mouth to keep from cackling.

“Shut the fuck up,” Nico hisses venomously, scrambling upright. “Both of you, shut the — not a word —”

Percy and Annabeth make the mistake of looking at each other and simply erupt. Percy can’t feel his stomach. His lungs have abandoned ship. He’s glad as hell he’s in the infirmary because he is heaving for breath, tears streaming down his face, entire body convulsing. Nico stands in front of them literally shaking with rage, entire body redder than one of Apollo’s sacred cows, trying and failing to string together a threat that will ease any and all of his suffering. Annabeth screeches, almost falling off the bed as she cackles. Percy cannot even find the strength to catch her, his muscles are so weak.

“I fucking — I hate you! Both of you! You’re dead to me!”

“Your face!” Percy shrieks.

“Percy Jackson, I am going to turn you to fucking dark matter! I despise your very essence! I —” He stomps his foot. “I’m leaving, and I’m going to leave a rotting corpse in your cabin! Screw you!”

“Oh my gods,” Annabeth wheezes, digging her nails into his arm. “Oh my gods, that was —”

Percy wipes a tear from his eye. “I love being alive. I love being alive so much.”

“It really is great.” Composing herself, and biting back the leftover giggles that keep bubbling out, Annabeth looks back towards Will. He stands much straighter, now, smile back to full brightness. His siblings, too, look rejuvenated, snickering to each other and making kissy faces behind Will’s back. “So many beautiful things to witness. I’ve never seen his face go that red.”

Percy sighs. “This is genuinely going to carry me through the semester. I think his soul died a little. And Will just — gods, that kid is bold.”

“Oh says you, Mr. Do I Get A Good Luck Kiss.”

“Hey, I earned that.”

Annabeth grins, punching him in the shoulder. He grabs her wrist and tugs her towards him, chasing the curve of her smile. She laughs into his mouth and it taste like strawberries and freedom, and he presses a kiss to her cheek, to her jaw, and the side of her neck, resting there, breathing against her skin. After a moment her hands come up and slide in his hair, gently untangling the knotted mess.

“He is one thousand percent going to put a zombie in your bed, you know,” she says after a moment.

Percy snorts. “Yeah, I know.” He smiles. “Worth it.”

[let-me-luve-you]

Season Colds

Joe Burrow x Reader

Summary: When you wake up sick, you decide to go stay in a hotel and lie to Joe about where you are going.

Warnings: Slight angst but not a lot, Worried Joe

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: My first Joe Burrow fic!!! I've been feeling sick the last couple of days and thought of this.

Masterlist Buy me a coffee

You knew it was coming. You felt it coming. You were on the verge of being sick. You could feel how exhausted you were. You could feel that your chest was starting to tighten up. You could feel your nose starting to get congested. It happens every time the weather drastically changes. Allergies jumped started it into something worse. But you knew this was more than allergies. This was a cold. 

When you woke up Wednesday morning, you felt awful. You looked around for Joe to see if he was still home, but when you locked eyes on the clock and saw that it was after 9 am, you knew he already left for training and wouldn’t be back until mid to late afternoon. 

Getting up to go to the bathroom was a chore. After washing your hands when you finished your business, you decided to see if you had a fever. You quietly thanked your mom for giving you a thermometer years ago and quickly pulled it out of the cabinet. You put it under your tongue and waited as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You looked rough. The thermometer beeped and you pulled it out of your mouth to check it. 102. 

Going back in the bedroom after washing and putting the thermometer up, you decided you needed to leave so Joe wouldn’t get sick. He was in the middle of season and it was already rough enough as is without adding sickness on top of it. You quickly made a reservation at The Westin for the next two nights just in case you weren’t better tomorrow. You surely hoped you were because you didn’t plan on telling Joe you were sick. He would insist you stay home so he could take care of you. 

After packing a bag of just necessities and medicine, you loaded the car. You decided to call Sharon to see if she was available to clean the house today. 

“Hey Y/N, what can I do for you?” Sharon asked as she answered.

“I’m sorry to call you on an off day Sharon, but is there anyway you can come in today and just wipe down counters, change the sheets on the bed, and maybe vacuum. Just a little disinfecting. I don’t feel great and I don’t want to risk Joe getting sick. And I would really prefer him not know about you coming today or telling him I’m sick.” You said.

“Oh dear. Are you okay?” She asked, concerned.

“I’m fine. Just a cold. I just don’t think Joe can afford to get sick in the middle of the season with how it’s going so I’m going to go stay in a friend’s spare room so I don’t get him sick.” You answered.

“I know he’s not going to like that, but yes. I can be there in the next 30 minutes. I will have it done before lunch.” Sharon was someone that has been in Joe’s life since he moved into this house. She has worked for him since the beginning. A few months after he moved in, Joe asked you to move in when he realized the two of you were getting serious. “What do I tell Joe if he comes home early?”

“Just tell him I asked you to come today and that you could take Thursday off. But with it being Wednesday and him having a longer practice and having press, I doubt he does. Just know I appreciate you for this Sharon. I will make sure I add to your Christmas bonus.” You added honestly.

“You don’t have to do that dear. I love the both of you dearly. I will make sure the house is good for him. If you need anything, you let me know.” Sharon said sweetly. 

“Thank you Sharon.” You smiled as you hung up. We really didn’t deserve her. You quickly texted Joe before you decided to head off to the hotel near the stadium. 

You at 9:46 am: Hey bub. I am going to Maks house for the night. We are going to do dinner and have a treat yo self type of day. I will see you tomorrow after practice. I love you! 

You knew he wouldn’t see it for a couple of hours since he usually had a late lunch on Wednesdays. Backing out of the garage, you tried to make the drive as quick, but safely, as possible. You thought about going by the stadium on your way, but the exhaustion and headache was starting to get worse. 

After a quick, early check in, you went up stairs and got into bed. You plugged your phone into the charger so it wouldn’t die if you fell asleep. You turned on the tv to a local Cincinnati sports channel and listened to them talk about the Bengals season as you fell asleep.

— — — — — — 

You woke to the hotel room dark with only the tv giving light. You heard buzzing next to you and realized a phone call is what woke you. Picking up your phone as the call ended, you noticed you had multiple missed calls and texts from Joe and a couple from Makenzie. 

Shit. You thought. Looking through your texts with Joe, you start from where you left your message.

JoeyBear at 12:53 pm: Sounds good babe. I hope you have fun. You deserve a relaxing day. Call me after dinner. I love you. 

JoeyBear at 3:12 pm: Hey babe! Hope you are having fun. Don’t forget to call later. I have a funny story to tell you if you haven’t already seen the press conference. 

JoeyBear at 5:48 pm: Mak just called and asked if I’ve talked to you today. I’m not mad you lied. I just need you to call me back.

JoeyBear at 5:55 pm: Y/N please call me back.

JoeyBear at 6:08 pm: Y/N this isn’t funny. Answer the phone.

JoeyBear at 6:21 pm: At least text me back so I know you are okay.

JoeyBear at 6:29 pm: I just checked Life360. Why are you at a hotel? 

JoeyBear at 6:34 pm: If you don’t answer, I’m going to come down there and get you myself.

JoeyBear at 7:07pm: I’m on my way. Call me. Please.

“Fuck.” you whispered to yourself. You looked at the clock and saw it was 7:45pm. You slept all day. If this is what his texts are, I don’t even want to hear his voicemails. You decide to click the last one just to know what state he’s in before you call him back.

“Y/N, babe. I need you to answer the phone or call me back. Please.” He sounded worried with a hint of anger. “Mak has tried calling you and so have I. What are you doing at a hotel? You know what, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be there shortly. Please call me back if you get this before I try calling again.” 

You quickly lowered the phone. You needed to call him. As you started to click on his name when someone frantically knocked on the door.

“Y/N, let me in.” You heard Joe say through the door. 

Despite being a little lightheaded from dehydration and getting up too fast, you walked as fast as you could to the door and opened it up.

“What the fuck Y/N? I’ve been worried sick.” Joe said as he stormed past you into the room.

“I’m sorry. I fell asleep and didn’t hear my phone. I just woke up.” You said as you used the wall to help guide you back to the bed. Joe finally really looked at you. He saw how pale you looked. 

“Shit.” You heard him whisper. “Come here.”

Joe walked towards you and helped guide you back into the bed. You gratefully laid down and Joe covered you up before putting the back of his hand up to your forehead.

“You’re still warm. How long have you had a fever?” He asked concerned as he looked around the room for water and medicine. 

“Since this morning. I took medicine before I left, but fell asleep shortly after I got here.”

“Is this why Sharon came today?” You looked at him shocked. “It’s always easy to tell when she’s been by. House smells like cleaning supplies instead of your candles. Plus I could tell the sheets were changed.”

“Wait. No. Get away. You need to leave.” You said pushing him away as he brought a water bottle to you.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you right now. You’re sick Y/N. I’m not going to leave you like this.” He said as he sat beside you and helped you sit up to take the medicine.

“I need you to leave. You can’t get sick because of me. I don’t want to make anything harder on you.” You pleaded.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll stay in the guest bedroom if you really want me to, but I’m taking you home. You should be in your bed in the safety of your own home.” He said as he stood up and started packing what little you got out of your bag. He quickly grabbed the brush you packed and brushed the bed head you had going on. He took his hoodie off and put it on you. He then put the hood up over your head.

“I need to call Mak.” You said as you remembered her texts and calls.

“I already told her I have you. Now come on, the car’s still parked out front.” He said as he kept an arm around your waste to keep you steady.

“But what about my car?” You asked genuinely.

“I’ll get Ja‘Marr to pick me up tomorrow and bring me by on our way to practice and I’ll bring it home tomorrow afternoon.” You nodded at him as you got in the elevator. 

Once you got in the car and started to head home, you turned to look at Joe. He looked back at you and smiled as your eyes started to droop. He reached over and grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers.

“How did you know what room I was in?” You asked quietly.

“Helps that you put the room on my credit card.” He laughed softly. You let out a small giggle as you said oops.

“I’m sorry I worried you. I didn’t mean to. I just didn’t want to get you sick. And now you will because you’ve been around me.” You said with a pout.

“I’ll be okay. I promise. I just want to make sure you're okay. You don’t have to run from me. I thought something seriously happened to you. I completely forgot about Life360 until it finally clicked that I should check it.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you. I just knew you would want to take care of me and I didn’t want you sick. The season already sucks for you. I see what you’re going through. I know you try not to bring it home with you, but I see the frustration every day. Getting sick is the last thing this team needs. They need you out there. The fans need you out there.” You said honestly.

“I get it. I do. Just know you never have to hide from me. I’m with you in sickness and in health.” He said as he rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

“You need to put a ring on it for that line.” You said with a laugh. 

“Don’t worry. I plan to.” Joe laughed with you.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you looked at his profile. You knew every inch of Joe like the back of your hand. That never stopped you from admiring the love of your life though. But with the soft sound of your music that Joe turned on, the rumble of the road, and Joe rubbing your hand, you finally let the tiredness take you. 

As Joe took the exit toward your neighborhood, he looked over at you and noticed you were asleep again. He smiled softly as he drove carefully through the streets. After a few minutes, he pulled into the garage and gently let go of your hand and turned off the car. He opened your door and carefully lifted you out of the vehicle and took you to your shared bedroom. Laying you softly on the bed and tucking you in. As he went to kiss your forehead, you turned.

“Oh Joseph Lee, I love you more than life itself.” You said with a sigh and curled into yourself.

“I love you more than anything in these universes.” He whispered and kissed your forehead. He pushed your hair out of your face and smiled down at you as he watched you sleep. He knew he was going to marry this girl one day.

[world-of-aus]

The Arrangement - Prologue

Pairing: Mobboss!Bucky x Reader

Chapter Warnings: None.

Authors Note: Any and all writing errors are my own. Am I going to attempt a mobboss, arranged marriage series? Yes. Will I give this series my all? Also yes! I hope yall enjoy this prologue, more to come soon 🤍

Your sister called off the wedding. Come home now.

“Mother please sit down,” you plead, watching her pace the carpet in your fathers office, “you’re going to worry yourself sick, surely she just caught a case of cold feet its going to be alright, she’ll come around you'll see, she’s done this before – she knows how important this union is for both our families.”

Your mother stops in her stride head snapping to you her eyes turned to slits, desperation hidden behind the anger in her eyes. “Your sister went to Winnifred Barnes herself this morning, told her she could no longer marry her son didn’t even give a valid reason as to why, no actual explanation and then what does she do? She up and leaves town, hasn’t answered a single call or text from me or your father even her ex-fiancé cant get a ahold of her. And what’s worse is we didn’t even find out from her, this information came from Winnifred and let me just say – she wasn’t pleased this isn’t just a case of cold feet.”

Trying to be the voice of reason you go to reassure your mother, “this a big event in her life mother, she’s to be handed off in less than a week for a merger that’s been written in the stars for years now between two families ours and the Barnes. You must give her some grace, she’s overwhelmed, she’s probably scared, her life is going to change drastically in less than a weeks a time. She knew – no she knows how important this merger is for both families, she wouldn’t do this she loves him.”

“But she did sweetheart,” your father speaks up a weak and tired smile on his lips, “and as much as you want to come to her aide, there is no defending your sisters actions. We’re even lucky that Winnifred has agreed to give us a chance to right her wrongs.”

“That’s great, we can buy ourselves time! I’ll change her mind, make her come home.”

Your father shakes his head, “we’re out of time sweetheart.”

“No, just give me a chance to talk to her, talk her off the ledge, I’ll even reach out to Winnie.”

Your dads shaking his head again, your mothers pacing stopped as she moves over to you, “there is no more time sweetheart,” your mother murmurs as she takes the seat next to you, her hands reaching for yours, “they no longer see your sister as an option for this marriage.”

You suck in a breath, “but that means –“ your fathers expression is enough to confirm your suspicion.

“You’re to be married to James Barnes in a weeks time.”

You forget how to breath, “No. No. We can – I can.”

“I’m sorry sweetheart.”

Those words are the nail in the coffin, neither your mom or your dad stopping you as you bolt from the room. As you race down the hallway you rip your phone from the confines of your coat getting your sisters contact open.

“Tell me where you are, I can come to you – we can fix this.”

“I can’t do this. I love you all so much, but I just can’t. I’m sorry, please understand.”

“I know you’re scared, but you won’t be alone I promise, please just tell me where you are lets talk about this.”

Free MSG: Unable to send message—message blocking active.

“No. No. No.” You breathe pressing the call icon bringing the phone up to your ear. Your curse when you’re automatically forwarded to her inbox .

“Please don’t do this, they want me to marry him, I cant do that to you, to him, please!”

Free MSG: Unable to send message—message blocking active.

No. No. No.

This couldn’t be happening, this wasn’t part of the plan, this wasn’t part of the plan.

It was supposed to be her, not you.

He wanted her, not you.

[janeyseymour]

Save Me Before I Lose Myself- part 2

Part 1

Summary: Melissa knows. So does Barbara. Millie knows too.

WC: ~3.15k

“Millie!” Barbara’s voice is sharper than you’ve ever heard it, but when she enters the scene, she freezes. A loud gasp comes from her mouth before she can stop herself.

“Y/N,” the two teachers whisper at the same time, hearts very clearly broken for you and the state that your body is in.

“I fell,” you lie. “I fell, and I’m fine.” Neither of them need to hear you say that part of the reason you fell is because your wife had laid her hands on you- the hand shaped bruises spell that out for them.

“You didn’t fall, Momma,” Millie interjects. “Momma, just- please!” Your little girl bursts into tears.

Before you’re fully aware of what you’re doing, your body has taken over, and you pick up your little girl and run.

Of course, you don’t make it very far. Your whole body aches from last night, and the two teachers who now know what you’re subjected to chase after you and catch up to you quite quickly.

“Y/N,” Barbara calls, and she sounds far from how elegant she usually does.

“Y/N!” Melissa shouts at you, voice low and full of fire. “C’mon!”

You whip around, Millie still in your arms as she clings to you, and you lose the fire that you had so briefly. “Mrs. Howard, Miss Schemmenti, I appreciate the concern that you have, but I can promise you that I am just fine. Millie is perfectly safe. Now, I really do have to get home. Carrie is already upset enough as it is, and I do not wish to further anger her.”

“Why?” Melissa bites out. “Because you know the later you are, the worse she’ll hit you tonight?”

You stare blankly at the redhead in front of you, challenging you silently with her arms folded across her chest. She hit the nail on the head.

“So what if you’re right?” you whisper, voice breaking just as much as your heart is in your chest. “What if you’re right about the fact that Carrie is going to use me as her whipping post even more now that I’m later for dinner than she was expecting? What the hell are you going to do about it?”

“So she is abusing you,” Melissa states.

You shake your head. “I never said any such thing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving now.”

Without another word, you set Millie on her feet, reach out your hand, and take her out of the building.

Melissa Schemmenti and Barbara Howard stand in the front hallway of Abbott Elementary and stare at each other. They aren’t quite sure what else to do, both rendered speechless for a few minutes.

“We have to help her,” the second grade teacher finally says.

The kindergarten teacher shakes her head though. “Melissa, I don’t know how we’re supposed to.”

“Barb, she’s bein’ used as a whipping post! That’s domestic abuse!”

“Y/N is smart,” Barbara sighs deeply. “She knew that she couldn’t outright admit it, and she didn’t.”

“But we both know.”

“Of course we do,” Barb mutters. “And we unfortunately can’t do a damned thing about it. It’s a shame. I tried helping the poor woman back when Millie was in my class, and she outright refused it then too, although I must say, it’s gotten worse.”

“Why is she staying with that monster of a woman in the first place?” 

“Truly only the lord himself knows the answer to that question,” Barbara grumbles as she looks upwards.

“You’re really tellin’ me we can’t do nothin’ about this?”

“The only way we could get involved is if Y/N admits it, or Millie comes in injured, which I doubt will happen.”

“My love,” you groan quietly walk hand in hand down the street with your daughter. “What you did in there, we need to talk about it.”

“I know Mom is hurting you,” your daughter tells you. “I know it. I was just trying to help.”

You stop in your tracks and kneel down on the sidewalk to look the little girl in the eye. “Amelia, I need you to understand something. Momma is fine, and is going to be just fine. What happens at home, stays at home. And you need to not speak of what you think you know- because then it might get worse for me, and-” You almost tell her that if she adds to the fire or confronts Carrie about what’s taking place after Millie goes to bed that she may be putting herself in danger, or you in a much worse place. “-and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Millie’s eyes well with tears for what feels like the millionth time that day, but she nods. “Okay, Momma.”

“Thank you, my sweet little girl,” you whisper as you kiss her temple and smooth over some of the baby hairs that have escaped her pigtails.

“Momma?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Do you promise you’ll never leave me?”

“I promise.”

You walk into the house with Millie on your hip, fully aware that tonight is not going to be a pleasant night by any means. Still, you manage to make your way into the quiet house without any hesitation, fully knowing that if you were to walk in showing how much fear filled your body, it would only be worse for you in the end. Carrie is sitting at the dining room table with her laptop, typing away furiously. You can only imagine who is on the receiving end of her anger at the moment.

“Hi, my love,” you tell your wife as you kiss her temple. It’s best to greet her and try to get into her good graces- or further your way out of her shit list, is more like it. You set Millie on her feet. She does not make a move towards the other woman she calls her mother. If anything, she presses herself closer to you again.

“About damn time you made it home.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“Just start making dinner.”

Knowing it’s safer to just adhere to her orders, you slowly make your way to the cabinets and fridge to pull out the materials you need to make the meal. Millie stays attached to your leg the entire time.

“Amelia, don’t you have homework to go do in your room or something?” Carrie finally acknowledges your daughter.

Millie shakes her head. “No, Mom. Miss Schemmenti didn’t give us any homework.”

“Then go play.”

“I wanna stay with Momma,” your little girl protests softly, her grip tightening on your waist ever so slightly. 

“Go. Play,” Carrie grits out through her teeth. “I need to speak with your mother.”

“But I want Momma,” your daughter says again.

You know what Millie is doing. She’s trying to protect you in her own way. If she stays with you, Carrie won’t go after you, and Millie knows it. You only ever get hurt when she’s out of the way.

“I don’t give a shit what you-”

“Mill,” you sigh softly. “Go play, okay? I’ll come get you when Mom and I are done talking and dinner is on the table.”

“But-”

“Amelia.” You look at her with pleading eyes, hoping that you convey the longer she protests, the worse your punishment will be.

“Okay,” your little girl whispers. She heads out of the room and for the steps with her head hung in shame at not being able to protect you.

As soon as your wife thinks you daughter is out of earshot, she’s standing over you and berating you for just about anything she can think of. The apologies come tumbling out of your mouth.

“You’re always fuckin’ sorry!” Carrie yells at you. “When the fuck are you going to fix it? And it’s getting worse! Your daughter’s fuckin’ teacher called because you can’t handle something as simple as picking Millie up on time!” 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You’re not quite sure what else to say. Usually, the more you say, the angrier your wife gets. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N! If I had known you were going to be this fuckin’ useless, I never would’ve married you!”

How you wish that right now you could just propose a divorce and be finished with this hell. But you can’t do that, because then she would tell you that you were ungrateful and it would never happen. She would promise you that if you were to leave, nobody would ever love you again- because you’re an unlovable, worthless piece of shit that she can’t believe she fell for in the first place. She would remind you of just how broken you truly are. So you stay silent.

And that of course, is the wrong move. Whatever you do is wrong, according to her. You just barely manage to suppress the gasp that wants so desperately to escape your lips when she strikes you sharply against the cheekbone with the wooden spoon that you had pulled to make dinner with. Your hand however does fly to the spot that stings now, and your eyes well with tears. 

“Pathetic,” Carrie hisses at you. “Fucking pathetic. Don’t even bother with dinner. I’m going out, since my useless wife couldn’t even make dinner for me.”

“Th-there’s still time for me to make dinner,” you say softly. “I’ll have it ready in twenty minutes.”

Your wife’s brows raise, clearly surprised that you managed to respond. “Are you talking back to me?”

“N-no,” you stutter out. Before you know it, she’s hit the same spot from earlier, and your body can’t help itself from reacting. You fall to the ground, clutching your cheek.

“Pathetic.” She spits on you before turning on her heel and making for the front door. The slam echoes through the house, and it can be felt with the force that Carrie used.

You allow yourself a few minutes to regain your bearings once she’s gone. Just as you’re picking yourself up off the floor, Millie comes downstairs. You can see her little blonde wisps and bright blue eyes peering around the corner.

“I’m okay, Millie,” you tell her, although you refuse to face her. You know right now that your cheek is probably bright red. With the way that it’s throbbing, you wouldn’t be shocked if it was already discolored in another way.

“Is she gone?”

You just nod. “G- go play some more, okay? Momma just needs a few minutes to herself, and then I’ll start dinner, yeah?”

“C-can I be with you? Please?” your daughter pleads. 

You give in. You know you shouldn’t- especially not with the way that your face is probably bruising over, but you relent. “Okay, hun. I have to make dinner though.”

“I can help.”

You do everything you can to keep Millie on the side of you where she can’t see your now purple cheek, but eventually you can’t keep it up anymore. She gasps softly.

“I’m okay.”

“No, you aren’t, Momma,” your daughter states matter of factly.

“I will be,” you amend your statement. “And this does not get told to Miss Schemmenti or Mrs. Howard, do you understand?”

You can see that your daughter wants to protest, but she can sense now isn’t the time. Millie nods silently.

The two of you eat dinner quietly before settling in on the couch for a few episodes of television. And then it’s bedtime. You’re able to get that little girl of yours to sleep in her own room, and she’s sound asleep when you check on her before heading to bed yourself. Carrie still isn’t home.

She wanders in at God knows what time, reeking of cigarettes and booze. You try to pretend that you’re asleep, but your wife has other plans.

“Hey, baby,” Carrie slurs out as she stumbles to your side of the bed.

Well, there goes the plan of ignoring her. You peel your eyes open with a soft groan as you suppress the gag from her stench. “Hi, hun. You have a good night?”

“About to have an even better one,” she tells you as she practically falls on top of you, lips and hands already wandering your body.

You wish you could say you at least enjoyed the sex. Maybe then it would be worth only getting what felt like minutes of sleep before your alarm begins to go off on your nightstand.

You moan in pain as you roll out of bed and prepare yourself to handle Millie. She’s already awake and happily getting dressed for a day at school with her favorite second grade teacher. You allow yourself to watch her for a few minutes as she dances in her room and sings her own little made up tunes. Quietly, you pray to God that she never loses this sweet innocence about her. A part of you reminds yourself that she already has if she knows what’s been going on behind closed doors. Finally, you let your little girl know that you’re up and ready to start making breakfast.

The rest of your morning routine goes just as it always does. Except today you don’t bother with makeup. You know you look exhausted, and as much as you want to cover your cheek, it hurts too much to touch it. You contemplate going to the doctor to see if there is any underlying injury that you should be aware of. Best not to, you decide.

When the time comes to get Millie into Abbott, where you expect her to fight you, she doesn’t. She just quietly requests that you walk her inside and down to her classroom. You suppose that since this is the first time the two of you had made it out of the house and to school on time, early even, you can reward her by obliging her soft plead.

You take her to the door of her classroom with zero intention of walking inside with her. The less people you have to face with the state you’re in, the better. But of course, Millie gives you those big puppy dog eyes that you can’t resist, and you’re walking her to her seat. 

“Hi Miss Schemmenti! Look!” Millie smiles brightly, although she is still clinging to your hand. “I’m on time!” 

You freeze momentarily, praying she doesn’t look your way. Thankfully, you realize, Miss Schemmenti’s desk is positioned so that she may only see your good side in theory. You should’ve known luck wouldn’t be on your side though, because why would it be?

“Look at you, Mill!” the redhead chuckles from her place, not lifting her eyes from the paper she’s working on. You think you’re in the clear, but of course you aren’t.

Melissa stands from her desk and begins to make her way over to you.

“Y/N,” she starts to say, clearly having not seen the deep purple marking your face yet. “I just wanted to apologize for inserting myself into-” she stops dead in her tracks when she sees the mark that is clearly from Carrie imprinted on your face.

You hold up a hand, silently requesting for her to not comment on it, especially in front of your daughter. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” You turn your attention fully on the little girl with pigtails and squat down in front of her. “Baby girl, Momma has to get going if you want me to be here on time to pick you up.”

“Okay, Momma,” Millie whispers. Her arms snake around your neck, and she squeezes tightly before pressing a soft kiss to the cheek that isn’t peppered with black and blue. “Promise you’ll come back?”

“I always will.” You kiss her head, ruffle her hair, and stand back to your full height. You hazard a glance at the redhead who is watching you so intently. You can see it in her eyes that she wants to confront you again, but she doesn’t. You give her a silent nod before wishing her a nice day quietly. 

While you’re able to get to work on time and are lucky enough there to not run into anybody on your way to your desk, Millie quietly makes her way to her teacher and tugs on her sleeve.

“Miss Schemmenti?”

“What is it, Millie?” Melissa asks gently.

“Momma’s cheek isn’t good.”

“I noticed,” the redhead sighs.

“B-but, Mom didn’t do it. Momma fell,” Millie lies, and it’s so blatantly obvious that it’s a lie. “I- I think my imagination was a little crazy yesterday when I telled you that Mom hurt Momma.” In your little girl’s head, by affirming to her teacher that you weren’t being abused, Melissa would believe it.

“Thank you for telling me that, Millie,” the second grade teacher smiles gently, although smiling is the furthest thing from what she wants to do. What she wants to do is call up some of the people that she has connections with, and give Carrie what she deserves. She can’t, but she wishes she could. 

At lunch, Melissa pulls her work wife into her classroom before heading down to lunch. She tells Barbara what her students had said with a sadness in her voice.

“What am I supposed to do, Barb?”

“There’s not much you can do,” the kindergarten teacher sighs, resigned. “The most you can do is offer silent support, and hope that eventually she’ll come forward without Millie coming into school injured.”

You manage to leave work on time, and you’re there on the front steps of Abbott waiting for your little girl to run into your arms. The bell chimes, and you can hear as the older kids begin to rumble down the steps and out the doors. A few minutes later, Melissa leads her class outside. Immediately, her eyes lock with your own. Millie comes flying into your arms, relieved that you’re there.

“I’m so happy to see you,” your little girl mumbles into the crook of your neck.

“I told you I would be here for you,” you tell her softly, pressing a kiss to her hairline. 

“Miss Schemmenti wants to talk to you again,” Millie relays.

You sigh quietly, hopefully quietly enough that your daughter can’t hear or feel it. You stand with her in your arms and make your way over to the second grade teacher.

“Millie said you wished to speak with me?” you ask quietly.

“Just happy to see that you’re here,” Melissa gives you a tight lipped smile, one that almost looks like a grimace. She hands you a sticky note. “Have a nice night.”

As you make your way down the street, you’re able to get a glance at what the note says. It’s a simple message:

I’m here when you’re ready. -Melissa

You stick it in your back pocket, set Millie down on her feet, take her hand, and continue the trek home to put dinner on the table. 

Part 3

TAGS:  (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @italianaidiota @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @littlebigbrain

[morganski-19]

The One with the Gossip

The group is hanging out at the café, all in different conversations when Jonathan comes into the bar and flops down on the couch. Camera bag sliding off his shoulders.

“When does this place start serving alcohol?” he groans.

“In about thirty minutes,” Nancy starts, “are you ok?”

Argyle trades places with Robin, sitting next Jonathan. “That bad?”

Jonathan nods, widening his eyes. “Messiest wedding I have worked months. There were so many things and they just piled on top of each other. The amount of bridesmaids and groomsmen that had previously slept together and didn’t know about it was insane.”

Steve and Eddie turn their heads at the same time. “What now,” Eddie says intrigued.

“I love messy shit I’m not apart of,” Steve mutters under his breath.

“It was crazy,” Jonathan sits up, turning toward Steve and Eddie at the side table. “And it all started for the most stupid reason. The guys apparently had a bet when to see how many of the bridesmaids they could sleep with. And the girls didn’t know about it, and a few of them fell with their ‘charms’ and were none the wiser. Until, one of the groomsmen said who won in their speech.”

“Holy shit,” Robin says with a sip of her tea.

Eddie winces. “That is such a dick move.”

“How likely was it that they were part of those fraternities that just liked to terrorize people,” Steve asks. Having almost accidently joined one of these fraternities when he was in college.

Jonathan nods with disgust. “That only scratches the surface. The best man had won, having slept with six out of the seven bridesmaids, and he was engaged to the maid of honor.”

Everyone winces with disgust.

“Not cool, dude,” Argyle says with disappointment. “So not cool. How can people do this to other people. And think that they can get away with it.”

“Because they’re inconsiderate assholes,” Steve says at the same the same time Eddie says “They’re disgusting bags of shit.” They high five each other.

Jonathan lets out a long breath. “And I’m not done yet. It gets worse.”

“Oh my god, how,” Nancy questions.

Argyle stands. “I’ll be right back, continue without me.” He walks over to the bar and starts to talk to the barista.

“He got bonus points for sleeping with the bride. And the second-place winner, was the groom.”

“Holy shit,” everyone says in unison.

Jonathan nods with wide eyes. “And the groom got a bonus point for sleeping with his future mother in law.”

They were too stunned to speak, just letting the silence fill that moment. Argyle returns with a cup of something and places it in Jonathan’s hands.

“What did I miss?” he asks, looking at them all super confused. “Are you guys broken?”

Steve shakes his head, trying to wrap his head around what was just said. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

“And this is coming from someone who has actually slept with one of his frat bro’s moms,” Robin interjects.

“On accident. And she was his stepmom, that was much younger than his dad, well after I was in college. He doesn’t know, it’s fine.”

“Did that cause another sex ban?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs. “No, that’s when the figured out that the previous sex ban wasn’t working.”

Jonathan takes a sip of the drink Argyle gave him. “Jesus, that’s strong. Did you bribe them or something?”

“Something like that. Seriously though, what did I miss?”

“Groom slept with the future mother-in-law,” Robin fills in, Argyle winces. “What is with people?”

Jonathan shrugs. “Don’t know. But it was a big wedding that they are not getting a refund for. And I still got cake, well what was left of it.”

Eddie leans forward. “What was left of it?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan nods. “Speeches were right before cake, so the bride took the entire top layer and slammed it over the groom’s head. Followed by the maid of honor taking two giant handfuls and shoving it into the best man’s face. Arguments broke out and all that shit. I stayed back to help clean up.”

“Had they signed the marriage certificate yet?” Nancy asks.

Jonathan sighs. “No clue, don’t care. It’s over and I got paid. A lot. This was not a cheap wedding. Oh right,” Jonathan reaches down into his bag and grabs a takeout container, handing it to Argyle. “Saved you a piece of cake.”

Argyle takes it, opening it and starting to eat it. Nodding his head in appreciation.

The rest of the group looks at Jonathan. “Where’s our cake?” Robin asks, a little hurt.

“You don’t live with me, you don’t get cake.”

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low, @thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady, @apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic, @fearieshadow, @mentallyundone, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging, @potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug

[nenoname]

Journal 3’s references to Stan

(…does the Lost Pages count as J3 when some had to be in J2 and also may or may not be a truth lie turducken? idk. Ford’s TBoB letters sure as hell don’t count as J3 but I’m including them here anyway)

Lost Journal Pages

"STANLEY COULD HAVE MADE HER LAUGH"

“My stomach sank a bit when I realized… it was my birthday. This day has felt… odd, since S and I… parted ways.”

"I was adjusting my TV antennae for weather reports (looking for ideal conditions for F's first portal test) and spat out my coffee when I saw THIS! My brother hawking scams under the name "Panley Stines." I had half a mind to call that number, just to pretend to be the police and maybe scare S straight for once! There is something so galling about seeing your OWN FACE committing crimes on your own TV! When my Muse saw me break my stress ball, I decided it was finally time to vent about Stanley."

""How about that; you've got an inferior clone! Why didn't you just eat him in the womb? Think of how powerful you'd be!"

"You can't just eat your twin, Bill."

You'd be surprised what you can eat! I say sure, call him if you want him to start mooching off you again! ME, I went no contact with my home dimension and I don't regret it. All they did was hold me back and sabotage my talents! Can you imagine?"

"More than you know. But you do ever wonder if maybe... maybe things could have been different?""

"Our heat budget was so tight that Mom forced S and me to wear one sweater at the same time. (She called it the "Abominable Snow-Stan." Our cat lived in fear of it year-round.)"

“DAMN! This morning I found F rummaging through my old copy of Urban Legends of New Jersey, where I had forgotten I had hidden some old personal items! I’ve quickly re-hidden them here, away from prying eyes.”

"But then he crossed a line. Helplessly I watched Cipher in my own body limp up to a pay phone and dial... STANLEY'S phone number from the infomercial?! No. He wouldn't.

"Hey brother, it's Sixer. I'm going to take a swim in the frozen lake tomorrow, and I might not ever come back, so if you don't hear from me, I just want you to know that it's because I never loved you. BUH-BYEEEEE."

My heart was in my throat until I heard the dial tone... The pay phone was out of order. The message hadn't gotten through. Cipher turned back to address me.

"TSK, TSK, TSK. LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME MAKE YOU DO! TOMORROW'S TAPE IS GONNA BE MUCH WORSE.""

(Bro secret code) "miss you"

“The snow has begun to fall again and there’s very little time. There’s only one left I can turn to to protect my journals while I prepare for the journey…”

"S is an overgrown child with none of my rigorous mental training. Who knows what could happen if Cipher stepped inside Stanley's mind for even one minute...

What if Stanley somehow manages to destroy the portal just like he destroyed my perpetual motion machine? I suppose that machine did work in its own way... It kept me perpetually angry for thirty years."

(Bro secret code) "HAVE I BEEN TOO HARSH ALL ALONG?"

"What if he tries to rope me into his latest get-rich-quick scheme? His latest commercial was for "Stan Sauce: The Miracle Sauce that's too cool for the FDA!"

What if... he mocks me? What if he sees that I abandoned our family to become a recluse on the brink of madness? Could I risk admitting that I was... wrong?

PROS: I have no one else. Well, that settles it. It's time to come face-to-face with a face I haven't seen in 10 years. My own face. Which... is my brother's face. God, I miss sleep."

Ford’s Letters

"In the weeks since Weirdmageddon, I conducted numerous tests on Stanley's mind (his terrible jokes are still intact) and inspected the state for dimensional leakage (we also took turns kicking the statue, and Stanley took a few cracks with a crowbar). I burned every Cipher-shaped item I had ever collected, and even threw away all my one-dollar bills, just to be safe (Stanley, of course, found and pocketed them).

“I emerged from my lab after days of agonized contemplation to find- to my shock- that Mabel was reading the book, out loud, to Stanley, Dipper, Soos, and Wendy!”

“They didn’t see me as an irredeemable screwup. Stanley said, "So, your past is just a giant pile of mistakes? Congratulations- you really are a Pines!”“

"Bill may tell you that happiness requires conquering galaxies and living forever, but I've seen enough of the universe to tell you that he's wrong. I've found my happiness. And it looks like this:"

"If you're reading this... then I am dead. Kidding! Sorry, Stanley thought that would be funny. Ha-ha! We're currently out shopping for harpoons to prepare for our trip to the arctic."

"Stan, if you end breaking into my lab at some point later today- Bravo! Still as good a locksmith as in 8th grade. Beers are under the desk."

(It kinda strikes me that the BoB Lost Journal pages about Stan sound far more like post-portal Ford’s opinions on Stan instead, where he’s openly angry at both being pushed into the portal + at the portal being opened again + his murder suicide attempt being foiled + Stan disowning him + turning his house into a tourist trap + taking his identity vs pre-portal Ford being more… melodramatic(?) constantly being reminded of him but not wanting to linger too long? idk the vibes are different

Plus pre-portal Ford pretty consistently only calls Stan "S” or just refers to him as his brother (with the exception of him writing his name in a Caesar cipher). I think he only ever messes up the general naming scheme a single time when he wrote Fiddleford instead of F

…not to mention the perpetual motion machine comment says thirty instead of ten years)

Other sections: Pre-Portal, Post-Portal, Post-Weirdmageddon

[hottubdarling]

Poolside-inspired Luigi Mangione x reader.

summary — he's cleaning your swimming pool twice a week and you start falling in love w him

this fic is inspired by the poolside short film and lyrics of lana del rey songs!

English is not my first language!

Summer came, you saved money for cute sun dresses and body moisturizers the whole year, and you can't wait to feel that salty scent in your clothes.

Your parents finally uncovered the swimming pool, and you couldn’t be happier. But it was dirtier than the usual, it was actually a mess, spiders and little worms everywhere. You hadn’t enough money to buy a cleaning robot and you didn’t know how to clean a pool properly, so, the only alternative would be hire someone to do that.

Your dad started looking for pool cleaners online and found a guy, who was cleaning pools during the whole summer as a hobby. At first he was kinda reluctant about hiring him, he was fearing he couldn’t be professional enough, so he called him for more information.

Your parents decided to engage him twice a week, he would come to your house tomorrow to assess the pool and start cleaning, you couldn't be more excited to finally go back to swimming!

Next day came. You put your black bikini on under a blue sundress and went to the backyard. You lay down in the grass and played nintendo the whole morning.

Someone rang the doorbell, and your mother's high heels made a huge noise throughout the house.

You heard a male voice in the hallway, talking about schedules, money and stuff like that. "He’s the pool guy" you thought. You stayed playing nintendo in your sun lounger, as you hadn’t heard nothing.

He knocked the backyard glass door, then he came out. You greeted him and smiling, like you weren’t exploding inside. He was really cute to be honest. His smile was more pleasant that any swiming pool, he couldn’t leave, even if he left your pool perfectly clean.

You couldn’t pay attention to your video game anymore, but you couldn’t look at him properly. You was just maladaptive daydreaming, looking at the dirty water.

— So, how is your summer going? - he asked you

— Having fun at home - you answered. I'm gonna start having more fun now when I can use the pool.

— That's cool. I'm cleaning pools for fun, it's a nice way to make new friends, as crazy it seems.

— My neighbor has this robot, its like a little vacuum, it goes into the pool and it does your job.

— He didn’t answered, he was just starred at you for a few seconds and smirked.

After a few minutes, the pool was sparkling. When he was leaving, you heard your mom screaming in the living room. When you came in, he was in the couch, shirtless and sunburned.

— Are you crazy?- she said. Please put on a shirt next time. Im gonna pick up a relief, please take care of him.

She closed the door, and now you two were alone. You wanted to apologize, but it wasn’t your fault, so you stayed silent and started rubbing a cold towel on his back.

—Thanks for being so nice

— No problem

You two stayed in silence. Suddenly, your mother came back and took care of the situation herself.

-See you in three days.

You spent that three days thinking about him, you needed to do something to offset what happened, the fact that he was hot just made the things worse.

You were in the backyard, as always. He looked better than three days ago, he also looked hotter.

— Hey, you don’t need to do this today - you said. Just come in and drink something, I feel really sorry for what happened.

He starred at you for a couple minutes like you were saying the most out of this world thing ever, but it looked like he was liking what he was hearing.

—I am insisting, okay?

You filled your cup with lemonade at least three times while you two were talking, and you didn’t even noticed. Next to him, hours started looking like seconds, he was the smartest and the most beautiful guy you’ve ever met in the entire summer.

— This might be crazy, but, do you wanna go swimming with me?

He started laughing, shaking his head multiple times.

— Im serious, just put sunscreen on before

10 minutes later, you two were in the sparkling water, he wanted to teach you how to float.

He put his hand in the back of your neck while the other hand was grabbing your waist. His brown eyes looked like fire, you wanted to cry.

You two were lying if you said that nothing was happening at this moment, you had a boyfriend, but right now, he looked like a random guy next to the man who was holding you in his big arms.

He placed his hand at your your face and put his fingers inside your mouth. You stopped feeling your body, and just let him do whatever he wanted. You were completely in love.

[sixosix]

KING OF MY HEART, BODY AND SOUL | LYNEY

notes 2k words, does contain arlecchino quest spoilers but it’s nothing too big, mom and dad are fighting (i could be talking about any of them)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Rosalie eyes the flower warily. “What am I supposed to do with that? My hands are—” The terrifying stranger pitches the flower to her lap, a clear rebuttal, “—tied… Okay.”

She wishes she could kick it off, yet her legs were also tied. Defeated, she accepts the offering but doesn’t say a word about it. Gratitude is far from what Rosalie is feeling at the moment. Ingratitude, fear, confusion. Those describe it better.

For better or for worse, Rosalie scrambles to take hold of the conversation, if only to show these people that she wouldn’t show her ingratitude, fear, and confusion. The flower jostles with her rough movements. “You’re—Fatui, aren’t you? I believe all of you owe me more than just a talk. What do you want with my child?” 

“Hey, lady,” the woman with the purple hood once again growls, “don’t talk to The Knave like that!”

The Knave. That sounds so familiar. Rosalie thinks deeply, wondering where she had heard it from in passing.

“It’s alright. She’s distressed,” The Knave addresses her subordinates, but she’s looking right at Rosalie. “You may refer to me as The Knave. Arlecchino, fourth of the eleven Fatui Harbingers.”

Harbingers. Out of the eleven, she managed to rope herself into the fourth one. Rosalie turns just a little bit pale. A Harbinger had been inside her shop without her knowing. If you had come home earlier, what would The Knave have done? Rosalie doesn’t know if this situation is any better, either.

“And, just so you know, before she was yours, she was my child first,” The Knave muses.

Oh. Right. Previous Fatuus and The Knave is a Harbinger—that makes sense.

“But—she’s not even involved with any of you anymore, right?” Rosalie asks weakly, her stomach taut with apprehension. “Why are you doing this? Where is she right now?”

The Knave appraises Rosalie for a good minute, as if her sorry state would make the choice for her. “I gave Y/N plenty of freedom. If I didn’t, you never would’ve even met her.”

Rosalie bristles. “What, I have to be grateful?”

The Knave huffs out a small laugh. “That would be narcissistic of me. Of course not. But you shouldn’t be hostile. If I meant to harm Y/N, I would’ve done so already.”

“Did you let her go on purpose?” Rosalie asks. She’s getting agitated by the power this woman is clearly showing off.

“I suppose you could say that,” The Knave wonders. “But I just had no worries. I’m more familiar with her than you think. I knew that she wouldn’t have gone too far. I knew this would happen eventually.”

Rosalie is confused. What is this? Was this one of those monologues that the bad guys jump into to reveal their master plan—like, in the musical plays?

“Of course, no one could have foreseen the Traveler's appearance.” The Knave taps a clawed finger on her chin thoughtfully. “That also made it much more complicated than it was supposed to be.”

Traveler. Where has Rosalie heard that before? “The Traveler… The Outlander? Aether?”

“Correct. Aether, as some of you prefer to address him. Had it not been for his interference, perhaps this wouldn't have turned out differently—he is an unexpected factor. Though, you, Miss Rosalie, you’re also one.”

Rosalie is still very much confused. But she sits still, obedient, wondering where this might go. The villains would reveal some flaw in their master plan somewhere.

“Or perhaps I would’ve left all of you alone had it not been for Lyney’s disobedience.” Wait, Lyney? “I will not have any distractions to the children occupied with their missions. He has already failed.”

“Y/N has been by my side almost every day. How would she have managed to sabotage a Fatui operation?” Rosalie asks.

“Showing up to Lyney’s show was enough of a distraction. I must admit, even I didn’t expect her to appear that soon. It must be The Traveler.”

“Wait, it was truly Mr. Lyney?!” Rosalie wasn’t even aware that Aether had been more than he let on, much less Mr. Lyney being Fatui.

Oh. Oh! Rosalie remembers now. The day she first saw Aether and Paimon was the day they went to watch Mr. Lyney’s magic show. Since then, you have begun acting strange, and Aether started to linger more often, but Rosalie hasn’t given it much thought. She simply chalked it up to you making friends—definitely not messing up a Fatui operation.

“Are you following, Miss Rosalie? Lyney has failed, and Y/N has disrupted our mission. You see, children in the House who go against our rules receive punishment.”

Rosalie doesn’t like where this is going. She knows the answer already: “What is the punishment?”

“Their lives.”

Rosalie winces. Fatui don’t play around.

“But Y/N isn’t part of the House anymore…?”

“Her memories are no different than one of a child currently in the House.”

At her stunned silence, The Knave seems to take pity. “I have a child that’s concocted a potion to make them kill a part of themselves that was involved with the Fatui.”

Kill a part of themselves?

Rosalie’s brain lags for a second. “Are—are you saying no one’s dyi—”

“If Y/N has no secrets to spill, then there is no reason to punish her. She can enjoy a life that never involves the Fatui in the first place. However, you became a factor. It would’ve been difficult for me to make her forget everything when you were there. If I make her forget her life in the House, she will forget you too, as everything that led up to meeting you involved the House. And that would make things a lot more complicated than necessary on your part.”

Is… she saying that she considered Rosalie’s feelings?

“Now, I am here to allow you to decide. You could also choose to forget her.” The Knave perches a hand on her hip. “You’re her mother now, are you not?”

“Why didn’t you ask Y/N first?”

“Would her answer dictate your decision?”

“Of course.”

“Even if she chose to forget you?”

Rosalie’s mouth parts for an answer. She wishes it was quicker than The Knave’s question that Rosalie feared more than anything, but instead, she finds herself uncertain. “…If that’s what she desires. I have no right to tie her by my side.”

“Hm. Quite an answer.” The Knave looks at Rosalie with what feels like a smile. It certainly doesn’t appear as one—neither side of her lips quirked, but her eyes felt lighter. “But do not worry. It’s why you’re here. Y/N would be asked, eventually.”

Ah. So Rosalie is just bait.

She wants to feel angry at the woman in front of her, but to her horror, she is instead understanding her. Like she could read what The Knave has been concealing behind each word—what the diplomat truly wants to say.

Rosalie hesitates, looking up at The Knave through her lashes. Her crimson eyes are terrifying, and having been tied up to a chair while the fourth of the Fatui Harbingers is standing is just as unsettling—Rosalie hasn’t relaxed an inch throughout the entire conversation.

“You still think of her as your child, don’t you?” Rosalie asks Arlecchino.

Arlecchino, fourth of the Harbingers, director and ‘Father’ of the House, turns away. “Attachments to traitors are only a hindrance in the House.”

It is not a clear answer, but doesn’t that make it clearer?

Rosalie takes a deep breath. She takes one long look at the flower on her lap, thinking back to when you first held one from her shop, froze it, looked at her with the roundest, fearful eyes, and knew that her answer was clear, too.

Thunder roared as the sun dipped behind the rolling hills of Fontaine. It struck badly and poured even worse. Each second passing without Rosalie in your sight, without knowing what could’ve happened to her, itched your rage and despair more and more. The more you worry, the more your temper rises.

You were arguing with Aether as to whether or not you should get the freaking Iudex involved—you vehemently refused, while Aether asserted that it was for Rosalie’s safety as well—when you spotted two familiar figures from afar.

Lynette is leading Lyney inside the shop, side by side. Your ire grows exponentially at the sight of them, hackles rising in a snap. How dare they. How dare they have the nerve to even think about showing their faces to you? How dare Lyney march back into your second life like he didn’t just ruin your first one, but now this, too.

Lyney’s eyes are wide with worry as they reach the door. “Y/N, what happened—”

“Of course you knew where I live,” you say, brimming with contempt. “Did you tell that to your ‘Father’, too? Or was she the one who told you?”

“I was the one who knew, Y/N,” Lynette admits, her voice infuriatingly calm. “Lyney knew you wouldn’t want him knowing where you lived, so I volunteered to get intel and give you his gift. We came here because we thought ‘Father’ did something, and, well…”

The atmosphere drops. Everyone feels it—everyone but you, the catalyst. They flinch at the assault of the biting chill, of your fury in the form of a glacier.

“What… happened?” Lynette asks cautiously, quietly. You’ve never seen her terrified of you; it’s so wrong, but what they’re doing to you isn’t right either. So, really, who’s the bad guy here?

“Rosalie’s been kidnapped,” you say, clipped.

“Your guardian,” Lynette says, surprised. “The woman who runs the shop, right?”

“My mother. Don’t act like you didn’t expect this to happen.”

“We’re pawns in this, too,” Lyney says, finally finding his voice, it seems. “Please, I know it doesn’t seem that way right now. Let us prove it to you if you let us help—”

You scoffed, bitter and cold. You bit back the bite of ice and wondered how ironic it was that every time your Vision acted out, it was, more often than not, tied to Lyney.

“What, so you expect me to believe you’d just go against your ‘Father’ like that?”

“I would,” Lyney says without missing a beat.

How maddening. Aether, Lynette, and Paimon were shivering, wide-eyed and unsure, yet Lyney stood unfazed. No, he burns. His eyes, his gaze, they smolder your bleak anger. But that only serves to irritate you even more.

“Lyney,” you warn.

“I would, Y/N,” Lyney cuts, eyes narrowed fiercely. “I would for you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Lyney.”

“I do. And you know I do!”

“Give me a good reason to believe that.”

“Because I lo—” Lyney grits his teeth, and finally, some real emotion—no more tricks, no more lies; his frustration satisfies you—at least until he says, “I like you, okay? You know this.”

Maybe deep down, you really did know. You felt it. Maybe you even feel the same. But your brain’s fogged over, and all you can think about is how Lyney keeps taking everything from you—‘Father’, your pride, your spotlight, and now Rosalie.

Aether reaches out. “Y/N—”

“Shut up. None of this would’ve happened if I never met you,” you snap, turning away at the sight of his eyes flashing with hurt.

You turn and stomp off, refusing to acknowledge their protests and Lyney’s weak pleading. The door slams shut and rattles, with ice spreading from where you’ve touched it. “Find your sister yourself. Stupid brothers, getting me involved… This is why I’m an only child…”

And so you’re back to square one. Alone. So be it. Maybe this is truly where you belong, anyway. You don’t need them, and you definitely don’t need Lyney and his blind love.

This is how it would come to be, eventually. You, leaving; or them, leaving you. You long expected it. Or maybe it is because you forced it—you wanted it like you’d feel in control if things went exactly as you expected.

So why does leaving them feel nothing like control?

notes i know i kept saying i was excited to post this chapter, but now that im actually posting it i got nervous LMFAOO its been a month since the last update. i dont know how i did tbh!!! but either way, tysm for reading and i hope u can stay with me for four more chapters <3

TAGLIST.

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[kitty8804]

Doing another RWBY hatedom rant because people seemed to like the last one and I have more to say:

I absolutely despise it when people call Yang selfish and a terrible sister in Volume 9 when it came to Ruby’s struggles with her mental health. I have two main issues.

1. People seem to think that because Yang is Ruby’s big sister then she needs to always be at her beck and call. She can’t disagree with Ruby. She can’t let Ruby do things on her own. She can’t focus on herself or her happiness. She must always be focusing on Ruby. That’s not how relationships, especially sibling ones, work. People seem to think that Yang must sacrifice everything for Ruby and if she is anything less than that then she is a terrible sister. Do people forget how much Yang had given up for Ruby?! She raised her! She sacrificed her life for her! As soon as she was ready to went to go find Ruby in Volume 5 instead of her mom, which she had wanted to do for most of her life! I fully believe that if Raven didn’t have her portal semblance, which made finding/getting to Ruby MUCH easier, Yang would not have bothered. Yang loves her sister so much! But just because she’s a big sister does not mean that she isn’t allowed to struggle or focus on herself.

2. Here’s the big reason. As someone who has had to deal with a VERY similar experience in my life it absolutely infuriates me when people call Yang a terrible person and sister. I won’t go into too much detail because it’s not my place and I’d rather keep the information private but a couple years ago my sister hit a very low point mentally and it got very scary. (She’s doing much better now don’t worry). Here’s something that most people don’t realize when someone very close to you is going through something like Ruby did: You don’t tend to realize how bad it is. I knew that my sister had her struggles, but I genuinely thought she was doing alright. Afterwards I felt like such a terrible person because I wished that I noticed more and wished she had told me what was going on. This is exactly how Yang felt! She knew her sister was struggling, but didn’t realize just how bad Ruby’s mental state had gotten. She would try to comfort Ruby, not realizing that it was making it worse. She wished that Ruby had told her so that she could help her. It’s a really shitty situation to be in. This is on top of the fact that all of team RWBY were in a very stressful situation after having witnessed the fall of Atlas. I don’t think any of them were in great headspace’s, Ruby was just in a much worse place.

Honestly the entirety of Volume 9, in my opinion, was very realistic in its portrayal of mental health issues both as the person struggling with it and as the people around them. These situations are messy, complicated, and are never straightforward. Trying to treat it as anything else really shows that people don’t know what they’re talk about.

Yang is a good sister. She’s not perfect, but guess what? No one is! Remember we as an audience know so much more than the characters do. Just because characters don’t handle a situation perfectly doesn’t mean they’re garbage.

[yourenothingbutnottome]

A Court of Snakes and Vipers (Part 1?)

Mattheo Riddle x F!Potter

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: At Platform 9 3/4 and the train ride to Hogwarts for the first day of 6th year, Slytherin bashing, friend bashing, tension with family over house and chosen friendships, establishing deep cemented loyalties to the Snake Gang, bestie Draco x OC, Mattheo/OC mutual pining but worried over the implications of the war, 1POV

Notes: AU, Potter parents alive, Harry!twin OC (Livina Rose Potter, NN Rose, Liv, Livvy), Slytherin, characters aged up, Draco in his bestie era, OC has secret power than can change the tide of the war, Snake crew bloodsworn to Rose TOG style; just a little scene that played in my brain while going to sleep one night, idk if anyone other than me will like it, might not continue but I just wanted to write this out for my own sanity bc I couldn't stop thinking about it, not beta read, bad writing, banner from @sweetmelodygraphics

“What did Malfoy say to you on the platform?” Harry interrogates as soon as the door to our compartments reaches its close. 

“Geez, how long were you holding that one in?” I laugh, taking a seat across from Hermione and Ron, leaving Harry’s spot open for him by the window.

“I’m serious, Liv.” He sits, body entirely facing me.

“Okay?” 

“What did he say?” His voice is harsh.

I roll my eyes and chuckle in disbelief at the way he instantly goes into what I call “Savior” mode.

“Nothing important.” I say with a finality, hoping he dismisses the conversation at that. But of course he doesn’t.

He turns so that he’s addressing the three of us. “I think he’s a Deatheater.” Before I can laugh or tell him how ridiculous he’s being, he continues. “I think he’s a Deatheater and I want to know what he said to you.”

I think back to the brief interaction, mere moments ago when we were saying goodbye to our parents for the upcoming term.

My arms are wrapped around my father in a final hug. He kisses the top of my head and pushes me out to an arms length. “Let me get a good look at you before you go,” he jokes. “Yup, two arms, two legs and oh look at that! A head attached to the rest of your body! I expect all of those things to be there when we see you for Christmas.”

“James, enough,” our mother scolds, humor light in her voice. She smooths Harry’s tie for the 100th time.

“What?! I don’t have to worry about Harry! But, you never know with these Slytherins,” he laughs.

“James.” Mom’s voice is edged and leaves no room for argument. 

“Sorry, honey” He lays a hand on my cheek. “You know I tease. Slytherin or not, I love you. You have a good heart, and you know right from wrong.” He affirms, as if these are traits that Slytherins are incapable of having.

“You know Slytherins aren’t monsters …” I say.

“Of course you aren’t. That’s what I was saying, darling.”

“No. You were saying I’m not a monster. Not Slytherins. Like there’s the rest of them, and then there’s me. A wayward Slytherin. Different.”

“Well, you are different.”

I step back. “No .. I’m not.” My voice hardens, as it always does when I’m forced to defend my house, to defend my friends.

“Let’s not do this now,” mom pleads. I’ve been having this argument the entirety of my academic career at Hogwarts, but it’s gotten significantly worse after the events of last year: the confirmation of Voldemort’s return and the murder of our Uncle Sirius. Harry’s vision had led us to the ministry under a ruse and ever since, dad has been extra tense. 

“No, let's.” Harry interjects. “You know who her ‘friends’ are.” He says the word ‘friends’ as if it's coated in poison. 

My mother attempts to lecture the two of them while I tune their voices out. It isn’t anything different than what I’d heard the entire summer. Instead, I look across the way, meeting Draco’s gaze.

His mother drops him off, rushing to evade the eyes of curious onlookers, but lingering to share the last few moments with her son. Lucius is absent, of course, which is why so many are looking. They know about what happened last year; the paper hasn’t stopped running articles on their family, all centered on his father’s stay in Azkaban. 

Draco hushes his mother’s worrying, and though I am not close enough to hear, I am sure he is reassuring her and putting on a strong face for her. His back is to me as he gives her a hug goodbye, whispering something softly to her that causes her eyes to flash and focus on mine. She gives me a tight smile before turning her attention back to her son. He gently grabs his trolley of luggage, steady hands leaving her shaking ones, giving her the opportunity to apparate away. 

His entire body is stiff, rigged with pressure and expectations that no one our age should carry. Eyes back to mine, I can see everything he’s hiding from the rest of the world. I can see beyond the mask, I can see to Draco. His pain. His mourning. His innocence. His fear. His desperation. His courage. I see him. My closest friend, my brother. I see a soldier, one like no other. 

“Livina Rosalie Potter, you listen to me.” My father scolds. “Stop zoning out. You’ve been doing that all summer.”

“Because you’ve been saying the same things and it’s a bunch of hogwash that I don’t care to listen to all summer.” I respond, full rebellion on display.

He flubbers for just a moment, temporarily speechless. “I don’t care what house you’re in. You are a Potter. You are a symbol in this war. You are a weapon. And you are naive to believe they don’t see that.” 

“Who are ‘they’?” I sass, knowing full well who he means.

His face is tense with a quiet rage. “I will pull you out of school if I have to. I have half a mind to ask Dumbledore a personal favor and have you switched to Gryffindor house so that your brother can watch over you because apparently of the two of you, he’s the only one who can use his brain.”

“James!” My mother gasps, shocked.

“No, Lily,” he hisses. “If Liv can’t take care of herself, then someone else will have to do it for her.” He looks to me again. “You aren’t making smart decisions. You’re putting yourself in incredible danger. They aren’t your friends and even if they aren’t active participants yet, they will be soon and they aren’t worth saving. Don’t you ever forget what a threat they pose to you or how dangerous and violent they can be.” 

My entire being vibrates with a rage so fierce that it feels as if I am boiling straight from my very core. My fingers twitch, clenching and unclenching around an object that isn’t there. I can feel that hidden, secret power within me screaming to be unleashed with my anger, begging to be let free, desperate to defend those it perceives to be threatened. 

Just as I open my mouth to release my outrage, fury coiling inside of me, a strong shoulder rams into mine, causing the trolley that the offending arm was pulling to go tumbling. Trunks scatter. An owl screeches as its cage topples to my feet. Ryu. (Pronounced Rue). Draco’s owl. 

“Sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he apologizes, terse and polite. He bends close to where I had fallen, gathering his discarded items. He looks to me as he feigns struggling with one trunk in particular, and speaks so that no other may hear. “Don’t. Control it. You are strong. Stifle it and wait. You hold the fate of the future within you and this is not our time to fight. You fight, we fight. But this is not that fight.” He stands straight, trolley re-packed and stacked neatly. “Sorry, again.” he says loud enough for my family to hear, standing straight and holding his hand out. 

I place my scarred hand into his, using his strength to both pull me to my feet and to ground me in a wave of calm and control.

“See you in class,” he dismisses and continues his walk to the train.

“Ugh, Harry, will you just drop it? Please?”

“Why? So he did say something to you?’ His eyes narrow as he glares at me. “You need to quit hanging out with him. With all of them. I don’t know why you aren’t taking this seriously. You need to listen to dad, and you need to listen to me.”

“Here we go,” Ron huffs, throwing his hands in the air and leaning back into his seat.

“You’re not the boss of me, Harry. Now why don’t you just piss off and leave my friends alone? Why are you like this?”

“Your friends?” he scoffs, unbelieving “They don’t care about anyone but themselves. They’re on the wrong side of this war and you know it! You’re absolutely stupid if you think any different.”

“I’m … stupid?” I question with the eerie calm that got me sorted into Slytherin to begin with. “Stupid because I won’t let my brother, my “Holier-Than-Thou,-Can-Do-No-Wrong” brother tell me who I can and can’t be friends with? I’m stupid ��.” my voice rises as I stand in confrontation, “because I’m defending the people I care about? The people who, mind you, you know nothing about. Nothing other than your own prejudice and disgusting bigotry!”

“Bigotry?!” Harry, also standing now, exclaims in shock. “That’s rich coming from the girl defending someone who called Hermione a Mudblood, defending someone who is the literal spawn of the man responsible for this war? All of their parents were in that room last year, hunting us! Hunting you! They killed Sirius! Does that mean nothing to you?!” He huffs again in the pretentious way that only Harry can scoff. “So yes, you’re stupid to continue to associate with people trying to hunt you and your family. You’re stupid for thinking that when the time comes, they won’t hand you over to Voldemort and betray you. You’re stupid if you think they haven’t thought of doing the killing curse themselves! No better way to impress your father than by personally killing his enemies, right?!”

My brows are lifted in disbelief, in complete awe at his ignorance and cruelty. “I’ve known them for years, Harry.” I say softly. “I know them in ways you never will. None of you will. I trust them and I love them. You’re wrong.” I turn to Hermione, “Tell him,” I rush, pleading. Desperate for him to understand. For someone to be on my side. “Tell him how Draco apologized to you! Tell him how Enzo walked you to your dorm after that Ravenclaw was a little too grabby, tell him how the next day that same Ravenclaw was in the hospital wing!”

Hermione glances between Harry and I, uncomfortable and distressed. “Those things only happened because of you. You made them do those things.” Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, as if she didn’t want us to hear, didn’t want to participate in this fight between siblings. She looks at me, eyes soft and shy, but stern. “He’s right, Liv … they’re bad just the same as their parents. They’re dangerous. Being friendly inside of the school walls is one thing …  it’s not going to be the same.” She moves her eyes to look at her hands, hiding from my anger as if in shame of admitting her bias against my friend group. 

I shake my head, looking up so as to restrain the tears that so desperately want to fall. “I’ve never been more disappointed in you .. both of you,” I look to Harry whose face has that smug vindicated look to it. “You don’t know a damn thing. And neither does dad.” I turn, leaving him gaping at me.

I don’t see him rush to reach for his cloak, nor do I notice his unseen presence following me afterwards, lingering distantly enough so as to remain undetected but close enough to not lose me in my fleeing.

I don’t know where I’m going. Anywhere but here. Anywhere that I don’t have to see his face, don’t have to listen to the “Great” Harry Potter spew hate in front of me. He doesn’t know them like I do. He doesn’t know anything. He’s blinded by hatred.

“There you are, beautiful,” a voice wraps around me at the same time a hand grabs my wrist, pulling me in for a hug. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Well, here I am.” I shrug, falling in step beside him.

His eyes turn to me harshly, “What happened?”

“It’s nothing, Enzo,” I sigh.

“My favorite snake is upset and we haven’t even gotten to school yet. Something happened.”

“You’re sweet to be protective,” I pat the hand still holding on to me, guiding me through the train.

“After everything we’ve been through?” his hand moves to grab at mine. “Always.”

I look into his eyes, steadfast, strong, and loyal. Like all of theirs. A fierceness we all hold connected to each other. “I know,” I soften, “It’s the same thing it always is. The great, ‘open-minded’ Potters. Same thing my dad’s been on and just Harry being, well, Harry.”

Enzo’s face contorts with sympathy. “I’m sorry, dear.” 

We stop at the door to a compartment that I assume holds the rest of our ragtag group. “You ready for the chaos?”

“Always,” I respond, mimicking him, as he slides the door open, using an arm around my shoulder to pull me in alongside him. “Look who I found wandering about all melancholy like!” Enzo announces. I let out a small laugh as I gently slap his arm off of me.

“What’s wrong?” Mattheo asks, eyes flicking to mine with a somber sincerity. I flop ungracefully in the open seat next to Draco, throwing my legs up across the way to rest in Mattheo’s lap. He immediately wraps his fingers around my ankles.

“Just annoying family shit.”

“Been there,” Theo jokes. We all just stare blankly at him. “What?” he defends, “We aren’t making jokes about this mess yet?” He looks at each of us, desperate for just one of us to laugh with him. Draco and I lock eyes and that’s all it takes for the two of us to bust into laughter. The others join in and we all laugh at Theo rather than his poorly timed, crappy joke. 

After the laughter dies down, the mood sobers again as we think on Theo’s words. “How are you guys? Really?” I ask gently.

“We’ll get through it, Bella.” Theo whispers, laughter gone from his eyes.

“Together,” Draco confirms, nodding his head once and gripping my hand on the seat next to him. The others nod in agreement. All but Mattheo. 

“And you, Matty?” I hold his gaze. All of them seem to have lost the light in their eyes over the summer, but him especially. It’s like there's no one home, no fight left. But I know better. I know him better. He feels everything, he feels too much. He’s the strongest and most ruthless fighter of us all. A true warrior.

His grip on my ankles tightens. “We’ll be okay,” he reassures me, but the sentiment dies there, it doesn’t reach the rest of his face. "Stop flirting with her with your stupid accent." He glares sideways at Theo who throws his hands up in surrender.

“Let’s talk about Harry,” he says, eyes hardening. “What did he say to you?”

“Oh you know, that I’m stupid, have to pick my side, tried to ban me from speaking to you lot, called you all bigots who only think of yourselves, and …” I trail off, hesitant to upset Mattheo further.

“And?” Draco prompts, face stiff, contorted with a silent rage.

“And,” I take a steadying breath, “And he said that you’re only pretending to be my friend until the time is right for you to kill me to impress him.” I roll my eyes at his dramatics in an attempt to lighten the mood. “He’s just pissy because his little crush Ginny is bumping uglies with Dean Thomas and here I am with all you pretty boys fawning over me, desperate for my love.”

The trunks overhead thud around, probably in response to the train vibrating over a particular rough patch of track.

Together, we share an unfiltered laugh at the recurring joke. There have been rumors at school that we’re in some kind of reverse Harem and we think it’s bloody hysterical to push the rumors on. Because what other reason would the toughest guys in school have for wanting to be friends with a Potter? Obviously because we’re fucking. 

“She thinks we’re pretty, awwww” Blaise teases while pinching Enzo’s cheek.

“The prettiest,” I compliment with a giggle.

“But one of us is prettier than the rest, right?” Draco teases from my right, knowing of my affections for one Mr. Mattheo Riddle, who I am proud to say I did not glance to when Draco said that. 

“Oh piss off, Draco. You’re horrid!” I shove him into the wall, as he chuckles at my misfortune.

Mattheo hides a small grin, eyes downcast in an attempt to hide his barely visible blush.

I’ve always been his girl, just the same as he’s been mine. Anyone who matters knows it. But it’s never been said, never truly been claimed or acted upon. At first it was just a youthful bashfulness, a fear of rejection and the potential loss of a sincere friendship. But then as the war grew closer and times became more tense, it became an unspoken but uniformly understood agreement that our connection is already a threat and dangerous enough without adding labels and romance to it. But still, our claim to each other lingers in the air around us, a living thing, the same as the oxygen we breathe: unseen but existing nonetheless.

In fact, each of the boys had tried to push Pansy and I away from them at the very start. But we’re family. We’re loyal and headstrong in our support to one another. They are mine and I am theirs. To the very end. Potter, Malfoy, Riddle, Order, Death Eater. None of it matters. We don’t belong to our names, to our parents or their agendas. We belong to each other and that’s it. A third invisible “side” in this war. Perhaps the most dangerous any of us could be in. Outwardly linked to one, but realistically and eternally, truthfully, bonded to each other. To me. Pansy Parkinson. Lorenzo Berkshire. Theodore Nott. Blaise Zabini. Draco Malfoy. Mattheo Riddle. 

My bloodsworn.

A court of snakes and vipers.