#I’m saying call your mom and talk about something other than politics

[shego1142]

So to begin with there’s a lot of merit to “water is wet” type studies, which is that researching things that “seem obvious” is good for documenting stuff that might otherwise not be provable or useful later on when the “obviousness” has been lost to time.

Remember how no one knew how to make ancient concrete because it was “so obvious” that it was mixed with sea water it wasn’t worth writing down? Yeah, always write everything down. In triplicate or more so.

But also this isn’t just some big own to the maga cult

This is like… an actual serious and real issue. Trump is quite literally a BITE model cult leader and he is preying on the underprivileged, and the poor (as well as the abused) to lead his cult.

Am I saying all maga enthusiasts are poor little babies who can’t help themselves? No. Obviously I’m not. Also this doesn’t apply to all of trumps followers either, a LARGE percentage of them are actually very smart and very wealthy and they know that Trump is going to cater to the very wealthy elites.

But this isn’t about them.

This is about your great grandma who wasn’t able to finish school past 5th grade because she had to get married to someone 4 times her age and she was pregnant by the time she was 12. She isn’t really into politics and doesn’t understand most of what they’re saying when it comes to legal jargon, but her pastor tells her that Trump is an honest good hearted man, and she guesses that she doesn’t need to know much else.

This is about your paranoid and delusional uncle who had to take time off school to go to a mental hospital but he never really got better because mental hospitals are underfunded and oftentimes corrupt and he fell down a rabbit hole where he got redpilled so hard he doesn’t know which way is up and the maga cult has convinced him that he’s “more fun at parties when he doesn’t take those liberal pills.” He needs help, genuine professional help, but he’s stuck in a position where the only possible opportunity he has is to get worse.

This is about your mom, who does know it’s wrong, who is put on edge by trumps chauvinism and doesn’t really thing anything is wrong with a book about gay penguins, but the ever growing array of bruises on her arms, the black eyes and broken noses that she hides with sunglasses, the words “you shall not tell a lie” and “you must obey your husband” has her terrified that Susie May at the local polling station will be a Nosy Nancy and word will get back to your dad.

I’m not saying we should coddle people and absolve them of their crime, far from it.

But, in the words of Kamala herself, we exist in the context of what came before us.

It is absolutely ridiculous to pretend that Trumpism isn’t a failing of society as a whole.

People slipped through the cracks, communities have let the mentally unwell go without help, not having different options for education (we all know public schools have the potential to be fucked up beyond belief but it’s all anyone can afford

We can’t just say “haha you’re stupid!” And pretend like this isn’t a reflection of our society and the way it works. We can’t pretend that this isn’t incredibly sad. Or that it wasn’t intentional.

A lot of otherwise good people who are broken, beaten down, uneducated, and or don’t know how to deal with their emotions are following Trump because they are angry and they want their lives to change. They’re quite literally in a cult. They’re scared, paranoid, they’ve been lied to and controlled and manipulated. Many, many maga cult members are well and truly brainwashed and genuinely wouldn’t be making the decisions they’re making if they received the help and care they need.

Yes they’re are absolutely still the “leopards eating my face” club.

No I’m not saying that they should be allowed to get away with the shit they get away with, they’re doing horrible things and voting for horrible people who do horrible things.

But we have got to be more aware and more vocal about the fact that they’re in a dangerous and deeply harmful cult.

The first step to leaving a cult is understanding that you’re directly being hurt by said cult.

Most people who are trapped in cults don’t even realise they’re in a cult.

If we were able to raise enough money for your granddad to retire happily from his predatory 5 days a week 12 hour shifts at Walmart where he gets screamed at all day, little to no break, and isn’t allowed to sit down, he’d probably be way less likely to vote for Trump.

If your mom was able to get out of the harmful and abusive environment she’s grown up with and have breathing room, without being monitored 24/7, she probably wouldn’t vote for Trump.

The good ole southern boy just turned 18 who’s been in the closet ever since his daddy beat him for wearing his mom’s lipstick when he was 5 probably wouldn’t vote for Trump if he had the means of getting away from his parents but his dad’s the football coach and the history teacher and their underfunded home town public school had Trump merch hanging up in every other classroom, and the homework assignment come November is to tell everyone who you voted for and why.

My point is just that when Trump finally dies there will be a lot of people who will suddenly and without warning just… return to normal. It will literally be very weird for anyone with Trump supporting loved ones.

I’ve sat down and talked to my mom at length about why she wants to vote for Trump, when he’s so much like all the men in her life who’ve done nothing but abuse her.

She flat out said that he’s like her dad, and she said that her dad would have voted for him despite being a democrat.

Her dad physically, emotionally and sexually abused her, her older sister, her younger brothers as well as her mom, starting when she was as young as 3 and continuing for 5 years or more.

She wants her dad (who was abusive and has been dead for years) to be proud of her. To love her like he was meant to.

It’s genuinely a sickness.

I’m not saying that you have to play nicely with Trump supporters or anything.

Like, fuck that, go curb stomp nazis, call them weird and make fun of them if they’re being assholes to you or other people. It works.

But if you’ve ever met someone who’s an absolute sweetheart and wondered why or how seemingly nice people could be persuaded by the worst of the worst?

It’s because it’s a cult. Cults prey on uneducated people and that is not an own, that is a condemnation of society.

We owe it to our children, our friends, our families, our neighbours, to make sure that going forward people are far less desperate.

Check in on your loved ones, try to get the elderly or the mentally unwell people in your life out of the house and doing hobbies other than watching Fox News. Be a friend to the lost looking teens who have nowhere to go and nothing to do but be yelled at by their parents.

[luveline]

Hi lovely!

I saw you’re looking for Hotch requests and I think I requested one before but I forgot what it is oops.

Could I please have one where Jack calls R mom for the first time and she feels super guilty about it but Hotch is super sweet.

Thanks!

ty for requesting 💞 fem (mom and stepmom!) reader, 1.4k

You’re obsessed with your little baby, but you’d loved Hotch’s son for a long time before you had your own, and you’ve continued to love Jack as your own regardless. If anything, having a baby only cemented that you love him. 

Though you’d never disrespect his mother or what she gave up for him, you’re a parent to Jack. When Hotch is home, Jack is home, and when he isn’t you have Jack four days out of the week anyways, splitting him lovingly with his Aunt Jess. You take care of him and you love to do it; being his stepmother is a gift. You love Jack. 

And he loves to cuddle. 

“Rub my hair,” he demands sleepily, crushed as far into your neck and chest as he can be without pushing his brother out of the way. 

“Say please,” you say, already bringing your hand up where it’s sandwiched behind him to stroke the hair from his eyes. “Like this?” 

“Thank you.” 

He’s pretty much always polite when he’s not tired. Which has little to do with you and everything to do with Haley and Hotch, you’re sure, he’d been a picture of a golden child the day you met him and besides the occasional tantrum or naughty spell, he’s a grateful child. He says thank you for things you want no thanks for, when you towel dry his hair at night for bed, or when you help him into his socks. He once said thank you for a kiss on the cheek, as if it wasn’t something you’d wanted to do. 

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his brow. “Can I have a little kiss?” 

You kiss his brow when he smiles, letting your eyes flutter closed, nose still pressed to his skin. 

“I love you, mommy,” he says, wrapping his arm around your neck with a sleepy snuffle. 

You struggle to answer. The baby gurgles against your chest.

There has been a lot of mommy talk lately. Hotch is calling you mommy often now that the baby’s born, cutesy stuff like, There’s mommy! when you come back from a shower, or How’s your mom? when he’s home from work and he wants to hold the baby, but he wants to check on you at the same time.

He’s never called you Jack’s mom, but Jack’s six. He was bound to get confused, or to feel new feelings, though you weren’t expecting him to do it right now. 

Eventually, you figure you’ll do what’s best for Jack even if that best isn’t something you deserve. “I love you too, baby.” 

“Are you falling to sleep?” he asks. 

You have arms full of children and Hotch will be home any minute if what he said on the phone is true, so you won’t. “Maybe not yet, but you can sleep if you want to. I’m sure dad will wake you up when he gets home.” 

Jack settles in with the baby. Your promise gives him the solace he needs to sleep.

…What if Hotch is angry? 

You’ll tell him what happened, of course, because you don’t have secrets with each other, and even if you did this is something he’s owed, right? He’s been completely candid with you about everything, how he loved Haley, how he feels he failed her in more ways than her death, and how he loves her still. 

You don’t feel like you’re competing for his loyalty or affection, it’s simply clear that he respects Haley’s memory very strongly. What if you tell him what Jack said, and what you hadn’t said, and he’s furious? 

The door opens downstairs. Hotch calls hello, but with Jack and the baby both sleeping, you stay quiet in fear of waking them. You listen to him do a familiar dance, the click of the safe where he retires his firearms, the rushing water of the faucet as he makes himself a glass of water, and then a second you assume to be for you. 

You shuffle Jack from your chest gently, pulling the baby into the curve of your arm and depositing him with an overabundance of caution into the crib. 

You hurry to the door, finger on your lips, startling your husband on the last stair. 

“I need to talk to you about something,” you whisper. 

He gestures for you to walk back down with him. He’s unperturbed by your worry, two glasses in one hand so he can use the other to feel at your shoulder as you take the stairs in front of him. “What happened?” he whispers. 

“It’s–” You wince, descending the stairs with a distinct sense of nausea. “Can we sit down? I’ll make you something to eat.” 

“I’m fine,” he says, following you to the kitchen, where you sit in adjacent chairs at the dinner table. 

You brace your hands on a placemat. 

He laughs and takes them into his own. “Nothing you tell me is worth all this worrying.” 

“It’s about Jack.” 

His smile fades. “What about him, honey?” 

“We were upstairs… You know how he is, he climbed on top of me and we were cuddling because Noah finally fell asleep, and,” —it’s best to just tell, even if you feel clammy and guilty before you’ve admitted to it— “he called me mommy. I’d never tell him to, I promise.” 

Hotch brings his hands up slowly, yours raising with them where he’s holding your wrists. “What did he say?” 

“He said he loved me. ‘I love you, mommy.’” 

“What did you say?” 

Your grimace is apologetic, eyebrows pinched. “I said I loved him too.” 

“And you’re worried that’s not okay?” You nod. “It sounds to me that he was just telling you how he feels. When you wake him up in the mornings and you tuck him in at night, and you’re the person he goes to when he needs a bandaid, you must feel like his mother.” 

“But I’m not.” 

“No.” His dark eyes are relaxed, his brow only a shade of its usual downturn. “Haley is his mother, and she’d love how you treat him. He will always, always know who his mother is. But if he wants to call you mom, a woman who loves him and looks after him with the same tenderness as you do your own, then I think that’s okay, especially with Noah getting older… How do you feel about it?” 

“I love him.” 

He does that silly smile where he’s more happy than he’ll admit to, leaning forward, pressing your hands to his arm and then his lips. “He loves you,” he says. 

Hotch stands and offers a hug. When you take it, he sways you from side to side. “She really would’ve liked you, honey. It was me who let her down.” 

“But her baby calling me mom…”

“I know. It’s a conflicting feeling.” 

You let out a big sigh and slouch in his arms. You’re warm butter under his touch. He reacts accordingly, bending and cupping the back of your neck. 

“It felt awesome,” you confess. He might as well know. After the remorse, you were happy. Jack must really love you. 

“You’re very, very good to him. Just let him love you however he wants to, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget who his mother was, and how much she loved him.” 

You wouldn’t let Jack forget her either. 

Hotch leans away to dot a kiss to your cheek before he hugs you again. “How are they? The boys?” 

“Sleeping. Waiting for you to come home and wake them up. Maybe please don’t wake up Noah, he might sleep through the night tonight if we leave him alone.” 

“I won’t. I’ll see him in the morning.” His smile is audible. “I’m a little jealous, I think. Jack hardly ever says he loves me first.” 

“You clearly don’t cuddle enough.” 

“That,” he says, giving your hip a squeeze, “is a low blow. But I’ll allow it.” 

“You’ll allow it?” 

Another adoring sweep of his arms on your back. “You can say what you want,” he amends. “Thank you for taking care of things while I was gone.” 

He doesn’t need to say thank you, you’re a family, but you appreciate the gesture. “You’re welcome, handsome.” 

[waitimcomingtoo]

Sugar And Spice

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x reader

Synopsis: Peeta gets jealous when a guy keeps coming into the bakery to flirt with you

Masterlist

“Can you watch the bakery for a second while I frost a cake?”

“I can do it but I have to warn you. I’m super charming so we’re probably gonna get a bunch of customers and sell out immediately.” You said and held up your hands in defense. Peeta couldn’t help but smile as he watched you tie an apron around your waist. Something about you wearing something that had his last name on it made you even more endearing. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about his best friend like that, but he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t doubt your charm but we haven’t had any customers all day.” He reminded you.

“That’s because you’ve been keeping me in the back. Go frost your cake. This place will be packed when you return. Just watch”. You said and shooed him okay.

“Okay.” He replied sarcastically.

You were only alone in the bakery for a few minutes before someone came in. It was a guy around your age wearing a hard helmet so you could only assume he was a coal miner.

“Hello.” He smiled at you as he walked up the counter.

“Hello.” You replied. “Welcome to Mellark Bakery.”

“Do you guys sell bread?” He asked you.

“Here? At the bakery?” You asked and stepped to the side to give him a full view of all the baskets of bread behind you.

“Okay, it was a dumb question.” He admitted.

“It’s okay. It’s probably the only question you can ask that I could actually answer. I just learned what yeast was a little while ago.”

“Oh, so you don’t usually work here?”

“I don’t. My best friends family owns the place. But his brother gave his mom a cold and then the whole family caught it. I’m just filling in until they’re better.” You explained.

“That’s a shame. I thought I’d have two reasons to come in here now.” The boy said with a coy smile.

“Two reasons?”

“For delicious bread and a chance to see the pretty girl working the counter.” He replied. You raised your eyebrows in surprise at his flirting before smiling. You’d never had a boy flirt with you so boldly so it made you feel good.

“Well, thanks. How can I help you?” You asked him.

“My mother sent me to get that brown bread but I keep forgetting the name of it.”

“Isn’t all bread brown?”

“Well, yes.” He realized. “But she said this one is browner than the others.”

“I actually think I know what you’re talking about. Is it pumpernickel?” You asked and pulled out a loaf of pumpernickel bread.

“Yes! That’s the one. Look at you being smart. I’ll take a loaf of that.” The boy said. You didn’t really like the way he acted like it was shocking you’d say something smart but you didn’t say anything.

“Surely. Anything else I get you?” You asked as you handed him the wrapped up loaf.

“How about your name?” He smiled as he handed you the money.

“It’s Y/n. You?” You said through a nervous laugh. You weren’t entirely sure you liked the attention anymore.

“Hi. I’m Lycan.” He said and extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Lycan.” You smiled politely and shook his hand.

“It is nice, isn’t it? Will you be filling in all week?”

“Most likely.” You told him.

“Then I’ll be back. Thanks for the help.” He winked at you just as Peeta came out from the back. He saw the much taller and stronger looking Lycan leaving the bakery and stopped in his tracks.

“No problem.” You called after him. Peeta caught the way Lycan’s eyes lingered on you after he left the shop and he didn’t like it. He got a weird feeling in his stomach when he noticed that you were flustered.

“Who was that?” Peeta asked.

“That was Lycan. And he bought the last loaf of pumpernickel so we knead to make more. And that was a baking pun, by the way. But it would’ve worked better on paper.”

“Oh. Do you always learn the customers names?” Peeta asked as the weird feeling in his stomach grew. He was feeling jealous already and now that he knew you learned that guys name, it was even worse.

“Not always.” You shrugged. “But he asked my name so I asked his.”

“He asked your name? That was nice of him.” Peeta said through a forced smile. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that you had caught the attention of the attractive stranger. Maybe because you’d caught Peeta’s attention years ago but still hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah. I guess he was nice. He called me pretty.” You said and looked at Peeta as if you were expecting him to disagree with that statement. Peeta clenched his jaw but kept a straight face.

“You are pretty.” He insisted. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don’t know. I guess because no one’s ever just called me pretty before. Except maybe my mother. But I’ve never heard it from a boy. It was kinda, I don’t know, nice.” You said as you stared out the window. Peeta was kicking himself for never vocalizing how beautiful he found you because now you had to cling to the compliment of a stranger.

“I think you’re pretty.” Peeta said quietly. Your head turned to Peeta and you had a surprised smile on your face. Peeta turned a deep red as he waited for your answer.

“You’re pretty pretty yourself, blondie.” You replied as you passed by him. You started to rearrange some of the baked goods but Peeta was still hung up on this stranger who called you pretty.

“Did you like that guy?” Peeta asked you and feared for the answer.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “It was nice to be noticed. But I don’t him enough to know if I like him.”

“Right.” He nodded and desperately tried to take his mind off it. You noticed the far off look in Peeta’s eye but didn’t understand what was bothering him.

“So how’s your cake?” You asked.

“Not good. I made the frosting a weird color. Can you go look at it and tell me if I should scrap it or not?”

“Sure. But if you go check on it later and there’s a piece missing, it wasn’t me.” You teased.

“Very funny.” He said sarcastically.

“I know, right?” You laughed and went to the back. Peeta laughed as well but his smile quickly dropped when the door to the bakery opened. Lycan walked back in and Peeta gulped. He’d only seen him through the window before so now he got to see just how tall and handsome this guy was. Peeta nervously fumbled with the tie on his apron and felt a little insecure to be wearing it when this guy was covering in soot and dirt from being down in the mines.

“Hi. How can I help you?” Peeta asked him. Lycan was visibly disappointed to see Peeta there and was ignoring him as he looked around the bakery for you.

“What happened to the girl that was working here just a few minutes ago?” Lycan asked.

“Who’s asking?” Peeta asked without dropping his cheery smile. Lycan looked Peeta up and down and scoffed a little.

“I am.” He replied. “I wanted to ask her where she lives.”

“Why would you want to know that?” Peeta frowned.

“So I could see her again. I was planning on stopping by sometime. I figured she’d like that.” Lycan answered with a smug expression.

“Well I know her well enough to know she wouldn’t want me telling a stranger where she lives so…” Peeta trailed off and let Lycan fill in the blank.

“Hm. You must be the friend she mentioned. I guess I’ll just have to ask her myself. But why don’t you do me a favor and tell her I stopped by?”

“Surely.” Peeta replied. Lycan recognized the same word you had used and narrowed his eyes at Peeta.

“Thanks, baker boy. Bye.” Lycan smirked and left the bakery. Peeta blinked in surprise at the unexpected rude tone. If he was feeling insecure before, he was feeling even worse now that Lycan made it obvious that he looked down on him.

“Who was that?” You asked when you came out from the back.

“No one.” Peeta lied. “How’s the cake?”

“I actually like the grey color. You should leave it as it is.” You told him.

“But it was supposed to be a wedding cake. Won’t the customer be mad?”

“If I was getting married and my cake was baked by you, I wouldn’t care what it looked like because I would already know it was delicious. But you don’t have to worry about that because the cake looked great. Your cakes always look great. You’re the best cake decorator I know. So stop worrying about it.” You said and playfully smacked his chest.

“I’m the only cake decorator you know.” He said with a shy smile.

“That may be true.” You agreed. “But even if I knew more, you’d still be the best. You’re an artist. All your cakes are lovely. I promise.”

“Thanks for saying that.” He blushed. “We can have a grey cake at our wedding then.”

“Oh? Our wedding?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Your wedding.” He quickly corrected. “I meant your wedding. I will make you a grey cake for your wedding.”

“What if my groom wants a white cake?”

“He’ll want whatever you want.” Peeta said confidently.

“What makes you so sure?” You asked skeptically.

“Just a guess.” He said quickly. He wasn’t about to tell you that if he was the groom, you’d get whatever and however many cakes you wanted.

“Well he better. My mother is already on me about finding someone and settling down. That’s all she thinks I’m gonna be apparently. A wife.” You said with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, yeah? Is there anyone in particular you’re thinking of?” Peeta asked without looking at you.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be against running off and eloping with you to get her off my back.” You joked. Peeta blushed at the joke and hoped there was some truth to it.

“Or maybe I’ll just marry this Lycan guy to shut her up.” You added, making Peeta’s smile drop. He was definitely jealous now and it was only gonna get worse.

The next day, you went to the bakery again and helped Peeta run the shop. He had you handling the customers while he stayed in the back to bake. Even though you had said it as a joke, you actually were bringing in a lot of customers and selling through baked goods fast. Unfortunately, you brought in Peeta’s least favorite customer.

“Oh no.” Peeta said when he saw Lycan through the windows.

“What?” You asked just as the door opened.

“Hello again.” Lycan greeted you and didn’t acknowledge Peeta in any way.

“Oh, hi, Lycan. What can I get for you today?” You asked him.

“How about you get me your favorite thing in the shop?” He asked with that smug look Peeta hated. Peeta rolled his eyes at the lack of manners but held his tongue.

“Well, that’s hard to pick. Peeta bakes everything and it’s all delicious. He’s an amazing baker.” You said and patted Peeta’s back. Peeta and Lycan made eye contact and gave each other tight smiles.

“Oh, so this is your friend who runs the bakery? Did he tell you I stopped by yesterday to see you?” Lycan asked knowing full well Peeta didn’t mention it. You looked at Peeta in surprise and Peeta gave you a sheepish smile.

“Must’ve forgotten to mention that.” He said quietly.

“Right.” You laughed awkwardly. “Well, I love the cinnamon buns Peeta makes. And we just frosted some so I’ll go grab one from the back.”

You went to the back to grab a cinnamon bun, leaving Peeta and Lycan alone together. Peeta kept his eyes down as Lycan stared at him with a smug expression.

“So how come you had her running the shop all alone yesterday?” Lycan asked with judgement in his voice.

“She was fine. She was only alone for a few minutes but she would’ve been perfectly capable of running the shop all day. She’s great at this stuff. She’s better than me and I grew up in this bakery.” Peeta defended you.

“I could tell.” Lycan snorted. “But running a business is no place for a lady. She should’ve been doing the baking while you handled the customers. A girl like that should be able to sit still and look pretty while you man the place, you know what I mean?”

“Um, no, I don’t know what you mean.” Peeta smiled tightly. “She’s not the type to sit still but you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know her. And we “manned”the shop together all day. I just happened to be in the back decorating the cakes when you came in.”

“Oh, so you make all these? Where did you learn how to do that?” Lycan asked with a condescending smile as he looked at the cakes on display.

“My mother taught me.” Peeta said quietly.

“Oh, I see. My mother taught me that a man’s job involves getting your hands dirty but hey, what does she know?” Lycan shrugged.

“Clearly not how to teach her son manners.” Peeta mumbled. You came out from the back and Peeta relaxed.

“Here. One hot cinnamon bun.” You smiled kindly and handed the treat to Lycan.

“Thank you. It looks almost as good as you do.” He said with a much kinder tone than he had given Peeta.

“Oh. Thank you.” You laughed in surprise and looked over at Peeta. Peeta was too busy staring daggers at Lycan to notice.

“See you tomorrow?” Lycan asked you.

“See you then.” You waved as he left the shop. Once he was gone again, Peeta could finally breathe.

“I don’t like that guy.” Peeta shook his head.

“What? Why not? He’s so nice.” You said. As much as Peeta disliked that guy, he wasn’t about to burst your bubble and tell you Lycan had implied you could not and should not run the bakery by yourself.

“He’s too nice.” Peeta insisted. “And I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“How was he looking at me?” You frowned.

“The same way every guy looks at you. Only he looks dumb enough to try something.” Peeta mumbled. You let out a laugh and Peeta was confused.

“What?” He wondered.

“Nothing. I’ve just never heard you call someone dumb before. Here I was thinking you were all sunshine and flowers.” You shrugged with an amused smile.

“I can be tough. You don’t think I can be tough?”

“Well, I’m sure you can be. I’ve just never seen it. I’ve only ever seen your good side.”

“I can be tough. I can be a real tough guy.” Peeta insisted but it sounded unnatural coming out of his mouth.

“Okay, tough guy.” You chuckled. “Show me what you got.”

“What do you mean?”

“Say something mean about me.” You said and gestured towards yourself.

“What? I would never do that.” He laughed but meant it.

“I knew it. You’re too sweet. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. You’re all sugar.” You said and squeezed his arm. Peeta blushed at the contact and felt a little better about himself.

“Here’s something mean. That guy just tracked mud all over the floors. Why are coal miners so messy?” He scoffed and grabbed the mop.

“Maybe because they’re in dirty mines all day? Just a thought.” You teased as Peeta cleaned the floor.

“This is just gross.” Peeta huffed. “And did you see his hands? They were filthy.”

“I didn’t notice them.” You shrugged.

“Yeah, cause you were too busy flirting.” Peeta grumbled.

“Flirting?” You laughed. “I was not flirting with that guy.”

“Yes you were. I’ve never seen you bat your eyelashes like that before. And when’s the last time you warmed something up for a customer? You did that to flirt.” He half joked, half meant entirely.

“That wasn’t me flirting. I was just blinking because of all the dust he brought in.” You said simply. Peeta stopped mopping and looked up to see if you were serious.

“You really weren’t flirting with him?” Peeta asked hopefully.

“With a stranger? Who do you think I am?” You scoffed and grabbed the mop from him. You cleaned up the rest of the mud tracks before handing the mop back.

“Okay.” Peeta smiled. “Good.”

“Why’s that good? You didn’t want me to be flirting with him?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Psh. No. I don’t care who you flirt with.” Peeta quickly explained but even he didn’t believe it.

“Don’t you?” You asked and took a step towards him.

“I don’t.” He gulped.

“All right then.” You smiled sadly and went back behind the counter. Peeta looked over at you and wondered if you had wanted him to say that he didn’t want you flirting with anyone else.

The next day, Peeta was hesitant to leave you alone in the bakery in case Lycan came back to ask you out. If he actually made a move on you, Peeta knew he didn’t stand a chance. There weren’t a whole lot of options for dating in your district so if he asked you out, you’d probably say yes. But Peeta couldn’t stay in the front forever and eventually had to go to the back to frost cakes. And as soon as he was gone, the wolves descended.

“Good morning.” Lycan greeted as he came into the bakery. Your heart started to beat faster when he came in but it wasn’t from excitement. His presence was starting to make you anxious and you didn’t know if you liked the attention anymore.

“Good morning. What will it be today?” You asked politely.

“Some more pumpernickel please. But only half a loaf. I had some of my worker friends over last night and we went through it. We just get so hungry being down in the mines all day. You know how real men’s work is. It’s brutal but hey, someone’s gotta do it.” Lycan shrugged and leaned on the counters that you had just cleaned.

“Right.” You said sarcastically. “Anything else?”

“A smile. From you.” Lycan added. You gave him a tight smile back and realized you really didn’t like the attention. At least, not from him.

“Have a great day.” He said as you handed him the loaf and he handed you the money.

“Thanks. You too.”

“I already did. Because I got to see you.” Lycan said and pointed to you. You forced a smile back and watched as he tracked mud on the floor as he left. Peeta came out from the back a little while later and saw the mud.

“I see Lycan returned.” He said stiffly.

“He sure did.” You replied. Peeta rolled his eyes and grabbed the mop before looking at you.

“Don’t give me that look.” You laughed. “It’s not my fault Mr. Muddy Boots keeps coming in here.”

“Yes it is. I heard him telling you to smile. He likes you.” Peeta mumbled and mopped the floor. His jealousy was back and in full force so he kept his head down.

“Maybe he was just being friendly.”

“But he wasn’t being friendly to me. Only you.” Peeta pointed out.

“Okay, true. But that still doesn’t mean anything. He might just want to be friends.”

“No way. No guy wants to be just friends with a girl as interesting and funny as you.”

“What about you? You just want to be friends, don’t you?” You asked and smiled at his words but he didn’t see it. He was too busy keeping his head down so you couldn’t see how much he was blushing over what you asked.

“There. Finally clean. But if he comes in here and gets the floors muddy one more time, I’m gonna ban him from the bakery.” Peeta said to change the subject.

“Maybe he’s had enough of your baked goods and won’t come in anymore.” You shrugged.

“He’ll be back. Although he might stop buying things and just start coming in to stare at you.” Peeta grumbled, making you laugh. When your laughter died down, you thought about what it would mean if this guy actually wanted to be more than friends.

“Do you actually think he likes me?” You asked quietly.

“Of course he does. And I can’t blame him. But I can be annoyed about how often he comes in here.” Peeta said and continued to avoid eye contact with you.

“But him coming in here means you get more customers.” You reminded him. “And what do you mean you can’t blame him?”

“Him coming in here means I have to look at his dumb face while he bumbles around and tries to flirt with you. All while making the bakery muddy. I wouldn’t mind losing him as a customer.” Peeta replied and conveniently ignored the second half of what you said.

“Well we should probably bake another loaf of pumpernickel in case he comes in tomorrow.” You shrugged and started to gather the ingredients. Peeta froze and watched you tie on an apron as jealousy burned a hole inside him.

“What?” You asked when you saw Peeta’s face.

“You want him to come back?” Peeta asked in a soft voice.

“I didn’t say that. But if he does, which I’m assuming he will, we should have bread for him.”

Peeta was quiet again for a minute as he looked at you. He didn’t think you liked this guy back until he watched you gathering ingredients to make something specifically for him.

“Do you, um, do you like him back or something?” Peeta asked you. He didn’t sound angry or anything, just sad.

“What I like is earning money. Which customers bring in. Customers like Lycan.” You said and headed to the back where the oven was.

“Fine. But just don’t bake that with love, okay?” Peeta called after you. He heard you laugh and felt a little better because it reminded him that no one made you laugh quite like he did.

“I’ll try.” You called back.

The next day, Peeta was ready for anything. He asked you to bake some muffins in the back while he dealt with the customers during the evening rush. He had made it through almost the entire day before he saw Lycan coming in to the bakery. He looked around for you as soon as he walked in before walking up the counter.

“How can I help you?” Peeta asked with a forced smile.

“Actually, I was hoping Y/n could help me. She here?” Lycan asked and peered behind the counter.

“She’s busy with the baking in the back.”

“Really? I thought frosting cakes was your job? Tell me, how do you make them look so pretty?” Lycan asked in a mocking tone.

“It takes a steady hand. And a clean one.” Peeta said as his eyes dropped to Lycans dirt covered hands.

“These are workers hands. But you wouldn’t know anything about that would you, baker boy?” Lycan said in a low voice as he leaned on the counter. Peeta gulped but was determined to stand his ground.

“I know about hard work. Just because my work is different from yours doesn’t mean it’s any less important.” He replied.

“Are you serious?” Lycan laughed. “I risk my life everyday to get the coal that you use to bake your pretty little cakes. You’re not important. I mean, your work isn’t important. I know that, and she knows that.��� Lycan whispered so only Peeta could hear. His words were getting to Peeta and he wasn’t feeling as confident as before.

“She’d never go for you.” Peeta said quietly.

“What other choice does she have? You?” Lycan scoffed. “I asked around about the two of you, you know. Everyone had the same thing to say. That the bakers boy absolutely adores her but isn’t man enough to do anything about it.”

“I could do something about it.” Peeta insisted.

“Oh really? Then why haven’t you?” Lycan asked him. Peeta opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He had no answer to give.

“That’s what I thought.” Lycan snickered. “She’d never go for you either.”

Peeta looked down at the ground and believed what Lycan was saying. You came out from the back and immediately sensed the awkward tension. You first noticed Peeta’s sad expression and then Lycan’s smug smirk.

“Oh, hi Lycan. Back so soon?” You asked as you looked between the boys and tried to figure out what had just happened between them.

“I just needed to get some bread. And seeing your pretty face never hurts.” Lycan said and switched to a nice smile.

“Aw, thanks.” You said with a fake smile.

“You know, being a coal miner is really dangerous. Nothing like the easy job this guy has.” Lycan said and nodded towards Peeta. “When the boys and I go down into the mines, we never know if we’re gonna get to come back out. So I try to take a minute and appreciate the beautiful things in life as much as I can. And that includes you.”

“Aw, thanks.” You repeated in the same uncomfortable tone. Peeta looked up and saw that Lycan was staring at him with a puffed up smile. In other words, he thought he ate that.

“See you around, doll.” Lycan winked at you before leaving the shop.

“That was painful.” You said once he was gone.

“For us both.” Peeta mumbled.

“I think you were right. I think he may be more than just friendly.” You laughed nervously.

“What gave it away?” Peeta smiled sarcastically.

“I just don’t understand what he wants from me. I don’t even know what to say when he talks like that.” You said and grimaced at the memory of his little speech.

“He probably wants a wife. And he wants you to say it can be you.”

“A wife?” You laughed in shock. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“But he wants to. That’s why he keeps coming in here. He probably wanted to ask you out today but wouldn’t with me in here.”

“Well I wouldn’t say yes even if he did. So there’s nothing to worry about.” You shrugged.

“Don’t tell me there’s nothing to worry about.” Peeta snapped. You were both surprised by his tone and stood in awkward silence following his exclamation. Peeta was too embarrassed to look at you so he kept his head down and played with the ties in his apron. He heard your footsteps coming over to him and suddenly, you were lifting his chin to get him to look at you.

“What’s this about?” You asked quietly. Peeta sighed and looked to the side.

“He works in the mines and risks his life. I work in a bakery and decorate cakes. He’s covered in soot and dirt and I end the day covered in flour and sugar.”

“So?” You laughed.

“So, he’s a real man.” Peeta insisted. “And that’s what you deserve.”

“Do you think I don’t see you as a real man?” You asked and wrapped your arms around Peeta’s neck. He turned bright red and finally looked at you.

“Look at me. And look at him. We’re not the same.” Peeta said softly.

“Just because he works down there and you work up here doesn’t make you any less of a man.” You assured him.

“It feels like it does. Especially when…”

“When what?” You asked when Peeta trailed off.

“When I thought you liked him. I assumed he caught your attention because he’s all big and tough and I’m just…soft.” He shrugged and gave you an embarrassed smile.

“He caught my attention because he’s annoying and dirty. And I happen to like that you’re soft.” You told him.

“You do?” Peeta asked skeptically.

“Of course I do. I like that you never have a mean thing to say about anybody. I like that you decorate cakes and smell like cinnamon all the time. And I like that you stop to pick flowers that you like. But you know what I don’t like?”

“What?”

“That guy. I don’t like how he thinks I shouldn’t run the shop by myself. I don’t like how he can’t compliment me on anything but my looks. I don’t like how he thinks his job makes him superior to us. And I don’t like that he made you feel bad about yourself.” You said. Peeta looked into your eyes and saw how serious you were. A smile tugged at his lips as he believed that he didn’t have anything to worry about.

“He made fun of my cake decorating.” Peeta added with a coy smile.

“What? Now that’s too far. Let’s ban him.” You played along. Peeta laughed and pulled you into a hug.

“I never want you to think you’re not good enough ever again, okay?” You said as you rubbed his back.

“Okay.” Peeta reluctantly replied. You pulled out of the hug and rubbed his shoulders.

“If he comes in here again, I’ll tell him to back off. Of both of us.” You assured Peeta.

“Good. Because I’m not much of a fighter.” He said through a relieved laugh.

“I know. You’re a lover. Thats what I love about you.” You told him and went to go clean the counter. Peeta watched you for a minute with a content smile on his face.

“It is?” He asked in a soft voice.

“Amongst other things, but yes.” You replied.

“There are a lot of things I love about you too.” Peeta said without looking at you.

“Are there?” You asked with piqued interest.

“Of course. Dozens of things.”

“Dozens?” You pretended to gasp and looked over at him.

“Uh huh. A bakers dozen.” He replied with a coy smile.

“Hey.” You laughed. “Baking humor is my thing.”

“I know, I know. But I think that’s another reason Lycan bothered me so much. I thought he was gonna take you away before I got a chance to tell you any of them.” Peeta said simply. Your expression changed but he didn’t catch it as he went to change the sign on the door from “open” to “closed”.

“Well. It’s quitting time.” Peeta sighed and looked the front door.

“Right. We should go.”

The next day, Lycan came in bright and early in the morning. He was the first customer and walked in before you had even arrived yet. Peeta gulped when he saw him and hoped you’d get to the bakery as soon as possible. Then he remembered what you had said about what you loved about him and felt a little braver.

“Hey, Peeta. Just you today?” Lycan asked in a condescending voice.

“For now.” Peeta answered calmly.

“These are nice. You pick them yourself?” Lycan asked as he flicked one of the flowers Peeta had in a vase on the counter.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I did.”

“I thought so. Just when I thought you couldn’t get anymore pathetic. It’s no wonder Y/n doesn’t want you.” Lucan snorted. He hadn’t heard you entering the bakery from the back so when you appeared behind the counter where Peeta was, he gulped.

“Oh, hi, Y/n. Good morning.” He said nervously and hoped you hadn’t heard what he just said. You gave Lycan a big smile before turning to Peeta.

“Good morning.” You greeted Peeta before pulling him into a long kiss. Peeta was stiff with shock at first but then kissed you back as his hands found their place on your waist. Lycan watched this with a dropped jaw and angrily cleared his throat when he felt like it was going on too long. You pulled out of the kiss with a big smile and patted Peeta’s red cheek.

“Sorry about that.” You chuckled as you wrapped an arm around Peeta’s shoulders. Peeta and Lycan were both silent as they processed what had happened. You made your choice loud and clear to the both of them and they were both too stunned to speak. Peeta finally smiled and took one of the flowers out of the vase to place behind your ear as a little thank you. You smiled in appreciation before looking at Lycan.

“So.” You shrugged. “What can we get you?”

Tag List 🥖

@ilovetoomanymen @kittimbo @sipsthecoffee @ohmyhuenings @

@ilykitwalker @mayemperess @scenesofobx

[wqnwoos]

joshua hong breaks your heart three and a half times before you can even reach nineteen, and yet you can’t stop loving him with the pieces that remain.

i. the first time ; when you meet

the story of you and joshua starts at the beginning, which sounds pretty redundant, but it’s the beginning in more may than one. the beginning of friendship — the beginning of freshman year — the beginning of something bigger than two fourteen year olds can imagine.

it starts, as you say, at the onset of freshman year. you’re nervous — extra nervous because these kids went to the same middle school, and you’re the stranger, the outsider, the transfer student who nobody knows yet. it’s obvious in the way they talk to each other; gossipping about unfamiliar names, inside jokes only they understand.

and so homeroom begins with ice breakers, and it turns out that you and someone named joshua hong have the same favourite colour and you both like horror movies, and that’s enough for you to think to yourself, that one. i want to be friends with that one.

for a moment, it seems like that sentiment is mirrored. when lunch is called, and you’re stuck in the corner of the canteen, eating lunch alone, joshua hong appears to your side, holding his tray. he smiles at you first, and when he speaks, he speaks softly; you like him instantly, especially when he gets your name right first try, and talks to you about the horror movies you like.

unfortunately, your conversation lasts about five minutes; it’s interrupted by joshua’s actual friends, waving from another table, yelling for him to come join their arm wrestling competition, and someone wants his chocolate milk, and, and, and — because of course, joshua is popular.

he’s also incredibly polite, for a fourteen year old boy, looking between you and his table, eyes torn, mouth twisting. but you make the decision for him; you stuff the last of your food in your mouth — it tastes like cardboard — and you gesture for him to leave, saying, through a dry mouthful, “i’m done anyway, go ahead!”

he leaves then, sending an apologetic smile you pretend not to see. you won’t be pitied, not even by popular guys with nice smiles. but when you walk out the cafeteria, as alone as you were when you walked into it, your silly, young little heart does break a little.

and then it’s glued back together by clumsy fingers the next day. joshua’s in the cafeteria before you, and this time, he waves you over to his table, patting the seat next to him. he introduces you to his friends, who are nice and sweet and funny, and you do like them, you just like joshua that extra little bit more.

ii. the second time ; when you fall, suddenly, completely, absolutely.

by the time junior year rolls around, you and joshua are joined at the hip.

you do everything together. you’re at his house more than your own; his mom calls you the second child she never had; your mom calls him by his nickname; you know his deepest darkest secret, and he knows yours; he’s your favourite person in the world, and as teenagers are apt to do, you’d never willingly tell him such a thing.

“you’re disgusting,” you tell him, whenever he belches, unashamed, on your couch after a horror movie marathon. “you’re the worst!” when he tickles you within an inch of your life, rolling onto the floor with you in a mad tangle of limbs and giggling. “i hate you,” with a smile on your face, when he teases you about a crush or pinches your nose a little too hard.

“you love me,” is always his response — easy, carefree, and the l-word rolls off his tongue so confidently, sometimes you wonder how he does it. but you do love him. as a friend, of course, and nothing more, despite what other people say. at school, people think you’re together — people pull you aside in the locker room, giggling like they’re in on your secret (“so, you like like him, right?”) and nobody believes you guys when you deny it.

“it’s not like that,” you find yourself saying over and over, until it feels like the words are tattooed on your tongue. “he’s just josh, you know?” and he is. he’s just your joshua. nothing more, nothing less, he’s just your person — your best friend.

you manage to convince yourself as well, with those repetitive words, until one day, you find out you can’t.

it’s a sunday, and so of course, he’s singing sunday morning as the two of you stroll down to the park, hands stuffed in your respective pockets. it’s late september, but the dregs of summer are lingering longer this year, and the two of you are drinking them up before autumn rolls around, and strips the greenery bare.

“your obsession with that song needs to be studied,” you say, and it comes easily because you haven’t realised yet.

“your brain needs to be studied,” is his quick retort, as you guys make it to your usual spot.

it’s nothing special, this spot — to an outsider, at least. it’s a crumbling wall to the side of the park, that overlooks a pond (an ugly, swampy looking pond, but a pond nonetheless).

to you and joshua, the deteriorating wall is your Place, with a capital p, because that’s how important it’s become to the two of you. it’s simply. a little bit ugly, but who cares, when you have your whole life stretching in front of you, a wall to sit on, and a best friend to argue over the red gummies with?

“there are five red gummies,” he pronounces, peering inside the pack. “i call dibs on the third!”

“what?” your voice raises automatically. “absolutely not. you had the third one last time.”

“last time there were six!”

“that’s so not fair!” you poke his rib, scowling. “we’ll split it. for justice.”

joshua sighs, long and reluctant, but nods, setting the packet between you — but moments later, when you’ve spiralled down a tangent of cursing out your physics teacher, he swipes down on the third, stuffing it in his mouth with a triumphant, guiltless grin before you can even say stop.

“you’re evil,” you say, slow and shocked, narrowing your eyes at him. “you’re actually fucking evil!”

“sorry,” he says, without the slightest hint of remorse.

“i hate you.” and again, you’re smiling — and so is he, throwing his head back to laugh (because the thought of you hating him is so ridiculous that he has to laugh), and his darn eyes catch the afternoon sunlight at just the right angle, twin pools of honey brown, and you’re drowning in them; and his laughter sounds like music, and his hair’s blowing back in the breeze, and the lines of his face are lighting up golden; and oh, fuck, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“you love me,” he says, normally, casually, his ordinary response, but it feels like he’s plucked the sentence straight out your mind, where it had been nothing more than a half-formed sentiment you’d pushed into the corner.

cheeseballs, you think to yourself, breathless, stomach sinking, eyes wide. i think he’s right.

i think i love him, your fifteen year old self thinks, and then your fifteen year old self’s heart breaks.

it’s more painful than the first time. much more.

iii. the third time ; when he leaves (because you push him out the door)

the third time is not like the others. you can’t pinpoint a specific moment; it happens gradually. less of a shattering — more of a slow crushing, like joshua is pressing down on the centre of your chest, slow, heavy, and completely unaware of how blood is spurting from the cracks of your heart.

because he doesn’t know — of course he doesn’t know. and he can’t know now, now that the two of you, as a unit, have become past tense.

you can barely call himself your friend anymore, and it’s entirely your fault.

not even a month after that fateful day in junior year, joshua had gotten himself a girlfriend. and she wasn’t mean and you couldn’t hate her even if you wanted to, she was the sweetest person alive, and had no problem with you; but still, that step did mean other things, like backing off joshua a little. there was another priority in his life now.

they only lasted three months, but it felt significant. it felt like a sign — he’s not yours, he can never be yours, and so even after emily benson and joshua broke up, you kept your distance. then he joined the football team, with seungcheol and mingyu and those guys, and you joined the photography club with wonwoo and seokmin and those guys, and there was suddenly this divide. a line drawn; you were the artist.

because joshua did try, and he definitely tried more than you. he’d invite you over to his house for movie marathons, and you’d decline. he’d wave at you from across the football pitch, and you’d pretend not to see.

you only see his mom in the supermarket now. she still hugs you, calls you her other child. you don’t know what to say to her.

it is, technically, your own fault. self-preservation instincts; because being around joshua hurt like a bitch after that sunday. there was an ache in your heart you’d somehow not noticed for two years, but now that you’d noticed it once, it was there always, a permanent throbbing pain in your chest.

you think of it as losing your heart; you’d given it to joshua without even realising, and he hasn’t realised either. and so the hot, slippery organ is left in his hands, and you don’t know how to get it back.

senior year comes, and it’s clear to everyone that there is no longer a you and joshua. sometimes you get questions about it; “did you guys fight?”, “what even happened? was it emily?”, “did he cheat on you?”, and you answer them all wearily with a smiling front.

just drifted apart, i guess, you always say, paired with a nonchalant shrug, like it doesn’t kill you a little every time you see him.

you wonder what he says, when they ask him. if they even ask him at all.

iii.v half broken, half mended

joshua shows up at your house.

it’s the night before graduation, and if it were a movie, it would be raining when he knocks on your door — but it’s still warm, there’s still faint sunlight behind him, and he’s panting slightly on your doorstep, eyes wide with something you don’t have the time to read before he’s rushing out words, garbled with speed.

you’ve just woken from a nap, and you don’t understand a word he’s saying; you hear a whole lot of “we” and “friends” and before he can get any further, you raise a hand to stop him.

“what — what are you talking about, shua?” you question genuinely, rubbing your sleepy eyes as though this is some sort of twisted dream.

joshua lets out a breath on your doorstep; he looks harried, panicked, like if he doesn’t say everything he needs to, he’s going to explode. but he holds back, inhaling, exhaling, suddenly short of breath at the sight of you, up close after what feels like forever.

“where did you go?” he says finally, and you can hear fifteen year old shua in there, a crack in his voice, emotion leaking into it.

you know what he means, you know exactly what he means, and you don’t have an answer for him. “i didn’t go anywhere,” you reply, voice small. you don’t look at him, because both of you know it’s a lie.

“you did,” he repeats needlessly. “it felt like you left me.”

you don’t have anything to say, and so you stay silent. there are birds chirping, you realise absently, somewhere behind him.

“was there a reason?” his words are growing quicker now, spilling out of him like they’re overflowing; and maybe they are, maybe he’s kept them locked up just as long as you have. “there must have been a reason — you need to tell me, i deserve to know. don’t i?”

his voice is tinged with a sort of raw desperation that pulls at your heart, because no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise, he’s still your shua, he’s still your person, and you can never hate him.

he deserves to know, and you’re too cowardly to tell him.

joshua waits. (he’s always been the more patient out of you two.) “you won’t tell me,” he realises finally, stepping back just once. “god. fuck. i don’t even know why i came.”

he turns, and you blurt three words that halt him in his tracks. you see the way he freezes on the spot, and so you repeat them again, just so he can be sure.

“i love you,” you say, softly, but he hears you. he hears you and turns around, and his pretty doe eyes are round with confusion.

you don’t realise you’re crying until he wipes away the few that have spilled oit the corners of your eyes; he does it delicately, with hands that tremble a little. they’re unfamiliar in their familiarity, those hands, and the feel of them makes you close your eyes.

both of you are breathing shakily. like you’re on the cusp of something new; something bigger.

“how long?” he asks quietly, hands trailing down to cup your cheeks.

you don’t open your eyes when you speak your next words, pouring from your mouth into the space between you. “since we were fifteen.”

joshua’s quiet for a moment, and when you open your eyes, there’s a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, and the ghost of tears filling his eyes. “haha,” he whispers, leaning closer, “i win.” his lips brush against yours, so light and feathery it could barely be called a kiss.

he pulls back, forehead against yours, and smiles, properly this time. “since fourteen,” he says, and it feels like your heart is mended and broken at the same time.

an / typed this out in an hour of feverish inspiration. idk. 💪

taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya

[blushweddinggowns]

It had started as a rough few weeks. A rough few weeks that turned into a rough few months. It was weird, because in all honesty when it came to social standings, Will was doing a lot better here than he ever did in Hawkins. There were no Zombie Boy stories following him here, and he even managed to get a few girls to have a crush on him. He…still wasn’t quite clear how that worked out and he really wasn’t a fan of it. But they were also the only people he could talk to at school. He was way too paranoid of getting close to any guys. God forbid he got another crush on a friend, having none of them just seemed like the better course of action. 

It didn’t help that Mike had basically stopped acknowledging that he existed after they moved. He didn’t write to him, he didn’t call him, and it felt like the only time he heard his voice was when he politely asked for El over the phone. And it hurt. It hurt a lot. Especially when he still put in so much effort to get ahold of El all the time. He’d resent her for it if he could, but the only one who was having a worse time than him with the move was her. Maybe Mike was a shitty friend to him, but at least she had someone to talk to. 

But whatever. Lucas and Dustin cared, and so did Eddie and Steve. And when Jonathan wasn’t busy being high as hell, he had him too. Even Max called him more often than Mike did. Even when she was just trying to get ahold of El she’d take the time to ask him how he was, a courtesy that his best friend from freaking kindergarten couldn’t even offer anymore. 

So maybe Will didn’t have many friends in California yet, but he didn’t feel very lonely. 

Just a little heartbroken. 

But he could get past it. Especially when some of his favorite people were only one phone call away. Sometimes it made him feel a little guilty, that Steve and Eddie were his go to for talking about his problems. Especially since Jonathan was always trying to get him to open up. Even when he was zoinked out of his gourd he never failed to ask Will how his day was. Though…he did have a hard time following the plot when Will told him. 

But that didn’t change the fact that Jonathan always wanted to help. But what could Will say? I’m depressed because I’m in love with my best friend who doesn’t care about me? And oh yeah, I’m gay? Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to happen. If Jonathan of all people hated him for that…he’s not sure he could recover. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t think about it.

It was kind of pathetic, but he’d fantasize about it sometimes. Coming out to his family, everyone smiling and saying they’d love him anyway, no matter what. And if he was being honest with himself, it was technically possible, right? His brother had never said a bad word about Steve and Eddie. His mom never failed to shut the homophobic crap down when his crappy sperm donor had still been around. But it was different when it was your own kid, right? Will wasn’t quite sure. But he did know that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

So he called who he always did when he had a problem. It only took a few rings before someone was picking up, Steve’s familiar voice on the other end, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Will sighed, flopping face first into his bed, the phone pressed to his ear. 

He could hear the smile in Steve’s voice, “Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

God, he was such a dad. Will wouldn’t be shocked if he started wearing socks with sandals by the time he hit twenty-three. He went straight to the point, “Do you think that living happily ever after is like a real thing? For people like us?”

Steve laughed, “It better fucking be after all the shit we’ve seen.”

“I don’t mean the Upside Down stuff,” Will sighed, “I mean like…y’know. The gay.”

Steve snorted, “The gay? I’m going to have to tell Eddie that one.”

Will rolled his eyes at the redundant statement. He had learned a long time ago that telling Steve something meant telling Eddie something, and vice versa. He sighed a tiny smile on his face, “Oh what, like he’s not already next to you listening in?”

“...touché.” 

Will laughed, turning over to stare at the ceiling, “I’m serious though. Like…is it even possible? It’s not like everyone gets to magically find their soulmate at eight.”

“Is that such a bad thing though?” Steve asked, “Because no offense dude but honestly? I think you could do a lot better than Mike-”

“Be nice,” Will interrupted, torn between being defensive for Mike’s sake and amused at Steve never failing to find a way to come at him.

“I will when he starts being nice to me.”

“Well that’s just not going to happen,” Will laughed, “I’m starting to think Eddie’s right to call you a brat.”

Steve gasped, loud and scandalized. He’d been hanging out with Robin too much, “Me?! Never!”

Will could barely hear it over the receiver, but he could hear Eddie’s faint voice coming through, Yes he is!

And it was making him laugh even harder. Will missed this, so much. He missed having a place where he could just say whatever he wanted, with no worries. Even now he was looking over his shoulder, anxious at the chance that his mom or a sibling could come bursting in at any moment to catch him in the act of being comfortable. It was a confusing and weird feeling, and probably a little unfair to assume they’d prefer him to be sad and quiet over happy and queer. But he still did.

But for now he was safe. And he might as well take the chance to speak on all the things he couldn’t with anyone else, “But what if I don’t want to do better than Mike? Like…it’s stupid but do you think that um, I would ever have a chance?”

The answer was a strong no, but sometimes Will just needed a reality check from someone else’s mouth. 

Steve sighed, “I think the odds are pretty low bud. All jokes aside, even if he was playing for our team, I’m not sure if he’s the type who could even accept it. Y’know?”

Will did know, unfortunately. And if he’d never met Eddie and Steve there was a solid chance he’d be that guy. The truth stung a bit, but it was necessary, “I know, I know. But…do you think he would accept me? If he ever found out?”

“He fucking better. Otherwise I’ll-”

Will heard a shuffle on the other end, paired with something that sounded suspiciously like whining before he heard Eddie’s voice, “Will? You there? Sorry about that. I had to take the phone away before he started talking about beating up a child.”

Will grinned, happy to hear Eddie’s voice, “You made the right call. Do you think they’ll ever get along?”

“Not in this lifetime,” Eddie sighed, “And I know Mike’s not perfect, but if he’s okay with us why wouldn’t he be with you?”

“But it’s different when it’s a friend, isn’t it?” Will asked, “I’m not even sure if my mom would accept it, let alone him.”

“Well first of all, you don’t have to tell anyone shit, okay? But I can promise you that Joyce would be fine with it. And so would Jonathan for that matter. And I don’t even know if El is aware of what homophobia even is.”

It all sounded a lot more believable out of Eddie’s mouth than what was going on in his own head. But still… “What if they don’t though? What if I tell them and they kick me out or something? Or make me go to therapy?”

“Okay, on the off, off chance that you tell them and Joyce suddenly became a monster overnight, we’ll go to plan B. Steve and I will drive up there to kidnap you and you can live in Indy with us.”

Will grinned. He could live with that, “Can’t we just make that Plan A?”

“No, because your family loves you, as they should by the way. And this won’t bother them, I swear. Plus, telling them on your own terms is a lot less awkward than getting caught in the act.”

Will didn’t even want to know what Eddie was alluding to with that one. Poor Wayne, “But what if we’re wrong?”

He wanted to believe him, he really did, but stranger things had happened outside of gay people being disowned. 

“Will, listen to me,” Eddie said, his voice confident enough to make Will perk up, “I swear on Steve’s life, okay? There is no way in hell anyone in that house is gonna reject you for this.”

Will blinked, a little shocked at just how much faith he had in his family. More than he did, “Really?”

“Really. Trust me on this man, you’re going to be fine.”

They hung up pretty soon after that, mostly because El started knocking on his door for the phone. The conversation made him feel a bit better, but also…nervous. Could he really tell them? Would it all just work out? Just like that? Will wasn’t so sure. 

He decided against doing it right away despite Eddie’s own confidence. But he did start to drop a few feelers. He started with Jonathan, waiting until he was high enough for him to forget the conversation if it didn’t go well. And that wasn’t a long wait. 

He found him and his new friend sprawled out in his room, Fast Times playing in the background as they both stared into space. Though Will wasn’t quite sure he could count what Argyle was doing as staring. He’s eyes were barely open, and Will was 90 percent sure he was passed out. But that was good for him, now was as good a time as any. 

Jonathan smiled at him as he wandered in, his words kind but slurring, “Hey! What’s up? You never come in here. You wanna watch something or…?”

Will shook his head, his heart aching a little at the way it made his brother frown. Maybe he really had been neglecting him, too caught up in his own head to spend time with the closest thing he had to a Dad. 

It made him feel a little bad, but that wasn’t what he was here for, “No thanks. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure!” Jonathan said, way too excited at the prospect of a simple question, but maybe that was the weed, “What’s up?”

Will shrugged, casually leaning against the door. Or at least he hoped it looked casual, because his heart was beating a mile per minute, “Steve said that his and Eddie’s anniversary is coming up soon. Do you think I should send them something?”

Jonathan tilted his head up to look at him, his eyes bloodshot with a tiny smile on his face, “That’s like…so nice dude. You’re always so nice. How are you so nice?”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Will pressed, hope fluttering in his chest, “To be, y’know, celebrating them like that?”

Jonathan shook his head, “Nah man. It’s like…romance. Y’know? It’s sweet.”

“Yeah dude, gay guys are cool,” Argyle agreed out of nowhere, his eyes still closed,  “Good for Stu and Eggie. Gay people got like, the best hair.”

Will didn’t really know what to do with that one. But Jonathan was impressed. He jerked his head back to stare at Argyle, his voice in awe, “How’d you know he had good hair? I never told you he had good hair.”

“I bet they both have good hair,” Argyle sighed, “They alway do.”

“Are you like, psychic?” Jonathan asked, like that made any sense at all.

“Shit, you think I could be?”

Will watched as the two of them started to debate the idea, his brow raised. God, weed sure was a hell of a drug. He left them to it after that, deciding to slowly back out of the room. But he was going to chalk it up as a positive. 

preview for the next chapter (kind of) of this fic

[nerys-nerie]

Ethan Landry x MILF!Reader

Would you look at that it’s my yearly post, anyway.

Warnings: Mentions of Masturbation, Ethan being a stalker(what’s new?), I’m not sure if that’s it. I gave you a last name. It’s your husbands.

And I’m already writing a part two, with smut, so I’ll post that soon. This is for those people that told me they would like to read this. I’m not about to edge them so here it is.

I tried not to make it long because someone said not to like the last one.

————————————

Ethan heard a knock at the door. It was you. You were standing there with the food you’d just made for his family. You grinned when you saw him.

“Ethan, it’s so good to see you. How’s college going?” You asked kindly while walking in the door.

“It’s good.” He hoped you couldn’t hear the nerves in his voice.

“Good, good.” You rubbed his arm and walked to the dining room to his mother. You gave her a big hug and set your dishes down near hers.

Ethan watched the interaction with a small huff. He couldn’t believe after all these years he still couldn’t talk to you like a normal person.

You were his neighbor, well more than that. You were his middle school infatuation that led to his high school obsession and the current love of his life. You also happened to be his mom’s best friend, with two kids, and a husband. And you were about to enter your thirties.

It wasn’t his fault your curves just called to him. The way you walked, talked, and even the way you breathed had him hard. He could just smell your perfume and he suddenly found himself in a private setting pumping his cock to you.

He’s only ever looked at someone else when he was drunk and they kind of looked like you. It was so embarrassing for him when he was drunk and making out with a girl. He said your name so desperately that even in the girl’s drunken state she knew it wasn’t her he lusted for.

He apologized to her profusely but still, that's as far as they went. That’s as far as he’s ever gone. Ethan doesn’t exactly have the best luck with women so the man was still a virgin.

Ethan suddenly remembered he needed to put the pictures of you that were on his bed currently needed to go back under his bed. Yes, pictures. Not all of them are dirty ones, some are just you walking to get the mail. The dirty ones are from you accidentally leaving the curtain open when you were getting dressed.

Sometimes the little shit would notice you and your husband about to get freaky so he would knock on the door and ask about something only you would know. He was a constant cockblock if he could help it.

He watched you talking to his dad. He was always watching you. He watched as your husband placed his hand on the small of your back and how your little boys clung to your legs.

His father looked at him for a moment. Bailey pointed everyone’s attention to Ethan and began to brag about how good his grades were in college.

“It’s nothing.” Ethan shrugged and tried to look at his dad but his eyes were always on you.

“Don’t downplay your achievements.” You leaned out and touched his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “You should be proud of yourself.”

Your husband didn’t say much, he just stared down your shirt. He looked up and saw Ethan staring at him. He smiled at the boy politely.

“I’ll try not to [Name].” Ethan accidentally lets your name slip.

“Mrs. Sharp.” His mother corrects him.

“No, no it’s fine. [Name] is fine. Mrs. Sharp makes me feel so old.” Your eyebrows furrow as you beam at him.

“You’re not old.” Mr. Sharp insists.

Ethan would’ve said it too if your old husband didn’t beat him to it. Your husband had to be at least ten years older than you. He couldn’t protect you if someone broke into the house. He’d take too long to get off his ventilator. The curly-haired boy prays Mr. Sharp would need a ventilator soon so that statement would be true. Ethan on the other hand could protect you, kill for you.. hell, he’d die for you if it meant you’d kiss his cold lips before he left this world.

You look at your husband and kiss his cheek. “He has to say that or I’ll divorce him.” Your face hurt from smiling and laughing at old people's jokes.

You wished you could go home and sleep. God, you were so tired. It was hard raising two boys basically by yourself. Not to mention you and your husband weren’t exactly the happy couple you pretended to be. You had a huge argument right before this while you were stressing about cooking.

“Let’s eat.” Officer Bailey stated suddenly. It wasn’t suddenly you had just zoned out for a bit.

You put back on your polite face instead of your dissociative one and sat down to eat. Ethan made sure to sit right next to you. Your husband was on one side of you and Ethan on the other.

His father noticed that.

One of your sons looked around. (I am not naming your kids so get used to thing one and thing two.) “Mommy, where are the eggs?”

You looked around for a moment and noticed you’d forgotten the deviled eggs at your house. Your head was placed in one of your hands as you let out a disappointed sigh at yourself.

Your husband looked at you sharply, silently telling you to straighten up.

Ethan noticed that and placed a hand on one of your thighs. “Are you okay?”

“It’s fine. I just forgot about the deviled eggs at home. I’ll go get them. You guys can start without me.” You start to stand up to leave.

“Do you want help?” Ethan asked and reached out for your arm with a soft touch.

“I’ll help her.” Mr. Sharp gives Ethan a stiff smile.

“Thank you, dear.” You say with another cheek-hurting grin. Fake, of course. You’d rather not be left alone with him.

Ethan stares as the happy couple leaves. His mom, dad, Richie, and Quinn seem none the wiser about it. They’re just stuffing their faces.

“Excuse me, I have to use the restroom.” Ethan gets up and pretends to go upstairs before making a beeline to the front door. He could hear shouting already when he stepped off of his family’s freshly cut lawn.

He peeked into the window. Why were you crying? Ethan saw red. Your hand was bleeding and you were trying to clean it at the sink while your husband just huffed. He took a swig of alcohol in a finely cute glass.

Your house looked expensive and so did everything inside it. It looked like one of those magazines with everything modern on the inside.

Ethan watched as you picked up broken glass from the floor as you cried. Your crying only seemed to annoy your husband further. Ethan didn’t realize how tired you looked before when you were all smiles and laughs. Now with your face frowning and crestfallen he could tell.

He felt the need to comfort you above all else. Your tears made him frown too, but they also filled him with rage.

Mr. Sharp decides he’s had enough of your crying and picks up the deviled eggs you’d made and starts taking them over. Ethan quickly hid so he wouldn’t be seen.

Once he had walked past Ethan, Ethan decided that he needed to comfort you. He knocked on the door that was left half open by your husband slamming it.

You looked up at who entered the door. It was Ethan. You wiped your tears away when you made eye contact so he wouldn’t see you crying. You gave him a big smile. “Hey, what’re you doing here? Couldn’t wait for the deviled eggs so you had to get them yourself?” It was a shitty attempt at a joke you knew that.

Ethan kneeled in front of you and grabbed your bleeding hand. “[Name].”

Your bottom lip wobbled when he said your name. Ethan couldn’t take it anymore seeing your sad face. He hugged you.

You took some deep breaths but eventually ended up crying into his chest. It had been a very long week for you. Long marriage really.

He didn’t shush you he just stroked your back and hair. You couldn’t see his face but it was holding a silent rage.

Ever since he was young you would take care of him. When he fell over on his bike and scraped his knee in front of your house when he was fourteen. You came out and put a bandaid on him. You ruffled his hair and gave him a quick peck on his forehead. You treated him with such care when he was a teenager.

Another time when he got arrested after he was pulled over and had alcohol in his car when he was sixteen, you were there to pick him up. His parents were too angry and wanted him to stay in jail for a night before they picked him up. You felt so bad you bailed him out as soon as you were told. In your mind, Ethan was a good kid who had made a bad decision. You let him stay over that night and baked him cookies.

There were more times he could remember but the one thing he kept noticing in all these happy memories was that your husband wasn’t in them. He used to go on long work trips when he didn’t get airsick and his heart didn’t give him problems. What if he took your husband out of the equation? Permanently.

He’d have to be smart about it. He’d have to get away with it. He could wear a mask. Like the mask and costume, Richie has in his shrine. That’s a Ghostface costume though… Ghostface wouldn’t just kill one person. He’d have to kill multiple people before your husband for it to seem like the serial killer was back. He could do that if it meant you were free. Ethan found himself not even feeling guilty as he made a random list of people he could kill for you.

—————————

Please don’t hate this <3

Have nice day!!! 😊

(I don’t know how to tag people. Sorry.)

[bldhrry]

The Brute and The Scholar

Chapter One | Everything Has Changed Cassian x Fem!Reader Next Chapter Series Masterlist | General Masterlist

word count: 5.8k

warnings: violence, blood, cursing

author's note: first chapter of my new series! i hope u guys like it. more chapters coming soon <3 lmk what you think!!

“Mom, stop.  I can’t just ask the High Lady for a job.  It doesn’t work like that!”  

You had been pleading with your mother for the past five minutes to leave the topic be.  You would find work some other way, but she was insistent that you speak with Feyre about a possible job with the Night Court as a diplomat.

“It does.”

“No it doesn’t,” you barked.  Your mother gave you a look of reproach at your tone and you sighed.  “I’m not going to embarrass myself just because I want a job.”

“Then I’ll talk to her.”  Your mother was bold and fierce, a quality you had inherited despite your inept social skills.  She turned on her heel and pushed through the crowd, heading straight for the High Lady.

“Mom!  Oh my gods stop.”  You hissed, grabbing her arm.  “Don’t.  I’ll do it.”

Your mother gave you a triumphant smile and you just grumbled a “be right back” and trudged toward Feyre. 

She was peering inside a bakery shop with Nyx, her son, on her hip.  She was pointing at the display while the child pointed too and babbled about whatever he was seeing.  

You hadn’t even approached her and your cheeks were already hot with impending mortification.  You could already see her pitiful smile as she gently turned you down saying that they were not looking for a political advisor.

You had graduated from the city's university months ago with the highest marks in your class, leading you to make a speech in front of the entire university about integrity and the sacrifices made to be on that stage in front of your peers.  It was bullshit.  You did what was expected of you and nothing more.  You naturally excelled in academics and it wasn’t your fault you were better than everyone at grasping the lectured concepts and making strong, nearly foolproof, arguments in your papers.  In fact, your thesis had been on the events leading up to the Second Hybern War dating the lead up to the outbreak all the way back to the First War; it was something that hadn’t been thought of or studied and you felt an immense pride of being exceptional in the way your mind worked.

You weren’t entirely humble and this was something you didn’t hide.  You should’ve, but you couldn’t find yourself to diminish your intelligence and accomplishments.  Why should you deny the obvious?

Nyx saw you first and screeched, waving his small hand at you.  You gave him a forced smile that really felt and looked like a grimace.  

Feyre turned towards you, looking at Nyx first and then at you, the brightest smile you had ever seen illuminating your face.

You nodded your head at her and took a deep breath, forcing a genuine smile.  “Good afternoon High Lady.  I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment.”

Feyre chuckled and extended her hand.  “No need for the formalities.  You can call me Feyre.”

You took her hand and shook it, nodding again.  You turned your head and gave an apprehensive look to your mother who just smiled wide and gave you a thumbs up in encouragement.

“Your mother I assume?”  Feyre laughed and waved at her.

“Yes,” you laughed, your cheeks growing even hotter.  You swore the skin on them was going to melt.  “I, uh,” you cleared your throat and bit the inside of your cheek.  “I’m sorry, this was my mother’s idea.  She wants me to ask if you happen to have a place in your Court for an emissary or a courtier.  I just graduated from Velaris University with a degree in Diplomacy and I’ve been looking for a job.”  You were stammering now, tripping up over your words.  You couldn’t look Feyre in the eye instead looking around her in embarrassment.

“Anyway, I know this is ridiculous because I know you probably have so many people working for you and it’s not a big deal if you don’t and-”

Before you could finish Feyre cut you off, placing a hand on your arm.  “It is not a ridiculous request.  Your mother was smart to have you ask directly; it shows initiative.”  She gave you a wink and you relaxed…barely.  “We are always looking to expand our Court and I think it would be great to have a new set of eyes.  Why don’t you come for dinner tomorrow night and we can talk more.”

You gaped at her for a second in shock.  Holy shit it actually worked.

“Oh, wow,” you breathed out a laugh.  “That’s great.  I can come by for sure.  Would you like my resume?  It’s not much, really, but I have it or I can bring my thesis if you’d like.  It’s super long, but I think it really shows my knowledge on political stuff.”  You mentally cursed yourself for using such juvenile words and for talking so much.  You always over-explain yourself.

“Bring whatever.  We’re not picky.  I’m sure you’re just as smart as you seem.”

You beamed at the compliment.  “Thank you, I appreciate that.  I will see you tomorrow night.”  Before you could leave you tilted your head at her.  “Where exactly should I go?  And what is the dress code?”

Feyre gave you a seemingly knowing smile and why she did, you weren’t sure.  “You can come to the manor at six and wear whatever you feel comfortable in.  It’s just dinner.”

You blushed.  Yes, of course.  You should’ve known better than to ask such silly questions.

“Okay.”  You nodded, scanning the floor as your mind pieced together the potential outcomes of this interaction.  “Thank you, Feyre.  I really appreciate it.”

She gave you a smile and nodded.  “I’ll see you then.”  

She waved and so did Nyx as she turned the opposite direction from you.  You did the same, making your way back to your mother who had an expectant look on her face.

“So?”  She looped her arm with yours as you headed home.

“She invited me to dinner.”  You gave her a sheepish smile.  “She said you were right to have me ask.”

“I told you so.”

The next day came and you were standing in front of your wardrobe with your hands on your hips and your lips pursed.  You wanted to look comfortable and relaxed but not too relaxed that it looked like you didn't care.  

You settled for a thin long sleeve with a windbreaker and leggings with your everyday high tops with crew socks.  Casual, a representation of your style and personality, but clean enough to show that you put thought into it.  Perfect.

You worried constantly.  From the minute you woke up to the minute you fell asleep you thought of your schedule and what you had to do and when you had to do it.  It was exhausting, the life you lived, but it was nobody’s fault but your own.  But, the fortunate thing about living in a constant state of panic was that it made you successful.  You were prompt to your classes and meetings, paying extra attention to your assignments resulting in little to no mistakes and high marks.

Your parents didn't understand where this rigid mentality of yours stemmed from.  While they were hard working, they were more “go with the flow” type people and tried endlessly to quell your obsessive behavior but to no avail.  

It was harmful too.  It sent you in waves of panic; panic so strong it darkened your vision and you’d fall to the floor gasping for breath, trying but failing to ground yourself in reality and remind you that you were safe.

“You look nice.”  Your mother's voice rang from her position at the entry of your bedroom.

You looked up from where you were sitting, tying your shoe laces and gave her a smile.  “Good.  I don't want it to seem like I tried too hard.”

“But you did,” she gave you a sympathetic smile and tilted her head.  She worried you about you; worried you wouldn't enjoy life; worried you would stop yourself from having adventures; worried you would send yourself to an early grave.

You chuckled and stood up.  “It’s fine.”  

Grabbing your binder you gave your mother a kiss on the cheek and bounded out the door.

The walk to the house was long, but you didn't mind.  The evening was cool with a breeze making its way through your hair, ruffling your jacket.  For a Thursday night there were few people on the street, many having already gone home or to restaurants for dinner.

You cut through Palace of Hoof and Leaf and across the bridge over the Sidra and to your right was the River House.  It was grand in its size and decor, upholding the fact that the High Lord and Lady lived there.  Despite the expensive look of the house, it looked cozy and lived in with soft lights illuminating behind windows and smoke billowing slowly out of the chimney.

You skipped up the steps and stopped at the door, giving it a three firm knocks.  Stepping back one pace, you hugged the binder to your chest and waited.

You could hear muffled voices behind the door and through the panes of opaque glass you could see two shadowy figures making their way to the door.  You tensed, anticipating the first interaction of the night.

“All I’m saying is that if my wingspan is 14 feet, measured, and larger than yours then yours cannot be 17 feet.  It just doesn't make sense!”  The door swung open, the male in front of you, not yet looking at you, yelled over his shoulder at somebody.  

He looked at you and smiled and your eyes widened and your mouth parted slightly.  It was the High Lord.

You had seen him from time to time but he was striking up close with violet eyes that seemed to dance with stars in them and short black hair.  He was casual in a tight fitting long sleeve and slacks and funnily enough, house slippers.

He looked at you expectantly and you realized he was waiting for an introduction.

“I’m sorry,” you blushed and let out a nervous laugh.  “I’m looking for Feyre; she invited me to dinner.”

Recognition flashed across his face and his smile grew.  “Of course!  She told me about you.  Come in, we were just about to sit down.”

You nodded and followed him in as he strolled to what seemed to be the dining room.  It was a long room with a table littered with various dishes and around it sat what you could only assume was the Inner Court.

“Guys, this is…” he stopped short and looked at Feyre and then at you.  “I don't think we even know your name.”

Your face grew hot and you shifted your feet. 

“Oh no, I never asked!  I’m sorry.”  Feyre exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

“It’s fine.  We spoke briefly.  I’m Y/N.”  You gave the room a smile and a chorus of greetings hit you.

You recognized most of the faces.  Feyre and Rhysand, of course, but Morrigan and Amren were there as well as Feyre’s sisters and Lucien.

Feyre waved you over and you made a beeline for her, finding comfort in the only person you knew even if it had only been during a two minute conversation.

“I’m glad you made it,” she said as you sat down beside her.

“Thank you for inviting me.”  You handed her the binder you had been carrying in your arms.  “This is my thesis but if it's too long I also brought a paper I did on the implications of a possible rule change in the Spring Court.”

Feyre made a face of amazement as she beheld the binder.  But before she could say anything about it Lucien spoke from across the table.

“You think there should be a change in the High Lord of the Spring Court?”

The room hushed and all eyes turned to you and Lucien.  His question wasn't one of malice but genuine curiosity.

You sat on your hands and weighed your options.  You could be honest or you could be vague.  You chose honesty.

“It’s been published in some journals that the current climate in the Spring Court is tense.  Its resources were demolished by Hybern’s forces and the current High Lord essentially sold out his land and people for the sake of preserving a false sense of ownership over what he thought was his.  There's no doubt he's not well liked amongst his subjects given the state of the economy and the ridiculous Tithe he does.”

Lucien leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowing in on you and he gave you a grin.  “So you think Tamlin should be removed as High Lord?”

You cocked your head and looked around the room.  “I think it would be beneficial, yes.  With no faith and trust in your ruler you are sure to descend into an inevitable revolt.”  You paused and then continued.  “You were his courtier and now emissary for here and there.  Do you not think so?”

Lucien tapped his finger on the table, deep in thought.  He hadn't really thought about it.  Maybe because of his personal feelings and relationship with Tamlin, but he would never think of removing him from his birthright.

“No, I don't.  He's made his amends.”

“Amends don't mean anything if your people are suffering.”  Your words came out harsher than you intended and you shrank in your seat.

Lucien wasn't phased and instead laughed.  “Touché.”

You signed, relieved you hadn't accidentally offended Lucien and his friend.

Heavy footsteps could be heard approaching the dining room and you leaned in your seat, trying to see who was coming in.  But you didn't see bodies first.  No, you saw wings.  

Your entire body seized with panic as two very large Illyrians nearly ran in the room.

“I found it!”  The larger one yelled, holding a bottle with brown liquid in it.

“Took you long enough,”  Morrigan grumbled.  “Give it here,” she waved to the male and he slid it across the table into her awaiting hand.

The wings were so large.  The brown membrane-like skin let light pass through them, showing their muscles and veins and bones.  The tips of the wings had curved talons.  

You couldn't breathe.  You gripped the arms of your chair and tried your best to not start shaking.  These were Illyrians males; they were no threat to you.  They were not that thing from all those years again.  You were safe.  But you couldn’t stop the way your vision was darkening, tunneling on the plate in front of you or the way your breathing was turning into pants.

This couldn't be happening.  Not here, not now.

The larger male averted his gaze to you and gave you a grin.  “You must be the girl Feyre told us about!”  He made his way to you and you tried your best to maintain your composure but as he got closer your heart began to hammer in your chest and sweat coated your hands, making your grip loosen on the armrests.

He extended his hand and you flinched so hard the chair scooted back slightly.  “I’m sorry.  I don't do physical contact.”  You were breathless and your eyes wide as you stared at him and then his wings and back at him.

Confusion flashed across his face and he gave you a frown but nodded.  “Sorry.  I’m Cassian.”  He gave you a warm smile that brightened his hazel eyes and you forced your own smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Cassian.  I’m Y/N.”

He grinned and took a seat two chairs away from you.  His wing span was so long that the edge of it was mere centimeters from your shoulder and you cringed away.

The other male had regarded you with immense caution during the entire interaction.  His face was blank but his eyes, also hazel, studied you.  He glanced between you and Cassian and then you and Cassian’s wings and his mouth twitched and you couldn't figure out if he was going to give you a smile or a frown.

He was still staring at you as he sat across from you and you couldn't look away.  His gaze was captivating but intimidating and you felt panic surge through your body again.  He flared his nostrils, probably sensing your fear, and gave you a sly smirk and leaned back in his chair.

“I’m Azriel,” he finally spoke.  His voice was deep with a tone that you couldn't quite place.

You nodded slowly and swallowed.  “It is nice to meet you, Azriel.”

You were going to turn your attention back to Feyre when something caught your attention and you saw a tendril of black smoke, no a shadow, swirl around Azriel’s neck and his wrists.  They moved slowly around his body and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched.

He was the Shadowsinger.  But you hid your surprise and instead turned to Feyre like you had been trying to do. 

She was already looking at you.  Her brows were pulled together and her lips were pursed and your heart began its quick dance in your chest again.

The interaction with Cassian and Azriel had been tense and awkward and everyone had seen it despite acting like nothing had happened and continuing their conversations.

“Are you okay?”  She finally asked, touching your arm.

“Yes.”  You forced a smile and sighed.  “I've never seen wings before.  They’re more intimidating than I thought they would be.”

She laughed.  “Oh I thought the same when I met them.  They're not that bad though, just inconvenient.”

You chuckled.  “I hope I didn't offend them.  I really didn't mean to.”

She shook her head.  “They'll be fine.”

Dinner went better than you expected.  The group was relaxed and easy going and you found conversing with them easy and enjoyable.  

Cassian seemed to have forgotten the slight blunder from your original meeting as he leaned back in his chair to look at you while he asked you questions.

You made sure to steer clear of his wing and smile.

Dinner concluded and Rhysand stood up.  “Alright.  Time for work.”

Everyone got up and you hesitantly did too.  Feyre looped her arm with yours and you followed her and the group into what seemed to be both a study and a library.

The left wall was windows from floor to ceiling and the right wall was bookshelves filled to the brim with books and picture frames and knick knacks.  In the back corner was a desk filled with papers and books and in front of the hearth were couches and chairs.

Everyone but Rhysand sat in front of the fire and you did too, plopping beside Feyre. Crossing your legs you looked around the room again.  It truly was a magnificent room.  It was regal without trying too hard and looked used in a good way.

Rhysand came up behind you and handed you a handful of loose papers filled with scribbles and drawings of territory boundaries.

“What's this?”  You asked as you accepted the papers.

“Correspondences from Eris Vansarra.”

“The High Lord of Autumn?”

“That's the one.  He wants to form a military alliance and I want to know what you think.”

You pursed your lips as you flipped through the pages, skimming its content.

You could feel everyone's eyes on you but for once you were anxious about it.  This is what you were most comfortable doing.

“I don't really see the point, but it wouldn't hurt.”  You shrugged.  “It would make more sense to form alliances with the Spring and Winter Court.  But,” you signed, “the Spring Court’s army is basically nonexistent since the war.  He’s probably just looking for the numbers after expelling his father's most loyal generals.”  You handed the papers back to him and met his gaze.  “I'd do it.  Nobody gets hurt and you gain an ally and an army.  Not that you really need it between the Darkbringers and the Illyrians.”

The stars in his eyes were gleaming bright and an enthusiastic grin was plastered on his face.  “You,” he started, taking the papers from you, “are awfully smart and so right.”

You smiled.  You didn't want to agree but he was right; you were smart and you were right.

The rest of the night went like that: you giving your opinion on political matters ranging from alliances to the possibility of treaties and the question of what to do with the Spring Court.

To your surprise Lucien was nonchalant during that particular discussion.  He defended Tamlin while also accepting the viewpoints of the group.  

Tamlin had lost the trust of his subjects resulting in the total abandonment of the Tithe and the partial abandonment of the Great Right, Calanmai, resulting in a poor season for everybody. 

You stayed quiet for this.  You had already made your opinion known and you weren't inclined to change it.  

A stronger High Lord was needed to reestablish peace and bring prosperity to the territory.  You didn't think he should be banished, but stepping down would be the best choice to upbuild the territory.  The only alternate solution would be for a courtier with expanded responsibilities be appointed but Tamlin had been difficult receiving advice and suggestions.

The hour grew late and the conversation came to a lull as everyone grew tired.  You were exhausted, the hours spent socializing and strategizing your every move had tired you immensely and you wanted nothing more than to go home and never leave your house again.

“I’m afraid I’m going to need to leave.  It's late and I'm working at my mom’s shop in the morning.”  You gave everyone a tired smile and Amren seemed to pout just a little.

“And I was just starting to enjoy your company a little more, girl.”  

You laughed and smiled, unsure of what to say so you just said goodnight and made your way towards the front door.

As you walked down the hallway you could hear heavy footsteps behind you and when you turned around you saw Cassian with his hands in his jacket pockets smiling at you.

“I thought I'd walk you home.”

You frowned.  “No thank you.”  You started walking again when his voice stopped you again.

“It's almost midnight.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the doorknob.  “That means nothing to me.”

“It means a lot to me.  Let me just make sure you get home safe.”

Your frown deepened.  “I will get home safe.”

“Let me make sure.”

“No, thank you.”  You opened the door and Cassian reached over your head and shut it.

“It's the least I can do after I freaked you out earlier.”

You signed and looked at the floor, weighing your options.  You looked up at him and looked at his eyes, trying to figure out why exactly he was pressing this so much.  You could see that he was determined and wouldn't take no for an answer.

You sighed.  “Fine.”

With a grin he pushed off the door, allowing you to open it and he followed you out.

It was cooler out than it had been when you first walked to the River House.  The moon was bright, illuminating the streets as you walked through the various Palace districts and across the Sidra.  You didn't mean to take the long way home but the night air was just too good to not appreciate it.

“Do you live far?”  Cassian asked after a few moments of silence.

“No.”

With a silent utterance of “oh” he nodded his head.  “Where do you live?”

“You're about to see, aren't you?”  You gave him a side eye.

He snorted.  “You're a joy to speak to.  I’m just trying to make conversation.”

You hummed a noncommittal response.  “I’m not sure why I have to tell you if we're going there.”

Cassian chuckled and looked at you.  You hadn't looked at him fully the entire time nor when you were responding to him.  Your back was straight, chin high, and eyes forward every step confident.

He hadn't seen you when he first walked in the dining room, but he sensed you.  He knew the presence and scents of all his friends when they were congregated in the same room but the atmosphere was different tonight.  It was thick and powerful and almost formidable and then he saw you and knew you were the source.  

You had been talking with Lucien and your voice was strong and filled with a strong sense of belief in your statements that they came off as declarations of fact and not opinion.  You sat straight in your chair, slightly leaning forward enjoying the discussion.  A smile ghosted your features and your eyes danced with defiance.  

He was excited to come in the room and figure out who you were but the way your face dropped and your body stiffened at the sight of him and Azriel made that hope shrivel up.  Cassian didn’t need to smell the fear that radiated from your body, your face said it all.  You were absolutely petrified at the sight of him and for some reason his heart sank at the sight.  Cassian thought maybe him and Azriel looked intimidating so he figured to soothe your worries with a warm introduction but fear turned into terror as he got closer and he knew this was a futile move but he tried nonetheless.  He appreciated your fake smile and greeting and the way you entertained conversation with him throughout dinner.  But away from the peering eyes of the rest of the Inner Court, you let it be known that you were not interested in being in his presence or having any sort of conversation with him.

“Do you have an issue with Illyrians?”  The question struck you and you stopped and looked at Cassian.

“No.”  What kind of question was that?

“Then why did you act like that when Az and I came in?”

You sucked in a breath and swallowed it.  Throughout your life you had decided to be honest no matter the circumstances but this time was not the time for full fledged honesty, so you opted for a half truth.  

“The wings were intimidating.”  You gave him a smile but Cassian noticed it didn’t reach your eyes.  “I’m sorry if I offended you and Azriel.”

“You wouldn’t shake my hand.”  Accusation.

“I don’t like physical contact.”  Truth.

Cassian's lips tugged downwards but he maintained his composure.  “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like physical contact.”

You shrugged and turned around and started walking.  Almost home.

“Have you always been like that?”  You internally groaned.  Why was he so annoying?

“Yes.”

“Why?”  He jogged up to you so you two could walk side by side.  His arm brushed yours and you scowled, moving away slightly.

“I don’t know.  My mom said I’ve always been like that.”

“I wonder why.”  He mused.  Cassian looked up and nodded at the sky.  “The moon is so big tonight.”

You looked up and couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your lips.  “It’s a harvest moon.”

Cassian laughed.  “How do you know that?”

“I read a lot.”

He hummed and almost bumped into you when you stopped and turned to face him.  “This is my house.  Thank you for walking me home and it was nice to meet you.”

You turned to walk up the path to your front door but Cassian grabbed your elbow and you had no choice but to turn and face him.  He chuckled at your face but kept his grip on you.  

“You’re very formal, you know that?”

You looked at where his hand was making contact on your jacket and then slowly at his face and tilted your head to the side.  “I’m polite.”

“Polite people don’t say they’re polite.”  He countered, smirking.  He was proud of himself for that one.

Glaring at him, you yanked your elbow free and turned around, trudging up the dirt path.  “Goodnight Cassian.”

He laughed and watched as you unlocked your door and slid inside, not once looking back at him.

Cassian liked you.  He liked you a lot.

You weren’t sure what the fae was that swooped in front of your mother’s shop but its claws dug into the back of an unsuspecting bystander and lifted them in the air before dropping them onto the cobblestone road with a splat.

“Oh my gods!”  You screamed, backing away from the window.  

Your parents came running from the back and your mother screamed as more of those creatures fell from the sky and blood filled the streets.  You could hear muffled screaming through the shop’s windows and you hit a rack as you kept backing away.

“Go to the back and lock yourself in the office.  Now!”  Your father yelled and reached behind the counter, pulling out a sword.

“What are you doing, Pyter!”  Your mother screamed but your father ignored her as he stalked towards the door, pushing you behind him.  “Get back here!”  She screamed again.

You were stuck, frozen in place, unable to move.  “Dad,” your voice came out as a whisper and he looked at you.  “Please.”

He gave you a kiss on the forehead and smiled.  “Lock the door behind me, peaches.”  And then he left.

The sight of your father out in the street, raising and swinging his sword, striking down those things, sent you into motion.  

You ran into the office, grabbing your own sword that you kept in the back corner behind the fabrics and ran to join your father.

“Y/N, no!”  Your mother grabbed your arm, trying to hold you back but you wiggled free.

“We’ll be back.  Lock the door!”  You ran out into the street and towards your father.

Your father had served on the side of the mortals during the First Hybern War and had taught you everything he knew about fighting over the years.  He always thought it was important for everyone to know the art of fighting either for a source of exercise, an outlet, or protection.

Raising your sword and with a cry, you sliced the creatures in half and in thirds, trudging through the blood and dead bodies.  It was a sickening sight.  The sky was swarming with winged creatures who were screaming and yelping with joy as they tore about your neighbors and friends.

Your father was holding his own with only a few cuts and little of his own blood.  Black red blood, from the creatures, coated his shirt and you kept pushing towards him.  

There was a cry and you turned to see your neighbor’s son being stalked and cornered by a creature and you abandoned your father for a brief minute and attacked the creature from behind, skewering your sword into its back and straight into its heart.  

The child was crying and you hushed him, taking him into your arms and back towards your mother’s shop.

“Mom!”  You were banging on the door, your head on a swivel as you looked around to make sure you wouldn’t be ambushed.

Your mother came running from the office, a baseball bat in her hand and despite the misery around you, you laughed at the sight.  You lifted the boy in your arms and nodded towards the door and as she opened the door, you shoved him inside.

“I’ll be back.”  You shut the door and made sure to hear her lock it as you turned around and ran towards your father.

He had been attacked more since you had left and there was more of his blood mixed in with that of the creature’s.  You grunted as you thrusted your sword in another creature and then another and then one more until you were finally in his space.  

He didn’t notice you as you moved to his side and copied his movements, taking down the creatures that flew around you.  Sword up and to the right and then left, a jab to the side, and a thrust to the front, and then a withdrawal of your weapon with a puff of air.

“What are you doing here?”  Your father shouted at you as you kicked a creature off your sword.

You whipped around.  “I’m helping!”  Why else would you be here?

“Go inside,” he said through gritted teeth and you took a step back, shaking your head.

“No.  We’ll do this together.”

Your father knew it was no use in arguing with you.  You were as stubborn as your mother and at times he thought you were worse than her.  Sucking his teeth and shaking his head in disapproval and disbelief, he turned on his heel and moved further down the Palace Square and you followed him closely.

The fighting continued with defenses filling the skies and land and you and your father kept moving South.

You had gotten separated as you took on two of the winged creatures.  You cried out as one of their talons swiped a gash into your arm and you stumbled, deflecting another blow with your sword.  It took a few of those defensive blocks to regain your momentum and within a few swings of your sword, two dead creatures laid at your feet.

With a sigh you turned around and you could see your father further down the hill, looking back at you.  Concern filled his eyes and before you could shout that you were okay, blood started to pour from his mouth and you screamed.

The scream followed you into reality as you were being shaken awake.

“No!”  You cried out and you could hear a distant voice shout your name.  No, no, no.

“Y/N, please!”  You could hear the voice clearer now and you jolted awake, pushing away from the arms that you were gripping your shoulders.  

“It’s me,” your mother breathed out, her hands raised slightly.  

It was still dark out, the only light being from the moon filtering in through your sheer curtains.

You were panting, your eyes scanning the room.  Were they coming?  How many more were left?  Where was your father?

Your pants turned into dry heaves as you clutched your chest, the memories hitting you like a physical strike and your mother climbed into your bed and pulled you into her.

“I know,” she murmured, rocking you back and forth.  “It’s okay.”

You cried into her chest, the sobs turning into screams as you remembered that day; the day Hybern attacked, the day the winged creatures destroyed the city, and the day you killed your father.

[morganski-19]

The One With Mother’s Day

Eddie trips out of his room, rubbing at his eyes, to answer the door. Someone choosing nine in the morning on a Sunday to knock very loudly on their front door.

“Yeah,” he says blearily as the door swings open.

“Eddie, it’s so nice to see you again.” Karen Wheeler says from the other side of the door. “I remember Nancy saying that you moved in with her about a year ago.”

Eddie tries to blink the tired away. “Mrs. Wheeler, hello. Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming to visit.” He steps out of the way so she can enter the apartment.

She walks in and stands awkwardly in the walkway between the kitchen and the living room. “Well, I didn’t know I was coming here until this morning. Is Nancy home?”

“You drove all the way from Indiana to here, that’s quite the trip. And yeah, she’s probably up, hold on a second.”

“Well, it’s been forever since I visited Nancy, and I thought since it’s Mother’s Day, I might spend the day with my daughter. My other kids are either too busy with school or too far to drive so suddenly.”

“Yeah, uh huh,” Eddie mutters as he knocks on Nancy’s door. “Hey, Nance, you up?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Eddie looks back at Karen with a polite smile. “Could I come in for a second?”

“Sure,” Nancy responds suspiciously.

Eddie quickly opens and shuts the door behind him. “Your mother’s here.”

Nancy sits straighter in the chair by her window. Shutting her book and placing it on the small table beside her. “What. She didn’t tell me she was coming.”

“She apparently didn’t even know she was coming until this morning. It’s at least a five-hour drive from home.”

“She got up at four in the morning just to come visit me. Why?”

Eddie shrugs. “Something about Mother’s Day and her other kids being too busy or something. I don’t know. She looked, ok? Like every other time I’ve seen her. But like, with that crazed fluster she would get when Mike’s friends were over, and your dad refused to get off of that lazy boy he had.”

Nancy rolls her eyes. “This could go one of two ways, and I’m not sure either of them will be good.”

She gets up and heads to the living room. Where her mother still stands, hands rubbing together anxiously. “Nancy, I’m sorry to show up out of the blue, I didn’t want to wake you up in the middle of the night with a phone call.”

“That’s ok,” Nancy says with a partially fake smile, giving her mom a hug. “Eddie said you just drove here this morning, you must have left pretty early.”

Karen shrugs. “Yeah, well, you leave early enough, you miss all of the traffic. And the highways are so nice to drive on when no ones around. But, anyway, how are you doing, it’s been a while since we talked.”

“Pretty good. Just working a lot, trying to be able to write something other than stupid tabloids and junk articles. But mom-.”

Eddie groans in the kitchen, opening the empty coffee container. “I’m going to rob Steve and Robin’s for coffee.”

“Ok,” Nancy replies as he shuts the door.

“Steve and Robin still live across the hall,” Karen smiles. “That’s so nice. Do Jonathan and his college friend still live across the street?”

“Argyle,” she reminds. “And yes, they do. Mom-.”

Karen claps her hands. “Oh, I am starving. Why don’t we go out to breakfast? You know, catch up, my treat.”

“It’s Mother’s Day, shouldn’t it be my treat?” Nancy eyes her mother skeptically. Wondering why she really showed up out of nowhere. Got up in the middle of the night just to have a surprise visit.

“Just spending the day with me would be a treat. Go on, get ready, I’ll just wait out here.”

Nancy nods and returns to her room.

-

When Eddie uses his spare key to go into Steve and Robin’s apartment, he expects them both to be asleep. Robin never gets up before noon if she doesn’t have to, and Steve always has the weekends off, so he should be relaxing. Instead, Steve’s sitting in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear and fingers pinching his nose, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. He barely notices when Eddie enters the apartment.

“No mom, I haven’t seen her since college.” Steve sounds utterly exhausted. “Because we never really talked then either other than that time you came to visit me. Maybe because I’m happy being single. It’s a perfectly respectable job, and I love it. I didn’t want to work with dad.” He sighs as his mom drones on about something. “I didn’t call for this, I called to wish you a happy Mother’s Day. You know, it’s late where you are so how about I let you go. Love you.”

Steve hangs up the phone, placing it face down on the table and letting his head fall into his hands. He stays like that, frozen.

“That didn’t sound fun,” Eddie breaks the silence. Spooning a serving of coffee into a plastic bag.

Steve huffs out a laugh, fixing the glasses on his face and sitting back on the chair. Crossing his arms and shaking his head, avoiding eye contact. “Oh you know, just normal chats with my mother. She can’t go one conversation without trying to set me up with some rich family’s daughter she knows.”

Eddie winces. “Never a nice rich boy in that mix.”

The glare Steve gives Eddie is tired and chilling. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry.” Eddie sits across from Steve. “Sounds like it sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.” Steve sighs, looking at his phone. “I love my parents, I really do. But sometimes it’s hard to. Especially when they keep trying to set me up with people I don’t even know or get me to change careers. I just wished they respected me more than they did.”

“They should, you have a job you love and so what if you’re single. That’s a pretty great deal if you ask me.”

Eddie’s phone dings.

Nancy: Me and my mom are going out for breakfast

Eddie: Cool, have fun

Nancy: I will try

“If it makes you feel any better, Nancy’s mom showed up unannounced and now they’re going out to breakfast.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Like she drove here this morning?” Eddie nods in confirmation. “That’s not good.”

“Yeah, I know. Still don’t know why she’s here.” Eddie’s stomach rumbles. “God, I’m starving.”

“I haven’t eaten yet, you want to go get something? Unless you have somewhere else to be.”

Eddie smiles. “I do not. Let me get changed, I’ll meet you in five.”

-

Nancy thanks their waiter when he brings them their food. Silently piercing the yolk of her egg and watching it run over to her hashbrowns. Karen talking for the both of them.

“Have you talked to your brother recently? Him and Will are settling in well over in New York, their place looks nice. Small, but nice. I’ll have to take a trip out there some time to visit them.”

She just nods along to her mother’s ramblings. Watching as she pauses to take a bite and just continues. Always dodging around the subject of why she’s here whenever Nancy tries to ask.

“It’s so nice that they’re still together after all these years. Not that being alone is anything bad. I miss the single life. Well, I never really had that much of a single life. I met your father in high school and that was that. Part of me wishes I had a few years to explore, like you did. Get to live life before having a family.”

“Yeah,” Nancy interrupts. Coldly. “Why are you here mom?”

Karen looks taken aback. “Is it wrong to visit my daughter?”

“No, it’s not. But you’ve never just drove here on a whim. There was always at least a phone call, booking a hotel stay. Not waking up at four in the morning one night and deciding to drive five hours to come visit me.” Nancy softens her face. “This isn’t like you, what’s going on?”

Karens mouth twitches as she places down her silverware. Fiddling with her napkin. “You know how it was you father’s and my anniversary last week.”

Nancy nods, listening.

“Well, he forgot, again, and I didn’t want to make the plans again this year. I wanted him to surprise me like he did when we were young. With none of the kids in the house anymore, it gets kinda lonely me and him. When I asked that morning, he scrambled to make plans but couldn’t get a reservation anywhere until last night. Where we basically had a silent meal, paid, and left. No surprises, no anything.”

“I’m sorry, mom. I know how dad can be with the romantic stuff.”

Karen sighs. “Any stuff. If it wasn’t me doing everything, nothing would get done. We haven’t even slept in the same bed since Mike went off to college, and that was years ago. I thought maybe we could try and rebuild what we had. Guess I was wrong.”

Nancy frowns. “I didn’t know that.”

“How could you? You never really came home once you graduated, on to bigger and better things. Not that I blame you, I am so proud of you and the life you’ve built here. I just, didn’t want to bore you with the problems in my life. In my marriage.”

“You could have. I would have listened.”

“I appreciate that.” Karens pauses, closing her eyes. “I’ve decided to leave your dad, Nancy. That’s why I came out to visit you.”

Nancy can’t say she’s surprised. “I’m sorry, mom.”

“Don’t be. I haven’t been happy in years, we all knew it was coming. I just don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

“Whatever you want,” Nancy smiles. “You get to do whatever you want. Go back to school, get a shitty part time job. Get back out there and find a man you deserve. Find new friends, anything. You get to build a new life.”

Karen smiles, tears shining her eyes. “Well, that’s all true, I guess. Thank you for not judging me for this.”

“I never would.” Nancy goes back to her breakfast. “So, what else would you like to do while you’re in town. I have tomorrow off too.”

“I don’t know. But I am excited to find out.”

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, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts

[tartarusknight]

The Fallen King and the King of the Freaks | Part 3

Ao3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

Steve wasn't planning on actually becoming friends with Hellfire. Not after the obvious way he made them uncomfortable. So, after Eddie helped him, he said to himself that he was done... then Billy picked on him again, and Eddie came to the rescue again. Honestly, it was like Eddie became his white knight.

And Steve... Steve could take care of himself. However, he couldn't stop himself from wanting to be their friend. He hated the way he jumped at the chance to just go to watch them playing a game like he couldn't even stop himself.

Steve didn’t understand why he offered to go watch them after swimming. No, that was a lie. He knew exactly why he did it.  He wanted to go. He loved listening to stories. He loved hearing people talk about something they were passionate about. So, it sounded nice. But when lunch was over and he tosses his untouched meal, he regretted it. They were just pitying him and he didn’t need to force his shit on anyone else.

So, he decided he’d just ignore them until they forgot about him completely. It was the day after Hellfire, so he’d have an entire week to become a background thought. It shouldn’t be too difficult… most people only knew Steve’s top layer. People left him behind all the time, Hellfire wouldn’t be any different. After all, everyone who had learned who he was, left him. His parents were gone more than they were around. Nancy called him bullshit after he let her in. Tommy and Carol, his best friends from elementary school, had used him to become more “powerful” and “cool”. Hellfire would be the same way; he knew they would.

Except, they didn’t just let him disappear. Grant would wave at him in the hallways with a kind smile. Gareth had the same free hour and suddenly Steve didn’t sit in the library alone. Eddie would constantly find him during lunch and offer a seat which Steve had turned down with a polite smile. Always saying he needed to work on school shit. (Which was never a lie. His head swam, trying to keep up in class after Billy bashed his head in.) However, the first real interaction with Hellfire was with Jeff.

It was Saturday and Steve stood in the supermarket. The kids were coming over later in the day and Steve got a call from Lucas’s mom asking him to not buy her son junk food. And well, Steve knew how to cook. However, his house was completely void of any food. He hadn't felt the need to cook if it was just himself lately… After that night Steve’s stomach rebelled against most foods.

He was staring blankly at the meat section for, what could’ve been, a long time when a hand dropped on his shoulder. Steve flinched away and his body went into fight mode before he noticed Jeff. He dropped his hands and gave the other an extremely fake grin. “Hey man,” he smiled and Jeff looked him over as if he could see right through Steve.

“I thought it was you. Your hair is very distinguishable.” He joked and Steve let out a small chuckle.

“Well I’m called The Hair for a reason,” his voice didn’t hold much joy in it and he winced.

“So, what brings you here?” He asks lamely.

Jeff shrugs, “gotta pick up stuff for my mom. Same for you?”

Steve huffed a laugh, “nah, she’s not in town. But I’ve got a few of the kids coming over and need to make them something that their parents would approve of.” He over-explained but Jeff just nodded.

“Struggling with a plan?” He asked like he wanted to talk with Steve. “Not a big cook?” He asked when Steve didn’t respond.

It makes him smile, “oh I know how to cook. When your al-” he stops himself with clearing his throat. “Nah, just not really feeling meat at the moment.” He gestures and when his gaze hits the bloody meat he shudders.

“There are lots of meatless options out there.” Jeff offers and Steve freezes, he hadn't even considered that. After all, he was told every meal needed a good amount of protein. “My sister doesn’t eat meat. So we’ve learned how to work around it. It’s a little different but still,” he shrugs and Steve’s brow furrowed. “It’s a little hard to get the hang of right away but with practice, you should be able to get it down.”

That makes Steve frown, “I don’t really have the time to experiment.” He swallows and looks back to the meat selection.

Jeff nudged him with his shoulder, “If you want I could help. I’m not that busy today.”

Steve felt something swell in his chest. “Really? I don’t want to be a-”

Jeff scoffed, “please I’d love to help. Showing off to King Steve. It sounds like fun. Plus, then I have an excuse to leave the house.” Steve nods and Jeff gestures him to follow. Jeff puts things in Steve’s basket with an explanation to what he’s planning and Steve just nods. He also helps Jeff get the stuff for his mom before heading to his house.

He only has a few moments alone in which he grabs out his stereo and sets it on some rock station he figured would be more Jeff’s speed. Then he cleans the dust off his counters and waits for the other. It doesn’t take too long and Jeff takes off his shoes politely before he follows Steve into the empty shell of a house. “Okay, are you ready?” Jeff questions and Steve nods. They work together, Jeff giving him instructions. However, they also talked about music, Steve mostly just listened as Jeff explains some songs that he likes. It’s nice. It’s like having a friend and it makes Steve’s hands shake. He didn’t want to let them in. And yet he let Jeff into his house.

They end up making Vegetarian Enchiladas. It’s filled with corn, beans, and zucchini. Topped with cheese, avocado, tomato, and parsley. However, Jeff makes them look normal and Steve hopes the kids won’t notice. “I’ve got two younger siblings. My sister doesn’t do meat and my brother refuses vegetables. I’ve gotten really good at making a vegetarian meal that he will eat. Don’t worry the kids will just think you made them normal enchiladas.” Jeff says and Steve leans against his counter, so fucking thankful.

“So, you cook normally?” Jeff questions as Steve grabs them both out a soda he got for the kids.

He nods, “yeah. My mom’s not one to cook” at least not for me. “So, I’ve learned.” He does look at Jeff and his shoulders slump. “Thanks for the help, man. It was really appreciated. Honestly, it’s a big help. I have to repay you, or something.” He states and Jeff looks confused.

“No need, it’s not a big deal.” He stated but people weren’t nice without wanting something in return. Not many people were kind as they grew up.

Jeff seemed to see Steve’s confusion and sighed. “You know what, how about you bring cookies or something to Hellfire’s next meeting. You’re still stopping by after swimming, right?”

It was a chance to get away from going. Steve could just say, no man something came up. But instead, he grinned, “yeah of course. Any allergies?”

“Grant’s allergic to tree nuts,” Jeff offers, and Steve’s phone rings. “But I’ll get out of your hair, just remember they cook for 12 minutes at 400.” He reminded and headed out. Steve went to the phone as the door to his house shut. Why couldn’t he let go of the Hellfire club?

@zerokrox-bloglog @cyranyxx @adaed5 @the-redthreadd @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaringceyoustopcaring @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshitorthisshit @failedstarsandgoldencloudsds @bisexualdisastersworldd @deadlydodoss @anythingyouwanttobee @nburkhardtt @bestwifehaverr @thehumblefigtreee @megzdoodlee @swimmingbirdrunningrockk @mightbeasleepp @bxlthazarar @autumnal-dawnn @nelotegreitic @chillichatss @nonbinary-eddie-munsonon @the-daydreamer-in-the-cornerner @eddie-munson-is-my-wifewife @a-little-unsteddiedie

(Sorry if I missed any of you!!! Please remind me if I did!)

(No actual Steddie but just some good old CC content. I want more than just Steve and Eddie to become friends. I want the whole CC to adopt the jock&lt;3<3)

[soft-persephone]

A Fresh Start 2

Mother’s Milk x Fem!Reader

T // WC: 1.7k // pool day fun and one iffy convo // pt. 1

“TT, it’s going to be fun,” Momo did her best to comfort you, taking your hand she walked to in the to the entrance of the public pool.”

“What if no one likes me?” You grumbled. “I’m not as parenty as the other adults.”

The loss of your brother showed up in more ways then one in your life. The way the grief can creak into the everyday folds of your knew life with Momo was challenging, and on top of it all, you had to learn how to be a good parent on the fly.

The transition from fun aunt to mother figure had been challenging. Especially, when discipline had to come out to play. Momo wasn’t a bad kid, but she had been through a lot and her emotions ran all over the place, depending on the day.

So far, this summer has been such a relief for you both. As she relocated after her suspension, it was honestly a blessing in disguise. There was a community around the school district your brother was zoned for that you never knew was there. Momo made some new friends that she seems to love more and they loved her equally as much.

But youngest like a poser, that you’re pretending. You were constantly comparing yourself to other parents. What worse lace could exist for you to continue this new horrible tradition than a day at the pool.

The wholes are side of your swimsuit and how scrappy it was despite being a one piece felt too much, not at all something a mom would wear. You tugged the sleeves of the knitted wholey cover up you were wearing over your hands. It was made to give a dramatic end sleeve effect. Like very chic sweater paws.

“If you stay on your best behavior, you’ll have nothing to worry about.” Momo beamed up at you.

Despite being very cute, you took her bag off her shoulder with narrowed eyes.

“Go play.” You said in a deadpan tone.

“But what did i—“

“Now! Go play with your friends. Don’t make me tell you again.”

She huffed before giggling as Janine was already running towards her. Her soaking wet curls shining in the sun.

You whined as they started squealing at one another before skipping off.

“Hey!” A voice stopped them from your side, “don’t run around here or you’ll fall and bust your head open!”

You smiled your best polite smile.

“Someone’s looking rather fancy for a public outing at the pool.” Sheila looked at you over her shades.”

“What can I say,” you smiled, “I dress to impress.”

Being in with a group of parents really had its perks. They saved you a set and it was nice and cozy. Not too much sun and not too much shade.

“Hey hey,” look who it is.” Sheila introduced and everyone called out to you from their chairs.

“Someone’s looking all special!”

All the moms oohhhed and ahhed in appreciation.

You swallowed ignoring how hot your face felt.

“Hi.” You waved with a smile as you took your seat.

“Hey, I’m Monique.” She took of her shades, “Janine’s Mom.”

“Oh my god Hi,” you instantly perked up. “I’ve heard your name a lot over the last week.”

Janine and Momo exchanged numbers which were actually your number and Monique’s number, so you’ve only heard her voice several, several times, as she said, hold on let me get Janine.

“It’s nice to put a voice to a face.”

“Likewise.” You nodded with a smile and pulled your book out of your bag, just in case.

“What is it that you do again?”

It was nice to be able to talk about something like work and not.. your brother or how hard the transition is with Monice coming to live with you.

“Lawyer, started out with the criminal justice stuff and somehow ended up in the corporate conglomerate stuff, representing companies as they do who fuck knows with whatever they and such.”

“You know more than me, so I will not ask too many questions.” You both laughed.

“Heeheehee,” a strong voice mocked you from above, blocking the sun.

“You held a hand over your eyes and waved with the other. “Hey.”

“Don’t hey me and get your butt out here in this pool.”

“Why.” You scoffed and clipped the shades from your shirt, putting them on.

“We take turns chaperoning the kids.” He crossed his arms.

“Marvin please, give her a break. She just got here. It’s probably Sheila’s turn.”

He stormed off with a groan and waved Janine off.

“Sheila’s not getting in the pool is she?”

Monique tapped her nose with a smile and you laughed.

45 minuets or maybe one glorious hour into your book. A little voice broke your focus.

“TT can I have $20.”

“Why do you need $20.” You turned the page of your book not looking up.

“Because of the concession stand.” She huffed, giving her eight year old logic.

“But I packed you something.” You fake pouted back, grabbing the cooler bag.

“I mean, I brought these grapes,” you pulled them out and put them back in the bag, rummaging some more, “I cut up some strawberries and other fruit, making sure there were no stems or nasty bits because you hate that,” you put them back in the bag, “and then, I woke up extra early and made those ham and cheese balls you love so much.” You sighed dramatically.

“I packed all your favorites, but if you want to eat soggy fries drenched in a weird cheese sauce, I guess I can give you the money.” You put your hand in your purse.

“No-I’ll-take-these-thanks!” She eagerly snatched the goodies out of the bag, running off to be eat with her friends.

Victory.

You went back to your book.

“Nice one.” Monique said to you over her kindle.

You both read in silence.

Monique was pretty swell. She was the easiest to be around compared to the other mom’s.

“Thank you for the other day,” you were about to ask her for what but she explained further, “for keeping Marvin out of trouble at the cookout.”

“What.” You laughed. “I didn’t do anything. We just talked for a bit.”

She smiled at you.

“Marvin doesn’t just talk for a bit.” She went back to her book.

You were about to say something. To get some more answers, confront her, ask her to give it to you straight or interpret what she was implying, but Marvin plopped down between you both.

“Water.” He huffed.

Crushing the water bottle loudly in his hands, he pulled at the fabric of your cover up with his other hand.

“You need to take this off and get in the pool. It’s your turn.”

“Why do I have to go?” You smacked his hand away.

“If I have to drag you into the water I will.” He pointedly looked at you, “I already had to drag Sheila out there and I’m willing to drag you in too.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Fine.”

The water wasn’t too bad, the screaming kids not so much. But it was nice to see Marvin be around the kids.

“My turn!” A boy that was more hair than boy squealed as Marvin dunked him under the water and refused to let him go as he thrashed around for a minuet. He came above the surface of the water with a gapped grin, one of his front teeth missing.

He swam away back to his friends in glee.

“What a fun game.” You tried to be sarcastic but your grin was too wide and you were already laughing.

“You never went to the pool as a kid?” He splashed water on you.

You slammed the surface of the water back with both hands, getting way more water on him.

“Of course I did!”

“Well, I apologize if you don’t seem like the type, Ms Bougie.”

“I like to take care of myself, and I was raised by a woman who liked to take care of herself and her family. She had standards and she raised me with standards.” You defended. “Why is that a crime?”

He looked down at you with a smile, less mirthful than before.

“It’s not.”

Despite the chill from the water and the slight breeze every few minuets a warmth started to spread throughout you.

“When,” he started and quickly stopped, looking away from you for a second before putting a hand into a fist and pushing into the palm of the other. “You don’t have someone at home who takes care of you?”

“If that’s your way of masking if I have a boyfriend,” you started carefully, “then no.”

He looked at you as if he didn’t believe you. You would have laughed if it wasn’t sort of sweet.

“I did.”

His eyebrows rose, but he showed no other sign of suprise. Nodding in some sort of appreciation is what you guess what the nod meant.

“He doesn’t help you take care of Momo?”

“He left because of Momo.”

You started floating in the water, giving half of your attention to mindlessly floating in the water with a sigh.

He followed suit, crouching down in the pool, letting his legs flow at a bent angle so he could be at the same eye level as you.

“If he’s willing to leave you like that, with all your going through,” he locked eyes with you, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

You nodded giving him a silent thank you.

He made a step towards you.

“I just—“

“Daddy!” Janine jumped in her dads arms. Her face pulled taunt with a frown and her bottom lip sticking out.

“TT” Momo solemnly swam to you.

She rubbed her eyes as you pulled her into your arms.

“You tired?” You looked over to see Marvin murmur comforting words in Janine’s ear.

You gave him an apologetic smile.

He gave one back and made his way to the steps of the pool to take Janine home.

You kissed Momo on the head.

“Time to go home kiddo,” you moved her hair to the side to see her face. She was already fast asleep in your arms, giving her a light kiss on the head, you made your way out the pool.

[nonbinarytoast]

Nooooooooooo my entire speech for speech and debate isn’t under the cut………….. tumblr doesn’t need a ten minute rant about Greek mythology and culture…………….. they don’t want to talk about how modern reinterpretations are slowly destroying the original myths just like early Christian’s did………………….

When I was a kid, I went to my schools yearly scholastic book fare. And I found something.

I found a little book called Percy Jackson and the olympians. And that book consumed my life from 8 to 14. I’m 14 years old.

Now if you’ve never heard of Percy Jackson you don’t know what that means, but reading Percy Jackson is a slippery slope. First you read the first book. Then you read the first series. Then you’re reading the next two series. Then suddenly you’re watching a five hour video essay on how Ares got stuck in a box and how that solidified Artemis’s aromanticism.

Now, I love this. I love Greek mythology! But then, after reading countless Wikipedia pages, and watching countless informational YouTube videos, I found one of the scariest things I’ve ever encountered.

Modern re-interpretations!

All of a sudden, the stories I loved were completely different! Persephone was a radical feminist with an abusive mom, Hera was the mother of all of Zeus’s children, and Hades was a bad person just because he ruled over the dead. It scared me. It scared me to think of what happened to this beautiful myth of of beautiful stories just because the original meaning didn’t line up with our ideologies! So, with this speech, I hope to be able to tell you all that Greek mythology, however disgusting or vile to us, is a picture of history that does not deserve to be painted over and destroyed.

Before we even start on Greek mythology we have to start on Greek culture. Mainly, the relationships between family members.

The Greeks referred to the basic family unit in their culture as oikos. This word encompassed not only the people but also the house and the surrounding land. This little bit of vocabulary actually tells us a lot. Places and old family ties were very important to the Greeks, important enough to refer to a family not as the people in it but as the household itself. This is why so many myths make a big show of where someone is in reference to something else, because the Greeks liked to have that persons background. This was not only essential to the Greeks understanding of personal identity but also societal role. If you lived in a poor neighborhood, you were poor. If you lived with your family, you were a part of your family no matter what.

Then, there was the patriarchy in Greece, which was actually decently progressive given the time period. While the eldest man in the house was expected to show up for civic duties and keep society running, the women would take care of children and do household chores. However, in the event of the patriarchs absence, then the eldest woman would start doing the finances and making public appearances. While the Greeks did treat women better than most other cultures of the time, they still felt that women should be overshadowed by men. The Greeks saw women as a smart and talented, even good at fighting and capable of making their own decisions (which was not then common and still isn’t now). But with all of that, they still felt that women were more smart, decision making, talented, battle worthy objects. Not people.

Another thing about Greek culture is that weddings were very important. While most had arranged marriages, almost no spouses hated one another, as the marriages were built on getting more political power and finances. Because if this, often the two getting married had a mutual respect for each other and carefully evaded quarrels that could turn into a sad life for them both and their children. All of this is important to the next thing we’ll talk about, common themes.

Many myths share attributes and common themes, making the gods less like Gods and more like characters. When a god says or does something so many times it becomes a character attribute, and when you get enough character attributes whatever you were seeing can be classified not as a god, but as a character.

If we see Zeus as a character instead of a god, we see that he is a serial cheater and rapist. Accounts vary, but overall most think that Zeus had around 92 children. And, the make it even worse, only 41 of those children are gods. All the rest are with assorted mortal women, most of whom weren’t willing to carry his child. And out of that 41, only 4 are actually his wife’s kids! All the rest are just with other random goddesses, most of whom, yet again, were not totally willing to carry his child. Almost all Greek myths start with not the story of the hero, but the story of the hero’s mother getting impregnated by Zeus.

The next common theme is the laws of hospitality. Something always comes up with the laws of hospitality, and they really aren’t that hard. They referred to these laws as Xenia, a word directly translated to mean “friendship with guests” and all you had do to follow it was treat people kindly. The host had to provide food, clothing, and whatever else the guest needed, and in return the guest had to be courteous, kind, and respectful of the hosts wishes.

That doesn’t sound so hard does it? Well, you’d be wrong. A few instances of this are, say Tantalus who technically did feed his guests, but fed them his own son. And although it doesn’t say it, the meal you have to provide your guests shouldn’t be human. Then there’s a bad guest, Erysichthon, who killed a sacred tree while in one of Demeter’s groves, and was then cursed to be so hungry he eventually ate himself; which was a perfectly sound punishment for disobeying the laws of hospitality.

Now, during those last few sections, you’ve probably felt uncomfortable at least once. Whether it was the misogynistic views, or Zeus, king of the gods being a serial rapist, or the gods having so much wrath for so little a crime. And you should be uncomfortable. You should feel weird that I call Greek mythology beautiful while there’s all this disgusting stuff in it. But like I said. The gods are characters.

To the Greeks, the gods did play an important role in their society, but not the same role as most gods now do. Let’s take a look at Christianity, for example. Christians see God as an all powerful, perfect being, who sent his son down to us so that we could ascend to heaven. Then theres Buddhism, which is not the belief in God or Gods but more a belief in enlightenment knowledge and philosophy. Now, these religions are almost entirely different but there is one key similarity. Their god or beliefs, are always good. Christians see God as a perfect being and Buddhists see these teachings and enlightenment as the best thing someone can follow or do, but that’s not the case for the Greeks. The Greeks didn’t see their gods as perfect. They saw them as people. Powerful, insane people who lived up in the clouds and drove the sun across the sky, but people nonetheless. The Greek gods were not made to teach people how to be better. The Greeks knew how to be good. The god were there to warn them. To say “if you don’t take in a kind stranger that kind stranger can turn you to ash”. They existed not to be perfect, but to warn people of what could happen to them. And yes, the Greeks believed they were real, but all of the prayers and tributes didn’t get written down because there was no need. Only the myth got written down. Stories of great kings who never even existed, born to tell a tale and teach a lesson.

And that is why modern reinterpretations cannot be true to the original stories. We can’t think how the Greeks thought. We think “surely they must’ve meant for the god of death to be bad” but they didn’t. We think “the king of the gods would never do that” but he did. And we change those stories. Because we’ve already changed them far too much.

During the 9th century non-native cults, Christian’s, and other religious groups started invading the Mediterranean Sea and other Greek lands. Slowly but surely, the ancient Greeks culture started to get lost in battle with these new and exciting religions. The Greeks also had a descentralizar belief system, where every city-state that made up what we call Ancient Greece had a slightly different set of beliefs. While most major gods and stories existed throughout Greece the stories changed ever so slightly, and sometimes the city-states would have their own myths entirely. This meant that when a city-state was taken over by a new religion, part of, or even entire myths were lost. There was no reason to keep them around anymore.

Then it was only a matter of time until Rome came along and destroyed everything the Greeks ever knew. And now we’re here. Historians picking up murals and carvings on cave walls trying to make sense of it all. But not all of us are historians.

Some of us keep destroying it. Some of us need these beautiful stories of hero’s and gods to fit our personal ideologies so badly that we’re willing to spread misinformation just to get people to agree. So here’s a little more information that you’ll want to go home with.

Persephone did not choose to go to the underworld.

Hades is not and never was a satan figure.

Artemis never fell in love with Orion.

Hera hated Heracles so much she killed his wife and kids and then forced him to go to court and do 12 trials to pay for her crime, AND his name is Heracles not Hercules so SCREW YOU DISNEY!

And finally. We don’t know everything. Many parts of greek myths are still a mystery. But we don’t have to make them more of a mystery. And if we do, we can at least be informed that we don’t have the full picture.

[cecilysass]

Shine On (2/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 2: Nice Catching Up

Farrs Corner, Virginia Eighteen days later February 20, 2015

Mulder meant to finish the job before she came over. But it got away from him, like everything seems to these days.

So when she finally comes back—the long-anticipated visit home—there are still stacks of books all over the living room, all these untidy towers of hundreds of books. Cryptid encyclopedias, profiling and behavioral analysis monographs, texts about mythology and religion, science, art, language, history. They’re everywhere, chaotic, precariously balanced, piled, heaped, stacked.

“In the middle of a project, Mulder?” she asks as she walks in, gazing blankly around the room.

“Yeah,” he says with forced enthusiasm. “I’m finally reorganizing the books.” He says this like reorganizing the books is something they’d long planned to do, instead of a recent, impulsive middle-of-the-night idea. “I’m organizing them by topic so I can find things more easily when I need them. Good idea, right?”

“Sure,” she says, staring warily at the piles. He hopes she’s not noticing how many of her books still remain in his collection. “Good idea.”

The way she says this chills him, because it’s just so polite. The same distant tone of voice she used sometimes way, way back, when they were brand new partners in the Hoover building.

“Can I take your coat, Scully? Did you want something to drink?”

“Oh,” she says, running her palms anxiously down the front panels of her sleek pale blue coat. “I don’t think so. I don’t mean to stay long. I just need that box of bedding.”

“It’s right there,” Mulder says, gesturing behind a tower of books. “Behind the psychology section.”

“Right,” she says, craning her head to see it. Her eyes meet his again, and they’re soft and reluctant. “Then… I should probably go.”

“No,” he calls out quickly. A furrow appears in her brow. “I mean … please. Scully. Just stay and have a drink. You haven’t been home in so long.”

“It’s not my home any more,” she points out softly.

“I know,” he replies. “Really. I’m not confused about… anything. I just want to talk to you. Sit down for a bit. I have tea. Or that apple cider from Trader Joe’s you like.”

She seems to hesitate. “There are books all over the couch.”

“I can move them. Hold on.” His voice is calm, but inside he’s churning. He moves to the couch, begins moving books. “Just stay a while.”

Her lips lift into that small, closed-lip smile he’s missed so much. “Okay. Just a little while.”

***

She’s clutching her mug of tea, telling him about work, and he can’t help but notice how physically straight and formal she is right now. It almost looks like she’s bracing herself, worried the couch is going to trap her somehow, like it’s going to try to bundle her up in his Aztec blanket and hold her there.

Mulder doesn’t like this body language. It looks too much like she doesn’t live here anymore.

“So things are really much the same at Our Lady of Sorrows,” she finishes. “Some good days, some bad.”

“It sounds like overall you’re still satisfied at the hospital then,” Mulder says.

“Yes,” Scully says, nodding. “I’d say that’s accurate. I wouldn’t rule out doing something else someday though.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she says, another tiny smile. “But you know. You have to stay open to extreme possibilities.”

He returns her smile. “And uh… all the other parts of your life are good, too?” He can’t bear to ask her any more directly than that. He picks up his own mug and takes a sip to give himself something to do.

She bites her bottom lip. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, I have a nice new house. Very contemporary. I get together with friends from work occasionally. I see Mom regularly.”

He wonders what she means by “friends from work.” He knows what it meant back when they were “friends from work.”

“What about you, Mulder?” she asks. “What are you doing these days?”

“I told you,” he says. “I’m reorganizing the library.”

“Besides that.”

I miss you terribly everyday. I spend hours cataloging each one of my mistakes. I ponder all the big questions, like: is there any future where I might be with you again? Is there any alternate reality where I could have made you happy? Is there any world where we have our son and live together as a real family, and that grief that’s always in your eyes isn’t there?

“I write articles,” he says. “I’m thinking about a book.”

“That’s great, Mulder,” she says. Again, that false encouraging tone.

If she still lived here—if she was still his Scully—she would have considerably more to say about these messy piles of books and this aimless underemployment. She would have some dry comment. She would be suggesting constructive ideas. She would be pushing him to do better.

This Scully sounds like a stranger. Like she has no place in his life to have an opinion. Like she has no place in his life to care.

There is an awkward pause.

“Well,” she says. “I think it’s probably time I take off.”

“Oh yeah?” he says. Don’t beg, he tells himself. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she says, looking around for a coaster on the coffee table and setting her mug down. She stands up, smiling courteously. “It’s been very nice catching up with you, Mulder.”

The innocuous sentence hits him like getting socked in the stomach. He feels his face flushing red hot. He swallows, unable to politely respond.

“Okay,” he says, too shortly. He stands, too. “Sure. Ever so nice.”

She’s lifting her coat from the coat rack, but turns around to regard him stoically. She seems to debate asking her next question. “Is there a problem?” she says carefully.

Mulder hesitates. He knows he shouldn’t say anything else. Just let her go. Let the visit end pleasantly. “No,” he says with effort. “I … guess not.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s only …” No. He just can’t hold it in. “Look, I’m sorry,’” he snaps. “It’s just … it’s fucking hard to hear ‘nice catching up with you, Mulder’ come from your lips.”

“It is nice catching up with you.”

“We didn’t used to be people who ever had to catch up,” Mulder says bitterly. “We used to know everything about each other, we used to be everything to each other, and excuse me if I just can’t stand talking to you like we’re old college chums.”

“You invited me to stay and have tea.” Her pitch has dropped a full octave. “You suggested we talk. I was doing what you asked me to do.” Her voice breaks midway through her sentence, and he realizes she’s got tears in her eyes. She closes them, evidently trying to calm herself. “I have to go, Mulder.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice trembling. “Yeah, okay.”

“I… I’ll see you, all right?” she says, practically a whisper.

“Will you?”

Someday there will be a last time, he thinks. A time visiting him will just be too much trouble. A time she’ll decide her attention is better spent on other things, on other people.

“Of course,” she says. She walks over and picks up her box of bedding. “Of course I will. I always will.”

He watches her turn and hurry out the door. He remains frozen in place near the couch. He doesn’t trust himself to do anything to respond. Not to say good-bye, not to walk with her to the porch, not even to wave. He might do something unbelievably stupid, like tell her he still loves her. Or try to stop her from leaving. Or shout obscenities at her in anger.

Instead, he focuses all of his energy on listening. He listens as her car door opens and closes, her engine starts. There is the rough clatter of her tires down the gravel drive. Faintly, he can hear her car door opening and closing again as she lets herself out the gate and closes it up again. Then finally there is the sound of the motor of her car growing gradually more distant. Far away from him again.

Mulder lets himself sink down again on the couch.

In a flare of angry self-hatred, he kicks the towering pile of novels nearest him. They tumble sloppily into a messy heap on the floor. He watches this destruction morosely and thinks about how good she smelled.

He wishes he’d remembered to wish her a happy birthday.

***

About thirty feet outside, between two bushes, Jackson sits, hugging his knees, his back pressed uncomfortably against the wooden frames of the side of the farmhouse. Between the branches of the bush he has a clear view of the red-headed woman driving away.

It’s not a very good hiding place. All day long, since he arrived this morning, he hasn’t had to worry too much about hiding. The man inside—the man who lives here— has been distracted, concerned about the woman’s visit, thinking almost nonstop about what she’ll say and do. Jackson’s been able to circle around the house cautiously, trying to examine everything with his eyes and with his mind.

Which is good, because he’s nervous.

Just now, if the red-headed woman had looked up towards the house as she rushed out the door—if she’d turned back to give it one last careful look—she’d easily have seen Jackson there, crouched, watching furtively at the side of the house.

But she didn’t look back. Not even once, quickly.

She only wanted to get in her car and go, go, go. Her mind was so loud Jackson didn’t even have to really use his shine. Her mind broadcast inside his brain without him trying at all.

Jackson watches her car closely, holding his breath, until she’s completely driven away, until he can’t see any sign of her car anymore.

She’s pretty, Jackson reflects, even for a mom-aged lady. Her car is nice, fancy, like she’s got some money. And even though she’s not a kid, even though she’s an adult, with an extremely complex mind— it’s easy to know her thoughts. The easiest it’s been for anyone he’s ever met.

What’s really weird, though, is that with her, it’s really more than thoughts. Something strange was happening with Jackson and her feelings, too.

He felt these little explosive bursts of her emotions, wracking his own body unexpectedly like fireworks and then quickly fading. That’s never happened before. It’s interesting, but it’s also upsetting, like having your own emotions pushed aside by someone else. Her feelings fade, but they don’t entirely go away. They leave a kind of residue for a minute or two.

And just now? She was very, very upset, in about fifty different ways Jackson can only barely sort out. She was angry, for one—angry at the man inside for not being fair to her. She was really guilty, hoping she’s doing the right thing by leaving. She was sad, so sad, wishing she could go back inside and be with him again. Jackson wonders why she doesn’t just go back. He felt her wishing hard for something she thinks is gone now. She’s grieving it. Almost like you grieve for parents that have been shot.

And mixed up in all of this, Jackson feels how much she loves the man inside the house. That’s just this big, enormous feeling, like a tsunami of emotion. More than he can cope with, really. It makes his head hurt. He rubs his temples slowly, trying to massage the feeling away.

Jackson knows who the woman is, of course.

He recognizes her, at least her mind. He wonders if that’s why he is able to feel her feelings and see her thoughts so easily.

It feels weird, seeing her. He always thought that if he ever met his birth mom, he’d want to talk to her right away. But he doesn’t have any urge to chase her down the driveway and introduce himself.

He’s just so afraid. It’s hard to understand, because closed adoption or not, he thinks she’d want to talk to him. In his visions, she’s usually calling for him—not his name, but a name he somehow knows is supposed to be him. So he thinks she wants to see him. She seems to want it very badly, at least sometimes.

But what if when she looks at him, it’s with the same huge sadness she’s feeling about this man inside the house? What if it isn’t what he imagines, meeting this woman? He doesn’t want all that right now. He can’t handle it.

Besides, he’s not supposed to see her. That isn’t why he came. She wasn’t the name he was given.

He doesn’t recognize the man inside, the man she fought with a few minutes ago. When he reaches out to poke his shine into this man’s mind, it’s like a forest at night: it’s dark, disorienting, full of paths that lead unknown directions. He sees a few things he understands: the woman’s face, their conversation just now, the man’s devotion to her, his anxieties. But he sees lots he doesn’t understand, too. The man is very complicated. And broken, Jackson thinks. He has cracks that make his thoughts difficult to follow.

He knows the man’s name. Fox Mulder. He wishes he knew more about who he was, exactly.

Because that’s the man he’s supposed to see.

***

[sainamoonshine]

Okay so like, time travel fic where Shuri ends up back in the past for some reason, she doesn’t know how. She wakes up during the whole mess of the first Black Panther movie, while she’s fleeing with her mom to seek refuge with the mountain tribe. At first she doesn’t tell anyone, because she’s not sure WHAT happened exactly, whether this is real, if everything she experienced in the future was just a nightmare because of the stress of Killmonger usurping the throne, whatever.

But then while they’re in the mountains fucking Namor shows up. Slamming down into the snow from the sky and he’s like “I want to talk to the Black Panther”.

All of the warriors present ofc are like “who tf are you” and they’re ready to throw down, but Shuri is just like “Namor????”

And he turns to her and like, his shoulders relax, and he greets her. “Black Panther. There you are.”

Shuri is super confused. “I— I’m not. Not yet.”

He inclines his head. “No, perhaps not. But eventually you will be.”

“Hold on, you— you know me? So it was all real then? How?!”

“I have always found the how to be less important than the why.”

That’s when Queen Ramonda interrupts with “Shuri, what is going on? You know this man?”

And before Shuri can answer, Namor says: “My people call me Kukulkan, but others call me Namor. The Black Panther and I seem to have travelled here from the future. I had hoped to take the opportunity to make our alliance sooner, but when I arrived in Wakanda, there was an usurper on the throne.”

Then he looks at Shuri and says darkly: “Do you wish me to kill him for you?”

And Shuri is honestly kind of annoyed — because can’t this dude go five minutes without threatening to kill someone, seriously! Even tho this is Killmonger we’re talking about and she wouldn’t actually mind him dead — and slaps back with: “I’m surprised you haven’t already”, because if Namor actually met Killmonger then she can’t imagine her cousin would have been polite enough for the god king’s tastes. He probably insulted him within the first five seconds.

But Namor’s eyebrows furrow and he says: “When I demanded to see you, he called you cousin. I did not wish to guess about which family members you care about, and which you do not.”

And that’s when confusion and shock finishes clearing from her mind and is replaced by blind fury. How dare he speak like that, as if her sentiments about her family are an inconvenience that he has to be careful of.

“Why are you here”, she hisses.

He tilts his head to the side. “I have already told you. I have come to re-establish my alliance with Wakanda. But I will only negotiate with the rightful ruler. I can either wait until your brother has reclaimed his throne on his own, or I can expedite the process.”

There is a hiss among those gathered, and general murmuring.

She straightens and reaches deep inside herself for what scraps of diplomatic graciousness she can find.

“I appreciate your offer to help, but this is an internal matter to Wakanda. It does not concern you. Stay out of our water until it is resolved.”

“Shuri!” Hisses her mother, who had probably started seeing the hope of having an ally, one as obviously powerful as Namor.

(It is odd, something in the back of her mind whispers, that neither Mother nor M’Baku are trying to take the lead on these negotiations. What she doesn’t know is that both of them have seen how she’s straightened, confidence and power settling over her shoulders, her composure that of a queen, her glare that of a protector. And the interloper, whom also carries himself with the grace of a king — whom calls himself by the name of a god — defers to her. He calls her Panther, and has had eyes only for her since she has spoken his name.)

Namor tilts his head to the side, considers her thoughtfully. “The usurper wants to wage war on the surface world. Left unopposed, he will burn everything. You wish me away from him. You are concerned that I might find an alliance with him more productive than one with you.”

Shuri does not clench her fists but flexes her fingers instead, vibranium claws that she does not have ready to tear at his face and gift him the scars of the future-past anew. “Don’t you dare!” She roars.

“I will not,” replies Namor almost as loudly, as angrily. “It is to you that I have given my word. I am not some surface-dweller to go easily back on it.”

He steps towards her. All warriors present twitch, spears held higher, but Shuri is still as a stone, her glare almost daring him to try his luck. He stops in front of her and raises an open palm.

“Give me your hand.”

“Why?”

“Your hand, Panther.”

She places her hand in his, eyes still locked on his, challenging. Without a word, Namor pulls something from his pocket, and ties it around her wrist.

Shuri looks down. Gasps.

“Your mother’s bracelet. You— ”

“It belongs to you.” Once finished securing it to her wrist, he lets his fingers run over the jade stones, not tenderly (she refuses to think the word in association to him) but… contemplatively.

“Do you remember,” he says in a low voice, “when I told you that things could have been different?”

She sets her jaw. Just because she has chosen not to act on her anger any longer does not mean she doesn’t still burn with it. “You are the reason things were not different.”

Namor’s lips thin. He steps back, letting go of her hand, fingers slipping over her skin — she doesn’t pull away or otherwise react, just lets her hand drop, because she’s not about to let him win this by giving him a reaction — then he pulls another item from behind himself. A large, familiar conch shell, which he’d been carrying attached to his belt. Under his cape, she hadn’t seen it. He holds it up in between them.

“If you change your mind, about needing help.”

“I won’t,” she says, but reaches out to take it anyhow.

Namor takes another few steps backwards, raises his hands first in the salute of his people, then of hers, and finally takes off into the night sky. Shuri does not stare after him. It is another victory that she will not give him.

***

Later, after she has explained — a sparse on details as the others allow her to be — about the time travel she still cannot explain, and who exactly Namor is, M’Baku whistles at her.

“And what did you do to this god-king, that he’d hold on to an alliance you made even across time?”

She glares at him. She preferred it when he called Namor fish man and wasn’t awed by him.

“I beat his ass,” she snaps. “He deserved it.”

Her mother looks shocked. M’Baku looks impressed.

Shuri feels a headache coming on.

***

She should have considered her words more carefully.

Stay out of our waters until the situation is resolved.

Namor barely waits until the funeral in the Atlantic is over that he reappears in Wakanda again, demanding to speak with her brother.

(T’Challa, he is here, alive and well, and she has barely had the time to hug him, to cry, certainly not enough time to explain the situation properly, and she resents Namor for this, that he should butt in back into her life so soon, when she is finally surrounded by her loved ones, back from the grave, some of which HE took from her—)

Anyway. T’Challa and Namor talk, they make an agreement, peace is reached.

Shuri has more important things to see to.

She tells her family as much about the future as she dares, as much as she can bear to. But some events she doesn’t broach. After all, they need to know about Thanos, about the blip, even about T’Challa’s illness. But the war with Namor will never happen, now. They have their alliance, and he seems hell bent on sticking to it. So why should she burden her family with nightmares that will not come to pass?

She couldn’t even if she wanted to. Every time she thinks that she might talk about it, the words die on her tongue.

And then there is the matter of the bracelet. She uses it to recreate the herb long before her brother’s illness even starts to take hold, and how is she supposed to even begin to explain what it means, that Namor gave it to her this soon in the timeline? That the man who took her mother away also gave her her brother back. How is she supposed to feel? Angry? Relieved? Bittersweet?

Unfortunately, her lack of explanations regarding her past with — against — Namor, her clear refusal to breach the subject, her avoidance of these memories… it all leads her family and friends to speculate.

They see her, barely able to stand being in the same room, gritting her teeth any time that she looks at him, but still furiously insisting that they make their alliance with him, that they protect his kingdom with all the might of Wakanda.

They see the god-king, who will call T’Chala “king”, but insists on calling her “Panther”, even though she is not. His eyes, following her across the room. The way he only ever folds to her opinion, while everyone else has to argue with him for hours. How he tolerates her temper, how his very first offer to her was to kill the one who usurped her brother’s throne.

They come to the conclusion that Shuri and Namor had a bad breakup.

[seducemefanficsandheadcanons]

Ending Unplanned

Aron has gotten to know most of the incubi over the last three months of them living with her, except for Sam, until finally the two talk. Before she knows it, their tense and awkward relationship starts to turn into something more complicated. On top of that, her health issues cause more issues for her than ever before, bringing up repressed memories of her childhood.

Title from Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield

Also posted on Ao3

Chapter One- Unwritten

YALL!!!! FINALLY THIS IS FIC BEING WRITTEN AFTER MONTHS OF PLANNING!!!!! This chapter is pretty lame, its just setting the tone of her relationship with each incubus and introducing Melody, an OC owned by @tr1n1ty32069

That being said, I hope you like the fic! The plot set up is W E I R D so I just did the order of events when Sam and Aron get together.

I am unwritten

Can't read my mind, I'm undefined

I'm just beginning

The pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window

Let the sun illuminate the words that you cannot find

Reaching for something in the distance

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions

Unwritten- Natasha Bedingfield

“I’m home!” Aron called out as she walked into the mansion, dragging her suitcase behind her. 

It had been about three months since she’d moved into the mansion with Melody, and met the incubi. She inherited it when her beloved grandfather, Harold, tragically passed away. 

When she and Mel arrived at the mansion, they found a group of wounded incubi brothers laying on the marble floor. That caused a chain of events, from being kidnapped by devils to being chased down by a succubus princess. It had been pure utter chaos those first few weeks.

Since it had been about a month or two since they’d found a routine that worked for everyone, she felt comfortable saying yes when her mom asked her to go with her to Florida, where Aron grew up. Melody was also invited, but she had to stay for work.

They’d spend a week there, seeing family and going to the beach, and as fun as it was, Aron was just glad to be home.

Her dark purple hair was a mess from being in the car for so long, her neck sore and her eyes heavy. 

“Hey!” Melody called out as she and the incubi walked into the grand lobby. Based on her outfit and lack of her typical trad-goth makeup, Aron determined she’d just gotten home from work in the last hour or so.

Mel quickly went to Aron and gave her a hug, which she returned. “How was the trip?”

“Exhausting,” Aron sighed. “But it was fun.”

Aron gave Matthew and Damien hugs as they all talked. James was being polite as usual, asking basic questions regarding the vacation. Even though they weren’t close, they’d developed some sort of friendship. She couldn’t help but appreciate him, as he had made Melody unbelievably happy. She deserved the best, and James was giving her that.

She was closest with Damien out of the incubi, then Matthew and Erik. Her and Damien would read together occasionally, as she was helping him learn along with James. They’d sit outside and talk for hours about things he wanted to try in the human world- which she’d make a mental note of to surprise him with later.

Matthew and her made a pretty chaotic duo, to say the least. Aron could think of more than one time that she’d heard James tell Matthew not to slide down the railing of the stairs, only for her to go up there and do it with him. Or the times she’d snuck a taste of brownie batter before he was finished, which led to a full fledged food fight.

Her and Erik were insufferable. It wasn’t like Aron had never been hit on before, but Erik’s teasing remarks were constant. She couldn’t help but flirt back! However, the two couldn’t be any more platonic. It was something she’d briefly worried about, that she was misunderstanding his signs, but thankfully the two both wanted nothing serious with each other. He’d make her try on clothes and put on mini fashion shows, hyping her up with praises the whole time.

Sam was the only one she didn’t really have any sort of relationship with. They were cordial…sometimes.

Aron didn’t know what exactly she’d done to piss off the demon, but she could only assume it was a clash of personalities. She didn’t really have any issues with him, other than the fact he kissed her when they first met, using his powers to drain her of energy. However, she’d accepted the fact he was doing it as a means for healing, not for the hell of it. So she forgave him.

But, they never really talked much after that. They bickered a lot, usually about stupid things like chores. They got along well enough in group settings, but that usually meant just not talking. If they were alone, it was usually tense and awkward. He didn't seem to like her very much, which was fine with her. It was irritating, but she had more important things to worry about.

The only real positive interactions she could remember between the two of them always had something to do with the other incubi- a good example would be them laughing and joking as Matthew was being taunted by Simon Tabby. Or the time James confidently corrected Sam’s grammar, only to be wrong. They had a field day with that.

But those moments were few and far between. The times they argued over grocery orders was much more memorable.

Soon, the group conversation began to slightly overwhelm Aron. “Okay, thank you all for not burning the house down while I was gone, but I’m going to my room now,” she told them, starting to walk away with her suitcase dragging behind her. “You can come with me if you want, Mel.”

Melody walked with Aron towards the stairs, the two pausing when Erik offered to help with the suitcase. She happily let him, too tired to pretend to want to carry it herself.

Once they were in her room, Aron flopped down on her bed with a sigh of relief. She was glad she could simply take a breath and calm down after life being so hectic recently.

Now that she was taking a moment to breathe, she found herself thinking of Harold. She’d been grieving him, the fact he was gone took a while to actually register in her mind. But it had a bit after Diana left them alone.

Now, she felt guilt creeping in. Spending his money felt wrong, living in his home felt wrong. He’d given her so much during her childhood, even when he physically couldn’t be there.

And here he was again, taking care of her, without even being alive. 

She already put a large chunk of the money she inherited away in savings accounts, but the rest was still more than enough for her to take care of herself, Melody, and the incubi. 

It just so happened she’d recently had to quit her job at the hospital in the demon districts because of ongoing health issues she’d been having, like seizures. It’s a little to treat patients when you’re unsure of whether or not you’ll be able to walk that day.

Because she had to quit, she was so worried about whether or not she’d be able to afford anything without completely relying on her mother. As much as she appreciated the help, she didn’t want to need it. 

But now, that would never be a worry. That made her feel worse.

Obviously, it’d be different if her financial issues had been solved because of winning the lottery or something, but this was different. Now, every dime she spent, she’d have to remember that it was only hers because her grandfather was dead.

“I’m bored,” Aron mumbled, rubbing her face with her hands as she shook off the thought.

Melody hummed. “What do you wanna do?”

She shrugged, thinking for a moment before raising her eyebrows in thought. “I mean…we live with incubi. The possibilities are kinda endless.”

“Aron,” Melody chuckled, likely already knowing what she was going to say. “No.”

She huffed. “Well yeah, obviously I’m not going to do anything with them. But I’m just saying there's no need to be bored when you live with literal sex demons!”

“Yeah. You know what? Maybe you should,” she suggested. “If you start having sex with one of them, maybe you’ll stop hooking up with your ex’s.”

“Oh my god,” Aron laughed. “I’m gonna stop that anyways.”

“Mhm. Sure you are,” she replied, tone filled with sarcasm.

She giggled in response and closed her eyes as Melody scrolled on her phone.

The rest of the day went as usual. Matthew and James made dinner, which they all ate as a group before calling it a night. Aron laid down, hoping to be able to sleep all night after a long two days of sitting in the car.

Still her mind raced as she thought of her grandfather and the incubi. Her new life.

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

For several years now I’ve been wanting to buy a knotted dildo (why do they never have smaller ones) but my dad often helps me with finances because I’m really bad at math and I would be super embarrassed if he found out. I doubt he would be mad at finding out I’m a monsterfucker, but it WOULD be super awkward, especially since a lot of knotted ones are labeled “dog” I don’t want my family to have an even worse impression before I can explain! Maybe it would be easier if I could drive and try to find in-person shops and pay in cash, but I have a health problem that makes me driving illegal sometimes, so that’s not a practical option. I know you aren’t supposed to use things that weren’t designed to go inside of your body, but I’ve been using an old detachable razor handle for years because of this. I don’t know what to do! I don’t think my dad pays much attention to what I buy but if something is flagged as unusual by the bank, they will sometimes call him about it. I’m not sure what I should do. I haven’t even bought a regular sex toy because I’m self conscious about this, let alone one like that!

I’m the “my dad helps me balance my checkbook and I’m terrible at math but I want a dildo” anon, and you don’t have to post this part if it’s too uncomfortable. That’s why i didn’t include it in my first ask. But the only time I had a friend offer to help me buy one that friend later died before it could happen so… I don’t really have anyone around to ask for assistance in… this. I know these aren’t your usual confessions, but i don’t really know where else to confess to this. The only other friend I think might possibly have helped me, moved a state away and i don’t want to bother her about it. I joke about being a freak sometimes but I really doubt my older family who might have heard me say that actually expects me to consider “freaky” something beyond oral. I’m not… I’m shy and wasn’t raised by people who were into much extreme stuff (my parents didn’t even swear around us until we were all over 16, and even now they don’t do it much! There are slurs I didn’t even know existed until senior high and my parents never used them! For obvious reasons. Which is good, but gives an idea of what I mean when I say not extreme. Even my grandparents are/were like this) so I’ve been told that it’s surprising when i tell a friend about these things for the first time. Coming out as demisexual wasn’t nearly as stressful to be honest, that might be weird but admitting my (admittedly not super exciting among this community) kinks feels shameful and humiliating for some reason. Telling a close friend is different I guess. My parents aren’t conservative people, not politically or in many other ways, but they definitely don’t know much about kinks. I can say that with confidence, I’ve read the romance novels my mom had lying around and I’ve seen them react genuinely shocked when something a little crazy happens in a show we’re watching. I just think I might have super vanilla family (in the 25 years I lived with them the most spicy things I encountered were those romance novels and what might have been lube) and I’m sure they would react, if not badly, just awkwardly. It would be super uncomfortable. They are the kinds of people to hear about that, look slightly horrified, say “okay” and just avoid talking about it after that, but every time a conversation gets too close to that everyone is awkward and avoids it. It’s like when someone is trying to talk about politics and everyone has to kind of bite their tongue or a shouting match will start while we’re trying to watch the mandalorian, just less aggressive, so not exactly the same, just similarly uncomfortable. This one also got longer than I meant it to. I don’t expect that my parents would disown me or anything, but it would change some things (although because my mom and I accidentally shared a kindle account when I was in highschool I’m pretty sure she knows I’m into monster romance novels) sex isn’t really a taboo topic, but it’s also not a comfortable one

[agathasangel]

the supply closet (jen barkley x fem!reader NSFW)

warnings: fluff and smut, legal age gap, alcohol

word count: 1.2k

summary: you’re an intern for a prestigious campaign managed by jennifer barkley. you don’t quite fit in with the other interns, but you think that’s what jen likes about you so much.

No one could deny that you were a hard worker, maybe even a bit of an overachiever. Even then, you didn’t think you would get this internship. Everyone else there came from influential political families, and they all seemed to know each other. You also found yourself to be the only intern that really took the job all that seriously.

You were working under Jennifer Barkley, and she was the best. She was not only the best in her field, but working for her was pleasant. More than pleasant, actually. She seemed to really like you.

“I gotta say, it’s nice to have you around. Kinda refreshing to see someone here who actually cares.”

“Thank you, Ms. Barkley. That really means a lot coming from you.”

“Seriously, it’s rare. And the fact that you even got this internship without any family connections is very impressive. You work so hard, why don’t I take you for drinks tonight, unwind?”

“Thanks, Ms. Barkley. I’d like that.”

“Call me Jen.”

She took you to an unfamiliar bar, fancy and filled with people who were older and more professional looking than you were, people like Jen. You also noticed how expensive the drinks were.

“I’ll cover the bill, don’t worry,” said Jen with a wink. You thanked her and she got two tequila shots, and you got to talking. You told her about school and she questioned you on what you wanted to do once you graduate.

“I’ve applied to grad school, I’m still thinking about what I want to do career-wise. I’m pretty sure I want to go into politics in some way though.”

“You should. You have a lot of potential, you’re smart, you remind me of myself at your age. You care so much about everything. Don’t lose that like I did.”

“Wow, Jen. I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

You started talking more about your lives and families. Jen had some crazy stories, and then she asked about you.

“What about you? You have family, a boyfriend, anything?”

“Well I have a pretty average family, definitely nothing as interesting as yours. And I’m single. And, um, very gay.”

“Ah, I see.”

You told her more about your mom, your dad, and your brother as she ordered more drinks for the two of you. You were starting to feel pretty tipsy, and you think Jen probably was too, based on how her behavior was changing.

“Put your hair down, I wanna see it. Oh, you look so pretty!”

“Thank you Jen! You’re so nice…”

“I’m really not that nice. I just like you. ‘Cause you’re cute and smart. And cute.”

“You’re nice to me though. The other interns don’t really talk to me, but you always do.”

“That’s because they’re entitled idiots. You gotta learn to work with people like that, this town is full of them.”

“I know. But I still like you more…”

“I like you more too.”

Jen put her arm around you and her head on your shoulder and you giggled.

“Is it okay that we’re out together? I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Of course it’s okay. We’re just two adults grabbing drinks after work. You’re a beautiful girl, but I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do, I’m not that kind of boss.”

“What if… what if I did want to do something?”

“Then we should go somewhere a little more private. I’ll call a car.”

Jen lived in the biggest, nicest house you’ve seen in your whole life.

“Wow, it’s… beautiful. I can’t believe you live like this, that’s… wow.”

“I’ll get us some more drinks, okay hon?”

Jen did just that, pouring glass after glass of wine for the two of you. She leaned in to kiss you, grabbing your waist and you eagerly accepted. You drunkenly made out for a while before transferring to the bedroom.

“Let’s get some rest, okay baby?”

You woke up next to Jen, and she was already awake, dressed, drinking a Gatorade and tapping away at her phone.

“You up?”

“Yeah.”

“Have a gatorade. If I’m hungover, you definitely are. We gotta get to work soon. Get dressed.”

You accepted the bottle and changed back into your work clothes from the day before, as Jen’s eyes scanned your body.

“God, you have such a nice body. I wish we had more time here so we could… I know. I’ll give you a call while we’re at work to meet me in the supply closet. We can… continue this there. We’ve gotta be quick but it’s better than waiting a whole eight hours. How’s that sound? Now come on, we’re gonna be late.”

You spent the first part of your day at work impatiently waiting for Jen’s call. All you could think about was her. Finally it happened, and you excused yourself to “grab some more pens”. Jen was in there waiting for you with a smug smile on her face.

“Hey there, babe.”

‘Hi, Jen.”

“How you feeling? You ready?”

“I’m feeling good now that I’m with you,” you say in an attempt at flirting with the older woman.

“God, you’re the cutest thing.”

And she started kissing you as her hands travelled up and down your body, unbuttoning your shirt and feeling your breasts. You take your shirt off and kiss her back harder as she backs you into the wall. Jen breaks the kiss as her mouth travels down to your neck, sucking hard as her hands move to your waistband.

“I’m gonna ruin you. I’m gonna mark you all up, and you’re gonna love it.”

Jen fingered you, fast and rough and you had never felt anything like it before. You couldn’t possibly have imagined that just her fingers could make you feel that good. You were trying not to make any noise but the feeling of Jen’s fingers inside you and her mouth on your neck made it incredibly difficult. You found yourself softly moaning and repeating her name until she had to use her free hand to cover your mouth.

“Wow, so wet and excited just from my fingers? So needy that you can’t shut up? Or do you want someone to catch you getting fucked by your boss in a supply closet? You want the whole office to know what a desperate slut you are?”

You let out another moan as she shoved a finger in your mouth and went harder. You tried to grab her, desperate to be closer.

“Are you close, baby?”

You nodded your head as she took her hand from your mouth and put her arm around you, moving you away from the wall and sitting next to you.

“That was fun.”

“That was amazing, Jen.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, people are gonna start wondering where we are.”

“Yeah. I wish we could just stay here together.”

“Me too, babe. You’re gonna want to put a scarf on, by the way. I marked you up pretty good.”

You took out your phone and looked at your reflection. She was right.

“I’ve got one in my office, come with me.”

You popped your collar and ran behind Jen to her office. When you got there she took the scarf out of her drawer and wrapped it around your neck.

“Jen? Why couldn’t we have done that stuff in here?”

“It’s more fun in the supply closet. Come home with me after work, okay?”

“I would love that.”