#also hi (the other guy) if you’re seeing this you’re in fact. not whiter than me. take a medal for that or something

[botanybulbasaur]

“don’t you make your food with care??” no nicole my great grandma from southern italy would put the whole fucking peel in her banana bread and if you don’t stop policing me about the time i spend cooking your macaroni & the amount of vegetable oil i put in the water i’m going to hit you with this fucking wooden spatula do you understand me

good food is made with love and absolutely zero fucks for the exacts of what happens to it. yea fuck it dude put your chinese seasoning on my pasta sauce. snort the parmesan. use mozzarella as cheese for your noodles. you could use fucking cheddar dude i wouldn’t care. wait nO NO DONT PUT KETCHUP IN THERE YOU DUMB FUCK OH MY GOD

[rat-father]

Had to build up some confidence but finally decided to write some scp whump <3 well d-class whump more specifically

for my whumpers who aren't in the scp community : scp 012 for more context

Tagging; @sideblogformindtrash

-- tw;; blood mention / unintentional self harm, blood loss, passing out, lab whump, multiple whumpees, panic, mild implied dissociation / derealisation, implied previous child abuse, temporary whumpee turned caretaker, miscommunication, multiple whumpers / caretakers --

„I said that I was cold, not that I wanted to cuddle.“ Vivek complained.

„Well, this is what my dad would do in the winter when it got really cold. We would sleep in the same bed and share our body heat to keep us warm,“ Sakari said. „And considering the fact that you're hugging me back, I don't think you're against it.“

He huffed, chin resting on top of their head as they hid in the crook of his neck. Their hair was still damp from the shower, smelling mildly of cheap shampoo. „I guess it does help,“ he begrudgingly grumbled.

„See!“

„Doesn't mean I like it! And don't you dare say that I do.“

Sakari's laugh got muffled by the fabric of his shirt. A mix of feelings stormed inside their brain, feeling that everything went by too fast those 3 short days. From the invitation with promise of money, to the pick up in the lone street, the pain of fresh ink burning letters into their skin, and now laying in bed with a murderer. Ultimately, their thoughts kept bringing them back to their dad, sick on the streets with nothing to help. It was stupid accepting such a sketchy thing, 30 days of work for 50k, it was too good to be true. But what other choice did they have?

A hiccuped sob escaped them, accompanied by silent tears.

„I miss him,“ they admitted, more to themselves then the prisoner next to them.

He hummed sympathetically. „Homesickness is something you'll get over.“ He was quiet for a couple seconds, quickly adding. „Maybe 'home' isn't the best word, uh.“

They gave a small smile. „I get what you mean.“

„If they take you for testing, then,“ Vivek inhaled deeply. „You don't have my permission to die.“

„Wasn't planning to, but I'll keep it in mind.“

~-~

Vivek attempted to focus on the words coming from the blabbering prisoner sitting in front of him. He was more interested in whatever he was going on about than the mushy food they expected him to eat. It was better quality then other prisons he'd been to at least, and didn't taste like salted cardboard. He couldn't ignore the other's foot constantly tapping against the ground, leg twitching in sync. He looked like he had to much sugar and caffeine for breakfast, words rolling off his tongue non stop while making wild gestures with his hands. Vivek didn't even know his name, he hadn't bothered introducing himself before starting his rant.

„Were you zoning out just then, Vi?“ 83' chuckled.

83' didn't care to give his name either, but he was distinct enough to recognize even without proper name. Significantly older then everyone else, hair whiter then his skin and surprisingly fluid in his movements. He wondered how his muscles still worked so well. His voice was gentle, albeit croaky.

Vivek glanced at the others, deep in conversation. „Yeah. Don't care for what he's saying.“ He leaned back, reading the numbers on the shirt of the guy in front him. 6499.

83' clapped him on his back. „He is a talkative young man for sure. My son had ADHD. He also used to talk for what felt like hours on end sometimes.“

He nodded along, mind drifting back to Sakari. They certainly enjoyed starting conversations as well. He remembered seeing them talk to minimum 4 different people before the introduction speech.

„You don't have my permission to die.“ His own words echoed in his head, replaying like a broken record. Those words meant nothing beyond the surface, it wouldn't stop them from getting killed in this place. Permission to die was stupid. He might as well pretend to put a spell on them to make then invincible, that would be about as useful.

~-~

Sakari's heart pounded in their chest, deafening the voice attempting to reach their ears. Worry and dread knotted together in their stomach, confusion blanking their mind of rational thought. Their stayed fixated on the paper in front of them, stepping forward without a choice. It was harder to breath. Humidity around them heating their body. They felt awfully aware of their own existence, yet distant from the world. It was one blur, except for the urge to finish the song. That one. That song. The song and dance they played. The one their dad played. Pain seared through them as he hit them, as blood trickled down. Clotted blood running down their arm. Seeping in their fingernails, burning through paper like acid. Acid he spat as he insulted them, cutting deeper inside. Pounding got louder to the beat. It was a joke he was. A small joke. A small note on the page. The face they saw, they closed their eyes. The skulls were nice. The bunnies weren't prevalent. Speedy bunnies running, hitching their breath, invading their lungs. Those unwritten notes, unwritten until end of time. Their legs felt weak under them, fountains of water rolling down them. Written welcoming warmth.

~-~

Vivek held back a sigh hearing the metal door open once more. He sat up in his bed, expecting to see another guard there to take him. He nearly jumped in relief instead seeing Sakari walk in, clutching their lower arm. They meekly smiled at him, sitting down next to him. They curled up on their side as he moved to give them more space. Their feet were inches away from his leg, digging into the hard mattress.

„Are you okay?“ He asked. A stupid question, he thought to himself, the answer was pretty clear.

„Could be better,“ they mumbled, thumb absentmindedly rubbing over their arm.

„What happened? You look like you're about to pass out.“

„Lost a bit of blood is all. Wouldn't be an issue if I had eaten beforehand. But alas.“

„Let me see,“ He didn't wait for them to react, pulling their arm away from their chest. He rolled up their sleeve, inspecting the bloodied bandage wrapped around them. They sat up, wincing at the grip.

„What did they do?“

„Would you believe me if I said I did it to myself?“

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shook his head. „You wouldn't do that.“

„You haven't known me for that long, I very well could be someone to do that,“ Sakari paused. „But you're right, I wouldn't do it. I'm not entirely sure what happened. I do remember waking up in some infirmary, and getting a cookie.“

„A.. Cookie?“

„Yeah! And apple juice. That was good. Turns out you pass out faster from blood loss if you haven't eaten for hours.“ They laughed.

Vivek sat appalled, staring at them with wide eyes. „You nearly died and you just.. Don't care?“

„I'm not dead, am I? After all,“ they leaned forward. „I don't have your permission to. So what's the point in worrying about something that could've happened, but didn't?“

He rolled his eyes. „Alright. Fair point. I guess I'm just worried about you,“ he mumbled quietly.

„You? Worried about me?“

„Shut the fuck up.“

His words cut them deeper then the wound, flinching before they could stop it. They silently climbed out the bed to move up to their own. He called after them, grabbing them by their sleeve to hold them in place.

„What's wrong now? I wasn't being serious!“

Sakari glared at him through the corner of their eye. He groaned.

„I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know you were sensitive.“

He caught a glimpse of their teary eyes as they shook their head. They pulled themselves out his grasp, entering the small bathroom off to the side. He stood in place, baffled by what happened. Reluctantly he jumped back onto the bed, crossing his arms. The shower turned on, steaming water filling the empty silence for the rest of the night.

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

congrats on 500!!! 🥳

can i request boggie (romantic or platonic) and “can i hold your hand?” 🥺

Thanks bestie!! This is my longest prompt fill so far lol, it kind of got away from me. This is my very first time writing Boggie, and my first time writing in Reggie’s POV, so have fun. Also you asked for sensory overload Bobby but I didn’t think I could do that justice so I did migraine Bobby instead. This technically takes place in my headcanon universe of my longfic, but you don’t need to have read that to understand this. Hope you like it!

--

Bobby’s gone.

Reggie doesn’t think anyone but him has noticed yet. Luke and Alex are too busy arguing with each other (good-naturedly, with no real anger or malice; Reggie can always tell the difference, without even having to pay attention to what they’re arguing about, though this time he’s pretty sure it has something to do with which color m&m is superior).

But anyway, Luke and Alex aren’t paying attention to anything but each other, and Bobby slipped out twenty minutes ago with a pained expression and a mumbled excuse and he hasn’t come back yet, and apparently only Reggie has noticed.

He’s not sure what he should do about it, though. Reggie likes Bobby—he’s a great guitar player, and his movie collection is unparalleled, and one time when Reggie showed up at school with a black eye, Bobby got suspended for two weeks because he decked a guy who tried to make fun of Reggie for it—but as much as Reggie would like him and Bobby to be friends, it can’t be denied that Bobby is… well… Luke’s. And not just because Luke is even more touchy-feely with Bobby than he is with everyone else, or because Luke spends every other night sharing Bobby’s bed because he has nightmares (something Reggie doesn’t think he’s actually supposed to know), or because whenever Luke and Bobby are in a room together, they can’t stop looking at each other. But also because the only reason Bobby joined the band in the first place was because he was there for Luke when Reggie and Alex weren’t. He was Luke’s best friend when Reggie failed to be.

And Reggie hates to take sides (especially because Luke once got really mad at him and literally accused him of taking sides), but if Luke is on Bobby’s and Alex is sorta vaguely not, Reggie feels like he’s kind of statistically obligated to balance it out. So as much as they’re all a band, and as much as Luke will always be Reggie’s first and best friend, and as much as Reggie would love to get closer to their rhythm guitarist, sometimes they just can’t help pairing off, and when they do, Sunset Curve becomes, well, Luke and Bobby—Reggie and Alex. 

But anyway. Reggie checks his watch. Bobby has now been gone twenty-five minutes, and Luke and Alex have moved on to discussing which animated m&m from the commercials they would date if given the option, and Reggie’s starting to get a little worried.

“Hey, guys?” he says, putting aside the bass he’d been sort of plucking at. “Can you shut up for a second?”

Luke and Alex immediately stop their bickering and turn to look at him, faces lit with matching concern. “Yeah, Reg?” Alex says gently.

“You okay, bro?”

Reggie manages a smile. They both know him so well. He gives a quick shake of his head to assure them he’s fine, their arguing wasn’t too much (later, once he’s sure Bobby’s okay, he might even put his two cents in, since the answer to both debates is obviously Green). “Do you know where Bobby went? He hasn’t come back yet.”

Alex frowns, and Luke looks around the studio as if he’s just then realizing that Bobby’s not still sitting on the couch next to him where he was half an hour ago.

“Where’d he go?” Luke gets up off the couch and clambers over the coffee table to cross the studio, past Reggie and Alex. He hauls open one of the doors and peers out into the driveway, then frowns back over his shoulder at them. “I don’t see him. He must’ve gone into the house.” A flash of something crosses his expression and he glances nervously from Reggie to Alex and back again. “I—I’d go look for him, but I don’t know if his parents are home, the car’s here.”

“I’ll go,” Reggie offers before it can become a thing, the fact that Bobby is Luke’s but Luke can’t even go after him when he leaves the studio because Luke is a missing person who Bobby’s parents don’t know lives in their garage.

“Thanks, Reg,” Luke says, and Reggie gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder as he passes.

Reggie doesn’t have to go far. He follows the path up from the driveway and catches sight of Bobby right away, sitting on his front porch with his face buried in his knees and his arms wrapped protectively around his head.

“Hey, there you are!” Reggie calls out without thinking, and then regrets it when Bobby’s head snaps up and he flinches with his whole body, a tiny whimper escaping his mouth just loud enough for Reggie to hear across the garden. Bobby’s face is so pale it’s almost green, and his eyes are hidden behind these thick dark sunglasses Reggie’s never seen him wear before.

Reggie’s heart lurches, and he hurries up the rest of the path. He sinks gently onto the porch step next to Bobby and asks as quietly as he can, “Bobby, what’s wrong?”

Bobby shoots him a shaky, unconvincing smile and whips his shades off. “Nothing, Reg, I’m—fuck.” Reggie gets half a glimpse of Bobby’s eyes—squinty and dull and full of so much pain—before Bobby goes another shade whiter, shoves his sunglasses back on, and presses his face into his lap with a groan.

Reggie’s concern spikes. He hovers a hand over Bobby’s shoulder, wanting to help but not sure if touching him when he’s like this will only make things worse. “Bobby? What—what’s going on with you, man? You’re scaring me.”

Bobby gives a miniscule shake of his head, still hidden in his folded arms. “I—it’s just… headache,” he mumbles, the words slow and slurred and muffled like even just opening his mouth too wide hurts him. He breathes heavily for a moment or two, then adds, “Really bad headache.”

“Oh.” Somehow, that’s… not what Reggie thought was happening here. Part of him relaxes some, even though his worry doesn’t lessen.

If Bobby were having a panic attack, like Alex gets sometimes, or one of those everything’s too much feelings that make it physically impossible for Luke to wear sleeves most days, then Reggie wouldn’t know what to do, how to help. Stuff like that is too personal, too individualized, and Reggie doesn’t know Bobby that well. But pain—physical pain—that, Reggie can deal with. That, Reggie knows all too well.

“Can I get you anything? What do you need?”

Bobby’s quiet for a moment, then: “Dark. Cold. Quiet… Maybe some medicine if I can keep it down.”

Reggie nods, even though he knows Bobby can’t see him. “We can do that. Is there a reason you were sitting out here in the first place? Probably easier to get dark and cold and quiet in your room, don’t you think?” He cranes his neck to see Bobby’s window above the porch roof. Reggie’s only been in there a handful of times, but if Bobby gets these headaches often, the blackout curtains on Bobby’s bedroom window suddenly make a lot more sense.

(Though, Reggie can’t help but wonder, if Bobby gets these headaches often, how has Reggie never noticed before?)

“Dizzy,” Bobby mumbles, and Reggie cuts his gaze sharply back to him. It takes a second to register that Bobby’s answering Reggie’s question and not necessarily describing how he feels now. “Couldn’t… stairs.” A pause thick enough for Reggie to get the sense there’s more, and then Bobby admits, his voice smaller than Reggie’s ever heard it, “Tried to ignore it too long. Been kinda coming on all day, but I didn’t wanna ruin rehearsal.”

Reggie’s heart gives a pang of sympathy. He makes a mental note to give Bobby a talk later, when he’s feeling better, about hiding stuff like this—and then maybe he’ll give Luke and Alex (and himself) a talk about whatever they did to make Bobby feel like he has to.

But all that can wait. For now, his only priority is getting Bobby settled in bed with all the lights off and an icepack on his head. “Okay, Bobby, I’m gonna get you inside so you can rest, okay? But can I try something first?”

Bobby stiffens. “Try what?”

Reggie’s heart’s beating a little too fast, though he’s not sure why. He swallows, tries to ignore the fact that he’s definitely blushing, and says, “Can I hold your hand?”

Bobby’s silent and still for so long that Reggie starts to worry he’s overstepped. But before he can figure out how to backtrack, Bobby grumbles something unintelligible into his lap and flops a hand in Reggie’s face. Reggie grabs it, hoping his own hands aren’t too sweaty, and expertly applies pressure to the point between the base of Bobby’s thumb and index finger.

The effect is almost instantaneous: Bobby shudders, and his muscles relax like a ripple going through him, and he slowly sits up and raises his head. Reggie can’t really read his expression with the sunglasses still on, but what he can see of Bobby’s face looks less pinched, less pained, and he’s gotten some of the color back in his cheeks.

He stares at Reggie, mouth hanging open, and breathes, “Whoa.”

Reggie blushes, self-conscious, but doesn’t stop gently massaging Bobby’s hand. “Better?”

Bobby nods. “How—how did you know how to do that?”

Reggie manages a sheepish smile. “My mom gets migraines. And, well, hangovers. So I’ve kinda picked up some tricks. Coffee really helps her, too, if you can stomach it.”

Bobby’s still staring at him, and Reggie swallows, his stomach giving a weird little flip that’s not exactly unpleasant. Finally, Bobby looks away and gingerly pulls his hand out of Reggie’s to rub at his temples. “Well, thanks, Reg, that really helped. I’m gonna go inside before it gets worse again. Can you, uh—”

“Yeah, yeah, no, I’ll—tell the guys… something.”

Bobby gives him a shy, grateful smile, and then slowly pushes himself to his feet.

When the front door closes behind Bobby, Reggie lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He feels jittery and out of breath, like he just drank seven sodas or ran a marathon or something. His hands are tingly where they’d touched Bobby’s, and he can’t get the image of that last little smile out of his head.

Bobby doesn’t smile very often, and when he does, it’s not like that.

(And if it is, it’s not at Reggie.)

Reggie mutters a curse and copies Bobby’s earlier position, his face hidden in his hands. Because he thinks he might like Bobby.

But Bobby is Luke’s.

sorry bestie

Send me a pairing and a prompt to celebrate my 500th follower!

--

Taglist: @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @nickalicious @reggiescrookedteeth @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @spidergirl0325 @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @cest-la-vie-de-la-lee @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @moreflowersthanweeds @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas 

[straightlikewetspaghetti]

Demons of the Past

Pairings: Poppy x MC (Bea Hughes)

Warnings: Mature language

Word count: 3074

Ch.1 Stranger Danger

Poppy Min Sinclair had to arch her slender neck to see her reflection from over the shoulder of Chloe, who had been testing her new artistic vision on her for a good few minutes. For some time now, Poppy had become a canvas for Chloe's magical hands as she tried her luck at running a beauty salon, along with Veronica, who was doing her best advertising.

"What do you think V?"

Veronica tore her gaze away from her phone and looked towards Poppy wrinkling her nose slightly. She usually did that when she was seriously considering something. "As far as I'm concerned she could use some plastic surgery."

"Asshole," Poppy laughed hurling a pillow at her friend, which missed and knocked over a decorative vase standing nearby. Three girls looked in that direction and soon the three of them burst out laughing loudly, curling up on the floor.

"Enough, enough!", Chloe began to shout when she noticed that Poppy wanted to wipe her eyes from crying, and she caught her hands, looking at her with a chastising gaze. She wouldn't let her hard work be destroyed so easily. Poppy rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face remained constant as she silently teased the shorter girl along with Veronica. "Why am I hanging out with you guys..."

"You love us," whined Veronica hugging a reddened Chloe with one arm, who lowered her gaze quickly to her hands nervously playing with the hem of her skirt.

Poppy made the sound of displeasure she made whenever the two girls started acting too cute. She was glad for their happiness, but deep down she felt an incredible jealousy, because she herself would like to share her life with someone too.

The couple sort of understood the blonde, pulled away from each other and looked at her docilely.

"Don't worry Poppy, I'm sure you'll meet someone at the party tonight. From what I heard Zoey invited some cutie from the old days...", Chloe smiled as she tried to convey positive energy with her words. "Besides, you're wearing my makeup, no one will be able to resist you!"

"Cutie you say..."

Ch.2 Party Fever

She was the most beautiful girl in the whole room.

No.

She was the most beautiful girl in the entire world.

Bea watched from a dark corner of the room as Poppy twirled effortlessly to the beat of the music, attracting the stares of drooling people with her movements. Her tiny skirt didn't leave much to the imagination either, but that was Poppy Min Sinclair's style; if she wasn't the main attraction, what was the point of her presence?

"You're acting like a creep," she was snapped out of her observation by Zoey who magically appeared next to her, making her almost gasp.

"You should have some kind of bell around your neck, Wade," Bea rolled her eyes at her friend's laughter.

"Wow, she has nice ass... Ets, yeah, nice assets," Zoey smiled innocently seeing her friend's murderous gaze. "You'd better come over to her eventually,"

Her gaze went back to the dancing blonde. "It's been five years, what should I say to her?"

"Maybe something like; Heya Pops I already have money, maybe you want to come with me for a little Macarena?", the black-haired squirmed as Bea's fist landed right in her stomach, almost knocking the air out of her lungs. The slight pain she felt didn't stop her from laughing at the tomato-like look that appeared on her friend's face. "Come on babe, she's at the bar now, this is your opportunity."

Bea nodded and straightened up, ready to attack. "You finally said something with sense."

Ch.3 Deja-vu

"One Old Fashioned and Sex On The Beach."

Poppy turned behind her with a ready biting remark, but her voice froze in her throat when she saw the person standing behind her. And it was none other than Bea Hughes herself, her first drink, crush, kiss, sex, love, but also her first heartbreak. She stood before her as casually as if those five years of separation between them had never existed. Her short brown hair, now shoulder-length, was whiter than snow itself. Her childlike facial features had sharpened and she could see tiny wrinkles appearing from the overworked late nights. Her style had also changed, from boyishly sporty and bad girl to formal and important. She looked like a millionaire ripped straight from the cover of Forbes. She no longer resembled the person she once was.

"You remembered what I drink," the blonde choked out as the first wave of shock left her and the lump in her throat loosened. Talking to her seemed so unreal that she felt like she had lost consciousness and was now dreaming.

Bea smiled in response, though it was more of a tired smile than the beaming howl with which she had greeted Poppy daily in their school years. "There are some things that are hard to forget Pops," the white-haired girl shrugged her shoulders sheepishly as she slid the hundred across the counter towards the bartender, who with renewed vigor reached over and ran to prepare the drinks, nearly tipping over his own feet.

"Feeling generous tonight?", Poppy chuckled as she watched Bea tuck a rather thick bundle of bills into her pocket. In their teenage years, the white-haired girl had barely been able to make ends meet, but Poppy had always admired her ability to live from day to day and enjoy herself, even when an eviction order from her home hung over her head.

Bea laughed a throaty laugh that sounded almost like a cough. She nodded and tilted her head to one side, the way she did every time she got into a thoughtful mood. "There's nothing wrong with supporting the littles." Poppy's insides tightened to ask where she'd gotten all that money, but by some miracle her strong will managed to curb the urge and nip it in the bud. That would be tactless, and lack of tact is a trait that should not be associated with Min Sinclair.

"You can ask me anything you want," Bea looked her straight in the eye, making Poppy stop seeing anyone else but her. It was as if she had cast a spell on her and moved them far away, enclosing them in a safe bubble illusion. Even the music became just a distant rumble as the white-haired woman looked at her that way. The same way she had looked at her five years ago.

"I don't understand," the blonde cursed herself when she heard her own words, which sounded more idiotic than some of Chloe's wisdom. Bea seemed unmoved, by her clumsy attempt at pretending, in fact, a cocky grin appeared on her lips that she, oh so much, felt like tearing off now.

" Don't play games Poppy, we're not kids anymore," Bea reached for the drinks that had finally been brought in and handed one to Poppy, completely casually, fingertips brushing against the skin of her palm. "Drink up, it'll help you relax, and I know you have a lot of questions."

The blonde lowered her gaze to the drink and took a moment to look at the colors that danced on the surface of her liquor. How was Bea able to read her like an open book after all these years. Everyone said she had changed, but could it be that the change wasn't so great after all? And why was she always questioning herself in her company?

She was pulled out of her reverie by Bea, who unnoticeably slipped her finger under her chin and lifted her face so that they were looking at each other again. This time, however, she was closer, much, much closer. Poppy could without much difficulty smell the expensive perfume that didn't match the Bea of her memories, but did match the woman who sat before her. Just as in years past, Bea's thumb involuntarily stroked her cheek.

For a brief moment, the blonde let her selfish thoughts consume her and savor the touch, but it didn't last as long as she wanted it to. "N-no," she whispered and using all of her strong willpower she moved a safe distance away from the white-haired woman, who didn't object to her reaction. "I can't do it like this," she said as she walked away, escaping as quickly as possible from this cursed place, from this cursed past.

Ch.4 When It Rains, It Pours

When she left the building, it was already dark and chilly outside, and a light rain was drizzling from the heavy clouds hanging in the sky. At this point, however, she didn't care about ruining her expensive and designer clothes and makeup that Chloe had sat on for dozens of minutes. She needed to get some fresh air, cool down, and let her thoughts flow.

Why had she come back just now? Now that Poppy had put her life back together, without her and without thoughts of her.

"Sinclair!"

"You've got to be kidding me," she snorted under her breath hearing Bea's loud voice behind her, who as usual wasn't giving up. At least that hadn't changed. "What do you want Farmsville?"

Bea squirmed at that old nickname, but quickly imposed a stoic expression on her face and shoved her hands into her pockets. Even in this gentle rain and illuminated only by the slightly penetrating moonlight, she continued to look like a goddess, which annoyed Poppy immensely.

"You ran out so suddenly, I thought something happened and I thought..."

"Oooh now you thought?" snapped the blonde, who nervously shifted from foot to foot, almost ready to throw herself at the white-haired woman's throat. Years of pent up rage bubbled through her veins, making her skin almost burn with living fire. "Forgive my surprise, but I would never judge Bea Hughes for her ability to think!"

The white-haired woman watched her in silent contemplation, answering nothing. Her silence irritated the blonde a hundred times more than anything she could say. The atmosphere between them was becoming strained to the limit and all it took was one wrong move, one misspoken word, and the catastrophe was certain. The rain intensifying around them wasn't helping either.

"I don't understand what happened. We were talking calmly like we used to, and suddenly you run out and do one of your tantrums..."

"Ha! Like we used to...," she interrupted her again in mid-sentence, mimicking her and almost bursting into maniacal laughter, but her mood had nothing to do with amusement. "I guess you've already forgotten that you left me for five whole years and now you're back and you expect us to talk like old friends?", her voice wavered between anger and tears. "Someone paid you to come back here? That's where you got the money from, right? You were hired to get revenge on me..."

"What," the astonishment in Bea's voice was almost palpable as she stared at the blonde shaking with anger with her eyes wide open. It was Poppy's nature to explode and make arguments for any reason, but what she was saying now sounded irrational, even for her. "I'm the CEO of my uncle's company, that's where I get my money from," she corrected.

"What," this time it was Poppy's turn to be surprised and her face even softened. "What do you mean, what about your dreams of becoming a music star?"

Bea scratched the back of her neck nervously and lifted her face up, letting the raindrops wash her face of any negativity that had accumulated. When she felt ready enough not to explode, she looked back at the blonde and sighed, her face looking more tired than before. "Those were childhood daydreams. A music career would never make me the kind of money an accounting firm would."

"Childish daydreams? You spent your first earned money on a guitar and an amplifier, how can you call that childish daydreams...", the concern in Poppy's voice was sincere, probably one of the more sincere feelings she had felt in recent times.

"I needed real options and real money," Bea replied dryly, ignoring any emotion from the blonde, who was looking at her with a worried expression on her face.

"What for? Why did you need the money?" she asked, not yet knowing that she would light the fuse from the bomb with that question.

"What for? Is that really what you're asking?", Bea's so far calm expression bent into unnatural anger, her eyes misting over from the emotions gripping her. "And isn't that what you wanted? A girl who can fulfill your every whim, with a stable life, a job and a mountain of money?", a realization and simultaneous remorse appeared on Poppy's face, but it did not satisfy Bea. "Yes Poppy, I heard your conversation with Veronica the other night when you thought I was sleeping."

Poppy blinked several times, unable to formulate a response. She replayed that conversation in her mind, all the words she'd said then that she hadn't really meant, but under the onslaught of people around her, her perception was distorted. "It's not like that..."

Bea raised a hand to silence any explanation from the blonde. She didn't want to hear it. "No Pops" she shook her head, her hair wet from the downpour sticking to her face, masking any tears falling. "It at least gave me the motivation to change my life, for that I will be grateful."

Ch.5 Irreplaceable

"You understand that she still had the nerve to be mad at me? Like it's my fault for changing for her," Bea had been lamenting to Zoey for about an hour, who, like any patient friend, silently let her rant.

"And she's telling me that she changed for me... After all, I didn't ask her to!", Poppy nervously walked around the living room almost already trampling a path in the tiles. A worried Veronica and Chloe watched her in silence, letting her get all the negative emotions out.

"I know she didn't ask me to do this, but I wanted to finally be worthy of her, you know? I wanted to give her the future she deserved, and she wouldn't have it with me if I continued to follow my dreams," the white-haired girl slumped helplessly on the couch next to her friend, dipping her face into her hands. "After all, to a gorgeous girl like Poppy, it wouldn't be enough that I...”

"After all, she knew full well that she suited me the way she was, why did she take away the one person I..."

"Love."

"I wish I could be mad at her...", Bea muttered lifting her face and looking straight at Zoey who seemed to be in deep thought.

"But I can't," groaned Poppy leaning against Veronica's shoulder, who reflexively began to stroke the blonde's back, which slowly began to twitch from her silent crying. Chloe moved to the other side and snuggled into Poppy to give her her full support, knowing that no words could heal these wounds.

Zoey nodded and patted the white-haired girl's shoulder giving her silent support. Bea relaxed from her friend's touch. "Haven't you thought maybe it's about time..."

"To move on and find someone new? It's been five years," Veronica felt Poppy's whole body tense up and prepared for a burst of anger, from the blonde, but the blonde only raised her head and furrowed her eyebrows."

"No. She's irreplaceable."

Ch.6 Where Something Ends, Something Begins

It had been a week since the memorable meeting.

Since then, Poppy hadn't seen or heard from Bea who had sunk like a stone into water. Such disappearing without a word wasn't her style, but the blonde wasn't sure what her style was anymore. The days she lived as she always did, and the nights she sat curled up on the couch with a glass of wine and reminisced about old times while talking to herself.

"Thank you for coming Poppy."

Poppy slipped her sunglasses off her nose and looked over at Zoey who was warming her hands with a mug of hot coffee. "Believe it, I was surprised myself that I agreed," she lied. She agreed without hesitation because she knew it was about Bea, and inside she was dying to know what was happening to her.

Zoey giggled at the blonde's nudge and shook her head. Although her words were biting, there wasn't an ounce of incivility in them. Such a habit between them. "You can probably guess why I met with you."

"Is it about Bea?", Poppy tried to sound as formal as possible and not show that she was thinking about it day in and day out, almost unable to focus on anything else. How pathetic it would be if someone found out she couldn't control her feelings.

The black-haired woman sighed grimly and nodded her head. For a moment she began to search through her backpack and pulled out a strange little bundle. Poppy tilted her head and looked at the colorful paper that only her Bea could choose. She smiled at the surge of positive memories.

"The day she left, she told me to give this to her. I honestly thought about it for a long time, against all odds I wouldn't want you to suffer any more than you already have," Zoey's gaze drifted somewhere behind Poppy's back as she couldn't stand the pain in the blonde's eyes that grew with every word she said. "But I think this will help both you and her close a chapter in your life" Zoey pulled money out of her pocket and placed it next to the empty cup. Without a word, she placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder, who stared at the package as if mesmerized. She squeezed it tightly and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

With trembling hands, she reached for the bundle and prepared to open it. Somewhere deep inside she knew exactly what she would find, but she hoped that it was only an illusion and that it would not really contain what she had in mind. Unfortunately, hope is the mother of fools and when she opened the package, a velvet box appeared before her eyes.

She opened it with tears in her eyes.

"Maybe in another life and another time we would have had a chance, but I will love you always."

[oldfritz]

I'm genuinely curious and don't want to start something! Just wanted to ask what you make of the 'Old Fritz might've been asexual' take, I don't know much about him and I feel you're one of the best people to ask esp since you lean towards 'he was probably queer in some way' too

Hey there! So, first off, don’t ever worry about me interpreting you asking me a question as starting something. As much as I love making dumb jokes about the guy, I love nothing more than doing this kind of stuff and defending or explaining my points. There’s two degrees I want to get over the next decade: first my JD and then my MA in Prussian history. I live for this stuff! Always have! Second off, I’m very sorry for not getting to this sooner. Things have been incredibly stressful for me for a variety of different reasons which have made answering your question, until now, rather difficult. Putting this under a cut because, holy shit, it got long!

My personal reasoning for why I think he’s bi (which, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m assuming is what you meant instead of ace and could be a different post entirely since some historians have tried to argue that) stems more to do with some of my lingering questions about the nature of his relationships with certain woman, rather than that of his relationships with men. To me and my modern, queer eye, Fritz’s relationships with men like Hans Hermann von Katte, Francisco Algarotti, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, and (much to my personal vexation) one Monsieur Voltaire are either outright homosexual/homoerotic in nature or very, very easily lend themselves to that interpretation rather than strictly romantic friendships (which Wikipedia does a fairly good overview of and, if you’re coming to me from AmRev perspective, uses Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship as a familiar example). While I’m avoiding those relationships in this ask, I’d be more than happy to elaborate upon one/all of them in a different one. 

Before I go into the big pauses that Fritz’s relationships with Madame von Wreech and Countess Orzelska give me, I want to deny the use of Fritz’s wife as an example of Fritz’s attraction to woman. While this, admittedly, may sound odd, we have ample evidence of how turned off and repulsed Fritz found Elisabeth Christine. Before he had even met her, Fritz was complaining about how she was ‘not very pretty, speaks but little, and acts like a blockhead’ (Asprey, 87) and, later, admitted to Grumbkow his plan to ‘keep my word,...get married, but afterwards it will be a case of that is that, and goodbye, Madame, and fare thee well’ (Jones, 52). For Christ’s sake, the man pitied her knowing how his treatment would leave her as ‘one more unhappy princess in the world’! Which is little consolation when you remember he also referred to her with such romantic terms as ‘this unpleasant creature,’ ‘the abominable object of my desires,’ ‘the person,’ and claimed to have preferred to marry ‘the biggest whore in Berlin’ (Asprey, 87). And while we (fortunately? unfortunately?) know quite a bit about their sex life, Fritz largely regarded it as just another duty - to quote him, ‘I will only have the duty to fuck’ (Ibid, 87). And while Seckendorf heard - first, presumably from Count von der Schulenburg and, later on, Count Friedrich von Wartensleben, a close and intimate friend of the then-crown prince - that Fritz would ‘fuck and refuck’ Elisabeth Christine and that said act occurred in the afternoon, it still was out of a sense of obligation (Bely, 481-2). When reminded that if he wanted more money for frivolities, he’d need to produce an heir, Fritz bemoaned that he ‘cannot sleep with my wife out of desire, and when I do sleep with her, I do it out of duty rather than inclination’ (Clark, 50). All this in accumulation, as well as the myriad of other quotes and incidents I’ve left out, makes one wonder why his relationship with Elisabeth Christine is sometimes used by historians to prove any sort of heterosexual impulse in the man when she’s the woman with the weakest supports for that argument.

That being said, now we get to the women with a more muddled places in his romantic escapades, if you will. What exactly happened between Orzelska and Fritz during his trip with his father to Dresden in 1728? The main source for everything that occurred during this trip is Wilhelmina, who didn’t attend and without anything about this specific incident coming from Fritz or Friedrich Wilhelm I, make it rather hard to use as concrete, irrefutable proof. Now, if her recollections were contemporaneous - like coming from a diary or journal she kept at the time - that would be one thing. But it comes from her memoirs which, while a delightful read 10/10 recommend, are written decades after this trip took place and, memory being a finicky thing, can’t be taken to the bank. All those disclaimers, here’s the story as told by her:

‘One evening...,the King of Poland [note: Augustus II] insensibly led the King of Prussia to a very richly decorated room...The King of Prussia, delighted with what he saw, stopped to contemplate all its beauties, when [all of] a sudden a tapestry was rolled up, which procured him a very novel sight. It was a lovely female in a state of nudity [note: Countess Orzelska, the Polish king’s daughter], carelessly reclined on a couch. Her beauty excelled that of the finest pictures of Venus and the Graces; her body seemed of ivory, whiter than snow, and better shaped than that of the Venus de Medicis at Florence.

...Scarcely had the King cast his eyes on the fair one, than he turned about with indignation; and seeing my brother behind him, he rudely pushed him out of the room, and left it immediately after in a violent irritation against the trickery they had attempted to practice on him. ...In spite of the King’s vigilance, [Frederick] had had time to contemplate the Venus of the closet, who did not cause him so much horror as she had done to his father. (Wilhelmina’s Memoirs, vol. 1, 107-6)

Wilhelmina then goes on to claim Fritz had fallen ‘passionately in love’ with Orzelska and that the illness Fritz experienced upon returning home was simply being lovesick. Pinning the accuracy of this story is incredibly difficult because, again, we have only one source relayed decades after the fact and from two volumes of memoirs known to have inaccuracies. While I, personally, would love if he had had a tryst with Orzelska (who is such a badass in her own right and deserves more recognition than as a footnote in this guy’s story), there’s no one way to say with more than 30% confidence. I am inclined to believe something along these lines happened because if someone told me a story like this, lord knows I wouldn’t forget it for the rest of my life. And, with Wilhelmina being so close with her brother, it lends a bit more credence but as to the actual emotional or physical response Fritz had to it, well, without my time machine, I can’t and don’t want to say.

With Madame Eleonore-Louise von Wreech, things are a little more concrete. For starters, Fritz actually talked about her! In written correspondence that survived! We even have seven letters between the two of them that survived, which is a bigger win! As Blanning says, they’re ‘ardent but light in tone, ironic, almost flippant, and highly stylized’ (Blanning, 58). Their relationship was known to those close with Fritz at the time that Schulenberg felt compelled to visit and warn the crown prince against devoting himself to women because ‘the slight pleasures gained cause a million displeasures.’  Fritz’s response? To tell the poor guy that he may have ‘the gift of continence, but I assure you that I do not’ (Asprey, 83-4). Firtz even went so far as to send a letter to her mother, waxing poetic about Louise’s ‘beauty, her majestic air, her bearing, and her entire department.’ It’s worth noting that Louise eventually broke off the affair due to being bored by how he ‘loved [her] too much and often annoyed [her] with his clumsy love’ (Ibid, 84). Contemporaries, including Friedrich Wilhelm, believed Fritz had impregnated her with a daughter who her ‘cuckolded husband would refuse to recognize’ (Blanning, 58). Blanning is the only source I’ve seen dispute this due to this news coming from Seckendorf, who didn’t reveal how he came about this information; that Fritz and Madame von Wreech’s correspondence doesn’t indicate a physical relationship; and on the fact that she was not pregnant. I haven’t been able to find the birth dates or any sort of records for Louise’s two daughters to figure out where their conception could’ve been in the timeline and if it matches with the likely dates for the affair, but I also don’t have the resources Cambridge would afford Blanning. Either way, while the physical nature of the affair is in dispute, the emotional aspect certainly was there. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that she’s the woman Fritz was likely referring to in the 16 August 1737 letter to Voltaire where he claimed she had taught him how to love (and also inspired him to write poetry, which we shouldn’t be thankful for). Specifically, all these years later, he stated how ‘this little miracle of nature possessed every possible charm, together with good taste and delicacy. She sought to transfer these qualities to me. I succeeded well in love but poorly in poetry. Since that time I have very often been in love and have always been a poet’ (Fritz’s Oeuvres, vol. 21, 96).

All this to say, there’s a bit too much evidence of some degree of opposite-gender attraction in Fritz to completely write off the possibility that he could’ve been bisexual. While it’s undeniable he held a preference for men and that’s whose company he typically enjoyed, I still do find it interesting the two exceptions (one potential and the other with a fair degree of certainty) to this. And, while I would never want his attraction to men be minimized in favor of that to women, it still remains important to note to get the most comprehensive picture of the man.

[bruh--wtf]

A Message

Thomas x Reader

First part of The Scorch Trials

Summary: The reader, Thomas, and the remaining Gladers are thrown into the outside world, and quickly have to figure out what life is like outside of the Maze. Thomas, with his memories returning, doesn't know what he should and what he shouldn't tell the reader.

Part 9

Main Masterlist

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The Maze Runner Masterlist

Thomas fell asleep, but you stayed awake. Watching the night fall over the sandy world. You never imagined the world outside the maze would look like this.

You could never really imagine a world outside the maze. You couldn't picture it. You tried, but you couldn't. You always assumed the land would look somewhat like the glade. But never this.

When the helicopter lands, Thomas was still asleep, and you guessed you dozed off as well because you woke up to Minho yelling and shaking you.

You wake up at the same time as Thomas. You just out of the helicopter but Thomas turns back and grabs something. He runs back towards you and Minho.

You look up and see a large building with lights. Guns were going off and you were being pulled. Some wake up. Once you're in the building you see the doors close. You look around the large room. It was almost blinding. It was terrifying.

You all get taken into a room, and eventually you all sit down. A man who looked to be in his late forties maybe his early fifties enters the room. You all stand up, walking over to him.

"Sorry about all the fuss. We had ourselves a bit of a swarm," he says. You didn't like him. You didn't know why, you just didn't like him.

"Who are you?" You ask. He looks at you, and just studies you for a minute. To be honest it made you uncomfortable.

"I'm the reason that you're all still alive. It's my intention to keep you that way. Now, come with me. We'll get you kids squared away," he says, taking a step back and gesturing towards the hallway.

"That's not a name, and if it is I feel bad for you," you say. You feel Newt poke your back, but the man just smiles amusedly.

"You didn't ask for a name," the man says. You shrug.

"It was implied, but okay. What's your name?" You ask more clearly. The man smirks a little. It made you uneasy.

"You can call me Mr. Janson," he say, and starts walking down the hall. You stood there for a second.

"Okay. Looks like we're following him," you say, walking out. The others follow you, catching up to Janson easily.

While following him, he starts talking. "I run this place. It's a sanctuary. Safe from the horrors of the outside world. You all should think of it as a way station. Kind of home between homes," he says.

"You mean you're taking us home?" Thomas asks. He looks back at Thomas.

"A home of sorts. Sadly, there probably isn't much left of wherever you came from," he says. "But we have a place for you. A refuge. Outside the Scorch. Where WCKD will never find you again. How does that sound?" Like bribery. He sounded like he was offering candy to a toddler. But you didn't say anything. Seeing the smiles on a few of your friends faces. Then you looked at Thomas. The two of you matching pace a little infront of the others.

"Why're you helping us?" Minho asks. Oh, well, guess they all aren't happy.

"Let's just say the world out there is in a very odd situation. And we're all hanging on by a very thin thread. The fact that you kids can survive the virus gives you the chance to help with humanity's continued survival. Unfortunately, it also makes you a target. I'm sure you've noticed that bit." You roll your eyes, continuing to follow him.

"Beyond this door, is the beginning of your new lives," he says. You watch him swipe a key card and furrow your brows. A bright hallway is revealed. "First thing's first. Lets do something about that smell."

Now, you'd be lying if you didn't smile a little at that. But you were also suspicious.

The shower was probably the best feeling in the world. You hadn't showered in... a very long time. Truth be told, you didn't know how long. You knew you were all gross, but you all tried your best to clean off the best you could in the Glade. It didn't help that you didn't even have a river. Or soap. You just had what WCKD gave you. And now that you were seeing all of this, that wasn't much.

You all start getting observed by doctors. You hear one of the doctors explain the shot to Newt and look over as he puts the needle in his arm. Minho was on the treadmill. They'd given you the shot, and taken your blood.

Minho looked at you. He looked bored. You both knew that you could both run faster than the speed they had him at. Now, you were sitting near Thomas. You looked over at him, and opened your mouth to say something when someone stops infront of you.

"Why don't we show you to your room?" The woman asks with a small smile. You looked her up and down.

"My room?" You ask. She nods.

"Yes, I'm sure you missed a bed," she says. You raise an eyebrow.

"I don't know if you noticed, but I wouldn't exactly know what I'm missing," you say. She chuckles a little.

"Well, then lets show you," she says. You glance around. Both Minho and Thomas were looking at you.

"Am I being separated from them?" You ask. The woman nods.

"Yes, we assumed you'd be more comfortable not sharing a room with the boys," she says. You sit back in your chair, clearly showing her you had no intention of getting up.

"Sorry, but you assumed wrong. In fact, I'd feel a thousand times more comfortable with them," you say. She looks at you for a second then nods.

"Okay, we'll have that changed then. If you want to wait here, that's fine." You nod and she smiles at you. Then she smiles at the doctor with Thomas, and walks off. You watch her leave, looking over at Minho. He shrugged, still running.

"Good evening, Doctor Crawford," the man with Thomas says as a new woman walks by. You look. It was weird seeing so many females. The only girl you can remember is Teresa, and you had only known her aa few days. You were used to the guys.

"Good evening. How are the new arrivals holding up?" She asks.

"So far so good," he says. You notice her walk up to Teresa, closing a curtain. You look at Thomas.

"Thomas?" A man asks, stopping infront of him.

"Yeah."

"Come with me, please," the man says. Thomas glances at you before getting up and following the man. He looks back at you for a moment, then keeps walking.

You were brought to a cafeteria style room. You sat next to Newt. Minho sat on the other side of Newt, across from Winston.

Minho looks up and gets up. You watch him go, and see Thomas. He brings Thomas over, and he sits next to you. The two boys infront of you were telling their stories.

"They pulled us out the maze and brought us here," the boys says.

"What about the rest?" Newt asks. You look at Thomas who gives you a questioning look. You shrug slightly and give a small smile. "The other people left behind in the maze, what happened to them?" You look back over, hopeful for an answer you'll like. But the boy shrugs.

"I don't know. I guess WCKD still has them." You frown slightly. Newt looks at you and you nod, taking a breath.

"How long have you guys been here?" You ask.

"Not long. Just a day or two." He turns and looks at a lone boy with his hood up. "That boy over there has been here the longest. Almost a week."

"His maze was nothing but girls," the second boy says. You raise an eyebrow and Minho looks at him.

"Really?" Minho asks. The boy nods.

"Some guys have all the luck," the first boy says, glancing at you. You roll your eyes. Minho smiles and you reach around Newt to hit his shoulder. "What, none of these boys lucky enough?" He asks you. You look back at him.

"They know better," you say. The two boys exchange an amused look. You saw Minho and Newt chuckle besides you. You glanced at Thomas who was still watching you.

Then Janson walks back in.

"Ladies and gentlemen! You all know how this works. If you hear your names called, you join my colleagues in an orderly fashion. They will escort you to where your new lives will begin," Janson says with a smile. A few people clap and you look around. He starts listing off names. You wondered how no names were repeated. "Now, now, don't get discouraged. If I could take more I would. There is always tomorrow." Janson then walks off.

"Where are they going?" You ask. The first boy stared longingly at the retreating kids.

"Far from here," he says and turns back to your friends. "Lucky bastards."

"Some kind of farm. A safe place. They can only take a few of us at a time," the second boy says. Thomas looks over at the windows.

"What the hell," he mutters. You give him a confused look. He glances at you, tapping your arm as he stands up, going towards the doors. "Hey, Teresa! Teresa!" You all look at Thomas as the guards stop him. You notice that the boy in the hood had looked at Thomas. Seems like Thomas has a habit of gaining people's attention.

Thomas walks back over, and soon you were all escorted towards your room. You see rows of bunks and smiled slightly as Minho jumps up. You jump on the one across from him, leaning back a little. Damn, that woman was right you didn't know what you were missing.

Winston lays down on the bunk below Minho.

"I could get used to this," he says. You roll your eyes, but smile anyways.

"Yeah, it's not bad," Newt says. Then you hear the lock on the door and sit up. You hop down, going over to the door and trying to open it. Locked.

You look back at the guys, with furrowed brows. It felt a little to familiar standing there and you froze for a second. Your eyes widened as a picture flashed through your mind. All of you guys were younger, Alby and Gally, a much whiter room than this. You cleared your throat.

"What is it, Y/N?" Thomas asks, looking at you. You looked up at him and glamced around the room.

"Nothing, just more tired than I thought I guess," you say, hopping back up to your bed. Thomas looks at you for a second before turning back to Newt.

"What do you think those guys want with Teresa?" He asks. Newt gives him a pointed look.

"If there is one thing I know about that girl, any girl I know for that matter," Newt adds, glancing up at you and you raise an eyebrow, "is that they can take care of themselves." You nod in agreement.

"Damn straight," you say, falling back on your bed, laying down. You hear Newt and a couple of the other boys chuckling. Newt climbs up in the bed next to Minho. Thomas goes to the bed under yours. Frypan was under Newt's bed.

You would admit that the bed was comfortable, and it was nice to have a real pillow. But you were still uneasy. And it was hard to stay asleep that night.

[restapesta]

The Tomato Thief

Enjoy this little something I wrote based on a prompt here on Tumblr. Feedback is always appreciated.

Words: 4.3k

_________________

The first time Ian noticed his tomatoes half-gone, half-squashed from the small vegetable patch he had started working on when he and Mickey moved into the apartment complex, he chose to ignore it. Pretending as if the loss of his small, barely ripe cherry tomatoes was insignificant, he mentioned no word of it to anyone, making a conscious decision to simply start the planting process once again. So, in the past month, Ian, choosing not to get frustrated, but rather improve his skills, was trailing along the edge of a nervous breakdown, trying to get his little patch of land replenished. When he realized that the second time doing something he initially started as a hobby would be much more difficult than the first, he feared that what he intended to be relaxing would turn into aggravating. If it wasn't for the security business, he probably would've had a meltdown, very much hurt by the fact his poor tomatoes were gone, but somehow, he managed to power through it, luck being somewhat on his side, making the tomato-growing process faster than before. It was a long excruciating process, living with the secret that all of his previous hard work was now replaced by even harder work and determination, but the sight of his vegetable patch replenishing itself as if it were never ruined, along with the Westside growing even fonder to both him and Mickey, almost starting to feel like home, made it all sort-of worth it for Ian. His husband was happy, his home was beautiful, his business was expanding, and his tomatoes were finally turning a deeper shade of red, after being torn out the first time while they were mostly green. Ian was truly very much happy.

Until he woke up one Saturday morning, excited to start his weekend off by gardening, his way to relax from the crammed-up week he and Mickey had, both enjoying the little separate bubbles they created, together yet apart, Mickey with the pool he grew to love, and Ian with his veggies, working away in the Sun -- and found every single one of his tomatoes gone, neatly picked from their stems, as if done by a professional.

First, Ian had paled, his complexion turning impossibly whiter in the bask of the afternoon glow. Then, his left eye began twitching. Anger bubbled inside of his chest, and he finally understood his husband's urges to break chairs and signs, and throw tantrums -- Ian felt like murdering somebody. Wrapping his hands so tight around the neck of the person who took his tomatoes which weren't even ripe for taking yet, and squeezing until he saw the life leave their eyes. Scaring himself at the thought, he took a deep breath and then held it for a long period of time -- a questionable, dangerous, life-threatening period of time. He was sure that his neck and cheeks were even redder than his poor tomatoes were when he had last seen them. Exhaling quickly, he balled his hands into fists and made his way quickly to the vegetable patch to examine it better.

Crouching down, as if he were in a detective movie, he observed the soil, in case the culprit left footprints or accidentally dropped a valuable item Ian could use to identify them with. When he saw nothing helpful, but rather just his regular garden -- sans the lost reds -- he rolled over all of his options in his head. 

It could've been an animal the last time -- a squirrel or a bird, considering how a lot of the tomatoes were simply just squashed -- but now, the precision the tomatoes were picked with... there was no other possibility. It was one of the other tenants, somebody who deliberately wanted to either get revenge on Ian or simply to eat the vegetables Ian had worked so hard on for himself and his husband. It was ironic how he saw red.

Breathing deeply, composing himself more with each inhale and exhale -- a technique he had been forced to learn in court-mandated therapy -- the ginger made his way from the garden to the manager's office, strides quick. Melanie, the on-sight manager, was in the room, along with her poodle when Ian knocked on the door.

"Hi." She chirped in greeting. "How may I help you?"

Ian forced a smile. "I was wondering if you perhaps had cameras in the garden area? I think someone stole something I left there, by accident." He lied, not wanting the woman to think of him as even a bigger fag for caring about dumbass vegetable-fruits. Much to his dismay, she shook her head apologetically. 

"Sorry, no. Was it valuable?"

Yes, Ian thought sadly. "Nah. Probably just misplaced it. Thank you anyway."

She smiled again, "You're welcome. Say hi to your husband for me."

"I will." He waved goodbye and exited the office, closing the door behind him.

No cameras, no clues. He had no fucking idea how he could possibly catch the asshole who had the nerves to fuck with him. Suddenly, he understood what he needed to do. 

Mickey was lounging by the pool, sunglasses on, looking hot as fuck, enjoying the day when Ian found him. Stepping in front of the chair Mickey was sitting on, Ian blocked the beams of light which were hitting Mickey's body, slowly giving him a nice tan. Mickey begrudgingly opened his eyes to stare at Ian, pushing his sunglasses down slightly, as if wanting to give Ian a better look of his 'why the fuck are you blocking the Sun' expression. 

"What?" He finally asked, pushing his RayBans back up.

"Baby, I need your help killing someone."

Mickey's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, assessing Ian's face for any sign of humor. When he found none, he blew out an exasperated sigh. "Why?"

"Someone stole my fucking tomatoes."

Ian could see Mickey's eyes close again behind the black glass. "Who?"

"I have no fucking idea. If I did, they'd already be dead. This is the second time, Mick!" He shook his head in disbelief. "First time, I let it slide. Thought it was a bird or some shit. So, I did everything again this past month, made sure everything was better than before, had a near fucking episode over the stress that shit caused me, and now, they get fucking stolen, again!" He was breathing raggedly now, even angrier than before. His shrink's anger controlling methods only worked for a short period of time, he guessed. "We need to kill them."

Ian sat himself down on the chair next to Mickey's, slouching back in defeat. His poor tomatoes. He felt his fingers intertwine with soft, warm ones, Mickey's thumb rubbing soothing circles over Ian's. "We can't kill them," Mickey started. Ian was about to respond how he knew that, how it still made him really fucking angry, but Mickey continued, softly, "without knowing who they are. Once we know who they are, we can slip rat poison into the tomatoes, and have 'em dead in a heartbeat. Can't even pin it on us, 'cause then they'd have to admit they stole it."

Ian's eyes widened slightly, amazed and terrified by his partner at the same time. "I forgot you were a murderer here for a second."

Mickey smirked at Ian's growing smile. "Parole for attempted murder, Red. Need I remind you? Did you forget how much that turned you on?" He was now inching closer to his husband, chin jutting out, seeking out a kiss. Ian complied, even in his angriest moments still horny for his worse half, moving his lips against Mickey's slowly and teasingly. 

"We can't kill them." Ian voiced out after they broke apart, now much calmer.

Mickey snorted, settling back in his chair. "No shit."

"We can find out who the fuck it is, though."

"How the fuck you gonna do that? All your tomatoes are gone, right? 'S not like you can just make new ones appear."

Ian thought about it for a second, "Who says I can't? I have my ways."

Mickey nodded mockingly. "Sure, tough guy. Is this the moment I find out I've been married to a wizard?"

"Store-bought tomatoes, Mickey." Ian deadpanned.

"Oh."

"We plant those, and then go on a stakeout." He was already devising a master plan in his head. How they would buy the tomatoes at WholeFoods -- get the expensive ones so the bait was even more tempting, make it look as if Ian grew them himself (even though that was impossible by the rules of time -- but the person had to be stupid enough to steal from a Gallagher after all, so it had to work), and then, wait tonight in the garden, considering how his tomatoes couldn't have been stolen at any other time of day, and try to catch the thief. It was a good fucking plan.

"Why do you keep saying we?"

The voice interrupted his daydream. Confused, Ian looked at Mickey. "You're not gonna help me?"

"Not my problem, man. They're your tomatoes. I'm only here for the murder part, but you backed out of that, so... good luck."

Ian was about to argue, but he thought better of it. Maybe it would be easier to do this alone anyway. Leaning forward, he pressed one last chaste kiss on Mickey's lips, then swiftly got up. "Okay, then. Text me if you need anything. I'm going out."

"Where are you going?" Mickey straightened up for the first time since Ian got there. Ian felt a smile form on his face. His husband was very easy to read.

"Tomatoes, Mick. But, um, not your problem, right?" His voice was teasing and he knew his eyes were glinting with an unspoken challenge. "Don't know if I'll be home tonight. The stakeout might last a while. Guess I'll see you tomorrow. Keep the bed warm for me, would ya'?"

He turned to leave, but Mickey's hurried voice stopped him. "Hey, wait -- hold on a minute."

"Hmm?" So, so easy to read.

Scoffing, Mickey got up. "Let me get changed first. Then, we'll go catch the fucking tomato thief."

The smile Ian gave him was blinding.

----

"Tell me the plan again?"

Mickey was currently observing the expensive as fuck organic fruit in the WholeFoods store, gawking at the prices, but also simultaneously observing his husband as he picked through the best, reddest tomatoes he could find. Between the bitching and the sadness, Ian was all over the place -- it was hard for Mickey to understand why Ian was going so crazy over stolen tomatoes, but the thought of having Ian spend the day doing God-knows what kind of legal and illegal shit made him almost break out in hives. He would rather come along to control the hot mess than "warm the bed" as Ian had so casually put it. Fuck if he was gonna keep anything warm but Ian's dick in his ass.

Ian ignored Mickey's question and shoved a tomato at his face. "Do these look good enough? I want them to look natural, but also really good. What do you think?"

Mickey gave Ian an incredulous look, "Um... those look great... man, just pick whatever the fuck you want. This guy probably isn't very picky if he stole a ripe tomato."

Ian rolled his eyes. "It was a high quality tomato, Mickey." As an afterthought, he added, "Also, it could be a she."

"Maybe it's that fag with the big muscles? Maybe he has a thing for your tomatoes?" Mickey teased, only slightly bothered by the crush the blond guy in apartment 243 had on his tall redhead. It wasn't hard to glance over the sultry looks he gave Ian, or the flirtatious tone. Mickey liked giving Ian endless shit for it, just because of how defensive and uncomfortable Ian got when it was mentioned. It was pretty funny.

"Ugh, God Mickey. Seriously?"

"What? Am I wrong?"

Ian rolled his eyes so hard, Mickey was afraid he'd be shocked by the emptiness he found back there in a moment. Instead, Ian simply grimaced. "That guy really needs to back off. I literally couldn't have flashed the ring in his face more bluntly."

Mickey, using Ian being distracted by the guy, tied the bag Ian had been filling with tomatoes, discreetly moving them away from the spot they'd been standing in the past hour and a half, and towards the cash register.

"If he continues with that shit, I'll just start making out with you in front of him. Should get the point across."

Mickey only hummed in acknowledgment, content with the plan. He hated PDA but Ian made it so natural at times, there was no way he could say no to it.

"Wait, how did we end up here?" Ian glanced around him, only now noticing they were standing in line for the check-out. Mickey shook his head at his husband, who he had to admit was a himbo through and through. "Well, at least we got the tomatoes. The rest is easy."

"What is the plan, anyway?" Mickey repeated the question from before. Now, Ian didn't ignore him. He smirked at Mickey and told him not to worry about it.

"Not to --?" Mickey stuttered. "Ian, your ideas are not top-notch ideas. If I'm gonna try and catch a vegetable thief with you -- which may be the faggest thing I've ever said -- then I need to know the plan."

"Okay, fine." Ian huffed out a breath. "In short, we put these as bait, lure the asshole in, and wait to catch them in the act."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"...that's it?"

"What do you mean?" Ian smiled at the cashier as he took out a ten dollar bill from his pocket, paying for the overpriced vegetables -- or was it fruit? Mickey didn't really give a fuck.

"What do I mean? I mean, this may be the dumbest pan I've ever heard. I mean, sure, the tomatoes are good, but what, you just wanna have a stakeout the entire night? You do know the guy probably won't steal them straight away? We need to give it some time. Work out the suspect list, make sure we know who we're looking for."

Making it out onto the streets of Westside, Mickey was pleasantly greeted by the spring air -- he wouldn't admit it yet, but the Westside was something he was adapting to quite quickly. What used to make him uncomfortable when they first signed the lease changed completely in the past couple of months they'd been living here. It wasn't easy, but as the furniture rolled in, and as the apartment started feeling more like home, the whole "middle-class" life sort of followed. Both Mickey and Ian were still major fucking Southside trash. But now, they were Southside trash that lived in a pretty nice place that didn't have too many murders and attacks per day. That way, when they did happen, it felt nostalgic for Mickey. More special.

"I keep forgetting who you are. Takes a thief to catch a thief, I guess."

"I love how high of an opinion you have of me, Gallagher." Mickey replied teasingly, choosing to take it as a compliment.

Ian smiled, wrapping an arm around Mickey's shoulders, "The highest, baby."

Endeared by the nickname, Mickey blushed slightly. "C'mon man. Let's get back to the apartment. We got a stakeout that needs planning."

Ian nodded, but the arm stayed put the entire way home. Mickey didn't mind one bit.

----

"What about the lady from apartment 193? The one with the weird-ass dog?"

"Ian, she's, like, a hundred years old."

"I don't know, Mick. Seems kinda suspicious."

They were sitting on their newly-bought sofa in the living room, beers in hand, discussing the potential suspect list. Ian had his phone out, writing the names of the possible culprits down, attempting to uncover the thief by the way the crime was executed. It wasn't going that well.

Ian's suspect list was a mile long, all ranging from old women who had complimented his tomatoes months ago, to the weird guy who gave him the stink eye when they first moved in for no apparent reason. "He's out to get me, Mick. I know it." Mickey had told him to shut the fuck up, and presented his own suspect list.

His was a little more realistic, containing names such as Alan who most certainly didn't like the couple -- "maybe the reason for that is the tantrum, Mickey." "shut the fuck up, Ian." -- and the chick whose daughter had a massive crush on Mickey.

"Maybe she thinks I'm some sort of pedo. Not cool, man."

"She would have called the cops, Mickey, not stolen my tomatoes. Also, the whole thing is pretty cute."

Mickey blanched. "She's fifteen! And has a crush on me."

"She's cute, acting all flustered when you casually say "good morning" to her. She probably doesn't even know we're gay."

The girl, Courtney, lived in the apartment a couple doors down from theirs, and her apparent crush on Mickey was beyond adorable to Ian. She was amazed by his thug appearance, and she made it clear in the way she greeted him whenever she passed by the couple, ignoring Ian wholeheartedly. Mickey hadn't even noticed it until Ian pointed it out one night, and when he did, Mickey grimaced and groaned, muttering about how he really didn't need to be the cause of some kid's daydreams.

"Her mother is out to get me. And the way to get me is through you -- everybody knows that."

Ian's chest swelled at the probably insignificant sentence in Mickey's mind. "Aww, Mick. That's really sweet."

"I am sweet."

"It's not the mother. We have to come up with something else."

"Ugh." Mickey groaned. "Why can't we just do this the old-fashioned way?"

Ian simply raised an eyebrow.

"Listen, you already planted the bait when we got back, we have somewhat of a suspect list -- now, we just set up the camera."

"Camera?"

"Yes, Ian. A fucking camera."

"Where the fuck are we gonna get a camera?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Carl? He's probably got access to those hidden camera thingies at work, right? We just have him snatch one for us. We'll give it back." He then added as an afterthought, "Maybe."

Ian thought about it for a second and then sighed. "Fine, we'll do it your way."

"Better than crouching in a bush of roses in the middle of the night, Ginger."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Ian agreed, texting Carl simultaneously asking for the 'camera thingy'.

"Also, I'd probably never, under any circumstances, do that shit. Doesn't matter how much I love you."

"Uh-huh." Ian smiled at Mickey, amused.

"I'm serious." He affirmed. "Never. No fucking way."

---

"I can't believe you made me do this shit." Mickey grunted as he crouched behind a rose bush, eyes trained on Ian's vegetable patch.

"Your plan didn't work, so we're doing it my way."

"Well, I didn't really plan for the camera to get fucking broken!"

Their thief was way more skilled than they had initially thought. After they got the camera from Carl, Ian hid it well, making sure it caught the asshole on tape once they attempted to steal his goods again. And when, a couple days later, his store-bought tomatoes were ruined again, this time, squashed deliberately in the garden, he was so happy Mickey had the bright idea to record it.

Until he found the camera squashed along with the tomatoes. It still worked somewhat, and when Ian saw there was a video on it, his hopes had immediately risen, only to be squashed like the poor tomatoes when he saw the video got cut off in the middle of the night, right before the murder had taken place.

"We are gonna do this my way. And then, we'll kill them." He had told his husband.

"Sure, man. The red blood will fit right in with the tomatoes."

"Stakeout."

"No, Ian."

"The sex you'll get if you do this with me will be nothing like you'd ever experienced."

Mickey scoffed, "Sure."

Ian gave him a look full of mischief, and leaned into his ear to whisper his intentions. "Three words, baby: handcuffs, blindfold, tongue. As someone who claims he doesn't like ass-licking, you sure as fuck make some sexy, loud noises when I try it."

And that's how Mickey was there in the garden, at three in the morning with Ian, his dumbass husband, waiting for the thief to appear. Ian had planted another bait, and decided to have a stakeout that night, after loudly flaunting to the other gardeners how good his tomatoes had grown -- "They'll take the bait, Mikhailo, stop giving me that look."

"The ground is really fucking cold, man. Can't believe you convinced me to do this shit. No sex is worth this."

Ian, in response, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Mickey's neck. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah..." Mickey sighed in content. When Ian tried pulling away, he muttered, "No. Don't stop."

"Eyes on the tomatoes. You'll get your prize later."

Just as Mickey was about to protest, a figure appeared, inching towards Ian's vegetable patch. The couple stilled, eyes squinting, trying to see who the thief was -- who the fuck was it that had so easily crushed Ian's dreams of becoming a gardener, and had forced them to sacrifice their Friday night, crouching in the bushes instead of loudly fucking in their bed.

When the figure stepped even closer, Ian gasped. The culprit's face wasn't even covered and when Mickey saw who it was, he couldn't help it.

He laughed.

He laughed so hard, tears streamed down his face -- he wheezed at the sight they were greeted with. Ian hit his bicep roughly, but it was too late.

The girl had noticed them. She jumped in fear at the noise and her eyes zeroed in on the two men. Her young face paled and her eyes widened in fear.

"You!" Ian accused, jumping up to his feet, not as amused as Mickey was.

The girl jutted out her chin in defiance, not scared one bit. "Yeah. Me."

Ian stared at the fifteen-year-old. He had once considered her cute -- the crush she had on Mickey being nothing more but sickly sweet to him, perfect teasing material. But now, as he realized she was deliberately sabotaging his tomatoes because of, what? Jealousy? Oh, he was pissed.

"Why, Courtney? I've been working hard on those vegetables."

"Fruits." Courtney replied and Ian gaped at her, as Mickey kept on laughing.

"Not the point. Why? Are you jealous or something?"

"Why would I be jealous?" She asked, still acting tough for a girl who had just been caught in the act.

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Because..." She glanced at Mickey who was still on the wet ground, observing the exchange. "Your tomatoes look better than mine, and I was planning on giving Mr. Milkovich my tomatoes but it wasn't gonna work if yours looked better. So, I took yours."

Mickey busted out laughing again. This time tears were actually streaming down his face, clouding his vision. "Mr." Wheeze. "Milkovich." Wheeze.

Courtney looked down, embarrassed. "Maybe I was a little jealous. I just wanted to be noticed."

"Stealing my husband's tomatoes sure got you on my radar, kid." Mickey muttered, still laughing loudly. Perhaps too loudly for three in the morning.

Courtney stilled. "You guys aren't just... roommates?"

Ian shook his head. "No, married."

Her mouth formed an 'oh' shape, and for a moment they stood in silence. Then she laughed, sheepishly. "Well, in that case... I'm sorry?"

Ian was still on the verge of a mental breakdown, but he chose to remain calm. "Just don't do it again, please."

"I won't. I swear." She raised her hands in the air in surrender.

"Go home, kid. It's three in the fucking morning. You're way past hour bedtime." Mickey pitched in from his seat on the soil.

She nodded once again, muttering a quick "sorry", and then ran out of the garden.

Ian turned to Mickey, still shocked. "The root of all of this has been you."

Mickey just smiled. "Not intentionally."

"She wanted to give you her tomatoes. So she ruined mine."

"Your tomatoes are the only ones I care about."

"This better not be a metaphor for my balls."

"Oh, I like those too."

Ian grinned at his husband. "At least we figured out who it was." He put his hand out towards Mickey. Mickey got the hint and grabbed it, pulling himself up.

"Yeah. It was the little girl all along."

Ian snorted, still a little angry.

"How about now, you and I go back to our warm, comfy bed where you can tie me up and fulfill your promise."

"You're not tired?" Ian raised his eyebrow at Mickey.

The smile Mickey gave him was genuine. "For you? Never."

"Maybe I could fulfill my promise. It'd get my mind of off the tomatoes."

"You can always use me as a distraction." Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian's neck and pulled him down, slotting their lips together.

"I'll show you how to handle your tomatoes properly." Mickey teased and Ian all but shoved him  back to the apartment.

The sex that night was fucking amazing. Mickey realized he wouldn't mind playing detective again if this was the reward he got. Suddenly, Ian's wish to plant thise tomatoes was the best thing that could have happened to Mickey in the long run. He wasn't surprised, though.

Ian really knew how to make the most of everything for Mickey. It was probably why he loved him so much.

This was a night Mickey would probably never forget.

[prose-for-hire]

Bad boy, lunchable reader

Part Two

Pairing: Spike x Giles!reader 

Request: Could you write smth about giles daughter being in a relationship with badboy "William" knowing nothing about vampires and the scoobies and her boyfriend being one? And when everything comes out they have a huge fight and spike spills his love for her

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Swearing. Buffy’s kinda mean here.

A/N: I loved this request!! Set in season 5. This is a longish one, I got carried away again

You had moved to Sunnydale half a year ago, coming to college at UC Sunnydale because you knew your father lived there, moving in with him to spend more time with him. You had made a few friends in college but honestly, not as many as you thought you would. There was a group of people your age that were always round your house, but they were never here for you. They were usually there to see your father, Giles. You had tried to talk to them at first but they were kind of boring, never really holding conversation with you. If anything, they appeared to avoid you as much as possible. 

Your dad told you it was because they worked for him at the Magic Box, they were meeting for work not to socialise, but you weren’t convinced. You weren’t stupid, there was something weird about the group. But you didn’t care enough to ask recently though - you were distracted. You had fallen in love. You didn’t know, but they avoided you because Giles had made them swear never to tell you about the horrors the rest of them had to deal with. You weren’t aware of vampires, demons or anything like that.

You were excited. You were going to the Bronze tonight, meeting your boyfriend. Usually he didn’t like to go to the Bronze, but he had finally relented when you had pleaded for a solid week. Usually he took you anywhere except the bar saying it was too mainstream for his taste. You liked mainstream however, if mainstream meant decent music and the chance to show off your boyfriend to people you knew, that was okay with you.

“Dad, I’m leaving now! I’ll be back when the sun rises!” You teased, kissing him on the cheek to say goodbye.

“You do have a curfew, y/n. It is there for a reason”

“Yes, Dad, and I understand but I’m not twelve, I can handle the dark”

“Tell that to the night-light you still have in your, ah, bedroom that you think I didn’t notice” he muttered, wiping his glasses.

“You said we wouldn’t speak of that!”

“Before midnight!” he shouted as you rolled your eyes shouting goodbye over your shoulder. His strict attitude was the reason he wasn’t aware you had a boyfriend. Not only did he not want you near anyone before you finished all of your studies, he also wouldn’t like the type of guy you liked. William looked and acted like a bad boy, but you could tell he was soft at heart. You really liked being around him.

You had met late one night when you had found yourself locked out of the Bronze, it had closed for refurbishment and you didn’t know anywhere else in the town. You were new. He had struck up a conversation, offering you a cigarette. He had made you laugh and your smile made his chest rise as you told him about how you ended up there. Ever since then you had seen each other almost every other night, he had told you he had full time work, so he couldn’t see you in the day.

When you arrived it was dark outside and William was waiting for you, leaning against a wall. He threw his cigarette away as soon as he saw you, a trademark smirk as he slid his hands either side of your waist and kissing you so hard it almost knocked the breath from your body.

“Missed you, pet”

“You saw me last night!” You smiled, his arm slung over your shoulder as you walked towards the entrance of the Bronze. He liked doing this, because it showed everyone around that you were with him.

“Will you order? It’s killing me not being able to drink legally over here” you muttered when you found a table and he nodded, knowing your usual order. He kissed your forehead before leaving to go to the bar.

Buffy and the others came up to you, saying an awkward hello before shuffling off and leaving you sat on your own. You really didn’t need them here. If you were honest, you didn’t like the relationship Buffy had with your dad, it was almost as if he saw her as a daughter even though he had a very real, very blood-related kid right here.

William came back with drinks, setting them on the table. He couldn’t help slipping a hand behind the base of your skull and pulling you in to kiss him. The kiss was fiery, almost forceful, something that shouldn’t be allowed to be viewed in public. But he wanted you, he liked the way your lips tugged into a smile whenever you saw him so he had to kiss you. He just had to.

Spike hadn’t noticed that Buffy and the others were sitting across from you, staring open-mouthed at the way Spike was kissing you. When you eventually broke from the kiss, Spike’s face went white. Well, whiter than usual, as he noticed the group staring. He had wanted this to be his. Yours. He didn’t want the slayer finding out he was falling for a human, he would get staked onsite and you would have to find out about the nastier side of the Hellmouth.

Spike wasn’t aware that you were already acquainted with the group. He liked being with you because you didn’t know about all of that. You were kind and enthusiastic and you always smiled at him. It made him feel human again and he was addicted to it. Addicted to you.

Buffy and the others got up and started shouting at Spike, saying he needed to be staked. It made you frown and Spike, being desperate to keep the horrors of Sunnydale from you tried to get them to take this outside. When Buffy realised you weren’t supposed to know anything she agreed.

“Love, stay here… I’ll sort it out. Just… please” He set you in place and walked out with the group. You frowned. No way were you just sitting and waiting. You followed them, seeing Buffy punch him in the face made you scream and run in front of him. You knew he had gotten into a lot of fights, you had patched him up more than once. You just hadn’t realised that Buffy was mostly the one beating him up.

“What are you doing you evil little witch!?” You cried, grabbing her fist before it connected with William’s face again, “Fuck, you’re strong” You muttered, moving your wrist around to check if she had broken it. William moved you behind him, trying to protect what he had with you before everything went wrong.

“Um, that’s a stereotype… witches, although historically seen as ‘evil’, are not a-actually-” Willow started but was quickly cut off.

“Not the time, Will” Buffy muttered, grabbing William by his leather duster ready to throw him to the ground.

“What are you doing, he’s not done anything to you!” You shouted as Buffy landed a solid blow to Spike’s jaw. He turned around at your words, trying to come up with some excuse. But it was too late for any of that, his face had shifted. You were staring back into piercing yellow eyes, fangs jutting out of his mouth and a very bumpy forehead.

“Shit, what the-” Your mouth dropped, a look of horror painted on your face as you backed away from everyone.

“He’s a vampire. He’s doing this to hurt us, hurt your Dad. He doesn’t really like you” Buffy said bluntly, hitting William again over the back of his head.

“Oh we-we’re telling them now?” Willow asked sheepishly, as Spike frowned at their familiarity with you.

“Giles is gonna flip” Buffy muttered as she realised she had gotten a little carried away with telling you how unlovable you clearly were on top of telling you about demons and pretty much everything she could to make your head spin.

“W-William?” You asked, confused, looking for him to say something.

“Oh my God, did you tell them anything real about yourself? He calls himself Spike, not William” Buffy rolled her eyes at you. Spike was for once in his un-life, speechless. He wanted to salvage this. Keep you with him, but he was at a loss.

“I’m gonna-” You gestured vaguely in the opposite direction, biting back tears, “Bye” you muttered as you ran off. Spike tried to follow you, but Buffy grabbed him by the leather duster and pulled him away. Perhaps missing the attention of Spike’s affection a little more than she would care to admit.

When you got home, Giles was pleasantly surprised that you were back so early. But you didn’t say anything to him, just running to your room and slamming the door behind you. This was strange, you weren’t the type to do this anymore but these were unprecedented circumstances and he had been lying to you. Also, vampires are apparently real and you had been kissing one for the last few months. Not to mention all of those nights of-

No, you stop yourself. It was too much to wrap your brain around. I mean, a vampire? Really?

After that night, your father sat down and explained it all to you but you wouldn’t speak to anyone after this. It was hard to get used to. Vampires, demons, all that. It made sense, but you weren’t pleased everyone had been lying through their teeth for their own reasons. Giles to try to ‘protect’ you whilst simultaneously putting you in danger by you being so oblivious and William, or Spike as he was more widely known, lying about his entire identity to get one over on the group. These were Giles and Buffy’s words about why Spike had been interested in you, in fact he wasn’t aware that Giles was your father. You had never said your Dad’s name to him.

You were walking through Sunnydale after dark, needing some fresh air. You had now been gifted a stake by Buffy, not that you were grateful. Something about her annoyed you and it wasn’t just the way she had smugly torn down your entire life. She was kind of self-righteous and appeared to think she was in charge despite you not being in her group.

“Y/n, pet? Please, hear me out?” A familiar British accent asked. You knew it so intimately, but you didn’t turn.

“Fuck off, Spike! You told me you liked me but you were… you were doing it to hurt my Dad! Is that what you thought about when we kissed? My fucking Dad? Or was it Buffy?” You rounded to face him as you spat their names, clearly upset.

“Bloody hell, love, I would never-” He started, pausing before confirming, “I never even knew he was your father!”

“Oh yeah? Then why didn’t you say anything? Am I… Am I your snack?”

“Not that you aren’t the most lunchable thing in the room at any given time, but no. I was with you ‘cause I, uh, enjoy being with you” When you looked unconvinced he continued, “I couldn’t help myself around you. It was so normal. You’re all I’ve ever wanted…”

“B-but Buffy said-”

“Buffy’s sore that I’m not trailing after her, hoping she’ll give me a crumb of attention. It’s you, y/n, only you” he confirmed, before making sure you knew how he felt, “You made me feel like a man, not a monster” You start to turn away, unsure what your feelings were. This was a lot to spring on a person. Vampires, Slayers, your father being a Watcher. The way spike looked at you, though. His eyes telling stories of love and promise that you couldn’t help become entranced by. He moved to cup his hands either side of your cheeks. The desperation in his eyes confirmed by the way his voice almost trembled with feeling as he pleaded with you to understand, “Please love, this- this thing that we have, I swear when I’m around you I can feel my heart in my chest”

“But you can’t, can you? You-you’re a-” You started, tailing off. You were starting to soften as he cut in.

“Vampire, yes. But we can love and we can definitely hurt…” His eyes shone as they bore into yours.

“But you… lied” he could see you softening now, you really did like him. He had been so much kinder than any other man you had been with, he just hadn’t been kind to anyone else. Which, you now find ironic seeing as he’s actually a vampire.

“Never lied, I just couldn’t sodding bear to break that sort of thing to you. It can corrupt a person, you always see the good… It’s one of the reasons I love you”

“You love me?” he nodded, eyes cast to the floor between you, your bodies so close you almost felt the feeling radiating from him. You leaned in, closing your eyes as he smiled, knowing this meant you wanted him. You weren’t turning your back on him. Your lips met passionately, his hands tangling in your hair, trying to bring you ever closer, as if his un-life depended on it.

You didn’t think of any of the negatives, the way your father and the others would react. Spike loved you and you knew you loved him, so you would figure the rest out. Together.

[helahades]

Araña Picante

(A Peter Parker Drabble) // (Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Light injury. Spanish song with literal translation that makes no sense. If ya know ya know! Peter with a crush.

A/N: I am aware I missed out on the title alliteration of Spicy Spider. It will haunt me later, no doubt. Also, Peter is 22.

Intended for a Spanish speaking reader, but anyone can read!

And the song she sings is a healing one my mom does when my brother gets hurt. Never fails♥️

—

To the unending entertainment of everyone around him, Peter Parker loves spicy food.

Mainly chips. Hot cheetos, Takis, (and most recently, Tapatio Doritos).

He also likes the spicy gas station pickles, the most searing flavor at the salsa bar, and the hottest hot wings.

Of course, while all good things have their limits, Peter has none. He will eat salsa picante and anything that burns until he’s blushed red in the face and with swollen cherry lips smacking and slurping and near drooling fire.

He loves spicy food, but he doesn’t know when to stop, and he refuses to admit when too hot is too hot.

He’ll sit in his chair, spacing out from conversation, only thinking about how the heat in his mouth feels like television static. It’s almost like he only likes food that hurts him. His interest was first piqued, leading to an eventual crush, when he saw you eat a gas station pickle without a jug of water.

—

It’s hot outside. A sweltering, sticky heat wave is sitting over Nueva York, and no one can bear to be out in it unless it’s chased by the coolness of one of Stark’s infinity pools.

For safety reasons, the pool isn’t fully outside. Missile proof, one way glass separates its space from the open air surrounding the roof.

Sitting across from you, Peter can’t help but to stare. His skin is freshly dotted with droplets from the pool he had just pulled himself out of. Those droplets are warming both with today’s peak heat, and the rush of his blood as he watches you absentmindedly wrap your pretty lips around the cherry tip of a Firecracker popsicle.

He doesn’t know where to look. There’s the blue droplet from the base that’s trailing down your chest and disappearing beneath the slick fabric of your one piece. There’s the way your legs are crossed at the ankles and the sheen of your coconutty sunscreen mixes surprisingly pleasantly with the other scents...jugo de sandía, salsa de mango, and the one that’s just barely detectable to the unenhanced that is driving him crazy—that fucking popsicle.

He’s a sweet boy, truly. He would never stare at you so openly, or try to make you feel uncomfortable. In fact, he takes pride in the fact that you don’t keep the same shield up with him that you rightfully do with other male agents—if that’s what he is.

So yes, he has a crush on you, and has since he met you in Germany, fired up and powerful. It was born of the same kind of awe that young guys have for lots of things they’ve never seen before, and only grew upon getting to know you. The smaller, realer you, as opposed to the larger than life reputation that often precedes your presence.

You’re smart, and you’re quick, which isn’t exactly groundbreaking for anyone around here, but his adoration bloomed from other things.

When he was in that airport in Germany, just meeting the Avengers and scared shitless, despite knowing his strength, you were one of the only unenhanced present, looking as if it were the most natural thing in the world! You’re resilient and adaptable.

When everyone was sure he couldn’t keep up when Tony named him an Avenger, that he would crack under the pressure, you smiled encouragingly, and decided to train him a bit. You’re quite the acrobatic fighter yourself, the swooping from the heavens backup—albeit without web shooters—and you had plenty to say about his form.

Just because you can withstand the force of a bad landing, doesn’t mean you should! That’ll catch up to you Peter!

His soul balloons when you say his name, he feels like he’s floating across the city with only sweaty palms for parachutes.

There are plenty of reasons to adore you, but also, he is only (semi)human, and at his most base form, his fast metabolism, his quick beating heart drum beating hot blood, and his dialed up senses make it very hard not to notice reasons to feel very attracted to you.

Peter finds you very pretty.

He finds he loves to listen to your voice. He asks you to explain things he already understands. He goes to every optional meeting if you’ll be speaking. He has, once or twice, listened to that video over and over that you sent to the group chat, telling everyone goodnight. You even say his name in it, chastising him lightly for some dad joke he made.

Your voice is gentle and soft and he loves to catch you singing.

You’re humming something now, onto the slightly wider whiter tip of the popsicle, and Peter thinks he has never known you to eat anything so slow. Turning towards him from your chair, which he senses quickly and looks away casually, you ask him if he’s tried the salsa.

He hasn’t, because even though he loves spicy things, he feels heated enough thinking about your lips that have finally pulled away from that popsicle, graced with cold and sticky sweet syrup. He’s trying not to think about how he could see your tongue working from behind your cheeks, or how you would hum while closing your eyes, reveling in your icy treat’s contrast to this steamy day.

His hand, in all its largeness, crinkles the sides of the bag as he reaches in, and it takes him embarrassingly long to grab one Tapatío chip. At his irritation at that, he scoops up a heaping, and entirely miscalculated scoop of your mango salsa, throwing the entire thing in his mouth.

A moment.

F u c k.

It’s half fruit! How can this be so spicy?

You’re looking at him, trying to gauge his reaction to your recipe, and he’s melting into his chair, hand not so subtly covering his mouth, but he tries to pass it off like he’s in deep thought. About what? Who fucking knows. Maybe about how the hottest woman he’s ever seen makes the hottest salsa he’s ever tasted and how now he just wants to be a popsicle so he wouldn’t ever burn up like this again and have to work so hard just to fail to hide it in front of you.

Then, you tilt your head, fond knowingness spreading across your features as you let slip a light chuckle.

“Oh, precioso,” you giggle, making his burning heart tender, “you don’t have to pretend. I know I made it a little spicier today.”

Then you’re up, handing him your popsicle, which he eats in a couple bites, and stroking his cheek lightly, and singing even lighter and elongating the words into calming poetry.

“Sana sana,

colita de rana

Si no sanas hoy,

Sanarás mañana”

Your touch lights him up, and he feels better actually, but just a little embarrassed, so he settles on smiling over thanks, cherry lips and all. You called him precioso, and he still isn’t over it.

He thinks about how he just wolfed down the popsicle you had been sucking on, and how your cool touch felt against his face.

“Let me get you some water.”

And you're up. Walking back inside, the light floral fabric of your swimsuit coverup swishes with each swing of your hips.

Peter grabs another chip, scoops some salsa—less this time.

He finds the sweetness.

—

(reblogs appreciated)

Im going through a bit of a hard time with the end of the semester, so if you’re wondering where all my “coming soon” s are, they’re coming! I just need time to get homework done :) love y’all! Thank you for reading.

mis amores: @xbuchananbarnes @saintsebastian-stan @honeychicana @avintagekiss24 @honeychicanawrites @invisibleanonymousmonsters @thorsthot

@fvckingavengers you made me love Peter so shoutout! I adore you

♥️♥️♥️

[arsenicpanda]

Look, I didn’t want to bombard everyone with five fucking asks about this, but, hey, I’m the one who said, “idk man, smells like there’s some racism going on here for some people for this level of a reaction”, so I should back it up, yes?  But, lord, you guys were fucking fast on the draw here, I think they all came in within five minutes of the post, jfc.

Look, anon #1 has a solid point, and also they aren’t even a little an asshole, fandom atmosphere probably has something to do with it.  Anon #2, I’m coming back to you.  Anon #3, I don’t see how some light shipping and a bland statement of “they have rights” and a headcanon that’s more platonic than romantic make much of a difference here, but sure, I guess that could affect some people.

To all the anons who are like “But Jughead/Tabitha might actually happen”, like, come on, it might happen for like two fucking episodes; Betty and Jughead are currently on a collision course and we know they’re investigating together in 5x09.  More importantly, Veronica and Archie are absolutely getting back together at some point, definitely permanently, like look at the set up.  And when that happens, what do you think they’re going to do with Betty and Jughead?  Pair Jughead with Tabitha and Betty with...idk, Reggie??  No.  No, they’ll pair them with each other, think about it.  I genuinely, genuinely do not understand how someone could look at this ship as a threat.

Also, you’re all ignoring the greater context of the reblog, which is a response to the fact that some of us have been getting anon hate for this ship, and I’m talking about those people, not people who are like “idk, not a fan”.  If you’re super pressed about Jughead/Tabitha and sending hate over it when you wouldn’t over other, whiter ships, well, come one, we live in a racist society, you can’t discount it as a factor.

As to Anon #2 on the point of Jughead and his friendships with Black women but only when Betty isn’t around: you are 100% right!  That is a thing they do and it’s super fucked up and racist of them!  It’s actually the greater problem of the potential of canonical Jughead/Tabitha; it would be the second time Riverdale romantically paired Jughead with a Black woman for the sake of drama and just for a short time before putting him back with Betty.  But I hadn’t noticed that they don’t even let Jughead be friends with them after either.  Although, in the case of Toni, it is, to a certain extent, also a factor of her entering into Cheryl’s orbit, a place she has yet to leave.  Still, pretty racist of them, especially if they drop Tabitha once Betty comes back into the picture.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I started Russell Howard’s Good News yesterday, and I’m now into season 4. I think the proper term is “binge-watching”, but I prefer “speedrunning” because it sounds cooler.

I’ve just started season 4. The polo shirts have just turned into t-shirts. The hair has worked its way into a style that I had actually forgotten about because I haven’t seen it in years, but I have just been reminded that there were a couple of years (2010-2011) when all the guys had a faux-hawk. Well, that’s what it was actually called. I used to call it a shark fin because I was hilarious. I worked as a cashier at the time and so many of the guys who worked on the floor had that hairstyle, and some of them were just the right height so when they walked behind the shelves only their hair was visible. When that happened, I would hum the Jaws theme tune and the other cashiers would laugh because, as I said, I was hilarious.

Anyway, I have no comment on anything that may be going on with Russell’s appearance because I promised to try not to be an asshole about people who curate their appearance according to beauty standards in their industry. Speedrunning this show does make it look like the transformation happened so fast that my instincts as a coach are sort of making me want to take him aside and ask if everything’s okay. Because, you know, putting on muscle mass is great but we should make you’re doing it with a smart and healthy plan. But I’m sure it’s fine. The fact that he’s still talking means he must technically be able to breathe in those shirts. And at least he still has his crooked teeth at this point. They’re certainly whiter and maybe slightly straighter than in season 1 of Good News, but they’re not quite smoothed over. I don’t know exactly when he gets those smoothed over completely, but it’s too bad. I liked his crooked teeth.

What I actually wanted to say was I really like the “not all doom and gloom” bit he does at the end. I just wrote “bit” out of habit there, but I suppose that’s the wrong thing to call it and I suppose that’s the point. It’s really jarring to see something genuinely heartwarming on a comedy show, wait for a punchline that makes fun of it, and then hear the punchline never come.

There was a moment like that in Recalibrate, Russell’s fifth and most recent stand-up DVD. That whole show was pretty depressing, and depressing material is extra depressing coming from Russell because he’s usually distilled sunshine. He’d clearly had a fucking awful year (2017) and built much of his show around that. But at one point, he told this incredibly sweet story about his grandfather being deep in dementia, and then suddenly recognizing his grandmother and calling her pretty. Russell built it up, going on for a while about what a beautiful moment it was and how that says something about love transcending time and tide, as given that my own grandfather is currently battling Alzheimer’s I started to get emotional, but I also didn’t let myself get too invested in the story because I knew he was going to pull it back. I felt tense as I waited for him to ruin this story that was making me think these nice things about family members I love. The punchline would be that they all thought it was a beautiful moment but then it turned out he hadn’t actually recognized his wife and he was calling the nurse behind her pretty. Or something like that.

But it wasn’t. The only bit of the story’s ending that brought it back to comedy was an explanation of how his grandmother being awkward about receiving affection in public. Nothing that took away from the actual beauty of the story. And that surprised me more than any normal punchline could have. It was nice.

Anyway, I get a little moment like that at the end of every episode of Russell Howard’s Good News. He shows some heartwarming story, and I spend the whole time expecting him to make fun of it. Yes I’ve seen three whole seasons of this show by now and should understand how it works, but also, I’ve spent a lot of years living in a world where you’re not allowed to just think something is nice without throwing in at least a layer or two of irony. So I still expect that to happen every time, and it’s still a nice little surprise when it doesn’t. And I assume those nice bits at the end the “Good News”, meaning they are meant to be so integral to the whole thing that the whole show is named after them. I quite like it.

Also: I fucking love how Russell interacts with old people when they’re the guest. Or even how he responds when there are old people in the news stories. He seems to genuinely get so much joy out of seeing old people out there still doing things, like he loves life so much that he gets excited at the thought that you can keep doing it for a really long time. And that is just lovely. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make a note to remind myself to call my grandfather tomorrow, as his Alzheimer’s has not progressed to a point at which he’s forgotten who of his family members are and I’m trying to talk to him as much as possible while he still understands (obviously I feel like the proper way to end this post is to say Russell’s sweetness toward old people has inspired me to call my grandfather now, but it’s 11 PM here - of course it is, I’ve just finished three seasons of a TV show in two days).

[patchoulimademoiselle]

Guilty. (Part 3.)

Part Three.

Steve Rogers (Lawyer AU) x Reader Insert

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: strong language, adult themes, plot twist, Steve likes you in red, Bucky Barnes is a flirt and Steve may or may not be jealous. 

Notes: First off, wow, thank you guys for all the love you’ve been showing this series. I didn’t expect anyone to see it, let alone actually like it lol. I’m trying to update as often as possible, but I have to leave room for suspense. I have only a few parts planned for this series so far, I may be adding to it, but I want to keep it fairly short. Either way I’ll let you know. Thanks again, enjoy. 

Masterlist. 

Part Three:

The following morning Steve is in your driveway blowing his horn, waking you up with a jolt. Checking your phone, you realize he's been calling you for twenty minutes, and you curse to yourself as you rush downstairs and let him in. "I'll be ready in ten." Is all you say, letting him step inside.

He eyes you up, smiling, "Cute jammies." They aren't pajamas at all, it's just a t-shirt and nothing else, and if he hadn't come over yesterday and bent you over your kitchen sink, you would be ashamed of yourself for being seen like this.

He helps himself to a cup of coffee and an apple while you get ready. In a rush, you leave your hair down for once, trading in your skirt for a dress, because if there is anything you've learned as a lawyer, it's that first impressions are everything. James will forever know you as the woman you show up as the first time you meet him, and once his mind is made up it will be hard to change it.

You're a little inspired by the woman you met the day before, Natasha Romanoff on your mind as you select a shade of red lipstick to wear, a bold contrast to your usual nude, but you decide that you don't mind the change as you finish getting ready. It makes your teeth appear whiter, makes your eyes shine brighter, and you look well rested all with the swipe of a lipstick across your lips in the mirror. Smacking your lips, you decide to try bolder colors more often.

Steve is starstruck when you come back downstairs, fasting a pair of earrings into your ears. He walks over to you slowly, catching your bottom lip with his thumb, then he examines it, checking to see if your lipstick is smudge proof. He hums, apple in his hand forgotten as he looks at you.  

"What?" You glare up at him.

He glares back. "If he touches you, tell me."

"What?" You frown. "You aren't going with me?"

He shakes his head, "No, I have to meet with Rumlow. And you can't run from your assistant forever. We need to figure out what to do with her." He leans down suddenly and kisses you, pinning you against the door with his lips. Then he's dragging you out the door.

It bothers you that he doesn't talk about yesterday, and it also bothers you that he thinks he can now kiss you whenever he wants. But you don't exactly bring it up either, and you don't turn down his advances. So for now, you bite your tongue as he rushes you out of your house, eyes on his watch as he holds the passenger car door open for you.

Steve's car is a collectors item, a model of mustang that you couldn't remember even if he told it to you a million times. The seats are genuine leather, dark in color, and you wouldn't be surprised it he treated them on his days off. The engine is loud, vibrating the seats, and it doesn't help that it's so hot out, you can't help but turn the air on before he's even pulled out of your driveway. He's protective of it, glaring over at you as you turn the dial, but you pay him no mind.

You ask to stop somewhere to get breakfast, making sure to grab something for James as well. You muster up as much charm as you can manage, leaving Steve with a wink for practice before you get out of his car.

James Barnes, No please, call me Bucky, is a looker. Honey eyes, dark hair, and a jaw that's sharp enough to remind you of a certain someone else. He's ex-military, that much is obvious in the way he carries himself, and you see yet another angle to use in court.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you." You say, crossing your legs as you sit on his couch. The action draws his eyes, confirming that a dress was a good choice. "My colleague and I have reviewed your case and have a few ways to go about it, all things that will be discussed with you of course."

He's also a flirt, a good one, his eyes warm and smile bright as he looks at you. "Over dinner?" Bucky sees an opportunity and takes full advantage of it, Colgate smile blindsiding you for a moment.

"Sure, I'll have to check with Steve." You glance at your watch, not for any reason in particular, just to let him know you don't plan on staying too long. "But I want to assure you that we've been working tirelessly."

He hums, coffee cup in hand, you try to figure out which one is prosthetic, it's rude to ask, but they both look so similar. "Of course. I appreciate you coming to meet me. Every time Steve is here, you're absent. Why is that?"

"We have a lot to do." You explain, "This case is delicate." You don't want to give him any reason to doubt you, so you say as little as you can. "While I'm here, I'll do my best to answer any questions you have so far. I don't have my notes with me, but I do have your contact information."

Steve has taught you to replace fact with charm, come off as polite, yet still sure of yourself, and if you don't know the answers or can't give an answer, smile through it. It works every time.

Bucky asks you when the trial will be, and you tell him that a date hasn't been set yet, the judge has yet to review the case. If Bucky knew anything about anything, he would know that this means the trial will be rigged. Cases like this are usually over quickly, the justice system protects workers well in cases like these. So a delayed review of the case must mean that Stark has him in his pocket. But Bucky doesn't seem to catch on to that. It's also something you haven't discussed with Steve yet, but you imagine he's probably on the same page as you.

He always is.

You try not to lie to Bucky, you just reveal only half truths, and each statement you make sends a bad feeling to your stomach. Saying it all out loud really does reveal in your mind how difficult this is going to be. You haven't been taking this seriously enough, playing house with Steve and Wanda. This case will either make or break your career, and so far it isn't looking good.

While you may have eased Bucky's mind, you've worked yourself up with anxiety, Steve can tell as soon as you get in his car. "What happened?" He asks, concern in his eyes as he looks at you.

"Nothing," You sigh, deflating a little. "This is so stressful."

He doesn't say anything, driving you to the office. You don't speak, unlocking your office door and stepping inside. He follows you, pushing the door closed, watching as you settle, your bag on the floor.

You're suddenly on the brink of tears, this stupid case, your stupid feelings, too much going on in your head for you to handle. You feel overwhelmed, fingers shaking as you bring them up to your face. You feel bad for Bucky, he's a nice man, and the odds are stacked highly against him.

Being a lawyer is hard, but you've never found it this hard before. It's never felt so personal before.

"Y/n." Steve doesn't try to comfort you, he knows you won't want it. "Calm down."

He's that authoritative figure in your life again, the stern man you met in your early years studying law, and if there was any time to feel like a child it would be now. "This sucks." Is all you can say, taking a deep breath, willing your tears away. You clear your throat, smooth your hands over the front of your dress, "Right, so Rumlow?"

Steve regards you for a moment, eyes calculating. "He'll do it." He says. "Barnes?"

"He's in a hurry to find out his court date, I told him he'll know as soon as we do." You recover quickly, pushing your emotions down, hearing in your head what he doesn't have to say out loud. "He's nice, I like him." There's no room for weakness in a court room, emotions are a sign of weakness. "What's next?"

"We need to figure out what to do with Wanda."

The other pen drops, a knot in your stomach as you weigh your options. "I'll call her in today, actually. I need her help anyways. For now just watch what you say." You aren't sure what to do. Steve hasn't even told you how he's leading the case yet, so you have no false leads to feed her.

"I'll start building our case. We wait to hear back from the judge." He says. "Dissect that file Romanoff gave you, type something up just in case." He leaves your office and heads for his own, leaving you to your thoughts and your work.

You call Wanda, who tells you she can be there in about an hour.

Believe it or not, the behavior between you and Steve is normal, his cold shoulder is really just caution. He doesn't want to push you, doesn't want to overstep and send you spiraling. You're strong enough to handle this, he knows because he taught you how to be, his presence right now would just make things worse.

It's sick and twisted how you're forced to bury your emotions in order to come off as strong to the world. This job has dehumanized you, this life has ruined everything bright eyed and bushy tailed about you, all you're left with now is exhaustion. You wonder how soon you could retire, and if Steve has thought about it, he's been in the game much longer than you have. You wonder if maybe then you can finally be what you never could before. You wonder if he would look twice at you if he wasn't forced to see you on a daily basis.

Are you even his type? You're much younger than him, and in the beginning that may have been exciting. But now that you're a bit older, more experienced, not so much in need of his guidance, does he still even find you attractive?

You scold yourself for even caring, but you know the answer. Of course he does.

When Wanda comes in, you have her run errands, shredding old papers, running extra documents down to records, taking messages and sending out emails. It keeps her busy, in and out of your office, and well away from the case you're working on. You give her your personal laptop to work off of, keeping her off your desktop and away from any files she could possibly get her hands on, and you're worry free as you dive into your own tasks.

You do what you can, making notes in the file for Steve to find, typing up an argument for him to use or discard, the choice is always left up to him in the end regardless. He's going to lead, and he'll let you fill in the gaps. You almost can't wait, nothing is better than watching Steve get fired up in a court room, and it has you squirming in your seat in a day dream. You don't hear him knocking on the doors that divide your office, and you don't hear him open them. But you do hear him clear his throat, his knowing gaze burying you twice over.

Busted.

But he doesn't say anything, just dangles himself into the space that is your office, glancing between both you and Wanda. "Hungry?"

"Yes." Wanda smiles at him, and you simply nod, returning to the file in front of you.

By the time it arrives, Wanda is ready to go home, her hair frizzy and feet sore as she thanks Steve for the food, "I'll eat it on the metro." She waves goodbye to you, placing your laptop on the corner of your desk. You search it for evidence of any kind, going through your browsing history. But she's done nothing out of the ordinary, and you're thankful that you have nothing to report.

That's how you find yourself bare foot sitting on the balcony watching the sunset, the sky painted over in hues of orange and pink, a take out box in hand, Wanda gone leaving you with some privacy. Steve tucks you under his arm, face close to yours as he eats. Neither of you talk, because neither of you have to. Just like the sky, wide open for all to see, all of your cards are already placed on the table. He knows how you feel about him, you know how he feels about you. There's just one thing standing between you, one thing driving you apart in a way you can't bare to tolerate.

His voice is hushed, a whisper of wind when he presses his lips against your temple. "When all of this is over," He says, "When this case is finished, I'm going to fuck you right here on this balcony."

You think he's joking, his voice so low and fragile that it can't be a serious statement. But when you look up at him, catching the dark glaze of lust in his eyes, you realize he's making you a promise.

"Right over the railing, tits out for the whole world to see." He says. "And I'm going to take my time, fuck you nice and good."

Your jaw drops, heart beat in your ears as you ponder over what he just said to you. You picture it, one of your skirts flipped up, blouse open, your body lurching forward against the railing each time he thrusts into you. And though it may sound intimidating, eyes on the ground below you, you know his grip on your waist will be far too tight to let you fall.

"Let's practice." You say it before you can stop yourself, and for a moment he just stares at you before letting out a loud laugh.

"You're something else." He says, looking down at you with a smile that makes your stomach flutter. "I would if I could, believe it."

It frustrates you to hear him say that, fighting your way out of his grip. "You aren't allowed to do that to me." You shuffle to your feet, giving yourself an advantage over him for once. "You can't say things like that and then not go through with it."

"Oh, I'm going to go through with it." He pokes his spork into his food. "Patience."

You groan and even you can admit it's childlike, the way you pout and cross your arms. His eyes float up to your face, food long forgotten as he picks up on your attitude, he stands, demolishing the tiny advantage you had right before your eyes.

He grabs your chin, forces you to look him in the eyes when he says, "I'm tempted to do it now, fuck the attitude right out of you." Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, nothing left to say as he once again sets upon you to devour you, lips pressing against yours for a moment. "But there's no going back after that. We need to wait."

This is the second time he's said it. "What does that even mean?" You grab his wrist, trying to ease his hold on your face.

"It means that the moment I've had a feel of that little pussy, I'm going to want it constantly." He says. "Anywhere I can have you, I will have you."

You're wet, thighs rubbing together in an attempt to give yourself some friction, and of course it doesn't go unnoticed. His eyes flick down your body, other hand on your hip to pull you closer.

"Steve, I want it so bad." You whine, doing all you can to convince him.

It doesn't work. "I know."

He looks you over again, eyes trailing down the front of your dress to your bare feet. "Why don't you dress like this for me?"

The question is so sudden that it throws you off, "What?"

He licks his lips, "I've never seen you wear a shade of lipstick like this before." He says. "I've never seen you wear a dress like this before."

It explains his behavior this morning, the way he basically pounced on you at the door, but it doesn't explain his sudden interest. "Steve, you've never acted this way before." You finally bring it up, finally call to light whats been on your mind since yesterday. "You can't just keep kissing me this way."

"Are you telling me to stop?" His eyebrows are drawn tight. "Are you telling me that you don't like it?"

"No, but-"

"Then I can. And I will." He says.

You roll your eyes at his cocky attitude. "Stop ignoring what I'm saying." You say. "Why the sudden interest?"

He raises an eyebrow at you, looking up at the sky as if it will give him all the answers to your questions. "All of a sudden? I've been watching you since you starting working here." He says. "That never went away, I've just been cautious."

You remember those days, when you were too new to know what you were doing, he would loom over your shoulder and breath down you neck, waiting for you to mess up. Always watching.

"Are you not being cautious anymore?"

He shakes his head, "I just don't care about the consequences as much." He sighs, fingers slipping from your chin, and for a moment you think you've taken your questioning too far. "We're about to risk our careers on this case, I'll be damned if I don't walk away from it with you at least."

He's never talked to you this way before, never opened up to you so deeply, and hearing the way he feels about you out loud for a change feels good. You let it go, leaving him with one final kiss before returning to your food, takeout gone cold. It burns you alive to know that he wants you just as bad, the only difference is he's better at hiding it.

You're just about ready to go home when you get a phone call. Not on your office phone, but your cell, a hidden number. Steve looks over at you with concern as you answer it, ready to take the phone from you if he needs to.

"Hello?"

"Y/n, L/n?" The voice is one that comes off as familiar to you, yet you can't place who it is.

"Speaking." You remain as professional as possible, but you're a bit worried.

"My name is Tony Stark, I'm calling you from a secured line at my personal residence." Your eyes go wide, and you nearly drop your phone. "Can we meet?"

You put the call on speaker, setting your phone down on your desk. You hold a single finger up to your mouth, signaling Steve to stay quiet. "Why would we need to meet, Mr. Stark?"

"Because I'm being overrun in my own company." He says, you and Steve share a look. "Decisions were made without my knowledge, certain decisions that lead to a specific lawsuit, a lawsuit that you're working in favor of. Do you follow?"

If you weren't confused before, you're even more so now. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything, I'm just speaking hypothetically." He says, voice clipped, and you aren't sure of this is an act or not. "But if we were to meet, I could go into detail."

You mute the call, sitting back in your chair. Steve strokes his beard, deep in thought. "What do you think?" You ask him.

He shakes his head at you, "It could be a trap." He says. "He called from a secured line, he's speaking in hypotheticals to avoid incrimination." He pauses, letting out a sigh. "But he could be telling the truth, someone might be monitoring him, he might not have any other choice but to turn to us."

Two sides of the same coin, all pointing to Stark, either one could go either way. This could be a set up to get you alone, a loophole to press new charges of some sort, or a way to earn your trust or get you to pull out. But on the off chance that he's telling the truth, it's too good of a chance not to take.

"Steve, I have to meet with him."

Steve is shaking his head, reaching for your cell phone to end the call, but you're quicker than him, grabbing it and backing away. "Y/n, no. It could be a trap."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." You say. "I'm a lawyer, I'm after the truth, I'm after justice."

If what Tony Stark says is true, what kind of lawyer would you be to turn him down? You unmute the call, holding your cell phone to your ear. "When, and where?"

There's fury set in Steve's eyes as he walks away from you, doors slamming behind him as he storms into his office. It makes you flinch, the sound rattling through your body, taunting you.

"Tomorrow morning, I'll text you an address." He says. "You can bring someone, but I have to approve of them first."

"Steve Rogers."

"No," Tony says, "He won't trust me."

Tony is right about that, but you don't tell him. "Natasha Romanoff?"

"You know Romanoff?" He sounds shocked, but lets out a sigh. "Of course you know about Romanoff. Fine, bring her. Tell no one, if they catch on to us they'll burn us both."

The line goes dead before you can say anything else, and you're left breathless at the thought of what you're about to do.

--------------------------------

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[in-this-body-of-mine]

To The Bone (2017) - Analysis and Charting

Let’s go! I’m NOT excited because life is hard but what better way to distract myself than to do this kind of shit. No one cares, anyways.

Since this is the first one, let me tell you what we’re gonna do here. I’ll include the IMDB summary, a summary with spoilers, the placements in the chart, we’ll go over each item (also, spoilers abound) and finally my review and final thoughts. Yes, it’s gonna be long. Read at your own risk.

IMDB summary:  A young woman, dealing with anorexia, meets an unconventional doctor who challenges her to face her condition and embrace life.

Summary with spoilers: Lily Collins plays Ellen/Eli and from the start of the movie she is on the brink of her disease. She was just kicked out of a recovery center and she gets an appointment with a ~cool unconventional doctor~ played by Keanu Reeves. She goes into ANOTHER inpatient treatment home to be treated by him. Shit happens, she seems to be getting better somehow, but then she spirals down, runs away, and after a... near death experience (I wish this was an euphemism) she decides to try recovery again and goes back to the treatment home. That’s where the movie ends.

Chart placements!

Now for each item:

White: Ellen or Eli is played by Lily Collins, who once played Sandra Bullock’s daughter in that movie were she was a Karen. It doesn’t get whiter than that.

Female: She changes her name to Eli mid film (which is how I’ll be calling her here bc we respect chosen names in this household) but she still seems to identify as female and be referred to as such, so here we have it. We do have a guy in the treatment home, but we’ll come back to him later.

Teenager/Young adult: I’m pretty sure she is 19 but every review I see says she’s 20. Either way, she dropped out of college even though she just started it. The actress, however, was 28 at the time the movie was released.

Wealthy/seemingly well-off: Her family has the money to send her to inpatient a bunch of times, and they make a point to mention how they have connections so she didn’t have to wait in line to see this new doctor. Case closed.

Skinny actress from the start: As we know, Lily Collins is already thin and she did struggle with anorexia in the past. Why, however, did she lose weight for this movie? They said it was her decision “to make the character more authentic”. As if not being skin and bones wouldn’t be enough. As if eating disorders don’t come in every size. They shouldn’t let her. The need to shock people is a very dangerous sign to me.

No distinctive personality or hobbies/interests: I’m glad Eli has a thing she loves. It’s not super present, but it’s there, and it’s plot relevant. She loves art and in the story, she had a tumblr (look, it’s us!) where she shared drawings related to her ED and a girl liked her drawings so much that, when she killed herself, she mentioned Eli by name in a note. But that isn’t really explored too much and I kind of got disappointed by that.

Good student: We don’t really know about that... and I don’t think it matter, it’s ok.

Seemingly irrelevant love interest: Why? Just why do we need Luke? Luke is the only guy in the home, and we can SEE that he’s only there to be Eli’s love interest. He wasn’t needed. None of the important plot points have anything to do with him. Make her date a girl. Make her date NO ONE. This is about eating disorders. She could have closer friends in the house. Why was this necessary. Her whole speech about how love is a lie could come from a friendship but no. They had to shove pretty white boy there.

Daddy issues (sometimes coupled with mommy issues): I find this extremely funny but her dad isn’t in the movie. At all. He’s alive and well, but he makes a point to never come home when Eli is even awake. I don’t think they cast an actor for that. As for mothers, she has three, and it’s a trip. Her stepmom on her dad’s side is very out of touch but she wants what’s best for Eli, but she really hates Eli’s biological mom. Bio mom, in turn, is described as a “bipolar lesbian” and the stereotypes are just... ugh. Bio mom has a wife and she is a bit weird too. They sent Eli to live with her absent dad bc “they couldn’t deal with it anymore”. This brings us to a great scene where we can see Eli shrinking in her seat and when the psychiatrist asks her what she is feeling she says “I’m sorry I’m not a person anymore. I’m a problem.” And that’s great to see. But at the same time, I hate that her whole issue in this movie seems to come from her family and anorexia is just a thing that happened, with some vague references to control. 

*Triggering event*: We never see it and it’s okay - but I kind of wanted some more explorations of motives because we have ZERO.

Anorexia as diagnosis: As I always say, what is even the point of making a cool looking movie about EDs if your protagonist is not only anorexic, but also terminally anorexic? Ugh. That’s the only portrayal of anorexia that happens in media and I’m fucking tired.

Checklist of habits (manual for those looking for one): I mean, I mark this down but as I always say: everything is a manual if you’re looking for one. But if you’re doing more than not eating or purging or exercising I’ll judge it as a new tip. A lot of us already thought of/did most of them probably. But the marking remains.

Inpatient treatment (or extended hospital stay): As I said, she is kicked out of one treatment center and goes straight into another. What fucks me up is that the movie HAS other characters with other diagnosis, but we never see anything about them. We don’t see their journey. We only know Luke is a dancer bc he is the love interest. We only know Megan is pregnant and then she’s not bc this sends Eli in a spiral. We only know Kendra is not straight bc she makes a joke about it (and Doctor Beckham follows with a horrible joke about conversion therapy). Did you notice Ciara Bravo was in this movie? I didn’t on first viewing. She has like two lines. The whole movie is centered around Eli and every scene in the house feels like all the other patients only care about her too.

Emotional tipping point: Megan loses her baby and for some reason this affects Eli. Luke kisses Eli and for some reason she’s pissed. At that point, I was annoyed. She has a bad session with Doctor Beckham who basically tells her to grow a pair and stop complaining (which is insensitive as a doctor, but as a person I wanted to do the same) and she decides to quit and leave. She has to go to her mother’s home and I’m supposed to care. Stepmom is mad but doctor says she needs to hit rock bottom. She weights like 70 pounds dude. Rock bottom was about ten pounds ago, next stop is a coffin, mate.

Mom hugs: And here we have the emotional turn around of the movie and it’s just... make it make sense. She goes to her bio mom’s ranch. Her stepmom # 2 tells they’ll have therapy with horses (?). Eli goes sleep in a tent and bio mom cries and says she accepts if Eli wants to die. Very supportive I guess. They have this weird bonding moment where the mom feeds her a bottle like a baby and look, if you liked that, good for you, but I don’t get what I was supposed to feel about it (but that’s mom hug #1). She goes on a hike next morning and... dies? Either way she has an out of body experience where she talks to Luke and sees how she looks - which is weird to me. Didn’t we go over this in the beggining of the movie? Didn’t we establish that she does know what she looks like and doesn’t care? But still she seems shocked and they have a cryptical conversation and she wakes up. And just like that, she’s ok now. She meets up with the other stepmom (mom hug # 2) and goes back to the home.

Happy ending: In the last scene Eli is back to the home and we understand she’s going to try to recover for real this time. I’m okay with that specifically, I think it would be bad if they pretended she just got better with no relapses and everything is fine, but it’s a hopeful ending. Despite the fact that we have no idea if she won’t have a fit and leave in two days and that we never know anything about anyone else and Megan, who lost the baby, never comes back. It’s fine. At that point, I didn’t expect much.

Analysis: I was hesitant to be critical bc this movie was based on the real life experiences of the director and Lily Collins. But fuck it, this is my circus and I’ll clown as much as I want. While I do understand that, I have a lot of thoughts.

Mainly, I need to say that while I understand this is her story, this is a story that was told so many times. I’m tired.

The general public that wants to defend the movie says “well you can’t tell ALL stories”, and while I agree, these people probably only saw this movie about the subject. If you HAVE (or had) and eating disorder, you probably saw tons. And they ALL tell the same story. Which is why I started that chart in the first place.

This movie does have good moments. I do like the acting, I saw people complaining about Keanu Reeves performance - but I do know these were people who disliked the movie entirely. I think his performance was great, Lily Collins performance was great, and their chemistry was great. The best scenes in the movie happened between the two of them. The one thing that I LOVED was their first interaction when he calls her on her bullshit. “You’re not thin, you scare people, and I think you like that.” YES. I never heard anyone talk about that. And I guess I’ll never will, bc the movie itself never talk about this again either. Also when she justifies the tumblr where her art triggered a girl so much, she says that she was just drawing what she knows, he calmly tells her that she can draw, but she doesn’t have to share it online tho. I liked their interactions because often ED patients are treated with silk gloves (is that the expression?) and sometimes there is a need for some though love. I also love Liana Liberato who plays her sister and that’s about it.

The problem with the doctor ends up being: what’s his method? How are you going to cure her? The method makes no sense. I don’t see the reasoning. I don’t think anyone does. And somehow it works and she goes back there. 

I think my major problem with the movie is that it has the same issues every ED portrayal before it. It’s the same story again. I think it shines the most in the whole “it’s not about food, it’s about control!”. It IS about food though. For a lot of people, it is. Maybe not for this director or for Lily Collins, but for so many people it is about food. It’s about control as well, and it is possible that there is other factors related to it, but you can’t chalk it all up to a control issue and pretend it’s just whatever. If the food didn’t matter, it wouldn’t be an eating disorder.

Because of that, we have this heavy focus on her family issues and nothing to do with food. We have people trying to rationalize - maybe it’s bc your mom is a lesbian, maybe it’s bc i didn’t bond with you as a baby - and all that does is to make her lesbian bipolar mother seem like a crazy asshole and her dad seem like an absent asshole as if this is the only factor here. Give me SOMETHING. Any connection to food. Any sense. Nope. She just won’t eat bc her family is fucked up. Hoe, that’s all of us.

And I think the movie unintentionally DOES glamourize anorexia. Subtly, yes, but it does. Eli has SUCH an easy time refusing food. She doesn’t seem to think about food as much as she thinks about herself and her family and Luke and being annoying. She knows a bunch of calories and she overexercises. Idk.  Not to mention that moment when Kendra asks her about purging and she says “it’s not her thing”. I mean. It is no one’s thing. No one likes it. It’s a compulsion. And if you have anorexia that severe and you are not with a feeding tube, you do eat every now and then, and you do have purging mechanisms. If she had said she prefers overexercising as a purging mechanism than to throw up, I would believe her. But the movie acts as if she just never eats ever and somehow she’s still standing. Give her a feeding tube then. It would be more believable.

I know it sounds kind of ranty, but my point here is: this extremely anorexic girl, that looks like a sack of bones, and gets that by never eating and doing crunches all the time, it is the wet dream of a fatphobic society with a 71 billion weight loss industry. This is the dreamy and frugal idea of anorexia that people have when they are deep into the illness - not when they recovered as the people involved say they did. I get that this is a very personal project. But it’s flawed. It doesn’t do anyone any favors. It just tells the same story, for the millionth time, but since this time it was in a big platform, more people saw it, and it was better done, with a better budget and with a good enough resolution so I can see every bone in Lily Collins body.

Anyway, that’s it for today. If you read all of that, thanks. Since this is Netflix, I’m assuming everyone saw, but the other movies are out there and if you need liks, hit me up. Be back soon.

[hedgefairy]

So I'm stuck in Berlin, which, you know, it could be worse, but I really wanted to edit that 18th century breeches video. Anyhoo, now I have time and nothing else to do, so here's

Bridgerton, Episode 2

Missed Ep. 1? Here you go.

We start off with a birthing scene, is it the Dukey? It's the Dukey! Daddy Duke does some patriarchal screaming and Mummy Duke promptly dies, because of course she does, we can't have a happy childhood for the brooding hero, c'mon!

Dukey also has a mistress (present day Dukey, not baby Dukey). Is that Opera Girl? I have real problems telling these people apart, especially the Bridgerbros. I somewhere read that it's something that features extensively in the books, them always getting confused for one another, but in the series it just comes off as "these guys all look alike". Make it a plot point or something, but without it being acknowledged on screen this just screams "we didn't know how to make white brown-haired Regency bros look distinct"...

Where, Dreadlock Gent Extra in the background again!

I'm just not a fan of the colour coding between Dukey and Daphne, she basically does a Wendy Darling closet cosplay (don't get me started on that stupid hair... Yet) and he's all dark colours, it's all light female, dark male, even with their overall colouring (her being whiter than brioche and he being a POC) and character (she's a perfect angel and he's super broody) and I just don't dig it. Give me interesting shit, not this obvious sleeping aid! Also, Daphne doesn't even wear a spencer, girl, it doesn't look like it's that hot outside and you look like you're able out in your nighty.

Notes say "Horrid Featherington dresses, the spoon is def. not silver", which yes, antagonist fashion, and ffs, send the underpaid intern who didn't go get strappy shift Ersatz tops to a thrift store for some decent silverware. I can lend you some of mine, but ugh, really, its not that hard. The budget was obviously there.

Do we finally get plot? Eloise the Spirited goes walking with Penny and her hair just... isn't,and yes, she wants to go to uni (of course, because she's not like other girls™, don't get me wrong, YES, but I'm a bit tired of modern ideas being shoehorned into historcal settings because there is so much cool historical feminism and equality discourse and I'd love to see some of that in mainstream-ish popular culture), but Penny is very preoccupied with Cousin's pregnancy.

Of course Daphne's and Dukey's super clever ruse works like a charm, tons of suitors flock to Daphne's parlour. Lord B (you remember, her super asympatico brother who is a straight-up hypocrite) is super agitated about it.

Is that Dreadlock Gent in with the suitors?

Lord B continues to be a bitch about Horrid Suitor™ (who still has a broken nose which I very much approve of).

Oooh, shirtless boxing! AND gossip! Enter Lord B(itch) who of course wants to throw hands with Dukey. I really like Dukey's boxing bro, and the breeches. I want those! Well, I kinda made some, but the notes are from when I was just making them, so, err, yes. The notes also say "bad defense work, boring footwork" and I'm not sure if I meant Dukey or Lord B, but let's just assume it's both.

More Baby Dukey flashbacks! Daddy Duke sucks. So. Much. Let him kick an actual puppy already, we get it. Fun fact: When I hear Hastings (which is Dukey's last name, but I didn't bother remembering) I automatically think of the battle.

Yay, Penny visits cousin who's all rapunzeled up in her room for being pregnant. Turns out, lol, she got knocked up because church was so boring she started flirting with a guy and they totally hit it off (I'm not sure if it's canon, but I like to think they got it on in one of those confession boxes - idk if that's the term, I'm not catholic - or behind the organ or something juicy like that). Oh god, I hope they don't kill off the baby daddy because he's a soldier.

I refuse to believe in the existence of those high heels on the feet of that acrobat.

Lady B gets invited by the Queen and elatedly let's Daphne wear the family diamonds.

I just noticed that it's just Gossip Girl meets Pride & Prejudice. Ugh. I mean, that could have been a really good thing, but no.

Cool Old Lady™ (aka. Lady Danbury) calls Dukey out for dressing so drably. I like her.

"Make yourself terrifying" is a fucking cool piece of advice.

Oh, look, Dukey and Daphne are having fun while Horrid Suitor™ looks on, and Lord B tries to intervene like the little bitch that he is. Turns out Horrid Suitor™ is horrid inside and out and still insists that Daphne basically contractually belongs to him and I just don't have enough middle fingers for that shit.

We get another flashback of how horrible Daddy Duke is.

So the two women who are not into the whole (tiringly chemistry-free) romance thing are Eloise and Penny, one of whom walks like she's trying to emulate a seventy-year old with back problems and the other is the only non-thin person on screen aside from Horrid Suitor™ (and of him I suspect that it's to underline how very unattractive he's supposed to be). It feels all a bit very caricature-ish?

Horrid Suitor™, who has a shiner now from both Daphne and Dukey (I approve), tries to blackmail his way into marriage. It's just so laughably evil? What's this subtlety thing people keep talking about?

Wait, Eloise smokes? Yay! I mean, I don't encourage that, but in this case it's actual rebellion against the perceived ideal woman. Also, it explains her voice. Also, middle Bridgerbro gets a fucking line! WTF! I wasn't prepared for this! Their interaction is really sweet, I think its my favourite so far in the entire series.

Is the portly guy at court meant to be George IV? He's not. Aww. Also, cocain and/or snuff. Queen Charlotte is being ominous and braggy.

Enter Horrid Suitor™'s mum for gossip, because of course he's not only unsightly, of bad character, a sexual harrasment on legs and all the stuff, he's also a mama's boy. Which is bad, I suppose, because it implies unmanliness and being soft, which has so many unfortunate implications in itself. Ugh.

Cousin gets a line!

Eloise feat. bad "tomboy" hair (I feel personally attacked for some reason) and Daphne have a conversation about how they are super traumatised by their mother giving birth to their siblings.

Some of the background dresses look really bad.

Dukey and Daphne switch to first names, that's SO ROMANTIC! Aaah, the chemistry! (no.)

Ooooh, so Dukey not marrying is his revenge against Daddy Duke. His bloodline dies with him. Also, he just hadn't met Protagonist Girl yet, so it would have been such a waste, right?

And this concludes Ep. 2, which had surprisingly little in terms of annotations. I could delve more into the unfortunate implications of Horrid Suitor™ being a mama's boy but I'm still writing all of this on my phone and I need a break. So,

To be Continued.

Probably soon, because the trains still aren't going.

[writing-for-amusement]

Never Gonna Leave

Request: “Uuuuh how about a venom x plus size reader who is made fun of for her size and venom/Eddie gives her a little comfort ((and maybe decides to get some revenge????)) cause those stories make me soft.”

A/N: Alright, here’s the first actual installment of my 150 follower celebration (except now it’s really more of a 200 follower celebration)!! As with the anon, these sorts of stories really make me soft, and I hope you guys like this! I adore Eddie Brock and Venom and I hope I did them justice!!!

All of my taglists are still open, as are requests!!! I’m hoping to get them out at a faster pace lmaooooo

Permanent Taglist: @pparkerwrites, @jordyns-library, @natblidaclexa, @peterseuphoria, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @beccaboo929, @softrdj, @icecoldban, @paintballkid711

Word Count: 3288

Warnings: gets a little steamy but no smut, hints to smut, hints to violence, rude people making rude comments, near panic attack, silly dancing, like a serious amount of fluff

You pulled to a stop at the stoplight, your hands gripping the handlebars of your motorcycle tightly. It was taking the light what felt like forever to change, and you were already late for date night because a customer at your shop just refused to leave.

Finally, you were able to continue. You didn’t know why you were having dinner at a diner all the way across town from both your shop and your apartment, but hey, you weren’t complaining. You enjoyed new things and trying new places.

It seemed like it took forever to get to the so-called ‘diner’ that was supposed to host your date. You parked your bike and took off your helmet, tucking it under your arm. The building itself looked… nicer than you anticipated.

“Y/N!” a familiar voice called out to you. As you were turning towards the voice, you were crushed in a tight hug.

“Eddie, Venom, you’re crushing me!” you managed to chuckle as your air was gently squeezed from your chest.

“We missed you,” Eddie said, pulling back to pout. “We never wanna leave you.”

“Aw, poor babies,” you cooed, quickly pressing a kiss to his pouting lips. He pulled you back in and buried his nose in the crook of your neck; a tendril from Venom snuck out and “licked” a stripe up your neck. Your giggle made them both hum in happiness.

Eddie broke away and laced your fingers together, smiling brightly at you. He led you inside, unlacing your fingers so he could drape his arm around your waist. His fingers gently rubbed the skin revealed at the bottom of your shirt, making your skin tingle but your overall demeanor relax. Venom curled a hidden tendril around your wrist; it was one of his favorite places to hold and made him feel like you were actually holding hands.

“Where would you like to sit?” Eddie asked you, pulling you a bit closer.

“Anywhere is fine,” you smiled at him.

He grinned, giving your hip a small squeeze. Your boyfriend led you over to a booth near the back and you sat across from him, putting your helmet next to you. You looked around as a waitress quickly bustled over to you with some menus.

It was probably the nicest diner you’d ever been in. It wasn’t meant to be a recreation of what diners used to be. The place was basically a restaurant that simply served diner food. It was decorated with modern sleek designs, but it wasn’t overly lit with bright lights. There was a bar that you could see from your booth, but people weren’t clamoring for the attention of the bartender. It was much calmer in that aspect than other places.

There was also a dancefloor, but it wasn’t full of grinding bodies. The people there were more spread out, dancing in a way that fit to the music; it wasn’t loud club music, no loud trilling bass beats. It was calmer, less frantic than a club. You liked it.

The waitress, a lovely woman named Beatrice, handed you both menus and gave you two a moment to look the menu over. It wasn’t large, just a simple two pages as a book, but the simplicity had a sort of charm that you quite liked. You talked through the options with your boyfriend, him occasionally giving input from Venom, and made your decisions. You were expressing your enjoyment of the music to him when he beamed at you.

“I figured,” Eddie basically purred as he leaned towards you with twinkling eyes, “that you and I could dance a bit after we eat.”

“I’d love that,” you smirked.

“All right, do we know what we’re eating?” Beatrice asked. She placed two waters on the table for you both.

You and Eddie ordered your food, including an alcoholic beverage for each of you. As Beatrice smiled and walked away, your eyes locked on your boyfriend across from you. His eyes, those beautiful blue-green eyes you adored, were sparking at you.

Not sparkling, sparking.

“I cannot wait to get you back home and help you relax, sweet thing,” he murmured loud enough for you to hear him.

“Oh really?” you raised a brow, leaning your elbows on the table and putting your chin on your folded hands. “Why is that, babe?”

Eddie grinned the sweetest grin at you. He reached across to you, taking your hand and squeezing it. “You’ve been so stressed lately, love,” he said. “With expanding your shop, and then the showerhead breaking on us, and your parents, and my bike, well… I just want you to be able to relax, baby. And I know I can help with that.”

“Well,” you smirked before biting your lip, “you’ll just have to prove it, won’t you?”

“That’s a promise, sweet cheeks,” he winked at you.

Your head tilted back in laughter and delighted in his accompanying chuckles. Your smile was radiant with your laughter as you thanked Beatrice when she arrived with the drinks. Eddie was still holding your hand and he squeezed it before letting go so he could take a long drink, his eyes on you the entire time.

While you waited for food, you chatted with your boyfriend about his day. He told you all about the information he’d found that day, and how he would appreciate your help with some wording on his other project.

Your food arrived and you dug in, a moan leaving your mouth as the delicious taste flooded your mouth. You had a feeling that his eyes were flashing as your head leaned back in happiness from the taste. It didn’t matter to you, though, because the steak and eggs you were tasting was too glorious to open your eyes.

“Jesus, Eddie, how long have you known about this place?” you asked him as you opened your eyes.

His eyes were a bit whiter than normal and he arched a brow at you. You blinked as you ran through your previous actions, then you winked at him. A small, low growl left his throat, and you giggled slightly.

“I’ve been coming here for, oh, three months?” Eddie finally told you.

You gave him a faux-pained look and stuck your bottom lip out. He laughed at your antics and told you to just dig in and enjoy the food.

Once you were both done, and had shared a milkshake, Eddie stood up and held his hand out to you. With a coy smile, you put your hand in his and let him whisk you to the dancefloor. Eddie gave you a twirl and you laughed brightly, tilting your head back.

“I adore you,” you told him as he twirled you into his chest.

Eddie’s hands wrapped around your waist and he swayed you back and forth, much slower than the beat of the music playing. He put his forehead on yours and you could see the adoration shining in your eyes.

“How long has it been?” he murmured just loud enough for you to hear.

“Since we went on our first date?” you asked as you looked up at him. His confirmation was just a simple tender smile. “It’s been a year.”

Eddie hummed gently and dipped his head to give you a sweet kiss on the lips. “Feels like much longer than that.”

“We’ve known each other for three years, Eddie,” you pointed out.

“Feels longer than that, too,” he said.

You tipped your head back with your laugh and ruffled his hair. He pouted at you and urged you to dance to the beat now.

One of your favorite things about Eddie was how unafraid he was to be a dork. Venom was also unafraid to be a dork, but that was mostly because his knowledge of human customs was still being worked on. Eddie performed an incredibly cheesy disco finger that had you in stitches while you moved your hips to the beat.

Not one to be outdone, you started to do the sprinkler, Eddie’s laugh bright in your ears. Of course, he joined in happily, and the two of you were having a dorky dance move competition, to no one’s surprise.

Then, while you were bouncing to the beat exaggeratedly fist pumping, you heard it.

“Jesus, what a cow,” a man commented. “It’s disgusting.”

“A cow made out of Jello,” his friend added with a laugh.

“I bet fucking her is like fucking a bowl of condensed soup,” another laughed.

“I bet that boyfriend of hers is only pitying her, using her as a filler until he finds someone better. There’s no way a guy like that could be with a guy like her,” the singular woman with them said, and she was obviously tipsy.

It had been some time since someone commented on your appearance. These past months with Eddie—hell, even before you were dating—had done wonders for how you viewed yourself. Your self esteem had always been up and down, but with Eddie, it was up much more often. But now, it was like you had never gotten that high.

The fact that you felt so low because of a couple of assholes made you angry, but you couldn’t help the way that you felt. It harkened back to your school days, and it was not a pleasant trip down memory lane. And what they said about Eddie made all of your hidden insecurities about your relationship rear their ugly heads.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Eddie asked you, he and Venom noticing your quick change.

“I, um, I’m gonna run to the bathroom really quick,” you informed him before quickly walking off to the bathroom.

Once you were in the clean one-stall restroom, you locked the door and quickly hopped onto the counter. Your breathing was rapid, and you knew that the panic attack was right on the horizon. It was not something you wanted at all.

You were going through your grounding exercise when a knock on the door made you jump in shock. Your lungs jumped as your panic attack came even closer.

“Y/N?” Eddie’s voice came through the door. “C’mon darling, let me in.”

“We can hear your heartrate, Y/N,” Eddie let Venom say aloud. “Let us in.”

You reached a shaky hand over and unlocked the door. Eddie was immediately walking in, a bit of Venom’s inkiness creeping up his neck.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Eddie demanded gently.

“I-it’s nothing,” you breathed out. “Just… hold me?”

Eddie’s strong arms wrapped around your shoulders and he tucked your head into his chest. He rubbed your back with soft hands and started to hum your favorite song. Slowly, your breathing returned to normal and you felt your heartrate calm.

“There, she’s a bit better now,” Eddie murmured, though you could tell that it was directed towards Venom in his mind.

You gently pushed Eddie back a bit and smiled up at him. “I’m okay now.”

“C’mon, you can’t just avoid it. Tell us about it,” your boyfriend(s) urged you gently.

With a shaky inhale, you essentially whispered, “Some people on the dance floor… called me disgusting and a cow. And they said that you’re just using me until someone better comes along. They said that someone like you could never be with someone like me.”

“What?” Eddie and Venom’s voices blended together in a growl.

“N-no, please, you two, please don’t bother,” you begged them.

“They made you feel disgusting and ugly when you clearly are not,” Eddie’s voice said, though Venom’s voice was still in the back of his throat.

“Eddie, Venom, please, can’t we just… go?”

Eddie’s shifting eyes, and Venom’s vein popping on his neck, were a little concerning. As your eyes pleaded up at him, your boyfriends hesitantly nodded. You were about to jump off the counter when Eddie put a determined hand on your shoulder.

When you looked up at him, Eddie’s eyes were dark with lust and determination. As you opened your mouth to ask what was going on, he put his finger on your lips.

“Shush, we’re going to prove them wrong. Don’t worry, we’ve got you. We’re never going to leave you. It’s a promise.”

With that gentle sentence, Eddie pressed his mouth to yours hungrily. While you were surprised, you found yourself melting into his kiss, as you always did. You felt a tendril from Venom move to attach to your wrist again.

Eddie pulled back from your lips with a gasp, his eyes glittering. At the sight of your already swollen lips, he let out a delectable groan and quickly attached his lips to the side of your neck. He sucked on your pulse point, making you breathe out a gasp.

Eddie knew exactly how sensitive your neck was, and he and Venom always used it to their advantage. When Eddie moved and sucked the spot behind your ear, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Venom decided to keep them there and trailed his own “hand” to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck (another sensitive spot).

Your boyfriend was clearly on a mission as he rutted his hips against yours and sucked all over your neck and collarbone. As he tongued a particularly wonderful spot at the junction of your collarbone and neck, you whined and tugged on his hair.

Eddie and Venom’s voice combined into a growl once more, and he stepped back from you sharply.

“We’re leaving,” they announced, gently tugging you off the counter. Eddie’s hand, and a sliver of Venom, held yours tightly as he guided you out of the bathroom. They didn’t even give you a chance to fix your now messy hair.

“Who said it?” Eddie whispered into your hair as you walked your table.

“What?”

“Who said those things?” Eddie asked tensely.

With a sigh, knowing he wouldn’t let it go, you pointed out the group of people without actually pointing them out. They were staring at you, specifically your neck, and had looks of shock on their face.

“Alright, doll,” Eddie turned to look at you. “Why don’t you go ahead and go home while I pay for the stuff? I’ll meet you there.”

“But—”

“And you could slip into that beautiful gunmetal babydoll set that we all love so much?” he pleaded with shining eyes.

You laughed brightly and finally nodded. Eddie and Venom whispered a thank you before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Grabbing your helmet, you quickly exited the diner, eager to get home and put on the lingerie set your boyfriends mentioned.

The drive home was uneventful and much quicker than the one to the diner. You were incredibly grateful for that, but you also figured that if you had been in the light mood you were currently in earlier, perhaps the drive would’ve been better.

Once home, you quickly slipped into the piece of “clothing” and made the bed. You put some soft but sexy music on the speakers and lounged on the couch in your silk robe (a gift from Eddie) while waiting for your boyfriends to return.

You played on your phone for what felt like forever. Patience had always been a virtue of yours, so you waited for what turned into an hour for them to get home.

The apartment door opened, and you popped your head up over the back of the couch, a bright smile on your face. Eddie looked breathless, as if he’d climbed the stairs instead of took the elevator, and as if he’d climbed them three at a time.

“Hello there, handsome,” you greeted him with a smile.

Eddie simply grinned and crooked a finger at you, beckoning you over. With a soft giggle, you quickly padded over to him. He stared down at you with an intensity that you weren’t completely unfamiliar with, but it was normally a little… calmer.

“We took care of those people,” Eddie informed you softly. At your concerned look, he rushed to finish, “Venom didn’t eat them. Actually, he said they’d taste like rancid meat or something. No, we just threatened them.”

“Eddie, V, you shouldn’t—”

“No one gets to make you feel that low,” they stated firmly. “No one. You are ours and we love you and you deserve the best the world has to offer.”

“Aw, you guys, that’s really sweet,” you began to say, but you were cut off by Eddie’s finger once more.

It was just Eddie’s voice as he said almost nervously, “I’m not saying we’re the best the world has to offer. We’re far from it, actually. But you’ve always accepted me no matter what, even before Venom and after Annie. You are the most amazing woman on this planet. You are the kindest, bravest, most fantastical person I’ve ever met. I love you, Y/N, I’ve always loved you, even before I knew it.”

There were tears misting your eyes at his kind words, and you cupped his stubbly cheek with your hand. “Eddie, Venom, you’re both amazing. I love you too. I’ll never stop loving you, Eddie. I’ve loved you since I first met you. You’ve always been the person I’ve wanted to spend the rest of my days with, in whatever type of relationship possible.”

Eddie’s smile was nervous, something you had only seen once, when he told you about Venom. Eddie Brock was not someone who got nervous over nothing. Stressed, yes, but he very rarely got nervous. It made you nervous, too.

“I’m glad you think that way,” he chuckled tensely.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” you asked, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone.

Suddenly, your boyfriend was kneeling on the ground and a small purple box was in his hand. You took a step back in surprise, your hand coming up to clutch your chest. Eddie, and Venom’s head, smiled up at you like a billion gem shards in the sunlight.

“Y/N, you’re my—our—best friend, and the love of our lives. You’ve accepted us when we both thought you’d run away. You make us calm, you make us patient, you make us better. Please, Y/N, would you do me the honor of being my wife? So that our relationship can’t be broken in any possible way, even by the law?”

“Eddie Brock, you idiot, is this because—”

“No, it’s not. I was planning to do this anyway.” He had his own hopeful tears streaming down his cheeks and melting into his adorable stubble.

You were completely crying. “That’s what I thought,” you whispered happily.

Eddie opened the box and showed you the simple ring that you had always described. Venom’s voice rumbled with happiness as he prompted, “Well, Y/N?”

“Yes, of course I’ll marry you idiots!” you nodded emphatically with the tears running down your cheeks in ecstatic rivulets.

Eddie was up in an instant, lifting you in his arms and twirling you around. You were laughing and crying with him, feeling him press kisses into any available space.

When your fiancé finally put you down, you brought your lips to his in a searing kiss. As you slipped your tongue into his mouth, Venom slipped the ring onto your finger easily.

Eddie drew back from you and gave you a wolfish grin, a flash of Venom in his eyes. “Now, it’s time to celebrate and relax, and I plan on making it even more obvious that you’re mine and that I love you more than life itself.”

“As long as I get to do the same,” you smirked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Eddie chuckled darkly as he scooped you into his arms and squeezed you, Venom gripping your wrist tightly.

You knew they would never leave you.

[loganscalesaurawrites]

9/1 Prompt for @tsshipmonth2020 ‘s Soulmate September stuff. I haven’t written a lot of Sanders Sides though [... Or fanfics in general that were more than oneshots/fallen projects. so expect roughness.

[I’ll be doing a mix of platonic soulmates and romantic soulmates as this goes on [If I write more], because I’m a big fan of the sides as a big poly web with Roman and Remus being the only two not actively dating because remro/m = no.]

This one’s the full web with remus and roman as platonic soulmates! Because start with your favorite thing.

[Remus is also probably a bit ooc, but I like the headcanon that he plays up his “Depravity” as a side, and in human!Au he’s just someone with a morbid fascination with death or biology that leaves most people unnerved/is prone to blurting out what he’s thinking without really caring about other people’s comfort until he’s told off.

Soulmate Marks had been appearing for centuries at this point with very limited knowledge on how or why exactly they did, a short list of names appearing in either a dark crimson for your lovers, or a glittering emerald for those who you bond with as friends or even a found family in most cases- both darkening with an outline the moment you came in contact with your soulmates. These started forming generally early on in life as your soulmates were born and names chosen, or you were born  with them if you were the youngest of your soulmates.- Though rarely were they ever more than a year or two apart, and with astonishing frequently, you started meeting your romantic soulmates a few days after your eighteenth birthday.

It was a rarity for someone to have more than one [maybe two] of both, but when they were born, the Alvarez twins had a stretch of four crimson names, and the moment their names were chosen emerald swirled on each other’s wrists.

But that was almost two decades ago, now it was eighteen years later, nearing the end of the school year a few days after the twins’ birthday and Roman, once again, was trying to figure out his soulmates.

Patton Kravitz: His last name had changed quite a lot early on, which his parents said probably meant he was bouncing around in adoption centers until he settled in a few years prior. The original name was long forgotten in his memory, but he was sure it was’t a masculine name to start- but that was fine with them both, whatever pronouns- [Roman had a hard time switching to they in his head, but was working on it![- their soulmate had they knew to respect.

Logan Sanders: A simple, regular name. [Remus even jolted up about three times in the past week hearing either of the two seperate, but had to be reminded their birthday hadn’t come up yet, it was unlikely.], unlike the��

Virgil:  No last name, at least not one in english, Roman no matter how hard he tried to learn japanese for the sake of this soulmate was just unable to figure out how to read the kanji [Though Remus could, and it infuriated him to no end when he never said how to read it].

Janus : No last name again, though he had disappeared for a week, before coming back in the same exact place [Remus was the most panicked about this, his more... grim worries flashing through his head before Roman calmed him down, talking about how Patton’s name flickered a few times while his name was in flux, so maybe Janus was similar to patton, just took longer.

  Roman quietly stared at the names on his wrist, again pencil tapping rapidly on his desk, a few rapid bounces of his leg came before the teacher called on him, jolting him out of his reviere and rushing to catch back up on which question they were on.

His brother behind him softly snorted, tapping a rapid series of things and Roman quickly flicked forward and read the line out with a narrowed from his teacher, but the bell rung right after and he quickly rushed to get his things and dart before he could get told off for daydreaming again.

Right behind him Remus playfully chided his brother with a low tsk. “C’mon, Ro, I thought we said you only get one longing lovestruck look at your names a day, that’s the third time I caught you thinking about them and how much you-”

Roman gently elbowed the other as he snickered, “Oh please, you’re the one who daydreams about the bedroom, I’m pure and chaste and romantic.”

“Say that to your picture of Aladdin-”

“He is a god among mortals and you will shut your face before I do-”

Remus’s cackle was heard through the hallway, the two seniors bickering on their way to the car as Roman slid into the passenger’s side, flapping his hands about in excitement as Remus let him jabber on, driving their way to a nearby coffee shop during their lunchbreak. He quickly passed by their usual one, Remus deciding to try different places nearby to hopefully get his brother to shut up about them for one second.

“What absurd thing’re you going to ask them to put on your cup this time?” Roman slid out staring Remus down, ticking his latest creations. “Last name sucker, first name Dick? Boo T Chaser?”

Remus shrugged, grinning wider than Roman had seen, “Just Remus!”

There was a second, Roman waiting for the beat to drop before he blinked, frowning. “... Remus?”

“Yeah, I mean you’re obsessed with our soulmates, might as well make it easier, besides seeing the two of us together and our last names on the cups should abso fucking lutely make these people notice. You think one of our soulmates’d be willing to bang me right after we meet or should I buy them dinner fi-”

Roman threw his hands up in the air, slamming them down to his sides with a snort that betrayed his annoyance. “Your pansexual ass needs to chill.”

“And your Ace ass is the only person I can talk to about this who won’t squirm in discomfort and would dropkick me. Thank god you’re not repulsed otherwise I have no idea how we’re soulmates if you can’t reign me in, princey.” Remus stuck his tongue out, ducking a grabbing hand at the childish nickname before walking in.

The shop itself wasn’t all too unique, a simple cafe with a chalkboard menu above the counter, currently being updated by a guy in a patchwork purple hoodie doodling all sorts of plants along the frame of the board. One of the baristas- dressed complete in suspenders and the hipster aesthetic from the looks of it [who else’d wear a necktie to a casual cafe]- pratling to a customer with a cardigan around his shoulders. Remus met the light chill of the AC with a happy sigh, quickly rushing to stand behind a guy with multicolored skin [Vitiligo- Roman remembered reading about it once] and he jolted when Remus had already moved to the register.

shit.

“Hi I want your darkest roast you’ve got, black, and sunshine here’s gonna need more cream and sugar than coffee. If it’s not whiter than a sheet of paper he won’t drink it.”

“Asshole.” Roman elbowed Remus, turning to the barista. “I’d like just a latte, if you don’t mind. And I’ll pay extra for it too, but if anyone working can do that fancy latte art stuff I’d appreciate it?”

“Very well.” The barista’s tone was an odd mix of clipped formality, and warm gentleness that immediately made Roman melt, and the Barista pulled out two cups real quick, grabbing papers. “Names? And please-” he glared at Remus. “This time, do not make me call out “Luke Kinfor Cawk”

Roman ignored the soft snort from the arist above them, hearing him grumble “Is that any way to treat a customer?”

He glanced up, glaring at the smirking artist- Remus gawking at his light makeup for a second and mumbling something about needing tips from the stylish asian indivudal- “I’ve been working here for a week, I’ll do better about it.”

“God I’m joking Lo, take a hint. Though you’re leagues above where you were when we met. Sorry about that.” The hoodie wearer hopped down, dusting his shirt and picking up a pen himself. “Welcome to the Roast, since he forgot to welcome you. I can do latte art, so any requests?”

“Yeah, can I kiss you-” Roman’s hand slapped over Remus’s mouth- surprised at the safe for work flirt and he stumbled out.

“My apologies, my brother here’s... Eccentric, I apologize if he’s ever gone too far.”

The barista shrugged- and Roman noticed neither of the employees had a nametag on. Odd. “The first time yes, but I just hold it against him since we’ve had a pretty decent rapport.”

“How you can stomach all that biology I don’t know. You two start prattling off those facts in the corner like it’s a science course.” The other two customers nearby snorted, trying to hide their eavesdropping as they themselves chatted, and the artist quickly pulled the labels off. “Names?”

“Roman and Remus Alvarez-”

All at once, four different things fell over. The pencil in the artist’s hand, the mug the barista was cleaning, the coffee that the cardigan clad guy was sipping from... and the 4th individual in his entirety, who somehow litterally fell over at the name spontaneously as though it shocked him.

The twins stared at one another for about half a second, seeing things processing on the other four, before Roman grinned, hands moving up and showing the lines of red names on his wrist.

“Virgil, Logan, Patton and Janus I presume?” Artist, Barista, Cardigan, and the one currently still on the floor in shock nodded in that order, and Remus cackled like mad.

“Ok now that it’s a LOT more kosher, Specs or Chalkboy, can I kiss you now” Remus helped Janus up from the floor, dusting his shirt off while pouting at the workers and Patton giggled.

“I get the feeling we’re gonna be skipping the rest of school today, Remus.” [Don’t do that kiddo!][Please do] “There’s a lot of stuff to talk about.”