#althea writes

[mill-3-rd]

LUNAR CYCLE — s. winchester

discovering other ways to control yourself during the lunar cycle, a drabble (+16)

he doesn’t mind helping you each month, he knows you find it difficult to control your hormones and he loves that you can seek out his comfort. the month starts off normal, you’re unaffected by your werewolf gene and nobody could be able to tell off the bat, even if they were a hunter.. but then you get irritated: a result of the brewing ravenousness that will come when the moon is full. as a pureblood, you can control when you transform aswell as your hunger, but it doesn’t mean that you’re any different to a regular werewolf under the influence of a peaking lunar cycle. but that tension is released when the moon is round and bright: full.

your fingernails drag down SAM WINCHESTER’s back and he hisses into your neck. the humidity lingering on your collarbone is a leftover sign of his panting from near fatigue.

your head falls back into the pillow arrangement you had set up since you began renting your apartment, messing it up like you had done for the last two nights. a long, drawn out whine leaves your mouth which reveal the fangs that keep contracting with your lack of self awareness in such a state. sam feels the sharpness of your fingernails and realises how desperately you’re holding back.

his big hands caress both the legs over his shoulders and he whispers, “‘s okay, let go f’me.”

there’s another gasp from you and a flutter of your eyelids before sam takes his head out of your neck and admires the hang of your top canines over your bottom lip as it quivers. he can see the goldenness hiding beneath black lashes and low lidded eyes and if sam looks close enough, he can see the dark slit in the centre.

his right hand comes up to cradle your face, lustful eyes glaring at your sharpened teeth and he lets his index finger glide over the pair. you shudder and whine and it tells sam just how sensitive your teeth are.

your backs arch in sync, both your stomachs flattening against the other’s: sam due to your nails wraking back up to his shoulders and leaving marks in their wake and you because he’s hit a certain spot inside of you.

your thighs twitch: a telltale sign that your close and sam’s left thumb dips and begins to circle the bundle of nerves left neglected between you two. you moan, your eyes rolling into white while a string of curses fall from your kiss bitten lips. all that’s left is for sam to catch up to you so the two of you can finally rest.

[mischievous-thunder]

When you share a small flat with two shameless roommates that's the end of peace and quiet in your life

[devourable]

drunk cuddly darling + sober yan

vs

sober darling + drunk yan

do yans have any preference on either scenario or is it just no bueno either way

im just gonna simplify this ask down a bit. m!yanderes + f!yanderes x cuddly drunk gn darling 🫶 (no poly/non humans for the sake of my sanity)

⛪️ ;; abe is not the type to drink, never has been and never will be, even if you pressure him to drink more, so while he doesn’t exactly approve of you getting drunk either, he just cant bring himself to be mad at you. not when you’re being so sweet to him! he’s happy that you’re content to just be held by him until you fall asleep rather than get into any trouble that he’s not prepared to deal with. be ready to wake up to a scolding by him though, you could get sick if you go overboard! even if he kind of likes it when you do.

[cw dubcon] 🖥️ ;; god bless any darling who gets drunk around gene because if he can tell you’re inebriated he’s either trying to fuck you or is equally as hammered (if not more). so when you get drunk and start getting all touchy with him he sees it as an invitation to take things further. you wanted the attention, you can’t get mad at how he chooses to give it! it isn’t his fault, you just make really cute faces when you’re wasted. he’ll give you a little apology gift for your sore insides when you’re up the next day — one most likely made up of painkillers and your favorite takeout.

🪶;; it irritates sterling to no end that you got drunk. don’t you know you have an image to uphold? he’s prattling on and on about how he’s sick of your disgraceful behavior and how unbecoming it is for you to waste your time fucking up your brain, until your arms are around him and you’re snuggling up against him. then his words are all caught in his throat and hes tripping through his sentences, half heartedly trying to reprimand you still, but he eventually settles down and (begrudgingly) holds you until you’re asleep. he’ll swear to himself its only this one time; if you remember the next day and try to tease him about it he literally wont talk to you for a week.

💪 ;; valentina had already planned to simply cuddle you till you went to sleep, so the fact that you initiated it makes her elated. she likes how it feels when you squirm in her arms, too out of it to be able to do anything but what she wants. it’s like she’s handling a living doll! she carries you around like one, too, going about her day with one hand and holding you you with the other. yes, it makes doing things way more difficult and yes, the arm she carried you with will be sore for days, but it’s well worth it to her.

[cw dubcon, again] 👑 ;; althea ordered you to go to bed the moment you stumbled into her presence in your inebriated state. when you instead clung to her and insisted on cozying up instead, while it annoyed her, she took it upon herself to make sure you got to bed and couldn’t get into any trouble. but you insisted on her staying with you! and the way you tangled her body up with yours and dragged your hands across her form in a move that couldn’t have been entirely innocent (to her, at least), allie couldn’t help but help herself to your body. you practically owed it to her, anyway; and the way you whimpered and sighed for her proved that you didn’t seem to mind too much anyway.

🥩 ;; rhodes doesn’t particularly care for drunks, they’re used to them being loud and obnoxious. so they’re not exactly happy when they find you after having a bit too much to drink. they’e expecting a tedious night of making sure you don’t hurt yourself or others, so it’s a pleasant surprise when you seek them out for comfort instead. they still would prefer you being sober so you’d be able to better appreciated them taking the day off to be with you, but they’re satisfied with the time you spend with them regardless.

[jennycalendar]

With careful precision, sharp, thin thorns sprouted along new vines, slicing through the fabric of Thea’s shirt without ever once so much as scraping the skin underneath. Thea pulled back just a bit, and when Jaheira broke the kiss, she saw the startled vulnerability to the other woman’s eyes. “You know what I want,” Jaheira breathed. “And I am a woman made impatient. You are at my mercy, aren’t you, hethtalos?”

happy thanksgiving! i'm apparently celebrating by writing old women tying each other up.

this has decisively no place within the larger established canon i'm working on with these two -- i kinda just wanted to write it. soooo bad.

[seriousbrat]

what would the marauders' (+ lily and snape's) tastes in literature and poetry be like? i like to think remus would be a kafka guy and i see lily as a big fan of sylvia plath and the romantic movement, but i'm curious about your take

Ahh I love this question soo much and I've been thinking about it a lot! Thank you for asking ❤️

James

sorry to say but this is a Kerouac bitch. this is a bitch who likes 'boy fiction' like On the Road and Catcher in the Rye. I also think James would like epic fantasy like Lord of the Rings, and science fiction like Dune.

Also, I'm just going to go with Muggle (aka real. lol) literature for this BUT I also want to say that I have invented a wizarding poet that Fleamont is really into for my fic, (this is just an excuse to write/include poetry lol) and James would like that too, having grown up with it. ALSO in my mind James would read poems about Quidditch lol

As for poetry, I think he'd like Beat poetry. But also TS Eliot and Dylan Thomas, similar to Remus, and Yeats, like Lily. An Irish Airman Forsees His Death is perhaps my favourite poem of all time and I think it would REALLY resonate with James. Especially since 'a lonely impulse of delight' would also drive him to 'this tumult in the clouds.' wahhh i love that poem

Sirius

I think Sirius would skew a little darker than James. Honestly as much as he'd hate this he might have a bit in common literature-wise with Snape lol, so I'm giving him Camus, The Stranger, and Sartre, Nausea.

as for poetry, Ginsberg's Howl would appeal to him. and William Burroughs. Like James, Beat poetry in general, though I feel he wouldn't be as into Kerouac as James.

A lot of this kind of stuff doesn't appeal to me as much (Kerouac is my fav Beat unfortunately) but I think generally Sirius would like fairly gritty realistic dark stuff. So the obligatory Bukowski is going here. Also perhaps Ted Hughes. Maybe stuff with a political/social commentary.

Peter

honestly I can't see Peter reading a lot lol but if he did, it'd be fairly easy and exciting things, maybe fantasy/scifi like James. I can see him liking The Hobbit. Also maybe crime novels or thrillers? Like kind of bad, easy to read ones haha.

Also comic books, i know nothing about that personally though. Super heroes?? lol idk

No poetry lmao, he wouldn't get it. Maybe he'd like humourous stuff. Limericks lol. An epicure dining at crewe / found a traitorous rat in his stew, etc

Remus

I agree about Kafka!

I just want to give someone this because it's one of my favourite novels ever, so I'm giving Remus Le Grand Meaulnes by Henri Alain-Fournier. (I think it's been translated as The Lost Estate in English but I prefer the original title.)

Hmm I think he might be a Hemingway?? Also Raymond Carver (who is one of my fav authors) anyway I think the minimalist, understated style of both would appeal to him.

I also think he'd like a good coming-of-age story when younger so, the aforementioned Meaulnes (honestly i rly just love that book) but also Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and, like James, Catcher in the Rye.

And then when older it would be more minimalist stuff. I just think he'd be a Hemingway! Also maybe Steinbeck and Capote. I really dont know why I'm always giving Remus such American taste in things. In my mind he has great taste though haha.

For poetry I'm giving him Dylan Thomas (see? Welsh) and T.S. Eliot, W.H. Auden.

Lily

absolutely Sylvia Plath! I had her reading The Bell Jar in my fic.

but also other poets, particularly female poets. Anne Sexton, Emily Dickinson, Mary Oliver, Edna St Vincent Millay.

Yeats too, she'd absolutely love Yeats. Like I said my fav is An Irish Airman... but Lily would LOVE and be so enraptured by The Stolen Child (as am I)

as for fiction, she'd love The Mill on the Floss (as well as other things by George Eliot,) the Brontë sisters. God would she love Wuthering Heights (both the book and the Kate Bush song.) I think she'd like Little Women too and really identify with Jo (as do we all,) and also Virginia Woolf. I'll give her Oscar Wilde and Poe too.

Also I want someone to be a Wodehouse fan and that's going to be Lily.

as a kid I think her favourite books would have been The Secret Garden and Watership Down. And Alice in Wonderland. She probably grew up with Beatrix Potter and Edward Lear too. This is essentially just my own taste/what I grew up with btw lol

Snape

I think he'd like Kafka too. also, like Sirius, Camus's The Stranger and Sartre's Nausea lol. he'd be pretentious and dark, basically.

I also think he'd read the most nonfiction, specifically philosophy, specifically nihilism lol so the aforementioned Camus and Sartre, Kierkegaard, and NIETZSCHE. god.

He might like horror. Lovecraft, Bram Stoker's Dracula, Jekyll and Hyde. I'm not really a horror fan myself but I think Snape would be.

fun fact but hpwiki lists 'poetry' as one of Snape's skills and I believe that. Anyway, similarly he'd enjoy moody man poetry. But also be more romantic and more classical than Sirius.

I'm giving him Richard Lovelace, I think he'd relate to the romantic aspect of To Althea, From Prison (which is so beautiful) but also the tragedy haha.

As you might be able to tell this is heavily based on what I like and therefore what I could think of off the top of my head. I feel like if you combine Lily's taste with Remus's and then add a bit of the darker Sev side of things, that's just what I like lmao.

So I'm sure there's obvious stuff I'm missing for someone, pls feel free to suggest things!

Edit wait, since I mentioned Dylan Thomas I wanted to share this Welsh translation of his famous poem Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, sung by Welsh group Brigyn! It's a bit folksy haha but such a beautiful version:

[icarusredwings]

A fic written by @monkepenguin

A review of chapter 1 and 2 by me- Hi. With commentary 👌

It's 23k and still going. There are typos, but this person isn't a native speaker of English (aren't the best fics always like that?)

Spoilers:

Wade - it has been a whole 5 seconds. Shut up. Please. Like what the fuck are you even talking about. Why are you saying these things in public?

If I dont read 200 words in and think "what the actual fuck" Am I even reading deadpool? No.

Imagine your room mate is gone for 3 days, shows up, pronounces himself as "Marvel jesus" what ever that is- and now you have 2 more mouths to feed.

Al is way more chill than we give her credit for. She's a pretty chill for a cokehead. (Dont do drugs kids)

"That's future Logans problem." Ah yes, very Wolverine thing to think.

D'awww. See kids when you take care of your logan properly they are happy and clean. Now he needs fed and some TLC and you will have your very own loyal Logan :)

Instinctively kicking dogs is so on brand.

Careful wolvie, you're gonna get a yeast infection.

"It screams liver cancer" says the one jealous of the fact he has cancer

On yes the truama jokes. Poor guy.

At least he's admitting that he knows joking about it isn't good for him, but he doesn't anyway :D

Snappy logan is the best logan.

Ohh baby boy no- no more bar rotting for you. Banned.

You tell'em al! Loud fucks.

Bruuhhh.

Logan: *starts opening up*

Wade: Excuse me? Im the main charater *SLAPS HIM*

Wade: *opens up*

Al really was like "are you guys gonna fuck or fight?" And instead they sobbed together on the roof 😌

Fred you trooper. You go get that old lady.

Oh god not the "Were literally the same people in different fonts" moment 😩

"Wade was actually a good guy just extremely unhinged and horny" Yeaaahhh it's probably a response from scout master kevin- Or the fact that you get dopamine and oxytocin during sex and a lot of people with adhd can easily be addicted to those things. Im suprised he doesn't have a thing for gambling with something other then his life.

"I mean actual coke" "Ahh-" yeah sums those two up.

Wait until al finds out about slippers LMAO. Chalancla him grannie!

Oh my god hes gonna buy a fucking honda odyssey

"OH NO HES HOT"

"Al, my condolences to you for not being able to see this man." FAAACCTSS, im so glad someone else brought this up. Shed be all over him. You know it.

(Logans the type to walk past a diner and get rawred at and giggled by a bunch of old grandma's so much that it gets to the point that he goes "Evening ma'am" to them so they'd stop cat calling him.

Also, WHO RAISED THIS MAN!? Charles!! Charles, this is a god damn gentleman over here! I know damn well it wasn't your father Logan! Was it Jean? Did Jean slap manners into you?)

Aaahh dont give puppins the sex leash noooo (totally canon)

Bro why is wade actually so domestic? Dude is like "Hi! Your life is ruined? Cool! My life is ruined! Lets go comit insurance fraud and buy the exact same car I fucked you in. Now lets go pumpkin. Onward!! To the dealership!"

[amethystandemma]

Trial of Sebastian Sallow WIP

“Sebastian, please listen to me!” Althea shouted. “You’re not thinking clearly! This has gone too far!”

“I need to save Anne! This relic is the answer!” 

“Dark magic isn’t going to help her! It will only make it wor-”

“Crucio!”

Althea crumpled to the dusty stone ground with a scream that echoed throughout the cavern. Solomon Sallow stepped out from behind a broken stone pillar, his wand still pointed at the girl’s body. 

“ALTHEA!”

Sebastian’s brown eyes were thrusted open as he woke up with a strangled yell. She was in trouble. She was in pain, and he needed to help.

He reached for his wand, his breathing shaky and uneven. Only, it wasn’t there.

In a panic he looked around his surroundings, his head swiviling from side to side. It took his brain a second to catch up with what he was seeing.

The fifteen year old was lying on a cot in a dark cell. Solomon wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Althea wasn’t with him.

He was alone.

[gilly-moon]

first draft/WIP of a Nightlight thing where he loses his glow and is Very Unwell about it. This fic is shaping up to be long and ✨️angsty✨️ but here's a little preview of a more wholesome moment from chapter one:

.

“You must be the Nightlight.”

Twisting where he sat, Nightlight expected another member of the staff, come to ogle at him with the others. He straightened up when he found a finely-dressed lady standing at the door instead, her dark eyes reflecting the soft smile on her lips.

He nodded, rising to his feet. There was an instinctual voice in his head telling him to bow to the woman, but he hesitated. Certainly her dress was that of a noble, its dark blue velvet embroidered with gold at the cuffs and collar. But unlike the nobles he’d seen in the Capital City, she seemed otherwise unadorned, auburn hair falling in loose waves down her back.

“Was the journey here bearable?” the woman asked. She pressed a hand to her chest, a simple golden ring glinting on her finger. “I do apologize, we’re so far out of the way…”

Nightlight shook his head, resting the base of his staff on the ground to lean against it. The woman’s eyes followed the movement, but her expression remained pleasant.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for the delay, as well. It seems there was some…miscommunication about when we should expect your arrival.”

Of course. But why wouldn’t the Lunanoffs do everything in their power to be rid of him as soon as possible? He was nothing more than a reminder of their pain. A dead weight to be shipped off to anyone willing to bear him as a burden.

“Well, bygones, I say!”

His eyes lifted from where they’d fallen to his feet. The lady was still smiling, her cheeks rosy with warmth. She actually seemed…pleased that he was here.

“My name is Althea,” she said brightly. “If any of the staff insists I be called ‘Lady Pitchiner,’ they’re fooling with you. We’re all family here in this quiet little corner of the universe.

“And you…is it just Nightlight? Do you have any other name you like to go by?”

Nightlight shook his head emphatically, fingers wrapping tighter around his staff. A Nightlight was a Nightlight and nothing more. He’d already lost his shine. He wouldn’t lose his name, too.

“Very well,” Althea conceded. A touch of concern dimmed her features, but she seemed adept at smoothing it down. “Nightlight, then. Have you been given a tour of the house yet?”

[headlightsforever]

And God, please let the deer on the highway get some kind of heaven. Something with tall soft grass and sweet reunion. Let the moths in porch lights go some place with a thousand suns, that taste like sugar and get swallowed whole. May the mice in oil and glue have forever dry, warm fur and full bellies. If I am killed for simply living, let death be kinder than man.

Althea Davis, “Kinder Than Man”

[mill-3-rd]

TUTORING m afton

being forced to tutor the school's biggest bully, michael afton, was a pain in your ass. if anything, it was a waste of your time. michael would have to repeat the twelth grade if he didn't pass his final exam and you were his last hope.

warnings — degradation, praise, reader is implied to have a big bum, breeding, panty stealing, facefucking + blowjobs, talking you through it, masturbation, fingering, breathplay, hair pulling, spanking, teasing, crying, virginity loss, speedbump pos, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, orgasm control if you squint, scumbag michael

wc — 3,439

© MILL3RD 2023 — all rights reserved. mature content. please do not steal my works.

michael wasn't exactly nice to be around, he was dirty and had the mannerisms of a pig. for one, he walked his shoes through your house as if it were his own and kept them on as he got comfortable in your bed.

you'd spend atleast ten minutes picking up your fallen cushions and plushies that michael had kicked off in his process of achieving luxury before you could start the tutoring session.

he was so frustrating. you would be fine with him failing because he didn't try. michael picked on you inside your own home: he pulled your hair when he felt like it, he pinched and prodded at you when he was bored, he raided your fridge around your mother. the summer heat did not mix well with michael's antics.

for an eighteen year old, he acted like he was nine.

you were so close to going into a heart attack from the stress michael was currently giving you. you sat on your knees infront of michael while he was laying back on your headboard. as you were explaining, michael was making a catapult out of his pen and an elastic band. he misplaced it and the band flung onto the pencil pot beside you, making it fall onto your floorboards. you cringed at the contact and sighed.

giving michael a glare, you got off your bed and dropped down onto your knees to pick up the fallen pencils. unfortunately, some went a bit further which made you reach forward onto all fours.

to michael's perverted pleasure, you wore an old, tight pair of striped sports shorts so when you bent over in front of him, he got to witness your ass basically fall out of the straining fabric.

he chuckled, readjusting his position, "d'you wear those for me?"

you sat on your heels and turned around, "what?"

infront of you was a clearly turned on boy. his cheeks were slightly red, which you would assume it was the heat if you didn't know any better, his eyes were hooded, and his arm had tried to subtly cover his hard on.

your eyes widened before you quickly finished picking up the stationary, "no.." you felt so embarrassed. this time, you put the pot on your nightstand and got back onto the bed, crossing your legs.

"can we just wrap up this session for today?" you huffed, eyes watering due to the mortification, exhaustion, and frustration. michael pouted mockingly, "aw but we still have half an hour left.."

"then that can go into next session's time—you seem stressed," michael interrupted you as he moved towards you. he knelt infront of you and leaned in. his lips were hovering just above yours, "you wanna know what helps with stress?"

michael's hands went to your thighs, slipping his hands underneath them. you let out a breath, too flustered to say anything. his lips dodged your own and drifted across your cheek until he got to your ear, "sex."

using the leverage he had over you, michael dragged your bottom half towards him and made your top half fall backwards onto your bed. you squealed as your clothes lift up with the drag of your duvet and michael climbed on top of you.

"wanna try it out?" michael's voice was just above a whisper, his face just centimetres away from yours. your lips quivered, you'd never been so nervous in your life but you couldn't deny the heat pooling between your thighs. unconsciously, your thighs rubbed together which michael caught onto, "see, you need it baby.."

he leaned down and nipped at the column of your throat, making you inhale shakily and squeeze your eyes shut. it took maybe two more hickeys to get sucked onto you for your eyes to snap open and for you to push michael away. his expression was neutral while yours expressed worry.

"i can't- you.." you uncontrollably stutter, your eyes watering again, "michael, you're horrible to me! you can't expect me to just have sex with you because you're too immature to control your boner.."

he laughed at the use of boner, but its not what it looked like to you, "this isn't funny!" michael calmed down and apologised. it surprised you when the word sorry came out as he wiped his eye.

"c'mon, it'll be a one time thing," he said it so casually it concerned you, just how many girls had he done this with? he leaned in again and you began to panic, "michael, my door is open, my mom will hear! i'm also a virgin.." you mumbled the last part, looking away in embarrassment.

"the door is barely open and i'll be gentle," michael reassured you, making you relax into the matress. maybe if you weren't so turned on at the moment, you would've said no but instead you muttered a shy okay which made michael grin at you and continue his blemishing on your neck.

he sucked on a particular spot on your throat that made a moan come out of you. silently, michael acknowledged this and continued to suckle on it. your hands went to his hair, tugging at his locks and twisting them between your fingers. you let out continuous whines as you tilted your head to the side to try and muffle your noises with you duvet.

michael took notice of this and grabbed your jaw, guiding it back up, "wanna hear you.." your worries of your mom hearing were momentarily forgotten due to michael's words. he continued sucking until there was a dark purple mark the size of a bottle cap. he chuckled, knowing how hard it would be to cover that up.

then, michael leaned back and got comfortable in your pillows once again. he gestured for you to come closer, telling you to kneel infront of him. you did just that and watched wordlessly as michael's hands pushed you up by the underside of your ass. he lifted you so you were relying on your shins to stay up. there was eye contact between you two as michael took your shirt off before your shorts to reveal an innocent pair of light pink underwear with a frilly bow on the front.

"cute.." he mumbled, now focusing on the material covering your private parts. michael hooked his finger on the band before letting it snap back on your skin. you gasped as michael's thumb went back under and soothed the sting.

"you ever given a blowjob before?" you shook your head, "never done anything like this apart from touch myself.." you admitted bashfully and michael awed before taking off his shirt, "i'll teach you how."

"move backwards," he ordered and watched you shuffle away from him. michael nodded and smiled, "good, now lean down and arch your back."

your chest made contact with your hands and your head made contact with michael's left thigh. looking up at him, you saw his eyes focused on your perched ass. the fatness of it spilled over the hem of your underwear and he could see the back of it in the mirror that was—thankfully—behind you.

"what's next..?" you looked up at michael, expectantly and he cleared his throat, "i'll take it out for you.." all you could do was watch with wonder as michael pulled his cock out from the confinements of his shorts and briefs.

"okay, now just grab the base," michael's cock wasn't massive or anything, but he was definitely above average. he was maybe six inches and had girth about the size of your wrist. doing as instructed, you wrapped your fingers around the base and waited for the next task.

"suck on the tip," the way he demanded was so vulgar but it did turn you on. you swallowed before hesitantly wrapping your lips around the tip. it had small beads of precum coming out which you tasted instantly: it was salty and bitter but atleast it didn't taste like he didn't care for himself so that was a plus.

just the tip itself felt heavy on your tongue as you suckled. michael sucked in a breath and shivered, "okay, now take a bit more in and stroke what you can't get."

talk about easier said than done. maybe it wasn't that hard, but you'd never done this before. you pulled off him and offered a sheepish smile, "can you repeat that?"

"should i show you instead?" michael asked and you nodded, "please." he guided his hand to the back of your head, "slap my thigh if it's too much, kay?"

michael guided you back onto his cock and began to push your head down. you felt a few veins slide against your tongue and cheeks which oddly aroused you. when the tip entered your throat, you gagged and slapped michael's thigh.

"go about that far and then stroke what you can't."

you did just that, stroking the base until about half way whereas your mouth got maybe a third way down. michael groaned and huffed as you went and when you added your spare hand into the mix, he was just about done.

"touch yourself f'me.." michael asked, exhaling with a shudder, "loosen yourself up."

you took your right hand away, sliding it down until you reached your clit. you began to rub, your fingers slipping around easily due to your arousal. you moaned around michael's dick, glad they were muffled so nobody but you and michael could hear. your arm went further, allowing your fingers to penetrate yourself. your eyes squeezed shut as you pumped yourself, your secretions already slipping down your fingers and allowing you to go faster and further with ease.

michael grabbed your head, pushing you further onto his dick. tears escaped your eyes as you gagged. his hand kept you at the base of his dick, your nose brushing against his pubes. then, he yanked your mouth off of him. you sputtered and coughed while your fingers still remained inside you.

"the nice guy act's done, y/n," michael smirked at you before sliding his dick back in your mouth. you gagged repeatedly as you were pushed on and pulled off his dick. the noise was so loud, you were sure if your mom was at the bottom of the stairs that she would be able to hear the activity going on in the room.

you went back to rubbing your clit, finding it easier to achieve an orgasm that way. slick sounds came from the contact between your fingers and clit, joining the gagging and moaning in the room. you applied more pressure and rubbed a few more times before slipping your fingers into your cunt again and using your palm to stimulate your clit. you pumped and rubbed, shuffling uncontrollably to try get to the high you craved. then, with three hard thrusts from your fingers in sync with slaps from your palm, you came. you squealed around michael's dick, squeezing your thighs together and riding out your orgasm. you kept your fingers in to keep you open.

michael watched as your ass jiggled and sighed.

"fuck, y/n," michael tossed his head back and moaned. you kept bobbing your head and rolling your wrist. suddenly, michael tugged you off of him by your hair. you whined, spit and precum dripping in strings from your lips.

while panting, michael ordered you to move over. he shuffled to the side and let you take his spot. on your stomach.. he praised you as you crossed your arms to rest your head on as he got behind you, not caring that the remnants of your orgasm still remained on your fingers. michael's shadow cast over you when he reached over you to grab a pillow.

"lift your hips," you did just that, allowing him to slide it under your pelvis. michael's hand massaged your plush ass, his hand sinking into it. he straddled your thighs and lined himself up with your cunt.

"this is gonna hurt for a few minutes, kay?" michael warned before sliding the tip in. it probably would've hurt more if you didn't finger yourself just a second ago. it stung. a lot. but it was bareable. you whined, trying to keep your muscles loose to make it easier for both of you, "shit.."

you dug your forehead into your arms, wincing in discomfort as michael slowly inched himself deeper into you. both your breathing picked up as he pushed himself in until he was fully sheathed inside. you shuddered, feeling abnormally full and a heavyness in your stomach. you both remained in your positions until you were comfortable. michael massaged your hips, ass, and thighs until you gave him the okay to move.

"you can move now.." you sighed, getting used to the feeling of michael's cock inside you. carefully, he slid out of you until halfway before sliding back in. michael then slid all the way out. you gasped, missing the fullness. you heard him chuckle, "i know, i know.." he ignored the blood slowly beginning to seep out. it might've been his first time popping someone's cherry, but he wasn't stupid. it filled him with pride, if anything.

michael went at a medium pace, watching your ass jiggle at the slightest contact with his pelvis. you moaned, tightening your hold on your elbows. the sensation had turned from uncomfortable to pleasurable. it was like that until you were one hundred percent comfortable, which michael had you verbally confirm.

"pussy's so fuckin' tight," he groaned, spreading your ass and spitting onto your cunt. michael watched his spit gradually get pushed inside you as he thrusted. it made the squelching sound much more noticeable.

"fuck..! " you mewled at how good it made you feel that michael was speeding up, but your mom could be listening to all of this!

"michael, slow down, my mom.. ah! " your head was shoved into the mattress, your nose pushed upwards against it, "shut up and take it.."

his hand remained on the back of your head, allowing you to suffocate as he fucked you, "since you wanna be quiet so fucking bad, you're gonna be quiet..." michael's pace increased, pounding into you as you let out broken moan after another.

michael rutted into you, selfishly seeking his own pleasure. he groaned, raising his hand and bringing it down on your ass. hard. hard enough to leave a red knuckle mark in its wake. a gutteral moan escaped you, sinking into the mattress and hiding away your sweet sounds.

"you like that? such a dirty thing.." michael purred and slapped your other cheek with his palm, leaving a stinging sensation. your ass shook with every moment and it had michael mesmerised.

"i wonder what your mom would think of you walking around in those shorts? y'know, with my handprint clear as day because that thing covers nothing.." he was sassing you and it made a chuckle leave your lips which turned into a single pant. you were struggling to keep your eyes open with your air being limited by michael's hand and the mattress.

"m'gonna cum," you cried out into the bed, involuntarily pushing your ass back into michael's pelvis and searching for ecstasy. the air limitation was oddly arousing to you.

"no you're not," michael soothed, stroking your spine, "you can hold it."

"c-can't!" you shivered, reaching forward to grab at anything and finding purchase in a raggedy ann doll. you heard michael awe behind you, "how cute.." he then leaned over your back and trailed kisses down it, only to start back at your shoulder once he hit the small of it and trail bites and hickeys down you.

your pussy clamped down on michael's cock as your body jutted and convulsed. he didn't stop you, only warning you, "if you wanna cum, you can do it all you like.."

you let out a strangled, choked moan as black spots dotted your vision and your orgasm washed over you. michael thrusted harder into you while you fought the urge to pass out. it was all too much: the overstimulation of michael jackhammered into you with fluent, well-trained hips and the last bits of air in your lungs barely surviving with your restless pants.

white cream coated michael's cock, creating a ring at the base of it. your walls were pulsating erratically, greedy for his seed. your brain wanted to stop, but your cunt was loving every second.

michael stared at your braindead form with an animalistic grin in his eyes, "i'm gonna cum, sweet thing. want you to cum again."

all you could do was moan and shake your head, trying to tell him that you couldn't do it again. plunging into you a few more times, michael took his hand off of your head and used both of them to spread your ass again as he came inside you. you let out a weak whine as you felt just as full as before with michael's thick load inside of you. he grunted as he finished riding his high, but he didn't stop.

"gonna fill you up again," he sighed almost dreamily as he listened to your mixed secretions sloshing inside of your womb and leaking down the side of his cock and into your bed.

suddenly, your head was yanked back by your hair. michael had wrapped your hair around his wrist like a leash and pulled. broken breaths came out of you with every harsh rock of michael's hips. your moans were uncontrollably, whimpers and whines escaping you non stop.

your bedroom door no longer concerned you. the skin slapping put you in a trance. your hand planted itself unsurely on your doll for balance.

"michael—awh!" you wanted to cry. his dick was too fucking good. michael cooed in your ear, "s'okay baby, just one more and i'll be out of your hair.." loud moans escaped your open mouth, the dryness being replaced by drool that was now beginning to trickle from the corner of your lips and fown your chin.

"fuck, its so good.." you winced in pleasure, "gonna cum againn!" you squeaked, squeezing your thighs together and getting friction on your clit. "awh! awh! awh! "

"me too.." michael admitted, "let's cum together, yeah?" you nodded, letting out a mhm! you didn't think michael's hips could go any faster, but you were sure there would be bruises all over your ass later into the day. his hand slapped your right ass cheek repeatedly in the same spot, making you yelp and jolt as your orgasm came around again. you gasped and panted, your raspy voice struggling with the intensity of the sex. michael joined you not too much later, filling you once again.

"just a few more f'me, please? i love watching you cum.."

michael made you cum a total of six times and definitely overstayed his welcome by a whole hour. but even now, he was trying to bring you to a seventh by guiding both your fingers inside you to fuck his cum back into your spent cunt.

you were on your back, panting uncontrollably and teetering on the edge of a blackout. both of your fingers were covered in your combined semen. it squelched inside your pussy as michael pushed his and your fingers inside of you. he knelt behind you, your fingers under his.

"can't do it againnn.." you whined, tears spilling down your cheeks and your thighs quivering. your hips would be hovering up and down if it wasn't for michael's free hand pinning you down. the mirror gave both of you a perfect view of the two of your digits deep inside your cunt.

"yes you can, i've seen you," michael bit down on your shoulder which made your head tilt back. you were so close already. just one more pump of your joined fingers and..

you passed out, going limp in michael's arms. your breathing was quick, only the white of your eyes visible as the iris and pupil made a home in the back of your head.

"poor baby.." michael tutted with a hint of a smile. he took your fingers out and got off the bed. he redressed himself, staring at your sleepy form and dragged your duvet over you.

he picked up your discarded underwear, pocketing the pair and leaving you to deal with his cum when you woke up.

[mischievous-thunder]

Just three freaky flatmates sharing their views on men. Two of them are having flashbacks too!

[whatkindofnameisella]

reading mad ship has taught me that if there's one thing robin hobb is gonna do it's spit bars. "enlightenment is just the truth at the right time". "why must love cost anything? why does need have to be mixed up with love? why can't people be like butterflies, coming together in bright sunshine and parting while the day is still bright?" "everyone thinks that courage is about facing death without flinching. but almost anyone can do that. almost anyone can hold their breath and not scream for as long as it takes to die." hold on for one second i gotta

[miralines]

One thing I think is interesting/useful to note about the Rose Red book is that it is a book that was published in the OUATIS galaxy a little under ten years after the war, and that it has an in-story author— and, crucially, that author is not necessarily an entirely reliable narrator.

More rambling about this under the cut

The author, Althea, is a normcivilian with an unusual amount of sympathy for the now-decommissioned Rose Reds. This is not a popular position, and between:

A) her rhetorical goal of changing the minds of people actively against the Rose Reds being allowed to survive

B) the constraints of mainstream publishers, who are under social/political pressure to not threaten the new government, requiring her to be both neutral and not too challenging,

C) her own corresponding bias in believing that neutrality is both possible and desirable,

and D) her limited viewpoint as a normcivilian (not a Rose Red) from a privileged background,

There are quite a lot of places where events, people, and viewpoints are presented in ways that are somewhat misleading. Althea has a degree in journalism, but she does not live in an entirely free society, and both external forces and her own biases do color the narrative she presents throughout the book.

In short, she’s the equivalent of a left-leaning ally to a marginalized group who’s a bit more centrist than one might hope and is presenting herself as even more centrist in order to be published at all through mainstream channels and taken seriously by people who are biased against her cause.

[jennycalendar]

wrote some original fiction look at that!!! have been thinking very loosely about writing the bakery ladies in a modern setting, and a love interest for marigold keeps insisting i give her some attention, so i gave her some today. :)

amazing news for all: this DOES read completely fine without any context! it's a standalone. soooo if u wanna meet my girls but have found the new fandom confusing: meet them now!

~~~

Marigold hadn’t actually been expecting to find anyone else under the table. She’d sort of been hoping for the opposite: a people-free location, somewhere that no one was looking at, where she wouldn’t be surrounded by a thousand incredibly thin people wearing as little as possible because they didn’t have any reason to feel like an overstuffed sausage when they wore a glorified bra to a social engagement. And she wasn’t one of those thin-girls-who-thought-they-were-fat-but-were-really-just-charmingly-curvy, either–she had cellulite, she couldn’t ever find anything in a Target, and stretch marks covered her hips and breasts and upper arms in such a way that low-rise jeans and corset tops wouldn’t have looked half as charming on her, at least in her estimation. 

Not that the size of the people here was what had Marigold under the table–no, that was just what she’d been thinking bitterly about for the first fifteen minutes of the party, as soon as effortlessly beautiful Evie had shown up with equally effortlessly beautiful Amara, both of them looking practically emaciated, both of them wearing the sorts of things that Marigold had sort of thought people only wore for Instagram photos. And absolutely everyone at the party was beautiful, too, of course, with Marigold easily the biggest girl there, never mind that she didn’t know anyone there, because she still didn’t know a single meaningful thing about Evie. 

Evie had swanned off immediately once it was clear that Marigold was “settled in,” or at least “settled in” by her definition, which mostly seemed to mean “physically present.” Marigold suspected that she was off with Amara, or with one of the many boys bearing down on her like they could smell blood in the water. That was the sort of thing that was supposed to concern a sister, wasn’t it? Would have, if it was Marigold getting flirted with at a strange party and Roslin and Lenora lingering reprovingly in the corner–but Roslin and Lenora would never have left her alone at one of these, and Evie had, which was maybe the difference between adoptive and biological sisters. Wonderful to find that out now.

So Marigold had stayed standing there, awkwardly, and made excruciating conversation with people she hadn’t wanted to talk to, because she’d come here to talk to Evie, to spend time with Evie, to learn more about a sister who she’d lost and somehow found again, only to find that the feeling wasn’t mutual and Evie really just wanted to go be social with another party-goer in the host’s bathroom. And she wouldn’t have ducked under the table if not for the fact that one of the party-goers had asked, “Wait, you’re Evie’s sister? That chick she’s always talking about who got, like, murdered or some shit?” at which point Marigold had found herself so blazingly angry at Evie that she’d known she couldn’t talk to anyone at the party anymore.

Hence: table! Not the world’s most normal hiding place, but most of the party-goers were drunk enough that no one was looking very hard for Marigold. She’d seen a flutter of movement under the tablecloth, remembered that one of the hosts had mentioned a cat, decided that mortification was better than fielding even one more question about a story no stranger had any right to (and no sister had any right to tell). So she had ducked under the table, and she had found her eyes locked with eyes so green they seemed to glow in the dark.

Marigold said the only thing she could think of. “Is this seat taken?”

The eyes blinked. The face they belonged to was pale and sallow, possibly East Asian–though of course, Marigold, being something of a mix of things herself, had never been very good at ascertaining where anyone else hailed from, which made guessing probably not a good idea. The girl had long, dark hair, blacker than even the dim light around them, and she was wearing thick-framed black glasses that only added to the large luminescence of her eyes. She didn’t say anything, just tucked her feet in so that Marigold could shift all the way under the table.

Marigold never did well with silences, and she wasn’t really sure how to fill this one. What did the standard social contract have to say about dinner table conversation when one or both party members found themselves under it? “Do you, um.” She smiled awkwardly. “Come here often?”

The small smile that danced across the girl’s face immediately settled Marigold’s nerves. Anyone who smiled at an awful joke like that would probably be a very permissive conversationalist, which Marigold always needed in a conversation partner; her mouth ran on and she wasn’t very good at stopping it when it started. 

“I’m Marigold,” Marigold offered.

The girl raised a hand and waved. She was wearing quite a lot of rings and none of them matched. More than a few were the cheap plastic sort one might get as an arcade prize. She said something, barely a whisper, but the music was loud enough that even a whisper would have been impossible to hear.

“Sorry?”

The girl bit her lip. She leaned forward. At normal volume, she said, “Beetle.”

“...Beetle?” repeated a bemused Marigold.

The girl jerked her thumb towards her chest.

“Oh, you’re Beetle?”

The girl smiled again. She was wearing lipstick, Marigold noted, blood-red, but with a blackish undertone that made her look positively gothic. There were really quite a lot of things to look at when it came to this girl; it felt like Marigold could spend more than just a few centuries looking at her, and still have places she wanted to keep looking. Mostly the eyes. Her lashes were sharp and thin, like spider legs.

“I’m Marigold,” said Marigold, winced, and said, “I think I said that already.”

Beetle moved forward a bit more. Stared at Marigold, unblinking. Marigold felt pleasantly unmoored and incredibly aware of how pretty this girl was. Was this the sort of party where people kissed each other? Marigold was a bit too sober for drunken kissing, but maybe Beetle was drunk and wanted to kiss her. She didn’t smell like alcohol. She smelled…sort of like hand sanitizer. A lot of hand sanitizer. 

Beetle moved back again, still staring, still smiling. Clearly this interaction appeared to be going successfully, at least from her perspective, which was a baffling relief. Marigold was fairly certain all she’d done was say her own name and usurp Beetle’s solitary hiding place.

There was a crash from the living room, followed by raised voices. Marigold flinched involuntarily.

Beetle’s hand rested on her shoulder, feather-light, as if waiting for permission to close her fingers and hold Marigold all the way. It was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one; Marigold liked very much when people touched her, though she wasn’t always sure how much touching was allowed between people who barely knew each other. She shrugged her shoulder up a bit so that it connected more firmly with Beetle’s hand, which made Beetle smile again, reassuringly, and tighten her grip just enough to make it less of a hovering question.

“It’s a bit loud,” Marigold confessed.

Beetle nodded emphatically. 

“Do you think anyone will notice if we, I don’t know,” Marigold glanced furtively at the moving feet around them, “leave the table and go somewhere else?”

Beetle said, “Oh, I don’t care. I don’t know these people.”

Her voice, while warm, was somehow a lot lower than Marigold had expected–a warm alto voice. This, too, Marigold liked immensely. She let Beetle steer her out from under the table, made brave by Beetle’s hand on her upper arm. A few people by the table stepped back, alarmed and bemused, and Beetle fixed them with a hard look that held nothing of the still, sweet curiosity she’d shown Marigold under the table, which made Marigold like her even more.

Evie was kissing Amara on the sofa. Marigold turned her eyes away, towards Beetle, as they stepped quietly outside.

The street was silent save for the muffled sounds from the party indoors. It was chilly, but pleasantly so; Marigold hadn’t brought a jacket, and didn’t half regret it. She liked the cold. 

Beetle said, “I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before.”

“So you don’t know these people, but you’ve been here enough times to know I’m new to this?”

“I live upstairs,” said Beetle. “They mostly just invite me to be nice. I came today because it’s November and I have a shit-ton of discount Halloween candy that I didn’t know what to do with, so I was just like, hey, why not give it to a bunch of drunk people and keep it from cluttering up my room forever?”

“Where did you get the discount Halloween candy?”

Beetle smiled. “At the grocery store.”

“Too much to just eat yourself?”

“I have little siblings,” said Beetle. “I was putting together a care package to send to them in California, but I guess I sort of overestimated how much Halloween candy was gonna be in those bags. You know how usually they fill potato chip bags only halfway? Kinda thought the Halloween candy bags would be like that. Or maybe I wasn’t really paying attention. I don’t know.”

Marigold asked, shyly, “Do you still have candy left over, or would we have to go back into the party to get it?”

“I got like seven bags,” said Beetle. “I think I brought four down. I left three upstairs because I felt like I might need them for something.” She shrugged, then smiled. “I guess it’s this?”

“You’re awfully nice, you know,” said Marigold.

“Not a lot of people tell me that,” said Beetle.

“Well, you are! I wouldn’t give my candy away to a stranger, if I had any–”

“Oh, please. You’re not a stranger. We’re under-the-table buddies. That’s basically like the antisocial shut-in version of brothers-in-arms.”

Marigold was opening her mouth to say something else when a car across the street honked its horn, once, twice, three times, with particular urgency. She recognized the sound immediately. Turning slowly, she exhaled through her teeth with exasperated frustration. “Oh, hold on,” she said, and crossed the street.

“No no no don’t come over here!” shrieked Roslin from the front seat. “We’re not here! We’re–Mom, why would you do that?!”

Thea said, “Bunny, did Evie leave you at that party by yourself? I keep saying–”

“Did you follow me here?!” Marigold demanded. 

“We came along to try to stop her,” said Lenora, who was sitting in the backseat with Sofie in her lap. She added, somewhat redundantly, “Didn’t work.”

Sofie babbled. Marigold said, “You brought Sofie?! It’s well past her bedtime! And you know I’ve been trying to get her on that regular sleep schedule–”

“Couldn’t find a babysitter,” said Thea.

“One of you could have stayed home! I told you,” Marigold continued indignantly, “I said it was fine, and it is, and I don’t need some sort of police escort if I want to go and spend some time with my sister–”

“I don’t like the look of some of the people that girl trusts,” said Thea ominously.

“You don’t like the look of anyone, Mommy,” said Marigold, even though she did actually agree. “Butt out.”

“Will you need a ride home?” said Thea. “Don’t see Evie round.”

Marigold had, in fact, come to the party with Evie, and her phone was still the old flip phone that Thea had gotten all of them because Thea didn’t believe in smartphones, so calling an Uber wasn’t really an option for her in the same way that it would have been were her mother, oh, remotely fucking normal about anything. But the thing about Thea was that because Marigold couldn’t call an Uber, Thea would also do things like this, which, annoyingly, pretty much balanced things out.

She said, “You came to give me a ride home?”

“Case you needed one,” said Thea. “Parties run late for girls your age. And you don’t go to these things often.”

Marigold said awkwardly, “Well, I’m–sort of going to go get Halloween candy from this girl’s apartment?”

Lenora sat up straighter, staring incredulously. Roslin said, “Bunny, how are you even a real person. Oh my god. She’s literally going to kidnap you.”

“I am twenty years old,” said Marigold.

“They’re going to–” Roslin was starting to laugh. “They’re going to have to put your face on the fucking milk cartons. You’re going to be the first ever college student to get kidnapped the same way they get kindergarteners. You would literally get into an unmarked van for candy. This is why we’ve gotta drive out with the baby at butt o’clock in the morning and make sure you’re not getting yourself roofied or something!”

Thea stiffened. Marigold said, “Rosie, do not say roofied in front of Mom?”

“You’re the one saying I’m going to get Halloween candy from this girl’s apartment in front of Mom!”

Marigold glanced over her shoulder. Beetle was standing across the street. The March family was pretty historically good at being really loud for no reason, which meant that there was a less-than-zero chance she’d heard all of that, even with the distance. “Look, just–wait in the car, I’ll call you,” she said.

“Not even slightly,” said Thea. “You’ll get the candy and you’ll come home.”

“I am twenty years old! Mom–”

“You’ve got class in the morning and you’re not taking the train before it’s light out, which you’ll have to do to get to campus on time. We’ll wait out here to drive you home.”

“God,” said Marigold, “fine,” even though she wasn’t really all that mad and they all knew it. Having a family who drove across town just to make sure you got home safe wasn’t always a guarantee. She leaned in through the open window and pressed a firm kiss to Thea’s cheek. “I love you, mommy.”

“My bunny,” said Thea. Her hand passed gently over Marigold’s hair. “Evie been good to you?”

Marigold didn’t really want to answer that question. She squeezed Thea’s hand and hoped that this would count as a response. 

Lenora said, “If she turns out to be a total bitch, we’ll stab her.”

“Do not talk about stabbing in front of the baby,” said Marigold immediately. She turned back towards the lit-up house and the too-loud music, picking up the pace. 

Beetle was still standing there, waiting. She said, “Cute family!” in a tone of voice that was decisively amused without being mocking, which Marigold liked. 

“They brought the baby out at whatever the fuck time it is,” said Marigold tiredly, “just to make sure I was fine, which I am. You’re not going to, like, take me up to your apartment and murder me with your Halloween candy, right?”

“I’m thinking of calling it Death By Chocolate,” said Beetle, straight-faced. Marigold snorted. “Bummer you’ve gotta go, though. Kinda felt like we should get to know each other.”

“Really?” said Marigold. Her heart flipped over.

Beetle smiled, that eerie, lovely smile, and said, “You ever just feel like maybe you’re supposed to know someone?”

Yes. No. Sort of. Marigold had felt that way about Thea, Roslin, Lenora, very much Sofie, but it hadn’t felt like this. “You could be wrong,” she said, carefully.

“Okay, yeah, I could be,” Beetle gamely agreed, turning on her heel to head back towards the house. Marigold followed. “Tell me about yourself.”

They walked through the front garden, everything halfway wet the way it always was on that kind of a cold November night. Beetle didn’t take the front door in, instead weaving carefully towards the side of the house and a rickety set of stairs leading up to an upstairs apartment. Plants, Marigold noticed: she had a whole bunch of plants in pots on the landing outside the apartment, which felt a lot like their home and all the plants Ros was always fussing over. Maybe that was one of those supposed-to-know-her feelings right there. 

“Well, I’m Marigold,” she said. “Marigold Baker. I mean, technically Marigold Riverborn, but that’s way too long a story to tell this early in the relationship, probably, so let’s just say Marigold Baker for now. I’m in culinary school—”

“Marigold Baker in culinary school?” said Beetle—again, laughing, but without any malice to it. “I’m kind of obsessed with you already. Keep going.”

Marigold grinned at her shoes, darting her eyes back up as they climbed the stairs. Beetle’s miniskirt rode up a little and showed off a rip in her fishnets, higher up her thigh. “I’m in culinary school,” she continued, “because I want to be a pastry chef, like, licensed and everything. My mom Thea runs a body shop and I think it would be super great if I could figure out a way to make it a body shop that also serves cupcakes. We kind of have to look into all the different business things we’d have to do for that? And Thea’s money’s still tied up in the divorce, which is—so not something I’m supposed to be talking about. Do not tell her I said anything.”

“Sure,” said Beetle, mouth twitching. “I kind of haven’t met your mom, so I feel like that might not be too hard?”

“Well, if we’re supposed to know each other and you’re obsessed with me, it stands to reason that you will meet my family,” Marigold pointed out, “them being my beating heart and all.”

“Oh,” said Beetle, “you’re one of those family-is-everything girls! Kinda dig it.”

What a complicated sentence. “I’m…adopted,” said Marigold carefully; it was not the whole story, but it was as much as she gave out. “As are my sisters. So, yes, they all mean a lot to me. We sort of chose each other.”

Beetle tilted her head thoughtfully. “Neato,” she finally said.

“What about you?” Marigold asked. “Is family everything?”

Beetle’s easy smile flickered. She said, “I’ve got a brother and a sister and I send them a shit-ton of candy whenever I can, like I said.”

Marigold knew the cadence of a half-truth. She didn’t press—just watched Beetle unlock the door.

The apartment was wallpapered, and poorly, in an intricate black-and-emerald pattern that made the space feel even darker than it probably was. Beetle turned on the lights to reveal that the walls were covered in photo frames. “Bugs,” she said cheerfully.

Marigold scanned the walls, a fascinated smile stealing across her face. Every framed photo was of a different insect—some of them drawings, some photographs, some scientific diagrams, all with a small identifying label attached to the frame. “Beetle!” she said, delighted.

“Yeah, it’s actually Beatrice, but Beetle feels like a better opening statement,” Beetle supplied. “Makes people go oh, okay, all the bugs make total sense, rather than whoa, that chick’s got so many bugs in her house! Is Marigold your name, or is it just ‘cause, you know, the hair?”

Marigold twined a red curl cheerfully around her finger. “Marigold is really my name!” she assured Beetle.

“Does anyone ever call you anything else?”

“Mari, usually.”

“How do you feel about Goldie?” Marigold’s nose crinkled. Beetle threw up her hands and said, “Mari it is. Or, I don’t know, what about Riri?”

Marigold felt a slimy shudder run through her. Face perfectly composed, she said, “My sister’s boyfriend calls her Riri. So.”

“Oh, which sister?” said Beetle with interest.

“...The one who invited me to this party,” said Marigold.

Beetle waited. When Marigold did not supply any further information, she said, with a note of friendly and deliberate finality, “Sounds complicated,” and moved further into the apartment. “Do you have, I don’t know, an Instagram or something? I kinda want to send you this artist I follow. I feel like you might really like her work.”

“...No,” said Marigold awkwardly. “My mom’s sort of got a whole Luddite thing going on. Like, right down to all the machinery-smashing.”

Beetle said, “You know the Luddites were just trying to go for job security, right? Not the worst thing to have happening.”

Marigold grinned a bit. “My mom is big on job security,” she agreed. “And also fucking up computers.”

“You should get an Instagram.”

“I use my sister’s. I’ll give you hers.”

“Your party sister?”

“No,” Marigold giggled, mostly because she wasn’t sure what else to do, “the sister in the car. Um, one of them. Roslin.”

Beetle was rummaging in a cabinet. She pulled out a large orange bag, handing it to Marigold, and said, “Take it. No razor blades, swear to God.”

Marigold opened the bag and laughed out loud. There wasn’t a trace of any name-brand candy—rather, the bag was full of themed chocolate, milk and dark and white chocolate insects in a variety of shapes and sizes. “You’ve got a really consistent aesthetic!” she observed. “So you just send a whole bunch of chocolate bugs to your siblings, usually?”

“Nah, they get the name-brand stuff,” said Beetle. “This candy’s what I bring out for the cute girls.”

Marigold blinked, nervously, and kept her smile on her face, not entirely certain what to say next. An affirmation, possibly? It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been considering it, only that as soon as it was on the table, it felt objectively terrifying. She wondered if her reticence would be read the wrong way and the candy would be put back in the cabinet. She hoped it wouldn’t.

Beetle’s smile softened a little and she ducked her head. “But if you want the name-brand candy,” she started.

“Probably it would be a bit easier to transport,” said Marigold awkwardly. “This is a full bag of unwrapped chocolate, and I really don’t want to take all of your good bugs home.”

“A good bug going with a good bug,” said Beetle, solemnly.

“I have no idea what that means.”

Beetle took the orange bag away and handed Marigold a fun-sized bag of Snickers bars. She said, “It’s seriously fucked up that I don’t have a party mix bag on me; this thing is depressingly uniform. Oh, fuck, are you allergic to nuts?”

Marigold shook her head.

“God. Good. Should have asked about food allergies before I just started handing you shit.” Beetle smiled again, self-deprecatingly. “Snickers okay? I might have some other stuff if you wanna see.”

Marigold didn’t care one way or the other. She liked this beautiful, strange liminal space she’d stepped into, where she was suddenly an almost-grown-up holding a bag of Halloween candy with a new friend who thought she was pretty. She wanted to stay in it a bit longer.

“What do you have?” she asked.

Beetle turned back towards the cabinet. “Uh, Three Musketeers, Butterfingers, and this one’s kinda polarizing, but a whole bunch of York peppermint pies.”

“What’s polarizing about peppermint?”

“I knew this guy who said it was like eating a bunch of toothpaste. Almost put me off it for a year or two before I forgot I totally love eating toothpaste.” Beetle shifted the bag down. “Is that a yes to the peppermint?”

“Norie loves peppermint,” said Marigold.

“Okay, but they’re for you. Do you like peppermint?”

Marigold blushed, and smiled again. “...Yes to the peppermint.”

“And because I’m kinda thinking maybe you end up giving all of them to Norie,” said Beetle, “because you’ve got that kinda sparkly-sweet thing going on, I’m going to give you the Three Musketeers too and say those are for your mom and your sisters, and the peppermint’s literally just for you.” She considered. “Two are for Norie, who I’m guessing is…your other sister?”

“My other sister!” Marigold brightly confirmed.

“So which one brought you to the party?”

Marigold thought about Evie, almost certainly throwing herself at someone who wasn’t her insufferably slimy boyfriend, and her jaw clenched.

Beetle didn’t ask again. “That enough candy for you?”

“Almost too much!” said Marigold.

“No such thing as too much candy,” said Beetle firmly. “At least not if you’re starting from zero. I’m starting from seven bags; I’ve gotta offload some of this shit.” She took a handful from the orange bag, pressing a collection of half-melted bugs into Marigold’s hand. “Take at least a few. Y’know, as, like, a token of my affection, or whatever.”

She was blushing a little, which showed up really easily on her pale face. Marigold felt a sense of profound satisfaction that her own golden-brown skin didn’t redden half as visibly. “Thanks for the beetles, Beetle,” she said, which made them both smile. “Can you actually hold onto them for a second, though? I’m going to give you—”

“Your sister’s Instagram?”

Smooth and sweet, Marigold said, “My number.”

“Oh, shit, okay!” said Beetle. Her blush deepened and she smiled in a way that was much more silly and excited. “Sure! But I do want your sister’s Insta too, because that thing in your pocket is super obviously a flip phone, and I’m one of those long texters.”

“I’ll just make an Instagram and text you,” said Marigold. “The handle is—”

“—no, man, you gotta check to see if it’s available before you—”

“Marigold underscore Baker underscore Tasty underscore Pastry underscore Nature apostrophe S no space Masterpiece.”

Beetle bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh, and said, “Dude, that is not gonna work with the character limit. Just give me your sister’s for now so we don’t have to call each other like old people.”

Marigold pressed the melting chocolate into Beetle’s hands. It felt sort of like a kiss, somehow—wet and sticky and silly. Full of warm honesty. There was a magnetic whiteboard on the fridge, a schedule written out in neat handwriting. “Is it okay if I—”

“Go ahead, man!”

Marigold wrote her phone number, and Roslin’s Instagram underneath, then added, in parentheses, Marigold Baker the Party Girl, with a little heart next to it. She liked the thought of existing as Marigold Baker the Party Girl on someone’s fridge. She wondered if Beetle would do what she’d do were their positions reversed, and just never erase it, letting the erasable marker dry into that permanent foreverness that was the worst thing ever to clean. 

Beetle said, “Okay, cool. Tell your sister I’m gonna text her and it’s gonna be about you.”

“Ominous,” said Marigold. “I hope you say nice things.”

“No, dude, I’m gonna text her to talk to you. We’re not starting a group chat about you when there’s still so much stuff I don’t know about Mystery Marigold. Like, okay, what’s your favorite color?”

“Green,” said Marigold.

“Don’t tell me now!” said Beetle. She handed Marigold the chocolate back. “You go have a nice class tomorrow, okay? Get down there before your family thinks I killed you.”

“I don’t think I’d mind if you did,” said Marigold. “Bug girl.”

“Flower girl,” Beetle said, like they’d said goodbye like this forever. Maybe they really were supposed to get to know each other. 

~~~

Thea had put on “Baby Shark” to try and get Sofie to go to sleep, which wasn’t working, because whenever Sofie saw Marigold, she’d stay stubbornly awake until Marigold came back to rock her to sleep. Under most normal circumstances, because Sofie was the kind of baby whose idiosyncrasies seemed perfectly designed to psychologically torment her caregivers, “Baby Shark” would put Sofie perfectly to sleep so long as it was played exactly fifteen times in a row, but they’d hit seventeen and Sofie was still babbling half-coherent nonsense to an exhausted-looking Lenora, who kept trying to hand her off to Roslin.

Marigold hurried over to the car. Sofie said, “Mama!”

“We’re not doing that, she’s twenty,” said Thea, but Sofie was already making grabby hands towards Marigold, who scooped her up in a flurry of kisses. 

Roslin said, “Are you trying to reason with the baby?”

“The baby is a little terrorist who cannot be reasoned with,” said Lenora. “We need to get home so I can play first-person shooters and not listen to Baby Shark, ever again.”

Thea said, “Get in the back, bunny. How was the party?”

Marigold wasn’t sure how to tell them all about Beetle. She didn’t know if she wanted to. She sort of had to tell them about some of it, though, so she said instead, “Rosie, it’s okay that I gave someone your Insta, right? She wanted mine—”

“Dude, make your own,” said Roslin. “How many times is this gonna have to happen?”

“No one needs to be on social media,” said Thea immediately.

“Okay, well, Mommy, I am twenty-five, you don’t get to take away my phone,” said Roslin. “This would not be a problem if you just got, like, a MacBook or something. Whatever you have in your office is legitimately evil.”

“I bought a computer,” said Thea stubbornly. “I have a computer. I don’t see the problem.”

“That thing has to be from, like, the Revolutionary War!”

Marigold settled into the backseat with Sofie, resting her cheek against Lenora’s shoulder. She said, “Actually, there weren’t computers in the Revolutionary War—”

“Do not start this at like one in the morning.”

“You started it at like one in the morning.” Marigold buckled Sofie back into her car seat.

“Defending you! Do you want Mom to start burning laptops in the backyard again?”

“That was out of context,” said Thea immediately. “And mostly an accident, anyway. Didn’t realize lithium did that.” She started the car. “We turning off Baby Shark now?”

“No, Sofie likes it,” said Marigold.

“YES,” said Lenora. “Sofie’s awake anyway, Mari—”

Sofie had fallen asleep. 

“See, you have to leave it on now,” said Marigold, “she will wake up if you turn it off. We all know this.”

“Torment nightmare torture baby,” said Roslin affectionately. “You know sometimes it starts to make me sleepy when I listen to it? Something about the baby shark doo doo do do do do—”

“I will kill you if you start singing it, Roslin, it’s bad enough that we have it on without—”

“Doo doo do do—”

Thea said, “Quiet, I need to make this turn!”

Marigold cuddled into Lenora’s shoulder again. Lenora said, “Your baby is ruining our life.”

“Stop calling Sofie her baby,” said Thea. “Mari is too young to be raising a kid.”

“I’m twenty!” said Marigold.

“You’re a baby,” said Roslin. Her eyes lit up. “Baby Mari doo do do—”

Lenora said, “I am going to murder you, Roslin. I am going to kill you dead.”

“No murder until I’m done getting onto the highway,” said Thea, eyes on the road.

The girls quieted. Marigold cuddled into Lenora until Lenora leaned forward and towards her, letting Marigold use her as an all-the-way pillow. “Good party?” Lenora asked quietly.

Marigold didn’t answer. She wondered whether Evie would even notice she was gone.

“You’ll see her on her Monday shift,” Lenora said. “You can catch up with her then, if she wasn’t—I mean, you know, if she got. Distracted, or something.”

Marigold said, “It was a good party,” and realized that she did actually mean it. “I…met someone.”

“Oh, shit!” said Roslin from the front seat. “Goth Halloween candy chick does, like, bug taxidermy?”

“Roslin, do not stalk her Instagram!” yelped Marigold. “Just—just give me your phone! Give me your phone so I can—”

“I AM MERGING!” said Thea. “YOU ALL NEED TO FUCKING SHUT UP!”

Sofie squirmed happily and continued to sleep. Marigold was fairly certain it would be six more plays of Baby Shark before they were in the clear. 

~~~

beetlenecromancer: hi marigolds sister lol

beetlenecromancer: can u send me her insta when u have it? she said she’d make one

strawbrosie33: hey man if you fuck up my sister i’m going to use norie’s poison kit to poison you

strawbrosie33: HI THIS IS MARIGOLD

strawbrosie33: SORRY

strawbrosie33: SHEHS TRYINGG TO GBRAJB THE POHNE BACKC

beetlenecromancer: lmao

beetlenecromancer: nw

strawbrosie33: I AM ROSLIN I TRIUMPH

strawbrosie33: im so serious though bro i will literally kill you she is so fucking baby. you have no idea

strawbrosie33: you’ve known her for like five minutes we’ve known her forever she is THE BABIEST

strawbrosie33: Hi this is Marigold again I am So So So Sorry 

beetlenecromancer: dude you need a smartphone so bad this is so dire for you

[hand-made-sweater]

Let Death be Kinder than Man, Althea Davis

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"If I am killed for simply living, let death be kinder than man."

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!