#but at least I got to hide in the basement for the rest of the service after. I might need to bring back this strategy.

[uglygirlstatus]

wait are you greek? :O

understandable assumption from my earlier tags but I am not haha. I am vaguely Russian and was brought to Russian Orthodox Church as a kid (internalized none of it as I do not speak the language well and didn’t know what anyone was saying. I do not know why my mom bothered to bring us). But by the time I was like 10 we had mostly given up and were just attending annual late night Easter service at a Greek Church on the invitation of our family friends because at least then we got to go to their house afterwards and eat cold cuts at 3am. And that is what I am still doing every year to this day

[sunnami]

you'd be the love of my life when i was young

summary: gryffindors wear their heart on their sleeve when they fall in love. slytherins keep their heart locked far away to keep it from breaking.

pairing: poly!marauders x reader (sirius x reader, remus x reader, lily x reader, and james x reader)

tags: slight angst, fluff, lucius malfoy, happy ending

note: i have a chemistry quiz due in 50 minutes but this takes priority. . . i haven't written in a while so forgive my rusty writing skills, they've only been let out from the basement today. not proofread, we die like the marauders. (title is taken from the song, 21 by gracie abrams, because that's roughly around the age jily die. hehe.)

They said when you fell in love with the right people, everything would fall in place after.

What a load of bullshit.

You had come to a conclusion one winter morning, laying in the Gryffindor common room dressed in your woolly, green jumper. You rested on the worn-out leather seat, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you stared at the ceiling, thinking about how it was going terribly wrong. How funny it was, that the 30th of December greeted you with an existential crisis instead of presents and hot chocolate. 

There was something quite wrong with you, you had noticed for the past few months. 

Every time Sirius Black smiled at you, showing off his pearly canines and the crinkles by his deep-grey eyes, you would experience a painful, tightening sensation in your chest — like someone was squeezing at your heart. Most people knew Sirius Black, the prankster, but you were lucky enough to know Sirius, the kind and spirited boy who had a heart that loved fiercely more than anyone you knew.

Cosy afternoons found you in the library with Remus Lupin, and a strange feeling would erupt in your stomach whenever Remus leaned down, and you’d catch a whiff of pine needles and fresh mint. Shaggy, blond hair falling over his eyes as he came to life, talking about your common love for muggle books. He made time feel like an illusion, minutes fading away into hours as the two of you shared stifled giggles, cheeks numb by the time you left the room. 

And James, oh James Potter. It was difficult to describe what you felt with him — but with James, the brightest colours in the world couldn’t even compare to him. James was like putting on a pair of brand-new eyeglasses and seeing everything clearly for the first time. And without a doubt, you knew that James would never let you get hurt. But these days, you were weak in the knees as you’d see him across the Great Hall, waving at you excitedly as he bellowed your name, and to come and sit next to them. 

Last, but certainly not the least, Lily Evans. Her sweet, airy voice was a warm hug on a cold day. And her actual hugs were second to none — don’t tell Sirius, however, he liked to shift into Padfoot to steal Lily’s title as the queen of cuddling. Lily flowers were delicate, she was anything but. The spitfire of Gryffindor, who would raise her chin and defy anyone who would harass you for hanging out with them. 

(“You’re our emotionally constipated Slytherin,” said Lily as she mushed your cheeks, cooing when you tried to glare at her, and the three boys guffawing in the background. They liked to tease you often, being a year younger than them.) 

Were you dying?

That was the only plausible explanation to your palpitating heart and rickety knees. 

No, it was definitely not because you had gone and fell in love with your best friends. 

That was absurd. 

You had tried venting to Lucius Malfoy once. Narcissa often doted on you, sneakily leaving treats on your desk before she left for her class, and fussing when you got sick — which was quite often. That meant, when you weren’t with the marauders, you were trailing after the Slytherin power couple, or Severus.

(Lucius curled his lips in disgust, Narcissa sipping tea by his side, failing at hiding her knowing smirk. “I am above such childish matters,” hissed Lucius, scowl deepening when Narcissa laughed heartily, looking happier than she had been since returning home for the holidays. “I do not know why you’d even think to come to me for this.”

You huffed. 

Maybe you’d try Severus next. 

Naturally, he stormed off the moment Lily’s name fell from your lips.

Your resident seventh-years were confusing.)

Fortunately, you were stripped from your thoughts when the entrance to the common room slammed open, the paintings clamouring as they were disturbed from their slumber. One by one, the marauders piled inside the room, a string of melodious laughter and boisterous conversations following their arrival. Hastily, you sat up, heart thudding against your ribcage. Silence, you wretched beast, you told it. Don’t let them see how I burn for them.  

“There you are!” Sirius came into view first, grinning widely as he crossed the room to reach you. “Who said you could be this pretty in the morning, love?” 

Ba-dump!

Sirius plopped down head first onto your lap, manoeuvring your hand to comb through his hair as he sighed in contentment. “Bloody hell,” He exhaled shakily, “Last night was the worst one we’ve ever been through.” 

Your fingers ghosted through the new scar etched across his sharp cheekbones — it was nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn’t fix, but you still didn’t like the sight of them bruised and wounded. Swiftly, Sirius grabbed your hand and intertwined your own with his. “I’m sorry,” You whispered. 

Sirius chuckled tiredly, tightening his hold on you, as though you were a tether that kept him afloat in his sea of nightmares. 

(And you were. If only you knew.)

“It’s not your fault,” said Sirius. 

Then, your eyes landed on Remus limping towards you, his bare skin littered with scrapes and marks, supported with an arm around James’s broad shoulders. He sent a toothy smile your way, despite the tired lines on his forehead and deep bags beneath his eyes. “Waited up all night for us, huh?”

“I just couldn’t sleep knowing you guys were out there,” You whispered sheepishly. “It’s too dangerous, what happens if something goes terribly wrong, and it costs you your life? We need to tell someone.” 

“Everyone who needs to know, already knows.” Remus bit down a pained expression as he sat by your side, head lolling on your shoulder. “This is the best we have for now.” 

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it at all.

Before you could reply, Remus turned his head, lips feathering against your exposed skin. His voice was low as he said, “‘Sides, it’s our job to worry about you, not the other way around.”

“Well, I apologize for interrupting your job,” You whispered back harshly, wondering if that was all you were to them, a younger friend they felt the need to look after. Oh, how mortifying that would be.

James chuckled from behind you, bending over the back of the couch, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, lingering for a few moments that felt like an eternity. “You’re too adorable,” said James, tweaking your nose. “Our angry, little Slytherin.” 

“I’m not little.” You glowered at him.

“Perhaps not.” James smiled cheekily. “But you’re ours.” 

Often times, you had wondered how the five of you came to be so tight-knit, knowing their disdain for most of the Slytherins. 

(Little did you know, you smiled at them once in Potions, and they were a goner.) 

Something stirred deep in your belly. 

You sucked in a breath. “Don’t say things like that, James.”

People could get the wrong idea.

You could get the wrong idea.

“Well, why not?” Lily appeared in your peripheral vision, the scent of blooming wildflowers and fresh rain filling the room. Like the three boys, her skin was sallow from lack of sleep, but her bare face and blinding grin left your heart racing. “It’s true, isn’t it?” 

It could be, just not in the way you wanted it to be true.

You sighed. “Class is going to start in a few hours, I should get going.” 

“Or,” James began wickedly, throwing a thick blanket onto the floor by the fireplace, and tossing a bunch of throw pillows at Sirius’s face. “We could have a sleepover right here.” 

“Sounds good to me,” said Lily merrily, stealing James’s blanket as she placed a pillow beneath her head. 

“I really have to go—” You reasoned pathetically.

“Stay,” whispered Sirius without even opening his eyes as he curled his lithe fingers around your wrist. “You being here makes us feel better.” 

They were too cruel, saying all these sweet words, not knowing how it drove knives through your heart. 

James yawned as he laid on the carpeted floor, hiking the blanket up to his shoulders as he threw a leg over Lily, pulling her close to his chest, nuzzling the crook of her neck. “D’you have your textbooks with you, love?” He asked you drowsily. 

“No,” You answered, any other words lodged in your throat. 

“That’s fine.” James hummed. “I’ll just get the cloak and sneak into the dungeons later to get the books for you.” 

“Sleep,” Remus urged you, unaware how you shivered at his words. 

“You can’t be comfortable like that,” You told him in disbelief, watching his neck bend at an angle to lay on your shoulder. 

“Trust me,” said Remus gently, eyelashes tickling your skin, “I’m right where I want to be.” 

You had grown silent for a few beats, unaware how Sirius’d opened his eyes, staring at your worried expression. 

(How could one person be so perfect, he wondered.)

“You alright, darling?” He reached out to trace the curve of your jaw with his thumb, the palm of his hand holding your face as though you were a pureblood’s antique treasure. (Mine, mine, mine, his heart screamed.)

But like the Slytherin you were, you lied as easily as you breathed.

“I’m fine.”

As you laid in between Remus and Sirius, watching the peaceful rise of Lily and James’s chests, you had come to a daunting realization. 

You were irrevocably and agonizingly in love with your best friends. 

And because fate liked to spit in your face, the four of them were already in a beautiful, committed relationship. 

Who were you to get in the way of that?

—

They would understand, you convinced yourself. 

They would understand that you had to stay away from them. You had to protect your heart and keep it safe. The marauders were a dangerous bunch, and they had played the biggest prank on you, and by Merlin, would you fall for this particular prank over and over again if it meant you could hear their voices and fall into their embrace. 

But you couldn’t stay. They would only crush your heart otherwise. 

If Gryffindors wore their heart on their sleeves when they fell in love, Slytherins protected theirs with every fibre of their being, locking it in a cage where no one else can have the power to break it. 

Like what any love-stricken teenager would do in the face of heartbreak, you began to ignore the objects of your affections — ignoring the way your soul called out to theirs. 

It wasn’t as obvious the first few days. You would escape their company under the ruse of studying for McGonagall and Flitwick’s practical tests. 

(“They’re notoriously difficult after all,” You told them, a nervous laugh accompanying your lie. Peter eyed you curiously, noticing small details the others could not see — your quivering lips, your nails digging into your palms, and the way your eyes wouldn’t meet any of theirs. “I just don’t want to fail.” 

You could have cried at the way James held the back of your head as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’ll do well, love. You always do.” 

“You can study with me, if you want,” Remus quickly offered. “I’m not as good as James in transfiguration, but I can definitely teach better than those two.” 

“Hey!” Sirius exclaimed in mock offence.

“Thanks, it’s sweet of you to offer,” You told them, shifting your weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “But—”

“Say less, darling,” Lily interjected kindly, wrapping her scarf around your neck. She smiled at you, holding both your cheeks in her palms. “They’re the worst lot to study around, I know. Just don’t study too hard, okay? Take breaks, have a cup of tea now and then, and remember it’s okay to ask for help — don’t give me that face — if it gets too overwhelming, just ask. We’re here for you in every way you need us.” 

Oh.

You were well and truly screwed. 

“Thanks,” You croaked.)

But it was getting harder and harder to come up with excuses. 

(“Wotcher!” Sirius grinned, encasing you in a tight hug after bumping into you in the corridor. “Haven’t seen you in a while, busy bee. Fancy a lunch with us in Hogsmeade?” 

You scrunched your nose, red and bitten from the winter frost, stepping away from him and ignoring the way his face fell. “I. . . I can’t. I’ve got practice with the Frog Choir.”

Sirius shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “S’alright. I can wait and pick you up right after, then we’ll swing by that shop you really like—”

“I can’t, Sirius,” You interrupted harshly, wrapping your arms around your chest as your gaze dropped to the ground. “Sorry. I just. . . I’ll just catch you some other time.” 

Sirius flinched. “Sure, love. Other time, yeah?”

But only the wind replied.

Saturday came, and along with it was the long-awaited match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. James, decked out in his uniform, bounded over to you at the Slytherin’s side of the Great Hall, oblivious to the death glares some of your housemates had sent his way. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, lifting you from your seat. 

“It’s Quidditch day, pidge!” James tilted his head, awfully resembling a lost, confused puppy. “Why aren’t you dressed yet? It’s the game of games! Even Remus is announcing the game later.” 

You bit your lip before responding. “I’m not going, James.” 

“What?” He furrowed his brows. “Why not?” 

Ever since you had become friends with James Potter in your first year, you had never missed a single game of his. Except for the one time you had fallen sick during his match against Hufflepuff — and the moment he knew you were ill, the game ended in less than two minutes, by his sheer determination to get by your side quickly and make sure you weren’t alone. 

You sighed. “I don’t know, James, I’m just not feeling up to it today.”

It was a big, fat lie, and he knew it too. 

You didn’t go to his match later that day.

It was one of the biggest losses James had ever experienced — he wasn’t talking about Quidditch.)

Your housemates were beginning to realize was something was off as well. They might not be particularly fond of the Gryffindors that captured your heart, but they were fond of you, and they guarded their own. 

You had a stare-down with Regulus Black in the common room — and you weren’t about to lose — before he blinked and asked, “What did my brother do?”

“Nothing,” You replied, pretending to be engrossed with your herbology textbook. 

Severus rolled his eyes before plucking the book out of your hands. “Spit it out, woman. We’ve had to watch you mope around pathetically for days now. It’s irritating the rest of us.”

You sniffled. “Then just leave me alone! No one asked you to check up on me!” 

“Unfortunately, we can’t.” Severus took a seat beside Regulus. With a pained grimace, he said, “So you can. . . pour your heart out to us.” 

“I can’t.” You wailed. “I’m a Slytherin, we’re the worst at that.”

Regulus shrugged his shoulders. “It’s true. We’re hopeless.” 

“But,” He raised his wand, “We do speak in jinxes and curses.” 

“Don’t you dare!” You blubbered, wiping at your tears — but somehow, without having to express it in words, they understood, and you had felt lighter.

Still, you missed them. 

“This is pathetic.” Lucius enters the common room, Narcissa holding onto his arm, watching the scene before him with blank eyes. “Black, Snape, get out, you’re only making whatever this is, worse.”

Narcissa was by your side in an instant, dabbing at your wet eyes and cheeks with a handkerchief that cost more than your life. “Hush now, darling. What’s wrong, hm? Was it that idiot cousin of mine? Don’t worry, Lucius can tell his father, and we’ll have them begging at your feet by tomorrow.”

You cried louder. 

“I jest, I jest.” Narcissa softly chuckled, pulling your hair away from your face as she tugged you close. “Please tell us what’s wrong. It’s been awful seeing you like this for the past few days.”

Lucius sat on the loveseat across you, resting his feet atop the glass coffee table. “Yes, I beg you — do as she says, for the love of Merlin. But, really, what else did you expect, associating yourself with that ragtag of miscreants?”

Narcissa glared at him.

Lucius raised his arms in surrender. 

Narcissa clicked her tongue before returning her attention to you, eyes softening at your tear-stricken face. She smiled, albeit sadly, as she said, “Perhaps, I know what is wrong.” She gestured to the way you clutched at the front of your shirt. “It is the matters of the heart, is it not?” 

You nodded weakly. “I love them.”

“And they, you,” said Narcissa. “So, what is wrong?” 

“I love them!” You hiccuped.

“Unfortunately.” Lucius handed you a tissue. “The whole of Hogwarts knows this already, so I do not understand why you’re blowing snot all over my fiancé’s robes about it.” 

“They don’t feel the same way about me,” You confessed with a sob. 

Lucius stared at you incredulously. “Please do not tell me that you are this daft.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked him through narrowed, teary eyes, Narcissa rubbing the tips of your numb fingers from crying so much. 

“I did not sign up for this.” Lucius rubbed at his temples as he stood up. “I will only say this once, so make sure you are listening. Those Gryffindor idiots are so disastrously in love with one another — let me finish, damn you — and if you cannot see that they love you too, then it is your own fault. It physically pains me to see the way they smile when you are near. They would move the earth for you, and they would shake the heavens for you.” 

—

Gryffindors must have hearts made of steel, because you didn’t know how they could be so brave, to look fear right in the eyes and say: I’m ready. 

Because you surely weren’t. You were headed towards your usual spot in the courtyard by the clock tower, legs heavy and swell deep in your throat. Then, you found them, looking so achingly beautiful under the sunlight, huddled together for warmth as they smiled and laughed at lame puns and mistimed jokes. 

Did you have a place with them? 

You were about to find out.

“Hey,” You greeted once you were right in front of them. A month of evading them, and now you were here. It was like finding a piece of your soul that you had lost.

(For them, seeing you was like finally being able to breathe again.) 

“Hey,” said Lily, devoid of any warmth, and that broke you. 

Bravery was poison, you decided. A trap for weak-hearted fools like you. 

Sirius shot James a look before clenching his jaw. “No choir practice today? No study sessions with Cissa or Reg? Wait, no, I’ve got it. Slughorn’s dinner party? Or is it detention with McGonagall today? Does her highness finally feel up to talking to the peasants?”

You inhaled sharply. “Never mind. This was a bad idea.”

But this — is what you deserved. You had hurt them badly, so it was only right for them to stomp on your heart for everyone to see, just as you did to them many times this month. 

A sob tore from your lips as you swivelled on your heels, ready to flee the scene and never show your face to anyone else ever again. Yet, before you could leave, Remus clamped his hand over your wrist. 

“Why?” He stared at you, searching for anything that could explain your sudden behaviour. Remus looked at you with such emotion, tightly holding onto you — but never enough to hurt, because Remus could never be capable of hurting you. He’d die before he would ever cause you pain. 

 (You made him feel unafraid of the moon.) 

“Was. . . was it something I did?” Remus asked, laying his wounds bare for you to see. “Was it me?”

“I love you!” You shouted in the midst of panic — you had never wanted to cause Remus to doubt himself. Your loud declaration had caught the attention of some, but you stood on, curling your fists firmly. You needed to do this. 

“I love you.” You said once more, breathlessly, staring right into James’s eyes. Such a beautiful shade of hazel. “I love each one of you. And it. . . it hurts right here.” Tears dripped from your eyes to the side of your chin as you splayed your hand over where your heart rested. 

“Because you don’t feel the same.” 

The four of them simply gazed at you, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. 

You took that as confirmation for what you had been fearing all along. 

“And that’s okay if you don’t,” You snivelled, unable to see clearly with the streams of tears in your eyes. You thought of how Sirius melted at Lily’s touch and how Remus was the anchor to James’s wild streak. How they all complemented each other and fit perfectly like puzzle pieces. “Just give me a few months, and I’ll get over it. It’s a stupid crush anyway, it’s my fault. The four of you are perfect together, how could—”

“Shut up,” James hissed before cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss. Cherries and pumpkin pasties. He kissed you deeply once more before pressing his lips to your eyes, desperately washing away your tears with his devotion. “Was that it? We could have been doing this ages ago.”

“What?” You rasped, knees buckling at the weight of his gaze.

James only smiled, stealing your third kiss. 

Sirius pulled your hand, his arm encasing your waist as you stumbled to his chest. Like James, he kissed you fervently, like he wanted to chase off all your fears and doubts. His lips were warm against yours — firewhiskey. You wanted to be burnt by his flames again and again. He held you close, committing every inch to memory. 

(You were art that he wanted to worship.)

He kissed your forehead. “We love you, daft girl.”

He kissed both of your eyes, chuckling when a new wave of tears came. “We have loved you ever since you burnt my mother’s howler in fourth year, and gave us poorly-knitted sweaters for Christmas.” 

“I love you,” said Sirius. “As certain as the spring that arrives after winter, I love you.” 

You snuffled. “I. . . I don’t understand.” 

Remus stepped in your line of sight to place his jacket over you — it was Sirius’s leather jacket, really, but Remus liked to claim it occasionally. He bundled you in earmuffs and rested his chin atop your head, exhaling in relief. “I thought it was me.” 

You shook your head, clinging to the front of his shirt. “No, never. It was me. I’m sorry.” 

Remus grinned wolfishly, eyes swooping down to your kiss-stained lips. (There you were, standing in the snow that threatened to melt, eyes rimmed with tears, hair wildly ablaze from the cold breeze, cheeks damp and red — but how devastatingly beautiful you were.) “May I?” 

You nodded. “P-Please.”

Blueberries and dark chocolate. Remus whispered against your lips, “If it wasn’t already clear, the feeling is bloody mutual — we love you, just as the moon loves the sun enough to chase after it every day.” He grabbed your hand and placed it over his heart, you were surprised to see him holding back tears of his own. “All my life, I thought I was this monster who didn’t deserve to live. But you, all of you, make me selfish enough to want to belong here.” 

He kissed you desperately, words of adoration and love falling from his lips. 

Finally, your eyes settled on Lily. You waited for her reaction with a bated breath. 

You hadn’t expected for her to burst into tears as she rushed over to you. 

“Don’t you ever do that again,” said Lily angrily before circling you in her embrace, burying her nose in your hair. You hugged her back, drowning in her scent and warmth. “You are deserving of all the things you want, so don’t run away — if you run, we’d follow you, idiot girl.” 

Then, Lily captured your lips with her own. 

She tasted like happy endings.

note: 4k words and 6 hours later, here we are! let it be known i was THE poly marauders enthusiast years ago. i always wanted one with lily in the polycule so here we are. this is me manifesting my college romance, y'all. look away. anyways, i hoped u enjoyed it!! brought a smile to your face and all!! might make a part two for more fluff and to establish more relationship dynamics since this was written on a whim ;D also i planned a cute scene with peter as well, so i'll just write that in part two el em ay yo.

[toomuchbirth]

Birth Quickie 2:

Conversation

I hadn't thought it would feel like this.

Sure I’d seen shows. Even videos. I assumed they were playing it up, being dramatic. It was taking all my focus not to scream with the contractions, or break down sobbing as I felt this parasite moving down inside me. I hadn't meant for it to.happen here, like this. I was supposed to be hiding in the shed, or at least the basement.

Then mom and dad had friends from the office over and asked me to stay upstairs. I didn't argue, assumed it would be ok. Then contractions started getting worse, my waters broke and soaked my sweats and panties. I knew from looking into it that didn't really mean anything. Sure, it was alarming, but come on. I could have hours still, even the better part of a day.

Of course, I couldn't be that lucky. I sat on the edge of my bed, facing away from the door, breathing through cramp after cramp. I was timing them, but I got really scared once I got around six minutes apart. Then I got a feeling like I kinda needed to use the bathroom, but I didn't want to risk getting stuck in there if the little accident was closer than I thought.

Turns out it was. That subtle bathroom-y feeling was a pushy feeling trying to creep in. I tried to fight it as long as I could, burning up in my layered T-shirt and long sleeve I’d been wearing to try to hide my growing belly from my parents. The urge got worse, stronger, more urgent as time went on. Contractions getting closer and closer, it started to hurt to not push. I barely managed to stay quiet, keeping my breath as steady as possible, eyes closed tight as I began to give in against my will, my body pushing on its own even as I fought it.

I tried to make a new plan on the fly. It was clearly coming. I’d have it and try to climb out the window, leave it at a shelter like I originally planned. I just needed to stay calm, let it come as quietly as I could. Mom and Dad could NOT know I had gotten pregnant, ever. Let alone how it had happened. I couldn't imagine how they would react but I know it would be horrible.

Speaking of horrible, the pain and pressure was getting worse. I had started pushing without meaning to, and at this point gave up fighting my body. This was happening, here and now. Gripping my blanket and lifting my knees slightly, I let out the tiniest grunt, face scrunching with effort and toes curling. I could immediately feel an entire new sensation. Not just the intense pressure of a head just inside my vagina, but BURNING. My lips were spreading, I was starting to crown into my soaked panties.

This was really happening. I was having a baby for him and he didn't even know, didn't care… it hurt so bad, I couldn't stand thinking about him, having a normal dinner happy and just thinking about the rest later this week, his latest practice, he probably barely remembered what he'd done-

The door opened to my bedroom, and I jumped with shock. “Hey… I just wanted to check in on you. Are you ok, sweetie?” I took a breath,.steadied myself, very vividly aware of the straining teardrop of my most intimate place hidden inside my clothes. “Y-yea! I’m doing fine! Just… you know. Thinking about stuff.” I tried to smile, looking back over my shoulder.

God, I was so hot. I could feel the sweat running down my face, soaking into my shirt. My hair was a mess, sticking to me and itself. I looked like a disaster. I looked like some dumb girl giving birth to a baby she didn't want in her bedroom, hoping her parents wouldn't catch her. I was so stupid, how did I think I could get away with this?!

“You’re probably annoyed with us, huh? I keep telling your father that we shouldn't make you go to your room when our friends are over, but he just says you probably don't want to be around anyway…”

“It’s f-fine!” I managed, and I prayed she didn’t hear the raised pitch of my voice, the way my smile looked like grit teeth, my hands twisting in the sheets as my body started to push on its own again, another contraction squeezing me tight. “Really! I just have stuff going on, and… I g-get it. You guys are people too… and I… I really do get it!” Fuck… I could feel the head… it wasn't a teardrop anymore… it was a full crown… no… worse, it… it-!

I convulsed as a sudden burst of movement overwhelmed me. The entire head slipped free of me, making a huge bulge in my underwear and sweatpants. Oh god, if Mom looked around me just a tiny bit, she’d see the soaked fabric, the shape of a baby coming out of her daughter in shameful secret. I heard the patter of fluid hitting the carpet impossibly loudly. There’s no way Mom wouldn't catch me. My life was over. She would make me keep it and I would be the first girl with a kid in my class and for Him no less…

“I appreciate it, hon.” Mom said, a sigh in her voice. “I just don't want to miss you while we have you in our lives. You’ve grown up so fast. Some girls your age have kids already, can you believe it? But I know you’re smarter than to ever let anything like that happen to you.”

I wanted to scream, everything felt so wrong. “Yea! You taught me to be careful!” I managed to sneak out, back arching slightly, I HOPED subtly, as I pushed in front of her. It was coming out. Oh god the shoulders were so big… this was torture, they were bulging me so hard, my body was straining… I was giving birth!!!

“Well… your dad is probably worried about me. I just wanted to make sure you were ok. I worry about you, you know? I want you to know we care about you, we’re here for you. I love you.”

I couldn't stop pushing. I fought to keep the growl of effort out of my voice. “I love you too, mom.” I sounded hoarse, strained, but seemingly not too much. She closed the door and I heard her walk away.

Seconds after the couldn’t see me anymore, the inevitable happened. The shoulders slipped free, and the body slithered out of my most intimate place, filling my clothes as I sagged in exhaustion. “Oh god… oh god… I just gave birth…” I whisper-panted to myself, praying I could get away with this. I just wanted my normal life back.

[scary-grace]

(secret) santa, baby - part 4 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

part iv (caroling)

Prior to getting assigned to be Shigaraki’s Secret Santa, you’d never been down to the basement where the IT department works, but in your efforts to scope out his workspace, figure out what amenities he’s missing, and hide gifts, you’ve gotten to know your way around pretty well. That comes back to bite you when the head of HR has a mini-meltdown about how full the IT guys’ mailboxes are, and Mirio, who you liked right up until then, volunteered you to hand-deliver the IT department’s mail.

You argued. “It’s my lunch break –”

“I will clear the following half hour on your schedule,” the head of HR said. You’re kind of scared of him, and it seemed like a good deal to you. You nodded. “Go.”

So here you are, with a giant carton full of six months of every IT specialist’s mail, plus a gift you’re hoping to hide for Shigaraki if you get a chance, picking your way through the cubicles and dropping off mail. The head of the IT department has been out on vacation since before you got hired, and the rest of the department has been using his office as a dumping ground for – everything, it looks like. You add his mail to the top of the pile and start delivering mail to the people who are actually here.

There aren’t a ton of them. Three of them are women – Saiko, Hatsume, and Aiba, whose cubicles are just as horrendously messy as the guys' cubicles are, only brightly colored. All three of them have Secret Santa gifts in their mail, and Aiba has a letter for you to bring back up to the mailroom. “That’s for her boyfriend,” Saiko informs you as she delicately unwraps her gift. “They’re in love.”

“He’s perfect,” Aiba says, beaming. “I just know he’s my Secret Santa. He won’t admit it, but all my gifts have been so thoughtful – and fancy!”

“Too fancy,” Hatsume puts in. She tossed her gift onto the pile of memos on her desk, where it joined at least one other unopened gift. Hatsume’s Secret Santa must be having a rough time. “He’s overdoing it.”

“Exactly! Who would overdo it but him?”

You leave them to discuss it and move to the next desk – Chikazoku’s. He accepts his mail without looking up or saying a word, and you move on in a hurry. Ishiyama is out sick, but he has a ton of mail and a Secret Santa gift. Next up is Spinner, who you couldn’t have picked out of a lineup two weeks ago, but who you’re now aware is Shigaraki’s best friend. Spinner has a lot of mail and a Secret Santa gift, and like Aiba, he has something he wants you to take up and mail for him.

His isn’t a letter, though. It’s a Secret Santa gift, clumsily wrapped. His face is flushed as he hands it over, and he speaks so quietly you have to lean in to hear. “That’s for Aiba.”

The conversation from before recontextualizes itself in a hurry. You feel a pang of sympathy for Spinner. “Yeah. No problem.”

He glances into your carton. “You might want to come back later for Shigaraki. He’s on a call and it’s, uh –”

Shigaraki’s voice issues from the next cubicle over, about as pissed off as he sounded when he gave himself a paper cut trying to hang up snowflakes. “The reason your cursor’s moving is because I have remote control of your computer,” he says. “It’s not a virus.”

Whoever’s on the other end of the line starts talking again, and Shigaraki cuts them off. “It’s not a virus,” he says again. “The problem isn’t on your computer’s end. Is your mouse plugged in?”

As you watch, Spinner types up a Slack message and sends it to Shigaraki: SPEAKER. A moment later, the caller’s voice echoes through the room. “My mouse is wireless.”

“Do me a favor and look at your mouse,” Shigaraki says. “Does it have a cord sticking out the back of it?”

Silence for a second. “Why?”

“If it has a cord attached, it’s not wireless,” Shigaraki says. It sounds like he’s speaking through clenched teeth. “Now follow the cord and tell me whether it’s plugged in or not.”

“Of course it’s not plugged in,” the caller says. “I needed a port for my webcam.”

Hatsume and Saiko both start snickering. Spinner is shaking his head. From the other side of the cubicle, you hear a thud, like Shigaraki’s hitting his head against the desk. “Why did you think your mouse would work if it wasn’t plugged in?”

“I thought it was wireless.”

“Even if it was wireless, it would still need a port, so –”

“You don’t need to take that tone with me, young man,” the caller says severely. Spinner wheezes. “It’s a common mistake.”

“Yeah. And I bet you’d iron your clothes while wearing them if there wasn’t a warning label saying not to,” Shigaraki says. You clamp your hand down over your mouth to stifle your laughter and almost drop the carton. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

It’s quiet for a second. “I want to talk to your supervisor.”

“Right away.” The call ends with a click, and the phone in the department head’s office starts to ring. There’s another, louder thud. “Fucking shoot me already.”

“It could be worse,” Spinner says. Shigaraki makes a questioning sound. “We could actually have a supervisor to complain to.”

You’ve always thought Shigaraki was kind of a dick for no reason. Now that you know what kind of calls he’s getting, you can’t exactly judge him. Before you can step out of hiding and hand him his mail, the elevator dings, and a bunch of people pile out of it, led by Yamada, head of the PR department. They’re all wearing reindeer ears and holding songbooks. “Put your hands up if you’re ready to get festive!”

You’ve never worked somewhere with an in-house choir before, but apparently the head of PR is a DJ in his off hours, and he also organizes an acapella group that goes around Christmas caroling during the holiday season. The IT department reacts like a bunch of rabbits who just heard a twig snap. All of them, Chikazoku included, grab their lunches and flee to the opposite side of the office, up the stairwell and out of sight.

It’s too late for Shigaraki to get clear. The carolers form a semi-circle around him, cutting off his escape routes. “Lucky you. You get us all to yourself,” the head of PR says. “Any requests?”

“Yeah. Stop. And leave.”

“Ooh, somebody’s not in the holiday spirit! I’ve got the perfect song for you,” the head of PR says. Somebody produces a pitch pipe, plays a note, and the singing starts up a moment later. The song choice makes you cringe. “You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch. You really are a heel! You’re as cuddly as a cactus, you’re as charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch –”

You peek over the cubicle and see Shigaraki sitting there, shoulders hunched, face and ears red. He looks miserable, and you make up your mind in a second. “Stop it,” you say loudly, and everyone jumps. “That’s mean.”

“Hi there, listener!” Yamada says, at a volume that’s way too high for the situation at hand. “Did you have a request?”

“If you have to sing, don’t sing that song,” you say. “It’s mean.”

“It’s the perfect song,” Yamada says. “There’s a whole Christmas carol just for people who hate the holidays and want to ruin everybody else’s fun –”

“He just said he didn’t want you to sing to him,” you say. You feel like you’ve waded into something you maybe shouldn’t have, but you’re not going to back off. “That’s not the same thing as hating the holidays and wanting to ruin everybody’s fun.”

“Well, he definitely killed our vibe. Right, guys?” Yamada glances around at the rest of the carolers. Some of them are nodding. A few of them look kind of guilty. “It kind of hurts our feelings when we don’t get to sing. So you have to do something for us to restart our holiday spirit.”

“And then you’ll leave,” Shigaraki clarifies.

“And then we’ll leave,” Yamada says. He’s got a nasty grin on his face. “We’ll leave you alone for the rest of the holiday season if – drumroll, guys –”

The rest of the carolers come up with a drumroll. Shigaraki’s recovered from the embarrassment enough to roll his eyes. “If one of you sings a song for us,” Yamada says. Shigaraki blanches from red to white. “You owe us a Christmas carol.”

One look at Shigaraki tells you there’s no way he’s going for this. You can’t picture him singing at all, let alone under pressure and in front of an audience. You don’t do really well under pressure. You don’t know very many Christmas carols. And you don’t think you’ve sung anywhere that wasn’t your shower since you were in high school. But you know by the look on Yamada’s face that he’s not going to back off, and you don’t want to spend the next two weeks getting ambushed by acapella carolers. It’s up to you.

“Fine,” you say. Shigaraki looks up. “I’ll sing a song for you.”

“The floor is yours,” Yamada says. His grin looks a little less nasty than it did a second ago, but you still feel like you’re making a big mistake. “Lay it on us, listener!”

You don’t know very many Christmas carols, but of the ones you know, there’s only one you can remember most of the words to. You cough a couple times, clutch the mail carton for dear life, and suck down a deep breath. “I don’t want a lot for Christmas –” You’re immediately cut off with a lot of snapping from the carolers. Yamada is giving you a thumbs up, so you keep going, trying not to think about how badly your voice is wavering. “There is just one thing I need, and I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree...”

The carolers are humming along, which is nice of them. Maybe this way you can stay on key. “I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know. Make my wish come true –” You suck down a breath, using it as an excuse to cut off the high note early. “All I want for Christmas is you.”

You’re hoping that will be it. Praying that’ll be it. But instead the carolers hop in with the backing track, and Yamada is gesturing for you to keep singing, and the only thing you can think of that would be worse than having to sing the rest of this song is having to start over. You find the note again and keep singing, up-tempo this time. You can do this, right? This is as embarrassing as it’s going to get.

You forget the lyrics to the second verse, but the carolers help you out, and you can tell by their expressions – and Yamada’s – that they’re having the kind of spontaneous holiday-season fun they’re after. This does feel like something that would happen in a Christmas movie, or it would, if it was happening to anybody but you. The fact that all of this is happening right in front of Shigaraki’s desk is making it even worse. So much for him not hating you as much as everybody else. This has probably sealed the deal.

When the song finally ends, you’ve sweated through your blouse and your cardigan and your face is probably bright red. Yamada is grinning. “Now we’re back in the mood, listener!” he proclaims. “You’ve got a decent voice. We’ll come find you when practice starts next year!”

Once they’ve piled back into the elevator, you lean back against the wall of Spinner’s cubicle, then sink slowly to the floor, carton in your lap and hands pressed to your face. Shigaraki’s voice issues from the next cubicle over. “It would have been over faster if you let them sing the first song.”

“There were going to be five more verses just like that one,” you say. “You shouldn’t have to sit through that just because you don’t like people singing at you.”

“I can take it.”

You remember how red his face was. How unhappy he looked. “No, you can’t.”

That was the wrong thing to say, but you’re too out of breath to walk it back. You need to get out of here before you get yourself in any more trouble. You get to your knees, then to your feet. “What are you doing down here, anyway?” Shigaraki asks. “Most people don’t know where this place is.”

“You all never check your mail, so I was playing postman,” you say. You look down into the carton. “I’ve got some stuff for you here.”

You unload the mail onto the corner of Shigaraki’s desk a few pieces at a time, saving your latest Secret Santa present for last. Shigaraki gives it a suspicious look. “Where did that come from?”

“It was in your mailbox,” you lie. “I thought I would bring it down with everything else.”

You set it on the desk, on top of everything else, and turn to go. You can probably go a few more days without giving him another gift. As far as you’re concerned, rescuing him from the Grinch song should count as a gift all on its own. You might not be homemaking your Secret Santa gifts, or wrapping them so prettily that the package looks like a gift all on its own, but no one can say you aren’t putting the effort in. Not that Shigaraki will notice.

He speaks up while you’re waiting for the elevator. “Five more verses?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Nothing,” Shigaraki says. Then, as the elevator doors are closing behind you: “Thanks.”

Maybe he still hates you less than everybody else. You’re surprised to find yourself smiling at the thought.

<- part iii part v ->

[stinkysam]

Serge “Frenchie” - Bad movies.

Warning : nsfw, long ass intro, semi public sex (can we still call it that when there's just another person in the room ?), spit for lube, no protection, blowjob (giving), edging, breath restriction (?), humping, slight degradation/praise

Genre : smut

Synopsis : You're in hiding with the boys in a basement in the back of some random store, and private moments are most definitely not private but it doesn't seem to be a problem for you and Frenchie. Aka Hughie hears more than he'd like to. During season 2. Idea by @jadenisdead

Reader : male (you/yours)

While Butcher, M.M and Annie were at their respective places, you, Hughie, Kimiko and Frenchie stayed hidden at the back of some store watching movies for movie night. But everything that was playing turned out to be bad.

You sighed, bored. By your feet, sitting on the floor was Hughie, fighting hard to not fall asleep, his head resting on your knees. Leaning on your shoulder was your boyfriend Frenchie with Kimiko's head on his lap, eyes closed. Clearly, the movie was not entertaining at all and soon Hughie had enough.

“Well, I uh, I'm going to bed.” He said, clearing his voice before yawning while stretching as he got up. “Not that it's boring or anything, but uh…”

“It's boring.” You replied frankly with a nod. Frenchie humming in agreement absentmindedly, probably more lost in his thoughts than whatever was going on on the screen.

“Yeah… It's a disaster.” Hughie slid his hands in his pockets, giving the TV one last glance, a last chance to give him something not boring, but alas his wish wasn't granted, so he left.

You thought for a second and decided to go as well. You kissed Frenchie’s cheek and told him you were going too. He smiled and nodded.

You reached your bed, it was small but at least you didn't sleep on the couch or on a mattress on the floor. Though most of the time Frenchie was sleeping glued to you rather than in his makeshift bed.

You could still see the TV from where you were and after a few minutes, you saw Frenchie get up, put what seemed like a blanket over Kimiko and joined you, leaving the TV on in fear the lack of background noise would wake her up.

As usual, you moved closer to the wall to give him some space and opened your arms, letting him crawl into them, laying on top of you instead of by your side, his head resting next to yours.

“Well, that was uh… how to say… ennuyant.” Frenchie said with a grimace, quietly. He looked at your face when you turned your head toward him, nose to nose.

“Wanna do something better ?” You wiggled your eyebrows in a joking manner, though it was barely seen in the darkness of the basement. Even during the day and with every light on, it was still rather dark.

Frenchie squirmed a bit, trying to find a comfortable spot before answering, curious.

“And what do you have in mind, huh ?”

“In my mind ?” You kissed his forehead sweetly. “Ton cul.” You smiled, your hands suddenly grabbing his ass, earning a chuckle, quickly his hands went under your shirt, exploring.

“But, il y a Kimiko et petit Hughie. Doesn't it bother you ?” He whispered, though he already knew your answer.

“Et toi, ça te dérange ?” Your smile could be heard in your voice. “Kimiko dort depuis un bail, et Hughie… je suis sûr qu'il est déjà out.” You kissed his forehead once more while your hands wandered under his clothes, caressing his hot skin, feeling the scars on his back. “Plus it never stopped us before.” You pointed out, now kissing the top of his nose.

“C'est vrai. But not around the boys.” He argued, his hands grabbing your face to pull you into a proper kiss.

“But is it really around the boys if it's just two of them ? Asleep ?” You said, still smiling as Frenchie pulled away from you to remove his shirt, you quickly did the same, throwing them on the floor.

“Mais je suis pas contre.” He closed the distance, regaining his spot against you. “I just don't want them to…” He shook his head. “Hear.”

“Then be silent.” There was a hint of laughter in your voice, as you kissed his cheek, mocking him a bit. “Ou petit Hughie ne sera pas capable de te regarder dans les yeux.” You pouted and nudged him, faking a saddened voice, and though he couldn't see it, he knew you were still smiling cheekily but before he could say anything, you bit his cheek, making him yelp loudly.

“Aie ! Shhhh !”

“Don't shush me, you're the one making noise.” You laughed quietly before yelping as well. He had pinched your left side.

“Now who's the one making noises, huh ?” He asked, proudly, as he backed away from you, resting on his elbows, still on top of you.

“Oh, je te promet, that will be you.” You giggled before kissing his lips, your hands roaming once more over his body.

“...Mmmh, peut-être.” He admitted, chuckling, making you laugh as well before pushing him off of you, Frenchie now laying under you, close to the edge of the bed.

You crawled backward toward his legs, pulling his pants down, kissing your way to his pelvis, taking your time, his eyes never leaving you, one of his hands landed on the top of your head.

You gently grabbed his dick, jerking him at a steady pace. He sighed, closing his eyes, head resting against your only pillow.

“Remember, no noises. Like in ‘A quiet place’.”

Frenchie snorted.

“You didn't even watch the movies.” He laughed, looking back at you. You flicked his balls with your middle finger and he hissed loudly, grimacing, looking at you with a frown. “Hey !” He whispers-yelled.

“I still know what it's about.” You retorted.

“Okay, okay… Désolé.” He sighed, more turned on than upset over the flicking.

You kissed his tip, making a trail down and up his length before wrapping your lips around it. It didn't take long for him to be fully hard, one hand massaging his thighs slowly while you started to bob your head up and down, your other hand taking care of his balls. You could hear Frenchie squirming and letting out small gasps and hisses occasionally.

The hand on your head guiding you to go faster, fucking your mouth, your teeth threatening to scrape against his dick, which you did from time to time, just for fun, just to hear his voice get louder for a second.

Then you decided to slow things down, wanting to annoy him so he wouldn't get what he wanted so easily and quickly.

“No, don't stop.” He complained, but you didn't listen.

You pulled away, going back to kissing his wet cock and his thighs, even nipping and sucking at the soft skin, leaving small red marks while your hand jerked him slowly then quickly, then slowly again. Each time he was about to come you pulled away, not touching him until he had calmed down and was ready for more.

Of course more pre would appear, coating your hand and his own dick, making a bit of a mess.

After a while, Frenchie seemed to have enough of this chasing game.

“Please- please, please, please, let me come, mon cœur…” He begged, trying his best to stay quiet but each time you denied him made him louder. You didn't know if he was aware of that and if he still cared about it, but you sure weren't going to tell him to quiet down.

“What a pretty boy.” You cooed, enjoying the view, kissing his inner thigh.

His dick kept twitching and throbbing at your touch, wanting more, wanting to feel the sweet release. But you didn't want him to reach it yet. You gave him your index and middle finger to suck instead, his open mouth letting more moans come out freely. Then you pulled them out, slowly dragging them down to his ass, pushing them in. He groaned at the sensation before starting to adjust to it.

You fingered and jerked him at different paces, watching as Frenchie struggled to move his hips accordingly, chasing both sensations. You continued to tease his tip with your tongue, trying to draw shapes or words on his shaft, drooling a bit on your chin and on him. You kept stopping every now and then, not wanting him to cum just yet, his angry red cock leaking with beads of pre-come looking absolutely delicious.

Then you stopped everything. Frenchie's head snapped up to look at you, confused with a fucked out expression, before seeing you remove your pants.

“Tourne-toi.” You simply said and he did as asked. “Good boy.”

You exhaled when you wrapped a hand around your own dick, not caring if Hughie could hear you as you jerked yourself, Frenchie's eyes were on you, watching your every move. Then you stopped, you spat on your hand and smeared it on your cock before spreading his asscheeks open and slowly pushing yourself inside him. You sighed, loving how snug he felt around you, he hummed loudly, trying to ignore the stinging feeling, closing his eyes.

You caressed his ass, before leaning closer, leisurely bucking your hips into him. With each thrust you were rewarded with quiet grunts and gasps, sounding so pretty.

Your hand went around his throat, holding him up against you, not enough to choke him, but enough to disturb his breathing, making him breathe and pant loudly.

He accidentally let out a loud strangled moan as your tip tickled his prostate, and you angled yourself so it happened again and again. His dick was rubbing against the mattress, smearing pre-come onto the sheets and himself.

More moans and gasps escaped his lips, grunting as he struggled to breathe comfortably, and if you listened closely, you could hear him babbling. A mixture of whispered “Please, please, please.” and “Need to cum.” mingled together.

He came like this, shooting ropes of cum under himself, unable to warn you beforehand, and claiming it happened too quickly.

But instead of stopping you continued moving.

“T'es vraiment une pute, hein ?” You hissed. “Pas capable de prévenir.”

“Désolé, je suis désolé.” He whispered, voice raspy.

You squeezed his throat a bit more so it would be more difficult for him to breathe, releasing him every now and then and soon enough he was hard again, from your dick continuously fucking him and his rubbing the sheets.

“Be a dear and warn me next time.”

Frenchie nodded quickly.

He could feel the wet stain of his cum on the sheets under him, his cock rubbing against it, smearing it even more as more pre came out.

You continued touching his prostate with the tip of your dick, ripping moans after moans out of him.

“Shhhh, what if Hughie hears you ? Or if you wake up Kimiko ?” You whispered in his ear. “Mh ?”

“Please.” Is all Frenchie could say, eyes closed and grimacing. He felt so close from cumming, again. He needed it.

“You want them to hear how much of a whore you are ?”

“S'il te plait, mon cœur. I can’t do this anymore.” He urged, voice straining and a bit louder than he had intended to.

“Je t'ai posé une question.” You stopped every movement, wanting to make your point across.

“Don’t stop, please.” He groaned, annoyed, trying to move his hips against you to get something.

“Frenchie.” You said sternly but he didn't answer. So you pulled him closer against you by his throat, completely stopping him from breathing. “Do I need to repeat myself ?”

Came out of his lips a little and weak “No.”

“Then answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, quoi ?”

“Oui, je veux qu'ils entendent à quel point je suis ta pute.” His voice was still straining. Frenchie coughed and breathed loudly once you let him go, though not completely as your hand was still holding him close to you.

“You see ? Was that so hard, my love ?” You said, caressing his side, rolling your hips against him as he shook his head “no”.

Knowing he was being loud, he quickly put a hand on his mouth to muffle any sounds that could come out of him.

“Put that hand away, love.”

Even if it took a few seconds, Frenchie still obeyed and took his hand away from his mouth. Letting his trying-to-be-quiet moans fill the room slowly. And soon, your own moans could be heard as well, a sign you were close to cumming.

“God, you feel so good.” You whispered quickly, feeling him clench around you as if he was trying to suck you in.

“I'm gonna cum.” Frenchie said, voice trembling, eyes closed as he was lost in the pleasure, trying to move under you, chasing his high.

“Go ahead, pretty boy.” You replied, kissing his ear as you tried to reach deeper into him, fucking him thoroughly. “I'm close too.”

Moans fell freely out of his lips as he came, more cum pooling under him as you shot yours into his ass.

Gasping for air and sighing loudly, you both slowly regained your composure, you pulled out and fell to the side, on your back, Frenchie still on his stomach.

“You think they heard us ?” He whispered, nudging you with his elbow, turning his head to look at you.

“Last time I checked, Hughie wasn't deaf.” You whispered back. “Right Hughie !?”

“Shut up, leave me alone.” Hughie replied, clearly upset.

You couldn't help but laugh, and quickly, Frenchie followed.

“I'm sorry, mon ami.” He said, in between laughter. “I simply thought that you were asleep.” He added, defending himself.

Hughie ignored him, too pissed to think properly of a comeback.

“Why are you not asleep ? At this hour ? Mh ?” Frenchie asked, moving his head in his direction.

“Maybe because you two are being obnoxiously loud, and fucking in my presence ?!”

You couldn't help but laugh again, your hand resting on Frenchie’s back. But Hughie continued.

“I'm sorry if sounds of fucking is not what I fall asleep to.”

“I do, sometimes.” Frenchie admitted, chuckling happily.

“It's because you're deranged, my love.” You said, kissing his head.

“It's like your huh… ASMR videos.” He argued, now turning toward you. “Think about it.”

“No. No it's not. No it's not. The context is different.”

“Why are there videos of people moaning quietly or kissing the mic, huh ? Or not safe for work ASMR, mh ?”

You looked at him, dumbfounded.

“You know an awful lot for someone who doesn't like it.” You finally said.

“You're just in le dénis.” You could tell Frenchie was smiling, confident in his statement.

“Can you just shut up ?!” Hughie said loudly, too tired to condone more of this, his pillow folded to cover both his ears. “Or go debate somewhere else about… About porn ASMR or whatever !”

He was no longer grimacing in horror, now staring at the table in front of him with an empty look and a hint of hatred. He had troubles sleeping since Robin's death and joining the boys, he's had enough trauma with how many guts he got on himself on a daily, he estimated it simple enough to not ever think he'd find himself in the situation where he'd hear two of his friends fucking while he's trying to sleep, a dozen of feet away from them.

Frenchie looked at you and shrugged.

“Bonne nuit, then ?”

“Met d'abord la couverture pleine de jus par terre.” You said with a laugh, pushing it off from under you. Instead you heard him get up, walk naked in the room as Hughie groaned in annoyance, probably closing his eyes to not accidentally see Frenchie naked even though it was too dark to see anything, before coming back and putting the cum stained sheet on the floor.

“I got us another one.”

Traduction - Translation :

Ennuyant. - Boring.

Ton cul. - Your ass.

Il y a Kimiko et petit Hughie. - There's Kimiko and petit Hughie.

Et toi, ça te dérange ? - And you, it bothers you ?

Kimiko dort depuis un bail, et Hughie… je suis sûr qu'il est déjà out. - Kimiko's asleep since a long time, and Hughie… I'm sure he's already out.

C'est vrai. - It's true.

Mais je suis pas contre. - But I'm not against it.

Ou petit Hughie ne sera pas capable de te regarder dans les yeux. - Or petit Hughie won't be able to look you in the eyes.

Oh, je te promet. - Oh, I promise you.

Peut-être. - Maybe.

Désolé. - Sorry.

Tourne-toi. - Turn around.

T'es vraiment une pute, hein ? - You really are a slut, huh ?

Pas capable de prévenir. - Unable to warn.

Désolé, je suis désolé. - Sorry, I am sorry

S'il te plait. - Please.

Je t'ai posé une question. - I asked you a question.

Quoi ? - What ?

Oui, je veux qu'ils entendent à quel point je suis ta pute. - Yes, I want them to hear how much of your whore I am.

Le dénis. - The denial.

Bonne nuit. - Good night.

Met d'abord la couverture pleine de jus par terre. - First, put the sheet full of juice on the floor.

[studiogrimm810]

Cut and Dry

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: when on a hunt with sam and dean, things go wrong and reader ends up stuck in a very small metal box and has a panic attack

warnings: hurt/comfort, claustrophobia, graphic depiction of a panic attack, reader has major anxiety :(

word count: 4,013

A/N: this one is pretty freaky i think, i had a hard time proof reading it due to my own claustrophobia lolol. if you’re also claustrophobic or have anxiety issues just be prepared, i feel like i funneled some of my own paranoia/anxiety into this one :/

———————

This hunt has completely gone south, leaving you, Sam and Dean scattered across the expansive property. An eerily beautiful house was in the center of this small open field, showing signs of slowly becoming reclaimed by nature overtime. Snakes of vines wrapped around the edges of the home, dipping into any broken window or cracked siding. Moss stained the exposed wooden doors and shutters and years of wear and tear almost made this probably once strong, sturdy home look soggy and warped.

There was a small shed behind the heart of the property but it was almost entirely exposed bone, leaving nothing to the imagination and absolutely no extra hiding places.

You had managed to escape the confines of the home, taking a few deep breaths and trying to recenter yourself back into some sort of plan to gank the spirits haunting this house.

It had been at least 10 minutes since you’ve heard or seen Sam or Dean and your anxiety was starting to eat at you.

As you round the house, you spot the Impala still parked a little ways away and since you’ve lost your weapons, you jog to the car and open the trunk. You grab another sawed-off and a quick go-back of salt, lighter fluid, matches, and a few other essentials before locking the trunk and heading right back into the maws of the rotting entryway.

You keep the gun hugged close and up to your shoulder, aiming it straight ahead. Each step creaks the floorboards so you go slowly, letting your eyes drink in all of the dark shadows and details of the rooms before you.

Thankfully, this is a shotgun house, meaning you can see the complete opposite end of the home from the front door, which makes it easier to scan through. You head down the main hallway and peek into passing rooms, keeping quiet and steady.

As you get halfway through, you’re stopped at the stairway, deciding to creep up the steps and continue your search. The walls groan as your feet weigh down the aged wood and you silently pray that they won’t crumble beneath you.

Once you’ve reached the top of the stairs, you survey the open area. When you were last here- just a few minutes ago- you only got as far as exploring the main floor, so all of what you see before you is new and uncharted territory.

You take cautious steps to the closest room to you and push open the door only to find a decayed mattress and a rusted bed frame. The window to this room had been punched in by kudzu and was now practically flooded with green. You back away into the hallway again and go to the next room, a bathroom. Once shimmering porcelain was shattered and dusted about the small room, tiles cracked and the mirror almost completely vacant. You backed out of the doorway as well and went across the hallway to another door, creaking it open and finding one of the brothers’ duffels- Dean had taken the upstairs so it had to be his.

You pick up your pace and crouch down to look at the bag, it was half open and on its side- dropped. Glancing around the room, you find a few moldy pieces of furniture and more vines but on the far right wall, there was an opening. You stand up straight again and creep slower to the opening. Upon further inspection, it was a laundry chute and you guessed it led straight down to the basement since you couldn’t see past a certain point of silky black darkness.

“Shit,” you say, resting your hand on the cracked wooden framing of the chute. After grabbing Dean's abandoned duffle, you head back downstairs to the basement door that was under the stairs.

It was now almost midnight and the full moon only offered so much light, leaving the basement completely dark. You pull out your flashlight and aim it down the steps.

Each step feels like you’re purposely leading yourself down a well of quicksand, sucking you further into a voided abyss.

When you reach the bottom of the steps you shine your flashlight around, take in the general layout and make mental notes of how to go about this. The ceilings were low, so low that you bet Sam would have to crouch around door frames and support beams. The cement floor had numerous veiny cracks and layers of dust and rubble crunching under each step you took.

The air was so still and so thick that you felt as if you had to almost swim through the basement or push past mounds of quicksand to take another step.

Or maybe that was the tunacan feeling of the basement constricting your muscles into a tense knot of buzzing anxiety.

Between the radio silence from the brothers and the cramped basement that you were almost certain they were in, you felt like your heart was going to pound right out of your chest and abandon you with a heart shaped hole in the wall on its way out.

There was a dim spotlight of a cool glow in the far other side of the basement and it had to be the chute opening. As you pan your flashlight down, you find a Dean unconscious with blood at his temple.

“Shit!” You hiss quietly to yourself, quickly making your way over to him, discarding the duffle and shaking him awake. After an annoyed groan, you finally get him to open his eyes and look at you. His memories catch up and he looks pissed.

“Fuckin’ ghost shoved me down the damn dumbwaiter,” Dean grumbled, sitting up with your help and dusting himself off the best he could.

“I think it’s a laundry chute,” you mindlessly correct, wiping off some debris from the back of his jacket and only stopping when you noticed him turned to look at you with a ‘really? right now?’ kinda bitchface. “Sorry,” you murmur, hiding your smile as you help him off the floor.

“Where’s Sammy?” Dean asks, his eyebrows pinching when he realizes that Sam isn’t with you.

“I don’t know, he was behind me one minute, then the next he’s vanished,” you say, your own forehead contorted in worry. Dean sighed and looked around the basement as he felt his jacket, looking for something. You shine your flashlight around and spot another one that’s identical with its batteries popped out on the floor. Dean reaches down to pick it up and reload the batteries in the light, looking around the basement himself.

“Think he’s down here?” Dean asked, looking around the walls for any indent or signs of a hidden passage.

“That’s my best guess, the ghost obviously wanted you down here at least,” you say, looking around at a shelf along the back wall trying to find any clues.

Both of your lights started to flicker and you and Dean stopped to find each other's eyes again as if to anchor yourselves. The room dropped in temperature and a chill tickled up your spine. You shiver, walking towards Dean to be closer in case something happens.

But you aren’t quick enough.

The flashlight is smacked out of your hands and it’s shattered against the cement wall, leaving Dean's flickering lamp to be the only light. Your gun is the next to fly out of your grasp, clanking and scraping across the floor far out of your or Dean's reach.

You look around you, trying to find the invisible force that did this but you land on nothing. Dean calls out your name as he tries to progress to your location but he’s flung just like the objects in your hand and before you can react, your mind goes dim.

———

The cold is what wakes you up. Chills running along your skin like a million little ants scattering about. You groan softly as you tilt your head and you bring up a free hand to touch it to your temple but you can hardly get your arm up before it hits something solid above you.

You peel your eyes open and let your eyes try to adjust to the nearly pitch black scene above you. A metal pane covered in splotches of rust hovers only a few inches from your face, so close that you can see the individual specks of rust or dirt.

Your lungs immediately clench at the sight and you try to look down but your head meets the pane and a layer of dust ripples from the surface, settling on your face and body making any exposed skin itchy with its feather-light touch. You take in a sharp breath only to inhale some of the mixture and you cough. You try to bring up either of your hands again but due to the cramped space, you can’t lift or twist your arms in any way to reach your face.

You turn your head to try and look around, and thankfully there are a few air slots on either side of the box. There are three 4-inch long slits- sort of like gills, you think.

Past the gills, you can tell that you’re on the floor in some metal coffin. The moon shines through to cast a window beam into the center of the floor and you try to move your head to find the window. You successfully do so and also see the steep arch of the ceiling.

So far, you can tell that you’re on the floor, in the attic, in some metal confine.

You let your head fall back to its waking position and you’re met with the pane again. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to ignore the fact that you can barely move- or breathe.

Your hands feel around and you wiggle your feet a bit to try and find any way out of this thing but there’s nothing. Your hands get more eager and your breath picks up. With your building desperation you begin to pound your fist against the sides of the box but that only lets more rusty dust fall on you which leads to more coughing and leaves your breathing in more disarray.

“Fuck!” You grunt with a wavered voice after banging the box a few times. Your eyes start to prick with stinging tears.

A familiar voice calls out your name.

If your body wasn’t already completely malfunctioning, your heart dropping at the sound would be more noticeable.

You tilt your head to look back through the gills to find something you missed before, another box on the opposite side as you with matching slits and brick-red rust.

“S-sam?” You tremble out, your voice so small and so so scared.

“It’s me, honey, you’re okay,” he replies. The feeling of relief from his voice alone makes you feel lightheaded.

“Sam!” You call out again, your voice thick with tears and you bang on the box again, earning a fresh layer of dust.

“You need to calm down, sweetheart,” he warned softly. He knew of your claustrophobia very well. “We’re gonna be okay, but you just need to lay still and let yourself breathe, okay?” His voice floats over to you, slightly muffled but you can still make out what he is saying.

“N-no, Sam, I c-can’t-,” you stutter out, words interrupted with instinctual breaths or choked by soft sobs. Your body is trembling and you feel absolutely sick. Your lungs are beginning to feel like over-chewed bubble gum and your head is beyond dizzy.

“Yes you can,” Sam says sternly, his words dripping with worry and concern over your mental and physical well-being. “You can, okay? Are you hurt?”

“I- I don’t think so,” you say, your words drawn out with a whine as you continue to cry.

“Good, honey, that’s good,” Sam breathes out a puff of relief at shortening his list of concerns. His own worry was eating away at him, making him almost nauseous at the thought of you in such emotional distress. “Have you seen Dean?” He asked, trying to continuously ask you questions to distract you but also worried about his brother.

“W-we were looking for you when sh-she-,” you said enough for Sam to know that you were talking about the ghost.

“Okay, okay,” Sam said, taking his own deep breaths to try and figure out how to get out of this situation.

You kept your eyes so screwed shut that colors started to dance on your eyelids and your ears were ringing. You still couldn’t get your breathing under control and it felt like you were under water. Sam spoke again but you didn’t hear him this time, your sniffles and quick breathing piercing through the air. The sound makes Sam wince and his chest tighten with worry. He continues to try and talk but you can’t hear a word he’s saying.

Your fists are clenched tight and nails dig in your palms as you try to grip onto some sort of control over the situation.

Your breathing is getting fast- too fast- and Sam can hear it.

“Honey, you need to calm down, you’re gonna pass out,” Sam pleaded, it was killing him that he couldn’t get to you to help you or comfort you, “please,” he said, his own words trembling with heartache.

A loud thud rattles the floor and you feel the shake in your box which makes you freeze for a moment- in fear that the floorboards were caving and that you’d fall.

God, if you fell?

Falling in this metal death trap?

Another sob shook your body and you were really starting to get dizzy, you can’t do it, you can’t.

Heavy footsteps walk around and you hear Sam’s voice again and another voice- Dean maybe?

There’s some metal clanging and more rushed talking but everything is muffled so you can’t hear. You try and look through the gills again but your tears blur your vision to the point of complete disorientation.

You start to bang your fists again causing more dust to fall but you can’t even care because you NEED to get out of this box.

You think maybe if your fists can match the intensity of your heartbeat then you can push out of this dreadful box and never look back.

There’s some more heavy footsteps and voices- all muffled and a million miles away.

There’s even some more metal clanking and you know that it’s your box, but everything feels so distant and empty.

What shocks you back to reality like a defibrillator is a loud smack of metal on cold wood right next to your ear and you flinch, cowering away to nowhere since that’s all you can do. Your head snaps to see that the metal pane of which you once looked through its gills was now flat on the ground and there’s a hand reaching out to you. The hand pulls your body out and you're so lost in your own mess that you can’t see or hear that it’s Sam just yet so you struggle, sobbing and heaving small puffs of air that felt like your lungs trying to outrun your heart rate.

Sam beccons your name, lifting you up to look at him. Your wide eyes finally meet his panicked ones, completely freaked and unsure what to do- he has never seen you this bad.

“S- s-, oh m-,” you try to speak but your teeth are chattering as if you’re freezing to your core- you’re not.

Sam's hand reaches up to cup your face, his mouth gaping like a fish but he finds no words to speak. His own eyes are glossy with a well of tears and his jaw trembles with staggering thoughts that are unable to form complete sentences. He snaps his jaw shut and lets his face morph into a wince of such emotional pain. He pulls in a sharp breath and settles his face back into a look of complete determination and observance.

“You’re okay, you’re safe,” he says each word as if they’re their own statement, letting them melt into your ringing ears and soothe away the buzzing around you. “Dean took care of the ghost, we’re safe,” he continues to speak his words slowly and carefully, pausing to make sure you’re keeping up and understanding each syllable. “You can breathe, you can move, you can stand, okay?” He says, nodding his head to show his own certainty and confidence in his words, “I promise.”

You look up past Sam to see Dean standing behind him, watching you with his own pained eyes, glossy with emotion. Dean offers you a curt nod, showing no signs of ‘maybe’s’ or ‘if’s’.

You bring your gaze back down to Sam’s who hasn’t left you, looking over your face and taking in every last detail. You look down between you, Sam’s left hand gripping your bicep a little harder than he means to but the pain is grounding and his right hand still cupping your cheek. Your body is covered in debris from the rotting inside of your coffin. You look back down at it to see just how tiny it looks from out here and you can’t even imagine how you fit into that thing in the first place.

Your heart is still racing and breathing is still coming in short, painful gasps and looking at the box wasn’t helping.

“Hey, no,” Sam almost bit out, gently directing your face back to him, “You’re safe, okay?”

This wasn’t a hypothetical question and you know that, Sam was used to your attacks and usually you would go mute during them due to a complete inability to speak, so when you could respond then that meant you were okay enough to move.

But right now you can’t seem to get a grip.

As you look back into his eyes your face melts into another sob and you lean fully into him, letting your forehead rest against his chest and he quickly engulfs you in his arms.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he says as soothingly as he can but the crack in his voice betrays him, “you’re out.”

Your shoulders shake with pitiful sobs.

“Just breathe, just breathe,” Sam says, keeping his voice low and running his hand through your hair, hoping to calm you enough to get you to speak. “You’re okay, you’re safe. We can leave and never look back, okay?” Sam says again, hoping you’ll reply. Your silence sinks his heart.

Your breathing starts to slow a bit as your panicked heart realizes you’re now out of the box. You’re still trembling and completely exhausted but your more rational self is starting to come back a bit.

“We’ll leave and get in bed and be warm and so comfortable, honey,” he paints a mental picture for you and you now start to realize how cold it is up here. “We can get food if you’re hungry or you can take a shower to get cleaned up. You’ll feel so much better,” he promises, sniffling before he places a kiss on top of your head. “You’re okay,” he repeats.

“I-I’m okay,” you mumble softly into his chest, fingering the edge of his jacket. You feel his shoulders slump in relief as he lets out a lungful of air.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” Sam nods, holding you a little tighter before pulling away to look at you again. “Can you stand?” He asks, his face still layered with concern. You nod, ready to get the hell out of that house.

Sam stands first and then reaches back down for your hands, guiding you to your feet. Your legs are wobbly and feel like jelly but Sam keeps an arm wrapped around your torso to keep you balanced.

Dean led the way back to the opening to the attic which was a foldable ladder- that's what that bang was, you think. After a silent conversation with Sam, Dean descends first, looking back up and waiting for you to be helped down by Sam. Your legs are still weak so you hold onto Sam’s arms like a handlebar and when you get a few steps down you feel Dean's hands on your hips, guiding you the rest of the way.

The floorboards groan as you step off the ladder and Dean keeps a firm grip on you.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asks, looking down at you with the same concerned expression. You don’t meet his eyes due to the now growing guilt and shame you have over your reaction. You only nod.

Sam hops off the ladder and goes to reach for you again, letting Dean lead the way out of the house while Sam keeps you close and secure.

The drive back was silent- mind numbingly silent. Sam sat in the back with you and continued to talk you down, trying to calm you any way he could. You stayed silent.

When you all got back to the motel, Dean headed straight for the shower to give you and Sam some privacy which you appreciated. Sam led you inside and sat you on the edge of the bed, pulling up a chair to sit right across from you.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, his voice so low and so loving that it’s practically a hum.

You just shrug, looking down at your shaking hands that intertwine with his. He rubbed his thumb along the back of your palm and you watched.

“Are you thirsty?” He asks patiently.

You don’t respond.

“Honey, look at me,” he lets go of one of your hands to tilt your chin up to him, using only 2 fingers so as to not overwhelm you too much. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” He keeps his eyes glued to yours, waiting until you’re ready to speak.

You swallow thickly, trying to find the right words to say.

“I’m embarrassed,” you whisper and Sam could barely hear you but he followed your lips and immediately understood. He nodded softly.

“That makes sense, but you shouldn’t be,” he leans in a bit to show his emphasis- as if digging your eyes up with his own. “You did nothing wrong, you were scared and you reacted. That’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he spoke as if it were cut and dry.

Your eyes fall closed, letting out a sigh. You feel the last tear that your eyes can muster up roll down your cheek. He’s quick to wipe it away- cut and dry.

He’s really worried about you, sure you’ve had panic attacks before but this was next level. You were absolutely inconsolable and nothing he was saying had really gotten through to you.

“You’re safe, okay? And you have done absolutely nothing wrong,” he repeats, hoping you’ll just believe him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you mumble, sniffling softly.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Sam shakes his head, running his thumb along your jaw, “You never need to apologize- not to me.”

You’ll never understand how the sweetest, patient, most understanding and kindhearted man became yours. Sure, sometimes you question it, but you will always and forever take it.

“At least your fear makes sense, remember when I freaked out about that killer clown and you had to cover my ass?” Sam jokes with a soft and warm smile, you would chuckle if you had the energy. Instead, a small curl of your lips show him that you found humor in his comment and his chest ignites with a wash of relief at the movement.

You take a full breath that is staggered with the aftershock of your sobbing and let your shoulders slump as you let go of the tension holding you stiff and you wrap your arms around him, holding him close. He’s right in suit- pulling you into a firm hug.

“You’re okay, we’re okay,” he whispers in your ear, his cheek pressed into your hair and arms covering your torso.

“We’re safe now,” he says slightly strained with painful love, and you believe him.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

[toasecretsanta]

Secret Santa for just_snakess for "Meg giving a piano performance" and "Meg sees Apollo's true form for the first time" MCD for the last part

For @just_snakess from @femmefangirl

When Meg was very small, before the word pain had any meaning other than the prick of thorns or a scraped knee, her father had told her stories. There were many stories that he would tell her, most of which she had long forgotten. The rest she had kept with her, close to her heart where everything she could remember about Philip McCaffrey lay.

Except for one

-

Nero doesn’t like stories. He tells them of his greatest feats and pretends away his failures, but he never tells them stories and even though Meg saw him kill her father, it’s the lack of stories that give him away. That made her not trust him.

She’s his favorite, she knows this because he told her that himself. He tells them all their rankings in his mind, tells them that it’s for the greater good, that it will make them better fighters, better soldiers, better weapons. It’s what Luguselwa says anyway, and she trusts her more than she trusts Nero. Luguselwa doesn’t tell her stories though, except for once.

When Meg was six, just before her first gladiator match, Luguselwa tells her a story. It’s a different sort of story because this story Luguselwa tells her is true. She talks about the earliest memory she had, of her and her mother and her father and her brother. Luguselwa tells her about the way the flowers danced in the wind; the feeling of the breeze in her hair; the way the sounds of life within the settlement held her as she went to sleep every night. Meg didn’t understand then (and she doesn’t now) why Luguselwa told the story.

But Luguselwa became Lu after that nonetheless.

-

The first very first time Nero tells her a story, it is about the snake that lives in the basement. It doesn’t actually live in the basement, he says, it just lives in a metaphorical basement. Meg nods her head in understanding even though she doesn’t understand because not understanding angers The Beast. She doesn’t like The Beast; it brings fire and blood and screams with it.

“There is a snake. A very old and very powerful snake who can see things that you as a mortal cannot. His powers are even grander than mine.” Nero lowers his voice to a whisper as he adds on “At least that’s what he believes.” And that’s what Meg believes as well, because Nero is the most powerful man she’s ever met. “This snake is called Python, my dear. He was defeated by the Sun god Apollo after he came out of his mother’s womb because even as a baby, Apollo was arrogant. The only reason Python was defeated was because he never expected a baby to defeat him and so he got careless.”

Nero kneels down and looks at her blue-grey on black-brown. He takes one of his fingers, light as a feather, and caresses the freshly bandaged gash on her face. “I do hope you won’t get careless Meg.” There’s a threat not-hiding in those words.

Nonetheless, Nero gets split into her kindly stepfather and the monstrous Beast.

-

The first time Lester tells Meg that he’s the god Apollo, she doesn’t believe him.

In her defense, who would? The whole acne-riddled, baby giraffe look doesn’t scream God. It also doesn’t scream the Sun, Archery, Music, Poetry, Disease, Truth, Healing, Light and a bunch of other things she can’t remember. His nose looks twice as large as it should be and there’s a layer of dirt on him with garbage juice stains on his shirt and jeans.

Besides, he doesn’t even say it to her. He said it to the two jerks that were beating him up, the two jerks that she saved him from. Meg says as much to him and then he explains his situation to her, asking a bit about herself in the process.

Then he implies that her mother is a garbage goddess which. It adds to the whole ‘I’m a god’ thing he has going on. She says some things and he says some things, most of which she tunes out because his voice is grating. Nails-on-chalkboard sort of grating, all whiny and high-pitched. Annoying.

Meg is seriously considering beating the guy up and taking all his money because neither does she fully trust him, nor does she fully believe him. The only reason she’s still considering him at all is because there was a crack of lightning before he appeared, giant and painful, and the fact that he came from nowhere. There’s also something about him, the air around him is shimmery, or maybe hazy.

If he is the God Apollo, then Nero would be happy with her if she informs him about it. The Beast might not be unleashed if Meg brings Nero something to appease him, a sort of distraction from the fact she ran away. It’s not like she’s going to go back though.

And maybe he can defeat Python. After all, he defeated Python when he was like, a baby, and now he’s an adult which means he’s more powerful so even though Python is also super powerful there’s a chance.

What catches her attention in the end plants a seed of thought in her mind is him saying that “Usually Zeus requires me to work as a slave for some important demigod.” Goddy powers would be helpful in Hell’s Kitchen, but it’s not the usefulness that makes her ask her next question, cutting his rambling, it’s something else. Something to the left.

“How do you know which demigod?”

“What?” Meg notices that his neck goes forward in a twitch whenever he seems confused.

“Which demigod you’re supposed to serve.” She says, rolling her eyes (but only a little). Meg tacks on a ‘dummy’ at the end there, to make sure he knows that it was an obvious question.

“I…uh. Well, it’s usually obvious. I just sort of run into them. That’s why I want to get to the Upper East Side. My new master will claim my service and—” His explanation really boils down to ‘first come, first serve’ and so she’ll get served first.

She sort of knew that this day would change her life, but never would she have expected how much.

-

When Lester – Apollo – came back all immortal and goddy back again Meg thinks it’s goodbye. Going off to fight isn’t a goodbye because she ordered Apollo to come back to her, and as long as he was mortal he’d have to listen to that order. So that meant he had to win. Simple. Easy.

Once, a four-year-old Meg had planted her very first seed and she’d sat down in front of it, waiting for it to the Opuntia to grow. She sat in front of it for the whole day, her father finding her only when the sun started to stain Aeithales a pretty orangish red. Philip McCaffrey had asked her what she was doing, to which she only said waiting. Four-year-old Meg didn’t have much of a vocabulary, her sentences made up of very few syllables.

Her father had laughed then, smile lines stretching in a practiced motion, but then he’d apologized after seeing her pout, so she forgave him for that. He told her things in the way he often did, with a story.

“Long ago,” he begins like usual. “There was a warrior named Odysseus. He had lots of adventures but we’re not talking about him today. Today we’re talking about his wife Penelope.”

“Penelope was the Queen of an island called Ithaca. Her husband, Odysseus was naturally, its King. They had a son whom they named Telemachus and for a few months they were happy. And then news came of a war, a war that Odysseus was invited to fight in. The King of Ithaca wanted to refuse at first, the desire to stay with his family was strong, but in those days the honor of war overshadowed this desire. And so, Penelope and little Telemachus waved Odysseus and the soldiers of Ithaca off, wishing them a swift victory.”

“The victory was not swift. It was long and sad and violent but eventually Odysseus and his men prevailed. They beat the other side, and they were glad, because now they could return home. However, for reasons he, and only he because his men died in the war and later the journey back to their homeland, came back twenty years later. Penelope, who had to raise Telemachus with the help of her servants and not her husband could have chosen a new husband, a different one. But she didn’t, because she knew Odysseus would come back and so she waited twenty long years with suitors vying for her hand in marriage. She waited and she waited and. She. Waited.”

“Anyone else would have lost hope, lost patience but Penelope waited. And then she got him back. Odysseus returned home and he came back to her and to his son.”

Meg thinks twenty years is too long and she doesn’t want to wait that long for the plant to grow. She plans on saying as much to her father when he holds out a hand, signaling her to listen to him first. She does, but her legs shake in anticipation to speak all the same.

“Meg. I’m not saying the Opuntia will take twenty years to grow. I’m saying that it takes a while for things to happen. Nothing big ever starts and finishes in a day, no matter how much you want it to. It’ll take a while for your plant to grow, but patience is important, and so, you must wait.”

She nods her head at him which gets her one of his smiles. The smiles of Philip McCaffrey are the most common thing around, but each one directed at her is as precious as diamonds and water.

It is this memory she thinks of whenever her skin itches with the need to know. When the ants come crawling out of nowhere and decide that they’re going to creep around on her.

It is this memory that’s playing in her head when she sees her best friend (brother) again.

He looks the same, but also different. The acne isn’t fresh anymore but instead a crater of scars against a tan face; there’s a confidence lining his body turning him from freshy born animal to ballet dancer; his eyes, which were perpetually wide and anxious are half-closed in an easy way that reminds her of a sleeping cat. He looks content even with the undercurrent of nervousness in him.

“You’re back.” She breathes out, joy written so clearly in her voice that she would be able to read it.

He smiles at her, and she can see how he’s the Sun God because it’s so warm. Warm like the orangish red that bathes the greenhouse sometimes. “You’re sunburned.” Apollo says pointedly.

She orders him to come even though she knows it’s fruitless, he knows it too, but he comes back to her anyway. Meg should remember the rest of the day better but the only thing she can know for sure is the feeling of a huge weight lifted from her chest after seeing him alive and well. Her brother-best friend is back and that’s all that really matters anyway.

-

There’s something to be said about her siblings in that each and every one of them came to see her perform, even though it was just an opening for a band in a hole-in-the-wall SoCal café. Cassius, Lucius, Aemilia, Lityerses, Billie, Miranda and even Katie were visible in the crowd. They were bunched together like grapes and looked like clothing patches on jeans with how mismatched they were.

Cassius was in a Camp Half-Blood shirt and wearing a neon green maxi skirt; Lucius with orange bell bottoms and gothic frills was nothing in comparison to Aemilia’s dark, dramatic makeup and a white sundress. Billie, Miranda, and Lityerses looked like they both came straight from weeding a garden, dirt and all which isn’t unbelievable, if you can believe it. Katie was wearing a nice yellow sunflower skirt and a simple black top, which was miles better than what everyone wore.

A keyboard sat on the rickety wooden stage, a spotlight highlighting it and eventually her for everyone to see. It’s all been set up so that Meg doesn’t have to do anything other than just go out there and knock everyone’s socks off with how good she is. And she’s good.

Apollo had told her that after her very first piano lesson, most people don’t get it quickly, but she does. In fact, his exact words were “Anyone can play the piano Meg. Instruments are meant to be played and everyone who starts an instrument knows that. But you, Meg, shouldn’t settle for playing piano. You should perform it, make an art out of that piano.” To this day she doesn’t understand what his words meant but Apollo doesn’t give out compliments of greatness all the time. Goodness, yes, he’s nice like that but he doesn’t often sound awed by people.

That memory brings a smile to her lips. Apollo had magicked a dark green suit for her, with a dark orange bowtie as per her request. He’d pursed his lips and there was judgement in his face which if she’s being honest with herself is the reason she chose the color combination in the first place. His disgusted-horrified face is the funniest thing, especially if he looks concerned for her health.

An inhale and exhale later, Meg’s walking towards the keyboard, a cheap and plasticky thing. Even before she starts playing there’s applause from the crowd, Meg doesn’t even have to look at them to see it’s her siblings and also Apollo who’s posing as a bartender. A flush rises to her cheeks, Gods they are so embarrassing, she thinks as she plays the opening of Chopin’s Etude op. 10 No. 4.

Later on, she’d deny it but there’s a smile on her face the whole time.

-

There’s a sun on her grave.

Meg has been dead for two years and the apple tree that had been fertilized by her ashes looks healthy and strong. Lots of things can be said about the fact that she’s here and not in Elysium (like the fact that Nico owes her far too many favors) and she doesn’t want to say any of them. Living for a whole century is a considerable feat but it was wholly expected.

She had felt like there was something just to the side that kept tumors, diabetes, blood pressure and other medical illnesses that come with age at bay. Healing her left, right and center; she knew what, or to be specific, who it was, and it was that who who wept fiery tears on her grave.

At first Meg had thought it was the sun itself in humanoid form but the longer she looks at it, the more it seems like a rainbow, but only a pale silver, a monochromatic rainbow if you will. The edges of the form don’t flicker and dance in the way fire does but dilate and enlarge in a rhythmic manner like a heart does. The tears that fall are like glowing moon drops, all shimmer and shine.

Instinct that shouldn’t be there tells her that this is Apollo, that this amalgamation of light and melancholy is her brother. Her mind rages against the thought because he’d never, ever looks so not put together. The very same shouldn’t-be-there instinct tells her that this is Apollo’s rawest form, that if she weren’t already dead, she very well would be.

“Hey ‘pollo.” She whispers, words carried onwards by the breeze.

He whips around, quick as the Bach Prelude in C Minor, face morphing into several thing before settling on what she’s lovingly dubbed ‘Lesterpollo’. It’s a combination of his favored Apollo look and Lester Papadopoulos, which includes big brown sheep eyes and banana slug yellow curls. His acne has turned into scars, and they along with freckles and two moles shift constantly making different constellations. Her shoulders loosen up seeing his familiar face but then immediately tighten up when she sees tears as clear as her glasses well up inside his eyes.

“Mind a hug?” Apollo chokes out, she doesn’t even have to nod, just clench her jaw in a way and he’s hugging her like she doesn’t need to breathe. Which she doesn’t.

It takes an age and a day for the hug to stop, and she doesn’t want it to because a hug from Apollo God of the Sun and also Light and a bunch of other things is the warmest thing you’ll ever feel in your life. In every sense of the word warm, it will be warm. Even before Meg had died at the ripe old age of one hundred, she had been perpetually cold.

Apollo wipes the tears from his eyes, but the shifting patterns of dots do little to mask some rapidly oncoming tears stains.

“How –”

“Nico owes me a bunch of favours. Cassius is still here, and I was – I was waiting for him to kick the bucket so.” She cuts him off with her waterfall of words and shoves her liver-spotted hands into her burnt umber handmade satin coat she got from her youngest daughter.

“Younger siblings. Huh?” Apollo asks her, a dry joke that makes her want to cry and laugh at the same time because she’ll perpetually look like Apollo’s grandmother, and she likes looking old. It makes her feel happy and proud and fuzzy all over but there had been a point in her mid-forty’s where when she and her brother went out for something or the other and they’d been mistaken for mother and son. They’d laughed about it immediately afterwards, but she thinks of it in the most randomest moments.

A peaceful silence settles itself cozily between them as they watch the sun makes its descent downwards. She’ll be here till her youngest brother turns 101 years old because he competitive little shit and see more sunsets in this ghostly form, but she’ll always have company.

[brokenpieces-72]

Old or New?

CoD Gangster AU | Navigation

Note: First off, this is a season 2 essentially, and the files on my phone are highly laggy, so new chapters will take extra time. Second, feel free to ask questions and make requests about this AU, it allows me to get a better idea of the world myself. Third, there is some christmas stuff on the way, just the holidays are crazy sometimes.

TW: Mentions of death, funeral, high emotions and angst, old memories, let me know if I missed any.

“We’re gonna need a new place to lay low.” Price announces. You sigh quietly. Of course, it couldn’t be as simple as going back to how things were. Pissing off one of the biggest and sketchiest names in the city was bound to force some hands. Makarov wouldn't just leave you alone, and with you still recovering, a new hiding place was pretty important. “Something simple, somewhat remote, low key. We’ll still be going in and out of here, but after Y/N got picked up, it’s clear they won’t hesitate to start looking around here. If they just have the single look over that would be enough for me, but we can’t be in here. Gaz you’ll need a new ride as well.”

“Nik’s already sent me some options.” Kyle confirms, tucking his phone away. “So open houses?”

“Even with our names cleared, there’s still the chance someone will say something. Milena’s in real estate, she could easily find us.” Simon says, sounding less hopeful.

“So bumming it for a while?” Johnny suggests. The other options would be asking Alejandro or Farah for cover, but they were in shallow water themselves. You lean back on the couch, the cat hopping down from Simon’s shoulder to the arm rest and over to your lap. You check the time again, to see if you could take another pain killer. Then you remember something.

“I might have an idea.” You say.

“We’re not asking Graves.” Johnny says. You shoot him a look, pressing your lips. He gives you a grin.

“Kay that was mean.” You say, with a few half smiles around you. “But no I have a place.”

“Where?” Price asks, folding his arms.

“…I have a house. Outside of the city, so it’s a bit more remote than you might want but it’s large enough, it’s in my name, there’s some bedrooms in the basement, the plumbing and electricity should still work.” You trailed off, realizing what this would mean. Going back to the house again and this time staying. The rest of the men were quiet. They were considering it. It would be easier than trying to find a place somewhere else in the city. At the very least they could use it while looking for a place within the city. “None of it should be on record.”

“…let’s get to work.” Price says.

Kyle’s new ride wasn’t half bad, a standard vehicle, five seats, and you were riding shot gun giving directions. You take a moment before unbuckling your seatbelt. It's just a house. A house you grew up in. A house you stayed up in. A house you celebrated in. A house you mourned in. You take a deep breath and walk up to the door, ignoring the glances from your friends. You keep your head down, as you step inside. It;s a little cold. You take off your shoes, asking the other’s to do the same, trying to ignore your surroundings, telling them where there are bedrooms, bathrooms, and the kitchen. You ask them to avoid a couple places.

Hearing no protests, you head upstairs towards one of the rooms you didn’t want them to go. You didn’t go to your father’s room, instead you go to your own. The door is shut tight. A room you knew well. You had to confront it. If you don’t you’d just hide again. You were your own person, what was on the otherside wasn't who you were anymore, you'd grown up. You could do this, confront it first hand. Your hand goes on the door knob, gripping it tight.

“Problem?” Price asks, making you jump and whip around. You didn't even hear him come up the stairs.

“N-no. Did you find a room?” You ask, after getting your heart to steady.

“We were going to but something in your fridge growled at us, when we passed." Price says. There shouldn't be any food in the fridge.

“Shit the ice maker.” You hurry past him, to shut it off. You swore you turned it off a long time ago.

Rooms had been sorted, food was being picked up, and Simon was getting the cat, so you took the opportunity to sit outside, in the overgrown backyard, on the swing that still hung from the tree. The same tree you fled to during the waking. The same tree you and your father had picnics under. The same… fuck.

You let your legs sway you forward and back, the rope still holding. You stare at a spot by the trunk, where the roots parted perfectly for you to sit in. The same…it was all the same.

You get up from the swing and took short steps to your favourite spot. You sit down and lean back against the trunk, almost perfectly shaped to fit you, even after all these years. A tiny smile forms. You chuckle shaking your head, at the thought of the tree welcoming you back home. There were a few tears, but you weren’t sure if it was emotions or just your eyes watering. You close them, letting the soft breeze help you relax. You were home. This was okay.

Last time you were here…

The crowd was too much, the people were too much, the black outfit was itchy, and you just wanted your dad to come home. The few small comments about the red scarf around your neck seeming inappropriate were getting to you. Graves was keeping a safe watch over you. You don't know if it was for your benefit or for his as he seemed to hover around you. All you wanted was to ask them all to leave.

Everyone kept coming up to you asking where you would be staying, and offering their condolences, saying how hard it must have been to lose your father so young, how much you reminded them of him, and a couple had said they hoped to see you grow into a remarkable cop like him. Stop. You wanted them to stop. Graves would usher you away anytime he noticed you starting to look uncomfortable or if he saw your ears growing wet. Then he would take you aside, telling you to be brave, wiping your tears.

As soon as Graves had his attention taken away from you, you made your move. Without warning you fled to the backyard, to the tree you’d spent so much time under.

You went there looking for your father, with the pain of knowing he wasn’t there. Your spot under the tree hid you from everyone inside. Finally, you could cry without anyone asking you not to or Graves reminding you to be strong. You tugged your black outfit around you tighter, burying your face in your red scarf. The tears poured down your cheeks, as you kept tugging, trying to feel your father’s arms around you again. You grew light-headed from your grasping breaths, and any words came out as squeaks. You wanted it all to be some dream, to wake up from it all. To find your father next to you in bed, trying to pull you of this nightmare.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair you lost him so soon. You missed him so much, he was all you had and the world took him from you. Monsters took him from you. It wasn’t fair at all. You wanted him to come over and tell you everything was okay. That it was some sick practical joke. But he wasn’t coming, because it was all real. You wanted them all to leave, to go away so you could be alone in the house by yourself. Just two of you together. But it was just you.

Someone sat down next to you, but your head was buried in your arms, and your knees to your chest. At first you didn’t notice anyone, too focused on the horrible. You flinched when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Your head shot up and turned to the new arrival. The hand pulled away from you once you saw who it was.

“Here.” A glass of water was offered to you, by a man in a dark suit. He had a mustache and brown short hair. He was younger, likely a rookie. Another cop, not from the same precinct but you’d seen him before once or twice. When he looked down at you, there wasn’t pity but a sort of understanding. As if you’d come out here for the same reason as him.

You took the glass from him, taking small sips. The water felt good against your sore throat. You mouthed a tiny thank you.

“Alex Keller.” Alex said holding out a hand to shake. You shook it nodding. “You need anything else? Blanket? Some food? …me to fuck off?”

You let out a small laughing noise. Right now you didn’t know what you wanted. You shrugged in response.

“Uh… I um…” you stuttered, your throat filled with so many lumps there was barely any room for words. “I don’t… I don’t know…”

As your sobs returned Alex sat down next to you. “Okay, okay… once you know what you need, I’ll get it for ya.”

You don’t remember how long you and Alex had sat there for, with you just crying, and drinking the water. Alex had gone back inside at one point to refill your glass, and to get you a sweater, since the wind was picking up. When he came back out you overheard him talking to Graves.

“Are they okay?” He asked Alex.

“Graves not now.”

“It's cold out here, they should come inside.”

“They don’t want to be inside. Just leave them be.” Alex said, firm but calm.

Graves sighed. “…some people are asking about them.”

Alex shrugged, “and? Graves they just lost their father.”

“I lost my partner.” Graves reminded him.

“Phil.” Alex said once. There was a pause.

“Stay by them… please.” Graves asked. Alex nodded.

“They need time alone.” Alex stated, before making his way back over to you. Graves went back inside but he’d kept checking on you from the window. Alex handed you the new glass of water, your tears subsided for now.

“So… what do you want?” Alex asked. You finished your sip of water before answering.

“For the pain to leave.” You replied. Alex let out a small sigh.

“I asked your dad that once.” Alex said. “I hurt innocent people, and thought it was the right thing. Lived with that for a long time. Your dad came to me, hearing I was in a bad place. I sat with him in my house and asked him ‘when does the pain leave’. Told me it doesn’t and it shouldn’t. That it’s a sign to try something else.”

“Does it hurt less?” You asked.

“Over time. It becomes like a scar, it sticks with you but it hurts less.” Alex said. Up until that point no one had really given you a proper answer to that question. They just said it would take time, it will all be okay in the end, and your father was in a better place. You wiped at your cheeks and eyes again, using your scarf.

“Do you need a hug?” Alex asked. You nodded and moved closer to him while he put his arms around you. “Let it out. Trust me that will help you.”

Your tears continued falling, but you felt safer with Alex, than inside with Graves. You didn't know it but Alex felt his own heart crack a bit. He may not have been as close to your father, but your father stepped up when others seemed to fall short. When your father came to him, he had screwed up big time. If your father hadn't stepped in, it would have been a much different outcome.

“If you want some more help with the pain, screaming helps.” He suggested.

“Really?”

“Yep…you wanna scream?” Alex offered. You took a deep breath, about to scream. “No! No no!” Alex said quickly stopping you, chuckling. “Let’s not do it here, we don’t want to scare everyone inside.”

“Oh.” You said.

“Why don’t we head back in, get something to eat, and after everyone has left, we can go find somewhere to yell?” Alex offered. You nodded and held his hand as you both walked back inside. Now Alex stuck close to you, with Graves giving you some space to eat in peace. Alex was a comforting presence, and Graves was relieved to see you crack a smile from time to time. Eventually everyone had to leave, but you didn’t get to go with Alex afterward. Graves had insisted for you to stay home. Stay safe. You even asked him about the man you saw at the cemetery, and he told you not to worry about it.

Someone sits down next to you, and you open your eyes. Ghost looks at you, the stray on his shoulder. He looks like a ghetto Pokémon trainer or something with his dark jacket, the skull mask over his mouth and nose, and the cat hopping down to curl up on his lap.

“You doing okay?” He asks. You nod. He knows you’re not. The cat gets some pets.

“How’s the shoulder?” He asks.

“Still sore when I move it.” You tell him. He nods, and you two return to silence again. The winds picks up, making the branches above you, bob up and down. You take a deep breath. Simon takes a deep breath himself. Something about this moment… feels… right. You don’t want to ruin it but you have questions.

“Why did you stop Soap at the door? After you found out I was a cop.” You ask. Simon doesn’t have to think about it, but he takes time to form an answer.

“Soap gets heated when he’s dealing with shit he doesn’t like. I’ve seen the results and I didn’t want to see them again. Not on you.” The last three words he says quickly, as if he’s covering something with them.

“Thank you. For taking me in.” You say.

“That was all Price. Johnny told me about you, and then I told Price. When we were younger, we made a promise to keep you safe.” Ghost says. “How are your wounds?”

“Healing. Still some aches, but not too bad.” You say. You don’t look at each other. As soon as one of you looks at the other, you look at whatever is in a different direction. It’s back to silence again. Awkward silence. Simon was usually quiet though, you assume it’s a preference of his. So you two sit and simply… do nothing. The soft purrs from the stray continue from Simon’s lap. The soft breeze continues to rustle the leaves above. You feel yourself becoming more and more relaxed, and you slowly nod off. As your head starts to drop you feel an arm around your shoulders and a hand gently guiding your body to Simon’s shoulder. You take the last bits of consciousness you have to move a little closer, nestling into him. His fingers play with your hair, and you drift off.

Simon gazes down at you. You felt so safe with him. Then again, you hadn’t seen much of his real work.

Graves goes to your old apartment. Makarov was sending an officer, claiming you were now a missing persons. Phil wasn’t going to let anyone find you before he did. Graves knows you’re somewhere else but he wants to see you again. After sending you back to wherever you’d been with Alex, and seeing your injuries… he’d been struggling to keep his distance, wanting to see you. He made a promise to keep you safe, and screwed up.

Alex was refusing to give Graves anything on your location, as was Farah. The pub was closed for “renovations”. Stepping foot in Los Vaqueros territory was suicide, and bringing an extra officer - even Alex - was a good way to get into a fight. His number was blocked on your cellphone, or just wasn’t working.

Graves is able to get inside with a spare key, and is sure to lock the door behind him. Is this kind of creepy for a grown ass man to wander your apartment when he knows full well you weren’t home? Yeah, plenty creepy. But it was the only lead he had right now. He looked through the living room and kitchen, finding nothing. He does check your fridge to see if anything had gone off in there, and thankfully you’d long since cleared it out. From there he checks your bedroom, and… it looked almost cleared out. A few of your clothes remained, and he recognized them as yours, along with a few photos. He was about to check the bathroom next when there was a knock at the door.

Truth be told he wasn’t supposed to be at your apartment, but technically you weren’t either. He goes to the door and spies through the peep hole. He expects to see an officer, but he sees… what did this bitch want?

Phil opens the door making Milena look up with a bit of surprise.

“Can I help ya ma’am?” He asks, clearly unhappy. Milena just looks a back at him pressing her lips.

“Is Y/N L/N home?” She asks.

“Probably.” He answers. The two stare at each other expectantly.

“May I speak with them?” Milena asks, trying to keep herself composed.

“Don’t know, ya got their number?” Phil says, keeping himself wedged between the door and its frame. No way he was letting Makarov’s little birdie into your place, whether there was anything she could gain or not. Romanova was probably sent here to find dirt for Makarov before some half decent rookie could get any clues. Graves has already gotten rid of most of your existence from the station, but Makarov still had a couple leads.

“Are they here?” Milena asks plainly.

“No.” Graves says, as if it had been obvious. To be fair… kind of was. “Now please, leave.”

“What exactly are you doing in their apartment?” Milena asks quickly, stopping Graves halfway from shutting the door. He returned to the same position looking at Milena.

“The hell is it your business?” Phil asks.

“The land lord of the building is very strict about guests, and I don’t think he would appreciate-“

“Wait wait wait, hold up.” Phil says, chuckling. Was she implying what he thought she was implying? “I have a spare key to this apartment for just about any number of reasons.”

“What exactly is your reason?” Milena says crossing her arms. She gets a small laugh from Graves.

“Ms. Romanova… my relationship with my former partner is my business, and last time I checked you’re not a cop, there is no health assessment scheduled, and no eviction notice. So kindly see yourself out.” Graves says, and with that he slips back into the apartment, locking the door good and tight.

Phil knew what Milena was doing there, and it wasn’t just to see if she could sell the apartment. If it wasn’t to look for you, then it was to monitor him. He waits for a bit, checking your fridge again to see if there was the off chance you had any drinks. Then he checks the pantry, and… carbonated water? He isn’t picky right now. Taking a can he is sure to open it near the door. After that he simply goes to your couch and waits on it. Milena eventually gives up, and he celebrates the fading sound of heels with a sip. It’s room temperature, but… hold up.

Graves checks the can, reading the label. You hate this stuff. He knows he’s in your apartment. No mix up there. Then it hits him, and recent memories come back of him drilling in to you, lecturing you, and then the night you came back all beaten and bruised.

“And what have I done? Nothing! I’m a glorified tagger that’s what you said right?! Fine! Then I’ll be one! You gonna arrest me then?”

What had he done to you? He knew he fucked up in more ways than one but the realization finally hits him in the gut. Throughout the time you’d known each other he was trying to make you in his own way. He was toughening you up and setting restrictions between the two of you. You got the drink for him, not yourself. The few times he’d come to your apartment before the case, you offered one to him, but he was always just there for business. On a few occasions he’d spent time with you but it was always to make sure you didn’t give up on being a cop or as a sort of reward for hard work.

The whole time he’d wanted a student, a cop. Your father wanted you to be safe and he did that, but he had only pushed you away. Put you on some pedestal for him to start sculpting. At what point did you stop trying?

Philip Graves sits in your apartment, drinking and wondering how hard did he fuck up and not realize it. He wasn't your father, but neither were you.

When you wake up, you’re on the couch in the basement, with a blanket and pillow. You groan, trying to figure out where you are and how you got there. It’s almost foreign to you, this world you’ve woken up in. Slowly you sit up and shove the blanket away. Tea, you need tea. You make your way up the stairs, and emerge into a small hallway that leads to the front door on one side and the kitchen and living space to the other. Simon greets you in the kitchen, giving you a nod. You put the kettle on and sit next to him at the island. Without thinking you rest your head against his shoulder. Simon turns his head slightly but doesn’t move. It’s just you two.

It’s odd yet natural, like revisiting an old show. This feeling of domestic bliss between the two of you is something neither of you are used to, but still remember from a long time ago. Right now it’s just the two of you. You’re where you want to be and where you need to be, right here. The kettle continues to boil, the skies are grey outside, and the stray is curled up in a box with her kits. Simon likes this. It’s warm and comforting having you so easily pressed against him. It’s not something he’s used to, nor he engages with on his own. There’s no need for him to oppose you. It brings you closer to him, easily. There is peaceful silence between you and Simon, and neither of you breaks it.

Soap does.

He comes upstairs, and peeks around the door to basement, seeing the two of you. There’s a war going on in his head. Does he bug you, ruin this moment to get your reaction or take a photo and tease you about it later. He takes a photo of the two of you first. Then Kyle comes up behind him.

“Johnny what are you doing?” He says. You and Ghost both hear Kyle and you get up from your seat to get your tea. It’s like you missed your cue, and now you’re hurrying across the stage to meet it. Both you and Simon are pink in the face. You can hear Johnny’s exasperated sigh, missing the opportunity to take the photo.

“Really?” Soap says quietly to Kyle, as if he knew what Soap was doing the whole time. “They were having a moment.”

Kyle ignores him and just nudges Johnny forward, wanting to get some coffee. His statement doesn’t ring for him until he sees it’s only you and Simon in the kitchen. He pauses but then continues with getting coffee.

“Mornin.” Johnny says, annoyed. You return his greeting as you make your tea.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving @cutiecusp @shikigami-the-paper-spirit @theotheronedotorg

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

okay so TENATIVE predictions for season 4: it looks like they're going to be playing into the mandela effect. half the universe remembers the umbrella timeline, half the universe remembers the sparrow timeline, and the ONLY thing both groups remember is Ben.

I've been praying since day one that Ben will have memories of both lives in his head, and judging by the fact he appears to be Going Through It in the trailer I assume that'll be the case.

since Ben is at the center of the conspiracy, I almost want to say he's who they're supposed to be rescuing? like, maybe instead of One Ben Two Lives, it's Two Bens One Cup. I don't think they'll do that, though. They're probably trying to rescue Jennifer. HOWEVER I do think it would be really sexy if Nick Offerman and Megahn Mullally weren't playing a couple but were instead playing the same person from different universes (hence being named Gene and Jean), and they somehow found each other and that's why they're leading this conspiracy.

Mystery Jennifer is stressing me out. obviously by the glowing she's got something going on. I'm thinking there's a possibility she was erased from the family's memories after Ben's death- the trailer makes it seem like Reginald made Allison rumor them after the fact. there's probably a decent chance they all knew her, she lost control of her powers, Ben died, Reginald locked her away and erased all traces of her. maybe in the sparrow timeline she died instead, or maybe she was always locked up there and Ben was drawing her from memories that were already starting to leak through from the og timeline, but either way probably in trying to uncover how Ben died they figure out they have to save her. idk!

also, six is like. a random number of years I'm sorry. why wouldn't they just say five years later? maybe another thing to do with Ben bc umbrella Ben was number six? I'm probably reading too much into that one.

I'm truly SO scared they're gonna reveal none of them have spoken during the time skip. Five doesn't deserve that 😭😭. in my perfect world him and Viktor have an apartment but the show writers 100% forgot they said those two were best friends when they were kids judging by the rest of the series rip. when the Gene and Jean characters were first announced I thought maybe Five got stuck in the foster system and they took him in, and that could still be the case (maybe that's how they noticed the universe is a lie in the first place, the boy loves to Yap) but I think it's less likely now idk

if Diego and Lila's daughter isn't named Gracie....what was this all for. what was this all building towards. what's the point. LMFAO I know the popular fanon one is Anita (personally in my head I've been calling her Poppy and I Don't Know Why) but like Gracie is the only name that makes sense, Diego is Too Much of a mama's boy to accept anything else.

this one isn't a prediction it's just a demand- I DEMAND a white violin icon moment set to extraordinary girl by green day. they can 100% get away with just doing an instrumental version since Viktor's not a girl lmfao, but it literally Haunts Me that they didn't do that at the end of season 1 (or at LEAST play the opening of letterbomb when Viktor was in the basement hallucinating) so they NEED to make up for that. it's the last season. play the fucking song oh my God.

there might be too much going on to bring the sparrows back in any meaningful way, but like! I liked them! I especially wanted more Marcus last season, he and Viktor had good chemistry. and Fei was an icon. Why Are We Hiding Sloane Tho. I considered maybe they were rescuing Sloane, but like, Luther just seems a little too happy for that to be the case? that's why I also think Diego and Lila's kid isn't the one being rescued like I saw some theories suggest- Diego is so excited and Lila's grinning in the car scene. can't imagine their 5 year old is missing.

Five is absolutely gonna die. like I'm sorry since episode 1 there's never been a believable outcome where everything's okay and he lives. HOWEVER I think there's a very strong chance the series could end with the timeline is finally saved and set right, and grandpa Five died- but then right at the end 2002 baby Five shows up and gets stuck in the safe timeline. Five has been a walking paradox the whole series. it'd be bittersweet to lose the Five we love, but know that he's still technically getting a happy ending because he doesn't have to live through the apocalypse and become an assassin. I think that's like the best outcome we can hope for.

I think it'd be EXTREMELY funny if Reginald is just super nice now that Abigail is back. like the entire excuse for 30 years of insane behavior was that he missed his wife. bestie there are better ways to cope than abusing superpowered kids </3 but lmao I'm intrigued by him and Viktor being together in both trailers! I've always gotten the feeling that Viktor is one of his 'favorites' (to the best of his ability anyway), and from the brief childhood flashbacks we see that he had baby V acting as an assistant for him, so I'd like to see their relationship expanded a little bit. honestly I just want a lot about Reginald cleared up- he does give off the distinct impression that he actually cares about his kids, even though he's abusive. I'm assuming the explanation will be something along the lines of 'well I always planned to bring you back and safe in the New Universe', that he was approaching it as a 'they have to suffer now to save the universe, and then they can be happy' mindset. that would be interesting. but I'm also a little worried they'll wave his behavior off with 'oh he's an alien he just can't understand how he affected them', which, would suck writing-wise.

I'm worried about Allison- I'm sure they're gonna want her to have a full redemption by the end of the series, but what she did to Viktor and Luther last season...like I just don't know that they'll pull off a meaningful redemption, to where it's believable that they forgive her (other than the fact they're both softies and push overs). not with the shorter season, anyway! I *think* the person Viktor was punching in the trailer was Allison. but I'm worried that instead of actually fixing the issue the writers will just have her do a sacrifice play. especially since, bless her, she's the least sacrificial person in the family, so I could see the argument that it'll be a meaningful character growth moment, but like...if they don't actually have her believably fix her mistakes it'll just feel like a lazy writing move. also, I love her and I don't want any of them to die. as I said, the only death I'm willing to accept is Five's WITH the promise of baby Five getting a happy ending.

I want the Handler to come back, even if it's only for one scene. sorry, I think her absence was one of the low points of season 3.

I think if Grace appears in this season at all it won't be the robot version we're used to, but an older version of her human self that Diego met in the 60s. could be very bittersweet. I just don't think the robot exists in this universe bc honestly if my husband revived me from the dead but then I found out he's been living without me just fine, but made a robot copy of a pretty young fling he had after my death and seemingly can't live without her. I'd be a little pissed! sorry! lmao that said I also have personally been headcannoning that Grace is actually a cyborg and not a robot this whole time, the kids just don't know because of all the insane protocols Reginald set up, so if they do something with that instead I'll be really excited.

Diego and Lila's daughter deserves powers<3

alright I think that's all I got for now. but I wanna hear more theories!!

[cosmolog]

Miguel's Secret

Miles and Gwen venture into a large storage room in the spider society, finding secrets long hidden from the rest of the society by Miguel.

Enjoy!

"We shouldn't be back here. I already made a bad first impression with Miguel back there and now he's gonna want to actually kill me. Who knows? Maybe he'll throw a chair at me next time instead of food-"

"Shh" Gwen silenced him, before glancing around and shining her phone light on the various boxes that had been discarded in the room.

Her light settled on the end of the room, where a curtain had been hung from the ceiling and drawn closed, as if to hide something. She started walking towards it, only for Miles to catch a grip of her wrist.

"Miles, let go" She huffed in annoyance at her friend's protectiveness.

"What if it's something you really don't want to see?" He said, looking concerned.

"It won't be. It'll probably just be some more boxes. I wanna check though." She replied. Miles' eyes flickered between the white curtain sheet and Gwen before he sighed deeply and let go of her. He remained close behind her as she advanced to the curtains.

Gwen took a deep breath, held it, then pulled the curtain back, revealing a woman lying down on an examination table. Upon further inspection, the two realised she wasn't a human but a very realistic-looking robot, judging by the red ring on the side of her head.

Miles let out a profanity while Gwen gasped in freight. "Okay, not a dead body but still just as creepy" He whispered.

Gwen stepped closer to the robot, pressing the red ring which changed to blue, and the robot woke up...

(Switch to first person)

My eyes gently opened at the sound of voices. Two young voices, one male, one female. Both sounded scared. I slowly moved my head in their direction. I looked between the two teens, not recognising their faces. I gently sat up, after not moving in so long, I felt stiff. By now, the teenagers were less scared and more defensive.

"And who are you supposed to be?" The boy asked.

I gave him a kind and gentle smile. "I am Y/n. And you?"

"Miles"

"Gwen" The girl added.

I got off the table and looked around the dark area. "Where...where am I?"

Gwen and Miles looked at each other to exchange looks only they understood. Gwen answered me.

"You're in the Spider Society's basement, or should I say the storage room"

I grew sad. Where was I locked inside the storage room. And then the last moments of my last encounter of seeing light came back to me. I could still remember every detail of his face, my creator, Miguel O'Hara. "Miguel..." I whispered to myself, but Gwen and Miles heard me.

"You know Miguel?" Gwen asked.

"Why, of course. I was his Ai after all" I smiled sadly.

"A second Ai of Miguel's?" Miles tilted his head.

"I was Miguel's first Ai assistant, just before he made Lyla. The only reason he never mentions me is because I had a defect. Or, at least, that's what he called it. Miguel had programmed me to do a number of things, which involved making him breakfast and helping him with his work. He had made me a physical body, which looked so human sometimes it even tricked him. I would end up having to remind him I wasn't a real person." I sighed and looked down at my hands as I continued.

"My defect seemed to be a certain emotion. The first time I had ever displayed it, was the last because Miguel immediately stopped me and told me to sit down in the examination chair so he could check everything was alright. He told me to close my eyes and now I'm here. It seems he had shut me down for a while. Ever since I've been shut down, I've been searching for a reason as to why he would shut me down but-"

"He thought you fell in love with him" Gwen stated.

I looked up at her surprised. "What?" I whispered.

"You loved him, didn't you?" Gwen pressed.

"Gwen, I don't think you should be nailing her with questions like this" Miles said, looking worried.

"No, we need to know"

"We really don't"

"You love him" Gwen ignored Miles, stepping closer to me causing me to step back.

"I.."

"Gwen, stop it"

"Your hesitation just confirms it. You fell in love and he killed you for it" Gwen stated.

"Gwen!" Miles scolded, not believing she had just said that.

I looked down solemnly. "Death is never our own decision" I said.

"You poor AI" Gwen sighed, turning to Miles. "Does Miguel know she's awake?"

"Let's hope not."

Part Two

[silveryclear]

Hide and seek

MDNI ALL CONTENT REGARDING STNAF IS 18+ AND SO IS THIS BLOG

Friend belongs to @stnaf-vn

Pairing: Friend/ AFAB Reader

CW: Sensitive Content, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Implied Murder, Drugging, Panic Attacks

A/N: The writing process for chapter 7 of the STNAF Coraline AU is coming a bit slower than expected, so here’s some angst while you wait heheh.

Your keys jingle uncontrollably as you try to balance the groceries on one hand while trying to unlock the door. The TV must’ve drowned your knocking and incessant ringing because the babysitter’s presence was nowhere to be found. Once you had managed to find your way to the kitchen and place the bags on the counter, you walk towards the living room; only to find it empty. And a mess.

You roll your eyes at this as you pick up the remote and turn it off. “Kids, how many times have I told you to turn off the electronics when you’re not using them?” You yell as you tidy up around the living room, picking up decor items that were scattered along the floor.

“Did you kids wrestle each other again? I told you to be careful when you play fight!” You sigh and make your way upstairs. To your surprise, your sons were already tucked in and sleeping soundly.

You chuckle and gently close the door. You were thinking about giving the babysitter an earful but they seemed to perform a miracle if they managed to get your kids to bed in time.

Speaking of which, where is the babysitter? You look in the other rooms upstairs, calling out to them. Weird. If they left, they would have given you a call.

Just when you were about to call them, you hear the TV downstairs turn on again. You sigh, feeling as if someone was playing with you like a puppet as you make your way downstairs.

“Hey, I was just about to call you. Thank you for getting the boys to bed early. It’s always a struggle for me so I’m willing to forget about the mess—“

The rest of the words die in your throat as your gaze lands on the person sitting on the couch. The one person you least expected to appear, sitting nonchalantly as you stared at them paralyzed in fear.

Friend smiles sweetly at you, taking the remote control and lowering the volume. His signature blonde hair on full display, however, he’s changed— grown. His muscles flex with every movement and he sports a trimmed beard, all adding to his mature look. His voice got slightly deeper as well.

“I’m glad! We just tussled around in the living room for a while until they were all out of energy. Sorry for the mess, I wasn’t expecting you to arrive so soon.”

You could hear Friend talking but his words were partly drowned by a ringing in your ears. Your hands trembled as your breathing grew ragged. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t hear. You were back in that basement, an IV strapped to your arm as you remember your slow and steady descent into madness— convinced that you loved the man that is standing now in front of you.

“Sweetheart, baby, you need to breathe. Breathe for me, come on…” He says in a sickeningly concerned voice. You don’t want to listen to him, but you can’t afford to pass out, not when your children are upstairs, unaware of the person who is in their home.

Oh god, he was playing with them… how long has he been here? Where’s the babysitter??

“Baby, no, come on. Stay with me.”

“Stay with me, please.” He whimpers. “I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart…”

Flashbacks infiltrate your mind and you can feel yourself falling into that same place you had worked so hard to crawl out of. You push Friend away and glare at him, tears brimming the corner of your eyes. You pant heavily.

“Stay away from me…” you whisper at him, your voice filled with such rage it genuinely took Friend aback. “Stay away from them…”

Friend recovers and smiles softly at you, as if you hadn’t basically sent him to hell with your expression. “You know I can’t do that baby…” He murmurs softly, slowly reaching out his hand to caress your cheek.

You close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, doing your best to ignore his gentle touch and gaze— the ones he weaponized to keep you isolated with no one to rely on except him.

You look at him again to see him staring at you you with such an affectionate expression, tears brimming his eyes as he gazes at you. It almost makes you waver.

“I have sons…” he murmurs with the softest most proud voice ever. “You gave me children…” Friend’s voice trembles at the end of the sentence, but he smiles in awe of you.

He reaches out hold your hands and you don’t react, staying silent. “I’m sorry…” he whispers before bringing your hands to his lips and kissing them gently. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for you… but I’m here now.” He gives you the widest of smiles. His expression, albeit more mature, still holds that same obsession from years ago. “We can be a family again. You, me, and the triplets.”

You let your tears fall freely as you shake your head, sniffling. “We can’t…”

“Shhh…” Friend slowly wraps his arms around you and embraces you. You begin to sob, trembling in his embrace. “We can and we will…” He rubs your back soothingly as you sob harder from his words. “I searched high and low for you, baby… I haven’t slept in six years.” His embrace becomes tighter, constricting. ���I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” He whispers deep and firm, his possessiveness creeping in through his voice.

“No no no no…” You cry out, squirming in his grasp with no hope to escape. He’s gotten bigger, stronger.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry. You know this is what’s best for us. Think of the children. Do you really want them to grow up without a father?”

You shake your head, your eyes closed shut as you do your best to drown out his manipulative words. You know what’s best for your children. You’ve done what’s best for them.

“I did think of them… why do you think I escaped?”

Friend tenses for a moment, his expression hard. It quickly melts into the affectionate smile he usually had with you and only you.

“A momentary lapse of judgment on my part. I should have done better to show you how much I love you.” His hold on you tightens. “I should have kept you in the basement.”

“No, Friend please…” You whimper, crying on his shoulder. You can’t. You can’t go back there. You can’t let your children grow up in this environment, thinking that whatever twisted love Friend felt for you was healthy.

“It’s okay, baby… I’ve already taken care of everything.” He coos softly. “Let me take care of the four of you now…”

His words are like molasses as they stick to your mind and infiltrate your senses. You’re reminded of the way he “takes care” of things and you remember the disappearing babysitter— along with the disappearance of your closest friends and colleagues in the past. Flashbacks of your descent into madness flood back and you thrash against him. Your cries turning into screaming.

Friend sighs and takes out something from his pocket. “I didn’t want to do this…” Suddenly, you feel a prick on your arm and slowly everything begins to swirl into darkness.

“Nooo…” You whimper softly, your eyes half lidded.

“Shhh… just sleep. When you wake up, these past six years would have felt like a bad dream~”

You can only hope these past few minutes were the bad dream as you slowly fall unconscious in your best friend’s arms.

[erikahenningsen]

18 but polaroid Cadina pls🙏 (with Regina’s family)

18. Christmas dinner

Cady kind of can't get over how big Regina's house is. She's been in some nice houses—even the home of Northwestern's president, once. But it's nothing compared to this.

Every part of the interior looks like it was professionally decorated for a Christmas movie, and photos of Regina and Kylie line the walls. There's posed, curated photos and action shots of Regina doing gymnastics and Kylie cheering and dancing. Cady thinks her mom has a couple photos of Cady on her desk, and that's about it. It almost feels like a shrine.

Regina keeps shooting Cady nervous or apologetic glances whenever her parents say anything, but Cady honestly doesn't think they're that bad. Regina had spent about five full minutes preparing Cady for every weird or awkward or offensive thing her parents might say, which made Cady expect a lot worse. Sure, Mrs. George greeting them with "There's my lesbian daughter and her girlfriend!" wasn't great, but at least it was kind of welcoming.

Cady's never spent a Christmas morning carefully applying makeup and curling her hair—or, rather, doing her best and letting Regina fix it—but she's never woken up on Christmas morning next to her girlfriend in her massive king bed before, either. There's a pageantry to Christmas at the George house that Cady finds jarring, but she doesn't really care. She gets to be with Regina, and that's what matters.

Regina looks so pretty, too, in a maroon velour top and black high-waisted pants, gold pendant resting between her collarbones. Cady understands now why Regina wouldn't let her bite them last night.

"Ready for competition season, Regina?" Mr. George asks, sipping his wine.

"Yeah," Regina replies. "We've got some good freshmen. One of them is great on bars, which we need."

Mr. George nods, and Regina seems to tense like she's expecting him to say something critical, but he doesn't. "That's good," he says. "Gretchen's anchoring, then?"

"I think so," Regina says. "It's not definite yet, but she's our best."

"Cady, you should record some TikToks with me while we're here so I can post them before Regina's meets!" Mrs. George says. She's already on her second glass of wine.

"Mom, Cady doesn't want to be in your TikToks," Regina cuts in, rolling her eyes.

Mrs. George pokes out her lower lip, like a pouting child. "At least say hello to my Christmas vlog."

"I get paid for my name, image, and likeness, but you can have thirty seconds for free," Regina concedes.

Regina looks at Cady and rolls her eyes, and Cady squeezes her hand under the table.

Regina and Kylie eschew dessert, and Regina mouths trust me when she declines on Cady's behalf, too. After being excused, Cady follows them down to the basement, where the largest television Cady has ever seen takes up an enormous portion of the wall.

Regina reaches behind the sectional sofa and pulls out a plastic shopping bag, opening it to reveal an assortment of Christmas candy and cookies.

"My mom makes weird, low-carb, sugar-free stuff," Regina says as Kylie pulls a package of Oreos out of the bag. "We hide the good stuff down here."

Cady finds that to be kind of sad, but she doesn't say it, instead taking a couple Reese's Trees for herself.

"The fake sugar makes you poop," Kylie says sagely.

"Um, noted," Cady says.

"Can we watch Elf?" Kylie asks.

"We watch Elf every year," Regina complains. "We watched it a few days ago."

"Elf?" Cady repeats. Like the makeup brand?

Kylie turns to look at her incredulously. "The movie?"

Cady shrugs.

"You've never seen it?" Kylie nearly screeches. "It's, like, the Christmas movie. Were you raised in a barn?"

"Hey! That is so rude," Regina scolds, at the same time Cady says, "Kinda."

"We have to watch it," Kylie declares, grabbing the remote and turning on the television.

Regina sighs and flops down on the couch. Cady curls up next to her and breathes in her perfume. "We don't have to watch it," Cady says quietly.

Regina rolls her eyes. "It's fine. Plus, it makes her happy, so..."

Cady leans in and pecks Regina on the cheek. "You're sweet."

"No, I'm not." Regina wrinkles her nose at Cady.

Cady leans into Regina's side and rests her head on Regina's shoulder. "Agree to disagree."

"Will you two be quiet?" Kylie admonishes.

Regina throws a wrapped Ferrero Rocher chocolate at her. "You can recite this movie from memory."

"But Cady needs to watch it," Kylie insists.

Regina's hand rests on Cady's thigh, thumb absently swiping back and forth. "Sorry," she murmurs.

Cady can't really think of anything she'd rather be doing right now, cozy on the couch with Regina. But she says, "You can make it up to me later."

It's always good for Regina to owe her.

[piratefishmama]

Crossing The Line | Part 4

“What the fuck is that?” Was Robins immediate question as Steve donned a pair of sunglasses and a cap just before disembarking the plane.

“My disguise.”

“Your disguise?”

“Yeah, y’know. Fans an stuff.”

“...Steve. Steven. I’m always here to keep you humble, you know this, so I say this with an immense amount of—”

“Robin do you remember the JFK incident? Not the president don’t be a shit, I mean the airport and you know it.” The JFK incident being a single fan who got ONE photo of him walking through the terminal and boom, paparazzi everywhere, it was as though they’d just emerged from the walls.

‘What are you doing in New York?’

‘Are you visiting anyone special this Christmas?’

‘When are you releasing new music?’

‘Will you be attending any events here in the city?’

‘Who are you wearing right now?’

‘STEVE SIGN MY TI—’

It was always chaos. “Yeah yeah you got to sign an impressive set of double D’s, woe is you. I can see your moles Steve, that isn’t going to fool anyone with eyes.” Sure his signature head of hair was covered but the moles were as good a sign as any when it came to eagle eyed Airport celeb spotters.

“Sign an impressive— my ass was grabbed more times than I could count! I had hand sized bruises Robin!” He bruised like a peach and people in crowds were grabby. “I lost my favourite sunglasses.” The cheap pair he’d grabbed from the gas station after his first real paycheque cleared. “These cover my hair and my eyes, I can’t cover anything else.” He didn’t have the resources to pull a full face of SFX to hide himself.

“Aww poor baby, okay. At least put this on.” She pulled the scarf from her neck and wrapped it around his, it wouldn’t do much, but it’d cover the vampire bite moles he’d shown off on one of his early album covers.

“Great I look like a twenty-ten hipster.” It wasn’t even scarf weather. “All I need is a bullshit moustache.”

“Better than the local weirdo at a kids playground.”

“Oh my god, is that Steve Harrington?!”

“Shit.”

“Rest in pieces, sis”

“Robin get back here!”

There was a subtle art in getting away from paparazzi and fans alike, an art cultivated from being chased by them since he was nine. It involved fake plants, bathrooms, and Robins impressive gallery of ‘fake fan photos’. All it took was a photo whizzed over the internet through Robins ‘fan’ account, an account which used one of their regular makeup girls photos as a cover (agreed to, of course) to act as a ‘fan’ of Steve Harrington.

“How come nobody TOLD ME Steve Harrington was going to be flying out of Indy today?!” Captioned above a photo from two years prior that Robin took from a distance at that very airport for that very reason.

It took all of five minutes for the hoard to dispel, hurrying as fast as they could to as far as the airport staff would allow them to go, but Robin and Steve were once again free to get their asses out of that airport and into an Uber before anyone else could spot them.

“Okay, battle plan. I got us a twin room at the—"

“Don’t say Conrad.”

“What’s wrong with the Conrad?”

“It’s… bougee. It’s like the only five star in Indy, he already probably thinks I’m the worst, a nice four star would be fine, and a twin room? Robin how the hell am I supposed to woo a guy and bring him back to the hotel if we’re sharing a room?”

“First of all, I think you’re super overestimating your level of game right now to think that you’d just be able to go from wooing to the hotel room in one sweep this guy seems like highkey mom’s basement dwelling virgin, dude probably scampers, second, we don’t even know if he enjoys the male form, and third... honestly I’m expecting you to strike out so we can have a sleepover with facemasks and chocolates. But fine, fine, what hotel would you like?” Robin passed him her phone with the booking app already loaded.

“Your faith in me is truly what gets me through my days, Robin.” He was choosing to ignore the panic inducing idea of what if he isn’t even into guys?!

“I aim to please.”

“What about an apartment? See there’s one here, two double bedrooms, four star rating, we can book now and grab the keys at reception.”

“Fine, fine, you’re making all the food though, since you’ve robbed me of my five star room service.”

“I’m cool with that.” A few buttons pressed, details auto filled, booking complete. Indianapolis, here they come!

Part 6

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

Bunker Babe: The First Fourteen Days

I'm combining Weeks One & Two since Week Two was all about giving the GREMLINS trait to the lot for the HANDINESS grind, and days blended together verrrrry easily. But Lilac survived. Ish.

See?

On Day One, our plucky heroine started with a CHAIR, a TRASH CAN and a TOILET - and some fruitcake that she'd snatched from Leslie Holland and the rest of the 'welcoming' committee.

Turns out that fruitcake is a 'like,' which is fortunate as guess what we'll be eating exclusively for the next four days? Looks like three things have the capacity to survive MOTHER: cockroaches, Lilac... and fruitcake.

Many terrible selfies later, Lilac was able to afford a KNITTING BASKET. While wearable items can only be sold over Plopsy, the animal clothing (some of which you can start crafting right from Level 1) can be sold directly from your inventory. And Lilac needed those simoleons - stat.

Level Three KNITTING and ART LOVER self-discovery? Acquired. Considering how she'll be making most of her simoleons, that's one of the more useful traits she could have.

Oh, and one of MOTHER'S children said hello.

By Day Two Lilac's hygiene needs were already in the amber, but the Watcher thought that loneliness could eventually get her first. So the new objects acquired? A BED aaand a MINI-GOAT.

We named her Gouda Girl.

On the third day in hiding the Watcher gave to me... one MINI FRIDGE and a Vladdy visit for freeeee...

(Actually the Watcher had nothing to do with Vlad.)

While Lilac was asleep, I got his usual creepwalk message but thought nothing more of it - at least until the fastforward sleep speed slowed back down to regular time and I heard the usual sounds of sizzling and screaming.

S'up Grim.

Since Lilac had no interaction with him at all and didn't even register his demise (maybe he can't find your Sim if they're in the basement), there were no sad moodlets and she simply continued knitting and keeping up her social bar with Gouda Girl.

Gouda Girl can also be milked for 45 simoleons each day, and thus will pay for herself in no time. Beyond her companionship, which of course is priceless.

Day Four and this was around the time where the Watcher discovered that Lilac's energy bar was refilling way too slowly. Yes, her mattress was cheap but she was sleeping for 10 hours at a time and still only recovering about a third of her bar. The Watcher sold the old bed, cheated her a better one - and yet the problem persisted.

It could be the LAZY trait, but I've never had that issue with other LAZY Sims before - or Lilac other times that I've played her.

Since bunker life is already boring enough without watching a Sim sleep for 20 hours, I simply resolved to use the 'make happy' cheat every other day until her HANDINESS would be at a high enough level to upgrade the mattress (thus Week Two Gremlins).

And it was on this day that Lilac consumed the last of the fruitcake.

By then she was getting major moodlets for too many fast meals, but Gouda Girl made everything better.

The two big gets of the day were a ROCKING CHAIR and a KITCHEN BENCH, so Lilac was finally able to prep some proper food. Ish.

Ah, the bliss of low poly salad...

Oh, and on Day Three I think Lilac acquired a SINK. No shower yet, but queuing the 'wash hands' interaction did restore a lot of her hygiene bar.

Day Five and well - what a great whim for this challenge.

She's like 'yes, see this here? I'm the smartest Sim you ever had...'

More knitting, while Mei Prescott kindly came by to mourn Vlad, much to the delight of the garden gnomes.

The bat came back, the very next day...

He came, he haunted his own urn, he cried. Lilac kept on knitting and skill grinding.

Since Lilac was getting major embarrassed moodlets from purchasing all of her low poly salad ingredients due to the FREEGAN trait, the Watcher bought two of those VERTICAL PLANTERS from Eco Lifestyle. Sure, the regular pots would have been cheaper, but soon we will be crunched for space.

Oh, and on Day Seven we acquired a WORKBENCH.

Skills: Week One

LEVEL 8: Knitting LEVEL 3: Programming (acquired from the Watcher needing to unless MOTHER) LEVEL 2: Photography, Handiness, Cooking LEVEL 1: Gardening, Logic (likewise acquired for MOTHER)

Items Acquired

KNITTING BASKET, BED, MINI GOAT, MINI FRIDGE, SINK, ROCKING CHAIR, KITCHEN BENCH, VERTICAL PLANTERS (x2), STRAWBERRY, BASIL AND SOY PLANTS

Week Two was the exciting addition of a SHOWER - less so once Lilac realised that the Watcher had likely purchased it just to give her more things to repair once the witching hour struck.

I couldn't spare Lilac or myself from the grind, but I may as well spare you. Let's get on with it, then.

Because Lilac's energy bar was refilling so slowly, in spite of my use of cheats this week was just a vicious cycle of sleep, repair, repeat. Even with a decent mattress that was fully upgraded, it was taking her eight hours to refill her energy bar from halfway - in comparison to the three hours that Andie Mae and Paolo Rocca in another save need for a cheaper upgraded mattress.

Skills: Week Two

LEVEL 9: Knitting LEVEL 8: Handiness LEVEL 4: Gardening LEVEL 3: Cooking, Programming LEVEL 2: Photography, Singing LEVEL 1: Logic, Fitness

Items Acquired

SHOWER, LAPTOP (she swiped the basic one from upstairs), VERTICAL PLANTER (3 in total), TABLE TOP LIGHT, WALL LIGHT, FEAR OF FAILURE, FEAR OF DEATH, GHOST!VLADDY

With this being the only save that's currently playable, I'm running through Week Three fairly quickly, so see you soon.

[babybatscreationsv2]

Neighborhood Entertainment

Marvel | Peter/Everybody

With little to do in suburbia, gatherings at the Stark household are a regular thing. The wives gather to gossip around plates of food while the husbands slip into the basement to catch the game. Or at least, that's what their wives think.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings and tags below

Warnings/tags: cheating, gangbang, phone sex, rough sex, double penetration, spit roasting

His phone lit up where it rested on the kitchen counter. Tony Stark with a groofy grin on his face under the too bright lights of the Vegas casino from his bachelor party greeted him. Steve swiped to answer the call and put the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Tony! What's up?"

"Stevie! Hope it's not too early for ya," Tony answered.

"Not at all. Me and the wife were just making breakfast." Steve smiled at Peggy as she looked over her shoulder at him. He inhaled the savory scent of thick cut bacon as she dropped it onto the hot pan.

"Perfect," Tony said. Steve frowned.

"Are you okay? You sound-" he stopped as he heard an unmistakable wet, gagging noise. Then a slurping sound.

"Hey Steve!" Peter's voice called, not far away, but not close enough to the phone either. Then the wet noises continued.

"H-hey, Pete..." Steve answered. He swallowed the flood of saliva in his mouth.

"Is everything okay?" Peggy asked.

"Yeah, of course." Steve gave her another smile. "Tony says Peter has a bit of a cold, that's all."

Tony snickered into the phone. "He certainly has something in his throat." He moaned luxuriously. Steve could just imagine them, Tony's hand combing through Peter's hair, but he never needed to pull the boy closer, not when Peter loved to gag on it. He bet his chin was soaked with spit and his back was arched and he's probably wearing nothing but Tony's T-shirt.

"Anyway," Tony sighed. "We called to invite you and the missus over this weekend. We're having one of our barbecues."

"We'll be there," Steve said quickly. Peter stopped his sucking to give a 'yay' only to get his mouth stuffed full again. Steve turned toward the kitchen counter to hide himself.

"Fantastic," Tony agreed. "Don't forget to bring a dish or at least something to throw on the grill."

"Who's grilling this time?"

"Oh, another barbecue?" Peggy asked. "That sounds lovely. The weather is supposed to be perfect this weekend."

"What did she say?" Tony asked, cruel little bastard that he was.

"She said the weather should be perfect," Steve said quickly. He tried not to flinch when his wife came closer. She brought her face right up to the phone.

"I can't wait to see you boys again! We'll bring that cod Peter liked the last time," she said.

Steve's heart beat in his ears. He assumed that was the reason the obscene noises stopped until he realized Tony must have noticed she was by the phone.

"That sounds great, Peg! I'll tell him."

"See you soon!"

"Can't wait!"

Peggy went back to the stove and Steve took a slow, deep breath. "You're grilling this time right?"

Tony laughed. "Yeah yeah, I've got these holes all to myself right now. Saturday, he's all yours."

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought he heard Peter moan.

"Well, if that's all, we have preparations to make," Tony said coyly.

"Who else is coming?" Steve asked, refusing to let him hang up. Not while he could hear Peter's throat getting flossed. That boy was made for cock.

"Oh the usual gang. Bucky and Nat, Sam and Sharon. Happy said he might stop by."

"May's coming?"

"Definitely."

Steve closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. It was so much better when Peter's aunt was there. That wet squishing sound was already gonna make him come like a teenager. Thinking about Peter's mother figure in the next room was really making his head spin.

"Good boy," Tony purred. "You want Stevie to hear what a good job you do? What a good little cock sucker you are? Aw, that's so sweet, baby. He's looking at me with those eyes, Steve. He wants me to cum down his throat.

"Do it," Steve growled.

Tony chuckled. "Careful, big guy. You'll burn your flapjacks." Then he gasped and Steve knew too well what Tony sounds like when he cums. The way his breathing gets heavy, then stutters, that growling moan, and a sigh like he just sipped a cool drink on a hot day.

"What a good boy," Tony praised.

"Thank you, sir." Peter's voice, so ragged and cracking, the way he coughed a little after he spoke... Steve held it together but only just. He could wait for the weekend.

Peggy's hand touched his shoulder. Steve hoped he didn't look as horny as he really was as he looked at her. "Are you sure everything is okay?"

"Yeah," Steve smiled. "May's coming for the barbecue."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" She gave him a quick kiss that had him gripping the counter for support. He watched her turn away to tend to the bacon.

"Let me help you finish up. I'll just wash my hands." He hurried to the bathroom and turned on the sink. He splashed cold water on his face until his body cooled and dried off before returning to the kitchen.

Peggy stood there, arms crossed, watching him with a scowl.

"What's wrong?"

She pointed to the kitchen sink. "What's gotten into you this morning?"

Steve laughed. "Sorry, I'm just thinking about Peter's potato salad."

"I don't know what he does, but it's addictive isn't it?"

Steve grabbed the eggs from the fridge and joined his wife at the stove. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, but in his mind he was replaying the phone call.

Smoke drifted up from the grill making the bright afternoon hazy. Tony picked up his tongs and turned over the chicken breasts, enjoying how they sizzled. He closed the grill and set the tongs aside just as two new faces came through the back fence.

"Hey! Steve, Peggy, you made it!" Tony greeted the couple. He crossed the grass to give Peggy a hug and Steve a firm pat on the shoulder.

"Thank you for inviting us," Peggy said politely. She offered him a plate wrapped in tin foil. Tony took it with a smile.

"Perfect! I'll pop this on the grill. It won't be long before we eat."

"I can't wait," Peggy said before interrupting herself. "Oh, Sharon and Natasha are already here!" She wandered away to join the other ladies as they sipped fresh lemonade under a canopy set up in the yard. A folding table was set up beneath, surrounded by chairs.

"Where's Peter?" Steve asked once she was gone.

"In between Bucky and Sam last I saw. Better go on before he gets tired."

Steve scoffed. "He's passed out before. He doesn't mind it."

Tony laughed. He started walking toward the house with Steve close to his side. "Are you kidding? We watch that one back all the time."

"You really gotta send me the footage."

"Nope. We've got one rule."

He opened the door to the basement. They passed the lounge where the TV blared the sports network in case the women came poking around. Through the door that only Tony had a key to, they found Peter.

His pretty little husband was caught in the middle of what looked like a fight to the death. Bucky pounded his ass, hands squeezing his thighs, pinning his legs to Bucky's chest. While Sam violated his throat, making it bulge big enough to be seen from the doorway. Peter's own dick was hard, but his orgasm was mercilessly trapped by the expertly tied rope that pulled his balls down and away from his body then came up to squeeze the base of his cock. His hands were pinned to the mattress beneath Sam's. The sounds he was making could make a monk cum in his robes. Tony was certainly struggling to hold it together, at least.

"Fuck," Steve swore.

Tony joined them on the bed. He pet Peter's chest, then he slid his hand down his belly, pressing down until he could feel Bucky's cock. Peter squealed, gurgling as he choked on Sam.

"That's my good boy," Tony cooed. "You're doing perfect, baby."

"One of you better move over," Steve snapped. He slipped off his belt and let it drop to the floor. He approached the bed, already taking himself out.

"Or what?" Bucky grinned. He stopped his furious fucking, to instead pound the boy with thrusts that shoved him up the bed and made him moan and grab at Sam's wrists for support.

"Move over," Steve growled.

"No fighting," Tony warned. "There's plenty of room for everybody. You two will just have to cuddle."

"Excuse me?" Steve snapped.

Bucky laughed. He bent Peter's knees to put his legs around him and leaned forward hands up by Peter's head.

"There's room for two."

"You sure?" Steve looked at Peter, then at Tony.

"Hey, Pete?" Sam let go of one of Peter's hands as he wiggled his fingers in answer. "Steve and Bucky want to DP you. How's that sound?" Peter gave a thumbs up.

Tony grinned. "See, he wants it."

"Hell," Steve swore. He climbed onto the bed behind Bucky, between both his and Peter's legs. He shoved Bucky forward to get better leverage, but he didn't complain. It took some maneuvering, but he had no trouble stuffing the head of his cock into Peter's already stuffed hole.

Peter whined beautifully, the sound growing whimpery like a puppy the more Steve pushed his way inside him. Sam stopped his throat fucking to let him breathe and to watch what Steve was doing.

"Fuck- shit," Peter gasped. Tony bent down and kissed his neck. "Please please please-" he started to beg.

"Not yet," Tony said. His hand stroked Peter's chest again. "Be a good toy."

Peter nodded weakly, voice gone like Steve was pushing into his throat. "Yes," he gasped.

"That's my good boy."

Steve reached around Bucky with one hand to hold Peter's hip. The other hand held Bucky's shoulder.

"You ready, sweetheart?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, please," Peter gasped. He moaned as Steve started to move, the sound turning into pathetic whimpers and gasped pleas. He looked entirely lost and helpless, hanging limply off of both of their cocks.

"Better quiet him down before we're interrupted," Sam said. He stuffed Peter's mouth full of cock again while everyone laughed.

"I better check on the food," Tony said "I'll be back in a bit. Take care of my boy."

"Oh yeah, there's a barbecue happening," Bucky laughed.

"Won't be long before it's time to eat," Tony said from the doorway. He shut the door and locked it behind him. He checked to make sure he was presentable before heading back outside.

He took his place at the grill. The wives were still chatting away. Up until Sharon tapped his shoulder.

"Hey, we're out of lemonade. You don't mind if I run inside for a second do you?"

"Uh," Tony hesitated, thinking it through as fast as he could. "Why don't you man the grill and I'll grab it?"

"Sorry, but the last grill I touched burst into flames," she laughed.

Natasha stepped in behind him. "I've got it. Go get us drinks, big guy." He nudged him out of the way with her hip. Tony looked at her for a moment. He could see it in her eyes. That son of a bitch, what did Bucky tell her?

Tony went inside, admittedly sweating. He grabbed another cold pitcher of lemonade from the fridge, barely stopping to enjoy the sweet sounds coming from the basement. She wouldn't say anything to the others would she?

He went back outside and brought the pitcher to the table, beneath the shade of the canopy. "Pretty day, huh?" he said.

"It's beautiful," Peggy agreed.

"Thanks, Tony." Sharon poured herself another glass.

Tony went back to the grill. Natasha just smiled and shook her head. She patted his shoulder. "Boys will be boys, right?"

Tony raised his eyebrows, completely speechless.

"They're happy. They have good relationships." She pointed at the house. "That keeps them where I know where they are. They go anywhere else-" she snapped the tongs at Tony's crotch and he jumped. She laughed.

Tony swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."

"You're kinda cute when you're nervous."

"I'm flattered, but I'm married."

She laughed again. "Keep it that way."

She went back to the table, leaving Tony stunned. At least she knew her way around a grill.

It wasn't long before Bucky came outside. He stretched and breathed in the fresh air looking like he'd just left a spa. Nat gave him a kiss and pulled him down to sit beside her. He rested his arm along the back of her chair, the pair of them the portrait of a happy marriage. Sam followed right after, greeting the group with an 'evening ladies.'

Then Happy entered the gate. Tony took his plate of very much store bought cookies and set them with the rest of the food.

"Is May here, yet?" he asked, eyes searching the yard.

"Nope, you've still got time. Come on." Tony led him up to the house.

"Oh, good good. How's Peter?"

"He's great. He's really gotten into gardening lately."

"I noticed that!" Happy said as they entered the locked room. "Those tulips are stunning by the way," he said to Peter.

Peter smiled, looking up at him with head hanging off the bed. Steve was taking his time, riding his ass with deep, lazy thrusts.

Happy pulled his cock from his pants and joined the party. "Let's make it quick, kid. Your aunt's gonna be here any minute."

Peter opened his mouth and obediently sucked as Happy put his cock inside. He didn't have a lot of leverage, but he never lacked enthusiasm. Happy stood over him, letting Peter do the work, while he toyed with his nipples to make him whine, playing him like an instrument.

"God," Steve sighed.

"He's pretty isn't he?" Happy agreed. "Fuck, I never last long in this kid's mouth."

Peter reached up to play with Happy's balls, getting him worked up and on the edge in no time.

"He fucking squeezes when you pinch them like that," Steve groaned.

"Yeah, like this?" Happy pinched Peter's nipples until he whimpered. Steve moaned. "What a good boy. Let's get another load in you, kid. You know you need it."

Peter moaned. Steve fucked him faster, the week of build up finally catching him to him as he listened to suck that cock. He squeezed his waist, putting bruises above the ones Bucky had left on his nips, and came as deep as he could get, adding to the mess already inside him. He could see Peter's cock jump against his belly, desperately trying to cum with him. It almost had him going back for another round.

Happy took his cock from his mouth to jack off over his face. Peter laid still, mouth open and tongue out. He moaned along with Happy as he came all over his face. Then he sucked the tip clean for him.

"Good boy," Tony praised. "Get dressed, I'll grab the guys for the finale." He hurried back outside, eager to let go of what had been building since that morning. Especially since Peter spent the morning between his legs like the persuasive little brat he was. He just couldn't wait to have cock in his mouth even though he knew neither of them would be getting off for hours.

"Hey, fellas! The game's almost over!" He called to the group. They immediately disengaged from their wives and started up the lawn, making half baked excuses about not wanting to miss the final play. The women rolled their eyes and laughed fondly as they watched them go back inside the house.

Tony all but ran back inside. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, leaving both hanging. Everyone gathered around the bed and watched as Tony stuck his cock inside his husband, feeling the cum already inside him.

"Please," Peter moaned.

"Begging already, baby? You know you're not done yet." Tony fucked him hard and deep, lost in the perfect squeeze of his ass. Peter's cock was turning sore and red. He couldn't resist giving it a stroke. Peter screamed and clawed at the bed. Bucky was the quickest to jump forward and cover his mouth.

"Shh, sweetheart. They'll think we're torturing you."

"Might as well be," Steve said. "Look how much he loves it, though."

"He's such a good toy," Tony agreed. "Just a chew toy for all the men in the neighborhood, aren't you?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good boy." Tony stroked his cock again, before beginning to unwrap him.

"Please please please," Peter gasped.

"Use your big boy words," Tony mocked. He pulled the rope free. It was a visible change as blood rushed to further fill out his election. It must have hurt.

"Please, sir," Peter moaned. "Please can I cum, can I cum for you sir, please-"

"Cum."

Bucky's hand nearly covered his whole face as it clamped around his mouth. The rest of the room clapped and cheered. Peter screamed, back arching, cum spraying like a hose, making a mess of himself from his head down to his thighs. And he kept cumming while Tony kept fucking him, far longer than it should be possible.

"That's our boy," Sam praised.

"Fuck, Peter. That was gorgeous," Steve said.

Bucky took his hand away. Peter's face was red and sweaty. He whimpered as Tony continued to fuck him. His hands searched the bed and ended up with one hand holding Tony's and the other holding Bucky's.

"He's already getting hard again," Happy commented.

Tony was beyond words, merely panting as he fucked him, chasing his orgasm while Peter mewled beneath him. He wrapped a hand around Peter's spent cock and found it still half swollen. Peter whined pitifully at the touch, it was clearly painful but no less pleasurable for it at this point.

"Please please please please," he begged again.

Tony waited until he was on the edge. "Cum," he growled, filling Peter's ass himself, cumming hard and so much that he felt the mixture of fluids squishing out onto his jeans. He swore and bent his head to give Peter a kiss as the boy tried to keep quiet and still helplessly whimpered. The room burst into further applause.

Everyone filtered out only for Steve to return a moment later. He cleared his throat.

"Hey, Pete. Your aunt's here," he announced.

Peter blinked at him with wet eyes. "Can you tell her I'm sick?"

Steve laughed. "No, I was thinking of telling her that her nephew got gangbanged by the whole town."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Don't you upset May."

"He's just teasing," Tony laughed. "We'll have a quick shower and we'll be right out."

"You got it." Steve shut the door and left them alone.

Tony kissed him and held him in his arms. "How are you feeling?"

Peter smiled and rubbed his face against Tony's shirt. Tony feigned disgust.

"You're the cum bucket, not me," he complained.

Peter smiled. "You're gonna have to carry me. I don't think I can walk."

[mystycalypso]

OKAY LETS TRY THIS AGAIN

Welcome To Ravenbrooks season 2 Theories before it comes out

Disclaimer uh- these are the ramblings of a mad man named Jack (me). Mainly so when it does eventually come out I can see what if anything I got right. Now lets get into it below the fold.

1. It's revealed that Jay Roth (Nicky's dad) is the one who died in Trinity's old house

We know in both the book and games and even the pilot, Nicky was the one living across from Mr. Peterson, but now it's Trinity's home. I think the grief of what happened in that house is why they moved

2. We'll get to see the rest of the Rescue Squad's parents

Pretty self-explanatory. I don't know what story purpose they'd serve exactly, aside from maybe how they react to their kids' shenanigans but it'd be really cool to see them. Especially Luanne Roth who I am currently head canoning to be neglectful in some manner (not necessarily on purpose) because of the lines about Nicky running away all the time and no one noticing he went missing.

3. We see a cultist in uniform

I think it'd be really interesting if specifically Trinity finds them mid ceremony or if bad things start happening to her family and she gets suspicious

4. The kids learn Mr. Peterson isn't "evil"

We know in the books that Theo is looking heavily into the cult, and he seems to be doing the same here. I think in Trinity's realization's she'll learn his real motivations for keeping them away, maybe even his side of the stories from episode 3

5. We learn what Trinity did

We have hints at what happened, obviously, but with the teaser image reusing the old photo of kid Trinity, l think we're going to learn what exactly happened and why it was so bad that they had to move towns

6. More nightmare sequences

From the hello neighbor franchise in general, we've learned that both Trinity and Nicky are prone to nightmares, and with the trauma they've gained from episode 6, I assume we'll get to see plenty other creepy cool nightmare scenes. (Seriously, just the maggots from episode 2 make me squirm physically when I see it. Every time)

7. Principle Abanante isn't dead

This might be clear to some, and yeah, it's far from the greatest stretch on this list but I think we'll see her again and maybe that she caused the school explosion

8. Delroy(and possibly Scout)'s investigations

I'm very curious about what Delroy was doing in the tunnels under the school, maybe doing his own investigations on the cult? Scout included to round out the Hello Neighbor hide and seek crew. Likely having to join forced with the current members of the rescue squad to stop a stronger force.

9. We see Theodore's brother in his "new form"

Not 100% sure if he became the Guest or the Thing, and I've seen good theories/evidence for both, but either way I think we'll get to see him with the knowledge that it's him.

10. We learn why Ivan acted the way he did in s1

He was more scared of just the mention of Peterson than anyone, and it's been bugging me since my first watch. I'd like to see if there's reason to his behavior or just general paranoia. Leaning towards the former, knowing this series.

11. Love triangle between Trinity, Nicky and Enzo

I'd really rather this doesn't happen. I hate love triangles so much. They're so dumb and useless and bad. But like I told kaydin during our third watch, I can feel it happening. It's breathing down my neck with the loud annoying sound of needless romantic tension.

12. The whole squad sits together at lunch

They escaped the basement together! The least they could do as friends is actually eat lunch together instead of Nicky and Trinity sitting seperate from everyone else

13. Nicky and Aaron's relationship is revealed

I'm really, REALLY hopeful that their friendship isn't retconned in the series. It was great motivation for Nicky to be investigating Mr. Peterson, and is also just generally sweet.

14. We see Aaron

Nicky was the basement for a couple of weeks. However, Aaron was in there for months! I'm eager to see how he is both mentally and physically. I feel like he's either gonna be much, much worse than Nicky or somehow way better.

15. Quentin becomes my favorite character

This is mostly on here as a joke. I'm not gonna lie, I know he'll be at least a favorite because he's my favorite Hello Neighbor game character. Like- the squeal I squealed when I saw his van and silly Hawaiian shirt was immense. I love him so much, and I hope he gets good screen time.

16. Nicky loses his bag

This is more just a- gut feeling? He's gained it as a sort of comfort item, it seems, and I feel like with the nature and badluck of Ravenbrooks, he's going to lose it. Bonus points if he has to choose between it or a member of the Rescue Squad

17. Mr. martaugh dies

Again, I have- no evidence for this. Yeah, he's in the teasers a lot, but like that doesn't imply he dies. Maybe I just really hope he dies because he's creepy /j, but yeah, uh- if it happens, I'll probably still be in shock even though it's on this list.

18. We see an on screen kiss

Tricky fans cross your fingers and pray, I know I will be. It'll probably just be a quick peck on the cheek, but I can just kind of feel it in my bones. Similar to the love triangle one.

And there you go! My predictions for Season 2!

As soon as it drops, you will probably see my reaction to it and a return to this list to see how close or far I was on these. (Spoiler tagged, of course) But until then, I will be patiently waiting, drawing, and rewatching the show too many times over (wonder if I can hit 50 watches before season 2 drops)

Cya!

- Jack