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unequivocallyreid · 10 months ago

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Disguise It

repost! i was accidentally on priv when i posted this so… doing it again! this is crazy nsfw so be warned 🤗

pairing: spencer x fem!reader

preview:

You couldn’t tell you who moves in first, but suddenly his lips are on yours and your hands are tugging in his hair while his hold you to him. You can feel all of him and it doesn’t seem like it is possibly enough. All you know, is that he breaks away first.

“I don’t know how to handle myself around you. I shouldn’t be here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Now it’s your turn to grab the man in front of you.

“Spencer, shut up.”

warnings: criminal minds typical violence, case descriptions, smut, light angst, enemies to lovers, unprotected sex w/ talk of contraceptives

please let me know if i missed anything!

Georgia is sweltering in the summer. The silk, sleeveless shirt you wore was starting to cling to the sweat on your back, and your body only heated further upon the prodding you were receiving from your fellow team member. It felt like everything you said was met with a rebuttal from Dr. Reid.

At this point, you’d been a part of the BAU for two years. While you were the youngest of the team, you felt the dozens of cases you helped to successfully close should have garnered you some respect in Spencer’s eyes, but, for whatever reason, he still saw you as an expendable part.

At first, his hostility seemed excusable. You had joined the team, and were struck upon meeting him. He was beautiful and incredibly smart and even more incredibly cold. Shortly after, Penelope explained you had replaced one of Reid’s closest friends, Alex. After some, admittedly nosy, probing, you found out just how integral Alex had been in helping him to grieve the loss of his girlfriend at the hands of an unsub. You were understanding and recognized that you shouldn’t expect the warmest greeting from the man. But over time, it seemed all of the vitriol he had for the undesirable aspects of the job was taken out on you. Every time someone was lost, or a suspect got away, you were there for him to blame. You got it, sure it was hurtful, but you got it.

However, two years later, you decidedly did not get it. Around everyone else, he glowed, and yet when it came to you he was all snide remarks. Still, you couldn’t help but be enamored by him. You saw how he cared so deeply for everyone on the team. How any time he could, he put others well being above his. Hell, he didn’t even like you, but somehow, anytime there was a dangerous situation he found a way to put himself between you and it. You hated how attracted to him you were and you hated that he made you the object of his anger.

This case was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Four women had been murdered in the span of four weeks in a small town in Georgia. All of them with their hair cut and dyed post-mortem. The team was called out three days ago, and aside from a profile that fit nearly half the men in town, you had nothing. With a day left before another victim was expected, Hotch called you all into a small office within the sheriffs department.

“All we have to go on currently is that our unsub is targeting young women he perceives as easy targets. All four victims visited bars the night they were abducted, and they were all found the next morning. We know he is going to strike again tonight. Right now, our only option is to station an officer in one of the bars that he is likely to hit.”

Hotch sighed before continuing, “Y/N, you fit his preferred age and build. We need it to be you.”

Before you could say anything, an all too familiar voice spoke from behind you.

“Hotch, all due respect, but she doesn’t have nearly enough experience undercover. It’s more likely she screw up this whole case than find our guy.”

“Reid, I don’t know-“

You cut Derek off before he could finish his sentence, “Are fucking serious?”

“It’s nothing personal, Y/N. You just don’t have the tactical and logistical skills something like this requires,” Reid says with the corner of his mouth turned up and you see red.

“What is your problem?”

“Y/N,” Derek says trying to settle you with a hand on your shoulder but you shrug him off.

“No. No, I’m so tired of this. Look Reid, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you don’t like me. I’m sorry that I took Alex’s place. I’m sorry I’m good at my job. I know it, everyone here knows it but for you.”

You could’ve stopped there, in fact you should’ve stopped there, but obviously you didn’t.

“You know what, most of all I’m sorry I wasn’t on the team sooner, because if I was someone would have had the sense to not let you work on Maeve’s case. Maybe then, she’d be here and you wouldn’t be so fucking bitter at the world.”

As soon as you said it you wished you could take it back, but you were already half way out the door with tears pooling in your eyes.

Morgan followed closely behind you, catching up and pulling you aside before you reached the front door of the department.

“Pretty girl,”

You cut him off again, “Look I know. I’ll apologize to everyone, but I can’t do this right now.”

“Kid, let me finish.”

You look at him and wipe your eyes, a signal to go on.

“You don’t owe anyone anything. Do I think you made the best choice back there? No. But, you have a right to be angry, just don’t let it blow your chance to prove him wrong.”

“Derek, I know he’s your best friend. You don’t have to comfort me, I’m a big girl.”

Derek pulled you into his chest, “He’s my friend but he’s also an idiot. You said what you needed to and he needed to get his ass whopped. Look, go get ready for tonight. Despite what Reid said the team needs you and those girls need you, do it for them.”

“I don’t really have a choice do I,” you say through a sniffle.

“Nope. So, get moving, sweetness.”

The embarrassment of breaking down in front of your team continued to rock you on your way to the motel down the street. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop replaying Spencer’s face over and over in your head. Regardless of his feelings toward you, you cared about him and you didn’t want to hurt him. It was just too much pressure built up over your time with the BAU and you snapped. If you could have helped it you would have.

You didn’t really have any bar attire in your go bag, and you knew that your unsub liked a certain look, so you took it upon yourself to stop by a shop. As quickly as possible, time was literally running out, you found a black mini-dress. The fabric was thick enough to cover the wire you were sure you’d be wearing, and it wasn’t expensive enough for you to feel guilty about purchasing it.

Throughout your time at the BAU, you had never worn anything like this. Lack of social life aside, anytime you went out with the team to celebrate a case or birthday, you wore business casual. Knowing they would all, namely Spencer, see you in something so small made you anxious. If you had chosen a different life, this would have been normal night-out attire for you, but you don’t even think you own a skirt that’s shorter than your knee.

The makeup you put on did nothing to ease your discomfort. It was messy and dark, just like the women he killed were wearing. You looked just like them.

On the drive back to the station, the knot in your stomach felt like it nearly tripled in size. You were scared you’d be reprimanded upon entering, while wearing club attire, like a 17 year old who broke her curfew. As you opened your car door you felt your hands shake. You put on you FBI jacket for modestly and walked in. A quick scan of the room showed no sign of Spencer, which took a bit of weight off of your shoulders. You didn’t think you could handle seeing the broken look in his eyes for a second time that day.

Once JJ saw you she walked over and said gently, “Y/N, are you alright? Are you sure you’re okay to do this?”

Admittedly, you had to force a smile as you replied, “Don’t worry about me.”

Too much was weighing on you. If you weren’t successful, you’d have another body on your conscience, coupled with using the most devastating event in Reid’s life against him. You felt like shit. Part of you knew he deserved it and the other wanted to make everything better for him. It was selfish and made you feel gross, but you had always secretly hoped that you could be the one to bring out the light in him if he ever let you in, but you threw away the slim chance of that when Maeve’s name left your lips.

After attempting to further assure JJ that you were okay, you walked back to the office you knew that you’d find Hotch in. You opened the door and found Spencer and him going over the geographical profile. When Spencer looked up and saw you, he excused himself quietly and fled the room. Hotch said nothing but waved you in.

He ignored the elephant in the room, choosing instead to explain the details of your assignment.

“Morgan, JJ, and Reid will all be stationed around the bar,” he said plainly, but you did not miss his scan of your face, searching for a reaction.

“If things escalate, if you are threatened at any point, they will be there. We’ll hear everything through the wire, and you’ll hear us.”

Still lacking the confidence you held earlier in the day, you reply with a meek “Yes sir,” and move to leave the office.

“Y/n,” he calls out to you before you reach the door. “Don’t let it get to you”

The bar feels hotter than it did outside, and the dress you’re wearing feels even smaller. As you wait to be approached, you fail to catch Reid’s eye. He’s been avoiding your gaze for the last hour you’d been there.

Right when you think it’s time to drawback and admit you weren’t the type he was looking for, you feel a rough hand run across your back.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing at a place like this all alone?”

You can smell his cigarette breath before you can see him, and you have to school your face before you reply.

“I’d say I was waiting for you, but I don’t know your name.” You say, forcing a giggle and slurring your words, and you swear you hear Reid scoffing in your ear.

“It’s Michael, and I think you know just what to say.”

You hear Penelope confirm the name in your ear. The man before you is stocky and looks close to 30. He moves the hand that was on your back to rest high on your thigh.

“Let me buy you a drink, doll.”

You know you have to test him. You have to do something to prove he’s your guy, so you move to stand with faux shaking legs.

“I really shouldn’t, I uh, have to get home.”

A sick smile ghosts over his face and he forces you to sit back down, his grip tightening even more on your leg.

“Fun is just startin’, don’t get cold feet on me now.”

You reach to pull his hand off you, “No, I really need to be home. I, My roommate will worry.”

One hand grabs the back of your neck as the other lifts higher on you leg.

“Darlin, don’t you know your manners?

Hotch tells you to hold off, asking you to push him a little farther before they step in, and as much as your shaking with this man’s hands on you and stale breath in your face, you follow orders.

“You’re hurting me,” you tell him through clenched teeth as his nails sink into your skin.

“I promise you I have a lot more planned, doll. Now be good girl and sit down, or you’re going to have a knife deep in that pretty little waist of yours.”

Before you can follow his directions, you hear a familiar voice say, “Not likely.”

While you were distracted by the man in front of you, Spencer had made his way to you from across the room, and was now pushing down the man onto the bar in front of you. His eyes were dark and he was rougher than you had ever seen him. Maybe unfortunately, JJ came up behind you and pulled you away from Spencer and your staring was cut short.

The man in the bar turned out to be Michael Edwin. He had a history of petty theft and assault charges from bar fights, but Penelope recovered sealed records from his adolescence, which showed two counts of aggravated sexual assault. His fiancé had recently left him, which served as a trigger for the recent murders.

Despite protests, you were checked out by EMS before you could go back to the motel. They wanted to ensure you weren’t drugged and that you didn’t have any puncture wounds from the nails on you neck or thigh. Hotch spoke to you, told you that you did a good job, but in all honesty you just wanted to go lay down in the shitty bed that was waiting for you, and sleep away the events of the night. Fate clearly had other plans.

You were stepping out of the shower when you heard a knock at the front door. You called out to whoever it was, you assumed JJ or Morgan, that you be there in a minute. Quickly, you threw on a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt, and let your hair down from the towel that had been holding it.

Opening the door to your room did not yield the results you expected. Standing in front of you, in the same clothes he’d been wearing at the bar, was Spencer. He looked tired and his hair was sticking up like he’d spent the last two hours running his hands through it. He asked to come in. You stepped aside but did not welcome him.

“What do you need Reid? I’m really not looking to fight, I just want to sleep.”

He looked over your frame once, and then shut the door behind him.

“You drive me crazy.”

You cut him off, with a quick “Get out.”

“No, look just please let me talk to you.” You wish the desperation in his voice didn’t draw you back in immediately.

He inches closer to you as you moved away from him and says softly, “You’re stubborn and you drive me crazy. But, you were right today-“

“Please stop,” you bite back, again cutting him off.

“Christ Y/n, just let me get through this.”

He almost waits for you to stop him again before continuing. “You make me feel fucking crazy, and I can’t think and I hate it. I hate what you do to me. I hate the way I feel around you.”

“Spencer, please just go. I don’t need you to tell me that I’m terrible at my job for a second time today. Try it again tomorrow.”

You move to open the door but he grabs you before you can reach it.

“Stop talking, Y/N.”

His hands are on your waist and you heartbeat is in your throat and you know you should push him off of you but you can’t make yourself do it. He’s closer to you than he’s ever been and you can smell his sweat. As much as you want to scream at him, and force him out of your room, you can’t help but feel a warmth pooling in between your thighs.

He is impossibly closer when he says, “Y/n, please.”

“I don’t know how to handle myself around you. I shouldn’t be here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Now it’s your turn to grab the man in front of you.

“Spencer, shut up.”

You pull him back to your lips, and you can feel the moment his resolve breaks. He is everywhere. His hands run up your waist and dip below you shirt, and at first it’s hesitant, but then he’s pushing you toward the mattress and pressing himself onto you.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at me every day?”

You try to reply, “You’re full of shit,” but your sentence dies off as his fingers brush over your nipple. You’re panting into his mouth and you feel him hard against you hip. Without thought, your hips roll into his, desperate for pleasure.

His hands are everywhere, and his mouth follows suit, trailing down your neck and biting hard into your shoulder. His hands become more confident but still shockingly gentle. You imagined he’d be rough and angry, almost punishing, but this is so much worse. He is caring and his lips pause over your heart beat, allowing you to feel the warmth they carry. Tears are forming in your eyes and you do your best to blink them back as his hand grip the edge of your shirt and pull it over your head.

He curses to himself when he sees you, and you feel goosebumps rise on your skin. His fingers roll over the buds on your chest and you cry out, “Spencer, please.”

You don’t even know what you’re asking him for, but he seems to understand. His fingers slip beneath the waist band of your shorts, finding your centre and rubbing gently over your clit.

“God you’re so fucking wet and I’ve barely even touched you.”

You’re lost in his touch, and the way his hands are relentless in their pursuit tells you that he is too. You never expected him to talk like this. Fantasized, sure, but actually having him right above you is almost too much to bear. It is too much, and you don’t understand it, and the tears that were forming earlier become to heavy to hold back. The gentle moans you had been letting pass through your lips turn into sobs and his fingers still as soon as he hears you.

His voice is shaken and small when he asks, “Y/n? What’s wrong, what did I do?”

His question rocks through you and makes the tears well up so much faster than they were before.

“I’m so sorry,” you choke out. “I’m so sorry. I was cruel to you and you’re being so gentle with me and I don’t understand. You, you don’t have to do this for me just because you feel bad.”

He pulls you into him in a way that is different than before, and tries to wipe away the tears you let spill.

“Y/n, that isn’t what this is. I- I should be apologizing to you. I’ve been so terrible to you and you’ve been nothing but kind.”

You scoff, thinking back to earlier in the day, and try to push him away but he holds you closer and forces you to look at him.

“You were right, Y/n. I’ve been so scared of losing more people since Maeve, and when you joined the team it was clear how wonderful you were from the second you walked in. You’re so good and so intelligent, Y/n. I was fucking terrified of how drawn to you I was, so I pushed you away and I was too dumb to realize it was hurting you until today.”

His lips find your forehead, ghosting a kiss over it before continuing, “I’ve spent the last two years failing miserably at not forming an attachment to you, and I hurt you. Please, let me show you that I care.”

You know that you should be mad at him, but you’ve never been able to stay angry at the man in front of you. So, instead of trying to fight the feelings you both had been trying to for years, you let him in.

Your lips find his for the second time that night, and this time you each won’t let the other run off. His hands travel down your body again as he whispers sweet nothings in you ear and pulls your shorts off of you. When he reconnects with your heat, the sensation feels so much greater than before. You push yourself into his hand, and gasp when his fingers find their way inside you. Their pace is languid and exploratory as he curls himself inside of you, finding a spot that makes you feel like you’re on fire.

His lips that were exploring the expanse of your chest find their way back up to yours, and it gives you the courage to press your hand to the tent of his pants. Your action makes him still momentarily but then he presses more firmly into you.

He breaks away from you and says “You feel so good,” but isn’t enough. You whine into his mouth and push your hands to try and undo the buttons of his shirt. He breathes out a laugh and helps you guide it off of him. Still, you’re nothing if not greedy and you want more, so your hands move from his chest to his belt, and suddenly he is bare to you.

As you take him in, you feel your mouth fall open, and you can’t help but reach out to touch him and whisper, “You’re so big.”

This action decidedly pushes him over the edge as a groan falls from his lips and his hands resume their previous mission at a much faster pace. You can feel the pit forming in your stomach as he reduces you to incomprehensible babble and you both know you’re close. His thumb finds your clit and you feel yourself diving over the edge as your orgasm finds you. He nurses you through it, drawing the feeling out, before removing his fingers.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

You’re overcome with affection for the man above you, and you feel an incredible need to express it, but you can’t find the words. Instead, you do your best to flip him and lower yourself down his body. He watches you in awe, which almost surprises you because how could he think you wouldn’t want him in every possible way.

Once you’ve kissed your way down his chest and over his stomach, you move to put him in your mouth.

He stops you before you can, and your heart drops, scared that the illusion has shattered and he has decided he no longer wants you.

He remedies your fears quickly though when he says, “Y/n, you don’t have to.”

“I want to. I really want to, Spence. I- I want you.”

You swear you see love in his eyes, but push the thought aside and take him in your mouth.

You savor the feeling of taking him in, the way he fills your mouth and touches the back of your throat. You can’t fit him in his entirety and your hand has to pick up the slack, which seems to drive him crazy. Still, something in you wants to give him full control over you. So, when you come up for air, you take his hand and guide it to the back of your head, and genius that he is, he takes the hint. He pushes himself deeper down your throat as his hands tangle in your hair. The rhythm he build is perfect.

“You’re so fucking good, baby.”

The pet name makes your thighs press together, desperate for another release. His mouth is growing filthier by the minute.

“Fuck, Y/n. You like having my cock down you throat don’t you? Just so desperate to please, aren’t you?”

You moan around him before pulling off, feeling needier than you think you ever have before. As much as you want to make him come with your mouth, you need him inside you.

“Spencer, I need more.”

He laughs a little and says, “You’ve got to use your words, Y/n. Tell me what you want.”

The thought of saying it feels more embarrassing than anything you’ve done so far, but your desire outweighs it and you tell him, “I want you inside.”

“There you go, baby. Want me to fuck you, huh?”

You know he isn’t really asking, but you can’t stop yourself from nodding regardless.

Before going any further he asks, “Do you have a condom?”

“I don’t think so. I have an IUD and I’m clean. I trust you, but if you want to stop I get it.”

Without responding, he’s flipped you over and is now holding himself over you once again. For a second, he just looks down at you, but a small ‘please’ falling from your lips is enough to break his daze. He runs his hands down your stomach, grazing over your centre, before grabbing himself and lining up with you. The moment he starts to push himself in, you feel so full you might cry.

Your body is white hot, a feeling you haven’t experienced in any of your other sexual encounters. Hell, most of them haven’t made you come once, but with Reid you’re already bordering on a second orgasm just from him pushing into you. His pace is perfectly slow, and you can see his jaw clenched as he tries to restrain himself.

“I’m okay. You can go harder, I want you harder.”

Your words have the desired effect and you watch as he lets go. He’s everywhere and each stroke hits places that send you into a tailspin. When he rocks into you, his pelvis bushes over your clit perfectly.

“I’m gonna come, Spence. Fuck, fuck I’m coming.”

“God, I can fucking feel it, Y/n. You’re so fucking tight for me.”

If you had any shame left in you, you might be embarrassed at how quickly you came a second time, but all you can focus on is the rhythm of Spencer above you. You can feel his movements growing sloppier and you know that he’s close too.

“I’m gonna come, baby Where do you want it?”

You all but cry out, “Inside, Spencer. Please I want you inside.”

This pushes him over the edge and you can feel him pulse inside you. The sensation is almost enough to make you come again.

“Fuck, Y/n, where did that come from.”

You don’t respond and he seems to notice the dazed look in your eyes as he pulls out of you. Before you can get used to the emptiness, you feel his fingers trace your entrance.

“You want me to fuck my come back into you, huh? Make sure you’re really full?”

You nod, almost subconsciously, and he begins pushing his fingers into you at a relentless pace. You reach and heap his arm to center yourself, but it’s no use.

“Just one more, love. Let me show you how sorry I am.”

Your body is shaking and tears, different than before, well in your eyes and begin to break free.

“Such a pretty, filthy girl. Let go for me, baby. Can you do that? Can you come for me?”

You’ve always been one to please, and you feel the ball of tension in your stomach break free. Everything is white and the only thing you can do is call out Spencer’s name.

“So fucking pretty, Y/n. Come back, baby. I want to see your eyes.”

You didn’t even realize they were closed, but when they open you’re greeted with Spencer’s face above you. He smiles down at you and moves to get off the bed, which causes a jolt of panic to course through you.

“Don’t leave,” you all but yell. “Please, just stay with me tonight.”

He quells all your worries with a sentence, “Just getting a towel to clean you up. I’m not going to leave you anytime soon.”

done! let me know what you think!

#spencer reid #fic rec #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #enemies to lovers

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juliasgoodusername · 2 years ago

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Sometimes a girl has to go a little crazy. Sometimes a girl has to make a book-accurate floorplan for 300 Fox Way. These things just happen, sometimes.

Obsessive annotations under the cut ✨ but be warned, there's a LOT

Exterior

Okay first of all, I'm no architect, and my only knowledge comes from work experience in the real estate industry + a lot of Sims. The style is sort of neo-rural French colonial. I didn't set out to adhere to that standard so much as I made an amalgamation of homes in Blue Ridge Mountains-adjacent towns in Virginia. Specifically, my headcanon Henrietta template is Orange, VA (I'll save that explanation for another post) so I took inspiration from real estate listings from there.

Alright alright I know there is supposed to be one bathroom, but I simply can't tolerate that in a house with 6+ residents. I can't. There was a possible contradiction in the descriptions of "the single shared bathroom" that I used as an excuse to add a 3/4 bath, and I threw in a powder room for free. Because technically there is still only one full bathroom! But seriously with that many women over 30 most of them probably have IBS or chronic constipation and I'm not making them all share a toilet.

Officially we only have 4 bedrooms listed in text: Blue's, Persephone's, Maura's, and Calla and Jimi's shared one. Everyone else gets rooms that don't qualify as bedrooms via Virginia residential building codes (such as the attic, obviously, which falls below the combined ceiling height and square footage requirements). That really just leaves Orla unaccounted for but I'll get to that later. Other aunts and friends seem to visit during the day and live somewhere else, because in The Raven King only Jimi and Orla were described as needing to move out of the house during the demon stuff.

I designed the entire interior floorplan before I even touched the exterior, so there's a few issues, like how I'm totally missing shutters on the windows that functionally need them most. 🫶 I didn't feel like making the windows smaller to fit them, and I could have added faux-shutters but I think those are stupid. 😘

First floor

"This house is lovely. So many walls. So, so many walls," Malory said as Blue entered the living room a little later.

- Blue Lily, Lily Blue, Chapter 30

Right off the bat, we have an insane number of doors and walls. Old colonial houses are pretty much the opposite of open concept. Functionally I believe that's because it's easier to control heat with closed off rooms, but Virginia is not particularly cold so idk. As for the number of doors, I mean....😤😤😤 I prefer archways/doorless frames in small high-traffic spaces, but every time I thought I could get away with it Maggie would specifically describe doors opening and closing (For example BL,LB Ch 41 gives the reading room double doors, and even the living room gets one in Ch 11. What kind of living room needs a door???). I'm actually missing one of the doorways described in canon, but if you know which one I'm talking about I DARE you to find a place to put that thing!! But I digress.

“Mom," she said as she jumped down the crooked stairs.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 3

I'm liberally using "crooked" to establish the corner turn stairs. Blue steadies herself on the stair railing when she identifies Gansey for the first time (TRB Ch 15), so I wanted the stairs to have good visual access to visitors. It also sort of has a feng shui-ish effect of separating the public and private energy zones in the house. If that statement made zero sense, I think one of us doesn't know enough about feng shui 👀 and it might be me.

I'm also using that quote to establish Maura's room downstairs, if Blue generally expects to find her mother there, but mostly because everything else was upstairs and it was getting hard to fit. Granted, at one point Blue leads the boys "up the stairs to Maura's bedroom" (TDT Epilogue) but since they were just arriving at 300 Fox Way those stairs could easily be the outdoor ones. There's a handful of little things to support me here, such as Adam grabbing a scrying bowl from Maura's room to use in the reading room (BL,LB Ch 41) implying that her room was the closest place to find one. And speaking of Maura's room-

Calla was overwhelmed by how much shit Maura had in her room at 300 Fox Way, and she told Blue this.

... The mess was taking years from her life. ... Maura liked chaos.

... The psychic hotline rang in the room next door. Calla's concentration fluttered away.

- Blue Lily, Lily Blue, Prologue

Maura is my favorite hypocrite. She claims to detest clutter (TRB Ch 34) and yet her room is literally described as chaos. She probably treats her room like a college student and moves the furniture every time she gets bored/stressed. Thus, I gave her the most insane furniture configuration I could think of while still matching all the contents described.

The phone ringing next door might imply that she neighbors the phone/sewing/cat room, but that area is pretty well described and Maura's room is never mentioned there in any other instance. That leaves us with the kitchen phone (TRB Ch 27) which I put in the hallway with kitchen access as a compromise so it would technically still be in a room next to Maura's.

In the reading room, the man looked around with clinical interest. His gaze passed over the candles, the potted plants, the incense burners, the elaborate dining room chandelier, the rustic table that dominated the room, the lace curtains, and finally landed on a framed photograph of Steve Martin.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 13

There are so many quotes about the reading room that I just don't feel like citing them, but other details include the mismatched chairs, the shelves, doors etc. It's also described specifically as Maura's "front room" (TRB Prologue) so it's one of the cornerstones that I designed the rest of the layout around. Because of the plants, it makes sense that this room would be south-facing too. (Although idk how much light they get with the wraparound porch awning in the way. Oops lol!)

The outside suddenly seemed vivid in comparison to the dim kitchen. The April-bright trees pressed against the windows of the breakfast area, ...

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 3

Blue Stormed into 300 Fox Way's kitchen and began a one-sided interrogation with Artemus, who was still hidden behind the closed storage closet door.

- The Raven King, Chapter 9

Likewise, I'm using the particularly dim kitchen to place it on the north side, where we also know there's trees in the backyard.

I'll say the kitchen layout is weirder than it strictly needed to be because in the Virginia homes I referenced I adored all the strange kitchens, especially with old timey 'servants area' vibes where laundry kitchen and pantry are all connected. Instead of a kitchen island, they get one of those rolling kitchen carts which I doubled as a bar cart for the drinks they have in the living room.

The kitchen has a doorway to the hall (TRB Ch 13) and the living room is within view when Blue's on the kitchen phone (Ch 27).

Speaking of chapter 27, that's when we get the description "The morning light through the windows turned the drinks a brilliant, translucent yellow." So I put the living room on the east side of the house, where the rising sun would cast really strong light like that.

Second Floor

When she woke up, her normally morning-bright room had the breath-held dimness of afternoon. In the next room over, Orla was talking to either her boyfriend or to one of the psychic hotline callers.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 3

Blue headed toward the red-painted door at the end of the hall. On her way, she had to pass the frenzy of activity in the Phone/Sewing/Cat Room and the furious battle for the bathroom. The room behind the red door belonged to Persephone, ...

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 11

Blue's room and the Phone/Sewing/Cat room are our cornerstones for this floor. In several examples we know that the Phone/Sewing/Cat room faces the street and has a window (TRB Ch 15, BL,LB Ch 4). While Blue's room is "morning-bright," we also get descriptions of guests at the front door "backlit by the evening sun," (TRB Ch 15) so once again we're probably talking about south windows if it's sunlit at both times of day.

Adam sat awkwardly on the edge of Blue's bed. It felt strange to have so easily gained access to a girl's bed- room. If you knew Blue at all, the room was unsurprising - canvas silhouettes of trees stuck to the walls, leaves hanging in chains from the ceiling fan, a bird with a talk bubble reading WORMS FOR ALL painted above a shelf cluttered with buttons and about nine different pairs of scissors. Against the wall, Blue self-consciously taped up the drooping branch on one of the trees.

- The Dream Thieves, Chapter 49

We get some great descriptions of Blue's room (especially TRB Ch 43), although the above one is my favorite (#wormsforall). Every piece of furniture is accounted for exactly as described except the desk which I added because it seemed practical, and Blue is nothing if not practical™.

Persephone's room is also very well-described, all the way down to the furniture and lighting placement (BL,LB Ch 4 and TRB Ch 11) and it's surprisingly similar to Blue's room, if not a bit smaller. Her room gets strong afternoon sunlight, so I put it on the south too (BL,LB Ch 43).

Calla and Jimi share a room that's also upstairs (TRK Ch 16). Because they are the only two who have to share a room, I have justified that it must be the "master bedroom" (sorry for using that term) and is far bigger than the other bedrooms. I managed to fit two queen beds in there, but some scholars [me] would argue that Jimi and Calla might also share a bed because they are in love. Can you prove me wrong? No, you can't.

As for the bathroom, remember when I mentioned a possible contradiction? Famously, Maura draws the ley line symbol in the steamed up shower door (TRB Ch 1). However, much later we get Maura, Orla, Calla and Jimi all sitting in the bathtub for some kind of ritual (TRK Ch 9). No matter how I picture it, I can't put 4 full grown women in a bathtub together without someone partially sitting on/spilling over the side. But that would be impossible in a combo bath/shower enclosed by glass doors!! Thus, I gave The Bathroom a nice tub and put a small shower in the en suite of Jimi and Calla's room. I know this is a stretch but I don't really care.

Attic

Blue had never been a big fan of the attic, even before Neeve moved in. Numerous slanting roof lines provided dozens of opportunities to hit your head on a sloping ceiling. Unfinished wood floorboards and areas patched with prickly plywood were unfriendly to bare feet. Summer turned the attic into an inferno.

... In one of the narrow dormers, two full-length, footed mirrors faced each other, reflecting mirrored images back and forth at each other in perpetuum.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 34

Trying to fit the attic access in after everything in the second floor was my biggest challenge, because stairs normally take up a lot of space and you have to be careful about head room. I'm the end, I decided it was one of those fold out attic doors that you have to reach from the ceiling of the hallway. We might get a lot of instances of the attic door being opened (😤 seriously, Maggie... 😤) but technically a trap door in the ceiling is still a door!

Dormers pretty much cemented the French colonial style for me. And you know the drill by now: a hot room probably means a lot of sun, which means I give it a south facing window!

Mud Room/Cellar/Basement

This cellar has absolutely zero mention in the text, but my justification is based in the architecture. So far we've got a funky old colonial house, built without a garage, lots of walls etc. Especially in a low-income/semi-rural area, it's not crazy to assume that 300 Fox Way was built before most residents had refrigerators (1930s-40s). Besides iceboxes, a major way to keep food fresh was root cellars. Modern renovations for old homes convert these to concrete basements, but that's why the basement is so small and connects to the kitchen.

My headcanon is that Orla originally shared a room. Pick whoever you want: Maura, Blue or Persephone, any of them would easily be such a chaotic roommate that Orla snapped and in a fit of teen girl rage moved herself down to the crummy dark basement. Over time, she made efforts to glamorize it, such as a vintage dressing screen to hide the flood drainage pump. The privacy also allows her to bring boyfriends over, even sneaking them through the mud room.

This is really just my artistic license, but I swear it makes a surprising amount of sense in context. There's cases of Orla sneaking into the kitchen (easier if she has a back entrance) and she's almost always using the phone upstairs or in the kitchen (because a basement would get bad reception) even though her calls get kinda ~intimate.

Aaaaaand I think that's everything. Sorry it doesn't look like the photo from the wiki at all, but I couldn't find a source for it and Victorian style wasn't super common in the areas I researched. Let me know if I missed anything major! I'll probably cry myself to sleep if so.

#happy hyperfixation friday everyone #January was a weird month for me ngl this was one of my more hinged projects if you can believe it #please don't let this flop tho like this definitely took longer than any drawing I've ever posted here #trc #the raven cycle #the raven cycle fanart #300 Fox Way #Blue Sargent #the raven boys #my art #trc unraveled

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hyggetrait · 1 year ago

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hi there,

I’m glad you’ve stopped by to read this little note. I have quite a few updates to share. some good, some not so good. but short summary is, I’m happy, healthy, and building! This is a little long, so I apologize. I’ve tried to organize my thoughts as best as I could below.

First, thank you

I’m still flabbergasted that over 3000 of you have pressed that follow button. even crazier when I think about the fact that I’ve only posted less than 50 posts. I feel like I’ve gotten the better end of that deal but I promise to be more present. thank you for following me despite my lack of uploads, thank you for liking, reposting, commenting, and just being so kind. you’re all such a wonderful supportive community.

happy life update

Earlier this year my company downsized significantly and many near and dear people to me were let go. on top of that, a lot of work was piled on to me, so I had to prioritize offline life for a bit. the good thing is, after a crazy couple of months I was able to take time off for some much needed r&r, and as part of that break, I got to go to France to visit some family, enjoy some good food and sip on some delicious wine. but most importantly, i made some wonderful memories with my now fiancé! (surprise!) I’m still letting all soak in but we’re so happy for what the future holds.

now with the personal update out of the way, onto the sims ;

gameplay

I’m so sad to share that the save file with all of my wip was corrupted. thankfully I was able to salvage some builds because I saved to my gallery, but others are forever gone. sadly, the house I built for my growing together family and my tartosa town were collateral. I have an earlier iteration saved of the tartosa town but a lot of my progress is lost. I’m still heartbroken as I had worked so hard on them both, but I promise when inspiration strikes again I’ll try to complete the tartosa town.

the good news is, I’ve started building again. smaller lots these times and boy am I grateful for that. I even started a new house for my growing together household. I have one build I’ll be sharing in the coming days and two more that are nearly done. they are all in brindleton bay, inspired by nantucket and cape cod. think of it as a mini series if you will. I can’t wait to share more!

tray files and downloads

a lot of people have been asking for a while for my tray files. I apologize for the long wait, but I’m finally working on it and I’ll be setting up a free patreon for you guys to easily download!

and that’s all. I’m working on some new formatting/graphics for my future posts, it might change a few times while I figure it out but I hope it’s worth it. Thank you for sticking around, for reading my little note, and for supporting my creations!

see you soon,

nicole 💕

#simblr #ht: little notes #updates #I’m sorry it’s so long

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thatgirlwithasquid · 1 month ago

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letters that i can never send

words: 25,571

beyond excited to get to share my fic for @sapphicstevents' stranger things sapphic mini bang!! writing it definitely fought me for a while but i'm really proud of this fic.

so here's the first chapter and a cover i threw together to post it with! the whole fic is up on ao3 here, and @hullomoon has been amazing and created a podfic of the work for anyone interested in listening <3

---

Chapter 1 : A Pack Of Green Scrunchies

words: 5,739

June 20th, 1986

Dear Chrissy,

I wish I had known you before everything went mad.

I think I told you that before, but I mean it now more than I meant it then. It feels so crazy to think that we went through school walking past each other in the halls and not even glancing in each other’s direction. I know that I did the same thing to other kids but it still feels impossible.

My mom took me out to the mall the other day—there’s a mall in this town, not like the destroyed one in Hawkins. It’s full of people and stores and it's loud. I didn’t like it. I always used to find it annoying how quiet Hawkins was sometimes, but I hate how loud it is here. There’s too many people talking and smiling and I can’t see them without thinking about how oblivious I was before I met you.

They were selling scrunchies in one of the stores. My mom was looking for a new purse but I stopped to look at them instead. I bought a pack of green ones because they made me think of you. I wonder if that’s what you would smell like; cotton fabric and lingering perfume from my wrist.

I miss you.

Tina.

—

The lights in the hospital waiting room hum with an electric static. Even under all the anxious chatter and background noise of the hospital, it’s the only thing Tina can hear. Well, that and the fading ringing in her ears.

Her hands clench and unclench around the hem of her shirt as she watches the minutes tick by. Beside her, her dad’s leg bounces up and down. She’s not sure if he’s aware of her watching him. The man stares ahead down the crowded hall through the chaos as if her mother will suddenly appear there, good as new.

Tina doesn’t say anything, just reaches out and entwines their fingers, letting out a sigh of relief as her father squeezes her hand back. She needs his strength to lean on. It doesn’t matter that, rationally, Tina knows her mother’s injuries from the earthquake were far from the most severe that came through those hospital doors today.

She’s never been more scared than she was when her dad came stumbling out of the rubble, shirt bloodied and with her mom’s arm over his shoulder to support her weight. Tina had been so frantic that she can’t even remember if her mother had been conscious at that point. She was out cold during the drive to the hospital, though; the sounds of ambulances and firetrucks and police cars responding to the destruction weren’t even enough to break her from her state. Her father had somehow remained stoic then, too.

Thankfully, it’s not too much longer before a nurse lets them visit her mom. After hours of waiting, they’re more than ready to see how she’s doing.

With all the trouble caused during the disaster, her mom is crammed into a room with other people, separated only by a flimsy curtain. Around them, the relieved reconciliation of other patients and their families fade into the background as Tina reaches her mother’s side and grasps at her hand where it lays atop her blankets.

IVs poke into her skin and wires trail off to monitors she doesn’t even begin to want to look at. Instead, Tina focuses her gaze on her mom’s weary face. She looks tired, eyes rimmed with dark circles that are only accentuated by the pale colouring of her skin. But she seems okay, all things considered, and Tina sighs out in a relieved whoosh of breath.

The nurse goes over her mom’s condition with her dad, but Tina hardly takes in a word—the moment the nurse confirms that her mom will be okay, she tunes her out entirely. Instead, Tina drinks in the sight of her mom, brushing a careful thumb over her scraped knuckles and almost tearing up when her mom gives her a small smile in return.

Eventually, the nurse hurries off again and Tina’s dad slumps into a chair beside the bed. Tina barely glances his way, too scared to look away from her mom, convinced that if she so much as takes her eyes off her, something terrible will happen again.

“Tina,” her mom sighs. “I’m okay. You don’t need to look so worried.”

Tina shakes her head.

“I was so scared,” she manages, voice cracking under the tears she spent so long suppressing. They finally rush down her face in a flood of emotion, tasting salty where they converge in the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, baby,” her mom says, voice softening. “It’s going to be okay now, okay? Why don’t you go and get some rest, you look exhausted.”

Tina can’t help but laugh at that, an ironic, choking thing. “I look exhausted?”

“Well,” her mom smiles before shifting slightly and doing her best to smother a wince. “I’m already laying down and getting rest. I’m more worried about you.”

Guilt stabs Tina’s heart like a blade. Her mom’s the one in a hospital bed, with doctors and nurses hovering around outside to help if needed, and yet Tina’s the one acting like the world’s weighing down on her shoulders. It’s shameful in its own way.

Tina always thought she was strong enough to be her parents’ equal. She did well enough in school and had plenty of friends; her parents saw how grown up she was and even helped her plan her Halloween parties; her mom told her everything—every annoying thing someone at work said, every snippy little complaint about her dad forgetting to hang the washing out…

And here she is now. Comforting Tina like she’s a little kid in need of a nap and not a seventeen-year-old who should be better than this. So, she shakes her head, plastering on a smile even as her eyes sting with another wave of tears and, admittedly, exhaustion.

Before she can put up much protest, her dad pipes up to agree with her mom. It doesn’t leave enough room for anything more than Tina going along with what they want. Her dad almost follows before he hesitates, catching her mom’s eye. She nods back at him.

“Why don’t you see about finding some dinner for us two? I won’t be far behind you, I just need to have a talk with your mom.”

What is Tina supposed to do about that other than leave? She’s obligated to listen to her parents, even if she wants to stay. Besides, she’s sure she’ll be visiting her mom as often as she can until she’s discharged.

So, it’s fine. All this is fine.

When she gets to the door, Tina turns and looks back at her parents one last time. With all the other people talking in the room, she can’t make out what her parents are discussing. What she can make out is the way her father’s face pinches into a concerned frown.

Whatever it is they wanted to talk over without her must be serious. Resigned, Tina sets off in search of the cafeteria. It feels strange, pushing on through crowds of the distraught and the injured. Against her better judgement, her eyes catch and linger on the horror around her.

Nothing will ever be the same after this, not in Hawkins at least. Too much bad has happened, too much to even let herself think about.

By the time her dad finds her in the cafeteria that evening, the dinner that Tina bought them has long since gone cold.

—

School doesn’t reopen until a week later—a week filled with funerals and clean up and searching for anyone still buried under the rubble. During that time, Tina recovers what she can from her trashed house to cram into some other girl’s bedroom. She should probably count her lucky stars that its usual inhabitant left for college a year ago, otherwise she would be knocking elbows in this little space—seemingly so much smaller than her own room was.

She longs for home: for her corkboard of polaroids of herself and her friends, for each marker line creeping up her door frame dedicated to a year of her life, for her fuzzy blue blanket, and for so many more little comforts that she had taken for granted. Staying here, in someone else’s bedroom while her dad stays on the pull-out downstairs, makes her feel strangely like a jigsaw piece jammed into the wrong puzzle.

There’s nothing to be done about that, with the roof of her house half-collapsed it’s not like they have much choice other than this. She is grateful that her dad’s work friend—Mr. Daniels—took them in, but that doesn’t stop her longing for what she’s lost.

Returning to class brings back none of the normality she longs for, either. Sure, the cracks in the road outside have been hastily paved over for the most part and the classrooms have been deemed safe to return to despite whatever state the earthquake had left them in, but everything has so clearly shifted…

All Tina sees, everywhere she looks, are the empty seats. The ones from kids whose families fled the town are one thing, one type of grief for the friends she’s not sure she’ll ever see again. The rest are something else entirely, vacant seats that will never be filled; those seats offer no question to their absence in Tina’s life.

So far, she has been to eight funerals. Three of them were some of her best friends. She didn’t sleep the nights after any of those. After the last one, she hasn’t been able to bring herself to attend any more; it turns out that there’s only so many bodies you can handle saying goodbye to within such a short period of time.

Mr. Clarke clears his throat, trying to recapture the forlorn attention of the room. Even he can’t seem to muster a genuine smile so Tina doesn’t know how he expects the students to care about any of this. Honestly, she’s surprised the school has even bothered swapping teachers to fill in for staff absences with how little chance they have at passing their exams after all this. If their grief wasn’t enough, having a teacher so clearly unprepared to deal with older kids isn’t going to help them learn at all.

She remembers Mr. Clarke from middle school and almost, very briefly, feels bad for thinking poorly of him. He’d been a nice enough teacher. She’s sure he’s still nice enough, but she just doesn’t have it in her to care about stuff like that anymore. Not after everything. She’s not sure how she fits into this new, broken version of Hawkins; how the hell should she be able to care about how everyone else fits in?

Slowly, the eyes of the class do raise to the man where he stands, squirming at the front of the room, backdropped by the chalkboard covered in scrawled science Tina hasn’t understood a word of. She can’t help but think that their usual teacher would have explained it in a way that made so much more sense to her.

She doesn’t know if that teacher is one of the leavers or worse.

Everyone sits quietly as Mr. Clarke stumbles his way through telling them about the commemorative assembly that is going to be held in the gym. Both schools will be coming together in a few days time to remember their lost friends, or at least that’s the plan.

Silence hangs in the air for another excruciating moment. Then the whispering finally begins. Names get thrown around, ones Tina is sure must belong to the dead.

“Jason,” someone whispers.

“Carol,” says another.

“Nicole—”

The whispering gets cut off abruptly by the scraping of a chair as it’s shoved out from under its desk. Some kid launches himself to his feet and stalks out of the room, eyes red-rimmed. Behind him, the classroom door slams shut on a spluttering Mr. Clarke.

Whispers start up again in the wake of his sudden departure. This time, Tina tunes them out. Instead, she sets her thoughts adrift, steering away from anything too dour to think on. She doesn’t want to deal with this today. They’ve only been back at school for a day.

She isn’t ready for this yet. It doesn’t feel like there has been nearly enough time for any of them to come to terms with this. How the hell are they going to get through these last two months of school and—

“Tina!”

Blinking back to her senses, Tina looks up, across the lunch table and to whoever called her name. It’s Vicki, looking at her with wide, concerned eyes. She probably should be concerned, Tina can only vaguely recall walking to the cafeteria, she’d been so trapped in her own mind.

“Sorry, what did you say?” she asks.

It’s just the two of them, perched on the edge of a sparsely populated table. Their group used to be a lot bigger.

“I—” Vicki starts, hesitates, and then leverages a painfully forced smile onto her face. “I asked if you figured out what you wanted to do at college yet.”

She wants to wince, to cringe away from the inane topic. It makes her feel sick to pretend that everything is normal. People died, other people got hurt, the town is a mess. Why would they be worrying about stuff like this as if it means anything at all anymore?

“I don’t know. With my mom in the hospital everything’s changed. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

Vicki squirms uncomfortably at her confrontational tone, looking chastised. It makes her deflate a little, feeling suddenly very cruel. Just because Tina doesn’t know how to play at being normal, doesn’t mean she has to be such an ass to her friend over it. She still cares about her and being a bitch is only going to drive a wedge between them. It’s not like she has many friends left after everything, either.

Her hands tremble in her lap and she shakes them out as if that might banish some of her simmering nerves. It doesn’t. With a tense kind of control, Tina pushes up to her feet. Vicki’s eyes swivel up to her, surprised by the abrupt shift.

“Bathroom,” Tina chokes out, trying to tamper down the frustration in her voice.

“Tina…” Vicki starts but Tina is already walking away.

The lighting in the bathroom is dingy and off-putting, and yet the electric buzzing of those fluorescents still puts her in mind of sterile hospital walls. Her mom’s been making a great recovery, she reminds herself. She’ll be home before she knows it. Maybe then everything will start going back to normal.

The porcelain basin of the sink stares, glaringly white up at her as she leans over, splashing her face with metallic-tasting water from the old taps. Her ragged breaths send speckles of water back into it as it drips in trails down her face. She’s probably smudged her makeup now, and it didn’t even help at all.

With a choked sob, Tina turns her face upwards, meeting the paled expression of her reflection; eyes wide, droplets of water clinging to mascara-tinted lashes. But that’s not all she sees.

A sick feeling of horror settles deep in her stomach as she notices something from the corner of her eye—something hovering behind her, in the corner of the bathroom. The room had been empty when she came in. Heart hammering, startled by being snuck up on, Tina whirls around to see—

Nothing.

Just an empty, dingy, school bathroom. The green doors of toilet stalls stare back at her impassively as she clutches a hand to her chest, willing her racing pulse to settle.

It was nothing. It was her mind playing tricks on her. It had to be nothing. Because if not, how could she explain that fleeting glimpse of the ghost of Chrissy Cunningham?

—

Tina’s pen taps restlessly against the Daniels’ kitchen table, the only sound in the eerily silent house.

Sharing a living space with another family comes with all the chaos one would expect, with each of their routines clashing loudly and incompatibly as they stumble around each other each morning and night. And yet the quiet moments like this are almost worse, when everyone is out working or visiting the hospital or whatever else it is these people do. Aside from Tina, it’s empty. Abandoned, almost, like the rest of this god-forsaken ghost town.

She scratches a frustrated line through her pitiful homework attempt and pushes it away across the table, out of sight and out of mind as she stares distractedly out the window. The chair she sits on creaks as she leans to the side, trying to look out into the street. Usually at this time of the evening, kids would be running around, excited and playing in the warm spring air. Usually parents would be seen and heard, trying to cajole their kids inside for whatever they had cooked up or ordered in for dinner.

Tonight, there is nothing but a creeping sunset that paints the sky a dull pink, like drops of blood diluted in a lake of blue. There is no one finding time to play, and no one enjoying a peaceful evening, and Tina’s parents aren’t here. It’s just her, alone with her anxious mind.

She should be at the hospital, trying her best to be there for her dad and checking in on her mom. But going there again and again felt like poisoning herself, losing herself in worry that would set her heart pounding and mind spiralling. It doesn’t matter to her scared brain that she knows her mom is doing much better, she still can’t help but feel sick with worry.

And she’s so tired. It makes visiting her mom so difficult because her mom gives her this pitiful, concerned look whenever she sees her like this. Tina just can’t take that; being a burden to her parents instead of a place of support. They have nothing to be worried about, really. It— She’s just tired…

She can’t sleep with worrying about if something happened to her mom in the night, or if another earthquake might come to completely level this damn town. And what’s more, her mind hasn’t been able to stray far from the thought of what she saw—or what she thinks she saw—in that damn bathroom. Any time her mind has a chance to wander, her thoughts get inevitably dragged back to that sight.

She had only glimpsed her for a fleeting moment but that had been enough. Enough to see the shape of blood splatters on her cheer uniform and the inhuman pallor of her skin… Now, every sound—every creaking shift of this unfamiliar house, every car driving by, every sudden noise—leaves her jumping, expecting to see something horrific around her as if she’s being tormented by some twisted apparition. She hates it.

She should know better than this, she doesn’t even believe in ghosts! Whatever she saw must just be a trick of the mind. And yet.

With a frustrated groan, Tina pushes her chair out from the table and stands. Sitting around like this is doing her no good, either. It’s like she can’t escape any of this worry for even a second. Or, at least, she can’t when crammed into too-small rooms that have no space for the shape of her grief.

Her loaned keys chime against each other as she snatches them from the countertop. She just needs to get out of the house, walk around and clear her head. Maybe then all this anxiety can start to dissipate and the memory of that hallucination will fade.

Locking the door behind her, Tina wanders off in whatever direction her feet decide to take her.

The air is clear outside and she hopes that might ease some of the tension that she has been holding, coiled and aching, within her. It’s hard to remember that she doesn’t need to be prepared for something awful to happen, because chances are nothing will.

She wishes she believed that.

Every time she blinks back to awareness, she finds herself on a different stretch of road that she can’t recall making the conscious choice to head to. This walk clearly isn’t doing anything for her. Clear her mind? What a ridiculous idea. How the hell could a place as fucked up as Hawkins bring her any relief, no matter where she might go or what she might do? It’s like the only thing her body knows how to do here anymore is to run on autopilot—to keep her body moving as her thoughts keep on spiralling.

She stills, taking a frustrated breath and at least trying to keep track of where she’s ended up. Her eyes scan her surroundings, taking note of how the efforts to fix up the town haven't reached this far yet, great deep cracks still clear and precariously crisscrossing the roads, splitting the asphalt open to reveal the exposed bowels of the earth.

It’s not something she’s that surprised by. Ahead of her, the road turns off into the trailer park. It makes sense that no one has prioritised fixing up things around here. With the abandoned yellow streamers of police tape, catching and glinting in the golden hour, it’s only too easy to remember what happened here all too recently.

Tina cringes at the sight of them, dancing in the gentle breeze like they don’t know what they mean. Like they don’t know a girl was massacred inside that place. Still, she can’t quite tear her eyes away. For a long, breathless moment, she just stares, caught in the bone-deep wrongness of that place. And then, like ice slithering down her spine, a stomach-churning feeling of horror settles upon her. It takes a hold in her chest before she even realises the cause of it.

Just barely visible from this far away, lingering in the window of the Munson’s trailer, is the shape of a person, standing stock-still. The longer she stares, breaths shallow and fast under the weight of that settling dread, the more the distant shape seems to resemble a girl, its silhouette becoming more convincingly feminine as that agonising second draws out longer and longer, running on forever as her gaze refuses to budge from the sight.

It’s like time has stopped.

Tina doesn’t realise she’s stepping away until her feet scuff against the uneven ground and she nearly loses her balance. That, at least, is enough to break her out of her trance even if the terror sinking into her stomach refuses to dissipate; she rips her gaze away from the trailer as if burned. It feels like the shape of that figure is scorched into her retina now.

Unwilling to look back at that window, Tina runs.

—

Sitting through the commemorative assembly in the school’s gymnasium is like pulling teeth. Every word jars her, striking through with pained awareness of how overcrowded the room is playing host to two schools and yet not nearly as crowded as it should be.

She feels like an exposed nerve, too vulnerable for this. Her eyes burn with exhaustion and the threat of tears.

At some point she stops listening entirely, too mentally overwhelmed as she tries not to think about anything at all if it will get the ringing in her ears to stop. As she looks down at her hands, the shadows cast by the lines of her palms form a dark echo of the blood and grime she remembers from that day. She had to trim her nails as short as she could to get rid of the last traces of it.

When they’re finally dismissed, the end of the speeches coinciding with the end of the school day, Tina lingers behind at a shout of her name.

Waving over at her from through the dispersing crowd is Vicki. There are strained creases around the corners of her eyes as she weaves her way to meet Tina but she valiantly keeps a smile in place, something more than Tina can say for herself.

“You want to tag along with me? I’m heading to meet Samantha, she snuck some of her parents' booze in all the confusion so we’re going to meet up and let off some steam.”

“Samantha Stone?” Tina clarifies. “Since when do you hang around with Samantha?”

Vicki scoffs. “Since almost everyone else is gone.”

Tina presses her lips together to keep the sudden roll of nausea at that blasé statement at bay. Vicki seems to pick up on it, her expression dimming marginally with her concern, but she chooses not to question it. Instead, she strides on, head held high.

“Anyway, we all have people’s memories to drink to. I cannot deal with the aftermath of that stupid assembly while sober. So, you coming or what?”

Tina takes a steadying breath and follows. After all, it’s not like she’s got any better ideas.

The crowd that gathers at the edge of the school’s field is a mishmash of different people, most of whom Tina has only ever seen around each other in the classroom or at her own parties. They seem to clump together uncertainly, stilted conversations offered between each other about inane topics that Tina doesn’t have the energy to entertain.

Regardless, she loiters around with the group, accepting whatever drinks get thrust into her hand and taking great gulps to avoid joining any conversations. Listening is more than enough, if you can even class what she’s doing as listening.

Everyone else, at least, seems on the same page about getting shit-faced. As the hours creep by, shoulders finally start to slump and the group gets rowdier the drunker they get. Bottles are uncapped with grandiose claims of them being in honour of someone who couldn’t be there with them.

Silently, Tina raises her own drink, the faces of her friends flashing in her minds’ eye.

At some point, Vicki leaves her place at Tina’s side. She looks up to see her, arms interlocked, with Samantha and laughing the way she only does when she’s really tipsy. For a second, Tina considers going over to talk to them, but when she gets up from her spot on the bench her body feels clumsy and uncoordinated. It’s probably better that she stays here, leaning against the seat for support.

There’s another kid who could probably benefit from the same. He’s pale aside from a splotchy flush to his cheeks as he stumbles ungainly out from the tree line.

“Didn’t get lost taking a piss then?” his friend taunts as he wobbles his way back over to their side.

“I think I just saw a ghost,” he says in a daze.

Everyone laughs at that. Tina tries not to think at all.

The sun is creeping towards the horizon and Tina is far too many drinks in when the nausea finally hits her. It feels like a physical thing, crawling its way up her throat.

“Shit,” she gasps, floundering up onto her feet at last and heading blindly into the trees. At least there she might have just a smidge more privacy in her shame.

Her sneakers shuffle over uneven earth, hesitant at first until the need to puke becomes too much and she hurries further along, with all the uncoordinated grace she can muster. Knees meet the ground and an arm braces against a tree as she sucks in deep breaths. They slowly soothe the sickness away. In the end, she’s not sure if it’s better or worse that she didn’t actually vomit.

Head still hazy, she looks up and widens her awareness back to her surroundings.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she says, clambering back to her feet, as she spots them.

It’s a girl. It’s too far away to be sure but she looks to be dressed in a cheer uniform, at least from what Tina can see. The girl is curled around herself, sitting with her back against a tree and her head in her hands.

This could be it. This could be that same hallucination.

Tina should just go—whether or not this is real, she just needs to leave it alone. If this is just some other student from their drunken group, then her crying is none of Tina’s business. Hell, she’s had to step away for private moments herself and it’s not the sort of thing you want to be walked in on. And if this is Chrissy, then… Well, then that doesn't bode well to think about.

Leaves and twigs crunch underfoot, stealing any stealth she might have managed, as Tina approaches. Not like it matters, the girl doesn’t react at all, as if she can’t even hear her.

The closer she gets the less she can deny it. That strawberry-blonde hair, held back from her face by a green scrunchie; that small stature; the familiar cheer uniform, speckled with somehow still-red blood… She may not have known Chrissy personally, but Tina had certainly seen her around enough to be able to recognise her.

She slows to a stop, looking down at the figure of her. From here she can see that her head isn’t actually in her hands. She’s covering her ears, muttering something under her breath that Tina can’t quite make out without getting closer.

Tina’s mouth opens to speak but she finds it suddenly dry, her throat barren. She clears her throat, the sound perversely loud in the atmosphere around her.

“Chrissy?” she manages finally, voice little more than a whisper.

Chrissy’s head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and frantic. Her whole body tenses, posture coiling and shifting as if she’s preparing to bolt, and for a moment Tina feels that same need to flee echoed in herself. Neither of them do.

Tearful, blue eyes take in Tina’s face before some of the fight seems to drain from her, slumping infinitesimally against the tree behind her. Tina, though, doesn’t relax and her alcohol slowed mind fumbles to come to grips with the sight before her.

Chrissy, where she sits in the leaves and dirt and forest debris, is so pale. Every so often, the very vision of her seems to flicker in Tina’s sight, as if the girl herself were not fully corporeal… trapped between this world and the next.

“Are… Are you real?” Chrissy breathes, voice small and broken.

The irony of that startles a laugh from Tina before she can help it.

Shouldn’t she be the one asking that? Chrissy is the dead girl out of the two of them. If either of them should be mistrusting their minds right now, it should be Tina. Because if ghosts aren’t real, as Tina had always believed so strongly, then how can Tina be facing this right now?

“Am I real?” she scoffs, voice bordering on hysterical. “You’re the dead girl here.”

“What?” Chrissy asks in that same crushed tone.

“You’re dead,” Tina tells her, because what else is there to say?

Somehow, Chrissy seems to pale further, as if blood was rushing away from her non-existent face.

“No. N-no. I’m not, I can’t be. What are you talking about?”

“You died. In the Munsons’ trailer.”

“You’re lying. I’m right here—I can’t be—” Chrissy’s voice becomes shrill and stricken with panic before an anger steals over her features. “This isn’t funny. What kind of joke is that? I just—I need to get home.”

Tina scoffs, almost disbelieving, and steadies her swaying against a low-hanging branch.

“I went to your funeral. You’re dead. And I must be going crazy…”

The last part comes out half as a laugh, half as a sigh. It’s a fact she’s resigned herself to uncomfortably quickly, but what other explanation could there be? People don’t just see visions of dead girls sitting around and telling them they can’t be dead if they’re not mad.

Chrissy’s expression glazes over, seeming to be lost in her own mind as a fresh wave of tears give a new shine to those mournful eyes.

“You’re lying,” she says again, but this time she sounds more defeated than accusing, like it makes sense to her even if she doesn’t want it to be true.

Or Tina’s mind thinks Chrissy shouldn’t want it to be true—if Chrissy’s ghost actually was in front of her, that is. But she isn’t, because that would be preposterous. She’s just had too much to drink, and she’s been feeling paranoid, and it’s not as if she’s been able to rest since all of this began.

She doesn’t know why she’s indulging this in the first place.

Her mouth opens to say something to that effect. Surely she has some smartass comment about it all, but all that remains in her mind are the wispy impressions of the thought as she tries her best to reorient herself. In the end, she gets nothing out before a voice calls out for her.

Damn, she’s been out here for too long. She’s not even really sure how much time has slipped away without her notice between her leaving the gathering and ending up where she stands now.

Right, that decides it, she’s leaving. This—all of this—is something she doesn’t want any part in. Not ghosts, or hallucinations, or whatever any of this is and certainly not while she’s drunk. There are a thousand more important things she could be worrying about, she chides herself as she turns on her heel and sets her eyes on the way back. In fact, she’s mid-step when a feeble voice calls out for her.

“Please, don’t go. I’m scared to be alone…”

Tina pauses, her heart pounding.

“I need to get back,” she says; to herself, because there is no one else there.

For a moment, Chrissy is quiet. Tina almost thinks the hallucination has finally dissipated when she speaks up again.

“Will you come back?”

Tina’s heart stutters in her chest. This isn’t real. None of this is real. She turns to look behind her and Chrissy is gone, not even a trace of her to be seen.

“Tina!”

“Yeah,” Tina replies, the words mumbled to herself, as she finally unsticks her feet from the ground to return to the group.

---

chapter 2

#stsapphicminibang24 #chrissy cunningham #tina stranger things #chrissy x tina #cheerparty #fanfiction

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antigone-ks · 4 months ago

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Lantern of Evil

It's been almost 5 years since I posted this on AO3, so I thought it was time to clean up some typos and put it onto Tumblr.

MASTERLIST

Summary:

“You’re in a good mood today,” Natasha commented, holding the phone steady as Tony and Sam devolved into a slap fight. “Haven’t seen you smile this much since, y’know.”

“This is quality entertainment,” Steve said. “You don’t get this every day.”

“No you do not.” She turned the phone toward Bucky, who whistled as he sprinkled sea salt over the meat. He looked up, winked directly at her, then tossed the rest of the seasoning like a long-haired Salt Bae.

“But you seemed pretty chipper when you snuck back in before the show started.”

***

Or, Steve gets de-serumed and falls in love over art, old movies, and taxi dances.

Rating: E for Explicity, Eventually

Tags: Steve Rogers/Reader; Plus Size Reader; Natasha Romanov (Marvel); Tony Stark; Sam Wilson (Marvel); James "Bucky" Barnes; background Bucky/Nat - Freeform; Skinny Steve Rogers; Pre-Serum Steve Rogers; Post-Serum Steve Rogers; De-Serumed Steve Rogers; all of the combinations of serums and Steves; Slow Burn; Awkward Flirting; Awkward reader; Awkward Steve Rogers; neither of these goobers know what they're doing; shameless Letterkenny reference; False Identity; horrible misunderstandings; love in art galleries; love on bridges; love on front porches; will earn rating in later chapters; I hope; inappropriate use of a history degree; Short Reader; Profanity; Fluff; Angst; Fluff and Angst; Smut; Oral Sex; Vaginal Fingering; Making Out; definitely third base; not all-the-way parking but pretty close; Biting; Cunnilingus; Fellatio; Vaginal Sex; Steve wants to be clear that this isn't fucking; Making Love

Chapter One: The Greens of June

And all the greens of June/ Come blowing through the door/ They make me want to live/ Like I never have before

____________________

You settled onto the bench, bag on the floor. The museum had barely opened – a bad sign; it meant you were either blocked or stir-crazy. Or both. Both was bad. You’d had the museum on your list of things-to-do-if-you-had-time, but when you’d first come to town you’d expected that there would never be time. You were getting the change of scenery and relief from responsibilities that you’d always wanted, so of course you never imagined that the same old problems would plague you.

Namely, writer’s block. Imposter Syndrome. “Every word I write is trash and I should sleep in the dumpster”-itis.

You’d gotten this amazing opportunity to take a sabbatical, move half a continent away, and just research the hell out of your magnum opus, a stroke of historical genius. Or what would be your magnum opus, if you could get the damn thing off the ground. Right now it was stuck at brevi opus.

Opus minimis.

You had piles of research, and a good starting point, but you either got stuck on the writing of it or spent days on end organizing the data until the sun coming in the curtains made you feel like a Morlock crawling out of its hole.

So you’d hit the museum.

It’d actually been working pretty well for you, the last few weeks, and you’d started making it part of your routine. Rather than wait for the Bad Times to force you out of the house, you’d come down every two or three days and just . . . pick something. A painting, a sculpture, whatever caught your eye, and you’d study it until your mind felt clear. Sometimes your mind would wander far enough afield that it circled back to your work, and you’d excitedly jot down a new avenue to explore or a turn of phrase you liked. Sometimes you got nothing but a peaceful feeling. Either way, it was good for you, and the initial guilt you’d felt at not being Productive At All Times had faded.

It sort of was productive, anyway. You told yourself so.

For the last couple of visits, you’d sat with Hamilton’s Joan of Arc and the Furies. It was Shakespeare’s Joan, about to be captured by the English and burned for heresy. It’s not . . . good . . . you think, you don’t like it, but there’s something about it. It’s like two different paintings in one, dark and bright, overbearing and reticent.

There aren’t many people around yet, no kiddie camp visits today, so you’re alone in this part of the gallery. The docents are used to you by now, and don’t bother eagle-eyeing you. You lean your chin on your hand and stare hard at Joan, at her Merveilleuse gown, which, like, didn’t Hamilton know she wore pants? Like, famously? But anyway.

“You know,” a deep voice said, “I’ve always wondered what’s going on with the light down by that first fury. What does it symbolize?”

You look over your shoulder at the speaker, a slightly-built blond man with a sketchbook under his arm. He’d shown up a couple of times before, wandering around with more purpose than the average tourist, like he knew which pieces he liked and why. He had a delicate face and serious eyes with just ridiculous lashes. You smiled uncertainly.

“Like, where even is it coming from? Under her skirt?” you ask, and he looks down at you and whoa nelly those are very blue eyes and chuckles.

“Is it the lantern of justice?” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

“Probably not in Shakespeare. Maybe a lantern of evil.”

“She keeps a lantern of evil in her skirt?” He’s smiling openly at you now, and it’s a really nice smile, and that’s the only excuse you have for what comes out of your mouth next.

“Lantern of evil – in my pants!” you chirp, grinning.

His eyebrows shot up and he gave an incredulous hah.

“Like, like the game?” you say hurriedly. “Where you add ‘in my pants’ to a quote, or a movie title?” You can hear your voice rising nervously and fiddle with your glasses to avoid looking at him. “One ring to rule them . . . in my pants?”

He’s laughing now – probably more at you than at the joke – but it’s enough to relax you a little bit.

“I have never played that game,” he said, eyes dancing. “But I know just the person to try it with. I’ve seen you here before,” he went on, glancing back at the painting. The tips of his ears went very pink.

“Yeah, this is turning into my happy place when work’s not going so well.” You look at Joan again and clear your throat. “I think I saw you, too . . . maybe Sunday?” Not that I noticed you. I’m not a creeper. I notice nothing. I can barely see.

He nodded and shrugged. “Probably, yeah. I’ve been here a lot over the past week.”

“Work got you down, too?” you ask. He kind of purses his lips and nods. Taking a breath, you gesture to the empty half of the bench. “Want to share Joan with me? She’ll take your mind off it.”

His smile is a slow, gentle thing, and even though you say nothing more until it’s time to leave, you feel warmer for sitting near him.

***

“Because they’ll clog up the drain.” Tony’s voice is clipped.

“They get rid of odors,” Natasha points out.

“So it was you.”

“You think I drink that light roast nonsense?” She looks up as Steve enters, the light of battle in her eyes. Well, the light of annoying Tony. It’s not hard. “Weak.”

“Now you’re a coffee snob, Romanoff? You – “ Tony points a pair of tongs at Steve “ – do some reconnaissance, rally the troops, whatever it is you do, and catch this villain.”

Steve clucks his tongue and fails to hide a grin. “Coffee grounds again? You know, we could just get a Keurig and solve that problem easily.” He ducks as both Tony and Natasha turn on him, allied in outrage.

“Just for that,” Tony says, “you get whichever steak I overcook.”

Steve eyes the barstools at the island. He can get into them now, but it involves just enough scrambling that it hurts his dignity. No one said anything the first time he did it, not even Tony, and that was somehow worse than teasing would have been. He’s not broken, for God’s sake. He’s a man of temporarily reduced stature. It’ll be fixed in no time, Bruce and Tony and Helen have promised, but . . .

He’d read a book once that described a gnome as a person whose ‘belligerence was compressed into a body six-inches high and, like many things when they are compressed, had an inclination to explode.’[1] Steve didn’t consider himself belligerent – although he had the urge to cross himself in penance and hope that Bucky was in a different building when he thought it – but he did feel like every human emotion was currently packed into a body too small to hold it all. This body didn’t fit, except that it did, and Steve honestly wasn’t sure which feeling was worse.

He leaned against the counter with – he hoped – an insouciant air and nodded at Tony. “’s long as I can gnaw through it.”

“Are you impugning my grilling skills, Rogers?”

“Wait, you’re gonna grill those?” Sam and Bucky entered the kitchen, apparently fresh off a sparring match. Sam’s skin glistened with sweat, and Bucky wasn’t much better off. Sam might not have super serum in his veins, but he wasn’t a pushover in the ring.

“How else d’you cook ‘em?” Bucky asked, wrinkling his nose at Sam.

“You sear ‘em on the stovetop in a cast-iron skillet,” Sam said, holding up one finger, “finish ‘em in the oven,” two fingers, “serve with a garlic-herb butter.” Three fingers, waved in Bucky’s face.

Natasha leaned on the counter next to Steve and pointed her phone toward the argument. “Every time,” she whispered, hitting "record."

“Every time,” Steve answered.

“In the oven? Cook like a man, Sam!”

“Grill makes ‘em too dry,” Sam insisted.

“Hey!” Tony snapped his tongs at Bucky. “My meat. My rules.” He straightened his shoulders under Sam’s withering look. “On the grill, flip once a minute for the good grill marks.”

“That’s overhandling.” Sam’s tone suggested he was heading straight to church to light all of the candles for Tony’s soul.

“Wait – everyone, wait,” Steve broke in. Natasha quirked her lip at him, annoyed that he was ruining the show. He winked at her. “The real issue here is, aren’t you gonna season those things?”

“Yeah, where’s the salt and pepper, bud?” Bucky asked.

“Don’t start with me,” Tony warned.

“Where’s the steak spice,” Sam asked, rummaging through the cupboards. “I made you a steak spice months ago. My own blend, Tony. I gifted it to you. I’m not eating one of your bland-ass steaks again.” Tony abandoned the meat in favor of bodily hauling Sam away from the cupboards, giving Bucky time to grind at least a little peppercorn on each of the steaks.

“ – my steaks alone!” “ – killing the flavor, man. Killing the flavor!” “ – oversalting!” “ – can’t cook ‘em right, you leave it to someone who can!”

“You’re in a good mood today,” Natasha commented, holding the phone steady as Tony and Sam devolved into a slap fight. “Haven’t seen you smile this much since, y’know.”

“This is quality entertainment,” Steve said. “You don’t get this every day.”

“But you already seemed pretty chipper when you snuck back in before the show started.”

Steve’s eyes were wide with injured innocence. “Snuck? Back in? I –“

“Can it. I don’t care – probably no one will recognize you – but if Tony finds out he’s going to turn into Chicken Little about security.”

“Tony can go lay an egg,” Steve said firmly, making Natasha snort with real laughter.

She sighed. “As hilarious as this is, I’m getting hungry." her voice carried across the kitchen. "Knock it off of or I’m calling Rhodey in.”

Tony straightened, Sam’s arm still around his neck. “Betrayal, Romanoff. I feel betrayed.”

“Yeah, no calling in the brass,” Sam complained. “We can settle this on our own.”

“Better settle that meat on the grill before the others get here,” Steve said. “Want help?”

“Excuse me,” Tony said, affronted. “I can handle the meat.”

The words left Steve’s mouth before he could stop them “ – in my pants?”

Natasha dropped the phone.

____________________

[1] Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant

case/lang/viers – “Greens of June”

And all the greens of June/ Come blowing through the door/ They make me want to live/ Like I never have before

Read Chapter Two

#steve rogers #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers x reader #my fanfiction

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lost-walmartbag · 1 year ago

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hiii!! do u have a potential post/finish date for first impressions pt4? ive been rereading the parts like every other day i cant get enough of ur writing omg.

Warning: Swearing

Background: After dinner, Liane suggests you and Eric go out for the night.

Status: Ongoing

Previous part

Next part

'Night out'

Dinner was tense, to say the least. Liane would either not speak or ask only Eric questions. She wouldn't even eat the potato salad you made and looked offended when Eric seemed to love it.

"Honestly babe this is great." He said with a soft smile.

You gave a simple nod feeling the cold glare Liane was shooting your way. Her food was honestly amazing but so filling and kinda greasy. You felt like if you ate more than the small portion you served yourself you'd gain half your body weight overnight.

"Your cooking is so good Ms. Cartman." You said trying your best to salvage the night, and foolishly hoping with that one comment she's immediately love you.

She gave a forced smile and nodded before turning back to Eric. "So honey you look like you lost a lot of weight are you eating alright?"

She was right, of course. Eric had lost a bit of weight since you first met him, it wasn't too much but it was noticeable. You've seen a picture of him as a kid and he was always chubby, but now he gained some muscle, and honestly? He looked amazing.

"Oh. Yeah, I'm eating ok. Y/N never really stops cooking." He said with a chuckle, seemingly not as nervous anymore. "And we go to the gym sometimes so yeah I guess I have."

Liane took in a sharp breath, her nostrils flared and her grip on her glass tightened. "Well isn't that wonderful? Seems like you changed a lot since you left me."

This made Eric gain all that nervous energy back. And you can see why. She said it like it was meant to harm him. Like her words were a knife and she was aiming for his stomach.

"Yeah, I guess so.." He said shifting in his seat.

"You haven't called since you left." Another stab. "Was starting to think you forgot about me."

She put her fork and knife down and gave a small smile. It was insincere, angry. But you weren't sure if Eric saw that. "So I'm glad you came.

"Y-Y/N wanted to meet you so I thought so yeah know...thought it was a good idea." He said looking at Liane but avoiding her eyes.

"Oh. Well, I guess I have you to thank, Y/N." She said darting her cold eyes to you, and you can tell it killed her a bit inside to say that. She turned back to Eric and gave a sickly sweet smile. "You two staying long?"

"Maybe just the night," Eric said, biting his lip.

"That just won't do!" She said with a shocked expression. Don't you want to see your friends again?" Liane said gathering the empty plates on the table. "In fact, why don't you go out tonight? I'm sure the boys would love to see you."

You got a sinking feeling in your stomach at her suggestion. God, if she hated you, how would his friends react?

"I-I don't know...I mean are they even still in town? I'm sure they're busy." Eric said trying to figure out how to say no without the words coming out of his mouth.

"I insist! Most of them are still in town. Stan visits every now and then. Kyle and Kenny work at the school. In fact, I bet they're all at the bar downtown as we speak." Liane said before turning to you and dropping her 'motherly' voice. "Y/N wouldn't mind going. Would you?"

You hated how much this woman scared you. "N-nope! Don't mind at all! L-let's go I'd love to meet everyone." You said, giving an unconvincing laugh.

Eric bounced his leg and nodded. "Okay...yeah let's go."

You and Eric stood up and speed walked out the door. Once you two were in the car you both let out a sigh of relief.

"I told you this was a bad idea." Eric said starting the car.

"Yeah well it would have helped if you told me she was fucking crazy!" You said running your hands down your face. "I feel like I aged twenty years. I started worrying about my morgage in there."

"Why do you think I never wanted you to meet her?"

"I don't know! I thought you were like planning to break up with me soon or something!" You said as he drove.

He slammed down on the break petal and turned to look at you. "Y/N are you kidding?" He said, clearly offended. "Y/N you are the only person in my life that I turn back to. I left everything here because I couldn't fucking stand it."

You felt your cheeks heat up as Eric looked at you with his blue and brown eyes. He cupped your cheeks and pressed his lips into a line. "I can stand you. You are the only person I never get tired of."

"You are the only thing that makes sense." He continues. "My mom says she loves me but doesn't want me to be happy. My friends fucking hate me but still keep me around. Y/N you mean everything you say. When you say you love me I don't even fucking question it. God you're so-"

He cut himself off and let out a small frustrated growl. He grabbed your cheeks and pressed his lips into yours. You melted into his touch and kissed back. One of his hands moved to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, gently tugging. You gasp softly and he takes the chance to slide his tongue into your mouth.

The kiss quickly heated up. Your hands move down to his arms trying to keep yourself grounded, feeling that if you let go you'd float away. Before you two could get enough there was a honk behind the car, reminding you both that you were parked in the middle of the road. Eric let out a frustrated growl and reluctantly pulled away from your lips.

"Asshole could just move around." He muttered as he continued driving.

You let out a small laugh and leaned your head against the window. You felt less nervous about the rest of the night but you couldn't get rid of that nagging feeling in your stomach. What would his friends be like? Why would Liane make you and Eric leave if she didn't want you around? What was she playing at?

"What are your friends like?" You asked softly.

"I wouldn't really call them friends." He said looking ahead at the semi-empty road. "I liked hanging around Kenny, he was pretty cool. Stan was fine but he was more Kyle's friend than me or Kenny's. And Kyle....Kyle and I didn't really like each other."

You look over at him wondering if you should ask what you're about to. "Why not?"

"It's a long story...not ready to talk about all that yet." He said with a sigh.

"Remember last time you weren't ready to talk about something?" You asked half-teasingly. "Had to have a weird dinner with your mom who clearly hates me."

"I know but I just...It'll take me some time so be patient yeah?" He said parking in front of a small bar.

"Yeah okay." You said with a sigh. "Now let's go meet your....childhood acquaintances?"

Eric grimaced and chuckled. "Maybe calling them friends is better."

A/N: You guys can make me do literally anything you ask. I love seeing you guys enjoy my writing. But part 5 won't come for a bit, gotta give attention to my other stories. And I don't have a set schedule I just post when I post, but yeah if you guys love my writing and ever want an update on the next part just comment so it's a bit easier to give more updates. And if you don't wanna miss a part ask to be added to the taglist and I'll add you. I literally will not reject anyone who asks. a million people can ask and I will tag all of them. But yeah thank you sm for reading. Love ya'll bye bye.

Taglist: @jessiegerl @stephs-inluv @breadandbutter33

#south park #south park x reader #fanfic #south park x you #x reader #kyle broflovski #stan marsh #eric cartman #eric cartman x reader #sp cartman #south park cartman #cartman south park

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elfboypussy · 1 month ago

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i deleted the post bc i was pissed off someone made fun of me for it but the post i made yesterday while off the shits abt how playing an elf in dai feels like what it’s like to be jewish in america and im saying it again bc actually i dont think i was wrong for my own opinion and experiences

the thing that made me say it was when i got to the orlesian ball and someone immediately started whispering abt how ghastly dalish elves are and i was like. oh this is just 1:1 how its like growing up jewish in a catholic town. and then i started thinking abt how almost everyone else in the game is andrastian and i was like ohh my character wouldn’t be and everyone is constantly making assumptions abt my inquisitor n his religion bc of it. n visiting dalish elves after being around the inquisitions crazy religious shit makes you feel like an outsider when you’re not. And there’s specific facial features that ppl latch onto to mock you for. And so on

anyways i think relating my own religious identity experiences to the game is valid and i think the dalish elves are written to be relatable to multiple minorities including jewish people so if you have a critique of my analysis dont just say im stupid i’m just sharing my experience on my own blog lmao. ok bye

#i blocked them but idk the response just pissed me off #ever.txt

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shiveringfrogspawn · 6 months ago

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From what I remember Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator was basically an episode of Doctor Who??

The Great Glass Elevator (which I am hereforth referring to as the GGG because I refuse to type that out every single time) was basically a see-through TARDIS. It had loads of buttons all over the walls, some of which made it go different directions/speeds, and some of which changed conditions inside (turned gravity on/off, etc.). I cannot remember whether or not it was bigger on the inside because I read this when I was eleven.

In the beginning they travel in time because, long story short, Charlie’s Grandma Georgina takes too many youth pills and ages herself back to before she was born. They have to travel in time to get her back from being ‘a minus’ before she disappears. They end up in a smoky, dark place full of monsters from which they have to rescue her and take her to the real world.

There is a hotel in a space ship for very rich people (Voyage of the Damned: Christmas special 2007, End of the World: S1 E2) that Willy Wonka visits with Charlie & fam later on that’s really nice yet FULL of these aliens called Vermicious Knids that look like giant, flesh-covered eggs balanced on the pointy end (which feels very much like an RTD-era monster if you ask me).

Willy Wonka is similar to the Doctor, with his crazy inventions and unbelievable genius. He fights the Vermicious Knids when they try to get inside the GGG to kill them. He basically adopts Charlie (as the Doctor does with companions), and helps the rest of his family to lift themselves out of poverty.

He is friends with ‘aliens’ (the Oompa-Loompas) and gets along just fine with all manner of creatures, travels extensively, and nobody knows exactly how old he is (remember, kids: in the book he is not a youthful Johnny Depp but a sprightly old man!). There is nobody quite like him. He dresses strangely and is generally agreed to be eccentric yet sweet, however he has a dark and dangerous side which can emerge. He doesn’t have very good social skills, but he largely gets along with the people of the town.

Anyway this is a very long post about a book I hardly remember, but all this to say: I want RTD to get Timothée Chalamet’s Willy Wonka into s15 so I can see him be devoured by a ginormous, carnivorous flesh-egg.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

#doctor who #willy wonka #charlie and the chocolate factory #charlie and the great glass elevator #roald dahl #vermicious knids should be a dw monster FIGHT ME #wonka #wonka movie #timothée chalamet #the end of the world #voyage of the damned #rtd #rtd era #dw #new who #nuwho #the doctor #dr who

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wyntereyez · 5 months ago

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Over the weekend, I made a few posts about my family driving me crazy, but never explained anything. I think I'll do that now. So here's another Screaming into the Void.

I spent the weekend in North Carolina, in a mountain town, visiting my Dad and his wife. He'd just had knee replacement surgery not quite two months ago, and wanted to see his children.

I didn't want to go.

I even had an excellent excuse not to go, what with my job not giving enough hours and barely scraping by with my bills. But, no, for some reason, there is a direct flight from here to there for under $80 round trip, and my Dad offered to buy the ticket. I had no real excuse to refuse. So I went along with it because a) he's been nagging me to visit and at least this wouldn't cost me anything and I could get it over with, and b) unfortunately, I've been conditioned to be a good little doormat with my family.

My sister was also going. She was even texting me about how excited she'd be to see me, and how we could stay up late and 'girl talk.'

I just told myself, "At least there would be waterfalls." Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, right?

Sure.

Now, my family isn't intentionally cruel. They're just somehow oblivious to how much they just don't understand me, and manage to constantly say things that get on my nerves.

We of course couldn't go a whole weekend without my Dad saying, "You're just like me" about something he wildly misinterprets and I'm not like him at all. In this case, it was traveling. I'm always a little 'off' after a long trip, which makes me a bit listless. I was also unenthusiastic, which had more to do with this particular trip than traveling in itself. But, my Dad thinks I'm just like him about traveling, that I don't like doing it. Before he met his current wife, his vacations were all staycations, and any trips he made were work-related. After meeting her, he'd drive down to see her (he was in Michigan at the time and she was in NC). That was the only traveling he did, and he was content not to have to do more than he needed to.

I, in contrast, have flow to England for a convention. Twice. Our views on travel aren't the same.

There was also the CONSTANT joking about how my sister should bring her children down and I could babysit them. Even my sister's husband said this during a video call she made to him and the kids. I heard this at least half a dozen times in two days. They'd all laugh when I snarl "No." Because my aversion to taking care of others due to caretaker burnout is funny to them. My Dad even joked I should have come down and help take care of him after his surgery when he was grouchy and in pain.

I don't care how terrible I sound, I just can't take care of any of them ever again without losing the last of my sanity.

And then there was how they just didn't listen.

I was there a year ago for their wedding. With Dramamine, I was okay in the mountains. Unfortunately, right before leaving, I realized I was out. I figured I'd get some in North Carolina. But my Dad assured me he had plenty, and he'd give me some. Fine. Cool. That saves me money.

Except...my Dad ignored me asking for Dramamine until about ten minutes before we left to see some waterfalls on Saturday morning. Now, Dramamine needs about an hour to start working. I wanted time for it to, you know, actually be working before getting into a car.

Nope.

And oh, did I pay for that.

For the wedding, I rode in the back of my Dad's truck, which is, shockingly, a big F150. *eyeroll* I'd had my own supply of Dramamine which I took when needed, and I was fine.

This time, my Dad couldn't really drive far, so we took his wife's car.

Five minutes on those mountain roads - which didn't even take us out of their subdivision - I was feeling nauseous. I was overheating and clammy and trembling. We stopped at a gas station, because I'd needed a soda for the caffeine, and I'd made the mistake of mentioning I got caffeine headaches if I didn't have any, and my Dad's wife decided that was what was actually wrong and that I should try chugging my soda and ignored my insistence that it was motion sickness.

I KNOW MY BODY BETTER THAN YOU DO.

I kept getting worse, my Dad's wife asked my Dad how long it typically takes for Dramamine to kick in and he said it usually started working around then. For him, maybe. Also, why does it not occur to you that I want it to work BEFORE I get motion sickness and PREVENT it?!

Long story short, I ended up projectile vomiting. Which I'd never done before. Fortunately, it was on the side of the road. Even after that, they were asking if I felt better now and wanted to try more waterfalls.

Um, NO?!

So we went back to the house. They ignored me when I said I was fine with them showing my sister around and leaving me alone, but I guess they didn't want me to feel left out.

Please, PLEASE, leave me out.

The next day, they wanted to try again, to a closer location in my Dad's truck. I was reluctant, which you would think would be understandable.

But I agreed, because I am Good Obedient Daughter. And once again, my Dad didn't give me the Dramamine until right before we left, this time because it was an impulse decision and they decided they were going NOW.

(My Dad has always been very good at telling me we're going places right before we're going. I've never had time to actually properly get ready.)

This time, we were going to a tourist site that lets you pan for gems. Which, okay, that's kind of awesome, but you want to know why they chose it?

Because of a meme I put on Facebook about adults never sharing their favorite rocks.

A meme.

I can never post anything on Facebook again, because apparently anything I post is either a dig at family, or a huge part of my personality, rather than a freaking MEME.

It turns out, the truck does indeed make me less sick. And the tourist place was close. By the time we got out, the Dramamine had had enough time to do its thing, and I was fine.

I still refused to take another trip that day, though.

I was also forced to socialize with my Dad's wife's son and his wife. I know he's technically my step brother, but we're all adults and have barely interacted, so he's nothing to me. But I had to listen to his full medical history, because it apparently fascinates him. And small talk gives me anxiety, because I'm used to being misunderstood, bullied, or having it shared with complete strangers. I'm in a constant war between wanting to share fun things, and holding back because it never goes well for me.

Meanwhile, I couldn't even eat half the dinner because it had two vegetable dishes that I have texture issues with.

These last two are, admittedly, 'me' issues.

The last fun bits? My Dad and sister were already planning a big summer visit, and assumed I'd be coming as well. At no point was I asked. They also talked about how they'd considered a Michigan visit in which I flew to North Carolina, then drove up with them. In the car that tried to kill me. Again, a trip they never asked me about, and one in which I'd have no control and be completely reliant on them.

My Dad also mentioned he was hoping we'd fall in love with this area and all eventually move there, too.

No. No. NO. You literally live on the side of a ravine. You get icy roads. I would be in a constant state of anxiety. And illness. I don't thrive in isolated areas. Do you know me at all.

Oh. And the girl talk my sister mentioned? She was playing on her phone most of the time. Only some of that was because she was talking with my nephews.

So yeah. My family isn't intentionally terrible, but I'm too broken for them to handle.

#wyntereyez: personal #wyntereyez screams into the void #fun with family

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thebiggerbear · 22 days ago

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is there any chance you could do a prequel of "Sleep. I'll keep you safe." [Tom x reader]? just you know, exploring their relationship and reader's past before she came to town (how she escaped, how her husband found her, etc) or how tom and reader met and fell in love (in detail)? like a little slow burn story but without the killing stuff 😭 i would go crazy if you actually did it (ps. i really loveee your writing)

Hi! Awww you're very sweet, thank you so much!!! I actually have something I've been working on for a while since I posted that actually. It was the beginning of what that prompt response was going to be, the background story I guess you could say, that ended up being inspiration for what I ended up coming out with. Though it's slightly different, it's in that same universe kind of? I'm not sure when I'm going to have time to sit down and put the finishing touches on it to finally put it out there but here's an excerpt from one of the chapters:

The doorbell rang halfway through your visit and she appeared a little flustered, as if she forgot she was expecting someone, and happily went to answer the door. You had been making quiet clucking noises at Minnie, Millicent’s cockatoo, through the bars of her cage when you heard the latter making her way back into the room, followed by someone.

“Tom, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot you were dropping by today.”

You heard a warm chuckle followed by “That’s alright.”

You turned in time to see Millicent step across the threshold followed by a man dressed in jeans, work boots, a hoodie, and a baseball cap. He was a very attractive man, his cheeks filled with days-old stubble, green eyes that were bright and inviting, white teeth against a smile that was warm and even more inviting. Had you been someone else, you might have thought you just hit the jackpot if he turned out to be single, but you weren’t someone else, and instead you tensed, trying to make yourself as small as possible while you forced a pleasant smile onto your face.

“Oh, let me just grab that check from the counter.” Millicent made her way over to the section of kitchen counter where she kept a pile of papers.

“It’s alright, Millie, take your time,” the man assured. His eyes landed squarely on you, his smile growing wide. “Who’s this?”

You tensed even more and you could feel the muscles in your face tighten as you kept the smile plastered there.

“Oh,” Millicent huffed, coming back over with an envelope in her hand. “Where are my manners? Y/N, this is Tom Anderson. He’s a handyman of sorts around these parts. Tom, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s my new neighbor, just moved next door into the old Saliman house.” You tensed at her giving away your name and new address just like that to some stranger. He might not be a stranger to her, but you had no idea who this guy was, no matter how friendly he might seem. It had been your experience that you certainly could never judge a book by its nice cover; there could be horror stories galore underneath it.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Tom stuck out his hand. You hesitated for a moment before shaking it, something that didn’t go unnoticed by either person but thankfully wasn’t commented on. His hand felt warm and…nice, but you’d felt warm and nice hands before that later turned into burning, hard, and punishing hands.

You pulled yours back to your tea cup, fighting the urge to wipe it against the leg of your pants. “Nice to meet you, too.” You kept your tone softer and quieter than it would have been if it was just you and Millicent.

“Are you ladies having a tea party or something?” His eyes bore into you and though they were open and appeared warm, almost showcasing a glimmer of laughter at his gentle teasing, he was obviously laser-focused on you. Your nerves were skyrocketing and you quickly set your cup down on the table and took your seat.

The older woman picked up on your discomfort and offered Tom the envelope she had been holding. “Oh, hush, Tom. You know us old ladies like our tea in the afternoons and Y/N was nice enough to indulge me.”

Tom chuckled again and accepted that envelope. “That is really nice of her.” He shot you a wink and you immediately dropped your gaze to the tea setting. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Tom turn a confused expression onto Millicent who shook her head.

“Well, that should be all of it, Tom. Thank you for helping me with the leak downstairs. I swear these old rusty pipes are just going to finally give one day and flood me out.”

“Nah,” Tom assured. “As long as we prep them before winter hits, I think you’ll be fine. They just need a little love and attention, that’s all. You do that and they’ll be just fine.”

Your eyes snapped up to find him staring back at you, the warm smile back on his face from earlier.

“It was nice to meet you. If you ever need help fixing up that old house next door, Millie here has my cell number. You can call anytime.”

You gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Thank you. It was nice meeting you.” You absolutely did not intend to take him up on his offer but you forced yourself to sit there and remain polite rather than run from the room like you wanted to, for Millicent’s sake if nothing else.

He gave you a nod, that bright smile not dampened any at your polite dismissal of him, and he turned to your neighbor. “Thanks again, Millie. If you need me to clean out that fireplace, give me a call.”

“Oh, you know I’ll be calling you soon. Say hi to Sally for me.”

“Will do,” he laughed. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon tea, ladies.” Flashing a quick smile in both your directions, he finally turned and left. You only started to relax when you heard the front door close.

Millicent was studying you but she kept her observations to herself and simply took her seat, picking up the tea pot and leaning towards you. “More tea?”

You gave her a genuine smile of thanks and held your cup up.

What do you think? Is it worth pursuing and finishing up to post? Let me know. 😊

And thank you very much for your kind words!!! 💖💖

(dividers by @firefly-graphics)

#asks #tom hanniger x reader #fic requests

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liaromancewriter · 1 year ago

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Meet The Parents

Premise: Sienna is nervous about meeting Max’s parents, aka, her soon-to-be future in-laws.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Sienna Trinh x Max Valentine (M!OC) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,340

A/N: I've been missing Maxenna lately and got inspired by Meghan Trainor's Made You Look. I'm using @choicesflashfics week 44, prompt 1 (in bold). Submitting to @choicesmonthlychallenge August, National Couple's Day.

The walk-in closet in the swanky Georgetown apartment was littered with discarded outfits, a kaleidoscope of colors and fabrics. Time was running out, and the lone occupant in the room was ready to scream from frustration.

Wearing only a black lace bra and matching panties under her robe, Sienna Trinh riffled through the clothes hanging on the rack for a suitable dress. She should have gone shopping earlier; now, it was too late to do anything.

Too short. Too frumpy. Too slutty. Sienna ran through the litany of everything wrong with her clothes.

She’d spent the last eight years in and out of hospital scrubs and clothes designed for comfort during twelve-fourteen-hour shifts. Her limited wardrobe was not intended for fancy dinner parties with billionaires.

Sienna had moved to DC and in with Max Valentine a month ago. They’d been traveling ever since, first to visit her family in New Orleans, then vacations in St. Thomas and Paris. Now that she and Max were back in town, his parents had invited them for dinner.

Maybe she should fake a headache and end the misery now. Except, they would see right through that excuse, and she’d have forever damaged her relationship with her boyfriend’s parents.

Sienna glimpsed at the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and her face fell at the sight of her reflection. Her make-up-free face was haggard from worry, and strands of brown hair escaped whichever way from a messy bun atop her head.

“Whoa. What happened in here?” Max asked from behind her.

Sienna spun on her heels to see him standing in the doorway. His suit jacket was folded neatly on his arm, and a dark gray tie hung loose around his neck. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing an expensive watch wrapped around his left wrist.

Seeing him looking like that after a full day at work, Sienna felt even shabbier.

Max was staring at the mess on the floor, eyes wide in astonishment. He was a neat freak, and it was probably driving him crazy. Great. One more thing she couldn’t get right, she thought in despair.

“I can’t do this,” Sienna said, her voice hitching on unshed tears. “Please apologize to your parents for me. Tell them I came down with a cold, a stomach bug, or something contagious. Just make it up.”

Max slowly walked towards her, his green eyes wary.

“I can do that,” he said, gently touching her shoulders. “But if I’m going to lie for you to my parents, you’ll have to explain why first. And make it good.”

“I have nothing to wear!” Sienna exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Okay,” he nodded. “I have a sister, so I know that’s Girl Code for ‘I’m nervous, and everything I own is ugly.’ Did I get that right?”

Sienna deflated when she realized he was serious rather than dismissive as she’d been expecting. She should have known better. After all, he’d never trivialized her feelings when they were friends. Why should now be any different?

“Here,” he said, folding her into his embrace.

Sienna nuzzled into him, the fabric of his dress shirt soft against her cheeks, and inhaled his scent. Her earlier panic dissipated the longer he held her.

“Want to tell me what’s wrong?” he said softly against her ear. “You’ve met my parents before, remember? You even had dinner at their house last year.”

Sienna leaned back in his arms, her hands resting on his upper arms, and smiled ruefully.

“Yes, but I was always Cassie’s friend before. Now I’m living with their son and heir, a man I barely went on a handful of dates with before moving in with him a month later. I’d be suspicious of me too.”

“First of all, Cassie and I are both their heirs,” Max said, leading her to the padded bench in the middle of the room. “Second, you and I have been circling each other for years, even if we didn’t make it official until recently.”

He placed two fingers on her chin and tilted her face up. “Third, my mother loves you. Probably more than she does me.”

“I see you didn’t mention your father in that sentence,” Sienna said, pursing her lips.

Max shrugged. “My dad will, too, once he gets to know you. He hasn’t had the same opportunities as my mom to spend time with you.”

“I’m so afraid I’ll mess up, use the wrong fork or dip my fingers in the soup instead of the water bowl,” she confessed anxiously.

Max laughed, tears of mirth leaking from his eyes.

“If I was dining with the Crawleys at Downton Abbey, I’d probably worry about that too,” he said, still chuckling. “Luckily, we’re dining with the Valentines at Country Club Hills, and there’s no water bowl or snobby butler in sight.”

“I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” Sienna said, more annoyed with herself.

“No, you’re not,” Max said. “I was terrified of your family, especially because your sister kept giving me the beady eye. So, I get it. But I survived meeting the parents of the woman I love, and you will too.”

Sienna covered her face with her hands and groaned in frustration before turning to face him.

“Tell me something about them. Your parents,” she clarified when he looked askance. “Doesn’t have to be major, just anything, even if it’s small, about Olivia and Robert, not Mr. and Mrs. Valentine.”

Max drummed his fingers on his thighs as he thought about the request.

“Okay. I don’t know if this counts, but,” he began slowly, “my parents have never spent more than a handful of nights apart since they got married.”

Sienna felt her heart melt at the sentiment, and her eyes softened as he continued his tale.

“Whenever my dad travels overnight for work, my mother accompanies him. Neither is happy unless the other is close. I remember once my mom was admitted to the hospital for a mild concussion after a skiing accident.”

Sienna smiled, watching the amused exasperation cross his face at the memory.

“My dad pulled strings with the board so they’d let him spend the night in her room on a rollaway bed. The damn thing was way too small, and he was uncomfortable, feet hanging off the end. But you couldn’t pay him to leave until she was discharged.”

“That is so incredibly romantic,” Sienna said, tears dripping down her cheeks.

“And incredibly embarrassing if you’re their kid,” Max grumbled with an exaggerated eye-roll and head shake. “They’re always touching, a hand pat here, a kiss on the side of the head there.”

“I love that!” Sienna gushed, recalling how she’d seen them do just that at Cassie’s wedding.

Sobering up, Max sighed and took her hand. “If you can’t do this tonight, I’ll call them to reschedule. Tell them I double-booked or something came up at work. They’ll understand.”

Sienna’s lips twisted in a wry grin at Max’s offer, and she shook her head.

“No, it’s okay. We should go.“ She glanced at the clothes lying on the floor and sighed morosely. “But I still don’t know what to wear.”

“Will you trust me to help you with that?”

“I trust you with parts of myself I’m afraid to show anyone else,” she said softly, giggling at the strange comparison. “So, yes. I can trust you to dress me appropriately for the occasion.”

He pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen.

“What’re you doing?” she asked curiously when he clicked on the FaceTime app.

“Calling the expert,” he replied just as Cassie appeared on the screen.

Telling his sister to hold on, he paused the call and peered intently at Sienna. “I’ll hold up the phone; you try outfit options with your bestie. Sound good?”

Sienna beamed in pleasure at his solution. Deciding her best friend could wait a few more seconds, she leaned in and slowly kissed his breath away with the promise of more to come later.

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

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