#i asked my mom for help and she told me to do it with my dad

[vyvilha]

my mom just came to me asking what nonbinary is and is it "a kind of a homosexual" and i explained to her the concept and asked why is she suddenly interested and it turns out our neighbors are being mean to our nonbinary neighbor (who is organized with my mom and some other neighbors to help on local community stuff) behind their back and they keep asking my mom "is he... some kind of a f*g?" and my mom got so fed up on people being mean to the person who literally helps their local community for free that recently when our apartment building security guard told her "this f*g came and signed your documents" she went and filmed him doing stuff he isn't supposed to do here and sent to his boss and he god scolded for it heavily and as my mother described it "well, his boss fucks him, so who's a f*g now?" Yes she is confused but she's so much got the spirit

[mxtheialurks]

I'm here, baby. Part 1 Part 2

Hello there, so I noticed there were not a lot of Patti LuPone fics. Or... perhaps I have already read all of them...? But here it is, a 'Hollywood' fanfic between Avis Amberg and !Singer Reader. Pairing: Avis Amberg x !Singer Reader Word count: 2928 Warnings: none

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“Get your head out of the gutter, kid!” Ernie yells, snapping you out of your thoughts. You look down and realize with a jolt that you’ve overfilled a customer’s gas tank, the fuel spilling over the edges.

“Oh my God, Ernie! I’m so sorry, I—”

Ernie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Save it, kid. Go to my office. We need to have a little chat,” he says, his voice calm but heavy with disappointment.

From the small office window, you watch as Ernie talks to the man whose car you overfilled. Your stomach twists in knots as the man laughs, pulls out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and drives off, still chuckling.

Inside, you sit anxiously, rubbing your temples as your mind spirals. Am I going to get fired? Suspended without pay? The possibilities whirl around your head like a storm until Ernie finally walks in. He lights a cigarette, inhales deeply, then coughs out the smoke.

Before you can say a word, he cuts you off. “Alright, what’s going on with you, Y/N? You’ve been so out of it lately. Did that guy say something to you? Something about... Dreamland?”

Your heart races, and a nervous sweat beads on your forehead. Ernie notices immediately, his expression softening as he drops to one knee in front of you.

“Tell me,” he says gently. “Did he?”

Tears spring to your eyes, and your voice wavers as you manage to stammer, “Yes, and I—I just froze...”

Without hesitation, Ernie pulls you into a hug, his large arms wrapping around you protectively. “There, there, kid,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You know you don’t have to do anything like that, right? You’re here to help me out, not deal with people looking for a good time. That is not why you’re here.” He reminds you. 

He pulls back, his voice breaking slightly as he continues, “I know how hard it’s been at home since your mom—my sister—passed away.”

You sniffle, wiping your eyes, as Ernie stands up and pats your shoulder. “The guy whose tank you overfilled? He’s an old buddy of mine. Didn’t realize you were Martha’s daughter until I told him. He laughed it off and even handed me a hundred bucks as an apology.”

He reaches into his shirt pocket, pulls out the bill, and presses it into your hand. “Now, go wipe those tears and buy yourself something nice, okay?”

A small smile breaks through your tears as you hug him tightly.

“Happy 23rd birthday, kid,” he says softly, kissing your forehead.

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After shedding your gas station uniform, you head to the town’s boutique, Uncle Ernie’s words ringing in your ears. It’s not often you get the chance—or the means—to splurge on yourself.

The boutique feels like another world, the faint scent of vanilla candles mixing with the polished wood floors and soft hum of instrumental music. Your gaze drifts instinctively to the rack where that dress once hung.

You’ve been dreaming about it for months—a red dress with a daring slit that cuts mid-thigh. It was perfect in every way, except for the price tag. You’d promised yourself you’d buy it someday, but that day never came. Life has a way of pushing dreams aside for bills and groceries.

“Looking for something, miss?” a cheerful clerk asks, breaking your thoughts.

“Yes,” you reply, hesitantly. “Do you still have that red dress? The one with the slit—”

Before you can finish, she nods knowingly. “Wait here.”

You tap your fingers against the counter as she disappears into the back. The minutes stretch long, and your heart pounds with a mix of hope and apprehension. Then she returns, holding it.

“Here you go,” she says with a smile, presenting the dress like it’s a treasure.

Your breath catches as you take it in your hands. The fabric is even softer than you remember, the color more vibrant. Without a second thought, you pull out your wallet, the crisp bills from Uncle Ernie making it possible.

Moments later, you step out of the boutique, a grin spreading across your face. The dress swings from your hand, a symbol of something rare and precious—joy that’s yours alone.

Back at your apartment, you hold the boutique bag in hand, still glowing with excitement when a voice startles you.

“What’d you get, kid?”

“AHHH!” you scream, nearly jumping out of your skin. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ernie! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you exclaim, clutching your chest and gasping for air.

“What? Can’t an uncle visit his darling niece?” he replies, unbothered, taking a drag on his ever-present cigar.

“We just saw each other earlier! What do you want?” you ask, exasperated.

He chuckles, his laugh as gruff as his demeanor. “Well, kid, I figured you’d spend your birthday alone in this crappy apartment, so I’ve got a surprise for you. I’m taking you to dinner—me, you, Aunt Ellen, and my good friend Avis.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Avis? You mean Avis Amberg? The owner of Ace Studios?”

Ernie nods smugly.

“Why would a big shot like her come to a birthday dinner for someone she doesn’t even know? Ernie, I’m nobody—”

“Kid, nobody is nobody in this town,” he interrupts, jabbing the air for emphasis. “Once Avis meets you, she’ll see what I see—someone who’s something.”

You snort at his dramatics.

“Come on, Y/N,” he persists, rubbing your shoulders. “You’ve always wanted to be a singer, right? Who knows—maybe she’ll have you record backing tracks for her movies. Whaddya say, hmm?”

You let out a resigned sigh. “Alright, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit!” he exclaims, slapping his thigh with glee. “Now doll up. Wear that sparkly red dress of yours—”

You freeze, narrowing your eyes at him. “Wait a minute. How do you know I have a ‘sparkly red dress’ in this bag?” You hold up the sheathed garment for emphasis.

Ernie smirks, his cigar bobbing in the corner of his mouth. “Kid, you’ve been gawking at that dress every time we passed Ursula’s boutique. You think I don’t notice? Besides,” he adds with a mischievous waggle of his eyebrows, “Ursula and I go way back.”

Your face twists in disgust as you chuck a shoe at him. He ducks out of the way, laughing as he retreats toward the door.

“See you at seven, kid! Don’t be late!” he calls out before disappearing with a slam of the door.

You sigh, glancing at the dress. “This better be worth it,” you mutter, already dreading the evening ahead.

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Seven on the dot, just like Ernie said. You stand in front of the restaurant, purse clutched tightly in hand. The cool evening air does little to calm the nervous energy coursing through you. Dolled up and dressed to the nines, you mutter under your breath, “Simple birthday dinner, my ass.”

The thought of the Avis Amberg being inside makes your stomach twist. What if you say the wrong thing? Or laugh awkwardly?

After a minute of deliberation—and a deep, shaky breath—you step inside. Warm air envelops you, carrying with it the sweet and savory aromas of high-end cuisine. The soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the room, but it does little to drown out your own thoughts.

At the front desk, you muster your courage. “Reservation for Ernest West?”

The receptionist smiles and nods, promptly leading you to a private room.

On the way there, your thoughts race. A private room? How much did Ernie shell out for this? And with Avis Amberg as an audience? You grip your purse tighter. Oh boy, this is going to be interesting.

The doors to the room swing open, revealing a warm and intimate space. Ernie is the first to greet you, his arms wide as he strides toward you with his trademark exuberance.

“There she is! The woman of the hour!” he exclaims, pulling you into a hearty hug.

Your eyes sweep over the table. To Ernie’s right sits Ellen Kincaid, his ever-gracious wife, offering you a warm smile. Beside Ellen is none other than Avis Amberg herself. The moment your gaze lands on her, it’s as though the world stops spinning.

Avis is a vision in red, every detail impeccable—from her perfectly coiffed updo to the shimmering jewelry that catches the light with every movement. You glance down at your own dress, also red, and feel a pang of insecurity. Great, of all colors to wear tonight...

But Avis is unfazed, her sharp eyes already reading you, assessing you in a way that makes your palms sweat.

Ernie, oblivious to your internal panic, guides you to the table and pulls out a chair. Ellen stands to greet you, kissing both your cheeks warmly, while Avis remains seated, her gaze fixed on you like a hawk sizing up its prey.

When your eyes finally meet, she smiles—a slow, deliberate curve of her lips. Extending her hand, she says, “And you must be the birthday girl.”

You take her hand, shaking it a little too eagerly. “I am—”

“Avis Amberg,” you finish for her, your voice steady despite your nerves.

Her smile sharpens into a grin, her grip firm but elegant. “Well, well, looks like someone did their homework.”

You laugh awkwardly, the sound escaping before you can stop it. Realizing how unpolished it sounds, you quickly cease, pressing your lips together. Ernie catches it, grinning as he moves to his seat. He leans down to kiss Ellen, who playfully smacks his chest.

“Avis, you know us Wests. We always do our homework, ain’t that right, sweetheart?” he says with a wink in Ellen’s direction.

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Yes, darling, you do. Oh, Avis, if I haven’t mentioned it yet, our darling Y/N here is an aspiring singer—with a voice that could bring down stadiums.”

Avis raises a perfectly arched brow, her red lips curving into a faint smile as she looks at you. “Hmm? If Ellen here speaks so highly of you, perhaps I should have you perform at one of my events.”

Your face flushes as a nervous smile spreads across your lips. “Oh no, Miss. Amberg, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you ramble, trying to wave off the compliment. “Singing is more of a hobby, really. I couldn’t possibly be as good as Ellen says.”

Ellen and Ernie exchange incredulous looks.

“Nonsense, kid!” Ernie exclaims, his voice booming with pride. “I’ve heard you sing plenty while working the register, and believe me, my customers stick around just to hear you. Take some credit for once, will ya?”

His laughter fills the room, and even Avis seems amused as she leans forward, her interest clearly piqued.

“You let your niece work at your gas station, Ernie?” she asks, her tone half-curious, half-teasing. “How is it that I’ve never seen her?”

Ernie smirks, waving his hand dismissively. “That’s because you never get out of your goddamn Cadillac, Avis!”

The table bursts into laughter, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eases. Still, the realization dawns on you: Avis Amberg is a regular at Golden Tip.

No wonder the boys at the station always seemed to have a little extra spring in their step, boasting about their big tips from “the lady in red.” So it was her all along—the powerful woman who spent money like it grew on trees.

As the laughter dies down, Avis rests her chin on her hand, her sharp gaze locking onto you. “Well, Y/N, it sounds like you’ve been hiding a talent that the world deserves to hear.”

Her words make your heart race, but the warmth in her tone sparks something new: hope.

“Thank you, Miss Amberg,” you say, your tone polite but still tinged with nervousness.

“Oh, baby,” she waves a hand dismissively, her bracelets jangling softly, “you may call me Avis. You’re making my back ache with all the pleasantries.”

You chuckle lightly, a genuine smile breaking through as you nod. “Well then, thank you, Avis.”

Her lips curl into a grin, pleased by your adjustment. “That’s better,” she says, leaning back in her chair with an air of satisfaction. “Now, tell me, Y/N—what’s your favorite song to sing?”

Her question catches you off guard, and you falter for a moment. “Oh, well, I guess it depends,” you say, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “I like singing jazz, mostly. Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald… their music speaks to me.”

Avis’s eyes light up, the mention of such timeless legends clearly striking a chord. “Ah, the classics,” she says, a touch of admiration in her voice. “Music that comes from the soul. You have good taste.”

Ernie beams at the exchange, clearly proud of you. “See, Avis? Told you the kid’s got it. I’d bet my bottom dollar she could belt out something right here and knock our socks off.”

You quickly shake your head, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Oh, no, I couldn’t! Not here, not now,” you stammer. “I mean, I’m flattered, but I’m not exactly… prepared.”

Ellen chimes in with a gentle laugh, “Oh, don’t mind Ernie. He loves putting people on the spot. But if you ever want to perform, Y/N, I’m sure Avis would love to hear you.”

Avis nods, swirling her glass of wine thoughtfully. “Indeed. There’s something about live music, especially when it comes from a genuine place. You’d be surprised how often talent like yours gets lost in the noise of this town.”

Her words carry weight, and for a moment, you feel as though she’s speaking directly to your deepest fears. Lost in the noise. Ernie, ever the optimist, claps his hands together. “Lost? Not this kid! She’s got a voice people’ll remember. Ain’t that right, Y/N?”

You give a shy smile, nodding slightly. “I guess so. I mean… I hope so.”

Avis’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before she raises her glass. “To hope, then. And to talent that deserves a stage.”

Everyone joins in the toast, raising their glasses with a clink. You sip your drink, the warmth of the moment settling into your chest. For the first time tonight, you feel like you truly belong at the table.

The dinner continued with laughter, stories, and a surprising ease that settled over the table. Ernie, true to form, dominated the conversation with his larger-than-life anecdotes, and Ellen balanced him out with her gentle humor. Avis occasionally chimed in, her remarks sharp and observant, but never unkind.

By the time dessert arrived, you were almost convinced you could get through the night without further incident. That is, until Avis set down her fork, leaned forward, and fixed you with a look that felt both intimidating and encouraging.

“Y/N,” she began, her tone measured, “tell me, what do you really want? In this town, I mean. Surely you’re not content to spend your life working at your uncle’s gas station.”

The question landed heavily, and the table went quiet. Ernie gave you a small nod of encouragement, while Ellen offered a reassuring smile.

You swallowed, your fingers gripping the edge of your napkin. “I… I want to sing,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to perform. To be out there in front of many people, the spotlight is only for me. My voice ringing deliciously in their ears, I want to become a broadway star” 

Avis studied you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Watching you enunciate every word, how your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. Her gaze lingers for a while there and when you finally finish she meets your eyes with enthusiasm. 

“Let me tell you something about this town,” she said, her voice soft but commanding. “It doesn’t matter who you know—or don’t know. What matters is how badly you want it and what you’re willing to do to get it. Talent can only take you so far. The rest? That’s grit.”

You nodded, absorbing her words, though a part of you still doubted your place in a world as ruthless as hers.

Avis seemed to sense this. “You’ve got a spark, Y/N. I can see it. The question is, what are you going to do with it?”

Before you could answer, Ernie jumped in, his voice full of enthusiasm. “That’s what I’ve been telling her! She’s got the goods, Avis. She just needs the right person to see it.”

Avis’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Well, Ernie, perhaps that person is sitting right here.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You mean…?”

“I mean,” Avis said, setting her glass down, “I’m planning a charity gala next month. I always need fresh talent for Ace Studios. I have been thinking about it, expanding from motion pictures to Broadway plays and musical numbers. It’s not a guarantee, but if you’re willing to audition, I could give you a shot.”

The room seemed to tilt as her words sank in. An audition? For Avis Amberg? It felt too good to be true.

You managed a shaky nod. “I—I’d love to. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Avis said, her tone playful but firm. “The real work starts now, baby.”

------------------------------------------------------------ A/N: Will do a part two or more if you're interested in reading more. Hehe.

[oceanicwriting]

is not allowed.

summary: since the holidays began, you have taken care of the youngest son of the berkshire family. one night, while the little one sleeps, the creature's older brother is home, and the sensations begin to be too intense to keep you standing.

pairing(s): non-wizard!lorenzo berkshire x non-wizard!fem!reader

a/n: my first lorenzo fic! i tried my best :-).

+18 smut, oral sex (fem receiving), masturbation (fem receiving), cursing, silence sex (?)

ㅤㅤㅤ—we're leaving! —mrs. berkshire announces, appearing in the kitchen where franklin, her youngest son, is eating dinner—. remember...

ㅤㅤㅤ—no more video games and straight to sleep when the clock strikes eight —the little one interrupts, receiving a loud kiss from his mother and four pats on the back from his father—. you've already told her many times, mom.

ㅤㅤㅤthe woman laughs, and even if franklin had told her, she repeats her conditions again in a whisper. when they leave, the boy starts talking about his best friend carl's birthday party.

ㅤㅤㅤever since summer started and you returned to your hometown, you've taken care of franklin berkshire. your mother, who has been a friend of the family for a while, had helped you get the job that the other babysitter had abandoned for no apparent reason. no one talked about it, and when you asked franklin the first few weeks, he always got in a bad mood.

ㅤㅤㅤ—and lisa made out with holden —he says, finishing telling all the things that happened on that birthday. you look at him, surprised by what he had just said—. a kiss on the cheek.

ㅤㅤㅤ—that seems more appropriate to me. aren't you, like, five years old to be making out? —the little boy's face at your words makes you laugh, but you stop when you notice that he is pushing the asparagus away from his salad—. you must eat everything that is on your plate, young man.

ㅤㅤㅤ—we are ten years old. —he answers, crossing his arms—. and i do not like asparagus.

ㅤㅤㅤyou laugh softly, but you stop when lorenzo berkshire, the oldest son of the family, appears well dressed in the kitchen.

ㅤㅤㅤ—she told you that you have to eat everything, dwarf. —his thick voice fills all the empty space of the place, and you can notice how franklin tense with his presence—. she will accuse you with your mommy.

ㅤㅤㅤyou knew they didn't get along at all. franklin started saying he was a fool from day one, and when you met him, you could only confirm it.

ㅤㅤㅤ—lorenzo...

ㅤㅤㅤ—you don't order me around —franklin says, getting up from his chair to leave the kitchen with quick steps.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo rolls his eyes, and you go after the little boy, but you stop to look at him and say—: can you stop picking fights with him? he's just a kid.

ㅤㅤㅤhe looks at you. his cold, disinterested eyes are attractive, making you forget that you're after the boy.

ㅤㅤㅤ—will you wash this glass for me, darling? —he leaves the glass in which he drank water and smiles satisfied—. thanks.

ㅤㅤㅤyou want to say something, but lorenzo walks out the door to the garage, not in the mood to listen to you much longer.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen you meet franklin in the living room, you notice that he's still frowning. to cheer him up, you suggest to play a board game until eight o'clock, filling the room with your laughter and complaints every time you beat him. you play until the phone rings the alarm that tells you to get him ready for bed.

ㅤㅤㅤ—are you still mad about your brother? —you ask. he's lying in his bed, covered up to his neck, and his uneasy gaze glued to the ceiling of the room.— you know he does this to make you angry, franklin. you shouldn't listen to him.

ㅤㅤㅤ—he's an idiot.

ㅤㅤㅤyou nod softly, leaving a kiss on his forehead to wish him goodnight and leaving the room. as usual, you leave the door ajar in case he wakes up in the middle of the night and goes down to the first floor.

ㅤㅤㅤmr. and mrs. berkshire would arrive home around midnight, so, killing time, you start washing franklin's dirty dishes.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen it was around ten at night, you decided to watch a movie in the living room, but you couldn't do it without some snacks to accompany you. in the cupboard, you look for a bag of popcorn to make in the microwave, although you didn't finish closing the appliance because lorenzo's presence in the kitchen makes its way like a tornado.

ㅤㅤㅤthe garage door had closed so hard that it practically echoed throughout the block, and his footsteps weren't far behind. his whole body moved tensely towards the kitchen exit, dragging an air full of rage.

ㅤㅤㅤ—franklin is asleep, lorenzo. —the simple sound of your voice makes him stop halfway, turning on his heels—. i would appreciate it if you did not stomp so hard on the second floor.

ㅤㅤㅤhis eyes scan your body, this time more slowly than before leaving a few hours ago. the confusion in your gaze is obvious, but lorenzo does not seem to notice it. he was so angry at the way his now ex-girlfriend had treated him that he did not notice anything other than the figure of your body.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what time do my parents arrive? —he asks, walking in your direction slowly.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo berkshire is a tall boy with brown hair and eyes. his smooth, flawless skin gave the impression that he had never had a bad day in his life. he was spoiled, envious, demanding, and the epitome of beauty in all its letters.

ㅤㅤㅤ—at midnight —you answer, putting the bags of popcorn in the microwave and walking to find a bowl to put them in.

ㅤㅤㅤ—that gives me enough time —he says. you were going to ignore his words and the way your body reacted to feeling his gaze on you, but you can't when his hand tightens on your arm—. do you have a boyfriend?

ㅤㅤㅤ—what? —you pull on his arm to get him to let go of you, but there is no reaction from him—. what are you doing? leave me.

ㅤㅤㅤhe shakes his head, cornering you against the nearest wall.

ㅤㅤㅤ—do you have a boyfriend?

ㅤㅤㅤ—why do you care?

ㅤㅤㅤyour head spins from the strong scent of alcohol on his breath and expensive perfume wafting from his bare neck. lorenzo has his dark eyes glued to yours so intensely that it was suffocating.

ㅤㅤㅤ—no. i don't have a boyfriend.

ㅤㅤㅤhe smiles, satisfied that he doesn't have to do much more to get an answer out of you. his tongue runs over his teeth in the middle of his smile, and you feel a dead weight fall on your stomach. the hand that was holding your arm began to rise with the tips of his fingers caressing your skin. when he reaches your neck, without stopping to look at you, your whole body bristles.

ㅤㅤㅤ—lorenzo, what are you...?

ㅤㅤㅤ—so precious.

ㅤㅤㅤhis face moves closer to the crook of your neck, leaving wet kisses, running his tongue over it, and sucking on parts of your skin. your perfume stings his nose, and you can feel him sigh against you. the sensations blooming unsettle you because you knew you were doing something that wasn't allowed. something forbidden was brewing between you two, and you had to do something before it get out of control.

ㅤㅤㅤ—lorenzo, wait —you say, pushing him. he responds to your reaction with a raised eyebrow—. your brother is sleeping upstairs.

ㅤㅤㅤyou should have said something else to stop him, something as simple as not wanting to do it, but the unsatisfied feeling had already begun to torture your mind.

ㅤㅤㅤ—then you better not be so boisterous, precious.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo pulls your arm, pushing you afterward against the island. everything happens so fast that from one moment to the next, you are sitting on the raw ivory of the island, half dressed and feeling his mouth wander fearlessly along the expanse of your torso. this time, he bites, licks, and sucks more roughly than a few minutes ago when he hid his face in your neck.

ㅤㅤㅤyour breathing becomes disordered when you can feel his messy hair tickling the inside of your thighs. his face so close to your needy pussy makes you clench the throbbing wetness. lorenzo smiles like a predator and begins to kiss the expanse of your soft legs.

ㅤㅤㅤ—l-lorenzo —you try to say, formulate a complete sentence that would make him enter his five senses, but you can't when you yourself feel your own desire forming—. please.

ㅤㅤㅤhis mouth slams against your pussy, making you jump at the sensation. lorenzo's tongue wanders between your lips, clitoris and entrance as if he wanted to memorize every texture he can find. it's a matter of time before your moans have to be silenced by your own hand.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo berkshire knew how to tap his tongue against your folds, how to suck on your clit until you were satisfied and how to look at you to turn you into a bundle of muffled moans. although you would never have imagined it, now that you see him there, you think about how much you would like to do it more often.

ㅤㅤㅤshortly after, one of his hands joins the wetness of his mouth, burying himself without any preparation in you. tears accumulate in your eyes from the combination of his fingers probing your insides roughly and his mouth demanding more every time a moan escaped you. the sensations begin to drive you crazy.

ㅤㅤㅤhe can notice the way your thighs squeeze his head, so he sucks and flicks his tongue faster as his fingers don't leave a moment of peace. as surprising as it may be, the desire you had built up explodes against his face buried in you. his fingers are the first to break contact, but his lips are still there, taking every drop of your liquids.

ㅤㅤㅤ—e-enzo.

ㅤㅤㅤhe looks at you, letting the cold of his absence crash against your pussy.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what's the problem, darling? why do you have that face? —the mocking tone that colors his voice only sends thousands of exciting signals throughout your body—. i can't wait to be inside you.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo unbuttons his shirt, throwing it to the floor and unbuttoning his pants afterward. when he's half naked, you can make out the bulge pressed against his underwear, a bulge that he leaves free before your gaze, and he smiles satisfied by the expression on your face.

ㅤㅤㅤ—you're going to come ask me for more, i know it —he says. there's so little shame in his gaze that you can't believe what you were about to do—. this is all for you for tonight.

ㅤㅤㅤhe takes your legs, his hands burying themselves in your skin to put them on his shoulders. your back falls against the cold surface of the island.

ㅤㅤㅤ—why aren't you saying anything?

ㅤㅤㅤyou look away, knowing that you were a terrible liar and in a vulnerable state like this, you wouldn't be able to go unnoticed. you wanted him to bury himself in you, to find a space inside you and make you cum like he did a moment ago. lorenzo can't stand that you don't look at him and pulls your hair to force you.

ㅤㅤㅤ—come on, tell me.

ㅤㅤㅤhis brown gaze fixed on yours and his erect member pushing against your pussy don't let you think clearly.

ㅤㅤㅤ—lorenzo, please. i need you to do it.

ㅤㅤㅤa smile draws on his lips, pushing the tip of his cock against your entrance.

ㅤㅤㅤ—you need me to do what? —he whispers, slowly thrusting inside you—. so tight.

ㅤㅤㅤthe sensation starts to burn, hurt, and transform into a thousand other things in moments.

ㅤㅤㅤ—answer the fucking question.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i need you to make me come again, please. lorenzo, i need you.

ㅤㅤㅤwith one push, he finds himself balls deep inside you. your legs are on his shoulders, hugged by one of his arms, and his free hand covers your mouth as you let out a loud moan. the sensation filling every corner of your body so perfectly that it was exquisite.

ㅤㅤㅤ—shut your mouth, shit.

ㅤㅤㅤthat doesn't stop his movement, going in and out faster each time. lorenzo was just as eager as you to feel you. ha was watching your breasts bounce from the rhythm he's set, eyes filled with tears from the inability to moan like you want and hot air hitting his hand. he loved the sight so much that he could fuck you all night if he had the chance.

ㅤㅤㅤ—more? —he questions, still moving his hips.

ㅤㅤㅤyou look at him, his breasts as erratic as yours and his collar bouncing every time he hits you. the sound of your skin colliding is heard louder and louder on the walls of the kitchen.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i can feel you want more when you squeeze my cock.

ㅤㅤㅤyou nods, almost crying desperately.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo's back and forth starts to get messier but fast. the feeling of his cock burying itself deeper and deeper, drowning your moans each time and holding you were turning your head into a jumble of insane thoughts.

ㅤㅤㅤhe can notice how your body reacts, squeezing his cock more and more. then, letting go of your legs to fall on either side of his hip, he begins to massage your clit in quick circles. your back arches from the outbreak of all your desire about to explode again.

ㅤㅤㅤ—come on, precious, cum like you wanted.

ㅤㅤㅤlorenzo stretches over you, uncovering your mouth and kissing you in a messy movement. that had been enough to make you come in a scream that is muffled against his hot mouth. his member still inside you, his tongue now wandering around the inside of your mouth and his hand coming up to hold you cheek. there was so much charge in that kiss that the separation of his body against yours is surprising.

ㅤㅤㅤ—clean up this mess before my parents get here —he says, taking his clothes and putting on his pants.

ㅤㅤㅤsomehow, confused and weak, you try to clean up the mess until you realize that you just had sex with the older brother of the boy you were going to take care of for the rest of the long summer.

[simvanie]

7 Sins Legacy - generation 5 (gluttony)

Gulshan: You look gorgeous. Temperance: I did my best. After all, you did tell me to dress up for tonight... Which also made me curious. Why?

Gulshan: I- ...just wanted to do something special for you. I made us one of my best dishes and even got the Von Haunt Estate Merlot, your favorite wine-

Temperance: Wait. Gulshan: ...Yeah? Temperance: I need to tell you something. You know I haven't been feeling too well physically lately...

Gulshan: Yeah, I know. Temperance: So I called the doctor yesterday. Just to be sure. And I told her my symptoms. And she uh...-

-She told me to take a pregnancy test so she could rule out some causes if it was negative, and to make an appointment if it turned out to be positive... So I went to see her this afternoon. Gulshan: But she told you to see her if... IT WAS POSITIVE?!

Temperance: Yes! I wanted to tell you in person when I got home, but I also didn't want the news to completely overtake what you've planned for tonight. Gulshan: No, don't worry. I- wow... I know we've discussed having kids at some point, I just wasn't expecting it to happen so soon-

Temperance: Wait, there's more... Literally. The doctor had me get an ultrasound to check if everyting is alright, which luckily is the case, and then she found out that... Gulshan, we're having twins.

Gulshan: Tw- TWINS?! But I only ordered one! I mean- one at a time at least!

Temperance couldn't help but laugh. And seeing her so happy about the news that she's pregnant seemed to help calm the stress Gulshan could suddenly feel in his chest.

Temperance: I know! I was surprised too! Although we both should've known that especially you don't always get what you order- Lord Hamlet: Oink? 🧐

Gulshan: AH! Hamlet! God, you scared me... Don't look at me like that. We discussed this! You know that you ending up being the wrong order is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Look, right now isn't really the best time-

-I left some food for you in the kitchen. And I promise that I'll give you lots of cuddles tonight if you stay there until your mom and I are done here, okay? Now go and see if you can find what I made for you.

Lord Hamlet: OINKOINKOINK! 😃 Temperance: See? You have nothing to worry about. One baby or two, I can already tell that you'll be an amazing dad.

Gulshan: That's not- ...what I'm worried about. The restaurant isn't financially where it should be and now we're going to have two kids. TWO, Temperance. That means we'll have to get everything double. Double the clothes, diapers, toys-

-How can I be sure that we'll be able to give them everything they deserve? Temperance: You worry too much, you know that? Trust yourself. We'll make it work, I know we will.

Gulshan: ...I'm sorry, it was just a lot to take in all at once. But you're right- Whatever it takes, we'll make it work. I love you, Temperance. There is no one I'd rather do this with than you, and that's why I want to ask you something...

[crazywolf828]

Hey there friends

I wanted to hold off making any donation posts until I knew how much it would cost but the situation got a lot more dire.

Mom's had a heart attack, my grandpa died, and my uncles are coming after our house.

My grandfather died just before Christmas, it was a shock to all of us as he seemed to be doing fine. His final wishes were to be cremated and spread over the beaches with my grandma, everyone has known this, but because he didn't write a will before getting sick with Alzheimer's and dementia all of his children have to agree on what to do with his body. If they don't he gets turned over to the state and disposed of, and we never get him back.

Yesterday my mom had a mild heart attack, she's still in the hospital now (though she seems to be doing better) because we found out my uncles are refusing to cooperate. I'll explain the full story under the cut but they haven't been around for over twelve years and are now coming after our house.

The funeral is at minimum going to be 4k not including any lawyers we need to get to get control of his body and fight my uncles. If you can spare anything at all, please I'm begging more now than ever before, donate if you can or just reblog.

Thank you all, so much, for everything you do and have done.

My uncles have never been around, the last time was after a settlement from my grandmothers wrongful death where they took almost all the money. We got enough to buy our current house and that was it. My mom and grandpa specifically put on the deed that they both owned it so my uncles couldn't steal it once my grandpa passed away.

Well, we found out it is considered an asset, until we are able to get a death certificate to get his name off the house and give my mom full ownership, my uncles can technically try and get a part of his assets (even though we have no other money).

We haven't seen them in 15 years. They weren't around when we had to take care of my grandpa after his surgery in 2016 and his decline in mental health after. We couldn't afford to put him in a home so we did what we could.

They weren't there during the outbursts and anger of my grandpa not knowing who we were, having to give him baths, change his diapers, taking him to the hospital, making sure his food was soft enough he could eat it. But now they think there's money on the line and they want to bleed us dry when all we have is our house.

We were told all of this yesterday at the funeral home, told that if we don't go to court or they don't all agree on what to do with his body then he gets turned over to the state and disposed of. We would never get him back.

The stress caused my mom to have a minor heart attack, she was transferred to a bigger hospital and is currently having a cath test done because she already has an autoimmune disease.

I can't do much else to help other than come on here and ask for help, I have so many of my own illnesses that prevent me from working and the government is giving me a tough time trying to get on disability.

It's a lot and I'm just so lost and I'm sorry to ask again, I'm sorry to make another donation post, but please, we need this so much, every bit helps.

[natsarrownecklacx]

For When You Feel Alone

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word count- 2,031

Summary- An ‘open when you feel alone’ letter written to you from your mom, Wanda.

Warnings- Talking about feeling alone, mentions of almost breaking a leg jumping out a window ( not in a serious way in a funny way ) very fluffy sappy writing. R is referred to as Elizabeth / Ellie in some parts :)

Ngl I think Wanda is the kind of mom we all want :/

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

Open When You Feel Alone <3

Dear Elizabeth,

Hey Sweetheart, it’s Mama.

I would like to start this letter off by asking how you are, but if you're reading this, then sadly I already know the answer.

My poor sweet girl, I am so sorry that you are feeling this way. It pains me to even think of you feeling so alone.

Before I get into this, before I go any further I need you to know something, I just need to say it, need you to hear it. I love you so, so very much.

Now, don’t be mad. I know when I asked if you’d like me to write you these letters for when you went off to college, you’d said not to. You told me that you would be okay, that you are a grown up now, that you are strong and independent and can take care of yourself.

I still remember the exact look on your face while you said those words. The pride and confidence behind them really shone through your eyes. I knew then that you were ready to leave home, I could see it in you. You were ready to take that leap and go out into the world, ready to find your place in it.

I know you, sweet girl, I’ve watched you grow up, from the sweetest baby into the most wonderful grown woman you are. I know how capable you are. You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are now and I am so so proud of you, everyday in fact.

That being said, I am still your mother and you will always be my baby. So I hid this letter, along with a few others, in your suitcase before you left.

Which, might I add, was no easy task. The first time I tried to get a few of these letters safely in your suitcase I attempted to pull off an Avengers level stealth mission to try and sneak them in there while you weren’t at home.

I knew what I was doing, suggesting that you take Billy and Tommy out for ice cream. I knew it would give me the time I needed, not only to clean up after your two little brothers but also to get this where I knew it needed to be. What I did not, however, anticipate at all was you coming back so early.

Basically, to make a very long and embarrassing story short, when I heard the front door open and shut, I panicked for absolutely no reason. It was a level ten, metaphorical sirens blaring, palms sweating, hands shaking, type of panic.

Then I heard all three of you coming up the stairs and my cognitive thinking just seemed to evaporate…so I launched myself, head first, out your bedroom window.

Don’t worry, I did catch myself before I hit the floor on that two story drop, in fact I seemed to make it out of the ordeal with little more than a bruised ego. Although, I’m not quite sure if I’ll ever recover from having to explain to your aunt Agatha why I had to make that jump. She laughed so loud all the birds from the trees in the garden all flew away in a hurry. She just couldn’t understand why I panicked so much, honestly neither could I.

But if this helps at all, if I’m right and you find my ridiculous behaviour as funny as I do, in any way, then the almost broken leg and what I’m sure will be years of listening to Agatha tease me is well worth it. Plus, I just wanted you to have this in case you need it, in case you need me.

It was my hope for you, when you were born, that you would always feel how much I love you, no matter how far we are from one another or for how long. Even if we ever had an argument of some sort, you must know I would still love you.

If you're reading this right now then that means I was right to hide this for you, but don’t let that deter you from reading the rest of this letter, mothers (at least when it comes to me and your grandmother) are usually right.

I suppose it’s just this sense that we have, or maybe a hope, that our children will always need us in some way or another and that we will always be there for them.

I’m still here for you Ellie, no matter how far we are from one another, no matter how long we’ve been apart. It doesn’t matter to me what you need me for, something big or small, I don’t care what time it is, if you need me I’ll be there.

I know that if you're reading this, you probably don’t feel like you can pick up the phone and call me to talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you and that's okay.

I wish I could reach out right now and take you into my arms. To hold you, close to my heart, to keep you safe and warm. I wish I could assure you that you are not alone, sweetheart. I will always be with you, as you are with me.

But you deserve to have some time to think things over in your own way, by yourself and then you can come to me when you are ready. But please do come to me Elizabeth. I absolutely hate the thought of you feeling alone, or worse, as if you can’t reach out to me.

I know that you will want to try to figure this out on your own first and that’s okay. Maybe you will, I have every faith in you. Even so, you can still talk to me about it, even when, whatever this is, is all over. I still want to know how you are doing, what’s going on in my child’s lift, the good and bad.

I know it is hard to be away from home, I remember vividly how it felt when I had to leave your grandparents and uncle behind to go away for college.

I know how hard it is to be in a new place, with new people, learning new things. It’s scary and it can be a little overwhelming. It can also feel a little isolating, even when you're surrounded by people. Even when the people you are surrounded by are meant to be your friends…

Before you left we had a conversation about your friends, do you remember that?

I remember how upset you were, how alone you felt from the way they were treating you.

Do you remember what I did when you came to me crying because of it?

I took you into my arms, the way I always do when you're upset, and I held you. You wrapped your arms around me so tightly and cried for what felt like hours.

It’s never easy for a mother to see their child so upset, but I was so relieved that you felt safe enough with me to let yourself feel that way, to just let it all out and know that I had you.

After you were done crying, you explained to me what was going on, you yelled a lot and cried some more. You were so angry and so, so tired, I could see it in your eyes Ellie. I could feel the hurt and loneliness pouring off of you in constant motion. I could see it.

I remember you pacing and pleading with no one and nothing in particular to understand why anyone would treat another person that way, least of all why your friends would do so to you.

I remember watching you go through all of that, I remember how you got more and more worked up, until, eventually, you stopped. Everything in the room stopped, it was as if something in your brain had clicked into place and suddenly, everything you were talking about didn’t seem so big anymore.

You just took one big deep breath in and when you let it go I could see in your eyes that you felt more at peace. The loneliness, frustration and fear for how long those feelings would last, they were all still there, weighing on your mind. All of it. But it wasn’t as heavy because you had shared it with me.

I remember how proud of you I was, because you needed something, you needed me to be there to listen and to make sure you could break down safely. You knew you needed help and you came to me. I was and still am so proud of you for that.

I just wanted to remind you of that, not to upset you further, but to remind you of how important it is to let someone in. To allow someone to help. Even if it means I just sit on the phone and listen to you talk or cry or scream. I can do that. I can be there for you in whatever way you need because I’m your mother and that’s my job.

Even if what you need is for me to get into the car and drive to you, I can do it. You need me to bring your childhood bear with me, just for that bit of extra comfort? I have it ready to go, just in case. You want some of your comfort food, mama cuddles and a movie? Make room for me Ellie because I am on the way.

There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for you sweetheart. I hope you know that. I need you to know that.

Right about now you're probably reading this thinking ‘oh wow moms so extra’ or ‘so cringe.’ ( At least that’s what the twins have been saying about me lately.) But what I’m saying is true, Ellie.

I know you well enough to know that, at this point, you are probably on the verge of tears but won’t let yourself cry.

You can cry if you need to, honey. It’s okay to let it out. I know you think you can’t because other people have gone through worse things, survived worse things and so you shouldn’t cry over something you deem as “small.” But there is no measure of pain. If you are upset, or tired, or overwhelmed, or if you simply just feel the need to cry. Let it out. It’s okay to cry.

It doesn’t make you any less capable. It doesn’t mean you are weak. It doesn’t mean you are looking for attention. It doesn’t undo any of the progress you’ve made. It doesn’t mean a single thing, it doesn’t have to.

Plus, it might make you feel better.

Honestly, Ellie I could go on forever and ever about how proud I am of you and how all I want in this world is for you to know how loved you are. How important and special you are. But I know that you don’t have all the time in the world to read as much as I could write about all of that.

So I just want to ask you to do something for me, just to put your mama’s mind at ease.

Please take care of yourself sweetheart. Drink some water. Get yourself something to eat, even if it’s just something small. If you're feeling up to it, go for a shower, I know you hate all the effort and time that goes into it but I also know that you always end up feeling just a little better after words. Put on some comfortable clothes. Try to get some sleep. Do whatever it is you need to do just to get yourself that little bit of comfort you need to make yourself feel better.

I trust you. I know you can handle this. I know you are so fully capable of taking care of yourself. Take things one step at a time, one breath at a time. You’ve got this Ellie.

I love you. Remember that always.

- Mama.

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

A/n - For the anon who commissioned this fic, I hope you like it love :)

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hi!

🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️

🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️

⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️

Hi!

51 for 🐓

---

“Okay, well, why?” Eddie asks. 

“Why?” She raises an eyebrow. “Because Mom and Dad have to make everything perfect, and it’s a fucking performance, and they criticize everything I do, and-”

“Yeah, okay. I get the picture.” Eddie says, body tightening in on itself.

Adriana nods, looking him over with her inebriated expression.

“So your life kinda sucks right now, huh?”

It’s not meant unkindly. Adriana has always been blunt. There’s a real sympathy there, though. She’s the first to call someone an idiot, and the first to cry on someone else’s behalf. 

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “It does.”

“That’s another reason,” she says emphatically. “That I don’t want to spend too much time with them right now.”

“What is?”

“They told us he was just visiting for the summer,” Adriana sighs, walking over to his couch and flopping down, spinning her backpack onto her lap. “Took them months to explain why he wasn’t leaving. That you needed help… And then, I should’ve… I was embarrassed I didn’t… I’m sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie walks over to sit beside her. “I’m okay. It’s not your problem, Adri.”

“Yeah, but… I should have… I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do,” she shrugs. 

“Neither did I,” Eddie whispers. 

“Do you ever get high?” Adriana asks him.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Do you do this a lot?”

“No,” she says. “Almost never, actually. Something about coming home from college…”

“Hmm,” Eddie replies, unsure what to say. 

“I brought gummies,” Adriana says. “You want one?”

Eddie’s immediate reaction is to say no. He can’t have drugs in his system and work. Except… He’s not working again for over a week. So…

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Yeah, I do.”

---

51 for 🌲

---

He remembers, suddenly, that he’s dealing with someone who’s been alone in the woods for over a year. Not someone who was trying to hurt Eddie. 

“Hey,” Buck says gently. “Hey, I’d never hurt him, okay? I-I love him. I’m in love with him. I won’t hurt him or you, okay? I know you’re not monsters.”

Adriana is shaking. 

“I promise, okay?” Buck says again. “I promise.”

She takes a deep breath. 

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, I won’t… I won’t… I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“Uh, o-okay?” Buck frowns. “What does that mean?”

Adriana takes a sudden step close to him and speaks directly into his ear. 

“Come with me. I’ll keep you safe for my brother.”

And Buck’s whole body goes sort of slack. It’s different from when Eddie’s hypnosis works on him. It’s completely different. There’s no desire. No heat. All there is is the blind directive to listen to her. She must be right, after all. She must be sensible. 

“Okay,” Buck exhales. 

“Why didn’t this work on you before?” She asks. 

“My hearing aids,” Buck says. “I took them out.”

“Go put them back on,” she says. 

“Okay,” he agrees, and goes and does just that. 

🍂

Eddie lays on his back, panting, for a solid minute or two after he makes it to shore. He’s been avoiding any and all physical activity for weeks, and he can feel it. Also? Swimming with a fox tail? Awkward as hell, as it turns out. His whole body feels off. 

And there was the fact that he was panicking the whole swim. Plus, still panicking now. He’s not Jello. He’s just panic.

If Buck dies and it’s Eddie’s fault, Eddie will never recover. It will be the end of him. 

---

51 for ⚡️

---

Work is weird.

Buck doesn’t know why, at first, that work is weird. But it’s weird. And it’s mostly weird because of Eddie.

Admittedly, Buck knew the day would be different. But different in, like, yay the whole gang is back together! What fun! Except for the people getting hurt in various emergencies thing. But no! Eddie is decidedly not having fun. 

First of all, he’s on his phone so much Buck worries Bobby is going to call it out. It’s all with Maddie. Maddie, who had the day off, and offered to take Brooke for the duration of the shift. They could send her to the childcare center, but Buck is pretty sure Eddie wouldn’t have survived the transition cold turkey. He’s like… Worried. Really worried. Even though it’s Maddie, Brooke’s aunt. It’ll be fine. Buck knows it’ll be fine. 

The thing is, it’s not abnormal for Eddie to be needlessly anxious about his kid. He has always had moments where he sort of projects his own stuff onto one of them. Historically Chris. Nice to see traditions are being carried forward with their daughter. But he’s just not sure why Eddie is so anxious about it, this time.

“Did Brooke learn to text?” Chim asks Eddie over lunch, while he’s obviously texting Maddie. 

“No,” Buck shakes his head. “That was last week. This week she’s working on composing sonnets.”

“Ah,” Chim nods. “You sure she’s not behind? At that age, Jee was onto short stories.”

Buck laughs.

Eddie looks up at them, unamused.   

“Yes, haha. Very funny, I’m worried about my four-month-old's first day with no parents.”

“You do make that sound like she’s an orphan.” Ravi says from across the table. 

Eddie glares at him.

“I’m sure she’s fine, Eddie,” Chimney says. 

“What’s Maddie saying?” Buck asks.

Eddie sighs. “That she’s sleeping and has been happy all day.”

“Well, that’s good!” Buck says. “She send any pictures?”

Eddie smiles crookedly. “Yeah. Wanna see?”

“Duh,” Buck rolls his eyes. Then spends the next few minutes distracted from worrying about Eddie by his daughter’s adorable face. 

---

51 for ⚖️

---

It’s Chris she doesn’t want hearing. Obviously.

Helena steps out onto the porch and ushers her husband out behind her. They shut the door. Ramon’s aura is a similar color to his wife’s. Funny, same as Chim and Maddie.  

“Edmundo, son,” Ramon says. “We weren’t expecting you and…”

“Buck,” Buck says loudly.

Maybe Christopher will hear that. 

“Right,” Ramon says. “Buck.”

“Can you please go get my son?” Eddie asks. “I just need five minutes. That’s… If he doesn’t want to talk more, I just need five minutes.”

“Helena,” Ramon says to his wife. “There is no harm telling Christopher. He can say no if he wants.”

“I need to speak with him,” Eddie repeats. 

Helena throws up her hands in defeat. “Fine. But you do stuff like this, and you wonder why he doesn’t want to come home. Really, Eddie, when will you learn?”

Eddie flinches. Buck clenches his fists. He sees Helena’s aura flicker darker. Like he can see the instincts that lead to her being a worse and worse person grab at her. Take control. Buck wants to give her whatever it is she deserves. Dispense the real justice in this situation. He keeps his mouth shut. 

Helena disappears back into the house. Doesn’t even welcome Eddie or Buck inside. Which, whatever. Buck doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel slighted. But on Eddie’s behalf? He wants to fume. This was Eddie’s home once, too. 

“How have you been, son?” Ramon asks awkwardly. 

“I’ve been better,” Eddie replies flatly. 

Ramon nods shallowly. “Yes, I… I can see how this would have been a tough summer.”

“Summer ended two months ago,” Eddie replies. “But yeah.” 

Buck is proud of him. Good. Talk back. Fuck their comfort. 

---

And then the other two are complete! Thank you!

[spyderlondon]

Hi hello its me im here to give off checkmate ideas

Pomni gets sick and queenie goes on full on mama bear mode And takes care of her while kinger panics..a lot

Overbearing Parents

What do you mean Queenie's supposed to be abstracted? She's always been around helping Kinger be a parent to the circus members!

Ko-fi

----

"I'm fine, really!" Pomni tried to argue and sit up in her bed while trying to stifle a cough, ignoring the body aches she was feeling- why the heck was she feeling bad in the first place? She wasn't even in her real body!

A gentle disembodied, dainty gloved hand pushed the young jester down on the bed, "Now, now, dear... it'd be better for your body if you just let yourself rest longer..." The black queen chess piece told her quietly, her other hand was on top of the white king chess piece's face where the mouth should be beside her, stifling the panicked sounds coming from him.

The jester looked over at Kinger with a quirked brow, "...so, how loud and crazy would he go if you released him?" She questioned with a light, uncertain chuckle.

Queenie started laughing for a second or two before looking down at her adoptive daughter, "It'd be like releasing a shaken champagne bottle that can scream." She answered easily with a roll of her eyes, obviously speaking in a very affectionate tone about her husband. Her husband who was currently trembled in need to escape his wife's hold.

Pomni laughed a bit before coughing a bit roughly, "Ugh... shouldn't this stupid place be free of sicknesses?" She grunted tired as she drank a little of the tea that her adoptive mother gave her when she came in earlier, the warm fluid calming down her throat a bit, "...thank you for the tea, Que-..." She paused as she caught the looked the queen chess piece gave her, "...er, mom. Thank you... mom..." She mumbled in embarrassment, still unused to the adoption. Which, honestly, was the oddest adoption ever since it was literally Caine picking her up, dragging her to Kinger and Queenie and informing the three of them that they were now a family with the jester being their new daughter... an idea that Kinger immediately warmed up to while Queenie took a little more time before she became a rather overprotective mama bear towards her.

...and as much as Pomni wanted to be against the whole idea of being seen as someone's kid, she couldn't lie- it felt good being doted and loved on like a daughter by a couple who obviously wanted a child in the first place.

"CAAAAINE!" Her thoughts were suddenly cut short when she heard her Kinger's shrill voice fading off to the distance in a very fast manner and eyes shot up to see him racing off out of the pillow fort to find the ring leader with his hands in the air.

She glanced at Queenie, who let out an amused snort, "He wiggled his way out of my grasp, butterfly." The black chess piece answered the question that wasn't asked before shaking her head, "I should make sure he doesn't scare off Caine." She mentioned as she put a finger to her chin then looked down at the little jester as she stood up, "Get some rest please." She waited until she got an affirmative answer before leaving the fort herself to go after her husband.

Once Pomni was alone, she turned to lay on her side with a sniff and placing her mug down so she could rest. She smiled at the sight of the monarch butterflies painted on the mug before closing her eyes to get a nap.

----

A/N: I LOVE Checkmates! And it's criminal how little content there is for them especially fanfic wise so I'm taking it on myself to fix that!

[cecilysass]

Beacon (4/6)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic and my poangpal @libbytxf

Malina Knight lives in a ranch house off the state highway that is almost entirely swallowed by the snow-crusted woods that surround it on three sides.

It’s a rustic place that Mulder might think pleasant enough under normal circumstances—maybe a little shabby around the edges—but this afternoon, it strikes him as gloomy and forgotten. The trees shut out most direct light, so the walk up the front path, crunchy with hardened snow, is dark and cold.

There is a child’s Batman bike half buried in the snow. Mulder eyes it speculatively a moment before continuing up the walk to knock on the door.

The door cracks open a hair. “Who is it?”

“Ms. Knight?” Mulder clears his throat. “This is Agent Fox Mulder. We spoke on the phone earlier?”

“I remember,” comes the cautious voice.

“I told you I was going to come ask you some questions about your husband Jim. I won’t take very much of your time.”

“Jim died,” she says bluntly. “They said it was his heart.”

“Yes, I know,” Mulder says, softening his tone. “And I’m truly sorry about your loss. I just have some questions to ask you that could help other people. If you open the door, I can, uh, show you my badge.”

The door widens at once, and Mulder sees who he’s talking to. She’s very thin, the bones in her face visible. Late thirties maybe, long dull blonde hair, unkempt. She looks like she has forgotten how to have feelings.

“It’s okay,” she says flatly. “I’ll help you. You don’t need to show me anything.”

***

“Jim and I met at singles group at church,” Malina says. She lifts a photo off of the end table to show him. “Here we are right after we started dating. Bowling Night. See?”

Mulder politely looks at the photo of Jim Knight with his arm around Malina in better times, lifting brightly colored marbled bowling balls for the camera. “You look very happy.”

“We were happy,” breathes Malina. “People worried, because there was an age difference. But we were always so happy.”

“Age difference?” Mulder studies the photo of the two of them.

“Only fourteen years. It bothered some of my friends, but it never bothered me. Because love is more important than numbers. Don’t you agree, Agent Mulder?”

Mulder lifts a shoulder noncommittally. “Did the age difference become an issue in your marriage?”

“No,” Malina says firmly. She looks at the photo in Mulder’s hand and her expression grows less certain. “At least … I don’t think it did.”

“Ms. Knight, I’m sorry to ask this,” Mulder says, watching her carefully, “but were there any difficulties in your marriage at the time he died?”

Malina’s lip trembles. “He needed some time,” she says. “A fishing trip. Some time away, to let us cool off.”

Mulder considers her wording. “He needed to cool off?”

“Jim could have a temper,” Malina says. “But it wasn’t anything serious, not really,” she adds. “He loved us. I know he did. Everyone could see it.”

Mulder walks to the mantel and picks up a large framed wedding photo. In that photo, Malina, dressed in white, has wrapped her arms around Jim’s neck and is beaming rapturously at him.

“You have a child?” Mulder says. His eyes roam over the photos on the mantel. Jim holding up a baby in overalls. Malina pregnant. Both of them swinging a toddler. “A son?”

“Our son Lyle,” Malina says, sounding like she’s behind a glass frame herself. “He’s seven.”

Mulder listens for a few seconds for any sounds in the house. “Where’s Lyle now?”

“He’s at my mom’s,” Malina says. “I…” She runs her fingers through her long blonde hair. “Well, I’m just not in a good place these days, since Jim. My mom is helping me out with Lyle, until I can get my head on straight.” Her eyes dart around anxiously, settling at last on the floor.

Mulder nods, pensively taking in her entire demeanor. She is, he’ll admit, not quite what he expected.

“They told me it was his heart.” Malina looks up with tears like ice shards all over her cheeks. “Do you think that someone killed Jim, Agent Mulder?” she says, her pitch rising. “Because yeah, our marriage wasn’t in great shape. Jim was unhappy. We were hoping to work it out. But I always, always loved him. I’d never have done something to hurt him. He’s the love of my life.”

The framed wedding photo is still in Mulder’s hand.

His world suddenly begins collapsing all around him as he sets it down carefully on the mantle.

“I think I understand you,” Mulder manages to say in a strange voice.

Malina loved her husband. Her heart was full of longing.

But it was Jim Knight’s heart that was stopped.

“Good,” Malina says. She wraps her arms around herself, nodding rapidly. “Good.”

Mulder staggers a little backwards, nearly tripping over the coffee table in the process.

Malina squints at him. “Are you okay?”

“I …” Mulder’s mind is flooded with terrible, terrible images, images that make him break out instantly into a cold sweat. “I’m so sorry… but I have to go. I need to get back to my hotel. Right now.”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“I realized that… it isn’t…” He breaks off, swallowing. “I’ll be in touch, Ms. Knight. Thank you.”

***

He’s walking so fast to the car, trying to dial Scully as he does, that his feet begin to slip under him on the ice. He has to stop and steady himself, extending his hand with his phone out for balance, cursing.

As soon as he can, he smacks the phone back to his ear. She’s not answering. “Pick up, Scully. Fucking pick up the phone.”

His foot slams on the gas, and he begins to tear too fast on icy country highways back to the Beacon Inn.

Please, he thinks, it might be pathetic, it might be absurd, but she’s my only light in dark places.

***

By the time he pulls back into the parking spot at the Inn, he’s shaking all over like he’s twelve again, like he never grew into the adult he resembles. He forces himself to be steady, to think clearly.

He rushes through the door, waving a distracted hand at Banoy behind the desk, and he races for the stairs, thumping up two and three at a time.

There’s no ghost woman waiting for him in the hall. No living woman either.

“Scully,” he shouts. He bangs on her door. “Scully,” he calls louder. He realizes he should have asked Banoy for an extra key. If she is in cardiac distress, every second will count. He could have asked Banoy to call for the hospital right away. He tries to remember how to do CPR; he thinks he can—

Scully, wearing her glasses and holding a stack of papers, opens her door with an amazed expression.

“Mulder,” she says calmly, “why the hell are you screaming in the hall?”

“Scully,” he breathes in relief, his eyes drinking her in. He wants to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight, but he knows he can’t, he shouldn’t.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I—” He realizes certain limits in what he can say. “Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

She scowls, walking over to the bedside table to pick her phone up. “I guess reception is spotty here,” she says. “I didn’t hear your call. Did something … happen?”

Mulder walks inside, his adrenaline still coursing. He feels like he may never be able to stop moving again. He paces a little back and forth to try to burn off his excess tension. “I was wrong,” he says. “Duncan was wrong. It can’t be that the ghost is targeting unrequited love. Because Malina Knight? Scully, that lady loved her husband. If anything, it was her love that was unrequited. Her feelings seem like they were stronger.”

Scully backs up to sit on the edge of the bed, giving him a quizzical look. “So now you think the ghost could be killing people who are the focus of unrequited love?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder says, throwing his hands up. His pulse is still racing. “I don’t know anything about the other victims.”

“And how do you know that Jim Knight wasn’t simply in unrequited love with someone else?” Scully says practically. “You know. With someone besides his wife.”

Mulder stops pacing mid-step.

“You did ask the wife whether she knew if there’d been infidelity, right?” Scully says. She looks incredulous at his blank expression. “You didn’t?”

“I didn’t have the opportunity to,” he says, rubbing his hand across his mouth. “To be honest, I got worried and came back fast.”

“Why?” she says sharply. “Why did you come back? Did you have some reason to think I might be in danger, too?”

Mulder feels like a caught schoolboy. “No,” he says quickly. “No. I came back because until we figure this out, I’m not sure this inn is safe for anyone. I’m just getting spooked, I guess.” He swallows. It was a weak save, but she doesn’t seem visibly perturbed. He studies her. “And everything’s been… as expected here?”

Scully takes a half second too long to answer. “Yes.”

There’s definitely something off in that answer, but he doesn’t dare press more. “What have you been doing?”

“I’ve been sitting here reading through your historical research,” she says. She points to some books stacked on the bedside table. “As well as the myth of Hero and Leander, and the famous poem about the myth by Christopher Marlowe.”

“‘Who ever loved, who loved not at first sight?’” Mulder quotes wearily.

“Right,” Scully says, picking up the poetry book with a sniff. “That line is silly. The poem is interesting. I wonder if Hero was familiar with it.”

“You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

“Oh, I might,” she says, flipping idly through the pages. “But I don’t think it’s the only way to love.”

“Yeah,” he says, “I think I agree with you about that.”

There is a tense, unbearable pause.

“So now we have deaths that may or may not be homicides, inflicted by a killer who may or may not be alive, targeting victims who may or may not be experiencing unrequited love,” Scully says, snapping the book shut suddenly.

Mulder walks over to examine the silhouette of the man above her dresser again. He reaches out his finger to trace the craggy outline of the man’s face over the glass. “Maybe Hero is drawn to longing of some kind, some kind of heartache. Maybe it doesn’t matter if the person is the subject or object of longing. Maybe it only matters if the person is in her proximity. Maybe it’s the wanting, the unresolved, that draws her.”

When he turns around, Scully looks prim and disapproving, crossing her arms.

“But what if—”

She’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

***

Scully, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest, purses her lips in dread at the closed door, making no move to get it.

“Scully?” Mulder prompts.

“Yes.”

She has absolutely no way to explain why she doesn’t want to answer the door, for the simple reason that she has no way to tell Mulder what she saw in the hallway before.

Not simply, not casually, anyway. It’s something she can’t easily explain with scientifically plausible language.

A figure that certainly appeared to look at her and beckon to her. There for five seconds, gone the next. A classic … ghost.

Admitting she had seen this—or that she thought she saw this, anyway, because even now she can’t rule out she was misled, deluded, mistaken—seems impossible just to say. Allowing these words to pass through her mouth is a Russian nesting doll of further implications.

Because what would telling Mulder she saw Hero communicate to him, exactly? What would she be tacitly admitting to? That she just deeply wants to see a dead woman because of her sister? That her subconscious hopes to be able to extend her reach beyond death?

That’s embarrassing enough, but then there is also what it could imply about her feelings, about a possible imbalance in emotional attachment towards her partner.

When he came rushing in like that, she thought he must have guessed. It’s the kind of thing he might do, with his frustratingly prescient mind. She thought he might have even guessed why she might see Hero, and rushed back to the Inn to save her from her embarrassing death by unrequited feelings.

But now she doesn’t think that’s the case. He’s not acting like he really knows anything is different. He’s just chaotic Mulder, who disappears one moment and shows up unexpectedly the next.

“Are you all right?” he says, staring at her with a quizzical expression.

“Sorry,” she says. “Yes, of course. Just tired.”

This is silly. You aren’t a jumpy teenager at a slumber party.

She forces herself to walk to the door and slowly opens it, steeling herself to see a woman standing there with an impossible lack of opacity, speaking nonsense to her about being her love. Instead, it’s Duncan and Banoy.

“Hey,” Duncan says, an expression of curious concern on his face. “We just wanted to check in. Banoy said Agent Mulder seemed to be experiencing some kind of emergency before?”

“Oh, yes— just a misunderstanding,” Mulder says quickly, walking to the door. “Everything’s fine now.”

“You’re sure?” Banoy looks him up and down suspiciously. “I almost called for an ambulance.”

“Yes,” Scully says. Her eyes move involuntarily to the space behind Banoy, darting up and down the hallway without thinking.

Duncan notices the direction of her gaze. “And you haven’t seen anything unusual, Agent Scully?” He raises an eyebrow. “Forgive the expression … but you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

She’s keenly aware of Mulder’s eyes on her. “Do I?” Scully says with a tight smile. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a believer in ghosts.”

Of course she isn’t. Not only are they the usual phenomena beyond the reach of science, they fly in the face of her understanding of a loving and omnipotent God. Her God wouldn’t let souls be stranded, unhappily plaguing the living.

You know what you saw. And you know you should discuss it with Mulder.

“I see,” Duncan says. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry to worry you,” Mulder says.

“Well, I also wanted to mention that you’d asked about Gary and Pam, the couple that stayed here Halloween and said they saw Hero. I called Pam this afternoon, and she insisted they come up to see you. Said they’d drop by right after they get off work.”

“That should be soon,” adds Banoy. “They work at the ski lodge, and they said they’d be here before six.”

“Oh.” Mulder seems to perk up. “I’m very interested in speaking to them, actually. Maybe we should go downstairs and wait, Scully.”

She nods, twisting her mouth to mask her frustration. She wants to slow down, talk matters through with Mulder, find a way to broach the topic of ghosts in the hallway on her own terms.

“Let me grab a sweater,” she says instead.

***

Gary and Pam Kromkowski are both young, no older than twenty-five, both willowy and athletic. They stand in the lobby of the inn peeling off their coats, matching sky blue with the logo of a nearby ski lodge.

“We work at Frosty Ridge,” Pam explains to Scully, when she sees her eyeing the logos on the coats. “Gary’s an advanced ski instructor and I do the kids’ lessons.”

Gary flops onto one of the sofas with colored cushions in the lobby and rolls his head back. “Whew-ee. We’re pretty worn out—this is our busy season.”

“We appreciate you taking the time to come talk to us,” Scully says politely, glancing at Mulder, who is standing next to her, looking unhelpfully dazed.

“Oh, we had to,” Gary says earnestly. “After we found out you were looking into those people that died.”

“See, we could have died ourselves,” Pam says, plopping down next to Gary. “We were so close, weren’t we, babe? We said, we have to tell people what happened.”

Mulder looks like he is taking all that they’re saying extremely seriously. He scrambles to sit down across from the sofa and leans towards them, his forearms on his thighs. “Tell me what you mean.”

“The ghost,” says Gary, lowering his voice and looking around, like he thinks Hero might drift around the corner. He clasps Pam’s hand. “I had the idea it would be fun to spend Halloween here, see. We both like horror movies, so I thought… scary creepy old inn, right? Good place for a couple days away.”

“Perfect for Halloween,” Pam agrees.

“Okay,” Mulder says. He seems to be thinking something over. “And you two were … dating? Together?”

The couple looks at one another slyly. “Well, yes and no,” Pam says. “We were… uhhhh…” She giggles. “We were fucking around. But we hadn’t, like, had the talk, right?”

“Right,” Mulder says seriously, like he is considering and absorbing that concept. Scully wonders if Mulder has ever had “the talk” with a woman.

“So she goes downstairs to get our food,” Gary says, “and I am coming out of the shower, and holy shit, there’s a lady standing in our room. Not standing, floating. A ghost. Like, an actual ghost you can see through.”

“Hmm,” Mulder says, nodding. “What did the ghost do? Did she say anything?”

“She kinda stood there in her old-fashioned dress and she said… what was it, babe? ‘Come on, I love you,’ all that creepy shit,” Gary says. “Pam knows because she saw her, too, like five minutes later.”

“I saw her in the hallway,” Pam says. “I was bringing up our food, Chinese. And when I get upstairs to go in our room, what do I see?”

“Ghost,” Gary jumps in emphatically.

“A fucking ghost,” agrees Pam. “And yeah, I admit I was scared. We didn’t think this was real.”

Mulder nods again thoughtfully.

“So Pam came back into the room. And she was completely freaking out, and I was completely freaking out,” Gary says. He looks Pam in the eyes, speaking affectionately. “We had to calm each other down.”

“What had you heard about the ghost before this?” Scully says, trying to get to the point.

“Well, we knew she was the love ghost,” Pam says. “We knew you had to, like, have feelings to see her. Everyone knows that around here.”

Gary runs his finger down Pam’s cheek tenderly. “So it kind of spilled the beans, and we told one another how we felt that night, once and for all. Got it all out in the open.” He lowers his voice. “And I asked her to marry me.”

He leans forward and kisses Pam enthusiastically, practically shoving his tongue down her throat. It quickly devolves into somewhat uncomfortable intimacy, hands crawling aggressively over ski pants. Mulder clears his throat, and Scully averts her eyes. She wonders wistfully when she got cast in the role of maiden aunt.

“So,” Mulder says as they break apart at last, “do you have any idea why you weren’t killed like the others?”

“I think it’s because our love was pure,” Pam says, still gazing at Gary. “Because she could tell we’re soulmates.”

“Ah,” Mulder says with a barely-contained sarcastic edge. “That could be it.” Scully notes his jaw muscle is tense. “You never saw Hero again after that?

“Nope,” Gary says. “That was all. We got married a month later, and now we’re newlyweds.”

“Congratulations,” Scully says formally.

“We just wanted to tell you,” Pam says proudly. “In case our story was important. Other people might want to protect themselves.” She leans back towards Gary, tilting her head invitingly. “With the power of love.” He takes the bait and presses his lips to hers, sloppily kissing her again.

Scully holds herself back from rolling her eyes. “We appreciate your assistance,” she says loudly. “I’m sure you’re very tired—”

“Pam, before you saw the ghost,” Mulder interrupts as the couple pulls apart, “you experienced … some kind of longing for Gary? And you for Pam, Gary? Would you say that’s accurate?”

Pam smirks. “Longing, sure,” she says. “If that’s what you wanna call it.” She giggles a little again, running her hands up Gary’s chest.

“I’ve got something longing for you right here, babe,” Gary growls playfully in a low voice.

“Thank you for your time,” Scully says, very weary of this, walking towards the door. “We’re grateful for your help.”

Even if it’s no help at all, she thinks darkly. She isn’t sure these two even saw the ghost. Like Duncan, she is suspicious that this is a little too good of a proposal story.

Mulder has apparently been deep in thought, staring steadily across the room, and looks vaguely surprised to see that the Kromkowskis are leaving. “Oh yeah … thank you,” he says vaguely, still staring. “Happy holidays.”

He doesn’t stand to walk them out, flopping back instead in the chair he is sitting in. Scully feels another twinge of irritation as she leaves him to his sprawl.

***

It feels like he’s losing his mind. One second he is sitting here talking to the Kromkowskis, and the next moment, he spots her out of the corner of his eye. Staring at him, silently, across the room.

Hero doesn’t say a word this time or move a transparent muscle. She only stands tall and straight, her expression something between judgmental and sorrowful. Mulder can do nothing but let his attention be completely distracted. He can do nothing but stare back at her in shock.

The Kromkowskis don’t see her, and they are sitting where they would have, if she were visible to them. It seems clear their vulnerability to ghostly murder was cured by eliminating their longing. How lucky can you be, he thinks, to have the yearning of your heart satisfied like that. Do the Kromkowskis even understand their good fortune? What happened to them was something that was probably not possible in the other cases. It’s certainly not possible in his own.

Of course Scully doesn’t seem aware of Hero’s presence either, although she doesn’t ever turn that direction. Maybe the best he can hope for from any of this is that it’s only him who dies.

It’s funny, he thinks, that he started this case hoping that she wouldn’t quit, and now he’s just happy if she survives him.

As he slumps in his seat in despair, his gaze irrevocably held by the strange countenance of a dead woman, he begins to hear something. Or so he thinks. He listens hard. A hushed roar in the distance, rising and falling. He pays close attention, but he can’t decide if it’s really there or if it’s his own troubled imagination.

The Kromkowskis leave, and Scully walks back to him, her mouth pinched in annoyance. He sits up and forces himself to look at her.

“Do you hear something, Scully?” he says, trying to sound nonchalant.

She tilts her head and listens, scowling. “No,” she says. “What do you hear?”

When he glances anxiously back across the room again, Hero is gone. The rushing sound has vanished.

***

[dreamlogic]

aye can i get a fuckin uuuhhhh

break. on my burger

[stabbyfoxandrew]

just got a notification from my phone calendar saying "It's almost alfo's birthday, do you want to plan something?"

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

JoJo Siwa doesn’t deserve all the hate (and homophobia) she’s getting for her style and music; but she does deserve scrutiny for defending Colleen Ballinger and being both active and complicit in abuse that happened on her TV show. Like the girl has been under the public eye in unhealthy environments all her life; cut her some slack — not too much; she’s still a responsible adult — but if you’re going to dogpile her, then at least dogpile her for the right reasons. Jesus Fucking Christ.

[skippygoldfish]

It's a lil sad how often i see goldy keepers on FB asking for help because their goldies keep being sick despite their best efforts to keep the water clean and trying different medications. i am wondering how often they are facing similar problems to my Skippy. i am fortunate that i was able to take her to an exotic vet, but still there is nothing much that can be done. people really arent kidding when they say that goldies are just prone to random health issues, huh? but now whenever i see people upset about it, who have tried all they can, i try to tell em that it really DOES just happen sometimes, due to their messed up organs.

[anonymusbosch]

sometimes i feel like extending the kindness you can, when you can, is the only thing there is

[sqlmn]

Ananza is the wind deity, though she's not the first with that honor. Originally the elder gods selected a man as their wind deity but after he witnessed Oh and Fulj being punished he requested to relinquish his role. Basically asking them for a mortal death rather than immortality. They obliged since the deities exist to help humans and a miserable deity won't do the job properly so no need to keep a deity bound to a task they don't want to do.

So Ananza was selected as a replacement. Fulj has no recollection of the first wind deity and Ananza has already been told by the fire deities that it wasn't Fulj's fault but she was the final straw for the former wind deity. So, Ananza doesn't hold any dislike towards Fulj and actually really likes listening to her talk. Ananza loves to dance and wander around her city so when Fulj stops by to visit, she listens to Fulj's adventures while they roam the city.

Because there are two fire deities and one can stay in their city while the other wanders and because Fulj no longer has a city to be focused on, the three like to visit the other cities to check in. Ohime and Ohiwe really like to visit Ananza while Fulj prefers to visit Ymber. While Ananza likes Ohiwe, Ohime, and Fulj, she really isn't fond of the ice deity or Ymber. She doesn't like to scramble for topics and ice/Ymber don't start conversations enough so it's a bother to Ananza to try forcing friendliness. She loves light hearted stories though and Fulj and the fire deities excel at that type of story.

(Ohime and Ohiwe sometimes call her Nana and on that note it's lore in the tags time)

[kayvsworld]

i always forget i have Healthcare System Anxiety until i have to interact with The Healthcare System and immediately just start screaming internally for days