#lettie’s mailbox

[periprose]

Florence - Chapter One

You and Peter Parker are former childhood best friends. As next door neighbours, you and him spent a great deal of time together, either at school, playing video games, or during your yearly summer vacations at Florence, Italy. But after you drifted away from him- you both went to different colleges, and you figured you wouldn't need to bother him anymore with your unrequited crush that you had never spoken of but clearly showed symptoms of- things are very awkward. It's even more so when you receive an invitation to Harry and MJ's destination wedding, located at Florence, of course.

former childhood friends to friends to lovers, mutual pining, loads of flashbacks to Florence vacations and other things, flirting, fluff and angst and eventual smut

no use of y/n, your father is Logan Howlett and you go by your last name

Masterlist | Next Chapter

It’s raining outside. 

Just moments before, as you decided to go check out your mailbox, it was a hot, sunny day. Typical for June 15th- a normal, almost sunny day. Of course, technically you’re in the last days of spring, so a downpour of rain started as you were opening your mailbox.

“Aw, fucking- damn it!” You stuff the mail under your shirt, and begin running across the sidewalk. 

Your hair is drenched in seconds- your shirt, too, is pretty damp- and when you’re finally at your porch, you can see so many puddles of water accumulated at your street. Weather is just crazy in New York.

One second later, you realize that you’ve left your mailbox open, and your keys are still in the keyhole of the box, so now you’re running yet again, down the street, rain making you totally wet and you know for a fact you’re going to have to change out of your clothes. You shut the mailbox door, grab your keys, and run back.

When you finally make it to your door, you’re sweating, soaked, and totally embarrassed.

May Parker- your sweet, older neighbour- is at her own porch, and she waves at you.

“Hey, Lettie. Going for an afternoon walk?” She asks, but really, she’s teasing, and you shrug. You haven’t been on the best of the terms with the Parkers lately.

“Just getting mail.” You pick up the envelopes, and quickly scan through them. 

Bills, dentist appointment reminder, flyers full of coupons… baby clothing catalogue? I’m not pregnant. You think to yourself. But you see that it’s listed to M. Parker- it’s obviously for your neighbour.

“Hey, May.” You stroll over to her porch, and hand her the baby clothing catalogue. “For… you?”

“Well, not for me like that, if that’s what you’re thinking.” May laughs, and flips through it. “Loads of women come to FEAST either pregnant or with babies- and I can’t always count on donations to help them, y’know?” She says it all matter-of-fact like, but you feel bad.

You used to donate at FEAST. You even used to volunteer there, around ten years ago when you were still in high school.

Things are different now, though. 

You sift through the rest of your mail, feeling too uncomfortable to just let May stand here on her own. You wonder why she’s just out- sometimes she’s drinking tea, just chilling- but she’s very clearly waiting for something. 

A very, very ornate envelope is on the front of your pile, and you pick it up gingerly.

What is this? One of those charity scams where the envelope looks really prestigious, so you’re motivated to donate? You wonder, but it dawns on you slowly.

Ivory white paper.

Silky to the touch.

Rococo imprints and detailing.

Oh no… You open it up, knowing exactly what this has to be. A wedding invitation?

You’re at the age where tons of your peers are getting married. Just last year, Gwen finally married Miles in a very nice, close friends only, cozy sort of wedding. And it’s not that you feel lonely, exactly- maybe it’s just that the pressure is finally weighing in a little.

You don’t think you have to get married. You are a feminist, something you can thank your dear old dad, Logan Howlett, for, since he has never been one to pressure you on this. In fact, he has always been the first to say that you don’t need a man and you especially don’t need one of those “punk-ass kids walking around today, like they own the damn planet.”

You know that’s true. Kind of, anyways. But you still feel like you are missing out on something, like the magical, perfect ending to a story that is marriage, that everyone always talks about. Feeling left behind.

Maybe you are lonely in a different way. Maybe it feels like your peers are moving on into different stages of their life, because that is what’s happening. 

Still, no need to panic. You’re just having a momentary lapse in judgement- it’s fine. 

The invitation reads, in gorgeous swoopy gold lettering that has yourself smiling despite yourself:

Mary Jane “MJ” Watson and Harold Theopolis “Harry” Osborn Will be Wedded                                                                                                                      On July 21st, 2023 In Florence, Italy At the Florence Cathedral

Accommodations will be provided.

A two-week long stay will be arranged prior to your visit, with maids and chefs attending to your every need. More details will be sent soon.

Your smile drops. 

You love Harry and MJ. You always knew that Harry would go all out for getting married, like he does for most things, and especially for MJ, a girl that he loves more than he loves custom cufflinks from Tiffany’s. 

It doesn’t hurt that MJ is gorgeous- she’s a stunning, 5’10 model with killer longs legs and a lithe, small waist that puts her on the cover of every magazine easily. Surprisingly natural cherry-red hair that pours off her head in the most silky, straight long curtain. 

But what really matters, as you always remind yourself before you get too caught up in admiring MJ’s looks and comparing yourself to her, is that MJ is a sweetheart. She always has been- always asks you how you’re doing and if you need anything, even if she herself is busy. MJ is the one who managed to soften Harry’s heart after he had a devastating fight with his father back in high school, when he was in his me-against-the-world phase.

You just wonder why they had to pick Florence, of all the places to go. Why not Tokyo, or Berlin, or Dubai? Why the one place where all your childhood memories with Peter Parker seem to reside, and just the thought of him makes your heart vaguely ache?

May sees what you’re looking at, and smiles widely. “Oh, Isn’t this great? Your childhood friends are finally getting hitched!”

You smile softly. “Yeah… and in Florence, too.”

May nods excitedly. “It’ll be just like back then, when you two were little. Peter’s on his way here- he’s just being picked up by Ben from New Jersey.”

You nod, but you’re not really listening. You didn’t even know Peter was in New Jersey- you’ve been avoiding talking to him for at least a year now. The last message he sent to you was “hey, howlett, you okay?” after not receiving a response for a week.

It’s awkward. You’ve ghosted him, and now you’re on his front porch. Before you can leave, Ben’s car is pulling up onto the driveway.

It’s too bad, you think. You’re easily flustered by confrontation- and it doesn’t help when Peter technically never did anything wrong.

You and your stupid feelings.

Ben exits the car, and pulls Peter’s suitcase out of the trunk. Peter himself wanders out, his tall, long body stretching outwards. He’s always been a lot taller than you.

He looks tired. Eyebags are heavy, and he’s got a bit of a slouch going on. There’s a bit of scruffy stubble adorning his jaw, and it’s either because he was too tired to shave it, or he was going for a bit of a look. 

But Peter’s eyes instantly brighten when he sees you, and you feel that same ache again, that despite your poor treatment of him, he still looks at you with kindness.

“Howlett.” He leans forward to fist bump you, just like you always greeted each other, and to your surprise, you fist bump him back.

“Peter.” You give him a small, fond smile, and even if you know you’re faking it- that you’re trying not to grimace- Peter doesn’t let on that he knows that.

/

Logan has been drinking his morning coffee for the last four hours. It’s noon, but that’s how he likes it sometimes. Slow, boring sips as he stares out the window. 

He wonders what’s taking you so damn long. He just wants to see if Charles has sent out the school schedules in the mail yet- so he knows for sure what grade he’s teaching this year.

Elementary school is shitty, he knows. Snot-nosed kids can be their own worst enemies, or they can start fighting each other, and even worse, teachers like him have to be on top of it all the time. 

You always laugh when he tells you. “War never changes, kiddo.”

He’s just hoping it’s at least fifth grade. Ten year olds are smarter than the world gives them credit for.

You were even smarter than that, though. You and Pete- the two smartest kids in the neighbourhood- would always mutually read your library books together, and insist on extra homework, and even go to the mathematics club together. And if you weren’t doing that, you’d both be chasing each other around the playground, completely oblivious to the beginnings of a crush. 

As Logan thinks about Peter and how you both used to be best buds, until something happened and you forever refused to talk about it with him, his eyes narrow as he sees you on the Parker porch. You don’t usually fraternize with neighbours- you’re too busy doing your remote coding job, typically spending hours cooped up in your room until Logan pesters you to get sunlight- so it’s a little suspicious.

Until, of course, he watches as your face reddens and Peter Parker himself walks up to you. Logan has a little smirk on his face- he was never going to push you to deal with Pete, he’s just glad that the universe had it’s own little goals in mind.

It seems kind of crazy just how old you are. To Logan, at least, it feels like just yesterday, rather than twenty something years ago, that you were in kindergarten and he was picking you up excitedly, wanting to remember what school was like from the perspective from a kid.

And then just two years later, the Parkers moved in next door. Peter was in your second grade class, and you two were inseparable. Peter and Howlett- you hate going by your first name, so everyone calls you either Howlett, or some alternative of that like Lettie or Howl- anyways, Logan has always thought it was you and Pete against the world.

That was the year that the Florence summer vacations began.

/

You’re having a flashback as May, Ben and Peter allow you to sit down in their home. May has set down a cup of tea for you- you’re grateful to have something to sip on as you try to avoid conversation.

You’re nine years old again, in a stripy swimsuit, and you’re playing on the sandy beaches of Italy with Peter, who’s eagerly licking a popsicle. Sand grains are sticking to his elbows, hands, and the back of his neck. You’re instructing him on how to help you correctly make the sandcastle, and Peter is eagerly listening, forever your willing best friend, doing whatever you’ll say.

The sunshine is bright- maybe a little too much for your dad- and he picks you up, slathering you in sunscreen as you hiss and shriek at him. 

“Put me down, Dad- this is embarrassing-!”

“Settle down, ya little wolverine- just some sun protection.” Your dad leaves a dab of sunscreen around the corner of your mouth as he sets you back down, and Peter giggles.

“Hey, look, Howlett- you still got some sunscreen on your mouth.” He snorts, and then falls over laughing when you glare at him. 

“You need sun protection too, Parker!” And you charge towards him, letting the last bits of sunscreen that haven’t quite melted into your skin, transfer onto his.

Peter yells as he tries to keep you away, but you’re too fast for him. Your arms clamber around him- but Peter is still a bit taller so he tries to lift you away from him- and the next thing you know you’ve both fallen over the sandcastle, with a very soft thump.

You’re on top of Peter, which is disconcerting on it’s own considering these new warm feelings you keep having for him, but what’s really confusing you is the soft, squishy thing against your mouth.

You open your eyes and see that Peter’s lips are connected to your own, in the most accidental, chaste kiss. It’s an embrace that shocks you, because you know what that is, what that means- and you pull yourself away, and Peter stands up in shock too. Your heads bump together for a second as you stumble in confusion, the warm, fuzzy feelings exploding tenfold. 

Peter immediately says that he’s sorry. And you’re okay with that, because you don’t really know what this all means, and you’re not exactly ready for all that. You’re just glad your dad didn’t see- he probably would’ve freaked.

You come back to yourself in the present. That moment makes you grow numb, because you had always considered that your first kiss, until things changed for the worst. This is why you don’t really talk to Peter anymore- he’s not an ex, he’s just a complicated person for you.

Even MJ knows that. Inside the envelope was a second card, handwritten in her perfect script:

Dearest Howlett-ie, the best girl in the whole world,

I am so excited to see you in Italy! I know, by the way. I tried to talk Harry out of it but apparently he got a really good deal with arranging the wedding in the Florence Cathedral. But if it feels hard for you, I understand. 

I promise it won’t be that bad, because we’re staying at the Villa Cetinale. It’s a really pretty house- and it’s in Siena, so it’s not quite Florence, although it is next to it.

I have a big ask. Will you be my maid of honour? I’ve always dreamt that you’d be by my side for the wedding, because I love you and you’re like my sister. If not that, at least a bridesmaid. I won’t hear a no from you on that!

I hope you’re doing okay (don’t let coding be your entire life, please!) and I’m gonna make sure the situation with Peter isn’t awkward. Don’t even worry about it- I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t have to interact with him.

At this point in the letter, you genuinely wanted to laugh. You’re already sitting next to him at his house, and May is talking all about the wedding, so Peter knows. An interaction is imminent.

It’s also insanely childish of you to expect him not to talk to you, when again, he’s not an ex boyfriend, and even then, you have been amicable with your ex boyfriend. And you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t have to expect MJ to cater to you on her wedding day.

Also, although I would miss you, I understand if you want to go back home early after the wedding. You probably have important work to do, like you always do. I hope to hear from you soon!

Love, MJ

It’s the sweetest message ever, and it’s so MJ, and you can’t let her do any of this for you. Because you’re a Howlett, and your dad didn’t raise a damn quitter, and you love MJ. You have been best friends since she was in your and Peter’s sixth grade science class, and that was where all the trouble began for you. 

“Did you hear me, Peter?” May shakes his shoulder, and the movement causes the two of you to lean towards each other on the sofa.

Peter stiffens, and then shakes his head. He doesn’t exactly pull away- and this is why you hate him sometimes. 

Why couldn’t he just be more succinct in his rejection of you? This weird wishy washy, I like being next to you, but I will never see you like that, is exactly why you ended up trying to leave him alone. 

You suppose that it’s because you never openly told him that you liked him, and his rejection is just implied- up in the air, but you have assumed it based on the facts- and that he’s still a friendly person. But friendship, just friendship, from someone you know you still love hurts a lot.

“Harry’s been calling the house. He says you wouldn’t pick up your cellphone. He wants you to be his best man, Peter.” May says, and Peter blinks slowly.

He yawns loudly, stretching his arms, and the gentlest touch from his forearm to yours has you nearly reeling. 

“Really? Me?” Peter sounds mildly confused. “There’s not some billionaire tech heir he’d rather ask?”

“Oh, stop that.” Ben interjects, looking wise as ever as he leans against his own seat. “I admit the boy has changed a lot, maybe for the worse-”

“Lavish partying? No class consciousness?” Peter scoffs. “I’d say.”

“Anyways, he’s still your friend. One of your closest.” Ben drinks his own coffee. “You’d be the one to change him, at least.”

“At his wedding? I don’t know, Uncle Ben.” Peter sighs. “Okay, fine. Only because you’re right that he’s my friend and I want to see him get married.”

“I wonder who the maid of honour is.” May stares at her fingernails, and despite the growing embarrassment inside of you, you answer. 

“MJ asked me to do it.” You mumble, but May claps excitedly.

“Aw, that’s wonderful! You two will look perfect next to each other.” May seems totally oblivious to how you want to sink into the cushions of the couch under you.

Peter nods. “It makes sense. We are neighbours… and best friends.”

Why does it feel like the whole universe is against you today? You have nothing to say to his reply, so you just nod.

/

Telling your dad is so not fun when he spends the whole time laughing.

“So you won’t tell me why you hate Pete- but now you’re gonna be spending hours with him?” Logan slaps his knee, tears coming out of his eyes. “It’s just perfect.”

The word perfect echoes in your mind a few times, and you ignore the urge to claw your dad’s eyes out. It’s not that anyone means any harm- it’s that even you thought you and Peter were perfect, clearly meant to be, and that sadly wasn’t the case. 

It’s just a reminder of how you lead yourself on.

“Never mind, Dad.” You scowl at him as he hoots with laughter about how you should just tell Pete. That you supposedly want him.

You don't- at least, not anymore- and you run upstairs to your room and flop angrily onto the bed. 

Then, you gather your hair into a floppy bun/ponytail/scrunchie and start cleaning. It's stress relief, yes, but it's also because your room has accumulated a lot of trash, and it's pissing you off. 

You put on your headphones, blast some music, and throw things into a garbage bag, including several diet cans of Coke, a wrapper for a Jamaican beef patty, and coffee cups. 

Your phone starts ringing. It's MJ wanting to video call- and you prop your phone up on your desk before answering. 

/

Peter is so, so tired. 

The first thing he wanted to do when he got home was to sleep. He already knew about the wedding- Harry asked him on how to propose to MJ ages ago. 

But of course he could not just rest when he got home- May had to go on and on about how being best man means getting beauty sleep, so he would look good in all the pictures.

But he didn’t expect to have to talk about all this wedding stuff so much today. It’s only going to get worse, he knows- it’s a month and a week away, and in wedding time that might as well be five minutes.

Even worse- he sees that you’re still not in the right mood to talk to him. Peter, as smart as he is, has no idea what he did wrong, and it’s only out of respect to you that he doesn’t just throttle you and ask for the answer. 

He has never considered you not his best friend, and the fact that you might as well be pulling away from him now, possibly forever, makes him feel sick to his stomach. How can he rectify the issue when he doesn’t know what it is?

He’s been lying on his bed, throwing a tennis ball up at his ceiling, and then catching it. The repetitive motion usually allows Peter to turn the cogs and gears in his mind, but… Dr. Octavius had him working days and nights for the last six months, so Peter’s head just isn’t in the right space.

He thinks about the timeline, as he often does.

Peter met you in second grade at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. In Ms. Grey’s class- she was a pretty redhead, and Peter would often wistfully think about marrying her in the way that a second grader has a crush on their teacher- until, of course, he and you witnessed Logan and her in a very passionate embrace at a school dance, sometime in the fourth grade.

Peter shudders. 

Then around… the summer break where you were both nine years old, you headed to Florence, Italy. Just you, Logan, (not your mom as that was a touchy subject for everyone, and to this day, Peter has no idea who your mom even is), Aunt May, Uncle Ben, and Peter. It was really special- vacations were not something Logan or May or Ben could typically afford- but it was a seasonal package offered from Logan’s teaching job, and it included all five potential members of a family. 

Logan and Ben were drinking buddies, and they liked playing poker together, much to the chagrin of May, but she would sometimes join in too. Peter was- is- your best friend, and so it seemed obvious to Logan that the five of you should go. 

And every year, every summer break, from the ages of nine to just eighteen, you would go to Florence together. As you went every year, traditions would be formed, bonds would be stronger, and everyone would feel relaxed as the Italian sunsets warmed your bodies and minds.

Peter has many fond memories from those times. You and him would always sit next to each other on the plane, and watch movies for the whole duration for the flight, even if Logan would tell you guys that you needed to sleep at some point.

Then, because the bus taking you to Florence would drive from the Naples airport to your hotel there- you would always get Neapolitan pizza, and split it together. And there was always basil-mint gelato to be had, too.

Then, there would be swimming on the lovely, warm beaches of Italy, and maybe some sightseeing- there’s a lot of gorgeous, religious art there. You also loved walking down the cobblestone streets of Florence with Peter- chasing random things that caught your eyes, and taking loads of pictures. He wasn’t religious at all, but he enjoyed visiting the churches by your side. You also went out of your way to hike a lot, through Italy’s marvelous architecture and fields. You visited a winery, even though when you went, you were both a little too young to officially drink, but Logan let you guys have a sip anyways.

Peter smiles to himself. One of his favourite memories was the year you both were thirteen- starting out into the world of teenagers- and you had just started your period. It was not a good time for you, and you were clearly very grumpy about it. He gave you a heating pad, and pain medication, and didn’t go swimming until your period was over, so you could go together. You had been so happy when he told you that- and you hugged him so tight, he’s been chasing that feeling ever since.

When you began high school, you brought all your textbooks and things with you on the trip that year- even though Logan, May and Ben called you a bunch of nerds- and studied for your exams together. Peter was glad to have you as a study buddy, because Harry slacked a lot and Peter didn’t want that kind of behaviour influencing him. MJ was pretty good at studying, too, but if Harry asked her to go out, she was the type to just give up.

There was that really sweet time that you and Peter went to the aquarium and watched a group of baby turtles swim together. And you bought a pair of turtle keychains- it’s still dangling off of his work bag. 

There was also that absolutely hilarious time that Peter heard you screaming in your motel room- you both must’ve been 15 at that point- and he leapt in there to see you coming out of the bathroom, still in your first bikini. Peter tried not to be a creep about this- but he was a nerdy 15 year old and it was difficult to avert his eyes from any young, budding, almost developed-woman- and he stared at you, face reddening, before you stammered out about a large spider in the bathroom. It was quite large, and he managed to catch it and get rid of it.

Peter remembers that you grabbed his arm in relief, and then let go, stuttering about how you needed to change your clothes, and he tried not to freak out over that mental image at the time. He snorts about it now- what a silly young kid he used to be.

He wonders why he still feels like one. Isn’t he twenty-six years old? How does he fix things?

You began to pull away, around eleventh and twelfth grade. It became easier for you to say that you were busy with something, and Peter was not the type to really push you back then. You started ignoring his calls- and his pestering about whether or not you wanted to go get pizza, like you usually always did on Saturdays. Did you even still like Neapolitan style pizza?

The last time he really remembered that you had a good time with him was the last trip to Florence- in the summer break at the end of twelfth grade- and after that, Logan no longer received the benefits for the trip, and you two were both on your way to university, anyways.

Peter sighs. He went to Empire State- and you, NYU. And that was where you guys began to drift quite quickly. People get busy, of course, and university took up everyone’s time. He just never thought you would let go of him like that. He misses you, a lot, to the point where he’s had dreams in which you’re just around him again, smiling. 

Peter doesn’t know if he’ll get over this.

He throws the tennis ball again. It lands in his laundry bin, in front of the window, and when he goes up to get it- he can see you across from him, through your room window, wildly gesticulating to someone on your phone. 

Peter bites his lip, and then snickers to himself. It’s always funny to see you get pissed- you get the same enraged look in your eyes that Logan gets, too- and you run your hands through your hair a lot, making you look kind of like a banshee.

He thinks on what you could be talking about. But Peter has never been a lip reader- so he decides to lie back down on his bed and give you some privacy.

/

“I don’t think he likes me. I would’ve known by now if he really, truly did, MJ.” You groan in exasperation, but the redhead on your phone screen is barely listening.

“Babe. Listen to me- that boy just doesn’t know what he wants. He barely knows how to exist- you think he would be able to figure out that he likes you?” She laughs, her long nails tapping at the screen as she types a message to the catering service she was telling you about. 

“But… he just sees me as his best friend.” You sigh, and then shake your head, feeling rustled. “Maybe sometimes that’s all it has to be? Not everything male-and-female needs to become a relationship… I should just be happy being his friend.”

“Okay. As long as you’re actually happy with that, Lettie.” She gives you a knowing look. “I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t know Harry picked him as his best man- he told me it was going to be some tech dude, but I guess he changed his mind.”

“It’s fine. Not everything needs to accommodate me.” You shake it off. “Where are you right now, anyways? Looks very sci-fi, neon lights, hologrammy?”

“Ah.” MJ switches to the back camera and shows off some fashion show, and based on the French writing on the signs behind you, it’s definitely in Paris somewhere. “You know. Model rehearsal stuff.”

“I really don’t.” You snort, pulling back a strand of your hair. “I live a very non glamorous life, you know.”

“Well, soon you won’t be!” MJ turns the camera back to herself, and someone out of your view is calling “Mary Jane, Mary Jane-”. She motions to them, that she’s on break.

“You’re gonna have the time of your life at the wedding. I promise. We’ll do all those things we’ve been saying we’d do since… five years ago.” MJ laughs as you giggle yourself. Adulthood is a pain. You plan to see your friends and only really manage to do it once a year.

“Okay, fine. I guess I’ll drink like crazy, and dance half-naked at a club.” You roll your eyes, and MJ nods eagerly.

“That’s my girl!” MJ claps her hands. “Okay, listen. This fashion show will be done by this Saturday- I can take a redeye flight and make it there by Sunday morning. Then we can go bridesmaid dress shop- oh!”

MJ gasps loudly, and you start for a moment, before remembering she’s just… like that. 

“Are you still going to be my maid of honour?” She looks at you with those big, green-blue doe eyes, and you really cannot say no to her. You already wanted to be her maid of honour, anyways.

“Yeah. Duh.” You sniff, as if you’re upset she would even ask the question. “It’s gotta be me.”

“I know, right?” MJ beams. “Okay. So we have an appointment at the boutique at 2 PM- I’ll send you the address, okay? I’ll try to meet you at your place first and we can go together! I’ve already gone with the others.”

“Alright.” You agree with her. “Who else are your bridesmaids?”

“Betty, my sister, and Gwen.” MJ thinks it over, and then nods. “Yup. I know what you’re thinking: ‘no models?’”

“Guilty.”

“I did ask my close model friends, but truth be told: models are competitive as hell, and everyone wants to book more shows.” MJ sighs, defeat overcoming her. “I don’t blame them, they’d rather just not have bridesmaid duties taking up their time, I guess.”

“MJ…” You frown.

“No, no, it’s fine.” She puts on the same bright cheery smile, but her eyes still look sad, and you can tell she’s faking it a little. “I only want my closest friends by my side, anyways. I’m still inviting some, uh, influential people- Kitty Pryde, Elektra, Wanda Maximoff, Bucky Barnes, Natalia Romanov- you know, just the typical gang.”

You don’t know, but you just nod. You’re sure these models are all super hot- super gorgeous- and the idea of being a maid of honour in front of them kind of has your stomach turning. You wonder if you could lose some weight before the wedding, or if that’s a toxic thought to have.

MJ herself is stunning- but you’re sure she has a really intense diet and exercise regimen that she follows. Her body has always been toned and perfect- you, on the other hand, are a total homebody who doesn’t try very hard. You’re not sure how great you’ll look next to her.

You’ve always been just a tiny bit jealous. Even though you know it’s not her fault, it’s just the way the situation happens to be. She’s always been pretty- and you know that’s not all the value is to a person- but MJ is also a sweet, kind girl.

The feeling of being inadequate romantically comes to you again. Maybe you’re just not marriage material like MJ so clearly is.

MJ suddenly looks up towards something you can’t see, and nods at someone. “I gotta go. I’ll text you later?”

“Yeah, of course.” You state, and MJ hangs up before you can say bye.

/

Bridesmaid dress shopping goes okay.

MJ hugs you tightly when you see her- and it’s enough that you forget about some of your prior insecurities. She squeezes your face, and you smile up at her, glad that she still feels as loving as ever.

Even Logan gives her a smile and a “congrats” when he sees her. Then, it’s off to the boutique.

MJ has you try on several silk dresses, all in a gorgeous forest green colour, and she’s equally ecstatic for every single one you try. It’s a little embarrassing- is she just cheering you on because she’s your friend?- but the designer she invited agrees that you look awesome in everything.

You’re a little shy, and unsure of how to say thanks. You have never thought you were all that- just the plain girl next door, honestly.

In the end, you pick a sweetheart neckline, the bodice and torso are fitted down to your thighs, then flaring out in a loose mermaid style skirt with lace detailing. It’s very pretty- and MJ picks up the bill, before you can even say a thing about paying for it yourself.

“Thank you, Kurt!” She blows a kiss at him- he’s going to send it to the place you’re staying at in Florence for you.

“I’m really not used to all this… excessive stuff.” You snort as MJ leads you out of the boutique, on your way to some sandwich place for lunch.

“Well, get used to it. Har is literally doing the most-” She raises her hands super high so you get a sense of what she means. “And even if it rests poorly on your conscience, I told him whatever we spend on the wedding, we’ll spend twice as much on donations, charity and philanthropy.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Damn, MJ! That’s a lot of money. You guys must be loaded.”

She shrugs. “I got into investing when I first made my big bucks modelling, and Harry is… well, you know. An Osborn and all that.”

“So is the wedding spending an excuse to donate as much as possible?” You sit down at the outer patio of the cafe, and MJ lifts up her sunglasses on to her head, her long red hair wafting away in the sunshine.

She gives you a knowing look, with her classic wine-colour stained lips coming into a large, wide smile. “You got it.”

[theelizamanelli]

Chapter Three Word count: 1,828 (shorter one for you so we can get to the good stuff next time) Rating: 18+, mature content, sensitive topics Link to Chapter One

——————————————————————————————————

Four Years Ago…

——————————————————————————————————

The moon is bright in the sky, illuminating the streetlights ahead as the stereo blares.

Kitty’s head is leaning out the passenger window as she whoops and hollers, the five tequila shots and two mixers fully possessing her. 

I laugh as the houses pass in a blur, her blond hair whips around furiously licking at her face. She yells the lyrics as I pull into the parking lot of her apartment complex. 

She opens the car door and falls onto the concrete with a hard thud. 

“Kitty, good lord!” I yelp as I rush to the other side, she giggles and shushes me while I help her up. She leans against me the entire way up the stairs and into the apartment.

I lay her down on the bed and put a glass of water on her bedside.

“You’re a good friend, Elsie Mae. The bestest friend a girl could ask for,” she hiccups and her eyes are closed as she stammers on, “You’re going to make a guy so lucky one day they are going to be like ahhhhhh, lucky me with Elsie Mae,” 

“Go to sleep, Kitty,” I laugh as I tuck the covers in around her. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

The ride home is a great deal less eventful, my thoughts knock around my head begging to be let out. Would someone be lucky to have me? My track record would suggest otherwise since no Texas man in one hundred and twenty miles seems to be interested in what I have to offer.

I pull into the driveway, Dad’s pickup truck is tucked on the street and I see his bedroom light on through the second story window. Being away at college has been a welcome reprieve from the series of unfortunate events that was my life. 

The monthly visits seem to be keeping him in line for the most part, I can only hope that the in between is the same. I shift the car into park and the clock reads 0116. 

I grab my purse from the passenger seat and make my way to the door, turning my key in the lock and pushing it closed behind me. I slip my shoes off and set my bag down on the bench as I turn the lamp on.

Knock knock.

Jumping at the sound I move quickly towards the door, heart racing. I stand on my tip toes and squint to look through the peephole. 

My nose crinkles in confusion as I crack open the door, “Mr. Miller?”

He stands on the welcome mat, the porch light illuminating his work jeans and shirt. His truck parked in front of the mailbox, the engine still running and the driver's side door ajar.

He doesn’t say anything right away, taking a tentative step towards the door and angling his head to look inside for a brief second.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, his eyes dart around the living room before he makes eye contact. 

“Did Sarah leave her bookbag here?” He asks, his face unreadable. 

“No, I don’t think so. Lettie hasn’t mentioned anything.” I say with a hint of confusion in my voice.

“Okay,” He nods and goes to turn away before stopping, “No one else in there with ya, Els?”

“No, sir. Everyone else is asleep. Just got back from dropping a friend off, safety first.” My head cocks to the side, “Are you sure you’re okay, Mr. Miller?”

“Goodnight, Red.” He doesn’t answer my question and heads back to the truck, not making eye contact again.

I close the door and shake my head, was he worried about me?

——————————————————————————————————

Present Day

——————————————————————————————————

“If we’re going to date then you need to make it worthwhile, Mr. Miller.”

It is 0608 and I find myself on Joel Miller’s front porch yet again. He stands in the doorway, one hand on the handle the other on the frame. His eyes show no sign of amusement nor irritation.

“Joel.” He corrects, as he angles his body to invite me through the opening.

“Joel.” I respond, ducking underneath his arms and striding through to the kitchen. 

He follows, closing the door behind him. He walks up to the counter as I pace the kitchen tiles. 

“Even though it was really stupid,” I turn to face him. “And I mean, really stupid that you told that guy we were dating.”

My feet continue back and forth as I stammer on, “Even though I really should hit you for it. You know, I could hit you for it. I’m stronger than I look.”

“Uh huh,” He says, sitting down at the table. He slides a mug of coffee to the space in front of the empty seat before looking up at me. He takes a sip of his own and leans back, nodding for me to continue.

I hesitate and glance down at the mug. Sitting down on the edge of the seat, I bring the cup to my lips and take a quick sip before standing again.

“For every tutoring session you owe me a date.” I say, crossing my arms and staring him down. 

“Deal.” He holds my gaze and takes another drink.

My head jerks back slightly, surprised at his quick response, “You didn’t let me finish.”

“Okay, then finish.” He responds with a slight raise of his chin. 

“Not real ones, of course.” I say as I begin to pace the kitchen again.

“Of course.” He states in a nonchalant tone. 

“There are things I never got to see and experience so I just want to take advantage of the situation, ya know? See what this town has to offer that I missed all those years ago. Nothing weird or anyth-” Joel’s hand grabs my wrist, stopping me in place.

“Els? I already said yes.” His fingers tighten for a second before he lets go. I place my arms behind my back, rubbing the spot he touched absentmindedly with my other hand.

“Oh, yeah, you did.” I sit back down at the table, taking a few tentative sips of the coffee. I glance around before finally asking, “Do you wanna get started?”

——————————————————————————————————

This is going to be harder than I thought. I grimace watching Joel struggle with the same question he has been deliberating for the past eight minutes. 

I decided to give him a practice test to assess where to start. 

We are starting at zero, maybe negative ten. If the fact that he is on number four of sixty after thirty five minutes has any influence. 

“Joel?” I whisper sweetly.

“What?” He snaps, his brow furrowed. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the test.

“This is only practice, to see where we stand. You can circle the question if you don’t know and come back.” I put on the nicest teacher voice that I can muster. “Just keep going.”

I encourage Joel for the next hour to finish the practice test even though he has threatened to quit at least four times and physically thrown the paper across the table twice. 

I don’t grade it, I tell him he did well (a lie, upon further evaluation I don’t think he filled in half the questions) and inquire which subject he believes was his hardest. 

“English,” he says with a sigh. “I fucking suck at English.” 

I hand him one of the books from the table and give him chapters to read, “You need to go through these and we’ll spend the next few sessions only focusing on English.”

He grunts and begins to rifle through the chapters. I leave him to his own devices and begin reading the novel that I brought. 

Forty five minutes pass and Joel continues to work diligently, I decide to stretch my legs and take a stroll through his living room. There are pieces of memorabilia littered through the bookcases. Most are of Sarah but an occasional photo from high school appears in the midst of knick knacks.

He comes up from behind, “Whatcha lookin’ at?” I jump slightly at how close he is but he doesn’t back away. His shoulder brushes against mine slightly.

“What were you like in high school? I bet you broke a lot of hearts, probably voted Prom King.” I ask, pointing at the picture.

“Nah, I was a little shit. Didn’t even make it to my senior prom, don’t know if I’d’ve even been allowed in.” He smirks before saying, “Skipped to smoke dope with Parker Jansen by the bleachers and drive ‘round the backroads with a twelve pack and a few girls from the grade below.”

“Ah, a bad boy then. My first statement still applies.” I smile and look over at him. He’s taking a slow sip of his drink and meets my gaze.

“Let me guess, you were an honor roll student. I bet you went to Prom with some dweeb who expected you to put out at the end of the night. Probably wore a pretty blue dress to bring out those pretty blue eyes.” His gaze is warm and his grin matches.

I flush at the comment and avoid his gaze before responding.

“His name was Chandler Reed and he wasn’t a dweeb,” I let out a small laugh. “I couldn’t afford a ticket, though, let alone a dress.”

Joel raises his glass to that statement, reaching his hand to stroke the old picture on the shelf. 

“Lettie had been sick for days anyways, barely eating or sleeping. The only thing that calmed her down was me holding her and singing. I must have rocked back and forth for hours, you could probably still see the indents on the living room floor.” I gesture my finger to the ground in a fluid motion, repeating a few times before continuing. “Dad was on a bender, missing for God knows how long. I’d stopped paying attention by that point.”

Joel’s shoulders stiffen as he straightens up, I can feel him staring at me. I refuse to look over, the last thing I want to see in his eyes is pity.

“The fever finally broke around three in the morning and I’ll never forget how hard I cried,” I breathe out a laugh and shake my head. “All I could think is if Mama was here she would have laughed and rubbed my back, told me I worried for nothing. She was always telling me I was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

“By the time I noticed how late it was, I’d missed my whole Prom. Chandler left my corsage on the porch.” I look up at Joel who meets my gaze with an intense look in his eyes. 

I smile and bump my shoulder against his playfully, “It was blue.” 

Joel clears his throat and turns, grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter, “What’s the first date on that list?”

——————————————————————————————————

Link to Chapter Four

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: March

this month I am keeping it QUICK and I am keeping it DIRTY. mostly the former, because I've only managed to finish four (four!!!!) books this month so I Do Not have a lot to say. please pray for a more fruitful April.

what have I been reading?

Babel, or the Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution (R.F. Kuang, 2022) - first of all I must once again thank the unfathomably generous @fabledshadow for sending me a copy of this gorgeous book FOR KEEPSIES at absolutely no charge. I genuinely feel so lucky to have a copy on my shelf now, because Babel is a book that's 100% worth the hype. it's an absolutely brilliant alternate magic history, where the British empire is chugging along consuming the world with one small change: magic, powered by the power of the translated word. from this relatively simple premise Kuang launches into a relentless interrogation of colonialism, power, and assimilation. our protagonist Robin and his friends in the translation department - Ramy, an Indian Muslim; Victoire, a Black Haitian; and Letty, a white Englishwoman - all grapple with the allure of achievement within the white patriarchy of Oxford, as well as the question of what to do when you realize the system you gave your life was never going to love you back. after countless stories of milquetoast centrist both-sideism Babel was a thundering read, and I relished its rage slowly building up in little outrages to a bloody dynamite ending.

Hijab Butch Blues (Lamya H, 2023) - a really heartfelt and thought-provoking memoir that I could not put down. Lamya (a pen name the author uses; her identity is unknown) makes fascinating connections between stories from the Quran and her own experiences growing up Muslim, closeted, queer, and Othered anywhere she went. I especially loved an early chapter in which Lamya lays out her reasons for resonating with a young Maryam, mother of Jesus, as a despondently depressed teen, and describes her sense that Maryam must also be a dyke. Lamya really excels here, empathizing with all the most long-suffering religious figures and finding interpretations that make that suffering make sense, finding ways out and through the pain into a better ending. as with any essay collection that draws on saying x is sort of like y, the connections sometimes feel a little tenuous, but through a lot of thorny, complicated feelings this memoir manages to feel like a little bubble of meditative calm that was an absolute balm to read.

Get A Life, Chloe Brown (Talia Hibbert, 2019) - this month's romance novel was also my first foray into heterosexualty, and I have to say: not impressed! the titular Chloe Brown is, I'm going to be real with you, kind of the worst; I can obviously excuse the trust issues that stem from being abandoned by her fiance and friends after becoming chronically ill, and taking no shit from nosy neighbors performing the classic microaggression of touching Chloe's hair, but it's also casually noted that after an elderly neighbor in her apartment complex mistakenly took Chloe's mail Chloe retaliated by dumping hot tea into the neighbor's mailbox? unhinged. her love interest, Red, is also a mess; he's presented as a "bad boy" per the back cover blurb, but all that ever really amounts to is him having a motorcycle, many tattoos, and a lower class upbringing. class is a recurring point of tension between Chloe, who comes from a fabulously wealthy family, and Red, who's got some #trauma from a previous wealthy girlfriend who once stabbed him with a fork, but it plays out in remarkably silly ways. during one memorable (in a bad way) scene the pair enter an art gallery where the wealthy patrons all immediately turn and glare at Red for the crime of [checks notes] wearing a flannel, acting physically afraid of him as if they can smell the poverty wafting off. the sex scenes are mid (points for Red jacking off, though I wish the narration hadn't made a point of noting his hefty sac) and the romance plotline just isn't hefty enough to carry an entire novel, since there's no REAL conflict except for Chloe and Red's refusal to get along with each other. when the third act misunderstanding arrives it's gnarly, with Red screaming vile accusations at Chloe before immediately changing his mind and bombarding her with gifts until she takes him back. there are stories where I can overlook that kind of thing, but a book where I was bored for the first 95% and have no investment in the characters ain't it.

How Far the Light Reaches: A Life in Ten Sea Creatures (Sabrina Imbler, 2023) - if you guys know anything about me you know that 1.) I love the sea and all her creatures and 2.) I'm a big ol' homo, so this queer memoir-in-essays had me extremely excited. Imbler is a tremendous essayist, drawing connections between their life and cuttlefish, whales, and salps with a striking mix of appreciation and exactitude. Imbler marvels without getting maudlin, always shying away at the tasteful point well before their speculation becomes full anthropomorphization. I was particularly taken with "My Mother and the Starving Octopus," a painfully familiar reflection upon the uncomfortable relationship with food and weight that's so often passed from mother to daughter, and "Beware the Sand Striker," a thoughtful pontification on sexual violence and the murky places where consent is unclear. Imbler thrives in ambiguity: the ongoing question of their own biracial identity and what it means to them, the metamorphosis of their own gender, the beauty to be found even in aggressively invasive goldfish species. it's fitting that a life represented through the ocean - deep and dark, ever-changing and largely unexplored - is comfortable not having rock solid answers to everything, and I loved joining Imbler in that gentle, shifting space.

what am I reading now?

Necropolitics (Achille Mbembe, 2011) - this book is so smart and I am so dumb :/

The Priory of the Orange Tree (Samantha Shannon, 2019) - I finally started this stupid fucking behemoth of a book and I'm enraged to report that I'll probably really like it. unfortunately I almost immediately to put it on pause while I try to finish 869000 other books :/

White Noise (Don DeLillo, 1985) - every once in a while I venture away from my safe TBR list; this one crossed my path thanks to a coworker who's reading it for a class and lent me her copy. I have no idea how to explain this without making it sound awful but it's a fascinating read.

Cursed Bunny (Bora Chung, trans. Anton Hur, 2022) - my interest in this short story collection was piqued when I saw a writer describe it as some of the grossest shit they've ever read, and I'll be honest: the story I've gotten around to is some of the grossest shit I've ever read. dead dove, do not eat.

[clock-corpse]

Give GNC dad one of those shitty ice cream pops except it's in the shape of Rumia's face. :)

(bulletfestival)

Leave Stuff in the Ask Box!

Why is this colored like... Rumia. Who made this? Letty? Either way, Sakuya’s not going to eat an inviting treat that was left by a total stranger. Especially one that’s been sitting in the mailbox for so long. Ew.

[vanillasakura]

THANK YOUUU IM Drinkjng whiskey so it's about to get worse lmaoooo

PLEASE POST MORE THOUGHTS I think you mean it’s going to get better

[ssjkallion]

△ “ Have you kept up your training while as a super saiyan and hope you haven’t been slacking off?”

“Of course I have! Ya think Bardock or Shallot would ever let me slack?”

[princessxbulla]

Talking about all the different versions of your older brother Trunks as there's a version of him as a kid , Present day , Future and Time patrol. Thinking about it makes my head hurt

“Now imagine trying to send Christmas cards to every single one.”

[menofchaos]

Coco

Part V: Visitation

Note: It’s only right to dedicate this part to @thesewickedhands. Not only did she make this beautiful gif, she assisted with some dialogue in this scene and made me think to update this story today. Hope you guys like it, let me know what you think. Divider credit to @spideyspeaches.

Part IV

Coco walked up to the prison, rubbing his clammy hands on his thighs. He walked inside and signed in. A CO motioned him through a metal detector after he emptied his pockets.

“Down the hall, make a right,” the CO motioned with his hand.

He headed down the hall and turned to see two COs standing at double doors with a bold visitation sign. One opened the door and the other followed him in.

“Your visit will be here,” he motioned at a table, “You get one hug at the beginning of the visit and one at the end. Rules are on the table. Visit is half an hour unless you break the rules. I’ll be back with the inmate.”

Coco sat down and read over the rules as he waited, fingers drumming nervously against the metal table. A large door on the opposite end of the room opened automatically to reveal the CO standing behind Nyx. Her long hair was back in two french braids, her face bare. Coco felt like he was kicked in the stomach as he stood slowly. She held his eye contact as the CO unlocked her handcuffs.

“Behave inmate,” he warned, “You act out, you’re back in the pod.”

“How do I know what the right behavior is?” she smirked and looked up at the CO, “I’ve never done this.”

He glared at her and she grinned before turning her attention back to Coco, who was smirking, “Damn trouble maker.”

“Shit,” she murmured as she sat down, “Even your voice is hot.”

He sat down after her, “Yours too. Especially when you’re being a little shit.”

“Listen,” she smiled, “I gotta entertain myself for like…2 or 3 more years or something.”

“I’ve been in prison, I get it,” he rested his arms on the table, “I’m not usually on this side of the table.”

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she looked over him, “You weren’t kidding about being covered,” she went to touch him then stopped.

“You can touch,” he held an arm out, “You got a lot too.”

She took his wrist and looked at his tattoos quietly. Coco ignored the fluttering in his chest, “I have two full sleeves and a back piece, couple on my thighs,” she told him before pulling back.

“Your throat too,” he nodded.

She touched her neck, “That one was new, I keep forgetting. I got it a couple weeks before I was sentenced and I don’t have mirrors.”

He laughed, “True,” he watched her for a moment.

“Fuck, you can’t look at me like that,” she felt her skin heating at his intense gaze as she covered her face with her hands.

Coco smiled, “Why not?”

“Making me feel all squirmy and shit,” she laughed as she dropped her hands.

“Yeah?” he smirked, brushing his hair back.

“I’ve only been around smelly fuck COs and inmates since I’ve been in here,” she played with the end of one of her braids, “So I’m out of practice when it comes to hot tattooed bikers with beautiful eyes staring at me like that.”

He smiled softly, “Ma, you’re gonna make me blush.”

Nyx laughed, “Now you know how I feel then!”

“I could look away,” he joked.

“No!” she exclaimed, “I don’t want anyone else getting ideas,” she admitted.

Coco watched her eyes widen in disbelief before he nudged her hand with his, “They won’t.”

She linked their pinkies together, looking up at him from under her lashes. He locked eyes with her and tightened his finger around hers. The alarm sounded and two COs immediately grabbed her, picking her up and cuffing her.

“What the fuck?!” she frowned as Coco stood up slowly, glaring at them.

“There’s a fight on the yard, we know you’re behind it,” one of them hissed as they carried her off. She looked over her shoulder at Coco until she turned the corner.

Coco slammed his empty mailbox shut, glaring at the retreating mail truck as it turned the corner. He lit a cigarette and pushed the front door open. Letty stood in the middle of the living room, flipping through a handful of envelopes when she flinched.

“Jesus,” she breathed, “You scared me.”

“Anything?” he asked, taking the mail from her hand.

“No,” she arched an eyebrow, “Why, haven’t heard from your prison girlfriend?”

He glared at her before tossing the pile of junk into the trash. He went into the kitchen, pulling the fridge open.

“Ain’t shit in here,” he snapped, “Thought you were gonna go shopping.”

“Yeah, and I just got home. I was gonna make a list,” she scoffed, “Coco, what the hell is your problem?”

Coco rolled his eyes, “Nothing.”

Letty put her keys down and crossed her arms, “You’ve been an asshole for weeks. Ever since you went to visit her. Tell me what she did or get the fuck over it because I’m tired of catching attitude over whatever your issue is.”

“She didn’t do shit,” he tapped the cigarette ash in the sink, “I don’t think.”

“What do you mean?” Letty asked, frowning.

He sighed, “We were talking and some fight broke out on the yard. COs dragged her out cause they think she was behind it.”

Letty nodded, “Was she?”

He shrugged, “She didn’t seem like it but I haven’t heard from her since.”

Her eyes lit up, “You like her!”

Coco rolled his eyes, “Shut up.”

“You like her! Was the rest of the visit good?” Letty grinned, “Did you kiss her?”

“This is why I didn’t wanna tell you,” he grumbled, taking a drag of his cigarette.

She laughed as she moved into the kitchen, opening her phone and starting to make a list, “You like your prison pen pal,” she sang, laughing louder when he threw an empty box at her, “Hey!”

He smirked, “You’ll live.”

Letty went back to making their grocery list, both silent for a few minutes.

“Coco loves Nyx,” she sang quietly, laughing when he walked outside and slammed the door.

Part VI

[mischief-managed-snitches]

Run for your Life

Bishop x Gracie: Part ONE

Gif Rights: Who ever the beautiful soul was that made this!! This is not mine, simply one I found and liked.

Warnings: Swearing, Hints at Violence, Fear, Pregnancy

As always, I do NOT own anything Mayans related. I DO own my character and her story though.

My first language is English. I do know some Spanish but I am not fluent. I will be keeping the Spanish in this story to a minimum to avoid butchering a beautiful language. There will be some usage of terms of endearment and stuff though, praying they make sense!

Gracie tugged her hood up to cover her hair as the rain began to pick up. Tightening her hold on the black duffle bag, she turned the corner, head down against the wind. Of course, with her face turned toward the ground, it made it awful hard to see the man coming at her, he too in a hurry to get out of the rain. They collided in a frenzy of flailing arms and muffled curses, foreheads smacking together painfully.

"Holy hell..." The voice that accompanied the thick arm wrapped around her waist sent a shiver down her spine. Deep, smooth, the kind of baritone that warmed her insides and sped up her pulse.

Gracie snapped her head up, eyes widening as they swept over his leather vest, tattoos, and dark eyes. Her mouth opened and closed, attempting to apologize but no words formed on her tongue. Realizing she had stared too long, Gracie pushed at his chest, stepping backward as soon as he left go of her.

"Are you alr-"

"I-I'm so sor-ry!" She stammered as she took him in from the space she'd put between them. Shit. She really did it this time. He looked like exactly the kind of guy she didn't want to run into... Especially after dark and on this particular street corner. Not a single soul was around to help her and the only business nearby was a questionable looking bar.

"Forget it. Are you alright?" He asked, brushing off her apology with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

Gracie rubbed at her forehead subconsciously, a monster headache forming already. She nodded at him anyway, deciding she'd rather lie and leave than be honest with him right now.

"Wait, is that blood?" He reached for her as she attempted to leave. The flinch happened without her control. She was used to it. Always prepared for the worst. She had no idea he'd only meant to touch her arm. A simple touch, from a place of concern. "Sorry," he pulled his hand back, lifting both of them in a I-surrender-kind of way.

"It's not from you." She'd meant to reassure him, gesturing briefly to her split lip. His look of guilt was making her uncomfortable and her intent was to ease his suffering, not add to it. Judging from the way his face contorted, she'd obviously said the wrong thing.

"Who's it from?" He nearly growled, voice low, eyes jumping up to look over her shoulder as if he expected to find someone chasing her. His whole body seemed to tense. If he were a dog, he would have bristled.

"Don't worry about it." She brushed it off, turning again to leave.

"Wait! Damn it, wait!" He followed her several steps before he could lengthen his stride enough to get in front of her. "Hold on!"

"What?"

"Did someone hurt you?"

"N-No. I'm fine."

He lifted a brow, "do you need a ride anywhere, or anything?" He clearly didn't believe her.

"I'm good, but thanks."

"Sure," he nodded. Realizing just now how pushy he was being. Stepping back, he moved out of her way without another word.

Gracie lifted her hand in an awkward wave, turning and disappearing down the street. She didn't look back. Picking up the pace, she crossed to another street and then she was standing in front of a small house. Double-checking the numbers on the mailbox, she approached the door, knocking hesitantly. It opened almost right away.

"Gracie?"

"Hey, Letty."

The woman standing before her smiled, but it dropped quickly as she clocked the dried blood and blossoming bruise on Gracie's face.

"What the hell happened?"

"I need help, Letty." Gracie's eyes welled with tears, the rain came down harder, blowing under the porch roof and spraying both women.

"Fuck... Get in here, babe." She motioned for her friend to come in, opening the door wider for her.

Gracie didn't hesitate, she walked into her friends house, dropping the duffle bag on the floor and kicking off her soaked shoes. Following Letty to the kitchen, Gracie unzipped her sweatshirt and draped it over a chair. Letty gasped as she turned to face her, hand flying to her mouth.

"Holy fuck! Are you..." Stumbling forward, she reached out to lay a gentle hand on Gracie's stomach as she dropped her voice to a whisper. "Are you pregnant?"

Gracie grimaced shifting slightly, "is it noticable?"

Letty gaped at her, "only a little? More so when you stand to the side like that."

Gracie looked down at her belly, rubbing a hand over it slowly as Letty stepped back.

"What do I do?"

"First, we're going to get some ice on that goose egg poping out of your forehead. Second, we're going to clean that cut." Letty took charge, gathering a frozen bag of vegetables, a first aid kit and some isopropyl alcohol. Gracie nodded, thanking her as she pulled out a chair to sit opposite her. "Can I get you any meds or anything?" Letty asked as she opened the kit.

"Probably not, I'm not sure what I can and can't take right now." Gracie gestured to her stomach, sinking into a chair.

"Right..." Letty sat too, pouring a bit of alcohol onto a gauze pad. "Here, look at me."

Gracie did, hissing as her friend dabbed at her lip. Holding the frozen bag to her head, she sat as still as possible while Letty worked. When she was convinced that it was clean enough, Letty packed the supplies away again before bringing Gracie a glass of water.

"Are you hungry or anything?"

"No, I'm good, thank you."

"How did you even get here, Gracie? I thought you were living in Texas last we talked?"

"I was. I got on a bus and road it as far as I could."

"Shit, you should have called or something, I could have picked you up somewhere or something."

"I couldn't, h-he wouldn't let me. Then I was on the road and I didn't have a phone and it's actually harder than you'd think to find a payphone these days!"

"I believe it... What happened? Did he do all this?"

Gracie didn't go into detail, she offered her friend part of the story, including the part where she'd bumped into a total stranger. She yawned part way through and though Letty's eyes had sparked with rage during Gracie's speech, they softened when they saw how tired she was.

"You look ready to drop over."

"I'm exhaust-" Gracie broke into another yawn, eyes watering from the force of it.

"Hey, we can talk more in the morning. It's late and you're safe now, let's get you to bed."

Gracie nodded, standing along side her friend and throwing her arms around her. "Thank you so much for helping me and taking me in."

"Absolutely! As long as you need, Gracie, you're welcome here."

[forestsandtea]

Genuine faith puts its letters in the mailbox and lets go. Distrust, however, holds on to a corner of the envelope and then wonders why the answer never arrives.

Streams in the Desert, Lettie B. Cowman

[neverwear]

going through the Neil mailbox. Lovely Lettie Hempstock ink drawing from Lindsay in St. Louis! #Ocean

[vanillasakura]

John Marston for the meme ask doda!

Oh I have a lot for this

[vanillasakura]

I love that!! Abigail is definitely underrated and underloved

If there are 10,000 Abigail fans I’m one if there are 100 Abigail fans I’m one if there are 10 Abigail fans I’m one if there is 1 Abigail fan that fan is me if there are no Abigail fans than I have died for as long as I live I will always love Abigail

[vanillasakura]

it's revswanson! it won't let me ask from my gaming blog but for the character thingy if you're still up for it...

adult jack with numbers 2, 5 and 19

uncle (rdr1 and/or rdr2) with 17

and abigail with whichever ones you were wanting to answer, even all of them ;)

Jack:

2.) Who he wants to please the most

During rdr1, Jack really just wants to please his parents. He feels so guilt ridden over what happened to both of them (even though absolutely none of it was or could have been his fault) and despite how depressed he is, he just wants to know that they’ll find peace if he takes down the man who ruined their lives

5.) A cherished personal belonging

From John: Arthur’s journal. It was left to him upon his death, and was the first time Jack really got to know his uncle on the level his parents did. By extension, it’s also a reminder of his father

From Abigail: Her engagement ring. He always keeps it on his person, sewn into a little pocket that he always checks is extra secure. Sometimes he’ll take it out and fiddle with it if he needs something to do with his hands.

19.) When he feels safest

Honestly Rdr1 Jack never feels safe. He’s aware that everything could go wrong at any moment, and even though he doesn’t let it show, he’s terrified. I’m going off of my headcanons about older older Jack for this one

Anywhere with his kids or with Charles, Mary-Beth, Sadie, and Bonnie. If he’s with all eight of them, even better. They’re the people that reminded Jack that kindness does exist, and he loves them more than anything else in the world

Uncle:

17.) What he’d sing at karaoke

Okay laundry list time

Don’t Stop Believin’-Journey (he would duet with John when they’re both wasted off of their asses)

Bohemian Rhapsody- Queen (horribly but it’s okay we love him)

Blue- Eiffel 65

Jack would convince him to try and sing the Xie Hua Piao Piao Bei Fung Xiao Xiao song

The Sweet Escape- Gwen Stefani (but only the woo hoo yee hoo part somebody else sings the actual song)

Uncle knows he can’t sing so he never tries to sing a song seriously. For him, karaoke is about having as much fun and doing as much weird stuff as possible

Abigail:

1.) Something she’s truly proud of

Herself, easily. Abigail has come so far and has done so well for herself, sometimes she can’t help but smile when she looks around Beecher’s Hope and knows that all of this came from a mix of her and John’s hard work

10.) How she deals with pain

Abigail is a huuuuge romantic, so she definitely seeks comfort in her s/o. If we’re talking emotional pain, she’ll let her walls down, hoping that talking through everything with someone else will help

16.) Her sexuality

Bisexual queen. In fact, every single Marston is bisexual, I cannot see any of them as solely straight/gay

[vanillasakura]

Who are the two straight men??

If one of them is Micah my dream about him disagrees lol

Duality of man

Okay but for real, the van der Linde straight men are Strauss (I feel like he’s that one dad who goes to a pride parade and doesn’t understand anything but he supports it) and Micah. I know a lot of people will disagree with that last one but I cannot see this man as anything but

[vanillasakura]

9, 10, and 13? For Mister Duffy? If it's too much you can pick whichever sounds best. Btw, love your blog. Keep up the great work!💙

You're so sweet Kat, thank you so much! I love your blog too, it's always a treat seeing you pop up on my dash <3

9) What calms them when they are upset

Looking at scenery is really calming to Kieran. There's something so serene about looking out at nature and just existing as one within it. If he's really upset, listing out specific things that are happening (eg: The deer is standing on the hill and is looking around) are good distractions as well

10) How they deal with pain

If it's physical pain, Kieran tries to rest up and not agitate the injury further. He might spend the day doing things that can be done sitting down, like polishing saddles

For emotional pain, Kieran kind of just bottles it up. He doesn't really have anybody to talk to about it, so he hopes that by just ignoring it, it will go away. He would write about it, but he's illiterate, so he just thinks out what he would write down instead

13) What kind of parent they would be.

Kieran would love kids and think they're adorable, taking great comfort in their youthful innocence. However, he would worry a lot thanks to his anxiety, and might need some encouragement that he's doing fine, and that the kids are also fine.

Honestly, I can really imagine Kieran with two daughters. He'd adore playing dress-up and dolls and would always go to any tea parties they host. Modern AU Kieran would fall in love with the Tinkerbell movies after watching them with his daughters, and would dress up as Terrence for Halloween with them one year. When his daughters got older, they would probably still watch TV together. (I can picture Kieran being a huge Adventure Time fan). He would respect their space, but would also want to have some kind of hobby they can do together without it seeming forced. For whatever reason I think they could all get into pottery, and Kieran would set up a little studio in the garage for them to work in

Absolutely the kind of dad to cry at graduations and weddings. He would try and hide it though