#neil stirring up trouble as always

[avonne-writes]

Leaving

Random angsty HS AU one-shot I typed out in one go because I felt inspired. Set in Year 12, February, four months after Broken Things.

Posted on AO3

Gale takes a deep, calming inhale and closes his eyes. Resting on his bare chest, Bucky's head rises and falls as he breathes. He strokes the back of Bucky’s neck with his thumb swiping slowly back and forth. It’s warm and cozy in his bedroom, only the bedside lamp Georgia bought for him provides some light. The house is quiet and empty, theirs alone tonight.

His right hand lies on the mattress, limp after minutes spent clutching at the sheets. Tonight was the first time they had sex all the way in four months, the first time since Gale almost jumped off that bridge. Their longest break so far. In the past few months, there was always something that didn’t align - either the lack of privacy or the lack of desire. It was difficult to feel such a thing when Gale’s thoughts were consumed by darkness.

It felt nice to experience this again and reconnect with Bucky. Gale missed it. He missed feeling happy and carefree in love. Even now that it's over and they're cuddling in the afterglow, those positive feelings fight back the grey depression creeping in at the sides. It’s nothing but a twinge in his ribs, easy to ignore. He’s getting better.

He traces the shell of Bucky's ear and allows himself a small smile.

Suddenly, Bucky grabs the wrist of his right hand. Frowning, Gale watches as he raises it closer and rubs his thumb over the long, thin scar that runs down the inside of it, right where Gale’s veins run in blue lines under his pale skin. Oh. The implications of that touch are clear. A sense of dread stirs in Gale's chest.

"Did you do this to yourself?" Bucky asks, bluntly, quiet but firm. It’s an old scar and Bucky has seen it before, Gale’s sure. But he never had a reason to ask this, did he, until this year.

"No." Gale says. It’s true - but the question makes the shadows stronger, the taste in his mouth bittersweet. "I was ten, played somewhere I shouldn't have. Some kind of shed at my uncle's place. Fell and slashed my arm on a nail. Didn’t get the artery but it wasn’t pretty. Dad yelled at me for it, but then he took me to the ER himself and -" Gale shrugs. An acidic feeling pools in his stomach. "- it was kind of nice."

He doesn’t see much of Bucky's face, but he can tell that his nostrils flare and his jaw clenches before it relaxes again. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but the silence doesn’t feel tense. Perhaps it's the effect of pleasure lingering or the sleepiness making Gale's eyelids heavy, but he doesn’t feel like he should break it. He lets Bucky take his time.

A few more seconds pass, then Bucky draws Gale’s wrist to his lips and kisses his scar. The tenderness of the gesture pulls at something tight and sensitive in Gale's chest, like stitches tugging the skin closed, and he doesn’t like it. He would rather bleed out in silence than feel this again, but he takes it. He takes it because he wants to get better. Just like he took the past months of kindness and care he received despite the shame. To get better.

When Bucky doesn’t let his arm go but keeps it pressed to his face, he starts to suspect that something is wrong. He doesn’t know what, and the possibility that he caused it scares him. They had such a good night together. Why is happiness always so fleeting?

Gently, he combs the fingers of his left hand through Bucky's curls. "Hey."

Bucky's breathing stutters. It leaves his nose in a shaky rush of air against Gale's wrist. "It’s almost March."

Gale racks his brain to remember the significance of the date until it slams into him - the month when Bucky’s dad left seven years ago. It's been ages since they talked about the man. He hasn’t come up much since Neil entered their lives, but it doesn't take a genius to guess what brought back Bucky's troubled feelings, and Gale has to swallow against the guilt that ties a knot in his throat.

"Darling -" The endearment, so rarely used, falls from his lips before he can think about it.

Bucky reacts with a rattling sob that he chokes immediately back down. Something warm and wet trickles down Gale's forearm, like his blood did all those years ago, but he feels the pain of torn flesh in his chest this time.

"Please don’t leave." Bucky whispers. He sounds like a child.

Gale's heart clenches in sympathy at the same time as his brain blares an alarm coupled with the sense that it should have gone off a long, long time ago, but he always dismissed the signs. "I won’t. I'm staying."

"Mom's gone again." Bucky says as if Gale's words were just a single bucket for an ocean of fears. "What if she doesn’t come home?"

"She’ll come back, I promise." Gale tells him, reaching down with his left to stroke Bucky's broad back. "And I'm here too."

"You’re here now." Bucky replies. The tint of anger in his voice takes Gale aback, but, he supposes, it’s just a reflection of helplessness and unwelcome vulnerability. "But what if you change your mind? You could leave me tomorrow or next week or after graduation."

Bucky puts Gale's arm back on the bed. Smeared tears glisten on his skin. He pushes himself off Gale and sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and face hidden in his palms. He rubs at his eyes in frustration, irritated by the liquid pain escaping his grip no matter how he tries to rein it in. His hands are shaking.

Gale moves to his knees to follow him and hugs him from behind. He lays his head on Bucky’s shoulder, hair falling over Bucky's skin in a soft wave. His palms push warmly against Bucky's naked abdomen. "I'm not breaking up with you."

"I'm scared." Bucky mumbles into his hands, his tone defeated. "You have no idea, Gale." He sniffles. "Everyone I love leaves me. Anytime something changes, I lose someone. No one ever wants to stay in touch with me. Maybe I just suck at it, I don't know. Too much. Too fucking annoying. I wish my dad merry Christmas every year but he leaves me on read. I double and triple and quadruple text my friends like a fucking loser. Never knew when to lie down and give up. I'm just a clown, that's what I am."

It's an abrupt and incredibly melodramatic tirade, in the way only Bucky can make it, but Gale’s heart breaks all the same. He hears all the little things that built up to cause this, starting from the pit of tar that's the absence of Bucky's father to all the ghosting Bucky had to endure from past friends and teammates. Pets dying. His mom working too much, Neil going on road trips. Teachers preparing them to say goodbye to high school. Then Gale went and threw a sparkler into this volatile mix by trying to jump off a bridge, then distancing himself because he couldn’t handle being loved when it felt like he didn’t deserve it.

What a pair they make.

"You’re not a clown." Gale says soothingly, rubbing circles over Bucky's heart. "You just wear your heart on your sleeve. It gets hurt more easily." He presses a kiss to Bucky's shoulder. "You have so much love to give."

"Nobody wants it." Bucky cries, then his muscles tense under Gale’s touch. "Fuck. Fuck it all."

"Calm down."

"I can’t." Bucky jiggles his leg, then tries to pry Gale's hands off himself. "I need to go for a run. Shake this shit off."

Gale sits up and wrestles with him to keep him in place, but it just makes Bucky more agitated. After a moment of this, Gale loses his patience and snaps. He grips Bucky's wrists and yanks him close. "John. Look at me. Look at me."

There's a raw emotion in Bucky’s eyes when they meet his. Gone is the gleam of joy from earlier tonight. All that's left is the look of someone who feels trapped and desperate to get out and run, away from the flood of anxiety he usually keeps at bay. Gale should have known this was coming - all the clinging and the insatiable need to be close since Gale almost killed himself couldn’t have been caused by that near-tragedy only.

Deep down, he knew this. He knew it and yet he let it get to this point, didn’t even try to address it until he wanted his personal space, like some selfish douchebag, and he feels like an ass for it now, because he can see how it all adds up in Bucky's mind. Even the slightest sign or reminder that he and Gale aren't fused together and can, in fact, be separated any time by death or a break-up, triggers Bucky's fear of abandonment.

Gale rubs his thumbs over Bucky's wrists. "I want it." When that seems to placate something in Bucky, he lets go to cup Bucky's tear-stained face instead. "I want it. I love you."

The way Bucky looks at Gale is like someone reaching for his last hope in the dark. It is too much - Gale can’t be consumed by someone else like that, his personality rebels against it - but it's not a time for nuance and compromise. He strokes Bucky's cheeks.

"Breathe."

Bucky takes a deep breath, another, then drops his forehead to Gale's. "I'm too clingy."

Yes, Gale wants to say. He keeps his mouth shut. His hands find Bucky's. He pulls them to his own neck, where he's warm and where his pulse beats, strong and alive.

They stay like that, embracing in silence for the longest time. Bucky's phone buzzes on the nightstand every now and then when he gets a notification, but they both ignore it. Useless noise. They don’t mean anything. Only a fraction of those interactions matter. Gale needs to help Bucky learn this. Protect him from his own too big heart.

He gives Bucky a kiss on the lips, then another one on his cheek when Bucky doesn’t return it.

"Did you really not do it on purpose?" Bucky asks quietly. He doesn’t need to clarify what he means. Gale can tell that he didn’t believe Gale's story for a minute.

"It wasn’t on purpose." Gale replies. He pauses, but he knows he needs to go on. "But I knew I was breaking his rules. He wanted too much from me, so I antagonized him."

Bucky breathes in, breathes out, then cracks a shaky laugh. "My little rebel."

To steal a kiss, Gale nudges his nose. "I won’t follow anyone I don't want to. I'll find a way to resist."

Bucky’s smile gains strength, and the touch of his hands turns flirty. He traces the line of Gale's ribs. "Are you saying you prefer to lead?"

Happy to put all the negative emotions behind them, Gale lays a hand on Bucky’s chest to push him on his back. "What do you think?"

Bucky wipes his right eye one more time, then reaches up to tangle his fingers in Gale's hair. "I think you do. Tonight, at least."

Gale presses his lips to the center of Bucky's chest but doesn’t say anything. Something about that makes Bucky smile. "Okay, Buck. Show me how you like it, baby."

A flash of a grin, then Gale is kissing him, his touch deep and hungry. He ignores the low simmer of trepidation in his chest about the future, about leaving, and just sinks into all the love Bucky wants to give him. He’ll tame it before it gets suffocating. He promises.

[mommieswithmuscles]

Sub!Abby x Dom!Reader

Free Palestine, don't support Neil

No minors and No men

Idea from: @tojisboy my bae <3

CW: Intersex!Abby, breeding kink, blow job for foreplay, trying for a baby, pregnancy at the end, Abby likes being used and is actively consenting to all the sex and creampies (consent will be written, but I don't want anything misconstrued as noncon/dubcon), mama kink, yes Abby has a vag but this is about her beautiful ladydick

Title: Baby Mama

"That thing we talked about," you start, sauntering towards Abby on the bed. "Are you sure you're ready for that responsibility?"

"If I wasn't I wouldn't have entertained it. A baby with you would bring my life full circle. Fuck, we could have more kids in the future if you wanted them." Abby's large hands guide you on top of her. "Should we start tonight mama?" Her voice is husky.

"I don't know. Do you deserve it?" You tilt her head up, tugging her into a searing kiss. "Hm?"

"I deserve everything you give me, and nothing more." Abby whines when you settle on her bulge, princess wand stirring in her light wash jeans.

"Such a good girl." You palm her over the denim, fingertips brushing over and ignoring the wet patch forming between her thighs, favoring the wet patch forming at the front. Her hips buck down on the bed to avoid you berating her for trying to take more without permission.

"Good girl for my mama," Abby breathes out, head falling back on the pillows before she hikes up her shirt and unbuttons the jeans. You see those as your signal for consent and let her guide your hands to her clothes before helping her take them off.

You admire her body. Lightly puffy stomach because she's been cutting gym hours in favor of helping you choose decorations for a nursery, online cart full of baby stuff. The clit itself is large and heavy in your hand, eight inches and your hand hardly wraps around it. It pulses as you gently roll the foreskin back and collect the fresh dew from the slit.

You take in the clean scent mixed with the musk from the natural dew, and pick the tiny piece of toilet paper residue from the underside. It always makes your heart flutter knowing she wipes after peeing. The way Abby takes care of her body because she wants to, and in doing so alleviates a lot of the risk of a UTI makes you melt.

"Something wrong?" Abby asks from under you.

"No baby, you're perfect is all." The blush on her face makes you coo and kiss the freckled skin tainted rose. You run one finger down the underside vein to watch it bob and shake with her shuddered breath and tensed stomach. "And oh so sensitive for me."

"All for you mama," she agrees. You cup the round and firm sack in your hand, massaging her essence into them where they settled against one of her openings.

There isn't much hair to worry about tangling. She keeps the blonde hairs trimmed and clean. Enough you can find sensory satisfaction in the pleasantly wire fuzz, but still short enough you're not worried about it bunching up or getting stuck between your teeth when you go down on her.

"You have a pretty princess wand, my darling." You kitten lick the tip, giving a light suck when some of her wetness sticks to your lips. Abby's hands card into your hair as she hums, hips locked to the bed so she doesn't get into trouble with you. "Such a good girl for me." You nuzzle her happy trail, pressing a kiss to her pelvis before taking her head back into your mouth.

You bob and slurp her down, Abby's hands clenching and pleasurably tugging on your hair as her cock slowly feeds further down your throat. You happily swallow around her as her tangy fluid pools more and more into your mouth.

You pull off with a *pop*, lips shiny as you climb up her body for a kiss. Abby uses this to flip you on your back, her spongy tip bumping into your clit. You guide her in.

Abby grunts and hums as she slowly bottoms out, her breathing coming out in shallow puffs as her clit throbs vigorously inside you. You moan into her shoulder at the sensation.

Your nails rake down her back as her thrusting begins. Abby's hips meet yours with a resounding *thwop thwop thwop*, your own wetness cascading down your ass crack and making a slick and sticky pool in the sheets.

"That's it mama, right there!" Your legs wrap around her hips, heels bouncing off her booty cheeks with her rhythm.

Sweat drips down Abby's brow and onto your lips, your tongue darting to taste the bittersweet fluid as she starts to grunt deeper in her belly into your chest.

"Good girl Abby, such a good girl! My good girl," you whimper out, walls clenching and fluttering around her pulsing and throbbing clit. "Gunna- Gunna fill me up! Gunna fill my pussy!"

"Mh-hm!" Abby takes a shuttered breath, voice cracking as she tries to answer you.

"My own personal breeder. Fill this pussy Abby, fill me up. Make me cum!" Abby can't hold it and bottoms into you fully as rope after rope of hot slick fills your walls and brings you to cum. Your own wetness slides down her sack and onto the bed where her hips are now pressed to rest.

You scratch Abby's scalp as her princess wand starts to soften inside you, heavy meat keeping you full as she takes deep breaths into your skin to calm her racing heart.

-

After almost two months of nearly everyday milking, you think it's time to take a pregnancy test. You've been having a multitude of flu like symptoms as well as an irregular period, and it only meant one of two things. Pregnancy, or illness.

You watch your phone as the pink stick takes its time calculating your pregnancy status. After the required five minutes you call Abby into the bathroom with you. She holds you from behind as you peer down at the stick.

"What does it say?" Her hands protectively hold your tummy.

"We're having a baby!" You jump in Abby's arms as she moves to pick you up, twirling you around and laughing with you before your lips lock to her's.

[plasmaandsandstorms]

Tuesday 11.15.2281 - 9:17PM

(The Audio begins with the creak of an office chair's wheels) Lydia: Phew...finally got out of the rain...what? ED-E: <Annoyed Trill> Lydia: Oh, please, ED-E. I repaired your casing myself, it is water tight. Your internals are perfectly safe. ED-E: <A series of low-volume beeps and trills> Lydia: Mumble mumble mumble! Don't act like you're mad at me. I didn't intend to get captured by a madman or teleported to a science facility. ED-E: <Shrill beeping and electronic buzzing> Lydia: ED-E are you jealous of my ARMOR of all things?! Stealth Suit Mk2: I think we make a good team, he lets you see invisible monsters, and I make you invisible. Synergy! Lydia: Exactly! With your stealth technology and ED-E's enhanced sensors we're damn near unstoppable! You have nothing to be jealous about ED-E. ED-E: <Surprisingly pouty trill, after a brief silence he beeps happily.> Lydia: Atta boy...I know it's a sudden adjustment, but you're always going to be a valued friend to me. Now I need to get this log done.

We've settled down in a Vault for a bit, it's raining quite heavily and there was a lot of lightning in the sky. ED-E was getting a little nervous, since he floats a bit high and is made entirely of metal. I don't know much about Vaults, beyond the fact that Doc Mitchel gave me a suit from Vault-21 and some mentions in Big Mountain. I'm curious about the story behind this one, the door was open and there were skeletons laying just inside.

Something else too, there's a ton of fucking posters on the walls in the room I'm having a sit down in. Looks like this Vault elected their leader, Overseer. Looks like the candidates are Haley Stone and Nate Glover. But an interesting note, based on the wording of the posters being the Overseer is viewed as a punishment. I'm eager to learn more, so I might spend a while investigating and gathering what I can.

Regardless, I visited a place called Black Mountain, where I met a Super Mutant named Neil. He warned me not to go up the mountain, since it was home to hostile super mutants, but I offered to help him take down the super mutant running things in order to clear out the danger. It was a hard fight, but I made it up the mountain and killed Tabitha, the Nightkin running the show. I feel like there was an alternative...I fixed found a machine that needed repairs and, once I did so, it woke up and claimed to be Rhonda. Based on terminal logs and other things I found, it was Tabitha's best friend. Unfortunately it became hostile when I told it she was dead and I was forced to destroy it. That said, I did manage to free a Ghoul named Raul. He was pretty passive aggressive but gave me the location of his shack if I ever needed his services.

Anyway, I'm gonna get to searching this Vault and figuring out what this whole election thing is. It's got my curiosity stirred up quite a bit, hopefully ED-E won't have trouble getting around...thankfully the ceilings are pretty high. Anyway, that's all for this log. Here's hoping a few terminals or journals survived so I don't have to infer a buncha shit with no proof.

(The audio briefly cuts before resuming.)

Turns out the posters are mentioning three different people: Henry Glover, who seems like a decent guy…real family man type. Donna Haley, who appears to have been accused of adultery and communist sympathies based on the posters, and finally, Nathan Stone…who seems to think he's on the ballot because of backroom politicking.

Now, interestingly, the next log on this terminal indicates some murders happened and they want to make THAT person Overseer…based on Pre-War culture that likely means the Overseer position results in the death of said overseer. Now the final log on this computer is from the new Overseer, Katherine Stone, likely the wife of Nathan. She's done away with the election process and opted for picking the new Overseer via random number generator. So the Overseer, despite apparently being a death sentence, still has the power to set policy!

The plot thickens, hopefully I will have the full story by the time I make tomorrow's log.

[freedelusionshere]

Faks always sew confusion but as soon as you know the rules, they're stirring up trouble and not right about anything, their scenes make way more sense like you said. Others have compared them to the fool archetype in Shakespeare's plays: A Shakespearean fool is a clever peasant or commoner that uses their wits to outdo people of higher social standing1. Shakespeare used fools to provide comic relief, but also to comment on the events and characters of the play123. Some of his fools are wise, such as Touchstone, Feste, and Lear’s Fool, while others are natural, such as Lance, Bottom, and Dogberry2.

I feel like there is something tragic about Neil in particular who gets shit on by Richie constantly in S1 for not being masculine or smart enough (he does this to Carmy as well, we're supposed to understand that to Richie they are not "Mikey" who was the cool guy)?

The Faks boost a lot of ideas around toxic masculinity and romanticize it more than all the other characters combined. And remember, there is a small army of Faks that will beat you up! They hired hands, bullies on payroll (Sammy), etc.

TO BELIEVE A FAK: DON'T DO IT. THE BEAR SEASON 3

I really dislike talking about these guys, but they made them prominent in the show, so lemme just say one thing

If a Fak tells you it's up, then be certain that it's down.

The show runners don't do random and set out to show what's real and what is not.

So from day One they have the FAK say for himself that to HIM up is down.

The Faks say they've been breaking down boxes

If that was true, the boxes would be broken down

I'm trying to establish the pattern even though we know the pattern.

If someone is talking to the Faks, best believe they've gotta SPELL (literally) everything out so that a FAK would even SORTA UNDERSTAND

All that being said

When they tell Claire she's peace, it means she's NOT

She ALSO confirms that she's not. At least THREE times, she says NO.

You say a lie long enough and often enough people are gonna start to WANT to believe, so her 'no' turns to an 'I don't know ' soon enough'

Aside from all that, Carmy's definition of Claire being peace is that SHE is calm.

NOT that he feels calm around her.

Man please

[nekojitachan]

Okay, so there was this post, about where I was stuck at a rather miserable wedding. And in the comments, @fuzzballsheltiepants left a comment about imagining being stuck at the wedding with Neil and Andrew at the table.

Well, guess you could say that it inspired this fic.

No real warnings here, other than Neil stirring up trouble. Oh, and drink responsibly.

*******

“Who the hell does a puzzle game at a wedding?”

The left corner of Neil’s mouth twitched upward at the hint of indignation in his husband’s voice; he glanced over to find Andrew, his expression bored (better than murderous), gazing around the room with a half-empty plastic cup held in his left hand. He looked so handsome in his black suit with dark grey dress shirt (sans tie), blond hair freshly trimmed and bangs brushed back from his forehead. Yet for all the enticing picture he made at the moment, Neil would much rather he be dressed in a pair of comfortable sweats – that they both be in sweats and at their townhouse, busy making dinner and spoiling the cats than stuck at Regan’s wedding.

Unfortunately, it seemed that when the captain of your Exy team got married, you were expected to attend the event, especially if you were a married couple yourself and they helped back a transfer that got the two of you on the same team at last.

Dammit.

“I must admit, that’s the first I’ve heard of it – if anything, Nicky would have had it at his wedding.” Neil smiled when Andrew snorted at that, considering the spectacle the event had already been. “Or suggested it for ours.” When his husband grimaced, his smile widened. “Though to be fair, I think seeing who could pick a lock fastest would have been more ‘us’.”

“That or break out of handcuffs,” Andrew suggested while giving him a narrow look for some reason, then finished the last of his whiskey. “But we were smart enough to skip all of this nonsense.” Their ceremony had lasted five minutes, tops, at the courthouse and included only their most ‘necessary pests’ (Andrew’s words).

“True,” Neil murmured as he glanced around the large room crowded with people; some he knew since they were teammates, but most were strangers – Regan’s family and friends, or Sarah’s, he supposed. He’d only known the Dynamite’s captain for a few months, not counting the occasional meet-up when his former team played Andrew’s, and so wasn’t that familiar with the man’s fiancée.

Certainly not familiar enough to feel as if he should be stuck at the man’s wedding, but Regan wanted his team there for some reason, so Neil (and Andrew) had to suffer through the thing. Strict orders had been given – they couldn’t leave until after the cake had been cut and handed out.

Dammit.

At least there was an open bar, which they braved yet again so Andrew could have another drink (Neil stuck with juice since he wasn’t comfortable having more than a glass or two of beer or cider with his new teammates), but it seemed by then that the servers were done walking around with appetizers. Andrew stood there radiating indignation while Dave (backliner) introduced Neil to his wife, Laura, then clicked his tongue in disgust once they left. “They said the reception would start at 5:30. That was ten minutes ago.”

“Uhm, these things tend to run late?” Neil winced at the spark of irritation in his husband’s hazel eyes. “Maybe there’s something left at the cheese table.”

That seemed to appease the walking black hole, at least for the moment; they went into the one room where a cheese and vegetable spread had been placed (and a small classical quartet played music), and found that it hadn’t been entirely picked clean just yet.

They also found Mark, the team’s sub goalie, being berated by a guest who appeared determined to convert him to a vegan lifestyle. “-much better for the planet if you stop murdering animals because you ‘like a nice steak now and then’,” the young woman sneered.

Neil was bored, stuck wearing a suit (even if Andrew had picked it out for him and it always led to a quite enjoyable time later when it came to removing it) and would much rather be home, so he decided ‘what the hell’ because when would he see most of these people again? “Actually,” he informed the woman as he cut into her tirade, “there are some downsides to a vegan lifestyle. I mean, unless you’re growing everything yourself with sustainability in mind, you can negatively impact the environment even if you’re not ‘murdering animals’.” He gave her a cold smile as he nodded to her fake leather purse and shoes. “Think plastic is good for the planet? Or when you just have to have your latest fad vegetable or grain to the point you don’t care how it impacts the area around it?” He tried to remember some of the other arguments Allison had made during their last visit together, but it seemed that he’d already annoyed the woman enough as she’d taken to glaring at him (along with her date for the evening) while Mark smiled in relief and Andrew continued to decimate what remained of the cheese.

“You don’t have to be an asshole,” she snapped before she stomped away (with date in tow), and even tossed her long, black hair over her shoulder in emphasis.

“Thanks.” Mark gave him a relieved smile then took a swig of his beer. “All I did was make a joke about if she thought we’d be lucky enough to have steak for dinner and she went off on me. What happened to ‘each their own’, eh?”

“We’re with you there,” Neil agreed; personally, he didn’t care about one’s lifestyle choices as long as they didn’t impact others, and wished that more people felt the same.

He talked with Mark and Jennie (offensive dealer) who joined the discussion while Andrew basically cleared the table, and then it was back to the bar (some people better have a ride home or plan on cutting themselves off soon, because it was clear the long wait for dinner was not a good thing). “You just can’t resist stirring up shit, can you?” Andrew mused as he swirled the whiskey (at least the bar was stocked with semi-decent liquor or Neil suspected they’d have been long gone, ‘cake’ rule or no cake rule).

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Neil kept a straight face until Andrew scoffed, then smiled enough that the scar on his left cheek ached from stretching so much.

They snuck outside to smoke (one of their five cigarettes each of the day), uncaring of the cold when they were alone and able to enjoy each other’s company in silence for a little while. Then it was back inside, where they found a quiet corner to wait (well, except for when Andrew bitched and bitched about how Regan had no fucking clue how to tell time) for the reception hall to be ready.

Almost an hour and a half later than it had said on the invite, the doors were opened and they were ‘invited’ to sit at their arranged tables for the reception part of the wedding. Regan and Sarah had set things up so the players were scattered amongst their family and friends.

Somehow, Neil wasn’t surprised (not with his luck) to find himself at the same table as the vegan couple.

She gave him and Andrew a cold look and immediately made it clear that she and her boyfriend were the best of friends with another couple at the table, which left two other couples for Neil and Andrew to talk to for the next hour or two. Except that Andrew had never gotten along very well with Lucas, who helped with the team’s media accounts (which meant that Neil didn’t, either), and the other couple were related to Sarah and had kids, so Neil listened to them ramble on for a couple of minutes about nine-to-five jobs and toddlers and just lost focus around the time they mentioned ‘day-care’.

“We’re going back to the bar, and this time distract the bartender while I grab the bottle of whiskey,” Andrew murmured in German.

Considering that vegan-girl was going on about some amazing quinoa recipe, Neil figured that it was the best thing possible, or else he’d be calling Renee to help him break his husband out of prison for mass homicide.

On second thought, it might be a good idea to text her just in case…..

While the maid of honor rambled on about what a precious saint Sarah was, he smiled at the one bartender (who appeared exhausted and looking forward to a break, now that people were seated and about to be fed), and asked about gin drinks while inching a twenty toward the tip jar, and walked off with a gin and tonic he would sadly have to ignore (especially since it was obvious that he’d be driving home) while a smug Andrew cradled his illicit goods beneath his coat back to the table.

Andrew stared everyone down as he drank straight from the bottle, while Neil had never been so grateful to see a salad appear in front of him in his life.

That and the bread baskets had to last them until it was their table’s turn to go to the buffet for any real food, and of course they were table ten. “Isn’t it odd, how all of a sudden the balls seem attracted to Regan’s head,” Andrew said as he snatched up the last two rolls, much to Lucas’ ire.

“Or his car tires are always deflated.” Neil hadn’t thought that the backliner had disliked them, but he was beginning to revise that opinion. “Good thing we didn’t go with the one bar set he wanted as a gift.”

“No, he deserves that horrid vase.” A slight shiver of distaste ran through Andrew’s stocky body.

“Ah, it’s rude to talk in a language no one else understands,” vegan-girl’s bestie said with evident disapproval, never mind that most of the table had been carrying on a conversation together - without Andrew and Neil.

Andrew gave her a blank look while Neil offered his father’s smile until she blanched. “Not our fault you don’t understand it,” he said before he rolled his eyes and turned back to his husband. “Make sure to throw the balls really, really hard.”

The look he received from his ‘better half’ made it clear that he needn’t have said anything.

While they waited for their turn, Neil exchanged a few texts with Renee (Andrew appeased for the moment, but chance for bloodshed still possible, while she mentioned various flight arrivals, that Allison was excited about her upcoming fashion line and that a care package was on its way to them). For his part, Andrew sipped the whiskey while he recited a German drinking song with rather dubious lyrics in a rote manner in an obvious attempt to annoy their dinner-mates.

(It worked.)

Everyone appeared relieved when it was finally their turn to eat; vegan-besties tried to get there first, but Andrew blocked speeding balls for a living while Neil dealt with people larger than him trying to knock him down all the time, so they had no problems getting to the buffet ahead of everyone else. Neil threw a smile over his shoulder at the couple while Andrew grabbed their plates.

At least the food looked decent; Andrew loaded up on the lasagna, fried chicken sliders and prawns, while Neil had the first two and a bowl of fruit salad; the vegetables were roundly ignored.

When vegan-girl saw their plates at the table, she glared (especially at Andrew, who was busy breaking apart the pieces of lasagna). “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Could she not see the bowl of fruit? Neil opened his mouth to argue and then thought better of it – Renee would be slightly peeved if she had to break both of them out of jail, after all. “What type of cake do you think it is, hmm? Chocolate? Vanilla? Almond?”

“It better be the best damn cake in the world after putting up with this shit,” Andrew muttered between bites of food.

On that they both agreed.

It was quiet while everyone ate, which Neil put down to everyone being hungry, and then the married couple made noises about it being late (not really) and the babysitter and kids. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised when first the wife left the table and then the husband once their plates were empty, and neither returned after ten minutes.

He was jealous as hell.

Even though there had been a couple of (thankfully short) speeches when the Regan and Sarah had entered the large room, Regan’s best man (Tim, his brother) got up to say a few more words and then the cake was wheeled into the room. Neil and Andrew perked up at that, even though it looked to be covered in that awful fondant icing and lots of gold dust. There was more talking (why?) between Regan and Sarah, and then they finally cut the damn thing.

“Maybe we’ll be out of here soon,” Andrew murmured as he tapped his fingers against the top of the table.

“One can hope.” The next time they got any invitations that weren’t from their fellow Foxes in the mail, Neil was going to come down with a case of food poisoning or something instead of suffer through another wedding.

Andrew got up from the table at one point, so Neil pulled out his phone to text with Renee some more to ask her what she thought might bring on some convincing flu-like symptoms for a couple of days (he’d ask Aaron, but chances were fifty/fifty that the bastard might poison him for real) while he half-expected the fire alarm to go off.

Especially when Andrew didn’t come back in ten minutes.

(He knew his husband hadn’t gone off without him, because then there would be bloodshed.)

Andrew finally returned bearing two plates overloaded with cookies, of all things. “That’s not cake.”

“Nice to see you haven’t taken too many hits to the head yet,” Andrew remarked as he pushed something round, white and covered in powdered sugar toward Neil, who regarded it with some suspicion but bit into it regardless; it was a shortbread cookie with walnuts so not bad. “There’s a cookie table out there.”

“Really?” Neil thought about that while Lucas’ wife (who actually nice) looked on with interest. “Okay, why?”

Andrew shrugged and had another cookie, some rolled thing with filling. “Something about Sarah being from Pennsylvania and it being a tradition there, from what the server told me.” Knowing Andrew, all he cared about was that there were sweets readily available.

Neil leaned against his husband while the glutton ate his way through the cookies, and smiled when a pumpkin spice cookie was nudged his way (it was good). When twenty minutes went by and still no cake but a DJ invited people (more like harassed) onto the dance floor, Andrew made a slight growling noise, had another swig of whiskey and went to fetch more cookies.

It was beginning to feel like they’d never leave the damn wedding, that they were trapped there forever. Neil had survived a life on the run, had lasted through two (three) weeks at Evermore, had been tortured, so refused to be broken by this evening.

But dammit, it was hard.

Especially when the DJ started playing Justin Bieber.

When Andrew began to slide his fingers beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, Neil knew that they had to leave, and they had to leave now. “Go get our coats,” he whispered in his husband’s left ear, followed by a slight nuzzle. When Andrew gave him a curious look, mindful of their instructions for the night, he smiled in a confident (well, Nicky called it his ‘oh shit we’re dead’ grin) manner. “Trust me.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Andrew insisted, yet grabbed the bottle of whiskey which did have a good bit left in it still and left the table.

Neil couldn’t resist giving a chilling smile to the remaining people at the table, which made them cringe back, before he headed to the kitchen. The staff was surprised to see him and tried to politely shoo him away, but all it took was holding up two fifties and explaining how his spouse had a headache so he needed two slices of cake (which was already cut and plated, so what the hell was the hold-up?) to go.

They were only too happy to box those two slices for him.

He made sure to take pictures of the slices, which he’d provide to Coach Denham to prove that he and Andrew had remained at the damn wedding until they’d gotten their cake, per instructions.

Cake in hand, he left the busy staff to their work and headed to the front door, where Andrew should be waiting for him. Andrew and their coats… and a large platter covered with cookies, apparently.

“Uhm….”

“Let’s go,” Andrew said as he shoved Neil’s coat into his arms.

Neil wasn’t going to ask, not when his husband radiated barely contained annoyance and there weren���t any dead bodies (that he knew of, which was all that mattered).

The cake box in the back seat of the Maserati and the cookie platter firmly held on Andrew’s lap, Neil smoothly shifted the car into gear to drive them home. “For any future weddings, we’re out of town,” Andrew declared before he bit into a brownie.

“Agreed.”

It was a peaceful drive home, the only sound the purr of the car’s engine and Andrew munching on cookies. Once they were inside their townhouse, Neil put the cake and the remaining cookies (he smiled when he noticed that Andrew had gotten more of the pumpkin ones for him) away, then fed the cats, who acted as if they were such starved creatures.

When he straightened up, Andrew was next to him. “Hey,” Neil breathed out, his smile strengthening as he was tugged closer by broad hands on his hips. “Renee was ready to fly out here and help me stage a jailbreak in case you snapped tonight.”

“It was close,” Andrew admitted. “Someone tried to get me out on the dance floor, but Terri cut her off before she lost her arm.”

And probably more than that, knowing Andrew, Neil thought with a slight wince; he would have to thank his fellow striker next week. “Well, we’re home now, you still have some sweets left despite everything, and I’ve this suit which I can’t quite remember how to take off.” Neil batted his eyelashes a couple of times. “Won’t you help me?”

“Pathetic as always, Josten,” Andrew sneered, but the heat in his lovely hazel eyes had nothing to do with anger or disgust.

“Josten-Minyard,” Neil reminded him before he was tugged down for a kiss, a pleased hum escaping as warm, strong hands slipped beneath his jacket.

The evening might have been horrible, but he couldn’t complain about the sugar rush from all those cookies Andrew had eaten, oh no.

*******

Ok, I really do need to get back to some in progress fics. But that was mildly amusing (and cathartic).

[pixie88]

The Text

The Text - Chapter 1 - Yours truly.

A/N | So after writing a couple of  A&E one shots, I realized how much I missed this couple. So I’m sorry YES I am at it again with another A&E series which you are probably tired of! I was in two minds about going this way with this couple, but after today I decided I was keeping it like this just to match my mood! I have used Ben Affleck as a new characters face claim just because it was easier for what I need it for, all will become clear in the chapter.

Comments & reblogs welcome! Let me know what you loved and hated about this chapter!

I understand if you don’t want to be tagged so just pop me a message to be removed, but also let me know if you would like to be tagged!

Summary | Someone tries to stir up trouble for the couple.

Check out some of my other A&E series - HERE.

Wattpad | Here.

Word count | 1.7k

Warnings | 18 + Only! Angst, Fluff & a little NSFW.

Pairings | Adam x Ellie.

Enjoy!

"Mummy!" Charlie calls out as makes a run for his mum and sister across the playground "Hey bubs! Did you have a good day at school?"

"Yeah, we played football today in PE and, and I got this! Can I go Mummy? Please!" Ellie looks down at the piece of paper he hands her.

Year 1 Meadow farm trip on Friday 18th May.

The children will leave the school via a coach at 9:30AM and will arrive back at school at 2:30PM (Depending on traffic).

Lunch will be provided by the school as a part of the free school meals, all we ask is for your child to bring a change of clothes and wellington boots.

If you would like your child to attend this trip, please fill in the permission slip and return to the school by Friday 4th May. Along with a £7 donation for the trip.

Many thanks,

Miss Luton.

"Ooo, a farm trip? I don't see why not! Come on, lets get home!" she walks them through the school gate. "Ellie!" she heard someone call out to her, turning she saw it was Joe "Hey, I just wondered if Charlie wanted a lift to footie practice tonight?"

"Thanks, but I'm taking him tonight because we are dropping into my Mum's on the way home, it's her birthday!" she smiles, "Ahh OK! We'll see you there then!"

"Yeah, see ya later!" she walks off.

Later...

"Ellie, I was thinking instead of taking two cars, why don't you drop me, Delilah and Rex off at your mum's before training?" Adam calls out to her from the kitchen. "Yeah could do, if you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't." he calls back.

A little later, Ellie watches the boys play "Do you think they will beat Southend next week?" Joe asks. "If they play like this, yeah! I'm just sad I'll miss it!"

"Me too, I'm away with work, so Wendy is going to take him. Is his dad taking him?"

"Yeah, he's been busy with work, so he promised he'd go with him and their make it a lads weekend and go to the Adventure island on Saturday."

"He'll love that! I might mention that to Wendy, Toby loves all that!"

"I hate it! I'm petrified of heights!" she laughs.

Meanwhile at Mel's and Neil's...

Adam is playing Mario kart on the Switch with Delilah and Neil "I just got this last corner... YES!!!! Winner!!" Adam jumps up, "I'm not playing with you anymore! You always win!" Delilah sulks. "Why don't we play again? I bet I won't win this time?" sits back down and nudges his daughter, "Fine!" she sighs. "You never know I might win!" Neil winks at her making her laugh.

GO! Appears on the screen and they set of again Adam holds back his character, letting Delilah get a head start. He feels his phone vibrate, he pulls it out of his pocket to check if its Ellie, but an unknown number appears.

He clenched his jaw. He trusted his wife, she had never given him any reason not to, but he had been burnt before. Who's following her?! He's probably another parent, she's at football training!

"WINNER!!" Delilah snaps him out of his thoughts "See I told you, you could do it!" he smiles. "We lapped you three times Adam!" Neil laughs. "Why don't you have another with Grampy, I need to make a call!" he gets up from the sofa and starts dialing Ellie number after the fourth ring she answer "Hey handsome, everything OK?" she says in a cheery tone.

I can't tell her not over the phone, she'll start to panic! "Adam?" he hears her call out, "Yeh, everything is fine. I just wanted to see if training was over yet?"

"Nah, still another forty minutes yet!" he looks up at his coat "OK, well, I see you in a bit!"

"See you soon, I love you!" he smiles "Love you too!" he hangs up, grabs his coat and makes his way for the front door, bumping into Mel coming out of the kitchen "Whoa! Adam, where are you going?"

"I'm just going to take Rex out for a walk, can you watch Delilah for me?" Mel nods "Of course!" as he grabs Rex's lead "Rex!" the puppy come bouncing towards him.

17 minutes later...

"DADDY!!" Charlie calls over waving as he's playing, Ellie turns to see Adam walking across the playing field with Rex "Hey, whatcha doing here?" she smiles at him as he reaches her, his arms wrap her up and he looks round the park looking for anyone suspicious.

"I thought I'd take Rex for a walk and we walked a little too far." he couldn't see them, finally untangling himself from his wife, "You might as well get a lift back with us." she turns back towards the boys.

"You must be Adam? Nice to meet you!" Joe smiles, holding out his hand towards him. It was him..the guy in the photo! "Hi! Nice to meet you...erm?" Adam shook his hand "Joe, I'm Toby's dad!" Adam smiles. "Do you think they're ready for Sunday?" He nods towards the boys playing.

"Definitely!" Joe says proudly, "They will kick some butt!" Adam laughs at his competitive wife still looking for someone watching them. He thinks he's being subtle, but she's already noticed. After eight years together, she knows when something was bothering him, but she couldn't ask him at least not in front of Joe.

"Did you bring Rex's water bowl?" she looks down at her panting puppy, "Oh, I think I left it at your Mum's!" Adam rubs his temple. "I have one in the car with a bottle of water..let's go! Be back in a bit, Joe!"

"Alright mate!" he calls after them both. She loops her arm through his "Right, are you going to tell me what's wrong?" she questions him, "No-nothings wrong!" she sighs, "Adam, don't lie to me!" He knew she had caught him out- Of course she knows something's up! He pulls out his phone and opens the text, showing her.

"Wh...what?! Who?" she looks down at the message. "I don't kno.." she cuts him dead "Is that why you went on a long walk?" He huffs "I was worried about you..Ellie, that photo.." she cups his face "Is just a photo! Adam, it's board daylight and I'm in a playing field with..what 11 other people!" She thought it was sweet he was worried about her even though the person that sent the text tried to make it seem as she was doing something untoward.

"Just ignore it and whoever it is that sent it will get bored!" she kisses his lips "Also, you know you are the only DILF for me, right?" he chuckles "Good, because you are the only MILF for me too!" he claims her lips again smirking against them.

After football training...

"Hapy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to Mum, Happy birthday to you!" Ellie sings along with the rest of the family as Nana Mel blows out her candles. "Wheyyyy!" they cheered. "Nana, can we have cake?" Delilah puts on her best pout. "Of course, sweetheart!" Mel cuts up the cake.

Ellie turns towards Adam "Did you delete that text?" she whispers, "Beautiful, I'm not sure..I was thinking maybe we should take it to the police?" he's worried, it's all over his face. "Maybe we should..just in case! They could even trace the number?" He didn't know how she was so calm about it.

"Do you two want cake?" Mel calls over, drawing their attention "Cake me up!!" Her mum smiles passing them both a slice.

That evening Adam stopped at the police station on the way home, they were keeping his phone and they said they will look into it, but with no real threat made there wasn't much they could do.

That weekend...

BEEP! BEEP! BEEEP...

Her alarm woke the two of them up "Argh! Just five more minutes!" Adam groans as Ellie reaches for her phone. Swiping it off, she places back on the bedside table.

Adams arms wrap her up from behind, he nuzzles into the crook of her neck and kisses against her pulse line. She reaches behind her and clenches his hair, his hand travels down her body and the pads of his fingers brush over her pearl. She giggles "Adam! We can't the kids will be up soon and you need to get up for your trip!"

He slips between her slits "I'm already up, don't worry about that, beautiful!" she could feel it pressing into her curves. "I know, but we can't!" she says, but doesn't stop him. He circles her clit "Hmmm...!" she moans.

As if on cue they hear a thunder of small feet run across the landing towards their bedroom "Adam! The kids are coming!" He stops what he's doing and collapses onto his side of the bed frustrated. She turns over just as Charlie and Delilah burst into their room "MORNING!" They both squeal before jumping onto the bed.

"Morning Bubs! Charlie, are you excited for your weekend with Daddy?" Ellie asks as he cuddles his mum. "Yeh! It's gonna be so cool!" He says excitingly "It will be, buddy!" Adam smiles at him, "What are my princesses up to this weekend?"

"We have a morning shopping followed by an afternoon of pampering with Nanny Elaine and Nana Mel and a Disney movie evening!" Delilah fists bumps her mum. "I better get up and get these two breakfast before we leave." Adam begins to get up "You sure can come get up from the bed just yet?" Ellie teases him.

"Yep, all safe!" He winks at her "Come on you two let's get breakfast and let mummy get showered." He heads downstairs and the kids follow like little ducklings. Charlie and Delilah run past him and head for the kitchen.

Adam spots a letter newly posted, he picks it up thinking its a little early for the postman, but realizes it's been hand delivered as it's addressed to him.

Opening he starts to panic as he reads it:

Adam,

Will you be just as quick to her side next time?! ;)

Yours truly.

FUCK!!!

Chapter 2

@aussieez​ @secretaryunpaid​ @lem-20​ @khoicesbyk​ @irisofpurple​ @gloriousalmondvoiddreamer​ @palmaviolet​ @rookiemartin​ @wombatsxkookaburras​ @beautifuluknownvoid​

[aghoulishtale]

Drunk Words Are Sober Thoughts

Ivan McCormick x Reader // Killing Bono 

Request: “he likes the reader and gets drunk and accidentally tells them and in the morning he’s all embarrassed but then everything goes well” for anonymous

Word Count: 1.2k  Warnings: Alcohol and drug usage 

[gif]

Blinking against the light, you attempted to sit up but something heavy was weighing on your chest, holding you down. You looked down, seeing Ivan’s head on you using you as a pillow as he lay on his stomach, his feet hanging over the side of the bed still in the boots he had worn to the party last night. While you felt a twinge of a hangover starting, you knew he was going to feel ten times worse than you. He had already been out of it, having drunk and taken who knows how many drugs by the time you had even arrived, barely able to stand up straight and spending the rest of the night using you to keep himself up. While his body seemed to shut down when inebriated, his mind apparently went into overdrive, words spewing out a mile a minute. If you ever needed Ivan to tell you something he wasn’t meant to, all you needed to do was give him a couple drinks and he would tell you everything, and last night he told you a lot. 

Carefully, you shuffled out from under him, replacing your body with a pile of pillows. He only stirred slightly, but he remained asleep, his mouth hanging open as he snored lightly, the thick eyeliner he had been wearing now smeared across the side of his face and glitter clung to the curls that were somehow even messier than they usually were. You found it tempting to run your hands through them, to feel the soft curls wrap around your fingers while you watched him peacefully sleep. Even in this state, you thought he was one of the most beautiful people you had ever met, affection filling you as you admired him, his words from the night before playing on your mind. Realising it would probably be awkward if he woke to you standing over him and staring at him, you left the room in search of painkillers. You managed to find some paracetamol in the kitchen, quickly swallowing a couple before taking the rest, along with a fresh glass of water, back to Ivan’s room. 

He slept for another hour, finally traipsing out of his room to find you curled up on the old second hand sofa they had recently acquired, one of the only pieces of furniture in the large room, and reading a newspaper that had to be at least a week old. You were in one of his t-shirts, a blanket covering your lower half. He had also gotten changed, the make-up and glitter gone, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead from where he had just gotten out of the shower, though even water couldn’t weigh down the curls. 

“Morning.” He greeted gruffly, dropping onto the other side of the sofa. 

“Afternoon.” You replied. “It’s 2pm.” You dropped the newspaper on the floor, pulling your knees to your chest as you sat facing him. You wanted to bring up last night, desperate to find out if what he had said was true, to know that he had meant it and it wasn’t just the alcohol and drugs talking. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Rough.” He answered. “You?”

“Oh, I’m good. I was too busy looking after you to drink too much.” You teased, jabbing your finger into his arm. 

“Sorry.” He stared down at his hands, his eyebrows drawn down and frowning as he flicked at his nail. You could tell he wanted to say something, so you rested your chin on top of your knees as you waited for him to say it. He opened his mouth, sucking in a breath as his eyes quickly flicked to you and back to his hands. “Did I say anything last night?” He finally asked. You felt your heart jump; this is what you had been waiting for. “It’s just, usually when I drink I talk a lot. Gets me in trouble a lot.”

“I know.” You chuckled. You had witnessed it a couple times since you had befriended the McCormick brothers, though usually it was Neil on the receiving end of Ivan’s drunken confessions and they weren’t always the nicest. Last month he had accused him of ruining his career, saying he would’ve been better off with Bono and U2, leading to them not speaking for two days before silently making up in that way that brothers do; nothing actually discussed but everything forgiven anyway. 

“I didn’t say anything to hurt anyone, did I?” He looked at you hesitantly, concern written on his face. 

“No, you didn’t. You said a lot, but nothing bad.” You reassured him.  

“And what exactly did I say?”

“Oh, y’know.” You shrugged, taking some enjoyment in the way he nervously squirmed in his seat, waiting for the answer. “Just that I’m the funniest, smartest, prettiest person you have ever met and that you don’t understand how you got so lucky to have me in your life.” He squeezed his eyes shut as he grimaced. 

“I did?”

“Yep.” He hid his face in his hands, but you weren’t done. “You also might have mentioned that you’re in love with me.” You bit your lip as he peaked at you through his fingers. 

“Oh god.” He groaned. 

“Ivan.” You pulled his hands away from his face, forcing him to look at you as you built up the courage to ask the question that had been eating at you since he had said. “Is it true? Are you in love with me?” His lips parted as though he was going to say something, but nothing came out. You held his gaze, his eyes searching yours looking for the right answer, his breathing deepening ever so slightly, but you still noticed. You had a feeling that if you put your hand on his chest, you would feel his heart beating as quickly and as hard as yours, and it was all the answer you needed. You surged forward, hearing him gasp as your lips landed on his. He kissed you back instantly, his hand cupping your cheek. When he pulled away, you thought he was going to say something, but he pulled you back in instead. He didn’t need to speak to confirm it, making you feel the answer in the way he kissed you, the kiss quickly getting more intense as you both poured everything into it, desperate to show each other how you felt. The weeks of subtle glances and light touches, of hours of conversation and being the first person the other noticed when they walked into a room, all going into this kiss. You were the one to finally pull away, resting your forehead against his and you both fought to breath. Though your eyes were still closed, you knew he was smiling too. His hand still warm on your cheek, you placed yours over it, intertwining your fingers. 

“I love you.” He whispered, lifting his head from yours to look at your face, his eyes a darker green than you were used to, filled with a mix of love and lust. 

“I love you, too.” You whispered back. He stood, pulling you up with him, his eyes trailing down your body as the blanket fell away from you, your bare legs on show. He bit his tongue as he grinned, pulling you back to his room, and you followed him eagerly.

Taglist: @bisexualnathanyoung​ @misskittysmagicportal​ @nightingale-rose​ @forenschik​ @love-is-dirty-baby​

[fangsandfeels]

I wanted to put my own two cents, but these two cents morphed into a long-ass take of extremely personal opinions on my fascination with Astarion and morality, so I’ll just, um, leave it here.

To preface: I’m saying all of this as a person who always rolled her eyes at character woobification and the characters who fans tried to redeem or make more sympathetic through that prism. There are hills I would die or rather murder someone on.

I admit, it's very hard to evaluate his character outside of his experience with Cazador because it's the running theme of his entire quest: him being denied his past, his autonomy and identity, everything about him being twisted or shaped in a way that fit Cazador,  even his initial choices being defined by his fear and Cazador's influences.

It's clear that the Cazador's speeches: "I made you"//"What will you even be without me?" are his twisted way of saying "I made you into a monster who will not have a place in this world. Whatever chances you had at going back, I took them all. You belong with me because I left you no other way out".

I think, Cazador expected Astarion to crawl back partially because he believed nobody will help a vampire spawn and a complacent kidnapper; he will have no choice but to come back. He will be chased back to the only place where he belonged. Yes, he will get consumed during the Ritual, but he gets the honor of dying with a purpose - he should be grateful for having his miserable non-existence ended in such a useful way.

All this is, well, an entirely different can of worms to unpack (regarding Astarion and the fate of other spawns), but in short, the way I see it, we can help Astarion pry himself and his life out of Cazador's gnarled little hands and give the bastard the middle finger; to show him that he no longer has any say in how Astarion is going to live and he will die mad about it.

Regarding what kind of a person Astarion is, I liked Neil's description the most: he is immoral but not amoral. It describes him rather well.

He likes messing with people. He doesn't play fair. He is rather abrasive once he drops the people-pleasing act and participates in conversation. He is selfish, he has a violent streak, and enjoys stirring trouble. And it's understandable: he doesn't believe he should conform to the rules and the norms because they are a complete and utter joke, and at least he is honest about it while other people keep fooling themselves and making meaningless feel-good statements. What’s the point of trying to be better when everyone is better than him in words only?

Even his disapproval of good choices has some pragmatic reasoning to it: alerting cultists at Figaro's place means losing the element of surprise and becoming a target (while letting Figaro die means getting the benefit of stealth and being able to attack on your own conditions); killing Valeria, a lazy and incompetent Investigator who basically asked for all of this to happen, sounds like such a small price to pay in exchange for tangling with the entire Tribunal. Nothing of value is lost; it’s not like we have to kill a refugee or the lady running an orphanage. Blowing up the Gondians? Well, they made their choice, why should we make our job harder by trying to fix their mistakes? We already have enough on our plate. 

As for Dame Aylin, I think it's more of "We don't need to babysit the daughter of a literal goddess. Let's tell her that this noodle-armed wizard is after her and watch her break his spine".

But at the same time, there are things he draws the line at. Things he won't do unless forced. Things he will feel horrible about, without even trying to defend himself when confronted by someone he hurt.

Neil also mentioned that he is in a high-defense mode because he assumes that people will hold him to high moral standards (which they don't necessarily comply with) or condemn him, so he prefers to give them what they expect and revel in their accusations. He expects to hear that he deserved what happened to him because he was a corrupt magistrate (even though he no longer remembers what he did exactly) -- which sounds like a very superficial and hypocritical statement because what about all the people who suffered because he had no choice but to lure them to Cazador? Was his punishment worth their lives? Oh, he hopes the accusers enjoy the view from their high horses.

He expects to receive no empathy because he is a vampire spawn, a monster to be staked or chased away (and it's not like he is wrong given the reaction from the companions), so he doesn't ask or appeal to other people's humanity. He tries to approach each cooperation pragmatically, talking about advantages and benefits, the language of profit and value.

But, ironically, when he is offered acceptance and genuine support, no judgment, and no price tags attached, he happily welcomes it even though new friendships and relationships are an entirely new experience to him which can make him vulnerable.

He could have been a lot more active and intense in his attempts to manipulate the player’s sympathies and views, but those few times he tries, come off as very clumsy (the “You know what would be a good thing to do? To take over the cult!” talk with zero approval loss) or raw (all the times Astarion tries to convince romanced Tav to go along with the ritual). But he grows too attached, too appreciative of being seen as something more than a damned undead -- because this is what he wants even if he can’t make sense of what being something more even means. He wants to have an opportunity to find out.

So, is he evil at his core? In my opinion, the right words would be “cynical” and “bitter” rather than evil. If we look at his siblings, almost all of them did something horrible for the sake of survival: Leon doomed a random girl to save his own daughter, Dalyria tried to drain a child to cure herself of vampirism, Petras openly dreamed of exsanguinating a person after the ritual -- and this bunch considered Astarion to be the weakest. And yet, we’re encouraged to save them all and give them a chance at living, not surviving.

Can he be evil and do evil things? Absolutely. Even though he has an appreciation for headstrong people who stick to their principles and do the right thing, he certainly believes that destructive and cruel individuals are the ones who don’t lie to themselves and the world, so he will roll along and try to have as much fun as possible.

I'm noticing an interesting trend regarding Astarion and his fandom characterization. Let me preface this by saying I know how damaging trauma can be and I know how difficult it is to unlearn those things. That being said, I feel like there is this habit of equating Astarion being an asshole with the trauma he went through at Cazador's hand. And like, fundamentally Astarion is a selfish person, not necessarily a cruel one, but his selfishness does often lend itself to cruelty. This is especially obvious in Act 3 when, even after you've done his full quest-line, even if you've gone the "good" route, he still disapproves of kind actions. Like helping the clothing shopkeeper whose literally in the process of being murdered by that weird serial killer dwarf. One could argue it's a discrepancy between the cut-scene conversations and the gamplay at large but lbr that's not the way fandom tends to view things. An argument could be made that he has two centuries of damage to heal, but I think it is also just as likely that Astarion is an asshole. Like, fundamentally just kind of a dick. Lord knows villains get woobified at the drop of a hat, and I'm sure he will inevitably will be, but this strange justification of his behavior bothers me. He's still just as a valid as a victim of Cazador if he's not a kind person. His selfishness feels very baked in, very intentional and honest. He can be both, ya know? He can be traumatized and in need of therapy/healing, and he can also be aware that his actions are selfish enough that they frequently come off as cruel.

[fairytalesintheend]

Punk Rock Ezra

Word count: 1520

Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts, small mention of a suicide attempt, adult content, mentions of smut and cockwarming, language, I think that’s it but please lemme know

A/n: alright kiddos I have no idea what this is. Unedited, unbeta’d, barely revised, fully self indulgent Punk Rock Ezra. Inspired by the wonderful punk ezra hc’s from @rae-gar-targaryen’s beautiful brain. Loosely inspired by Punk Rock John by Neil Hilborn. Enjoy or tell me if it sucks😘 p.s. formatting might be fucked cause I copied from drive and pasted on mobile lmao

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The first time you saw Ezra he was crowd surfing up to the stage. You noticed the blonde streak in his hair and you watched it until it disappeared into the sea of people in the pit. At the next show the same streak caught your eye. Then the show after that and the one after that too. Ezra and that damned blonde streak were almost expected at any show you attended and you’d be kidding yourself if you thought it hadn’t become some sort of a comfort.

The first time you met Ezra, he’d pulled you up from the floor at a show. He’d asked if you were alright, brushed the dirt off your clothes then told you “Protect your face, birdie. If you get pushed, push back. You’ll be fine.” Then he threw you back into the pit.

One time he found you about to punch someone and grabbed you around your waist, pulling you back into the crowd. You were angry. At everything and nothing. You hated your life and the world and everything in it. You’d tried fighting him off of you but he held you firm against him. “Don’t start shit you can’t finish, birdie. You don’t know who their friends are, you’ll get yourself killed. Don’t be stupid.” He spun you around to face him but kept his grip on you. “We’ve all felt the way you feel, birdie. That’s why you’re here.” Ezra helped you protect yourself and let go at shows. Jumping and dancing and screaming your anger away instead of trying to take it out on some metal kid who wasn’t worth the time. He took your hand and showed you that this was a safe place. That everyone in the room had gone through shitty things and that you weren’t alone. That this was a place you belonged. He looked out for you and you looked out for him too. Which made falling in love with him all the more easy.

Ezra usually wore jeans that were cut off at the knee and ratty band t-shirts, most of which had the sleeves ripped off. His dirty black Chucks were the only shoes you ever saw him wear. He had tattoos of constellations and geometric designs that were scattered all over his arms. There were doodles and random pictures inked on his thighs that he’d done himself in high school. He also had a phrase in Latin on the left side of his neck. Astra inclinant, sed non obligant. “The stars incline us, they do not bind us.” He told you one day what it meant. “Fate can guide us birdie but we can’t let the stars do everything. It’s our job to be responsible for us and what we put into this world.”

He had a nose ring and his ears were pierced in three places. All he’d done himself over the sink in his bathroom. One time he offered to pierce your nose for you and while you declined at first, three weeks later you found yourself sitting on Ezra’s bathroom counter while he brought the hot needle to your face.

He had a scar on his cheek. Almost crescent moon shaped below his eye. The first time he told you how he got it he told you it was from a knife fight. Later on you’d find out he was trying to impress you when in actuality it was from falling off his skateboard when he was 17.

He’d ask you to touch up the blonde streak in his hair. He really could do it himself but he liked when you did it because he was convinced you did it much better than he ever did.

He talked all the time, about everything. Music, art, science, literature. He went on long rants about injustices in the world but they sounded more like monologues from your favorite play. You couldn’t do anything but stare, breathing him in while he strung together the pieces of his life for you. His voice wrote journal entries on your bedroom walls. He forced you to talk as well. “There’s a storm brewing in that head of yours. Can’t hide those eyes from me, Nightingale. They tell more stories than I do. Talk.” Sometimes you listened to him. You would talk about anything and everything or nothing at all. Whether you’d liked to admit it or not, it worked. Better than any other therapy you’d tried. Other times you’d turn away from him and cross your arms, curling into yourself. You’d hear him let out a long breath. Then he’d be at the stereo. He would pick a cd then turn up the volume almost as loud as it could go so you couldn’t hear your own thoughts anymore. He’d make you stand on the bed with him and sing. Scream the words as loud as you could until you felt better. “The church of punk rock is always open, birdie,” He told you once. “This is how you pray.”

You never thought you could love a sound more than you loved the sound of music until you heard Ezra moan your name against your neck as he moved inside you. The grunts and whines that fell from his lips creating a symphony that you wanted on repeat forever. The way he moved in you felt the closest to holy you were ever going to get. Oh how he worshipped you. And you him. You could spend hours here, the sanctuary of each other’s bodies. Hands, teeth, and tongues making their mark. He would stay inside you for a while after. Holding you, scattering soft kisses anywhere he could reach. Sometimes you’d fall asleep like this then wake up the next morning to worship each other all over again.

Ezra was a survivor. You knew that the first time you saw him. Everyone in that dirty basement was a survivor. Ezra talked about his entire life with you but you knew there were some things he kept hidden from the world. Not that you blamed him. You had your fair share of things you’d never told anyone. Of course, that changed over time. You both came to each other for confession. Whispered admissions of sin in the dark of Ezra’s bedroom. He told you things that made your heart ache. How could he be so gentle? So forgiving? When the world had done so much? Would you ever be? So forgiving of this world, so gentle toward yourself and this life? Or would this anger you held inside you always be there? You’d asked Ezra one night. “I am not as healed as you may imagine, Nightingale.” He said. “I do my share of praying more than you’d know.”

You took care of Ezra and in turn, Ezra took care of you. He’d saved you from yourself on more than one occasion. One night was particularly bad. You’d locked yourself in the bathroom with a kitchen knife. When Ezra showed up at your place he’d knocked on the door and you yelled at him to go away. To just let you do this. It would be better. So much better. But instead he broke the lock on the door when he kicked it open. He held his arms out to you with caution. Coaxed you to listen to him and let go as he moved closer to you. He’d pulled the knife out of your hands and pulled you into his arms. You fought him at first, wriggling in his arms until he backed against the wall and held you so you couldn’t move. The two of you sunk to the floor. You sobbed into his chest, hiccuping every few moments. Your breathing was still rapid. For the first time ever, Ezra just stayed silent. He ran his hand over your hair and held you tightly against him. He only spoke after your breathing wouldn’t calm down. “Shhh, shhh birdie I need you to slow down okay? Just breathe with me.” You stayed on the cold bathroom floor in his arms for what seemed like hours. Then Ezra picked you up, made you some food and sat with you on your couch. He didn’t try to get you to talk. He just put in a cd and turned up the volume. He kissed your forehead and then your lips. “One day we’ll leave this place birdie. I promise you. I’ll get you out of here.”

He kept his promise. Years after the first time you saw Ezra, he stands in your kitchen with your daughter on his hip. He’s making breakfast and singing to her while he stirs batter for pancakes. You’re not angry anymore. You take meds that work for you and you even have a therapist you don’t completely hate. Your life is so different than it used to be. You don’t need to pray as much as you used to but in times of trouble Ezra will still pop in a cd and turn up the volume and you can hear the first thing he said to you. “You’ll be fine.”

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Tags for fun: @rae-gar-targaryen @qveenbvtch @steeeeeeeviebb @zeldasayer @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @fleetwoodmactshirt @cinewhore @lokiaddicted @pascalplease @krissology @frannyzooey @mostly-megan @flightlessangelwings @voteforpedropascal @pettyprocrastination @artemiseamoon @justanotherblonde23

[passivenovember]

Laughing Stock

Mrs. Jacobson changes their whole world with a pink sticky note and it's almost poetic.

Billy finds it on Friday, a little pastel tombstone wedged between an empty yogurt tube and the head of Dawn's favorite Barbie Doll in her Myth Busters lunch box.

She's having trouble making friends. 

It's solemn in tone, like a smoke signal. A warning scribbled in shades of green.

Breaking news: Area Kid Prefers Goosebumps Over the Mystery of Multiplication Tables, the Stress of Socializing, or Conforming to the Standard Everyone Else Has Put in Front of Her. More on this at seven.

The color of that afternoon, the muted pinks and greens of steely skies dipped pastel criticism, reminds Billy of Easter. Of baby Jesus and betrayals. Good intentions that try to take over the world. 

She's having trouble making friends.

Billy reads the sentence twice. First out of necessity, again out of annoyance, feeling more and more like he should've seen this coming. Through the large kitchen window of the sink Dawn builds mud pies on a spool of fresh grass. Armed with sticks and funky painted rocks, she carries a threadbare toy rabbit and the weight of seven other people.

Imaginary friends.

Only friends.

On toward adventure. Steve appears in the reflection of the window and Billy hands him the sticky note.

"It's my fuckin' fault." Billy says, to no one in particular.

Dawn's lady-bug roller skates tromp through the grass, tearing narrow clumps in the soil as she locates the perfect spot for her third mud pie. The trainer skates were an early birthday present from Joyce, hand painted with little metal antennae welded on, courtesy of grandpa Hop.

Billy doesn't want her to wear the wheels down before the big surprise next week, but.

The skates are perfect.

Cute and adventurous, just like Dawn, and every time Billy sees her racing around the house while Steve complains about their security deposit, he's reminded of the love that colors every afternoon.

Dawn parks herself in front of an old tree stump as something is disclosed to Hopper the rabbit. Secrets, plans. The window is closed so Billy can't hear what she's saying, exactly, but he chokes on something sharp. 

And wet.

Anyway.

Steve runs his fingers through Billy's hair. "What's wrong, baby?"

Hopper the rabbit is thrown onto the stump, discarded, as Dawn sorts through her pockets for leaves and animal bones.

Billy gestures to the window, like, "Our kid's a goddamn freak."

"Billy."

"She carries around bags of animal bones."

For lack of anything better to do, Steve reads the sticky note once more before finally shrugging his shoulders. “She’s playing.”

Dawn begins separating her skeletons into piles.

“Where’d she even get them?”

”The woods. Uncle Dustin, maybe?”

Billy shakes his head. “It’s fuckin’ weird.”

"She's just being herself, Bills, aren't we encourage that kind of bullshit?" Steve manhandles Billy around the edge of the countertop until brown eyes draw firm conclusions. "This whole thing isn't fair. Not right of you to blame yourself. Not fair to say those things about her."

Billy fights back anyway. "Mrs. Jacobson said--"

A haughty, irritated puff of air forces clouds to move away from the sun. "Who gives a shit what Mrs. Jacobson said?"

"I do. It's important that Dawn makes friends with other kids her age, Steve."

Through the window she buries a rock in the ground, using tree bark to build a cemetery, and. 

Billy's. Trying not to get upset. 

He bites harshly on the ridge of his tongue, fending off heavy, obnoxious tears. "She doesn't even try to like the other kids her age."

Steve snorts. "What's to like?"

"Steve--"

"No, I'm serious."

"They could get her into. Y'know." Billy thinks about it, turning to put on the kettle. "Baby dolls, little pink dresses, glittery stickers, you know."

Steve grits his teeth. "Girl shit?"

"No, Steve." Billy rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Not girl shit."

"Well, she's into mud. And science. And dead animals, because Dawn likes to know the way things work." Steve slides onto the counter next to the oven, poking at the grip of the kettle with forced interest. "Science. Boy stuff. That's what Dawn likes."

And Billy.

Doesn't like there this is going. He folds his arms. "Maybe she could learn to like other stuff."

"So you agree?" 

And. "What?"

"You want down to enjoy girl stuff."

"Yes. No, fuck." Billy squeezes his eyes shut. Opens them again to find his husband sat next to an open flame, shoulders stapling themselves to his ears and just. Hanging there. 

Billy tries again. "I want her to be into normal stuff. Five year old stuff."

"Other five year old's are interested in whether each playdough tube has a unique flavor," Steve counters, tossing Mrs. Jacobson's concern into the recycling bin without a second thought. "Dawn's beyond, like. Way beyond everyone else her age."

And Billy gets it, alright? 

Because their daughter is kick ass. She's everything Billy wished he could've been at her age--adventurous. Kind. Open hearted. Brave. Smart. He fills two mugs with water, also thinking about how hard it was to be.

Different.

When he was going up. Billy knows, like. He and Dawn are unique in different ways, targeted for different reasons, but. 

Still.

"You don't think we should be worried about this."

Because He is. And he will be. Forever.

Steve shakes his head, lost. "Worried about her not making friends?"

"It wasn't always. Easy. For me."

"I know, baby."

"And with us. After, like. Neil and the party and Dawn having to explain the two dads thing. One who sleeps with a nail studded, bat. And." Billy swallows thickly. "The other, who couldn't stay dead."

He opens a bag of sugar. 

Forces himself to go slow with each movement, as if studying for an exam. 

Steve lets out another fertile pass of air. "Kids are little bags of shit."

"You don't mean that."

"Of course I do. They pick each other apart for no reason at all, if it wasn't the bones and the gay dad thing it'd be something else. Her hair cut or her shoes."

"What's wrong with her shoes?" Billy demands, but.

Steve rolls his eyes, almost. Fondly. "Nothing, but since when have I had a clue what the kids are into these days?" Steve asks, reaching for Billy and taking the hint when Billy recoils, as if bitten by a snake. He offers a kind, easy smile. "She has us."

Billy stirs their coffee. "That's not the compliment you think it is."

"What's so crazy about us?" Steve wonders, eyes going wide and watery, just. Adorable. His tongue pokes out with his grin. "Besides the whole, y'know. Living corpse and baseball bat situation."

Billy opens his mouth to respond when the back door slams open. 

The kitchen is a flurry of activity. 

In the last ten minutes it's started raining and Dawn is covered from head to roller skate in mud. 

Her pigtails are lopsided, caked with mounds of Earth and grass as Billy lunges forward with a tea towel in hand. He's learned what kinds of questions to ask if he wants the full story. Steve helps their daughter to the bathroom Billy figures out the basics. 

Chasing worms.

Wiggly, quickie worms who burrow too fast beneath beds of roses. 

Dawn was trying to see if they could burrow all the way to the center of the Earth. 

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

I know it’s not what you usually write, but could you do hc’s for Nicky / Aaron / Neil learning the actual timeline for Andrew and Roland’s “relationship” and then completely cutting Roland out of their lives? Bonus points if Neil like, kills or calls up Ichirou to kill him :) thanks :) I need closure :)

Don’t we all, babe? Here’s a lil something for your trouble

“How old were you when you lost your virginity,” Andrew read off the block. All the Upperclassmen, save Renee leaned forward in anticipation. Amidst the flood of articles published upon Andrew’s admittance to Easthaven, the media had muddled much of the story in regards to the entire Pre-Thanksgiving Fiasco. While Neil had taken the time to clear things up with the Upperclassmen, he’d left out a lot of the details, namely Andrew’s history of trauma. 

“It’s none of y’alls fucking buisness-” Aaron started. 

“Seven.” It was as though someone had sucked all the air out of the room. “He was dating my foster mother. She knew what he was doing. So long as she got her check, she didn’t care.”

Folding his hands in his lap in an attempt to sate his urge to reach out, Neil let his eyes go out of focus. Every single fiber of his being ached to touch Andrew. For eight months, Andrew had stood by his side, quelling his every urge to run despite the looming threat of his father. Even after Nathan’s death, Neil had bolted awake in the middle of nights, iching to cut and run. Every single time, Andrew had hooked a hand behind his neck, drawn him close, muttered quiet reassurances until he’d smoothed over all of Neil’s ragged edges. Admitting this could not be easy for Andrew. Why he’d even done it, Neil didn’t know but he wished that he could offer Andrew with at least a fraction of the support he’d provided him in the last year. By nothing short of a miracle, he was granted the opportunity to. 

Andrew’s arm dropped from off the couch back, settling across Neil’s shoulders. Immediately, Neil felt himself relax. 

“How old were you when you chose to have sex for the first time?” Nicky asked, hesitantly. That wasn’t a distinction anyone should ever have to draw and it cut Neil deeper than any of his father’s knives. 

“Seventeen,” Andrew answered. The Foxes collectively exhaled. In South Carolina, the age of consent was sixteen. It probably wasn’t a good call to grant hormonally charged teens the legal ability to consent to sex but what were they going to do? Have sex with an adult? 

“Who was it?” Nicky asked. Aaron groaned, clapping his hands over his ears. 

“Roland,” Andrew admitted. The second the name left his lips, Nicky’s smile faltered. Aaron’s hands dropped away, his brows knitting together as they always did when he was sorting through something. 

“No way,” Nicky laughed but it was false cheer. Concern welled in Neil’s chest. “Andrew, when you were seventeen, Roland was…”

“Twenty-three,” Aaron said. His voice was empty, devoid of all the fury painting his features. “He was twenty-three years old and you were a child.”

“I’m more than capable of making my own-” Andrew started.

“No you fucking weren’t!” Aaron roared. “He was your boss. Not only was he older than you, he was in a place of power.” Once more, a pregnant silence fell over the Foxes. None of the Upperclassmen nor Kevin deigned to intervene. 

“Aaron-” Andrew began.

“No,” he snapped. “I don’t- I can’t,” Aaron said as he rocketed out of his seat. Storming through, he knocked into the table and sent the jenga tower toppling. 

“How about we call it a night?” Matt asked. He didn’t wait for an answer before he began clearing away the blocks. Renee moved next, clearing up the glasses and coaxing Dan and Allison to help her with the dishes. Nicky stood, his movements mechanical as he made his way from the room. Kevin followed him out in silence. It wasn’t until everyone had left the room that Andrew moved. Unfurling from where he’d curled up on the couch, he drew his arm back from around Neil and stood. 

“Andrew,” Neil called quietly. There was something poisonous in the gaze he turned on Neil but it did nothing to deter him. “He wasn’t just older or your boss. He didn’t respect you.” Andrew’s lips curled in a snarl. “You had to handcuff him just to keep his hands off you.” Neil’s voice broke near the end but he didn’t care. It seemed to break something in Andrew too.His apathetic facade fell back into place but there were cracks in it now. From the slump of his shoulders to the muscle ticking in his jaw, Neil could see how their words had affected him. Andrew didn’t believe in regret for it was the result of shame and guilt. Surely, he felt neither of those things now. There was no shame in sating his desires. All teens had them. There was no guilt in it either. He wasn’t the one that had done anything wrong. 

Fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket, Andrew slipped one out of the carton and lit it up. He headed out the door with Neil at his heels. They parted ways at the door to their room, Andrew headed for the stairwell in search of some time to clear his head and Neil headed for their bed to give him the space he undoubtedly needed. 

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“How was y’alls weekend?” Bee asked, chipper as ever. “I heard you forwent the usual Columbia outing in favor of going to one of Dan’s game night.” Aaron’s heart stumbled. A wave of anger washed over him, thinly veiling the anguish beneath. Seven. Andrew had been hurting since he was seven. Not only that, but he’d allowed the unthinkable.

“How can you stand him?” Aaron asked, his body trembled as he struggled to contain his anger. 

“How can you stand her?” Andrew countered. As always, he looked entirely uninterested in the proceedings. He was slumped down in his chair, absently stirring his hot chocolate. 

“Tilda didn’t rape me.” Bee sat a little straighter. Immediately, her gaze flicked towards Andrew. Aaron watched as Andrew set his cup back onto the desk. 

“I trust Neil.” 

“Like you trusted Roland?” Aaron’s voice came out sounding cold, empty, and nothing like himself. Fury lit up Andrew’s face. “He was twenty-three, Andrew. An adult! You were seventeen. What the fuck were you thinking?” A heavy silence settled over them. Bee always gave the boys a few minutes to cool down or pick up the conversation without her own intervention. Just as she opened her mouth, Andrew spoke.

“It was the first time I’d felt in control of things,” he said finally. “Everyone was always taking what they wanted from me. My… arrangement with Roland was purely transactional. I got him off and I got to feel like I was in control.” Andrew picked his mug back up from the desk. Aaron watched as he drained it in one go. “In retrospect, I see that I wasn’t. My sense of control was an illusion that Roland allowed me to maintain so that he could get what he wanted.” 

“That’s a very interesting insight, Andrew,” Bee remarked. She made several notes on her clipboard as Aaron digested his brother’s words. That was all they had time for. The two of them allowed Bee to walk them to the door of the clinic and drove back to the court in silence. 

Despite it being the middle of practice, Nicky was standing in the parking lot. 

“Hey,” he said, plastering a smile to his face at the twins’ approach. 

“What are you doing?” Aaron asked. He watched as a shiver ran down his cousin’s spine at the chilly tone. 

“I left the flash drive with all my old photos of Erik at the house a while ago. I’ve gotta go grab it so I can make him a video for our 7th anniversary! Kevin’s letting me borrow his car too. How was Bee?” Neither of the twins answered. “Alright, good talk!” Nicky called after them.

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Good talk indeed. It seemed that neither of the twins suspected a thing. Cutting the engine on, Nicky peeled out of the lot. A month after Riko’s death, the Ravens had sent his old car to Kevin. They’d said that, as his brother and closest family member, Kevin should be the one to inherit all his belongings. Of course, their intentions weren’t as pure as the media portrayed them to be. Every single one of Riko’s belongings served as a reminder of Kevin’s time in the Nest. 

The Foxes had held a bonfire on the beach in which they’d burnt all of it. Neil had attended as well. From what Nicky had managed to wring from him, his mother had died on a beach and Neil had been forced to burn her body. 

“It won’t be easy,” Neil had admitted, “but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” The smile that had stretched across his had been so undeniably fox-like that Nicky had done a double take. 

It was nice seeing Neil smile. It was even nicer to see the way Andrew relaxed around him. The two of them had been forged in the hellfires of their upbringings into the most wicked blades in the Fox arsenal. But that didn’t mean they were invincible. Even the sharpest of knives could be scratched and chipped and, eventually, broken. 

Ever since Andrew first arrived in Columbia, Nicky had sworn he’d protect his cousins to the best of his abilities. He’d never once managed it. In fact, more often than not, Andrew was the one protecting him. It was time he paid him back for it. 

Nicky pulled into the parking lot of the ramshackle apartments at the edge of Columbia in record time. Atop his car, lounged a familiar figure. 

“Nicky?” Roland called as he sat up. His eyes were red and he reeked of weed. “What are you doing all the way out here without Andrew?” Nicky could feel his blood boiling beneath his skin. 

“When did you start sleeping with him?” Nicky asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. Roland’s brows knitted together as he thought.

“Started maybe… four years ago? It ended as soon as your little runner joined the line, though. Shame,” Roland said, sliding off the trunk of his car, “Andrew was the best I’d ever had.” 

“Do you know how old he was?” Nicky demanded. There was no hiding the way it trembled now. 

“He was seventeen.” The answer was immediate and it knocked the air out of Nicky’s lungs. “He was legal,” Roland said with a shrug. The old one two, he heard Matt say in his head. It suddenly struck Nicky that Roland was older than he was. 

“He was a child,” Nicky roared. “My child!” Before he even realized, Nicky had closed the space between them. His hand came up, curled in a fist. The jarring pain of his own knuckles connecting with the side of Roland’s jaw knocked him back into his body. 

“What the fuck, Nicky-” Roland started but, as he looked up from where he’d fallen, terror washed over his face. 

“Don’t you ever speak to me or my boys again,” Nicky snarled. The drive back passed in a blur. Making his way up the stairs mechanically, Nicky headed back to his own room. When he opened the door, he found Andrew settled on the couch with Neil in his lap and a controller in his hands. Aaron was stretched out on the other couch, watching the screen. 

“Can’t wait to lose a fourth time, can you, Minyard?” Matt taunted. 

“Fuck off, Boyd,” Andrew snapped. Aaron laughed, warm and bright, and the sound filled the room. Nicky watched as Andrew’s gaze flicked over to his brother, the ghost of a smile flickering across his mouth. My boys, Nicky thought with a smile. 

“Come on, Nicky,” Matt called. “I need someone who’ll put up a real challenge.” 

“Get ready to have that fine ass of yours handed to you,” Nicky shot back. 

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“You’ve missed quite a few birthdays,” Neil said, offhandedly. 

“That’s a helluva birthday present, Abram,” the man on the other end of the line remarked. 

“It is,” Neil agreed. The man huffed an exaggerated sigh. 

“Fine. You’ll have Roland’s head by the end of the week.” 

“Thanks, Uncle Stuart,” Neil said. He could feel the cruel smile curling his lips but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was one of the monsters after all.

[dastardlydandelion]

medium luci

ao3 link

content warnings: homophobia, comphet, child abuse, abusive relationships

It’s rare that Susan and Neil have the same weekday off. Neil typically works five days a week and she three or four, depending who’s on staff, being that she’s only part-time. But he’d had a dentist appointment midmorning so he’d taken today off and decided to make his hours up by volunteering for a double next week.

Susan doesn’t typically care to spend any extra time alone with her husband. They have so little to talk about these days, now that he doesn’t try to butter her up or feed her honey sweet lies as much as he used to. Now that Neil doesn’t care to talk much at all unless ranting or complaining about the various things he doesn’t like, his son’s style of dress, women who sit with their legs open, cab drivers who don’t speak English. Susan doesn’t even remember the last time Neil had to take a cab but he has strong opinions on them nonetheless, and the list goes on and on.

He thankfully hasn’t done much of that today, however. He’d parked himself in front of the television after coming home from his appointment and simply nodded when Susan announced she was going out to garden. She only comes inside when she hears the phone ring and by the time she’s walking up the back steps, Neil’s already answered it.

She watches his expression change as he converses with whomever’s on the other end, nervousness fluttering in her chest as his eyes widen, then harden.

“I’ll be right there,” Neil concludes as he hangs up, turning those hard eyes onto Susan. “That was the school.”

“Oh dear…what’s Billy done this time?”

“Not Billy.” Neil shakes his head and Susan’s heart drops with the realization her husband isn’t just irritated but seething, knuckles blanched as his hands ball into tight fists. “Maxine. Did you know the Sinclairs have a girl around her age?”

“N-No, I didn’t. I’m not very familiar with them, Neil.” Susan never had much luck getting close to anyone anymore, not in the least because of Neil himself.

“Apparently Maxine is,” he declares icily. “A teacher caught her and the Sinclair girl fornicating under the bleachers.”

Susan’s heart turns to stone and sinks into her stomach.

No.

Please, no.

Neil has very strong opinions about sexuality in general and homosexual conduct in particular, and Susan can practically feel the outrage radiating from him. It crackles in the air like the promise of a lightning storm. Neil’s fists are still clenched and his posture goes taut like it always does before he explodes.

“W-Well,” Susan begins, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

She hates herself for what she is going to say. She says it anyway.

“Well, you know where she learned that kind of b-behavior from, don’t you?”

Because if Neil is going to explode, Susan can’t stop him. But she hopes she can at least encourage the worst of it away from Max. She watches Neil’s eyes flicker and knows they’re both remembering the day they came home early from the short vacation they’d taken for their fifth anniversary, a girl and a boy sneaking out of Billy’s bedroom window, neither particularly clothed. She watches the angry bulge of the vein pulsing in his neck and knows they’re both thinking of that short young fellow with the skateboard who worked at the used car lot during the day and spent his time with Billy during the night.

“Yes, I know exactly where she learned it from. I’m picking both of them up and we’re all going to have a family discussion.”

“I should come with you.”

“No.” Neil holds up his hand. “Stay here, Susan. We’ll be back soon enough.”

Neil has gun powder in his gaze and she dares not argue. She lowers her head and steps aside when he walks past to fetch the truck keys from the hook. He stomps down the steps and slams the backdoor shut behind him.

Susan watches through the window as he gets into the truck and pulls out of the driveway, feeling dreadfully ill. She doesn’t mean what she’d said, of course. There are a number of behaviors that Max has picked up from Billy, but that isn’t one of them. If anyone is to blame, Susan supposes it’s herself for passing it along intrinsically.

She has her own secret desires locked away within the chambers of her heart. Desire she dares not confront for her own sanity, for her own safety. She’s never acted on her wants, always chose to play private games of hide and seek with them in her head instead, those insidiously innocent wishes of hers. Never spoken aloud let alone pursued those urges that flush hot beneath her skin when she finds her eyes drawn to other women’s lips, hips, breasts.  

Susan gave it to Max and unlike her, Max is brash and bold and brave. God save her, Max does what she wants to do and doesn’t care what other people think. Susan would admire her for it if it didn’t scare her to death.

Because Neil does care what other people think. He cares very much. And Susan’s seen him annoyed with Max in the past. She’s seen him frustrated with Max, displeased, exasperated. But never has she seen the silent stirring of a reign of rage to come where Max is concerned, never has she known that particular look in Neil’s eye to be directed Max’s way. She can only hope—

Oh, it’s such a despicable thing to hope for. Susan has poison in her soul, she swears she must. But Billy isn’t remotely hers and Max very much is.

* * * 

Susan doesn’t know if it was actually her remark that spurred Neil to turn the blame on Billy or if this was the conclusion he would’ve come to anyway. Neil often blames Max’s mishaps and mischiefs on Billy. Billy being the older sibling meant to lead by example. Billy being the older brother, meant to keep his younger sister out of trouble to begin with.

Her remark or Neil’s default thought process, in any case, it’s Billy he’s glaring at in the living room. Angrily dictates that Billy take off his shirt, belt in hand. Susan grabs a very pale Max’s shoulders and begins to usher her down the hall.

“Where are you taking Maxine?”

Susan freezes, mouth going dry.

Neil’s looking their way now, brow arched, stern and skeptical.

“I-I—“

“She isn’t going to learn if she doesn’t watch, Susan,” he declares with no room for argument. “Bring her back.”

Susan swallows, hands tightening on Max’s shoulders. Something dies inside her when she turns her daughter around. She buries it silently as she’s buried so many other pieces before and avoids Max’s eyes boring into her as she marches her back to the living room. Neil motions for them to sit on the couch, sunlight glinting off the metal buckle. Billy doesn’t bother to disguise his disdain, glaring murder, nostrils flaring like an ornery bovine. Susan suspects he’ll pay for this too.

“Your behavior today was beyond inappropriate, Maxine,” Neil tells her coldly. “Unnatural, disgusting, absolutely unacceptable.”

Max squirms next to Susan, hands tucking under her thighs. She is stone faced but this close, Susan can feel her shaking.

“Now, I know it’s not all your fault. Big Brother here’s taught you—“

“I didn’t teach her shit!” Billy cuts him off, sharp and acidic. “I told her to steer clear from Sinclair, this isn’t on me!”

Neil punches his son in the stomach with all the affect of swatting a fly, once, twice. Susan flinches. Billy’s gasping, breath knocked out of him. He staggers and Neil viciously shoves him to the floor.

“She saw you with that faggot’s tongue down your throat, don’t think I don’t know! I know you, I know the kind of shit you think you can get away with behind my back!” Neil roars like thunder. “Well, now it’s my turn to teach her a thing or two! Pay attention, Maxine!”

Max stiffens beside her. She opens her mouth to protest and Susan grabs her arm, sinking her nails in. Startled, Max's eyes dart to her. Susan gives a tiny shake of the head, urging her not to speak. Max bends her elbow like a chicken wing and jerks her arm out of Susan’s grasp. Ire flares in her gaze but she holds her tongue. She does not challenge Neil as he begins beating Billy with the belt.

Susan can’t watch. She lowers her eyes to the floor. She can see the movement in the shadows, Neil’s rapid whipping of the improvised weapon and Billy’s form jolting with the blows. Susan shuts her eyes to the shadows but she can still hear it, thick, hard leather striking bare flesh.

“Don’t turn away, Maxine,” Neil barks at some point between the sounds of violence.

Billy doesn’t cry out. Eventually it’s over. Susan raises her head and cannot bear more than a glance at her stepson braced on his hands and knee. The belt now rests at Neil’s side and still, her stomach is churning.

“If there is ever a repeat of the conduct you displayed today, there will be consequences. Is that understood, Maxine?”

Max looks to Susan. Her eyes are wavering. Then they glean whatever it is they were searching for from Susan’s and harden.

“Yes,” she mumbles.

“Yes, what?”

Max clears her throat.

“Yes, sir,” she corrects, louder and clearer.

“Both of you to your rooms,” he commands. “I want both of you to reflect on your actions until it’s time for dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy answers this time, climbing to his feet in the corner of Susan’s eye. She remains on the couch as her daughter rises and plods down the hall, cheeks as red as the cherry atop a sundae. Flushed as red as the welts on Billy’s back that have Susan’s stomach in ropes even though she only spares a brief glance.

Neil sets the belt aside and plops down in his armchair. “Can you get me a beer, Susan?”

She nods and rises, quietly fetching one. Pops the tab and then passes it to him before she excuses herself. In times like this, Susan wants to leave more than anything. She wants to grab Max and take her far, far away. But she can’t imagine they would get anywhere, truly.

Neil controls the finances. Susan makes less money than he does and every cent she does earn inevitably winds up under Neil’s attentive purview. In a distant, ostensible kind of way Susan understands there are shelters for women in her situation. Shelters out there, somewhere…aren’t there? For her situation?

Neil hasn’t actually put his hands on her. Not yet. Not like what he just did to Billy. Hasn’t actually done so to Max, although the threat of that unfolded in the living room in a way that could not be more crystal clear. The threat alone feels like a fist to Susan, invisible fist clenched tight around her insides and squeezing so hard she's nauseous.  

Is the threat enough? Would Susan and Max be accepted on the basis of threats alone?

Provided she could ever find such a place to begin with. Susan doesn’t have the faintest clue of where to look for what feels more like a nebulous fantasy of a sanctuary than a tangible reality. A shimmering oasis in the desert. Even if she were to locate such a place, what if it were at full capacity?

What if she and Max got turned away?

That would mean choosing between being homeless or going back to Neil. Going back to Neil after a failed escape would certainly mean him making good on all those threats of his, the ones verbal and non. The examples explicit in his words and implicit in his actions. Above all, any failed escape would certainly ensure there would be no second escape.

Susan isn’t going anywhere. And neither is Max. The very notion is abstract and distorted, floating just out of reach in a gaussian blur of a wish. Their home isn’t a good home. But it is the home they have and so, Susan will simply have to do her best to make sure Max never does anything like this again. That Max never does anything to get Neil’s attention like that, nothing to stoke the coals always smoldering in his choleric soul. That as painful as it's sure to be, Max learns to keep certain parts of herself under lock and key.

When dinner is in the oven and Neil is engrossed in his program, Susan slips off to Max’s bedroom. She knocks quietly and lets herself in. Her throat knots up at the tear tracks on her daughter’s cheeks, far more gutting than the way she bristles as Susan steps closer, the sheer hurt in her eyes.

“What do you want?”

The same things as you, Susan thinks irresistibly. And I’d go after them too, if I didn’t know better.

“I’m sorry, Max.”

Max huffs and turns away. “Whatever.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not. You’re just like Neil, you think I’m disgusting,” Max spits, hiking her legs up on the bed and hugging her knees to her chest. “You think Billy’s disgusting too, you couldn’t even look at him.”

“No, I don’t…oh, Max.” Susan swallows and lowers herself to a sit beside her on the bed, gently placing a hand on her knee. She swallows her heartbreak when Max’s eyes flash as though the touch scalds her. “Neil and I disagree about many things. This is one of them.”

“Then why didn’t you say that?” The blaze in Max’s eyes dies down, voice softening to cinders. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Oh, he’s so much bigger than me, Max.” Susan sags with familiar defeat. “And I— I don’t think it’s wrong, you and this girl.”

“Lucy.”

“I’m sure Lucy is lovely,” leaves Susan’s lips, this fragile whisper she dares not tempt fate to speak above. “I could never think that you’re disgusting. But I’m just me, Max, and Neil is bigger, and the world…the world too, is so much bigger than I am. You can’t— never, ever in public.”

Max’s eyes widen. Susan shifts on the bed and moves her hands, finds both of Max’s and squeezes tight.

“You cannot be open with feelings like that. You can’t take girls to your school dances, you can’t kiss them where other people could see.”

Max lets out an angry growl even as her eyes well up.

“It’s not fair!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“I know.” She knows, oh, she knows, she’s never not choking on it.

Max chews her lip, scarlet and fuming. Susan halfway expects her daughter to headbutt her or holler right in her ear until she deafens. But after a moment it’s almost as if Max can decode all the things she cannot say because her hands twist under Susan’s and intertwine their fingers.

[mampysou]

Day 15 of Harringrove April!

Also read on AO3

I enjoyed this one!

Sun

It was a beautiful morning. Steve was cosy in his bed, with warm, strong arms wrapped around him. It felt like heaven.

The sun poured through a gap in the old curtains falling in Billy’s sleeping face. He looked so peaceful like this. The sun made his hair glow and his freckles jump out of his face. Steve loved nothing more than to brush his thumb across those freckles and snatch his hand away, chuckling, before Billy slapped his hand away, then always pulled him in for a kiss.

So he does as he always does. He swiped his thumb across his left cheek. Billy was pretty asleep so Steve was so disappointed to have to do it again.

On the third passage of his thumb, Billy stirred. Dusty blonde lashes fluttered as his ocean lie eyes opened to stare at him. It was beautiful and perfect. Billy predictably swatted his hand then hauled Steve in for a passionate kiss. They smiled into their kiss, just relishing the feeling of each other for a while, this wasn’t something they got to do.

Steve usually snuck in and out of Billy’s room through the rickety window pane that they had now mastered to silent perfection. It took time though. It wasn’t something that could be done quickly. The screen was delicate and flimsy and needed both of them each side of the window to place it back without damaging it.

He sighed as Billy pulled away and looked around the room. Billy’s side box was covered in his usual expensive cologne and hair stuff.

They both seemed to realise the problem at the same time.

“Billy?” Steve whispered, trying to be calmer than he felt. “What time is it?”

Billy spun and scrambled around on the side looking for Steve’s watch. His tan face lost all colour and his eyes wide with fear as their gazes met.

They could hear movement now outside the room. Heavy footfalls were coming in their direction. Billy shot out of bed, grabbing Steve’s hand as he did, pushing him towards the window. Billy’s fathers voice rang down the hall as they reached it.

“You better be up, son.” Bellowed down the hall.

“Shit,” Billy cursed; they both knew there was not time for the window right now.

Billy headed for his sliding door closet and Steve cursed.

“Shh!” Billy hissed, wrenching open the door. “I am so sorry.” He whispered as head shoved him inside. Steve smacked his head off the top shelf, as Billy pulled out some clothes then pulled the shirts and jeans across to cover him as much as possible. As the door shut in front of his face, Steve heard Billy’s bedroom door open.

“Why isn’t coffee on, son?” a gruff voice asked him.

“I’m sorry sir. I seemed to have over slept.” Billy sounded like a ghost of himself. He didn’t sound like the person Steve knew, the man Steve was falling for. It made him seethe beneath his skin. The urge to charge out from his hiding place and teach this man a lesson nearly shattered his resolve.

But Steve stayed put. He listened to the rest of the stilted conversation and the abrupt departure of both men. He strained to hear more but dared not to slip out of the cupboard and make his escape. He couldn’t replace the screen single handedly and if Billy’s father returned to the room before Billy and noticed it undone, Billy would be in for a world of trouble.

So, he waited. He shuffled quietly around, searching through the records on the top shelf. He smiled as one caught his eye, he reached out and pulled it free, as quietly as he could.

Nat King Cole smiled up at him. His brown eyes crinkled at the corners slightly, his eyebrows telling a story Steve thought no one could ever hear. It wasn’t unforgettable that Steve held in his hand, but a single that was a cover too. Steve had heard countless versions already including one from The Beach Boys, but Steve knew this one would be brilliant. He held it tightly as he waited to be freed from the closet.

---

A while later Steve, who was at this point curled up in the corner, heard footsteps, too heavy and not at all rushed to be Billy, stop outside the door. He held his breath as the door opened. He heard the feet come in and snap on the light. He could see his shadow now, blocking the overhead light from peaking under the door. He saw them turn towards him and Steve got ready.

He would fight to protect himself of he needed to.

Before they ventured any closer however, he heard Max’s voice from just outside.

“Billy’s in the kitchen Neil, you know if you’re looking for him?” it was posed as a question but Steve could hear the stinging accusation in the young red heads voice.

“Thank you, Max,” the man said sweetly, the difference in how he spoke to his children made Steve feel sick. “I was just checking if he had finished, should’ve checked in there first. You’re right pumpkin.” Steve could almost see the eye roll through the door, he cracked a smile and thanked Max silently, vowing to buy her what ever she wanted from the diner next time they went.

The feet left and the door shut, thankfully not returning before he heard the familiar sound of Billy saying goodbye to his father, and then hurried steps flying down the hall towards him.

The door didn’t open straight away, there was a long pause and feet rushed away from the door again.

“You forget something sir?” Billy asked sounding like he hadn’t moved from the kitchen. Steve’s heart was racing in anticipation, hoping that Billy’s acting was up to scratch. Clearly it had held on this long, Steve prayed it would last a little longer.

There was a gruff reply and the door shut again. This time the steps were deliberate and confident and the door to the room swung open with a swish across the floor boards. Billy’s booted feet stopped just outside as he slid the door open and he shakily smiled down at Steve.

“Jesus, that is about the most stressful morning I have ever fucking had Steve.” He sighed as he helped him out of the closet. The irony was not lost on Steve. “You okay? I heard his truck pull off this time.”

“Yeah, all good Billy. Got a bit of cramp but will survive.” He dropped his head on to Billy’s shoulder. “Pretty sure we owe Max big time though.”

Billy made and inquiring noise and Steve explained. “She always a clever little shit” the blonde stated when he had finished. “Better get you dressed and sorted for work.” He told him running his hand through Steve’s hair as he did.

“Can we listen to this as we do?” Steve said, holding up the copy of You Are My Sunshine he had found earlier.

Billy rolled his eyes his blonde curls catching the sun through the window again, lighting up his whole face.

“I can never say no to you Stevie.”

Thanks for reading.

[pokemon-legends-and-legacies]

PostwickShipping and/or SoulSilverShipping for the ask meme pls

Send in two (or more) names and I’ll fill all this out about the ship!

PostwickShipping (will just note here that in this verse, Victor becomes the Champion while Gloria becomes a researcher under Sonia alongside Hop)

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - Endgame

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Once they both started working for Sonia after the events of the SwSh plot, they began developing feelings (though there might have been some even beforehand). They start dating about a year and a half later, both in their mid-teens.

How was their first kiss? - A bit awkward, but very sweet and earnest.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Hop

Who are {Hop's} groom's party? - Leon, Sonia & Bede (who claims he only did this because Victor asked him but really he and Hop have become friends by the wedding even if neither will admit it)

Who are {Gloria's} bride's party? - Victor, Marnie & Bianca (who she'd become close friends with during an study-abroad she did in Unova under Prof. Juniper)

Who did the most planning? - They did their best to split the load evenly!

Who stressed the most? - Hop

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Rose, though it was a given at that point

Sex:

Who is on top? - It's a tossup, but Gloria a little more often

Who is the one to instigate things? - It's pretty mutual

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - Maybe a little shorter than average, but they usually have a longer foreplay

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Mutual satisfaction is the main goal, but if they can they will

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - 4, a son named Neil, then three daughters named Caelia, Tania & Annie

How many children will they adopt? - 0

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Hop

Who is the stricter parent? - Gloria

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Both. It's usually Neil who's doing something ill-advised and they've both had to deal with the aftermath before so prevention is key.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Hop

Who is the more loved parent? - They're equally loved!

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - They usually go together, but Gloria's more likely to forget or end up accidentally scheduling an important meeting at the same time.

Who cried the most at graduation? - They both were in FLOODS.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Gloria

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Gloria

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Both will eat most things, so they mainly have to deal with the kids (especially Tania) being picky eaters.

Who does the grocery shopping? - Gloria, she's the queen of getting the best deals, finding everything she needs in record time, and knowing all the best quality ingredients.

How often do they bake desserts? - Pretty frequently! Hop especially likes to bake with the kids. There's usually home-baked cookies or brownies in the kitchen at any given time.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Meat eaters! They both love hearty comfort food.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Hop, since Gloria usually monopolizes the kitchen. He'd like to show off that he can cook, too.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Hop

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? - Gloria, while trying out something complicated she saw on the Food Network or experimenting with some new fancy cooking appliance.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Hop. Gloria handles almost all the cooking, so Hop does most of the cleaning.

Who is really against chores? - Gloria is not the biggest fan of cleaning.

Who cleans up after the pokémon? - Both look after their own pokémon, but Hop is usually the one who looks after the lab pokémon (while Gloria focuses more on field work.)

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Gloria

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Both of them, unless it's just family visiting.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Hop

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Gloria

Who takes the dog legendary wolves out for a walk? - Both of them like to visit Zacian and Zamazenta frequently and go on walks in the forest with them (as the wolves went back to the Slumbering Weald after the game plots). Sometimes the wolves will come visit the lab though which always causes a stir in Postwick and Wedgehurst!

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - They always decorate as much as possible! Seasonal festive garlands and wreathes, figurines in the windows and garden, the works.

What are their goals for the relationship? - Encourage each other's goals, discover new things together and always be a team, build a warm and happy family and home together.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Hop

Who plays the most pranks? - Gloria (she's teamed up with Neil and Caelia to prank other family members on more than one occasion.)

[ronispadez]

We already know with Charlie, he's already getting canceled. But other than that he'd be a Schlatt-type.

Meeks would be a twitch streamer and some Twitter drama would happen either over a joke he made or something he said on 4chan when he was like 12

Cameron would do some edgy Leafy-type shit. Well, maybe not as bad as leafy, but he would openly judge people a lot with some shooter game playing or, just him in a podcast room with a mic. Spoutin bullshit, making people upset.

Knox is in Meeks's Twitch streamer friend group and a lot of Twitter drama that Meeks gets wrapped up in is mostly because of Knox. He's a little weird with the girls that come on stream. Unfortunately

Todd would be into some fandom Tumblr drama shit, perhaps he is the one starting it ...? Probably fanfic drama. He's better at being himself and more loud and, idk, outward? when he's behind a screen.

Neil would get in trouble for stuff he said when he was a teen as well, when nowadays he's fine. People just dug shit up about him because they don't like him for whatever reason. He does streams with the guys (y'know what? Twitch streamer au. They all play together. Like those big groups of friends who are all big on their own platforms that play and collab together?)

Pitts is the only one all clear. He's just a nice little guy and doesn't like to stir up trouble. The reason no one can get dirt from when he was 14 or whatever is because he never really talks much, he's mostly an observer. Regularly uses Reddit and browses 4chan some. Always a quiet observer...

if the poets were on social media what would they get canceled for ?

[raeofgayshine]

Family Soulmarks Of The Poets

Okay so, these are only beginning thoughts, and mostly focus on Charlie and Neil (because that’s where the idea started for me, idk why, but love their friendship)

Charlie and Neil meet when they’re 8. They meet on the playground at school, when Neil overhears the tale end of an argument between Charlie and another student a year above them. Turns just in time to see Charlie throw the first punch, but when after dragging them apart a teacher asks Neil who started it, Neil points to the other student. She believes him without question.

(Really, from what Neil had heard, the other kid deserved it. When they’re long out of earshot of any teachers Charlie gives Neil the biggest smile he has ever seen on a person, and declares that they are going to be very good friends).

Neil is 9 and has known Charlie for just over a year when he first learns that you can give soulmarks to people not just your blood family. He learns this one afternoon when he and Charlie are lying in Charlie’s backyard, hiding from the sun under the shade of the trampoline, precisely because their parents had told them far too many times not to do that. Charlie looks over at Neil with that face that could only mean trouble, and Neil was already sitting up before Charlie could even ask “Hey, you want to see something cool?”

Neil expected Charlie to scramble out from their hiding spot then, or reach behind his back to grab a bug to fling at Neil’s face before he scrambled backwards laughing

Instead, Charlie leans forward, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he stared at Neil’s upper arm, determined and concentrated, not dissimilar to the look he got when he was convinced a few weeks before if he stared hard enough at the grass he could cause it to burst into flames

Neil opens his mouth to ask Charlie if he was trying to set him on fire now when suddenly he feels a burning pain right on the spot Charlie was staring at. Charlie’s face bursts into a proud grin, even as Neil feels panic course through him and he frantically twists his head to look at the spot to see—

To see… a mark on his arm?

Neil frowned, confused, looking between Charlie and the mark several times before he oh so eloquently manages to ask “What?”

Years later Neil would realize that despite how casually he played it off, that was the first time he had actually seen Charlie scared. In an instant Charlie stiffened, arms crossing his chest defensively. “It’s a soulmark you idiot. People give those to family.”

Neil definitely broke for a moment as he tried to process what Charlie was telling him, stopping and starting several sentences before finally he settled on asking “Can I give you one too?”

“I dunno, can you?” … “Anyone can give their marks to people they see as family, Neil.”

“But we’re not related!”

“Family is about more than just blood.”

And after Neil processes this, he gets a huge smile on his face, very excited. “I can give you a mark!!”

His doesn’t show up right away like Charlie’s did. Honestly Neil is a little disappointed he can’t just will it into existence, but Charlie shrugged and said that if Neil really thought of him as a brother, it would come.

Sometime that night, though Charlie never stirs, a new mark appears on his back

Neil is maybe more excited than Charlie, and come morning demands they show their parents their new matching marks.

Neil’s dad is upset, although he never fully says why. Says something about marks only being for family and family was only blood and Charlie was a menace Neil shouldn’t be around

Neil does his best to hide his marks from his father from then on. He never explicitly said Neil couldn’t have marks, but even as a kid Neil knew it was better not to push his dad.

Besides, it’s easy most of the time, to keep the marks hidden under short sleeve shirts and pants.

Easy until he gets Todd’s mark on his wrist.

Todd’s mark is still his favorite though. A few lines of Todd’s own poetry, written in his handwriting.

Made more special by the fact that Neil was the first one of the poets to get a mark from Todd. Which Neil declares to be the highest honor, he’s so excited that he thinks about shouting it from the rooftops, but instead settles for showing all of the poets the moment they meet and refusing to wear a jacket even though it’s still winter, and cold, Neil wanted to show the mark off to everyone.

He’s proud, mostly, that Todd finally is starting to see the poets as family as much as they see him as theirs.

When it comes to giving marks, Neil was the first one to give his mark to all of the poets (besides Charlie of course). He’s the type of person who gives out his mark fast, because he just seems to know the people who are going to stay in his life and those that aren’t. He takes the idea of found family very seriously and once Neil has decided that you’re part of his, he doesn’t like to let people go easily.

Charlie jokes a lot that the only reason Cameron stays in their group is because Neil claimed him as family before Charlie could protest why he shouldn’t

As for Charlie, he’s the only one of the poets who seem to have an active control over when his marks appear. His marks are always on the upper left arm of those he chooses, and like with Neil Charlie tends to give out marks by first saying “Hey, watch this/want to see something cool/etc.”

Being able to make the choice means that Charlie more often than not is one of the last to deal out marks to the poets. Although sometimes he decides fairly early on that he sees some of them as family, Charlie holds off for reasons he never mentions

(Reasons being that although he acts careless and fearless and what not, he’s actually just a bit soft, and he’s… worried mostly about giving out a mark only to have to take it away when they leave him, so Charlie takes a long time to give his marks).

Cameron is the only one who doesn’t have a mark from Charlie. But to be fair Charlie doesn’t have a mark from Cameron either and Charlie refuses to give out marks first (besides Neil)