#new york is faster than yesterday

[obsessedvibee]

Can't Sleep

MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Pairing: Austin Butler x reader

Warnings: lots of dirty talk, m. masturbation, f. masturbation, humping a pillow

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Austin is in Paris promoting Dune part 2 and he can't sleep in his hotel. He calls his girl to chat and things get dirty real fast. Phone sex ensues.

Authors Note: It's been way too long since I've written for Austin. Something about imagining him rubbin' one out just does something to me. So I thought I'd make everyone else suffer too. You're welcome. Comments & reblogs appreciated!

Enjoy!

He tossed the remote to the other side of the bed defeatedly. Flipping through the few channel options on the hotel tv could only entertain him for so long. Looking over at the clock the red number taunted him showing 4am. Being up for the last almost 36 hours would tire out most people but his body wouldn’t let go of consciousness. The jet lag certainly wasn’t helping either. His thoughts flickered to her. Doing the math in his head; she’d only be at 10pm in New York with Paris being six hours ahead. She should be home from work now. Finished with dinner.

He reached for his phone, quickly finding her in his contacts, before pressing it to his ear. The line crackled before it began to ring. His fingers mindlessly played with the string from the waistband of his sweats as he waited for her to pick up.

“Hello?” 

Her voice sounded small and distant through the line and he hated it.

“Y/N, hi,” he rasped.

“Hi.”

A bit of rustling sounded on the other end as she sat up from the couch she was more than likely dosing off on.

“You sound tired,” he said, suddenly feeling guilty, “I should let you sleep.”

“No, no it’s fine,” she assured him, “I think I’m more bored than tired.”

He knew she was lying. She’d fallen asleep on that couch so many times when he’s home with her. Never being able to finish a whole movie without hearing her soft snores as she slept. 

He was a little jealous if he was being honest with himself. He was never one of those people that could just pass out as soon as they close their eyes. Even more so if it wasn’t his own bed. 

“Have you slept at all since you left?”

He sighed, “no.”

“Aus,” she said sympathetically. 

He ran a hand over his face. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He hummed, “tell me about your day.”

And she did. From her drive to work to how much the phone rang, how her boss had gotten on her nerves, what she got for lunch, how her feet hurt from her new heels she bought the other day, her drive home, how she had to go back out to get chicken for dinner from the grocery store that she forgot to get yesterday. Every detail she rambled on about, but he didn’t mind. It made him feel less alone. Less like he was on the other side of the world.

“Hey, Austin?”

“Hm?”

“I’m gonna set you down for a sec, I gotta pee.”

He chuckled, “m'kay.”

He heard the clank of her setting the phone down, and he pulled his phone away from him for a minute checking the time. 4:30. At least the time was moving a little faster now. 

Putting the phone on speaker, he checked a few emails while he waited when his phone chimed, with her name coming across the banner with a new text.

Leave it to her to text the person she’s currently chatting with.

Clicking on the banner, his phone swapped apps to the text. 

But it wasn’t a text.

His heart rate rose as his eyes took in the photo.

She was posed in their bathroom mirror with a black lingerie set he’d never seen her in before. Her phone was in one hand snapping the photo while the other had her thumb through the waistband of her panties teasingly tugging them lower down her hip, hardly leaving anything to the imagination. Her breasts were barely contained in the bra, the cups hardly coming up over her nipples, her flesh pushed together creating ample cleavage. 

He swallowed thickly as he felt the warmth of blood rush to his groin. 

“You still there, Aus?” She asked feigning innocence. 

He cleared his throat, “yea- yea.��� He took a deep breath. “What are you-?”

He didn’t have a ton of words flying around in his head given the normal amount of blood that was in his brain was now being utilized elsewhere. 

She giggled, “you need a little help getting to sleep, yeah? So I thought I’d give ya a little help.”

God, what did he do to deserve such an angel?

“Right now?”

Was this for now or after she hung up? This was new territory for the both of them.

“If you want?”

He felt her back tracking and he scrambled to steer the conversation back to the desired destination.

“Shit, yeah- yeah,” he shifted on the bed propping some pillows to lean back on as he rested his hand over his semi in his pants giving a little squeeze. “Are you- are you touching yourself?”

He heard her inhale before speaking, “should I be?”

“Please,” he almost whispered.

He ground his teeth, waiting for any sound from her. Something to feed his imagination. He lightly ran the back of his fingers over the tent in his pants, keeping his nerves on end.

A small moan sounded into his ear, and he immediately began to work himself with her.

His heart was pounding already, imagining her with her legs open on the couch, her hand working herself over her panties. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he breathed, his fingers slipping under the waistband of his sweats.

She struggled to find her voice. She took a breath, “you.”

“Yeah?” He worked at tugging down his pants. “What about me?”

“Aus,” she chuckled nervously, “I- I- don’t know if I can do this.” 

He situated himself, slowly wrapping his hand around his length, giving her a moment. She always got a little shy with talking filthy.

Not willing to let the mood wane, he chose to take the lead. “I gotcha, just keep your hands busy for me.”

He heard her begin shuffling around before getting settled.

He sighed lazily, beginning to stoke himself, lightly squeezing on his upstroke. His thumb swiped the tip collecting the bead of precum, spreading it around.

“’m so hard for you right now,” he murmured huskily, his voice heavy with arousal watching his tip disappear into his fist.

A little whimper escaped her, rewarding his words, and boosting his ego.

Letting his eyes close, his mind began to tease him with images of her. Her smooth skin, her hair splayed out behind her. Was she starting slow and gentle? 

A sharp inhale brought him back to the present.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. A soft moan followed, melting through the phone into his ear. “I just had to take everything off.”

He couldn't help but quicken his strokes as the sudden image of her legs spread, and center bare on their couch overtook his thoughts. 

“Wanted to get more comfortable.”

“Fuck-, are you wet?”

She hummed, “so wet.”

Hearing her pleasured sounds were going to be his undoing. 

“Put a finger in for me,” he coaxed her.

“Oh-“ she sighed heavily, “Austin.”

His cock throbbed, imagining how warm and tight she must feel. Her glistening folds wrapping around her little finger.

“Keep talking, Aus.”

He bit his lip as a smug smile threatened to appear. He had her right where he needed her.

“Don’t forget about my girls up top,” he spoke, “give ‘em a little attention for me.”

A full moan left her lips, making his cock twitch. He could practically feel her breaths on his ear. His mind kept conjuring up one filthy image after another. One hand in her pussy, the other groping her breast. Forcing his hand to pause, he squeezed at the base as the sudden urge to release overwhelmed him. 

As he willed his heart to slow and the pleasured throbbing in his cock to weaken, a bunch of commotion sounded on her line. He listened intently as it quieted and a rhythmic sound started to come through. He reached down to massage his balls, swallowing thickly, “baby?”

A short whine came from her, sounding distant, before she shuffled the phone closer to her panting mouth, “are you close?”

He let his head fall back into the pillows with a huffed laugh, letting his fingers lightly play at the little sensitive spot under the head. “Just waiting on you, darling.”

He began stroking in rhythm with the sounds coming from her, his limbs tightening as the pleasure began to burn in his pelvis once more, “tell me what you’re doing.”

“I got a pillow-” she gasped, “-between my legs.”

His hips jerked, the primal urge to thrust breaking through his conscious. 

“”You ridin’ it, like you do me?” He panted.

She couldn't even manage to string a sentence together anymore, a groan being her only reply.

“Cum with me baby, in 3-,” he began counting them down, “2-,”

Her whines were high causing goosebumps to cover his flesh, his fist flying impossibly quick over his shaft. He never thought further than her using her hand to pleasure herself, but imagining her grinding herself onto a pillow would be a fantasy he would be coming back to many times in the future, he was sure of it.

“Aus,” she cried, desperate for him to put an end to the agony.

“Cum for me,” he growled; a white heat flooding his pelvis.

A squeak was all he heard from her as she climaxed, and his cock suddenly became impossibly harder as the buzz in his veins shot through his tip. His head pressed deep into the pillows as his body tensed as his climax took hold. White spurted over his abdomen as he grunted like an animal with every lurch his cock gave, draining his seed, relieving his desire.

Relaxing his body, he quickly was left limp as he tried to catch his breath.

Minutes passed as they both regained a normal breathing rate.

He picked up the phone, taking it off of speaker, “thank you, baby.”

It wasn't long after they hung up that he was able to finally fall into a sweet sleep.

Need some more Austin smut? Check out my other works! > Masterlist

[doc-pickles]

sick day | mat barzal

summary: Mat comes home from a roadie and takes care of his family

warnings: throwing up, so much fluff

a/n: y’all asked for dad Mat! enjoy this fluffy piece!

xoxo

nina

Mat was just coming off a four day roadie when you called. The plane had just touched down in New York and he’d turned his phone on only to find you calling.

“Hey baby, we just landed.”

“Mat don’t come home.”

Your words made Mat freeze, Tito looking at him in concern as his face dropped.

“W-what? Baby whatever it is we can-“

“No, no, no,” you rushed out as you realized what Mat thought. “No, god not like that. I’m sorry. We all have the stomach flu and I don’t want you getting sick. All three of us having been throwing up since yesterday morning.”

Mat let out a breath of relief as he leaned back into his seat, “I’m still coming home baby. If you’re all sick I want to take care of you.”

“But you have playoffs right around the corner and I-“

“I’ll see you soon,” Mat’s answer has you heaving a sigh, knowing that arguing with him would be useless. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

+

Half an hour later Mat walked through the front door just as your five year old son Luca puked into the bowl on his lap. You groaned as Rosie, your two year old, burrowed further into your chest with a pained moan. You met Mat’s eyes over their heads and sighed, “Welcome to the fun house.”

Mat dropped his bags by the door and toed his shoes off before going to help Luca. Once he was done throwing up Mat gathered him in his arms and took him upstairs for a bath. You and Rosie both dozed off, your shirt tightly clutched in her hands as she lightly snored.

When you woke up again Rosie was gone and Mat was just coming down the stairs. He smiled at you before he walked over and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Both kids are bathed and sleeping. How are you feeling mama?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” you groaned as Mat pulled you into his lap. “Stop, I’m all sweaty and gross and I don’t want to get you sick.”

“I just wanna hold my wife,” Mat groaned as he pulled you closer. “I haven’t seen you in four days.”

You gave up your struggling and settled into Mat’s hold, “And I spent a lot of that time puking my guts out.”

“Why don’t you go take a bath and I’ll watch out for the kids,” you eyed Mat skeptically but he simply met you with an eye roll. “I can handle them babe. Go take care of yourself.”

You begrudgingly walked upstairs, but you couldn’t fight Mat’s thinking as the warm water of the bath soothed your aching muscles. You stayed in far longer than you should have but after getting out you felt a hundred times better.

When you finally trekked back downstairs Rosie was settled on Mat’s hip as he cleared the dishes in the sink. Luca was bundled up on the couch, so you went over to him and pulled him into your lap.

“How are your feeling bubba,” you pressed a kiss to his dark hair as he snuggled close to you. His forehead didn’t feel as warm as earlier so you took that as a win.

“‘m feeling better,” Luca mumbled as he held on tightly to you. “Daddy made toast and I didn’t frow it up.”

You looked up and Mat met your eye over both of your kids heads. He smirked and you swore your heart beat a little faster. You truly couldn’t imagine doing life with anyone but Mat.

The rest of the day went by easily. You all curled up on the couch to watch a movie, Rosie clinging to Mat and refusing to move. Not that Mat was complaining, his daughter tucked in his side as he ran his fingers through her dark curls.

When Luca mentioned that he was hungry Mat was up in an instant to make soup for everyone. Rosie still clung to his chest as he moved around the kitchen and told her everything he was doing. By the time everything was finished Rosie was asleep, arms still tightly wrapped around Mat’s neck.

“I’m gonna go put her down and then I’ll get you both some soup,” Mat leaned down to kiss Luca’s forehead then yours before he headed upstairs with Rosie.

The soup was the perfect thing for your still uneasy stomach. Luca even had a second bowl which made Mat beam with pride. The recipe was from his mom, something he had asked her for the first time Luca had come down with a bad cold. It was a tradition at this point to make it on sick days and you couldn’t complain.

When Luca began to drift off at the table Mat took him upstairs and put him to bed. You began tidying up the kitchen, carefully washing out dishes when Mat came back, “Let me finish cleaning babe.”

“But I-“

“You’re still sick. Go lay down, I’ll be up in a minute,” Mat pressed a kiss to your temple before pushing you towards the stairs with a playful swat to your butt.

You took time to do your nighttime routine, feeling better than you had in days. By the time Mat came upstairs you were tucked under the covers and half asleep.

“C’mere baby,” Mat whispered as he slid into bed, arms stretched out toward you. “I missed sleeping next to you.”

You gladly scooted across the bed and settled onto Mat’s chest, his hands slipping under your shirt to rub your back, “Thank you for taking care of us today.”

“That’s my job,” Mat mumbled into your hair. “I promised you in sickness and in health. Just trying to stay true to my vows.”

As you both drifted off to sleep you couldn’t help but think about how grateful you were to have Mat by your side.

[thealbatrovss]

wind song // logan(2017) x fem mutant reader

(mini series)

synopsis : you dream of a life without your powers. logan needs them to help locate some dead guys cash. a roadtrip to the Nevada desert with your ex was always bound to be a mistake. but, maybe it wasn’t.

Chapter 2 - heavy metal

chapter summary: you and logan start your journey. a man you meet starts a chain reaction for the events to come.

warnings: 18+ ONLY // MDNI - suggestive content, mature themes/subject matters, death, swearing, eventual violence and smut.

word count: 2k+

tag list: @freythecrazyfae @ayamenimthiriel

wind song masterlist // my main masterlist //previous chapter

“Just one suitcase?” Logan said, closing the side door.

You noded, wiping your eyes of the dust in the air and lack of sleep. You didn’t think you were going to end up on some roadtrip with your ex. So of course you didn’t bring much. It was just supposed to be a funeral and then a one time conversation. But now you were sitting in his passenger seat, watching a fly dart in and out of the car.

Logan never acknowledged the dress you were wearing from the day before, and you never acknowledged his suit he wore from the day before. There was that familiar understanding between the two of you. Still there, despite the way things had ended over a year ago. Those cold eyes stayed with Logan.

You could see them in the rear view mirror while he finished a repair on one of the truck's tires. Maybe he saw the same eyes looking back at him. It was hard to remember what they looked like before a heatless fire stole yours both away.

The motel sat to the right. The pale colors that painted brick walls seemed to crack underneath a silent weight. You thought you would still hear the static from your neighbors TV.

The truck rocked as he sat in the driver's seat. All that metal in his body was heavy. It was slowly killing him. Logan never talked about it. You only found out one night when Caliban told you over the phone, pleading for you to come back.

What must it feel like, for the thing that once made you invincible, be the thing that would one day kill you?

You had to force yourself to not dwell on being the one to find his dead body once the inevitable happened. Even with your work connections, you found there was no known cure for him. Didn’t stop you from looking still.

“Didn’t think I’d enjoy the limousine?” You said.

He huffed, turning the engine on. “That's for work purposes only.”

“And this isn’t work?”

“Nope. This is personal.” He pressed the gas pedal, taking you and the truck out of the rocky parking lot.

The air was hot. Salt rippled through the sky. You could taste it on your tongue. Competing motels marked both sides of the road. Signs pointed you in either direction. An employee stood by one of them, holding one advertising free car washes when you checked in. That made you chuckle imagining a freshly washed car driving back onto the street, dirt clinging to the water faster than it was cleaned.

The weather demanded filth in this small area. No one can make good money off something clean here.

It was quiet riding with him. It was always quiet with him. Logan kept his gaze forward, one hand on the steering wheel and the other in his lap. You caught the flask hiding between his thighs. This one looked older though, unlike the one from the diner yesterday. Scotts initials peeked out from the back of the metal. The same flask you remember stepping over when you found his body on the floor.

The dress was suffocating you all of a sudden. Instead of the static of the TV, you heard an old friend trying to get to Charles before he got to him.

You needed a distraction, like Logan needed the bottle. The notebook you fiddled with your hand flipped open as a breeze flew by. “Christopher Smith. 49. Assistant of Ceo David Fisherman who founded the nationwide bank Silver Well. 5’5. Fair skin. Brown Hair. Blue Eyes. Current residence, New York, New York…” You shut the notebook. “What the hell were you doing driving a millionaire banker from New York around anyways?”

He looked at you and back at the road again. The sun was sending rays of light through the windshield, occasionally obstructing his view. “You’re the private detective here. What do you think?”

“Well, we still haven’t completely ruled out you two sleeping together.”

Logan rolled his eyes, holding back a smirk. “Then rule it out now.”

You grinned. “I think you were driving around a man already dead who knew that and had nothing left to lose.”

His eyebrows lifted, fingers tapping on the wheel. “Impressive.”

“Now, can you give me a clearer picture without the guessing games?”

Logan stopped at an empty stoplight. It was still green as he turned to face you. “Look. I didn’t want to work for the fucker, but he wouldn’t stop calling me and demanding the agency to hire me. Didn’t know why, until a black van started following us around.”

The light flashed yellow and then red. “Chris was a gambler. I'd take him every weekend to some new den or high profile client. Most of the time he’d come back with nothing. But one night, he came running into the car screaming at me to floor it. He had a suitcase of cash he said he won. Bullshit. Clearly stole it.” He gripped his flask.

“A black van chased us down all night. They blew one of my headlights and tires out with their guns. When we lost them and got back to his place, he promised that next time he’d give me a tip. Haven’t heard from him since.” The light was green once again, but no one was around.

“He couldn’t give you any of the money he took from that night?”

Logan shook his head. “He told me he needed it. I don’t know what for.”

“Maybe he was in debt with someone far scarier than whoever was in that black van that night?”

“That’s what I was thinking.” A honk from behind forced him to continue driving. “Did you pick anything else up from his pen other than a direction?”

You rolled down the window even further, preparing yourself. “Not yet. I could sense his body somewhere in Nevada. I could taste blood. Whoever he was scared of, got to him. Maybe his money too.”

“My money.” Logan said. “And I sure as hell will be getting it back, like he promised.”

The words felt hollow coming from him. Like an empty pool during the summer. Since when did money become his sole motivation? You thought about Charles' medicine and the place that they lived.

“Our money.” You corrected, turning your face to the open window. “You might want to close your ears. I’m going to see if I can get a clearer picture of where he is and where we are going.”

You licked your lips, forming them in an oval shape. The air rushed out of them, a sharp whistle piercing the wind. It took you many years to master your mutant abilities. The glass surrounding the vehicle didn’t crack around you. You knew you had your powers under control.

Little clouds began to form in the wind. Like someone had reached up into the sky and pulled them down to visit those who lived below. Only you could see them, unless you decided to show another. If the ear piercing noise wasn’t enough to have Logan scrunched up in pain looking away, then maybe he was staring at the clouds starting to form a person.

The outline of Chris was limping away, carrying something in his hands. It looked like the briefcase Logan mentioned.

The fake Chris kept getting farther and farther away before the cloud disappeared, and your whistling had ended.

“Anything?” Logan said.

You turned to see blood dripping from his ears. It was like a punch in the gut. You knew he’d heal quickly, but it still hurt to see. “Looks like whoever shot at him, didn’t kill him right away.”

Logan contemplated that, seemingly ignore the fresh crimson running down the side of his head.

Without thinking, like it was second nature, you put your hand against his rough cheek. Thumb wiping the blood away as it slid into his gray speckled beard.

He didn’t move, eyes still on the road, hands gripping the steering reel harder than before, white popping from his knuckles. It looked like he stopped breathing. It felt like you did too.

The moment ended as quickly as it came. He grabbed your wrist, holding onto it for a second too long before pushing it back.

He didn’t say anything as you two drove onward, finally entering the main highway. He sped up. You turned to look up at the clouds surfing an endless, blue sky.

~~~~~~~~

It was around 11pm when you stopped for gas.

The drive the rest of the day was spent in silence, except for the occasional directions you gave. He mumbled quick thank yous and you wondered if he even missed you all that much. Given how things had ended. But, this was just business to him. At least that's what he told you. But a more hopeful spirit bubbled within you. You quieted it with a swig of water.

Logan pulled out his worn out wallet. He cursed under his breath. “My goddamn card isn’t here. I swore I had it with me before I left this morning.” He ran his hand down his face leaving a fading red streak. “Charles sometimes likes to steal it if he gets the chance.”

You recalled the Professor getting sicker. Before he killed your teammates, your friends, it was noticeable. In the way he talked or acted. How he treated everyone, how he felt, then came back to himself. It only seemed to be getting worse.

You pulled out your own money. “Don’t worry, I got it. We shouldn’t be gone more than a week anyways.”

He took the offer, noting he still had some cash on him.

The gas station welcomed you with a punchet smell of old meats and sticky sugar.

The employee at the front counter swept behind the counter. No one else was there except for a large black car you noticed pulling into one of the parking spots at the very side of the building.

Logan was in the restroom while you checked out your items. A case of water, some alcohol you knew Logan was going to fill Scotts flask with, some snacks, an over cooked rotisserie chicken that was clearly the last on the heated shelf, and the gas pump.

As you put in your digits, the bell to the front door rang from behind you. You took a quick look back, not thinking anything of it. He tipped his cowboy hat toward you, winking. You noticed one eye was green and the other red. The man strolled to the alcohol section, shifting through cases of beer.

“A mutant?” You thought, grabbing your bag, waiting for Logan to come take the case of water to the truck. “He looks like hes in his late 20s.” It was a sad reality. Mutants dying. 25 years since the last one was born.

But for some reason, your gut told you this man was not to be trusted. His eyes lingered on you the entire time he shopped. Something was off about the man in the cowboy hat and boots.

Logan finally appeared, the dried blood on his ears gone down the sink. You still felt terrible about the whole thing. Even though you knew he would heal, it still hurt to harm him. Even with years of harnessing your abilities, The Whistle was something you could never fully control. As soon as it left you, it was in the wind's hands.

“Your bathrooms smell like shit.” He told the cashier, taking the bottles of water in his rough hands.

The employee nodded, not wanting to meet Logan's stare. He had that way about him. As much as you wanted to get close to him, you wanted to be as far away from him as possible. He was both an unmovable object and a force you couldn't stop. It reminded you of all the things you loved about him. And all the things you didn’t.

You pulled Logan by his arm, eyes on the man making his way to the front counter after you. “Lets go.”

“You okay?” He said once you got back to the truck. He still needed to fill it with gas.

“That man back there,” You pointed behind you. “Another one like us. But theres something off about him.”

Logan placed the water in the back seat next to your things. “Wait here.”

He stood with his hand on his hip, filling the gas with the other as he kept an eye on the man in the cowboy hat and boots. As the man carried his beers out to his car, he sent a wave and smirked at the two of you.

Logan's eyebrows knitted together. His body stilled for just a second. He didn’t even let the gas fill up half way before putting the pump back quickly, and hoping back into the car.

“Get the fuck down!” He shouted, turning the keys in the ignition.

“What-” Before you could ask the question, a bullet came soring through the back window, grazing the tip of your ear before it shot through the front windshield.

“Fuck!” Logan pushed your head down and hit the gas. Your hand shot to your ear. The warm, crimson liquid dripped down your fingers and onto your dress. All you could think of in that moment of adrenaline was Jean gifting the dress to you for your birthday.

Logan took off into the night. Headlights shining almost blinding and weaving between cars that were going a normal speed limit. He kept looking in back of him. Back to the main road. Back to you. Curses left his mouth. You could barely hear anything past the ringing in your ears.

The crack in the windshield was small. The bullet ran clean through. But, sooner or later it would spread through the entire piece of glass. Like a spider building its web from one center point.

You could finally make out what he was saying as the fog in your head slowly faded. But that meant the adrenaline was wearing off, and you started to feel the sharp pain running along the left side of your head.

“Did it hit you anywhere else!?” Logan demanded. He was having a hard time focusing. He wished all his attention could be on you. But there was a car gaining speed from behind, and it didn’t take mercy on people who cared. “Please answer me!”

“It grazed my ear.” You struggled to get the words out. Guards stood at the front of your tongue. Every time you opened your mouth, they stabbed their spears into whatever flesh they could reach. You sucked in a breath that felt like razors. “It fucking hurts. But I’ll be okay.”

Logan was able to breath for a moment. He pulled himself together, maneuvering through the cars ahead of him. “Just hold on. I’ll lose the bastards.”

You didn’t dare look up. You kept your head low, hoping the pain would subside soon. The throbbing in your skull grew. It beat with a hellish beat. Something was wrong with this bullet. Whatever had hit you, it was doing something to your body.

Flashes of memories, of the dead you found, the families you consoled, the friends you once had, raced through your mind. It was like an endless book of millions of words and pages turning before you. Faster and faster they went. The world spun. The blood was pumping through your ears, trying to break out of your skull.

He was calling your name by the time you snapped out of the feverish dream.

You looked up to find those warm and inviting eyes that you first saw when he showed you around the mansion for the first time.

Logan motioned to your ear. Your hand shook as you took it off the wound, noticing Logan was off to the side of the road now. No cars were around, not even the one that had chased you down. Logan must have felt that it was safe enough to stop. The clock read 1:19am.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, holding back tears. You didn’t know why that was the thing you said. You didn’t know what you were thinking or saying at all.

He stared at you, lips trying to form words. But he decided not to say anything.

Logan took out a cloth from the first aid kit in his hands, and gently brought it to your ear. You could feel the sting of the antibiotics. But the pain had died down thankfully. The worst of it was over. You could see in the mirror where the bullet had taken a small piece of your ear off.

Panic shot through you. Your eyes widened. “Wheres the pen?!”

“It’s alright.” He pointed to the pen sitting in one of the cup holders. There was blood on it. “Just focus on this. Focus on me.”

You looked down and frowned at the red stains on the black fabric. “Jean bought me this dress.”

Logan's fingers found your chin, bringing your head back up to face him. You noticed your blood was on him too. Dotting his white shirt and gray and now red beard. He wiped at the dried blood on your cheek with this thumb, making small circles in the cold skin. Every move he made was gentle, caring, the epitome of warmth.

The tips of his fingers danced across your skin, and the painful throbbing slowly died down. You didn’t know how long it took him to bandage and clean the wound, you never bothered to check the time.

The sun was rising when you woke up to Logan getting back onto the main highway. The Welcome to New Mexico sign greeted the two of you not even 30 minutes later.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙇𝙊𝙂𝙐𝙀: 𝘉𝘈𝘊𝘒 𝘏𝘖𝘔𝘌

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: returning back home isn't entirely unwelcome, it's just the guilt and shame that is. things are tense between you and your mom, and you want nothing more than to fix it, but you have to fix yourself first.

word count: 2078

warnings: withdrawal symptoms, the reader is an alcoholic, cigarettes, addiction, allusions to reader's father being sick.

a/n: HII!! so i'm kind of nervous but also excited because i've never posted a series before! i have a loose idea of what i want to do with this story, so i'm riding with vibes right now! i hope you guys like this and let me know how you feel!!

masterlist | series masterlist | AO3

Your head hurts. 

You’ve never been a particularly good flier, the jetlag you experience every time you land never fails to make you feel sick.

The terminal you stood in was loud, the large area booming with people since you had landed in the early afternoon. It was warm in Quantico, Virginia, and it was still the beginning of September. The skies were clear from what you could see through the glass roof, the clouds a welcoming softened contrast to the turmoil stirring within you.

You squint up at the sky through your sunglasses and your already bitten down nails find themselves trying to pick at the peeled skin of your cuticles, but your movements pause at the absent added weight of an engagement ring. 

It’s like a punch to the gut, but you don’t have much time to think when you spot your mother standing off to the side near the entrance. You’d already been through baggage claim, your whole life amounted to two full suitcases. They were just clothes, everything you had back in New York belonged to him.

The nervousness after finally seeing your mother again made your throat close and nerves light up like wildfire. You felt that familiar itch of need under your skin, like you wish you could peel back the flesh and scratch at your bones. 

You could settle for taking a deep breath.

You made your way towards her as she waved hesitantly; she looked older, the brightened coloring of her hair no longer shined its youthful color, instead, it was replaced by almost a full head of gray. It looked good on her, but you have a feeling she aged faster than she probably should have because of certain circumstances.

This was why you dreaded coming back here, back to Virginia, back home; you weren’t ready to face the guilt and grief that you had fought so desperately to try and run from. You felt completely out of your depth, like you didn’t deserve to come back after what you did. 

It surprised you when your mother willingly answered your phone call – seeing though she hadn’t bothered to try and reach out to you even though your number was still the same – you were to blame for it though, there were only so many instances where someone can stand being ignored before they just give up all together.

“Mom.” You breathed out, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. You push your glasses up into your hair and you know you look like shit. You had called her and left right after it happened, so yesterday's running makeup still sat dried on your face. You tried to make yourself presentable during the flight, but there was only so much you could do with airline water and a tissue.

It wasn’t just the makeup, and you know it; it was the dark circles under your eyes due to basically years of shit sleep – and even days without it – bloodshot eyes and sunken features, on top of your tremoring figure due to withdrawal.

She gives you a once over, a quick, fleeting up and down look, but you can see it, the absolute devastation and concern written on her face.

“Hi.” Is all she says. “Is that it?” She gestures down to your suitcases. “Yep, that’s all of it.” Another look. “Okay.”

It’s awkward and tense and no one knows what to say. You sure as hell don’t, because if you open your mouth, you’re not sure what would come out. An apology? A snarky remark or an ugly comment? You’re a mix of emotions right now, and all you can focus on is the want for a cigarette and a drink.

It doesn’t take long to approach the car, and it’s the same shitty Kia Sedan that your dad had let you drive when you were just a teenager with a permit. You soften at the sight and your mom pops the trunk open with ease. She takes your suitcases from you, and you don’t stop her. When she gets fretful like this, you just have to let her do her thing and take care of you.

‘Even though I don’t deserve it’ you can’t help but think bitterly.

It still smells the same when you sit in the passenger seat of it, the faux leather seats still withered and chipping.

“So…” Your mom begins. You can see her grip on the steering wheel is tight, her posture tense as though she doesn’t know what to do now that you’re here. You can’t stand it. She used to be so confident, so self-assured. Maybe not everything stayed the same.

“How are you?” She questions meekly. “Tired and jetlagged.” You choose to indulge her. “Right.” She says, tone light. “How about you?” You ask, “How are things?” You know there’s so much she wants to say, but she doesn’t want to risk starting a fight, so she settles for, “I’ve been fine.”

“Right.” You reiterate, nodding while turning your head to stare out the window. 

“Your first AA meeting is in a few days.”

Down to business, thank God. “Alright.”

“I really need you to stick to this, okay? We had an agreement.” The trust between the two of you is completely broken, and you have no idea how to fix it. There’s so much about her you need to relearn, half a decade of missed moments and memories that could’ve been made.

“Okay.”

“And you’ll call my therapist?”

“Yes mom.” 

“I’m serious. I want you to try and put in an effort. I know things are hard right now, but I really want to help you, and I can’t if you won’t work with me. I refuse to let you turn into some couch surfing drunk that does nothing but self-destructs the whole day –”

“God, mom I said okay!” You snap.

It goes silent. Just great.

It’s mid-afternoon when you finally make it home.

That’s what really takes the cake.

The lawn is well kept, your mom most likely paying someone to come out here. Before you left, your mom’s arthritis had been getting worse, but she rarely cared about herself when your father was sick.

The porch was decorated with all sorts of plants either sitting or hanging off the railings, a different assortment of windchimes and crystal sun catchers scattered about the awning.

You take the initiative to get the suitcases out yourself as your mom starts for the front door. A sick sense of nostalgia settles over you. The street was still the same; your house was one in three within the little cul-de-sac, sidewalks still marred with childlike chalk drawings, lawns scattered about with chairs, bikes, and toys.

Your eyes fell on the house across from yours and that same itch found itself resurfacing.

When you got inside you could have thrown up; it felt like a weight was being placed on your chest, your heart aching as you took in the family photos on the walls. You knew you were shaking by now, your tremoring getting worse and sweat perspiring on your brow. You felt so bare without your protective vices.

“I’m gonna make lunch, okay? I’ll give you some time to set up.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” You say through your dry throat. She places a reassuring hand on your shoulder before giving it a squeeze.

You keep your gaze focused forward as you brace the hall to your old childhood bedroom, which was on the right at the end. 

Opening the door, you take in what looks like a snapshot in history, the room so untouched that it was frozen in time. 

The blankets on your bed were left askew like you had left them the night of your departure, your side table decorated with a box of tissues, your old sketchbook, and a cup of pens and pencils sat on top of it.

Your desk is still holding old textbooks and what not, but you had practically stripped the room clean when you left.

You abandon your suitcases to sit on your bed, and when you do, a small gust of dust flurries around you and you can’t help but laugh. It wasn’t that it was funny, but if you didn’t react in some sort of way, you would’ve cried.

You felt so emotionally unbalanced, and you blinked hard to rid yourself from the burning behind your eyelids. Just then, you remembered something.

Standing up, you make your way to your closet, opening the sketched doors to dig around for a shoe box, when you find it, you make a small ‘whoop!’ sound. It opened to reveal your old smoke stash. You were young and taking care of your dying father pushed you to pick up cigarettes. 

You hid it as a courtesy to your mom, but you’re sure that now at the ripe age of twenty-seven, you don’t need to be that careful. You take out the old carton and it still has a whole role of filters left. Then you flicked the gear on the lighter and it lit up. Finally, a win.

“I’m gonna step out for a bit, okay?” You announce to your mom as you retreat down the hall. “Oh?” She says in surprise. “Where are you going?” You wave off her question. “Just gonna sit out on the porch for a second. Is that cool?”

You know your mom is worried about you, now that you are trying to get clean, she feels as though she has to keep an eye on you. You went completely cold turkey, the last drink you had was the day before you flew out.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.” She rushes to say. “I’ll be back inside before the food’s done, okay?” You reassure her. You’re trying to get used to finding an old balance with her, because you missed her, more than anything. You want her to trust you again.

“Okay.”

You find yourself sitting in that familiar spot on the porch step, the same one you’d sit on when your dad couldn’t sleep and you’d find yourself out here in the middle of the night. Someone else used to sit with you too.

Your eyes flicker over to the house across the street while you light up the cigarette between your lips. The nicotine and tobacco helps to ease the itch in your veins and you sighed, blowing the air out with it.

There was another relationship you needed to fix.

You haven’t seen or talked to Spencer in years, but he was your best friend up until you left for New York with your then boyfriend. I mean… it’s not often you’d meet a twelve-year-old that goes to college. He was the exact opposite of the boy next door with his big nerdy glasses and meek demeanor, like he didn’t know how to carry himself.

You knew the bullying was bad, so you were his only friend.

You liked that he was smart, and he knew how to listen, you loved his mom, and you were there for Spencer when her schizophrenia started to get bad. Two hurt people that found themselves acting as a crutch to the other.

That same sickening feeling of guilt reappeared, and you took in another deep drag of smoke. You held it there, longer than you probably should have and when you released it, you were dizzy, and your throat burned uncomfortably. 

Your blinks were slow, and you grew nauseous.

“Fuck.” You murmured, running the filter up and down the bottom of your shoe to put it out before flicking it away. 

You hang your head between your legs and attempt to ground yourself.

“Hon?” Your mom calls out from behind the screen door. “Are you okay?” She rubs up and down your shoulders and you sniffle. “Yeah just…” You take a deep breath. “Just a little nauseous.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything because you’re a grown woman that could make her own decisions, but don’t make me take those things away too.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her chiding.

“Yes, mother.” You say dryly but without any malice. It’s nice to be able to joke like this with her. 

“Now, how about a sandwich? I bet it tastes better than those things.”

“Ham and cheese?” You question hopefully and finally lift your head. You’re greeted with her fond smile that makes her look younger. “Yes, baby. Ham and cheese.”

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[inneedofsupervision]

An Enemy? A Friend? No, just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Chapter 5: The Genius controls the Chaos

Summary:

"Come on, Parker, say something. But don't make it embarrassing," thinks Peter. "Those are your childhood heroes, and they want something from you. Just say hi like a normal person." "Good evening, Mr. Barton, Sir. Mr. Wilson, Sir." "How do you know our names," asks Clint, sounding genuinely curious. "You have a Wikipedia page!" blurts Peter out before wincing inwardly. There goes his plan for a non-embarrassing first impression. "You've read our Wikipedia pages?" asks Sam slowly, as if saying the words slowly would let them make more sense. "Twice, actually." ________________________________ Are the Avengers a Team? Yes. Are they on good terms? Not necessarily. Has the public caught up on that? Maybe a little. When Fury sends the team on the mission to investigate the identity of New York's favorite vigilante, they have to learn to work as a team and not damage their already battered image. Or, the story of how the Avengers have to earn the public's trust back with the help of a certain crime fighting Spider.

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4

Chapter Summary: Peter and Ned visit the Stark Expo where some surprises await them.

Read on Ao3

"I'm still struggling to convince my brain that this is real. We are seriously on our way to visit the Stark Expo. That's literally the coolest thing happening in forever. Wait, are you sleeping?"

Peter jumps up in his seat as a finger pokes him somewhat harshly into his side. He instinctively clamps an arm down to fend off further sneak attacks before he yawns. Blinking, he notices the lack of gigantic raccoons destroying NYC, demanding to speak to the people who have put locks on the lids of their garbage tons. What a dream to wake up to.

"Are we there yet?" asks Peter while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He glances around, scanning the area for anything remotely raccoon-like.

"Dude, we didn't even leave yet," answers his friend, but not without shaking his head, wearing an incredulous expression. "How can you be sleeping when we're on our way to the Expo? Aren't you excited?"

Ned looks at Peter as if struggling to comprehend that his best friend isn't vibrating in his seat from sheer pent-up energy.

"I just dozed off," defends Peter, slightly flustered that it didn't take two minutes sitting on the uncomfortable plastic seats for him to fall asleep. Who can fault him? The seats may not be the most comfy, but the inside of the bus is hot thanks to the summer sun and a defective AC, making him tired. It doesn't help that the bus guide has one of the most monotone voices Peter has ever heard in his life, and the combination of both puts him faster to sleep than any glass of milk and honey ever could. He does hide another gigantic yawn behind the palm of his hand, but that's going as well as blindly driving a bike on the highway.

"You're doing okay, though, right?" questions Ned. Peter could practically feel Ned's eyes scanning him as if staring hard enough would make any hidden injuries visible. Apart from some slight bags under his eyes, Peter thought he looked relatively alright this morning.

"Yeah, sure. I just stayed out a bit too long," appeases Peter quickly and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Not that he had to hide anything, but he couldn't help getting quite nervous under Ned's gaze. Ned's accusatory expression gives way to unlaminated curiosity at the mention of Peter's nighttime outings.

The bus slowly rolls off the parking lot.

Ned opens a package of chocolate chip cookies, holding it out for Peter.

"How was it? Anything cool happening?"

"About that..." Peter began to depict the events of yesterday's night while munching on his cookie. Most passengers fell victim to a light slumber or sat dozing with headphones covering their ears in their seats while the urban jungle passed by. Still cautious, Peter leans a little closer toward Ned to hinder anyone from eavesdropping, telling him what exactly had kept him awake last night.

"The police reacted quickly, and the robbery could get held off. No one got hurt," explains Peter with a low voice.

"But," digs Ned, who had been surprisingly quiet during his retelling, not interrupting him like usual.

"Nothing," replays Peter, whose eyes release the heads of the passengers in front of them to look at his friend questioningly.

"They were there again, right?"

Oh. That was what Ned meant.

The mention alone is enough for his face to contort as if biting into a sour apple. Ned seemed to think the same. "Oh man, sorry. I didn't mean to spoil your mood." He apologizes with a giggle, crumbles of his cookie drizzling onto his shirt. Peter's expression must have been very expressive, as it took his friend a few moments before he could look him in the eyes again without snickering. Ned's laugh is scarily contagious. Even with the unpleasant memories of last night, Peter couldn't help biting down a grin.

"Stop it, Ned, it wasn't that funny," he scolds, but his voice resembles a whine more than an order. Ned merely grins at him.

"To answer your question," he began, simultaneously digging into his backpack to fish out his beat-up smartphone. "They were there. Both of them." While talking, Peter unlocks his phone and opens his gallery. He scrolls down until a password-locked folder appears and types in his twenty-cipher-long, hopefully pretty secure password.

"Oh my gosh, Peter, that's The Black Widow! Holy guacamole, Black Widow, and Hawkeye followed you? That's so sick." Ned stares with large eyes down at the cracked display showcasing the image of a black jumpsuit-clothed red-head who seems to be talking to a blond man wearing a tank top, along with straps and pockets studded cargo pants.

"You had to have seriously outplayed them, man," comments Ned with a level of maybe a little too much admiration as he watches the woman pointing at the rooftops, at which the man throws his arms in the air and turns away to stomp out of the alley. The video ends rather abruptly as the woman's gaze wanders up the house until she catches the camera. Her eyes widen, and the angel changes rapidly as the owner gets caught off guard, showing the gravel on the roof and a pair of sprinting feet before the video shuts off completely.

"I cannot believe my best friend is on the Avengers Wanted List. Spider-Man managed to outpace two of the Avengers. That's so badass."

"You make it sound like Spider-Man is a criminal." Peter shoots his friend a betrayed look. Although, it does feel like he's on their personal Wanted List. They probably own a punching bag with an image of him tapped on it. He shudders at the thought.

Despite scrunching his nose at Ned's words, Peter couldn't help feeling proud. He might have sprinted like the devil on his heels over the rooftops, ejaculatory prayer passing his lips as he pressed himself from the housewalls to leap over the street. But he did outrun them. Not everyone can say that about themselves. The sense of pride evaporates to make way for irritation. The last eight nights have been exhausting. Swinging through the streets to jump into action at the call of help always holds a fair amount of risk. But despite the risk-taking, Peter had fun while doing so. If it's not the high of adrenaline kicking by nearly flying through the streets, it is the loud exclamations of the people who saw him passing by that leave him all giddy inside. He appreciates every greeting, smiles at every thank you, and kindly accepts the gifts the people thrust into his hands, an exhibition of their gratitude. He should have known the Avengers wouldn't sit still after his somewhat dramatic departure two weeks ago. As he first spotted a figure two roofs away with a bow strapped over their back, he knew this would turn out unpleasant.

And how right he was.

What annoys Peter the most is not that the Avengers consider it necessary to trail him. It didn't come as a surprise that they didn't try a second time to invite him for a talk after knowing what they thought of him. Why try talking it out when you could sic two super spies on him

Yeah, Peter is over it. Somewhat.

He could just as well go without meeting with his former childhood heroes, the emphasis laying on the former. What gets on his nerves the most is the consequences that the permanent need to outdistance the two spies brings along. It steals precious time he could spend on the important stuff, like being your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

He manages time and time again to locate the two and vanish before they can get close. But they are quick. They at least catch sight of him three to four times a night. Or manage barely missing him. Sometimes Hawkeye calls after him and orders him to wait, only to kick a wall in frustration when Peter absconds without glancing back. The constant evasion and running away steal precious time he could use to help someone in need. Apart from the fact that the additional exercise gets his appetite going. Peter has to use all his willpower to keep from pillaging the fridge after crawling through the window and diving straight for the kitchen.

"If this goes on, I'll spend all my time running. And eat May out of house and home," complains Peter, a little defeated.

"How about not patrolling alone for a while? Maybe they'll leave you alone if they see you have company?" asks Ned while handing him a granola bar. The heat left it soft and sticky, but Peter wasn't one to turn down free food.

"Oh no. No." Peter instantly quashes the thought. "They are both busy anyway. I don't want them involved in this. It's enough if the Avengers won't stop bothering me."

"But didn't they tell you you could always ask them for help?"

"They have jobs and a life too. I cannot expect them to drop everything to help me with something this trivial. That's not right."

"Having the Avengers stalk you is trivial?"

Peter sighs in frustration. "Trivial is the wrong word, but I don't want to bother them about this, okay? If it gets out of hand, I will ask for help, but for now, I have to suck it up."

Ned doesn't look pleased, but before he can argue further, the bus halts on the exhibition site. Peter quickly makes his way out, almost escaping the vehicle. Not because of Ned's suggestion. Nope, certainly not running from that. No, he's simply afraid he'll melt staying inside any longer. Before he can wipe his sticky hands on his pants, Ned hands him a wet wipe. "It's like your bag is endless. What else are you keeping there?" asks Peter with a laugh, gratefully accepting the tissue and cleaning his fingers.

"Don't ask, man. My mom wouldn't let me out of the house without double-checking if anything was missing. When I told her we aren't out on a survival trip and planning to wrestle with bears but only visit the Expo, she was throwing me the glare."

Peter grins at the thought. He could picture Mrs. Leeds standing in her kitchen, rattling down a list of stuff Ned should pack for their day out.

"John, we are about to get live. Can you please do your job?"

Near them, a dressed-up woman talks animatedly to a man, holding a microphone while the cameraman in front of her struggles in the heat. The man stumbles over a cord wrapping around his ankle and catches himself before falling, wiping the sweat off his face. The woman turns, her brows furrowing as she scowls at him. John gives her a resigned look before pulling the camera back into position. The man's shirt was wet around his chest and back, his balding head an unhealthy shade of red. Another man holds a folder up to shield his eyes from the sunlight shining on his face before counting down.

"Going live in 3. 2. 1."

Slipping the lipstick back into her pocket, the reporter straightens up with a cheerful stage smile.

"With one of the hottest days this August, I welcome you to this year's Stark Industries Future-Of-Energy Mess at a cozy temperature of 93,2 degrees. Let's hope despite the newest and hottest innovation waiting for us, we get to cool down a little as we show you around."

"I feel bad for the cameraman," whispers Ned, and Peter can only nod as they quickly walk past to get out of frame.

The exhibition side stretches over several buildings along a small patch of green where some chairs and tables stand under colorful parasols. A large group of visitors is already waiting in front of the main entrance, excitement filling the air. Behind the door, the entrance is split into four rows to make the handout of the visitor badges go faster, and the two friends find themselves shoved by the masses to the third row. Ned walks in front of him and is about to get handed his badge when a row next to Peter and Ned, voices begin to rise. Several heads turn towards the noise, and Peter, too, sneaks a glance.

"I am sorry, Sir, but I cannot let you through. This entrance is for visitors only, and without a ticket and searching your bag, I cannot let you through."

"You can't let me in? Who do you think you're telling that to? It was your people calling me for an urgent repair and telling me to step on it to come here from east of Manhatten, and now you're telling me I cannot go in and do my job? I could have taken two new customers by now if it weren't for your men not being able to run this event. I make minus just being here! I know people like you. As soon as I turn my back, I get a one-star critic online talking about refusal to work and shit like that, ruining my damn business!"

The man behind the desk grows paler with every word, visibly out of his place as the man keeps spitting insults in his direction, drawing the attention of more visitors.

"Michael, let him in," interferes the blond staff member who presses Ned's badge into his waiting hands. "I know who had called them. I already looked through their bags and checked the IDs."

Michael's face regains color as he throws a grateful glance at his co-worker before turning towards the still red-faced electrician while getting him past the starring visitors. The man pulls the gray-colored cap deeper into his face and hoists the sports bag on his shoulder as he strides towards the elevators. Peter looks after the man with a frown. Something about him had been weird. Before the teen can figure out why his sixth sense kicks in, the man in front of him tears him out of his thoughts.

"This is your visitor badge. When leaving the premises, it gets automatically scanned by the security systems. As long as you carry it on your body, you can go out and enter as often as you like. If you leave the building and re-enter, your bag will get searched again for security reasons."

Peter is about to thank the man behind the desk for the information and the badge but gets interrupted as something gets thrust in his face.

"Peter, have you seen this?"

Peter closes a hand around Ned's wrists and pushes the pamphlet from his face. "A little too close, Ned."

"Oh, sorry. But look at this!"

He takes the colorful paper out of Ned's hands, curious eyes skipping over the information.

"Is that really about to happen? Please tell me this isn't a dream. Here, pinch my arm. Or not. If this is a dream, I will not wake up."

While his friend gushes in never-ending excitement, Peter finally finds the part of the information on the paper that Ned freaks out over. At the bottom of the timetable, standing under various presentations of new items, ideas, and projects throughout SI project leaders, the highlight of today's program is written in bold letters.

"13:30. Presentation of the project series "Education = Future" through Co-Project Leader Dr. Robert Bruce Banner," reads Peter out loud. He glances up from the paper only to get grabbed by his shoulders.

"Peter, we will listen to Dr. Bruce Banner in person! That's incredible!"

"Can you two move already? You aren't the only people going to this event," blusters an angry voice from behind.

With a nervous and apologetic smile, the teens turn around.

"Oh god, it's her."

"What did you just say?" asks the news reporter from the parking lot, her eyebrows furrowing in anger at Ned, who quickly shuts his mouth and steps back a little. Glimpsing past her, Peter could see the rest of the camera team carry equally unnerved expressions. The cameraman who had the misfortune to get chosen as the collective burro for their tech goes as far as to send him a dirty glare. Peter swallows. Dealing with angry reporters and news outlets being Spider-Man is one thing, but pissing them off as high-schooler Peter Parker? No, thank you.

"Heyhey, no need to get upset. These boys are simply excited. It seems to be their first time being here," tries the blond behind the desk to appease the angered woman. Turning towards the two boys, the man gives them a wink. "Have fun at the Expo, guys. You can be excited for the speech, but the real deal, the highlight of the day starts at the end of today's program."

The man grins at them, but something doesn't feel right.

A shudder runs over Peter's back, causing the hairs on his neck to stand up straight.

"There will be something cooler than Dr. Banner?" asks Ned, but the people behind them push them forward. Peter glances back at the man, but the latter is already busy handing out information and badges to the filming crew behind them. The woman from earlier catches Peter's eyes and throws him a menacing glare.

"Okay, we should really go," the teen mutters, and together they quickly scatter away from the entrance. While they walk around, Peter's thoughts trail back to the staff from the register.

"What do you think he could mean?" Ned gives him a searching look. "That's why you've been so quiet, right? You're thinking about the guy who handed us the badges."

Peter nods, picking at a flint on his shirt. "Hasn't he been kinda strange to you?"

"Strange? Apart from trying to tell us that something better than a speech by Bruce Banner can exist?" Ned's eyes widen, and he leans closer. "Or is it your spidey sense tingling?"

Despite the unease creeping up on him, Peter couldn't help snorting at Ned's words. "It's not a tingle, Ned. Stop calling it that. You make it sound weird. It's probably nothing." He rubs at his neck as he tries to rid the ominous feeling.

"If you're sure," says Ned but glances at his friend from the side, unhappy at the frown he spots on Peter's face.

"There is a stand showing prototypes of deep-sea robots which should be able to dive further than 12000 meters, that's like double the amount than the newest robots from Hammer Tech. are currently able to, and they're leading the market right now."

That pulls the teen out of his thoughts. He raises an eyebrow. "12000 meters? That's wild. Imagine what else you could do with tech resistant to that much pressure."

"I know! Come on, we have to check that out. They have a pressure tank and stuff set up."

With every step they take, Peter feels a little less nervous, and after a few minutes, he has successfully pushed the spark of apprehension in the back of his mind. The mess is everything and more than Ned and Peter had hoped for. They walk all over the place, trying to absorb every tiny bit of information. Their eyes are sparkling with childlike joy as they listen to presentations and pull each other towards a new booth that grabs their attention.

"We got nearly everything covered," says Peter as he looks at their map. "Want to take a small break?" Before Ned could answer, the grumbling of Peter's stomach interrupts him.

"You're getting hungry, too?"

Peter rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "A little bit?"

"I get us something. Can you keep watch over my bag? My mom said I can bid farewell to my laptop for the next two months if I lose another one."

Peter knows he shouldn't laugh as he watches Ned shed off his jacket. Aunt May would destroy him if he misplaced one more bag this year. It would be number eight. That's a new record. "Yeah, that would be nice."

"You want a hotdog?"

"Make it two. I'll give you some money. Wait a second."

"Nah, keep it. My mom said to buy you something to eat too. You know how she gets. You can buy the drinks later."

"You sure?" asks Peter, arm halfway down his backpack, roaming for the ten-dollar bill he had thrown in there.

"Yeah, just wait here. I'll be right back."

"I want the chili ones!"

He grins when Ned turns around to throw him a thumb up. Being alone, Peter uses the chance to fish out his phone. On reflex, his finger taps on the news live broadcast. He turns the volume up. "Looks like I caught the prime time," mutters Peter under his breath as the man on the news takes his eyes from the large image of Spider-Man crouching in his signature pose on the side of a building to look sternly into the camera.

"The people of Queens noticed a lack of sight of their beloved web-slinger. The vigilante calling himself Spider-Man took his time in the last few days, and while some excuse the Spider's lack of involvement in fighting crime with him having a private life, it leaves us wondering, where are you, Spider-Man? "

With a sigh, the boy closes the app and pushes the device back into his backpack before dropping his head in his hands. He doesn't like where this is going. It's not like Peter does it on purpose. He wants to be there more, but what can he do? He starts looking back at the days when his biggest worry was he could give decent directions and make it through his Spanish oral exam.

"If that's not Puny Parker. How did you get in there? Took part in some charity event?"

"You've got to be kidding me," mutters Peter as he raises his head and almost wishes the light above them would magically loosen and hit him in the head.

"Good day to you, Eugene."

Designer shoes, designer jeans, a designer jacket, and would you look at that, a pair of glasses hanging down from Flash's collar that looks suspiciously like one that a model on the Gucci store poster would be presenting.

"Nice outfit."

Flash ignores him in favor of looking around, almost searchingly.

"Where's your loser friend?"

Peter rolls his eyes at that. And Aunt May tries telling him something like Parker Luck doesn't exist.

"Ned will be right back. I will tell him that you asked for him. I'm sure he will be pleased to know you miss him."

"I wouldn't miss any of you idiots even if you vanish from one moment to the next. Couldn't be happier to know you're gone."

"Really? I could swear that you like us a teeny tiny bit. Why else are you coming over to say hi and immediately asking for Ned?"

"You're delusional or dreaming, Parker. I'm only here to take part in the competition to earn first place and get the prize. What could I do about it when you happened to sit right next to the booth?"

"Competition?"

"You should get your dusty nerd glasses back if you cannot see that large of a sign, idiot," taunts Flash while pointing at a shield standing a meter next to where Peter has been resting. Flash steps out of his way with a scowl as Peter stands up and rounds the display.

"Oh," Peter raises an eyebrow. Look at that. Flash did tell the truth. Peter hadn't paid attention to where they sat down. He eyes the display for the competition with little interest as the information tells him that the prize is a surprise. Flash seems to misinterpret Peter's disinterest as uncertainty, a complacent smirk taking over his features.

"You sure do better than trying to take part. You'll get crushed by me."

Peter hums to humor his classmate while squinting at the information at the bottom of the sign, saying only people between 16 and 24 years old are allowed to participate. It's a weirdly specific range of people.

"Does anyone know what the prize includes?"

"You do know what surprise means, do you?" asks Flash, looking at him as if he just asked what color the sky was. Peter takes a deep breath before turning towards the other teen. He couldn't wait for Ned to be back.

"There aren't any speculations?" he changes his question. If anyone is up-to-date about Stark Industries, it would be Flash. The guy had a strange obsession with the company.

"Most people I talked to are sure it will be a class trip to SI or taking part in a workshop that can up your credits for school or college as the ages for the participants is limited to students."

Peter nods in thought. That would make sense. God, a class trip to SI. All the more reason to take a wide berth around this competition. He doesn't even want to imagine what could happen if he steps foot into any of Tony Stark's buildings after what happened last time. He suppresses a shudder.

Peter perks up at the smell of spicy sauce and pickles.

"Hey Pete, here's your hotdog with extra chili."

A smile makes way on his face, feeling incredibly grateful as Ned hands him the snack and sits down next to him. They begin eating, earning a scowl from Flash, who stands a little lost in front of the two friends who decided to put all their attention on the food in their hands.

"Just so you know, Parker, I will win this competition and get our class that trip to SI. That will show the others that getting straight A's proves you're a teacher's pet but not smart."

"Alright. Have fun, Flash."

Peter reaches for the second hot dog, not breaking eye contact with Flash, who visibly grows angry at his lack of response.

"You probably wouldn't be able to answer any of their questions, and they will call you out for taking too long in there."

"You could be right about that." Peter takes a napkin and wipes his fingers before standing to throw it in the bin. He gets held up on his way by a hand grabbing his biceps. Flash glares at him.

"Don't cry if you lose, Parker."

"Oh, I won't," promises Peter as he smoothly winds out of the hold. Flash stomps away with an angry huff.

"What was that about?"

Ned glances over to him, having watched the whole exchange with a question mark dancing above his head.

"Pretty sure Flash wants me to participate in this competition to prove he's smarter than me."

"And will you accept his challenge?"

"I don't know. I'm not a fan of surprises."

"It would be cool, though. With you winning and showing Flash who's boss."

"Who's boss?" repeats Peter with a laugh. "I'm anything but that."

"Nah, you just don't know it yet. If Spider-Man is the most badass hero out there, then Peter Parker can be a boss."

Peter throws Ned an amused look. "If you say so. Maybe I should give it a try."

Stepping out of the booth after ten minutes, Peter asked himself if this had been a good idea. Some of the questions had thrown him off. Physics and math came to him without any problems, but the questions of where he sees himself in ten years and what his working values are caught him by surprise. He couldn't figure out what they needed these for in a competition, but what else could he do than answer and trust his gut feeling? He collects his phone, which he had to hand over to the staff member before, ensuring he doesn't cheat, and walks over to Ned, who had been waiting outside.

"How did it go?"

They walk towards the middle of the hall, where some staff members are already placing chairs in front of the stage.

"I'm not sure. How would you rate your problem-solving skills on a scale from one to ten?"

Ned throws him a confused look. "Did they ask that?"

Peter shrugs his shoulders. "Something along those lines," he answers, wondering what that had been about.

Ned hums in thought but doesn't seem able to make more sense of it than Peter could. Casting that aside, they decided to buy something to drink and wait the last fifteen minutes before the stage events were about to start. Sitting at one of the many benches lining up in front of the windows, Peter let his eyes wander off the people working in front of the stage. From head to toe, their uniform is the same. Even the shoes were all of the same brand and design. Watching two staff members stop pulling chairs to talk to each other, Peter observes them from a distance. The approach of a third person causes Peter to huff in surprise as he finally realizes what has been bothering him for so long.

"You're good?"

Peter watches the woman straightening the man's name tag before tearing his eyes away to look at his friend.

"It's the name tag. The man at the register didn't have one."

"Maybe he lost it?"

Peter shakes his head.

"All the staff members wear the same outfits, even the same shoes. I cannot imagine they would let someone who has to interact with so many visitors walk around without a name tag. I mean, this is an event held by Stark Industries. I doubt they would let something like this slip. Something feels really of, Ned."

Before Ned could respond, the speakers go off, announcing the beginning of the stage program to start soon. The two friends stand up and take place in one of the front rows. Peter feels Ned shift beside him, his friend opening his mouth but getting interrupted as a man in suit pants and a blue dress shirt walks up on stage, welcoming the visitors. Peter tries paying attention to what is happening on stage, but the sound of straining metal and a low buzzing noise make it hard to concentrate. The teen glances up at the giant globe forming the ceiling, watching with large eyes how the giant glass construction begins to part in the middle. He remembers having read something about a drone show on the pamphlet. The orator keeps going about the plans Stark Industries holds for the year, but Peter can't understand a word as suddenly, an earsplitting noise rings from the speakers. It's piercing sharply through his ears and right into his head, causing the boy to slump in his seat, body falling forward as he presses his hands over his ears, trying desperately to get it to stop.

Ned jumps in his seat as his friend falls forward, panic kicking at the pained groan leaving Peter's mouth.

"Peter? Peter! What's wrong?"

Peter vaguely registers Ned's hands are squeezing his shoulder, trying to pry him out of his curled-up position and get a look at his face. The noise stops as soon as it has started, but he needs a few seconds for the ringing inside his head to stop before he dares pull his hands away from where he had pressed them against his ears.

"He's going to be alright. It's his migraine," he hears Ned say to someone before the presence of another person is gone again.

"Peter? Please tell me what's wrong, man."

He slowly sits up, blinking. He looks down at his shaking hands, expecting blood, sighing in relief when he sees none.

"You didn't hear that?" he asks, still gasping a little. That had been quite a shock.

"Hear what?" asks Ned, panic and worry coloring his face.

"There had been this sound. I thought my head was about to split in two," mumbles the teen and rubs his temples. Ned hands him a bottle of water, a frown directed at his friend. Peter was about to reach for the water as his body froze in his seat. His head whips upwards.

"Pete? You're kinda scaring me."

He holds a hand up, signalizing Ned to keep quiet as he closes his eyes.

"Somethings wrong."

"Is it your head? Maybe we should go. Or we can call May."

Peter shakes his head. "There's someone on the roof."

"The roof?" Ned follows Peter's eyes upwards.

Peter nods, brows furrowed as he stares at the glass construction above them.

"No one should be there."

Ned follows Peter's gaze, glancing up at the large glass dome. The ceiling is standing open, gaining a view of a cloudless sky. He looks back at his friend, watching how Peter grimaces in concentration.

Resounding voices. Loud laughter. The smell of molten plastic.

"How do you know no one's supposed to be there? Maybe it's someone who has to check the tech?"

Peter doesn't answer. His head tilts as he listens closely to the sounds from above, giving in to what his spidey sense tries to tell him.

Squeaking footsteps. The whir of electricity. Heavy boots on metal. A zipper opening. The sound of a gun loading.

His eyes widen.

"We've got a problem, Ned."

Peter pulls a surprised Ned out of his seat, mumbling apologies as he hurries past people who throw the two teens confused or annoyed looks as they squeeze their way through the row of seats.

"Peter? What's going on?"

The teen in question pulls his friend into an empty hallway. Almost all visitors are at the main hall, and no one notices the two boys running down the corridor towards the toilets.

"No one can come in."

Ned can only nod as he positions himself before the door to keep anyone from entering. Tearing his backpack open, Peter digs around, quickly pulling out his suit. He changes with practiced movement and is about to pull his mask over his head when Ned grabs his wrist.

"Please tell me what's going on, man."

"Someone on the roof has a gun, but I cannot tell you more. You need to go outside and call the police, and don't come back in, okay?"

Ned looks troubled as Peter lays his hands on his shoulders. He gives his friend a hopefully reassuring look.

"Spider-Man will handle this, Ned. Please go out as quickly as possible and call the police. I don't know what's happening, but I can't ignore this."

"Be careful, Peter."

"I'll be back as quick as I can."

Ned sighs as he looks after his friend, who slips out of the tiny bathroom window.

Peter scales up the building as fast as he can. He straightens up and all but sprints up the face of the building as if he were running on the ground, defying the rules of gravity. Nearing the edge of the roof, he jolts his hand out. A string of webs shoot from his web-shooter, hitting a flagpole hanging over. Peter swings and lands in a crouch on the very top of the roof, eyes scanning the place. A thunder of applause reaches his ears, and he vaguely hears the host announcing Dr. Banner to come up on stage. His eyes fall onto a neatly set up row of drones, waiting for their entry. He jumps as the drones come to life and begin to fly down into the building, getting into formation while Dr. Banner continues his speech. Peter squints, noticing the lack of a logo on the flying objects. He shoots a web at one of the drones flying past and skilledly pulls it towards him. Eyeing the tech in his hands, he tears open the back and pulls out a string of wires alongside the part he broke off, examining the inner life of the machine.

"These aren't Stark Tech."

He throws the broken drone to the side as Dr. Banner's voice echoes through the speaker, beginning to explain the new project he and Tony Stark had been working on to the audience, but Peter can't pay him any mind as he spots a crouching pair of figures at the other end of the roof. Peter's heart skips a beat as he catches sight of a weapon directed at the people under them, eyes following the target line, and his body tenses as he realizes who the person is aiming at.

A scream from below makes him jump towards the edge, glancing down at the stage. Peter's eyes widen under the mask, breath hitching.

"This isn't just bad, this is catastrophically bad."

His eyes are pulled towards the sight of one of the most intelligent people on earth and one of his biggest idols, standing frozen on top of the stage, a red glowing light pointed at his forehead. A single drone strays out of the formation, flying towards the stage. Nobody dares to move as another drone joins, shooting a pair of hooks at the metal suitcase, most likely holding part of the project Dr. Banner was about to introduce.

"There are easier and less threatening ways to access Stark Tech. I'm also pretty sure there's a patent on whatever you're trying to steal there."

The man controlling the drone glances up, face covered behind a black mask. "Hello, Spider-Man. You are just on time. This show is about to reach its peak."

The eyes of Spider-Man's mask narrow, and he runs, nearly close enough to shoot a web and tear the gun out of the man's hands, but before he can use his web-shooter, it's already too late. The sound of a shoot echoes through the air, and the noise following causes Peter's blood to freeze. He watches the people in the building tripping over each other in a panic to escape the building as a growl as loud as thunder rumbles over them.

"You better hurry, Spider-Man. Or someone is going to get hurt."

Peter's fist clenched at the mocking words thrown his way. He either goes down and tries calming the Hulk and lets the men escape together with Mr. Stark's Tech, or he goes after them and risks people getting hurt while left with an out-of-control Dr. Banner. The cracking of stone and breaking of metal makes him tear his eyes from the men. The Hulk is ripping out a piece of the stage with ease as if it were polystyrene and is ready to throw it at the screaming crowd.

Peter didn't have to think twice.

The Hulk either doesn't notice or doesn't care about the sudden appearance of the vigilante as he throws the piece in his hands, causing several people to shout in horror. Before the part of the stage construct can hit its target, a wall of webs catches it in mid-air. With quick movements, the spandex-clad teen secures it and lands a few meters before the green rage monster.

"Get out, everyone! And call the Avengers," he shouts at the people before jumping out of the way as a chair gets flung at him. Peter looks over his shoulder, where the seat sticks in the wall, before turning back to an angrily panting Hulk. The mutate throws his head back, gigantic muscles bulging under the green skin. The roar of pure rage that follows causes shards of glass to rain down on them.

Peter swallows heavily.

"So, is this a code red turning green or a code green turning red?"

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Bagley

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

August 14, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Aug 15, 2024

The July report for consumer prices from the Bureau of Labor Statistics, which came out today, showed that prices rose less than 3% in the previous twelve months. Core inflation has fallen to its lowest rate since April 2021. For well over a year, wages have grown faster than inflation.

President Joe Biden cheered the news but added in a statement, “Prices are still too high. Large corporations are sitting on record profits and not doing enough to lower prices. That’s why we are taking on Big Pharma to lower prescription drug prices. We’re cutting red tape to build more homes while taking on corporate landlords that unfairly increase rent. And we’re taking on price gouging and junk fees to lower everyday costs from groceries to air travel.” 

When a reporter asked Biden if the U.S. has beaten inflation, Biden answered: “Yes, Yes, Yes. I told you we were going to have a soft landing…. My policies are working. Start writing that way.” 

Just yesterday, the administration announced $100 million worth of investments in new housing in the form of grants to state and local governments to spur the production of new housing. Kriston Capps of Bloomberg reports that “more housing units are under construction now than at any point in half a century—some 60,000 multifamily units were completed in June alone—and rents are stabilizing in some areas as a result.” 

Single-family home construction is slower, and with Senate Republicans having blocked a $78 billion tax deal that would support housing tax credits that promote the construction of housing, the White House is finding other ways to spur housing construction. 

On Monday the White House continued its attempt to protect the interests of consumers after years in which they lost ground. Continuing to combat junk fees, it proposed rules to fight back against “all the ways that corporations—through excessive paperwork, hold times, and general aggravation—add unnecessary headaches and hassles to people’s days and degrade their quality of life.” 

Companies deliberately design processes to be burdensome in order to deter people from getting a refund or a rebate, or canceling a membership or a subscription. Those frustrations waste money and time, the administration said, and after listing some of its own proposals for making it easier to navigate ending subscriptions or activating insurance coverage, it invited Americans to submit their own on a public portal. 

In a speech on Friday in North Carolina, Vice President Kamala Harris is expected to take on the issue of price gouging by large corporations. Researchers for U.K. think tanks Institute for Public Policy Research and Common Wealth found in late 2023 that profiteering, or “greedflation,” “significantly” boosted prices, leading to increases of 30% or more in corporate profits. “Excessive profits were even larger in the US, where many important sections of the economy are dominated by a few powerful companies,” wrote Phillip Inman of The Guardian. 

Responding to today’s news that inflation is coming down, the stock market ticked up in expectation that the Fed will now be more likely to cut interest rates in September. 

The White House took notice today of the fact that applications for small businesses continue to boom across the country, with 19 million new business applications since Vice President Harris and President Biden took office, an annual growth rate 90% higher than prepandemic averages. The White House also noted that congressional Republicans are trying to cut the Small Business Administration and to cut taxes for big corporations.

Politico greeted today’s economic news with a headline saying, “Inflation is easing. Now, Harris has an even bigger problem with the economy.” And the New York Times reported that in a speech in North Carolina, “Harris Is Set to Lay Out an Economic Message Light on Details,” adding that she is expected to tweak Biden administration themes “in a bid to turn the Democratic economic agenda into an asset.”

The United States economy under Biden and Harris has been the strongest in the world, and now that inflation seems to be under control as well, Harris needs to turn that record “into an asset”? Political journalist James Fallows wrote: “Now they are all just trolling us.”

The Biden-Harris administration has changed the orientation of the United States government from relying on markets to order society and protecting the interests of wealthy Americans in the expectation that they would invest in the economy more efficiently than they could if the government interfered by protecting workers and consumers. Biden and Harris, along with the cabinet officers and staff of the executive branch, revived an older ideology calling for the government to promote the interests of the American people as a whole. This means regulating business and providing government services and oversight to make sure no interest can run the table. 

What the two different worldviews look like was on display earlier this month, when Republicans and a few Democrats in the Senate killed a bipartisan expansion of the child tax credit, a tax break for parents with dependent children. A hike in that credit during the pandemic cut child poverty dramatically, only for that rate to bounce back when the pandemic relief expired and dropped five million U.S. children back into poverty in 2022. The Center on Budget and Policy Priorities noted that the change “underscores the fact that the number of children living in poverty is a policy choice.”

On January 31, 2024, the House passed an expansion of the child tax credit that was smaller than the one in place during the pandemic, and Republican vice presidential hopeful Ohio senator J.D. Vance, who has been criticized for comments about “childless cat ladies,” seemed to support the measure when he said, “If you’re raising children in this country, we should make it easier, not harder. And unfortunately it’s way too expensive and way too difficult.” He then falsely accused Democratic presidential candidate Kamala Harris of calling for ending the child tax credit (she has actually called for expanding it).  

But Vance missed the vote, and before it, Senator Thom Tillis (R-NC) told colleagues that passing the bill would “give Harris a win before the election.” According to Chabeli Carranzana of The 19th, Tillis “printed out fake checks made out to ‘millions of American voters’ with the memo: ‘Don’t forget to vote for Kamala!’”  

The two different worldviews were also on display Monday night when Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump complimented X owner Elon Musk for firing workers who threatened to strike. The right to strike is protected under federal labor law, and the Biden-Harris administration has stood firmly for workers’ rights. 

On Tuesday the United Auto Workers union filed charges against Trump and Musk with the National Labor Relations Board for threatening and intimidating workers. “When we say Trump stands against everything our union stands for, this is what we mean,” said UAW president Shawn Fain. 

Tonight, Trump gave a speech in Asheville, North Carolina, that was supposed to be about the economy. Before he could appear, Trump had to pay the city $82,247.60 in advance, with city officials apparently concerned about the candidate’s habit of skipping out on costs associated with his rallies. Once on stage, he tossed economic issues overboard and concentrated on personal attacks on Biden and Harris, along with stream-of-consciousness musings on tampons and socialism. Apparently speaking of his campaign aides, he said: They wanted to do a speech on the economy. They say it’s the most important subject. I’m not sure it is.”

The era of unfettered markets and the concentration of wealth may be coming to an end. In late July, the finance leaders of the Group of 20 (G20), a forum of the world’s major economies, agreed to cooperate on fair taxation of  "ultra-high-net-worth individuals,” although they did not agree as to whichinternational body should lead. 

But yesterday, Joe Perticone of The Bulwark noted that MAGA Republicans appear to have figured out a way to use the struggle over the nation’s economic ideology to elect Trump. 

The House recessed in late July having failed to pass a single one of the 12 appropriations bills the government needs to stay in operation because, although the appropriations bills are traditionally kept “clean” of anything extraneous, extremist members of the House Freedom Caucus insist on making extreme cuts and adding their culture war items to the bills. Congress doesn’t reconvene until early September, and the new fiscal year starts on October 1, leaving the House very little time to pass the necessary bills.

Yesterday, members of the House Freedom Caucus called for Republicans to return to Washington, D.C., to pass the bills “to cut spending and advance our policy priorities.” If they can’t pass the bills—and they failed all spring—the extremists want a short-term fix just into “President Trump’s second term.” But they also want the fix to include the SAVE Act, “as called for by President Trump—to prevent noncitizens from voting [and] to preserve free and fair elections in light of the millions of illegal aliens imported by the Biden-Harris administration over the last four years.” 

It is already illegal for noncitizens to vote in federal elections. As Perticone notes, Trump’s own 2017 commission to find evidence that undocumented immigrants voted in 2016 disbanded without finding any, and another audit, led by Georgia Republicans before the 2022 midterms, found not a single successful attempt of noncitizens to vote in the previous five years. 

Perticone reports that the measure is designed to suppress legitimate Democratic voting and, if Trump still loses, by claiming that Trump lost, again, because the election was stolen by illegal voters.

Trump continues to insist that Biden’s replacement at the top of the Democratic ticket was a “coup,” partly because he wants to face off against Biden, rather than Harris. But he also is priming his supporters to believe that those Americans who want the government to work for them rather than the very wealthy are illegitimate.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[foundtherightwords]

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 2

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

Chapter warnings: animal death

Chapter word count: 4.9k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - Her Own Betrothed Knight

Christabel did have to endure a lecture about the danger of wandering off on her own, but thankfully, Mrs. Cunningham was so upset by Christabel's injury that the lecture didn't last very long. Never mind that the ankle wasn't badly sprained. It wasn't even swollen. Her mother still insisted that she stayed off it until the All Hallows' Eve ball. Christabel suspected that her mother did it not out of concern for her wellbeing, but because it made Jason more attentive toward her than ever—he even intended to cancel the picnic the next day because Christabel would not be able to join them. Christabel, already uncomfortable with him after her rejection, did not relish the idea of being stuck at the house with Jason hovering over her and being chaperoned by her mother. So she convinced him to continue with his party, while she curled up on a window seat with a book.

"Don't fret, darling," Mrs. Cunningham said, coming behind Christabel with one hand on her shoulder and the other smoothing her hair back, though she knew Christabel hated being stood over like that. "Trampling through the woods in the sun and the wind would only dry out your skin and your hair and get you nowhere at all. Better save yourself for the ball. I just had your costume taken in a little, you're going to look lovely in it—"

Christabel didn't reply. She wondered how her mother would've reacted if Christabel told her that all her scheming was for naught, that Jason had already proposed and been rejected. She wouldn't want to go to the picnic anyway—except it would be a chance for her to slip into the woods, in the hope of running into a certain someone again...

At that moment, as though summoned by her thought, there was a faint ring of the bell at the front door. She heard the soft voice of a maid answering it, and another, deeper, male's voice. Her heart started beating faster. She recognized that voice.

A maid came into the room presently. "There's a gentleman here to see you, miss," she said, bobbing a quick curtsey.

"What gentleman?" Mrs. Cunningham's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"He said his name is Henry Creel, ma'am."

"He is the one that brought me home yesterday, Mother," Christabel reminded her. She hadn't told her mother much about Mr. Creel, only saying that he was a guest from a neighboring cottage, but her mother, with her usual penchant for gossip, had discovered his identity anyway.

"Ah yes, a guest of that crackpot Brenner, is he? Some upstart from out West, Mrs. Carver told me. Have a care, Christabel. Now that he's found a way in, he's going to hang on to you like a dog to a bone until—"

"Yes, Mother, I shall bear that in mind," Christabel cut her off before she said something even more vulgar in front of the maid. For someone so concerned with decorum, Mrs. Cunningham could be shockingly nonchalant when it came to talking in front of the servants. It was as though she didn't consider them human beings with their own thoughts and feelings. Christabel nodded to the maid. "Please show him into the morning room, Mary. Thank you."

Creel was standing by the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantelpiece, looking down at the hearthrug, lost in thoughts. When Christabel came in, he lifted his eyes but didn't move from his position right away, and she was struck by a sense of déjà-vu. She had seen that pose somewhere—a painting, or a sculpture, with a person's face half-hidden by his arm, showing only his eyes. Was it a portrait of Lord Byron? No. But it was something romantic like that. Never mind. It would come to her eventually.

The sense of déjà-vu vanished as soon as Creel moved toward her with his arms outstretched. "Miss Cunningham," he said, clasping her hand in both of his. "I've come to inquire after you. How is your ankle?"

"Thank you, it's improved a great deal. But really, you needn't have bothered—"

He leaned toward her, smiling conspiratorially. "I did say you can count on seeing me again, didn't I?"

Christabel blushed. She seemed to be doing so a lot around Creel. "Yes, but I didn't expect it would be so soon." A discreet cough behind her reminded her of her mother's presence, and she reluctantly made the introduction. As Creel bowed over Mrs. Cunningham's hand, Christabel could see that her mother was not impervious to his physical charms, for all her attempts to remain aloof. Mrs. Cunningham was briefly interested to learn that Creel's family came from the nearby village of Ringwood, but when he said it was over two hundred years ago and that his father made his fortune out West, her interest quickly waned and her manners turned frosty. Her mother had always been a snob about family name and lineage, and Christabel doubted she would ever approve of Creel, not even if his forefathers had been on the Mayflower.

"And have you made any further discovery about your family's history?" Christabel asked, to fill in the awkward silence.

"Not yet, but Dr. Brenner have told me about the ruins of a settlement not far from Tuxedo Lake," Creel said. "If this nice weather continues, I intend to investigate it more closely. Perhaps you would care to join—"

Mrs. Cunningham made a disapproving noise in her throat, and Christabel gave Creel an apologetic look. He did not seem to notice anything amiss. He gently led Christabel to a chair by the window, keeping up a stream of easy chatter with both her and her mother, talking about San Francisco, about New York and how he wished he could visit it more often—polite, impersonal talk that meant nothing at all, but from the way those blue eyes fixed on her, she could tell there were things he'd like to say to her but was prevented by her mother's presence.

After fifteen minutes, the minimum amount one could entertain a guest without appearing rude, Mrs. Cunningham stood up, signifying the visit was over, and claiming Christabel needed her rest. Creel stood up as well, with regret plainly written over his handsome face. He thanked them for a lovely chat, wished Christabel a speedy recovery, and moved toward the front door.

"I hope we'll have the pleasure of seeing you again, Mr. Creel," Mrs. Cunningham said, in a voice that meant quite the opposite.

"Thank you, ma'am, so do I," he said.

"Will we, though?" Christabel asked, lowering her voice so her mother wouldn't hear.

"You can count upon it," he whispered, extending a hand to her.

They shook hands. The book Christabel had been reading, which she forgot she was still holding, slipped out of her hand and clattered to the ground. Before she could reach for it, Creel had bent down, picked it up, and pressed it into her hand. When she frowned at the feel of the book in her hand, he gave her a discreet wink, bowed to her mother, who was still hovering behind, then turned and left.

Only when she was back in the privacy of her room that Christabel felt safe enough to look at what she was holding—not one, but two books. Creel had slipped her another while picking up her first one. It was Tales, by Edgar Allan Poe. Christabel felt a surge of excitement mixed with gratitude for Creel's discretion and consideration. Her mother would never approve of such morbid reading material.

There was a name written on the flyleaf—"M. Brenner". Christabel grinned to herself. Creel must have scoured his host's bookshelf for this one. As she turned the pages, a note fluttered out. With quickening pulse, she picked it up. In a slanting, elegant hand, it said, "I believe a lady named after a Coleridge heroine would appreciate the romantic and macabre genius of Mr. Poe." And, a little lower, "If you wish to escape the castle, I shall be waiting. Same time, same place tomorrow. H."

***

The difficult part had been to convince her mother that her ankle would improve with some light exercise. When her mother suggested she took a turn around the Carvers' garden, Christabel had exploded—the reaction may have been exaggerated to frighten her mother, who hated public displays of emotions of any kind, but the frustration was very real. "Am I a dog, to be held on a leash?" she'd said. "Why don't I start wearing a veil in public too, while you're at it?"

It had worked. Her mother had agreed to let her take a walk around the lake but insisted that she took one of the Carvers' maids with her. After that, it had been the simple matter of bribing the girl with a few coins so she could slip away undetected.

As she walked, Christabel wondered what had prompted her to have a clandestine rendezvous with a man she'd met only the day before. He was attractive, to be sure, and very kind and gentlemanly, in a quiet, mild-mannered way that felt more natural and genuine than the excessive gallantry of her other suitors. But it was more than that. He came from another world. She knew little of the West, but a place where men could make their fortunes and become respectable regardless of their origins was bound to be different from the rigid, suffocating world she was living in. When he scooped her up into his arms, his movement so decisive and casual, she'd imagined she had been touched by that other world, and she longed to feel that touch again.

Creel was sitting under the oak when she arrived, cutting a dashing figure with his bare head and his body in recline. Again, Christabel felt that sense of déjà-vu. She must remember which painting it was that reminded her of him.

He looked up from the notebook in which he was writing or sketching and smiled at her. A flock of butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

"I was getting quite impatient," he said.

"I had to distract my mother."

"I didn't get you into trouble, did I?" Creel peered at her with concern. "I would've come to the house, but I have a feeling that she won't appreciate my visit."

Christabel sighed. "My apologies, Mr. Creel. My mother can be—"

He made a dismissive gesture with his pencil. "Never mind that. I'm glad you came."

She sat down on a clump of grass opposite him. The sunlight scattered through the leaves, throwing speckles of gold over his face, so one of his eyes shone while the other remained in shadow. The gleam in that eye threw the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy, and she had to look down to hide her fluster.

"How did you know I wished to escape?" she asked, fingering a fold in her dress.

He smiled, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. "How could you not?" he said. "Five minutes with that crowd and I would have run for the hills."

"Is the San Francisco society not like that?"

"I daresay it is, but I don't know for certain. I don't spend much time in society, to be honest. I'm too busy with my studies."

So perhaps it was not his world that was different, it was Creel himself. "What do you study?" Christabel asked.

"A little bit of everything. History. Science. Literature. Speaking of which, how do you like Mr. Poe?"

"Very much. I finished the book in one sitting." She neglected to say that she'd had to read it under the covers, for fear of being found out by her mother. She didn't want Creel to think she was still a schoolgirl. "Did Dr. Brenner mind losing it?"

An enigmatic smile appeared on Creel's lips. "What Brenner doesn't know can't hurt him."

"Of course, he's rather obsessed with death, isn't he? Mr. Poe I mean, not Dr. Brenner."

"Aren't we all?"

"Not just death in general either, but premature death and false death, specifically," Christabel said. The fates of Madeline Usher and Fortunato were still haunting her.

"Because those are the most horrible." Mr. Creel's eyes turned dark. "When you die before your time, or when others think you're dead and you're powerless to tell them. Can you imagine?"

Perhaps this was not the most romantic subject of conversation, but nobody had spoken to her with so much openness and honesty. Usually, when she tried to discuss books and music with another man, she could only nod and go along with whatever opinion he had, or she would be labeled a bluestocking and a bore and catch the eyes of no other man. At least that was what her mother had told her.

"Have you investigated the ruins that Dr. Brenner told you about?" she said after a moment, for Creel's eyes were still dark, and she wished to dispel that look.

"I have, but they're not the right one. Far too recent."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Creel turned his eyes upon her, the one eye that shone in the sun now sparkled with quite a different light. "In fact, I hope my search takes a long time."

"Why?"

"So I can keep seeing you."

Christabel turned crimson. Later, as they said goodbye, she didn't ask if she would see him again. She knew that she would.

***

They did see each other again, almost every day after that. They talked a great deal, or rather, Creel talked and Christabel listened. He told her about his house overlooking the San Francisco Bay and about his travels—he had traveled widely; it seemed there were few places left in America that he hadn't set foot on, and in Europe as well. "My dream, though, is to travel to the Far East," he said. "Japan and China. Especially China. There's a lot of Chinese people in San Francisco, you know, and their culture fascinates me. It's one of the oldest civilizations in the world. I think it would be something to see it with my own eyes."

"I always wish I could travel," Christabel replied, wishing she could say something more interesting or share some travel anecdotes of her own. Her stories of Newport and the Catskills must sound awfully provincial to him.

He also told her about his studies—his current interest was medicine from plants and animals. All the while, Christabel could only listen in fascination and admiration, wondering how he managed to do so much and learn so much and go to so many places at such a young age. And her yearning for that world he'd opened to her, a world of newness, excitement, and sophistication, grew and grew, only she no longer wished to be simply touched by that world. Now she wished to be a part of it, with him.

Then something happened that derailed their time together.

It was three days before the ball. There was no entertainment planned for that day, and Mrs. Carver wanted everybody out of the house so they could start decorating and preparing for the ball. Jason and the others were talking about going down to the lake for some boating and fishing, when Mr. Carver received a telephone call in his study. The Carvers had just had their telephone installed, and its shrill, unaccustomed ringing echoed in the hall ominously. A moment later, Mr. Carver emerged, looking strangely pale and shaken. Mrs. Carver fluttered into the study with a frightened look. The guests mingling outside heard some murmurings, and then Mrs. Carver's voice raised in irritation, saying, "Nonsense! It has nothing to do with us. Besides, we have been preparing for days." She came out of the study, looking quite put out, and could be heard muttering under her breath, "The old crackpot! Even in death he was a nuisance!" as she fluttered to the back to go through the menu with the French chef once more.

Finally, Jason managed to learn the truth from his father—Dr. Brenner had been found dead in his house the previous night.

He had been found in his library by his servant, with an unmarked bottle next to him. There was to be an inquest, though in all likelihood, it would be a formality only—the body showed every symptom of poison, the library was locked from the inside, and everyone knew Brenner's penchant for the occult. No doubt it was the result of some foolish experiment. Mr. Carver had considered canceling the ball out of respect, but fortunately, Mrs. Carver had convinced—or perhaps bullied—him to carry on as planned.

This didn't stop the guests from feeling excited about the prospect of a murderer in their midst and exchanging theories on how Brenner had really died.

"What about that mysterious guest of his, the one who brought you back that day, Christabel?" one of the girls said. "Might he have something to do with this?"

"I don't know," replied Christabel, though she was worrying about the same thing. She couldn't believe Creel had anything to do with Dr. Brenner's death, but she was worried that this death and the inquest may keep him from seeing her. And with her mother getting into one of her fits and forbidding Christabel from even setting foot outdoors—as though a murderer was lying in wait and ready to pounce on her—she didn't know if she could go to the woods again. She hadn't realized how much she had been looking forward to their daily meeting until it stopped.

That evening, she was wandering around the garden, feeling listless and despondent, when she heard a whisper nearby, "Miss Cunningham?"

Christabel bit back a startled cry. A shadow detached itself from the privet hedge and came to stand in front of her. It was a young man, as dark as Creel was fair. His skin was pale, and his eyes and hair appeared black in the moonlight. "Sorry, miss," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm Mr. Creel's servant."

He was holding himself awkwardly, as though trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable. Somehow, this awkwardness made Christabel's initial fear vanish. "Is Mr. Creel all right?" she asked.

"Yes. He couldn't come himself because he's being questioned by the police." The young man pulled a note from his pocket and handed it to her. "He asked me to bring you a message."

Christabel went over to a gas lamp and opened the note. Her eyes fell on Creel's familiar slanting hand: "Meet me by the oak tomorrow, 10 AM. H." Emotions flooded her heart, mostly joy and relief.

She looked up to see the young man still standing there, as if waiting for something. "Thank you," she said. "Please tell him I'll be there."

He nodded but made no move to leave. Christabel remembered and searched her pockets for a coin for his tip, but came up empty. "I'm sorry, I don't have any money on me—"

"I don't want your money!" For a moment, his diffidence was gone, replaced by a brief look of rage. That, too, disappeared in a flash, though the man's hands remained balled into fists. "Begging your pardon, miss," he said, controlling his voice with difficulty. "But... if I were you, I wouldn't go."

With those enigmatic words, he vanished into the dark, leaving Christabel alone with the note.

***

The next morning, she managed to escape her mother and slip away. She went to the old oak tree and let out a sigh of relief when she saw Creel's familiar figure leaning against it. He still smiled at her, though his eyes were grim, and when she offered him her hand in greeting, he took it in a tight grip.

"What's happened?" she asked. "Is there going to be an inquest for Dr. Brenner's death? Will you have to make a statement?"

He shook his head. "The police seemed pretty confident that the poison was self-administered. They are going to rule it a suicide, or perhaps an accident." Christabel breathed more easily, but Creel's eyes remained dark. "I blame myself," he muttered.

"Surely you have nothing to do with it? You said so yourself, he took the poison of his own volition."

"I knew that Brenner was interested in alchemy and the elixir of life and things like that," Creel said. "But I didn't realize he would be so foolish as to attempt to brew one himself and drink it without testing it first. I should have warned him."

"No." Christabel laid a hand on his arm. "It was not your fault. You couldn't possibly know that."

He looked down at her hand, then up at her face, and something in his eyes set her pulse pounding.

"I'm returning to San Francisco soon," he said.

Her heart went cold. "Because of Dr. Brenner's death?"

"No. Because I've found what I was looking for."

"Your village?"

"Better. The remains of my family's cottage. Would you like to see?"

She nodded, and, still holding her hand, he led her through the trees, to the north end of the lake. Christabel followed him, trying to feel happy for him, but she couldn't stop the disappointment from rising within her, disappointment at the thought that he would go away, back to that free and easy world, while she would be stuck here, perhaps for the rest of her life.

They stopped at a clearing surrounded by elms and oaks, all glorious in their autumnal coats. There was something like a boulder or a cairn in the middle of the clearing, covered so completely with ivy that Christabel almost missed it. Creel knelt to spread the ivy apart, and Christabel saw that it was actually the remains of a stone fireplace.

"Look," he pointed to a smooth, flat stone at the back, where a large "C" had been carved.

"C for Creel?" Christabel asked, astonished.

"Yes."

"How long ago did your ancestors live here?"

"About two hundred years."

The thought of all that history now gone and buried in the ground under her feet made Christabel forget her heartache for a moment. "And did they move away, or—"

"No." Creel's face was somber. "The mother and the daughter died in mysterious circumstances, and the father was accused of killing them by witchcraft. He was hanged. Only the son survived."

Christabel's body grew cold with horror. Sometimes, caught in all the comfort and ease of modern life, she forgot how violent the history of their country was. She couldn't think of anything to say other than "Oh." Just then, the morning sun shone into the clearing, and her eyes caught something sparkling amongst the stones. "What's that?"

Creel dug into the daub, which had all but crumbled to dust, and pulled out something not bigger than the palm of her hand, covered in dirt. Red glints showed through here and there in the sunlight.

"My word!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe it!"

Pulling out his handkerchief, he wiped the dirt off of his discovery. It was a piece of stained glass, in the shape of a rose. "Do you know what you've found?" he said, awe in his voice. "It's our family crest. My ancestors brought it over from England and put it on the cottage's front door. I have something similar at my house in San Francisco. It's extraordinary that it was still here and intact after all this time." He beamed up at her. "I knew you would be valuable to me in some ways. I knew it the first moment I saw you."

The look in his eyes sent her heart into a somersault. Somehow she managed to open her mouth, and was about to say something back, something silly and girlish and inadequate, when she was interrupted by a scream that rent the air.

For a heart-stopping moment, she thought it was a woman or a child in distress, but when the scream continued, it became clear that it was an animal. Creel slipped the bit of stained glass into his pocket, jumped to his feet, and ran toward the elms. They soon discovered the source of the scream—a hare, caught in a steel trap. Blood pooled around the places where the cruel sharp teeth cut into its hind leg, but it was still alive, its eyes fixed on them with an imploring, almost human look.

"Oh please, please help him!" cried Christabel.

Creel stood looking down at the hare. "There's no helping it," he said. "But I can put it out of its misery."

"No!"

"Its leg is broken, Miss Cunningham." His voice was harsh. "Even if I free it, it would be lame and soon fall prey to a fox or an eagle. This is kinder." He took off his gloves. "Look away."

Christabel told herself she should just leave, she who always took care to never be present at the kill on a hunt, but some terrible force had gotten a hold of her, rooting her to the spot, making it impossible for her to tear her eyes away from the hare, from its chest still moving rapidly, from the twitching whiskers and the pink ears with red veins that stood out against the sunlight. Only when Creel snarled, "Look away, Miss Cunningham!" that she remembered herself and raised a trembling hand to cover her eyes.

There was a squeak, then silence. She lowered her hand. Creel was covering up the little body with dry leaves. "This trap was no doubt set by a poacher," he said, pulling his gloves on. "We should let someone know."

Somehow, the casual way with which he pulled on his gloves horrified her more than anything else. It finally shocked her out of her daze, and she turned and ran out of the clearing, chest heaving with sobs.

She didn't realize Creel had chased after her until she felt his strong grip on her shoulders, turning her around, and she found herself in his arms, hot tears staining his waistcoat, while he said, "Stop it, Miss Cunningham. I can't stand tears. If you don't stop crying, I'm going to have to do something quite drastic to stop you." Then his embrace turned into a caress, as his hands ran from her shoulders to her waist, and he pulled her to him and clasped his mouth to hers.

She was rooted to the spot again, not by some unknown force this time, but by the power of his arms and his body and most of all his mouth, a force that robbed her of her breath and her thoughts and her senses, leaving her with no choice but to submit to it.

A moment later, or a lifetime later, she felt the pressure of his mouth lift, but his arms remained around her. "I can't imagine leaving this place without you," he whispered in her ear. "Will you come with me, Christabel?" His kiss had left her so breathless that she couldn't answer right away. "Say yes," he said, a note of urgency in his voice. "Say yes now, or—"

"Yes," she said weakly, almost before she could think. It was as though he had put the word in her mouth and it had come out by itself, with no control from her. She opened her eyes and saw that the sun had gone behind the clouds, leaving the clearing gray and dreary. She couldn't help remembering, too, that they were standing on the ruins of a family home destroyed by tragedy, and that an animal lay dead at their feet. It was certainly not her ideal place for a proposal. But she didn't care. All she cared was that she was going to be free.

***

They agreed that Christabel would inform Mrs. Cunningham of their engagement the next morning, and if her mother approved, Christabel would send Henry a message and they would ask for her blessing together, after the ball. And if she didn't... well, they would deal with that together as well.

As she went to bed that night, Christabel wondered if she'd been too hasty. But, she reasoned with herself, others had gotten married after just one encounter, one look across a ballroom. And when she thought about how Henry made her feel—she thought of him as "Henry" now, with a certain relish—and the promise of freedom he brought, all her doubts were silenced.

There was one thing she couldn't get out of her head, though—it was the image of Henry standing over the hare, calmly putting his gloves back on. It disturbed her, though she did not know why. He'd been right, of course. It had been an act of mercy. Yet he had stood over that poor suffering hare not like an angel of mercy, but more like an avenging angel.

And with the thought of angels, it came to her in a flash, what she had been trying to remember since his first visit to the Carver mansion—what Henry's pose by the fireplace had reminded her of. It was The Fallen Angel, the painting by Alexandre Cabanel, whose reproduction she had seen in a book. Yes, he had looked exactly like it, with his tousled hair and that strange, intense look in his eyes, half of pain, half of rage. Exactly like Lucifer, after his fall from Heaven.

Chapter 3

A/N: Originally, Eddie/Kas wasn't supposed to show up until Chapter 3, but I got impatient so I had to give him an early appearance here :))

This is "The Fallen Angel" by Alexandre Cabanel, in case you're wondering.

[matrixxsystem]

I can't not tell you guys the story now-

buckle up sluts this so much more comfort and fluff than I've ever written before-

This is how Leo found Marmalade This is a western AU where after the invasion the surface of New York was too triggering so they ran off to the middle of nowhere to try and heal. CW: This AU is a little dark, it wont be explored in full but there might be mentions of dealing with mental illness and having PTSD so just be a lil warned, but this is supposed to be just a lil one off about how he found his lil lady :3

Boots With The Spurrs

The sun had just reached the apex of the sky, heat beating down with such a vengeance you'd think someone owed it money or something.. Though lets be real, it wasn't like it was any cooler yesterday or the day before. The slider never minded though, he loved the sun and all that came with it. And that cool summer breeze that nearly blew his hat off, even as he held on while the wind shoved him back towards the house, or tired to at least- He loved that too. It was so clear each night and so quiet every morning.. The air was so clean, and the grass was so soft.. The first time he stepped foot on the property of their new home he spent a good hour just laying outside and taking it all in. He couldn't remember why exactly him and his family came out here, but it'd been maybe five or six years since they moved now, and it was a hell of an adjustment sure, any city boy would be turned on his head being stuck out in the middle of god knows where. But even when he missed some of the busy aspects, the bright lights and colors, the smells and constant chatter of people, he could only remind himself that there was a reason they left the city. Something about everyone's mental health, about needing space and time or whatever vague excuse Donnie told him each time he asked.

There was a small town not far from where they lived, maybe a twenty minute walk or so, and five minutes if they rode horseback. Oh yeah, didn't I mention? They bought a farm. Yeah, They bought a plot of land that was just outside a small town, fixed the place up, and since Donnie loves plants and Mikey loves animals it seemed fitting to start trying to grow things and really leaning into the towns rustic aesthetic. Who knew they had green thumbs.. Well… Fuck okay who knew they had metaphorical green thumbs- And would be oddly good farmers?? Yeah, me neither. Anyway, after the first two years things really took off for the brothers. And cause I can read your mind, don't worry, Aprils there too, she got a job working at the local news station, her and Mayhem easily became a hit. And Casey Jr came along, and Cass, hell even Barry decided he might as well tag along and make sure the brothers don't get into anymore weird time altering shenanigan's. And after Splinter.. Passed, it helped having everyone be there with them. Leo looked back up at the sky, trying to read the clouds to see if there was any sign of rain, maybe if he could convince the others.. They'd let him go into town for a bit, they needed food soon anyway right?

Oh yeah, second thing about this story. This is one where Leo lost his arm, yeah no, when Mikey pulled him from the prison dimension Kraang was just a little faster and dug his claws into Leo's arm, tearing it from his body as Mikey rushed to close the portal and save what was left of his brother. So yeah, most of the time he spent healing from that is just a blurred mess to him now, then he woke up in the turtle tank out in the country one day. He remembers people by his bedside in the medbay talking about it, asking Leo or trying to ask how he felt, if he wanted to go anywhere, if there was anything he wanted to do outside the city. Anytime it's brought up he's always teased about how he only said things like "I wanna be a cowboy baaabyyyy" or "I just wanna live on a ranch, and sit on a porch swing, with my boyfriend.." (He did not have a boyfriend, or know anyone who could even come close at the time) So they continued to poke fun at his responses, which he blames the pain medicine he was on at the time for.

Leo sighed a little as he sat on the old wooden stairs, rolling his eyes at the audible creek that came from the shift in weight. He took the very cowboy-esk hat from his head waving it in front of his face, trying to get a little more of a breeze to cool him off. He'd just been out moving the pipes Donnie ordered to make he's own watering system for the plants, he wanted to start a new patch on the other side of the house and Leo just knew he'd be bribed into doing all the dirty work somehow.. Though he'd do it if asked, he knew that something bad happened to all his brothers before they moved that left them all a little less able then they used to be. For Donnie his back got hurt badly, most days he was fine but some days he'd get these real bad flare ups and he couldn't put any weight on his back or be on his feet for more then maybe fifteen minutes at a time. Leo liked to call it his "No Bones" days, since he'd usually end up just rag doll-ing in his bed all day. It was actually pretty scary the first few times it happened, Leo wasn't sure why everyone else was so calm that his brother couldn't move. But after a while and a couple explanations he didn't fully understand he came to accept that for Dee it's just something that happens when he overworks himself.. For Raph he lost sight in one of his eyes and hates being snuck up on, there were scars over the eye but they didn't look like any animal Leo had ever seen, he didn't ask though. He knew he didn't like talking about it, none of his brothers did really. Even Mikey, who was an open book all other times.. He had some faint scars from his hands up his forearms, and if he used his hands too much they'd start shaking or locking up, he always blames him drawing too much when he was younger but Leo knew deep down there was something else he just wasn't saying. But like any other time Leo was able to quickly shake those thoughts from his mind, it wasn't important and if they didn't want to talk, then he didn't want to know. He knew enough, and knew prying would only hurt them in the end.

He turned his head to look at the front door hearing the screen door swing open, "Hey Leo, you finally had enough of tha' heat?" Leo put his hat back on and smiled up at his oldest brother, "You could say that- Think if I asked Mike would be willin' to make us some lemonade?" Raph's eyes lit up as he weighed the options for a moment, food always got his big brother motivated and Mikey always made the best lemonade..

Leo let out a little laugh at his brothers reaction, "Though if we're gonna have a drink I s'pose we'd need to head into town to get the lemons don't we..?" Raph tensed up a bit hearing the mention of town. Compared to New York this town was more like a small village- It was like something straight out of a western movie it seemed. Raph let out a little grumble, muttering something about town and Leo just laughed again, giving Raph a reassuring pat on the lower half of his shell. "Oh c'mon big guy, it'll take all of forty minutes to get in, out, and back home." Raph carefully passed Leo on the stairs, once again weighing his options. "Raph..?" Leo asked, a little softer, "I know I shouldn't keep askin, but why don't you guys like goin' into town? Seems like y'all lock up whenever it's mentioned but I can't recall the reason."

"Its.." There was a pause, maybe he was trying to think about his words so he didn't sound like he was yelling at Leo. "It's nothin' really, if you wanna go, we'll go. Saddle up an I'll give Don the heads up that we're goin for a ride." Leo practically jumped up to get ready, "Are you sure we wanna tell Don? If he knows you're goin he'll send you off with a whole grocery list to bring back-" Raph shrugged, "If we're goin' we might as well make sure we get all we need, 'sides, Don ain't feelin well again so it might be good to bring him back some more medicine." Leo glanced back at the house, up to the second story where Dee's room was, "He havin' one of his 'no bones' days?" Raph rolled his eyes at the name but nodded, "Yeah, just one of those days. Now go on and get saddled up while I run in and get some money and everyone's orders." Leo gave a playful salute and a 'yes sir!' before heading around to the barn where the horses we're kept. He gave each one a little attention as he passed, Donnie's being an all black horse of course, Mikey's being some kind of calico with all matter of spots and specks decorating its coat, and Raph's was a big ass Belgian draft horse with a dark grey coat that faded to black at the feet. And Leo's, it was this blonde almost iridescent light color. "Well hey there sunshine" He cooed as he opened her gate, stepping and and getting ready to head out, "Looks like we're goin' for a ride today, a real one, not just round the house. You excited?" The horse turned her head nudging Leo and almost knocking him over, he laughed as he gently pushed her back, "I know I know, I told Raphie we need to take y'all out more but he don't want me goin into town alone, don't think he wants me goin anywhere alone actually-" After he was all set he took her lead and walked out of the barn, nearly bumping into Raph on their way out.

Once they were both set they headed out, Leo riding up and around roads, goin as fast as his Sunshine would let him, she liked going fast too, part of why he was able to get her at all. Her last owner couldn't get her to calm down or stop running off or throwing anyone who tried to ride her. Leo pretty quickly figured she just lived a bit faster then others, just like him. So he'd made a bet that if he could ride her without being thrown he'd get a big discount. Instead of trying to get her on his level he got onto hers, encouraging her to run and jump to her hearts content, and they've gotten along pretty damn well since then. Once they got into town went and hopped off his horse, not bothering to tie her up unlike Raph and his gentle giant, who he carefully tied up at a post outside the local grocery store, pulling a few treats from his bag and setting them down. "Good girl Boots" He muttered with a little pat before heading into the store, Leo trailing behind. They browsed for a few minutes, well, Leo did, Raph just picked what they needed and only that. Going right to the sections that had what he needed, he really didn't want to be there longer then they needed to be it seemed.. Leo rolled his eyes and tosses a lemon his way, "Heads up Raphie-!"

The lemon bonked the side of Raph's head and fell into his basket, he turned to Leo with an unamused expression, Leo braced to be yelled at, to be scolded like they would when they were younger, maybe even a playful slap on the back of his head for being impolite at the store. But Raph just took a breath and sighed, picking a couple apples up and setting them in the basket next to the lemon. Leo pouted a little but let it go, it wasn't like he wanted to be yelled at, but it didn't feel right for them to not even fight playfully? He huffed and set another dozen or so into the basket and gave Raph a little shoulder pat, "I'm gonna go wait outside okay? Make sure Sunny ain't found any trouble." Raph just nodded, seemly he was almost done, the basket was already full but he was still looking for a few more things.

Leo stepped outside, a few people had paused to eye his horse, ones that pretty were usually pretty expensive so it made sense people would look at her. He whistled and she perked up, heading over and lowering one front leg to look like she was bowing, he was pretty proud of teaching her that trick.. Het gave her a few pats and praises and grabbed his bag off her side, reaching and getting out a sugar cube, "There we are, I knew I had one left in here. Whos a good girl? Hm?" "She sure is-" Leo turned around to see another yokai approach him, he hadn't seen this guy around but he sure looked familiar..? "Never seen one that well behaved before.. Your horse must've cost a pretty penny but you don't look the fancy type?" Was.. Was this guy saying he looked poor..? "Sunny here ain't no ones horse-" He joked, giving her a few more pats, "Ain't that right Sunshine? You don't belong to no man huh?" She flapped her lips blowing out a huff as she shook her head, turning to nudge Leo. He just laughed a little louder, "Yes mam, you're as free as the breeze ain't cha? You just follow me home for the treats huh?" The stranger smiled a little, he took half a step closer then stopped, "Is it alright if I pet her? Think she'll let me keep my hands?" Leo just shrugged like he wasn't sure but quickly nodded, "I'm just messin- Yeah you can pet her, she loves the attention don't worry." He nodded and stepped closer again, getting into her line of sight and carefully approaching. Leo took a step back and watched in the interaction, whoever this guy was he seemed to know a lot about horses with a temper, and she seemed to like him well enough.. He took his hat off setting is on his saddle to feel the coming breeze. Sunshine turned to look at him before turning back to the stranger and biting the brim of his hat, lifting it off his head and turning to put it on Leo. The yokai was a bit shorter than Leo, and without the hat long white ears fell on either side of his head, it was a rabbit yokai- Kinda cute actually... Not many of those in such hot and dry places like this town. Their eyes met for a moment before Leo realized he was staring at the stranger, "Ah- Sorry 'bout that, she got that lil trick from my little brother-" He took the hat back off and gently set it back on the guys head, "Think that mean's she likes ya heheh- Uh- Say stranger.. You got a name to go with that face?"

"Y-Yeah, sorry, where are my manners.. I'm Yuichi. Yuichi Usagi." Leo stuck his good arm out to shake his hand, "Leo. Leonardo Hamato. Pleased to meet cha."

"Hamato..? Like.. The Hamato brothers?" Leo perked up a little, "Oh? We got a name 'round here or somethin'..?" Yuichi shook his head, "No no, just.. You guys were a big thing back home, everyone in my village knew about you guys savin' people. Didn't expect to find you all the way out here is all." Leo looked a little confused, it'd been a handful of years before he'd done anything heroic.. But people still talked about them? That was kind of cool… Raph came out of the store and started putting his stuff away in the pouches strapped to his saddle. "Well Yuichi, it was a pleasure meeting' you. Not sure how long you plan to be here but if you need anythin' we live just down the road here up on brasshill." He picked his bag back up fastening it and hopping up. Yuichi looked surprised, "Wait- Brasshill? I'm stayin' with my auntie who lives on that road. She's also a rabbit. Leo gasped, "You're related to Nonanoka??? Dude! She's the best! Oh y'all gotta come over sometime then, we'll have a nice get together, tell her Leon's got somethin for her when you see her alright? Shes got our line if you ever need us." Yuichi nodded a little and gave them a little wave as they headed off towards the end of town, fixing the hat on his head and stuffing his ears back into it to get them out of the way.

Once they were back home Raph carried everything inside while Leo took the horses back to their stables, then headed inside once they were back safe. He opened the door being met with Mikey coming down the stairs, he must've heard Raph come in and wanted to see what all they got. "Heya mike" He said giving his hat a little wave before he hung it up, "Leoooo! You're back already??"

"Yeah, Raphie was in a bit of a rush I guess, he never likes to take long you know that" Mikey nodded a little and gave Leo a quick hug, "Well when you get everythin' put away I wanna go for a ride too!" Leo gave Mikey's shell a little pat, "As long as the suns out and Raphie don't mind stayin' with Don. I think he can be bribed though" He gave Mikey a little wink and moved his head to gesture to the kitchen where Raph was emptying the two big bags of food. Mikey peeked past Leo to see the fruit basket on the table now full of lemons and oranges. His eyes lit up as he got an idea, by now Leo was pretty good at getting Mikey to have ideas he thinks are original despite Leo being the one to plant the idea in his head. Mikey slowly walked into the kitchen with his hands behind his back as if he was hiding something, "Heya Raphie, how was the store? Y'all have a good time?" Raph glanced over to him and shrugged, "As good as going into town gets I guess, Leo made a friend I think, the nephew of nona-"

"Nonanoka has relatives in the sates? I thought she said all her family was back in Japan??"

"Must be vistin' or somethin, seemed nice enough tho.." Mikey scooted over climbing onto Raph's back to peer over his shoulder, "Ooooo, we outta bake nona somethin' maybe a pie? We do have a buncha apples now…"

"That's a good idea Mike" Leo said as he sat at the table, he reached for his satchel but then it moved- Everyone's eyes turned to look at the bag, "That- Wasn't just me right?" Leo asked hesitantly, both Raph and Mikey shook their heads as they watched the bag. Leo felt an odd sense, it wasn't dread, he didn't get a bad feeling, but something was making his anxiety go off the charts- He took a deep breath and slowly opened the bag,

"Mew!"

Leos eyes widened as a small kitten, maybe the size of Leos hand, wobbled out of his bag. It was orange with lighter colored stripes. It looked up at Leo and mewed again, tilting its head a little and glancing around to the others. Raphs eyes grew at least ten times seeing that little cat look his way, "Leo- How in the- Where do you even get a cat??"

"I didn't?? I don't- I didn't go anywhere-!" He slowly reached his hand out and pet the cat, it leaned into his hand starting to purr, "I mean I set my bag down to say hi to the new guy- Maybe this lil guy smelled somethin sweet and snuck in..? There are a few strays in that town…"

"Well- Put it back-!"

"Raph!! I'm surprised at you! Look at this sweet lil thing-" Mikey carefully picked the cat up to inspect it after getting off Raph's back, "Hey there lil one, you hitched a ride with the right guy, we'll take good care a' you.." Raph sighed a little, he was too tired for this and knew it was a loosing argument trying to talk them out of keeping the cat. "If we keep her we'll need to go stock up on food, and a bed, and a litter box n litter and a collar- It's a lot of work and on top of runnin' the farm and all out other animals-"

"Her?" Leo asked, Raph nodded, "Yeah can't ya tell she's a girl? She's a month old, maybe a month n a half- What? Why are y'all lookin' at me like that-? I like animals alright? Just- Make sure she don't get outside before we get a collar on her… I'm gonna go bring Dee some food before I start cleanin' up for the night." Leo nodded and looked back at the kitten, "She's so cute- How'd a miss somethin' that sweet sneakin' into my bag hahah.. She's gonna need a name too... Hmm" Mikey set her back on the table, "Let's see... Pumpkin? Cause she's orange? Or... Cinnamon?" "That might be a good name for a horse but she's a much lighter orange.. This lil lady needs a real good name.." "Maybe a snack will help us come up with somethin good! I've been cravin a toasted PB&J, you want one?" Leo chuckled as he was playing with the kitten, "Yeah, make it two if ya would" "Yessir! You want strawberry, marmalade or elderberry jam?" Leo perked up a little, "Wait, say that again.." "Uh.. You want strawberry, marmalade or elderberry jam?" "Marmalade..?" He looked over at the open cabinet, the jar Mikey pulled was filled with a light orange color, he looked back down the to cat, "Marmalade?" She tilted her head a little, it got her attention it seems. "So that's the one you want? ...Leo..? Leeoooo?" He snapped back to reality (ope there goes gravity) and nodded. "Yeah.. I think that's perfect."

[twoidiotwriters1]

The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!! Here is Aphrodite -Danny Words: 2,443 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

XIV: Bonding With the Girls

Hazel's a sweetheart... but if Ara catches her again staring at her like she stole her favorite candy, they will have a problem.

"Well," Ara thinks grumpily, "if Nico had taken her to our camp, it'd be her dating Leo instead—I didn't even like him at first!"

She's not sure that's true, though. When Leo showed up she had no time for romance, but no matter what Ara would've fallen for him. Her fate was written in stone. So why is she feeling like she stole him from Hazel? 

"Hey," she speaks quietly. "Just so you know... I don't want Nico to die."

Hazel sighs. "Percy told me what happened between you two. I understand."

"But I do trust him," Ara eyes her intently. "I'm sorry if I don't show it much. He... he was my friend, I wouldn't wish bad things on him. I'm sorry about Leo as well."

Hazel looks up like a deer in headlights. "What?" The girl gulps. "I mean, why are you sorry?"

"Well, I'm the General," Ara shrugs. "I should keep my army in line. Leo shouldn't bully Frank, I told him not to do it again."

Hazel's shoulders drop with relief. "Oh! Yeah... thanks."

"I want us to get along," Ara bumps her shoulder against hers, which causes Hazel to stumble sideways. "If there's anything else you'd like to talk about, I'm right here."

"Sure!" Hazel smiles, but it looks forced.

"You know, boys stress me out faster than anyone else," Ara tells the rest of the group. "Feels good to be working with you three today."

"But you made peace with Percy yesterday!" Annabeth exclaims.

Ara smiles. "Percy's my brother. I have to call him annoying no matter what."

Her friend chuckles. "Makes sense..."

Ara forgets she wasn't always Percy's sister, she met Annabeth first. But she doesn't feel like she belongs in camp as much as before, and when she's in New York, it doesn't feel right without Percy. Something's missing.

She was friends with Annabeth, now she is Percy's sister, but also the General... Neither here nor there, none of those to their full potential.

The girl stops and points forward. "Our lady in white."

"The ghost," Annabeth squints.

"That's not a ghost," Hazel tries to focus her gaze. "No kind of spirit glows that brightly."

Piper begins to cross the street without saying a word.

"Piper!"

"We'd better follow her," Hazel hurries.

By the time they reach her, Ara recognizes the woman. "Awesome," she groans.

Piper makes a face. "Do we have to?"

The ghostly apparition leaves them no choice as it floats towards them and forms fully. "I'm so glad you're here," Aphrodite beams. "War is coming. Bloodshed is inevitable. So there's really only one thing to do."

"Uh... and that is?"

"Why, have tea and chat, obviously. Come with me!"

The last time Ara had tea with her mother, she received the worst news ever, so to say she isn't looking forward to this is an understatement.

"Oh, my sweet girls," the goddess sighs. "I do love Charleston! The weddings I've attended in this gazebo—they bring tears to my eyes. And the elegant balls in the days of the Old South. Ah, they were lovely. Many of these mansions still have statues of me in their gardens, though they called me Venus."

"Which are you? Venus or Aphrodite?" Annabeth questions.

"Annabeth Chase, you've grown into quite a beautiful young lady. You really should do something with your hair, though. And, Hazel Levesque, your clothes—"

"My clothes?" Hazel examines herself.

"Mother! You're embarrassing us," Piper huffs.

"Well, I don't see why. Just because you don't appreciate my fashion tips, Piper, doesn't mean the others won't. I could do a quick makeover for Annabeth and Hazel, perhaps silk ball gowns like mine—"

"I'll get clothes for them later," Ara intervenes. "Can we please move on?"

Aphrodite cups her cheek. The lavender scent coming out of her soothes the young girl. "I like your eyeliner today, so creative!"

"I..." Ara blushes. "Makeup cheers me up." 

If she'd known they'd be talking to Aphrodite, she would've put less effort into her looks. Blame it on the teenage urge to rebel against her mother.

"To answer your question, Annabeth, I am both Aphrodite and Venus. Unlike many of my fellow Olympians, I changed hardly at all from one age to the other. In fact, I like to think I haven't aged a bit! Love is love, after all, whether you're Greek or Roman. This civil war won't affect me as much as it will the others."

"We're not in a war yet, my lady," Hazel replies.

"Oh, dear Hazel. Such optimism, yet you have heartrending days ahead of you. Of course war is coming. Love and war always go together. They are the peaks of human emotion! Evil and good, beauty and ugliness. That's what I told Ara—and why she became the daughter of Olympus!"

She's never shared the reasons why she became a daughter of Olympus with anyone except Lily and Leo. Ara can feel Annabeth's eyes on her, so she gets back on track. "So could you, uh, elaborate on what those heartrending days may bring to us?"

"Well, Annabeth could give you some idea," the goddess replies. "I once promised to make her love life interesting. And didn't I?"

"Interesting, is a mild way of putting it," Annabeth replies tensely.

"Well, I can't take credit for all your troubles, but I do love twists and turns in a love story. Oh, all of you are such excellent stories—I mean, girls. You do me proud!" Aphrodite pats Ara's cheek. "You're so brave!"

"Mother, is there a reason you're here?" Piper insists.

"Hmm? Oh, you mean besides the tea? I often come here. I love the view, the food, the atmosphere—you can just smell the romance and heartbreak in the air, can't you? Centuries of it. Do you see that rooftop balcony? We had a party there the night the American Civil War began. The shelling of Fort Sumter."

"That's it! The island in the harbor," Annabeth snaps her fingers. "That's where the first fighting of the Civil War happened. The Confederates shelled the Union troops and took the fort." 

"Oh, such a party! A string quartet, and all the men in their elegant new officers' uniforms. The women's dresses—you should've seen them! I danced with Ares—or was he Mars? I'm afraid I was a little giddy. And the beautiful bursts of light across the harbor, the roar of the cannons giving the men an excuse to put their arms around their frightened sweethearts!"

"You're talking about the beginning of the bloodiest war in U.S. history. Over six hundred thousand people died—more Americans than in World War One and World War Two combined—"

"And the refreshments! Ah, they were divine. General Beauregard himself made an appearance. He was such a scoundrel. He was on his second wife, then, but you should have seen the way he looked at Lisbeth Cooper—"

"Mother!" Piper scares a few pigeons away from the table by throwing them bread.

"Yes, sorry. To make the story short, I'm here to help you, girls. I doubt you'll be seeing Hera much. Your little quest has hardly made her welcome in the throne room. And the other gods are rather indisposed, as you know, torn between their Roman and Greek sides. Some more than others. I suppose you've told your friends about your falling-out with your mother?"

She's looking at Annabeth when she says this. Now is her friend's turn to blush.

"Falling-out?" Hazel frowns.

"An argument. It's nothing."

"Nothing! Well, I don't know about that. Athena was the most Greek of all goddesses. The patron of Athens, after all. When the Romans took over... oh, they adopted Athena after a fashion. She became Minerva, the goddess of crafts and cleverness. But the Romans had other war gods who were more to their taste, more reliably Roman—like Bellona—"

"Reyna's mom," Piper says.

"Yes, indeed. I had a lovely talk with Reyna a while back, right here in the park. And the Romans had Mars, of course. And later, there was Mithras—not even properly Greek or Roman, but the legionnaires were crazy about his cult. I always found him crass and terribly nouveau dieu, personally. At any rate, the Romans quite sidelined poor Athena. They took away most of her military importance. The Greeks never forgave the Romans for that insult. Neither did Athena."

"The Mark of Athena," Annabeth leans forward. "It leads to a statue, doesn't it? It leads to... to the statue."

"You are clever, like your mother," Aphrodite smiles. "Understand, though, your siblings, the children of Athena, have been searching for centuries. None has succeeded in recovering the statue. In the meantime, they've been keeping alive the Greek feud with the Romans. Every civil war... so much bloodshed and heartbreak... has been orchestrated largely by Athena's children."

"That's..." Annabeth pauses.

"Romantic?" Aphrodite sighs dreamily. "Yes, I supposed it is."

"But... The Mark of Athena, how does it work? Is it a series of clues, or a trail set by Athena—"

"Hmm. I couldn't say. I don't believe Athena created the Mark consciously. If she knew where her statue was, she'd simply tell you where to find it. No... I'd guess the Mark is more like a spiritual trail of bread crumbs. It's a connection between the statue and the children of the goddess. The statue wants to be found, you see, but it can only be freed by the most worthy."

"And for thousands of years, no one has managed."

"Hold on. What statue are we talking about?" Piper questions.

"Oh, I'm sure Annabeth can fill you in. At any rate, the clue you need is close by: a map of sorts, left by the children of Athena in 1861—a remembrance that will start you on your path, once you reach Rome. But as you said, Annabeth Chase, no one has ever succeeded in following the Mark of Athena to its end. There you will face your worst fear—the fear of every child of Athena. And even if you survive, how will you use your reward? For war or for peace?"

"This map," Annabeth holds onto the edge of her seat, "where is it?"

"Guys!" Hazel gasps.

Giant eagles are coming down to where they are. Aphrodite barely glances up before continuing her conversation. "Oh, the map is at Fort Sumter, of course. It looks like the Romans have arrived to cut you off. I'd get back to your ship in a hurry if I were you. Would you care for some tea cakes to go?" 

"No, but thanks for the help, Lady Aphrodite," Ara gets up and bows.

Piper, Hazel, and Annabeth leave their seats in a hurry, but before Ara can also leave, Aphrodite speaks up. "Janus is looking for you."

The girl comes to a halt and turns to her mother in panic. "What?"

"Don't be rash," is all the goddess tells her before vanishing.

Three eagles deposit a trio of Roman demigods on the dock, one of them is Octavian.

"Surrender to Rome!" He squeals.

"Fat chance, Octavian," Hazel draws out her sword.

Ara stares at the boys like they're gum on her shoe. She doesn't want to fight them, but gods, Octavian is so annoying, she might have trouble not running through him with Almighty.

"Octavian," Piper walks forward with her hands up. "What happened at camp was a setup. We can explain—"

"Can't hear you! Wax in our ears—standard procedure when battling evil sirens. Now, throw down your weapons and turn around slowly so I can bind your hands."

"Did Nico bring this one back?" Ara asks with annoyance. "'Cause he sounds like a priest from the Dark Ages."

"Let me skewer him," Hazel says through gritted teeth. "Please."

"I think that would make us look bad," Ara turns to Annabeth. "Any ideas?"

Annabeth scans the scene in a fraction of a second, running through their options quicker than Ara can. Strategic thinking was Lily's thing back in camp, but before Lily, Ara had Annabeth.

"Tell them you surrender," Annabeth concludes.

With her hands up, Ara turns her back on Octavian. Someone seizes her wrists to tie them behind her back and snatches the compass from her.

"Well?" Octavian shouts to the rest of her group, making her skin crawl.

Annabeth throws her dagger into the water... where Percy mentioned he'd be. Octavian ducks behind Ara, using her as a shield. "What was that for? I didn't say toss it! That could've been evidence. Or spoils of war!"

Annabeth smiles and shrugs. Octavian does a terrible job binding Ara's hands and points his weapon at Piper and Hazel.

"You other two, put your weapons on the dock. No funny bus—"

When water bursts all around them, Ara tackles Octavian and falls over. She pushes her arms under her legs and picks up Almighty, holds it between her hands, and the blade materializes cutting through the ropes around her wrists like they're Play-Doh. She stands using the sword to support herself.

Percy's standing next to her, she didn't even hear him erupt from the water. "You okay?"

Ara tosses away the remains of the rope and turns her sword back into a compass. "He thought two guys were enough to fight us. I'm insulted."

"They were three."

"Octavian doesn't count."

Percy nods and looks at Annabeth, then raises one hand, holding her dagger. "You dropped this."

Annabeth runs up to him and hugs him, she's glowing scarlet. "I love you!"

Ara smiles. It's good, having Percy and Annabeth with her in times like this. They make her feel safe no matter what. "You two are adorable."

"Guys," Hazel urges them, though she's happy too. "We need to hurry."

"Get me out of here! I'll kill you!" Octavian shrieks from the water.

"Tempting," Percy responds.

"What?" Octavian shouts, holding onto one of his guards to float.

"He's got wax in his ears," Ara informs her brother.

"Go figure," Percy sighs, then turns to Octavian and screams. "Nothing!" He walks back to the ship. "Let's go, guys."

"Just so we're clear!" Ara screams. "We did try to surrender! My brother just likes dramatic entrances, it's a shame you got caught in it!" She blows a kiss. "Toodles!"

"We can't let them drown, can we?" Hazel asks as they climb on board.

"They won't, I've got the water circulating around their feet. As soon as we're out of range, I'll spit them ashore."

"Nice," Piper chuckles. "You Jacksons are great."

"Annabeth too," Ara elbows her.

Annabeth manages a smile before she starts to give orders. "Piper, get below. Use the sink in the galley for an Iris-message. Warn Jason to get back here. Hazel, go find Coach Hedge and tell him to get his furry hindquarters on deck."

"Right!"

"Ara, Percy—We need to get this ship to Fort Sumter."

"On it!" Ara pushes Percy forward. "Just like in the sea of monsters, Nemo! But this time, you'll be my assistant."

He smirks. "So I'll have more fun, then."

"Annabeth, let us know when you spot Jason or Octavian's group!"

"You got it!"

Ara and Percy work in unison, and the ship sails off to the Fort.

Next Chapter –>

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[taperwolf]

A thrift store find that I didn't buy, because it's more esoteric than even I could manage to use, and I'm trying not to accumulate large useless things:

This is a Muntz Stereo-Pak player. This particular model is the home version; Stereo-Pak was the first prerecorded magnetic tape format for car audio, released in 1962, and a precursor to the 8-track tape. Music came in cartridges, inside of which would be a long loop of 4-track tape; on the tape would be two streams of music, with left and right channels for each.

You're meant to slide your tape cartridge up against the magnetic read head inside, guided by the brass grooves on the top. I haven't read anywhere that there were different sizes of cartridges, but the different lines on the face and the lack of hard guides suggests that to me. Once it's in place, one of the levers on the right flips a rubber pinch roller up to pull the tape past the head, playing back the stereo tracks. The other lever is a switch that pops the tape head between its upper and lower position, so you change it to change which tracks are playing.

(There was prerecorded audio for cars before then, because some loons decided to install phonographs. Chrysler's "Highway Hi-Fi" (1956-'59), for example, played special 16⅔ RPM records. For obvious reasons, there were problems with skipping, and the higher-pressure tone arms that tried to alleviate that wore the records out faster.)

The format and the players were developed for Earl "Madman" Muntz, an LA businessman known for an eccentric public persona and oddball marketing campaigns (inspiring such successors as "Go See Cal" Worthington and the "Crazy Eddie" electronics chain in New York). He started out with used car dealerships but his real love was electronics; he started Muntz TV in 1947, and was the first to sell a TV set for less than $100, new. He was a self-taught electrical engineer, and got his TVs to be so cheap through a technique still today called Muntzing. He'd decided that most engineers were designing conservatively, building redundancies and safety margins into their devices, so when his employees presented him with a prototype, he'd go at it with a pair of wire cutters. He'd start just snipping parts out until the thing stopped working — and then tell the engineer, "Well, I guess you have to put that last part back in."

(His TVs were fine in the cities, where big stations had strong signals, but worked quite poorly out in areas where the signals were weak; the parts he'd remove were the ones that boosted performance out there. This wasn't by accident, though; his target market was the city dweller with limited funds, and Muntz was content to let RCA and Zenith and such have the high performance market.)

Anyway, Muntz TV went bankrupt in 1959 after various hardships, and reorganized without "Madman" at the helm. (You may be able to make out the note under the logo on the player that Muntz Stereo is not affiliated with Muntz TV.). Muntz himself was still managing to do well with cars and consumer electronics, so he decided to combine the two with the Stereo-Pak. He had a great deal of success for a while with it, but it was later outcompeted by the 8-track player (which won economically because it used less tape to store the music and had a simpler mechanism, and became hugely popular once Ford started offering the players preinstalled). Muntz ran the company that put commercial recordings on the tapes, and that led to probably his biggest unforseen financial problem with these. See, there'd be the new big radio hit, the new big famous musical group, and he'd rush their album out to all the dealers — and when the new hotness inevitably became yesterday's news, the dealers would send the unsold tapes back and expect to exchange them, straight across, for the next new big hit.

[noellewrxtes]

For the WIP ask game, I'm asking 9, 15, and 17!!! <3

hello, thank you for asking!! <3

9. What’s the biggest reason this project is still a WIP?

no time and adhd is the answer for most of my wips, but some of them i've hit pretty major writer's block on. aftermath in particular i was stuck on forever because i couldn't write a final scene that felt satisfying to me and i finally realized that the beginning was throwing off everything after. i've also been stuck on a james bond au i thought would be hilarious to write but i can't think of a good plot for it so it just sits in my docs.

15. What has been the easiest thing about working on this WIP so far?

oh, gosh, i don't think there's ever one single aspect of writing a wip that is consistently easy for me, so it changes depending on the project. i won't go down the list of all of my wips because it's way too long but for the wheel of fortune (my superhero au) the entire plot came to me very quickly, which is extremely rare. i just sat down to write a handful of scenes that were stuck in my head and after a few days of that i realized i basically had the entire story. usually i have to work to make everything make sense and flow from point a to point b in logical ways, but that one just came together on its own.

i have another wip i call heliocentric that's set in an original au that i've slowly just built up over time and creating that world has been surprisingly fun for me because big original worlds are not something i typically enjoy creating, but everything has just come to me very easily with that one. of course the downside is now i have so much content i want to include that doesn't really have a place in the storyn itself.

17. What POV is your WIP written from?

okay, this is actually always a struggle for me because i go into most of my new wips blind. i just have a cool idea and a handful of scenes and interactions that won't leave my brain, and so i write those and a lot of times they're not in the same pov as the others. like, i'm not against changing povs throughout a narrative (clearly) but i want to do it in ways and places that make sense and not, like, 500 words of one pov then 200 of someone else's then 450 of another because i feel like that's distracting. so i struggle with this. i'm actually having a really hard time with this exact problem in both new york is faster than yesterday and as time goes by because i want to change povs every three paragraphs and i just can't do that. bruises was written as a side piece to another wip i'm working on specifically so i could have an excuse to write flash's pov because the whole story is otherwise peter's pov.

anyway, if one character is hiding something significant it's easy for me to stick to one pov so that character can keep their secrets, but otherwise this is very very difficult for me.

[cerastes]

From yesterday’s Def Jam stream:

1. We finally beat the Danny Trejo boss fight. Yes, the Trejo boss fight:

His main gimmick is that he regens HP faster than you can beat it out of him so you have to reduce his max HP through immense punishment first. He also has the Superman Punch which just does 33% of your HP.

2. The Holy Spirit, the name of our first finisher (Guillotine DDT, “The Father”, Powerbomb, “The Son”, and Springboard, “The Holy Spirit”), because the character we’re playing is an Amish big boy named Jebediah (in Arc 3, he’s now Wrathful Jebediah due to his combat prowess) that accidentally escaped Amish containment in Pennsylvania and thought D-Mob was Slothful Jeremiah being taken by the cops, so he rescued him, only to be thrust right into the violent criminal underworld of Fanfic New York.

3. Fat Joe (another tough boss) was countering absolutely everything so I just started 5Aing him forever and I just laid him out with jabs too fast for him to use counters on. NEVER UNDERESTIMATE JEBEDIAH’S FRAMES.

We ended the stream by defeating a fan favorite boss:

Xzibit. No one’s ride will ever be pimped again. Also Jebediah is bald with sideburns and looks like a thumb, we gave him the Emiya Shirou fit (+ timbs)

Yes, the clothing store is called SUS, get it out of your system.

We’re about halfway through the game, so next stream we should fight Snoop Dogg. STAY TUNED.

[seacavepuzzle]

The Road to Yesterday (1925)

The Crossword Puzzle Book, the first (and for some while the only) publication of the upstart New York publishing house of Simon & Schuster, had not only introduced a new type of word game to Americans earlier that year [1924] but also touched off a sort of national crossword puzzle mania. [Bertha Mahony’s Bookshop for Boys and Girls] had at first stocked just a few copies of the novelty book (which came with its own “free” Venus pencil). “Very soon,” however, as Mahony reported, “the supply gave out and the book was reordered. Its fame spread fast (faster than The Plastic Age or So Big)” — two other bestsellers that year.

Leonard S. Marcus, Minders of Make-Believe

[play-now-my-lord]

the flesh made word

Emerging new illness causes sufferers' thoughts to become literal in the form of scrolls. Called "the writing bug" by sufferers, "Unknown Graphogenetic Agent 2022" or "UGA-22" by scientists, symptoms include projectile vomiting of blood from lacerated esophagus in attempt to pass scribal bezoar, intrusions into brain and organs, dry unproductive cough, severe fever. Bezoar composition unknown, with chemical analysis pointing to novel pigment only marginally soluble in oil or water for ink and base composition of tanned hide of unknown animal, presumed to be a mammal.

"We thought we were looking at a virus but this seems to be the work of something even farther from our framework of 'alive' or 'dead'"

Government insists on "positive outlook." Biden administration seeks to promote infection of as many as 50 million Americans from all walks of life. Protests against anticipated new safety recommendations already said to gather crowds in Houston, Boston, New York City, Los Angeles. Children below the age of 5 are not known to be vulnerable at this time. No change to school schedules is expected to be announced.

We talked to a theologian to get his perspective on the unknown glyphs discovered among the quasi-Latinate text emerging from our bleeding throats. "I can't read this. I won't. You can't make me." We talked to an AI expert about what this mass graphogenesis might mean for the future of intellectual property. "Nothing like this has been seen since Gutenberg committed the Bible to print" Faith healers are already stepping in to fill the vacuum. Exposure to legible bezoars suspected but not known to spread infection, along with likely fomite vector. One Facebook group promotes the use of ketamine sourced from horse tranquilizers to achieve a state of "cognitive invulnerability". We asked ten doctors about this use of ketamine.

Mass burnings of graphogenetic bezoars scheduled by volunteer organizations nationwide. Supreme Court to hear urgent case by group denied right to burn bezoars by Michigan state government. Sources close to the court suggest no stay will be granted.

"MRIs and other tests suggest infiltration of graphogenetic bezoars into vital tissue faster than existing models of the disease can account for" Everyday people are optimistic, citing belief in personal immunity, willingness of normal people to fill the vacuum created by the state and federal government, faith in a higher power. Projected death toll remains light, with low estimates of 500,000 and high estimates of 3.5 million. Dow remains bullish with S&P up .5 points since yesterday.

[tjalexandernyc]

I went to my very first industry conference yesterday (shout-out to my southern and NE regional independent bookstores) and when I tell you how LARGE my head became. There were lovely people recognizing me on sight. Wonderful booksellers asking me to sign ARCS. Wanting photos??? With me???? I've never felt closer to being an actual rockstar.

And then I caught the train back to New York and there is literally nothing that will bring you back down to earth faster than being an Amtrak passenger.

[doctorguilty]

Gah

I really hope I stop being sick before my partner gets here :') everyone else in the house got over their stuff, they even got antibiotics. I didn't think to go to the doctor because the first cold did seem to clear up, but then I got hit with the second one just days after (which I thought was allergies at first..), probably a sinus infection, and this one is more stubborn. I won't have time to go before I go get my partner in new york in a few days. There's just nothing I can do about this stuff. I barely leave the house, it's usually once a week on average, sometimes less than that. But my grandparents are out frequently and will bring stuff home and make no effort not to spread germs, they won't wear masks, won't stop open mouth coughing everywhere, and so on... So it's nearly impossible for me to be getting these infections on my own. And they get better faster. Everyone does because I'm the one that's immunocompromised. It sucks. I don't want to get my partner sick. But I guess they've been out and about and working and whatnot, and doing fine so.. maybe it won't affect them at all..

In April I finally see the rheumatologist..

Oh also I haven't gotten groceries in ages because my grandparents leave for the store without without me so I'm just running out of stuff to eat again -_- I've been really hungry basically all week and that's probably not helping me recover but. What can I do. Yesterday's meals were a bowl of edamame, half the small loaf of bread I made, and instant Ramen. All the food groups, surely

If I had more unobstructed use of the kitchen I could in theory like, make an actual meal entirely from scratch but, I don't usually, and it's too much to do all in my room with my hot plate. Also it's really really hard to scrounge up the energy to so that anyway when I've been hungry and tired.. and sick for multiple weeks

My life sucks dick and balls