#that is a lavender marriage even if they don’t know it

[strawberrystepmom]

fellow secret lives of Mormon wives watchers: Whitney is 100% a girl kisser right?????

[trickostars]

I just drew this awhile ago but uh. Hypoparents! A thing now

[beloveds-embrace]

Part two of the Lavender Marriage au! Considered adding smut to this but I chickened out lmao if the ending is abrupt it’s because of that 🙂‍↕️

The four men are fuming.

Since witnessing the lip-lock battle, they’ve been stewing in barely-contained anger. Every time they see you- on your porch in one of those sweet sundresses, humming to yourself as you water the flower boxes or hand them freshly-baked cookies- they’re consumed by a burning desire to tell you the “truth” about your cheating husband. But the ring on your finger, and your seemingly cheerful demeanor, stop them every time.

Still, they’re restless. It’s wrong to let you live in ignorance like this. But also, it’s not their business even if they want it- even if they want you. The thought of ruining your cozy life, despite your husband’s unfaithfulness, isn’t an easy one to swallow.

It becomes easier to think of admitting it all to you with each passing day, though.

“He’s walking around like he’s done nothing wrong! The bastard. How does she not see it?” Kyle grumbles, gesturing wildly with his tea mug. He grits his teeth, watching your husband saunter inside the house without offering to help you. He just puts down a plate of steak Kyle knows is too fucking cooked. Heathen. Bastard. Ughhh.

“She’s either blind or loyal to a fault,” Johnny agrees, sprawled out on the couch, looking far more despondent than usual. “Breaks ma bloody heart, lads. She’s makin’ us lemonade an’ cookies, an’ he’s aff canoodlin’ wiith some bloke under her roof.”

Simon grunts, his eyes narrowing as he joins Kyle’s side. “What kind of man cheats on her? She’s…” He trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence, but everyone knows what he means: She’s perfect.

Meanwhile, John leans back in his chair, puffing thoughtfully on a cigar. He’s been unusually quiet, though it’s clear he’s just as agitated, fist clenching on his lap. Finally, he speaks, his tone commanding.

“We wait until he leaves,” he says, much to the others’ dismay. “We don’t meddle now. If she finds out on her own, we’ll be there for her. Until then, we keep our mouths shut.”

The others grumble, but they nod in agreement. For now.

You, meanwhile, are oblivious to the internal warfare raging next door. Your days are filled with your usual routine of pretending to be the dutiful wife, gossiping with the neighborhood ladies, sweetly cooing about your hardworking husband, and pretending you don’t know they will gosspi about you after you leave. On the way, you also deliver a basket of homemade muffins to your handsome neighbors.

Such good men; they didn’t even yet know they were your little kitchen rats to taste-test everything you make for the annual baking contest. This year, that bitch Beatrice will not win and you swore it.

“Oh, these look incredible,” Johnny says when you hand over the basket. He flashes you a cheeky grin, and you can’t help but smile back, cheeks warm. “Y’know, if yer husband does not appreciate all this, I might just have ta steal ye away, lass.”

You laugh, waving off the comment as a joke, but the other three men go rigid. “Not the time, mate.” Kyle mutters, elbowing Johnny, though you really don’t notice. Their house is coming along so nicely and so fast; the perks of having handy men as its owners, you suppose.

Later that day, while you’re trimming the hedges of your precious little garden , you spot Simon working on their roof. You catch him staring at you- not that you blame him, you are wearing your one of cutest skirt and top- and you give him a small wave. He almost falls off the roof even if he does wave back, so you decide to just focus on the damned hedges and hopefully avoid any more incidents.

They’re so distracted by your lovely self that they almost forget their rage toward your husband. Almost. Because just as Price and Johnny are helping you carry bags of groceries back to your house, your husband- traitorous bastard- walks out of the house all patient and whistling.

“Be back soon, honey! You know how long my business trips take.” your husband calls over his shoulder, giving you a quick wink before he hops into a car and drives off.

Unbelievable.

The tension is palpable. John glares. Johnny looks like he’s seconds from sprinting after the car. Simon mutters, “Unbelievable,” under his breath from where he and Kyle are watching from the window.

“Oh dear,” you sigh, though on the inside you are very happy. You know your husband’s boyfriend has a nice surprise picked for him- you helped get it, after all- and now you have the house all to yourself again. Perfect.

You turn to John, batting your lashes up at him and it is as if all his anger melts away. “Be my guests this evening, John? I’d be terribly lonely, all by myself in this big house.”

John really, truly, fucking hates your husband for doing this to a precious, lovely thing like you. But at least it means they’ll be the ones in your company.

“Alright, doll,” he nods, fond as he watches the grin stretch across your face. “Let me just go tell the muppets, then we’ll come by and help.”

“There’s no need-“

“I insist, sweetheart.”

That evening, as promised, the four of them come by to “keep you company” and help. You’re in your element, flitting around the kitchen in an apron as you serve drinks and chatter away, oblivious to the tension radiating from the group. You are practically glowing; your pretty flowers were complimented and the food looks so good you can’t wait to post it on your instagram.

Simon leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring daggers into the walls- into the portraits of you and your husband. Kyle is poking at one of the cookies you made like it’s done something to offend him, his mind adrift. Johnny’s chopping away at vegetables, muttering under his breath and wishing it was something else under his knife. And John? He’s nursing his whiskey like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. It might as well be. You talk so nicely about your husband and what he’s customized for you in the kitchen, still so unaware of the truth.

John contemplates just telling you right then and there, but then it happens.

The front door swings open, and in strolls your husband, laughing loudly with none other than his boyfriend- the one the group saw kissing. They’re holding hands, both grinning like idiots.

“Sorry we’re back so soon!” your husband calls out, completely unbothered by the fact that your house is now hosting four very large, very angry military men. “I forgot my wallet-”

The rest of his sentence dies in his throat when he notices the four men staring at him, expressions ranging from pure disbelief to murderous rage. His boyfriend freezes too, glancing nervously between you and the men like he’s walked into a firing squad.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Johnny practically shouts, pointing between the two men with the knife. “You’ve got the audacity to bring him here? Here?”

Kyle crushes the cookie when he slams his fist on the table, standing abruptly. “Under her roof? After all she’s done for you? Again?”

Simon doesn’t say a word because he truly doesn’t need to- he’s just staring, fists clenched, practically vibrating with barely-contained fury.

John finally speaks, his voice low and dangerous, pulling your surprised self against his side protectively. “You’ve got some confessing to do.”

Your husband just… blinks, then glances at you. “Wait, you didn’t tell them?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t think it would come up like this.”

“Tell us what?” John demands, his tone sharp. He is still glaring at your husband and the boyfriend

You wave your hand dismissively, like this is the most normal thing in the world with a soft sigh. “Oh, we’re not really married for love, John. It’s just for the benefits- y’know, keeping his parents off his back and mine off mine.”

The room falls silent. Dead silent.

“What?” Simon finally growls, his voice low and dangerous. All this time…

Your husband grins sheepishly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’m gay. This is my boyfriend. He’s great, isn’t he?” He says, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek.

Johnny looks like he’s just been hit with the frying pan the vegetables he’d been chopping was meant to go in. “Yer what?”

Kyle stares at you, wide-eyed. “You knew? This whole time?”

You shrug, popping a cookie into your mouth. Ohh, Beatrice should count her fucking days. “Of course I knew. We planned the whole thing together. It’s not that complicated, really.”

Simon mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.

“Anyways, we do have places to be,” your husband sighs. “I’ll just get my wallet and leave you all be to your date.” When he returns with his wallet a few minutes later, he kisses your forehead. “Bye, love. I snuck some of the cookies too- Beatrice is absolutely not winning this year, trust me.” And then he leaves at last.

John exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You’re married but it’s just… out of necessity, and you’ve just been… pretending to love him?”

“Exactly!” you say brightly, clapping your hands together. “See? Not so hard to understand.”

The four men just stand there, utterly gobsmacked.

“You mean to tell me,” Johnny starts, pointing an accusatory finger at you after placing the knife down. “that we’ve been stewin’ for weeks over a cheatin’ husband that doesn’t even exist?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” you reply with a giggle, pouring a drink. Your eyes widen then. “But you cannot tell anyone here, in this shitty town, about this!”

“We won’t, love, promise.” Kyle groans, slumping back into his chair. “I need a bloody drink.” And then he perks up when you slide him the drink you just made. “…fucking lifesaver you are, love. Thank you.”

Simon just shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.” under his breath.

John sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey in one go. “You’re going to be the death of us, doll.”

You grin, completely unfazed. “Oh, come on, boys. It’s not that bad.”

The four of them exchange a look- one of disbelief, exasperation, and maybe just a hint of relief. Because as much as they’re reeling from the truth, one thing’s clear: you’re technically single. And that, at least, is something they can work with.

[hihomeghere]

Wedding at the End of the World | Five Hargeeves \ F!Reader

Word Count : 3.3k Summary : A reader insert for the episode Wedding at the End of the World. You and Five reminisce on your wedding/proposal before going to Luther and Sloanes wedding. You both go to the wedding with high hopes of a good evening. ( I do not own the Umbrella Academy or any of their characters) Warnings/Tags : Cursing, fluff, alcohol, allusions to sex, mentions of death, use of y/n, Aged up!Five. Not requested.

“How was the bachelor party?” You asked as Five walked into your shared hotel room. He walked over to the bed.

“Wasn’t half bad.” He said with a smug smile. He sunk down onto the mattress untying his shoes. You set your book down on the side table, it wasn’t that interesting anyway. But after stopping the apocalypse twice in the last month you were due some down time. He crawled onto the bed and you accepted him with open arms. At this point in your marriage everything was muscle memory, the way you two always came together. His head rested on your chest, while his arms wrapped around your waist. He relaxed, his whole weight on top of you. Your hand stroked his hair, lightly scratching his scalp.

“You know, I don’t regret anything about our wedding day.” He said looking up at you, “but it was nice to have all my brothers together before Luther’s.” He smiled, kissing your wedding ring. A beautiful art deco style band.

“Five Hargreeves,” You said a smile creeping onto your face, “are you going soft on me?” You chuckled as he scoffed.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy spending time with my brothers?” He rolled his eyes, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Whatever you say, old man.” You kissed his head, closing your eyes.

-

“Where are we going?” You giggled as Five pulled you through the outskirts of a vineyard, circa 1972

“You’ll see.” He hummed, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You rolled your eyes following him blindly. He turned through a stone doorway, letting go of your hand. 

You followed him, walking down sandstone steps onto the lawn. The sun was setting, causing an orange glow to reflect on everything. Lavender bushes lined the lawn, Five stood in the middle, a picnic set out before you. You smiled, racing to meet him. He grinned as you threw yourself into his arms, he spun you lightly, your cream sundress flowing around you.

“What is all this?” You asked, your smile all but splitting your face. 

“Happy anniversary,” he said looking down at you through his lashes. You cocked your head to the side.

“You little,” you hit his shoulder softly, “I thought you forgot.” You shook your head.

“I could never.” He said, a hand resting over his heart. You shoved him, he exaggerated his movements, falling to the ground. You tackled him, straddling him between your legs. “The food is going to get cold.” He said in between your kisses.

“Is that really what you’re thinking about?” You laughed pulling your hair away from your face. You sat up, removing yourself from his lap. You kneel in front of the food display, two glasses with a bottle of champagne, a charcuterie board, and for dessert different fruit tarts. Five began to pour you a glass of champagne as you dug in. From the lawn you could see the sun set over the ocean. The bright turquoise waves crashing against each other. 

“You know,” Five started, you turned to look at him, the golden rays shining on him, “you are the best thing to ever happen to me.” He grinned at you, chuckling to himself. 

“Same here,” you grinned, laying your head on his shoulder, “I wish everyday could be like this.” You sighed contentedly watching the sun disappear into the horizon.

“I can’t promise that, but I can promise to love you everyday with no conditions, if you’ll have me.” He said kissing your head. He moved slightly, slipping his hand behind him to pull a box out of his pocket. 

“Five are you?” You asked sitting up.

“Will you marry me, Y/n?” He asked with a nervous smile on his face, you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

“Yes! Yes! Of course!” You laughed, throwing yourself into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you, laughing with you. He put the ring on your finger, tears slipping past his lashes. You cupped his face, kissing him sweetly. He deepened the kiss, his tongue running across your lower lip.

“You know, I reserved this villa for two more hours.” He whispered, pulling away from you, a lick of fire behind his eyes.

-

“This is officially worse than the apocalypse.” Five mumbles next to you. You hit him softly, grinning. 

“Oh hush.” You say turning back to Sloane and Luther. Sloane looked breathtaking, they both glided on the dance floor. Drawn to each other like magnets. Unable to be apart, always connected to each other in some way.

“Were we ever like that?” Five asked his nose wrinkling in disgust as his arm snuck around your waist, pulling you into his side.

“Who says we aren’t?” You laughed leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder. He kissed your head, sighing as he watched his brother dance with his bride. 

There was no denying how deeply he felt for you. It was no use, he had tried to bottle up the love he felt for you for years! And yet here you were, nestled in his arms. He still couldn’t quite understand how you had fallen for him. You were heaven on earth, a cool drop of water in the apocalypse. You were nothing like him, pure, kind, empathetic, any man's dream girl.

And you had chosen him. A stubborn, egotistical old man who had (at first) brushed you off without a second glance.

You worked hard, breaking down his walls brick by brick. Like those bricks Five had fallen for you, and hard. His heart had long ago been branded yours with a hot iron. He was only so lucky that you had fallen for him just as hard as he had fallen for you. 

“C'mon Mr. Hargreeves,” you said, detaching yourself from his side, “dance with me.” You asked, reaching your hand out. He smiled softly, taking your hand in his. You could ask him to cut out his heart and give it to you on a silver platter and he would do it. 

“How could I resist Mrs. Hargreeves?” He asked his hand returning to its rightful place at your hip, his other hand holding yours. You both swayed gently to the music, your nose nestled into his neck breathing in his aftershave. You never thought your life would be like this, after all the torture and pain you had been through. You never thought you would have a normal life after that. Well, your life with Five wasn’t exactly normal. You were both stuck in your 20 year old bodies after a mishap time traveling, a couple apocalypses under your belts, and a crazy family to boot. 

But it was your life, he was yours, and you were his. You were happy, content, even if the world was going to end. As long as Five was by your side you could face anything, even the end of it all.

“Oh what am I going to do with you?” You chuckle looking into his green eyes. A smile split his face, creeping all the way to his eyes.

“Anything.” He replied simply before capturing your lips against his. You hummed softly, closing your eyes. The song slowly came to an end, and you both retired to your table. 

There, Five made it very clear that he had one goal for the night. He poured a concoction of alcohol into glasses for the both of you, trying to get you as drunk as he was. You were giddy, the booze making you tingly all over. Every time Five would catch your eye you would giggle and shy away from his gaze. He put his hand on your leg, his fingers slowly inching up your thigh. He was trying to find an excuse to get you both out of this reception and back up into your room. He knew in a blink he could get you back in bed, but how to do it without 1. Drawing suspicion and 2. Without having to hear about how rude it was for you both to leave and effectively killing the mood. Unfortunately for Five, his brother had to cock block him.

"Cinco!" Klaus exclaimed as the two looked over. "Mi hermano! And hermana-in-law.” He lowered his voice smiling at you.

"Oh, god," Five said, chewing loudly. "What do you want?" You giggled while sipping your champagne.

"Listen to me," Klaus said, sitting in front of you, "Dad is upstairs right now with a plan to save everything. So what say you and I pop up to the suite for a little chit chat?"

"Are you like Frick and Frack with the old man now?" Five asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at Klaus.

"Y/n help me out! This dad's different," Klaus defended him. "He's a turtle. Hard on the outside, but all cute and wrinkly and occasionally delicious on the inside." Five took a drink of his champagne 

"Klaus?" Five asked.

"Yeah?"

"Old dogs like me and him never change," Five told him. You rolled your eyes, lightly hitting his shoulder. "It’s true! He has never had our best interests at heart. So, my only plan for tonight is to get fucked up beyond all recognition."

"Sure. Have at it," Klaus said, getting up as Five placed a shot inside another drink.

"I shall!" Five exclaimed taking a shot.

“Y/n what do you think?” After not making any leeway with Five, Klaus turned to you.

“Klaus, can’t you just enjoy the party? No apocalypse talk for one night, please.” You smiled lazily, resting your hand on his velvet suit.

“You’re only getting away with this cause you’re cute, you know that right?” He groaned, rolling his eyes. Five recoiled, a disgusted expression on his face.

“Oh please, it’s not like I’m gonna jump your wife’s bones.” He smirked, “Although Y/n….” He trailed off, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Klaus, if you would so kindly walk away before I break your arm.” Five clenched his jaw, Klaus recoiled before walking away. “Why do you humor him?” Five asked as you turned to face him.

“Because he’s your brother, and for the most part he’s a good brother.” You said putting your hand on his shoulder looking into his eyes. He avoided your gaze. You smiled before leaning forward and placed a kiss on his cheek, over his two freckles.

“He better not sit here.” Diego said quite loudly drawing your attention away from Five, which he responded with a whine when your lips left his cheek. “I swear to god he better not sit here.”

“What is he doing here?” Ben added, “Who invited him?” Your eyes caught the elephant in the room. Reginald Hargreeves, your father in law. He gave a weird smile which just made the awkward tension in the room ten times worse. You looked back at Five, who gave you a knowing look before shrugging and taking another shot.

Lila and Diego made their way over him, Lilia apparently looking for an introduction.

“You won’t make me do that, right?” Five asked, taking your hand as you watched the somewhat pleasant interaction.

“Small talk with my in-laws is not on my apocalypse bucket list.” You reassured him, laughing. He smiled, “But if you wanted to go over and talk to him, I wouldn’t make you go alone.” He rolled his eyes staring at you.

“I’d rather lick a cheese grater.” You snickered before stealing one of his champagne flutes and downing it.

-

“What is he doing?” You asked as Reginald got up with a flute and a microphone, “oh my god is he going to give a speech?”

“Dear god, let’s hope the kugelblitz takes us before he starts.” Five mumbled before drinking another flute of champagne. You reached out blindly hitting him on his shoulder, you couldn’t look away from the anticipated train wreck in front of you.

“Sloane ever since you were a little girl, I’ve always known you were exceptionally bright. And although I can’t say I know Luther all that well, from the few moments we have shared, it seems you have found yourself an adequate partner.”

“He just called Luther adequate.” Five snickered a grin plastered on his face, you shushed him not wanting to miss any part of the speech. 

“I acknowledge that as a father I was not without my faults. I hope these shortcomings will be seen as only a rough patch on an otherwise verdant lawn.”

You took Five’s hand, giving him a smile. 

“You know for the most part this isn’t a bad speech.” You whispered, “Remember that wedding we went to in 1986?” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“How could I forget? We killed the groom's uncle after the reception.” He said meeting your eyes, a lick of fire in them.

“See! No one has died at this wedding!” You said the alcohol giving you a false sense of confidence.

“Yet.” He reminded you by holding up his flute for you, you raised your own clinking the two glasses. 

“I’m proud to call you my children. Even those whom I raised in a revenant version of myself.” Five leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. You rubbed his back lightly, gauging his reaction. “I hope that tonight we can create a few special memories, in whatever precious little time we have left.” You looked back over at Five, biting your lip slightly. You had a good run, but like Five you were so tired of running.

“So in closing, the sun rises over a lily field. A mother veiled her lips concealed.” Alison stormed off toward the elevator, “the mourners come in droves of black. To bury what their hearts unpack, with shallow breath and time eclipsed.” You looked over at Viktor who was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. A pain shot through you at his expression. “I pray you miss death's gentle kiss.” He raised his flute to Luther and Sloane.

You sat in silence for a minute, turning your attention back to Five. He had the same pained expression, you grabbed his hand squeezing it. He turned to you, offering you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Diego and Klaus started clapping, “Bravo! Bravo dad!” Klaus said.

“I didn’t think the old man had it in him.” Five whispered to you.

“Guess some old dogs can change.” You offered wrapping your hand around his bicep, pulling yourself closer to him.

“My wife, always the optimist.” He smirked, taking another sip of champagne.

“You love it.” You said resting your cheek on his shoulder.

“That I do.”

You watched as Lila, Diego and Klaus all made their way to the dance floor, Luther and Sloane joining them.

“Come on mister,” you said, pulling yourself to your feet. He rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance before taking your hand as you pulled him onto the dance floor. 

-

Slowly you all made your way out to the courtyard. Five draped his suit jacket over your shoulders as you led him to two chairs. He had definitely met his goal for the night. He was fucked up beyond all recognition. You sat next to him, pulling him back into your chest. His cheeks were rosy, a side effect of all the alcohol. His warm hand rested on your thigh, absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin. While the bottle he had been nursing was clutched tightly against his chest. He rested his head on your shoulder as you looked up at your impending doom. Was it wrong to say it was beautiful? The swirling reds that danced in the dark sky. The orange string lights casted a glow on all of you, illuminating the otherwise dark courtyard. You pulled the bottle away from Five's lips, taking a drink for yourself. He let out a whine as you pulled it towards your lips.

“Hey guys.” Luther said as Sloane and him sat down. You waved to them as Luther leaned over to say something to Viktor. He put a hand on his back before Diego piped up.

“Oh no, no, no, no!” He said as Ben and Klaus walked over to where you were all seated. 

“Klaus, why are you bringing Ben here!” Five said with a slight crack in his voice gesturing at Ben.

“Hear me out!” Klaus said as a very drunk Ben leaned on him adding a little word here and there.

“The brother that you all knew as Ben is gone. And not- I don’t mean our Ben the nice Ben.” He clarified, “I mean this Ben.” He said pointing back to Ben as he put a bottle to his lips. “The asshole he’s gone now.” 

“Klaus what are you talking about?” Luther asked, looking around at all of you.

“And the man that stands in front of you is new, new Ben.” You watched as Klaus shook Ben, Five winced slightly looking at his two brothers. “And he’s one of us, and he’s a member of the team.” Klaus started chuckling, “and he’s part of the family!”

“Part of the family!” Ben yelled in unison

“And as a welcome gift I suggest we throw him off the roof.” Five smirked before you hit his chest. “What was that for?” He asked, dazed looking up at you.

“Five.” You deadpanned 

“Yeah I’ll help.” Diego said, looking at you two.

“Come on!” Klaus said both of them were hanging off each other.

“You know what, you know what.” Luther said pointing at the two men, “He can stay. He can stay.”

“Why?” Diego asked looking up at Luther

“Cause it’s my wedding day, man. Come on, he can stay.” You giggled as Ben and Klaus stumbled over to you all.

“How many times can he pull the ‘It’s my wedding card’” Five asked, rolling his eyes. 

“As many times as he wants babe” You said kissing his head.

“Barf,” Lilia said looking over at you two, “not you love, just the general idea of anyone finding that little turd attractive.” She said pointing at Five.

You shook your head trying to hide your smile. Five recoiled before looking back at you.

“Stop smiling!” He groaned, his brows furrowed, he looked like an angry toddler. At that you could help laughing, you held his face in your hands.

“Oh baby, don't be upset.” You kissed him before kissing all over his face, his cheeks, his forehead, his nose.

“Ooh woah, holy smokes.” Klaus said, looking up at your impending doom. Five reached for the bottle taking another swig.

“Hey you know something?” Luther said, breaking the silence, “tonight is all I ever really wanted.” A smile spread across your face as you looked at your brother in law.

“To get hitched?” Diego asked 

“Just… everybody coming together when it really matters.” He said, you grabbed Five's hand lightly squeezing it, “one big real family.” He kissed your hair, you all knew that Luther was the only one out of the siblings to have the guts to say what he felt. Suddenly Five moved off of you trying to get to his feet, clutching his stomach. He dry heaved as he almost fell onto his face, barely catching himself.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Everyone yelled leaning away from your stumbling husband.

“Oh I think I’m gonna hurl,” he muttered to himself. 

“Go get your man Y/n.” Diego said as you walked over to Five rubbing his back.

“Actually uh,” Five said, breaking away from your grasp, “I think I’m hungry, see ya guys I’m gonna hit the buffet.” He said stretching out his arms before gesturing inside. You sighed as he stumbled toward the building.

“Is he gonna be ok?” Viktor asked, pointing toward Five with his bottle.

You turned back to find all your siblings chuckling softly.

“I better go after him.” You said pointing behind you, “good night guys.” You waved before following Five inside.

“Night y/n.” Diego said, waving at you.

“We know who isn’t getting screwed tonight!” Klaus said loudly, you only flipped him off before heading inside. After your lovely drunk husband. You wouldn’t trade your family for the world.

[deesseshesca]

PAC : How can u express your affection to your partner while having sex ? (18+)

Oh...Today drain me...

Good evening pretty souls ! I am so excited ... IS OFFICIALLY KINKTOBER ! DAY : 17-18

You want to have a more detailed readings (for 2.22$), you can join my Chérie d'Amour (soul tribe)

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PILE 1 

Strenght (reverse), knight of wands (reverse),8 cups, 9 pentacles 

You guys are very photogenic. Your friends love taking pictures of you and may even do it without you knowing. Y’all are very aesthetically pleasing people. On the other hand, y’all can’t not take a good picture to save yourself. You are incapable of finding the angle or even placing the phone properly, worse than boomers for some. Which ends up pissing off your friends. Y’all are not tech savvy. We are lucky you even know how to use your phone. 

The way you show your affection is by having no control on the relationship. Wherever the flow brings y’all, you cool with it. You don’t care for labels and you are down for literally anything. Don’t care and you will never care for the title ‘’ relationship’’, you don’t mind being ‘’just friends’’ forever. You guys can move in together, fuck each other cuddle, go to hopsital appointment and share y’all deepest secret and even convince a kid with no title. You will not have shame or even be scared to explain your situation to people around you because you don’t mind how unorthodox it is. That being said for technicalities, you will allow your partner to explore sexual endeavors with other people. Even allowing them to hold their own independence meaning living in the same house but sleeping in different bedrooms. If y’all share an abundance with each other, you can share a mansion. Like the east side is yours and the south side is his/hers. You will show your affection by holding no taboo against them. They can possess any sex toys; they might  even introduce you to their sex dolls, if they feel like it. Y’all may not even have sex at all… some of y’all is giving lavender marriage. Maybee ? I don’t know ? I have no clear indication of such but the way I am writing it, it sure sounds like it. Another way to show your affection is by  accepting their belief, y’all may have different religion or practice. Lastly you may show your affection  by not expecting anything material from them  (which lowkey breaks one of the principles  of Lavender marriage …). You don’t expect a ring, a car, or even roses on valentine day’s. All things said , it is really a show of going with the flow. If they decide to do it, you don’t mind doing it too. If they dim all the little gestures unnecessary then so do you. Ultimately your ‘’ no pressure’’ attitude is going to be the best way you show affection to them which can simulate their sexual appetite. 

💌 : FIND OUT, How your partner use their fingers in the bedroom ? on Ko-fi.

PILE 2 

Queen swords, 4 swords, 7 pentacles (reverse), 2 pentacles

Y’all are adopted. Y’all were in the system until 10 years old ( max ) then your life took another turn for the best. You always loved your adoptive family. They always welcomed you and poured into you. The whole family is always showering you with gifts, affection and support but you need an answer. You got them, you quickly realize that you dodge the bullet. Your biological family may be very abusive. 

The way you show your affection with your partner in a sexual setting starts with foreplay. You may indulge in giving your full attention to them. You are the perfect boyfriend/girlfriend for nerds. You will let them rant bout all the rules in the new fantasy world in which they are obese about while giving them the ‘’fuck me’’ eyes. You have beautiful brown eyes with stars in them when you are looking at something that you love. Sex apart, they love the way you look at them. You make them feel like the most loved human  being with only a look from you. The appreciation, tenderness, passion all of it in the iris of your eyes is making them love sick. Back to the sex, the way you listen and UNDERSTAND (at least try) make them feel fucking special. You even go as far as engaging in conversation with them which they looooove. Even when you are clumsy with the concept of a subject you don’t get mad when they correct you. Artists would be the perfect pair for you too. Not only are you the perfect muse (we are going to get into it later…) but you are a smart one. You don’t mind diving into the critics of philosopher, you don’t mind debating who is the best musician of the Renaissance, you don’t mind sitting down and letting your partner paint your back when they are overstimulated and you don’t mind listening to your partner singing for hours until they find perfect note. You have the patience of a God and that makes them want to give it all to you. Honestly you love discussing and especially debating because that’s why you turn on. So everything I listed is something they naturally do and everything is a way to get your panties wet/cock hard. Yes, paint on bareback and let your hand caress. Yes, sing to me how good I make you feel in between  the sheets. Yes, debate the principle of Aristotle  with me and show your passion. I love how you are trying to make your point while at the same focusing on my juicy lips.  Ok! Pile 2, your energy fully took over for a minute. Another way you show your affection is by making sure they reach their orgasm. It doesn't matter if they are tired after going hammers into you and making you cum at least 3 times.It doesn't matter if you are worn out. You need them to cum or you are dying … Ok a bit dramatic… (I feel like y’all are natural drama queen/king). You will give them a handjob  or you will rub their clit. You will do what is require for with the power still left in you to deliver your duty (Like I said fucking dramatic). Plus you will love to dive into the pleasure of a long intensive edging session, y’all can go for weeks edging. Playing with each other without actually reaching the sinful need of the body. Building the orgasm with each other and not cheating even when  you are really really really horny. Is almost a principle of respect for you. Lastly, you are acceptive of them in the bedroom. You don’t shame them for their kinks, you encourage them to go for it. You allow an open and affectionate communication for y’all to discuss y'all fantasy, kinks , experience, need, want, desire, etc… 

💌 : Also don't feel bad because you have leaned on your partner through out the whole quest to your roots adventure. While you were trying to puzzle the truth regarding your identity, your partner felt needed and not at all annoyed. So relief yourself from that guilt. They are fine. FIND OUT, How your partner use their fingers in the bedroom ? on Ko-fi.

PILE 3 

9 wands (reverse), 2 cups, Knight wands, Tower (reverse) 

Y’all are going through it mentally. You are deep in a depression rut. Y’all are victime of sexual harassment and you are healing. Is not as bad as it was but you know… sometimes the voice gets loud all over again. I am sending all the love I can,your way. You and I know it is going to get better and that the worse will pass. You just need to hang in there until you find the pace and you power back again. You knew your ex before y’all became a couple. He was a good friend when the accident happened and he came back into your life. He did not mean to leave you, you know we get busy with life and distance gets created.  Naturally the Divine opens a path for you to welcome them back into your life. Then you open up and it was good and got very bad again. So you decide to cut the relationship so you can heal some more without being a burden. They are going insane Pile 3. Don’t get me wrong, they are respecting your choice. But I have the vision of someone tearing up while doing their homework. Everytime they get back into their apartment at the end of the day, they literally get in a fetus position for a good 5 minutes reminiscing about you. They pray often which is ironic since they never believe in God or anything like that. Begging them to give them your pain and leaving you alone. That you suffer enough. The tears also are not something they do. Is not that they are emotionally available, they are just very masculine . 

This section of the reading is from their POV . 

They love making love to you. They love caressing you. They love your cellulite. They love your small boobs, they love your stomach, they love your thick tights ( I’m so sorry but I need to say that I am fucking rooting for them. Out here pushing through the tears to deliver the message. Ironic, I rarely get REALLY emotional. If only you could feel what I am feeling …) and they love your hair  (another message came through, One of your ex told you he hurted you because you were ugly and that he cheated because he loved blond … your man (I know y’all are not together but I am FUCKING rooting fo them) is screaming : I LOVE YOUR BROWN HAIR !). They kissed every part of you because they wished to make all the bad memories go away. They wish they could erase any trace of your abuser away. Is not about lust, it is all about the true passion that goes straight to their dick when they see you. Is not about owning you or winning you over. Is about protecting you and giving you the love you always deserve. They love having sex with you. When y’all were together, you could not keep y’all hands off each other. In a fucked up way you brain twisted that damm information (swear I am not mad at your brain, she is a victim too. So she is doing anything in her power to protect herself) making you feel that they only want you because of sex. Because that’s all a man can ever want from you. That’s all you are good for. You are undeserving of love because you are broken good ( Yes… Is me … again … YOU ARE NOT FUCKING BROKEN GOOD ! YOU HEARD ME ! You better tell your brain to get her shit together real quick. Is going to take time but let’s start by dropping the concept that you are damaged goods. I don’t want you to EVER think that.) The reality is they love you so much they can’t resist you. The mere fact that they can indulge in your affection is their biggest blessing. They are so grateful (Going back to their prayers, they are grateful that the Divine kept you alive and safe until you came back to them) that they get to share intimate moments with you. That you even let them see you in that seductive light. There’s nothing you can, God can do, I can do that's going to stop them from going back to you. There’s nothing that happens to you no matter how bad it is, that’s going to disgust them . There's nothing you can do that’s going to make them run away. Ever since you came back into their life, the flowers bloom, the sun shines and the birds chip. You brought the color back into their life. You brought joy to the mundane. Sex with you is an explosion of good feelings, fireworks even. They love sliding into you, seeing your face twisting in pleasure not in pain. A pleasure they are giving you and a pain they are protecting you from, safe in his presence . They often push you to keep your eyes focused on them because they want you to see you are safe. You are loved and you choose a good one proving you it was never your fault. Nothing you could have done was worth that punishment. 

***BONUS***

How can you cope with your sexual wound ? 

Spirit has an extra message dedicated to you. 

The ultimate problem of this relationship is the perception of yourself. Before we get any further, I am not here to hurt you (Trust me, I understand you more than you think). You need to contextualize what happened to you. Maybe you are not ready to get help, maybe you are not ready to talk about… fuck maybe you just not ready to deal with it but you need to realize that he is not him. I understand that your brain wants to protect you from all the ‘’him’’. Maybe repeat to yourself out loud, ‘’ (His name) is not my enemy. He is my true lover’’ everyday while you're taking a shower. When  you are caressing your body with soap, remind her, she is ok with (his name). Is important that you precise the name for your body to understand that only him at least with him everything is alright. You need to find a way to make your brain and body understand that he is your protector and lover. Because your soul knows he is home. You may not know about the rest and you got hurt by the rest but him… never him … he is all love. I know you are suffering but keeping him away is killing y'all more than you think. I am not telling you to break your boundaries or get back with him, now. You can shoot him a text. Small text here and there, telling him, you are ok , you ate. It can even be random as you telling him you are watching your favorite TV show. Let your brain get used to craving intimacy at a healthy pace.  Plus it will greatly ease his mind. Please stop dissociating while you are having sex (Bestie speaking from experience, don’t do it because it can become a habit … when that happens … you will try anything to go back to feeling something …), if you feel like you can’t do it, express it. I don’t care if you are in the middle of an act. I don’t care if you feel horny but you got triggered. I DON’T CARE … take a break, regulate your nervous system and come back. Last let yourself heal, there’s no race when it come to this fuck up mess. Stop comparing yourself to your past and let yourself discover the new you, who survive one of the most terrorizing situations. Much love Chérie d’Amour, you got this and I DO … love you. 

💌 : FIND OUT, How your partner use their fingers in the bedroom ? on Ko-fi.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

What do you need to know about lgbt+ history as a lgbt+ person? 

Well, if you ask like that: nothing, actually. You do not disqualify from being lgbt+ if you know nothing about history whatsoever. There’s no exam to pass. 

It also doesn’t make you a bad person or a disgrace to the community or an embarrassment if you haven’t heard about a specific chapter of lgbt+ history yet - saying so would be really unfair! Maybe you live in a situation in which you don’t feel safe to do a lot of research on lgbt+ related stuff. Maybe you are a young person growing up in hard times and you’re busy just surviving. Maybe your brain works in a way that makes it harder for you to learn or retain new information than for others. Or hey, maybe you already know lots - but your learning simply focused on a different chapter than the one that hypothetical exam would be on!

Of course there are many benefits to learning about lgbt+ history. You get the general benefits of learning new things (such as training your critical thinking skills, which will help you in your everyday life, and even supporting your brain health!) but there’s also specific benefits to learning about this specific subject.

History isn’t all “learning boring stuff about dead people” - learning about past events and their consequences also helps you understand present events and gauge their potential consequences for your future. This will for example empower you in your voting decisions (or help you understand how politics influence everyday life at all, if that’s your starting point!). 

Knowledge about lgbt+ history also helps you to notice misinformation more easily and enables you to counteract homophobic myths with facts. 

It may even help you on a more personal level: reading up on all the people who came before you can foster a sense of identity and belonging. It might make you feel more confident to know that people like you have been around forever and have achieved so many things! 

So, rather than “what do I need to know”, I think the much better question is “where do I want to start?”. 

Nobody knows everything about lgbt+ history (or about any given topic, really!) and unrealistic expectations will only set you up for disappointment. It’s best to let your curiosity lead you! You’re much more likely to actually read up on something you are genuinely excited to learn about than something you’ve only been told to read. 

With that in mind: it can feel overwhelming to pick a topic to start with! Especially if you’re pretty new to lgbt+ history, you may not even know where to start. So I do want to make some suggestions here. Not as a “you need to research all these today or else I’m revoking your license to gay”, just to spark your curiosity! I will not add explanations right here in the post, I just want to give you some terms you can easily put in the search bar. (Important: these are in random order, not ranked by importance or anything like that!) 

US-Centric lgbt+ History

1. Stonewall Riots

2. Harvey Milk

3. Marsha P. Johnson

4. Sylvia Rivera

5. The Lavender Scare

6. Obergefell v. Hodges

7. Don't Ask, Don't Tell

8. The Mattachine Society

9. The Daughters of Bilitis

11. The AIDS crisis

12. Bayard Rustin

13. Lawrence v. Texas

14. The Gay Liberation Front

15. The Human Rights Campaign

European lgbt+ History

1. Section 28 (UK)

2. Oscar Wilde

3. Alan Turing

4. Magnus Hirschfeld

5. Paragraph 175 (Germany)

6. The Homomonument (Netherlands)

7. EuroPride

8. James Barry

9. The decriminalization of homosexuality in the UK (1967)

10. ILGA-Europe

11. Homosexual Law Reform Act 1986 (New Zealand, part of the Commonwealth)

12. The Equality Act 2010 (UK)

13. Transgender Europe (TGEU)

14. The first same-sex marriage in the Netherlands (2001)

15. Dora Richter

Have fun learning! 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

P.S: You may wonder “But what about places other than the USA or Europe?” (or those of you who already know a lot about lgbt+ history, “but what about (topic I haven’t mentioned here)”) - and that’s actually a really great point! It highlights what we talked about above: nobody knows everything + lgbt+ history is way too rich of a topic to put it all into one short list! This isn’t meant to be a comprehensive list of everything important, just some potential starting points that hopefully lead you to topics beyond ones mentioned on this list.

[donutz]

Catnap x reader fluff Alphabet[1/8]

—☆You are a smiling critter in this, if u want to know which one(but don't know what animal or insect to pick) you could start out as a sheep!

Affection(How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

— Before Catnap became the not so nice Catnap, he was very affectionate

— You would be by yourself and he would cuddle against you, he can get embarrassed but only when people(or toys) point it out

— He was an absolute sweetheart, and still somewhat is

— Before, he would rub his head against you, hold your hand, purr, y’know the way cats show affection

— Now, since he’s much bigger, he curls around you, he knocks over stuff right in front of you(to him that’s affection), he shows you the dead bodies of toys and humans, somehow that’s also how he shows it, it’s like a gift I guess??

— Like how cats bring their owners a dead mice

— He still purrs around you, but it’s a really distinct sound, you have to lean in a lot to hear it

Best friend(How would they be as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

— Before, he would approach you from time to time and just stare, it’s kinda his way of saying hi

— Now, uhm.. Depending on how you acted before ‘it’ happened you would, A) Be dead or B) Be nearly dead, or not, depending if you’re a heretic to him

— Before, he would BARELLYYY approach you, and this is before! You have to do it yourself, he’s a silent kitten

— After, as in when he was a lot more distant from the other critters, it would start from you approaching him, he wouldn’t ever approach you 

Cuddles(Do they cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

—Yall, this a cat we’re talking about

— Of course he would! Not all cats like to cuddle but they do like resting on their owners lap for the rest of their life

— Especially when you’re sleeping!

— He would ask permission to, but that way is him just staring at you while you’re asleep

— It was happening so often that you had to just straight up tell him

— “Catnap”.

— “?”

— “If you ever want to cuddle up to me when I’m sleeping, you can do so. You don’t need to stare at me okay?”

— “Ok-ay”.

— You gave him a hug after that, no hard feelings!!

Domestic(Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

— His name is Catnap, he loves settling down!

— While watching people!

— I wouldn’t recommend letting Catnap cook

— Especially since he’s flammable

— Some of you might get what I mean

— When it comes to cleaning? I’d say he’s decent. He kinda falls asleep or just stares at the floor and gets distracted

Ending(If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

— Catnap is a little boy ^_^

— The only type of ‘break up’ is killing you or stop talking to you

Fiance(How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

— I don’t know about the commitment part but!! ^_^

— In the, “Let’s get married when we’re older!” way, like child way, he would not mind having a child marriage

— Like little ring pops instead of rings that cost $1k!

Gentle(How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

— Before, he would listen to anything you had to say! You’re sad? Tell him about it! If you want

— As gentle as possible physically, wouldn’t say it, but would do it, like he wouldn’t say he’d be as gentle with you as possible

— In front of others

— Now, he would listen, but if you’re riding on his back or something

— He needs to ‘take care’ of the place y’know?!

— Physically, he needs to try even harder to be gentle, like with his paws when he’s grabbing you

Hugs(Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

— He gets a little confused, but he will 100% accept it!

— He will have a big smile on his face!

— He mainly does it when he’s tired, but if he does it randomly it will be a quick one, or a long one, but that’s pretty rare

— His hugs are very comforting! Especially when you’re sad

— His lavender scent is the best.

— One time it made you fall asleep when you guys were having a long hug

I love you(How fast do they say the L-word?)

— RARE, THAT IS SO RARE

— You try your hardest to record it

— Before, if someone said to say it to you, he’d get a little shy but say it quietly

— He says it out of nowhere!

— You’re never able to catch it :(

— Now? Uhh, It’d take a few minutes but he’d muster it out eventually

Jealousy(How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

— I saw this headcanon in where he’d get jealous unless it was with DogDay and I HIGHLY agree with that(creds to lovelybee666, if you’re reading this on Wattpad, they’re on Tumblr ^_^)

— He can get jealous, depending on how the other person or toy interacts with you

— If they’re all touchy, he’ll drag you away when they’re not looking

— Then he just stares at you as if saying, “Explain. Now.”

— He’s not thattt possessive but he can get reallyyyy jealous

— Then you’ll ‘explain’ and he’ll just chill with you for an hour or so before you can go back to them

Kisses(What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

— Sooo since his mouth is permanently a smile I have no idea on how it happens

— But what I imagine is that he uses his top ‘lip’ and gives you a smooch like that

— He likes ‘kissing’ you on the cheek

— He sometimes ‘kisses’ you on the forehead but all you see(if you’re not closing your eyes) is just darkness

— He would like forehead kisses I think

— Makes him feel all special

— But after ‘it’, if you did do that he’d stand still for a sec then sit down and rub his gigantic head on you

Little ones(How are they around children?)

— Not in the ‘having kids way’ since it says little ones, but I don’t think he’d be very active with the kids

— Unless it’s time to sleep

— He’s like a night guard it’s kinda terrifying

Morning(How are mornings spent with them?)

— Catnap never knows if it’s morning.

— But there is kind of an alarm that ‘wakes him up’

— I know this isn’t morning like but he sleeps throughout the day

Night(How are nights spent with them?)

— Adding to what I said, he rarely sleeps at night

— But if he does, he’ll be so cuddly!

— It’s so cute

— He purrs in his sleep

Open(When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

— He wouldn’t

— If you asked?

— You’d have to ask a lot, before and after the incident

— It will take a long while for him to open up about everything

— It’s like how games slowly make certain parts to it so they can reveal more lore

Patience(How easily angered are they?)

— Can get angry if you actually ignored him

— He just stares at you if he gets angry, if he’s angry because of you

— You can kinda see it in his eyes

— Like you could be mad at him for killing nearly all the smiling critters and just ignore him

— He will follow you wherever you go, then you pick you up by the back of the neck with his mouth(somehow) and take you to the thing that he knows will make you happy

— After a while, he’ll take you to his sleeping area, y’know(unless you don’t) the one that’s on the right of you before you meet Dogday

— And then it’s time to sleep

Quizzes(How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

— Catnap will most likely remember everything about you

— His memory is very good

— You could mention your favorite color and he’ll remember it if you ask him, even 5 years later

— He'd rememeber every detail

Remember(What is their favorite moment in the relationship?)

— The time you still loved him even after the hour of joy.

Security(How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

— Very, he would see a tiny spike and use his paw to pry you away from it

— He’d pick you up from the back of your neck, use his paw, protect you with his body, or just absolutely destroy what would hurt you

— He wouldn’t mind you protecting him

— But please, he can do it himself

— I bet he won’t even get scared at a cucumber

Try(How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

— You guys don’t have dates

— But before, if you did, there would be a little table with a yarn knitted candle, with Catnap in a suit while you’re in whatever you wanna wear

— And then you start talking because Catnap is never the type to start conversations

— Anniversaries?

— “Ann-ver-sary..”

— “Huh?”

— He gave you a paper

— ‘Happy Aniversairy’

— His spelling was a little off but that was okay, plus he added little hearts!

— His gifts is dead stuff

— Or, your favorite objects!

— Like your favorite flowers, pencil, doll, anything he can find will be a gift!

Ugly(What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

— How he can just not interact with you for a whole day

— Having Dogday hung up even though you tell him everyday to stop having him there

— You’d do it yourself

— But both Catnap and Prototype won’t like that

— You don’t care about Prototype but you do for Catnap

— You’ve tried convincing Dogday to just side with the two

— Multiple times

— But Dogday always goes silent

Vanity(How concerned are they with their looks?)

— He does NOT care ^_^

Whole(Would they feel incomplete without you?)

— If he killed you, and you were someone really important to him, I’d think he’d be bummed for the longest time

— He’d even zone out when Prototype would be instructing him

Xtra(A random head cannon for them.)

— Love language is maybe slightly physical touch, but gift giving is his go to

Yuck(What are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?)

— When you yell at him

— When you ignore him

— You going against Prototype

— How you ‘pester’ him about Dogday

Zzz(What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

— You know when he had his cardboard cutout? Yeah, he snores, loud.

— But it happens only sometimes

— Most of the time he’s purring

[bullet-prooflove]

Scar Tissue: Beau Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @b-bradshaw @crimeshowjunkie @inkandarsenic @caffeinatedwoman

Companion piece to:

Nine Months - Beau comes home from his deployment to a surprise revelation.

Beau has his face buried in the pillow, his teeth biting down on the fabric as your hands smooth over his back, fingers digging into the knot in his right shoulder. It’s scar tissue from Syria, his doctor tells him. Every so often it stiffens, reducing the movement in his arm. He usually goes to chiropractor but he’s been cooped up on an aircraft carrier for the past few months and he needs the relief.

“I know.” You whisper reassuringly as your thumb presses even harder into the scar tissue. “I know it hurts but it’ll be over in a minute.”

He grunts his response as the muscle tightens before it gives way under you’re ministrations. The relief floods his senses, his body relaxing into the mattress.

“Better?” You ask and he shifts, his cheek pressing into the pillow as he nods his head. You lean over him, your lips lightly brushing over his temple before you clamber off him. He watches as you stride into the bathroom, that silk, floral kimono fluttering as you walk. You rinse the lavender oil off your hands before drying it with a hand towel he doesn’t recognise.

There’s been a few new changes to the house while he’s been away.  A dark wood antique desk has appeared in the living room, tucked underneath the window that looks out into the backyard, an ergonomic chair goes with it. When he put his clothes away he noticed office attire in the wardrobe. Power dresses, blazers and high heels.  It’s how he knows you’re serious about retiring from the military, that this isn’t just a knee jerk reaction to a deployment that was far too long for either one of you.

“Was the deployment the tipping point?” He asks you as you step back into the bedroom, rubbing lotion into your hands. “Or was it something else?”

You lean against the doorframe, toying with your wedding ring as Beau shifts into a sitting position against the headboard, the sheets pooling around his hips.

“I don’t have a choice.” You say finally. “My time with Victim’s Support is coming to an end and I found out my next posting is Naples.”

The air rushes out of Beau’s lungs, his chest constricts because a posting isn’t like a deployment. It’s longer, a hell of a lot longer. Three years to be exact. He can’t imagine going that long without you, seeing you in intervals, a couple of weeks at a time. He understands now, that you’re sacrificing your career for the marriage, that you’re giving up one of the most important things in your life so the two of you can be together.

It’s an echo back to that first time he was deployed to Germany. You’d had a choice of posting and you’d picked San Diego so you could be together but he was already shipping out.

“I had lunch with Mic last month when he came up from Washington.” You say quietly, your attention still focused on your wedding ring. “His firm is opening a new branch here in San Diego, they’ve offered me a job and I’m going to take it.”

“Is that what you want?” He asks you, his voice a little rough and you swallow hard against the emotion in your chest, your eyes stinging.

“I don’t see us surviving any other way.” You say softly, your gaze flicking up to meet his. “I can’t go three years without you Beau, no matter how much I may like Italy.”

“And you do like Italy…” He says with a mirthless smile as he stares down at his own wedding ring. “Ally… I don’t know if I can retire.”

You try to hide the hurt but he sees it, he sees everything when it comes to you.

“I understand Beau.” You say, your voice completely devoid of emotion. “You’ve got to do what’s best for you.”

Love Beau? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

Last Christmas

A/N: This was inspired by a video my husband sent to me where this kid just starts screaming while performing a hymn or something and I just had to write it. Also, I wanted to try my hand at a Christmas fic because I was feeling dad!Eddie and mom!reader. This takes place in the Lavender Haze universe, many years after the events in London but honestly, it could be a stand alone too. This is purely self indulgent, a procrastination tool,  and fluff around the fireplace sort of thing so, this isn’t necessarily edited or beta read. This is just for fun and to scratch an itch I had in my brain.  Warnings: dad!eddie, mom!reader, four year old child, happy christmas, fluff, christmas songs, Last Christmas, school concert, established marriage (spoilers for The Lavender Haze universe but come on, you knew it was bound to happen; I like happy endings). Word Count: 5K Summary: Eddie and reader attend their son’s Christmas school concert only to find out that he is 100% Eddie’s child. Eddie also asks the reader an important question.

December 2001

The house was alive with the hum of holiday cheer, the soft glow of Christmas lights twinkling in the living room, and the smell of cinnamon and pine from the tree. Eddie was crouched down, trying to wrestle Halen into his tiny red sweater vest, the one with little reindeer on it that he loved (and, of course, insisted on wearing for every “special occasion” now).

“Buddy, please,” Eddie said, tugging gently at the sleeve of the vest on his son. “I swear, this thing was way bigger last year.”

Halen, who was currently wiggling on the floor with the speed of a tornado, let out a loud, indignant noise. “It’s itchy!”

“It’s a Christmas sweater, Halen,” Eddie said, ruffling his hair. “They’re supposed to be itchy. It’s part of the magic.”

You were standing by the front door, checking the time on your watch as you grabbed your jacket. “Eddie, please don’t make it worse,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “We’ll be late for the concert if you don’t get him dressed—”

“I’m trying!” Eddie interjected with mock indignation. “But this tiny human is currently the most squirmy person I know.”

“Daddy, I want to wear my truck shirt,” Halen said, now lying flat on the floor, kicking his legs in protest.

Eddie sighed dramatically. “You’ve worn the truck shirt for three days straight, kid. People are going to think you’ve got a thing for construction vehicles and that we don’t do the laundry.”

“I do!” Halen shot back, his little face scrunched up. “Trucks are my favorite!”

You chuckled, walking over and crouching down to his level. “Alright, buddy,” you said gently. “How about this? You wear the reindeer sweater just for the concert, and then when we get home, we’ll let you change into your truck shirt for the rest of the evening. Deal?”

Halen looked at you for a long moment, considering the offer. “Promise?” he asked, his voice serious.

“I promise,” you replied with a smile. “But only if you let Daddy finish getting you dressed.”

Halen gave a dramatic sigh but relented, finally allowing Eddie to finish pulling the sweater vest down over his head. The second it was on, he stood up, brushing himself off like he had just completed a mission. “I’m ready!”

Eddie grinned, pushing himself to his feet. “Look at that. All that for nothing. You’re a handsome little man, Halen.”

Halen puffed out his chest proudly, clearly pleased with the compliment. “I look like a reindeer!” he declared, staring down at his vest.

You smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look perfect,” you said, walking over to the coat rack to grab your son’s jacket. Eddie had already slid into his favorite leather coat—something he always wore, even in the hot LA summers. It was a little worn now, but it still fit him like a glove.

“You ready to go, love?” Eddie asked, moving toward the front door. You could see the excitement on his face. He might act like he was always cool and collected, but you knew the truth—he was as excited about this concert as you were. He never got tired of seeing Halen’s face light up when he performed or when he was a part of something that made him feel like a star.

“Yep,” you said, grabbing Halen’s little coat and helping him slip it on. “Let’s make sure we’re on time for our star’s big debut.”

“I’m not a star,” Halen said, shaking his head seriously. “I’m just a reindeer!”

You laughed, giving him a hug before standing up and adjusting your own coat. “A very special reindeer, then.”

Eddie grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter, his eyes flicking to the living room where the Christmas tree stood, the soft golden glow of the lights flickering as a faint song played in the background. You both had spent the last few days decorating the tree together as a family—Halen had insisted on hanging a disproportionate amount of ornaments on the lower branches, making the tree look like it was about to tip over, but you didn’t mind. It was perfect.

With the keys in hand, Eddie took a step toward the door, holding it open for you. “After the concert, we should grab some hot cocoa and drive around the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights. What do you think, kiddo?”

Halen nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! And we can listen to jingle bells in the car! Really loud!”

“Of course,” you said with a smile, glancing at Eddie. “We’ll make it a full holiday evening. We can stop by the bakery after and get those gingerbread cookies you love, too.”

Halen bounced on the spot, his little legs practically vibrating with excitement. “Yay!” he cheered. “I’m gonna eat all the cookies!”

“I bet you will,” Eddie said with a wink, looking over at you as you grabbed your purse. “And I’ll probably eat my weight in gingerbread too.”

“You’re a big kid at heart, Munson,” you teased, slipping on your boots as you turned toward the door.

“Hey, I’m proud of my gingerbread-eating abilities.” He shot you a playful grin. “Someone’s gotta set the example for Halen here.”

As you all walked out of the house the excitement in the air was palpable. Halen was bouncing ahead of you, practically skipping down the front steps with the energy of a Christmas elf. Eddie had his arm around your shoulders, and you leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his presence.

The neighborhood was already alive with holiday lights making everything feel like a scene from a holiday movie as Eddie drove down the road to head to Halen’s pre-school. The Christmas concert at Halen’s school was a small thing, just a few kids singing and playing instruments, but to you and Eddie, it was everything. Every moment spent together—every small tradition you were building as a family—was something to cherish.

Both you and Eddie were determined to give Halen a good family. 

“I can’t believe our little guy is old enough to be in this,” you said softly, your eyes drifting over to Eddie.

Eddie’s smile was soft, and there was a hint of pride in his eyes. “I know. Feels like just yesterday we were teaching him how to walk.”

You both laughed as you followed Halen down the sidewalk, his voice calling out to you from the doors of his school. He was jumping up and down, holding onto the handle of the door as he tried to get both you and Eddie to hurry up. 

“I’m ready, Daddy! I’m ready to sing!”

“We’re coming, buddy!” Eddie shouted, his grin spreading. “Don’t steal the spotlight just yet!”

The school gymnasium was buzzing with the kind of excited energy you could only find at a Christmas concert. The walls were decked out in glittering tinsel and paper snowflakes, the floor crowded with families from the preschool, all eagerly awaiting the performance. There was a soft murmur of chatter as parents shifted in their seats, some holding up cameras, some glancing at the clock.

You and Eddie were front and center, perched on the edge of your seats, trying not to show how ridiculously excited you were. The stage was small but brightly lit, with a dozen little kids lined up, their tiny faces barely visible over the top of the risers.

Right in the middle of the group, was Halen. His little red sweater with the reindeer on it was pulled tight, his brown curly hair sticking up a little from the excitement. His tiny hands were clasped in front of him like he was ready to take on the world. He kept bouncing on his toes, practically vibrating with energy, his bright eyes scanning the crowd—he was ready. You could tell.

Eddie leaned over to you, grinning. “This is it. Our little rockstar is about to make his debut. I swear, this kid’s got more stage presence than I ever did.”

You laughed, reaching out and giving his hand a quick squeeze. “I can already tell. He’s been practicing that loud voice of his for weeks.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “I can already feel my eardrums vibrating.”

The teacher at the front, her smile sweet but a little frazzled from the chaos of wrangling small children, raised her hands and signaled the start of the song. The band of elementary school musicians behind the kids started playing softly—Jingle Bells, classic, cheerful. The kids opened their mouths to sing, their voices soft and sweet as they harmonized. It was adorable, pure holiday magic, every parent in the room smiling fondly at their little performers.

And then… there was Halen.

As the music swelled, his eyes suddenly went wide. His little hands, which had been clasped so carefully in front of him, shot out to the sides like he was preparing to dive into a guitar solo. His body swayed, his chest puffed out, and then—

“YEEEEEEAAAAHHHHH!!!” Halen screamed, the shrill, guttural scream of a metal vocalist who’d just discovered his inner power chord.

The other kids, still trying their best to sing the simple, happy words of Jingle Bells, froze for a moment, their eyes darting to Halen. His voice pierced through the crowd like a sonic boom, all gravelly and full of unrestrained excitement. His little face was scrunched up in what could only be described as a metalhead’s version of pure ecstasy.

You and Eddie froze, eyes wide in disbelief, but then—then you both burst out laughing. It was like someone had hit play on a live concert video of a tiny rockstar performing at a packed stadium.

“JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE ALL THE WAAAYYYY!!!!” Halen screamed, his arms wide and his voice growing louder, as though he was singing in front of thousands of fans at a Metallica concert. His tiny body was practically vibrating with excitement, his face red from the effort of belting out his “solo.” The rest of the class tried to keep going, but at this point, Halen was clearly the star of the show.

Eddie was shaking his head, biting his lip to keep from laughing too loudly, but you could hear the amusement in his voice. “Well, you can say he’s a Munson.”

You covered your mouth to stifle your laughter, glancing at the parents around you, most of whom were staring in stunned silence. A few parents behind you whispered, “Did… did he just scream like that?”

Some of the other kids were looking at Halen like he’d just summoned a demon, but the teacher, still smiling awkwardly, tried to keep the song going, raising her hands as though she were conducting a frantic orchestra. Halen didn’t seem to notice—he was too busy throwing his head back, his little legs bouncing in rhythm with his screeching.

“OH, WHAT FUN IT IS TO RIIIIDE IN A ONE-HORSE OPEN SLEEEEIGHHHH!!!” Halen screamed again, his voice somehow even louder, more intense than before. It was full-on death metal now, and you were absolutely dying with laughter, trying to keep it together.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eddie whispered, wiping a tear from his eye. “Our kid just turned Jingle Bells into a metal anthem.”

You looked at him, shaking your head. “I can’t even. But he’s so into it.”

“I love this kid,” Eddie said, grinning from ear to ear. “He’s a natural. Maybe I should ask him to join Corroded Coffin.”

Just as the song reached its “Jingle Bells” chorus, Halen screamed again, this time with what could only be described as a powerful thrash metal growl: “JIIIIINGLE BEEEELLS, JIIIIINGLE BEEEELLS, JIIIIINGLE ALL THE WAAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!”

The other kids finally gave up trying to continue the song. A couple of them giggled nervously, one of them still trying to hold up their sheet music, but Halen was in his element now, fully headbanging to an imaginary guitar riff, his hair flying everywhere. It was pure chaos. It was glorious. 

It was metal. And he looked just like his father. That alone made your heart swell.

When the song finally ended, there was a brief moment of stunned silence from the audience. The teacher tried to maintain some composure, raising her hands and giving an awkward clap as she led the kids offstage. 

And then—after a long beat—the entire gymnasium burst into applause. It wasn’t just the usual polite clapping. No, this was full-blown, uncontrollable laughter mixed with sincere applause for Halen’s wild rendition of a Christmas classic.

As the kids filed offstage, Halen came running down to you and Eddie, his little face glowing, still riding high from his impromptu metal concert. His eyes locked onto yours, his excitement palpable.

“Did you hear me, Mom? Dad? Did you hear how loud I was?! I’m like a rockstar!”

Eddie couldn’t contain his grin, reaching down to scoop Halen up into a big hug. “Buddy, you were amazing,” he said, laughing. “You absolutely shredded that performance.”

“I told you I could scream like you!” Halen said, beaming. “I was like you at a concert, Dad! I even did the growl!”

You wrapped your arms around them both, laughing. “Halen, you were incredible. Maybe you’ll start your own band or join your Daddy’s. Metal Christmas music could be the next big thing.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddie said, looking at Halen like he had just witnessed the birth of a legend. “Who knew Jingle Bells could sound so intense?”

“Right?” You said, smiling at your tiny rockstar. “Our little metalhead. The concert was supposed to be cute, but you turned it into something else.”

Halen grinned and looked up at his dad. “Maybe next time, we can do Rudolph in a growl. And you can play your guitar, Daddy!”

Eddie’s grin widened, and he threw an arm around you and Halen. “Next Christmas, kid. Next Christmas. We’ll make it metal.”

----

Returning home, the house was warm and cozy - the kind of warmth that wrapped around you like a favorite blanket, and the scent of gingerbread cookies filled the air. Christmas lights twinkled on the tree in the corner of the living room, and soft holiday music played in the background, adding to the cozy atmosphere.

You were sitting on the couch with a plate of gingerbread cookies, still smiling at the chaos that had been Halen’s Christmas concert. A couple of bites in and you were already feeling like you had no regrets about the sugar high you’d promised yourself you'd indulge in tonight. The house was quiet for a brief moment—until you heard it.

From the kitchen, Eddie’s voice, low and warm, carried through the air: “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart…” His guitar strummed the first few chords of the song, each note crisp and clear.

You looked up just in time to see Eddie sitting on the kitchen counter, his guitar in hand, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Halen was sitting on the floor in front of him, his little face bright with excitement. He had one hand holding his toy guitar—an electric one just like his dad’s of course—and he was strumming along as best as his tiny hands could manage.

“But the very next day, you gave it awayyyy...” Eddie continued to sing, his voice a little huskier than usual, but full of affection for the tiny audience in front of him. Halen, his eyes wide and totally caught up in the magic of the moment, attempted to mimic the words, his voice high-pitched and off-key in the most adorable way possible.

“This year, to save me from tears...” Eddie sang, his hand on Halen’s back, gently guiding him to follow along. “I’ll give it to someone special.”

“SOMEEEEONE SPECIAL!” Halen yelled, suddenly abandoning any attempt at the melody in favor of his own dramatic rendition, flailing his arms as if he were about to stage-dive into an invisible crowd.

You couldn’t help but laugh. The scene was like something out of a holiday movie, but real and chaotic and perfect.

“Alright, alright,” Eddie said, laughing and shaking his head. “Let’s try it again. Nice and easy, kiddo. Sometimes songs aren’t so loud and we have to save our growls for special effects.”

Halen nodded enthusiastically, then whispered to himself as if giving himself a pep talk: “Nice and easy. Got it.”

Eddie gently picked up his guitar, playing a soft riff to ease into the next verse. “Okay, little rockstar, we got this. Last Christmas...”

Halen, taking it a little more seriously this time, squinted at his father’s fingers as he strummed, and then joined in, matching Eddie’s effort to follow the lyrics—at least the first part. But it was still full of his usual Halen flair.

“I gave you my heart...” Halen sang, a bit out of tune but with such earnestness it made your heart swell.

“But the very next day...” Eddie sang along, smiling at his son, his voice blending with Halen’s as they laughed their way through the chorus.

You, still sitting on the couch with your plate of cookies, leaned back and closed your eyes for a moment, just letting the sound of your two favorite people fill the room. Eddie’s deep voice, Halen’s bright, enthusiastic one, and the soft strum of his guitar—it felt like the perfect version of Christmas, the one you’d always dreamed of, full of laughter, love, and the occasional chaotic moment that made it even more special.

Halen, a little distracted now by his own excitement, stood up and started dancing around in circles. “And I’ll give it to someone special...” he belted, twirling in place as if he were on a stage of his own. His toy guitar banged against his knee with every spin but he didn’t seem to care. He was on top of the world, and he was going to sing—loudly—while he was at it.

Eddie gave him an affectionate look and strummed a little louder, picking up the tempo. “There we go! You’re a rockstar, buddy!”

Halen gave a little triumphant shout. “I’m a rockstar!!”

“And what do rockstars do?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow, giving Halen the chance to answer.

“SING, DAD!” Halen shouted back, grinning from ear to ear.

You set your gingerbread cookies down on the coffee table, leaning back against the cushions and watching the scene unfold in front of you, utterly content. “You two are unbelievable,” you said, smiling. “I don’t know whether I should be clapping or covering my ears.”

Halen stopped dancing for a moment, looking at you seriously. “You can clap, Mom. I’m a rockstar. It’s what you do for rockstars.”

Eddie looked at you with an exaggerated nod. “You heard him, babe. We’ve got a rockstar in the house.”

You chuckled, reaching for a cookie. “Oh, I know. It’s hard to miss both of my rockstars.”

You watched as Halen took his little toy guitar and pretended to tune it like Eddie did with his own. He looked so serious doing it, poking at the knobs with intense concentration.

“So, uh, what’s next in your set, Halen?” you asked, biting into a gingerbread cookie.

Halen gave you a confident thumbs-up. “I got this,” he said seriously. “Now it’s time for Jingle Bells!” He launched back into the chorus of the classic song, adding his own “WOOO!!” at the end as he spun around the living room like a maniac.

Eddie chuckled and strummed along, singing with his son. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way...” he sang, his voice smooth and warm, totally in sync with Halen’s chaotic energy.

The two of them were in their own little world now, the rest of the house melting away. You leaned back against the couch, watching them, savoring your gingerbread cookies, feeling the warmth of the holiday around you. The laughter, the music, and the overwhelming joy of having your family together—it was everything.

A few moments later, Eddie paused, his hand resting gently on Halen’s shoulder. “Alright, kiddo, last verse. You ready?” he asked, his voice playful.

Halen nodded fiercely, his eyes wide. “Ready! Let’s do this, Dad!”

You let them finish the song, their voices filling the room as they belted out the last few lines. When the song ended, Halen, breathless from all the dancing and singing, ran to you with a giant grin.

“I’m the best rockstar, right, Mom?” he asked, his face flushed with excitement. “But not better than daddy.”

“You sure are, kiddo,” you said, pulling him into a big hug. “You were amazing. Maybe even better than daddy.”

Eddie grinned from behind his guitar. “Next year, we’ll have a full concert, with actual backup dancers. We can invite Uncle Gareth over too. What do you think, Halen?”

“I’m in!” Halen shouted, throwing his little arms up in the air. “I’m ready to rock!”

“Okay but little rockstars have a bedtime and that’s now.” You say, giving your son a small kiss on the forehead. “We’re leaving to visit Grandpa Wayne tomorrow for Christmas Eve dinner so you should save your voice for him!”

“You’re right! I think he’ll want to hear Silent Night.” Halen contemplates but then pouts as Eddie scoops him off the ground to carry him to his room. “Hey! I was still trying to decide on a setlist for tomorrow.” 

“Real rock stars sleep on a good set list, buddy. Let’s get you ready for bed.” Eddie rustles his son’s hair, soon disappearing into his bedroom. “And while I get our future star ready, maybe mommy can write down some options for some songs.” 

“Yeah, okay sure.” You sigh, shaking your head before biting into another cookie.

------

The house was wrapped in the quiet stillness that only came after a long, fun-filled day. Halen had finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted from the excitement of the Christmas concert and the festive chaos that had followed. You could still hear the soft hum of holiday music in the background, and the Christmas lights twinkled softly across the room, casting a warm, gentle glow.

You were curled up on the couch, a plate of half-eaten gingerbread cookies beside you, savoring the peace of the moment. Eddie had just finished playing his guitar in the living room, humming sweet little melodies. Now, he sat across from you, kicking back with his feet up on the coffee table, his eyes following the flicker of the fire in the fireplace.

It was one of those rare moments when the world felt like it was slowing down—a precious space between the chaos of life and the peace that only came with being fully present. You smiled contentedly, leaning back against the couch, when Eddie’s voice cut through the silence.

“You ever think about having another kid?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with something deeper. “I do. A lot, really.”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the question. You set your gingerbread cookie down on the plate, the sudden shift in conversation pulling you from your cozy reverie.

“Wait, what?” you said, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Are you serious? Halen is already such a handful. I don’t know if having another Munson minion running around here would be the wisest idea, Eds.”

Eddie chuckled, shifting in his seat to face you more directly. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. You know, Halen’s four and I’m starting to wonder what it’d be like having another little one around.”

You leaned forward, your heart skipping a beat. The idea had crossed your mind before, but you hadn’t really brought it up, unsure of where Eddie stood. Hearing him speak so casually about it stirred something inside you. You glanced at him, trying to process what he was saying.

“You’re starting to sound like Harrington. Should I be concerned that you deep down want an entire brood of Munsons?” You joke, smiling at the ground. “I’m not having six kids.”

“I mean,” Eddie continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “we’ve got Halen, our amazing little guy, right? And don’t get me wrong, I love the rhythm we’ve got with Halen. We've done good with him. But I don’t know… I guess I’ve been feeling like it’s not done yet. Like we’ve got room and more love for more. More chaos, more mess, more love. I just… I love being a dad and I never thought I’d even be a dad, nonetheless a good dad.”

You smiled, that familiar warmth in your chest expanding. Eddie’s words, though simple, resonated with you. You could see it in his eyes—this quiet, earnest desire for more. Maybe it wasn’t just about having another baby. It was about expanding their world, growing their family, and embracing the next chapter together.

“You’ve really been thinking about this, huh?” you asked, your voice soft as you leaned back again, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and affection.

“Yeah,” Eddie said with a slow nod, his gaze steady but gentle. “I mean, Halen’s getting older, right? He’s independent now, and it’s amazing, but… I don’t know. I just can’t shake the feeling that I want to go through that baby stage again. The late-night feedings, the little giggles, the first steps…The newborn scrunch… The way you looked pregnant. I kind of miss all that.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You’re crazy. You’re talking about dirty diapers and sleepless nights again, you know? I know it's been four years but, I remember how grumpy you were at three AM when Halen woke up every single night.”

Eddie smiled, a little sheepishly. “I know. I know it’s gonna be a lot but I think I’m ready for it. Ready for us to be ready for it. We’ve got a good thing going, you and me. Halen’s gonna be the best big brother. I think we could handle it.”

You sat there in the quiet for a few seconds, the weight of his words settling in your mind. Eddie had always been the kind of person who dived headfirst into things, whether it was a new band or a new idea. But this? This felt different. This felt like a deep, heartfelt desire to grow the family, to build more memories with the people he loved most.

You smiled, feeling that familiar warmth bubble up inside you. “I guess you’re right,” you said, your voice soft and thoughtful. “I think Halen would love being a big brother. He’s already so good with little kids. Thanksgiving at the Harrington’s proved that.”

Eddie’s face lit up at that, and he leaned forward, his excitement palpable. “Exactly! He’d be the best big brother. Can you imagine him showing a little sibling how to play ‘air guitar’ when they’re old enough? Or even them performing metal versions of the cheesiest Christmas songs for us?"

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can already see it. The next Munson family band. Halen’s gonna be the frontman and the baby can be the drummer.”

Eddie grinned, the idea clearly sparking something playful in him. “Hell yeah. We can start ‘em young. Who knows, maybe they’ll be the next Metallica if we play our cards right.”

His grin softened, his voice took on a more sincere tone. “But really, though, I just want to have more of these moments. You, me, Halen—our little family. I think we could make room for another. We can convert the office into the baby’s room and we can store all the office shit at the shop…”

You couldn’t help but feel a little teary-eyed at the thought. It wasn’t just about the baby—it was about the life you and Eddie had built together. The house, the music, the laughter, the tiny moments that made up your days. You didn’t know what the future held but you did know that with Eddie by your side, anything was possible.

“You're awfully persuasive, Eds,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “I’m a little nervous, but I think… I want more of this—more of us. Halen being the big brother…more of you being the best father to your kids….”

Eddie’s eyes softened, his smile genuine and full of affection. He reached over, taking your hand in his. “We’ll figure it out, babe. We always do. One day at a time. But… if we do have another baby, it’ll just mean we get to experience all the best parts of this crazy life again.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart full. “I think we’d be amazing at it. All of it. Just like we are with Halen.”

Eddie’s grin widened, and he leaned in, kissing you softly on the forehead. “I’m glad you’re with me on this.”

You leaned back into the couch, the weight of the decision settling in but feeling lighter than you expected. You and Eddie had already built so much together, and the thought of building a little more—a little bigger—with him, filled you with a sense of excitement.

After all, if anyone could handle the chaos, the noise, the mess of another kid, fake dating, it was you and Eddie. Together, you were unstoppable.

“Okay, okay,” you said, your voice full of love. “Let’s do it.”

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 10

Chapter 10: adamant Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: depictions of a panic attack. PLEASE AVOID if that would end up harming you i beg !!! dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. I am being serious when I say that arthur is bad at handling this situation. he does not think he has done anything wrong. if youve been reading so far you know that that is BAD. please do not read if you can't handle it, im putting a giant RED FLAG on this WC: 4753 SNOW ANGEL DROP TN??? everybody say thank you to @emerald-ranch CHAPTER 10 !!! we did it !! it took me a while to churn this out and get it to a place that i liked. im still not even sure i like it LMAO thank you for all of the lovely little niche questions i get about my strange snow angel arthur, he is everything to me and i love to speak him into existence. first time writing angst soooo Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol You and Arthur clear the air.

“Caught me a little bunny, pretty one too,” you can feel his excitement behind the fabric of his pants, his belt digging into you uncomfortably. Arthur’s features, although covered in shadows from the dusk drawing in, still reflect his anticipation. He takes his hat off, his hand drags his hair back, damp with sweat, darker than the usual lighter brown. Some of it still flops over into his face anyway. 

Your hands push at his shoulders weakly, whining as he dips down to kiss you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the roundness of your cheek, you can feel the scrape of his stubbly hair on your face, the dimple at the tip of his nose brush over you. 

“Arthur, please, I just- I wanna go home, you won, you got me,” he hums, running his tongue over your neck, his arms prop his body up over yours, keeping you warm in the cold chill. He covers you well enough, shields you from the winter with his frame, wide and heavyset. You can feel the rumble in him when he says ‘you’re damn right, I did,’.

The sky is a pretty shade of purple, a little like lavender. You look up, feeling his body tilt to one side, held up on his elbow, his other takes the opportunity to roam over your body. “We can go to our home, Arthur,” you try to pull at his desires, but he won’t have any of it. 

“Wanna see my prize first,” he says between puffs of air, his tongue pacing over the delicate skin of your neck. His hands tug your skirt upwards while you try and keep your legs closed. His hands grip the fat of your thigh, dipping under the dainty fabric of your stocking. Between his legs is the rather stiff press of him and his arousal. You don’t like how easy it is for your body to respond to just the notion of him taking you like this, like an animal.

His rough fingertips skim over the mark he left on you, the one your mother saw. 

“All you had to do was say you liked it. I know you did. You like everything I do,”

“I-No, I…I couldn’t-” You couldn't make it stop. Couldn't make your body stop reacting to him is what you want to say. But to say so would admit that some part of you liked what he did. You snap your mouth shut like a coin purse. You can’t bring yourself to say such a thing. Not that his ideas deserve to be validated. He gives you a knowing look which sends a tremor down your spine, your legs shifting nervously. 

“Quit your lying’, girl, you ain’t fooled me yet. Shouldn’t be ashamed, sugar; I might be a bastard but I ain’t the worst thing coulda happened to ya,”

“I’m not trying to…I told her not to say anything,” you whine and push again at his shoulders but he doesn’t budge. 

“Mhm, how come I don’t believe that for a second,”

Either way, he drops his mouth to your neck, sucks another painful mark just under your ear, the sensitive skin tingles with sensation, pulling pain from your nerves. You tilt your face away, you can’t get him to stop. You can hear the wetness of his tongue moistening your skin before he's sucking a deep red mark, which will be another bruise on your skin. You pull at his hair, but you’re held down just as easily while he nips away.

Your back arches, your skin tingles. A lewd whimper is all you have to offer, keening for him. The quiver inside you isn’t mindful at all. Pure reaction, pleasure rising to the surface. 

 He gives you more than one this time, leaving them at his leisure. He's ripping your blouse open next, so he can leave more on your breasts. The soft flesh is alight with nerves, rippling desire through you. 

“Think you’re starting to like it, angel,” you still your body, disconnected from its actions, which until then was moaning, clutching his shoulder for dear life. The tide of your emotions rises higher though, ice cold water crashing down on the pleasant warmth gathering on your lower belly.

Like you’ve stepped in front of a wagon train, the panic sets in, more than any other time before now. A shameful part of you; an awful desire that burns for Arthur somewhere inside of you, wants him to keep going. To make good on all of his promises. But it’s too difficult to indulge that part of you. The shock of what happened in your family’s home is too much. It drops on your head like an anvil or a blacksmith's hammer. You’re entirely too aware of how your father’s blood dripped over his own fingers. Your mother crumpled to the ground as she watched Arthur take you away. 

“I don’t-don’t want to do this right now, please,” It’s maybe the first time you cry at his insistence. And the first time you’ve been utterly clear about what you do and don’t want. In the most explicit terms possible. You feel the tears well up in your eyes. You cried like this when he first told you what he wanted. They drip down the sides of your face. You hadn’t been able to stop him on the first night. And after he made you all too aware of how things work between a man and a woman, you hadn’t tried to, overwhelmed with how good he was at dragging pleasure out of you. But now, it’s like the world has come closing in and there’s nothing that can stop it from swallowing you whole. Not after what he did, simply because your father thought to stop him from taking his only daughter away. 

Your breathing comes far too quick. Your head feels like it's full of air and it begins to hurt. The cold stings your finger tips. You have no regard as to what your face looks like, letting it bunch up in what is probably an unsightly expression of your reactive sobbing.

“Hey, hey, I-” He’s no longer using that husky tone with which he usually addresses you when he gets like this. It’s trying to be soothing but a certain panic underlines his words. You can see him take his hands off of you, as if he’s burning you with every touch. But he still keeps you underneath some of his weight, his mouth opens as if to say something else, furrowed brows 

“Get off…Get off me,” you push at his shoulders and at first he doesn't move an inch. When you don’t immediately feel his weight move from pinning you down, your sobbing becomes volatile. Struggling to breath through your tears and your desperate wails, you inhale faster but it still feels like it's not enough. Thrashing mindlessly at him, uncaring of his anger or his punishments, is what makes him ease off of you a little. 

“Woah, easy,” he tugs your skirt down, shielding you from the cold as much as he can without touching you but you can’t stop yourself from being consumed by the physical reaction your shock evokes from you, wrenched from you. Like a child and their toys infected with scarlet fever. 

His soothing does work a little, now that you know he’s stopping, that he’s covered your legs. You sniff and writhe, your fingers grip at his upper arms. You can finally blink through your tears to see his expression, worry clouded with something you’ve never quite seen. The pull of his mouth tugs towards a guilt he’s never shown you before. 

You’re starting to breathe way too much, all of the air makes you dizzy and the cold still burns your lungs but you don’t care, letting the pain ground you. Your arms wrap around yourself to cover your breasts, trying to fix your ruined shirt to no avail. The frustrated fumbling of your fingers has Arthur softening more, but his voice still intonates with his natural authority.

“Sweetheart, you need to slow down. Jus’ breathe, you’ll be alright,” his commanding voice controls you more than you thought it would. He sits back on his haunches, hoping the distance might do you some good, crowding you isn’t in his best interest. You gasp for air, sitting up a little with the space he’s afforded you.

Arthur comes closer to calm you when he notices you can’t seem to do it all on your own. He’s slow, shushing you, his hand pets your hair, down behind your ear, to the side of your neck. He keeps his eyes low, the warmth of his hand helps you a little, so does his own rhythmic breathing, slow and steady.

He doesn’t say much for a minute or two, a ‘that’s my girl,’ tingles your ear, warms you up. You sigh, trying to regulate your breathing, appreciating his help but still feeling frightened and confused. Especially when you consider that he is the source of all your troubles. Arthur is close enough so you feel body heat, his fingers brush your tears away. Sweet in this gentle moment. How could you stand to take comfort from a man who shot your father? Who could have missed, who could have killed him? As always, you doubt that you’re right in the head. Something must be broken within you.

It’s hardwired though. Arthur is all you have left now. The only one here with you.

He doesn’t seem excited in the same way he was before. The adrenaline from his chase dies in your blood, leaving behind the residue of stress, a headache forming. The pace of your heart does slow down now, the puff of the air in your lungs. He watches you with an odd expression. Glad that you’ve calmed down but still disappointed. Perhaps with you, having ruined his plan of taking you, of spreading your legs in the snow, burying himself inside of you. If things hadn’t gone so wrong today, you might have let him.

The thought makes more shameful tears drip down your face. Despite any calm summoned from you, you still feel the curl of disgrace, laying in your tattered shirt underneath this man, shrinking away from his stare.

“What's wrong? Did I hurt you?” You can at least appreciate that he is worried about you, even if he has no clue why. You can see a fear in his eyes that he tries to hide from you, a fear that he’s caused you real pain. At least you know now that if you had done more screaming and crying, he might have stopped that day. You didn't think him to be so thick as to not understand why you are as emotional in this moment as you are. 

“Arthur, no, no, I just- I don’t want- I want to go home…now,” You had wanted to come away from this moment, maybe just a bit touched at how he had helped you through your foolish hysterics. But as always, some part of Arthur balances it out. 

“Just tell me why you was cryin’. I know that ain’t all of it,” He narrows his eyes. Your jaw drops, unable to hide your outrage. Your anger, which you keep in check most of the time, pushes at the lid of the pot you stuff it in. Every single grain of it threatens to spill out. Your fingers scrunch, your face does too. 

“Shooting my father and then hunting me like an animal; pushing me in the dirt for- for your desires- that’s not enough?” You realize now that dusk is here and it’s colder in this dark valley than it was before. You move to stand, he’s upright before you and he does try to help but you refuse him. Unfortunately, your anger hasn’t been honed into a point sharp enough to cut. It’s only wet and girlish, it makes you cry and tremble, your throat thickens unpleasantly.

“You did what you wanted with me, like you always do. But my family… I never wanted-” You wobble onto your feet, closing his coat in front of your chest. You should never have indulged him. You should have bitten and chewed and snarled and spat until he left you alone. 

You aren't sure why you didn't. You suppose it felt nice to have a man notice you, to call you pretty. To want you in some way other than to just ignore or to leer at disgustingly like the lonely trappers at the trading post, even when they were friends of your father. How pathetic of you. 

Yet, nothing about what he did felt disgusting. It was the expectation on you as a woman to reserve these affections for marriage that lashed against the inside of your ribcage. That whispered that it was wrong; it was anything but the pure and gentle lessons you received as a girl. Opening your legs so willingly for a man because he called you pretty, called you all sorts of saccharine praises, was tearing away at you. You hadn't fought him harder and at first you thought it was because there was no point, that he was too strong anyway so why waste the energy? But now, you aren't so sure of that resolve. 

He was handsome in his own way and he didn’t seem like all the boys your mother told you to keep an eye on in case you should marry one day. Lanky and thin, sparse hairs on their chins which they stroked like great beards. He wasn’t a drunken fool or witless boy.

Arthur was a man. He acted like one, he smelled like one, looked like one. He wasn’t afraid to muck stalls, to cook. And he acted like you were married already, like you loved him and he loved you. Perhaps you liked the idea of having a man such as him, a man who didn’t need you to replace his mother’s duties, a man who wanted you to simply be with him. And those glittering moments where you played house with him, sat on his lap and let him kiss you. You could have stayed with him there forever, buried in the snow. You would have been happy if spring’s thaw never came. But now, he stands, with an almost resentful look at your accusatory tone.

Everything has dissolved into a coagulated mess, like spoiled milk. 

“I do what I want with you? The hell does that mean?” He’s more upset now, at the insinuating circumstances. 

“Arthur,” you recoil at the anger in his voice. You don’t even know what you meant particularly but Arthur fishes a meaning out from your words, even if you hadn’t put too much stock into your own words. 

“You’re sayin’ that I violated you, is that it?” his hands rest on his hips as he moves to keep staring you in the eye, you’ve never seen him like this before. Really angry. 

“I didn’t ask to do that with you, I told you to…” It’s like he can sense how noncommittal you are with your own sentiments. Your own certainty doesn't linger with you. As much as you would like it too. He sniffs it out like a bloodhound, throwing the truth in your face. 

“You know what I think? I think- fact, I know. You’re one of those gently reared girls, think they’re better than this, above any of this low down ruttin’ us sinners do. You can’t even say it, can you? All that we got up to. That’s called fuckin’ , sweetheart,” The word curls into his vicious smile. You’re scandalized, can feel how your hands pull his coat even tighter. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone talk like that to you. It’s a dirty word but you suppose that is what it felt like to be with him. Dirty. But that rush, you can’t deny that. The one that shoots up your spine when you remember how it made you feel. 

 “Can’t say you ain’t like it, can’t say you did; and I get it. Ain’t the first time I met a girl like you. But you can’t lie to me,” 

You ignore the hind-brain jealousy that pokes your mind. His words are truer than you want them to be. You said stop once or twice, although you can’t recall too well about things you said. Instead, you told him you belonged to him. You had meant to endear yourself to him. It worked far more than you wanted it to. 

Pretending like you didn’t want him to do what he did protected your own self important image as your father and mother preferred you, not how things really were. And now that you don’t have them anymore, what use was that image? You try to cling to the truth of your old life, crumbling to pieces around you. 

“It’s not just about that. I…I didn’t say yes…I thought you would hurt me, you told me you didn’t want me to fuss. When you told me I had to stay…” you stun him, he seems like he hardly remembers doing that. In that low voice, his startling command. It scared you to the bone then, but it did shake something awake. You had never felt so wanted in your life as that day. Both of you are some type of wrong, you think. Maybe he recognized the same kind of wrong in you.

Carefully, he mulls over what you said. It affects him, you can see how that same guilt settles in the creases of his face. It roots around his eyes, the harsh lines soften. How his boots scuff against the ground. One of his hands scratches at his beard. But all too soon, it’s gone and a resolve hardens on his face, like he’s dashed the guilt away. Made room for something else. 

“Am I just supposed to believe you was lyin’ when you said you liked it? I don’t make you talk, darlin’. You might be pretty as a doll,” He looks over your features, over your hair and your pouting lip. “But you ain’t no string puppet. Wouldn’t hurt you, honey, not like that, not how you’re meanin’. It’d do you some good to remember that ain’t true ‘bout most anybody else,” He lets his body naturally intimidate yours, looking down his nose at you.

You don’t know how he can have such a prideful stare. Like he knows he’s right. He pushes the memory of your father, kneeling and gripping his wound to the front of your mind. 

“You didn’t have to shoot him. Heaven forbid my father from trying to protect me from you. Wouldn’t be the first time a father tried to keep his daughter from marrying you. Arthur, why exactly is it your first instinct to go waving a gun around when something goes wrong? I don’t understand what drives someone to do the things you do,” He chuckles darkly, as if you told a morose joke at a funeral. He does let a quiet frustration come over him, a glare gets leveled at you. But he holds himself tightly in his own restraint. Your retaliation against him; he treats it as a minor slight. You cross your arms while he brushes it off. All too good at letting insults slide off his back.

“That makes the two of us. I ain’t been a good man most my life and I ain’t sure I’ll ever be any good at it. I try to be good to you, I do, but maybe it ain’t enough. That’s just fine with me,” He steps closer to you, sensing your shock at his words. He’s back to that prowling wolf from before. His demeanor changes on a dime. He bends at the waist to grab his gloves and hat, dusting the bottom of the brim casually against his coat before placing it back on his head. His gloves are shoved haphazardly in his pocket. “I don’t know if I need that from you, some fairytale love story, where your Pa hands you over to me and I bring you up to the altar dressed like a government boy,” You’re almost afraid of him, how he carries himself. There's a dread hanging in the air around him, a foreboding poke in the back of your head. 

“Used to be an outlaw, around New Austin, Heartlands, all over…” you look at the cold look in his eyes. Colder than the snow that dusts the ground. Frozen stiff like a corpse, but you tremble anyway. He shifts his legs, widening his stance and placing one hand on his belt, next to the shiny revolver. “I’ve killed people, robbed them, or both…done things I wasn’t always proud of. I ain’t too proud of what I done with you neither. Tellin’ you that is…just about as good as bein’ married. Can’t let ya go wanderin’ off knowin’ the truth, now,” Arthur raises his arms in something like a shrug. The nonchalant air about him has that wet anger rising in your throat again.

“You ain’t goin’ back home. Least the home you had. Me puttin’ a bullet in your Pa don’t change that. I’d advise you to make your peace with the fact. I keep havin’ to tell you. I hate repeatin’ myself,” You continue to stare, eyes wide with the realization of his truth. An outlaw. You must be the most unfortunate girl in the state. To walk into the home of a killer. Your thoughts trail back to how he disposed of the body of the man who had tried to rob you. The cold and careless manner of dealing with death was telling then. It screams at you now.

“I-I’m not some belonging for you to collect, for you to hang on your wall. To put up on top of your fireplace, Arthur,”

“No, you’re much more than that,” You aren’t completely sure of his meaning. But it’s something that entails you being with him how he wills it. No better than being chained to his bed, really. He nears you and you do take a wary step backward, a little afraid of the neutrality on his features. He schools his reactions, tells you of his past with no remorse. 

“If you care for me, care for me at all, wouldn’t you- wouldn't you let me go?” you ask but you know his answer, when he finally closes in on you, drags one finger down the curve, the roundness of your cheek. His thumb rests on your lips, his other fingers curl around to almost the nape of your neck. His hand makes you feel entirely too small in his hold. Guides you to look up at him, as your fingers clutch the fur of his coat tightly around you. 

“See, that’s the problem right there,” he has a strange twist to his voice, a light lilt while he smirks down at you, the darkness dipping the shadows across his face into an even darker tone. “I care about you too much. Maybe it ain’t right, can’t say I give a damn either way,” the fragility of this moment isn’t broken until he puts a kiss on your lips that’s a thousand times lighter than the precarious air of this conversation. But you should have known being so restrained isn’t permanent with Arthur. 

A strong hand closes on your hip, drags you into the front of him. His breath quickens, it flatters you how much he likes you so near to him. Your hip aches pleasantly as he squeezes it. Your heart swells, you wish you could will yourself into rejecting him.

“Tell me you don’t want me, honey. Tell me to leave you alone…” You’re stiff as an iron rod when he pulls you to him. You brace yourself on him, hands compelled naturally to lay flat on his chest. Something about the full form of his body is so pleasing to you, the breadth of him against you. The warmth you feel and the strength lying in wait. The smell of him, leather and hide, tobacco and mint. It closes you in. You open your mouth to say something. Anything. 

“Arthur, that’s not fair,” you whine. Your anger might have caused you to lash out at him for once. But you’re back to the docile thing he liked to chase around, too occupied with his body so close to yours to realize that you’ve dropped all pretense of that strong front, that you haven’t answered his question. You wish you could continue being the kind of person who could tell someone like Arthur what he's asking. Strong willed, not so swayed. But you’re moved in the opposite direction by whatever is inside of you, some deep buried want of yours. And the constant tone of knowing that he’s bigger and stronger than you. It’s always there, rain pattering on the roof in autumn. He had no trouble chasing after you like this, in the encroaching dusk. It was more a game than any real challenge.

“Just say it, you keep tryin’ to, don’t ya?” you look away. Why can’t you say it? When he’s inviting you to rebuff him. You look up at him. A knot gets tangled in your insides. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. What is wrong with you?

“You can’t cause you don’t mean it, not when this little pussy gets wet when I touch you, when you kiss me back. You don’t remember when you was touchin’ all over me? Those kisses you put on me?” he teases you, a more smug exhale is what you get. The night weighs on your shoulders like a heavy blanket and so does his reality check. He has a sigh and a faint groan, as if thinking of all that you’ve done with him in the privacy of his home. 

You think to defy him, to spite his words but you can’t when he gives you another kiss. The dryness he licks away. This one is a wet sloppy mess, it doesn’t last long but he’s as right as he knew he was, you melt into it, grab onto him, tilt so he can kiss you deeper. His teeth nip at your soft lips, his tongue rubs over yours. A warm shame fills your belly and crawls up your face. You can’t bring yourself to hate his stupid smug lovesick look, the way he rubs the scar on his chin as he pulls away.

“You like me, don’t you, sweetheart?” He’s mocking you now, he knows the answer just as well as you do but he likes to feel like he’s wrenching it out of you. He’s caught you and he’s holding you up by the ears while you dangle uselessly; a rabbit caught in the hunt. You stare up at him, caught in his pretty blue eyes, the little nicked scar on his nose bridge. You have a very reluctant almost imperceptible nod. Despite the raging heat in you at such an admittance. You like the man who locked you in his home, who wants you to marry him while hardly knowing him, who used to be an outlaw. 

“Even after I shot your daddy? You’re somethin’ else, girl,” he revels in your reaction but with his own version of pity, an endeared expression at your warbling chin and heavy sniff.

A bad feeling curdles in your belly, you bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this. How could you ever do this to your family? Turn your back on them like this? But you didn’t see another choice. Tears bead on your lash line. He has to rub his inevitable victory in your face. You don’t know how you’re going to continue. How you can even stand the sight of Arthur: of yourself. Now that he’s twisted everything out of shape to suit his needs. You should spit on him. Curse him until he gets struck down by the powers that be. 

But you don’t. You aren't sure there’s any end to that. You hope to never repeat this cycle again. Where you try to pull against his control and he overpowers, strong-arming you into doing as he pleases. He gathers your tears, brushes them away. Rough calluses over the little sensory hairs on your skin. 

“C’mon, sweet thing, it’s time you get what ya want, huh? Time to go home.” 

UGH this arthur gets on my fucking nerves but i am so weak for him i hate his corny ass. god dark arthur is just too much for me lmaooo feedback is more than appreciated, please let me know your thoughts im begging wahhhhh

[oh-stars]

Lilies & Lavender

Lavender

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 712 words | CW: assumed cheating, lavender marriage, nosy neighbors | Rating: G

--

“Mrs. Grayfield thinks you’re cheating on me,” Robin says as she hands him another bag of soil. 

Steve snorts, swiping at his face with the back of his gloved hand to brush off the dirt he knows he feels on his face. “She always thinks someone’s cheating,” he says. He rips open the bag of soil and starts adding it to the new pots they just bought for the porch. “Remember when she made that big fuss about the Levinsons? Turns out, they had their extended family living with them for some time.”

“Yeah, but this time she has, like, actual evidence,” Robin says, grunting with the effort of moving the new lilies they’d picked up that morning. “Tell me again why we’re not putting these beautiful plants in our actual garden?” 

“Our flower beds get too much shade,” Steve says. “I want to see how they do in the pots out here first before we commit to rearranging the back flower beds.” He squints up at her. “You were the one who said the porch was missing something.” 

She shrugs. “I was more so thinking we could freshen up the upholstery on the bench.” 

Steve waves her off. “This is better.” He takes the flower from her and together they replant it in its new home, a massive flower pot that’ll take up a good chunk of space on their porch. “What evidence does she have?” 

“Evidence?” 

“You said she had evidence I was cheating?” 

“Oh!” Robin giggles. “She saw Chrissy leaving the other morning.” 

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “This is why I think Ed and Chris should just move into the place around the corner. Then we wouldn’t have to explain the cars to anyone.” 

“But then Chrissy would lose her bay window,” Robin says, “and I am not prepared to deal with her losing that window.” 

“I think you both would live.” 

“And can you imagine if Eddie has to deal with noise complaints every other day?” 

Steve groans and grabs the next plant to place beside the first lily. “You’re right, it's a horrible idea.” 

Robin’s quiet while they finish transferring the lilies to their new pots, all eight of them neatly planted in the two pots to frame their porch steps where they can get the most sun possible. “Should we get a divorce?” 

“We could, but what’s the point? It’s not legal to marry who we actually want to marry and the benefits we get from being married are too good to pass up on. And personally,” Steve says as he takes off his gloves to actually scratch at his face, “I don’t feel like dealing with the headache of splitting our assets unless we need to.” 

“Good point.” 

“Plus,” Steve smirks, “if we’re divorced, we can’t use the spouse excuse.” 

Robin beams. The spouse excuse is something all four of them use to get out of things, sure, but for Steve and Robin, they like to remind their partners of who they’re actually married to from time to time. It’s the best way to keep their sacred sleepovers – no one can argue that a husband and wife are meant to spend the night together. 

She looks at their hard work. The lily pots still need to be moved to where they’ll actually be sitting, the white flowers bright against the terracotta pots. “Do you think it clashes with the lavender?” She motions to the lavender plants lining their flower bed and the paved path that connects to their driveway. 

Steve shakes his head. “And even if it did, it’s only temporary.” 

“What time’s Eddie coming over?”

“Three. We have to leave by four to get to the concert though. You sure you two don’t want to come with?” Steve asks. 

Robin hums. “I think we’ll pass. I want some quiet one-on-one time with her before the anniversary trip, you know?” 

Steve nods, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mrs. Grayfield watching from her own garden. He leans over and kisses her cheek. “Sounds wonderful, dear,” he says a little louder. “My dearest wife, would you mind grabbing the hose so we can water the flowers?” 

She catches on quick, grin impossibly wider. “Anything for you, darling husband of mine.”

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

[unfinishedslurs]

bedsharing (future stobin lavender marriage) (steddie)

“Why do you have tampons in your bathroom?” Eddie asks, toweling off his hair. “Wouldn’t your mom just keep them in hers?”

“They’re Robin’s.”

He can feel Eddie’s eyes on the back of his neck, and turns around from where he’s hastily folding his clothes. He has another towel wrapped around his hips, and Steve’s gaze drifts there before snapping back up to his face. 

“What?” He asks.

“I thought you guys weren’t together.”

Steve sighs. “Just because I have tampons for when she stays over—“

“It’s just—why wouldn’t they be in the guest bathroom?”

“She stays in my room,” he says, and then realizes how that sounds. “Okay, yeah, but we’re not dating. That’s never gonna happen.”

“So you’re just hooking up?”

Steve instinctively makes a face, and Eddie’s eyebrows jut up. “No. I’m not her type, and even if I was, at this point that ball has left the court. I don’t like her like that, she definitely doesn’t like me like that, and next time Henderson tries to convince someone we’re soulmates I’m going to wring his little neck.”

“I thought you said you were soulmates.”

“Yeah, but not like that.”

“Just enough that she sleeps in your bed and has tampons in your bathroom, apparently.” Eddie bends over to wrap his hair in the towel, and Steve spends a long moment staring at the curve of his bare spine. 

“Hey, man,” he says belatedly. “We got caught off guard one time. I’m not doing that again.”

Two loads of laundry, and Robin had cried in anger and embarrassment. Steve of ‘83 would have found it disgusting. Steve of now was a little grossed out, but also had been bled on in ways much worse than a period, so he just took her out to milkshakes and stocked up on enough supplies to last for a lifetime. After that, all bets were off when it came to the few boundaries they had left. 

Eddie grimaces in acknowledgment, grabbing the pair of sweatpants on the bed. Steve turns around before the towel drops, because years of locker room experience can’t possibly prepare him for seeing Eddie Munson’s naked ass. 

“So no dreams of a white wedding and gaggles of grandchildren running around?”

“I mean, we’ll probably get married at some point,” Steve says absently, fiddling with his bedspread to keep from turning around. He can have self control. He’s capable of not ogling his friends. “It’ll be safer that way.” Shit, why did he say that? He might as well hang a neon sign that says QUEER over his head. “Easier,” he corrects himself, knowing damn well it’s useless. 

There’s a thud and a groan, and Steve whirls around to see Eddie on the ground, halfway into his pants. 

“Are you okay?”

“So you’re not together, and you’re not hooking up, but you’ll get married?” Eddie demands from the floor, wiggling into his sweats. “And…what? Have a loveless, sexless marriage? Because it’s easy?”

“Just because the love isn’t romantic doesn’t mean our marriage would be loveless,” he protests, mind whirling with excuses he can’t use. Why did he open his big mouth? Why couldn’t he have just said anything else?

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” he shrugs, trying to get his heartbeat under control. “We’re already going to spend the rest of our lives together. Might as well get some legal benefits out of it.”

“Sure, sure,” Eddie laughs, disbelieving. “Getting married for legal benefits and safety. Harrington, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this sounds like—“

“Sounds like what?” Steve cuts through what Eddie was about to say. He doesn’t know what it is, but there’s a bone-deep certainty that Eddie will end up on the truth if he keeps talking. “Are you coming to bed or not, man?”

Eddie falls silent in the middle of standing up, dark eyes pinning Steve to the spot. He knows, Steve thinks, and tries not to picture what Robin would say if he got another concussion. He hasn’t confirmed anything, and Eddie seems like a good guy, maybe even their kind of guy, but if he’s wrong then he’d better grab Robin fast and get the hell out of dodge. Dustin might forgive him eventually, if he knew the reason why.

The silence is getting unbearable. 

“Yeah, alright,” Eddie finally shrugs. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I want the left side.”

“You asshole,” Steve hisses, pretending the relief in his chest isn’t damn near killing him. “You know that’s the side I sleep on.”

[sofasoap]

At the barbers

Pairing: John Price x F!Medic! Reader (call sign : Chameleon)

Summary: Part of @glitterypirateduck's John Price "O, Captain! Challenge" prompt used : 92: Giving Price a haircut and/or shave

Warning: T-M rating.

A/N: as mention previously in my Little secret series, Reader is from immigrant/non-Caucasian background. I know nothing about military. Thank you @mini-metal for giving me few suggestions and few ideas! *hugs*

Part of the Memory in a Fragrance series Part of Little secret series

Master list

“Love.”

“Hmmm?” 

“Would you mind giving me a hand here please?” John struggled as he tried to lift his injured arm to trim his beard. 

You sighed. “I am only good with surgical knives and scissors.” You took the trimmer off his hand and gently pushed his arm down. “Why not go to a barber?” 

“.... I am not quite comfortable with someone holding a blade to my neck.” 

“And you are comfortable with ME doing it?” you cocked an eyebrow. 

He hummed. “That’s because you are my wife. I trust you with all my life.” he pressed a kiss into your forehead. Wrapping his good arm around you as you sink into his embrace. 

“Well I am flattered by the great Captain Price trusting me with a knife to his throat.” you giggled, “But I really wouldn’t trust myself to trim my own dead ends off, let alone take a risk of destroying your luscious mutton chop.” You could almost feel him rolling his eyes as he mumbled something incoherent.

“How about one of the boys helping you?”

“I don’t trust them either.” he rumbled. “I trust them with my life.. But I wouldn’t trust them NOT destroying my beard. I already heard them plotting to shave my beard off in my sleep a few times.” 

You couldn't help but laugh. “ Well… We gotta think of something. Can’t let you leave your hair and beard go until your arms heal….” 

The strong leathery, lavender and cedarwood, faint hint of cigar smell hits you as soon as the two of you walk into the shop. The old radio playing some jazz music in the background, the old barber sitting on the wooden stool, reading the newspaper. It brings you distant memories. One of those rare happier moments when you were younger…. 

John finally agreed after a bit of coaxing from you to get his hair and beard done by the professional instead of you trying your luck. 

“I will go with you, how about that? And maybe I can learn a few tricks and tips from the professional?” you suggested. 

The barber waved to your husband to sit down on the chair after you explained to him what needs to be done. He was more than happy to teach you how to help John to maintain his pride and joy. 

Price couldn’t hold back his smile as he saw how focused and concentrated you are, pouting and wrinkling your nose as you listened to the barber explaining each step and how to use the tools. It helps to distract him from some strangers working so closely to him with sharp apparatus. The barber even handed over the scissors a few times for you to try out. 

“Stop moving, you are laughing too much.” you mumbled as you tried to trim the extra long strains around the edge of his jaw. “I don’t think you want me to accidentally take a chunk out of your beard, and have the boys laugh at you at work.” “I could always shave all my beard off.” “Oh so you changed your mind? You're definitely going to give them a heart attack and give me a heart break if you do that. So…  Never.” you laughed as you handed the scissors back to the barber. 

“You get to see Lieutenant John Price?” 

“As much as you were a handsome young man back then,I would rather keep that memory in the photos.” You pointed out as you sat back down, letting the professional get back to work. 

You observe your husband’s side profile with a faint smile on your face as the barber finishes off the rest of the trimming and hair cut. Even after years of marriage, you still have a hard time believing, this handsome man is your husband. 

The moment you set your eyes on him, you didn’t think you had much of a chance. The ranks, the personality, the background…. Everything. 

But he chose you. 

“I choose you? I should be thankful you chose me, my love.” he whispered into your ear one night after you confessed your insecurity. Nuzzling his face into your neck. “For bearing my temper…my imperfections.” 

“What do you think?” he looked at your eyes through the mirror as the barber dust the rest of the beard and hair off his shoulder, seeking for approval. 

Moving yourself to stand in front of him, you gently lay your hand on his face, tilting it to the left, and to the right, and finally, giving him a kiss on the lip, enjoying the smell of the aftershave.

“Handsome. And the best mutton chop I have ever seen.”

“You sound like you have seen quite a few in your life.” he chuckled as thank and paid the barber for his service.

“Maybe, maybe not.” you teased him as you wrap your arm around him. “But it’s definitely the mutton chop that always gives me a good time.” you could see his cheek redden under the beard. “Now, it’s not so scary is it? Having someone else to trim your beard for you.” 

“If you come with me again next time.” he squeezed your hand fondly.

“Gladly.”

“Oh what, you mean we missed out a chance of trying to shave his beard off?” “And You will get your mohawk shaved off too if you do that, MacTavish.” 

Thank you @glitterypirateduck for hosting another wonderful event!!!! *hug*

Tag list: @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

@homicidal-slvt @mini-metal

@okayyadriana @deadbranch @cumikering @siilvan

@random-thot-generator @random0lover @devcica @nrdmssgs @glitterypirateduck @mmyrrhh

@mistydeyes, @groguspicklejar @roosterr

@gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot, @writeforfandoms @whydoilikewhump @tapioca-marzipan @alypink, @liyanahelena, @phoenixhalliwell

[yallthemwitches]

Traditionalists

For Day 24 of @jilytoberfest 🎶Then I know everything is gonna be fine, Because you are mine🎶 -You Shine from Carrie - The Musical

“And what room is this?” James' face goes dreamy, tilting his head against the wood of the frame. “The baby’s room I reckon.” Lily turns fast on her heels. “Baby? Whose baby?” James blinks. “Ours.” He straightens up, getting a glint in his eye. “Oh wait, sorry—you want traditional order of events: engagement then marriage then house then baby. Did I get that correct?”

AO3 link Here

“SURPRISE!”

He uncovers her eyes. Lily stares at a small gated walkway that leads up to a modest looking cottage. A small billow of smoke wafts from the thatched chimney.

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s ours.” His smile is infectious, every part of his face alight with glee. 

Lily looks back at the house. The garden out front looks recently tilled, little sprouts of infant seedlings popping out from the wet earth. 

“You bought us a house?” Her mouth is set in an o formation, eyes darting to each window and wooden beam.

“Well not bought—mum and dad said we could have it if we were willing to fix it up a bit. It’s been in the family for ages as you can probably tell by the ‘Beedle and the Bard’ feel of it.”

He isn’t wrong to call it a place out of a fairytale. Even down to the front porch, there is a hint of domestication and whimsy that her cement brick of a family home back in Cokeworth could never achieve. 

“James, it's lovely but— we aren’t even engaged.”

She rips her eyes away from the building, turning to watch his brow furrow before something clicks in his brain and his lips curl into an impish smile.

“Didn’t peg you for such a traditionalist, Evans. Would it make you feel better if I got on one knee right now?”

Lily sputters, cheeks burning. He has been doing this more and more lately, suggesting the idea of marriage. Eventually she had to tell him to stop after the fourth or fifth time he would crouch down on one knee in front of her and linger here just long enough to make her heart soar before straightening back up with the excuse of an itchy ankle or dropping a quill. 

“That’s not what I’m saying. It's just—we just graduated and you have only just met mum and dad—I hardly think that they would accept me bunking with my boyfriend so soon.”

“‘Bunking’ is it?” He quips, “Sure hope then they don’t find out how much ‘bunking’ we did back at school.”

She gives him a pointed glare and he concedes, reaching out to give her chin a little squeeze. 

“At least come see it first before you completely shoot it down—I did a lot of work already but it needs a feminine touch before it will be perfect.”

He takes her hand and swings open the gate to lead her down the walk. Closer to the garden beds, she can see little wooden signs popping out from the dirt. In James’ unmistakable scrawl are written the words: Lavender, Rosemary, Vervain, Wolfsbane.

“So this is the garden—mum said it’s good luck to plant the first two but otherwise I figured you’d want a healthy supply of potions ingredients.”

He doesn’t let her linger, pulling her up onto the porch and pulling back the heavy set door. Inside, the main room is full of light from the large windows. Bookshelves are already lined with a mixture of muggle and wizarding titles—many of which look like duplicates of the ones she keeps at home. Between books are slanted photographs of times gone by: her and him mid embrace after his Quidditch Cup win; Lily and Remus sitting in the forest near the Potter Mansion, rat crawling on her head as a stag nuzzles at her neck, a dog’s tongue slides up the side of the camera; a muggle photo she took of Sirius and James in Paris, both in mid guffaw as they are flanked by cancan dancers.

Her eyes scan away to a glinting object in the corner. A brand new TV set sits on its stand with a betamax player at its feet. A copy of Harold and Maude sits atop.

“I always wanted a TV,” James chirps, noticing her staring at the muggle invention. 

“Is that right? You planning on becoming one of those blokes who would ignore their naked wife just to watch a match?”

James looks aghast. “Merlin no Lils! I’ll just shag you from behind so we both can watch–” 

She pretends to scoff in disgust and he grabs her around the belly, calloused fingers wiggling until she is in tears from laughing.

“Honestly, I don’t know what I even expected,” she says, now with a cramp in her stomach. 

“Might I remind you that you brought up the ‘naked wife’ bit–” He puts emphasis on the last word, squeezing her hand tighter. 

“You’re Impossible,” she mutters, taking his hand to yank him into what looks like the hallway. 

He has decorated the hall with posters and art that mirror their shared Heads’ office back at school: a various smattering of film titles mixed with art pieces. He takes the lead, opening the doors one by one and letting her peer in. The rooms are less put together than the main living space, but the idea is there: a guest room (“In case Remus needs a place—the laws around Werewolves have been strangling these past couple years”), a room with a work desk and various bits and bobs (“a shared laboratory if you will—”), and a master bedroom. 

At the very end of the hall, the final room opens up to a small but bright space that is completely bare save for a coat of pastel red on the walls. Lily walks in and turns around, cocking a brow at her boyfriend who leans in the doorframe.

“And what room is this?”

James' face goes dreamy, tilting his head against the wood of the frame.

“The baby’s room I reckon.”

Lily turns fast on her heels.

“Baby? Whose baby?”

James blinks. “Ours.” He straightens up, getting a glint in his eye.

“Oh wait, sorry—you want traditional order of events: engagement then marriage then house then baby. Did I get that correct?”

Lily turns back to the room. The sunlight pours onto the floor casting little phantoms of the leaves. 

“James—it's lovely. It really is…but what about—” her voice fractures. The house is everything she ever dreamed of—a real life with him, built and filled with the express intention of happiness. She’s only just learned of it and it’s already hard to let go. 

“We’ve committed to the Order. Will be at war and Merlin knows we might have to go into hiding if things go south. It’s a beautiful thought but we just can’t afford to dream like—”

“Rubbish.” He cuts her off, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “That’s what he wants us to do. We can’t just stop living because there’s a war out there.”

“Nothing is a sure thing anymore, James.”

James takes a step forward. Eyes bright and pleading. 

“We are a sure thing. And all of this,” he gestures around the room, “Can be too. We can’t let them take it away from us.”

She feels the tears rimming her eyes. She can picture it so well: James tinkering on a new invention in the side room, Remus and Sirius dropping by, touting a case of beer and wild stories that they will tell in great hyperbolic zeal, a baby—a beautiful little child whose hands are smaller than a snitch, gargling with peals of laughter as James lifts him up, up into the air and spins.

“Ok—yeah, alright.” She wipes her nose, giving a small hesitant chuckle to dispel the reservations that still harbor at the shores of her vision. “Let’s do it.”

James crosses the small distance between them, picking her up and spinning her until she lets out a laugh that feels oddly reminiscent of their imaginary child. He sets her down and pushes her into him, his hot breath on her head like a warming aura. 

“I love you,” she murmurs into him. “Let’s be a family.”

He kisses her head, his smile infecting her from the head down. “Woah, Evans. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he says in mock reserve, “I mean, we aren’t even engaged yet.”

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Promises

written for @steddiemicrofic

prompt: one || wc: 1,111 || rating: T || cws: hurt/no comfort, cheating, custody and divorce, panic attacks, child tantrum

Thanks to the lovely @carolperkinsexgirlfriend for the edits!

“Max, go get your stuff.” Steve’s voice comes out sterner than he means to, but he’s exhausted after a long day of running errands. He doesn’t want to stand in the middle of his ex’s entryway and try to explain to their ten year old why her weekend with Daddy is over.

“But Dad,” she whines, “why can’t I stay overnight at Daddy’s again?”

“No, Max, ok? I’m sorry, but you have school and you still have homework to do. Now can you please go pack up? Auntie Robin is in the car waiting for us.”

She grumbles, holding back tears. “Why can’t I stay here? I want to live here and sleep here and Daddy can take me to school. Dad, I promise I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, stepping into the living room with Max’s bag over his shoulder. He squats down in front of her. A bittersweet smile wobbles underneath his scrunched up nose, and Steve can tell he’s barely keeping it together. “We don’t want to keep Dad waiting, alright? He’s tired, just like you, and you’ll both sleep better in your own beds, right?”

Max throws her small arms around Eddie’s neck and buries her tear-stained cheeks into his messy hair. He squeezes her tight, and Steve sees his body heave with a shake that Eddie tries to pass off as a sigh.

Steve’s resolve starts to crumble. He turns his back on the scene, pretending he can’t hear their quiet declarations of love and promises of next time. Pretends he doesn’t know Eddie’s looking up at him, silently pleading for forgiveness. A look filled with all the empty words Steve’s heard before.

“I miss you,” Max cries “I want you to come home.” A tear slips down Steve’s cheek and he quickly wipes it away.

“I miss you too, Honey.” Eddie chokes around another sob. “But Daddy’s going to stay here for a while, ok? I know it’s hard but everything’s gonna be alright, I promise.”

Steve coughs, hopelessly trying to dislodge the lump clogged in his throat. Except Eddie takes it as a cue of impatience. He doesn’t say anything though, just stands and guides her to the door where Steve’s still pretending not to notice.

“Come on Max, let’s go home.” 

“No.” Max says, voice hard with conviction. “I’m not going home with you. I’m staying here with Daddy. Forever.”

“Max,” Steve responds, trying to match her tone, “I’m done arguing about this, we need to leave.”

“Why is Daddy even staying here?” Her face and neck are painted with angry red splotches, and Steve can spot a tantrum bubbling up. Normally, gentle understanding and praise calms her down. But how can he even begin to answer her? How does he explain to her that her Daddy hurt him beyond repair? 

The only consolation Steve got on the worst day of his life was that Max wasn’t home to watch her Daddy stumble in through the front door sobbing at nine in the morning, reeking of booze, stale cigarettes and strange lavender perfume. At least she didn’t have to listen to Eddie’s desperate apologies between bouts of vomiting, or Steve screaming at him to get out while he threw Eddie’s acoustic down the stairs.

Steve loves his little girl, so of course he won’t tell her the truth. He’ll even lie to her, no matter the consequences, to make sure nothing taints her relationship with Eddie. He’s always been an amazing father, and what happened doesn’t change that.

She starts shouting again. “He should live at home with us! Why don’t you let him come home, please? Dad, I swear I’ll do anything you want!” 

Thankfully she’s facing Steve, because he looks past her at Eddie, who’s soaking his sleeves in tears. Steve’s watched Eddie cry more in the past three months than he has their entire marriage.

“No, honey, please let’s just talk–”

“No, I hate you! I hate you! I wish I lived here with Daddy instead of you!”

She quickly turns around, snatching up her pack from the floor where Eddie had placed it. Steve’s head rings with the violent slam of the door closing behind her. His mind’s filled with static, and he wonders how his life came to this.

Since he kicked Eddie out, Steve’s constantly reminding himself that he made the right decision. He’s been cheated on in almost all of his relationships, and he always gave them a second chance. Everything would go back to normal for a while before the relationship eventually soured, leaving him devastated. 

He refuses to keep giving people who hurt him another chance.

If they really loved him, they wouldn’t have hurt him. If Eddie really loved him, he wouldn’t have been tempted.

Eddie vowed to love Steve, and only Steve. Forever.

A lie. Another broken promise.

But now her words leave Steve cut open and bleeding out in the middle of his ex's new apartment. He collapses under the weight of it all, knees buckling to the floor. As the panic sets in, he’s wrapped up in a warm embrace, ringed fingers combing through his hair and soft shushes in his ear. 

They fall into routine. Eddie tells him when to inhale and exhale, a hand gliding up and down his back. Steve climbs further into his lap, seeking an old comfort he’s yet to replace.

“Angel, you know she didn’t mean it.” He tries so hard to whisper, but Eddie’s voice cracks around the nickname and there’s tears on the back of Steve’s neck. “We’re not our parents. Even if– though. Even though we aren’t together, we’ll still love and support her no matter what. You’re the best dad, Angel, I promise.”

Steve catches the golden shine of Eddie’s wedding band as it passes across his forehead. The image of his own matching silver band stuffed in the back of his nightstand makes him feel sick.

“You’ve always been good to us,” Eddie continues. “We’re so lucky to have you. We– she loves you so much, Angel.”

He wonders if tonight, like every night, he’ll slip the ring as he lays in bed. Or if he’ll be able to fall asleep without dusting his pillow with a small puff of Eddie’s cologne. 

Steve misses him– misses them. They’re supposed to be a family.

Nuzzling his nose into Eddie’s neck, he inhales deep and greedy until the lightheadedness leaves him tingling. Shaky lips press against the top of Steve’s head on a ragged exhale, as the soothing hand in his hair tightens, holds him in place. 

Steve cries and wonders if he could survive one more second chance.

[cravingpepsimax]

I think Filbrick kicking both out is so fun and angst riddled-I still love it when Ford goes to college though and still ends up at gravity falls. But,,,Filbrick kicking Stan out for being “a sissy” and bottoming (it’s 1972 pls don’t hate me) and Ford just follows Stan, giving filbrick the finger(s) and also just taking shit to pawn on the way out because that’s his brother-boyfriend and fuck you dad

cookin’ . Cookin’

in my vision filbrick kicks them both out instead of ford following stan, just ‘cause. like you said, 1972 — this ain’t ancient greek anti-bottom homophobia this is 20th century Sodomy Is Evil homophobia. also, importantly, they’re . brothers ?!?!

like ok sure ford being polydactyl was evidently not that big of a deal in turning him into the golden child but it’s also not . INCEST? like. incest is a Pretty Big Fucking Deal. ford is Committing Incestuous Acts On Purpose. GAY Incestuous Acts. there’s no fucking way filbrick would be able to look past that.

if stan was a woman filbrick could maybe justify it. like, oh, ford’s a man, he’s got teenage hormones, he’s not popular with the ladies so he has to go with SOMEONE. this is especially true if filbrick thinks of fem!stan as someone “loose”. he’d punish ford, obviously, but he wouldn’t kick him out.

if ford was gay with someone unrelated filbrick might be able to do the same. he’d obviously think it’s Really Fucking Bad — even if he stays in the closet, ford not settling down and having a wife would be an impediment on his success, he’s already polydactyl — but, you know. maybe it’s just a phase. maybe he’ll get into a lavender marriage, maybe he’ll be successful enough it doesn’t matter. Fine. not worth kicking out over.

but being gay AND incestuous?!?! oh god. there’s no recovering from that. filbrick can’t sweep the incest under a rug by saying ford’s a man, because men aren’t supposed to sleep with other men. he can’t leave the gay problem to be this nebulous future thing that he can ignore because it is HAPPENING IN HIS HOUSE BETWEEN HIS TWO SONS. they sleep in the same bedroom, for god’s sake!!!

however. very much agree on ford going to gf. i’m unsure if he’d still go to college — homeless during typical college age, lack of science fair being as big of a deal might lead to him pursuing research in a more… entrepreneurial way, etc — but he’s not gonna suddenly lose his fascination with the paranormal nor will he not stop being a devoted researcher just bc he didn’t end up in college. ford didn’t bc a supergenius cuz of college he was already like that