#there is a right answer and it's NOT MASSACHUSETTS

[stxrsniolo]

. ׅㅤㅤㅤㅤꦼ༚࣭࣭‧ ☀ ⌗ SUNSHINE .ᐟ MATT ✦ ꒷

✦𓏲⠀⠀❛⠀⠀˚ SUNSHINE .ᐟ MATT MEETS WREN ⁺⠀∩(´∀`∩)

ellwood, massachusetts, was the kind of town that clung to its secrets like damp leaves to a sidewalk. the houses on maple street stood close, their faded clapboard facades whispering of old arguments and older dreams. it was late august, the air thick with the promise of fall, and wren sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the crack in her ceiling that had been there since she was twelve. the house was too quiet. that was the problem. quiet always meant a storm was coming.

downstairs, her mother’s voice sliced through the stillness, sharp as a kitchen knife. “wren, you better not still be up there daydreaming. we’re not doing this again today.”

wren didn’t answer. she never did anymore. answering meant giving them something to twist, something to throw back at her. she pressed her forehead to her knees, her oversized sweater swallowing her frame, and tried to count the threads in the fabric to keep her heart from racing. one, two, three—her father’s voice joined in now, heavier, slower, like he was dragging boulders behind him.

“you can’t keep acting like this, wren. you’re not a kid anymore. you think the world’s gonna wait for you to figure it out?”

she hated that tone. the one that made her feel like a broken machine, like she was supposed to come with an instruction manual and she’d lost it somewhere along the way. her nails dug into her palms, bitten-down edges catching on her skin. she wanted to scream, but screaming never worked, it just made them louder.

outside, the sound of a moving truck rumbled, tires crunching against the gravel of the driveway next door. voices followed—bright, warm, a little chaotic. someone laughed, loud and unapologetic, and wren’s chest tightened. who the hell was happy at eight in the morning?

she didn’t look out the window. she didn’t care. new neighbors meant nothing to her. just more people who’d smile at her in passing and never see her.

“wren!” her mother’s voice again, closer now, at the bottom of the stairs. “get down here. now.”

she didn’t move. not yet. her room was her only safe place, even if it wasn’t safe at all. the walls were too thin, the door too flimsy, but it was hers. posters peeling at the edges, a half-finished journal on her desk, a pair of headphones tangled on her nightstand. her space. her cage.

the floorboards creaked as her mother stomped up the stairs. wren’s heart sank. she knew what was coming. the door flew open, and there was her mother—hair pulled back too tight, eyes narrowed, arms crossed like a general ready for war.

“what is wrong with you?” her mother started, not waiting for an answer. “you think you can just sit up here and sulk like the world owes you something? you’re twenty years old, wren. twenty. and you’re acting like a spoiled child.”

wren’s jaw clenched. she wanted to say something, anything, but the words were stuck, tangled in the mess of her throat. her mother didn’t notice. she never did.

“we’ve given you everything,” her mother went on, voice rising. “a roof, food, college paid for—and you can’t even bother to act grateful. you can’t even bother to get out of bed on time.”

“i’m trying,” wren muttered, so quiet it barely reached the air.

her mother laughed, short and bitter. “trying? you call this trying? you’re a ghost in this house, wren. you don’t talk, you don’t help, you don’t do anything but mope. do you know how embarrassing it is? to have a daughter who can’t even hold a conversation?”

wren’s chest burned. she wanted to scream that she wasn’t a ghost, that she was right here, that she was drowning and no one cared enough to throw her a rope. but her mother wouldn’t hear it. her father wouldn’t either. he was downstairs now, his voice booming up through the floor.

“leave her alone, carol. she’s just gonna do what she always does—nothing.”

wren’s hands shook. she stood, her legs unsteady, and faced her mother. “you don’t get it,” she said, voice low but trembling. “you don’t see me. you never have.”

her mother’s eyes widened, like she’d been slapped. “see you? all we do is see you! we see you wasting your life, throwing away every opportunity we’ve given you. you think you’re the only one who’s struggling? we’re all struggling, wren! but we don’t get to lock ourselves in our rooms and cry about it.”

“you don’t know what i’m feeling,” wren snapped, her voice breaking. “you don’t ask. you don’t care. you just want me to be some perfect daughter who smiles and nods and makes you look good. i’m not that. i’m never gonna be that.”

her mother’s face hardened. “then what are you, wren? tell me. because all i see is a girl who’s given up.”

the words hit like a punch, stealing the air from wren’s lungs. she felt the tears coming, hot and unstoppable, but she wouldn’t let them fall. not here. not in front of her. she pushed past her mother, her shoulder brushing against the doorframe, and ran downstairs. her father was in the living room, arms crossed, looking at her like she was a problem he didn’t have the energy to fix.

“don’t start,” he said, before she could say anything. “just go. you’re late for school.”

wren’s vision blurred. she grabbed her backpack from the couch, her hands shaking so badly she could barely zip it shut. the argument wasn’t new—it was the same script, different day—but it hurt more this time. it always hurt more. like her heart was a bruise that never stopped being pressed.

she stormed out the front door to catch air, slamming it behind her. the sound echoed down maple street, sharp and ugly. she didn’t care. let them hear. let the whole damn town hear.

outside, the moving truck was still there, parked in front of the house next door. a family was unloading boxes—two parents, a tiny girl, and a boy about her age, maybe a little older. he had messy brown hair and a hoodie with sleeves that hung past his knuckles. he was carrying a box labeled “matt’s stuff” in sloppy sharpie. he glanced up as the door slammed, his eyes catching hers for a split second. wren froze, her face burning. she didn’t need pity. not from him, not from anyone.

the boy—matt, she guessed—didn’t stare. didn’t frown or whisper to his family. he just gave her a small nod, like he was saying, *i see you, but i’m not gonna make it a thing*. his parents were too busy directing the movers to notice, but his mom looked over, her face soft and warm, like she wanted to say something kind but thought better of it. they didn’t judge. they didn’t whisper. they just went back to their boxes, their laughter floating like a melody wren couldn’t understand.

she wouldn't deal with this. why couldn't she just stay in bed and never deal with anyone ever again? it would make shit easier, she thought as she debated going back inside and skip class.

she turned away, her throat tight, and headed for her room again. she didn’t make it far. her mother’s voice followed her, cutting through the open window. “wren! your lunch is on the counter. grab it and go. you’re not skipping the first day.”

wren stopped, her hands curling into fists. she wanted to scream that she didn’t want the stupid lunch, that she didn’t want to go to ellwood state, that she didn’t want to be here at all. but she didn’t. she never did. she went back inside, grabbed the paper bag from the counter, and locked herself in her room.

the tears came then, hot and fast, spilling over as she sank to the floor, her back against the door. she didn’t sob—not out loud. she couldn’t risk her mother hearing, storming in again, telling her to grow up. so she cried silently, her body shaking, her hands pressed to her mouth to muffle the sound. she was invisible. she’d always been invisible. to her parents, to her professors, to the world. a ghost, like her mother said. a ghost who didn’t know how to stop haunting her own life.

she didn’t know how long she sat there—minutes, maybe an hour—before she heard her mother’s voice again, muffled through the door. “wren, you’re gonna be late. get moving.”

wren wiped her face, her cheeks raw, and stood. she didn’t look in the mirror. she knew what she’d see: red eyes, pale skin, a girl who looked like she’d already given up. she grabbed her backpack, her headphones, her lunch, and slipped out the back door to avoid another lecture.

the walk to ellwood state was only fifteen minutes, but it felt longer. the town was too small, too familiar, every street a reminder of the life she couldn’t escape. she kept her head down, her headphones on but no music playing. she didn’t need music. she just needed the world to stay out.

she didn’t notice the boy behind her at first. not until she stopped at the crosswalk on elm street and heard the soft shuffle of sneakers on pavement. she glanced back, and there he was—matt, from next door. same hoodie, same messy hair, a backpack slung over one shoulder. he was chewing on a piece of cinnamon gum, the scent faint but unmistakable. he didn’t look at her, not directly, but he was close enough that she could feel his presence, like sunlight creeping through a crack in the wall.

“hey,” he said, his voice soft but clear, like he was testing the waters. “you going to ellwood state?”

wren stiffened, her hand tightening around the strap of her backpack. she didn’t want to talk. didn’t want to be seen. but he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t staring. he was just… there. waiting.

“yeah,” she muttered, barely audible. she kept her eyes on the ground, on the cracked pavement, on anything but him.

“cool,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “me too. first day. kinda nervous, you know?”

she didn’t know. not really. she didn’t get nervous about school anymore—she got tired. but something about his voice, the way it didn’t demand anything from her, made her glance at him. just for a second. his eyes were blue, his gaze deep, like that lake her dad used to take her when he actually cared about her, when he loved her, when she had a family. he was smiling, but not the fake kind. the kind that felt like it could stick.

“i’m matt,” he said, shifting his backpack. “just moved in. next to you, i think.”

wren nodded, her throat tight. “wren,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say.

“wren,” he repeated, like he was testing the weight of it. “that’s cool. like the bird?”

she shrugged. no one had ever asked her that before. no one cared enough to.

they walked in silence after that, the crosswalk light turning green, the campus coming into view. ellwood state was all red brick and ivy, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a postcard but felt like a maze when you were inside. wren kept her distance, her headphones still on, her hands stuffed in her pockets. but matt didn’t push. didn’t ask her why she looked like she’d been crying, didn’t try to fill the silence with dumb small talk. he just walked, his sneakers scuffing the pavement, his presence steady in a way that made her chest ache for reasons she couldn’t name.

she didn’t know it yet, but that ache was the first crack in the wall she’d built around herself. the first hint of something new creeping in.

wren’s sneakers scuffed the pavement, each step a quiet protest against the morning. 

ellwood’s streets pressed in, too familiar, too heavy, like they were mapped with every moment she’d failed to escape. her headphones dangled around her neck, useless without music, but she didn’t need songs to drown out the echo of her mother’s voice—you’re a ghost, wren—or the bruise of her father’s silence. her backpack sagged against her shoulders, her lunch bag crumpled in her fist. the fight from home clung to her, raw and pulsing, a wound she couldn’t stop touching.

matt walked a few steps behind, his presence soft but persistent, like sunlight slipping through a cracked window. she didn’t know why he was still there, matching her pace, his cinnamon gum scent faint but steady. she wanted to snap at him to leave her alone, to let her disappear, but he wasn’t crowding her. wasn’t demanding anything. just… existing. it made her skin itch, made her chest ache in a way she didn’t understand.

the quad at ellwood state sprawled ahead, red brick and ivy glowing in the morning light. students buzzed across it—freshmen clutching schedules, seniors sprawled on the grass, laughing like the world hadn’t carved them hollow. 

wren’s stomach twisted. third year, and she was still the outsider, the girl who sat in the back, who slipped through crowds like a shadow, who wrote in journals she never finished. her nails bit into her palms, the pain sharp enough to keep her grounded.

“you know where the main lecture hall is?” matt’s voice cut through, soft but clear, like he was testing the air between them.

she stiffened, her hand tightening on her backpack strap. they’d already traded names on the walk—*matt, wren, like the bird*—but his voice still felt too close, like it could see through her. she glanced back, quick, defensive, and caught his eyes—deep blue, like puddles of water after rain, warm in a way that made her want to run. he was so new, a transfer student, walking into ellwood state’s third-year cliques like a lamb into a wolf den. no friends, no history, just a hoodie and a lopsided smile.

“straight ahead,” she muttered, nodding toward the brick building looming at the quad’s edge. her voice was rough, scraped raw from crying. “big doors. can’t miss it.”

“cool, thanks,” he said, his tone easy, like her sharpness didn’t faze him. “this place is a maze. feels like everyone already knows each other, you know?”

wren’s lips twitched, not a smile but close. he wasn’t wrong, ellwood state was a fortress of unwritten rules—who sat where, who talked to who, who belonged. she’d never cracked it. three years, and she was still the girl no one noticed, the one who hid in oversized sweaters and headphones. “yeah,” she said, eyes on the ground. “good luck with that.”

he laughed, soft, unforced. “gonna need it. you been here long?”

“third year,” she said, the words heavy, like admitting a crime. third year, and she had nothing—no friends, no place, just a journal full of half-finished thoughts and a family who saw her as a failure.

“damn,” he said, not judging, just… there. “you must know all the shortcuts by now.”

she shrugged, her sleeves slipping over her hands. “not really. i just… get by.”

he nodded, like he heard more than she said. “fair. i’m just trying not to get lost on day one.”

wren didn’t know what to say. he was too easy to talk to, too warm, like he didn’t see the walls she’d spent years building. it scared her, how he looked at her—not like she was broken, but like she was just… wren. she waited for the catch, the moment he’d turn away, but he didn’t. his blue eyes stayed steady, his smile faint but real, like he meant every word.

“i gotta go,” she said, sharp, cutting the moment before it could settle. she turned, her backpack bouncing, and headed for the lecture hall. she didn’t look back, didn’t want to know if he was still there. but she felt him, his presence lingering, warm and unyielding, like a crack in her armor she couldn’t patch.

the lecture hall doors loomed, heavy and cold as she slipped inside, the air hitting her like a slap. the room was half-full, voices overlapping, a wall of noise she’d never break through. she found a seat in the back, tucked her headphones into her bag, and pulled out her journal, hands shook as she opened it, the page blank except for a single line: i don’t know how to be here anymore.

matt slipped in a minute later, taking a seat a few rows away. she didn’t look at him, but she felt his eyes, soft and curious, not pushing but not leaving either. in his pocket, he fiddled with a scrap of paper—a doodle of a star he’d drawn during the move, something he’d give her later, when she was ready to let him try.

[screechingsandwichhologram]

i saw someone else do it and the result was bad. so here we go

also no, new york is NOT PART OF NEW ENGLAND

[ebenana]

Healthcare can be expensive depending on the country you live in, but it is impossible to attain when you live in a country/place where no doctors can perform the procedures that you need. It may be due to lack of equipment, lack of specialized doctors, or no hospitals at all.

I am raising $ for my friend's mother Nabila @nabila60 This is urgent. Her life is at risk RIGHT NOW and we don't know how much longer she can hold on without treatment. If you answered this poll, please reblog it to reach more people. If you have ever had expensive hospital visits, please show sympathy to a mother who will die without treatment. You can save a life! Every donation counts.

[lovethegenuine]

Heaven Personified.

Chapter One: Uneventful Beginnings.

Pairing: no outbreak/widower!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: You're a newly graduated twenty-two year old that's recently just hauled ass down to southern Louisiana after your sister helped earn you a job offer for the local elementary while you live under her roof. However, the local lone wolf that works for your sister on her ranch and is especially cold towards you for some mysterious reason and you're determined to find out why.

Warnings: +18 (as always) Only thing that really needs a warning as of right now is that there's a twenty two year age gap. Eventual smut is on the way, however!

Notes: mmmmm joel imagery im so horny??? who said that.

Word count: 2.6k

Additional notes: Here's the playlist that goes along with this series! Enjoy :)

Being a brand new college graduate isn't the easiest thing to be when you're an adult. You learned this yourself when you earned your bachelor's degree in English.

You attended college up in Massachusetts near your hometown, where your parents supported you while achieving higher education. However, throughout your time in college, you felt a yearning within yourself grow. It was a distinct emotion you knew was brought on by the desire to escape. You never did enjoy your boring life at home. When your older sister eloped with her wife, you were left alone to live with your parents. Don't get it wrong, you loved your parents, but they weren't the liveliest pair of people. This only became more apparent after you graduated.

After a year of boring nights and odd jobs that weren't even close to your major, your sister called. You'd just gotten home after an uneventful shift at your local grocery store and had almost attempted to ditch the uniform when your ringtone ran out through your quiet home. Your parents had already gone to bed, so you quickly answered just to shut your phone up.

"Hello?" A familiar voice entered your ears as you dropped your keys on the coffee table in the living room.

It wasn't unorthodox for your older sister to call you out of the blue. Even after she'd been gone for nearly seven years, you both still had a good relationship. Sometimes she'd visit, but she preferred not to, given your parents' opinion on her marriage.

"Hey old bastard, what's up?" You responded with a certain sarcastic whimsy that had been carried all throughout your years of being siblings.

"I'll literally make you eat shit if you call me old again." She returned the energy with a flippant threat and a giggle.

After some small chatter about life and the health of your parents, she shot an offer your way, one that made you light up with a curious glow.

"Ah, so, I got an offer for you. They're short-staffed at the elementary here, and I know you've been struggling in the job market, so I told them you'd be perfect for the job as an English teacher."

"So, I'd be, like, a nepo baby?" You remarked.

"Not necessarily, well, listen. You can come live with me and the wife while you work and see if it's a match. I know it's not like you'd prefer it up there with the real old bastards." She was right.

However, the prospect of living down in the rural south sounded like hell. The bugs, the heat, the smell. In that moment, it didn't seem worth it for a job in your field. Before you could even think about a way you'd reject her offer, she spoke up again.

"And, I miss you." The genuine sincerity in your sister's voice made you fold instantly.

You suddenly found yourself putting in your two weeks and packing your things, hauling them into your sister's car. She'd graciously driven all the way out, back to your hometown after over twenty-nine hours and a night at a hotel just to transport you back to her state. If that didn't show how much she loved you, it's uncertain what would've.

"Any, uh, luck in the dating scene?" Your sister asked, her eyes never leaving the road.

You both were on the last leg of the trip, and this was her attempt at not only keeping you awake but also scoping out any personal details you neglected to tell her.

"You know I would've told you already." This was a genuine statement, as you seldom hid stuff from your sister.

Your eyes fluttered as you struggled to stay awake. Both of you booked a hotel in Kentucky for the night, but you didn't get much sleep with how anxious you were. New opportunities made you anxious. You didn't like the idea of starting off fresh, and while you'd done countless training sessions for becoming a teacher, those were all controlled scenarios. You'd now be put to the test with little to no help.

You instinctively frowned as your eyes closed completely while your body sank into the passenger seat. Before your sister could question your grievances, you fell asleep and dreamt up something quite odd.

Visions of various events flashed through your mind as your physical body relaxed into a peaceful state. Most of what you dreamt was anxiety ridden and made no sense, to no surprise. At some point, however, the setting of the dream started to become more stable. You didn't exactly remember how this section of the dream started, but when you looked down, you noticed a long glimmering fabric hugging your body. You were now wearing a dress—a shiny pink one. One that most little girls dream of wearing one day. The details of the dress were dulled from the dream, like how most clothes look when generated from AI, but you didn't feel the need to care. You then angled your head up, noticing how the room morphed into a ballroom balcony. A faint tap on your shoulder alerted you, provoking you to then turn around.

"What a beauty." A soft voice bellowed from the wavering figure in a black tuxedo. Their face was blacked out, or it was possible that you just couldn't remember their features.

Behind them, you could see open doors that led back to a glorious ballroom. The figure shifted closer to you, successfully blocking your view of the room.

"Focus on me, please." They pleaded gently. It wasn't a familiar voice at all, and before you could rack your brain for the real-life source, they spoke again.

"We're almost here." This time, the voice became more distorted as they kept repeating that same sentence.

You awoke rapidly in the passenger seat and bore a confused face as you yelped, "I'm awake!" Which sounded more like a question than an assertion.

"Woah, I'm sure you are, kiddo!" Your sister giggled as she used a gentle hand to guide your body back into your seat.

You let out a groggy sigh as your body relaxed again while your eyes shifted to the passenger side window. You were finally in the countryside, which wasn't exactly your lifelong goal, but it was ten times better than fishy Cape Cod or Nantucket—or maybe it wasn't. You were sure about to find out.

Flashes of green grass, lazy pastures, and quaint homes passed by your eyes as you visualized what your new life would be like. Tranquil? You'd be dealing with kids all day. Clean? Your sister works on a farm. Quiet? That's something you could definitely look forward to on your days off.

"Oh, maybe on your days off, you could help out with the livestock?"

Nevermind.

At least you had your sister, who spoiled you and took care of you for the majority of your life. That's something you knew you'd always look forward to.

"You don't have to, though, so don't feel pressured! I just am always working, and maybe it'd be a good way to bond." Your sister had a sheepish-looking smile when she tried to take back the offer. You could tell she felt a little guilty for that suggestion.

"Well, how else will I earn my keep?" You reassured her.

The tense grip she had on the wheel relaxed, as well as her entire body. Truthfully, it had been a while since you both hung out, not over the phone, so she was trying not to bore you with her lifestyle.

Your eyes glanced to the front of the road as you noticed a lovely ranch in the distance. Taking a small look at the porch, you noticed a cushioned bench, along with tons of different potted plants. It was pretty, not to mention just well-maintained overall.

"Is that yours?" You questioned while pointing to the home.

"That would be it, yes." Your sister affirmed softly.

The car continued to roll down the road until it hit the driveway. Its tires slid across the gravel before coming to a complete stop.

"I believe the wife isn't home, so why don't I give you a tour of the house before we unpack the car?" Your sister suggested while putting the car in park.

You nodded your head in agreement as you began to unbuckle yourself.

"I also think Joel is working on the farm, tending to the horses today too, so you'll be able to meet him."

Your eyebrows instinctively furrowed as you froze before you opened the passenger side door.

Am I just supposed to know who Joel is? You thought to yourself as you angled your head towards your sister, who was already out of the car and headed to your side.

Your eyes continued to follow her as you exited the car as well. Her gentle smile faded as she furrowed her brows as well out of confusion.

"What?" She bluntly questioned, looking around awkwardly.

"Joel?" You remarked, insinuating your puzzlement.

"Oh! Sorry. That's my coworker, or, technically, my employee. He's worked with me since he moved here. Not much of the chatty type, but his work ethic is good." Your sister shrugged as she then waved her hand, signaling you to follow her.

Her house was what you'd expect any ranch to feel like. Open, warm, and comforting. You could tell which interior choices were from the influence of your sister versus her wife. Your sister had always been the rustic type, while her wife was a green thumb. There was a buck deer head mounted on the wall with two horseshoes on either side. It was masculine, much like your sister. On the other hand, the living room floor was lined with an Aztec print rug that fit perfectly under their coffee table, which housed at least three different house plants.

You were able to see the couple's differences in interior decoration displayed in various rooms as your sister showed you around. However, it was refreshing to see how they complemented each other. It made you jealous, and you weren't exactly thrilled at whatever third-wheel shenanigans you'd be put into. Nevertheless, you were happy to finally live with your sister, so you knew any qualms would be worth your while.

You and your sister finally neared the end of her house tour as she led you to the back deck. It was beautifully decorated, and the view was even more stunning. You could see everything from there, like the chicken coop, the cornfield, and the cattle. What was most noticeable to you was the horse stables, specifically the person standing with his back to both of you near the stables.

Your sister was busy showcasing all of the different buildings that were littered around her farm, until her eyes fell on the man as well.

"Oh shit, that's him!" Your sister exclaimed, and without a beat, she called him over.

"Joel!" She shouted with a certain excitement that was tangible to you and presumably the man she'd called out to.

He turned only half of his back to face you and your sister, but that was more than enough. His rugged face was the first thing you noticed. The years that passed by in his life definitely took plenty of time aging him just right. This was apparent by the stern fine lines that had carved themselves into his face. You could tell he'd displayed every emotion one could ever have. In other words, it was easy to gauge his experience through his face. He gave you a stare that you could tell wasn't out of malice, but to make his acute awareness distinguishable. He was taking you in just as you were him. Maybe not in the way you were drinking his appearance like water, but he was reading you nonetheless.

His sleeves were rolled up halfway, exposing the arm hair that hugged his tan skin. His muscles were ever so slightly defined by the casual button-up that was soaked from the sweat that glazed his body. You'd never been the type to gawk at men, especially those twice your age. However, in that moment, you felt rabid. Like you'd been starved all your life, and this man was the only meal that could satiate your hunger. You wanted to kiss the scar that ran slightly under the radix of his nose, to run your fingers through his hair, to caress his scruffy beard. You wanted to take him in physically and also mentally.

Your face felt like it was going to melt as he smiled at your sister. Whether it was more of an appeasement grin or a genuine smile, you couldn't tell. You were just happy to know how his lips looked when curled. You felt a smile of your own creep up on your face, and he began walking up to your sister and you.

"You never told me he was hot." You panicked through your teeth.

"Excuse me?" Your sister yelped while turning to you, appalled.

"Oh, right. You're gay." You shot back without hesitation.

Before your sister could become any more offended, Joel had made his way to you both and spoke.

"Glad to see you back so early. Is that the little sister?" He asked while gently pointing to you.

His voice was low and slightly rough. It's what you'd expect any older man's voice to sound like, but that didn't take away from his charm. He also had an accent, but you couldn't decipher where it was from. Possibly Texas, or maybe Tennessee. Regardless of the location, you still loved it. Maybe a bit too much.

Your sister confirmed his observation and gave him your name. You would have preferred to give him your name yourself and felt a tad moody at the loss of an interaction, but when he turned to you again and repeated your name back to you, it made you go blank. Not to mention the fact that he gave you a grin while taking your hand to shake. It's like he knew what he was doing to you.

He didn't actually. You knew it was formalities, but for the time being, you'd like to believe that he was subtly trying to court you.

You naturally returned his greeting with a sweet face as your sister spoke up.

"Yup. She's gonna be one of the new teachers down at the elementary." She announced proudly while looking honored to be your sibling.

However, upon hearing your new line of work, Joel dropped your hand and his smile. If you hadn't been so enthralled with him, you might not have even noticed his slight shift in behavior, but you did.

"Oh." He flatly remarked while putting his head down while giving you both a now strained smile.

Your sister was about to start bragging about you again until Joel cut her off.

"I really have to get back to my work. Mind if we do this another time?" It was unconvincing to you, but you knew your sister wouldn't push it, and she didn't.

You both watched as he trudged back to his work, leaving both you and her confused.

"Well, I guess that just proves what I said." She shrugged as she waltzed back into the house, leaving you to gaze longingly at Joel, wondering what had changed.

You sighed, a little disappointed that your first encounter was awkward. Especially since you wanted to make a good impression. You eventually left to join your sister inside, but you knew you'd not only be thinking about that interaction, but Joel overall would be stuck on your mind all day.

And that's something you worried about.

[writingonleaves]

wrap your arms around me, baby boy - will smith

pairing: will smith x original female character

warnings: swearing, probably the most dialogue in a piece i've ever had, mention of marijuana , boston college (as a boston university alum this is a valid warning❤️), niche massachusetts references, fluff fluff fluff

inspired by + title: paper rings by taylor swift

word count: 5.5k

author's note: hi!! tried not to overthink this one too much because i've been in a writing rut lately and this turned out longer than i expected. i also usually try not to write about the kids or anyone younger than me but i feel like this song fit our fave lexington shark boy and i had fun exploring a college relationship like this. this is for @wyattjohnston and @comphy-and-cozy's eras tour fic challenge!! i hope you all enjoy it and lmk what you think!

october 2023

“I think I’m gonna marry you one day.” 

Danielle Layden doesn’t even look up from her notes, unimpressed. “Sure, dude.”

“I’m serious,” She sighs, before putting her pen down and looking up at Will Smith, who’s continuing like he’s just asking her about the homework, which he did about three minutes prior. “You don’t think so?

She blinks, making sure that the professor isn’t in the lecture hall yet. “Will, I met you, like, three weeks ago, while you and your friends were high off your asses, mind you, and you don’t know how to write a proposal.”

“You have something against marijuana and bad writers?”

She rolls her eyes as he laughs. “We have a quiz in 5 minutes. Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Well, seat partner, I don’t think I do,” he says smugly. 

“We are not seat partners,” she drawls out, taking a sip from the coffee that he brought her when he came in, toothy smile making her unable to be 100% annoyed with him. She doesn’t wanna overthink about the fact that it’s her exact order too, because he shouldn’t know that.

“I think we are,” he sings. “Are you coming to the game later?”

“What game?”

Will snorts. “Yeah, nice try. I know you stalked me on the internet after we met. I also talk about hockey all the time.”

“I don’t know what hockey is. Explain it to me again?”

“Smartass,” he mutters as a smile seeps through Danielle’s lips. “So are you coming?”

“Should I?”

“I think so.”

The professor claps his hands and he’s still looking at her, waiting for an answer. She just shrugs. She’ll leave him on his toes. 

The next week, as Danielle’s been learning to expect now, Will slips in the seat right next to her, sliding over her coffee. 

“How do you know my order?”

At the same time, he asks. “What did you think of the game?”

She blinks. “What if I didn’t go?”

“Dani,” he deadpans. “I know you went. I saw you in the crowd.”

“You saw me in the sold out crowd?” She eyes him warily. “I highly doubt it.”

“Evie told me where you guys were sitting beforehand.”

“Evie doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“What did you think of the game?” He repeats with insistence. 

She bites her lip. “You got a goal.”

“I did.”

“It was fun.”

He lights up like a puppy and she can’t help but melt. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nudges his shoulder. “You’re pretty good at this hockey thing. Better than you are at writing proposals.”

He chuckles, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I’m glad you had fun.”

“I’m glad you didn’t lose.”

“Doesn’t happen very often.”

“Cocky,” Danielle observes. 

“Just like you are about writing proposals.”

She switches the subject. “How do you know what my coffee order is?”

“You told me.”

She tilts her head to the side. “When?”

“The night we met.”

“When you were high off your ass?”

“Quiet down,” he scolds playfully. “I am an athlete, you know? Gotta keep up that pristine image.”

She lets out a bark of laughter. “Pristine image? Okay, dude.” 

“Hey, actually, before Langley comes in, I wanted to ask you something.” 

That gets her attention, as she turns fully towards him. “What’s up?” 

“Okay, so, you can say no,” Will starts, which, hilarious way to begin. She tries to hide her amused smile as he continues. “Would you mind looking over my midterm paper? I know you have all your own stuff to do so I totally get it. It’s just, it’s obvious you’re the best writer in this class and I’d really appreciate a second set of eyes like yours.”

A few seconds of silence pass by before Danielle smiles genuinely. “You don’t have to beg, Will. I’ll look over your paper. You only talk to me though. You don’t know that I’m the best writer in this class.”

“I think I do.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she deadpans.

He smirks, sliding his phone over. “Put in your number and we’ll find a time?”

She types her number in and texts herself, “I think you just wanna find an excuse to spend more time with me.”

“Busted. I did say I’m gonna marry you one day.”

“Let’s see what you get on your midterm first.”

november 2023

“Hey”

Danielle looks up from her books at the familiar voice, a bit disjointed because she’s not sitting in Fulton Hall but instead at the library. She takes her headphones out and tilts her head to the side at Will and two other guys right next to him. “Hi.”

“Do you mind?”

She starts clearing her stuff from the table, “As long as you’re not annoying.” She puts on a warm smile. “Hi. I’m Danielle. Or Dani. Whatever works.”

“I’m Ryan, and this is Gabe.” Ryan grins. 

She narrows her eyes a bit, gaze lingering on Gabe. “You look familiar. Have we been in a class together?”

“Maybe? What are you taking?”

“You’re in my Psych class,” she concludes. 

“With Petrovich?”

“The very one.”

Gabe lights up. It’s kinda adorable. “Where do you sit?”

“Don’t,” she says as Will chuckles, which causes one side of her lips to quirk up. “I’m not having a repeat with what’s happening with Will here.”

“Hey now,” Will says as his two friends laugh at him. “Leno’s the one from Amherst, by the way.”

Danielle lights up. “Oh! Will’s talked about you. I’m from Ludlow.”

“Really?” She nods as Ryan leans back in his seat. “I went to Pope Francis.”

“Of course you did,” she deadpans. “That’s almost as bad as St. Sebastian’s.”

Before she can think about if it’s too mean, Ryan has burst out into laughter. “You know what? Smitty should marry you. You’re funny.”

She whips her head towards Will, who looks smug. “Are you telling everyone that?”

“No,” he drawls out. 

“Yes,” Gabe says with a giggle. “I mean, you are the reason Will did well on his paper.”

“I know,” she says wryly. 

“So why wouldn’t he marry you?”

She ignores them and tilts her head to the side at Will. “You know, I didn’t think you’d lure your side pieces into this nonsense.”

“They’ve been here from the start!”

“Side pieces?”

She blinks, before, “Oh! You guys were also high the night we met. You were the friends. It was kinda dark so I didn’t really see your faces.”

“If Coach ever hears you, we’re banned from the team,” Will says. 

“I don’t really have plans to get to know your coach, so you’re in luck.”

“Do you like hockey?” Gabe asks. 

Danielle clicks her pen. “What’s hockey?”

“Don’t,” Will warns as she giggles. “She always does this.”

“What?” Ryan smirks. “Bust your ass?”

“I mean, good,” Gabe adds. “You need it, Smitty.”

She nudges Ryan in the shoulder and blows Gabe an air kiss. “I like you two. Dunno why you hang out with Will though, so that’s a character flaw.”

“Can you help me with Psych homework?” Gabe asks with a hopeful tilt. 

“Of course.”

Will narrows his eyes playfully. “Get your own seat partner, Gabo.”

“As fun as this has been, unless you all are doing homework and can quiet down-”

“Can we join?” Will asks, playful facade fading into a genuine one. “We can leave, but we also did come to do homework.”

She puts an earbud back in. “Be my guest.”

By the end of her time in the library, she’s gotten a cookie from Ryan (“413 have to stick together, baby”), Gabe’s phone number so they can study for Psychology together and smiles from Will that has her stomach feeling unsettled. As she’s walking back to her dorm, she gets a text from her roommate Tracy. There’s a hockey game this weekend. Does Danielle wanna come? 

She gives Tracy’s text a thumbs up.

december 2023

“Happy last class,” Will says, sitting down next to her. 

She reaches out automatically for the coffee he slides over with a smile. “I have something for you.”

“For me?” He teases, but he’s visibly taken aback.

“Yeah,” she reaches into her bag to feel around for the crochet eagle. Once she finds it, she pulls it out carefully and places it in his hands. 

His eyes soften. “You made this?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. I love crocheting and, I don’t know, it seemed fitting.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, clipping it onto one of the zippers on his backpack. She swallows, a frog suddenly appearing in her throat. “I’ll carry it with me everywhere.”

“When do you leave for Sweden?”

“Leaving BC the 13th, so gotta take all my finals early.”

She hums. “That’s soon.”

“It is,” he drums his fingers on the table. “It feels like this semester has flown by.”

“Yeah,” she says somewhat wistfully. A curl falls onto Will’s forehead and she has to dig her nails into her hands to prevent her from reaching up and fixing it. 

He shakes his head a bit at himself, as if trying to motivate himself to do something. “Listen, I, uh, you can totally say no, because I know I kinda forced you to be my friend in the first place. And I’ve been wanting to ask you this for weeks now, maybe months, but I was thinking maybe when I come back next semester we could hang out?”

She teases him. “Hang out? Should we invite Gabe and Ryan along? Maybe Jacob? I met him the other day, you know. He threw you under the bus.”

“No,” he presses and Danielle hides her giggle at his minor petulance. “Just us two. On a date. Dinner and all. The whole nine yards.”

Danielle is full out grinning now. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You’re impossible,” Will deadpans. 

“Yes,” she says, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Yeah?”

“On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“I pay. I owe you for all the coffees this semester.”

He snorts. “Yeah, that’s not happening.” 

“You said anything.” 

“Dani.”

“Fine,” she pushes a finger into his chest. “You’re also deciding where we go though. I’m too indecisive for that.”

“Of course,” he grins, a slight blush painting his cheeks. “I’ll text you when I’m back on campus?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

january 2024

“It seems weird not seeing you Friday mornings anymore.”

Danielle chuckles as she opens the door to let Will inside. He steps to the side as she slips on her boots. “Not Mondays and Wednesdays?”

“Well, yes. But there was something nice about seeing you to end my week.”

She rolls her eyes. “Laying it down thick right at the start, huh?”

“Well, I would’ve brought flowers to really drive it home, but I remember you mentioning you didn’t like them.”

“You have a scarily good memory,” she remarks, grabbing her bag before they walk out of her dorm, Will’s hand hovering over her lower back. “Where are we going?”

“This restaurant called Seasons 52. It’s a 30 minute walk but we could also drive since I have my car. But it’s also nice out and I know you like walking everywhere-”

She halts in the hallway, causing Will to crash into her. “Will, that’s…a nice restaurant.”

“Is that okay? Too much?” His eyes widen in uncertainty. “I’ve been there with family for special events and stuff and it’s pretty good and I figured that-”

“It’s okay,” she assures him. “It is. I just, you didn’t have to do all that.”

Will shrugs as they wait for the elevator. “It’s not a big deal. You deserve all the stops. Wouldn’t wanna put that outfit to waste either.”

She snorts looking down at the nice brown sweater and jeans she put on. “This is nothing. You look very sharp. Different from the sweats you usually wear.”

“Hey!” He protests as she laughs. “Remember when you saw me in a suit before the game?”

“Yeah. I think I have those pictures on my phone still.”

He rolls his eyes at the memory of him seeing Danielle right before a game as she just snapped pictures of him with a smirk. “You know, the boys gave me crap about that for days.”

“Mission accomplished then.” She nudges his hip with hers right as the elevator doors open. “I know I texted you this already, but congrats on the Gold. My mom was confused why hockey was on the TV and it wasn’t the Bruins. My brother was pumped though. He’s been trying to convince me to get into hockey for years.”

He blinks. “You watched?”

“I tried to. Saw the gold medal match in full though. Landon loved Ryan’s celebration. What a bitch.”

“Landon’s your brother?”

“Yes he is.”

“Hockey fan?”

“Yeah. He went to BU.”

“Lame,” Will says without thinking. 

She laughs. “I tell him that all the time.”

“Just the one brother?”

“Nah. Two younger sisters too. He’s the oldest. He loves it.”

“Your sisters must love you.”

Danielle takes her hair out of her jacket as they start walking. “Why do you think so?”

“I have an older sister. Grace. She’s awesome. Also at BC actually. So I know what it’s like to have an older sister to look up to.”

“I do love them,” she admits. “I think I’m the lucky one to have them though.”

For January, it is surprisingly warm as they make their way to the restaurant. Will has a grin plastered on his face the whole time as he just lets Danielle playfully rag on him. At some point, she grabs his hand and their hands stay connected and Will feels like he just scored a hattrick. Dinner is yummy and romantic and so fun because everything about Danielle Layden is fun. Will snags the check, ignoring her look in the process. 

As they’re walking back to campus, Danielle has tucked herself into Will’s side. She pokes him playfully. “Do you still think we’re getting married?”

Will cackles. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

“No,” she says softly, biting her lip. 

He looks at her momentarily, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “Good.”

Right in front of her dorm building, she kisses him. He smiles into her lips as he pulls her closer.

february 2024

Danielle has a big paper due next week. She doesn’t have time for this. 

She checks her phone again to skip the song and rolls her eyes at the dozens of messages from Will the whole morning. Thank God she’s been on Do Not Disturb. 

She may not know the ins and outs of hockey like her new boyfriend, but she knows what it’s like to lose. So she knows that he was really upset when BC lost in the first Beanpot game against BU. Hell, she was there in the stands. She knows the guys on the ice were one hundred times more upset than the fans in the stands representing the eagle. 

But ghosting her and then ditching her on a pre-planned date they had the next day is uncalled for. Judging from the sheer amount of texts and missed phone calls the last 24 hours, she knows Will knows he fucked up. But she’s not doing this. She’s not taking this crap from anyone, much less a boy. 

Two hours later, once she’s knocked out a good chunk of her paper, she leaves the library in search of some dinner outside of the dining hall to treat herself. It’s just her luck that as she’s walking past Conte with her headphones in, she sees some of the team in the distance walking towards her. Will is one of them. 

She sees the moment he recognizes her and then stubbornly puts her head down. She hears him call her name, but she just brushes roughly past him, shoulders knocking together. If he wants to explain herself, he’s gonna have to do more than that. 

When she’s just changed into her pajamas later that night, her phone rings. It’s Will again. She decides to answer.”

“What do you want?”

“Come outside.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t-”

“Please?” 

She hears the plea in her voice. “Fine.” She hangs up, grabs her keys and jacket, and runs down the stairs. 

As soon as she walks outside, she sees Will standing to the side, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hi,” he says.

“You ready to talk now?”

He flinches. “I deserved that.”

She crossed her arms, “Well?”

“I’m really, really sorry for ghosting you the last few days,” he rushes out quickly but tone dripped in sincerity and vulnerability. “I-it was really shitty of me to just avoid you and not respond to you at all, especially when I know you were just worried about me. I owed you more than that. I owe you more than that. I shouldn’t have let my emotions get to me like that. I’m sorry.”

She sighs. “Will, I get that losing a game like that sucks. I’m not really mad that you’re mad about it. I’m pissed that you didn’t talk to me, even if it was to tell me to leave you alone.”

“I’m really-”

She puts her hand up. “I’m not done yet.” He shuts his mouth and nods at her to continue. “I know I’m still trying to understand your world and how I fit into that, but getting ignored like I was the last few days sucked. We just started dating. It felt like a slap in the face. I don’t care if you don’t wanna talk to me, just tell me you don’t wanna talk to me instead of leaving me in the dark. If that happens again-”

“It won’t,” he says firmly. “It won’t. And it’s not my world that you have to fit into or whatever. It’s not about me. It’s never about me. It’ll never be about me. I fucked up, Dani. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She looks at him for a moment, before jabbing a finger into his chest. “Apology accepted. Just talk to me next time, okay?”

“I will, I promise,” he says, letting out a sigh of relief. “God, I’m such an idiot. It’s not like you’d ever judge me.”

“For what? The loss?”

“..Yeah?”

She rolls her eyes, taking her hands in his. “I judge you. I do it all the time, actually. Never, ever for that, though.” She squeezes his hands. “It just wasn’t you guys’ night. You’re a good hockey player, Will, but that’s not why I’m with you”

He chuckles wryly, leaning his forehead against hers. “I need to buy you a ring.”

“Easy, tiger,” she warns with a grin. “If you want me to completely forgive you, you owe me coffee for the next three months.”

“That easy?”

“No,” she admits. “But it’s a start.”

He places a quick kiss on her lips. “Anything. Anything you want.”

april 2024

The second the clock runs out, Danielle puts her head in her hands. There are murmurs of disappointment and cursing heard from attendants of the Frozen Four watch party her friend hosted, but all Danielle can do is bite her lip in sadness for Will and the other guys. She ses Ryan visibly sobbing and that’s her limit, as she walks into the kitchen to grab a glass of water to take a breather. She fingers through her phone to the text chain with Will, sending a red heart and “always proud of you” before putting her phone back in her pocket. 

She squeezes her eyes shut. God, they were so close. They worked so hard. Will’s worked so hard. But that’s just how it goes sometimes. 

As she’s helping clean up, she can’t help but think of the implications of the loss. She hasn’t been shy with Will after learning more about how big of a deal he is in the hockey world and how there’s a chance he may not come back next year. Initially it terrified her — getting into a relationship with someone who might not even be on the East Coast in a few months — and it still does somewhat, but he’s been so open and honest about it and Danielle has never been the kind of girl to not do something because she’s afraid. 

But that night, in her dorm, as she sees Will send a text back with just a heart, she’s afraid. They’ve only been dating for four months. And he’s become one of the best parts of her life. She has always wanted him to do what’s best for himself and his career — she has no part in that decision and doesn’t want to have a part — but if that means leaving BC, what does the future of them look like? 

The next morning, Danielle is up early and playing with her phone in bed mindlessly, waiting for the text from Will that he’s back and settled in his dorm. She knows the team had a flight scheduled to land early this morning and even before last night’s result, she was always going to see him.

Once she gets a text from Will, she’s bolting out the door, grabbing a small of groceries she had gotten the night before, knowing that him and Gabe’s fridge is emptier than usual and maybe a simple breakfast of a nice omelette and a smoothie will cheer them up. 

The door swings open before she can even text Will to let her in. She barely sees his face before he pulls her into a tight hug. She squeezes him, swaying them side to side, as students going in and out of the building step sideways to avoid them. 

“I’m sorry, dude.”

He somehow musters out a watery chuckle at the nickname that’s somehow become a petname between them. He mutters into her shoulder. “I fucking hate losing.”

She continues rubbing his back. “I know.”

“We were so close.”

“I know,” she pulls away and reaches up to run a hand through his hair. He practically collapses into himself, pulling her into another hug, resting his chin on top. “I’m proud of you regardless,” she says into his chest softly. “All of you. You worked so hard.”

“I love you,” he mutters and Danielle’s stomach flips. He first said it the day before he left for St. Paul when they were having a movie night at her place, snuggled up in her bed as he whispered it into her hair, but it still makes her throat close up with adoration. 

(She hasn’t said it back yet, but he hasn’t pressured her at all. She’s almost amazed at how much he doesn’t seem to be.)

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go inside.”

He automatically reaches for the bag around her shoulders with a furrowed brow. “What’s in here?”

“Groceries. I figured you and Gabe hadn’t eaten yet so I thought I’d whip up an omelette or something.”

He steps into the empty elevator and kisses her for the first time since he left. “God, you’re an angel.”

“No, I think ahead,” she corrects. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there in person.”

“Don’t be,” he says. “I feel your support everywhere all the time.”

“You do?”

“With every call and text,” he assures. “Thanks for coming. I’m probably not going to be the best company today.”

“Will,” she taps his chin so he’ll look at her when she says her next statement. “There is nowhere else I would’ve been today, no matter the result.” He just pulls her closer to his side in response. 

When she gets to Will and Gabe’s suite, she immediately scurries around the kitchen as Will hovers. Usually she would shoo him away and make him wait elsewhere, but she knows he doesn’t wanna be alone right now. As she’s plating the second omelette, Gabe wanders out and she shoots him a small smile, stomach dropping at the bags under his eyes that mirror Will’s. She gestures at him to sit and slides over a plate and a glass of the green smoothie she made before giving him a hug. 

“Smitty’s lucky to have you,” Gabe says inbetween forkfuls. 

Danielle chuckles as she fixes herself a plate. “I’m just as lucky to have him. Where’s Ryan? I can fix him a plate if he wants.”

“Stop,” Will says with a look.

“What? I can!”

“I know,” he says fondly. “But you don’t need to.”

She gives him a deadpan look. “Well, is he coming?”

Will sighs. “He said he might stop by in a bit.”

“I’ll leave him some of the smoothie then.” She catches Will’s smile as she starts digging into her omelette, talking with Gabe about anything except the loss. 

After breakfast, she and Will venture to his room, where they lay in his bed and he puts on Brooklyn 99. As she’s laying on his chest and he’s twirling her hair around his finger, she can tell his head is everywhere but in this room. She lets him be like that for three episodes before she reaches for the remote to pause it. 

She turns to him. “What’s going through your mind?”

He shrugs. “Probably everything you think.” They sit in silence for a minute or two, before he pipes up again. “You can ask me.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because the answer is yours to decide, and I know you’re gonna ask for my opinion but I don’t want you to be influenced by it,” she smoothes over his furrowed brows with her thumbs. “Everything coming up next has been a thing long before we met. Even if I had an opinion about it, it shouldn’t be taken into account.”

“So you think I should leave BC and sign?”

“I think you should seriously weigh the pros and cons of both, which I already know you’re doing.”

He sighs with a wry smile. “You were born to be a lawyer.” 

She tilts her head to the side. “Do you want to talk about it now? Because we can.”

“Later, maybe.”

She hums. “Okay.”

“But I want to let you know that no matter what I decide, that how I feel about you is the same.” She raises an eyebrow but he’s so lost in his thoughts and what he wants to say that he misses it as he barrels on, determined. “Whatever decision I make, I still want this to keep going. Which is maybe unfair to ask you because there’s a chance I’d be all the way across the country. But I really care about you and-”

“Will,” she interrupts him, holding a hand up. “You’re getting so ahead of yourself. Make your decision first, and then we can talk about us, okay?”

“I don’t want you to think I’m just leaving you.”

“Huh? You’re not. I know you’re not. This is your career, dude. I’m never, ever going to hold that against you.” She presses a quick kiss on his lips to try to assure him. “I knew what I was getting into, okay? And I’m still here, aren’t I? We can talk about the logistics of it all later more in depth, if we even need to get to that point, but don’t worry yourself in a tizzy about the ‘us’ part of it so much, okay?”

He blinks. “I got you something.”

Deciding to go along with the sudden change of topic, she humors him. “What did you get me?”

He reaches over her to his bedside and she just lets him, exaggeratingly spitting out his hair that touches her mouth. He just rolls his eyes before retrieving a small white bag. 

She softens as he places it in her hands. “What’s this?”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You didn’t think I’d forget about your birthday, did you? I’m sorry I missed it.”

“You were competing for a national championship,” she responds automatically. “I didn’t-you didn’t have to get anything for me.”

He scoffs softly. “Bullshit,” he nods at the bag. “Open it.”

Biting her lip she carefully opens the bag, to see that there’s a ring box there. “Oh my God. Are you asking me to marry you?”

He rolls his eyes as she giggles. “You’re the worst.”

She pops open the box and it is a ring. She picks it up gently inbetween her fingers. A dainty leaf ring with light teal stones. It’s perfect. It matches with the rings she already wears. She slips it on and suddenly wants to cry. “I love it.”

“I’m glad.” 

She shoves the bag and box to the side before hugging him properly. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.”

“Happy birthday. Belated.”

As she looks down at the ring, she takes a deep breath. They’re going to be just fine. 

may 2024

As Ryan parks his car in front of Will’s childhood home in Lexington, Danielle suddenly feels like her feet are glued to the floor of his car. 

Ryan, noticing his friend’s girlfriend’s hesitation, nudges her shoulder gently. She’s quickly become one of his friends now, especially considering that he’s going to be staying at BC for at least another year. “Hey,” he says softly. “You good?”

“I’m great,” she responds automatically, reaching to the back seat to grab the box holding his present.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” he says. 

“It’s Will’s day,” she says firmly. “How I feel doesn’t matter.”

He clicks his tongue. “I’d disagree. And he would too. You can be happy for him and also sad that he’s moving to the other side of the country, you know?”

She looks over to him and swallows at the look on his face. The unspoken “I am” lingers in the air and she sighs. A small smile appears on her face as they exchange a look, as she leans forward to place a quick friendly kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for driving.”

“Anytime.”

The first person she recognizes as they filter into the home is Grace, who beams at the sight of them both. She wraps Ryan in a hug first, squeezing him tight before pushing him away to hug Danielle. 

“Oh, it’s so good to see you. How were finals?”

“A bit tough, I won’t lie.”

“You get used to it,” Grace says sympathetically, taking the box out of the younger girl’s hands. “He’s somewhere out back, surrounded by a bunch of people probably.”

Danielle nods and Grace must notice her lingering because the blonde offers her a reassuring smile. “He’s been talking about you all day.”

“That’s nice of him,” she comments softly. 

Grace gives her a knowing smile before lighting pushing her towards the direction of the back porch. “Go. He’ll be excited to see you.”

The second she walks outside, she smiles at all the teal balloons decorating the home and how wonderful the weather is to celebrate Will officially signing with San Jose. He made the decision a few weeks ago but waited until now to make it official and Danielle couldn't be any prouder. 

It seems like when her eyes land on him, he’s already looking back, eyes bright and a big smile on his face as he gestures for her to come to him. 

“Hi,” she says, leaning into his side for a hug. 

He instinctively kisses the top of her head. “Hi. This is Aidan, Nico and Max from the St. Sebs days. Boys, this is-”

“Dani,” Aidan says with a knowing smile. “Nice to meet you. Smitty hasn’t shut up about you since you guys met.”

“Unsurprising,” Danielle drawls out. “He’s kinda obsessed with me.”

The guys all laugh and Daniele giggles along with them. She looks up at Will, who’s beaming. She fights the urge to kiss him in front of all his friends, but he beats her to it, leaning down to kiss her sweetly. She laughs into his lips when his friends start chirping him goodheartedly. She hears Ryan saying that he’s used to seeing this shit all the time and that it’s frankly the cutest thing ever and Danielle is assured that Ryan’s a real one.

“Congrats,” she murmurs to Will, his friends now distracted. “I love you.”

(Danielle cracked a few weeks ago, when she finished her last final and Will took her out on a surprise date into the city. They were walking along the Charles River in the sunset and she felt like she just had to tell him she loved him at that moment. The smile from him after she said it is an image she’ll always have in her memory)

“Thanks, babe,” he says. He interlaces their hands together. “You ready to meet everyone?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

Will chuckles. “Come on. We’ll start with the cousins. They’re easy.”

She follows him as his thumb brushes against the ring.

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 7)

Answers to your past are revealed

Word count: 5500

Warnings: oral, fingering, and of course, more murder

You’re nine, almost ten, when your family moves to Salem, Massachusetts for your dad’s job. You don't quite know exactly what he does, but it doesn’t matter. 

What does matter is that you get to pick your own room in the four-bedroom colonial on the cul-de-sac three blocks from your new school. You choose the bigger of the two bedrooms upstairs and the long windows overlook the woods in your backyard. Your younger brother complains since he only gets the smaller room with a view of the neighbor’s house, but your mom laughs and tells him that since you’re older, you get first pick. 

Everything is perfect there. You like your new school, and like the new friends you made. You come home everyday and sing karaoke after dinner, putting on a show for your family, and they clap and cheer and tell you that they can’t wait to see you on Broadway someday. 

One day in fourth grade, you learn about witches in Social Studies. Women were burned at the stake right there in Salem because men feared them and what they were capable of. Your best friend leans over and whispers, “You know there’s still witches here, right? They live in the woods.” 

This piqued your interest more than you thought it would; there is something fascinating about a woman with power. While you don’t believe in witches or magic, you want to know what that is like, to be capable of doing something great, something more than just your boring life as a fourth grader. And while there obviously aren't witches in the woods, your curiosity gets the better of you.

So you pack a bag of snacks and capri-suns and set out into the woods behind your house. You know your parents would be mad if you told them, so you don’t. You’d be back before it was even dark out, and you had turned ten a few months ago at that point. Plenty grown up enough to go alone. 

It’s only about five minutes in when you start panicking. Snow is starting to fall, a light cover on the forest floor, and you are possibly a little lost. The trees seem to be getting thicker and a branch scratches your leg through your pants. It tears the fabric and there is a bloody gash. 

Your mom is going to be so mad that you ripped them.

You should probably get home now. 

The only problem is that you don’t know which way home is, having been disoriented by the scratch to your shin. And there isn’t enough snow to see your footprints yet. So you pick a random direction, hopefully the one you just came from, and start walking. 

It is not the right way, as you only seem to be going more into the thicket. 

You’re scared, starting to freak out, when you come across a frozen creek. You bend down and stare into your reflection, meeting your eyes while you take deep breaths to slow your racing heart. 

And then you hear a sound and you lurch back, falling onto the mud on the bank. It gets on your clothes and you know your mom is going to be even more mad now. Not only did you tear your pants, you now have wet dirt all over them and your jacket.

The sound comes back, only this time, you’re able to figure out what it is. 

Laughter. 

Someone is laughing in the woods. Who is it? 

Terror grips your heart. Are there really witches here? You know you should turn back around, go anywhere other than toward the sound, but you’ve come this far. 

You stand up and brush your messy hands on your jacket and you follow the noise through more trees, and you’re convinced you must be going the wrong way until you come into a clearing. It’s in the shape of a large circle and you wonder if there used to be more nature here. 

Stepping forward, you feel incredibly vulnerable without the protection of all the trees around you and snow crunches underneath your boots. The laughter has stopped, and you scan the tree line to look for where it may have been coming from. 

More snow starts to fall and you wrap your jacket tighter around you, shivering. You’re about to leave when you see what looks like the outline of a person tucked away between a few trees on the other side of the clearing. 

It’s like you’re being pulled towards them by an invisible line. As if in a trance, you start walking in their direction and a stick cracks under your foot, sending red birds fluttering from the branches. 

The person hears it too, and they turn around. It’s a woman with long dark hair and blue eyes that seem to glow, and she smiles at you, reaching a hand out to beckon you closer. 

Your mom’s warning of Don’t talk to strangers! echoes in your mind, but you push it away and keep moving forward. 

She’s with two other women, one with dark hair to her shoulders and brown eyes, and the other with gray hair and greenish-bluish eyes. The gray-haired lady looks mad and her face reminds you of a crow. She’s standing against a tree, her feet in the middle of a big pile of wood. 

“What’s a young girl like you doing out here in the forest?” The brunette with blue eyes asks, but you’re too busy peering at the older lady. Her hands are behind her back and seemingly wrapped around the tree. 

“Little girl, you need to run and get help,” the gray-haired lady barks and you flinch at the roughness in her voice. “They’re going to kill me!” 

Is she tied to the tree?

Your brows crinkle and the other woman, the one who hasn’t spoken yet, chuckles and waves her off. “Don’t listen to Evanora, doll. Why don’t you come walk with Agatha and I and we can help you figure out where you need to be right now.” 

The blue-eyed woman – Agatha – smiles in agreement and puts an arm around you to lead you away, deeper into the woods. You can still hear Evanora shouting faintly but you try to ignore it. 

“Why don’t you tell us your name, sweetheart?” Agatha asks and you tell them. They both nod. “Well I’m Agatha, and this is Rio.” 

“Are you guys witches?” You ask and they both give you amused looks. 

Rio kneels down so she’s eye-level with you. “Why would you think that, doll?” She’s studying your face curiously. 

You shrug. “My friend told me there were witches in the woods. And then I found you.” 

“Sorry to disappoint, honey, but we’re not witches,” Agatha laughs. “We were just camping.” 

It makes you frown. “Then who’s that woman?” 

Rio glances up at Agatha and then back to you. “Evanora is…not a very nice person. But you don’t have to worry about that at all. Do you live around here?” 

“Yeah, at the edge of the woods. I got a little lost, though,” you say sadly and they look very sympathetic. 

“Well, why don’t we help you get back? We know these woods very well, we can have you back before supper,” Agatha offers. 

But you’re not ready to go back just yet. “Why can’t I stay here a little longer with you guys? Can you show me the woods?” You look at them hopefully, sticking out your bottom lip and giving them the best puppy-dog eyes you can, and Rio chuckles before standing up and holding out a hand to you. 

“Why don’t I show you my favorite spot?” She says and you nod eagerly. You notice Agatha giving her a strange look but she follows the two of you. 

“So, Y/N, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?” Agatha asks. 

You beam up at her, happy she’s coming along. “I’m in fourth grade. I have a younger brother who’s in first. We don’t have any pets, even though I’ve been begging my dad for a dog. And I’m going to be famous when I grow up!” 

They both gasp. “Famous!” Agatha exclaims. “I didn’t realize we were in the presence of a future celebrity. Rio, remind me to get our little superstar’s autograph before taking her back home.”  

You giggle at the name and they both smile fondly down at you before leading you on. It’s only a bit more before Rio stops and points. “See right there, doll?” 

A gasp leaves your throat. It’s absolutely beautiful. In the middle of the trees, there’s a field of the prettiest purple flowers you’ve ever seen. You drop Rio’s hand and go wander into it, breathing in the honeysuckle scent. 

“What kind of flowers are they?” You ask absentmindedly, brushing your hand over the stop of them. Even in the winter, they are still growing strong. 

“Azaleas,” Rio tells you and you repeat it. 

You pick two and walk back over to them, offering them each a flower. Then you ask the question that’s been weighing on your mind. “Are you going to kill Evanora?” 

Agatha does a double-take and Rio’s hand tightens around the flower stem. “Of course not, superstar,” Agatha assures you, but you’re not convinced. 

“She said you were going to,” you insist. “It looked like she was tied to the tree and she’s standing in a lot of wood. Are you going to burn her? That’s what they did to witches, you know. Is she a witch?” 

Rio snorts. “More like a bitch,” she mutters under her breath and Agatha shoots her a glare. 

“That’s a bad word,” you state matter-of-factly and she smirks. 

Agatha gets down so she can hold onto your shoulders. “Evanora is a very evil lady. She’s tried to hurt me many times.” 

You hold onto her gaze. “Maybe she deserves it then.” Agatha sharply inhales and Rio cackles like it’s the funniest thing ever. 

“What?” Agatha asks, regarding you cautiously, scanning your face like she’s looking for something. 

You shrug. It makes sense to you. “Have you ever killed someone before?” 

“I like you, doll,” Rio says, reaching over to pat you on the head. Agatha gives her a weary look. 

 “She’s a kid, Rio,” Agatha reminds her. “We should really be getting you back home. Come on.” 

You walk behind them as they follow your footsteps, winding you back through the woods until you’re back to where Evanora is. You can see her hands struggling with the rope around her wrist, struggling to get it off. 

Why can you not stop thinking about it? About what it would feel like to watch her die? 

You don’t know why, but you know you’re not ready to leave just yet. So you dig your heels into the snow and stop moving. Evanora starts wailing, trying to get your attention, but you fix your stare on the other women. 

Agatha and Rio keep walking a few more paces until they finally realize you’re not behind them. 

“Y/N, let’s go,” Agatha says sternly but you stay rooted. Rio whispers something to her and they begin a heated discussion about what they should do with you. 

But you drone them out, looking around their campsite. You can feel something calling to you almost, something in Agatha’s backpack. You bend down and pull out a matchbook. 

Your breath stutters in your lungs and you’re in a daze when you turn back around to see Evanora. 

“Little girl, put those down and help untie me,” she hisses. “We need to get away from my abomination of a daughter and her friend.” You don’t know why she says it like that, not sure if there’s an underlying meaning to her words, but nothing feels real when you take out a match. 

A hush falls over the woods and you glance back to find Agatha and Rio watching you with wide eyes, waiting for your next move. 

Time slows down when you strike it against the box and the heat from the flame, while small, warms your face. 

It's a morbid curiosity, you tell yourself, that’s filling your head right now. You just want to see what happens. 

Evanora isn’t making sense now, babbling on and pleading and blubbering, but there’s a vibration in your ears that drowns her out. 

Is this what it feels like, to have power? To be capable of something greater, for people to know it? 

Except you’re not the one about to be burned. 

Your arm reaches out and your fingers open and the match drops out, falling to the wood as if in slow motion, and a brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 

You gasp – what have you done? Why would you do that? 

She’s going to die. Panic fills your lungs – or is that smoke? – and you rush forward and try to help her but someone yanks you back by the shoulders. 

“You’ll get burned!” Agatha yells in your ear over Evanora’s horrific screams. You struggle against her, needing to break free, needing to do something. 

“Agatha, we need to go!” Rio shouts and you tear out of Agatha’s arms and start running in the other direction. Maybe if you go fast enough, you can run back in time and undo it. 

Why would you do that? 

You round a tree too fast and slip on the ice, tumbling down to the ground. Your head smashes against a rock with a loud crack and you instantly black out.

When you wake up, you’re in a hospital room with your mom and dad asleep in chairs next to your bed. You stir and attempt to sit up, but your entire body aches and machines start beeping as your heart starts to race. 

Your parents jump up and your mom breaks into a sob, your dad embracing her tightly. 

“What’s–” You try to ask what’s going on, what’s happening, where are you, but your throat is dry. 

Your dad calls for a doctor and two men in white lab coats rush in. 

“Y/N, do you remember what happened?” One of them asks and you strain your brain but a sharp pain bolts through your head and you clap your hand to it. 

All you can do is shake your head no. 

The doctors look grimly at your parents. “We knew this was a possibility. A traumatic brain injury like this can cause amnesia, especially regarding the events right before the accident. She might never remember, and it might take a few days for her memory to get back to normal. There’s a chance she might not even know she was in the hospital. Don’t be surprised if there’s a bit of a personality change too.” 

A fresh wave of tears fall from your mom’s eyes but she clasps your cheeks and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Our baby is okay, though. That’s all that matters.” 

 And there were no indistinguishable differences in your personality from before the accident to after, except for one thing. 

You now want, more than anything, to understand how murderers’ minds work.

~~~

Agatha and Rio had thought you were dead up until three years ago. 

They had followed you after you had lit the match and watched as you fell and hit your head, quickly rushing over to you. 

Your breaths were faint and they had grunted as they carried you almost all the way out of the woods, positioning you on the ground next to the bloody rock on the edge. Surely it wouldn’t be too long before someone saw you, even if you had already died. 

And then they booked it out of Salem, into Westview, New Jersey, where they set up their new life, getting married a year later. 

The topic of you killing Agatha’s mother quickly became something the two of them stopped talking about, and it was like it had never happened. 

Agatha became a detective and Rio became a therapist, and all was well. 

Until one morning, about twelve years later, when Agatha is reading the newspaper in the kitchen and sees an article about a serial killer getting caught down in Miami, Florida. 

She hums and Rio looks up from her coffee. “What?” 

Agatha flips the paper and points. “Have you heard of the Scarlet Killer?” 

“A little bit,” Rio shrugs, leaning forward. “Apparently she was kidnapping kids and killing the parents or something. One of my patients with triplets was so paranoid that she was the next victim, despite living a thousand miles away. Convinced the killer was going to come all the way up here just for her.” 

Agatha snorts. “She was just caught. But look at the part about the profiler who caught her. And the picture.” 

Rio’s eyes drop and scan the part toward the bottom. Her brows furrow and she looks up and meets Agatha’s gaze. “This can’t be her, can it?” 

But the name is the same, the face, albeit older, is the same. 

Agatha uses her resources at the police station to look you up and they find the story of your life, everything that’s happened since that fateful day in the clearing. Her and Rio pour over it and Agatha can’t help but feel proud of everything you’ve done. 

The medical record from the hospital they get a hold of from Salem is hard to get, it takes Agatha calling in many favors, but it’s worth it because now they know that you don’t remember. 

A year and a half passes and they follow all your cases. Rio is fascinated by the way your brain works, putting things together and figuring things out. You have a knack for the female serial killers it seems, and a question lingers in both their minds. 

It isn’t until they’re laying in bed one right that Rio dares to ask it. “Do you think it’s because of us?” 

Agatha shrugs. “Maybe there was something else.” 

“You think she came across two other people planning on killing a woman in the woods and then she stole their thunder?” Rio says and Agatha laughs. 

“She stole our thunder?” Agatha teases and Rio lightly jabs her in the stomach. 

Rio softly strokes the skin on Agatha’s hand. “Yeah, I kind of wanted to be the one to do it after everything she put you through.” 

Agatha softens. Death had been a part of her life ever since she was a girl and her mom had found out that she liked girls. Evanora was the town’s pastor, and that simply would not do. The girls Agatha had a fling with always turned up missing or dead, and there were far too many times Agatha had almost been accidentally killed for it to be a coincidence. 

Everyone stayed away from her except for Rio. Rio wasn’t afraid, Rio was willing to kill for her. 

Had the two of them killed people before? Yes. They can still remember you asking them that. They liked the thrill, got off on it even, but they hadn’t done it since they’d met you. 

“Well, I’m very sorry I don’t have another mother for you to kill,” Agatha jokes and Rio leans in to kiss her. 

“I would, you know,” Rio says seriously and Agatha laughs at the ridiculousness of the conversation. 

And then she thinks back to the photos of you in your FBI jacket and how much you’ve matured. Your mind is brilliant, but you’ve become ever the attractive thing. “She’s grown into quite the young woman,” Agatha muses and Rio pulls back, a glint in her eyes. 

“She certainly has,” Rio agrees, going in for another kiss, a deeper kiss. Agatha moans when her wife bites her lip. “What if we…“ 

Agatha raises an eyebrow when Rio trails off. “What?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, already knowing what she’s going to suggest. 

It’s crazy. 

It’s a spur of the moment, impulsive thing to say. 

“Female serial killers are her thing,” Rio begins, her fingers trailing down Agatha’s stomach. She skates under the oversized tee she’s wearing and Agatha shivers. “One of the best in the FBI. If there were to be, say, two female serial killers here in Westview, don’t you think they’d send her?” 

Agatha gasps when Rio cups her over her underwear. Her wife moves her fingers roughly, rubbing her clit through the fabric, and Agatha can feel herself growing wet. 

“You want her to catch us?” Agatha asks, voice breaking off into a groan. Rio snickers as she pushes her panties to the side and draws lazy circles over her pussy. 

She shakes her head. “Not catch us. We know her, know what she’s capable of. We can bring that out in her again.” 

Agatha moans when Rio pushes a finger inside her. Her hips roll slowly, matching Rio’s thrusts. “You want to make her into a murderer?” 

“Like you don’t want to corrupt her? Look at her, how delicious she is. She’s our own case study. We’ve never met anyone like her,” Rio says, entranced and speech unburdened, like she didn’t just slip a second finger into her wife. 

“You’re such a therapist. And so horny,” Agatha huffs out, her own hand reaching down to rub her clit while Rio speeds up her thrusts. Her walls are clenching and she feels a building low in her gut, tingles spreading through her body. 

Rio ducks down to suck on Agatha’s neck and the older woman keens underneath her. “Think about it, Aggs. We draw her here. We get a little taste of our superstar, both mentally and physically. She’s fucking brilliant, and so fucking hot.” 

Agatha’s mind betrays her and she pictures you on your knees for her, holding your hair back in a ponytail so she can get a clearer look at you. You’re twenty-two years old now, half Rio’s age and over half Agatha’s age, too young, but there’s something about the darkness that she knows is inside you that calls to her, entices her. 

“She’d be such a good pet for us,” Agatha gasps, giving into the fantasy. Rio curls her fingers and scissors them and twists them and Agatha is reduced to a panting mess on the bed, hips furiously grinding up. She’s so close. “Rio.” 

And her wife always knows what she needs. “Just picture her, Aggie. Picture the three of us in bed, her fucking you and me fucking her and then vice versa. Her tongue inside your pussy and then your fingers inside hers. God, I bet she tastes so good.” 

Agatha’s back arches off the bed at the image and she cums all over Rio’s fingers, frantically rubbing her own clit to draw out the pleasure. 

When she comes down from an intense high, the two of them start planning. 

It becomes apparent quickly that they’re rusty in the whole murder game. But they just need some practice. 

Agatha and Rio can’t do it in Westview though, can’t bring you here too soon before they’re ready. 

So they drive to different states. Staying in New Jersey is still a bit of a risk. But it doesn’t take them that long to find their groove. 

It can’t just be a regular, basic crime scene with a gunshot or a knife or something. It needs to be art, a performance, something that gets you here. 

So they figure out their M.O.. Rio was always excellent with a knife, and Agatha, whose father was a chemist, is able to whip up some mixtures that create exactly the look they’re going for. 

It’s gruesome and unnecessary and perhaps over the top, but they’re going to desperate measures to make sure they get what they want. 

And oh god, do they want you now. You’ve become an obsession to them, sinking your claws into their minds and leaving them to think of little else. 

They won’t make it easy for you, no. They’ll confuse the witnesses and Rio will wear a mask and there will be no trace left behind, but they’re confident that you will crack it. 

Plus, they’re more than willing to give you a guiding hand. 

The first time they strike, it goes almost too perfectly. They choose a random person, a woman who lives alone. The poison achieves exactly the desired effect and the bleach and hydrogen peroxide completely gets rid of all the blood after Rio cuts out her heart. 

The purple azalea was Rio’s idea, a small thing meant to jog your memory. They both didn’t have a clue if it would work, but they wanted to see. 

“What should I do with this?” Rio asks, holding up the organ, and there is something about her disheveled hair, rolled up sleeves, and bloody hands that just really gets to Agatha. 

She has her wife pushed against the wall and Agatha sinks down to her knees, quickly unbuttoning her pants and shoving them down before Rio can say anything else. She mouths at her through her underwear and moans at the musky scent and how she can suck the wetness out of the fabric because of how soaked Rio is. Agatha can already feel her throbbing. 

Their plan is going to do wonders for their sex life. 

Agatha nips at Rio’s pale skin, bites her hip, and drags her panties off with her teeth and Rio’s head falls back at the sight. 

“Agatha, fuck,” Rio breathes, the hand not holding the heart coming down to tangle into her hair. She wildly looks around for somewhere to put it and decides to place it gently on the bookshelf. 

The older woman’s tongue delves through her folds and Rio makes a strangled sound, widening her stance so Agatha can get better access. Her nose bumps against Rio’s clit and continues to move against her as Agatha shoves her tongue inside her entrance and devours her, licking up and curling it only the way she can. Her nails dig into Rio’s thighs, knowing the younger woman likes a little bit of pain, and Rio’s fingers tighten in Agatha’s long hair, holding her there. 

It’s a bit hard for Rio to ride her face, so she settles for rutting her hips against Agatha, each bump from her nose and each stroke from her tongue only making her closer. 

Rio moans her wife’s name again and Agatha rubs her glistening face against her inner thighs, spreading Rio’s wetness all over her skin before sucking her clit into her mouth and scraping her teeth against it. 

That’s all it takes and Rio cums faster than she ever has, all over Agatha’s face. 

The sex becomes part of the process. Who knew murder would be such an aphrodisiac? But it’s more than the killing, it’s the thought that they’re one step closer to getting you. 

Their prize. 

Chief Jones brings in profilers from around the area but the bodies keep piling up and there’s no other choice but to call the FBI and Agatha gets wind that they’re sending in a profiler from the Miami branch, one who specializes in female serial killers. 

Their plan works perfectly. 

And you killing people in your sleep is just a pleasant surprise. 

~~~

“What happens now?” You ask when Rio and Agatha finally break the hug that you’ve been standing in for what seems like hours. You immediately miss their warmth. 

The two of them look at each other. “We leave,” Rio says. “We pack up all our stuff and hit the road and never look back.” 

The plan makes you pause. “I can’t do that though, I’m in the FBI, I can’t just disappear off the grid.” 

“Why not?” Agatha asks seriously. She raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re perfect for us, superstar.” 

You’ve fucked up. You’ve fucked up big time. While you have the answers you’ve been searching for, you now wish you didn’t. 

It was you. Somewhere, subconsciously, in your brain, you had wanted to understand why you had dropped the match that day and killed Evanora. A random woman, for no reason other than because you wanted to. 

Is the answer because you’re just a killer? 

No. That can’t be it. You refuse to accept it, because you’ve helped people, you’ve solved cases, you’ve caught the bad guys. You’re good. You can be good. 

But Agatha and Rio are standing here like you’re everything you’ve ever wanted, murder and all. 

It’s tempting. 

You can’t. But you want to. But you can’t. 

And then you remember that Tony should be getting into Westview right about now. Fuck. What are you supposed to do about him? 

You can’t go back to Miami right now, so what other choice do you have? You nod your head slowly. “Okay. I just need to pack up my stuff.” 

“You mean the stuff that we gave you?” Rio asks wolfishly. “Let’s go. We’ll drive.” 

“I stole your car and it’s parked out front next to Agatha’s,” you remember and they chuckle. 

Rio invades your space and reaches into your pockets, fishing around in them, and her proximity makes heat flood through you again. She winks at you when she grabs her keys and you blush. 

“Let’s go then,” Agatha says, pulling you out the door and leading you to her car while Rio gets into hers. 

The drive is quiet and you play with the lock until Agatha swats your elbow. It’s an uncomfortable silence to say the least, but you’re not sure exactly what to say. 

She apparently doesn’t either. 

Thankfully, it’s a short drive. 

They follow you into your room and you kick aside the azaleas so you can walk back and forth easier between the bedroom and the living room to throw all your stuff into your suitcase. They go through the room like they haven’t already been in here multiple times. 

“Thanks for her, by the way,” you say sarcastically, pointing to the dead body that’s still on your bed. 

Rio snorts. “Agatha has a wicked jealous streak,” she says and Agatha throws a flower at her. 

You’re almost completely packed and ready to go, feeling confident about your decision for the first time, when there’s a knock on the door. You freeze and Agatha and Rio look at you. 

“Y/N, open up! It’s Tony,” he calls from outside and you think your heart is going to explode. The air in the room has changed and you can feel their suspicions. 

You look around for anywhere to hide them and then hiss at them to get in the bedroom. You had hoped you’d have more time before he got here. They squint at you, trying to figure out your game, but go in anyway.

The second the bedroom door closes, you let him in and his jaw drops. 

“What happened in here?” He asks, taking in your suitcase and the flowers. What are you supposed to say? I’m skipping town with the serial killers and I just had sex with them and also I killed someone when I was ten years old and I’ve been murdering people in my sleep? 

You don’t think that would go over well. So you decide to tell him a version of the truth. “The killers were here,” you say, your mouth suddenly so dry. “They’ve been taunting me, messing with my head.” All not a lie. 

“I don’t care. We’re leaving. Get your stuff,” he orders and it’s clear you don’t have a choice. 

You wonder if they’re listening to you. “Tony, please,” you say. “I can’t leave yet.” 

He throws his hands up in the air. “And why the fuck not?” 

“Because I know who they are,” you tell him, your voice dropping to a whisper in hopes that Agatha and Rio won’t be able to hear you. “I can get them. Please, just give me more time.” 

He paces around, hands over his forehead like he can’t even stand to look at you. “You’re certain you can get them?” 

“Yes!” You insist, leaving out the part about them being in the room next to you. You chant It’s not real in your head over and over again, like they’ll be able to read your mind. You just need him out of here and then you’ll go with them. 

But then you hear a crash, the sound of glass breaking, coming from your bedroom and your heart drops. Tony rushes past you and throws open the door and –

“What the fuck!” He shouts and you dart after to explain why you have two women, two serial killers, in your bedroom, but they’re not there. Tony is talking about the dead woman on your bed. 

Your head starts to spin as you take in the window that has been smashed with the chair and you look out it, desperate for a sign of them. 

But there’s nothing. 

Agatha and Rio are gone. 

[lostinhistory]

When Nicole Coenen started posting wood chopping videos online, it was a bit of a joke.

She was parodying social media star Thoren Bradley who posts videos of himself cutting wood and offering fitness advice.

But Coenen soon became incredibly popular herself.

"I sort of became the cliché woodchopper that I was parodying," Coenen told CBC's The Early Edition host Stephen Quinn.

"[Thoren] is a great guy."

Now, the 31-year-old "axe-pert" has millions of followers across half a dozen platforms — all pining for her next wood splitting video.

"It's funny how life turns out sometimes," she said.

After three years of logging her passion for chopping wood online, she's just released a book full of advice and history about the world of wood chopping, titled Axe in Hand: A Woodchopper's Guide to Blades, Wood and Fire.

Coenen, who now lives in B.C.'s Gulf Islands area, grew up in Ontario, and said she never really chopped wood as a kid.

"Maybe once at Girl Guides."

But she had to learn the tricks of the trade in 2020 when she was working on a farm in B.C.'s Kootenay region.

"I was really bad at it, my aim was horrible, and I just couldn't get the wood to split," she said.

Coenen joined a community group of woodchoppers who taught her everything she needed to know, and then, she was hooked. She had to learn everything there was about the best techniques for splitting logs.

Using her skills as a videographer, Coenen spruces up her videos with quick, fun editing.

While she takes the odd landscaping or labourer gig, she's carved out a full-time job creating social media content for the last two years.

Not all her content focuses on wood; sometimes she gets personal, shares fitness tips for getting those toned woodchopper arms and even answers viewer questions.

Coenen said some people bark sexist comments on her videos, but she's built up such a loyal following that she never has to respond — her fans are quick to defend her.

"A lot of people almost, like, kind of have my back now or they are women that wood chop or they are women arborists," she said.

"You really find your people on social media."Top chops: P.E.I. woman wins national lumberjack competition

Not one to sit on her laurels, she wrote a book.

Axe in Hand, published by Cool Springs press in Massachusetts, aims to do something similar for those learning to sharpen an axe and cut a piece of wood. It includes the history of axes, tips on choosing the right kind of wood, and advice on restoring axes, how to stack wood and how to build a fire.

"I wanted to sort of spark a lot of curiosity," Coenen said. "It's kind of like a choose your own adventure."

[easy-there-leftovers]

Magnum Opus (Ch. 1)

When an MIT prodigy on their gap year is contacted by the FBI regarding her potential involvement in a series of murders in Washington D.C., she must now cooperate to uncover how her paintings are mysteriously appearing at the crime scenes.

(Written with Season 1-4 Spencer in mind, but the timeline could be anywhere pre-season 12. No mentions of past cases)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist! reader|cw: Canon-typical violence|word count: 2k words

Also on Ao3!!

Series Masterlist

While Aaron Hotchner remained vigilant as he drove the black SUV, the constant flipping of Spencer’s case files seemed to be louder than the car’s air conditioning. 

He had directed Morgan and JJ to touch base at the MPDC, and had Rossi and Prentiss survey the crime scene of Jonathan Edwards; the identity of the previously unknown man in the vacant apartment.

This left him with Reid in the passenger seat to conduct an investigation on their only lead so far. 

From the update Garicia had given them, Y/n L/n was a prodigy a year younger than their very own. Having graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology a year ago, she moved to Capitol Park Plaza and Twins Apartments in Washington D.C., and is currently unemployed. Occasionally selling her paintings out of her unit under an anagram of her name.

 But something bothered him.

And it seems like Reid has picked up on it too.

“Do you think Dr. L/n is the unsub?” The unit chief asks.

Spencer hums before answering.

“While we can’t rule it out just yet, the possibility of her being the unsub is totally unlikely. The thing that’s throwing me off is that everything is too convenient. I mean, why would the unsub use something so publicly personal to them as part of their signature? It’s as if she’s overtly incriminating herself.”

Spencer checks back onto the pictures of the victims, then lifts his head up to look at Hotch to continue.

“Based on the way the victims are modeled, an immense amount of care was put into them. All for the purpose of making them look like the subjects in their paintings. Actually, the fixation on changing the bodies’ posture and keeping them clean is typically done out of remorse. But the added elements, like the placement of the paintings, creates an image of an unsub more on the narcissistic side. By creating two 'artworks,' they're prompting the viewer to decide which version of it they prefer. Mocking the original artist in the process.”

“So the paintings were done before the murder?”

“I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

His unit chief sighs and pulls over to the curb. “Well, we’re about to test that belief.” Spencer hurries to take off his seatbelt as Hotch closes the car door with a thud. 

—------

Hotchner nods at Reid as they find themselves in front of the written address Garcia gave them. He lifts his hand to knock firmly on your door, and waits for a response.

A thud from the other side causes both of them to assess each other before Hotch tells Spencer to stay behind him. Gun in hand until something, or someone, comes running at them.

But instead a muffled, “sorry” is heard right after, which causes him to lower his gun.

The door finally opens a crack to reveal a very tired twenty-something woman, some dark pigment or makeup smudged on their lower eye lines as they rubbed at it. She immediately fixed her posture however at the sight of the unexpected visitors. Eyes wide with concern.

“Dr. L/n, I’m Aaron Hotchner with Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI.” He highlights his statement by showing his badge. “We’d like to ask you some questions.” 

“Oh, um,” The woman blinks rapidly and shakes their head before immediately saying, “Of course,” with a nod and opening the door wide to let them in.

A quirk that does not go unnoticed by Spencer, who observes how different she looks to her more formal ID photos.

—-----

You let the FBI agents into your apartment, but are now suddenly aware of the state of disarray you left it in last night. Not to mention the state you were in. 

You had just woken up and your brain wasn’t quite all there yet. If you had known you’d have guests over, you would have at least put some of your books and papers back onto their shelves rather than on your floor.

“My, uh—” You start, “Apologies! For the room and the um,”

You inhale deeply and gesture to yourself as you try to find the words before settling on an exasperated, “me.”

“No worries, miss. We don’t really call in advance.” You nod at the older man’s explanation vacantly before coming up with a response.

“Would you like anything to drink ?” You move to your fridge to get water to wake you up, and decide that it would be rude not to offer. The two decline, with the younger more busy observing your living room bookcase than the older one that sat on your couch. 

You notice that something must have interested him as he lingers on certain shelves. That section in particular had prints of dissertations you had been meaning to read, or have already read, in clear folders.

You wonder if he found his work there or something before returning with water for yourself. 

“So what can I help you with?”

“Dr. L/n, are you aware of the current string of murders that have been happening as of this year?” 

You blink rapidly again. The question catches you off guard, but you shake your head. 

“I know it’s a bad habit, and that I should, but I don’t really listen to the news.” Feeling your eyebrows quirk, you rub your hands together slowly. Making direct eye contact with Hotch, before looking at the younger man as he takes out a few papers from the folder he was holding.

“Are you familiar with these paintings then?”

 Now that piques your interest.

Dr. Spencer Reid, who sees a flicker of recognition in your eyes when it meets his own, presents various pictures of your artworks in what seems to be dimly lit areas. They’re a little dirty, but otherwise you would recognize them as your own.

 The thought instantly made something in your stomach turn.

“I–” You start, but shake your head subtly again. Unsure of what to say and how to say it next as you stare at the images. “am.” You turn your head to look back up at Spencer who nods thoughtfully.

“Recently, your paintings have been showing up at crime scenes in the D.C. area. Specifically, victims of an organized unsub that seems to be targeting people who accurately resemble the subjects in your work.” If your eyes weren’t wide enough, that bit of information had certainly opened them wider than ever before as you stared up at him.

“That, combined with the concentrated traces of penta-durastalene found in the pigments of the paint used, have led us to suspect your involvement in these murders, Dr. L/n.” You heavily feel the blink of your eyelids and rest your fingers on them to keep them closed before looking back at the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” you smile incredulously. “So you’re telling me that not only has Lunacite been identified on the paintings you’ve found, but that people who look like the personas in my private works actually exist and have since been–” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Murdered?”

“Well that shouldn’t come as a surprise, they were your muses, weren’t they? You were commissioned?” Hotch is the one who asks and you shake your head with wide eyes.

“I didn’t even know these people existed. They were just– faces I came up with mentally with the visual library I’ve amassed over the years. I don’t really make it a habit to paint from reference. Like I said, they were private.”

“And the chemical?” You thought for a moment before your lips thinned into a line.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Agent Hotchner, but I haven’t touched anything regarding that compound in over a year. I’ve only ever worked on it in my lab on university grounds, and I don’t make a habit of bringing work home.” You scratch the hairs near the base of your hairline.

“More importantly, hundreds of students and lecturers have access to my work, my research, and my lab space. Not to mention the people who might have heard my work through academic conferences.”

You move away from your position near the living room coffee table Spencer placed the pictures on, but picked up one before you did and shook your head.

“Besides, these paintings? No one should know about them, let alone have them. I didn't sell these.” That made Spencer’s brows furrow as he looked at the other photos still on the table.

“Do you have proof?” You stay silent, but then motion for them to follow you to the door of your room.

“Well, for one, I’m sure you’d understand that most people don’t make copies of their artwork traditionally, right? Expenditure of time, work materials, effort, human error, and many other variables. It just isn’t practical nor convenient.” You ramble and look back at them to continue.

“I also don’t make the majority of my art known online. Only a good 30% makes its way to my portfolio, and the others are never to be seen by anyone else.”

“They're studies. They’re made with cheap paints, they’re subjectively not appropriate for commercial use and-–I just wouldn’t be comfortable charging anyone for them.” 

They follow you across the room, and make themselves apparent behind you.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“So if my ‘commissioned paintings’ are currently on D.C. crime scenes, and possibly in MPDC evidence,” You open the door to reveal your studio to the two agents. 

Various paint tubes, books, and brushes littered the floor, table, and boxes. A lone easel was situated near your apartment window, with an unfinished painting on it. And various canvasses, not displayed, but instead kept on tall shelves. Only the differently colored edges indicated that they were ever used.

What surprised them both however, were the same paintings in the pictures staring back at them.

 Some on the walls, some on the floor, but what was most important was that they were in this room, they were clean, and there were more of them.

You turn to look back at them with shaky eyes. “So why are they still here?”

—----

Hotch and Reid stood outside of your apartment door as you cleaned yourself up. Hotch made the call to bring you to the precinct for further investigation and for your own safety, but allowed you to freshen up before leaving with them. Not that he told you about the safety part.

You were hard to read, given your erratic reactions. It unnerved him, but he supposes it comes with the territory of being gifted. You also offered to bring in your paintings and a few other materials for forensics to test, to which while he was suspicious of, was not ungrateful for.

He made a quick call to Garcia to check attendants of any academic conferences you’ve spoken at and if anyone had been more interested than the others. When he was finished, he looked to Reid who was crossing his arms and staring at the carpeted hallway before looking back at him.

“She’s uncomfortable.” He stated plainly.

“Reid, most people would be if they just found out their hobby had been getting people killed.” Hotch said as he kept looking at his phone for anything new from the others.

“There’s certainly that, but I meant her title. ‘Doctor.’” He said in quotes, and Hotch raises his eyebrow at that but allows him to continue anyway with a curt nod.

“I mean, every time we’ve addressed her with her title, she blinks faster. Did you know it’s a common attribute that’s directly related to an increase in heart rate, which is why they’re usually correlated with lying? Initially, you would think that she faked her experience to get those credentials, but given her educational background, she must have not been given an opportunity to be referred to as such for a long time. Also, the gap year she took could’ve only exacerbated any insecurities she might have about her intellectual achievements. Plus, the lack of organization in her own home, while not wildly uncommon amongst people her age, could suggest the sincerity of her belief about compartmentalizing her work and her private life.”

“And what does that tell you?”

As Spencer was supposed to answer, a thud much like the one they heard before they entered earlier was heard again, followed by a similarly muffled, ‘sorry.’

He turns to look back at Hotch again with a small, victorious smile.

“That she doesn’t fit the profile.”

——-

taglist: @littlewolfieposts

[livwritesstuff]

Steve’s oldest daughter Moe is unusually quiet on the drive home from her college apartment in New York City.

She was supposed to be doing this drive with her younger sister Robbie (who had bullied Steve and Eddie into letting her bring a car with her to college), but then Robbie and her friends had actually managed to squirrel away enough money for an impromptu trip to D.C. for their spring break, and Moe had still wanted to visit home even without a ride.

Steve had made a whole show acting all put out over having to make the four hour drive between her school in NYC and their house in the Massachusetts suburbs (twice, he’ll add — he’s been on the road for six hours so far with a couple more to go) but, truthfully, there isn’t much he wouldn’t do to spend time with his kids, especially since the older two have firmly graduated to young-adult status, and he easily could have put her on a train.

“So what’s goin’ on with you, Moe?” he finally asks when the quiet stretches a little to far.

Moe shrugs, and then she says, “I was wondering something.”

“Go for it.”

“You and Dad, like…you were older when you started dating, right?”

Steve pauses for a moment, allowing himself to consider what might qualify as older to his twenty-one-year-old daughter. 

“I guess it depends on what you mean by older,” he settles on telling her.

“I mean, you weren’t in high school anymore, even though you knew each other in high school.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, “I was halfway through grad school, so twenty-six, I think, and you know Dad’s not even a year older than me.”

Moe nods in return, and  then she asks, “And you were friends before anything else happened? Like, for a while?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve replies, “Dad, and Aunt Nancy, and Aunt Robin were my best friends. Still are, obviously, just…different over time.”

“But, like, how–” Moe stops, and Steve can tell without needing to look away from the road to check the way her eyebrows are furrowed, the way they’re crinkled in the middle just like they always are on the rare occasions Moe can’t find the words she needs. She lets out a short exhale, “How did you know that it changed?” Before Steve can answer, Moe shakes her head, “How did you know that what you were feeling wasn’t, like, friend things anymore? Or, like, that it was more than just friend things.”

“Uh,” Steve pauses, running a hand through his hair, “Honestly, Nancy kind of told me.”

Moe’s head turns in his direction.

“Aunt Nancy told you?” she asks, “Pop…that’s so lame.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happened.”

“Why?”

Steve thinks about it for a second. It’s funny, he doesn’t actually put too much thought into that time in his life – the seven years that had lapsed between becoming friends with Eddie in the aftermath of everything with the Upside Down and when they’d finally gotten together. That was nearly thirty years ago, after all, and Steve hasn’t ever really been the type to dwell on the past. He takes a moment to dwell on it now and remembers how long it had taken him to notice the dull ache behind his ribs and the anxious somersault his stomach had done every time Eddie so much as looked his way.

“I mean – yeah, you’re right. It’s…it’s not easy when you’re close with someone for a long time and then the way you feel about them changes, because, you know, it’s not – I mean, it’s not like it changes overnight. It’s gradual, so…yeah, it’s not easy.”

“Yeah,” she quietly agrees.

“Nance, just – well, you know Nance. She just clocked it before I did, and I guess she didn’t have the patience to wait it out. Once I knew though, it was, like, super fucking obvious. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t known before.”

Moe’s laugh is nervous in a way Steve isn’t sure he’s ever heard before, and if there’s a friend of Moe’s she might be feeling differently for, he thinks he might have an idea which one. Moe is a hell of a lot smarter than him though, and this conversation is telling enough that she won’t need things spelled out for her in the way he had with Eddie thirty years ago.

“It was hard,” he continues, because he has a feeling Moe might need to hear more even if she isn’t asking for anything specific, “I – I mean, I actually liked dating when I was your age, believe it or not. I thought it was fun, or whatever, and it wasn’t really a thing that made me nervous, you know? With your dad, though…shit, I was terrified, because it’s a different kind of risk than just shooting your shot with someone you run into and hit it off with.”

Moe nods.

“I think the reason it’s so freaky is because falling for someone you’re friends with is never just a crush. I knew there was something big there. I know you guys hate when Dad and I are all sappy, but he was never just some guy I was dating. He was it for me from the very beginning.”

Moe mumbles something under her breath that Steve doesn’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

“I don’t hate it,” she says, her voice still pretty low, and Steve knows that must have been difficult for her to admit so he doesn’t comment on it (though he will be telling Eddie as soon as he possibly can – obviously).

“Well, I���m just saying,” he replies, “I wasn’t feeling that way for nothing, and things turned out pretty good in the end. If someone was in a similar situation, I’d tell them…” he pauses, and then laughs as he says, “I’d tell them to not wait seven years to get a good thing started.”

“Alright,” she replies, “I’ll…yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

[atlabeth]

northern attitude

geyser (where hurricane is introduced)

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: you and luke meet for the first time. (or luke saves you from a monster, you argue with each other the whole time, and he realizes that he doesn't want to survive alone anymore.)

a/n: by popular demand, hurricane is back for a sequel! and potentially more. lol. enjoy some insight into her (justice for weird little girls) and try not to think about the fact that she dies 6 years later! title comes from new england king noah kahan for these new england icons

wc: 4.6k

warning(s): some inner luke angst, monster encounter and short fight (luke gets a bit injured), they argue but in the fun way. they're just lil nine year olds

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Luke muttered. 

He didn’t get an answer back. He was, after all, talking to a fish. 

Maybe it didn’t like that he was a criminal. Luke had snuck his way into the New England Aquarium—he wasn’t going to cough up twenty-five bucks to look at marine life—in desperate need of a reprieve from the city, and he fought the urge to check his back every second. If there was one thing he’d learned from being on his own, it was that kids traveling alone always attracted attention. The last thing he needed was attention. 

Talking to a fish probably wasn’t good for that, but Luke wasn’t exactly in the best headstate. 

Because honestly, he didn’t really know what he was doing in Massachusetts. He tried staying in Connecticut after running away, but it still felt too close to home. He could still hear his mom yelling, could still see her glowing eyes. So he bought the cheapest bus ticket he could find to Boston, hoping a state in between would help. 

That was the second thing he’d learned while traveling on the road: everything was way too expensive. And for a kid with no job living off the allowance he’d saved up and some extra money he took out of his mom’s wallet, that wasn’t great. If Luke couldn’t get something dirt cheap, he stole it. His father may not have answered any of his prayers in the past few years, but at least he had naturally quick fingers. 

Luke sighed as he turned away from the fish, who was clearly not interested in striking up a conversation. He weaved his way through the crowd as he tried to think of where to go next—it wasn’t the smartest decision, but he was tempted to get a little whale plush from the gift stop—when he heard the middle of a conversation. 

“You made a mistake coming here, dearie.” 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as Luke froze in place. He couldn’t even murmur an apology to the people who bumped into him because the gears in his head were turning rapidly. 

“Let go of me—” a voice protested in response. 

“Quieting down would do you some good. Did your mother not teach you manners?”

He was still trying to see who it was when he finally found it. A middle-aged woman moved through the crowd with a girl around Luke’s age, her hand wrapped tightly around the girl’s arm. Her nails were more like claws, and she had a strange gait that she tried to cover up. That was when he knew. 

See, Luke had gotten used to distinguishing creeps from freaks with all his time on the road. Cutting a monster down would turn them into dust—normal humans would call the police. And if there was anything more dangerous for a runaway juvenile than monsters, it was the police. 

But if a monster had ignored every single person in this building to get to you, it meant he’d somehow stumbled his way into the path of another half-blood. And Luke wasn’t going to let another half-blood die right in front of him. 

So he took a deep breath, hoped the five second plan he made up in his head would work, and moved in.

“May, where have you been?” Luke tried to put on his best brother voice, and made himself as imposing as a nine year old could be. He didn’t focus at all on the monster, instead communicating to trust him as much as he could with his eyes. “Mom’s been worried sick!”

Both you and the woman turned to look at him, and Luke immediately knew he made the right choice from the blatant fear in your expression. 

“Sorry,” you said, letting your shoulders fall and your gaze drop to the ground. Luke tried not to let his relief show over you playing along. “I really wanted to look at the sea turtle—” 

“You should’ve said something instead of just wandering off,” he insisted. “We can all go look at it together—once Mom is done lecturing you, at least.” Luke took your hand and you let him pull you over to his side, positioning himself in front of you ever so slightly as he looked up at the woman. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her. I appreciate it.” 

“You should be more careful,” she said eerily. It felt as if she was staring right into his soul. “You never know the kind of things that are out there.” 

“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “Sisters, am I right?” 

As soon as they were out of hearing distance, he lowered his voice and tightened his grip on your hand. “Come on. Try and look casual.” 

“You know what she is,” you whispered.

“Yes,” he said, then he shook his head. “I— not exactly. But I know she’s a monster.”

“I knew it,” you muttered with vindication. Luke felt your eyes on him. “So you’re like me?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“One of your parents is—” You stopped, as if you still weren’t sure. 

Luke knew the feeling all too well—desperately trying to tell someone what he was only to be met with that look adults loved to give. You’re clearly talking nonsense, but I feel bad for you so I’ll humor you. And all the normal kids he’d tried to tell the truth to thought he was just playing a game. 

“A god,” he finished quietly. “Yeah.”

You started to look back, but Luke stopped you. 

“Don’t.” Their chances of getting attacked in a place so full of people was lower, but Luke had dealt with some particularly bold monsters. One able to disguise themself as a human would have an advantage—Luke learned people hated listening to kids, especially ones they could pass off as delusional. “You don’t want her to catch on.” 

“Who are you?” you asked. 

“My name’s Luke,” he said. “What about you?” 

You said your name, then you glanced at him. “You know a lot about all of this. More than me.” 

“Are you a runaway too?”

You nodded, and a part of his heart broke. You had no right to be out here, not when you were so young. 

And he says so, too. “You shouldn’t be out here on your own. It’s dangerous.” 

You frowned. “You’re out here on your own too.” 

“I’ve been on my own for a few months,” he said. “I know what to expect. How long have you been out?” 

You shrugged. “A week.” 

Luke let out a ragged sigh. “You’ve got bad luck if monsters are already coming after you.” 

“They already have,” you murmured, and you looked back at him. “How old are you if you’ve been doing this for months?” 

Luke frowned. “Nine. How old are you?” 

“I’m also nine,” you shot back. “So you can’t say anything to me.” 

He opened his mouth to retort—Luke hadn’t been a child in years, not since Hermes left him alone with a cursed mother and a burning rage inside of him that he couldn’t let go of, no matter how hard he tried. But if you chose to run away from home too, then you were in the same boat. Kids like you two didn’t get to be kids. 

“Fair,” he conceded. “But it’ll be a lot easier to give her the slip if we work together.”

“…I can deal with that.” You cleared your throat. “Thank you for saving me, though. I… I just froze.” 

“It happens more than you’d think,” Luke muttered. “We have to throw her off our trail, though. She’s not gonna be happy.” 

“She’s probably ecstatic,” you said, shaking your head. “She’s got two kids to eat instead of one.” 

“Aren’t you an optimist?” he remarked. 

You chuckled. “Sorry. It hasn’t been a great day.” 

“It’s fine.” Luke didn’t know the last great—god, even good—day he’d had, even before he ran away. Honestly, this conversation with you had been the highlight of this month. “But we can’t just leave. She has our scent, so she’ll be on us as soon as we’re on our own. It’ll be even easier out in the open. We’ve gotta set security on her trail to get her off ours.” 

You nodded as you turned another corner. “We should get to the gift shop. It’ll be less populated, but still enough to hide us.” 

Luke nodded. “Smart. And security’ll have an easy path there in case of shoplifters.” 

“So tell a sob story, get security, set them on her,” you said, looking at him. 

“Then get the hell out of here,” he agreed. 

“Think we can get a souvenir for the occasion?” you asked. “We’ve probably earned it with all this dodging.” 

Luke thought about that whale plushie again. “Maybe.” 

“The stairs are that way.” You gestured with your head, and Luke turned—he’d been going the completely wrong direction.

“Thanks,” he said. “You know this place?” 

“I’m from Boston,” you nodded. “And I’ve been here a lot with my mom.”

Luke figured he should have guessed by the accent. He didn’t know how long he was going to stay, but it would be useful to have someone with him who knew the city.

“You’re still pretty close to home,” he noted. 

You shrugged. “I’ve been doing all the things I’ve wanted to do now that I’m officially on my own. I know I’m gonna have to leave eventually, but…” you sighed and shook your head. “I guess I’m scared. Brave enough to run away but too scared to make it official.” 

Luke understood that more than you could know. It took him feeling like he was going to burst out of his skin before he got the strength to leave Connecticut. 

“You don’t wanna leave your mom,” he guessed. 

You nodded. “I love her more than anything, but I’ve already put her in too much danger. I’m leaving until I can figure out how to keep her safe.” 

You’re a kid, Luke wanted to say. It should be the other way around. But he’d already been hypocritical enough for today, and you’d probably say the same. 

“That’s sweet,” he said. “Stupid, but sweet.” 

“We’re both nine-year-old runaways,” you said. “You don’t get to tell me what’s stupid.” 

He chuckled and shook his head, letting the matter drop as you finally got to the gift shop. Luke had been stressed about how to strike a balance between cautious enough to keep your backs covered but confident enough to not be questioned, but it turned out talking with you was all he needed. 

On the way to the front, Luke caught sight of a whale plushie. His fingers itched to grab it, but he kept his eyes on the better prize of not dying and came to a stop at the cash register. 

“Hi,” Luke said, getting the attention of the employee at the front, hoping he sounded adequately fearful. “There’s a woman out there that tried to get my friend to go with her. Tall, middle-aged, dressed in grandmother-y clothes with glasses. She grabbed her arm and threatened her.” 

“You kids aren’t joking around, are you?” the cashier asked. 

“No,” you said, and Luke was shocked by how close to tears you sounded. “It was really scary— my parents were in the bathroom and I was waiting for them, and she just looked so nice, but—” somehow, a tear actually fell from your eye as you let out a sob— “but she tried to take me away.” 

The woman shook her head as she went back and grabbed a walkie talkie from below the register. The moment she turned away, you glanced at Luke and nodded, and he just stared in awe. She relayed Luke’s description then said a couple other things, then she crouched down to be on their level to look you straight-on. “Where are your parents?” 

“They’re in the bathroom on the second floor,” you provided. “We came here because we didn’t know where else to go.” 

She sighed, falling for every part of it. You were much better at garnering sympathy than Luke was. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I called our security— they’ll be here in a second to get a statement from you.” 

You nodded, sniffling a bit as your lip quivered. “Thank you. I— I just want my mom.” 

The employee put her hand to her heart, and when you went for a hug, she reciprocated. “Don’t cry. You’re gonna be safe, okay? I’ll wait with you until security gets here. One of our guards is already out there looking for her.”

“Okay,” you agreed. Luke caught your eye from behind her back, and you dropped your act in a second to smile knowingly at him. He just shook his head with a slight smile of his own—you were good at this. 

Eventually, two security guards arrived—Luke doubted they would be good for handling a shoplifter, much less a mythological monster—but they took yours and Luke’s statements, and were about to leave before you spoke up. 

“Our parents are definitely looking for us,” you said, already back on the verge of tears. “Can— can you take us to them? When they went to the bathroom, we were by the coral reef.” 

“‘Course.” One of them nodded and looked at his partner. “I’ll get them back to their parents—you look for the suspect.” 

After a short discussion, the three of you set out, you still holding Luke’s hand as he leaned closer to you. 

“On my signal,” he murmured. “We’re gonna blend into the crowd and get out of here.”

You nodded. You were so close to the exit, but you allowed the guard to take you up the stairs, and thankfully the crowd around the middle of the giant ocean tank was huge. Luke counted off quietly, and when he got to three, you split off, blending into a group of kids on a school field trip to get back to the stairs. 

You started moving at a much quicker pace, the exit within your sights, but just as they were about to make it, Luke spotted their monster. And now, she was definitely a monster—Luke couldn’t remember the name, but she’d shed her disguise, looking like some kind of bird-human hybrid thing. It didn’t really matter in his opinion, because she really looked like she wanted to kill the two of you. 

Luke cursed and grabbed your arm, immediately pulling you flat up against the wall with him. “She’s here.” 

“We told security about her,” you protested. “How hard could it be to find her?” 

“A bit harder when they’re gonna be seeing something different.” Luke glanced at you. “You said you’ve already dealt with monsters before.” 

You nodded. 

“Do you remember feeling like you were the only one who actually saw what was happening? Like you saw the monster for what it was while it was trying to kill you, and everyone was still freaking out, but not as much as they should have been?” 

You nodded again. 

“Well, that’s a thing. Normal people can’t see what monsters really look like—only we can.” Luke peeked his head around the corner again. “And if she’s shed her disguise, it means she wants to go in for the kill. And it means we’re completely on our own.” 

“We’re not on our own,” you said. “We’ve got each other.” 

Luke found himself smiling. It had been a while since that was true. It had been a while since he’d smiled. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And it’s harder to kill two half-bloods than one.” 

He poked his head out again and immediately withdrew it, cursing under his breath as he stared up at the ceiling. “I never should have come to this city.”  

“Excuse me?” You stepped away from the wall as your brows furrowed. “Boston is the greatest city in the world.” 

“If you’re gonna be wrong, be wrong quietly,” Luke urged, gesturing with his head for you to get back. “And you are wrong, by the way.” 

“I’m not wrong.” You crossed your arms, refusing to budge. “Did you know that we have the first public park? And the first public school! And we have the T! Where are you even from?” 

“We can talk about this later,” he insisted. “We’re trying to hide. Have you ever hidden before?” 

“We don’t need to hide when you’ve insulted my Commonwealth’s honor,” you said. “Especially when you’re in our aquarium. Where are you from to be talking so badly about the Bay State?” 

“Connecticut,” he finally said, hoping that would get you to finally quiet down, but that only ramped you up further. “Place called Westport.”

“Connecticut?” you marveled, throwing your hands up. “You’re from some podunk town in Connecticut and you’re insulting Boston?” 

“Okay, Westport is not a podunk town—” Luke started, but he didn’t get the chance to finish defending his hometown before he caught sight of their monster—and she’d caught sight of them. 

Luke cursed even harder under his breath with words no nine year old should have known, then he grabbed your hand and pulled you along into a jog, interrupting your immediate protests. 

“She’s got us pinned,” he said, trying to keep his voice low enough to not be detected while making sure you could hear him. “Together, our scent is too strong. We’re not gonna be able to lose her—we’ve gotta kill her.”

“Could the fish help with her knowing where we are?” you asked as you started running with him. “Because they’ll be happy to help us. They don’t like her either.”

Luke did a double take. “What?”

“I can hear what they’re saying,” you said, as if it were completely normal. “It’s a little overwhelming with so many in one place, honestly.”

If they weren’t on the run from a monster, Luke would have worried a bit more about the fact that you were crazy. But he wasn’t awarded those kinds of luxuries these days. 

“We’ll—” Luke let out a sigh, because what did you mean that you could hear what fish were saying (especially because they clearly weren’t conversation prone)— “we’ll get out of here, and get the upper hand, and we’ll kill her. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded. “But Boston is still the greatest city in the world.” 

He huffed, taking his eyes off the path forward for a moment just to look at you. “Are you seriously still on this?” 

“Of course. We also have the greatest baseball team in the country.” You gestured with your free hand. “Do you see how many people here have Red Sox hats on?” 

Luke laughed out of pure shock. Was this the kind of stuff he’d been missing out on while traveling alone? 

“Listen,” he said. “If we get out of this alive, you can tell me all the Red Sox facts you want. But we actually have to work together through all this. Deal?” 

“Deal,” you said immediately. “You’re way more focused than I am.” 

Luke let out a loose breath and shook his head. “Well, I’ve had to be. Do you have a weapon?” 

“I took a kitchen knife before I left,” you said, “just to be safe. It’s worked pretty well.” 

“Do you know how to use it?” 

“I’m really good at chopping vegetables,” you said. “And I killed a monster with it the other day.” 

“Glowing reviews,” Luke chuckled. “I’m pretty good with my sword, so we should be okay.” 

“You’ve got a sword? How?” 

“...My dad left it for me before he left,” Luke said. “I guess he wanted to do one good thing for me in his life.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said. Luke offered a tight smile. 

“Doesn’t matter much anymore,” he said. “Soon as we get outside, we get to the street and get to some empty alley. We hide on either side, wait for her to find us, then take her down. Okay?” 

You nodded resolutely. “Let’s do it.”

The beginning of the plan wasn’t too difficult. Your faces would probably be plastered all over the place once the staff realized you were missing, but that was a problem for another day. You knew the area well so you took charge—and you took the time to spout random facts about the city on your way, of course, like a nine-year-old tour guide—and soon enough they were indeed in an empty alleyway. 

You and Luke stood on each side, weapons in your grasp now that you weren’t surrounded by a whole aquarium of people, and he watched as you stared straight ahead, trying to keep your breathing steady. Besides the whole hearing fish thing, you seemed pretty well-adjusted for where you were. 

But then again—you’d only been at this for a week, and the way you talked about your mom, your home life was the complete opposite of his. 

Luke shook his head. It didn’t matter what your life was like—you both ended up in the same place. 

His thoughts were mercifully ended when Luke heard sharp nails scratching against the brick of the alleyway. He grimaced, his grip tightening on his sword, and he looked over at you. Your eyes were slightly wide, but you nodded when he did. You were ready. 

“You two are clever,” the monster sang, her voice just as grating as her nails against the wall, “but I never miss a meal. And those measly workers just wouldn’t sate my appetite.” 

Her steps got closer and closer, and Luke held his breath. Right before she would be able to see you both, he yelled, “Now!” 

You were out first, immediately lashing at her with your knife. She took the cut against her shoulder and slashed at you in turn, but you dodged out of the way, giving Luke a chance to come in with his sword. But his angle was off, and she deflected the blow then sunk her claws into his arm. Luke cried out, landing a kick on her chest as he ripped himself out of her grasp, but her focus was already back on you. 

You stabbed at her with your knife and actually landed it in her chest, but it wasn’t Celestial bronze—all it did was make her angrier. She screeched and tackled you to the ground, knife still sticking out of her, claws poised to rip your throat out. You grit your teeth as you wrestled her arms away from you, but your strength was fading fast. 

Luke’s eyes widened and he grabbed his sword from the ground. He wouldn’t make it in time, but you could. 

He called out your name and threw his sword, and you didn’t even have to look to snatch it out of the air. Storms raged in your eyes as you stabbed the monster through the side.

“You shouldn’t have come here, dearie,” you spat. 

The monster’s scream dissolved with the wind as she exploded into dust, dousing you in yellow powder. The sword fell out of your grip as you coughed, and you just laid on the ground, drained.  

“Gross,” you grumbled. 

Luke wiped his hand across his forehead as he fought to catch his breath, ignoring the blood seeping down his arm. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you said between coughs. “I’m great.” 

Luke went over and offered his hand, and he pulled you up after you took it. “I’m so sorry. I guess I’m a little rusty.” 

“Neither of us are dead, are we? I’d say it went pretty well.” You grimaced as you wiped the powder off your face, groaning again. “This is gonna take forever to get off.” 

Luke chuckled as he took his backpack off and took out a towel, which you accepted gratefully. A demigod always had to be prepared. “You say you’ve only been on your own for a week?”

You nodded as you started cleaning your face and arms off. “Not my first monster, though.”

“It never is,” he murmured. Luke tipped his head back towards the sun and closed his eyes, letting out one final, long breath as the buzz from battle started to fade. And along with that, his adrenaline—the wound on his arm began to sting, and he sighed. He really didn’t feel like dealing with that. 

“You’re hurt,” you said, and Luke opened his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “They’re surface level.” 

You frowned. “Are you sure?” 

“I’ve stitched myself up a few times, and this doesn’t need them,” he said, his lip curling at the memory. He was not a very good doctor. “I have some first aid stuff in my bag—once we get out of here, I’ll fix it up.” 

“You said we,” you said. 

Luke blinked. “I did?” 

You nodded. “When we get out of here.” 

He blinked again. He didn’t even notice—didn’t even really think about where you would go after the monster was dead. It was kinda sad, but Luke was pretty sure he’d smiled and talked more in this one hour with you than the past few months on his own. He’d already started thinking of you and him as a collective. 

“What d’you think, then?” he asked. “You wanna stick together?” 

You frowned. “You’re willing to kick it with a girl you just met?”

He shrugged. “You fight well, obviously. And you’re way better at making people feel bad for you than I am. That’s useful when you’ve got nothing.”

“We’re kids on our own,” you said. “It’s not that hard to get pity points.”

“I’ve been told I’m… abrasive,” Luke said. “Besides, I like you already. You were arguing for your baseball team while running for your life. It’s annoying, but impressive.”

“People also say that about me,” you said sagely. Luke smiled and held out his hand more. 

“So? You wanna join forces?”

You stared at it for a while. “Even if I spend the next couple of hours telling you all about the Red Sox?”

Luke chuckled. “I did say you could if we got out of this alive. And I feel pretty alive.” 

It took you another second, but you nodded intently and shook his hand. “Then you’ve got yourself a deal, Luke.” 

“Glad to hear it,” he said, his smile widening. 

You handed him the towel and he went to put it back in his bag when he saw the… souvenir he’d taken before you left the gift shop. He grabbed the whale plushie that had been on his mind all day and held it out to you. “Here.”

You frowned. “When did you even have the time to get this? You definitely didn’t pay for it.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings,” he said. “They won’t miss it. It’s a much better use marking the start of our friendship. Besides,” Luke shrugged, “you did say you wanted a souvenir.” 

You smiled as you took it. “Looks like we’re a trio, then.”

“Welcome to the team,” he said with a grin. “It’s a small one, but I think we’ll make it work.”

“Me too,” you nodded. “And it’ll be nice not being alone.”

Luke thought back to all the nights spent sleeping under bridges, commandeering benches, purposefully choosing overnight buses so he would have somewhere to rest. Constantly watching his back because he had no one else, wondering if each night he camped in the woods would be his last. 

He looked at you, a girl who ran away from home because she didn’t want to hurt her mom. Your clothes were covered in yellow monster dust, sweat dripped down your forehead, and Luke had nearly gotten you killed—but you were still smiling. And he found himself smiling too. 

“Yeah,” Luke murmured. “It will be.” 

[anyarose011]

You're a Mean One, Miss Hunham {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Four days into being stuck in an all boy's school for Christmas break, and you're on the brink of insanity. If it's not because of Angus Tully still trying to one up you in history lessons, then it's Teddy Kountze getting a hand on something personal of yours (prick).

Part 2 of 10 (Masterlist)

Warnings: Swearing, period typical sexism, mentions of pornography, blackmail, minor physical assault, and as always, Teddy Kountze.

You guys don't get to escape being an awkward af teenager just because it's fanfiction, so enjoy! Also, thank you all so much for the love already shown just from the first part alone!

Word Count: 5.0k

You always knew to put a pillow over your head when you heard your father get up from his bed.

“All right you fetid layabouts, it’s daylight in the swamp!” He smacked two metal basins against each other, waking the boys up if they weren’t already, groaning. “Arise!”

It was funny the first day, but by the fourth, it was unbearable. Still, a part of you was grateful for your father; you never had to get up early and run with the boys in the cold, Massachusetts air. Call it nepotism, call it sexism, you were just glad he didn’t want you to interact with them (physically, that is).

The second day you were there, he called you in during afternoon study hall (leaving you on a minor cliff hanger in Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre; forget that it was your third time reading it, it pissed you off). Just like he had done months ago, Paul Hunham hosted a trivia game (whether that was to show you off, or get them to study, you had no idea).

What idea you did have, was beating every single one of them.

For Alex and Ye-Joon, they were babies in your eyes, so you would give them more time to think on their answers whenever they were up. Alex got close on one, but overall, they didn’t do so well.

Oh, the boys your age? Yeah, you didn’t show mercy, even towards Jason.

“When was the last king overthrown?” Your father questioned.

You smacked the desk before Jason could even process the question. “509 B.C.”

“What planets are named after Roman gods?”

“Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn.” You recited it perfectly.

Teddy scrunched his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

Your father pursed his lips. “That was the easiest one I have, Mr. Kountze.”

Angus Tully…Angus. Fucking. Tully.

“What emperor temporarily restored peace to Rome and the cost of-?”

Angus hit the desk before your father could finish the question. “-Diocletian.”

“At its peak,” your father eyed you. “how large was the Roman Empi-?”

“2.3 million square miles.” You answered, keeping your eyes trained on Tully.

“Nero had five spouses in total, what was the name of the slave boy he-?”

“-Castrated and married,” you finished for him. “Sporus.”

Back and forth you both went like that, rapid fire at first, and your own levels of exhaustion were catching up to you. After perhaps five minutes of this (maybe ten, twenty, who gives a shit, you were tired), it was one damning question that would haunt you.

“True or false, the Pantheon was built before the Coliseum.”

“True.” You said, slapping the desk with the confidence of a mediocre man.

There was silence in the room, and your father sighed. “False.”

It wasn’t a big deal, it shouldn’t have been a big deal; to literally everyone else but you, it wouldn’t be a big deal.

But it was.

Oh, it was.

It was the second time you lost to Angus Tully overall, the first time from an easy question. Still, while Kountze’s grin made you want to rip out his teeth, it was Tully’s outstretched hand that caused you to snap out of it.

“Good job.”

Two of the most hurtful words in academia, whether it meant for it to be or not. Still, swallowing your pride, you shook his hand, and left the room gracefully.

Then started crying as you walked down the darkened hallway.

It wasn’t like you were weeping, you were just frustrated. Thankfully, by the time your friend Elise came to pick you up, you were fine and had a fun day simply walking around town with her.

You bought cigarettes and chocolate at the drug store, then spent the rest of the day at her house, laying on the floor and listening to records in her room while answering her prodding questions.

“Who’s the cutest one?”

“None, they’re men.”

“Okay,” she rolled her eyes, smiling. “I know that, but if you had to choose.”

“Like, ‘if we were the last man and woman on earth’ I had to choose?”

“Sure.”

“A very tall bridge.”

She laughed, shoving you playfully. “I’m serious!”

“So am I.”

“Really.”

Sighing heavily, you thought for a moment, before smiling. “He’s a football player.”

“What?!” She sat herself up. “You and a football player?!”

“Shut up!” You laughed with her, sitting up.

Elise shook her head. “What about the one you went head-to-head with in trivia today?”

“Ew,” was your immediate reaction. “he’s maybe your type, but not mine.”

“So, you don’t want a smart one?” She questioned. “And that’s mean of you.”

“I’m mean to everyone.” You laid back down on the floor. “And yes, of course I want someone who’s smart, but not smarter than me.”

She mirrored you, laying down and leaning her head against yours. “So, he’s out for the count?”

“One hundred percent.”

“If you say so.” Elise reached up onto her nightstand and handed you a letter. “Also, my aunt left something back at the faculty housing and said she found this in you and your dad’s mailbox.”

You looked at your name in the center of it, and then at the stamp: a toy train.

It took everything within you not to sit up in shock. All you did was smile, say thank you, and slip it into your coat pocket.

You gave Tully his chocolates and cigarettes and didn’t have a problem. It was the fourth day when your father had given them just another ounce of freedom outside of the school, allowing them to walk around the wooded area of campus. You still had your books, but you were also feeling lonesome (the only time you really interacted with any of them was during mealtimes, except for Teddy…fuck Teddy), and you had talked about almost every single thing you wanted to talk about with Mary (God bless that women for letting you read to her too).

So, on December 20th, you laced up your boots (not too tightly), pulled on your mittens, and zipped up your jacket to go on a miniature adventure with the five boys.

“I’m gonna teach you how to play football.” Jason teased you as the six of you walked two by two (you and him at the front).

Shaking your head, you smiled more so at the thought of what you’d look like than his obvious flirting (was he even flirting or just being nice? Decades pass, and you still aren’t sure). “Please no.”

“Come on, it’s easy.”

“Roman history is easy.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not; you’re just smart.”

“It’s easy to me. Football is easy to you, see what I’m getting at?”

Jason shrugged. “Suit yourself, Teddy?”

“Say no more.” He responded, brushing past you and running up ahead as Jason threw the football to him and he caught it.

That left you by yourself for just a moment before seeing Angus walk beside you. You turned your head over your shoulder to see Ye-Joon and Alex lagging behind as they talked.

“Boys,” you called them. “try and keep up!”

They responded with a chorus of ‘Yeah’s and ‘Sorry’s.

“So what, you’re like their mother now?” The second most irritating voice belonging to a boy asked.

You looked over at Angus, hands in his pockets as he gazed down at you. “You’re not exactly the nurturing type.”

“You don’t know that.”

Humming, you stepped over a log in the middle of the path. “So, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Jason’s here because of his hair, Alex and Ye-Joon’s family are in other continents, I don’t care nor want to know about Teddy, why are you here?”

He didn’t respond right away, before then saying. “I was supposed to go to St. Kitt’s with my mom and stepfather, but then they decided to say it was their honeymoon and ditch me.”

Your gaze turned to him and saw him pick up a stick, dragging it behind him to make a line in the snow. Even just from his profile, you could see the anger withing his eyes; bubbling more violently than a volcano about to erupt.

“That’s despicable.” You stated plainly.

“That’s one way to put it.” He scoffed.

You didn’t know exactly how to follow up such a personal conversation, but you wanted to make him feel better (at this point during the break, only because it was the decent thing to do), so you just said.

“You beat me fair and square both times.”

Angus looked at you. “Did I? At your dad’s bullshit trivia?”

“You did. Well actually, it was just me versus five of you, and I do believe the more I talk to Kountze, the more braincells I lose, so-.”

“-Don’t sell yourself short.”

You gave him a quizzical look. “I know, I was just telling you why I lost to you both times.”

He shrugged. “The first time you had to go against fifteen of us.”

“I’m sorry,” you chuckled, genuinely not believing it. “are you suddenly saying that you think I’m smart?”

“I never said you weren’t.” He gave you a look.

“Last time, you looked me in the eye and said you knew more than me.”

That’s what silenced him, and when he nor you said anything after that, you simply walked ahead of him. Hell yeah, you had the last word and made him feel like an asshole (you honestly didn’t know that was possible).

The six of you all caught up with one another, and you spoke with the freshmen boys more about meaningless things (but perhaps that’s what made it so meaningful). Angus, still carrying the stick like he was a child, and it was his favorite toy, said to Jason after talking about if there was anything else to do in Barton.

“What about your car? We could take it, go somewhere, Boston maybe?”

“Nah, we’d get in so much trouble.” He shook his head, nudging you. “Little miss perfect here would snitch on us.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “I would not. Besides, it’d be easier to say you all kidnapped me, and everyone would believe me.”

“Face it,” Jason passed the football back to Teddy. “we’re stuck.”

 “If we just had some way to get out of here.” Angus kicked a patch of snow. “Just split.”

Jason pointed towards the quad. “Well, you could put a chopper down right in the quad.”

“A what?” Angus furrowed his brow.

“Helicopter, dumbass.” Teddy mocked. “His old man’s the CEO of Pratt and Whitney.”

Jason nodded. “Yeah, he’s go his own bird. He takes it from Stamford to the city every morning. Lands right in our back yard. Pilot’s name is Wild Bill.”

“Wild Bill?” Ye-Joon asked, amused.

“Yeah, flew to Haystack with it. Took the presents and everything. Minus me.”

“Flying with presents,” Alex spoke up. “like Santa Claus.”

That was perhaps the first time you smiled out of geniuses that day.

“Yeah. Just like Santa Claus.”

Jason whistled, and Teddy immediately dashed ahead of him and caught the ball once Jason threw it. The two drifted off playing catch, leaving you and Angus with the freshmen. Alex spoke just as whimsically as he did about Santa.

“If I was back home right now back in Provo, it would be really warm inside, and my mom would be making baked apples, and the whole house would smell like cinnamon and brown sugar.”

Ye-Joon smiled. “That sounds really nice.”

You nodded. “During finals week, I helped Mary and the other cooks bake cookies for you guys. I still think that’s one of my favorite smells of all time.”

“You helped out with that?” Angus asked.

Dropping your smile, you said. “Yeah, and if I knew which one you’d have taken I would’ve spat in it.”

Before he could even come up with a response, Teddy ran up to Alex and yanked the glove off his right hand. “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for ratting me out, you little Mormon!” He laughed before throwing it into the river.

You marched up to him immediately. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Like, what the actual fuck?”

Teddy only stuck his tongue out like a child before running back to catch up with Jason. A part of you (somehow) foolishly believed he would’ve berated Teddy for the obviously asshole act; but he didn’t.

Rolling your eyes, you went down to the river with Alex, hopefully trying to find the glove and be able to fish it out. Though, to no avail, you couldn’t find it.

“It’s gone!” He yelled back up to Angus and Ye-Joon. “My glove’s gone!”

“Twisted fucker orphaned that glove on purpose!” Angus responded. “Left you with one so the loss would sting that much more.”

Alex looked down at his hands before tugging off the other glove and throwing it into the river as well. You glared at Teddy as he had a fun time, still laughing and throwing the ball with Jason. Sighing, you looked back down at Alex and pulled off your mittens, handing them to him.

“Here.”

He glanced up at you before staring back out at the water, rubbing his nose. “I don’t need them.”

“Your fingers are frailer than mine.” You continued even when he gave you a look. “That’s not an insult, that’s a fact. It’s alright, I have pockets.”

Alex, after a moment of debating, took them from you and slipped them on, smiling. “Thanks.”

The six of you were on your way back to school when you felt someone slip their hand into your coat pocket.

“Now what do we have here?”

You turned on your heel, seeing Teddy’s face light up as he waved the letter in his hand. Your face dropped, along with your voice.

“No!”

Immediately, you began to chase him around the small, snowy clearing as if you were a dog and he was a car.

“Theodore fucking Kountze, give that back!” You commanded.

He ripped open the envelope. “Or what, Hunham? You’re gonna tell your dad on me?”

“Just give her the letter, idiot.” Angus rolled his eyes.

Of course, Kountze ignored him, taking the letter out, and money falling from the paper. That’s when he stopped in his tracks and so did you. For the first time since…a while, you were frozen, and you had no idea why.

The rest of the boys caught up to you two, and Teddy picked up the money that fell from the letter; a twenty, a ten, and a five-dollar bill. After the initial shock wore off, he read the letter aloud to everyone.  

“‘My dearest girl, how are you? It’s been a while, and I just want to know what you’ve been up to. Merry Christmas, here’s my gift to you. From, Daniel. P.S. Please send another picture of you if you could.’”

Shame crept in like a shaking animal from the cold, and you couldn’t even look at any of them. Still, that didn’t stop Teddy from taunting you; hell, it probably spurred him on.

“The hell kind of business are you running if you got a someone paying you thirty-five bucks?” He laughed, looking back at the guys. “You think she’s in a skin mag or something?”

“Hey, man, shut up.” Jason rebuked.

“No, I’m serious. They take pictures without showing the face sometimes.” He looked at you now. “Which one is it? Penthouse? Modern Man?”

“Leave it, Kountze.” You hissed, not looking at him.

Teddy laughed. “Don’t tell me it’s Playboy; you?”

 “Are you fucking deaf?” Angus asked. “She told you to cut it out.”

“Piss off Tully, you probably saw her tits this morning in study hall.”

You whipped your head around and couldn’t control the face you made; to this day, you still have no idea if it was pure rage, a form of betrayal, or both at once. Still, you watched as how Angus avoided your gaze like he’d done something wrong; he did, but still. Teddy opened his disgusting mouth to speak again.

“Shit, if I were to line up every girl in Barton, you would’ve been the very last one I-.”

“-I’ll let you take the picture.”

All eyes were back on you, and you looked right at Teddy’s; once confident and sly, now widened with surprise. Who knew it would take just six words for him to shut up?

“What?” Was all he responded.

You swallowed thickly, clutching your hands into fists to keep yourself calm (and to not cry). “I’ll let you take the picture of me, but we have to be alone, and you need to promise me you won’t tell anyone else; especially my father.”

This was not what you had envisioned or wanted to happen on your first outing with them away from the adults in your life. You prayed to whatever god above, Christian, Roman, Greek, Buddhist, it didn’t matter, you prayed that Teddy would grow a brain and take the deal.

“Alright.” Was all he said, shrugging with an excited smile on his face that made your skin crawl.

You nodded. “I’ll take my letter and money now.”

He tilted his head, walking closer to you. “Please.”

Taking a deep breath, you said. “Please.”

Teddy’s grin only deepened, then handed you your things. “You know, Hunham, maybe you’re not a total prude after-.”

Your fist met his eye, and the both of you stumbled backwards; him clutching his face, you your hand. Needless to say, you were both cursing. Still, you managed to gather your bearings and push him over.

“Fucking bastard.” You spat before trying to make a run for it.

Teddy grabbed your left foot, causing you to fall into the snow, your teeth sinking into your lip once you hit your chin on impact of the ground. You struggled, then managed to quickly wiggle out of your boot before getting back up and running like a girl (anyone would run like a girl if they were being chased by a man like Teddy Kountze).

You honestly have no idea how he didn’t catch up to you at the time, but you were on the steps of the main building when you turned back. There they were, just five, not-so-little specks that stood out across the valley of pure white snow. It was only when you slowed down did you notice how cold your left foot was. Your sock was dripping wet from the snow, and you then pulled off your other boot, leaving it on the stairs before entering the school.

Taking a deep breath once you closed the door, you wiped your mouth; specks of blood colored your hand, but thankfully, not that much. Sighing, you walked through the halls of the school, trying to make your way back to the infirmary and hoping that your father wasn’t there.

You ran into Mary instead (a fate worse than death).

“Where are your shoes?” Was the first thing she asked once she saw you in the main hall (you got lost; hey, you’d only been there a few times in the past, don’t be too hard on yourself).

You shrugged, smiling. “We were playing a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“Hide and seek tag.” you leaned against the wall, hands in your coat pockets. “First one to get to the school wins, I hid my shoes under a bush, so they thought I was there, and I made a run for it.”

“You take a fall then? Your mouth’s bleeding.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never slipped on ice?” You managed to joke.

She arched her brow, placing her hands on her hips. “Do you know how long I’ve known you?”

It actually took you a few moments to think back on it; it felt like you’ve known her longer, but no. “Since I was nine?”

“And do you think, in the last eight years, I haven’t been able to tell if you’re a bad liar or not?”

“…Well, am I?”

“Did one of those boys put their hands on you?” She asked the question you both knew was coming. “Was it that shitass Kountze?”

Even with it being a serious question, you laughed (both from surprise and discomfort). “Well like, you should see the hands I put on him. Mary, we were just playing, it’s fine.”

The main door opened before she could say anything else, and you saw the same five boys walk in; Ye-Joon holding your boots. You smiled, approaching them as if nothing was wrong, and you took your shoes. “Thank you.”

He nodded, quickly looking away.

“You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” Mary spoke up behind you, and your heart dropped for a moment as well as all of their faces. “I get that you were playing a game, but you don’t need to be so competitive.”

They turned to one another, obviously confused about the whole thing (you were as well). Still, she continued. “Yeah, little miss Hunahm told me everything. Hide and seek, tag, I don’t care what it was, you all need to be just careful with each other. Poor girl over here took a fall, and I see you did too, mister Kountze.”

At his name, Teddy turned away. Angus spoke up. “We’ll be careful next time, miss Lamb.”

“Please, we’re on vacation; just Mary.” She looked at you. “You’re gonna help me with dinner later, right?”

“I will.”

“Good, stay out of trouble.”

“No promises.”

With that, Mary left through one of the doors leading to the teacher’s lounge. The moment she did, Teddy hissed at you.

“What the hell was that?!”

Rolling your eyes you said. “Didn’t you hear? We were playing a stupid game.”

“You mean you punched me in the face.”

“You blackmailed me into doing something I wouldn’t have wanted to do; we can keep going.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a-.”

“-A what?”

He stopped to your surprise, then changed his tone. “I just don’t think your father would be proud of the choices you’ve made.”

On one hand, damn, those words cut deep enough to almost make you bleed; but on the other hand…

“Are you gonna tell him?” You asked, trying not to sound like you gave a shit.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “I mean, unless you’re gonna say sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You laughed. “Beating the shit out of you? You started it. Besides, who’s he going to believe?”

Silence was what you were met with. Even at the sight of his face, you only continued to grin. “Teddy, come on, you start ‘not fights’, we all know. It’s not a hard question, I thought you were smarter than this?”

He sighed. “You.”

“Exactly; you’re my bitch, Kountze.” You walked backwards, a little skip in your step. “Don’t you forget that.”

Turning away, you retreated to the infirmary, grabbing your books and escaping to the library in hopes of not having to see any of them for the rest of the day.

Men…so exhausting.

You managed to disappear into the world of The Yellow Wallpaper (not necessarily lighthearted reading, but it was still interesting) and a chapter of The Two Towers before Mary called you down to help with dinner.

After another strange but not so subtle comment from her (“You know you can be honest with me, right? I am with you.”), it was quiet between the both of you. That’s what you always loved with cooking and baking; the quietness, even if you were with one other person. You both just worked in tandem and it was almost frightening how you would both know to move out of the way of each other without saying a word.

Dinner was uneventful; somehow, your father hadn’t noticed the slight bruising on your lip, or Teddy’s eye (the color would probably start to show as days went on, but that was a future problem for you). Not one of the boys your age talked to you; even then, the freshmen kept to themselves a lot too.

So, it was quite a surprise to you, as there was “supervised leisure time” in the library, when Jason Smith sat across from you at the table.

“Hey.” He said softly.

You looked up from Jane Eyre. “Hello.”

“So…” He almost looked nervous (initially about what, you will never know). “you really gave Teddy shit today.”

Tilting your head to the side, you went. “Yeah? Well…he kind of threatened me.”

“No of course. Just…wow.” He chuckled. “You really held him off.”

Nodding, you honestly had no idea what to think. Was he complementing you? In shock? All you were doing was staying silent at this awkward exchange when he asked. “You okay?”

“Huh?”

“Just that, I can’t really read you right now. Did I say something weird?”

“No.” You shook your head, then said. “Well, yes. Sorry, I just…” You tried again. “Thank you, I think? But um…do you want me to be honest?”

“Sure.”

“I’m kind of…no, I am mad none of you stepped in. Maybe not mad but…I don’t know.”

“Well,” he began. “we told him to stop.”

“So did I, but he didn’t.” You wanted to say, but you only knew saying something true would make it worse (this is why you couldn’t be outnumbered by men; it’d make you scared). Instead, you settled on.

“I know, and thanks, but it still would’ve been nice for some help.”

He shrugged. “You seemed to have it handled.”

Six words you thought (and prayed) you’d never hear again; and he said them with a nonchalant shrug. As if, by now, he was already bored and annoyed with a conversation he had started. Perhaps you were reading too much into that last part, perhaps he didn’t mean to come off as callous; but he was still oblivious at the end of the day.

“Look,” he interrupted your overflowing mind when he saw how much it was affecting you. “if it helps, he tried to run after you when you punched him, but Tully and I held him back.”

You took a deep breath as his words sunk in. Then, you chuckled bitterly. “How nice of you to not let him beat me to a pulp.”

He shook his head. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Angry? Pissed off?”

“Irritational.”

Your jaw actually dropped. “What?”

He said your name, shaking his head and lowering his voice as if you both hadn’t been quiet already. “Look, Kountze is a dick, we know that. But come on, he said some horrible stuff, and you punched him. That doesn’t really add up.”

“…He threatened me.”

“You basically invited him to take a picture of you alone. I mean, yeah it was to bate him, but still.”

No further questions, you picked up your book and your jacket. Without another word and ignoring how he tried to call you back with a soft tone of voice as he said your name, you walked out of the library without another thought.

Your father asked you about it of course, but all you said was that Jason spoiled a book you were looking forward to reading. He believed you and wished you goodnight, leaving you to lie in your bed and be stuck in your thoughts until snoring reached your ears.

You waited a few more minutes before you stood up, gathering your blanket to wrap around you. As you walked down the hall, the nagging thought of ‘Do I even feel safe in there?’ invaded your mind when you only realized that you were going to be in a room with both Jason and Teddy. You were outside of the hall for longer than you would imagine, when you heard quiet voices on the other side of the wall.

“…I had an accident.”

“Yeah, you did. Shh, stop crying. If they hear you, they’ll crucify you. Which would be ironic, since you’re Buddhist.”

You had to cover your mouth from the unexpected line. How…strange it was to hear Angus Tully be this comforting. You heard the smaller voice again and heard that it was Ye-Joon.

“I know it’s an excellent school, and my brothers went here. But I miss my family, and I have no friends.” His voice broke at the end, and so did a piece of your heart.

Then, Angus with his words of wisdom, said. “Yeah, well, friends are overrated. I’ll help you hide the sheets in the morning, all right? In the meantime, find a dry spot, and try to get some sleep.”

“Thank you.”

You gave it a few moments, still reeling over the gentleness of it all, before entering into the light of the infirmary room. You knocked lightly on the door frame not to frighten anyone.

Angus turned over his shoulder, and somehow didn’t jump when he saw you.

“Hi.” You greeted.

“Hey.” He responded, trying to act like his common, moody self.

You wanted to acknowledge what you heard; tease him (but not in an unkind way) about him being nice, ask him why, in the dead of night, was he like this and not in the daytime? Still, all you could manage was the basic.

“Is everything alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah, just nightmares, you know.”

“No,” you shook your head, deciding to lighten and grace the room with your sarcasm. “I’ve never had one in my life.”

Angus seemed to catch on, and it surprised you greatly to see him actually smile. “Nobody likes a bragger.”

“So that’s why you don’t have any friends.”

…Too much; too much sarcasm.

Both of your smiles fell, and you wanted nothing more than to shrivel up like a leaf and die in front of him, then have someone sweep out the crumbs of your body and then them on fire in the snow before burying the ashes.

You still can’t believe you came up with that metaphor quicker before you could say. “I’m just gonna…”

He nodded. “Yep.”

“Goodnight.”

“’Night.”

You scurried into the other room and under the covers of the bed. The fear of Teddy and Jason no longer was the thing keeping you up at night in that room; it was the worst possible thing you could’ve said to Angus Tully of all people.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

[snuggerudism]

CHRISTMAS IN CALIFORNIA | Will Smith

event masterlist

banner by @bernardsbendystraws

warnings none

Growing up in Massachusetts, Christmas time to you had always meant extremely cold weather and sometimes snow.

Being in San Jose didn’t give you that.

Will was determined to make your first Christmas in California special. After asking some of the long tenured wags, he was told about a light display that you could walk through and into a christmas market.

“Babe, let’s go for a ride.” Will reaches out his hand for you, giving you one of his signature smiles.

“Where to?”

“It’s a surprise.” He grins.

“Okay?” You tilt your head, raising your eyebrows in question.

“Just trust me,” He squeezes your hands. “It’s gonna be worth it.” He promises you, leading you to the door.

The car ride is full of the two of you singing along to various Christmas songs. Will pulls into a parking lot, the view of christmas lights filling your vision.

“Oh Will, they’re so pretty.”

“Just wait till we see them up close babe.” He smiles again, his hand holding yours again.

“Will-“ You turn to look at him, the glow of lights behind you.

“Hold on babe, stay just like that. You look so beautiful and I need to take a picture.” Will takes his phone out of his pocket, bending to get the right angles.

“Let’s take a selfie of us,” You wrap your arms around Will’s waist, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “How’d you find this place?”

“Just was looking around and stumbled across it. I knew I needed to take you here.” He answers with a kiss on your lips, eyes sparkling as he looks at you.

You’re under a trail of lights now, various colors filling your eyes.

Maybe Christmas in San Jose wasn’t as bad as you thought.

[sturnslcver]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ virulent love (series) ˚.°: ₊˚ ୨

— chris sturniolo x fem reader —

— warnings, drinking, smoking, pills!

a/n: couldn’t figure out what i wanted to do for chris and y/n’s meet cute so it is heavily based off of a real life book i read, but ive already finished the rest of the story/chapters and it is all my own original ideas! enjoy! :)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˚.°: ₊˚ ୨

i creep up the stairs in search for my brothers apartment door. this place seems more like a historic hotel than an apartment complex, with its expansive columns and marble floors. when arlo said i could stay with him after hearing about another one of moms manic episodes, i had no idea he lived like an actual adult. I thought it’d be more similar to the last time i visited him, right after i graduated from high school, back when he had first started dealing. however, that was four years ago and a two story skimpy complex ago. that’s kind of what i was expecting. i certainly wasn’t anticipating this orderly area in the middle of downtown massachusetts. I spent all of last week packing up everything i own from mom’s house back in florida. luckily, i don’t own much. but after taking a five hundred mile drive alone today, my exhaustion is pretty obvious in my reflection. my hair is in a unsecured knot on top of my head, held together by a pencil, since I couldn't find a hair tie while I was driving. i reach into my purse to find chapstick, hoping to recover my lips before they end up as weary-looking as the rest of me. I pull my phone out of my pocket and open up my messages to arlo.

i can't remember which apartment number he said was his. it’s either 1372 or 1374. maybe it's 1372? i come to a stop at 1372, because there's a guy passed out on the floor of the hallway, leaning against the door to 1374. please don't let it be 1374. i find the message on my phone and cringe. it's 1374. of course it is.

i walk slowly to the door, hoping I don't wake up the guy. his legs are sprawled out in front of him, and he's leaning with his back propped up against arlo’s door. his chin is tucked to his chest, and he's snoring. "excuse me" i say, my voice just above a whisper. he doesn't move. i lift my leg and poke his shoulder with my foot. "i need to get into this apartment." he rustles and then slowly opens his eyes and stares straight ahead at my legs. his eyes meet my knees, and his eyebrows furrow as he slowly leans forward with a deep scowl on his face. he lifts a hand and pokes my knee with his finger, almost as if he's never seen a knee before. he drops his hand, closes his eyes, and falls back asleep against the door. great. arlo won't be back until tomorrow, so i dial his number to see if this guy is someone i should be concerned about. “y/n?" he asks, answering his phone without a hello. "yep," i reply. "made it safe, but i can't get in because there's a drunk guy passed out at your front door." "thirteen seventy four?" he asks. "you sure you're at the right apartment?" "positive." "are you sure he's drunk?" "positive." "weird," he says. "what’s he wearing?" "why do you want to know what he's wearing?" "if he's wearing a yellow shirt and goggles on his head he’s probably the janitor. the janitor in our complex is homeless" this guy isn't wearing any type of goggles, but i can't help but notice that his jeans and black hoodie do fit him very nicely. "no goggles," i say. “can you get past him without waking him up?" "i’d have to move him. he’ll fall inside if I open the door." he’s quiet for a few seconds while he thinks. "go back downstairs and wait in the lobby until someone can let you in" i sigh, because ive been driving for six hours, and going all the way back downstairs is not something I feel like doing right now.

“just stay on the phone with me until I'm inside your apartment" i like my plan a lot better. i balance my phone against my ear with my shoulder and dig inside my purse for the key arlo sent me. i insert it into the lock and begin to open the door, but the drunk guy begins to fall backward with every inch the door opens. he groans, but his eyes don't open again. "it’s too bad he's wasted," i tell arlo. "he’s not bad-looking." "can you just get your ass inside and lock the door so i can hang up." i roll my eyes. i’m hoping things will be different between us now that mom’s in the hospital. she was always turning us against one another. for example, by the time i was eleven, i’d saved up three hundred dollars so that i could finally get a pet hamster. she ended up stealing it and spending it on pills. she told me arlo stole it.

i wrap my purse around my shoulder, but it gets caught on my suitcase handle, so i just let it fall to the floor. i keep my left hand wrapped tightly around the doorknob and hold the door shut so the guy won't fall completely into the apartment. i take my foot and press it against his shoulder, pushing him from the center of the doorway. he doesn't budge. “arlo, he's too heavy. i’m gonna have to hang up so I can use both hands." “no, don't hang up. just put the phone in your pocket, but don't hang up." i look down at the oversized shirt and leggings I have on. “no pockets. you’re going in the bra." arlo laughs as i pull the phone from my ear and shove it inside my bra. i remove the key from the lock and drop it toward my purse, but it misses and falls to the floor. i reach down to grab the drunk guy so I can move him out of the way. “okay" I say, struggling to pull him away from the center of the doorway. "sorry." i somehow manage to prop him up against the doorframe to prevent him from falling into the apartment, and then i push the door open farther and turn to get my things.

something warm wraps around my ankle. i freeze. i look down. “let go!" i yell, kicking at the hand that's gripping my ankle so tightly I'm pretty sure it might bruise. the drunk guy is looking up at me now, and his grip sends me falling backward into the apartment when I try to pull away from him. "i need to get in there” , he mutters, just as my butt meets the floor. he makes an attempt to push the apartment door open with his other hand, and this immediately sends me into panic mode. i pull my legs the rest of the way inside, and his hand comes with me. i use my free leg to kick the door shut, slamming it directly onto his wrist. “fuck!" he yells. he’s trying to pull his hand back into the hallway with him, but my foot is still pressing against the door. i release enough pressure for him to have his hand back, and then i immediately kick the door all the way shut.

i pull myself up and lock the door, the dead bolt, and the chain lock as quickly as i can. as soon as my heart rate begins to calm down, it starts to scream at me. my heart is actually screaming at me. in a deep male voice. It sounds like it's calling my name. arlo. i immediately look down at my chest and pull my phone out of my bra, then bring it up to my ear. "hello!" i wince, then pull the phone several inches from my ear. "i’m fine," i say, out of breath. "i’m inside. i locked the door." “okay" he says, relieved. "you scared me. what the hell happened?" “he was trying to get inside. i locked the door, though." i flip on the living-room light and take no more than three steps inside before i come to a halt. i slowly turn back toward the door after realizing what ive done. “arlo?" i pause. "i left a few things outside that i need. i would just grab them, but the drunk guy is still trying to get in, so there's no way I'm opening the door again. what do i do?” he’s silent for a few seconds. "what did you leave in the hallway?" i don't want to answer him, but i do. "my suitcase...and purse." “why the hell is your purse outside?" "i also left the key on the hallway floor." he doesn't even respond to that one. he just groans. "i’ll call chris and see if he's home yet. give me two minutes." "wait. who’s chris ?" "he lives across the hall. whatever you do, don't open the door again until i call you back." arlo hangs up, and i lean against his front door. i’ve lived in massachusetts all of thirty minutes. my phone rings. i slide my thumb across the screen and answer it.

"hey." "y/n?" "yeah?," i reply, wondering why he always double-checks to see if it's me. he called me, so who else would be answering it who sounds exactly like me? "i called chris." “good. is he gonna help me get my stuff?" "not exactly," arlo says. "i kind of need you to do me a huge favor." my head falls against the door again. i have a feeling the next few months are going to be full of inconvenient favors, since he knows he's doing me a huse one by letting me stay here. "what?" i ask him. "chris kind of needs your help." "the neighbor?" i pause as soon as it clicks, and i close my eyes. "arlo, please don't tell me the guy you called to protect me from the drunk guy is the drunk guy." arlo sighs. "i need you to unlock the door and let him in. let him crash on the couch. i’ll be there first thing in the morning. when he sobers up, he'll know where he is, and he'll go straight home." i shake my head. "what kind of apartment complex is this? should i prepare to be groped by drunk people every time I come home?" long pause. "he groped you?" "groped might be a bit strong. he did grab my ankle, though." arlo lets out a sigh. "just do this for me. call me back when you've got him and all your stuff inside." "fine." i groan, recognizing the worry in his voice.

i hang up on arlo and open the door. the drunk guy falls onto his shoulder, and his cell phone slips from his hand and lands on the floor next to his head. i flip him onto his back and look down at him. he cracks his eyes open and attempts to look up at me, but his eyelids fall shut again. "You're not arlo," he mutters. "no. i’m not. i’m your new neighbor." i lift him by his shoulders and try to get him to sit up, but he doesn't. i don't think he can, actually. how does a person even get this drunk? i grab his hands and pull him inch by inch into the apartment, stopping when he's just far enough inside for me to be able to close the door. i retrieve all of my things from outside the apartment, then shut and lock the front door. i grab a throw pillow from the couch, prop his head up, and roll him onto his side in case he pukes in his sleep. and that's all the help he's getting from me. when he's comfortably asleep in the middle of the living room floor, i leave him there while I look around the apartment.

the living room alone could fit three of the living rooms from arlos last apartment. arlo said he'd be back in the morning, so i’ll leave that to him. normally, i would be nervous about the fact that there's a stranger in the same apartment I'm in, but i have a feeling i don't need to worry. arlo would never ask me to help someone he felt might be a threat to me in any way. which confuses me, because if this is common behavior for chris, i’m surprised arlo asked me to bring him inside.

i head back to the living room to turn out the lights, but when ive rounded the corner, i come to an immediate halt. not only is chris up off the floor, but he's in the kitchen, with his head pressed against his arms and his arms folded on top of the kitchen counter. he’s seated on the edge of a bar stool, and he looks as if he's about to fall off it any second. i can't tell if he's sleeping again or just attempting to recover. "chris?" he doesn't move when i call his name, so i walk toward him and gently lay my hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. the second my fingers squeeze his shoulder, he gasps and sits up straight as if I just woke him from the middle of a dream. or a nightmare. immediately, he slides off the stool and onto very unstable legs. he begins to sway, so i throw his arm over my shoulder and try to walk him out of the kitchen. "come on." he drops his forehead to the side of my head and stumbles along with me, making it even harder to hold him up. we make it to the front of the couch, and i start to peel him off me. "okay, chris. whoever you are. just go to sleep." he falls onto the couch, but he doesn't let go of my shoulders. i fall with him and immediately attempt to pull away. i gently push him back into the couch, yanking my hand away. i lay his pillow down and urge him onto it. "go to sleep, chris," i say gently.

his eyelids are heavy and watering when he drops to the pillow. he grabs my hand and hums. his eyes fall shut again, and he releases a heavy sigh. i stare at him silently, allowing him to keep hold of my hand until he's quiet and still. i pull my hand away from his, but i stay by his side for a few minutes longer. even though he's asleep, he somehow still looks as if he's on edge. his eyebrows are furrowed, and his breathing is sporadic, failing to fall into a peaceful pattern. when he makes another half conscious effort to reach for my hand, i finally give in. i place my cheek on top of our hands and lean into the couch. i fall asleep on the floor next to him.

@sturnsmadison @ryli3sworld @sunnysturniolos @ariologyy @sturncakez @sturnsxplr-25 @nickmillersn1gf

[probablyasocialecologist]

What does it mean that, in 2025, a mere call for equal rights for all Israeli citizens stirs more outrage than a plan for publicly owned grocery stores? Against two national parties in thrall to a genocidal regime and reflexively hostile to the very notion of Palestinian humanity, Mamdani spoke with the same force and clarity in defense of Gaza’s people as he did in support of working New Yorkers. Mamdani was always going to be labeled an antisemite by politicians and operators running cover for Zionist slaughter; his actual answers to all the rhetorical traps and ludicrous insinuations, the badgering questions about Israel and intifada, were almost irrelevant. Yet he did answer them, with conviction and without apology. Witness the interview with Stephen Colbert, where Mamdani meets the late night host’s anxious, circuitous interrogation about Jewish “safety” with plainspoken poise. The antisemitism panic has come so unmoored from empirical reality that any contact with that reality is a bracing risk.

[...]

But with the primary all but won, a longer, fiercer fight begins. The redbaiting caricatures, antisemitism slanders, and Islamophobic threats will intensify. Most chilling has been the anti-immigrant vitriol. Stephen Miller points to Mamdani as an example of the peril of “unchecked migration”; Vickie Paladino, a northern Queens Republican and the scummiest member of New York’s City Council, called for Mamdani to be deported. But the more material threat will come from genteeler quarters. Whether through a Cuomo revenge run as an independent in the general election, a last-ditch Eric Adams recuperation, or some other vehicle, real estate and finance—sectors long accustomed to pliable New York mayors and governors—will revolt. An injustice to the ruling class in New York is a threat to the ruling class everywhere. “What happens in NYC,” a worried Larry Summers tweeted from Massachusetts last week, “is consequential for all of us.”

26 June 2025

[deadpresidents]

Which Presidential couple's story would make the best romantic comedy?

This is such a great question, and I was spending quite a bit of time going over the Presidential marriages while debating myself about the right answer. But it suddenly hit me that the perfect answer is Calvin Coolidge and his wife, Grace Goodhue Coolidge. They were extremely quirky as individuals and, as a couple, there are many unique stories about the Coolidges and their marriage. As I've written on a couple occasions in the past, Calvin Coolidge was a really weird dude (he had a mechanical horse in the White House for exercise and was not above dressing up as or acting like a cowboy when using it!), and Grace was eccentric (she had a pet raccoon named Rebecca in the White House) and very interesting in her own right. Together, they were quite a match.

As William A. DeGregorio wrote in The Complete Book of U.S. Presidents, "While watering flowers outside the school [she was working at in Northampton, Massachusetts] one day in 1903, [Grace] happened to look up at the open window of Robert N. Weir's boardinghouse and caught a glimpse of [Calvin] Coolidge, shaving in front of a mirror, with nothing on but long underwear and a hat. She burst out laughing at the sight; he heard the noise and turned to look at her. It was their first meeting."

And as the New York Times reported in a 1935 review of Mrs. Coolidge's biography of President Coolidge:

Soon after Calvin Coolidge was married, he took to his bride fifty-two pairs of socks in need of mending. "When I inquired if their wearer had married me to get his stockings darned, he replied quite seriously, 'No, but I find it mighty handy,'" Mrs. Grace Coolidge writes.

It seems like you could get a lot of comedic mileage out of their relationship. There are, without a doubt, significantly more photos of Grace Coolidge laughing or smiling than all of the First Ladies that preceded her (and a good number of those who followed her) combined.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

May 15, 2025 (Thursday)

Heather Cox Richardson

May 16, 2025

Perhaps in frustration, this season’s writers of the saga of American history are making their symbolism increasingly obvious.

Today the story broke that a long-neglected document held by Harvard University Law School, believed to be a cheap copy of the Magna Carta, is in fact the real document. More than 700 years ago, the Magna Carta, or Great Charter, established the concept that kings must answer to the law.

King John of England and a group of rebel barons agreed to the terms of the document on June 15, 1215, at Runnymede, a meadow a little less than an hour from London near the River Thames. After the king had raised taxes, barons rebelled, insisting that he was violating established custom. There were rumors of a plot to murder the king, and the barons armed themselves.

Those two armed camps met at Runnymede, where negotiators for the king and the barons hammered out a document with 63 clauses, mostly relating to feudal customs and the way the justice system would operate. But the document also began to articulate the principles central to modern democracies. The Magna Carta established the writ of habeas corpus—a prohibition on unlawful imprisonment—and the concept of the right to trial by jury.

Famously, it put into writing that: “No free man shall be seized, imprisoned, dispossessed, outlawed, exiled or ruined in any way, nor in any way proceeded against, except by the lawful judgement of his peers and the law of the land.” It also provided that “To no one will we sell, to no one will we deny or delay right or justice.”

The Magna Carta placed limits on the king’s ability to tax his subjects and established the law as an authority apart from the king. Anticipating the idea of checks and balances, it set up a council of barons to make sure the king obeyed the charter. If he did not, they could seize his lands and castles until he made amends.

The original charter did not last. King John convinced the pope to declare the document illegal because it circumscribed the power of the monarch, and in reaction, barons fought for the rights outlined in the Magna Carta. After the death of King John in 1216, the Magna Carta was confirmed and reissued, becoming an accepted part of the understanding of British rights. In 1297, and then again in 1300, King Edward I reissued the Magna Carta and confirmed that it was part of England’s law.

The copy in Harvard’s possession is from 1300. Harvard bought the document after World War II for $27.50, about $500 today. It is one of seven original copies of the 1300 Magna Carta, and in the United States of America in 2025, it is priceless.

In the early 1600s, King James I and King Charles I both reasserted the power of the king. Jurist Sir Edward Coke used the Magna Carta to insist that longstanding English customs guaranteed liberties to British subjects and required the king to comply with the law. There were limits to a king’s power to tax his subjects and his power to punish them.

This legal struggle was unfolding just as British subjects were colonizing the North American continent, and the charters of the new colonies echoed Coke’s arguments. The 1629 charter of the Massachusetts Bay Company, for example, established that colonists and, crucially, the children they might have in the colony, “shall have and enjoy all liberties and Immunities of free and naturall Subiects.”

As constitutional scholar Mary S. Bilder notes, lawyers and political figures put into the documents of the early British settlement of North America the belief that liberties were the birthright of English subjects. That belief informed colonists’ opposition to the 1765 Stamp Act, which imposed a new tax to which they had not given their consent and called for those who violated the law to be tried not by a jury of their peers but rather in admiralty courts. The Massachusetts Assembly declared the Stamp Act to be “against the Magna Carta and the natural rights of Englishmen, and therefore, according to Lord Coke, null and void.” British politician William Pitt told Parliament: “The Americans are the sons not the bastards of England.”

In September 1774, as tensions between the king and the colonists intensified, the first Continental Congress met in Philadelphia and wrote a declaration of rights and grievances, claiming the liberties guaranteed by “the principles of the English constitution, and the several charters or compacts.” Showing the unity of the colonies, the Congress published an image of 12 arms holding a column crowned by a liberty cap and resting on the words “Magna Carta.”

In 1776 the colonists threw off the monarchy to establish a government based on the idea that all people must answer to the law. As Thomas Paine wrote in Common Sense: “in America the law is king. For as in absolute governments the King is law, so in free countries the law ought to be king; and there ought to be no other.” In 1776 the new states were writing their own constitutions that defended their liberties, including their protection from loss of life, liberty, or property without due process of the law.

That concept went directly into the first ten amendments to the Constitution, known collectively as the Bill of Rights. The Fifth Amendment provided that no “person shall be…deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law,” and in 1868 the Fourteenth Amendment applied that principle to the states as well as the federal government, saying: “No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

The Harvard document is not the only Magna Carta in the U.S. In 2007, philanthropist David Rubenstein bought a 1297 copy of the Magna Carta from former presidential candidate Ross Perot. It was the only copy in the U.S., and Perot had permitted the National Archives to display it. Rubenstein bought the document for $21.3 million, hoping to keep it in the U.S. “to ensure that Americans could continue to see it, and to thereby be continuously reminded of its importance to our country.” He promptly lent it to the National Archives for public display, “as modest repayment of my debt to this country for my good fortune in being an American.”

And yet the fundamental principles on which the government of the United States is based are under attack. In an interview that aired on Sunday, May 4, President Donald J. Trump told NBC’s Kristen Welker that he “didn’t know” if persons in the United States had a right to due process. When Welker reminded him that the right to due process is written into the Fifth Amendment, he said: “I don’t know. It seems—it might say that, but if you’re talking about that, then we’d have to have a million or two million or three million trials.”

Musician Bruce Springsteen has no doubts about those rights, embedded as they are in the country’s DNA. At a concert in Manchester, England, yesterday, he warned: “In America, the richest men… [are]... abandoning our great allies and siding with dictators against those struggling for their freedom. They’re defunding American universities that won’t bow down to their ideological demands. They’re removing residents off American streets and, without due process of law, are deporting them to foreign detention centers and prisons. This is all happening now.” He criticized lawmakers who have “no…idea of what it means to be deeply American.”

And yet, Springsteen told the crowd: “The America that I’ve sung to you about for 50 years is real and, regardless of its faults, is a great country with a great people, so will survive this moment.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON