#was about to go on a tirade in your inbox about how i love your art lili

[elizakai]

I wanna participate in the dtiys when I get better -w- looks so pretty

W-

WDYM!?

Like i get it, and bro go for it but also uh. UH!?!? I LOVE YOUR DRAWINGS?? YOU DONT HAVE TO “GET BETTER?” IF YOU WANT TO PARTICIPATE??bb

HELLO??🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺im gonna…GET you. 🦅

edit: CRISIS AVERTED AHAHAHA THEY MEANT THEY WERE SICK IM AN IDIOT LMFAOOOOIIIIOOOO

[lean-ground-beefro]

welcome to the stage...

a Joel Miller one shot: Flip the Switch

Pairing: CEO!Joel Miller x F!Reader Prompt from @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog:

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 =Santa!Joel x elf!reader 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕥 = you’ve been a lazy elf so Santa Joel punishes you

Summary: You've been tasked with being Joel's 'Helper Elf' at this year's Christmas Party and good god do you hate your job... Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) Word Count: 3,562 Content Warning: DubCon, Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), p in the v - unwrapped, degradation, power plays, power imbalance, boss / employee dynamic, swiches, dom/sub dynamic, name calling, couch fucking Author's Notes: I am @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog's Secret Santa and I am so sorry for how late this is, bb! I am thankful for you and I hope you enjoy my first foray our of the chubby universe.

Thank you to @softpascalito, @theywhowriteandknowthings & @neverwheremoonchild for their eyes and beta skills. 💜🥦💜

Santa-baby-I've-been-an-swful-good-girl regards,

Beefro👌🥦💜

--------<3----------

When you’d been asked to dress as Joel’s ‘Helper Elf’ to his ‘CEO Santa’, you’d scoffed at the idea, already planning on resigning from being one of his company’s administrative assistants. You were tired of the long hours and being worked to the bone for very little pay and respect, but you decided to hold off to see the shitshow that the company’s Christmas party would be since Joel himself was in charge of planning it.

Joel was an egotistical brute who had no business being allowed to mingle with people in an enclosed space. His only saving graces were his brother, Tommy – CFO and President, and the only one who could rein him in - and his stupidly handsome, brooding good looks. He infuriated you; he knew he could get away with just about anything because he was the boss and most of the peons were scared shitless of his brutal tirades being directed at them. He threw it in almost anyone’s face how loaded he was and that he owned them. You hated him as much as you loved how quickly you came on your vibrator when though about his voice, his eyes, his hands that were burned into your memory. Fuck Joel Miller and fuck his cocky fucking smirk.

The day of the party you’d been given a cheap, sleezy looking elf costume with an email soon landing in your inbox with instructions to wear it that night, along with what your duties would be. Rolling your eyes, you read the email and realized that you would be spending the entire evening at Joel’s side, truly being his ‘Helper Elf’. You were to make sure he knew every person’s name (you rolled your eyes because if he really gave a shit about the people who worked for him, he’d already know their names), make sure he had food and a drink available to him all night (great – you were going to be a glorified personal waitress for the douchebag), make sure the event ran smoothly (as the one who apparently planned the event, why was this up to you?), had out gifts as ‘Santa’s Helper’ to the employees (groan…), and lastly, keep him company throughout the evening.

The whole thing made you rethink waiting to quit and you huffed, looking down at the cheap, probably highly flammable, elf costume on your desk.

“Fuck it.”, you groaned, picking it up and shoving it into your purse and heading to the bathroom to change.

*****

You were silently cheering yourself on. All evening, you’d made a conscious decision to be as annoying and useless as possible for Joel, and boy oh boy!, you’d gotten under his skin. Two hours into the party, and Joel had gone to get his third refill at the bar because you weren’t ‘paying attention’ and he’d also missed out on most of the buffet because you ‘forgot’ to get him a plate. You’d also managed to ‘unknowingly’ give him several wrong names, making him look like an ass towards several employees who’s names he really should have known. When it came time to hand out presents, you conveniently were ‘required’ to make yourself scarce and were unable to help.

While he’d barely said more than a few sentences to you, his scowl said everything you needed to be satisfied. At this point, you’d had more than a few drinks, and while you still maintained your professionalism, you’d stopped adjusting your skimpy elf costume and let it ride up higher on your thigh as you sat next to Joel. You’d caught him looking down at your bare lap more than once, making you grin to yourself.

*****

You had to give him his due; Joel had managed to put on a not-mediocre, standard office Christmas party. It was more than you thought he was capable of. That, and the fact that he kept the stupid Santa suit on the entire evening and posed for pictures with anyone who asked. You swear you might have even seen a genuine smile on his face when his brother came up for a picture dressed as a reindeer.

What really made you happy though was when Tommy asked Joel how his night was going, and you heard him respond, “Strapped me with a lazy fuckin’ elf, Tommy…” as his face held a cold sneer.

Right under that smile was the asshole who you’d found so much delight in needling all night.

By the time the party wrapped up, you figured you’d done your duty and you’d be free to go home and continue the party with a cheap bottle of wine and your cat. Everyone else had left and as you grabbed your bag from under the table, you heard Joel’s telltale stomps come up behind you. Before you could turn around, he had his hands on your waist, pushing you against the table.

“Think you’re bein’ cute, sugar?”, he growled into your ear.

“The fuck are you doing?!”, you snapped back, trying to wriggle out of his grasp more out of surprise than disgust.

He held you tighter, his thick fingers digging into your waist, and you could feel your panties getting wet.

“Don’t you fuckin’ move… can you follow that fuckin’ direction?”

“Oh Jesus! Just fuck off!”, you snarled back, again, trying halfheartedly to remove his hands from you, but hoping he didn’t let go.

He grunted as you shoved him back and turned around. You both stood and glared at each other, daring the other to make the first move. A small, menacing grin spread on Joel’s face as he took a few slow steps towards you.

“No one’s fucked the Christmas spirit into you yet, sugar?”, he growled, licking his lips and roughly pushing you back onto the table.

“Oh, fuck you! You couldn’t fuck a quack into a duck, you asshole.”

He raised his eyebrow at you and gave you a warning look before roughly gripping your chin and forcing you to look up at him. He brought his face close to you and stared down at you meanly.

“You’re a shitty helper elf. Don’t you dare be a shitty lay, too.”

Before you could respond, he hoisted you up on the table, shoved the skirt of your dress up around your waist and pushed his fingers against your clothed core, making you let out an involuntary moan and a buck of your hips.

“Fuckin’ sweet, sugar…”, he purred, eyeing you with a grin.

You rolled your eyes and groaned against his touch. “You’re a disgusting old man, Miller.”

“Fuck, you’ve got a nasty little mouth on you…”, he murmured with a devilish grin as he pushed your legs apart and stood between them.

You swallowed hard as he grasped your neck. His other hand’s fingers moved between you and his eyes fluttered. He groaned when he felt how wet you were through your panties.

“Fuckin’ eh, sugar…”, he cooed, returning his softer gaze towards you. “You wet for daddy?”

You sucked in a breath as he circled your covered clit with his index finger, and tried to sound as firm as you could. “Fuck off with that ‘daddy’ shit, Miller.”

He tsk’d you, griping your throat tighter. “You and your mouth, sugar…”, he chuckled, watching you squirm, then growled. “You’re gonna be begging me to be your daddy when I’m done with you.”

That was it. This man had fucked around enough with you as your boss and now he wanted to demean you like this? Pulling yourself together, you pushed his chest and shoved him off you with all your might and before he could pounce on you again, you quickly moved to the side, causing him to lean over the table.

You shoved him forward, and to your surprise, he didn’t resist. Instead, he chuckled. “What’re you gonna – “

It infuriated you that despite your rejection of him, he was still smiling and seemingly enjoying himself.

“Just shut up!”, you snarled back, snaking your hand around his front and gripping his infuriatingly impressive cock through his cheap, fuzzy red pants.

“You fuckin’ shit… you’ll never be my daddy…” You could feel him get harder as you growled into his ear. “Too fuckin’ old to even pin me down…”

“Ungh…sugar… oh fuck…”, he panted, rutting his hips and griding his cock against your hands.

The fact that Joel was getting off to your less-than-kind words was not lost on you and you scoffed.

“This how you’re gonna get off, Joel?”, you cooed coldly into his ear as he panted. “Big tough Miller gets off to girls telling him no?”

“Please… sugar… fuck… please…”

“That the best you can do? You’re pathetic, you know that?”, you snapped at him as you shoved the front of his pants down, freeing his cock.

You stood back and tugged his arm, signalling him to turn over, and when he did, his cock did not disappoint. He was huge and the head was angry and weeping. He watched your face, eyes staring in wonderment at his dick as your mouth parted, jaw going slack. He grinned and chuckled, causing your eyes to meet his, only making you angrier with him.

“Fuck you, Miller!”

“Calm down, sugar… not the first whore to get cock dumb on me…”, he cooed, still with a smug grin on his face. He reached out trying to pull your hand to his member.

You yanked your hand away and spat into your palm before gripping his cock and starting to jerk him.

“Fuck you, Miller.”, you seethed lowly. “Fuck you and your fuckin’ smug face.”

“Why you – fuck… why you so pissed, sugar?”

“You’re such a pompous dick! So fuckin’ arrogant and you’re a shit boss.”, you fumed, continuing to pump his cock, causing him to pant. “Throwin’ your money in people’s faces, not knowing their names… someone better put you on your place, Miller. After tonight, I quit, you smug fuck!”

It was like a switch flipped; he snapped out of his submissive and amused state as soon as the words left your mouth. He gripped your wrist, ripping it off his cock and sat up, his other hand going around your throat.

“I don’t think so, sugar. You’re not going anywhere.”

He stood up, holding your wrist and throat, and guided you backwards to the couch and pushed you down on it. You fell back, your legs parted, and he took advantage of this. Joel leaned over you, pushed your panties to the side, and shoved two of his thick fingers into your sopping wet cunt, causing you to yelp.

“You can take it, sugar.”, he smiled menacingly at you, then growled through clenched teeth, “And you’re gonna take it.”

He pounded up into you with one hand while the other gripped your hair in his fist. The sounds that came from your mouth were foreign to you. Yeah, you liked it rough, but this was different. This was your soon-to-be former boss, finger banging you on a couch after a Christmas party and after you’d just about had him wailing your name. You had no idea what had happened to flip him, and before you could get too deep into your thoughts, he hit the perfect spot. That sweet, spongy spot in your pussy that less than half the me you’d fucked had even accidentally grazed, and here was Joel, repeatedly hitting it like it was a doorbell it was an emergency house call.

“Oh fuck!... right th -  yes!... fuck… Joel, there… yes!”

As you felt your walls start to flutter and when that white hot heat started its ascent, he pulled away, grin on his lips.

You sat up on your elbows and looked at him, mouth open and eyes pleading. “What are y-?”

“Fuck you, that’s what.”, he grunted with a grin, shoving his slick fingers into his mouth and sucking.

You could only stare up at him in response. When he finally deemed his fingers clean, he pulled them out of his mouth with a pop and grinned at you.

“Tell you what, sugar. You take back what you said, and I’ll fuck you right here on this couch like you deserve.”

Confused, you continued to lookup at him until it dawned on you.

“You want me to not quit?”

He nodded, grin dropping from his face.

“You think I worked Tommy over to let you be my fuckin’ ‘Elf’ and put up with your bullshit attitude tonight for you to just quit on me, sugar?”, he asked lowly, leaning over you, pinning your head between his elbows.

“Think I haven’t watched that fuckin’ body of yours sashay ‘round the office and had to fuck my fist when I finally got alone?”, he crooned is a husky whisper, pressing his hot mouth on your neck and alternating between licking and nipping your skin. “Think I don’t notice your ass in those skintight skirts and imagine you sittin’ on my face?”

You let out a moan and gripped his shoulders, trying to pull him further into you. He quickly pulled back and sat up on his knee packed between your open legs, and grabbed your hands.

“I’m not hearin’ what I need to, sugar…”

You were frustrated and needy, hating that he had gotten the upper hand on you. Stubbornly, you shook your head.

“Fuck you, Miller. You’re a shit boss and a shit person and I’m not gonna let you fuck around and get nothin’ in return!”

His eyes darkened and his frown hardened into a scowl. He gripped your chin, pulling you up to him as he leaned down to you, feeling his hot breath on your face.

“Listen here, you little bitch. If that’s what you really want, I’ll send you outta here with my fuckin’ bastard in your belly whether you like it or not as a reminder of what you fucked up.”, he growled, holding you stare as if to challenge you.

You could feel your slick flowing from you, dripping out of your cunt and down your crack. Your mind and body were screaming ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in a pathetic battle with themselves at his threat.

“Or…”, his tone softened, as did his grip on your chin, “you can stay and get a promotion.’”

Your face morphed from pleading to confused again. “A-a promotion?”

“A promotion?”, he mocked. ”Yeah, sugar. A fuckin’ promotion.”

He lazily dragged his hand down your body, slipping it between your legs again and into your panties, and began rubbing small, light circles around your clit. You shifted, brows folding as you fought to keep your breath steady and eyes on him, refusing to break again and beg him again.

“You’re good at your job, and I agree… you don’t get enough for all your hard work. How ‘bout this, baby… you work exclusively for me… be my girl here… my helper elf all year round – minus the shitty, bratty attitude you came here tonight with – and I pay you what you’re worth…”

It took all your strength to not cave right then and there, but you were stubborn. “A personal cocksleeve for the office? How fuckin’ charming.”, you snapped back, in a voice far shakier and breathier than you had hoped it would be.

Joel smiled and chuckled darkly, continuing to tease your clit.

“You keep actin’ like you don’t want this, sugar, but my hand can feel your poor little pussy throbbin’ and needin’ me… and I’m sure your bank account would appreciate my attention as well.”

“Fuck you.”

“I plan on it, baby.”, he grinned menacingly. “But I gotta know how you want it… one last fuck… or…”

He nudged his nose against yours.

“My own, personal, little sugar… who’s so good at her job… and can keep me in my place when she wants… get me on my knees and make me beg… and let me fuck her into submission when I need it.”

When you tried to push up against him, he held you in place, keeping his fingers in your folds and his face close to yours in an act of dominance.

“No… I’m the boss right now, sugar, and I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

You couldn’t help the whimper that crept out of your throat and that was all Joel needed. He kissed you, softly at first then increasing the fervour, prying your mouth open with his lips and tongue. Teeth and spit helping your faces mash together.  The hand he had between your legs moved to his waistband and he pulled it down, again, freeing his cock then gripping it. He pulled back slightly and slid its thick head through your slick.

“Tell me you want it, sugar…”, he grunted, looking at you from under heavy eyelids.

“Fuck…”, you breathed out, your pussy clenching on nothing. “I… of fuckin’ course I want it!”

“Ask nicely, sugar. Drop the attitude.”

“Fuck… please… please, Joel! I want it… I want you… I wanna be… fuck you for making me say it… I wanna get that promoti – aah!.”

Before the last syllable could come from your mouth, Joel pushed your panties aside and shoved his cock into your heat, giving no grace period for you to adjust.

“S’what I thought, sugar.”, he huffed out in a grin.

“Please… oh fuck, please move, Joel!”

“Yeah? Why? ‘Cause your pussy’s too tight for me? ‘Cause you haven’t been fucked by a man with a big dick and bank account?”, he cooed, tilting his hips to push further into you, his tip pressed firmly against your cervix.

“Fuck! Yes… please!”, you yelped, squirming under him. All thoughts of trying to take any control back were being forced out of you by his dick and he knew it.

His smug grin stayed firmly on his face as he pulled out in a painfully slow movement before slamming back in, pushing you further up the couch. He grabbed your hips and held you as he did it again.

“Faster… faster, Joel…”

He shook his head, still grinning. “Uh-uh…”

He kept his slow exit, harsh entry going as he watched your face contort and your cunt clench and release him. You were sure he was just torturing you, but the way he looked down at your face and body mixed with the even pace he was keeping and his size, you knew he knew what he was doing. You could feel the heat building up again, and he could, too.

“That’s it, sugar… I can feel it… come on, baby… lemme have it…”

The wave of your first orgasm hit you, rippling through your body and pulling a long, loud moan from your mouth.

“Oh, good girl!… finally, takin’ directions… good girl…”

He let you start to come down before he picked up your foot, placed a kiss on your ankle and draped it over his shoulder.

“That’s right, sugar… did so good for me, now I’m gonna return the favour.”

He thrusted into you harshly and picked up the speed, forcing your spend out onto both your thighs and his curly thatch of salt and pepper hair that crowned his cock. He pummelled you over and over, bringing you to the cusp of another orgasm and pulled out.

“Turn around… on your knees, sugar.”, he grunted, swatting at you.

You had to fight your trembling body and shaky legs to move, but once you got up on your knees on the couch, back facing Joel, he took over and moved your body into position.

“Now I get it, baby… you behave when you know you’re gettin’ something…”, he chuckled, pushing your face against the cushioned headrest. “Gonna have to get a reward system in place… give you a gold star and a fuck when you do good…”

Before you could return a snappy comeback, he pushed his cock back into you, making the only sound your mouth could produce be a whine.

The angle that he was fucking you in was even better and more intense than before. His grunting and murmured praises filled the room along with the wet, vulgar noises of his cock impaling your cunt. You felt another orgasm coming on, but it was more. Your pants turned to whiny yelps and moans and you felt like something was about to burst.

“Joel… Joel!”

“I know… can feel it… come for me, sugar… come on…”

“Joel… it’s – unhg!... I’m…”

You felt the bubble burst and cried out, collapsing on the couch. Joel let out a grunt-turned-moan at the flood of liquid pouring out of you, holding your hips, and continuing to fuck into you. His thrusts got sloppy and as you leaned on the back of the couch for support, he punched into you one last time, holding your hips against him tightly as he unloaded himself into your pussy with a loud groan.

When you tried to move, his hand moved to your back, soothing over it, as he panted. “Stay put, sugar… just… just stay put.”

You relaxed and laid forward, putting your weight on the couch, and closed your eyes. You could feel his cock twitching in you as it began to soften. His weight shifted and he pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades. The uncharacteristically gentle action made your eyes open abruptly and you sucked in a breath.

Joel’s chuckle reverberated against your back through his chest. “Congrats on your promotion, sugar.”

--------<3----------

TAG LIST:

@theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @toxicanonymity @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @blackfemalenerd  @southernbe @starkeydaviss @noxturnalpascal @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

[aces-to-apples]

It's in fact very salient to bring up the issue of queerness and homophobia in these interactions and your behavior because they are clearly a root cause. I am a queer person, making queer content, and you explicitly attack myself and others for that queer content. You compulsively bring up Roche "not being gay"—as if that matters to fandom creation and as if gay is the only option in the queer spectrum that could lead to him being potentially attracted to men—and him being attracted to women, specifically the blonde woman you constantly bring up despite me not knowing her, in these tirades you go on. You attack and insult queer fans for our queerness, specifically and deliberately and relentlessly, because our existence upsets you. That is homophobia at its basics. You don't have to call me a tranny faggot in order to reveal yourself as homophobic, because your insistence on bringing up straightness as a default and denigrating any mild interpretation of queerness does that already. You're a homophobe, you're a bigot, and again, it's fine because it's hardly noticeable amongst the cyberstalking and verbal abuse and harassment and constant unprovoked invective that you inflict on random strangers who are just minding their own business making content that makes them happy.

I actually don't demand love and respect for myself or any ship—I haven't demanded anything, not even for you to fuck off, although I wish you would—because you don't have to care about it any more than anyone else has to care about yours. That's just you projecting: you are so transparently desperate for validation of your preferred ship, and pathetically vitriolic towards anyone who doesn't fawn over it, that you routinely engage in harassment campaigns of strangers just to make yourself feel better. You flood the inboxes of people who don't want to talk to you, evading the boundaries set up by those people to try to get away from you, with such intensely hateful rhetoric that you've chased off all but the most oblivious of people who could have been interested in your ship, had you not insisted on being an asshole to everyone.

I don't know your ship. I don't know that woman, I don't know that game, and I don't care to, because I have my own that I already enjoy.

My ship is stupid because it's queer, your ship is stupid because you make it so in the eyes of everyone you harass, and everyone else's ships are stupid because it's fandom. Fandom is the place to be stupid and have fun with it, without being bogged down by the constraints of canon. I'd say I'm sorry that you're not having fun, but you're not having fun because you're too busy wallowing in your own toxicity. That sucks, but it's fundamentally something that you're doing to yourself.

Again, you should really speak to a mental health professional about how upsetting this all is to you and how to better manage your feelings so that you aren't constantly being cruel and hurtful to people you don't know. Maybe bring up the possibility of having OCD or something similarly obsessive and compulsive. You may be a dick, but you're still a person and you deserve help with whatever it is you're going through.

Now I'm going to go play Fable 3, feel free to keep having your breakdown but I'm not going to respond again until I feel like it.

[terriblegam2r]

Idk why you went on this long ass tirade but I don't gaf about the ring either and I want Rick to give her one. All I was saying was that she didn't wear it as a sign of their love, she wore it because it's a small keepsake that she can CARRY with her everywhere. And she'll definitely have it before entering the CRM, for continuity reasons.

- So my answer to your uninvited comment of my opinion where you obviously wanted to know what I personally had to say was too long~ for your liking that it’s automatically a “tirade”? Alright. You clearly wanted me to respond how you wanted so I don’t know why you even bothered asking me a question in the first place.

-You gave a fuck enough about the ring to come into my inbox bringing it up to me.

-If you actually read my response to you you would have read where I typed that she would probably “loose it in the first episode”. I’m aware of continuity.

-No shit she didn’t wear it as a “sign of love”, but you do realize that this is a fictional show where these fake people do whatever the writing makes them do, right? Kang made her wear it. Michonne wouldn’t have worn it otherwise because why tf would she do that? It’s the ring of Rick’s previous wife and romantic relationship. It would just remind her of his love and devotion for another woman. And remind her that he never proposed to her. Kang could have easily made it so where Rick gave Michonne her own ring to wear before he fake dies. That simple.

- Even if Kang didn’t write 9x05 she is still the showrunner. Every single decision that happens on the show has to get her approval first. She controls every character journey and major decision on the show for the entire season even before the season begins filming. I love how you bring that up while ignoring what she tried to do to Michonne in 6x11 that would have made her ooc.

- I’m not going to argue with someone who’s too much of a pussy to not even show their face. If you want to continue to argue with me about this fill free to come into my inbox further.

[leviathans-watching]

how would the brothers react to MC kinda pranking them by saying something that the brothers did or said gives them the ick but it's like something super mundane or normal

- 🐸

the brothers & the ick

includes: the brothers x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .5k | rated g | m.list

a/n: please mammon and asmo would be such babies about this LMAO thanks for requesting & i hope you enjoy! my inbox is open to chart, leave feedback, or req so come say hello <33 [ick explanation]

warnings: one swear word, belphie cracks his knuckles

reblog if you love me :p

➳ lucifer shakes his head. “the ick?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “what even is that? you kids and your slang.” his old man shtick always makes you giggle and this time is no different. while lucifer’s not as much of a luddite as he likes to say he actually doesn’t know what this is and wants you to explain. unfortunately, everyone knows that having to explain the joke makes it no longer funny </3

➳ mammon gasps, the theater kid in him taking over. “the ick? mc, how could you?” he whines, leaning into you. “i didn’t even do anything weird!” he continues to bitch and moan, long after you tune him out, but the sight of him pouting is pretty funny, especially since’s he definitely knows you’re just messing with him but is getting his feathers all ruffled anyway.

➳ levi slumps down, running through the conversation in his head. “i knew it,” he moans, “i’m just a yucky otaku. everything i do is disgusting! i’m disgusting.” his self-deprecating tirade gets old quick, and you never like to hear him talk that way about himself, so you have to tell him you were just kidding, spending the next half hour reassuring him that he and his actions were just fine the way they are.

➳ satan shuts his book with a snap, turning his unimpressed gaze towards you. “the ick, mc, really? i was just reading.” you stifle your smile, doing your best to appear serious, or, well seriously put off. “please.” satan rolls his eyes. “i couldn’t even count how many times you’ve given me an ick. shall i start with this morning when you slipped? or last night when you spilled food on your shirt?” he continues to torment you even as you laughingly plead for him to stop, having had enough of a taste of your own medicine.

➳ asmo stares at you, affronted. “i think i just misheard you,” he says with a sniff, words delicately sharp. “because there’s no way i, avatar of freaking lust, gave you the ick. it’s simply not possible.” as you continue to stare at him, unswayed, his face crumples. “mc,” he whines, “say you’re kidding! please! me, give someone the ick?” he shudders. “that’s just… that can’t…” you’ve actually put him at a loss for words, something you hadn’t thought possible.

➳ beel cocks his head, food halfway to his mouth. “oh, i’m sorry,” he says. “was i chewing with my mouth open again? i try really hard not to but when i’m distracted…” he blushes then, and you have to laugh. you reassure him that that wasn’t it, and he shrugs. “well, that’s a relief.” he pauses. “want a bite?” offering you his food, it appears he’s put the entire topic down, content knowing it wasn’t his manners.

➳ belphie wrinkles his nose, trying to think. “what exactly did i do to give you this ick?” he asks, and you explain. “really?” he says, crossing his arms. he’s thoroughly unamused. “me cracking my knuckles, something i’ve done a million times, is what it was?” you nod, and he sighs, done with your antics. “well, you’re just going to have to suck it up-” he cracks another knuckle “-as i don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, to claim as your own

[chloelucia13]

Chapter 20: The Hellfire Club

Pairing: Jonathan Byers x fem!Henderson!reader, Eddie Munson x fem!Henderson!reader

Prompt:  You always thought Hawkins was the most boring town of all, stuck in a vacuum void of excitement and entertainment. Well, it seems that way until the world decided to flip upside down, literally.

Chapter Summary: Your senior year was supposed to be your best year, yet as spring break peeked around the corner, you realized that was far from the case. No friends, stuck at the D&D lunch table, unable to forget the horrors that took place nine months ago. You just hoped that a change of scenery might help. 

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: some angst, some fluff, talk of trauma/ PTSD, Eddie (yes he is a warning)

A/N: Uh oh, we’ve got a love triangle now (and I am extremely excited about it)! I really hope you all enjoy this chapter and as always, my inbox, tag lists, and requests are open!

Catch up here!

The roaring in your ears made your head ache.

It was louder than the sea of voices that filled the cafeteria, louder than the voices in your mind, louder than the rush of your blood and the rasp of your shaky breaths and your pleas to make it all stop.

With a huff, you used your free hand to tug your headphones over your ears, earning a confused look from Mike and Dustin who assumed that your annoyance was towards them. “It’s too loud,” you explained quietly, giving them a tight-lipped smile.

Dustin nodded in understanding, though you stopped besides the two boys when they stared nervously at the lunch table. Specifically, the raving metalhead that sat at the head of it.

“Shit, he seems really revved up today,” Dustin sighed, earning a small chuckle from you.

“He’s always revved up,” Mike explained away.

“You can say that again,” you hummed.

“We’ll just act casual.”

“Casual,” Dustin repeated.

“Casual,” Mike confirmed.

“Right, okay.”

“Totally.”

Once they continued their trek to the table, you followed behind, clicking play on the walkman on your hip once you set your tray down at your usual spot.

Settling down into your seat, you fished through your backpack and retrieved your worn down and dog-eared copy of Lord of the Flies, flipping to the spot you left off.

However, your attention to the book was interrupted, if only for a moment, by the telltale sign of the table rattling that signaled you to pull your tray back to clear Eddie’s way for one of his “table tirades,” as you called it. He stomped back and forth shouting something you couldn’t make out over your music and, truthfully, didn’t have the energy to pay attention to.

What did cause you to give up on trying to distract yourself was Eddie’s presence right next to you, his head so close to yours that it may as well be resting on your shoulder. With a huff, you set your book face-down on the table, silently taking note of the fact that Dustin and Mike were no longer sitting across from you, and slipped your headphones off.

You turned your head to face him, giving him a glare. But he didn’t seem phased by it whatsoever, as a smile cracked across his lips. “How about you?” he hummed, cocking his head to the side.

“What do you want?” you deadpanned, clearly unamused.

“You wanna sub in tonight for Sinclair?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, since I support my friends, I’m going to the game tonight.”

He jutted out his lower lip. “Aw, come on scarry-eyed, don’t be like that.”

A scoff fell from your mouth at the pet name. “Scarry-eyed? That’s a new one.”

He just chuckled at you, one finger reaching up to push the bridge of your glasses up your nose ever so gently. “What, you don’t like it?”

“I hate it, actually. Don’t say it again.”

“As you wish, pretty lady.” 

You wouldn’t say that you were used to Eddie’s constant flirting, but it became extremely expected. However, the butterflies that swirled in your stomach every time proved that it would never be a thing you’d become accustomed to.

And, even though it was pathetic, it made you think of Jonathan. Think of how the little affection he showed you would made your head spin, think of how he never showed such clear interest in you in the way that Eddie had.

It made you think of how you’d be seeming him in less that 24 hours, and it made your stomach flip.

***

You couldn’t decide which was worse, the borderline panic attack you were having from the crowd’s screaming or the fact that you had no idea what was going on and your aide, Steve, was too distracted with his date to explain it to you. 

By the time the game was nearing the end of the third quarter, Lucas still on the bench and Hawkins down on points, you were strongly tempted to leave. However, as you were slipping on your jacket, a player of the opposing team sent one of Hawkins’ players tumbling to the ground. Both boys were taken out of the game, and the coach quickly shouted to Lucas to hop in.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, sharing an excited look with Steve.

Lucas’ movements were quick and calculated, and before you even knew it, the teams were nearly tied. Everyone on the stands was cheering, you included, but a time-out was called to strategize as the time ticked down.

“I didn’t know you got so into basketball games,” Steve teased, shoving your shoulder with his.

“I’m just being a supportive pseudo-mom. I can’t just not cheer on my child,” you jabbed back.

“Since when did they upgrade you from babysitter to pseudo-mom?”

You scoffed, feigning offense. “I practically raised those boys. So I’m their pseudo-mom. You took up the title of babysitter.”

“Steve,” his date spoke up, looking between you two. “Who’s your friend?”

You gave her a confused look. “I walked in with you guys, I’ve been here the whole time,” you explained slowly.

“Oh.” Silently, she turned back to look at the court.

“She sure is a catch, Stevie.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed through his teeth, earning a laugh from you.

The buzzer sounded, signaling the resumption of the game, and your attention was directed back to the court. Jason made a shot, and as the ball bounced around the rim of the hoop, a few players gathered underneath it. It bounced out and fell back to the waiting hands, and Lucas scrambled out with the ball, making three long strides before turning on his heel and shooting. The timer buzzed as the ball sliced through the air.

After two bounces, it slipped into the hoop, earning Hawkins a two point lead and the win.

 “No fucking way!” you shouted, bouncing with excitement.

Immediately, you rushed down the bleachers with the wave of people and congregated on the court, surrounding Lucas who was hoisted into the air. You hung towards the back of the crowd, waiting until most of the crowd flowed out of the gym after giving their congratulations to finally make your way up to Lucas.

The moment he noticed you, his eyes lit up. “You made it!” he exclaimed, rushing over to you.

“Of course I did! I couldn’t just miss your big game!” you told him, pulling him into a hug. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t be here?”

He shrugged once the hug was broken. “I-I don’t know, I just know that you’re not great with crowds and loud noises, and the end of the D&D campaign is tonight-”

“Lucas, cheering you on was the most fun I’ve had in a while. And I wouldn’t miss seeing you play over watching a game that I’ve watched them play millions of times.”

He smiled. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Of course, dude. I’m so proud of you.”

“Sinclair! Let’s get rolling, man,” one of his teammates shouted by the doors of the men’s locker room.

“I gotta go. But I’ll see you this week?” You shook your head. “I’m leaving to California tomorrow morning. But when I get back, we’re going wherever you want and we’re celebrating.”

He gave you one last quick hug before rushing off, waving at you before slipping behind the locker room doors.

You grinned and made your way outside, tugging your jacket tight around your body. Since Dustin wasn’t already at the car, you figured it would probably only be a few more minutes until they all got out, so you sat up on the hood and stared at the doors that they usually exit out of.

A chill raked up your spine as you continued to sit idly, but a split second later, it was scorching hot, every part of your body radiating with so much heat that it felt as if you were burning alive. A pained whimper rumbled in your throat and you struggled to rip off your jacket, only to see your entire left arm completely engulfed in flames.

A scream tore through your chest and you patted it out, legs going weak from the pain and sending you crumbling to the asphalt. Blinking the tears from your eyes, you lifted your hands off of the ground as you settled on your knees and saw that shards of glass were embedded into your palms. Confusedly, you glanced down to see that glass littered the asphalt, digging into your now-bare knees that were once covered with denim.

Your breath left you in short pants, and you finally looked upward to see Starcourt Mall, its bright neon lights and glass ceilings glimmering under the night sky. 

Then, its scream echoed.

The connection of Dustin’s fist to your shoulder startled you awake, and you clutched so tightly to the hood of your car that your fingers went numb immediately. 

“Jesus, Y/N,” Dustin chided, brows furrowed. “You okay?”

You nodded fervently, releasing your grip on the car. “I’m fine, just...” you rasped, flipping your palms upwards towards the sky and taking note of their intactness; no blood, no glass, “Got super lost in thought.” Clearing your throat, you wiped your hands off on your jeans. “Where’s Eddie?”

If Dustin wasn’t confused earlier, he definitely was confused at that point. “Uhh, probably in his van?”

“Great, I’ll be right back.” All you offered was a tight-lipped smile before you hopped off of your hood and jogged over to Eddie’s van, easily able to locate by the blaring metal that cut through the crickets and mingling teenagers. 

Luckily, he hadn’t even made his way into the front seat, still packing away boxes of D&D supplies into the large bed.

“Eddie!” you spoke, shifting awkwardly between your feet.

At the sound of your voice, he turned immediately to look at you, a beaming smile on his face. “Y/N, hi,” he hummed, leaning back against the back bumper of his van. “What’s the occasion?”

“What?”

“Well, you initiated the conversation for once, so I figured something special might be going on.” He cocked his head to the side, eyeing you.

You breathed out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head slightly. “Nevermind, I-”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” he interjected, rising to his feet when you started to turn away. “C’mon, what were you gonna tell me?”

Your gaze fell to the asphalt, only to shoot them back up to his face an instant later, blinking harshly a few times. “I, uh, I’m leaving for California tomorrow.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “And I wanted to ask if you could... I don’t know, just keep an eye on Dustin while I’m gone? I know that he’s probably gonna spend all of his break with either you or Steve, so I figured it’d be best if you guys were the ones looking out for him, because god knows what my mom will be doing this week.”

He was silent for a moment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Y/N, you know that I would do absolutely anything for you, but-” He let out a breath. “You do know that Dustin is in high school now, right?”

“Yes! Yes, I know... I know that.” You cleared your throat and closed your eyes. “It’s stupid, I know. It’s just that we haven't been apart for this long- Well, he was gone for a while when he was at camp last summer but... I’ve never left Dustin in Hawkins for this long.”

When your eyes opened, you saw a look of realization washing over his features. “Oh.”

Everyone knew about your “disappearance” back in ‘83. Your mother had nearly lost her mind when she realized that you hadn’t came home that night, the night that you went out with Jonathan and Nancy to look for Will, and she called the cops. All of your friends were terrified, too, you learned when you came back. Of course, they sort of knew where you were, but they couldn’t get to you, and that almost scared them more. 

When you came back, your experience was similar to Will’s. All of that fake sympathy, staring eyes, whispers. You experienced it all.

But Eddie’s expression, his soft eyes and tilted head and hands that constantly folded and unfolded, was one that felt so sincere, so real that it made your heart ache. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, chewing on your lower lip. “I-It won’t be a lot, y’know. Just giving him rides if he needs them, not taking him to dangerous places, no drug stuff, entertaining him-”

“Okay.”

“What?”

He chuckled. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye on him. I mean, he’s a kid, he can’t be that hard to deal with, right?”

“Give him comics and some random cassette tapes and he’ll be set for hours.” You glanced back at your car, seeing that Dustin was still standing outside of it, watching you two scrutinizingly. You laughed and turned back to Eddie. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Like I said, anything for you.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you nodded quickly. “Right, uh... I guess I’ll see you in a week then.”

“We’ll see if I survive that long without you,” he teased, giving you a wink before turning around and closing the doors to his trunk. 

You rolled your eyes and turned on your heel, making your way back to Dustin who was, still, watching you.

“You’re going to see Jonathan, aren’t you?”

You froze in your tracks, thinking for a moment before looking over your shoulder at Eddie. “What?”

One of his hands was resting against his van, but he was facing you completely. All of the teasing in his face was gone. “Jonathan Byers. He moved to California, right? That’s why you’re going to California?”

With a shaky breath, you nodded. “Yeah.”

A brief expression flashed over his features, one that you couldn’t quite place but made your breath hitch all the same, before he smiled. “I hope you have fun,” he spoke earnestly, giving you a nod and a wave before retreating out of view  behind his van and into the driver’s seat. 

With furrowed brows and pursed lips, you walked back to your car, nerves swelling in your stomach. 

“What were you guys talking about?” Dustin questioned as soon as you were within earshot, accusation lacing his voice. 

“God, what are you, my mom?” you teased, fishing your keys out of your back pocket and shooing Dustin away to his side of the car. 

He got in begrudgingly and buckled up, but the moment you started the car, he spoke again. “If you don’t tell me what you were doing, then I’ll tell mom that you were flirting with a boy.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling out of your parking spot and making your way out of the lot. “You wanna break her heart? She’s still convinced that Steve and I are gonna get together.”

“Were you flirting with him?” “No! God, no.” You chuckled, eyeing him out of your peripheral. “Why does it matter anyway that I was talking to Eddie? Don’t you like him?” “Not if he’s flirting with my sister! Or worse, dating!” He spat out the last word like it was poison. “Besides, you and Jonathan are supposed to be together.”

“Jesus Christ, are you still hellbent on that?” You shook your head, clenching your jaw for a moment before releasing it with a deep breath. “If you don’t remember, him and Nancy are still very much together, and I am still very much not his first choice.”

“And yet you’re still traveling thousands of miles away to visit him?”

“Yes! Because he’s my friend and I miss him. And I’m also going to see El and Will and Joyce. It’s not just for Jonathan.”

“I don’t know, it feels like it’s just for Jonathan-” “Can we please fucking drop this!” you finally shouted, slamming your palms against the steering wheel. “Can I just go to California and inevitably get my heart broken because he’s still in love with Nancy and I’ll come back and pretend like I’m fine even though I’m not and I’ll never have to hear about me and Jonathan being together ever again because it won’t fucking happen! Please!”

Dustin shrunk in his seat at your outburst, concern settling on his features. 

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, scrubbing a hand down your face as you slouched against your seat. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to yell. I just... I’m so terrified.”

“About what?” he spoke quietly.

You shrugged. “Everything. Him not wanting to see me, getting my heart broken, having to deal with being in love with someone who doesn’t want me. Being alone for the rest of my life because I don’t think I can love anyone else.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Slowly, he inched back up in his seat. “Do you remember Julie?”

“Your crush in like, 3rd grade?”

“Yeah! God, I thought she was the one for me and I wouldn’t ever find any body else. But then I met Suzie, and now I feel so stupid for ever thinking that Julie was the one.”

“I mean, I guess. But you’re a freshman, Dustin, and... and I’m fucking graduating in two months! I think I might have lost my chance.”

He shrugged. “Maybe when you come back from spring break, you’ll realize that Jonathan isn’t the one. That there’s someone better.”

You sighed, pulling into the driveway and unbuckling. “I sure hope so.”

---

Tags: @just-my-fandom​ @nightbu-g​ @neemonroe​ @padf00ts-l0ver​

[yooniesim]

You also wanna address how the person you are currently uplifting is also bullying an autistic, disabled, abuse victim? Like be real, do you actually give a shit about oppressed groups, or are you just a performative activist? Because I fail to see how you can go after nurodivergant people for being "ableist" but then you'll actively ignore this ableism right here.

https://texasthegreatdestroyer.tumblr.com/post/692306055676461056/i-just-wanna-say-youre-right-about-gyrutrait-i

Let me tell you something, @texasthegreatdestroyer and your many alts, since you somehow think you're getting somewhere by sending asks like this to my inbox: your rants are laughable, your insults are weak, and absolutely no one is convinced by your facetious attempts to catch anyone in any sort of contradiction. It's so transparent that you couldn't care less about anyone marginalized that even your response to that random account you probably own was blatantly hollow. Because there's a difference between truly caring about those that experience bigotry and oppression, and simply using them as a prop to give your harassment and meaningless obsessions some twisted sense of validation.

This victim you say gyarutrait is bullying- are you referring to the person that referred to you with ableist language such as "unhinged" and "mentally unwell"? Because I don't believe for a second that if it was anyone you couldn't use to further your own harassment, you wouldn't simply insult them just the same as anyone else. Or is it really this common for you to go to bat for the people that actually couldn't care less about you? Because I really can't decide which option is more sad and embarrassing...

As for the person that sent you that ask (if they're real), I sincerely hope they don't genuinely try to seek solace in you, because your obvious attempt to use a neurodivergent person as an excuse for your tirade is just as harmful as all the other ableist things you do. But NDs can also be ableist, and just because someone is ND doesn't excuse them from their own behavior. Gyarutrait was right about their language being no better than yours was, and pointing that out was not bullying. Which, of course, you're already well aware of- even if you pretend to care about them, you're the one that's so obviously performative that it makes me feel sorry for this person you're pretending to defend.

You may think that your near endless rants full of hot air and humiliatingly juvenile strings of expletives are getting to someone, but I'll tell you straight out: you're nothing impressive. Everything you write is only embarrassing yourself further, and trust, there's no one in this community taking you seriously or, god forbid, using you as a trusted source of information. You so obviously think you're more intelligent and enlightened than anyone else, but anyone able to string two thoughts together sees right through your inflated sense of self-importance.

You want to keep sending me asks and writing hilarious posts about me on your endless amount of accounts? Go ahead, I love you wasting your time on me. There isn't a single sentence you could write that would do anything except entertain me. It's only for the sake of gyarutrait and anyone else you've attempted to hurt that I don't point and laugh at you on the regular. But to avoid distress on their part, and avoid feeding your blatant attention-seeking behavior, this is the last time I'm allowing you to do anything except shout into the void. You'll just have to imagine what gif i might use to respond to you from now on, okay? 💜

[rawmeknockout]

The inbox is open and I'm back around to request more cobra commander. So, cobra commander/reader nsfw and holy cow I want him to suffer. Something dirty and amazing that makes that piss baby want to scream.

I hope you can have fun with this one darling 😘

//im making it a sequel to this post//

Your soft, ungloved hand works his cock for what feels like the millionth time, although you know you couldn't have been in here for longer than an hour. Technically, you aren't supposed to be here and, technically, you would be in a lot of trouble if someone were to catch you. But you're not just some worthless newbie! You'll show the rest of your comrades that you're just as important. That's why this is alright. At least, it will be once you wring the information you need out of Cobra. Or out of his dick. Whichever.

He hisses at you with demands to move faster, bucking his hips until he's practically fucking into your cupped hand. You have to wonder how often he gets to be touched like this, not just sexually but intimately. If you just wanted to sexually torment him, you would have just left your leather glove on, but a guy like Cobra... You have to assume he doesn't get a loving touch too often. Why would he be such a disgusting little urchin if he did? You slow down, for the millionth time, and Cobra rears his helmet covered head back with a near shout of anguish.

"When my subordinates release me from this infernal cell, you will wish you had never even been born!" He's such a charming man. You just choose to assume he means 'when my subordinates release me I'm going to beg you to fuck me hard.' It's a nicer thought.

"You're not liking this? Maybe I'll just leave," Before the sentence is even out of your mouth Cobra is demanding, in his shrill, loud voice, that you stay and finish what you've done. You can't see his any of his skin, besides his rather flushed cock, but you have to assume he's sweating and red. How can the guy stand to be in that helmet for so long?

Cobra leans his head down, chin nearly touching his chest, as you move your hand torturously slow on his angry cock. The start of condescending laughter bubbles up from Cobra's chest, and you know you're going to have to humor more of his demented tirades.

"So you've been thinking about me since I first claimed you, is that it?" You perk up at his words, eyebrow arched but face otherwise guarded. You didn't mean to give him the wrong idea. "Admit it, you little whore. You've been thinking about my cock all this time, haven't you?"

You bristle at his words, not wanting to give him anything to needle you with but... There's a part of you, a nasty, evil little part, that agrees with Cobra. The way he spoke to you, promised to make you a good, useful soldier, is everything you've ever wanted. You want to be good. You liked that he saw potential in you.

"I enjoyed it, too," You shiver at his words, taken by them before you could realize it. You wish he would shut up, but your hand keeps working his cock with a gentle touch. Cobra cants his hips up to meet you, a sigh you assume he meant to repress coming muffled from under that shiny helmet. "We could be so good together. So chaotic."

Your grip remains gentle, loving, but you speed up as Cobra talks. He may have meant to needle at your insecurities, but he's letting himself go with the fantasy your touch evokes. You want to feel those lips on you again. It doesn't matter if he never lets you see him, you just wanted to be close to so much power. But you have a self-ordained mission to complete and you are going to see it through. Your gaze hardens as Cobra talks, determined despite the roiling pit of heat in your belly.

"They are incompetent when it comes to harnessing your potential, but I could make so much more out of you," Cobra lifts his head just the slightest bit, just enough to let you know he's watching you. You look into your own reflection, seeing someone young and lost and ruffled. But resolute. Cobra melts into your caring, loving touch. He's falling into the idea he's built up of you, the vision he has for what you could be. Who you could be to him.

"There is so much more than they will ever let you know. So much more that you could be. They are holding you back. The future isn't with G.I. Joe," Cobra says the name with derision, "It is with me."

You lean closer, your lips just barely touching the tip of his cock, letting your breath fan over his sensitive skin, "The hidden missiles, Cobra. Where are they?" Your words are soft as your hand slows again, just barely, but he's so deep into the moment that consists of you. Only you. You, you, you.

"Donner Pass," He hisses, almost seeming like he wants to spit at you, "Don't you dare stop!"

As a reward, you're hand speeds up faster than before. You don't break the pace you've set, don't look away from his helmet, for once letting him have what you so cruelly kept out of reach. Cobra comes in your hand with a stuttering, broken, gasping cry of your alias. You haven't the time to move your mouth away, his load hitting you across the nose and cheek. You would grumble if it didn't make that pit in your stomach flip and turn with something you try desperately to hold down.

"Perfect!" You jump up, wiping hastily at your face with a dirty cloth you kept to clean your gun. Ew. You're about to leave before you jolt with realization, turning to make sure you put Cobra's dick away and settle his ruffled clothing. You just hope unblocking the cell camera will be just as easy. Cobra tries his damnedest to rile you into coming back, but you're out of the cell block before he can even hiss your codename.

[13uswntimagines]

Cliche (Tobin x Reader)

Request: Marriage Proposal 

Author’s Note: Special Thanks to @literaryhedgehog​

“I’m just saying, I opened my inbox. SOMEONE should have messaged me,” Tobin said, tugging on her hair frustratedly. You watched in amusement, loving the way the sunlight caught her hair, as you exited the movie theater. She was so focused on her tirade that she didn’t even look down as she stumbled over an uneven brick in the patio, just continued walking. “It’s been open for days and I reblogged several of those ‘send me a number and I’ll answer a question’ posts!”

“Babe, you run an anonymous fandom blog for a sci-fi television show that stopped running 15 years ago,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

“19 years, ago,” Tobin corrected, “and it has a pretty strong fanbase! That fanart I made got at least 100 likes.”

“You’re just lucky they didn’t match the brush strokes or something and figure out it was you. Like they did with your other fake Tumblr. They’re like crazy detectives,” You said side eyeing your girlfriend. 

“I mean, I was making fanart of us on that one, it was pretty obvious.” 

“I love it when you paint me, but It’s really creepy that you put it on the internet,” You huffed, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. 

“Oh come on, I only posted the ones I made from press photos. You have a problem with the high definition, you talk to Alyssa’s girlfriend. She’s the photographer.”

“As long as you keep your drawings just for us, yeah?” You asked. Tobin had quite the eye, and she often found her greatest inspiration when you were relaxed. When you let your guard down. That mess the that many of her sketches of you were most certainly not suitable for public consumption. 

“Anything I draw from life instead of from a screen I keep.” Tobin winked at you and linked her arm through yours. “So, what did you think of the movie? Or was it too romantic for you, you action-thriller loving fiend?”

You shrugged. “I think it was a little too cliche. Like who the fuck brings a diamond ring to the airport and uses the intercom to propose to the girl who just dumped him for a job across the country? And then she chooses him?” Some plots just made zero sense. At least your action movies didn’t force a girl to choose a person who was completely wrong for her. 

“Oh come on, everyone loves cliches. I’ve seen the number of ‘there were only one bed’ fics you’ve read.” 

“Those aren’t forced heteronormative love stories that don’t actually care about the characters” You scoffed. 

“I have seen your archive of our own bookmarks, do we want to continue this conversation?” Tobin said sweetly, looking at the windows of the shops you passed, though you could see her suppressing a smile. She loved winning, be it argument or soccer game. 

“My archive history doesn’t count,” you grumbled, pouting. It wasn’t your fault you had been kinda into Bellatrix dating Hermione, especially when they were both the same age and you got to see some Hogwarts hijinks (it helped you weren’t a Ron fan either). 

“Sure, sure. Tell you what. You don’t like my new favorite Rom-Com? Show me you can do better,” Tobin gestured to the outdoor coffee shop along the route ahead. “Real life coffee shop AU. Here’s your chance to defy heteronormative love stories and cliches in the most romantic way possible.” 

“Just please don’t spill your drink on me ok? You already have my number,” You asked, raising your eyebrows. You happened to like this shirt and didn’t want it to get ruined. 

“That would be a cliche, wouldn’t it? I thought you wanted to avoid those?” Tobin said, raising her eyebrows to mirror yours as she pulled out a chair from one the tables, “you’re chair, mon chere?” 

“You can be quite the Gentlelandy miss Heath if I do say so myself,” You smirked, settling into the chair she had pulled out for you, kissing her cheek. 

“Why thank you,” Tobin said, tossing her hair back playfully before settling into her own seat. She grabbed the menu and opened it up. “So, what are you thinking? Asking the barista to make heart-shaped foam? Splitting a pasta dish and reenacting lady and the tramp?”

“I was thinking a cafe mocha with no whip, and I’m pretty sure this place doesn’t sell spaghetti,” you said, setting your chin on your hands, leaning on the table. 

“I think I’ll get a nice chai latte. And a muffin on the side.”

“Lame. How do you live in Portland and hate coffee?” 

“I thought you were supposed to say nice things. We already know each other, this can’t be enemies to lovers AU!”

“You’re still stuck on that?” You asked, sighing when Tobin raised her eyebrow at you. “Fine. How nice of you to choose a predictably unusual drink, and healthy snack for our date. Better?” 

Tobin snorted. “Undeniably.” 

“Good,” you watched her as she placed your orders with the waitress, thinking over what to do. She managed to place the order with her usual level-headedness, but she had the slightest smirk as she turned back to you. It was both loving and a challenge. 

“Babe,” you said, “I literally have no idea how to make this a living coffee shop AU. I can’t remember the last time I read one of those where neither of the characters was a barista.”

“First I think we talk about random things while sipping our drinks, wondering how we get each other so well,” Tobin started, setting your drink on the table in front of you. 

“So basically do what we normally do, but with added pressure?” 

“Yep! Wanna start? You can tell me about that new fanfic writer you’ve been reading? The one who writes the really cute Sonnett fics?”

“Oneanddone has a couple… it’s like they actually know about Snippets from her and Lindsey’s relationship,” You said, your lips ticking up. 

“That sounds fun and not at all creepy,” Tobin said, leaning forward. 

“The best one was where Lindsey flew all the way to Sweden to propose. It was cute, but entirely too cliche,” You winked at Tobin, so she knew you were continuing the joke. “She just showed up and proposed after Emily won the championship and Emily kissed her hard hat and all. Like they would give the fans that much PDA in one shot,” 

“Hmmm, better check for cameras then,” Tobin said, ruffling in her pocket. You heard the sound of candy wrappers, as usual following a movie with her. 

“What?”

Tobin got down from her chair and kneeled in front of you. “Y/M/N, I have liked you since the first day I met you. You were smart, beautiful, and had a hell of a right hook. Watching you on that punching bag was one of the sexiest things I had ever seen, up until the day you agreed to go out on a date with me. And the date after that, and the date after that. I fell in love with a woman who’s not afraid to have an opinion, who will ask to pet every dog she sees, and who loves listening to me rant about any subject over the moon. Now I know you don’t like cliches, so I didn’t get you a diamond,” She pulled her hand out of her pocket and held the ring pop up for you to see, “I got you a cherry. I also have a grape and orange in my purse. Will you marry me?” 

“Yes,” You breathed out, forgoing the ring pop in favor of kissing your girlfriend- fiancé. 

“Such a cliche,” she murmured against your lips, threading her fingers through your hair. 

“Shut up and kiss me,”

[voxofthevoid]

Your writing is not bad but I don’t understand why you choose to write stucky? Your fics have to do with modern Bucky and captain Steve and they have tension and fight? You do realize that’s stony right ? It seems you ship stony but don’t write because you like Bucky and so you’re a stony anti and bitter

Alright, you condescending fuck, what did you want - attention? I’ll fucking give you attention.

Your writing is not bad 

Why, thank you, your highness, I’m fucking ecstatic you think my writing is not bad. My life has meaning now.

I don’t understand why you choose to write stucky 

Because I fucking want to. Who the hell made you the ship police?

Your fics have to do with modern Bucky and captain Steve and they have tension and fight 

Congratulations, genius, you have described exactly one of my AUs. What, did you wander into my ao3 page by accident, skim the fics, and head over here to spew shit in my inbox? And I’ll write all the shrunkyclunks hate sex I want. How the fuck are you gonna stop me?

You do realize that’s stony right 

Are you naturally this much of a condescending asshole or did you practice? A for effort. And no, anon, I don’t ‘realize’ it’s stony because there’s fucking nothing to realize. Stop projecting into random people’s stories; you’re making a fool of yourself.

It seems you ship stony 

I only ship pairings where I find all the characters interesting, and Tony Stark is about as compelling as week-old unsalted macaroni. So no, I don’t ship stony. I also don’t go to people who ship stony and act like a bitch - you should try that. It’s very easy.

because you like Bucky 

No fucking shit I like Bucky. I love him. I’ve got around 48 fics (and more) proving as much; is this news to you? How did you think I’d react here: “Oh noes, liking Bucky? Me? Sorry, anon, I’ll start writing about Tony immediately”?

so you’re a stony anti and bitter 

Ah, yes, the wise and absolutely logical conclusion to this absolute clusterfuck of a message. Someone’s bitter here, anon, but it sure ain’t me.

I'm not anti anything. What other people ship is none of my business. Conversely, what I ship is no one else's business.

My fics are clearly not for you. Know what you should do? Don’t fucking read them. Go find stony fics and stony authors and get the fuck out of my blog.

And next time you want to clown around in someone’s inbox, grow a goddamn spine and put your username on it. The anon option is there for people who are shy and anxious, not for you to be an asshole without consequences.

(Apologies to my followers who had to read this tirade. I try to be civil most of the time. But I don’t tolerate ship hate - or any hate - in my inbox.)

[tsarisfanfiction]

Hey, I don’t know if you still doing this but I spun the whump wheel and got ‘car accident’ and ‘hospital/infirmary’ with Alan please? (Scott can join in as caretaker if he wants to...actually please ask him to, I love those two ❤️💙)

Never Too Old To Be Smothered

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Alan, Scott

Okay, I’ve given up on going through these in order.  I’m just gonna scroll through my inbox and pick at them as they appeal to me for now (but I should get there eventually!)

In theory, this isn’t going to be particularly long.  We’ll see what happens.

Spin the wheel of whump and give me a character!

“Alan!”

The young man in question looked up at the sound of his name and rolled his eyes as his eldest brother hurtled around a corner and came into view.  His shoes clearly weren’t prepared for the friction of the sudden stop, but it didn’t mean Scott cared or even noticed the screech of protest on the carefully clean floor.

“I’m fine, Scott,” he said, attempting to pre-empt and head off the smother hen.  It had been annoying and embarrassing enough as a teenager; somehow it was worse now he was a full grown adult.

“Your car flipped!” his brother disagreed, and Alan rolled his eyes again.  “You could have died, Alan!”

“Well I didn’t,” he pointed out.  He would have gestured at himself, his still alive self, but the arm in a cast put pay to any attempts at that.  “Brains put enough safety features in to rival a Thunderbird, Scott.  You know this.”

Scott had been the one to insist on it, taking his new car out for a spin long before he’d let him anywhere near the wheel.  That had been when Alan realised that being a legal adult didn’t dim the smother hen tendencies at all, and that in all likelihood, they were never going to dim.

Blue eyes raked over him, sneakers scuffing against the floor as Scott took the last few steps to the side of his bed and all but collapsed into the visitor’s chair.

Alan knew what was running through his mind.  There had been arguments when he’d declared he was going to enter the racing scene, Scott calling it too dangerous despite it technically being far safer than anything any of them did for International Rescue, but at the end of the day, Alan was an adult and Scott couldn’t stop him.

He was relieved Scott hadn’t already launched into another tirade about the dangers.  If he was honest, he’d expected his biggest brother to attempt to force him to quit, maybe even threaten to remove the support his family were giving him, but it seemed that despite the crash - and it had been a nasty crash, thank goodness for Brains; Alan knew not all the involved drivers had survived - Scott still respected his decision enough.

Or maybe someone else - most likely Grandma, but could also have been any of their siblings - had already had a word.  That seemed more probable.

“I’m okay,” he promised.  A broken arm and a broken leg, sure, but that was it.  He’d had worse on missions.  Scott had had worse on missions.

He couldn’t move his strapped-up arm, but that didn’t stop Scott reaching out and lightly tangling their fingers together.

“I know,” he sighed, looking ten years older.  The grey that had started to make its presence known when he was Alan’s age had expanded into unmissable streaks, despite the fact that Scott wasn’t even forty yet.  Normally, Alan barely noticed it - just another part of Scott - but it was times like this, when he was hunched over and a little bit scared, that he couldn’t not see it.  “You’re never going to stop scaring me, are you?”

“At least I’m not Gordon,” he retorted.  While his immediate brother had managed to peak at maximum physical trauma as a teenager, it hadn’t stopped him getting into some rather dramatic scrapes as the years went on.  Alan was fairly certain most of Scott’s grey hairs were his fish brother’s direct fault.

Scott shuddered.  “Don’t,” he warned.  “Just, don’t.”

“Okay, okay,” Alan agreed amicably.  “Is there anything left to save of my car?”

The look on Scott’s face told him all he needed to know.

“You haven’t even seen it, have you?” he accused.  “You heard about the crash and came running over here as fast as Thunderbird One could carry you.”

Scott shifted in his seat at the accusation, and Alan rolled his eyes.  Typical Scott.

“Well, I’m fine and I’m clearly not going anywhere, so can you go find out if anything’s salvageable?” he asked pointedly.  “I’d go do it myself, except...”  He trailed off meaningfully and sent his brother a stop being an idiot and do something useful look.

Scott’s hold on his fingers tightened and he sighed.  Okay, so Scott wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.  Alan wished he was surprised, wished he could have assumed that being an adult and clearly fine, barring a couple of broken bones, would get Scott moving, but he wasn’t.  Over the years, he’d realised whose benefit the smother hen act was really for, and it wasn’t him.

Although, no matter how annoying and occasionally embarrassing it could be, Alan did still kinda like it when his big brother came flapping in to keep him company and look after him.

“Fine,” he caved, with a put-upon sigh that was at least half faked.  Three-quarters, probably.  Maybe even seven eighths.  “I suppose you can stay if you want,” he offered magnanimously.  It got something that might have been a smile from his brother.  “But I want someone finding out what happened to my car.”

It was Scott’s turn to roll his eyes, but at least he looked a little better.  Maybe Alan being stubborn about his car’s condition was enough to prove he was actually fine.  “I’ll get Virgil to check it out,” he said.  “Happy?”

Alan grinned at him and cautiously curled his fingers around Scott’s in return.  The action got a recognisable smile that time.

“Happy,” he agreed.

[utilitycaster]

yeah one plan I really wanna work on is an archive of tumblr metas for crit role campaign 3, to keep all the debunked theories remembered!

My only fear is whether it can be publicly accessible :(

Not sure about public screenshots of other peoples content (with links to the original post) without their consent, but an archive of just links is so much drier to click through.

How would you do it?

Hi anon,

You seem like a nice person, from this ask, who does not deserve the tirade I am about to unleash below so my answers in short are:

1. I think a fandom theory on a social media is a thing that most people will recognize might get cross posted so I would just summarize and link, were I to take on this project, which I will not be doing.

2. No idea how I'd make it publicly accessible; I'd probably either make a website, or a Google doc under an anonymous email address, neither of which are ideal, but no better options come to mind.

Anyway welcome to the consequences of entering my inbox. While writing this I enjoyed myself a lot but I was also like 'tbh this is probably why I don't get as many anons any more; it is because I am Gotdamn Annoying.'

So this was like, maybe 75% a shitpost, not in that I don’t genuinely believe it would be useful, but in that a comprehensive list is nearly impossible to do. Even if you limited yourself to Tumblr (ie, no Twitter or Reddit or god knows what else), you would necessarily be limiting yourself also to things that were tagged and/or got a decent amount of traction within the fandom as a whole.

I think there are a number of problems though. The first one is that while some theories can be debunked immediately upon their arrival into the primordial soup that is fandom, some may always remain technically possible, just vanishingly improbable, including some of my least favorites (cough secret dragons cough) because you cannot logically prove a negative unless you just outright ask the creators. And still others may be debunked - or proven - only after a very long time (eg: The Traveler is Artagan) and personally I want to only use this for debunked theories, so you'd necessarily need to keep a separate list of theories that are neither proven nor debunked, otherwise you just become a rehash of the, well, hash, that is the Wild Mass Guessing page on TVTropes rather than what I was specifically envisioning, namely, "this is a list of theories that were proven to be wrong, and here is why."

The second problem, which you may have guessed from my previous line, is that I come to bury these theories, not praise them*. I think some theories are good but ultimately incorrect and it's worth having them on display! I also think a lot of theories are bad, and that a good deal of theories aren't even really theories. You used the word meta, which I actually think of more as analysis than theories although the line between those two things is blurrier than most. But also, a lot of things people call theories or meta are, well, Wild Mass Guessing, headcanons/personal opinions, wishful thinking that has a tenuous relation to canon at best, and/or pure unadulterated nonsense. And I would include some of that, but not all, even though I often use the word 'theory' in a similarly loose way to kind of refer to anything that people are saying might be true in the story even if I think it's the ravings of a madman, even though my 'proper' definition of a theory would be an explanation that both answers an existing question and is supported by the existing text.

My point here is that I think some theories are best forgotten and my motivation is more accentuating the positive, pointing and laughing really hard at the negative, and ignoring a lot of the neutral headcanon-type stuff on the grounds that a neutral headcanon is your own private business and I respect that.

The third problem is curation. I have run into a similar issue with kind of shitpost projects that I did sort of take on and now languish and glare at me from the back of my mind when I am doing nothing on a weekend (specifically my attempt to make a personally useable Exandria timeline). Wiki-style editing has its benefits, but also significant drawbacks, because the same people who make pure unadulterated nonsense theories have the same editing power as people who are excellent at literary analysis, if not more. In an ideal world I would recommend putting something like this on the wiki, and there might even be a page now intended to serve a purpose akin to the WMG page on TVTropes (I did not bother to check), but in practice the CR wiki is currently under the thumb of someone who I will sum up briefly in Figure 1:

Fig 1: A Venn diagram.

Anyway, the fact is, the TVTropes WMG page has had things like "when the Mighty Nein fight Trent, Veth will get the HDYWTDT" even though that's not a theory and in fact by the nature of D&D is impossible to predict by any means. That's just a thing that would be kind of cool to happen. I worry that any true wiki format would fall to a similar fate. It would not actually be a list of debunked theories, telling the story both of interesting and genuinely good ideas from fandom that ultimately just did not turn out to be true, as well as some real clownshoes bullshit, but rather a bathroom wall on which to scrawl vague ideas.

So I think the only way to feasibly do this is to just spend time in the fandom and collect theories, like an anthropologist, and accept that you're going to miss some, and maybe have a Google Form for submission thereof that requires things like a post with a certain threshold of notes such that you can easily collect theories from others but are under no obligation to include every one. Even then this will be subject to personal bias, and while I personally love having executive control of things I also recognize the flaws of such a system. I would definitely include some kind of disclaimer along the lines of "This has opinions in it about theories; while the debunking is objective, whether or not it was a good theory prior to being debunked has some subjectivity involved."

*I know in the context of this line actually the speaker was in fact coming to praise the thing he said he was just going to bury; RIP to Marc Antony but I’m different.

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

a redemption arc for a man like dave goodkind is such a vile thought to me. i mean obviously head canon whatever you want there’s always going to headcanons someone disagrees with. but growing up in an extremist religious household like the one he seems to have run - with conversion therapy sessions in your living room and demonstrations of conditional love that ends when you decide to live your true life is awful. this is coming from personal experience. the trauma that results from it. a redemption arc is not always necessary nor realistic. some parents, as much as we may love them, to our own detriment, will not change. and to call him your favorite character? jesus lol thats insane.

oh my god i love when i get asks in my inbox from 2am ramblings i don't remember writing. genuinely, thank you anon. i love the excuse to talk about this even if i don't remember the post at all and woke up this morning very confused. i am going to stand by it bc standing by all your words and never rethinking them is a fool proof strategy that can never go wrong (sarcastic <3)

as you can see i'm not gonna proof read this answer but bear with me bc i am gonna spit extrememly straight facts and at the end you will understand me and might even agree with me.

so when i say dave goodkind is my favorite character what do i mean by that?

i mean it like when i say my history class about slavery is my favorite course right now. i don't like slavery, but i love learning about it. learning about the stories of resistance, the culture that failed to be entirely repressed, the primary sources and the shitty textbooks we have to sift through for nuggests of gold (sick california gold rush reference) i mean it's a brilliant course.

still don't like slavery.

listen, i did not grow up in a religious extremist household. but i do know what homophobia feels like. and media loves to portray homophobia like this:

(for blind folks i don't know how to do image id but it's a screenshot from the you need to calm down by taylor swift music video of some of the protestors featured, i included it bc it was the first example i could think of not bc i have a problem with our girl)

angry poor white people, with crazy hair and sunburns and trucker hats and buck teeth.

and it's because the media looks like this:

(for blind folks again, the images are of Robert Iger, chairman of Disney, Jason Rothenberg, showrunner of the 100, and Joss Whedon, showrunner of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, they are all wearing suits)

but in reality, homophobia look like this:

that’s right kids. put on your gus-is-going-off-the-rails-on-a-socialist-tirade-again hat bc: it’s all about class. 

now this isn’t to say there are no poor white people with buck teeth and crazy hair that are homophobic. religious extremism is often used as a way for rich people to manipulate poor people, and it’s no surprise so many of them fall prey to it. it all comes back to this problem: poor people have no community. people of color have their community, queer people have community, but poor people don’t like each other. it’s why this is one of my fave snl sketches. it says, much more eloquently than I ever could, that it’s all about class until it isn’t.

so. dave goodkind. dave goodkind is rich. he owns his own business, he wears nice clothes and buys organic food for his kids. all his kids are beautiful and he takes them on ATV rides on his massive property. dave goodkind and his wife probably both went to nice colleges where they go nice degrees, and their parents probably went to college too. there’s a good chance even their parents went to college too.

and dave goodkind is homophobic.

so that’s a big piece of why i love him so much. i love that he’s not in a wife beater with a giant beer belly, abusing his kids and getting drunk all the time. i love that he’s not sexually assaulting random girls and carrying picket signs around. he’s not a carciature, he’s not an exaggeration. And shelby is. Shelby’s a blonde southern belle, who loves horses and america too. she’s got a thick accent she makes thicker and she hides behind this stereotype to avoid being seen.

i also think dave goodkinds abuse is so well written. the way he carefully coordinates his attacks and his love. we think of conversion therapy and we think of electroshock therapy, we know that’s not real but we still know about the violent physical abuse that happens and continues to happy in churches all across america. but sometimes conversion therapy looks like this:

(an image of rick from the miseducation of cameron post movie, sitting by himself and eating cereal, he is alone.)

or this:

(an image of dave goodkind holding hands with kyle, they’re praying)

it’s just not something often depicted with so much care. so yeah. he’s my favorite character. his style of abuse, his background, it all fascinates me. i want to know what he was like to shelby as a child, i want to know what he was like as a child, i want to know about his parents. i find it interesting in the same way i find my history class interesting. because what makes my history class my favorite is that it’s my favorite thing to learn about, and that’s what dave goodkind is for. if you wanted to know my favorite class to be in, i’d just say lunch, and probably leah.

okay, so now your next point: redemption arcs.

“a redemption arc for a man like dave goodkind is such a vile thought to me.”

wtf!!! why!!!!!!!

shouldn’t we want all people to change???? shouldn’t we hope and pray that tomorrow they wake up and realize their shitty actions!!!

my point of the post is that our hatred for dave goodkind (and i do hate him if that wasn’t clear) blinds us to the reality of shelby’s love for him. she really does have an important and terribly onesided bond to him . and yes, obvious the hope in a lot of abusive relationships is that the victim will get out. but for parents it’s different, we know he wasn’t always abusive, we know that at one point, she really did have a lot to gain from her relationship again. who’s to say she can’t still have a lot to gain?

there is value in parental relationships, and sometimes they can be salvaged and sometimes they can’t. in shelby’s case, they probably can’t. the unconditional love is one-sided, and she probably is gonna need to break it off.

but i’m an optimist okay!!! i want shelby to have her cake and eat it too!!! i want her to dance at all the weddings, and i know she would be happiest if dave was dancing at hers!!!!!!

some people will not change, like you said. that’s very true. some people will and we still don’t owe them entry back into our lives, that’s also true.

but everyone deserves a redemption arc.

and that isn’t to say dave goodkind deserves one with shelby. maybe he wakes up and decides he’s wrong, and starts a shelter for homeless lgbt teens with his wealth, and he reaches out but she doesn’t want a relationship with her. maybe he starts a farm and gives all the food away for free to the hungry. whatever happens, to anyone at any given point, there is no decision they can make that will make them “unworthy” of doing good. anyone can do good, that’s the great thing about doing good. tomorrow, donald trump could wake up and donate his entire wealth to idk, vaccine research or some shit. environmental protection. rainn. and they would take his money, they’d take his time, they might even take his face to be their posterboy. bc you can always do good, and you can always do better, and you can always change your mind.

and everyone deserves a redemption arc.

some parents won’t change, dave probably won’t. Shelby will probably have to give him up because of that. but that doesn’t mean he isn’t important to her, and that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love him. And that doesn’t mean i can’t hope with every fiber of my being that she doesn’t have to give him up.

even if it’s only to save her some heartbreak

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, everchanginginks

For @everchanginginks. I hope you enjoy this gift!

Read On AO3

*****

Just down the hall from the quiet studying of history students in Room 17-B lies classroom 17-A which, contrasting its quieter neighbor, is filled with sugar-fueled enthusiasm as adolescent students gleefully tear into their candy atom diagrams. Only after getting the go ahead from their awesome chemistry teacher wearing a colorful periodic table tie over a blue dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, of course.

Said awesome teacher places the end of a blue raspberry sour punch straw in the corner of his mouth and chews with an unabashed grin. As he’s halfway through the straw the bell rings and he breaks into his parting spiel for his students, the straw sticking from the corner of his mouth like a cowboy.

“Okay class, please make sure to turn your worksheets into the tray on your way out and please take your candy diagrams with you. You’re not gonna break my heart if you don’t eat them, I just don’t want next period to deal with this period’s mess. Tonight’s homework is on the board and on the syllabus, and don’t forget to submit your vote for Teacher of the Year during lunch if you have not already. Have a good rest of your day everyone, and as always come to me with any questions...and that means any ."

Scattered responses of “Okay” and “Thanks Mr. Stilinski” and “Bye” fill the room as the students start to file out the classroom.

“You’re about as subtle as a brick to the teeth.” Says a mildly amused female voice from over his shoulder.

Stiles finishes the candy and turns around to look exasperatedly at the strawberry blonde speaker sitting behind his desk, "And you’re underestimating how important this is. My reclaiming of the throne is in danger!"

"Uh huh..." MIT grad and certified genius Lydia Martin nods in mock understanding as she sips from her floral patterned ceramic travel coffee cup.

"Thanks again for agreeing to come in and lecture for my AP Chem students on such short notice by the way.” Stiles scratches at the tousled mess on his head and offers the open package of sour punch straws from his desk, “You are a literal God send."

She grimaces and waves the proffered sugary confection away, "For someone in the sciences, your improper use of the word 'literal' is rather concerning. Perhaps your throne is in more danger than previously thought."

“Don’t say that, you’re gonna jinx it!” He reaches over and raps his knuckles against his wooden desk three times while speaking a mile a minute, “I need to win, I can’t have mister ‘look at me bringing my history and polisci students on the coolest field trips in the history of this school because I can somehow pull strings to make these trips a reality despite there being like no funding--seriously how does he do it--and my students adore me even though I constantly look like I probably lure people into the woods with my beautiful eyes and murder them in my free time’ beat me at my own game, again !”

He huffs at the end of his tirade and looks to Lydia for understanding, but she avoids his gaze and poorly suppresses snickers under her breath.

“C’mon it’s not that funny. I know he can ‘smolder’ his way into the heart of even the most introverted student,” Stiles gesticulates with each emphasis, “but I have charm , I’m approachable , I understand these students. I love my job and I do everything in my ability to give these students every opportunity they deserve . If that’s not ‘Teacher of the Year’ material, then I don’t know what is.”

Stiles stops, taps his chin thoughtfully and sighs, “Though I totally understand that the title is purely for bragging rights, and it ultimately comes down to just continuing to be the best teacher I can be. Derek is a great teacher that also deserves the title and I can respect that, but gosh darn does he get my competitive side riled up.”

“Uh huh…” Lydia hums and taps her fingers against her cup as she pointedly looks past Stiles, “Mr. Stilinski, I do believe there’s someone that needs your help?”

“Oh!” Stiles quickly straightens himself and his tie, and turns around with a wide grin, “What can I do for--YOU!” Stiles quickly twists his expression into a frown and throws a finger up accusingly after registering who was darkening his doorway.

Standing in the doorway with a glare that could send a lesser man running for the hills is the previously mentioned competitor and last year’s winner for ‘Teacher of the Year’, mister ‘coolest history teacher’ Derek Hale in all his annoyingly gorgeous, stubbly, glory. He side-eyes Stiles’ organized chaos in the chemistry lab from behind thick framed hipster looking glasses and grimaces, “Am I interrupting something?”

Stiles grits his teeth, he can practically feel the judgement over his classroom’s state radiating off of the (not even tenured!) history teacher and no amount of soft looking cable knit sweaters could lessen that blow. “As a matter of fact--”

“No, you’re not interrupting anything at all Derek.” Lydia places a hand on Stiles’ shoulder as she walks past him, “I was just about to go say hi to Kira.”

Derek moves aside to let Lydia pass, she turns to smile at Stiles from the doorway, “I’ll come back by 6th period for your second AP Chem class. I think I’ll also grab some lunch from Whole Foods.”

“Uh...Bye?” Stiles weakly waves at Lydia’s parting back. He refocuses his attention on the offending history teacher and crosses his arms across his chest petulantly, “Alrighty, what d’ya need Mr. Hale?”

With a roll of his eyes, Derek holds up a handful of papers, steps forward, and emphatically places them in Stiles' inbox, “Your mail. I know your TA usually grabs it for you, but he’s out sick today. And I was already in the mailroom.”

“Whoa, wait wait, how do you know that my TA is out sick today, have you been stalking my classes? Are you trying to find a way to one up me? Steal some of my stellar teaching techniques because you know that you’ll lose otherwise?” Stiles narrows his eyes as his lowers voice into a conspiratorial tone while  leaning forward to scrutinize Derek’s expression, “What’s your game here Mr. Hale ?”

Derek hazel eyes widen incredulously as he scoffs, “I don't need to stalk your classes, Liam's one of my students too. And please remind me, what did I do to make you so hostile again?”

“Playing dumb isn’t cute. You know full well what you did.” Stiles pokes at Derek’s chest and--oh that’s a soft sweater--puffs his own out, “But no matter what, I’m going to take what’s rightfully mine .”

His competitor’s face reddens in anger and Stiles feels a thrum of excitement at his ability to break Derek’s usual expression of ‘sourpuss lumberjack murderer’. A sly grin works its way across Stiles’ face as he shrugs coyly, “What can I say, I’m a man who knows what he wants.”

Stiles’ wrist is suddenly grabbed by a warm, slightly calloused palm--there may be something to that murderer in the woods theory--and wrenched away from the soft sweater. “And what would that be, Stiles?” Derek growls--who the hell growls --while leaning in way too close for comfort.

“What would that be? Um...I want to win? Obviously?” Stiles splutters as his face reddens, offended that Derek would suggest that there would be anything else . “I’m gonna own you, Derek. I’m gonna own you so hard, you won’t know what hit you.”

“How about you take me to dinner first, before you ‘own’ me?” Derek says matter-of-factly.

“Uh no, how about you take me to dinner to celebrate my overwhelming victory over your grumpy ass? Doesn’t that make a little more sense than going to dinner before either of us win?” Stiles rolls his eyes, laughing at Derek’s lack of logic. But his laughter sputters out and he stills once his brain processes what just happened. “Wait… wait wait… was that some sort of sad attempt at asking me out in the most backwards, reverse engineered manner possible?”

Stiles looks Derek in the eyes, who nods patiently, as if Stiles was one of their students that needs tutoring.

“Oh my God. Oh my GOD !” Stiles backs away and into his desk, voice rising in panic, “What even? What’s happening here? Are you trying to throw me off my game? Cause that’s a dirty tactic, even for you. Because there’s no way someone like you would legitimately ask out someone like me . That just doesn’t make sense. You’re like a sexy lumberjack murderer historian, and I’m like a young Bill Nye. I'm in the sciences , and you're in the humanities .  And you don’t even like me. You haven’t liked me since your first day!”

“Hold on.” Derek holds his palms up defensively, “What are you talking about? You were the one glaring at me like there was no tomorrow.”

Stiles inspects Derek’s expression for any sign of deception, seeing none he sighs. “Fine, I guess it was just so unimportant to mister bigshot Hale to remember measly Mr. Stilinski. Do you remember moving into your classroom?”

He nods, urging Stiles to continue.

“So I didn’t know that the new teacher was moving in that day , so when I saw a big package outside of your soon to be classroom, I assumed that it was my delivery of graduated cylinders that was dropped off to the wrong room since it was early in the morning and people make mistakes sometimes, y’know?” Stiles gives Derek no opportunity to say anything and continues at full speed. “I went over and got ready to take the package, only to have you open the door and give me the scariest look in my entire life . Do you remember what you said to me, Derek?”

“You said,” Stiles changes his voice to imitate Derek’s, “‘That is my private property. If you value your time at this school, you will leave it alone. If I see this behavior again I will bring it up with Principal Yukimura’. So, yeah! Something about that kinda exchange can make a guy think you hate them!”

Derek groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Oh my God...You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, so you do remember? Or did you conveniently forget threatening me?” Stiles grabs another sour punch straw and chews it angrily, “Because I sure as hell didn’t!”

“Stiles…” Derek laughs breathily, “I thought you were a student . I wasn’t wearing my glasses and it was dark . Oh my god . I thought the first time we met was in the teachers' lounge, and by that point I already unknowingly made a terrible first impression on you. No wonder you looked at me with such hatred. Oh my goodness.”

“...oh.”

“Yeah, oh…”

Stiles chews the straw thoughtfully and rocks on the balls of his feet. “So… about that backwards dinner invitation…”

“Yeah?” Derek perks up slightly, looking almost adorable , though Stiles would never say that outloud.

“How about whoever wins ‘Teacher of the Year’ gets treated to dinner, hm?” Stiles holds out a hand for a handshake.

With a goofy grin revealing adorable (there’s that word again!) bunny teeth that brighten up Derek’s entire face, much better than the usual murderous look, he enthusiastically takes Stiles hand and shakes it.

“Deal.”

Epilogue

“I still can’t believe it!”

“I know.” Derek hums as he reaches over to refill Stiles’ glass.

“Honestly, who saw this coming?”

“Certainly not me,” Derek swirls some pasta around his fork and fondly watches Stiles throw back the wine as if it was jungle juice rather than a nice glass of Chardonnay.

Stiles’ honey-brown eyes glimmer with the same kind of mischievous enthusiasm that Derek remembered seeing for the first time at the first assembly of the school year. He gave some sort of spiel about the importance of working together and not being afraid to ask for help, which ended with a demonstration of elephant toothpaste. Derek is embarrassed to say how much he grew to admire the gawky chemistry teacher after that assembly.

“I absolutely kicked your ass dude.” Stiles leans across the table to grab the dessert menu. “Since it’s your treat, I think I’ll indulge in some dessert.” He worries his bottom lip, which makes Derek have to cough and turn his attention away.

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek weakly responds.

“Ooh, this one is topped with bourbon vanilla bean chantilly cream, which is basically bougie whipped cream. How do you feel about bread pudding by the way?” Stiles looks up from the menu through his eyelashes--and there is no way he doesn’t know how he looks--and flutters them exaggeratedly. “Or are you too sour over losing to wittle ol’ me?”

Derek snorts and reaches over to clasp Stiles’ free hand, “On the contrary, I’d be happy to lose to you again.”

Stiles returns the gesture and leans forward, eyes glimmering, his face mere inches away from Derek’s, “Promise?”

Derek is suddenly very glad that they are sitting because he can feel himself go weak in the knees. He nods thoughtfully, “Yeah, I promise.” And leans forward to close the gap.

Their first kiss tastes like garlic bread, which is a little unconventional, but Derek wouldn’t have it any other way.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

_(:3」∠)_

Well hello, here am I to bother you again 🌟

Listening as they rant about something they're currently obsessed with.

You are no bother! Not at all! D: I adore these asks, so always feel free to make my inbox explode with them! :D

Ooo, this one will give me a chance to share dragon theories! YESSS! REJECT CANON, RETURN TO FANFICTION.

***

"Have you read this compendium on dragon breeds and their characteristics, yet?", Fane asked as he sat up on their shared bed, back leveraged by the pillows and worn book of deep red and black in his lap. He had just started reading and already he was seeing crimson.

"I have not, but the way you are currently glaring at the pages as if you wish to burn them tells me I should.", Solas piped up from where he was sitting beside him, for once not reading and instead examining a peculiar artifact they had found in the Hissing Wastes.

"Don't waste your time.", Fane said with a low growl, furiously flipping a page to actively gape at a following depiction of a male dragon. "Oh, for fuck's sake! How many more books do I have to dig for until I find one that has a proper depiction of a male!?", he snarled, eyes narrowing as he tried to find one, just one, characteristic that sounded home to him.

And he found none.

Solas chuckled. "What precisely are you looking for, vhenan?", he asked, the delicate scent of magic making itself known around them before it dispersed, the mage willing it away so as not to spur Fane's sensitivity. Honestly, he couldn't even find the energy to be sick with how infuriating this was!

"Larger wing span, thicker scales with double layering! One layer is for major protection against elements and potential fights with others!", Fane rambled off, mind whirling, racing with ancient knowledge born from experience, and something he couldn't quite pinpoint. "The feet and legs should be farther apart due to a wider chest and hips! Head shapes that are denser, but pointed, jagged spikes of bone marrow jutting from the sides to form the main horns!", he continued, not all hearing the soft tink of metal being set down and the shifting of covers as a body moved closer. "And the eyes! The fucking eyes are one color, Solas! They should be--!"

A sudden warm sensation against his lips had Fane's tirade dying in his throat and eyes going wide, blinking a few times until his stopper of flowing, irate words pulled away to give him an amused smirk, but deep adoration was visible within a blue sky with wispy grey, the setting sun streaming in from the stain glass windows haloing them with its own version of a sunset, deep blue lightening to lavender.

The sky was here, and it was beautiful.

Solas' smirk grew a bit from his stunned state. "They should be..?", he prompted, a spark of indigo telling Fane that the mage found this to be...riveting.

Fane blinked, mouth slightly agape. "Uh..", he uttered before another spark of indigo had him swallowing thickly. "They should be two. Two colors.", he said, tongue heavy and head mildly fogged. Why was it so hot all of a sudden?

"Mm-hm.", Solas hummed, leaning in again to give his cheek a soft kiss, lingering against the skin for a while longer to whisper. "What colors do your kin usually possess?" The inquiry calm, but laced with incandescent heat as Fane gazed down with hooded eyes, ire soothed, rage quenched.

"Brown and amber for desert dwellers. Blue and sea foam for sea. Verdant green and a paler version for forest. And snow..", he rambled on, slowing as the sky watched, listened to him with raptness, a smile blessing him, a hand coming up to caress a cheek. "...emerald and gold.." The final two toned hue falling from his lips with a whisper and an airy chuckle. He understood the point of this now. "I think you might be a dragon, my sky."

Solas chuckled, stroking his cheek with a thumb. "Why is that?", he murmured, a few fingers curling inward to graze the scar along his cheek, but now sorrowfully any longer. Fane leaned into the gesture as a small smile graced his own features.

"Because your skills of observation might be better than my own.", Fane said, turning his head a bit to lay a firm kiss to an open palm. He smirked a bit when a light hitch came from Solas, but stormy orbs remained calm, devoid of ulterior want as they gazed up at him.

"Nonsense.", Solas whispered, voice low, tone making his ears twitch pleasantly. "I merely know how you are, and how you can get when faced with discrepancies." The statement a light tease, a jab no more harmful than a nudge to his ribs.

Fane snorted. "And how do I get?", he asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to play this game, dance this dance as the hand caressing his cheek held it more firmly, the palm like fire, but its presence like cold rain upon cracked dirt.

"You get very passionate.", the mage said with a fond smile and glint of deep affection in swirling eyes. "A fiery inferno that wishes to blaze the world with knowledgeable heat. It is a sight I adore seeing, but one I know must be tended to lest it scorch the earth too deeply."

Fane hummed. "Want to tame a dragon, do you?", he teased with that question, knowing that once it had toed a delicate line, but now those thoughts were no more than passing thoughts, devotion having tempered them, a bond having whisked them away like the wind.

Solas shook his head, leaning to lay a few kisses against his cheek, his jaw and finally, his lips. Fane reciprocated with each of his own before their foreheads rested together, eyes connected, souls on full display as two hands, instead of just the one, came up to hold him in place.

"I do not wish to tame one, no.", Solas murmured, one hand ghosting up to push Fane's bangs back, leaning in once again to kiss at the spot just below one of his eyes before pulling back to smile at him. "I wish to see one fly, but its wings must be guided by acceptance, not rage."

Fane blinked before chuckling deeply, wrapping his arms around a warm torso, pulling it flush to nudge at a lax cheek with his nose. Where would he be without his wind, his guide, his sky? Forever grounded, that was were.

"So, you're saying you want to hear me ramble?", Fane joked, actually beginning to purr deep in his chest as slender fingers began to comb through his hair. Solas smiled at him, unreserved and unfettered, seemingly basking in his response.

"I do.", Solas agreed, stopping his massage of his scalp for a moment to wrap an arm around his shoulders before resuming the action, occasionally scratching just how Fane liked it. "Your passion is addictive, your soul untethered in regards to your kin. It is one of the many things I adore about you, my dragon."

"My one track mind?", another joke falling from Fane's lips as the atmosphere of dusk as well as soothing fingers was making him melt. Damn, he loved the evening..

"I love you.", Solas said firmly before chuckling as Fane leaned into nibble at his jaw. "...And your one track mind, yes.", he added with a fond sigh. Fane chuckled before pulling back, opting to just rest their foreheads together to watch the sky shift and change its never ending gradient.

"Well, I love you, too.", Fane reciprocated, actually smiling more as Solas' expression softened further before it turned to a smirk. "And your one track mind."

The response Fane got was a light laugh and shake of a head, but exasperation was nowhere to be, disbelief no more than a bitter memory as the sky twinkled with blue and grey - its own two toned hue that would have any other dragon frozen in an awe with the amount of emotion it possessed. And that easily drowned out the rage and ire of a world so mired in misinformation and lost knowledge.

***

This one may have, sort of gotten away with me because HNNNNGH. Fane rambles about dragons, gets angry. Solas listens like a lovelorn fool, cools dragon. Ta-dah! :D

[dreamcatcherfication]

Welcome to the Murder House - Lights Up on Hampton High

Fuck it. I wasn’t going to post anything today, mush less this, but I thought I’d surprise you all. The only person who really knows about this is @theatergirl06 who read half of the first chapter way back during our ask war (it’s been over a month since then, I think!). I have the whole plot written out already, but I realized I would never finish this unless I started posting and pushed myself to work on it.

A little context! This is my high school/murder mystery AU that’s been in my google drive for a while now (no, it’s not based on WATT - not majorly, at least). PSA: I’m using American style high schools because I’m not British and I don’t want to mess something simple up. I’m cruel, and let’s just say there are going to be many, many plot twists. Also Parrlyn is in there. But enough rambling - it’s time I welcome you... Welcome to the Murder House, please enjoy your stay.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Talk of death, the typical amount of swearing/insults you’d expect from high schoolers, brief slut shaming/sexual harassment, high school bullying, mentions of parental abuse

Anne Boleyn was the most popular girl in school, and it was obvious to anyone just why. She was the prettiest girl around with the most desirable figure. She had a sharp wit, ready to cut anyone who got too close for comfort, yet at the same time drew everyone in. Everyone at Hampton High bowed down at the feet of Anne Boleyn, worshipping her very existence. Any newcomer to the school would immediately be enlightened on her legendary rise to fame.

The only thing Anne Boleyn was more infamous for than her rise to power was her fierce protectiveness over her cousin, Katherine Howard. Katherine was only a sophomore but she had quickly climbed the ranks at Hampton due to Anne keeping her close at all times. It was rare to see the cousins separated outside of their classes. 

Kitty Howard was an innocent lamb compared to the predator that Anne was among the student body. Anne sheltered her from any boy wishing her harm and attacked anyone who even looked at Kitty wrong. Unaware to Anne, this backfired on Kit, keeping her from making any friends of her own other than the seniors Anne deemed acceptable to be around Kitty.

This included Anna von Cleves and Cathy Parr, two of Anne’s classmates whom she had the most faith in. Anna was vulgar and unafraid to fight someone bold enough to challenge her, a butch senior with a history of disciplnary trouble. Anne had known Anna since elementary school when their teachers thought it would be fun to pair the two together due to their names. On the other hand, Cathy was quiet and supportive, but also a talented writer with distinct opinions and uncontrollable stubbornness. She had transferred to Hampton in junior year and Anne had taken her under her wing, hurling her up the social standings. The four of them were the golden quartet of Hampton High and no one dared mess with them.

Not when they were together at least.

Henry Tudor was a popular, brutish jock with as many brain cells as inches on his dick. In his time at Hampton, he had dated six girls, including all of the four aforementioned girls. His first girlfriend, Catherine de Aragon, had dated him for the entirety of freshman year and half of sophomore year. It was in their second year when Catherine found out that Henry had been cheating on her with Anne Boleyn, some popular queen at school. Catherine tried to confront Anne but was instead humiliated and kicked down the social ladder. Anne was boosted to the most popular girl after getting together with Henry.

But karma always came back, and Anne found out her idiotic boyfriend was cheating on her as well. Jane Seymour, the sweet student council member had been seeing Henry before he broke up with Anne. She refused to back off Henry, leading to Henry breaking up with Anne so the two of them could be together. But Anne wouldn’t let herself be pushed out of the light like Catherine, so she fired back at Henry, stepping on him to secure her spot at the top of the social ladder.

After a pregnancy scare, Jane broke up with Henry, too frightened to stay with someone like him. So Henry moved on and tried online dating, meeting HotAC and taking a liking to her. Too bad that when he tried to hook up with her, he found out that she was one of Anne Boleyn’s friends. Too embarrassed to admit that he was scared of getting on Anne’s bad side again, Henry accused Anna von Cleves of being an ugly horse and turned half the student body against Anna and the others.

Thus began the ongoing feud between Henry Tudor and his jocks with Anne Boleyn and her Golden Quartet.

Henry’s final girlfriend was Cathy Parr, if only briefly. When she first got to Hampton, Henry latched onto her and essentially peer pressured her into dating him. Barely a month into the two of them being together, Anne pushed her way into the relationship and saved Cathy from an unsavory high school experience with Henry.

The bad blood between Anne and Catherine and Jane kept the three from interacting, but Anne was fiercely protective of all the other previous girlfriends of Henry Tudor. Senior year, finally the drama with Henry had cooled down and the school seemed to be at a standstill, waiting for the next bombshell to drop. No one dared to talk about Henry’s fifth girlfriend to Anne’s face for fear of what she would do at the mention of his actions...

Like any other day, Anne was sitting at the quartet’s lunch table while Anna was on top of the table itself. Anna had one hand leaning against the table as well as one foot up while the other dangled off the edge. “It said some pretty nasty stuff, are you sure you want to know?” Anna asked hesitantly, her eyes on Anne’s clenched fists.

“Yes, I want to know what they’re saying about my cousin,” Anne gritted out through her teeth.

Nervously scratching her nose, Anna relented. “It was on her locker, thank God she didn’t notice. There was some cheap photo from a porno with the words ‘Slutty Kitty’ written under it.”

“Those dickwads!” Anne slammed her hands against the table.

Rushing to calm Anne down, Anna assured her, “Hey, Cathy and I cleaned it off before Kit could see it.” It was a miracle she managed to calm Anne down, even if only by a little bit. The popular girl was known for having a temper, and it had been a long time goal of Anna’s to balance her out.

What neither of the girls noticed was Kitty herself approaching the table, her backpack pulled tight around her body. She had overheard the conversation, but put on a perky attitude to make it seem like she was oblivious. Anne didn’t like when Kitty was sad, so she tried to avoid being sad around Anne. No need to worry her cousin about something stupid like high school bullying. “Hi Anna, Hi Annie!”

The two girls turned to face Kit and smiled. “Hey Kit,” Anna said, sliding off the table to sit on the bench across from Anne.

“How’s my favorite cousin?” Anne asked, scooting to the side so there was room for Kitty.

Shrugging, Kitty put her backpack on the floor. “I’m fine. Science was boring, as usual. But in history we started talking about the French Revolution, and I told my partner about the time you built a guillotine -”

Gasping in playful shock, Anne covered her cousin’s mouth. “I thought I told you never to talk about that incident!” Anna leaned forward dramatically, even though she had already heard the story multiple times.

“You tried to chop my head off for treason!”

“It was out of love -”

“How do you chop someone’s head off out of love?”

Before the conversation could escalate, Cathy entered the cafeteria and made her way over to the table, catching the trio’s attention. “Hey Cathyyyy,” Anne said, batting her eyelashes at the other girl.

Ignoring Anne, Cathy sat down on the other side of the table with Anna. “Are you still working on that article for the newspaper?” Anna asked before taking a bite of her rice and chicken (yes, she was the stereotypical black girl. She knew and was proud of it).

Nodding in confirmation, Cathy sighed and banged her head on the table. A moment later she lifted her head again and gave the others a tired smile. “Yeah, and it’s kicking my ass. I was just interviewing Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon about -”

“Woah woah woah, you were talking to Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon?” Anne gaped at Cathy.

“Well yeah, it’s for -”

“Why would you talk to them?” Anne exploded. “They’re massive bitches and you know our history. They’re the reason behind all the rumors at school and you entertained their bullshit?”

Giving Anne an incredulous glare, Cathy shot back, “Okay first, I was only talking to them because they’re both in charge of the student community service branch of council and I needed their interviews for the paper. And two, even if I did want to talk to them, who are you to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with? You’re popular Anne, but you’re not our dictator.” All the girls were open mouthed at Cathy’s tirade, but the girl in question only sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry Anne, but let me make my own decisions.”

Swallowing thickly, Anne nodded. “Right, I’m sorry Cathy. Just… the three of us don’t have a good history.”

Laughing lightly, Cathy made eye contact with Anne. “Yeah, I know.”

“More like the whole school knows,” Anna mumbled, giving Anne a fake smile when her head shot to the side to glare at her friend. But when Kitty giggled, Anne let Anna off the hook and laughed with her cousin.

“Hey Anna, you’re still good to walk Kit home, right?”

Shooting Kitty a cheeky grin, Anna confirmed with Anne. “Yeah, I’ll make sure no wild kidnappers jump out to catch her while you’re not there.” They all joked about it, but everyone knew how protective Anne was over her cousin. 

“And Cathy, you and I are still -”

“Still going to infiltrate the cafeteria in order to prove there is malpractice going on, yes.”

Rolling her eyes, Anne complained, “Come on, you make it sound so boring. We’re going to break into the school and cause chaos in the cafeteria.”

“That sounds like fun!” Kit agreed, bumping shoulders with Anne.

Resting her chin on her hand, Cathy exhaled loudly. “It is not fun, it’s important. If we can prove the food isn’t up to health standards, then we can finally take some steps towards proper changes around here,” the writer explained.

“Wait, does that mean they’ll get rid of the pizza?” Anna asked.

“NOT THE PIZZA!” Anne cried, far louder than she should have. Kitty shushed her when some of the nearby tables looked over. Protectively, Anne hunched over the last slice of pizza still on her plate. It was far from healthy but Anne was addicted to the grease.

The only ones at the table who didn’t have lunch were Cathy and Kit. Cathy tended to sleep or work during lunch, so she trained her body to run only on two meals and a plethora of snacks throughout the day. And although Kit wouldn’t admit it, her father never gave her any lunch money or provided her with lunch foods. If she asked, he would give her lunch but then refuse to serve her dinner, so Kitty learned to stop asking. “Look Anne, if you want to break into the cafeteria with me, you’re going to have to forfeit your pizza rights.”

In an almost comical moment, Anne actually contemplated whether to choose pizza or breaking and entering, but eventually she gave in. “Alright, I’m sorry pizza, my second love!” And then Anne devoured the slice.

The other three girls rolled their eyes. Whenever Anne made a comment about “my second love” it was almost always followed up with something like - “As much as I love you pizza, you never stood a chance against Cathy Parr, the apple of my eye.”

For as long as the quartet had been friends, Anne had been flirting with Cathy. None of them questioned it anymore, and even Cathy had become accustomed to the constant shows of affection. Both girls were obviously attracted to each other, but Cathy made it very clear she didn’t want to date anybody anytime soon. So instead, Anne kept serenading her with proclamations of love.

Later that day, Anna and Kit were talking home together, comfortably chatting with each other. “She built the guillotine to threaten Mary, but Mary scares Anne way too much - even though she’ll never admit it - for her to actually attempt it.” Anna nodded along to the story, even though this was probably the fourth time Kit was telling it. “So when I told Anne that the guillotine idea was stupid - which it was! - she accused me of treason.”

“How dare she,” Anna spoke in mock horror, playing along with Kitty.

“Right! Ugh,” Kit groaned, “so of course George was on board with it because he’s always on board with Anne’s shi-” 

Anna shushed Kit aggressively before she could curse. “I may not be your cousin but I don’t want my head chopped off if she gets wind I let you curse.”

Kit frowned but then continued her story. “So they got the guillotine which looked so scary, because I was only ten, and carried me to it execution style. George held me down and everything while Anne tied a blindfold around my eyes. By now I’m freaking out because no one’s stopping them - I didn’t actually think they were gonna kill me,” Kit scoffed in the self assured voice of someone who was most definitely lying. “And whoosh! The blade comes down and I don’t scream, and the two of them are laughing at me!” Kit pouted and stomped her foot in frustration. “The blade was fake, it was only styrofoam.”

Lightly punching Kit’s shoulder, Anna commented, “Must’ve been traumatising.”

“It was embarrassing,” Kit groaned.

“Well it’s your fault for hanging out with them.”

Perking up at those words, Kit ran ahead and spun around so she was walking backwards and facing Anna. “On the topic of hanging out with people…”

Quirking up an eyebrow, Anna invited, “Yes?”

“Do you think Anne would be mad if I hung out with other people?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Anna shrugged. “I don’t know, Anne’s pretty unpredictable. But it’s like Cathy says, she can’t control who you hang out with.”

“So…” Kit waited for confirmation. “Does that mean it’s okay to be friends with other people?”

“Of course Kit, you can be friends with whoever you want,” Anna told the sophomore. The two of them had known each other practically their whole lives, Anna remembering Kit from when she was a toddler. It gave her a lot of teasing material, but usually she left that to Anne. If Kit wanted to branch out and meet new people, Anna would support her without hesitation.

Unbeknownst to Anna, Kit already had an idea of who she wanted to befriend. In her mind, it made perfect sense. Together, the six of them all shared the misfortune of dating Henry, so why shouldn’t they be friends? Or at least acquaintances. She had never told Anne, but Kit found her rivalry with Jane and Catherine stupid. They had so much they could relate to, why let past bad blood govern their relationships?

Anna waved Kit goodbye when they reached her door. “I’ll see you tomorrow Kit,” Anne called, watching to make sure Kitty got inside safely.

“Bye Anna!” she replied, unlocking the door and moving inside. Once the door was closed, Kit let her backpack slide off her back as a smirk grew on her face. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Anne kept turning around in her seat to watch the cafeteria doors, completely ignoring her lunch. Whatever Cathy and Anna were talking about faded into white noise as she peered through waves of students passing through the doors. She couldn’t focus on anything, frantically searching for any sign of her cousin. “You alright Anne?” Anna asked, breaking her conversation with Cathy.

Removing her gaze from the crowds, Anne faced her confused friends. “Have either of you seen Kitty today?”

“I saw her during passing period,” Cathy commented, twirling a pen in her hand.

“Right,” Anne mumbled, shooting another glance at the door. “She’s late for lunch.”

“Maybe a teacher’s holding her up,” Anna offered, 

Still, Anne was unconvinced. “You think something’s wrong?”

“No,” Cathy waved her hand. “Kit can take care of herself, Anne.”

“But what if -”

“But what if nothing,” Cathy cut her off. “She’s not eating lunch with us for one day. It’s not a big deal. You’ll see her after school Anne, and everything will be fine.”

Sighing, Anne shook her head, glancing at the empty seat next to her. “Everything will be fine,” she told herself.

As for Kit, she was on a mission. Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon tended to stay away from others, not interacting all that much with the student body. They were both reserved, so Kit didn’t expect to be able to confront them easily. It was pure dumb luck she ended up where she did.

While leaving her classroom for lunch, Kit had been swarmed by a bunch of juniors who knocked her over without apologizing. All her books went sprawling across the floor, stepped on by her inconsiderate peers. Scrambling around, Kit tried to pick up her papers before they could be ripped or further damaged.

A hand came into view, holding her history textbook. Looking up, Kit was stunned into silence at the kind face of Jane Seymour. “You dropped this,” she prompted, holding out the book.

Hesitantly taking it, Kit murmured, “Thank you.”

Her eyes sweeping across the floor, Jane offered an apologetic glance at the mess of papers. “Do you need some help with this?”

“Uh,” Kit blanked. “That would be great!” she accepted a little too enthusiastically. Jane only chuckled and bent down to help grab the papers.

It occurred to Kit for a moment that Jane might not know who she is. But when Jane handed her the last of the papers and said, “There you go Katherine,” that thought went flying out the window. Biting her lip, Kit awkwardly shifted on her feet. She could leave right now and go have lunch with her friends or… Jane seemed to catch on to what Kit was waiting for. “Would you like to eat lunch with me?” she asked.

Without a second of hesitation, Kit nodded her head. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Well okay then,” Jane grinned, leading Kit away from the cafeteria. “Catherine and I - Catherine de Aragon,” she clarified as if Kit didn’t already know, “we sit outside. It’s peaceful and not many people come to bother us.”

“Sounds nice,” Kit replied, her voice still soft. Jane noticed but decided not to comment on it. She wasn’t one to judge people.

When the two of them made it out of the building, Jane was flagged over by Catherine de Aragon who was sitting on a blanket under a tree. It seemed like she had set up for a picnic, even though they were still on school grounds in the middle of a school day. “You brought a guest today?” Catherine raised her eyebrows at Jane, her lips tugging upwards.

“Sure did,” Jane replied, plopping down next to her. “You can sit down wherever you like Katherine.”

Awkwardly shuffling to the opposite side of the blanket, Kit sat down and hugged her backpack to her chest. She didn’t have any lunch, as per usual, so she used her backpack as a barrier between her and the other two girls. Suddenly, she cursed herself for wanting to make new friends. Where had this social anxiety been before she got here?

Catherine and Jane seemed to notice her awkwardness (who wouldn’t?), so they attempted to get rid of it. “So Katherine…” the other Catherine started. “Why’d you want to have lunch with us today?”

Mumbling lightly, Kit felt a small blush of embarrassment rise to her cheeks. “What?” Jane prodded, unable to hear Kit’s answer. 

“I wanted to make new friends,” she told them, burying her head in her arms.

The two seniors shared a glance before turning their attention back to Kit. “Of course you can be our friend,” Jane assured her.

“Really?” Kit peeked her head up.

“Sure, why not,” Catherine answered. “You seem nice enough, and there’s no reason for us not to be friends.”

Frowning, Kit picked at her fingernails. “But Anne.”

Visibly, Jane flinched and Catherine’s face morphed into a snarl. “You’re not her,” Jane spoke calmly, putting a hand on Catherine’s arm. “If you want to be our friend, we’re not going to let that come between us.”

For a moment, Kit almost ran away. This is what she wanted, but now that it was being presented to her, she was terrified. She had never had friends that weren’t also Annie’s. She didn’t know how to start her new friendships other than with, “Okay.”

Catherine and Jane shared a glance. “Okay.”

“Well this is going to be awfully confusing for me,” Jane laughed, “Two C/Katherines!”

“Oh!” Kit perked up, “You can call me Kat. Or Kit. Or Kitty. Any of them work.” Then to herself, “Wow, I have a lot of nicknames.”

Chuckling, Catherine stuck out her hand. “Kat’ll do. Well Kat Howard, I’m your new friend Catherine.”

“And I’m your new friend Jane. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

At the end of the day, Kit almost screamed in surprise when Anne practically rugby tackled her to the ground. “Where were you!” Anne demanded, hugging Kit tightly. “I was so worried.”

“I’m fine Annie,” Kit assured her cousin. 

“Then where were you?” Anna stood beside Anne, watching the scene unfurl. Anne was huffing, her face red, a cross between relief, fear, and anger. The Boleyn girl cared so much about her cousin, but sometimes she became overbearing.

Hugging Anne back, Kit explained, “With my new friends.”

“You have new friends!” Anne brightened, pulled Kit closer. “That’s amazing! Do I know them?”

Letting out an awkward laugh, Kit prepared for the worst. “Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon,” she admitted.

Freezing, Anne slowly pulled away from Kit. “What?” she asked, her face as hard as stone.

“Jane Seymour and Catherine de -”

“I heard what you said!” Anne screeched. “You of all people, Kit!” Turning around and stomping a few feet away, Anne screamed into her hands. She spun back around to face Kit and marched up to her. “Those girls aren’t worthwhile friends. They don’t actually care about your wellbeing -”

“How do you know that!” Kit fired back in frustration. “You’re blinded by this stupid fued that’s been going on for years. They were nice to me and we didn’t even have to talk about Henry or any of that.”

Clenching her fists, Anne tried to stay calm. “I don’t trust them Kit. I don’t feel comfortable letting you hang around them.”

“Good thing it’s not your choice then,” Kit stood up for herself. Anna continued watching to the side, frantically texting Cathy for backup. She wasn’t getting any response.

Yelling through her teeth, Anne pulled at her hair. “Kitty, my dearest cousin,” she spoke in a sweet voice. “You know I love you.”

“Don’t you dare and try and guilt me.”

There was a moment where Anne almost continued, but her conscience kicked in. She knew Kit’s history with guilt tripping, and that was a line she would never cross. Before either of them could make another comment, Cathy came bursting out the school doors, sprinting towards them faster than she had ever run in her life. Anna looked up from her phone which she had been repeatedly texting Cathy on. “Cathy? What’s wrong?” Anna called.

Gasping for air as she slid to a stop in front of them, Cathy’s face was ghostly white. “Christina Denmark is missing. The police think she’s been murdered.”

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