#She has more words that she can fit in there to describe her mom.

[magatsunohana]

@selenecrown said: Quentin vc: WHAT ABOUT ME!

"I don't remember accepting you as my baby-making wench, Quen. Why'd you want to be a two-faced, stuck up, gas-lighting, manipulative, pasty-ass bitch anyway?" She was referring to her mother.

[darlingdarkly]

New Year, New You Part 3

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

4.7k Words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes

Part 2, 4

The next day is what you can only describe as controlled chaos. The office is a whirlwind of papers, people and pieces of presentation sent to and fro across the building. Maureen in marketing needs approval from Mark in finance who’s busy balancing the budget for this year and the spreadsheets from last year. Sharon has been on the phone for Three. Whole. Hours. trying to make sure the prototypes will be ready before noon tomorrow.

Tom called in sick and Mrs. Magna told Nancy to tell him that if he doesn’t show up today to never show up again. Period. That was ensued by a thirty minute yelling match between Nancy and Tom that ended when you gently took the phone from Nancy’s white-knuckle grip and told Tom if he didn’t come in you’d personally shove your foot up his ass.

Tom was in the office fifteen minutes later, quarantined in the conference room with his laptop, a growing mountain of crumbled Kleenex and very, very, grumpy. The day dragged on and on and while people who had finished with their portion of the project headed home for the day you stayed, even after your piece of the pie was secure, because at the end of it all you knew it fell to Nancy to review and review and review the final product for any mistakes and you weren’t about to let her do it alone.

As you worked, you caught up with each other, not having time to really talk since the white elephant party over a week ago. “So how was break?” You asked as you filed away two early projection models in their appropriate folders. She sat cross legged in front of you, stapling documents together. “It was nice, mom came this year, and I thought it would be a lot more barbaric but it actually was very civil. I'm proud of them for working out their differences. The way it went down last year I was still cleaning fruit cake off my ceiling a month later, remember?”

You giggled together because you did remember. That was Nancy’s Christmas reunion debacle from the previous year. You hadn’t been there but you did drop by to help her clean up and have a little wine. A bottle and a half in you both were too drunk and giggly to climb the ladder and scrap the candied fruit and cake from the ceiling.

“What about you? Did you go see your parents?” You smiled and answered. “Yeah they’re doing good, they said to tell you hello by the way. My brother too.” And the side eye she gave you was hilarious and aggravated all in one. “What? He still asks about you.” She rolled her eyes and restacked the papers in her hands. “Well he can stop.” You laughed as she shook her head. “He’s still got a crush on me after all this time.”

“Yes! He’s obsessed! I don’t know why you won’t go for him, it’s not like you’re seeing anyone anyways.” She scoffed at you. “I am not dating your brother. Not after what he did.” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Nance, you can’t still be on that.” She looked offended. “After we both nearly drowned at the lake that summer. You remember, he practically pulled me under!”

You laughed remembering. “He was trying to save you!” She laughed with you and pushed on your arm. “Yeah well he sucked at it. We both nearly died.” You both were in fits of giggles at this point, papers nearly forgotten in the glow of your memories. “Besides, how do you know I’m not seeing anyone?”

Your eyebrows raised at this. “Ohhh, something to confess?” She looked up from her work, eyes sparkling. “You know the guy that moved in across the hall?” You did. You both had run into him one day coming back to her place for a drink after a Saturday outing together. “You mean Mr. Dark Eyes, the one who came over and fixed your window for you?”

She practically beamed. “That’s the one. He asked me out for drinks tomorrow night.” You waggled your eyebrows at her and she laughed and rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that. He’s just being nice.” It was your turn to give her an accusatory look. “It’s absolutely like that Nancy! He’s into you. I can see it! I think you should go for it, I’m glad for you, it’s time you got a little action.”

She picked up the stack she’d finished stapling and set it to the side, beginning another. “You and I both. I mean it’s not like you’ve been seeing anyone either.” You paused, thinking of Johnny. You wouldn’t call it seeing someone, but there was something between the two of you, it was momentary, your lapse in response but enough for her to notice and immediately catch on.

“Oh my god, wait. You have been seeing someone haven’t you?” You immediately refuse. “No.” “Bullshit.” “Seriously! It’s nothing.” And she wouldn’t stop until she’d pried it out of you so you began recounting your encounter at the gym, leaving nothing out.

“You’re fucking with me.” You shake your head. “No, I’m serious. Just like I told you.” She put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. “He legit did all that?” You nodded and she smiled. “I think you should go for it.” Your jaw dropped. “You’re serious?” She nodded. “Oh yeah, he’s totally into you. All that weird shit just means he’s obsessed. Is he hot?”

You immediately nodded. “Oh yeah, he’s strong and tan. He’s got this pretty white smile and dark hair. I knew he was a personal trainer the minute I saw him.” She hummed approval. “Definitely go for it.” You laughed nervously. “I don’t know, we'll see where it goes.”

The sun had long descended past the horizon, but you had it done. Two hundred and fifteen pages of statistics and sales projections that concluded the project. You both cleaned up the papers and put everything away. She turned to you when the elevator had stopped at the ground floor and the cold night air chilled you as the doors opened. “Wanna go out for a drink, I know I sure could use one.”

You shook your head. “I’m beat, I’m going home, eating and sliding into bed.” She nodded in understanding. “Don’t forget your homework.” She winked at you mischievously and giggled as you let out a frustrated groan. “I’m thinking about skipping it.” She shook her head. “Better not, with what you’ve told me so far it seems like there’d be consequences.” And she was right, who knew what kind of thing he’d cook up if you slacked out on it. You said your goodbyes and headed home.

You find yourself in front of your door, mentally exhausted. You slide the key in the lock and feel it give as you push the door open and walk into the cool interior of your home. Flipping the lights on you drop your purse and jacket on the couch and head for the kitchen. It’s been a long day and you hadn’t even had a chance to go grocery shopping this week but you’re pretty sure you at least had a couple of eggs left in the fridge.

If all you could manage was a few scrambled eggs before you did your homework and fell into bed then so be it. You’d eat better tomorrow. You open the door on the fridge and are immediately taken aback by what you see. It’s fully stocked. There’s a whole pack of water bottles on the bottom shelf of your fridge. The chiller drawer is packed with spinach, sweet peppers, broccoli and carrots. There’s deli meat and boneless skinless chicken breasts, a few types of cheese and a new gallon of milk. Individual packs of yogurt and gatorades in all different flavors.

You open the door on your freezer to find a few more frozen packs of chicken breasts, pounds of lean hamburger meat and sausage. Rushing to the cabinets you pull them open and find low carb tortilla wraps and bread, granola bars and some kind of chips called “Veggie Straws” that you’ve always seen on the shelf but never tried.

As you turn around you finally notice the bowl of fruit on your counter. How could you have overlooked it walking in? Bananas and apples and oranges, all ripe and fresh. You didn’t do this. Either you were losing your mind and key moments in your life we’re missing like puzzle pieces lost or someone had been in your house.

Your eyes widen, breath hitched. They could still be in the house. You turn around and survey the space around you, the dark comforting tone had a queer eerie feeling setting in around the edges. The corners and shadows leering with the unknown. Nothing looked out of place or was missing, but what kind of a person came into a home to stock the fridge and leave without taking anything?

You checked the doors, the windows, no broken locks or pried open hinges, no immediate signs of forced entry. Your shoulders stiffened when the realization hits you, it takes your overworked mind a moment to remember but there it was. Your gym bag, you were nearly certain you had closed it but it was open when you opened your locker to change. Johnny.

You grabbed your purse and pulled your phone out, flicking through your contacts and hovering over his name. You momentarily waver between calling him or the police. What were you going to say? Yes officer, my home has been broken into. Did they take anything? Well, no. The opposite really. What did they leave? Groceries. Lots of them, stocked my whole kitchen with fresh meats, veggies and fruit. Yeah, we’ll get right on catching the ever elusive grocery fairy, ma’am. Top priority, don't you worry.

You started the call and he answered on the second ring, tone light and cheery with enthusiasm. “Bonnie! How was work?” You skip the pleasantries. “Do you have something to tell me, Johnny?” And you don’t know why you expected him to take the matter seriously.

“Aye lass, I did think about ye all day, sometimes with mah cock in hand, how’d ye know?” His response momentarily scatters your thoughts to the wind but you take hold of them once more and push on. “What? No! Johnny, have you been in my house?” He laughs, actually laughs. “Oh that. Yeah, did you check the fridge?”

Your brow furrowed in frustration, of course he doesn’t see it as an intrusion instead of some kind of regular thing. “Johnny, how did you get into my house?” You sit down in a chair and what he says makes you bolt upright again. “Easy, hen. I just made a key.” You’re pacing now. “You made a key to my house! How?”

And he says it casually like he’s explaining how to tie a shoe or giving someone easy directions. “I went into yer bag, found yer keys, pressed it into a mold and had one made. Simple really.”

“You can’t do that Johnny.” He interrupts. “S’alright Bonnie, I’m yer personal trainer.” There it is again. That phrase, like it’s the simplest thing to understand in the world, normal even. He’d picked you out, told you he was going to train you, you didn’t exactly protest and now anything was fair game, including crossing every single kind of boundary you could have and making copies of the keys to your home so he can come and go as he pleases.

“Besides, yer fridge was empty. What were ye gonna have fer dinner?”

“None of your business. And what if I don’t know how to cook? Did you think about that Johnny?” And this seems to be the first real thing to give him pause. “Yer right, lass. I didn’t even think about that. I’m about five minutes away, I’ll be right over.” Your eyes widen in panic. “No Johnny! Don’t come over!”

“S’alright lass, it’s really no trouble. I’ll be right there.” The last thing you needed was him showing up at the door. “No! Johnny I’m serious, don’t.”

He’s quiet for a moment and it feels long, you almost expect a knock at the door, even though he couldn’t possibly be there that fast, unless of course he was lying about being five minutes away and was actually right outside the whole time, or even in the house still.

“Alright. I won’t come over on one condition.” You grab for it, ready to agree to anything that will keep him from showing up. “Yes, anything.”

“I want ye tae FaceTime me while ye do yer homework.” And you’re almost relieved with the simplicity of it, but there was an underlying unease that you couldn’t shake, what was he up to? You answer slowly when you can’t come up with a good reason to say no. “Ok, I’ll call you back.”

But before you can hang up he interjects. “No. Don’t hang up, talk to me.”

“Talk to you? About what Johnny?” You start to look around the kitchen for what you’re gonna have, if he’s making you talk to him the whole way through it then it’s better to get started now. “For starters, How yer day was.”

It starts slow, your relinquishing of the accounts of the day, but as time went on and you kept talking it all just came to the surface. The stress of the day, the brutal meticulousness of it, and he made it so easy, he was so attentive, listening and responding, asking questions and letting you vent it. He even laughed so hard when you told him about threatening Tom that you couldn’t help but laugh with him, bent over in front of the stove as you let the stress bleed out of you.

It felt good, right even, like something you'd been missing out on, a key component you hadn't realized you’d been without for so long. And you found a peculiar twinge of adoration for him in the bottom of your heart, like tea leaves spelling out your heart's true desires, whether you like what you read in them or not, there they were.

You sat down to eat and he told you about his day as you ate. It was much more appetizing than a plate of scrambled eggs, you had to admit. You nearly choke on a cherry tomato when he tells you he missed you. “It’s only been a day since you last saw me Johnny, you can’t miss me.” And is there longing in his voice, or just your tired mind playing tricks again? “Aye, but I did.”

There’s a momentary pause, a space of uninterrupted silence, pregnant with things unsaid. You finally break it. “Well, I’ve got dishes and then I’ll do my homework.” What he says next makes you smile, and you’re glad he’s not able to see it. “How will I know ye’ll call me back?”

“Don’t be stupid, I’ll call you. If not, you'll be pounding at my door, won’t you?” You can hear the smile in his response. “Better believe it, lass. Call me.” And he hangs up.

You quickly finish up your dishes, change into something comfortable, just a tank top and shorts, and prop your phone up. Pressing the call button on Johnny’s name in the contact list you see the screen go black as you wait for him to pick up. Your image is reflected back at you in a little square in the top right of the screen and you use the time to adjust your hair and pull the hem of your shorts down lower to cover more of your thighs.

His face pops into frame and he’s smiling ear to ear and you ignore the eruption of goosebumps on your arms when you see it. “Hi, lass” You back away from the screen and into the open space you’ve made in your living room to do your exercises. “Hi Johnny.”

“God yer beautiful.” And you feel your cheeks heating under his compliment. “Stop it, Johnny. Let’s crack on.” You see him sit back on his bed as he responds. “Alright lass. Start.” So you do, starting with the sit ups. You don’t have him there to hold your feet so you slide them under the couch to hold you steady as you do the exercise. He talks you through it, counting for you so you can focus on just your movements, keeping track of your pauses in between sets so they’re evenly spaced and consistent.

“Good lass, now yer toe touches.” You rise and face the camera, bending down with legs straight as your fingertips brush your toes. “Good, just like that.” And each line of praise is like a shot of vodka, a shock of ambrosia to your system, intoxicating. You know he’s looking down your shirt with each rep, but it’s a thrill you find exhilarating instead of embarrassing for once. Halfway through he has you turn around so he can make sure you’re not dipping at the knees.

You do the first one and he groans, quiet but you still catch it. You call over your shoulder and ask if he’s ok and he clears his throat, voice full of audible gravel even in his one word response. “Aye.” You finish and all that’s left is your lunges and stretches. You bend your knees and step into the first lunge, one leg at a time til you reach your goal of ten.

You’re finished and you turn to face the camera, you see he’s laid down on the bed, eyes intense and holding yours even from the small screen of the phone across the room. “Stretches now, lass.” He sounds out of breath and you wonder what you’d see if he flipped the view to his back camera.

You sit on the floor, legs V’d and begin to stretch them wider and wider. You curse your decision for shorts and blame it on being tired and not thinking it through. You know the crotch of your shorts is pulling taut against your pussy, barely covering your panties as you stretch further and further. You start to strain, little puffs of breath and groans escaping your lips as you widen your stretch. “Hold it, bonnie.” And you do just as he asks, holding it against the potent pain accumulating in your calves and inner thighs. “Just a little more, doing so good fer me.”

You hold it for another five seconds and he finally lets you release. You’re breathing heavily as you draw your legs back together and if you aren’t mistaken you think you can hear his labored breathing as well. “Johnny.” His voice is thick with strain. “Aye, lass.”

“What are you doing?” His smirk is devastatingly handsome as he speaks. “Nothing yet, lass.” You feel emboldened and press your luck, eyes connected with his as you command him. “Flip your camera Johnny.” His eyes hold yours raptly for a few seconds before he does as you ask and the shot flips to his chest and legs lying on his bed. He’s got a dark blue comforter and you can see in the frame a pull up bar and a few weights on a rack in the corner, just what you’d expect but the first thing to catch your eye is the raging bulge in his gray sweats and your breath hitches as his hand comes into view, wrapping around the base of the stretched fabric and adjusts it to better accommodate his length.

“See what ye do tae me, hen?” You do see, you can’t look away as his hand squeezes himself through the cloth cage. Your mind, overworked and fried is trying to get you to say something, anything, but the only thing that will compute is his name. “Johnny.”

“Get up and sit down on the couch, lass.” His voice holds a tone of gentle authority, you could probably protest but you’re tired and trying to swim against the current of what your body wants is a task you’re not up for at the moment, so you give in and let him command you.

You sit on the couch at first, eyes still glued to where he’s fisting his cock through his clothes. “Sit back, hen and spread your legs.” You do sit back but you don’t spread your legs, at first. “Come on, bonnie. Jus’ like we practiced.” So you do, not as wide as you would when stretching but enough to give him a view and the tingles of anticipation thrumming through you has you on edge, like you’re standing before a cliff and about to jump, there’s no going back from this.

He groans and you watch with keen eyes as he pulls his sweats down until he’s just in his boxers, the same dark blue shade as his bed spread. “Ye wanna see more, lass?” He’s tempting you and it’s working, you do wanna see more but it’ll come at a price. “Yes.” He wraps a fist around his cock and you shift uncomfortably as your panties dampen. “Take yer shorts off.”

You sit up and tug your shorts down your legs, feeling dirty but heightened as you do, like you’re liberating something inside yourself even you don’t quite understand. He hisses air through his teeth as he spots the wet patch quickly growing and soaking the gusset of your panties.

He pulls his boxers down and his cock springs up into view, finally free and it makes you bite your lip. He’s thick and has length to boot, a good seven inches of it guessing by the comparison of his hand up against it.

There’s a neatly trimmed patch of dark hair spreading out from the base and you can’t help but moan as he wraps his hand around it and begins to tug lazily. His voice is husky and deep when he speaks.

“So pretty, hen. Are you that wet all fer me?” And you’re beyond words so you just nod, eyes glued to the way he tugs on himself. He curses under his breath and your pussy aches from the lack of stimulation. You snake a hand down your chest, descending toward the pain, itching to relieve the tension. “That’s it, lass. Let me see ye touch yerself fer me.”

So you do, just overtop of the fabric, a roll of your fingertips overtop your clit, enough to make your head tip back and moan blissfully. “Good girl.” You look back up to see him working his shaft in earnest, firm grip and steady movements. You feel emboldened by his reactions and lean forward again to rid yourself of the cloth barrier. He stops and watches as your pussy comes into view for the first time.

“Steamin’ Jesus. Fucking gorgeous.” He resumes his movements as your fingers settle over top your bare clit and you start to rub tight little circles over it, just how you like. “Show me Bonnie, show me just how you like it.” The sexual tension between the two of you, the stress of the day all come to a head and you reach down to spread your wetness up and around your clit, moaning low and sultry as he watches you play with yourself.

You reach your other hand up and squeeze one of your breasts through your top and look back up into the screen. Watching him pick up the pace, making fast even strokes over the tip of his cock with each movement. The motion of his hands, the way his tip disappears into his fist and reappears with each pass is mesmerizing. You can feel the beginnings of an orgasm building and it just drives you on as you think about coming in front of him for the first time.

Your fingers pick up speed and your moans rise in pitch as he talks you through it. “Mmm such a bonnie little pussy. I wanna see ye come for me lass. Can ye do that fer me? Come nice and hard fer me?” You suck in a deep breath as you work your body into a frenzy, pinching a nipple between your fingers as you feel yourself nearing the edge.

You look up to see him vigorously stroking his cock. His breathing is heavy and loud through the speakers and you wonder if he’ll be loud when he comes. You’re close and even though he’s not even in the same room as you he can tell, spurring you on. “That’s it hen. Just like that. Do it. Cum fer me.”

It’s all it takes to send you spiraling. Your pussy clenching around nothing as you fall over the edge and succumb to the pleasure. You let out a long drawn out moan as you do, body tensing as you pant and writhe on the couch in full view.

You look up when he calls your name, watch as his strokes quicken and shorten and then all at once he’s coming undone, legs tensing and white hot cum shooting from the tip of his hard cock. It arcs through the air before landing in spattered lines across his thighs. The guttural yell that falls from his lips as he does is loud, just as you’d expected and you wish you could feel it, the rumble of his chest when it sounds.

You’re both breathing heavily and coming down when it hits you, the post nut clarity. You just had very raw, hardcore phone sex with a man who made a copy of the keys to your home, came over without you knowing while you were at work and invaded your personal space.

You’re ashamed and a little sickened by what you’ve just done. Quickly closing yourself off from view you snatch your panties and shorts from the ground and redress. “Fuck, lass. That was fucking amazing.” You’re already working on damage control in your mind, blocking out the experience, no matter how much you enjoyed it, it was wrong.

“No Johnny. It wasn’t.” You can see him switch the camera around and he’s way more relaxed now, smile a mile wide on his face. “Aye, it was. Cannae wait tae see ye, tomorrow.”

You don’t even know if you’ll show up now, how could you after that? It was just a mistake you told yourself, a tired slip up, absolutely a one time thing. You close your eyes and when you open them he’s looking at you and you swear you can his adoration for you swimming in them. “Go to sleep, lass. I wanna see ye tomorrow at 4:30.”

You say nothing and hang up. It’s very late before you fall asleep that night, debating whether or not the consequences of not showing up tomorrow are something you can afford to risk. If you don’t show up he could just pop into your house at any time. It’d be better to just show up and act like nothing happened, that was the key, just brush it under the rug and hope he’ll do the same.

You’re nervous about it all day at work, and you know Nancy knows something is wrong but you insist everything’s ok. You’re too ashamed to tell her about any of it and she relents and leaves you alone but she knows you’re lying. When four o’clock hits you’re out the door, won’t be able to stop this frenzied state of mind until you can clear things up with him and make things go back to normal.

The next day when you walk in the door and sign in he meets you at the desk and before you even have a chance to say anything he’s on you, lips crashing into yours in a passionate and very explicit kiss right in the lobby of the building surrounded by patrons and gawking onlookers.

He doesn’t even give you room to breathe let alone get a word in as his body presses up against yours and he grabs ahold of the back of your neck to keep you locked against him. When he pulls away you’re shell shocked and silent. As he pulls you against him and walks you further into the building you know things have taken an irrevocable turn.

[skylineheights-if]

DEMO TBA | CHARACTER INTROS | PLAYLISTS

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Romance, Action

Game Rating: 18+

Content Warnings: Optional sexual content, alcohol/smoking, death, blood/gore, religious themes, torture, talks of pregnancy/birth/breeding, mentions of SA and other forms of abuse, mentions of weapons, more to be added as it is written.

Returning to your mother's hometown for college was supposed to be a typical all-American experience. But as you settle into your new life in Skyline Heights, a cozy town in the Pacific North West, you soon stumble upon its hidden mysteries and begin to understand that your life never was, and never will be, typical. 

As you uncover the truth about the circumstances of your birth and your angelic father, you learn that you are one of a few demi-angels called nephilim, destined to play a crucial role in preventing an upcoming apocalypse. In order to understand your purpose, you embark on a quest to study a prophecy that holds both the key to your destiny and the fate of the world.

While navigating the complexities of college life, forming friendships, and experiencing budding romance, you also find yourself battling powerful demons that are hell-bent on stopping you and trying to decipher the prophecy. Amidst all the chaos, you must also focus on your academic responsibilities - maintaining your grades while confronting the darkness that threatens to consume the world is not going to be a walk in the park.

The choices you make will determine your alliances, unveil hidden truths, and unlock the full extent of your powers. Can you embrace your extraordinary destiny, unravel the mysterious prophecy, and stand against the forces of the apocalypse?

Customize your characters appearance and sexuality and mold their personality as you see fit.

Romance and/or befriend five characters with different personalities and backstories.

Unravel what the prophecy about you means, as well as learn more about your own past and the mysterious father that your mother refuses to speak of.

Work on controlling and strengthening your powers and discover all the things you can do.

Stop the impending apocalypse (while still trying to turn your homework in on time)

Harlowe Vega [ M ] Character Page

Confident, sarcastic, and the absolute definition of "bad boy." Harlowe was adopted as a baby and has a strained relationship with his family. As the oldest out of the group, Harlowe is the de facto leader of the nephilim, a role that he doesn't take lightly. While he may be cold at first, Harlowe is loyal and very protective of his loved ones.

Sarcastic - Protective - Confident

Florence Kade [ F ] Character Page

With a smile that rivals the sun and a knack for creating chaos wherever she goes, Florence is the first person that you'll meet while getting settled in at Moonvale University. Don't let her kindness fool you, though. Her tongue is sharp enough to cut through metal. A fact that Harlowe himself has been acquainted with, one too many times.

Kind - Candid - Outgoing

Eden Wright [ M ] Character Page

Quiet, studious, and kind to a fault, Eden is the son of the local librarian, George Wright. George, who just so happens to be your mother's childhood friend (and might be able to help you find out more about your father). Though Eden is in your year, you rarely see him around. The man seems to prefer to hang out in the library when he isn't working at the coffee shop on campus or training. Regardless of his soft exterior, Eden is more than capable of defending himself and others, which is why Harlowe has chosen him as his second-hand.

Reserved - Studious - Strong

Aena Ritz [ F ] Character Page

If there is one word to describe Aena, it's responsible. As a Criminal Justice major and self-proclaimed "mom friend", Aena makes it a point to keep everybody on track. That being said, she still knows how to let loose and often spends her Friday nights at the local club with Florence and a few classmates. Aena is hard working and slow to anger, but when her fuse is lit, it's smarter to run and hide.

Responsible - Honest - Respected

Alistaire Morrison [ M ] Character Page

Your enigmatic English professor who always seems to have dark circles under his eyes and a coffee mug glued to one hand. Alistaire is the newest of the faculty at Moonveld University, and by far the favorite professor among the students. Whether that's due to his (surprisingly) entertaining lectures or his physical looks, it's unclear. What is clear is that there is more to him than meets the eye, and you aren't sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Mysterious - Charming - Respected

Important tags: #shif ask - #shif cast - #shif aa: {character name} -- #shif nsfw

[fairytsuk1]

Hello I am in the delusional Bakugo is okay reality and was wondering if we can get a soft request where his girlfriend’s mom thanks Bakugo for continuing to take care of the reader (as if he needs to be asked) when he visits her bedside (despite his own injuries) after the fight with Shigaraki?

bakugou hadn't really realized his way of thinking may not be very healthy when everyone said he spoke more about you than his own horrific injuries. even then, it still doesn't click for him.

"where is she?"

"bakugou," a nurse begins slowly but quickly rushes as he begins to sit up, "please, wait! don't take any of those off!"

the blonde practically snarls at her, and winces before sighing, "did ya' hear me? or do I have to repeat myself?"

the nurse looks at him with an agape mouth before nodding, "she's in room 533. do you... would you like some regular clothing? we weren't expecting you to—"

"i'm fine! i'd like to get out of here as soon as possible," and he swigs some water as if to end the conversation.

eventually, she brings his clothing and he grimaces at the baggy, lack of structure within him. he even gives her an incredulous look, what kind of nurse brings the patient the wrong clothin'? he worries his lip as she describes how, due to the nature of his injuries, it was best not to wear form-fitting clothing.

he has a flashback to when his head whipped backwards and pain shot through his limbs, and he remembers seeing you suspended in air with rods shooting through your stomach.

bakugou is quick to rush out of the room after that, brushing past her and chugging his meds once given them. in his mind, there was only one thing to do which made this a pressing matter. the matter of making sure you were okay was more than pressing, you could call it his life's purpose.

...

you're breathing, and it helps bakugou breathe a little easier too. his apparent disappearance had quickly been reported on by his designated nurse, so he'd heard the story of how "we're doing everything we can" and "she's got a huge chance at recovery."

he hated that these things were becoming all about "chances" and "trying." was it that hard to say that, yes, she would be okay? he'd angrily spat this out of them as they tried to demand he leave the room.

your hand held in his said it all.

bakugou stayed with you all day and night if possible. sometimes he was torn away for physical therapy, regular therapy, federal investigations... the list goes on. you were comatose, with a loose range in movement.

you didn't have to deal with it all, but sometimes he wished you would just so he could hear your smart remarks or hilarious quips. you weren't dead, thank god, but you weren't alive either.

and then one day a lady walks in, put together and holding her purse in her hands tightly. clutched, and she even wears sunglasses. bakugou's never seen her before and yet he feels intimidated to take his hand away from yours and stand. even give her a really respectful bow, but who?...

"hello, honey," your mother chokes out as she's overwhelmed by emotion of your weak body recovering.

then she turns to bakugou, and his blood is rushing in his ears. maybe someone should call a nurse, he might faint right here.

"...and you must be bakugou?"

he nods, "...hello. i wasn't aware you were visiting, sorry for intrudin'."

your mother almost lets him slip away, clearly flustered to have met his girlfriend's mom in this non-traditional way.

"don't be. when i heard you were staying with her as often as possible..."

perhaps bakugou and your mother are more similar than they appear. they can't seem to find the words sometimes.

"thank you for taking care of my daughter,"

i approve.

if bakugou was surprised by the gratefulness, he does her one better.

"'ts what you do,"

for the people you love.

the unlikely pair bow at each-other, reddened cheeks and twitches of a smile.

and then your eyes flutter open.

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

Starlo apologist speaks again

this picture right here.. i hate it sm.

TIME TO DEBUNK EVERYTHIN', YEEHAW!

#1 Starlo's name is uncool on purpose might literally mean 'Starloser' It fits his character arc. In other words, he's not the cool, badass sheriff he pretends to be (he's not 'North Star'), but a kind, friendly farmer inside

#2 He definitely DOES care about Clover. Why else would he keep saying he's proud of them, praise them, believe in them, get worried about their safety, send them a warning letter, immediately run to check what's going on with them, get angry at Clover for not staying HOME (yeah he really did consider the Wild East their home) tell Martlet to bring Clover to safety, and jump at Ceroba to try and protect them? don't question the love of star daddy

#3 Undyne actually IS a badass. Starlo isn't. He's a softie who cares about pretending to be cool bc he's insecure, even when in a situation where he could die. He wants to be a hero. He wants to be SOMEBODY, not a NOBODY. Maybe he also cared about his own status more than his town, friends and family (which could be the reason he brought a bb gun). Or he just wanted to buy time so the others could hide. Now that I think about it, it's the latter. Why else would Dina say this in genocide after you kill Ceroba: "He was more of a hero than you'll ever be." That's the whole point of his geno fight that, and a lil bit of angst when roba finds him dying IT'S CALLED CHARACTERIZATION

#4 He kidnaps Clover bc they're a human. The only human who's ever set foot on the sands of the Wild East. He's obsessed with human culture. His whole life ARE westerns. Why? Whether it's the sense of justice cowboys represent, the exciting lives they live, or both, Starlo feels like he matters thanks to this nerdy interest, like he can contribute to his community

#5 i see Martlet as a big sis not a mom bc of how young she is, despite that one joke in bits & bites, but to each their own Star jails Martlet bc of the potential of the Wild East getting shut down. She did threaten to report them to Asgore and well... according to him, better safe than sorry. He even admitted he doesn't feel right doing it

#6 It WAS wrong of him to blame and attack Clover like that, all for his own status and ego (and to get his friends back) It's called a flawed character making a fucking mistake. Or did you expect someone perfect, with no room to grow and develop throughout the piece of media? Also, Clover is not an infant, they're a child. If it was meant to be a joke, it ain't funny bucko

#7 he either actually forgot about the fact he himself kidnapped Clover bc he wasn't in the right mindset (understandable), or purposefully ignored the information to avoid responsibility for his actions & shift the blame onto Clover (he IS flawed and thats more than ok)

#8 in neutral, he doesn't apologize bc Ceroba doesn't come and snap him out of his fantasy & mindset

#9 he did his best with the apology. you can't blame starlo. He's not very good with expressing himself and emotions in general (that he has been avoiding for so long via escapism; he also uses escapism to help Ceroba instead of talking openly with her)

#10 he doesn't know how the ceroba & clover interaction played out bc he was unconscious. Maybe he thought Clover had managed to talk her outta fighting. He says in true pacifist "Yall had a fight?? and the deputy won??" In other words he didnt know they had even fought. To add fuel to the fire, his bff just died and star, being the forgiving sweetheart he is, had wanted to give her a chance at redemption, but never got the chance to. He never got the chance to say goodbye, either.

#11 just bc starlo's an adult doesn't mean he can't have these flaws/behaviors. Every individual is unique. Starlo is deff deeply insecure and most likely autistic, too. Please think about that in the future, thank you

my current feelings can best be described by good old Axis

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Second Chance - Chapter 2

Masterlist 

Warning: mention of chemotherapy and symptoms, mention of death 

Word count: 3.3k

Tony held open the door for you to head back into the tower. Exhaustion was the best way to describe how you were feeling. Every part of your body was sore. To your surprise, a small body ran into your legs. You looked down at a young girl with shoulder-length brown hair and eyes identical to yours and Tony’s. “Hi,” you smiled. She blinked up at you. You could see the gears in her brain trying to figure out who you were. “You must be Princess Morgan I’ve heard so much about.” It was a little white lie. The CEO and billionaire kept their daughter out of the limelight as best as possible. But they did announce her birth. She took a step back, glancing behind you to look at her mom and dad. 

“Who are you?” She asked. You smiled. Now that was a complicated question as it wasn’t a simple answer. How do you tell a child that you were her sister? 

“I’m a friend of your dad's,” it wasn’t a total lie but not the full truth. You didn’t like lying to kids just because they were younger wasn’t a good enough reason to lie to them. “We haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

“Why is that?” One of the reasons you loved kids so much was their thousand and one questions. You heard hurried footsteps walking behind the younger girl. It was the Black Widow. 

“Sorry, Pepper,” she said. “This little nugget is very sneaky.” She attacked Morgan’s sides which made the girl dissolve into a fit of giggles. 

“Don’t worry about it Nat,” the CEO said. “We are done talking.” Morgan gasped suddenly, bringing the attention back to her. 

“If you're friends with my daddy, does that make us friends?” She asked. Ah. The minds of children were so simple, you envied them. 

“Do you want to be friends?” You questioned. She nodded, jumping on the balls of her feet. 

“New friend, new friend. Let’s go play,” she grabbed your hand. 

“Morgan,” Pepper’s voice was stern with a hint of amusement at her daughter but Morgan stopped in her tracks. “You have to ask before you drag someone off.” She sighed, dropping her hand. 

“Can you play with me?” She asked. Oh, it was so hard for you to say no to little kids. You saw Pepper speak with eyes, ‘You don’t have to.’ But you nodded. 

“Lead the way, Princess Morgan,” she giggled, grabbing your hand again and dragging you off. 

*

Pepper watched with a fond smile on her face as the duo ran off. She was surprised by how well you handled everything. You had to be no more than 25 but you walked around with such grace and a positive outlook on the world. She looked at her husband, who has been oddly quiet since they learned of your condition. “Are you okay?” She asked, rubbing his arm. Her gentle touch seemed to snap him out of his trance. 

“FRIDAY, please call all available Avengers to the conference room,” he ordered the AI. “Tell them it’s urgent.” He took off towards the conference room without another word. Natasha raised her eyebrow, questioning his odd behavior but Pepper shook her head. It was better to explain it once. She and Natasha walked to the conference room in comfortable silence. There weren’t many Avengers in the tower. Kate and America were on a mission, Yelena was in St. Petersburg, Bruce took a short trip to New Asgard, and Rhodey was in DC with Maria and Nick. Once the fight with Thanos was over, the Avengers went back home and tried to help those who came back. Her mind seemed to wander back to you. Were you part of the population that Thanos’ snapped away?

She remembered reading about Jessica’s passing. Their paths crossed once at a conference in DC and Pepper would have never guessed she had a daughter. A daughter who shared half the DNA with her own. It was a small world. 

When Pepper entered the conference room Tony was already standing up front. She chose to stand next to him, offering any support she could give him. “I appreciate all of you coming on such short notice.”

“What’s going on Stark?” Steve questioned. 

“It has to be serious. I’ve never seen him like this.” Sam mumbled. 

“That’s because it is serious,” he snapped. The Avengers looked at each other, having a silent conversation with one another. They’ve done enough missions together to speak without saying anything. Tony sighed. “Sorry,” he apologized. “As many of you know, Y/n claims to be my daughter. Her mother and I were together before Pepper and I.”

“Where is her mother?” Bucky asked. 

“Dead,” Pepper answered. “She died in a car accident a few years ago.” 

“She has cancer,” Tony told the team. Pepper could hear the slight shake in his voice showing how much this was affecting him. It was a lot. A stranger showed up, claiming to be his daughter, and telling them she needs help. “Chemotherapy isn’t working anymore. She needs a bone marrow transplant if not she has 6 months to live.” 

“Jesus,” Sam mumbled. 

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Natasha said. “But I’m a little confused about why you called a meeting to tell us this.” Pepper was with the Black Widow on this. It made sense to tell the team all at once but she saw Tony chew on the inside of his cheek. 

“My guess is Mr. Stark is going to ask if you all can see if you are a match for Miss. Easton. Only 2% of the entire population are registered bone marrow donors,” Vision said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s a 1% chance for a parent to match their child, 50% for siblings, and 29%-79% for everyone else.” Tony nodded, resting his hand on his chin. 

“I’m asking a lot,” he said. “Especially to help a total stranger but I’m all she has left.” 

“You're wrong, Tony,” Wanda smiled. “She has us.” Pepper looked at the Sokovian. 

“I’m guessing you knew,” the CEO said. A slight blush rose on her cheeks as she nodded. 

“As soon as she introduced herself. For someone so young, she’s not scared.” 

 *

You glanced over Morgan’s shoulder as you heard footsteps approaching. It was Pepper. “Come on, come on,” she tugged on your arm. “You have to continue the story!” All her toys were laid out in a makeshift battlefield, two sides facing each other. You smiled at the CEO before returning your attention to the young girl. 

“So there they stood, the king's men facing the Swarm’s army. The king’s army were strong men who were called forth to protect their homes. But,” you picked up a stuffed animal. It was a dragon, a gift from Natasha and Bucky that Morgan informed you of. “The Swarm didn’t just have men but a dragon that breathed fire,” you noticed Pepper being more interested in the story. You set the plushie down. “The king’s hand steps forward, with the spellbound sword ready to fight the dragon. But a voice in the crowd told him to stop,” Morgan was bouncing where she sat. “The king’s daughter, Princess Phoebe stood forward and took the sword. She faced the army,” You choose one of her Barbie's as the princess, maneuvering her arm to mimic she was holding a sword over her head. “And she said, ‘I will kill the dragon and lead this army to victory. Who will join me?’ But no one stepped forward.” Morgan gasped. “The princess wasn’t worried. She knew she would have to earn the men’s trust. So, she faced the dragon,” You grabbed the plushie. “Alone.” 

“What happened? Did she win?” She asked. You sighed. 

“It was a long and hard fight,” you paused for dramatic effect. “She killed the dragon, led her father’s army to victory, and became the first Queen to sit on the throne of Krucia.” Morgan jumped up to her feet and cheered at your story's ending. She saw Pepper standing in the doorway. 

“Mommy, did you hear?” She ran over to her, throwing her body at her legs. “The princess won! She won!” You smiled at the interaction, it made you miss your mom. 

“I did,” the CEO smiled. “What do you say to Y/n?” She let go of her mother’s legs and ran back over to you. You were surprised when she hugged you tight. 

“Thank you for playing with me,” you hugged her back. “Can you tell me another story?” 

“Maybe tomorrow. I have to come up with another one. Now let’s clean up your toys,” the pout that formed on her face made you laugh. “If Princess Phoebe can beat a dragon you can clean up your toys,” you said, tapping her nose. She sighed but nodded. It didn’t take long for you both to put her toys away and the playroom was soon spotless. 

“Morgan,” Pepper said, once the last toy was put away. “Your father wants to see you in his lab.” 

“Am I in trouble?” She asked. You stifled your laughter at Pepper’s reaction, not expecting her daughter’s question. 

“Did you do something to get in trouble?” Pepper countered. Morgan shrugged, skipping past her mother. You giggled, slowly standing, and ignored the ache in your body. “Not many people get her to clean up her toys. I may have to steal that story.” 

“Go for it,” you said, placing your bag on your shoulder. “I have a ton of them.” You smiled. “I draw comic books,” you answered Pepper’s unasked question. “I learned that I can hold a child’s attention longer with pictures instead of words. I bet I’ve made up stories about all of you.” She laughed. 

“You’ll have to show us them. I’ll show you to your room.” You followed the CEO to the elevator. She told you that she was taking you to the floor below her and Tony’s. You were grateful they were giving you a place to stay, especially with how tired you were. She must have seen it in your eyes as she rubbed your back and opened the door for you. 

You were shocked, yet not surprised to see a small apartment. The door opened to a personal kitchen and a living space. Pepper walked into the living room which consisted of a dining room table, couch, and TV, and opened up the blinds to show the view of the city. “Tony knows how to spend his money for the best views,” you mumbled, walking over to the window. 

“You aren’t wrong,” Pepper said, glancing over to you. “He rented out the top of the Empire State Building for date night.” You smiled. 

“Romantic.” It was. If you had a partner and the money to spoil them like that you would do the same thing. 

“Your room is over here,” she said, leading you down a hallway, past a small closet, and into a bedroom. It was simple. A queen-sized bed was pushed against the wall with a private bathroom and closet. “We’ll make a trip to your apartment to get your things and if you need anything ask FRIDAY. She’ll order it for you.” You nodded, sitting on the bed. 

“Thank you,” you said. “I know I came here and turned everyone’s life upside down so I appreciate it.” 

“Your family,” she said simply. “Besides with this group it’s the most normal thing,” you laughed which quickly turned into a yawn. “Get some sleep and come find me if you need anything.” 

“Thank you, Pepper.” She smiled and left your room. When you heard the door close, you let out a slow breath. You felt a weight lifted off your shoulders on how well today went. But you knew you had to be realistic. Even though they agreed to help doesn’t mean they will be matched. It was a small percentage that Tony would be a match. There was a Plan B. It took a very long time for your doctor to convince you to reach out to the billionaire. Doctor Lucas Carpenter. He was a family friend and he had the honor to watch you grow up, something he liked to remind you every single day. So Plan B was to increase your chemo dosage and the frequency of the treatment. 

You rubbed your forehead and emptied your bag onto the bed. You plugged in your phone charger and attached your phone. The pill counter you used was put on the bathroom counter and the rest of your belongings were thrown on the floor to be dealt with later. You climbed underneath the covers, taking off your beanie and throwing it on top of your bag. It wasn’t long before the exhaustion of the day caught up with you and you fell asleep.    

*

“Daddy!” Morgan ran into her father’s lap. Tony had just enough time to set the swabs down before catching his youngest. “Mommy said you wanted to see me.”

“And what has Mommy said about running in my lab?” He asked. She smiled. 

“But she isn’t here now.” Tony sighed, shaking his head with a soft smile on his face. The billionaire sat Morgan down on his workbench. 

“I need you to use your best listening skills,” he tickled right underneath her ears. Her laughter echoed in the quiet lab. It was music to Tony’s ear and a wonderful reminder of the life he had. But it made him wonder what he missed with you. “Y/n needs our help,” he continued once her laughter calmed down. 

“Help?” She repeated back to him. “Is she okay? I was just playing with her.” 

“She’s sick,” Tony simply said. He wasn’t sure how to explain a topic like cancer to his youngest. He and Pepper tried to shield the darker parts of the world from Morgan and they did their best. But she was smart and knew that sometimes her daddy, aunts, and uncles had to go away to keep the world safe. “And we could help her. Do you want to try?” She nodded. He grabbed two cotton swabs, he purposely didn’t do it with the others so he could show Morgan. “I’m going to do a swab of your mouth like his,” he made sure to get the inside of both of his cheeks. Once he was done, he put it in a bag. “See simple. Are you ready?” He wasn’t going to force her to do it if he didn’t want to. She stared at the cotton swap. 

“Will it hurt?” She whispered. Tony shook his head. 

“It’ll just tickle,” he said. He wasn’t going to go into detail about the procedure if they were a match. They couldn’t get ahead of themselves. Morgan opened her mouth and Tony quickly swapped both of her cheeks. “There,” he sealed her sample and labeled it. “All done. Thank you, sweetheart. You're my hero.” Morgan shook her head, hugging her father. 

“I’m not a superhero, Daddy, you are.” At the moment, Tony didn’t feel like one. He was angry that Jessica kept you from him. Tony kissed the top of her head. 

“I love you 3000,” he whispered. 

“Love you too Daddy.” 

*

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” you heard a calming voice pull you out of your dream state. “Come on. We can’t sleep anymore.” You were awake but you did not want to be. Groaning, you buried your head deeper into the pillow. 

“Don’t wanna,” you mumbled. Someone giggled. You opened your eyes, peeking to the side, and saw that it was Wanda. “What time is it?” You asked, flopping onto your back. 

“7 o’clock,” your eyes widened. You got to the tower around 1300 and fell asleep around 1430, you did not mean to sleep for that long. “You’ve had a busy day and we wanted you to rest. But dinner is ready and you need to eat.” That was true. You had a small breakfast due to your nerves and the crackers she got you for lunch. 

“Thank you,” you said, sitting up. “Give me a second and we can head down.” You walked into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face. 

“We are having lasagna,” she told you. You opened your pill container and pulled out an anti-nausea pill, just in case. “We weren’t sure what you liked.” 

“That’s fine,” you stepped out of the bathroom and picked up the beanie on the ground, whipping it off before placing it on your head. 

“I want you to know you don’t have to wear a beanie in front of us,” you shrugged. 

“It’s second nature to wear it,” you told her as you walked out of your room and to the front door. “Most people stare at me and I get uncomfortable. So who lives on this floor?” You asked her as you waited for the elevator. Wanda explained each floor had 4 apartments and a common space to share. Peter, Kate, and America were on your floor.

“But America is usually in Kate’s room. They’ve been dating for a few months.” Cute. You were excited to meet them. When the metal doors opened, the smells hit you immediately. You scrunch your nose, hiding your disgust as you scratch your nose. It was the worst part of chemo. Not the hair loss or the fatigue, your taste buds and sense of smell changed. Going to grocery stores was a nightmare. It was a common side effect of chemotherapy and it would go away once the treatment was over. But now it was killing you especially since you loved cooking. Cooking was a way to communicate when you didn’t know the language or the way to learn about a different culture. It was a beautiful art form and it was impossible to cook when your senses were out of whack. It changed from day to day. Some foods made you nauseous but a week later it was your comfort food. It was annoying. 

Natasha went to hand you a plate but you held up your hand, showing her the pill in your hand. She nodded, placing the plate on the counter. You quickly filled up a glass of water and took the pill. It was the tomato sauce and garlic that were causing your stomach to twist and turn. “Are you okay?” Tony asked. You nodded, filling up the glass. 

“Worst part of chemo,” you smiled. “My sense of smell and taste gets all weird.” You put some salad on your plate and opted out of the garlic bread, which hurt because you loved garlic bread. Tony smiled sadly. 

“We’ll figure it out, kid,” he said, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. It felt a little weird, receiving comfort from a man that was missing your entire life. You placed your hand on top of yours. 

“Yeah, we will.” Morgan wanted to sit next to you. So you sat next to her and Tony and Pepper on the other side of Morgan. Natasha sat in front of you with Bucky next to her. You kept out of the conversation, trying to focus on keeping the food you were eating down. 

“So,” Natasha said, directing the table to you. “Tell us about yourself.” You whipped your mouth with a napkin. 

“Like what my favorite color is?” You questioned with a teasing smile. Natasha rolled her eyes, mumbling under her breath, ‘Great now there are two of them.’ You laughed. “I was homeschooled until I reached college. I double majored in marine biology and mechanical engineering then I got my doctorate in marine biology. I lived on a sailboat for a little bit.” 

“By yourself?” Steve questioned. You nodded, taking the last bite of your salad. You wondered if they noticed your untouched lasagna. 

“Aren’t you a little young to be living on a sailboat and getting your doctorate?” You shrugged. Probably.

“I graduated college when I was 15,” you simply said, cheeks burning at their impressed looks. You didn’t like to make a big deal of your accomplishments because you knew you were lucky to have the resources to accomplish everything. But you didn’t miss the proud smile on Tony’s face. And you smiled back. 

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Cocaine Bear

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~700

Summary: You and Wanda watch a weird movie

A/N: This contains spoilers for Cocaine Bear!! So beware... this is just a short little fluffy thing

Warnings: Fluff and crack 

“Wands, we don’t have to keep watching this.”

“It’s a little…”

Wanda trails off as she tries to find words to describe how ridiculous this movie is. She’s not sure if it’s supposed to be more of a comedy than horror, but she’s struggling to figure it out even as they’re 50 minutes in. She’s finding it hard to be scared and she’s mostly just laughing at the fact that this bear is so doped up it’s attacking people for more drugs.

It shouldn’t be funny, but Wanda finds herself bursting into fits of giggles whenever someone looks so shocked to see a bear just chilling with white dust on his nose while eating his latest victim. She curls up next to you and shakes her head at the idea of stopping. They somehow have an hour left, but now she needs to know how it ends. You decide to humor her and you laugh slightly before just nodding and lying back to watch Wanda more than you watch the movie.

“I don’t know if that much cocaine would cause this, versus just killing him.”

Wanda shushes you gently before snuggling closer to you with a yawn. You shouldn’t even be trying to make sense of this movie, but this is what you tend to do when things don’t keep your interest. You try to rationalize them and usually it’s enough to distract you from the horrible plot. In this case you have Wanda to thank for that and you can’t help but smile as she near cackles as the ‘cocaine bear’ collapses on someone you think is a criminal. It only takes someone dropping their cocaine for it to jump up and swallow the whole thing.

“What is happening?”

As soon as you speak up the bear starts dancing with the poor man that he’d been lying on earlier. You both just watch in silence as the bear who had just been identified as a female, bathes in a shower of cocaine. Your mouth is still hanging open as the movie gets a little sad, but the hunt for the bear that’s run off continues. You shift on the couch and groan as you try and push Boone’s butt out of the way.

“Are they just all arguing while he kicks those cubs?”

You frown in annoyance as one character continues to a greedy asshole while the bear gets another high. You can’t help but roll your eyes at the fact that this bear has done more cocaine than anyone you know. You wonder how many more hits she’ll get before the movie ends. Wanda’s eyes are closed but she’s still listening to the chaos that erupts on screen. You continue to eat popcorn as your wife mostly just rests her head on your lap.

Once the movie’s over you just huff before glancing at the clock with a small smile. You run your fingers through your wife’s hair to see if she’ll stir but she seems very comfortable so you just let her rest.

“That was 90 minutes of my life I won’t get back, but at least I spent it with you.”

You hear Wanda laugh at this and a few seconds later she’s sitting up so she can kiss you. She looks over to Boone to see he’s curled up in a ball at the end of the couch with Fletcher stepping all over him. He grumbles but tolerates his fur sister being annoying, so Wanda turns her attention to you with a smile.

“We can watch something else.”

You’d already been thinking of what movie to watch next at the 20-minute mark of this one. You had an animated movie that you really wanted to watch. It was based off of the series, and you were already searching for it as Wanda reaches over you to pet her cat. As expected, Fletcher steps on your lap to get to her mom and you just smirk before starting The Bob’s Burgers Movie.

“This movie is going to be so much better. I promise.”

Masterlist

[punkeropercyjackson]

Literally cannot put into words how much i hate bisexual Percy Jackson hcs.It NEVER uses guys who're actually good enough for Percy and just narrows in on the ones she hates instead and rightfully so on her part seeing as she's only 18 and they were all grown from the start of the saga and as a young adult too,she shouldn't be dating anyone over 23 with her current age,much less someone who she hasn't actually interacted with when grown as she is now and sorry to have to break it to you but all 'evidence' you use to say she's 'canonically super into men' is taken out of context deliberately

Her describing Ares as 'handsome,i guess' was a backhanded compliment about how he fits so much into male attractiveness standards she finds him offputting and she says 'but wicked' afterwards and 'cruelest,most brutal face she'd ever seen' beforehand which confirms this.Her calling Zeus' expression 'proud and handsome and grim' is a common familial thing said about older family members.She straight up said Mr D is 'not that handsome' and that Hermes nose 'isn't that big' that implies she thinks it makes him ugly.She uses the 'handsome,i guess' line a second time about Annabeth's dad followed by 'for an older guy' so it's canon she dosen't find older men hot.This applies to Apollo too since she never calls his conventional hotness a good thing and instead uses it to emphasize what a loser she thinks he is and that he creeps her out.And for Luke,y'all's 'defitinive proof':The only instence of her implying he's attractive to her is 'not at all handsome' when he betrayed her so any potential crush was lost on her part after the whole college aged man beating on an extremely lonely 12 year old he'd groomed into trusting him incident

The only instance of her showing legit textual attraction to boys is her best friendship with Jason and the most standout example is her being in a dreamy dazed state as she compares him to Superman.I know you guys hyperfixate on the blonde part but the truth is anyone with reading comprehension can tell you his positive and healthy masculinity a la Superman's is what actually made her flustered and there's a reason she never compares him to Luke or Annabeth throught their many interactions,it being Percy dosen't have an actual type unless we count people who treat her well and saying 'she has a thing for blondes' is factually incorrect because her loving Rachel was canon but no blonde crushes except Annabeth were.Another thing that IS canon is that Percy considers Luke's treatment of her to be traumatizing and further proof that adults ain't shit and what inspired her to be better to troubled kids like she used to be than them as we see with Nico and Hazel and her being their punk mentor and pseudo-mom instead of a fascist and pedophile

You're wondering why i used she/her for Percy?Because she's extremely femme trans woman-coded and THAT is a queer Percy you can say is canon since unlike the bi one,official material never referred to her as 'tragically cisgender' so it's free game and more in-character and better writing than using her as a prop to prove how good your faves because look,the objectively best character in the series was drooling over him,you HAVE to love him too!!!Percy's attracted to men but only the ones who actually deserve her,always has been,always will be.Maybe you should stick to Harry Potter and Marauder's Era if you don't like it

[fieldofdaisiies]

Elucien | The Things that Go Bump in the Night

type: drabble warning(s): none word count: ~1.2k words summary: at breakfast Elain and Lucien’s daughter has some questions about the things she heard the previous night, a little afraid her parents were fighting, and of course Nesta and Cassian are present, making it even more uncomfortable; this is inspired by a scene from bad moms

- all rights reserved -

Elain kisses the top of Lucien’s head while she listens to Nesta talk about the Valkyrie training. She has just placed the last basket with freshly baked bread onto the table and a lovely smell lies in the air.

She smiles at her sister, loving how despite being six months pregnant she still does a little bit of training. Lucien’s curls his arm around his mate who is standing next to the chair he is sitting on. Elain leans onto him, her own arm wrapping around his shoulders and she smiles both at what Nesta is saying and at how much she loves her mate. Next to the table, Cassian is swirling young Dalia, Elain and Lucien’s daughter around. He keeps throwing her into the air and catching her again which makes the young girl squeal and giggle joyfully. She spreads her arms, laughing loudly and lands in Cassian’s arms once again. “If you had wings you would be unstoppable,” the tall Illyrian tells her and squeezes her gently to which grins brightly. But then her eyes move to her parents and she pouts. “They look happy, right?” she says with a tinge of sadness in her voice. The corners of her mouth are downcast and gone is the former happiness, the sparkle in her russet eyes vanishing. She brings one hand up and brushes back the red strands of hair that fell into her face.  

Cassian eyes follow the direction she is looking at and he nods his head. “Of course. They look very happy. They are very happy.” He smiles, but there is still a pout on Dalia’s lips which makes him furrow his brows. His heart feels a little heavy at Elain doubting her parents’ love for one another. “Why would you ask, little one?” 

“Because they were fighting last night.” Cassian can hardly imagine that. Yes, he and Nes fight from time to time, but Lucien and Elain…they never do somehow. And Cassian is not the only one who is perplexed about Dalia’s statement. Elain has caught some parts of their conversation and turns, her hand still resting on Lucien’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, why would you think your father and I were fighting?”

Dalia releases a loud sigh, her shoulders lifting and dropping in a dramatic manner. She pouts her lips again and rests her own tiny hand on Cassian’s broad shoulder. “I heard you and daddy in the bedroom last night.”

Colour drains form Elain’s face and her eyes widen so much that her eye-balls threaten to fall out of their sockets. Lucien’s whole body goes rigid, on his face a slightly shocked expression. Wide-eyed, he stares at his daughter, shaking his head little. 

“You kept screaming at him, mummy,” Dalia continues, her lips pursed.

“Oh…” Elain stutters, squeezing her mate’s shoulder, hoping he will help her. But Lucien is lost for words, his body as stiff as a board. Elain curses him internally and swallows thickly, hearing Nesta, who folds a hand over her mouth, chuckle under her breath. 

“Sweetheart…those were happy screams. Not sad ones.”

Nesta can barely contain it anymore, grinding her teeth to not laugh loudly. And the same goes for Cassian. His posture is fully rigid, his eyes trained on the wall behind Elain, fully focused so he won’t break into a laughing fit. “But you punched the wall. Over and over again. It went bump, bump, bump…” Dalia is boxing the air with one hand to make her point clear. “And bump, and bump again, mummy. Almost like a piece of furniture banged against the wall.” Dalia’s eyes widen as well, as she describes the situation in very much detail. 

Colour has returned to Elain’s face, her cheeks and cleavage now bright red and heat probably radiating from her skin. Her finger tips dig into Lucien’s shoulder. 

“I think you might have heard our cat, Dalia,” Lucien comes to Elain’s rescue…or not. He really is not helpful, but it was the only thing he could think of. 

“The cat was sleeping in my bed, daddy. And then you were shouting, mummy. You shouted the bad word I am not allowed to say.” Dalia grimaces, grits her teeth and in a hushed voice she says, “The f-word.”

She is still grimacing when she meets her mother’s eyes, Elain’s face now a beetroot red, a grimace on her face as well. “And you shouted, Gods Lucien, and that over and over again. And you always say that when you are mad at daddy, so you were fighting. I know it.” Dalia rapidly blinks her eyes, waving her index finger around in the air, like she has just discovered the greatest secret. 

A silent chuckle parts Nesta’s lips, but she quickly grabs her glass of water and takes a huge gulp from it, hoping to drown it. In the meantime, Cassian is calling upon every rational part of himself to not laugh, he still stares at the wall, inhaling deep breaths. He can’t look at Elain nor Lucien, and never in the world at his mate who is trying so hard not to laugh. 

Elain’s palm is sweaty and she taps her fingers against Lucien’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, mummy and daddy were not fighting…..We were…we were playing a game.”

“A game where you have to punch the wall?” Dalia furrows her brows again. Lucien is nodding frantically and so is his mate. “Yes, Dalia. It is a special grown-up game,” the Vanserra male says.

Dalia shrugs a little, still unsure if they tell her the truth and are not lying to her about fighting. 

“You played the game seven times,” she says matter-of-factly, lifts one brow and tilts her head to the side. Nesta is now biting the insides of her cheeks and so is Cassian. Who would have thought that about Elain?

A small chuckle slips through Lucien’s lips. “Well, you must know that it is your mummy’s favourite game.” Lucien grins and folds his hand over Elain’s that is still on his shoulder. “She just can’t get enough of it, wants to play it over and over again. Never grows tired. Always begging me to play.”

If her eyes could throw daggers, Elain would do that right now to the back of Lucien’s head. Instead she just digs her nails into his shoulder, her lips forming a mischievous grin. “Oh…” she coos. “Am I really the one to always begs to play? I think we could easily take a break for a few weeks? Months maybe? And then we will see who is the one begging?” Elain leans down and presses a quick kiss to Lucien’s cheek who really wants to flip off his mate. Yet he just grins, loving her and her feisty side just too much. His eyes follow her swaying hips when she walks past him and up to Cassian, taking Dalia from his hold to cuddle her to her chest. “Sweetheart, don’t worry. We really were not fighting. Mummy and daddy love each other so much, there is no reason for you to worry. And we love you so much, please don’t worry, sweetheart.” Elain kisses young Dalia’s cheek who slings her arms around her mother and cuddles her tightly. “If you say so.” She smiles, her nose pressing into Elain’s cheek. “But what game was it?”  

~~~~~~~~ tags: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel@aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop

[sincerely-sofie]

ACT tells Torrent that it’s not his fault— that he’s not a bad Pokémon, but he knows better. He should have known Calypso would never be the one to cause the world such dismay and fear. He should have known Calypso to be kind and sweet at heart. ACT didn’t know her like he did — they have more of an excuse. He was Calypso’s friend — her only friend. The one she trusted the most. The one she opened up to and stuck by his side thick and thin. He was supposed to know her for who she really is. He should have known — it should have been obvious — that Calypso wasn’t a cruel, evil monstrosity that Gengar described.

He believed a flimsy lie from a known liar instead.

Yeah I just. Yeah. 🥲 Torrent will hate himself for all of time for who he chose to believe at that horribly vital juncture. It’s something he’ll carry with him always.

Years down the line, he’s a successful feraligatr who can’t move past the guilt he’s borne for decades. He stops in a small town and decides to look to a restaurant for a meal on the anniversary of his betrayal of Calypso— not to celebrate, Legends and Life, never to celebrate. It’s because he can’t stand the silence of his own kitchen in the face of the memory of his old partner humming nonsense tunes to herself whenever she cooked.

It’s a tiny eatery— fitting for such an out-of-the-way town. There’s a young Pokémon taking orders and waitressing in a busy flurry, and his own order is received with startling speed and accuracy. Her haste doesn’t seem to fit such an empty building— everyone else is out enjoying the festivities that torturously fall on with this wretched date. The Festival of Lights is a celebration of life and hope, and yet Torrent has never felt so dismal. Yet the food he’s served tastes like a friendship he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

The waitress asks if he’d like to meet the chef, her mother— it’s a slow day at the restaurant, and they’re both bored out of their minds, and she’s sure her mom could use the distraction. She always gets really sad this time of year, and a conversation with an interesting stranger would do her some good, she’s certain of if. He agrees, and the pokemon who begrudgingly exits the back of the restaurant, complaining to the waitress about how she needs to mind the dinners she’s making for them, makes Torrent stop short.

She looks so tired. He almost didn’t recognize her thanks to her unexpected evolution, but he’d know those eyes anywhere. Calypso is surprised to see him, but she doesn’t turn tail and run like she used to, and she doesn't threaten him with a fight if he didn’t leave. Instead, she gives him a weary, sorrowful look, and sighs.

“It’s been a while, Toro.” A pause that weighs heavier than stone.

Torrent can’t quite answer her.

“I missed you.”

It’s those three words that makes him crack, and the apologies pour out of him like blood from a wound. Calypso listens to them all, and her face screws up at one point like she’s disgusted with him— but then it’s gone, replaced by that exhaustion Torrent always sees when he looks into the mirror.

“We have a lot to catch up on. I don’t want to waste it on apologies.”

“But after everything that happened—”

“After everything that happened, I’m tired of waiting on apologies I didn’t want to hear. I just want my friend. Let’s move on. I’m sure you did that just fine after you joined Team ACT— so let’s do it again here.”

The words tangle up inside his throat. Tears prick his eyes.

“… Oh.” Calypso’s voice warbles. There’s no tears welling up for her, but he can hear how she chokes on the waver in her tone. “You… You never did move on, did you?”

A pause.

“Good to know. I didn’t either. We can meet each other exactly where we left off, then. There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time now...”

“… I’m sorry, too.”

[givehimthemedicine]

I think we've had "pretty?" all wrong

You know how it's annoying that Eleven is written to randomly care about her attractiveness to Mike as a kid straight out of the lab? I just found a new way of looking at this where it makes so much more sense and doesn't suck.

All the prettys that ever get talked about:

El touches the picture of Nancy and says "pretty".

Mike tells El she looks "pretty. good. pretty good." and she looks in the mirror and repeats it, evidently reveling in the sensation of being deemed attractive by a boy.

Later, missing the wig that had enabled Mike to consider her attractive, she asks him "still pretty?" and he's like "yeah, really pretty!" and she seems relieved.

El piggybacks Billy's memories, sees his mom on the beach, and reports to the rest of the gang that she's a babe.

Pinned down by flayed Billy intent on feeding her to the meat monster, El's thoughts return to how pretty his mom was, and she tells him so, and this somehow saves the world.

But the one I overlooked, because it really doesn't fit with the others in that she isn't referring to a person, is when El runs away to her mother's house. 12 years too late, she enters the nursery room meant to be hers, reaches into her crib and pulls out a teddy bear and says, in a sad little whisper, "pretty."

This is the one that decodes all the others.

Eleven has a poor grasp of language and has been using this word in her own way. Visual attractiveness is a mere pinch of salt in her recipe for "pretty," where the key flavors are good. comfort. happy. safe. normal. soft. home. loved.

That soft happy teddy bear is something that should have belonged to El and comforted her as a little child beginning a normal life. Immediate previous dialogue for context:

Becky: [ Your mother] always believed that you'd come home one day. El: Home? Becky: Yeah, home. El, picking up the teddy bear: Pretty.

The Nancy "pretty" being the first one establishes that it's El's word, not one she got from Mike.

Nancy's prettiness represents normalcy and happiness to El, the kind she worries will never be hers. There were also family portraits including Mrs. Wheeler (who El could've been drawn to as a friendly mother figure) and toddler Holly (who El could've been drawn to as a reminder of her past self) yet she made a beeline for Nancy. This makes me think El's interest in Nancy relates to her hopes for her own future.

Not long after that is the scene where she seeks out Nancy's bedroom and looks with tragic reverence upon the soft comfortable space and belongings of a normal girl, and what it might look like to be loved. I can't think anything is going through her mind except that this is the future that's been denied to her, and wondering if she can or will ever have something like it.

Billy's mom is conventionally pretty, but El is really describing her vibe as warm, involved, happy, loving. I can hear the delivery of "I think she's looking at me" as a bit wistful, as El would like to have a happy nurturing motherlady to look at her that way. (She does know her own mom at this point, but she's catatonic or whatever so they can never really have an interaction like this)

Billy doesn't not kill everybody because El complimented his mom.

El: She was pretty. She was really pretty. And you were happy. (and then she touches his face and it's presumably the only genuinely compassionate touch he's felt in years and he deactivates)

It's right there in the dialogue that El gets through to him by painting a picture of his happiest memory. But I always thought "pretty" seemed like an annoyingly shallow thing to place so much emphasis on here, until I thought about pretty in this context. Pretty + happy are a single concept to both El and Billy.

Billy, to a lesser extent, also had normal childhood stolen from him. Due to his abuse and abandonment he shares El's longing for a mother, safety, warmth and love, and "pretty" spoke to him in a similar way. Watch his face, he's clearly changed before she even adds the happy part. "Pretty" is Billy's Running Up That Hill - it isn't a magic incantation that makes the monster drop dead, but it does give him a moment of clarity that he can use to fight.

So now let's look at those classics again. Although I've always found it endearing on a "lol, linguistically stunted child misunderstands slang" level, I suddenly see a lot more in it.

"You look pretty good." He's talking about her looks.

"Pretty. Good." She's talking about her worth.

Made-over-El stands in the mirror and thinks, here is a normal-looking girl, she is pretty and good, Mike said so. In the wig and dress, she understands herself to be someone else entirely. Mike, who has only recently named her "El, short for Eleven", reinforces this by re-naming her Eleanor while she's dressed like this, even though the name Elle would not have raised Mr. Clark's eyebrows for any reason.

Later when she's on the lam in the woods, she looks at her reflection in the water with and without the wig, and screams at herself because it hurts that the real her isn't "Pretty. Good."

So when she calls back to this, she still doesn't really care if Mike thinks she's attractive, because she only ever thought he meant her definition of "pretty" in the first place.

She's not asking am I good-looking with no hair? She's asking, me, too? the real me? do I belong with nice loved happy soft? and when he gives an enthusiastic yes, look at the little look she gives herself in the mirror. It's not f yeah, a boy finds me desirable. It's maybe there is hope for me.

And the next thing out of Mike's mouth is "I'm happy you're home."

Season 4 gave us one more sneaky one:

El: I am twice as happy now. You are right. It just takes time. I think I have finally adapted. At first I missed all the spring flowers, but now I find it pretty here too.

At this point, El has the life that that hopeful little girl in the mirror dreamed of: normalcy, a home, a mom, a family, a boyfriend, long hair, her own bedroom full of her own stuff and important little mementos like Nancy's. And the gnawing truth is, it still isn't making her happy. But this was the dream, so she's just trying to fake it til she makes it. Pretty here is not just about Hawkins vs Lenora scenery but the sense of home, wholeness and happiness that she's trying to fool both Mike and herself into believing she feels in her new life.

Here they are in order for your evaluation. thank you for your time

[oogaboogasphincter]

Deceits of the Devil (priest!marcus pike x f!reader) | chapter one: the high priestess

series summary: when you find love in a priest, a litany of spooky events begin to follow you that can only be described as a haunting. is it your own guilty conscience that disturbs you... or could it be something else?

chapter summary: you're visiting your best friend in her new town for the first time when you are begrudgingly thrust into her devout way of life. however, something - or someone - makes you rethink your plans of avoiding the church at all costs.

word count/series~chapter-specific warnings: 6.4k+ words // MATURE (18+ ONLY) MDNI!: reader uses she/her pronouns and is incredibly non-religious, SLOW BURN TABOO RELATIONSHIP BABYYY, lots of religious/spiritual talk, horror elements and general spookiness ~ lots of character introductions so pls bear with me, mention of the death of a loved one and some light grief, food and eating mentions, sudden illness, potentially cringe banter, take a shot for every time i wrote 'father pike' in this (trust me we learn his first name soon enough but for now it's all formalities between him and reader), is this whole thing blasphemous? probably

a/n: sooo this is something very different from what i normally write, but i'm so excited to be trying something new! :) i'm not too sure where i want to take this story yet, so i don't have a total number of chapters or an ending planned (i really don't even have much of the plot figured out LMAO) but i'd really really appreciate any and all feedback from my readers! ♥️ let me know what you liked and what you want to see more of in future chapters!

“So I won’t burst into flames when I walk through the doors?” 

You ask your best friend, Lucy, sending her into a fit of laughter. She clutches your hand tighter in hers, squeezing it with pompous affection. Despite your best efforts to maintain your feelings of impartialness towards the church, your palm slips against hers with a sheen of clamminess as you travel closer to the hulking cathedral. 

“No!” She laughs, that breathless laugh you’ve always found comfort in. “You’re holier than most of the people who go every Sunday.” 

You scoff and give her some side-eye, something that just makes her shake her head even more. Whether or not this is how you wanted to spend your first day in Carmeltree visiting her, you are going to this harvest dinner. 

She sighs contentiously, contrasting the playful smirk on her face, “Trust me, you’ll be fine. Now come on, we’re gonna be late!” 

——

Lucy has been your best friend since kindergarten. The maple leaves that swirl around you both in the crisp autumn air as you run through the streets now invoke a fierce sense of nostalgia, one that’s almost painful. One of your first memories together is making leaf rubbings in class with the fallen leaves that blanketed the frosted school grounds. She liked warm colors and you liked cool colors; she liked maple leaves and you liked birch leaves. Two complete halves made an even brighter whole when you came together, and the rest is history. 

Despite the big city you grew up in, somehow you always managed to be in the same classes, share the same hobbies. But your luck had to run out sometime; when you both graduated, you got accepted into universities on opposite sides of the country. You kept up your communication, talking to each other every day and spilling your guts about everything, from the monumental to the regrettable, the joyous to the devastating. 

You thought something was amiss when she called you in the middle of the night a few months back. At first you brushed it off, thinking maybe she fell asleep with her phone in her hand and dialed you by accident, something you’ve both done plenty of times over the course of your friendship. When she called you back as soon as you didn’t answer, you knew there was something wrong. That’s when you learned her mom had passed away. 

It wasn’t sudden, but that didn’t spare her any devastation. You were there for her all day, every day. Consoling her when she wept, relishing in the happy memories that brought a rare but vital smile to her voice, sympathizing with her grief. But without a physical shoulder to lean on, Lucy went looking for more support to help her. 

Her mom was a devout Christian and, by proxy, so was Lucy. She isn’t as rigid in her faith as her mom was, but she always viewed it as a guiding light to betterment, a sturdy foundation to catch her when she crumbled. Luckily, the whirlwind of life events in the past six months that displaced her from her college friends to the small town of Carmeltree was gracious enough to gift her a tight-knit, painfully orthodox population. 

On the contrary, you grew up in a household without any influence of organized religion. Your family celebrated Christmas and Easter, but it was mostly for all of the gifts and chocolate. 

Religious differences never caused any turmoil between you and your best friend, because you love each other for who you are, regardless if you share spiritual beliefs. If praying and attending sermons helps Lucy to process her grief and gives her something that uplifts her soul, what kind of a friend would you be to forbid her from that? 

—— 

That doesn’t make you any more enthused about being dragged to the dinner held at the church to celebrate the autumn harvest. Lucy dropped the plan on you the second she picked you up from the major airport, whose segregating miles seem to swell with every second that passes. Knowing you would come up with an alternative plan you’d both like better, she didn’t give you a chance to back out, and you didn’t fight. Committed to being a good friend, and with a curiosity pricking your heart, you run alongside her through residual puddles as the street clocks chime eight times. 

And let’s get one thing straight - “church” was a dishonorable term for the structure you’re going to. For hundreds of years, since the first round of colonizing settlers that invaded this square patch of disparate land, the citizens have been addicted to worship. They would lend their last cent to their religion, egregiously ignoring their growling stomachs and dilapidated houses for the sake of a prosperous God. The result of this frenzied generosity is the biggest cathedral you’ve ever seen. 

You’re still a few blocks away, but the spires reach over the trees and spear up at the moon; whose craters can be seen with miraculous clarity on this autumn night. As you move closer and closer, the details in this spectacular of gothic architecture reveal themselves. There are a litany of pinnacles that stand like soldiers guarding their fortress and clerestory windows that dance and swish with light coming from inside the maw of the beast. When your eyes drift to angular beams that aid the structure - flying buttresses, if you remember correctly - your marvel is suddenly absent.

“No gargoyles?” you ask. 

Lucy matches your disappointment with a shake of her head, “They come too close to the pagan border.” It’s unmistakable the way she lowers her voice, though there’s only a handful of patrons a hundred feet away from you. 

Against the cloudless, darkening sky and a comically-eerie full moon, anyone would be dosed with at least a few drops of intimidation by the staggering black outlines. You fail to find any ease once you come to one of three entrances. The carvings of ancient tales you don’t know loom over your head in the angular tympanum and greet you with uncertainty. Are they supposed to make you feel welcomed or warned? 

The gigantic doors are swung and held open by their own weight, giving way to the narthex. There’s a singing choir hidden deeper within and their melodies echo all around you. A large chandelier emits a soft orange glow, which is peculiarly swallowed up instead of reflected by the intricate, gilded etchings that coat the walls. Maroon velvet beneath your feet turns into a dark abyss of shadows from the unprecedented amount of people in here. You cling to Lucy’s coat with both your hands, somewhat subconsciously, and she laughs before taking your hand in hers and parting though the sea. 

You’ll admit it, you can be very shy when you’re overwhelmed. Though for some inexplicable reason, crowds usually didn’t give you a fuss. You actually found a sense of comfort in being lost in the blur, blending in as just another body amongst hundreds, sometimes thousands of others. But you didn’t like this crowd, didn’t know these people, and not in a stranger-danger kind of way; you’ve unknowingly crossed the line of some Christians in the past and have dealt with their fiery ravings. From knowing Lucy all these years, you seem to have an understanding of their way of life, but then you slip up - use His name in vain, talk about a crush you have no plans to marry a little too fondly. You’ll be chewing on your third forkful and look up at the table, meeting ghastly stares and wanting to smack yourself in the face for completely forgetting grace. 

Lucy never scorned you about forgetting or misunderstanding the rules. She knew that you didn’t mean any malice, you just simply… thought it was all a little silly sometimes. Between lighthearted Lucys and tyrannical Karens, it felt like walking on a minefield. So, you guess, you do know these people; it’s their unpredictability that worries you. 

The claustrophobia wanes as you enter the nave. The ceiling spreads out, breathes, and is lined with stained glass windows that bend the moonlight into faint rainbows. Some of the outermost pews have been moved to accommodate long tables, adorned in chestnut velour, copper filigree and serve as the throne for only the most impressive squashes of the harvest. A buffet joins the autumnal decor, sitting in sterling silver that you can imagine was forged at the beginning of the century and is used only for occasions such as these. 

Ever atune to your mind and body, Lucy pulls you into the line of hungry patrons just as your stomach grumbles. You’re transfixed by the magnificent altar at the back of this illustrious cave, your eyes climbing up the grand steps of the sanctuary to the stone table where you know the priest stands when mass is held. You try to picture one giving a sermon and reciting from scriptures. Doesn’t he have a cup or something too?…

A plate is stuck in front of you, waving a little, and the priest laughs at you when he finally gets your attention. You take the plate with a little embarrassment, your smile a sheepish one. “Sorry,” you mumble with pity. 

The tall, wispy-haired man smiles with his teeth and places his arthritic hands around one of yours as you hold the plate. “Oh, it’s alright, my child. I myself have gotten lost in the wonders of the cathedral many times.”

Lucy chimes in, reading your awkward gaze. “It’s her first time,” she whispers with a little too much excitement for your liking. The priest puts on a goofy surprised expression, his eyebrows going up and his mouth forming a small 'o'. He looks back to you with a softer smile, “What a beautiful thing to witness, then. I’m Father Gala, pleased to meet you.” 

“There’s no one better to come here with for the first time than Miss Finkle. You’re in very good hands.” As you nod in agreement, you can’t help but wonder… what would this elder man, in his starched and pressed vestments, think if he knew you and Lucy had “practiced” kissing so you’d know what you were doing when the “real thing” happened? 

You wave the thought away like a gnat, not wanting to feel like you’re keeping another clean secret that’s considered dirty by some. You’re already under the guise of being a practicing Christian; Lucy had said they were more readily accepted than anyone else, despite the church’s proclamation of aiming for cultural diversity. 

The choir has ended their singing, replaced by applause then the soft, overlapping chatter of the religious folk, and their red robes merge seamlessly into the surrounding crowd. Three other priests emerge from doors on either side of the sanctuary, two from the door closer to you and one from the other. You don’t get a good look at the singular man, since the door is on the opposite side of the grand hall from you. The two others are deep in talk, gesturing with their hands and keeping their faces close to one another while they walk as to not let anyone eavesdrop. You move ahead in line and depart from the eldest priest, whom the two new faces greet and guide a few feet away from everyone. 

You don’t mean to pry, but you can’t help your curiosity and look back at the men. You can’t hear them, only watching their mouths move, but Father Gala’s sweet smile grows somber, then bitter. With scowling brows to match, the other two priests keep up their gestures laden with well-maintained passion as they tell Father Gala a story. 

In the first lull of this conversation, the eldest priest, with his arms crossed over his chest, flickers his eyes to yours without moving his head. Your heart springs from your chest to your throat. His glower lessens when he bites the inside of his cheek, but you feel a doubling, tripling of stress when the other two priests turn to look at you too. The taller one, with a jet black, scraggly bowl cut, mirrors Father Gala and crosses his arms. He looks down his long nose at you in dignified annoyance. The third, with stocky limbs and strawberry blonde hair, glares at you from his periphery. Your eyes widen, in an attempt to show them you’re not a threat, expose your remorseful guilt, or provide a silent apology, you don’t know.

Lucy snaps you back forward with a gentle push against your back to get you to move in the line. You’ve finally reached the buffet, but suddenly the smells that wandered up your nose in wispy, tempting little tendrils earlier instead worm their way down your esophagus and instill a powerful nausea. She can sense your discomfort, your disorientation from what just happened, and supplies your plate for you. With a protective gaze over your head at the men, and a loving hand on your bicep, she guides you to sit in the pew farthest away from them. 

She has to stick a fork in your petrified fist for you to speak. “What the hell was that about?” You question, chancing a glance over your shoulder at the offending party and see that they’ve gone off to greet guests with friendly smiles again. “I wasn’t trying to listen in, they just looked worried and-“

Lucy pats your knee once, “Don’t worry. There must be some sort of drama happening behind the scenes, something that the town would inquire about. Since they’re priests, they think they have immunity from gossip.” She scoffs lightly and you think you catch your devout friend rolling her eyes at those most holy. “They’ve been acting weird for a while now, off and on. One week, Father Gala is like Mr. Rogers, and the next, he’s Dracula.” 

That earns a snort from you, hiding your smile behind the back of your hand. She gives you a reassuring smile, filled with her signature warmth that’s comforted you all these years, “You’re doing great. Now eat.” 

Thankfully, your nausea has quelled enough that you taste the delicious food as it’s meant to be tasted. Maybe you don’t have to worry about foraging during your stay in this town void of all fast food, only relying on two quaint grocery stores to feed itself. You’ll just have to become friends with whoever made this delectably gooey mac and cheese. 

Lucy interrupts you, “Oh, by the way,” she covers her full mouth and then swallows, pointing daintily, “that’s Father Thorn,” at the tall one, “and that’s Father Angus,” at the blonde one. You nod once in understanding, taking a look at their faces to match their names with, before Lucy turns away with a laugh. She teases under her breath, “Maybe they’re all pissed they could never be as handsome as Father Pike.” 

“Priests can be handsome?” you ask of the mysterious fourth priest, bemused. Priests, deacons, popes and the like all conjure up images of men with wrinkles as delicate and numerous as the pages in the ancient books they abide by. If they’re not a million years old, they’re unsightly at best and possess a visceral lack of sensuality, like Father Thorn and Father Angus. Lucy has got to be pulling your leg. 

“Yes,” she breathes, a soft pink blooming in her cheeks, “and young, and warm, and have a voice that makes every sermon a lullaby, and big, tender hands…” she trails off in a dream.

You let out a laugh, amused by her dramatics. “Oh, so he’s really ugly, then,” you sneer, trying to expose her hyperbole. 

She giggles at your tone, shaking her head. You reign down on her, spurring her giggles on with a barrage of sarcasm until they’re uncontrollable.

“Is that why this place doesn’t have gargoyles, because he can take its place? Does he have leathery skin,” you drag your hands down your face, pulling your cheeks down to expose your eyes, “rotted fangs,” hold your hands by your mouth and snarl your fingers, “hairy feet with long, twisting toenails that tear through his shoes?” You get up and drag your feet along the floor, growling and licking your lips rabidly. 

Lucy doubles over, tears threatening to spill over her eyes every time her lungs have to suck in a breath, “Stop!” She’s wheezing and you drop the act, putting your hands on your hips. 

“Well, you gotta tell me if I’m wrong or not!” Tapping your foot, you await her retaliation, until a voice warm with a smile cuts through the air.

“You forgot the giant rat’s tail that drags behind me.” 

Your heart stops for a second, thumping wildly when it starts up again to catch the missed beats. Turning tentatively on your heel, you’re met with… exactly what Lucy described. 

Before you is one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen, if not the most handsome ever. Chocolate waves that crest over top one another in a cute, slightly overgrown style glisten like ganache on top of his head in the candlelight. He’s got a scruffy beard that’s cut close to his cheeks and jaw, avoiding looking unkempt, threaded with two or three streaks of gray. His aquiline nose is gorgeous, there’s a little dimple in his cheek that deepens as he’s smiling, and his eyes… oh, his eyes…

“I’m Father Pike,” he extends his hand in greeting, keeping his other tucked behind his back. He has to bend forward slightly to reach your height better, aiding your descent into enchanted madness as he gets closer. You take his hand and introduce yourself- GOD Lucy was right. His grasp is light, comforting. Where Father Gala made you feel stuck in his eternal cage, Father Pike sets you free. You fall into a stupor fantasizing about what his hugs must feel like.

He smells like cinnamon. It could be from the pie you suspect he ate, from the apple undertones you detect, but you wouldn’t be surprised if that’s just how he naturally smelled. A warm, cozy, inviting dream; he sure looked like one, at least. 

His gaze lingers on your expression frozen with intrigue before he turns and welcomes Lucy. They begin a polite banter that allows you to stand back and try to quell your blood that throbs with nerve. If you had known someone like Father Pike was going to be here, you would’ve dressed in something nicer, possibly sexy - the modesty expected in a place of worship be damned. You curse yourself for choosing these well-worn jeans and roomy sweater over the opaque tights and a dress of an acceptable length you were going back and forth on in your mirror earlier. But, in an odd sort of way, you still felt exposed in front of Father Pike from underneath all your thick layers. You couldn’t hide yourself from him, no matter how many clothes you armored yourself with. 

He turns back to you, and he doesn’t ogle your nervous body, or try desperately not to; he looks into your eyes with a soft smile that crinkles the skin around those big brown puddles. It makes your chest feel like it has a big, gaping cavity that you could look inside of and see your heart thumping hard, vulnerable blood spilling from all your edges and trickling down your legs. The flustered emotions of a blooming crush rapidly morph into something malicious and parasitic, causing you to put the back of your hand to your forehead that has broken out in clamminess. It’s hard to hear Father Pike over the rushing buzz in your head when he speaks to you.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, are you new?” 

And just like that, your knees start trembling beneath you. Your heart misses a beat, causing your lungs to seize in anger and you suck in a harsh breath. In a flash, Father Pike’s friendliness snaps into genuine concern and he steps forward, taking your elbows and catching you on your way to the floor. You make a startled sound and his timbre slashes through your panic, “Let’s get you sat down somewhere, okay?” 

You can barely muster a nod, tears threatening to spill over your eyes and join the rivulets of sweat on your cheeks. Father Pike more or less carries you by your middle as you pathetically cling to his arms, dragging your debilitated form a short distance to a secluded, abandoned pew by the door he entered from earlier in the evening. Father Pike sits you down and takes the place right beside you, putting his left arm around your shoulders and his right hand in yours. As soon as you’re grounded on the unforgiving wood, your vision stops spinning, even though you didn’t realize it had started. Breathing suddenly feels easy again, returning to its involuntary glory instead of being laborious. It’s like your body resumed its regularly scheduled programming with an invisible snap. 

Away from the hub of the crowd, his voice seems louder, its velveteen quality more clear, “You alright?” 

You take a precautionary, steadying breath before meeting his eyes, fearful that something in him will set off all your alarms again. But when you meet his eyes, everything is serene. “Y-yeah, I’m okay.”

A pause to verify your sincerity, and then he chuckles, trying to uplift the atmosphere with a lighthearted tone, “I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just…”

You laugh, as much as you can muster in your breathless state, “No, no, you didn’t!” He retracts his hand from yours slowly and you instinctively grasp his forearm with a reassuring touch. Once you notice what you’re doing, you let go of him with an embarrassment like he’s burning you. “I- I don’t really know what happened, all of the sudden I just felt… sick.” With your confession, a wave of nausea infiltrates your stomach and makes you feel a little queasy again. It’s climbing to its previous intensity quickly. The fossilized church feels like it could cave in on you at any moment. 

Father Pike touches your shoulder softly, “I’m going to go get you some water, okay?” You nod and the waning gleam in your eye sends him swiftly disappearing into the crowd. 

A decent number of paces away, an older woman looks at you with fear as Lucy speaks to her, no doubt explaining your abrupt qualm. Drawing any more attention than you already have will just worsen your panic, so you thwart the drama. You raise your hand at her with a thin-lipped smile to deter her worry and she places her hand over her heart with a happy sigh before walking away.

Father Pike reappears behind Lucy and drifts by her with your drink clutched tight in his hand. Lucy’s eyes flit from the priest’s chivalry to your shy, measly form and she raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth with a scoffing smile. You could read your best friend’s face better than written word: she thinks that you’re doing this on purpose to get the Father’s attention. 

You wish you could say you were reeling him in with salacious spite, however, you were anything but. Your illness was true and unforgiving. You shake your head at her in defiance, but you can tell she doesn’t buy it. She turns away to busy herself with the rest of the party, but really she’s intending to give the two of you some privacy from the wink thrown over her shoulder. With a roll of your eyes, you think about how you’ll have to defend yourself with a foolproof case under her gavel later tonight. 

Father Pike retakes his seat next to you, handing you the bottle of water, unopened, that your puny fingers struggle with. Kindly, he offers his hand and you pass over the bottle for him to open. He hands it back to you and sits hunched over his lap, hands clasped between his open legs, staring at you intently as you take a few slow sips. You feel a little awkward, looking down at the bottle in your hands and fidgeting with the wrapper on the outside, so you take a note from his book and try to lighten the mood, “I knew I wasn’t a big fan of parties, but I didn’t know I was this bad.” You chuckle dryly, risking a glance at him. It works: he’s laughing with you. 

“I’m not a big party person, either,” he smiles, his dimple creasing within his beard. You raise an eyebrow at him, a little befuddled by his statement, given he inserts himself into the lives of others for a living. He takes your hint, “I enjoy talking to people, giving sermons and all of that… but even this feels a little overwhelming for me.” You nod, finding comfort in the fact that you’re on the same page. He keeps that endearing smile with a measuring eye as he continues watching you, looking from the crease of your brow to how your legs squirm uncomfortably. 

There’s something about this man that makes you feel… transparent. Like how you felt exposed to him earlier, even underneath all your coarsely knitted layers. You feel like a fraud, sitting next to one of the holiest figures in the entire congregation. And for some reason, out of all of the people here, you feel that he deserves the truth. There’s nothing about him that has given you any indication that he won’t turn on you like the rest would if you confess to your disguise, but at the same time… he makes you feel safe. Of course, he just recovered you from some undisclosed blight, but you can write that off as convenience. You were sick, he was right there, certainly he would’ve tended to you. There must be some moral code within the priesthood to never let a sick person lie. But even before that, putting aside his obvious handsomeness, there was something in his eyes that held you. Let you know that it was all okay. You decide to ply him with honesty. 

“Um… so, I’m not very religious. Like, at all.” Your voice is a little shaky, worried if his nice-guy facade will finally melt away to reveal a sneering orthodox. He doesn’t seem to have a reaction, so you keep going. 

“So, if I’m not religious, and I’m drinking this, does that mean…” You trail off in question, and he doesn’t understand what you’re getting at. 

“It’s holy, right?” You raise the water. 

Father Pike looks like he can’t believe what you just asked. He shakes his head in amusement, void of condescension, leaning the slightest bit closer towards you. He lowers his voice slightly, protecting you from any invasive ears. He softly explains, “Just because it’s water in a church doesn’t mean it’s holy. A priest or some other figure has to bless it.” His smirk deepens at your visible relief, “You’re not sinning, or anything near it. You’re perfect.” 

He said you’re… what? Your heart skips again but this time it’s not from sickness. Well... is it sick to be attracted to someone who is virtually untouchable? You get to thinking; you know enough about the church and its inner workings to know that priests usually take a vow of celibacy. Consequently, most never date or get married. Does that mean… are they barred from all things sensual? Are they allowed to tenderly brush their fingers against someone else’s, and not for the purpose of prayer? Can they share a glance that lingers a little too long for it to be considered chaste? Can they… can they even think about anything remotely sexual? 

There’s no way that can be true. You can understand physical celibacy, sure, but it’s impossible for one not to have a thought that makes them quiver at least once in their life. In your own experience, sensuality sometimes has nothing to do with sex. You’ve felt the warmth of eroticism lying under the sun’s rays in the middle of spring, savoring a delicious meal, when you finish a book with a satisfying conclusion. If Father Pike starves himself of such pleasures, you can’t fight the pity that chokes you. 

“What if they have priests at the packaging plant?” You joke, hoping to simultaneously break the silence that has swelled between you two and put a wedge in your brain’s cogs so they’ll stop churning. 

Father Pike laughs, genuinely from his belly, and oh you could get used to that sound. His eyes crinkle at their corners with a grin, “Then the church would be thrilled at our outreach.” 

You go to take another sip of your water, but his hand comes out to touch yours. The impossible delicacy almost makes you flinch. He puts gentle pressure on your skin, making you stop in your tracks. He shifts closer to you, his voice dropping an octave, warning you, “I’d be careful though; there is a possibility that you could grow rotted fangs and hairy feet, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Your fluttering nerves make your laugh squeak out of your tightened throat, louder than you intended, in a bark. Slightly mortified, you hide your smile behind the hand that isn’t suspended in the air by Father Pike. With mercy, he releases you. 

“What about a rat’s tail?” You ask with a teasing glint in your eye. 

He ponders for a moment, comically deep in thought. “That only affects the most sinful of us,” he reveals. 

...What? That was flirty, right? It had to be flirty. There’s no way he didn’t mean it to be flirty. Your imagination can be very active at times, but there was no mistaking the twitch of his mustache to repress a smirk. 

Trying to ignore the furious heat that has instantaneously kindled between your thighs based on that singular tone change, you latch the bottle to your mouth and avert your eyes elsewhere. Out of your periphery, you think you see Father Pike’s shoulders droop and his gaze lower to the ground with a silent huff. Shit, did he take your silence as a blow to his humor? 

You can’t think too much now because the clocks outside in the streets resound ten chimes. Lucy appears and her beaming at the two of you seems to rejuvenate Father Pike a little. He straightens his back before he stands and they begin talking, shaking hands. Their mouths spew unintelligible babble to you as your entire nervous system is locked on one thing: Father Pike’s back. His gorgeous personality had swept you up and away into a cloud of bubbly giggles and blushing cheeks that you hadn’t noticed what he was wearing. Maybe if the robes had made a greater impression on you, they would’ve served as a reminder to restrain yourself from dreaming about the forbidden, but alas. 

Father Pike is dressed identically to the other priests: black clerical shirt, cassock, pants, and shoes, and a white tab collar. But he wears everything so much better. The garments are majorly obscured by the enveloping cassock, but even the thick, flowing fabric can’t hide the broad width of his shoulders. When he gestures with his hands, you can see the muscles move dreamily in reaction by the flickering candlelight. He’s tall, and this fact is only emphasized as you continue to sit motionless on the pew watching him and Lucy. 

When he turns with a hand outstretched to help you to your feet, you bite your lip with ravenous desire. Somehow you didn’t notice - probably because you were too enthralled with everything else about him - how his Adam’s apple sits on glorious display with the white tab collar as its pedestal. The tempting image makes you swallow hard. God, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. 

“Time to get going,” Lucy says, motioning from behind the Father’s back for you to take his hand. You do and stand, drifting to the front of the church on autopilot. It feels like the calm quiet of your time with Father Pike and the chummy, sociable atmosphere of the dinner has dissipated and a sense of urgency has taken root. The friendliness remains in the goodbyes and promises of meeting again you hear all around you, but you’re definitely being ushered out with the rest of the herd. You guess, remembering a tidbit about religious folk, that they have a curfew. 

It feels like you’re being ripped away from Father Pike and you don’t like that. Although you’ve only known him for all but two hours - which sounds ridiculous when you put it like that - you’re desperate to know more. You’d find genuine, complete contentedness in simply watching him go about his daily activities. Recording what details he decides to give you privy to and admiring his boundaries when he reserves himself. He’s the first possibility of a new friend in this conservative township and you don’t want to let him go. 

You’re grateful that he ghosts your back as Lucy leads you to the entrance, it gives you comfort and makes this dream last as long as it can. You don’t sense just how close he’s following behind you until you get to the heavy front doors and the toe of his shoe snags on the heel of yours. It makes you trip and fumble forward, but Father Pike reaches to catch you. His hands grip your waist, molding your oversized sweater to your body. Then, he gently steadies and pulls you back upright. The foreign sensation of your flattened heel tickles your foot and sends you stumbling back into his chest. He looks down at you, his hands still on you, “I-I apologize.”

Through the darkness you see the tips of his ears glow red. Before you can say anything in return, he renders you speechless by getting on his knees. Without a word spoken, moving in tandem with implicit choreography, you lift your foot up so he can fix the heel back into place. He doesn’t give you the choice of wobbling on your lonesome, placing one of your hands on his right shoulder to keep you balanced. And god, you wish he hadn’t done that. 

Your lips part as your breaths gain some weight, but you snap your oblong mouth shut when you hear an ancient, warbly voice. “Oh, no, what have we here?” Father Gala teeters over just as Father Pike finishes retying your shoe. Imperceptibly, you squeeze his shoulder in reverence as he stands up and then you let your hand fall innocently to your side. 

You shrug, giggling a little uncomfortably, “Father Pike stepped on the back of my shoe, it was an accident.” 

“Young and clumsy,” Father Gala jokes, you think, with a grumbly tone. He claps a hand on Father Pike’s left shoulder with more effort than you thought the old man could muster. As Father Pike steadies the elder priest’s cane, you reason he more so fell into Father Pike than anything else. Your favored Father chuckles with accountability. 

Father Gala passes off his cane for a moment to take your hand in his two, like he did when he gave you the dinner plate earlier this evening. Clearly the party has tired him out; his hands are quivering and his back is permanently bent at an angle. “Peace be with you,” he croaks with cheerfulness, despite his withered voice. 

You freeze. You know you’re supposed to say something back to complete this exchange and from the innermost depths of your brain you think it should be a simple phrase, something that any ardent Christian would remember. Between your disinterest in the church and the Father Pike fog that has eclipsed your mind, you’re dumbfounded.

An angel appears in your midst and comes to your rescue: Father Pike, peering into your eyes over the shoulder of the crouched figure before you, mouths the words silently, “And also with you.” 

“And also with you,” you recite amicably. Father Gala smiles, pats your hand twice in delight and turns to give Lucy the same departing sentiment. You release the air of worry you held inside and take a few steps to meet Father Pike, whispering close by his side so only he will hear, “Thank you.” 

The handsome Father closes your height difference by leaning down and pretends to brush some invisible dust off of your shoulder, an excuse to be this close to you. 

“Don’t mention it. Your secret’s safe with me,” he murmurs. 

And you trust him to keep his promise. Sure, he could go behind your back and spill your lies to the other priests, the entire community, let them know that there’s a rat infiltrating their congregation. 

The mischievous sparkle in his gaze as he looks at down you, biting your lip to suppress your giggle and keep your little inside secret just that, tells you he won’t let one word slip. 

Father Gala has returned for his cane, so Father Pike clears his throat and stiffens himself. Clasping his hands together, he builds an appropriate distance between the two of you before anyone sees it was anything otherwise. 

The night winds have picked up, biting at bits of exposed skin with a malevolent appetite. To shield the older priest, Father Pike guides him back into the cathedral. “I hope to see you two back soon,” the handsome Father interjects as you’re turning to leave. 

“We’ll be here Sunday!” Lucy shouts over an unnatural gust that howls and warbles her voice. With one arm over each other’s shoulders, holding tight together, you begin the trek back to her house to take refuge for the night. Behind you, you hear the cathedral doors shut, sealing you off from a final parting glance to Father Pike. You aren’t too disheartened by that and the cold can’t gnaw at your heart, either; Sunday is only two days away and you can’t contain your excitement. 

—— 

The whole night has felt like a whirlwind. To your complete and utter surprise, visiting the church is no longer seems like it’ll be a chore, but rather an opportunity. For what, you’re not exactly sure just yet. But you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks and skirting down your spine at the infinite possibilities. Maybe you should start praying for your salvation now.

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SUGAR BABY AU

Ch.3 Blind optimism

Characters in this series: Reader, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Carol Danvers, Darcy Lewis, Maria Hill, Kate Bishop, Pepper Potts, Valkyrie, Shuri

Summary: The one where you’re forced to socialize, your favourite mug is held hostage, and you just can’t see eye to eye with Darcy.

Warnings: age gap relationships, sugar mommy/sugar baby relationships, swearing, aggression, cheating, all story is gonna be +18, you are responsible for your own ass. 

Word count: 6174

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my beloved friend, legend, amazing hair cut girl, bike riding icon, and the best horse trainer in this world. You are the kill leader of my life, and I love you a lot. It's a little early, but happy incredible birthday!

Thanks to @charturnus for editing, helping to write and posting this fic.

Previous chapter

CHAPTER 3

“Can I help you?”

 Soft and soothing, that's the way you would describe her voice if anyone would ask, but nobody did, so let's move on. You try to find anything to say that would take you out of this “deer caught in the headlights” moment, not daring to take more time to let the silence linger. You straighten out your posture trying to physically take up more space, trying to show any ounce of confidence in this really not confidence allowing, environment that your day created for you. 

“Actually yes. Would you like to talk about our lord and saviour Jesus Christ? The one and only, who can save us from the pits of hell that humanity is running into with this whole LGBT propaganda, women trying to have rights, not being chained to the kitchen madness.” She looks confused which gives you the upper hand, at least that's what you think until she gives you this cocky but proud smile which catches you off guard, and now you are the confused one. 

“You must be y/n. It's really nice to meet you. I’ve been looking forward to it.” She takes a step back to let you into your own apartment and sticks her hand out towards you to get an actual greeting. You go in and take off your shoes, only using your heel and toes for it. You don't put the bags down, and you don't engage in the physical contact that the redhead is waiting for. You look up at her, and you appreciate the much better lighting than the one in the café, because right now you can actually see the depth in the colour of her eyes. You’ve never seen eyes like that, and it's deeply interesting. As much as you want to go into this, inside of your head, on an intellectual journey about why people have different eye colours and if their lifestyle can change the outcome of that colour. But it’s not the space or time for that, so you force yourself back into the present, to the woman standing with her hand outstretched. 

“Yeah it's me. And all day I was looking forward to getting a shower, so excuse me.” You don't even give her a chance to respond as you move swiftly around her and disappear deeper into the apartment, quickly walking into your room. You feel a little bit awkward and embarrassed, but your priority is your mental state right now, and you need to wash the day off of your body. 

After putting everything in place and taking a shower which took you around 30 minutes, because you are not trying to get Darcy mad, she is terrifying when she is mad, you pull some outfit together and go to the living room where you hear everybody chatting. Classic loose mom jeans and a sentimental flannel fit you nicely, not showing too much of your skin, but still not making you a nun. 

As you walk in, you throw a loud “hi guys,” in the direction of the sitting area, and go straight to the kitchen which is connected to the living room by the island. Maria immediately stands up to hug you, and she’s never too shy to show care through physical touch. It makes a lot of sense since it's her love language.

You hug her back with just as much force as she does, and as she is going back to where she was sitting, you take a non-alcoholic cold beer out of the fridge. 

“We have wine if you are interested.”  This voice is also new to you, but this one is a little bit deeper. It's flowing through the room and if you wouldn't have any control over yourself, like your flatmates, you would probably have goosebumps all over your body. 

“She doesn't drink, this bitch is in the sober club.” Darcy answers for you, clearly a little bit pissed that you didn't say hi before the shower, but you hear the little hint of teasing in her voice. 

“That's interesting. Why?” Another new voice makes you turn around and lean on the kitchen island. Just then, you take in the whole picture in front of you. The biggest couch is occupied by Carol and Darcy sitting between her legs. Carol's hand is intertwined with your friend's and as much as you will never admit it, the lovesick look on your friend's face is making you really happy and glad that she found someone like Carol. In the big chair on your right there is a new figure, a really elegant woman you have never met before, but in some way her face is familiar. Her strawberry blonde hair is put into a tight ponytail, and it makes her features look really sharp. Her business outfit brings out the seriousness in her, but a fancy, colourful drink with a big piece of grapefruit levels it out to a neutral position. She has a hard demeanour with a really warm, friendly smile. You are aware that on the left side of the room, on a smaller couch, sits Maria with the two women you recognize from the café. Without making direct eye contact with them, in the corner of your eye you can say that your flatmate is throwing herself at them, which they don't seem to mind. The woman that greeted you at the door is on her left with her hand in Maria's hair, the woman on her right is less shy, freely grabbing her exposed thigh. You are pretty sure that they both are looking straight at you, but you are putting your attention to answer the question. You hop smoothly onto the kitchen counter and lean back for the beer glass. Taking a long sip, you think of an answer while looking at the woman in the chair. 

“What’s interesting is the fact that people always ask why I don’t drink. I mean, if I were to tell you that I don't eat carrots nobody would question it, but as soon as it's about the alcohol people ask why. Social constructs, I guess. But about why, I was diagnosed with ADHD at the beginning of the year.” You casually explain. 

“And you can’t drink while you take your medication?” The same deep voice turns your attention to the left. They seem to be really interested in what you're saying. Their focus on you is razor sharp. 

“I can and I did. I mean, you probably shouldn’t and my psychiatrist doesn't recommend it, even if I didn't have any bad reactions to drinking. It was a good enough excuse for me to stop. I don't enjoy getting drunk either way, and since I'm always sober, I can at least be the DD.” She seems confused, but Carol makes sure to fill her in as soon as you are done talking.

“Designated driver. One person always agrees to not drink, so everybody can get home safely.” Redhead nods in acknowledgement, and Carol lets go of Darcy to allow her to stand up to refill their drinks. 

“Did you bring the whisky?” It's Darcy's favourite kind and the only thing she orders while visiting you at work. You have to admit that it's a really nice 12-year-old blended, scotch whisky, and the only thing you miss since you stopped drinking. Without answering her, you jump off the counter and leave the living room to grab two bottles from your room. As you bring them back, she already prepared glasses for everybody to try. While she fills them up, she starts speaking.

“Y/n this is Pepper, Pepper Stark. She is the CEO of Stark tech company. She is also in the middle of writing an incredible book.” She introduces you as she hands the drink to the woman on the chair. Her name gives you an idea of why she seems familiar. Tony Stark teaches at your ex's university. You heard so much about him that you feel like you were attending his course yourself. Cold but creative, a leader but a dickhead, the list goes on and on. Adding up all you know from Shuri and other students, you can assume why she divorced this talented bastard. The news made it out to be a massive deal when she overtook his company. But Stark tech has never been better than under her leadership. 

“Nice to meet you, y/n.”

“Likewise.” You nod at her from a distance. You have a lot of respect for powerful, successful women. 

“This is Natasha and this is Wanda.” They don't bother standing up, so you don't move from your position waiting for Darcy to give you more information. 

“They are the co-owners of a law company. Wanda is an amazing lawyer with a Smith Award and Natasha is a CFP designated financial adviser.” You nod at them, completely unamused. 

“That's impressive.” It’s not. “ Nice to meet you both, I’m y/n.” 

“I think we already know each other, sugar.” Natasha says, and you can't help but be curious about where she finds the audacity. Her eyes are fixated on you while her hand stays on Maria’s thigh, but travels a little bit higher. You can't help but watch and think to yourself…. What the fuck. This whole situation is rather weird, but your roommate definitely enjoys the attention. You on the other hand feel like they both are trying to dominate you, and you are about to put it to stop, but before you can say anything, Wanda is already speaking. 

“We hope you enjoyed your cold brew. I bet it felt nice to not have to pay for your own coffee for once.” You don't even need a second to think. You grab your wallet from your back pocket, take out a 20 dollar bill and put it on the coffee table in front of Wanda, all without taking your eyes off of her. 

''You can keep the change.” This definitely pulls a reaction out of your friends. They know how much you work and how much you are struggling with finances. Trying to earn money to publish your poetry and to stop worrying about staying afloat every single month. You return to your place next to the kitchen island, not paying attention to Wanda’s or Natasha’s reaction. 

''y/n that’s not what she-'' Darcy starts speaking but is soon cut off by Wanda defending her motive. 

''That's not what I meant, baby.” Honestly, what is it with strangers and pet names? They see you for the first time and definitely feel too comfortable with their approach. 

“With all due respect, I went there just to support my friend, to watch over her in case it turns out that both of you are some creepy, thirsty, questionable individuals. I didn’t ask you to pay for it.'' 

“They were trying to be nice, y/n. That's it. Calm down.” Maria tries to settle you down, feeling uneasy in this situation. 

“Well in that case I really appreciate it. Please don’t do it ever again, thank you.” This situation is straight out of some Bruce Wayne shit. 

“Y/n! Are you okay?” The room went weirdly silent. Yes, you got a little bit heated, but you weren't even yelling or arguing. 

“Yeah. Why?” Darcy is on her feet immediately, same as Wanda. That confuses you even more. 

“You’re bleeding.” The redhead stands right in front of you with those green big eyes and all you think about is getting out of her reach. Just then, you look down, and your beer is stained red. Your hand travels immediately to your nose, finding out that you have a full on nose bleed. 

“Shit. Yeah, I'm okay just, shit… just give me a second.” You say quickly and if the whole attention wasn’t on you, people would’ve miss what you said. Someone goes after you, you can feel the presence behind you. 

“Fuck.” Just as you see yourself in the mirror, you get an idea of why their reaction was as big. Blood is literally dripping from your nose, it's not a light one either. As you lean above the sink trying to use cold water to minimize the damage, you hear the voice behind you. 

“Let me help. You have to-” 

“No, thanks, I got this.” Wanda won't let go that easily. 

“Baby, I'm just trying-” 

“Do you use nicknames on all strangers you meet?” You can't help but bite back, it makes you feel uncomfortable. She ignores your question and tries to move your flannel out of the back of your neck. You jump at her touch, not in a good way. Her hand is cold from the drink she was holding, and she is too close to you. 

“I don’t need your help.” Your hand is red, half of the sink stained, and the blood doesn't seem to stop coming any time soon. Before she can try to make a move one more time, the bathroom door opens with force. 

“Sit your ass down, and pinch your nose right above your nostrils.” Darcy is stern in her voice and right when you think about telling her off she continues. 

“I'm not going to tell you twice. Sit your ass down, or I'm going to yell for Carol, and she is going to make you.” You look at her in the mirror in front of you. She stands tall, arms crossed at her chest, while she is holding something green in one hand. Wanda is still in the bathroom with both of you, she looks surprisingly concerned about this whole situation. Darcy is not backing down and for your own sake you are sitting down on the toilet cover. 

“Always so fucking stubborn. Hold this.” A bag of frozen peas lands on the back of your neck, almost making you jump. 

“I got this.” Wanda chimes in and as you are about to argue, Darcy's look makes you stop. Coldness travels down your spine and your head feels light because of the blood loss. It happens often, but not as bad as this one. Your friend leaves, and as you are left with Wanda, all you want is to avoid unnecessary conversations. 

“Does it happen often?” Seems like you can't avoid it. 

“No.” 

“Darcy says it does.” 

“Then why do you ask?” For just a second she looks sad, and you realize that you act a little bitchy. 

“Sorry, it's just annoying.”

“It's okay, thank you for apologizing. Your friends say that you overwork yourself a lot. Is that the reason it's happening?”

“No. No, it's not.” 

“Then what is it? Her concern seems fake, or needed as a social expectation of the situation. You don't know why, but it makes you feel sick, or maybe it's the headache that's coming.

“Cocaine.” By her expression you can see that she is shocked but tries to be as casual about it as she can. 

“She’s kidding.” Darcy is no fun. She returns to your side and kneels in front of you, taking your head into her hands. As she makes sure you are okay, she tells Wanda to take off the bag, and you are surprised when you feel her drying your skin with a towel, after the ice melted. 

“Go lie down. And no working y/n. No essays, no school, no working. I mean it.” You laugh at her and thank both of them for help. After cleaning yourself up, you don't bother going to the living room anymore, and you disappear in your sheets. 

You wake up some time later with a full on headache. Naps are the worst thing that can happen. You never felt good after taking one. You put on a jumper and take a look at the time. It's dark outside and the clock shows 1am. You couldn't be more grateful for that. If that was 4am, you probably wouldn't go to sleep anymore. Since it's relatively early, you can still catch a couple of hours of sleep. Priority now is taking care of your headache.

The apartment is really quiet. As you move smoothly through the hall, you pay attention to the shoes mess at the entrance. Pepper is not here, but it seems as though Carol and two redheads are still in your apartment. Also, Kate still isn't back. Her room is open and as much as you would love to spare her the pain of the conversation that awaits, it's killing you that she still isn't aware of what happened. Even the worst of the truths is better than lying. 

It’s dark, soft light comes from your bedroom behind you and the living room in front of you. Darcy's doors are closed, which means that Carol is probably staying the night, it's not unusual. You just don't understand why they would stay here when they have like five other houses to choose from. You are surprised to see the living room occupied. On one of the stools, you can see Wanda finishing up a glass of red wine. Her lips are a little bit stained because of it, and the soft light coming from the candle brightens up her face, bringing out all the features. Her jaw looks really sharp, and you can't help but think that rich people definitely put too much money into fixing up unimportant things about them. It would be amazing if that kind of operation would work on personalities too. As soon as she sees you, she puts down her glass and straightens her posture, probably trying to dominate you. It's too late for that, and you are too tired to play her game, so you don't acknowledge her presence. 

“How are you feeling, y/n?” She asks as you enter the kitchen to fish inside the cabinet for your favourite tea and your mug. You stay silent, trying to pretend that you didn't hear her worried voice, flowing through the empty kitchen. 

“Y/n?” She tries again, her voice is softer now as you are about to run away. She thinks you are weak. At least that's what you are telling yourself. 

“I feel thirsty.” You search the inside of the cabinet trying to navigate through a million types of cups, mugs and glasses, thinking why do you need so many. You hear her subtle laughter, and god nobody made you that confused with their reactions, confused and annoyed. You swear under your breath, not finding your favourite green mug in the place it should be. The dishwasher is open and empty, and all you can think of is searching the house to find your comfort object. It's a gift from your brother, and everybody knows not to touch it, so who in the hell would-  it's like a lightbulb being turned on above your head. You turn around with so much power, scanning the surroundings in front of you. You spot your mug standing next to Wanda, and she catches that.

“Oh, that's what you’re looking for?” She makes it sounds like a question, but her smirk is nothing else but an invitation to her game, in which you are not planning to participate. As you let out a loud sigh, you go around the kitchen island to grab it. At the same time she turns around on the chair following your movement. You are not going to ask for it back, just as she didn't ask if she can use it. Is it normal for people like them to just take what they want? 

“Oh, you want it?” Honestly, you can help but think, “is she dumb?”.

“No, actually I came over to leave it where it is, I just wanted to see it up close.” Sarcasm is dripping from every word you say. Your sentence is coated in it hoping that she will get the message. 

“It or me?” 

“Oh get over yourself” You reach to her left, the mug is almost in your hand, but she is faster. She snatches it into her hand, drinks the rest of the water she had in it, and lifts it up to have it out of your reach. 

“Why would I? I enjoy it too much.” Your eyes are fixated on hers, the green colour sparkles with golden flakes in dimmed light. Her left hand keeps her stable by holding the counter. Your eyes are going lower, following the movement of her body. Her jacket falls lightly to the sides as she opens her legs in front of you. She wants you to reach for it. It feels like you have to work for your own property. 

“Of course you do. Does the lack of manners come in a rich, self-indulgent package?” It seems like she is too mighty to have people talking to her that way. As much as you adore Carol, her friends are not your favourite kind of people. While she takes a second to react to the boldness of your statement, you use this moment to your advantage. You grab her free wrist and pull it into your direction, causing her to lose balance and fall forward. To avoid an actual fall, she grabs anything to regain control, and the closest thing to her is you. Her hand falls right onto your waist. As being just in your pyjamas, a basic t-shirt is not helpful when her cold palm digs into your side. The whole situation takes like 5 seconds, and you can't react fast enough to get out of her grip. You find yourself in an awkward position. Her face is too close to yours, as she gasps you can feel her breath on your skin. It's also cold, you assume it's because of the wine she was just drinking. It has to be an expensive kind, too, because you can't smell sulphur in her breath. Instead of actually letting you go, she seems to fight herself not to bring you closer. You can't figure out what kind of game she is playing, but you refuse to give her the upper hand in whatever this is. You get closer to her, your lips barely inches apart, her breath hitches, and before she can make any move she hears you whisper.

“Let me go.” The realization of what she is doing comes on her really fast, and she looks almost scared. The proximity of your bodies allows you to grab the mug at the last second and as she lets you go, you return to the kettle. You notice that the air in the room feels thick, so you make a mental note of opening a window before returning to your room. Trying to salvage your grip on the situation, you decide to change the topic, not mentioning that you are already convincing yourself that nothing happened.

“So!” That brings her attention towards you. The steaming green mug in your hand feels like a trophy. 

“Where's your wife?” You take a sip, trying to sound natural and casual. It's after 1am, and you are in the kitchen, with a stranger, wearing a t- shirt and underwear as your pyjamas, after the two of you were in a really uncomfortable position. Bringing her wife up right this moment feels like an excellent idea. 

“How do you know she's my wife? Maybe we are just partners.” The glass of wine returns to her hand, and you have to admit that it suits her. 

“Your ring. Both of you have matching ones, yours was corrected into a smaller size, family heirloom I assume.” Wanda looks like she waits for you to continue, so you do. 

“It's 2 different kinds of gold. The original one is warmer, more coppery and less yellow in tone, it's called Hamilton Gold. When you had it resized, they used a different kind of gold for soldering.” For a second, she looks down at her own hand, and she doesn't look back up at you before taking another sip of her wine. When her eyes meet yours, the only thing you can read in them is amazement. 

“Oh, don't look at me like that. I have hobbies.”

“It's surprising that you have time for hobbies. You know, with your schedule.”

“Careful, you’re making it sound like you think you actually know me.” It seems like on every corner of the conversations you have something new for her. You are brutally honest, sarcastic, even rude sometimes and too stubborn for her liking. 

“You don't like me, do you?” Before you have a chance to even think about an answer, your conversation is interrupted by the other redhead. 

“Hi rodnaya. Sorry it took so long. I just need a glass of water, and then we can go.” Natasha comes up to her wife and kisses her on the cheek. Wanda smiles at that immediately, and you are trying to read them. They seem happy, what would they even look for anything else, are they playing a part in front of you? Or maybe they are just bored in life? You take in the view in front of you. Wanda's lips are even more stained than before, and it seems like Natasha got an imprint of that from her kiss. Just a second ago, you were just as close with her wife, it doesn't feel right. A shiver goes down your spine, but you decide to have this mental fight later. Natasha is a little bit taller than Wanda. Their eyes are similar in colour but have completely different natures. It reminds you of a lake and the ocean, both blue but at the same time totally different. Their hair colour is also different, and Nat’s hair is shorter than her wife’s. As you take your eyes off of their faces, you realize that her outfit that was so well put together before, is absolutely ruined. Her shirt is wrinkled, you are pretty sure that her fly is open, and her pants seem to have been put on in a hurry. You thought about possible reasons for it and, God, you wish you didn't. Maria likes to have fun, and she for sure wouldn't pass on this kind of opportunity. Before creating unwanted images in your head, Wanda’s voice takes you out of your thoughts.

“Oh, don't worry, I had a glass of wine and amazing company.” By the last bit, they are both looking at you. It's two versus one, and you don't like those odds. 

“Well, I'm glad you did. Thank you, y/n, for taking care of my girl.” 

“No worries, there are just a hundred other things I would rather be doing.” It's late, you are tired, and low on blood. These are perfect conditions for bitchiness. Luckily, they are not asking more and not picking up the topic. As Wanda finishes her wine and sends a fast text on her phone, you are getting ready to go back to bed. You are stopped in your tracks by a hand reaching into your direction. 

“Here. If you ever have more gold fun facts or feel the need to talk about our lord and saviour, call us.” A nicely printed business card contains Wanda’s and Natasha’s names, followed by two phone numbers. You look at her with a fake, softish smile.

“I’ll call you, if I ever need a lawyer. Thank you.” You nod at her and Natasha and while feeling their eyes on you, you throw the card into the bin. Your methods might be a little brutal, but they never fail when it comes to people leaving you alone. You expect them to look disappointed, maybe even mad. Some little comment about how disrespectful you are, a much too loud scoff, precisely loud for you to hear. You can't read them, and it's infuriating, you don't feel safe. Wanda smiles at you, showing a little dimple on her left side. She hands something to her wife and as Natasha takes it from her hand she sends you a smirk and puts another business card down on the counter.  The sound of closing doors makes all of you turn into the direction of Darcy's room. Carol looks like she was almost asleep, being woken up at an ungodly hour. 

“I got your text, are you guys ready?” The question is thrown in the general direction of the living room. The two redheads are on their feet immediately collecting their belongings. Carol looks at you and sends you a warm smile. 

“You look better y/n. Keep your nose bleeds in check, Darcy is really worried about you.”

“Aye, aye captain.” Since your best friend told you about her partner's favourite title, you have been smoothly using it to throw Carol off. It seems to work, as she always puts her hands into fists, taking a couple of deep breaths. 

“It was lovely to meet you, y/n.” Wanda is sweet in her voice, still having this curious look while studying your face. 

“It really was. See you around, sugar.” Natasha is more cocky, and it doesn't look as good on her as she thinks. 

As the apartment loosen up and gets more quiet, you want to take a couple extra minutes to unwind after everything, just sitting on the couch and taking in the view from the big windows. 

“You’re still awake.” Darcy is up, and she is the only person whose presence you don't mind right now, or ever. 

“Yeah, you know how naps work on me. I thought you were asleep.” She sits next to you and steals your mug. Taking a long sip of lightly warm tea, she puts her head on your rough shoulder. You adjust your body to make it more comfortable for the both of you. 

“I almost was, but Carol has some meetings in the morning, and she had to go.” You only nod in understanding, and the room is filled by comfortable silence. This is something that you were only able to build up with Darcy. Complete trust towards each other and the whole truth between the two of you, without actually having to say a word. It takes time, and effort, but you are always willing to put in more, but it doesn't mean that you don't fight. 

''What do you think about what happened?'' Her question takes you by surprise and only after giving it a couple of seconds thought, do you get what she is asking about.

“You didn't tell me that the date was with two women.”

“Does it matter?” 

“It would if I had to take them out. You know, they could always turn out as some creeps.”

“They aren’t.” Darcy sounds serious, and it throws you off a little bit. These kinds of topics work as a dynamite on both of you. Just a little spark to set off an explosion. You don't agree with each other on a lot of levels, but usually you can find a middle ground. You are not so sure if that's the case right now. 

“Why would Maria take money from strangers, though. At some point they will either want to take it back and will try to make her do something for it. Nobody gives this amount without asking for anything back.” It's shady, they are, and you don't like it. You would do everything to protect your friends, they are your family. Knowing that someone has so much power over one of your friends doesn't sit right with you. 

''Maybe they just wanted to be nice.'' You roll your eyes. You said what you said, and Darcy can't make you change your mind. It's surprising she is even trying, 

“I don’t know… all of it seems a little extreme.” You are confused, for sure, but you also feel some kind of disgust. Letting someone pay just because, it’s …. It's wrong. And then just going to bed with a complete stranger while her wife is in the next room. 

“It’s not that extreme.” Darcy tries to reason with you, educate you on unknown topics. You were trying to see things from her side, but it's like talking in different languages. 

“Darcy, you are literally wearing a dog collar.” You say while hooking your finger in the metal hoop, tugging at it very lightly. She slaps your hand away and looks offended. 

“It's not a dog collar. God y/n. You know it's not about humiliating or degrading someone. It's a matter of ownership, Carol engraved her name on it, and it makes me feel loved beyond reason. She chose me, and she chooses me every single day. My collar shows how much she cares about me, and how proud she is of me. Carol is so happy to have me that she wants to show the rest of the world that I’m all hers, that they can only look but never touch. Tell me how that is degrading. 

“This seems like a control freak thing.” You are getting really close to the boundaries right now, you can feel it. She is getting fed up, her head long gone from the space on your shoulder. Her face is shocked by the things you say. It's not going too well. 

“Talking about it is one thing, but talking shit about my girlfriend is not acceptable. You've known Carol all this time… Did she ever come across as a control freak? Also, have you ever noticed her ring?” You think for a second, trying to recall the image of it in your head.

“The silver one she never takes off? I swear to god she showers, sleeps, and works with this thing on.”

“It has an engraving on the inside of it. A sign that she belongs to me just as much as I belong to her. Don’t speak up about things you know shit about.” At this point, she is standing up in front of you, and you feel trapped. Abandoning the conversation seems like the best decision at this moment, you are just too deep into it, and you don't know how to save yourself. You never meant to insult your friends. 

“Okay, let's leave you and Carol for a second. What about Maria, God I would die for her, but she wants to be under somebody so much. Provide for her, tell her what to do, what to say, what to wear, who to be. This is not normal.” You really do love her, but you simply don't understand. If that were you, you would do everything to make it stop. 

“Let’s not leave Carol and me. I want the same things from Carol, I'm getting the same things from Carol. Am I not normal?” You can see tears forming in her eyes. It's rare for you two to make each other cry, but every time you do, it's like hell visiting earth. You stand up to be with her on the same level, and as you do, you realise it's a mistake. Your mouth seems to work faster than your brain, and you wish you never said out loud the things you are about to say.  

“Fuck sorry Darcy but it's sick. Making yourself barely exist for someone's pleasure. If you are too scared to live your life, just say so. I love you, but the fact that you chose the easy way doesn't mean I need to approve of it. I love you Darcy, so much, the last thing I want and have time for is arguing with you right now. I don't think we are going to find middle ground here”. If the looks could kill, you would be dead right there and then. She balls her hand into a fist, but you stand your ground. She moves towards you, you feel her hot breath on your face, nostril flare up, and her eyes filled to the brim with sadness, threatening to spill.

She puts a finger on your chest with surprising force, but you still didn't move. You feel smaller under her gaze, not really sure why. Her next words proved what kind of power she has in your life.

“Sick? There is no middle ground in this. You are just wrong, so, so wrong about all of this. God, how can you be so fucking blind? You are not better than any of us, just because you decide to be lonely with your struggles. Grow up, because I want my fucking friend back, and until you do, don't talk to me.” 

That's it. She just stormed off to her room, leaving you in heavy silence. You’ve had arguments before, but you never said out loud what you actually think about the style of relationships your friends are living or want to live in. You should have kept your mouth shut. Mentally scolding yourself, you finish your tea and decide to try to fall asleep. Today was too long, and you wish none of it ever happened at all. 

Next chapter

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Tag list:

@autorasexy @lizziejolsen @natashaswife4125 @sayah13 @romanoffskisser @lijo-8 @jjiiuuisssagcebrcw @natashaswife4125 @dumbassbitchwithnotits @teenybean

[sunnysam-my]

One of the funniest things in Criminal Minds to me was the writers poor attempt at making Reid look super smart. I say poor because, if you know anything about what they claim Spencer can do, you know why it's ridiculous.

1. Speed Reading.

It's a unique skill Spencer has that's used often through out the show. He claims he can read 20,000 words per minute. The thing is, the way he does it makes no sense.

First of all, when speed reading, you pay the price of comprehending the text. It is suggested by experts that speed-reading is most useful to those who need "to skim a large amount of material or need to improve their study skills" and less useful to those who read "highly technical material that requires careful study of each sentence". A lot of what Spencer reads is exactly that.

Second of all, on a normal book page, about 250-300 words fit on a page. Unless my math is incorrect, if he can read 20000 w/m then he can read 333.333 per second. He can read a book page in less than a second.

Even if my math is wrong, the average word count for adult fiction and non-fiction is between 70,000 to 120,000 words. ​The average word count in a book is between 60,000 and 100,000 words. He can read a 80,000 words long book in 4 minutes. He could read the entirty of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (~75,000 words) in less than that.

2. Eidetic Memory

Again, I'm not really sure the writers even know what that means. Eidetic memory, also (incorrectly) known as total recall and photographic memory, is the ability to recall an image from memory with high precision, at least for a brief period of time, after seeing it only once.

The key words here are for a brief period of time. Unlike with photographic memory, it's a vivid afterimage that lingers. Additionally the memories often contain minor errors, including information that was not present in the original visual stimulus.

It's a very complicated and interesting matter, you can look into it more, but basically the writers just used it as an ass excuse to give Spencer perfect memory.

3. The Star Puzzle

I genuinely laughed at this scene. The Star Puzzle is literally a beginner-medium level puzzle. I have that star, I can see only 2, maybe 3 ways you can make a mistake while assembling it. My mom, who does do those regularly like I do, only needed 15 minutes to figure out all on her own. The hard part is physically putting it together, because, until it's complete, nothing is holding the pieces together and they fall through your hands.

Noticed another thing? The way she describes it? "It's basically impossible to figure out. You have to put all the pieces back together to form a star." "It's basically impossible to do, because you have to take all those pieces and put them exactly…-" Like, yeah? That's how puzzles work??? Congratulations? All puzzles work like this. You have to put them together in the only correct order or solved them using the only solution. It's rare for puzzles to have more than one solution, that's kinda the point of them. And yeah, you can cheat usually, like with the star if you assemble it loosely and jam the last piece, but that's not the same.

And the thing is, there are harder versions of this, but no, they had to go with the identical 6 pieces. This just makes her look like an idiot.

4. His geeky overreactions were very reasonable, actually.

TBH I stopped watching CM a while ago, so don't remember as many situation as I used to, but I remember Phantasmagoria scene. Maybe this is more of geeky pet peeve of mine, but whatever.

Reid is 100% underselling Phantasmagoria here. It's not just a horror theatre play with a bit of science magic to spook the audience. They literally invented holograms for this.* Our modern image of a ghost? It's all thanks to Phantasmagoria which used live holograms** so the actors playing ghost could appear to be half transparent and floating.

You can still think that's not that cool, but wait, there's more. Other than that it used projects and many other 'magic tricks' to not only bring the monsters to life, so you can see them, but also feel them. Phantasmagoria used many special effects outside of visual illusion to make you feel cold winds, smells blood e.t.c. That's better than any other movie you can go to, especially since we're talking about reenactment, which use improved technology. Although you won't get drugged drinks before going in nowadays, so count that as a win or loss. On top of that, reenactments of Phantasmagoria are rare and for many this may be the only chance in their life to see it.

It's kinda like a walk-through haunted house, except you don't walk and there's a plot. The scene shows Spencer as some weird geek for being excited, which sucks. In general I could talk about how awful the teammates are to him half of the time, but that's not my biggest problem here. We as an audience are meant to find Reid's excitement and knowledge as lame and nerdy, but he's not even overreacting. That's a very tamed reaction when you invite your friends to possibly one in a lifetime chance to see this amazing horror magic, horror, theatre play.

*For horror shows in general, a bit earlier than Phantasmagoria, but it gave birth to it.

**Pepper's ghost isn't technically holographic, but you get it. Most people call it that anyway.

[threewaywithdelusion]

I Would've Liked To Know You: Max

(Warning for major character death (Steve) that occurs before the fic starts, implied/referenced child abuse (Max, nothing on page). This is set in 2002).

Max got the stranger who had given her a ride to drop her at the edge of the cemetery. Her cell phone rang — probably Lucas again, wondering where she was — and she switched it off. She couldn’t handle talking to him. Not yet. 

She made the walk across the fields of the cemetery from memory, pulling her coat closed around her. It was early October and it was chilly in Hawkins. She’d forgotten, since moving to California, how cold it could get here. 

Max passed the part of the cemetery where she knew Billy was buried, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. 

She kept going until she reached the far corner of the cemetery. It had been described to her before — the headstone was under a huge tree, which bloomed with flowers in the spring. She ran her fingers over the letters carved into the rock, confirming she was in the right place. 

Steven James Harrington

November 13, 1966 - September 17, 1986

Son, friend, hero

She had long since memorized the words on the headstone.

Maybe she should’ve felt guilty, visiting Steve and not Billy, but she didn’t. Because Steve was more her brother than Billy ever had been. 

She folded her cane and took a seat on the grass, a foot away from the headstone. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Max said. That was a lie. “I mean, I know a little. I didn’t, like, run away and board a flight from California and then take a bus down here from Indianapolis for no reason.”

Max fiddled a bit with her cane, folding and unfolding it. She hadn’t said it out loud yet. Had barely admitted it to herself. 

But she’d come all this way to talk to Steve, dammit, so she was going to get her shit together and do it. 

“I’m pregnant,” she said. She gave a little laugh. “You’re the first one to know. I haven’t even told Lucas yet.”

Her phone felt heavy in her pocket. She hadn’t told Lucas where she was going. She’d taken the pregnancy test in a pharmacy bathroom and then had to ask the teenage girl behind the checkout counter to tell her if there were two lines. The girl had said yes, sounding judgmental. Which was maybe fair given that all she knew was that Max was in the kind of situation where she was taking pregnancy tests in a public bathroom when she couldn’t even read the stupid results. 

Max had gone home, not slept for a week straight, then picked a fight with Lucas and run away, all the way from Los Angeles to Hawkins. 

“I’m, uh. I don’t know if you can feel time passing, but I’m thirty-one. This isn’t a teen pregnancy or anything, and Lucas has a job and we haven’t broken up in years. It’s not… it’s- I should be ready for this.”

Max cleared her throat. The wind was blowing, cutting through her jacket and making the trees rustle. Max hated trees. She hated forests. They all made her think of the Upside Down. She loved the never-ending concrete of Los Angeles, the only nature the beaches and the ocean that she still loved.

When she was in California, it was easier to pretend that everything that had happened in Hawkins had been a bad dream. That she and Lucas were fine and normal and had never killed or fought or watched loved ones die. 

“I’m scared,” Max admitted. “My dad left and my mom tried, but she was never good enough. Neil yelled and Billy hurt me and how the fuck am I supposed to take that kind of upbringing and believe I’m someone who can care for a kid?”

The funny thing was that even without the monsters, Max would have been fucked up. She’d had to explain it to Lucas — how when he was silently angry it was worse, because she kept waiting for the moment he’d snap. How he could put down a plate too hard and she’d flinch, scared he was about to grab her or shove her around. How an empty fridge made her heart clench, even after years of always being able to afford food. 

She wasn’t fit to raise a baby. Especially not Lucas’s kid, who should have everything good in the world. Lucas would be an amazing dad, would play games with the kid and teach them basketball and tell stories while doing funny voices, like he did for his DnD characters. 

Max knew he wanted a kid. She also knew he hadn’t said anything because he knew she wasn’t ready. That she might never be ready. 

And then fate or a broken condom had gone and put her in this situation anyway. 

“I thought about getting an abortion,” she told Steve. Maybe it was fucked up, but it was easier to talk to Steve’s grave. Steve had been so patient with her when she’d been a teenager, always offering to listen to her problems, and she’d turned him down time and time again, staying silent and refusing to let him help her. 

“But I couldn’t do it. I don’t want to be a shitty mom, so maybe it’s the right thing to do. But I keep trying to picture my kid for some reason. And I see this little girl with warm brown eyes and my round cheeks and Lucas’s huge smile and some part of me wants that. I want to have a baby that’s half me and half Lucas and I want to do right by her.

I was lying awake, trying to figure out what I wanted to. Thinking about my shitty childhood. And then I thought of you.”

Max set her cane down in the grass, smiling faintly at Steve’s headstone. 

“I thought of the way you drove me around and patched up my skateboarding injuries and bought me milkshakes when I was said or angry but didn’t want to talk. I thought of the groceries you bought me when Mom was too drunk to remember or when there wasn’t enough money, even though I never asked and always said I didn’t need your charity. And you fucking saved my life, over and over again, like that’s a normal thing to do. You jumped in front of a demodog for me when you hadn’t even known me for a day. You didn’t even know my name.”

There was a lump building in Max’s throat, tightening so much that it hurt to talk. But she had to. It had been so hard to start and now the words were just spilling out.

“We always used to call you Mom, and we were teasing. Making fun of you cause you were some popular basketball guy but you also heckled us about our manners and picked us up from school and shit. And you acted all offended, but I saw you smiling a few times. You liked it,” she told the headstone accusingly. “You liked being our mom.”

The headstone didn’t say anything, but Max knew that if Steve were here he would be denying it, committed to the bit that he wasn’t their parent, just a reluctant babysitter. 

Max cleared her throat. “And I was thinking… God, you were just a fucking kid. Like, I’m thirty-one and I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. And you were nineteen, with seven kids and a monster dimension under your feet and you were still a good mom. So like, I guess I didn’t just have shitty parental figures in my life.”

Max glared at the headstone, as if daring it to judge her for being emotionally vulnerable. Not that Steve would have done that, even if he hadn’t been a bunch of bones in a coffin buried under the grass she was sitting on. 

Steve would have probably been proud. 

“So I’m gonna do all that shit,” Max said. “Drive the kid around and kiss her boo-boos and buy her milkshakes when she’s feeling bad. All the things that you did. And I guess maybe that means I can be a mom.”

She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. She wanted to swipe it away, but she didn’t. Steve deserved to be cried over. 

They’d all moved away from Hawkins. Max only saw the town these days in her nightmares. But Steve’s grave was still here and sometimes it felt like they’d abandoned him. Even if there wasn’t a him left to abandon. Even if he would’ve wanted them to go, to escape this helltown and chase better lives elsewhere. 

He’d been gone sixteen years. More than half her life. 

It hurt to miss him still. 

“I wish you were here,” Max whispered. “I wish I could talk to you for real. I wish you could tell me I’m not crazy for thinking Lucas and I can do this.”

Max let herself fall apart a little bit, crying over the future that would never happen. Steve would never come watch the baby so she and Lucas could go on a date night or finally get some sleep. He would never get to be the fun uncle, or the one her kid ran to when they were pissed at her and Lucas for some teenage drama. To her, he would never be anything more than a memory. To her child, he would never be anything more than a story about a long-dead stranger. 

Max leaned forwards so she could touch the headstone, running her fingers over the letters that spelled out Steve’s name. 

“You would’ve made a great Uncle Steve,” she whispered. 

She bowed her head against the gravestone for a moment, resting her forehead against the cool rock. 

Then she stood, wiping the tears off her cheeks and the grass stains off her jeans. She extended her cane and made her way out of the cemetery, pausing by the gates to turn her cell phone back on. 

It kept dinging with missed calls, but Max ignored that, dialing a number by heart. 

“Max?” Lucas’s voice was warm and concerned and so full of love that she almost started crying again. 

“Lucas,” Max said. “I’m in Hawkins. I, uh, I had to talk to Steve.”

Lucas was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Are you okay?”

Max nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m coming home.”

[cowboy-like-mee]

i wish i could change

summary: depressed! reader and boyfriend! harry

warnings: depression, mentions of wanting to d word

word count: 1.1k

a/n: hello. i am ending my year and a half long hiatus. i am writing this in the midst of a depressive episode, so it is based off real life me rn! it was kinda therapeutic tbh. i feel a lot better after getting this out.  i listened moon song by phoebe bridgers, my tears ricochet by taylor swift, and a different age by current joys on repeat while writing this. have fun!

p.s. i kind hate this :/ i feel like the end is rushed but whatev. i hope you enjoy. i feel like i might want to write more about this couple. i have many ideas also! if you have any requests let me know! or i can post what my ideas are and yall can tell me what you want first!

masterlist

Sitting in the filth of your room never made it any better. But you just couldn’t help it. There were empty bags of chips and dirty clothes everywhere. The floors need vacuuming. The bed hasn't been made in weeks- the fitted sheet isn't even on the bed anymore. You've just been lying on the bare mattress with a blanket covering you that doesn't even reach your feet. The smell of old food and dirty laundry stings your nose every time you breathe in a little too deeply. You needed a shower. There were clumps of your hair sitting next to a pair of scissors on your desk from where you had decided it was a good idea to chop a few inches off at 3 am yesterday. 

You're pretty sure you hadn't been to a single class in at least a month. You were failing only two at the moment, luckily. Last semester it was three. Emails and text messages were piling up in your inboxes. There was no point in setting alarms anymore. You knew you weren't going to wake up anyway. 

You really just missed your mom. You missed her encouraging words and her hugs. Her hugs. Any of your problems were made to be nothing with just one of her hugs. You know she would be beyond disappointed to see the state of your life right now. 

Nothing even happened to make you feel this way. It's just a part of that never-ending cycle of depression that seems to hinder everything you try to do. There are no words to describe what happens in your head when you get like this. No therapist or medication could ever stop this feeling. It's like the weight of the world sits on your chest. You can't breathe. You can't think. You can't move. You can't even provide yourself with the basic necessities one needs to survive. 

You try to tell yourself to get out of this funk, but nothing will help. Nothing has ever helped. 

Well...maybe one thing has.

Harry.

Your boyfriend on two years. The man who has helped you out of funk numerous amounts of times throughout the last couple of years. Of course, you don't always feel like this. It comes and goes. It seems nowadays it mostly comes. It never seems to go. But when it has come, Harry has been there for you. He has fed you and showered you and loved you and kissed you and never ever judged you. 

You feel like a burden. 

No matter how many times he tells you he does it because he loves you. He hates seeing you like that. He wishes he could take all of your pain away. You mean everything to him. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

You don't know why. What kind of man wants a girl who goes four days without showering at times. Or a girl who wakes up at 3 pm because at night her thoughts wander so far she has to hit herself in the head to stop them. A girl who can't just...be normal. 

Either way, you know one thing is for certain. You love Harry. You really do. You probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. He has changed your life. There have been more good moments with him than bad. He kisses you just to kiss you. He watches your favorite movie with you weekly (even though you know he despises it.) He goes out to brunch with your parents because he loves talking to the people who created you. He buys you flowers every time he goes to the market just because he loves to see you smile every time he gives them to you. 

He really was made for you. Nevertheless, you felt like you didn't deserve him. 

You wish you could change. You wish you could change for him. You wish it was easier to be alive. You wish you didn't want to die. For him. Not for yourself. You wish you could be the perfect girlfriend. The girlfriend he deserved, not one that rots away in her room.

Harry walks in. You hear the door to your apartment creak open and gently shut. Footsteps lead into the kitchen, probably putting down the food you know he probably bought for you. You sit up and try to put on your most neutral face. You sniff your armpits and wince a little. It's only been since yesterday morning you showered, but a little deodorant wouldn't hurt. Your door opens letting in light, making your eyes squint and your hand instinctively come up to block it. 

"Y/N?" Harry says. You smile for the first time since you saw him last a few days ago. "Hey, baby." He gives you the softest, pure smile you've ever seen in your whole life. He tilts his head at you with a concerned look on his face. 

"Hi." You croak out, using your voice for the first time in a while. He walks up to your bed and pulls the blanket down to lie with you. You scoot over to make room for him. He climbs in and immediately wraps his hands around you. His face buries into your neck and plants soft kisses along your throat. Your hand goes into his hair and softly brushes through his soft curls. 

He hums. "Mmm, I love you." He kisses you again right on your jawline. "I've missed you, baby. How has my girl been?" Your throat tightens. You're regretting not answering his texts. He's probably been worried. 

You smile sadly. "I love you more, angel. I-" You pause to think of an adequate answer to your disappearance the past few days. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I haven't answered your texts. I've just been...not feeling well. I've missed you too. So much." Your eyes are welling with tears, but your room is dark so maybe he won't notice. 

He pulls back a little to look at your face. His heart breaks. His girl has been feeling bad and he hasn't been here for her. "Oh, honey. It's okay. You know I just want to make sure you're okay." He kisses you sweetly. Your heart swells. He really is perfect. "I brought you dinner. I hope you haven't eaten." He smiles at you.

You laugh wetly. " Eating hasn't really been my number one priority today." 

He frowns, "Y/N, you have to eat, love. It's important to take care of your body." He sits up and grabs your hand. "Come one. Let's go eat and watch Silver Linings Playbook." He pulls you up from your nest. He wraps his arms around you and engulfs you in a hug. Your head rests on his chest and you just breathe in. 

You reach up and kiss him. You will never understand how this man can be so selfless. He really has changed your life. You will love him at your highs, and you will love him at your lows.