#sputte

[metal-dortmund]

Culthe Fest, Münster, 09.04.2023

Man hat mir irgendwo einen Flyer dieses Festivals in die Hand gedrückt, das durchaus interessant klang und zudem wollte ich schon immer mal The Ruins Of Beverast live sehen. Deswegen habe ich zumindest den zweiten Tag des Festivals eingeplant und meine Erwartungen wurden weit übertroffen. Es fing an mit einer mich von der Bühne anschreienden Frau, wobei die Band nur in mystisches Dämmerlicht getaucht war. Ein Konzept, das sich übrigens durch das ziemlich ganze Festival gezogen hat und den postapoklytischen Black / Doom / Occult Metal somit wunderbar unterstrich. Doch zurück zu Hæresis, die dann gleich einen neuen Fan gewonnen haben. Obwohl die Performance vor Bosheit strotzte, präsentierte sich hinterher am Merch eine ganz nette, freundliche Frau. Abgefahren. Und sowas schon gegen 16 Uhr. Davor habe ich auch eine Lesung verpasst und neben vielen Ständen gab es auch eine Ausstellung von Tattookünstlern aus ganz Deutschland. Und natürlich einen Foodtruck, der auch vegan anbot. Der moderne Black Metaller ist ja vegan. Zum Glück bin ich nicht modern. Da das Festival über drei Stages ging, habe ich mir dann im Triptychon die Akustikshow von Kesys reingezogen. Ambient Folk. Schick. Jetzt brauchte ich aber wieder was auf die Fresse, also zurück zur Hauptbühne in die Sputte (Sputnikhalle). Morast machten Soundcheck. Mit den Jungs habe ich mich gleich angefreundet und Gitarrist Asche hat sich als mein Seelenpartner entpuppt. Gleiches Alter, zwei Kinder im selben Alter und Geschlecht wie meine und genauso verrückt. An den Bandbussen gesellten sich dann gleich noch die Ruins hinzu und dann wurde das Festival erst richtig krass. Morast schälten einem live langsam die Haut vom Körper, denn brachial ging es da zur Sache. Neben einer Menge Feierei im Backstage gingen wir dann zur Show von Wolvennest. Schön okkult und mit Theremin hörten wir schönen psychedelischen Doom um die nette Frontfrau Shazzula, die später auch noch die Aftershow mit uns im Hotelfoyer und einer Kneipe namens Laterne rockte. Den Abschluss machten dann die Ruins Of Beverast. Die Riesen-Discokugel in der Sputte hat uns nicht erschlagen und Gitarrist Micha, den ich noch von Secrets Of The Moon kannte, poste, was das Zeug hielt. Man musste nur in Bühnennähe stehen, um die gesamte Mystik und Atmosphäre bei den Bands komplett aufzufangen. Super Festival! So einen Spaß hatte ich schon lange nicht mehr und auch die Bierpreise waren super. Da der Ruins-Fahrer auf meine Band BlackRoy steht, hoffe ich doch, dass die Ruins dann mit meiner Mucke als Soundtrack zurückgefahren sind.

[katherinehillierillustration]

My chara Indigo Atalanto, the trainee witch (who also got returned from the dead) with her thief bf Olfi Sputt whose house is also a cat sanctuary.

[the-hopeless-haze]

my only one

Summary:  You and Aaron are getting married in a month. An unplanned accident brings up other questions for you.

Warning: if you do not support a woman’s right to choose do not read this. you will not like what you find here

Word Count: 5.3k

You were so careful. So very careful.

It didn’t matter now.

You tried. You failed. Better women than you had found themselves in this exact position you’re in now. Shocked numb and staring at yourself in the mirror like you were a ghost, outside of your own body, a figment of your own imagination.

This couldn’t be real.

It had to be fake. A hoax. You were dreaming.

You had to be.

With trembling hands, with vision blurred by tears, with an ache behind your eyes, you manage to flush the toilet and then turn back around, gripping the edge of the counter for dear life. It hurts to breathe, to think, to exist.

This is the last thing you want to be thinking about right now.

“Honey? Are you almost done in there?” you hear his voice, his gentle knock at the door. “I left my shirt hanging. Can I come and get it?”

You shouldn’t have done this before work. You shouldn’t have done this at all.

But that’s stupid, too, isn’t it? What were you going to do? This wouldn’t have just gone away on its own if you ignored it.

Aaron calls your name and you can’t find your voice to respond. “Why aren’t you answering me? I’m coming in there.”

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

There’s no way to hide from him that you just had a mental breakdown. Your face is puffy, your skin is blotchy and you’re still trembling like a wet dog.

So you do what’s ill-advised, trying to hide the obvious from a profiler, and you attempt to brush past him and exit the bathroom without him being able to get a look at your face.

Too late. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you back to face him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, looking at you with concern.

“Nothing,” you lie, swallowing thickly against the tightness in your throat.

“Something’s obviously wrong,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back and kissing the top of your head.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say, blinking away tears.

“Honey, we can’t go to work like this. I’m going to be worried sick all day. Please tell me.”

“Aaron… I… I can’t talk about it,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut so you don’t have to look at him.

He pulls you into an embrace, and you smell the freshness of his aftershave against his neck, the linen scent of the detergent on his plain white t-shirt, and you feel his warmth, his body heat. It serves to calm you some.

But then you look over his shoulder and you see it.

You can’t stay wrapped in his arms forever.

You have to handle this.

In the midst of your overwhelm you forgot to throw it out, trying to exit the bathroom as quickly as you could, and there it sat on the counter. Two angry pink lines screaming at you, still visible from where you stand now. Aaron’s back is turned to it. If you… if you just grabbed it… if he didn’t ever have to know, ever have to find out…

You shrug out of the hug and lean up and kiss him, trying to smile even though your stomach is turning. “Honey. I just need… I just need another minute alone. Can you please just…?”

You trail off. There’s no good reason why he can’t be in the bathroom with you when you’re washing your face or fixing your hair you had raked through thoroughly with your fingers.

Well.

There is.

But you can’t say it.

“You’re making me worried,” Aaron says, taking your hand in his and squeezing it gently, holding it with his against his chest.

“I know,” you admit hollowly, because you’re making yourself worried, too.

“So, tell me, honey. Whatever it is, we can face it together. Please,” he says, running his thumb over the engagement ring on your hand. The ring he put there. The ring you accepted.

Shouldn’t you want this, then? Shouldn’t you be happy? Why does this fill you with dread, and make you seize up with fear?

Why do you not want this?

How quickly ambivalence turns to fear.

“Aaron, please,” you sputter. “Please just let me be alone.”

He nods dejectedly, grabbing his shirt from where it hung on the side of the closet, but he follows your line of gaze to where you’re staring, transfixed.

Oh. Oh no.

“Honey, is that—"

“If you love me, Aaron, you’ll walk out of this room and pretend you didn’t see anything,” you say quickly, cutting him off, grabbing it off the counter so he can’t get a better look.

“I think that’s what I would do if I didn’t love you,” he says calmly.

“Aaron. Just let it slide. Forget about it.”

“Forget about it? You have a pregnancy test in your hand and you want me to forget about it? We’re getting married in a month. To each other. And you want me to forget about this?”

He said the words out loud. Made it real. Made it something that didn’t just exist in your head or your body.

Pregnancy.

That’s what it was.

There was no hiding anymore.

You give in, give up, give it to him. Hand him the test.

Aaron stares at it without saying a word for a few moments and you never particularly want to spend time in his head, but right now you’d like to get in there if only for a second to know what was running through it. What did he think about you? Shouldn’t you be happy? Was he happy? You wish he would give you something, any hint of a reaction, but he doesn’t say anything.

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly, finally breaking the silence.

“How do I feel?” you ask, your voice coming out in a hysterical shriek, contrast to his cool, calm demeanor. “Look at me. Take a guess.”

Putting the test back on the counter he nods, wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay? Aaron, how can you say that?”

“Because we’re going to get through this. We don’t have a choice.”

“I just got promoted. Neither of us are ever home. Either one of us quits or… or this child doesn’t have parents,” you say. “I’m not going to get through this. I’m going to have a psychotic break.”

“Hey. Hey. Shh. I need you to breathe. Okay? Shh,” he says, smoothing your hair with the palm of his hand.

“Aaron. Don’t tell me to calm down right now,” you sob.

“I’m not. I need you to breathe, though. Okay? Good. Just like that,” he says gingerly, breathing slowly himself in an attempt to get you to stop hyperventilating.

Son of a bitch. Always meeting your hysterics with peace, even when you wanted nothing more than to fight against it. “Let’s go sit down and talk about this on the couch. Okay? I’ll make you a tea.”

“We have to be in the office—"

“We’re both supervisors, now. We get a little leeway,” he grins, kissing the top of your head. “We may as well use it. We need to talk about this. I don’t know about you, but I can’t go into work until we have a game plan here.”

You nod, swallowing, blinking away tears.

You were meant to be the hot power couple, the Hotchners, who get gossiped about behind closed doors throughout departments, “Hey, did you hear who’s heading the BAU together?” Not that you were doing this all for recognition, but the last thing you wanted people to say about you was, “Well, I guess she gave it all up to raise children instead. Just like women when you put a ring on their finger.”

Not that that’s a bad thing. It’s a noble pursuit.

But it’s not something you think you can handle. Giving up the position you just received for a child you didn’t plan to have?

You sit on the couch alone, hearing Aaron in the kitchen, and you’re glad to be away from the tangibility, the pregnancy test left in the bathroom on the counter, out of sight but not forgotten.

“Here you go, honey,” Aaron says, handing you the hot mug of tea that you accept gratefully.

“What are we going to do?” you ask hollowly.

“What do you think is the best course of action, here?”

“How do you feel?”

“Honey, it’s not my decision to make.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re half the reason that test is positive,” you say. “Tell me what you want.”

“I… I’m in support either way.”

“Don’t give me a bullshit answer. Do you want another kid or not?”

Aaron shrugs, runs his hand over his face, and sighs. “It’s not a bullshit answer. And it isn’t my decision to make. I don’t want to sway you and make you do something you don’t want to do for me.”

“Aaron. Yes or no. Simple,” you say curtly.

He exhales heavily again, placing his hand on your knee. “Honey. You know you don’t have to do this, right? You’re not a bad person if this isn’t something you want. I didn’t ask you to marry me because I wanted you to have my children. I already have Jack, and I knew this was something you weren’t sure if you wanted. I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me if I knew that having kids was going to be a dealbreaker for us. I’d be happy if we had a child but I’m just as happy with you if we don’t.”

“But if… if we did this, how would it work?” you ask quietly, pursing your lips as you blow on the cup of tea and sip at it.

“I don’t know, honey,” he admits. “You know how I feel about Jack. How I feel like I’ve been failing him since he was born. It’s not… it isn’t easy, with this job to raise kids, and it’ll be even harder with both of us working this job. It’s something I’m willing to try if this is what you want. But it’s going to be stressful. It’s going to be difficult. We’re both likely going to have to take time off, swap off cases, be single parents when the other person is away. We wouldn’t see each other often. It’s going to be a strain. It was a strain with Jack and it was just me in this position.”

It ended his marriage.

He doesn’t say that out loud. But it ended his marriage.

You don’t want this to have a death sentence before it even starts.

As much as he loved Haley, as much as he loved Jack, they couldn’t make it work as a family. Granted, Jack wasn’t the main issue, how could you blame an innocent child for all your marital strife? They were on the rocks before he was conceived. But you know having Jack didn’t make anything better, made it strain until it bent, until it snapped under the pressure.

It doesn’t help shake the guilt you feel. How you know there are women that would kill to be in your position, women who wanted to have kids but couldn’t, women who tried so hard to do what you did by accident.

“I just… isn’t it selfish? I mean, we’re getting married. We’re financially secure. If it were ever the right time…”

“If we both keep having to take time off of work our financial situation is going to change,” he points out. “And… I don’t know if I agree with you. You’re adjusting to your supervisory role. The team is adjusting to taking orders from you, too. Getting married is a change, too. It’s good stress, but it’s still stressful. If we added a child… that’s three huge changes in your life at once.”

“Do you think we could make it work?” you ask, looking him in the eyes, searching for a reaction.

“We could. I believe that. But it’s a sacrifice. And just because we could make it work doesn’t mean we have to if it’s something you don’t want,” he assures you, squeezing your knee. “Whatever you decide is no judgment on your character. I’m still going to love you just the same. I’m still going to be waiting for you to walk down that aisle to me a month from now.”

“It should be… our decision.”

“It is. I’m in full support of whatever you decide. Like I said.”

“But that’s a cop-out.”

“No. I’m telling you the truth, honey, and I need you to accept that. I’m allowed to not feel as strongly as you either way. That’s what being a man in this situation is. Stepping back, here. Even if I break my back trying to make my share of the burden equal to yours… I’ll never be able to do it. It’s something you have to want more than anything else. It’s nine months. It’s months where toward the end you might be on bed rest and I might be away. Months of being sick. Months of not being cleared for field work once you get further along.”

“Well. That sounds terrible.”

“It does. It would break my heart to be away when you would need me. But it’s the reality. And then it’s another eighteen years of sacrifices upon sacrifices.”

You don’t say anything. You drink your tea. You breathe through your nose. In. Out. Through. Deep.

“Did I ever tell you about when I had Jack?” he offers, moving his hand from your knee to take your hand in his.

“No. Not really.”

“I… I didn’t want to be a father. Haley always wanted to be a mother and we had been together for a long time before we started trying because I kept trying to get her to move on. I felt like after what I endured with my own father… I didn’t want to have that responsibility, the potential to screw somebody up for the rest of their lives. And I was busy, too, working, and I knew I wasn’t going to be there like I should be. I knew I was going to fail him before he was even born. She felt like it was what was going to make or break our marriage. Which… she was right, she just didn’t know… but, anyway, when he was born, when I fully realized that that was my own flesh and blood… it’s something I can’t explain. It changes everything. How you see the world, how you interact with people, how you decide to manage your time, and your sense of identity. It’s… I would say it’s something I think everyone should experience, but given our line of work it’s very clear some people should not.”

“Do you… do you regret it? I know that sounds awful, but I…” You trail off as if stopping your sentence will make what said have less weight.

Aaron sighs. “No. It’s something about what I said, the way it shifts your whole worldview to the left a little bit. It prevents you from regretting it entirely. Jack is… it’s unconditional love, and I don’t think you understand that until you have kids, because then you feel that. You know there’s nothing they can do wrong that would prevent you from loving them. I’m always…sorry that I didn’t prevent Haley from doing this, that I didn’t fight with her enough, that I didn’t look her in the eyes and tell her bringing a child into an already failing marriage wasn’t going to fix it. It wasn’t going to make me come home and stay home. But I’ll always be grateful that I have Jack, even if he was born from unfortunate circumstances. I mean, it’s the way of the world, right? I’d been married for years, and it’s the expectation for a married couple to have children. It was always family members asking her if she was having infertility struggles, asking me if I really loved her if I wasn’t willing to make her a mother. Just because the expectation is there doesn’t mean we have to fulfill it if it’s something you don’t want to do.”

“You won’t be upset if you don’t have a child with me? At all?” you ask softly. “Because… I don’t know, Aaron. I guess sometimes you don’t know the answer until it’s happening. I don’t know if I can ever do this.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that, honey,” he assures you. “I’m already a father. It would… it would be an honor to father your children. But it’s truly, honestly enough for me to be your husband in a month, and it’s just as much of an honor for you to wear my ring on my finger.”

“Do you think I’ll regret this?”

“If you find that you do, we can always try again when things are calmer,” he says, leaning over and kissing your temple. “You’re still young. It doesn’t have to be right now because it happened right now.”

“You don’t… you don’t think I’m being selfish?” you ask, desperate for reassurance.

“No. No. I think it’s more selfish to bring a child into the world when you’re expecting them to fix something before they’re even born. If you were to go through with this… why? What would your reasons be?”

“Because I feel guilty,” you say instantly, getting it off your chest.

“And that’s selfish. To bring a child into this world in an attempt to resolve your own guilt. And… it won’t work, honey. Because you’ll feel guilty all your life, anyway. Guilty when you miss birthdays, holidays, their first day of school,” Aaron says, swallowing audibly, and you hear him sniffle. You avert your gaze to him and take his face in your hands.

“Are you crying?” you ask, but you don’t need to. You see the tear he sheds before he wipes it away quickly.

You can’t put him through the trials and tribulations of self-imposed penitence for another eighteen years.

More importantly, you can’t put yourself through that. You realize for the first time, for all the good Jack has given him, he’s also given him equal amounts of pain.

And you don’t need any more agony, anxiety, or tension in your life.

Neither of you do.

This is going to hurt.

But eighteen years of failing to live up to expectations is going to hurt a lot more.

“I’m in full support of whatever you decide, honey,” he says again, rubbing your back.

“I… I need to do this, then. I need to get an abortion,” you say, with strengthened resolve, with the knowledge this is the best option for the two of you in this moment, with the way your lives are set up right now.

Abortion.

A so-called shameful, dirty word, when it was just a healthcare procedure. How many victims had the two of you encountered that you encouraged to go through with this, so they wouldn’t have to carry a monster’s baby to term?

It wasn’t just for that. It wasn’t always a decision brought about by evil men who rape innocent women, or poverty, or adultery. Sometimes it was a decision made with the utmost devotion and care, by a couple that loves each other and knows their limits.

“Okay,” Aaron agrees, pressing his mouth to your temple again. “We can make an appointment right now. You can’t be far along. You may be able to get the pill and do it here.”

“Is this what you wanted?” you ask. “Be honest.”

“It is,” he admits. “But more for your sake. I think you could handle it. You could handle anything. You’re strong and capable. But I think it would stretch you. It would take all you have. You wouldn’t be happy. And I want you to be happy.”

Aaron calls in and says the two of you are taking the day off due to a family emergency, and that comforts you, that the two of you can be considered a family unit together, just the two of you, soon-to-be husband and wife. While he calls in, you call for an appointment at the nearest clinic, and you’re eternally grateful they can get you in this afternoon for the consultation and blood work.

Aaron takes you out to brunch and you try to calm your nerves over coffee and pancakes. But looking at him, changed into cargo shorts and his plain white t-shirt, looking as casual as he’d ever look if he wasn’t running… you feel okay. Like he was right to meet your whirlwind of emotions with a blanket of tranquility.

Predictably, when you get there, there are protesters with signs with misconstrued Bible verses scrawled in large capital letters, and your stomach churns again at the thought of walking past them.

“I can clear them out,” he says quietly, judging your silence for fear.

“No. We don’t need to go in guns blazing. I’ll be okay,” you say, giving him a small smile, and he leans over and presses his mouth to it.

“I love you, honey. I love you. And I want you to know how brave I think you are, in this moment, for taking your needs into consideration and account,” Aaron tells you, kissing the side of your mouth gently.

“I love you, too, Aaron,” you reply, kissing him back and squeezing his hand, the fingers that you would slip a ring on weeks from now. “Don’t they have anything better to do?” you ask, shaking your head. “I mean. It’s sweltering out here.”

He shrugs but then both of you see it. A girl, walking through this crowd alone. Couldn’t be older than 16, and you guessed she was probably younger than that. She was thin, red curly hair frizzed up in the humidity, thin enough you could see the slight swell of her stomach under her tank top. Granted, it wasn’t a large group of people, but it was enough to intimidate somebody, more women than men, some children, and they start screaming at her, trying to hand her pamphlets.

“Maybe we will have to go in guns blazing,” you say through gritted teeth, opening the car door and trying not to slam it in your haste.

You’re walking quickly, too quick for Aaron to catch up immediately, and you don’t say anything, just walk up and walk through, two middle fingers up at the two lines of protesters.

“Oh, nice, what a nice example you’re setting for this young lady,” one of the women says, and you turn to her, scoffing.

“No better than you,” you retort. “By the way. Exodus 21 22-25. Take a look at it someday, will you? Funny how the Bible says only a fine is owed if you cause a miscarriage, but it’s a life for a life if you kill somebody. Funny, hm? Makes you think. Come on, honey,” you say, putting your arm around this girl’s shoulder as you walk into the building, just in time for Aaron to catch up with you and catch your other hand.

“How did you know that?” he asks.

“Reid,” you respond and grin. “I pay attention to him. It comes in handy.”

Aaron chuckles, shaking his head and kissing the top of yours. “I love you.”

You let the girl sign in at the front first, wondering where she was getting the strength to do this alone at her age.

Well.

You suppose either way, for her, she would be alone.

Still. You’re eternally grateful for Aaron in this moment.

He should be here. He was half of the reason this was needed. Any man whose partner wants an abortion should be with them. But looking around… you see most of the women are alone, one other couple there besides you and Aaron.

Granted, this clinic provided other services besides abortions. But it’s so often seen as a woman’s solitary affair, something she “has to take care of” alone, in secret, terrified. How many mistresses drive here alone, paying for it with their own money while their lover kisses his wife good morning? How many teenagers like this girl have to scrape up the funds, try to avoid the suspicion of their parents, and do this alone?

“Thank you,” the girl says quietly, as you sit down with Aaron across from her. She’s bouncing her knee at a rapid pace, crossing her arms over her belly.

“You’re welcome, honey. Any time,” you respond. “What’s your name?”

“Deana,” she answers, looking nervously between you and Aaron.

You introduce yourself to her, shaking her sweaty hand.

“Are you… are you here for the same reason?” she asks.

“I think so.”

“I’m afraid,” she admits, not that she needed to, all wide-eyed and trembling like you were hours ago. “Are you? Aren’t you scared?”

“Yes,” you admit. “But you will get past this.”

“How do you know? Have you done this before?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No. But I know, honey.”

You can’t and shouldn’t credit Aaron with all your growth over the years you’ve known him. You’ve done a lot of work yourself. You’re still prone to heightened emotions, anxiety, even depression at times. Aaron isn’t medication, he isn’t therapy, no, but he does serve to help, some.

He makes you better, because he loves you, and you make him better, too. You make him happier. You make his iron grip on life a little looser. You help him feel younger, lighter on his feet.

Even if it’s when he knows just his presence is needed. He’s helping. Like here. He’s quiet, listening to you and Deana talk while you wait for the nurse. Deana’s a high school student, predictably. A sophomore. She had a fake ID made to be able to get the procedure without parental consent. (This she whispered in your ear lest there were eavesdropping receptionists). She slept with the senior quarterback. Lost her virginity at a party. Trusted the pullout method. Didn’t have the money to get this until now.

“I’ve been wearing sweatshirts all summer,” she says, finally smiling. “I’ll be glad for that to be over.”

“You’re very brave,” you tell her, and you mean it. You can’t imagine being in her position.

Not that you could have imagined being in yours even a day ago.

But this is what women do. You push through or you won’t make it. You make the best decision you can at the time. It’s one foot after another.

You shoot her a reassuring smile as the nurse calls her in. She takes a deep breath, finds her resolve, and she walks with her.

Aaron turns to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, his body heat welcome what with the air condition blasting. “You were good with her.”

“She’s so young,” you murmur. “I feel bad for her.”

“I do, too. But she’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’ll be okay.”

And.

Just like that.

You hear your name called.

It’s your turn.

And he gets up to go with you. Holds your hand physically. The burden, he's shouldering as much as he can. Metaphorically. —————— “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” you say, holding the heating pad to your abdomen, laying horizontally on the couch.

The cramps don’t feel amazing. But. Again. You were glad to have Aaron here. Glad he took the same amount of time you had to take the pills and let it run its course at home.

And he’s so good. Making sure you’re staying hydrated. Cooking you meals. Getting you ibuprofen and ice cream. Being present. Making sacrifices.

It makes you wonder if maybe… maybe you could’ve done this, had the baby. But one day isn’t eighteen years. He’s great right now, he can do right now, but he can’t call out for eighteen years anymore than you can.

When you both return to the office, there are questions. Of course there are questions. “Are you both okay? Is there anything I can do? Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes. No. Absolutely not. —————— You don’t think about it as much until your wedding day, when you’re wondering if your dress would have had to have been altered. If you would’ve been sick with more than just nerves. If you would’ve regretted it.

You don’t regret a thing now, popping a bottle of champagne maybe a little too early with your mother, just a glass to soothe the wedding jitters.

“He seems like he really loves you,” your mom says. “Too bad I’ll never see you if you decide to have children.”

You nearly spit out your champagne, and you struggle not to let her see your reaction. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that, Mom. We have Jack.”

“Not yours.”

You shrug. “In a way, he is. I’m marrying his father.”

“Maybe you’ll surprise me. I never thought you’d tolerate a man enough to walk down the aisle. Or that a man would tolerate you enough, to be quite honest,” she says, grinning at your scowl.

It’s a small wedding, only close family, friends, and the team, really. No big declarations of love when you say your vows. It’s delightfully understated. Because you don’t need words to prove what’s already palpable.

Even your first dance, the song you chose, “Indian Summer” by The Doors, is beautiful in its simplicity.

I love you The best Better than all The rest.

Clear. Concise. To the point.

“I had other vows,” he confesses to you as Jim Morrison continues to croon on. “I just didn’t want to say them in front of everyone else.”

“Then say them to me now,” you whisper as he sways you around the room.

“Remember what I said about unconditional love? It’s not just… it isn’t just that any wrongdoing would be forgiven, that you’d still love them just the same. It’s that you would love them, no matter what. Even if they don’t love you anymore. And… that’s how I feel about you. No matter what.”

“Aaron. I just married you,” you tease. “I love you. I don’t think I’m leaving.”

“You… you don’t… see, this is why I didn’t want to say them in front of everybody,” he sputters, a blush creeping across his cheeks. “It’s… it’s that I know I would. If anything happened… I would still love you. Always. I thought… I thought it was reserved for children, and that was why I didn’t feel that way in my first marriage. But…. I don’t know. I’m happy to report that that is not the case. It’s a different kind of love, of course, but it’s still unconditional. We… we just went through something that tests even the strongest of couples and we handled it without any issues.”

“We did,” you agree.

“It was almost… romantic."

"Well, let's make sure we hit all the abortion clinics on the way to our honeymoon," you say, smiling at him teasingly.

Aaron scoffs. "Not what I meant. I mean, when I was younger, I never would have thought that could be something that would prove you love somebody. It's treated as a cop-out, a last resort, something you do if the relationship itself isn't going to work out... but for us, it was the right thing. The brave thing. And we did it together. That I could be there for you, in ways I couldn't have been if we had gone through with it. And... that's what makes it romantic. Right?"

You don't really have any eloquent words to say in response. You just love this man. For understanding. For knowing you. For not wanting you to jeopardize your career for something unplanned. For letting you take the reigns.

"Right," you agree, and you kiss him, letting him deepen the kiss, listening to Morgan whistle in the background.

"Yeah, Hotchners! Get a room next time."

"I think we can fire him if we join forces," you say, grinning when he laughs.

I love you the best Better than all the rest

[knavves]

★ SOFT DOM ft kenyu yukimiya

wc: 0.8k ノ cw + tw : nsfw (18+). sub! fem reader. thigh riding. praise. use of petnames. fingering. squirting. unprotected sex. vaginal penetration. creampie. slight teasing. blowjobs. deepthroating. 

soft dom yukimiya! who thinks you look so pretty perched up on his lap, completely naked with your bare cunt on his clothed thigh. he notices the way your eyes sheepishly avoid his gaze as you grind against him. “s okay, angel. make a mess all over my thigh, want you to.” the corners of his eyes crinkle as he gives you a reassuring smile that always makes your heart flutter. he cups your face gently and presses a kiss to your lips, so sweet in contrast to the sinful things you were doing. 

you let out a choked moan as you cum all over his flexed thigh, burying your head into the crook of his neck. “that’s it, did so good for me.” he coos into your ear as one of his hands caress the back of your head. 

soft dom yukimiya! who has long forgotten the romcom the two of you were watching as his fingers piston in and out of your dripping pussy. he sucks various shades of purple into the flesh of your neck, dragging his tongue over each mark to soothe them. you’re writhing and trembling in his arms as his fingers curl deep inside you, cute moans egging him on. “so good, yuki! i wanna cum, please make me cum.” 

he hums in response and his fingers move faster inside of you, abiding your wishes. “let go for me, baby. cum for me.” his words had you clenching around his digits and a squeal rips from your throat as you gush all over his hand. 

soft dom yukimiya! who makes love to you with such passion it has tears fogging your vision. any tear that spills over is immediately wiped away with a swipe of his thumb and replaced with a soft kiss. 

“feels that good, hm?” he says but its mostly to himself as he doesn’t expect much of a coherent response from you anyway. not when the only thing coming from your mouth is mantras of his name and high pitched moans. his cock hits that sweet spot deep inside you that has your toes curling, that spot he knows so well. he knows how to make you cum, he knows what makes you come undone. he’s explored your body time and time again but yet he never grows tired of it. 

a hiss escapes his clenched teeth as you dig your nails into him, carving angry red lines into his back he was sure his teammates were going to tease him about later. the way you clamp down on his length and the moans increasing in volume are more than enough to let him know you were close. “you gonna cum, sweetheart? cum with me. i got you.” he pants as his hips slam against yours faster. within no time, the coil in your belly snaps and he follows soon after, coating your walls with his cum. 

soft dom yukimiya! who cradles your face in his hand as you sit on your knees in between his spread legs after admitting you wanted to suck him off. “you sure this is what you want? don’t wanna hurt you.” but you nod quickly and assure him that you’re ready. 

he chuckles at your eagerness and unbuckles his belt, pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs to reveal his already hard cock. he’s so big, you think as you ogle at the sheer size of him. he gasps as you glide your tongue over the prominent vein that runs on the underside of his length.

you kiss his leaking tip before wrapping your lips around it, giving it a slight suck. his hands claw into the sheets when you finally slide him into your mouth, head dropping to the side with a groan. your cheeks hollow as you bob your head up and down his cock, one of your hands jerking off what you couldn’t fit into your mouth. 

“just like that, angel. always make me feel so good.” his honeyed words send heat into your core and unintentionally coax you to take more of him. you want to please him, want to taste more of him so you pull back momentarily to catch your breath before diving back in, not stopping until your lips were wrapped around the base of his cock. you choked and sputtered a little and your jaw ached at the stretch but the deep moans he let out were worth it. 

your mind was hazy with the slightly salty taste of him spilling his release down your throat, your hands gripping at his thighs as you swallowed it all. a loud ‘pop’ sounded through the room as you pulled off him and lolled your tongue out to show him you drank all of what he gave you. he smirked and pulled you up to give you a kiss, “so proud of you, love. how about i give you a reward to show it, hm?” 

© knavves : reposting, plagiarizing, modifying, and translating is NOT allowed.

[cmesinic]

She backstabbed us, and she shouldn't have been reelected. Show her the door!

[angelprinz]

childe loves when you cry, he can’t find himself getting enough of if. he will always try to get a taste of them when he teases you to the point of tears. he’ll sit you on his lap and coo you while you hiccup and wail, calling him all the names under the sun. he wipes the tears away apologizing as he takes the finger he used and tastes them.

it’s especially good when you have your mouth wrapped around his cock and are a sputteing mess as he fucks your pretty face. the tears ruining any semblance of mascara on your face as you look up to him. he chooses to finish on your face cause you have a little flinch when he does. the cum mixing with the sweat and tears on your face is his favourite taste, picking you up by the chin and licking the side of your face, tasting the amazing concoction he put on your face.

degen anon <3

sob sob degen anonnie i’ve been havin the worst time n here u r givin me a yummy thirst i luv u so much <333

[collecting-stories]

Napoleon - Eddie Munson

Summary: you're back in Hawkins over winter break and you run into Eddie Munson at the grocery store.

A/N: This is actually, technically the first Eddie fic I wrote. I had it sitting in my drafts on my phone. It's not all that good so I apologize in advance.

Stranger Things Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Hawkins, Indiana wasn’t exactly a place that embraced too many changes. It was something you’d always hated growing up but something you were beginning to find oddly endearing, especially now, standing in front of the ice cream section at the grocery store and trying to find plain strawberry without the vanilla and chocolate. The same hokey Christmas decorations were out at all the same houses, the same displays were still up in the grocery store, even the same people were parked behind the registers.  

You’d paid particular attention to lane 5. If anyone or anything in Hawkins hadn’t changed since the last time you’d been home, it was Eddie Munson. You heard from Gareth, because he lived next door to you and would brain dump whatever information you asked for simply because you were paying attention to him for five seconds, that Eddie was repeating senior year. It wasn’t surprising, per say. He wasn’t stupid by any means but he also wasn’t facing a future brimming with too many possibilities. Unless of course, he made it out to New York or something and Corroded Coffin actually took off (something you were totally convinced was possible).  

Abandoning the search for strawberry you walked down the aisle and over to the registers, getting in Eddie’s empty lane. He wasn’t looking up, scribbling something in a notebook next to his register and possibly talking to himself.  

“What are the odds you guys have just straight up strawberry ice cream hiding somewhere in the back?” You asked, finally catching his attention.  

Eddie’s head snapped up and he couldn’t stop the stupid smile on his face at the sight of you. Okay, maybe he should’ve been embarrassed, even just slightly. He knew Christmas break would mean college kids back in Hawkins, he’d already seen some of his class of ‘84 and they’d been less than kind about the fact that he was still in high school. If he wasn’t a freak already with the hair and the clothes and the music and Hellfire Club than he was whatever else they could think of for being held back from graduating. Slow, stupid, or worse. Who knew college kids cared to be so cruel.  

You’d always been nice to him in high school. In any grade really. He was pretty sure he’d managed to sit next to you 185 days out of the year from kindergarten to 12th grade. Elementary school was probably the best, he could remember playing werewolves and vampires with you (and the accidental time he got detention cause the teacher saw him try to stab you with a piece of wood despite him explaining the stake through the heart necessity when killing a vampire). Middle school was alright, you were still nice to him but you had different friends. Not popular friends, just different ones. High school was more of the same.  

“Eddie?”  

“What?” He blinked a couple times, eyes meeting yours.  

“Do you have strawberry ice cream?”  

“Me, personally?” He pointed to himself and you almost laughed out loud.  

“The store, does the store have strawberry or just neapolitan?”  

“Just neapolitan.” Eddie replied. He’d worked over night on Tuesday when the ice cream shipment had come in, freezing his ass off for eight hours to unload and stock ice cream in mid-December. “Which is a classic.” 

“Debatable.”  

“Debatable? No, you can’t debate classics. Is Black Sabbath’s first album a classic? Absolutely. Is Out of the Silent Planet a classic? Of course, non-arguable. I mean, vanilla and chocolate, again, classics.” 

“Okay,” you nodded slowly, drawing the word out, “I’ve clearly been away so long I forgot you were nuts.”  

“You just have bad taste.” Eddie replied, matter of fact and unbothered by your teasing.  

“Well that can’t be true…I like you don’t I?”  

He sputtered for a second, like his brain was working on a delay, and then pushed on, ignoring the comment in case he said something that made him look stupid. (No assumptions would be made about the meaning of your words, Eddie wouldn’t risk it).  

Instead, he turned the conversation back to ice cream, “how can you not like them? What could possibly be better than three ice cream flavours for the price of one?”  

“Strawberry ice cream? By itself.” You replied, ignoring the miniature outburst. He grimaced almost comically, his whole face scrunching up and a deep set frown marring his features. “I’ll tell you what Eddie-“ 

“What Eddie?” He repeated, jumping when you reached across the conveyor belt to smack his arm.  

“Since I’m forced to get the neapolitan, you can have the chocolate and vanilla.” You offered.  

“You could always get a different flavor?” Eddie suggested, the immediate offer going over his head.  

“I see how it is,” you left your basket full of groceries on the conveyor belt as you backed out of his lane, plans of returning to the frozen food aisle on your mind, “been gone for like four months and you don’t wanna spend time with me. Just some loser college freshman. Guess I’m not cool enough for you now.”  

“That’s not, no, that’s not what I said!” Eddie practically launched himself over the bags, foot catching on the end of the register and tripping him up momentarily until he was on your side of the lane. You couldn’t help laughing then as people looked over at the two of you. “You should definitely get the neapolitan. Good choice.”  

- 

“You know when I was younger I was convinced that it was pronounced napoleon.” You mentioned, dipping your spoon in the strawberry side of the Turkey Hill tub. 

There was a fairly decent chance that Eddie would get written up (if not fired) for leaving early.  

“What was pronounced napoleon?” Eddie asked, leaning back against the couch and turning his head to look at you. His hair had grown out even from the last time you saw him and you clenched your hand into a fist against your side to resist the overwhelming urge you were experiencing to run your fingers through the curling fringe covering his forehead.  

“The ice cream,” you replied, dipping your spoon half into the strawberry and half into the vanilla.  

“Whoa!” Eddie sat up suddenly, grabbing your wrist before you could take the bite, “what is this? Are you dipping my vanilla?”  

“It’s like an 8th of the scoop! It was unavoidable.” You insisted, trying to pull your hand away, “Eddie; give me my hand, it’s gonna spill.”  

Keeping eye contact with you and smiling that shit eating grin he always wore, he opened his mouth and stuck the spoon in, his lips brushing your fingers as he stole the bite of ice cream. You pulled your hand away, the spoon sliding out between his lips.  

You would argue that you were incredibly exhausted from midterms and having to be at your parents house again after four months of stressful freedom but what’s your said in the grocery store was true. You liked Eddie, always had. When your friends were crushing over kids who looked like all their favourite celebrities, you were obsessing over everything Eddie Munson did as if he really was the heavy metal god he dressed like.   

So it shouldn’t have come as any great surprise that as he licked his lips, brown eyes still looking right at yours, you leaned forward and kissed him. He tasted like vanilla, strawberry, and cigarettes and he kissed you back, cold rings and warm fingers pressing against your neck and jaw as he held your face in his hands.  

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathed out as you pulled away, leaning into you as if he was chasing the kiss.  

You opened your eyes first, watching the dazed expression on Eddie’s face change as his eyes fluttered open. He pulled his hands away, his fingers leaving sparks where they’d pressed into your skin.  

“Told you I have good taste,” you joked, dipping your spoon back in the strawberry ice cream and smiling around a mouthful of the dessert as Eddie’s cheeks flushed all the way up to his ears. When he didn’t say anything after a minute, you leaned into his space again, “I haven’t rendered you speechless have I?” You asked in mock disbelief.  

In all the years that you’d known Eddie, there weren’t too many times that you could remember him at a loss for words, if there were any. He took a deep breath in, holding it for a second as he shook his head, hair brushing against his shoulders, before he exhaled. “Can we do that again?”  

You nod, eagerly, leaving the spoon on the coffee table and laying your hands on Eddie’s shoulders to give you better leverage to climb into his lap. He doesn’t object at all, instead he brings you closer to him, one hand behind your neck as he guides you into another kiss. This one far more insistent. You moved your hands from his shoulders to his neck, fingers brushing against his hair. When you’d gone to the grocery store for ice cream you hadn’t exactly banked on bringing Eddie Munson home with you or making out with him. But here he was, in your living room, tongue down your throat (not literally) and all you could think about was tenth grade. 

“This is just like Barbie Haskins halloween party.” You mentioned when Eddie broke air. He pressed a kiss to your neck and laid his forehead on your shoulder, hands squeezing your sides affectionately. “Or it will be if you don’t call me after this.” 

“How was I supposed to know you call a person after seven minutes in heaven?” He said, warm breath fanning across your collar.  

“I said call me,” you almost laughed, “and then you never did.” 

Eddie lifted his head to look at you, “we were both pretty drunk, I wasn’t exactly convinced that you wanted me to actually call you.” He made a decent point. You had downed at least four cups of Barbie’s famous red juice by the time she ‘begged’ everyone to play seven minutes in heaven. You weren’t even sure Eddie had been invited to the party or why he was there in the first place but you remembered clear as day, dragging him from the drinks to the middle of the living room.  

“You wanna know a secret?” You asked, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear and leaning in so close that your foreheads were almost touching.  

Eddie’s eyes narrowed, “what?” He asked conspiratorially, playing along as if you really had some sort of secret to tell him.  

“I didn’t pick your name out of Barbie’s hat.” You confessed, remembering clear as day that it had been one of the guys on the basketball team. You’d looked at the name, grimaced, and figured no one would be any the wiser if you just, said Eddie’s name instead. Besides, he’d looked so good that night and you were so obsessed with him. Making out in a dark closet seemed like the perfect way to celebrate Halloween.  

“What?” He bit down on his bottom lip, trying not to smile. He squeezed your sides again, fingers pressing into your hips. 

You shrugged, “I just wanted to make out with you, kinda like we were doing now...” you kissed the left side of his jaw and then the right, “kinda like I wouldn’t mind getting back to.” 

“We can get back to it. We should definitely get back to it.” He agreed.  

“Definitely.” 

-

taglist: @kenzi-woycehoski @bookfrog242 @milkiane 

[lotanxiety]

The Girl Who Cried Wolf pt 2

A/N: Ahhh okay I’m quite thrilled about the response on the first part of this and I’m excited to make this a series! Like I mentioned, this is my first time doing this so bear with me as the plot progresses! If there are things you want to happen, suggestions of where it should go, etc feel free to drop in the notes <33

Summary: Soft Dean being sweet to you after a nightmare, slow burn hehehe

Warnings: just fluff really… for now😈

————————————————————

About an hour after you had fallen asleep, Dean stepped outside to call Sam and make sure he’s handled everything back at your house. While Dean was outside the motel room talking to Sam, he heard you scream.

Bursting through the door, he saw you rolling around and shaking in your bed. In a second, he was by your side trying to wake you up. “Shhh shh Y/N wake up, it’s just a dream. I’m right here, please wake up.” With a gasp you come out of your nightmare to reality which was your nightmare. Tears flood your eyes again and Dean goes to hold you. You look up at him, and his hearts breaks once again for the girl he just met. “C-can you… possibly stay here” you ask more vulnerable than you’ve ever been. Dean nods, sinking down further into the bed with you, still holding you close. Being wrapped in his warm embrace was the most comfortable you had ever felt in your life. You didn’t grow up with a loving family and had never been in a relationship. You didn’t realize how much you needed to be held not only before this tragedy happened but especially now. Dean somehow knew that and had been comforting you in the way you didn’t know you needed. You were extremely grateful and wanted to do something to thank the brothers, however how do you thank someone for saving you from a werewolf, comforting you from the trauma, and helping you clean up the aftermath? That was too much to think about so you decided to make it tomorrow’s problem. Finally, you drifted off to sleep for the second time, but this time without the nightmare.

_______________________________________

The next morning, Dean woke up with you in his arms. As he blinked himself awake, he was careful not to move because he didn’t want to disturb you. Dean studied your face. You looked so peaceful, he dreaded the moment you would wake up and have to face reality again. He knows what that’s like and it pains him to see this girl who tried to make a better life for herself end up the same as him. He wanted to do everything in his power to keep her safe and try to get her life back on track. He wasn’t exactly sure what was so special about this girl, but the longer he stared at her sweet, sleeping face, the bigger the swell in his chest got. She was also wearing his shirt which he has never let another girl do. Their situation was anything but sexy, however for a brief moment he couldn’t help but let himself think. She was absolutely stunning, even covered in dirt and blood. Then she stepped out of the shower in his shirt and he quickly had to bring himself to reality to keep those thoughts away since they weren’t appropriate at the time. Dean became more increasingly aware of the beautiful woman wrapped around his body, in his clothes, and immediately jumped out of bed, still trying to be as gentle as possible as to not wake you, to take a cold shower. Sam was still asleep in the adjacent bed. When you woke up not too long after, you laid there staring at the ceiling preparing yourself to face everything. Finally, after deciding you’ll never truly be ready, you stood up and walked over to your destroyed clothes that sat in a pile on the floor. That’s when Dean walked out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel draped over his lower half. You accidentally stare at the man in front of you, really appreciating the view. “Like what you see?” Dean says with a smirk on his face. Your cheeks go red, quickly averting your gaze. “Dean, I’m so sorry I- didn’t mean to stare. You just surprised me.” you sputter the words out quickly. Deciding not to make further comments as to try and not make you uncomfortable, Dean grabbed his clothes and retreated back to the bathroom, smirk still proudly on his face. You rub your hands over your face, embarrassed he caught you staring and replaying what just happened over in your mind. Sam wakes up and sits up in his bed. “Mornin Y/N” he says with a yawn. Once he opens his eyes more, he reads the look on your face. “Are you okay? Well that’s a stupid question considering what has happened, but I mean you look kind of…spooked” Sam says. “Yeah… no.. i- i am uh… totally fine yeah” you stutter out, face still flushed. Sam decides to leave it alone. Dean exits the bathroom, fully clothed this time, and you rush in to change. As you two pass, an unspoken volt of electricity passes between the two of you. The rest of the morning is pretty quiet.

You guys all go to a diner for breakfast before Sam and Dean drive you back to your parent’s house.

“I know it can’t be easy staying here, are you sure this is where you want to be?” Sam asked you.

“I was going to move back in with my parents, so it’s not like I have anywhere else to go anyways. I’ll be fine.” You say trying to remain as stoic as possible. “I uh- have something for you guys. It’s kind of stupid, but I don’t know how to thank you for all that you’ve done for me.” You say handing a piece of paper to Sam and another one to Dean. You had spent your time in the back seat sketching each of them in the most epic scene, so hopefully they could see themselves as you do; heroes.

“Oh my god, this is incredible” Sam says reaching to hug you. Dean stands there with the paper in his hands and tears fighting their way to the surface. He choked them back before you broke away from Sam so you couldn’t see.

“I didn’t know you could draw. This is uh- really nice. Thank you Y/N” Dean says, pulling you in for a hug as well. When his arms wrap around your body, you both melt into each other. Not without some hesitation from both parties do you guys pull away. You watch from the porch as the brothers load into the Impala and drive away, never to be seen again… Or so you thought.

[444names]

Names generated from orc (TES) names, plus English and Scottish surnames, excluding the letter "H"

Abgunnett Adborn Adclakell Agenjayson Aindalton Ainnick Albuggs Aless Alleycow Allord Aluram Alvert Angton Annsow Askin Atatt Atlowlton Awsett Axond Ayton Azury...

Baggle Baickle Balley Bamurgok Barkwee Barwes Basey Bateard Baycuck Bazburneg Bazge Beattson Beendlet Beirewook Belett Bermacley Bersow Bertod Bestored Bialmalurn Bickle Bilberd Birizbur Bitty Bizes Bleing Blogands Boinsord Bolab Boodt Boramledge Borbgoe Bordru Bornweld Bortick Boucalloom Bouram Bourbe Bowelle Bowson Boyne Bozrom Brains Brogg Brold Broll Brosley Brotuton Brulgrul Brutles Bugbuck Bulan Bularkle Buncers Burain Burbasa Burbower Burcammon Burrabragg Burut Bànappen Caice Caidge Caois Cappe Caragaill Carat Carissing Carnettick Catne Cavire Cesswes Cillingee Clakettes Cockfiell Coidwett Comlenit Corry Corton Corzog Couskers Crimacill Crins Crose Culga Cumond Dagran Dairkins Dalwer Darlink Dawlings Denry Didwer Dierter Dilemer Dislis Docks Dolgray Dorefor Dorton Downeriell Driabett Dubbir Dunge Dusna Ealey Eddis Efielley Elboaton Ellinsford Ellmoz Entonson Evion Faborn Falbron Falles Falling Fanaxton Faxiell Fearee Fiettabley Florguzag Forson Frazield Frefiell Fubbs Fulog Gadge Ganart Garney Gaston Gaswor Gettson Gilkirey Glasbulza Glaywooms Glegar Glount Glugileett Glurton Gluzga Gonars Goodenk Gozug Grailka Grailsomes Gralg Graytoners Greck Gridgey Grins Gripton Grisonag Grobb Grombum Gruillf Grulack Grulmen Gruseacber Gugbarz Guidger Guimb Gullayton Guloug Guraly Gurlup Guruell Intwoodel Irdin Irger Jacuck Jaquir Jarra Jayton Jeffen Jefforzoll Jefiell Jefolgara Jefort Jensalton Jeper Jetton Judgea Kertley Ketson Kidge Kilsold Kinds Knock Korbywers Kritt Krogul Krugakne Kyrott Lagdosang Lagrum Laidge Laill Laily Lantebly Larueldsom Lason Latag Latoluslon Lawrey Lazgater Laziggazog Legraill Lestistfix Liams Linge Lingfix Linglugut Loftoomon Logburyork Looke Lorlainson Lorry Lortty Loryon Losell Louner Loverrins Lovey Loway Loxter Luiblant Luillson Lukattris Lumzarass Lurold Macais Macalg Macap Macce Macclanag Maccnèing Maccrob Macgiley Macgin Macil Macillugul Macion Mackrow Mackser Maclall Maclam Maclurond Macrand Macsuton Mactopan Macum Madences Magdura Maingswin Majow Malarry Mandanker Mandy Manney Manny Manoreld Marlurga Marrog Maxton Mayer Mazle Mazumb Mentain Mestaggil Mester Milley Mingg Monarwitt Moyery Mulam Mulans Mulgaster Murbeelton Murley Murub Murymockma Màrlar Naccàidge Nairga Narra Nerrible Nisby Noves Numuk Obrot Orron Oscom Paccudung Padaverson Pagur Parlataing Peerson Peiret Pellembluk Pellett Percribbog Perry Persey Pielldin Pilkist Pilley Pings Poireld Polga Prell Priney Purlivelt Purskis Quidge Radal Ratepton Raves Rayner Rerrington Ridenn Risaug Ritry Rivis Riwelbur Rogunts Roodbey Rosslover Rottlen Routt Rugdan Rulzuls Salver Sangs Sawniard Scarg Scolk Scuin Seard Silley Simenorle Simord Sinne Slain Slegol Slermer Smitel Snabla Snall Snumburnag Spiele Spriwelles Spurce Sputt Stall Statubris Stere Stersavey Stielling Stingtonob Stlazguk Stlem Stongton Stonsear Strard Strey Strow Sugdott Sumanter Swingacill Swoodey Sworey Taird Tallorzog Tartorts Tends Tilik Tonforgill Towar Trank Trett Tubert Twoodys Uffiell Ufftipton Ugbuitte Unden Uprackett Urbatenny Urdnaley Urgazg Urguird Vandye Vibbeld Villinkley Volmons Vonswornde Vorburnarn Vorcuis Walbell Waless Waswell Watlet Wayleks Waytonks Welve Wilgur Wimenton Windam Wister Witama Wittorz Wooks Woord Wooter Worle Wugurm Wymacild Yamit Yamon Yarrogley Yatord Zurbote

[sunflower-lilac42]

☼ 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱 ☼ 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 ☼

☼ summary: the zegras' get invited to spend summer with the hughes' and the older siblings plot to get their younger siblings alone together

☼ warnings: none :)

☼ word count: 0.6k

☼ file type: au (walking on sunshine) blurb

☼ sunny's notes: i am so so so so excited for this au and i'm hoping you guys are too! feel free to send in asks about luke and ophelia or the au in general! i haven't decided if i want to do au taglists yet, so let me know!

au masterlist || nhl masterlist || taglist || navigation

“Do I really have to go?” Ophelia blinks up at her older brother, lips pouting slightly. 

They stood outside on the driveway of the Hughes’ house, Ophelia playing with the ends of her white cardigan, her yellow sundress underneath it, and her new shiny white high-top Converse adorning her feet. Trevor ran a hand through his hair as he stared down at her with a small smile, “You’re gonna be fine, phi. You already know Jack and Quinn and Luke aren’t as scary as you think they are. Plus, momma Hughes is gonna love you.”

She looked down at her hands, anxiety clouding her mind. Despite her having a bubbly personality, meeting new people always scared her, especially if they were close to Trevor. She never wanted to impede her brother’s friendships. Before she even got the chance to think about walking to the door, she heard it open and footsteps running towards them. Arms wrapped around her waist, picking her up and spinning her around, “Ophelia!”

“Hi, Jack.” Jack put her down and smiled at her before he moved to hug Trevor. 

It was only then that she realized that there was a boy behind Jack, following him out of the house much slower. She smiled at him nervously, “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m Luke, Jack’s younger brother.” He stuck his hand out for her to shake, which she did, “I’m Ophelia, Trevor’s younger sister.”

Luke nodded and the two slowly pulled their hands away from each other. Trevor and Jack shared a mischievous look. The two whispered a few words and then Jack looked at the two younger ones, “Luke why don’t you and Phi go for a walk? You can show her around the neighborhood.”

“Why would I-”

“I would love to.” Ophelia’s softer voice cut off Luke’s louder one, which shut him up, “Okay.”

The two younger ones took off down the driveway, oblivious to their older siblings high-fiving each other before getting the Zegras’ suitcases out of the trunk. The two walked in silence for the first couple of minutes of the walk, Ophelia being the first one to speak after, “So, how old are you?”

“I’m 15, going to be 16 in September.”

“Oh weird. Me too, except in December.” 

He nods, looking down the road to see two little kids selling lemonade at the end of their driveway. He looked back at Ophelia just in time to see her eyes light up at the sight, “I hope you don’t mind. I’ll be right back.”

She took off, running slightly, causing Luke to quirk an eyebrow at her actions. He walked a little faster to catch up with her, catching the tail end of her sentence, “...love lemonade, actually!”

Ophelia’s smile was bright as she talked to the kids, placing two dollars into the little custom jar that sat at the corner of the table. Luke stood by her, smiling awkwardly at the kids. The little girl who sat next to her brother looked up at the older girl, “You’re very pretty.”

Her cheeks flushed at her comment, “Thank you, you are too!”

The little girl smiled, playing with the ends of her hair, “We’re wearing matching dresses!”

Ophelia looked down at her dress and then at the little girl’s, “Huh, we aren’t we?”

The girl moved her hands to grab a ‘special’ glass from under their table, “I was saving this for a special customer and I think you fit the role.”

The glass, or paper cup, had little daisies on it, “It’s my last one.”

“Oh thank you so much. I love it.”

The boy, who had been sitting silently next to his sister, finally spoke, “Are you two dating?”

Luke and Ophelia immediately sputtered out words trying to explain, “No our brothers are friends.”

“Oh, you two would be cute together.”

Who knew kids could be fortune tellers?

[immobiliare-olivati-bergamo]

#olivati #fiaip #bergamo: il futuro del mercato #immobiliare https://youtube.com/watch?v=DhW98DqcBNw ✅ Beh di mercato dalla casa, dal 1990, qualcosa devo aver capito, dato che mi ci intervistano 👍🏠 Se vuoi che metta a frutto per vendere la tua casa la mia conoscenza dell'andamento del mercato immobiliare a Bergamo e provincia, ma non solo perché vendiamo in tutta Italia... chiamami senza problemi, parliamone insieme. ✅ La corretta definizione del prezzo di vendita può farti vendere velocemente al giusto valore di mercato, senza svendere di un centesimo. Tirare a casaccio sparando un prezzone "tanto si fa sempre in tempo a scendere" significa che dovrai ribassare, ribassare, ribassare...intanto la tua casa langue sul mercato mentre le altre si vendono, e diventa una casa "chiacchierata" (leggi sputt....). ✅ Alla fine dopo un anno o due che la casa per te è solo un costo, per stanchezza, finisci per accettare una controfferta inferiore al corretto prezzo di vendita che si poteva definire all'inizio dell'operazione commerciale. Quante ne ho viste in 32 anni...quante volte mi hanno detto "aveva ragione lei"? Ma io volevo venderla due anni fa la tua casa, avresti risolto il problema molto prima, prendendo pure di più. ➡️ Ecco vuoi evitare tutto ciò? Chiamami, parliamone insieme 3356069107 (presso Agenzia Immobiliare Olivati Bergamo) https://www.instagram.com/p/CjmsX68tYVi/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[blogitalianissimo]

Ma che cazzo è successo al festival di Sanremo?

Baci gay tra Fiorello e Tiziano Ferro

Amadeus ha passato l'herpes a Fiorello

Un finto Ghali è caduto dalle scale

Achille Lauro si è vestito da marchesa Luisa Casati

Quel pazz'uomo di Morgan ha sputt*nato in diretta nazionale Bugo e quest'ultimo l'ha mollato da solo sul palco

Amadeus si è messo a cercare Morgan e Bugo fino alle 4 di mattina

Io ho bisogno di acqua e zucchero perché è da ieri che rido e mi sento mancare le forze

[ninocom5786]

Ma non erano gli immigrati clandestini a essere dei privilegiati dallo Stato? Ah no, sono dei leghisti di cui uno del Movimento 5 Stelle e l'altro di Italia Viva

[mordopolus]

Liste: Sieben gute Konzerte, die ich 2019 besucht habe

Februar ist nicht Dezember, aber versprochen ist versprochen: Auch 2019 soll nicht leer ausgehen, nicht unsortiert rumliegen, obwohl Brennen Muss Die Liste! weiterhin auf Eis liegt und ich einen Großteil des Jahres, bis in den Winter hinein um genau zu sein, in einem Pop-Paralleluniversum voller Masken verbracht, ergo von der Gegenwart kaum mehr als ein paar Abende draußen, neues Slipknot-Geknüppel und zugesteckte, aber steckengelassene Tipps mitgekriegt habe. Die letzten Wochen des alten Jahres habe ich folglich eingekuschelt in Streams verbracht, von auf die hohe Kante gepackten Alben genascht, die ein oder andere Rezension ausgegraben und so langsam aufgearbeitet, was hinter meinem Rücken veröffentlicht wurde. EPs (sowieso meist eher Kür als Pflicht, immer dann gern genommen, wenn sich das Jahr über was angesammelt hat) und Musikvideos (die ich jetzt selbst nur via Listen gesichtet habe, hier also nur eine Zusammenfassung von Pitchfork/Visions/Stereogum geben könnte) erspare ich uns allen, stattdessen gibt es die beiden Königinnenkategorien Album und Song, vorbereitet von den spaßig-kontingenten Konzerten des Jahres. Die lassen sich schwer nacharbeiten, was gut ist, weil die Liste so schnell beisammen war, aber auch schade, weil ich im Maskendelirium doch den ein oder anderen guten Abend verpasst habe. Schmälern soll das keinesfalls die sieben unten notierten Erlebnisse, von denen ich nun aber auch keinem eine übergeorndete Aussage über das Pop-Jahr 2019 zumuten würde. Mehr dazu an anderer Stelle.

Behemoth, 23.01.2019, Turbinenhalle Oberhausen

Black Metal, die eine Seite. Wer sich an diesem Abend in Oberhausen einfindet, möchte Metal in Großbuchstaben huldigen. Keine Experimente, sondern Größen. Die Ticketpreise verlangen ein Glaubensbekentniss, die Massen lassen sich jedoch nicht vom Pfad der Gerechten abbringen und erleben dann in der Tat die Offenbarung einer Art Dreifaltigkeit. Wolves In The Throne Room sind in dem Kontext fast noch ein bisschen zu avanciert, leiten aber angenehm nebulös ein. Der Altherren-Death von At The Gates generiert dann unerwartete Sing-Alongs, auf denen Behemoth aufbauen. Zwischen all den Displays, einschwörenden Reden, bollernden Songs, Kostümwechseln, frenetischen Reaktionen, ritualistischen Anmutungen und Fistbumps ist es schwer möglich, kritische Distanz zu wahren, über die man ... naja. Im Fall Behemoth langsam schon nochmal nachdenken könnte. Die beste Figur hat aber ohnehin Tomas Lindberg gemacht, mit hölzernem Hämmern und dem Schmiss eines verkneipten Rock-Verteidigers im besten Alter.

Turbostaat, 15.03.2019, Druckluft

Vielleicht bin ich mittlerweile bei keiner Band so in den Anfängen hängengeblieben wie bei Turbostaat. Es tut mir ja auch leid und verstehen tu ich es sowieso nicht, aber wenn, dann greife ich mittlerweile eben zur "Flamingo", nicht zu sagen wir “Stadt der Angst”. Zum 20. Geburtstag gehe ich dann auch den Weg der heftigen Nostalgie, lasse das Best-Of-Programm in Münster ausfallen und schleiche mich in den kleineren Laden, zu den Leuten, die früher vielleicht dabei waren, vielleicht auch einfach Bock auf die alten Sachen haben, eventuell aber auch einfach die Hipster's Choice präferieren. Egal auch, denn Lügen sind vorher gut, und Turbostaat mit vor allem "Flamingo" und "Schwan" dann gewohnt großartig. Doch nochmal fetziger als fünf Jahre vorher, wo ja alle Platten sauber gespielt wurden, aber auch nicht so Punk, wie ich mir das nachträglich vorstelle. Irgendwo dazwischen halt, und das ist auch gut. Mich hat es ergriffen.

Die Goldenen Zitronen, 08.05.2019, Gleis 22

Apropos Punk und Vergangenheit: Was ist eigentlich mit den Goldies? Bei "Who's Bad" wollten alle ganz laut mit den Schultern zucken, endlich mal jetzt, bei "More Than A Feeling" tat es dann meist die leise Variante. Live sind die sechs Leute auch am Ende ihrer wohl unauffälligsten Dekade ein Schreckgespenst, von dem mein Kompagnon und ich uns bereitwillig und in klitschnassen Hosen heimsuchen lassen. Ted Gaier sieht aus wie einer, der wirklich Leute verprügelt, wie mir das ein Freund mal erzählt hat, Schorsch Kamerun hingegen, als wäre aus ihm auch eine gute Figur im Inventar der Augsburger Puppenkiste geworden. Theater und Agitation, neue Stücke und alte Nummern, runtergerattert und ins Publikum gedonnert, Instrumente durchgetauscht und am Ende Gute Nacht, Toten-2/5-Hosen hinterhergucken und mit Pop-Dozenten plaudern. Ist das jetzt die Güte der Musealisierung? Das Theater als Rückzugsort, der faule Kompromiss mit dem eigenen Erbe? Nicht nur der Auftritt von Skills vorab durchschneidet dankenswerterweise die Gemütlichkeit, die es dazu gebraucht hätte, auch der Rest pulsiert und zerdenkt noch in bemerkenswertem Gleichgewicht.

Gurr, 14. Juni 2019, Maifeld Derby

Festivals sind eine unberechenbare Sache. Eigentlich konnte mir ja niemand den Auftritt der Tocos am Sonntag vermiesen, den ich so lange herbeigesehnt hatte, nicht mal, dass sie tatsächlich und ausgerechnet mit dieser die Menschen vereinenden Platte "Die Unendlichkeit" im Rücken von Faber auf den Platz des Co-Headliners verwiesen wurden. Dass dann aber ein paar Brühnasen um mich herum dringend kurz vor Schluss des neunten und vorerst irgendwie letzten Maifeld Derby Verbrüderung feiern mussten, war dann doch ganz subjektiv einfach scheiße, der Platz des Besten Derby-Auftritts also mit einem Mal vakant. Jörkk Mechenbiers passioniertes Mundaufreißen im Rahmen des gefeierten Schreng Schreng & La La Auftritts war ebenso erhebend wie die endlose Champagnerdusche des Lifecoaches Mike Skinner am Samstag, doch irgendwie konnte und wollte nichts so recht an das Esprit reichen, mit dem Gurr am Freitag einen klassischen Nichts-zu-verlieren-Auftritt absolvierten. Es rumpelte, kickte, stolperte und war gut.

Wiegedood, 14.07.2019, Sputnikcafé

Black Metal, die andere Seite. Aus VW-Busen erheben sich mit Corpsepaint beschmierte Menschen, vor der Bühne winden sich definierte Körper, im Publikum mischen sich bierselige mit misanthropischen Blicken. Alles egal, als Wiegedood die Bühne betreten und schmettern, krachen, peitschen, all das in einem Nebel, der den Hörsturz synästhetisch vorausahnen lässt. Drumherum formieren sich Freundschaften, alle einigen sich ganz spontan darauf, dass das hier jetzt die Band ist. Das Café ist sowieso brechend voll, bekehrt werden muss hier niemand, aber Dreck fressen.

The Mudd, 28.09.2019, De Pluu

Es verlangt irgendwie viel Fingerspitzengefühl, um über Abende wie diese zu schreiben, die so aus dem Nichts auftauchen, mit unmittelbarer Euphorie eindecken und durch eine Gruppe junger Menschen bestechen, die sich noch recht deutlich recken und strecken, dabei aber die richtigen Knöpfe drücken. Paternalistische Grußworte sollten mit höchster Priorität vermieden werden, alleine schon weil es die gar nicht braucht um zu berichten, wie hier Morrissey verschluckt und wieder ausgespruckt wird, wie ein pastiger Bass an den Waden drückt und der Kick manchmal einsetzt, wo man sich schon zur Ruh legen wollte. Nach einer guten Dreiviertelstunde ist der Spuk vorbei, und das ist gut, denn die jungen Menschen wollen vielleicht noch von der Hausbar dieses Jugendzentrums kosten, und man selber will diesen kompakten Eindruck gar nicht durch irgendwelche Finten und Soli und krude Zugaben verwässert kriegen.

HGich.T, 01.11.2019, Sputnikhalle

Doch, es haftete meinem dritten Besuch eines HGich.T-Konzerts vorab eine gewisse Nostalgie an, zumindest aber eine Abgeklärtheit. 2010, da war das alles so aufregend gewesen, dass mein Kompagnon und ich uns in sicherem Abstand im Gewölbe des Trierer Ex-Hauses versteckt hatten, zwei Schaulustige auf einer etwas außer Kontrolle geratenen Abifeier. Man kannte ja Geschichten dieser Auftritte, hatte Bilder gesehen, und so halb, in einer guten, erträglichen Form wurde all das auch Wahrheit. 2015 war der Drops dann schon fast gelutscht, die Leute nicht mehr ganz so jung und neugierig, ein eher studentisches Publikum in kleinem Rahmen, der das Verstecken erschwerte. Die Atmosphäre war toll klaustrophobisch, die Gruppe in kleiner Besetzung angereist, es wurde viel geschrien, ein einsamer Raver schleppte sich zwischen all den verbliebenen Schaulustigen durch. Und nun, 2019, in Münster, wer sollte auftauchen? Ein paar neugierige Studierende, mit Interesse am Spektakel, das in der alten Form sicher nicht mehr auftreten würde? Es kam alles ganz anders: Zu meiner Überraschung fand das Konzert in der Halle, nicht im Café der Sputte statt, der Laden war voll und wurde erstmal gut 150 Minuten mit Goa-EDM-Techno-Rave-Krempel geflutet. Hinterher schossen dann einige Mitglieder des Kollektivs, über das ich längst den Überblick verloren habe, und so geschah es meinem Überblick auch an diesem Abend, zwischen alten Ravern und jungen Ravern und neugierigen Rocktypen und vollkommen unbeschriebenen Blättern, denen die Slogans mit spitzer Feder aufnotiert wurden, und wir mittendrin, und plötzlich dann vorne, in einem Zerrspiegel von Moshpit, in dem Leute einfach stolpern und getragen werden und saufen und schreien, aber eben auch einfach laufen und reden und ein Kabel an den Kopf kriegen, die Deko abräumen und dann ist alles vorbei, und die umgekippten Leute auf Trips feiern vielleicht noch weiter, aber wir werden jetzt wieder wach und gehen raus und dann nach Hause, weil morgen auch noch ein Tag war.

[kach808universeaxiom]

(sputt)

[heinoushangar]

“One year.” Vaggie’s knees shiver as she stands in the middle of a spotless and re-arranged Happy Hotel lobby, broom in hand and a stray white hair or five sticking from the rest of a neatly brushed crown. “One whoole year... and it’s done. This entire damn place is back in working order. No broken anything anywhere anymore, and all it took was one whole year with no breaks! Ahahaha! Ahahahah!”

It looks good.. for the moment. Broken furniture has either been fixed or replaced, torn wallpaper has been replaced and every window, chandelier, bed frame, spoon, fork and butcher knife has a nice little twinkle to it. Everything is working just as it should be, nothing is out of date and no water heater is sputteing blood from the 8th circle. It’s done! It’s clean! It’s nice! It doesn’t smell of burning flesh or tears of the damned!

And Vaggie is just a touch manic with her giggling, leaning on the handle of the broom for support. She’s experiencing the intense emotions of elation and exhaustion all at once and her body can’t decide which to prioritize, so it’s just slamming her with both in unison. 

“NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO TOUCH ANYTHING FOR TEN MINUTES.”