#just got wild signs in paperback!

[aurumacadicus]

were u sad by the beginning? were u touched by the story? were u moved by the main characters personalities? tell us more.

Pixar said "What if we made found family for a grumpy old man that consisted of a child whose father is absent and a dog who can talk (and exclusively uses this simply to tell that grumpy old man "I love you")" and I ate that up with a spoon. Anyway.

--

Peter sighed, leaning his cheek on his hand. Saturday number eight ruined, just like the seven before it. "You know, at this point, my advisor would accept me taking out your trash as community service."

"Don't have trash," Steve grumped, not turning from his television.

Peter scowled, even though he knew it was true. For some reason, Steve was really into recycling and composting. It wasn't a bad thing, of course, but it left him with a whopping three things to throw away during the week (the nurses had told him), which he stuffed in his friend's wastebasket when he joined them for dinner on Thursdays. He didn't need to be pushed around in a wheelchair, he didn't need his sparsely decorated apartment cleaned or reorganized, and he didn't need anyone to cook for him.

Which was his problem. Steve had been his assigned elder when his community service advisor had had the bright idea for their class to help out a senior home, and he had nothing for Peter to do. Ned had gotten a neat old lady named Peggy, and MJ had gotten the terrifying but cordial couple next door, Natasha and Bucky. Hell, even Flash had gotten a jovial old man who sometimes insisted he was Norse god. And here Peter was. With Steve.

Now, granted, his advisor had offered to pair him with someone else a couple weeks ago, but Peter had decided he was going to out-stubborn Steve. He had time. Steve didn't. Steve would have to break eventually.

"I could go get you an organic blueberry smoothie," Peter offered, just to see what would happen.

"No," Steve answered, not looking at him.

Peter glanced around the apartment. "I could... take your laundry to the laundry room?"

"No," Steve said again.

Peter's eyes caught on a worn paperback sat spread on the coffee table. "I could get you a couple more of those thrillers."

"No," Steve said, and began to puff up, like he had every other time before he told Peter in no uncertain terms to stop trying to help him and go away.

"If you really wanted to help him," Sam said, amused, as he came into the apartment with a to-go bag from the diner two blocks away. "You'd find his boyfriend for him."

"Sam," Steve barked, at the same time Peter bolted to his feet and exclaimed, "Captain Rogers has a boyfriend?!"

"I don't," Steve told him sharply, then scowled at Sam, more sourly than he usually did when Sam dropped his forbidden lore. "Stop saying that, Sam."

"Stop being a sourpuss and let Peter get his community service credit then," Sam scoffed, pulling out a burger and handing it to him.

Steve looked like he'd sucked on a lemon as he took it. It could be at the thought of letting Peter help him, but it could also have been because the diner used waxed wrappers, which meant he couldn't compost them. "No."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes as he sat down on the couch, giving Peter a 'what can you do' and 'I tried, kid' type of shrug. "Fine, be a miserable old man. I think Peter's stubborn enough that he'll stay until you die, and then he'll take being your pallbearer as his community service."

"It's true," Peter told Steve. "I've got time."

"I like him," Sam told Steve.

Steve took a bite of his burger, probably to keep from gnashing his teeth at them like a wild animal. He looked mad enough.

Sam turned to look at Peter. "Listen. Steve has been hung up on this guy for years. You find that guy, I'll sign off on your community service credit."

"I need Captain Rogers' signature," Peter said.

Sam shrugged, finally turning to his own burger. "I know how to forge it." He patted the couch beside him as Steve tried to squawk and, instead, choked on a pickle chip. "Come on, kid. I got you a burger too."

"Okay," Peter answered with a shrug, coming over to sit down. It would probably be easier to pump Sam for information than Steve, anyway, and Peter was curious.

He'd heard that Steve and Peggy had once been married, and while they were amicable when they met in the halls, there was no spark to be reignited. Peggy had her family after her second husband had passed, and she'd made fast friends with a lady named Dottie. Steve, on the other hand, had seemed to have isolated himself. He had friends, but he didn't go out to the social stuff, which a lot of the ladies tittered was 'quite a shame!' as they winked at each other.

But if Steve was hung up on someone, that was interesting. Steve might be stubborn, but he had nothing on Peter. Peggy had said so, and while it made Peter wonder what all Ned had told her about him, it also bolstered him. He'd help Steve. He'd get his community service credit. And maybe he'd get Steve's respect.

#aurumacadicus answers #anon #stony

[aestherians]

Way before learning about otherkinity or therianthropy, back when I was a little baby creature, trapped in school, forced to hang out with 8 y/o humans, I would often sneak off and hide in the school library.

We weren't allowed to be there without a teacher present, but they often forgot to lock the door, and way in the back, far away from the windows, back where no one could find me, there just so happened to be a shelf full of 'mystery books.' They had everything, from UFOs, cryptids, and mythology to ESP, folklore... and werewolves.

These weren't big tomes - it was a village school with only 120 students, ranging from 5 to 12 years old. They were paperbacks catered mostly to 3rd graders, and they had all the trappings that those kinds of books tend to have, being sensationalist, scatterbrained, and simplistic at the best of times, and downright misinformed at the worst.

I know now that hypertrichosis had little to nothing to do with werewolf mythology. Werewolves were largely born out of fear of your neighbor, fear that they might be hiding something - and hypertrichosis is not exactly easy to hide. The tell-tale signs of werewolves are monobrows that can be plucked, a furry back that can be covered up, and a tendency to disappear for long stretches of time, while livestock get killed by wild animals.

But of course I didn't know that back then. My folkloric studies, as a 3rd grader, consisted of Dragonology and looking at pictures in my aunt's "Mysteries of the Unknown" collection, that I was far too young to have the patience to read.

So when I read about people who were thought to be werewolves because of their appearance, I took it at face value.

I wish the story takes a fantastical turn here, and that I started drawing fur on myself or wearing fur to school. But I was a quiet creature. I already got chased around by bullies at recess - why I hid in the library in the first place - and I didn't need to add to that.

But I envied the people who had fur. At least they were targeted for something visible, I thought. They didn't have to wonder why people might throw rocks at them or call them animals or act like their touch was poisonous.

I still sometimes wish I had hypertrichosis.

#otherkin #therian #every time i've tried to write something lately it's been quite... angsty #i think it's the winter depression setting in

[positivelybeastly]

Did you see Gillen and Brevoort said Beast (used to be/could have been) was the most romantic x man? Veeeeery interesting. Gillen seemingly wanted to redeem beast in SWORD through his love for Abigail but feels that’s been taken off the table at this point. If only there were some other person he held near and dear to his heart who might be able to give him both love and time to grow past this unfortunate moment

"I'm through with love hangovers,

It's best that I stay sober.

No rolling in the clover,

No Gretna Green trip over.

No honeymoon in Paris,

I only feel embarrassed for the,

Cool cats,

The charmed kittens,

Both smitten by the love songs

That he's written.

Caught in the sights of a,

Deadly sniper:

The magic piper of love.

The magic piper of love.

Of love, of love!"

Anon, you beat me to this - the instant I saw that thread on Reddit, I was just besides myself with jimmy legs because I wanted to get back home and post about it immediately.

SO. CONTEXT.

Over at AIPT Comics, they have this segment called X-Men Mondays, where they'll send out various themed questions to people at the X-office to answer, usually as just kind of a fun, fuckabout sort of thing.

Today's was Valentine's Day themed, because, well, it's the 12th of February, there's not a ton else to talk about.

The question naturally came up.

AIPT: Who, in your opinion, is the most romantic X-character? (And why?)

Everyone gets a look in, from Xavier to Wolverine to Havok to Mystique, but. Okay, so, like. Kieron Gillen answered four times in this thread, and most of it was just funny answers, but in response to THIS question, he said this in response:

Kieron Gillen: You know, Beast in the timeline where my S.W.O.R.D. got past issue 5 would have been good for this, but the timeline we ended up in had (er) somewhat less romance interested Beast. Perhaps someone could go back in time and try and do something about it. “We have to time travel to save Beast!” “Why? Is it all his genocides?” “No, he has to carry on devotedly making blueberry muffins.”

. . . . . . . .

Ladies, gentleman, non-binary individuals. S.W.O.R.D was cancelled 14 years ago. It died in 2009. But Kieron Gillen refuses to stop being salty about it, and you know what? You know what? Fucking good for him, because I'm fucking salty about it too!!!

But, like, this is such a wild answer to me! Just, unprompted, one of the premier comic book talents of the day just being like, hey, fuck you all, I really liked my little Beast-Brand OTP book. This man is one of my people, I know this. Well. I already knew this, to be fair, I got him to sign my trade paperback copy of that exact series, but that was over a decade ago, and he's STILL flying that flag???

HE REMEMBERS THE MUFFINS.

LOOK AT MY FUCKING OOC TAG.

IT'S OUTOFMUFFINS.

Then Brevoort, who, by the way, is the incoming editor for the X-Men books, said this:

Tom Brevoort: Back in the day, it was the Beast, before he threw over human needs and desires in favor of science. Nightcrawler also had some moves, but he doesn’t really use them as often anymore. So these days, Gambit is the clear winner. Angel wants to be, but he’s mostly all talk. But Gambit thinks about this stuff.

These are.

Interesting comments.

Beast literally could not be less relevant to the wider Krakoan story arc. X-Force exists in its own little bubble of black ops and body horror, and yet, unprompted, both one of the headline members of the talent (who has made sure to put Hank and Abigail in books for no real reason other than he likes them) and the incoming editor are both like, y'know, Hank was a real romantic back in the day. There's some affection there. It gives me hope. It makes me smile.

Now, I hasten to point out, this is not #WonderbeastConfirmed. We have no idea how these last two issues of X-Force are going to play out. But it is.

Interesting.

Oh, I also want to take a moment to call out Anthony Oliveira, who said this:

Anthony Oliveira: If you want the truth, you go to Emma. But nobody wants the truth. So they go to Jean, who can throw you a reality TV and ice cream pity party like you wouldn’t believe. She has those top-of-the-line flowy pajama pants that facilitate conversation, you know? Worst is Hank McCoy, who has been giving bad advice for decades before his war criminal era. One time he took Angelo Espinosa on a car trip that bummed me out so bad I’m still thinking about it 30 years later.

THAT bummed you out, bro?

Pssh, okay, dude.

Anyway.

Kieron Gillen remains my guy.

#Anonymous #outofmuffins #verse: earth's mightiest!

[whimsicalworldofme]

Saving Grace: Chapter Eleven

Grace tries to go out and live a little more. And then the three month mandatory distance she required from Steve comes to an end. 

Grace made good on her promise to get out of the house more in the following weeks, signing up for dance classes at a local studio, going to galleries, and even going so far as to go on a few dates with guys from dating apps.

You told Steve to go out with other people, you need to take your own advice, she chastised herself when she felt guilty putting on a curve hugging dress for her first date.

Trying to date, as Iron Man’s daughter though proved to be a challenge. One date insisted on picking her up and Tony greeted him with a gauntlet on his hand and “accidently” blasted a potted plant by the door, right next to the guy, to smithereens.

“You’ll have my daughter back by nine, right?” He asked as her date visibly trembled.

Grace could only cradle her head in her hands, shaking it at his antics. Tony loved her, loved being a dad, being her dad, and his desire to make up for the twenty-three years he’d missed from her life often led him to be overzealous.

Despite all her new social activities, her favorite thing to do with her free time still was tinkering in the workshop with her dad. They spent most of their time on the weekends there, him building new Iron Man tech, which she often helped with, but he gave her free rein to build whatever assistive tech prototypes she wanted.

Sometimes Tony’s best friend James Rhodes came by. Since he had an Iron Man suit of his own, he spent time in the workshop with them from time to time, getting ideas and offering input.

“It is still wild to me that you have a daughter, a grown daughter,” Rhodey said as he, Tony, and Grace stood on an impromptu firing range they’d set up in the workshop, each of them wearing a different model of gauntlet for the Iron Man suit on their dominant hand. They were testing out some modifications to the weapons systems.

“I don’t think it’s that wild,” Tony commented as he lifted his hand and shot one of the glass bottles they’d set up on a work bench across the room. It shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces. “Eighteen-year-old me was wild, so it follows I’d have a grown daughter.”

“That’s true,” Rhodey nodded.

“Remarkably, I wound up a daughter whose definition of wild is eating raw cookie dough,” Tony grinned at Grace and she laughed, firing her gauntlet, taking out another bottle.

“That’s good,” Rhodey huffed, and cast a glance at his friend, “the world can only handle one of you. I can’t imagine if you had a little mini-me.”

“Oh, I am his mini,” Grace chimed in, making Rhodey flinch and break his focus momentarily. “I invent, I build, I sass, I’m just a little more restrained.”

“Thank god for that,” he quipped.

“Grace?” Pepper came down the stairs, examining a small package wrapped in brown paper. “A courier just brought this for you. He didn’t say who it was from.” As she stepped in the door, Tony fired off another shot at the bottles across the room. “I thought you just updated the weapons systems a month ago?”

“Just some tweaks,” Tony shrugged.

Grace got her gauntlet off and took the package from Pepper, looking it over. The thing was the size of a paperback fantasy novel, and weighed about the same too. It was definitely addressed to her but it had no name on the return address, which was in Washington D.C.

Who do I know in D.C.? She couldn’t think of anyone. Maybe it’s from someone who does work with the VA?

She carefully ripped open one corner of the brown paper wrapper and when she peeled it away, she felt her heart flutter.

“What did you get, kid?” Tony came over to see, but Grace clutched it to her chest, a childish smile overtaking her.

“It’s a book,” she said. “One I didn’t think I’d get to look at. I’m going to go upstairs.”

“Ok,” Tony raised a brow and looked to Pepper who shrugged.

Giving her dad a quick peck on the cheek, Grace bolted upstairs, out of the workshop, into the living room and up another flight of stairs to get to her bedroom. She shut and locked the door, feeling like a little kid with a precious secret. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she ripped the paper away to reveal Steve’s sketchbook, the one she had bought him when he said he wanted one separate from the one he sketched in for therapy. The one she often asked to see but he never showed her.

When she cracked open the cover, a folded-up letter fell out. Plucking it up, she unfolded it to reveal Steve’s perfect cursive handwriting.

Dear Grace,

You said no contact for three months, but you didn’t say I couldn’t write letters and wait to send them. There are three months of letters and sketches in the back. All I’ve wanted all this time is to talk to you, share my new experiences with you, come home to you. It’s all in there. So is a plane ticket to D.C. for Friday. S.H.I.E.L.D. moved me here after you left and I’ve been running missions with Nat, but I told Fury not to contact me for the whole week you’ll be here. My new apartment isn’t as nice as ours, but it’s within walking distance of the National Mall. We’ll sightsee, take in the museums, whatever you like. Just get here.

Missing you,

Steve

Breathless, Grace set the letter aside and took up the sketchbook again. The first page was a sketch that was clearly of her, standing at the stove in their apartment, her back to him, hair in a messy bun, dressed in an oversized tee shirt and shorts she’d rolled at the waist. He’d written a little caption underneath.

You’re making me grilled cheese at one in the morning because I woke up with nightmares again.

“I remember that,” Grace smiled.

He’d sketched little moments of their lives from day to day, assisted by his photographic memory, but they were all of her and sometimes the two of them together, like the time they’d found out their local bodega had a cat. He’d drawn himself holding the cat and Grace scratching behind its ears.

Today I learned the serum eliminated my cat allergy. I wonder if my dog allergy is gone too. Maybe we should get a pet.

There was a sketch of what his view of her must’ve been like when she would rest her head on his shoulder as they sat on the couch together watching movies.

Last movie night you fell asleep, so I moved you to your bed. You told me I should just leave you on the couch next time, but I’ll keep putting you in your own bed because 1. You weigh next to nothing to me and 2. If you don’t sleep well, you get cranky and you never sleep well on the couch.

She noted the one of her sipping coffee, dated the morning that Fury had come to get him to run missions again.

You aren’t good at hiding your worry. You get a little line in your forehead, even if nothing else gives it away.

The one sketch that took Grace’s breath away was them lying in bed together, with her arms wrapped protectively around him.

I feel safer when you’re here.

Grace blinked back tears and sniffed. She hadn’t been able to talk to anyone about how much she missed those moments. Going through the last three months, she worried that maybe he hadn’t, or that he had simply moved on, but as she flipped through to the pages from the last three months there was letter after letter to the contrary.

In his skillful style, Steve sketched out all the new things in his life, details about his new apartment, the neighborhood, things he saw in museums. And along with every sketch was a letter, telling her what it was, restating how much he missed her, how he wanted her there.

I went on a date today. Was the note under a sketch of himself sitting at a table with a floral centerpiece and an empty chair on the other side. In the self-portrait, he was sketching in his book. She kept comparing me to her grandfather when she found out when I was born. This is exhausting and pointless. You’re the only one I want to take out on a Friday night, so I don’t know why I’m wasting my time.

She read through his letters detailing nights of quiet and how uncomfortable it felt to sit alone with his thoughts, to not have her there to talk to. There were days when he finished running missions and questioned if he’d ever have a normal life.

When I think about what that might look like, I think of you, sipping coffee in your pajamas, sitting on the couch and working on your latest project on your laptop. I think of cooking new recipes together. More than anything, I think of waking up and seeing your face right next to me.

When she got to the last page, a little paper sleeve with round trip tickets between Los Angeles and D.C. On the page, he’d drawn a picture on the last page with colored pencil, a view outside his bedroom window, buildings across the street veiled by the leafy branches of a tree.

I knew you’d give me an earful if I didn’t give the whole dating thing another try, so I went out with a different girl tonight. I met her at an art gallery. She’s a Congressional staff person. It went better than the last one. She’s sharp and witty, but she’s not you. There’s two days until the three months is up. Tomorrow I’m buying you a plane ticket and sending it and this sketchbook to you in California. I know there are reasons we probably shouldn’t be together and I know we wouldn’t be able to be public about it, but I still want you, if you’ll have me. Don’t call, don’t write, just get on the plane. Whether you show up or not, I’ll know the answer.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Grace checked the tickets again. It was sudden, but Pepper had been pestering her to take more time off lately. Her project with Stark Industries had come to a standstill waiting on a few government approvals, so it wasn’t like she could do much anyway.

“What do I tell Dad?” She wondered, tapping a finger on her lips. The idea of lying to him didn’t sit right with her, but she knew he would not cope well if she told him the full truth. “Truth enough that he doesn’t question it, but enough details omitted for him to not suit up and fly to D.C. to beat down Steve’s door.”

The plan formulated as she tucked the sketchbook away somewhere safe, somewhere no one would spot it and made her way back downstairs. Her dad, Rhodey, and Pepper were all in the living room, sipping on wine and chitchatting.

“Everything all right, Grace?” Pepper asked, catching sight of her first. “Who was the package from?’

“Captain Rogers,” she told the truth and watched her father’s face screw up slightly. “It’s a book I wanted to get a look at, he sent it for me. He’s living in D.C. now.”

“Oh yeah, S.H.I.E.L.D. shifted all their operations there,” Rhodey nodded. “After New York.”

“I’m going to take a trip there on Friday,” she announced. “Check on Captain Rogers. The move was a big adjustment, so I want to make sure everything is going well. And I want to check in with Fury, see if S.H.I.E.L.D. has any work for me, since my current project is stalled.”

“I think that sounds like a good idea,” Pepper nodded with a smile, turning to Tony and flashing him a look, wordlessly nudging him to agree and give his blessing. Tony frowned slightly and shook his head, which made Pepper glare harder. “I can have Happy drive you to the airport,” she added, flashing Grace another smile.

“I’ll do it,” Tony jumped in, conceding. “I’ll take you to the airport. We can use that time to discuss the dangers of older men.”

“Thanks Dad,” Grace nodded, snorting back a laugh.

Chapter Ten

Masterlist

Chapter Twelve

#fanfic #fic #fanfiction #fanfic series #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #avengers #avengers fic #avengers fanfic #oc #Tony Stark #Tony Stark fanfic #mcu #mcu fic #mcu fanfic #Captain America #Captain America fanfic #Captain America fic #Captain America x oc #Captain America x ofc #Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers fanfic #Steve Rogers fic #Steve Rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers x oc #Steve Rogers x ofc #Captain America fluff #Steve Rogers fluff

[readitreviewit]

Yeehaw, saddle up pardners it's time to mosey on down to the wild, wild west with Frederic Logan Paxson's masterpiece, "History of the West". Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for History, this book covers the settlement of the American West and westward expansion from 1763-1893. For a long time, there was no single volume covering the history of the West, but Paxson has got us covered with his fifty-nine chapters spanning almost 150 years. This book is a comprehensive and sweeping account of how the land mass of America was settled, starting from the English settlers in New England to the westward expansion that led to the sunny shores of California. You'll find yourself riding shotgun with American pioneers and Native Americans in conflicts during the War for Independence up until the end of the Civil War. Paxson also offers keen insight into frontier finance, the inner workings of canal and railroad corporations, and even Presidential edicts from Washington to Roosevelt. He's not just a historian, he's a time traveler that takes you on a journey through the Wild West. Paxson's literary wizardry is unparalleled, he doesn't just regurgitate quotes from secondary and source material, he makes the material a part of himself. He has taken a pragmatic view of Westward expansion instead of conforming to a social history. This book is not just a collection of facts, it's an adventure story that brings history to life. With his work, Paxson has not only filled a historical void but has become an authority on the American frontier. As President of the Mississippi Valley Historical Association with undergraduate and PhD degrees from the University of Pennsylvania and a master's from Harvard University, Paxson has won the trust of his readers with his meticulous research and engaging storytelling. Each chapter of "History of the West" is a new adventure, like a trailboss leading us to new horizons. We witness the creation of the public domain, the purchase of Louisiana, the stabilization of the frontier and even the conquest of California. Paxson covers everything from political theories of the frontier, Jacksonian democracy, and even the permanent Indian frontier from 1825-1841. The book isn't just about the politics and economics of the time, it showcases the determination and resilience of the pioneers that settled the West. We witness the struggles they faced, and how they overcame them, like the War with Mexico, the Disruption of the Tribes, and even the Panic of 1873. "History of the West" is an eye-opening read, and it's not just for history buffs, it's for anyone who loves a good adventure story. You'll be on the edge of your seat as you follow the journey of the pioneers who paved the way for us today. This is a must-read for anyone who wants to understand America's rich and colorful history. The book is available in paperback and weighs 1.62 pounds. The dimensions are 6 x 0.99 x 9 inches, making it the perfect size to tuck into your saddlebag for a ride through the Wild West. In conclusion, "History of the West" is a masterpiece that will make you feel like you're riding alongside pioneers, outlaws, and Native Americans through the dusty trails of the Wild West. Paxson has done an excellent job of filling the void of a single volume covering the history of the West, and with his literary wizardry, he brings history to life. So, what are you waiting for? Grab your cowboy hat, saddle up your horse, and let's ride into the sunset with Frederic Logan Paxson's "History of the West". Don't miss out on this incredible read! Purchase the book now or sign up for a 30-day free trial of audible to listen today. Start your literary adventure now and discover the magic within the pages! Price: [price_with_discount] (as of [price_update_date] - Details)

[grangerdangerschuylersister]

You know, as I get older than the protagonists of most of my books, I think it would be so cool if Anna from Alpha and Omega had been middle aged instead of a college student.

I do love it as is - but wouldn't it be cool to see how the transformation to a younger body, the disillusionment of a settled and lived in world, affect a woman?

#Patricia briggs #burn bright #alpha and omega #anna cornick #wild signs #just got wild signs in paperback! #reading #books #musings

[darling-i-read-it]

Help

Matt Murdock x fem!reader, Benjamin Poindexter x reader (on the side but also main lol)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: season 3 spoilers, violence, blood, stalking, murder, slight suggestive comments, mentions of working at a suicide hotline, brief mention of Karen’s brothers death

Author’s Note: on occasion i sit down and like lose my shit by just writing and writing and writing and this is one of the occasions. I truly had such fun with this. Matt my lovely.

Summary: What if Dex’s last hope was you and not Julie? Based during season 3.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Dex walked into your bookstore slowly, his hat on and his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t fuck this up. Fucking this up would be very very bad for him. This was his last shot to be good. Well not good, but good enough to not break the law.

You were sitting behind the counter, engrossed in a book. You were messing with your hair absentmindedly, not paying mind to the fact he had just walked into the store. Usually you would greet people but you were distracted. That was okay. It was almost pure and he liked that. Pure was good.

He browsed the shelves for a moment, catching a glimpse of you between the stacks of books. You had your finger to your mouth, breathing heavily. It was adorable. Dex pulled out a random book and walked up to the front where you were sitting. You jumped, meeting his eyes and giving him an embarrassed smile.

“Oh I didn’t even see you come in,” you said honestly. You put a bookmark in your novel and placed it aside. “Is this all?” He nodded, pulling out his wallet. He had barely looked at the book he had picked out. Both of you looked down at it now. It was a paperback romance novel. You tried to hide the smile on your face.

‘It’s a gift,” he said.

“Of course.” You looked up and studied his face for a moment, trying to remember where you recognized him from. Your gaze lingered probably a moment too long and you broke away, ringing up the book. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“No, I do. Dex! Benjamin Poindexter,” you said, leaning back. “You probably don’t remember me. We worked at the suicide hotline all those years ago.”

“Y/N. No, of course I remember you. Seems like forever ago.” You nodded, smiling slightly at the blast from the past. With everything going on with Matt right now you welcomed some sort of semblance of the life before him. You worked there in college, months before the two of you ever met.

“Yeah, geez. What are you up to these days Dex? Other than reading romance novels.”

“I told you that was a gift,” he said, making you laugh.

“Yeah. Why don’t we get coffee and catch up?”

“What time do you get off?”

“This is my shop, I can get off whenever I want. How about going for lunch?” He smiled, pleased. This was going well.

“I would like that. Glad we don’t have to wait till six.”

“How did you know I usually close at six? It says seven on the door.” He pushed back slightly as he handed you his card. You rang him up slowly, eyeing him.

“Wild guess. Most stores close at six this time of year right?”

“Right.” You handed him the book and grabbed the closed sign, putting it in front of the door. “Just so you know, I have a boyfriend.” He nodded.

“Understandable. I could just use a friend.” You nodded.

“Me too.”

“Matt won’t mind.” Your eyes locked with his. You hadn’t said Matt’s name. With the nature of Matt’s life, you had to be worried about people who walked into your life, especially one who knows his name.

“I didn’t say-” He gestured to the framed picture on the wall behind you. It was a picture of you and Matt that said Y/N and Matt 2015 underneath it. It had been a gift from Foggy. You breathed a soft sigh of relief.

“Let’s walk. I know a place just down the street.”

===

At lunch Dex explained to you a little bit about why he got back in contact with you. It was embarrassingly obvious that he hadn’t just stumbled into your bookstore. After getting over the initial worry, you decided to help him. You needed friends outside of Matt, Karen and Foggy. Dex and you had gotten along at the suicide hotline. You told him you had a boyfriend and he seemed to be relieved, knowing now that you didn’t think he was trying to pursue you romantically.

He sat on your couch now, holding a cup of coffee, his head on the back of the couch. You were in the kitchen, making something for dinner when he arrived.

“Well tell me about work then. It seems like the source of contention,” you called. He groaned.

“You could say that again.” He stood up, walking over to you. He leaned over the kitchen island, the cup in his hands. “They want to use me as a scapegoat,” he said. He made a goat noise which made you giggle. Making you giggle brought him more joy than he cared to admit.

“I’m not supposed to laugh at your pain, stop making it funny,” you said, mixing the pan on the stove.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You lifted the wooden spoon and put your hand under it, bringing it over to him. He tried it, humming in content. “That’s good.”

“Thank you. Would you like a bowl?”

“Are you sure I can stay?”

“Matt has been coming and going, I doubt I’ll see him for dinner tonight. I could use the company.” You started to put the soup into a bowl. “Go on about scapegoats.” ===

Your mind wandered as you walked home from the bookstore. You had been talking with Dex for a couple of days now. It seemed to be helping him. It was also nice to have someone on the outside, someone not involved with all of Matt’s messes. You were still getting used to having Matt around. You thought he was dead for months.

You opened the door to the bottom floor of your apartment and started to walk upstairs. You took out your headphones and put your hand on the doorknob of your home when a hand grabbed your arm. You jumped, turning around quickly. You were met with Matt, pulling you to his chest. You raised an eyebrow.

“Ma-”

“Sh.” You shut up and waited patiently for him to explain why the hell he had just grabbed you like you were about to fall off a cliff. Your chest was flush with his. Having him so close was still odd. You had thought about the things you would do if he ever came back from the dead and now that he was here you just wanted to never stop touching him. He didn’t have on his glasses. It was rare you saw his eyes when he wasn’t in pain or in bed. “Get behind me. Don’t come in when I do.” You did as you were told. He opened up the door and stepped inside. You caught the glimpse of men inside your apartment, seemingly painting the wall. Your eyes went wide. You hadn’t called anyone for that. You could hear the muffled voices from the other side.

“This isn’t your apartment,” one of the men said. Matt’s eyes went wide.

“Sorry.” He gestured to his eyes. “I’m blind.”

“No worries man.” He opened the door back up and shoved Matt outside, rather quickly.

“What was that?” you questioned quietly.

“Come with me.”

===

Once you got away from the apartment he finally started to talk. You walked down the street, weaving through people.

“Fisk doesn’t know about my nightly activities,” he said, turning a corner to an empty alleyway.

“Yeah. I obviously didn’t tell him.”

“I left you so you would be safe and now you’re in danger but not because I’m back.”

“What?”

“Those people were going to kill you. But not because you’re my girlfriend,” he said. You could see the cogs turning in his head. “That’s not how Fisk does it anyway. He would take you captive, use you as bait to get me. That’s why he hasn’t killed Karen or Foggy. So why are those men trying to kill you?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly.

“Have you made any friends lately?” “Am I not allowed to have friends?”

“You know why I’m asking.” You let out an annoyed sigh.

“Yeah. I reconnected with a friend from college, Dex. But he isn’t going to kill me,” you said incredulously.

“Obviously. Where does Dex work? What’s his past?”

“What does that matter?”

“Your safety matters!” Matt said, a scowl on his face. You backed down. He was just trying to help.

“He works for the FBI,” you explained. “We met when I worked at the suicide hotline for a while, literaly a month before we met. We got along, he needed a friend.” Matt nodded softly to himself.

“You have a habit of getting in with people with awful pasts. You know anything about his?”

“I do not have a habit-”

“I’m your boyfriend. Karen is your best friend, Karen killed her brother in a car accident when she was on drugs. Again, I’m your boyfriend.” You rolled your eyes.

“Foggy owns a sub shop.”

“Foggy aside. Work with me. Please.” He grabbed your hands. You nodded slowly, shrugging.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about his past.”

“So we can’t rule it out. I’ll ask Karen to look into it.” You nodded.

“I can’t go home.”

“No you can’t.” He was silent for a moment, thinking about what to do with you. “Can you stay with Dex?” You blinked.

“Babe-”

“No I...if this is about him then someone wanted to kill you to get to him. If you’re with him they won’t hurt you.”

“Ever the genius.”

“Go. Quickly. I have to get to Karen.” He started to walk away but you grabbed his hand, pulling him back. You stared at his face in silence. “Sorry. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

===

You arrived at Dex’s not ten minutes later. You knocked on the door nervously. He came quickly, punctually. His eyes went wide when he saw you.

“Hey, what’s-”

“Can I stay here?” you asked. He was stunned for a moment. He moved aside so you could walk in, shutting the door behind you.

“What’s wrong?” You had been contemplating what to tell him for the whole walk here. Matt would tell you to lie. You figured he would be able to see right through you.

“There were some people at my apartment,” you said, looking at him nervously. “There was a hit on me.” Dex was amazed. Why? You hadn’t done anything wrong. The opposite actually. You had been helping him get his shit together. He wasn’t sure what to do if he lost you now.

Then it hit him.

“Oh fuck.” Wilson Fisk had tried to kill you to get to him. To make him vulnerable. He shook his head, walking up to you quickly. He put his hands on your upper arms. “This is my fault but I’m gonna fix it. You can stay here until I do. I’m so glad you’re okay.” You nodded slowly.

“Why is this your fault Dex? Why would they want to kill me?”

“You’re all I have,” he breathed. “I’m gonna fix this.”

===

He could be a good guy for you. He could be the guy Fisk wanted him to be to keep you safe until he could kill Fisk. If that included masquerading as Daredevil, so be it. It would keep you safe and when all this shit was over, he could rebuild himself with the routine and the structure.

“We’re doing this,” Karen said simply, walking beside you. You scoffed.

“Yeah. We are. Is this stupid?”

“I don’t think any of Matt’s ideas have been smart.” You slid through the newspaper office with her, Jasper Evans behind the two of you. You would get Jasper to talk to the press and then get him to testify against Fisk. This was the start of the end, you convinced yourself.

You sat down with Karen, Jasper and Karen’s boss. Foggy was standing beside you, along with some other lawyers and journalists.

You breathed evenly as the conversation started. You were staring at the wall as the power went out. You all stood up, looking around.

That was when you saw Matt. Or rather, Daredevil. It was the red Daredevil suit. You didn’t know where Matt got it back but you were relieved to see him. That meant you were safe, nothing could get you here.

Then you saw actual Matt emerge from the shadows. You gasped.

“Who is that?” you hissed at Karen. She shook her head, astounded. She blocked Jasper with her body.

“I have no idea,” she responded shakily.

Matt was taking too bad a beating. The fight was with someone that was an expert. You fumbled for a weapon as the fake Daredevil knocked Matt on the ground. He started to make his way to the office room you were in. He shot one of the lawyers, knocked Foggy over the head. You gasped, fumbling backwards.

“No, no, no,” Karen mumbled, realizing the gravity of this situation. He turned the gun to you, the next in the room. You saw him about to squeeze the trigger then stop. He paused. You shook.

“Y/N?” he whispered. Did you know him? The mask hid his face. You thought he was Matt a few minutes ago but he was definitely not Matt now. “Step aside.”

“I can’t do that,” you said, shakily.

He shook his head. He hit you over the head and you crumbled to the ground.

===

You woke up only five minutes later. You saw a black mask above you and almost started to cry.

“Matty,” you breathed, barely audibly. “You’re okay.” He nodded.

“So are you.” He helped you up.

“You need to get out of here,” Karen said. You nodded with her as you stood, rubbing your head where you had been hit.

“Go,” you said. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be at Dex’s later.”

===

You walked to Dex’s, shaking in the cold. Everything had gone so wrong. You opened the front door with your key and tossed your bag on the ground. Dex came out of the bedroom quickly.

“Where have you been?” he asked, rushing up to you.

“The Bulletin. Someone attacked the Bulletin.”

“Yeah Daredevil. It’s all over the news.” You shook your head.

“It wasn’t Daredevil,” you said sturtly. “He hit me over the head. I’m tired.” You almost collapsed in his arms but he caught you. He put his hand up to your head and gently touched where it hurt. You winced.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Matt might come later,” you breathed.

“I can take care of you.”

“I know. I want…” You rubbed your eyes. “Dex, my head hurts.”

“I know baby it’s okay.” He led you to the bathroom and hoisted you up on the counter. He enjoyed the pain. He enjoyed inflicting pain on others. It was something he had done since he was a kid. But if he could feel guilt he was feeling it now.

Your vision started to clear. You saw a cut on his lip.

“Did you get hurt?” you asked. He shook his head.

“Shaving,” he explained. “I was distracted.” You put your finger on his cut, too tired to rationalize.

“Be careful.”

“You too. Don’t go getting yourself into fights.”

“I didn’t. He was fighting. I was there.”

“I know but you shouldn’t try to stand up. Just let him go.”

“How did you know I stood up?”

“Because I know you.” He put a bag of ice on your head. There was a knock on the door.

“Matt,” you breathed. You tried to get off the counter. He shook his head.

“I’ll get it.” He walked over to the door and opened it.

Matt had a cut on his eye and a bad forming bruise on his cheek. Dex straightened his back.

“Is Y/N here?” The second he finished the sentence, he smelled it. The suit. It was in this apartment. He raised his chin. The silence gave Dex away. Matt knew that Dex knew.

You came walking behind Dex and threw your arms around Matt. He held you close, grappling with the situation. How would he get out of this? More importantly, how would he get you out of this? Dex wasn’t going to hurt you. Matt could literally use you as a shield and he was confident Dex wouldn’t kill you.

But Dex had hurt you earlier.

“We need to leave,” Matt whispered in your ear.

“Huh?”

“Thanks Dex for giving her a place to stay but my apartment just got cleared up,” Matt said, holding you stiffly by his side. Dex set his jaw.

“Maybe she should stay here. Looks like you got beat pretty bad.”

“Some assholes taking advantage of a blind guy,” Matt stated simply, shrugging. “It happens. That’s why I need her with me.”

“Well she’s been helping me too, I don’t think I can part with her now.” You looked between the two of them, so confused. Matt was being too apprehensive all of the sudden. The only way that could happen was if he figured something out here and now. Then it hit you. Dex was the fake Daredevil. Your eyes went wide with betrayal.

“Dex?” you breathed.

“I can explain,” he said. “To you. Not to him.” “Matt’s my boyfriend!”

“He can’t protect you. I can.” You shook your head, Matt’s grip on you only getting stronger.

“Dex why?” you asked. “You were doing so good!”

“I did it to protect you,” he said. “From Daredevil and from Fisk.”

“She doesn’t need protection from Daredevil,” Matt said.

“But she does from Fisk. As long as I’m important to Fisk and she’s important to me, she’s safe.”

“Clearly not. They tried to have her killed,” Matt said sturtly. “She’s not staying here anymore.”

“Please.” Dex walked forward and grabbed your hand. He pulled you out of Matt’s grasp and to him. “I need you. I’ll lose it without you. Stay with me.” You shook your head gently.

“Dex, it’s Matt, I can’t leave Matt.”

“Yes you can!” There was a beat of silence. “I’ll get rid of him for you. Then you can stay with me.” Matt started to walk toward him but you stopped him with a hand to his chest. You turned fully to Dex. You put your hands on his cheeks.

“Breath.” He stared into your eyes. “You don’t need Fisk.”

“If I don’t stay with Fisk you die.”

“No,” you said gently, shaking your head. “I have you to protect me.” He put his head against your forehead aggressively, breathing in counts of four. You rubbed his upper shoulders. Then Matt knocked him out by hitting him over the head with a cookbook that was on the kitchen table. He crumpled to the ground. “Oh!” You kneeled beside him.

“He’s fine,” Matt said. “Get up, we have to go.”

“I can’t leave him. Fisk’ll kill him.”

“Let him die.”

“Matthew.” You stood up. “He’s vulnerable. He needs the help.”

“No he doesn’t. He tried to kill me today. He tarnished Daredevil, he almost killed Karen and Foggy.”

“He doesn’t have anyone!” Matt grabbed your arm tightly.

“If you stay you will die.”

“You think you’re any safer?”

“What do you want me to do?!” he yelled.

“Let me help him! If we turn him then we could get in with Fisk, have someone on the inside.”

“Yeah and then I lose you. To death or to Dex.” You scoffed, shaking your head.

“Do you remember in college when you wouldn’t ask me out because you thought I liked Foggy? This is like that.”

“Yeah, Foggy never tried to kill me!” You shook your head. You walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a notepad and pen. “What are you doing?”

“Giving him the option. If he wants to help us, he meets me at the park tomorrow. If he doesn’t want to help us, I’m gone.” You scribbled it down and put it on his chest. You rubbed his hair back and walked to the bathroom. You grabbed the ice and put it on his head for a moment, putting a bottle of meds, the cassette you had made him and water beside him, next to the notepad.

“You’re an angel,” Matt muttered, almost like he hated it.

“No,” you said, standing back up. “I’m just as bad as the devil of hell's kitchen. Almost like I’m a part of him.”

“Almost like he’s been inside you.” You snorted.

“Matt.”

“We’re going to a church.”

“I have no idea where your morals lay right now.”

“It’s the only safe place I can think of for you to go right now. Come on, we don’t have much time.”

===

Maggie brushed your hair gently.

“So you’re the infamous Y/N?” she asked gently. Her presence was nice. Matt was showering so it was just the two of you. “Matt’s talked almost exclusively of you.” You smiled.

“He has a one track mind.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” You turned to her, fiddling with your fingers.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Of course. It’s a safe haven for you and Matthew.” You nodded gently as Matt came into the room, rubbing his hair with a towel.

“Thanks for watching her Sister, I’ll take her now.” Maggie got up off the bed and put her hand on Matt’s arm.

“Be nice.” She walked up the stairs. You sat silently.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “About all of this?” He chuckled.

“You’re sorry?” He sat down beside you. You brushed your fingers over the side of his face, moving back past his ear. “You wouldn't be in this situation if it weren’t for me.” “Yeah, if it weren’t for you I would be on Fisk’s side regardless. I wouldn’t know any of this,” you said.

“You think he’s gonna come tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “I hope he does. He’s tried so hard to be decent. He can’t help how he was born.” Matt nodded, putting his hand on your knee.

“You sure you don’t wanna sleep with him?”

“Positive.” You put your head on his shoulder and wrapped your arms around his waist. He lifted your legs up on his lap. You traced his new bruise on his cheek lightly. “This is gonna get really dirty.”

“As opposed to how squeaky clean it is now?” You put your head on his. He traced your features.

“You should sleep. You took quite a beating today.”

“No need to rub it in.”

“I’m not. I’m just stating the facts.” You kissed his neck gently. “I can’t lose you again.”

“And I can’t lose you again either. So we’ll just have to stay together.” You nodded.

“Good plan.”

Marvel Tag List: @dpaccione, @demonchick1, @karasong, @elisaa-shelby, @lov3vivian, @russian-soft-bitch, @alexxavicry, @valentina-luvs-u

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagines #benjamin poindexter x reader #marvel imagines

[crit20art]

fuck it. jmart kid fic preview

Somewhere Else, 2027

The walk between work and home is always longer going than it is coming. Maybe it’s the fatigue. Maybe it’s some subtle undulation of space. There are things like that here, shimmering at the edges of Jon’s perception, dewdrop-spangled webs catching stray slips of this reality’s sunlight. They aren’t Hilltop tears, just threadbare stretches, places where this world rubs up against the next. Made it a prime candidate for the invasion of Fear, Jon supposes.

The thought sends a shudder through the tension of his upper back, and his jaw clenches, and-- fuck, he’s bitten the goddamn cigarette in half. “Blast it,” he hisses, and spits unceremoniously into the street. He gets a look from a passerby, and has to swallow back the urge to return a much eviler eye. 

He lights up as soon as he gets home. Leans out the window on his aching elbows, closes his eyes, and lets the smoke roll through him. The nicotine glitters around the crown of his skull, stimulating neural pathways that don’t get much exercise outside of this ritual. What did he used to do to feel alive?

Live, probably. 

He’s just tipping a second cig into his palm when knocking begins to resound through his flat. He stands straight and frowns at the dead-bolted door. While he (understandably, he thinks) has some unpleasant associations with knocking, this is not the ominous sort that he might have once feared; it’s light and fast and won’t give it a rest. Monsters have more restraint than that, he thinks. Probably some kid harassing him.

Grumbling like the old man he’s quickly becoming, he grabs his cane and snaps, “Alright, alright,” as he approaches the door. The knocking falters. He opens the door.

His own eyes blink back at him.

Jon drops his cane. It clatters to his faux-wood floor. He’s swaying, then; he goes proper dizzy, and only snaps back to full lucidity when his shoulder crumples into the door frame. He leans there, mouth agape, and blinks stupidly as the child on his doorstep stoops to pick up his cane. She holds it out to him. He stares at her.

She’s tall for her age. (Nine, he knows without Knowing.) Her warm brown cheeks are still soft with baby fat, and freckles crowd her nose. Wild hair wreaths her head and shoulders, controlled only by glittery barrettes tucked into the curly black jungle.

“Uh hi,” she says, and then she smiles. It’s a smile he knows better than his own, captured somehow on this child’s lips. Jon’s knees waver.

“Holy fuck,” he says.

Her smile falls, and she scrunches her nose at him. The gesture is so familiar that Jon thinks he might pass out.

“Uh--” Jon tries to stand upright, but he just staggers and sinks back against the door jamb. “You-- How-- you’re--”

“Are you gonna fall down?” she asks.

“A-almost certainly,” says Jon. She stretches her arm and shakes it a bit, bringing his attention to the cane she’s still offering him. Finally, he makes himself take it. “You’re. I, uh. Um.”

“I’m Aamal,” she says. 

Ah. There it is. Jon’s knees give.

He slumps to the floor, startling the child’s brown eyes saucer-large. Before she can react further, Jon gasps, “How- h-how are you here?”

“I followed the black ribbons,” she says. 

Flashes of magnetic tape tangle across Jon’s memory, as clear to him today as they were nine years ago, when the noose of them cinched tight around everything he loved. 

“They… ah. Right.” Jon lifts a shaking hand to his face, as if touching something real will steady him, and stares at his guest. His--

His daughter.

“Yes, um,” he whispers, shaking, “H-hello… Aamal.” Her name feels small and sacred on his tongue, fragile as a dissolving wafer. How unworthy he is, to say it. “You’re, uh. Y-you’re- you’re here.” His hand skitters up through his hair, displacing combed-back licks of grey over his forehead. “H-how- how- how did you find me?”

And Aamal says, very matter-of-factly, “I saw you in my dream.”

Jon inhales so sharply that he almost chokes. “Your--?”

“My dream,” Aamal confirms, and bounces on her heels. “I have it every night. I thought it was a bad dream at first, because it was so scary? Like, the world was angry and hungry and I knew it wanted to eat me up while the sky watched. But then I realised that wasn’t gonna happen, because my daddies were there with me, and they’d keep me safe.”

Jon covers his mouth again. Teardrops slip over his fingers.

“You are my daddy, right?” Aamal asks, her cheeriness shrinking to something timid, little hands fluttering together nervously. “That’s how it felt in the dreams.”

“Uh- y-yes? I-- yeah. Yeah.” Fingertips still trembling against his lips, it occurs distantly to Jon that it’s probably time for him to pull himself together and try to offer some kind of comfort to the child who, regardless of whatever uncertainties surround her, has definitely hopped dimensions to be here. Gritting his teeth, he gets his cane under him and forces himself to slide back up the doorframe, then takes a few moments to catch his breath.

“Yes,” he says, finally, when he knows the words will come out steadily. “I, uh. I-I’m your father. My name is, uh, it’s Jon. Jonathan Sims. Um. You can- just- you can call me that.”

“Okay, That.” Aamal grins very widely and looks at him with expectant eyes.

“Oh,” says Jon, after an embarrassingly long pause. “Ha. Yes, uh. Call me ‘That,’ right. Um.” He takes a deep breath, and it punches back out of him in a nervous, awkward chuckle that would make most adults uncomfortable. Aamal just beams, and seems proud to have got a laugh out of him. “Well- no sense having this discussion in the hall, is there? Uh, do- do come in.” He stands aside and gestures at the dim, sparse interior of his flat. He does not blame Aamal for the hesitation that precedes her entering. Reflexively, Jon leans out into the hall and squints one way, then the other. Satisfied, at least, that no one is lying in wait, he shuts and bolts the door. 

He turns, and finds for the first time since he signed for this flat that he is not alone in it. His daughter stands in the middle of his thrifted rug, her hands buried in the pockets of her dungarees and her freckles pinched together by her scrunched nose.

She’s here. She’s right here.

“It stinks in here,” she says.

Jon laughs. It’s hoarse and stale, bitten back the moment he realises how wrong it sounds. He clears his throat. “Yes, ah. Smoking’s a nasty habit.” He glances at the pack of cigarettes abandoned on his windowsill, and feels an odd twinge of guilt in his longing for a puff to steady himself. He looks back at Aamal, who has begun to make a circle of the room, touching his shelves, poking at the clutter that always builds up despite his best efforts.

“Um,” says Jon. Aamal doesn’t look at him. She’s shuffling through his books, the little divot between her brows settling deeper as she considers each second-hand paperback. 

Jon clears his throat. “Do you, uh, like to read?”

Aamal turns her frown on him, mouth a squiggle of confusion. “Did you cut out all the eyes?”

Ah. 

“I, uh. Well- uh.” He picks at the ragged grip of his cane. “That’s-- it- it hardly matters right now,” he manages, exhaling raggedly. Aamal opens her mouth, but he seizes what momentum he’s collected and asks, “Are you here alone? Where’s- do you still know Georgie and Melanie?”

Aamal forgets the books instantly, her face lighting up at the names. “You know Mummy and Mellie?”

“Mum- and--? Oh! Oh, they.” His throat feels like it might close up. “They raised you, then.”

“Yeah, they’re my mums.” Aamal wanders past Jon and drops onto his couch, gasping a squeak when the cushion sinks lower than she was apparently expecting. She wriggles for a moment as if trying to get comfortable. “Do you have any snacks?”

Whiplash-stricken, Jon flounders for a few moments before saying, “Maybe?”

Aamal’s brow drops like she doesn’t find that very promising, but she hops up from the couch and makes a beeline for his tiny kitchen. She’s sticking her head into his fridge before he plucks up enough lucidity to follow her.

“Do you like, ah--” What do kids like? What did he like as a kid? “Uh, how about a sandwich?”

“Sure,” says Aamal. She pulls her preferred makings, then rests her elbows on the counter and her chin in her hands, and watches Jon assemble. A long-lost hope flutters at the edge of Jon’s memory, a future he’d once imagined: a little face looking up at him, a meal to be prepared, a solid presence at his side, stolen kisses that might make their daughter stick out her tongue and make gross-out noises in the way of children too young to know how rare and precious it is for their parents to love each other so easily.

“Does your hand hurt?” Aamal asks.

Jon comes back to himself. He blinks down at his hands; habitually, he’s only using the one, letting the other rest half-curled on the counter. “Ah. No, n-not today.”

Aamal stares for a moment, then draws a sharp breath and looks Jon in the eye. “Sorry!”

Jon lifts a brow. “What? Why?”

“It’s rude to ask about scars,” Aamal informs him, and something in her intonation sounds so like Georgie that it twists up Jon’s stomach in an odd amalgamation of fondness and loss. 

“Ah- well, as a general rule, maybe. But it’s alright.” He clears his throat, then stretches his burned hand with a small wince at its stiffness. Aamal watches his shaky fingers unfurl, and her eyes are intent, and maybe he’s imagining it, but… there’s a kindness there, he thinks. He tries not to think of other kind brown eyes, of other gazes falling so gently on his scars. “It hurts less than it used to,” he says softly. “I’ve had it since… lord, about a year before you were born, actually. Eleven months, almost to the day.”

At that, Aamal’s eyes grow wide. “Oh! Did you have me? Like, when I was born?”

“Oh! Uh, n-no, that wasn’t me.” Jon pulls his hand back, feeling very suddenly out of his depth. “Your, uh- did Geo-- did your mums tell you about that?” 

“Yeah. They told me that before they adopted me, my parents were two boys, but I wasn’t confused or anything. I know all about genders,” she says, with all the confidence of a tenured professor. Then she looks around, as if suddenly noticing an absence. “Wait, where’s my other daddy?” She turns back to Jon, and he’s struck by the worst urge to look away. “Will he be back soon?”

Jon meets her hopeful eyes, and for the first time in years, actually feels the wound yawning wide in his chest, deeper and bloodier than the scar through his heart has ever been. 

“No,” he says, very softly. Aamal’s face falls, her brows drawn in question. Jon can’t look at her. He stares at his good hand, knuckles yellowed by his grip on the edge of the counter. 

“He, uh.” He swallows. It goes down like rocks. “He’s not coming back.”

“Why?” Her voice is high, pinched with a note of anger. Unbidden, Jon chokes out a small, miserable laugh.

She sounds just like Martin.

“Because,” he says, raw, both hands shaking now, “I messed up very, very badly.”

thanks for reading this lil preview!! i’m almost finished with ch 1 and planning to publish on ao3 next week. it’s gonna alternate between the present and the past, told through Jon’s POV post-200, and Martin’s POV throughout season 4/5. 

#tma fic #jonmartin #jonmartin fic #the magnus archives fic #tma #the magnus archives #i promise i'm not abandoning my gbbo fic (or my zukka one for that matter) i'm just fucking possessed by this idea #trying to write other stuff has been torment and. yknow fanfiction is supposed to be fun so. i'm switching active projects lmao

[awomanindeniall]

The enchanting story of Stevie Nicks, the Mabinogion and Harry Styles

'It’s an unlikely line-up whichever way you look at it. One is a famed rock legend, one is a boyband star, the other are the fabled tales from Wales.

However, all three look set to be brought together for an ambitious creative project.

Fleetwood Mac star Stevie Nicks is working on a TV miniseries based on a famous story from The Mabinogion – which it’s hoped will star Harry Styles.

The project is based on the band’s 1975 hit ‘Rhiannon’ and the singer’s more than 40-year obsession with the tale of the magical otherworldly goddess from the Welsh folk tales.

Nicks introduces the song on stage as “about an old Welsh witch” and also copyrights her songs ‘Welsh Witch Music’.

The genesis for this love affair with the tale from Wales, blossomed when the US star discovered the Rhiannon character in the early 1970s through a novel called Triad by Mary Bartlet Leader.

The novel is about a woman named Branwen who is possessed by another woman named Rhiannon. There is mention of the Welsh legend of Rhiannon in the novel, but the characters in the novel bear little resemblance to their original Welsh namesakes in the Mabinogion.

“It was just a stupid little paperback that I found somewhere at somebody’s house, lying on the couch,’ Nicks explained in an interview with Classic Rock magazine. “It was called ‘Triad’ and it was all about this girl who becomes possessed by a spirit named Rhiannon.

“I read the book, but I was so taken with that name that I thought, ‘I’ve got to write something about this.

“So I sat down at the piano and started this song about a woman that was all involved with these birds and magic.”

Mabinogion

It was only after writing the song that Nicks learned about the legend of Rhiannon, and was amazed that the haunting song lyrics uncannily applied to her Welsh namesake.

A fan sent her four paperback novels in a Manila envelope five years after she first wrote ‘Rhiannon’ in 1973 that explored all the mythology behind the song.

Included in the envelope was Evangeline Walton’s adaptations of the Mabinogion, which Nicks then bought the rights to after being “transfixed” by the prose.

It was then the musician started to research the Mabinogion story and began work on a Rhiannon project, initially unsure of whether it would become a movie, a musical, a cartoon, a TV series or even a ballet.

Over the years there have been several Rhiannon-centred Stevie Nicks songs to emerge from this ongoing project, including ‘Stay Away’ and ‘Maker of Birds’: Nicks wrote the Fleetwood Mac song ‘Angel’ from the band’s 1979 album ‘Tusk’, based on the Rhiannon story.

The singer had revealed in interviews last year that working on a Rhiannon movie had been her priority after Fleetwood Mac had finished touring in 2019.

After intending the Rhiannon story to be adapted as a movie the project became so big in scope it’s now being turned into a television miniseries.

Nicks confirmed the plan in a new interview with the Los Angeles Times, telling the US newspaper that she has already signed a deal with a studio to make the miniseries, although she did not disclose which studio.

The ‘Rhiannon’ miniseries is set to explore the mythology and folklore surrounding the fabled story.

According to the Times, Nicks has 10 songs she never released that she is holding onto in order to include in the Rhiannon miniseries.

The musician said she had no plans to star in the project herself, although she revealed she is keen for her friend, One Direction star Harry Styles to appear in the series.

Styles has acting experience having had a supporting role in Christopher Nolan’s war thriller “Dunkirk,” which marked his acting debut in a feature film and is set to take on a much bigger acting role in Olivia Wilde’s upcoming psychological thriller ‘Don’t Worry, Darling’, as the male lead in the film opposite ‘Midsommar’ and ‘Little Women’ star Florence Pugh.

Nicks told the Times that Styles “is definitely in the running,” adding, “I’m going, ‘Harry, you cannot age one day. You have to stay exactly as you are.’ I’ve already sold him on it.”...' X

#harry styles #stevie nicks #rhiannon #the mabinogion #welsh folklore #tv series #fleetwood mac #mary bartlet leader #welsh mythology

[cxnfringx]

  ϟ.  → halston sage : cisfemale : she/her : journalist : slow burn by kacey musgraves  ϟ  did you see aurelia bones ? you know ,  26 year old half blood who was formally in hufflepuff / hogwarts . some say aura can be quite crafty but are known to be disobedient. they are aligned with the order .  maybe that’s why they remind me of the soft brush of a quill against thoughtful lips, nap tousled hair, & worn paperbacks featuring twilight contemplation .   ϟ  penned by t : 25+ : cst : she/her

BASICS

Full Name: Aurelia Grey Bones

Age: 26

Date of Birth: December 4

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius 

Gender: Cis Female

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Romantic Orientation: Biromantic

Occupation: Journalist

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Halston Sage

Hair Color: Blonde

Eye Color: Hazel

Height: 5’5”

Build: Slim

PERSONALITY

Positive Traits: Affable, Crafty, Creative

Negative Traits: Disobedient, Impulsive, Verbose

Goals/Desires: She spent a long time coming to terms with who she is, what she became, and now she’s trying to find a reason for it. 

Inspo: Spencer Hastings (PLL), TBA

BEFORE HOGWARTS

The youngest of the Bones siblings, Aurelia lived up to the stereotype of being the baby. Headstrong and full of life, her hair was more often littered with twigs and leaves than it ever was lace or bows. She read fantasy novels and imagined herself as the knight slaying the monsters rather than the one stowed away in a tower. She was never the type to wait around for adventure to find her. 

The family tutor eventually gave up trying to tame her, and instead, allowed her the room to grow. After all, she watched all of her siblings go off school before her, so it wasn’t so outlandish that her mind was too wild to be contained to the manor. She was a happy child, and her home was loving, but standing still long enough to realize that wasn’t a part of her plan. Often found with her nose in her siblings’ discarded textbooks, Aura seemed to always be longing for something a bit more. 

HOGWARTS

Sorted into Hufflepuff, Aura made quick work of settling in. Her knowledge of the school and classes made her magnetic, and considering she had spent the better part of eleven years being the youngest (and as such the least knowledgeable), the role reversal was intoxicating. 

Her favorite class was Transfiguration, then Charms after that. She never really got the knack for potions, but she did try. Aura wasn’t overly fond of not succeeding at everything, but her problem was with directions. More of the type to figure it out on her own, waiting for instructions wasn’t always easy. 

She actually was in Professor Slughorn’s club, thanks in part to her family, but also because Horace found himself a witness to a duel between Aura and a fellow student. Her win earned her good graces from the professor. 

AFTER HOGWARTS

Though she promised her family she would give the ministry a shot, she didn’t give them a timeframe. The idea of going immediately into office work made her nauseous, but not because she didn’t want to help people. Aura does want to help. She just doesn’t see how she can at a job where her main focus is going out for coffees. 

Instead, she followed her gut, which led her to a job at the Prophet. At first she was covering quidditch matches, which wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but it did lead her to being the first on the scene at an event where it mattered. Her first hand coverage landed her an article of her own, where she chose to start covering the darker sides of their world. 

When the offer came to join the Order, she jumped at it, not once looking back. She knows the danger she puts herself in, but for the first time in her life, Aura feels like she’s exactly where she’s meant to be. 

TIDBITS

For as long as she can remember, Amelia has been her role model. 

She has an orange tabby cat named Santiago

Is often looking for her quill, and it is usually tucked behind her ear.

#people like you are not meant to stand still. | aura bio #i'm rushing omg

[rhinkthreeways]

“Why me?” (Angsty version)

Everyone, please give some love to @sparkle-fingers​​ for writing this week’s angsty take on “Why me?”

Content warning for chronic illness.

Today is a Bad Day. They both know it's a result of the aggressive work schedules and deadlines they've been tackling, no need to ask why. Link texts Rhett early in the morning, unable to even get out of bed.

Hey, sorry, I'm down today.

I'm on it.

This isn't the first time. Rhett immediately calls up Stevie and Jenna about moving their schedule around. Once he's assured things will be handled accordingly, he picks up where he left off.

Don't worry about it.

Do you want me to come over?

Link answers embarrassingly quick.

Yes.

A brisk shower and he's out the door, making the short drive to Link's. He knows Link will be stubborn enough to get up to answer the door for him if he knocks so he lets himself in.

Link can hear the front door open and shut. If he didn't know it was Rhett, recognize the cadence of his footsteps, he'd be concerned. As it is, he can't muster the energy to acknowledge him from so far away. Eyes shut, he listens to him methodically move through his house.

"Link?"

He grunts into his pillow, a lump beneath his covers.

"What d'ya need? You hungry?"

His stomach is rumbling, yes. He'd been too worn out to finish dinner the night before, the remnants now pungent in his kitchen. He unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth to admit, "Yeah."

"You want help getting up?" He knows better than to offer Link food in bed.

"Nah."

"Okay. Cereal good?"

"Mhmm."

"You holler if you need somethin'."

"Mm."

Rhett's concerned look makes something twist painfully in his chest. As soon as he's alone, he shifts in slow, incremental movements. By the time he makes it to the kitchen, hair sticking in every direction, there's a bowl of dry cereal waiting for him on the counter, any sign of last night's dinner cleared away. Rhett doesn't pour the milk until he's perched on one of the bar stools.

"Thanks."

"Coffee?"

"Please."

It's already brewing. He can smell it. The question is only a courtesy. Rhett knows his routine. Would also drink the coffee himself if he turned it down.

He ends up with a steaming mug in reach, just a touch of milk lightening the drink. He feels like a broken record uttering, "Thank you."

Rhett hums and pours a cup for himself, adding some of the non dairy creamer Link keeps for him.

Link spoons cereal to his mouth in a steady rhythm. He waits to touch his coffee until he's run out of cereal. The dregs of milk linger. Too much energy for too little gain, though it pains him to be wasteful.

"Done?"

He stares at the bowl with a furrowed brow. "I got it." He rallies a moment, bracing to get up.

"Link. If you're done, I don't mind rinsing your bowl. I'm already halfway to the sink, brother."

Gosh, Link hates this. Whenever he gets this bad, it's like their connection is cracked, the natural flow to their interactions interrupted. He lets his weight settle on his seat again and curls his hands around his mug.

Rhett watches him a moment before taking the bowl, rinsing it and loading it straight into the dishwasher.

He sips his coffee in silence.

After it's gone, he shuffles to his couch, intent on taking a nap.

When he wakes, there's a blanket over him, glasses gone and his feet in Rhett's lap. The couch isn't big enough for the both of them otherwise. Nevermind the rarely used armchair in the corner. Too far away. He hides his face in the softness of his blanket, mind in turmoil. There's music playing low in the background and Rhett's got a book in one hand, the other on Link's ankle. He looks so content to be there with him and Link just can't stand it. He groans out long and frustrated. "Why me?" The words come tumbling out, finally broken free from behind his teeth.

Rhett looks alarmed at his outburst, startled from the book that held his attention while Link stirred. Before he can respond, Link's forging onward.

"It shouldn't be like this. This isn't fair to you. It isn't fair to me either but," his voice hitches, almost a hiccup, "you don't deserve to be burdened with this, this bullshit."

"What?"

"This, it's going to ruin that deal we had lined up. All that work for nothing. And not just us, the whole team." He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He's downright morose, lamenting, "Y'all could get so much more done without me weighing you down."

He hears the little paperback set on the side table. Feels Rhett move his legs so he can get up. Tears well up behind closed eyelids as he imagines his best friend walking away. He deserves better.

"Link."

The soft tone right next to him snaps his hands away from his face. Rhett's blurry face is there, scruffy and heartbreakingly familiar.

"Hey. I don't care about any of that. You know that? You're more important to me than what we accomplish, though I'm proud of that too. You think I'd throw away thirty five years because we have to balance your fatigue? Not much different then us working around my crap back."

He scoffs but the moisture that had gathered in his eyes spills down his face. His throat burns with gratitude and guilt.

Fingers thread through his sleep-wild hair, gentle and soothing. "Nothing's gonna chase me away, bo."

Soft lips with a tickle of beard against his forehead collapse his crumbling dam. He's sobbing in Rhett's arms, ugly and loud, clinging, expending what little energy his nap replenished. He feels his tears washing away the miasma shrouding their bond.

They move in unspoken unison until Link resettles with his head in Rhett's lap, fingertips massaging his scalp. Link drifts back asleep, warm with the kindling of love filling his heart.

#rhink #rhink fic #rtw: angst #writer: sparkle-fingers #prompt: why me #cw: chronic illness

[medicifm]

*  not  me  actually  writing  an  intro  the  night  before  like  i  always  mean  to  😳  hennyway  hey  biddies  ,  i'm  chloe  ,  im  in  the  snowy  part  of  pst  ,  &  i  use  she / her  pns  .  i’ve  been  . . . . . . .  scouring  the  tags  for  an  rp  like  this  so  im  so  excited  to  bring  this  newish  muse  of  mine  here  !   im  here to  do  the  honours  of  introducing  my  himbo - on - the outside , manipulative - shit - on - the - inside  . . .  oscar  🤡

(  twenty  three , cis  man , he / him  ) ✉ ― hey  babes , have  you  met  OSCAR  MEDICI ?  they’re  working  here  as  THE  HEAD  CHEF  AT  LORENZO’S ,  a  few  villas  down  from  where  you’re  staying  .  you  might  hear  them  singing  ALRIGHTY  APHRODITE  BY  PEACH  PIT  playing  from  their  villa  ,  it’s  their  favourite  song  .  yes  ,  they  hear  that  they  look  like  JACK  GILINSKY  a  lot  ,  actually  -  it’s  really  uncanny  .  their  friends  back  home  in  SYDNEY , AUSTRALIA  say  that  if  they  were  on  a  tv  show  ,  their  trope  would  be  THE  WOLF  IN  SHEEP’S  CLOTHING  ,  how  funny  is  that  ? ✎ chloe , 22 , she/her , pst

𝐢  .

pinterest  |  wanted  plots  |  

𝐢𝐢  .

name  :  oscar  gabriel  medici

age  :  twenty  three

dob  /  sign  :  december  4th  ,  1997  /  sagittarius  sun  ,  leo  moon  ,  libra  rising 

pob  :  sydney , australia

gender / pronouns  :  cis  man  &  he / him / his

career :  head  chef  at  lorenzo’s  ,  full - time  heathen  ,  professional  disappointment  for  mothers  everywhere  .

drinking / drugs / smoking :  yes / more  often  than  he’d  admit / never .  

religion  :  jewish  background  ,  currently  non - practicing .

physical  :  jack  gilinsky  fc ,  dark  brown / black  longish  curls  (  reference  )  ,  dark  brown  eyes  ,  canon  jack  g’s  tattoos  ,  no  piercings  ,  6′2″  ,  175  lbs  ,  lean  but  strong  .  tattoos  a  la  canon!jack  ,  pearly  white  smile  that  he  may  . . .  or  may  not  . . .   use  crest  3D  white  strips  weekly  to  maintain  .  lots  of  burns  &  scars  from  kitchen  mishaps  on  his  hands  &  arms  .

traits  :  hard - working  ,  flighty  ,  intelligent  ,  hedonistic  ,  charismatic  ,  intense  ,  volatile  ,  

other  :  speaks  weird  french  (  aussie  accent  tings  )  ,  tans  easily  but  wears  sunscreen  nonetheless  ,  works  hard  parties  harder  ,  can’t  read  a  lick  of  french  but  spends  a  lot  of  his  free  time  with  a  coffee  &  a  new  paperback  ,  has  a  bit  of  an  internal  vendetta  against  rich  people  (  for  no  real  reason  ,  he  just  doesn’t  like  most  of  them  )  ,  has  ins  with  a  bunch  the  local  farmers  &  visits  them  weekly  ,  pretends  he  isn’t  lowkey  addicted  to  nicotine  administered  via  a  puff  bar  ,  liquor  of  preference  is  tequila  or  red  wine  ,  drives  a  lil  vespa  around  town  for  the  gag  of  it  (  loves  seeing  it  haphazardly  parked  amongst  a  bunch  of  luxury  cars  )  ,  

character  inspo  :  jess  mariano  (  gilmore  girls  )  , gordon  ramsey  🤡 ,  patrick verona ( 10 things i hate about you ) , ferris bueller ( ferris bueller’s day off ) , han solo ( star wars ) .

𝐢𝐢𝐢  .

oscar’s  arrival  was  as  unwanted  to  his  parents  as  could  be  :  a  father  whose  tendencies  leaned  towards  alcoholism  &  abusing  whoever  was  in  arms  reach  ,  a  mother  whose  life  was  more  or  less  spent  at  the  nursing  home  she  worked  as  a  nurse  at  ,  evading  home  .  he  became  a  self - inflicted  loner  ,  preferring  to  do  literally  the  exact  opposite  of  what  was  expected  or  wanted  from  him  .  he  had  a  few  friends  he  ran  with  ,  but  watching  them  all  go  off  &  study  or  prepare  for  university  solidified  in  oscar’s  mind  that  the  non - traditional  route  was  for  him  .  growing  up  by  the  water  ,  oscar  always  felt  more  drawn  to  skip  school  &  head  to  the  beach  than  he  did  obeying  his  parents  wishes  .   

one  of  his  solaces  was  his  grandfather  ,  gabriel  ,  who  owned  an  italian  restaurant  in  a  beach  town  north  of  sydney  .  whenever  the  weather  was bad  &  oscar  felt  like  ditching  class  ,  he’d  head  over  to  his  nono’s  restaurant  where  his  ass  would  be  put  to  work  as  soon  as  he  set  eyes  on  the  restaurant  .  it  was  tough  work  ,  but  challenging  in  a  way  that  fanned  the  flames  in  oscar’s  heart  ,  rather  than  dimming  them  .  by  the  time  he was  a  teenager  he  was  working  in  the  restaurant  everyday  after  school  , an  agreement  between  him  &  his  grandfather  framed  on  the  back  wall  that  stated  that  as  long  as  oscar  kept  from  flunking  out  ,  he  was  allowed  to  spend  as  little  or  as  much  time  in  the  kitchen  as  he  pleased .  

his  absolute  defiance  of  anything  traditional  &  following  the  rules  made  him  unpopular  with  adults  ,  but  lowkey  cool  with  the  girls  .  by  the  time  he  was  sixteen  ,  he  was  losing  his  focus  on  the  restaurant  &  his  grades  &  spending  more  &  more  time  chasing  after  girls  .  his  nono  tried  to  get oscar  to  come  back  &  focus  ,  but  as  always  ,  anything  he’s  asked  to  do  quickly  becomes  the  thing  he’s  running  from  the  most  .

tw  :  death  ,  cancer  .  around  his  eighteenth  birthday  ,  his  grandfather  suddenly  fell  ill  with  a  rare  form  of  cancer  that  took  his  life  six  weeks  after  diagnosis  ,  which  rocked  oscar’s  world  .  he  felt  overwhelming  guilt  that  he  hadn’t  spent  more  time  with  his  grandfather  ,  which  manifested  itself  as  oscar  dropping  out  of  school  a  year  shy  of  graduation  to  commit  himself  fully  to  perfecting  his  grandfather’s  techniques  ,  learning  all  of  his  recipes  (  read  :  pouring  over  dozens  of  handwritten  cookbooks )  in  some  failed  attempt  to  get  back  some  time  with  him  .  oscar  hadn’t  been  close  with  his  parents  in  years  ,  more  or  less  seeing  them  as  wardens  of  a  prison  he  wanted  nothing  to  do  with  .  his  grandfather’s  will  left  him  the  deed  to  the  restaurant  ,  with  an  ask  that  oscar  would  promise  to  act  on  whatever  he  felt  called  towards  ,  rather  than  doing  what  others  expected  of  him  .  to  be  candid  ,  this  whole  situation  crushed  him  .

eventually  ,  he  decided  he’d  had  enough  of  the  stifling  community  he’d  grown  up  in  .  he  sold  the  restaurant  to  one  of  the  regulars  ,  a  wealthy  man  who  he’d  come  to  acknowledge  as  somewhat  of  an  uncle  ;  a  safe  pair  of  hands  who  would  treat  his grandfather’s  legacy  with  as  much  passion  &  respect  as  oscar  himself  would  .  so  he  packed  a  bag  ,  texted  his  mom  that  he  was  going  traveling  ,  &  got  on  a  flight  that  evening  .  he  traveled  all  around  -  first  through  central  america  ,  then  through  europe  ,  throughout  asia  &  africa  ,  &  spent  a  few  months  driving  a  van  across  the  continental  united  states  &  canada  for  fun  . 

eventually  ,  he  started  getting  low - ish  on  money  ,  &  decided  to  settle  in  one  of  his  favourite  places  he’d  visited  :  southern  france  .  he  arrived  in  early  2018  ,  taking  on  whatever  menial  tasks  he  could  while  learning  french  until  he  got  a  position  as  a  line  cook  in  an  italian  restaurant  .  a  few  years  later  ,  he’s  made  his  way  up  to  filling  the  head  chef  position  ,  an  honour  he  takes  with  pride  .  he’s  implemented  many  of  his  own  recipes  while  using  flavours  he’s  learned  from  his  travels  ,  with  ingredients  straight  from  local  farmers  .  he’s  earned  the  restaurant  a  two michelin  star  rating  ,  &  is  constantly  striving  for  more  to  get  that  last  star  (  both  for  his  own  ego  as  well  as  a  secret  debt  to  his  grandfather  )  .

𝐢𝐯  .

ok  but  that  vid  where  gordon  puts  two  pieces  of  bread  on  someone’s  head  &  calls  them  an  idiot  sandwich  ?  that’s  oscar  .  intense  as  fuck  in  the  kitchen  ,  &  best  nobody  catch  an  attitude  about  it  bc  he  will  not  hesitate  to  hand  them  their  ass  on  a  silver  platter  .

another  gordon  reference  :  you  know  how  he’s  the  spawn  of  satan with  adults  ,  but  the  sweetest  ,  most  helpul  guy  with  children  ?  that’s  oscar  with  his  staff  vs  people  he  wants  something  from  .  whether  its  to  sleep  with  them  (  usually  his  first  instinct  to  be  fair  )  ,  their  money  or  clout  ,  or  to  get  into  some  wild  adventure  some  random  resort  staff  wouldn’t  dream  of  getting  into  ,  he  can  turn  on  the  charm  whenever  needed  .

can  go  from  absolutely  demoralizing  someone  in  the  kitchen  to  stepping  out  into  the  lounge  to  schmooze  with  his  friends  or  cougars  who  leave  phat  tips  in  0.2  seconds  .  the  speed  at  which  his  mood  can  completely  180  is  one  of  the  seven  world  wonders  (  last  i  checked  )  .

his  love  language  is  absolutely  acts  of  service  .  catch  him  actually  falling  in  love  once  in  a  blue  moon  &  making  it  his  mission  to  cook  her  extravagant  meals  everyday  .  

the  wolf  in  sheep’s  clothing  label  epitomizes  his  nice  ,  helpful  ,  charismatic  exterior  ,  while  ulterior  motives  &  disdain  for  those  who  grew  up  with  more  money  than  he  did  lurk  beneath  the  surface  . 

he  can  be  MEAN  when  someone  fucks  him  over  or  pushes  him  farther  than  he  wants  -  isn’t  afraid  to  go  for  the  low  blows  or  send  someone  home  with  an  identity  crisis  if  it  protects  himself  .

lowkey  alcoholic  but  he’s  not  ready  for  that  conversation  yet  .  he  sees  it  more  as  perks  of  the  location  &  atmosphere  he’s  found  himself  in  .

also  lowkey  falls  in  love  HARD  ,  like  this  man  is  a  closeted  romantic  but  self - sabotages  all  potential  relationships  before  they  can  get  to  that  point  out  of  fear  he’ll  be  unable  to  live  life  of  his  own  volition  (  takes  a  flaky  philophobic  sagittarius  to  know  a  flaky  philophobic  sagittarius  🤡  )  .  has  probably  only  had  a  few  real  relationships  besides  flings  bc  he’s  afraid  .

𝐯  .

check  out  my  wanted  plots  tag  listed  here  ,  as  well  as  my  pinterest  wanted  plots  board  here  .  here   are  some  other  suggestions  hehe  :

best  friend  /  ride  or  die  :  someone  who  knows  about  his  past  ,  keeps  him  grounded  when  he’s  lk  spiraling  &  wants  to  drop  everything  &  flee  to  some  far  flung  corner  of  the  earth  .

actual  relationship  :  it  was  fast - burn  with  deep  feelings  (  not  them  thinking  they’re  soulmates  after  dating  for  a  month  . . .  pete  &  ariana  type  beat  )  but  completely  unrealistic  .  they  have  their  own  life  ,  he’s  pretty  much  tied  to  the  restaurant  ,  not  to  mention  his  lack  of  sharing  anything  about  his  childhood / life  back  home  .  they  loved  &  cared  for  each  other  ,  but  crashed  &  burned  fairly  quickly  because  of  how  idealistic  it  was  .  they  can  either  be  on  bad  or  good  terms  now  .

hateship  with  sexual  tension  😈

summer  flings  !!

fake  boyfriend  :  he  shows  up  on  her  arm  to  her  family’s  events  where  she’s  expected  to  have  a  partner  .  it’s  not  a  real  relationship  ,  but  her  parents  don’t  need  to  know  that  .  he  plays  the  part  &  satisfies  her  parents  beyond  the  bare  minimum  ,  &  in  return  she  invites  him  to  parties  ,  takes  him  out  on  her  family’s  yacht  ,  etc  etc  .  we  luv  some  symbiosis  

i  can  always  use  more  fwbs  hehehe

squad  :  a  group  of  people  who  do  everything  together  ,  have  a  chaotic  group  chat  ,  have  nicknames  for  one  another  ,  are  utd  on  each  other’s  sex  lives  ,  party  all  night  then  show  up  to  brunch  hungover  together  .  

cat  &  mouse  :  someone  he’s  pursuing  who  isn’t  quite  giving  in  ,  &  vice  versa  .  maybe  it’s  been  going  on  a  few  years  ,  everytime  they’re  in  st  tropez  they  have  this  weird  lil  flirtationship  thing  goin  on  until  she  leaves  ,  they  forget  about  one  another  ,  then  pick  it  right  back  up  when  she  returns  .

confidant  :  preferably  someone  from  a  working  class  background  who  understands  his  plight  of  being  a  worker  amongst  people  who  expect  to  be  waited  on  .

enemies  :  they  don’t  like  his  attitude  ,  &  he  doesn’t  like  them  in  return  .  lots  of  eye  rolls  ,  shit  talking  ,  &  tension  between  their  mutual  friends  .

we’re  sleeping  together  but  we  shouldn’t  be  but  that’s  half  the  fun :  for  whatever  reason  they  became  friends  ,  starting  hooking  up  despite  it  not  being  a  good  idea  (  read  :  he’s  exes  with  one  of  her  friends  ,  her  parents  want  her  focused  on  career  ,  they’re  part  of  the  same  friend  group  ,  etc )  . . . but  now  they  can’t  stop  .  lots  of  stolen  glances  across  rooms  ,  squeezing  past  one  another  in  a  crowded  club  just  close  enough  for  a  quick  touch  to  the  back  ,  quietly  leaving  one  another’s  places  the  morning  after  &  playing  dumb  to  anyone  who  asks  . 

#villasintro #eeeek im hyped !!

[dailydianakko]

Ink Slinger- I just really need my textbook

Yes the title is a shameless rip from the song (highly reccomend y’all give it a listen) Anyway first chapter of the bookstore au! Next chapter is never. I hope you all enjoy it, it’s my longest work thus far! I wanted to challenge myself, and I think I succeded. A big thank you to all my beta readers who put up with my awful tangled words! Anyway, here is the first chapter. Also on AO3 Here.

Akko gasped as her feet hit the hard concrete of the sidewalk. The crisp air invaded her lungs with each gasping breath, making her throat feel raw and her nose run. Waking up late once again had sent her into a wild crunch for time. She had planned to stop by the bookstore Lotte had recommended she go to before class. The quiet girl had told her that it was really well stocked for a private store, and Lotte frequented enough bookstores to know what was good and what wasn’t. Her expertise was the sole reason to warrant Akko even making a trip like this. Her friend was practically a walking yelp review to most any store in the county, much less state. Lotte’s frequent searches for sold out Nightfall books had only added to her knowledge, and Akko would be forever grateful. After all, Lotte shared the spirit of hope that often accompanied the search for rare or out of stock books.

Akko was still stubbornly clinging to the hope that she might find one of the missing books in her Shiny Chariot collection. That or a replacement “Introduction to English Literature” book that had sadly bitten the dust earlier in the week. The freak coffee incident had really left its mark, both on Akko’s skin and on everyone in the shared school dorm room. Sucy still hadn’t managed to get the coffee stains out of her lab coat and Akko really hoped that she wouldn’t try to get revenge later. She really had no desire to be woken up at four in the morning with another chemical concoction being poured down her throat. Akko gave a hard swallow to try to erase that particular memory. To be honest, Sucy never really needed a reason to use Akko as a resident guinea pig; but Akko didn’t like Sucy having an excuse. Sucy was a master manipulator, and she had no qualms about using guilt to motivate Akko into being a willing participant. Maybe she should just skip town and change her name. Assume a new identity and hope Sucy wouldn’t find her. 

Akko slowed down to a jog as she started to weave around other pedestrians that were filling the streets. It was getting rather crowded now due to the impending lunch hour. Lucky her.

She began to check road signs. Lotte said it would be in this area. Keeping her quick pace, Akko began to scan the nearby buildings for the bookstore she wanted to visit before class. She needed a replacement book today or her professor was seriously going to have her head!

Akko skidded to a halt as she caught sight of the lavender building that had the sign “Quill and Crow” hanging above the entrance; with the emblem of a white crow behind the cursive lettering. The store looked like an old Victorian building, matching the rest of the old era stores on the street. Like many of the cafes and stores of the small town of Blytonbury, it had been a reconverted house with its own quirks and renovations to distinguish it from the others. 

Akko quickly crossed the street after checking and making sure it was devoid of cars. Getting hit now would definitely make her late for class. Stepping up onto the cracked sidewalk, she looked once more at the building. Particularly the porch. There were weathered wicker chairs that had small tables next to them, each with a potted plant. The flowers clearly had been tended with loving care and were blooming beautifully. The seating was scattered in various areas along the white wood of the decking. The seating was far apart enough to be comfortable, giving off the air that one could happily read while in the company of others and avoid the uncomfortable feeling of overcrowding.

It would’ve been nice to sit among the gerbera daisies and catch her breath, but Akko had things to do and a class she could not afford to be late for. She quickly hopped up the creaky steps and passed the chairs. She was proud to say that she only paused a second, glancing at the tempting chairs and the comfort and resting potential that they provided, before turning the brass handle of the door and stepping into the building.

Her first impression was that it was quite clean. The dark floor showed no sign of dust nor dirt and was free of scratches and scuff marks. If Akko didn’t know any better, she would have thought the cream walls had been freshly painted. The missing wet sheen told her that yes, it would be safe to fall into should she lose her balance. Either this store was brand new, which she doubted, or it was very well kept.

The floor plan of the building was fairly open, and had various helpful signs in flowing script directing her where to go. She walked up to a nearby chalkboard sign, stepping around a full umbrella stand, with its own little handwritten sign that said “take but return.” Akko read the board quietly to herself. The first floor was non-fiction, café/gift shop area, and educational books, whereas the second floor was fiction, a sitting area, and a book exchange shelf. Akko knew the first floor was where she should stay, but her adventurous nature made her want to explore the second floor. Perhaps she’d find the Shiny Chariot book in the exchange section. Also, the farther away from coffee she was, the better it was for her. The incident was still all too fresh in her mind.

Akko wandered through the shelves until she found the stairway to the second floor. She slid her hand along the rich dark wood of the thick banister. It was smooth and cool to the touch. She climbed up the slightly creaky steps hesitantly. The store was quiet and she had yet to encounter any workers, maybe it was closed. As she got closer to the second floor, the tantalizing smell of old books hiding among new ones greeted her. She took in a deep breath and let out a happy sigh. Akko always loved the smell of books, be it old or new. She allowed the smell to enchant her and forgot about her worries. Akko stepped lightly through the shelves, there seemed to be no concrete sitting area, save for a large table with comfortable looking chairs suited to gatherings. It seemed the owners had opted for having various spots to sit hidden among the bookcases instead, much to Akko’s approval. As her eyes traced the spines of the books, reading various new titles, her attention was grabbed by the book exchange area. Just what she was looking for! The sign indicating the exchange area was written in the same script as all the other ones that littered the first floor of the store. Underneath the words book exchange was the apparent rules to this area of the store. “Take a book, leave a book,” Akko read aloud slowly “Books that are unexchanged are 50 cents per book. Area is sponsored by Croix Merides, Dean of the Robotics Branch of Luna Nova.”

The books on this particular shelf looked to be old and heavily used. Spines of the paperbacks were bent and the paper was fraying with heavy use. Not only did these books contain tales printed in ink along the pages, but it looked as if they held stories of the lives of the countless people who had read them.  As Akko skimmed the shelf, one particular book stood out to her. She picked up the random title and glanced down at the cover. A dragon, regal and ancient, was illustrated; with the title in gilt lettering above it. “The Tales of Fafnir.” How interesting. She ran her fingers along the dog-eared pages and flipped through it. Some pages were marked with crayon scribbles, and an old library card codex was still lodged on the inner cover. It proudly displayed the names of those who had previously checked out the once library book. Akko felt her excitement bubble within her, and gently stomped her feet excitedly on the floor. She knew she was going to find a treasure here. Perhaps she’d find the missing book in her collection. “Shiny Chariot and the Tree of Life” had been quite elusive. No bookstores carried the titles after the author’s fall from grace, and whatever books that floated around ebay always exceeded the price range of a college student.

 A small beep and a bump against her shoes drew Akko out of her excited thoughts. A little Roomba buzzed against her, stubbornly trying to finish its job. A little medallion signified that it belonged to the store and that its name was Jasper. Akko lifted up her foot and watched the Roomba go along its merry way. Gripped by yet more curiosity, Akko put back the book she held in her hands and followed Jasper as it rolled along, making an occasional boop. She stopped in her tracks when Jasper rolled up to a blonde organizing the shelves. The little robot tapped gently against the blonde’s ankle and she bent down to give it a pat. It let out a contented beep and then the mystery girl gently pushed it on its merry way with a tap of her ankle. Akko swore her heart melted at the action. The girl was so cute, treating Jasper like an errant cat. Akko must have let out a small coo, because the blonde turned towards her with a start. The look of surprise quickly fled from her face as the girl adopted more of a schooled and closed off look. “May I help you?” the girl said with a touch of frost in her voice. Akko could’ve sworn that the temperature in the room went down a few degrees. Maybe this was why the bookstore was empty. As much as Akko wanted to bite back, she figured the girl was probably embarrassed and decided she should kill with kindness.

“I am Atsuko, but you can call me Akko,” Akko bounced slightly on her toes with nervousness. “I was wondering if you had any English textbooks. Mostly Introduction to English Literature? I need it for a class.” Akko looked over the blonde once more. Neat jeans, a crisp button up, and immaculate hair. She was really pretty. Meanwhile Akko was in a stained college hoodie, basketball shorts, and her hair was probably a nightmare from her mad dash to the store. She probably wasn’t going to make a good impression. Akko quickly stood to attention as she realized the blonde was talking. She tried to register whatever the blonde was saying after her sudden mental checkout.

“-Diana, the books you should be looking for are on the first floor. Would you like me to escort you?” Diana’s voice sounded less frosty and more professional. Akko gave a quick nod and stepped to the side, making space for Diana to walk by. Diana shelved the book in her hand and moved the crate that had been hiding behind her closer to the shelf so that nobody would trip over it. As she walked by Akko, the brunette picked up a flowery smell, like a meadow covered in the early morning dew. It was nice. Akko began to follow after Diana, much like a puppy. The blonde was moving quickly, and with a purpose. She was fast, but not so fast that Akko would lose sight of her or have a hard time keeping up. Diana must have been experienced in leading people. Diana led her back out of the book exchange area, past the solitary communal desk, and right back to the stairs. She let out a word of warning to Akko when they began to descend to the first floor. Akko walked down the precarious steps much slower than Diana. After all, she had a track record of falling down and she didn't want to crush Diana. Diana waited, arms crossed, as Akko walked down the last few steps. After Akko had her feet safely on the ground, she turned on her heel and resumed her fast walk. Once again guiding Akko to her much needed textbook.

 As they walked down what Akko deemed to be the textbook section, she marveled at the shelves of old college books that stretched on. Criminal Psychology, Introduction to Biology, Business Law, were all lined up. As Akko quickly read some of the spines, she quickly realized some of these textbooks were fairly old. Some of the editions even stretched back to 2007. It probably contributed to their low price. Without Akko noticing, Diana stopped abruptly having reached their destination. Akko stumbled as she tried to avoid hitting Diana. The blonde looked somewhat amused at Akko’s flailing limbs as she tried to regain balance and not fall over.

“Here is our shelf of older textbooks; I must warn you that older editions are usually outdated in information, and can conflict with current tests. Price tags are on the binding, and we do have editions that are loose and in binders that run cheaper in the back.” Diana ran a hand fondly along the shelf, and picked out a book. “This one is a 2016 edition of Introduction to English Literature, it’s the most recent one we have.” Diana quickly flipped through the book seemingly searching for something. Whatever she was looking for she must’ve not found, because she closed it with a jarring snap that made Akko jump slightly. Diana shoved the book into Akko’s direction, and despite herself Akko took the book in her hands. She figured Diana as a store employee would know which book would be the best one. Granted, Akko might regret her decision at the register, but she really needed an Intro to English Lit., lest her professor actually somehow get her expelled.

“Thank you, Diana.” Akko paused and shifted the book in her grip nervously. “Do you have any books by an author named Chariot, as in the Shiny Chariot series?” Akko probably was treading on dangerous territory now. There was a reason why it was so hard to find books written by Chariot du Nord. She had been blacklisted among the writing communities and fans. Chariot had been an innovator for an entire genre, but when it was revealed she had cheated her way to the top, she had fallen from grace very quickly. The Golden Quill, the competition that had given Chariot her  fame, was somewhat of a lottery where a participant was randomly chosen to have their work carefully reviewed by judges. If the author had been lucky enough to get selected, their book would be published and they practically had their pick of editors and publishers. Most of the lucky winners of the event had gone on to obtain prestigious writing awards. A sudden revelation among the judges years later revealed Chariot had hacked the system to delete all other participants, leaving her work as the sole entry. The media tore her reputation to shreds and her fans quickly abandoned her. Chariot had denied cheating, claiming that she had no idea such a thing occurred. However it was too late and the damage was done. Bookstores had slowly stopped carrying her books and publishers had shut their doors. The critically acclaimed series “Shiny Chariot” had been discontinued and forgotten.

Obviously Diana knew of Chariot’s supposed sin, and the shift in her mood after hearing Akko’s question was very noticeable. She had stood up to her full height while Akko spoke, and then had gone still. She was almost a head taller than the brunette. Akko cringed internally when she noticed that the fondness that had lit Diana’s eyes when she had looked at the books was gone. It had been exchanged for a more hostile look. Yup, Akko had totally made a mistake. “Unfortunately, we do not carry any of Chariot du Nord’s books here;” Diana practically spat the name out with tangible dislike and possible hatred “I am sure you are aware why, if you are looking for her books.”

Akko felt a shiver roll up her spine at Diana’s not so subtle anger. “I am allowed to like Chariot. She shouldn’t have been completely erased like that. I want to one day write as well as she did.” Akko said as she felt her hands clench. Just because Chariot might have done wrong, doesn’t mean she should have been completely blacklisted. She might have been innocent like she had claimed. Akko admired Chariot as a child. The author was genuinely good at writing, putting together stories that had filled Akko with wonder. Even if Chariot had cheated, Akko was always filled with nostalgia whenever she picked up one of the books Chariot had written. They were like magic, and Akko wanted to be a witch casting spells with her words and enchanting her readers, just like her idol. Akko inhaled sharply as she saw Diana’s eyes flash in clear anger. Akko should have stayed quiet, and not go around picking fights. Diana probably wouldn’t get physical since it might cost her a job, but she certainly looked like she would throw hands at any given moment.

The tension in the room grew thicker as Akko stared at Diana, waiting for her to speak. The silence stretched on for what seemed like hours, until a little chirp sounded off behind Akko. She gave a small scream that was also echoed by a strangled yelp of fright from Diana. Probably in response to Akko’s yelling. Akko dropped her book as she whirled around to check the source of the noise. Her legs tangled together from the quick turn and she fell to the ground with a thump. She heard Diana let out a quiet scoff, probably at her lack of grace. Akko let out a small groan and looked to see what had startled her and Diana out of their standoff. It was another Roomba. This one had a little nametag of Shark on it, as well as a little cardboard fin taped to its head. Endearing, if it hadn’t scared years off of Akko’s life. Akko watched as it turned around and rolled away. Jerk.

Akko turned her head back to Diana as she felt the blonde walk up to her. Diana crouched down and picked up the book Akko had dropped in fright. She brushed it off and looked it over for damage. The blonde seemed satisfied that the book was okay and looked at Akko. Of course the bookstore employee would care more about a book than a human. Diana offered her hand, and Akko stared at it confused for a second until she reached out and took it. Diana’s hands were warm, a sharp contrast to her cold eyes. “Thanks.” Akko said awkwardly as Diana helped pull her to her feet. Diana let out a grumpy noncommittal hum in response. Akko blinked as she realized Diana was staring at her. Then she realized that she was still holding Diana’s hand.

“You have really nice hands,” Akko’s words tumbled out of her mouth “they’re really soft. Smooth.” Oh no she was babbling. She still hadn't let go of Diana’s hands. Also she was rubbing her thumb over Diana’s hand. Akko’s gay was showing. She felt her face getting redder, and Diana also seemed to have taken on the hue of a strawberry. Akko dropped Diana’s hands like she had touched a hot stove only after the blonde cleared her throat awkwardly. Akko should really relearn her social skills. Trying  to get rid of the horrible awkward feeling that settled in her chest, Akko scrubbed her hands on her shorts. Yep. Her hands were sweaty. Diana probably thought she was a crazy person. A crazy person who started fights over children’s books and held random girl’s hands tenderly for long periods of time. She could never come here again. 

“Let’s get you get checked out, shall we?” Akko blinked as Diana practically shoved the English book into her hands. Diana was checking her out? Akko gaped at Diana until her brain connected the dots. Oh yes, she was buying a book. A book for a class. A class that she was totally going to be late for. Oh dear.

“Diana,” Akko said in a panicked tone, her voice raising a few octaves, “what time is it, exactly?” Akko felt her foot start tapping as her anxiety rose. If the time was what she thought it would be, then she was screwed.

“One-thirty.” Diana responded as she checked her phone. She was avoiding all eye contact, and had once again crossed her arms as if to avoid touching Akko. Akko honestly couldn’t blame her. She was a particular brand of crazy that most people could only take in small doses, and she had definitely overstayed her welcome. Akko began walking to what she assumed would be checkout. “Diana,” Akko liked the way Diana’s name sounded when she said it “I am about to be incredibly late for an English class that I need this book for. I gotta go. Like the ‘I should have left ten minutes ago’, gotta go.”

Diana rolled her eyes and walked by Akko, the smell of a meadow trailing after her. God Akko liked that smell. “Then I suggest you follow me, you were about to head in the wrong direction.” Though Diana was rude, Akko appreciated Diana’s quick pace as they walked through the store. Once more Diana was leading her through the winding shelves with a purpose. It turned out that the register was near the door. It was hidden from view from those walking in by a strategically placed bookshelf. Diana smoothly slid behind the counter and rattled off a number. Probably the book’s price. Akko didn’t quite hear what she said; she was too panicked, and simply threw four ten dollar bills at Diana’s face. She didn’t even bother waiting for her receipt or change. Akko threw herself forwards, sprinting to the door and fumbling with the knob. She didn’t even want to think about what Diana’s face looked like now, watching Akko flail around like an idiot. She managed to get the door open and resumed her mad dash once more, clipping an old lady with her shoulder on the way out. Both stumbled, but managed to recover. Akko ignored the irate calls after her. Gasping heavily, she began her mad sprint up the street and towards the college. If she took a shortcut through the alley and behind the old pizza parlor, Akko figured she could shave off a few minutes of time.

Covered in sweat, completely disheveled and probably wrinkling the pages of her new book, Akko was proud to say that she ended up only two minutes late. She was only scolded by Professor Finnelan for a total of ten minutes. All in all, a successful adventure.

#lwa #little witch academia #akko kagari #diana cavendish #diakko #dianakko #my writing #Ink Slinger #lwa au #bookstore au #daily speaks #now to crawl back into the netherworld #from whence i came

[readitreviewit]

Yeehaw, saddle up pardners it's time to mosey on down to the wild, wild west with Frederic Logan Paxson's masterpiece, "History of the West". Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for History, this book covers the settlement of the American West and westward expansion from 1763-1893. For a long time, there was no single volume covering the history of the West, but Paxson has got us covered with his fifty-nine chapters spanning almost 150 years. This book is a comprehensive and sweeping account of how the land mass of America was settled, starting from the English settlers in New England to the westward expansion that led to the sunny shores of California. You'll find yourself riding shotgun with American pioneers and Native Americans in conflicts during the War for Independence up until the end of the Civil War. Paxson also offers keen insight into frontier finance, the inner workings of canal and railroad corporations, and even Presidential edicts from Washington to Roosevelt. He's not just a historian, he's a time traveler that takes you on a journey through the Wild West. Paxson's literary wizardry is unparalleled, he doesn't just regurgitate quotes from secondary and source material, he makes the material a part of himself. He has taken a pragmatic view of Westward expansion instead of conforming to a social history. This book is not just a collection of facts, it's an adventure story that brings history to life. With his work, Paxson has not only filled a historical void but has become an authority on the American frontier. As President of the Mississippi Valley Historical Association with undergraduate and PhD degrees from the University of Pennsylvania and a master's from Harvard University, Paxson has won the trust of his readers with his meticulous research and engaging storytelling. Each chapter of "History of the West" is a new adventure, like a trailboss leading us to new horizons. We witness the creation of the public domain, the purchase of Louisiana, the stabilization of the frontier and even the conquest of California. Paxson covers everything from political theories of the frontier, Jacksonian democracy, and even the permanent Indian frontier from 1825-1841. The book isn't just about the politics and economics of the time, it showcases the determination and resilience of the pioneers that settled the West. We witness the struggles they faced, and how they overcame them, like the War with Mexico, the Disruption of the Tribes, and even the Panic of 1873. "History of the West" is an eye-opening read, and it's not just for history buffs, it's for anyone who loves a good adventure story. You'll be on the edge of your seat as you follow the journey of the pioneers who paved the way for us today. This is a must-read for anyone who wants to understand America's rich and colorful history. The book is available in paperback and weighs 1.62 pounds. The dimensions are 6 x 0.99 x 9 inches, making it the perfect size to tuck into your saddlebag for a ride through the Wild West. In conclusion, "History of the West" is a masterpiece that will make you feel like you're riding alongside pioneers, outlaws, and Native Americans through the dusty trails of the Wild West. Paxson has done an excellent job of filling the void of a single volume covering the history of the West, and with his literary wizardry, he brings history to life. So, what are you waiting for? Grab your cowboy hat, saddle up your horse, and let's ride into the sunset with Frederic Logan Paxson's "History of the West". Don't miss out on this incredible read! Purchase the book now or sign up for a 30-day free trial of audible to listen today. Start your literary adventure now and discover the magic within the pages! Price: [price_with_discount] (as of [price_update_date] - Details)

[kelyon]

Nephila 2: Unexpected

The long-awaited (and totally unplanned) next chapter of Nephila, aka The One Where Rumple is a Giant Spider

In this chapter, Belle talks to Ruby and figures out what she needs to do

Read on AO3

In a perfect world, Belle French would have never known that you can buy pregnancy tests at the dollar store.

Wandering through the aisles of the Dahllah Hahbah, Belle imagined what that perfect world would be like. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t be alone for this trip--unless she had a plan to surprise the co-parent of her child, but even then she would probably have brought Ruby along with her. In a perfect world, she and her significant other would have gotten the most precise pregnancy test available. It probably would have been expensive, the sort of thing you need a prescription to get. In a perfect world, this would have been an expected baby, a wanted baby. In a perfect world, Belle would have already been trying to conceive, with the help of a committed partner. She would have been charting her cycle and taking her basal temperature and regularly injecting her uterus with human sperm.

In a perfect world, she wouldn’t have to specify human.

  Without really thinking about what she was doing, Belle piled junk into the green plastic shopping cart. Halloween candy was half off, and the tiny packs of beef jerky were only a dollar. She had been especially hungry for meat lately. In the clearance section, orange and black spider decorations stared at her. Their googly eyes were equal parts friendly and ominous.

She backed away from the Halloween stuff, back into the comparative comfort of a Christmas display. She grabbed a box of candy canes and made her way to the check out lane. 

The middle-aged cashier in a green polo shirt wore the dead-eyed glaze of someone who isn’t getting paid enough to express emotions on the clock. She didn’t talk to Belle as she scanned her purchases over the blinking red light. If she noticed the pregnancy test amidst all the junk food and paper products, she didn’t mention it. 

And that was fine by Belle. She didn’t want people to mention it. She didn’t want it to be real. That was part of why she had gone to the next town over to make this surreptitious purchase. She didn’t want to run the risk of anyone recognizing her. Even if no one saw the test, even if they were supportive and encouraging, Belle didn’t want to think about what was happening at all. If not thinking about something could keep it from being real, then Belle would have no troubles in the world. 

There was a used book store in this town, with a wider variety of subjects than the university store’s collection of last semester’s textbooks. Belle parked her car on the street and walked in. Maybe the smell of books would help her calm down.

It was the best kind of used book store, with towering shelves and hidden nooks and endless rooms leading into each other. There was even a cat wandering around, pestering patrons to pet her. Belle breathed deeply, content even in the sections that had no appeal to her. She brushed past cookbooks and theology, lingered briefly over a shelf of “Personal Relationship/Self-Help,” and eventually found herself in the most daunting section of all. 

There were several copies of The Book. The book she didn’t want to admit she was looking for. After all The Book was the sort of thing the average woman only needed for nine months out of her life. Belle would probably donate her copy once all this was over with. However it would be over. However it could be over. There was so much that she didn’t know. It would be good, at least, to have a baseline of information, to know what was normal for a human woman carrying a human child. 

She held The Book in one arm, making a conscious effort not to cradle it. As at the Dahllah Hahbah, she tried to camouflage The Book by surrounding it with decoys. She picked up a romance paperback, a history of lobster fishing, and a handbook for learning American Sign Language. After a moment of hesitation, Belle also pulled out a hardcover copy of Arachnology Through the Ages. When the stack of books was heavier than she could hold, Belle decided she was safe to check out. 

Unlike the Dahllah Hahbah, this bookstore was staffed solely by the woman who owned the place--a retiree with her long hair in a loose bun and reading glasses on a chain around her neck. Midmorning on a Wednesday, she was obviously thrilled to chat up each and every customer who walked through the door.

“Looks like you got a good haul!” the woman said brightly.

Belle made herself smile and put the books on the counter. “It’s mostly gifts for people.”

“Early Christmas, that’s a smart move!” The owner began to ring up the books. “Oh, Texas Destiny is such a good read! Wait til you get to the part with the wild horses. Do you like horses?”

Her smile was still fixed in place. “A… little.” Belle didn’t give a shit about horses, but this was not the time to talk about it. Maybe if the shopkeeper was distracted by Texas Destiny, she wouldn’t notice--

“Oh!” The woman’s voice rose to a pitch that could only mean the worst thing in the world for Belle: She had seen The Book. 

Belle could only be grateful that there was no one else in the store when the woman held up the copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. 

The shopkeeper looked Belle up and down, her smile even wider than before. “So can I say congratulations?” 

Belle bit her lip and looked down. “Maybe? I--I don’t really know yet.”

“Oh sweetie!” the woman said. “If you’re buying this book, then you know. And even if it’s not this time, it’ll be soon, I can tell. You look very fertile.”

Mortified, cheeks blazing red, Belle couldn’t say anything.

The woman just kept talking. “This is the gold standard for moms-to-be. And they say it’s easy to read, doesn’t make anything too science-y.”

At that, Belle found her voice. “I’m actually working on my PhD at the University of Maine. I’ve already completed my masters in Zoology. Science-y stuff doesn’t bother me.”

The shopkeeper took that in stride. “And your... husband? Boyfriend? Partner? What do they do?”

Lives in a cave and spins gold webs, Belle thought but couldn’t say. Instead she pulled out her wallet. “It’s kind of complicated. Where do I swipe my card?”

“Oh, we’re cash only, sweetie.”

“Sure,” Belle barely kept the annoyance out of her voice as she put away her debit card and pulled out the twenty she saved for emergencies. “Of course you are.” 

****

When she got back to her crappy apartment, Belle thoroughly read and re-read the instructions on the pregnancy test. She wanted to believe that this was a complicated, mysterious process. Maybe she had been wrong the whole time. Maybe she had misread the signs and miscalculated the dates since her last period. Maybe she would go to the bathroom and find her underwear stained with blood, wouldn’t that be great? Wouldn’t that be so much better than the alternative?

Overthinking was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the longer Belle dithered and avoided the inevitable, the more worked-up she found herself getting. She would have less anxiety as soon as she had some idea of what was happening. 

On the other hand, every second she didn’t know if she was pregnant was another second when she could pretend she definitely wasn’t pregnant. It could be true. She could be just imagining things. But she wouldn’t know until she peed on the goddamned stick.

Before she began, she set the kettle on for a cup of tea. By the time the water boiled, it was done. Belle held her mug of Earl Grey close to her chest and looked down at the little blue plus sign. 

It had happened.

She was pregnant.

From a motherfucking spider! 

****

“I’m coming over and I’m bringing margarita mix!” 

Ruby’s voice was loud, even considering the amplification of being on speakerphone. She had to shout to be heard over the noise of the road and the static of her phone and the pounding of Belle’s blood in her ears. 

Belle had managed to keep her composure for five entire minutes before the reality of her situation had come crashing down over her head and left her a sobbing mess. In her distress, she’d called her best friend, and Ruby had answered with her usual love language: girl time and booze.

“But I can’t drink!” Belle wailed. “I’m fucking pregnant and tequila will fucking kill my baby!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll drink your tequila, and you can just have the lime juice. Vitamin C is good for zygotes, right?”

“I don’t know.” Trying to pull herself together, Belle wiped her eyes with the heel of her hands. There were all kinds of vitamins she needed to be taking now--or at least, there would be if she was having a human baby. What would a spider baby need? What kind of thing had taken up residence in her body? “I don’t know anything!” 

“Okay, okay,” Ruby tried to soothe her. “Don’t panic. Everything will be worse if you panic. I am so close to your apartment, Belle. Just hang on until I get there. How about you look at the table of contents for your new book?”

Normally, there was nothing that calmed Belle down more than reading the table of contents to a book. There was something so comforting about knowing the progression of a text, to have all the steps and developments laid out in a simple outline, to get little teases as to the meat of the book. It was like reading the menu before sitting down to a feast, anticipating all the good things to come. 

But if Belle looked at the table of contents to What to Expect When You’re Expecting, she would be peeking into the progression of the next nine months of her life, and that was not a timetable she could think about right now.  

“I’ll be okay,” she told Ruby through wobbling lips. “Are you bringing food, too?”

“What, you think I’m an amature? I’m gonna hang up now so you don’t hear me freak out about parallel parking, but I’ll be up soon, hun. Okay?”

“Okay.” Belle nodded, even though Ruby couldn’t see it. She hung up the phone and took a deep breath.

 Ruby’s breezy confidence was exactly what Belle needed right now. It made her feel normal, even in the middle of the most un-normal thing she’d ever heard of. Ruby had been an RA while they were undergrads, a faithful post-breakup bar companion, and the recipient of teary late-night calls from friends going back to her high school days.  She knew everything about how to deal with someone who was scared and alone and crying her eyes out. Belle wasn’t the first person to call Ruby up in tears, and she wouldn’t be the last. 

It helped to think that her problems were not unique. Every day, women all around the world discovered that they had an unplanned pregnancy. For every one of them, it was the end of one world and the beginning of another. And Belle was just the same. The unorthodox manner of conception didn’t change the fact that Belle was merely one of thousands or millions of women who had been put in this exact same situation since the dawn of time. And, like so many of her countless sisters, Belle found solace in reaching out to other women, to find help and comfort and solidarity.  

Laden with grocery bags, Ruby burst through the unlocked door like an inverse Santa Claus. Instead of a fat old man bearing gifts for the nice, Ruby was a skinny young woman offering solace to someone who had been decidedly naughty. Belle was more happy to see her friend than she had been on any Christmas morning of her life. 

“Hey,” she tried, with a watery smile.

“Baby!” Ruby dropped the bags on the ground and pulled Belle in for a hug. “Or--no. That was a bad choice of words, wasn’t it? How do you feel? Am I allowed to say the B-word?”

Belle laughed and cried at the same time. “It’s fine,” she shook her head. “Don’t worry about saying the word ‘baby.’ That’s what it is, kinda.”

Ruby let Belle go and started unpacking her bags. “I know,” she said. “But ‘baby’ is an emotionally charged word. We can say ‘embryo,’ if that makes things easier on you. We’re almost doctors, Belle. We can be scientific about this.”

Scientifically, the word we should use is ‘larva,’ Belle thought but didn’t say. Ruby was her best friend and the most supportive person in the world right now. But even she would balk if she knew what Belle had really been up to on her trip to Australia. 

Together, they cleared the clutter and books off the coffee table. Then Ruby made Belle sit on the couch and watch while she spread out her feast.

“Okay, so the tequila is just for me, but I did bring Sprite--it’s caffeine free and it’ll work with the margarita mix. Additionally, chips and gauc, cheese puffs, cheesecake bites, chocolate chip cookies--”

“Did you sort your shopping list alphabetically?”   

“And--” Ruby went on, “a whole goddamned rotisserie chicken. I figured we could just rip into it with our hands like old-timey kings, like we’re going to throw the bones on the floor for the dogs.”

Belle let out an incredulous giggle. “That’s ridiculous! And perfect. Thank you so much, Ruby.”

“Oh! I also got this fancy salt for our margaritas. It’s made with black ants! Can you believe that?”

“Ants?” Belle whispered as her hand drifted over her stomach. Suddenly nauseous, she leapt off the couch and ran to the bathroom.

When she finished throwing up, Belle stayed on the ground next to the toilet. Ruby had lingered in the doorway but didn’t come in until Belle was done. She offered her a glass of water and Belle took it gratefully. Ruby sat on the edge of the bathtub, her face full of concern.

“Has the morning sickness been bad?”

“I don’t know if this is bad, I’ve never had it before!” Belle took a sip of water and closed her eyes. “Isn’t it supposed to be bad? Isn’t pregnancy supposed to be divine punishment for promiscuity?”

“If it’s punishment for anything, it’s for poor planning. I thought you were on the pill?”

Belle shook her head. “I kept it up for a few months after Will and Ana got back together for the fifth time, but when it looked like they were sticking I didn’t bother to refill my prescription. I don’t have sex with men often enough to justify taking a pill every day.”

“Except for when you do.”

“Yeah,” Belle took another drink. “Except for when I do.”

Ruby took a breath and rubbed her hands over her knees. “Listen, you know I’m here for you no matter what, right?”

Belle was still shaky, but she rested in that certainty. “Right.”

“And I’m not going to pressure you or make you do anything. You don’t even have to make any decisions today, okay?”

“Okay.”

“But I gotta ask: Belle, what do you want to do? Have you thought about your options? Do you want to keep it? Do you want to… not keep it?”  

Leaning her head back against the cool tile of her bathroom wall, Belle opened her eyes slowly. It had been such an ordeal to even confirm that she was pregnant, the thought of what came next had been too much to consider until now.

She took a deep breath, eight counts in, eight counts out. 

“I think ‘abortion’ is an even more emotionally charged word than ‘baby.’”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Ruby said. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal. I can drive you to Planned Parenthood, I’ll be with you every step of the way. If that’s what you want.”

“I know,” Belle said softly. Ruby’s support was unconditional. She would paint a nursery or hold Belle through a difficult procedure, both with equal willingness and sincerity. 

But Belle had an instinctive terror at the thought of going to a doctor’s office in her condition. What would a real urine test reveal about the nature of her child? What kind of image would show up on an ultrasound? Even if she wanted to get rid of this thing, would a regular abortion procedure work? Or would they have to go into her uterus with insecticide? 

“I don’t want to go to a doctor,” she said softly.

Ruby’s eyes widened. “But you have to go to an OB! Or even just talk to Victor. I mean, if you’re going to stay pregnant, you have to stay healthy and safe.”

“I know,” Belle closed her eyes again. What could she say? How could she explain any of this? “But… I… I don’t know what will happen.”

“What, like with insurance or something?”

Belle’s eyes shot open. That worked. “Yeah,” she lied. “I don’t want to deal with crazy medical bills.”

Ruby nodded thoughtfully. “Does Australia have universal health care?”

Now it was Belle’s turn to nod, slowly, saying words only slightly after the thoughts came into her head. “We… do. I should go back home… because of the healthcare.” 

“Yeah, no, you definitely should. Besides, your parents are there!”

At the mention of her parents, Belle’s tenuous hope crumpled. “Oh God!” she let out a wrenching cry. “My parents are gonna kill me!”

“Nooo,” Ruby crooned. She slid off the bathtub edge and joined Belle on the floor, pulling her into her arms and slowly rocking her back and forth. “I know it’s scary, but parents can be okay with things. My mom didn’t want to tell Granny about me until I was almost born, but it all turned out fine!” She gave Belle a chaste kiss on the temple. “Even if your mom and dad freak out at first, they’ll come around soon. Babies are cute. They’re easy to like.”

 Belle shook her head and let the tears fall silently. “Not this baby.”

“Don’t say that.” Ruby held Belle by the shoulders, twisting their bodies so they could look into each other’s eyes. “If you’re gonna keep this baby, Belle, you’ve got to own it. It will be a lovable baby because it will be your baby. You’ve got to fight for it! If you’re this thing’s mom, you have to be its biggest fan. Does that make sense?”

Still teary, Belle nodded. “It’s my baby, right or wrong.”

“Unless you want to go to Planned Parenthood. That is entirely up to you. But once you make that choice--” Ruby balled her hand into a fist and shook it in a display of fierce determination “--then it’s yours.”

“Mine,” Belle whispered. Her hand drifted down to her stomach. It was still flat and lifeless. There was nothing about her body that spoke of the life that grew inside her. Nothing that could tell her what manner of creature her child would become. But Ruby was right, it was hers. And not just hers. “I should tell the father too.”

“Yeah, you never mentioned what happened! Who was this guy? What was he like? How was the sex?”

“The sex was amazing,” Belle admitted with the candor of the overly distraught. “But it was just sort of a one-night stand. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.”

“Do you want to see him again? Do you think he’ll want to be involved?”

“He’ll have to be involved,” Belle said with a dawning sense of relief.

Of course the creature in the cave would be a part of their offspring’s life. If she was going to give birth to a spider, then it would have to be raised by a spider! And that thing… that thing was intelligent. It could care for its young. Maybe it could even take care of Belle.

She just had to see him again. 

Belle felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. As she stood up, she nearly floated off the bathroom floor. She offered her hand down to Ruby and helped her get up. 

“Tomorrow morning, I have to call Dean Mills to see if someone can teach my classes for the rest of the semester.”

Ruby cocked her head at Belle. “And why is that?”

“Because I’m going back to Queensland.” 

#Nephila #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #sorry there's no smut in this one #not a lot of spiders either #next time baby

[writeyourownlifestory]

L I GH T S  U P

Chapters: 1/20 Fandom: IT Rating: M Warnings: No warnings at this time  Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: PunkRocker!Eddie, Writer!Richie, Beveddie!Friendship, No Clown Written by: myself & @ahardlife Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @bi-gemini1983

Puff piece writer Richie Tozier is given the chance of a lifetime to interview his celebrity crush: Dr. K, the lead singer of punk rock band, Trashmouth. Dr. K is about to release his first solo album and Richie wants to get all the dirty details. But all is not what it appears to be and the two realize they know each other from a different time, in a different place, when they were both very different people.

One: Cruel To Be Kind: Nick Lowe

Oh I can't take another heartache Though you say you're my friend, I'm at my wit's end You say your love is bonafide, but that don't coincide With the things that you do And when I ask you to be nice, you say

You've gotta be cruel to be kind, in the right measure Cruel to be kind, it's a very good sign Cruel to be kind, means that I love you, baby (You've gotta be cruel) You gotta be cruel to be kind

Richie Tozier didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life.

That wasn’t a very unique statement but Richie wasn’t a very unique person. An average guy who was as blind as a bat, born in bumblefuck nowhere and eventually making it out of there and into the big wild city, making a living working at a big-name magazine.

Okay, the last part was pretty impressive, but he didn’t actually work very hard for that job.

He used to dream of writing comedy. Of telling jokes or writing for amazing shows like Saturday Night Life or something on Comedy Central. He wanted to be a comedian. To make people laugh. Sure, he is seen as the funny guy around the watering tank, but thats just because the rest of the people he worked with were a bunch of yuppies with impressive college degrees and no real personalities. They’re no better than the robots who work for Buzzfeed.

They had paperback covers and an app for people who didn’t want to go to the store to buy an actual copy. They had their own YouTube channel that hit millions of hits thanks to interviews and other shit that Richie took part in.

When Bill decided he wanted to make this into a real thing, he wanted it to make some sense. It wasn’t some balls to the ball insanity mag that people read for juicy gossip. It was real. The people who subscribed were real and the people featured in it were real.

Richie’s writing, not so much.

He mostly did puff pieces. Little things that didn’t take a lot of effort but were mostly filler in between the larger stories. It was something Bill had done for them after the magazine got big. You see, he and Bill had been buddies in college. Both young and naive about the world. Neither really knew what they wanted, but they had dreams and that was all that mattered back then.

It was Bill that had the real talent with writing and despite publishers being interested, he never took into account just how much time, effort, and money went into getting a book published. Richie, always believing in his best friend, decided to give him all the cash he had saved up for spring break so he would make the first move on getting his novel out.

He didn’t mind much as he found that he could eat, sleep, and drink on the couch the same way he could out on the beach.  

That novel ended up being a best seller and skyrocketed Bill’s career. Bill always remembered that, so when his second and third books became such a thrill, he decided to take the chance and create a magazine and brought Richie along for the ride.

It was easy work and he made good money for doing very little, but he found that was the main cause of his quarter-life crisis. He wanted so much more than he had been given that Richie was actually feeling guilty for wanting more.

He had done stand up in the city and even took an improv class, but nothing seemed to stick to him. Now he was over thirty and found himself in a rut. He lived alone in a small apartment filled with things he didn’t need but purchased because he thought they would bring out a sense of excitement.

He was single, though that was a whole nother issue as it took Richie an embarrassingly long time to come to terms with his own sexuality. Growing up in a small town where people were cruel and the world didn’t understand left marks on an impressionable kid. It wasn’t until he was halfway through college that he did anything with a guy and well-passed gradation that he realized that it was more than okay to be gay, it was normal.

So yeah, he was open and fine with it, but still lonely as hell. He had been with people in the past, but he found that he mostly just shut himself off from the world. He wasn’t happy about anything anymore and it seemed the only thing that got him by was that ending it all would have proved his teenage bullies right; that he was better off dead.

And if there was anything Richie wanted to live for, it was spite.

And also music.

Despite not being musically inclined at all, Richie loved music with all his heart. He spent a good portion of his time listening to records as a kid. He used to go around carrying a walkman and CD player and Zune throughout his life. He paid for the mom's gigs on his phone because he needed to have all his favorite songs ready to blast at the tap of a finger.

While they already had a guy that wrote specifically about music for the magazine, he had always been able to sweet talk Bill into allowing him to have a few moments to shine and write something about some artist. Those were the pieces that really mattered to him. The ones that gave Richie the chance to dive deep into the thing he loved.

Sure, he had written a whole expose on Street Fighter and perhaps he did make a big deal out of the Star Wars franchise, but it was the moments when Richie could reel back and listen before writing that got him going.

They rarely did full-length articles on performers as the magazine was something of a clusterfuck of topics. Bill Denbrough never wanted to settle on just one thing. Paper Boat was more than just one specific topic. It was everything and they would be damned if they ever settled on its something.

But of course, now and then something would come along and the whole team would be scrambling to put together a magazine dedicated to that one specific person. It wasn’t always a celebrity. Bill meant what he said when he wanted to keep the magazine aimed at the everyday people.

Their biggest seller to date had been when they put out issues all about Ben Hanscom the architect. Richie had no idea why anybody would want to read about the guy other than to enjoy the pictures that were taken of him, but low and behold, the world wanted to know.

As it turned out, Ben was a decent human being who just wanted to make the world a better place and he also happened to be extremely hot while doing it. Who knew that was possible!

The physical copies sold out everywhere and the website crashed thanks to all the promotions they did on it. Like, what the actual fuck?

Bill was that good at what he did and it also helped that he was writing his books on the side. He had people from all over coming through wanting to see what they could do and it only proved to be more impressive as time went on.

Now the magazine needed something new, something fresh and it seemed Bill had it all planned out.

“Here at Paper Boat, we don’t choose a good looking celebrity because we want to make money. You know, I’m not going to call up Jennifer Aniston and ask her to do me a favor -- I could, but I won’t -- because that isn’t what we do here.” Bill explained as they went over the board meeting for the next issue. “The people featured on our cover are interesting. People who want to bring the world together and make a change. Or maybe they’re just batshit insane and look good while doing it. Who knows.”

A small array of laughter came over the place. Richie leaned back in his chair, half paying attention. He knew how these things went. Bill made a big, exciting speech before revealing who or what they’d be focusing on. The assignments would be passed around and Richie would be given something soft and fun.

He got the dumb shit that got the people who didn’t want to read involved. Sometimes he’d do interviews while vlogging. They’d try food they never tried before or do something stupid. One of the most interesting had been when he got assigned to interview Kristen Wiig while bobbing for apples. Certainly interesting and the flow to the website was wonderful.

Richie was the writer they went to when they wanted it to seem kitsch and gimmicky. Enough for it to garner actual attention, but nothing worth anybody's time.

He tossed his stress ball up in the air, catching it as it followed the natural path and came back down. He got bored easily as meetings like this and he waited for Bill to just get on with it and assign everybody their respected jobs.

Bill hit a button on his computer, revealing a picture that Richie was all too familiar with. It was of a punk rock band that he had followed since he graduated from college. Trashmouth was one of the greatest bands that had ever come into Richie’s life. They were like if Queen and the Ramones were put together, had a baby, and then that baby had a baby with Green Day: that weirdly insane combination would be Trashmouth.

There were five members, but the main focus was and always had been the lead singer and guitarist Dr. K. Nobody knew why he went by that nor did he ever give an answer. Richie had googled him a couple of times, wanting to find out more, but the guy was a fucking mystery. It was like he just appeared on the scene, completely out of his mind with cut off sleeves and steller vocals.

It was safe to say Richie had a big gay crush on Dr. K.

And that was fine because Dr. K was just as gay.

He had never been seen with anybody, always choosing to keep his personal life private, but his songs were obvious enough even if most of them seemed pretty genderless. He had done one interview where the person asking the questions kept using the term ‘she’ or ‘her’ until finally, the guy replied that he writes songs about guys.

That took the world by fucking storm and Richie Tozier had never been the same.

“Some of you may be familiar with Trashmouth. Multiple Grammy noms and wins. Always in the top 40 listings despite repeatedly being told that punk rock was dead.”

“Please tell me we’re going to be featuring the band,” Mike, the music specialist for the magazine, piped up eagerly.

“I can’t because we won’t,” Bill replied. “Our focus is on him.” Bill hit another button and a solo picture of Dr. K popped up.

Richie’s mouth was watering and he sat up straight. He had the same picture in a small poster in his apartment. It was set up alongside some other pictures in what he called his “Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Wall” because he was just that big of a fan. He looked at it often, always finding himself thankful for all the music that had been created and got him through some pretty dark days as a kid.

Did it also help that Dr. K was incredibly attractive and gave Richie a little bit of encouragement just by looking so good? Yes, yes it did.

“It seems Dr. K will be going off on his own. My sources tell me he’ll be putting out a solo album by the end of the year and I want to know everything about it. Mikey, that’s your job. Speak to whoever you have to to find out what is going to be on that album. Audra, speak to the rest of the band, find out how they feel about the ending of an era. Georgie, get your camera ready because we’re doing a photo shoot with him in three days.”

“Who is doing the main exposé?” Greta asked, popping her gum as she spoke.

Bill smirked, turning back to his computer. “I’ll pick someone later. For now, you’re all dismissed.”

The group got up from their chairs and left Bill’s office. All except for Richie, who was too fucking flabbergasted to do a damn thing. As Bill began to head out, he finally scrambled to his feet to follow him. His long legs led him there quickly, though he mostly sidestepped around his coworkers to finally reach their boss.

“Bill! Big Bill! Wait up.” He called, following him to the elevator.

“What's up, Rich? I’m about to head out for lunch.” Bill said, turning to face him. “You hungry? We could check out that new sandwich place that opened across the way.

“Oh, no. I’m time. Stuffed.” Richie patted his stomach lamely, offering a large smile to his friend and boss. “Hey! So, just checking in to see about that latest pitch.”

“Oh right,” Bill paused, hitting the elevator button. “You were a fan of that band, right? Oof. Sorry about the breakup buddy. Haven’t you seen them like six times?”

“It’s sixteen, but that’s not important right now.” Richie corrected. “Bill. Buddy. You have to listen to me.”

“You got it, Rich.”

“I know you only trust me with the puff pieces because I’m not as talented as Mike or even Greta, but I need you to trust me on this.”

“You can do the exposé, Rich.”

“I have gotten better over time and I swear, if you just give me the chance, I promise. I won’t do a single embarrassing voice or anything to get Paper Boat blacklisted.”

“I’m sure you’ll embarrass yourself in one way or another, but that’s your issue. You have two days.”

“Until what?”

“Until your interview with Dr. K,” Bill said, stepping into the elevator as the doors opened. “If you’d stopped rambling you would have heard me tell you that you’re going to be the one doing the expose. You’ll be meeting him in two days, so you better come up with some good questions.”

“Holy shit,” Richie muttered.

“Holy shit, indeed Tozier,” Bill smirked. “I know you’ve been in some sort of funk lately, so I hope that this will shake you up a bit. Better keep your fanboy boner under control.” Bill warned, smiling as the elevator doors closed between them.

Whether Richie realized it or not, Bill believed in him and his writing ability. He may not have the raw talent like himself, but he knew what Richie was capable of. He has a way with people that allowed them to loosen up and relax and nothing was better for a good interview than someone comfortable with the person asking the questions.

Bill couldn’t think of a single person who would be better for this specific project and having Richie be an uber-fan of the artist was just a bonus. If Richie made an ass of himself, that would be his problem, not the magazines.

Richie stood there, not knowing what to do next. He looked to his watch, realizing he had less than 72 hours to come up with a buttload of questions for his idol. He ran back to his cubby to brainstorm.

#Lights Up #Reddie #Reddie fanfic #my fanfic #au #reddie au #Eddie Kaspbrak #Punk!Eddie #Richie Tozier #Writer!Richie #bill denbrough