#because i am perma-sick and i care enough about all of you

[not-poignant]

Under the stain is so good and so well written! Huge fan. I was wondering what’s the schedule for updates since you mention that the next chapter is already ready but I’ve had to wait for weeks for it to drop. Please drop it earlier if you can :((

Hi anon,

I already drop chapters of A Stain that Won't Dissolve earlier than I used to, because it used to be a chapter every 3 weeks, and now it's a chapter every 2. I can't go any faster, because I am literally working on eight different stories right now, and you know, I need money to eat food, and live, and pay my medical bills, and Stain doesn't do any of that, so my other writing has to come first.

I'm doing the best I can, anon.

You can always check out my writing schedule here. Generally A Stain that Won't Dissolve goes up every second Sunday. You are not the only one who is having to wait two weeks for it to arrive, everyone is, and I'm glad you're enjoying it, just...please know I'm also a real person who is working really hard all the time on my writing and Stain can't come first, unless you're willing to come here and pay me a living wage? Then we can work something out ;)

#asks and answers #a stain that won't dissolve #thespectaclesofthor #i have written 4 chapters ahead anon #the reason i don't post them is because i'm very sick and i have an incurable cancer and a bunch of other stuff #so if i'm ever too sick to update every two weeks #*i have chapters to post so that people aren't waiting even longer between updates* #that's the reason i write ahead #because i am perma-sick and i care enough about all of you #that i want to make sure i'm consistent even when i'm too sick #to make food for myself #(the good news is i am rarely that sick) #but i *have* been that sick before and will be again #so i plan ahead

[barry-j-blupjeans]

31 from the touch list? Please?

31 (touches). doing a pinky swear

((prompt list here - still accepting!!))

u didn't request any ships/characters specifically so here's Magnus n Lucretia (platonic)

--

It was five days back into a new cycle and Lucretia still wasn't talking to him, which Magnus was trying to accept. Last year hadn't been great for any of them, he was sure, but it was specifically terrible for Magnus, Barry, and Lucretia. There hadn't been any humans on that plane but there had been a council. The world was full of strange and mysterious oddities that the council set out to study. Being freshly new and odd, the council had taken it upon themselves to-

Study was putting it lightly.

Barry had been taken first, under the prose that the council just wanted to speak to him, privately. The "private meeting" went on for much longer than they had agreed upon and when they had gone to look for Barry, he hadn't been there.

Davenport had made Lucretia and Magnus promise not to leave the ship. They did so, Magnus less willing than Lucretia, and well-

Magnus was usually good at following orders. But there were lives at stake. Humans weren't the only ones being hurt by the council and the breaking point for him had been seeing a dog-like creature dragged into the research center, as Davenport made him stand back and out of the way.

He tried sneaking out in the middle of the night, but Lucretia had caught up with him. They argued for a bit about Davenport's rule and then set out together, to go find Barry. Lucretia had made Magnus promise- promise, wholeheartedly- that he wouldn't do anything rash. Magnus agreed, knowing how he was, and without the intent to actually follow through.

He had sort of... broken that promise upon seeing what was going on inside the research center. Even now, thinking about it made him sick. He felt guilty, after re-gen, for breaking his word, but even more guilty upon the realization that his actions had lead Lucretia to death for the first time ever.

That's probably why she wasn't talking, thinking logically about it. Taako and Lup had told him the story of what happened after (once they were done mobbing Barry, that is). It had been a grizzly sight and they had even convinced Davenport to let them burn down the facility once they rescued everyone inside. The sadness of missing a revolution was outmatched by the stinging regret he felt every time he saw Lucretia.

"Just- talk to her," Lup groaned, head in her hands, after Magnus had come to her for the fifth time to talk about it. She swept the papers she had been working on aside and turned to face him.

"Look, Mags, both of you are, putting it nicely, stubborn little shits- don't give me that look, you know you are. The rest of us are, too, that's why we're not perma-dead yet. But babe, you can't just let it lie. It's just gonna end with you two crying at each other and then getting over it. C'mon dude."

"But," Magnus started. Lup rolled her eyes.

"Lucy's like a sister to you, yeah?" Lup asked and Magnus nodded, frowning. "Okay, then take it from me, someone who has a terrible, horrible brother, whom I love very dearly. This fight, or whatever, isn't helping anyone. Communication is key when it comes to any relationship, even platonic ones. Stop being so scared that she's mad at you and start being scared that you might lose your friendship if you don't do anything."

"Right," Magnus said, a little more determined. "Okay, yeah. Thank you."

"Uh-huh," Lup said, turning back to his papers. "If you see Barry on your way tell him that, uh- the experiment we started earlier is going well."

"Is that code for something?" Magnus asked, watching the way Lup's face split into a sly grin.

"Not that I'll tell," she said, winking.

--

It took until that night for Magnus to properly work up the courage to talk to Lucretia, which made him feel stupid. He could run into a swarm of the Hunger feeling nothing but excitement, but the idea of talking with Lucretia about what had happened last cycle made him feel almost sick to his stomach.

In the end, he knocked on Lucretia's door half an hour before dinner. There was a shuffle from inside and then the door opened a bit and Lucretia peaked out. She didn't look surprised to see him there. If anything, she looked just about as nervous as Magnus felt.

"Alright," Lucretia said. "Come in."

She opened the door wider and beckoned Magnus inside. He had been in here before, of course. There was a slowly filling bookshelf of her journals, and journals she had yet to use. Her sheets were a dark, royal blue, from a fabric shop from a few cycles back. There was an easel in the corner and a bucket full of different types of paints and art... things... Magnus wasn't very well versed in any of it.

She pulled the chair out from her desk and let him sit, sitting on top of the desk herself. They stared.

"Taako said-" she started, at the same time he said,

"Lup-"

She grinned at him sheepishly. It made Magnus feel a lot better to know she had gotten advice, too. She gestured at him, letting him go first.

"I went to Lup," he began, "because I didn't know exactly how to- to fix this, but she just said to talk to you, and let it come out, so, uh. I'm sorry, I guess. No, I mean- I am sorry, I just- I'm not good at thinking through things and you got hurt because of it. You died because I rushed into something and I should have thought about that. I should have kept you in mind, but when I saw all those creatures getting hurt, and thought about what must have happened to Barry, I- couldn't help myself. I'm sorry you died because of it. Because- of because of me."

Lucretia was silent for a few moments, hands resting in her lap. He had been avoiding her eye during his speech, but when he was done, he looked up at her.

"I'm not angry because I died," she said. "I'm angry because you broke your promise."

"I- what?"

"I don't care that I died!" Lucretia said loudly, slamming her hand on the desk. "It fucking- yes, yeah, it hurt, but it hurt that you promised me you wouldn't rush in, and then you did! If you're going to be rash, you need to tell me outright- that's what got us killed, Magnus! That you didn't trust me enough to tell me what you were thinking!"

"I trust you!" Magnus said, but Lucretia shook her head. She was looking a little teary.

"Did you promise with the intention of actually keeping your word?" she asked, and when Magnus couldn't respond (because, no, he hadn't been planning to be "rash" about it), she turned away from him and said, "that's what I thought."

"They were hurting the animals and people they had there," Magnus said, finally, voice wet and hurt. "I couldn't just... let them do that. I couldn't, Lucretia."

"I know," she said, taking a deep breath. "I know. I just- just as appalled you was, trust me. We could have gotten out alive, though, I think. If you had taken the time to think about what to do with me. Like Lup and Taako did, when they broke everyone out after we died."

Something uncomfortable was rooted in Magnus's chest and it was that she was right- she was a hundred percent right. He had the tendency to act instead of think and had been like that before the Starblaster mission. It was fitting for a twenty-two-year-old, fresh into the real world, but- fuck. He wasn't twenty-two, anymore, not really.

He saw the pain in Lucretia's eyes and realized she wasn't twenty anymore, either. Not like they were when they started.

"You're right," Magnus said, nodding. "I broke my promise, willingly, and it was stupid of me. I can't promise things like that right off the back because I'm realizing I still have a lot of growing left to do. It's- weird, I think. Being so young with so much knowledge. I don't feel like I'm living up to the age I actually am."

Lucretia nodded, slowly, and looked into his eyes. He could see the tears in them.

"I shouldn't have made you promise something so drastic for you," Lucretia said.

"Maybe not," Magnus shrugged. "But there is something I can say- I can promise, I mean. Look, pinky swear, so you know I'm not lying."

He held out his pinky. Lucretia took it apprehensively in her own, a small smile sneaking back onto her face.

"I promise I'm gonna try to grow up," he swore and Lucretia snorted. "Seriously- maybe not like, uh, like I'm still gonna be childish as fuck, don't doubt that, but- I'm gonna try to think things through more. Think of the consequences to my actions."

He shook their pinky's, a bit violently. Lucretia took her hand back, looking at him appraisingly.

"I'll hold you to that," she said.

"Please do," Magnus said.

#magnus burnsides #lucretia #taz lucretia #taz magnus burnsides #mine #ise cube writing #asks #anon #they wont all be this long oh my god lskdfskdkf #might put this on ao3 #no editing bc sleeby u know

[softest-cinnamon-roll]

“I was trying to propose!” + reddie please? :’)

I found this in my inbox and got the perfect idea to go with it! 

read on AO3

* * * * * 

Eddie Kaspbrak was sick. No, not the kind of sick where he could easily take a few pills and get on with his day, oh no, this time he was really sick. From the moment he woke up that morning, Eddie knew something was wrong, and yet he still went about the day as though nothing was wrong.

He was heavily regretting that decision as he boarded the subway home, sweat trickling down his pale face and an excruciating pain in his right side. A few people gave him an odd look as he made his way to an empty seat, and some even pulled their kids away from him as though they would contract some deadly disease from him.

There was no way he looked that bad was there?

Carefully, Eddie slipped his earpods in, picking some soft music to listen to until he reached his stop. As he shifted however, the pain in his side seemed to intensify and he let out a choked gasp, reaching for it. The action earned him a few more stares but he ignored them, too focused on the fact that he felt as though he was going to die with how bad his side hurt.

Luckily, the subway was approaching his stop, and he forced himself up off the seat and he stumbled towards the door. The people waiting to disembark the train at the same stop let him off first, and Eddie slowly made his way to the exit. Thankfully, he thought, his apartment was only a few minutes away from the station and Eddie couldn’t wait to curl up in bed with a hot water bottle and hope it all passed.

Eddie reached the apartment, weaker than he had been all day, tears of pain in his eyes and he tried the door. He frowned when he realised it was locked, which meant that Richie was still at the radio station, probably working late. Great, looks like he was going to have to make himself something to eat.

He never even made it to the kitchen, as he reached the couch, exhaustion took over him and he collapsed, his vision blacking out.

Eddie wasn’t even sure how long he was sleeping for, but when he woke up, the pain was almost too much to bare, and he felt as though he was going to be sick. He never registered the blanket around his body as he lurched from his position in a scramble to get to the bathroom, only to vomit all over the cream rug that was under the coffee table.

“Eds are you- holy shit!” He could hear Richie’s voice, followed by the bang of something being dropped before he was at his side. “Hey- hey woah, easy baby.” Richie’s voice was in his ear, but he felt like he was floating away. “Baby, what’s wrong, talk to me?”

He managed to open his eyes, almost sealed shut with sweat and sleep and he managed to croak out a single word, “H-Hurts.” He barely got the word out before he was sick again, coughing as Richie rubbed his back soothingly.

Richie jumped into action, grabbing his phone and calling 911. Through his pain induced haze, Eddie could make out Richie describing his visible symptoms to the operator on the other side. “Just- send an ambulance. He’s really sick and he needs immediate medical attention!” Another pause. “No- no I can’t ask him because every time he so much as moves, he’s sick everywhere!”

Eddie honestly thought he was going to die, completely in pain, in his boyfriend’s arms. He could barely even talk without bringing up more vomit, which was soon turning to bile at this point as there was nothing left in his stomach. He faintly could hear the ambulance pull up outside and soon enough, multiple people were surrounding him and strapping an oxygen mask around his head.

That was the last thing he remembered before he passed out.

* * * * *

For some reason, Eddie thought that when he regained consciousness, he would no longer be in pain, but unfortunately that was not the case. He was laying down on a bed, hooked up to an IV line and nurses were bustling around them.

“Eds, fuck, hey,” Eddie’s attention drifted to Richie, who looked as though he’d been to hell and back. “Hey, easy…you’re going to be fine.”

“What- what’s wrong with me?” He asked, his voice raw with how many times he had thrown up. He relaxed a little as Richie ran his fingers through his hair. “Why am I in so much pain?”

Richie brought his hand to his lips, kissing the skin of his knuckles. “It’s your appendix,” he explained and Eddie almost let out a breath of relief, but Richie continued. “You’re booked in to surgery, they need to get them out as fast as possible…before they burst.”

Surgery. Fuck. Eddie hates surgery. He had only ever been under the knife once before, when he was little and he broke his arm, and he hated it. “Richie-”

“Don’t worry baby, I’m going to be right here okay? Right here. I’m going to leave you. I promise,” Richie’s voice was soft and it was clear he had been crying. The doctor came in just a few seconds later, clipboard in hand.

“Eddie, your awake. That’s good. We’re about to take you in for surgery now.” The doctor smiled and quickly ran through a few questions he had. “Shouldn’t take longer than a few hours, and we’ll keep you in for a few days to make sure you’re recovering.”

Eddie nodded his head, knowing that he had no other choice but to go along with whatever the doctor was doing with him. As the nurses came in to wheel him into the surgery room, he gave Richie one last kiss, keeping his gaze until they were separated by the swinging doors.

The surgeon talked through everything he was doing as the anesthetist prepared the injection. Eddie felt a sharp prick in his hand and the doctor looked down over him, “Count back from ten, and you’ll be out, okay?”

“Ten…nine…eigh-”

Blackness.

* * * * *

This time, when Eddie opened his eyes, the intense pain was gone, and replaced with a little discomfort. By the look of the room, he was in recovery and the operation was over. Thank fuck. He felt a little giddy, thanks to the anesthetic. He really wanted to see Richie. To kiss Richie. God he loved Richie so much.

“We’re going to take you to the ward now Eddie, okay?” The nurse smiled down at him and he nodded his head, giggling.

The nurse wheeled him out of recovery and up to the ward where he would be staying for the next few days whilst he recovered properly. Richie was there waiting for him, and Eddie let out a squeal the second he laid his eyes on him. “Richie! Baby! You’re here!”

A few of the nurses on the ward laughed at how happy he sounded and Richie walked over to them, taking his hand as he was wheeled into his room, “Of course I’m here. I wasn’t going to leave you.”

“Were you worried about me?” Eddie asked, biting his lip, staring at Richie as though he hung the moon. “I almost died.”

Richie blinked, shaking his head, “You did not almost die, but you certainly did scare the living daylights out of me.” He ran his hand through Richie’s hair, kissing his head softly. “But you’re okay, and I’ll be here to take care of you, okay?”

Eddie hummed and settled back into the bed, grinning up at Richie. He couldn’t help it, he was just so in love with him. “Richie-” he started, his words coming out like word vomit. “You wanna know a secret, Richie?” He asked and Richie nodded his head, leaning in closer. “I really don’t like my last name.”

“What?��� Richie blinked, tilting his head to the side. “You- why? I love your last name.”

Eddie shook his head again, “Nah, I wanna change it,” he mumbled. “Don’t you wanna know what I wanna change it to?”

Richie chuckled and nodded his head, “Okay, humour me Eddie Spaghetti. What do you wanna change your name to?”

“Tozier.”

Richie blinked, tilting his head to the side, “Eds- what?” he laughed, shaking his head. “You’re doped up baby, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“What-?’ Eddie shook his head. “No- no I do know what I’m saying,” he whispered. “I’m trying to propose to you!”

With another blink, Richie smiled softly, his eyes filling with tears, “If I say yes, will you lay down and rest for me?” He asked. Eddie paused for a moment before nodding his head, realising he was really really tired. “Then yes, I’ll marry you, Eds, but I fully expect a real proposal when you’re feeling up to par. Okay?”

Eddie just grinned, nodding his head. “You got yourself a deal.”

* * * * * 

perma-taglist

@richietoaster @tozier-boy @eds-trashmouth @fucking-reddie @strange-reddie-loser @eds-kas @propertyofthelosersclub @its-stranger-than-you-think @yes-dillman-yes @totaltozier @reddietofall @reddietofight @reddie-to-fight   @reddie-eddie-spaghettie @bitchbrak @reddieways @maximusfraker @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @thejadeazalea @reddie-eddie-spaghetti @halfway-happy353 @ellomello16 @liliemm @tinyarmedtrex @cacti-cool @inthebreadbinwrites @kat-ships-everything @takeourpure @lo-v-ers @mrs-vh @studpuffin @aizeninlefox @reddie-for-anything @trashmouthtozierr @richietoizer @girasol-eddie @bi-bi-richie @honeybeehanlon @mars-14 @reddiesetandgo @marsisaplanetyall @xandertheundead @sedanleystanley @hawkinsbabe @beepbeeprichiellc @stellarbisexual @oldguybones @ripeddiekaspbrak @captainbartholomew @purplepoisonedgem @reddie-to-cryy @pink-psychic @violetreddie @fuzzylogik @queen-sock @appojoos  @moonlightrichie @rreddies @disneyfan567 @annxmatron @lifesucksheres20bucks

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #writing tag

[queerchoicesblog]

Never Play With Fire (ACOR, Lena x MC)

Here’s the full fanfic from my preview! I tried to imagine the tone of the conversation Xanthe had with Lena (mentioned in the last chapter if you ask Lena to comfort you)...because in my head there’s no doubt she was so eager to be the one informing our domina about the match. It seems true to the character.

Surprisingly, writing this fanfic led me to explore Xanthe’s reasons and the roots of her angry attitude. To me, she is still a villain (women can be each other’s best allies but also worst enemies especially when they’re competing over men and I think we all know that), but I hope we would get to know more of her and her story. Hope y’all like it! 😄

Word Count: 1461

Perma Tag: @brightpinkpeppercorn @psychopathdreamer21 @bbaba-yagaa @abunchofbadchoices @silverhawkenzie @bhavf @begging-for-kamilah @melodyofgraves @kennaxval @strangerofbraidwood

Lena x MC series Tag: @korrasamixlover @3pawandme @jellymonster @gayestchoices

(Previous episodes of the Lena series: Your Odyssey, Beautiful Curse,  News From The Ludus,  Down In The Dungeon & The Gift) 

______________________

Lena's scholae still showed the signs of Aquila's violence. The domina was doing her best to remove them and make her scholae a safe haven again. At least she was trying to make it look like it for the sake of the girls. "We will work hard to bring our old walls and paintings back not just because cracked tiles and smeared walls are bad for business but because the Roman, the authority must know that they can't do as they please here. We're a phoenix, sweethearts, and we will rise from the ashes where they meant to bury us and make us feel little and worthless. We're doing this for us because we don't deserve to live like this" she said in the speech she gave to the girls when they came back there. All the courtesans were now doing their part -even little Cirta was somehow helping, avoiding to raid the kitchen at any given opportunity- but there was still so much to be done. It takes time to heal wounds, Lena whispered to herself as she walked down the corridor of the sleeping quarters.

As she passed by, she spotted Xanthe choosing a dress in her room. Lena knocked on the wall to announce her presence and poked her head in.

"Xanthe, it's almost time for you to leave. Please, hurry up and don't make Marc Anthony wait"

The young courtesan nodded: she was almost ready, nothing to worry about "but only the best for my patron". Lena was about to take her leave when she added:

"You made a huge mistake choosing her over me, Lena"

Lena groaned in frustration and pinched her nose.

"Not again, Xanthe. I beg you not to test my patience, we already had this conversation"

"I'm just stating facts, domina." Xanthe commented in her practiced mellifluous voice "Lucilla has a pretty face, sure, she is new...but she hasn't what it takes to get to the top. She just gives her patrons her pathetic puppy dog eyes: I bet she tells them how much she suffered in Gaul...oh look at me, the poor Princess of Gaul! I'm not even sure she has slept with Cassius or any other man since her arrival and you tell me she is your premier courtesan? Rome premier courtesan?"

"What Lucilla does or does not it's none of your business, Xanthe" Lena dismissed her.

The young courtesan's face twisted in anger.

"Oh it is! It is because she took everything from me! My role of premier courtesan, my prestige, your attention, my patrons! Who does she think she is? I was raised to be like this, I don't even know why you bought her! She was like a wild cat, I cannot believe she was a princess once! But oh well, it takes little effort, grace and beauty to be a princess among savages"

"Savages?" Lena blurted out, blinking. "Almighty Gods, do you even listen to yourself?"

"What? Everybody knows that's what they are!"

Lena looked Xanthe from head to toes, still in disbelief of what she just heard. Then she said, about to leave the room.

"Fine, go ahead, but I won't tolerate this conversation any longer"

"What? Can't I speak my mind about-" the courtesan raised her voice but then stopped mid-sentence as a malicious thought crossed her mind.

"Oh I see..." She said crossing her arms and giving the other woman a wicked knowing look. "She plays hard to get with the patrons to drive them mad with the desire while she seduces Syphax and the domina. I give her that, she's cunning and she must have been pretty good in the sh-"

Lena cut her short, slapping her in the face.

"I warned you not to test my patience, Xanthe. You know nothing, girl"

Xanthe raised her head, shooting daggers at her domina.

"Or maybe too much" she hissed, her lips curling into a winning grin.

Lena didn't flinch and stood her ground.

"Your arrogance will be your downfall"

"And Lucilla will be yours if you don't snap out of it! She's plotting against Caesar, maybe you are too..."

Lena welcomed Xanthe's threat with a sarcastic laugh.

"That's how you want to play it? Fine, do you have proof?"

Xanthe cocked her head to the side.

"So smart and yet so naive, aren't you Lena? You know that Marc Anthony doesn't need proof, just a little tiny suspect is enough to cause his wrath"

As much as she hated to admit it, Lena knew the girl was right. Xanthe straightened her dress and sauntered back to the mirror. As she added the finishing touches to her makeup, she spoke again.

"Well...at least he's not like you. The most powerful man in Rome didn't get fooled by her. He will give her a taste of her own medicine very soon, exactly what that viper deserves"

Lena's blood ran cold in her veins hearing those ominous words. Marc Anthony was not only the most powerful man in Rome but also the most dangerous and unpredictable.

"What are you talking about?"

Xanthe smiled to her own reflection and continued in a pretended nonchalant tone:

"Haven't you heard that Syphax will fight in the arena tomorrow? Marc Anthony must have taken quite a liking for me as he told me that he set up the match himself. He specifically requested that he will be facing the Conquered King"

Lena's face paled and her shoulders dropped. No, this can't be possible, she thought.

"V-Victus?" she managed to ask.

Xanthe shrugged.

"As if I care to know what the name of that barbarian is! What's matter is that he is the current champion: he never lost, never yielded. I have little sympathy for Gauls but I can already tell that I will cheer for him"

Lena exhaled loudly as a grim expression formed on her face.

"Xanthe, we're all barbarians to them. Live under no illusion to be anything more than some exotic pet for the Roman. You will never be a real gentlewoman"

The girl immediately turned to her.

"I am not barbarian, I am a Roman now. Don't you dare insult me again!" she protested, fury written all over her face.

"You're mistaking, girl...but what about Syphax? He was your bodyguard, aren't you-" the domina said as calmly as she could.

"Yeah, you're right: he was! But she took him away from me too. You took him away from me and gave him to your precious pet. And now I can't wait to see her watch him die!"

Xanthe moved away from where she stood and stopped on the threshold to add:

"Syphax is your friend too, right? Good. May the odds be in the Gallic King's favor, domina"

With her last words, she stormed off the room. Lena was to upset and tired to counter that one: Xanthe wanted to hurt her, she had her reasons for her resentment but even too much pride and stubbornness to understand the precarious situation they all were in. The former courtesan knew that she couldn't let the girl's poison get under her skin but all she had learned over the past few minutes was quite a lot to process. Marc Anthony wanted blood in the arena and her friend was about to face death in a match against her wildflower's father. She still remembered how her love's green eyes gleamed with joy when she told her that Victus, her beloved dad, was in Rome. And now...

She leaned against the wooden wardrobe for support, then slowly took a seat in one of Xanthe's armchairs.

This is a trap. A sick scheme of Marc Anthony for sure: why forcing such a match if not to...

Then the realization hit her. He wants to cash in the favor. He wants to make a deal on his own terms now that he has Lucilla under his thumb.

Lena grabbed her head.

Wildflower, why didn't you listen to me when I warned you about that snake? He will never ask for anything reasonable for his little display of mercy with Syphax, decency is totally foreign to him!

She sighed deeply.

Why, why you didn't come to me, Lucilla? We could have found another way...now there's nothing I can do to prevent him to hurt you because I know for a fact that he will! He chooses the opponents too carefully not to have a plan...he's too smart to challenge you directly and vile enough to use your affections against you as leverage. Gods how much I hate him! And how much I hate being completely powerless and unable to assist you, protect you as you walk in this risky path you choose. Wildflower, Rome is a dangerous place to be...and you should never play with fire.

#acor #a courtesan of rome #acor lena #lena x mc #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices fanfic

[flowerpowell]

Whoops (Chris x MC)

This is the fic I wrote back in November but decided to publish it for Christmas but then Captain Powell Week was announced because TS ended (and I’m not over it and won’t be over it for a looooooong time) and I decided it was a perfect time to post it. Hopefully you like it! This is a sort of follow-up to my one shot First Word but it’s not crucial to read that one first. And as always, feedback is much appreciated! ♥

All rights go to Pixelberry.

Rating: Fluffy

Tagging (perma + Chris + the hosts): @damienazariostan @littlegreenmoo  @katurrade @agent-bossypants @mysteli  @gardeningourmet @mr-sinclaire @delightfullypinkglitter @jellybean-marshmellow @syltti78 @jared2612 @kadencantarella @christopher-powell @maxattack-powell @marikagia @mynameiskaylabella @regrettingnathan @kinkykingliam @chrispowellappreciation ♥

“I really don’t want to go,” Amy sighs when Chris puts a scarf around her neck. He gently kisses her forehead and smiles encouragingly. “You can do it Amy, it’s not the first meet and greet you’ve had.” 

She quickly turns to face him, eyes narrowed. “I’m not worried about me!” she exclaims, “I’m worried about leaving you alone with Noah.”

“Amy...That was the only one time I really screwed up, okay? But he’s not using the word anymore.”

“Well, he’d better,” she murmurs and Chris chuckles.

“Come on babe, I can take care of our son. We’ll have a lot of fun together.”

Amy rolls her eyes but Chris notices a tiny smile. “I mean it, we’ll have some quality father-son bonding time.”

He kisses her softly and Amy relxes slighlty. “I know you’ll be fine. You’re the best father Noah could get. I love you. I’ll be back late in the evening, please don’t burn the house,” she says as their son runs up to her and hugs her.

“Daddy promised we would decorate Christmas tree!” he grins and Amy looks at Chris. “Please be safe. Don’t make Noah--”

“Amy, I’ve got this. You go now or you’ll be late,” Chris interrupts her and she realizes it’s already late and she should have left about twenty minutes earlier. “Okay then, I love you! See you soon!” she waves her hand at her boys and before she closes the door behind her, she hears Noah yelling “Bye Mommy!”

The second Amy drives off, Noah starts jumping around his father, excitedly clapping his hands. “Can we go to Target for some ornaments Daddy?” he asks and Chris only shakes his head. “No buddy, we already have everything we need.”

“But Daddy,” Noah pouts, “they are old!”

“No, they’re not! Your mom and I got them when we bought out first house,” he explains and opens the box with all the necessary decorations. Each piece brings him many memories, maybe Noah would listen to the--

“They’re old! Like you!” Noah yells, which makes Chris narrow his eyes. This is going to be a long day.

~~~~

Few hours of decorationg and a couple of arguments later, the tree was finally decorated. Chris goes to the kitchen to make something to eat for both of them. His preparations are suddenly interrupted by a glass-shattering sound coming from the living room. He quickly runs to the room and finds his son looking helplessly at a few Christmas balls, now broken, laying on the floor.

“What happened here?!” Chris asked, dragging Noah from the pieces of the ornaments.

“I told you they were old. They fell,” he answers, shrugging slightly.

Chris turns to his five-year old son and eyes his suspiciously. “They fell...by themeselves?”

“Old things break easily Daddy. Now we need to go to Target to buy new ones.”

“We really don’t need to buy anything, Buddy. Besides, it doesn’t look that bad! This tree was overloaded anyway.”

Noah narrows his eyes, clearly offended, or maybe just mad that his plan has failed. “You’re no fun Daddy! Can we at least build a snowman?”

Chris looks at his son and sighs as he runs his hand through his hair. “Noah...you’ve been sick for over a week and you still look too weak. I don’t think it’s a good idea to--”

“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS RUIN EVERYTHING!!! I want Mommy to come back, you’re awful!” Noah sticks out a tongue and runs away to his room. Chris stands still with the pieces of ornaments in his hands, shocked at his son’s outburst. He knew that his temper Noah took after Amy but it was enough. Sick or not, Noah can’t behave like this!

Having cleaned the mess his son made, Chris makes his way to Noah’s room. He finds his rebellious 5-year old playing on his phone, not even bothering to look at his father.

“Noah! What was that? You can’t talk to me like this! I’m doing what’s best for you and you just...Noah!” he slams his fist on the desk realizing his son is not listening, too invested in whatever he’s doing on the phone.

“What? I’m busy!”

“Give me that,” Chris takes the phone from Noah’s hands and shoves it into his pocket. “What’s gotten into you?”

“YOU! You are the Christmas Grinch, I can’t do anything fun with you anymore!”

“Excuse you! I am so much fun!” Chris pretends to be hurt but in fact, he is actually a little bit hurt.

Noah looks at his father and shakes his head before answering. “You won’t let me go out and do anything cool! I have more fun with Mommy!” he pouted.

Yeah, go ahead Noah, twist the knife even more!

“Maybe if you were nicer to your own father, you’d appreciate him more,” Chris starts carefully trying to calm down.

“Maybe Mommy should’ve married Santa because Santa is always nice to me!” Noah exclaims motioning a picture of him sitting on Santa’s, that is Zig in costume, lap, from year ago. They have an agreement that each year one of them dresses up as a Santa and vists homes of the others to entertain the kids. Last year it was Zig’s turn, this year it is James who is actually supposed to come the next day.

Chris counts to ten before opening a mouth but Noah is faster.

“Santa is so cool, he looks a bit like uncle Zig but maybe he’d be Mommy’s type. Don’t get me wrong Daddy, I love you but Santa is cooler. And definitely would let me play outside. And would give me presents every single day! And--”

“And he doesn’t exist Noah, please calm down. Mommy’s mine.” He says firmly only realizing his mistake a second his son’s eyes fill with tears. Shit.

“Noah, it’s not like this, I said it because I was angry, it���s not true, I swear, I--”

“SANTA ISN’T REAL, SANTA ISN’T REAL!!!” Noah cries running out of the room, and downstairs, and then around the house. “Christmas is ruined!!!”

“Noah! Please, I’m sorry! He is real, you’ve met him!!” Chris tries to comfort the kid but it’s pointless.

“That’s why he always looked like one of my uncles! It was all a lie!!! Aaaaaaaaah!” Noah yells and in this moment the door opens and Amy comes inside.

Her eyes widen at her son running around, yelling and crying, and her husband trying to catch their five-year old.

“What is happening here?” she asks and both men freeze.

“Mommy! Daddy said Santa wasn’t real!” Noah runs to his mother and clinges to her legs. Amy throws a cold look at Chris before crouching and pulling the kid into a hug.

“Tell you what, Mommy will make you hot chocolate and you’ll tell me everything that Daddy said, okay?” she offers and Noah nods. Amy kisses his forehead and heads to the kitchen, throwing her coat at Chris. When she’s done and goes to Noah’s room, Chris scratches his head nervously, not being sure what Amy is going to do with him.

Finally, she emerges from their son’s room and wordlessly sits down on a couch next to Chris. They both sit in silence, and Chris worries about what she may say. After a moment, she breaks the silence but still doesn’t look at her husband.

“So...I think I’ll never leave you two together again.”

“Amy..” Chris starts, sorrow in his voice, “I swear I didn’t mean to! I’m so sorry, I know I screw up. Please don’t stop loving me.”

“I really hope you’ll be more careful with this little one,” she says, still not looking at him but placing her hand on her belly.

“I know I—what?” he turns to her suddenly realizing what she just said. “Are you--?”

Amy smiles widely before finally turning to her husband and nodding. “I was planning to tell you on Christmas day but I figured you needed some cheering up after today.”

“Amy...that’s...I’m..” Chris pulls his wife into a hug. They’re having another baby! Addition to their growing family.

“But I swear Christopher, if you screw up again, I’m--”

“I won’t, I promise! I’ve learned my lesson. I’m so happy, Amy, so, so happy! I love you so much,” he says and kisses her passionately. When they part, Amy looks at him lovingly and snuggles against his chest.

“I love you too, Chris.”

“And you,” Chris says to the belly, happy tears in his eyes, “I can’t wait to meet you and I promise I’ll be a better father and never tell you the Santa is not real--”

“Christopher!” Amy says, hands protectively on her flat stomach, “The baby isn’t even born yet!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m just too excited! I promise I’ll be the best father our kids could have!”

Amy chuckles as she kisses her husband’s cheek, “I know you will, you already are. Just remember to be careful around them, okay?”

“I will, I swear,” Chris burries his face in Amy’s hair, embarrassed but also happy.

Amy shakes her head amused. Life never gets boring with Chris and she can’t wait for this little one to arrive and to see what life has planned for them next.

#the senior #chris powell #chris x mc #playchoices #the freshman #the senior fanfic #choices fanfiction #the sophomore #the junior #i miss them all already #chrispowellappreciationweek #chris powell appreciation week #captainpowellweek #choices stories you play #writing #writeblr #short stories #scheduled post

[aintnouseofpretending]

You’re not usually this quiet...

Summary: Although things have not been working well, you still come and fulfil your promise to go picnic with your best friends; Freddie and his boyfriend Jim, Mary, and the other three boys and their significant others. Well, not really. You ended up just with Freddie, because Jim and Mary got something urgent in their workplace, and Freddie is too angry to listen for any more excuses from the other boys. It doesn’t take long for Freddie to notice something is wrong with his best friend.

Pairing: Freddie x Jim. 

Warning: Angst. Fluff. Freddie is with Jim, so he’s your best friend instead of a boyfriend. Apologies for any Freddie’s stan.

Word Count:

Inspired by: Friends Will Be Friends. Spread Your Wings. Keep Passing The Open Windows.

Dedicated to: Those who need the kindest of words, the highest of spirit, and the softest of reassurance. Do not give up. It’s okay to fall, so long you get back up again. You are important.

Perma-tag: @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark

+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+

You sighed deeply. You try not to, but you can’t hold yourself back. It is simply too heavy, too stressful. You cannot comprehend what happened anymore, things just crumble one by one, falling into you. Every single one hurts. From getting evicted due to the late payment, you’re fired because of some arsehole customers, and because of all that accumulated stress, you take it out on your friends and cause a big fight. So right now you’re at your parents' house, in your childhood bedroom. You’re completely relieved from your parents’ understanding of your situation, but it still felt bad and embarrassing.

You’ve already cried all night, sleep until the afternoon, and hardly eat. Mother can tolerate one day of break down, but after the third day of the same cycle, you couldn’t blame her to get worried. You put an act, to wash down the worries that were fortunately easy to do. Seeing her getting affected by your blue only adds to the bleeding wound, something impossible to bear. But you did it. One accomplishment after a clusterfuck that has happened. One small celebration that quickly makes you feel worse for your dishonesty, to your own mother.

“I’m so fucking pathetic.” It’s a raspy whisper at eleven pm. The room is dark, you left the windows open, letting the remaining spring’s wind in. You didn’t even bother to cover yourself, you think you deserve to get sick at the beginning of summer. Deserve to feel every layer of hurt and pain for making things much worse. You wish to cry, to let the pain out, maybe sobbing uncontrollably like before. But no tears came out. Your eyes’ so dry, every time the wind hits you it became very itchy.

One bright thought fly about in your brain, it was the famous saying in Japanese; “Only idiots catch a cold in summer. I am an idiot enough to deserve it, at least.”

Things get boring fast. You can’t cry, you can’t sleep. You’re hungry, but you don’t want to wake your parents by making noise in the kitchen. You’re too scared to touch your laptop, afraid it will remind you of your friends that you already hurt. Another thought is floating around, it has been since the day you’re home, every time you see an open window. The night sky is just too beautiful sometimes it makes you lazy. You really wish you have the energy to do something and have your mind distracted from the thought. Far too occupied thinking a way through, you almost miss the sound of a phone call. You leave it to ring only to die, and it repeats thrice before the caller are forced to leave you a voicemail.

“Whatever you’re doing, dear y/n, to ignore my call like this, I hope you’re having tons of fun. But don’t forget about our promise tomorrow, please? Picnic by the lake. We’ll see you at the usual rendezvous point. A bottle of wine as an apology is required! Au revoir!”

You feel a tingle of hope after listening to your best friend, Freddie, cheerful voice. He’s clearly drunk, he’s clearly with Jim and Mary from the chatter in the background, and he’s clearly isn’t pleased by something else beforehand to be pissed off by your typical interest lack thereof. And nothing could annoy him more than those three boys; Bri, Rog, and John. But that doesn’t bother you, the fact that you feel like there’s another option to get your mind off of all the terrible things that weigh you down give you the power to get up and message him; “Copy that.” And removing any bullshit excuses or lies that should’ve come after that. As always, he left you on read, and you try your best to assure yourself that he’s not mad at you, it’s just Freddie being Freddie—he even left Jim on read, and you’re absolutely sure more than he does to you.

“I still can’t sleep.” You talk to yourself as you sit at the edge of the bed. Your room is a complete mess, just like your life currently. But the light from the lamp post in the garden falls on your favourite blue top on the floor. At least you can prepare for your clothes tomorrow and iron them, make yourself presentable you thought. Maybe some late night snack too when you have the energy to make some jam on toast?

“You’re already awake, hun?” Your mother greets you as you prepare breakfast for your parents. “How are you today?”

“Much better.” You shrugged. “PBJs, coffee and tea for you and dad.”

“Lovely! Thank you so much, dear! How about you, honey? Have you eaten breakfast yet? You have been skipping a meal here and there, you have to eat.” She asks as she takes a seat, sipping upon the warm tea you made.

“Already ate. I'm going picnic with Freddie and his friends, so I better get going now. See you later, mum.” You kiss her cheek as you pack a bottle of wine. “Oh, and may I have this? I wouldn’t be out for too long, and I can buy your groceries in exchange, just message me the list?”

“Sure, dear! Have fun! I bet Freddie would be impressed with how you dress up!”

You bite back the reply He might not and instead said; “Absolutely, mum! It’s Freddie after all!” You try to lie to yourself that what you’re saying is indeed true, that Freddie will make things better, if not, his friends will, which technically because of Freddie too. You try to distract your mind from the creeping ugly memories that keep saying you shouldn’t have fun. That you should’ve just stayed and suffered for your own doings. To take the full consequence and feel bad about it, and must find the solution and fix it before you’re allowed to enjoy summer. You scroll through your camera roll to see the pictures of Freddie and his friends. Although unfortunately all of them already taken, you still can enjoy looking at the cute faces of Brian, Roger, and John. You don’t really care about a relationship right now—especially not right now when you feel like shit and your existence will absolutely be a burden rather than the opposite of it. Before the bad thoughts could fight back, you receive a call from Freddie.

“I’m five minutes away from the site. How’re you?” You answered.

“Hungover. Badly. And out of ten people picnic today? Only the two of us could make it.”

“Pardon me?”

“You are pardoned. And yes, darling. Only the two of us could make it. You have to forgive me, after the third excuse that came after Mary—and was from Jim too, what a bad luck it was,—I’m really not in the mood to hear anymore without starting a fight and potentially severe my friendships with those bastards. Not with this bloody headache. So I told them to go fuck themselves for cancelling our summer picnic we have planned after six fucking months—.”

“Are you driving?”

“God, thanks for reminding me, I almost hit a passing grandma.” His sarcasm was left unanswered by you. “I'm shitfaced and careful, so I will be arriving a wee later. I stole Roger’s car. But once I’m there, you’re driving, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. See you soon, love.”

“See you, Fred—.”

You can feel the anger boiling inside of you when your anxiety trying to make of Freddie’s hanging up as your fault. In your mind you told yourself that Freddie was already angry, besides, he’s driving, and it’s bad to drive and call at the same time, so him hanging up without hearing you saying goodbye is perfectly justified. But your hand shakes still, a small panic starts rising, you quickly close your eyes in response, calming yourself down. You’re glad when reality soon catches up as the bus give out the ding, you’ve arrived at the Seaside Cafe. It doesn’t take long too for Freddie to arrive with Roger’s favourite car, fortunately, unscathed.

“Hop in, dear. These buildings and peoples didn’t help my pounding head.” He jumps on the passenger seat once you open the driver seat door. “Oh, you bring foods and wine? Absolutely fantastic! I know I can count on you, my lovely y/n!”

You smiled and nod as you slowly hit the gas. You’re glad your friends didn’t tell Freddie and his gang about your fight with them, so at least you don’t have to deal with that problem for now. Not until you’re ready to face it again. But that thought is coming back; in between Freddie’s gossips, him offering you one Roger’s leftover Marlboro and light it up for you, or the fact that he drinks the rest of Roger’s wine that was left on the back seat as he comments how disgusting it tasted so glad he didn’t give the rest to you. Only when the silence comes you notice you haven’t been paying any attention to Freddie, too caught up fighting your anxiety back.

You give him a couple second of side glance; he’s busy lighting another smoke that you’re pretty sure are his fourth since he found the pack. He inhaled it deeply before exhaling it depressingly slow outside the window. The mood swiftly turned sour and heavy, and again, your anxiety knows how to spin it and make it as your fault. And you’re starting to believe it. You grip the steer tightly as you try to hold back the shaking. Your heart rate raises, and you start to feel that cold sweat running down your temple and your breaths getting shorter.

“You’re not usually this quiet with me, darling.” He almost makes you jump, although you successfully hold back your body reaction by blinking repetitively. “Whose breaking your heart?”

“Myself.” You answered before you could even think. “Let’s not talk about it when I’m driving, smoking, and cannot breathe.”

He snatches your smoke on your lip and has it off on Roger’s dashboard. That’ll start a huge fight later, you’re calling it.

“I need a bit of wine to calm myself.” You cut him off when he’s reaching for your mum’s bottle of wine. “Later, Fred. I’m driving. We might die, but Roger wouldn’t be happy if I cause any dent on his baby.”

“So we’ll die either way.” He laughs, already tipsy. “Alright, darling. Go drive like a champ.”

The rest of the ride was unexciting but feels much better. Freddie gives you space to breathe and to focus on driving. When the lake is visible, you already feel like your stress is slowly deteriorating. Shame really, only you and Freddie could come. The more the merrier they say. Or at least if that’s the case, you don’t have to promise Freddie and tell him all the batshit crazy things that have been haunting you. You’re not sure you can start without breaking down, and all of the sudden the tears that are non-existent last night will pour down like a waterfall. You’re betting on that. But, that’s your anxiety talking again.

“Move, darling. I’ll park the car, you lay down the cloth for us to sit. Make sure you pour a full glass of wine for me too, hmm?”

You listened to him obediently and taking the picnic basket you’ve prepared all night with you. It cost you a good night sleep that never came. The wind immediately welcomed you outside the car. The sky is decorated with small white clouds, giving the stage all for the sun to warm every inch of your body whilst the some of the spring breezes felt like the nostalgic cooling with past lovers, completes the satisfying feeling that describes how summer should feel. You can’t enjoy it for long as Freddie soon catch up, trying not to fall over walking on the tall grass.

“What’s on the menu today, dear chef?” He says, practically fell on the cloth right after you tidy them. “Sandwiches I hope? We’re having a picnic after all. Oh, and the wine, where is it?”

You pour him almost a glass full of it whilst you’re trying not to lose yourself and only pour not even two fifth of your glass. You’re glad he doesn’t comment on it.

“Ah! Some fruits too! Magnificent! Jim would be extra jealous to know you’re preparing this well!” He quickly eats the grapes you brought. “Sour and juicy! A little bit of sweetness! Like life! Ah, cheers to that, darling!”

You raise your glass whilst slowly sipping the sweet wine. It was delicious and strong. Maybe your mum knows your condition quite fully, giving you a lot of space to deal with it, and thus allowing you to have her favourite bottle of wine in hope to give you more way to let it all out. You take a mental and a phone note to make sure you buy her favourite cakes later as a thank you. She already sent you the long grocery list, you might have to borrow Roger’s car for a little longer.

“So, dear? Let’s not pretend like you don’t have something to tell me, yes? Don’t bottle it in, darling. It’ll crack and eventually breaks. We don’t want that, surely?”

You take a good amount of consideration whilst to prepare yourself mentally and emotionally. After staring at your wine and at Freddie, you finally add more wine in your glass and drink them in one gulp. Better cry now than later. And so you tell him everything. What has been happening in one month flat. As if having the sky falling down on you and destroys everything you’ve built. And you make it worse by destroying the rest that is left in blind frustration and rage. Now you’re here. Regretting every bits and piece of it, blaming every single bad thing you just experienced on yourself only. You feel too powerless, too overwhelmed to get back up. What are you supposed to do? How to get rid of the sadness that keeps coming and building in you? How to fix everything when there’s nothing left to fix?

“Cry, darling.”

“I have. There are no more tears left in my eyes.”

“Then scream.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s no one here. Even if there is, do you think you’d care? Scream, dear. Scream it all out. How unfair it is. How you feel sad and pathetic and useless. How everything is your fault. Do it, love.”

“O-okay?”

“Go on now.” He pours more wine into his glass. “I will be here. The lake is all yours.”

At first, you hesitate. Not really sure how to properly start a screaming session. Trying to ask Freddie since he’s the proper vocalist, only to receive his impatient glare as he slowly sips on his wine. You then awkwardly stands up, taking off your shoes, just in case, and get closer to the lake. The green scenery blown you away with its beauty, and to truly feel the summer again on your naked skin calms you, making you wish to take a nap. Again, Freddie is getting restless and he makes sure to tell you that by coughing quite forcefully.

“H-how am I to just scream? I never screamed for no reason before.”

“Well, change that, darling! How difficult is it really?”

“A little demo?”

It’s a hard no from the man. He fans himself with his hand as he waits. You no longer have a choice. At least nothing else that you can do, he has given you an option to choose, have you come up with anything better?

You try to yell at first. Saying you’re sad, why are you sad? Oh, right, all the shitty events that took place before that day. Are you stupid? Clearly, you are. You don’t even know why you’re blaming yourself for the things you have no control with. But what about getting angry at your friends for no particular reason? Well, maybe that’s your fault? Yeah! Why did you do that? You’re stressed? Why are you stressed? How to undo everything? Impossible! You don’t deserve the life you have before.

Eventually, you’re getting louder and louder to the point you almost hurt your throat. You keep asking questions that you answered. You don’t even know anymore whether anxiety is the one asking the question, or answering them. It’s a devilish cycle to the point you don’t know what question or answer lead to that, and you’re getting frustrated. Why are you like this? Why can’t it be simple?

“Because it can’t, darling. You’re human. Capable of any sort of emotions.” Freddie walks to your side, handing you your glass of wine that was half full. “That’s the beauty of it. Your problems have successfully kicked you down to the ground. You feel worthless? Feel it with all of your heart dear. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t a strong woman. You’re still here. You come, forget to sleep just to prepare all these?”

Freddie gently shakes the wine in his glass. “If you were truly have given up, I don’t think you’d be screaming. Even if you don’t come and cancel our plan like all of those pricks, then dear, I want you to scream. Get unreasonably angry at your pillows. Punch it. Kick it. If you can’t do that, write. Whenever there’s something in my mind, I write it down. I turn it into songs, then I will scream my lungs out as I sing it.”

“What if I can’t do all that, Fred?” You ask, voice hoarse.

“Then call me, love. Call me. Call Jim. Call Mary. Call everyone. Tell your parents. Don’t be shy, don’t be nervous. Every human has their up and downs. Just tell me everything. How it might not make any sense. Tell me, dear. You’ve got best friends that’ll help you get on your feet again. Darling, drink.”

You stare at your glass of wine. You can’t think straight, but you know you mustn’t drink too much. A sip. Two sips. Three sips.

“Y/n, you’re important. Your life is much too precious to be thrown away. You’re a brave, strong, girl. Even a hero has their time of weakness, dear. This is your times of weakness. And it’s perfectly fine to feel worthless and pathetic, feels as if there’s no light to guide you out the dark scary tunnel. But believe me, dear, you have to stand up, even just by an inch, a centimetre. Let your hands search the darkness. Reach out. If you can’t stand by yourself, reach out. And I will gladly pull you up. Any of your friends will pull you up. If you feel unloved, we will give you love.”

You can feel your eyes start getting teary. Finally, you thought. But is it true? What Freddie told you? You’re important? You’re brave and strong? Are you really worth their time? Worth their love?

Freddie touch your face, softly lift it up to face him.

“Darling. Whenever you feel lonely, you need a shoulder to cry on, you have your friends. You have me. Your best friend. If you don’t want my words, dear, then let me be there even in silence. Listen carefully, hmm? Your existence gives meanings to your friends. No matter how long it takes, we will be there for you. We will make you laugh. We will make you forget. We will make you face it with newfound motivation and self-worth. Because you are worth it. Okay? We love you. Don’t ever think you’re unloved.”

His thumb wipes the single tear that manages to escape. You hug him tight so suddenly his wine spilt on the grass, but he doesn’t mind. He returns your hug, just as warm, just as tight, and you both stayed like that for a while. Long enough for you to feel secure. That you’re not alone. That you will never be alone. You know deep down you’re strong, no matter how small those feelings are, hiding so it can survive the massive amount of self-doubt. You can stand up. You will stand up. Whatever it takes. Freddie will help you stand up again. Get you strong on your feet again, like what he has done right now.

“Thank you, Fred. I really need it.” You whispered after you finally let go of the hug. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, darling. Just remember I will always be there if you need me, yes? And thanks for this.” He lifts up his glass. “To my courageous heroine, y/n! Come! Toast for yourself! You deserve it!”

“To me!” You smiled as you bring your glass up. “But that’s enough drink. I still have to drive.”

“Ah, boo! Party-pooper!” He sticks out his tongue. “Come, dear, let’s eat the food. You must’ve been hungry fighting yourself day and night! You need the energy to recover and heal! Don’t be shy, don’t be shy!”

Freddie tries not to spill any more of his wine as he walks towards the basket. He gestures you to follows him, smiling kindly and warmly. He even offered his hand when you’re getting closer, a hand that you whole-heartedly reach out and hold onto.

It’s been three days since the picnic with Freddie. A day after that you’re eager to look for a new job, your parents’ make sure to supports you mentally and emotionally, understand that you can stand by yourself, but make sure to be there when you fall again and in need of aid. But that’s not all. You contact your friends again, ask them if you can meet them to apologize for face to face. You’re already nervous when none of them is available that week until they follow up and give you date next week.

Half of the problems are fixed, you sighed in relieve. Although you still can’t find a new place yet even after contacting friends and looking around. It’s barely three days, you assure yourself. You still have plenty of times. Don’t rush or you might stumble and fall again. Do things slowly. You’re still recovering.

You check your phone after you’re out of Seaside Cafe for a job interview. Freddie and his friends blew it, nearly a hundred notifications from before you’re called for the interview. All of them asking how you’re doing. Some came straight —of course, it’s Brian and Veronica that’s worried the most—and say that Freddie is telling them about you being down, believing in his version of the truth that even after screaming at the lake you still feel sad and insecure. Freddie told you that he has taken care of slackers that cancel the plan on the date, making sure they don’t repeat it again.

“Another picnic, dear. Next month. What do you say? Specifically for you.”

“I really appreciate it, Fred, I really do. But don’t you think it’s a bit—?”

“Oh, shush! No buts! Yes or no?”

“Sure—.”

“It’s a yes, people! You’re only allowed to cancel five days before the date! Hey, listen, darlings! Five work days! And I won’t hear any objection! Especially not from you, Roger!”

You can hear in the background that Roger is still not through with Freddie tarnishing his dashboard with his smokes and his wine. You purposely tuned out the inappropriate bits about Freddie stealing his something and something related to “stuff” Roger would use on his date with his girlfriends.

“Let’s talk again later, how about that, Fred? My bus is here.” You say, although your actual excuse was that the conversations in his line have become so dirty you feel like you have to take a shower once you’re home.

“Of course, darling! Be careful on your way home! Remember this, y/n, we’re here for you. Alright?” You smiled.

“Copy that.”

End.

#queen fan fiction #Freddie Mercury #Brian May #John Deacon #Roger Taylor #Mary Austin #Jim Hutton #Angst #Friendship #Best Friends #Cracked Glass one shot series #Cracked Glass

[darley1101]

Family (September 11 prompt)

A/N This is for the September prompt challenge hosted by . It is for the September 11 prompt Family. I am combining it with another request I received asking for Maxwell to purchase the MC a pregnancy test on the morning of her wedding to Liam. I thought they would make a fun combination. I hope you enjoy. Tag lists are after the story. If you would like to be added or removed just let me know in a comment or personal message. This is future canon for Broken Fairytales. I hope you enjoy!

Family

“This is ridiculous,” Karin whispered furiously as Olivia, Hana, and Madeleine herded her into the en suite off Madeleine's rooms. She tried to dig her heels into the plush carpeting, but a firm push in the middle of her back continued to propel her forward. “We're wasting time that could be spent getting ready.” Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach lurched. In a few short hours she would be re-marrying the man she loved and, her heart skipped another beat, finally be crowned Queen of Cordonia. Just one of those events would be enough to cause the nausea she had woken up to, but her friends thought otherwise. 'You missed your period,' Hana had chided, 'I know because we're on the same cycle and I had to suffer alone.' Stress had been  her response. Between planning a wedding that the whole world would be watching via attendance or television and preparing for the coronation that would come after, it was no wonder Karin was exhausted, nauseated, and missing her monthly visit for good ole Aunt Flo. Part of her wanted to say screw the whole thing. Did they really need the public wedding? According to Regina, yes. The people didn’t care that while in exile, Liam and Karin had married in private ceremony. They wanted the glitz, glam, and stability of seeing the king they had fought for marry his beloved. 

“You're being ridiculous,” Olivia countered shoving a purple and white box into her hands, and then gesturing towards the toilet. “Your throne awaits.”

“Hilarious,” Karin muttered, yanking open the package while she stomped towards the toilet. “I already told you, I'm stressed. When I get stressed I get sick to my stomach and, on occasion, I miss my period.”

“It may very well be stress,” Madeleine agreed, “but wouldn't you rather know? There's going to be alcohol served at the reception. Do you really want to worry about whether or not its safe to drink? This way we'll know if we need to substitute your champagne for apple cider.”

Annoyance shot through Karin as she set the actual test down on the counter and wiggled out of her panties. Madeleine was right, and God, Karin hated when Madeleine was right. They had moved past the pettiness that occurred during the social season and Madeleine's short lived engagement to Liam, but that didn't mean Karin liked when Madeleine was right. “I can't believe one of you actually bought a pregnancy test,” she mused, picking up the test. She poised the plastic stick between her legs, trying to concentrate on peeing. “Could someone turn on the faucet?”

“Of course,” Hana answered sweetly before turning the water on in the sink. “And we didn't buy it, Maxwell did.”

“What?” Karin sputtered, grimacing when a splash of urine hit her fingers. So gross, she thought, pulling the test out from between her legs. She set it back on the counter, wiped, and then flushed. “You had Maxwell go buy a pregnancy test? Whose genius idea was that?”

“It was mine actually,” Olivia smirked from the doorway. “He's always so eager to please and nobody will think twice about him buying one. He's such a spazz the sales clerk probably thought he bought it for himself.”

“Be nice,” Hana chided.

“It could be argued that calling him a spazz is being nice as there are far worse yet equally fitting names we could call him,” Madeleine muttered under her breathe, but Karin still heard her and shot her a dirty look. Maxwell might be a spazz, but damn it he was Karin's spazz! And he’d changed a lot since the assassinations that took place during the homecoming ball. 

“I just hope he doesn't say anything to Liam,” Hana sighed, propping her hip against the bathroom vanity. She blinked when she realized everyone, including Karin, was staring at her. “What? Everyone is thinking it. I adore him but he does have a history of speaking without thinking. Remember the UN dinner in New York?”

Wrinkling her nose, Karin washed her hands. She remembered that dinner all to well. Maxwell had started a shit storm with several dignitaries by confusing their countries. “Don't remind me,” she pleaded, turning off the faucet and drying her hands on the hand towel Madeleine handed to her. “God, you don't really think he will say anything to Liam?” No, she silently told herself. Maybe in the past he might have accidentally let it slip, but Maxwell had grown a lot. 

“With Maxwell anything is possible,” Olivia reminded. “Now, how long do we have to wait to see if Karin's carrying the next heir to the throne? The sooner she gets the heir and the spare out of the way, the happier the people will be.”

The blood drained from Karin's face, leaving her a pasty color. Having a family was something she and Liam had spoken about a great deal; how many children they wanted, what sort of parents they were going to be. Perhaps because Liam had only ever referred to their future children as, well, their children that was how Karin had come to think of them. Olivia's flippant remark, no doubt meant to be funny, had been a rude awakening to how the people of Cordonia would view their children. “That was incredibly rude,” Hana tsked, shaking her head and then looking at Karin with sympathy in her eyes. “Don't listen to her Karin. The people of Cordonia love you regardless.”

“They'll love her more if she's pregnant,” Olivia insisted. “I'm not trying to say they don't love her already, I think their adoration of the American Duchess is obvious. Things have been difficult for the monarchy, you know that. Producing the next Crown Prince will just prove the people made the right choice in demanding that Liam be re-instated at King.”

“I think you've made your point,” Hana snapped. “So lets drop it.”

Tuning out the rest of the conversation Karin focused on the test sitting face down on the counter. The instructions had said to wait 5 minutes and at least that amount of time had passed. She took a deep breath and flipped it over, her heart lodging in her throat as two distinct lines glared back at her. “Fuck me,” she whispered.

“Apparently Liam did,” Madeleine giggled and then clapped a hand over her mouth. “That was incredibly crude, my apologies. And,” she smiled cheekily, “my congratulations.”

“Oh Karin,” Hana cried, her lips tipping in a brilliant smile. “How exciting!”

“Right, exciting,” Karin whispered. She couldn't stop staring at the test, at those two little lines that added yet another title to already growing list of titles. Duchess. Wife. Queen. Mother. She was going to be a mother. Tears welled in her eyes, a smile stretched across her lips. She was going to be a mother! For the first time in her life she was going to have a family. A real family. One that couldn't be taken away from her.

Perma tag: @debramcg1106 @josieschoices @boneandfur @speedyoperarascalparty @christopher-powell @tmarie82 @blackcatkita  @hamulau @endlessly-searching-for-you @umccall71  @drakelover78 @penguininapinktuxedo @eileendannie  @stopforamoment @writtenbycandy @lizeboredom @alicars @leelee10898 @choicesfannatalie @liamxs-world @katurrade @jadedpixiescribbles @indiacater @mfackenthal @damienazariostan @choiceslife @hopefulmoonobject

Tag for Liam x MC: @lodberg @tanyaschoices @lynn1214 @jlouise88  @scarlettedragon @innerpostmentality  @flowerpowell @jamielea81 @cordoniaqueensworld @heatherfilliez @trr-fangirl @purplegreyshrimp

#choices september challenge #choices the royal romance #liam x mc #mc x liam

[kootenaygoon]

So,

They called it the suicide blanket—the ominous, low-hanging fog that settled over Kootenay Lake and plunged Nelson into a perpetual grey gloom. 

Paisley and I huddled under porch blankets as the trees frosted at the summit of Elephant Mountain, the white descending slowly on to the city. Winter is coming. From the comfy warmth of our little hermitage I watched YouTube theory videos about Game of Thrones and scribbled on my chalkboard wall, creating character lists and fine-tuning a timeline for my ever-evolving thesis manuscript. I wanted it to be composed of multiple interlinking stories, like my favourite novel A Visit from the Goon Squad, but I was constantly swapping out one story for another, never reaching any conclusion. 

While Paisley worked on her desserts I huddled down at my laptop and hammered away at my real work. Journalism was still only a secondary concern in my head, a means to make money until I sold this manuscript and vaulted up into the world of novelists. I sent out excerpts to literary journals, receiving a flurry of rejection letters in response, and tried to ignore the fact that I hadn’t made any legit progress on my fiction since arriving in Nelson. I felt this insistent fear that I wasn’t good enough, that I wasn’t going to live up to my ambitions, while meanwhile Paisley would remind me that we had a pretty nice life and maybe I needed to chill out a bit, okay?

“I don’t think I can go into work today,” I said one morning. “I feel like somebody’s sitting on my chest. I can’t do this.”

“So take a sick day.”

“I don’t have any yet. You have to be an employee for like a year before you start getting them.”

“This is your mental health, Will. Calvin can handle things without you.”

I hesitated.

“Stay home and I’ll take care of you, okay? I don’t have a co-op shift today.”

Around that time I wrote a story for the Star about a music video called “Junkyard Bettie”. It was directed by a local dude named Jonathan Robinson and featured an Aussie singer named Sofiella Watt. She was backed up by her banjo-plucking hipster band the Huckleberry Bandits. Set in an actual junkyard just outside of town, the video told the story of a lonely young traveler struggling to make it through a Canadian winter. Oh, lady winter, you have done me wrong, you’ve done me wrong. Oh dark December, won’t you please be gone, please be gone? Played by Sofiella’s friend Lauren Herraman, the dark-eyed protagonist wanders morosely through a bleak landscape populated by derelict cars, only to discover some friends and end up at a barnyard dance party. When I interviewed Sofiella, she told me the lyrics were a true story she picked up from a housekeeping co-worker at a local hotel. The woman’s boyfriend had left her, her cat went missing, and all her missing posters were rained on and got torn down. 

Then the junkyard dog bit her.

“It was one of those quintessential blues song scenarios where everything goes wrong. I said ‘that’s terrible, but such an amazing story’. I asked her if I could write a song about that, because I could never make up something that good.”

I admired Sofiella’s ability to take a dark experience and create something beautiful out of it, but wasn’t sure how to accomplish that in the Star newsroom. Calvin had found himself embroiled in a number of community conflicts, and his stress level was rubbing off on everyone around him. I made excuses to leave the office when he was upset, setting up interviews across town or just wandering down to the park to take some pictures, because I couldn’t stand being around his energy. Tamara felt the same way, and when he wasn’t around we’d sit commiserating over all the unnecessary drama he’d brought into our lives.

“At the end of the day, you have to take care of yourself. And if Calvin’s negatively affecting your mental health, maybe that’s something you should report to management,” she said.

“I feel like such a whiner.”

“You’re not whining — you’re just expressing your truth.”

“The truth is I think he’s going to quit any day now, and I can’t wait.”

It wasn’t just work getting me down. Though I couldn’t admit it to myself, cannabis had become my primary mental health problem. In Victoria we’d been consuming a little baggie of weed a week, maybe two, while in Nelson we were literally burning through hundreds of dollars’ worth of pre-rolled joints a month.  Was it the solution, or was it the problem? It was like an extra rent payment. Somewhere along the line we started buying pot before groceries, and a few times we ended up with an empty fridge while we waited days for the next paycheck. Sometimes we went begging to our parents. It was our ritual, the way we bonded, watching Pineapple Express and making candy runs to 7-11, but it was also the way we coped with our feelings post-fight, it was how I treated my depression and she treated her pain, and increasingly it was more of a chore than a fun time.

As we started to make friends our age, it became apparent that we weren’t alone. We were surrounded by functional chronics, people who operated in a perma-stoned state, and for many of them cannabis was nearly interchangeable with coffee. Both were something you consumed to tweak your mood and outlook, both lasted a few hours, and both cost around five bucks a hit. I found myself hosting never-ending debates in my head about the benefits and drawbacks of my new lifestyle, trying to weigh what it was costing me against all the benefits I was becoming dependent on. Was my memory worse? Was I less present? Could I really stop smoking if I wanted to? Paisley and I repeatedly made vows to quit, sometimes lasting a few days, but inevitably it crept back into our lives. Whenever her parents visited we had to do a thorough job of hiding the evidence.

“I never would have predicted that I’d become a stoner,” said Paisley. “My whole life I avoided it, never touched it, was never interested. And now it’s got this fucking hold on me.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“Watch me.”

Despite this, Paisley’s job at Kootenay Co-op was going well and she was making new friends. Her desserts were generating us a third income, and she was writing recipes and coming up with new culinary innovations all the time. From September to December she was happily busy, walking downtown once a week to practice her burlesque routines at Boob Camp with Charlotte Coco Orchid, and the rest of the time she spent nesting with the dogs and decorating our house. She went out and purchased the costume she was going to need for the upcoming show, then showcased it in our living room before heading out to a photo shoot with the other women. She looked adorable, in clown makeup and fishnet stockings, and I held her in my arms.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Maybe you should be in the show.”

I snorted. “It’s next week.”

“Charlotte’s looking for a male performer to pick up the clothes left on stage between sets. I was thinking about it, and you went to theatre school. You should totally do it.”

“I’m not going to do burlesque.”

“Why not?”

That was a good question. She continued to push the issue until I agreed to talk to Charlotte, and pretty soon I’d been recruited. Paisley took me out shopping for a pair of white “manties”, a baggy Speedo decorated with bright red hearts, then we bought a set of blood-coloured wings that matched the plush bow and arrow I would be carrying. I did love being onstage, and had arguably done more outrageous things in high school, but the concept of prancing around in my underwear in front of a bunch of Kootenay strangers definitely gave me pause. It would be a spectacle. For it to work properly I was going to have to be thoroughly shit-faced, I knew. I worked my way through four or five beers before we even headed down the hill to the show, at the Hume Hotel.

“You’re not allowed to hit on the other girls,” she said. “And don’t be creepy.”

“I won’t be creepy.”

“I mean it.”

“The only one I care about is you, okay?”

Once we arrived in the warm-up room, it was game on. Women were rushing in and out, changing from one costume into another, and some wild-haired dude was giving himself a sponge bath in the sink. Show-tunes and party anthems were blaring from nearby speakers. I met a little person named Cotton Candy and an older burlesque legend named Suzanna Sultry who the women all worshipped. We all posed together for a photo. One of Paisley’s friends took charge of decorating my torso with lipstick, inviting the others to leave kisses from my treasure trail to my collarbone. Don’t be creepy, I reminded myself, as they took turns kneeling in front of me. Over the months that Paisley’d been doing Boob Camp I’d come to know a bunch of them, and a few of us ducked into a back alley to smoke a joint. Upon my return the photographer grabbed me, and said she wanted a few shots of me with Paisley. I turned to her, held her close to my chest, and gave her a gentle kiss as the shutter snapped. Eventually Charlotte gathered everyone into a circle for a pep talk. The topless woman standing across from me was missing one of her nipple tassels, so was clutching her boob with one hand.

“Look at all the power in this room,” Charlotte said. “I am so proud of each and every one of you. You’re going to go out there and blow them away. You’ve done all the hard work, and now you get to reap the reward.”

Standing back-stage clutching a beer, feeling cold sweat collect in my hairline, I wondered if I was about to humiliate myself. There had been no rehearsals, no real instructions. Was I supposed to go out between every number, or just a select few? Was I supposed to dance, and if so, what kind of dance was I supposed to do? There’s a subversive element to burlesque, I knew, and a sense that nothing is sacred and everything is silly. I could get down with that. For her first performance Paisley marched out with the five other women, working her way through an elaborately choreographed sequence that saw the women crawling across the floor, hurling themselves on to their backs and spreading their legs wide. I congratulated her as she came breathlessly off-stage, then kissed her as Charlotte beckoned me forward. I was in bare feet, brandishing my bow and arrow, and upon my entrance the audience roared with approval. I gyrated, spinning around to bend over like a porn star, and frolicked drunkenly as I went searching for the various layers and lacy bits that had been left behind. Charlotte was loudly announcing something into the microphone as I gave the audience a last wink and departed. My back and shoulders were shimmering with sweat, my hair wet against my forehead, my limbs vibrating.

I can’t believe I just did that, I thought.

While the show progressed I stood at a gap in the curtains and looked out at the rowdy crowd, some of them in costumes, who were roaring and shouting for the performers onstage. These are my people, I thought. Charlotte was a champ, commandeering the entire thing while performing multiple sets herself, and Paisley cuddled up beside me. Charlotte chased Cotton Candy around the stage, both of them half-naked, and then a boylesque performer did a leather-clad striptease. I was continuing to drink, and somewhere along the way I’d been forgotten — which I was fine with. I wanted to get back into my real clothes, but that would mean cutting through the parking lot in my underwear. I was just planning my escape when Charlotte introduced Isla Valentine, who was performing her first ever solo set. A milky-skinned brunette, she slinked across the stage and threw herself down on a chair. She smiled languidly at the audience, undoing her bra. Upon release she whipped it into the air triumphantly and flung out her jiggling breasts — dislodging both her pasties, which flew into the audience.

“Oh, shit,” said Paisley, as the crowd gasped. “She must not have glued them right.”

Isla quickly clasped her hands to her nipples, her face furrowed, and for a moment it looked like the number would be over. But as we watched, a look of determination crossed Isla’s face. Fuck it. She dropped her hands, stood up, and continued dancing to elated whoops. Striding from one edge of the stage to the other, she jutted out her hips and whipped back her hair, grinning defiantly.

“Wow, she really went with that,” I said. “Good for her.”

“No, not good for her. She’s going to get Charlotte in trouble. She told us ahead of time: the hotel can get fined for nudity.”

“Really? You think they’ll actually fine Charlotte?”

“They could.”

“It was a mistake! What was she supposed to do?”

Paisley frowned. “You don’t get it.”

The remainder of that evening is a haze, but one memory remains intact: meeting Ryan Martin, the owner of the hotel. I’d heard from multiple people in town that he was an important person to know, a powerhouse in the business community, but we hadn’t crossed paths yet. While I padded along the carpet coming back from the bar, double-fisting and still in my underwear, I nearly bowled him over coming around a corner. As soon as I realized who he was I was embarrassed, and felt like I needed to explain myself. Nearly naked, with lipstick smeared all over my stomach and the crimson wings drooping over my shoulders, I knew I was something of a radical sight. I stammered out that I don’t actually drink that much, told him this wasn’t usual behaviour for me. He grinned and clapped me on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “This is the Kootenays.”

The Kootenay Goon