#[unnamed] paper shopping bag

[pepperpepi]

new oc concept!! paper shopping bag but infected with Plant

[sargebarnesx]

Sweetness

Pairing: Jim Hopper x unnamed female OC

Rating: 18+ ONLY

Warnings: unprotected sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, pining, spanking, Hopper's thighs in jeans (felt that this deserved to be here), little bit of instalove/lust

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: Jim Hopper could use a little sweetness in his life.

Author's Note: I’ve been working on this for forever but edited it pretty quickly so I apologize for any mistakes!

Monday

The bell over the door rang lightly. He looked out of place in the small bakery, the tan colors of his uniform contrasting with the baby blues and baby pinks adorning the walls. His eyes scanned over the various pastries, cookies, and cakes, sitting pretty in their cases underneath cozy lights.

“Good morning, how are y-oh hey Chief! How are you this morning?”

She emerged from the back room, wiping her hands on a white towel. Her hair was pulled back in a clip but she had loose strands sticking to beads of sweat on her forehead. Bits of flour were sprinkled among a smattering of freckles.

Jim Hopper raised a hand in greeting. “I’m good, honestly just hungry. Thought I’d stop by and see what you had available this morning.” He stepped closer to the counter.

She swiped her towel over her face before tossing it on a back counter. “We have muffins, croissants, bagels, donuts. We also have a small coffee bar. Any of that sound good to you?” She met his gaze from behind the counter, a good foot shorter than him. Her apron was tied twice around her waist, emphasizing her full hips. He noticed that the same freckles that decorated her face also covered her hands, arms, and chest.

“A coffee and a…” he trailed off, leaning back to eye the other case, “Blueberry muffin please.”

“You got it, Chief,” she turned away to grab a paper bag.

He had known her for a while; he remembered her from high school but she was younger, maybe a freshman while he was a senior. Her parents were an integral part of Hawkins, the owners of a sandwich shop down the road.

He felt she had barely changed over the years, other than the fullness of her figure, the length of her hair, the warmth in her eyes. He recalled her younger brother’s recklessness, his run-ins with the law. She wasn’t anything like him, at least not to his knowledge. Jim couldn’t imagine the person who ran a place like this had any interest in being reckless.

“Here you go,” her voice pulled him from his thoughts and he glanced up to see her holding a coffee cup and a paper bag out to him. “How much do I owe you?” He asked, reaching for his wallet. She shook her head, “It’s on the house.”

“No way, let me-“

“It’s on the house,” she repeated softly, “Happy Monday, Chief.”

Jim smiled in thanks, taking his items from her. She smiled back as he retreated towards the door and back to his Blazer. He pinched a small piece off of his blueberry muffin on the way to the station.

It was the best muffin he had ever tasted.

Tuesday

She blew out a breath, nearly dropping a tray of bagels on the counter. It was 7:45 am, and Kimberly, her opener, was supposed to have been here fifteen minutes ago. She had been here since 3 am and frankly, her arms were tired and her back hurt. She really didn’t want to work all day but it was looking like she’d have to. She had planned to leave at 9:00 am when her other staff members were scheduled to arrive but such is the life of a business owner.

She hurriedly finished setting up her cases, taking note of what needed to be done that day. Hawkins was a small town but she was lucky enough to be a local favorite. She had made countless birthday cakes for the children of her former classmates, baked bread that would be sold at her parent’s sandwich shop, and catered desserts at the Hawkins High reunion every year. Baking was her passion but going to a doctor’s appointment and taking a short nap before returning to the bakery in the afternoon was taking precedence today.

She could hear a car pulling in and she hoped it was Kim, better late than never. She started walking to the door but hesitated when she saw him.

Jim Hopper was here.

Again.

She opened in exactly one minute and Jim Hopper was parked in a spot right outside her door, patiently waiting. As she stared at him, she noticed Kimberly walking quickly across the street. She unlocked the door and pushed it open as the young woman babbled, “Oh my goodness I am so sorry I’m late, I will stay late today to make it up to you, I am so sorry.”

“That’s fine,” she murmured, following her inside, “Can you refill some coffee supplies, please? I didn’t have the chance to yet.” “Sure thing!” Kim replied, grabbing handfuls of supplies and carting them over to the small table in the corner. She started her trek to the back when she heard the bell over the door ring.

“Good morning!” Kimberly called and she heard Jim give a gruff “morning” in response.

“Fancy seeing you here, Chief,” she said, leaning onto one of her cases.

“I won’t lie, I haven’t stopped thinking about that blueberry muffin I had for breakfast yesterday,” he admitted sheepishly, “And please, call me Jim.”

She was silent for a moment while she took in his appearance. He looked…tired. Stressed. She imagined that working as the chief of police wasn’t an easy job, even in a small town like Hawkins. And she knew that he had been through a lot in the past. Even with the slight discoloration under his eyes, she couldn’t deny that he was attractive. Honestly, she was harboring a small crush on him and had been for years. He was tall and strong, and she had always been fixated on his hands. They were large, with long fingers. She imagined he was the type of man who had rough, callused hands that would feel absolutely delicious dragging across her skin. She’d never tell him that, though.

“Alright…Jim,” she said with a smile, “What would you like today? Another blueberry muffin?”

His eyes scanned her case, “I’m thinking…a blueberry muffin and a banana nut muffin. And a coffee, of course.”

“Sure thing,” she reached for a white paper bag while her opener asked him about his coffee preference. God, now she couldn’t stop thinking about his hands. And his beard. And his mouth.

She needed to stop.

Her cheeks were no doubt stained pink, she could feel the heat rising to them. She felt a hand on her arm. “You alright?” Kimberly asked, holding Jim’s receipt in her other hand, “Can I have his bag please?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry!” She folded the bag closed and handed it over. Jim was smirking on the other side of the counter, “Got a lot on your mind?” She chuckled, “You have no idea. I hope you enjoy your muffins.”

Jim nodded, “Oh, I know I will. That chocolate donut is catching my eye too though.” He pointed at one of her favorite desserts, a chocolate-frosted donut with sprinkles.

“I love those,” she said, “But they’re really sweet, maybe a little too sweet for breakfast.”

“Eh,” Jim shrugged, “I could use a little sweetness in my life.”

Wednesday

Hopper had a crush.

He was a 44-year-old man and he had a crush.

He couldn’t get her off of his mind. Her soft hair was always sprinkled with flour. Her eyes, the most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen, surrounded by long, dark lashes. Her smile was framed by full, luscious lips. He thought about her first thing in the morning, thought about her making him blueberry muffins in nothing but his t-shirt while he got ready for work. She crossed his mind at lunchtime, distracting him from his paperwork with her puzzling looks and skilled hands. And at night, when he laid in bed alone with his cock squeezed in his fist, he would think about her naked and on her knees, with those sweet lips wrapped around his length.

Fuck.

He needed to see her again, but the phone was ringing off of the hook and the paperwork was piling up on his desk. There was no way he could make an excuse to take a mid-day trip to her bakery.

Unless…

Jim tossed the stack of paper he was rifling through onto his desk and stood abruptly. He grabbed his keys and his hat, placing the latter atop his head before walking out of his office. “Anybody up for some donuts?” he asked, not even stopping for an answer, “I’ll be right back.”

Powell and Callahan looked at each other in awe over a massive stack of folders between them. “Eh, at least we get donuts,” Callahan lamented, shrugging.

Jim made it to the bakery in record time. He eagerly reached for the door handle in the Blazer before he paused.

Relax.

He climbed out of the Blazer and walked coolly to the door, pulling it open. He heard the bell ding overhead.

“Good afternoon, Chief Hopper!”

It was the young girl who was working with her yesterday morning. She was nowhere to be seen. Hop nodded at the girl behind the counter. “Uh…” he started, “Can I get 2 dozen donuts, please?”

“Of course!”

Hopper tried his best to be inconspicuous as he looked above the young girl’s head into the kitchen. He didn’t see her anywhere. “Do you have a preference on which donut you’d like more of, Chief?” the girl asked, showing him a half-filled box. “Let’s get more of the chocolate iced with sprinkles,” he said, pointing to the remaining donuts in the display.

“My favorite.”

There she was. She must have come in from a back door because he hadn’t heard the bell ring. She was wearing a dark blue spaghetti-strap dress. It had scalloped edges, an eyelet design, and stopped just above her knees. Her hair was down from her normal ponytail and she was wearing a bit more makeup than usual. She carried an empty tray.

“We have more in the back to refill the case, Kimberly,” she mentioned to her employee passively while keeping her eyes on him, “I’ll check him out.”

“I’m sure you will,” he thought he heard Kimberly mumble under her breath as she closed the donut boxes and handed them to her. They stood facing each other now, with only a register in between them.

“Treating the guys at the station to some donuts?” She asked, punching in a few numbers on the register. Hop nodded, “Yeah, I couldn’t stop thinking about them, so…”

Was he crazy or was the tension between them thicker than ever right now?

Jim eyed the outline of her dress, tracing the skirt down and then back up to her waist, noting the cinched fabric creating the most tempting slope, the perfect place for his hands. She watched him and yet he didn’t stop. Her skin was glowing with moisture from the summer heat and he imagined what it would taste like if he licked from her collarbone to her jaw. He imagined that she tasted like buttercream frosting and the thought made his cock half-hard.

“Definitely haven’t stopped thinking about them,” he repeated, meeting her eyes with a smoldering gaze. She grabbed his donuts and walked around the counter, holding them out to him. When he took them, his fingers brushed against hers.

“Thanks, Sweetness,” he murmured, a sly grin playing across his features, a playful glint in his hooded eyes. Her eyebrows knit together and she smirked, “Sweetness?” He didn’t respond, just winked at her as he took the boxes and pressed the door open with his backside.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” She called after him, but the door had already slammed shut.

Thursday

Sweetness. He had called her Sweetness.

And he came to the bakery three days in a row. There had to be a reason.

She had known Jim for a long time, considering they had both grown up in Hawkins. She remembered when he was a young boy leading the pack, she remembered when he would smoke cigarettes under the bleachers and she would hear rumors about his flirtations, his skill as a kisser. How he’d trailed his hands under skirts in the backs of classrooms. She remembered when she came back from college and he came back from Vietnam, when he got married and had his daughter. She remembered the tragedy of his loss and the way it affected him. But she was always an outsider, a spectator, and honestly, an admirer.

He had been so handsome throughout every stage she had known him, especially now. His thick, sturdy, strong body towering over her, his beard with the beginnings of salt and pepper growing in. She always stared at his arms, his thighs, wondering what they felt like. Those strong arms wrapped around her, reaching down to grope at her ass. His thighs were a perfect seat for her to grind her desperate pussy on, while she dug her nails into his shoulders, his growls shaking her entire body.

“My God, you are so into him,” Kimberly’s voice broke through her daydream.

“Wh-what?” She stuttered, grabbing at frosting bags to keep her hands busy. Kimberly smirked, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. “You are so into the Chief,” she replied, “It’s obvious.”

“Kim, are you serious? I don’t know why you would think-“ she broke off when she noticed Kimberly’s look of doubt. Her cheeks turned an intense shade of red and she hid her face with her hands. “I am totally into the Chief,” she finally admitted.

Kimberly clapped her hands and squealed, “I knew it! You’ve been looking over at the door every hour to see if he’s coming in again today.”

Kimberly was right. The older woman’s eyes had been glued to the door all day, almost like a magnet was drawing them together.

“Can you blame me? He’s come in every day this week! I can’t help expecting that he’ll come in today too,” she explained, piping a border onto the small cake in front of her. Kimberly grabbed a coffee cup and a black marker and held them out to her, “When he comes in, you should give him a cup of coffee on the house with your number written on it.” She looked at Kimberly with apprehension, “You don’t think he’d see that as juvenile?” Kimberly shook her head, “I think he’d love it.”

She put down her piping bag to take the cup and the marker. Kimberly smirked again and left her to her own devices to tend to the front. Would Jim like that, her number written on a cup of coffee? She couldn’t help but think they were too old for these games but maybe he’d find it…endearing.

She heard the bell ring. “Oh, hello Chief Hopper!” Kimberly announced way too loudly to be casual. She would have to reprimand her for that later. But it was now or never. Make a move or regret it. She quickly scribbled her number on the side of the cup and once she knew it was dry, she pressed that side against her palm and walked towards the coffee bar.

His eyes were on her as soon as she stepped into view. “Hey,” he greeted, handing Kimberly a few dollars without even looking at her. She smiled in response and began filling the cup. “I’d been wondering if we were going to see you today,” she said, pressing a lid onto the cup. He chuckled, “Here I am.”

The coffee cup felt scalding hot against her skin, “Coffee on the house?” She offered it to him and knew immediately that he would refuse. “I can’t let you do that, please let me pay,” Jim reached for his wallet, fisting his pastry bag in the other hand. She held up a hand. “Jim, please,” she held it towards him once more, “It’s on me.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment and she could’ve sworn his eyes flickered to her lips before meeting her own again. He was in jeans today instead of his normal uniform - jeans that hugged his thighs and his ass in just the right way. God, she wanted him so bad. Wanted to feel those taut muscles under her hands, wanted to feel the brush of his beard on her skin. Could he tell that she was fantasizing about fucking him right in the middle of her bakery?

Kimberly cleared her throat, which seemed to break both of them from a trance. Jim wrapped his hand around the coffee cup and the sudden loss of warmth was jarring. “Thank you for the coffee,” he said, raising it like he was toasting to her. She nodded, “Thank you for stopping by.” And just as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone.

“Did you even notice the other customer that was here while the two of you were making goo-goo eyes at each other?” Kimberly asked, punching numbers on the cash register.

“Nope,” she replied, rounding the counter and smirking at Kim, “Also, you should work on that whole ‘being casual’ thing.”

Friday

The number on his cup told him everything he needed to know.

He was going to make his move. Tonight.

He’d wear some jeans - she couldn’t take her eyes off of him yesterday when he had shown up in his relaxed-fit jeans. He’d wear cologne - nothing too heavy, just a little something to complement his natural scent. Whatever that was. Coffee and cigarettes? Women he’d been with before usually told him he smelled like a real man, so maybe she’d like it too.

It was 7:15 pm - her bakery closed in 45 minutes. He would make it there in ten minutes from the cabin. His palms were sweaty against his steering wheel, but he blamed that on the summer heat, not nerves, as he navigated the downtown streets.

He parked, noticing a lack of cars out front. Perfect. He could see her through the door as he approached. She was sweeping, wearing her usual apron, blouse, and loose jeans combo. Her hair was down, swaying with each brush of the broom. He pushed the door open and she turned at the sound of the bell.

Her cheeks tinged pink as soon as she saw him. “Hi Jim,” she said softly, leaning the broom against the closest table. “Hey Sweetness,” he replied gruffly, walking towards her, eyeing her up and down as he did so.

When their eyes met, it was like they were locked, and neither of them had enough willpower or want to find a key. Her eyes were warm, like a cup of coffee with a swirl of creamer. My God, she was so beautiful. What he wouldn’t give to trace his fingers along her cheek and brush his lips against her jaw. And fuck, he wanted to run his tongue down her neck to that expanse of skin that was exposed under her v-neck shirt.

“Something on your mind?” She questioned softly, her eyes flicking to his mouth. He nodded, “Yeah-“

But at that moment, he was surprised by her sudden movement to press her lips on his.

Jim didn’t hold back. He gripped her soft hips, pulling her into him, against his already hard cock. He raised a hand to cup her cheek, feeling her jaw move against his palm as she opened her mouth to welcome his greedy tongue.

“Jim,” she murmured against his mouth, groaning as he latched his lips to the skin of her neck and slid his arms around her waist. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” Jim admitted, his face still buried in the crook of her neck, “Everything I wanna do to you.” She nodded in agreement, “Me either. I want you…want your cock…fucking hell, Jim, I need you.”

He chuckled, sinking his teeth into her soft flesh, then placed a trail of kisses up to her mouth. She opened her eyes then, meeting his blue ones.

“For someone so sweet, you sure do have a filthy mouth.”

With that, he picked her up, kissing her again until their legs met the counter. He placed her there, nestling into her warm center, his cock pressing tightly against his zipper, desperate to be inside her. Her hand was on his dick immediately while they kissed, palming him and squeezing him over his jeans. “Oh fuck, hold on,” he gripped at her wrist as he breathed deeply, “Don’t wanna cum in my pants.”

Her lips were on his neck now, undoubtedly leaving deep purple marks. “Where do you wanna cum then?” She whispered in his ear, causing a shiver to run down his spine. Jim grabbed her chin, “Maybe this pretty little mouth. Or that wet, hot pussy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.”

She spread her legs further and slid her hands into his back pockets, “Please fuck me, Chief. Right here, right now.”

Hopper growled in triumph, “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

He pulled at the button on her jeans, ripping the zipper open with it. She pushed her pants down her legs and over her little white sneakers, all the way to the floor where they landed with a soft thud. While he was unbuttoning his jeans, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her panties - they were soft cotton in the palest shade of blue. He’d never seen anything more sexy.

“Can’t wait to fuck you, Sweetness.”

She bit her lip as she looked up at him, watching his face as the cool air in the bakery finally hit the burning hot skin of his cock. He could tell she wanted to touch him, to put him in her mouth, but all that would come later. Right now, he knew she needed him deep inside her.

He hooked two fingers onto her panties, “You wet for me?” She nodded, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. He wrapped his fist around his cock, lining it up with her entrance before thrusting inside her.

Fuck, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt this way before. Her pussy gripped his cock so tightly, so perfectly, like they were made for each other. He wasn’t going to last long like this. He wanted to rail her, rail her right here in her place of business on a Friday night, and make her cream all over his cock. Then he wanted to take her home and prepare a hot bath for her, then bury his tongue between her legs in his bed. Then on Saturday…

He wanted to take her to the diner for breakfast.

He wanted to curl up next to her on the couch for an afternoon nap.

He wanted to watch her put on her favorite dress and curl her hair and take her out to dinner.

Jim would do all those things. But right now, he was going to make her cum.

“Ugh fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, reveling in the obscene sounds coming from where the two of them met at their center. She was breathing heavily, whimpering with every deep thrust. He trailed his hand up under her blouse to squeeze her tits - another thing he’d have to give extra attention to when he could get her in his bed.

“Tell me how I’m making you feel, Sweetness. Baby, tell me how much you love this cock,” he was moaning in her ear, his climax building. He could feel her pussy clamping down on him with every writhe of her hips. She nodded, “Feels so good. Fuck, I love the way you fill me up. Better than I ever imagined.”

“Can I bend you over this counter?” Hopper asked, wanting nothing more than to have his hands on her ass. She nodded, gasping when he pulled out, leaving her empty. When she was bent over in front of him, he swept her panties down her thighs, using both hands to roughly grope at her ass. “Fucking sexy ass,” he muttered, smacking both cheeks in quick succession. She moaned, shuddering against him. “Harder,” she requested, “Please.”

He brought his hand down again, harder this time, and she jumped as it connected with her ass. Her skin turned red immediately and he rubbed her gently before doing the same to her other side. Hop placed a kiss on each cheek before he gripped her hips and pulled her back onto his cock.

“You feel even better - like this,” she choked out against a whimper. Jim could only smirk and continue to fuck up into her. He wanted to cum with her, feel her climax soak him at the same time he painted her insides with his own.

“You close, Sweetness?”

She nodded and Jim pushed harder, each drag of his cock bringing them that much closer to satisfaction. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her up against him, “Wanna see that pretty face when you cum.”

Her eyes were trained on his and her nails dug into his sides. He was so fucking close.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut as her orgasm wracked through her body. He brought her left arm around her waist and his right hand to her face, kissing her as he exploded.

They trembled together, taking a moment to allow the pure bliss to course through them. He held her tightly until she turned in his arms. “I need to sit down,” she admitted sheepishly. Jim grinned as he walked her to a seat, making sure she was secure before he retrieved her pants.

“That was…the hottest thing I have ever done,” he told her as she pulled her pants back on. She giggled, “Honestly? Me too.”

Jim fixed his clothes and checked his watch, “Do you need this door locked? You’ve been closed for the last 45 minutes.”

She nodded, “Yes, please. We’re lucky no one came in.”

Jim clicked the latch on the door to a locked position, then met her in the center of the room, where they had started that night. He reached for her and she stepped into his outstretched arms, resting hers on his shoulders while his encircled her waist.

“Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night?”

He could barely get the sentence out before she gave him the best possible answer.

“Yes.”

[casual-video-transcripts]

Can Sohla Make A Meal Out Of Oreos? | Mystery Menu | NYT Cooking

Video Transcript by CCKN is under the cut

[0:00] Sohla: This isn't like Top Chef 

[0:01] I’m not gonna run around

[0:02] I’m not gonna jump over the island

[0:03] Okay?

[0:04] This is gonna be the chillest

[0:06] cooking competition

[0:07] with no contestants ever

[0:10] (Sohla laughs)

[0:11] [The New York Times Cooking]

[0:13] [Presents]

[0:14] Sohla: I’m Sohla El-Waylly, we're in my kitchen

[0:15] and today we're going to try out a new thing

[0:17] where I have a mystery ingredient

[0:18] [1 SECRET INGREDIENT]

[0:19] Sohla: and then I have one hour to make

[0:20] [1 HOUR]

[0:21] Sohla: a dinner and dessert for me and Ham.

[0:22] Ham El-Waylly  -Also an excellent chef

[0:23] -Sohla's husband

[0:24] [Sohla claps.]

[0:25] Sohla: This is episode one,

[0:26] scene one.

[0:27] Yeah.

[0:28] [Sohla laughs.]

[0:30] [THE SECRET INGREDIENT]

[0:33] Sohla: What a crisp

[0:36] cleanly folded paper bag.

[0:38] There's a package inside this package.

[0:41] Oh! Ahahahaha okay!

[0:43] Oreos.

[0:44] So I have to make dinner and dessert

[0:46] using oreos in one hour.

[0:49] (whispers) Oh yeah!

[0:51] (normal) I have to just be really smart in what I decide to do

[0:53] so that I can get it done

[0:54] in an hour

[0:55] That's going to be the big thing.

[0:58] So the show doesn't have a name yet

[1:00] but we're calling it Club Sohla

[1:02] [Sohla claps slate.]

[1:03] Sohla: [be]cause I have lights that change colors.

[1:07] [Sohla laughs.]

[1:08] Sohla: Do you want to do it?

[1:09] Should I turn it on?

[1:10] Staff: I think you have to.

[1:12] Yeah!

[1:13] Sohla: Huh? Club Sohla?

[1:15] Oh, maybe we should keep the first episode unnamed

[1:16] and then the people can name it.

[1:18] [THE MENU]

[1:19] Sohla: I think maybe we could grill something.

[1:21] I want to crust some meat

[1:23] with the cookie part.

[1:25] What about Korean barbecue?

[1:26] There's this place that I used to go to

[1:28] all the time before the pandemic called

[1:30] Kang Do Bakjeong.

[1:33] I might be saying it wrong.

[1:34] and they have a special short rib

[1:36] so maybe we can do something like that.

[1:38] And then for our dessert...

[1:40] hold on, let me ask Ham.

[1:42] [The Sohla Laugh™]

[1:43] Can I consult you?

[1:45] Ham: Mhm.

[1:46] Sohla: So the ingredient is Oreos.

[1:48] Ham: Ingredients [are] Oreos?!

[1:50] Sohla: So we have Oreos.

[1:51] Okay so we're gonna do Korean barbecue.

[1:53] Ham: Oo!

[1:54] Sohla: Should I draw a picture?

[1:55] That's my basket of lettuce.

[1:57] This is my little bowl of ssamjang.

[1:58] Special short rib scored, marinade, grill.

[2:02] Toss in cookie marinade.

[2:04] Ham: That sounds good.

[2:05] Sohla: That's kimchi.

[2:06] We're gonna get banchan.

[2:09] Make some corn cheese.

[2:10] Ham: Can you incorporate the cream in the corn cheese?

[2:13] Sohla: Yes! Yes!

[2:15] Ham: I like a little sweetness.

[2:16] Sohla: Yes!

[2:17] Yes, I’m so into that.

[2:18] Ham: Do you know what dessert you're making?

[2:19] Sohla: No.

[2:20] I want fruit.

[2:22] We have our roasted pineapple.

[2:23] Or what if we coat it in the cream and char it?

[2:27] Ham: Mhm.

[2:28] Sohla: So it like maybe brûlées.

[2:30] We did it.

[2:31] We're ready to go. Wait!

[2:32] Do you think I can make all of this in

[2:34] an hour?

[2:35] I’ve got my menu,

[2:36] I’ve got my shopping list and now

[2:37] I’m ready to hit the road.

[2:39] This is like one of our favorite meals because

[2:41] we just go to H Mart,

[2:42] THE PLAN  •Oreo-Crusted Short Rib  •Corn Cheese  •Rice  •Store-Bought Banchan  •Ssamjang  •Brûléed Pineapple

[2:43] Sohla: we get kimchi and banchan

[2:44] and different lettuces and herbs,

[2:46] and then we'll have that with our meat.

[2:49] Okay, so I got - I saw some stuff and just

[2:51] went for it so we got a few extra things.

[2:53] We're adding potato salad.

[2:54] •Potato Salad

[2:55] Sohla: So I ditched the pineapple for mango.

[2:58] Cucumber!

[2:59] I think it'd be nice to do a little smashed cucumber salad.

[3:01] I love cucumber salad.

[3:03] So this looks like

[3:04] a lot of stuff but it's actually -

[3:06] it's actually pretty simple

[3:08] because a lot of this stuff is prepared

[3:09] and all I have to do is put it

[3:10] in a container.

[3:12] Staff: Ready?

[3:13] Sohla: Yeah I’m ready.

[3:15] Staff: Three!

[3:16] Two! One!

[3:17] Go!

[3:18] Sohla: Okay, cool.

[3:19] [Laughs]

[3:20] I’m gonna start by

[3:21] butterflying the beef

[3:23] so I can get it

[3:24] dry brined.

[3:25] I wanted something thicker

[3:26] but we're gonna make this work

[3:28] because this is what we found.

[3:29] Unravel it, okay.

[3:31] I’m just trying something out.

[3:33] I’ve never cut meat like this before.

[3:36] Has all of my time elapsed already?

[3:39] If I had more time,

[3:41] I would let this dry-brine

[3:42] ["00:55" in left-hand corner]

[3:44] Sohla: overnight.

[3:45] Okay, meat done.

[3:47] Okay so I’m gonna cook my potatoes.

[3:50] So we're gonna peel it,

[3:51] and cut it into cubes,

[3:53] and then cook it.

[3:56] Multi-tasking. Hmm?

[3:58] Water filling up

[4:00] while I peel.

[4:03] Going for like rough one-inch pieces.

[4:04] We're just gonna chop and drop.

[4:07] Okay lots of salt.

[4:10] Now the rice.

[4:14] Okay.

[4:16] Swish, swish, swish.

[4:18] This was one of my first jobs with my

[4:20] with my mom.

[4:21] you just want to go until you can see your hand through the water

[4:24] It's never going to get totally clear.

[4:30] Okay, let's go light some coals.

[4:32] Where are the scissors?

[4:33] Hey Ham?

[4:35] Do you know where the scissors are?

[4:38] That's not where they normally are!

[4:42] Sohla: Man! Sabotage, man, sabotage.

[4:42] [Staff laughs in the background.]

[4:47] Also not a grilling expert

[4:49] So if I’m doing this wrong, I’m sorry.

[4:52] [Sohla's backyard]

[4:53] I made a mistake, okay. So - oh no!

[4:56] I have a plan.

[5:00] Ha!

[5:01] We're gonna let that do its thing.

[5:04] Return to the kitchen.

[5:06] The whole point is the Oreos.

[5:08] It's so easy to forget.

[5:09] Hah! Let me make my smashed cucumber salad actually.

[5:12] Actually you can kind of do anything with a cucumber salad.

[5:14] Not sure what we're doing exactly,

[5:17] but it will have Oreos.

[5:18] I have some chili crisp that I made myself.

[5:20] We're gonna break the rules.

[5:22] This isn't going to be like a traditional Korean recipe.

[5:26] This looks pretty good though, right?!

[5:30] [Sohla does a swaying happy food dance.]

[5:34] Sohla: It's working, it actually works.

[5:37] I mean, worst case scenario I have one thing.

[5:39] I’m going to make my marinade for my meat,

[5:42] and that's going to go on my short rib after the first grill.

[5:45] So the short ribs are going to get grilled twice,

[5:47] and then they're going to come off,

[5:48] I'm going to snip it with scissors,

[5:50] toss it in our Oreo marinade,

[5:52] and it's going to hit the grill again.

[5:53] Am I allowed to get help?

[5:56] Wait, maybe Ham can smash.

[5:57] Hey, Ham!

[5:59] Ham!

[6:01] [The Sohla Laugh Track Continues]

[6:02] Could you smash?

[6:04] Ham: Smash?

[6:05] Sohla: Smash.

Ham: Smash smash?

[6:06] Sohla: I've decided that this is allowed in the rules that you can help.

[6:09] Staff:Yeah.

[6:10] Sohla: Yeah?

[6:11] [Sohla's Laugh Time]

[6:12] [Oreos]

[6:13] Sohla: Here you go.

[6:16] Ham: Oreo smash, look at that!

[6:17] Sohla: We're going to make a little Korean-style potato salad.

[6:20] So much sabotage.

[6:21] I gotta open bottles

[6:27] So much to unravel here. It has Kewpie,

[6:30] [Kewpie mayonnaise]

[6:31] Sohla: sesame oil, and then I’m gonna go

[6:32] [Oreo cream]

[6:34] Sohla: just the cream in here.

[6:35] [Salt]

[6:36] [Pepper]

[6:39] Sohla: and I love it because the Asian pear and the potato once they're in the dressing

[6:41] [Asian pear]

[6:42] Sohla: look exactly the same so it's like a little surprise,

[6:43] [Vinegar]

[6:45] Sohla: which one you're gonna stab.

[6:46] Sesame seeds.

[6:48] This is a lot of potato salad.

[6:50] Potato salad, done.

[6:51] ✓ Potato Salad

[6:52] Sohla: Cucumber salad, done.

[6:53] I need more Oreo cream.

[6:55] ["00:29" in the left-hand corner]

[6:57] Sohla: Okay, I want to be outside in 10 minutes.

[6:58] Do you think that's possible?

[7:08] This is ready for the grill.

[7:10] Mango!

[7:12] Cookies and cream brûlée mango! Yeah!

[7:14] Hey, Ham?

[7:16] I'm gonna recruit you again.

[7:18] Ham can wash the lettuce, that seems fair.

[7:21] 23 minutes left?

[7:22] ["00:23" in left-hand corner]

[7:23] Sohla: Plenty of time!

[7:25] Cream brûlée, I like that.

[7:28] Remember how I said you should clean as you go?

[7:35] A couple of caps per [mango slice], that feels good.

[7:42] What do I got, like 20 minutes?

[7:44] Staff: 20 minutes.

[7:45] Sohla: Let's arrange our banchans.

[7:47] Korean pickled radish  Store-Bought Banchan

[7:48] Sohla: Squid, done. The best banchan.

[7:52] Look at all these dishes I made.

[7:53] Huh!

[7:55] Cool.

[7:55] ✓ Rice

[7:56] And I guess we're gonna go grill now, right?

[7:59] I’m gonna grill some corn,

[8:01] and then on this side

[8:03] we'll hopefully melt our mango.

[8:05] And I guess we can get our short ribs on here.

[8:07] While that does its thing...

[8:09] [Corn+Oreo cream]

[8:10] Sohla: Oh the cream just like melted!

[8:11] [Oreo Cream Corn Cheese]

[8:12] Sohla: I was really worried about how that would incorporate

[8:14] but it totally just...

[8:16] melted right in there.

[8:17] I think that's gonna be tasty.

[8:18] Korean food does have like a really good balance of...

[8:20] of sweet and savory and funk.

[8:24] I really truly love Korean food.

[8:26] I'm not an expert. I just - I love it.

[8:28] This is my like favorite thing.

[8:30] I love when they do this, table side.

[8:32] Snip the meat into the marinade

[8:35] and then it's going to

[8:36] Get hit on the grill again.

[8:38] Even though we're eating a tough cut

[8:40] it's going to be really nice and tender and easy to put

[8:42] in those lettuce wraps.

[8:43] Now we tossity-toss in our Oreo,

[8:47] sesame-chili marinade.

[8:51] ["00:05" in the left-hand corner]

[8:53] Sohla: Oh yeah. It's gonna caramelize.

[8:57] Yum.

[9:00] Mango brûlée.

[9:01] Some of that sugar just fell right off.

[9:03] [Staff laughs]

[9:04] I don't know what I thought was gonna happen.

[9:06] I just wanna kiss it with the flames.

[9:09] Yeah.

[9:11] There's one extra toasty one.

[9:13] I think that looks good, we really did it.

[9:15] 10 minutes over.

[9:17] [Ham laughs.]

[9:18] [Sohla laughs.]

[9:19] Sohla: Hello!

Ham: Hello!

[9:20] Sohla: Hello, sir!

[9:21] Ham: Hi, nice to meet you.

[9:22] Sohla: Nice to meet you.

[9:23] This is my oreo meal.

[9:25] Short rib with [an]

[9:26] Oreo-red chili-ginger-garlic marinade.

[9:30] Oreo cookie smashed cucumber salad.

[9:33] Corn cheese with the cream from the Oreos.

[9:36] Cookies and cream mango creme brûlée.

[9:37] and the potato salad

[9:39] sweetened with some of the cream from the Oreo.

[9:40] Ssamjang didn't happen.

[9:41] THE PLAN  ✓Oreo-Crusted Short Rib  ✓Corn Cheese  ✓Rice  ✓Store-Bought Banchan  •Ssamjang  ✓Brûléed Mango ✓Potato Salad  ✓Smashed Cucumber Salad

[9:43] Sohla: I don't know what the hell that is.

[9:44] Potato salad!

[9:47] It's practically a photograph.

[9:48] Ham: Yeah I can't tell which one's which.

[9:50] [Sohla laugh]

[9:52] Alright, I like to double it up.

[9:53] Corn cheese is really good.

[9:55] Ham: I'll go for the corn cheese as well.

[9:57] Sohla: Oreo filling is perfect for corn cheese.

[9:59] Cucumbers are surprising, right?

[10:00] Ham: Mhm!

[10:01] Sohla: Szechuan-ish.

[10:02] Ham: I thought it would just be super sweet, it isn't.

[10:04] Sohla: It doesn't taste like oreo at all.

[10:05] Ham: No!

[10:06] Sohla: The cream, it just ended up being like a nice source of sugar and fat.

[10:09] And then the cookie just was like a nice source of bitterness.

[10:12] I really like the oreo in here.

[10:14] Ham: That one's my - I would 

[10:16] crave this again, 

[10:17] not just want it again.

[10:18] Sohla: You see -

[10:19] that looks pretty good.

[10:20] Ham: Yeah.

[10:21] It's like nice and custardy too when you

[10:23] spoon into the actual mango.

[10:26] Sohla: That's pretty good.

[10:27] Ham: Mm.

[10:28] Sohla: This is my favorite.

[10:29] I think that we'll probably do

[10:33] the mango and short rib again

[10:35] with the Oreo

[10:36] because I think the oreo actually did something here

[10:36] Ham: Yeah.

[10:38] Sohla: like it actually made it better.

[10:39] With or without Oreos,

[10:41] This is a really fun meal.

[10:42] we entertain with this meal a lot because

[10:44] it looks super impressive but

[10:47] like half of it is bought.

[10:49] It's all just real food that you're going to actually want to eat.

[10:52] Clementine  -Very Hungry

[10:53] Sohla: Oh, corn cheese.

[10:55] Man, that stuff is really delicious.

[10:57] If you haven't had it before

[10:58] you should go make some corn cheese.

End of Transcript

YouTube Channel: NYT Cooking

Video Description: Sohla El-Waylly is here for a new series we’re tentatively calling Club Sohla. We’ve given her one mystery ingredient and one hour to make dinner and a dessert for herself and her husband, Ham. Today’s secret ingredient is… Oreos! What will Sohla transform them into? Stay tuned to find out.

------------------------------------------

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About NYT Cooking: All the food that’s fit to eat (yes, it’s an official New York Times production).

Preface and Disclaimer:

None of the videos I transcribe belong to me. They belong to the content creators and the crew behind the videos. My transcripts may not be 100% as I am not a professional. I'm just someone who wants to provide video transcripts for people to understand and enjoy these videos. For this video, I focused on the speaker and some of the on-screen text.

For the expanded version of the video transcript, you can click here to be redirected to the Google Sheet version I created. Let me know if you prefer the layout on Google Sheets versus Google Docs.

If there are any corrections you would like me to make, let me know in the comment section of the post.

If you like this video or any other videos from Sohla El-Waylly, please support her by watching her videos on the NYT Cooking's YouTube channel and/or through other means by her such as pre-ordering her upcoming cooking book that'll be released on October 31st.

I have provided a few links for you to check out her work below:

Instagram: instagram.com/sohlae Linktree: linktr.ee/sohlae

Personal Notes: Hi everyone. Long time no chat. It's been a long while, hasn't it? I've had this in my Google Drive drafts for months but I didn't know if I wanted to do it or not. And now here I am, in the middle of the year. Time really flew. Now that this one is complete, I'm going to work on the next one in my drafts.

Catch y'all on the flip side.

[wing-ed-thing]

Retail Therapy (Kakuzu x Reader)

Synopsis: Deidara has a new partner for a combined effort with the Zombie Combo. However, something about you has Kakuzu heated.

Word Count: 2,123

Tags/Warnings: Violence, Threat of Violence, Probably Language, Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: Kakuzu content is probably some of the best stuff I’ve ever written. Right now I’m watching a video on fried milk. Ever hear of such a thing? Fascinating.

Kakuzu didn’t like being paired up with Hidan, let alone joint missions where he’d have to deal with even more people. Not to say that Kakuzu hated people, because he did, but he never thought that he’d hate anyone more than he absolutely hated you. He hadn’t even met you yet, but he knew at his very core that you would quickly become the bane of his entire existence.

“Shopping?” Kakuzu asked slowly, the word forming on his lips as if he had an aversion to even speaking it. Deidara leaned back on the large bounder that he settled on and stretched his arms up above his head. The blond nodded with a short groan before his hands came to rest behind his head.

“Yep,” he answered, “And for hours too, so I’d get comfortable.” Hidan plopped down on a patch of dirt below, his back and scythe against the side of the rock. Kakuzu glared down at his partner causing Hidan to shrug. To Hidan, if Deidara thought that the three of them would be waiting a while, he would take his word and make himself comfortable. Kakuzu’s attention turned back to Deidara.

“Hours? What possibly could someone be purchasing that takes them hours?” Hidan gazed up from his spot, head tilted back against the surface behind him.

“And we only came like five minutes late too. Who takes off like that?” Kakuzu almost nodded in agreement, but knowing his partner, Hidan would take any excuse to complain. Deidara shrugged, basking in the warmth of the sun and stayed lounging even as a rustling came from the woods. Hidan’s hand immediately reached up to grip the handle of his weapon and Kakuzu took a defensive stance. Deidara’s eyes remained closed.

“Oh hello, boys! I didn’t know you were here!” You sauntered out of the trees, bags hanging from both arms. They were pushed tightly in a line, every other patch of your skin strained by the handles of a different shopping bag. Even in your altered Akatsuki cloak, Kakuzu took a look at you and immediately decided that you were decorated far too ornately and that he’d like to kill you when he had the chance. You were objectively beautiful, but if Kakuzu had his way, Deidara would have to be assigned another partner soon. “You haven’t been waiting for too long, have you?”

“You shouldn’t have left us waiting at all,” Kakuzu glowered, although not any more than usual. Either you didn’t hear him or you ignored him as you walked up to your partner. You plucked a package from one of your more reachable bags.

“I got you something, Dei-dei!” You threw it up to Deidara weakly but he managed to catch it. He opened the small, folded, paper bag. Deidara glanced down at you with a nod of his head and a fold of his lips. He took the neat band in his hand while you looked at him expectantly. “Aren’t they nice? Hair ties. Silk from a small village in the Land of Water.” Deidara held them up to the sun.

“That’s some great quality you found. Thanks.” Your partner glanced down at you again. “Must’ve been one hell of a fight assuming that you got a good price for it.” Kakuzu looked on at your exchange, increasingly beginning to lose his temper.

“Believe me, I did. And I found a ton of other great finds too. I gotta show you—”

“Enough,” Kakuzu growled and you finally turned your attention his way. Hidan had since passed out against the boulder that Deidara sat on. “You’re wasting all our time. The sooner we start, the sooner we can part ways.” You gave Kakuzu a once over with your nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Well someone’s grumpy,” you mused. You rolled your eyes and pointed your nose upward. Huffing, you threw your shopping bags into the air and as they fell, you swiftly unfurled a scroll. Your new items disappeared one by one. You rolled the paper back up, scowling as you slipped the scroll into one of many slots that you wore strapped to your clothing. The pockets ran down the small of you back and you latched the bundle of paper in place with a flip of your nimble fingers. Kakuzu frowned back, tentatively wondering if all the scrolls you carried contained the same amount of shopping bags. You approached him with crossed arms. “Okay then, tough guy. Let’s get started.”

You sat down and summoned a map of the next village. It laid out in front of you and placed your hands on your knees in challenge. Kakuzu sat down on the other side of the map, eyes boring into you. You didn’t budge. And as you began to speak, it was hard to focus, at least for Deidara. Though he supposed he’s seen you this fired up before.

“It would be easier if we lure the jinchūriki outside of the village,” you said, gesturing to the small, unnamed village on the map. It wasn’t large, but just big enough to serve as a maze for your prize. At least you knew the woods better and a jinchūriki was bound to stand out among the trees.

“I can get up some traps,” Deidara added and you nodded.

“Back them into a corner and cage them into a small space—” You nodded again— “We can use some explosives around the area… maybe here?” You pointed to a section of the map outside of the village. You looked up at Deidara. “You’d be our last line of defense when the jinchūriki tries to run.” Deidara smirked and puffed out his chest.

“Leave it to me!”

“We’ll need someone to drive the jinchūriki out of the village,” Kakuzu cut in, not particularly liking how you dominated the strategizing. “I’ll go with Hidan.” While Kakuzu thought that he would stop at nothing to get away from the Jashinist, this had to be a regrettable first. Hidan napped a few feet away.

You raised an eyebrow and scoffed, “You and Hidan? Psh… might as well have Deidara set off fireworks in the sky that spell out ‘single, hot jinchūriki in your a—”

“I can do that!” Deidara cut in before immediately backing down at Kakuzu’s pointed glare, not that he’d show it. You locked eyes with Kakuzu, taking his fiery stare off of your partner.

“I’ll go. You’re too conspicuous and, really, have you seen Hidan? You two would be spotted a mile away.” Kakuzu almost snarled.

“And you wouldn’t?” You let out a short, bitter laugh. Your left arm supported your weight as your knees touched together on the right side of your body. Kakuzu scowled at your blatant lounging. Everything about you challenged him and he hated you for it. Your lids narrowed in a smug smile.

“I’m not the one—” who’s fuckin’ jacked — “ with big-ass black stitches across my whole body.”

“And four faces on his back…” Hidan called out, still half asleep. You turned back to Kakuzu.

“And four faces on his back,” you repeated, much to Kakuzu’s vexation. The sass in your blinks was lost on the older shinobi. He stood, causing you to stand too. Deidara took a hint and retreated. Kakuzu crossed his arms over his chest and he planted his feet on the ground about the same width apart as his broad shoulders. He pointed two fingers at you harshly.

“And you’re—” Gorgeous. — “a brat. I should just kill you right here.” You stood your ground, daring to slap Kakuzu’s hand out of your face.

“As much as I’d like to see you try, tough guy, I’d actually like to do some quality work and get the hell away from you as quickly as I can.” Kakuzu huffed, gritting his teeth underneath his mask.

“Nice to hear that we’re on the same page.”

And with neither of your partners wanting to deal with either of you pissed off, you and Kakuzu were paired together.

***

Deciding that your cloaks were too noticeable, you sealed yours away. Kakuzu kept his draped across his arm, distrust of you evident. You walked down the road together under the late afternoon, waiting for nightfall. You hoped that striking at night would give you not only the surprise advantage, but also minimize the number of clueless civilians that would no doubt wander in your way. But as soon as your eyes fell onto the market, Kakuzu quickly began to wonder if his stubbornness landed him with an even larger headache. But his usual, standoffish demeanor remained the same. Kakuzu’s eyes drifted to their corners as he scowled down at you.

“No.” That was all he said, as if you would actually listen to him and not immediately march in the direction of the market. He reluctantly followed, every reach to hold you back by your robes falling just a bit short each time. By the time you were stopped, too many people surrounded the two of you for him to pull you away without drawing attention. Normally, attention from others wasn’t anything that Kakuzu would be concerned with, but your two teams had their orders and Kakuzu would be damned if he had to spend anymore time with you.

You stood in front of a booth with your hand on your chin. Kakuzu stood next to you, following your gaze to a simple, but sturdy-looking sword. You gingerly picked it up, carefully studying it’s craftsmanship. The man behind the booth leaned over his table, motioning to the piece of merchandise in your hands.

“Ah, you have a good eye, mercenary.” You glanced up at him.

“Land of Earth? Lots of excellent craftsmanship comes from there, I’m not surprised.” You ran your thumb across the dull of the blade. “Antique too, but still hardy.” The merchant nodded pointing to a few spots across the weapon.

“Could get you out of a bind too. Reliable smithing comes from Tsuchi no Kuni.” Kakuzu looked on at the show in front of him. In stark contrast to earlier, you seemed poised and he found you knowledgeable. You appeared calm and competent enough to handle yourself and for a second, Kakuzu became lost in your analysis.

You stepped back, turning the sword around in your hand to feel out the balance. The blade whipped around your body with ease. The seller softly applauded your embellished practice. Kakuzu almost rolled his eyes, but took some comfort in the fact that you were looking to purchase something of quality and not just anything at the very least. You looked down at the weapon with a nod or two before asking the dreaded question.

“So what’s your price?” The merchant didn’t hesitate.

“A hundred thousand ryō.” Kakuzu almost left right there, but a dominant part of him wanted to know what you were going to do. His hands grasped his biceps, his cloak still hanging from his forearm. Kakuzu watched you closely. You shook your head.

“You’re going to give it to me for twenty-five thousand.” The merchant gaped at the outrageous price you named. He sputtered a few times.

“That price is far too low for this quality. You must be joking if you think I’d sell this fine piece of equipment for practically nothing.”

You did name a ridiculous price. Not even Kakuzu could see getting what you wanted for that price without a fair bit of violence and intimidation. But you ripped into that merchant. You ripped into this poor seller like nothing Kakuzu had ever seen before. He didn’t even know if he could call it bartering, but whatever it was, it was likely one of the most skillful things that Kakuzu had ever seen.

He folded his lips under his mask. You didn’t yell. Kakuzu didn’t even find your appearance intimidating in the slightest, yet every point and number the merchant brought up, you countered. And by the end of the intense conversation, if Kakuzu didn’t know any better and had less of a spine, he’d likely be handing the sword over too. The man had long since started sweating, tugging at his collar. If Kakuzu didn’t see it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it as you handed over exactly twenty-five thousand ryō. He almost overlooked the complete waste of money as he still stood stunned, though not outwardly showing any such emotion.

You nestled the sword by your hip and the seller let out a breath of relief by the time you walked away. Kakuzu followed wordlessly next to you as you strutted off in triumph.

Perhaps he misjudged you. He stared, not noticing as he did so.

Yes, you were going to save the organization a fortune.

Notes: “oH mY gOd KaKuzU sAiD hE wAs GoNna KiLl rEader! wHy wOuLd yOu wRiTe sOmEtHiNg sO tOxIc???”... They’re criminal terrorists, Susan.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[pepperpepi]

I . WGHAT WHAT WHAT???WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!??!!??!? /VPOS WHAT THE H OH MY GOD??????WYHATWHAWTH HHHWUHTHAT9HA97UTHA9T

qwwjajtjQJJTU9ET9UEU9T9ETU8 WHAHTUHHTWUTW

I was bored/ worried about life stuff and I hadn’t doodled in a while. So I decided to draw some of @pepperpepi ‘s ocs (I hope that’s ok) because they’re all really cool designs

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 2 | Be Careful with Clive, I Have Grown Attached to Him

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom and Molly are now married.  Surprise! These two talk about the logistics of Tom’s half-baked plan.  And Molly moves to London to face the firing squad, aka the paparazzi.  

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

–

After they signed the license along with the apostille, there had been dancing. That much Molly remembered. And drinking. Specifically drinking champagne. Tom danced with abandon, pulling Molly into the whirlwind of activity he created around him.

But now it was morning, and Molly woke up in a bed that wasn’t her own. She groaned as her head pounded, having forgotten that champagne and her have a love-hate relationship. Molly saw the faint outline of Tom asleep on the couch, his long body stretched out, still wearing his suit from last night. After glancing at the alarm clock, Molly fell back asleep.

Several hours, Molly woke up again and headed to the bathroom, not noticing the now opened curtains.

“Hey good lookin, Whatcha got cookin,” Tom’s voice twanged as he stepped out of the shower. His head pounded a bit, but not the worst hangover he had.

“AHHH!!!” Molly screamed as she stepped into the bathroom.

They both froze, which was more embarrassing for Tom, as at least Molly was still wearing her dress from last night.

“You’re naked.” Molly blinked, her head darting around the room until she focused on an interesting corner of the room.

Tom chuckled, grabbing a towel and wrapping it loosely around his waist. “I don’t normally shower in my clothes. You can look back now.”

She slowly turned back around. “Sorry.” She shuffled her feet. “I should have knocked.”

“It’s quite alright.” He moved towards the door. “Shower is yours and we should talk things over.”

Molly nodded. “We should.”

While Molly showered, Tom dressed in the other room. After finding a clean t-shirt for Molly to wear over her dress until she could change, he called the airlines and changed his single ticket for that morning to a later flight for two, fishing Molly’s ID out of her wallet.

“Thanks for the shirt.” she stepped out.

“It looks good on you.” Tom gestured to the sofa. “Sit. Would you like some breakfast?” Her stomach growled. They both laughed. “That would be a yes.” Tom shoved the room service menu. “Order what you like.”

She selected an egg white frittata while Tom got the pancakes. Tom put in the order and returned his attention to Molly.

“So let’s talk about how this will work.” Tom shifted in his seat.

“An excellent idea. You mentioned living together in London. When do we leave?”

“This afternoon.”

Molly coughed. “That quick?”

“I’m afraid so.” Tom’s hands fidgeted in his lap. She noticed he was still wearing the spider ring. “I have work obligations back home and in order for it to be believable you would need to live with me.”

“Naturally.” Molly slapped her thighs. “So after breakfast, I can head back to my apartment, pack up what little I have, say goodbye to my roommate, and change into appropriate clothing. And you need to get us some proper rings.” She waved her hot pink ring in the air. “Unless of course you intend for your bride to wear a ring from the top of a cupcake.”

“Only if I get to keep my ring. I’ve grown quite attached to Clive.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You named the spider?”

“Yes.” There was a knock on the door. “That will be the food. Allow me.” He disappeared and returned shortly with a rolling table, ladened with food. Tom poured a cup of coffee and offered one to Molly.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“I can have them bring up a teapot.”

“I’m pretty sure there are some complimentary ones in the room. Now,” She cut into her food and took a bite. “how will everything else work? Living with you, your life, the paparazzi? That is the whole point of this charade.”

“You do get down to business. So yes, I would expect you to live in my home. In a separate bedroom, I can set up another room as an office for you. We would need to attend events together and generally appear as a loving couple on the outside.”

“And my debts? That is part of the deal, right?”

“Right,” Tom gazed over at her while eating his pancakes. “I would assume the payments while we are together, and after the divorce is final, I would pay off any balance. I would also take care of your daily expenses while we are married. You are welcome to work if you want, but I will give you spending money.”

“So I would be a trophy wife?” Her brown eyes glinted.

Tom waved his hands in front of him. “Not that is not what I meant… I…”

“I am kidding, Tom. If you prefer, I can not work. I don’t mind. Give me some time to figure things out.” A thought came to her. “What about…” Molly searched for the words. “… other needs? Or if you wish to engage in a romantic relationship?” Her cheeks blushed as the words fell out of her mouth.

Tom blushed as well. “I have great self-control and I think if either of us get to that point, we can discuss it. I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“And I don’t want you to be trapped either. I guess that is as good of an answer I could expect. Anything you want to ask me?”

Tom stared at Molly. The air hung heavy. “Do you regret saying yes?”

“No. Do you regret asking?”

“No.”

Molly downed the rest of her juice. “Well then, it is all settled. I am going to take off to pack. And you have some shopping to do. My ring size is a 7.”

Tom finished up the last bite of pancakes. “Right. We need to leave here by 3 to make it to the airport.”

“I shouldn’t be more than a few hours. Do you have a key to the room I could borrow?”

Tom fished one out of his discarded jacket’s pocket. “Here I will have the front desk make me another one.”

She tapped the key against her nails. “Thanks, Tom. For the help and for being a decent guy.”

“I should be thanking you.”

“You already have.” She grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

-

Tom headed downstairs, asked the front desk for a new key to the room, and also inquired where the nearest jewelry store might be. The front clerk handed him a key and directed him to a small collection of luxury stores in the hotel. He found Tiffanys and purchased a classic platinum solitaire engagement ring and plain platinum band for Molly and a yellow gold band for himself.

Molly wasn’t back when he returned, so he set about packing up for the flight. His phone buzzed. Luke.

It appears you had a good time in Vegas. The papers say you are drowning your sorrows. Looks like the story is here to stay. Call me when you wake up from your nap at home.

Tom typed back.

I did have a good time. I have a feeling the papers will soon find another story soon. Still in Vegas, taking a later flight. Talk to you soon.

His phone rang. He clicked it off, seeing it was Luke. Rather to get all the yelling done in person. The door opened and Molly came in, dragging a suitcase behind.

“Sorry! My roommate had questions.”

“So does my publicist.”

Tom took in Molly for the first time, really. Outside of the light of a casino floor. And not in a wedding dress purchased for fifty dollars on the way to the chapel. She wore faded jeans, a pair of beat up black Converse and a boxy white tee tucked in. A large black cardigan tucked under her arm. Dark hair in a bun. Quite lovely, if Tom told the truth.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?” Her brows knitted together.

“Not yet.” Tom tucked his phone into his jean pocket. “Here.” He pulled out the little blue bag.

Molly gasped. “I thought you would go buy some costume jewelry. This is too much.”

“Nonsense. This marriage may be fake, but the jewelry will be real.” Tom opened up the boxes. “May I do the honors?”

Molly held out her hand, and Tom slipped off the plastic ring before replacing it with the wedding set. “Much better. And yours?”

Tom slapped the box into her hand. “Be careful with Clive.” Molly pursed her lips as she pulled off the spider ring and replaced it with the gold band, putting the plastic ring in the Tiffanys box. “Here you go. Clive’s new home.”

Tom tucked the box into his luggage. “Ready to go?”

Molly rocked back on her heels. “Yep.”

Tom held out his arm. “Let’s go home, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

-

The flight back was uneventful, Molly and Tom dozed off, leaning against each other for support. Molly woke up first. She stared down at her rings. This was not how she expected this weekend going. Molly thought she would scrap together enough tips to make an extra payment on her credit card. Not flying to London with a Tiffany diamond ring on her finger and a famous actor as her husband.

“Life does throw you curveballs from time to time.”

“What was that, darling?” Tom muttered, stretching in his seat.

“Just commenting on the craziness of all of this to myself.” She held out her hand again. Tom laced his fingers with hers.

“I have done the same thing myself. Now when we land, there will probably be paparazzi around. Are you up for getting this whole thing off and running?”

Molly perked up. “What do I need to do?”

-

Tom tightly gripped Molly’s hand throughout the concourse and baggage claim. They eyed the doors.

“Ready?” she asked, squeezing his hand.

“I promise to be gentle.” Tom squeezed back, smiling.

As they stepped through the doors, Tom flashed a killer smile and Molly did as well, giggling as his arm wrapped around her waist. He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers. Molly melted against him, making sure her rings were visible as she cupped his cheek. She was right, Tom was an excellent kisser. After making sure any photographers had plenty of time to snap a pic, they parted.

“Think they got my good side?” Molly giggled.

“Do you have a bad side?” Tom asked.

“Just wait and see. Now take me home, darling!” She threw her arm over her eyes dramatically.

“Drama queen.” Tom pinched her side.

-

Tom’s home was cozy and clean. Definitely a bachelor’s home, as evidenced by the empty fridge except for a few bottles of beer and some questionable brown sauce.

“I can go shopping later.” Tom dragged a toe along the kitchen floor.

“I can go shopping later.” She reached up and smacked his face playfully. “What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t feed my husband?”

“Fair point. I will call the bank tomorrow and get a card in your name. Just run any big purchases past me first. And we will need to get your name changed, passport, etc. I can have someone help you.” Tom prattled on.

“Why don’t you show me the rest of the place first?”

Tom held out his arm. “This way.”

Tom’s book collection was impressive along with his collection of movies.

“I clear some space if you need it.”

“I only packed clothes. My roommate is selling the rest, including my car and wiring me the money.”

“Oh.” Tom’s face fell. “Let me show you the bedrooms.”

He showed you a small guest room. “This could be an office for you and next door is a bigger bedroom for you.” Tom hustled along the hallway to open the next door. “Here.”

It was a bigger room with a queen bed and a wardrobe. Spare and clearly used for company.

“It will do just fine. And the bathroom is across the hall which is nice. Where’s your room?”

Tom made his way to the end of the hall and opened the door to his room, decorated in tones of grey and navy. A large king sized bed taking up most of the room along with a dresser. A bathroom en suite and a small closet completed the space.

“Very nice. Do you mind if I steal the color palette to decorate my room?”

“Please do. I never got around to decorate it. My sisters and mother are the only ones who stay in there.”

Molly paled a bit. She hadn’t thought about Tom’s family. “I supposed I will meet them soon.”

“I supposed so. It would be odd for my wife not to meet them. I hadn’t thought about it.”

Molly rocked back and forth. “Now why don’t I go shopping and you unpack and relax?”

“I would feel better if I came with you. You are in a different country, a strange city. And what if you have problems with the card?”

“Then let’s go and you can point out some of your favorite foods.”

“It’s a deal.”

-

“When I said pick out your favorite foods, I didn’t expect it to be only sweets. Did I marry a seven-year-old?”

“I’m 35, thank you. and I enjoy those sweets.”

“You eat like a college frat boy.”

“Guilty.”

“That is definitely changing now that I am around. You can’t continue to eat like that. There are things called vegetables.”

Tom snapped his fingers. “I’ve heard of those.”

“Get out of here!” Molly swatted at him. “I am certain you have things to attend to, and I need to familiarize myself with the kitchen.”

“Are you kicking me out of my kitchen?”

“Our kitchen. And yes.” Molly smirked.

“I yield! I yield. I’ll be in my study if you need me.” Tom walked out of the kitchen and towards his study.

He spied his phone sitting on the desk, still off from the flight. By now, any pictures should have been posted somewhere. Tom collapsed into his desk chair and clicked the phone on. While he waited for it to start up, he could overhear Molly puttering about in the kitchen, muttering to herself as she put away the groceries.

Buzz. Ten messages and eleven missed calls. He didn’t bother to listen to them and instead dialed Luke.

“Luke, I’m back in town. Thought I wou—” Tom started in as soon as Luke picked up.

“I WASN’T FUCKING SERIOUS WHEN I SAID TO GET MARRIED??! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND?!”

Tom pulled the phone away from his ear. “No, I haven’t. But I am married. To a wonderful girl. Her name is Molly. Molly Bishop. You should meet her, Luke.”

“YOU ARE FUCKING RIGHT I’LL MEET HER. AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! SHE CAN HELP IDENTIFY YOUR BODY, THOMAS!” Luke continued to scream on the phone.

“Can you dial back the volume, Luke? I would like to preserve my hearing. Is there something wrong with marrying the woman I love?”

Luke cleared his throat. Tom understood Luke was doing his best to collect himself. “Apologies. There is nothing wrong with marrying the woman you love, Tom. Nothing at all. Except I don’t think you love this woman, since until a few weeks ago you were in love with—”

“Don’t say her name, it will ruin my marital bliss. I’m a hopeless romantic, Luke.”

“Hopeless, yes. Romantic, the jury is still out. And your fans don’t count, they are blinded by you. But I see the truth.”

“Which is?”

“You are not as smart as you think you are.”

“Did any of the articles mention her?” Tom inquired, spinning his wedding band on his finger.

“No.”

“Then I am exactly as smart as I think I am.”

There was a clatter from the kitchen.

“Tom!” Molly called out. “I need your help.”

“Got to go, Luke. My wife needs my help.” Tom emphasized the word “wife.”

“This isn’t over, Tom.”

“It never is. Bye.”

More clattering and another cry. “Tom!”

Tom rushed into the kitchen to find Molly perched on top of the kitchen counter, reaching high into a cabinet.

“Why is everything so high in here?”

Tom chuckled and reached around her, pressing his torso against her back. Molly jumped for a moment at the touch.

“I’m not used to sharing my space. I’m six two, I put things where I can reach them. What are you grabbing?”

“The roasting pan.”

Tom pulled it down and placed it on the counter. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it.

“Thank you. Well, I am five six, so unless you want me climbing counters for the next year, we need to rearrange some things.”

“But you’re so cute climbing around like a little monkey.”

Molly frowned. “Is that supposed to be a compliment? If so, then try again.”

Tom opened his mouth and closed it. “I’ll pull things down after dinner.”

“Thank you.” She rubbed his arm. “Now to try my hand at a roast dinner. Did you get stuff done?”

His phone buzzed again.

“I called my publicist. The pictures posted.” Tom pulled out his phone to shut it off.

“Oh good. So I take it, I had the desired effect.” Molly crunched on a carrot and offered one to Tom, who wrinkled his nose.

The two of you. My office 8 a.m. tomorrow. No excuses. I want to meet the blushing bride.

Tom frowned at the screen.

“It would appear so. I suggest you go to bed early because you are meeting Luke, my publicist tomorrow.”

Molly’s mouth fell open. “Should I be worried?”

Tom smiled at her. “No, I should be.”

[thegreatstoryteller]

D&D Deep Dive Chapter 6 - Bounties Part 2: The Smuggler

While Archie had brought back his bounty, the others were going about their day finding theirs.

For Carver it was fun to finally use his rogue abilities in a city. Finding an old tavern, saying a few words, talking to the right people. It was like networking but with more intrigue. It felt like ages since he could enter a room and cozy up to people and get on their good side, something years working in business had prepared him for. 

Soon he knew the location of his bounty. A smuggler of rare potions and weapons. Gaylen Woodstone. He’d been last seen in the basement of an old merchant’s shop.  Apparently selling all sorts of items in the criminal world was just as lucrative here as it was back in the real world.  And apparently shady areas of town looked a lot like the shady areas back home too.

Carver approached a run down old building with a battered sign that read “Mercantile”. It was dim, but a basement window showed the glimmer of a low light. Someone was down there. With a smirk, Carver knew getting them out would be simple. Start a small bonfire near one of the basement windows and smoke fills the room pretty quick. That wasn’t even a rogue trick, just something Carver saw in a movie once. Soon a hooded figure was running out a basement entrance coughing his lungs out. He didn’t even see  the dashing rogue nearby ready to trip him as he left.  

Beforelong the smuggler was manacled and brought to the guard station. But not before Carver had the impulse to raid this guy’s shop. “We’re not gonna be in this world long… might as well if we’ve got the chance to level.” He thought as he picked up a bag of gold and a few unnamed potions. 

Carver gladly escorted this man to his feet and towards the guard station. This smuggler's crude long hair and simple vestments showed the looks of an indoor guy. However, his natural handsome face and his lean form showed the look of someone who was used to having to smile at times to get what he wanted.

To Carver’s luck, the guard station was only a few blocks away from this run down shop. Once he entered with the smuggler, he was greeted by a guard. “The wizard said we’d be expecting a few more today. This is… Gaylen the smuggler. Perfect! Did he have any additional contraband or stolen gold on him?” the guard asked.

“Nope, nothing like that. Just him!” Carver said as the guard took the prisoner away mumbling.

“Well I’m glad the cute one finally finished then.”

After he left, Carver had a second to reflect on what he’d just done. Sure it was stealing from a criminal… but he didn’t really like what he was doing. Years stereotyped as a young black man for maybe doing something wrong still weighed down on him, despite looking nothing close to his old self. Maybe it was how easy the compulsion took over, how simple saying yes to an act like that guided his hand. Were these changes to his mind becoming that powerful?

These thoughts passed through his mind just in time for him to realize he was swiping papers from the guard’s desk. He shook the thoughts from his mind as he continued to wait. 

At that point Archie walked in from the holding cell area.

“Carver you’re back. Was that the smuggler the guard just brought in?” he asked. With a proud smile and an excuse to not think about his mind changing Carver replied, “Yeahp. Got him out quick and easy. Thought I’d be the first one back! Guess you beat me to the punch. Speaking of, are you alright? Looks like you had a harder time with yours?” Carver gestures to Archie’s battered face, which still somehow makes his good looks only look tougher. 

“Yeah… had a bar brawl with mine. He nearly won if it wasn’t for help… but his body is probably stocking church candles now.”

“Woah, so that means he did it right? The wizard actually gave that guy’s body to someone? What did it look like?” Carter asked genuinely curious.

“See for yourself,” Archie opens the door in time for Carver to see the Wizard performing the ritual once more. 

To the left is the smuggler, sharing a cell with a young man in clothes way too big for him. To the right was a rather portly man dressed in noble’s clothes. He seems to be smiling as a familiar light envelopes him.

His most noticeable change is his receding stomach, the once tight fancy clothes now hang limply off his farm. After that his face begins to change, but it’s soon obscured by the long hair of the smuggler. He grows a little taller and begins to pat his stomach as the words “Abs!” could be heard amongst his giddy  laughs.

“Right you were Count Tanwell. As promised a week in the body of a fit individual. I trust our debts to you repaid?” the Wizard says smiling. “And then some my good man!” this apparent noble said from the smuggler’s body as he hands a bag to the wizard and walks off.

Meanwhile the smuggler was in the opposite situation. He now wore his same ill fitting robes, but they were pressed tightly against a protruding stomach, while his trousers fit completely wrong!

“Makes you wonder who’s the lucky guy who will have Bart’s bounty.” Archie says, while Carver is speechless.

[hawks-supremacy]

Apprenticeship

Summary: You decided to start a two year apprenticeship for school while doing your classes online, but you never expected to find love in a funeral home.

Pairings: Matsukawa x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death (it’s a funeral home there’s gonna be death) I think that’s all.

Genre: Fluff, no angst I promise.

Word Count: 2.5k

When your family had first said that they could see you being a mortician you laughed it off and didn’t think anything off it. Then you were looking at a list of future careers the guidance counselor handed you and under the M’s there it was staring you in the face: Mortician. When you asked her why that was on there she simply said that the list was printed from a test you took. A test that tells you what job suited you best.  

Now here you were two years later half way through schooling to get a mortuary science degree, looking for an apprenticeship. You had two options, apprentice at a funeral home in Tokyo where you were attending school or move back home to Miyagi and apprentice there while doing online school. The second option seemed much more tempting. So you packed your bags and moved back to Miyagi but found an apartment much to your parents' dismay.

You may have lived in Miyagi for your whole life but you never paid attention to where the funeral home was. After finally navigating your way through the streets, getting lost only twice, you arrived at your destination. As you entered the building you didn’t see anyone, you were 30 minutes late, you couldn’t expect them to wait forever. So you decided to wait and look around at some of the caskets displayed in the front. 

You started walking towards a black and red casket that had caught your eye when something had popped out of the dark blue and white one next to it. You screamed and fell to the ground knocking the wind out of you. As you were trying to catch your breath the person with brownish-pink hair who had jumped out at you quickly ran to your aid. “Shit I am so sorry. You were not who I was trying to scare.” You waved him off as you heard someone running towards the front.

Turning your head you saw a taller man with messy black hair probably a few years older than you. “Makki what the hell did you do?” Were the first words out of his mouth after accessing the scene. Thinking back he probably thought he’d need to do an impromptu funeral based on your scream. You uncovered your mouth to give him a small smile and wave. You stood up and dusted off your clothes while who you assumed was Makki explained the reason behind the horror movie scream he had heard. The unnamed man then turned to you as you picked your bag off the floor, “Sorry about him he’s a dumbass. What can I help you with?”

“Oh right uh I’m Y/n. The new apprentice? Sorry I’m late I got a little lost.” You apologized after finishing processing things. He raised his eyebrows in surprise before moving behind the desk, “I’m Matsukawa Issei, the idiot who scared you was Hanamaki Takahiro. He doesn’t work here, he doesn’t work anywhere actually.” Matsukawa said with a pointed look, “I don’t own the place but I do run it. The person who owns the place retired last year but he still comes in every once in a while.” You followed him around as he gave you a quick tour, his friend following you both. As you reached the front Matsukawa turned to look at you, “Any questions?”

While you didn’t have any it seemed that Hanamaki did, “Yeah hey, if you want to work in a funeral home why did you get so scared when I jumped out at you? Shouldn’t you be hard to scare?” You narrowed your eyes at him before you answered, “Sorry, but if I’m not mistaken corpse’s don’t jump out of their caskets.” He let out a “Fair enough.” before sitting down in one of the chairs, “Can we eat now? I’m hungry.” 

You turned around to face Matsukawa and saw him sitting at a desk looking through papers, “Did I interrupt your lunch? I’m sorry.” He looked up at you before looking at Hanamaki and back at you, “No I told you to come at this time after all. He just likes to show up whenever and demand things.” You heard Hanamaki let out a protest before being interrupted, “However, since he’s here anyway we can go eat. Do you want to come? I’ll but since he scared you.” You were about to answer when Hanamaki answered instead, “Are we still on that? Let it go, that was so long ago.” “It literally happened fifteen minutes ago what are you talking about?” Matsukawa retorted. They argued for a few more minutes while you watched like a tennis match before breaking it up, “Let’s just go eat! Yeah?” You nodded and started walking out of the door.

You were already at the corner when they ran out looking for you, “How do you know where to go if you got lost on the way here?” You gave Hanamaki a look of offence, “Yeah okay, I got lost coming to a place I’ve never been before. However, for your information I did grow up here so I know how to get to other places.” Matsukawa laughed at his friend getting told off by someone he barely knew before a look of dread replaced his features. 

“Mattsun, Makki! Hai Hai!” Matsukawa sighed as a familiar face swung an arm around his shoulders, “And who is this cutie?” You scoffed as you furrowed your brows, “In your dreams Oikawa.” Everyone looked at you in confusion, “Do I know you?” Oikawa asked. “Uhm no, however seeing your face reminds me that I know all of you. Anyway, where are we eating?” The boys were still confused but answered your question saying they were meeting some of the other old Seijoh players at a ramen shop. You nodded and listened to the rest of the guys catch up while you walked to your destination. Oikawa explained that he was visiting while he had a break in training.

Upon walking into the ramen shop you didn’t get far before hearing a familiar voice, “What the fuck are you doing here with them?” You whipped your head towards your voice giving yourself potential whiplash, “I don’t know, breathing? Fucking Existing? What? No, nice to see you Y/n it’s been a few years I missed you. Good to see you too Kentaro.” He rolled his eyes as he pulled you into a hug mumbling a good to see you. “Seriously though, what are you doing here?” He asked as he pulled away from the hug. “Well I was supposed to be starting my apprenticeship with Matsukawa, but instead I’m getting treated to lunch because Hanamaki decided to play zombie and give me a heart attack instead.” He glared at Hanamaki about to say something when you interfered, “Kentaro, I’m fine I swear.” 

Oikawa raised his hand like he was in school and you only gave him a questioning look, “Am I the only one that’s confused here?” Everyone else chimed in with a no and you sighed, “My name’s Kyotani Y/n. I’m Kentaro’s younger sister, that’s how I knew who you were.” After you answered a few questions like, what school did you go to and why didn’t they know about you, you guys finally sat down and ate. After eating and a little bit of small talk on your end you finished eating. You tried to pay your bill but before you could Matsukawa took yours and paid for it only shrugging in response to your glare. You were about to start walking about to the funeral home when Kentaro pulled Matsukawa aside. They talked for a bit before Kentaro walked over to you and pulled you into a hug saying “See you later.” 

The walk back was silent for a while before you decided to break it, “So what did he say? I’m assuming he threatened you for some reason or another.” Matsukawa laughed before answering, “Yeah a little bit, but that’s fine. Nothing I’m not used to. So why’d you recognise Oikawa and not me or Makki?” You sighed thinking of a way to put your answer, “Kentaro complained about him the most I guess? Plus he’s all I heard about in college and in high school. Didn’t matter if I didn’t go to the same school. I wasn’t really interested, I just knew that when I attended your guys’ games his name was the one I heard in the stands.” He hummed as he took in your answer. “Do I need to invest in some 7 inch platforms?” You asked suddenly. You laughed as he let out a “What?!” in response, “Well I mean you’re at least 6 feet tall right? I don’t want to have to go to a chiropractor every week from craning my neck to look at you.” He laughed at your explanation before wiping away fake tears, “No, we’ll be sitting most of the time so you shouldn’t have to look up that much.” 

It’s been a week of working at the funeral home and so far it’s just been paperwork. No one’s been dying, and while that’s a good thing, you need to practice more than just paperwork. You looked at Mattsun hopeful as he answered the phone. You were about to ask before he answered your unspoken question, “Yes you’ll get to plan a funeral.” You felt like celebrating but figured that would be insensitive to the person who just died and their family so you nodded instead. “I thought you’d be more excited than this, or do you enjoy filing paperwork with me all day?” You sighed and shrugged, “As much as I love sitting here doing nothing but writing the same information all day and spending time with you, I do need to learn other things as well.” He hummed in agreement and you went back to completing your homework for the week. You’d been working on it for a good ten minutes before you felt Mattsun walk up behind you. You continued working as he put one hand on the back of your chair and one hand on the desk so he could lean down and read over your shoulder. “Oh I remember doing this.” You felt goosebumps begin to form on the back of your neck as his breath hit the back of your exposed neck. “That answer is B not C.” He commented and pointed at the question. You hummed and reread the question, “Oh I guess it is, thanks.” You looked at him, you hadn’t realized just how close you were when you turned your head. You were both silent staring into each other's eyes as you were nose to nose. A knock on the doorframe broke you apart, Mattsun quickly straightened as he turned to look at the intruder. 

Makki stood there with a wide grin, “Sorry if I was interrupting anything, just wanted to drop by and see what was going on.” As he talked he moved from the door frame to Mattsun’s desk seat. “You didn’t interrupt anything, why are you here?” As Mattsun answered you felt a little sad hearing him say nothing was happening. Spending a week with Mattsun with nothing to do but sit there and file paperwork you got to know him. He was pretty funny as he told you stories about his work experiences. Come to think of it he wasn’t bad looking either. You never really got a chance to date in high school with your brother scaring everyone off. Not that you minded, you weren’t really into any of the guys in your school anyway. “Y/n? Are you listening?” Hearing your name you snapped out of your thoughts and answered with a “Hmm?” Makki laughed as Mattsun repeated his question asking if you wanted anything to eat, that they were ordering takeout. “Oh.” You said and told him what you wanted. 

As Mattsun left to go order the takeout Makki started his interrogation. “Do you like him?” You looked up from your homework, “Yeah? He’s my boss, it’d be awkward if I didn’t.” Makki let out an exasperated sigh, “No that’s not what I meant, do you like him like him?” You snorted, “What are we in middle school?” He narrowed his eyes and you coughed, “A little? Why am I telling you this? I barely know him, way too early to know if I wanna date him.” Makki shrugged as Mattsun came back in saying the food was going to be here soon.

It was a month later and you still couldn’t get what Makki had asked out of your head. Why did he ask in the first place? Was it because he came in at an awkward moment? Did Mattsun like you? Did you like Mattsun? You got to know him better since Makki had asked the question. If he had asked you today you’d probably say yes. However, you don’t know if you’d want to risk confessing to your boss. What if he didn’t like you and Makki was just asking so Mattsun could find a way to let you down gently. All this thinking was hurting your head, not to mention you had a test coming up. You could ace that in your sleep though, Matsukawa had been helping you with things you didn’t know as well and he was a pretty good teacher.

“Everything okay?” Mattsun asked as he set down the coffee he bought you down by your laptop. “Thank you, yeah just a test coming up. I think I’ll be fine though, you helped a lot.” He nodded in understanding before thinking for a moment, “If you pass I’ll take you out to celebrate.” You glanced up for a second before looking back at your homework, “Like out for drinks?” He hummed, “I was thinking more of like a date.” You started choking on the coffee you had been drinking before he started talking and he quickly got up and started rubbing your back, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just really like you, I thought you liked me too but maybe I was reading it wrong.” You started shaking your head as you calmed down, “No! Oh my god no! I like you too! I just wasn’t expecting that! I would love to go out with you.” He laughed as he sat back down, “Thank god, that would’ve made you working here 10x more awkward than it needed to be. So it’s a date then.” You nodded, “It’s a date.” He smiled before continuing, “Only if you pass though, and I mean like high marks.” You sighed, “Only if I pass.”

You passed the test. Highest marks in the class.

[pepperpepi]

AIGYUHUUH OYIU???GOJRYJI HIIIH HIII WHAT WHAT HI WOODSywhatthe FREAK HI??? /POS HI HI HIIII iloiveythisGRRRRGRGRGRGRG

whyare they LIKE THJIS!!!!! i am so honored to have my ocs as your first sketchbook page..... AUHWHUHW i bet you are gonna make absolute MASTERPIECES IN IT!!!!

When the first page in your new sketchbook is fanart for @pepperpepi -

Close ups!!

I hope they see this and notice how """"""well""""" I draw Woodsy lmao

[harley-sunday]

Little Lion Man

Summary: You try to dress up Dodger for Halloween.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader (unnamed OFC)

Warnings: Language. As always. But mostly fluff. 

Word count: 1k

AN: Part of the Chaotic Vibes series where sometimes when Chris posts something on Instagram I write a little something to go along with it.  I’ve been absent for a few weeks due to some personal stuff, so what better way to get back into things than with Dodger and that mane? Hope you like it.

Chaotic Vibes Masterlist

"Babe?" You don't really wait for a reply, too busy opening drawer after drawer and cabinet after cabinet, growing more frustrated by the second, "Do you know where I put that bag?"

"What bag?" His voice comes from somewhere inside the living room and you can just imagine the amused grin that goes along with his question.

You slam the last of the cabinets shut with a frustrated groan, and turn around so you can lean against the counter next to it, while you try to rack your brain where you could have put it. You picked it up last Tuesday, you recall, because you'd gone grocery shopping and then went to PetSmart to pick up some dogfood for Dodger. Just as you're trying to remember whether or not you put it in with the groceries you hear Chris call out again.

"What bag, babe?" His voice is much closer now and you're not surprised to see him walk into the kitchen, looking a little worried now that he realizes it must be something important. Dodger’s trailing right behind him, curious to see what his humans are up to. 

"The one I picked up from PetSmart last week?" You're trying to picture it now, the brown paper bag with the red and blue logo that you could swear you remember putting on a white counter top somewhere. Apparently your mind is playing tricks on you though because it sure as hell didn’t end up in the kitchen. Dammit. 

When you look up at Chris he just shakes his head to let you know he doesn't know either.

"It had that surprise for Dodger in it," you try again, hoping to jog his memory as well as yours, "the one you guys had to wait until today to see?" You let out a frustrated sigh and push yourself off the counter, ready to start over because surely you must have missed it. An image flashes across your mind then and all of a sudden you remember you put it somewhere you were certain Chris would never find it, because you wanted it to be a surprise for him as well, and you let out a laugh, “Of course!”

“Huh,” is all Chris says, one eyebrow raised in mock amusement. 

You give Dodger a quick scratch behind his ear when you pass him, “Come on, boy.” He follows you down the hall and into the laundry room, where you easily locate the bag on top of the ironing board, a triumphant, “Ha!” escaping you when you grab it. 

“You got it?”

“Yup!” You walk back into the hallway again and tell Dodger to sit before you tell Chris to wait in the kitchen a little longer. Dodger’s excited at first, thinking you’ve got him another stuffed animal, sniffing it enthusiastically, tail wagging at the idea of a new toy to play with. It isn’t until you try to pull it over his head that he realizes you have other plans. He quickly gets up and runs to the bedroom, and you have no choice but to chase after him.

“You ok?” 

“Yeah,” you tell him from over your shoulder as you make your way to the bedroom, “just give me a minute.” 

You find Dodger on the bed, still looking like he might bolt any minute, but you’ve got a plan. You tell him to sit while you stick your hand through the costume, wearing it like a bracelet as you fish a few treats from your pocket. You give him a treat for listening to you, telling him he’s a good boy, and smile when you see his tail wagging again. “Stay,” you tell him, while you hide the remaining two treats in your almost closed fist and hold it against his nose.

He does as he’s told, sniffing and licking at your hand, trying to get to the goods. 

Opening your hand just a little more, allowing him to take one treat, you distract him enough to slide the costume from your arm, over your hand and his snout onto his head. You can’t help but laugh at how he looks, giving him the last treat before you press a kiss to the side of his nose, “Good boy.” 

“Oh Jesus,” Chris says from somewhere behind you, “Oh, he hates this so much.”

Turning around you find him laughing and shaking his head, leaning against the door frame, “Poor boy.” 

Dodger seems to share his owner’s sentiment and lets himself fall down on the bed rather dramatically.

“What did she do to you, huh?” Chris coos as he walks towards the bed and straightens the mane, “Little Lion Man.” Still, you see him pull out his phone and open his camera app before he turns to you, “Got any more treats?”

You hold up the bag, “Even better,” and pull out a bag of chicken wrap twists, “I got peanut butter treats.” 

Dodger lifts his head when he hears you say the magic words and starts shaking his head, no doubt wanting to get the lion’s mane off hso he can get started on the treats sooner rather than later. Chris tells him to say, and once again he lets his head fall down, looking up as if to say, “Take a picture and get it over with, boss.”

==

Chris laughs and snaps a few pics before he helps Dodger out of his costume, giving him a few extra belly scratches once he’s been freed. 

Dodger eyes you skeptically, no doubt wondering what’s taking so long on those treats, and so you open the bag, smiling when he’s at your feet in an instant, looking up at you expectantly. You give him a wrap twist and, because he knows better than to eat it here, you watch him as he happily rushes back to the living room and his dog bed.

“Hey,” Chris says then, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, “how come you’re not wearing a costume? Didn’t you tell me you got something special for Halloween this year?”

“I did tell you that,” you say as you take his hands and push them away just enough so you can turn around and face him, a mischievous smile on your lips as you look up at him, “but who’s to say I’m not wearing something special right now?” Throwing your hands over his shoulders you pull him close and put your mouth to his ear, “Why don’t you start taking off these clothes and find out?”

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero @magic713m @ccboomer @aubsenroute and @somebodyswatson

Chapter Seventeen The Silver Doe

HARRY POTTER SIGHTED IN LONDON: NARROW ESCAPE IN THE MUGGLE UNDERGROUND

Hermione screamed and dropped her half-full coffee cup as Ron handed her the paper.

“Is he alright?!”

“I think so.” Ron sat down next to the campfire. “I didn’t read it closely, but it says ‘narrow escape’ doesn’t it?”

Hermione’s heart raced as she read the article. He’d been found in a shop for poisons and venoms — highly suspicious, the author noted — and he had been chased by an unnamed Snatcher through Knockturn Alley, all the way to the Underground. The author also noted how Harry had failed to pay his fare, and closed with, “Before she was Obliviated by the Hit Wizards sent to clean up Potter’s flight, a Muggle woman described how Potter had nearly turned over her pram with her baby still inside of it before disappearing on the Muggle train. Hit Wizards were posted at stations along the line, but Potter was not seen again.”

Knowing that Harry had made it away safely eased Hermione’s anxiety. She read through the paper for any other news about the Order, but she found nothing else of interest. The Prophet always made the world sound as peaceful as possible, while praising the progress the Ministry made in weeding out Muggle-born witches and wizards from the community. It made her sick.

She passed the paper back to Ron, who looked over the front page with mild interest.

“What do you think he was doing in a poison shop?” Ron asked.

Hermione refilled her coffee. “I expect he was looking for something to destroy the diadem.”

“Yeah, but even if he found something, it wouldn’t do him any good,” Ron had said.

“Don’t look at me like that’s my fault!”

“I wasn’t —”

“How was I supposed to know he was going to leave?”

“Hermione, I wasn’t blaming you. I was just thinking out loud.”

Ron might have said several times that it wasn’t her fault that Harry had left, and he might claim that Harry’s pointless trip to a poison shop that had nearly gotten him killed wasn’t her fault either, but she knew that neither of those things was true. She was the one who had fought with Harry the most, after all, and she was the one who had told him that all of his ideas were too risky. Harry might as well have singled her out by name in the note that he had left them:

I know you’re both going to be upset with me, but I finally understand that I have to do this alone. I can’t ask you to risk yourselves or your families any more than you have. I hope you’ll forgive me.

— Harry

She sipped her coffee and avoided looking at Ron for the rest of the morning. They didn’t even speak until that evening, when he said he was going to find food. Hermione let him go without even looking up from her Runes dictionary. It was better for him to disappear to work out his temper rather than sit in the tent, fidgeting with his Deluminator and making it impossible for her to read.

Once he had gone, she reached into her beaded bag and pulled out Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem.

She really hadn’t meant to steal it from Harry. That hadn’t been in her head at all. She had come in from watch that night, and before waking Harry for his turn, she had decided to take a look at it. Besides, her enchanted bag was probably a safer place than Harry’s bag, so why shouldn’t she hold onto the diadem?

And if he hadn’t run off, it’s not as if she would have kept it secret that she had moved it. She hadn’t done anything wrong, really.

Hermione stared at the silver band and the words engraved on its edges. Wit beyond measure… Hermione felt unfortunately short on wit these days. She had no idea how to destroy this Horcrux, nor how to find any of the others. She didn’t know what Dumbledore meant by leaving her a children’s book, nor how he expected them to accomplish something he hadn’t even finished. And, on top of it all, she didn’t understand why Harry had left.

There was his note, yes, but it didn’t explain much. Something in Harry had changed after reading Rita Skeeter’s description of Dumbledore’s relationship with Grindelwald. Hermione had read and reread that chapter, but whatever Harry had seen, she didn’t.

“Hermione!” Ron shouted, and she shoved the diadem back into her bag.

He sounded excited, and she was immediately filled with suspicion. When she went to see what had him so happy, she found him holding up a pair of chickens.

“Did you steal those?”

“What? No. They’re wild. Or they were. Good find, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

She and Ron both set to work preparing the chickens for cooking. They worked in silence, and Hermione thought it was more pleasant than most of their evenings since Harry had left. It was certainly better than the bickering they had made a habit of.

“I was thinking,” Ron said suddenly, and Hermione wondered if he had read her mind somehow and intentionally broken the silence to annoy her. “It’s getting close to Christmas, isn’t it?”

“A month or so, yes.”

“I had an idea for it.”

For months now, Hermione had been thinking of nothing except how to find and destroy Horcruxes. She did not have room for something as trivial as Christmas.

“Should we hang baubles from the tent poles?” she suggested icily. “Or perhaps we ought to add a wreath on the tent flap? And make sure to take them down each time we move campsites? We could make a garland out of chicken and squirrel bones.”

Ron very obviously bristled, as he always did when she took that tone of voice. “Didn’t realise it was a crime to want to do something nice for once,” he snapped.

“I’m not sure if you noticed, Ron, but hunting for Horcruxes doesn’t leave us a lot of time for something nice.”

Ron snatched her plucked chicken from her and shoved it onto the stick they had been using to cook their meals.

Her stomach turned unhappily, but surely it was just hunger, and not any sort of guilt. She was in the right, after all. It wasn’t as if he was doing anything helpful while she spent hours poring over her research.

“Can I finish what I was going to say about Christmas?” Ron asked.

Hermione pursed her lips and reached into her bag in search of the herbs Harry had gathered for them before he had left. “What do you want to do for Christmas?”

“I think we should stay with Bill and Fleur.”

She opened her mouth to give Ron a dozen reasons why that was a bad idea, but he cut her off.

“I’ve thought it all out, and it’s a good plan. Their home is further south, on the coast, so we won’t have to worry about freezing over in the middle of watch, and they’re probably under less surveillance there than the Burrow would be, so we can stay there for a bit, and we won’t have to spend so much time hunting and foraging. You’d have more time to study all your runes and whatever else you need to do. And Ginny will probably come around because she’ll be home from Hogwarts. She might have talked to Harry. She could even help us talk to Harry.”

Hermione paused her search for the jar of herbs. “How do you know they aren’t being watched?” she asked.

“Well, Bill and Fleur don’t work for the Ministry or anything like Dad does.”

“No, they just work for Gringotts, don’t they? That’s nothing the Death Eaters care about.”

“It’s still a good idea!”

“It’s risky.”

“So is camping out in the countryside all winter. Just last week, Snatchers set up their camp not far from ours. We can’t avoid all risk.”

She bit down on her lip. That was part of why Harry had left, wasn’t it? She had told him that all of his ideas were too risky.

“We can look,” she finally said, “and make sure we’re not going to be picked up by any waiting Death Eaters or Snatchers first.”

She risked a glance at him and saw he was grinning from ear to ear. She wondered if she’d seen him smile at all since before Harry had left. Her face grew warm and she quickly resumed her search for the herbs.

“They’re staying in my aunt’s old house on the beach. We used to spend summers there, and I know the cliffs pretty well. We can pick out a spot to watch from for a day and make sure the coast is clear.”

“Where did you say it was?”

“It’s in Cornwall, outside a place called Tinworth.”

Her searching hand finally closed around the jar she wanted. “We’ll go tomorrow then, and see if they’ll have us for the week.”

Ron was still smiling as she sprinkled the herbs over the chicken. It wasn’t long before their campsite was filled with the scent of roasting chicken and rosemary. Ron complimented her cooking, and she blushed at his praise, even though he had done most of the work and the herbs themselves had been Harry’s.

The next day, just as she had promised Ron, they packed up the campsite and Apparated to Tinworth. It was not a large village but it was lovely. Ron led her along the cliffs until they could see a house in the distance, decorated in white-washed seashells. She could see why Ron wanted to stay here.

“See?” Ron said, gesturing at the cliffs and the horizon. “It’s not an easy place to keep a secret watch on. Nowhere to hide. Long as we stay inside, no one should know we’re there.”

Hermione still thought it best to stay cautious. She and Ron could easily set up a camp here, with no one the wiser, and keep watch on the cottage. It would not be hard for Death Eaters to do the same.

By the time sunset arrived, she still was not ready to concede.

“We should give it at least another day,” Hermione said.

Ron picked at what was left of yesterday’s chicken. “We haven’t seen anything!”

“That doesn’t mean there’s nothing to see. If you and I are spotted, it’s not just us they’ll come after, it’s your whole family. Including Ginny, who’s away at Hogwarts and can easily be taken without warning. We have to be careful.”

Ron tossed a chicken bone into the fire. It sparked and cracked. “Fine,” he grunted. “I’ll take first watch then.”

Hermione returned to the tent, but she didn’t get into bed. She was tired — exhausted, really — from the stress of traveling and hiding, but there was still work to be done. There was always work to be done, and there would be until she solved the puzzles she had been left with.

She opened up her copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Harry’s note slipped out from between the cover and first page, and she quickly tucked it back in. It wasn’t the reason she had opened the book, and she didn’t want to dwell too heavily on why she had decided to keep the last thing Harry had left for her with the last thing Dumbledore had given her.

Instead, she turned to “The Tale of the Three Brothers.” There was nothing about the story itself that stood out from the others, but at the top of the page was the symbol from Dumbledore’s signature: a triangle with a sort of eye in it. She grabbed a spare piece of parchment and her ink bottle and set to work deconstructing the symbol in an attempt to decode its meaning.

She rewrote the lines of Dumbledore’s unusual mark into a handful of different letters and runes, but it meant nothing to her. She didn’t even know why she was looking into this. The symbol, whatever it was, had been written down by Dumbledore long before Voldemort had even been born, let alone begun creating Horcruxes.

But then why had he left her a book with the same marking?

While she read and worked, it was easy to lose track of time. The steady roar of the ocean below helped with that, creating an almost hypnotic work space. She drew and redrew the symbol for hours, tried hundreds of different rune translations or abbreviations, but nothing made sense to her.

She was so focused that she might have kept working straight through the night, or at least until Ron came to trade watch shifts with her, if he hadn’t poked his head in the tent and hissed, “Hermione — come see this.” He flicked his Deluminator and extinguished the light in the tent.

“Ronald!”

“Sh — just come look.”

“How can I look when you’ve taken all the light?” she grunted, abandoning her notes at the table and joining Ron on the cliffside.

Sometimes, when she was ignoring him, he would turn the lights out to get her attention. She was about to scold him for doing so now when she saw why he had insisted on darkness. He had even extinguished their small campfire to get a better look.

There were no lights to indicate the shoreline, nor even lights to mark where Bill and Fleur’s cottage was. There was nothing but inky blackness, as far as they could see, except for, down on the shore, a small silver light.

“It looks like a Patronus,” Hermione whispered.

“It’s been sitting there for twenty minutes. Don’t they usually move about?”

Hermione fidgeted with the strap of her bag. If it was there to guard against a dementor, maybe not, but the air didn’t feel unusually chilly. Cold in the sea spray, yes, but not abnormally so. There was no frost on the ground, and she could still see the stars above them.

“Maybe it’s waiting to give someone a message?” Ron suggested. He squinted. “Harry’s Patronus is a deer, isn’t it?”

Whatever the shape below them was, it was large and four-legged, but Hermione was not certain that it was a deer. It could just as easily be a horse or a cow.

“I’m going to get a closer look,” Ron said, and was already moving towards it before Hermione could stop him.

“Wait, Ron!” she hissed. “You’ll fall off the cliff without light to see by!” but the ocean drowned out her warning.

She gave an exasperated sigh and whispered, “Lumos.” Hermione kept her wandlight pointed down, aimed at the edge of the cliff just so she could see where not to walk, and hurried after Ron.

Someone had cut stairs into the cliffside. She and Ron walked carefully down the wet stone steps until they reached the soft sand of the shore. The waves rolled up the shore, creeping ever closer to the cliffside as the tide rose.

Now that they were level with the Patronus, it was very clearly a beautiful silver doe.

“What do you think?” Ron asked Hermione.

“I think that’s definitely not Harry’s Patronus.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because Harry’s Patronus is a stag.” Hermione pulled on Ron’s jacket. “We should go back to the campsite —”

But Ron was already approaching the deer. As he stepped closer, it turned tail, and bounded down the coast. Ron ran after it.

“Wait!”

Hermione bit down on her lip. She looked up at the cliffs above. She saw no lights, no signs that someone was watching them. She hurried after Ron.

As they ran down the coast, the soft sand was abruptly replaced with hard rock. The doe turned from the shoreline and bounded out into the ocean, bouncing from rock to rock. It ignored the waves crashing into the rocks around it. The sea spray fell right through its incorporeal form and washed over the rocks, leaving them cold and slippery.

Hermione risked raising her wandlight to illuminate the deer’s path. It was not impossible for them to follow, but it would be dangerous, especially in the dark.

“Wait, Hermione, move that light back —”

Hermione saw it too, and did as Ron asked in search of the strange silver light that had reflected her wandlight back to them.

There, in the middle of the ocean, tip buried in stone, stood a great silver sword with a ruby-studded hilt. A wave crashed over the rock, obscuring the rock briefly, but even as the water fell away, the Sword of Godric Gryffindor stayed firm.

“Bloody hell,” said Ron, and the doe vanished.

“What’s it doing here?” Hermione asked, though she knew Ron wouldn’t have an answer.

“Accio Sword,” Ron shouted, but nothing happened. He handed Hermione his wand. “You want to hold the light while I go get it?”

She took the wand without thinking, and immediately tried to give it back to him. “No! It’s dangerous!”

“Yeah, I bet it is.” Ron took a careful step out towards the water. A wave rolled over his shoes, and he waited until it had passed before pressing on. He reached the edge of the outcropping. There were a few rocks within jumping distance, but the sword was further out, another ten feet from any of the rocks Ron could reach. There was no way to get to it without a short swim.

Hermione followed. The rock was slippery and she tested her footing on each step before putting down her full weight.

“Ron! Don’t!” She hoped he could hear her over the roar of the ocean waves as they crashed into the rocks. She flinched as the cold spray doused her.

“Keep the light steady!” Ron called back to her.

“Ronald Weasley, come back right now!”

Ron’s long stride reached the next rock easily. He found a grip in the pits of the rock, made by constant battering from the ocean, and pulled himself onto it, just in time to be drenched by another wave.

Hermione lost sight of him for a moment in the ocean spray, but when the wave receded, he was standing on the rock, just drenched from head to toe. She couldn’t hear him over the ocean crashing around them, but she knew the shapes of the curse words on his lips.

Hermione reached the edge of the initial outcropping and, despite her shivering, tried to hold the light steady on the next rock for Ron. He jumped across the gap, and Hermione gasped in horror as he slipped, falling to his knees.

“Are you alright?” she shouted.

He flashed her a thumbs up, but his face was pulled into a grimace.

“Ron, just come back. We can get it in the morning.”

He either couldn’t hear her or chose not to. Another wave slammed into the rocks, soaking Ron and splashing Hermione.

He could make one more jump onto another rock and get a bit closer to the sword, but it was not a direct path. The most direct path was through the water. Ron was already eyeing the sword.

Hermione bit down on her lip. The wave receded, and as it did, Ron slid into the water.

She could tell from the way he was moving that the water was not especially deep, at least not as the wave went out. It was still up to his shoulders, though, and it pulled on him easily. His entry had been straight towards the sword, but already he was a few feet off course.

Hermione knelt on the edge of the outcropping and held her hand out. “Forget the sword, just come back!”

As if the ocean had heard her, it swelled forward. The wave rolled over her and she lost sight of Ron. She coughed and spluttered and when she had her bearings again, she could no longer see Ron in the water.

“Ron!”

She cast her wandlight about the rocks and the ocean, until she found him climbing onto the rock with the sword.

“Don’t touch the blade!” Hermione warned him.

Ron gave her another thumbs up. He used the pits in the rock to pull himself to the crest, then yanked on the sword’s hilt. It didn’t budge.

A wave crashed over Ron and he clung to the sword to keep from being swept away. As the water receded, he wiped his soaked hair from his eyes. “Hermione, I need my wand!”

“What if you don’t catch it?”

“Don’t throw it! You’re a witch, for Merlin’s sake.”

Hermione used her wand to Levitate Ron’s wand across the water. He snatched it out of the air neatly, then aimed it at the base of the rock.

“Wait —”

Hermione’s warning came too late. With a blue flash, Ron split the rock apart and pulled the sword free, just as a wave crashed into him. He went tumbling into the water. Hermione screamed.

She searched the water for any sign of him as the wave receded. She waited anxiously for his head to pop up, spitting out water and fighting to get back to her. Her light finally found his red hair, bobbing along with the swell of the ocean, but otherwise unmoving.

Hermione scrambled down into the water. She had thought she was cold and wet enough, just from the spray of the waves, but it was nothing compared to submerging herself. Her muscles and joints protested with dull aches and her thick, curly hair became twice as heavy.

She held her wandlight over her head, trying to keep it trained on Ron as she treaded water. Occasionally, her toes brushed the slick rock of the ocean floor, but only when the waves were at their lowest.

The current pulled her further out to sea. She didn’t fight it, not yet. She swam towards Ron, though it was slow going with only one arm. The motion of the water helped, and she pushed off the rocks Ron had jumped on to propel her forward. Getting to Ron was simple enough. It was getting back that would be difficult.

She wrapped her arm around his chest and turned him so that his head was above the water. His lips were blue, and blood matted the side of his hair, but he moaned and coughed in her arms, which she took to be a good sign.

The same current which had pulled them out pushed them forward suddenly. Hermione kicked with it, desperately, even as it threw her into the rock Ron had broken to retrieve the sword. Her shoulder throbbed where it struck the rock, but she scrambled for a hold, something to keep her and Ron from going farther out to sea.

She could do this, she told herself. She would simply use the rocks as anchors, and let the waves carry her forward. She just needed to get Ron to shore. Wherever the sword was, they could find it another time. She just needed to —

“Hermione,” Ron gasped.

“I’m right here,” she said, but she was already eyeing the next rock, preparing to push off towards it.

Ron mumbled something, but she didn’t pay attention. She didn’t have time. The water was coming back in. She pushed and kicked, aiming desperately for the nearest rock.

Her aim was slightly off, or the current was stronger than she had calculated for. The wave tumbled over her head, throwing her and Ron about like ragdolls. She didn’t know what rock she hit, but something struck her back and her grip on Ron faltered.

She managed to catch part of his jacket as the wave pulled them back out. Hermione kicked her way to the surface and pulled Ron up with her. She readjusted her grip so she could keep his head above the water. She held her wand light up and watched the shore drift further away from her even as the wave broke against it.

She realised it was not the current pulling on her after all. What kept pulling on her chest was the beaded bag slung around her shoulder. It was, bizarrely, trying to drag her out to sea.

She tugged on the strap, but it resisted her movement. Hermione lost all light for a moment as she plunged her hand into the water to see if perhaps the bag was caught on something. To her surprise, the bag felt hot.

Too late, she remembered Harry’s story of how the diadem had nearly killed him during his duel with Voldemort. She wasn’t sure how it knew that it was in danger from her and Ron, but it did, and it was fighting desperately to survive.

She yanked on the bag and tried to kick her way back to shore. It was like fighting her way through the Devil’s Snare she, Ron, and Harry had faced their first year in Hogwarts, except this time, she didn’t dare relax.

She pulled at her bag again and it ripped apart.

“No —” She lunged forward, catching the diadem on the end of her wand, but there was nothing she could do as the rest of the contents of her bag spilled out into the ocean.

Her books, her clothes, their medical supplies and potions, her cauldron, and even Phineas Nigellus Black’s portrait from Grimmauld Place tumbled from her bag and into the water. Hermione stifled a sob, but knew there was nothing to be done. She kicked again, and this time, without the bag pulling on her chest, she was able to make progress.

Another wave propelled her and Ron forward, and she used its force to climb up onto the rock. She didn’t stop there. She dragged Ron across the slippery rocks towards the shore. She only fell twice, scraping up her hands and knees as she did, but nothing worse. It could have been so much worse.

She collapsed onto the shore beside Ron, diadem still attached to her wand, and as she looked over Ron, she saw his hand still gripped tightly around the sword.

Hermione searched him for any sign of injury, other than the blow to his head. He was bruised and battered, but she saw no cuts from the sword. At least he wasn’t going to die from basilisk venom.

She didn’t have the Healing experience that Harry did, but she did know first aid. Hermione laced her fingers together and placed the heel of her hand against Ron’s chest. She pushed repeatedly, counting to herself, though she couldn’t remember exactly how high she was supposed to count. It had been a few years since she had attended a training course with her parents. Was it a count to fifteen? Thirty? Fifty?

She settled on twenty-five, then pinched Ron’s nose closed. She closed her mouth over his and breathed out with all her strength. She took in a deep breath and repeated.

Tears fell from her cheeks to Ron’s cheeks as she returned her hands to his chest. She begged him to breathe, cough, anything to let her know he was still alive. If he had died for that stupid sword, she would never forgive him.

She could feel his chest dip with each press of her heel, then rise as blood moved back into the space. After another set of compressions she leaned down to breathe into his lungs again. Her lips had hardly touched his when he spluttered beneath her and pushed her away.

She fell back into the sand and he rolled over onto his stomach, coughing until he vomited a stomachful of ocean onto the shore. He groaned weakly.

Hermione couldn’t stop crying.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” she repeated between sobs.

Ron rubbed his head and flinched. He mumbled something, but his speech was slurred, she couldn’t make it out.

“You hit your head hard, Ron. Can you walk? I’ll help you to the cottage —”

“The diadem,” he finally managed to get out. His hand reached weakly for the hilt of the sword.

“Ron, we can’t worry about that right now —”

He pressed the sword hilt into her hands. His words were unintelligible, but she knew what he was trying to say.

“I can’t — but I’ll get you to Fleur, and she’ll fix you right up, and you can take care of it, I promise.”

“Hermione.”

He was unfocused and unclear, but so stubborn. She took the sword and looked at the diadem, still interlaced with her wand. The diadem quivered in the sand, like it knew what was about to happen. She remembered what Harry had told them about the locket, how it had tried to tell him secrets about Dumbledore. She wondered what the diadem would try to tell her.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“You’re pathetic,” a voice hissed from the Horcrux. It was high, reedy, and Hermione could only assume it was Voldemort’s. The sword trembled in her hand, even as she lifted it.

“Who do you think you are? Nothing but a skinny little girl. A child. A Mudblood.”

Something flickered in the sapphire gem, and then, something Harry had not described, took place. From the stone in the diadem, a shape began to emerge. A woman, tall, fair, with long straight hair that hung to her back and pale, graceful arms that reached out to Hermione seemed to rise from the diadem.

Hermione screamed and fell backwards. She might have even scrambled away if Ron was not there at her back.

“You don’t belong here,” the strange, terrifyingly beautiful woman said. “You don’t belong anywhere.”

Ron tried to say something to her, but she wasn’t sure if he was unintelligible because of his head injury or if the strange woman before her was too mesmerizing. Even as her words cut into Hermione’s very soul, Hermione could not look away, could not raise the sword against her.

“It’s your fault, you know. If you were braver, if you were stronger, Harry never would have abandoned you. You’re not worthy of love, child.”

Hermione’s lips trembled.

“I know what you want. I know what you seek. You scoff at beauty because you can’t have it. You crave power because you think it will satisfy you, but you know the truth. You foolish little girl, you know that it will not earn you respect. You will not earn anyone’s love. You can’t earn what you don’t deserve.”

Ron squeezed her arm. Hermione swallowed down her tears of fear, anger, and sorrow, and stood.

“You’re just a wretched little Mudblood —”

Hermione swung the sword through the strange and terrible vision. The blade crashed into the diadem and an earsplitting shriek howled over the echo of the waves. The woman vanished into pale, smoky wisps, and something inky and dark oozed from the crack in the diadem.

Hermione dropped the sword and collapsed into sobs. She was distantly aware of Ron wrapping his arm around her. He was warm, which felt nice on the cold beach. She leaned into him.

“Hermione?” His voice was hardly a whisper, but she could tell he was putting a tremendous amount of effort into the shape of her name.

She took a moment to get her breathing under control before looking up at him.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

She said nothing. She wasn’t sure she could speak without falling apart just yet. Ron seemed to understand.

He pressed his forehead against hers and looked down. It was a strange way to avoid intimacy, when they were already so close together yet so dimly lit, with nothing but Hermione’s wand, now half-buried in sand, to illuminate their faces.

“I — I’m afraid of all those things too,” he whispered. Each word was drawn from him slowly, inhibited by the damage to his head, but it only made his confession mean that much more to Hermione.

She took his face in her hands and, ever so gently, pressed their lips together.

It was a soft kiss. Nothing like the face-sucking she’d watched him go through with Lavender, and nothing like the long, passionate kisses she’d once shared with Viktor, but it was… nice. There was something wonderful in the way he hesitated, in the way they brushed against each other only briefly before pulling away. Like indulging would be too decadent, too overwhelming for the both of them.

She buried her face into the crook of his neck. “We need to climb the cliff.”

Ron groaned, a noise made of both complaint and compliance. She knew how exhausted she was, how her muscles ached and her lungs throbbed with each breath. She imagined Ron was in much worse shape.

“Did you manage to hang onto your wand as well as the sword?”

Ron shook his head then winced. Hermione picked up her wand and pressed the sword into Ron’s hand. Then she turned to the ocean and waved her wand.

Accio Wand, she thought, and Ron’s wand lifted out from the water and soared into her hand. She thought of the contents of her beaded bag, scattered about the ocean. They would have to wait for morning light, after Ron was taken care of.

She returned the wand to Ron, and pulled his arm over his shoulder so that he could lean on her as they walked.

They did not get far before her foot nudged against the diadem and she hesitated. She looked down at the broken halves, severed with a single blow — her doing. Within an hour, the tide would come in and wash what was left of the diadem away. It would disappear into the ocean. It was, she thought, a fitting enough end.

Together, she and Ron began the hike up the cliff to Shell Cottage.

[aelaer]

The Blood in My Veins (a serial)

Okay, so I will sometimes let prompts that interest me just sit for a bit and see if they remain in my head or not and yeah, Prompt #608 from @ironstrangeprompts (which I can't tag for some reason) wouldn't go away and I blame absolutely everyone who told me to do it for distracting me from the long multi-chapters I'm desperately trying to write this year. But in return you get Part One of a tumblr serial with absolutely no idea as to where it's going and no update schedule in mind. :P But it's supposed to get to the reveal in the prompt eventually. Promise. Speculation highly encouraged as that helps plot bunnies very much.

Prompt: Kidnapped to play doctor for a still unseen other prisoner; Stephen realizes there is only one person on the planet who would have palladium in their blood.

This is unbetaed; apologies for any errors.

Part 1 - How We Began

Stephen's thoughts were sluggish and his memory spotty as he began to wake up. Worse, he had a headache that was boring into his temples and made the idea of opening his eyes, never mind moving, sound like an absolutely terrible one.

Sound began to filter through the fog. Eventually he was able to distinguish some words within it.

"...waking up…"

"...pulse is still slow…"

"...considering what he was given…"

He recognized none of the voices. Through sheer stubbornness alone, Stephen ignored his pounding head and forced his heavy eyelids open, only to immediately close them again against the sharp brightness of the fluorescent lighting above him. He could not help but groan.

"Right, the lights," someone—female—said, and he felt a cloth placed over his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't do anything about the lights, but you'll adjust to them soon enough. I have some water for you when you're ready, too."

Some part of Stephen's brain registered that she had an English accent. The rest of the functioning part of his mind focused on speaking. "Who…" And that was all he could manage at the moment.

"My name's Doctor Summer Weston," she answered.

A doctor? Was he injured? He wet his lips and tried for more than one word. "My... injuries?" What had he been doing to get injured? How bad was it? How much morphine was running through his system?

He felt Doctor Weston's fingers on his radial pulse. (Why was she doing that? Where was the EKG?) "No injuries; your current headache and sensitivity to light are an after effect of the drug in your system. I think you're at the tail end of your symptoms, though."

That… made no sense in a number of ways. Stephen forced his eyes open once more, and the cloth over his eyes made the endeavor manageable this time. "What happened?"

He heard her exhale softly. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Stephen had to pause to think about it, which was both incredibly unusual and rather annoying. He frowned to himself as he concentrated. Was he at the hospital? No, he was off. He was… "Grocery shopping. I was at the store. I think I paid." Yes, he remembered paying. He had decided to walk the three blocks to and from the store and was heading back to his apartment. Beyond that point, his memory became fuzzy.

Doctor Weston didn't say anything about his answer and instead just said, "You need water. Do you think you can handle the light? If not, we can keep the towel on and I can help you up."

He didn't respond, but moved his arm up and pulled the cloth away from his eyes, squinting at the ugly rectangle panels above him. The other doctor helped him up into a sitting position and gave him a bottle of water, but Stephen was too busy staring at his surroundings. While he was on a medical bed, in front of him was a large room that could only be described as a biochemical lab. It had state-of-the-art equipment, much of it looking brand new, and working there was another man and two women all in lab coats. Against nearby walls away from the machinery were several other medical beds.

"Drink," Doctor Weston encouraged, and his parched throat more than anything had Stephen doing so.

"Where am I?" he asked, squinting at Doctor Summer Weston. She appeared somewhere between thirty and forty and currently wore her long brown hair in a messy bun. She was pale and looked tired, with dark bags under her grey eyes and thin lips bent downturned. She wasn't wearing any makeup, either, which was a look he knew on his female patients before surgery but usually not on female doctors (and a couple of non-women doctors, too).

"I don't know," she answered. "None of us do." 

Stephen's confusion (and alarm, though he wouldn't admit that yet) grew. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She gave him a rueful smile. "There's really no easy way to break this: you've been kidnapped, just like the rest of us."

He stared at her in disbelief, half-wondering if he heard her right. His head was still pounding with his heartbeat and that made his hearing less clear, after all. "What?" was what he managed.

"Yeah." The lackluster smile returned. "So, are you an orthopedic surgeon or a neurosurgeon?"

"Neurosurgeon," he automatically answered, then stared at her. "How did you know?"

"The X-rays," was Doctor Weston's inexplicable answer. "I'll show you in a bit," she said as Stephen went to retort. "We should get introductions out of the way. Drink more water."

Stephen frowned at her, but his head was still complaining and for that reason alone he drank instead of demanding further answers that moment. At least the light was becoming more bearable.

In the meantime, Doctor Weston called to the others, "He's fully awake now. Take a break for introductions and water."

One of the women, who was in her mid-forties, he guessed, with thick straight black hair pulled back, and a rich coppery brown skin that appeared in tight and worried lines across her face, shifted in discomfort. She adjusted her narrow-rimmed glasses then looked over to the wall, and Stephen followed her gaze to see a camera in the corner. "How long have we been working?" she asked; she also had an English accent.

"About five hours," Doctor Weston said after looking at her watch. "You should be okay for a few minutes."

"I think so. I have to wait for the centrifuge to finish, anyway," said the third woman, and the tallest of the three women (though maybe it was her natural curly hair giving her extra height). Her white lab coat contrasted sharply against her rich umber skin under the bright fluorescent lights, and just like the others, she looked stressed and tired. She appeared somewhere about his age and was definitely American, with the slightest hint of a southern twang in her voice.

The final one in the room, a balding man with salt-and-pepper hair and perhaps in his mid-forties or early fifties, stepped forward from his work station first. His complexion was a flushed pink and he wore thick lenses, but they did nothing to hide his bright green irises. "How are you feeling?" He spoke with a heavy German accent.

Stephen grimaced. "I've been better," he answered as he was surrounded by the four of them.

"We know what it feels like," the African-American woman replied. "I'm Doctor Jada Ferguson. Hematologist, University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center, Houston."

"Doctor Meera Mahajan," said the other unnamed woman. "Pathologist with a specialty in cytopathology, from St Bartholomew's Hospital in London."

"I'm from London, too," Doctor Weston added. "Though from St Thomas' Hospital. Cardiothoracic surgeon."

"And I'm Doctor Steffen Baar," said the man. "I work as a pharmaceutical chemist for Bayer in Wuppertal, in western Germany."

Stephen wrapped his mind around this new information as they introduced themselves and started trying to connect the pieces of this (terrifying) puzzle together. After they finished speaking, he cleared his throat and said, "Doctor Stephen Strange. Neurosurgeon, Metro-General, New York."

Doctor Ferguson made an affirmative noise. "I read your latest publication not that long ago. It was fascinating."

"I've read yours as well," Stephen said, then looked at the others. "I've read publication papers from all of you within the last three years." And there was a reason he remembered their names; they were all brilliant studies and clearly experts in their specialties. Why the fucking hell were they all here?

His face must have reflected his thoughts, because Doctor Mahajan said, "Whoever brought us here wants us to work." She glanced over her shoulder, then added, "Which is apparent." She then opened her mouth, paused, then shut it.

Stephen frowned. "Work on what, exactly?"

Doctor Weston also looked over towards the camera, then said, "Our job is to keep an unknown patient alive. And you've been drafted."

Tagging @walkin-in-the-cosmos (though it’s not tagging right) and @queenofalotofdifferentworlds as requested in the original prompt post.

Full disclosure: In terms of writing I concentrate more on plot and worldbuilding and not really the development of romance. Whenever this serial ends, it'll likely end on an ambiguous, open ending to interpret the relationship's route to the reader's pleasure (what we once labeled "gen or pre-slash" stories, not sure if that's used anymore). It'll definitely not explore anything remotely sexual beyond your usual PG-13 innuendo (if that). So if that's not what you're looking for in this prompt fill you can ignore the rest of the series :)

But if the serial does interest you and you want to be tagged in the next post, I'm starting the clean slate with this first one. Just leave a comment expressing interest in being notified/tagged for the serial, though I'm afraid I have no planned update schedule.

[green-cloaked-figure]

"Ah, if you wish to talk to our host alone the Hero and I can go mingle with other guests. I don't want to keep you all night."

After looking at the card, the Unnamed reaches into their cloak and pulls out a ziploc bag with a folded piece of paper in it. They open the bag, place the card inside, and then reseal the bag and place it back in their cloak.

"It was good meeting you, Merchant. I'm going to be completely honest. I don't really have anything in mind that I want from your shop; I have few material needs. I mostly wanted to find you again to perhaps have another chat with Bax, when I'm not maintaining this masquerade. But…" they turn to the Hero—"can you think of anything you might want from the Merchant's shop?"

"Oh, uh… I don't know. I mean, I don't want to say a new sword and look like a stereotype. Hm. Maybe a book about different… monsters and things? Just about their, uh, ecology and behavior and… life, I mean. Not about how to kill them."

The Unnamed nods. "Well, perhaps sometime we can venture together to try to find the Merchant's shop. In any case, I will leave the two of you to talk."

As they walk off, one of the sandals the Hero is wearing grows eyes on its back and winks at Kajeet before the sandal returns to normal.

🎭The Sorcerer’s Masquerade🎭

Greetings and Salutations!

You have been formally invited to the Sorcerer’s first ever Halloween Masquerade Ball! The attire is wizard formal, so wear your most extravagant outfit. You must also come wearing a mask. Anonymity is encouraged, but not enforced.

Each invited guest is permitted to bring a plus one.

The event will occur on October 30th-November 1st

Please RSVP at your earliest convenience via letter, psychic message, or orb.

S.

@sorcerer-acolyte @lead-sorcerer @the-silliest-sorcerer @sorceress-foxgirl-ariel @gun-sorcerer @inflammable-sorcerer @serious-tabaxi @the-mighty-dalob

[straychesire]

Sage & Lavender

Dreamcatcher’s Dami x Female Reader

It all started because you couldn’t. sleep. A concoction of stress, anxiety, with a dash of intermittent insomnia made it particularly challenging to get rest. It didn’t help that you were having several challenges at work: new co-workers that were determined to get you into trouble, your boss going through a divorce (which made him especially irritated), and a new software in which made no logical sense whatsoever. 

The culmination of all of that nearly brought you to your breaking point - which is when you noticed the odd little shop near your work: Avalon. The building was an old home and looked a bit rustic, with a somewhat mystical quality to it. Various glass bottles were hung from the tree beside the entrance, catching the resting sun’s last light and reflecting it all over the ground. You stood outside for what felt like several minutes before finally ascending the rickety few steps and pulling the door open; a soft bell announced your presence, giving a soothing tinkle.

The first room was filled with nicknacks of various cultures and religions. A red tapestry featuring a golden dragon seemed to pull you in, it’s eyes boring into your soul. It appeared to be a traditional Chinese dragon. You couldn’t help but run a few delicate fingertips over the fabric, feeling the bumps of thread beneath your touch. Several statues of golden Buddhas from different Asian countries sat on a shelf to the right of the tapestry, each a different size.

You spun on your heels, slow and entranced as you took in the organized clutter of the space. A few maneki-neko sat in a corner of the room, their cute little paws raised in the air - a corner which you quickly deemed the “cat corner”. There were handmade bags pilled up on a shelf, along with pillows (that you assumed were used for meditation, based on their style and orientation) along with clothing lined the other wall. 

You stepped through the doorway, pushing aside the beaded curtain, met with a giant room covered in crystals and gemstones. You noted a couple doorways on the left-side of the room, but your focus seemed to be being pulled by an unnamed force that led you straight to an old fireplace. Various crystal balls adorned the mantle, but one in particular caught your attention: it was light pink in color, maybe four or five inches in diameter. It sat upon a gold holder, with four legs that resembled an old claw-foot bathtub.

“Can I help you with anything?”

The voice made you jump, your hand flying up to press against your beating heart. The employee stood beside you, her hands clasped behind her back as she made eye-contact with you. She didn’t seem fazed at all by your dramatics, which helped you calm down quicker than you would have. 

“Um, actually,” you smoothed your hands down your shirt, tugging on the hem as you cleared your throat, “...yes.”

The woman simply raised an eyebrow, signaling for you to continue. That small action effected you more than you’d like to admit. 

“I’ve been having a hard time sleeping? I’ve tried, you know, drinking tea before bed and the sounds of the ocean and all that, but none of it’s worked.” You hugged yourself, absentmindedly tapping your right thumb against your upper arm. “Do you...have anything that could possibly help?”

“Are nightmares your trouble? Or is it other things, such as stress and listlessness?”

“No nightmares. Mostly stress.” Your body heaved when you gave a great sigh. “Some bouts of insomnia, but that seems to only happen when I’m extremely stressed.” 

She nodded, swiftly moving over to the many baskets that held crystals of all shapes, sizes, and colors. The first stone she grabbed was lavender in color, maybe half an inch long and imperfect in shape. She held her hand out, asking for your own. Admittedly, you felt your heart beat a little faster as you place your hand into hers. You took in the sight of her slender fingers, short nails coated with a nude nail polish that nearly matched her skintone. Her movements were swift as she flipped your hand around so the back of yours pressed against the palm of hers. She pressed the smooth, cool stone into your open palm.

“Lepidolite. It’s the ideal stone for tackling sleep issues. Among other things, this stone will help calm your mind and ease any stress. You can put it on your bedside table, or even place it beneath your pillow for maximum effectiveness.” You nodded, pulling your gaze from the small stone to the employee’s eyes. You were taken aback to find that she was already looking at you - her intense eyes nearly sending you into a trance.

She reached down, picking up something that your ignorant self deemed to be quartz. It was smooth, bewitchingly so. The low light danced off of the surface giving the appearance that it was glittering. The stone was a few inches in length, and appeared more like a pillar. It was also pressed into your hand, reaching from the bottom of your palm to the bottoms of your fingers.

“Selenite. This will help your mind calm even more and become more clear. Use this wand before you sleep: take a moment to breathe, dragging the wand through the air in front of you from the top of your head to your core. Doing this will pass the crystal over your chakras and will help bring clarity.” She gave you the smallest of smiles. “If you have a cat, I recommend keeping it where they cannot get to it. They love things that roll.”

You laughed, imaging your own cat at home having a field day with this...wand, she called it. “Got it.”

Without moving away, she pushed a sky blue stone into your hand alongside the other small stone. You weren’t sure when she grabbed that one, but maybe you had been too caught up in checking her out to notice. “Celestite. This will help push chaotic thoughts out of your mind and bring you serenity. You can place this stone wherever you place your lepidolite.” Her nail tapped against the purple stone, a subtle way to remind you which was which. 

She closed your palm around your new crystals, her fingers lingering against your own before letting go. The stones clicked as they bumped each other within your closed fist. Her movements were swift as she walked behind the glass counter, her aura beckoning you to follow. She reached for your hand, gently pulling the crystals from your hand and setting them onto the counter top. 

Before you could say anything, she placed a brown bottle next to your - well, her - findings. A black spray-cap sat screwed into the top of the bottle, and your eyes darted down to the white wrap around label. Decorated with small stars and a crescent moon, the label read ‘calming pillow spray’ with, what you assumed were ingredients, listed below: sage and lavender.

“I’m sensing that you’re more stressed than you lead on earlier.” Her voice caused your head to pick up. “Spray this a few times onto your pillow before you sleep, and after you meditate with the wand.” Her fingers tapped the white stone wand silently. “Remember to breathe in deep, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. Taking in the scent of lavender will help you become calm, while sage can help with insomnia. I sometimes spray this in the air when I’m stressed, just to help me relax.” A small giggle left her lips, and her smiling face left you absolutely enchanted.

You found yourself smiling back. “Thank you. So much, for all your help.”

The clicking of her fingertips typing on the computer filled the air. “Of course. It’s why I’m here.” 

You watched with unwavering intent as she placed each item on their own sheet of purple tissue paper, showering them with a mystery mixture of crushed herbs. Whatever it was, the smell made you feel more relaxed than you had felt in weeks. 

After paying, you grabbed your bag from her and started to leave the shop. But before you even made it halfway through the crystals room, you stopped and turned around. “Hey. What’s your name?”

“Dami.”

You bit your bottom lip before smiling. “Thank you very much, Dami. I hope to see you again.”

“Likewise.”

The images of Dami crowded your mind as you made your way home. You could still feel her gaze on you, her touch against your hand and the warm, homely feeling that you got when you were around her. You hadn’t realized how much she and that shop affected you until you stepped outside, the sunlight falling down to kiss your skin and hair.

It was a decent drive to your apartment, the brown bag sat on your passenger’s seat the whole ride home.

The moon had risen before you were able to sit down in your bedroom and open up the purchases from earlier. As you reached in, your fingers brushed against what felt like card stock. It proved to be a business card, the word Avalon across the front in a fantastical font. You flipped it over, eyes widening a tad at the scribbled phone number. Beneath the number was a short yet sweet message:

“Sleep well and sweet dreams. May we meet again.

-Dami”

[angelsunflowers-fanfics]

Richard Simmons x Blue!Female!reader (High school au)

FANDOM: Red vs Blue

REQUEST: My dialogue is number 6. It is a Simmons x Artistic! Blue Army! Kind! Dirty-mouthed! Reader. This is my idea for a city AU for red vs blue, and Simmons is a white boi with maroon everything (Glasses, hoodie, and converse) and he also wear his hair in a short pony-tail. He also wears a maroon baseball cap and carries a maroon phone. He was in love with (Y/N) since High School, and he doesn't really know about her artistic side. Please find the time for this. I have a crush on the maroon soldier.

“We’re sitting in a good court and I can see you staring at me so what’s your fucking deal--wait are you drawing me?”

Linktree

~~~~~

The mall was lit up with dim lights as the afternoon slowly drifted into the evening, many people were still lounging around the shops and food court, taking advantage of the long hours. Richard Simmons and Dexter Grif, a couple of the reds, were talking in the food court. Well, it was more of Simmons talking and Grif eating and listening.

Simmons thought about that Blue all too often, The blues and the reds were rival schools. Grif didn’t see why he had such a fascination with someone that he was only gotten to actually see a few times. Simmons didn’t care much about the rivalry between the schools, he actually liked it. That way he could see (y/n) more often, but now he was out of high school.

“--I just wish I could find a way to talk to her again, It’s been so long. Do you think she would even remember me?” Simmons asked.

Grif rolled his eyes, not knowing why he was here and not literally anywhere else.

“Maybe, you two were both major nerds so It’s a possibility. Well, you still are. I still can’t believe that you never got over your mondo crush on her by now, dude. Her being a blue and all, there were plenty of girls that asked you out, why didn’t you ever say yes?” Grif asked.

Simmons sat back in his seat lightly, taking off his Maroon colored glasses to clean the lenses before he spoke, “(y/n)’s different, she’s not like those girls in school. They just wanted to plagiarize my work or use me to get their significant other jealous. (y/n) talked to me first, I still got really nervous around her, but… She actually enjoyed talking to me.” 

Grif shrugged his shoulders lightly before closing his notebook full of extensive notes, he didn’t need Simmons to know how smart he could actually be just yet.

“Alright, you know what Sarge would say,” Grif said. 

Sarge was the red team’s coach, he was close to the former team. Simmons scoffed at Grif’s mention of Sarge, whom would desperately discourage him from having a huge crush on a ‘dirty Blue’, His words, most definitely not Simmons.

“I don’t care what he’ll say. I didn’t get to see her much though. I almost thought that she would transfer, that would’ve been nice,” Simmons said, reminecing. 

Grif narrowed his eyes lightly, he never saw Simmons talking with (y/n). Not once in all of the 4 years in highschool. Where on Earth did he find the time for that?

“When did you even talk to her? You never had the time to hang out with me, but you supposedly hung out with a Blue?” 

Simmons rolled his eyes, picking up his phone to pretend that he was scrolling through his social media.

“You know, the football games. You and Donut would play, I watched. But one day, I got really bored and just started to wander around and I eventually bumped into (y/n). She asked me for the time and we just started talking,” Simmons answered. 

Grif sat back lightly, that did make sense. High school Simmons and Simmons in the present both got very flustered around girls, especially those he actually liked. Grif had hung around the nerd since the beginning, he could see that plain as day.

[FLASHBACK]

“Hey! Pretty-nerd in Maroon!” 

Simmons glanced around in a fluster, he was definitely not used to receiving any compliments of any variety. He quickly turned around to face a pretty girl in a blue letterman jacket. He already felt his heart beating rapidly from the mere sight of a pretty girl talking to him out of interest.

“U-um, yes?” Simmons nervously answered.

(y/n), the blue, slowly approached Simmons to hear him better and for him to hear her better.

“Sorry to bother you, but do you have the time?” She asked.

With shaky hands, Simmons dug a hand into the pocket of his Maroon jacket to grab his phone to check the time; 8:02 PM. before neatly placing his phone back where it was.

“I-it’s 8.” 

(y/n) gave Simmons a sweet smile before explaining her actions.

“Thanks, sorry I don’t usually call out guys like that but… You seem different. What are you doing at a football game? You don’t seem like the type,” (y/n) explained her outburst. 

Simmons glances over (y/n)’s head for a moment to catch a glimpse of Grif on the field, he didn’t look like he was enjoying the game before catching her eyes again. 

“I’m (y/n), by the way,” She introduced herself. 

Simmons smiled lightly and almost wanted to press a hand against his heart from how hard it was rapidly beating against his chest.

“I-i’m Simmons, but you can call me Richard. I come in to watch my friend, Grif, and Donut,” He said. 

(y/n) cocked her head to the side for a moment.

“Donut?” 

Simmons smiled brighter and lightly led (y/n) to the edge of the bleachers to overlook the game.

“Yeah, you see that guy in the pink?” (y/n) laughed lightly and gave a small nod of her head. “That’s him, he calls it lightish-red.”

“Oh my, Fuck. That’s amazing,” (y/n) giggled. 

Simmons surveyed the blue team, wondering if there was someone that (y/n) was here for.

“What about you? Are you here for your boyfriend or…?” The pleading in Simmons' voice was evident, but over the loud sounds of cheering from the crowd, it wasn’t noticed by (y/n).

“No boyfriend. Um, I’m here for Michael Caboose; that guy charging at everyone head first,” (y/n) gestured to the football field. Simmons glanced to the field again to instantly spot Caboose diving headfirst for the football, it would be hard to miss someone like that. “And Lavernius Tucker, he’s--” 

Simmons couldn’t help himself as he blurted out his immediate thoughts toward that certain blue, “Wait, Tucker? You hang around him? Every time I see him, he’s always flirting with fucking someone or you… Sorry, I just--” 

(y/n) waved her hands in front of her to stop Simmons rambling, the sweet smile still plastered onto her face.

“No, I get it. He has that kind of impression on people. But he can actually be really sweet and a great person once you get past that outer shell… And for the flirting… I don’t know why he does that… But he’s Tucker.”

Simmons’ eyes trailed back down to the jacket that (y/n) was wearing. He was talking to a Blue. A blue! His friends were going to give him so much shit for this, but… somehow he didn’t care. The jacket hanging loosely from her shoulders didn’t look like hers, he couldn’t help but imagine what she would look like in his jacket--

“So, Richard… you’re pretty and definitely different from the blue guys… Would you mind if I gave you my number?” (y/n) asked.

Simmons’ eyes widened before trying to dig through his pockets to grab his phone but ultimately became a fumbling mess.

“Y-yeah, I don’t m-mind.” 

(y/n) bit on her bottom lip to stifle a laugh before lightly grabbing his arm and a pen from her bag.

“Just hold still for a moment.” (y/n) carefully scribbled her phone number under her name on his inner wrist before hesitantly letting go of his arm, letting it hang loosely by his side. “I better go find my way down to the field, the game’s over. I’ll see you later, Richard.”

[FLASHBACK OVER]

“Okay, I believe you. There’s no way you would have been able to talk to her first, you’d get flustered and start stuttering,” Grif said. 

Simmons’ face flared up in embarrassment and only slight annoyance.

“I would not!” His voice cracked slightly. 

He didn’t really yell because of that fact, his voice always reverted back to his pubescent days when he got flustered-angry. Grif stifled his laugh behind his hands, Simmons already proved his point.

“Your voice just cracked. Man, I barely have to try and I’m right.” 

While Simmons tried to calm down his breathing and control the color in his face, Grif looked off to the side as the sound of a pencil furiously rushing across paper gets his attention. Someone was turned toward Simmons, their head tucked behind a sketchbook. Someone was drawing Simmons. 

“Huh, someone is drawing you, Dude.” 

Simmons rolled his eyes but didn’t move a muscle.

“Whatever, this is another stupid test of your right? I’m gonna turn around and then you’re gonna laugh at me, no way,” Simmons said, stubborn as ever. 

Grif glanced at the artist sketching on her paper for a moment before Grif grabbed one of Simmons' notebooks and threw it near the artist’s table. 

“Grif! What the hell?” Simmons yelled.

Grif only shrugged his shoulders lightly, watching in amusement as Simmons slowly stood up to retrieve his journal from the floor. Simmons’ eyes locked onto those of the person drawing him, Grif was right. He shot up to his full size and marched toward the unnamed person. 

“Okay, you’re staring at me, what the fuck’s your prob--wait… are you drawing me?” The artist finally glanced up from their sketchbook to reveal that it was (y/n). “I-I…” The blue only smiled at Simmons.

“Hi, Richy.” 

Grif laughed to himself before grabbing his bag and standing from the table, he could tell that Simmons would want to talk to her alone.

“Nice, I’m gonna head back to the apartment. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Simmons watched Grif leave the mall before turning back to (y/n), ready to question her, “I… I didn’t know you could draw.” 

(y/n) sat up straighter and layed the large sketchbook on the table, revealing that she was drawing him. Simmons slowly sat in the seat across from her, his mind scrambling for a coherent question to ask. 

“I’ve been trying to find you for a while, you kind of disappeared after high school,” Simmons mentioned. 

(y/n) slowly shrugged her shoulders, picking up the sketchbook to finish the drawing.

“Yeah, There were some family emergencies and then my mother wanted me to go into the air force… I’m sorry. I know you came here a lot when we were teenagers so I thought… Maybe you would be here and you are,” (y/n) explained. 

Simmons sat back to look at how grown-up (y/n) looked. He needed to keep the conversation going, he wanted to talk to her until dawn just like all those years ago. It had been so long, what if she was different? Or dating someone? Or married?

“Why did you draw me? Out of everything that’s inspiring, you drew me…” 

(y/n) gestured toward his outfit and items that were laid on the floor near the table next to them.

“You are very color-coordinated, and you’re pretty… and I like you. I’m a bit rusty on sketching, but I wanted to get back into it and I thought you would be the perfect model,” She explained. 

Simmons wrung his hands together in front of him nervously, she said that she liked him. He should say something back, right? Say that he had felt the same since he first met her.

“I, um… I like you too. Since we met sophomore year at that football game. I never knew how to tell you. (y/n), do you… Wanna--” 

(y/n) quickly cut him off by leaning over the table to press a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“Yes.” 

Simmons stare at (y/n) wide-eyed, not expecting her to act on such a bold move. 

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say yet.” 

(y/n) smiled brightly, grabbing one of Simmons' hands and slowly packing up her things in a light blue bag, before standing up, bringing Simmons with her.

“If I’m with you, then I’m positive I’ll enjoy whatever you have planned. Come on, we have a lot to catch up on.”

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Five

Previous chapter HERE

Warning: Language

Summary: Sarah gears up to explain her choice to meet with her birth mother and finds Chris to be a bigger comfort than he realises.

Note: Bit of a shorter one, sort of a bridge into the next few situations...

Chapter Five

It was an unusually cold afternoon in Concord. Sarah had opted for a run for the first time that week and took a scenic route through Emerson Park to view the new sculpture exhibition the Mayor had opened back in March. it was rare she this time to herself and she had found her anxiety spiking pretty badly of late. Running always seemed to help with that.

She circled back around through the local town centre but soon regretted decision when she had to take shelter in a shop doorway during a sudden downpour. Thankfully, it didn’t last long but the strangest thing happened on her way home: she would up buying cream cakes in Bryson’s Bakery a couple of blocks away from their apartment. Hell, she’d put in the effort. she deserved a sugary treat.

Walking into her apartment, she was greeted by an obscene number of shopping bags, suit bags, and what looked like a hat box. There was almost every designer brand she had ever heard of or at least had recognised from the episode of America’s Next Top Model Shan had made her watch that one time. Speaking of which, she could hear the enthusiastic chatter between Shanna, Carly and Lisa coming from Shan’s bedroom and managed to climb over the bags to find her kitchen as she’d left it, complete with movie star hiding out with a newspaper and a beer. Chris looked so chilled out, she was almost jealous. She looked down at her jogging clothes and the few extra pounds clinging to her thighs and then back at him dressed casually in a black tee and jeans, as toned as he ever was. Fucking effortless. Jerk. He hadn’t been to the gym in weeks - something he would proudly broadcast to anyone within earshot - yet still managed to avoid putting on a single pound. He was eating and drinking whatever he wanted. He was just lucky with his metabolism, he explained. It was a goddamn deal with the devil, thought Sarah.

Chris looked up from his paper in time to see Sarah walk in and clock the bags on the floor. It took him all of .4 of a second to eye the box in her hands. He loved Bryson’s. Often, one of the first things he would do when back in town, after seeing his family of course, was to buy whatever they had left in store. He figured at this point he was one of their most valuable customers, probably more so than the unnamed NFL player Chris was certain was Julian Edelman. He hoped more than anything else that Sarah might have a strawberry cream donut in there especially for him but kept this thought to himself until he could ascertain just how annoyed she was with the mess taking up space in her home.

“Sorry, it’s for my birthday party next week. Some designers sent some things over and Mom’s evidently lost her shit. Hey, have you heard of a designer called Migos?” Chris asked as Sarah planted the box down on the kitchen island. “There is a neon yellow jumpsuit by him that I think Shanna has chosen and honestly, it’s the worst.”

“Migos? No clue I’m afraid. Why are they all sending stuff over for your party?” She opened the box and handed him his donut. Chris could have kissed her.

“The production company thinks it would be a good idea for me to have some pictures taken for social media. Show I’m an average guy or something, so they sent some outfits for the girls to wear.” Chris shrugged, too wrapped up in the donut to overthink it. Sarah could have sworn she blinked once and it was gone.

“And you’re OK with that? I thought it was just going to be a small thing? Family and close friends?”

“Yeh, I’m OK with it, I guess. As soon as Mom found out, they all got really excited about it. Didn’t have the heart to say no.” He gestured to his family currently laughing in unison down the hall. “It’s OK. It’ll get Matt off my back for a while, too.”

It wasn’t often that Sarah felt sorry for him, all tall and handsome and wealthy as he was, but she knew he prided his privacy above all things where his career was concerned, and he tried hard to keep his loved ones out of the limelight as much as he could. This couldn’t have been a decision he took lightly. As casual as he was trying to come across now, she could tell her was nervous about it, about what would be said and where the pictures would end up.

“You know I could hook you up if you like?” he offered. “There’s a lot of stuff coming in apparently. I’d bet you look great in Chanel. It’s not neon, I promise.”

“What and spill something on it? I don’t think I could live with myself.” she scoffed, mouth half full of cheesecake. 

Chris look a little wistful for a moment as a comfortable quietness fell on them while she enjoyed her cheesecake. Soon, the only sound filling the apartment came from two doors away as someone had clearly made a great choice, the distinctive sound of expensive heels clicking on the wooden floor. Sarah contemplated hiding the other cakes from them and keeping them for herself but knew she couldn’t go through with it. 

“Do you think I’m boring?” She asked after a couple of minutes.

“Define boring.”

“How many different ways are there to define boring?”

“Well, there’s...” he looked up from his paper for a moment, trying to think. “No, you’re not boring.”

“OK. That took a while. Appreciate it.” she threw her fork into the sink.

“Who said you were boring?”

“No one, really. Just the other day Greg said I was unassuming.” She made air quotations with her fingers.

“Unassuming isn’t the same as boring.” he reasoned. “Unassuming just means you’re quiet, y’know? What you see is what you get type of thing.”

“And that’s not boring to you?”

“No. It’s nice. It’s....comforting.” He smiled trying to reassure her but saw the concern etched across her face. “Sarah, you’re not boring. I wouldn’t be here as much as I am if you were boring.”

“But I’m no exciting, am I? Like, you wouldn’t call me a risk-taker.” Sarah wasn’t sure if she was asking him a question much less wanting to hear an answer. Compared to some of the people Chris hun out with, she was practically Mother Theresa.

Chris couldn’t work out if she was laying a trap for him here. Her had flashbacks to conversations he’d experienced relationships, times when he tripped up. Do I suit this Givenchy? Do you think your co-star is pretty? Were those sex scenes easy to shoot? Often, he found, there was no right answer. Difference her was that Sarah wasn’t like that.

“Sarah, you wouldn’t suit being a risk-taker. Trust me. It doesn’t get you anywhere fast.” He sounded serious. “You don’t need that shit in your life.”

She was grateful, of course she was, but nothing could stop the niggling doubts in the back of her mind that maybe she played things a little too safe at times. Why did she feel awkward accepting a date with Greg? He was nice and clearly into her. Maybe she was a little too quiet and careful. Maybe she could afford to be a little rash with her decisions every once in a while. What harm could be done? Audrey was right. She could learn to have a little more fun without worrying about the consequences.

“Sarah! We thought we’d missed you!” Carly came bouncing into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Sarah’s shoulders from behind where she was sat. “Chris, you should see some of the clothes and shoes. I don’t know how you could ever get tired of this.”

Chris flicked his gaze to Sarah who looked a little apologetic, before he turned back to Carly. “Well, I’m glad you guys are having a lot of fun. Figured it out yet?”

Carly nodded. “Oh my god, yes! You’re gonna be so proud of us baby bro! Hey, Sarah? Have you figured out your plans with your folks? They should be arriving soon, right?”

“Um, yeh, that’s a good point actually. I should probably check in to see where they’re at. I’m not actually sure they remember when I live.” She grabbed her phone from her pocket and headed to her bedroom where it was quieter and she could focus on something different. She closed her door and took a breath. This wasn’t what she needed to be worrying about right now, whether a guy she was - at best - half interested in seeing thought she was a “safe” option. Her folks would be arriving at some point that day and she could look forward to spending some much needed time with them. That was all that mattered.

She located Jocelyn’s number in her iPhone and hovered her thumb over the dial, psyching herself up to call. Just as she was about to do it, Chris appeared in her bedroom holding up a garment bah with the unmistakable Chanel logo emblazoned across it.

“i grabbed this for you. Seriously, take a look. It’s pretty cute and it might make you feel better.” he laid the bag carefully on your bed, stroking down the front to remove any creases. Sarah was grateful. The only other time she’d worn a designer brand was at her graduation ceremony and she kept the label attached inside so she could return it afterwards.

“Thanks Chris. That’s really kind.” she smiled at him. Chris paused a second before backing out of her door, aware that she was gearing up to call her folks.

“Hey, just for the record?” he stopped and leaned back into her bedroom, arm leaning on the door frame. “I think you’re great just the way you are.”

*

Next Chapter HERE