#Atticus how could you

[marthafanaamay]

EVERYONE SHUT UP MY SHIP IS SINKING

Atticus, how could you do this.

I am crying.

The S.S. Marthacussy rn:

[arcadewonder]

a chance encounter. 

[sydmarch]

chilling with a sloppy style

[thedevilsoftruth]

Every time I hear anything about this stupid fucking Joe Biden, Donald Trump bullshit, all I think about is the album Year Zero by Nine Inch Nails. Good fucking bye. I love being a US citizen!!! 😍

[episims]

And then we break the regular narrative style because... what?? Don't tell me that's-

*sad whine*

NO ARIES DON'T YOU EVEN DARE TO THINK OF EATING HIM

[clouds-of-wings]

I'M SAYING LIKE

I don't know if the writers are lampshading here, but apparently the extreme lack of attention and interest that Edith is getting from her family is very obvious to an outsider.

Shit, right, Edith owns a publishing company. That kind of tiny detail is so easy to forget when there are more important things about her like "Visits a farmer's daughter often".

[formshaper]

" you are the cause of my problems. " / from daisy to atticus

"Me?" Atticus hisses, like a rattlesnake's warning: this is about to get really fuckin' ugly if someone doesn't step back. "Me." There's rage in the black glint of his eyes, but Atticus seems to calm very quickly. He spreads his hands in a kind of shrug, laughs too flippantly. "Well, I don't make you ride with me, Daisy," he says, voice sliding right into that particular brand of harmless-smooth-good-ol'-boy-nothing-bothers-me charm they've only really heard him use on folks who don't know him, folks he doesn't care about, folks he needs to keep off his back until he skips town again. "I am just as happy to ride alone as with you. You know that. If you think having me around to watch your back is some kind of risk--" (And there's that hiss again, the warning.) "--because of a couple of setbacks we been through together, then go. I'm not gonna beg you to stick around."

[evielmostdefinitely]

Pls do something with peacekeeper!Coriolanus I have yet to see anyone do that trope + I feel like he’s more mean and protective in that era

mastermind |peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: based off above prompt, but wanted to tweak it a teeny tiny bit so this is how coriolanus meets capitol!reader. the plot of the original film is altered a little to fit this.

contains: tw- violence, guns, shooting. dark, protective, manipulative coriolanus. not super heavy, but there are some kinda darkish themes so read at your own discretion.

“Snow,” Commander Hoff’s gruff voice rang through the doorway, hitting Coriolanous head on, his heart lurching with fear. They found out about Lucy Gray, that she’d escaped after Mayfair and Billy’s death. Or maybe worse, maybe she hadn’t headed north, maybe she’d told them. 

His mind raced as he took a step forward, helmet in hand respectfully, hoping Hoff wouldn’t see the way his hands trembled. “Commander, Sir.” Snow held his head high. If this was to be the end, he wouldn’t go out crying. Not like Sejanus- no, Corio would have pride. 

Hoff set the papers down on his desk with a huff, head jerking back for Coriolanus to come towards him. “Snow, I need you to escort Miss Duke to the Mayor’s office.” He nodded towards the corner. “I guess with the recent tragedy of his daughter, Mayor Mayfield’s mind has been elsewhere. He didn’t get his quarterly tesserae count turned in. The Capitol sent Miss Duke to get them, so make sure she gets there.” 

Coriolanus’ eyes wandered to you, standing in the corner properly, hands clasped elegantly in front of you. A shining beacon in the dark skies of the coal country, a glimmering ray of good after all the bad Corio had. He could tell you were from The Capitol, though you tried to dress more humbly for the visit to the district, he supposed. 

You gave him a smile, and for a moment, Corio’s heart leapt with excitement. That familiar rush of heat returning, coursing through his chest. “Private Snow will take you there, Miss Duke. He’s one of our best. On his way to officer training in Two. You’re in good hands.” Commander Hoff nodded. 

You thanked him quietly, kitten heels clicking across the hardwood floors. Coriolanus followed you, trying to keep his stoic expression, though his eyes wandered to the swell of your ass, hugged perfectly in your dress. 

“Snow,” Commander Hoff called before he left. “A word?” 

The icy chill of fear flooded back into Corio’s system, gripping the knob. You didn’t seem to notice, nodding politely, shutting the door behind you. 

“Sir?” Coriolanus swallowed the lump in his throat, approaching the desk slowly. 

Hoff leaned back in his chair. “You know who that is, right?” 

Coriolanus blinked. His mind had been so occupied with his impending doom, his fate had seemed to turn and tread on the worst sides of things, he was so sure it would continue. “Miss Duke?” 

Hoff blinked at him, laughing softly. “Yeah, Duke, Snow.” He pressed. Coriolanus felt dumb, small like he did when he talked to Highbottom. “Snow, does the name Atticus Duke mean anything to you?” 

Coriolanus' eyes widened lightly, turning towards the door in surprise. “Atticus Duke? The-” 

“-The man who owns half of Panem?” Hoff snorted lightly. “Yeah, that’s his youngest out there. Only girl, alright?” 

Coriolanus felt his curiosity peek. He’d been wallowing in the loss of Lucy Gray, he didn’t even put it together. Thinking you were just another Capitol girl. Not the Duke Heiress. 

“Yes, sir. I-I see that now.” Corio nodded dumbly. 

“Good. So you know that her father paid for the destruction of the rebellion? That he funded the Capitol? And that if these people see her, those fucking Rebels are likely to want to hurt her?” Hoff pressed, his eyes narrowed in seriousness. “And that if something happens to her, our entire platoon will be hanging from that tree- or worse?” 

It shouldn’t have made Coriolanus as excited as he was. The thought of having that much power. He could easily have that level of control, have people quaking with fear- even the powerful ones, trembling at his feet the way Atticus Duke did. Oh, how he envied it. How he craved it. 

“Yes, sir.” Coriolanus nodded. 

“Snow, listen to me.” Hoff sat up straight, leaning over the desk. “If any of them get close to her, no mercy- do you understand?” 

Coriolanus nodded again, spine straightening with authority. “I have others trailing and leading the both of you- crowd control, but I wanted her to feel safe. Feel welcome. So I stuck her with you. Figured a familiar face from the Capitol would put her at some ease. Keep her from telling her father something that would have him questioning my rank and order around here.” 

“I understand, Commander.” Coriolanus said firmly. “I’ll keep her safe.” 

“Wow,” You muttered, looking around the cobbled street. The Peacekeepers ahead of you barking orders, scaring off any pedestrians wandering about. “Is it always like this?” 

Corio blinked, his gun cradled in his hand, finger on the trigger- ready. “Always like what?” 

“This,” You waved around you. “It’s very…” 

“Depressing?” Corio muttered, a grumble, eyes scanning the perimeter in front of him over the gray skies and smog filled air. 

“Yeah.” You smiled softly. “I pictured it… prettier?” 

“It’s the coal district, Miss Duke.” Coriolanus said, the barrel of his gun pointed for backup at a scurrying coal miner. 

“So that’s what makes it so sad?” You challenged, brow raised. 

Corio didn’t answer. He knew what you were implying, and he wouldn’t humor it. Instead, his eyes scanned the street. “May I ask why you’re here?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. 

“What?” Corio snapped, harsher than he meant to. 

“Why you’re here?” You repeated. “I, uh, I don’t want to sound rude. I just- I saw you on the games. You were the mentor who won. I just, I figured you would be at University with the others.” 

“I made an enemy. A powerful one.” Corio quipped shortly, jaw set. He couldn’t let his mind race and spiral, not now. He needed to stay focused. 

“Oh,” You muttered, looking down at the wet, broken road. “I’m sorry.” 

Corio’s heart skipped, maybe with joy, maybe with fear. “May I ask you why you’re here?” Coriolanus asked, eyes cutting down towards you. 

“I have to get the count for the tesserae.” You motioned towards the Mayor’s office before you. “I have to take them back to The Capitol.” 

“Yes, but,” Corio paused, scanning the area. “You’re- Surely, you don’t need to do that, Miss Duke.” He muttered, voice dropping to a low octave. 

You blushed, sheepishly looking towards your shoes, ruined from the muck in the road. “So, Commander Hoff briefed you on me?” You grinned. 

Coriolanus didn’t answer. “I already knew.” He lied easily, eyes cutting to you. “We’ve met before. In passing. I was Sejanus’ friend.” 

“Oh,” Your face fell. “Right. I-I am so sorry for your loss. It was-” 

“-Yes.” Corio nodded, the bile rising in his throat. “We-We met at the Academy’s Ball two springs ago.” 

You turned, looking at him fully for the first time. He tried not to blush, icy eyes meeting your own for a moment. “That’s right.” You grinned. “You-You had longer hair. Tigris’ cousin?” 

“Yes.” Coriolanus nodded. 

“She was apprenticing for my aunt.” You smiled softly. 

Corio looked at you, his rigid posture slacking just for a moment, relaxing in your presence. “Why aren’t you doing something like that?” He asked, brows furrowing for a moment. “Or in University, yourself. Surely that would be… more appropriate than this.”

You bit back a smile, chin ducking down. “Maybe.” You shrugged. “I like this job, though. I get to see the Districts.” 

“Why would you ever want to do that?” Corio snarled lightly. “I can’t wait to get out of them. Get away from these people.” He muttered bitterly. 

You blinked at him, eyes narrowing lightly, stopping before the steps of the Mayor’s building. “You seemed quite fond of that song bird you helped win.” You countered. “And she was among these people.” 

Coriolanus was stunned, mouth opening stupidly, before swallowing his jumbled words. Instead, he offered you his arm politely for you to steady yourself on while you climbed the steps to the Mayor’s office. 

Coriolanus waited outside the office at attention while you collected the tesseraes for the quarter from a distraught, and clearly drunken, Mayor Mayfield. His slurred speech, pores sweating out whiskey soaked odor. 

You took the envelope, thanking him before quickly slipping out. Coriolanus stood beside you, falling back into step with you, the other Peacekeepers joining around the two of you. 

“You’re returning to The Capitol today?” Corio asked, though his eyes stayed straight ahead. 

“They asked me to stay the night.” You answered simply. “Something about a train leaving in the morning?” You looked at him carefully. You knew he was to join you with the others. You’d given the orders from Dr. Gaul to Commander Hoff that morning.

Coriolanus frowned, turning to you curiously. “Tomorrow? Why would they make you-” 

The ravenous bark of Peacekeepers in front of you made you jump, a deranged looking man, covered in soot from the mines, charging at you with a vengeful pace. You froze, clutching the envelope in front of you like a shield, glued to the concrete in pure fear. 

“Gimme that envelope, you stupid bitch!” The man roared, mere feet away from you. “Get my daughter’s name outta there! Take it out!” 

You flinched, bracing for the impact of him hitting you, his body hurling towards yours. It never came. Instead, a shot behind you had a gasp tearing from your lungs. The bullet so close to your own head, you heard it whizzing past you like the June Bugs that flew in the fields in the countryside of the district. 

The man grunted, a bloody gurgle, a crimson patch seeping through his stomach. The other Peacekeepers seized him, shouting and grabbing at him, hauling him away roughly. Your hand trembled, pressing to your lips. Coriolanus stood behind you, gun lowering, finger still on the trigger. 

His face was hard, stoic, eyes narrowed dangerously- furiously. “Come on.” Coriolanus muttered, a hand gently on your back, guiding you forwards. The crowds were peering, poking around at the sound of gunshots, the groans and screams of the man. “We need to get you to the Commander’s Quarters.” 

“Snow, hey, look we-we didn’t see him-” One Peacekeeper jogged frantically, hands trembling in fear. “He just- He came out of nowhere. I’m so sorry, Miss.” 

“It’s alrig-” 

“-Come on.” Coriolanus hissed, cutting your apology off short. “We need to get her back quickly. Can you manage that?” He snapped at the other boy. 

The other boy faltered for a moment, scrambling back into line. You were still shaking, pushed into Corio’s side far closer than what would be appropriate for two strangers. “He-He was just saying sorry.” You muttered, your own eyes scanning around you. 

“He nearly got you killed.” Coriolanus snapped, his eyes hard but they never met your gaze, scanning around you protectively. “His carelessness nearly cost you your life.” Cost us all our lives, Corio thought. 

You didn’t respond, only stepping with his quickened pace. 

“Are you alright?” You asked Coriolanus, peeking around the corner of the train station towards him. 

He was surprised to see you, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been. He assumed the ‘Princess of Panem’ would have her own private carriage on the train, not subjected to riding with him. 

“I think I’m supposed to ask you that.” Corio gave a half smile, a tone much lighter than it was before. 

You blushed, looking down. “I’m alright.” You sighed lightly. “I told your Commander that. I promise I don’t need an escort back to The Capitol.” 

Coriolanus looked down at his bags. “I’m not- I’m returning to The Capitol as well.” He said, chest boasting at the words. 

“Oh?” You lifted a brow. “No District Two?” 

“No,” Corio shook his head. “I’ve been asked to return.” It was vague, and he knew it- knew it piqued your interest. 

“Well, congratulations. I’m sure your family will be excited.” You smiled politely, lifting your own overnight bag when the train doors opened. 

“Here,” Coriolanus stopped you, reaching for the strap of the bags. Your hands brushed in the smallest way. Overlapping as he took the bag politely, a surge of electricity jolted between both of you, rapid sparks that would crescendo in the days, weeks, years to come. 

You blushed, turning your head to hide the way it flustered you. It was so embarrassingly juvenile, his eyes sparkling, lips tugging in a grin when he looked at you, pinky grazing over your knuckle just for a moment before he held the bag. 

“Allow me.” Coriolanus was smug, proud, pulling the bag up. He let you on first, placing the bags away, eyes cutting towards you. You were stealing a glance at him, turning after being caught sheepishly. 

You had the window seat, looking out at the smoggy station. “Is this seat taken?” Corio asked, hand resting on the arm of the seat next to you. 

You shook your head, moving your hands to your lap. You were so poised, Corio knew it had been drilled into your head since you were young, just as it was to him. His mind raced with excitement, the idea of getting you to be so improper, defile you. 

“Do you know your orders once you return?” You asked, looking at him carefully. The trains whistle trilling in the background. 

“I’m not sure.” It was a complete lie, he only knew a fraction of what awaited him when he returned. All the more reason he needed an ally, a powerful one at that. 

“Why?” Corio pressed, leaning forward to look at you. His dog tags hung loosely around his neck, draping over his underclothes of his uniform. It made your heart race. 

“I was just curious.” You shrugged, swallowing gently. 

“You were wanting to see me again?” Corio pressed, boldly. His heart skipped when you whipped around, staring at him with a wide eyed expression. 

“W-What?” You choked out, trying to remain calm, composed, but your heart was beating so fastly you were sure it would burst. 

“Were you wanting to see me again?” Coriolanus hummed, shifting in his seat to turn towards you. You were pressed against the glass, pinned by his gaze. “Because I was hoping to see you again. If you’d have me.” 

“You would?” You squeaked, sure that your fluster was apparent all over your face. 

“If you’d let me.” Corio purred smoothly. “I’d like to take you out sometime. Get to know you better. I’m very,” His fingers brushed over your own hand, satisfied at how you shuddered. “Interested in getting to know you.” 

You swallowed. No man had ever been so direct with you. He’d saved you the night before, so effortlessly. The feeling of his bicep around you, shielding you away, strong and steady. It had you sneaking your fingers between your thighs later that night shamefully at the thought. 

“I-I would like that.” You nodded, mind screaming when his hand held your, cradled with such care, you almost forgot how brutal he was yesterday. 

“Tomorrow?” Coriolanus asked, head tilting to the side. He wanted to set the date before you forgot, before you had time to ask around about him or think too much about his actions before. 

“That-That would be lovely.” You nodded, tongue swelling thickly in your mouth, heart hammering as he pushed closer and closer. 

His hand cradled your jaw softly, thumb stroking over your cheek bone. “May I?” Corio hummed, eyes lustful. 

You nodded. You weren’t quite sure why, you’d certainly never done something like this before. But then his lips were on you, hand cradling your jaw, moving to the back of your head gently. He migrated into your chair, somewhere between the Districts, hands on your back, pulling you in closer and closer. He kissed you like a man starved, possessively and passionately all at once- it made your head spin. 

It dawned on Coriolanus, what Dr. Gaul was talking about. Sacrifice, while brutal, was necessary. Losing Lucy Gray, Sejanus, without that would it have ever brought you to him? He would be in the woods, starving with a girl who nearly used him to survive, or hanging from a tree next to Sejanus. Certainly not sitting side by side in the train car, stealing small smiles and gentle kisses with you. His fate had turned, re-routed and he could see it now- his future, his empire with you. 

[baby-dr1ver]

pairing: dad!lando x mom!reader

warnings: so much fluff, tooth rotting

a/n: hello all! thank you guys for your endless support and request I've been getting! I promise I haven't forgotten your fics, I'm working on them I swear. here's a fic I wrote a couple of weeks ago while you wait! btw this literally happened in a dream of mine so I feel like I just HAD to write it.

It was an early morning in Monaco, the sun had just risen, there were faint snores coming from beside you. You could make one out to be your husband having just got home from a long race weekend, and your little boy, Atticus. When Lando got home from a race weekend, he made it a habit to put him in our bed to sleep.

You watch the identical faces for just a moment more before jumping out the bed. You loved days after a race, everything felt like it was finally in place again. You especially loved the morning after, you and Lando created a routine that started before your little one was born. You’d wake up before him and run to the little breakfast nook at the end of the block to grab his favorite. 

After dressing, brushing your teeth, yada yada, you set off. You had a pep in your step, bouncing a little with each stride, feeling lighter and lighter knowing your other half was waiting for you at home, snuggled up with your little creation. You giggled to yourself, realizing how crazy you must have looked to the people passing by. 

 The bell rang above the door as you eagerly pushed it open. The owner saw you and smiled, knowing exactly what was coming. “The usual I assume?” She asked cheekily. You blushed and nodded, “Can you add some tater tots and an apple juice please? Atticus has been in a phase lately.” The owner simply nodded as you paid as she got to work.

As you sat in a small table in the corner, you could see a small group of girls looking your way, trying ti be subtle on the fact that they recognized you. You smiled and shyly waved causing the girls to walk over slowly. “Hi! Are you Y/N?” One of the girls asked. “I am! How are you guys this morning?” You were happy to make conversation with them, feeling better at the fact most of Lando’s fans didn’t despise you. After a few minutes of talking about the recent race, what they were excited to see, they asked for a photo. You had one of the workers take it before handing you the food. You waved goodbye to the small group of girls, smiling to yourself at the softhearted interaction. 

You couldn’t contain yourself as you worked your way through the door. You sat everything out on the counter and prepared it like it was a five star meal. You set Lando’s burrito out, eggs, bacon, cheese, on a plate. You scooped some tater tots in a bowl and poured the juice in a small sippy cup for the little one. 

Just as you finished, Lando came trudging down the stairs. He was dressed in gray sweats, no shirt and his hair sticking up in different directions with that sleepy look in his eyes. “Hi baby, welcome home.” You quietly whispered. He came around the counter to where you were standing and latched onto you. 

You stood there completely at ease with him in your arms, the feeling of his heartbeat against yours, his warm tan skin, the smell of his cologne-everything about him made your heart sing. He started placing small kisses on your cheek and jaw, no hidden intention behind it, just wanted to feel your skin under his lips. He pulls away with a groan, “I forgot the babe upstairs.” I giggled and pushed up towards the stairs, and watch him lumber up to your room to grab Atticus. 

You tuned back to the food for a moment before setting it on the island so everyone could reach it easily. Lando came down the stairs holding your baby boy, dressed the same, with identical looks of tiredness and you audibly cooed. “Hi my little star,” You grabbed a tot from his bowl, hid it behind your back, and walked closer to softly pinched the babes cheek. “did daddy dress you the same?” Atticus pulled his gummy smile, only a couple of teeth in the front, and rubbed his bright green eyes. Lando placed his hand around your waist to pull you closer to him. “It’s kind of unfair that I carried you for nine months but you’re a carbon copy of your dad.” You ruffled his curly hair. Lan huffed, “Could be worse.” You nodded in agreement and pulled the tot from behind your back and offered it to Atticus. His eyes lit up seeing his favorite food. His chubby fingers reached out and snatched it from your hand and tried to put the whole thing in his mouth. You and Lan laughed before he gently pulled it away. “My little duckling, you can’t just shove it like that, you’ve got to bite.” Lando tried to imitate a bite so Atty could do the same. Instead, he started to laugh and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. 

“Yeah, that’s your son love” Lando looked down at you with a disgruntled look, making you join in on the laughter. You lay your head on his shoulder and like it was a reflex, softly kissed your forehead. Atticus leaned down, sticky hand out to lay on your cheek, and tried to kiss your forehead just like his father did moments before. It ended up leaving a wet mark on your forehead, it’s not like he knew had to give his mom a kiss, he was just trying to copy his dad. 

You heard Lando take a big breath in, and without looking away from Atticus, 

“Let’s have another one.”

“Lando!”

[compact-turtle]

When we are talking big age gap how old are talking about with our farm boi ? Also what would he do if reader don't see him that way because his age would he change his style or the way he carry himself to appear younger?

I imagine Atticus to be around late twenties to mid thirties.

-He would be really insecure about the fact that reader sees him as someone older. Honestly, his speech pattern and clothing doesn't help. Atticus doesn't have time for trends, so he seems older to darling.

-He'd def mop around for a bit when he realizes that reader thinks he's old. However, he'd quickly realize that being sad isn't going to solve his problems for him.

-He would try to change but ultimately would end in failure since he has no idea where to start. He has no frame of reference for what's "in" for the current time. His idea of current trendy would be whatever the youths are wearing in town (Which is probably nowhere close to what you'd consider trendy or current)

He'd be the equivalent of "What's up my youngster youths? What's hip with you guys?"

-The closest thing that would happen is that he'd probably start grooming himself better. I imagine that Atticus probably wears a hat most of the time to cover up his ugly hair cut around you. (Makes you wonder if he's bald or not sometimes). He'd probably fix his ugly ass haircut and shave more to appear younger.

-Eventually, he'd have to just realize that he can't fix reader's perception of being seen as old. Instead, he'd show that he could be the best potential husband because he can cook, clean and do so many household chores. He's kinder, wouldn't let you work yourself to the bone, as well as possessive and obsessive would adore you so much more than anyone else.

[reticent-writer]

Hey! Well, actually, I really like the set of stories about Teen!Reader and Alostor where the reader is classified as an assistant, I would like a story that shows how they met and how they get to the point where they consider him an assistant and their confidence to say him dad? Thank you, I'm sorry if the request was very long. (Writing this I remembered the fight Alastor and Lucifer had over Charlie about who she calls Dad, I felt it would still be a good scenario for indignation)

An: I had a storyboard for this exact thing but its messy and if you don't know me you probably wouldn't understand how my mind works but basically i have ocs for this

This took a bit longer because it happens before Alastor and reader dies plus I gave reader a family so...... some basic info

Y/n was born into a family that was picture perfect on the outside

father was a factory worker Mother was a dressmaker

Doll House by Melanie Martinez fits them perfectly

Y/n was the middle child of 5

When Y/n was born the eldest (Atticus boy) was 10, Second eldest 6 (Alma girl), Middle child (y/n)

when y/n turned 4 their parents had twins (Giles boy, Gideon boy)

This is a glimpse into my mind. It might not make sense.

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　

-1920-

Y/n is 10.

Your parents were perfectionists, especially when it came to the public eye. The L/n family was always the center of attention in your little town, deep in Louisiana.

You and your siblings were constantly dressed in Sunday's best.

"Kids make yourselves look presentable. A client is coming soon." Your mother called out from her 'workspace'. kids aren't allowed in there.

"Can't we just stay in our rooms." Atticus complained from his spot on the couch.

"Get. Dressed."

Atticus groaned as he got up to go to his room. On his way, he knocked on your door before opening it.

"You're supposed to wait for a response, Jackass."

"Next time you curse at me I'm poppin' you." He threatened but you knew he wouldn't do anything, "Mom said get dressed, tell Alma."

He closed the door before you could complain. You heard the shuffling of his feet as he ran to his room.

His room was at the end of the hall. the hall was short with 2 doors on each side. Alma was across from you and the twins were next to her.

Right across from your room is Alma's. She's going into her preteen years and started to spend more time in her room. Your mother says she's adjusting to becoming a woman and needs her time alone. She's also becoming very snappy.

You slowly opened your door to stare at hers. You slowly walk into the hallway and up to her door. You knock three time and wait for a responce. She didn't open the door.

"I heard Atticus." Her voice was horse and strained but you believed what your mother told you.

That was all you needed to get yourself ready.

-------

Your mother made all (except for Alma) of you sit in the living room and wait for the client.

*knock knock knock*

"He's here. You better behave." She says before opening the door with a smile only guests see, "Alastor, It's so good to see you again."

"Good to see you to, my dear and my my look at the children. They all seem to be in good health." He greeted all of you with a smile.

"Hello sir." Atticus spoke for all of you.

"You seem to be missing one." Alastor commented, making your mother chuckle.

"She's been feeling under the weather as of late, come along I need to take your measurements. Atticus, Y/n prepare some tea." She ordered.

Alastor and your mother went to her workspace and she shut the door.

----------

That night went smoothly until your father got home. He didn't like the fact that your mother was in her workspace with a man and the door closed, even if he was a client.

It caused fighting -well more than there normally is anyway- between your mother and father. It's always been easy to make your father mad.

It got worse when Alastor took notice of it he came by more often with the excuse of having gifts for you and your siblings.

He gave you a radio to listen to him when he went on air. Atticus was offered a job at the radio station. Alma got a set of jewelry.

This angered your father more and instead of taking it out on Alastor or your mother he took it out on you and your siblings. Atticus tried to protect all of you.

One day your father and Atticus got into a really bad fight and your brother was shot. He didn't make it.

It was around the same time when a horrid smell started coming from Alma's room. Your parents said she caught a fever and no one noticed but you didn't believe them anymore.

From then on you started distancing yourself from your family and growing closer to Alastor.

--------

When you got older (16) you started working with alastor at the radio station. He taught you how to live life without worry.

He treats you like your a person and not just your parent's child.

Your parents treated you like a decoration. Alastor treated you like a child he didn't know he wanted.

You found out he was a murder by accident. You forgot someone at the station late at night and went back to get it to see blood spattered in the talking booth.

At first you thought it was Alastors so you took a gun that the station had in case of emergencies and followed the trail.

Opening the back door you saw Alastor dragging the body. The two of you made eye contact. Your body moved without hesitation and helped him hide the body.

------

Sadly, there are times a birth parent is a dud.

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　

This is long and not what I usually write but it's been stuck in my head for a while.

A/n: I've decided to cut the twins and make y/n the youngest. I had something for them originally but it's better for just Alma, Atticus and Y/n

Art by @ghostly-one

[bimrwolf]

Healing Hands by the Fire

geralt of rivia x afab!reader words: 3,684 warnings: smut !! 18+ (minors dni) ; squint and you may see a casual plot summary: Geralt visits Reader, a healer, with severe injuries. a/n: very out of my comfort zone. however, i promised my friend to write this as her christmas present because writing fanfics are my love language. good thing i know basic things about the witcher heheehe.

How did she always end up here? Months without a word or seeing him. She had accepted the peace. Only occasionally did she perk up when there was a knock on her door, secretly hoping it was him. But only one could be so lucky. Instead, it was travelers from all over the Continent who heard word of her abilities.

She couldn’t complain. Healing others in exchange for seeds, food, and sometimes money. Not that it was required for her service but she couldn’t complain about the gratuity.

In fact, she enjoyed helping others. However, it was nearing winter and there were less travelers. They were most likely home to prepare for the violent winter storms that damned the Continent. 

It was one of the first snow falls of the season. She had finished feeding the chickens and her horse Atticus. That was always her nighttime routine. Feed the animals, make some tea, study until all the tea is drunk, and finally get ready for bed. 

Some might think the routine would get tiring, but there was never any guarantee. It was the one consistent thing in her life at the moment. She was content. 

However, some nights, she heard the enchanted chimes outside that let her know someone was approaching. But before she made it to the door, it swung open, snow flurries drifted inside. The cold was sharp and pricked her nose, making her sniffle. 

In most cases she would be alarmed. There was no telling what creatures or people were harmless and which ones weren’t. She clutched the nearest thing to her— a broom that always gave her splinters when she used it. 

His snow white hair peeked from under his hood and she recognized the distinct low grumble that could be mistaken as a quake. He slowly closed the door, ensuring it was locked this time. “You startled me.” She said, releasing her grip from the broom, checking her hand for any loose wood. 

“You should keep the door locked. What if I was a dangerous man breaking in?” She played it off as a joke, not seeing the concerned look on his face. 

“Some might say you are dangerous.” She smirked. She never expected him to react to her jokes, but she could feel the warmth blanket around her when his shoulders relaxed. “Are you going to stand there all night?” 

He limped further into the cabin. She could see the snow melting on his cloak, dripping on her floor. “You made a mess,” she huffed. 

His head lifted and cat-like eyes met hers. It was known his abilities and job forced him to lack showing how he felt. But, she noticed right away how his eyes drooped that he was in pain. 

She ran towards him, immediately untying his cloak so that it dropped to the floor. She gasped at the large claw marks scratched into his chest. He could withstand most injuries but the cuts had broken past the many layers of skin. 

“Fuck, Geralt. What happened?” Her finger ghosted over the wound on his shoulder. Almost immediately he grabbed her wrist. But she didn’t pull away. 

“I’m starving.” He took a moment to look her up and down before letting go of her wrist and walking past her. 

Unbelievable. She scoffed and followed him into her den. “Are you serious? Geralt, you’re hurt and need to be healed before you get an infection.” 

“I smell meat pie. Do you have any to spare?” He left no time for her to answer. He grabbed the plate on a table and began to shove them in his mouth. He groaned in satisfaction. 

She wanted to be annoyed, but she had never seen him act this way. So instead she watched as he stuffed his face. He sat down slowly in a wooden chair. His large body mass made it creak, rocking it with the sound of the crackling fire. His spastic breathing mellowed out into a deep sigh.

He was definitely hurting from his wound but there was something else. She could sense that something was bothering him. Yet, she didn’t pry for an explanation. Instead, she let him watch the fire as she gathered her supplies of elixirs and jars. Then she picked up the pot full of water hanging above the fire and poured it into a bowl. The steam warmed her face that was still cold from earlier. 

“Are you still hungry? I think I only have bread.” She sat her things on the table next to him, but not looking in his direction. However, she could feel his piercing eyes watching her every single move. “If you’re not feeling like bread I can stay up and make you soup.” 

His hand flew to her wrist. She jumped, nearly knocking over a bottle with green shiny liquid. She turned her head slightly, sighing deeply. “It hurts,” Geralt mumbled. 

His wound was red, inflamed, and looked worse in the light. And if Geralt says it hurts then it was worse than she had imagined. “Take your tunic off while I prepare.” Although it was her giving the instruction, she couldn’t help the heat on her cheeks arise. Especially when he did what he was told. She had only seen his bare chest a handful of times, but each time made her stomach knot up. 

He took a heavy breath as he settled back into the chair, wincing when she placed a hot cloth on his open wound. His nails dug into the chair. His teeth clenched as he threw his head back. She couldn’t help but giggle. In return, he snapped his head to look at her, visibly annoyed. “What?” 

She swatted him for the rash reaction. “No need to be hot headed, Geralt. I was only laughing because I’ve never seen you act so dramatic.” 

“I’m not being dramatic,” he argued. He winced again when the cloth touched his skin once more. He rolled his eyes when he noticed the smirk she tried to hide from him, her hair covered her face. Not thinking, he took his finger and pushed it out of the way so he could see her more clearly. 

She tried to ignore the knot in her stomach or how her chest was breathing differently. She even tried to look away subtly but the only thing she could look at without being suspicious was his bare chest. “How’s Yennefer?” 

The change of subject was almost as if she had poured salt into his fresh wounds. He yanked his hand away and turned his head to face the fire, jaw ticked. She should’ve felt guilty for bringing up his on and off lover. Instead, she felt relieved his attention was no longer on her and probably wouldn’t be the rest of the night. 

That’s how it always went. He would get too close and right before she fell under his spell she would mention the other woman. She had only met the sorceress once. They neither liked or disliked one another. Yet, she could tell there would not be any attempts to go frollicking in a field like they were the best of friends. 

In some ways, she had been jealous of Yennefer– she was interesting and traveled the Continent and had fought in many wars. She was beautiful and cunning. Of course Geralt would pick her as a lover. 

“Ow.” Geralt grimaced, shifting in the chair. Her fingers were touching the wounds, and spreading them apart. “Are you about done? I’m tired.” 

She continued to inspect his wounds closely, having to push between his legs to get a closer look. “I have to ensure there are no severe damages so I know what to make.” His huff made her roll her eyes. She wanted to swat him for still acting like a child. “Whatever got you, got you good, eh?” 

He looked away then back at her, swallowing. “Yes, I suppose.” 

There was a beat of silence. Only the fire was popping. 

“I thought I was goin’ to die.” He said out loud in a low whisper. Almost like he didn’t want her to hear him.

She stopped briefly to look up at him. He was serious. “Well, fortunately whatever it was missed your heart by a hair.” She pointed to where his heart was and traced a line to the start of one of the scratches only millimeters away. She got up, leaving him with a witty smile as she started to pour the many different potions into a different bowl. 

“Me and Yennefer haven’t spoken in months,” he admitted. 

It was hard not to react, but she had never seen him willingly talk about the woman before. “Oh.” 

“We wanted different things I suppose,” he continued. “If it weren’t for Ciri’s letters, then I wouldn’t even know if she was still alive.” 

“You miss her?” It was meant to sound like a question, but it came across as a statement. 

He looked down at his hands, ashamed. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to miss someone.” 

“Are you not allowed or are you unsure you know what it’s supposed to feel like?” 

He didn’t answer. 

She walked back and found her place again between his legs. “Missing someone feels like always looking at the door when there’s a knock, and your heart skips a beat, hoping it’s them.” She dipped her finger in the cream she had made and started to apply it to the open wound. 

“I don’t live in a cottage with a door.” His hands creeped to his thighs so they brushed her as she moved. 

She finished with the first cut and moved onto the second, which was much deeper and longer. “Well, missing someone can also feel like wanting to cry even when you’re happy.” 

“You do know I have emotions?” He quizzed her. 

She smirked. “Of course I do. I was only trying to help you figure out if you miss Yennefer.” 

He hummed, running a finger over the first wound she had treated which was starting to already heal. His skin attaching itself together again. “I miss her, but not in the way you think I do.” 

“Then in what way?” She raised her brow, clearly confused as to what he meant. 

He didn’t answer her right away. “Not in the way I miss you.” 

The bowl in her hand nearly clattered to the floor. She froze, replaying the words over and over as if she hadn’t heard him. Did Geralt really admit to missing her? No, he doesn’t actually mean it. He was messing with her. “That’s not funny.” Her breath was shaky. In fact, her hands were shaky too as she tried to continue healing him. 

“Did I make a joke?” His tone was unwavering. He placed his hand on her warm cheek, brushing his thumb over her soft flesh. He had never touched her so intimately like he was now. 

She shook her head, using her free hand to brush him away, focusing on the rest of his injuries. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re delusional.” 

“I thought your potions helped with that?” 

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, briefly, before averting them back to the bowl. She swooped the last of the cream on her finger and spread it slowly over the last scratch. The others had closed up but one could make out the red scar. “Those will go away in due time,” she mumbled. 

As she tried to get up he caught her arm, standing up with her, and in doing so their chests were against one another. He could feel her heavy breathing. And she could feel the warmth from his body electrifying hers. 

“I should go make your bed. You need to rest.” She tried to walk away but his grip never left her arm. “Geralt.” 

He took the bowl from her hands and placed it back on the table. “How much longer will you deny it?” 

She swallowed the gasp that had almost escaped her, shaking her head. “What do you mean?” Finally, she had pulled away but made no efforts to leave the room, only stepping back to make space between them. And of course he could probably read her like an open book while she only had his stoic expressions to decipher. He opened his mouth, but closed it, sighing loudly. “Thank you, Y/n.” 

Her face softened. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what I would’ve done if it weren’t for you. In fact, I don’t know what I would do without you.” His jaw slacked, watching her intensely. 

She could feel the pull, like a magnet, all too familiar when it came to Geralt. Normally, she had to ignore it. But at that moment, it felt like a boiling pot of water, steaming and bubbling, unable to contain itself. And as she looked into his piercing eyes, the knot in her stomach told her it was time to say something. “Geralt.” Her voice was above a whisper. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yes?” His expression never faltered. 

She shifted her feet, uncomfortable. “I… I um… I’m making oat porridge in the morning.” She had decided it was best to hold back what she really wanted to say. “I’ll go prepare your room.” 

His yellow eyes narrowed, searching for hers. She knew he was watching the emotions swirl through her mind. She knew that he knew that wasn’t what she really wanted to say to him. “No.” He was assertive and the growled vibrations dragged along her back like a dagger, giving her chills. 

Ignoring the goosebumps along her arms, she ran her hand over her face. “What do you want me to say?” She felt like a twig that had snapped. “Why are you being mean? You stand there forcing a confession out of me. A confession you will never get because there’s nothing to say.” Her tears burned in the corner of her eyes. She hated how foolish she looked in front of him. Crying and blubbering because he decided to dig deeper. 

They had a routine. He would knock on the door and she would heal his wounds. Their deep conversations were rare, and sometimes he wouldn’t speak at all. Sometimes he would leave in the morning without a word. So why must this time be any different than the others? 

“You’re angry.” 

She scoffed. “Yes, I’m angry.” Unable to face him, she turned to look at the fireplace, shaking her head. “That’s the most frustrating part of all of this. I’m angry that you’re here. I’m angry that I don’t see you for months with no word if you’re even alive. I’m angry that you show up when I’m missing you the most.” Her eyes caught his, her nostrils flared. She had had enough of it, storming up to him and putting a finger against his bare chest. “I’m angry that you sit there and touch me and talk to me like we’re lovers. I’m angry that you won’t go to someone else for help. Because I can’t do it anymore, Geralt. I can’t do it.” 

And there it was. Years worth of bubbling water, spilling over the pot and all over the floor. She had made a mess that she wasn’t sure if she would be able to clean up. 

Geralt’s jaw ticked, his eyes scanning her face. “You wish to not see me anymore? Would that be easier?” 

Her finger fell slowly from his chest. Her voice trembled. “It’s easier than caring about you.” 

Geralt brought his hand up slowly to her cheek, brushing his knuckle against a tear. “I am angry at you too,” he whispered. Her brows furrowed, unsure what he meant. “I told you I have feelings too. Yet, you assume I don’t. You assume I don’t care about you either.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you?” 

“Why do you think I keep coming back?” His jaw slacked. 

The tension between them was thick and palpable. She wasn’t sure what else there was to say. Her heart was torn. Even with the confession, there was no guarantee. He was a Witcher with responsibilities that were not suitable for the life she wanted. She pushed it away, cracking a smile. “Are you saying that you got injured on purpose? So you could see me?” 

“Perhaps.” The corner of his mouth flickered, leaning his head down towards her. 

“You could’ve died.” She stepped closer to him, tracing her finger of his scars, looking at his lips.

“But I didn’t.” He said against her mouth, finally closing the gap between them. 

He wrapped his arms around her, strong and sure, deepening the kiss. It was gentle but fierce, full of longing and tension that had been built up along the years. It tasted like all the warm tea she had made for him over time. 

When she moaned, Geralt took the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth, gliding it tenderly and carefully against hers, groaning in satisfaction. He somehow managed to pull her closer as if their bodies weren’t already meshed together.

It was her who broke away first, both of them gasping for air, chests heaving from the heavy kiss. Geralt’s eyes had turned black, his senses heightened, craving more. 

Without a word, she unbuttoned her blouse, freeing her chest as she dropped it to the floor. She kissed Geralt again on the mouth, his neck, and then his chest. She whispered in his ear, “I think I should go prepare your room now.” 

He nodded, allowing her to take his hand to lead him to her room, rather than the room up in the attic that her guests normally stayed in. It was full of knick knacks and books scattered. Her bed was unmade, but neither one of them cared. 

She pushed him on the bed, straddling his lap, peppering kisses all over his chest. If she was smart, she would savor all of it– every kiss and touch. But fuck all of it. She had waited too long to savor it.  She grinded herself against his hardness, smiling against his ear when she felt him jump through his trousers. Something had told her it was too long for him too. 

The rest of their clothes had found a new place on the floor of her bedroom. She was now laying down, Geralt hovered over her, his chain dangled over her face, and his hands roamed over her bare body as she whimpered under his touch. His lips attacked her neck, trailing down her body, relishing every inch. 

“Geralt,” she mewled. 

She felt the vibrations of his chuckle, revitalizing her, the warmth between her legs now ached. “Yes?” He came back towards her mouth, placing a life-wrecking kiss on it. 

She nibbled his bottom lip. “You know.” 

“Mm, I don’t think I do,” he teased. His hand was between her legs, fingers gliding, taunting her. 

She thrusted her hips upwards, forcing friction against her swollen clit, gasping when he slid a finger in her. “I need you.”

The pitiful look in her eyes convinced him enough to give her what she wanted. And because any longer, he felt like he would combust. Geralt pushed her legs apart and then guided his girthy length to her entrance, sliding it in slowly. 

She gasped as he sunk deeper inside her, finally able to marvel all of her. It was sweet like the honey she snuck in his tea. Rich like the pastries she packed in his knapsack whenever he left in the mornings, without saying goodbye because he was afraid he would never leave if he saw her golden smile in the mornings. Yet, he wasn’t strong enough to never come back. 

At first, his thrusts were slow and tender, slipping so deep that his tip reached as far as it could. She gripped his shoulders, nails forming crescents, back arching as he picked up the pace. She wanted to hug him with her thighs, but his hands were sure to keep them open and spread for him. 

The sounds of their sticky skin crashing together blended with their moans and grunts, forming a delectable melody. She pulled him into an open-mouth sloppy kiss, humming. The bed rattled beneath them, his pace was dangerously close to cracking the frame. 

In a swift move, he pulled her up, so that she was straddling him. Their bare chests flushed together, her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering as she bounced on his cock. “I’m… fuck,” she breathed, unable to make the words as it hit her sweet spot. 

“Me too.” He slightly pushed her shoulders back, wanting to see her. His palm cradled her face, swallowing the thickness stuck in his throat. He knew he looked destroyed. He didn’t show how he felt often, but the pent up tension over the year had finally arisen. 

“G…Geralt!” She shouted as her walls closed around him, releasing her orgasm around him, resting her forehead on his chest as he continued to move her up and down. She clutched onto him as if she was about to float away. 

He threw his head back as his cock twitched, finishing, He thrusted through his climax, panting as he slowed to a halt. His senses were still high and could hear the fire still crackling in the den. He could feel her breathing still rugged and hot, sticking to his chest. 

She couldn’t see it but Geralt let a small smile briefly appear as he stroked her bare back. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. She looked up at him, running her fingers through his snow-white hair. “Will you stay one more night?” 

He tilted his head, brows knitted together. “Are you still angry with me?” 

A mischievous glimmer crossed her eyes. “If I am, does that mean you’ll stay?” 

He snickered, placing a peck on her lips, lingering, scared if he were to break away she’d disappear. 

Angry or not, he was going to stay one more night.

[eddiepeaches]

Hi Eddie!! <3 You already know how much I love your tiny Ed and Stede and how grateful I am for how they brighten everyone's dash on the daily. Could I maybe request a tiny Ed who's feeling happy and proud of his top surgery scars?

aww yeah of course!! look how happy tiny ed is!!! (also congrats again on your recent top surgery Atticus 🖤)

[gucciwins]

A Family of Three Grows

A/N: Thank you to the lovely Nonnie who brought back inspiration for this story I wrote in 2020 and last gave an update in 2022. Who knew 2024 would be the year I brought it back. This was fun to write and go back to this family's dynamics. Hope you enjoy, my sweet friends 💜

Word count: 3234

Adore You / Three Time / Leather and Lace / Family / Ask

+

Harry loved his family. 

Y/N and Atticus were everything to him and when Y/N broke the news their family was going to be growing, he was over the moon. It’s something they talked about but never rushed because they had Atticus, their sweet angel who would not stop growing. 

Atticus was the smartest boy. He was the top of his class and loved to read chapter books with Y/N. Each night, they would read a chapter and discuss their thoughts over breakfast in the morning. Harry’s input was asking questions so he could stay in the loop. Harry still remembered a summer day where he went to run errands, leaving them at home reading in bed and came to find them cuddled with ten books laid on their bed. He knew his son valued this time with the woman he called Mum. 

Life had treated them well. Y/N was writing, going to the studio when Atticus was at school. Harry adhered to the schedule and was open to working extra hours. Y/N and Harry were the perfect team. She helped create the entirety of Harry’s house. It was an album he felt captured their life in their own way. The grammy’s that year were a pleasant bonus to round out the amazing year they had. 

Y/N and Harry were in the studio today while Atticus was at school. Harry was in no rush to push out a fourth album. He enjoyed being in the studio with Y/N. It made him fall in love with her all over again. The ideas she brought were something he didn’t take for granted.

Y/N was sitting at the piano wearing her favorite oversized Ferrari sweater. The girl clung to her worn-out shirt, despite its tears. Not that he would ever make her. He had his fair share of tattered shirts in his closet. 

She was beautiful. How lucky he was to have her as his partner for the past five years. Their family is everything he dreamed of when he was a young boy. Without looking, she called for him to sit beside her on the bench. He did so without a second thought. 

“I wrote a song–well, it’s unfinished,” she tells him as she plays the soothing lullaby she wrote for Atticus when he was six years old and was having a hard time sleeping through the night. It’s something she played repeatedly until Atty would fall asleep. 

“Can I hear it?” 

Y/N shifts. She seemed reluctant to reveal it to him. 

“Well, it might not be any good,” she defends, and she pulls her notebook. 

Harry frowns. Y/N being insecure in the studio is unheard of unless it’s something she’s been holding in her chest for a long time and is finally letting it out. She passes him the notebook. There’s a picture holding the place she wants him to read. One look at her is all the encouragement he needs to open up the book and read the first words: For Atty.

He reads line by line and by the time he reaches the last words, there are tears fighting to fall from his eyes. Y/N wrote a song for their song. It’s a rough draft, and he knows she wants him to help her finish it. 

“Atticus knows how much we love him–how much I love him. But I want him to hear this song and know that my love isn’t something that will ever go away. If anything, it’ll only get stronger.” She tells Harry. 

It takes everything in him to not break down because he never expected to be loved this much in life. He expected to be content, but this was beyond anything he could ever dream of. “It’s fucking perfect.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, it’s not even–” 

Harry stops her, reaching for her hand. He brings it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her hand. “It’s amazing. You wrote a song for our boy. Sure it’s not finished, but you wrote those lyrics calling our sun the light of our life. The reason the world turns. I have never been able to put into words how much he means to me, but you did it.” 

“I love you,” Y/N reminds him.

“Love you, too. So fucking much.” 

“Will you sing it?” Y/N asks. Those beautiful eyes are staring at him and there is no way he can tell her no.

After so many years together, Harry understands how Y/N writes songs. He can see the melody written out. It’s something that frustrates Tyler because he doesn’t pick up on her cues. Harry tells him not to sweat it, it’s something only they have. Something they have as the perfect pair. 

Y/N plays the melody on the piano as Harry sings the lyrics. The longer he sings, the more he feels his throat close up and by the final lyrics, he’s got tears streaming down his face. “I don’t think I can sing it without crying.” 

She laughs. “You’ll have to try. I want us to record it for Atty. Maybe get it on a record for him.” 

Harry gives her a long kiss. “That sounds like the best idea.” 

Y/N and Harry spent the rest of the day in the studio, knowing Atticus was with Anne for the day allowed them the extra time to be in the studio. By the time dinner rolled around, Harry had ordered them food from her favorite Chinese food restaurant. Y/N reminded him three times not to forget her spring rolls. Over dinner, they discussed the song and how they might want to surprise Atticus. Y/N made him promise not to tell him until they could have it produced by their good friend, Tyler. It would take some time, but it would be worth it. 

Y/N had a last surprise for Harry. They were back to sitting side by side on the piano bench when she passed him her notebook again. “There is one last surprise,” Y/N tells him. She flips the notebook a few more pages. There is a paper. He thinks nothing of it until Y/N turns it around for him.

A sonogram. 

It’s a black photo with a small gray blob in the center. Harry isn’t sure what to think. It can’t be true. Can it?

He squints, picking up the paper, and in the corner has Y/N’s hyphenated name.

“Baby, is this?” He gets out.

“What is it?”

“Are we–are you?” Harry lifts his head to meet her eyes that are brimming with tears. “Are you pregnant?” 

Y/N lets out a joyous laugh, one that finds a place deep in his heart. “Yeah,” she confirms. “I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” 

“Oh, my goodness.” Harry looks back down at the sonogram. He wants to know everything, but all he can do is cry. Y/N stands up from the bench to move closer to him. Harry turns his body, resting his head on her stomach, Y/N settles her hands on his shoulder. She lets one run through his hair as he takes in the news that they are going to be giving Atticus a sibling. Something he would ask for constantly. They were making a dream come true. 

“Hi, little pea. I’m your Daddy.” 

Harry pulls away from Y/N when he hears a loud sob. “I’m sorry,” Y/N apologies for startling him. “That was–I don’t even know how to explain it, but fuck, you’re so amazing.” 

He drags Y/N to sit in his lap. Harry holds her close, rocking her back and forth, kissing her neck, whispering, I love you. This is something they talked about endlessly. Atticus was their boy. They had always said their family was perfect. Whether they added to their family or not, they are happy, but getting this addition into their life felt right. 

Y/N isn’t sure how much time passes, but she is ready to go home and be with Atticus. As they’re packing up, Y/N steps towards Harry, knowing he might be upset with the only downside to the news of her pregnancy. “H, we can’t tell anyone. Not Atticus. Not even Anne.” 

“But love, how do you expect me to resist?” 

Y/N’s smile is sincere. She knows he wants to scream it from the rooftops. “It’s early,” she stresses. “I want us to make sure everything is okay. That we make it past this first trimester. I know that’s asking a lot for you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Not at all, Lovie. I understand. Your health and the babies are important. I respect that.”

She gives him a kiss. “Thank you.” 

“Let’s get home to our sweet boy.” 

They leave the studio with their hearts full. 

+

It’s been three months and Y/N’s doctor gave them the all clear. Their sweet bub is growing at a good rate and Y/N is doing spectacular. No morning sickness, no weird food cravings (yet) and is glowing. Harry was excited because that meant it was time for them to share the news with their family, but most importantly, to Atticus. 

Harry spent the day getting the surprise ready. The vinyl was in a special box ready to be opened and then played. They’d be doing that first, then give Atticus the news. While Harry ran around getting everything perfect, Y/N laid in the hammock in their backyard with Atticus. They each had a book in hand. Atticus at 9 was reading the Percy Jackson series, something Y/N was excited about because they were some of her favorite books when she was growing up. Now she got to see her son experience everything she did at his age. It helped that she could answer questions he had, without spoilers, of course. 

Y/N set her book down, running her hand through Atticus’ brown locks similar to Harry’s. She knew he’d made a great older brother. She also feared he’d think she’d loved him less with a baby around, which was far from the truth. Atticus was hers, he was her baby boy and nothing or no one could take that from her. Harry likes to joke and say Atticus is her twin instead of his because he takes after her. Atticus has all of Harry’s looks but is everything her child for he has her love of reading. He loves the ocean and could spend hours in there with them. Atty was charismatic and had everyone’s attention as soon as he walked into a room. He exuded confidence and skillfully commanded attention with his voice. Y/N liked to say he picked up on both of their traits, but Harry assured her Atticus was a piece of her. It never failed to make her cry. 

“I love you Atticus.” Y/N told him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

Atticus bookmarked the page he was on. “I love you too, Mum.” 

Y/N wanted to blurt out the news to Atticus, but knew Harry would be upset she did it without him, so she held it in. 

“Forever going to be my sweet boy?” Y/N asks. 

“Course. Going to take care of you all my life,” Atticus promises. 

Y/N smiles. A very Harry answer. “Much appreciated. I think your dad has got you covered.”

Atticus shrugs, “two of us looking out for you isn’t bad.” 

“Glad I’m in safe hands.” 

Atticus goes back to reading but Y/N stays lost in thought, waiting for Harry to announce his arrival. It isn’t much longer when Harry rushes through the backyard, box in hand. Y/N sits up, eager to give it to her son, but Atticus doesn’t seem concerned about his reading. 

“Hi bud, got you something?” Harry shakes the box softly. 

“Two pages left,” Atticus mumbles. 

Harry frowns. “This is your fault.” He points at Y/N.

Y/N gasps. “Please, who bought him an entire library?”

“Again you,” he defends. 

“Technically, your money.”

“Our money,” Harry corrects. 

Atticus is entranced in his reading and Harry uses the time to steal a kiss from Y/N. They refrain from anything too much for Atticus’ sake, but he never minds seeing them give a bit of affection. 

“Chapter done,” Atticus shouts. “Gimme. Gimmie.” He makes grabby hands, but Harry shakes his head, telling him they had to head inside. 

Y/N holds onto Harry’s arm as Atticus rushes inside to the piano room. It’s his favorite room in their Malibu home. The view is perfect. You can see the tides rolling in, one landing on top of another. The sounds perfect to lull someone to sleep. 

Harry sits next to Atticus while Y/N kneels in front of him, her hands pressed together under her chin as she watches him tear the paper. Y/N remembers doing that as a child and knows her mother was a saint for the patience she had. Y/N is close to ripping it herself, but when she sees the brown box, she settles down for a single moment.

Atticus pulls out the record. It’s in a sleeve with a beautiful print of Y/N, Harry and Atticus running through the sand a few months back. Anne had taken it and it became their favorite picture as a family. Harry

thought it would be the perfect fit, and it was. On the top of the cover it read “Atticus’ Song”. His small hands ran over the words as he sounded it out. 

“Is this us?” 

Y/N stroked his cheek. “Yeah, bubs. It’s for you.” 

“Can you play it?” Atticus asks Y/N. 

Harry knew Y/N was nervous. Hell, he was too. There was no worse critic than an honest nine-year-old. As Y/N placed the record on the player, Atticus fiddled with the string of the bracelet he made the other day with Harry. They all had a similar one on their wrist, Atticus having made Y/N’s matching them. Y/N walked back, squeezing next to Harry. Atticus closed his eyes to focus on the opening notes of the song. He was just like Harry, a true critic and admirer of all music. This time was no different. 

The song was slow and had the melody of a lullaby. Harry’s voice welcomed them into the song, with Y/N’s joining him in the chorus. Y/N saw Atticus’ lip twitch during her solo and she couldn’t help but squeeze Harry’s arm. The song ran its course, and they waited patiently for his thoughts. 

“Nice. It was really nice.” 

Y/N let out a deep breath she was holding. Atticus cries, and Y/N panics as she swoops him into her lap before Harry can even move. She holds him tight to her chest as she meets Harry’s worried stare.

“Darling, my darling boy. I got you. I always have you.” Y/N whispers, brushing his hair back, trying her best to soothe him. Y/N rocks him back and forth, letting him get out all his emotions. 

Atticus pulls back, his sniffles the only sound in the room. “Promise I like it.” 

Harry laughs. “Tears would say otherwise, bud.” 

“It–I–I” Atticus isn’t sure how to explain what he felt. “Can we play it every day?” 

Y/N presses a kiss to his temple. “Anything for you.” 

“You wrote it Mumma?” 

Harry scoffs in defense. “What if I did? Huh?” 

Atticus giggles. “Okay, Dad.” 

Harry pouts. Y/N is the stronger song writer, there is no fighting it. “Fine, she wrote most of it.” 

“We did it together,” Y/N answers. 

“It’s my new favorite.” Atticus declares proudly. 

“Good. That’s good. We do have one last surprise.” Harry is eager to share the news.

He stands up and goes for the frame they put the sonogram in for Atticus to keep in his room. While Harry steps out, Y/N settles Atticus in the middle of the sofa for Harry to sit next to him. Honestly, she wants to record this moment but decides it’s better to keep it private between them. Harry comes back with his dimples on display and Atticus is quick to be suspicious. 

“Now close your eyes,” Harry orders. 

Atticus looks weary but does as he’s told. Harry places the frame in his hands and when Atticus opens his eyes, he is looking at their most recent sonogram. It’s clear there is a baby in the middle with its head and body. Atticus would be quick to put it together, but even if he didn’t, the frame reading “Best Brother” would be a dead giveaway. Atticus’ jaw drops at the news. His eyes were not leaving Y/N’s as if he was waiting for them to say “just kidding” because he had waited a long time for this moment. There was a baby in his mum’s stomach. He was going to be an older brother. 

“Is that why you’re always snacking?” Is the first thing Atticus says. 

“Atticus,” Harry shouts playfully. Harry spares a glance at Y/N, unsure how she will react. She’s been a weeping mess, even if she denies it’s the pregnancy hormones. Instead, she surprises him by laughing. It’s a full belly laugh that makes her tear up. 

It is true Y/N had been snacking recently, always something in her hand from a mandarin to banana chips. Harry had stocked up on different snacks on his weekly run to Tesco. He was sure Y/N had almost finished them, but he didn’t mind making all the extra runs out. Anything for his wife. 

“How long do I have to wait to meet them?” Atticus asks when Y/N’s laughter has died down.

Y/N places her hand over her stomach. She hasn’t popped yet, but her doctor told her it would happen soon. Harry had taken photos every day, so she had seen the difference. “About six months to go, Atty.” 

His eyes widened. “Too long.” 

Harry laughs, pushing back Atticus’ growing curls. “Trust me, I know. But we’ve got an important job during this time.”

Y/N smacks Harry’s shoulder. “You don’t have a job, baby. We want you to keep being you. You can talk to us about the baby, about anything.” 

“Can they hear me?” Is his follow up question. 

“Mmm, you can talk to them all you like. Your Daddy certainly likes to do so.” 

“Hey,” Harry pouts. “Thought you liked it.” 

Y/N gives Harry a kiss. “I love it. One of my favorite parts of the day.”

“Okay. Can I do it now?” Atticus asks. 

Harry nods and gestures for him to settle on the couch with Y/N. He sits on Y/N’s lap while Harry is quick to try to move him, wanting him to be careful with her. Y/N simply pulls him closer, and it reminds him of how perfect of a mother Y/N already is. 

He joins his family on the couch, all snuggled close, while they listen to Atticus talk to his sibling. It’s one of the best days of Harry’s life and he can’t wait to make more memories in a few months’ time. For now, he will enjoy these special moments. 

[goodlucktai]

too well tangled

rise of the tmnt post-movie / canon divergent word count: 1k characters: disaster twins

this was my bonus piece for the digital @turtlestogetherzine !

title borrowed from atticus—“you will never be unloved by me / you are too well tangled in my soul”

read on ao3

x

So it turns out that sixteen minutes in the prison dimension is about six months outside it. Give or take. 

Donnie calls it a temporal differential. Leo’s third day back was spent being gently interrogated within an inch of his life. For every answer he gave, Donnie’s face got a little darker. 

He seems a lot older than the last time Leo saw him. Everyone does. They all look at Leo like he’ll disappear into thin air if they blink too many times. 

He expects it to wear off eventually. He’s only confined to the infirmary for a week and a half, and on bedrest for a week after that, but even a month later Raph and Mikey continue to stick to him like glue. 

“I’m okay,” Leo tells them, when his bad leg seizes up and he staggers on his way to the breakfast table and Mikey’s face crumples horribly. Raph just huffs and lifts Leo clean off his feet to carry him the rest of the way. Swallowing past the uncertain lump in his throat, Leo adds playfully, “I mean, I’m not one to complain about the all-star treatment, but—”

“Good,” Raph rumbles, “then don’t.”

“Sorry if we’re being annoying,” Mikey says with a brightness in his tone that doesn’t sit quite right. He’s said that like fifty times since Leo came back. “We just—we missed you, Lee.” 

And what is Leo supposed to say to that? 

“Annoying? Please,” he scoffs. “I’m the king of everything obnoxious. You couldn’t annoy me if you tried.”

When Raph lowers him into a seat, Leo lifts his arm in invitation for Mikey to scoot his chair up right next to his, and then wraps him up in a tight hug. Mikey slots into his side like he belongs there, and he does, he always will, but it’s just a bit different than Leo remembers. 

Mikey is still his little brother. But only by a few months now. Leo’s seventeenth birthday came and went without him. 

And a part of him—this nameless little part that lives in the back of his mind, that’s lived there ever since dad made him team leader and ripped the rug out from under his feet—thinks that’s why Donnie doesn’t know how to be around him anymore.

He’s a constant presence. He’s a solid pillar for Leo to lean against when his legs don’t want to hold him up. But they don’t know what to say to each other. That unspoken understanding, that twin thing—it’s gone. 

Or so Leo thinks. 

Big Mama is more of a weird estranged relative than a mortal enemy these days, but she’s an entrepreneur first, eccentric wine aunt second. When she gets a big business idea, all bets are off. Leo can kind of respect that. It’s really thrilling and a little fun trying to match wits with a criminal mastermind, like high-stakes 5D chess. 

But her invitations could use some work. Sending a bunch of burly yokai in Grand Nexus uniforms to intercept the turtles on their way to Run of the Mill for dinner is a scheme that could have used a bit more time on the workshop table. 

Immediately Leo’s brothers close ranks around him. He’s allowed to run around in his leg brace at this point, but he has, in no uncertain terms, NOT been cleared to fight. He can tell from the set of Raph and Mikey’s shoulders that they’re beyond ticked off, but he can’t read Donnie’s posture at all. 

It’s bad timing, but suddenly Leo is preoccupied with those dark little thoughts he’s been having recently. Maybe Donnie isn’t happy to have him around. It’s been a lot of extra work, right? Dealing with the prodigal brother’s physical therapy and night terrors aside, now Donnie can’t even pick up some pizza without having to play bodyguard. 

So Leo is distracted—sue him. He’s got a lot going on. When an owl guard grabs him by the arm, he’s not ready for it. The yank backwards causes him to stumble, bad knee bending underneath him. 

The guard seems to loom over him for a moment. The evening gloom of the alleyway and the lurid glow of a nearby neon sign makes Leo’s brain sprint right back to the prison dimension. A distressed chirp works its way out of him before he can fully reorient himself. Add that to his ever-growing list of Good Reasons To Fake His Own Death. 

Big Mama’s goon looks surprised by the sound, grip relenting on Leo’s arm immediately. He wouldn’t do that if he were here for villainous reasons. So Big Mama probably actually considers kidnapping via sudden ambush to be a halfway decent method of picking her nemeses-slash-nephews up for an evening visit. 

Leo only has a second to think, Okay, I can work with this, turning up the charm and pretending like he can’t still feel the aftershocks of panic, before he’s being yanked again. 

This time he’s pulled right in against Donnie’s side, a strong arm around his carapace. There’s a burst of light and warmth—bright purple and overheated electronics, he’d know his brother’s ninpo anywhere—and they’re surrounded by a gleaming, glowing arsenal. 

The owl guard didn’t have a chance in hell. Donnie still doesn’t really look at Leo, not once as Mikey and Raph rush over, not even on the empty-handed trek back home. 

But he sits next to Leo on the couch while Mikey enlists Raph and papa’s help with dinner since their pizza run failed. The bickering and Mikey’s cooking playlist create a familiar, comfortable backdrop where it swells out of the kitchen. Donnie’s shoulder knocks against Leo’s. It feels like how it used to. 

Before he can lose courage, Leo blurts, “The thing I miss most from before is being twins with you.”

As soon as he says it, he wants to take it back. This is more mortifying than all of those initial grueling physical therapy sessions combined. 

He’s scrambling for an escape route that isn’t just hobbling away as fast as he can, or portaling to the bottom of the ocean, when Donnie suddenly says, “Draxum said we hatched together. We’ve been together all our lives. You’re pulling our twin card just because I'm finally taller than you?”

Leo sputters. “By an inch!”

Donnie raises an eyebrow at him, waiting with uncharacteristic patience for Leo to catch up. Maybe that’s what he’s been doing this whole time. 

Eyes stinging, Leo slouches into Donnie’s side. The softshell matches him, his cheek coming to rest on the top of Leo’s head. It reminds Leo of hugging Mikey earlier that morning at the breakfast table. 

Leo still fits here. There’s a good chance he always will. 

“Guess this finally makes me the older twin, huh, Nardo?”

It surprises Leo into laughter, maybe the first big loud laugh to come tripping out of him since well before the invasion. Conversation in the kitchen grinds to a halt and Mikey and Raph come barreling out a second later all covered in flour, eager to catch him in the act, to get in on it. 

“Sorry, Tello,” Leo says, grinning, not very sorry at all. “Not in this lifetime.”

[bimbo-baggins17]

Thoughts on BABY DADDY SAM MONROE ‼️🫵🏼🫦

Oof okay, well first I’m gonna plug my beautiful Aga’s work link @anakinstwinklebunny

Immediately I thought of the sound on tiktok of ‘You want a beer?’ ‘He’s four!’ ‘Well I don’t know what to do with him!’

TW: mentions of weight, afab anatomy, Sam being Sam

- If we’re talking pre relationship-mending Sam, he’s not the best dad, sorry. “What do you mean you’re pregnant? I pulled out. Can’t you just abort the thing or whatever?”

- The only reason he’d go along to doctor’s appointments is because his mom would nag him and tell him it’s the right thing to do.

- Did he love you? In his own way yeah, he supposed but that didn’t mean he wanted a baby. He saw how his parents ended up and he didn’t want to be that way with you

- “Babe, where’s my last kit-kat?” You’d ask, searching your normal stash area. Your cravings were in full swing. He wouldn’t bother to look up from the video game he’s playing or magazine he’s reading, “I ate it earlier.” “Seriously Sam?” He’d just shrug like it was no big deal, “Yeah. You can always get another. Relax.”

- He’d begrudgingly rub your swollen feet when you’d ask him to, muttering under his breath occasionally and half ass doing it

- Smoking around you was still common, no matter how much you got onto his ass about it. “Sam, you can’t be doing that. Put it out!” Immediately he’d shake his head, “This is the last bit of my shit and I’m not owing Josh another favor.” “Go outside then if you have to.” “Ugh fine. Whatever ‘mom’.” You swore you were going to have two kids.

- “You’re gaining weight.” He’d point out one day and your heart would sink. “I’m pregnant. I’m supposed to.” “Still. Should try to lose some.”

- “Chicks, man.” He’d groan under his breath when you’d snapped on him for the third time today because he was being inconsiderate again. This time it was some comment about how Alyssa was hot and he’d definitely tap that.

- Something starts to change the second he feels the baby kick for the first time. He’d notice the way your eyes widen and you sit up straighter, “What is it?” “The baby just kicked.” The excitement in your voice was clear enough for him to pick up. He swallows and looks at you for a second before timidly asking, “Can I feel it?”

-It was the first time he really took interest, how could you say no? “Yeah, come here.” He walks over and you take his hands, placing them on the spot where you had felt it last. It’s still for a few seconds and he’s about to pull away when it happens again. His eyes widen and he stares in awe at your belly bump for a moment. Your smile widens as you look up at him. Slowly his own lips curl into a smile, “Wow.” He’d actually created life with you.

- Tries to convince you of some god awful name combinations for your son. Chester Daron, Atticus Taylor, Wes Manson. They’re all name combinations taken from members of his favorite bands.

- He’d get your son band onesies. Slipknot, System of a Down, Marilyn Manson, Linkin Park, Korn, Nine Inch Nails, etc. He’d be the punkest baby.

- He’d be there for the birth. He wanted to barf seeing the different fluids and how your body changes as it pushes the baby out. There’s no way that’s the same pussy he’d spend hours devouring.

- But then hearing your baby cry for the first time, it caused the rest of the shift to happen in him. He was a dad. A dad. Him. He couldn’t believe it. He created life with you. He quickly wipes away the tears that were forming with the back of his hand. “Jesus. You did it. It’s actually here.” “He’s here,” You correct him, “and we did it, Sam.”

- He’d ask to hold your baby, taking it into his arms with a kind of gentleness you’ve never seen from him before. Your son would hold onto one of his ringed fingers, “Wow. Such a tight grip already, little man.” It was a sweet moment, a tenderness in his eyes as he looks at your son. “Gonna show you all the best music. None of that poser shit. I’ll teach you how to roll the best joint too when you’re old enough.” You win some, you lose some.