#Gift Box Mart

[corroded-hellfire]

Time For Toys and Time For Cheer - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Collaboration with the El to my Max, @munson-blurbs

Summary: When Brittany’s Christmas presents for the boys come in, it’s evident that “it’s the thought that counts” doesn’t apply.

Note: Jingle bells, Brittany smells, please enjoy this fic today!

Warnings: mild violence, Eddie being a perv, Brittany being Brittany

Words: 2.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.”

Eddie lets the scissors drop down onto his mattress as you peer into the box he just opened. Seeing Brittany’s name on a box when you picked up the mail for your boyfriend was enough to irk you for the rest of the day—especially since Eddie wouldn’t open it until after the kids were in bed because it’s probably their Christmas gifts. The silver lining though, was that you saw Brittany is going by her maiden name again. You hope to God she changed it legally; she doesn’t deserve to be a Munson. 

The box did contain gifts for the boys but as you look inside you see what pissed your boyfriend off. You reach in and pick up a box of Legos that were made for a kid half Ryan’s age. The Blue’s Clues coloring book that Eddie takes out is just as insulting. Should she get credit for knowing Ryan likes Legos and Luke likes coloring books? Not in your opinion. Not when she lived with them for most of their lives. Not when she gave birth to them and should know how old they are and that these presents are not age appropriate. 

“Is this really a bunch of Lego kids on a bus? Oh look, they’re soccer players on a bus.” You scoff and roll your eyes as you set the gift back in the box it was shipped in. “Yeah, ‘cause Ryan loves sports so much.” Eddie’s eldest was in agreement with his father that sports are stupid. You think his mother would’ve known that. Then again, his mother is Brittany. 

“He’d put that together in less than five minutes,” Eddie says, nodding towards the Lego set. He sets the coloring books back inside as well and pulls out a small white paper that got stuck to the bottom of the box. “Looks like they’re from Wal-Mart. Nice of her to send a gift receipt. Almost as if she knew her presents were shit.” 

Any irritation you feel for Brittany doesn’t come close to the love you have for Luke and Ryan, and you’d do everything in your power to make sure they have a wonderful Christmas. 

“Think Wayne will watch them for a few hours after dinner one night?” you ask, eyes scanning over the gift receipt before meeting Eddie’s deep brown ones. 

“If we buy him a mug, he might watch them for the whole weekend.” Eddie puts the gift receipt back in the box and closes it. He looks over at you and an adoring grin grows on his face. “I fucking love you, babe.” He takes your face in his hands and presses a wet, smacking kiss to your forehead. 

Eddie falls a little bit deeper in love with you every time you do something for the boys without any hesitation. And since it’s a frequent occurrence, it’s safe to say that he’s head-over-heels for you. 

A few nights later, Eddie brings the car to a stop in front of his uncle’s trailer. He puts it in park and looks over his shoulder at his sons in the backseat. Ryan doesn’t seem bothered one bit that he’s being dropped off at his grandfather’s. Luke, on the other hand, looks like you and Eddie just told him he’ll never be able to eat another cookie again in his life. 

When Eddie’s eyes meet Luke’s blue ones, the little boy groans and drops his head back against his seat, curls smooshing around his head like a halo. 

“Why can’t we go with you?” he whines. 

“Luke,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “You hate clothes shopping for yourself. Let alone anyone else.”

“Yeah,” you say as you turn to face him as well. “And I can take forever in dressing rooms. I can never decide what I like better.”

“Plus,” Eddie adds with a smirk, knowing a foolproof way to get the boys out of the car, “you really wanna come with us and watch us kiss the whole night?” 

The moment Eddie leans in towards you, both boys groan and Ryan slaps his hand over his eyes. Checkmate. 

Luke is quick to scramble out of the car, his older brother right behind him. 

“Go!” Luke practically shouts. “Take your time! Make sure you get a nice dress.”

“Yeah,” Ryan adds. “Has to look nice for your work party.”

It’s hard for both you and Eddie to keep a lid on your laughter while the boys are all but pushing your car down the road to get you away from them. 

“Be good,” Eddie calls out the open window. 

“Yeah, yeah…” Luke mumbles as he trudges up the front steps of the trailer. Ryan follows behind him and gives you and Eddie a wave before they head inside the house. 

The moment they’re inside, Eddie turns to you and raises his eyebrows. 

“Can we buy you a new dress?” he asks. 

“Why?” you ask with a laugh. “You’ll want me to buy a sexy one, then not want me to wear it out anywhere and let people see me in it.”

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbles as he puts the car in drive. 

“Maybe after we return the baby-fied toys that are in the trunk and get the new ones, we can look at some lingerie, though?” you tease.

“Deal.”

The Wal-Mart parking lot is a madhouse; Eddie circles it three times before finally snagging a spot all the way at the back. He scoops the presents from the trunk and the two of you make a beeline for the return counter, with you holding onto his jacket sleeve to avoid losing him in the crowd. 

“Okay,” Eddie says, once you’ve secured the gift card that contains the store credit. He looks at you with sheer determination. “We gotta divide and conquer. You shop for Ryan, and I’ll shop for Luke.”

You make your way to the Lego aisle; Brittany had the right idea, but the wrong execution. After perusing the shelves for something more age-appropriate, your gaze lands on a kit to build a Statue of Liberty replica. 

Just as you grab it, you feel someone tugging on the other side. “Um, sorry, I’m taking this one,” you try to explain, willing your voice not to waver as it often does during confrontation. 

The man who’d reached for it as well scowls at you. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He yanks it from your grasp triumphantly. There’s a nasty sneer on his face as he looks down his nose at you. He’s around Eddie’s height, bald as a cue ball, and has a beer belly that’s larger than most pregnant women’s bumps.

“Hey! What the hell’s your problem?” The words slip from your mouth before you can stop them. 

The man smirks menacingly. “What’re you even doing in this aisle? The Easy Bake Ovens are down that way.”

When he points to his left and lets his guard down, you seize the opportunity to pull the Lego set from him. 

“What d’you think you’re doing, bitch?” He reaches out a meaty hand to snatch it back, but he’s jerked back by his collar. 

“You calling my wife a ‘bitch’?” Eddie growls, eyes blazing with fury. You can’t remember the last time you saw him this angry. He shoves the man, now wide-eyed and fearful, into a display of Tonka trucks, which catches the attention of a security guard. 

He marches over to the men, waving his hands and shouting. “Hey, break it up!” The guard pulls Eddie away from the man. “You two,” he looks between Eddie and the guy, “get outta here!”

Eddie sputters. “Wha—no, he called my wife a bitch!” he tries to protest, but the guard just pushes him toward the exit. “This is bullshit!”

Despite the gravity of the situation, you can’t help but feel butterflies at the way he said, “my wife.” It has a much better ring to it than just, “my girlfriend” or even “my fiancée.”

Your awestruck demeanor vanishes as you stare at the back of Eddie’s head in disbelief while the security guard leads him away. You’re left hanging in limbo, unsure if you should follow him out or buy the toy—he is going through a lot of trouble for it, and you’d hate for his efforts to be for naught. 

As if he can read your mind, Eddie looks over his shoulder and gives you a wink. “You know what Luke likes, baby,” he calls out. 

You can only nod as you hold onto the Lego box for Ryan. 

“Meet you in the car,” Eddie says before turning back around, wincing when the guard shoves him out the door. 

It’s hard to shake off the fact that Eddie just got kicked out of the store and proceed to shop as though nothing has happened, but you know you need to find something for Luke. Something that isn’t made for a preschool demographic. 

“Okay, Legos for Ryan. Luke still likes coloring books. Just not Winnie the Pooh ones.” Brittany was at least on the right track with her gifts for the boys—just a good number of years behind.

The coloring books are a few aisles over and you chew on your bottom lip as you check out the collection. There are lots of Disney ones full of princesses and mice, but Luke only really enjoys the movies made by The Mouse, not any toys or games.

Scooby Doo catches your eye and as soon as you pick that one up, you see a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles book.

“Hmm…” you hum, but then chuckle to yourself. Of course he gets more than one.

You cradle those two books in your arm with the Lego set and also grab Pokémon and a monster truck one.

You’re welcome, Brittany, you think. You sent three but now he’s going to think you sent him four. None of this is for Brittany’s sake—both you and Eddie know that. The boys would be the ones disappointed, not their mother. There will come a day when they recognize her absence and carelessness, but you don’t want to help point it out; you just want to show them love and support.

On the way to the register, you do a double take when you see a mostly empty shelf of wrapping paper. Brittany didn’t bother to wrap the presents before she sent them, but that’s something else the kids don’t need to know. 

Making sure to get a paper that’s very different from any of the ones back at the apartment, you add a Frosty the Snowman roll to the pile in your arms. This way, they’ll differentiate these from the presents left by Santa. 

Most of the registers are crowded, which makes you huff, but you’ve had your share of fighting for the evening. Instead, you wait silently until the woman behind you in line starts speaking to you. “Last minute shopping for your kids, too?” she says with a laugh. 

You nod. “Yeah, it’s been quite the adventure,” you offer, not wanting to relay the near-WWE match that occurred in the toy section. 

“I’ll bet,” she chuckles, hoisting a toy Batmobile. “Boys or girls?”

The question catches you off-guard for a moment. “Boys. Two of them.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t imagine having two sons. I have one, and he’s a menace.”

You smile. “Yeah, but they’re my menaces.”

On Christmas morning you’re not entirely sure what’s up first: the sun or the boys. Eddie looks like a zombie as the two of you initially follow the boys out to the living room. Once they see the tree and the mountain of presents scattered about, their joy and excitement are almost as good as a cup of coffee in waking you and your boyfriend up. 

Heaps of wrapping paper pile up as they tear open their gifts: action figures and Hot Wheels for Luke, books and science kits for Ryan, and a handful of VHS tapes for them to share. 

Once the heap of presents begins to dwindle down to the last handful, Eddie stands up.

“Don’t wanna forget the gifts from Mom.”

The boys instinctively glance at you before they realize that their dad is referring to Brittany. 

Eddie hands them the carefully wrapped packages, assessing their expressions to gauge their excitement. 

“No way, this is the Lego set I wanted!” Ryan cheers, beaming at the toy. 

Luke is equally impressed with his gift. “Yes! New coloring books!” He stands up and does a little happy dance that looks very reminiscent of something you’d see one of The Peanuts characters doing. 

Eddie smiles, knowing all the bullshit of dealing with Brittany, in the past, present, or future, is worth it to keep his boys happy. 

“You guys wanna call Mom and thank her?” Eddie asks.

They nod, racing each other to the phone so they can get back to playing as soon as possible. There’s a part of you—a petty part—that hopes their phone call wakes Brittany up from a peaceful sleep. Just because you play nice for the kids doesn’t mean you can’t have small moments of joy at the thought of that woman being inconvenienced. 

“Your kids are crazy,” Eddie says to you, plopping back onto the couch and flinging his arm over your shoulder. “You should really rein them in.”

You give an exaggerated sigh and shake your head. “I’ve tried, but their father is even worse. Just enables the insanity.”

Eddie laughs, kissing your cheek before tilting your chin towards him so he can press his lips to yours. 

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

[604to647]

Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Second Movement (Allegretto)

6K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: Pero continues to be a source of encouragement and support as you navigate the marriage mart.

Warnings: Some pining and light angst. Soft!Pero warning. Liberal use of Bridgerton characters and canon.

A/N: I'm sorry for any historical inaccuracies/liberties taken! Bridgerton inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Series Masterlist 🎼 First Movement 🎼

You think you should have been warned that the days following season events are somehow always busier than the events themselves.

The morning after the Danbury ball, with hardly enough sleep and exhausted almost to the point of delirium, you find yourself yawning through Daphne’s chipper recitation of your schedule for the next few days.  You must have agreed to it all while inhaling your breakfast, because you’re now dressed in a prim and proper powder blue frock, sitting prettily in the Bridgerton’s upstairs drawing room, waiting for what feels like the millionth young man you must have met last night to make your reacquaintance.  Although there was no one who had caught your attention particularly at last night’s ball, you do recall several gentlemen being very pleasant and look forward to getting to know them better.  Every visitor and potential suitor that waits for your audience today is afforded your full consideration and open heart, even if you are still very, very tired.  And though the conversation gets repetitive and the gifts are slightly impersonal, you appreciate everyone’s efforts and invite them to return all the same.

---

It’s well after lunch by the time Pero steps into the front hall of Bridgerton House and is shown into the waiting room where he finds you and all the Bridgerton women in various states of exhaustion, draped over chaise lounges and chairs, while the Bridgerton men chat merrily and sample from various boxes of candies and treats that had been brought as offerings by your, Eloise and Francesca’s suitors this morning.

“Pero!” Though you are delighted to see him, you’re so worn out, all you can muster is a small wave.  You return the bemused expression he has on his face as he takes in the room and the collection of gifts and offerings piled high with a soft smile of your own.

“No peonies,” Pero observes readily.

Daphne chirps, “No, but lots and lots of flowers.  Expensive ones.”

“But peonies are your favourite,” he says pointedly to you.  You nod, heart swelling with fondness, “You remembered!”

“Of course, Dulce, I remember everything about you.”  You feel warm at his affectionate tone; you remember everything about Pero as well, but would never have expected him to do the same.

“How did this morning go?” 

The Duchess answers for you and runs through the list of suitors that called on you this morning, including tidbits on their pedigrees or impressive accomplishments.  Pero half listens as he looks over the table of gifts; refusing a biscuit when Benedict extends a box in his direction, he murmurs, “Busy morning.”

You and the women nod.  Eloise yawns.  Francesca closes her eyes.  You sigh.

Pero kneels before you, comforting hand on your leg, “What’s the matter, Dulce?”

Sighing again, but this time a little less weary, “I don’t know?  I suppose it’s that there was no spark.  I didn’t spark with anyone.”

Daphne is quick to reassure you, “It can take time!  Simon and I did not spark right away.  In fact, we hated each other.  But as we spent time together, our feelings emerged.”

You nod in comprehension, but joke, amiably, “Well now I do not know if it’s a good thing then that I did not hate anyone either.” When you see Pero still looking at you with an apologetic expression, you smile sheepishly, “You must think me very naïve.”

“No, not naïve.  Very, very sweet, and even romantic.  There’s nothing wrong with being hopeful, Dulce.”

Nodding gratefully at Pero, he smiles when he sees that you’re taking solace in his words and decides now is a good time to produce a tin from behind his back that you hadn’t notice he was holding, “I know you have received a lot gifts already and the day itself has been quite overwhelming.  Perhaps you do not have the energy for one more?”

There’s something familiar about the container Pero is holding out to you; when you open it and see the delicate wafer cookies contained within, you’re instantly transported to a small Italian bakery that you and Pero used to visit daily in Florence. “Oh Pero,” you breathe, your eyes bright.

“I was in Florence recently and could not help but revisit our old haunt.  Did you know Signor Russo is still there?  I’m embarrassed by how many tins I purchased.  I remembered last night they used to be your favourite and it just so happened that I had one tin left in my luggage,” grins Pero; all he has wanted to do since he said good night to you after the ball, is to draw out the smile that’s currently on your face.

“Thank you so much, Pero,” you close your eyes and hum in contentment as the familiar sweet flavour washes over your tongue.  “This is the best thing I received today,” you grin, “May I share?”

“Of course,” Pero isn’t the least bit surprised by your display of generosity and he watches with satisfaction as you excitedly pass around the tin to your friends, sharing with them its origins and small snippets of the time in your life when these cookies were a daily treat.

Invigorated by the nostalgic treat, you and Pero spend the remainder of the afternoon catching up and recalling fond memories of your childhood together.  You learn that after completing his studies, Pero embarked on the customary grand tour before returning to Spain to help his father with the Tovar estate.  Subsequent to his father’s passing, at his King’s insistence he resumed his father’s former diplomatic duties and has spent the last five years travelling under the same charge previously entrusted to the old Barón.  When you tell Pero about the many places you have travelled with your father since you saw him last, you delight in the discovery that you’ve been to many of the same places, sometimes missing each other by only weeks.  Your never-ending conversation comparing new and old favourite discovered delicacies and sights runs all the way until dinner; you can’t remember the last time you’ve had so much fun just talking.

It’s exactly what you had wanted to do since the moment you saw Pero last night at the Danbury Ball.  Your grateful heart overflows with joy that you’ve been allowed the grace of closing out this whirlwind twenty-four hours in the laughter-filled, carefree manner that can only be possible when catching up with an old friend.

When you enter the Ramsbury Ball the following week it’s with Pero as one of your party.  His inclusion the most natural thing given that he’s become a regular fixture at Bridgerton House, often joining Colin in the morning for breakfast and returning in the afternoon to check in on how you’re doing and how the day’s suitors have treated you.

You can hardly express your appreciation at having your old friend’s support while you endeavour on the daunting undertaking of your first social season.  Though you remain a popular fixture among the ton, you must admit that socializing so much does not come without effort, being used to much quieter and calmer company.  It does not escape you how lucky you are to have a group of friends and supporters such as Pero and the Bridgertons with whom you can momentarily relax and jovially chat in between dances and some of the more awkward attempts at flirting by your suitors.

“Wait, wait!” laughs Colin, “You mean to tell us that you were actually there when our good Barón got his scar?  Please, pray tell, how did it happen?  I have tried in vain to get Tovar to reveal his dark secret!”

Pero catches your eye and you see his own twinkle in mischief.  “I’m afraid my lips are sealed,” you proclaim, falling easily into conspiracy with your friend, “and on any account, the tale is not suitable for polite society.”

Eloise, Colin and Benedict all groan and try various tactics to convince you to give up your story, but to no avail.  You simply will not tell them that the fearsome scar over Pero’s left eye is the result of a boy falling off the dock after running too vigorously towards the lunch bell and slipping on a wet fish.  Though you can laugh about it now, at the time you had been scared witless when the sailors from your father’s fleet lifted Pero’s wet, limp body from the water; you had cried by his bedside all three nights he was unconscious, praying he would be alright.  Even now, Pero remembers the force with which you had punched him in his uninjured shoulder when he woke, scolding him for scaring you so and making him promise never to do it again. 

Later, when you’re once again gliding across the dance floor in Pero’s comfortable but firm hold, he grins down at you, “Thank you, Dulce, for keeping my secret and upholding my reputation as a dastardly rogue.”

“My pleasure!  Have you been telling people that your scar is the result of some great feat of bravery?  Perhaps you fought off five pirates in order to protect the virtue of a young maiden?”

Pero laughs, “Sadly my imagination is not as inventive as yours.  I have simply been saying the details of the incident are difficult for me to recall.”

You nod, knowingly, “Ah yes, on account of all the injuries sustained.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I will be sure to drop enough vague hints to satiate their curiosity and raise you in their esteem.”

“Thank you, Dulce,” Pero says, amused as always by your good humour.

But you haven’t finished teasing, “... and perhaps they will be more forgiving of when you are dull, if they understand that you suffered a great many head injuries in your past.”

“Why you…”

Luckily for you, the dance requires you to spin away from Pero at this exact moment so you never hear what he says; by the time you turn back into his arms, he has already forgiven you – he’s never been truly upset with you before and has no plans to start now.  As the two of you continue to dance, your happy banter floats over the quickness of your steps and the laughter Pero pulls from you rings loud and clear across the dance floor.

---

Pero watches as you dance yet another dance with some seemingly upstanding gentleman from the ton.  A Lord something-something-shire.  Though he stands stiffly next to Benedict, scowling, inwardly he smiles and admires your graceful form.  You really have grown up to be a lovely, beautiful young lady, and yet – he finds in many ways, you’re hardly changed from the spirited, kind, and funny girl he knew in his youth.  You’re elegant and poised, but even as you extend your arm to your partner, the lilt of your fingers denote a playfulness that he remembers, something he does not observe in the other girls of the ton.  When not dancing, your pretty smile and witty remarks, coupled with the way your entire being lights up during the energetic story telling of one of your anecdotes, charms the entire room.  He’s exceptionally proud of you.

Still, he can tell you’re holding back, that you’re not entirely comfortable to be yourself in this setting.  Perhaps it’s modesty that begs you not to draw the attention of the entire room.  Or you’re following some outdated tutelage to conform with the subdued formality of such events.  All he knows is that to him, you’re radiant, a beacon of light, but he has yet to see you unleash the full extent of your charisma on the ton.

A weird, inexplicable part of him is glad that you don’t.  Something in him oddly akin to possessiveness wants to remain the only man at these events that knows you the way he does; knowing the depth of your wry humour, your never yielding compassion, and your unique perspective on the wide world that only a handful of people in this room have seen.  This same part of him leads him to spend most of the balls and societal events with his face set in a deep, glowering frown, standing apart from the other members of the ton, needing to be alone in order to wrestle with his thoughts.

Since the day following the Danbury Ball, Pero has brought you a single stemmed peony every single day, reasoning that if nothing else, you will have at least one of your favourite flower if none of your suitors sends any.  You come to look forward to the quiet meditative minutes you spend carefully clipping and arranging your one peony every day; it’s as if Pero has not only given you the flower, but also permission to take some relaxing time to yourself amidst the hustle and bustle of your social obligations.  By the time the Somerset House Gallery viewing arrives, you have yourself a fairly impressive bouquet that brings you peace and joy every time you look at it. 

As usual, Pero joins your group for the outing, but to your surprise, Eloise does not.  The reason for this is soon clear when Colin announces that he will be escorting Penelope Featherington as part of your party today.  You haven’t broached the topic with Eloise, but it’s clear that something has happened between the two women.  For as long as you can remember, Eloise and Penelope were thick as thieves, the very best of friends – when she thinks no one is watching, you’ve seen how this rift has affected her, but you can also tell Eloise would rather not discuss it.

Although you do not know her as well as you do the Bridgertons, Penelope has always seemed to be a lovely and friendly type of person.  Spending the afternoon with her today, you find her to also be witty and observant, direct in her comments and transparent in her thoughts and feelings as your group wanders through the galleries and enjoys the art on display.  Periodically, a friend of the Bridgertons or a suitor will join your small group as you move from piece to piece, making small talk and asking you or Francesca what you thought of this painting or that. 

When your party gathers around the refreshments table, Mr. Barnett, a young man you recall dancing with once at a recent ball, joins the conversation and remarks that the entire event is too dull for his tastes.

Met with polite but awkward looks and a light scoff from the Duchess, he apologies and tries to explain himself, “I simply mean that a sporting event, say a boxing match might provide more excitement than simply standing around and looking at pictures.  Although, I’m sure, Miss Featherington, you and your family might find this banality preferable to the type of action that typically surrounds the boxing ring.”

You’re absolutely shocked.  Even having not returned to London for several years, you had heard the rumours surrounding the late Lord Featherington’s untimely death.  Although certainly scandalous, as far as you knew, it was all speculation and you can’t imagine any reason to bring it up in polite conversation, never mind the gall of doing so directly to the poor deceased man’s daughter.

Colin looks murderous, his hands flexing, clearly battling himself on how he’d like to handle the situation without creating too much of a scene.  Next to him, Pero glares menacingly at Mr. Barnett, ready to follow his friend’s lead and provide whatever backup is necessary. 

Your candy laced voice snaps all three men back to the present, “I’m honestly so astonished, where do the men find their courage nowadays?” directing the question at Mr. Barnett who perks up at your attention.  You continue, all smiles, “For the life of me, I don’t think I could ever be brave enough to voice a thought like that out loud.”  Mr. Barnett turns bright red and mumbles something that sounds like “Right,” before bowing slightly and scampering away.  Pero finds himself smirking and filled with pride.  He remembered this viper-tongued hidden side of yours – you, who was always so sweet and good-natured, but irrevocably intolerant of cruelty or injustice.

Once in a small town in Greece, he had watched you chase away a group of boys bigger than you who had been stealing candy from a local girl, with nothing more than the ferocious spitting of admonishments and a small stick.  That the bullies probably didn’t even understand a word of English did not apparently leave your harsh rebukes lost in translation; the fury in your face and the conviction in the stance of your small frame doing all the talking for you.  After comforting the little girl, you had then given her all your candy and seen her safely home.  Later when Pero had offered to buy you more candy, you had been surprised that he knew you had run out, embarrassed he had witnessed your display of ferocity.  That was the day he bestowed the nickname “Dulce” on you, telling you as he refilled your candy bag that he was proud of you; the same way he’s proud of you now.

Unsurprisingly, Penelope excuses herself shortly after and when Colin follows her, your group breaks apart and you end up walking through the gallery with just Pero.  You wait as long as you can, making sure you’re out of earshot of others before putting your heads together the way only close confidants do, recounting what had happened.

“The audacity of that man, if he can even call himself that!” you practically hiss, still so incensed at the lack of civility that you had been witness to.

Pero chuckles, he’s always quite liked it when you would get riled up and vent to him; it was like watching a soft kitten bare its claws, “Well you certainly put him in his place, Dulce.”

Sighing, you certainly hope so, “I hope Penelope is alright.  And I hope Mr. Barnett at least has enough sense not to approach her ever again.”

“Well, if he does, I’m sure he will have plenty to contend with, including another fearsome tongue lashing by the prettiest lady of the season.”  While you feel your cheeks flush at his compliment, Pero continues, “My guess is that you won’t be seeing him in the suitors line at Bridgerton House.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, “Pity.”

“But what if he would have brought you peonies, Dulce?” teases Pero.

You take Pero’s arm, leading him back to a painting you’ve been wanting to revisit, “I’d throw the bouquet at his head.  Besides, I already receive the most beautiful peonies from someone I actually want to spend time with.  You can tell the men of the ton that peonies are taken, they need to find their own flower.”  You chuckle cheerfully and Pero finds that the sound lands deep in his chest and makes his heart expand.

If you thought the Italian cookies or the peonies were thoughtful gifts, Pero renders you absolutely speechless when he presents you with a breathtaking necklace before the Crawford Ball.  When he sees you, he’s secretly pleased that the necklace will compliment the cream gown that you’ve chosen for the evening, but he also can’t help but notice the way it shapes to your curves and accentuates your pretty features.  He waits with bated breath as you open the black velvet box and triumphs at your gasp and the way your eyes grow wide as you lift the delicate ruby necklace from its soft resting place. 

“Oh Pero, are these…?” you whisper, so full of awe and disbelief that you’re unable to finish your sentence.  It’s not often that something or someone renders you speechless.

“The rubies from India?” he finishes for you softly, “Yes, they are.”

Your eyes shine bright at the recognition of the rubies that had been gifted to Pero’s father by Indian dignitaries; when you were younger, you were so entranced by their beauty that you would often ask the old Barón to show them to you, and the kind hearted man had always indulged you with a chuckle.

“May I?” asks Pero gently, and you turn to let Pero drape the necklace around your neck, letting it rest delicately over your collar bones before he clasps it securely.  Hand gingerly touching the precious jewels you turn to Pero, still stunned, “Pero, this is too much.”

“Nonsense,” he smiles generously, “it always amused Father how much joy these rubies brought you.  I think he would have loved to see you wearing them.”  Your eyes well up with emotion, remember the gentle man whose sweetness you see shining so brightly and clearly in his son before you.

That night, when your necklace attracts the inevitable compliments, Pero watches with a full heart as you proudly talk about his father with love and generosity, regaling your admirers with tales of the far-off lands where you knew the man who raised him best.  Unavoidably, heads would turn in his direction during your stories, and Pero finds himself grimacing at the attention; choosing to turn away and move out of your audience’s line of sight to somewhere where he can once again admire you from afar in peace.

It doesn’t escape the ton’s notice that Pero only ever dances with you at balls; though your dance card is always full, the second and sometimes even third dance are permanently reserved for him.  Your smile is the brightest for him and ever present whether you’re together, on the dance floor or off.  There is no politeness or restraint with the two of you, only lively and animated conversation - the cheerful and melodic harmony of your joint laughter often carrying above the noise of the room.  He only ever smiles for you.

In between dances, if you’re not engaging in small talk with other young ladies or your suitors, you can always be found chatting happily with Pero and the Bridgertons; the other ball goers looking over in jealousy that your little corner of friends might actually dare to enjoy yourselves at an event meant for the very serious business of finding husbands.

Mornings at Bridgerton House include the usual parade of suitors waiting with gifts and flowers to have an audience with you or Francesca, and to Eloise’s extreme mortification, sometimes her as well.  If he doesn’t stay after breakfast, Pero generally arrives mid-morning to visit with Colin, but spends the majority of his time scowling at the young men waiting patiently in line, making no secret of the fact he’s scrutinizing them as he passes by.

The Duchess cannot decide if the Barón is a help or a hinderance to your marriage prospects.  On one hand, his fearsome glower and imposing figure have been enough to scare off any potential suitor who either had less than honourable designs on your fortune, or, via consensus with the Bridgerton brothers, was deemed to be a rake, or worse.  On the other hand, it was clear to any person with eyes that the two of you have a deep friendship - your company the only one he sought out, and his always cheerfully received by you.  Daphne could only imagine that it might intimidate even the most strong-willed, unwavering of suitors.  She wonders if any of your suitors ever question if your friendship with Pero masked a deeper affection between the two of you; she herself having started to wonder the same.

Convincing herself that it’s for your ultimate well-being, she endeavours to talk to the Barón about it. 

The morning after the Crawford Ball, when the line of suitors is the longest its ever been, Daphne waits for Pero to make his usual appearance mid-morning, and when he is seen in, she’s already anticipating him at the bottom of the stairs.  After he greets her courteously, she asks, “Barón Tovar, may I please request a moment of your time?  There is something with which I need your assistance.”

Following the Duchess into a room off the main hall, Pero asks with curiosity, “What may I do for you, your Grace?”

Daphne starts by thanking him for his support during the season, acknowledging that his presence has meant so much to you and helped you tremendously in conquering any nerves you may have had about debuting.

“Of course.  The pleasure has genuinely been all mine; it sometimes feels almost unbelievable that it has been over ten years since we last saw each other.  I have found it remarkably easy to fall into old patterns.”

“Yes, it is evident that the two of you are very close,” Daphne hopes that her comment comes out as the compliment she intends while at the same time hinting to Pero why she may have asked to speak to him in the first place.

Countenance faltering a little but still keeping his tone kind, Pero queries, “Is there something you wish to ask me, your Grace?”

Daphne decides from the limited time she’s known Pero that he is the type of person to appreciate transparency and directness, and so she ask with what she hopes is an impassive look on her face, “Do you intend to court her, my Lord?”

Pero nearly stutters, so caught off guard by the question.  He contemplates the implication of the Duchess having asked this question, and then, more seriously, his answer; after a few moments of silence, Pero responds truthfully, “No.”

Daphne nods in response, “I see, my Lord.  Please do excuse me for asking what you may have found to be an impertinent question.”

“Not at all, your Grace.  I rest easy at night confident that you always have your friend’s best interests at heart.”

Daphne nods, “Yes, always.  That is my highest priority.  Please consider with me: if I have wondered, do you think it is possible that some suitors and potential suitors have pondered the same question?”

And there it is, a perfectly reasonable question that Pero knows if he were to answer, would expose a part of his heart that he’s been keeping hidden, maybe even from himself.  Pero was telling the truth when he said he would not court you, but he is not so selfish to wish to keep you from another if he cannot have you for his own.  Truthfully, he is aware that he presents an intimidating and imposing figure, the mettle of which might scare off any number of gentlemen interested in pursuing you. 

“I should step back,” he announces abruptly and with finality.

“No, no!” protests Daphne, “I do not think that is necessary!  Your presence and attendance with us at the season’s events have been most welcomed and to be honest, a comfort.”

“I do not wish to do more harm then good, though,” Pero says, resigned, “If my presence deters someone who might be her match, I could never forgive myself.”

Again, though Daphne has only known Pero for a short period of time, she somehow knows that he’s made up his mind, and that even she, a Duchess, does not have the power to change it.  Pero thanks her for all her continued kindness and attention towards you and bids her goodbye with a bow.  Heading to leave out the front door, he looks up, as if looking through to the drawing room where you’re currently sitting, one last time before exiting Bridgerton House with a heavy heart.

You haven’t seen Pero in a week and a half and you’re worried sick about him.  He hasn’t been by Bridgerton House at all and he missed the Trowbridge Ball last week.  He, of course, does not owe you a tally of his coming and goings, but you feel unsettled at having not seen him for such an extended period of time after having seen him nearly every day for the past two months.  Your days, though full of engagements, feels empty when he doesn’t make an appearance.  You miss him.  You miss his gentle teasing, his reassuring presence and the way only he can make you laugh.  You have not really laughed in nearly ten days.

You convince Eloise to show you how to sneak out and traverse the alleys that run behind the houses of the square safely and quickly, the way you know she used to in order to visit Penelope, so you can secretly pop down the street to check in on Pero one evening.

You follow Eloise’s instructions exactly as you hurry along the pathways that weave behind the grand houses and it takes you only five minutes to reach the house Pero is staying at.  Standing in the small courtyard, you spot one window with a light on; hoping Pero is in the lit room, you find a few stones on the ground and launch them upwards.  Your aim could be better, but you do manage to hit your target a few times, ricocheting a few stones against the glass with the lightest of clinks. When you see Pero’s face appear in the window, you’re more than relieved – he doesn’t look so ill that he can’t move about and that’s good news.  You wave at his confused face and watch as he leaves the window; it’s a minute before the back door opens, “Dulce, what are you doing here?  Is everything okay?”

Pero is looking around into the courtyard, concerned for why you would appear at his door in the middle of the night, alone.

“I could be asking you the same thing, Pero!  I am so relieved to see you up and about, I’ve been so worried about you!”

Pero melts a little at the concern written across your face, “Me?  Why?”

“I haven’t heard from you in… well, it has been ten days now!  You haven’t been by Bridgerton House, Colin did not know where you were, and you missed the last ball!  I thought you must have taken ill!” your voice sounding a little shrill as your finish in a huff, as if why you might be worried was the most obvious thing in the world.

Pero laughs a little at your theatrics and his jovial manner makes you laugh as well, “I am very glad that you are not.  I mean, you’re not ill, are you?”

“No, I am not, Dulce.  Thank you for being worried about me.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, “You are very welcome.  Well!  Now that I am convinced you’re not at Death’s door, may I ask where you’ve been?  Why have you not come to see me?”

Pero scratches the back of his neck and looks mildly uncomfortable, “I had some business to take care of over the last few days that took up a lot of my time.”

“Oh!  Well, I hope it has all been settled to your satisfaction!”

“It has.”

You’re glad for him, “Good.  Then things will be back to normal?  You will be able to come to the Queen’s Luncheon this week?”

“I do not think so, Dulce,” his chest tightens a little at the way your face falls, “I think it is probably better if I stay away for a while.  I don’t think I am helping your marriage prospects very much.”

You’re so confused, what does Pero have to do with your marriage prospects? “Pero, I’m not sure what you mea-” but you’re cut off from finishing your thought when you hear a distinctively feminine laugh ring out from inside the house, followed closely by a response from a second, also feminine voice.

Your hands fly to your mouth to cover your gasp of shock upon realizing that Pero has company.  Female company.  And for some inexplicable reason, your eyes start to fill with tears, “Oh Pero, I’m so sorry!  I did not realize you were not alone!  I am so sorry to interrupt!”

You’re babbling and you’re not sure why nor can you seem to stop yourself, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” It’s not from embarrassment.  You’ve known Pero far too long to be embarrassed by anything with him; the two of you have always been able comfortable enough with each other to laugh off most things.  No, this is something else - an uncomfortable, sharp feeling right in the middle of your chest, “I just thought you were sick and I am so very glad you’re not.  I’ll go now!  I am sorry, so sorry!”  You fight back tears as you turn and flee back to Bridgerton House.

Eloise is waiting for you as she promised she would; she freezes when she sees your tear-stained face but to her credit, doesn’t pry – she just asks if you are okay and ushers you back into the house when you nod.  By the time you’re tucked into bed and your lights have been blown out, you’ve been able to name the dreadful feeling that’s made a home in your heart.  It’s devastation.  You’re devastated.  And plenty confused and angry at yourself for feeling that way!  It’s selfish, you think, selfish and childish.  You have become so accustomed to being the only woman Pero ever paid attention to, you realize that you had somehow come to think of him as yours, and having been confronted tonight with the fact that he decidedly is not, you’re now feeling foolish and plunging headfirst into a sense of loss for something that was never yours in the first place.

But… was that all it was?  No, it wasn’t.  You had liked it.  You liked being the only one he danced with.  The only one who he seemed to smile for.  The only one who could make him laugh.  Oh, his laugh.  Deep and booming - you lived for the way it shook all the way from his belly and crinkled the little lines around his eyes.  You harboured pride in being the only one who could pull it from him and you liked all the other ways that his countenance would seemingly soften just for you. He made you feel special and so worthy.

And that wasn’t the only way he did so.  He was so thoughtful and considerate; remembering even the littlest things about you: what you liked, what brought you joy.  He knew you so very well; always knowing the exact thing they would make your heart sing and taking every opportunity to do so.

You think about how Pero had let you lean on him this entire season - every request for reassurance or support met with kindness and words of praise for your wit, your mind, your sweet nature that you couldn’t help but believe based solely on the earnest and genuine expression in his eyes.

He had been there every step of the way with you, shouldering some of the pressure of the season so you wouldn’t have to; being your reprieve and relief, a shelter where you could laugh loudly and unabashedly be yourself.

He made you feel free and cared for.

And Lord, was he handsome. Closing your eyes, you think of the distinct slope of his nose and the strong cut of his jaw, covered in that scruff of his - unkempt but somehow still so distinguished.  You think of Pero’s deep brown eyes that would fleck with gold when he laughed, and wonder how you haven’t fallen into them every time he looked at you. And his hair. Oh, his hair. Your fingers actually itch just thinking about the soft curls that frame his face so perfectly; how you wish you could run your hands through them.

The thought that there is another woman who might be doing exactly that right now shatters your heart so completely.

You love him.  The realization is both a relief and a complete shock to your system.

The unexpected admission to yourself that you’re in love with Pero, followed closely by the certainty that your feelings are undoubtedly unrequited, is a one-two punch to your heart.

You cry and cry until sleep overtakes you.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @stcrrjoon @anoverwhelmingdin

@callsignmedusa

[bitumz]

Title: A withered Rose still has its thorns

Pairing: Cooper Howard / Lucy MacLean

Word count: 4k+

Rated: T [angst, depictions of past violence, hurt/comfort, mentions of death and loss, happy ending]

A/N: this was written for the incredible @valeriarts for this beautiful fanart they made me, and was heavily inspired by this insane Beauty and the Beast Ghoulcy Fanart they entered into the Ghoulcy Atomic Blast Event! As such, this responding work is absolutely riddled with BatB references, but is lovingly set in the Fallout canon world because I am an absolute goon for the old music and wasteland setting. A tale as old as time... Ao3 link

~~~~~

One year has passed since Lucy pulled the trigger on her own decayed mother, withered away and rotted from the inside out by the inevitable cruelty of the wasteland. A necessary evil she still tries to console herself with on such a gruesome anniversary, though these days the grizzly voice chiding her in her mind doesn’t sound like her own anymore. And Lucy thinks she's starting to realize exactly how decay feels.

One year of failed leads. Shattered expectations. The growing pains of being remade into a woman more familiar than she should be, even well beyond the reflection of a mirror. 

The old shopping center she and Cooper find themselves in that evening is almost painfully similar to the Super Duper Mart, old clothing and clocks, and half burnt candles and varying arrays of other decorative knick-knacks scattered about like hastily flung debris across the rotting floors. But unlike the mart, high walls divided large sections of the space, reminding her even harsher of the vault rooms back home, centered just so by a long, splaying hallway that seemed to go on for miles into the shadowed corridor. An old mall Cooper had called it, but to Lucy that meant nothing. 

She'd done what she could to keep her distance from him that day, him never being one to appreciate her foul moods, and instead of calling out the blood curdling hypocrisy of that whole idea (and the inevitable fight that would follow), she bit her tongue and did her best to sulk alone, in only the company of a few blessedly silent clothing displays and dusty bedroom furniture. 

One of the former caught Lucy’s attention more than the others, a headless mannequin donned in a flowing silk gown, royal blue cut through the middle with a bright yellow sash that drew in the curves of the waist and cascaded floor length at the rear with the rest of the flowing hemline to trail like a river of molten gold across the moldy tile. 

Her mother had always disliked her in dresses. And Lucy can't help but remember the hazy bits and pieces of her fifth birthday. Of her father presenting her with a beautifully boxed up gift. Her mother's disbelieving scowl over at the man as Lucy held the soft floral material up against her chest and beamed at her own reflection in the vault bathroom mirror. They way her father twirled her around the room in it for many a birthday after that, with only Norm, a few aging Cooper Howard movie posters, and blinding fluorescents overhead as audience, pride already flashing even brighter in her father’s eyes as every year she grew more and more into the perfect daughter she was expected to be. And though Lucy had been too young to consider yet just where that gift could have come from, those memories now scathed in the shadows, somewhere deep beneath her bones like a bustling city of thousands of people being blown to nothing more than ruin and ash. 

And at this point, after fighting through all the many foul factions of the wasteland for just over a year and searching for a sense of fairness and freedom for so long before, she was so so far beyond sick of monsters masquerading as man. 

It was why slipping from the confines of her vaultsuit and stepping into the rolling blue and gold layers of silk felt something like lying. Like putting on that ill-fitting wedding dress again and continuing to do as she was told. Adding her name to the list and filling the role set upon her from the very moment she came out screaming like a wild beast into her mother's arms and a carefully crafted existence. 

She tugged her own suit up the slender plastic hips of the mannequin in trade. Zipped it securely closed with the final brush of her hands tenderly across the shoulders.

The worn leather slacked too big around the petite figure, and Lucy felt her own muscles clench the slightest bit in her newly exposed chest and upper arms. Her time away from the vault had made her only stronger. She could feel it in the easing of their long days trudging through the sand and restless nights with Cooper beneath the stars. In his harsh lessons and even harsher truths. But looking back at her mother’s last little hand-me-down gift as it sat wrong on the headless figure before her made her feel a bit like a child again; lost and alone in a world that was still so very much too big.

So she did just as she would when she was little. Turned the oldies station on low on her Pip Boy. Sat cross legged upon the cold dingy floor. Sought out her mother’s advice.

“I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do here.” Lucy said, eyes falling to her mismatched fingers in her lap. She curled them loose into the soft pile of golden fabric. “I wasn’t so sure I was going to make it through mourning you the first time around…” she admitted soft, swallowing at the pain rising heavy in her throat. “But this… now… knowing everything I do… I- I understand why you left. And I’m sorry I couldn’t help sooner… I’m so sorry…” And Lucy had long run out of water to waste on tears so she only clenched her fists tighter over her thighs. Waited quietly for a reassurance that would never come again, receiving only silence in answer apart from the lilting voice of Skeeter Davis softly reminding her from her wrist that the end of the world had already long since passed. 

Lucy could only blame her time above for being able to sense him well before she heard Cooper’s spurs clanging softly up the hall. And had it been even just a few months ago, she would have moved. Rose from the ground and stuck on a fake sunshine smile to avoid his prodding. Stood tall and still in the shadows like a predator in wait. But if he was going to continue to track her down every time she sought out solace, he was going to get what he got. Real and raw and just so very tired. 

“There ain’t shit for supplies,” his rumbling voice started before rounding the corner, “but I did find somethin’ interestin’ you may wanna have a look at wh…” Cooper stilled like the dead in the shattered frame of the once glass door. Rendered entirely silent, though she could feel the burn of his eyes across her newly bared arms, the curves of her shoulders, her dark hair falling loose and wild down her back. “What the fuck are you doin’?” He finally managed, sounding much farther away than he actually stood.

“Oh you know, just talking to my mom.” Lucy spoke flat to the mannequin, unmoving. “You’re interrupting.” She added in dismissal after a long dead-silent moment, but she only heard his boots close in closer behind her. 

So she held her breath and waited for the snide response to drawl from his lips. Something like ‘radaway’s losin’ its touch huh?’ she imagined first, or ‘Rose musta not took all the crazy with her when she left that fuckin’ vault...’

But as the pair of taunts grew hotter in her temples, nothing of the sort actually came from him... Which was odd enough in itself to make her finally look back over her shoulder. 

What she found was a world weary man who looked as lost as she felt. The darkness of the decaying building clinging to the protective cloak of his duster like a long drawn curse that was pained to let go. He carried the weight of his own deep in the lines of his scalded face, wearing his own many anniversaries of suffering in scattered jagged scars, jaw tense as if he fought not to set free a rising snarl at the sight before him, browline drawn beneath the shadow of his hat like she’d spoken a foreign language he couldn’t quite grasp. 

He eyed her hallowed vaultsuit as if personally affronted… Looked back down right at her, dark eyes sparking with something near that impenetrable mask of anger he so easily slipped on as they trailed slow down across the gathered yellow silk she fidgeted with at her waist, to the elegant tendrils of blue haloing in a wide puddle around her on the floor, shielding nearly as much of her body as the suit had, but still leaving her feeling so incredibly exposed to his studiously searching eyes. 

“What is it?” Lucy asked after a moment, unable to take the scrutiny any longer, heart rate rising as she shifted where she sat.

And Cooper blinked as if hearing her for the first. “What’s with the getup?”

Lucy forced the breath from her nose, long and heavy. Tugged a bit of the fabric up in a false curtsy. “Oh this old thing?” She tried to tease but fell flat. “I've never had a dress of my own, you know? Always something borrowed… and Mom used to say blue was my color.” Lucy smoothed the silk back down over her hips, missing the way the claim struck Cooper’s expression like the hail Mary of a well aimed brick. “My eyes, I guess.” She shrugged away.

“No.” Cooper disagreed low after a long beat. “It ain't your eyes.” Then he took the two last steps to stand near her side. Reached down a hand. “C’mon I wanna show you somethin’.” And for a moment Lucy sat unmoving, glancing away from Cooper’s gloved offering up to the plastic shell of her mother one last time. “She ain't goin’ anywhere.” Cooper promised soft after a while of watching her struggle, in a way Lucy now knew that only he had every right to vow. And it's what finally drew her hand out slowly into his. 

“Alright,” she breathed. And she rose.

—

The shop Cooper led her into was stacked floor to ceiling with disheveled shelves of books. Old wooden tables and chairs lined the front walls. Rows of cabinets had once cut lines through the center, now tipped and scattered by previous scavengers who must not have appreciated the incredibility of the rare bounty before her. But Lucy, however, was already mentally sorting through the contents of her pack and deciding what could be left behind to make more space.

It was the candlelight that eventually distracted her from the task. Lit aglow and sparsely set across the floor and on a few of the sturdier looking bookshelves all around the room, burning just bright enough to clear the murky darkness from the space…and it was the consideration of such a thing that emptied her chest, had Lucy steepling her hands over her mouth and gaping wide eyed all around her at the beautiful sight, the sheer number of books alone putting the vault’s ample collection to shame. But it was the man stood behind her in the darkened doorway that stopped her eyes. Silhouette framed in the soft glow of fire, features hidden almost entirely from view, but like the constant pull of the moon on the tide she could feel the weight of every ounce of his attention on only her. 

“Cooper,” Lucy called low, letting her hands fall slow to her sides. “This is incredible. I've never seen so many books in my life.”

And he ambled forward at his name like a bloodbug drawn to the life pumping quick through her veins, sharp features softened by the warm glow.

“Really?” He drawled in that way that preambled the rudeness she'd so long been awaiting. Downplaying the situation every time it got too close to - something. And he was never one to disappoint. “I thought all that Vault Tec propaganda down there would at least rival a two bit bookshop.” 

Lucy raised her eyes and turned away. Took another look about the room. Made her way to the closest shelf of books and let her fingertips brush lovingly across the dusted spines. Stacked a few aside that she had every intention of not leaving without. 

“It wasn't just propaganda,” Lucy informed, his jab unable to reach her properly through the soft flickering of flame. “Vault distributed media was delegated and traded by the overseers.” She sought him out again with the turn of her neck. “And as you know, ours was particularly fond of fairytales and cowboys. Villeneuve and Wister. That sort of thing. Not to mention the movies…” her smile was mean, a brazen curve of her lips.

And Cooper said nothing in riposte, instead simply closing the space between them with slow, lazy steps. Rested a hand against the shelf on either side of her head as she turned to face him, closing in and casting his shadow across her in a way that once would have made her feel small. 

Lucy only raised her chin, held his eyes above with the fire flickering hot in her own.

“Is that really what you wanna be doin’ today?” He asked her, a near growl as it rolled so close from his chest. “Defendin’ your daddy?” 

And the reminder twisted in her ribs like a spike, aimed and true; memories of laughter and life and being twirled around in loving arms slowly, agonizingly morphing into something more fowl in her gut like her father's guiltless eyes as he'd finally confessed aloud his many many sins down the barrel of a gun… Her mother's meatless corpse sagging gaunt in a chair nearby…

“Dance with me.” Lucy blinked, only truly registering the words as they settled skewed into her own ears. The violins dipped and drew out the start of Billie Holiday's, Crazy He Calls Me from her Pip Boy between them like a taunt and there was no better title for the way Cooper’s sharp eyes searched her face.

“Do what now?” 

“Dance with me.” Lucy repeated, just as unshaken. “You're right.” She nodded in truce. “I'd rather make new memories today than dwell on the old ones and my options are you or the mannequin.”

Cooper gauged her expression from mere inches above. Looked as if he awaited the splintering of her sanity beneath his glare. For the flinching call of her bluff as he raised his chin and thinned his eyes in a move she’d watched him use on countless others to sweeten a deal or seal a sentence. But Lucy only popped open the latch of her Pip Boy. Sat it nearby on the shelf. Held her hands out to him palms up in the dwindling space between them…

And Cooper took a step back and away. Squared his shoulders as if she had thrown a fist instead of anything near the beginnings of a dance. 

“Mannequin would suit better.” He said in faint protest, stilling only a moment longer to meet her unyielding eyes before sighing, shrugging his duster from his shoulders and draping it over the back of a nearby chair. Pulling his gloves off and dropping them unceremoniously into the splintering seat. 

And Lucy felt an altogether new sort of apprehension as he neared this time, sturdy arms straining against the worn fabric of his rarely seen sun-bleached undershirt. His bandolier of hastily crafted bullets glistened like sharp teeth across the visible rise and fall of his chest. He held a single bared hand out to her in offering, allowing her to take either that last fateful step forward or a silent final out…

And the thrill of it all was the best distraction she could ever ask for.

The fine hairs at the back of her neck rose in warning as she took this newest challenge in stride, just as she had the many before. “I don’t doubt it.” Lucy returned, resting a ruined-fingered hand over the solid curve of his shoulder. Cooper slipped her left into his and she couldn’t help but stare at that way her own something borrowed still looked pale and small against the rest of Cooper’s hand, wrapping warm and rough around her own. His other burned like a brand against her waist just as Billie sang of her own willingness to walk through fire and with it they were moving.

Cooper was a startlingly natural lead, sure in step and direction, guiding her along in soft curves of motion as if on instinct alone, whereas she stepped between his boots in thought absorbed angles, and it was a pre-war skill Lucy would not have imagined he cared to retain until that very moment. He’d always spoken so little of that time of his life, apart from Janey. And even if they weren’t spending an evening attempting to forget, she at very least knew better than to outright ask why. 

The thought brought her foot down hard on his for what she guessed was the second or third time judging by his growl.

“That supposed to be a two step?” Cooper rumbled over her instead. “‘Cause you’re movin’ like a goddamn sheet of plywood down there.”

And Lucy laughed a breathy thing at the very real exasperation in his tone.

“I’m distracted is all.” She forced herself to meet his eyes, so close and scalding in the candlelight. Reminding her even more of the last time she’d seen him display such a talent. The same way her father had taught her so many years ago… and she just couldn't help herself. “I remember this from the scene right after you killed Joey… Where you went back to town and danced with the widow in -”

“Deadhorse ya,” Cooper scathed in answer, spinning her silent in an almost violent twirl out to arms reach before snapping her back, her spine pressing flush against the buttons lining down his vest so that the “don’t start,” was hissed directly into her ear. It effectively scattered her thoughts and sent gooseflesh rising down the exposed skin of her arms for a much different reason than she knew was intended. But then he stilled them. Kept a forearm wrapped firm across the front of her waist. “Kick them boots off so you don’t take my fuckin’ toes too.” He nodded down over her shoulder, the brim of his hat brushing against her scattered hair. 

And she continued to follow his lead, shaking off one and then the other. Turned around again with minimal restraint as he took notice of her intention to face him once more. Lucy filled her lungs with the faint scent of old leather and smoke as his coarse fingers dragged slow patterns across the soft silk gathered at her hips. This time she brought both hands up to his shoulders. Felt his own slide home in a near perfect fit into the soft curves beneath her ribs. 

Then they were moving again, easier, a more natural sway that brought him the slightest bit closer. Allowed her to truly see his features painted warm beneath his hat in the firelight. Those most others would deem ugly, the proof heard often enough in wretched slurs and slithered curses from near every small bit of civilization they passed. But here in the safety of their solitude, the candles flickered deep against the rugged hollows of his face and brought somehow more life to his hazel eyes. And though they had always been so incredible to her, those eyes, something about the way the glow sparked in them now, subdued and scorching back at her in equal measure, was almost another distraction worthy of misstep. 

And she’d been doing so well until her eyes dropped to the side. Focused on the scattered splotches across his shoulders that proved his threadbare shirt had once been blue…

The music built and curled around them unimpeded by the realization, trumpets joining in with the strings to round out the repeated claims of being insane for all a number of reasons and Lucy couldn’t help but look down at her own feet again, strained and self deprecating as she focused on not stepping down onto his with the way her heart sped and cheeks flushed. His hands flexed at her waist.

“Relax.” Cooper bid low, undoubtedly sensing her struggle in her missteps and the growing tension of her muscles. “I ain’t in the mood for sparrin’ today and my drawin’ hand’s otherwise occupied, so you’re only fightin’ ya self.” 

The upward curve of his bowed lips and drawl of his words spoke only truths, something almost sad touching his eyes, and Lucy found trusting in him still came all too easy. She watched as the rise of his browline painted a told ya so look across his face while she focused only on her own breaths and the warmth of his tender hold about her waist, her movements growing more and more fluid between those very same hands that she’d seen reap death and destruction with ease for just over a year now in search of her father and the answers they were owed. Coming up just short on near every lead and tumbling almost as violently into each other's arms in one way or another so often now that it seemed only necessary for survival. 

“Perceptive.” She said finally. 

But this was something else… It was just so…

It was simply different, Lucy decided, rising up onto her bare toes to press her lips against Cooper’s just because she wanted to. Taking unapologetically in a way that he had been forcefully tearing into her from the beginning. And she softly parted her lips over his unmoving ones. Waited for the beast to surface and rear its fangs or draw its claws. To push her away with a shove or back her forcefully against the nearest surface in a deliciously dizzying coin toss of chance. Because, yes the beast was in there somewhere she knew well enough, but it was Cooper who had pulled her up from the floor of her vigil. Cooper who’d lit the candles that warmed the air around them; of a bookshop of all places. Cooper who still distracted her from her woes now in dance… 

And it was Cooper who kissed her back. Took her face into the sanctity of his hands to tilt and deepen it, his lips a hot brand across her own as he held her steady and tasted her slow in languid shallow swipes of his tongue along her lower lip. He parted from her just long enough for Lucy to draw a greedy breath from the shared air between them. Then he kissed her again, another sweet short press of his mouth over hers before he whispered “I gotcha somethin’ else,” near voiceless into the corner of her moony grin. 

Then he leaned back just enough to meet her eyes, his own expression sobering like he stood on the precipice of some great divide, and Lucy dared him to jump with the slight tilt of her head in question. 

Then he pulled out a drooping flower from the pocket of his slacks. A sun-bleached plastic rose that must have once been red before the end of the world and the crushing hands of time; petals welting and half melted... And her heart did a funny painful pair of skips in her chest at the sight of it held out to her in his own repeatedly scarred and sewn together hand. 

“What? It ain't enchanted or some shit.” Cooper said harsh, shifting an inch on his own two feet. A first misstep since they started this new dance. “I just know what it's like to not have a grave to mourn is all.” He tried again. “Don’t read too much into it.”

And what a feint it was to reach for in a room set aglow, filled to the brim with warmth and music; bound leather and parchment... 

Lucy’s smile was all straight white teeth.

“Of course not,” she succumbed, taking the rose from him carefully and tucking the stem safely away into the sash of her dress so that her hands were free to reach back out for what she really wanted. “I never really liked reading anyway,” she soothed, wrapping her wrists loose about the back of his neck and looking past him at a few new titles that would be soon added to her pile. “Though my bag has been feeling awful light lately.”

And Cooper chuckled soft, a deep rumble from his throat. 

“Fuck the books,” he said, breath ghosting warm against the sensitive skin at the side of her neck. Then his hands slid heavy through the silk pooled low at her back, drew her in close against his chest. “Pack the dress.” 

And for a long long while they danced together and forgot. 

[mynamesaplant]

Just a Dragon in its Den

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Just a little short story about @critterbitter's submas hc. Please go take a look at Critter's work, it is beautiful in every sense of the word. This particular story looks more into Drayden, the twins, and the tension that has built between them. This takes place right before they make it to Opelucid. Enjoy another bad phonetically written accent! One other thing to note: Kaita is called "mother" by her sons and Lucielle is "mom".

Little piece of my own hc: The particular Haxorus that helped raise Emmet and Ingo is informally known as Darling by everyone bc they heard Drayden referring to 'darling' after battles and thought it was her name.

Thank you to @ingo-ingoing-ingone for being my beta reader. I appreciate you immensely, my friend.

You can find my series of Critter inspired works on AO3.

Don't like to read on Tumblr? Find the stand alone piece here on AO3.

Enjoy!~

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 Sunlight still managed to get into his eyes even with the canvas canopy over their heads…

Ingo pried open a bleary eye, scanning from his left to his right. A moment ticked by before he flopped his head back down.

It was just him, and his waxy partner half-way fused to his sleep shirt.

He could hear his best friends talking just outside the tent flaps, the sizzling of oil in a pan which made him jerk upright. Litwick was launched as he was quick to change and get outside before they burned a hole in the tent… again.

Ingo loved Emmet and Elesa, but they couldn’t cook without supervision. They could barely cook with supervision.

“Make way!”

Emmet and Elesa jumped out of the way as Ingo barreled out from the dark interior of the tent. Quick to relinquish stove duty to his twin, Emmet shot Elesa a smug grin that she merely harrumphed at.

“Told you that would get him up.”

“You two are cruel,”  Ingo tried to say through a yawn, but it only came out as a garbled noise. However, the intention seemed to come across just fine.

“We’re not cruel! You sleep like a log!”

He ignored Elesa, groggily shifting the bacon that was just starting to spatter and hiss in distress.

You jerk! I was sleeping!

A displeased crackle and spark came from the tent flap, Litwick's wax running with the intensity of her lavender inferno.

“Apologies, Litwick. I was terrified our tent would turn to cinders if these two were manning the camp stove any longer.”

The flame atop Litwick’s head, at the moment burning high and hot, slowly began to whittle down into a manageable flicker. Ingo stooped, scooping his Pokémon up carefully, and setting her near the small propane tank that fueled the stove, the Ghost Pokémon grumbling the whole time as her eyes fluttered shut. This was a new gift. Their mother heard from Uncle Drayden that they were on their journey through Unova and she had purchased this from a camp store in Galar; in her letter she suggested that it might be useful. Camping was very big there apparently; she had seen many people using this model of stove, and she saw no issues with twelve-year-olds using flammable materials like propane.

Their mother, Kaita, rarely sent them anything and, when she did, it was usually impractical or downright dangerous. The boys had stared at the box waiting for them at the Poké Mart in Lacunosa Town, perplexed when they saw their mother’s name with the return address for a hostel in Galar. How she had even known that they were going to be in Lacunosa before heading to Opelucid was anyone’s guess, but they took the package and attempted to call the number on the postcard, stuffed in hastily judging by the torn edges and messy scrawl, but the man with a thick Galarian accent told them she had left just the other day.

Somehow that was unsurprising to Emmet and Ingo.

“So, what’s on tap for today?”

“We should reach Opelucid by noon,” Emmet said, pulling his knees to his chest as he watched Tynamo flitter around the Dwebble that had been following them since they had departed from Route 18.

The little crustacean had been tottering after them at a distance, disappearing into its shell when anyone was close, but joined in on the fun with the other Pokémon on occasion.

“That’s where Drayden works, right?”

“Correct, we will be visiting him.”

That seemed to give Elesa pause, looking from one twin to the other.

“Are you sure?” Emmet shifted, throwing a glance toward Ingo who minutely shook his head. Though the motion was subtle, Elesa didn’t fail to catch it – she was used to their rhythms and motions. For whatever reason, they were uncomfortable. “We don’t have to stop by the gym if-”

“That is very much appreciated, Elesa.”

“Yup, verrrry nice of you.”

“But everyone knows us in Opelucid. Even if we don’t go to the gym, he’ll know we’re there.”

Against her side, Elesa felt Emmet shudder and mutter something about old ladies. She wasn’t sure what that meant either, but she assumed it wasn’t good.

“What about old ladies?”

“All of the octogenarians like to sit in the plaza by the gym to read their papers, feed the Pidoves, gossip, and play chess. You must pass by them if you want to get to the Pokémon Center. They like to joke that they are Opelucid’s stalwart sentinels and they… tattle on us to uncle when we got into mischief. It is why we asked to stay in Anville Town most days.”

Ingo did not add that by that point, Drayden had stopped asking and would be gone for most of the day. It had only been when they were very young, usually following hand-in-hand in their uncle’s wake and scurrying behind his Haxorus when strangers got too close to them.

“They pinched our cheeks… Fingers like Kingler claws.”

Emmet was the one to actually answer their friend’s question, subconsciously rubbing his cheek as if it had just been pinched. After the first few times that had happened, Darling realized that the twins did not like being touched without permission, and the Dragon Pokémon would insert herself between Emmet and Ingo and the elder men and women. She would rumble out a warning when people got too close, flashing her glinting tusks despite the fact that they were covered with thick Bouffalant leather to prevent any accidents.

Only until Drayden commanded her to stop, she was aggressive with any strangers or anyone that the twins seemed uncomfortable with. At the very least, Emmet and Ingo were convinced that Darling would be happy to see them.

Breakfast was a drawn-out affair. Each bite seemed to be smaller and smaller as if to prolong the inevitable meetup. Packing up and hiking to the city was also glacially slow, Emmet and Ingo dragging their feet as they neared the dragon’s den. Elesa stopped them just as they passed the first few residences, looking them over with steely eyes that the twins shrank away from.

“We can turn back now.”

“No… We mustn’t delay any further.”

Ingo insisted, forging ahead, and chewing his bottom lip to shreds with the all-consuming anxiety that he and Emmet collectively felt.

Opelucid was an overwhelming place. It radiated an unexplainable energy that seemed to loom over all those who entered her walls. They remembered the streets well. Ingo’s eyes fixed on the place where Emmet had tripped and scraped his knee, crying and oozing blood on the whole walk back to the gym. Emmet nervously flicked his eyes to the place where a mother yelled at him and Ingo when her teenage son had been bullying them – he’d called them oblivious, creepy, unsettling… Emmet swallowed hard, reaching for Ingo’s shirt tail, and gripping it tight, rubbing his thumb over the fabric methodically.

 Ingo’s hand reached back and offered his brother’s wrist a light squeeze, trying to reassure him even if he didn’t feel so sure himself. 

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Despite doing everything in their power, the trio could not avoid the parties of the elderly that seemed to stalk the streets of the city. There was no escape from the simpering words and the ruddy cheeks from pinching fingers, the kids barely escaped with their cheeks and dignity intact.

The doors to the gym hissed open, sounding more like an angry Zweilous bickering over a meal than the squeak from the friction of the moving belt. They moved into the atrium tentatively, the twins bunched together while Elesa stood off to one side, eyeing them worriedly as a young woman leaned over the counter. Thankfully, Emmet and Ingo didn’t recognize her, which must have meant she was new. Her accent confirmed it.

“Welcome ta the Opelucid Gym, are ya here ta challenge the gym leadah?”

“Ah, no. We, uh, we are here to see him.”

Ingo tried hard not to stammer and failed miserably, somewhat baffled by the heaviness of the Castelian accent rolling off her tongue. The young woman pursed her maroon-stained lips before turning her gaze to the computer before her. There was some clicking, some squinting between the monitor and the two boys, and she finally picked up a walkie-talkie that Emmet and Ingo knew was there.

“Mista Drayden, there are some… youts here ta see ya.”

There was a pause.

“Send them in, Audrey.”

They tried not to think about how irritated their uncle already sounded, instead choosing to focus on the awe on Elesa’s face as she looked around the gym. Her blue eyes quite nearly bulged out of her skull when they walked under winding bridges, gasped at the beautiful carvings of dragons that adorned the whole facility, and she oohed and aahed at the way the placed made the perfect mechanical maze to make every challenger prove their mettle before squaring up to the dragon master himself.

They traveled up the ramps without hesitation, Emmet and Ingo giving appropriate responses to the gym trainers who recognized them. A few of the older trainers stopped the trio, cooing over the twins who tried not to cringe at the unwanted touches and comments that only served to make them more anxious about their inevitable encounter.

The last ramp up to the arena was just ahead and Ingo took a deep breath, Emmet being the one to release – a frankly inadequate coping mechanism when faced with something like this. Before either could begin the ascent, Elesa leapt before them, and gave them an appraising look, the fierce blue tinged with a soft concern.

Her best friends did not act this way.

“Spill. What’s the matter?”

She didn’t give them a chance to look at each other as she inserted herself between them, there would be no silent agreement on how they would deflect her questions. Emmet flinched back, finding the seam of his bandana, and running over it with the flat of his thumb; Tynamo buzzed softly below his chin which was just as comforting for the young man. Ingo, the one directly under Elesa’s scrutiny, was standing firm – although, if one looked closely, they could see his knees shaking beneath the cuff of his shorts. He could feel it in his back and shoulders, so heavy from the anxiety that it was dragging him face first towards the ground like it was the planet’s gravitational pull.

There was no lying to her. She would wheedle it out of them before they took another step.

“The situation is… precarious. It has been more than a fortnight since we have spoken to Uncle.”

Elesa, nose scrunched in confusion, looked to Emmet for a translation.

“More than a month.”

Now he was fiddling with his hair, tugging and twisting his gray locks that framed his face rapidly between his spindly fingers. Tynamo offered another buzz, the tingle felt familiar and comforting.

“So? I haven’t spoken to my father in even longer.”

Behind her, Ingo pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. The situation is not the same. Elesa wanted nothing more than to go on her journey to be away from her father. Emmet and Ingo…

“Lesa…” There was more to their story in the city of Opelucid, but neither twin had the heart to delve into it. “We should not dillydally, uncle is waiting.”

Without another word, Ingo brushed past her, and Emmet was on his heels, both practically running up the ramp, which just felt like such an odd juxtaposition to earlier this morning where they seemed intent on moving slower than Slugmas.

Elesa tried to keep a close eye on her friends as they greeted their uncle, the three of them shifting uncomfortably like the idea of a hug seemed impossible. Drayden’s face was usually hard to read thanks to the copious amount of facial hair, but there was a pinched quality to his expression.

That detail was quickly replaced with exasperation as a large, leathery Pokémon tore across the arena at a breakneck pace. Skidding to a stop just before them, the beast lunged forward and -

“Haxorus!”

Ingo spluttered, his front coated head to toe in slobber that he was wiping from his eyes. The other two kids weren’t spared from the assault, not even Blitzle, who shook out his striped coat of the sticky saliva with an indignant snort. The bubble of tension seemed to ease a little with this interruption, but it was still palpable.

Tynamo remained close to Emmet, nestled in his bandana, and offering soft nips to his jaw and chin. Litwick was doing the same, unable to conjure up witty dialogue when Ingo’s soul looked so withered and violently flickering with each interaction with his uncle. Even Blitzle, who was first and foremost Elesa’s Pokémon, was sticking close to the twins. His training as an aid Pokémon was kicking in to shove his snout into the boys’ floundering hands so they could have an outlet for their pent-up anxiety.

Elesa attempted to catalog each word, each expression, each vocal fluctuation – but they seemed so… normal? What were her friends so worried about?

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Drayden was across the arena with Elesa and Blitzle, introducing her to his large, and very fluffy, Altaria. Emmet watched over the top of his magazine; this issue was dedicated to Dragon Pokémon found in the Alola region, and he elbowed his twin when he saw Drayden cast his gaze in their direction. Although Darling was curled around them, her tusks bound to prevent injury, Emmet and a groggy Ingo sank into her flank to make themselves as small as possible.

Darling woke up with a rumble, nudging her snout against them before lightly nibbling on their hair to put them at ease. Drayden seemed to take a deep breath as he approached, taking a seat on the bench beside them, and looking at his nephews out of the corner of his eye.

“Your friend likes Altaria.”

“Altaria is nice.”

Emmet’s reply was more like a squeak than anything. Ingo had taken interest in the skin on Darling’s neck. There it was again, the pressure on that bubble of tension becoming unbearable once again. Without Elesa there to deflect, it was like back all those years before.

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All of them were thinking the same thing: Kaita not so quietly arguing with Drayden, the twins covering their ears because they didn’t like the shrill tone their mother’s voice had taken. The four-year-olds didn’t really understand what was happening, but they were used to the yelling.

Mom and mother had been doing it for weeks.

“I can’t handle them on my own!”

Kaita had snapped, her eyes bright and her mouth curled into an awful snarl. Drayden offered her an equally ferocious growl, too much like their draconic partners than either of them cared to admit. He and his fraternal twin never saw eye to eye, but this?

He wanted to tell Kaita that that was too fucking bad. She and Lucielle should have thought this through a little longer. Kids were not marriage savers. Now she was trying to dump them on him? No fucking way.

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Drayden blinked hard, allowing the blessed dark to cool the bubbling anger he felt toward his sister. This was not Emmet and Ingo’s fault… He had never addressed this incident with them before, had he? Of course, they had been old enough to remember. The Dragon Master picked on their discomfort quickly and he was just as happy to leave them home than he was to take them on his hour-long commute to Opelucid.

In that moment, it occurred to Drayden just how awful that sounded. He had never really thought of his nephews as being lonely, not when they had each other. He left them at home with Darling when they were still young, but that had only been a few years. They had been abandoned by their mothers and then again by him.

This knowledge felt like bile stinging the back of his throat.

“I love you boys.”

Whatever his nephews had expected him to say, it hadn’t been that. Drayden propped his elbows on his knees, not unlike Emmet did when he was chatting with his brother and looked at them with something akin to a pleading look.

“We love you too.”

Ingo’s response was so… Mechanical. A reflex. Drayden seemed pained and they both cringed, waiting for their uncle to adopt that tone of voice they were so well acquainted with by this point – that horrible concoction of disappointment and frustration that was all too familiar to their ears.

“No, Emmet… Ingo…” He got up, stepping toward them and crouching down, Darling temporarily swinging her head around to butt her snout under his chin affectionately before resuming her doting on the twins. He hated how they shrank away, cowering like they expected him to yell – had he ever yelled at them? No, not as far as he could remember, but perhaps his silence spoke volumes about his bitterness. “Boys,” he croaked, schooling his expression into something softer (which he only just realized was something he and Ingo had in common), “I am very proud of you. I’m proud of all you’ve accomplished.

Two sets of gray eyes blinked, a staccato of confusion at this admission, as if unsure how to process that compliment.

“… Thank you.”

Ingo said, a gravelly quality to his voice that made it quieter than its typical boom. Emmet’s hand was shaking, but Drayden recognized that a precursor to a form of stimming. It was something that evolved from learning sign for Elesa for both twins; Emmet used to snap his fingers and his brother hummed (usually quite out-of-tune and loudly).

“May I join you? You look quite cozy there.”

Emmet and Ingo scooted over, leaving room between them so their uncle could sit. They were still a little confused by the unexpected behavior from him, but Drayden asked for permission to put his arms around them, and they didn’t reject him. The aversion to touch made unprompted touch nearly unbearable for all except themselves and more recently Elesa, but Drayden seeking their acceptance felt… different – it felt nice.

“Your Pokémon’ve gotten a lot stronger. I can tell these things, you know.”

Gradually, Drayden felt Emmet and Ingo relaxing into him while they told him all about their adventures. They showed off Tynamo and Litwick, the latter looking a tad smug when Drayden said she had a menacing aura.

“We also have this Dwebble… Well, perhaps that is not quite accurate. He shares the same carriage as us and travels the same tracks, however, he insists on remaining unaccompanied.”

The Pokémon in question was observing from under the bench Drayden had vacated – oh my, nearly an hour ago, those boys really knew how to fill in the time. Dwebble’s eyestalks twitched, its body cautiously retracting into its shell now that it was the center of attention.

“He is shy, yup!”

Drayden offered a nod, crooking his finger at the small, shelled Pokémon. Dwebble, body still half hidden, obeyed the unspoken command and skittered forward.

“See, he has a magnificent specimen on his back. I have not looked into the logistics of whether sediments found in or on Crustle and Dwebble affect their battling, but he has a King’s rock. It is spectacular!”

Their uncle nodded with agreement, Darling grumbling encouragingly at the smaller Pokémon with his approach.

“I must agree. He’s spectacular… Have you asked him if he’d like to join you?”

Drayden listened carefully as Ingo explained the fiasco that was Route 18 – Frillish and all - and, although he was tempted into chastising Ingo, he held his tongue about his nephew’s so-called inside voice. In fact, Ingo parroted some of the lessons that Drayden had attempted to instill in him. He was trying to work on his “volume output”. The Dwebble seemed to be quite used to them now, scraping a claw against the sole of the Gym Leader’s shoes, which inexplicably reminded him of his nephews yet again.

“Such a shame. Ingo really likes rocks, too,” Emmet said with a sympathetic shake of his head when his brother sighed much too heavily for someone of his age. Drayden’s brow was furrowed, watching as the Bug Pokémon’s eyes darted to Ingo, and he said,

“Ask him again.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ask Dwebble to join your team. Pokémon, just like humans, can have a hard time saying what they mean. Sometimes they need help or a little nudge. He’s come this far with you, hasn’t he?”

Ingo seemed to contemplate this for a moment, they certainly had gone the distance with Dwebble at their side…

Ingo leaned forward, trying to tamp down his excitement – just in case his uncle’s instincts were off.

“Dwebble… Are you interested in... Would you join me on this journey?”

 The Pokémon blinked up at the boy, eyestalks tilting to one side and then the other. In that moment, it felt as though all the air was sucked out of the room, the anxiety unwittingly rocketing up with each second that ticked by where the Pokémon before them didn’t answer.

Dwebble raised his pincers tacked against the ground, his eyestalks swaying to a music that only he seemed to hear, only for the Pokémon to instantly shoot back into his shell when a sonic boom shattered the silence.

You better get used to the human Exploud if you wanna be a part of this team.

Litwick groused, her annoyance was mostly for show at the pure joy in her trainer’s eyes when he picked up Dwebble. Spinning around in tight circles, Ingo wasn’t even able to say anything, only a mix of laughter that verged on happy sobs, as he held his new Pokémon close to his chest.

Emmet watched on with a bright smile, happy for his brother’s first genuine catch, allowing the bright glow of the moment to not be stymied by the fact that they had no money for Pokéballs and were fresh out because they lent all theirs to Elesa to catch some Plusle and Minun on Route 6 (with no resulting captures).

“King! You shall be called King.”

How does this walking pile of rocks have a name before me!?

Litwick shrieked, batting at Ingo’s ear in aggravation to no avail. Drayden watched on, beard obscuring the placid smile on his face.

Good. It was time to make better memories here in Opelucid.

[enderwolf91]

☆彡彡 A New Start ミミ☆

synopsis: life has become dull working your office job, unable to go out and enjoy yourself anymore. upon opening a letter your grandfather left to you after his passing, you find yourself on a bus to a new life, hoping to find that spark you so craved for in life.

word count: ~2.6 k

warnings: none!

notes: rewrite of this. the first part to (hopefully) a good series. this is the first fic I've written for an audience in a long time, and I want to put a lot of effort into each chapter, so I apologize if updates to this are slow. I also apologize if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, English isn't my strongest subject despite speaking it my entire life lol. Enjoy!

“Three more? I just got done with the two you gave me yesterday!”

“I'm just here to give you your assignments, if you have problems take ‘em to the boss, Daniel.”

A loud scoff comes from the other side of the cubicle's wall, the sound of papers being taken with an aggravated force. “Whatever…”

A few moments later, a short figure takes up the opening to your cubicle, a man you're unfortunately familiar with as he holds out two Manilla folders with a bored expression. “Your next assignments for the week.” He speaks as if on the verge of yawning, casually glancing around the small, gray box at the minor number of decorations taped to the walls.

“Thanks, Paul,” you respond, less than enthralled to see more folders to join the stack on your desk. “I'll get started on them tomorrow morning.”

Turning back to your computer, the lines of words and numbers on the document you've been writing have started blurring together. But the looming presence still in the doorway of the cubicle draws you back to Paul, who's still looking around at the papers and photos you've taped up and the cliche cat poster the company gifted everyone last year that's started to wear and tear at the edges.

“Is there… something I can help you with, Paul?” You question him, biting back a grimace as his ears turn a light red as he finally looks at you.

“Hm? Oh! Actually, yeah, I wanted to ask if you were free tonight? There's a… bar nearby if you want to get drinks after work?” He fidgets with the stack of folders in his arms, shifting from one foot to the other as he can't seem to meet your eye.

It's the third time he's asked this month.

“Paul…” You sigh, “I appreciate the invitation… but I can't. There's stuff I need to finish by the end of the week, and with more work being piled on top of that. I just- I don't have time to go out.”

The disappointment is evident in Paul's expression as he gives a tight-lipped smile, “right. I'll… let you get back to work then.”

“Yeah…” You drift off, slowly turning back to your computer as Paul shuffles to the next cubicle, his voice notably less energetic than before.

Sighing, you go back to typing away on your computer, the hours of the work day passing by without you. Though, your own words keep echoing in your mind and distract you from work.

I don't have time to go out.

It's an unfortunately true statement. Ever since you got this corporate job for Joja Mart, you just haven't had time to spend on anything else. Oftentimes staying late at the office to finish a report, or taking the work home when the janitors eventually had to lock up the building for the night. Though the mountain of work does come with a generous pay, enough to pay for your rent and groceries and then some. Money saved up for the off chance you did get time to go out, go to the mall or a bar, but that day has yet to come.

Fortunately, the company graced you with some paid vacation time for your hard work, allowing you to fly back home for your grandfather's funeral. Long expected but still unfortunate, he was somehow always the optimist, telling everyone around strive for a long life like he had, strive for a happy life like he lived.

And while he gave everyone else in the family small trinkets and heirlooms, you received an envelope with your name written on it and a small note.

‘Open when you want a new start’

The envelope sat heavy in your bag on the trip back, and now sits waiting in the top drawer of your desk, your curiosity of what's inside still hot on your mind as you pull open the drawer.

The envelope sits atop a stack of graphs and old papers, a crimson red seal plastered to the front with an unfamiliar emblem, a sort of peace sign looking symbol you've never seen before.

The note written above the seal calls out to you, ‘a new start’ drawing your curiosity out even more as you pick up the envelope. Using your office scissors, you carefully open the envelope and pull out the paper folded inside.

Seeing the handwritten makes you smile softly, the neat print your grandfather seemed to have perfected being a bit shaky and smudged from his old age.

‘So, my dear, you want to start anew, huh? A change of scenery? Fortunately, I didn't leave you with just a silly old letter while the others got gifts. I own a plot of land in Pelican Town that I'm leaving to you. It's an old farm I used to live on when I was about your age and moved away from home, needing a change in scenery. Take good care of the place for me, will ya? The residents of the town knew me well, I'm sure they'll be happy to hear you're coming to town. The number at the bottom will call an old friend of mine, let him know you're on the way and he'll take care of you. With love, your old pa

Jack: xxx-xxx-xxxx’

It was a stretch, moving to a town that was over a seven hour bus ride away, packing up all your belongings from your apartment and saying goodbye to the company that's paid your monthly living expenses for the past few years; all to live on a farm that would become your only source of income, selling the fruits of your labor and not knowing anyone in town.

The bus wasn't as comfortable as you were hoping, but you could lay across the row of seats since there weren't many other people, and no one who was on the same journey as you're on. It was nice watching the world go by in the comfortable silence of the bus.

The bustle of the city and slowness of the traffic opened up to calm suburbs and residential areas, a park passing by every so often with children and dogs running around with parents watching over them; which all faded to the quiet of the countryside, rolling hills of grass and the occasional spotting of trees, it was then you drifted off to sleep to the lull of the bus driving and lack of bright lights.

The next time your eyes open, you're still driving and now you're going through a mountainous area. There's a few people on the bus again, all sticking to themselves until the bus stops at a town, though not the one you're going to as the doors close and the bus driver heads back onto the road.

It's only when you go through a tunnel and pop out the other side you start to feel like you're getting close. The scenery is starting to clear and open up more, and just as you look out the window you drive past a sign signaling the next stop to be Pelican Town.

Seeing the sign sends a jolt through you, realization of what you're doing settling in as you look down at your luggage stuffed under the seat. It dawns on you, you just threw away the security of the life you had to move a day away from anyone you knew and potentially lose everything you have, all because you couldn't stand your office job anymore.

“Pelican Town,” the bus driver's voice shocks you to focus, seeing you've stopped at a bus stop with the town's welcome sign outside.

“Right… thanks,” anxiety crawls through you as you grab your bags, giving the driver a nice tip before stepping off the bus with a shaky breath.

And before you can change your mind, the doors close behind you and the bus is taking off again. Without you.

Looking around, the bus stop is nice, unexpectedly away from the main town. Instead it's in a nice fenced area, a few trees, benches, and a paved path leading out of the area. It looked more like a rest stop than the entrance to a town.

Even more to your surprise, a voice calls out to you from the paved path. “Hey! I knew I heard the bus come by, you must be Samuel's grandkid, right?”

A tall woman approaches you with a kind smile, her white locks pulled back into a tight ponytail as she brushes off the sleeves of her dark green jacket.

“Uhm… yeah, I am,” you nod shyly, tightening your grasp on your bag as the woman greets you up close.

“I'm Sojourn. Jack said you'd be coming to town soon. C'mon, I'll show you to your grandpa's old place.”

Without saying much, you follow Sojourn down the path, taking a right at the fork and following until you see another fence up ahead and a large cabin-like home comes into view.

“Here it is,” Sojourn hums, opening the gate onto the property. “It's seen some better days, or years, but it's all yours now.”

Your eyes are wide as you take in the plot of land. Trees are everywhere, though not dense enough to make it a forest, weeds and miscellaneous plants fill the ground and leave little room to move around. Large logs and fallen over trees and rocks litter about the area. A large pond near the gate is filled with lily pads and overgrown roots, but would make a nice place for fish to live in once cleaned up.

The only part the seemed to be taken care of was the small area near the gate and house, clear of bushes and weeds and any overgrowth.

“We took some time fixing up the house for you, though most of the old furniture was rotten and broken down so we had to get rid of it,” Sojourn explains. “But, we got you a new bed, dining table, fixed up the fuse box and got you a new TV. It's only the essentials, but we didn't want you left with nothing on your first night.”

“Wow…” You can't help but stare up at the house, seeing it's bigger than your childhood home. “Did… Grandpa build this place?”

“From the ground up, though he had some help,” a man comes out of the house, the door swinging fully open. You recognize his voice as Jack's from when you called him a week ago, the night you had opened the envelope. Jack closes the door behind him, before properly greeting you with a warm smile. “Good to meet you, kid. After I heard what happened with Sam, I hoped he mentioned this place to someone, or at least sold it to someone so it didn't go to waste. Glad to see he kept it in the family though.”

“I don't think anyone in our family knew about this place,” you admit, unable to recall any stories about a farm from your grandfather.

“Sounds likely,” Jack chuckles. “Old coop didn't tell us he had kids, let alone grandkids, until he was too old to make the trip out here. Got his letters about your entire family about a year ago.”

“That's when Jack wanted to start cleaning up this place,” Sojourn adds. “Kept coming out here by himself and disappearing all day. Found him out here all tuckered out from pulling weeds and decided to help him out.”

Jack sighs, looking across the plot of land, “don't know how he took care of this place by himself. Took us a year to just freshen up this much. But he had rows of crops planted year round, and had everything nice and organized. Too bad the old barn and coops all rotted away, the greenhouse took plenty of weather damage too.”

The thought makes a weight sink in your stomach, the anxiety of your situation surfacing again, the realization of your new life coming to light.

Just as you start to look around in a panic, a warm hand lands on your shoulder, Sojourn speaking with a sincere kindness, “if you need help with anything, don't hesitate to ask. Once you've settled into the house, we can introduce you to some people in town who can help spruce this place up. I'm sure Satya and Zarya wouldn't mind planning out a new chicken coop and barn for the future.”

“Torbjorn can take a look at Sam’s old tools and fix them up for you too,” Jack adds with a nod. You look between them, names going over your head as you focus on the fact that there's an entire town of people your grandfather knew, yet never mentioned to your family

“Why don't you settle in for now, get used to the place, work on the landscape if you feel ready for it,” Sojourn suggests to you, realizing you're still carrying your luggage, and have yet to see inside your new home.

“There's a box with some farming supplies inside. For now, don't worry about paying for food, stop by the general store or the tavern whenever you need to eat. Once you start growing crops, you can sell them to the general store to start your income. Just know, you gotta work to get paid, just like your grandpa did. So work hard on your farm, kid,” Jack rubs the top of your head, ruffling your hair up before he leaves with Sojourn, letting you go inside to settle into your new life.

The moment you go inside, you drop your bags and fall back on to the bed, thankful for how soft it is as you sink into the covers. The strain of sitting and laying on a bus seat for so long puts a strain on your spine, the pain easing away as you stare up at the ceiling, contemplating what to do next.

You'd never worked on a farm before, let alone ran one on your own. You had some experience in taking care of plants thanks to your mother and her backyard garden, and your grandfather used to let you watch him make things in his garage, he had shown you how to use his power tools and how to put together pieces of wood. You had the knowledge of what to do, but not the experience enough to make it your lifestyle, your new way of living.

It seemed that had to change then.

Sitting up, you look around the open space, finding the box of supplies Jack had talked about. Inside of it you find old tools; an ax, hoe, watering can, and pickaxe; a large bag of fertilizer, and packets of parsnip seeds.

It's a start, and you manage to carry the supplies outside to the open patch of land in front of the house.

Getting a hold on the tools was a bit awkward to get used to, and having to dig through the lily pads to fill the watering can was a close call to falling into the pond, but by the time the sun began to set you stand in front of a plot of planted seeds, all watered and fertilized to grow fast and well.

And the first call of an owl makes you slouch and yawn, already feeling sore from the extensive physical activity you haven't experienced since taking your old office job. Barely conscious as you shower and change into pajamas, you slide into the new bed, feeling like heaven under your exerted body, the blanket providing a warm comfort as you easily drift off to the sounds of nighttime bugs and critters.

[kyannnite]

i’ve decided to keep a record of my current phantom of the opera-related collections… so. in order (under the cut):

1. my bookshelf, left to right:

- my first ever copy of phantom of the opera (de mattos, but also including a bunch of other gothic stories)

- a copy a friend gifted to me which is abridged in a very peculiar way where it completely leaves out the first chapter (de mattos, but without the first chapter)

- another copy of the de mattos translation that i used for my “intro to phantom of the opera” night with my boys (my friend group)

- lowell bair translation

- mireille ribiére translation

- david coward translation

- phantom by susan kay

- the phantom of manhattan by frederick forsyth (for those unaware. what love never dies is based on)

- dvd copy of phantom of the opera 25th anniversary performance live at the royal albert hall

- dvd copy of the love never dies proshot

- dvd copy of phantom of the opera (2004) movie adaptation directed by joel shumacher

- dvd box set + photobook of Studio Life’s stage adaptation of phantom by susan kay (is it entirely in japanese? yes. do i speak japanese? no. but they’re very good regardless)

2. a postcard a friend (pio thank you) bought me in paris that i have since framed and look at every day

3/4. POP MART universal monsters erik figurine (comes with a little rose and magnetic mask that you can take off and put back on)

5. incredible erik ornament that pio was also able to grab in paris at the palais garnier gift shop. he looks so silly (according to them they were very low on erik stock but the christine stock looked like no one had bought any. fucked up honestly)

6. i do have a few more things that pio snagged for me that i haven’t found places for yet. but i Will. and i am also going to try to track down my tickets/playbill for the LND US tour that i may still have lying around in my childhood home somewhere… a time before i realized how important seeing that performance was…

i’ll update this post with reblogs as i acquire more which is at this point inevitable. i’m in too deep. if you’ve read this far thank you for indulging me this was very fun to write

[songue85]

I've made a small list of Rules for Nuzlockes, ideas and suggestions I sorted from other sites - and a couple that I made myself - to help guide future Players.

This is in no way a complete and exclusive list, many other ideas and suggestions may be added/altered later on.

Also, I made them as a checklist to help future Players to better plan their own future challenges.

DA MAIN RULES:

1 - Only the first wild Pokémon encountered in a route or area can be caught. If the player fails to catch it (ie. it flees or faints), their opportunity to catch a Pokémon in that area is lost. 2 - Any Pokémon that faints must be released or boxed permanently. It is considered “dead” for the rest of the challenge. 3 - The player must nickname all Pokémon they catch or obtain.

Bonus Conditions:

( ) PokéBall Clause: The run effectively only starts after the Player can have Pokéballs to start captures, disregarding Rules 1 and 2. ( ) Duplicate clause: If the first Pokémon in an area is one the player already owns, or its evolution or pre-evolution, they MAY capture it or skip to one they do not own yet, and then attempt to catch it. ( ) No Legendaries in Play: The Player may capture a Legendary Pokémon, but not use it in the run.

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

Now, for the main show:

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

Softcore Rules:

( ) First Mon Out: First Death in the Run is ignored.

( ) No Full Wipe: A loss of a whole Team is not a loss. The Player can choose to make a new Team out of stored/benched Pokémon

( ) Friendly Rivalry: Rule 2 is disregarded in Rival Battles.

( ) Shiny Clause: If the player encounters a shiny wild Pokémon, they MAY catch it, disregarding Rule 1. A shiny Pokémon won't count as an encounter for that area.

( ) On Safari: each area of the Safari Zone is considered its own Route/Area, for the effects of Rule 1.

( ) HM Slave: You may ignore Rule 1 to catch Pokémon SOLELY for teaching HMs. Said HM users cannot be used for battling - if they are your last member(s), you must consider the Team whited out

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

Hardcore Rules:

( ) No Escape: The player can not flee from wild battles/

( ) Caught Only: The Player cannot use any Gift/Found/Bought/Traded Pokémon, only the ones they capture. Eggs are consider Gifts. The Starter Pokémon, which is a Gift, must be stored/released after your first catch in the run is Level 5 or above.

( ) Monolocke/Monotype: All Pokémon in the team must share one same type, to be decided at the start of the run.

( ) Monocolor: All Pokémon in the team must share a color, to be decided at the start of the run.

( ) Uniquelocke: None of the team's Pokémon may share a type.

( ) Set Battles: The game is on Set Mode, instead of Shift. The Player change Pokémon only after the Foe puts a new Pokémon into play.

( ) No Day Care Center: No use of Day Care Center during Run.

( ) No Child Support: Can't use the Day Care Center to breed Eggs nor have Pokémon that can risk Eggs to appear.

( ) No Held Items: The Player can't have their Pokémon hold items. Pokémon with Pickup are prohibited.

( ) No X Item: The Player can't use the item "X" during the run. Pokéballs, Move Learners and Key Items are Exception.

( ) No Modern Medicine: No healing items for HP, PP, or status other than Berries, Roots, Powders, Herbs, Drinks and Foods. No Potions, Restores, Elixers, Ethers, status heals or variants are allowed.

( ) No Legendaries: The Player cannot capture any Legendary Pokémon, either defeat or flee them.

( ) Level Cap: Player’s Pokémon may only be trained up to the level of the next Gym leader’s Highest Leveled Pokémon. After the last Badge, Level Cap is the Highest Leveled Pokémon in the Elite Four.

( ) Limited Pokémon Centers: Pokémon Centers may only be used a certain number of times per Center, or a certain number of times between each Gym.

( ) Town Keys: The Pokémon Center and Poké Mart of a Town with a Gym can only be used after you defeat that Gym Leader. Towns with no Gym are exempt.

( ) American Healthcare System: Every use of a Pokémon Center demands spending money (Player goes to a Poké Mart, buy items that will cost the set value of healing and then discards bought items).

( ) Limited Poké Mart: Poké Marts may only be used to buy a certain item (Poké Balls, Healing Items, etc).

( ) Apocalocke: The player chooses (or is given) a type of apocalyptic disaster theme. Depending on the disaster chosen, only certain Pokemon types “survive” and may be used. Tsunami (Normal, Flying, Water, Grass, and Dragon-types survive and may be used) Heat wave (Normal, Fire, Rock, Electric, and Ground-types survive and may be used) Ice Age (Normal, Ice, Dark, Fighting, and Steel-types survive and may be used) Nuclear War (Normal, Poison, Bug, Psychic, and Ghost-types survive and may be used) Famine (Normal, Rock, Ground, Steel, and Ghost-types survive and may be used)

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

Extra Hardcore Rules:

( ) Giftlocke: Rule 1 is disregarded. The player is not allowed to catch Pokémon, must use only their starter and Pokémon that are obtained without catching.

( ) Routelocke: Rule 1 is disregarded. The player picks a route or area, and can only catch Pokémon that can be found on that route.

( ) No Items in Battle: The Player can't use any items during battles, like Potions or Antidotes, etc. Pokéballs are Exception.

( ) No Items: The Player can't use any items that affect Pokémon during the run, like Potions or Antidotes, etc. even outside battles. Pokéballs, Move Learners and Key Items are Exception.

( ) Notepad Clause: No Pokémon may be kept in storage or Day Care Center. The player may only own six Pokémon at a time.

( ) Notepad Extreme Clause/First 6 Only: The player may only own six Pokémon throughout the entire run. If all pokémon in the Team faint, then it's "game over", even if the Player have any Pokémon still in store.

( ) No Pokémon Centers: Pokémon Centers may not be used during the Gyms part of the Run. After that and before the Elite Four, you can only use the E4's Center.

( ) No Poké Marts: Poké Marts may not be used; the only items available are those found in the overworld or given for free by NPCs.

[diskmess]

The Breeders - Pod

I’m going to have to be honest about some pieces of myself that are not endearing. This is going to take some time. A long time. I know you can’t wait forever. None of us can. For now, let’s start with two recent occurrences:

I forgot a close friend’s birthday. I have crunched some numbers and determined that there are approximately three hundred and twenty-one adequate excuses I could give you, but they do not interest you now, and they will not interest you tomorrow or in two weeks, and one hundred moons after my last bone becomes indistinguishable from the planet’s crust you will no longer have the faculties to care. I forgot. That’s it.

When I heard of Steve Albini’s sudden passing, I immediately looked up his discography. I pointed at all the albums I knew and failed to take note of the ones I didn’t. Pictured below is one of the albums I pointed at. 

THE DISCOVERY:

I’d been seeing the same vinyl of The Breeders’ debut album at one of my local record stores for three consecutive weeks. I’d appreciate its largeness and jaw-flooring low price for about as many seconds as it cost dollars. Then, I would say something terrible:

“Next time, if it’s still here.”

When I forgot my friend’s birthday, I realized I needed to buy that record. I knew she didn’t have it. I even had a dream about giving it to her: bowing myself in half, head down in deep apology, I presented the record like cartoon butlers present fine cuisine. Surely, it was a prophetic dream. I rushed out there one bleak Monday before work. I got there an hour before they opened. I needed to kill time. I puttered my dying car over to the nearby Wal-Mart, which ended up taking half an hour due to a malfunctioning traffic light. I listened to The Breeders’ Pod while inching forward every thirty seconds or so. 

I escaped Car Jail and looked at bad DVD covers for about twenty minutes. I had my legs carry me back to the parking lot, shuffling my mass underneath the uneven rays of an indecisive sun. It rained. The sun beamed. It rained. The man parked in front of me stared me down as I killed time by filling it with my phone. I tried not to see him.

When I arrived at the record store, the record was gone. 

THE EXPLORATION:

(and that’s hot — )

Most of my days are spent roasting in boxes. I drive dangerously close to half-asleep in a large red oven. My ass plasters itself to the seat. Fans blast barely conditioned air into my twitching eyelids. When I roll down the windows, I can almost stop myself from becoming a sweat factory. When I roll down the windows I make myself vulnerable to 100,000 small imaginary knives, pointing in at me from all the Out There’s commotion. I turn up the radio so I can hear it over the air whooshing. The radio announcer speaks: 

Yesterday, at age sixty-one, we lost Steve Albini. A new Shellac record is set to release in just over a week — he was not planning to die.

I get something down on my chest. 

They play three songs he produced and I’m staring out at the parking lot. Time, which never stops moving, is something we are tasked with filling. Once it is filled, it passes. I have never witnessed something so harrowing as a totally empty hour, thank God, but I know I’ve gotten close. Some days I am dragged along an energetic river full of places and memories. Without even a single thought I am washed over many would-be destinations whose towering landmarks turn to fractions of particles of dust. Other days, I direct its flow:  

“still rolling in the stones run to the log that's rotten and — “

Someday, on a day like any other day, that’ll be it. I will be filling time by making plans to fill some other time with some kind of Goodness. I won’t be thinking about it. And that’ll be it — where I lay, everything I ever gave the gift of motion will be hung upon the world. When it hangs, anyone can choose to bear it. I always choose to bear it on those days where I direct the river’s flow, and I always wake up screaming when the bumps of some beautiful place disturb my lifelong car nap. I catch it blurry in the rearview and start pounding the windows. Oh! Oh God turn around, what was that, what happened, why didn’t you tell me, how could I have been sleeping, where are we going,

And that’s it. Next time, pour water on me ‘til I live again: I promise I won’t forget. Slash my tires if I forget. Make me stay right Here. Make me sponge up every piece of every place I’ve ever passed and make me give it back to the world while the river still drags me along. Let me use its flow to carry these pieces to elsewhere and some other time. Don’t let me be dragged along until That’s It. Don’t let me drop everything there.

[petalsmooth]

I have to admit it's a choice to admit you didn't bother to watch the one plot that is solely about two people who aren't white or where one is white.....

Because the ton does NOT look favorably on active employment. They tolerate certain cultivated "interests" such as Debling's but WORK? Tending bar? Hell no. The people of the ton do not work. Well, Penelope does but she has to do it in secret.

And that is his story so interesting haven't watched one single second of it.

Far as having no money, once again this part of the fandom is obsessed with thinking that money is Anthony's and crediting him with accolades that really amount to being the first one born. Personally if we go by the books and if not inherited to first born male heirs, I'd say Hyacinth should be the one in charge of the estates. She's the one with a gift for finance and deals

They ALL have money of their own. Anthony had nothing to do with it, past Bridgerton's did. Per the books Colin is more rich than barons and viscounts and a few earl's. I'm not sure exactly how much he has on the show but he is NOT destitute. It's one of his main plot lines since season one and the book. Desiring a purpose because he is of inherited privilege and wealth. As for title's, not all title's are created equal. If you are an Earl but have a bankrupted estate a wealthy 3rd son with strong family connection probably is more appealing. Particularly if still young, attractive and kind.

Now I WILL admit I've always had issues with the idea of the Bridgerton's being so powerful as a title of Viscount but as this is the world that has been built in Bridgerton if we're playing by their rules then yeah...I can see him the catch of the season. Depending on who is in the market that year. I think we're given to believe the best two options are the Marquiss the Queen picked for Francesca and Debling. Debling is middle aged and leaving for 3 yrs. This would certainly be ideal for some women but it's hardly going to cause women to flutter like they did for Simon. He has options due to wealth and title but he's no Prince Friedrich either. Marquiss isn't even an option because none of those debutante's are going against the queen's intent. So yeah....I can see Colin as the girl debutant's flock about and their parents aren't likely to object unless obsessed with titles because he checks off all other boxes.

I don't think it's a question of why surrounding Colin, but why more aren't after Debling actually. I don't care for him at all but he marriage mart is not about love for most families. You'd think more mother's would have pushed their daughters that way as Cressida's did. But then he can be rather blunt, which could have chased them away..

[narcissisticmf]

a very supernatural christmas | dean winchester x fem!reader

description: after fighting pagan gods, y/n admits her feelings for dean.

trigger warnings: angst, mentions of death, seductive behavior, spoilers from season three, etc. read at your own risk.

word count: 2.3k

December, 2007

Ypsilanti, Michigan

Draping some tinsel against the makeshift Christmas tree, you had a gentle smile growing as Sam played the festive music on the radio in the motel room the three of you were staying in. Snow fell outside, coating the windows in frost. Sam hung some car air fresheners on the tree as a form of ornaments.

The door to the motel room opened, revealing Dean with the bags of beer. You smiled and turned your head to see him admiring the decorated room. Sam smiled as his brother walked in, latching the door shut behind him.

"Hey! You get the beer?" Sam smiled as he held a shot glass of eggnog.

"What's all this?" Dean had a growing smile as he walked in further, placing the plastic bag of beer bottles down on the coffee table.

"It's Christmas," You smiled sweetly.

"What made you guys change your minds?" Dean furrowed his brow as he flickered his eyes between you and Sam. You pressed your lips together and turned to Sam with a questioning gaze.

Sam didn't answer and reached down to pour a small shot glass of eggnog for Dean. "Here, uh.. try the eggnog," He handed the cup to Dean. "Let me know if it needs some more kick," Sam held a bottle of whiskey as he and you both smiled while Dean took a small sip of it.

The eldest Winchester coughed after having sipped the alcoholic beverage and smiled, looking at Sam, "No, we're good."

Sam smiled happily, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded with a smile.

"Good. Well, uh, have a seat, guys. Let's do.. Christmas stuff, or whatever," Sam smiled, staring between you and Dean. You released an excited breath and placed the tinsel down, walking around the couch to grab your gift for Sam; you hid it behind the couch.

"All right, first things first," Dean smiled and sat down on a chair beside the couch Sam sat upon. You walked around the couch with Sam's neatly wrapped present and sat down beside him. Dean took out two packages wrapped in brown paper from a plastic bag and held them out for Sam to talk, "Merry Christmas, Sam."

"Where'd you get these?" Sam asked with a smile as he took them.

"Someplace special," Dean smiled and waited a moment before continuing, "The gas mart down the street." Sam and you laughed softly. "Open them up," Dean encouraged.

"Wait," You handed Sam the neatly wrapped box, placing it in his lap. Sam smiled brightly and you turned to face Dean with a bright grin, "I have yours in the car, Dean."

"Well, great minds think alike, guys," Sam placed his gifts down and reached under the couch to grab a few packages. He had two for Dean, wrapped in newspaper and one for you, wrapped the same way.

"Really?" Dean smiled with his teeth together.

"There you go, Dean," Sam handed the two gifts to Dean. "And here, Y/N/N," He smiled and handed you the smaller wrapped gift.

"Come on," Dean dragged out as he admired the gifts. You giggled and nudged his side as Dean smiled at you.

Sam unraveled his first gift, from the brown paper and laughed when he discovered them to be porn magazines. "Skin mags!" Sam smiled and you laughed, noticing Dean nodding with satisfaction. Sam opened the second gift and grinned, "Shaving cream."

"You like?" Dean smiled and Sam nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah," He grinned.

"Open mine," You gently nudged his leg with your knee as he smiled and placed the gifts Dean got for him on the coffee table. He unraveled the festive wrapping paper and smiled looking down inside the box; a leather journal and a copy of the Da Vinci Code. Sam smiled and pulled them out, admiring them.

"I knew you didn't have a copy of that one, and I figured a journal would be nice to have," You smiled shyly as he grinned happily.

"I love them, thanks, Y/N," Sam smiled and gave you a side hug.

You grinned and pulled back to turn to Dean who began to open his gift from Sam.

He released a soft chuckle and unwrapped them. "Look at this.." Dean grinned and held up a candy bar and a bottle of oil. "Fuel for me and fuel for my baby," He grinned and watched as Sam nodded. "These are awesome. Thanks," He placed them down on the counter.

"Good," Sam grinned and turned to you, "Open yours, Y/N/N."

You smiled and unraveled the small wrapping of the gift Sam got for you. You giggled and pulled out a small notepad with some pens and pencils.

"You're always writing when we're on the road," Sam grinned. You giggled softly and admired the gifts.

"Thank you, Sammy," You gave him a small hug and pulled back as he grinned, chuckling softly.

"Merry Christmas, guys," Dean raised his glass of eggnog towards the two of you. You smiled and leaned over to grab your glass and raised it as well.

"Yeah. Yeah," Sam smiled and the three of you clanked glasses, "Here, Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, guys," You smiled sweetly.

There was a stillness in the room that lingered with tension, knowing that it could be your last Christmas with Dean. You released a gentle breath before sipping the strong drink. Dean whistled softly at the taste.

"Hey, Dean?" You asked softly, breaking the silence. He looked at you with a soft gaze. "Do you wanna see your gift now? I left it in the Impala," You rested your glass of eggnog on the coffee table.

"Yeah, of course, sweetheart. Yours is out there too," Dean grinned softly and placed his cup down on a coaster.

"Just be a second, Sam," You patted his shoulder as he nodded softly with a tight-lipped grin. You walked towards the door with Dean followed behind you. You reached for your jacket and shrugged it over your shoulders as Dean mirrored your actions with his coat.

Dean reached for the doorknob and opened for you from behind as the two of you exited the motel room and into the cold midst of the snowstorm.

You both walked towards the Impala as Dean unlocked it with his keys before shoving them back into his pocket. You reached into the backseat and grabbed the small neatly wrapped gift. Dean was rummaging through the glove compartment to find yours, a tiny box wrapped in brown paper.

You pulled yourself out of the Impala and shut the backdoor, standing straight as Dean made his way around the front of the car towards you. You smiled shyly and felt your cheeks grow cold due to the snowy weather.

"Here," You smiled and handed him the small present.

Dean grinned and handed you the small box as he took your gift for him. You smiled and waited for him to unwrap his as he peeled back the paper, uncovering a small cassette tape labeled; 'Our Songs' with a small heart drawn next to it.

He admired it silently and traced his fingertips over the masking tape that you wrote over in permanent marking. "I know you won't get much time to listen to it, but I wanted you to have something that reminded you of us before–"

"I love it," Dean smiled, interrupting you with utter smoothness. You smiled shyly and looked down at your gift from him. You unraveled it from the paper and it revealed a petite cardboard box. You looked up at him with your lips pressed together into a frown. He grinned and watched as your eyes flickered down to opened it slowly.

"Dean.." You breathed out slowly and pulled out a ring of his. It was the same one he always wore on his right ring finger. You looked up at him with tears welling in your eyes.

"I figured you might want a piece of me behind," Dean smiled sadly. You felt the snow stick to your hair as it did to Dean's. You sucked in a breath and looked down at the ring, taking it out of the box and slipping it onto your middle finger, has it had been the only one that fit Dean's ring.

"Thank you," You whispered shakily and rested the box on top of the car. Dean smiled softly and placed the cassette tape beside the box, reaching over beside your head. The closeness was intimidating. You lowered your head down to examine the ring and smiled gently as more tears fell from your eyes down the bridge of your nose.

"Dean, there's something I have to tell you," You whispered shakily, looking up at him with glassy eyes. He waited for you to continue with a furrow in his brows. You breathed out slowly and kept your gaze locked with him, "I've been a wreck lately. I keep trying to tell myself that there's a way around this, but I know there's not." The mascara amongst your lashes began to drip down under your eyes. "I've tried to come up with a better way to tell you this, but the more I wait, the less time I– we have," You swallowed the lump that built in your throat. "And if you wanna go, I want you to know that it's okay. I understand and I know there's no way around this. But I don't want to lose you, I can't," You lowered your head, unable to make eye contact with him due to how nervous and shaken up you had become.

Dean reached his hand to grip your chin, lifting your head to make eye contact. The cold air felt as though it froze your tears to your cheeks. You shakily breathed out, seeing the moisture of your breath freeze in the air.

"I love you, Dean," You spoke softly. He parted his lips and cupped your face with his large hands.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for you to say that," Dean's voice was low as he dipped his head down to press his cold lips against yours. You gently held his wrists with your hands, the cold metal of his ring felt comforting against your hand. Your lips moved together perfectly as you fluttered your eyes closed, as did he.

For a few mere seconds, the cold air felt warm. You pulled yourself closer against him as he deepened the kiss, moving his hands to cup the back of your neck. You felt his tongue softly graze against your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You tipped your head back and parted your lips, giving him permission. He smiled into the kiss and let his tongue play with yours. You laughed gently into his mouth and pulled back, still holding your hands against his wrists.

"I hope that means you love me too," You whispered shyly as he smiled.

"I love you, sweetheart," Dean whispered gently. You smiled and leaned up to press a longing kiss to his cheek, your lips lingered at the corner of his mouth.

"We should probably go back inside," You whispered to him quietly, feeling the warmth build between the two of you the closer you stood.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Dean nodded and brought his hands back, reaching over to grab the cassette tape he rested atop the Impala. You smiled and watched as he opened the passenger door and gently rested it in the glove compartment.

He stood up straight and closed the door, motioning for you to follow him inside.

"Wait, Dean," You started and released a nervous breath as he stopped in his tracks before the door. He turned to look at you with dilated pupils. You walked towards him and cupped his cheeks, standing on your tiptoes to press your lips against his deeply. He hummed against your mouth and wrapped his arms around your waist, enjoying the sweet taste of your lips against his.

Pulling back slowly, you felt your cheeks flush with heat as you watched Dean take his thumb and swiftly trace his bottom lip. He stared down at you through his long lashes and grinned.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, allowing you to rest your head against his chest, fluttering your eyes closed. He rested his chin against the top of your head and stared up at the snow falling from the clear night sky. You released a soft breath and squeezed him tightly.

"Don't let go just yet," You whispered.

"I wasn't going to, sweetheart," Dean spoke softly and kissed your forehead.

The two of you stood like that for a while before you both walked back into the motel room. Sam grinned at the two of you as you both smiled back.

"You guys were out there for a while," Sam commented with a gentle smirk.

You and Dean said nothing, but had grins plastered to both your faces. You sat down beside Sam as Dean took a seat against the same chair from before.

"Hey.. do you guys feel like watching the game?" Sam broke the silence, flickering his gaze between the two of you.

"Absolutely," Dean smiled.

"Yeah, of course," You nodded with a happy grin.

"All right," Sam nodded and stood up to flick the television on before sitting back down beside you. The three of you sipped your eggnog and enjoyed each other's company while watching the winter football game. You smiled softly and leaned your back against the couch, fixating your gaze on the television.

.

a/n: it's finally the holiday season!! merry christmas and happy holidays, cuties!! i hope you all have a great holiday and that you're celebrating it with close family and/or friends. this year has been a wild one and i'm so happy that i've gained all of you beautiful people who continue to read and support my work. i love you all very dearly. have a safe and happy holiday! <33 — angelina.

[herleaf]

mundane clara headcanons * RE: Baldur's Gate 3 and gaming in general

clara is absolutely a gamer in her spare time (either when she is not with the doctor, there is a school break, she is with the maitland's and angie and artie want her to play with them, or she just needs time to just blow off steam).

while she started off playing fps games, she kept hearing the doctor's chagrin against guns and violence in the back of her mind so she opted into playing cozier games (ie. wylde flowers or stardew valley) and she honestly finds the idea of trying to plan a farm while romancing people to be a fun and strategic activity

absolutely plans her farms on a website that helps map out stardew valley farms. oh, is that a spreadsheet you see pulled up on a tablet near her while she's playing? yes, because she is calculating what she needs to do to have specific money by the end of the first season because pelican town hasn't seen anyone like farmer clorbus on timey-wimey farm. no walkthroughs, this is a cozy game of skill and trial and error. she absolutely slammed her laptop shut when she gave penny a hated gift by mistake and she writes down everything. clorbus is nothing if not a learner, not making a bad mistake twice.

absolutely looks to see if anyone made a mod for stardew valley that resembles a blue phone box that people all over forums and reddits online have argued about being a time machine or some sort of government distraction from what's really going on. because like real life, there is too much to do in one day and if she gets her cave carrots and gems stolen one more time because she missed the end of day by a single second she will back joja mart to spite them.

dates as many of the bachelors and bachelorettes as she could in stardew valley (she absolutely gets the bad confrontation scene once and that is the only time she looks up a how-to online and reloads and finds a rabbit's foot that she now carries with her always.) she is scared to settle down with any one villager because that would force them to stop having their own personality and would stay on the farm and not be helpful (though she does woo and settle down with wesley IMMEDIATELY in wylde flowers because he is obviously not a mere mortal--spoilers--and regrets NOTHING)

absolutely names most of her animals after the doctor and silly nicknames from their past regenerations

DISCOVERS BALDUR'S GATE 3 and immediately hyperfocuses on these silly little 3D characters

can't decide if she wants to BE shadowheart or lae'zel or BE WITH shadowheart and/or lae'zel

gale reminds her of the doctor with his longwinded narratives and stories of his travels and also, like gale, the doctor feels like he would be the type to have a longwinded and complicated multi-step process to bring them back to life if they are killed before meeting a very old man with a long beard who has a pension for smelly cheeses and wine

absolutely begins quoting tav in her travels with the doctor.

"i've got a lot on my mind... and, well, in it." clara there are cybermen around this isn't the time for jokes

will try explaining every character to the doctor

what do you mean he goes by the blade of frontiers? what frontiers has be conquered? if he loses his blade would he just be called of the frontiers? doctor it is not that serious. he trusted a devil to continue on with a deal? doctor he did it to save thousands, your jealousy is showing

has a soft spot in her heart for wyll ravengard (and like danny pink, wyll deserves more content AND DESERVES BETTER)

[aricastmblr]

bts_bighit X 17jun2024

[공지] 지민 솔로 2집 ‘MUSE’ 예약 구매 안내 (+ENG/JPN/CHN) https://weverse.io/bts/notice/20331… #지민 #Jimin #Jimin_MUSE

[Aviso] Información de reserva para el segundo álbum en solitario de Jimin, 'MUSE' (+ENG/JPN/CHN) #지민 #Jimin #Jimin_MUSE

Jimin_MUSE estará en 2 versiones 1 weverse MUSE (BLOOMING ver.) MUSE (SERENADE ver.) MUSE (Weverse Albums ver.)

En las portadas de Jimin_MUSE dos palabra salen mas del resto

(M)US(E) ME (BLOOMING ver.)

M(US)E US (SERENADE ver.)

BTS Weverse

[AVISO] Segundo álbum en solitario de Jimin, reserva “MUSE” 2024.06.17

Hola. Esta es BIGHIT MUSIC.

Nos complace informarles cómo reservar el segundo álbum solista de Jimin, “MUSE”, cuyo lanzamiento está previsto para el viernes 19 de julio.

Puede realizar su pedido por adelantado en minoristas en línea y fuera de línea a partir del martes 18 de junio. A continuación se muestran los minoristas.

Período de reserva Del martes 18 de junio al jueves 18 de julio de 2024 (KST)

Minoristas de pedidos anticipados de “MUSE” Tiendas de música online y offline donde se venden álbumes

(tiendasdondepedir-korearetailersoverseasretailersweverse)

Album Content

[MUSE] - Two versions available MUSE (BLOOMING ver.) MUSE (SERENADE ver.)

- Package Box: 1 type per version / W184 × H184 × T20 (mm) - CD Sleeve: 1 type per version / W180 × H180 (mm) - CD-R: 1 type per version / W120 × H120 (mm) - Photo Book: 1 type per version / W180 × H180 (mm), 88 pages - Card Set: 1 set (7 types) per set / W160 × H160 (mm) - Folding Poster: 1 type per version / W182 × H364 (mm) - Instant Photo: 1 random type out of 3 per version / W108 × H85 (mm) - Coaster: 1 type per version / W110 × H110 (mm) - Sticker Pack: 1 type per version / W180 × H180 (mm) - Photo Card: 1 type per version / W55 × H85 (mm)

[MUSE (Weverse Albums ver.)] - One version available

- Sleeve Box: 1 type / W132 × H92 × T17 (mm) - Booklet: 1 type / W124 × H85 (mm), 40 pages - 3D Instant Photo: 1 random type out of 2 / W108 × H85 (mm) - QR CARD: 1 type / W124 × H85 (mm) - User Guide: 1 type / W124 × H85 (mm) - Photo Card: 1 type / W55 × H85 (mm)

For more detailed information on placing your pre-order for “MUSE,” please contact the respective retailers. We sincerely appreciate your interest and support.

Thank you.

weverseshop X 17jun2024

Pre-order Jimin 2nd Solo [MUSE] on weverseshop GLOBAL and get special gifts!

(https://x.com/weverseshop/status/1802884201563455558)

BTS_jp_official X 17jun2024

#JIMIN 2nd Solo Album 'MUSE'発売決定！本日より予約販売がスタートしました！ 詳しくはこちら→https://bts-official.jp/news/detail.php?nid=f6dr6Qefekc=… #Jimin #Jimin_MUSE

(https://x.com/BTS_jp_official/status/1802883932750491775)

OFFICIAL BTS MUSIC STORE - shop.bts-official.us

(https://shop.bts-official.us/pages/jimin?utm_source=mira&utm_medium=referral)

[jackalgirl]

[ Image description: cut pieces of fake fur cloth with attached fleece, forming both halves of a puppet body with a furry torso and a fleece face, displayed on a wooden table. There is a also a sewn arm, made of the same fur fabric, inside our, ready to be turned, next to a box of plastic safety eyes. End ID. ]

Two years ago I made a Glurp puppet from a kit from Monkey Boys Productions (website here: https://www.monkeyboysproductions.com/), because I had been utterly charmed by Adam Savage making one on his YouTube channel (video here: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=TjvX8GiYA5w - so stinkin’ adorable).

I wanted to make another one, but in the process of moving stuff around, had lost track of the box in which I’d stored all of the pattern pieces, instructions, and hand-painted eyes I had made.

The folks at MBP were really kind and sent me the pattern PDF - I can’t emphasize enough how awesome they are - and I am back on track, using stuff I bought from my most recent visit to the Wall (and its Mart). The materials in the kit from MBP is superior and I’d recommend them over the stuff I had now, but I was looking for a specific “greybeard” color palette that MPB alas did not have.

Anyway, as Adam says, these kits would make excellent gifts for makers - they are on the pricey side if you’re used to buying fast (insert genre here), but I personally think they’re worth every penny because they’re so well put designed, and have such high-quality material.

[chocolatemartbd]

Chocolate Mart BD:

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[mlpmoviemerch]

New My Little Pony Pretty Me Up Character Popular Collectible Figure 12-Pack Bundle

New My Little Pony Pretty Me Up Character Popular Collectible Figure 12-Pack Bundle available here: https://amzn.to/3oXIhyK

Details below:

【POP MART Box】MORE TO LIGHT UP PASSION AND BRING JOY.

【Toys Size】Each kawaii figure height is between 2.36 and 3.94 inches (6cm to 10cm). We measure the size manually. Slight discrepancies are considered normal.

【Perfect Gift】For Girls or Boys: A perfect box of toys gift for birthdays, Christmas, Halloween, Valentine's Day & more! The figurines are compact and convenient, making them the perfect desk ornaments!

【Material】Non-toxic, harmless, and odorless PVC/ABS/Paper material. The cute adult box figures toys' colors of the characters are vivid and not easy to fade. The surface is smooth and has high quality.

Perfect gift for any My Little Pony fan!

Features a Pretty Me Up character popular collectible figure 12-pack bundle.

Brand: POP MART

Character: My Little Pony

Color: Multicolor

Assembled Product Dimensions (L x W x H): 7 x 2.4 x 4 inches

Assembled Product Weight: 2.6 pounds

Ages 15 years and up

Inspired by My Little Pony

[theallenshorefangirl]

Zoe's tape fragments, just like Lucas' hers, are in fragments around her level, and a side mission dollhouse puzzle with Shadowfigures a gift from the Watcher that leads to her small room replica where she rests in Allen's house where you can find her Hidden 8-Bit track "Sorrows Forgiveness" its a purple with gold sparkles and black wax dripping design on the game device)

warning it's a sad ass tape session

Beginning Tape intro:

Desmond:Alright,miss?

Zoe:it's Zoe....*she was around 18,wore a baggy jacket similar to one of his patients(Allen),and wore black jeans and a black shirt.her shoes were half tied and tucked in her shoes,her brown hair was unbrushed like she just woke up and had bags under her eyes,her leg also bounces up and down nervously* I'm kinda new to this whole therapy thing since I moved to Milton Haven.

Desmond:Alone? *Flips through his notes* do you have a job?

Zoe:Yeah, alone....I work at Homa Mart during the day,I babysit two kids at the Nygaard's place.One is a Freddy Ruhl, and the other is their kid Maddy Nygaard,I'm just not sure I get uncomfortable when Max Nygaard comes home before his wife? Alice, I'm still learning names. *She looked like she was gonna faint, and then I worked the lighthouse shift at night when a friend of mine needs his rest.....*she started to cry* I'm so sorry.* She pulled her hood up and knees up to her chest* I'm sorry I'm sorry *she accidentally knocks his clipboard out of his hands* I'm so very sorry I'm suppost to go to the hospital for some meds,they say it's suppost to work bu.....but I...I ......I don't trust em.They say it's experimental medicine.

Desmond:it's ok. There's no harm done. How about you rest since you're my last patient of the day and when you come back we can try this again. *end of beginning session*

Fragment 1:

Desmond:So,any troubles with completing tasks like at your jobs with your tics and or anxiety and panic attacks

Zoe:See,that's the things it's hard when a clown like Dave annoys me for having trouble with the registers, and for cleaning up messes he makes, I throw a thing here or there by accident,loud noises trigger it.And Inez always gets into a fight with him for being harsh with me.And well I'm sorry for the language but he punched my friend for fuck sakes!

Desmond:Mr Shore?

Zoe:Yeah, he's like a brother to me. When he can't sleep, I read him stories of Icarus and other stories of Greek mythology characters, and I make sure his rooms oil lanter stays lit.And well to be honest he's not wrong about the men in black I've seen them take the pictures I've seen the flashing cam lights! I'm not crazy he's not crazy....YOU THINK IM CRAZY I KNOW THAT LOOK *She threw her therapeutic fox plush at him and storms out*

Desmond:Zoe, wait *sighs* You're not crazy. A similar patient said he saw those cars heading that way

Zoe:SHUT UP YOUR A LIAR LIKE ALL OTHER PEOPLE

Desmond:*he sat down in his chair,Tonia headbutts his leg,he reached down and pets her*

Fragment 2:

Desmond:Well, she should have been here by now.Where is she?

*the phone rang*

Desmond:*he picks up the phone* Hello, this is Dr Desmond Wales?

Allen:Doc,I'm worried something bad happened. There was an incident at Homa Mart.Some lady threw glass at me.I don't know what was going on.I got what I needed and left in a panic. The police were there,and the paramedics too

Desmond:I'll see if I can get ahold of her

Allen:she's probably busy.I didn't see her,she must have been staking up boxes in the back. Oh, gotta go. I need to check up on something.*he hung up*

Desmond:*he calls Zoe's phone, but she didn't answer,it was Inez.* hello?

Desmond:Inez? Why do you have Zoe's phone?

Inez:she was badly hurt.First,she banged her head on the side of a shelf, and then Dave, like the dumbass he is, triggered her to go into an anxiety panic attack.And then she passed out and we don't know what happend and then [Mentions of Virginia's incedent] causing all of us to go into a state of panic.

Desmond:where is she at now?

Inez:she's at the hospital,I was gonna drop off her stuff to the hospital, but I don't have a car, and neither does she.She takes the bus.

Desmond:I'll stop by and get her stuff,I'm gonna get Allen so we can make sure she isn't badly injured,and tell Dave I'm sorry for his loss Virginia was a good patient of mine.

Inez:will do Mr Wales *she hung up the phone

Early that day, Desmond recorded a small fragment on her tape, mentioning that the stress was so intense that she passed out along with a glass shard fragment in her arm from where she fell.

Fragment 3:[the night of Allen's Incident]

Allen tried to get Desmond on the phone but failed.

*Zoe called Desmond,She had tears streaming down her face trying not to scream or speak loudly on the phone,the men in black was searching the inside lighthouse exterior,she was hiding in the generator room for the lighthouse light.Desmond...Desmond please answer this is a emergency something bad really happened just now

Desmond:*he sounded like he just woke up* Zoe,what's up?

Zoe:It's Allen his house is on fire and I seen the men in suits and I didn't see Allen leave the house *sniffles* and I seen someone drag a body out and I think it was Allen's and then I heard a knock at the door and *she loudly sobs over the phone*

Desmond:deep breaths,stay calm. I'll come and get you

Zoe:Please do,but be careful there.....*There was a loud thud as the door burst opened,she heard their footsteps above her.They walked around the area.She heard footsteps as they opened the door to the generator room,they looked around and turned away."Desmond, please come and get me. They left, but I don't know when they will be back....please *she sniffled and hiccups*

End of tape

To find the Astronomy Dollhouse and dolls, there are a lot of em to find a total of 9 figures,1-6 is Savior,Watcher,Shade,Bull,Flash and Empty

The other 3 are her other friends Shadowforms