#I AM open for prompts and highly encourage people to prompt me at any time

[ddagent]

January Writing (5 x 5 x 5)

5 New Ideas

Delenn is offered technology by the Shadows to be wholly human - and allow her to be with John.

John meets Ambassador Delenn in his dreams while she is in the chrysalis. 

Dorky Professor Sheridan finds himself smitten with returning Professor Mir. The feeling is more than mutual. 

The newly elected President Sheridan has a problem: he’s got a crush on Vice-President Mir.

President Sheridan begins talks with the Minbari government, only to find the Chosen One extremely attractive. 

5 Ideas I’m Most Excited By

Bodyguard John Sheridan is hired to protect heiress Delenn Mir.

Starkiller and Entil’Zha used to be rival spies - now, with the war over, they’re partners.

John and Delenn develop a friends-with-benefits relationship shortly after All Alone in the Night. 

John and Delenn elope when they meet before the war. However, their marriage is tested after Dukhat’s death and the subsequent war. 

John and Delenn meet during failed talks on the Prometheus. Attempts at peace fail - but the two find themselves drawn to each other. 

5 Prompts I’m Most Excited By

Photographer!Delenn is tasked with photographing President Sheridan’s first year in office.

Actors!JD reveal at a promotional event that they had a massive crush on each other during filming and every reporter brings it up.

No one knows Professor Mir and Professor Sheridan are married. 

Spies John and Delenn find themselves actually married.

Sub!John.

[imjustabeanie]

Hello there! I'm here for my half of our Matchup Trade! I'd like to request a character from Hazbin Hotel please! The only character I'd like not to be matched with is Angel, on account of him being gay and me being a woman.

Thank you for doing this, and please don't hesitate to reach out if you need any further information or have questions!

----

BASICS:

Name: Mochi

Gender: Female (she/her)

Sexuality: Pansexual (any gender is fine)

PERSONALITY:

MBTI: INFP

Enngram: 9 dominant

House: Slytherin

Zodiac: Libra sun, Libra moon, Leo rising

Love Languages: Quality time, physical touch, to a lesser extent gift giving

Hobbies: Writing, Drawing, listening to music, playing video games, daydreaming, debate

General: Introverted and quiet, I usually don't say too much unless I'm passionate about something (in which case good luck getting me to shut up about it) or am directly addressed. Despite being quiet, I'm actually very friendly and bubbly. I'm not really shy, though I am guarded and put up an overly cheerful front when I'm not with people I trust.

It's important to me to make people feel welcome and seen. I'm super non-judgemental and open minded about most things, and I'm a good listener which I'm told makes me easy to be around. Though I'm mature and can give good advice, I can be cowardly and tell people what they want to hear instead unless prompted. Getting my real thoughts and feelings out always takes a bit of prompting, actually... I'm working on being more honest, though. Self reflection and self improvement is super important to me and I'm always trying to be a better person.

I AM an introvert and can be easily overwhelmed in large crowds or in loud places -- especially with my anxiety. New people wear me out quickly. That being said, I absolutely cannot get enough of my loved ones and I can be a little clingy without meaning to be.

Though I'm chill most of the time, and pretty even tempered and level headed, I suffer from mental health issues that make me moody and volatile at times. I work hard not to take it out on others, but mood swings are noticeable.

I'm neutral and passive right up until I'm not. If someone hits the wrong button I'll go from 0 to 100 real quick. I'm not an aggressive person like, ever, but I will go full sassy debate mode. I don't have a lot of hills but I'll die bloodied and battered on the ones I do stand on.

I'm always trying to see the best in others, and I'm stupid loyal - to the point that it's a fault. Sometimes this gets me used or manipulated. I'm extremely gullible and can be pretty naive. It's too hard for me not to be a bit of an optimist.

APPEARANCE:

General: I'm about 5'4 and pretty chubby-- which is chill by me. I have shoulder length dark brown hair, brown eyes with long lashes (probably my best feature), olive skin.

Distinguishing Marks: I have roughly 7 tattoos, mostly pretty small, and I think 7 piercings between my ears and face.

Style: I primarily dress lazily in all sweats or camis and leggings, but when I feel fancy I'll either go full girly with pink, ruffles, bows and skirts, or full alt with dark graphic tees and a jean jacket or smth. I seldom wear makeup but when I do it's dark and heavy on the eyeliner, light on the lips.

I think the hardest was writing with literally 31 webttore on my screen. They kept hidding the save button!

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this matchup!

Your hazbin hotel match is....Charlie!

Not gonna lie, Vaggie was considered but then Charlie won. Reason why Charlie is would start a conversation more easily than Vaggie. It would be better for an introverted person because she can make you feel comfortable enough to be yourself. When you did she actually was so happy! She highly encourages you to be this bubbly but understands that you don’t feel comfortable to do so. On the other hand, she actually feels comfortable enough with you to talk about all her problems. It’s later on that she confesses (I don’t know why I see it as a planned confession that somehow went sideways lmao). You’re similar to her but tamer if we can say so you two understand each other rather well.

You’re like two peas in a pod. She feels you and you feel her. It can get overbearing for those around you because you fuel Charlie personality but it’s so cute that they can’t say anything. She’s the type of girlfriend that fully trust her partner and believes they can’t really do anything wrong. She’s big on honesty, you opening up to her is very important in her eyes. I do not believe you two would argue about things or any issues because communication is key.

Charlie loves spending time with you. Every night you two cuddle in your room and talk about your day. She relays all her troubles and drinks up your advices like water. She doesn’t realize at first that you sugar coat come things but when she does she’ll softly take you in her arms and explain that it hurts her when you’re not fully honest with her. If anyone judges you or get angry at you for speaking your mind she’ll personally deal with them. She likes how you’re always working on improving yourself and helps you reach your goals. She’s also in the same mentality. The two of you always bring out the best in each other and that’s why the dynamic works so well.

Charlie is a big extrovert. She always wants you to be by her side but understands if you get worn out easily. She’ll never put you under the spotlight since you don’t want it and does her best to keep you safe from the journalists and paparazzi (I am sure some are interested in her new relationship and would try to dig out things about you). If it doesn’t work she’ll put her foot down and sternly tell everyone to fuck off.

Charlie is very understanding. When you get moody she’ll try to know why and won’t take it personally when you lash out. She doesn’t really know personal boundaries and tend to overstep. High chance that Rosie will calmly guide her to do better (she’s her couple therapist for real lol). She goes to learn more about your mental issues and does her bast to make you feel comfortable and make you forget about them. She’s patient and will ask you about your wrong buttons to not upset you. She defends you but will still help you calm down when she feels you getting all worked up. She loves you, you’re the apple of her eyes and always make her day shine so that’s the most important.

Charlie loves pda. You’re clingy, she’s clingy, you two are the lovey dovey couple. Her love language is words and acts of service. Since you love writing and drawing she’ll actually reserve a room for your hobbies. And she’ll actually partake in them too! If you draw her she’ll be over the moon and all heaven and hell will know about it. A rare scenery at the hotel is you laying your head on her laps and daydreaming and her, thinking about her plans/rambling. Speaking of rambling you’ll actually see hearts in her eyes when you get passionate about something and start talking. She’s very attentive and will interject with questions. I believe video games aren’t her things but introduce her to sims like games and she’s gone…she likes management games.

Charlie isn’t as gullible as she seems, she’s pretty sharp and if she feels like someone is trying to play you she’ll sternly scold them. It helps because when you rant to her she points out who’s being dishonest. If someone actually wronged you they’ll see an angry princess of hell, not Charlie, at their door.

Charlie definitely had an era with piercings. I can see her with a nose or eyebrow piercing. With you there’s a high chance she gets one and later on she gets a tattoo with you. She likes tracing your piercings/tattoos when you’re snuggling.

[sungbeam]

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 — CLOSED!

**NOTE: i reserve the right to not fulfill any request that i see as violating my specified guidelines or that i simply do not want to write. i'm sorry if it takes a while, but be patient.

some people may say im crazy, insane, or just plain out of my goddamn mind 😃 and ykw ? they're right 🤩🤩 but i've been feeling weird w inspiration lately, so send something in!

for SEVEN DAYS, i'm opening up my requests !! beginning from now, monday july 18th 12pm pst until monday july 25th 11:59am pst, u can request a fic from me and i will do my best to deliver. pls adhere to the following rules and guidelines tho! (wow i should've just wait for midnight lmao)

RULES, PROMPTS, ETC BELOW CUT

rules and guidelines!

☆ i do not write smut; the farthest i will go is suggestive, like this fic here

☆ with that being said, i will write anything i have written before (ie. kissing/making out, violence (clarification), angst, etc.)

☆ fics will generally be female or gender neutral reader; i do not write member x member

☆ fics will range from 0.2k to 2k (i'll write what i think fits w the request u send in!); i don't really write headcanons or reactions or mtls, so pls dont request those

☆ also pls dont rush me! if i've "processed" or seen ur request and have determined that it fits all the rules, then u will find it listed on a waiting list post

☆ requests are open for every group i have a masterlist for: nct (all units), skz, enha, txt, svt, and atz (i'm hoping that now i will get asks for a variety of groups this time >< lol)

☆ would i write a love triangle? a love square? a love OCTAGON??? sure, if i can fit it in 2k 😗

**following my blog is not mandatory for this, but highly encouraged!

how to request!

include member(s) + prompt/scenario/au/trope + fluff/crack/angst/comfort/etc.

☆ i will also accept song inspos, movie inspos, any aus from my own works

☆ additionally, including a prompt is NOT mandatory

prompts!

here's some prompts from my previous request event; below are a few more i compiled from pinterest and my drive lol

51. put the spoon down, i'm not gonna hurt you

52. can you carry me?

53. i told you not to get too close to me

54. wish i knew that loving you would break my heart

55. no one's ever said that to me before and meant it

56. do you mind if we stay like this a little longer?

57. and when were you gonna tell me?

58. you call it a problem, i call it a solution

59. it's not a bachelor pad!

60. that does not sound healthy

61. i am way too sober for this

62. is it working?

63. have you eaten today?

64. you know i love you, right?

65. it's too early to be alive

66. give. me. the. mfkn. remote.

67. i am going to murder you

68. this butters my biscuit

69. why does it always have to be world domination?

70. but it'll cost you

71. michael jackson is dead, dude

72. so you really have been living in a dump here without me

73. oh, just your favorite person in the world

74. speak of the devil, and he/she/they shall appear

75. no, i've just always wanted to say that

76. c'mon, not the donut!

77. you stole my kid!

permanent taglist (all): @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @staysstrays @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @yedammi @rnjfy @jaehunny1428 @johlee @justanotherkpopstanlol @frickyratz @liamsholygrail @w3bqrl @got-sum-badhabits @ana-is-losing-her-mind @smolpeyy @hibernatinghamster @babyksworld @otchae @bigballsz @luv4vernon @shakalakaboomboo @thesunsfullmoon @ashxxkook @super-btstrash-posts @mythicalamphitrite @hoohoohope

[beels-burger-babe]

Welcome to the Hive 🐝

Hello! 🖐 I'm B, owner and writer of this blog. I'm 23, and use she/her pronouns.

Welcome to the Hive! A community for all Obey Me fans of any age, race, sexuality, gender identity, and religion to just come and hang out, read some fics, and talk.

You can also join the Discord Server here: https://discord.gg/BvNvAqGTKv

Here are a few things you should know before going any further

Who can interact with this blog?

The only people that I will not allow here is people who are pedophiles, racist, homophobic, sexist, transphobic, or simply hateful people in general. This is a safe community that promotes love and positivity. If you are any of those listed things, take your hateful self and leave, Karen.

What kind of blog is this?

This blog is an SFW blog that mainly works as a publication place for my writing but has since grown into a place where people can talk about Obey Me prompts, characters, and theories. I also just chat and talk about random stuff with my followers sometimes. More recently I have also begun to dabble in role play.

What rules do you have for requests?

Requests are currently CLOSED! Once they're open again, I will be open to nearly anything except for NSFW, inc*st, r*pe, and p*dophilia. I also have the right to reject your request if I am not comfortable writing it. Please note that I prefer to write a gender-neutral MC so that all my readers are comfortable reading it. However, if you have a request that demands a certain gender, please specify and I may consider it. Also keep in mind that depending on what I'm currently working on, it may take a little time for me to get to your request, so please be patient.

Rules for asks?

I ask that you keep everything clean as this is an SFW blog. You are welcome to send me snippets of your fics, headcanons, MCs and prompts, but I have to ask you to restrain from sending in full lengthed fics. If you'd like me to see you're writing, I highly encourage you to post it on your own blog and tag me in it. I'd love to support you!

Where can I find your fics?

Why I'm glad you asked! All of my Obey Me fics can be found on my Masterlist (which is regularly updated) HERE

*

Looking for some Dungeons and Dragons info? Find my breakdowns of the game and my storytime posts DnD Blog HERE

And that's all folks! You are now ready to venture into the chaos that is my blog! Thanks for coming and supporting me 🥰 I hope you enjoy it!

[dreamlandcreations]

500 follower celebration

A few days ago I reached 500 followers Honestly, I didn't have any intention to celebrate it but it's either this or I'll start to filter out empty blogs 😔 So, this is a good excuse for a moodboard challenge 😊

REQUESTS are highly encouraged! Let's say... until 31st August? Even if you don't have anything specific, feel free to send me an idea or something simple as a character and a colour aesthetic ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

CREATORS are also more than welcome to participate too! The only rule is that no real-life people, please. Oh, and tag me and use #dreamland moodboard challenge so I can see what you've come up with

If you want to create for someone not on my list that is totally ok too, in case of requests I am open to broadening the list but I make no promises of actually accepting everything.

Below you can find prompts and aesthetic ideas but feel free to let your imagination wander 🥰

Prompts/Aesthetic Ideas

Holiday / Vacation

Beach / Road Trip

Date / Romance

Best Friends - Daemon Targaryen x Asshai'i!Reader

Frenemies / Enemies to Lovers - Valyrian OCs

Disney Villain - king!Darkling x queen!Reader

Game Night

Drinking / Party - cult leader!Aleksander Morozova x new member!Reader

Las Vegas

Soft (Sex)

Dream Come True - rockstar!Eddie Munson

Forbidden Love

The Seven Sins - Stranger Things  • pride • greed • lust • envy • gluttony • wrath • sloth •

Shapeshifters - Hangman and Coyote

Hunter / Prey

Fae / Fairy Land

Post-Apocalypse / Dystopia - king!Alfie Solomons x oracle!Reader

Tarot

Welcome to the Jungle

Highway to Hell

Requests

Modern!Alfie - still a gangster, but volunteers in (or runs) a dog shelter in his free time

Alfie or Eames and autumn/rainy day

Best Laid Plans con artist!Aleksander x con artist!Reader x police officer!Alina

dark darkling x reader moodboard

[mercurial-madhouse]

Trigger Warning: Healing is painful, but there’s so much light on the other side if we’re strong enough to walk through the dark.

My hope in sharing my story is to help anyone who reads it find peace or healing, just as I always aim with my fiction. If it feels right to you to do so, I encourage you to reblog this. It is highly personal, but I choose to share it publicly.

************

This past Sunday, I received an email responding to my desire to withdraw from a fic fest. Instead of the simple “You have been removed from the fest” that I’d been expecting through an official channel from mods to a participant, this is the response I received. Please be aware, the following is painful.

***

We've removed you from the fest and will mark you down as not being welcome to participate in future fests. We show a great deal of compassion toward our writers, which is why we send reminders, answer any and all questions, and provide extensions when requested. There's a reason why our fest has one of the highest numbers of fics of any fest/challenge in the fandom - it's because we support our participating writers and do everything possible to assist them as they complete their fics.

However, once a writer has repeatedly failed to communicate and missed both a deadline and an extended deadline, it's clear that they do not have any respect for the fest, the mods, our time, or our own unique situations, as we don't have endless extra hours to track down participants in a fic fest. Several reminders on three different platforms, an extension, and requests for writers to simply let us know if they need more time does not demonstrate a lack of compassion in any capacity. We also showed a great deal of compassion by welcoming you with open arms into the [redacted] after you insulted the fest, insulted [redacted] fics, and made writers uncomfortable last year after signing up to beta their fics, all while pretending to support and uplift writers in the fandom just as you did in your email here.

Have a great week!

- [redacted] Mods

***

This email arrived right at the end of the night, just as I was lying down to sleep. I couldn’t read it all the way through. It elicited a trauma response in me. My heart started racing, my palms were sweaty, I was shaking, I felt sick to my stomach.

I went into fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode. My first response was to freeze. In order to escape the barrage of pain bombarding me, I simply dissociated and disconnected from my body. It allowed me to sleep, but barely. I deleted the email in a desperate attempt to pretend it didn’t exist.

The pain caught up with me twenty-four hours later. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs shrunk in around my heart. My whole body locked up. I couldn’t move. I knew that if I spoke, even to say ‘hello’ to someone, I’d start crying.

The moment I was alone in my room the tears came. The pain came, bursting through me. I sobbed uncontrollably, curled into myself on my bed, begging for the pain to stop, begging for a miracle, screaming internally for relief and to understand what I’d done to deserve this because I didn’t have the air for more than broken whispers.

I fell asleep whispering ‘I need a miracle’ over and over. The mantra blocked out all the disgusting thoughts that wanted to keep swirling through my head. This is it. This is the final proof that you don’t belong here. You never have. You never will. Run away, M. It’s over. You tried, you failed. You always do. You always will.

I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Grief is intense. These are the moments where we don’t think we’ll survive what we’re feeling. My love, whoever you are, if you are reading this, hear from me. The agony passed. I needed to feel that agony, to allow it to move through me and to give myself the space to feel it. Without diving off the deep end into what hurts, I wouldn’t have been able to find the inner peace to keep healing, to start to understand.

The residual pain is still there, even as I write this post. But it no longer overwhelms my senses. And by Tuesday morning, I’d been given insight into what was happening.

I experienced a trauma response because it mirrored mistreatment I first received in childhood from family and classmates alike and continued into my adult life. In full view of others, it was acknowledged as cruel even by my mother, who struggles with her own guilt because she never stood up for me. No one did.

So I internalized the mistreatment. I must deserve it if everyone else around me is ok with me being singled out like this? At first I spoke up for myself. But in the end I stopped speaking up for myself too. I had never healed this pain and here it was, coming back around again, forcing me to face it, to heal it once and for all.

I still do not know what exactly I may have said to cause these accusations that you see in the email. **I do not and will not deny them.** Even if my words were taken in a way I did not consciously intend, to deny that I said anything that caused someone else pain is to deny my own power AND to deny that everyone’s emotions are valid and worth digging into.

I have the power to inflict pain, just as I have the power to spread and share love and joy.

Whatever I said came from a place of pain, of believing I did not belong in this community. That I am not good enough or worthy enough to be here. A series of unfortunate but necessary events when I first entered this fandom completely disintegrated my core beliefs in my abilities as a writer, something I have always kept so close to my heart, and my belief that I had a place in this fandom.

I expect, as I look into my past patterns, that what I did was try to logic why I wasn’t allowed to belong. At the time, this fest was the only subset of the fandom I knew, I was so brand new. So I looked through all the prompts in the fest. I brought a scientific method view to answering the question: “What is it about the fics people write in this fandom am I unable/incapable of doing?”

This process allowed me to generalize everything I saw that I perceived as ‘I can’t do that, this is why I don’t belong here’. Consumed in my own doubt that I could measure up and write something worth reading, I dropped from the fest last year too. If I can’t contribute writing that’s worth reading, I could at least stick with what I do best, which is helping others be their best selves. I had signed up to beta, and I chose to cling to the only grasp of belonging I had, which was through beta’ing. I ended up beta’ing four fics last year for the fest. And, of course, each of them were (and still are) incredible fics. At the time, it was further proof to me of exactly what I can’t accomplish.

In all likelihood, these generalizations, stemming from a place of pain and jealousy because I wanted to write good fics too, came out in a personal conversation with someone, which they translated as a personal attack. It is valid. Whoever you are, your emotions are valid. It does not matter how I meant whatever I said, pain is what you felt. This person did not feel comfortable sharing that pain with me, so instead they turned to others and shared. My moment of vulnerability and pain then spread more pain.

Pain only comes from pain.

The response was to shadow ban me. In fact, I was never meant to find out about any of this. The pain this person shared was simply taken at face value and that was that.

So on my end, this decision showed up in the physical world this way: Suddenly all my asks went unanswered, people I tagged to share snippets and last lines and get to know more through ‘about me’ posts or who had once talked to me through DMs simply stopped speaking to me in a way that is only noticeable to the person being ignored. I thought I was going crazy. But there it was, right in front of me: absolute proof that I wasn’t good enough to be a part of this fandom.

Is anyone else beginning to see the cycle of pain?

I expect I continued this cycle right back, because the pain turned to bitterness. I’d been doing everything I could to support every author the best way I knew how, and this was what I got? The exact opposite?

I found out about this shadow ban and actual blocking around June of this year. An ask sent in by a friend for me, inquiring why I couldn’t reblog a post that’d been sent to me by someone else, finally gave me the answer that I’d been banned for the accusations you saw above.

Horrified, hurt, and unable to comprehend any of this except to know that I support every author no matter what they write, I sent an apology to the mods, trying to end this cycle the best I could without knowing any of the details of what had happened. There was nothing more I could do.

They thanked me for the apology, though as you can see from the email, it was never accepted. I do not say that as a judgement call, but simply as a statement of what happened. Everyone is entitled to accept or not accept in their own time and their own ways.

I have been healing so much since everything that occurred last year. And the more I dig in to this cycle, the more my heart goes out to the drafters of this email, to the person I hurt with my words who then turned to share it out of context with others, and to the people who shadow banned me in connection with this situation.

We attract to us what resonates with us. Like attracts like. Which means just as I’ve attracted the greatest friends to me, I have also attracted this pain, and conversely, these mods and that person attracted me to them.

Deep down, on some level we share the same core wounds. And the person who can really understand just how painful those wounds can be is someone who feels them too.

So this is my message to the mods of the above email, to those who have shadow banned me and want nothing to do with me, and to the original person I hurt with my words:

I am sorry for my part in this pain. I am sorry for causing pain and I apologize for it. You are loved. You are enough. You are doing a fantastic job. Your feelings are valid. Your hurt is valid. I don’t know what occurred that hurt you before I entered the fandom, but after finding out from others that an email like the one you sent above is ‘Oh that’s just how they are’ tells me something else happened to hurt you before I even arrived.

Your hurt then is valid too. Allow yourself to feel it and process it. Don’t let it consume you. Don’t let that hurt and fear of it happening again or believing that that’s how everyone is push away from you people who in fact love just what you love. If someone has a different belief from yours, don’t let it invalidate what is true for you. Believing internalized lies about myself only caused me pain. And we spread and create what we believe to be true, whether we consciously realize it or not.

So here, now, is my truth:

I choose to perpetuate love. I choose to spread love. I choose to understand my pain and the pain of others, to transmute it, and to heal it, instead of passing that pain on.

I choose compassion. Compassion for myself in making these mistakes, and compassion for those who have hurt me. I do not condone the email that was sent to me. No one deserves to be treated that way. I choose to focus beneath the visceral anger and lashing out, to focus on the agony beneath the words, and stop this cycle of pain.

I choose to belong in this fandom. I choose to support every author in this fandom and ensure no one ever feels not good enough. I choose to own my past mistakes and learn from them.

I choose trust. To trust that those who I truly hope will see this, will see it. I have no expectations of responses or outcomes or reactions. My only hope is that whoever will benefit from seeing this post will see it.

This is not a matter of right or wrong, bad or good, just or unjust. It is a situation of two parties in pain, triggered by the same triggers.

Looking back on that email, I’ve come to realize that half of the pain I felt when I received it was not my own. I felt the pain of the attack, sure, but I also felt the immense pain beneath those words. And I wish I could hug you. I acknowledge your pain and I acknowledge how painful it is because I know that pain myself. I also know that this pain isn’t you and it isn’t who you are.

So I choose to remember the mods I first met around this same time last year in this same email chain. Mods who were so kind and offered advice to a brand new writer even when she sent an email that had nothing to do with the fest and was still struggling to find her place in the fandom. I choose to remember how beautiful that kindness felt. I choose to remember how I was so grateful for that kindness that I shared my gratitude for these same mods in an email with with another fandom friend at the time. I am still grateful for you.

You are so loved. You are loved for being exactly who you are. This fandom is built upon love. A shared love of five incredibly talented lads who have brought so much joy and light when each and every one of us has needed it the most. Shine your light through the dark and believe with all your heart that you are not alone. You have support. I support you. Shine on. Don’t let anyone dim it.

[clairecrive]

“Favor” - Sirius Black x reader

a/n: I don’t know where this comes from but it just... happened so yeah, hope you like it x

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, but Sirius is a precious bb so there’s an happy ending, lowkey inspired by what happened to me but whatever

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: you confess your feelings to your best friend and hope this won’t ruin things between you

Requests are open and so is my taglist.

The Astronomy Tower had always been a place for deep conversations or to unwind. Since the beginning of the first year, when you had found it by mistake- having lost your way- and met Sirius who was stargazing. You became fast friends and the place became your special alcove and the setting of my treasured memories between you two.

So you find it fitting that it was also the place where you'd share something that could break your relationship. It felt like coming full circle if that was the case.

"I think I'm going to be selfish for a bit." You broke the silence, your hands tightening the grip on your robes. Here's goes nothing.

"As you should." Your best friend agreed.

"So, I'm going to ask you for a favour."

"Anything you need."

"I need to tell you something and I know it has the potential to be very destructive both for me and my relationship with you so I'm going to ask you to not interrupt me, okay?" This got his attention and he turned to face you even though you kept staring in front of you. There was no way you were going through with this if you were looking into his eyes. And you needed to get this over with.

"You know you can tell me everything, y/n."

"What I'm going to say will change everything Sirius and I don't want that to happen. But I need the closure of saying it out loud and for you to know so that I can really move on."

"Nothing can come between us. Well, actually-"

"No, Sirius this doesn't have anything to do with your hair care products." Rolling your eyes you assured him.

"You're safe then." He shot you a grin, one you didn't have to see to know it was there.

"You know how much I love you, right?" He nodded encouraging you to go on, your serious tone instantly sobering him up.

"You are one of my favourite people in the world and I would do anything if that meant keeping you in my life." You let out a big sigh knowing that the next words that were going to leave your mouth had the potential of making you lose your best friend.

"And it seems that 'anything' is swallowing my feelings for you and accept that my role in your life is stationary and is not going to change."

"You mean..."

"I've always known you were cool, okay? Before puberty hit you and the beauty of your soul reflected on your body too. I think I have since that night you went on for hours about the stars and their names and their stories." You chuckled with mirth but sensing your distress Sirius didn't speak again.

"So it shouldn't have surprised me when I realized how hard and how deeply I had fallen for you." Another deep sigh.

"And I didn't want to. Believe me, I tried to stop it but quickly discovered one of the oldest truth which is that we don't choose who we fall for." You mumbled the last part at which Sirius gave the barest of nods as if he was connecting the dots.

"So that's why you went days barely speaking to me."

"I thought that time and distance were the best solutions. Turns out, I was wrong and I was hurting you too along the way of getting over you. And that was never my intention, so, here I am, making a fool out of myself confessing my pathetic one-sided love to my best friend which pisses me off to no end since it's fucking cliché and far too dramatic for my liking."

Sirius chuckled at the genuine irritation on your face, his heart heavy with your confession. It had hurt him to see you so distant the past few days when you were usually the other's shadow. However, he'd take that hurt anytime if it meant erasing the pain that he was witnessing behind your eyes. He knew sarcasm was one of your many defences and the fact that you were able to joke about this made him hopeful but he knew. He knew that you were allowing yourself to be vulnerable, something you rarely did, for his sake. And while the realisation of how much you had to trust him almost made him misty, he knew that things were going to change.

He knew you too well to naively think otherwise.

"The favour I'm going to ask of you is that you forget what I've just told you." At the bewilderment in his eyes, you shrugged casting your eyes on the hands in your lap.

"I know you don't feel the same," you murmured hating that your voice quivered with the admission, "and I wasn't joking when I said that I wouldn't jeopardize our friendship."

"I can obliviate you if you want." You added with a light tone when silence stretched between you two.

"I don't want to forget." He spoke for the first time after your confession that night.

"I know how hard this is for you and it means the world that you're doing this. You mean the world to me too, y/n, and the last thing I want is to cause you any pain." He reached out and took hold of your hands, prompting you to meet his eyes.

It surprised you to see them watery but you knew that Sirius was a gentle soul and highly emotionally intelligent. It was one of the many things you loved about him.

"Tell me what you need and I'll do it. Give you space or time or even annoy the hell out of you to speed the process, anything." You chuckled at him. Of course, he'd say something like this. It was Sirius after all, your Sirius.

Anything in you was screaming for you to touch him, even if for a little caress but you held back knowing it would do you more harm than good.

Ignoring that pang in your heart at the fact that his words basically confirmed that your feelings were one-sided, you focused on the good side. Your best friend was here and was willing to do anything to save your relationship and that was all you could ask for.

"I'm sure it doesn't have to come to that but I reckon you wouldn't mind it one bit." You snickered at him, lightly nudging his shoulder with yours.

"Not that it is my favourite past time or anything but I'd gladly rise up to challenge if need be." Straightening his posture he added in a solemn tone as it wasn't clear enough that he was taking the piss out of you.

"How chivalrous of you my lord."

"You forget that I'm a Griffindor."

"Of course, how could I ever." Rolling your eyes, you stood up and brushed the dust away from your robes.

"Come or will be late for dinner and I'm famished."

"Oh no, we can't have that can't we?" He sprung to his feet and before you could say anything, he lifted you and threw you over his shoulder before running towards the Great Hall.

"My god you're such an ass," you screaming holding the hood of your cape from falling on your head as it bounced along with his steps. And while his ass was something to stare at you couldn't help but smile at it, with the risk of looking like a psychopath to any bystanders.

You had done what you most feared and despite it not going as you hoped to, you still had your best friend and that was all that mattered.

You were going to be okay.

[solari-writes-things]

Boxing Day

requested by: @kind-wolf​

Solari says: I feel like this is a little more brief than some of the things I write, so I hope that it provides a little more of the comical vibe to make up for it.

Prompts -

#11: “You didn’t tell me your friend was cute! Now what am I going to do?”

Happy Lowman x Reader

WARNINGS: Language

gif credit: to the OP (pulled from Google).

SoA tag list: @thebookishfeminist​ :|: @sazafraz​​​ :|: @crimsonheart01​​​ :|: @kind-wolf​ :|: @tsumethedrifter​ :|:​ @chibsytelford​​ :|: @supervalcsi​​ (To be added to the tag list, please message me, or comment below!)

MORE HAPPY | MORE SOA | > MASTERLIST < | REQUESTS OPEN

It took you awhile to convince yourself to finally visit the SAMCRO clubhouse. Not for any particular reason, it’s just that the party scene just wasn’t your preference.

However, you had known Harry Winston for years. You once lived in Charming, when you were a teenager, before moving a little further South of the small town. Finally deciding to move back, you rekindled your friendships with him and Jackson Teller, which prompted an invitation for a clubhouse party. 

You almost didn’t want to accept just on the idea of a party. You weren’t too much of an extrovert, preferring to meet everyone on your own accord; however, you didn’t plan on making any trips out of your own time. This was the chance that you had to meet the other people your two friends mentioned prior, their loyal brothers in arms.

They always spoke highly of them, confident that you would get along swimmingly. You had the talent of getting along with almost anyone, though, within reason.

So here you were, sitting in a crowd that surrounded a rinky-dink boxing ring outside of the bar itself. Harry, or Opie, had been sitting to your right to watch the men brawl. There was two in the center, dancing around one another and swinging harshly. One was Tig, whom you had met on arrival to the party, and the other you hadn’t quite met yet.

Opie had been calling him Happy, which you weren’t sure was his real name. The man was anything but that, tall and tattooed all over the parts of his body that you could see. His hands were wrapped tightly in tape, stained just a slight shade of red from the beating that he had been giving Tig these last five minutes. His eyes were serious, feral even, as he shuffled around the ring.

You tapped your fingers against your beer bottle calmly, watching the two of them circle. The jerking of their arms, followed by the sounds of their skin being beat made you cringe where you sat. Something about the two of them in the ring together almost made you a little fearful.

Two opposing, wild forces clashing against each other.

Tig managed to land a couple of back-to-back punches, which seemed to have Happy in a bit of a daze in the corner of the ring. He would try to follow up with another barrage of hits, but the President of the Sons of Anarchy stood up from his ringside seat and called the match to an end.

Both men were almost coated in a matching shade of red, and you almost didn’t notice until they had been called to a stop.

Instead of them sauntering out, their expressions went from wild to smiling; the quickness of it all was enough to give you whiplash. They bring each other in for a hard hug, before both of them duck through the ropes on opposing sides.

Happy dropped down calmly in front of you and Opie, giving a nod of greeting to Opie before approaching. The longer you paid attention to him, the longer you seemed to realize that he wasn’t a bad looking man--blood and all. Your eyes scanned the different types of ink that he had strewn all over his body, intrigued in the different art styles that he had decorated himself in. God, you had hoped he didn’t notice you staring just a bit too much.

“Fuckin’ badass match, Hap,” Opie commented, taking a drink of his own beer bottle. “You look like shit.”

Happy had an almost wicked grin on his face, amused at the fact that he was in such a shape. “I’ve had worse, man. Shit will get cleaned up quick.”

You were almost startled by the sound of his voice. You didn’t know what to expect, really, but the tones that left his mouth definitely weren’t it. Honestly, it kind of added to the face-level fascination.

Opie nodded his head to you, directing Hap’s attention to you. Your eyes dart up from his tattoos, and you offer a smile that feigned your innocence. “Happy, this is [Y/N]. She just moved back to Charming, I’ve known her for years.”

“Hey,” you said simply, trying to keep your responses as brief as possible to hide the fact that your eyes were wandering just a bit before.

“Hey,” he greeted. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are kinda covered in blood.”

“Noted,” you replied quickly. “Great match, had me worried you were gonna kill each other.”

“If Clay didn’t call it, someone probably woulda gotten close,” he casually admitted. If speaking to anyone else, they’d probably take that as their first warning.

But here you were, completely ignoring that notion. “Can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Situational,” he retorted, before looking down at himself. There was a bit of blood clinging to the skin of his chest and his face, which prompts him to speak again. “I gotta fuckin’ wash this off. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He trudges off, pushing through the crowd of patched members trying to pat him on the back in praise.

You look back to Opie, almost in disbelief, not even paying attention to the fact that he was drinking out of his beer bottle again when you opened your mouth. “What the fuck, man? You didn’t tell me your friend was cute! Now what am I gonna do?”

It was almost comical, the reaction that Opie immediately gave to you. With your mild infatuation with Happy out in the open, he had almost choked on the beer that he was in the process of swallowing. He lurched forward, coughing into the shirt that he wore underneath the kutte. You grimaced at the coughing fit, reaching over and patting his back as if to encourage him to let it all out.

Once he was finished, he sat back up again and wiped his mouth of any remnants of his fit. He began to grin, laughing just a bit once the spasms in his chest has settled down.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me, man, I hate you,” you said jokingly, giving him a gentle shove; inevitably causing him to laugh even more.

“To answer your question, you can come with me to get a beer,” you heard an answer, causing your head to whip around once more in a start.

Your heart picked up it’s pace. Happy had come back, slightly leaned over to pick up something that was laying on one of the wooden tables you were sitting near. He had forgotten to pick up his rings, placing them on the palm of his hand calmly as he waited for you to respond.

“Oh... Shit, Happy, you sure about that?” you ask, nerves settling on your shoulders once it really sank in that he had heard your comment.

“Yeah. Why the fuck not?” he asked, standing straight once he had all of his rings in his hands. “Come on. Just gotta wait for me to finish up.”

So you stand, slowly, just in case Happy decided this was no longer a good idea. You wouldn’t be angry if he did, you kind of embarrassed yourself in front of him and Opie. However, when nothing of that notion left his mouth, you relaxed your shoulders. 

He turns, connecting eyes with you once again. With a serious expression, one that he wore since coming back, he nods towards the door that led back into the bar and begins to walk towards it.

And you follow, with an approving nod from Opie, towards the black painted door frame that contained the comradery inside. 

[wondernimbus]

broken people — george weasley

pairing: george weasley x female!reader

prompt: Hi! First of all I love your work, you hit me right in the feels every time. If your requests aren’t open that’s fine, but I can’t get the idea of reader somehow getting her memory wiped by Voldemort and George tries so hard to get it back. Lots of angst and you can decide the ending! Again sorry to bother you if it’s to much. Sending love xx

a/n: i didn't want this to get too long so the ending is kind of unresolved n sad :0  might write a pt 2

requests are open. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

The fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

George has it memorized by now.

The long-term spell damage ward.

When the metal doors clang open and he finds himself standing at the end of the long hallway, he pauses, for a moment, inside of the lift. Takes a few brief seconds to take all of it in as he has done every day for the past six months: the bare white walls on either side of the hall, the benches outside of each door that are usually left unoccupied save for the occasional visitor every two weeks or so—because this is the ward for long-term patients; people who live here, have lived here ever since whatever horrible thing happened to them, waiting for life to somehow go back to normal despite the sheer hopelessness of it all. And these benches are left unoccupied for a reason: that being life moves on, and families and friends have to let go eventually. And these patients are left to rot here waiting for a cure that won’t come.

But of course no one puts it that way, and they call it the long-term ward instead of the "forever damned" ward, because that doesn't sound all too optimistic, does it? Long-term instead of practically dead.

Today, George brings two sandwiches if only for the sake of positivity. His mum had insisted. It’s a feeble attempt to convince him that today is somehow special, that it’s the day he’s been waiting for for so long. That she will wake up today and they’ll eat these bloody sandwiches together.

But what are the chances?

George makes the familiar trek down the hallway. He takes a left turn, then a right, greeting the Healers who know him by name. He’s been coming here everyday for six months without fail, even if it’s only to catch a brief glimpse of her, even if the larger part of him knows she isn’t likely to wake up any time soon. So of course the Healers know him, and he them. George says his hellos to the other patients, too, as he passes by the recreation room.

A seven-year-old girl hops out of an open doorway just as he passes by. It only takes him a brief moment of surprise before he grins and says, “Hello, Aimee,” he crouches down so that he’s eye-level with her. “You look very pretty today.”

Aimee smiles widely back at him, twirling around in her little hospital gown. George lets out a quiet laugh and meets the eyes of a frazzled-looking healer who appears at the end of the hallway and immediately seems to calm down upon seeing Aimee.

“Did you wander away again, Aimee?” scolds George playfully.

She smiles bashfully, nodding, and George's heart aches a little as he wonders, not for the first time since he'd come across her, what her voice sounds like. Something like Ginny’s, back when she was this small, probably.

Aimee was cursed to feel pain every time she uttered a word—George had learned this a few months ago from one of the Healers—so he has never heard her voice. And given the circumstances, he’d rather not.

He remembers the paper bag in his hands. "She might wake up today," his mother had told him. The sad look in her eyes didn't go amiss.

George hadn't had the heart to tell her that it wasn't likely, but he took the damn sandwiches anyway.

Now, he takes one of the sandwiches out of his paper bag and holds it out to her. Beaming, she takes it, hugging him as thanks, and disappears down the hall with the healer trailing after her.

What are the chances, after all?

He continues on his way to her room. George has these walls memorized by now, could find his way to her with his eyes closed.

But something is different today.

George pauses just as he rounds the corner and spots them: the group of Healers huddled around the door, peering in or speaking amongst themselves, and when they notice George heading toward them, they all pause—and the sight would have been funny if George wasn't so stunned.

And at that moment he feels something he hadn't felt in much too long—feels something like hope flood him for the first time in six months.

What are the chances?

—

[Y/N]'s life begins again in a hospital ward.

The fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the middle-aged lady with the blond hair tells her. The long-term spell damage ward.

She is a Healer. And she is here to help.

But why?

How are you feeling? Fine.

Do you know why you're here? No. I'm sorry.

Six months ago, there was a war. You were taken captive and tortured for information. The strain of it.. took a toll on your brain. You have been unconscious ever since. I don't understand.

That's fine. Can you tell me if you remember anything? I.. I don't know. no. I don't know my name—why don't I know my own name?

It's alright, honey. It's alright. Calm down.

"They told me she was awake." Another voice. [Y/N]'s head snaps up; in the doorway there is a man—no, a boy, with red hair and eyes that are wet and wide with shock and something—something else that she can't quite place.

[Y/N] stares at him and feels an inexplicable pang go through her chest—hears a far-off echo inside of her head, a whisper of a name, something. But it slips farther and farther away the more she tries to grab at it, that tiny, tiny semblance of recognition, and for some reason this makes her anxious—it makes her panic. She edges farther along her bed until her back hits the wall, putting as much space as possible between her and the Healer and this boy in the doorway as she buries her head in her hands, fingers clawing at her ears as though to block everything out—

"I don't know my name,” she whispers. “I don't know any of you—"

Another Healer appears in the doorway. "I'm sorry, Healer Paige, he was insisting—"

"That's quite alright. Please leave the room, Mr. Weasley."

"I'm not leaving until I—"

"Mr. Weasley." The blond Healer—no, Healer Paige's voice is stern, but there's an undeniable sense of sympathy. "Please exit the room quietly."

The boy with the red hair steps forward, striding towards her, but the other Healer holds him back by the arm. "Let go of me, I need to—"

"Mr. Weasley—"

"What’s wrong? Why can't I talk to her?"

[Y/N] curls in further into herself, head bowed as she hunches over into a ball, whimpering something that sounds like get out of my head.

"We're facing.. some unexpected symptoms. We will explain as soon as we can, but for now you need to leave."

"What the bloody hell does that even mean?"

"Please escort him out of the room. It would be best for you to come back tomorrow."

Get out get out get out.

"[Y/N]?"

[Y/N]. She stills. Feels something inside her head, like a lightbulb flickering to life. Dim and weak and barely enough to shed light on the dark, empty recesses of her brain, but it's still there. And she hangs onto it.

She looks up, straight at the boy with the red hair. His eyes are frustrated, but they soften the second they meet hers.

"[Y/N]," she repeats, heart pounding erratically inside of her chest like it knows she’s edging closer and closer to something important. "Is that my name?”

—

My name is [Y/N]. Six months ago I was tortured and lost all of my memories. I am twenty years old but I have no recollection of what happened in all of those twenty years.

All I know is that my name is [Y/N], and for now I will start from there.

The next morning consists of a flurry of Healers coming through the door running tests and figuring out what the bloody hell went wrong with her. [Y/N] sits on the edge of her bed, feeling oddly numb, only speaking when she is spoken to.

She has her own questions: who is her family? Where is she from? Why was she tortured, and for what kind of information? Will she ever get her memories back? Should she want to get her memories back?

But hours pass by and none of her questions ever make it past her lips. When all of the Healers filter out of the room and Healer Paige is the only one left, [Y/N] clutches her pillow to her chest, fingers digging into it the same way they have been for the past few hours.

And only then does she look up, eyes filling up with tears, and goes—"Am I going to be okay?"

The sympathy in Healer Paige's eyes shines clear as day. After a moment's hesitation, she nods. "It's highly unlikely that you'll ever get your memories back, but I encourage you to be.. open-minded.

"Your family is outside. They've been waiting to see you. I know it will be strange, but—they are still your family. And they still love you, even though you don't quite know them, or at least not yet. I ask you to be brave."

Her family. [Y/N] inhales sharply, a crease forming in between her brows. How odd would it be for her parents to see her and to realize that the girl before them is a mere shell of their daughter?

Moments later, a man, a woman, and a little boy appear in the doorway.

Her family.

Hesitant greetings are made. [Y/N] may have lost her memories but she isn't blind to the way all of these people are looking at her—so terribly sad, and each time they meet her eyes it's like they're trying to gauge a memory out of her. Pleading with her to remember.

And [Y/N] wants to—she really does. But all she can offer them is a small smile and a quiet "how are you". When the woman—her mother—excuses herself and leaves the room, obviously in tears, [Y/N] sits there feeling so utterly out of place, wondering if she should comfort her.

But she can't even meet their eyes without feeling awkward—without feeling like she's doing something wrong—so when they all leave, [Y/N] slides back under her covers, brows furrowed, trying so hard to remember, to find their faces in the massive hole of her memory.

But she doesn't. She can't. She feels like she should be crying, but what is there to cry about?

Everything that she lost.. she can't mourn them, can't cry for them, because she just doesn't remember. And so she is left to lay there, staring up at the ceiling, searching the dark void inside her head for even the smallest glimmer of light.

Needless to say, her efforts are to no avail.

—

Visitors aren't allowed.

George stands in the lobby of St. Mungo's, staring at the man behind the counter. Ben—they know each other by now.

"But they told me to come back today," he says, throat feeling oddly tight, but he forces out a small laugh to mask it. "I'm supposed to see her today."

"I'm sorry, George. It's what her Healers said—but if you want, Healer Paige is on duty. You can go up there and talk to her yourself, if you have any questions."

So that's what George does: he takes the familiar journey to the lift, and to the fourth floor, and then to Healer Paige's office.

She tells him [Y/N] has already seen her family today, and it wouldn't be wise to overwhelm her with other people. George sits in front of the desk, brows furrowed.

"But it's better to get started as soon as possible, isn't it?" he asks, voice still constricted the same way it has been this entire morning, like there's a lump stuck in his throat. "So that she can remember faster."

The resigned look in Healer Paige's eyes fills George with dread. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley."

When George walks through the doors of the still closed joke shop, it's only then that everything he has been trying to hold inside bursts out of him and he finds himself sinking to his knees at the threshold, much to the shock of his twin brother, who rushes at him asking questions that he doesn't want to answer. All he does is sob out barely coherent words—she doesn't remember anything, she doesn't even know who I am, I was supposed to ask her to marry me.

How cruel is it, and how ironic, that after six whole excruciating months of waiting and waiting and waiting, she wakes up, finally, just as George had hoped for, but this is what the universe gives him?

It's not fair that he remembers everything. It's not fair that George remembers how they met, how they first kissed, how much they loved. It's not fair that he knows all of her little quirks, has memorized the sound of her laugh and the planes of her face and the tiny moles all over her body that he always used to compare to constellations, and [Y/N] doesn't even know his name.

She is suffering from severe memory loss, Healer Paige had told him. Mr. Weasley, this kind of damage is irreversible. I'm truly sorry, but it's highly unlikely that she will ever get her memories back.

They were strangers, once. And then friends, and then lovers, and at this point in time they're supposed to be bloody engaged, like George had planned, but it appears they are nothing more than strangers again.

And it's not fair. None of it is.

But George isn't going to give up. He's loved her for far too long—is letting go really an option?

He can start all over again. He's going to find love with her again, and sure, he'd be starting off with a clean slate—he'd be scrapping all the nine years they'd spent with each other—but he doesn't have a choice, does he?

So George wipes the tears off of his face and picks himself up off the floor. He's still so frustrated and he wants to scream until his throat his hoarse, wants to run until his entire body is on fire so he can feel something that could drown out the suffocating pain in his chest.

But back in St. Mungo's, [Y/N] is alone and sitting on her hospital bed, undoubtedly feeling lost and confused and perhaps even worse than George—what would it feel like to wake up knowing absolutely nothing, after all?—and it's the mental image of that that gives George the motivation to move, and he shrugs off Fred and walks up to his and [Y/N]'s shared flat above the shop. There he slams open drawers and rifles through photo albums until he finds what he's looking for—photographs of her, of her friends and family and everything she has forgotten.

And of her and George. He pauses at these ones, feels a dull, aching pang go through his chest.

He's waited for six months. Maybe he can wait a little longer.

—

My name is [Y/N]. I am twenty years old and six months ago I was tortured and lost all of my memories. My parents are Lisa and Patrick. I have a six-year-old brother named Leo.

[Y/N] writes all of this down on the journal that Healer Paige gave her. A way to keep track of everything, apparently.

Baby steps, she'd told [Y/N]. We'll take it nice and slow, build everything back up again from scratch.

[Y/N] walks around the hospital early the next morning, when the only source of light is the one that comes from the bulbs overhead and the sky is dark beyond the windows. Here she walks around the hallways, thinking of nothing in particular, just—walking.

And it’s nice, letting herself bask in the silence around her. Healer Paige is patient and understanding, but [Y/N] doesn’t quite fancy being reminded of her condition every few minutes or so. Here [Y/N] can stop trying to remember. Here she can listen to the sound of her feet against the ground as she treads the cold floor, safe to just walk and worry about nothing more.

That same morning, her family doesn’t come to visit her again. Healer Paige says they have strict visiting hours, and [Y/N] hopes that relief didn't show too much on her face.

The Healers run a few more tests. Ask a few more questions. Halfway through the day, they allow her to go to the recreation room, where the other patients are.

Broken people, she thinks to herself. Just like me.

She meets a man cursed to lose his memory every five minutes. A little boy with legs that are permanently tap-dancing. A seven-year-old girl named Aimee who, according to one of the healers, feels severe pain whenever she speaks.

And it’s a little sad, to see all of these perfectly normal people save for whatever kind of long-term ailment it is that they’re suffering from, confined inside the hospital walls because they just aren’t normal enough.

[Y/N] fits in right along with them.

She can’t sleep at all that night, so at one point, when the hospital is completely silent, she leaves her room again.

But the hallway isn’t empty. There is someone laying down on the bench outside of her room. Someone with red hair.

[Y/N] pauses in the doorframe. He’s asleep, curled up into a little ball, which is a funny sight considering he’s so tall.

She remembers him from two days ago. Mr. Weasley, they’d called him. And she remembers the look in his eyes when she first spoke to him—when she asked him if [Y/N] was her name: that look of disbelief, of pain, like something inside him had broken.

She steps closer towards his sleeping figure. He shifts just slightly in his sleep, presumably to try to be more comfortable, but [Y/N] imagines that the plastic digging into his back doesn’t exactly feel extremely cozy.

[Y/N] swallows. Feels that same dull ache in her heart all over again—the same one she got when she first laid eyes on him. She finds herself crouching down to look at him properly; the red hair that falls over his eyes, the freckles across his nose, the swell of his lips.

”Who are you?” she whispers quietly, more to herself than to anyone.

Without her even realizing, she has reached out with one hand to touch the side of his cheek. Her fingertips graze his skin, a mere ghostly touch, and her breath catches in her throat when his eyelids flutter open and all of a sudden they are staring at each other, [Y/E/C] meeting brown, and [Y/N] makes to pull back, feeling like she’s been caught in the act, but he just reaches up with one hand and grabs her wrist, holding her in place.

She stares, frozen.

—

When George opens his eyes again, for a moment, he thinks he is dreaming.

[Y/N] is in front of him, eyes wide, hair framing her face. He feels like reaching up and cupping her cheek—he feels like pulling her in close and pressing his lips to hers, as he has yearned to do for so bloody long, but he can’t. He can’t.

But this—he can have this, for now, this tiny moment of pretend. For these few brief seconds, George holds her gaze in his and allows himself to believe that everything is as it has always been.

For now, when the two of them are alone and the entire hospital is quiet and the sun hasn’t yet risen, George pretends that [Y/N] still loves him.

But then she is tugging her wrist out of his grasp, cheeks a blazing shade of red, and hurriedly apologizes before disappearing inside of her room again.

George sits up slowly, and there’s a sad little smile on his face—and then his lips are twisting and he’s crying again, burying his head in his hands and sobbing at bloody two in the morning.

It’s like she’s being dangled in front of him, and she is close but at the same time so far away from reach.

He clamps his hands over his mouth, not wanting [Y/N] to hear. He doesn’t want to burden her with something that isn’t her fault. He doesn’t want her to feel any more pain.

Even if it’s at the cost of his.

taglist:  @dancing-in-the-moonlight3 @kalimagik @alittletoomanyobsessions @hariosborn @obsessedwithrandomthings @emcchi @sxrensxngwrites @enjoying-fantasyland21 @masterofthedarkness @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @bforbroadway @hufflefluff-writer @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @firewhisky-kisses @dracosvftie @heloisedaphnebrightmore @idont-knowrn @dreamer821 @peachesandpinks @slytherinprincess03​ @chocfrogaddict @nebulablakemurphy​ ​@kpopgirlbtssvt

[sdvvillagers]

George and Evelyn - First Flower Dance

I doubt I’ll ever do anything with this beyond these two pieces, but I recently did some writing prompts for a Discord server I’m in and I was pleased with what I wrote.  Figured I’d post them here since, well... kinda fits the blog pretty well.  The prompts were for “asking someone to the Flower Dance” and “after the Flower Dance” so I just kept the same story going.  Enjoy!

The rumors were hard to ignore, Evelyn had heard them from just about everyone in town; Bronson Meadows was going to ask her to dance at the Flower Dance.  It was a prospect Evelyn really didn't have any strong opinions on, though most of the girls in town were terribly jealous.  Any one of them would have loved the chance to be asked to dance by such a charming and handsome man.  Bronson was fine enough to Evelyn, but she certainly didn't see what the fuss was about.  There wasn't really anything noteworthy about him other than his looks, but that seemed to be enough to cause the other girls in town to swoon.  Evelyn was the only one who seemed to demand more from a man.  However, she supposed dancing with Bronson would be better than dancing alone.  The options were limited in a town where the eligible women outnumbered the eligible men almost two to one.

However, the week before the Flower Dance a new family moved to town; the Mullners.  William, Edith, and their son George.  Word that a young man would be moving to town only a week before the Flower Dance was enough to cause hysteria among Evelyn and her friends.  Suddenly Bronson Meadows didn't matter all that much in the face of a mysterious stranger.  All of the families in town stopped by the Mullner's home offering their welcome and of course some house-warming gifts in the form of home-cooked meals.  New families in town were always very exciting.  After the first few days in town, however, one thing was pretty well understood by the girls in town; George Mullner was undesirable.  He was a bit lanky and awkward, didn't exactly have the best looks, and seemed terribly shy.  No one had even heard two words from him when they met the family and despite a lack of eligible bachelors in town, no one seemed eager to ask George Mullner to dance.  Yet Evelyn found him to be very intriguing.  Yes, he wasn't exactly confident and charming like Bronson, but that hardly mattered to her.  He was actually strangely adorable.  And yes, he was quiet and shy, but it only made him more intriguing.  At the very least he seemed respectful and kind and although none of the other girls in town thought very highly of him, he had piqued Evelyn's curiosity.

When the day of the Flower Dance arrived, Evelyn started the long walk to the clearing in the forest with her family, feeling nervous about the festival.  The more she thought about Bronson asking her to dance, the more nervous she became.  Bronson was handsome, but Evelyn really couldn't find anything else redeeming about him.  As they got closer to the festival, Evelyn overheard her group of friends speculating about who might end up dancing with who.  It made Evelyn a little sick to her stomach to hear her friends all hoping that George wouldn't ask any of them to dance.  It seemed incredibly unfair to someone so new to town.

Once the event had begun and the older residents in town settled in to conversations or loaded up plates of food, there was the same awkward shuffling and meandering of the younger residents.  It was always a dance in itself, watching everyone cross the field and back, trying to figure out who had been asked yet and who hadn't, what would be the right time, what would be the best way to do it.  In the first fifteen minutes, no one had asked anyone to dance yet, it was the boys on one side of the field and the girls on the other, almost sizing each other up to see who would make the first move.  It was then that Evelyn's breath caught in her chest; Bronson puffed out his chest and stepped forward, finally deciding to make his move.  Evelyn knew from the moment he made a move that she didn't want to dance with him.  The fact that her gut reaction was dread was all the proof she needed that she didn't want to dance with him.

As Bronson stepped forward, so did Evelyn.  She wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, it was so impulsive that she even took herself by surprise, but now all eyes were on her.  It appeared as though she were meeting Bronson in the middle of the field, but that wasn't where Evelyn was headed.  Her eyes fell on George, dressed simply in a white dress shirt and blue tie, looking very awkward and alone in a corner of the field.  When Evelyn strode right past Bronson, who had opened his mouth to speak, the crowd surrounding them gasped.  Evelyn ignored Bronson's scoffs and continued her walk toward George Mullner.  When she locked eyes with him, he looked terribly confused and even a little scared.  The crowd started to close in, eager to hear and see what was going on.  It was unheard of that Evelyn ignored Bronson's advance but it was even more unheard of for her to approach someone else.  It was very uncommon, and frowned upon, for a girl to ask a boy to dance.  And yet with all eyes upon her, with Bronson gasping in disbelief behind her, she looked at George and addressed him with a smile.

"Welcome to Pelican Town, George... would you like to dance with me?"

George's face lit up in such a sweet and endearing way, Evelyn knew right away that she made the right choice.  Too intimidated by the crowd around him and by such a forward, unexpected question, George simply nodded.

~*~

Evelyn watched Bronson Meadows walk past her, arm in arm with her best friend Judith.  Judith and Bronson were giggling and flirting together as they had through most of the Flower Dance.  After Evelyn had asked George Mullner to dance, Bronson went after Judith instead.  Whether or not this was an attempt of his to get back at Evelyn or make her jealous, she couldn’t care less.  Bronson and Judith could have each other for all she cared.  She was too intrigued by this new stranger to care too much about Bronson Meadows.

The Flower Dance with George had been a fun, if not awkward, event.  Most people in town were staring at them through the entire event and it was hard to escape the whispers and constant attention.  Evelyn felt bad for George during the opening dance when he clearly had not had the chance yet to learn the dance steps.  It wasn’t his fault, of course, and yet Evelyn could hear Bronson scoffing under his breath while Judith giggled.

At the time of the opening dance, Evelyn still didn’t really know much about George, but she was eager to get started.  When the first dance ended, many of the couples remained on the dance floor and even a few of the married couples took to the dance floor; Evelyn’s parents and George’s parents included.  Evelyn reasoned that it would be a great time to step away from the dance floor to get to know George better.  Yet even then, sitting on a bench near the river, he still seemed so closed off.  He kept clocking the people who were still staring and seemed very aware of the attention they were receiving.  The time they spent together was primarily filled with smalltalk, idle chitchat and pleasantries that allowed them to very slowly get to know one another.  George was softspoken and had few words to say, but he was a wonderful listener.  Though as much as Evelyn enjoyed having someone like George to talk to, she was more eager to hear more about him.  But in such a large group of people, it seemed unlikely that George would be comfortable enough to open up to her.

When the dance was over, Bronson and Judith took off alone to take the long way home.  The other girls in town watched them walk by and whispered excitedly to each other, giggling in their giddiness.  Thankfully, the prospect of a blossoming romance between Bronson and Judith was enough to distract attention away from Evelyn and George for once.  As the bulk of the crowd left the forest clearing where the dance was held to head home, Evelyn hung back and motioned for George to do the same.  He seemed confused, but quietly did as she requested.  Once everyone was out of earshot, Evelyn turned to George and smiled.

“Thanks for dancing with me today,” Evelyn said sweetly.

“T-thank you for asking me,” George stammered.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Evelyn replied plainly.  “Well, I suppose I did.  What I mean is that I was intrigued by you.”

“You’re intrigued by me?” George asked in awe.  “I’m nothing special.  You’re the intriguing one.”

“Hardly,” Evelyn laughed.  “You don’t even really know me yet.”

“I know your favorite season is spring because you love the flowers, I know your favorite color is purple, I know you’re trying to learn how to bake but you keep burning everything you try, I know you stare up at the clouds when you’re spaced out,” George ticked off completely from memory.  Evelyn listened in awe and admiration as George rattled off all of the things she had told him while they had talked during the Flower Dance, impressed that George even cared enough not only to listen, but to remember.

“Y-you’re a really good listener,” Evelyn replied, smiling gently at George.

“I’m a better listener than I am a talker,” George admitted.

“But I’d love to listen to you whenever you’re ready,” Evelyn encouraged him.  “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you meet me at the lake up in the mountains tomorrow, we can have a picnic lunch.  Hardly anyone ever goes up there, we can be completely alone.  I’ll bring some… slightly burnt… homemade biscuits and some jam.  You can tell me all about yourself, if you want to, or I can just… tell you more about me until you’re ready.”

“I’d love to hear about you,” George teased.  He cracked a playful smile, the first genuine smile Evelyn had seen from him all day.

“I’ll crack you yet, George Mullner, you just wait and see,” Evelyn said confidently.  “Don’t think I’ll give up on you so easily.”

“I sure hope not,” George replied, his playful smile still lingering.

[alj4890]

Prompt Request

(Thomas Hunt x OC*Amanda) with the prompt, "Well...that was mean." as requested by @krsnlove​ in celebration of 500 followers.

(Thomas Hunt x OC*Amanda) as taken from the Choices: Red Carpet Diaries/ Regency AU storyline, None But You

A/N For my BFF who loves Regency romance just as much as I do, I'm going back to the series she encouraged me on (pretty much like she does with all my crazy ideas) for this prompt. I adored how perfect Thomas Hunt seemed in this time period. His proud, abrupt ways were made for the early 1800s. For this one, we will go even further back to Thomas and Amanda's courtship that wasn't quite a courtship 😂

@graceful-popcorn​   @krsnlove​   @alleksa16​   @hopelessromantic1352​     @emceesynonymroll​​   @buzz-bee-buzz​   @hopefulmoonobject​    @rainbowsinthestorm​   @lxaah11​   @my-heart-beats-for-ya​ @everythingmarvelsherlockspn @friedherringclodthing​   @aworldoffandoms​   @ab1901​  @sophxwithers​

Masterlist

Inclinations

Lord and Lady Clifford's Ball, London...

"Oh!" Millie gripped Amanda's arm. With a jut of her chin, she hissed, "Can you believe the gall of Ms. Timmons? Look at her! That is the fifth time within the last few minutes that she has walked past Lord Summers and Lord Hunt."

Amanda covered her mouth with her fan when Millie compared the unfortunate young lady to a peacock strutting about to show off her plumage.

"If she adjusts her curl once more over her shoulder..." Millie glared at the spectacle. "I've never seen a lady more determined to catch a rich husband."

"Have you not?" Amanda managed to say without laughing. "Isn't that the point to coming to London for The Season? Aren't we all attempting to land ourselves a husband who assures us a life of comfort and security?"

"Hmph." Millie flicked open her own fan and began to use it vigorously. "Be that as it may, we at least attempt to attract gentlemen with decorum." A smile formed. "Of course, you don't have to worry about such a thing anymore."

"I do have to worry about it." Amanda argued. "No man has made me any promises or given any declarations."

"My dear friend," Millie linked her free arm with Amanda's, "some gentlemen make declarations without saying a single word." She gestured with her fan towards Thomas. "I've seen him attend more outings and balls since you first arrived than in the past two years that I have taken part in ton’s gatherings."

Amanda shook her head while her heart began to hope that her friend wasn't simply exaggerating the viscount's surprising appearance once more.

He had at past parties and balls admitted to her that he did not enjoy such and preferred the quiet life at Kirkwood Manor, his estate in Norfolk.

She wondered if he was attending these to see her.

Perhaps, then again, perhaps not.

He had not sought her out this evening for a dance nor for conversation. He had locked eyes with her from across the room and then bowed his head in greeting, but other than that he had not so much as glanced her way.

Which as much as Lady Amanda despised herself for her weakness for him, she had still peeked over at him whenever she could.

Could he possibly feel as I do?

She wished with all her heart that he felt the same for her.

"Pardon me, my lady, but may I request a dance?"

Amanda blinked and refocused on a gentleman she had only seen in passing. "Yes of course, my lord." She handed over her dance card.

*****************

"Do stop glaring, Kirkwood." Ryan insisted. "You'll scare all the ladies off if you're not careful."

Thomas merely shrugged while surreptitiously glancing over at the reason he had journeyed once more into yet another matchmaking mothers' den.

Lady Amanda Bridgerton was smiling and laughing at whatever Lady Millicent Rawlings was saying. Thomas felt his own lips curve upwards when she used her fan to try to hide her amusement.

Her happiness brought a warmth to his heart.

"There now." Ryan patted Thomas on the back. "That wasn't so hard was it?"

"What are you blabbering about now?" Thomas bit out.

"And it's gone." Ryan shook his head and heaved a deep sigh. "Why do you persist in staying away from her?"

"From whom?" Thomas nearly bit his tongue for tempting his friend into pointing out once again that he felt something more for the dark haired lady standing on the other side of the ballroom.

"Hunt." Ryan shook his head in resignation. "Why do you insist on tormenting yourself?"

"Tormenting?" Thomas chuckled as he took a sip of his drink. "I see you are finally seeing these balls in the same light as I do."

"That wasn't what I meant. I intended for you to leave my company for the one you prefer." Ryan grinned at the frustrated anger forming on his friend's face. He couldn't resist adding, "You cannot deny that Lady Amanda's is the one you desire above all others."

Thomas turned his attention once more toward the subject that he was having difficulty ignoring.

"Let's see now." Ryan continued. "I believe you have complimented her intelligence. I have overheard you mention how lovely her appearance is. Ah! And let's not forget that a moment with her has you smiling and even chuckling upon occasion."

"Absurd." Thomas huffed. "Once again, Summers, you turn a mere friendly admiration into some frivolous love story that young girls are want to dream about." He hmphed while studying Amanda. "I do worry about your mind at times. It is becoming even sillier than the ladies twittering about during their first season."

"Well...that was mean." Ryan's rich laughter drew attention to the two of them. "I believe I will find someone to soothe my damaged feelings with a dance."

Thomas rolled his eyes as Lord Summers finally took pity on the unfortunate Ms. Timmons and her efforts to try and gain such an offer from one of them.

Then he noticed their hosts' younger son, who just so happens to have a highly suspect reputation, approach Amanda.

Cursing under his breath, he began to make his way over to her side.

****************

"Shall we?" Lord Roderick Clifford held his hand out toward Amanda.

She smiled and began to take it, only for her hand to be captured in an all too familiar grip.

Her eyes widened at Thomas's nerve.

Millie simply beamed at his actions.

"This is my dance." He said, tucking her hand within the bend of his arm. "You'll have to forgive my tardiness, I was caught in an unfortunately long conversation with Summers."

Roderick merely cocked an eyebrow. "Your name was nowhere on her dance card."

"An oversight of my own, I assure you." Thomas brushed past him, pulling a bemused Amanda in his wake.

Once clear of being overheard, she squeezed his arm.

"I don't recall you requesting a dance from me this evening, Lord Hunt."

"Like I said earlier," he took her into his arms and began to waltz, "it was an oversight on my part."

She shook her head while fighting back a delighted smile. "I do not know what to think of you at times."

"Am I that difficult to figure out?" His frown softened. "I think I am a fairly average gentleman."

"Nothing about you is average, my lord." Her smile grew when she noticed the flush upon his cheeks. "You are an intelligent and interesting gentleman to be sure and yet you rarely converse with others here." She tilted her head as if pondering this great mystery. "Why is that?"

His lips parted then closed. His brow furrowed for a moment. "I suppose it is because I do not enjoy striking up conversations with people I do not know well."

"You struck up one with me when we first met." She reminded him. A soft laugh escaped her lips. "And every moment since then with you only proves that anyone would be fortunate to engage in discussions with you."

His lips curved once more as he held her gaze. "I think of the two of us, it is you that anyone would be fortunate to talk to. You have that rare gift of putting one at ease as he tries to speak."

She beamed at him. "That is a lovely compliment. Thank you for that, Lord Thomas."

He had to bite back the many other compliments that came to mind as he looked upon her. "It was merely the truth, nothing more."

"Just the same." She insisted. "Thank you."

He nodded and happened to glance up to see Ryan's smug smile nearby.

Glaring at the reminder that he had only proven his friend correct, he guided Amanda a few steps away from his nosy friend.

"I meant to ask you, is there something about Lord Clifford I should avoid?"

He focused once more upon the lady in his arms. "Yes, he er..."

Thomas wondered how to delicately say that the man was practically living at some of the brothels that some gentlemen amongst the ton preferred to visit. If not for his elder brother and father physically removing him from such a disreputable establishment, he doubted the man would be wooing ladies in a ballroom this evening.

The thought of Lady Amanda stuck with such a man for even a dance had not sat well with him. It was becoming hard enough to see morally respectable men waltz with her, much less one not fit to even touch her hand.

"His activities of late have caused a strain amongst his family and those close to him."

Her eyes narrowed somewhat as she tried to guess what the man had done.

"Is it," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "gambling?"

"No, though he is a prolific gambler." Thomas muttered.

"Is it--"

"It is not a topic for ladies' ears." He blurted out.

Her eyes widened. There was only one topic that young ladies without a husband were forbidden to discuss.

Her cheeks burned as she lowered her eyes. "I see."

Thomas relaxed somewhat once he saw she was not going to bring Lord Roderick up anymore.

"That's why you insisted on dancing with me." Amanda mumbled.

He blinked at the disappointment he heard in her voice.

Could she have actually wanted to dance with such a libertine?

Amanda sighed over the fact that Thomas was merely acting the gentleman once more. There was no true interest in his lying about this being his dance other than his chivalrous nature needing to protect an innocent lady.

She began to wish that he didn't see her as some damsel in distress in need of a knight to charge in and save her from unsavory men at every single turn.

She wished...it was foolish to wish for something that wasn't there nor would ever be. There was no jealousy or need to be by her side.

He simply was a true gentleman.

"I had planned on asking you to dance earlier." Thomas said, wondering at her despondent expression. "And in all honesty, I was looking forward to continuing our discussion on Persuasion."

She nodded. Of course. The book he insisted she read without spoiling the ending was his true interest.

She forced a smile. "Captain Wentworth, in my opinion, is a character who is determined to make himself miserable."

Thomas nearly missed a step as they made another turn about the ballroom. "What makes you think that?"

"His attempts to keep away from Ann, yet keeps finding himself drawn closer whenever he sees her or hears her voice." She raised her eyes back to his. "Why would he do such a thing, hurting them both in the process, when it is obvious she would welcome his affection?"

Thomas swallowed. "Perhaps...perhaps Captain Wentworth doubts that he could truly hold her heart. He needs to protect himself, even to the point of heartache knowing that Ann is the only one who could truly wound him."

"But he is missing out on a chance for true happiness." Amanda slowed her steps as the music began to die down.

Thomas kept her hand in his as he led her off the floor. "He is a fool." He turned back toward her. "It seems a man's inclination to be foolish when presented with the very object he yearns for most in the world. He at first doubts it's existence then fights against the very notion that it is all he truly needs. Then once the realization strikes, he is at a loss at taking the first step to secure his happiness."

Amanda took a step closer to him, inexplicably drawn by the emotion in his dark eyes. "Do you think that you would ever behave in such a manner when shown what your heart wants most?"

His grip on her hand tightened as he raised it to his lips. "I might be the most foolish of them all." He bowed his head to her. "Thank you for the dance, my lady. I hope that you will find it in your heart to save me another one when next we meet."

Thomas reluctantly released her hand and quickly left the ball.

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 13

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

The twins find out!

First< Previous > Next

------

Ladybug lands on the building across from the city hall, where Marion had asked to meet up after patrol. She stretches out, enjoying the exercise after being cooped up in the hospital keeping Marion company. She looks over the city, with clear skies that Gotham simply didn't have. Then again she didn't mind so much Gotham has is own style that didn't want or need to change. Chat Noir lands in front of her a minute later, Dupain bakery box in hand.

“I don’t know how other people deal with homesickness,” Chat Noir drops down opening the box.

“Don’t let Kaalki know you're using her miraculous to eat cookies,” Ladybug sits next to him, legs dangling over the edge.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I also use them cause I look great in glasses,” Marion poses despite not wearing them as Chat Noir.

“Sure you do,” She turns back, looking over the city hall, “Thats why your most popular identity wears a mask,”

“Well all my identities- hey!” Ladybug snorts, not needing to look to know Chat Noir was pouting, “You’re just saying that cause your jealous how loveable and popular I am, especially Chat Noir,”

Yeah right. There was a little girl walking on the street below them right now wearing a Ladybug dress MDC had designed. She internally scolds herself for smiling.

“It’s not about popularity, we must take our jobs seriously to protect pari-”

“Do you dare me to steal the Mayor’s sash?” Chat Noir interrupts her speech, talking through a mouthful of cookies.

Ladybug releases a long suffered sigh.

“Yeah, I do,” She takes a cookie from the box.

“Good because I already did it,” She looks over, Chat Noir grinning ear to ear holding the Mayor’s sash, “Let's watch,”

He points towards a window where they have a clear view of the Mayor’s office. He was looking in the mirror and had only just realised it was missing. When Marion stole it she didn’t care to find out. He starts rooting around his office pulling out the contents of draws and cupboards haphazardly. Chat Noir laughs when he starts checking under furniture.

“So how are your ribs feeling,” She asks, noticing he wasn’t cringing at the movement.

“Purrfect,” He purrs, playing with the sash he was now wearing.

“I walked right into that one,” She doesn't tell him off, taking the last cookie instead,

“Yes you did,” Chat Nori reaches for another cookie.

Frowning at her Ladybug sticks out her tongue. Disgusting, covered with mushed up chocolate chips. Chat Noir blanches and turns away.

“Look he left to get help,” Chat Noir grins, both looking towards the window, “Just a sec,”

Chat Noir jumps over to the large window they've been watching through. Slipping inside he places it on top of the desk covered in wayward papers. Ladybug smiles, feeling her yo-yo buzz. They had synced their hero phones up to their normal ones long ago. She had just received a text from Aunt Selina that they were on their way with lawyers. Chat Noir jumps back to her side, grinning as the door opens. Officer Roger steps through instantly spotting the sash on the desk. Marinette can practically feel the officers disbelief as the Mayor tries to explain.

“Aunt Selina texted, we got to go,” Marinette tells him as Chat Noir starts cackling.

“Just a sec,” Chat Noir snaps a picture with his Baton, “Purrfect,”

“Two in a row? Really?” She raises her eyebrow, as he takes out the horse miraculous.

“If it ain’t broke,” Marion shrugs, slipping the glasses over his mask.

“It’s broke, it’s really, really broke,”

Marion only grins transforming and opening a portal back to Gotham.

“Why do I need to be here?” Jason asks, leaning against the wall next to Marion.

“Because the press have several pictures of you driving them away without helmets,” Bruce scowls, standing by the lawyer's seat next to Marion's bed.

“I haven't crashed my bike yet, so what's the issue?” Jason shrugs, grin on his face revealing he knew the exact issue. Marion couldn't help but mirror it.

“You’ve crashed it many times,” Bruce corrects, scowl deepening.

“What! Are you ok?!” Marion snaps towards Jason, scanning him for injury.

“Yeah I’m fine,” There's an amused curl to Jason's lips, “What about you?”

“Oh I’m fine, I heal pretty quickly,” Marion doesn't lean back on bed, forgetting he was meant to be injured.

“You realise your ribs are broken right?” Jason smirks down at him.

“I’ve had worse,” Marion smirks right back, meeting his challenge.

“What! When!” Oh right, their Aunt is here, sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Happens all the time in Paris,” Marion hopes he can pass it off, and avoid the wrath of his sister next to him, “The cure usually heals us pretty quick,”

“The cure?” Bruce prompts, frown lines deepening.

“Yeah Ladybugs cure, she beats the Akuma then releases a whole bunch of Ladybugs like whoosh, that come and fix everything,” From Marinette's face he can tell that he sounded crazy, and she knew what he was talking about.

“... where to start?” Jason looks confused down at him, Marion tries to avoid the same looks from everyone.

“Ladybug? Akuma?” Bruce apparently does know where to start.

“Auntie, don’t you remember last time you were in Paris?” Marinette steps in to save him, “We came home early because school was canceled because of an Akuma attack,”

“I thought you were just skipping!” She exclaims, both shocked and defensive.

“And you didn’t send us back?” Marion cracks a smile.

“Did you really think we’d skip?” Marinette frowns.

“Wouldn’t blame you for it,” Aunt Selina shrugs, Marinette looks like she's about to start a one sided argument. Marion was not about to back her up.

“Who’s Ladybug?” Bruce cuts in, whether he knew of the brewing argument or not is up for debate.

“Hero of Paris?” Marinette meets Marion's glance.

“Paris has no heroes,” Bruce says, with far too much confidence for someone completely wrong.

“Well you might want to let her and Chat Noir know that,” Marion smirks, he'd make sure to deliver the message.

“Not to mention the rest of the Guardians,” Marinette adds, perhaps a little more concerned they didn't know than he was.

“There's more than one?” Jason speaks up, Marion can’t help but feel he and Bruce are having their own secret conversation through glaring.

“Of course, Paris is attacked by super villains every other day,” Marion answers flippantly, doing nothing to dissolve the tension.

“Ok, no, I’ve been to Paris plenty and it’s never been attacked,” Their Aunt says, time for them to hold their own secret conversation.

“Um…” She was definitely privy to one attack, not that people in her position usually remember what happens, “Guess you must of just missed it,”

Smooth he can practically hear Marinette scoff. A silence traps them, likely shorter than it feels.

“Moving on,” The Lawyer, who had introduced herself as Emma, frees them,“I highly recommend there be a press statement released immediately,”

“That isn’t going to stop anyone,” Marion frowns, first hand experience teaching him well.

“No, but we can start pursuing legal action,” Emma agrees, bringing documents out of her briefcase.

“Several news sources can be sued for slander and endangerment,” She hands Marinette the documents, Marion resting his chin on her shoulder to see, “They also played a part in informing villains of your whereabouts, allowing the attack and making you vulnerable to another, I’m not saying this to scare you-”

“It’s fine, we know,” Marinette gives a friendly smile, “Please be honest, it’s more efficient to just be blunt,”

“Right... so several official news sources should be taken to court,” Emma takes on a more professional air, “There are many independent sources that can receive lawsuits, however the most prudent one would be those confirming your presence at the aquarium,”

“I don’t really think we need to go after regular people,” Marion looks over the file that includes pictures of the group he had scared off at the aquarium before the attack.

“It’s your choice, but I strongly encourage you to think over at least sending them charges,” Emma urges, Bruce nodding along, “If nothing else than to discourage others from doing the same,”

“Give us some time to think it over, please,” Marinette sifts through the documents, organising them, “We’re fine with any press release that we can look over first,”

“Very well,” Emma meets Marinette's smile, “Mr Wayne if I can discuss the press release with you?”

He nods, he and Jason leave the room with Emma. Leaving the twins with their Aunt.

“When did you become so cool?” She grins, moving up the bed.

“I’ve always been the coolest twin,” Marinette shrugs, Marion rolling his eyes.

“Nope I distinctly remember you running into the same pole three times in six minutes,” His smirk meets Marinette glare.

“How did you manage that?” Aunt Selina asks, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Clumsiness has always been a special talent of mine,” Marinette puts the papers down, not quite pulling off the overconfident air he carries, being a little too close to honesty.

“Sure has,” Marion sits back, pulling up his legs for their Aunt to move closer.

“So what do you think we should do?” Marinette questions, when she's seated just across from them.

“...I think it’s complicated,” Aunt Selina hesitates, looking towards the door, “More complicated than they realise,”

“What's wrong?” Marion follows her gaze, another hesitation thats so unlike her, “... Aunt Selina?”

“I’m not your Aunt,” They both go stiff, waiting for more in the silence that follows her not meeting their eyes.

Right now Marinette’s head is probably buzzing with ideas and theories on what that means.

Marion’s mind remains blank, waiting for an answer that she seems to be battling with.

“............ I’m your Mother,”

“Excuse me, what?” Marion’s voice is just as blank, words refusing to process.

“And Bruce is your Father,” She adds, jumpstarting them out of their shell shocked state.

“What!” They both shout, turning towards each other.

“Look, I was young when I had you, I didn’t know what to do,” Selina runs a hand through her hair, still not meeting their gazes as they snaps back towards her, “I knew I wasn’t good enough to raise you, and Bruce wasn’t exactly in the best place back then, at least not enough to raise a child, so I didn’t tell him,”

That is… that is information.

“But, there was Tom and Sabine who wanted kids so bad, I knew they would be amazing parents,” Well yes, “So I gave you up,”

Now Marion's thoughts were a storm. Whipping around his head too fast to get a hold of and actually understand.

“I’m not saying this to pressure you into anything,” Selina follows after a long silence,  “You don’t have to tell anyone, and if you like I can walk out of this room and we can never speak of this again, everything can go back to normal,”

“... do you think we can have a moment?” Marinette sounds just as blank as he had.

“Of course,” That slight fake smile clearly trying to hide the hurt allows Marion to grasp hold of one thought.

“Hey… no matter what we still love you,” The smile turns to a genuine one, Marinette agreeing.

She doesn't reply, leaving the room, door closing with a soft click.

“.... Oh my god,” Marion whispers, staring at the door.

“Oh my god,” Marinette says, Kwamis coming out of hiding, concerned looks going unnoticed.

“Oh my god!” Marion shouts, reality hitting all at once.

“OH MY GOD!” Marinette can surely be heard from outside.

“She’s our Mother!?” Marion turns to Marinette for confirmation.

“HOW is this possible!” So that's a yes.

“Why didn’t anyone tell us!” Marion feels himself getting hysterical.

“Hold on, let's think this through calmly and rationally,” Marinette takes a deep breath, hand on his shoulder.

“Screw that!” Marion pushes her hand off, standing “After something like this we’re allowed to freak out!”

“This is so weird!” Marinette groans, sliding back in bed.

“I know!” Marion starts to pace, latching onto random thoughts and memories, “And everything makes so much sense!”

“How did we not see this?!” Marinette asks the ceiling.

“It’s alright, it probably just never occurred to you to even think about it,” Tikki tries to placate.

“Did you know Tikki?!” Marinette asks, Kwami of creation.

“No I certainly didn’t,” She shakes her head, Marion turning to Plagg.

“I did think she’d make a good Black Cat,” Plagg shrugs, a little too casual compared to Marions current state, “Didn’t think it was because of this,”

“Not to worry, if you were to have any true lineage it is a privilege to be descended from a family such as the Waynes,” Kaalki declares, Marion taking a moment to dissect the sentence.

“Oh my- Bruce Wayne really is our Father!” Marion slams his hands down on the bed railing.

“Keep your voice down!” Marinette hisses, sitting up.

“That’s not important!” Marion throws his hand up, gesturing wildly to the general area, “We really are the Wayne twins!”

“The tabloids actually got it right,” Marinette muses softly, leaning back.

“That never happens!” Marion agrees, having spent plenty of time laughing at bad tabloids about themselves, “How could complete strangers be able to tell when we couldn’t!?”

“Now, now, it was a lucky guess, you had no reason to think it was true,” Tikki tries to bring order to the chaos.

“Other than the fact we’ve known her our whole lives and easily could have seen how similar she is to us,” Marinette mumbles out.

“And she’s really bad at pretending us calling her Aunt doesn't bother her,” It wasn’t until now he actually knew why.

“So I guess the first question is how do we feel about this?” Marinette tries to follow her Kwami’s lead.

“Too big a question,” Marion groans, flopping down onto the bed.

“What should we do?” Marinette asks, he turns his head to fix her with a glare.

“Way too big a question,” Marion feels Plagg curl up against his side, Kaalki also sitting near.

“What will this change?”

“Tikki! Take over!” Marion yells into the covers.

“I think you should start at the beginning,” Tikki says calmly, “How do you feel about being given up,”

“I don’t know,” Marion groans into the covers, another coming from Marinette.

“Angry, sad, betrayed?” Tikki prompts, making Marion frown.

“Not really, it’s kind of hard to,” He answers, turning away from the sheets, “It’s not like she just up and abandon us,”

“And we don’t know the full story,” Marinette adds, Kwami resting in her hands.

“Then maybe you can ask her,” Tikki suggests with a smile. “How do you feel about Bruce-”

“Nope, still processing, not touching that with a ten foot pole,” Marion refuses, causing the Kwami to giggle.

“Ok whatever you're comfortable with,” She smiles, giggles dying down.

“Tikki you have to realise I am so far outside of my comfort zone right now, that sitting in the middle of Hawk Moth's lair surrounded by every Akuma we’ve ever fought sounds more comfortable,” The sad thing is, he isn’t even exaggerating.

“Kid you do have an out,” Plagg flies into this field of vision, “You can ignore it and go back to normal, or confront it and see what happens, which do you want,”

Marion frowns, not at Plagg he’s right, for once. Neither of them speak. Every time Marion tries to think of the future, memories pull him back. Until one catches his attention. It was something he thought of often, usually when trying to avoid getting Akumatized, but sometimes just to smile. However, now it has a new meaning, he isn’t sure if it ruins the memory or improves it.

“... Hey, Nette, do you remember what happened when we found out we were adopted?” Marion breaks the silence, turning to the smartest person he knows, and that includes the person who created an AI at fourteen.

“We asked who our real Maman was?” Marinette watches as he sits up.

“Aun-she sat us down and told us off,” Marion scoots up the bed to sit next her, “Said that even if we didn’t have the same blood as Maman, no one in the world was closer to our Mother than her,”

“.... She always looks so in pain when we call her Aunt,” Marinette leans her head against his shoulder.

“.... I don’t want to ignore this,” Marion decides, enough time passing for them to relax against each other.

“... Neither,” Marinette eventually agrees.

“So what now?” Marion asks aloud, “We just change everything ?”

“I guess so,”

They share a soft smile, wouldn’t be the first time.

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

Taglist:

@technicallyburninggarden @fusser90  @misslenamooney

[musette22]

As it's Chris' birthday today, what's your Evanstan headcon for how they are spending it? We don't know if Chris is still in LA (as far as I know), do you think he might be back in Boston to be with his family? That would mean Seb could easily visit him now that the lockdown in NYC is over. Or would he fly to LA to celebrate with his bf? (He hasn't been seen in NYC in the last couple of days either, right?) Or will the only hang out virtually? I would love to know what you are imagining 😊

Hello darling!! So yesterday, I said I probably wasn’t going to write any Evanstan for a while, but then I woke up this morning and had a lovely little Evanstan headcanon fantasy about Chris’s birthday - as you do - and then I thought screw it, let’s write this thing. So here’s a little drabble (well, it should’ve been a drabble) about how Chris might have spent his birthday 😘

A/N: This is just a nonsensical little fantasy scenario that doesn’t actually make any sense, but the idea made me happy, so I hope it’ll make you guys happy too! Don’t look too closely, please, there’s some overlap with previous fics and this was all written very quickly and hasn’t been edited properly because it’s late where I am and I need to sleep lmao 🙈 Sorry about that!

Happy birthday, Mr. America 

*********

Chris likes surprises, generally speaking.

Not the nasty kind, like when a part unexpectedly falls through, or someone gets angry at him out of the blue and he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. But he likes it when exciting things happen and shake things up a bit, like when he’s having a lazy day alone at home, and a friend suddenly shows up on his doorstep to tell him, change of plans, we’re going bungee jumping. When that happens, Chris will happily drop whatever he’s doing and jump in the car, because that’s the kind of thing that makes him feel alive.

So when he arrives at the Evans’ family house today, on his birthday, and is greeted by a chorus of Surprise! and Happy Birthdays from a bunch of people he hasn’t seen ages - literal years, in some cases - Chris is delighted and touched; excited to see familiar faces and catch up with his friends and family.

That excited feeling lasts for a solid few hours, until his Aunt Melanie corners him and starts telling Chris about her Pilates instructor. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to set Chris up with whichever wonderful girl she’s most recently met and feels would be perfect for Chris, but this time she’s really hammering on about how she just can’t understand why a good-looking, successful young man like him hasn’t found a wife yet. She no doubt means well, but that doesn’t mean Chris is about to go on a blind date with her Pilates instructor.

When he’s finally managed to excuse himself under the pretense of needing a bathroom break, he sneaks off to the back of the house, to his dad’s old study. As soon as the door closes behind him, he lets out a sigh of relief and leans back against it for a moment, catching his breath. He loves his family to bits, but there’s no denying they’re a lot. There’s a sofa in the study, a wide, navy blue one, and Chris lies down on it, stretching himself to his full length. He closes his eyes, hoping to nap for a couple of minutes, but no dice. His aunt’s comments play in his head on a loop, causing something uneasy to stir in his stomach.

The thing is, she’s right. He should already be married and have a couple of cute kids to dote on. He’s wanted to have a family and settle down for a long time, ever since he got done with sowing his wild oats and calmed down a little. He’s the long-term relationship kind, and there had been a few girlfriends with whom he thought he definitely could see a future.

That had been Before, though. Before Sebastian Stan had waltzed into his life and upended everything Chris thought he knew for certain, complicating everything in the best and worst possible way. After the initial shock of developing feelings for another guy wore off, Chris had simply accepted his infatuation as a fact of life, and it had become something he carried with him always, but never acted on or even spoke of. He wouldn’t know where to start. It was clear there was something between them, though. The way Sebastian looked at him sometimes… It had to mean something. For the longest time, they’d danced around each other, always just shy of outright flirting, and there had been a few times when Chris really thought something might finally happen between them. But it never did.

And now it never would. They’ve hardly even seen each other, over the past year, after they stopped working together. Sure, they kept in touch from time to time, but there is only so much keeping in touch two work friends can plausibly do before it gets weird or necessarily has to turn into something else. And Chris thought he’d accepted that, more or less.

But then last week, he and Scott had gotten drunk together – like really, stupidly drunk. At around 3 in the morning, Scott had put on The First Avenger so he could make fun of Chris in his skin tight leggings, and then suddenly Sebastian’s face had been right there on his TV screen: larger than life, young and handsome like he’d been when Chris first felt that tug in his gut when he’d looked at him.

And Chris, whose brain-to-mouth filter unfortunately ceases to exist entirely whenever he’s had too much to drink, had just blurted out, “I think I’m in love with him.”

Initially, Scott had thought Chris meant that Steve was in love with Bucky. 

“Well, clearly,” he’d slurred. “They’re soooo gay, oh my god.”

And instead of using the misunderstanding to cover up for his unfortunate drunken slip-up, Chris had slowly shook his head and corrected, “No, with Sebastian. ‘M in love with Sebastian. Have been for a long time, I think.”

He’d passed out not long after, possibly his subconscious’ way of trying to protect himself against the barrage of questions from Scott that Chris had been in no state to answer in that moment. Inevitably, Scott had tried to talk to him about it the next day, but Chris – hungover, embarrassed and annoyed with himself for opening his big mouth and spilling this secret that he’d managed to keep for close to a decade – had told Scott to leave it and that he didn’t want to talk about it. Nothing was ever going to come of this now anyway, so it was much better if they could all just forget it ever happened.

Scott and he had gone to dinner at their mom’s that night, and of course, Lisa had instantly sensed something was off. Unfortunately, Chris never did stand a chance in hell against his mother, so when she took him to aside after dinner and outright asked him what was wrong, he’d had no choice but to spill the beans. Besides, if he didn’t, Scott would probably have found a way to guilt him into telling Lisa, eventually - they’d always shared everything with her, after all.

Lisa had been so loving and understanding, just like Chris knew she would, and despite the aching in his chest, he was grateful and a little bit relieved to know he wasn’t keeping something this significant from her any longer. But in the end, it didn’t change anything. Of course, Lisa had asked him why he didn’t just go for it, told him to just go for it, call Sebastian and ask him out for dinner, but Chris had dismissed all her suggestions. It just wasn’t going to happen. Certainly not now, not anymore.

She’d dropped it, eventually, but Chris is under no illusions that he’s heard the last of it.

Since then, he’d tried to put the whole fiasco out of his mind, but then Aunt Melanie started badgering him about his marital status and it had all come rushing back again.

Just when Chris about to give up on trying to nap and head outside to get some fresh air instead, there’s a knock at the door.

Chris sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Come in,” he calls, not bothering to get up because it’s probably his mom coming to check on him. “Hey, mom,” he says, when Lisa’s head does appear around the door.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she replies, smiling. She opens the door a little wider. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Oh?” Chris says, sitting up a little straighter for whatever friend or family member his mom wants him to meet so urgently, but then Lisa steps aside to reveal –  

Sebastian.

Sebastian is here. In his mom’s house. Standing right there, looking a little apprehensive and unsure, but still so fucking gorgeous it makes Chris’s heart stop for a moment inside his chest, before it starts up again at double speed.

“Hey, Chris,” Sebastian says, and it’s his voice, he’s really here, in Chris’s dad’s old study, speaking actual words at him.

What the fuck.

Chris gets to his feet so fast he feels a bit lightheaded, lightly swaying on his feet before he manages to get some semblance of a reply. "Hi. What- Sebastian. What are you doing here?"

Sebastian’s eyes flicker to Lisa for a moment, looking at her a little uncertainly. She gives him an encouraging nod.

“Um,” Sebastian starts, turning his eyes back to Chris again. “Lisa, your mom, invited me to your surprise birthday party.” He licks his lips nervously. “So, yeah, happy birthday. And, um. Surprise.” The last word is accompanied by a dorky little wave, and Chris is just. Speechless.

Literally, can’t form any words speechless, which is highly unusual for him. When he just keeps standing there, staring a Sebastian like he’s some kind of fata morgana, Lisa rolls her eyes and nudges Sebastian with her elbow.

“Well, go on, then,” she prompts, nodding in Chris’s direction. “He won’t bite.” Then, the look in her eyes turns mischievous, and Chris has half a second to think oh no, before she adds, “Unless you like that sort of thing, of course, but then he'd ask first. I raised him well.”

Sebastian makes a strangled sound, but starts towards him nonetheless, and before he really knows what’s happening, Chris is holding Sebastian in his arms. Holding him in his arms and burying his face in the crook of his neck and breathing him in. Sebastian’s arms go around him, too, a little tentative at first, but growing tighter, more secure, the longer the hug lasts. 

And it lasts, much longer than a casual happy birthday hug between friends is supposed to last, but Chris can’t for the life of him bring himself to let go. He knows he’s clinging, that he’s got his nose pressed to the spot below Sebastian’s ear and that’s probably far too intimate, but Sebastian’s arms around are wound tightly around Chris’s waist and his cheek is presses to the side of Chris’s face, and he’s not letting go either.

Finally, after what feels simultaneously like forever and the blink of an eye, Sebastian inhales shakily, his chest expanding against Chris’s. With Herculean effort, Chris makes himself pull away. But, of course, that brings with it the complication of being able to see Sebastian’s face, flustered and glowing, eyes shining with something unnameable. They’re so close then, their faces only an inch or so apart, and when Sebastian’s eyes flicker down to Chris’s mouth for a split second, Chris’s restraint breaks.

He lunges forward, and Sebastian does the same, and their mouths crash together awkwardly and suddenly, they’re kissing. Really, actually kissing. 

Chris’s hands fly to Sebastian’s face, holding it like it’s something precious, causing Sebastian to make a small, desperate sound that reverberates throughout Chris’s entire body. When he licks at the seam of Sebastian’s lips, Sebastian parts them immediately, letting him in, and Chris is drowning. Drowning in the kiss, in Sebastian’s taste, his smell, the little sighs he’s making against Chris’s lips, like he’s just as overwhelmed and stupefied and happy as Chris is, while they cling to each other like they’re each scared the other’s going to disappear if they dare to let up for just one second.

Eventually, though, they have to break apart for air. Chris presses their foreheads together, unwilling to put any more distance between them than is strictly necessary, still breathing the same air. When Chris eventually opens his eyes, he finds Sebastian looking back at him in a way that makes his knees feel suddenly weak.

"Hi," Seb says, voice low and husky.

"Hey," Chris replies, his hands on either side of Sebastian’s face, thumbs idly caressing his cheekbones.

Sebastian giggles, a light, happy sound that makes his nose do that scrunchy thing it does, and Chris wants to die. He groans, pulling Sebastian back in by the back of his neck –

And then Lisa clears her throat. Sebastian startles; he’d evidently forgotten she was still there, or maybe assumed she’d have left to give them their privacy, but that just goes to show Sebastian doesn’t know Lisa very well – yet.

"Well,” Lisa says, a grin in her voice. “I'll leave you two to it then, let me know if you need anything.” She pauses, before cheekily adding, “Anything at all."

“Yes, thank you, mom,” Chris says quickly, keen to spare Sebastian any further embarrassment. Sebastian’s hiding his face in Chris’s chest as it is, arms still wound around his waist, and Chris is literally about to pass out from how fucking cute that is.

Holding up a placating hand, Lisa finally retreats, closing the door behind her.

Once they’re alone, Chris steers Sebastian towards the couch, sitting down and pulling him into his lap. Sebastian lets himself be guided, straddling Chris’s thighs and giving him a coy look through his eyelashes. Chris blows out a slow breath to center himself a little, bringing up his hands to settle on Sebastian’s waist.

He knows they’ll need to talk about this at some point, but right now he can’t think of a single way to express what he’s feeling, and what this means to him. Right now, all he can do is stare at Sebastian in wonder, relishing finally getting to look at him the way he’s always wanted to: unabashedly, fondly, and very appreciative of exactly how tempting Sebastian’s lips look – especially after having been thoroughly kissed. By him.

“Fuck,” Chris breathes, overwhelmed, leaning in again to catch those pretty pink lips in another kiss.

Sebastian responds beautifully, opening up right away, melting into him. His arms wind around Chris’s shoulders, fingers scratching gently through the hair on the back of Chris’s head, making him shiver.

It’s sweet, at first; lips sliding together lazily, slow and lush, but eventually, the kisses turn a little dirtier, with nipping teeth and teasing tongues. When Sebastian bites Chris’s bottom lip a bit too hard, pulling on it, Chris literally goes cross-eyed for a second. The hand that found its way into Sebastian’s hair tightens instinctively, pulling his head back just a little.

“Oh,” Sebastian breathes, eyelids fluttering, and Chris instantly feels all his blood rushing south.

He can’t believe it. He can’t believe he has Sebastian here, in his lap, looking like innocence and sin wrapped into one, looking at him through heavy lidded eyes like it’s Chris who’s something to be desired. And Chris wants. He wants so bad, with every fiber of his being, to have Sebastian right there and then, but he has just enough presence of mind left to know that they can’t rush this, can’t make any rash decisions they might later regret if they don’t talk about what’s happening first.

Words still seem impossible, however, so instead, Chris takes one of Sebastian’s hands in his and presses a kiss to the center his palm, hoping to convey with that one gesture everything he wants to say but can’t.

When he looks back up, Sebastian blinks at him, his eyes wide and stunned, before he suddenly grabs Chris’s face between his hands and starts planting breathless kisses on his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead, and even his nose. Chris lets himself be kissed, basks in it, feeling like his heart might burst, and when Sebastian finally presses his lips to his mouth, Chris seizes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Despite Chris’s best intentions, it turns heated again in no time. Without his permission, his hands slide under Sebastian’s shirt, stroking the smooth, warm skin of his back, while Sebastian mouths at Chris’s jaw, then trails a path of kisses down the column of his neck.

“Seb,” Chris groans, hands tightening convulsively on Sebastian’s waist. “Sebastian, wait.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Sebastian pants, lifting his head to look down at him. He’s disheveled, his hair a mess, pupils blown, his lips red and a little raw from mouthing at Chris’s beard. He looks stunning.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” Chris says honestly, touching Sebastian’s left cheek.

Sebastian ducks his head turning his face into Chris’s palm, but he’s smiling, which makes Chris smile, too, then they’re just smiling at each other like a couple of dorks.

Chris shifts their positions to get more comfortable, tugging at Sebastian until they’re both lying on the couch on their sides, face to face. Pulling him closer, into his chest, Chris swings a leg over both of Sebastian’s, and Sebastian takes the hint immediately, snuggling into Chris and tucking his head under his chin so they’re full on cuddling.

“Best fucking birthday present ever,” Chris mutters into Sebastian’s hair, his hand tracing idle patters on Sebastian’s upper arm. In reply, Sebastian presses a kiss to Chris’s chest, over his heart.

Somehow, they snooze for a little while, just drifting in and out of consciousness, neither of them seeming to want to untangle themselves from the other, until after an indeterminate amount of time, there’s a soft knock at the door.

Chris hums questioningly in reply, not wanting to wake Sebastian, and the door opens cautiously. Lisa pokes her head in again, and the moment she sees them, all wrapped around each other like that, she covers her mouth with her hands, cooing softly.

“Happy Birthday, baby,” she whispers, her eyes shining with affection and pride.

“Thanks, mom,” Chris whispers back, blinking back tears. “Love you.”

From where he’s half asleep on Chris’s chest, Sebastian murmurs, “Love you, too.”

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2021 Day 1

// FFXIV Write Info // Prompts // Master post //

(Heads up, this is LONG. I got kind if carried away as this is an ORGIN STORY! : D Set before ARR so Kien is 18 but is not known by that name just yet. Mentions of  speculated physical and mental abuse if you squint. Some of my personal headcanon’s of Meracydia are present in this! I hope you enjoy!)

Day 1 Forster

bring up (a child that is not one's own by birth).

encourage or promote the development of (something, typically something regarded as good).

Ranald had been to his fair share of places since becoming a merchant, but no place struck him as interesting as Meracydia.

It was a place people scarcely traveled to as it had been rendered a wasteland ever since the Allagan Empire declared war there during the last years of the Third Astral Era; a lot of regions were still uninhabitable to this day and those regions that could be lived in consisted of a rather recluse population that would attack any outsider on sight. However, some of the natives were still open to trade as certain materials from Eorzea were highly sought after and the rare gems found on the southern continent could sell for a hefty sum of Gil in Eorzea but one wrong move in the eyes of the natives meant an ambush or death, so Ranald never stayed for long or ventured too far from the shores whenever he decided to come around to try his luck with a trade.

With every visit, the Hyur could never quite comprehend how natives still lived on the southern continent. The water was always cloudy and murky and the sky was ochre in color with the sun permanently hidden behind a thick haze. The land itself was barren and dry—what remains of standing trees were bare and splintered while the rest were deduced to blackened stumps. In some places, there were remains of structures but none of them were in one piece and most of them were reduced to rubble, but he certainly felt prying eyes on him at several instances and he shuddered to think of who—or what—could be roaming around the ruins.

He and his three fellow traders had been in Meracydia for the better part of three nights with no luck when Ranald finally made the decision to call it quits and leave before any sort of ambush befell them; It was already risky enough to travel without a tribe’s trust to trade with and staying any longer than the initial welcome was just begging for an attack. As he turned to follow his fellow shipmates up the ramp, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end; someone had been watching him.

“Who goes there?” Ranald quickly unsheathed his daggers and whipped around, expecting to come face to face with a tribe ready to ambush them but was mildly surprised to find a young Miqo’te staring back at him. He seemed just as startled as Ranald was, his own bow drawn at the ready and a hand resting on the quiver on his back as if he was about to draw an arrow.

“Wait! Wait!” The Miqo’te said hurriedly but still didn’t lower his weapon. “You’re a trader, aren’t you?” His accent was thick but his Common was easy to understand causing more confusion to the Hyur. Usually, it was always the other way around; the natives expected outsiders to understand their language when trading, it was unusual to meet a native who could speak and understand Common.

Questions bubbling, Ranald arched an eyebrow at him. “I am. What have you?” Behind him, he could hear his shipmates rush out to see what going on, but he cocked his head to the side in a silent request to stay back to which they obeyed.

The Miqo’te looked even more nervous than he was before at the sight of the three other people but didn’t move. “I did not come to harm you; I only want to trade…an exchange, if you will.”

 Ranald almost wanted to laugh. “Then why are you brandishing your weapon at me lad?” He asked, watching as the Miqo’te’s expression twist from concern to confusion. “This has better not be a trick and no one else comes out to attack.” He said firmly, watching the Miqo’te eyes widened.

 “I—I wasn’t trying to catch you off guard, but when you suddenly pulled out your daggers, I panicked.” The Miqo’te confessed. “I—I’m not really used to talking with people outside my tribe, so I was unsure how to approach you.” He slowly lowered his weapon and pulled his other hand away from his quiver of arrows. “I promise you, I am alone, and I only seek to trade with you.”

Ranald eyed the boy a bit longer before slowly relaxing his stance and sheathing his daggers. The Miqo’te, who had been watching him carefully, seemed to sag in relief and he quickly returned his bow to his back. Without a weapon shielding half his face, Ranald could finally see how young the lad was compared to him—he looked as if he was in his late teens, maybe the same age as his own son but somehow older and wiser just based off the energy he had about him. His shaggy black hair fell almost completely in front of his right eye, giving Ranald barely a glimpse of it which he could see was amber; a color not like his left eye which was green. He seemed to be traveling somewhere himself as two bags sat behind his feet, and he looked as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep the past few days.

“What’ve you got to trade?” Ranald asked as he descended the ramp back onto the shore. The Miqo’te wordlessly picked up the smaller of the two bags and opened it, inviting Ranald to step closer and look inside. Still a bit weary, Ranald leaned forward to peer inside the bag, nearly gasping aloud at the abundant sparkling gems inside.

“You cannot find these anywhere outside of Meracydia,” The Miqo’te began. “At least, that’s what the other traders told me when I traded with them before…I’ve been collecting them for several years.”

Ranald could hardly believe it. There had to be at least twenty or more gems inside the bag and the Miqo’te was right: they were rare ones he’d never found in Eorzea before—this was more than what he’d ever traded in the past. But…he knew he didn’t have anything worth the amount offered in goods to trade. He looked up with a questioning stare. “What can I give you in return?”

“Passage on your ship,” The Miqo’te replied confidently as if he had rehearsed the line several times before. “While I do not know where you’re bound to next, know that I you needn’t worry about lack of provisions as I have my own and I will do any necessary work during the journey.” He spoke with confidence but once again his fidgeting hands and tense shoulders gave away to his nervousness—had he been denied before? What fool would turn down a bag of rare gems for an extra passenger on the way back? Nay, there was something more to this and Ranald felt a need to know why.

“What’s your name lad?” Ranald asked but the Miqo’te stayed silent as he bit his lip in hesitation. Ranald’s expression softened, deciding to not press it further. “Well, you can tell me when you’re ready—it’s a long journey back to Eorzea so there’s plenty of time to share life stories.”

“Eorzea…? The place I’ve heard stories about…have seen in...” The Miqo’te trailed away and bit his lip to prevent himself from speaking any further. “You’ll have me then?” He looked back up; hope swimming through his eyes that caused Ranald to smile warmly.

“Aye, climb aboard!” Ranald smiled as he gestured to the ship. “These three here are Mikiah and Arlix,” he gestured to the short brunette Hyur to his left and the tall blonde Elezen to his right before turning to the brunette Miqo’te standing at the top of the ramp. “That there is U’vhana Tia and I’m Ranald.” The three friends all raised their hands in a gesture of greeting looking confused but welcoming all the same. Ranald watched as the young Miqo’te eyed them wearily before nodding his head in greeting. “We leave as soon as we fire up the ship, don’t want to lose any more of this daylight—if you can call it that.” He waved his hand absently with a smile as the Miqo’te gathered his remaining bag and followed them up the ship and they took off.

----

For the first half of the journey, Ranald watched the young Miqo’te bemusedly as he seemed to go through an array of emotions over the course of seconds—fear from the airship beginning to fly, excitement when he saw a blue sky, probably for the first time in his life, and then, he seemed to settle into his thoughts as the ground below grew smaller and smaller and they sailed through the clouds.

As the day stretched into evening, the Hyur left the Miqo’te alone, sensing he was still nervous from everything that had just occurred while the man himself was still in bewilderment of it all. He essentially just helped a kid run away from his family, and his friends didn’t even question him! He wasn’t what exactly possessed him to agree to such an absurd trade but judging by the relief on his face once he invited him on board, he supposed he couldn’t blame him for wanting to get the hells out of the wasteland. But what about his family? Wouldn’t they be searching for him? Would it even be safe to return to Meracydia again knowing there may or may not be a tribe on the lookout for their lost family member? And that scar on his eye…Ranald hadn’t missed glimpsing that but chose to not ask him about it either. Was that why he wanted to run away from his family?

The Hyur sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. Such speculative thoughts would have to wait! Mayhap he could get some questions answered over dinner. Deciding to do just that, he ensured his friends were all tended to with the ship and made his way up to the deck where he spied the Miqo’te leaning over the ship wall and watching the stars. Just as he made way to approach him, the boy suddenly went rigid, his hand flying to his forehead as if he was in pain. By the time Ranald was able to get to his side to help keep him steady as he staggered, he was coherent again but a little pale.

“I must’ve gotten too excited and gave myself another headache, but it passed.” The Miqo’te looked down as if he was ashamed and slowly stepped away from Ranald’s hovering hands. Ranald furrowed his brow and gently placed a hand on the Miqo’te’s shoulder, not failing to notice the slight jolt that went through him.

“Another headache? These’ve happened before?” Ranald couldn’t help voicing the question aloud and the Miqo’te flinched as if he was expecting to get yelled at. Ranald’s face softened as he quietly asked, “Are you alright?”

That question seemed to take him by surprise, and he looked up to meet Ranald’s worried expression, blinking in bewilderment. “Ah—I—I’m fine,” he stuttered before looking away again in embarrassment. “Sorry, could I maybe sit down for a bit? I’m feeling very sick.” Ranald carefully guided him down to a chair and quickly fetched one of his water skins, offering it to the boy with a gentle nudge. He cautiously accepted it and took a few sips before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

 Ranald watched him carefully for a bit, trying to figure out the right then to say as he sat down in the chair across from him. “Have you heard of the Echo before?” He finally asked. When the boy shook his head, he smiled warmly. “I don’t know much about it myself unfortunately, but I’ve heard what it can be like—headaches—like the one you just had—and if I’m not mistaken, you saw something, didn’t you?” The Miqo’te’s brow furrowed as he nodded his head.

“How—how did you know?”

“Your eyes glazed over for a good minute as if you were watching something,” Ranald explained. “When you’ve been traveling around for as long as I have, you meet a few people with the Echo every now and then. Who knows, maybe you’ll become one of Hydaelyn’s chosen and save Eorzea in her time of need like those ‘Warriors of Light’ did during the calamity five years ago!” He chuckled fondly, a memory of his son excitedly talking about the fables springing to his mind.

“Hydaelyn’s chosen? Warriors of Light?” The Miqo’te questioned.

“Aye, the rumor goes that they’re the ones who the Mother Crystal chose to bestow her blessin’ to and they showed up during the Battle of Carteneau and promptly vanished after some big ol’ flash—no one has seen ‘em since. My son would always tell me about an adventurer he met—Kieron, I think—he believed he may have been one of those warriors.” He smiled fondly. “My son was frail and sickly; he didn’t get to travel around as often but Kieron would trade with me often and helped fill that void for him—kept him company and told him all about his grand adventures before taking off on the next one.” He paused, feeling his heart twinge in sadness.

“My son passed away before the calamity, bless his soul for not having to witness that battle, but… I cannot help but wonder if Kieron really was a ‘Warrior of Light’ like my son thought he was because after the calamity, I never saw him again either.” Ranald let out a sigh as he brought his gaze to the starry sky above. “I’d like to think he and my son are off on their own grand adventure somewhere now—mayhap I’ll see them both again someday.” He fell silent as turned his gaze back to the Miqo’te. “Can I ask you why you won’t tell me your name?”

The Miqo’te hesitated for a moment, his eyes casting down to his boots as he wrung his hands. “It’s Roh’to,” he began quietly. “I rather not be called by it anymore…I just want to get away from my tribe. They…did not make me feel welcomed and I’m not proud of my tribe name. I just want to start anew.”

Ranald reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin with a nod, his speculation about the relation to his scar and family slowly piecing itself together. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a new name for you then.” The Miqo’te looked up, his expression a mixture of confusion and awe. “Take all the time you need to think of it but what I really need to know is what you plan to do once we get to Gridania.”

“I—I don’t know,” The Miqo’te confessed as he looked down again. “I truthfully didn’t even think I’d get this far in the first place…not a lot of traders were as willing as you to believe I wasn’t trying to trick and ambush them.”

“Used to be a pirate,” Ranald laughed. “Easy for me to tell when someone is lyin’ to me.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “Tell you what, you can stay with me for a bit, just until you get yourself situated. There’s a few people I think you should meet anyways in regards to that Echo of yours.”

The Miqo’te jerked his head up and stared at him in disbelief. “Truly? I…I won’t be a burden to you?”

Ranald shook his head with a laugh and leaned back. “O‘course not! ‘Sides, I could use the company with how quiet my house has been lately.” His expression softened, somehow knowing this was the right decision to make.

The Miqo’te seemed on the verge of tears as the corner of his lip tugged into a small smile. “I promise to do my part and help out in anyway I can, you won’t regret this.”

“No expectations, just be yourself.” The Hyur smiled and stood, giving a small nudge to the Miqo’te’s shoulder, noticing that he didn’t flinch this time, a sign that he was already feeling more comfortable than before. “You take all the time you need to figure that name out, and I’ll get some dinner prepared…get some sleep too, it’ll be a while before we get to Eorzea.”

He turned on his heel to retreat down into the hull, but before he could descend the stairs, he heard the boy call out, “Ranald?” The Hyur paused with a hum to indicate he was listening. “I thought about what my new name could be.”

“Oh?” He turned to face the Miqo’te again.

“Kien.”

A smile spread across Ranald’s face, his heart filling with warmth. “Well Kien, it’s nice to finally meet you.” 

[shaynawrites23]

Modified Sentence

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x reader

Header by the talented @summer-writes! She’s also an incredibly talented writer (in case you couldn’t tell from her url 😉) so go check her out!

Word count: 1448

Prompt: “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t break my heart.”

Written for @iliveiloveiwrite’s writing challenge!

When you first heard of the Allfather's decision, you staggered backwards into the wall from shock. He planned to imprison the prince, your love, your reason to live, for the rest of his life, however long that may be.

You sent the maid away in a breathy voice after she helped lower you into a chair, barely noticing as she scurried out of the room. You knew your fiancé had done bad things, but you loved him nonetheless. He deserved to be punished, but he did not deserve this. You’d heard of people who were sentenced to life imprisonment, and it was almost always a stepping stone to banishment. You’d never see him again.

"No," you whispered in horror.

You didn't know how long you remained there, frozen in your seat. What you did know was that you had to fight this. No way were you gonna let him go without a struggle. Without Loki, your life would have no meaning. They might as well execute the two of you. Together.

Stalking over to your wardrobe, you flung open the doors. You'd be damned if you let this go. Smirking to yourself, you let your fingers run over the skirts of the many beautiful gowns Loki had supplied you with, insisting it was 'his pleasure' and he 'loved seeing you in them anyway.'

You stopped when you came to a gorgeous emerald green dress with golden highlights. It had a golden waistband from which flowed a shimmering, transparent green layer, covering the other two skirt layers only for the hem to halt abruptly right before it touched the floor. The opaque fabric stopped right above your bosom, the transparent fabric taking over from there until it reached your wrists. The bodice sported fine golden lines in elegant swirls.

You smiled. It had always been his favorite and therefore you loved it as well. You loved seeing the admiration in his eyes as you made the silver-tongued god speechless.

Pulling it from its hook, you hurried to the bathroom adjoining the room you shared with your lover, hastily changing into the elegant gown. You slipped on a pair of golden heels and called a maid, requesting an audience with the Allfather and his wife.

You twirled in front of the mirror, inspecting every curve and line of your body. The skirt flared out as you spun and you grinned. Fully decked out in your prince's colors, you were convinced you'd make quite the statement.

The maid returned, informing you Odin and Frigga would see you, and that there was someone else who wished to see you and was standing outside waiting.

Your curiosity got the better of you and so you trotted out into the hallway only to come face to face with none other than Sigyn.

Hell no.

"Good morning, (Y/N). I trust you slept well?" She purred, eyes glancing down at your attire.

"What do you want, Sigyn?"

"Oh, only to tell you how sorry I am about what happened."

"You? Sorry? I highly doubt it." You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorway. Every time you crossed paths you ended up in a fight and boy, were you in the mood for one today. "Wait a minute, what are you sorry about?"

"What? About Prince Loki's sentence of course," she scoffed.

"How do you know about that? That's not public information, in fact, only Odin, Frigga, Thor, Loki and myself were told." You gasped suddenly as the realization struck you. "You were in on this! You convinced them to punish him like that!"

"You think I did that? Have you forgotten how much I care for Loki as well?"

You growled, hands clenching into fists at your sides as you slowly backed her into the wall opposite you. "You conniving witch! You were jealous that Loki picked me over you!"

"How dare you!" She gasped, and if looks could kill, you'd be long dead.

"How dare I? How dare you, going to such lengths just because he doesn't love you! Well guess what? I'm going to fight this sentence until my dying breath." With that, you turned on your heel, marching down the numerous halls until you reached the throne room.

You paused before entering, mentally reflecting on your plan. Should you be angered, protesting against this injustice? Or should you play the part of the heartbroken lover, playing on their sympathies?

Biting down lightly on your lip, made your decision, giving the guards a nod and they opened the doors for you, announcing your arrival in a stentorian voice.

You kept your strides short, bowing your head lightly as you knelt in front of the throne in a respectful greeting.

"Good day, Lady (Y/N). Speak your mind."

Frigga, seated next to her husband, sent you an encouraging smile.

"Milord, as you may have guessed, I am here to plead on behalf of my fiancé, Prince Loki. I agree that he has done terrible things, but this punishment is unjust and uncalled for. I am here to beg you to rethink this sentence."

"Lady (Y/N), as an Asgardian, you must know that I cannot possibly recall my sentence. As ruler of Asgard, my word is final, and Loki deserves everything he gets."

"With all due respect, milord, Loki does not deserve this. He has a good heart, but he was led to believe he had no choice in the matter. He made these decisions with the urge to protect Asgard and its inhabitants. I beg of you, Allfather. Give Prince Loki another chance."

"Loki's punishment was just. He will be imprisoned for the rest of his days."

It may have been your imagination, but it seemed you were angering the king. If you weren't careful, he could throw you out before you finished.

The door opened, and Sigyn marched in, wearing a wild, evil grin. A handful of guards trailed behind her, with a heavily chained Loki between them.

No. Don't get distracted.

"Please, milord, I'll do anything you ask if you just let my prince go. Please, lighten his sentence."

You didn't miss the hope in your sweetheart's eyes. Unfortunately, Odin seemed hell-bent on crushing it.

"Loki has been charged with treason against the kingdom. That's not a light crime. My decision remains in place. Lady (Y/N), unless you cease this begging, you face the same sentence." His booming voice filled the room and you fought the urge to flinch at the volume.

"Please, milord, I beg of you. Don't do this. Don't break my heart. Please." Tears filled your eyes and you blinked them back, but one trailed down your cheek anyway.

The Allfather opened his mouth to argue, but Frigga interrupted him. They exchanged hushed whispers, conversing so quietly you couldn't follow. You glanced at Loki. It broke your heart to see him like that, limbs chained and guarded on all sides, plus some sort of ancient artifact to prevent him from doing magic.

He offered you a smile, as if to assure you that he'd be okay, no matter the outcome. How could he still be so strong, even in the face of what might as well be death? Everyone believed him to be weak, the weaker of the two princes, but in reality he was as strong as they came.

“It’s okay” he mouthed. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you mouthed back, subtly blowing him a kiss.

“It appears we have decided.”

You held your breath, turning your head to meet Odin and Frigga’s eyes, the latter smiling. Whether it was out of joy or sympathy, you couldn’t tell.

“Loki’s sentence shall be reduced to house arrest with Lady (Y/N) appointed to watch over him. He shall be required to assist the court with any issues it may have, and with any assets he may have. He will also be allotted time for himself and for his beloved, and his title as Prince of Asgard shall be restored, as well as all its duties and privileges.” Frigga announced. “Guards, remove his chains.”

You gasped in relief and happiness, glancing at Loki. As soon as he was free, he embraced his mother tightly, and you teared up again at the sight.

You heard a growl behind you and spun around just in time to see Sigyn stalking out of the room, footsteps loud and sharp.

“(Y/N), love.”

Loki stood before you, hand outstretched to help you up. You ignored it, jumping up and wrapping your arms around him with a sob. He clutched onto you just as hard as you did, rubbing comforting circles on your back.

“Don’t cry, love. I’m alright.”

This is my first time writing for Loki, and while he doesn’t appear a until late in this one shot I hope he’s in character! I also had multiple scenarios in mind for this prompt, but I liked this one best. I hope you enjoyed!

[jj-lynn21]

How A Girl Must Live Ch 1

Ch1: A place for singles

Ch 2: Popular, Ch 3 Opening Up  ch 4: Dating Ch 5:Family

 Ch 6 Violence begets Violence Ch 7 Love Birds Ch 8 The Big Fight

ch 9: The Flash back

  Notes: AU Willard Russel. In this story he still went off to the war. Instead of going home, one of the other soldiers offered him a job at a resort in the Catskills Mountains in New York. He has been there five years when the story starts. So, it makes him about twenty-five. The ages of those that come into the resort are 18-21 for females, 18-25 for males. The only warning I could put on this chapter is that it is 1950s so there were some rules for women that most of us would think of as ridiculous now. Our main female character sure thinks they are, but she was raised to go along with society, for the most part. No smut until the last few chapters.

taging: @super-pink-a-palouza @luciferreads @glasglowgrin @loomiz @princessloveme123 @hornyhetero @taintedglass @bohemian-brian​ @maryan028 @optimisticwagoneagleparty @scxrsgxrd ,@waywardtigersandwich @theskarsgardcult @babyboy-cody @bskarsgardlove92​ @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass @shenevertricks1831

  Thank you so much for the moodboard to start this off @flowers-in-your-hayr​

It was spring break 1950 when Samantha Davenport’s father insisted, she needed to find a man. There had already been talk about her amongst his friends that something might not be right about his daughter since she was about to turn 19 and had no male companion. No suiters at the door vying for her attention. So, he sent her to a resort that was known for putting people together. Some even ended up married at the resort surrounded by friends and family.  

“Mother, why is Father sending me away like I did something wrong?” Samantha pouted with her arm flung over her chaise lounge dramatically. “I am perfectly happy being single. My friend Tami has a dotting husband and three kids. She ain’t no happier than me.”

“Is not happier.” Her Mother corrected. “I do hope they encourage proper grammar at this resort for young people.”

Samantha rolled her eyes while her Mother’s back was turned. “Won’t I learn that at that God-awful finishing school that starts in the Fall?”

“Do not take the lords name in vain like that young lady,” She slammed the pink suitcase closed. “Your Father knows what is best for this family. Until you are blessed with a husband to help you make correct decisions, you will listen to your Father. Let us get you to the car. Your Father is waiting.”

Samantha huffed and stomped to the car. Her Father was waiting with his legs crossed at the ankles. He tipped his hat to his Ladies. Then he moved around the car to open the front door. “Mother.”

“Thank you, Father,” his wife smiled politely as she got in the car.

He opened the back door. “My beautiful free-spirited little girl.”

“Thank you, Father.” She felt deflated as she got in the car.

The car was quiet, other than the radio playing Elvis, The Platters, Pat Boone, Dean Martin, and other popular crooners of the time. It was a six-hour drive from Summerland, Ohio to the Mountain Lake Resort in Catskills, New York. As she listened to the music she glanced through the brochure for the place.  

The rooms looked nice enough. Four girls would room together. Friendships were expected. The boys were roomed in a different part of the building. An elegant dining area was found between the girls' and boys' areas. There was a lake and pool where daily activity would be held. Hiking, crafts, and board games were also organized to have something to interest all guests. The young people had to get involved with a minimum of three events per day. No smoking or drinking by any of the young ladies. The young men would have dedicated times when they would learn to drink and smoke casually.  

It seemed unfair having to take part in dumb activities. And the rules were worse than home. Her Father let her go shopping with her girlfriends and drive her own car without a man beside her. At the resort there always had to be a man to escort the ladies on the premises. They were to wait in the morning for a knock on the door at 6am. An escort would be there to bring them to breakfast. They could only speak when spoken to.  

A girl would not deny a gentleman's advances. Dating was strongly encouraged. Samantha thought it was absurd to have to entertain morons just so they did not feel bad about themselves. She would not be forced into a relationship to appease her parents. The idea of the man of her dreams being at some camp to get young people married off was ridiculous.  

When they pull up to the main building young gentlemen line the walkway. They are all dressed in impressive suits of grey, navy or black with ties. One of them rushes to open the back door. “Welcome to the resort Miss.” He tilted his hat with a smile.

“Sam.” She said with a smirk.

Her Father got out of the car to get her suitcase out of the trunk. “Have an enjoyable time Samantha.”  

“I’ll take her suitcase, Sir.” The young man stuck out his hand.  

Her Father handed the suitcase over happily. Her Mother waved to her from the car. She had a huge proud smile on her face as if dropping her daughter off at such a place as this was a huge accomplishment.  

“Follow me Miss Samantha.” The young man started walking and she followed as instructed. He took her into a communal area. Boys at the tables on the right. Girls at the tables on the left. There were some windows at the far end where she could see tables for two and four set up. “Have a seat, Miss Samantha. This is Miss Pamala, Miss Missy and Miss Flora. They will be your roommates. I will take your suitcase to your room.”

“Thank you,” She croaked softly as she sat down.  

The girls in unison giggled as they greeted her with a, “Hello, Samantha.” They all seemed just giddy to be there.

“I can hardly wait to be paired with my future Husband.” Missy squealed.

Pamala chided her. “Now Missy you should date many boys here to find the right one. You date some even more than once to make sure you are compatible.” She giggled.

“What is your strategy for finding a perfect husband, Samantha?”  Flora asked. “I am going to play hard to get with all the boys until I choose who I want. Of course, I will make him think he chose me.” She laughs with the rest of them.

“I have no plan.” Samantha’s voice was dull compared to the manic girls around her. “My parents think I can find my heart's desire here. I very much doubt that. But good luck to you three.”

“Just look at all of them over there.” Missy giggled. “The odds are in our favor.”

Samantha rolled her eyes. A couple in their late forties stepped out between the young men and young girls. The man tipped his fedora to the crowd before taking it off to hold to his chest with one hand. His other hand held his wife’s hand. He kissed it politely before letting it go. She curtsied to the room.  

“Good evening young people,” The man looked around the room making eye contact with some. “We are the Jones. You may call my wife Mrs. Sally. Please refer to me as Mr. Jones. Ladies are always to be called by their first names with Mrs. In front of it if they are married and Miss before that. All gentlemen here will be referred to as Mr. with their last name after. We do this so our ladies soon to be Wives and Mother’s we hope, will know the name they are to take. And the gentlemen should always know the first name of his possible wife when he is introduced to her.”

His wife kept a smile on her face. She looked at him in adoration as he spoke. She said nothing. She waited for him to allow her to speak.  

“We have a few rules.” The room groaned. “There are not many. They are not difficult to follow. You will all be dress in your finest daily. That is suit and tie for the boys. And dresses for the girls. Petticoats are optional but highly recommended. No slang words or curses here. You will always talk properly. Ladies will always be accompanied by a gentleman. My lovely wife will now talk to you about meals.”

“Good evening everyone.” His wife curtsied to everyone again. “Tonight, I helped Chef Joseph cook a chopped steak with baked potatoes for the boys and garden salads for our girls. Well, Mr. Joseph grilled the steaks and potatoes. I just threw together a salad he told me how to make. After tonight's dinner, I know you will all need some rest.

The boys room numbers coincide with the number on their table. Our young ladies will be escorted to their room by one of our male staff members. In the morning at six, girls you will start hearing a knock at the door. You will be ready to come down to breakfast prompting with the young man we send for you. Maybe he will be the one.” She was as giddy as some of the young girls about that comment.  

Samantha was already annoyed. It increased when Tab soft drinks were set on her table. She had no problem with her shape and the other girls at the table were varied sizes but that did not mean they all did not deserve a hamburger, fries, and a Milkshake like she would normal have when hanging out with friends. She never drank diet soda like Tab. Her Mother ate salads often. She did sometimes. But usually they all had meat, potatoes, and vegetables.  

“I’m sorry, I was babbling on so.” Mrs. Sally apologized looking at her husband. “Is there anything else you need to address, Sir?”

“You did as good as I expected Mrs. Sally.” He gave her shoulder a little squeeze that elated her. “All young girls are not to smoke or drink. It is not lady like. If your husband chooses to let you that is between you and him. Here you will not partake in such things. After the girls are in their rooms to get their beauty sleep any boys who want to partake in an after-dinner smoke and drink may do so under our supervision. That is the only time you will be allowed to do such things. Does everyone understand?”

“Yes Mr. Jones.” The room howled.  

“Good, now let’s enjoy our dinner.” He clapped. Women brought out the food on large platters for the young men and bowls for the girls. Samantha was starving. When she took large bites of her salad, the other girls just looked at her like she was insane. They all took small bites. Missy even used a knife to cute hers up. The others followed her lead.  

“Do you want your future husband to see you eating like such, such a heathen.” Miss Missy whispered.

Samantha’s mouth hung open for a second. “I down cheeseburgers in front of boys all the time. This is just salad and I am starving. “

“Well, maybe that is the reason you are not happily married by now.” Miss Pamala guessed with a snideness to the remark.

“If the men here only care about how I eat instead of who I am, then I guess I won’t meet anyone this way.” Samantha laughed before taking another huge bite just to annoy the other girls.

When a man was sent to the table to escort Samantha to her room, she went willingly just to get away from the girls she was sitting with for a few minutes. The young man who escorted her walked with his chin up looking ahead without conversing with her at all. She was fine with that. It took her roommates another half hour to finish eating before joining her. She pretended to be asleep in the twin bed on the right of the room closest to the window.

Samantha was restless laying in the bed. Her stomach was growling also. The other girls were sleeping dreaming of their wedding days. She decided to tiptoe to the kitchen to see what she could find. She did not know where the kitchen was, but it had to be somewhere behind the double doors the food was brought from at the dinner.  

She walked slow and steady down to the stairwell. She thought the elevator bell would alert someone to her late-night snack walk. She glanced both ways when she opened the stairway door to the main floor. No one was insight. She headed to the dining area thinking she would be free and clear but there were voices from the room.

“One more hand, boys.” A deep voice echoed. “No wilds. Treat your cards like a Lady. Respect them. Gaze at them lovingly. And make sure no one else thinks theirs are better than yours.”

Samantha snuck around them in the shadows as the boys laughed. The voices get muted as she slides into the double doors catching them, so they do not shut loud in the darkness. The kitchen was a sterile silver with a ceiling light in the center. She reached up to pull the string to turn it on. The area only illuminated slightly. There was a window at the fair end so she could she how the lighting would be fine once the sun shone in on the room.  

On her toes she reached to open a cupboard to find a snack, a glass or both. She found juice glasses. Then she opened the refrigerator to find more vegetables for salads which she had enough of already. But there was also freshly squeezed orange juice ready for the morning. She poured herself a glass. When she walked out after putting away the juice and shutting the light off, she stopped to hear the guys chatting, smoking cigars, and playing poker.  

“I will marry a beautiful girl to make my parents happy,” The one boy was saying. “Then it is off to the army for me to defend this great country.”

“I don’t suggest that young man,” The deeper voiced guy suggested. “You don’t want to see the things I saw. You do not want to be part of that messed up world unless you have to, you dig? I saw a man skinned alive. You do not want to see that kid. I don’t want you to see that.” His voice sounded haunted by the memory.

“Well, I’m going to keep my girl in line just like my Dad does.” Another younger voice chimed in. “Just smack her right in the chops if she sasses, disobeys or...”

Samantha heard a bang on the table that made her gasp audibly and drop her glass shattering it on the floor.

“You should never treat a woman like that,” The deeper voice seethed. “If I see or hear of you laying one hand on these ladies you will be out of here. And If I ever see you or your Father lay a hand on a Lady in my presence that moment will come back to haunt you three-fold.” He gets up. Straightens his tie and turns towards toward the noise. He softens his face smiling. “I’m sorry Miss. I did not mean to startle you. I was just teaching these fellas a few things. Hopefully, they listened.”

She nodded slowly scared she was in much more trouble than the boy he threatened since she broke a rule. “I’m, I just needed a drink. I’ll be going back to my room after cleaning up the glass.”

“The boys will clean up the glass.” He rose out of the chair towering over her.  

“Yes, Sir.” She glanced up his entire frame noticing his broad shoulders to his large bright green eyes that caught hers. Then she quickly looked down.  

“Isn’t that women’s work.” One of the men complained  

The tall slender man glared at the boys, “If a woman is frightened, we help her even if it means cleaning up a mess once in a while.” He looked to Samantha holding out his hand. “I will escort you back to your room Miss.”  

“I’m Sam, well Samantha.” She took his hand nervously.  

Samantha and the tall guy started walking away as the boys found a broom to sweep up the mess. It took them a few minutes. They also cleaned up the card game and empty beer bottles and the ashtray.

“I’m Mr. Russel.” the tall guy said as he pushed the elevator button. “Willard Russel. Do not worry, I will not say anything about you being out without an escort. You seem like a perfectly capable young lady to get a drink on her own. But please forgive my behavior with Mr. Goodland. I despise those that do not treat women with respect. What floor?”

“Seven.” She murmured. “I’m glad there are more men than my Father that believe that hitting women are wrong, Mr. Russel.”

“You just come to me if any of our boys get out of hand.” He put his arm out for her to get off the elevator first and walked her to her door. “I hope you find an absolutely true love here.” His face lit up when he really smiled.  

“Thank you, kindly Mr. Russel,” She smiled back barely realizing she was doing it.  

He opened the door she stopped at. She went inside and he closed it quietly behind her.