#I am simply too clumsy and chaotic

[keitheaverage]

I was wondering how I forgot entirely about my little riceball bunnygirl oc from a decade ago until I remembered that I probably had drawn her on my last computer, the same one that somehow got so completely jacked after one (1) rough trip in my backpack that I had to completely wipe the hard-drive in order to make it functional again, losing like 2 years worth of art bc I didn't have anything backed up. ._.

[love-toxin]

I'm so in love with the way you write!! Especially bully!Eddie, he makes me feel all gooey inside<3 can't wait to see what you write next, pretty 🥰✨

hehehe!!! take this!!! (yes i am using this as an opportunity to be self-indulgent AND festive even tho i finished this a little late LOL <3)

(cws: bully!dad!eddie, f!mom!angelface, christmas festivities, gift-giving, teasing, mentions of postpartum healing and a past of poverty living, set 5 years post-babytrapping, fluff.)

If you thought Eddie wasn't gonna bother getting gifts for your children before he became a father, you would be beyond wrong. He's always been mean, always been rough, but ever since that first Christmas you spent together as a family, he's been the biggest softie you've ever seen for his babies.

Your first one, Elliott, is getting bigger by the day--he's five and still as much of an angel as the day he was born, dark curls exploding all over his head and freckles dusting his nose. Lorien, who just turned four, is a clumsy little guy with his father's eyes and your soft, demure smile. And Trinity is still a bit too small to show much personality yet, but she's giggly and a good sleeper and quite happy for a two-month-old in a chaotic house full of boys. They all get spoiled, but not rotten, lucky for you. Eddie can at least be strict at times and you don't fold easily to those glimmery little eyes when the boys are begging for something they want. But that definitely changes at Christmas, when your husband plays the role of Santa so well you might as well slap a fake beard on his chin and give him a suit to go with his sack of goodies.

However, that same gesture hasn't exactly extended to you. It's not one-sided--you don't really get him much, either--but Eddie's gifts to you in the last five years have been pretty scarce. Your birthday is always a different story and so is his, but with having at least one child each year and that number growing over time, as well as struggling to pay bills and keep the roof over your heads on a single income, presents haven't ever really been a spectacle between you two. Usually it's some chocolate if he can afford it, or simply a kiss and the promise of a date during those couple years where you could barely avoid food, those awful times when you literally scrounged for whatever pennies you could save just to get your children something to open on Christmas morning. All the while watching and feeling a sense of relief at their excitement, all while yours and Eddie's stomachs rumbled with hunger but your boys sat full and satisfied.

But those days of struggling are over, at least for the foreseeable future. This year Eddie's taken over a considerable chunk of the garage as a partner and started doing detail work on the side, and with the success of that as well as the band picking up more and more gigs, you've watched those fears of not being able to provide for your children slowly vanish in your rearview. You even have a job yourself, part-time at the general store where you can chat away with Joyce and have a little time and money to yourself. This is the first year you're actually spending the holidays in a house instead of the trailer, one that you scouted out and Eddie bought, and with all those changes under your belts, you've managed to carve out quite the life for yourself and your little family.

And Eddie's changing, too. You'll never be proud of what you did, you're sure you'll never not feel a little sick at the memory of sabotaging his contraceptives all those years ago. But you've grown and so has Eddie--he's still gruff, and can be a little prickly around the edges when he's in a mood, but your opinion of him definitely changed when you watched him become a parent. And not in the literal sense, just at Elliott's birth. You've watched him become gentle and sweet and learn how to manage himself, you've seen him apply those behaviors to you and you've even gotten some good moments out of him--an apology, for one, and a promise as well.

"I'm never gonna be perfect, I know. But I'll...I'll be the kinda guy a girl like you deserves. I'll be good to you. And....fuck, I mean, I'll try and make it up to you for all that stupid shit. I'll just....I'll find a way, okay? I'll find a way."

That way had been a ring and another baby, the latter of the two being pure coincidence, but he really is making an effort. That much is obvious in the littlest things, like how he waved you off to bed and told you he'd take care of the baby tonight, doing all the feeding and burping and changing and soothing that would usually be shared between the two of you. His only excuse had been that it was Christmas Eve, and he expected a damn good breakfast in the morning for all that last-minute grocery shopping he'd had to do for you the day before. But even as he served you all that indignation and sass, he had cradled your baby girl in his arms as he gave you a kiss, and quietly smiled down at her as he cooed a little lullaby and you snuggled up in your bed to sleep.

"Mommy! It's Christmas, mommy! Wake up!"

When you're finally shaken awake by your boys at eight am sharp, you almost aren't sure where you are, or what day it is--you've been so exhausted taking care of your newborn that you've forgotten what a good night's sleep is. They hop around cheering and grabbing at you to get you up, only calming down enough to lean in for kisses when you bid them a good morning. When you're eventually dragged out of bed by those two excitable little gremlins and stumble half-awake through the hallway, you nearly bump right into your husband as he's carrying your daughter back to her bassinette.

"Mmh....Eds, did you sleep?"

"A little." Somehow, he's grinning, despite it being so early and him sporting bags under his tired eyes. You hadn't been woken up once that you can remember, not even to breastfeed, which would mean that Eddie had been up with Trin for pretty much the whole night in the nursery. Not unusual, but....well, sometimes you forget he can be pretty thoughtful when he feels like it. With a kiss placed on your daughter's head, and another sleepily pressed to Eddie's lips, you rub your eyes and let your sons take each hand to pull you down the steps to go see what Santa left you all. And, as per usual, only half-listening to their father's nagging to slow it down, so you don't go flying!

Fortunately, by the time you're down the stairs and Eddie's on your heels, you've blinked away snough of the sleep that you can stretch and yawn and shake off the tiredness that had kept you so soft and warm in bed. You let the boys take the lead as they hurry into the living room, and when you turn the corner to join them, you're met with quite the unexpected surprise. One that leaves you so pleasantly shocked that even Eddie can't smother his low, soft laughter as he comes up behind you for a kiss to your ear.

Waiting for your boys at the base of the tree are the gifts you and Eddie had wrapped and placed there, making sure to do so later in the night to give your boys a proper taste of that innocent belief in Santa Claus. But Eddie's ploy of staying up with the baby evidently wasn't all for the reasons he had supposed--you can see now that the stockings you had put up over the back of the couch, purely just for decoration, have been stuffed full to bursting with sweets and little toys and trinkets. You've got three of them, one for each child with their names stitched in by Eddie's careful hands, but there's another one that wasn't there last night. Smaller, cuter, but still with a few goodies inside that look like your favourite chocolates peeking out the top and some fuzzy socks. When you turn to look at him, he doesn't even pretend he wasn't looking, although he swerves around you and does pretend to be occupied with soothing your still-sleeping baby.

"Looks like Santa got a lot of work done, huh, boys?" You call out to them while not breaking your locked stare with your husband, arms crossing over your chest as you exchange a few looks that don't feel as innocent as they once were. Eddie winks in that confident way that stirs a heat up in your belly, before he turns and moves to lay your daughter down in the little handmade cradle by the wall that he's left out since the boys were small enough to sleep in it.

"Uh huh! Mama, look! Santa gave you presents!" Lorien calls right back to you, plopped down right next to his brother as they wait on the rug by the tree, practically vibrating with excitement. You quirk an eyebrow, but Eddie hustles over and distracts them by starting up the train of gift-unwrapping, handing each of them their first present with a warm sort of smile that doesn't come around all that often. With their interests piqued and their excited squeals coming out as they tear through the colourful paper, you pull the crib over a few feet to include your little girl in the festivities and take a seat on the couch. You're definitely still on the mend from Trinity's birth, and you don't mind rocking the little wooden cradle as you watch your children laugh and thank mommy, daddy, and Santa for their new toys.

They're such sweet kids, and you don't feel like you're that amazing of a person, so it's really quite the phenomenon that they've turned out to be such respectful and kind little boys. Elliott is so gentle in helping his little brother open the harder to unwrap presents, and they both hold each side of the gifts they got for you and for Eddie as they place them in your laps, giggling and squirming when they get a hail of kisses on their faces as thanks for the little drawings and handmade necklaces. But after most of the pile has diminished, and your sons are thoroughly wiped out from the excitement and looking forward to breakfast, Eddie tilts his head and gestures towards the kitchen.

"Go get a snack, and watch your cartoons in the den until breakfast. Help your brother open his, El."

"Okay, daddy!" With one of their new toys in hand and one last tight, gripping hug on each side for their beloved father, Elliott grabs Lorien's little hand and leads him towards the kitchen, both sets of adult ears tuning in to hear the sounds of them bustling around before they get to the right cupboard, and hustle into the playroom in a fit of giggles to catch their favourite cartoons. Then, and only then, does Eddie drag out those presents that had been hiding around the back of the tree, and drops them carefully in front of you until there's at least six or seven boxes by your feet. It isn't until you pick one up and read the tag on it that you realize it's addressed to you, and with a nervous bite to your lip you look back at your husband without much to say. Is it a prank? He encourages you to open them, and when you pull one of those mid-sized boxes towards you and gingerly lift the top off, you blink away the surprise of seeing a few nice, soft sweaters lying inside. All three are somewhat similar to cashmere if not the real thing, they're in your size, they're in colours you like....but he brushes off your awed thank-yous and just puts another gift in your lap, waiting anxiously for you to open it and find the hair clips and little makeup set inside that you'd been wanting.

"Eddie....really, you didn't have to get me anything. You didn't have to get me this much."

"Oh, shut your mouth, you little goody-goody. Take the damn gifts." He shakes off your gratitude like a wet dog, and shoves the next present into your hands before you can even fawn over the one you've already got. Yet, despite coming off as aggressive as he can be, he's got that smug smirk crawling its way across his lips whenever you seem shocked or excited at what he had bought you. But when the hail of presents is done with, and Christmas morning has officially wrapped up, you feel a sense of guilt as you thumb through the books and the tapes he had got you for the new cassette player you have. While you've definitely gone without any gift exchanging in other years, you did get him some new work gloves and a pic case with the Metallica logo on it this time, but it doesn't seem like it's enough. And he can tell by the way you meekly apologize for your pathetic gift-giving, although he doesn't scoff or poke fun at you like he usually would. He just....looks down at his hands, and fiddles with the string on his plaid sleep pants before he answers you.

"You gave me three kids, and a life, and....and a reason to live. You didn't need to get me anything, and you shouldn't have, cause...." He trails off, and you sit there slack-jawed in awe of what you're hearing, wondering if that's really what you're hearing, because it's so rare for Eddie to be touchy-feely when he's also being lucid about his own behavior. You know he knows how he acts is cruel at times, which is why he's really toned down since you first got pregnant and when you had the boys and Trinity. I'm not gonna be like my father. That's what he had said, and he's kept his word since then. Even so, he slips up at times, but you never would've thought that even with all the progress he's made, he'd do something like this completely out of the blue. Eddie smiles at some thought he's got in his head, and reaches over to clasp his warm, rough hand over yours, and you turn your wrist so you can hold it back and lace your fingers together as your palms touch. "Sometimes, I only got up in the mornings because I knew I'd get to see you. I'd get to bully that dumb smile off your face and make you cry, and I'd feel something."

Maybe it's something in the air, but you feel the courage well up inside you to bring your entwined hands up to your face, and kiss each one of his knuckles so tenderly. Usually that would serve as an oportunity for Eddie to flick your nose or jab at you for being a cheesy, mushy crybaby, but shockingly again he says nothing and just....smiles again. It feels normal. Maybe he's been doing it more recently, and you just haven't noticed.

"Now I got people that depend on me, I....I got people who care whether I live or die. I can work hard day after day, and know that the ones I love will get something out of it. I'm someone's fucking dad. That's crazy." Just as the words come out of his mouth, you hear the squeals and laughter of your boys in the other room, along with the soft gurgling of your precious little girl as she starts waking up. He really isn't wrong, he works incredibly hard to provide and even when he grumbles and complains as he pulls himself out of bed to cover someone's no-show shift, he still comes home with a tired smile to welcome his boys into a hug and waltzes in to kiss you hello. He teases you to no end but he still holds you when you're in pain, he takes your complaints and worries so seriously and never misses a chance to bring you to the clinic or pick up your medicines if that's what you need. And even after twelve, thirteen, or fourteen hour shifts where everything's gone wrong and he just wants to pass out for the whole evening, you still stir awake to get a bleary-eyed look at his bare back as he stands over Trinity's bassinette, soothing and bottle-feeding her late into the night so you won't have to get up.

"You're an amazing father, Eddie." You lean into him, a kiss pressed to his jaw as you hold his hand so closely to your chest, and even with your head resting on his shoulder and his breath hitching when yours puffs against his skin, he still rumbles out a soft bit of mockery to fill the empty space between.

"Shut up. Fucking softie.....I love you."

"I love you too." You kiss his chin this time, and he takes the hint to tilt his head down and capture your lips when you go in for another. He's chapped and warm, he smells of milk and a bit of menthol along with his cologne, and it's the strangest combination but it so encompasses Eddie as he is now. He's the kind of father that would get his children McDonald's and watch them eat with a smile as his stomach rumbled, and he's the kind of husband that would agree to share your meal just to take the most unintrusive bite of your burger and tell you he's full. And he's the type of man that, if you ever fell back on those hard times again, would do it all over and more if it meant making sure that his wife and children were taken care of. And still he asks for nothing, but you know by the way he had stared down at the drawings and that pic case and traced the insignia that he'll treasure those moments forever--he'll always know that he's loved, and that his sacrifices will always mean something to your family, especially when your kids grow up and find those same values within themselves. Hopefully, with your influence included, without any of those feelings of abandonment or turmoil that Eddie's still working at undoing with you as you both grow older.

As you sit there together, cuddling and holding one another with plentiful thumps of your hearts, you squeeze his arm so tight and let him feel how much love tightens around it in a hug. He looks so peaceful, and you just have to take the chance to teasingly throw his favourite words right back at him as he looks so solemn and lost in thought. "You gonna cry, you little baby?"

"Fuck you," He spits back immediately with a grin, turning to look down on you and following it up with an especially passionate kiss. If it weren't for your kids being in the other room, and for Trinity starting to stir in the crib as she yawns, it probably wouldn't have stopped there. But for now it does, and Eddie helps you to your feet as you hug him close one last time before moving to welcome your little girl into your arms, and see what she's feeling like so you can hopefully omit some oncoming discomfort. Clingy as ever, Eddie snakes his arms around you from behind one last time as you hold her, kissing your cheek over your shoulder and gently bopping Trin's little Munson nose before he whispers his plans for breakfast in your ear, and slips away to duck into the kitchen.

"Boys! Breakfast in ten! Bacon, yes or no?"

"Yes!" The two of them shout back to their father from the playroom, and you chuckle to yourself as he pretends to mishear them just to elicit a playful reaction, as they frantically correct their daddy while you spend a little time tending to your newborn. Thankfully she doesn't seem too hungry yet, just a little restless, so you lay her back down in the crib and make a mental note to remind Eddie to bring the whole thing over to the table so you can all eat as a family. For now, though, you find yourself meandering back through the archway to find your husband at the stove, several pans already laid out and a carton of eggs open as he's in the midst of cracking a few and humming. You recognize the tune, One Night in the City, and you find yourself joining in with a softer voice as you come up from behind, and wrap your arms around him to lovingly rub his belly the way he likes. It's kinda sweet how surprised he always is to find that you've remembered things like that about him, and as always, he has to brush it off with a few words so he doesn't have to acknowledge how special it makes him feel.

"You love me, huh? That's embarrassing." Even so, he grazes the hand you've got on his stomach with his own, smiling silently to himself as he cracks another egg into the pan with a sssh as the whites hit the hot steel.

[sotwk]

hello there, birthday girl!!!!!!! i wish you only great things: inspiration to write, sweet dreams at night, and a lot of wonderful times with your family! i loge yaaaa 💕💌

to participate on your event, is it okay for me to ask for a match with a tolkien character or one of your own oc's? if you don't feel like doing time, it's absolutely fine!

if you want to, here is my oc: Liliana Wilde 🍄⚔️

She is a woodland elf druid, being trained since her teenage years to become the leader of her sanctuary once the leader wants to retire

She's extremely resourceful and cares about all beings, great or small. Her focus is too become wiser so the people at her sanctuary can count on her without fear, she wants to be a good leader

She is chaotic good. Liliana will be totally comprehensive if you happens to be a follower of a bag deity. She will kill you for hurting a dog tho.

Her twin sister left her when she was a teenager, and Liliana hates her so much she changed everything on her appearence not to look like her. She straighten her hair, became a red head, has a lot of tattoos, makes sure to always have some sort of make up on.

She lives wondering about the word (my girl was born to be a philosopher but forced to fight evil forces) which makes her a bit clumsy. Not in a accidentaly-fell kinda of way, but in oh-you-were-being-beat-up-by-a-devil-and-i-didnt-even-noticed kinda of way.

She is the most loyal girl out there. Once she makes the decision of being your friend she is your ride or die. Black cat energy this, golden retriever energy that: my girl is hound dog energy.

She is a necromancer. As a druid she could follow many paths, and decided that that of rotten and decay was more her style. Lots and lots of mushroom around her all the time.

In bg3 she marries Shadowheart and lived happily ever after in a farm until Jaheira is like "hey cub wanna fight some evil?". A workaholic, if you will

She doesnt take hints. Or do you say what you really mean, or she simply wont get it.

On my fanfics I tag her as "the kind druid", and her own quest is named "the lonely twin". (i have a lovely notion page about her that i am really proud of how great it looks/slightly ashamed about how much time i dedicated to it)

love yaaaaa! 🦋

A wanderer elf-druid with an affinity for animals and nature, has serious family-related angst and a bit of a rebellious free-spirit? The necromancer part is especially intriguing!

This one might be a little eyebrow-raising, but bear with me... The SotWK Matchmaking Machine pairs Liliana with:

CELEGORM, 3rd Son of Fëanor!

Is Celegorm a pure villain? Depends on whom you ask, I guess! I personally think the guy has serious issues, but is not necessarily a lost cause. He no longer had a mother to love and guide him, and his less-than-stellar-role model of a father also died. So, in my opinion, he suffered most from having no gentle companion to properly balance his "fire" out. Being joined at the hip with Curufin certainly didn't help. Fire fueling fire obviously gets out of hand.

Liliana strikes me as a lady strong enough to stand up to Celegorm, is lovely (and powerful) enough to attract his attention, and good enough to steer him to a better path. Damn, imagine all the lives that could have been spared. For her part, I think Liliana would be drawn to Celegorm the Fair's wild, feral spirit and passion--and what druid wouldn't be interested in the protégé of The Huntsman himself?

(My Celegorm fancast is Jamie Campbell Bower)

Thank you for trusting me to match up your OC! :)

This OC Matchmaking game is part of SotWK's Summer Campfire Sleepover 2024. (Requests accepted only on July 11-15, 2024.)

[sanniedaysmarsnights]

Pool time! | Imagine 4 - ATEEZ

A/N: I actually wrote this all in begin July last year but finally edited it!!

Taggging: @atinystaywerewolf @haet-sal @a-soft-hornytiny <3 <3 <3

p.s.: I sincerely wonder if the KQ building has a swimming pool or something?? Because holy moly Mingi is like a dolphin in the water yo. Majestic. anyway!

I am sure they can all swim, but if I’d have to pick one of them to probably swim the least it would be Jongho, largely because of how he prefers not to show any skin so yeah haha. Then I’d say Hongjoong, he just doesn’t strike me as much of a swimming person? 

Mingi would probably yeet himself into the water right away and try to make a big splash lolol. I bet he loves playing in pools 😀 Unfortunately Mingi is also the most clumsy out of everyone and would most definitely be the person who ends up swallowing the most pool water out of everyone by accident. What doesn’t help with this is that he also simply happily opens his mouth under water, either because of laughter or to make a little mouth fountain! 

Yeosangie surprised me with his pool pictures since his hair was wet! He somewhat struck me as a person who would prefer to keep their head above water while swimming haha. Although I must say that I do see Yeosang diving and sneaking up on someone too :) 

Despite his arm strength, I fear that Yeo is at a disadvantage at splashing others or defending.I can see the precise face the members would make when they get water splashed towards their face when their heads are still dry hahaha. Yeo to me seems to be more of a stamina swimmer than speedy swimmer and prefers to physically hold his nose while going under water just like Jongho (very cute). The others might as well but mostly just when taking a leap into the pool :). 

Afterwards he might find himself asking why he even got in the pool with these mayhem makers in the first place, or just laughs it off. Probably a bit of both. #drenched maltezer/doberman

Yeo cruising on a big donut or using those floaties like a king? Yes. 

On that note, all of them in donuts, HA.

Jongho would absolutely unironically do those old people water exercises. (Just to be clear I absolutely ADORE those activities). He would prefer to keep his hair dry, but makes the least fuss about when it does end up getting wet. Another thing he would show off about is not being afraid of the water temperature if it happens to be cold. Mingi, however? Good luck, poor bean. Simply put, when something needs to be done, Jongho simply gets it over with. This ruthlessness makes Jongho very feared in the pool! Not that that stops others from teasing him here and there though haha.

Those long pool noodles are fantastic. I bet that every single one would be found simply floating or gently paddling around with them. Wholesome. Most of the boys would be quite open to trying the exercises too if there was not too much chaotic energy going around. The floating items in the pool can be slippery and the boys can be clumsy, so some yelping, flailing and toppling over is to be expected. Hongies or Mingi’s face when they accidentally get hit in the face with a pool toy? (Just for your own mental wellbeing imagine that with all the boys. I promise it will be a great experience of cuteness.) Also the smol paddling on the pool noodles. Legendary material. 

Hwa strikes me as one of those people who would simply dunk their heads into the water just because they are in it. Even if they are in hip deep water he would simply splash his head to feel fresh. It is a part of swimming! Watch out or Hwa might think of splashing other members who are not as daring to get wet!!! Hwa swooping his hair back after dunking in though.. wow. What a sight. At most Hwa would splash people somewhat cutely, or simply break up water fights and try to make peace. Momhwa in action.

Seonghwa does strike me as the most basic swimmer of the team. He is the most casual at the pool, just doing his laps or floating about to observe what is going on. He may try to race some of the others, but besides that he is fairly steady in his energy levels. 

Sannie would probably jump and or dive into the water so that boy is going to get entirely wet anyway. Still doesn’t like getting water splashed in his face though which makes him an easy target for teasing! 

Did you lose sight of San and can’t find him anywhere either in or outside of the pool? Check under water! This silly bean may randomly decide to just hang out down there, seeing how long he can hold his breath while sitting on the bottom as if it is the most ordinary thing in the world. He enjoys challenging the others to see who can hold their breaths the longest, but it is much harder to convince them of this than to race them. Then there are also the cheeky cheaters who sneakily try to catch some air while they think they can get away with it. 

Yunho ignores pool ladders on the way in. Honestly most of them do. He will first sit down with his legs in the pool and then hop in, or when feeling playful he will just jump in. Diving is a little scary to me sometimes, because with my height I feel like I hit the bottom more easily? Bumping into it can be so painful :(  

Yunho is a very big kid, full of energy. Sporty as he is, he would probably race Mingi and San and whoever else decides to join. 

Wooyoung? A little menace we all love. He would definitely start most of the splashing fights, but despite his enthusiasm and persistence he isn’t the best splasher in the pool! (Especially fear those big paddle hands on Yunho). So from time to time he too ends up having to retreat, squeaking his defeat. We all know that at this point he will already be planning for his revenge however haha. If Woo isn’t bothering San, San is bothering Woo. No WooSan? Time to bother other people hehe.. 

Eventually when Wooyoung begins to tire out, but doesn’t want to get out of the pool yet he simply koala clings to people. Being clung to can sometimes be fun and cozy, but can also be very tiring! Especially since he may constantly be asking for attention in some way shape or form, probably trying to tickle or press kisses onto his host. The little demon :) 

Speaking of this little demon? He is the person who would intentionally swallow some pool water when someone is looking, just to freak them out. 

The poor babies who try to keep their hair dry (RIP to all the dyed hair in chlorine pools yall) because they are bound to get DUNKED. One who dunks should prepare for the revenge though, which may make schemers more wary, but not back off entirely! Jongho, Yeosang and Hongjoong I am warning you.. Poor little wet puppy Yeosang though.. Boy just got dunked and is too stunned to take revenge for a minute or two. And when taking that revenge he risks getting even more splattered, so he might just try to hide from any oncoming attacks instead. Definitely would use meat shields!

I can already see Mingi jumping up out of the water with his hands on Yunho’s shoulders, trying to push him under water and vice versa. WHICH BRINGS ME TO THE NEXT SUBJECT; Riding on each other’s shoulders!!!!! Teams would quickly form and battles are bound to begin. Which team will remain standing the longest? Something tells me Wooyoung and Yeosang would make a shockingly sturdy team! 

Hongjoong is on team Yeosang about swimming. He would probably prefer to sit on the side to read his book rather than swim. There is no chance the other members would leave him alone on the subject though, and even gets splashed all the way from the pool. Hongie gets dragged into the pool activities eventually, and I sure hope for this baby that they are not all hanging out in the deeper pools, cuz this man is smol. 100% team why did I get in the pool, and stunned at how splashed, dunked and wet he is. Poor captain definitely tries to defend himself, but I am not so sure there is any way to win this for him unless he gets to team up with others. He would absolutely revel in getting his revenge though, oh fear this little man’s powers. In the end he may be the biggest shiverer, perhaps with Woo.

The members would also absolutely not shy away from pushing or even yeeting the others into the pool. Oh the screams, how they would be music to my ears hahaha. 

Outside of the pool I think all of them would be wearing sunglasses at one point or another. Why resist the fun of stealing other people their sunglasses to try them on or tease them? “No Woo you’ll get them wet!” Someone to Woo, probably. Yunho wearing multiple sunglasses all at once and making faces with them. When they run and try to get their glasses back Hongie, Hwa, Yeo or Jongho would immediately scold them “No running by a pool!”. “Don’t you drop them!” the sunglass owners may shout, to which the others react “Someone has different priorities” hahaha. Sannie would eventually steal the sunglasses back and return them to their rightful owners. 

At the end of the day, they would all look incredibly breathtaking. And now I would like to put the image of them in those cute little arm floaties in your mind. You’re welcome <3

[lou-bonfightme]

Toulouse simply nodded once, not meeting Hades' eye. Instead, he took up Belle's usual position at Hades' elbow, picking up the dishes he'd already started washing and the towel folded on the counter. He liked doing the dishes, actually. Actually, he found he liked many chores. Folding laundry, sweeping the floor, doing the dishes--

These things soothed him, the same way painting did. They allowed him to busy his hands and quiet his mind and he liked the way things looked when he was done with them. Clean and sparkling. It always made him feel a little lighter. Like he'd scrubbed his mind fresh too. At least for a moment, it wasn't full of clutter.

Now, the drying was really something to do with his hands. And to give him time to organize his thoughts. After all, there were many, tumbling around each other like a washing machine in his head. They felt just as riotous and clumsy. Perhaps, he should have prepared more for this. It had been more impulse than anything, Lou drawn to Hades' side the way he always was: unable to help himself otherwise. It was infuriating and off-putting and Lou wanted to say that:

You're infuriating. You're off-putting. I missed you. I am sorry.

He knew which of those things he should say, but did he really need to? Hades had accepted him back easy as breathing. There had been nothing but a hand extended. Sure, there had been...promises--of therapy, but Lou had already promised that to Belle anyway. (In the back of his mind, he knew he had to start that...but he was putting it off. After the wedding perhaps. Things would be too chaotic before then. Besides, Lou with a goal, with a sense of purpose--was a Lou whose brain was calm, singularly-focused.

I missed you. I am sorry.

The thoughts came back like a drumbeat. Like the heartbeat Lou could hear. Hades'. The same steady metronome it always was. Lou had missed his heart.

His own clenched in his chest. He kept his eyes focused on the plate the he was drying.

"I wanted to apologize." The words tasted like gravel in his mouth and felt just as hard to say, but he forced the words from his lips anyway, trusting Hades not to make a big deal of it. If Toulouse could apologize to sweet, emotional, saccharine Belle--he could manage it with stoic, logical Hades.

So, why did it feel so much harder?

Crooked Love, Straight Line Down || [LOUD]

[delacyrose224]

Loser=Lover

Pairing: Gryffindor!Beomgyu x Hufflepuff!reader

Words: 2.9k

Warnings/rating: SFW, Hogwarts!AU, Friends/Annoyances to Lovers, Beomgyu is both chaotic and soft, breaking and entering occurs, reader is clumsy, Beomgyu is the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, brief appearance by Slytherin!Yeonjun, reader previously had a humongous crush on Ravenclaw!Taehyun (so that's fun), brief mention of Hufflepuff!Kai, I swear I also love Soobin but he didn't make his way into this fic (whoops)

Author's Note: This takes place in the same universe as my story Chameleon Boy, just several years later after the BTS crew has graduated. Loosely loosely based on Loser=Lover, in the sense that these two didn't get along but Beomgyu always wanted to impress her/liked her. Feedback is always welcome...enjoy!

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

“Good game, Violet.” Gryffindor’s shaggy black haired Keeper bumps shoulders with you, a smirk turning the corners of his mouth.

Still euphoric over the unexpected win your team had pulled over Gryffindor, you turn, eyebrows knit in confusion.

He reaches behind you and gently tugs on your ponytail, making you realize...oh. He’s talking about your hair. Freshly dyed purple at the ends, just to change things up for your 6th year. Wait, why does he think it’s okay to tug on your hair?!

“What is this, grade school? Leave my hair alone! And my name’s not Violet,” you huff, swatting his hand away.

He shrugs, the smirk still lingering on his face. “I know. You’ve got a lot of bite for a Hufflepuff, you know? I thought you were supposed to be kind or something…”

“I am kind. To people who don’t pull my hair.”

“Oh, lighten up, Vi. You’re clearly the MVP of the game, go celebrate with your friends. I’ll see you in class.” He bumps shoulders with you again, saluting you as he walks off to join his Gryffindor teammates.

Choi Beomgyu. Star Keeper for Gryffindor, team captain. Potions mastermind (to the chagrin of Slytherin house, which you had to admit you enjoyed). Prankster extraordinaire, second only to the legendary Fred and George Weasley.

You knew each other through Quidditch, though not very well. Usually you’d be the one telling him good game, as Gryffindor blew through the competition on the way to the Quidditch Cup. You supposed it was nice that he came over and told you good game...it was a good game. You’d made several spectacular saves that had cleared the way for Kai, Hufflepuff’s Seeker, to catch the Snitch early in the game.

But that didn’t explain why he felt the need to give you a nickname and pull on your hair. He was cute, and could get away with a lot, but this was too much. If he tried to say something else in class, you’d give him a piece of your mind.

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

“Your Pygmy Puff matches you...maybe I should call you Puff instead of Violet, huh? Since you’re in Hufflepuff too and all.” Beomgyu sidles up to you, peering over your shoulder at the purple creature cupped in your hands. You can feel your eye twitching as you turn to glare at him.

“Do not call me Puff,” you hiss under your breath, quiet enough so you won’t draw your professor’s attention.

“Violet it is, then!” His eyes sparkle with laughter, and he’s clearly working very hard to contain himself from bursting with glee.

You let out a loud hmph, and turn away from the boy next to you. This does nothing to deter him, as he simply follows you so you’re making eye contact again.

“What do you want, Beomgyu? Is there a specific reason you’ve chosen to torment me, or did you just randomly choose someone when you rolled out of bed this morning?” You nod towards his mop of hair that is messier than usual. He hurriedly runs his hands through his hair, which does nothing except make it worse. You can’t help but laugh, which makes his own grin grow wider.

“Can’t I just spend time with my favorite Hufflepuff Keeper? C’mon, don’t be mean, Violet…”

You scoff. “We barely know each other, Choi. Quidditch is the only time we ever interact.” He rolls his eyes at your statement.

“I know that, that’s why I said you’re my favorite Hufflepuff Keeper, not my favorite Hufflepuff. You’ve got to work to earn that title.” He winks obnoxiously at you.

“Don’t get too cocky, you’re no Kill ‘Em Kim,” you reply, referencing Gryffindor’s captain that graduated two years prior.

“You think you’re so smart, but guess what? I know that too, Vi…I've got my own charms, I don’t need to copy Seokjin.”

“And what are those? Your hyena laugh and your need to piss off every Slytherin with your pranks?”

“So I am charming to you, then. Good to know,” Beomgyu cackles (like a hyena, as you pointed out). “Speaking of those pranks you mentioned, it’s been a while...wanna help me with my next one? Come with me to Hogsmeade and we’ll go to Zonko’s. I’ll show you just how smart I really am.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why are you so interested in hanging out with me?”

“I’m interested, because you’re interesting, get with the program. You dyed your hair, you must have known it would draw attention to you. So here I am, drawn in by the siren call of your purple strands. Don’t leave me to crash on the rocks, Violet...I’m just asking to go to Hogsmeade.”

There’s several beats of silence as you stare at Beomgyu. He doesn’t get uncomfortable, doesn’t look away. He just holds eye contact with you as if you’ve known each other for years.

“...fine.”

He whoops with delight, drawing an irritated stare from your professor. Beomgyu at least has the sense to duck his head at this, suddenly very interested in the Pygmy Puff in your hands, pink dusting his cheeks.

You can’t help the smile that fights its way onto your face at his reaction, and he catches it, looking awfully pleased with himself.

What had you gotten yourself into?

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

A few days later, you’re trudging up the path to Hogsmeade with Beomgyu by your side. The two of you are trailing behind your best friend Evelyn and her nemesis-turned-possible-love-interest, Yeonjun.

“Five galleons on them dating by Christmas,” Beomgyu suddenly whispers in your ear, the sensation sending visible shivers down your spine. “Are you okay? Here, take this, I didn’t think it would be that cold today.” You suddenly are enveloped by a gold and maroon striped cardigan, the boy walking alongside you giving you a lopsided grin as he sees you relax into its warmth.

“...thanks,” you mutter quickly, too embarrassed to tell him you’re not shivering from the cold. You look ahead to see Yeonjun elbowing your friend in the side while laughing aloud. “I think you’re right about those two...she always acts like he annoys her, but I think she secretly enjoys the attention,” you gently poke fun at your friend.

“Junnie’s a good guy. Annoying sometimes, but he can’t help it, he’s a Slytherin.” You raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“How do you know Yeonjun? This is my first time meeting him in person, even though she talks about him all the time.”

Beomgyu leans in conspiratorially. “Well, funny you should ask, Violet...Yeonjun was the victim of my very first Hogwarts prank. It wasn’t as good as the ones I do now, but I did manage to turn his eyebrows pink.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Your first prank was on a Slytherin who’s older than you?”

“What can I say, I live life dangerously.” His eyes sparkle with laughter as his hand brushes yours as you walk side by side. Before you can reply, he’s grabbed your hand and is dragging you forward, breaking into a run as Hogsmeade comes into view.

“See ya later, losers!” He cackles as the two of you sprint past Yeonjun and Evelyn, heading straight for the entrance of Zonko’s.

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

An hour later, the two of you emerge from Zonko’s surprisingly empty-handed. You had convinced Beomgyu that pranking the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team was, in fact, a bad idea. He had whined at you continuously for being ‘too serious’ and ‘mean’, but you had stood your ground, promising to buy him a Butterbeer for his troubles.

“You just don’t want me pranking Taehyun...don’t think I don’t notice the way you look at him.” Beomgyu glares at you, bottom lip jutting into a pout.

You match his glare even while you feel the heat emanating from your cheeks. “I had a crush on Taehyun when I was like, 14!” you sputter.

“You didn’t even go with him to the Yule Ball that year, can’t have been that significant,” he shrugs.

The heat on your cheeks is now spreading through the rest of your body. “If you must know, I didn’t go with anyone to the Yule Ball because no one asked me.”

Beomgyu’s glare softens as he glances over at you, rubbing the back of his neck. “I would’ve asked you if I’d known you back then.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. We were both on our respective Quidditch teams by then, and you knew me. You went with that French girl, the 6th year? Beauxbatons champion?” you scoff.

“But I didn’t really know you...I just kind of knew of you. We hadn’t had a class together or anything…” he trails off quietly.

You can’t stop the snort of derision that comes flying out of your mouth. “Gyu, stop. I don’t need your pity, or anything else...now that you know me, would you really ask me to anything like the Yule Ball?”

“...yes?” Beomgyu’s eyes widen as he raises an eyebrow.

“Tell me why.”

“You’re cool, good at Quidditch, smart, way smarter than me. Funny. And you’re pretty, obviously.” He ticks off each adjective on his fingers, no trace of humor on his face.

You narrow your eyes, and he holds his hands up in surrender.

“What?! I’m just telling the truth!” he exclaims.

“...you are, aren’t you? You just...say what you think, all the time.” You stare in disbelief at the boy in front of you.

“Yeah? Why would I not? Sure, some people think I’m stupid, or brash, or whatever else. But the people who are important know me for who I really am. People like you.” Beomgyu elbows you playfully before locking hands with you, dragging you to the opposite end of Hogsmeade.

You’d deny it to anyone who asked, but you can’t help your stomach doing a flip as he intertwines his fingers with yours, a grin working its way onto your face.

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

Your grin leaves your face as you stumble into Beomgyu, who has suddenly stopped in front of a large, derelict house. The air feels stale around you, and the hustle and bustle of the village has been left behind.

“W-what is this place?” you squeak out.

“The Shrieking Shack...it’s supposed to be haunted. Voldemort used it as headquarters during The Battle of Hogwarts, and it’s where Severus Snape was killed,” Beomgyu breathes reverently.

Your hand is on Beomgyu’s arm in a vice grip, your knuckles turning white. “So why are we here?”

“We’re going inside, I wanna see what it’s like. It’s gotta be so cool!” The shaggy haired boy beside you looks genuinely excited, no trace of nerves. He walks toward a boarded up window, you following closely behind. He starts poking around the edges of the window, pulling gently at the boards at first, then with more force. Suddenly, there’s a large crack as one of the boards splinters in half, leaving a small opening behind.

“After you, Violet,” Beomgyu smiles at you, his hands cupped together to give you a boost up to crawl through. You swallow thickly before stepping into his grip, grabbing onto the opening and squeezing your way through, tumbling onto a dusty landing. You cough as the dust settles around you, Beomgyu calling up to you to make sure you’re okay.

“I’m fine...it’s just dusty!” you call back, scrambling to your feet. All of a sudden, there’s a loud noise from outside...as you try to peer out of the opening you just came through, you find yourself nose to nose with Beomgyu, whose head is hanging through the hole in the window.

“I took a running start, jumped and climbed up,” he huffs, his breath fanning out over your face from how close he is. You back away hastily, but stay close enough to offer him your hand to help him through the hole that’s too small for his lanky body. He shoves his hand into yours, and you pull while he attempts to leverage his long legs to his advantage. It feels like you’re playing tug of war with each other for a few minutes, until you’re falling backwards onto the floor in a mess of limbs.

Beomgyu’s long hair is falling into your eyes, he’s elbowing you in the side and your legs are awkwardly tangled together. As he pulls himself up onto his elbows, you find yourself gazing up into his eyes. The two of you freeze momentarily, not speaking and just staring at each other. Suddenly, he unfreezes himself, only to land a quick kiss on your cheek. He then offers you his hand as he scrambles off the floor, which you take, only to crash into his chest as he pulls you up. He grabs your arms to steady you, catching your gaze once again. Have his eyes always been this pretty?

A laugh makes its way past your lips, which leads Beomgyu to let out his signature cackle as well. “Let’s explore!” he exclaims, barreling off towards the staircase to the second floor. You follow closely behind, staircase creaking under your combined weight. The two of you peer through each doorway, nothing particular of note to see. Lots of dusty furniture, boarded up windows with streams of sunlight fighting their way through, and a general eerie vibe throughout the house. Deciding there’s nothing of note, Beomgyu begins to descend the stairs with you trailing behind. Just as you’re about to reach the bottom, your foot falls through a step, the rotted wood giving out underneath you. You windmill your arms, trying to keep your balance but to no avail. You fall headlong into Beomgyu’s waiting arms in what feels like slow motion. He had turned when the step broke, and prepared himself for the inevitable disaster that was to follow.

You look up at him, his arms tucked underneath yours, hoisting you back onto your feet. “You’re really falling for me today, aren’t you, Vi?” he smirks, helping you dust yourself off.

“You wish,” you snap, embarrassed in more than one way.

“Maybe I do.” He shrugs, giving you a smirk before heading towards the front door. “But right now, I think you owe me a Butterbeer?”

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

You stride over to your table, two mugs of frothy Butterbeer in tow. You slide one over to Beomgyu, who’s sitting across from you. He raises the glass towards you and then takes a large gulp. As he places it down on the table again, he’s left with a mustache made of foam.

You laugh at how goofy he looks, shaking your head at him. He raises an eyebrow questioningly at you, and in reply you lean over the table, swiping your thumb slowly over his upper lip, removing the offending foam. His eyes go wide, looking more shocked the longer your hand stays touching his face. As you go to sit back down, he catches your hand in his and holds it across the table. It’s your turn for your eyes to go wide.

“What are you doing?” you murmur.

Expecting a brash, confident answer, you’re shocked when the boy across from you matches your tone-quiet, unsure, and nervous.

“...I just wanted to hold your hand.” Beomgyu looks up at you shyly through his shaggy hair, a small smile gracing his features. You give his hand a small squeeze in reply, lifting your Butterbeer to your mouth to hide the smile threatening to take over your whole face.

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

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon hand in hand, exploring the shops in Hogsmeade. You make sure to steer clear of the Shrieking Shack, and any of the other old, possibly haunted buildings in town.

As the sun starts setting, you begin the journey back to Hogwarts, one hand filled with bags of candy from Honeydukes, the other intertwined with Beomgyu’s. Just as the castle is coming into view, you suddenly trip over a tree root in the path, losing your balance. Your bags go flying to the ground, your grip on Beomgyu lost as you flail helplessly, trying to keep yourself upright-but to no avail. The ground is swiftly approaching, and just as you squeeze your eyes shut...you stop.

You carefully open your eyes, and see the path several inches from your face. Turning your head, you see that Beomgyu has also dropped his bags, and both his arms are wrapped around your midsection, keeping you from hitting the ground. He gently squeezes you as he pulls you upright, concern etched across his face.

“Violet, are you okay?” He looks you over, checking for any injuries.

You can’t help the grin this time, and there’s no Butterbeer to hide behind. Before you can think too hard about it, you push upwards on your tiptoes and land a quick kiss on Beomgyu’s lips. You can feel your cheeks flaming, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care too much.

“Just falling for you, Gyu. That’s all.”

Your reply paired with the kiss leaves a dopey smile on the boy in front of you’s face. He recovers after a few minutes of shock, leaning in close to you and surprising you with another kiss. This one’s a little longer, his mouth molding to yours and applying insistent pressure that leaves you slightly lightheaded. As Beomgyu leans back, he gives you a smirk matched with one of his signature cackling laughs.

“I knew it.”

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

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[queenshelby]

Fan with Benefits (Part One)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1,058

Warning: None

Notes: As usual, this is fiction and has nothing to do with Cillian’s real life.

You’ve been working at the Dublin Art Gallery for the past five months in sales and acquisition and tonight was the opening night of the exhibition.

You were off duty and attended the gala with one of your best friends, Katherine, who loved modern art and abstract paintings just as much as you did.

As expected, the evening was busy and there were many celebrities around who attended the gala.

’It’s Cillian Murphy, right over there’ your friend Katherine eventually pointed out and, sure enough, when you looked over towards him, he noticed you too and smiled.

‘Oh my god, he just looks as good in real life’ you observed, cheeks flushing and it was obvious to you that he was still looking over towards you.

You tried hard to straighten up your short black dress and make a serious expression and perhaps even look somewhat elegant when you sipped on your glass of champagne, but your efforts were futile. As usual, you were rather clumsy, especially when you were wearing high heels.

‘He is still looking at you’ Katherine then pointed out and you glanced over again only just to look away from him quickly.

‘I am sure he is just looking at the painting behind me’ you said, looking at the rather abstract artwork in front of which you were standing.

‘He’s coming over’ Katherine then giggled, knowing how much you adored him in his movies and Peaky Blinders. Clearly, you were a little star struck by him.

Nervously, you watched him come closer and closer until he was standing directly in front of you.

‘I’ve been told that you work here’ he suddenly said to you as he stood right in front of you and Katherine and you couldn’t help but nod nervously.

‘Yes, but it’s my night off’ you shuddered while forcing out a smile.

‘I can see that’ Cillian chuckled. His smile was simply mesmerising.

‘You can?’ you asked, fidgeting as you did.

‘You are drinking champagne…a fair bit of it if I may add’ Cillian then pointed, causing you to bite your lip with embarrassment.

‘I might still be able to help you or, if you prefer, I can get Callum, my manger’ you then said nervously.

‘I am sure you will be able to’ he then winked before telling you that he was interested in purchasing one of the paintings.

‘Uhm, which one?’ you asked, looking around to ascertain what had caught his interest.

‘Common, I will show you’ Cillian suggested and, of course, you nodded and followed him.

When he showed you the painting, you weren’t really surprised. The piece was modern but yet elegant.

‘Well, I cannot sell the painting to you tonight, but I can take a deposit and mark it as sold and then you can finalise the deal when the exhibition concludes in six weeks’ you told him as you required authorisation from your boss.

‘That will do, thank you’ Cillian responded and you suggested that he follows you to the office so that you can take the deposit and fill out the purchase order.

***

After you sat down behind your desk, you typed up the particulars rather quickly which was difficult after the two glasses of champagne you had and due to the fact that Cillian’s presence made you rather nervous.

‘I need your phone number please’ you then said nervously, not wanting to sound like a stalker or total weirdo.  ‘Just so I can process the sale’ you then quickly explained as Cillian had raised one of his eyebrows at you.

‘Of course’ Cillian responded before reading out his mobile phone number for you.

‘What’s yours?’ he then asked suddenly, catching you by surprise.

‘Mine?’ you wondered.

‘Your phone number’ he chuckled.

‘Why?’ you asked.

‘In case I need to contact you about the sale. I would much rather deal with you directly as, the truth is, I don’t like Callum very much’ Cillian explained and it was very difficult for you to argue with him the way he looked at you.

‘Uhm, alright’ you said before reading out your mobile phone number and watching him type it into his phone.

‘Your name?’ he then asked, realising that you didn’t introduce yourself to him.

‘Y/N’ you said shyly, cheeks flushing red.

‘Well, it was nice to meet you Y/N’ Cillian said after finalising the particulars with you and paying the deposit.

***

When you returned to the gallery, Katherine was quick to ask you a million questions, wanting to know what Cillian was like, what said and even what he smelled like.

She was as obsessed with him as you were and wanted to know everything.

You both couldn’t help but watch Cillian for the rest of the evening and, surely, he must have noticed, glancing over towards you numerous times throughout the night until, suddenly, he was gone.

***

The following day, you received a phone call which was rather unexpectant.

‘Is that Y/N?’ a familiar voice asked.

‘Yes, who is this?’ you asked somewhat annoyed, thinking that this was yet another one of those telemarketing calls.

‘It’s Cillian�� the man then said and, when you didn’t respond, he added ‘Cillian Murphy’.

‘Uhm, right, hey…how can I help?’ you asked surprised.

‘Callum called me this morning and told me that I should have signed the purchase order. He said that he will make an exception for me and that I can simply sign it when I pick up the painting in six weeks when the exhibition ends. The problem is, I won’t be in Dublin then and my architect will pick it up for me. So, I want to get this purchase order signed in advance’ Cillian explained.

‘Of course, yes. I can make arrangements for that’ you told him.

‘Perhaps I can come to your place and sign? How does 7 o’clock tonight sound?’ Cillian then asked.

‘You want to come to my place? Why not the gallery?’ you asked somewhat confused.

‘Because I am in London and won’t get back until you close up for the day. What’s your address?’ Cillian explained.

‘Uhm, it’s Unit 6, 7 Lakeview Hill Road, Donnybrook’ you said nervously.

‘Can you text this to me?’ Cillian asked and, of course, you agreed and confirmed that you would see him at 7 o’clock at your apartment.

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[soulmate-game]

New fic *test*

New Bio!dad Bruce story? I’m testing out this first chapter, and if I like where it’s going I might add it to my growing pile of WIPs. If I have inspiration, I might as well use it. Because of life events stressing me the hell out, I’m throwing any writing plans out the window and I’m purely gonna write to destress right now. Whether that means updating THG or not, or continuing Maribat March, we’ll just have to see how this all pans out. Things are subject to day-to-day change.

I got inspiration from this from rereading my day 1 story for Bio!dad Bruce Wayne month from last year. I’m just gonna change a few things.

—*—*—*—*—*

For once, an unfamiliar face attracted the attention of everyone who caught even a glimpse of them. It wasn’t even because of the person themselves at first, but their dress. The skirt like the most fantastical of storybook ball gowns, fluffy layers of satin over a luxurious petticoat, with a stunning pink floral pattern whose busy appearance was tastefully offset by a shorter, sheer layer of leaf green tulle artistically weaved and somehow sculpted over the floral in order to tame it. The effect turned what should be a grandmotherly pattern into something softer, sophisticated and youthful and yet also reminiscent of fairytale princesses. Over top the short layer of green tulle was an even shorter later of white tulle, almost invisible except for the elegant embroidery of crystal-white vines that twined all over it, connecting the green below it to the bottom-most floral pattern and oddly adding a layer of childishness instead of maturity. At the waist of the dress was a dark plum pink satin ribbon, to separate the elaborate ballgown skirt from the bodice. Attached to the simple ribbon was a large brooch of fabric flowers, with a single plastic ladybug in the center.

The bodice of the dress came up into a cheongsam neckline, but was sleeveless. It was a simple design, of half green and half dark pink, with a white border separating the two. The white border had expertly done embroideries in a soft silver thread that would only be visible close up, the images the thread made being that of fairies and ladybugs dancing around one another.

It was, all in all, a stunning display that made the small eurasian woman wearing them look like absolute royalty. Perhaps a long lost fairy princess. Her black-blue hair was even done up in elaborate looping braids and a braided bun, with silver and green pins that further completed the regal ensemble. And yes, while the expertly done dress was what initially captivated her current audience, it was not what kept them from leaving her alone. That was all her personality, bubbly and bright as her blinding smile. It was a sunny disposition that very few people present had any exposure to at all, and it drew them like a sunflower to the daylight. They could not help but flock closer, or even just stand back and keep themselves turned to her presence. Already she had been at the gala for two hours, but there was no issue. She just kept proving her generosity, admitting she had donated both a dress and a suit of her own making to the charity auction that would begin soon, one of the main attractions of the gala. She skillfully charmed the more snooty of the attendants, and artfully twisted her words so that they felt compelled to donate more money that they truly had no use for. Later, they would remember their donation and wonder what compelled it, but come up with no satisfying answer.

And yet she was entirely unaware of her more silent audience, who stood back and observed. Truth be told, every one of them was glad to not be the center of that attention for a change, to have room to breathe for so long at an event where usually that commodity was so scarce that it demanded a fierce competition for. Compared to her garden of color, they were all shadows in shades of blacks and blues and whites, with a touch of red here and there that was entirely too thematic for their home city. The one who sported a royal blue suit tilted his head at the scene they were all calmly witnessing, his bright azure eyes glittering.

“She’s like magic,” he mused, clearly enchanted despite having not said a single word to the woman. “Perfect socialite. She’s kind, generous, she made that dress and the ones she donated to the auction herself so she’s obviously got an intimidating amount of skill for her age. She even tricks those old fuddy-duddies into spending money. It’s like a dream come true!”

“I don't trust it,” the one to his right said, a man just a few inches shorter in a classic black suit with a red dress shirt underneath. He absently swept his bangs away from his face as he narrowed his eyes at the woman. “It seems too perfect. She doesn’t have any identifiable character flaw, except maybe being a little clumsy and too energetic. She does babble a little… but nothing that actually suggests any depth besides her just being— good. That’s impossible, and I don’t trust it.”

“Tt. I agree with Drake for once. She seems entirely too comfortable with this setting, despite her blushes and rambles,” the one who spoke this like was taller, clearly a teen in the middle of his growth spurt. He, too, wore a plain black suit but his had subtle charcoal embroidery and he wore an emerald-green dress shirt under it that made his matching eyes gleam dangerously. “It seems almost playacted. Expertly so, but nonetheless not entirely genuine.”

“Wow, not many pick up on that. I’m gonna give your observations a solid eight out of ten. They’re all perfectly sound, but not quite complete,” a new voice made all of the silent group stiffen— somehow they had been snuck up on. The newcomer smirked at them as if having fully expected their reaction but still being pleased at being able to evoke it. This was yet another stunner; far too much color in her outfit to be a Gotham native, and far too much skill in the construction for it to signify anything less than extreme influence. She had bright golden-blond hair that was coiled into a low bun, with her bangs artfully curled and arranged to display her crystal blue eyes.

In contrast to the garden-themed dress of the Eurasian woman who had garnered their attention at first, this newcomer was wearing a pantsuit. It was all in a dark honey-gold, in a stiff fabric with construction that made it lay entirely in perfect, straight lines and hug her form in the right places. Black embroidery decorated the long, flared sleeves and pant legs and dripped around the square neckline like a faux necklace. A cape made out of the same material as the rest of the pantsuit was draped on one shoulder. It started out as the same honey-gold color, but it became a gradient as it faded to a solid black at the ends. Gold thread embroidery decorated the solid black bottom of the cape in delicate, deceptively simplistic swirls. The top half of the pantsuit was clearly inspired by military garb, simultaneously rigidly constructed yet fitted, with circular onyx buttons going down the center of the chest and a thick metal belt, all in swirling silver and black, sat perfectly clasped around her waist. It was far more solid-colored and simplistic compared to the fairytale dress in the center, but no less show stopping and luxurious. It simply showcased an entirely different attitude, almost as if the two women could never get along if their personalities matched their outfits.

“And who are you?” The man who had been the center of the group of shadow-like adults spoke up, back straightening to milk every speck of his generous six-feet-and-three-inches of height. This was none other than Bruce Wayne, the host of this annual charity gala. And normally, his current stance would either intimidate or utterly charm whoever it was directed at— but not this pantsuit-clad blond warrior. Her smirk merely widened, and her blue eyes took on a slight shade of teal as if trying to mimic the dangerous ocean depths.

“I am Chloe Bourgeois, the daughter of Andre Bourgeois, the mayor of Paris, and Audrey Bourgeois, the Style Queen. It’s nice to meet you again, Monsieur Wayne,” she introduced herself imperiously. “I also happen to be the best friend of the girl you were just staring at.”

Bruce nodded, but had trouble reconciling this clear powerhouse of a woman with the bratty and entitled preteen he had met years ago, at the last gala she had attended with her mother. “Of course, I didn’t recognize you at first Chloe. You’ve grown a lot since the last Gala I saw you at.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose, clearly not appreciating the reminder. “I was a bitch,” she admitted easily, seemingly not at all bothered by the confession. It caused not only Bruce but also the oldest three of his sons, who had all also met her in the past, to blink in silent shock. “Things have changed. Paris is apparently the perfect chaotic environment right now to promote emotional growth and smack spoiled kids over the head with reality,” she shrugged. Part of the reason her and her whole class had even been able to come to the Gala in the first place was the fact that Bruce wanted to offer the most attacked group of Parisians a respite and some support from their crazy lives. The fact that even Gotham seemed sane in comparison to Paris was a bit of a hard hit for both involved parties, but in the end everyone understood that “more sane” didn’t always equate with ��less dangerous.” Considering all that, Chloe had no reason to sugarcoat the situation in her home city. “But it wasn’t easy at all, and Marinette was largely responsible for my improvement too.”

“Marinette?” The heathen who somehow got away with attending a gala in a black leather jacket over a dress shirt and suit pants asked, raising a brow. Chloe nodded.

“The girl you were just goggling at. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the class president and resident workaholic. Does she ever sleep? Nobody knows,” Chloe shrugged.

The blue-suited man, Dick Grayson, shot a suspicious glance at Tim, who was standing to his right, as if he was worried his brother had made a female clone of himself just so he could continue to work hard and never rest. Tim ignored him and sipped from the thermos of coffee he had somehow snuck in.

Bruce cleared his throat to bring the focus back onto himself, and shot his most charming smile at Chloe. “They would have known who she was, if they had read the brief information I gave them about your class. But they never do listen to me,” he complained with good humor. “But back to the original topic, Miss Bourgeois, do you care to correct us on how our observations are lacking?”

Chloe laughed easily, smiling and nodding to indicate Marinette, still stuck in a circle of socialites and not seeming the least bit worn out.

“Of course. First; She is not completely acting. She really is like magic sometimes— disgustingly kind, generous, far too willing to help just about anyone for just about any reason. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, as much as it pains me to admit it. But she is exaggerating her personality a bit and hiding the parts she doesn’t want anyone to see, so there is a little acting involved. Just not as much as you seem to think,” Chloe then waved her arm in a flourish as if she were presenting Marinette to them. “In short; behold Mari Dupain-Cheng, the ridiculously likeable, disgustingly cute, extremely philanthropic mask that she shows everyone at public events like this. You don’t see any of the insomnia, or the anxiety, or the self doubt. Just the parts she wants you to see, accompanied with a smile to blind you to everything else,” her all-too-deep blue eyes settled back on Bruce then, a knowing glint shining in them. “Don’t you think that’s ridiculously similar to Brucie Wayne for you, Monsieur? Utterly, ridiculously, similar?”

Bruce grit his teeth. He hadn’t expected anyone else to know about his exceptionally well hidden secret, not even his kids had caught on or found his buried evidence yet. Yet his heiress comes up, nearly flaunting her knowledge in his face with all too many unspoken questions and criticisms.

And her cryptic words had succeeded in making all of his kids look at him with extreme suspicion. Shit.

“What are you saying, Miss Bourgeois?” he cautiously prodded. She hummed noncommittally before dropping the bomb all too casually;

“I’m saying I’ve seen her adoption papers, and you won’t be able to run from her for long Monsieur Wayne. As soon as she gets an opening, she’s going to pounce,” Chloe’s eyes glittered dangerously again. “And nowadays, Marinette doesn’t ever let people escape her. Your problem with adoption has created a rather unique problem, you know. You’re at fault for a large majority of her self confidence issues, and I want you to know that I am not going to forget or forgive that anytime soon.”

“Bruce,” Jason’s voice was dark and threatening. “What is she talking about?”

“Something we don’t want getting in the tabloids,” Yet another new voice popped up, allowing Chloe to smugly sink back into the background.

Somewhere during their discussion, Marinette had ambushed them.

“Chloe and I are very good at locating all the reporters in a room and distracting them, but we’re not infallible and this event has far too much coverage,” Her smile reeked confidence and charm, but this close all the Waynes could see the doubt hiding in her bluebell eyes. “Since I’m about to turn eighteen, I figured this would be as good a time as any to finally confront you. I want to make it clear that I seek nothing from you, except the occasional contact. I would like to keep in touch, if nothing else. But if you are adverse to that… then at least answer my questions after the gala,” her eyes developed a hint of carefully controlled desperation. “Please.”

Bruce met her eyes evenly, trying to read her. But she was difficult, simultaneously too many emotions to sort through in her demeanor and much too little. After an extremely tense moment of silence, his voice came out barely above a whisper:

“You do not want anybody to know?”

And hell, if she didn’t recognize the hidden vulnerability in his voice as the very same she heard in her own far too often. In a much tamer version of her own rambling, he went on:

“I can keep it silent if that is what you want. But I want you to know that I will not be adverse to you admitting it anywhere. I don’t expect you to change your name, but I would not be ashamed of the truth getting out. I am not ashamed of it, of you.”

Marinette’s smile grew a little watery. She had to clear her throat to keep herself from tearing up. “Maybe eventually, but not yet. I… I want to stay a little more anonymous for now. It’s one thing to be a well known designer with good connections. It’s an entirely different thing to be…”

“A Wayne?” Bruce finished, ignoring the daggers that were being stared into his back. “I understand completely.

“Father,” Damian’s voice was all sharp edges and rapidly suppressed panic. “What. Is going. On?”

Marinette shot him an apologetic smile. “Apparently, eighteen years ago, his prerogative was to put the child he actually knew about up for adoption when the mother died in childbirth,” her voice was once again only barely loud enough for them to hear, since she didn’t want any eavesdroppers. “Imagine my surprise when I find out he completely flipped sides only months later.”

--*--*--*--*--*

Hey, so please share your feedback on this. This is just to test out a possible new bio dad, multichapter fic and this is the opening scene I'm trying out. If you like it, please tell me what you like about it and please suggest titles for the story! I love you guys' feedback so much!

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Deception [Benedict Bridgerton x Reader]

Title: Deception Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Female!Reader Word count: 4.5k Published: 21 March 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: Violet's constant search for a wife for her second eldest son has become too much for Benedict. The only escape he sees is to ask you to pretend to be courting each other. But how long will it work for with your feelings eating you up from the inside. Bingo: [x] This is part of my Make me feel Bingo Card by @girl-next-door-writes​​​

Square filled: Fake dating

Bridgerton Masterlist | Masterlists

Make me feel Bingo Masterlist

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Benedict Bridgerton was a very capable man. He had a tremendous amount of talent in capturing the real beauty of the world in his drawings. He was confident, but still genuinely kind and caring for his loved ones. He also had a rather playful side to him, a somewhat child-like behaviour, one that the ton would not have appreciated in their society, but Benedict had the privilege to show his real personality to those who loved him, ones that never judged him for who he was.

However, there was one person he felt utterly useless around. When it came to you, he turned into an adorable mess, a clumsy one at that, even stuttering on occasions. Should you have known the reason for his unusual behaviour, it would have brought a rather large smile to your face, but Benedict dared not to reveal his feelings for you.

For someone who has been friends for so long, you both seemed to have found it hard to show your true feelings for one another, as though both of you were clueless. For Benedict it seemed you only spared as much attention to him as a friend would, whilst you thought he was merely looking out for you as a brother figure.

You sat in the ballroom, watching as he grimaced at his mother, who might have slightly forced her second oldest child to dance with one of the many stunning unwed ladies. The one he was forced to dance with however seemed to enjoy Benedict's company. He didn't talk, nor did he look at the woman, still she shined brighter than a diamond in his arms, proud to be so close to such a fine man.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you watched as he held his hand firmly on her back, leading her around the dance floor, making her giggle by just being close to her. Your heart ached at the thought of ever having to give up on him, at the thought of seeing him with another, someone he would choose to love, ignoring to see your longing gazes forgotten on him. How could he have seen, he never dared to look when he felt your eyes on him, nor did you dared to look when he forgot his on you.

Standing up from your chair, you walked towards the terrace, needing fresh air, trying to clear your thoughts as the slightly cool, windy weather stroked your cheeks. You knew you shouldn't have thought of him romantically, but you would have been a fool not to notice the handsome and caring man he has grown into. Watching Lady Bridgerton trying to find a wife to her son hurt both emotionally and physically and you couldn't wait for the season to end, to leave the balls and play-pretend behind you, running away from the inevitable.

"Help me!" you heard his desperate voice, but before you could have turned around, you felt his hand lock around your wrist, gently, but in a haste, dragging you after himself.

"Benedict, what are you doing?" you asked in confusion, trying to understand his chaotic behaviour as he pulled you along, passing corridors by corridors in the gigantic mansion.

"My mother," he sighed as he stopped his steps, breathing heavily. "My mother is becoming—" you waited for him to continue, but he seemed to have been stuck in his thoughts.

"Are you alright?" you asked, frowning at his frozen state, as though he couldn't find the words and his thoughts overruled his actions. You watched his hunched back as he fought to get enough air in his lungs, his eyes focused on a certain point on the marble flooring, completely out of the present. "Benedict!" you called him again, this time firmly, attempting to catch his attention.

"I know it!" he exclaimed, making you jump slightly at his unexpected enthusiasm as a rather wide smile spread across his face.

"What do you know exactly?" you inquired.

"It might sound foolish at first and I do not blame you if you think I have lost my mind, but I need your help," he explained, leaving you even more curious.

"What would I need to help you with?" you asked furrowing at the man as if he has forgotten to include you in his grand idea.

"My mother has been adamant in finding me a wife and there is only so much I can do to prevent her from continuing her crusade. I know I shouldn't ask you such a thing, but I can't possibly think of anyone else who I trust enough," he continued in a secretive manner.

"Benedict, you must be clearer. I don't understand what you wish for me to do," you attempted to push him to finally reveal his idea.

"I need my mother to stop searching for a wife and the only way I can do that is if I already found someone I am interested in," he started. "That is where I would need your help, if you agreed. Should you agree to pretend I am courting you, my mother would surely stop this nonsense and leave me alone," for a mere second you felt overwhelmed by the hope of his interest in you, but that was only until your brain processed his words. "Pretend" being the main focus of your attention, shattering the small shimmering light of hope within you.

You took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself, attempting to hide your disappointment. "Surely you didn't think this through. Your mother isn't a fool, she would see through us immediately. You can't possibly think it's a good idea," you tried to reason with him, but instead of thinking it through again, he quickly shook his head.

"But it is. Think about it. You have said so yourself, you don't want to marry just yet and nor do I. It would be the perfect option for both of us, solving our issues," he added enthusiastically as if his idea was anything, but brilliant. He could clearly see the weary expression across your face as he stepped closer and reached for your hands, engulfing them in his large and warm palms. "We would only have to pretend for a short while, I promise," he tried to reassure you. Whilst you knew it was a foolish idea, the thought of being able to stay close to him even if for a short period of time, seemed to cloud your better judgement.

"For how long?" you asked looking up at him as a mischievous grin spread across his dashingly handsome face. One that you adored so much. "I wouldn't want to be a spinster, Benedict," you sighed heavily.

"I would never let that happen," he shook his head quickly, his previously playful smile long gone from his face. "Let us do it for a few weeks and we will see how my mother reacts. I'm sure if we work well together, you might even catch the attention of some very noble men too," he winked jokingly, trying to lift your dull mood.

You haven't had much time to contemplate, maybe a few seconds until you ran through all the options you have been provided with, which was basically none. You heaved a heavy sigh and shook your head, offering a sceptical look to Benedict. "Fine," you said, earning a surprised expression from him, your answer shocking him for a second, before he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, twirling you around happily.

"You are my saviour," he chuckled as he hinted a small kiss on your forehead, stopping himself as he realised what he had done. "I apologise, I didn't mean to—"

"I understand. You are simply happy I have agreed to such a scandalous idea," you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't hide the happiness you felt. Even if for a short while, Benedict was to belong to you, and it meant more than you could have possibly expressed. You knew you couldn't have him forever but having him for a couple of weeks made you feel like the happiest person alive.

"I owe you! I didn't think you would agree," he grinned happily, a childish warmness radiating from his stance as though he had won a grand prize.

"I still don't understand why I did. Surely, I'm a fool," you added quickly with a silent chuckle.

"We both are," he replied as he started leading you back to the ballroom with your arm linked around his. His gaze focused on the way ahead, but your eyes were rather resting on his attractive features. He was a stunning man, and you were sure if he had turned to look at you, he would have seen the amount of love you were harbouring for him. But as many times before, no one of you has ever turned.

Weeks passed by and if anyone, Violet Bridgerton was the happiest person to see Benedict growing closer to the woman, you, she had envisioned beside her second eldest son. She has made it very clear that a wedding should soon be happening, wanting nothing but a little baby in her arms. You never wanted to crash her dreams but hearing her talking about a future between you and Benedict was beyond painful. The thought of you waking up beside Benedict, his arm resting across your waist, his neck hidden in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin made your heart ache, knowing it was impossible.

You stood in Somerset House, one arm hooked around Benedict's as he watched the paintings, his face focused on one particular art with dark colours and shadings, slightly depressing as if the artist tried to capture a horrible emotion. Art was always something that you found beautiful, but never really understood. When Benedict talked about the meaning behind each piece with a childish happiness across his face, it made you feel content. Although you didn't understand much of what he was saying, the adorable expression he wore was worth each and every moment you spent listening to him.

Looking at his handsome features as they relaxed into a content smile, made you mirror his expression. You couldn't look at him and not smile. As though his mere presence made you feel at ease.

"I feel your eyes on me," he chuckled with a mischievous smile, knowing that you have indeed been staring at him for the longest time.

"I'm sorry," you quickly turned away, feeling your cheeks and ears heat up in embarrassment. "I couldn't stop watching you. You were really focused on that painting and it seemed as though you were here physically, but not mentally. You unintentionally make this face when you enjoy a painting," you smiled shyly.

"A face?" he furrowed, not knowing of his own reaction.

"Yes, as if you were completely captured by the painting. You have a certain content smile across your face and even forget to blink at times," you giggled, placing your hand in front of your mouth, remembering his facial expression.

"Don't hide your smile," he said as he reached for your wrist and gently wrapped his fingers around your arm, pulling your hand away from your lips. "You are even more beautiful when you smile," for a second his words made you hope, as though he meant more than he let on. His eyes seemed as if they could see through you, reading each and every single thought that crossed your mind. For the shortest of time, it felt your feelings weren't as unrequited as you thought. However, you quickly had to remind yourself that your imagination was playing a painful game with you, one that would surely end in a heartbreak.

You quickly turned away, trying to shake those foolish thoughts away, before you decided to dwell on them any longer. Clearing your thoughts, you turned back to him with a phony smile across your face, biting your bottom lip to calm yourself. But his deep frown left you confused. "Are you okay?" you questioned as he tilted his head as if he was studying your face.

"You were biting your lips again," he replied. "You do that when you are nervous or feeling uncomfortable," he added, stunning you. Biting your lips was indeed a nervous habit of yours, one that you couldn't stop as it made you feel slightly at ease when you felt as if even your own thoughts betrayed you. You never thought Benedict even realised those irrelevant, minor details.

"I'm fine, Benedict," you tried to reassure him with a smile that you wore confidently but could not fool Benedict.

"Should you feel the need to talk, I'm here," he said, drawing tiny circles on the back of your arm that he was still securely holding onto, reassuring you that he was by your side whenever you were in need of him.

As happy as it made you, you couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment as you thought about the heartbreak when he would finally want to end your foolish little game and find himself a wife that he could cherish forever, leaving you with the most horrible heartache one could cause.

You knew it was inevitable, you knew it would kill you, but you loved Benedict and you would have never forced him to stay beside you for any longer than he wanted to. You were ready to give him up, to be happy even if with someone else. The thought of letting him go hurt, but you weren't sure of your own strength either. Thinking about how long you could stay beside him pretending to be a mere friend left you with just as much pain, if not more. But you were ready to sacrifice your own happiness even if to be able to spend one more second with him.

Days passed by since your slightly awkward encounter in Somerset House. You have pretended to be a couple so in love that you couldn't possibly stay away from each other. Lady Whistledown didn't miss to write a paragraph or two about the two of you, already planning your wedding, one that you found slightly excessive, but dared not to mention to keep your act believable.

As much as you enjoyed the first few weeks of your play-pretend, it was hard to keep it up for long. You loved every minute you spent with Benedict, but the longer you were beside him, the more pain you felt. You wished to make him happy, to continue your act, but you also knew that it wasn't forever, and that tiny little thought suffocated you.

You sat on a bench in the park, right after promenading with Benedict. He joined his brothers whilst your maid brought you a glass of water to refresh yourself. You watched as Benedict laughed with his brothers, a wide, adorable and carefree smile sat across his face. Weeks ago, you would have smiled at his happiness, but then and there, sitting on the bench, watching his happy form, you felt miserable. Each time you looked at him, your stomach jumped nervously, your breath caught in your lungs as he touched your arm. These tiny little details meant nothing to him, but for you they meant the world. He couldn't have known the effects his advances left on you, he couldn't have predicted to hurt you unintentionally, but in the end, he unknowingly caused you pain.

Standing up from the bench, you started walking towards the Bridgerton brothers. Heaving a heavy sight, you lifted your arm and tapped Benedict's shoulder lightly, trying to catch his attention. He turned around with a wide smile, looking at you curiously. However, your face must have forgotten to oblige as his smile quickly disappeared and concern took over him.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he nodded to his brothers and reached for your hand, placing it on his arm, leading you away from his family.

"I must talk to you," you started, your voice unusually grim.

"Go ahead. You are worrying me," he added impatiently. Trying to collect your thoughts, you stopped, halting the man beside you whose worried eyes didn't seem to want to leave you for a mere second. "Talk to me," he attempted to reassure you.

"I am really sorry, but I can't possibly do this anymore," your words earned a confused frown from Benedict, before he finally understood what you meant. "I know I promised to help you and I wish I could have done it longer, but I honestly can't do this anymore," you added as you fought against your tears, trying to keep them in place for as long as you could. You couldn't let yourself cry in front of so many people, you couldn't let that happen. Benedict straightened himself in front of you, trying to hide your face from the curious eyes.

"I understand. I am sorry for forcing you to do this. I never thought it could be this hard on you. I would never hurt you, you know that, right?" he asked, trying to contain himself from wrapping his arms around you, fidgeting with his hands beside his thighs.

"I know and you didn't hurt me, it's not your fault. It has just become rather difficult recently and I don't think I'm capable of pretending anymore," you tried to reassure him, making him feel less guilty. "I'm still your friend and I will always be your friend," you added with a phoney smile. Your own words were a lie. You didn't know how long you could pretend to be his friend, but you knew he needed to hear that, he needed not to blame himself. "I will be going home now, but surely I will see you later," you smiled up at him as you curtsied and nodded towards your maid, ready to head home, completely oblivious to the pained gaze he was watching your slowly disappearing form with.

Whilst you sat in your carriage, letting your tears finally run down your cheeks, leaning on your maid's shoulder, Benedict stood confused between Colin and Anthony, his eyes fixed on the ground, his thoughts filled with you only.

"Brother?" Colin called for him with concern in his eyes. It was unusual to see his brother unresponsive, without a playful smile. "Are you alright?" he asked, earning a frown from Benedict.

"I shouldn't have dragged her into this," he replied, but his words were directed more to himself than his brothers.

"What do you mean?" Anthony asked, seemingly more interested in their conversation.

"It was all a lie," Benedict replied, his gaze still fixed on the carefully cut grass.

"What was a lie?" the eldest Bridgerton brother asked again.

"All along we were pretending to be courting, so mother would stop trying to force me to marry," he scoffed, finally understanding the weight of his idea. "She said she can't do this anymore. That it was too painful to bear," he shook his head, guilt overcoming him.

"You really are a fool," Anthony replied with a sceptical look across his face, earning a confused look from both Colin and Benedict.

"How do you mean? Is it because we have been pretending?" Benedict questioned his brother. "I know it was foolish, but she agreed, I didn't know it would be particularly hard on her," he added with a deep frown.

"Brother, can you not see the way she looks at you? Always trying to make you feel happy, bringing a smile to your face even when she, herself is struggling to do so? Are you really that blind?" Anthony raised a questioning brow, as though he couldn't believe how oblivious his brother was towards your feelings.

"Should I understand?" he asked tilting his head innocently, searching for the right explanation. "We have been friends from a very young age, I am certain we have always tried to make each other smile in a difficult situation," he added, earning an eye roll from the eldest Bridgerton brother, ignoring his manners.

"When you said you were courting her, I thought you finally realised that you weren't the only one with feelings beyond friendship. However, after hearing about this foolish idea of yours, forcing a lady to pretend to love you, when in fact she has feelings for you is beyond stupid, brother, and I'm quite disappointed in you for not realising it yourself," he shook his head disapprovingly.

"Are you telling me she has feelings for me?" Benedict asked in disbelief, his brother's words lighting a weak hope within him.

"Indeed, took you long enough to understand," he scoffed.

"I have to talk to her," Benedict added quickly, heading towards the carriages in haste, carefully planning all he needed to tell you.

The ride didn't take long, 20 minutes at most, before he stood in front of your house, his hands shaking slightly, nervousness running through his whole being. Knocking on the door, a maid opened it for him, asking him to wait to announce his arrival to you.

You laid on your bed, cheeks swollen from crying, bottom lip red as a result of the constant biting of your nervous state. A knock on your door brought you out of your misery as your maid walked into the room.

"Mr. Bridgerton is here to see you," she said with a saddened tone, knowing of the arrangement between the two of you. Your eyes widened in surprise, you weren't ready to see him, especially not in your current, heartbroken state. "Would you like me to ask him to leave?" she questioned, looking at the panicked expression across your face.

"No, it's fine. Please take him to the drawing room," you instructed her and headed to the bathroom to make yourself presentable. Your eyes were bloodshot, your face was slightly swollen, and your clothes were beyond wrinkled. Attempting to straighten your dress, you stroked the material over and over again, but it didn't seem to work, nor did the cold water you washed your face with to remove the evidence of your miserable state. At last, you gave up and walked to the drawing room, knowing you wouldn't be able to do anything else with your appearance.

"We have just parted, Benedict," you said to the man as you stepped inside the room and took a seat across the sofa he occupied.

"I needed to see you," he replied, standing up from his place and taking a seat beside you. "I—, I talked to my brothers after you left," he started, stammering over his words, something he only did in his nervous state. "I am a fool and there is no excuse for that. I can't possibly imagine how hard it must have been for you to pretend—"

"I have told you already, I am completely fine," you tried to reassure him with a faux smile, one that this time Benedict didn't believe to be genuine.

"But are you?" he asked, earning a confused frown from you. "Do you know why I thought this foolish idea to be brilliant in the first place?" he raised a questioning brow, but instead of replying you shook your head. "I wanted to be closer to you. I merely thought it would be my chance to spend more time with you. Surely, I had no intention to marry anyone, and I wished my mother to stop, but my primary concern was you. I wanted to be near you at all times, but I couldn't possibly tell you how I felt, knowing you would only reject me," you couldn't control the surprise sitting across your face, your lips parted in shock, his words seemingly part of your most precious dreams. It seemed surreal.

"You are confusing me, Benedict," you spoke up, trying not to hope once again to then fall painfully.

"I'm saying I love you. I have loved you for so long, I can't remember when it started. I never imagined my feelings could be returned and I turned to foolish ideas to be beside you. I needed my brothers to open my eyes and scold me for being childish, for making me hope that I might have your heart even if only half as much as you have mine," he reached for you hand, gently squeezing it in his hold, reassuring you that he meant every single word of his.

"I love you," you blurted out, astonished by his speech, your own words surprising you.

"You do?" he asked, afraid to believe the words he has longed to hear from you.

"I do," you nodded, this time with more confidence, earning a wholehearted smile from Benedict as he leaned closer and wrapped his arms around you, embracing you in his arms.

"I made you cry, didn't I?" he asked as he pulled away slightly, enough for him to be able to look in your eyes as he placed his hands on your cheeks.

"It wasn't you. I was emotional, because I wasn't sure how long I would be able to stay beside you as a friend before it became too much to handle," you giggled awkwardly, feeling as if you have said too much.

"It was still my fault. I didn't consider your feelings," he shook his head, disapproving of his own actions. The tip of his thumb gently brushed across your bottom lip, leaving you with a ticklish feeling. "Have you been biting your lips again?" he asked as his eyes focused on your mouth. His attentiveness, his attention to detail and his closeness made you swallow nervously.

"I might have," you whispered, not daring to raise your voice any louder. Feeling his breath on your lips, the proximity between your faces, his warm palms on your cheeks made you feel intoxicated.

"You shouldn't do that. From now on talk to me when something bothers you," he spoke in a low tone, his voice soothing, making you feel safe. "You are doing it again," he chuckled, his eyes completely captured by the way your teeth bit on your lip, but this time it wasn't nervousness, but excitement. His closeness affected every tiny part of your body. "It really makes me want to kiss you," he breathed, completely mesmerised by your lips, as if an invisible force was pulling him towards you. You felt your heart beating at a dangerous pace, almost as if threatening to escape your chest and you could swear Benedict heard it just as well.

"Hmm," you hummed in a reply, incapable of creating a coherent sentence, before closing the gap between the two of you, a certain confidence rush taking over your actions. Instead of the surprised reaction you expected from Benedict, a playful chuckle left his lungs.

"Impatient, it seems," he added, before he returned your kiss, pulling you closer to himself, enjoying the feeling of your body in his embrace. He has imagined over and over again how it could feel to kiss you, to hold you, but none of those made-up scenarios could ever compete against the reality and the content it filled him with. "I wish to genuinely court you this time," he added as he pulled away from you.

"I very much hope so," you giggled happily, earning a playful eye roll from Benedict, before he captured your lips once again, wrapping his arms around you securely.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and/or reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Taglist: (If you would like to be tagged on my Bridgerton fics, feel free to let me know ^^)

@shelby-love​​ @breadqueen95​​ @nuttytani-reblogs​​ @aspiringsloth20​​ @marvel-ousnesss​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​​ @venusflwer​​

[misscarolineshelby]

The Last Semester – Part Eight

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1,378

Warning: Fluff, Angst

Previous Parts:  Part One; Part Two; Part Three*; Part Four*; Part Five*; Part Six; Part Seven 

Original Blog: @queenshelby 

***

After you didn’t return to the living area, your flatmate and friend Jeremy came into your room, immediately noticing that you were crying.

‘Jesus Y/N, what’s wrong?’ Jeremy asked concerned, taking you into his arms as he did. Jeremy had been your best friend for 15 years. He moved to London with you when you both finished high school in Dublin and studied science at the same university as you.

It was him who introduced you to Emma two years ago and it was you who introduced him to his boyfriend Thomas eighteen months ago.

Your bond was strong and you trusted him with everything. But, you have never told him about Cillian. All he knew was that you were seeing someone, a man twenty years your senior.

He never questioned you, never asked you for more details than you were willing to reveal on your own, knowing that, at some point, you would be coming around and tell him everything anyway. You always did.

‘He ended it’ you barely mentioned to say as your eyes were filling up with tears again.

‘What, just now? On the phone?’ Jeremy asked surprised and you simply nodded.

‘I am sorry Y/N, but he sounds like a wanker breaking up with you like this. You deserve better’ Jeremy said just before he picked up your shattered phone from the floor.

‘Do you want me to fix it?’ Jeremy asked and you nodded before huffing out a quiet thank you. Jeremy has been working at a mobile repair shop for the past year to help him pay rent and it was the second time he fixed your broken phone screen due to your clumsiness.

‘Alright, get some rest now. I should have this ready for you in an hour or so’ he said with a warm smile before giving you a kiss on the forehead.

He took the phone to his room. It was still on and, luckily for you, only the screen was damaged. The protective case he had given you for your last birthday was clearly worth it.

Before Jeremy turned off the phone, he noticed four text messages from someone by the name of ‘Cillian’ and, whilst he tried hard not to read them, he couldn’t resist skimming over them on the display preview before turning off your phone.

Jeremy had the password to your phone and could have read everything, but he was your friend and he didn’t want to invade your privacy. What he read was already bad enough and it was obvious to him that it was, in fact, Cillian Murphy who you had been involved with over the last ten days.  

***

The following morning, when you got up, your phone was sitting on the bedside table with a small note from Jeremy, cheering you up.

That day, you decided to call your unit co-ordinator, telling him that you were unwell and couldn’t attend class. You weren’t ready to face Cillian and pretend that nothing had happened.

Your absence at university did, however, not go unnoticed and Cillian went as far as to ask Emma about you, asking her where you were.

‘She is not feeling well’ Emma said, surprised by Cillian taking an interest in your absence.

‘Right, thanks’ Cillian responded quickly before getting on with his business. Of course, he knew the real reason you weren’t at university but he was genuinely concerned about your well being as you had not responded to his messages following his call the night before.

The truth was, there was nothing to say, nothing to respond with. You simply wanted to forget about him, but that was going to be much harder than you had expected.

***

On Tuesday night, you went to the movies with Emma, Jeremy and Thomas. Whilst you weren’t in the mood, you had promised them and realised yourself that it was probably a good idea for you to get out and about.

At least so you thought.

‘What did you book Emma?’ Thomas asked as you sat down in your seats with a bag of popcorn each.

‘A Quiet Place 2’ she said somewhat excited and Jeremy’s face turned pale in an instant.

‘Are you alright?’ you asked him concerned as you observed his facial expression.

‘Yes, I am fine, but I am not sure if you will be in a minute’ Jeremy said somewhat concerned, knowing that Cillian was part of the cast of the movie which, obviously, was why Emma, who otherwise hates horror movies, had booked it.

‘Ssssh’ Emma then was quick to say as the movie started and you had no idea why Jeremy was concerned.

But then, less than ten minutes into the movie, your evening had been ruined as you saw Cillian on the big screen which also when you noticed Jeremy looking at you.

‘Are you alright?’ he whispered and it was at this point that you realised that he knew about you and Cillian.

You nodded and took in a deep breath before pushing your back against the seat rather uncomfortably.

You weren’t going to let this ruin your night. In fact, you went as far as to convince your friends to go out with you following the movie.

***

A few drinks quickly turned things around for you and even more so for Emma.

‘She is such a lovable slut’ Jeremy laughed as Emma was quick to hit up one of the bankers at the bar who ended up buying her drinks all night long.

She certainly had a busy sex and love life and kept telling you that you should become a bit more like her when she saw you upset yet again following your recent breakup.

‘Y/N, that’s Dwayne, he is a lawyer’ Emma giggled as she introduced you to her banker’s friend who was wearing a nice dark blue suit with a black tie.

‘Hi Dwayne, I am Y/N’ you said somewhat tipsy and unbothered by Emma’s attempt to hook you up.

‘May I buy you a drink?’ Dwayne then went on to ask.

‘Sure, why not. Let’s go’ you winked and Dwayne walked with you towards the bar.

‘Hi Y/N’ you suddenly heard from behind as you stood there, next to Dwayne, who was getting you a cocktail.

‘Hey’ you huffed without turning around, recognising the voice almost instantly.

‘I see you are feeling better’ Cillian then said, which was when you turned around to face him.

‘For a matter of fact I do, yes’ you said sternly just as Dwayne ran his hand over your shoulder, indicating to you that your drink was ready before handing it to you.

You could see Cillian inhale and swallow harshly as you stood there in front of him while Dwayne introduced himself quickly and politely to Cillian, not recognising him but, rather, in a way to say that you were with him.

‘I think I want to go now’ you then said quickly to Dwayne who looked at you with surprise.

‘Alright, let’s go’ Dwayne said, putting his full drink onto the table next to yours.

‘Bye Cillian’ you then went on to say before reaching for Dwayne’s hand and pulling him along, back to where Emma and the others were standing.

‘Nice to meet you’ Dwayne said, smiling and shrugging his shoulders.

When you returned to the table, Emma had gone and so had her banker friend, while Jeremy and Thomas were on the dancefloor surrounded by eight drunken women.

‘I think I should go’ you then said to Dwayne who looked at you somewhat confused.

‘Can I see you again?’ he asked politely, seemingly unbothered that he just wasted $15 pounds on drinks.

You nodded shyly before writing your number down on a piece of paper for him and, seconds later, Dwayne leaned in and kissed you, right there in front of everyone.

‘See you and thank you’ you said after you quickly pulled away from Dwayne. It was too quick and too soon.

As you walked out, you saw Cillian standing there, looking at you. It was obvious to you that he had seen everything.

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo​ @vhscillian​ @ysmmsy​ @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  ​

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby

[albatris]

ok so this is Very Many bc im interested but. pls pick nd choose what u want gdkshsksjdsk

7, 9, 15, 28, 35, 36, 38, 40

(....at first I only typed Many but. yeah I'm adding the Very too jtdsjskjgd)

thank you for the questions!! :D :D

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

oh, I just ADORE the puzzle-solving aspect! I love puzzling things together and feeling like a genius when things click into place so perfectly and deliciously >:D like yes, sometimes I mess up or make silly mistakes, but eventually things will always slot together and Make Sense and I love problem solving in writing.....!!! I love tying threads together and making parallels and creating the perfect foreshadowing and designing funky little mysteries. I am both creating the puzzle and solving it as I go hehe

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

yes! I believe in ghosts, though the specifics of my beliefs surrounding ghosts are!! difficult for me to explain hahahaha

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

I don't do a lot of reading physical books these days, and when I do I don't tend to write in them anymore, but yes, I used to often write in margins, making little notes and commentaries :3 I do dog-ear pages! it's no worries to me if it's my own book, I see no harm, but I wouldn't do it to someone else's book. I couldn't ever read in the bath, I'm way too clumsy, that book is GOING to fall in hahaha. and no, no judgment from me, books are meant to be experienced and enjoyed, so however you do this is fine by me! as long as it's your own book, no harm done!

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Tris Greer!!!! I love him!! he's such a sweet kid, n I'm not at all biased by the fact that I designed him as exactly the sort of protagonist I would have loved to read about when I was in my teenage years and coming to grips with psychosis and my mental health :P in general, I just have a big soft spot for him, he's anxious and kind and gentle, he goes out of his way to buy scraps of deli meat on his way to school so he can give them to the stray cat he likes to chat to and is trying to befriend, he adores his friends and his siblings, he doesn't show affection or emotion in the "correct" ways and people find him a bit odd, but he's a good kid with a good heart :3

plus, there's something so endearing about just........ idk, Tris adores his brother so much, n Jacob gets yeeted into this fucked-up little air bubble dimension between two realities in a freak accident of space and time, n everyone is just kind of........... not..... doing anything useful about that. so u just have Tris, terrified of everything, will have a panic attack if his bus ever goes a slightly different route than normal, has enough trouble leaving his front door let alone his entire dimension..... just kind of. staring this chaotic uncaring cosmic machinery of the universe right in the face and declaring "hey no that's my brother give him back" then going to hell and back to make it happen even though everyone thinks it's impossible

n he doesn't consider himself strong or smart or brave but he is ;-;

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

ok this is gonna get reaaaaally petty, forgive me, forgive me

I haaaaaate when people insist you have to learn the rules before you break them (is "learn the rules before you break the rules" a rule?). anyway, that is ONE WAY TO LEARN. that is ONE WAY TO IMPROVE YOUR WRITING. that is ONE APPROACH. but it's EQUALLY valid to learn simply by doing and throwing yourself in and doing whatever you want and getting messy and experimenting however you want, learning the rules be damned. break 'em. break 'em right off the bat. do it

some people learn best by trying stuff for themselves and seeing what works and what doesn't and by messing about and just!!! writing!!!

if I'd tried to "learn the rules before I broke them" I'd never have written ANYTHING interesting because I would have been so caught up in trying to make sure that if I was doing anything weird or offbeat or that I hadn't seen before, I was breaking the rules "correctly", and not writing badly or being cringey or whatever else. I learned entirely by doing what I wanted and just getting messy and experimenting and LEARNING from what worked and what didn't over time from practice and patience and messy fun, not from learning the rules to make sure I was "breaking them correctly"

"break the rules correctly" ugh

and like, sure, I wrote some stuff that objectively sucked and was dreadful, but guess what. guess what. so does every beginner writer. whether they learned the rules before they broke them or not

n you know what. I got just as good as anyone who insisted I was going about things the wrong way

so, sure, "learn the rules before you break them" is one way to approach things, but "just get in there and fuck stuff up" is an equally valid approach

..........and I especially hate the times I've made posts encouraging experimentation and fun and mess and the freedom of screwing around with the rules however you like if that's what you want to do and people insist on adding "learn the rules before you break them" to my post lmao

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice…what do you Know?

............I have immediately forgotten every single thing I have ever known. I think...... well, I haven't addressed them much in writing in the way I'd like to yet, but I have some unique takes on loneliness I'd love to explore....... what do I know, what do I know....... I know working for a shitty courier company, I know lots of good vegetarian restaurants, I know South Australian road rules, I know cats, I know type 1 diabetes and schizotypal PD, I know I love my best friend and my partner and would like to give them both a little kiss on the forehead, I know the right amount of spices to put in the noodle soup dish my parents like :3

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

ahahaha, I don't think my writing process is that weird, but I don't think a lot of things I do are that weird, then sometimes I mention things and people are like "????? huh?????" so........... hm

idk, I treat writing scenes the exact same way I treat drafting a drawing on clip studio paint. not in a vague metaphorical sense, in a very literal one. except one is Words and one is Pictures. same thing but different. I also frequently chatter aimlessly to myself for the same reason. I shan't be elaborating. I literally have no idea how to explain

it's about the layers, I think

I write in layers and I don't mean first draft, second draft, third draft style layers. what I do mean, however, is..... confusing to explain

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

ooh, here, when I was very small I received a book called "Cat Haiku" as a gift, so here are two cat haiku for you :3

You rush, and I weave Between your legs. You curse; why? This is my Cat Dance.

and

I feel no need to Accomplish things. I exist; That's triumph enough.

[derekmorganscrocs]

Galentines Gone Wrong

Pairing: Wendell Bray x Reader, Valentine’s Special.

Word Count: 2,623

Summary: Y/n Booth is an FBI agent who works under her brother Seeley Booth and is also partnered with the Jeffersonian. Valentines rolls around and Cam, Daisy, and Y/n are all painfully single. Brennen and Angela join in and the group decides it’s girls night, get absolutely smashed, cause major chaos and get arrested for disturbing the peace. When their counterparts show up to bail them out, girls night turns to date night... or whatever this is.

Edit, March 11th: I hate the end of this. I reread it and it’s lowkey trash, but I’m going to keep it up because people seem to be enjoying it. Just a disclaimer that this is not my best work.

Notes: Tbh I second guessed this yesterday, hence the late post. I want to clarify that Wendell IS NOT preying on a drunk girl, and there was no drunk hookup. This is definitely not my favourite thing I’ve written and I was so out of ideas for the ending, but fck it, I have a migraine and feel like the personification of death. ALSO I WOULD NEVER USE GALENTINES IRL IK ITS LAME BUT I SIMPLY DO NOT CARE. HOLDIDAY SPIRIT BABES. Anyway, on with the show.

It’s been a long night. Fun, but long. You wake up against Daisy’s side, stretching lazily, and still partially drunkenly. As you sit up, you recall the events that led to your current seat in a drunk tank.

The five of you ended up in a biker bar, huge leather-clad and big bearded dudes all over the damn place. Despite being big scary bikers, they were chill and actually bought half of your drinks. Then you and Daisy got a little too close to an attractive younger biker, and his girlfriend was not having it. So an argument turned full on brawl caused the lot of you to bail out of the bar and trek back into town.

Only you were real rowdy, laughing and singing, a little to loudly for anyone’s liking. And got the cops called on you. And got thrown in a dunk tank. Unfortunately “you can’t arrest me, I am the law” doesn’t work if you’re drunk. The cops weren’t a fan of your badge, either.

You’re torn from your thoughts at the sound of voices down the hall, and you stumble over the the bars of the cell, holding onto them for balance. A half-hour nap didn’t do much to sober you up. The voices get closer, and your friends and brother walk in. Wendell’s the first one you notice, your eyes immediately darting to him. He’s wearing a hot ass black jacket, jeans and a white T-shirt, and you stare at him for a lot longer than you should.

“Hey, BJ. Never thought I’d see you on the other side of the bars.” Hodgins laughs at your expression of annoyance, and lets the cop they’re with open the cell door. He walks over to grab Angela, and you scoff.

“I told you to stop calling me BJ. I know you mean Booth Junior, but other people might think something else,” you mutter, much less than impressed at the innuendo tied to the nickname.

Your brother and Sweets go collect Brennan and Daisy, and Cam stands up on her own. She’s the most level-headed of all of you, and she’s completely sobered up now. Wendell walks to your side, your brother is too occupied with his (much less coordinated than you are) wife. Wendell puts an arm around you, and you gladly lean into him, hands settling on his chest.

“You’ll never guess what we did,” you giggle drunkenly against Wendell’s chest, overcome with the giddiness of a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Apparently you guys disturbed a lot of peace.” Wendell has somewhat of an impressed/concerned/entertained smirk on his face. He looks down at you, massively interested in the story as to how you got here. Not that he’ll hear it anytime soon.

“How’d you know?!” You look up at him with surprise written all over your face, a gasp escaping your lips, and it takes a lot for him not to burst out laughing.

“The sheriff told me. Let’s take you home, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble, much more sullenly than five seconds ago.

Wendell keeps an arm around you, more than a little worried that you’re gonna fall over, and takes you to his car. You get in the front seat, smacking his hand away as he tries to help with your seatbelt. After successfully buckling the seatbelt, you glance back at him with a smirk.

“You know if you wanted to get on top of me all you had to do was ask.”

Wendell nearly chokes and dies at what you’re insinuating. He’s also not sure if this is the tequila talking or if it’s you talking. Composing himself quickly, he lets out a chuckle, saying something along the lines of ‘okay then,’ and closes the door for you. He walks around the front of the car, making his way to the driver’s seat. Hodgins drives by, Angela and Cam in the car with him, and waves as he heads home.

Seeley pulls up beside Wendell, looking at him sternly. Daisy and Brennen are singing in the back seat, and Wendell can see Sweets in the front seat, holding back laughter. It’s a funny sight really, the usually stoic Dr. Brennen and overly excitable Daisy, swaying together in the back seat singing an off-key rendition of piano man. Seeley makes a face at a certain piercing high note that comes from Dr. Brennan, before turning to Wendell.

“Listen man, I appreciate it. If we didn’t live on the opposite side of town, I’d take her home.” Seeley leans out the window slightly, looking at Wendell.

“It’s no problem, really.” Wendell smiles, giving your brother a small wave as he turns to get in his car. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

“Wait! Not that I think you will, but don’t try anything. Alright?”

“Course not, man. Don’t worry, I got this. Head home, I’ll text you when I get Y/n home.” Wendell knows your brother means no harm, obviously, yet can’t help but think about why he’d even think to say that to him.

When he gets back in the car, seeing you sleeping soundly in the passenger seat, curled up and leaning against the window, his worries melt away and he smiles. He turns the car on and lowers the radio volume before driving off.

Tonight summarizes the two of you pretty well, actually. Y/n, the chaotic do-good-er badass, and Wendell, the (sometimes also chaotic) best friend, who always has your back. Sometimes it pains him that you only see him as that, a best friend, but he’s okay with just being that. A friend. Because it means he gets to see you happy. Little does he know, you wouldn’t have gotten so sauced tonight if you weren’t drinking away the thoughts of his lips on yours, his skin pressed against yours as the night turns to morning, the idea of a spark that doesn’t exist. The day of love sucks.

And for some reason, neither of you can see that you’re crazy about each other. Maybe it’s because you’re afraid to ruin what you have, or maybe it’s because you’re both just oblivious, but it doesn’t make a huge difference. Nothing seems to be happening.

Wendell is occupied with a lot of thoughts as he drives to your place. His mind bounces all over the place. He thinks about how you met, when you first walked into the Jeffersonian covered in dirt and sweat (in a cute way... even though he thinks anything is cute on you) after a chase in the desert, just to see your brother and make sure he was okay. He also thinks about the time he literally ran into you and the two of you fell down the platform stairs. The alarms went off, and everyone stared at the pair of you tangled up on the floor. Needless to say it took a while to live that one down. He thinks about every time he’s seen you laugh, and the few that he’s seen you cry. Not that you really even cried, you just couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. You don’t exactly do emotions, not out in the open at least.

He thinks about every reason he’s so smitten with you. You’re courageous, selfless, you protect your friends and family, you’re cutthroat and ferocious, yet simultaneously the sweetest person he’s ever met. You care about every detail of his day when you ask how he’s doing, and you can tell when the slightest thing is off with him, or anyone else at the lab, except for noticing his flaming crush on you. And as he thinks about all the little things, he realizes it can’t stay bottled up forever. He has to tell you.

Before long, you’re home. The two and a half hour drive have Wendell a lot of time to think, yet somehow it also feels like he’s had no time at all. The time has also started your trail toward sobriety, and you can at least think coherently. Wendell wakes you, and when you wake up, your hand goes to your head.

“Good god. Did I get hit by a bus?” Your words are still slightly jumbled together, but you’re getting back to business as usual, and that’s good enough.

“There she is,” he singsongs playfully, glad to see your usual demeanour starting to return. You unbuckle your seatbelt, groaning when you go to move. Wendell offers you a hand, and you take it.

Helping you up, he puts an arm around your waist again. You stumble slightly, and when he catches you, you fall against him, leaning against his chest. He ends up just scooping you up off the ground and carrying you inside, placing you on the couch. You’re mostly in good shape, just awful clumsy and distracted due to your headache. Wendell heads into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and some crackers.

“How you doing?” He sits by your thigh, putting an arm on the back of the couch and looking over at you. You cover your face with your hands, laughing gently.

“Ugh, please tell me I didn’t actually make the worst sex implication joke ever.”

“Um...”

“Oh shit. This is embarrassing.” You sit up, still a little tipsy, but not as messed up as you were at the police station. Maybe if things go off you can play it off as Valentine’s tequila. “Fuck it. I’m just gonna go for it. Tonight was fun or whatever, but I really wanted to spend it with you.”

“We could’ve done that. We can hang out this weekend if you want.”

“No, no. You really are a blonde.” You laugh, nudging his shoulder with your fist. Suddenly nervous, you start to ramble. “Not that that’s bad, because you’re definitely pretty. You’re a cute blonde, and you do have really nice arms, they’re really toned, and you know, at the garage you wear these tight shirts and sometimes I just stare and I worry you see, but-“

“Y/n! You’re getting off track here.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, laughing at your rambles. “Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow.”

“I like you a lot.” The words are out of your mouth before he’s even finished his sentence. “Like I have feelings for you?” It comes out like a question, but it’s meant as more of a fearful statement.

“Wait, really?” His eyes widen and his smile falls. At first you think he’s about to run for the hills, but when a small smile appears on his face you’re not so sure.

“Ah, shit, I shouldn’t have said anything,” you curse, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity. That’s fuckin embarrassing.

“No, I like you, too. A lot.” Wendell takes your hand, and you lay against his side as he keeps talking. “We can talk more, when you’re sober. But I do like you. And I think that if we decided that this weekend’s hangout was more ‘ice skating in the park’ instead of ‘trying to kill each other at the rink’, I’d be more than okay with that. I’d like that a lot, actually.” He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, and he glances down at you, fingers grazing your cheek as he contemplates if it would be weird to cup your face with his hand and run his thumb over your cheek.

“Really?” You look up at him with an adorable awestruck expression, and he nearly bursts out laughing.

“Yeah, really.” A smile stays glued to his face, and he shifts slightly, which causes you to sit up. “Now, you should probably go to bed, so that you’re not completely useless tomorrow.”

Wendell plants a small kiss on the top of your head, before standing and scooping you up, bringing you to your room. He drops you gently on your bed, and you let out a small giggle as you bounce slightly with the impact. You banish him from your room so that you can change, and not really paying attention, grab a black hoodie and shorts out of your closet. When you open the door again, he’s just leaning against the wall outside.

“Sorry, I didn’t know where you wanted me to set up- is that my hoodie? I’ve been looking for that!”

“Huh?” You look down at the sweater, seeing the small Jeffersonian logo on the left side of the chest, and the initials on the sleeve. “Oh, I guess it is.” You remember when he gave it to you, he couldn’t stand the idea of you remaining in your blood soaked T-shirt, the grey had become a sticky maroon, too much so to be comfortable. “You can have it back-“

“No, you keep it.” He steps closer, lifting your chin so that you look at him, and brushing a stray hair out of your face. His voice drops, becoming softer and breathy. “It’s much cuter on you anyway,” he murmurs, making you blush profusely, a little laugh escaping your lips.

The two of you fall silent, each staring at the other’s lips. A hum comes from the furnace, causing you both to startle slightly, and it ends the moment. You glance back at Wendell again, before sitting on your bed. He tilts his head at you, mildly confused as to what you’re doing.

“Where did you want me to sleep?”

“Wherever you want. There’s blankets and a few pillows in the closet.”

He thanks you and walks out, and you breathe in deeply, not realizing how shallow your breathing had become. Your mind is racing, and so is your heart. This is simultaneously about the best and worst Valentine’s you’ve ever had. As you mull over the events of tonight, you slide under the blankets, laying back and staring at the ceiling. The shuffling in your living room comes to a stop, and you can hear Wendell coming back to your room. He stops in the doorway.

“Came back to say goodnight,” he says softly, making your heart melt.

“You mind staying for a while?” You sit up, looking at him. He glances over his shoulder at you, a perplexed expression plastered on his face. “What?! I’ve had a rough night,” you say, pretending to be offended. He makes his way over, laying on your bed, on top of the blankets. You roll over and face him, looking up at him lazily. “Goodnight, Wendell.”

You drift off to sleep fairly quickly, but not before you subconsciously lay your head on his chest. He’s terrified at first, frozen in place and afraid to breathe, but after a few minutes he collects himself and calms down. You sleep soundly, curled up beside Wendell. He’s warm and he smells good, and he’s pretty comfortable. By the morning, the two of you are completely intertwined, tangled in blankets and each others’ arms.

The two of you grab a greasy breakfast (and some Advil) and spend the day together, actually talking about what happened the night before. Most of the day is spent at your place, you and Wendell lounging around on your couch as you binge watch your favourite series and try to overcome your hangover.

The next days and weeks fly by, you and Wendell getting closer and closer. The pair of you go on a few dates before things are made official, Wendell going as far as taking you on a walk in the snow and officially asking you out by the outdoor rink. He even reserved ice time so the two of you could skate around like idiots and pass a puck around.

And eventually, when people start to see you’re together, and ask about your story, you have to tell them he bailed you out of jail after Galantine’s gone wrong.

[captainimprobable]

Alright I caved.  Here’s chapter one of the still unnamed sequel to No Apologies, my Lumity coffeeshop AU. It’s been seven months since I finished the fic so I hope yall are still down for the ride! The chaos starts now :) ~

“This might be a bad time to tell you this, but roosters….kinda freak me out.”

“Amity, we are literally swimming in roosters right now.”

Amity hugged herself, shaking but still managing to roll her eyes.  “We are metaphorically swimming in roosters.”

Luz snorted.  “Whatever, Miss Accurate.”

They both looked at the rooster pen in front of them.  A cow mooed in the distance, and they took a moment of silence to question the life choices that had led up to this moment.

It didn’t take very long.  The pipeline went like this: Amity had decided to work part time at a coffee shop to piss off her parents, and two years later she was on a six month anniversary trip with a chaotic ball of energy, tripping on bird feathers at a barn many miles away from home.  Simple.

“It...it was just supposed to be an air bnb,” Luz said helplessly.

“Luz, what did the ad say?”

Luz scrambled to take her phone out of her pocket, mindlessly swatting away the pig trying to eat it out of her hand.

“Uh…’stunning country views and a realistic farming experience.’” She stomped her foot.  “That is so misleading!!!”

“I genuinely think I’m about to pass out.” Amity said, swaying slightly.

“Babe, don’t say that.  The roosters can smell your fear.”

Amity glared at her girlfriend.  “Ha ha,” she said sarcastically.  “Fine, what’s next on the list they left us?”

Luz pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper covered in lines of print detailing exactly what they had to do in order to stay at the barn.  It was politely decorated with a post it note that read “Good luck, suckers!” 

“Inspect the roosters,” she read.  “Check for obvious genetic defects.  Separate these roosters from the rest.”

Amity held up a hand to stop her.  “No. Nope. I am not inspecting roosters.  I am not separating roosters.  I am going back inside, and I am going to read a book, and I am going to pretend there are no demon chickens out here ready to peck my eyes out.”

Amity gingerly tiptoed around the roosters, taking care not to touch any of them.  One brave animal attempted to peck at her skirt, but she let out an unholy shriek that scattered them all.  Luz watched Amity flee the scene, sighing.  She picked up the list Amity had dropped and scanned the next few lines.  “The roosters with these defects will be…” she trailed off. “Oh,” she said, realization dawning.  “Oh no.”

Amity must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, it was dark and Luz was shaking her awake.

“Amity, wake up, we have an emergency.” Amity was up in an instant.  “What’s wrong? Are you okay???” “Yeah, I’m fine!” Luz assured her. “It’s just uh…..” Luz rubbed the back of her neck nervously. “We have a...situation?”

Amity yawned and stretched, rubbing her eyes as she stood up.  Immediately, Luz grabbed her hand and began dragging her outside.  “Ugh, what time is it?” Amity asked, stumbling along behind Luz.   

“Uhhh about one am I think? I had to wait until now to do this.  It’s better under the cover of darkness.”  

Immediately, Amity felt a sense of extreme trepidation.  Whatever was waiting for her outside was definitely not something she wanted to see.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she was met with the sound of roosters clucking. When they reached the driveway, she stopped dead.  “Luz,” Amity said slowly, blinking repeatedly to make sure she was seeing things correctly.  “Why are there a dozen roosters in your car?”

“There’s actually fourteen,” Luz said, but faltered when Amity glared at her.  “Okay, so the thing is, well….the farmers wanted us to separate the roosters because these are the ones with defects.  And these are the ones they’re gonna sell for meat.”

“Oh god,” Amity groaned.  “Don’t tell me-”

Luz’s grin looked almost evil in the moonlight.  “We’re gonna save the roosters.”

“Luz, where the hell are you planning on bringing them??? Most roosters live in captivity!”

“So I looked it up, and it said that roosters thrive in forest climates, and the nearest forest is only two hours away!!!!”

Amity wanted to say she was surprised, but she knew Luz well enough at this point to know to expect this from her.  She reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.  “Luz,” she said gently. “I love how big your heart is, and I love that you want to save these animals.  But roosters are supposed to live on farms.  Also, you had chicken salad for lunch.”

Luz looked at her with puppy eyes.  Fuck.  Amity couldn’t resist that.

She sighed.  “Fine,” she said.  “We can save the roosters.  But you know the farmers are gonna make us pay for them.”

“Ahhhh thank you!” Luz squealed, throwing her arms around Amity’s neck.  She kissed her cheek.  “You’re the best.”

“I know,” Amity grumbled.  “Now get in the car before I change my mind.”

~

It was going fine until they reached the gas station.  The roosters were in the back, probably shitting all over Luz’s car, and Amity was in the passenger seat, gripping the door handle and trying not to freak out.  

“Shit,” Luz said over the radio about a half hour into their ride, summing up Amity’s thoughts nicely.  “We need gas.”

“I’ll get it,” Amity volunteered quickly.  Anything to get out of the car, anything to get away from the ominous clucking emerging from the backseat.  She opened her door.  And that’s when all hell broke loose.  

Fourteen roosters, smelling freedom and gas station muffins, burst from the back seat into the front, climbing over Amity and streaming out of the passenger side door.  Amity shrieked and fell out of the car, scraping her arm on the concrete as roosters used her back as a jumping off point into the night.

Amity hissed as she used her arms to get up, her scraped elbow burning.  Luz ran around the side of the car to help stop the roosters, but it was too late.  They both watched helplessly as the birds flapped their wings and hopped away.

It was two thirty in the morning, and they had released roosters into the town.  

They were both silent as they ruminated on what had just happened.  The birds clucked in the distance, joining the cicadas in their unholy screaming.  

“We need to go,” Luz said at last, far more calmly than the panicked look in her eye suggested.  She helped Amity up, careful not to touch her injured arm and, without another word, they both got into the car and sped away.

~

Since they were fugitives now, they could no longer sleep at the barn.  Forgetting the fact that the barn’s owners had their information and would no doubt charge them for the roosters anyway, they quickly picked up their things, got back into the car, and bolted.  They drove for a couple of hours, trying in vain to ignore the strong smell of bird shit emanating from the backseat.  The streetlights illuminated the scene: feathers in the backseat, feathers in Amity’s hair, blood gently staining the paper towel Amity was holding to her elbow.   

After awhile they passed a sign for a Bed and Breakfast and Luz, having determined they’d gotten far enough away from the scene of the crime, turned the car in that direction.  They were quite a sight as they straggled into the quaint house, but the elderly owners asked no questions as to why they had shown up at four in the morning covered in feathers, so Luz and Amity gratefully stumbled up the stairs, finally collapsing in their new room.  Despite the summer heat, Amity was shivering, so Luz hurried to light the fireplace.

Once she’d tended to the fire, Luz sat down on the floor next to Amity.  “Show me,” she said, gesturing to Amity’s injured arm.  Amity wordlessly offered up her elbow, which Luz inspected.  “You don’t need stitches,” she said gratefully, pulling out a Naruto bandaid.

“How could you possibly know that?” Amity asked quietly.  Luz shrugged.  “I was really clumsy as a kid.”  

Amity raised an eyebrow.  “Okay, fine, I’m still clumsy,” Luz admitted.  

Their silences were usually comfortable, but this one most definitely was not.

“I’m really sorry,” Luz finally whispered, gingerly covering Amity’s wound with a picture of Sasuke Uchiha. “I didn’t mean to ruin our anniversary trip.”

They hadn’t spoken much since The Incident.  Amity had stared stonily out the car window while Luz drove and occasionally attempted to covertly glance at her girlfriend.  Hours had passed without Luz saying a word, a feat which Luz was secretly quite proud of.

“I really thought we’d manage to have a normal, nice time,” she continued, “but I ruined it, and now there’s a town being terrorized by roosters and it’s all my fault.”

Amity didn’t say anything for a few moments and then, unexpectedly, she started to laugh.  

“Um,” Luz said.  “Amity? Did you hit your head, too????”

“No, no,” Amity said between giggles.  “It’s just- it’s so us. Who else would this happen to?????? We released fourteen roosters onto an unsuspecting town in the middle of the night, and your car is covered in shit.  I really should’ve expected something like this.” “So...you’re not mad?”

“I was,” Amity admitted.  “In the car, I was kind of pissed.  I mean, you did wake me up in the middle of the night, which, as you know, is never a good idea, and we did have to flee our romantic trip like criminals.  But then I started thinking, and, I don’t know.”  She smiled almost shyly at Luz. 

“I knew what I was getting into when I told you I loved you,” she said simply.  “And I’m happy being with you, even if I did have to face one of my worst fears.”

“Oh my god,” Luz said, lower lip trembling.  “You’re gonna make me cry.” 

“Don’t go all soft on me now,” Amity said, rolling her eyes with a smile.  

Luz launched herself at Amity, and they fell over, rolling across the carpet a few times before finally landing next to each other on the floor.  Luz touched her forehead to Amity’s.  “I’ll always be soft when it comes to you,” she said.

“Gay,” Amity whispered back, but leaned forward and captured Luz’s mouth with hers.  

After the day they’d had, neither of them had the energy to get up, so they ended up sleeping on the floor that night, cuddled up on a blanket next to the fire.

“Happy anniversary,” Luz mumbled sleepily into Amity’s neck right before she drifted off to sleep.

“Happy anniversary,” Amity answered.

Despite it all, they both fell asleep with smiles on their faces.

[swaps55]

Eulogia

With MELE imminent, sharing a scene I wrote a long time ago, in which Kaidan Alenko mourns Ashley Williams after Virmire, and discovers he isn’t mourning alone. 

From here. 

~

The cargo bay was quiet when the elevator doors opened. Most of the crew had dispersed to the Citadel, leaving Kaidan mercifully alone in the cavernous space. Slowly he made his way towards the lockers, the scar tissue and healing sinews in his abdomen like a knot that someone had doused with gasoline and set on fire.

But still healing.  

(This is it. This is how I’m going to die.)

Kaidan exhaled.

If he closed his eyes he could still see the numbers in his HUD, always hovering right above zero, a perpetuating terminus never quite reached, never quite avoided.

When he reached the lockers he stopped, hand halfway to the one marked, Williams, A.

If he went by the book this should be Gladstone’s job. There was no reason it shouldn’t be Gladstone’s job.

(You know it’s the right choice.)

But it wasn’t Gladstone’s job.

The click of the locker door echoed loud enough that he flinched before drawing in a deep breath and pulling it all the way open. She hadn’t lied about her uniforms. Every shirt hung crisp and straight on its hanger, in sharp contrast to the chaotic pile of belongings tossed heedlessly on the ground below it. The pile was so impressive he was actually afraid to take anything out, for fear it would cause an outright avalanche. In spite of himself he shook his head and smiled a little.

“Somehow this is exactly what I expected from you,” he said under his breath. He heard a creak behind him and whipped his head around, heart rate thudding as though he expected to find her peering over his shoulder, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. A flush crept up the back of his neck.

Of course there was nothing. Ashley was dead.

His gripped the locker door until his knuckles whitened, leaned his forehead briefly against it. The metal felt cool and hard against his skin. He swallowed once. Twice.  

Eventually he straightened with a sigh, tugging at his uniform and rolling his shoulder, as though he could somehow shake Ashley off like working out a crick in his neck.  By the time his fingers brushed the cloth of her fatigues their subtle quiver had been swallowed up by the hard-earned discipline he’d practiced so diligently ever since Jump Zero.

(Kaidan Alenko. Always looking for the sure thing. Everything needs to be perfectly defined and spelled out for you, doesn’t it? Sometimes the unknown can be a little exciting, too.)

A static spark stung his finger as he emptied the hangers. He jerked his hand back, muttering, used to the burn, never the timing. Slowly he reached back in, painstakingly folding each shirt with precision he hadn’t employed since Basic.

(You find a wrinkle in my uniform and I’ll clean your pistol for a month.)

He made each crease razor sharp. Not a wrinkle to be found.

Once the clothing had been stored, he began taking apart the pile she had accumulated in her locker. Datapads with poetry. She liked Cummings and Yeats, Plath and Elizabeth Bishop. He remembered Joker saying something about Heinlein. Kaidan hadn’t intended to look through them, but shortly he found himself cross-legged on the floor, skimming through lines and verses. It was easy to tell her favorites – she’d annotated them heavily. Underlined phrases, personal reflections. In some cases she’d made notes that he didn’t understand, such as the one beside a line from a poem by Elizabeth Browning that simply read, Josh, and in parenthesis (the little shit).

She also had a copy of the Bible, which gave him pause. It wasn’t a datapad either but an actual book, pages dog-eared, corners bent and turned down, small makeshift bookmarks such as scraps of paper, paper clips, even a hair tie, sticking out at all angles. Like the datapads it was covered in notes, but all of these handwritten, in scripts of multiple hands. Some tiny and neat, others broad and flowing. Though he didn’t think he’d ever seen a sample of Ashley’s handwriting he immediately found one he thought had to be hers – small but hurried, with the occasional loopy flourish. It tended to start out neat, but quickly deteriorated when her hand couldn’t keep up with her thoughts, until it was nearly illegible.

The inside cover contained four handwritten paragraphs, each in a different script that he recognized from the subsequent pages. Each a note from parent to child, passing the heirloom on with messages of faith and love. Four generations of Williams, right there on one page.

Kaidan ran his fingers across the script, tracing the shallow grooves the pen made against the paper. General David Williams, of Shanxi infamy, bequeathing it to his son Matthew Williams, with a note.

Our faith is our legacy. We keep to it and carry on, no matter the cost. And when that task is difficult, remember those who’ve walked a harder road with lesser reward. We are blessed. I am blessed. Because I have you.

Serviceman Williams then wrote to his daughter, There’s a great wide universe out there waiting for you. I hope you explore it to the fullest. If you ever get lost, look here and see if you can’t find your way. Remember, kiddo. Ad aspera per astra.

Kaidan’s hands loosened, allowing the book’s spine to droop. A few pages whispered past his thumb. The hair tie bookmark fell out, ghosting to the floor without fanfare.

He snatched it up with a hot flash of guilt and held it aloft. What page did it come from? What place had he lost? How important had it been?

He didn’t know.

There was so much he didn’t know. So much he’d never learn.

He stared at the hair tie. Nothing more than a simple strip of dark blue elastic, still twined with a few strands of long, dark brown hair. She probably had a few dozen just like it. She’d worn two in her hair, at all times. One to pull it back into a ponytail, one to wrap around the thick twist of her bun and secure it in place. Usually she kept a third around her wrist, just for emergencies.

But they were never enough to hold back those few stubborn, errant strands that inevitably pulled free to waft about her face.

Moisture burned the corner of his eyes. His fingers curled around the small token, and he put his newly formed fist to his mouth to stifle the sound brewing in his throat. One choked sob got through before he swallowed the rest back, chest aching from the effort. He wicked a thumb across his eyes, hastily tucked the hair tie back between the pages and set the book aside.

This wasn’t his. The grief and memories trapped within the Bible’s covers were for her family, not for him.

But it shouldn’t be for anyone. It should be his things exposed to the harsh light of the cargo bay, meticulously sorted and stored, itemized on a manifest and marked for shipping back to Vancouver, care of Marc and Lora Alenko.

His throat tightened, hitching breath loud against the silent backdrop of the cargo bay. Not even the sound of the engines to provide some white noise.

Nothing like this would be found among his own belongings. He spoke to his folks a couple of times a year. Hadn’t been back to Vancouver in almost three. When he did it tended to be strained small talk and careful avoidance of anything to do with the mutated eezo nodes lurking under his skin. He’d actually thought running off to the Alliance might help. Follow in his father’s footstep. Give them something in common. That, of course, and he’d had nowhere else to go.

Would his own family have mourned him the way Ashley Williams’ would mourn her?

Would she?

Stop.

He raked a hand through his hair, fingers eventually coming to rest against his forehead. His head felt heavy. Too heavy to hold up, like a lead weight.

(They’re more important. We’re as good as dead up here anyway.)

He wondered who would inherit the Bible now that Ashley was gone. One of her sisters, maybe. Sisters who probably had yet to learn about what had happened down on Virmire.

(Kaidan, what the hell are you doing?)

(This bomb is going off! No matter what.)

No matter what. 0.00. He’d been ready for it. Ready for anything. Except Shepard’s hand, grabbing him by the arm.

Further down in the pile he found smaller items. Toiletries. A stuffed hanar, of all things. A bottle of liquor she must have picked up on Noveria.

(Just for the record, I’d look damn good in a dress.)

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, chest constricting. He could see her so clearly, standing at the railing in Port Hanshan, alternating between slouching and gripping the rail with her hands and leaning back on her heels.

(I’m not most people.)

No. She hadn’t been.

He found some packing material for the liquor. It was scotch, an asari brand, maybe purchased to share with Liara. Why it hadn’t been drunk he couldn’t say. Maybe she just ran out of time.  

Next was a holo album containing a few photos. People he didn’t recognize. A woman that looked too much like her not to be her mother. A young girl with a grin he recognized from those brief moments in the comm room. Before…

Stop!

Kaidan put the holo aside, then rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. Took a deep breath in. Let it out slow. Clamped his eyes shut. For a moment, everything shook. His hands. The air in his lungs. His skin felt hot, but prickled with gooseflesh.  

Breathe in. Breathe out.  

Eventually he opened his eyes. Went back to the pile. Finish it, marine. Don’t leave her hanging.

In all her possessions were scant, just what she’d been able to obtain or accumulate since they’d picked her up on Eden Prime. In fact, how the Bible and holo album had even managed to catch up with her struck him as a bit of a mystery.

But when he got to the bottom of the pile his hand froze, mouth dry as a shock of white hot cold strummed the length of his spine, numbness dulling his fingers until they felt thick and clumsy.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, she’d died in her combat gear. Not her fatigues. Of course they would be here.

This time no amount of discipline could overcome his shaking hands as he picked one up and turned it over in his palms.

A neon green boot with matching laces, so bright they nearly glowed in the dim light of the cargo bay.

His gut clenched, chest so tight he couldn’t breathe, the edges of his vision blurring until something hot and wet spilled over onto his cheeks.

(Come on.)

(Whoa, where are we going? Anderson said to wait here.)

(Come on, LT. Think we’ll ever get to poke around here again? Live a little.)

Only he hadn’t. She’d been right there. Right there. And he hadn’t.  

(Tell me you haven’t thought about this.)

(Thinking’s not the same as doing. Maybe, once all this is behind us…)

He dropped the boot, back slamming against the lockers as he buried his head in his hands, the grief that he’d stored down deep in his chest ever since that timer reached zero breaching the damn in a flood of hot tears. He wept himself hollow, hot, swollen and aching, exhaustion creeping in until he felt it laying heavily over his skin, behind his eyes, in the pit of his stomach. Then he just sat silent, eyes red and heavy, arms resting on his knees.

A hulking shape appeared above him. Had he not felt so drained he might have cared more about discovering he hadn’t been alone after all. But when Wrex’s red, horny crest came into view he met the krogan’s fierce stare without shame. Whatever the krogan had to say, he was beyond giving a damn.

“She was a warrior worth mourning,” Wrex said.

Kaidan straightened his posture with mild surprise, but said nothing.

“Shepard chose his companions well. Even those I at first didn’t give him credit for.” He offered a scaly hand, which Kaidan accepted warily. Wrex hauled him effortlessly to his feet, and gave him a brusque nod.

“You are krantt.”

Kaidan wasn’t sure how to respond, but Wrex saved him the trouble by ambling away without further comment. The krogan had been nearly invisible since their return from Virmire. After finding him here Kaidan wasn’t even sure if he’d even left the ship.

He hadn’t considered the possibility that a krogan might mourn a human soldier. But Ashley…had that effect on people.

With a wipe of his eyes Kaidan began piling Ashley’s things into a crate. Once the locker was empty he sealed it, then closed the crate up as well and entered it into the ship’s inventory for the requisitions offer to offload and send to her family. By the time he finished, his grief had been replaced by grim, dogged resolve.

We’re coming for you, Saren. May God help you, you bastard.  

[starshipsofstarlord]

Growing Pains | TFW

Request:  Hey! Can I please request a platonic x reader with team free will 2.0? The reader gets turned back to a toddler by a witch and they try to ask Rowena for help but, the spell lasts for a week and it's just plain chaotic. The reader is extremely clumsy and hungry but knows a few words like "Hungry" and "Thirsty". The rest is up to you 😊. Thanks in advance!

A/N: It is a little different from the request, so I hope you don’t mind, also it’s not great. And I’m terribly sorry for the wait, I hope you can understand why xxx

Walking around the lab, you screwed your face up at the mess. It was like toddler’s had been let loose in the room, there was glass broken upon the floor, paper thrown out of the shredder, and worst of all, no one to condemn for the death of the scientist.

Sighing, you shut your eyes, leaning back into one of the counters. “So, the guy that was killed had like a dozen or so kids and we can’t find a single one of them, or the mother?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose as Cas circled the room once more, seeing if he could find anything that your human eyes had missed. But alas, there was no ultimatum, nothing that could direct the pair of you to answers.

“That sounds about right.” Dean’s gruff voice came from the doorway, stepping on shards of glass as he came closer to the two of you. “Although at this time, I am calling shots on the mom being the killer.”

“We don’t even know if this is up our alley Dean.” You sighed, opening your eyes and looking at the older hunter. “Did you get anything from the co-workers?” 

“Not a peep.” His tone was almost too cheerful, especially considering the circumstances. The group of you were nowhere near completing this case, and all he could think about was the burger joint around the corner. You were close enough to it, that you would give in and accompany him. “Who’s hungry?”

“After the sight of the guts strung in the ceiling fan,” you looked up to emphasise your point, “I think I may have lost what appetite that I had left.”

“Bad luck. You snooze, you lose.” With that he left the room, presumably heading off to stuff his face. It was impossible not to roll your eyes at his childish behaviour, although in all fairness, you should have been used to it by now. However your dear angel friend remained with you. 

“We should meet with Sam and Jack, and see if they have found anything in the house.” Castiel spoke, confused by the lack of evidence in this death. There was nothing that could have helped, even the majority of the man’s body was gone.

“Why would someone have that many children?” It was a rhetorical question, but just the thought of your body going through it’s natural process that many times made you shiver.

“To repopulate.” Cas put simply, although that was a straightforward fact. But that was not what you had meant, admittedly you had a soft spot for kids, even missed being one sometimes.

“I know, but doesn’t that seem sort of strange to you?” Your mind was spinning with all sorts of possibilities, of what could and couldn’t be going on. Unless, well... “It could be like some sort of supernatural litter, or they’re breeding test subjects. Is there even any record of them having that many children?”

Your conclusions made your friend frown, and he pointed his finger up, unintentionally pointing to the tendril of flesh that was hanging from the fan above.

“We should check the records.” And with that he grabbed your bag from just outside of the room, pulling your laptop from out of it. Just then, your phone began ringing. It was Sam, and so you answered.

“Hey, you find anything?” There was silence on the other end, until you heard the shrill sound of what you supposed to be a child.

“Was that Jack or -” 

“Hey!” The nephilim retorted. You could already picture the child like frown on his face, but before either of you could bicker about your comparison, the Winchester on call spoke first.

“She left one of her kids, and we found hex bags.” He breathed, relieved that this did in fact involve what you all were guessing to be a witch, yet also frustrated about how messy this all was. “But the thing is, this son of hers was closed in the basement, and the only thing down there for him to eat down there was a man’s leg...”

“We should get that tested, it could be the father.” You said, trying to think about this case adjoined with all of its new revelations. “So, what is her goal here, she’s trying to turn her own children into cannibals?”

“That’s how the ‘myth’ of the wendigo started in human folklore.” Jack commented, before he frowned. Him and Sam both let out shouts, making you fear for the pair. 

“Sam?”

“She doesn’t have any children, nor did he.” Cas spoke, the content on the screen disarranging this entire predicament further. “What just happened Sam?”

His breathing could still be heard from the other end of the line. It seemed like he was in shock of some sort.

“You’ve got that right, Cas.” He breathed, referring to the fact that she had no spawn. “And I suspect the others are like him. He’s just turned into a grown man, we’re going to attempt to get an answer to who he is. Be careful if you encounter Mrs Fletcher, both of you.”

So, now you had a presumed answer on how Mr Fletcher had died, you had to tell Dean. Quickly, you and Cas left the scene, looking for the elder Winchester, remembering to take any of your items with you.

“Thankyou.” You nodded, doing all of the talking to any police whilst Cas held your phone at an arm’s length. “Got any clues on where our witch works?” You asked him.

Sam replied soon, making the matter of reaching Dean that more prominant. “West Street, not far from where you are. At the burger joint, Paula’s.”

“Shit!”

-

When you and Castiel arrived, Dean Winchester was nowhere to be found. That fact had you deeply concerned, more so than you would usually be on a hunt. This presumed witch was targeting adults, and not only did he and the majority of you fit the agenda, but you didn’t want to know what would happen if you ended up disturbing her crosshairs.

There was no one inside, excluding yourself and the angel. It was eerie, almost too quiet to be owned by a witch. Scratch that, definitely too quiet.

“Behind the counter.” You nodded towards the door, taking the lead first, lightly pushing it. The bell atop of it jingled, making you blink hazily, before all turned to a deep gaze of pixels.

Castiel walked closer to you, tapping your forehead, but to no avail was your state resolved. Instead, you felt the need to collapse and keep your eyes contained behind their lids. And so you gave into that feeling, only hearing the voices of Sam and Jack before it was over.

-

When you awoke, you were in your bed in the bunker, but it felt much larger than it ever had before. There was so much room to move upon the mattress, the duvet even felt bigger.

As you looked down at your hands, you realised they had shrunk significantly. For all you were aware, this could all have been a very lucid dream, but you doubted that. As a hunter, the strange things were never false, they were real.

Attempting to leave your bed, you dropped your legs over the side, although they were now incapable of touching the floor. Instead of landing upright, you fell, causing a thud against the floor.

The sound had obviously rendered, and it removed all thoughts that were rattling around in your mind. Memories flashed before your eyes, sending a haze of dizziness to your shrunken body, until they all left, making you aloof in your own adult room.

Dean rushed out of his own reside as he heard the thud. He had followed the witch around the back and shanked her, but there had been a second plan up her long black sleeves. And he should have known, as he walked into your room, only to find a little girl with a strong resemblance to you.

This was her charade when alive, and the issue still stuck even now even when she was dead. Dean rubbed his face, feeling the muscles that were tensing beneath the skin. And now they were left with the outcome that they and you had tried to resolve.

Looking down at your youthful silhouette reminded Dean as to exactly why he hated witches so much. They were deceitful and cruel, and unfortunately so much more. “Sam!” He called out in a hurry, cradling your small, whining body in his arms.

You tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but your once fellow hunter would not allow you to do so. There was no logic turning in the cogs of your mind, instead, you were much rather shy to someone that you were viewing as a stranger.

In a flash, Sam was at the threshold of your door, looking in as it was ajar. He saw Dean with a kid, and there was only one explanation for it. They had been hustled whilst the witch turned in her grave...

-

Cas examined a book in the war room, whilst Jack followed his actions. Sam was on the phone with Rowena, asking, some would see it as begging, the witch to come and fix you up. And thus, Dean was left with you, whilst he nursed a beer in his opposite hand.

You tried to reach the glass bottle, but Dean jerked it away from your grasp. “No.” He warned you, having continuously done so before when you were too lazy to fetch your own from the fridge. But that didn’t stop you, instead it humoured you, making you laugh at the perceived game.

“Stop it.” He spoke again, making Jack laugh at your stubbornness which clearly hadn’t changed. For once, it was nice for him not to be the youngest in the room, even though technically he still wasn’t. But all got distracted when Sam huffed a sigh of relief over the phone.

“Okay, great. Me and Dean will meet you there.” And then he hung up.

-

Rather than being in Dean’s arms once again, you had been traded to Sam’s as the eldest drove Baby to the destination that Rowena had proposed. “Thirsty.” You mumbled, a gurgle following your very short sentence.

Sam looked at Dean, who only shrugged. He was unsure of what to do, they couldn’t stop at a gas station, otherwise they would miss their meeting with Rowena, and as they knew far too well, she was a tricky one to get a hold of.

“No you’re not.” Dean told you, trying to convince your mind otherwise to its actual thoughts. For the moment of which you were silent, he thought it may have worked, however the peace was not eternal, for you spoke again.

“Hungry.” You managed to speak next, making Dean huff from exhaustion. He thought of your need for a drink, and then it clicked, he tipped his head back at Sam.

“There’s a beer in the back.” It possibly could have rolled under his seat, these roads to the witch were bumpy. Sam gasped at the statement, placing his hand on your back as he bounced you and kept you distracted from your desires.

“Please tell me that you’re not serious.” At this point, Sam would not be surprised with his brother. Quite clearly, as much as the man adored kids, he was getting quite fed up with you in this state. It was day in, day out and yet the effects still hadn’t worn themselves out.

“She’s technically of legal drinking age.” He shrugged, remembering all of the times that you would steal his beer from the fridge, or even sometimes his hands.

“Technically,” the younger of the two pried, glaring at his brother, “currently she isn’t,”

“We’re here anyway.” Dean cut the conversation short, putting the car in park. For the first time in his life, the hunter and legacy was eager to see Rowena. Never did he think that day would ever come, but somehow your obliviousness had landed you all here, and he hated it.

Sam got out of the car, carrying you to a bench that Dean had decided to park his own rear on. There was a nice breeze whipping his hair before his face, and this younger you mirrored the reaction the elder one would have had.

You laughed, watching the swarm of locks cover his face, and move to the other side, with the swiftest and slightest motions as the direction switched itself up. 

Footsteps, clearly heels, could be heard clicking their way over. It was isolated in this park, presumably the redhead’s doing as she came into view with an amused grin stretching her chin.

“Well, if I was not already quite acquainted with the pair of you, I would presume the two of you were fathers to dear little (Y/N).” Rowena bent forward, ignoring the glares she received from the men, ogling at your youthful expressions. “Are you sure that you don’t want to keep her like this? She is quite adorable when she hasn’t got the brains to work with my son when the two of you dimwits think it fits into your narrative. Or hold a gun to the back of my neck and blackmail me with my own security.”

“Definitely.” Was Dean’s instant response. He could not do another day with baby you, he’d start going grey, or his eyes would turn black all of a sudden from pent up rage.

“Yes, Rowena.” Sam answered, bowing his head, as your fingers decided to thread themselves through his hair.

“Shame.” She pouted briefly, before waving her hand, and then you were, dazed, but sat in Sam’s lap, full size. As soon as you came to, your eyes widened at the position you were in, and you were quick to launch yourself out of it. He however sat there stunned. “Told you we should have called her earlier.” Sam said, still feeling awkward from your exchange, and Dean only grunted in a reply.

Dean knew for sure though, you had been a pain in the ass. If it ever happened again, he would just leave you with Jack and Cas.

[mistergrass]

Zodiac Mom Headcanons: Momiji’s Mom

Slowly but surely I am making my way through these mom posts. This time let’s talk about someone whose worst moments as a mother were put on blast for the audience to see. 

Rat & Snake Mom | Ox Mom | Tiger Mom | Rabbit Mom | Dragon Mom

Momiji’s mother is an only child born in Berlin. 

Her father, a handsome and charismatic man, is a renowned photographer. Her mother, beautiful and alluring, is a dancer. They’re drawn to each other immediately when they meet on a photoshoot that features her mother’s dance troupe. 

Their romance is as short-lived as it is passionate, and the affair comes to an abrupt end when her mother becomes pregnant. 

The responsibility of a child falls almost completely on her mother’s shoulders, essentially ending her dance career (something she had left her family to pursue), and the beginnings of a cruel resentment begin to take form.

Her father has the spirit of an artist -- not wanting to be tied down to one woman, and not very suited for a traditional family lifestyle. That being said, he doesn’t abandon mother and child completely. 

As Momiji’s mother grows up, her father will pop in and out of her life as he pleases. She thinks her mother can be too strict, too mean, and becomes a difficult child to handle as a result. But when her father comes to visit, she is over the moon and perfectly behaved. He’ll take her to museums, show her the photographs hanging in his studio, give her a stepping stool so she can help in his dark room, and (unlike her mother) will never ever scream at her even when clumsy, childish hands accidentally spill things or knock things over. 

Her father never sticks around for very long, and as wonderful as it is to see him, it hurts tenfold when he leaves. And so, she grows up with her mother’s snappish impatience, and her father’s casual and conditional affection. 

Going into her teenage years, Momiji’s mom begins to come into her own as an artist -- admiring and following the path of her father. She loves painting and ceramics, but she begins to grow into an undeniable beauty and it’s not long that she’s discovered as a model.

Her mother does not approve of this choice. For her, it’s bad enough that she has to watch her daughter openly prefer her father’s company to her own (despite everything she’s given up to raise her, while he can barely spare to send a postcard on their daughter’s birthday), but now her daughter is adding insult to injury by pursuing her father’s lifestyle. A lifestyle her mother was forced to give up to have a child. 

It also doesn’t help that Momiji’s mom finds almost instant success as a model. 

Where her mother was simply impatient before, now she becomes cruel. 

She begins to undermine her daughter’s beauty, nitpicking at every little thing about her appearance. Momiji’s mother is now being constantly told that her photos are drab, ugly, unprofessional. That her beauty is fleeting, that the world around her will discover one day how little talent she has, and that her artistic abilities are worthless and boring. All this while she’s still only a teenager. 

Momiji’s mom acts out in different ways, but mostly by taking on more modeling work (that exhausts her) and bringing home boyfriends her mother would never approve of (for good reason).

Her first serious boyfriend is a man six years her senior who is possessive and jealous, and rips to shreds the last bits of self-esteem she had left. 

By the end of their four year relationship, Momiji’s mother has come to believe that something inside her is deeply, truly ugly. She has an overflowing anxiety that others will see her for what she truly is. Something that is wholly incompatible with her inability to be alone -- whether romantically, or via the need to surround herself constantly with people. 

It’s at this time, at 20 years old and in her second year of university, that she meets Momiji’s father at a campus mixer.

At first, she’s intimidated by him (thought that doesn’t stop her from making conversation). She finds he’s not just studying abroad here, but attends the university full-time. He’s fluent in Japanese, German, and English, and seems so much smarter than she believes herself to be. In addition, he has a cold, distant demeanor to him that makes him seem unattainable. 

Momiji’s father on the other hand, is taken immediately by this woman. He’s awkward and nervous in large social gatherings, but has been told from an early age never to outwardly show his discomfort. But she talks so passionately, so freely, that he can’t help but be drawn to her. When he fumbles over his words at the end of the night to ask her out for dinner, she realizes that she’d mistaken his shyness for apathy, and it immediately enamors him to her. 

After two dates, they become inseparable. 

She’s taken in by his kindness and gentility. He listens to her as if everything she says matters. He isn’t at all like the arrogant personalities she’s dated in the past, and if anything has an aversion to talking about himself. He never once makes her feel stupid, puts her down, or makes her feel worthless.

She’s prone to terrible mood swings and bouts of manic self-loathing that will leave her a sobbing mess. But where this has driven away boyfriends in the past, it only serves to make him more devoted to her. He holds her in his arms, and never once gets upset with her for being so much to handle.

Momiji’s father is an only child from a high-ranking Sohma family, and has had the entirety of his life mapped out for him since birth. He works to inherit his father’s business, and to maintain their standing in the family. Insurmountable pressure had been put on his shoulders from a young age, one that isolated him from making true friends in favor of focusing solely on his studies. He was never allowed to be overwhelmed, to not be good enough, nor to be disobedient. 

But Momiji’s mother is like a walking piece of art -- chaotic and beautiful. He finds her endlessly interesting. He’s never met anyone who talks so openly about the things they love, the things they hate, or their own fears and insecurities. He likes feeling as though he can take care of her. He likes being someone reliable for her. And, eventually, he finds her to be the only person in the world that he can be vulnerable with. He has only ever cried in front of her. 

For the last two years of college they spend all their free time together. He uses his cushy Sohma allowance to take them on trips and long weekends around Europe. And when the time comes for him to return to Japan after graduation, he can’t picture even a moment of his future without her. 

He proposes, she says yes, and she agrees to leave her life in Berlin behind to move to Japan. 

It’s a difficult transition. Though she had started learning Japanese when they first started dating, she’s far from fluent. It makes forming friendships and new connections within the Sohma family all the harder. 

It’s also clear that her mother-in-law does not take too much of a liking to her. Momiji’s father bends over backwards making sure that their new home has space for her to continue her artistic pursuits, which comes off as frivolous to her new family. She also has limited housekeeping skills which reflects poorly on her ability to be a proper wife. 

It’s an isolating experience, especially with her husband working long, late hours nearly every night. The loneliness begins to eat at her, resurfacing the shattered self-esteem that her new husband had spent the past two years healing. She seriously considers moving back to Germany on more than one occasion, but then she gets pregnant. 

She’s not ready for a child. It’s too soon, and the thought of taking care of a whole other person is terrifying when she can barely stand to get out of bed most days now. But her husband assures her this will be a good thing, that maybe it will help the aching loneliness she feels. 

Before she has a chance to get excited, they’re summoned by a young Akito. 

Momiji’s mother doesn’t really process what she’s being told. Her husband has to translate what the little six year old is saying to her, and when he does his face is pinched and anxious. 

A curse, he says. Her child is cursed. Somehow it makes sense, what with everything that dwells inside herself, but it’s hard for her to grasp this whole thing beyond that.

The pregnancy is a difficult one, filled with complications and scares that leaves her health completely depleted. When Momiji is born two months premature, her nerves are completely frayed. 

True understanding of her child’s situation doesn’t really hit her until she holds a small rabbit in her arms, swaddled like a baby. 

She vomits when it first happens. The transformation leaves her completely shaken, and she can’t understand why no one else around her seems to find this as horrific as it obviously is. 

She does her best for the first few years. Honestly, she does. But the child makes her nervous. The supernatural nature of it all terrifies her, and she shakes every time she tries to hold her child and finds a little rabbit there instead. 

As he grows older, she finds herself snapping at him over the smallest things, just as her mother did to her. A guilt builds inside her steadily that somehow she is at fault for this, that her hidden, disgusting nature warped and mutated their child. The thought of it puts her in hysterics at times, and she finds she can never relax in her own home.

Her husband urges her to keep herself together. There’s a desperation in his voice when he talks to her now. He reminds her, again and again, that above everything else Momiji is their child. Theirs, and no one else’s. He is their son that they have created, and he is still a symbol of the love they have for each other. Once she adjusts to the situation, she’ll learn to love him the way he knows she can. She just needs more time.

During this period, other zodiac mothers make an attempt to reach out, and her Japanese is finally at a level that she can have pleasant conversation with them. Haru and Yuki’s mothers invite her to lunch often enough. Shigure’s mother is also very hospitable. She also takes a real liking to Kureno’s mother, though the woman is clearly disliked by many of the other women in the family. 

It helps, but it’s still difficult to talk to these women about her issues with the curse and with her son. Their eyes are judgmental, and she worries if she falls apart in front of them it would not be met with the same warmth as her husband (though he’s hardly ever around anymore). 

Stress and guilt and shame and fear slowly build inside her for the next four years. Then, one day, she sits down to paint and realizes she can’t. She’s too locked up -- the reality of her situation has become too overwhelming, and she can’t even release it through her art.

She finally decides to tell someone about what’s going on. Her husband had been very clear with her that this curse is to remain completely secret, but it’s not as if she wants to do a news interview. All she wants is to talk to her mom. 

Her mother is still the same harsh, critical woman she’s always been, but they’ve grown closer in the past few years. Becoming a mother herself has made her appreciate her own mother more, and the distance has softened both of them to each other considerably. 

She tells her mother the whole story, with her listening surprisingly sympathetically throughout. By the end of the conversation, Momiji’s mother feels more comforted and loved by her mother than she has in years. 

It’s Momiji’s father that gets the call from his livid mother-in-law demanding to know what’s happened to her daughter, and if he’s doing anything about the fact that she’s having a complete nervous breakdown that features wild delusions regarding their child.

Momiji’s father comes home that night, and for the first time he becomes truly angry at her. He scolds her for telling her mother anything about their situation, which only serves to make her just as angry since she was only seeking a bit of support. 

But it all gets much much worse when he says how lucky they are that her mother thought she was deranged. 

The whole world drops from below her feet when he admits that he let her mother continue to think that she was clinically insane. The man who had always defended her, understood her, cared for her -- the man she had left everything for -- had created a lie so egregious and spouted it back to her own mother. 

She demands to know why he would do such a thing, and when he sputters out his thoughtless obedience to this strange family -- the one with the child treated like a king, and with all these dark secrets. After so long of telling her that she was his light when his family treated him like nothing, after telling her that she was his most important family now -- it’s a betrayal that she’d never expected from the man she loves.

The reality of her isolation comes down all at once. There is no one left she can talk to, there is no place she can go, and this child now represents something completely foreign to her. The only thing that was keeping her together was her husband’s assurances that the child was completely theirs -- but it’s not. This child belongs to the Sohmas, to some curse that her body housed and nurtured. The disgust that’s been building inside her body breaks like a dam and completely washes over Momiji. 

She becomes inconsolable. She refuses to look at her son, and her husband becomes subject to fits of rage and anguish. He feels as though he’s completely lost her, and with the love of his life so indisposed, he feels just as alone. 

Momiji’s father is the one who tells her about the option to wipe her memory. Not just in hopes of reeling back her sanity, but because he wants her to forget the lie he told. If she forgets that, maybe their marriage can go back to how it was. If she forgets that deep cut of betrayal, maybe she won’t look at him like he’s some misshapen stranger. 

She agrees as quickly as she had when he proposed. Together they decide that forgetting Momiji will ultimately be for the best.

At first when she recovers, things seem to return back to normal. But there’s always a piece missing as the years go on. There’s always something not quite right. Momiji’s father is paranoid and nervous -- the presence of his wife is no longer a comfort, but a stressor. And sometimes, for the briefest moment, he’ll catch her staring at him. Her eyes far off and distant, like she’s completely lost in thought, and the expression that rests on her face will be one of fear. When she comes back to herself, it’s as if she hadn’t even noticed. 

The zodiac mothers are told not to speak to her after her memory is erased, which suits most of them just fine (Haru’s mother took particular offense to the decision). Below is the relationship chart for pre-memory wipe: 

Friends with: Kureno’s mom, Haru’s mom, Shigure’s mom, Ritsu’s mom

Doesn’t like: Yuki’s mom, Hatori’s mom