#a hurricane bears on you for days and takes *hours* to pass

[andromeda3116]

I mentioned it in my tags, but I think it's worth pointing out in the post proper as well:

Strong hurricanes spawn tornadoes. And particularly in the northeastern quadrant of the hurricane, which is the strongest region of the cyclone. So it's a two-fer, you have the tornadoes hearkening the arrival of the strongest part of the inner bands/eye wall. Like a preview of the fun the next days/weeks/months of your life will be. As a treat.

So it's no contest. Hurricanes are worse, because of *gestures at everything* but also you get tornadoes along with big hurricanes, so you don't even have to choose between them!

I need to settle an argument

reblogs VERY much encouraged, please feel free to prove reasoning in the tags or replies

[midnight-bay-if]

Hi! Love the demo! Can't wait for more!

But do write at your own pace, would hate to see another author with great potential burnt themselves out. ♥️

Just saw the ROs dying in MC's arm ask, and can't help but think my MC probably won't be able to move on lol

So if the ROs somehow turned to a ghost or like having other consciousness that makes them able to see the MC. Seeing the MC having a real tough time dealing with the loss, or not dealing with them at all, slowly ruining themself both physically and mentally. What are the ROs thoughts/reacts/feels?

(Hi, anon! Thank you so much ❤️ Sorry this took so long.)

S: They stand guard as a spectral sentinel through an endless abyss, watching but unable to interfere. It is torture. Every time a stray tear slips down your cheek or a cry of frustration tears through your throat, they yearn to reach out as they once did, to rest their forehead against your own and whisper, "I'm here". But they can't. They utter words of reassurance into your ear, knowing you will not hear, whilst in the same breath chastising themselves for leaving you.

Even if you will never know the truth, they will stay. They will guard. And they will pray for the day you set them aside.

Rain: They hear your cries even when they have ceased; they replay inside their mind, encasing them in a hurricane of regret. They are trapped inside a whirlpool of their own making, destined to watch your sorrow behind the veil that separates life from death. In your darkest hours, they curl up next to you and place a comforting hand on yours, despite the fact neither of you can feel it.

A part of them hopes that one day, by some miracle, you will. "I never left. I never will."

Taj: This isn't what they wanted. It is a rare individual who prepares readily for death, but Taj tried. Their entire life has been a set of new contingencies, readying themselves for sacrifice. Even after meeting you, they bruised you with pommelling words and fracturing remarks so you could learn to raise your head above them. They hoped to have taught you enough that your strength would keep your head high even after they were gone.

Only now do they realise they were planning for the wrong thing. They should have fought to stay alive and remain by your side instead. "I'm sorry, Koel," they whisper into the endless space between you, "I failed you."

N: They have never been one to sit idle. At first, they allowed themselves to be consumed by the weight of your grief, basking in it even in death. Before meeting you, death was not even a passing thought in their consciousness. Death was something they brought to others, not the other way around. You changed everything. For the first time, N feared death but, in the same breath, became overjoyed with the notion that someone might miss them after they were gone.

Bearing witness now to what that means is much more crushing than they ever anticipated.

So, they do what they do best. They plot. If it is possible to find a way to reach you, to find their way back through the endless nothing, they will. Even if it takes the rest of your life. And should they fail, they will be the first to take your hand and welcome you to eternity.

Umbra: It feels familiar. But also different. The weightlessness of death encompasses them like an old friend, but it feels emptier than ever before. Perhaps because you are no longer within reach. They took it for granted, the time that you had. A lifetime would not have been enough for them, so how do they come to terms with less?

They see your struggle, and they know you feel it, too. Both of you, two sides of the same coin, tugging at the cut string of fate, hoping it will weave itself back together. It doesn't. But that does not mean there is nothing to be done. They have been here before, suffering a crushing isolation to keep watching from the shadows. They are the shadows. Every time a shadow seems darker than black, that is where they are.

They were promised a lifetime with you; they intend to check that in.

"I'm not going anywhere," they whisper, standing guard for your grief. "Not again."

[absentia-if]

I don't think this has been asked, and if it has feel free to ignore this 😅. how would the ros react to mc disappearing for an entire day leaving a note for the ros that says they would be gone for the day but without a reason, and then comes back the next day with a special gift that the ros may have mentioned in a previous conversation?

Kade/Kara: They barely pay attention to the gift, thoughts already swirling back to the note you had left them. It wasn't enough, it'd never be enough, not when they didn't know why you had gone so suddenly-- not when you had been gone for as long as you had been, without contact or any indication of where you could be. "Don't disappear like that again," they say, hazel eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I appreciate that you were doing something for me, and I trust that you're able to take care of yourself, but I couldn't handle it if something happened to you and I didn't know. Again."

Michael/Margot: The sight of you causes various emotions to swirl within their chest: rage, tinted with relief, happiness, poisoned with bitterness, and joy that's wrapped in a bundle of fear. Azure blue eyes darken to a stormy cobalt, reminiscent of the ocean after a hurricane, and an expression you couldn't quite name contorts their elegant face. "Did--" M cuts themself off, a bone-deep sigh leaving them before their arms quickly wrap around your body and pull you tightly against them. "Did you think I wouldn't worry?" they whisper, voice thick with pain. "Did you think that a note would suffice? We always say goodbye, MC. That's our rule. I-I wasn't able to say it the last time you were taken from me. Please don't make go through that again."

Blaine/Blaire: Happy Birthday is plastered all across the wrapping paper, it crinkles slightly in their hands as they turn it over, but B, despite everything, couldn't help the frown that furrows their brow; nor could they forget the worry that had made a home within their chest for the past day. "You didn't have to do this, MC.” They gently place the wrapped gift on the coffee table before they take your hand. "You being safe, you keeping me company, you being here, is more than I could ever ask for. I don't need anything else for my birthday except for you to be right by my side as I celebrate it. Just like you always have been."

Wren/Wynn: "Do you not understand how foolish it was to do this?" They hiss, a snarl etched across their face, while dark brown eyes look almost black due to their rage. "Did you not think that I wouldn't worry? That I wouldn't think something happened to you? For a day, for twenty-four hours, I didn't know if you were okay, I didn't know where you were, and I didn't know why you left. I've worked cases exactly like this before, MC. I've seen what it can do to people. I couldn't bear it if it happened again to you or your family. Not after everything that's already happened." A soft sigh leaves their mouth then, tension leeching from their shoulders as they slump forward. "I appreciate the sentiment of the gift, I truly do, but I appreciate knowing that you're safe even more."

Nicholas/Natalie: "I-I thought something happened," they sob, hands desperately clawing at your back, tightening their hold on your hoodie. Logically they know you're safe, they know you haven't disappeared, but that doesn't make the pain, the grief, work its way out of their system any faster. They had seen what your disappearance did to their best friend, to your parents, even if it was only in passing, and they couldn't imagine how they had been able to live with it; they had thought you were gone for only a day and the pain had almost been overwhelming. Dealing with death, dealing with the grief that came with it, was commonplace in their life, but they never wished for it to be when it came to you. "Please don't go somewhere that I can't follow."

[creativeashproductions]

What's a Knife Between Onscreen Family // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Filming an emotionally wrought scene on the set of your current role as a regular goes very wrong very fast. Expecting the scene to be the most taxing of the day you find yourself in the ER getting a transfusion. It’s all fun and games until someone’s holding a sharp knife incorrectly, guess it’s just something in common with co-star Jared Padalecki.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, fear, injuries, hospital, needles, angst, and fluff

Words: 3.5k (including lyrics)

A/N: I watched a part of a panel from a Supernatural con and found it hilarious that Jensen accidently stabbed Jared. So I had to write that for a Charlie Gillespie fic. Link to the video talking about the stabbing is right below this message.

Jensen Ackles Accidentally Stabbed Jared Padalecki during filming From 1:00-6:00

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

It had to be one of the most emotionally taxing scenes in your entire career as an actress on a physically demanding show. The scene had been incredibly mentally draining the daughter of a Winchester. It had been once season recurring, one series regular and now filming the third season. As the teenage Winchester, it threw a wrench in all the plans and the reckless character gave no shits.

“Okay, this is our last scene for the day!” Robert Singer, the director of his episode, called out from off stage. Standing at the top of the stairs in the Bunker, you jumped in close with a scrunched nose at the squishy sound.

Over the railing, both Jared and Jensen nodded their support from the ground level with concerned expressions. Ever since you joined the cast in season 13, they had become fathers to you. The sight of you drenched in stage blood was enough to churn their stomachs.

“I gave you the barebones of the scene so work with it. Briar’s traumatized after fighting for her life and has been gone for a while.” Robert explained, “Cas couldn’t find her. I want this to be a tribute like Dean in season 10 episode 14: The Executioner’s Song.”

Taking a deep breath in your emotions channelled into a hurricane in your chest, clenching your fingers on the knife.

“Action!”

Pacing the floor plan of the Bunker is two brothers bonded by sorrow, pain, sacrifice and love. Each throwing out locations on where Briar could be, Jack and Cas had been little help. Sam’s heart clenched tight bypassing images straight to torture. The kind of torture he had endured over the years.

Dean’s mouth opened to suggest another place when the Bunker door creaked open. The red converse appeared before the soggy jeans as the teen slowly made her way down the steps. Briar Winchester shook like a leaf staring off in the distance as the blood congealed on her face and hands.

“Briar.” Dean slowly spoke, moving towards the girl. His green eyes lit up in fury as the seventeen-year-old flinched back. Dean’s hand gently took the stained knife from the young girl.

“I-I didn’t mean to do it.” The meek voice appeared so unlike the usual confidence Briar talked with. In exhaustion, Briar’s knees collapsed, sending the teen right into Dean’s arms.

The stoic man gripped the youngest Winchester as his waist bearing her weight against his while Sam circled to be behind Dean. The choked sob echoed by another escaped the family huddle; one from Briar and the other from Dean.

“Dad.” Briar choked clenching her arms around the green-eyed adult’s shoulders, craving the safety of her father.

Ever since Dean could remember he had had a strict rule of always practising safe sex, he didn’t want a kid. Not in a world that had it out for Winchesters and not one where he might hold his child’s dead body in his arms. That all changed when Cas delivered Dean to a county jail where Briar was held just for a minor assault charge on a wealthy bully.

Dean never let himself want a future with the picket fence and the dog in the backyard but when Briar changed that. Dean would do anything for his family no matter the cost. Example: Selling his soul for Sam.

“Sh.” Dean spoke kissing the crown of her hair he savoured having his child safe in his arms, “I’ll help you to the bathroom to get cleaned up. We’ll heat some soup and toast.”

On autopilot, Dean helped Briar down the hall to the bathroom where she would freshen up and later burn the unsalvageable clothing. As Dean returned to Sam’s side, Castiel came with a sombre expression and an explanation.

“Dean. Sam.” Cas greeted them, flicking his blue gaze between the two brothers. The faint sound of the shower only picked up by the trained heightened sense of hearing from years of watching over their backs.

“Cas what the hell happened?” Dean demanded, “Why the hell is my little girl bruised and coated in blood?”

END FILMING SCENE

“Cut!” Robert called out to the large room with a big smile on his face, “I’ll watch it back. See if we need more takes.”

Jared and Jensen wiped the tears that fell from their cheeks just thinking on how wrought that scene felt. As fathers seeing a young adult in such a state severely agonized them. The duo jogged to see your back against the cold wall—a pinched expression marring your young face.

“How are you feeling after that?” Jensen asked, coming closer to squeeze your shoulders unfazed by the sticky fake blood. It was already all over his clothes from hugging you in character.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to have sharp objects.” You spoke glancing down at your knee that had been punctured by the knife. The dark jeans soaked in stage blood now concealed the real blood.

 “Jensen, did you really stab another person.” Jared deadpanned his best friend referencing back a few years. Jared shoved one hand through his hair, receiving a nasty glare from the hairstylist on call.

The glare on Jensen’s face blistered the taller actor, “I didn’t stab you. You walked into the knife.”

The two bickered as they guided you back to the main stage where Robert had reached a final verdict. He had watched the replay twice along with his crew finding the raw emotion to be perfect. The little detail the three had added was well played. Dean unexpectedly consoling his daughter in tears; no threats to kill or push her to tell him what happened. The first time Briar referring to Dean as her father. Lastly, Sam’s unsure actions in consoling a young girl sucked into life like he was in his youth.

“We got a one-take winner!” Robert called out sending the entire crowd into loud applause and cheers. Jared taking most of your weight as you hobbled to the costume trailer.

The lovely costume designers helped remove the sticky shirt, jewellery and the red converse that had once been white. Only the jeans remained on your body to not mess with the wound. As much as you’d love to shower the blood off, it was near impossible, moving your knee stung and it was best to avoid aggravating it.

“Someone needs to ban Jensen from knives. Just wait till his wife finds out about this, she adores Y/N.” Martha chuckled from her sketches she designed on her breaks for a future in fashion design. Often in your free time, you would be her guinea pig with her designs using refurbished material.

Normally the banter would continue but not when your leg was bleeding, and Jared was taking you to the ER. To make time faster, Jared had scooped you into his arms to the black car their driver waited in.

“Towels are in place. Sorry, you got hurt, Kid.” Clif spoke, opening the door to the backseat where Jensen sat patiently. Unlike usual, he had seated himself in the front so you could stretch in the back.

A weak chuckle met air in the packed car from the blood loss that wasn’t overly bad but enough that Jared took the towel. His pressure on the wound caused a yelp that had Jensen flinching in guilt.

“The knife must have been sharp to cut a mouse in half,” Clif muttered turning towards the hospital close to set. Coincidently the drive took you passed the set your boyfriend currently filmed at.

“Might as well call me butter.” You retorted wincing at the throbbing pain, “You aren’t allowed any more sharp objects, Mr. Ackles.”

“Danneel already threatened to hide all the knives in the house.” The on-screen father laughed as the tension decreased in the small car. Despite the dizziness, it didn’t hide the guilt in Jensen’s green eyes.

Time flew by as you found yourself in a bed for observation and pictures for the knee. It came as a shock when the doctor requested one blood transfusion for the blood loss. The hope of being in and out had evaporated like water beads on a blistering summer day.

Julie and the Phantoms Set

Charlie adored his life as an actor where he was free to visit places, he might not have had the opportunity to do. He made friends with everyone he spoke to and even met the love of his life as an actor as well.

That being said today had been the longest one with a full schedule and barely time for lunch or snacks. Even a nap was unachievable, and he desperately wanted one for being awake for hours by now.

“Charlie! Did you know you’ve got missed calls?” Jeremy inquired, staring at the phone that went black once more. Charlie’s eyebrows came together at the mention. His family had the rough outline of times he would be unavailable to talk.

Stepping back from the craft table’s supper options, he lifted the phone from the table, bringing it to life. His lock screen showing multiple missed calls and voicemails from you, his family and two unknown numbers.

His jaw dropped further when Meghan called for the first time out of the group, “Megs?”

“Finally! Where have you been?” Meghan demanded pacing in the studio she had been using when she got the call. The pretty and successful young woman had gotten terrified at learning about Y/N.

“Filming? It’s the longest day of filming the show. It’s on the family schedule.” Charlie spoke, settling into one of the empty tables. His eyes watching the people entering and exiting the tent set up for food.

“Jesus. Mom called me when you didn’t pick up. Y/N’s in the hospital.” Meghan revealed sending the Canadian actor into a stiff posture. His hazel eyes blow wide and panic flooding his entire system.

“What?!” Charlie didn’t mean to shout nor turn paler than a piece of white paper, but it happened. The volume contracting looks from everyone in the vicinity. Owen even dropped the donut back in the box by the volume.

“She got stabbed with a knife. I sent the address earlier, and I haven’t gotten a lot of info.” Meghan told her older brother, “I know she’s getting a blood transfusion, but nothing else was released.”

Charlie couldn’t tell you what happened between Meghan telling him and reaching the hospital frantically. Nor could he figure out how Owen was in the back of the Uber with him guiding him through exercises; all thanks to Owen’s therapist for his anxiety.

His sneakers squeaked on the polished white floor in his mission to the receptionist transferring information from a chart to digital. Charlie’s painting brought him attention from the kind nurse acknowledging his presence.

“Just let me finish this one sentence.” The nurse hummed saving the information before turning their full attention to the frazzled male, “How can I help you?”

“What room is Y/N Y/L/N in? She was stabbed and needed a transfusion.” Charlie demanded deflating as Owen placed a hand on his shoulder. The Canadian’s eyes bright with panic and a deep fear

The nurse’s eyes softened, “I can’t give out information on patients unless your immediate family members.”

“I’m here-“

“Husband! He’s her husband, they eloped so she hasn’t changed her last name or updated her information.” Owen blurted out, rubbing the pad of his index finger on the black jeans he had worn for his role. The two hadn’t even bothered changing into their street clothing.

The nurse nodded their head-turning back to the computer to enter the name for the patient for the information. It took seconds before the nurse wrote on the miscellaneous sticky note of the ward and room number.

“My name is Riley. If you need any help, you can come back here, and I’ll do my best to give you answers.” Nurse Riley informed the duo with a kind smile nodding in the direction of your hospital room.

Owen’s long legs ate up the distance Charlie made in his sprint to the stairwell, “Shouldn’t we take the elevator?”

“My girlfriend is in a hospital bed. I can’t wait for an elevator.” Charlie rebuked the suggestion on the second flight. Owen’s sigh was the last sound made as the duo slammed into the door to the floor level.

Charlie and Owen appeared in the doorway of your hospital room panting from the exertion meeting the gaze of two actors. Charlie’s heart stuttered at the sight of the high volume of blood in your clothing and your hair.

The sharp gasp brought your attention to the shaking Canadian actor solely focused on scanning for wounds. His eyes barely staying on the two adult males you had been starring with for a few years. Schedule conflicts often led to no introduction to each other’s co-stars.

“What the hell?” Charlie choked stumbling to the chair beside your hospital bed next to the pole holding a blood bag, “Did you get mugged? Are you okay?”

“Char, take a breath, man.” Owen’s blue eyes shadowed with the worry as Charlie’s breathing shuddered. Owen could barely look at you covered in blood.

“Whoa! Charlie. I’m fine. This is stage blood. We had an intense scene, and there was a minor accident.” Your voice soothed the man gently taking Charlie’s hand to comfort him, “I lost a bit of blood. The doctor decided to give me a blood transfusion to bring my levels back up a bit before stitching it up.”

“How do you get stabbed accidently?” Owen questioned glancing at the two men standing silently in the corner. Due to contracts on the Supernatural set details of scenes and storylines was off-limits.

“Well, during filming, I took a knife from her, and she walked into the blade?” Jensen trailed off, shoving his elbow into Jared’s side at the scoff. It happened every time it was brought up.

“I-“Charlie blinked, shaking his head as he took a deep sigh in pushing that to the back burner to focus solely on you. His hand rubbed his face while he settled on squeezing your one hand in both of his.

The touch of your skin grounding him back to earth with the shattering visions of walking into the world without you. It would be both ways, the second his calloused warm skin brushed your hands; it was like the pain faded. Only a sense of content settled in your weary bones.

“Okay Miss Y/L/N.” Dr. Clancy walked into the room only halting to grab a pair of medical gloves, “I see your entourage grew. I’m Doctor Jim Clancy, and you must be Miss Y/L/N’s husband.”

Three pairs of eyes widened at the doctor’s words aimed towards the brunette actor turning a blushing mess. The words mouthed by Charlie to go with it gave barely any insight, but you did it. The moment you had a free minute with Charlie, you would interrogate him in the new title you had.

“Yeah, my husband.” You spoke flicking an expression to Jensen and Jared that caught on from the years together. They had taken you under their wing on your first day on set, and then you became family with their immediate family.

“I can confirm that my initial observation is that the wound doesn’t have anything that shouldn’t be in there. We stopped the bleeding, the x-ray came clean, we’ll set you up with IV fluid, and tetanus shot to be safe.”

“Nurse Gellar here will cut the rest of the jeans off, get you in a gown for a few hours of observation. Just a precaution for blood transfusions. We’ll have some scrubs you can wear when you can leave.” Dr. Clancy motioned to the tall redhead with a quiet demeanour.

Charlie’s lips lingered on your temple at the fear that flared in your expressive eyes, he would give anything to take your place. He softly sang your couple song as a whimper fell from your lips as the jean tugged the dried blood from the wound. The painful pressure felt as you guessed it had started to bleed again, the feel of liquid rolling down your skin, confirming it.

“I’ll sing anything.” Charlie whispered going through his mental catalogue of songs on your shared playlist, “Oh!”

I’m booking myself a one-way flight

 I gotta see the color in your eyes

 And telling myself I’m gonna be alright

 Without you baby is a waste of time

The tears falling no longer came from the pain but the sheer amount of love you had for the man there. Eyes glittering with pure adoration as his voice came off absolutely heart-melting. So, lost in each other neither of you noticed Owen had been filming from the moment Charlie had said ‘oh’.

Yeah, our first date, girl, the seasons changed

 It got washed away in a summer rain

 You can’t undo a fall like this

 ’Cause love don’t know what distance is

 Yeah, I know it’s crazy

Charlie’s hand slowly slid up your arms to cup your tear-streaked tacky cheeks in his warm grip. The hospital faded as it became just you and Charlie. Completely oblivious at the audience in the room.

“He loves her,” Jensen whispered to Jared out of the camera frame that the blonde-haired kid’s phone. It was such a pure moment it felt disrespectful to see this exchange but also honoured to see it firsthand.

“I’ve only seen the look in your eyes for Danneel,” Jared replied, cupping his hands over his face listening to the near inaudible wet chuckle you gave.

“As I have between you and Gen. They have the real kind of love.” 

But I don’t want “good”, and I don’t want “good enough.”

 I want “can’t sleep, can’t breathe without your love”

 Front porch and one more kiss, it doesn’t make sense to anybody else

“Charlie.” You sobbed at the best part of your life serenading you in such a romantic moment at the odd setting—his hazel gaze greener in what would come to be a very dear memory to reminisce about.

The calloused thumb caressing your cheek wiping a teardrop away he continued to see as the doctor finished suturing the wound. 

Nothing mattered other than the couple currently in a bubble.

Who cares if you’re all I think about,

 I’ve searched the world and I know now,

 It ain’t right if you ain’t lost your mind.

 Yeah, I don’t want easy, I want crazy

 Are you with me baby? Let’s be crazy

Charlie’s voice faded with the rest of the song bringing you back to reality with the nurse cleaning up around the wound. That’s how the rest of the day went on waiting for the blood transfusion and IV fluids to finish. You stuffed the tetanus shot while Charlie sang between different genres.

“Thank you.” You softly spoke with Charlie being the only one left in the room with you.

Owen had headed back to their set to finish a scene while giving the updates on you while Jared and Jensen grabbed food. J2 had been very clear they would get Martha to grab some clothing for when they came back. Jensen was determined to deliver you to your home as the first action to make it up to you.

“For what?” Charlie questioned as your index and thumb picked at the cuticles of the opposite hand. Your eyes were hidden from your boyfriend’s gaze.

“For dropping everything to be here.” The words were quiet in the room only filled with breathing and the heart machine you had to be hooked up to.

“My girl-“

“Don’t you mean wife?” You teased brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead taking in the man you had the honor of loving. Of waking up next to in the apartment, you’d been renting ever since you landed the role on Supernatural; overtime Charlie’s things had just accumulated there.

“It was the only way they’d let me in.” Charlie spoke sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, “It’s a little early to call you, but I’m excited to make you my last girlfriend and then my only wife.”

The chuckle fell from your lips, “So, you want to marry me?”

“In front of all our family and friends. Tucked away from the media to celebrate the love we have for each other.” Charlie spoke, “There’s no one else I’d like by my side for the rest of my life.”

A new flood of tears welled at the sincerity in his voice and the warmth laden in his eyes of kaleidoscope colours. Sometimes, depending on his emotion or his clothing, his eyes would be greener, or when he was happy, they had a blue tinge in the green in sadness or your favourite; brown with the swirls of green.

“How did I get so lucky to have the absolute honour to fall in love with you?” Your words created a swell of emotion in the Canadian’s heart.

“The same way whatever deities there are took pity on a boy from Dieppe by bringing him an angel.” Charlie words preceded the kiss on your lips with a grin as you chased his lips after. With one last peck, he leaned back with a fond expression.

“Seriously how do you get stabbed accidently?” Charlie chortled with that gorgeous smile lighting up the room more than the white lights.

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[hurricaneonanesthesia]

Sylvain as a father headcanons?

Yesssss 😩. I totally imagine Syl to be a very doting father cause he wants to have good relations with them and cause he doesn’t want to neglect them and have another Miklan issue on his hands. Hope you like this anon!

~Admin Hurricane

Pre Child

The first time you told him you were preggo, he just stood there absolutely flabbergasted and at a loss for words

“Wait, you’re pregnant? Like, with my kid???”

He’s fully on board with the idea and starts talking about how he’s going to start doing renovations and such to make a nursery for the baby and any possible future siblings for them, you probably have to reign him in a bit and tell him to take it one thing at a time.

He has the most tender look on his face as he gently caresses your abdomen where the baby is, when he feels kicking he almost has a look of childish wonder on his face. He’s utterly fascinated by it and would deadass just abandon his duties to spend hours resting his face in your lap gazing at your stomach

Panics a little when you go into labor and your crying in pain and he’s just standing there like 🧍 not knowing what to do other than to hold your hand and help you bear the pain.

Post Child

The first time he held the child, he almost burst into tears right then and there, something you tease him about relentlessly afterwards

He’s such a doting father! Literally can’t refuse them

There are some nights when you poke your head into their room and just see Sylvain passed out with a story book in one hand and the child securely wrapped up in his other arm.

He’ll teach the child horseback riding personally! In his eyes knowing how to properly control a horse to your movements is important, especially when you’re trying to get around. Faerghus is a big place!

When your kid’s a bit older and they get a s/o, Sylvain’s 99.99% going to be on their S/O’s ass about treating his kid good unless they want a lance to run through them. You’ve had to calm him down and ask him to think rationally about it multiple times, but he just wants the best for his kid! He doesn’t want them to have a partner that’s overly flirtatious with others like he was at the monastery because he knows that’ll break their heart.

Made Felix their godfather cause, he’s Syl’s best friend duh. I can imagine Felix would be like, uh why, ew children. But then he would grow to like the kid lmao.

Want more of my writing? Be sure to check out my masterlist :)

If you wanna request something, don’t be afraid to send something my way! Thanks for reading and have a lovely day!

[utterlyinevitable]

Hey would you be able to write a follow on fic from your hurricane series where Mc gives in and gives Ethan a lap dance infront of her friends? ☺️

Hurricane (Part 6): Alternate Scene

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Rating: M to be safe Warning: lap dance and alcohol and lewd thoughts (kinda)  Summary: A hurricane is falling over Boston. Edenbrook has been evacuated and some very different doctor’s end up seeking shelter together.  

a/n: For @panda9584 💞

_____________________

As the day went on, the trio of residents progressively got more and more inebriated by the hour. Sienna ended up running around the couch as many times as she could in 15 seconds, Elijah was dared to make a cocktail with his eyes closed, and Becca refused to do a dare.

Becca picked a card for her turn.

“Dare.” She announced, a sweat breaking on her forehead in anticipation.

Sienna let out a drunk giggle. “I dare you to go give Ethan a lap dance.”

Ethan’s head perked out of his book at his name in conjunction with the word “lap dance”;

“What are you doing?”

“Truth or Dare,” Sienna informed through her giggle. “Ethan, come play!”

The man pushing forty was quick to repudiate, “Absolutely not. I’m not a child.”

“Suit yourself, fun police.”  

“Go play, son. I’m going to make some calls.” Naveen chuckled with a wink. He had spent the whole day watching his residents’ charades, now it was time to go to work and let them enjoy the rare time together. Naveen also hoped his departure would give Ethan the space to lighten up.

Taking the hint his oldest friend so graciously smacked him with, Ethan stood and moved to sit closer to the group of friends.  

“I’m not playing,” he huffed as he perched on the cold cushion closest to Becca.

Everyone ignored him.

Elijah brought back the attention to Becca, “Dance or chug, Bec?”

She briefly glanced over her shoulder at Ethan. His features were his signature stoic, yet she could see the glimmer of playfulness hiding within the depths of his irises.

Turning back to her friends, she took a long, dramatic breath. Eventually she proclaimed, “Oh, fuck it!”

Ethan’s eyes went wide and he instinctively leaned back into the cushions. As swiftly as possible, he mentally prepared himself for what was about to happen, what her friends were about to witness. He told himself he had to keep his hands put. Now was not the time to get excited. But, man, he can’t wait to have her so close. The thought itself had his eyes shutting with pleasure. Ethan unfolded his hands from where they hung in the space between his legs and gingerly placed his palms against the paisley cushion.  

She eyed her friends, a look Ethan couldn’t see but could feel - the icy daggers soaring their way. 

Then she stood, turned towards him with the most impassive of expressions. He couldn’t read her mind nor her features in the dim fireside lighting. Somehow her uncertainty had his leg jittering with wanton anticipation. 

A tight smirk rested on Ethan’s lips, so smug and only for her. He was challenging her. And Becca was determined to prove champion.

In the background Sienna and Elijah were huddled over the former’s phone. “No - that one. It has to be.” 

A second later Pony started to play.

Becca freed her hair, letting the chestnut locks cascade down her shoulders. Running a hand to mess it up more - unwittingly making sure the signature scent of her shampoo reached his nostrils even from this distance. 

Standing in front of him she started to sway her hips to the music. One step, and she’s closer. Another, and her legs are an inch from his. Third step, and she’s within reach, looming over him and his heart is starting to race. He knows there’s at least two other people in this room, but he doesn’t care. The room isn’t lit all that well and anyway all he can see - all he can feel surrounding him and gripping at his being - is her. She doesn’t need to touch him to have him unraveling. 

Another half step and Becca’s nudging his legs open with her knee to stand perfectly in between them. She’s still dancing - swaying, rather - in small, reserved motions. Ethan’s midnight eyes are on her intently - roving from her face, to her hips, trailing back up to her hands that he knows can cause so much damage with one simple touch. He’s watching her hands roam her torso and she moves so close - till her legs are pressed firmly against the sofa. Her fingers playing with the hem of her top, giving him just the slightest of glimpses at the pale skin beneath before its gone all too soon.  

Ethan swallows past the lump in his throat. 

The music picks up. So she did as well; throwing one leg over his, her knees resting on the couch. Becca was hovering over his lap now and Ethan could smell the perfume she wears as she dips with the music, her inner hips all but meeting his thigh. Oh how he wished it did. She’s not touching him and it’s killing him -- Becca hasn’t said a word to him since earlier, either. Now here she was, in one of the places she would tell him she loves most, ignoring the pull of inevitability between them. 

Her knee so close to his hand he dared to creep closer - dared to break the cardinal rule of things like this. His thumb and forefinger brushing at the fabric at her knee. 

Becca hadn’t looked him in the eyes since the challenge began. Purposefully, he’s sure. His eyes followed her hands as they drew nonsensical patterns, hooded in embarrassment. For a fraction his mind jumps to the strokes of the last work of art she mapped on the canvas of his back. 

He felt his jeans become uncomfortably tight. 

She dipped her hips again like she knows what lays beneath - the sweet bit of torture she could inflict by just grazing his lap. Her torso rolling forwards with the movement, and now he can smell the peony and apple soap she uses. Her eyes are closed and she’s just moving - moving and keeping her distance. 

And if there was a single saint in hell Ethan begins to call on them all. How long left? Not long enough, that’s for sure. 

Ethan dared some more, unwritten rules be damned. His hand gingerly trailed up the back of her calf, around to the front of her knee and up her thigh. Stopping just before reaching her hip as she rolled into the three inches of space between their laps. He took a risk. And if she didn’t like it she didn’t give any inclination but a turn of her head. He could see the faint love bite he left last night at the base of her neck - so faint no one but the two of them would know it’s a bruise of passion.  

Both her knees found their way to the cushion and now Becca was fully on top of him. So many times she’s been like this. It took everything in Ethan not to lift her into his arms and carry her upstairs that second. It also took a lot of self control not to audibly groan - her friends didn’t need to bear witness to his primitive side. 

The strength she used to keep herself upright dwindled away with the new closeness. One hand on his chest, the other digging into the top of the cushion behind his back, his hands still anchored on her thighs. Ethan could hear the lowering beats of the music over the thumping in his ears. Could feel her labored breaths passing across his cheeks. 

His thumbs began rubbing circles at her hips. Becca moves back - as upright as she can get. Her hand running through her hair and over her face and Ethan just wants her to look at him. So he doesn’t what you aren’t supposed to do - he trails a hand up her body and cups her cheek. The electricity between them vibrates. Ignites into flames when her entire being leans into him. Runs rampant as his fingers tangle in her hair. His eyes close as Ethan pulls her to him, lips parted and intent on satiating this spurring in his abdomen. 

And just when they should have collided his eyes dart open. Becca’s gone. Not within reach anymore. He chances a glance to where her friends must still be loitering. 

They’re there. Like they haven’t moved.

So is Becca.  

The only move she made was lifting the glass to her lips. And it dawns on him...

Becca chose to chug.

It was all just a daydream of a rakish man. 

And Ethan couldn’t believe he was more disappointed than relieved.

_______________________

a/n: potentially garbage? yeah. sensuality isn't my strong suit, i prefer making people’s hearts hurt 😅

@openheartfanfics  @choicesficwriterscreations

Perma:

@lucy-268  @thegreentwin  @queencarb  @danijimenezv  @starrystarrytrouble   @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @maurine07  @mercury84choices  @schnitzelbutterfingers  @the-pale-goddess @whimsicallywayward15  @mvalentine  @mm2305 @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine   @withbeautyandrage  @forallthatitsworth   @stateofgracious  @missmiimiie  @uneravine   @iemcpbchoices  @sophxwithers @therookie @quixoticdreamer16 @lsvdw-blog @reputaytion-xiii 

@adiehardfan @headoverheelsforramsey @dickgraysonsscrumptiousbooty

Ethan:

@udishaman  @binny1985  @honeyandsunfl0wers @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @ohchoices  @dulceghernandez @blossomanarchy  @stygianflood  @caseyvalentineramsey @openheartthot @senseofduties  @tsrookie  @kalogh @aworldoffandoms  @takemyopenheart  @casey-v @ethanramseylover @a-crepusculo @randomperson111  @lilypills @anntoldst0ries @nix-grey  @aishaaaaaaah @estellaelysian @mysticaurathings @mayarambles

[heyitssmiller]

Frosted Windowpanes: Part One

The Christmas Fic is here! Featuring Logan the lumberjack, Leo who owns a diner, and Finn who was just trying to have a quiet, uneventful holiday (lol). This was supposed to be a oneshot, but y’all know I’m too long-winded for that, so it looks like we’ll be having at least one more part for this story!

@donttouchmycarrots Thank you so much for proofreading/encouraging/being such a wonderful, wonderful friend. I don’t think I’d still be writing without you and iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou 

@lumosinlove​ Again, thank you for such wonderful characters! And for creating such a wonderful, welcoming fandom! I never thought I’d post my writing where people could read it, but then I met y’all and here we are! You guys are amazing! Happy Holidays, everyone! <3

Part Two is now up!

.

It's that time of year When the world falls in love Every song you hear seems to say

- The Christmas Waltz

.

Piercing, bitter cold greeted Logan as he stepped outside for the first time that day. The kind of cold that made the entire body tense up and the breath hitch. It was a quiet early morning, with a stillness that only freshly-fallen snow could bring. Logan took a second to pull his toque further down over his head as he grabbed the chainsaw by the door before heading out to the truck, passing the sign with red, clean lettering that read Tremblay’s Christmas Trees.

“Took you long enough, sleeping beauty.” His sister, Noelle, teased from the driver’s seat of the beat-up truck that barely started most mornings.

“It’s too early for this.” He grumbled back, sliding into the passenger’s seat as the truck reluctantly spluttered to a start.

“The faster we get done out here, the faster we can go deal with customers.”

“That’s not exactly helping.”

Noelle laughed as she drove back into one of the fields, parking the truck at the far end. “Come on, it’s not that bad. They ask to buy a tree, you help them pick one out, take their money, and strap it to their car. Easy.”

They got out of the truck, grabbed the chainsaw from the back, and headed towards their first tagged tree. Logan grabbed the tree around its trunk to stabilize it while Noelle powered up the chainsaw, putting their conversation on hold. She crouched down to start cutting the base of the tree trunk, creating a notch before starting the back cut. Logan waited until the tree felt unstable before giving the tree a gentle push in the right direction and removing his hands. The tree hit the ground with a thud.

Noelle took that as her cue to continue their conversation. “Don’t pretend to be all grumpy and stoic. I know you like some of our regulars.”

“Some being the key word here.” He replied, grabbing the tree trunk again and beginning to drag it to the truck. Noelle just gave him a look that clearly said I see right through you but didn’t comment as she looked for the next tagged tree.

Logan heaved the Christmas tree into the bed of the truck and shoved it into one corner; he could probably fit one more tree alongside it before he started stacking them. He stood up straight, turning his head to watch the sun rise and peek over the tops of the trees, bringing rays of light and warmth with it.

Leo basked in the warmth coming from the oven as he took out a fresh batch of croissants, a welcome reprieve from the weather outside. He quickly put the next tray of pastries into the oven and transferred the baked croissants onto a plate, where he let them cool just a little before drizzling them with honey. He hummed along to the Christmas music playing on the radio as he worked on getting the diner ready to open in a few hours. He started the gumbo, red beans and rice, and jambalaya, letting them simmer on the stove before whipping up his fried chicken batter and breading so that it was ready whenever he needed it. Next was the cornbread, which was made from scratch and poured into muffin tins to create the perfect individual servings. Coffee was brewed, quiches were placed in the display window, waffle batter was whipped up and sitting in a bowl on the counter.

Leo was arranging croissants into a basket when the back door opened, letting all the cold air in and a small flurry of snow with it.

“Good morning!” Nate called as he came around the corner, shedding his coat and hat. Leo honestly wasn’t sure what he’d do without Nate. Running his own diner was hard – it was even harder when he’d moved to a different country, not knowing anyone there, and kept afloat with barely anything but his optimism and his confidence in his cooking. Nate was the first person he’d hired when business actually picked up, and he’d been there ever since. He had a real knack for cooking and managed to make every person that walked through their doors feel welcomed.

“Headed out to the farm?” Nate asked when he saw the basket of croissants and the large thermos Leo was filling with coffee.

“Yeah.” Leo said, grabbing coffee creamer and sugar and shoving them into his coat pocket after he slipped it on. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Nah, I can hold down the fort while you’re gone.”

Leo smiled as he grabbed his hat. “Thanks. There’s croissants in the oven, but they’ll be done as soon as that timer goes off! I’ll be right back, ok?”

Nate gave him a look. “No you won’t.”

“No, I won’t.” Leo agreed with a laugh. “But I’ll be back before morning rush.” He said as he braced himself and opened the door to be greeted by the frigid Canadian winter.

Even after a year and a half, he had a feeling he’d never get used to this weather.

He made a beeline for his car, quickly getting behind the wheel and cranking the heat as high as it would go. He put the car in drive and slowly pulled out onto the road, keeping a firm grip on the wheel and his eyes on the road. He knew he was probably causing a traffic build-up behind him, which made Leo feel a little guilty. He’d driven through hurricanes countless times, but snow? Black ice? He was absolutely terrified of that. So he took his time, eventually turning off the main road and driving until he reached a sign with red lettering and a Christmas tree lot. There were handmade wreaths and garlands, and white Christmas lights strung up over the rows of trees for sale.

Leo put the car in park and grabbed his stuff, breath hitching as he faced the cold winds again. Marius, the head of the Tremblay family, was at the checkout counter, writing something down on a pad of paper. Once he looked up and saw Leo, he smiled broadly. “Hey, Nut!”

“Good morning.” Leo replied, raising the basket and thermos in his hands. “I come bearing gifts. Coffee and croissants.”

“You know you don’t have to do that.” Marius said as he gave Leo a stern look. “I’m sure you’ve got other things to do.”

Leo shrugged, opening the basket and offering them to the man. “I like doing this. Y’all work hard and have ridiculously long hours. And you work in this weather. I feel like you could use a little warmth.”

“You and your southern manners.” He grabbed a croissant anyways, taking a big bite. “Your favorite’s still out there bringing some trees in.” He said, motioning to one of the groves to the left. Leo could faintly hear the sound of a chainsaw in the distance.

“I don’t have favorites,” Leo protested as he set the thermos and croissants down on the table, even though it was clearly a bald-faced lie. He thought of evergreen eyes and a gorgeous laugh and a smile that left him breathless. He blamed the redness of his cheeks and ears on the cold. “I like all of you equally.”

“Right.” Marius said, dragging out the vowel. He was smiling, though. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you, you know.”

Leo had to force his smile to remain steadfast. Friend. That was all this was ever going to be, no matter how much his heart yearned for something more. He needed to learn to be content with that – it wasn’t fair to Logan otherwise, or to himself for that matter. He could be a good friend and leave it at that. It was still better than not knowing him at all.

“I think I’m the lucky one.” He said, only then remembering the sugar and coffee creamers in his coat pocket. He fished them out and set them on the counter next to the thermos. “I do have to get going, though. I’ve got the breakfast rush to deal with.”

Marius waved him off playfully, grabbing another croissant. “Go on, then. I’ll try to save some for the rest of them.”

Leo laughed at his antics, breath clouding in the air. “I’m holding you to that.”

Marius watched him get in his car and drive off very slowly with a chuckle. Damn southerners. He looked down at the coffee creamers and sugar, knowing Logan was the only one in the family that used them, and started speculating.

He heard the rumbling of the truck as it came in, the back loaded to the brim with trees. Noelle and Logan’s bickering could be heard before the truck’s engine got turned off, which was saying something. Marius grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee. He was going to need it.

“I mean, come on. Back to the Future is clearly the superior 80s movie. It’s definitely better than Top Gun.”

Logan closed his door, staring at his sister with a combination of horror and disbelief. “How dare you. Those aren’t even in the same genre!”

Noelle looked over at Marius right as she was about to start her counterargument and spotted the pastries and coffee. She grinned and abandoned Logan at the back of the truck in order to beat him to the food. One croissant was immediately shoved into her mouth as she grabbed another and then reached for a coffee cup one-handed. Marius snorted and grabbed it from her, filling it with steaming coffee.

She groaned. “Lolo, your friend needs to stop by more often. Fuck, this is good. If I wasn’t in a committed relationship already, I’d ask him to marry me.”

“Please don’t call me that.” Logan said gruffly, but his words were betrayed by a smile. He looked down at the pastries, eyes soft and smile dopy.

Marius knew that look. More importantly, he knew his son. And everything fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

“Maybe Logan should ask, instead.” He teased, although a part of him was completely genuine.

Logan choked on his first bite of croissant.

.

“Finn!” June shouted as soon as she flung the door open, throwing herself into his arms. Finn laughed and hugged her back. Two seconds into his visit and he knew this was going to be the best way to spend the week before Christmas. He hadn’t seen June since they graduated college and, even though they kept in touch, it wasn’t the same.

“Four years is way too long.” He said as she let go. “Let’s not go that long without seeing each other again, ok?”

“Deal.” She replied, grabbing his bag for him and leading the way inside. The apartment was warm and cozy and lived in – there were books on the coffee table and a large pile of mail on the counter and a few stray dishes in the sink.

Finn loved it.

Heather, June’s fiancée, smiled in greeting and stuck her hand out to shake. “You must be Finn.”

He had originally thought it might be a little bit awkward, meeting his ex-girlfriend’s fiancée, but Heather seemed kind and welcoming and unperturbed about the whole thing. He shook her hand and returned the smile. “Heather. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh god.” She laughed, shooting June a look. June just winked and leaned over to check whatever food was in the oven.

“All good things.” Finn promised, letting Heather lead him to the guest room. It was as happy and welcoming as the rest of the apartment. As soon as they were out of earshot, he continued, “I’m really happy for you guys. She’s happier than I've ever seen her.”

“So am I.” Heather said wistfully as Finn set his bag down. “Bathroom’s through that door if you need it.”

“Thanks.”

When he rejoined the group in the living room, he noticed something: a distinct lack of Christmas decorations. June used to love decorating her college dorm room for the holidays – she went all out with little things she bought at the Dollar Tree and a miniature Christmas tree from Walmart. They used to get the tree together every year. It was strange that she hadn’t continued the tradition.

“No tree?” He asked June, surprised. She shrugged and scooted over on the couch to make room for all three of them.

“Haven’t had the time. I’ve been so busy at work and Heather’s been traveling for conferences. It’s not the same when you have to decorate by yourself.”

Finn hummed understandingly. He knew the feeling. “Why don’t we go get one now? Do you think some places are still open this late?”

Heather and June looked at each other, seeming to have a telepathic conversation. Finn watched on in amusement as they communicated with raised eyebrows and narrowed eyes and shrugs until they apparently made up their minds.

“Tremblay’s is probably still open. They’ve got the best trees, anyways.” June explained, turning to look at Finn. “But I’ve got to stay here and make sure our dinner doesn’t burn.”

“And I’ve got to stay here and supervise June while she uses the oven.” Heather added. Finn laughed, remembering too many times June had burned herself while using the rickety old oven from the 1970s that still lived on in their dorm building.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Finn teased and ruffled June’s hair. She just rolled her eyes and didn’t even bother trying to smooth it out again. Ruffling hair was one of Finn’s main ways of showing affection – she knew it would just get messed up again. Finn fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up his navigation app. “I can go get the tree, if you want. You said the place was called Tremblay’s?”

“Finn, you really don’t have to-”

“No, I want to!” He cut in, standing up from the couch to grab his coat. “I didn’t bring presents for you guys because I’m so bad at gift-giving, so this can be my Christmas present.”

Heather hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” She asked, glancing at June again. “We can always go out and get a tree tomorrow.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be back soon, and with a tree!” Finn said as he reached the door, turned to give a cheery salute, and headed out to his car.

After a frankly terrifying drive through narrow back roads and potential ice hazards, Finn followed his app to a little tree farm off of the main road. There weren’t many cars there, thankfully, and it still looked open. The rows of white lights hanging above the trees were all lit and glowing, snow was falling at a slow, sleepy pace. It looked perfect, like something out of a dream.

And that was before Finn saw him.

The man working the front counter.

Finn raked his gaze over the man and swooned. Wavy brown hair, bright eyes, shoulders and arms so broad and built that it seemed like they were about to rip the plaid shirt he was wearing. With a nametag that stated Logan, he seemed like a rugged, Canadian, lumberjack dreamboat. Finn swallowed, making his way to the counter and the absolute vision behind it while he focused on not tripping over his own two feet.

“Hi,” Finn managed, trying not to get lost in evergreen eyes. “I’d like to buy a tree, please.”

“What type of tree would you like?”

Oh, the accent.

Finn was screwed.

“Uh…” Finn trailed off, looking at Logan and struggling to find words. “A Christmas tree?”

“Spruce, pine, or fir?” When Finn’s expression turned more confused, Logan smiled in exasperated, awed delight. Who drove all this way for a tree and had no clue what they were looking for? Most people at least had some idea. But not this one, apparently. Those big, Bambi eyes were lost and absolutely adorable.

“Do you have a size you’re looking for?” Logan asked, receiving a more perplexed look.

This was too funny. “Do you know anything about what kind of tree you want?”

“A pretty one? But not too expensive. Or too tall. Or heavy – I’ve got to get it up a huge flight of stairs.”

Logan couldn’t hold back the laughter any longer. He leaned forwards against the counter and laughed, eyes squeezing shut and shoulders shaking. Finn watched with a smile of his own, taking in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the contagious nature of his laugh. He felt like this – this right here – was the only thing he wanted to do for the next several hours, especially if he was the reason for the laughter. He thought of that song he could never remember the name of but heard a lot on Tiktok that said, “oh no, I think I’m catching feelings” and never related to a song more in his entire life.

“Ok,” Logan said when he’d finally caught his breath. “Ok, I’m going to pick one out for you, how’s that sound…?”

“Finn.” The redhead supplied with a laugh of his own. “And please. I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“Clearly.” Logan stepped around the counter and led him towards a group of trees. “These are Douglas Firs. They last a long time, smell great, and they don’t take a lot of trimming or maintenance. They’re also pretty cheap since they’re so common.”

Finn looked from the trees to another group of trees a little ways off. “They all look the same.”

“Who’s the expert here?” Logan teased, shooting him a look over his shoulder as he walked from one tree to the next. Finn trailed after him eagerly, watching calloused, muscular hands trail along the needles of the trees.

“We can go look at the Fraser Firs, if you want, but I really think one of these is your best bet.” Logan continued, stopping in front of a mid-sized tree. “How about this one?”

Finn looked at it, then back at Logan. “What do you think? Since I clearly don’t know anything about trees.” That drew another smile from Logan, which made Finn vow to himself to make the brunet smile like that again.

Logan dragged the tree out from the rest of the group and looked it over. “I think it’s a good one. Good shape, healthy. I sure know how to pick ‘em, eh?”

Eh. How adorably Canadian.

“Sounds good. It’s not even for me, so my input doesn’t really matter a whole lot.”

Logan sent him a confused look. “So you went out at nine o’clock at night to get a Christmas tree, and it’s not for you?”

“I don’t even live in this country.”

“What?”

“I’m visiting friends that live here, and they’ve been traveling or too busy to decorate like they normally do, so I decided I’d get the ball rolling and find them a Christmas tree.” Finn shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Not only was he stunning, he was thoughtful to boot.

Logan clearly had a type.

“That’s nice of you.” He removed the tree from its stand and started lugging it to the counter, watching the redhead trail behind him yet again out of the corner of his eye. When he reached his destination, he set the tree down and found Finn staring at him with a look of awe on his face. He bit back a smile. “How long are you staying?”

Finn was silent for a second, as if in a trance, then snapped out of it with a little shake of his head. “Huh?”

That smile he was holding back broke through. “How long are you staying in town?”

“Oh. Just for the week, then I’m off to spend Christmas with my family back home in New York.”

“A New Yorker, huh?” Logan asked as he bagged the tree up, attempting to do the accent and making Finn laugh. “This must be quite the change of pace for you.”

“You have no idea.”

Finn’s stomach growled, making his eyes widen and his cheeks burn in embarrassment. It must’ve been loud enough for Logan to hear because he turned back around to face Finn and quirked an eyebrow. “Hungry?” He asked, then told Finn the price of the tree. Finn handed his card over.

“Yeah. Haven’t had dinner yet.”

“I, uh, I know a place.” Logan said, playing with Finn’s credit card before meeting his eyes and quickly adding, “If you’re interested. I haven’t had dinner either.”

Finn grinned, not even trying to hide his excitement. The only thing he’d wanted when he left June and Heather’s apartment was a tree. Now he had a potential date with this gorgeous, witty guy? Yes please. “Yeah?”

Logan shared his smile, leaning forward against the counter and looking up at him through dark, dark eyelashes. Finn’s heart fluttered. “Yeah. Sounds fun to me.”

“Great.” Finn said, unsure of what else to say and suddenly feeling a little awkward. Was he supposed to wait for him to finish his shift? Were they driving together? Where was this restaurant?

He needed to text June.

Shit. She had been making dinner when he left. But he’d already agreed to dinner with Logan. But it would be so rude to not spend time with his hosts. But he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t go on this date.

He pulled out his phone as Logan ran his card through the system to text June.

To June: Sooooo there might be a change of plans. Some hot guy is my acting tour guide for the night and I won’t be making it home for dinner. But I promise I have a tree and I will be back eventually.

It only took June a few seconds to respond.

From June: Damn. You go, Finn.

He laughed under his breath, then pocketed his phone. When he looked up, Logan was looking at him and holding his card out. Finn grabbed it and shoved it into his wallet, which he pocketed. “Ready to go?” Logan asked, grabbing the trunk of the tree and preparing to drag it again. “I can drive, if you want. We’ll strap the tree to the top of your car and then head out.”

“Works for me. Do you need help with that?” Finn motioned to the tree. Not that he minded the view – quite the contrary – but he felt bad not doing anything.

“Want to grab the netting towards the top? We can carry it instead of dragging it.”

Finn grabbed the netting and followed Logan’s lead as they both lifted the tree and started carrying it out to Finn’s car, Finn giving directions as they went. Getting the tree to the top of the rental car was a struggle, but they managed and strapped it down.

They hurried to Logan’s car and shut out the cold as quickly as they could. Logan started the rickety old pickup truck that smelled strongly of Christmas trees and took off down the road at a much faster pace than Finn would ever dare to drive these roads.

“I have a feeling you’re going to love this place.” Logan said as he turned right onto the main road, accelerating a bit more. “Pretty much everyone does. It’s not very Canadian, but you can’t beat the food.”

“What defines a restaurant as Canadian?” Finn mused, looking over at the driver. “Maple syrup? Poutine?”

“Watch it.” There was no heat in Logan’s voice, so Finn didn’t take it to heart. They slowed down and pulled into a parking lot of a diner simply called Leo’s. The outside looked a little rundown, which made Finn a little apprehensive, but the windows were all fogged up from the temperature difference between inside and outside, which was always promising.

Logan turned the car off and shot Finn an excited grin. “Ready?”

Finn couldn’t tell if he was excited for dinner with him or just the food. Hopefully it was both.

The inside of the diner was… eclectic. The walls were a faint yellow, but there were splashes of deep purple, green, and gold in the decorations on the walls. Mardis Gras, Finn realized as he spotted some masks hanging on the wall. The food smelled amazing – warm and spicy and savory. Behind the baked goods on display counter stood a young kid with a cleaning spray and a rag, wiping down the counters. He looked up at the bell that signaled the door opening and instantly recognized Logan. He sent them a smile before turning his head and shouting towards the direction of the kitchen, “Leo!”

There was a loud clang, followed by a muffled curse. “Be there in a jiffy!”

Finn looked to Logan in confusion. “Was that a southern accent? Like American south?”

“Leo.” Was all Logan said, a happy smile on his face.

“You guys can go ahead and sit down,” The kid at the counter said. “I’ll bring some menus.”

“Thanks, Nate.” Logan led the way towards a booth in the front corner of the dining area and sat down facing the door. Finn sat opposite him, accepting a menu with thanks. The menu consisted of southern U.S. staples – biscuits and gravy, grits, red beans and rice, fried chicken, etouffee, jambalaya, po’boys, fried catfish, cornbread, the list went on.

“So is this guy from Louisiana?”

Logan wasn’t even looking at the menu, he was watching every nuance of Finn’s expressions as he took everything in. “New Orleans, born and raised.”

“How the hell did he end up here?”

“He had an uncle who owned this place and left it to Leo when he died. Originally he was just going to fix it up and sell it before going back home, but two months led to a year and he’s still here. Doesn’t seem to be planning on going anywhere else for a while, either.” Logan suddenly perked up, looking at something over Finn’s shoulder. “Here he comes.”

Finn swiveled in his seat and stopped dead in his tracks.

Tall.

They were both greeted by a dimpled smile as Leo approached their table, flour or powdered sugar – Finn wasn’t sure which one – all over his apron and a dusting of it in his fluffy blond hair.

“Hey, Logan. See you’ve brought company!” His accent dragged sweet and slow like molasses, so very out of place this far north. But it was refreshing, like a breath of fresh air or the sun coming out from behind the clouds after a week of rain. As he got closer, Finn realized what he’d thought to be flour in his hair was actually a gray streak. And wow, were his eyes blue.

How was everyone here so attractive?

“Finn, meet Leo. Leo, this is Finn.” Logan said, smile never leaving his face as he looked between the two. “He’s new here.”

Leo arched an eyebrow. “And you brought him here?”

“You do have the best pie in town.”

That got another sunny smile from Leo. “Damn right I do. But dinner first. Can’t go on spoilin’ your dinner with pie.” Those blue eyes turned to Finn, causing his breath to hitch just a little. “What’ll you have, sugar?”

Finn simply wasn’t going to survive this night. Was this a dream? That would explain all the attractive guys – the probabilities of something like this happening in real life were slim to none. He pinched his arm harshly. Not a dream.

What the fuck?

Finn realized he still hadn’t answered and was just staring at the blond. He cleared his throat and quickly averted his gaze to the menu, not really reading anything but grateful for something else to look at besides the two guys in front of him. “Um… what would you recommend?” He finally asked, grateful that he could get his vocal cords to actually work.

Leo hummed, thinking about it. “Personally I really like the muffuletta, if you’re looking for a sandwich. Definitely the gumbo if you’re in the mood for soup. I do make a mean fried catfish, too.”

Finn wasn’t sure what exactly a muffuletta was, but he ordered it. Logan got his usual, whatever that meant. Leo wrote down their orders and gave them one last smile before retreating to the kitchen. They both watched him go, then Finn whipped back around to face Logan.

“Is he real?”

Logan just laughed, leaning back in his seat. Finn panicked for half a second, terrified that what he’d said was the worst possible thought to voice on what was potentially a first date. But Logan didn’t seem to mind. He just looked back at the kitchen with a soft smile Finn hadn’t seen before.

“You know, I ask myself that a lot.” He said quietly, as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. And Finn finally understood.

He was in love with Leo.

The sound of a record scratching filled Finn’s head.

Wait.

That didn’t make any sense… because Finn was ninety-five percent sure that Logan had been flirting with him all night.

Hadn’t he?

They made small talk while they waited for their food, and Logan was pleasantly surprised at how… easy it was. He normally didn’t like small talk and didn’t share personal stories with strangers, but here Finn was, pulling stories out of him that he normally wouldn’t share on a first date.

Was this a date? Logan couldn’t decide if he wanted it to be one or not. One hand, this was definitely the most fun he’d had in weeks. On the other hand, Leo. He sent a glance towards the kitchen window before focusing back on Finn’s story about one of the parties he and June went to back in college. There was lots of alcohol, mattresses, and a roof involved. Finn’s storytelling included a myriad of different expressions, all of which Logan found endearing. The wrinkle of his nose when he talked about drunk frat boy antics, the way he got all soft whenever he talked about June, the laughter lines around his eyes when he told a funny anecdote.

How was it possible to be so cute and yet so hot at the same time?

And how had he met two guys who fit into both of those categories?

Nate brought their food out while Logan was in the middle of a story about the time he’d found a squirrel in one of their trees and got attacked when he tried to relocate the thing when Nate came back with the food. Finn had the muffuletta, which was apparently meat and cheese and some sort of olive spread or something – Finn had no idea, but it looked and smelled amazing. Logan had a bowl of red beans and rice in front of him, but he was waiting to see Finn’s reaction to the food before starting his own.

Finn took a bite of the sandwich, then his eyes widened almost comically. “Oh my god.”

“I know.” Logan said, getting a spoonful of red beans and rice.

“Where has this been all my life?”

“Just wait until you try the pie.”

Finn didn’t speak again, he just ate. The food clearly took precedence over any possible conversations. Logan couldn’t help but agree. Finn ate like a man who hadn’t seen food in a week, finishing the sandwich in record time. He leaned back in his seat when he was done, letting out a happy, content sigh. “Holy shit. Is everything on the menu that good?”

“Pretty much.”

“And he hasn’t been on the Food Network yet?”

Logan grinned. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“We should tell them to get up here and try this food.”

“Y’all, I don’t have time for the Food Network.” Finn jumped a little as Leo reappeared with two slices of pie. “I appreciate it, though. You liked it, huh?”

Finn looked up at him. “I kind of want to come back every day I’m here.” And he meant it. He wouldn’t be coming back just for the food, though.

“Well, I definitely won’t stop you.” Leo said with a dimpled smile. Finn barely held in a dreamy sigh.

Dimples.

“Why don’t you join us?” Finn asked, scooting over to make room for the blond. But Leo just shook his head with a rueful smile.

“I wish I could, but I’ve got twelve pies that need to be made.”

“Twelve?” Finn asked in mild horror. “When do you sleep?”

“The chocolate crème pies are in high demand, especially around the holidays. But it’s fine, I don’t mind it. I’m just glad I've got business.” Leo seemed to be ignoring the sleep question, which was never a good sign.

“You look tired.” Logan noted, face muddled with concern.

Leo laughed softly, but didn’t seem to take offense. “Thanks a lot, darlin’.”

Logan broke eye contact and pushed the residual whipped cream around on his plate. Finn hadn’t even realized he’d started eating, but he quickly followed suit and fuck, was that good.

“I just meant you need to take care of yourself, that’s all.” Logan mumbled into his plate without looking up, almost as if he was afraid to see the cook’s response.

“Says the guy who works even longer hours than I do.” Leo teased, causing Logan to roll his eyes.

“That’s because it’s almost Christmas and I work at a Christmas tree farm. It’s only temporary. We’ll be back to normal by the end of the week.”

“Well, good. You deserve to sleep in for once.” Leo said, taking a step back towards the kitchen. “But I really do have to go. Those pies won’t make themselves.”

“Do you want help?” Finn asked hopefully, He honestly couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night than baking with these two. Being given instructions in a thick southern drawl, helping Logan make pie filling, trading stories (and maybe kisses) while they waited for the pies to be done.

But Leo quickly dashed his dreams. “That’s sweet, honey, but I think I’ll be faster on my own. I’ve got a system that makes it pretty efficient. And I don’t give out my recipes to just anyone, you know.”

Oh, but I’d love to be someone to you.

Logan also looked disappointed. “We should get going, then. Don’t want to keep distracting you.”

“At least you’re a welcome distraction.” Leo said with a wink before he turned and disappeared into the kitchen. He let the door close behind him before backing up to lean against it, tilting his head back to rest against the wood and closing his eyes. The happy façade dropped in an instant.

Because Logan was out there, on a date with a guy. A handsome, kind, funny guy who would have absolutely no trouble sweeping Logan off his feet.

And that guy wasn’t Leo.

.

Finn flopped dramatically onto the couch back at June’s apartment, muffling a scream into a poor, unsuspecting pillow. June looked up from her book with a laugh. “Well hello to you, too.”

“I’m in love.”

“Oh?” Heather asked from her spot cuddled up next to June.

Finn turned his head sideways to open one eye and look at the two of them. “With a lumberjack and a cook.”

“Ah,” June said knowingly as she dog-eared the page she was on and closed the book. “Beware the lumberjacks. They’re known to be irresistible. Alright then, which Tremblay was it?”

Finn cocked his head. “What?”

Heather smiled as June tilted her head back and let her run her fingers through dark brown curls. They were so cute it was almost sickening. “There’s four of them: three sisters and a brother. Which one did you fall for?”

Finn couldn’t have held back the smile that crossed his face even if he tried. “Logan.”

June groaned. “I get it. Holy shit, those eyes.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know he cooked, though.”

“No, the cook was another guy.” Finn sighed as he twisted to lay on his back and stare wistfully up at the ceiling. “Leo.”

“The southern one with the diner?”

“That’s the one.”

“Damn, O’Hara. You do know-”

“They’re head-over-heels in love with each other? Yeah, I got that.” Finn stretched his legs out to rest on June’s lap. “But I’m also pretty sure that was a date. And that Logan was flirting with me.” He sighed again, covering his eyes with his arm. “I’m doomed.”

“Always so dramatic.” June teased. “Just date both of them.”

Finn froze, his mind going completely blank. “What?”

“Date both of them.” She repeated, unfazed. “Polyamorous relationships are a thing, you know. Who says you can’t date both of them?”

Finn moved his arm away from his face to stare at her. “Huh.” He finally said, mind kicking back into gear. That sounded… perfect, actually. Only a few hitches. Did Leo even like him? They’d barely talked to each other. Finn could see Logan being ok with the whole dating two people thing, seeing that he was flirting with both of them, but what would Leo think? And the other hitch. “I’m only for a week, though.”

“Then you’d better act fast, lover boy.”

“I’ve got a question.” Heather piped up.

Finn looked at her and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to ask her question.

“Where’s the tree?”

He could probably see it from their front window if he bothered to stand up, still strapped to his rental car. “Shit.”

[enjennie]

Sweeter than Sugar | Na Jaemin

summary: wherein Jaemin goes through hell and back to bake a cake for you on your 3rd anniversary.

genre: fluff / boyfriend au

warnings: none

word count: 1.3k

[3:48 pm]

It looked as if a hurricane had swept over the kitchen as condiments, various baking tools along with spilled ingredients that managed to miss the massive bowl Na Jaemin was baking in cluttered the usually spotless counter that you and your boyfriend obsessively kept at its cleanest. Today, Jaemin couldn’t give a damn about being tidy, as he whisked the eggs vigorously with one hand, and tried to simultaneously sift the flour into a bowl with the other.

“Mom, mom! Please repeat what you said after beating the eggs,” Jaemin called over to his mom, who he’d speed dialed and put on loud speaker once the idea of baking came to him.

“Pour it into the dry ingredients then mix! Ah, why didn’t you get boxed cake mix instead?” His mother nagged. It did cross his mind, but Jaemin didn’t want to take the easy route. He never does. Not for his girlfriend, never. He’d go the extra mile for you.

“Did you preheat the oven?” His mother asked through the phone. Jaemin looked behind him to check. He’d randomly turned the knob when his mom told him to 15 minutes ago. “Yeah? It’s heated,”

“Okay, well after this you can put it into the cake tin then pop it into the oven for up to 30 minutes,” his mother instructed. “You could’ve just bought something special. Girls like that,”

Jaemin couldn’t help but smile. “You know Y/N isn’t like other girls,” He tells his mom. He knew for a fact you’re a sucker for handmade gifts, freshly baked goods and handwritten letters.

“Anyway, mom. Thanks for the help, I’ll send you a photo once I finish,” he reaches for his phone to end the call.

“Alright, goodluck! I love you!”

 With that, Jaemin gets to work on his own. He places the cake into the oven and starts coloring the icing he had prepared to decorate the cake with. Originally, you both had agreed to spend the whole day together as a celebration. But, due to your busy schedule and requirements that seemed to have chosen this day specifically, you’d apologized to Jaemin and promised a date night instead. A date night was all you prepared yourself for, but Na Jaemin had some tricks up his sleeve.

He quickly shot you a text, asking how you were. This wasn’t unusual, as he regularly liked to check up on you and asked if you needed anything. So, you replied without any suspicion.

@ the campus library, getting some articles for our thesis

Sigh. I’m sorry, honey. Will make it up to you l8r! xo

Jaemin chuckled, finding it cute how guilty you were even if he didn’t mind. He always wanted you to focus on your studies.

 [Aug 2019]

“I can wait, your future won’t so focus on it for now,”  Jaemin caressed your cheek lightly, brushing the hair out of your face and watching as the sunset hues reflected in your eyes as you both stood by the terrace of your shared apartment, watching the sun die down.

“You’re my future,” you mutter stubbornly to him. You watch as the corners of his mouth stretch into the gorgeous smile you’ve fallen in love with.

“I’m serious, Y/N. Do well or I’ll have to tickle you,” Jaemin poked at your side and you jolt as a reaction. A laugh escaped his pretty lips as he pulls you in closer and began to tickle you everywhere. “Na Jaemin!” You screamed his name, trying to free yourself from his hold but the man was strong with the softest touch, making him seem like a buff teddy bear. Or a bubble wrap for that matter.

Jaemin turned you to face him, pressing his head against yours.

“Put yourself first, and I swear I’ll always be right beside you,”

And that’s how it’s always been between you and him. You focusing on your studies, knowing you had a supportive boyfriend to go home to who’d recharge you and understand your struggles. Someone who’d wipe your tears away, motivate you and refill your coffee mug at 3 in the morning when the 5000 worded essay just wouldn’t write itself.

Nothing was sweeter than Jaemin, not even the most decedent of cakes, or the most sugary cupcake.

 [4:21 pm]

Ding!

The oven had sounded, letting the boy know the cake was done. He rushes to see and to his delight, it looked normal. He pulls it out with oven mitts and places it on the counter to cool.

Jaemin popped a candy into his mouth, getting excited as things were turning out perfectly.

 [6:08 pm]

“Jaemin?” You called into the dark hallway of your apartment as you come in through the front door. The house was usually lit when you came home at this hour, so you wondered if maybe Jaemin had fallen asleep, or left to go somewhere. So, you walk in and switch the lights on yourself to reveal an empty house.

At the end of the hall where you stood, you noticed a little card stuck to the entrance which led to the living room. You flip it open and it read, ‘Welcome home! Meet me at the terrace?’ A smile instantly shows up in your face as you excitedly pocket the card. Of course it wouldn’t just be an ordinary date night, you’re dating Na Jaemin. You’d be a fool to expect anything less.

You make a quick stop to your shared bedroom, throw your bag to the floor and quickly pick something to wear. The pink dress you’d reserved for special occasions catches your eye and you take it off the rack, knowing your boyfriend was a sucker for the color.

After a little while, you finally make your way to the terrace, which he’d drawn the curtain over so you wouldn’t see. You push it out of the way, and find a panicked Na Jaemin huddled over a cake with its candles nearly touching the surface of the cake, almost ruining the design.

“Quickly, quickly!” he calls for you and lifts the cake. Without even being able to register and appreciate the perfectly set up dinner, or the sunset that stretched in the horizon, you ran to Jaemin, which was always the most beautiful in your eyes anyway. “On three, make a wish and blow,” he lifts the cake between you two and smiles.

With closed eyes, you sent your wishes to the sky and blew. You didn’t even notice he had kept his eyes open, and let you do it alone, with nothing but a smile on his face. Once you opened your eyes once again, you see the writings on the cake.

Always beside you.

 Jaemin sets the cake aside and wraps his arms around you. “What took you so long? The candles almost burnt out,”

“Sorry,” you couldn’t help but laugh. “I wanted to look good for you at least,”

He chuckles, “You’re something else, Y/N,”

“Hmm, what am I then?”

“Everything I’ve ever asked for and more,”

Jaemin didn’t waste a second more, and pressed his lips against yours, as each second that passed without your lips on his was a second wasted. He tasted sweet, both in a non literal and literal sense. Your boyfriend loved sweets, after all. Each kiss was enough to give you a sugar rush.

 As you both pulled away from the exhilarating kiss, you found yourself licking your lips, craving for the sweet taste he’d left.

“Happy anniversary,” he gives you another peck. Your eyes land on the table he’d set up for the two of you and the sight almost brought you to tears. The sun had died down while you were busy with each other, which left you under the dim lighting that the string lights Jaemin had hung up provided. You realize it looked extremely similar to your first date. Like Jaemin had tried to replicate the one at the restaurant he’d taken you to, three years ago. “You didn’t-,” your voice came out unstable as you were getting emotional and extremely nostalgic.

He grinned and pulls a seat out for you, “C’mon, the roasted chicken is getting cold,”

“Na Jaemin, I’m gonna marry you one day,” you walk over to him and pinched his cheeks before sitting.

You hear him chuckle, and nothing in your life could have ever prepared you for the next thing Jaemin does.

“Why not now?” He asked, getting down on one knee and opening up a red box, revealing the prettiest ring you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

[mylordshesacactus]

A Writer’s Guide To Hurricanes, I Guess

I realized with a bit of chagrin that, while I’ve spent years bitching about how it drives me up the wall that nobody (in fandom or, in fact, mainstream media) has a goddamn clue how hurricanes work and yet insists on portraying them anyway...I’ve never actually tried to help by explaining what they’re actually like.

So, here’s a genuine, non-sarcastic, good-faith attempt by a Floridian to help you guys who might want to write this stuff at some point understand it, just a little.

So here we go, chronologically in terms of the storm’s progress.

The storm itself is the least of it.

This is the thing non-hurricane places don’t....get.

You can see a hurricane coming. You can watch it. You have, in fact, no choice. I need to reiterate this.

You have no choice but to sit there and watch a hurricane coming.

I’ve actually talked a lot in another post about what that feels like, and why hurricane parties are a thing. But try to imagine what that feels. Just...try. You have to sit there, for about a week, watching the wrath of God bear down on you.

You watch it come and you hope the path changes. You hope it veers off back into the Atlantic, of course, but you also--you hope it hits somewhere else. You know wherever it goes people will die and you hope it goes somewhere else. And you feel kinda bad about it; but you also don't because these are just facts, this is a fact of hurricanes, they will go somewhere and people will die in that place and all of us hope it goes Somewhere Else and if it does, we know that the people Somewhere Else are praying frantically that it gets back on course and hits us instead and we understand.

(And when it does change course, when it doesn’t hit you, you almost feel....cheated? Because you spent so much time and energy preparing and fearing and coming to terms and accepting and bracing and then it--doesn’t happen.

And the guilt of praying it would go Somewhere Else is nothing compared to being disgusted with yourself for actually feeling disappointed that you were spared the apocalypse this time.)

The wind is different.

If you listen to weather reports on hurricanes you’ve absolutely heard the phrasing “sustained winds of X miles per hour with gusts up to Y” without really thinking about what that means.

Now, of course everyone’s been in windy conditions. It’s hard to put a finger on exactly how the hurricane is....different, so I’m just going to describe what it’s like.

The wind always comes from one direction. There’s no being “knocked this way and that” or whatever; the wind comes from the direction the wind is coming from. Always.

(If you’re near where the center of the storm passes, this direction will slowly change as your position relative to the eye changes. But it changes over a matter of hours--like the angle of the sun.)

The wind is a constant, unrelenting force. There’s no....there’s no dips in the wind. It never lessens, it only spikes and then returns to baseline. In a normal windstorm, no, it’s not that the wind ever stops blowing, but...there’s an ebb and a flow. A hurricane is a wind tunnel in which every so often someone revs the engine and there’s a few seconds of higher wind, but it never drops below where it’s set.

(The wind will snake under plywood and storm shutters; it will rip them clean off, if you haven’t screwed them in properly. Screws, not nails. The wind makes deadly projectiles of anything not fastened down. Plywood and storm shutters can be broken, by anything travelling fast enough. It is standard procedure, if you have lawn furniture or anything else not secured that doesn’t float, to carefully lower that furniture into a pool--if you have one. It will stay untouched, and won’t be flung through your neighbors’ plywood.)

This is why hurricanes take down so many trees, why they do so much structural damage. Buildings in hurricane zones are built to withstand high wind, and most trees in these areas can survive high wind too or they wouldn’t have survived so long. But there’s only so much that nature and engineering can do about sustained high winds, without a moment’s rest, for hours, unending, no respite...

In landfall footage--ie, the stuff you see on the news--you likely see this effect in the palm trees-watch how instead of tossing, they’re just bent. It never lets up. In the instances where a bent tree violent bounces back before bending again, trust me--that’s not a letup in the wind speed. That’s the tree having been bent too far, and springing back from the sheer pressure on its internal structure. That’s the tree being stronger than the wind--for now

It’s mostly not like the TV reports.

There’s a reason I referred to “landfall footage” above. News broadcasts, for a lot of reasons, focus on the storm at its worst. The highest storm surge, the highest winds, the most brutal damage, occurs where the eye wall first crosses from being over water to being over land.

(Remember--by the time a storm “makes landfall,” everything for miles around has been experiencing the storm for hours already. “Landfall” is when the EYE of the storm first hits land, not when the storm “arrives”.)

But hurricanes are...vast. Look up satellite footage of hurricanes. Really look at it. Look at how much sheer area they cover.

Most places do not experience landfall-level disaster. That’s why, when people evacuate--well, when residents evacuate, the tourists and recent transplants tend to panic harder--you’re basically always evacuating to someplace that will still have vanished under that mass of swirling clouds. Evacuation sites are still inside the hurricane, but wind speed, storm surge, etc--everything drops dramatically even a few miles from the eye.

On a related note, the eye itself rapidly starts shedding power the moment it’s no longer over open water. Generally, the simple act of making landfall instantly drops a hurricane at least one category in severity. Hurricanes are eldritch gods; they rise from the sea and from the sea they take their power. Cut off from it, they starve.

Do not think for a moment that just because you’re “only” experiencing Cat 1 winds that this storm can’t kill your ass dead. Do not underestimate what the death throes of a dying god can do.

Storm surge isn’t high waves, and it isn’t rain.

Storm surge is the actual sea level rising. The entire ocean being dragged onto land by the power of the storm.

Particularly wet and slow hurricanes might--rarely--drop enough rain to cause flooding. However, that’s unusual; most places here can handle heavy rain. The rain isn’t the problem.

(Slow hurricanes are killers on another level. It’s everything I’ve already said about the unrelenting brutality of the wind, coupled with the fact that--as, again, the vast majority of the storm has been raging for hours by the time it “makes landfall”, and hurricanes draw power from the Eye being over the water--it now has hours upon hours of fully-fuelled destruction before it begins to weaken by being cut off from warm water. It doesn’t weaken, it just....keeps going. And the storm surge is present that entire time.)

I’m just gonna direct you to this NOAA diagram on how storm surge works.

The northeast quadrant is the strongest.

This isn’t a proper subheading it’s just something I rarely see people not from Florida acknowledge. 

No matter where the storm is coming from or what angle it hits at--the northeast quadrant is the killer. You do everything in your power to avoid being caught northeast of the storm.

In hurricane-prone areas, the threat is felt year-round.

All the major intersections? Our stoplights aren’t hung on wires from wooden poles--those blow down too easily. They’re bolted to thick metal pipes, “hurricane-proof”. Major roadways that are above floodlines are labelled as evacuation routes.

Things like that.

Hurricanes make their presence known long before the disaster begins.

You start to get “hurricane weather” days--days--before it hits. The sun is out, the weather is fine except for a...

Well, a constant, low-level breeze, with much less variation in angle and direction than usual, fewer gusts, but still primarily a natural breeze. And then you go outside and you look up at that cheerful blue sky and it’s already there.

They’re called cloud bands. You look up and the entire sky is just fluffy white clouds, racing at speed in one direction...

(The breeze, in those early few days, is light. Present, but light. The clouds are always, always racing as if before a gale. There’s a pervasive, eerie wrongness about this, looking up--the clouds moving much, much faster than the wind that should be driving them.)

A hurricane is not a thunderstorm.

This is the cardinal sin and the clearest, most common misconception. Hurricanes are not thunderstorms. In fact it’s actually very rare to have lightning or hear any thunder at all during a hurricane, compared to an average summer storm in hurricane-prone areas.

People often portray hurricanes as basically....the worst storm they can remember, but bigger, and badder, and worse. Hurricanes aren’t just big and intense, they’re....different. They’re something different.

Hurricanes are...quiet.

Except that they’re not.

You know when people talk about the wind howling? Think of the most intense storm you’ve ever sat through. Think about the sound of the wind.The way it whistles through leaves. Hold that experience in your head.

Now forget it. This is different.

Hurricanes don’t sound like that. Hurricanes are....

The sound a hurricane makes is a howl, yes. It makes palm fronds and grass steps and leaves whistle like a rapier scraped against a sheathe, yes. But you barely notice those shallow details, because the sound a hurricane makes is below that, stronger, more powerful.

Hurricanes moan.

Hurricanes are the entire world around you slowly and steadily fraying at the seams, and it moans, low and deep, agonized and hungry, and it never stops. Never. Not until it’s over.

Hurricanes are a world ending.

The storm passes, and the hurricane has only begun.

Do you think people stock up as heavily as they do, with generators and nonperishables and such, for--what, for a few hours of wind and rain, however alive?

No.

Because once the tempest is past, now you have to...exist.

You will not have power. If you were in a very, very lightly-affected area, you might have cell service. Most of your neighbors have evacuated. Many roads can’t be used because they’re washed out, or there are trees or power lines down across them.

It’s very common to lose water pressure. Common practice in hurricane-prone areas is to fill your bathtub with water before the storm--so that, when you lose water pressure, you can use a bucket to flush your toilet. Because those conditions, assuming you’re in an area that can be repaired and not rebuilt, can take weeks.

Weeks without running water, a flushable toilet. That gets grim fast. You brace for the storm. You prepare for what follows.

A hurricane is an eldritch abomination.

Hurricanes are alive.

Hurricanes are Old Gods.

Sitting through a hurricane is not like sitting through a bad storm or like sitting through a tornado, which is fast and unstoppable but then it’s over like it never existed save for the destruction left behind.

In order to get a clearer understanding of just how much the universe is vast, how much it does not, cannot, even notice you enough to want you dead because you are so small it would not comprehend you as possessing an existence if it tried--you would have to go to space.

And while the world moans around you and something out there, alive, growls at a frequency you can’t hear but you feel--you don’t cuddle for warmth during a hurricane. You just don’t.

You keep the generator running outside in the lee of the house where it won’t kill you all with gas fumes, connected via wires that snake around through a cracked door somewhere it won’t get blown open. You make sure it doesn’t run out of fuel, that it doesn’t get water blown into anything important. You use it to power a TV first--to keep the weather report on. You power lights second, if it’s a decent one. You can’t afford one powerful enough to run your refrigerator; you ate the ice cream before this started.

You play games. We’re human; it’s what we do. We play games in the face of our own helplessness. But while you play, you listen. You can’t not.

It’s always there. The world creaks on its hinges. You feel the edges threatening to dissolve. If you sit for a moment and are quiet, that ever-present moan is there, something ancient and powerful on a scale outside your comprehension. There is no cozy comfort of being bunkered down safe against the storm, not here.

There is no “safe” against this. You sit still and quiet and bear witness.

And when the sun rises in the aftermath, you’re surprised to find the world--even a wrecked and altered world--still exists. It shouldn’t. You were there when it ended.

And--and I cannot emphasize this enough--there’s no fucking thunder.

[workingforitallthetime]

svech: a very serious and responsible primer

ok @totally-necessary​ and @needsmore​, i am gonna write you an andrei svechnikov primer and i am going to do my best to produce a work of responsible well-sourced expository prose instead of an embarrassing thirsty disaster like the rest of my andrei svechnikov blogging.

here is my introductory paragraph:

wait, no, give me another shot. i swear i can actually do this. here is my introductory paragraph:

HOW CAN I NOT LOVE THIS GOOD-NATURED FEARLESS JOYFUL SHOULDER-FRECKLED SEX KITTEN????? HOW CAN I DO ANYTHING BUT CRY ALL THE TIME?????

.......ok. sorry. let me try it again. i’ll do it right this time, i promise. here is my introductory paragraph:

once upon a time in siberia, two-year-old andrei svechnikov put on skates for the first time and cried because he couldn’t follow his big brother evgeny onto the ice. eventually evgeny’s coach let andrei join the team’s workouts, and then coach started giving the older players a hard time when andrei would beat them.

the backstory of the svech bros sounds a lot like every other hockey kid who didn’t grow up privileged: parents who worked multiple jobs and sacrificed and moved cities to make sure the kids got hockey opportunities. in interviews, the svechnikov brothers have referenced not knowing where food or clothes were going to come from, and they emphasize how close it made them. evgeny says:

Having a brother that we eat from one plate--sleep in one bed sometimes--we went through everything. It's just one person by your side always. It's like going hunting alone or with somebody.

they wear the same number. they talk every day. as soon as the season paused in march, evgeny drove to north carolina. lately, they’re hanging out in michigan. basically, if hockey is not being played, they are together. basically, if you are going to write a primer about andrei, the most important thing is evgeny.

(my theory is that evgeny is at least part of the reason andrei does not like it when dougie and foegs joke about him being their kid brother. it’s the only joke i’ve ever seen svech refuse to roll with.)

evgeny got drafted by the red wings in 2015 (round 1, 19th overall). he started out with the AHL affiliate in grand rapids, and in 2016 mama svech packed up andrei and moved from russia to michigan. andrei played a season for the muskegon lumberjacks in the USHL. he led the team in scoring and was named USHL rookie of the year. the next season he was the first selection in the CHL import draft, and played for the barrie colts.

ok, so while we’re knocking out the backstory, i want to note that svech’s full name is Andrei Igorevich Svechnikov. don’t tell me that’s not sexy.

furthermore, the very spelling of andrei is sexy. i had a russian-speaking colleague once who had a son named andrei and she would say his name with a little lift at the end. not like the i added another syllable, just like a little caress. i hear it that way when i type it. it makes me happy to type that i at the end. andrei. andrei.

oh sorry, did i veer off topic?

the carolina hurricanes selected andrei second overall in the 2018 draft. he looked just as dumb as everybody always does in their draft night jersey photos, but here’s his draft day suit:

oh wait, can’t pass up the opportunity for a combine photo

did i say COMBINE? i meant JAWLINE

wait one more photo from the combine, just because he looks especially dead poets society in this one:

upon moving to raleigh, andrei emphatically wanted to live alone, which seems unusual for an 18-year-old entering the NHL and is therefore fertile ground for all sorts of headcanons. he keeps his floors very clean and gets mad when his buddies won’t take their shoes off. i am not making this up. he lives in the same apartment complex as dougie hamilton, warren foegele, joel edmundson (rip), and teuvo teravainen. andrei does not cook and he’s constantly calling them to see who wants to go out to eat.

in that last video i linked you can see foegs stumble and jump off his scooter just before he hits the gate to their parking garage. then the gate rises like magic and svech glides straight through. this is an unsubtle metaphor for andrei svechnikov’s entire athletic existence.

svech purportedly does not play video games, which is wild to me. instead, he practices magic tricks. again, i am not making this up.

wait i’m sorry it’s been at least ten minutes since i looked at a picture of andrei svechnikov holding a bunch of kittens

ok where was i.

svech had a pretty solid rookie season in 2018-19, but you can look up the numbers elsewhere if you want them. he was the first player born this century to score in the NHL but we don’t like to think about his 2000 birthdate. he played on a line with jordan martinook for a lot of that first season, and you can read more about that romantic nonsense in the ship primer i’ll be writing next. more recently the canes have settled into a top line of svech, sebastian aho, and teuvo teravainen, which is a pretty deadly combo.

one incident of note from svech’s rookie season is that he got knocked the fuck out by alex ovechkin. we’ll be talking more about that in the ship primer too, but if you want the video it’s here.

here, have a little celly:

svech’s most touted accomplishment is scoring the NHL’s first-ever Michigan-style lacrosse goal. this article has a very good description of how it worked. the postgame interview from that game is so endearing it makes me want to claw my face off. he’s talking so fast (for him) and he keeps repeating that his brother taught it to him, just absolutely determined to make sure everyone knows this milestone belongs to evgeny too.

also, this season, he scored the first playoff hat trick in franchise history.

the thing about andrei svechnikov is that nobody has a bad word to say about him. everybody thinks he’s an amazing player (”skilled and tenacious yet loose and creative”) and everybody compliments his work ethic (shooting pucks for hours after practice or a game) and journalists call him a “transcendent star.” everybody says he’s a great person. everybody calls him special. jordan martinook says svech never has a bad word to say about anyone.

ok it’s kitten time again!

more svech facts of note:

drives a black mercedes, poorly. “he wants to win on the road, too,” says foegs.

his voice gets very soft when he is uncertain about something but he’s loud when he wins a card game. (”GOOD NIGHT, BROTHER! SEE YOU NEXT GAME!”)

loves french toast for breakfast.

guilty pleasure is milkshakes.

if he was an animal, he’d be a bear (”like a russian bear.”)

does monster summer workouts with ivan provorov

look how fucking cute he is

the invaluable social media team over at hurricanes hq understands the svech content the world needs. i’m gonna tackle some more of this in the ship primer, but here are the best ones:

who’s your daddy? this video features svech confusedly asking “daddy?”, which is literally everything i ever want in fic or in life. once he finally understands he’s expected to choose between two teammates, he chooses the one who’s his buddy. and then after he’s catcalled from offscreen, he slouches down in his chair and changes his answer. “both,” he mutters, looking unbearably smug. “both.”

cookie face. it takes marty a very entertaining 49 seconds to eat the cookie. then svech hacks the game and wins in 7 second flat. “he’s good at everything,” marty marvels from offscreen.

this is a terrible concept for a video but it does feature svech and dougie doing the famous scene from stepbrothers, and svech giving a sweeping bow. i will forgive him for wearing a duke hat but only because he wears a tarheels hat in the three amigos video above.

has it been too long since a kitten photo? it’s definitely been too long since a kitten photo.

in conclusion, andrei svechnikov is a massive life-ruining problem and also he is perfect. i love him.

[peachpitfics]

Culinary Chaos

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: Yes

“ Teaching Spencer how to cook and him being all pouty when it doesn't turn out great so the reader comforts him and makes him feel better🥺”

Summary: Spencer meets your Parents and invites them for dinner at his apartment, knowing full well he can’t cook. Even with your help, he still manages to ruin dinner. Luckily, Dad’s got him covered.

Length: 1.3k

Characters: Spencer Reid, Reader, Reader’s Mother & Father

Content Warnings: Curse words

A/N: Hiiii, this probably wasn’t what you were asking for, but its sweet and it’s what fell out of my brain today... I hope you enjoy it :) xx

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Instant regret filled Spencer’s body as he realized what he’d done. Dating for 6 months, you had introduced your boyfriend to your parents at a family dinner they had invited him to. With your background, your Father had cooked this beautiful meal, enjoyed by everyone, but especially Spencer. There was nothing he loved more than home cooked food. You guessed it was because of how he grew up...

And that’s where Spencer decided to invite your parents for dinner, at his apartment, on Saturday night.

As soon as you left and got into your car, Spencer lost it. He frantically ran his hands through his hair and jittered his leg around. Anxiety not only filled his stomach, but yours too. “Why did I do that?” His voice shook. “Because you’re a nice person, and you wanted to make a good impression” You nodded. “Uh huh, yeah, well” You could tell that the higher his voice got, the more he was panicking, “I don’t even own pots and pans” The dread washed over him as he realized he wasn’t capable of making anything that wasn’t coffee or toast.

You wanted to laugh but didn’t want to further embarrass him. Spencer was quiet from there until you got to his apartment. You tried to converse with him, but all he could do was be in his head and bounce his leg up and down. Spencer led you into his apartment, his pace quicker than normal. Before you knew it, he was tearing his kitchen apart, while you sat and watched on in utter surprise. Spencer didn’t half ass things, he always gave it 100% and more often than not, he was successful.

“You need to stop panicking” You said sternly, finally having had enough of this chaotic Spencer. “What am I going to do?!” He near on shouted, frustrated with himself. You approached him, taking him into your arms and holding onto him as tightly as possible. After a minute, he finally melted. You could feel his energy shift. You rubbed your hand up the length of his back, “I’m going to help you, if you would just calm down” You giggled.

When you parted, he was softer, slower. That frantic energy had dissipated. You helped him put his kitchen wares back in the cupboards and decided what he was going to make for dinner. You were going to keep it simple, with a roast beef and vegetables. Something you knew your parents liked & something you could cook, so you could teach Spence. When you explained the logistics and wrote a shopping list together, he calmed and was much happier.

 ——————- Saturday Afternoon ———————

 The shopping was done, Spencer was prepared, and you had brought a baking dish from your apartment for the roast. He had started on the vegetables, Spencer’s concentration through the roof. You stood behind him, lovingly wrapping your arms around his middle and drawing in his scent from the back of his shirt. You planted small kisses on his back and ran your hands down his sides. But Spencer ignored you, he kept peeling and chopping vegetables. “You’re staring at those carrots as if they’re going to run away” You whispered up to him. “They might if you keep distracting me” He chuckled. More time passed, more time where you were not the center of his attention and it was bugging you. Now he was preparing the meat. He was doing everything exactly how you told him. When you were finally fed up with being ignored, you decided to take your shower and get dressed for dinner. Your parents would be here in about an hour, and Spencer was already ready. He’d been ready for hours, perpetually worrying he was going to mess something up.

You came back to the kitchen, smoke billowing out of the oven into Spencer’s face. “I’ve been gone 45 minutes, all you had to do was let it sit?!” You exclaimed, watching him hurricane right back into chaos. “Babe, what’s going?” You asked, now frantic yourself. “The fucking meat is on fire” Spencer’s voice was high and scratchy, his stress filled the room much like a smoke. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Spencer donned odd oven mitts and pulled the baking dish from the oven, a medium sized fire spread across the whole of the meat, engulfing it. Spencer dropped the baking dish into the sink, throwing a tea towel over the top of, hoping to smother it out. An enormous crack rang out, the baking dish breaking in half over the heat.

You took it upon yourself to open all the windows and waved one of Spence’s jumper around to sweep the smoke out of the apartment. Once it was clearer to see in the kitchen, you went back to check on Spencer. He sat against the counter where the sink was, elbows on his knees and hands over his face. “This... is a disaster” He mumbled sadly. You took a seat next to him, linking your arm around his and kissed him on his arm. “Ah, it’s not so bad” You smiled, “It’ll be a funny story one day”. “Not today, it’s not funny today” He grumbled, “Your parents are going to be here any minute. My apartment is smoky, the charcoal ball in the sink is ruined and there’s nothing in the apartment for dinner” He almost began to laugh, but you were sure that was to keep from crying. Spencer wasn’t always this way in regard to failing; this particular meal was very important to him. He’d never been in contact with a partner’s parents before, so this was special.

You stood, reached your hand down to him. Pulling Spencer up, you reefed him into a bear hug. “Everything will be okay” You squeezed him tight, his chin resting on your head. You knew what your parents were like, they wouldn’t have ever held this against Spencer. The doorbell rang out, just what you needed. The kitchen was a mess, and the smoke hadn’t cleared, you didn’t want Spencer to be embarrassed. But he pulled up his metaphorical socks and answered the door. He shook your Fathers hand and kissed your Mothers cheek as they entered the apartment. You greeted them, watching their faces as they observed the chaos. “What’s happened here?” Your Father asked softly, walking into the kitchen, and lifting the tea towel in the sink. The black ball of burnt meat lay underneath. “Dear me” Y/F/n smiled. “Yeah... I... can’t cook” Spencer confessed. “It’s harder than it looks, isn’t it?” Your Mother hummed. She herself wasn’t a good cook. “That’s an understatement” The corners of Spencer’s mouth were twisted into a smile. “Can I give you some advice?” Y/F/n asked gently, not wanting to put him off trying again.

“Of course, Sir, please” Spencer approached the kitchen, excited to learn. Your mother and you stood in the entryway, watching on. “I assume this caught fire” Your Dad laughed, waving soft smoke out of his face, “Which means, your oven was too high and the fat caught fire. The oven then becomes a furnace and suddenly, bam! You’ve lost your roast” Y/F/n chuckled. “So, next time I should do it on a lower heat for longer?” Spencer asked gingerly. “Oh Absolutely, that way is better anyway, it cooks nicer. I wouldn’t worry too much about this though, I set fire to a few before I got a good one, didn’t I darling?” Y/F/n turned back to your Mother and laughed. She nodded along, chuckling herself. Spencer’s anxiety over the whole situation, disappeared. It was comforting for him knowing that even good cooks, like y/F/n, had catastrophes like this. “So, shall we order a pizza?” Y/M/n suggested. “Pizza this time, but next time, we do a roast. Together, I’ll show you how to get it perfect” Y/F/n draped his arm around Spencer’s shoulder, leading him to the living room to order that pizza.

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Tags: @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @diegoluna-asian

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for Spencer Reid fics! ✨

[honey-dewey]

We Can’t all be Sunshine and Rainbows

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/Reader

Word Count: 2,344

Warnings: No big ones. Implied torture and feelings of depression and PTSD. 

Marcus had never seen anyone as powerful as you. With emotions that literally controlled the weather, you were basically a God. But power of that magnitude attracts many kinds of people, and sometimes, you must rely on yourself as much as you rely on the calming voice of Marcus Moreno

Author’s Notes: I don’t usually do an A/N but I want to give credit to the lovely @anetteaneta for their story ‘Weatherwoman’ which inspired the Reader’s power in this story! Go check it out, because it was a very good story. 

“You doing okay?” 

You looked up, sighing as the weather noticeably warmed. Marcus always made the temperature rise, but he never seemed to mind. In fact, he found it funny. 

“Yeah,” you said, flipping a page in your book. “Just thinking.” 

Marcus smiled, settling on the grass next to you. “Your thinking is making it very cold out here. What’s wrong?” 

You closed your book. “This was mom’s favorite book.” 

“Oh.” Marcus shuffled closer to you, so that his thigh was pressed to yours. He could still remember finding you, alone and scared, in the wreckage of your parents house. You’d gotten into an argument with them over something small, and your powers had ignited in that moment, setting the entire house ablaze. He’d been the one to lift you from the smoking remains and bandage your slightly singed hands. Aside from being shaken, you were completely fine. 

The lasting emotional damage had been bad. You’d never learned to control your power, so the city’s weather depended entirely on your mood. Marcus continued to insist you needed to take control and make your power your own, but fear kept you from ever trying. The last time you’d used your power on a scale as large as Marcus was talking about, you’d killed two people and turned your childhood home to ash. But he never pushed, only reminded you he was there for when you were ready to try. 

Now, three years after the accident, you and Marcus were partners, both in a relationship and in hero work. He was your rock, grounding you whenever your emotions got the better of you. He’d prevented many devastating hurricanes and actually jumped into a tornado you had caused so he could calm you down. In return, you gave him sunshine and happiness, rekindling his love and providing him a reason to fight as hard as he did. 

“Is there anything you need?” Marcus asked, nudging your side. 

You shook your head. “Not anything you could get me,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder. 

You two stayed like that, enjoying each other in the simplest way, until the sun began to turn Marcus’s skin red. When that happened, you kissed his nose, leaving the tiniest bit of sunburn behind. 

He laughed, standing and helping you up. “The weather is perfect,” he said, putting his arm around you. 

“Thank you,” you said. “I do try.” 

You two ended up in the local park, hand in hand. Heroics headquarters stood high in the background, reminding you of the ever looming responsibility Marcus had on his shoulders. The weather remained nice, sunny and a perfect temperature for a walk. 

“How’s Missy?” You asked eventually, after bouncing from topic to topic. 

“Good!” Marcus said happily. “She’s a natural leader.” 

You smiled. “I wonder where she gets that from.”

Marcus laughed. Before he could say anything, however, his watch beeped. “Crap.” 

“Work?” 

“Work.” Marcus took his jacket off and put it across your shoulders. “Keep this safe for me, okay?” 

You nodded, drawing the worn leather tighter around you. “You better come back for it!” 

Marcus began to jog across the park, turning back to smile at you. “I always do!” 

As he ran off, you sighed, turning away and heading back to Marcus’s house. It wasn’t too far, and the weather would remain nice as long as you stayed calm. 

Of course, the sun can’t last forever. 

You got home, seeing Missy already there. “That bad, huh?” You asked, grabbing a glass of milk. 

Missy shrugged. “They wouldn’t tell me.” 

“Well that’s a load of crap,” you said, sitting at the table next to her. “Let’s see if we can’t see him on the news.” 

Missy perked up, following you into the living room and turning on the TV. A bunch of reporters were already covering the attack, and you eagerly nudged Missy. “There he is.” 

As the fighting continued, you grew more and more worried that this wouldn’t go well. Marcus was getting visibly tired, protecting an unconscious Ms. Vox. The faceless enemies piled up around him, staining the ground red. It wasn’t until you felt a hand on your thigh that you realized what was happening outside. 

The sky was dark, a deep blue-purple grey that scared you so much lightning began to flash in the sky, splitting the nightmare clouds and making you jump. 

“You need to calm down,” Missy murmured, crawling into your lap and taking your hands. You breathed with her, feeling her back expand against your chest. Eventually, the sky settled at a gentler grey overcast, a light rainfall hitting the ground as Missy turned the TV off. 

“He’ll be fine,” she promised, scooting next to you and pushing herself into you. “He always is.” 

He was not. 

A heroics agent came to the house within the hour, solemnly telling you that Marcus had been kidnapped. His location was unknown, and the agent handed a shocked Missy Marcus’s shattered watch. 

As soon as the agent gave you two the information, the rain heavily increased until it was pouring. There was no thunder, just a dismally grey sky and a steady downpour. Missy walked over to the kitchen counter, gently placing the ruined watch down next to a photo of the three of you, smiling and happy on a beautiful sunny day. 

Four days of straight, nonstop rain later, you were slowly rolling a pen across Marcus’s desk in Heroic headquarters. Miracle Guy and Tech-No were with you, keeping you and Missy, who was sitting in the corner of the office and doing her homework, safe. However, nothing was really happening, so having them there was pointless. 

Pointless until a beeping startled you, sending a split second of hail across the window. 

“That was me.” Tech-No checked his watch, standing abruptly and gesturing Miracle Guy to his feet. “They found him.” 

“Found who?” You asked, also standing. “Marcus?” 

Miracle Guy hesitated by the door, looking between you and Missy. “Missy, get the kids and meet me on the bus in five minutes.” 

You followed after Miracle Guy, your anxiety making the winds outside pick up. “Hey!” You shouted, but he didn’t turn. No one did. “What’s going on?” 

Missy and the other kids raced over to the bus, Tech-No ushering them on. You tried to follow, but Miracle Guy refused to let you pass. 

“I promised Marcus I’d keep you safe,” he yelled over the wind. “That means you’re staying here.” 

“If they don’t go, I don’t go,” Missy countered, stepping off the bus and standing beside you. 

Miracle Guy faltered. “Missy.” 

Missy stood her ground, glaring at the Heroics until they let you on the bus. 

The ride to wherever you were going was silent, all other noise being drowned by the rain, which only got worse as the bus got further and further from headquarters. 

“Marcus is in the second building on the left,” Miracle Guy said once the bus began to slow. “Missy, you take the kids and secure the surrounding area. We’ll go in teams of two, staggered by a few minutes. Once he’s been retrieved, take him to the ambulance. We don’t know what his current condition is, so be prepared for anything.” 

“What about me?” You asked, hesitantly standing. 

Miracle Guy pointed to the ambulance that had pulled up beside the bus. “Stay here. If we get him out, he’ll want a familiar face. Try and stay calm. The last thing we need right now is a hurricane.” 

You nodded, grabbing an umbrella and setting yourself up under the small tent next to the ambulance. 

The wait was agonizing, but you managed to calm your nerves until the wind was just a slight breeze. The kids got the surrounding buildings secured, flushing out a bunch of low level villains. The police arrested them all, and Missy joined you under the tent. 

“Anything?” She asked. All the Heroics had gone in, and yet, none had returned. 

“No.” You fidgeted with the umbrella handle, your anxiety making the air cold. “Nothing yet.” 

Just as you spoke, Ms. Vox stumbled out of the building, supported by Blinding Fast. Two paramedics rushed over, helping them under the tent and calling for more ambulances. 

“What’s going on?” Missy asked, looking worriedly at Ms. Vox’s injuries. 

She shook her head. “They aren’t very strong,” she said softly, her voice incredibly scratched. “Or organized but there are so many of them. I think Tech-No found Marcus, but couldn’t do much. Lavagirl is out cold, and last I saw of Sharkboy, he was trying to help her. I don’t think they’re doing okay.” 

Missy bit her lip, looking back at the building. “We’re going in.” 

You hesitated. “Who are you taking?” 

She turned to look at you, genuine fear in her eyes. “You.” 

“What?” 

Missy took your hand. “We’ve got this,” she promised. “For Dad.” 

You nodded, the rain lightening substantially. “For Marcus.” 

The two of you raced into the building, followed by Missy’s team. She began shouting directions, sending the kids off in various directions. By the time she was done, it was you, her, Wild Card, and Guppy racing up stairs and down halls. 

In the end, you and Missy reached a door that had been smashed in, Tech-No unconscious just outside the doorway. Missy propped him up on the wall and gestured Guppy over. “Think you can take him downstairs?” 

Guppy nodded, lifting Tech-No easily and carrying him off towards the waiting ambulances. 

Missy gestured Wild Card into the room first, and he immediately began to take out villains. You slipped into the room behind him, trying to keep your bearings beyond the muddled mix of emotions brewing in your chest. 

You spotted Marcus laying, unconscious, in a cage, his body smeared with blood. You gasped, feeling the anger and fear turn your vision dark. 

Missy slipped behind you, pressing a hand to your arm. “Stay calm.” 

“Forget calm,” you growled lowly, looking at her, crouched down beside you. “Get Wild Card out of here. Evacuate the building as best you can. Get everyone away from the area and into sturdy buildings as far away as you can.” 

“What are you going to do?” Missy asked, clearly nervous. 

You balled your fists. “I’m getting your father out of here.” 

Missy left, grabbing Wild Card and going, yelling down the halls to get out. You rushed the remaining villains, the rain getting heavier and heavier as you fought, using the minimal fight training you had. 

Finally, the villains were all out, piled on the floor in limp heaps. You quickly opened the cage and pulled Marcus out, dragging him to the middle of the room. If this didn’t work, it would kill everyone. If it did, it could be your saving grace. 

You sat on the floor, pulling Marcus into your lap. His eyes opened slightly, one of them swollen and bruised. “Babe?” 

“Hush,” you whispered, cradling him with one hand and raising the other to the circular window in the ceiling. The rain pounded, and you concentrated on the feeling behind it, focusing on the soreness in your body until the rain turned to hail. The hail grew in size until it shattered the window, baseball sized chunks of ice hitting the floor, avoiding you and Marcus. 

You kept your hand raised, feeling it burn, the white hot fire racing down your arm as you poured anger into your heart, the red hot emotions mixing with the pain in your body until you were screaming, summoning a huge bolt of lightning to strike the building. 

When you opened your eyes again, it was to sirens and the smell of smoke. You cracked an eye, seeing charred rubble all around you. Sunlight filtered down, warming your face as you collapsed against Marcus. He was limp as well, and you were both supporting each other. 

“You did it,” Marcus murmured into your heat from where his chin was resting against your shoulder. “You turned your power into your own.” 

You smiled, using the last of your strength to grip his shirt. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, okay? I was so worried.” 

Marcus chuckled weakly. “I’ll try not to get kidnapped again,” he promised. 

The rescue team found you a few minutes later, lifting you both from the smoking remains of the building. Missy hugged both of you, crying her eyes out and insisting on riding in the ambulance with you. Aside from being shocked and a bit dazed, you were okay, slumped against the ambulance wall as you watched a paramedic stitch up a wound on Marcus’s arm. 

Two days later, the sun was shining and the weather was warm as Marcus was discharged from the hospital. Heroics had given him a vacation, letting him recover in the safety of his own home for a month. Missy was off from school for a week, using her time off to relax and forget what had just befallen you. 

“Weather’s nice,” Marcus commented happily as you two walked through his house and into the backyard. 

You smiled, sitting next to him in the grass. “The forecast all week is supposed to be sunshine,” you murmured. 

Marcus nodded, leaning his head onto yours. “Y’know, I knew exactly when you got the news,” he said softly. “The rain was so loud.” 

“I’m sorry.” You picked at a loose thread on your shirt, anxiety making clouds roll across the sun. 

“No,” Marcus insisted, taking your hands. “I knew it meant you were missing me. And that you’d come for me.” 

You smiled, the sun beginning to shine bright again. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Marcus said. “And by the way, do you still have my jacket?” 

You laughed, the weather warming. “It’s in the house,” you said happily. “Didn’t want to ruin it.” 

Marcus smiled. “You’re the best.” 

You leaned into his chest, looking up at the sky. It was picture perfect, with a few scattered clouds and a bright sun to warm everything. “I know.”

[mosswillow]

Learning To Love - Steve Rogers x Reader (featuring Texas vibes)

Summary: Life always does this thing where it puts you in situations you swore you were done experiencing. You’re done having relationships, but they may not be done with you.

Warnings: Smut, feelings, angst, interrupted assault  (In relation to this, attacker going unpunished, intimidation, stalker vibes.), mature themes, 18+ adult content, slow burn?

A/N: This is a gift for @joannie95 for the Hoelentine’s Day challenge! I hope you like it. This isn’t a dark fic but it is a little heavy, there’s a healthy dollop of anxiety and feelings throughout with a happy ending.

Thanks to  @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares and @drabblewithfrannybarnes  for putting this whole thing together, it’s such a fun challenge!

By clicking keep reading you confirm you’re over 18. This is mature content, be careful.

Unlovable.

When asked to describe yourself it’s the first word you think of. Your very first boyfriend spent months emotionally abusing you and by the end of the relationship it’s what you truly believed about yourself. Every relationship after has been the same. Your insecurities and inability to trust causing tension that eventually sabotages any chance at making things work; and with each failed relationship your view of yourself becomes more and more loathsome. Self hatred and depreciation surround you in a cloak of misery, convincing you that they’re your friends.  It’s all your fault, you deserve all of it, You’re unlovable.

So you don’t do relationships anymore. You want nothing more than to love and be loved, to hold hands and kiss under the moonlight. You want a partner to share your life with, an emotional connection that transcends yourself, creating a whole new person.

If only you were good enough, worthy enough for love.

But you’re not.

---

“No eating in here Dr. Rogers,” you chide.

Steve looks up at you and gives a smirk.

“How about a little bribe.” He holds up a bag of beaver nuggets. You roll your eyes and look around before sticking your hand in and grabbing a few puffs.

“I knew you couldn’t be perfect all the time,” He teases.

“Don’t you have an office or something?”

“I like it better here, I get to be scolded by a beautiful librarian and don’t have to deal with the other professors.”  

You’ve known Steve for years. He started teaching at the same time you joined the library staff at Rice. He’s genuine and kind. You’ve watched him help countless students outside of office hours. Everyone likes him, including you. You really like him a lot. That’s why you can’t let yourself entertain the possibility of being with him. You can’t lose him. You can’t bear the inevitable conclusion of him looking you in the eyes and telling you he’s done, that you’re too much for him.

“Well you’ll have to pack it up, they’re sending everyone home because of the hurricane.”

“It’s barely even a hurricane, more like a tropical storm,” Steve scoffs.

“Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

You close the library down before heading to your car. The wind has already started and the sky darkens by the second. You smell the slight scent of sea air and know it’s close. The humidity, which you forgot could even get this bad, causes you to start sweating profusely and you want to get home and take a shower before the storm starts. You have a pint of blue bell waiting for you at home along with a stack of unread books, a quiet night sounds perfect.

“Hey.”

You whip around and see a familiar face, a grad student who visits the library often. Alex, you remember.

“Sorry, I just closed the library down. You'll have to wait until the school opens.”

He takes a small step forward, close enough that your personal space is violated, while at the same time far enough to where the invasion feels almost accidental.

“I’ve watched you around campus, noticed your schedule.” It’s not an accident.

It’s not unusual for students to flirt with you but this is less flirting and more just creepy.

“Oh, um yeah I work a lot.” you take a step back and he follows.

“You don’t have a boyfriend.” He states.

You stare at him and take another step back, hitting your back on your car. You grab onto the handle and he reaches out and grabs your hand.

“Hey don’t be like that. I’m a good guy. I won’t hurt you.”

You pry your hand away..

“One date, say yes.” He says, slowly pushing his body towards you.

“No, I have to go.”  

You press yourself against your car as his body goes rigid.

“You’re such a fucking tease, parading around me for weeks.”

He takes a tiny step back but places his hands against your car, caging you in. You close your eyes and freeze in fear. Your mind screams at you to move but your body just won’t.

He’s suddenly pulled away from you and when you open your eyes the only thing visible is Steve’s back.

“She said no, why don’t you move along and maybe spend some time considering why you feel entitled to women who clearly aren’t interested.”

Alex and Steve stare at each other for a few slow moments before Alex scowls at you and walks away.

“Are you ok?” Steve turns to you.

“I’m fine.” you lie, crossing your arms to avoid shaking.

Steve raises his eyebrows and looks you up and down. You’re not entirely sure how it happens but somehow you end up sitting in the passenger seat of Steve's truck, looking at your apartment building. Rain has started coming down in earnest and you dread running through it.

“Are you going to be ok alone?” Steve asks

“Are you?” You reply.

You look at eachother and your mind clears. His blue eyes stare at you with concern. Steve's hands are still on the steering wheel, clutching on like it might disappear if he lets go. You don’t want to be alone and you can tell that he doesn’t either. You want to feel safe and right now Steve is the only one who makes you feel that way. It would be so easy to invite him in, you know he would say yes.

“You don’t have a car. do you have food? Bottled water? A portable charger?” Steve asks.

“You’re the one that said it’s barely a hurricane.”

Steve sighs and releases his hands from the steering wheel.

“Just call me if you need me.”

You nod and climb out of the truck. The transition from the hot rain to your air conditioned apartment causes you to start shivering and even after you change and cover yourself in a warm blanket you still shake uncontrollably.

---

The storm lasts three days, worse than you were expecting but nothing like Harvey.

Steve shows up at your apartment bright and early a bag of conchas and breakfast tacos in hand. You climb in his truck and buckle your seatbelt. Steve eyes your book bag before backing up.

“You’re not going to work are you?”

“It’s been three days.” you reply.

He looks at you like you’re crazy and you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“It wasn’t that bad, you got there before anything actually happened,” you say.

He opens his mouth and breathes in before biting his lip and driving you to work without another word.

Steve walks you to your car every day after work. You don’t ask him to, he just does. It’s an unsaid expectation you both have. The first week is awkward, You both say almost nothing to each other. The second week though Steve finally breaks the silence.

“How have you been?”

You shrug.  

“I filed a complaint. He’s barred from the library and promised not to come near me.” you say.

Steve purses his lips.

“Do you feel safe though?”

“No...”

Steve stiffens and you reach out and grasp his shoulder.

“Thank you for walking me to my car.”

“Of course,” Steve closes the door for you and you drive away.

Steve cracked something on your exterior. You had been pushing off the feelings before Steve asked you how you were and now you can’t push them down any longer. You get in the shower and let the warm water wash over you. At first you feel raw and then angry and then for the first time since it happened you cry. It feels silly, to let something so seemingly small affect you so much. It could have been so much worse, it’s not like anything actually happened. Maybe that’s what scares you, not what happened but the implication of what could have. He invaded your space and intimidated you, making you feel small and helpless. If it wasn’t for Steve…

You let yourself fall apart until the water turns cold, then you pick yourself up and wrap yourself in a soft towel.

You look at the woman in your bathroom mirror and see someone who isn’t you. She’s broken and hurting, her eyes swollen from crying. She looks like she’s about to fall over from exhaustion. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. She has every right to feel upset and frightened about it. She didn’t deserve to have her safety threatened, nobody deserves that.

You didn’t deserve it.

You go to work the next day and the day after that. Days turn into weeks turn into months and the fear slowly leaches out of you as you reach out for help. The woman in your bathroom mirror deserves therapy and so do you.

Steve is always there. He walks you to your car every day. He starts texting you and you text him back. You go out to dinner with him, an ethiopian place this weekend and a mediteranian food truck the next. You form inside jokes and slowly you find yourself telling Steve little things about yourself.

“Why are you single?” You ask him one day.

“I had a girlfriend, she’s not with us anymore. After she… I guess I just… I wasn’t in a place for a long time to date anyone, I cringe now at some of the things I did while dating after she passed.”

He leans back and gives you a little smile.

“I’ll know when it’s the right time to jump back in - when it’s the right person.”

You open up about your past and he listens. He tells you about growing up as the smallest kid in his class, how he was bullied and how suddenly people started treating him differently when he hit a late growth spurt. You feel closer to him than you’ve ever felt with anyone.

---

Steve walks you to your car. Tomorrow is your off day and you stop to thank him and remind him you aren’t working the next few days. He’s looking at you and shifts on his feet, you furrow your brows in concern.

“It’s Valentine's day tomorrow.” He blurts out.

You take a step towards your car, knowing where this is going and not wanting it to go any further.

Steve is the one who holds you together, his friendship helping you in so many ways. He holds power over you though, power to throw you aside and break you apart. You can’t be cast away, not again.

“If you don’t have plans maybe I can make you something for dinner at my place?”

You turn away and grab your door handle.

“Sorry, I’m busy.”

“Oh of course, yeah that’s fine.”

You watch Steve bring his hand up to his forehead in the rearview mirror as you drive away.

That evening you write the text, it’s cowardly but you don’t think you can face him.

I don’t need you to walk me to my car anymore. Thank you for your help but I think our relationship should be professional from here on out.

What? No, we’re friends. Are you ok?

You turn your phone off and take a sleeping pill only to be woken in the middle of the night by pounding on your door.

Steve stands in your doorway. His eyes are red and his hair is messy. He takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“I turned it off.”

Steve stares at you and you look away.

“What is this about?”

“What is what about?”

“We’re friends. I’m not going to stop being your friend just because you don’t want a relationship. I know this isn’t one sided, that you feel the same way about me. Why are you trying to push me away?”

You cross your arms and look down and he leans over, putting himself in your line of sight.

“If I let you in I’ll get hurt,” you confess.

“Why do you think that?”

‘I..” You stutter

It’s not one moment. Not any one breakup you’ve been through. It’s not even what happened months ago during the hurricane. It’s everything. It’s self hatred, overthinking and analyzing. It’s all the anxiety and stress of life that compounds into fear. Fear of failing and of loss, of getting hurt and breaking. You feel like the only way to keep yourself up and moving is by pushing him away.

“You’re so scared of being hurt but Y/N, you’re hurting. You’re doing to yourself the very thing you’re so scared of.”

Tears start forming, Steve brings his hand up and wipes one away before pulling you into a hug and letting you cry into his chest.

He shifts his face close to your ear and speaks softly.

“I have fear too, but you know what I’m the most scared of? I’m scared of not being your friend anymore. We don’t have to be in a relationship but please don’t cut me out.”

His voice hitches and his grip tightens.

“I love you, I care about you and always will.”

You pull back and look at him, a tear escapes one of his eyes and he promptly wipes it away.

“I’m scared,” you say.

“I am too.”

Your heart beats rapidly as you look up into Steve's bloodshot eyes and see the pain that you’re feeling mirrored back at you. Steve holds power over you but for the first time you realize that you hold that same power over him. You never thought you would be willing to put yourself in a vulnerable position again but somehow, here you are. You put your hand over your heart and feel the life pump out if it and through your veins.

reaching up tentatively, you bring your hand to his face grabbing his cheek gently. You stand up tall and slide your hand behind his neck, bringing him in and kissing him. Tension releases from both of you as you press your lips together, embracing in a warm hug. You pull away and he brings you in for another kiss, this time pushing you into your apartment and kicking the door closed behind him.

It’s a flurry of body parts and heat. You’re ripping off each other's clothing. Steve kisses your neck and you bring your hand to his chest and feel down his abdomen. He groans when you get to his dick and the next thing you know you’re on the bed arching your back as he slams into you. You open your mouth to moan but nothing comes out, Instead your eyes roll to the back of your head as an orgasm washes through you and carries you away.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” He says.

He stills on top of you and then looks down making eye contact before rolling beside you and pulling you into a hug.

“That was...” Steve starts

“Amazing.” you finish.

You pry yourself from Steve and walk to the bathroom to clean up, stopping at the mirror to look at your post sex appearance.

Maybe there’s no way around it. Maybe life will stick you in situations and force you forward against your will. You weren’t trying to let Steve into your life but somehow here he is.

For the first time you don’t don’t feel like this unlovable person. You’re not scared he’s going to leave you or that you’re going to ruin the relationship.

You have a feeling you’ve never truly experienced before and now it all makes sense. Somehow in the last few months you’ve learned to love. You look at yourself in the mirror and see someone worthy.

You’ve spent all your time and energy pushing people away when you should have been building yourself up. You thought that taking care of yourself meant hiding away and putting up a wall.

Self care isn’t a bubble bath or a glass of wine and It’s not something that happens out of fear or anxiety. It’s affording yourself the same kindness and forgiveness that you would give anyone else. It’s looking at yourself in the mirror and recognizing that you deserve to love and to be loved. It’s giving yourself permission to feel however you feel without guilt or shame. It’s love in its purest form and you deserve it.

You are not unlovable.

Steve walks up beside you and kisses your temple.

“When you said you loved me...” you start.

“I meant it.”  He says quickly.

You turn and look at him, biting your lip before saying something you’ve been so scared of for so long. You kiss his cheek and smile.

“I love you.”  

[pathofcomet]

type of kisses (14)

fandom: ikemen vampire

pairing: isaac/MC

summary:  a kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished (AO3) TW: depresion and general mental health issues

She has… these days. When she is just lost to the world. Getting out of the bed is an unimaginable task, just like changing out of her nightgown. She doesn’t really eat much, tray after tray brought up and taken down by Sebastian remaining untouched. She spends way too many hours in her armchair, wrapped in a blanket, just staring blankly out the window. Others’ calls don’t really register, and if someone comes close enough to touch her, she violently jolts aware.

But no one really speaks about it. Vincent goes through the same thing: aimless long walks through the fields, days upon days of remaining locked in his room. Dazai too: prolonged absence felt by everyone, all the more because he was such an active part of the daily house’s discussions. Maybe Sebastian even notices a few bottles of the alcohol missing, but he carefully rewrites the inventory and nothing’s mentioned.

If they feel her absence, the other inhabitants of the manor don’t mention it to her, when she eventually returns to her usual routine. She apologizes to Sebastian for not helping, and works even harder to make up for it.

She hugs Vincent for a really, really long time. Arthur hugs her for a really, really long time.

She gives no explanations; not publicly, not really. However, after the first time, she sits Isaac down in her room and prepares him for the talk. She never really figured out how to talk about this, even back in her time, so how can she make it make sense to someone who lived four hundred years before that?

She’s pacing around in her room when Isaac calls out her name, opens his arms for her. She falls down into his embrace easily, willingly, eagerly. It’s the easiest thing she’ll ever do. They lay down in her bed, Isaac silently holding her hand, watching her as she’s trying to come up with proper words. There are no proper words, but she’s trying, still.

“I’m like… a candle that goes out? And I can’t be myself for a while, and I know it, and I know you know it – and that person is just a trace of me and I don’t want it next to anyone.”

Isaac swallows, hard. He tightens his grip on her hand, looks at her more lovingly, more determined. She closes her eyes, unable to bear it.

“What… What can I do?” he asks.

“Forgive me once it’s done,” she answers, no hesitation.

When the fog lifts, when she’s not crippled by her thoughts, it’s like a hurricane passed through her life. She has lost relationships because of it, so she carries a warning sign with her brain, and an apology with her at all times.

“There’s nothing to forgive, my love,” he says, and they stay like that, one next to the other, holding hands, for a very long time.

So… she has these days. When she bothers no one, and no one bothers her. When she can’t bring herself to do anything. When life is just dull and unbearable, no matter how much love she knows she holds for so many people and so many things. When no matter how hard she’s loved, she still has trouble falling asleep or waking up or trusting anything else but the voice in her head, that’s so familiar and so close.

Then, she just stands up at some point: and she wants to taste a new recipe, she wants to take a walk in the garden, she wants to check out some books in the city. Slowly, the world solidifies around her, fixing itself back on its axis.

She walks barefoot to the kitchen, and finds her favourite meal already laid out for her. She thanks Sebastian, though he tells her he is not the one who made it.

“Sir Isaac did.”

She stares at the plate in front of her, and she eats everything, even if the taste is mixed with her salty tears. In the library, there’s a package waiting for her; she sits in an armchair and opens it. A poetry collection, a chocolate box and a new ribbon.

She turns to Arthur, who’s reading in the same room.

“Do you know who-”

He turns to her voice, looks at her properly.

“Oh? That? Newt, of course.”

She’s tenderly touching each gift, still half-afraid she’s in a daydream of her brain, just a nicer one.

“Do you know where he is?”

Arthur checks the clock.

“Probably the garden.”

She leaves her things behind, starts running. She’s barefoot, walking on the ground, and yet she doesn’t care. She finds Isaac soon; in his arms, a bouquet of roses, thorns carefully cut off. She just… jumps in his arms, and he’s forced to let go of what he’s holding, so he can catch her, balancing the two of them. She’s laughing and crying in one sound, and then her lips are on his before he can figure out what he’s supposed to do.

She’s holding on to him, tightly. Her feet are still not touching the ground, and she kisses him like he’s her everything and more, like she’s gone years without him. She kisses him like her dark will never return, like she’s worthy of his love despite it.

“Isaac, I love you.”

“And I, you.”

[hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis]

Virago 33. Unexpected Outcomes

Summary: Y/N was sent to the ground after spending five years in the Skybox for stealing medical supplies and murder. How will she deal with her new environment and learn to survive on earth? Will she crack under the pressure of becoming a leader of the 100 or will she embrace it. 

Post Date: 05.28.21

Word count: 917

Based off: 03x07 “Thirteen”

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Masterlist

100 Master List

A/N: Trig is Bolded

Semet and the others took you and Octavia on the long journey back to Polis to see the Commander, Lexa. They didn’t stop as they wanted to get to polis as quick as possible.

“The Flamekeeper promised we would be heard!” Semet says as he bursts through the guards. The other men push you and Octavia forwards.

“Octavia. Y/N,” You barely hear Clarke. You look over to see her standing off to the side.

“Forgive me for intruding on this holy day, Commander. I am Semet of Trikru and I come seeking justice,” Semet says to Lexa.

“Explain yourself. Why do you hold Octavia and Y/N of Skaikru prisoner?” Lexa questions.

“She is a prisoner of war, Commander -- brought here to bear witness to the crimes of their people,” Semet explains.

“What crimes? What happened?” Clarke questions both Semet and Titus.

“Skaikru attacked their village. Because their warriors were lost when your people massacred the army we had sent to protect you, their village was defenseless,” Titus explains.

“Please, Commander. I beg you. Avenge us,” Semet says.

“Blood must have blood!” A woman in the crowd says.

“Death to Skaikru!” A man says as the others in the room start to get agitated.

“You will show respect in this chamber!” Titus says to the upset grounders. Once the other grounders had calmed down a bit, Clarke, Lexa and Titus leave to discuss what to do. After a few minutes they return, silencing the other grounders.

“Today I call upon the armies of the 12 clans to march on Arkadia. Not to attack, but to contain. We will blockade the 13th clan. We will keep them from the lands they wish to possess. We will give them time to take out their leaders from within. Once they rise up against them, then we will welcome them back as one of us,” Lexa announces.

“You heard the commander. Send riders. Tell your armies to set up a buffer zone around Arkadia. 5 miles should be enough to keep them away from our villages. What are their orders, Heda?” Titus says.

“Any Skaikru caught across the line will be subject to a kill order,” Lexa says surprising us.

“Heda, I do not understand. How is this vengeance?” Seme asks, questioning Lexa’s commands.

“It is not vengeance, my brother. It is justice,” Lexa responds.

“Skaikru killed my sons. And my brother and my wife. If the spirit of the commander will not protect us then what will?” Semet says to the others..

“You mind yourself, Semet,” Titus reminds him.

“Death to the commander!” Semet yells. He charges at Lexa, but Titus was able disarm and stab him in the throat him before he could get close.

“Blood must have blood,” Titus says to Lexa. After the events in the chamber, they had released you and Octavia and allowed you to talk to Clarke.

“No wonder you wanted to stay,” Octavia says to Clarke.

“Stop. You know why i’m here. Are you two ok?” Clarke asks.

“Yeah,” You and Octavia say in unison.

“I saw Indra in the crowd. Why wasn’t she with Lexa?” Octavia says.

“Indra’s not doing so well. We can’t deal with that right now,” Clarke says.

“Ok, so what do we do?” You ask.

“I have to talk to Lexa,” Clarke responds.

“You just did that and came out with a kill order on all of us. That’s the second time that she left us all to die,” You point out.

“The 12 clans want a war. You two know that. Lexa’s just trying not to wipe us out,” Clarke says.

“Why am I not surprised that you’re still defending her?” Octavia says.

“I’ll see what I can do. Stay here, both of you,” Clarke says.

“Yeah, right,” You say under your breath. 

“Let’s go,” Octavia says implying she agrees with you. You walk around Polis as Octavia is taken to see Indra.

“How is she?” You ask as Octiavia finds you in the crowd.

“Not good. She’s giving up,” She responds.

“That doesn’t sound like Indra,” You say.

“It isn’t,” Octavia says as the two of you make your way back to the tower.

“She told you you can stay, didn’t she?” You ask walking into Clarke’s room.

“What did you say?” Octavia adds.

“Nothing,” Clarke responds.

“Clarke, we all know that Pike won’t obey the blockade. We need to stop him before more of our people get killed,” You say.

“What if I can do more for them by just staying here?” Clarke asks.

“You can’t, Clarke. We don’t have time for this,” Octavia doesn’t hesitate to say.

“Look. We need you. The kill order goes into effect at dawn. You have an hour to say your good-byes,” You say before you walk out with Octavia.

“If you’re not there, you’re not the person I thought you were,” Octavia says before you leave the room.

“Do you think she’s coming?” You ask Octavia.

“I don’t know. But I hope she does,” She responds. The two of you head down to the edge of the city and wait for Clarke to show up. About an hour passes and you don;t see any sign of Clarke so the two of you start to leave.

“Octavia and Y/N kom Skaikru,” You hear from behind you. The both of you immediately recognize the voice to be Indra’s and you see a smile form on Octavia’s face. Indra then joins the two of you as you leave Polis.

🏷: @misfortunatem00n​  | @zestylemon99​ | @mystic-writings​​ | @thebeautifulbookworm​​ | @gxvrielle​ | @simonsbluee​ | @iwishilivedinthesims​ | @awkwardspontaneity​ | @hurricane-abigail​ | @how-does-this-work​ | @lizlil​ | @vxidnik​

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @lifeistrangezine Chaos Theory zine!  I wanted to explore some of the branches Max went through.

…

…

…

…

“The trolley problem.” Ms. Hoida stood at the front of the classroom, writing out the words on the blackboard. Her chalk hit the board in hard taps, confident strokes that did not match her quiet demeanor. “It’s a common philosophical question, one that will be explored in the book you will read this semester.”

 She turned around, smiling brightly at the class. “The question is this: a trolley is barrelling down the tracks. In the distance, you see five people standing in your path. There’s a fork in the road and you can save them by changing tracks. But in doing so, you’ll kill a lone worker who’s on this second track. You can’t warn them nor can you stop the trolley in time. What do you do?”

 There was a long silence as no one answered. Ms. Hoida raised a brow, looking at them curiously. “Who lives and who dies?”

 Max tried not to snort. What an easy question—the answer was obvious.

 You’d pick the path with one person every single time.

-x-

 Case Chloe:

 Max crouched in the darkness, the jackhammer beating of her heart so loud she didn’t know how it didn’t give her away. The girls’ change room wasn’t that big, the white tiles echoing every sound. It was a miracle that Mr. Madsen hadn’t heard her yet.

 Pressed against the cool metal lockers, she peered around the corner. Max could barely make out his back, the light of his flashlight swinging away as he inspected every nook and cranny for an intruder. This was exactly what she expected to happen when she joined Chloe for a midnight swim: trouble. Trouble that would mar her school record forever.

 Something cold and soft touched her arm and Max covered her mouth to muffle her scream. It was just Chloe, it was only Chloe. She could still smell the chlorine from the pool as water dripped down her spiky blue hair. Max turned to look at her, her outline barely visible in the almost non-existent light. Mr. Madsen stepped forward, his footstep echoing on the tiles, and Max pulled Chloe along as she quietly tiptoed toward the exit.

 If they could just sneak out—

 “Who’s there?” Mr. Madsen growled, swinging around. His flashlight landed on them and Max felt like a deer in the headlights, waiting for the car to crash. “Chloe. Why am I not surprised?”

 “Fuck,” Chloe muttered before snarling back, “Not like you know how to have any fun!”

 Max swallowed, watching the two argue, their words growing more heated by the second. She could fix this. All she needed to do was concentrate and she could fix this. Closing her eyes, she focused on time, on the photo negatives of her past, going through them until she found one just before they chose the girls’ change room to hide in.

 “Anyone there?” Mr. Madsen called out, his flashlight shining into the girls’ change room.

 Max quietly made her way back to the pool, intercepting Chloe before she could hide. “Boys’ change room.”

 “What?” Chloe stared at her, confused, before realization dawned. “Super Max to the rescue, huh?”

 Super Max. It didn’t feel particularly heroic to use her powers like this, but she’d take what she could get.

 -x-

 Case Warren:

 “How does it look?” Sitting on the desk, Warren tilted his head back, angling his face toward the light. His hands rested between his legs, keeping him balanced as he patiently waited for her inspection.

 Max set down the first aid kit on a free desk. Luckily, the science room was empty for once, free of Brook or her teachers. Leaning forward, she tucked a lock behind her ear as she studied Warren’s face. Under the light, his skin looked paler than usual, the dark circle around his eye blacker. There was a cut on his bottom lip, dried blood crusted at the edges. “You look…” she paused, not sure what to say.

 “Beat up?” Warren suggested playfully, grinning.

 “Beat up,” she agreed, pulling back to open the first aid kit. “I can’t believe you did that.”

 “Me neither.” He chuckled before wincing. Gingerly, he touched his lip and groaned. “Man, Nathan packs a punch for a rich guy.”

 “He really hurt you,” Max warned, her eyes flickering to his black eye. She couldn’t stop staring at it.

 “I just wasn’t ready.” Raising his fists, he punched the air in front of him. “Next time, I’ll be the one punching him.”

 “Or you’ll be the one—” Getting beat. Getting shot. She’d almost forgotten about it, the bathroom shooting that chain-started her powers. Nathan was dangerous, far more dangerous than anyone realized.

 “Or what?” Warren raised a brow, staring at her.

 Max faltered, not sure what to say. “He’s just…dangerous.” Her fingers rifled through the band-aids idly. “Just…be careful, okay?”

 “Yeah, you don’t have to worry about me.” Chest puffed out, Warren winked at her dorkily. “I’m kinda like a hero, you know?”

 “Heroes don’t usually get beat up,” she pointed out. If she went back to the parking lot, if she and Chloe got there quicker or warned Warren, would he be okay? Sure, he was smiling now, but he was also in Nathan’s bad books.

 And Nathan wasn’t the kind of person who settled for getting even.

 “I’m sorry,” Max apologized. Before he could ask why, time was rewinding itself.

 -x-

 Case Kate:

 This is wrong. The single thought replayed over and over in Max’s head as she stood in front of the dormitory, staring down at the steps. A single, framed picture of Kate sat on the middle rung, surrounded by rings of candles and bouquets of white lilies. In the dark, the lights flickered, casting multiple shadows over her picture. A white bear sat at the bottom of the staircase.

 Kate likes rabbits. Max stared at the stuffed bear, fighting the urge to pick it up and chuck it over the field. But that wasn’t what was wrong, was it? Bear, rabbit, it didn’t change the fact that this was a memorial for Kate.

 That Kate was dead.

 As the thought struck her, she hunched over and covered her mouth. The acidic taste of bile lingered on her tongue, even though it had been hours since she’d last vomited. If Max turned to her left, if she tilted her head a centimeter, she could see the spot where Kate fell, hear the sickening crunch as she landed. Yellow caution tape still surrounded the spot, the cops not finished with their investigation.

 This is wrong, she thought again, trying to force her legs to move. If she went up a floor, she’d find Kate’s room. Maybe she was playing with her rabbit or reading a book. A light would spill through the cracks of her closed door, her soft humming barely audible as Max walked past. On her whiteboard would be some stupid insult and Max would erase it and doodle something cheerful.

 Somewhere, someone was crying, and Max wasn’t sure if it was her. It was automatic this time, her grip on her powers, the world slipping around her as she fought the flow of time.

  This was one fate she couldn’t allow to pass.

 -x-

 Case Frank:

 A gunshot echoed in Max’s ears as she stared at the ground, at the blood pooling around Frank’s body. It spread slowly, unevenly on the concrete. Red spots dotted her shoes.

 Next to her, Chloe dropped her gun with a clatter, her hand covering her mouth. “He…he attacked. It was the only way to protect us.” Desperate, she turned to Max, tears in her eyes. “Right? That’s…there’s nothing we could have done.”

 Max studied her. Behind them, the ocean waves calmly lapped on the beach and seagulls cried overhead. It was strange, she felt oddly peaceful as she nodded and looked back down at Frank. He stared blankly at the sky, his beloved dog next to him. “It’s okay, Chloe.” She had lived through this scene five times already and there were other, better outcomes. “It’ll be okay.”

 Her ears were the only ones that would remember Frank’s death gurgle. Her eyes were the only ones that would remember this sight.

 Next time, next time she’d say the right thing.

 -x-

 Case Max:

 Max shivered, tightening her grip on Chloe’s wet, clammy hands. In the middle of the storm, in the midst of all this destruction, her warmth was grounding. Rain plastered Max’s hair to her face uncomfortably, but she didn’t push them away, too afraid to let go.

 The wind howled around them as they stood at the top of the hill, at the edge of the cliff. The lighthouse lit the sea up every few seconds, but there was no safety in its beam. The storm was upon them and it would take more than a ray of light to rescue them.

 “Max.” Chloe’s voice was soft for once. “You know what you have to do.”

 She shook her head, keeping her eyes glued to their interlaced hands. “I can’t do anything about this. I’m not that super.”

 “Max,” Chloe repeated, tugging her hands up and forcing her to look up. “Look at the town.”

 She didn’t want to. Even after running through it, saving her classmates and friends, seeing the fire and damage, it was easy to pretend out here. It was quieter at the lighthouse, the storm drowning out every other sound, and maybe the town was fine. Maybe everything was fine and they just had to wait it out.  

 “Look, Max.” Impatience leaked into her voice, and Chloe tugged Max’s hands again urgently. “Look.”

 Despite herself, she did. She turned her head, followed Chloe’s gaze to the ruins of their town. To the hurricane landing on the shoreline, ripping buildings off the earth. From here, she couldn’t hear the screams, but she could imagine them.

 Oh, she could imagine them.

 “They’re all going to die, aren’t they?” Max muttered, watching at the storm move closer and closer to the diner. To Joyce. To Frank. To Warren and Kate and—

 “Yeah, but they don’t have to.” Chloe clutched her hands tightly, forcing her attention back to her.

 Immediately, Max knew what she meant. “No.”

 She tried to pull away but Chloe didn’t let her. Despite how slick her hands were from the rain, her grip remained tight. “Max!”

 “I can’t, Chloe! That’d mean…” Her eyes welled, her sight growing even more blurry. “That…that day, in the bathroom…Nathan, he-he—” killed you, but Max couldn’t utter the last words, couldn’t make them real.

 “I know! And I…I don’t want to die, Max!” Chloe shook her head, her voice cracking. “But I don’t want them to die too. I’m just me, you know? One person, against a whole town—it’s an easy choice, isn’t it?”

 One person versus many.

 The Trolley problem, Ms. Hoida had said, her chalk hitting the board confidently. Who would you save?

 Chloe or the town.

 Chloe or Kate, Warren, Joyce, her classmates, her neighbours, perfect strangers.

 Max could hear wheels rolling down a track, feel the cool metal of a track shaft between her hands. Left or right, the many vs the one.

 It was an easy choice.

 It was supposed to be an easy choice.

 “I…I…” Max stared up at Chloe helplessly.

 Whatever path she took, only heartbreak lay at the end.