#and to the op thanks for calling the brown eyes beautiful

[majoresca]

If you come to my DMs with the phrase: "you seem really odd and your blog intrigues me, do you want to have philosophical conversations or perhaps talk about fictional characters".

You don't even need to elaborate that much, you've already got me to talk with you.

Messaging people for the first time is so hard. What am I supposed to say? Like, "You seem really odd and your blog intrigues me. Do you want to have philosophical conversations or perhaps talk about fictional characters?" What! Whatever. I will just follow you back and stare at your blog with my big beautiful brown eyes.

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Let's Have a Baby 2.0

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied sexual content, MDNI Note: A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @peachesofteal for workshopping with me, per usual, and for being the best beta! Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

Simon Riley did not cry when his first daughter was born.

He didn’t know how to process his grief amid his love’s agony and emptiness. She spent days on end, curled into the plush rocker in the corner of the empty nursery or lying flat on her back, staring at the white ceiling. His guilt was no match for her shame – as she clutched the tiny hospital blanket to her chest, sobbing that she couldn’t name her. Couldn’t name the daughter that they didn’t get to bring home.

Her wails – I’m sorry I’m weak, Please don’t hate me, I'm fucking useless – echoed in Simon’s mind when he named that baby. He knew, in his heart, that Freyja loved her with her entire being, everything she had. He knew that, if she could, she would have picked the most beautiful name, better than anything he could have come up with on his own. So he named her after his wife, so his daughter would never leave his mind.

When Joan Vanadís was born, Simon stared at her for hours. He memorized every detail of her soft features, inhaled her scent, and poured over her deep brown eyes and button nose. His wife barely got to hold her in her first day of life. Sure, he had cried, as many fathers do in the delivery room. He was completely unsure of how it was possible that he helped create this beautiful, innocent little person.

But his son, oh his son, was an entirely different animal.

Where Joanie came roaring into the world, Arthur Simon was quiet. Quiet like his father, but the spitting image of his mum, minus Simon’s curved nose (Poor thing, he thought). The gentle cry from such a delicate thing broke whatever terrified stupor he’d been in since learning that they were having a boy. The doctor placed the blue bundle on his wife’s chest, and he instantly broke down. The ‘big bad Ghost’ was a blubbering mess as their son’s small hand curled into her skin, his eyes closed, and his mouth curled into a frown. He hesitated, hand hovering over the boy until Freyja’s came and pressed his palm into the tiny body, much smaller than Joanie’s when she was born. The steady rhythm of Arthur’s little lungs working underneath his fingertips made something inside his chest snap and crumble into dust.

Whatever fear he had about having a son was gone. As he had promised their daughters, he again swore that he would be better. Better than his father. He promised he would raise Arthur the way he should have been.

In the months that followed, taking care of his son healed a piece of Simon Riley. A piece that needed the father he had fought so hard to be.

The newborn seemed to have that effect on people, particularly overgrown men.

Arthur’s godfathers and grandfather returned to England about three months after he was born. Johnny brought his partners by the second they stepped off the plane, not even offering time to dress down in civilian clothes.

König was the first in the house, carrying his and Roach’s duffels as Johnny snuck in a moment alone with their partner outside. Freyja appeared, almost making him jump out of his skin at her sudden appearance.

“Herrgott, Kapitän!” he cried, hand on his pounding heart. “You scared me.”

Freyja had Artie strapped to her chest, sucking happily on his pacifier as he stared up at her face. He was already a certifiable mama’s boy, always enamored with her and clinging to her at every waking moment (and then some). “Oh, thank god,” she sighed, unraveling the fabric from her waist and shoulders. “I need a nap.”

His eyes blew wide through the holes of his hood, and he quickly stepped back. “Nein, Freyja, ich will ihn erschrecken—”

“König, nimm deinen Patensohn.” She didn’t allow him any time to hesitate, pressing the baby against his chest. The Austrian immediately dropped the bags from his shoulders, wrapped one arm under the baby’s bum, and rested one large hand against his back.

“Freyja–!”

She was gone.

König desperately wanted to give him back. He couldn’t take the heartbreak of another kid, especially his own nephew, staring at him with pure terror, trying to get away to safety. But this child, a sweet thing, had easily and without hesitation reached for him when Freyja moved to hand him off. It was as if he already sensed that his mom would never hand him off to someone that didn’t have her full trust.

He had gotten used to Joan by that point, but she was almost a year old when he saw her last. And she was much bigger than the infant boy in his arms, done up in an (admittedly) adorable, light blue onesie, with stripes nearly resembling those of the Scotland flag (Soap most definitely bought it for that reason and that reason alone). What if he dropped him? What if he held him too tight? What if he moved and hit Arthur’s head on something? What if–

A small tug caught his attention, his mask shifting downward. König glanced down at the boy curiously pulling the thing toward his mouth, which he put a stop to. “Iss das nicht, welpe. Du weißt nicht, wo es war,” he whispered, using a finger to nudge Arthur’s fist away from his mouth.

They simply stared at each other, the man holding the baby’s gaze, surprised that the little one was tolerating it. Then in a shocking turn of events, Art jerked the fabric up and over his head, making cooing and gurgling sounds that resembled an attempt at a laugh. Both under the hood now, König froze for a moment, completely and utterly bewildered. No grown adult, let alone an infant, had ever warmed up to the giant so quickly, immediately. Artie made another noise, and beyond his control, tears started to flow freely down his paint-smudged cheeks, a huge smile lighting up their dark cavern.

As König sobbed and shook, he pressed his forehead against Arthur’s, trembling body clinging to his godson like a lifeline.

König didn’t know how long he stood there with gentle but clumsy hands palming his scars and features, reveling in the attention. He never wanted it to end. He didn’t fail to notice what felt like Ghost’s hand on his opposite shoulder, brief but definitely present; then, the familiar press of Johnny’s cheek between his shoulder blades and the imprint of his firm hands on his hips.

Yeah, you could say Arthur Simon had a gift for healing.

.

.

.

“Uh oh, Dada!”

Freyja chuckled at her husband’s exasperated expression, staring at the ceiling as the plastic cup bounced across the floor. Simon had spent the last ten minutes trying to slice up an orange for Joan, who, in that time, had thrown the loose cereal onto the floor, tossed her plastic fork across the room, and finally dumped the cup of water into his lap.

“Yeah, uh oh,” he sighed, bending to pick up the cup but not bothering with his now-soaked pants. “Lovie, I’m almost done. You have to be patient. We don’t throw things.”

“No!”

“Look, Joanie, here.” Simon broke a wedge off and held it out for her. Two little hands took the fruit, holding the rind as Joan gummed at the soft flesh. “Can you say, ‘Thank you, Daddy’?”

“No!”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Arthur rested quietly in his mother’s arms with his cheek pressed against her breast as he dozed after finishing a bottle. Some mothers would have found Arthur’s level of attachment overwhelming; he rarely wanted to be put down, oftentimes crying out for her even when handed off to Simon. Similar to how Joanie gravitated to her father, Artie clung to her, and Freyja took pride in that.

When she looked up from her son, she found Simon had stripped out of his soiled sweatpants and now sat in only black boxer briefs. It was an unusually lazy day due to the poor weather outside. Simon got the kids up and fed at the usual time but didn’t do much to dress them, opting for fresh onesies. Joan’s was a dark navy, while Art’s was cream with mini tan teddy bears.

Joanie finished the orange slice quickly and placed the rind on her plate. She balled one hand into a fist and slapped the top with an open palm in a jerky movement. “Dada, more.”

“That’s right, ‘more’,” he praised, mimicking the sign for her. “Good job asking. Here.”

He placed the rest of her snack on the tray, and she immediately started nibbling at one. Simon leaned forward with his forearm on his knee, getting to eye level with the girl. “I’d really like an orange. Could you share with Daddy, lovie?” he asked while offering a hand. They had quickly learned to keep her hands occupied and practice hand-eye coordination in constructive ways, rather than letting her get bored. That was when she tended to start throwing things, as demonstrated by Simon’s now discarded pants.

She seemed to consider it, before dropping the piece she had already half finished in his palm and grabbing another.

“I meant one that wasn’t half-eaten, but this’ll do. Thank you.” He met Freyja’s eyes, his cheeks tight with laughter as he finished the fruit. 

The rain thundered against the glass windows, filling the space behind Joanie’s giggles at the funny faces Simon made. Her clothed feet kicked the legs of her chair. It was there – in their kitchen on a rainy Tuesday afternoon – Freyja realized just how content she was with the life they had built together. Observing her husband as he wiped the sticky juices dribbling down their daughter’s chin and pushed her blonde curls back; her touch brushing their son’s warm, squishy cheek with her thumb.

She soaked in the atmosphere a moment longer before speaking. “Simon?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I think Artie’s my last.” Her voice was quiet, almost unsure. They’d never really discussed just how many kids they wanted. Against his initial fears, Simon was a natural; he was just as much in his element taking care of their kids as he was on the battlefield. She didn’t want to take that away if he wanted more, but she honestly couldn’t go through it again. Recovering from a c-section royally sucked, but giving birth naturally was not an option.

Simon’s brows pinched together as he swiveled away from Joanie, searching her face. He watched how her careful fingers stroked Arthur’s face, her other hand wrapped around the baby’s thigh to secure him to her. Her touch slid down to his chest, measuring his tiny heartbeat and steady breaths. He often did the same with both of their children; the gesture grounded him in their reality, and he figured it did the same for her. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll call for an appointment to get snipped.”

He said it as if he were talking about grabbing a takeaway on his way home from work, which gave Freyja a slight shock.

“Just like that?” she asked, turning in her chair to face him better. “Are you sure?”

“You’ve given me three beautiful babies,” Simon cooed, reaching to drag his large hands up and down her thighs. Freyja melted into his touch, legs spreading so his knee could slot between hers. “S’the least I can do. If you’re done, so am I. I had a feeling, anyway.”

“A vasectomy just seems a bit extreme. Maybe we can just use condoms?”

He raised a brow at her with an upside-down grin, challenging her. “Do you wanna try that again, with feeling? Look me in the eye and tell me you’re never gonna let me cum in you, ever again?”

“...Birth control?”

“Remind me, how did we have our daughters?”

“I hate you.”

“But I’m right.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Still right, though.” Simon rose from the table and leaned over her, resting his weight on one hand next to her thigh. He slipped the other around the back of her neck and tilted her head up, stealing a long, slow kiss. He muttered, “I’ll go next week,” against her lips before resuming, tongue gently prodding her bottom lip.

Freyja broke away and glanced up at him through her lashes with a teasing look. “You sure you can last that long without sex?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz shipped out to replace the other half of the task force a few days later. They were only gone for two weeks, executing the final excursion to retrieve a stolen weapons cache. König, Roche, and Price had done most of the leg work but decided that the sergeants and lieutenant were better equipped for the situation at hand. 

Johnny’s demolition expertise certainly came in handy this time around.

Still, Simon was sore and aching for the comfort of holding his kids and wife after what felt like the longest two weeks of his life. It was their first time leaving both babies with the other parent since Arthur was born.

Unlike his last time returning from a mission, the house was quiet, which allowed him time to take his boots off at the door and shed his mask. König’s car was parked in their driveway, leading him to believe the operative was spending the night in their guest room. Whether Roach was there too, he didn’t know.

The hall light at the top of the stairs flicked on, and Freyja appeared in a silky nightgown, standing on the last step with a tired smile and messy hair.

Simon stopped at the bottom of the stairs and hummed while his eyes roamed her body with a dopey smile.

“Welcome back,” she whispered, locking her fingers behind his neck to tilt his head back, giving him access to slot their lips together. Freyja moaned quietly at the firm hands on her hips and thighs, gripping and digging into the soft flesh. “How’d it go?”

He shrugged and pressed another chaste kiss to her lips, humming against them. “No snags. Soap got to blow stuff up.” Simon’s mouth trailed down her jaw, throat, and chest, gentle and loving.

Her fingertips brushed a gash on his cheek. Most likely from shrapnel, if its depth and jagged edges were any indicators.

“M’fine, love.”

“Joanie’s out cold, but Artie’s awake if you wanna see him. I just finished feeding him.”

That woke him up a little bit. A soft breath of air tickled the wet spots on Freyja’s skin from his silent chuckle. Simon’s arms wrapped around her waist, and he nuzzled his face in her chest as he soaked in her presence. They’d gone more extended periods without seeing each other, but whether they were apart for a week or a few months, he still missed her like crazy.

“She doing better in her room?”

“Much. She’s having some nightmares but goes back down eventually. She’s having a good night.”

“Mmm, in that case, I won’t wake her. We can surprise her in the mornin’.”

When Freyja turned to lead him upstairs, he couldn’t help himself as his hand swung up and connected with her ass, a sharp CRACK! resonating through the air.

“Simon!”

“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. You left yourself wide open on that one,” he teased, his voice low to not wake their daughter or guests. As expected, Arthur’s quiet coos reached his ears the closer they got to their bedroom. Simon dropped his gear by their bedroom door and approached the bassinet on Freyja’s side of the bed. The little boy stared in his general direction, wiggling like a (precious) worm.

The man beamed down at him and carefully slid his hands under Artie’s back with his thumbs hooked under the infant’s arms, lifting him out of the crib. “Hi, beautiful boy,” he mumbled, pressing his pursed lips against his cheek, leaving multiple kisses in the same spot. He held his son back out for a moment, a confused expression on his face once he pulled away.

“Where’d it go?”

Freyja shifted to her knees on their bed and rested her chin on his shoulder, peering down at their son. “What?”

“The baby scrunch.”

“Huh. You’re right. I didn’t even notice.”

“I just…last time I held him, he still curled up. I missed it,” he said, a grown man literally pouting.

“I know…” She let her hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest. “I’m sorry, Si. I know it sucks. Being away comes with the job, and that means we miss things. We’ve been lucky so far with Joanie, honestly.”

Arthur had quieted down, sucking his pacifier as he studied Simon’s painted face and clinging to his shirt.

A knock at the doorframe caught their attention, and all three turned to the source. König rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bare feet padding across the carpet until he reached them. “Hello, Lieutenant. Did the operation bode well?”

“Yeah, everything was just as you said it – was…”

The baby had started to whine again and let go of his dad, reaching for his uncle with grabby hands. The man’s face flushed, but he didn’t make a move to take the baby. Once the shock wore off, Simon took the initiative to hand Art off, and König gladly received him.

He immediately settled again, laying his head back in the crook of König’s elbow, humming softly against his pacifier. “Hallo, welpe,” he said in a hushed tone, rocking his nephew gently.

“Well, that’s new,” Simon grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed to avoid awkwardly standing there. Simon wasn’t too annoyed, but he was somewhat sad. He had missed his babies dearly and looked forward to some serious attention. But his usually shy baby, who never wanted to be handed off to anyone besides his mother and occasionally Simon, was suddenly choosing their friend over him.

How much had he missed in such a short amount of time?

“I apologize, sir. I am as surprised as you are. He’s a good boy; I think we have been around so much the last two weeks…”

“König.”

“Ja?”

“Drop the sir. We’re not on base. I’m not mad.”

König blinked at him, confused. “It’s… Scheiße, wie sagt man ‘gebräuchlich’ auf Englisch? Ich weiß es nicht. It is normal to use sir where I’m from.”

Simon glared back. “And this is my house. You’ve done as my wife has said to gain my son’s affection. So now, you will do what I say to get back in my good graces after robbing me of my child. Are we clear?”

“I feel…bad. Please, take him back–”

He shook his head and stood again, scratching at the light stubble that had formed on his cheeks over the last few days. “And I’m telling you, no. It’s fine. I have to shower anyway.”

“Alles klar.”

taglist: @esthervalea, @miss-leto, @sweetestcowboy, @blueoorchid, @apocalypticseagull, @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction, @covenlovenn, @330bpm-whiplash, @gnoccheyy, @jaggernauticals, @dwkfan, @untoldshortsofthefandomsdoms, @bobfloydsgf, @maviee, @thomaslefteyebrow, @kyovy, @prodyng, @scout-fang, @avalkyrieofparis, @misshoneypaper, @berryjuicyy, @voteforpedropascal, @beakami, @addictedtothefictionalworld, @kaghost

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[solar4seekstron]

So I was thinking for a request if you can do TFA! Optimus x femme cybortron reader but for the episode where where everyone is suddenly human (don't know if you remember the episode where they became human) but I can imagine it's almost the same where everyone is confused, scared or freaking out but I can imagine Optimus immediately going to check on reader and him being awestruck by her cause even in human form she's still beautiful to him (I don't know you can change the idea a little bit but I just love that episode so much and want to see if you wanted to take a crack at it the episode is called human error part 1 if you don't know what I'm talking about)

Oh yeah that’s a goods episode!

TFA!Optimus Prime x Cybertronian!GN!Reader/human OP x Human Reader: Hoomans??!

TW/Tags: wholesomeness, Established relationship, I wish I was Y/N in this fic ngl 😭, Prowl is babygirl we all know it, I think that’s all?

At the beginning you and Optimus were taking a small drive together. Even as they made their way through the town Optimus wished to keep patrolling because of the Soundwaves toys. You stayed, it's him. You always want to keep close knowing how dangerous the city can be. Well at times.

The others back at the base try to convince him that everything is fine. You even agreed when you both transformed. Comforting him even as you both poked at the tv.

“Optimus please lets go back. I want to give you my christmas gift before the night ends.”

He’d then sigh. His breath seen by the cold air from the snow. “Sorry Sweetspark. I just…”

You gently held his cervo as he looked down at you. You had a soft smile on your dermas as your optics were soft and welcoming. “Come on. Let’s go.”

”Hm…maybe you’re….”

But as he was about to speak to him he chased after something. You followed and he said when he lost what he was looking for that it was after he got stuck and scared the other humans. Speaking about him as he finally got off and transformed. You doing the same and you both drove back to the base.

You and everyone else continue with your Christmas and drink the oil nog Sari made together. You then give Optimus his gift as he did the same with giving you his. He got you the polish you saw on tv thanks to saris help. You always want to look good for Optimus. As Optimus sees that he got a picture frame of the entire team talking to each other. Something Saris' father took some time ago due to your request.

You both loved the gifts and you both embraced each other as the other gave each other gifts as a present given to another the night before Christmas.

You sat on the couch next to Bee as you all kept drinking after Optimus decided to stand up. Eventually getting tired. You and the other bots make your way to bed.

Before you and OP when to bed you both exchanged a kiss. Saying goodnight to each other.

”Marry Christmas Optimus.”

”Marry Christmas Y/N.”

You both go to your own rooms. When Optimus Prime and his team woke up…him and the others being freaked out would be an understatement. Everyone ran out of their room.

As for you. You were too scared. You looked like an averaged sized woman. A little slim but pretty broad arms. Long brown hair and bright brown eyes. You were a few inches shorter than Optimus now. (I mean the man is tall). Ratchet does a check up on Optimus to see what’s wrong.

Optimus then got worried for Prowel and you. Prowel was already outside. While you stayed in your room scared of the others seeing you as a human. When they came , they were humans as well.

”Y/N! You're a human too!” He gently held you as your…Hands- gently gripped at his arms as you two stared at each other. “Optimus I can't believe it. What Happened?”

The others catch you up and you all make your way outside to Prowl. You all try to think of what is going on. Even freezing a bit before the cold weather. You then all make your way to Saris' place in hopes of any help. You held on to Optimus…hand…as you guys continued to walk. You all then realize you need to eat. Going to dinner. You sat next to bee since there was still enough room for you. Across from Optimus. As you looked at the food along with Optimus.

”Optimus, these….organic bodies…It makes me look so…..” You then felt his hand over your.

”No different to even now sweetspark. Even if human or a worm. You’re still the most beautiful living being in this world to me.” He kissed the back of your hand as Ratchet and Bee rolled their eyes and groan. Prowl is just doing his own thing.

You all then ran out only to see the decepticons start to attack. That fight wasn’t easy to deal with. After some time during the fight. You guys were able to find out this was all an illusion. As you all began to believe in yourself. You all turned into your robot form once more. You and Optimus looked at each other happy. And You hugged him.

”We’re back to ourselves!”

”Haha Yeah!”

You and the others' celebrations were short. Out of now where this giant…SOUNDWAVE??!! It just appeared out of nowhere. You guys were then stuck in it’s hand as you all struggled to get out. Until it disappeared and you all fell.

The prowl disappeared for a moment before returning. And then a white light appeared turning you all into humans once more.

”Optimus-“

”I know sweetspark. We’ll figure something out.” Bulkhead that started reading stuff. That’s when OPtimus got an idea. You all got in the cars you all transform into as you all then realize…..You don’t now how the outside of the cars work.

Eventually you all are released and have your minds back. Turns out you all were being controled. Sari was able to get you out of it.

”Sari. Goodness I’m sorry little one. Are you alright?”

”Yes yes! Now hold OP back!!” You saw Optimus had red optics. So you help her and reckgar with holding him back. But he was able to punch you to the side with ease. That little lier he was holding back at each training! Soon Optimus is back. But were still on the ground. Man he hit you hard. You gave a thumbs up as he carries on fighting Soundwave. Chuckling as you watched the fight.

Finally getting up as Optimus helped you with a smile. You stood next to Optimus as you all stood in front of the Christmas tree.

”A wise organic once said we should be thankful for the things we have.”

”Like family.” Sari said as she looked at her dad.

”Like family.” You and Optimus looked at each other with warm smiles. You laying your helm against his shoulder as you all looked at sari and her father after you all looked at each other.

You all then watch as Reckgar walks off dressed like Santa Claus. You all chuckled as you and Optimus held hands. It was certainly an..interesting Christmas.

This is another request I really enjoyed doing. Animated Optimus is so fun to write for and my god did they have to make him so cute in the series?! I love him too much I swear. I hope you guys enjoy this OneShot and continue to give me fun ideas for the animated series and hopefully others one day. Have a good rest of your day y’all!!

[takingchences]

𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐩𝐭. 𝟓

A descendant of a legendary quirk longs to separate herself from her family name, but first she'll have to confront villains, ghosts from the past, and her growing attraction for Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x OP!fem!oc

Warnings: mature language

Let me know if you would like to be added to the ultraviolet taglist! A big thank you to everyone for reading!

series masterlist + my masterlist

"What the hell is going on?" Sana was frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, staring uncomprehendingly at the mob of reporters loitering outside of the school gates. How are we supposed to get through?!

Any other time, she would simply boost herself over them like she did during the quirk assessment. However, since her school uniform required her to wear a skirt, flying was out of the question. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if her underwear was broadcast across every news station.

Through the sea of people, the solar-powered girl spotted a few familiar faces. It seems that a number of her classmates had braved the crowd, but none of them seemed to be making any progress in getting to the gates. Sana would've preferred to wait it out, but classes were starting soon, and she couldn't risk being late. Who knew what sort of soul-crushing punishment Aizawa had in store for such an occasion. The thought alone made a chill run down her spine.

The pastel girl carefully moved towards the crowd, trying to maneuver through the warm bodies. She narrowly avoided an elbow to the temple, only for a microphone to be shoved in her face.

"Hey, you! You sure look familiar. Are you a pro's kid or something?"

"No, sorry." the girl politely answered, trying to step around the woman. A manicured hand grabbed onto her arm, pulling her back.

The reporter, a tall woman with cropped brown hair and a beauty mark by her lip, tilted her head, lilac eyes narrowed in concentration. "No, I've definitely seen you somewhere-"

"If you'll excuse me, I need to get to class-" Sana twisted her arm out of the woman's tight grip, attempting to push past her and towards the gate, only to be stopped once more. "Let me go."

"Wait a minute! We need to interview All Might's students- Hey, kid! You're blocking the shot!" The woman yelled in a shrill voice, like a child on the verge of a tantrum. Sana turned back, only to have her view blocked by a muscular back. Bakugou now stood between her and the woman. His head was turned to the side, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets like always.

"Are you deaf or just stupid?" Bakugou asked in a low drawl, sounding surprisingly calm for, well, him. "She already answered your shitty question."

"B-but-"

"Excuse me, kid!" A shorter, bald man stepped forward, eyeing the blonde up and down with a shaky smile. "Are you in All Might's class?" The man's eyes grew large, as though he'd just realized something important. "Oh? Wait, aren't you that Sludge Villain kid?"

Sludge villain? Her plum irises trailed across the profile of the blonde, whose entire body seemed to stiffen under the man's curious gaze before he forced himself to relax.

The wild, untamed hair that had looked oh so familiar on their first day. His appearance, combined with his explosive quirk... it all fit. The student's name was never released to the public, but there was no doubt in her mind that the reporter was right. Bakugou was the kid from the news all those months ago.

"Walk away." The explosive teen hissed through clenched teeth, his sharp gaze promising a slow, agonizing death to anyone that dared to question him again.

"Bakugou," Sana murmured, gently tugging on the fabric of his blazer to direct his attention away from the nosey press. "Let's go, yeah?" She went to yank him towards her, but his feet were firmly planted, fists out and clenched at his side.

"Bakugou, Sakano." A voice called their names in a tone that could only be described as done with the world. "You're going to be late." Sana's heart nearly stopped at the warning. He won't punish us, right? It's not our fault we can't get through--unless this is another one of his tests?

"Yes, sensei." Sana bowed her head as she passed Aizawa, forcefully dragging an angry boom boom boi behind her.

If those reporters had discovered her identity, the press would've had a field day. Her father would've been annoyed with the amount of attention focused on her "silly passions." Any publicity that wasn't about him or his campaign was considered negative in his eyes. Whether he realized it or not, Bakugou had saved her.

It was only fair to return the favor.

"LET GO OF ME, DAMMIT!"

Sana rolled her eyes, releasing her iron-like grip on his collar before turning on her heel to face him. "Do you have to be so dramatic all the time?"

"HUH?!"

The girl cocked an eyebrow at him pointedly, as if to say see what I mean? Most students were already in their classrooms, so the hallway was pretty much empty. Sana brushed a stray hair behind her ear, her arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to calm her nerves.

"Thank you," she mumbled. She could feel his vibrant eyes burning through her, but she refused to meet his gaze, instead choosing to stare down the deserted corrider they'd just came from. She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "For helping me out back there."

"I didn't do shit, dumbass." he replied, shoving his hands back into his pockets. "You were blocking my way."

Sana couldn't help it.

She laughed.

Of course he would say something like that! It was stupid to expect anything other than an insult to come flying out of his mouth. It didn't matter that a horde of reporters were parked outside, blocking students from entering the gates. No, according to him, she was the problem. Sana rubbed her left temple, but it did nothing to soothe the irritation that always seemed to accompany her interactions with the ash blonde. "You're a real pain, you know that?" The boy didn't bother replying. It was a rhetorical question they both knew to be true.

"What was that garbage she was spewing? About you being a pro's kid?"

Sana sucked in a breath. She was shocked, to be honest. She didn't think Bakugou would care much for small talk, or gossip, or really anything that didn't involve beating people to a pulp. She composed herself before replying. "There are no heroes in my family."

"But they're something, right? I overheard 'em talking about it in class the other day. Said your dad was on TV or some shit."

Something indeed.

The Sakanos were the closest thing to royalty their society had, followed closely by All Might. They were regarded as the founding family of quirks. Her great ancestor, the first person to ever receive a quirk, was born glowing in a small hospital in China.

Unlike today, where about 80% of the population possesses a unique ability, back then, a glowing baby was not considered normal. People were outraged, rioting against those they considered different, even when they knew it was out of their control. Her family was forced to flea the country in fear of being persecuted, which is how they'd ended up in Japan.

"You could say that," she begrudgingly admitted. "So," she carefully redirected the conversation. "About what that guy said..."

"He was confused." The words were clipped, final. Like he was ending the conversation before it had even begun.

"Bakugou," she sighed. "It's okay-"

"Shut the hell up, would you?" Bakugou's jaw was clenched tightly, his vermilion eyes burning through her. "I said it wasn't me!"

His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, the muscles shaking. Popping filled the air as sparks flew from his hands. He looked heated and ready for battle, but under all the anger and bravado he exuded, she could see what he was trying so desperately to hide.

Fear. Shame. Vulnerability.

Katsuki Bakugou, one of the strongest in their class, was the victim of a villain attack. The boy who fought like no other, who could control his quirk and body with perfect precision, had been unable to fight back at the most crucial time. Fire and explosions didn't stand a chance against a villain with no physical body. She remembered watching the live feed as it was broadcast. How the blonde had clawed at the gunk around his mouth and nose, only for his fingers to slip right through his attacker. She'd witnessed the boy before her slowly dying as heroes stood by and watched, unable to help.

Trauma leaves marks on people. Some may be visible, while others or more well-hidden. But they exist, and make themselves known in time.

This was one of those moments.

"Bakugou," she whispered, reaching out a comforting hand, but he was already moving. Hands tucked into his pockets, feet stomping down the hall with his head hung low.

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

After such an eventful morning, one would think the universe would give the students of 1-A a break, but no.

Bakugou had been strangely subdued in class, though Sana contributed his out of character behavior to their uh, strained conversation in the hallway. The blonde had been giving her the cold shoulder ever since. Not that they were best buds to begin with, but the strawberry blonde had grown used to their petty arguments and banter, and she found herself missing it the longer the day went on.

She even went so far as tugging on one of his spiked locks when Present Mic wasn't looking, but Bakugou remained firm in his decision to ignore her.

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

Mina and the gang were already seated at their usual table when Sana stepped out of the lunch line with her tray in hand. She could see Bakugou slouched in his seat like always, a deep frown on his lips. On his right was Kirishima, who was talking to him with his brows knit in concern. On his other side were Sero and Kaminari, who were bent over the lightning boy's phone most likely watching a Minecraft video. On the other side of the table, Mina was clutching her stomach in laughter, while Jirou quietly nodding along to the beat from her headphones. An empty seat was left open between them.

The seat across from Bakugou.

It was hard enough having to sit behind him in class, but having to face him? She could still see his tortured expression from earlier as he refused to admit that anything had happened to him ten months ago. The soft plea in his stare begging her to drop it.

No, she couldn't face him. Not yet.

She knew Midoriya wouldn't mind her sitting with him for the day, but Sana had a sneaking suspicion that doing so would only cause Bakugou to retreat from her even further. Sitting with Shoto wasn't an option. Looking around, she couldn't even spot his unusual hair through all of the bodies filling the cafeteria. Even if she did somehow find him and convince him to eat with her, things were still so awkward between them. Though she wasn't sure where exactly things had gone wrong between them, it would take more than a thirty minute break and two bowls of cold soba to rekindle their friendship.

Which left her with only one option; flying solo.

They'd only been attending U.A for a short period of time, so the peach-haired girl wasn't well acquainted with most of her classmates yet, let alone students from other courses. Sana wasn't sure how great she was at making friends. She'd only ever had two before arriving at U.A, and compared to Shoto, anyone could look social.

Here goes nothing.

Holding her head high, she confidently made her way over to a small table near the corner, placing her tray down diagonally across from a guy with one of the coolest hairstyles she's ever seen.

"Uh... hi?"

"Hey," she smiled sheepishly with a visible blush on her cheeks. The boy looked so confused and almost frustrated by her presence that she nearly crawled under the table in embarrassment.

"Are you lost?" He asked, head tilted slightly as he analyzed her with hooded lavender eyes.

"No."

"Are you sure?" He leaned forward in his seat, resting his crossed arms on the table.

"Positive," she replied, raising her chopsticks to her mouth and taking a bite. Cold soba was something she'd been introduced to at a young age by Rei Todoroki. It quickly became one of her favorite dishes, and she looked forward to eating it each time the woman made it. She missed Rei, almost as much as she missed her own mother.

At least Rei's family knew where she was, and why she had to leave.

Some people were just left to wonder forever.

"Look, I don't mind sharing a table. I know this place is packed." The purple-haired boy reached back to scratch the nape of his neck. "But if you're just sitting here because you're curious, then kindly fuck off."

.

.

.

"I'm sorry, what?" There must be some mistake. There's no way he actually said that... right? Why would a complete stranger tell her to fuck off?

"Why else would you chose this table?" He scoffed, a smile with no humor behind it curling his lips. "Am I supposed to believe it was only a coincidence?"

Sana shook her head, blinking rapidly to try and make sense of the situation. "Look, I don't know what the big deal about me sitting here is, but I don't appreciate you shooing me off like I'm some annoying gnat buzzing around your head." The bored expression he'd worn since she sat down fell away as he grinned lazily.

Bastard, she grit her teeth. You think this is funny?

Sana sighed heavily, her eyes falling shut. "I'm not great at this, okay? This approaching people, making-new-friends-thing is still new to me. But I hate eating alone." During her last few months of middle school, Sana had been forced to eat lunch by herself. Shoto refused to speak with her or acknowledge her presence unless absolutely necessary. With her father never around, and Umi busy working around the house, Sana had no choice but to eat most of her meals alone.

"I figured you wouldn't mind the company, but obviously I was wrong." She stood, grabbing her tray, but a voice stopped her from walking away.

"... wait."

She eyed the boy warily. His gravity-defying hair seemed to droop a little as he released a full body sigh. He rubbed a hand across his tired eyes before meeting her gaze. "Sit down," he gestured to the seat she'd just vacated. Sana looked at the chair before turning her attention back at him, not moving an inch. He sighed again. "I would like you to sit with me. Please."

The solar girl hesitantly sat back down. "It does get a little lonely sometimes." He smirked, but the sadness in his eyes was unmistakable. He offered his hand. "I'm Hitoshi Shinso."

Sana placed her hand in his larger one, used to the warm tingle physical contact brought to her. "Sana Sakano."

The two shook hands before returning to their meals. Not much was said between the two, but neither of them minded the silence. Even if they'd just met, they understood one another. For a moment, there were two less lonely people in the world.

Then all Hell broke loose.

Alarms blared and red lights flashed overhead. A voice came over the intercom to announce that there'd been a Level 3 security breach. Students from all grades and courses began to race for the doors.

"What's going on?" Sana yelled, her hands cupped protectively over her ears. She wasn't even sure if he was able to hear her over the roar of sirens and panicked voices. Shinso shook his head, watching the chaos unfold around them with an uneasy expression. The solar girl rose from her seat, turned to her companion and motioned towards the door. "Come on!"

The two ran for the exit, quickly getting separated as they entered the crowded hallway. She was vaguely aware of Shinso shouting her name before his purple hair was blocked from view by a wall of bodies. Shoves came from every direction, frantic hands pushing and pulling at her hair and clothes in a desperate attempt to move forward. They were packed into the small space like sardines, a mass of warm bodies pressing against one another.

Suddenly, a firm, unrelenting grip seized the back of her blazer collar and yanked.

"OI, DUMBASS!" Sana released a sigh of relief at the familiar gruff voice. She was pulled back into a firm chest and guided towards the wall. The muscles against her back were tense, his arms reaching out to brace themselves against the wall on either side of her head. "Don't just stand there like an idiot. You'll get trampled!" She could feel the vibrations in his chest as he continued to grumble under his breath about her stupidity. His hot breath tickled her ear, stirring her hair. She could hear him just fine even with all of the noise surrounding them.

Sana turned away from the wall and froze. He scowled down at her, his lips pulled down in their usual grimace. Now that she was so close, she could count every eyelash. His eyes were bathed in shadows, but the occasional flash of light made them glitter like rubies. His hair, although sticking out in every direction in spiky tufts, looked soft to the touch. She was so close. How she wished to just reach out and-

"The hell are you looking at, Glow Stick?"

His pale brows were furrowed, his ears quickly turning red. God, how long had she been staring at him? Her own face warmed in embarrassment.

"What happened to 'Flashlight?'" She scrambled to ask, struggling to maintain what was left of her dignity. He shrugged, moving closer as the wave of frightened students jostled them roughly. She couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Seriously, is the name Sana really so difficult to remember?" His frown deepened.

"I can't be bothered to remember the names of extras."

"Let's get one thing clear, shall we? I am not one of your extras." She sneered. "And you'd do well to remember that."

Over his shoulder, she noticed quick flashes of red and yellow hair. The ketchup and mustard duo were together and nearby, but where were the rest of their friends? She asked Bakugou as much and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull. "Those shitty extras are your friends, not mine. I can't help that you losers follow me around all the fuckin' time."

"Is it so wrong for people to like you and want to be around you?" She wondered, genuinely curious about his answer.

His strong competitive drive, cocky personality, and sharp tongue had probably ruined more relationships than anything, but Sana had a feeling it went deeper than that. He didn't seem like the type to share his deepest thoughts and feelings with anyone in fear of making himself look weak. She was sure that there was more to Bakugou than a kickass quirk and punk rock attitude.

She'd seen a glimpse of a more vulnerable side of him this morning, and she wanted nothing more than to peel back each layer one by one until there was nothing left to hide, no matter how long it took.

He scoffed, a muscle ticking in his jaw, but otherwise remained quiet. But before she could question him further, the sirens cut off.

Distantly, she could hear Iida explaining that the reporters were the cause of the lockdown. He went on to reprimand the crowd for losing their composure during a time of crisis, before dismissing them. The crowd slowly dispersed. Bakugou pushed off of the wall without a word, once again leaving the peach-haired girl with nothing but more questions.

[demonsanddemogorgons]

Sunny in Philadelphia - A Joseph Quinn Story (Chapter 8)

Chapter 8 - Surprise!

The week went by slowly, as you expected, but Joe kept his promise of calling every night. You would send him selfies periodically to keep him missing you, to which he would always respond with a heart-eyes or a kiss emoji, and the occasional video message with a quick “beautiful, love” and a smile so you could miss him, too. By Friday, you were really beginning to feel the effects of being away from him, especially when photo ops from Fan Expo Dallas started surfacing on social media. He looked like an angel in his white t-shirt and jeans with the yellow backdrop, his brown curls laying freely over his head in all directions. Those curls. Running your hands through them would have been very nice right about then. Only a few more days.

Your heart was swelling from seeing all the Friday convention photos. You decided to make use of them. You began texting Joe. The convention had ended for the night, so you were hoping he was free to answer.

Joe, you’re making being away from you really difficult for me right now.

Oh? Why is that, love?

You sent him a photo op photo of himself from earlier that day.

Look at you!

It’s just me, love.

Just Joe? JUST JOE? He had to be kidding. This man looked good in any outfit, any color. It was pleasantly stomach-turning, and you were kind of jealous of it, if you were being honest.

JUST YOU?! You look adorable. The white?! I can’t cope.

Well, thank you, darling. You won’t have to cope much longer.

Is that supposed to make me feel better, Joe?

I suppose not. But I think I can help put some ice on it for a bit, hold you over until Monday.

Oh?

Just then, your phone started ringing, Joe’s name showing up on the screen, but it was different. A grin grew on your face as you realized it was a FaceTime call instead of just a phone call. You have never swiped to answer so quickly.

“Hello, love.”

“Hi, Joe,” you said, cheeks burning as you saw he was in his white t-shirt, and he still had his readers on.

“You liked my outfit so much, I thought it might make you feel better to let you actually see it.”

You smiled at him as he stretched his arm out to show a full-body view to the camera.

“You definitely know what you’re doing, Quinn,” you said, smirking. He chuckled in response.

“Did it work? Do you feel better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you giggled. “It’s so good to see your face. Your outfit was just a bonus.”

“Aw, bless you, love.”

“Oh, I’m blessed, alright,” you chuckled at him with a wink. His lightly freckled cheeks slowly faded to red and he let a close-lipped smile sneak onto his face.

“Someone is feisty today.”

“I’m feisty every day. You sure you can handle it?” you smirk at him.

“I’m sure going to try.” His smile grew into a wide one. “You’re different today. You were so timid when we first met.”

“Well, what can I say? You’re pulling me out of my shell.”

“Well, good. I like it,” he snickers, winking.

The two of you continued your normal nightly phone call for a little while longer, until you had to go to work. 3 days. You could make it 3 days. Hopefully.

When Monday evening rolled around, you could hardly sit still in the car as you were driving. You had decided to surprise Joe by picking him up at the Pittsburgh airport and spending the night exploring the city before going back home. He had no idea you were going to be waiting for him at the terminal when he landed. You pulled into the airport parking lot and made your way inside, shaking from a combination of nerves and adrenaline. You were so excited to see him after a week, but you were nervous because you hadn’t touched him in a week. Would your knees go weak? Would you faint? All kinds of questions wandered through your mind as you walked. He was landing at 5:15 and you got there extra early to be careful not to miss him.

You were waiting outside the terminal, twiddling your thumbs anxiously. He was due to land in 5 minutes, the slowest 5 minutes of your life. You looked at the time on your phone about 20 too many times. After what felt like hours, the flight tracker app you were using said that Joe’s flight from Dallas to Pittsburgh had landed. You stood up, your eyes not leaving the terminal. Eventually you saw a head of brown curls covered by a hat making way through the crowd. His head was down, typing on his phone. Yours vibrated and you looked at it quickly, knowing it was from him.

I’ve landed, darling. I’ll see you in a few hours.

He still had no idea you were feet from him. It was so exhilarating, surprising him, anticipating how happy he was about to become, all because of you. You started towards him, moving faster the closer you got to him. Once you were about 3 feet away, he looked up from his phone. His eyes met yours, widening in disbelief with a jaw drop. He dropped his bags and wrapped you in a hug, lifting you off the ground and squeezing like it was the last time he would ever hold you, ensuring him that you weren't a figment of his imagination.

“Baby, what are you doing here?!” he said eagerly into your hair. Your heart jumped in your chest. It was the first time he had ever called you that, and you hoped to yourself that it wouldn’t be the last.

“I decided to surprise you,” you said, pulling back and looking into his eyes lovingly.

“Well, you definitely did. Thank you!” he answered, pulling you into another hug.

“The surprise isn’t over yet,” you said, flashing your eyebrows with a smile. He looked at you with flirtatious suspicion.

“What do you have up your sleeve, love?”

“Well, I know you enjoy the city, and you’ve never been to Pittsburgh before, so I thought we could have a date night here and head back home tomorrow.”

His eyes widened along with his smile.

“Darling, that’s so thoughtful. Thank you.” He pulled you in for a tender kiss. Every part of you that he was touching tingled. It felt like Heaven after a week of being separated, and you feared you were beginning to develop an addiction for this man. You pulled away and grabbed his hand.

“Now let’s go! I’m taking you to dinner. Hope you’re hungry!”

“Always.” He smiled at you, grabbing his bags with his free hand and running through the airport alongside you like a love-sick puppy.

Story Master List

[immortalbutterflycos]

Please tell me about your DnD Sorcerer child, OP. I love hearing about people's dnd characters sm 😭 What's their name, what's their subclass, what color are their eyes?

Omfg

Okay okay okay

Thank you so much for actually asking! Warning, I've been peer-diagnosed by all of my friends in my dnd party (all of which are on the autism spectrum aside from my DM) to have autism so buckle in.

I have way too much fun talking about them and this campaign in general! (if you have any other questions after this too either about the campaign or my character, feel free to ask!!! ^.^)

First of all~

Their name is Ashton Reid!! The campaign setting we're in is like a modern-day sort of mutant/superhero situation and so when it comes to what powers the group has things can get a little interesting and honestly convoluted at times.

In game terms, Ash is a Clockwork-Soul Sorcerer with a mutation that gives them a power called "Probability Control"~ (Which is my DM's homebrew)

In easy terms, they're just very lucky~

Fun fact! The reason why they became a sorcerer in the first place was because the day their mutation manifested, their older brother (Artem, my beloved) took them out on a walk through the woods because they were having a really rough day.

It was their 13th birthday (they're almost 19 in the present day) and their parents (their dad is a politician...) had either forgotten or simply didn't care enough to pretend that they held any love for Ash to even say anything to them and when Artem asked if they were okay, Ash ended up snapping at him.

(I just reread the scene I wrote for that and oof...)

And so like I said they went for a walk and they came across this river, which lead to a series of small waterfalls which all lead down to this huge, beautiful crystal-clear lake.

That's when Ashton had this thought.

Just a wayward one. Nothing at all monumental.

"If magic were to exist, this is where I would find it."

Then, they felt something hit their foot, stopping it before it went down the small waterfall they were standing in the middle of.

Then when they looked down at it, it was a stone. A deep blue crystal.

Obviously, being the magpie they are, Ash picked it up only to find that it was warm to the touch and it seemed to be thrumming with energy or something. Like it was almost... alive...

They immediately showed it to Artem, who thought it was weird, but he also wasn't about to tell them to put the weird crystal back in the water after they seemed so excited about it.

From then on, the stone was never far from them. They'd hold onto it and roll it between their fingers, and study it; taking notes to see if anything ever changed about it through out the day.

Nothing ever did. It stayed exactly the same even after months, maintaining it's warmth. At some point, they even wrapped it in wire and turned it into a necklace which they only remove during showers.

The stone never changed.

But Ashton did.

A bit of background: Ash is Korean on their mother's side (their dad is your basic white politician) And they and Artem always showed more of their mother's features than Richard's. Which means, Dark brown hair, and dark, almond-shaped eyes.

Well, Ash had already been dyeing their hair different colors for a while now, always returning to a mixture of different blues.

But one day when they woke up and saw themself in the mirror, their hair wasn't the only thing that was blue.

Their eyes were now that same clear, sapphire blue as that of the stone around their neck.

They immediately ran to Artem.

[acciocriativity]

Hi beautiful 🥰

Congratulations on 100 followers

🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

Your work is really amazing thank you for writing ❤❤️❤️❤️❤️

I would like to request matchmaking with ateez if it's stills op

my height is 160CM I'm in the chubby side i'm line 94

I have very dark brown eyes they are almost black i have 5 beauty marks in my face and one dimple that appears with the smallest expression may hair is short black hair and it's curly

i wear glasses i can't see without them at all

I'm an INFP-T / hufflepuff and i have ADHD

My zodiac

Sun Aries /Moon Virgo /Rising Libra /Mercury Pisces /Venus Aries /Mars Pisces /Jupiter Scorpio

I'm an only girl between 4 boys and i think i have mix between musclen and feminine energy

I have a happy go personality most the time and Sometimes I act like a mature person out of the blue i can also be a responsible and dependent person my friends call me the mom of the group because you can find almost anything in my bag if we go out together

I like to cook and bake for my family and friends

I have two moods i go out a lot or i stay home a lot

I'm normally shy if i don't know the people arund me well but the moment i feel comfortable with someone i will be loud talkative

I can speak 3 languages for know and I'm learning the 4 one

I get scared easily but i don't show it except for the very close people to me because of that some people think I'm brave they are so wrong .

Some of my habits if i feel pain i will start to laugh and if i ask someone to help me with something and they say no or wait i don't need that help anymore i will do it myself .

I really love hugs and show affection but it's just for my close circle .

Thank you so much for reading all of this

I hope you will have a great day/ night

Love you

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hey there, anon 👋👋 Thank youuu, this just made my day, you're so sweet 💕

The rules for my 100 followers' event is here, it's up until 11th of this month!

YOU MATCH WITH... HONGJOONG!

It seems like I always say everyone's match is hard to choose, but yours was one of the hardest. I was so torn between Seonghwa and Hongjoong, and let me tell you why. You seem very similar to Seonghwa, almost twins, but that's the exact reason why I chose Hongjoong for you, I mean, they're literally soulmates, right? So we know it's going to work perfectly.

It's really interesting how you said you are a happy easy going person, but you're also know how to be responsible, because this man has waay too many children already and only God knows how much headache he has already, so another person being responsible and dependable is everything he can ask for sometimes, although he has his playful and sassy moments too.

I'm not even going to mention how horrible he is cooking, but maybe he can try to be better with a little help of yours, who knows? Miracles can happen. (Pause for delulu moment: he'd be exactly like he was with Mingi in that Wanteez episode, just being a cheerleader without helping one. single. time. If you want help, I'm so sorry, but you will have a good time so...)

*clearing throat*

It's so cool that you know a lot of languages, again another thing that would inspire Hongjoong to work harder on his skills to get better to talk to atiny, but he would love to be able to talk to you in other languages too. (Another delulu moment, I can't stop me today, BUT imagine if he just randomly says something to you or he responds to you in the language you speak without you knowing he was taking some classes).

You said you're shy but get loud when you're comfortable and he's exactly like that, although he doesn't have any problem being the one to start the conversation.

That was it! I hope you enjoyed it, anon 💕 Thank you so much for your support!

[coffee-writesthings]

Part 3!!

There's a piece of a song that I used in this, it's called "La Vie En Rose", written by Edith Pilaf. I translated the pronouns in it, but that's where the inspiration for one of the lines came from.

Also another line very close to the end was a joke I yoinked based on this image and I have not been able to find the op because tumblr's search sucks

Anyway I hope y'all enjoy this part! Cus I sure did

Hours which felt like forever passed, filled with dancing and talking. Prince Conagher took a short break, so he could equip his Gunslinger-- decorated special for the event.

Cold steel met flesh, connecting into his control in minutes.

He sighed relief-- there was no way that anyone would be attracted to him, not that he had a metal hand. Its rough ridges couldn't possibly be appreciated.

With this in mind, he sauntered back out to the dance floor. Coincidental y, someone else entered the ballroom too, with a calm, collected manner about him.

There was something about that face, covered with a blue masquerade mask, which matched his blue suit. It fascinated him. And, well, if anything sent a message to the ladies, being seen with him would do the trick and more.

Was his heart rate picking up? It definitely might've been, along with new sweat making his flesh hand feel clammy. Hell, he really was nervous-- something he hadn't felt in years. Was that a good thing?

Maybe he should've thought more about--

The man in front of him yelped, as they both fell into each other.

Several seconds passed, where he got lost in his beautiful brown eyes, as much as the mask allowed him to see. Seconds where he didn't speak.

"Oh god, my manners. I'm sorry, really didn't mean to bump into you like that. I got..." he rose to his feet, gathering himself, "lost in thought." he offered a hand to help him up-- the wrong hand. *Dammit*

Before he could switch to the flesh hand, the soft one, the nonthreatening one, it was accepted. "Merci. It's a nice touch."

"I'm-- excuse me?"

"Your hand, the metal one?" a seed of a smile graced his face, "I think it pulls things together, a unique detail, if you will."

"Well thank you." he racked his mind for an excuse to offer a dance, like he originally meant to, "And, I still feel bad for shoving you over like that-- could I make it up to you?"

"Oh? And how would you do that?"

"Maybe a dance... some conversation."

The seeded smile blossomed into something more, "I would like that. Lead the way, Prince Conagher."

"Please, call me Dell, or at least drop the 'prince' thing."

Metal met flesh again, but in a way that felt right, felt gentle, felt... romantic. "As you wish, Dell."

It wasn't hard to get outside, the only difficulty was found in navigating the crowd of people. Soon enough, though, there they were.

Beneath the starry sky, both of them stared up with awe. The sight never failed to amaze him, even if he had just seen it recently.

He sighed, "C'est si beau."

"You've got that right."

He gave him a quizzical look, "Sais-tu francais?"

"A little."

"Tu m'interesses."

"See, I have no clue what you just said there. It sounds like you like me, but you could just be good at saying things with a different tone than you mean, y'know?"

"In that case, it benefits the both of us greatly that I speak English quite well."

"H-hey now! I'm still learning, got no plans to stop that--" he took a step towards him, "soon I'll be able to," he kicked a leg out from the other, dropping and holding him in a gentle dip, "Sweep you off your feet."

He scrambled for purchase on his arms and shoulders, until apparently noticing it wasn't anything to worry about. Dell's hold was sure and strong.

Sputtering for something to say, he found nothing, eyes wide in a debate between fear and fascination. "This... this is nice." his voice was about an octave higher than before. "Put me back."

With relative ease, he brought the other back to his feet, for the second time that night. "You okay?"

"Well-- yes. You scared me but I liked it. It was pleasant-- lovely, really! Maybe you could do that again while we're dancing."

"Maybe I could, but first could I get to know your name?"

His flirty, happy mood fell, "What's the point in it? We won't get to meet again after this."

“What? Why?”

“This is my one night to do what I want. My one, stolen, night where I can be whoever I want to be. I don’t exactly have my own little corner, or my own little chair, back at... the place I call ‘home’.”

That detail was all he needed, “I understand. It’s kind of what I was trying to do by meeting you, but you don’t need more trouble.” he clicked his tongue, “You still want that dance?”

“I do.”

“Let’s have a dance, then, stranger.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jean began to hum a tune, one he’d both heard and sung to himself on more than one occasion.

“That’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, truly. I used to dream of singing for an income, before coming here… I suppose you already have an idea of how that went.”

“I guess I do.”

“Quand tu me prends dans tes bras,” he sung, “que tu me parles tout bas, je vois la vie en rose”

“Could you… translate that for me?”

“When you take me in your arms, and you speak to me all low, I see life in rose.”

“You sure we have to keep this to one night?”

“I’m not.”

“Maybe there’s some way we could keep this magic going, if you’re willing. Because I know I sure as hell am.”

“I could probably find my way back here, once or twice. That wall looks fairly climbable.” he pointed towards stones covered in thick layers of green plants.

“Another, safer idea: how about I hide a teleporter in your house?”

“You can try, but I doubt you would be able to find any way to hide it from the Administrator.” Recently, she had been thinking of adding cameras into the house, just to rid the last scrap of privacy he was allowed.

“Dammit. We’ll figure something out.”

“For now though, a couple of parting gifts, if I may.”

“Parting—” Jean cut him off by holding his face, about to kiss him. “Oh. Yes, yes please.”

Dell’s kiss was inexperienced, though not unpleasant-- his slightly-open mouth emanated the sweet taste of vanilla-frosted cake. It was a flavor he hadn’t experienced in so long. He couldn’t overwhelm him though, so he broke in just a few seconds.

“Wow. Wasn’t expecting that to be so nice.”

“A good first for you?”

“Not-- how did you know?”

“I can just tell.

“I’m not your first?”

“You’re the first man I’ve kissed. It’s all the same though, to me. Des hommes, des femmes, des autres.” he giggled.

He made a look like there was something he wanted to say, but seemed to think against it. Jean didn’t push it.

Silence hung in the air for a few seconds until…

DING

DONG

DING

DONG

DING

DONG

DING

DONG

DING

DONG

DING

DONG

The clock struck midnight.

“I need to go home. If they find out I was here I can never work here again. Goodbye, Dell.” He rushed out the garden, only barely able to hear the other’s next words.

“But wait! I still don’t know your name!”

For a while, he wouldn’t know his name. But, he would know his face-- something he panicked to cover up with his mask before he could be seen. He could count on this.

Fuck it, engiespy but it's the Cinderella plotline with my own twist on it.

Spy in place of Cinderella (I'm gonna give him the name of Jean Laurent, and Engineer in place of Prince charming (so he's Prince Conagher/Dell Conagher cus that's his canon name that we know of)

The wicked stepsisters and the wicked mother are Miss Pauling, Maggie (Saxton Hale's ex-wife in the comics) and the Administrator. I hope I characterized them in a way that is nice to read :)

Also this is gonna have more than one part. I think like 7? They'll all be reblogged from this one though so less of an issue on my end

Jean didn't truly know what he was doing when he had heard of the ball being thrown by the Conagher Family. He must've been outside when it happened, if the commotion meant anything to him. All he wanted to do was get the shopping done for his bosses.

A few words could be picked out from the cacophony of voices, "The Conaghers are throwing a ball". It was repeated so many times. Along with "What am I going to wear?"

He just groaned, instead opting to sneak his way back home with what he had. If nothing else, everyone would be happy to hear about an opportunity to throw themselves at the most influential people in the land.

The Conaghers are known, far and wide, for their incredible abilities with machinery. They'd mostly focused on defensive turrets, and many sorts of dispensers for anything from fresh water and some food to magical healing substances. And don't get anyone started on the teleporters. At all the hot spots of every town there are three high-level teleporters at least. Someone could get from town square to the castle and back multiple times before any official guards would be able to get there.

It was a problem which necessitated itself, in Jean's opinion. So when he saw one of these teleporters, he didn't mind a bit of sabotage. With a trusty wrench he got to work, under the shadows cast by mid-morning, the sentries wouldn't work nearly as well. He wouldn't die for his crimes here.

All it took was loosening a few bolts here, taking out a screw or two there... et voila! One teleporter that wouldn't work for several hours.

A smug grin crossed his face as he put the tool back into his pocket and took the food bags from off the ground.

"Well howdy there," came a southern drawl which nearly scared him out of his skin, "what's your business with these here teleporters?"

Quick, find a convincing lie for this guard. "Oh, don't you know? I'm new to the engineering field. I wanted to see how all the experienced people do it."

He gave a tilt of his head and lifted one eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Alrighty. Tell me about this thing as if I'm... oh, five years old."

"I'm sorry?"

"I can repeat myself, if you want."

"No, I heard you. It's just... isn't this the sort of thing a teacher tells me first?"

"Nah, I don't believe in that crap. Tell me how you think it works, I'm curious." He leaned against a wall, and gestured towards him.

"Well..." he wracked his brain for the English words to describe teleporters, "it takes people from one place to another, much faster than anything else. You would only have to stand on an entrance for a moment to travel to its exit."

He nodded, a small smirk on his otherwise-neutral face.

"And I've seen upgrades take place on exits that will have the same effect on an entrance. I don't know how that happens though, and I don't think you do either."

"Yeah, that's accurate. Those blueprints I dug through never did explain that either."

"Blueprints?" Then the realization dawned on him. This wasn't just some guard patrolling for miscreants and the like, this was Dell Conagher. He was the man who took his grandfather's nonsense ramblings and built things from them. The man could definitely be allowed to do harm without consequences, being first in line for the crown. His eyes widened, just a little.

"Yeah, my granddad passed 'em down to me, one way or another." His expression darkened momentarily, "But that's all history anyway! What's your name?"

"I'm... I don't have a name." That was a stupid, stupid lie. If he so desired, the man in front of him could use one of those teleporters right now, and start listing names of his relatives from a registry.

"Alright, I won't push. Now, do you wanna know my least favorite feature on these things?"

What in the-? What is he doing?? It wouldn't be a bad idea to listen, but why would he even tell him in the first place? He figured it would be best to humor him, lest he decide cruelty is his nature for the day. "What is it?"

"They're all the same damn color. I can never tell which one is which, and I don't know how to make them differentiated. Sure, signs could help but there's not much that'll do if somebody can't read or if it's dark out. And nobody's listened to me or suggested anything that we could do, it's frustratin' as all hell."

He cocked his head to the side, "I never thought about that. I've only been annoyed by how many there are. It's ridiculous."

"Right? I've been meaning to figure out how to make them bigger or something but nothing's worked. It's technically better this way for other reasons, but god it's gotta be annoying to use every day."

He hummed in agreement. The crowding was the main reason he never used them in the first place, after all.

"And I mean that's probably part of why this ball is being thrown for me. Lord knows I'm not planning on getting married to some lady any time soon, long as I have more work to do. It's what I tell them at least."

He squinted, just a little bit. Was he saying what he thought he was saying?

"Ah, sorry, I'm rambling. You don't need to know about any of that." he rubbed the back of his neck, while asking nonchalantly, "Will I see you there? I bet if you had something nice to wear you could have your pick of the crowd, easy."

"Are you encouraging competition at your own ball?"

"That's part of the fun, isn't it?"

"For the record, you won't be seeing me there. As much as it would be nice, I have a laundry list of work to do today."

"That's a shame. Have a nice day now, sir."

He'd called him 'sir'. Why?? If anything, he should be the one referring to the other with respectful words. Once the man was out of his sight, Jean scurried back home on foot, with the bags in hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at home, the complaints began immediately.

"Jean," Pauling asked, "we need warm water for our baths!"

"Jean, I need you to mend my dress and shine my shoes for tonight!" Cried Maggie.

"Jean, I don't want you getting any ideas of possibly having tonight off, just because we are off at the Conagher ball. You're going to clean the whole manor tonight," Helen's voice dripped with venom, "s'il te plaît."

He hadn't even had a chance to set down any of the food he bought. Taking a breath, he noted the requests that he could take care of immediately. When the bags were on the counters, and then sorted into the fridge, cabinets, and bread box, he could then move onto something else.

"Miss Pauling, I am taking care of your water right now. Do you want bath salts, or florals?"

"Florals, please."

"Pauling, you don't need to give any respect to him. 'Pleases' are for people who don't make a living washing our floors."

"I- florals."

"And?" Helen pressed.

She didn't look into his eyes when she said, just loud enough to be heard, "I want florals, you good-for-nothing servant."

"Right away." He clenched his jaw a little. "And, Madame Maggie, I will start on your dress and shoes as soon as I am able."

She huffed in response, "Administrator, why do we only have one servant? Two or three would be much better."

"I've told you why many times, there are rules. For a family of three, there can only be one servant."

"I should be so lucky to get married into a large family like the Conaghers."

"Lucky indeed."

Spy took care of the bath fairly quickly, though still needing to boil some water for it, which Miss Pauling tried to help with. He barred her from it with a stern look.

He closed the bathroom's door quietly, leaving her to her bath. What next? Ah, yes, shining shoes for one of the least pleasant women he knew, then mending the holes she always managed to get into her dresses. He groaned, but moved onto the next task. If there was any hope of a night's rest, he'd have to get through all of it quickly, so he wouldn't scrub the floors until dawn.

"Madame Maggie," he knocked on the door to her chambers, "I need the shoes you want shined, please."

"Such manners!" She exclaimed as she opened the door with momentary glee. Even seeing his face displeased her. That was fine, the feeling was mutual.

He waited with two hands held out, waiting for some ridiculous contraption to be placed in them. For a ball being thrown by the Conagher family, it was hard to expect anything less than seduction by all means necessary and extremely painful.

The shoes plopped into his hands with an eye roll were actually fairly simplistic. Tall, chunky black shoes, made soft by many wears. He gave them a tentative bend in the middle, and found that they were sturdy as rocks where the majority of her foot would be. These were great shoes for her purposes, which seemed to be to dance forever-- maybe to impress the prince, maybe to attract any mate.

"Thank you." He grimaced. "They'll work."

[writingwithcolor]

Black characters with white hair: the “Special Snowflake” Compilation

Is it problematic to give my Black MC white hair?

@roseoholic asked:

Is it problematic to give my black mc white hair? In my story, if someone dies and comes back to life, their hair turns white. Her origin is that she's a reincarnation of an escaped soul, and took the place of the stillborn fetus in her "mothers" womb. I am pretty flexible in her design still, so I am willing to change if it's a bad idea. Thank you if you answer! :)

I think we’re all aware that Black people can have white hair naturally, whether it’s due to

Aging

Hair that turns gray/white early in life

Albinism

Genetics - Black person (mixed race or no) who have very light or white hair.

Obviously, Black people can dye their hair white as well.

Photo above: Black models Diandra forrest and Nyakim Gatwech posing. They both have pale blondish-white hair. Source: Essence.

The question being asked is if it’s okay for Black characters to have white hair by conscious choice of the author.

Answer: 

On its face, it’s okay to have Black characters with white hair. This is especially true if how the white hair comes about is a natural occurrence in your story that likely affects other races too. Motive is an important factor.

What is the reason for their hair being white? 

That reason could and should be everything but to make them seem special or more likeable. This isn’t aimed at you specifically, OP, but there are creators who feel compelled to give Black characters uncommon, rare or unusual features due to an aversion to feature Black people with more common features (dark and brown hair, skin, eyes etc). 

When aversion to Blackness is the motive, it shows. 

It’s in the way the narrative exalts this character over other Black people in the narrative, treating them more favorably and giving them more of an arc over other Black characters. This is sometimes known as making them a “Special snowflake” which isn’t a term I particularly love, as it’s sometimes used to devalue real struggles people face. However, It does serve to categorize the trope. (See: TVTropes Special Snowflake)

Signs you’re treating your white-haired Black character better over other Black characters, aka the “Special Snowflake”

Stronger characterization and arc, more importance and “Screen time” than other Black characters (even when they’re not the main character)

Unique features are overemphasized and described at every chance (fetishized)

Better treatment in the story compared to other Black characters. They’re also less likely to face suffering and abusive narratives. Good things happen to them more than other Black people.

Shown to be more deserving of love, affection and romance over other Black characters; may have a love interest while others don’t.

Takeaway:

You can have Black characters with white hair. However, do not use light or unique features to exalt or set your character apart from your Black characters as “better.”

That is, not without an explicit social commentary, since yes these folks tend to be treated better by society and media in real life. 

It also helps to have other Black characters with more common features who are treated well and have a fully developed character arc. These other Black people’s lives also should not revolve around just supporting white or the white-haired character, either.

Black Girl, Snow White Retellings

@morganadelacour​ asked:

Hi there,

I (a white woman) would like to write a re-telling of Snow White and make her a Black girl with white hair. Snow White would be under the impression, that her stepmother (a white woman) is evil, when in fact, she only tried to protect herself and Snow White from Snow White’s father (a white man). The story would be told from both perspectives, probably first from Snow White’s perspective, then from the queen’s. In the end, both women make peace, Snow White understands the queen’s actions and the queen apologizes and tries to make up for her actions that hurt Snow White. Do you see a problem with any aspect of this outline and/or are there certain things I have to keep in mind?

Thank you so much for all the work you do with this blog and for your efforts to educate.

@corbeaudelys​ asked:

I'm writing a science fiction variant of Snow White with a protagonist that has dark skin with white, 3C hair and brown eyes. I read a post that said magic white hair, dark skin, and European features was a bad trope; would it still be bad even if I made it clear that she has no European features and her hair's not magical?

See “Is it problematic to give my Black MC white hair?” which answers the core of this question. Motive truly is the main factor in if it’s okay or not, and the resulting treatment of that character and other Black characters that may exist in the story. I have a Black Snow White in one of my retellings, too! 

The motive is clear here: you’re retelling Snow White with a Black girl and want to keep it relevant by assigning the white feature to hair instead of skin. It’s also a story where Snow White is intentionally meant to stand out as the “fairest of them all” so the exalting does have plot relevance. 

As noted before, I would caution against making her beautiful to mean that other Black women are not beautiful or are unworthy. 

I would like to make special mention that you can also do retellings where Snow White goes the other direction, and her compelling dark features make her the “fairest of them all”

Black woman dyes hair white, problematic symbolism?

@tlking-heads-moved said:

hi! i have a story with two black women protagonists: 

1.) leader, strong and loyal, with very curly dark hair (usually pulled back) 

2.) part of the group, elegant and refined, with light pink braids (or other protective styles).

Towards the end of the story, both of their hair changes styles, the second character dyes her hair white.

I am afraid that the character with the styled, pink/white hair will come off as “purer” or “better” than the character with the natural, dark hair, because of their personality + appearance differences. should I change either of their usual hair styles or their personalities?

These seem like stylistic choices. As the girl already had a pink braided style, hair color changes seems like something she likes to do and does not have to be symbolic of anything. Your use of color throughout the story could help avoid implications of white as more pure, if this is something you’d like to avoid:

See more about Color symbolism in our Color Symbolism Guide

Also, going from pink to white, which both have connotations of femininity and softness (according to a Western Lens) doesn’t come across as a stark difference. Without knowing the full details of these personality changes the girls undergo, I’m personally not getting that impression. Again, the full narrative will inform this and you may want to pay mind to your use of color throughout.

Now, do avoid making the dark-haired one a Strong Black Women character. You specifically called her strong, which doesn’t necessarily mean she’s a SBW, but please see our several related posts to ensure she is not one.

I hope this helps!

~Mod Colette

[goingmorry]

Hello! Can you please write about Ace, Zoro and Law reacting to their crush holding back some tears for being called ugly or not attractive enough by some strangers while trying to show off some clothes in which they felt cute? Gender neutral is okay, I need some comfort ngl, thank you so much for your time.

[ONE PIECE HEADCANONS] OP Boys -> when strangers body shame you in front of them

Characters: Ace, Zoro, Law

Tags: body shame, hurt/comfort, basically reader gets body-shamed by strangers, OP boys are there to comfort and protect you, body horror for Law's part since he Shambles people away

Author's Note: Hello Anon, thank you for the suggestion! I hope you like it! 💖

PORTGAS D. ACE

Immediately notices the cute clothes you're wearing and sincerely compliments you.

Ready to throw some hands (ง •̀_•́)ง the moment someone spoils the mood for calling you ugly.

All up in the other person's face — fire fists clenched on their collar and fierce eyes glaring at the disrespectful stranger, ready to pounce like a predator hunting its prey.

Demands — no, threatens — the other person to apologize.

You have to pry Ace's fingers off to stop him from assaulting the stranger physically.

"Fucking ugly," the stranger hisses, eyeing your body in disgust, "Who said you could wear those clothes, huh?"

Your heartbeat quickens, palms beginning to drench in sweat from anxiety. Feeling ashamed, you lower your eyes — the familiar stinging sensation of tears obscuring your vision — and fidget with your shirt to hide how visibly upset you are.

Ace is quick to react, snarling aggressively as his fingers clench fists against the stranger's collar. "Take that back right now."

You take a step forward, trembling fingers gripping his tense arm in reassurance. "Ace, please. It's not worth it."

"It's not right," Ace says definitively, brown eyes widening in concern at your teary expression. "He needs to apologize for what he said."

Not expecting a physical confrontation, the stranger splutters a string of insincere apologies, no doubt spoken in an attempt to appease the fiery pirate.

Furiously shaking the man in displeasure, Ace lifts the man higher from the ground with little effort. "It's not good enough."

With his body suspended in midair, the stranger begins to panic, bony fingers clutching against Ace's firm grip out of instinct.

You tug at Ace's muscled arm, the tips of your fingernails lightly digging into his bare skin in urgency. "Let's just go, please."

Ace turns to you and pauses, heart clenching at the plea in your voice. He looks at you — really looks at you — at the soft breeze tousling your hair and the form-fitting clothes accentuating every beautiful curve of your body. But your eyes. Your eyes, usually so full of laughter, were downcast, disheartened by the stranger's cruel words.

Ace grabs your hand in a comforting hold and leads you farther and farther away from the source of your distress.

"You look lovely, you know. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

RORONOA ZORO

Doesn't pay much attention to what you're wearing.

Thinks you look beautiful regardless of your current appearance but doesn't voice this sentiment.

Regardless, he's alert as soon as people from the rooftops start to shout at you from a distance.

At first, the shouting is incomprehensible. But when you get closer, the strangers' yells promptly switch from unwanted catcalls to taunts and insults.

Moves closer to you and adopts a defensive stance.

Intimidation factor = 1000 %

When you and Zoro get within earshot, the man atop the rooftop yells, "Damn, thought you were smokin' hot at first. Didn't realize your face was fucking ugly!"

You freeze in your tracks at the man's insult, head ducking in embarrassment when you realize the abrasive comment was meant for you.

The rest of his posse laughs and mockingly points at you. A female voice rings loudly from the onslaught, her sharp nail pointing at the green-haired swordsman beside you. "Hey, handsome! What are you doing with that rat face?"

Without a word, Zoro glares at the woman, causing her to flinch at his cold indifference. Unperturbed by his lack of interest in her, the woman on the rooftop leans closer to the edge of the railing and shrieks at you, "Don't ever show your face in public ever again!"

Zoro's hand reaches over the hilt of his katana. Before you can stop him, the sharp steel of his blade swings forward in a diagonal line aimed directly at the building in front of you.

"Enma!"

You startle at Zoro's command, doe eyes watching the building before you as it begins to collapse sideways.

When they start to lose their footing, the group of strangers on the rooftop of the sliced building begin to panic.

"Wh-what the hell's going on?"

"Oh god, honey! Save me, please!"

"The building's collapsing! What the fuck happened?"

"An earthquake?"

"We need to go! NOW!"

Mouth opening and closing in bewilderment, you become too speechless to say anything. When you look at Zoro again, his sword is back in its sheathe. Face impassive, he nudges at your side and walks ahead to spur you into action.

"Pay them no mind. You look fine."

TRAFALGAR LAW

Notes that you're dressed rather adorably.

Wants to give you a brief compliment but doesn't quite know how to without sounding like a creep.

Ponders on how he should compliment you until it becomes too late to say something. Ends up not saying anything.

Inwardly frustrated at himself for overthinking things.

Grits his teeth and snarls at the group of people who insult you.

Though he doesn't expect you to be perturbed by the rude comments since they're such a blatant lie, he becomes enraged on your behalf.

Gets caught off guard when he notices the tears brimming in your eyes.

Cue Shambles, and body parts start to fly everywhere.

The strangers start to beg for their lives and apologize, but Law is having none of it.

"You look disgusting," the stranger says while another stranger declares, "Those clothes would look better on a dog than on you."

You can't help the tears that form in the corner of your eyes. Frustrated at your inability to stay calm, you roughly rub the back of your eyes with the back of your hands to hide your increasingly emotional state.

Law slaps something down onto your lowered head. Feeling the pleasant weight nestled comfortably on your head, you reach up toward the foreign object to closely examine it.

His spotted hat greets you in all its fuzzy glory.

Rarely ever out in public without his trademark cap, he's a sight to behold. Spiky black hair standing in opposing directions, he attempts to compose his appearance by flattening the top of his hair to no avail. Understanding the futility of his actions, he quickly gives up and focuses his attention back on the group of strangers.

"Room."

You've heard him utter those words far too many times, followed by the next word serving as the final nail in their coffins, completely sealing their fates.

"Shambles."

What was once living humans was now reduced to a pile of flesh, their body parts floating in midair.

The look of horror in the strangers' faces as they scramble to put together their original bodies will forever haunt you. Although, there was some twisted part in you that appreciated Law's gesture.

"Will they be okay?" you ask, peering over his shoulder to see one of the stranger's severed torso hopping around in place, no doubt searching for its other parts.

"Leave them," he says nonchalantly, "They're not injured. It'll give them some time to reflect on their actions."

Stopping yourself from defending your abusers, you bite your lip at his response, falling into step beside him.

"You look nice," he says, pausing momentarily before continuing, "Wear those clothes again."

Law thinks that you're especially a sight for sore eyes — wearing his hat — but he doesn't say this.

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Epilogue

Summary: You and Ransom attend the launch of his book and the cover closes on your story.

Warnings: Bad language, Mature (NSFW, 18+) NON-CON situations, kidnap, violence. Blood. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER…READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED…YOU HAVE BEENWARNED.

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: The end! I can’t believe all this span from @jtargaryen18​’s Halloween Challenge last year. I hope you have enjoyed his as much as I have.

Word Count: 3.6k

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK series so don’t @me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18 get off my blog!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 7

 The town car and it's driver took you to whatever swanky hotel Ransom and his publishers had decided upon, you not caring the slightest inwardly, outwardly only half paying attention. You glanced out the window watching the lights of downtown pass by as your husband of merely three weeks held your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. 

It was a warm July evening, the two of you dressed to the nines in formal attire. Ransom had insisted the launch be an invite only, formal event. Therefore, he was dressed in a two-piece suit, black of course, with a crisp white button down, silken black tie, and you, you looked like an ice queen's slutty sister. The powder blue silk dress you wore tied together with thin straps on each shoulder, your feet already hurting in your nude six inch sandals. Your free hand tapped a neatly manicured finger over your clutch that matched your shoes. A delicate white gold and diamond tennis bracelet adorned your wrist whilst the necklace you'd been gifted at Christmas hung around your neck. You wore your hair the way he said he loved it, in a ponytail full of waves and wisps framing your face.

After the incident on Valentine’s Day, you’d spent another two weeks in the confines of the basement. All luxuries removed and you were used and abused in exactly the way you had been when Ransom had first taken you, until he’d once more sucked the fight out of you. Only this time you didn’t have the strength to find it again. 

You played the part you’d been cast in his sick little fantasy and became totally passive to his whims. You let him fuck you which, in all honesty, wasn’t an entirely unpleasant situation as he knew his way around your body and it felt good. You had given up denying it, and for the moments he was teasing those carnal reactions out of you, you escaped, let yourself imagine you were with someone who you wanted. And by keeping him sweet, you fooled him into thinking you were content. And things settled down, you had that halfway to normal life that you’d achieved before you discovered his manuscript.

But it was bullshit. A means to an end. And you deserved a fucking Oscar.

He’d had the audacity to propose to you, too. In a restaurant. Surrounded by people. He asked you the question, like you had a fucking choice.

Angry, desperate tears had filled your eyes as you’d simply gaped at him, tears the deluded cunt took for you being overwhelmed with happiness. With a smile he slipped the gaudily large diamond on your finger, sealing your fate.

It weighed as heavy on your hand as the grief for your lost life, and the despair at your situation did in your heart.

You’d had a small wedding. Attended simply by your parents and sister. He sent an invite to his mother and father but they didn’t show up. Your dad walked you down the aisle and as you walked towards the man you hated with every breath in your body, your father kissed your cheek and asked you if you were sure you wanted to do this. And no, of course you didn’t, but what could you do?

There was no way out. 

“You look as gorgeous tonight as you did on our wedding day.” Ransom’s voice slightly startled you and you turned to face him. 

You smiled at him, the smile you knew he wanted to see, as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek before doing the same to your hand, his lips ghosted over the top of the obscene rock and matching band on your finger which caught the lights of the city, sparkling with all the ferocity of a supernova.

Before you needed to reply with some half assed compliment back, the town car stopped as the driver got out and opened Ransom's door.

"Wait here," he instructed and walked around with the driver on the other side, escorting you out the minute your own door opened.

Flashbulbs fired off in your eyes, no doubt the press there for some absolutely ridiculous notion that this book was anything but its true nature of terror and disgust.

Ransom’s hand pressed into the base of your back as he guided you along in front of him, various members of the press calling his name, and you heard the excited shouts from some as they spotted the bands on both yours and Ransom’s hands, positively shrieking as they asked when you’d gotten married. 

The headlines flashed in your mind now, 'Grandson of the Great Harlan Thrombey Releases First Suspense Novel'. 'One of Boston's Most Notorious and Eligible Bachelors is Strictly Off The Market' . 'Trust Fund Playboy Sinks His Bunny'. 

It made you want to puke. 

In fact, as the press line faded and you stepped foot into the lobby, you swallowed back the bile forcing its way up. A tray with champagne flutes passed you by and you immediately snagged one.

When Ransom had been distracted for a brief moment, you quickly glanced around and swallowed back the entire flute of the bubbly drink. Delightfully enjoying the brief taste and quick head rush it gave you.

The further you walked into the event, his hand still against your bare back, the louder it grew and the more trays of champagne and appetizers were floating by.

As typical, the two of you were fashionably late so, you had little chance to take part in any nibble or further, a drink, because the supposed "man of the hour", more like terror of life, was due to give a speech.

His agent pulled the two of you aside and made mention that it was time for Ransom to greet his guests. He pressed a sickening sweet kiss to your lips and confidently took to the small podium atop a small stage nearby.

“First and foremost, thank you to everyone who came out tonight. But more importantly, thank you to my beautiful wife, without you Sweetheart, this wouldn't be possible.”

The smile he flashed you was loaded with meaning as the pair of you looked at one another, his eyes shining with the depraved private understanding you shared. 

And you hated him then just about as much as you ever had.

Excited muttering spread around the room as he had knowingly referred to you as his wife. It was the first time he’d announced your marriage to the world but, as he smiled and held his hands up, nodding smugly and confirming whatever people were asking him, you felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of nausea. To everyone else it was a sweet dedication, to you it was a sickening truth. This book was based on what he’d done to you. What he was saying was literal truth. 

And the fact that the people currently applauding whatever he had said would never realise the true nature of those words on the pages of his book made you want to vomit in your handbag.

Applause rang around the room and you realised everyone was turned in your direction. Drawing your shoulders back you stood tall and once more fixed that fake smile on your face before Ransom cleared his throat and began to speak again.

But you didn't listen, you drowned him out, the sound of his voice distant and murky like Charlie Brown's teacher. You allowed you mind to think of anything but the present, other than the fact that these people were in unknowing full support of the hell you'd been through the last nine months.

Eventually a loud, rapturous applause signalled the end of his speech and he stepped back, smiling and then turned to the man from his publishers who shook his hand furiously, before the pair of them posed for photos.

That was when he beckoned you to him, looking at you in such a way that made your skin crawl and your teeth seethe with each breath. This bastard expected a photo op from you above all this, commemorating this disaster.

On autopilot you headed towards him, indifference obedience now your specialty and his arm curled possessively round your waist, fingers splaying on your hip. You posed and smiled as the flashes went off, but as you stole a glance at the large, ornate clock on the wall, you suddenly felt your head beginning to swim.

Seeing a convenient way out of this bullshit, you made sure to falter just a little, placing your hand to your chest. It caused Ransom's attention to turn to you.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

“I’m feeling a little light headed and warm.” You looked up at him. “Could we maybe get some air?”

"Sure, yeah," he looked to his agent and they nodded towards a side door in the room.

His arm still round you, playing the doting husband, he led you towards it and opened it with a flourish, allowing you to step out in front of him. 

You emerged into the alley at the side of the building and took a huge gulp of air, steadying yourself.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

You were warm, flushed, your skin tingling as the now cooling air hit your slightly damp skin, your nipples perking at the temperature change were visible through the silk dress, and you didn’t miss the heated glance he gave them as you spoke. "I, I don't know. I think it's all the commotion."

“You do look a little flushed.” His eyes moved back to yours and he studied you for a moment, his large hands gently cupping your face as he kissed your forehead before his lips pressed to yours. “Wanna take a walk?”

Despite the fact you really couldn’t walk far in the ridiculous shoes you were in, you nodded. Anything to avoid going back in there and listening to all those sycophants kissing his ass.

He took your hand and started walking slowly down the alley. You were mid-way down when a man jumped out from behind the dumpster. You screamed and instinctively Ransom jumped to the side, pulling you slightly behind him.

“Give me the money and the jewellery, no one gets hurt.” The man spoke gruffly and you felt Ransom draw himself up to his full height as he glared at the dirty, dishevelled man, disdain on his face.

“Eat shit.”

“Ransom, just... please give him what he wants.” Your voice trembled as your body shook, your right hand already removing the rings on your left.

“I’d listen to your pretty wife, if I were you.” The man spoke as he reached into his pocket and when he withdrew his hand you swallowed at the unmistakable flash of metal.

“Fuck, Ransom, he’s got a knife!” You clutched his arm. “Please just give it to him!”

"Fuck, no," he started reaching for his phone but the man lunged toward him.

In the melee that followed, you were thrown to the side, your rings clanging to the floor somewhere along with your clutch, your palms and knees scraping painfully on the floor. By the time you’d pushed yourself up, you saw the man scrambling to his feet, Ransom’s watch and wallet in his hand. He turned to look at you and you backed away, stumbling once more to the ground letting out a blood curdling scream as he advanced. He stopped, picked up your rings and your bag, before he turned, bolting up the alley and rounding the corner, disappearing from sight.

"Y/N," the croaking voice came from your husband as he staggered towards you, a deep red seeping through his white dress shirt, his one hand attempting to stave off the bleeding. The other, cradling his phone. But he didn't get more than a few steps as he collapsed nearby. 

"Ransom!" You shrieked and heels be damned, you ran to him, looking around, "help!" 

"Call 9-1-1, Baby," he begged, trying to thrust the phone into your hand and you leaned over him. 

With a jittery hand you swiped over to the emergency call option and hit the first two digits before you glanced around again and hesitated, rising slowly to your feet.

“What...” Ransom’s chest heaved as he looked up at you, his face white with shock as you turned the phone in your hand and shrugged.

“Yeah, you see, I could call for help but...” with that you tossed his phone to the hard ground and crunched it with your stupidly high heel, rotating your foot to make double sure, the glass and metal grinding between the stiletto and the tarmac. “Whoops, looks like it got smashed in the fight.” You gave a little chuckle. “And of course, mine was in my bag which he took. Isn’t that ironic? I mean the first time you permit me to use it for something other than to contact you or my mom, I can’t.” You made a little tutting noise. “Guess I’ll just have to keep yelling and hope someone hears.”

With that you turned and screamed, a frantic yell. “Please, someone help us! Please, he’s been stabbed, call 9-1-1.” You slowly dropped back to a kneel, ignoring the sting of your grazed knees and smirked. “Dammed, I really am good at this acting shit, don’t you think, handsome?”

Ransom coughed a harsh and wet cough. His chest heaving raggedly as he struggled between catching a breath and bleeding out. 

“Y/N...” he spluttered, “you...please...”

"So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” you emphasised the 't' of the last word as you spoke the very same line that he had delivered to you months ago, the threat he had held over you and used to keep you in check whenever you stepped over that line. 

His eyes widened further as the realisation set in, you could see his brain working and it gave you a buzz, a sense of satisfaction to know that he understood this was your doing.

You wanted the last thing this bastard thought about to be how you were responsible for his death. But more so, his narcissistic and sociopathic tendencies be damned, you wanted him to completely understand exactly how it was his fault. 

And given the way he was bleeding and struggling for breath, you didn’t have long.

Another scream for help flew from your mouth as you pressed one hand on top of his which were now both clutched to the wound in his stomach, the other brushing his hair back slightly as you smiled down at him. 

“I told you when you threw me back in the basement that the way you treat people would come back to haunt you.” You gave a little shrug. “And, when you told the homeless guy looking in the bins on collection day a few months back to eat shit and get a job, well, he took it kinda personally. He didn’t even blink when I asked how much it would take to knock you off.”

"You..." choking on blood, "vicious..." choke,

At that you gave another loud hysteric yell for help before you turned your head back to look at him.

“See, once upon a time I thought you’d changed. But here’s the thing, a person like you doesn’t change, Hugh. You’re incapable of love. You take what you want when you want for no reason other than it pleases you.”

Another scream for help, and this time you could hear someone answering and a lot of yells as people started running towards you.

“Well, now I’ve taken your life like you took mine.” You bent down, your forehead pressing to his as you smirked. His arm reached up to grab you, his blood soaked hand curling over your cheek and side of your neck. "And you know what? It feels good."

His palm was warm and slick against your skin and his eyes blazed with anger as his fingers squeezed. You knew he was desperately trying to hurt you but you felt nothing. You smiled, as you placed a soft kiss to his lips, your words whispered as you pulled back ever so slightly. “Karma’s a bitch, and so am I. See you in hell.”

As the fake tears started to pool in your eyes once more, you allowed your lip to tremble for distraught emphasis. Blood was now trickling out of Ransom's mouth, along down his ear and to the tarmac. You pulled back just a little so as to see his eyes. You wanted to watch him choke on his own blood as he took that final breath. You started sputtering words incoherently as you amped up the hysteria, hearing the footfalls now just behind you. 

He didn’t even make it to the hospital. 

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was pronounced dead at 21:05 hours on Friday 17th July where he lay in a pool of his own blood, in that dark alleyway down the side of the hotel.

Leaving you a widow.

And free. 

***10 months later***

It was as simple as it sounded, closing your eyes and pointing to a spot on a map. Your finger ended up on Boulder. 

Colorado was far enough from the last year or so of your life that you could feel comfortable. You'd researched it, finding it to be something worth interest. Affordable. Breath-taking scenery. Incredible life altering activities and quaint little towns. The summers were supposedly warm but rarely did the temperature rise above ninety-five, the winters were supposedly very cold, dry and windy; rarely dropping below six degrees with partly cloudy skies year round.

The months following Ransom’s death had been as draining as humanly possible. The investigation had involved countless interviews before the police and authorities settled for it being a mugging gone wrong. But then there had been the months of wrangling and private law cases his parents had attempted to bring against you to prevent you getting his money, despite the probate law being fairly simple. You were married. He left no will. It was yours by default. 

Eventually, when the Drysdales had exhausted every last option, they were forced to concede and that was when you made the decision to leave, a decision of which your parents were highly encouraging. They practically talked you into this whole thing to begin with. Helping you leave your nightmares behind. Despite them not suspecting anything at first, you weren't blind to the fact that things still had not sat right with them. You knew they had suspected a level coercion, that maybe you'd had a manic episode of mental illness, but you never had divulged the full details and by the time he was gone, they hadn't cared. Your relationship with them had strengthened and healed and that was what you cared about.

Now, you were newly nestled in Boulder with a great condo downtown, a stone’s throw from the historic district that was filled with cliché shops and bars.  Whilst you didn’t need the money, you’d taken a job working in the media department of a private law firm. It was a far cry from your journalist days, but it suited you just fine.

The more distance you put between who you were now and who you had been, the better. 

You were at peace.

The May evening air was temperate as you crossed the street and opened the door to the designated bar in which you were meeting your new group of friends, mostly gathered from work, for a girl's night out. You’d been held up a little in the office so they were already waiting at a table. You waved and gestured to the bar, indicating you were going to get a drink. 

As you sidled up to the wooden counter, you were jolted a little into a man to your right. You turned to apologise and gave a little double take. You recognised him instantly. But you didn’t want to make that obvious and cause him to feel uncomfortable. You knew how it felt, to have everyone looking at you, hushed whispered comments as you went about your business, people trying to figure out if you were who they thought you were.

That was part of the reason you had moved, and you sure as hell weren’t about to subject the man next to you to the same, uncomfortable experiences. 

Recovering quickly, you hastily apologised and he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it.” His Boston accent was evident and you smiled.

“I miss that accent.” 

The man chuckled, his warm blue eyes creasing slightly as he looked at you. “You from Boston, too?”

“Concord.”

“Newton.” He replied, “well, I lived there anyway, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Should I? Know that, I mean?”

He studied you for a moment, and you kept your face as passive as possible. You could tell he knew that you knew, but you gave a shrug none-the-less and he smiled, a gorgeous smile that lit up his entire face, perfect white teeth flashing from beneath an immaculately groomed beard, as he extended his arm towards you.

“Andy Barber.” His fingers gently brushed the back of your knuckles, as you shook his hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Oh, of course.” You smiled back. “One of our attorneys.”

“Our?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m Y/N. I work in the media department. I mean I only started a few weeks ago but...”

“Well, in that case, I’m pleased to meet you, Y/N, and welcome aboard.” His smile didn’t falter as he let go of your hand and gestured to the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

You paused for a moment before you took a deep breath.

And nodded.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

******

Sequel: Follow Andy and reader’s story in Consciousness Of Guilt. 

[darthwheezely]

HOLA QUERIDAAAAA i’m here to ask for a 💌 where georgie is totally head over heels for you but finds you super intimidating and has to work up the courage to ask you out pls 🥺

PRINCESA DE MIS SUEÑOS?! CLARO CLARO CLAROOOO

georgie the brave - g.w. hcs

george fabian weasley was a simp

stupidly

wholly

completely

balls deep in love with you

we are talking

singing in the shower

bouncing his leg at dinner

smiling when you walk in a room like the goddamn sun came up when you arrived

jesus, he worshipped you

and everyone...legitimately everyone knew

“George?”

“Fred?”

“When are you gonna woman up and ask her out already?” Fred leaned onto his hand nodding his head up at him, and George turned around to see you, head thrown back in laughter. You looked absolutely gorgeous, so enlivened by a joke being told. George flushed when you noticed him looking at you and gave a wave and small wink. You looked back at your friends, a blush stealing on your cheeks. Fred rolled his eyes and snapped at George.

“Oi! Romeo! I’m serious it’s bloody disgusting for a bloke to be sitting eating mashed potatoes and pining as hard as you!”

“I’m not pining, Fred, I don’t pine”

“Right so talking about girls named Y/N in your sleep and pretending your jumper is her when you’re sad and-“

“Alright, touché. So...what do I do?”

Fred pondered this for a moment. “Well, I usually talk to them and usually ask them if they’d like to accompany me to Hogsmeade. Or a study date. Or a Quidditch match. Mate, you’ve got loads of options just take one.”

george hated that fred was right

especially that he said george had so many opportunities

it’s not like he hadn’t tried to take them, he just kinda like

froze

like when he walked up to you and your friends and was mustering up the confidence to do it and he just

froze

and kind of blurted

“youlookreallyprettyinthatdressY/N”

and scurried back to the gryffindor table

fred damn near gave himself a concussion from the way his head hit the table in shame

but he had decided that he would actually take the leap this time

he, thank god, shared two classes with you

transfiguration and potions, again, thank god, neither with fred

he also knew that you tended to sit in a seat closer to the middle of the room in transfiguration, and that you never sat next to anyone

you hated being near the front where all the attention would be on you, but you didn’t like to be forgotten in the back

george found this painfully adorable and endearing but anyway

he had waited until you slid in your usual spot and raced in to slide next to you

“Fancy seeing you here, gorgeous” he smiled warmly at you.

“I should be saying the same thing” you turned around to look around you “although I’m probably not the one you’re referring to as gorgeous” you said sheepishly opening up your transfiguration textbook. You felt as if you were being watched and when you looked up at him, you realized he was staring at you blankly.

“You really don’t believe me do you?” He asked softly. You turned red, or felt yourself turn red and laughed uncomfortably, shaking your head. “You’re really sweet, but...it’s just weird to have someone like you talk to someone like me” he was so shocked, he began to open his mouth but regretfully so McGonagall began to teach her lesson

he didn’t pay attention to anything mcgonagall was saying

all he could focus on was the stunning woman next to him

completely enraptured by what mcgonagall was saying

“I meant it, Y/N, you’re...” he swallowed thickly. “You take my breath away, you’re beautiful.” He whispered.

You looked up at him then, solemn sincerity in his face. You could tell when he said that he wasn’t just referring to your beauty.

“Oh?”

He breathed out a laugh quietly, in this moment not looking to disrupt class. “Yeah, oh my god. Every day I get to be around you to turn me to a puddle, don’t you see that?” You shook your head and he nodded. Deciding now was the time to act

he raised his hand so mcgonagall could call on him

his older twin confused as FUCK that his BROTHER had a QUESTION in CLASS

“oh this is either a ruse or I’m dreaming”

“fred, stop saying your thoughts out loud it’s annoying”

“ope, sorry ang”

mcgonagall reluctantly called on him with a “yes, mr. weasley?”

George grinned and stepped onto the table that he and you were seated at, Fred’s jaw dropping and gesticulating wildly to Angelina who was sitting next to him.

“George, what are you doing?” You whisper shouted to him. He leaned down barely “I’m taking my shot, love” and winked

“Y/N Y/L/N you are the most kind, smart, gorgeous and all around most wicked sexy girl I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing” he said loudly, proclaiming it as grandly as possible. You were bright red, smiling wide into your book shaking your head at him.

“So?” You quipped, a giggle stealing the back of your throat

George laughed like a gasp, and said “will you do me the honors of accompanying me to Hogsmeade this Saturday?” He got off the desk and held your hand in his like he was proposing. The room stood still, girls and boys alike either rolling their eyes or saying “awwww” at the cuteness being exuded

“Merlin, absolutely” you breathed out, staring into his gorgeous chocolate brown eyes. Everyone around you queen clapped. Georgie was blushing and smiling like mad. Fred was WHOOP WHOOPING so loud Angie hit him upside the head

and then all was silent until

“well, mr. Weasley I’ll give you detention tonight then so you won’t miss your date”

A/N

***im so sorry if these are subpar, my mental health has been shot for the past 48 hours and it’s really hard to focus on doing what I WANT, which is writing. I love you guys so much and I promise to put out better content in the future

[henryobsessed]

The Veterinarian and the Werewolf - Chapter 1

Summary: Jessie has completed Veterinarian school, after the death of her aunt has moved back to her home town.

word Count: 2013

A/N hello How are you all doing? we are in lockdown again here in Victoria Australia, I hope that means more time to write :)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Jessie sank into her plush foe leather couch; it had been a month since she had returned to her hometown and surprisingly her business was thriving. Even though she had yet to treat any wildlife she had a steady stream of cats, dogs, birds, ferrets, and other assortments of domestic animals heading through her doors. A big surprise to her was the number of cattle ranchers who on her arrival had asked her to make house calls to assess their cattle. Normally they paid for someone to come out to their co-op from the neighbouring bigger city. Now she was here if she could gain their trust, she would be set.

She looked around at her aunt’s old house, so many beautiful memories, Bet had been her best friend apart from the animals and had encouraged her to follow her dreams, she had even pitched in to her college fund when her parents’ life insurances had not been quite enough. She pictured her aunt standing at the stove, cooking her pancakes, grey hair piled atop her head, apron wrapped around her tall slender body, excited to cook for “The Vet” as she had lovingly called her even before she started her degree.

The last time they had spent time together she had sat on the couch, pancakes in hand. Her honey brown eyes pinning Jessie to her seat as her age roughened voice pleaded, “You can’t keep shutting people out Jessie, you have to open yourself to the possibility that you might find love, or even a good friend. You’re an adult now, and I won’t be around forever.” Her eyes misting as she whispered, “I worry about you honey, I don’t want you living your life alone like I did.”

Jessie had hugged her aunt pulling her in tight as she felt her sweet Bet’s distress. She had never asked why she was on her own, caught up in her own dramas. She had loved that it was just the two of them. But now she wondered if she had been too selfish. Once she was at college, her aunt was alone again. As if validating her aunt’s concern’s, she had received a call, a week after returning back to her last month of college. Her Aunt had suffered a major heart attack at work. Even though she was in the hospital when it had occurred, they were unable to save her. It had been a hard few months no one had come by the house for the funeral, it had just been the two of them. The local lawyer had encouraged her to sell up and move to a more populated area saying they had no need for a vet, and she had considered it. But a part of her still felt connected to the land, connected to those buried deep within the woods around their house.

He phone buzzed bringing her out of her musings, shaking the tired fog from her head she peeked at the antique gold clock above the mantel 11pm, Picking up the phone she heard a timid voice answer “Is this the vet, the one that came to our ranch last week?” mind pulled into action she answered “ yes this is the Vet what can I do for you?” a shaky breath let out as the young man responded, “I’m sorry for calling so late, My name is Thomas, my dad owns Ride em ranch. I was out checking traps around the property line, I hate them so much but dad insists we have them, a wolf has been caught. If I don’t get him out of here soon my Dad or one of the hands will come and kill him. Please what do I do?” sitting up Jessie talked in a calm voice to the boy, “First thing how is the wolf behaving?” getting up Jessie pulled her coat on whilst heading for the car, “He’s growling and whimpering at the same time ma’am, I think he would bite me if I got to close, but I can see he is in a lot of pain.” Opening the door to her pickup she jumped in glad her veterinarian bag was already in the back. “Ok Thomas tell me where you are, I am on my way”

Jessie was focused looking for the a boy in a red checked shirt and dark blue jeans, a part of her was excited, she was finally able to help a wolf, but another part of her was worried she was too late. There waving his arms illuminated by the high beams of her truck she saw Thomas, he had blond hair, brown eyes, and stood around 6 ft 3 although he had not filled out yes so even with his height looked like a young man.

Pulling up she could see his obvious fretting as he didn’t stop to talk but rather, as soon as she had her bag, started moving back into the forest. The boy was so intent on getting her there he didn’t say a word, however the closer they got the more evident it was the animal was in great distress. Long lone howls could be heard along with whimpers, when Thomas broke into the area where the wolf was his whimpers changed to savage snapping of his teeth and loud growls interrupted by his whines. The was until Jessie stepped into the opening, She could have sworn the wolf looked right at her with shock before it laid its head down and quietened. Jessie was amazed, its behaviour was one of submission and in its current state was highly unusual. She walked closer, slowly talking to the animal, “Hey boy, your ok, I’m here to help ok. Will you let me help you?”

She knelt just outside of the range where the wolf could reach her and reached into the bag, the majestic creature watched her closely but gone was the snarls and defensive growling. All that was left was his pain filled whimper, quickly assessing his weight she pulled a small tranquilizer gun out along with some prefilled darts. On seeing the gun he let out a long mournful howl that tore at her heart, “I’m sorry, but this will make you feel better I promise.” Taking aim she shot into his flank. He let out a soft yelp, they kept eye contact as he slowly lowered his eye lids.

Ok Thomas we need to move fast, I had to guess his weight and even though I am sure I’ve have put him out for the night I can’t guarantee that.” Together they moved to the brown black creature, jessie made note as they together removed the trap from its leg that the creature had seen better days. His hair was matted in places and there were other areas where the fur was missing showing signs of fights that it had been in. Carefully after assessing the rest of its body, Thomas and Jessie lifted the creature which from tail to muzzle would have been 6 ft 5 however it showed malnutrition and was much lighter that she would have expected for a creature of its size and age. In fact had Thomas not been there to help she would have been able to lift the wolf herself which said a lot for its condition. Sadness filled her as they carefully placed it in the back of the truck. Once he was securely placed in the back she turned to the young man “Thank you Thomas, I appreciate your help and your kindness” Thomas looked down at his feet for a moment before signing, “Please don’t tell my pa, he would think I was a pansy for doing this. What he fails to understand is we need to work with the wolves without them….. well we need them. Thank you for coming, I hope he survives.”

Jessie watched the tall young man in her rear vision as she dove away, there was something special about him.

On reaching her clinic she bought out a trolley and carefully picked up the wolf playing him down and wheeled him into the treatment rooms. Her first priority was x-ray the leg and make sure it wasn’t broken, as she moved around the room her other patients called out to her. A small Tibetan spaniel who was in for cherry eye surgery whimpered at her before settling down in it’s cage, along with a tabby who was recovering from a broken leg, who at all the noise hissed at her. “ohh come now calm down, we have to help this poor creature ok. I expect you both to keep him company as he recovers.” She quickly took the x-rays dismayed to see that the trap had indeed crushed his ulna and radius on the right leg. The night was long as she reset the leg and applied a cast. The sun was coming up, and her young assistant joe was walking in the front door as she finished setting the wolf up in a special cage.

Joe taken aback walked around to peer into the cage, “OMG Jessie, where did you find this boy? He is gorgeous and yet has seen better days.” Exhausted she just stood wiping her hands on her apron and started cleaning, “you look like you need a break Jessie, why don’t you go home, I’ll reschedule your non important appointments and push the urgent ones back to this afternoon so you can get some sleep.” Grateful she nodded her thanks and left the Joe to care for the grumpy cat, and Tibbey.

Jessie’s dreams were plagued with images of the wolf, his eyes that held so much pain caused her heart to constrict. The resemblance to the those she had buried so many years ago could not have been a coincidence. As she tossed and turned the images grew bolder, the wolfs from long ago circled her, she felt no fear only curiousness as they sniffed at her before one by one they laid at her feet. She knelt and stroked each one, reassuring them that she would take care of him. A loud sound broke into the now peaceful dream, her mind now fussy she picked up the phone, “Jessie” the frantic voice of her assistant invaded her calm “Jessie you have to get down here, the wolf woke up and is tearing at the cage. I can’t even get close enough to change the fluid bag. I’m scared he is going to break out.” Jumping out of bed she ran to grab her bag, not even worried that she was still in her pajamas she ran to her truck. The clinic was only 5 mins by car, but she was the only one authorised to use the tranqu gun.

Running into the clinic she could hear the panicked snarls and snaps of the wolf, the sound of the metal clanging and it tried to escape. Gun in hand she ran into the room, as Joe opened the door and her eyes met that of the wolf the strangest thing happened. Just as it had in the forest, the wolf calmed, whined and laid its head down. “well I never!!” Joe breathed in exasperation, “Teach me Obi wan, Tell me your secrets” if she hadn’t been so socked herself she would have laughed at Joe’s comment. However this was not normal wolf behaviour. Taking a risk she moved forward and sat before the creature, an odd feeling settling in her stomach as joe handed her the new bag. Talking in a calm voice she addressed the canine, “This will help you feel better ok” his eyes locked with hers as he whimpered. Risking everything she hooked up the new bag then opened the cage, going against her training she reached in and caressed him. She felt his body relax the more she stroked his neck and flank until he was once again asleep. Replacing the latch on the door she looked back a Joe both confused and amazed.

Chapter 2

I have tagged people from my last story if you wish to be removed please let me know 😊

@legendarywizarddetective @blakerogue @ladamari68 @witcherfan @sillyrabbit81 @littlefreya

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[lifeofkaze]

A Very Hexley Birthday

A/N: Seeing all those beautiful edits on my dash for the birthday of my favourite twins in the Potterverse (I said what I said), I knew I couldn't possibly do any better. So instead, let's have a look what Ethel and Jim are up to on their birthday, shall we?

This is for you, Bestie! @the-al-chemist

Happy Birthday, Jim and Ethel! 💛❤️

Naturally, Ethel and Jim Hexley and Héloïse Perrault belong to my favourite person in this world @the-al-chemist. The attending guests belong to @slytherindisaster (Lysander Mercury), @kc-and-oc (Siobhan Llewellyn, Bradford Pendleton, Oliver and Eliot Gerard, Ivy Anders), @hogwartsmysteryho (Vinny Raymond), @that-scouse-wizard (Cledwyn Ironwood), @cursebreakerfarrier (Galen Stagg), and @unfortunate-arrow (Anthony Rosen).

Even though the golden arrows of the September sun were showing themselves on the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Jeremiah Hexley was in a rather glum mood when he reached for the huge bowl of porridge at the Hufflepuff House table.

It was just out of his reach and his fingertips only grazed the rim; he simply would have needed to stand up to get it, but that would only draw attention to the tall, lankish boy, which was something he generally tried to avoid, but especially so today. So Jim sat straight again and reached for a slice of toast instead.

“I wish you the finest of mornings,” he heard a voice call out to him, “isn’t it a wonderful day outside? You should have seen the colours of the sunrise; no one can paint anything as beautiful as that.”

The voice belonged to Lysander Mercury, another Hufflepuff boy from his year, and undoubtedly Jim’s best friend. He had a spring in his step as he walked up to Jim, and his thumbs were hooked under the straps of his suspenders; he hadn’t bothered putting the black jumper of their school uniform over them yet.

He sat down opposite Jim with a graceful motion, grabbing the porridge bowl in the same instance and pushing it over to Jim. Giving Lysander a grateful look, Jim helped himself to a healthy portion and drizzled a teaspoon full of dark golden honey on top, just the way he liked it. But even the prospect of his favourite breakfast wasn’t enough to lighten Jim’s mood, and it wasn’t lost on Lysander.

“Why such a long face, old fellow?” he grinned, and his stress on the word ‘old’ wasn’t lost on Jim, quite the contrary. “It’s not a day to be brooding!”

Jim opened his mouth to explain himself, but was interrupted by the sound of quick footsteps approaching from behind him; a moment later two pairs of arms were flung around his neck and Jim almost knocked over his bowl of porridge in his attempt to not be thrown off the bench.

“Happy Birthday, Jim!” two girls shouted into his ears in perfect unison, of course they did. The sound of their excitement cut through Jim’s eardrums and he winced as he pushed them away.

“Uhm, thank you,” he muttered, “Happy Birthday to you as well,” he said in the direction of the smaller of the two.

Ethel Hexley, his twin sister and complete opposite and in every aspect imaginable, grinned and clapped Jim on his back so hard he almost lurched forward. “Thanks, kiddo. One more year of making sure my little brother has at least some fun in his life.”

“Like a proper big sister should,” her best friend Selene Fraser added with a knowing nod. Not even the Sorting Hat had been able to separate these two, and sometimes Jim wondered who out of them three actually were the twin siblings.

“But, er, you know Effy’s only older by a few minutes... so she isn’t really my big sister, if you want to put it that way…”

Jim trailed off when he saw something whisk past him into the direction of the porridge bowl. Before he had the chance to dive straight into it though, Lysander had already gotten hold of the brown and white ferret Ethel and Selene shared custody of; Alan’s nose twitched as Lysander held him out to Ethel.

“Take your ferret back, Hexley,” he said, “I’d say you two are looking like the actual twins here, but seeing as it’s unfortunately your birthday as well, I’ll let it pass. Consider this my present.”

“Seeing as Alan definitely is the best looking guy I’ve spoken to today, I’ll take that as a compliment, Mercury,” Ethel immediately shot back, with that unmistakable glint in her eyes that Jim knew promised nothing but bother, very wordy bother.

Lysander had already leaned slightly forward as well, his eyes fixed on Jim’s twin sister, ready for their morning round of bickering and Jim sighed.

“Could you two, uhm… maybe, just maybe… perhaps stop it? Just for today?”

“Leave him, Effy, he’s not worth it. Not a match for you anyway,” Selene muttered to her best friend; Jim gave her a grateful look.

“True, Sels, I won’t have my birthday spoiled by a wanna-be artist in suspenders,” Ethel said indignantly, and Lysander opened his mouth in protest. Selene elbowed Ethel into the side, before setting Alan onto her shoulder and linking arms with her, quickly pulling her away before things would escalate. Again.

Selene turned around after a few steps and called over her shoulder. “Come to the Quidditch pitch after classes, Jim, will you? We have a little surprise for you!”

*

Throughout the whole day, Jim wasn’t sure what made him more uncomfortable: all the attention he got because it was his birthday, or the prospect of a surprise set up for him by Ethel and Selene. The sheer idea of everything these two could have been planning was enough to upset Jim’s stomach and he couldn’t even enjoy his favourite roast beef for lunch.

When their last class of the day was over, Jim reluctantly made his may over to the Quidditch pitch, as he had been told to. He had wanted to ask Lysander to come, but then again, bringing Ethel and Lysander into the same space was too much for him today; or any day, to be precise.

As soon as he stepped through the opening in the wooden perimeter of the pitch, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. Ethel and Selene had laid out several red and white chequered picnic blankets in the middle of the immaculate green lawn, just like the ones their parents had at home. He could see baskets full of sandwiches, little cakes, fruit and cheese on every single one of them, alongside countless jugs of pumpkin juice.

Naturally, Ethel and Selene were standing in the midst of the people already gathered there, laughing and joking and having a wonderful time, and Jim’s heart sank a little. He saw many familiar faces; he saw Siobhan Llewellyn and her best friend Galen Stagg, who were feeding slices of roast beef to a very content looking Alan; he saw Oliver Gerard who was laughing with Ethel about a lively story she was telling; he had brought his brother, Eliot, a Ravenclaw boy Jim didn’t really know, and who was looking very comfortable talking to Selene, who was standing next to Ivy Anders and Vinny Raymond were sharing some cake; he could even spy the eternally grumpy Cledwyn Ironwood, who never got tired of proclaiming he wasn’t Ethel’s friend but, just like Jim, had obviously stood no chance in declining the invitation.

All of these people were there, but all of them were Ethel’s friends, not his. Jim sighed; he knew Ethel and Selene had meant well, but they just didn’t understand him, they never really did.

“I ‘ope we aren’t late, non?”

Upon hearing the familiar French accent, Jim’s heart skipped a beat before beating doubly as fast as before. He turned around and his eyes went wide when he saw the group of people who had quietly come up behind him.

“Bon anniversaire, Jim!” Héloïse swept in and quickly kissed him on both cheeks in close succession, before pushing an immaculately wrapped gift into his hands, the edges of the paper sharp and the bow perfectly tied. Jim tried to thank her but his words came out as a horrible stutter and he felt the heat rise to his face; it felt particularly warm where Héloïse had kissed him.

Next up came his dear friend Bradford, who shared his enthusiasm for painting; he extended his hand to Jim to wish him a happy birthday as well, and the gift he was handing over to him felt suspiciously like the elaborate sketchbook Jim had seen on his last trip to Hogsmeade.

His roommate Anthony was there, too, as always accompanied by his wolfhound Conall. Jim bent down to pet the animal and scratch his ears. He had to smile when he saw how enthusiastic Conall was at the prospect of all the attention; at least one of them was, then.

Even Lysander had been invited, or had in any case decided to show up; you never knew with Ethel and him. But whether he had actually been asked to be here or not, Jim was glad to see him.

By Brady’s side, more quiet than the rest, stood Brady’s friend - or at least that’s what they claimed to be - Carolyn Nyberg. Jim was surprised to see her here; he and Carolyn didn’t really have anything in common but Brady, but then again, they were seldomly seen without each other these days. She inclined her head and quietly congratulated him.

The question as to why Carolyn had come, though, was quickly answered when Ethel spotted the new arrivals and bounded over to them. “It’s so good you came! I’m so happy all of you could make it to our birthday picnic. Most of you, that is,” she said with a pointed look in Lysander’s direction, but before he could shoot back, her attention had already shifted to Carolyn.

“Did you manage to make what we talked about?”

Jim could see Carolyn was trying hard not to roll her eyes. “Please, who do you take me for? That was a child’s play.”

Brady gave her a pointed look. “Be nice, Caro, it’s their birthday.”

She sighed, but her face softened and she reached into the hidden pocket in her dress, producing a small, stoppered vial with purple liquid inside. She weighed it in her hands, looking at the mugs of pumpkin juice on the picnic blankets. “I’d say six drops per mug should be sufficient.” She moved the vial out of Ethel’s reach when she extended her hand towards it. “Not one drop more, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

Jim’s apprehension about Ethel putting a potion into their drinks soon vanished when he saw what it was that Carolyn had brewed on his sister’s request. After drinking from the modified juice, everyone of their guests had a distinct spring to their step that made them jump a little every time they moved. He remembered how much fun Ethel and Selene had had when they had turned the floor of the courtyard elastic with the Spongify charm; it had gotten them three weeks worth of detention and a passion for jumping as high as they possibly could.

Not being particularly keen on moving around like a bouncing ball, Jim had only taken the tiniest sip of pumpkin juice when Ethel had offered it to him; it was enough to give his step a tolerable spring, but not enough to make him bounce like the others, and that was just the way Jim preferred it to be.

Jim usually didn’t feel comfortable among so many people, but he had to give Ethel that, even he was enjoying himself. He watched Héloïse and Selene sharing excited whispers about the latest story of the Muggle detective they were so keen about, while Brady was bickering with Siobhan over one thing or the other, and Lysander was busy trying to place Alan on top of Carolyn’s head, who told him very sternly to stop it if he didn’t want a swig of Veritaserum served with his next meal.

Happy that his and Ethel’s friends seemed to be having a good time, Jim sat down on one of the blankets, partly because he wanted to eat something, and partly because he needed a step back from the hustle and bustle.

It wasn’t long, however, before Ethel spotted him. She walked over to him, jumping into the air with each step, and slumped down onto the blanket beside him.

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” she wanted to know. For a very brief moment, concern flickered over her freckled face. “Because I did my very best to make this fun for both of us. Look, I even invited that horrible friend of yours,” she said and pulled a face in Lysander’s direction; he stuck his tongue out at her in response before turning away.

“No, uhm, I just needed a short break,” Jim answered and set down his plate. “You, er… you did a great job, Effy, you know? I’m having fun, I think… It’s a lovely birthday party, really… so thank you. I, uhm, I didn’t expect this, to be honest.”

“But why?” Ethel asked; she looked truly baffled at his words.

“We’re just so… uhm, how do I say it… we’re just so different, you and I. I’m quiet and, er, shy, I guess and you’re so… loud and popular and we’re just not much alike.”

Ethel dipped her head back and laughed loudly. “I’m not popular, Jim,” she sniggered, “I just don’t leave people alone. Tell them you’re friends often enough and they end up believing it,” she grinned and waved to Cledwyn, who rolled his eyes and looked away. “There’s nothing more to it than that. I bet you could do it, too.”

But Jim shook his head. “I’m not really so sure of that... I think.”

Ethel nudged him into the side with her shoulder. “Give yourself more credit. You’re my twin brother after all, that has to account for something. If this is any help, we may be polar opposites, but you’re still my favourite person in this world.”

“Uhm, what about Selene?”

Ethel pursed her lips. “Okay, maybe it’s a tie.”

Jim had to smile at that. Remembering something, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of parchment, tied to a scroll with a crimson piece of ribbon.

“Happy Birthday, Effy,” he said, for once without a stutter.

Ethel’s eyes went wide when she saw the picture Jim had drawn for her. It showed the two of them, laughing with each other. Ethel, despite being smaller than Jim, had his head in a headlock and was ruffling his hair while he was trying to escape, but he was laughing just as much as she was. The drawn versions of themselves were moving over the parchment in fluent motions. Jim had asked for Héloïse’s help with enchanting it; with his French still being awful, it had been one of the most awkward and complicated conversations in his entire life.

“It’s beautiful, Jim, thank you,” she said and flung her arms around his neck. When she let go, she looked a little sheepish. “Now I feel stupid for what I got you, although I’m pretty sure you can need it.”

With a wink, she produced her own gift. Jim could see she had wrapped it in her typical Ethel-style, with way too much wrapping paper and loads of colourful ribbons; one of them looking suspiciously like the hair tie their grandmother had gotten Ethel for Christmas. He blushed deeply when he read the cover of the small red book the parcel contained:

101 Foolproof Ways to a French Witch’s Heart - A Guide for Modern Gentlemen

“Effy… that… um… you… why…” Jim stuttered, his face a deeper shade of red than the Gryffindor banners hanging from the wooden tower behind Ethel.

His twin sister only sniggered. “Read it and thank me later.”

She got to her feet and pulled Jim along, motioning to the entrance of the pitch, where Selene was in the process of levitating a giant birthday cake onto the field. It had enchanted lion and badger figurines on top; the lion was throwing tiny pieces of cake after the badger, who caught it with its mouth.

“Come on now, dear brother,” she said as she linked arms with him and half marched, half dragged him across the lawn towards their friends. “We have a cake to cut.”

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Tips and Tricks

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Spencer scares you for a second. And your mom is disappointed.

A/N: I know I have so many things going at once but I couldn’t help myself with this! I’m sorry. Forgive me. Like, comment, reblog, send me asks and shit. I love you! Enjoy!

___

A true book enthusiast knows that the most beautiful smell in the world can be found in the middle of a book. Whether it’s old and it’s pages are yellowed with age, or its so new that the text wipes off onto your hands when you open the cover, the smell is like a drug that gets your engine running the way no actual drug ever could.

It’s that thought that makes your pull your car into the nearly deserted parking lot of the bookstore as the rain crashes around you. You’ve seen enough ID Channel to know that waiting for the storm to pass while parked on the side of the road is about as dangerous as walking into a serial killer club meeting with a sign around your neck that reads, ‘kill me, I look like every person who has ever wronged you in life.’

Pulling your bag up over your head, you dash inside as fast as you can. The bell rings through the empty store, the smell of books hitting your senses and putting you at ease.

Even with your bag over your head, your hair is drenched and your clothes stick to your body in the most uncomfortable way possible. The store is manned by one forlorn looking teenage girl with short black hair, you can hear the gum she’s smacking behind the desk from four feet away.

Classical music filters down from the speakers, nestling among the thousands of books that take up every available space in the room. While some books fill the floor to ceiling bookshelves, the rest have been stacked on the floor like a maze of knowledge. Some stacks go up so high that even if you stand on your toes and stretch your arm as high as you could, you would still be a good ten five-hundred paged books from the top.

Every turn into the book maze reveals another secret of the store, like the collection of vinyls tucked into a corner beneath a record player that is older than your grandmother. Down a narrow path of towering novels, is a small reading nook with two red armchairs that have seen their fair share of readers.

It feels like you’ve stumbled upon the house of an immortal book-lover, the rugs that stretch across the floor feeling just as ancient as the words around you. But it’s peaceful, relaxing. You find yourself humming along to Chopin’s Nocturnes, Op. 9: No. 2, the spines of books bumping under your finger. Unsure how the books are organized, or even if they are, you’ve decided to look at the book your finger is on once the song is over.

When the last notes fade into a brief quietness, you stop on a book written by a ‘David Rossi.’ You can’t help the breathy laugh that comes from your chest in surprise that the first book you look at is a true crime novel.

Ever since you were a little girl, stealing your mom’s police badge to play ‘cops and robbers,’ and sneaking into her office to read case files you weren’t supposed to, you’d been in love with the puzzle-solving of the investigative world. You’ve always had a mind for finding clues no one thought to look for, it was the only reason you didn’t get in trouble when you left sticky notes full of observations and theories in your mother’s case files.

It was this background that made everyone around you so sure you would become a detective just like your mom. It was this same background that surprised everyone when you became an author instead. To say your mother was disappointed was an understatement, she’d been the most shocked when you showed her a four hundred page manuscript instead of an application for the police academy.

“Who gets a master’s in criminology only to write books?!”

Even still, she was the dedication in every book you published. So far, that was two, you’d been in the midst of your third book for four months now. Something about the story didn’t feel right, and no matter how many times you rewrote every page, it still didn’t click together the way the first two books had.

You don’t let the thought bug you as you flip open the hardcover, the pages falling to the side as you read the synopsis printed to the inside flap. The ringing of the bell barely registers in your mind, falling somewhere behind the book in your hands, the sound of the rain beating at the roof, and Beethoven’s Sonata No. 8. After reading the first page, you decide to give the book a chance and you tuck it beneath your arm for safe keeping.

This time, you turn your eyes up to the tops of the shelves, scanning for something that might be interesting. Each binding tells a story of its own, with spines creased from frequent readings or smooth spines begging to be cracked open. There are titles in gold and black, silver and red, the backgrounds varying in more colors than the words.

By the time you’ve wandered back to the reading nook with armchairs strategically placed to face each other at a diagonal, Beethoven is coming to a close. The notes vibrate for just a moment, and you choose the book tucked into the end with a dark purple cover and gold lettering. You can’t quite see the title but something tells you that this is something you want to read, that this books is going to be a good one.

Call it a reader’s instinct.

It’s just that, there are no step ladders to get to the top shelf and you aren’t exactly tall enough to reach it. Climbing the shelf just sounds dangerous, and you aren’t too eager to die at the hands of hundreds of books and a large bookcase. You contemplate moving one of the armchairs to assist you, but ultimately decide against it when you imagine that teenage girl coming to the back with a disappointed look on her face at the sight of you.

Instead you stretch like your life depends on it, your toes cramping a little as you push up on them as high as you can go. The tips of your fingers bump the spine when you curve your hand around the lip of the shelf. The wood digs into your wrist but maybe if you keep pushing and pulling at what you can grab, it will wiggle itself free.

That’s your plan until a warm body unintentionally brushes against you, an arm longer than yours coming up beside you and taking the book from its place up high with ease. Falling back to your feet, you’re quick to turn around and come face to face with a man you’ve never met before.

His expression is kind and gentle, crinkling his eyes and dimpling his cheeks when he offers you a shy smile and the book he grabbed for you. He’s definitely in the department of tall, tilting his head down a little to meet your gaze with eyes that you can’t quite describe as brown but you can’t quite describe as hazel either. Everything about him makes your heart stutter in your chest, from the color and shape of his lips, to the sharp cut of his jawline.

He’s curls himself down a little, his empty hand palm up and open as if he is trying to seem less threatening. It’s such a stark contrast to most of the men you meet, who invade your personal space and eyeball your breasts like they’re human bra size detectors.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until he clear his throat, a dusty pink color rising to his cheekbones as he shuffles nervously in his spot. Blinking away the cloud of initial shock from the angelic being before you, you grab the book and mumble a ‘thank you.’

“Are you a big fan of David Rossi?” He says, shoving his hands deep into the recesses of his pockets.

“Who?” Internally, your facepalm yourself at the absolute stupidity that must be radiating off of you in waves strong enough to affect the whole population of Virginia.

“You’re holding two of his books.” Sure enough, not only is the book tucked under your arm David Rossi, but so is the book in your hands. The laugh that sputters out of you is even more surprised than the first laugh, the sheer coincidence of grabbing two random books by the same author in this whole building pulling the laughter from the pits of your stomach.

His lips flicker into a confused smile. It makes him that much more adorable.

“I was choosing books my eyes or finger landed on when the song ended. I couldn’t really figure out how everything is arranged so I thought I’d let the music decide for me.” He looks around now, his male-lead, love-interest eyes flying across the room to confirm that there really was no form of originization, his brows furrowing in thought. His bottom lips is sucked between his teeth and the vividness of the lewd fantasies that come from the small action are enough to push you back a step.

Only, you’re already pretty close to the bookcase, and when you step back to get some distance your back bumps into the wood and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head to keep it from hitting the corner. You’re not even sure how he knew to react so fast, those eyes coming back to meet yours.

“Careful there, your head almost hit the shelf behind you.” Putting just a little pressure on the back of your neck to guide you out of harms way, he doesn’t let go until his back is to the case and you’re standing in his old spot. The new smile he gives you is lopsided, causing your heart to trip over itself. What you wouldn’t give in that moment to capture that smile on camera or canvas, to hold onto it forever.

You don’t even know this man, what are you thinking?!

Pulling the books to your chest like a shield for your heart, which has digressed to the same emotional maturity you had as a thirteen year old girl when you were in love with every member of New Kids On the Block, you tighten your grip around the covers to the point that your knuckles turn white.

“I’m (Y/N).” Somehow his smile brightens even more.

“I’m Spencer.”

“Are you hiding from the rain too, Spencer?” Everything about you hates small talk, you always wanted to jump straight into the nitty gritty of getting to know someone. You wanted to know what made them tick, what made them who they were. But you were willing to do the normal thing and lure him into an actual conversation, if only to keep him talking.

“Actually, I came to this bookshop with a specific purpose.” Spencer schools his features, suddenly all business. The brown blazer with elbow patches and the lavender button up certainly help to make him appear serious. You still imagine reaching for the dark purple tie around his neck and pulling his lips to yours, the severity of his expression only adding to his sexiness.

“I work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, I came here because I’m in the middle of an investigation that led me here,” You blink in surprise, all kinds of questions popping into your mind. “You see, I got a tip that I may find it here. I wasn’t sure, but after some looking around it appears they were right.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he’s talking about, thinking of all the local cases you’ve heard about in the last week or so. Nothing that would involve the FBI comes to mind, especially not the BAU.

Between the end of his sentence and the opening of your mouth, Spencer has time to reach out to the side of your head, his fingers brushing against a few strands of hair.

“I only want to know two things; how you got ahold of my favorite pen, and why you thought you could get away with it?” Balanced in his thumb and index finger is a black pen, the writing tip pointed toward the ceiling. He holds it between you, a silly grin stretched across his face as you reach up to touch your ear.

Of course you’ve seen the old ‘coin behind the ear’ trick before, never with a pen but it’s the same concept. It’s just so funny and out-there that you cant help being a little amazed.

“Is this how you flirt with women, Agent?”

“Actually it’s Doctor. Doctor Reid,” he smugly goes about tucking the pen back into the breast pocket of his blazer, you can briefly recall it being there before he distracted you by switching places just seconds ago, “I do work with the BAU, that wasn’t a ruse. I have my credentials if you want me to prove it.”

He isn’t boastful, he’s just trying to distract you from the answer to your question. The answer was yes, this is how he flirts with women. It was the only way he knew how to flirt with women that worked, having stuck to the method since Atlanta, Georgia. You wouldn’t be the first woman who thought it was cute, you were the first woman to call him on it though.

“As long as you don’t try to arrest me for the kidnapping of your pen, I’ll be inclined to believe you without proof.” He chuckles, the first time you’ve heard it since the both of you started talking, and you didn’t realize he could get better. The sound warmed every part of you so much that you felt like you were glowing from inside.

“I knew you were framed. I’ve had my suspicions on the girl running the store.” You nod your head, trying to keep the smile from pulling on your lips as you tuck a piece of your still wet hair behind your ear.

“I knew something hinky was happening with her.”

“My best law enforcement advice is to always trust your gut when it comes to crime, ma’am.”

With the ice broken thanks to the magical Dr. Reid, the conversation flows naturally between you. You both gravitate toward each other like opposite ends of magnets, unaware how close you are to touching until you absentmindedly kick your foot out and hit the tip of his shoe with your own. In an attempt to keep yourself rooted, you sit in the armchairs.

Anyone, FBI profiler or not, would have been able to tell what was going on when they found you both leaned against the arms of your seats, heads together as Reid explained how the serious looking man in the back of your book is actually one of his team members. He names all of his team members, affectionately describing them to you as if they were characters in a new book you were reading.

Normally he would keep all of this information reserved, but something about you made him feel so at ease.

You too, reveal more information than you normally would to a stranger you’d just met. You tell him about your books and your mother, you tell him how you aren’t sure why your newest book isn’t working and ask his advice on it all. He takes each question into careful consideration before answering.

It isn’t until you’ve been there for two hours, talking about anything that you could think of, that Spencer’s phone starts to ring. It’s a case. You want to ask, the young girl from your childhood coming out at the mention of a case you could help on, but you don’t.

“I’m really sorry, (Y/N), but I have to go.” He fluidly rises from his seat, all at once the carefree air falls around him to reveal the intelligent, elegant, crime-fighting, doctor underneath the nerdy, magic-loving young man you’d spent the last couple of hours getting to know.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” You offer, hoping to figure out a way to cheekily ask for his number before you make it there. His answering smile is infectious, reaching out and tugging your own cheeks into a smile that hurts. The books hit the wood of the desk with a thunk, Spencer standing just beside you as the girl, her name tag reads ‘RAveN,’ rings up your purchase.

“Watch out for your pens.” Spencer teases, that boy-like amusement coming out. You’ve noticed that when he tries to make a joke, he looks so nervous that you won’t get it in the seconds immediately following it. It isn’t until you laugh or crack a smile that he visibly relaxes, glad to have someone that understands his humor.

Earlier, he’d told you the joke about the existentialists and the light bulb and had been absolutely elated when you doubled over in laughter. The joke wasn’t even that funny, but he’d been making you laugh for so long that your ribs had started to hurt.

“That’ll be $12.78.” You slide your card across the desk, pulling your eyes away from Reid longer than you wanted to. When you look back, there’s a look on his face that takes you a minute to recognize. It’s just on the tip of your tongue when the smack of pen and receipt paper hit the counter.

Quickly, you sign your name on the stores copy of your receipt. You flip your copy of the receipt to the back, using the pen to scribble out your phone number.

“Call me if you ever learn any new magic tricks you want to show off.” The bell dings when you lean back against the door, your books in a bag that dangle from your left hand while your right hand comes up in a wave.

Spencer still stands at the counter, the one in a hurry being the one who still isn’t out the door. The lopsided smile is back, that look crossing his face again as you let the after-storm sun shine on your face.

“Sir, can you take your longing elsewhere? I’d like to close early. I have a thing to get to.” He pats his hand on the countertop, ignoring the buzzing of texts coming through his phone as he makes his way to the car in a bit of a daze.

[argylemnwrites]

Why Are We Still Waiting? - Chapter 3

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe)

Word Count: ~4900

Rating: PG-13 (brief language)

Summary: A trip to meet the newest Beaumont isn’t off to the greatest start.

Author’s Note: So, since it has been ages since I updated this story, I feel like a quick recap is in order. Drake and Riley are in Cordonia to meet Savannah and Bertrand’s new baby girl, Caroline. They just met Liam’s new girlfriend, Iris, and her innocent questions about their postponed wedding made it clear that Drake is very frustrated by the fact they aren’t married yet. To catch up/jog your memory fully on this series, you can check out the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment masterlist (link in bio).

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Drake groaned as Riley reached forward to start scanning across the radio stations.

“What?” she asked. He noticed her give a tiny shrug out of the corner of his eye as she leaned back after settling on a Greek Top 40 station.

“I knew it. I swear you pick this one just to annoy me, Liu.” Drake had made the mistake of complaining about this particular station on one of their first trips back to Cordonia, right before she’d gone back to university. It was all over-produced and sugary, and the DJs were just fucking obnoxious. Of course, that last point probably didn’t actually bother Riley, since she couldn’t understand a word they said.

“Maybe I just like this station.” 

Drake glanced over and took in the giant shit-eating grin plastered across her face and just rolled his eyes. “Uh huh, sure. Let’s ignore the fact that this station plays a ton of songs in Greek.”

“I’m just trying to broaden my cultural horizons.”

“Says the woman who refused to watch Parasite because it has subtitles.’”

“If I wanted to read something, I would pick up a book,” she said, but she did lean forward again to flip over to a different station. 

“Thank you,” Drake said, clicking on the turn signal as he switched into the right lane.

“You make it too easy sometimes,” she said, Drake noticing that she shrugged a little out of the corner of his eye. “If you didn’t act like that station was pure torture, I probably wouldn’t enjoy it so much.”

All Drake could do was shake his head. “You know, some people might not be so open about liking something out of spite.”

“No, it’s not spite.” Drake glanced over and raised his eyebrows at that, so Riley elaborated. “Spite is mean-spirited. I know you like my teasing too much for it to be spite.”

“Really.” Drake deadpanned, although he wasn’t able to hold back his grin and fully play along.

“Uh huh. What other explanation is there for you hanging around me after all these years?”

“I can’t think of a single one,” he said, earning him a flick of her fingers against his shoulder.

“Well I guess I will have to keep teasing you then. Otherwise I might have to settle for a guy who would have made me get up before six this morning.”

Drake looked over at her at that. Even after years together, her ability to jump from intensely sarcastic to gently sincere in an instant still amazed him. Last night, Maxwell had called and offered to pick them up from the palace after dropping off Mom and Aunt Leona at the airport, but they had a very early departure time. Drake had turned him down, feeling like it would be a shitty move to force Riley to wake up early on vacation, particularly since she never complained about using her limited vacation days to visit his family. Yet here she was, appreciative of his gesture that cost him nothing.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to spend two hours in the car with Maxwell.”

She let out a laugh at that. “Well, at least I rank as better company in your book.”

“Always, Liu. Always.”

“Seriously though, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Her left hand settled on his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze at that, but she didn’t say anything else, just glanced out the window as Drake turned off the main road and onto the smaller one that led to the Beaumont’s estate. Within a few minutes, they were pulling onto the driveway. As they climbed out of the car, they heard an excited little voice calling from the direction of the estate’s entrance. 

“Uncle Drake!”

Drake closed the driver’s door and pivoted around quickly, crouching down and extending his arms. Bartie ran across the drive and threw his little arms around Drake’s neck, laughing as Drake scooped him up and hugged him tightly. 

“We saw your car diving! I wanted to go out. Say ‘hi’ like Mommy or Daddy. Uncle Maxwell said I had to stay inside. Had to stand still ‘til you stopped,” Bartie rambled off, barely taking time to take a breath. 

“Thought that a little toddler darting in front of the car might not be the best start to your visit,” added Maxwell, strolling over to their car. “Hey, little blossom,” he added as he hugged Riley.

“Oh, you don’t get to just ‘little blossom’ me after you convinced Liam to keep me away!” she chuckled as she gave him a playful shove. “What happened to me being a Beaumont and always welcome here?”

“He told you guys?” Maxwell asked, turning to glance at Drake.

“Of course he did!” Riley said, drawing Maxwell’s attention back to her. She laughed a bit and shook her head before walking around the car to Drake and Bartie. “Hey, Bartie! Wow, you’ve gotten so big!” Drake passed Bartie over to her, watching as she gave him a squeeze, but Bartie started squirming in her arms, clearly wanting to be released from the obligatory hugs.

Riley placed him down, and he turned right back to Drake, grabbing his hand and tugging on it. “Uncle Drake, come see my new playhouse!” he said, attempting to drag Drake along after him as he started moving back towards the estate.

“Hey, my favorite dude, do you remember why Aunt Riley and Uncle Drake are here?” Maxwell said, crouching in front of Bartie. 

Bartie kicked his foot against the driveway before he answered. “Everyone wants to see Caroline. But she’s boring. She doesn’t do anything!”

Drake was trying to figure out the best way to deal with his nephew’s clear jealousy, but Riley stepped forward and bent down next to Maxwell. “I would love to see your playhouse, Bartie.”

“What do you say?” added Maxwell. “Why don’t we show Aunt Riley while Uncle Drake goes to see your mom and dad and sister?”

Bartie was silent for a few moments, but then nodded, grabbing Riley and Maxwell’s hands and heading inside without a glance back. Maxwell chuckled, twisted around, and called out to Drake, “You remember where the nursery is, right?”

Drake nodded and raised a hand in acknowledgment, taking the time to pop the trunk and grab their luggage before venturing inside himself. He went straight upstairs, pausing only to place their bags in their usual room, before heading down the hall, turning to the left and entering the private quarters, making his way to the small room located all the way towards the end of the hallway, the last door on the right.

It seemed like just yesterday he was building a crib in there for Bartie when Savannah was moving in. The room looked much the same, the walls still a pale grey, the furniture all pure white. The layout hadn’t changed much, with the crib placed against the far wall beneath a painting of stars shining over a lake with a squid waving a tentacle in the air, the changing table right next to it, and the dresser next to the rocking chair in the corner. The only thing that looked different, as far as Drake could remember, was the sheet tucked around the crib mattress. Back when this had been Bartie’s room, the sheets were covered in a variety of zoo animals, the only splash of color in the otherwise greyscale nursery. Now, they were a black and white check, much more subdued.

Laying in the center of the crib, wrapped tightly in a light pink blanket, was a sleeping baby. Drake didn’t have a lot of experience with infants, but even he had heard you never wake a sleeping baby, so he stepped further into the room carefully, trying not to make a sound. When he reached the crib, he couldn’t help but stare. This was Caroline. His niece.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just taking her in, but eventually Savannah’s voice caught his attention.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s a bit creepy to just sneak into someone’s home and watch their child sleep?”

Drake turned his head to look over his shoulder. His sister was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, an eyebrow cocked. “Hey, Sav. Maxwell sent me up here.”

“I should have known,” she said, walking over to join him by the crib, wrapping an arm around his waist as she gave him a half-hug. “I see you’ve met Caroline.”

“She’s beautiful,” Drake said, looking down again at the little baby in the crib, a few fine brown hairs covering her head. His niece. She was so tiny. It was kind of overwhelming, seeing her like this. When he’d met Bartie, it had been such a total shock that he even existed. Plus, he had been so much older than this. “Congratulations.”

“You can pick her up, you know.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to disturb her.”

Savannah let out a few little chuckles. “She is the one who disturbs everyone most of the time. Besides, she’s just about due for a feeding.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, Drake. Just go wash your hands, and then you can hold her.”

And so a minute later, Drake found himself being handed his niece, so small and fragile-seeming. “Is this okay?” he asked, trying to make sure he walked the fine line between being gentle and holding her firmly as he tucked her against his chest.

“You aren’t going to hurt her!” Savannah laughed out.

“I just… I’ve never held a baby this little before. I don’t want to mess this up,” Drake said. Caroline felt so light in his arms. She was blinking, slowly becoming more alert after being shifted from her crib. Her bluish-grey eyes finally seemed to lock on his. “Hey, Caroline,” he said, “I’m your Uncle Drake.” But before he could think of anything else to say, she opened her mouth and let out a piercing wail.

Drake glanced over at Savannah. “What do I do?”

She laughed again. “God, what is Riley going to do with you when it’s your kid? She’s a baby, not an alien. She’s either hungry, sleepy, or has a dirty diaper.” But before she could poke fun at him any further, she reached over and shifted Caroline into her arms. “And since she’s hungry, I’m really the only one who can handle that.”

“Oh, do you want privacy or should I…”

Savannah shrugged. “I use a nursing blanket since Barthelemy walked in on me and made things real awkward.” And with that she settled onto the rocking chair, adjusting her top, positioning Caroline, then tugging a little cover over herself.

“What did Barthelemy do?” Drake asked as he moved to the side wall, leaning against it.

“Just acted real weird about the whole thing, talked to Bert about reminding me how a duchess should comport herself.”

“What a jackass.”

Savannah let out a sigh. “Bertrand was very apologetic when he relayed the message. But using a nursing blanket is not a big deal, and if it makes things easier for Bert with his dad…” She trailed off, staring down at Caroline, reaching under the nursing blanket to adjust something before she spoke again. “Having him around here has not exactly been some big happy family. I don’t know if his illness changed him, or if my memories of him were just fuzzy, but he’s an odd duck.”

Drake glanced over to the doorway. “Uhh, Sav. Not that I care, but the door is wide open and-”

She laughed and shook her head. “He’s at his rehab and physical therapy appointment this morning.”

“Ahh, gotcha. Any more talk of him trying to regain the title of duke?” Back when Barthelemy had returned to the estate, Sav had confided that it seemed like he was hinting that Bertrand should renounce his title and return it to his father. But since their wedding, it had seemed like most of that talk had died.

“No, he and Godfrey laid on the pressure after the honeymoon, but as soon as we announced the pregnancy, he backed off. His new mission seems to be to convince Liam that either Bartie or Caroline should be appointed as heir to the throne, which is crazy to think about, but it keeps him busy, so…” Savannah tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows, letting the thought just hang there in the room. 

Drake was bothered by the implications of that statement, but he knew that pressing Savannah on it would not really get him anywhere. As inappropriate and concerning as he found the implication that Savannah and Bertrand weren’t shutting Barthelemy down completely with that shit, he knew voicing his objections now would not solve anything. Discussing this all with Liam would make much more sense. So he just filed the statement away and moved to change the subject.

“Is it easier this time around, knowing what you are doing?”

Savannah smiled before glancing down at Caroline. “I think it’s more that I have a support system. And yes, I know it was my choice to not have one before,” she added before Drake could interject. “I guess in some ways at least I know what to expect, but Caroline is way more cranky than Bartie was at this age. Besides, I don’t think any parent ever really feels like they know what they are doing.”

“Nah, you seem to have it down.”

“It’s just a lot of trial and error. You’ll see when you guys have a baby.”

Drake ran his hand across his jaw, glancing down and watching his toes nudge into the baseboard. “I have a feeling that’s gonna be a while for us.”

“Oh come on! Don’t you want your kids to grow up with their cousins?”

Drake swallowed before taking a breath. “Of course I do.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“Well, getting married to start.” Shit. “Not that I think people have to be married to raise a kid or-”

“Relax, Drake,” Savannah said, cutting off his apologetic ramble. “It’s not like Bartie was a planned pregnancy.”

“Neither was Caroline,” he thought, but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to risk offending his sister or make her feel like he was judging her and her family. 

“I know you have an old-fashioned streak-”

“Hey!” Drake interjected, but Savannah just kept on going.

“-but I think you guys should think about having kids soon. You were going to be married by now anyway! And isn’t that the modern, New York thing to do?”

Drake didn’t know where all this was coming from. Why she was so insistent about something that didn’t involve her. But man, he wished she would move on to any other topic of conversation. Because what could he say? That he was ready to be married with kids? That he would have no problem starting a family with Riley tomorrow? He couldn’t share that with his sister, at least not without sharing things about Riley he was pretty confident she would never want Savannah to know.

The fact that she had decided on a birth control option that would last for three years made it pretty clear where her head was at with the whole kid thing. She wasn’t really ready, not by a long shot. And until she was ready, there was really nothing he could do about it. Drake was just going to have to wait until she felt like the time was right, whenever that might be.

Maybe it was just that he was four years older than her. Maybe that’s why he felt so ready to take those next steps when she seemed so unbothered, so willing to just roll along. And to be fair, it’s not like they were ever going to be a couple like Hana and Catherine, who had timelines and life plans and five year goals. But deep down, Drake couldn’t help but wonder why Riley seemed so ambivalent about them getting married and starting a family. Was she unsure about something in their relationship, unsure about something with him?

It’s not that she didn’t want kids ever, as far as he knew. She’d mentioned wanting kids before. And they’d planned that first wedding without issue. But now it seemed like she was stuck. No rush to get married. Not thinking about having kids for years. And Drake didn’t know how to approach the whole topic without seeming like he was demanding things. Putting pressure on her. He was happy. They were happy. It was something his younger self would have never thought possible, and it should definitely be enough. But maybe he was selfish, because there were times where it just didn’t feel like enough.

Maybe it would be helpful to talk to someone about this, but that would feel like violating Riley’s trust. He knew Riley had her therapist she talked to, and he was sure their relationship was a topic of conversation there, but that was different. The therapist wasn’t someone who knew Drake, who was his friend or family. Anyone Drake would feel comfortable talking about this with knew Riley. Knew her well, quite frankly. 

So for now, he was just going to have to keep moving forward. Keep hoping that Riley would start to feel ready soon. And at the moment, that meant sidestepping his sister’s questions and prodding.

“Geez, Sav! We haven’t even been here for an hour, and you are laying it on really thick.”

“Sorry, sorry! I know it’s not my business! If it makes you feel better, it’s not just with you. Kiara also told me I needed to back off when I started asking her about when she and Oliver were going to have kids right after their wedding.”

“Wait, when did Kiara get married?”

“Oh, Drake! At least you have an excuse for not knowing all the news now that you live abroad.” she said, shaking her head. “They eloped maybe… four months ago?”

And then Savannah was off, filling Drake in on tons of gossip he didn’t give two shits about. But it made her happy, and it was a safe topic of conversation, so who was he to complain?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Riley sat crossed legged on the floor in Bartie’s room at a little table, Maxwell seated across from her. Meanwhile, Bartie was hard at work at his toy kitchen set, organizing pieces of plastic food on plates. He wanted to show off and make “lunch” for them. Riley supposed that this was probably a common way for a three and a half year old to want to play, not that she had any such memories from her own childhood. What wasn’t common, she was sure, was the formal table setting Bartie had carefully placed in front of each of them, the perfectly pressed white apron he’d asked Maxwell to help him tie on, or the fact that he was arranging his plastic lettuce, eggs, and meat on actual china.

“Looks excellent, my favorite dude,” said Maxwell as Bartie carefully carried over several plates to the table. “What’s on the menu?”

“Steak tartare with a fresh greens salad,” he said before turning and heading back towards his little kitchen.

“Wait, aren’t you going to join us?” asked Riley, trying to keep from bursting out in laughter at the thought of a preschooler preparing such a meal.

“Aunt Riley, no aprons at the table!” he said his eyes wide as he turned back to face her.

“Yeah, come on Aunt Riley, where are your manners?” Maxwell winked before twisting to look over at Bartie. “You need any help untying your apron there?”

“No, I can do it,” Bartie ground out, tugging on the ties without much luck.

“Okay, well I’m right here if you do need help,” Maxwell responded. Within five seconds, Bartie was back, standing right next to him.

“Thanks, Uncle Maxwell!” he said, happily pulling the apron off and jogging over to hang it up nicely once Maxwell had it untied.

“You’re working hard to maintain your title as best uncle.” Riley said.

“Every time you guys come to visit, he suddenly wants to go fishing and camping instead of having dance parties with me.”

Riley laughed at that. “We’re new and exciting, what can I say.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re the favorite aunt by default.”

“What does default mean?” asked Bartie, plopping down on the floor next to them.

“It means no other choices, dude.”

“Oh,” Bartie said, nodding before picking up his silverware, pretending to cut into the plastic in front of him with surprising coordination.

“So has Uncle Maxwell been hanging out with you a lot since your sister came home?”

Bartie shrugged. “I guess.”

“We’ve definitely been seeing some jealousy,” Maxwell said with a nod. “I kind of thought this might happen, so I made sure to clear my schedule for a handful of weeks around the due date.”

“That was thoughtful of you.”

Maxwell tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Hey, I’m favorite uncle for a reason.”

“Uncle Drake is my favorite,” said Bartie, causing Riley to burst out laughing.

“Dude, that wasn’t the deal! You’re gonna pay for this,” Maxwell said, leaning over and wiggling his fingers. “The squid’s about to attack.” With that, Maxwell started tickling Bartie, triggering wild giggles and Bartie rolling backwards on the floor.

“Bartie!” Bertrand’s voice cut across the room. Riley twisted over to find him standing in the hallway, his eyes scanning over the scene in front of him. “We don’t make our guests sit on the floor, do we?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Bertrand, it’s fine-” Riley started, but he held up a hand, cutting her off.

“What do we say, Bartie?”

“Sorry, Aunt Riley.”

All Riley could do was nod, accepting an apology from a toddler that felt entirely unnecessary.

“Good,” said Bertrand, “Now go wash your hands and get cleaned up for lunch.”

Bartie scampered out of the room, turning to his left in the hallway.

“I offered to play with him, Bertrand.”

“Well, he was told that you were coming to visit Caroline. He should have known better than to monopolize your time.”

Riley opened her mouth, ready to respond, but Maxwell grabbed her wrist and shook his head. 

“How are you, by the way? I apologize for not being there to greet you and Drake.”

“I’m good, Bertrand,” she said as she pushed herself up on her feet, walking over and giving him a loose hug. “Congrats, by the way.”

“Yes, thank you. Drake and Savannah have Caroline in the private lounge if you want to go meet her. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check and make sure Bartie isn’t making a complete mess in the bathroom.”

And with that, Bertrand was off, following the path down the hallway that his son had just taken.

“Yikes,” said Riley as soon as he was out of earshot.

“Yeah, I know,” replied Maxwell, looping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her in the opposite direction. “That is another reason I made sure I didn’t have any need to be on set or in LA for any writers meetings for a few months.”

“He’s more of a tight ass than ever.”

“I think he’s very anxious because he missed this part of Bartie’s life. The amount of research he did and the number of parenting books he read is insane. But any time any little thing isn’t what he expects, he flips out.”

“What does Savannah think about that?” Riley asked, following Maxwell down the stairs.

“Either she’s too sleep deprived to notice, or she’s just pretending not to see it. I decided to give him two months to settle into things. If he’s still snapping at everyone then, well… I guess I’ll have to stage an intervention or something.”

“Wow. Well at least you’re here to look out for the kid.”

“Yup, figure I can keep things normal-ish for him. Though I will say between watching Bertrand spiral and hearing Caroline’s shrieks, any faint consideration I might have given to parenthood has gone straight out the window.”

Riley laughed, prompting Maxwell to keep going. “I’m serious! I know I told you I was pretty sure I was good being the fun uncle, but these past few weeks have really locked in that decision. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Bartie is right - Caroline is boring. And loud. And I am so glad she is not my responsibility.”

All Riley could do was laugh more. “Do you need me to make up an excuse for you so you don’t need to be in the same room with her?”

Maxwell nudged her with his shoulder. “Oh, laugh it up! I don’t have any issues with her. She just confirmed that fatherhood is not for me, no matter how cute she is when she isn’t screaming her head off.”

At that point, they entered the lounge, so Riley dropped any further teasing she had for Maxwell. “Hey, Savannah. Congrats!” she said, walking across the room and giving her a hug.

“Thank you, Riley. It’s so good to see you!” Savannah replied as they pulled apart. Riley moved to sit down next to Drake on the couch, who was cradling a baby against his shoulder.

“This must be Caroline,” she said, watching as Drake tapped his hand against her back lightly.

“Either that or I have a lot of explaining to do,” Drake said, glancing over at her. Riley just smiled and nudged him lightly with her elbow.

“Drake, why don’t you let Riley hold her?” Savannah asked. “She should get to meet her aunt, too.”

“Do you want to?” Drake asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” said Riley, reaching over and helping him peel the tiny little girl off his chest, nestling her into her own arms.

Caroline was awake, her eyes roving around as Riley shifted back onto the couch more fully to try and get comfortable. After a few seconds, they seemed to settle on Riley’s face. All she could really do was stare back, taking in this child, this baby girl who might not have been planned, but would certainly be loved by so many.

“Yeah, I know I’m a stranger right now. But in a couple of decades, I’ll be the one you come to when you want nightclub recommendations in New York City.”

“Hey, I want in on that invite,” said Maxwell as Savannah let out a few chuckles. Riley glanced over at Drake, expecting him to be rolling his eyes or shaking his head, but instead was caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. He was staring at her holding Caroline with such passion, such longing, she felt almost exposed. All she could think to do was drop her eyes back to the baby, not wanting to dwell on what that meant at that moment.

Unfortunately, Savannah must have noticed Drake as well, because she said, “Oh, I see that look. ‘A while’ my ass. I bet you’ll be pregnant by the end of the year.”

Drake let out a sort of sputtering cough at his sister’s comment, but before he could say anything, could so much as get a word out, Riley felt her own mouth opening. Her own response spilled out so glibly, without a second of thought. It was almost like she heard someone else saying the words, even as she knew she was the one speaking.

“Don’t give him any ideas.”

She felt Drake stiffen beside her, saw Maxwell shifting in his seat, and heard Savannah mutter out a little apology, but all of that was just background noise as her brain screamed at her. How could she have been so fucking stupid? What possessed her to say that? Or at least to phrase it like that? There were ways to shut down Savannah’s prying without implying that Drake had baby fever and she wanted no part of it.

The uncomfortable silence in the room was broken as Bertrand and Bartie entered. “Lunch is ready in the dining room,” said Bertrand, gesturing to the door behind him. Bertrand then stepped over to Riley. “I can go put her down,” he said, gesturing at his daughter still in Riley’s arms.

“Oh, sure thing,” said Riley, passing him Caroline before standing up. Savannah, Maxwell, and Bartie had already left the room, but Drake was still seated, his eyes locked on his knee that was bouncing up and down.

“Drake, I-” she started as soon as Bertrand had stepped out, extending her hand to help him to his feet. But Drake ignored the gesture, pushing his hands into the cushions of the couch instead.

“I’m hungry. Let’s just go eat, Riley.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-.”

“It’s fine, Riley, Really. We can talk later” He nodded at her and started walking towards the door, leaving Riley to follow after him. And more than the brush off, more than his refusal to hold her hand, the fact that he’d not called her ‘Liu’ let her know that she had made a huge fucking mess.

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

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