#carrying the weight of the world in his tiny pockets

[lyraeeee]

IM CRYING I NEVER KNEW HE COULD BE THIS HEAVY IN GAME?? 😭😭😭

each step is a whole damn earthquake

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part one - you find out your work crush is a dad and offer to watch his mischievous little girl so he can get some work done 5.2k

a/n - penelope is a little shit and i love her dearly, general warnings/tags here

── .✦

“Hey, sorry to bother you, Steve. I just had a quick question– but before I forget, there’s this little girl in the lobby knocking stuff over. Do you know if her parents are here?” 

“Fuck– sorry. One sec.” 

He brushes past you with an urgency that is typical of Steve. As the community outreach coordinator, he’s naturally a busy man. You haven’t known him long– just the couple of months since you became a volunteer for the local rec center– but it’s clear he’s dedicated to his work. Always zipping from one end of the building to the other, juggling class setups, organizing meetings, or hunting down the next thing that needs fixing. He tends to add more to his plate than he can carry, at least according to another staff member, which is why you’ve been assigned to help him. 

You strain to match his long strides and nearly take out a trash can when he turns a corner unexpectedly. But you can’t lose him now– someone is always nearby to steal him for paperwork or performance reviews and all you have is a quick question. 

The lobby unfortunately looks like a tornado blew through the front doors. Cabinets are thrown open, papers are scattered like leaves across the floor, and a chair has been toppled over. And said tornado has her cheek pressed to the vending machine glass, an arm twisted inside the dispenser box to reach for a loose pack of Skittles. The scene is almost amusing until you remember you’ll likely be the one to clean it up. 

“Penelope!” Steve scolds, not loud but stern enough to surprise you. He’s consistently an embodiment of gentleness– always accommodating and rarely assertive. And while he’s still gentle with her, his tone carries a weight and firmness that’s a stark departure from his usual demeanor. 

The girl, Penelope, retracts her arm and spins around to face Steve. And if it wasn’t for the shit-eating grin pinned to her face, you might’ve felt bad for getting her in trouble. 

Steve’s hands snap to his hips. “I asked you to wait in my office.” 

She shrugs, “Need a snack.”

Steve huffs and rakes a hand through his hair– a habit when he’s stressed, which is most of the time it seems. By the end of the day, his hairspray will have been combed out and Steve will argue with the strands that curl over his forehead. 

“You can have one after you clean this up and if you stay in my office.” 

“Candy?”

“No, no candy. There’s snacks in your lunchbox.” He bends to scoop up a few pamphlets to hand to her. “Or I have pretzels. Do you want that?”

She pinches a page between her nails, weighing her options. 

Steve pries tiny fingers off, “Don’t rip those. Put ‘em away please.” 

And she listens for maybe the first time ever, it seems, cramming a stack of them back on the shelf. 

You gather your own stack of handouts and press them into Steve’s sleeve. He recoils a step, his eyes widening before rapidly shutting in a moment of realization. “Sorry! You had a question- I’m sorry.” 

Penelope abandons her organizing to plant herself at Steve’s left like a sidekick– anything to get out of cleaning up. She gazes at you with a familiar pair of almond eyes and then it clicks. Her hair is the same shade of brown and her jaw, though softer, is square shaped like Steve’s. The resemblance is indisputable. 

You redirect your stare to answer Steve. “Um, yeah– I just needed to borrow the storage closet key to grab some more chairs.” 

“Oh, of course.” He pats the front pocket of his jeans. “Keys are in my office– I hope.” 

Steve marches past you once again, a new mission in mind, tugging Penelope by the wrist and toeing a cabinet shut on the way out. Penelope’s poor little legs must be tired if he always walks this fast. 

“I don’t want pretzels,” she eventually decides. 

“Then you can have what’s in your lunchbox.” He glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re in tow, “This is my daughter, Penelope, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you, Penelope.” You wave, not that she sees. 

A braid sits high on her head, swinging like a horse's tail with each hurried step. Her faded denim overalls ride up slightly, exposing just enough ankle to show off the bubblegum pink Converse on her feet. She’s a cute little thing, button-eyed and puffy-cheeked like a cabbage patch kid. 

Steve nudges her with his hip, “Say hi.”

She throws you an impartial glance. “Hi.” 

When Steve’s office is in sight, Penelope wriggles away from his hold to sprint down the hall. On her tip-toes, she flicks on the light, letting the door slam in Steve’s face. You catch him rolling his eyes as he stops the door with his foot for you. Penelope is clambering onto his chair like it’s a race and pushing off the desk to spin as soon as she’s seated. Steve steers her out of the way to search the drawers, passing you a set of keys when he finds them. 

“Just bring ‘em back, please. Dottie found them in lost and found last week.” 

“Thanks, I will,” you promise, eyes falling over Penelope again. 

It’s your cue to leave, but your feet remain anchored to the floor. Your mind is buzzing with questions that neither of you have the time to discuss. The rational part of you knows you should exit before you let your curiosity win. Yet, you find yourself lingering in the doorway, stalling just long enough for Steve to lift an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

And before you can rule whether or not it's a good idea, you blurt out, “I can keep an eye on her if you want?” 

Penelope peaks over the back of the chair, perched on her knees so she can see. 

Steve shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’ve got stuff to do. And Penelope is going to be a better listener for the rest of the day, right?” He ruffles her hair, earning him a glare. 

You bite back a smile. It’s a funny thing, seeing that frown and furrowed brows that resemble Steve’s so clearly because you can’t imagine him making that face at anyone ever. It’s cute, even if it’s meant to be mean, but you would never tell her as much. 

“I really don’t mind. She could help me tape the flyers up– If she wants something to do?” You direct the last part at Penelope. To a kid, being trapped in their dad’s dusty old office is probably boredom purgatory. 

Penelope blinks at you and then Steve for permission. 

“You want to?” He asks.

She nods, then adds, “Snack too?” 

“Yes, honey.” He sighs, faint but deflated, burdened by the guilt of not feeding her sooner. Steve fishes her backpack out from under his desk. A vivid shade of pink with a Barbie patch sewn to the front. Her tin lunchbox is similarly themed and only harbors a bag of fruit snacks. 

“Fruit snacks or pretzels?” 

Penelope’s features pinch in a way that says neither but she snatches the fruit snacks anyway. Decidedly dismissed or over the conversation, she hops off the chair and sees herself out. 

You can’t help the smile that finds your lips as you turn back to Steve.

He chuckles, “It’s been a day. Bring her back if she doesn’t listen. Good luck.” 

Penelope leans against the wall outside, popping a gummy in her mouth lazily. 

“We’re gonna make a pitstop at the supply closet and then you can help me with the flyers.” 

She doesn’t say anything, but she follows as you start walking, and that’s all you need from her. She’s strangely silent for a kid, especially Steve’s kid. Conversation seems to come easy to him, he likes to talk, which is one of the reasons you still can’t believe you didn’t know he had a child. On your first day as a volunteer, he’d crammed that he was on the swim team in high school, that he's from Indiana, and that he prefers the warmer months all in one conversation– the guy is an open book.  

And you’re quiet too because you’re focused on recalling where they put that damned supply closet. The rec center halls all sort of look the same still, bleeding into one jumbled image of wood paneling and old carpet in your mind. The building is practically a maze; constructed in the fifties, it still carries its historic charm—stubborn doors, leaky faucets, and all—issues the city claims they 'can’t afford' to fix. 

Penelope must get tired of going in circles because eventually she tugs on your sleeve and points down the opposite hall you were planning on going. When she leads you right up to the door you beam at her. For a second, she forgets to be brooding and smiles back. 

“You’re a smart little cookie, Penelope. How’d you know it was here?” You ask, unlocking the door. 

She shrugs nonchalantly, “I just know things.”

You laugh loud enough to draw eyes from a nearby meeting and determine Penelope is the funniest kid you’ve ever met. 

She holds the door open at your request, munching on her fruit snacks as you maneuver a stack of chairs into the hall. You make it back to the classroom without her directions, not to toot your own horn. She tosses her empty wrapper in the trash as you unstack the chairs. 

“Here,” you pass her a roll of tape. “Rip some pieces off for me?” 

She nods, ambling over to the wall with you.  

“So, Penelope, how old are you?” You ask, pressing a flyer against the wallpaper. 

She debates, flipping fingers up and down on her free hand before concluding, “Four.” 

“Ohh, very cool. You’re almost ready to go to school with the big kids, huh?” 

“Yes, at the big school. I’m in pre-school.” 

“Mhmm. Do you like preschool?” 

She hums no and strains to tear off a piece. 

“Here, like this,” you demonstrate, pulling in the proper direction. She copies you, ripping a neat line. The corners of her lips raise as she views her handiwork. 

“You don’t like school?” You ask, peering down. 

She hands you the slice of tape. “Only sometimes.” 

“Why only sometimes?” 

She shrugs and heaves a hefty sigh for such little lungs. She’s too small to be sighing like that, you think, and she definitely acquired it from Steve. 

“I only like work sometimes too,” you admit. 

Her eyes chase yours– all innocently wide and filled with disbelief. She rips off another square of tape, “Are your friends not nice?” 

You consider her question, answering truthfully, “Well, maybe sometimes, I guess.” 

“Meg was not a kind friend today.” Her tone is hilariously chastizing for a child. Kids are just like mini adults sometimes– collecting random phrases and mannerisms like trading cards.  

“No? Why’s that?” 

“She wouldn’t share. Daddy always says sharing is caring.” 

“That’s true. Did you tell your teacher?” 

Penelope shakes her head, tilting on her heels.

“Why not?”

“Meg told the teacher on me because I wasn’t being a kind friend either.” 

“Oh. Why weren’t you being a kind friend?” 

“Because I wanted to play with the dolls too,” she mumbles, upset wavering in her voice. To a child, these seemingly trivial matters really do feel like the end of the world, so you can’t help but empathize, even as you wish your worries were confined to sharing toys.

You crouch in front of Penelope, “We still should be kind, hmm? Even when our friends don’t want to share?” 

Penelope’s unconvinced, picking at her nail like the dirt underneath is a more important issue. But you’re at the end of your stack of cardstock and it maybe isn’t your place to have this conversation anyway. 

You get her set up at a table with printer paper and a box of crayons from the closet. She dumps them out immediately, spraying rainbow across her paper so she can find the “bestest” colors.  

“I can share,” she declares, sliding her extra sheet over to your end of the table. 

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” You catch a crayon before it rolls onto the floor. “What should I draw?” 

“I’m coloring my family.” 

“That’s nice. I think I’ll draw a dinosaur.” 

“A dinosaur?” She cocks her head and giggles, bubbly and pure in the way that kids laugh. Your heart aches with happiness. “That’s silly!” 

“What? Why’s that silly?” 

She cackles like this is the funniest idea anyone’s ever had. “They just are!” 

“Hmm. Should I draw a serious dinosaur then?” 

“All dinosaurs are silly– Trevor says so.”

“What! Why does he think that?” 

Her words fuse into one smear of a sound as she shrugs, “I dunno.” 

“Well, my dinosaur is very serious. See?”

She presses into your arm to examine your quick sketch. “That’s not a dinosaur!” 

“It is! You can’t tell?” 

She nibbles on her lip, smile growing as she shakes her head. 

You pull the paper closer, as if a better angle might somehow improve it. “Hmm, I guess it does look a bit like an alien, doesn’t it?”

Penelope giggles and nods enthusiastically before returning to her work. Her crayon moves methodically across the paper, lips pressed together in concentration. After a long spell of silence, she kindly requests, “Can you draw a house?” 

“Of course,” you reply, “On my paper or yours?”

“Mine,” she says, her pointer finger tapping the corner of her sheet with emphasis.

The drawing is a riot of color, blending bold strokes of crayon to create two people and an animal. The taller, presumably Steve, is painted with orange and yellow hues– true to the the warmth he represents. Penelope, doused in cooler tones, carries their floppy-eared pet– a bunny or a dog, maybe? 

“Wow, Penelope! This is amazing!” You genuinely mean it; despite her young age, her talent shines through in little details like eyelashes and a set of heart-shaped earrings. “Is this you and Daddy?”

“Yes, and Cinderella!” she adds proudly.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you say, admiring her work. “Is Cinderella your pet?” 

She bobs her head animatedly. 

“Wow, she looks like a very pretty… animal in your drawing.” 

“She is a very pretty cat,” Penelope affirms and you are relieved not to have guessed incorrectly. She stares at you for a long moment. “Is Cinderella family?” 

“Well, does she live with you?”

Penelope scrunches her nose and tips her head, “Sort of?”

“She sort of lives with you?”

“Yeah. She lives outside mostly but sometimes I let her inside.” Her pitch fluctuates as she talks, the words lilting in a strange, almost sing-song cadence that kids do. 

“Ohh,” you smile. “Do you feed Cinderella?”

“Yes, Daddy buys her food in a can and it’s really stinky!” 

Penelope joins you when you laugh. Not because you are but because stinky things are just funny at her age. 

“Do you love Cinderella?” You ask. 

“Yes– except when she bites me.” She sobers quickly, forehead wrinkling. 

“Oh,” you chuckle, “Well, I think she’s family then.” 

“I think so too,” she states seriously, swapping a blue crayon for a green. 

“What color should the house be?” You claw through the rainbow spread.  

“White!” 

“Well, the paper’s already white but how ‘bout I outline the house in black so you know where it is?” 

“I guess so. There’s two windows and the door is red– Oh, and there are lots of flowers outside.” 

You nod, sketching her vision into existence. “Is this your house?” 

“Yes, and Daddy’s. And sometimes Cinderella’s.”

“Just you three? Is that your whole family?” Admittedly, it’s a self-indulgent question. You’re curious about Penelope’s mom. And you noticed Steve doesn’t wear a ring, checked multiple times in the last few weeks even. But that doesn’t refute the possibility he might be seeing someone. 

“Yes, Daddy and Cinderella is my family. Daddy says families come in all shapes and sizes.” 

You’re glowing with a fondness that’s impossible to hide– because everything about her is adorable– her chubby cheeks, her tinkling little laugh, even her attitude, though Steve would probably disagree with the latter. She’s different than Steve in a lot of ways: grumpier and more aloof, but, at her age, it’s cute. And still, she feels like his carbon copy. An echo of everything you’ve come to like about him. 

Him being a dad makes perfect sense in retrospect. To have overlooked such an important part of his life seems silly. A tenderness radiates from Steve, the kind only a parent could possess. He’s full of love– too much not to share. He pours lots into his work: late nights at the center, taking on more than he can chew, always with a smile. And the rest? It must go to Penelope. 

“Your dad is very right about that.” 

She smirks confidently, holding up her artwork, “I’m going to give this to him.”

“I bet he’ll love it so much, Penelope!” 

And his dad senses must be tingling at the mention of his name because his face appears in the door’s slim window not even a minute later. His lips curve into a grin as he realizes he’s been caught spying. 

The door clicks and Penelope turns. “Hi, Daddy.”  

“Hi, baby,” Steve strolls over to the opposite side of the table, “Are you being a good listener?” His attention flicks around the room, searching for any signs of misbehavior. 

Penelope shimmies up tall in her seat and nods until he meets her pleased gaze. 

Steve must believe the girl because he doesn’t press further, but you praise her anyway, “Very good. Penelope’s been an amazing helper this afternoon.” 

“Is that right?” He orbits the table to stand behind her. “What are you drawing, Nell?”

She flips over her paper, clapping the front against the table. “It’s a surprise!”

“Oh, sorry!” He paces back, redirecting his attention to you. “I didn’t see it.” 

Penelope twists around to confirm his eyes are elsewhere before proceeding to squeeze in a final set of details– grass blades and sun rays. “Here,” she thrusts the page into his hands. “For you.” 

“For me?” His face lights up like a Christmas tree before he’s even seen it. She could hand him a pebble, and he’d treasure it like a gem. And when his eyes do fan across the drawing, he melts. 

“This is so lovely!” He coos. “Where did you get all this talent from? This belongs in a museum, Nell!” He keeps his heart from bursting with a steady palm to his chest. And with his free hand, he flashes it at you just long enough to catch a glimpse before he reels it in to study some more. “And you got Cinderella’s stripes too. Wow.” 

He squats behind Penelope’s chair, throwing an arm around her middle, “Thank you for this. And thank you for being a good listener. That makes my heart very happy.” 

She slumps into his chest, peering up at the reflection of her own features. “Is it time to go?” 

His eyes leap to the clock hung on the opposite wall. “Couple more hours, babe.”

Penelope huffs. 

“I’m gonna hang this in my office. I love it so so much!” He sows a couple of kisses on her temple, straining to stand with achy knees. “You wanna come hang out with me or stay here?” 

She looks at you like you might object. “Here.” 

If Steve’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He’s still grinning like the Cheshire cat, high on the parenting win that is receiving willing affection from your child.  “That okay?” He asks you. 

“Of course. I’ll put her to work,” you reassure. 

“Good, keep her busy. It keeps her out of trouble.” He raises the drawing for another look. “I’ll be in my office, doing paperwork, yay.” 

You snicker, as he retraces the path he came. “Have fun with that boss!”

Just before the door slams shut, he yells back, equally playful, “I told you to stop calling me that!”

Penelope doodles some more, gifting you a vibrant rendition of the night sky– a collection of stars and circles and swirls. You’re so grateful you tell her it’ll go on your fridge, and it does as soon as you’re home. She sorts through toys and equipment in the gym closet and even holds your dustpan when you sweep. Her role as your helper is taken very seriously. 

The two hours pass faster than you expect. Time flies when you're having fun, as Steve would say. All his little phrases and cheesy jokes suddenly make sense in the context of him being a dad. 

She takes your hand on the way to Steve’s office, escorting you when you pretend not to know which direction it’s in. It’s as comforting as it is validating; winning the kindness and attention of four-year-olds, especially this one, is difficult. You knock on the wood frame even though the door’s propped open. 

Steve peaks up through a rare pair of reading glasses. Round, wireframes that match the golden shade his hair assumes when it catches the light. They highlight his eyes—warm and gentle as a summer breeze. But he swipes them off his nose, folding them with practiced care. 

A smile mends his frown as Penelope climbs into his lap. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

She wiggles into a comfortable position, nudging his chest until he reclines further to make space. “Hi.”

“Are you having fun?” Steve cradles her shin to keep her from slipping. “What have you been up to?”

“Cleaning.” Her tone is casual, dismissive even, like it’s nothing to fuss over; but her eyes are fixed on him, waiting for a reaction. 

Steve gasps, “No way! You were cleaning? I don’t know if I believe it.” 

“I was!” Penelope whines, tickled with glee. 

“Hmm, is this true?” He arches an eyebrow at you. 

You nod, delighted to play along. “It is. Penelope here is excellent at handling a dustpan. She even organized the dodgeballs by color.”

“Really? Because you never-ever want to clean at home.”

“I do!” She squeals, bending backward over the arm of his chair.

“Yeah right.” He blows a raspberry on her belly where her shirt has pinched up.

She shrieks, squirming and kicking her heels into his thigh. Steve’s dad reflexes must clock in because he blocks her knee just before it drives into his cheek. And he takes it as a sign to ease up before someone gets hurt– craning back up and scooping Penelope into a baby cradle against his chest. Her legs are long and lanky, dangling over his arms like uncooked spaghetti. 

“Do we need to invite them over every time you make a mess in your room? Will that solve the problem?” He teases, squishing her arms against his shirt so she can’t escape and peppering kisses from temple to temple. 

Eventually, Penelope comes to terms that no amount of writhing will succeed against his strength. She slackens in his embrace, surrendering to the terrible thing that is unconditional love. 

“Oh, here are your keys!” They rattle against the desk where you drop them. 

Steve nods into Penelope's crown, poking her side. “Can you say ‘thank you for hanging out with me?’”

Anticipating another round of tickles, she grins before parroting, “Thank you for hanging out with me.”

“Thank you for helping me clean!”

Her eyes sweep back over to Steve, “Can we go home yet?” 

His fingers tap rhythmically on the desk, a small sigh escaping as he glances at the paperwork drowning his workspace. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” He pecks the top of her head. “Promise.”

She rolls her eyes, moaning, “Daddy, come on it’s taking, like, a million years!”

“A million? Surely not.” 

“It is!” She elongates the sound until it’s less word and more noise. 

His shoulders droop, tension slipping from his frame as he agrees, “Okay. I’m ready to go too.” 

You don’t blame him for giving in so easily, Penelope’s puppy eyes are powerful. Her chunky little hands smoosh his cheeks– molding and kneading like it’s play-doh, “Is that why your face looks so sleepy?”

A hearty laugh bursts from his throat, “Yes, that’s why my face looks so sleepy.” He pats her arms, “Come on. Up.” 

Penelope scoots off his knees, gripping his wrist for balance. Steve ducks under the desk for his backpack and shoves the stack of paperwork inside. 

“Hey, I meant to ask you, is the new schedule working okay for you?” He asks you, always so thoughtful. 

You nod earnestly. “Yeah, actually, I like doing Fridays better I think.”

“Yeah, Fridays are fun. Fitness Friday has been a big hit with the high school's soccer team.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and lifts Penelope’s by the strap. 

“Oh, good! Did the new jump ropes come in?” Conversations like this, as mundane as they are, are fleeting– the next interruption always around the corner– so you savor it while you have him. 

“Mmmm, not yet. I think they’re coming next week– shipping delays or something.” 

You turn to leave but stop in your tracks, attention stolen by Penelope’s drawing. As promised, it’s hung up– a few pieces of scotch tape secure it to the wall across from his desk. 

“I’m gonna get a frame for it,” Steve passes you with a toothy smile, flicking off the light. 

Penelope chimes in before you can respond, “Can I play jump rope?”

“I don't know if you know how, babe. I can teach you.” 

“I can! I did at school!”

“You did? I didn’t know that.” Steve waves to a passing coworker. “Maybe we’ll buy one for home too then.” 

Penelope nods, hopping the last stretch to the front door. 

“Any fun plans this weekend?” Steve asks you outside, bumping the back of Penelope’s hand until she takes his. The parking lot is almost empty at this time of day, but a few stragglers remain inside after hours. 

“If you think laundry is fun, then sure.” 

“Oh, I know all about that, trust me.” He nods at Penelope, “This one goes through more clothes in a week than I do in a month.” 

Steve approaches a BMW, only a few spots over from your car. An older model, but well taken care of. It’s a nice shade of burgundy with a stick-figure family on the back windshield. It feels so him. 

You hum a happy sound. “What about you? Any plans?” 

“Besides laundry? Well, we’re actually going kayaking at Red Fleet tomorrow,” he unlocks the passenger door, tucking the backpacks in the footwell. 

“Oh, fun! Are you excited?” You ask Penelope. 

“I’m gonna look for frogs.” 

She wrenches the handle a few times before her door flies open. Steve intercepts mid-swing to prevent her from denting the neighboring truck at the expense of his fingers. 

“Ow– shit,” he grimaces, shaking his wrist. He visibly swallows any other swears when he sees Penelope gawking, “Nell, I’ve told you to be gentle with the door.” 

“You said we can’t say that word,” she points out, climbing into her car seat.

You scrub your mouth, not so inconspicuously erasing your smile. 

“I– yes,” he nods, “You’re right. We shouldn’t say that word. I just–”

“Even when we’re frustrated; that’s what you said!” 

Steve takes a deep breath through his nose, choking down his several feelings. She’s right, he did say that, to hopefully stop her from swearing at preschool, but the profanity policing is comical coming from a four-year-old. And he can’t be laughing right now– he has parenting to do– but he’s on the verge of breaking when he catches sight of your face.  

Steve collects himself as he buckles her in. “Yes, Penelope. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.” 

She pats his head, “It’s okay. We all do mistakes.” 

Steve softens. The irritation evaporates instantly, replaced by a surge of satisfaction. This is one of those rare moments where he can so clearly recognize the lessons he’s instilled taking shape. 

He lets himself chuckle then, “We do. We all make mistakes and that’s okay.” 

She nods as he tightens her straps, “Like when I spilled my juice this morning.”

“Exactly.” He triple-checks that all her limbs are safely out of the door’s reach before shutting it.  

He faces you, scratching his cheek– rosy and round with joy. “How much you wanna bet she swears at me tomorrow?”

“Hey, I don’t doubt it!” Your elation mirrors his. 

“If she can’t find any frogs at the park I can almost guarantee it.” 

“Better help her look then.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’d invite you but it’s reservation-based. And I’d be surprised if there’s any spots open still… But we can sneak you in if you really want to go.” It’s meant to be a joke, but something in the way he holds your gaze suggests a level of seriousness. 

“No, that’s okay,” you grin. “The pile of laundry on my bed awaits.”

“Well, maybe next time.” 

You try not to read into it. Steve’s a friendly guy, he probably invites his coworkers out to things all the time. 

You nod, idling at the hood of his beamer. 

“I really appreciate you watching her today. You’re a lifesaver, truly,” he shakes his head, peeking at Penelope through the window. “She’s been a handful lately– I mean, I had to pick her up early today because she bit another kid, can you believe that?” 

“She’s a kid,” you shrug, “All kids do that at some point.”  

“I don’t know,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m honestly at my witts end. This is her third warning and if she gets kicked out of school— I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

“From what I saw today, she’s a really good kid, Steve. I can’t imagine they’d do that.” 

“I’ve just been so busy, you know, sometimes I wonder if she acts out because of that– and it’s just me so I can’t–” he pauses, wiping his face, “God– I’m sorry, you’re… I’m just dumping all of this on you when you’re trying to leave.”

“No! It’s okay, I don’t mind, really.” 

“It’s– Well, it’s a lot and I,” he’s cut short by Penelope knocking on the glass, impatience strewn across her features. 

He throws up his pointer finger to tell her one second. “We can talk next week. You’ll be here Friday?” 

“Yep. I will see you then,” you nod, backing up a step so he can cross over to the driver’s side. 

“Okay, thanks again,” he says, opening his door. 

You wave goodbye, “Of course. Have fun kayaking!” 

“You too!” He yells, then mumbles, “Shit.” 

“Dad!” Penelope’s voice scolds. 

A warmth simmers in your chest as you walk away– a fizzy feeling that had been bottled up and crammed into a forgotten corner of your body. But as soon as you’re settling into the privacy of your car, it boils over into this rush of giddy exhilaration, electrifying every inch of your skin. Giggles cut through the silence as your smile stretches wider, completely untamable. There’s no stopping this, not when you’re already fantasizing about a next time with Steve.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Batstarion Headcanons

Non-Ascended version

Masterlist

Headcanons

He enjoys his new abilities to the highest extent.

Being able to fly is the ultimate freedom, and being able to transform into a flying thing is the skill he never knew he wanted.

The problem is he is the most adorable little white bat the world has seen and also the size of a cat.

And you don't let him forget about it.

When he is in the bat form, you try to squeeze and rub him like a cat.

Also speaking to him with the stupid voice people use to talk to babies and pets.

He pretends it annoys him, but it doesn't.

Though Astarion gets annoyed when you wrap him in a piece of cloth, making him fold his wing around his body.

"Oh, we both know if you really didn't like it, you would transform back!"

When you travel, he sometimes sits on your shoulder, and you mock him for being a lazy vampire.

But he does it to transform back in the most unexpected moment and push you onto the ground with all his weight.

Traveling in the daylight is so much easier - he hides under your shirt like a cat, looking with his small red eyes on the world in the sun.

Time to time you give him your finger to drink blood - in the bat form, he doesn't need a lot, and you can both relax.

"Is it a cat you are carrying there?" "No, it's my ... pet bat!" "Aww, it's so adorable!"

And you keep rubbing the bat's head with your finger.

The moment he transforms back, he looks at you accusingly.

"Adorable? Really?"

"Not so much as in your regular form."

Sometimes you are so tired and stressed he can't console you - neither sweet words nor hugs help. Then, he transforms into the bat and just sits on your shoulder purring into your ear.

He also transforms when it's too much for him.

When he feels disgusted about his body and the cold grip of horror squeezes his undead heart, he turns into the bat mindlessly and tries to hide or fly away.

You often manage to let him hide in your clothes, hiding him from the world by your body and thin fabric.

Bonus (you and Astarion have a dhampir daughter):

She can polymorph into the bat from a very young age.

And you are in awe of how tiny little bats are (she can easily be put in a pocket of your shirt).

She also uses it as her stress-response.

The second she sees something scary, she transforms into a tiny vampire pup (also white in color) and hides in her father's sleeve or under his jacket.

"What scared you, princess?" he asks, touching the delicate wings.

*angry and scared squeaking*

Tag list @tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy

[tame-the-lion-writes]

fae(?) bunny shifter reader x konig

I love it when konig calls reader haschen (and forgive me for not using accents on letters--I don't know how to add them on my computer). Hence why I love the idea of reader being a literal bunny (and yes--this is inspired by that one manwha I forgot the name of, but disregard that!)

There's really no sane explanation as to how Konig ended up with you in his bed. And I don't mean in a sexual way though it is hard to keep his eyes off you considering the fact that you're stark naked. As far as he knows, Konig hadn't drunk that night. Definitely didn't take any drugs. All he did was scoop up that rabbit that's been begging for food on his back porch, after he'd made friends through edible offerings. (Otherwise, the tiny rascal would be digging up his garden again.) Let it--her?--snuggle close into his side on a particularly cold night, when the first snow began to fall.

Then he blinks, and the girl is gone--replaced once again by that fluffy little thing.

Konig panics for a half second, wrenches the blankets from his bed. As if a whole human being could hide under already-flattened sheets. Once he realizes you're not there, though, he once again takes the bunny in his ginormous hands and continues to stare. Because what the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.

Over the next few days, he doesn't dare keep the rabbit in a cage, or kick it out again. He just observes it intently like one would waiting for water to boil. But nothing ever happens when he's ready for it--the girl appears only when his back is turned, when he's exhausted. When he's blinking away sleep in the morning light. There in a flash, and gone again. He genuinely thinks he's going crazy, especially when food starts piling up in random places. The closet. Between the couch cushions. Food too big and too much for a mere bunny to move. But surely that's impossible. He's never taken to folklore or spells or--

Then he installs a camera.

"She is magic!" he once yelled, shoving the bunny in a visiting soldier's face. Meanwhile the rabbit's nose just twitches, innocent and seemingly oblivious. All he gets is a weird stare.

"Sir, I think you need to see a doctor--"

"Magic!!!"

_

Bonus Thoughts:

You're not even a stray. Not even wild. You have a cottage a little further into the woods, but your human neighbor's been awfully generous despite having caught you stealing a few times. Whatever. Free food is great. Free anything is great. Not to mention the TV and microwave, and other gadgets you've never seen before. Hence not realizing what the hell a camera does, and why he's now extra manic after he installed one in his room.

Speaking of benefits, you also no longer have to get your steps in. He carries you around in his pocket wherever he goes. So now you get to see the world, too--the farmer's market, the gas station, etc. And when you seem particularly interested in something, he buys it right away. Now you've got a little corner of trinkets from your mini-travels, all for you.

Oh, and lots of chin scratches. Pat pats. Naps in his lap because you fit there so perfectly.

Will he ever see you--live--in your human form for more than .5 seconds? Maybe. Maybe it happens in the middle of the night, when he wakes up to a weight on his chest, and your hair sprawled across his shirt. Maybe it happens, and you just give him a slow, sleepy blink, and nuzzle into the crook of his neck. Maybe he's yours now, and he hasn't realized it.

His bunny. Your man.

[anniebeemine]

spoiled- s.r. x fem!reader

warnings: Spencer spoiling his kids def comes back to bite him in the ass

Spencer wanted nothing but the best for his children. Since finding out he had one on the way, he spent weeks hunched over online articles, debating the best car seats, the safest family cars, and the most comfortable strollers. He read everything—from parenting blogs to consumer reports—until his eyes burned and his back ached from sitting for so long. No detail was too small. The color of the car seat, the weight of the stroller—everything mattered because this was his child.

As Melanie grew, so did his tendency to spoil her. He carried a mini fan around for her in the summer to make sure she was cool enough. In the winter, he always had a stash of hand warmers to stuff in her pockets. He didn’t care if people thought it was excessive; he’d do anything to keep her comfortable and happy.

But now, standing in the middle of the mall with his daughter screaming at the top of her lungs, Spencer realized some of that spoiling had been a mistake.

It had started innocently enough. Melanie needed a few long-sleeve shirts for school, and with the temperatures dropping, Spencer thought it would be a nice afternoon outing. They’d stopped in the store she loved, all girly pink and frills, the kind of place that lit up her eyes. He’d let her pick out earrings, scarves, and other trinkets he wasn’t sure she’d need, but the way her face lit up made it worth it.

Then, she saw the tiara. It was glittering under the store lights, solid gold with delicate rhinestones, sitting in a glass case as if it were meant for a real princess. Melanie’s eyes had widened, and she reached out for it like it was the most important thing in the world.

"No, Mel. Not today," Spencer had said gently, kneeling down to her level. "It’s too expensive, and you don’t need another tiara."

But she wasn’t having it. Her lip trembled, and before Spencer could even blink, she dropped to the floor, her light-up sneakers kicking out as she let out a blood-curdling scream.

Every head in the store turned toward them, eyes wide. Spencer’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to calm her down, but Melanie wasn’t listening. She was kicking, screaming, and pounding her fists against the floor.

“Melanie, stop it,” he said firmly, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up his neck. Other parents passed by, some averting their eyes awkwardly while others gave him knowing, sympathetic looks.

Spencer picked her up, her little body thrashing in his arms as her cries echoed through the mall. He carried her to the parking lot, feeling every pair of eyes on him as he walked, his face flushed with embarrassment. When they reached the car, she fought him again, pushing his hands away when he tried to buckle her into the car seat. Her face was red, tear-streaked, and contorted with anger.

He sighed, stepping back and waiting. He couldn’t force her. He had to wait until she calmed down.

After what felt like an eternity, Melanie finally stopped thrashing, her sobs quieting down to soft hiccups. She allowed him to buckle her in, but as he drove home, she kicked at the back of the seat, whining and crying about how they hadn’t even gotten the pretzels they always got when they went to the mall.

By the time they got home, Spencer was exhausted. Melanie, far too old to be throwing tantrums like this, stomped into the house, her little fists balled up at her sides.

"Melanie," Spencer said, his voice stern, but not angry. He pulled her little pink chair from her tea set and placed it in the corner of the living room. "Sit here."

Her face dropped, and she looked at him with wide, apologetic eyes, as if she suddenly realized she had gone too far. Normally, he would’ve caved, let her go about her day with a warning or a talk. But not today. Today, he needed to set a boundary.

Melanie sat down slowly, her tiny toes barely touching the floor. She sniffled, her lip quivering, but she didn’t argue. Soft cries escaped her, and Spencer’s heart ached, but he stood firm.

You had heard it all from the other room. When you walked into the living room and saw Melanie sitting in the corner, her head bowed and her small shoulders shaking, you knew something had happened. But instead of going to her first, you went to find Spencer.

He was in your shared bedroom, sitting in the chair near the corner that was often inhabited by a pile of unfolded laundry. His head was in his hands, and his whole body looked tense, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You knelt in front of him, gently running your hands over his forearms until he looked at you.

“Shouldn’t you be talking to Melanie?” he asked, his voice quiet and tired.

You chuckled softly and smiled. “I came to talk to my husband, to find out what she did. And why he put himself in time-out.”

A small, exhausted laugh escaped Spencer, and he shook his head, sitting back in the chair. “She threw the biggest tantrum I’ve seen in years... over a tiara,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face. “I tried to reason with her, but she just... lost it. I had to put her in the corner." His voice lowered. "I’ve never had to do that before.”

You squeezed his hand. “You did the right thing.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with guilt and frustration. “I don’t know... I feel like I’ve spoiled her so much that this is partly my fault. She’s never acted like that before.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “Parenting isn’t easy, and she’s growing up. But setting boundaries is important. You’re doing great, Spencer.”

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little as he finally let go of some of the tension. “I just hate seeing her like that.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But she’ll be okay. And so will you.”

After a few minutes of quiet, Spencer stood up from the chair, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion but his mind clearer. He walked back into the living room, where Melanie still sat in the little pink chair, her face flushed and tear-streaked. Her legs swung idly as she sniffled, her fingers picking at the hem of her shirt. When she saw him coming, she straightened up slightly, her big eyes watching him closely.

He knelt down next to her, making sure they were at eye level. Spencer wasn’t one to raise his voice or discipline in anger, and he wanted her to know this was about more than just the tantrum. He needed to help her understand.

"Mel, do you know why I asked you to sit here?" he asked gently, his voice soft but steady.

She hesitated, her bottom lip wobbling. "Because... I was bad," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Spencer shook his head slowly, reaching out to take one of her tiny hands in his. "No, you weren’t bad. But the way you acted at the mall—screaming and kicking like that—it wasn’t okay. It’s not how we handle things when we don’t get what we want."

Melanie looked down at her shoes, her face flushed with embarrassment. "But I really wanted the tiara," she muttered, a little tremble in her voice.

"I know you did," Spencer said, squeezing her hand gently. "And it’s okay to want things. But sometimes, we can’t always have everything we want, especially if it’s something that’s too expensive or something we don’t need right now. I told you no, not because I didn’t want you to be happy, but because I thought it was the best decision. That doesn’t mean you throw a tantrum when you don’t get your way. We can talk about it, but you have to stay calm."

Melanie sniffled again, her fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Spencer smiled softly and brushed a few strands of hair from her face. "I know you are. And I’m not mad at you, okay? I love you more than anything in this world. But I need you to understand that acting like that isn’t the right way to get what you want."

She nodded, her eyes watery as she looked up at him. "I understand," she whispered. "I won’t do it again."

Spencer nodded, feeling a bit of relief wash over him. "That’s all I ask," he said, pulling her into a gentle hug. She wrapped her small arms around his neck, clinging to him as if she was afraid he’d still be upset. He held her tightly, letting her know that everything was okay now.

When they finally pulled apart, Melanie glanced up at him with wide eyes. "Maybe... we can look at tiaras tomorrow?" she asked hesitantly, her voice small but hopeful.

Spencer chuckled softly, the tension in his chest finally easing. "Maybe," he said, smiling down at her. "We’ll see if we can find something more reasonable, okay?"

Melanie nodded eagerly, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. Then, with a seriousness far beyond her years, she patted his leg. "But you need some time to calm down first, Daddy," she said, her voice filled with that innocent wisdom only children possess.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and full of affection. "I think you might be right," he said, standing up and holding out his hand to her. "How about we both calm down together, maybe with some ice cream?"

Melanie grinned, taking his hand as she jumped up from her chair. "I like that idea."

As they walked toward the kitchen, you appeared in the doorway, watching the two of them with a soft smile. You’d been listening from the hallway, and the tenderness in their exchange made your heart swell. Spencer caught your eye and gave you a small, knowing smile. The storm had passed, and you knew that, together, you’d figure out the rest.

[toshidou]

don't mind me, i'll just be sat here crying into my hands about girl dad!simon "ghost" riley who would do absolutely anything for his daughters.

girl dad!simon who watches with a fond smile as his children fail to mask their giggles from underneath the sofa, their little legs sticking out very obviously from their "hiding place" but acting as though they're nowhere to be found.

girl dad!simon who lets them apply the black smudging around his eyes, praising them with how gentle they're being, and only huffing out a laugh when he feels his youngest smear charcoal fingerprints down his cheeks.

girl dad!simon who always has time to play with his girls, going along with whatever game their imaginative minds conjure with not a single complaint. over the years, you've walking in on simon as a horse, a robot, a fairy godmother (you will never get the imagine of simon with one of your elasticated waist dresses on out of your head, the material fighting for its life to stay in one piece as simon merely stares at you, silently pleading you to not take any photos), there is nothing he won't do to make them happy.

girl dad!simon who never once hesitates to scoop them into his arms at the first sign of tears, battled scared and inked hands holding his daughter so carefully, though she was made of porcelain, rough fingers gently swiping across ruddy cheeks, "you're okay, sweetpea, it's just a little scrape, yeah? my brave girl can handle a tiny scratch like that no problem, ain't that right?"

girl dad!simon who has a photo of you and your daughters tucked safely in his pocket at all times, all his favourite people on one small piece of paper he keeps safe over his heart whenever he has to leave, making sure it never leaves his mind that 'this is who he's fighting for, this is who he's working so hard to get back to'

girl dad!simon who try as he might, always tears up when he finally arrives back, and hears his little worlds sprinting at him as fast as their stubby legs can carry them, screeching cries of "daddy, daddy, daddy's home!" echoing through the walls of his home, arms wide as he crouches on the floor and feels their small but mighty weight crash into him, finally whole, finally complete, watery eyes meeting yours where you lean against the wall, similarly emotional.

"welcome home, si."

finally, home.

[petriwriting]

Vero amore - Theodore Nott X Reader (Part 1.)

Summary: Theodore is on trial for being associated with voldemort due to his father and family history, His odds arent looking so good. Luckily for him you are called to the stand to testify on his behalf, and you just might be the key to his innocence.

Fluff, established previous relationship, Exbf!Theo, Older!Theo and others. Post hogwarts.

A/N: My first longer(ish) story. Let me know if you want to be tagged for part 2 and if you like it overall, I always like feedback! also if it is poorly edited I will go back and change a few things here or there. nothing major though. Please heed my warning this will have a lot of time jumps and memories but it will all make sense in the end promise. (Mini Series is now a WIP)

Italic is memories

"This could be the end of me." 

Theodore sighs in defeat, he is exhausted, and takes a swig of butterbeer to calm his nerves. The years past had not been kind to the man, his shoulders were low, as if they were fatigued from carrying the weight of the world had weakened his posture. His eyes had sullen dark circles beneath them, and his hair was long and un-kept. There was a cigarette between his fingers, it was unlit, but waiting patiently. He wasn't so much nervous, as he was ready for this to all be over. He was more than ready to leave his family's reputation in the past and move forward to better things. He was slightly jealous of Draco Malfoy for that reason, Draco had even become much more acquainted with Harry Potter after the war, leaving his reputation in the past now as a mature adult. Theodore felt partially he hadn't matured enough, and that he was still the boy who was stuck in his 6th year. It was a harsh adjustment for everyone, but Theo was completely alone now, with his father pronounced deceased shortly after the war and an estate left to him. He was an only child, his mother was gone. He pushes away all his friends for the most part and had not bothered making new ones... Theodore Nott was a mess. With one hand holding the beer bottle and cigarette, his other hand found its way to his pocket, pulling out a tiny black stone, rubbing it between his fingers to self soothe. 

"Let's not be too dramatic." Blaise says, with a slighty comforting tone. luckily for Theodore, Blaise had been helping him through his depression despite his best efforts to push him away. It was an effort that was silently appreciated. "I doubt Y/N would lie to the council, especially since it happened so many years ago." He said, standing at the other end of the kitchen island looking over at Theo. 

"Well, considering my behavior... I broke their heart. I wouldn't honestly wouldn't be upset if they did, Maybe I deserve it.." Theodore said, running his hand through his messy curls. 

Things had been tense for him lately. The ministry began investigating all those who were suspected to be involved with Voldemort's operations, one by one. Some trials were famous for their unhappy endings, others not so much. With Theodore Nott being his father's son, he was one of the first people to be questioned, going through the lengthy process of trying to prove his own innocence. His fathers action had ruined his son's reputation. Of course many of his friends had tried to speak on behalf of his good character, but the court's jury still seemed unconvinced. They had called you to the stand to testify for him, and he was utterly terrified. Although some may argue that the odds were stacked against Theodore, with the trace of a dark mark still plaguing his arm, Though others stand to believe he was innocent. Many of his friends had gotten through unscathed, although due to his father's high esteem, Theodore felt conflicted and angry. He knew it wasn't right to put you in that position, especially after all the time that has passed. Being a pureblooded slytherin associated with all things evil, the cards were not exactly in his favor.

"Well, let's hope for the best, shall we?" Blaise says, after pouring himself a small glass to toast with Theo. They had managed to stay relatively close throughout the years, despite all the chatter.

*Clink. 

"thanks, I'll need it." Theodore says, finally lighting his cigarette.

.    .    .You were relaxing one evening when a stocky brown barn owl nearly crashed into your window, with it came a letter with a familiar silver wax seal. The ministry of magic. You were quite alarmed, as you had no reason in particular to be contacted by them. Was your wand permit expired? or maybe there was some urgent matter to attend to? These questions flooded your mind as you carefully opened the letter. It was a summons. "You are hereby summoned to testify in court regarding the alleged innocence and character of Theodore Nott."  Readinghis name made your heart flutter. 

You had to stop in your tracks, taking a deep breath. You would be in the courtroom, testifying on behalf of your old ex-boyfriend from your school days. You could not believe it. The rest of the letter was a blur, something about instructions and court behavior expectations and what not to bring. You and Theodore had had a very Illustrious history together. He was your first love after all. It was all you could think about, for days on end until the court date finally arrived. It felt like months of sitting and waiting in anticipation and anxiety. Your mind turned over every interaction you had that would somehow frame you in a bad way, you were scared they might open a case on you just for the affiliation. Part of you, maybe even the tiniest part, felt that this was some kind of fate. Perhaps you were simply destined to relive the past, even if it was some of the most painful memories, maybe you could finally progress and heal after this.

You ran your fingers over your hair, readying yourself for what was about to come about, how it could all blow up in your face, or worse... You simply had no idea what to expect. You didn't even know what Theodore was up to these days apart from the slight mentions you overheard from friends and gossip. Aside from everything you were scared to face the man who broke your heart.

With a sigh, you apparated to the ministry's main office. Rushing past you were business men and women, Aurors, and some office workers. everyone seemed in a hurry, which didn't help your heart rate at all. It was beating fast as the seconds ticked on by. You scurried through the busy halls to the elevator, you were instructed to meet outside courtroom Ten, on the tenth level. You approached the doors steadily although nervously. You were waiting to be escorted into the main room. This level was so silent, almost as if it was void of any people at all. 

Someone in a plumb robe appeared, with a soft smile. It was a much older woman, something about her was oddly comforting. "Alright love," she said, sensing how nervous you were. You were fixing your collar for the third time. "No need to be scared, You'll see a bright light, then I will escort you to your seat." she explained. "Very simple." you nodded along. You could feel your heart-beat in your chest, wanting to run away or apparate somewhere you were familiar with, but you managed to keep yourself collected. 

It wasn't that you were scared of the court or being sentenced, you knew you were innocent and that you had nothing to hide, but you were anxious about seeing Theodore. The clever and mischievous boy you fell in love with may not be in that room, he may have changed completely. You were scared of that change. For you, it was devastating, He was your whole world and you loved him with all your heart, but you were starting to think that you must not have been the same to him, as after the war he had moved away from the city with blaise, Never even bothering to send an owl or talk to you. You tried to justify it, maybe he had his own reasons. He was going through a lot, without a doubt. above all you were scared you would fold under the pressure of being on the stand.

"Alright dear." the old woman whispered, taking your arm. you were led into the hall, it was dark. The woman was truthful about that bright light, it was blinding, like a spotlight. You could feel the enchantments that had been done in this room, there was a fuzzy, but calming feeling washing over you. The jury were all dressed in the same robes, sitting in near rows of curved benches that opened up into a central clearing, where there was a large chair on a podium. That must be where they would question people, you thought to yourself. The bright light began to disappear more and more as your eyes adjusted, as most of everything else was dark. The Wizengamot stood, everyone followed suit. you were standing on the sidelines with your escort, there was so much going on you almost didn't see Theodore sat across from everyone. There were two Aurors on either side of him and he was in restraints. It pained you to see him treated like a criminal, especially after seeing how gentle he really was. He looked older, still as handsome, but tired. Exhausted even, with dark circles under his eyes and his curls a mess atop his head. For a moment, you saw him and your heart skipped a beat.

"Witches and Wizards of the court, we are gathered today for the testimony of Y/N L/N on Behalf of Mr. Theodore Nott. shall the information and insight given to us today be conclusive, we may not need perpetuation of this case."  The wizengamot says. "We will proceed with a brief summary of our evidence, and our trial shall commence with Mrs.L/N's Testimony."

A small, short stubby man wanders up to the front of the jury to recap the evidence. He explains the case in short detail. Theodore was being accused of being affiliated with his father's operations, and since his father worked for Lord Voldemort the evidence was conveniently stacked against Theodore. The first piece of evidence was Theodore's dark mark, and the jury had apparently stated that this was a choice made by Theo, although you knew deep down it wasn't. The second piece of evidence brought up from collections was a broken time turner, you could clearly recall the memory of this. Although that was the only physical evidence against him, The other witnesses were named. One of them was a Slytherin student who had a class with Theodore, but you quickly realized whatever she had said must have been against his innocence, since it was someone Theodore rejected countless times, and he even left her alone to pick up a project worth most of their grade during fifth year granted, he did have a good excuse it didn't matter. The other witness was named Theodore's neighbor, an old man who had been acquainted with his father. It was clear the old man hated the Nott family, having lived in silent hatred next to the Nott manor for many years. And then, the final witness was you.

After turning the thoughts over your head, and imagining all possible outcomes you realized that they were about to try Theodore Nott for an affiliation with Death Eaters that was not his doing. Theodore was about to become a criminal  .  .  . 

You knew in your heart that this wasn't right. It was unjust. You would be guilt ridden for the rest of your life if you didn't at least attempt to unravel these lies. You could disprove most of the evidence anyway, you also knew that it might not be enough. Your escort stood behind you as you stood on the central platform to be seated for the jury. The same man who spoke before and welcomed everyone to the trial turned to you. "Mrs. L/N," he said, you gulped and took a shallow sigh. "How do you wish to proceed?" he asked you. 

You looked at him for a moment, and then back to the jury. They seemed like they didn't particularly care about being there. Without thinking much, "I would like to request to present my memories as evidence." you said. "Very well." the man replied, receding back into the room. At this time, you had to be sure you were providing the best evidence even if it meant showing everyone in that courtroom your most vulnerable moments. It was a brave gesture. 

After a few moments of silence, some Aurors emerged into the room with a Pensive. A small silver bowl with runes and symbols carved on the inside and outside, within it contained a shiny silver liquid. It was placed in the center of the room. The Auror approached you, asking for your permission before proceeding with extracting your memories. You had read about this in school, but you had never seen one let alone used one for yourself. He placed his wand up to your head, twirling gently. You felt a tear escape your eyes, it wasn't painful, but it felt like a sudden rush and headache. The Auror added the memories to the silver bowl, and in almost an instant it began to glow.

"Mrs. L/N," one of the jury members began. "are you sure you wish to proceed?" they asked, you nodded quickly. 

You took a deep breath as you looked into the bowl, It was enchanted to allow everyone to see your memories, and the glowing ball of light sprung up to illuminate the center of the room, within it was your memory.  .  .

[qqueenofhades]

Hwy dod we even need to send more money to Ukraine tho like we’ve already supported them plenty! But let Europe pull their weight and we can go back to spending that money on American policies

Do you read like, any news outside Tumblr, any Ukrainian perspectives, any basic analyses of the conflict, any rationale from Democrats or Congress, or anything? Because, in brief:

Ukrainians are currently facing a full-scale genocide. It has been going on for over a year and Russian military leadership has every plan to continue until fruition. If they stop resisting, there will be no more Ukraine or Ukrainians. So all the "appeasers" or "realists" insisting that Ukraine should "give up land for peace" (which notably worked so well with Czechoslovakia and Hitler in 1938) are basically deciding that it's fine to let the genocide be carried out, if it's even minorly inconvenient for us. Putin and cronies have repeatedly stated that if they are successful in taking Ukraine, they will go further. This is the exact scenario that leads to the "escalation" and/or WWIII that various people keep wringing their hands over. It is far more just and safe for Ukraine to be supported now and to stop that before it gets even worse.

America is not actually giving over buckets of black cash, regardless of what various bad-faith takes claim. They are handing over weapons valued at various amounts of money, along with some financial and budgetary aid. A lot of these weapons are older and would cost more to decommission than they cost to give to a sovereign democracy fighting for its life against an imperialist autocratic neighbor. This is some tiny amount like 5% (if that) of America's bloated military budget. And again: it's actual weapons valued at a certain dollar amount. These cannot be spent on American domestic policies.

The idea that helping Ukraine is directly coming out of our own pockets or preventing us from spending as needed on our own needs is propaganda. It is not good to repeat it.

I wrote this post the other day about why Putin is trying so hard to break American/Western support for Ukraine, and why the hard-right MAGA has enabled him in it. Putin's Russia is the motivating nexus, coordination, and funding center for Russian/European/American far-right theocratic fascism. This whole "America Only" is the exact rationale that appeals to said far-right domestic fascists and gives Putin and other imperial expansionist kleptocrats the justification to just throw away post-WWII international order and declare that any larger and more powerful state can systematically eradicate any neighboring country, claim its territory, destroy its government, kill its people, and get away with it. Because why would they stop, if there aren't any consequences and they are rewarded for it?

Putin has repeatedly interfered in American elections to help Trump and the Republicans. That should tell you something about who he sees as most favorable to his interests and what he would do again if allowed to emerge victorious.

Europe IS actually pulling its weight! They just brought all 27 defense ministers to Kyiv, they have been working on Ukraine's accession talks, they have committed all types of weapons (including the long-range missiles that the US still won't clearly authorize), they've committed a new tranche of 5 billion euros in long-term assistance, etc. But the whole "we should pull out of NATO and leave Europe to fend for itself" was a key isolationist and xenophobic Trump idea. We can see what that led to.

American aid is vital to Ukraine's continued existence as a sovereign country, period, and it is in American interests to continue to provide it as agreed upon. Not least because such an egregious betrayal of a democratic ally would empower the fascists of the world, both Russian and American, and because as noted, if this conflict was not stopped and got bigger, it would then involve American troops. It is a moral, democratic, political, and ethical imperative. This is not a difficult call or a complicated situation, regardless of what the Online Leftist tankies and the MAGA-world nutcases (because horseshoe theory) want you to think.

Слава Україні.

The end.

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

Can I have a reaction to Hogwarts Legacy students and professors to a female hufflepuff MC who owns a chinchilla

They have the softest fur on the planet

Only eat hay and special pellets ( no fruit or veggies in their diet) they can have certain dried herds and flowers though

Sorry about all the chin facts I own one

My little girl is all white with dark grey ears and some grey on her face and base of her tail with the pinkest noise

Please and thank you

A/N: I've had the honor of petting one once, they are the softest creature in the world ❤️ Thank you for the reference photo ❤️❤️

HLC REACT TO F!MC HAVING A CHINCHILLA

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: "What in Merlin's name- no, forget Merlin, what in the world is that??" He squints and looks real close at it. Gets right up in the floofy rodent's face. So close that the chinchilla sniffs his nose back. He huffs and gives a little smirk. "Adorable...just like its owner." He throws a cheeky wink at MC.

OMINIS GAUNT: He trusts MC wouldn't put anything terrible in his hand when he was asked to hold it out. He feels the light weight of a small soft creature on his palm. He brings his free hand up to lightly pet it and he smiles. "It's quite soft, MC. Is this another one of your beasts?" He doesn't give the chinchilla back for quite some time, they even take a nap together.

ANNE SALLOW: "I've never seen anything like it!" She gazes in amazement and holds out a treat MC gave her to give to it. She's very curious about the chinchilla; where it came from, how long has MC had it, etc. She hopes MC brings it with her every time she visits.

IMELDA REYES: "Is that a rat in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" MC's chinchilla was indeed hanging out in her pocket. She tells the same joke every time MC is around in the hope she'll get to see the baby. She doesn't lose her mind over its cuteness but she wants to pet it every time it's around.

NATSAI ONAI: She sneaks extra snacks for the chinchilla all the time. She also lets it sleep in her robe if MC is busy. She loves pet sitting. She's also fascinated by the chinchillas tiny hands, they can grab things??? Like a people??? Weird.

GARRETH WEASLEY: He's never seen fur like what the chinchilla has. He's very curious if it has any unique properties. Don't worry, he would dare take a pair of scissors to such a precious creature, but when MC is cleaning its cage, will she spare a few furballs?

LEANDER PREWETT: He struggles to maintain his composer when MC is carrying around the little fluff ball all curled up in her arm. It's. Too. Cute. It's unfair how cute it is! When MC lets him hold it for the first time, he cries. He's not allergic, his eyes are sweating. Stop pointing it out.

AMIT THAKKAR: His only hang up with the chinchilla is that it chews on everything. All of his books have teeth marks on them from the chinchilla sneaking a nibble when no one was looking. Nevermind his quills, parchment, shoes, and even his wand. Is nothing sacred?? He's gained the habit of watching it like a hawk when MC brings it around.

EVERETT CLOPTON: "Hehehehe, Levioso." Whoosh the chinchilla is in the air and very confused. Any retaliation from MC is worth it. It's funny watching the little chinchilla get so confused by suddenly leaving the ground.

POPPY SWEETING: She has to cover her mouth to muffle the squee that escapes her as to not draw attention, but she is losing her mind. The chinchilla is the absolute cutest thing she has ever seen and that is saying a lot. She steals the chinchilly away every chance she gets, straight up runs off. Her chinchilla now, bish.

~~~

ELEAZAR FIG: He doesn't mind pet sitting when MC is out and about for extended periods of time. He and the chinchilla get along quite well. However, when he himself gets buried in work sometimes he loses track and has to go digging through his office to find where the chinchilla scampered off to.

MATILDA WEASLEY: "As long as you follow the pet guidelines set by the school, your unique pet is welcome. That said, this is quite the curious creature. How did you acquire this?" She studies the chinchilla and gets it a little pat.

CHIYO KOGAWA: "Cute." Is all she says about it. She's not a big pet person. Nothing personal.

AESOP SHARP: His initial reaction is just a dismissive "hmm" when MC shows it off, but later on, if the chinchilla escapes, it finds its way to the dungeons and into his classroom where it sits in his lap and he mindlessly strokes its soft fur. It's very therapeutic. Would want to pet again.

ABRAHAM RONEN: "A chinchilla! Holy guacamole those are rare in these parts. Where did you get it?" He examines the chinchilla closely and rubs its ear.

MIRABEL GARLICK: "Oh my, aren't you just the most darling thing I've seen!" She excitably comes over the chinchilla and bounces in place when she gets to pet it. "Oh! It's so impossibly soft!" She orders seeds of plants native to Western South America and grows a few just for MC's pet.

MUDIWA ONAI: "Well, this is one unique creature. I see you two have a very special bond." She delights seeing the chinchilla.

BAI HOWIN: She reminds MC to keep plenty of fine dust available for their pet to roll in. "Scotland gets a lot of precipitation and moisture isn't good for their coats. Keep them dry and healthy." She hands the little chinchilla a pellet.

DINAH HECAT: She smiles as she pets it. "I had a chinchilla when I was little. Stole it from a merchant who wasn't too good at taking care of his merchandise. Nursed him back to health. Had him for twelve long years. Good years..." She tears up a little, but makes no fuss of it.

CUTHBERT BINNS: He doesn't really notice. Thinks the chinchilla is an extra small puffskien or something.

SATYAVATI SHAH: "No thank you, I do not wish to pet your chinchilla. Please finish your star charts." Doesn't even look up from her work.

PHINEAS NIGELLUS BLACK: "Ew, take your fat squirrel and get out of my way. I have important business to attend." He walks away with his nose in the air.

[wooahaes]

the aftermath of trick-or-treating

pairing: non-idol!jeonghan x gn!reader

genre: fluff. single dad!jeonghan au.

word count: 0.7k~

warnings: candy mention. slightly suggestive comments from jeonghan that lead nowhere (he's just here to tease a little hehe). single dad jeonghan (bc hes. cute :( <3)

daisy's notes: @twogyuu hi holly

The sound of tiny feet running around your home was enough to tell you that Jeonghan had finished trick-or-treating with his daughter. And if that hadn’t been enough to clue you in, the weight of your soon-to-be step-daughter throwing herself into your lap definitely was.

Jeonghan had chuckled to himself as he made his way inside, carrying that neon orange plastic pumpkin in one hand and his daugther’s coat in the other, a bag hanging off of his shoulder. “Ha-eun,” he called out, “be careful with the pumpkin hat.”

(You didn’t fail to notice that Jeonghan donned a pair of kitty ears—Ha-eun could get her way with puppy dog eyes any day.)

She merely let out a giggle, hugging you tight, her squishy pumpkin costume folding around her. She’d peeked up to your TV, noticing the frozen still on the screen. “What are you watching?”

“Nothing, baby,” you pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Scary things for adults. Can I see your pretty costume?”

With a gasp, she began to beam at the idea of showing off the costume Jeonghan had bought her. She hopped up, slowly turning around to show off the soft orange dress with little details to make it obvious it was a pumpkin—lines down it and leaves around the neckline. Jeonghan had painted her face to look like a jack-o-lantern, too. Jeonghan had told you that she picked it out herself after a long bout of deliberation at the store. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to be a princess, a pumpkin, or a skeleton this year. He’d tried to suggest that she could be all three if she went to Uncle Cheollie and gave him her puppy dog eyes, but she’d merely giggled and decided she would be a pumpkin because she’s always a princess (as told to her by Uncle Shua).

“How cute,” you mused aloud, smiling to yourself. Jeonghan had made his way over, settling into the spot next to you. 

He called out to her, picking up the tiny backpack that clearly belonged to her, “Why don’t you get changed? I’ll come help you wash off the paint and we can watch Halloween movies together.”

Ha-eun was strikingly mature for her age, and agreed easily due to the promise of movies (and snacks—she knew snacks would always be included in that promise). She ran off to get changed in your bedroom, the door shutting a moment later, and Jeonghan immediately turned to steal a kiss from you.

“I nearly took her to Joshua’s for tonight,” he mumbled. “I’ll just have to give you your treat later—”

Only for you to laugh, smacking at his arm. The two of you had agreed on this weeks ago: there was no way he was going to change his mind and deny Ha-eun of her movie night with her second favorite person in the world (... don’t tell Cheol or Shua that, though, Jeonghan had told you immediately after he spilled that little bit of information to you. Or Seungkwan, for that matter.), especially after you already made snacks. Jeonghan pulled away after pressing a second peck against your lips, pulling out a piece of candy from his pocket and pressing it into your hand.

“Ha-eun doesn’t like this kind,” he said, winking at you. “I stole it from the bucket when she wasn’t looking.” 

She’d never know it was missing either way, but you liked the way Jeonghan smiled at you like he was getting away with something. He got up to put the popcorn in the microwave, fetching the snacks you had made as you jot down the timestamp in the horror movie you’d been watching before changing it to something more family-friendly. Maybe you would forego the timestamp entirely and watch the movie with Jeonghan after you put Ha-eun to bed for the night. You heard the sound of his daughter coming back out of your room, calling out to her dad that she was ready to wash the facepaint off. All too soon, she had settled between the two of you again for movies.

And just as soon, she’d fallen asleep on top of you, exhausted from the exciting day. Jeonghan merely took the opportunity to lean over, smiling into the kiss he stole from you, all with the taste of candy on your lips.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @staranghae @synthetickitsune @weird-bookworm

[zablife]

Keep Us Safe (Part 1)

Tommy Shelby x wife reader 

Summary: Family history repeats itself when your daughter is taken by parish authorities. This time Tommy won't let them get away with it.

Author’s Note: Requested by a lovely anon who asked for a story similar to Polly’s experience. A 2 part series.

Warnings: mild smut, threat of violence and kidnapping

Tommy stretched in his chair, rubbing his eyes for the hundredth time that evening. Moonlight bathed his dingy office in the betting shop and the paperwork scattered before him showed no signs of righting themselves by morning at this rate. He reached for the gold chain at his waist, opening his pocket watch and frowning at the time. You asked him not to be late for dinner again and he had passed that long ago. He stood, grabbing his cap and locked up as quickly as possible.

The house was quiet, the embers of the fire dying down peacefully as he crossed the threshold. He dropped his boots at the door, surveying the kitchen which still smelled of shepherd’s pie, a dinner you had lovingly prepared in his absence. He hung his head, noticing his daughter’s stuffed bear on the floor and squeezed it in his hand, wishing there were more nights together as a family. 

He turned to make his way to her to at least kiss her goodnight. The stairs groaned beneath his weight as he trudged toward the bedroom, unbuttoning his collar as he went. When he pushed the door open, he stopped short, taking in the beautiful sight before him. You were asleep in the rocking chair he had built, little carvings of your favorite flower added by Arthur’s skilled touch. When Nora was born you nursed her there and you still used it to rock her to sleep when she was overtired and fussy.

Tommy reckoned tonight must have been difficult if you were sat there now, cradling her across your lap. At two years old, she was quickly outgrowing it, but you never denied her. You were a doting mother, some might even say indulgent, but she was your whole world.

When Tommy came to shake your shoulder gently, you woke with a slight start, careful not to drop your precious babe. You smiled down at her dark curls, raven like her father’s hair. “What time is it?” you asked your husband, voice slightly hoarse.

“It’s late, I’m sorry, love,” Tommy apologized in a hushed whisper. Watching you attempt to stand, he said, “Here, let me take Nora." Then he dipped his shoulder to gather the weight of her tiny body. As he carried her across the room, he relished the feeling of having his child in his arms. Her chubby cheek rested against his chest, eyelids fluttering momentarily as though far away in a lovely dream. The thought of it made his heart clench as he only ever wished good dreams for her, his fervent wish to keep her safe from harm.

Tommy turned to place her in her cot and tucked her bear beneath her arm with tender care. With a feeling of overwhelming love and devotion, he watched her clutch it close to her body in order to cuddle it properly before bringing her thumb to her mouth. 

You came to stand beside your husband, feeling his arm wrap around your waist protectively. You dropped your head to his shoulder as you felt his thumb rubbing circles into your hip. His cheek rested against your soft hair and he took a deep breath, basking in your comforting scent of aloe and rose water. There was nothing quite like being home with you.

You took him by the hand, guiding him from the room into the hall as you heard him murmur, “I’m missing so much of her life.” The defeated tone of his voice made you turn to face him, worried his anxiety was resurfacing. Having missed Nora’s birth while away at war and meeting his child on her first birthday, he was trying desperately to forge a bond with her in the present, yet he always felt he was failing. His work consumed more and more of his waking hours as he became relentless in his pursuit of success. “I will make something of meself. I want her to have everything,” he asserted firmly. 

You pressed a hand to his cheek delicately as you hushed him with a soft kiss to his lips, pulling away to nod against him. “I know, Tommy. You do what you do for us, but you forget that we already have everything,” you said. Tommy furrowed his brow as you explained, “We have you.”

Tommy placed his hand over yours and squeezed it tightly. Only you could calm him when life seemed chaotic and unbearable. He leaned down to kiss you, treating you delicately at first with slow, lazy movements which soon grew in intensity as his need for you increased. His hand tangled in your hair as you parted your lips for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss to fulfill his desires. Breaking apart for breath, he placed his forehead to yours saying, “Yes, you have me. All of me, love.”

You gave him an impish grin before pushing up on tip toes to whisper in his ear, “Might I have all of you right now?” Your hand slid to the front of his trousers, smirking against his neck when you discovered his growing hardness. Tommy suddenly knelt to pick you up, strong arm hooking below your knees and you stifled a surprised yelp, then a giggle as he carried you to the bedroom. 

The worries of the day faded as you tumbled into bed together, sighing with satisfaction as Tommy’s weight settled over you. You melted beneath his touch, giving yourself over to him with complete trust and adoration. He took care of you the way you’d grown accustomed, intertwining his fingers with yours and leaving a trail of kisses along your neck as he gently urged you toward bliss. As a tidal wave of pleasure consumed you both, he swallowed your moans with a passionate kiss, finally stilling inside you to take in the sight of your flushed cheeks and delirious smile.

Tommy withdrew slowly, not wanting to leave your comforting warmth. With heart still hammering, he pulled you into his side, placing a kiss to the top of your head as you traced the rising sun tattoo on his chest. Exhaustion soon overtook you and you fell into a deep slumber, but Tommy laid awake staring at the ceiling and thinking about his strategy for the next day’s meeting. 

—————————————————————————

“Good morning, sleepy head. Tea?” you asked as Tommy came stumbling down the steps, snapping a suspender over one shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said, running a hand through his hair and scouring the room for Nora. “Where’s the baby?” he asked, voice still rough with sleep. 

You turned from the stove to hand him a mug and he accepted it, sitting at the table to light a cigarette. “Esme came by with the children and she took her to the park,” you answered, taking a sip of your tea. “We could join them if you like,” you said, looking up hopefully. You reached for Tommy’s cigarette, taking a long, slow drag as you awaited his reply.

“I’m sorry, love, I wish I could,” Tommy began as he took the cigarette back from you, but you nodded in understanding. You could tell something was on his mind. 

“Is everything alright, Tom? You seem worried,” you noted.

“Everything’s fine. I have to go to the shop. Family meeting is an hour,” he replied, stubbing out his smoke and standing from the table. “We’ll take Nora to the park Saturday, eh? We’ll have a picnic,” he suggested with a small smile.

“She’d like that,” you agreed, watching him collect his coat and hat.

With a brief kiss, Tommy was out the door and striding purposefully toward the betting shop.

———————————————

Tommy closed the doors from the shop, shutting out the raucous noise and turned to Polly expectantly. “Did you get it, Pol?” He rocked on his heels, impatient for the information that would help Freddie and Ada.

Polly reached inside her shirt front and pulled out a small piece of paper, handing to Tommy slowly. “The name is Stanley Chapman. Here’s the address. The money’s there and it’s all arranged,” she said confidently.

“Alright,” Tommy said. “This should at least buy them some time to leave the city while I make a deal with Kimber.”

Polly placed a hand to Tommy’s forearm, looking into his eyes as she advised, “It’s not too late to be rid of the guns, Tommy. You have a family. Think of Y/n and Nora.”

Tommy jerked his arm away, incredulous at Polly's suggestion. “I am thinking of my family, Pol. When I gain a legal racetrack pitch it’s all going to change for us.”

Polly shook her head sadly, “Tommy, your mother always said, It’s his cleverness that’ll kill him. I just hope it isn’t your wife and child as well.” Her face was pained as she said it. Tommy realized he had hurt her by dismissing her advice and he tried to reach for her as she brushed past, but she wouldn’t have it. The conversation was ended with his stubborn response. All that was left was for Polly to say her rosary and pray that God kept them all safe.

———————————————

“You have an address for me?” Inspector Campbell asked as the rain fell in torrents behind him. The bad weather keeping curious onlookers away from their late night rendezvous.

Tommy nodded confidently. “Stanley Chapman,” he declared in a clear voice.

“I asked for Freddie Thorne. No deal,” Campbell replied disapprovingly. He replaced the bowler hat atop his head and turned to leave, his coat flapping in the breeze.

“Stanley Chapman is a much bigger fish than Freddie Thorne and he’s currently holding 200 pounds in cash,” Tommy offered. Then he added a bit louder, “Given to the Communist Party by the Russian government.” 

Inspector Campbell broke his stride suddenly and looked over his shoulder with renewed interest. He slowly began to walk back to Tommy, eyebrows raised to show he was listening. Seeing he was gaining traction in the negation, Tommy continued, “If he talks you’ll have proof. You might even get a medal.” He could see the way Campbell’s eyes gleamed with the mention of an honor and he hoped he could tempt his corrupt soul. It was time for Tommy to make his demands clear. 

“Now, before I give you the address, I want your word that Freddie Thorne will be safe,” he said, holding the paper before the inspector like a prize.

“Very well. You have my word,” Campbell said with a quick nod of his head. He extended his hand and accepted the paper, shoving it inside his coat pocket eagerly. “There is just one more pressing matter at hand, however,” he said, drawing out his words dramatically.

He took a seat in a nearby chair as he considered Tommy with a sidelong glance, building suspense before admitting, “Mr. Churchill is becoming impatient and I fear that if you don’t give back the stolen weapons soon, I will be replaced.” 

Tommy cocked his head, feeling ill at ease with the direction of the conversation. Feeling the need to remind Campbell of their arrangement, he interjected, “When my business with Kimber is done, I will return the guns. That was the deal.”

However, the inspector was not finished. He clasped his hands as he leaned forward to threaten, “If I were to be fired and it were your fault, I would do things that would shame the devil.” He chuckled darkly as he added, “My fury is a thing to behold. For example, on my last day, I could use my authority to have your daughter removed and placed so far away, you’d never find her." Tommy's face turned an ashen gray at the mention of Nora and Campbell seized on it immediately with glee. "Ah, you think I didn't know? I know you’ve tried to hide her amongst your brothers’ children, but that little raven haired girl stands out, Mr. Shelby. I have my men watching her and that beautiful wife of yours,” he leered.

Tommy stood motionless as the inspector spoke, blue eyes staring without blinking as his blood ran cold. His mind went blank of all strategy as he was forced to imagine the unthinkable. Campbell took two steps closer, making Tommy feel a suffocating closeness. “That would be a dark day indeed, Mr. Shelby,” Campbell said, his lips curling into an evil grin. “Know this, the clock is ticking,” he said, shoving a finger into Tommy’s chest before he turned on his heel to leave.

Tommy stumbled backward, holding his head in his hands. He had to think of something quickly. You and his baby girl were in grave danger.

Cont reading Part 2

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

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@wandawiccan60   

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@christinasyellowflowers

@notyour-valentine

@theshelbyclan

@areyenotfondofmelobster

@polishcrazyone

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@l1-l4

@rangerelik

@kmhappybunny240

[television-overload]

heartstrings

This was going to be a two sentence fic that popped in my head but ended up being this instead...

[Ao3]

-.-.-

Seeing her there — a living, breathing part of himself smiling enigmatically up at him — was revelatory in ways he'd never expected.

He wondered how, for years, his heart had been completely missing, absent from his chest, and he hadn't noticed — first nestled in the womb of his partner, his best friend, the love of his life, and now walking around on her own two feet.

Of course, he'd known a piece of his heart was gone. It had belonged to her in part for many years, but she took full ownership of it somewhere between him knocking on her door, and the moment he left her behind on the tarmac.

Did she know? Was she aware that she carried more than that portion he'd knowingly given her? That instead of guarding the rest of it carefully, he'd left his entire heart in her possession, forgotten like a wallet or a set of keys?

If this small child fell and scraped her knee, did she know it was him who would be bruised? When she smothered her daughter with hugs and kisses, did she feel his presence there, too? Who was it that she saw when she looked at this daughter of theirs?

He had been there. All along, he had been there.

Now, at least, he had an explanation for the emptiness he'd felt.

He never knew it was possible to watch your own heart walk into a room apart from your body. He wasn't prepared for the strange hollowness that would flare in his chest, the phantom pain of something that was no longer part of him. The utter vulnerability of not being in control.

He felt unsteady, adrift in a vast and terrifying sea, with the knowledge that something so valuable had been out there, subject to the whims of a cruel world, and he hadn't known. He thanked every star in the sky that she was okay — that despite his ignorance of her existence, she'd made it this far.

He was here now. He would not fail to protect her again. If he could hold her tight to him, pulling her into the gaping chest cavity from which she'd escaped, he would.

But such was the burden of a parent. He wondered how Ziva had coped with it.

The office was as silent as the grave, a vacuum of sound and light. His world had narrowed to the size of a toddler not even three feet tall, with brown, tousled curls and eyes that looked all too familiar. Everything else seemed to fade away.

Then, as if pulled by a string, he found himself drawing near. He knelt before her, reaching toward her slowly and gently, as carefully as one might lift an injured baby bird from the ground.

He could find no words to say, nothing he could voice that would adequately express the maelstrom within. His fingertips brushed her skin, and it was like something snapped into place. Like something long thought lost had been returned.

He could hold himself back no more. His arms encircled her tiny frame, and he brought her to his chest, so small and fragile.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Oh, Ziva, there you are...

He swallowed past a lump in his throat, and held her tighter.

His own heart, he may have given away, but he had received something in return after all. The weight of her necklace felt heavy in his pocket. The weight of the life he was now responsible for, doubly so.

"I'll keep it safe," he promised, listening to the steady thrumming of his daughter's heart. "I won't let anything happen to her."

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Immortal Beloved - Chapter Two.

Well, here we go with the next instalment, guys. I won't lie, I'm a bit disheartened that chapter one did not do as well as the prologue. I just hope that's because people are busy and haven't gotten around to it yet, rather than 'oh, this sucks, not reading it any longer.' Sadly because of events not too long ago, that's exactly where my worried little mind always goes :( Huge thanks to all of you who have interacted, though. Maybe I can encourage some of you who don't already to leave a comment, or reblog it? It would mean the world to your hardworking author.

Previous chapters - Prologue One

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,700

Warnings - Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“Holy shit.” Patting his pocket quickly, he was mildly dismayed to find himself without the silver letter opener he had stashed in there, the only thing made of the metal he could find that would work as a weapon against the shadow walker stood before him.  

“Do you search for this?” There within her handkerchief covered grasp was the very tool he’d been told to arm himself with, the vampire tilting her head back. “You know what I am now, for you to be carrying the very item that could destroy me within your pockets.”  

Looking at her unflinchingly, the blue of his eyes burned cold through the amber of his eyelashes, taking a drag on his cigarette. “I do.”  

Puzzlement tugged at her grin. “But why? I pose no threat to you, John. I told you this.”  

The caution in him continued to amp, but swirling around it came a feeling of great juxtapose. His first encounter with her had been truly terrifying, appearing before him more beast than woman. As she stood mere inches from him now, there was a gentleness to her quite palpable, the feeling of a storm stilled, the raging rain and howling winds broken by glittering beams of sunshine. He kept the words of Polly and Tommy firmly in mind, though. 

“How’d you know my name?” 

“Your walls are thin, and vampire hearing is quite the thing.” Smiling, she watched as he mirrored it for a flicker of a second, his face swiftly altering, blankness stilling his features. She read him like a book, though. “Your aunt, she is incorrect.”  

“Yeah? What about?”  

“When she spoke of us being evil incarnate. I for one am not.”  

His soft snort was muffled by the blast furnace once again roaring, but she still heard it. He could have snorted in disbelief three streets away from her and the sound would still reach her ancient ears. “You tore four men to pieces last night. That counts as evil in my book.” 

“Then you are evil too, John Shelby. For the weapons you wield, the intent behind the bullets you direct at your enemies, or the razorblades within your cap intended to blind and maim. I could say we are the same.” She had him there, he had to concede. “I saved your life, there was a purpose to my slaying of the Rasmussen men. That, and I happened to be quite famished.”  

He sighed, flicking his cigarette away, returning the toothpick to his mouth. “Look, love. What the fuck do you want, eh?”  

She cocked her head, smiling, reaching for his cheek. “For you to be calm, John. All this coolness towards me is unneeded, I swear to you. I would also like for you to be a gentleman, escort me down to the public house and buy me a glass of wine. I am partial to a nice, dry red.” She held the letter opener forth, gesturing to it with a nod. “A show of faith. Take it. I trust you; I would like for you to trust me as well.” 

They shared a weighted silence, pulled in by one another’s gaze, the vampire speaking once again as her eyes toured him. “Gods, you are so strikingly handsome.” 

She watched as the confidence he carried himself within seemed to slip a little, his cheeks colouring a tad as he looked away for a moment, a tiny slither of shy disbelief fluttering through him.  

He looked back at her with a sniff, his shoulders bobbing lightly. “I ain’t bad.” There within the sharply dressed gangster, the man with the feared surname that preceded him, was the tiniest smidgen of boyish bashfulness. Oh, how she adored it.  

“So,” she began, eyes glittering at him through the gloom of the evening, “that drink?” 

The stroke of her fingernails against his cheek soothed him in a way he couldn’t explain, feeling himself pulled into the glacial vortex that was her eyes as he returned the letter opener to his pocket. “Alright.” He suddenly remembered Arthur’s reaction, coupled with the warnings of Tommy and Polly. “We can’t go in The Garrison, though.” 

“This is of little matter to me,” the vampire began, adjusting the black fur of her collar. “I much prefer The Brasshouse.” 

“You mean the place on Broad Street? Bit far, ain’t it?” 

She smiled, taking his arm. “Not too far at all. Now, hang on tight. We shall arrive in a jiffy.” Suddenly, he felt as if he’d been shot out of a canon, the air whirling past him at great acceleration, his feet finding the floor below after a few seconds. Looking up, he saw the doors of The Brasshouse to his left.  

“How... the fuck did you do that?”  

Her smile flashed a set of pearly white teeth. “You bared witness to the stealth that I move with. The Bentley Motor Company has nothing on me.” She took his arm again, his warmth delicious against her perpetually cool body. “Let us head inside, and perhaps I shall tell you more about myself. I sense you have many questions.” 

She absolutely wasn’t wrong.  

As he entered the cosy surroundings of the pub, with its long, polished oak bar, bare brick walls and tiled floor, he wondered whether he’d completely taken leave of his senses. There he was, escorting a vampire towards the bar, intent on purchasing her the dry red she had made it known she was partial to, against the grave warnings of his family. He was nothing if not a risk taker, though, a man who lived life in the moment, caution thrown to the wind.  

Imagine the stories he could tell his grandchildren; about the time he’d courted a vampire.  

Was it even courting, though? Perhaps such a notion was getting ahead of himself, John realising that for all the thrill seeking within his nature, he should still perhaps not throw his caution to the aforementioned wind entirely. After all, he still had no idea over her intentions towards him. 

“Large whiskey, Irish, and a dry red for the lady.” John instructed the barman, who nodded before bustling away to prepare their drinks.  

All around him, the eyes of the patrons were drawn to his companion, how much she stood out compared to the other female persons there present. Short hair styled in finger waves was all the rage, but the vampire couldn’t have been further from that, with her dark curls tumbling almost to her waist. The stares did not abate once they’d taken their seat in a booth, John noticing one man at the bar practically salivating over her. 

“Oi, mush. This ain’t a museum and she's not on display,” he barked, his frown deepening. “Put your fucking eyes back in your head.” 

The man scoffed, leaning back against the bar in a casual, unbothered manner. “And who are you to tell me what to do, eh lad?” 

“John Shelby.” 

At the mere mention of his famed surname, the man’s face dropped, picking up his drink and moving with his cohorts across the pub, John muttering beneath his breath. 

“That was very gallant of you, but I do not mind being stared at so much. I know that I am somewhat of a curious sight to behold,” she began, running her fingernail around the rim of her glass. “I do not look like other women.” 

His eyes roamed over her, pupils inking into the blue. “No, you don’t.”  

“And you enjoy that,” she asserted, her pretty lips curling, looking at him through the flirtatious flutter of her long eyelashes as she sipped her wine.  

On impulse, he reached forward, wiping the drip of Cabernet from her lip, bringing his thumb to his own mouth and sucking it momentarily. It made her shiver within. “I do,” he finally confirmed, his eyes not leaving hers for a second. Oh, how she loved a man who had the confidence to stare so unblinkingly at her. “Do I get to know your name?”  

“Brynhild.” 

He was taken aback a little. “That’s a strange name,” he began, eyes still fixed firmly on hers, so much so that she shuffled slightly in her seat. He was much too handsome for his own good. “No surname?”  

“It is a very old name. As for surname, I do, but it is not like a surname that is known today. My people used patronymics, and what that means is to combine the father’s name as the prefix, and then either son or dottir as the suffix. I am the daughter of Leif, so therefore my name is Brynhild Leifsdottir.” 

He was fascinated, if not a little confused, closing the gap between them as he leaned across the table. “I think I’m just going to call you Bryn.” 

Her laugh at his dryly delivered assertion tinkled through the air. “That is fine with me. I like that. Nobody has ever shortened it before.” 

“Who were your people? You sound foreign but I can’t place your accent. I’m a fucking clod with nationalities, geography an’ all that.”  

“No, no,” she assured, her hand pressing to his forearm for a moment. “You are correct, for even though my accent has softened, I am not English. I am Norse, or Norwegian. My people were Vikings.”  

His eyes all but fell out of his head. “What, as in the fellas who came over and terrorised a load of monks up north all them years ago?” 

“You say that you are, to use your term, a fucking clod with nationalities and geography, yet you know this correctly, John. Not as much of a clod as you think, hmm? You know your history, also.” 

He shrugged. “Me sister is a right bookworm, she rattled something off about it once and I remembered.” He paused, momentarily wetting his lips with a flick of his tongue. Again, she shivered internally. “I know it’s bloody rude, to ask a lady her age, but...” 

“One thousand and seventy-two. If I am to count my human years, then I am one thousand, one hundred and two years old.” She reached for his mouth, placing two fingers beneath his chin to close it after it had dropped open.  

“Fucking... hell.”  

“And you are?” 

He suddenly felt a little inferior to his companion, that tiny little show of bashfulness making an appearance once more. “Um, twenty-eight.”  

“Ahh, then if you are to discount my vampire years, we would not be so different. I had just turned thirty years of age when I was made what I now am.” His face remained a picture of wide-eyed incredulity. “Does my ancientness bother you?” 

“No, not at all. I’m just... bloody hell. The things you must have seen and learned in your time. Fuck.” He laughed softly, shaking his head in wonder. “You're fascinating, Bryn.” Their chemistry already mingled in the air like magical alchemy. 

She beamed, and he felt his pulse quicken. “You are very complimentary. What else do you wish to learn about me?” 

He sipped his whiskey, returning the tumbler to the table with a soft clunk. “Whatever you want to tell me, love.” He winked, taking her hand and laying a soft kiss to her cool fingers. It took all she had not to reach across the small space and plant her lips to his.  

Everything. She wanted to tell him everything as the blue of his eyes pulled her further to him, her usual aloofness banished to a place she could not reach to pull it back. Not that she wanted to. Bryn scarcely encountered humans who were quite a confident in themselves as John, especially in the face of all that she was. She knew he’d been afraid of her the night before, but that no longer seemed to linger within the body of the well-groomed, handsome young man. 

He was unfazed, he did not cower to her. She was the most powerful apex predator on earth, yet he treated her like a lady. It had been many years since she had experienced that. He’d watched her decapitate a man with her bare hands, he knew of her savagery, yet it dented neither his chivalry nor his flirtation as they fell into long conversation together.  

“To answer your question, yes, I can eat and drink, but they have no nourishing effect upon me. I could drink every last drop of alcohol within this public house also, and it would not affect my equilibrium. I do so merely for the pleasure when it takes me, and to blend in. A woman at a dinner party pushing her meal around with a glass that never empties draws attention, the type I do not always wish to receive. All the food in the world could vanish and I would not be concerned, for truly I only need the blood of humans to survive. Animal blood works too, but not as well. We weaken without our life’s source.”  

John listened keenly as she talked, remaining mostly silent as the evening passed by, his eyes darting to the large clock in the corner every so often, willing it to tick backwards. He’d been there with her for four hours, and he wished for nothing more than another four to follow. “What else about being a vampire make you different from humans?” 

She was only too happy to share that, but there were some secrets she would keep back. Even when in the company of a man who she viewed with as keen interest as she did John, she never gave everything up at once. “My speed, which you have witnessed. My strength is boundless, too. I could – and have – uproot a tree by pushing it, for example. I could also hold a car up one handed and throw a grown man across the room with a mere shove of my hand into his chest.”  

His eyes sparkled. “You’ve done that, ain’t ya?” 

Leaning close, she licked her top lip momentarily, her grin broadening. “Too many times to count.” She paused, cocking her head slightly. “You know exactly what I am and yet, you do not fear me.” 

His shrug was light, finishing his drink. “There’s no point. If you wanted me dead, I’d be gone within a blink, I suppose. It was like being scared when I went to France. If I thought about it too much, then I wouldn’t have been able to do what I was there for and defend me country.” His eyes seemed to dull a little, John clearing his throat before offering a candidness he seldom ever uttered. “It did scare me, though. If I let it.”  

The war hadn’t affected him quite like it had Tommy, John’s perpetual cheer and effervescence shining through the shadows left behind by the harrowing darkness of war. Only very, very occasionally did the Flanders blues bother him. 

She placed her hand atop his, John moving his thumb out from under hers, stroking the soft skin just below her first knuckle. “Anybody who claims not to have felt fear in battle is a liar. I remember it well, thought it was so very long ago.” 

“Some kind of vampire war?” he asked curiously, Bryn shaking her head. 

“No, John. When I was human. I was what is known as a shieldmaiden. I fought side by side upon the battlefield with my Viking brethren. I became extremely adept in burying my axe in the heads of many an Englishman.” 

He looked very impressed at that revelation. “So, what you’re telling me is that you’ve spent your entire existence basically being a fucking killing machine?” 

Her lips pinched as she tried not to find his words as entertaining as she did. Oh, he was such a lovable rouge. Not many would brush off that kind of information, let alone turn it into a joke. “I suppose I have, yes. I tend to be a little more sedate in my penchant for slaughter at my age, though. With age comes a gentleness not seen in younger of my kind. We ah, find a little of our humanity again, you could say.” He fixed her with a comic look of disbelief, raising his eyebrows aloft. “Except for last night, that is.” 

“Decapitation ain’t really sedate or gentle, love.” he hummed, laughing when she finally began to, dropping her gaze for a few moments, beginning to swirl a curl around her finger. “Got ya there, ain’t I?” 

This man, oh, this charming, playful man. He made her feel like a girl again, not an ancient creature of the night, not a barbaric shieldmaiden. Just Brynhild. Just Bryn. “Yes, John. Yes, you do.”  

On they continued to chatter, until last orders were called, John in no hurry to leave as he bought another round of drinks.  

“How much, gaffer, to keep this place open just for the lovely lady and I?”  

The landlord looked a little apprehensive, until he saw the size of the roll of banknotes produced, John beginning to peel them off. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, thumbing away a couple more.  

“That’ll be sufficient, sir. Got to keep it quiet, though, lights off. I’ll fetch some candles.” When it was just John, Bryn and the man who facilitated their elongated stay within the cosy surroundings of The Brasshouse, he finally broached the question that had been at the back of his mind the entire night. 

He kept his tones hushed, moving to her side so that they could share conversation that would not reach earshot of the landlord, sat at the other end of the pub next to the gramophone. “So, why did you do it, then? Take out the Rasmussen fellas, that is.” 

She nodded knowingly, lacing her fingers together before her. “I knew that you would bring the conversation back to that eventually. I suppose it is only fair that I reveal my intentions, especially after the lovely evening you have treated me to.” She was not short of a bob or two, but John had not allowed her to put her hand into her purse once.  

Drawing herself up a little, Bryn began. “I will start by revealing that I initially sought out your family for the purposes of alliance only, but then I witnessed you and felt my cunt do whatever the cunt version of a backflip is, so I will be completely honest there. I have interest in an alliance, and in addition to that, I now have interest in you.” She paused a moment while John’s mirth displayed itself in a long snort before he laughed hard. When women were unexpectedly crass, it never ceased to entertain him. 

“There is an old saying, John. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and gods, the Rasmussen’s are my enemies of the highest order. What they are, they are not merely a criminal enterprise. They are vampire hunters, their lineage spanning longer than mine. From one generation to the next, they have stalked me through the shadows for centuries, after what it is within me that fuels them. You must have noticed by now that they are much stronger than your average person, yes?” 

John nodded, allowing her to continue. “This is because they drink of our blood. In doing so, it will give a human some of the attributes of the vampire they have drank of. Sharper senses, speed, strength and stamina. You can imagine, can you not, the attributes they would gain if they managed to seize me. They would become unstoppable.” 

He looked thoughtful, absorbing her words. “S’cuse me if this sounds like I’m being a thick headed Brummie twat, but what advantage does an alliance with us give you? You’re ancient and powerful. We might be gangsters but still, we’re fucking feeble compared to you.”  

The admission of his lesser strength to her made something unpleasant prickle his insides, but John was no fool even in the face of such inner concession. He could not deny that while he himself sat very high upon the ladder of intimidation, Bryn was perched right upon the top rung. 

“Daylight, John. You have the daylight, whereas I do not. My home, all of my homes, in fact, have been well fortified against break in. This does not mean it cannot still happen, though.” She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering, her fangs snapping out within her closed mouth as the pain danced in her memories. Making them recede, she continued.  

“When residing at my home in London, I am guarded during the daytime by men under the employment of one Alfie Solomons. I believe you are acquainted with him. I offer an exchange basis. I pay most handsomely for such services.”  

He still looked a tad confused. “I think I’m missing something here. Why can’t you just go kill ‘em all? Ain’t like you’re not strong enough to do that.”  

“It matters not how strong I am. The Rasmussen family is great in number, as I am sure you have deduced by now. Their dwellings are well fortified against vampire attack especially, for they know the marks they have had upon their heads by others of my kind. This has not changed throughout history. They have always bred plentifully to remain in good numbers and thus further their cause. I cannot risk happening again what their ancestors put me through.”  

He almost didn’t want to ask, watching the pain swirl in her eyes, the way her nose crinkled slightly, the tightness in her jaw. “What did they do to you, Bryn?” 

Reaching for her wine, she gulped the rest back, wishing alcohol still had a soothing effect on her. “Took me prisoner for over a hundred years.” 

John might not have known about vampires for a long period of time at all, but what he did, he knew that perhaps it stung her pride greater than he could ever imagine to confess such weakness. As he covered her hand with his, he knew on an instinctual level that this rare and radiant woman was one he wanted to pledge his protection to.  

Whether his family would agree was a different matter altogether. 

[shirefantasies]

Hello!! I saw that you're temporarily open for matchup requests so I hope that I'm not too late with this! :) specifically from LOTR please~

I'm female, 5'7", Virgo, ISFP, with stronger preference for males. I have pale skin with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. My wardrobe mostly consists of darker colors, my favorite combos being black with red or pink.

I consider myself empathetic and honest. I am reserved most of the time, only ever talking if someone else initiates the convo, though I can go on and on about my hyperfixations and interests. Like even when I'm with a group of friends, I'd stay quiet most of the time and just listen so I may come across as a bit socially awkward. I've been told I'm a good listener and so I end up being someone many confide in or as someone who becomes stuck in the middle of a conflict. I am a night owl and get easily exhausted or even irritated when I'm out and it's crowded so I definitely need time and space on my own to recharge after a long day. I suppose among love languages, I lean to using words of affirmation. When I do have enough energy, I also like to cook and bake for my family and friends (and get upset if it doesn't end up turning right).

I really like animals, especially big cats, dogs and wolves. My favorite genre of fiction is horror so sharing scary/ghost stories would be my favorite group activity. My sense of humor tends of be on the dry, sarcastic side. My preferred methods of workout are swimming, badminton, and walking. When I get bored, I tend to doodle and hum. I don't consider myself a good singer and I'd only get the confidence to sing in front of others if I was a bit tipsy (I don't drink much, I am so lightweight it's not even funny and if I do, I stick with cocktail or beer).

In video games that involve combat and exploration, I tend to rely on speed and stealth (my footfalls are actually quiet irl too). Among weapons, I prefer using swords (dual wielding, if available), though having a bit of magic would be fun to use too (especially if you can set things on fire) :3

congrats on the 300 followers!

You are not at all! Thank you for waiting between my recovery buffer posts & older matchups! So here we go now love! Your match is…

Legolas!

Some people joke what a funny couple you are due to you both seeming so quiet, but in truth you are drawn to each other’s peace. Legolas is drawn to your gentle presence, the light falls of your steps upon the bank of the river where he meets you, water flowing at your feet. You are not the only one swimming that day, but you cut such a majestic figure as you move gracefully through the water, emerging with illuminated droplets descending from your dark hair. Since that very first moment you stuck in Legolas's heart.

He loves the way you hum as you work, dark skirts swirling about the floor as you swish through the kitchen. A smile plays on his lips as he compliments the work you've let out to cool and you drily tease him about stealing it. Instead, he offers to help hand it out and you are grateful to save your energy. Normally you do not prefer company in the kitchen, but this elf's presence is calming rather than draining. Your motions and his assume a rhythm unbroken by distraction.

He runs into you out in town, smiling at the large dog following at your heels while you carry your basket. You look content as you go to market, purchasing all you need. Catching the way your hand runs wistfully over a small ornately bound book, he finds his feet carrying him to market as well, his hands delving into pockets and being rewarded with the weight of a tiny tome. The following day's trip to your kitchen is met not with wry humor, but wide smiles and sheepish revelations of art. "You may think them the smallest of sketches, but to me I see a connection to this world." "Is that your way of saying you can't draw?" Yet another smile you've drawn from the elven prince. "You've caught me there."

When orcs attack your village, his first thought is to get to you, your hearth and your dog and all your little captures of your surroundings, and let any who dare trifle with it know it has a blade and a bow behind it. Boots thudding lightly as always against dirt, then stone, he arrives outside your home to see you there, a glinting sword swinging in each hand. Grinning, he shakes his head. He should have known. Shooting one of your twin assailants off you, he joins the fray. "Sorry I'm late." "You should be!" You grin back at him. "This party started an hour ago."

This visit has only a few days left. Ignoring that, you climb higher into the tree before you settle, pulling the red-and-black swirled book from your small satchel. Legolas sits in the crook of the tree right below yours. "Shall I read or would you prefer to?" It's as if he can sense your energy, see right through your facade to the highs and lows of your heart. The book in question held some of your favorite ghost stories, old legends and more local frights alike. You joke about the prince being able to handle it, but in the end you know whose voice you would prefer to ring out with it that day.

You are the only one Legolas trusts to saddle up his horse, hand him the bags he'd surreptitiously caught you slipping a copy of your book of horrors into as a memento. He says your name softly as a wish when you stand at his mount's side, catching your nod before he captures your lips with his, motions slow, deliberate as if he would wake up from the dream at any moment. Your name is even more delicious whispered after a kiss. "Wait for me." "Who else would I even look twice at?"

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[ikemenomegas]

Winter heart

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Drabble

Sometimes you catch Satoru looking wistfully at Megumi when he thinks no one can see.

Of course, he doesn't mind you watching. You're different, in his mind. If he was forced to explain it he'd just say you were different like Megumi and Shoko and Tsumiki and Suguru were are different.

He'd say it with a sing-song cadence and an imperfect understanding of how fragile most of you are.

You've come to find out that Satoru is really good at lying, like scary good. He'd told lies in school, white lies and untruths for the purpose of mischief. People's misconceptions are easy to manipulate, he'd told you once, under cover of a sea of stars, voice dull. It's not lying if they're the ones making up things that aren't true.

He might tell anyone who asks that he's raising the Fushiguro siblings like one might raise a particularly willful and onerous pet, or as a bargaining chip with the Zen'in.

He never says that in front of the kids themselves, and you've told both Megumi and Tsumiki that there are things they might hear, which people will try and use to hurt them someday.

You can see in Tsumiki's eyes that she understands and she holds you tighter, face pressed into your stomach when she clings, the way only a child twice abandoned knows how to do. You can see in Megumi's that he happily doesn't and you wish that ignorance upon him for ever and ever.

In times like these, with warm breath clouding the air, you understand how Satoru can think the whole world a fool.

Megumi's a small kid, face turned often to the ground. He doesn't see Satoru's bright eyes peaking from behind his sunglasses, so far above Megumi's head, gazing down.

Satoru doesn't like to dwell. At least he doesn't like to be seen weighed down by the weight he carries. You've had long practice and still barely enough to see the cracks, to pick apart the cleverly hidden clasps to his armor when there is no one else around, and still you would have a hard time if asked to explain Gojo Satoru.

But Satoru alone is sometimes a tiny bit easier to explain. In the tinniest moments when he looks down, wistful and fond, at the fuzzy head of a boy barely six years old, you see something like a wish that things could be different, and something like happiness that things aren't.

Tsumiki tugs your sleeve and points up into a tree where a last brave leaf, as red as blood, clings to a branch.

She's at an age where she collects things - rocks, odd pieces of glass, dried flowers, glimmering beetle shells, broken pieces of porcelain with edges that you try and make sure are not too sharp. She's also had the kind of life that makes it difficult for her to ask for things.

She stares when you bend down and motion for her to get up on your back and clambers up slowly, like she doesn't know what to expect. You grasp her elbow where it's wrapped around your neck and hover, four, five, six inches off the ground. You squeeze it in reassurance when she gives a little gasp.

You're high enough now that if she wants the leaf, she can pluck in herself.

She reaches around the side of your head though and just places gentle fingertips on its cold, smooth surface. She pets at it like the tiny bit of fluff on the head of a hamster, rubbing it back and forth between her fingers.

"You could have it, you know?" you say quietly.

Tsumiki leans her cheek on the top of your head, so intentionally casual, like she doesn't want to make a big deal of it. "It won't feel the same," she says.

And you suppose she's right. Some things aren't the same once you grasp hold of them. Some things die.

It's a snapshot in your mind when Tsumiki grabs the fur on the edge of your hood and you gradually lower yourself back down.

She wriggles off of your back, quick as a little fish, and walks ahead of you to catch up with Megumi, hand fisted in the thick ruff of Light Demon Dog's fur.

Satoru's waiting, sunglasses partway down his nose, hands back in his pockets.

When you tilt your head to the side, he doesn't flash a Cheshire white line of teeth through his pink lips. There's something softer there, something warm even on this, the coldest day since December.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Water Tower - EZ Reyes x Reader

Tagging: @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @est1887 @the-wandering-lunatic @alwaysachorusgirl @anime-weeb-4-life @vannabanana1995 @multifandomloversworld @lilvampirina @princessghost-24 @genius2050 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @sclitvdes @oureternalbond  @baybaybear1

It’s still dark when you and EZ climb the ladder to the water tower. It’s just gone past four in the morning and sunrise isn’t for another half an hour. EZ swears he can hear the rusted rungs creak beneath his feet. You’re already halfway up towards the platform on the top so he decides to haul ass before the damn thing gives way underneath him. It feels like the most daring thing he’s ever done despite all the shit he’s been a part of with the club. Taking a risk with his life is one thing, but taking a risk with his heart is another.

It’s silent when he reaches the top, the noise of the city dropping away as you shrug out of your backpack and remove a picnic blanket to spread over the cold metal surface. The two of you end up sitting side by side, backs against the podium the water vessel sits on as you survey the view.

You can see lights flickering in the distance, people getting up for the early shift, or night owls watching TV. Tiny pockets of insight into the population of Santo Padre. You shiver in the breeze, pulling your jacket even tighter around your shoulders, you’d forgotten how cold it can get up here without anything to buffer the wind.

EZ wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into the warmth of his body. He runs hot, he always has, and you feel the heat flood your system as he holds you close. There’s a comfort in the proximity, you haven’t let yourself get close to anybody in a long time.

“It’s quiet.” He remarks, his cheek coming to rest upon the top of your head as he looks out across the skyline.

It feels like another world, one where EZ Reyes the Prospect doesn’t exist, where the burden of KJ and the DEA doesn’t weight down upon his shoulders, threatening to suffocate him. He feels like himself again, like he’s just a man admiring a view, with the woman he’s fallen so ridiculously in love with.

“I come up here when I need to get out of my head.” You tell him, closing your eyes for a brief moment and revelling in the sensation of being with this man. “It helps me step back, take a breath.”

“Do you need to do that a lot?” he asks you softly, his palm squeezing your shoulder through the thin material of your jacket. It’s a reassuring gesture, one that steadies you as you think about the turns your life has taken, the burdens that you carry. You don’t answer him in the end, you’re not sure how to. You’ve been alone, dealing with the shit your father left you for years, discussing it has never seemed like an option. The pressure it swells in your chest, but you can’t seem to force the words leave your throat.

EZ seems to sense your inability to vocalise, he sighs softly into your hair before he breaks the silence.

“I didn’t know how to adjust once I got out of prison.” He whispers, his lips bushing over the top of your head.  “Everything was so noisy in there, there wasn’t a lot of space. I could touch the sides of my cell with both of my hands. When I got out, everything felt too big, too expansive…” He pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he searches for the right words. “That’s why I live in a trailer, or part of it. I don’t feel safe sleeping in open spaces, there are too many variables. I have to sleep with my back to the wall.” He swallows hard against the ache in his throat. “It’s stupid I know.”

You are the only person he has ever told about this, how he’s struggled in the aftermath of his incarceration. He thinks that Angel doesn’t want to hear it and that his father already carries too much of his baggage. There’s no one else he can trust with these feelings. The memories of his time in prison haunt his dreams, he still wakes up in the night thinking he’s back there.

“It’s not stupid.” You tell him, inclining your head so you can study his features. He looks back at you with such vulnerability in his eyes it makes your heart hurt. You look away, back at the orange blossoming over the skyline before you clear your throat to speak.

“My dad, he used to gamble. Football, baseball, basketball, there wasn’t a sport he didn’t like.” You smile bitterly as you think back over the last few years. The jaundice pallor of your father’s flesh as he watched the TV, hunched forward in his seat, his features scrunched together in apprehension in the final innings of a game. “It got bad before he died, when his liver was packing up. I think it was his way of dealing with what the cirrhosis.”  

“I’m sorry…” EZ begins and you shake your head to cut him off because there’s more and you feel if you don’t get it out now that it’ll stay sealed up inside of you, the toxicity leaking into your bloodstream until it finally kills you.

“He put the bar up as leverage and when he died, all of those debts they transferred over to me. If I want to keep the bar, I have to pay them.” You tell him, drawing your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them. “That’s why I come up here, because when I’m up here, there’s nobody making demands on me. I don’t owe anybody anything, I’m not a failed dancer or someone trying to keep their head above water, I’m free from all of that. I’m just me.”

“Shit.” EZ says finally, his lips brushing over your temple.

“Yea,” You whisper into the receding darkness. “Shit.”

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