#dry january is off to a terrible start

[nobdoy]

My mom gets so mad at my dad for having a disability and I just. Don't. Understand.

[lay-z]

inamorata | 1

Summary: Two retired veterans decide to adopt a domestic hybrid on a whim to bring some much needed light back into their dire lives.

Pairing: hybrid!Ghoap x fem!hybrid!Reader Warnings/Info: 18+ | Hybrid AU ft. black panther!Simon, grey wolf hybrid!Johnny, and maine coon cat!Reader. Despite ears, tails/feathers, and their adapted nature/instincts and personalities, hybrids have human features. | strangers to lovers; class differences; fantasy/fictional setting racism; hurt/comfort; humour; eventual heavy smut; dom/sub elements; fluff; cussing; angst (Mind the warnings for each chapter!)

Based on this idea 🖤

There is an atmosphere of departure around the common hazel just outside the fenced backyard.  

The pair of robins has found their ideal nesting spot in between the high branches of the early blossoming tree after days of scouting the pretty territory. As early as January they start to sprout, Nana had explained to you once, and it’s February now. While other trees around are still leafless and recovering from winter, the common hazel is turning colourful; working hard and earnest to change the lifeless scenery with its tiny deep green leaves and pale-yellow catkins hanging from the branches. 

And joining its effort, the common birds of the area are starting to build their nests, looking forward to spring with natural optimism; stacking sticks and stones and moss to build a home in harmonic teamwork. A home for their offspring to hatch and grow; hidden and protected from predators.  

A breeze makes the thinner branches and catkins sway while the reddish birds huddle together, seeking shelter in a notch of the trunk, puffing their plumage for warmth. Out of a hole at the base of the trunk, a hare pokes its head out, large ears perked. 

You wonder what the hare must’ve heard. You wonder if the breeze is cold, if it would nip at your exposed face and make your furry ears bristle. You wonder if the air smells fresh, perhaps flowery, though definitely exhilarating. And you wonder how the robins sound, if their lovely chirps would make your heart flutter with happiness and longing for more. 

Exhaling a soft, discouraged sigh, you continue to gaze out of the meagre overhead window, curled up on the metallic windowsill high up off the ground of your tiny enclosure; chin resting on your forearm while you clutch your long and cottony, golden tail to your chest, petting it self-soothingly while you try to get lost in your daydreams; drowning out the awful ambient noise of the hybrid shelter along with your terribly empty stomach and grief stricken heart. 

It’s gotten even more crowded after Christmas, now that given away hybrids have been returned to shelters, to the illegal breeders they were bought from, or simply dumped into the streets and on highways before they were snared and detained by the regulatory agency for homeless hybrids–the RAHH. Although the only “homeless” hybrids always only happen to be domestic. The lesser species, meant to serve and obey. 

The other female cat hybrid in this enclosure has been taken to the vet last night after her water broke, leaving you with the luxury to be alone in the tiny space, along with the puddle of amniotic fluids that no one has bothered to clean up yet, so you simply had to let it dry by itself as you lack any towels or blankets to spare for a proper cleanup, though the smell isn't half as bad as the general stench of this wretched place, and to your own horror, you’ve noticed that you’re starting to reek, too. Then again, you can only groom yourself limitedly without a clean source of water and a piece of soap.  

Then, a particularly loud wail from one of the younger dog hybrids in a kennel close by disturbs your thoughts, makes you flinch, and your fuzzy ears flatten anxiously as you peek over your shoulder just in time to watch one of the shelter workers unlock the gate to your enclosure. 

Your ears perk up again, tail twitching hopefully in your grasp as your eyes flicker to her–empty hands. No food. It’s been three days. Your stomach clenches and a wave of nausea threatens to overwhelm you at the prospect of going another day without a meal before something else catches your attention, something way more surprising–two large apex hybrids standing behind the worker, both oozing power and dominance. 

The shelter worker, a stern-looking woman with a tight bun and a clipboard, sighs impatiently as she spots you hiding higher up on the windowsill again. She's used to the skittishness and fear in the domestic hybrids under her care, but your avoidant and clever behaviour is getting on her nerves. Turning to the two apex hybrids, she gestures towards you. 

“This one seems fairly docile and well-behaved. A purebred cat hybrid, female, late 20 or early 30s, we’re not sure. She's healthy and not... uncooperative like some of the others, and it seems like she’s still a virgin.” The worker says, her voice devoid of any real concern or compassion. 

Your eyes widen slowly as the wolf hybrid enters your enclosure confidently, uncaring of the still drying puddle on the concrete floor. His bright gaze is fixated on you, neck craned to meet your fearful gaze with what you can only describe as a cheeky grin; his long grey tail swishes behind him slowly while you get lost in the cerulean colour of his eyes. Bright like the sky, promising freedom. His haircut looks funny. 

“Well, well, well... aren’t ye a bonnie wee thing,” he purrs, his Scottish brogue rumbling through his friendly words. His tail starts to wag as you shift your position, turning around fully and releasing your grasp on your tail to bend over the windowsill to get a better view. Your tail uncurls and stands up straight, its fluffy tip crooking like a question mark–showcasing your curiosity. Your nose twitches as you take a tentative sniff and catch the pleasant cologne on his tanned skin, mixed with his natural musk. 

The other apex hybrid, a massive feline missing half an ear and wearing a black surgical mask, watches the exchange with a guarded expression. His dark tawny eyes, visible above the rim of his mask, are calculating as he assesses you. He takes a step closer and enters the enclosure as well, his broad shoulders and muscular build now crowding the small space while the shelter worker steps out into the corridor. 

“She’s feckin’ gorgeous, Simon,” the wolf hybrid says in awe, his eyes crinkling with mirth as he nudges the other one with his elbow while you duck your head at the compliment, a flush rising to your cheeks. “Looks jus’ like the pic on the website.” 

Simon glances up at you appraisingly; eyes gauging your body language while you tilt your head at the way he wears his sleek black tail tucked around his waist like a belt, still wondering what kind of hybrid he is.  

“Aye, she’s... a vision, and calm, too,” Simon agrees, and his voice catches you off guard–low and gravelly, bordering on a deep, soothing purr that leaves your fur bristling pleasantly. They’re both nice to look at. Strong. He glances over his shoulder at the shelter worker, who’s tapping her foot on the ground impatiently, clutching the clipboard to her chest. “This one will do. We’ll take ‘er.”  

Your breath hitches and your heartrate increases swiftly while your doe-eyes flicker between the apex predators, not quite processing what this means, though the wolf hybrid’s tail wags as he reaches a meaty hand out to you encouragingly. “Ye think it’ll work on her, Si? It certainly doesnae with ye,” he chuckles boyishly before flashing you a charming smile. “C’mon, bon–pspspspspspsps–” 

You tut, brows furrowing at the blatant insult before you glance at the other one, Simon, who simply shakes his head slowly, muttering: “Fuckin’ hell, Johnny.” There is no doubt he’s some sort of feline.  

Meanwhile, the shelter worker nods and makes a checkmark on her clipboard. “Very well, gentlemen. I’ll have her things and the necessary paperwork ready at the front desk in a minute.” 

“You’re... serious? You–You want me?” you ask in disbelief. It cannot be that easy. It cannot be that simple. And they cannot be serious about this. Your stomach growls as you push yourself up on the windowsill, waiting for confirmation while your tail flicks nervously. 

Johnny beams and reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, retrieving a bundle of black leather along with what looks like a chocolate bar. “Ye heard what Simon said, didn’t ye? Hard ta believe those pretty ears are deaf,” he snickers, fumbling with the items before holding a collar and candy up for you to see. A friendly offering, a mouth-watering temptation. You swallow hard and move to climb down from your safe haven, drawn in by the prospect of food, of getting out of this hellhole.

Behind him, Simon clasps a hand over Johnny’s shoulder, squeezing it some and making the shorter man’s tail wag again as dark eyes look up at you expectantly. “Come on down now, sweet’eart. Let’s get you home.” 

[frodo-with-glasses]

Dreams in the House of Tom Bombadil (and the Four Elements of Trauma)

Now that we've gotten to the point where the hobbits spend the night in Tom Bombadil's house, I'd like to expand on this bullet point from my chapter review:

Much apologies to my girlies on the server who headcanon the hobbits with phobias corresponding to the four elements; sadly, Tolkien is not on the same page as us this time.

For context, I present to you these screenshots of messages sent on the Fig Tree Discord Server back in January:

This started as a half-joke, but it's since evolved into something of a shared headcanon for some of us. Pippin has a Thing about fire, because of the Pyre of Denethor. Frodo has a Thing about water, because his parents drowned. Bri has since told me that she headcanons Merry has a Thing about air, specifically cold air, after his encounters with the Black Breath. And that leaves Earth to Sam.

The good news is that this is a really fun headcanon; and when you look at LotR through this lens, it's actually kind of staggering how well it fits with the events of the book.

The bad news is that Tolkien did not write LotR with this idea in mind; and the whole thing with Old Man Willow, and the subsequent nightmares that the hobbits have in Tom Bombadil's house, make that abundantly clear.

After all, what does Old Man Willow do to Frodo? Lulls him to sleep and then tips him face-first into the water. He almost drowns. He almost drowns. Sam finds him face-down in the water, unconscious, held down by a root and not struggling; there's water in his nose and his mouth and his eyes and ears and he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he nearly goes out the same way his parents did, in a river that connects to the one where they died. If Tolkien was writing Frodo with hydrophobia, this probably would've gotten a bit more attention than it did. But no; in Tom's house, Frodo dreams of Gandalf and Black Riders, because he's the protagonist and Tolkien needed an efficient way to foreshadow things a bit.

What does Old Man Willow do to Merry? Closes its roots over him, so that only his legs are sticking out; and when Frodo and Sam set fire to the tree, Merry screams, and begs them to put it out. "He'll squeeze me in two, if you don't. He says so!" He could feel the roots of the tree clamping like a vice under his ribs, squeezing, crushing, bruising; he could hear the voice of the tree in his head, demanding he communicate the ransom message. And as our beloved former anon, Meg, pointed out: Could he breathe in there? Was it dry and stuffy and stifling inside the tree? How much air could he even draw in, when his lungs were being crushed and had no space to expand? He screams with what little breath he has left, but can they hear him? He's going to die. He can't breathe. He's going to die.

But, ironically, he's the one who dreams about nearly drowning, and his dream-brain convinces him he's lying in a "soft slimy bog" before he wakes up and finds himself in Tom's house again. He's not the one who got tipped into the water, but go off Tolkien I guess.

What does Old Man Willow do to Pippin? Closes its roots over him completely, with a click like a lock snapping into place; and when Frodo and Sam set fire to the bark, and Old Man Willow gets angry, they can hear Pippin's "muffled yell" from deep inside the tree. Fire. Smoke and ash and anger. Could Pippin smell the burning wood around him? Could he feel any heat or sting? Did he hear Old Man Willow's voice, the same way Merry did, cursing the flames and threatening to smother him if it wasn't put out?

His nightmare, out of the three of them, is the only one that makes sense to me; he dreams that he is again inside the willow, hearing the wood creak as it sways in the breeze over him, and hearing the voice of the tree laughing at him again. But, sadly, no mention of fire.

All of that to say, if I wrote Lord of the Rings—which I realize is a terribly presumptuous thing to say given that I am, unlike Tolkien, Not A Genius, but hear me out—I definitely would have Frodo's nightmare be about drowning, Merry's be about suffocation, and Pippin's be about burning alive. This would then be foreshadowing for the later horrific stuff they're going to encounter concerning water, air, and fire respectively.

I dunno. It just seems like a missed opportunity is all. Which is probably why, despite how much I adore the “nightmares revealing inner turmoil and then characters waking up in safety and comfort” trope, I never really liked this sequence in the book all that much.

Sam, meanwhile, is welcome to continue sleeping “in deep content, if logs are contented". Good for him. 10/10, no notes.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #289 - Twenty-Minute Tuesday #34

Brain Curds are lightly edited daily writing - usually flash fiction and sometimes terrible on purpose. This is not fiction.

So this is how it ends?

A year like 2024 comes too often for one lifetime. “The Year of Change,” as I declared it in January, has changed me like only time could. It has changed my circumstances, it has changed my body, it has changed my mind, but what is perhaps most striking is what hasn’t changed.

I thought I’d have gotten my “adult life” started by now. A new apartment, a new job, maybe even married. I thought I’d be able to look back from December to December and see a completely unrecognizable scenario for myself, and look in the mirror to see someone self-actualized and finally happy.

Instead, I look in the water-spotted mirror I keep forgetting to clean and I see my scars. I see the bags under my eyes, sleep-deprived from the dreams of what might have been. I don’t have a new apartment; I’m still living in this room, a place I have now lived longer than any other dwelling in my life. Dust is caked into the corners where I piled temporary stashes four-and-a-half years ago.

Not only did my plan to move evaporate, but I gave up on applying to jobs in the aftermath of my birthday and haven’t looked at listings since. There was a time, however brief, that I felt confident in my abilities enough to apply to positions I was clearly not qualified for - which I have found out is what you are supposed to do, apparently. The mind boggles.

My engagement was the first ending of the year. Unceremoniously treated like an afterthought on my own birthday and dumped like a sack of moldy potatoes for daring to exercise autonomy, I cried my way through two hard ciders the following evening and needed help getting back to the car.

Then, there was the culmination of two years of buildup: that’s right, bottom surgery, too, felt like more of an ending than a beginning, a feeling only now beginning to fade as the angry red turns pink.

Only last month did I learn the final ending to come from this year: my best friend is moving away. As I scramble to make use of the few remaining weeks, I feel seconds slip through my fingers, desiccating them like salt and silica, leaving dry skin to crack and bleed in the cold air. There was still so much to do. There still is.I don’t know what will happen after all the endings. That’s where beginnings come from, as I’ve been told. So I close my eyes, then, and fall backwards off the diving board. Welcome, new master, 2025 - where will you take me?

Please comment, reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed - I'd love to know what you think! See you again next year.

[kate-the1975]

Meet Cute 🧡🍁 // Matty Healy

A/N: I'm using promptober as a lil mini series. So, the same characters/female love interest will be used for each prompt. I hope that's okay with everyone ♡

CW: Maybe some mature language, but that's it ♡

WC: 1,936 words

🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁

The streets of Dublin were completely frost bitten. The roads were icy and damp, the leaves soggy and totally mushed into the ground and the sky crying heavily.

Amy's dream season was that period between winter and spring, but this. This was not it for her.

Amy loved it when the sky was nearly bronze, the leaves so crisp that they'd crunch under her feet as she walked to work, and when the air was dry, but the kind of dry that everyone loves at this time of year where it makes your cheeks and the tip of your nose rosy, and gives you an excuse to wrap up in an overwhelming amount of layers.

This, though, this wasn't the kind of season that she loved.

The bell above the door of her bakery and coffee shop jingled lightly as she pulled open the door, letting a loud and exaggerated sigh while she removed her fluffy red scarf, hat, and the rest of her body warming attire.

"You're here early!" The cheerful voice of her best friend, Eve, echoed from the kitchen in the back.

"Nope! You're the one who's early for once instead of being late. I'm just perfectly on time, my love." Amy skipped playfully into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around Eve's shoulders in a tight squeeze.

"Hey! You're distracting me. Stop it!" Eve chuckled as she tried to shake her best friend off her back, but her efforts were pointless.

"Just act like I'm not here. Go on, continue what you're doing." Amy placed a quick kiss on Eve's temple before leaving her alone to continue prepping the freshly made Croissants to go into the oven while she herself pottered around the kitchen, collecting all the squeaky clean dishes from the dishwasher.

"Evie?"

"Yes, Amy?"

"Do you know what date it is?"

Eve knew this was a trick question. Of course, she knew what day it was. It was the day of the new year that Amy hadn't stopped talking about for months now.

"Umm....nope! I have no clue. Tell me." Eve teased, huffing as she rubbed her hands together to clear off the access flour from her hands.

"It's January 29th, which means we-"

Amy was cut off by the bell above the door, ringing in a way that felt rather obnoxious.

"Did you flip the sign to open?" Eve looked at her with confusion.

"No, it still says we're closed. I'm too fucking cold and tired to deal with it, you go."

"Me!? Why me!? I have to keep an eye on the pastries." Eve argued, starting to become visibly bothered by the thought of having to deal with a not very welcomed costumer.

"Fine, I'll go! But these pastries better be your best yet, or you're paying for the drinks at the concert tonight."

Amy flung the damp cloth she was using to dry the dishes at Eve's face, making her squeal in disgust and making Amy laugh embarrassingly loud.

"Hi, I'm sorry to say this, but we aren't open yet. If you come back at 9am we'll be open for business."

Amy put on her best customer service voice as she spoke to the back of this man physique.

His tall frame slightly hunched over as he analysed the large bookcase filled with classical and also more modern vinyls.

"Sorry, love. I didn't even notice you were closed. I saw the vinyls, and I just walked in. I truly apologise, my mistake."

As he turned around and his thick accent echoed throughout the shop, her heart stopped beating. Any words she could possibly form were caught in the back of her throat.

"I-uhhh-well-.....please, don't be sorry! I'm sorry. I actually completely forgot that we're open earlier today because of how terrible the weather is. Please, take a seat or have a look around!" Amy rushed her speech. Word after word coming out in a stutter filled with obvious nerves.

"Oh, alright, so. Thank you, darlin." The curly headed man smiled warmly, sending a flutter of warmth into Amy's own heart.

With a friendly tip of her head and a sheepish smile, Amy made a quick turnaround back into the kitchen, practically hyperventilating to Eve as she tried her best to explain who walked into their shop.

"Seriously? Ams, I'm not falling for that. Don't be so fucking- OH! Shit, he's right there!" Eve gasped as she poked her head out around the door. Gawking at the man who was tapping his fingers awkwardly against the table he was sitting at.

"Yes, Eve. Yes. THE Matty Healy is sitting in OUR shop when we're supposed to be going to HIS bands show tonight."

"Well, just....talk to him." Eve shrugged her shoulders like it was no big deal.

For Amy, this was a big fucking deal.

"HA! No."

"HA! Yes. Now, here's a raspberry muffin, go up to him and say it's on the house. I'd say his ego would fucking love that!"

Eve gave Amy a shit eating grin as she passed the muffin to her on a beautiful vintage lavender rose China plate that Amy's grandmother owned.

"Fuck off." Amy grumbled as she put on a smile and walked back out to the front of the shop. Only to find him out of his seat and pondering around the vinyls again.

Amy took a deep breath before speaking. Wanting to sound proper instead of sounding like a total dumbass.

"If you'd like, you can pick out a record and put it on. We normally let customers pick a record if they feel like it." She spoke in a more toned down version of her Dublin accent, standing a few feet away from him to give him space.

"Ah! You see, this one right here is an excellent one. I'd like to put this one on, if you don't mind, of course." Matty turned on his heal to face Amy, smirking slightly as he watched her face turn a Ruby red when she noticed he was holding his bands latest album in his hands.

"Ehm, sure. Why not! They're a good band. Have you ever heard of them?" She quipped.

"I know a few songs. Wouldn't know the lyrics to their songs off by heart or anything, but they're tolerable."

Matty went along with the banter. Something in his heart feeding off of this interaction with the beautiful brunette girl in front of him.

"Well, while you put that on, can I get you anything to drink? I have a raspberry muffin on the table for you over there, but if you'd like something different, don't be afraid to -"

"The raspberry muffin is perfect. I appreciate it. Oh, and, just a simple Americano. Please, love."

Love.

Amy liked the way it came out of his mouth, and the way it sounded like her favourite song.

She was quick to go behind the counter and make his coffee. Trying to hide from him as the intense redness in her cheeks reappeared rapidly.

As the crackling of the record subsided and the album began to play, she could hear his footsteps getting closer to her, and she could feel his presence close on the other side of the counter.

"Do you get many customers coming in?" He asked casually, trying his best to keep the conversation he was so desperate for going.

"Yeah, we do actually."

"We?"

"Oh, sorry. Me and my best friend Eve own the place. We opened it straight after the last lockdown. So, around July 2021." Amy explained as she passed him his Americano, leaning against the counter right in front of him as they chatted away.

"Christ, that's amazing. I'd say it's fun working with your best friend everyday."

"It is! I'm sure you know all about it."

Her comment made Matty smirk as he sipped the hot drink.

He knew she knew who he was, and whether her and Eve knew it or not, he could hear the entire conversation they were having in the kitchen. Matty was just waiting on Amy to bring something about the band up so he could call her out on it.

"Ah! So you know who am." He spoke with a slightly cocky attitude.

"Was me having every single one of your bands albums on vinyl over there not a giveaway." Amy snickered, starting to feel more at ease and comfortable as the conversation went on.

"Right, I guess, but I was waiting for you to say something that I could call you out on it in a way that didn't make me sound like a total dickhead."

"Aren't you just a dickhead in general, though?" She was beginning to pull his leg, having some kind of new found confidence running through her.

"Wow, alright! We've only met and you're already throwing abuse my way." He placed a hand over his heart in pretend hurt, pouting at her like a lost puppy.

"Well, who said we'll ever meet again? Might as well get my assumptions out of the way while I have the opportunity to do so." She gave him what seemed to be a flirtatious wink before walking into the back of the shop and into the kitchen to check on Eve's baking progress.

If Matty had it his way, this would only be their first encounter, but Dublin was just a quick stop on the tour and then he was off again. It's not like he could visit her every morning until he finally got the courage to ask her for a drink.

But if he made the effort, he thought to himself, maybe he could make this the first encounter and not the last.

He waited until she returned to announce his departure, telling her that he'd take the muffin to go before he was late to go wherever it was he said he needed to be.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Take care of yourself. It was nice talking to you, Matty."

Matty could tell by her face that their was a slight twinge of disappointment that he was leaving so soon, but that made his heart flip. A glimpse of hope that she'd take him up on the offer he'd left her.

"It was nice talking to you too....I'm sorry, you never said you name. What is your name, love?"

"Shit, sorry. Amy, my names Amy."

Amy stuck her hand out politely over the counter for Matty to shake, which he politely and very gently took.

"Well, Amy, have a good rest of your day. And, here's a little tip. My treat." He returned the same flirtatious wink that she'd given him earlier, slipping the so-called 'tip' into her warm palm.

"Oh, and before I go, enjoy the show tonight. Be careful with what you and that best mate of yours say in the kitchen. Those walls aren't as thick as you think, gorgeous." He chuckled deeply before disappearing into the gloomy streets of Dublin, taking the warmth that Amy felt with him.

She looked down at the tip in her hand to find a piece off of one of the napkins left on the tables with his phone number on it with three delicate x's at the end of it and a simple written note saying :

Text me on this number if you're up for a drink or two after the show. On me.

Amy couldn't help but giggle as she noticed the hand drawn smiley face at the end.

And just like that, the heavens closed, the concreate began to dry up, and the ice on the roads began to melt. The winter sun belted down as the leaves seemed to appear to come back to life.

That was just the effect he had.

That was just the effect he would have on her.

(I'm very aware that as I post this, it's the 4th of October, but I promise I'll have the other two prompts I missed and the fourth one out tomorrow xx)

(Oh! Thank you to @abiiors for giving me a hobby and for doing these adorable prompts ♡♡)

[teriwrites]

2024 Writing Wrap-Up

Happy New Year!!

As per tradition, every January 1st, I go back and collect all of my writing from the previous year and collect it into one monstrous mega-document and get to review all that work (and all the words) that I've done through the previous year.

Total Wordcount: 183,611!

I anticipated hitting my annual 100K goal, due to the two novels I was working on, but I really didn't anticipate to wind up with so many words! I really felt like I did basically zero writing outside of knocking out most of Beyond Alder Creek's second draft and powering through The Blind Oracle's first, and those two do make up the majority of those words, but still! So many words!

While that feels like a huge accomplishment, I will say that I feel like my relationship with writing and other creative work has felt a bit off the past year or two. The kind of 'off' that could simply be growing pains, as my ability to critique my own stuff surpasses my ability to make it, but also probably due to other aspects of my life right now bleeding through. I'm sure that, as I'm working harder to tackle said other aspects in the coming year, eventually that'll settle the frustrations here, too.

But that's not to say that I'm not both so excited and so proud of how much I've gotten done this year. I made it a goal to push myself to be more honest, more cringey, more 'weird' with my writing this year. And in some ways, I think I'm actually starting to see that peeking through. There are some projects I literally can't even share highlights from this go round because they're a bit too personal for public consumption lol

But hey, I wrote over 180,000 words this year. There's still plenty left to share!

So here ya go! Some highlights for 2024!

Mae Vodo wasn't a hero, yet. That would come in time. A time when her name would be known across Lore, when her robes would be spun of magical silk and adorned with medals of achievement, when even sovereigns would bow in deep respect. But for now, the only folk who knew her name were the stablehands of the keep, and the only magic she spun was the dancing lights to entertain herself after dark. (Tales of Lore)

“If the Undernell knows the Warden wants us away from their manor, we’ll have to outsmart their aversion in order to find it.” Winnie closed her eyes. She might’ve counted to ten, tried taking in a deep breath, anything to settle the coil in her chest. But her patience was spent. “How, exactly, do we outsmart a cave?” Edea piped in, “If we convince it that we are not aiming for the manor, perhaps it will let us through.” That made about as much sense to Winnie as anything would’ve, she supposed. Although it conjured up the image of three dimwits marching through caves, talking loudly about how much they didn’t want to find the Warden’s estate. Not exactly subtle. (Beyond Alder Creek)

The innocent ignorance of the kingdom's most powerful, their authority a facade in the horrible knowledge he'd been cursed with. Fate cast him from their comfort like a shadow from the light. He saw death in their pleasure; even skulls appeared to smile. (The Blind Oracle)

Nicotine steeped in her veins, its soothing poison filtering her flyaway thoughts, blunting their sharp edges. Not a cure for the insomnia, more likely an instigator, but if Juniper was going to lie awake staring at the ceiling all night, she’d have rather done so without a hurricane for a brain. She’d take the artificial stimulant over the natural kind. (Untitled, but Don't Smoke, Kids!)

“At least grab something to drink before you go. The library is such a dry part of the Halls.” “I think that’s intentional,” Madoc fired back jokingly. “For all the paper?” “Great for parchment,” Fin agreed, “terrible for hair. I prefer to do my reading in the courtyard.” He pulled at one of his curls, extending it to its end before letting it go. It sprung back towards his face, regaining its shape. (The Blind Oracle)

Do they have any secrets? A pretty big one, yeah. It’s called The Plot. (in which Teri fills out a character sheet for TBO)

Shiloh could've been the first to enter the sanctum in a century, and nothing around them would've appeared any more abandoned. Few people worshipped the god of Death, they reasoned. Especially during such times when They kept so busy that to live felt like open rebellion. (A Conversation with Death)

“I would request assistance in my quest for vengeance.” He said it with the nonchalance of asking for directions. The Oracle answered with the same casual tone. “And what would best assist you in your quest?” “Knowledge.” “And what do you have to trade?” Taliesin didn’t so much as flinch. Winnie studied his back, wondering if he’d hidden anything of use on him, or if he was truly showing up to this powerful fae empty-handed. “All-Knowing, what would you request of me in return?” The porcelain face’s expression shifted into one of amusement. The Oracle was fond of Taliesin, Winnie realized. She knew him, and found him endearing. Winnie would be shocked at nothing after this. (Beyond Alder Creek)

- Boys will be boys, if by that you mean being inducted into secret societies, having existential crises, breaking into historic sites, crying a Lot, and going on a little vacay~ (Badly explained wips: Castle on the Hill)

Every vision they'd seen, every glance into the future. As he'd suspected, or maybe as he'd feared, all overlooked the danger they faced. Whatever power granted the Oracles their sight, it singled out Madoc alone for its cruelest glimpses. Visionary or not, coming forwards with Brevorn's betrayal would cast enough doubt over his intuition. Augurs of old had been killed for less. Staring at the surface of the table, he weighed his options. Death being hailed as a traitor, or death knowing himself to be a coward. "Some choices," he muttered. (The Blind Oracle)

Despite their obviously being overheard, Taliesin continued his attempt to convince Winnie to make a deal. To his credit, he spoke in hushed tones. Not as much to his credit, the Dawn guards snorted derisively with each attempt. (Beyond Alder Creek)

"The categorization of intellect as a superpower is constantly subject to debate," Henry Weldt said, pushing the registration packet back across the table. "And I object to mandatory labor on the grounds of a genetic mutation, regardless." Henry's father slid the papers over again, forcefully. "We've been over this. Your guidance counselor confirmed with the local defense league recruitment. Your IQ alone classifies you as a power holder under the current regulations. Like it or not, it's your civic duty to register at the age of 18." Crossing his arms, Henry stared down at the Department of Superhuman Ability's logo in disdain. He said nothing. His father sighed, running a hand through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. "What will it take to get you to sign the damn paper?" "Nothing." Henry shrugged. "I'm not signing it." (Villain Origins: Doctor Illusion)

Just before Madoc thought he’d never be able to twist his face out of its smothering, plastered-on smile, a familiar face looked down at him. “Gareth!” Madoc blinked back his surprise. Overcoming his shock, he blanked. “I didn’t realize they allowed guards to attend the ceremonies.” Madoc’s little brother — though ‘little’ was relative, he’d been forced to admit once, begrudgingly — pressed a finger to his lips with a chuckle as he extended his hand. “‘Guard’ nonsense! That’s actually Syr Gareth of the Bright Blade.” With a quirk of his eyebrow, Madoc looked pointedly at the borrowed, embroidered doublet constricting Gareth’s wide shoulders. “According to?” “The Master of Ceremonies.” “And who, exactly, told him to call you that?” Gareth pulled away, clapping his hand to Madoc’s shoulder. “Can’t take up too much of your time! Wouldn’t be fair to the other Seers.” “Oracles, Gareth.” “Them, too!” With a curtsy, Gareth dashed to congratulate the other boys on their accomplishment. (The Blind Oracle)

Curiosity was a daytime sentiment. Under the midnight pitch, Juniper’s innards coiled in apprehension. (Untitled)

When she had first learned that the fae were required to be entirely truthful, Winnie had taken it as a good sign that she could trust their word. But the longer she traveled in these strange lands, the more she realized that there was a lot of space to manipulate truth without ever coming close to honesty. (Beyond Alder Creek)

Madoc pondered over what he’d seen as he made his way to the quietest wing of the Halls. The court, with its unbridled rage. The stoic guards, silently allowing the onlookers to take the stand. The terror of the man. His innocence. Guilt twisted in his midsection. What had the man been accused of to earn his fate at the hands of such ire? What had Madoc done? Was it his rightful punishment that the man endured on his behalf? Were the screams torn raw from his throat a mere mockery of the justice they sought? What had Madoc done? What act could have drawn the line from rioting mob to legitimized vigilantes? Why had the guards looked on? What would he do? Madoc stopped in the center of a hallway, suddenly breathing very hard. (The Blind Oracle)

The perpetual grin of Their skull seemed to widen. Mirth lifted the tone of Their voice into something like a smile as They said, "Child, I am Death." Shiloh had prepared a speech for their confrontation with the god of Death. They'd spent days polishing the wording, fixing turns of phrase and spinning eloquence from their plain request. Even along their walk, they'd repeated the words like a mantra, one of very few assurances that they could follow through with this. Nothing of it remained. Instead, Shiloh simply said, "No." "No?" "You can't be Death." The figure cocked Their head, gentle amusement coating Their words. "And why is that?" Later, Shiloh would blame their impudence on the shock. Frowning, they sat up still further, resting their weight back on their extended arms. "Because you're so… lively." "To the living, Death is crypt and grave." They waved a hand, turning Their head to acknowledge the sanctum's transformation. "To the dead, it is but another stage of the cycle." (A Conversation with Death)

A knock against the door startled Madoc into taking a step forwards. Even this near the edge of the balcony, the height of it swam through his head. He saw fires razing, smoke rising. With a blink, it cleared. "Sitting out here and contemplating your annihilation all alone?" Fin asked as he joined him, immediately choosing to fully rest his weight against the railing. "Thinking about theirs," Madoc said with a nudge of his chin to the people scrambling below. "How noble." (The Blind Oracle)

"If I promise not to say anything…" Natalie trailed off hopefully. A sigh escaped me before I could catch it. "That'd be breaking at least half a dozen codes, and, no offense, but I really don't know you-" A shriek interrupted my sentence, cutting me off. I barely managed to dodge the careening hourglass before it flew past, shattering glass against the wall. Natalie was already halfway to the door. She froze shortly before reaching the register lane. I crossed the store from the opposite direction. "Why'd you do that?" I asked, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in my voice. Natalie couldn't move, thanks to my immobility spell, but she could still talk. "You're going to kill me!" "I am not going to kill you!" Seriously, what was up with Typics? "Honestly, Natalie, do you even want to remember all of this?" Silence. But not the silence of contemplation. "You do?!" "It's kind of cool!" (Arcane Affinity)

Humanity tore a rift in the fabric of the Beyond. So be it. Winifred Pewitt would burn it in its entirety before she let it rob her of her brother. (Beyond Alder Creek)

You will stand in one of the washrooms of the Halls. A basin sits before you. You grip its sides as you stare into the mirror hanging above. A beast regards you from your reflection. Its eyes will be bloodshot, each red vein streaking across the white. Its hair is matted, clinging to its stricken face. You stare hollowly into your own eyes and don't recognize the wild feral creature looking back. Dazed, your sunken hazel eyes host a wildfire, your jaw slacks, agape. The sight will bring a laugh bubbling to the surface. You can't contain it, a choking, gurgling laugh. You see a flash of your throat as the hood of your robe falls to your shoulders, and a gasp tears the drowning chuckle into a sob. Tears will stream down your face. You watch them fall in the mirror, watch them slide down your cheek, drip off your chin. You don't look to see where they fall. You don't look down at the basin. But as your hand comes up to wipe the streaks from your face, it will be stained with red. Nausea will drive you to dry heave, and as you hurtle forwards, your gaze will land on the basin below. Its once-clear waters are cloudy with spilled blood. Red marks your hands, your robes, pools across the tile of the floor. You will scrub at your hands. The fresh blood has washed away, but dried stains cling more stubbornly. You scrape at the skin on your hands. Even where the red of blood fades, red from the irritation takes its place. In the low light, it's difficult to discern the two. Nobody will disturb you as you work, but you will hurry anyway. It is only a matter of time before your deed is discovered. You return your focus to the scrubbing. The robe will have to be discarded entirely, and the tiles thoroughly cleaned. You will not think of what's happened. You do not think of the body, still laying where it fell. (The Blind Oracle)

Ahead, Taliesin’s pace never shifted, his posture fixed as ever. But Taliesin would look at home walking on water. The Beyond molded to fit him, its landscape embracing him into its entirety. (Beyond Alder Creek)

So much had happened since those early days in the stables of the keep. Back when heroism meant parades and giving orders and confidence. Mae didn't have much confidence left. And with all of it stripped away, where did that leave her? The thought of a parade, of an extravagant feast catering to her every whim, left a sour taste in Mae's mouth. Images of grateful expressions made way to angry ones, grieving faces reflecting the horrors that had ravaged the countryside. Mourning deaths that Mae had failed to prevent, where her powers hadn't been enough. Where her magic clashed with the enemy's, and the fallout only ever seemed to rebound onto the innocent. (Tales of Lore)

There'd never been such dark circles engulfing someone's face. Tired hazel eyes stared back at him from the depths, any fire of hope for himself long extinguished. Where once he'd seen glimpses of fate's chosen vessel, now he only saw an empty man. He looked so alone. This was all he'd ever been. A will-less, witless fool who escaped his promises to avoid responsibility for himself. Madoc couldn't look for long. The last he saw of himself was a disgusted sneer smearing across his face. (The Blind Oracle)

[wetcatspellcaster]

Writer Interview Game

thank you so much for tagging me @eraserspiral !!!!

When did you start writing?

I wrote a lot of 'original fiction' as a teen, including a couple of TERRIBLE novels, that were essentially just a grab bag of all the books i was reading at the time. School (and in hindsight, grief) stopped this around 16-18, and then a very high pressure degree at a high profile university seemingly killed off my love of writing entirely.

I got back into writing at 26... weirdly?? just before the panini?? (january 2020, did past-me feel something in the water and know i'd need to hold onto any crumb of serotonin for dear life??) I had just finished my PhD applications, and after sinking so many hours and so many words into the most joy sucking series of forms I've ever encountered, I decided I wanted to write something fun for a change!

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I don't write smut. I read a LOT of smut.

But in terms of themes, I tend to write in worlds/fantasy settings where we can all pretend that capitalism doesn't exist, or that if it does exist, the protagonist is winning at it. I really like speculative fiction (sf and fantasy) that tackles capitalistic themes/poverty well - this has been on my mind recently bc of an arc in a D&D game I've been playing, where my wonderful DM has essentially gone 'capitalism bad' but then let us do something about it <3

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I find it hard to know what my writing 'is like'... not bc it's wildly unique or anything, but just bc I don't think I can see my own influences that clearly (if anyone wants to drop me some comparisons in the askbox, go for it, I'm curious!)

But in terms of writers I want to emulate, at the chatty/colloquial end it's T Kingfisher and Sarah Rees Brennan, who have a good handle on when to hit emotionally or on high fantasy register, and then when to have really grounded/human moments that make their characters incredibly relatable (and often very funny). At the high fantasy end, it's Shannon Chakraborty, Ann Leckie, Nghi Vo, Silvia Moreno Garcia. They write haunting and engaging narratives!

And, of course, I'm always trying to muster an ounce of whatever the fuck Howl/Sophie had going on.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I use my desk for work/thesis and want to exclusively keep it that way, so my writing space is actually just on the corner of the sofa in my living room, with my legs crossed, a blanket, and a cup of tea. No music, pure autistic silence (but also bc my laptop speaker is broken). Scotland gets dark for a long time in the winter, so it's usually pretty cosy vibes. It's probably not good for me, as I get a LOT of leg cramp.

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Honestly, not to be tsundere about it... but maybe ignore the muse a little? If you've burned out or you're trying to brute force a scene, all you're doing is guilting yourself into being productive. With fic writing, especially, you should be doing it to have fun, not bc you feel like you have to. So if the words aren't coming, do other things for a bit. Go on a day trip, hang out with friends, do chores or read something. In my experience, my brain doesn't stay quiet for long, and ideas for my current project will come to me when i'm not trying to squeeze them out of myself like toothpaste.

Sometimes the well runs dry! Rather than feel terrible about it, be kind to yourself, and wait for rain x

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Hahahahaha, let's not talk about how I keep placing people into the worst versions of themselves and then have them improve and earn love anyway, regardless of if they deserve it. Or how I'm interested in characters who feel a wealth of emotion they hide from everyone behind a mask of either performed indifference, wilful charm, or simply bc they can't articulate it in the socially correct way. Or women who think 'if I cannot be beautiful or loveable, I will be competent', and the men who-

Anyway, introvert x extrovert pairings, amirite? Everything else is shown to me in a vision (my therapist reaches a dead end in my session as I insist nothing is wrong, asks me about my fanfic, and then delivers me a laundry list of the stuff I'm currently coping with. Lowest point: being told im IDing through the fucking DARKLING, on one project. That man is a war criminal, and I dont look like Ben Barnes).

What is your reason for writing?

In the beginning, I think it was pure comfort. I'd just come out of a period of extreme depression, and wanted to hallucinate some characters in love.

But recently, and going forward, I think it is a genuine exercise in proficiency. I thought my writing was so terrible that I said 'I couldn't write', for so fucking long. I now genuinely think this is something I'm good at, and that is something it has taken me so very long to believe, and even longer to say. I am a very self-deprecating person. I have so few things I feel good at, or that I think bring something worthwhile to the table. As academia delivers me blow after blow and the world leaves me feeling worthless, I am going to cling to this until my hands bleed.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

focusing on the 'motivation' part of this question... I think the comments that happen to land on the one specific thing that matters to me, those are the ones that hit hardest. It happens rarer than you'd think. part of the joy of fanfiction comments is the wealth of different reader interpretations, with people seeing things in your own work that you've never noticed. All interpretations are amazing, especially the ones that show you a blindspot you never considered. But when a reader hits the nail fucking on the head (gets a 'gold star in reading comprehension'), that's the most motivating, and makes me want to open my document and write the next chapter. Because I know then that at least one person out there 'gets it', and is fully on board with the story I want to tell.

But that is a very selfish, specific feeling. All comments are motivation, and all reader interpretations have value!

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Idk if this seems weird or a disingenuous answer but... as a person?? Writing a story for fun? Pieces was a very cool and special experience, but it was very unexpected. I wasn't and never considered myself to be a 'big name fan'. I never want to enter any kind of popularity contest, and I never want to be beholden to people who are reading a story I am writing for fun. Very funny to have a story blow up when you have weird feelings about attention lmfao. Like don't get me wrong, absolutely amazing to ride such a huge tide of support, but this was meant to be my silly introvert hobby :')

I also hope they think my writing is good!! obviously!! i know it can't be everything everyone wants all the time, but you know!! i think it's neat!! I hope y'all think it's neat!! plz and thank!!!

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

lmao eraserspiral's reply to this question was a fucking mood. (just deleted it in my template to make space).

I guess... I know how to flesh out a character, and a character voice. I think I can establish a character's personality, their strengths and their flaws, and have them consistently become the vehicle for both progression and some very real, understandable mistakes. I think chapters from different perspectives feel distinct, and that when development in either direction (bad or good) happens, it feels earned.

idk man, this is a hard one to answer when depressed :')

How do you feel about your own writing?

At the end of the day, it's a lifeline. Sometimes I keep very much to myself and I protect it fiercely, because it's one of the only things that kept me going at certain points in the last few years. At my lowest, I've often wondered for what, if anything, I'll be remembered for or what I'll leave behind... and now I actually have things! 12 whole stories, where once there was nothing! Sure, it's fanfic! But some people's favourite fanfic. None of it is perfect, but it all matters to me, and we're now at the point (4 years in) where I am starting to slowly realise how it has changed me as a person, and will continue to change me going forward.

I want to start on some original ideas once my thesis is over, vivaed and done, but I don't currently see my writing as anything something I can make into a career, bc I need to keep the joy in it as the joy literally keeps me alive :')

tagging: @imscissorbladez, @pricemarshfield, @blarfshnorgull, @violacae, @dededrabbles, @brabblesblog - no pressure, just trying to share this tag game to more groups/social circles! :) x

[multifandomfix]

January Movie Wrap Up

Bad Samaritan: 8/10. It started off a little slow, and had some moments throughout that lagged a bit, but it really picked up in the second half. David Tennant was a superb villain! All in all a pretty impressive thriller.

Benjamin: 1/10. Couldn’t even finish this one. The main character was so cringe inducing that I felt physical pain just watching him. It was advertised as a rom com, but what I watched was dreadfully dull and not at all romantic.

Don't Talk To Irene: 9/10. Truly stellar movie overall, but I am a sucker for a movie about outcasts and old people, so I may be a little biased. 🤣 And Geena Davis as the narrator/god/whatever was really fun. The humor didn’t always land, but overall very sweet, fun and uplifting.

Lizzie: -1 billion/10. I don’t know what the fuck anyone was thinking making this. There’s good actors in it, but their performances are all terrible. The lighting is atrocious, and for a movie based on a historical event, there sure isn’t a single iota of fact in it. If you want to learn about the Lizzie Borden story, please do not watch this. Watch Christina Ricci’s Lizzie Borden Took An Ax. That is well done. This is trash and drivel.

Paradise Hills: 8/10. If you want fantasy meets sci-fi meets thriller, this is the one for you. It was a little hard to follow at times, but that may just be my attention span. But it was visually beautiful as well as riveting to watch. A little out there for some perhaps, but an underrated, untalked about gem if you ask me.

Quiz Lady: 9/10. It was funny, cute and honestly pretty amazing. I went in hoping I would like it and was so glad that it didn’t disappoint. Sandra Oh was phenomenal and her fashion in this movie was 😍. So worth the watch!

See How They Run: 7/10. It was a nice little mystery/comedy. Sort of a dry wit to the humor, but it got a few chuckles out of me. If you like Knives Out, give this one a chance. Similar vibes. Personally I didn’t think it was exceptional, but it was good enough, I suppose.

Teeth: 6/10. The plot felt like it didn’t really try. And when it did, it was just kind of boring. Had they really camped it up I think this could have been way better. +1 point for Hale Appleman being a goddamn treat. Such a beautiful man.

The Holiday Exchange: 6/10. If you’ve seen The Holiday, then this play on it definitely falls pretty flat. The couples are both okay, and there are a few sweet moments to smile at, but it’s mostly just meh. Was it worth the five minutes of Kyle Richards I got? Not really.

The People We Hate At The Wedding: 7/10. Look, was it super original? No, but it was a pretty good watch despite some tired rom com tropes. There were some truly hilarious moments, and some really nice Allison Janney scenes. 😍 I probably wouldn’t watch it again, but it was good enough to have kept my interest.

Wicked Little Letters: 9/10. Listen, it’s a bit of a slow burn, and you don’t know exactly what’s happening or why in the beginning, but this one you’ve got to stick with. Olivia Colman is as adorable as she is maniacal and it turns out to be well worth the watch in the end.

[s-tephaniethorne]

𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓅𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒾𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓃𝑒

Pronouns: She/Her Birthday: 27th January 1995 (22) Species: Vampire & Psychic - Empath Turned: June 2013 (physically 18) by Jace Ryder Alliance: Neutral - Unaffiliated Occupation: tbd Location: Inside the dome

So What Happened?

Stephanie Thorne had known she was an Empath long before she was ever turned into a vampire. Technically, she’s a Psychic and while it’s volatile magic-- sometimes when Psychics are turned into vampires, it terribly enhances their powers. That was the case for Stephanie, who, once able to cope with feeling the emotions of others, was overwhelmed by her heightened vampire senses and by the feelings of others. It was crippling.

She was starting to get things under control with the help of hunter Blake Huang. Only then tragedy struck for Blake and he kinda went off the rails... Which meant he didn’t have time for Stephanie anymore and at the time, vampires at all. Her bloodlust, her cravings, were getting out of control when she ran into Jessica and Lua Harvelle’s dad. She didn’t mean to, but she drained Mr Harvelle dry.

Stephanie fled the scene, little did she know Jess was right around the corner to cover it up. With no humanity, she didn’t care at all, seeing only the potential for leverage. Stephanie tried to act as normal as possible! She went to prom with Steven Beaumont and had a nice time (kinda!). She hung out with her football team at the after party, broke up that embarrassing as hell fight between Tyler Manning and Jesse McArthur. She even had a few laughs about Joey Savatore announcing that he was in love with Isabel Valentine.

When Founder’s Festival happened... Stephanie screamed. Being an Empath on that day was unbearable. It was just like the massacre she survived when Jace Ryder turned her into a vampire. She thought that day would never end. Against her wishes, Stephanie was protected by Jace’s clan-- by Piper Renderos. They want her to join their messed up family, but she won’t. She never will.

Stephanie has a family of her own. Her 7-year-old little sister? Well, she’s really her daughter and Stephanie would do anything to keep her safe. But what’s more, she needs to keep her safe from herself. Stephanie is terrified of accidentally hurting her loved ones-- again.

If one good thing came out of all this pain, Stephanie and Blake’s alliance was rekindled. They’re both on a road to redemption together. They only meet above ground and Stephanie refuses to be looped in on anything to do with the Resistance-- she doesn’t trust herself.

After the ‘AU’ dream-- now known to be a spell that was cast on the town-- she feels a connection to Nina Jones. She knows it was only a dream, but they were a family.

Wanted Connections

tba

[sasquatchwalker]

The Nothingness I Live in Now

11/26/25

This Friday I turn 29. My golden birthday. It doesn't feel very golden, not with me being unemployed, single, living with my parents and -$64.38 in my bank account. But it will happen nonetheless. I will turn 29 years old. 29 and at the lowest point in my life.

I recently got back into drinking tea every morning, because it's cheaper than coffee, and as I was drinking it one morning I couldn't help but be reminded of high school. Back then I too would drink copious amounts of tea, partly because of my grandma and partly because I was obsessed with all things British. I was struck by the fact that I was much the same then as I am now; jobless, penniless, and with a vague plan for the future. Except when you're in high school that's acceptable. At nearly 29 years old, it feels like failure.

I keep thinking things like, I should've saved more, I shouldn't have moved to Southern California, I should've been more proactive at work. Maybe they would've seen how valuable I was as an employee and not laid me off. But I didn't save and I did move and they did lay me off. And there's nothing I can do about it besides apply for job after job and hope one sticks. So far, nothing has.

People keep telling me they'll keep an eye out for jobs for me or they'll be sending positive vibes my way. I am grateful for the optimism but it also makes me feel so much more miserable. "You'll find something," they say, "You're qualified for so much." But it seems that “qualified” just isn't good enough these days. Or maybe it's too much. Either way, qualified or not, I am still nearly 29, jobless and living with my parents. Three months of no work and no money and too much guilt welling up inside of me.

The other week I cried in the shower. No, not cried. Sobbed. Bent over, wailing, clutching my chest sobbing. If the water hadn't been washing it away I would have had tears and snot running down my face. A small, inconsequential thing set me off and it was the hardest I had cried in literal years. I'm not saying I don't cry. I cry at least once a week for one reason or another. No, this was like the dam of my heart burst open and out poured every miserable thought I had ever had about myself. You're a terrible friend, you're selfish, you're a leech, you're ugly, you're useless, you're a failure, you're unlovable. Over and over again these thoughts whipped at me like those spinny brushes in a car wash until the water started to get cold and the realization that my dad would be home soon hit me and I didn't want him to find me sobbing in the shower. And then afterwards, hair wet and skin dry and cold, I laid in bed and let tears silently stream down my face.

The day after "The Big Sob" was election day. I hung out with friends, we played games and ate food and tried not to think about what was happening. I drove home from their house around midnight and the entire 45 minute drive felt like the night of the 2017 fires. The wind whipped violently, debris being thrown everywhere, a feeling of foreboding in the air. I hadn't brought my glasses so the road felt extra hazardous. And when I got home, I felt so empty and too full all at the same time. My dreams were not memorable but I woke up with a deep aching sadness in my chest and tears began falling from my eyes. Unemployed, single, no money, living at home, and starting in January, living under a fascist. The tears didn’t stop for a while and the ache never fully went away.

On top of all this, I've been struggling with a mysterious foot injury for nearly the entire month of November. Weeks of pain and discomfort that have finally subsided somewhat but flare up if I stand for too long. I keep finding myself in this miserable cycle of feeling sorry for myself and then feeling childish for feeling sorry for myself. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of hurting, I'm frustrated with myself for being out of shape, which is likely the cause of my injury. My sedentary lifestyle biting me in the ass yet again. I'm tired of this endless nothing, this endless waiting. Waiting to hear back from jobs, waiting for my foot to get better, waiting to find just the right motivation to better myself. I'm tired of it all.

And then there is my writing. For the past week I've been stuck on the same passage of my book with little to no progress. My goal was to be finished with the first draft by the end of January of 2025, but the way progress is going now, I highly doubt that will be the case. At the end of October, I had challenged myself to write 50,000 words in the month of November. Midway through the month I abandoned that goal. Too many obligations, too little motivation, one thing or another got in the way of my writing. One would think that being unemployed would leave ample amounts of time to write a book, but oh, do I find ways to fill my time with endless nothing. A project that once brought me joy now feels like a daunting chore.

But things are not all bad. As the end of November approaches, I've been focusing on my birthday party. Buying decorations, cleaning, making lists, etc. It's a good distraction to have, the planning of a party. Something joyful in the midst of misery, both self-inflicted and not. Since it is my golden birthday, the theme is gold, shockingly. I will be wearing gold pants and we will sing karaoke and play games and eat cake. I will be with my favorite people and it will be an evening filled with fun and joy. It has to be. If nothing in my life can go right at this moment in time, at the very least let this party be something that does. 

I have so many plans for 2025. But I am so scared that they will all be derailed, like many of my plans these past four years have been. 2020 was supposed to be my year. I was going to turn 25, I was going to go to concerts and get more tattoos and travel. I liked my job, I had a boyfriend, I was starting to really settle into adulthood. And then the pandemic hit. Two weeks in, my boyfriend broke up with me, claiming there was no more spark and he wanted children and I didn’t. My grandfather fell ill but because of restrictions we couldn’t see him. He died in early spring and I cannot remember the last time I had hugged him while he was still alive. I had two trips planned and had to cancel both. My job couldn’t give me enough hours so I left and started a new one in August 2020, the job that would eventually lay me off exactly four years later. 2020 was no one’s year but for me it felt like the jumping point of my gradual descent into the nothingness I live in now. 

That being said, even though I am scared of the future and what it holds, I am trying so hard to wade through the muck that is my misery and find solid ground again. My life is not all bad. I am lucky to have my family’s support, I am grateful for all my friends' love and care. I am healthy-ish, my dog is healthy and happy, and tomorrow is a new day. And even though there is pain in my heart, I am determined to enter 29 with optimism. Yes, I am jobless, single, and living with my parents, but I am also loved and alive and that is enough for me. 

Cheers to 29.

[witchysolfan]

Dracul AU Human Variation Timeline plot (may add to this in later reblogs) (this turned out longer than I thought so gonna break it up into sections. Agshdjf)

(This is Part 1 to 3)

Cw: Violence, blood, death

Part 1- It all starts with a closet

(January)

Stefan Murrow (Starscream) gets jumped by a vampire who is his former student Peter Agyenim (Predaking) that is seeking to settle some scores. Except he accidentally completely drains his asshole former professor. He just wanted to scare him a bit, drain a bit of blood and go away. Instead he has a dead body in his arms and in a panic, runs to his apartment with the body and stuffs it in a closet.

Peter is panicking on what to do until Stefan wakes up in the closet and tries to sneakily leave until Peter spots him. From there Peter grabs Stefan and is shocked that he’s still alive.

He was dead. He could’ve sworn it.

He heard his heart stop beating.

Stefan is screaming and trying to get away, calling him a monster and that causes Peter to try and argue that he isn’t. It escalates more and more as Peter tried to make Stefan quiet but he’s yelling at him, throwing curses, and does not want to hear anything he has to say. It actually incites Peter’s temper, the dragon’s blood enflaming it to a crescendo.

And he’s draining Stefan again.

Draining him dry, a bloodless husk.

It’s a minute later, on the dot, that Stefan comes screaming back to life. The vampire is incensed that yet again this man just won’t stay dead. This spiteful, terrible man that ruined his chances to get a good education at a university and tarnished his reputation to where he struggled to get into one university that would accept him-the cause of it all just wouldn’t die.

Peter picks up the sobbing man and blinded by rage that burns hotter than any before. It was unearthly and inhuman, this wrath that burns so hot within his chest. He bites Stefan again, ignoring his pleas. Gasping at the venom slurring his words into a dreamy state again as the vampire drinks. He drinks and drinks until there is no more and Peter is left with a pale corpse.

The dragon’s blood roars in approval over the vengeance of his wounded pride.

Peter stares at the face of his most hated professor and all of the red hot anger starts to drain away. There is blood on his mouth, on his hands, dripping down to the floor.

He killed a man three times tonight.

He killed….

Oh god, he killed.

Stefan seizes then, returning to life and the agonizing wail ripping from his throat as his body thrashes in the arms holding him. There is too many tears it blurs his vision and he sobs. It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS IT HURTS…!

Peter wakes up from whatever disassociation that took hold of him and is horrified at the whimpering, trembling man that slips from his arms and curls up on the floor. Gasping desperately for air, for life.

Stefan begs Peter to not do it again.

To not kill him anymore.

It hurts coming back.

It hurts.

Peter backs away, falling to his knees as he watches Stefan hug himself tight. Body twitching and blood staining his neck and shirt.

This isn’t…what he wanted.

This isn’t what he wanted at all.

The deep, taunting laughter of a dead dragon fills his mind.

Part 2-The Blow Up

(February)

Stefan has been trying to sneak out of the apartment and away from the apartment several times. Each time Peter finds him and drags him back in. This is mostly due to Peter being worried over Stefan going to the nearest police station or revealing what his knows about Peter to whoever.

It was upon the 4th escape in a dark, cold, February night that Stefan had his first encounter with another supernatural entity.

Peter had just pulled Stefan away from the skinless ghoul that had already taken a part of the skin on Stefan’s arm off. The immortal screaming in pain as Peter set the ghoul ablaze with his dragon fire in his chest and picked Stefan up. The immortal cradling his bloody arm and hissed at the exposed muscle.

It was only after they returned to the apartment and Stefan’s skin grew back did they realize something over several days later. Stefan could be a new never ending supply of resources for whoever is seeking such things out. For anyone from any world, the everyday mortal lives to the higher entities that reside beyond mortal imagination.

This is emphasized when Peter goes to drink from Stefan again.

There is some arguments and issues from that.

Of whether Peter is knowingly taking advantage of such a situation and Stefan’s dubious consent with it. The immortal has tried to escape before and will try again, but after a few unfortunate encounters more with a wandering warlock group, sadistic mortals looking for an easy victim, a necromancer seeking new parts, and other entities and spirits who have come to learn a new immortal is amongst them now, Stefan reluctantly agrees to stay with Peter. No matter his own anxiety and growing unease with the man he cannot help comparing to someone he once knew as terrible reminders, Stefan feels it’s better to stay now than go.

This vampire apparently is more powerful than the others here and even if he is still adjusting to it, Peter is the lesser evil compared to the rest.

It is the one he knows.

Or at least he thinks he does.

Stefan cannot help comparing Peter to a past figure whose shadow still looms over him with memories of past abuses and degradation. He knows this situation too well and though he is afraid, he seeks out some sense of familiarity. To ground him and feel reassured that this is no different. He’s survived this. He can survive it again. So please, stop hiding it all behind a mask of concern and show him the monster that lurks beneath.

Just to get it over with.

Peter for his part does not understand how a man who is so terrified and worried, deliberately goes out of his way to antagonize him. Arguments and sarcastic insults exchanged often as they try to figure out what the other one is thinking. Peter often taking the high road and walking away when he feels his temper start to fray and a dragon’s wicked growl to punish the annoying insect speaks in his mind. No. He is not that kind of man. He refuses to be.

He doesn’t want to be that man.

He also feels guilty for what he put Stefan through. How he lost his temper and his new inhuman heightened emotions got the best of him.

He won’t ever forget how he harmed Stefan and it haunts him. It didn’t go like he wanted it to.

He only wanted to scare his formerly hated university professor.

He didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

Stefan grows more and more agitated. This is not familiar to him and he doesn’t like it. He knows Peter can he violent. He had a black eye to prove it years ago when the university incident happened. Why isn’t Peter reacting the way he should? Why isn’t he taking his anger out on him?

It’s making Stefan feel more helpless and he reacts, making one last escape attempt again to gain some semblance of control. Something, anything, so he doesn’t feel like he’s falling forever.

He encounters the same necromancer again.

He loses a kidney before Peter finds him and rescues him.

They stop over by an alley way to stop Stefan’s bleeding.

Stefan has enough and finally screams.

(This part I discussed with @sketching-shark and though I would’ve cleaned it up a bit, am just wanting to get this timeline out now so here’s screenshots of an imperfect sequence)

Part 3-Sleep Paralysis Demon for a Roommate (or the Ghost Girl turned Snow White)

(March)

While things have calmed down and progressing to a more positive relationship between Peter and Stefan, there is an unexpected roommate they get just before the end of February. A shadowy person that stalks after Stefan, asking him for help but never quite elaborating with what.

She’s a ghost.

She’s intangible.

For three nights she follows after Stefan and watches him sleep.

Peter and Stefan are not amused and try various ways to get her to stop. But there’s something familiar about her to Stefan. Her voice and stature remind him of someone but not sure who.

Her voice is always slurred, as though she were half asleep, and there’s brief moments of sudden lucidity then lethargy.

One question triggers a sudden change in her demeanor.

“How did you die?”

“N-not….dead….can’t….breathe….good…not dead…”

The ghost was not really a ghost.

Stefan realizes why that voice is familiar.

“Alexis? Alexis Thi Dang?”

She was a recent student of his. She had been a subdued and quiet young woman. Always hiding her face and wearing the most ridiculous of baggy clothing.

She had asked him to help her one day after class. Stefan brushed her off, in a hurry to leave for something that seems so trivial now.

He regrets not listening to her then.

Alexis flickers, begging for him to find her. Someone is hurting her. She’s in a dark place. It’s hard to breathe.

Then she’s gone.

Peter doesn’t protest when Stefan asks for his help. Stefan thinks the university should have her student file still as Alexis had bought one of his classes for next semester. They have reason to suspect this was a recent occurrence.

“….we can break in easily I think.”

“I was thinking something different….”

“No.”

“What? Do you honestly think keeping me prisoner here still is better?!”

“It’s not going to help this girl if everyone has their eyes on a missing person showing up. We don’t have time for that. Plus, there’s still plenty of creeps after your skinny ass.”

“……fine.” Stefan begrudgingly agrees.

It’s a very quick and surprisingly easy work to get done in one night. Tracing back to Alexis’s apartment and sneaking into what they believe is her bedroom, they find the apartment is still occupied by a man. At first Peter thinks to drop in and talk, maybe go for aggressive negotiations if he has to, but stops.

“What is it?”

“He smells…”

“What? What does that have to do-?”

“He smells dead….dirt and dead…like a graveyard.”

Peter could never forget the first time he caught the strong scent of a graveyard. It was strong and reeked of decay, rot, dirt, but also flowers, trees, and life.

Peter and Stefan watch the man go about his business. There something off about him. Stefan could feel the hairs on his body stand up and a deep churning of revulsion in his stomach. Peter unconsciously bared his fangs and twitched his hands. Stefan notices pictures of Alexis and some of her with the man. Her boyfriend.

The man leaves and Peter knows immediately they should follow him. He picks up Stefan and they fly overhead, following the man on his truck to a old graveyard just at the outskirts of the city.

They tail the guy but Stefan separates from Peter who is startled by his senses going haywire. Dead. Voices. Dead voices. Underneath. Smells. The dead are speaking and he doesn’t know how to not listen. It’s overwhelming.

Stefan is following after the man, not noticing Peter is not with him, and watches as he goes up to mausoleum and is opening up one of the broken stones housing a coffin. He is creeping closer, grabbing a nearby rock just in case and watches in sudden horror as the man brings out the coffin and there is an gaunt woman lying in it. It was Alexis.

Stefan moves slowly from behind the man who was kneeling over and getting out a needle. Muttering about keeping her a bit longer and making her perfect. Stefan heard enough and swings as hard as he could with the rock on the man’s head. It hits him and he is stunned, falling to the ground but flailing. Stefan goes to check if Alexis is still breathing and starts to take her out of the coffin when the man lunges at him and they roll away in a struggle. Stefan manages to claw and get a few hits in but the man is hitting him harder and starting to choke him.

That is when Peter, still on sensory overload, stumbles over and gives in to the anger that takes hold of him and yanks the man off of Stefan. Roaring in the other’s screaming face as he flies up, up, up.

Coughing and crawling back to the coffin, Stefan holds a stirring Alexis up.

“Professor?”

“You’re okay now…I’ve got you…”

Alexis heard screaming and looks up and there’s a shadow taking a familiar figure high into the air. Then he drops him.

There is screaming from the falling man and then a sickening splat.

It takes her a moment to realize he is dead.

He is well and truly dead.

She is glad.

Alexis is startled when the shadow flies down and there is another man there talking with Stefan. He has gigantic bat wings and gold eyes. Alexis is still weak but she fights to keep awake. Holding onto Stefan as the only familiar figure here while the cops and ambulance are called from her former boyfriend’s cellphone.

Peter is becoming distressed the longer they stay in the graveyard. Holding his head as he sits down, hunched over, and growling, wanting the voices to stop. Shut up.

Stefan places a hand on his head and it seems to help. Alexis at his side as they wait for the arrival of professionals. Stefan and Peter will make their quick sneaky exit once certain Alexis is safe. However, she pleas for Stefan to see her again.

She has no one else.

She is alone here.

He is the only person she knows.

Stefan tells her he will before Peter takes them away and watches at a distance Alexis being loaded up into the ambulance.

They saved her.

They saved a person.

[writesowhatnext]

lost in translation // george weasley

Summary: George and the reader are rather… close. Fred and Ginny are very, very suspicious as to why they weren’t informed that their best friends were together.

Request: Could you write a George Weasley imagine with the couple trope "what is personal space" with a reader who is the Golden Trio's age and friend and Ginny's best friend? Thank you!

A/N: I tried so, so hard to get George to right character-wise so I really hope I did him some justice here and I really hope you like it my love – sorry it’s essentially Christmas themed

Reader: female

Warnings: none I think – very PG! Maybe British swears? A common theme I suppose… kissing?

Anyone would’ve thought you and George Weasley were dating. It was an easy assumption to make given how absolutely inseparable you were. No one knew exactly how you got so close; only last Christmas, at the Burrow, Ginny brought you home for the holiday. Somehow you went from rolling your eyes at the pranks and the schemes and the inventions in December to smiling and laughing in January. Though, there were still eye rolls when required. Honestly, Ginny and Fred were rather put out by it.

“Hey, Gin?” Fred asked, leaning forward on the desk she’d been scribbling her Charms homework on.

“What?” Ginny said suspiciously, eyes narrowed. She smudged her words with the side of her hand. Fred wasn’t paying attention, though, he was staring at the sofa in the centre of the Gryffindor common room.

George was sat at one end, face lit up like a Christmas tree and you were, well, practically sitting on him. You were facing him, knees folding into your chest and feet tucked neatly under George’s legs. His one arm was spread along the back of the sofa whilst the other he used to gesture wildly, sending you both into hysterical laughter. Fred enjoyed seeing his twin laugh like that, his head tilted back with his whole body shaking, but this was taking the piss a little.

Ginny followed Fred’s eyes to the couch.

“What is that about?” Fred rested his head on his hand.

“Y/N and George?”

Fred nodded.

“I don’t know.” She admitted, copying her brother and smudging ink across her parchment with her elbow. “All they seem to do is spend time together.”

“I’ll say. We haven’t pranked anyone in a month.” He huffed. “A whole bloody month. We have a reputation to upkeep, you know.”

“They’re so close to each other, too.”

“Too close.”

“Last week,” Ginny said, casting a glance at the way you hit George’s leg, laughing at a joke he’d made, before turning to face her quite grumpy looking brother. “I came here after Potions and they were comparing hand sizes.”

Fred’s expression turned to one of distaste. It only worsened as George pushed you off the sofa. You grabbed his arm as you fell, pulling him next to you on the ground, both your legs tangled in the air.

“Fred, you don’t think they fancy each other, do you?”

“Fancy each other?” He looked incredulously at his brother. Experiencing all five stages of grief simultaneously, he frowned. “They would’ve told us, right?”

Ginny didn’t reply.

“I think it’s time for some investigating.” Fred’s grin was wicked.

You’d got very used to George touching you. He was a very affectionate person, always with the hugs and the arms and the hands. It was hard not to enjoy it, actually, because George was tall and incredibly funny. He was a genius, too; not that he’d ever let his professors know that. His laugh was infectious and you couldn’t help but bite your lip when he rolled his sleeves up the way he did. These thoughts were ones that often distracted you in the recent weeks. You didn’t know what had started it, exactly, but you knew you were definitely a little bit lost in whatever it was you felt for him. Right now, you were lost in the middle of Charms, ignoring whatever Flitwick was saying. If you’d been paying more attention, you would’ve noticed the strange way Ginny was staring at you. It wasn’t until Flitwick set you off to practice your spells that you were even remotely aware of what was happening.

“Y/N,” Ginny said, uncharacteristically softly for her.

You hummed.

“Are you going out with my brother?”

You turned to face her then, looking at her determined expression. “George? No.”

She nodded slowly, frowning. “Why?”

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time together. The only time Fred sees him nowadays is at Quidditch practice and even that’s cancelled for the holidays.”

You couldn’t help but feel bad for hogging her brother. Fred must hate you, you thought.

“We’re not going out.”

“But you want to?”

“What?”

She sent you a dry look.

“Maybe.” You sighed, rubbing your eye with your hand. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“And why’s that?”

You smiled at her hard expression, how bold she was, how bright her eyes were. Your smile fell.

“Well it’s not like he fancies me, is it?”

Ginny got a sharp reprimand from Flitwick for how loudly she laughed.

George, on the other hand, was much less confused about the whole situation. He had been, at least, before a choice conversation with Fred.

“George, do you fancy Y/N?” Fred asked, deciding a surprise attack in the corridor after breakfast was the best line of attack. His approach returned strange results. George laughed as he reshuffled his books in his hands.

“I should hope I do, you daft sod, she’s my girlfriend.”

“Your what?” Fred stopped in the hallway, ignoring the mutterings of students unfortunate enough to have been behind him. “You prat! Why didn’t you tell me?”

He caught up to George, hitting him in the shoulder.

“Bloody hell, Fred, I thought it was quite obvious.” George rubbed his arm with a wounded expression written across his face. “What do you care, anyway?” His face turned mocking. “Jealous?”

“Oh, shut up.” Fred murmured. “I’ll have to tell Ginny.”

“Ginny doesn’t know? They’re best mates.”

“Weird, right?”

It wasn’t until class ended that Fred found Ginny again. You and her were chatting in the corner of the common room, laughing and bickering about something or other.

“Hello ladies.” George said as the twins drew closer. “Raising any hell today?”

His eyes lingered on you.

“No more than usual.” Ginny drawled, folding her arms. “I’m sure you have a miraculously terrible plan up your sleeves, though.”

“Ah, dear sister.” George said, looking to his brother who had lit up significantly since last time Ginny had seen him.

“Just you wait and see what we have in store.” Fred’s grin only grew.

“There’ll be lights,”

“Smells,”

“Sensations beyond your wildest imagination.”

“It’ll be wicked.” They said in unison, smirking at you in front of them. You and Ginny shared a dry and wordless look.

“Anyway,” George said, offering you his hand. “I owe Y/N a trip to the kitchens to thank her for her wonderful Potions expertise. See you at dinner, you two.”

You glanced at Ginny before letting yourself be dragged along, hand in George’s warm palm.

Fred waited till you were out of earshot before pouncing on the chair opposite Ginny you’d just abandoned and leaning over the table.

“They’re going out!” he said at the very time Ginny said “They’re not going out.”

“What?” they said at the same time, again.

Ginny shushed him.

“What do you mean? She said they’re not going out?”

“He said they were!”

They both paused for a moment.

“Mind you,” Fred hummed. “Do you think George ever asked her?”

Ginny mused on it. “Very like him to just assume they were an item.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Christmas dinner in the hall was no less fun that usual; full of laughing and cheer and the general merriment you get at this time of year. It wasn’t till it was time to go to bed that anything remotely notable happened. Well, other than the exploding stink jellies Fred & George had planted as dessert

“Y/N’s staying over Christmas. Ginny invited her.” George said as him and Fred packed their suitcases, at the last minute of course. Fred nodded.

“George,” he said, standing up straight. “Did you ever actually ask Y/N to be your girlfriend?”

“What?”

“Did you actually ask her or did you just assume she knew, like me?”

George quite resembled a fish, the way his mouth was opening and closing.

“I think you might want to ask her, mate.”

You were confused, to say the least, and also slightly hurt. George hadn’t so much as talked to you since you’d arrived at the Burrow. He hadn’t touched you either; which was more of an adjustment than you were prepared for. There was something obviously wrong with him because he was quiet. Even with Fred at his usual eccentric volume, the absence of George’s voice was somehow louder. You’d asked Ginny about it but she had no idea. Fred did, though, you suspected. That’s why, when George disappeared into the kitchen before bed, you followed like a somewhat lost puppy. It was almost as if he was waiting for you, leaning against the counter with a glass of water.

“Are you okay, Georgie?”

He didn’t say again as you walked closer, your hand skimming the side of his arm as you stood in front of him. He let your hand fall into his own, fingers interlocking.

“I like being close to you.” He said sombrely, completely out of character. You looked up at him, frowning slightly.

“I feel like a right prat, actually,” he barked out a laugh. “I thought we were going out.”

“What?” you asked, voice sliding up on octave. You could feel your cheeks heat up and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Me and you?”

He lifted your hand, moving his fingers back and looking at the size of your hand compared to his. You stared at him but his eyes never left your hand.

“Would that be so bad?” he asked, finally meeting your eyes. You’d never seen him so vulnerable. A small smile pulled at your lips as you stepped in between his feet.

“George Weasley, are you asking me out?” you placed your free hand on his shoulder. “Because,” your mouth twitched “If you are,” his free hand found your waist. “You are doing a horrible job, truly.”

“Oh, is that right?” He asked, smiling now himself. He tilted his head downwards. You bit your lip as you nodded.

“Yep. A girl hopes for fireworks, roses, big grand gestures-“ You rocked your head to the side. “I get an ‘I already thought we were-“

“You are talking rubbish.” He whispered, unable to contain the way his smile lifted his cheeks.

And then he was kissing you. Slowly, softly. Your hands loosened. His dropped to your waist, pulling you closer as yours dragged up his chest, winding around his neck. You scratched the back of his neck lightly and he made an indecent noise in your mouth. He pulled away all too soon, resting his forehead on yours. Neither of you could hide your smiles. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pursing your lips.

“If you want fireworks, I’ll light you fireworks in every room of the castle.”

“Oh, I know you will.”

“One condition though.” He smirked, pulling you to his chest as you raised your eyebrows. “Be my girlfriend.”

You laughed.

“Have to get it in writing now, don’t I? Don’t want to look like a git again.”

“Oh, we are far past that.”

“You cheeky-“

You didn’t let him finish, only moving in for another kiss.

That was until you were interrupted by two very smug looking redheads.

“So,” Fred smiled, crossing his arms and leaning against the fridge.

“You two going out yet?” Ginny asked, shooting you a pointed glance, a small smile playing on her face.

“Oh, piss off.” George huffed, rolling his eyes and cupping your cheek with his hand. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss when you heard gagging noises from the doorway.

[impossible-rat-babies]

tuesday, two in the afternoon

fallen hero / 2.1k words / chargestep (nb!sidestep + m!ortega) / cw: smoking

mostly below the cut!

--

“Why did you bring me down to the beach? It smells awful down here...”

Pollux kicks a rock across the barren sand, watching it roll into the lackadaisical waves lapping at the meager shoreline. The sand squishes beneath his shoes, water leaking through the crappy canvas.

It rained not long ago—almost caught the both of them in the downpour.

His head is still damp from the few fat drops that landed from between the slats in the boardwalk they used to take cover. He runs his hand across the fresh buzzcut, forgetting for a second there’s no curls to tuck behind his ears.

“I thought you liked the beach.” Ortega comes up beside him, keeping pace as they wander through sand and rock, passing by tiny tide pools refreshed by the rain. The sun will dry what the waves can reach soon, but for now they thrive under the cloudy grey sky.

“I don’t mind the beach, but it always stinks like garbage and wet dog down here after it rains.”

“At least it keeps the place private.”

“If you don’t count the seagulls.”

“They’re worse than the tourists.” 

Ortega smiles and Pollux turns to walk backwards, cocking a brow over his sunglasses. Of course Ortega is overdressed to be taking a walk on what passes for a beach these days—a fancy shirt and slacks and the watch he’s got on costs more than four months of rent on Pollux’s shitty apartment.

(Disregarding the sunglasses he’s toting around that are without a doubt the third most expensive thing he owns and even then they were a gift. From Ortega, obviously. He disregards the invading thought that the most expensive thing Ortega has won’t ever be his clothing or a watch, but his spine. Pollux thinks *if*—not *when*—he dies if they’ll pry it out and stick it inside someone else; a replacement for an accident of their own.)

Ortega is always dressed to impress, the silly man. Pollux it’s a habit, or he doesn’t have anything else to wear that isn’t something higher class or luxury, or if he genuinely enjoys silk shirts. The tailored slacks with fancy watches and Italian leather shoes. There’s no one to impress but Pollux and he hasn’t fallen for that trick in years.

“Worried about your shoes?”

“They’re...squishy.”

“You’re gonna ruin them.”

Ortega kicks another rock off towards the waves, stuffing his hands in his pocket as an answer. Pollux snorts, rolling his eyes, and he turns back around, falling into step beside him. He’s always been a fast walker--a faster runner.

Silence stretches out between them and apprehension feels like just another word for awkward, this gap between them. The few pointed inches—enough for static electricity to jump between them, for Pollux to anticipate Ortega’s touch and deftly pull away, leaving air beside his fingertips.

It’s still so hard to let him close.

“Why did you want to meet up here?” Pollux asks just to have something to say, anything to avoid Ortega looking like he’s going to throw his arm over his shoulder and pull him in to mumble something fond, or a terrible joke.

“Just to go on a walk?” Ortega tries and oh he tries so hard. More than he used to.

“Since when did you start walking for fun?”

“When you decide to come along with me. It’s fun, Lux.”

Pollux frowns—he knows this game. Ortega’s got this little tell of looking away just the right way.

“You just wanted to get me out of the house then.”

Ortega shrugs—he’s avoiding, nor is he saying no...

“Okay so I lied. I don’t have anything to talk about. But, if I just wanted to spend time with you then you would’ve said no.”

“True...” Pollux hates how he’s right more often than not. Asshole. “So you picked the beach?”

“I didn’t plan on it raining.”

Pollux sighs, tired of the sand and he wanders away--further out of reach--towards the rocks near the pillars holding up the promenade. 

It’s deserted right now, the rain and the fact that it’s two in the afternoon on a Tuesday keeping the crowds away. Give it a Saturday on a cool summer’s evening and it’d be packed to the gills; people screaming on the small roller coasters, the stink of fresh fried food and the lights--the dizzying array of red, blue and yellow. All the people and all the thoughts buzzing through his head; there were so many bombarding him--all of them, just as aggressive as the lights. He’s braved that terrible crowd--all because Ortega asked. 

He used to do that, do things because Ortega asked nicely. Because they were fun--he had fun. Does he still remember what that felt like? Being on that promenade, breathless and young, laughing like he knew how to laugh? 

They walked down to the very end once, away from the bright lights where it was just the ocean stretching out in front of them like a black abyss. All alone. Ortega asking him, pleading for one ride on the ferris wheel. “Come on Lux just one little ride.” Pollux calling his bluff, shoving his face away because it was all just a ploy for a kiss. Like this is some snapshot romance movie still.

It’s stupid to think about bygones.

There’s no temptation to jump into old times down here, just the water swelling against the rocks and the concrete walls. Trash hiding in the crevices, old green beer bottles that will break and turn to sea glass; left to wash up on the shores of Hawaii.

The beaches there are still nice--worthy of memories. Not this smog stained grey sand.It’s just a hop skip and a jump up onto the slick brown rocks smeared with algae and something that shines like oil. It stinks like it.

Pollux stops, shaking a cigarette out of the package and he cups his hand to protect the fragile flame, watching Ortega clamber up onto the rock beside him. He flops down on a relatively dry spot, free of the worst of the gross.

“What are you doing?” Pollux asks with a faint laugh and a cocked brow, letting his cigarette go unlit. It droops between his lips.

“What does it look like? I’m sitting down.” Ortega replies, smoothing a strand of hair back into the salt and pepper waves at his temples.

“Mr. Ralph Lauren is gonna be pissed you ruined your pants?” A raise of the brow and Ortega looks up at him with a look in those brown eyes.

“My shoes are wet, Lux.” Ortega whines and Pollux is *this close* to kicking him off their rock.

“I think you’re getting old.”

Pollux squats beside him, arms draping over top of his knees.

“Now you’re just being cruel...”

Ortega adjusts, grimacing when he inevitably puts his hand on a wet spot. He untucks his shirt, and he’s rather reminiscent of those “aged like fine wine” men on old magazine covers he found in shitty motel lobbies. He’d fit right on a sandy beach in Florida. These aren’t the right beaches for any of that anymore, still mostly rock. Their original glory immortalized in photographs on the fronts of travel brochures.

But they are healing—slowly. The sand creeps up the shoreline more and more each year.

“I’m not cruel. You just an oversized sun hat and a lounge chair. Maybe a nice hot beer.” Pollux teases and Ortega grimaces.

“It’s January.”

“That doesn’t stop people in Florida or Hawaii.”

“Have you even been to Florida?”

Ortega asks so harmlessly and Pollux pauses.

He’s been there half a dozen times before—fuzzy memories from over a decade ago. Rooftop gardens on top of high rise builds off the coast of Miami, galas with thousand dollar dresses and caked on makeup in the low light from crystal chandeliers. It was all for work, watching and scanning, nimble mental fingers coaxing and teasing truth from the mind’s eyes. He would watch, take in the sights and the sounds through other people’s minds. Take the truth and puzzle over the rest. Ask the dangerous questions: why and how?

He still believes the biggest mistake they made was allowing him to learn.

“I’ve watched movies.” He says instead of lying and he knows he isn’t getting away with it. “Besides, have you ever been to Florida? Or Hawaii even?”

“No, but I’ve watched movies before.”

Ortega grins and Pollux groans, resisting the urge to yet again so shove him off his rock and into one of the tide pools below.

“You’re an asshole.”

Pollux fishes around in his pocket and grabs out a matchbook, flipping it open and fuck he grabbed the wrong one. There’s nothing but the empty packaging in this one, uneven lines from tearing out matches without much grace. He flips it over onto the back and nothing--even the striker strip is shot to hell. Fuck. 

“Are you out?” Ortega peers over and he grumbles.

“Grabbed the wrong matchbook” Pollux huffs, about to grab his carton back out and stuff the poor cigarette back in.

“Wait, I still got--here.” Ortega pulls a small matchbox out of his shirt pocket, holding it out to him. It’s much nicer than his ten cent books he frequently gets for free from the gas station because the cashier thinks he’s cute. 

“You...still carry them around?”

His voice stalls in his chest: it’s meant to be more of questioning incredulity, but it comes out much softer. Forlorn and sticky at the front of his mouth.

Ortega sheepishly looks down at the matchbox, flipping it between his index and forefingers.

“Old habits die hard.”

He ran out of matches a lot, even the crappy little packages where the matches broke more often than actually struck. Ortega started carrying them around, little inch and a half boxes of matches tucked in his coat or shirt pocket. He doesn’t remember when the habit started. But it evolved into a habit of stealing them, seeing how easily he could sneak one away without him noticing.

Ortega protested whenever he caught him and the two of them scrambling for the box until Pollux tucked it away like magic, or Ortega tried tickling him enough times to get an elbow to the nose.

He got him back: a sufficient enough shock and Pollux complained about having a numb hand for the next week.

Pollux had a little stacked collection of them all lined up against the baseboard next to his mattress. He kept the fun ones, the brightly colored and eclectically designed ones--neon blue and mustard yellow. Held onto them until they were falling apart and he painstakingly cut them apart and glued or taped them in the pages of notebooks.

Even now, seven years later Ortega still carries them around and that tugs sharp in the back of his throat and deep in his belly—a sort of nausea that stings his eyes.

He blinks several times and fuck there’s the logo of the cigarette shop Ortega dragged him to once in a blue moon. The floor was some cheap old green motel carpeting--the windows covered in layers of advertisements and wood paneling everywhere else. But god it smelled fantastic--like a humidor stuffed to the brim with anything from cheap cigarettes to fancy and illegal cigars in glass cases. 

(Fuck, it was the best place to buy cigarettes--they still had the little machines with the tokens he’d pay five bucks for at the counter.)

“Yeah...” Pollux mumbles, tearing his eyes away. “Kinda literally, you know. Dying.” He chuckles bone dry and Ortega cringes.

“You still recognized the matchbox. I can’t call you a lost cause yet.” 

He looks over at him, salt and pepper black hair blowing in the breeze, the little white spots where the scars cut through his beard. The soft smile on chapped lips. Even with all the anger in the world rushing under his skin, he can’t be mad.

There’s just that wistful empty ache and he blinks, looking away. The distant shoreline etched on the horizon of a dark ocean and the patchy grey sky above. He lights the cigarette with a single match, the sharpness of the sulfur and the sweet menthol cloud of smoke the breeze dissolves into nothing. 

“Here...” Pollux offers the matchbox back to him.

“Keep it. You need it more than me.” Ortega says, pushing his hand back towards him and he pulls his hand away.

Pollux fixes him with a with a long look before he heaves a sigh and looks back out towards the coast and the ocean further beyond. Smoking the cigarette, filling his lungs on the menthol and tobacco until it burns out at the filter. Ortega sitting beside him, bouncing a leg but he’s quiet. And he doesn’t look over at Pollux.

The sun barely peeks in through the clouds and it looks like this is all the rain they’ll be getting.

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Hii gorgeous!! So, decided to start a new tradition for this year! And thaaat is:

To kick things off this year, and this month especially, could you do a moodboard about what you wish for january?

Hmm, a moodboard for January?

Well, now that my busy December is over, I'm going back into mostly quarantine. I have a lot of high risk people in my life and none of us need to be sick. Plus, it's winter and that means terrible weather. So my plans are to be comfy and warm, read more (which is always a goal, but hopefully I'll be successful this time), figure out a better winter plant setup (so they don't die from either the temperature or how dry it gets) and (maybe a little TMI, depending on how you feel about this kind of thing) finally get my medical marijuana card because my supply of gummies ran out and my state is stupid. I just have to, you know, push past the whole anxiety/depression thing and actually get a doctor to prescribe it to me.

In summary: I want to be healthy and cozy and happy

[wisterialagoon]

For you, I'll stay : pt1

Dabi is one of the top soldiers of the League of Villains. He does the dirty work and feels the stain of crime on his hands. You're an Assistant Inspector at the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, resigned to records-keeping instead of doing actual fieldwork. What happens when these two become intertwined in the most prominent political event that changed the era of 1990's Tokyo Japan?

Warnings: Violence (a girl gets beat up in this chapter), gangs, eventual smut(not in this chapter tho)

Tokyo Metropolitan Police Agency, Kantō Region, Japan.

January 9th, 1990, Tuesday. 

22:30 hrs.

"It's going to be a long night," she thought, while fixing her desk for the fifth time. There was a haphazard pile of file folders, an unboxed diskette pack, and coffee cup stains all over her table calendar. She quickly reorganises the file folders, placing them in chronological order, then according to crime. Then, she matches the diskettes, which contain additional data such as interrogation footage, with each pile. Lastly, she makes her way to the pantry to refill her mug with coffee, humming along to a tune that was receiving more airplay recently.

It was an uneventful night, to say the least. As usual, she worked overtime, working on organising the paperwork and records of each case-from instigation to case management. She loved it initially, but now that she's six months into this new assignment, she could feel herself wearing down with how emotionally, physically and mentally taxing everything is. It wasn't so much the quantity or frequency of the load, but the content itself.

Seeing death, rape, theft and disappearances on a daily basis was starting to take a toll on her mental health, and even if she learned how to compartmentalise, there was something about seeing all the details that made her sleep less and less these days. The photos of dead bodies or visages of crying relatives would disturb her to no end, and having to type out each case report even if it meant tagging it as a cold case, was something that never really sat well with her.

Her direct senior, the only female Inspector in the agency-the only one who was actually nice, unlike the rest of the police force who talk about her during lunch breaks and agency dinners-tell her that the feeling of being "uninvolved" and "useless" will soon pass. "Besides," she tells her during one of the rare nights that they're both doing overtime, "You've got potential."

She sighs, wary of the compliment. "I just... I wish I could be doing more."

"You'll have your fair share of fieldwork and interrogations, Y/N" she says, patting the younger girl's shoulder. "Just keep working well, and the Chief will soon see your potential."

That last line resonated with her the most. She knew that the Chief was a firm leader-he did routine inspections, called people in his office to ask for status reports and he'd set all sorts of deadlines. But he was also known for being experienced in reading people just with one look.

So the question was, what was his assessment of her?

Did the Chief view her just like how the rest of the agency did-an Assistant Inspector who was only fit for clerical work even if she had graduated at the top of her class? Did he even notice her presence in the building-or was she too conscious of all the judgemental stares thrown her way because she was the first female recruit in a long while?

That was it, she thought, not noticing that her cup had overflowed.

With a sharp curse, she flung her hand away from the scalding beverage, and moved to grab some tissues-her mind thoroughly forgetting the questions that had darted in her mind not a minute ago.

As she dabbled the tissue on her hands and shirt, the police hotline rang, disturbing the silence of the otherwise empty floor. Alarmed at the prospect of a crime or report coming in at this hour, she runs towards the desk of the patrol and public safety unit.

"SMPA, what is your concern?" she asks, voice surprisingly level. When there wasn't a response, she asks again, this time a notch louder.

"Kidnapping," the voice cuts through the radio silence, its texture a rich timbre with a raspy undertone. Caught off guard at the mention of a kidnapping, she scrambles for a notepad and a pen. "23:00, 6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan. Takahashi Yua." In hastily written script, she takes note of the details, not once interrupting the man on the line.

"Who is this? Where is your intel from?" she finally asks, after she hears mere breathing sounds. "Hello?"

The person on the line doesn't respond, instead opting to breathe heavily before the line dies.

"Wha-" she exhales, overwhelmed with the situation. It wasn't unheard of for random tips to come in the station, that much was true. But a tip at this time? And with that much detail? She was wary enough that there wasn't any crime traffic recently but this is proving to be the suspicious exception.

Shaking off her doubts, she dials the home number of Inspector Sato, the head of the patrol and public safety unit. She knows he'll definitely give her an earful for calling at such a late hour-and to his house no less, but if what the man said was true, and if her gut was right, someone was after the daughter of the Minister of National Defense.

At the sixth ring, he picks up and greets her with a litany of questions. "Who is this? Do you have any idea what time it is? Whoever you are, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up!" he rattles off, temper flaring.

"This is Miyasaki Y/N, sir." she says, surprised at how stable her voice was. "Assistant Inspec-"

"Ah, the personal assistant." his tongue clicks, and even if she didn't see, she knew he was shaking his head. "What is it? Here to ask help again in records-keeping?"

At that, she presses her mouth in a thin line, stopping herself from giving him a piece of her mind. She knew that they would always find fault in whatever she does but sometimes she wants to just put them in their place and prove herself.

But now wasn't the time to do that.

"No, sir." she starts, fisting her hand. "There's been an emergency call to the patrol and public service hotline. A tip was given about a kidnapping at apartment 6 Chome-10-1 in Roppongi -"

"Let me stop you right there." he expels a deep breath, clearly uninterested with her report. "You do know what that area is like, right? Or do you not even know where it is?"

"It's in Minato city. The residence listed houses many important political figures, it has national defence" she says, foregoing the other details and taking the opportunity to transition to the most important part. "Sir, you see, this could actually mean that-"

"This means that there is no kidnapping. I mean, if you're trying to pull a joke, it's a terrible one. Hell, there's hardly any crime in that area!" he gives a dry laugh. "it's an executive residential area, guarded and all that. As you said, National Defence is there and so are diplomats and expats. No one in their right mind would attempt a prank call, let alone a kidnapping."

"But the caller gave a name, possibly that of the victim. We should send a team, I have the address. I could lead the-" again, he cuts her off. At this point, a vein was threatening to pop at how unprofessional he was being, but she'd rather not break out into an argument with a direct senior-especially when he was clearly already annoyed at her.

"So this is why you really called, huh?" he chuckles. "Look, no one knows how you got in, or what strings you pulled to pass the Academy, but at the rate you're going, you'll never lead a team-much less my team." the certainty in his voice washed over her, causing her to remain silent at his blatant jibe. "So go back to whatever you're doing and don't even attempt to call me or anyone from the agency to waste their time with your tall tales." the other line clicks, ending their phone call.

Exasperated, she puts down the receiver with a little too much force than was necessary. "Fine, I'll do it myself." she mutters, putting on her coat, muffler and grabbing her car keys.

30 minutes. She'll have to pray that she makes it. After all, she doesn't have much time.

6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan.

The Takahashi Residence.

23:00 hrs.

The gate to the apartment building alone rendered her speechless. Pure brass balusters and a towering guardhouse greeted her, complete with intimidating security personnel who wasted no time in asking for her identification.

"Assistant Inspector Lee, from the SMPA. We received a tip about criminal activity taking place in the vicinity of this residence," she starts, not giving any specific details. "This won't take long." she adds, as a last ditch effort to convince them that she means business.

"Alright," one of the guards lets her through. As she rolled up her window, she catches a muffled dialogue between the two. "Isn't she a little too young to be an Inspector? And criminal activity? Talk about absurd."

Scoffing, she speeds up to the address the caller gave and in a few minutes, found herself outside the apartment building. But she was too late. There, standing by the of the main entrance, was the defence Minister himself, with blood on his hands and a shell-shocked expression.

"My daughter..." she hears him mutter. From just behind the door, she hears distant voices screaming for someone to call the police. "Dial the police! Or call the National Defense for all I care! Someone do something!" the voice got louder as she linked it with a face-Takahashi Riku, the Minister's wife. As if seeing the police lights flashing atop her car, The ministers knees gave out.

She makes haste to catch him before he falls, and as she does, she gets her shirt stained with blood, and scrapes her elbow with the force of his weight. Not minding the sting of the wind blowing by her scraped skin, she pulls out her walkie-talkie, and radios the police patrolling Roppongi that night.

"This is Assistant Inspector Miyasaki Y/N, does anyone copy?" she starts, practically shouting. For some reason, she felt an adrenaline rush at the development of events. "Repeat, this is Assistant Inspector Miyasaki, does anyone copy?"

After a few beats, a voice breaks through the white noise. "This is Inspector Takami, copy. What's your 10-13?"

"I've got a two zero seven." she says, forgetting that she hadn't even scouted the area for verification that a kidnapping actually took place. "6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City. Send a medic for shock treatment." she rattles off, surprised at herself for actually being able to focus and act given the situation.

Then again, this was her job. Her first fieldwork-albeit unwarranted and unapproved.

"Copy that, 10-4. I'll run code. ETA twenty minutes." he affirms his direct response before ending the dispatch call.

6 Chome-10-1 Roppongi, Minato City, Tokyo 106-6108, Japan.

The Takahashi Residence.

23:20 hrs.

After twenty minutes, two police cars pull up the driveway. One belonged to Inspector Takami, the other was the patrol for back-up. He closes the gap between them in five, quick strides, hands in his coat's pockets.

"What happened?" he asks, ready for a briefing.

"There's nothing definitive yet..." she trails off, mentally berating herself for not even scouting the interior to study the scene. "But I've spoken to the family."

"You mean you've spoken to the Minister of National Defense." he supplies, his breath fogging up in front of him. "What did he say?"

"The family heard the door slam shut, and when he went to check his daughter was gone," hesitant, she clears her throat as a stalling method. "He found her in the marking lot, the girl was bruised and bloodied, unconscious. Looks like she was forced to inhale somthing, and her hands were tied."

"Attempted kidnapping?" he asks, stealing a glance at the apartment buildings façade.

"High chance for it." she answers, clearing her throat again. "Listen, Inspector, I received a tip in the agency around an hour ago-saying something about a kidnapping taking place at this time, at this exact address."

He raises his eyebrows, evidently taken aback at this new piece of information. "And?" he asks, expectant.

"And I think this is a set-up." she declares, sure of something for the first time that night. "Whoever is behind this, wanted us to come, thinking it was a kidnapping when it was an assault and break-and-entry."

"What are you getting at, Miyasaki?"

"There's a reason why Miss. Takahashi was assaulted and not kidnapped. They're telling us something." she says, handing out her notepad which contained the details of the emergency call a while back.

"What do you think this could possibly be then?"

"I don't know... yet." fuelled with conviction, she fists her hands at her sides, no longer feeling that sensation of helplessness or uselessness back in the agency when she was working on records-keeping. "But I'll find out."

9-chome, Kitakarasuyama, Setagaya-ku, Tokyo.

Assistant Inspector Miyasaki Y/N's Residence.

02:00 hrs.

Finally back at her apartment after filing the case and sending off the Minister's family with words of certainty about exhausting their whole force on the job, she slumps on the sofa, feeling her body become dead weight.

"God..." she sighs, fatigued. "That was a long night."

[vintagedolan]

nine months (gbd)

having grayson’s baby is a dream come true for both of you, and he does everything he can to make it the absolute best experience that he can for you

word count: 11k (hahahaha fuck)

warnings/tags: the fluffiest fluff that has ever fluffed okay, seriously I don’t think I could have made this any softer, pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy things (morning sickness, weight gain, etc.)

feel free to send in requests! i’ll write most things! hope you enjoy :)

january

8 days late. You were 8 days late. A few days here or there would have you a bit edgy, but it had never been this long before. And you just had an instinct that this time, it wasn’t a scare. You were almost positive that you were pregnant. You weren’t opposed to having kids - you knew that you and Grayson wanted to be parents together, and that you were going to spend the rest of your lives together. You decided to let things run naturally, and if something happened then it happened. But something about the reality of having to go out and actually buy a pregnancy test had your mouth dry. Were you actually ready for this?

But as soon as that thought came, there was another. Grayson was going to be over the moon about this whole thing. All he ever wanted was to be a father, and you knew he was going to be amazing. He would make up for any of your shortcomings and then some. With that newfound confidence, you grabbed your purse and decided to head out to the store.

“Where yah goin’?” Grayson’s voice came from the dining room table where he was working as you tried to scurry past him. You hadn’t thought of an alibi. Were you supposed to tell him? No. You didn’t want to get his hopes up if your instincts were wrong.  

“Just running to the store. Cause I need some stuff. From the store.”

Fuck. Nice one. 

“Okay....” he trailed off, obviously suspicious. “You alright?”

“Yep, perfectly fine. I’ll be back soon, love you bye!” You blew him a kiss and escaped out the door before you said anything else damning. 

This was going to be interesting.

Your fingers were tapping away on your steering wheel the whole drive to the local drug store, trying to think of what the hell you were going to do. Should you surprise him? Plan out a big elaborate thing? Or maybe you should just tell him? Should you have told him you were going to get a test? But what if it was negative? He’d be so sad.

With your head spinning, it was a miracle you even made it to the store. But you pulled in and headed to the aisle you never needed to go to, grabbing a few tests and going to pay for them, trying to convince yourself that no one was staring at you. The cashier offered you a soft smile and it actually calmed you down slightly as you headed back to the car. 

In order to make it a little less suspicious, you decided to get some coffee and bring it home for the both of you. You didn’t have to pee yet, and you knew you’d go crazy at home if you had to wait, so you went to your favorite local shop and got your usual along with Gray’s and Ethan’s. 

The drive home was quick, but you chugged it as fast as you could, wanting it to hit you before you got back. You stashed the tests under your shirt so that Gray wouldn’t see, and tried to walk as casually as you could back into the house. 

“I brought coffee!” You called out. If you directed the conversation, then maybe you wouldn’t get blindsided and give something away.

“I thought you were going to the store?” Gray asked. He was still in the same spot at the kitchen counter, and when you looked at his screen he was working on some new promotional posts for Wakeheart. Good. That would keep him busy.

“They didn’t have what I needed, figured I’d get some while I was out,” you smiled, passing him his cup. He leaned up towards you, asking for a kiss. You gave him a quick one before going to throw your cup away.

“You already drank yours? You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls in about 20 minutes,” Grayson teased. He knew how you got with too much caffeine. 

“I already feel jittery,” you laughed. It wasn’t a lie, but it definitely wasn’t from the coffee - you’d actually gotten decaf, remembering somewhere that caffeine wasn’t good for babies. You walked back to the room you and Grayson shared, not realizing until you got there that you still had Ethan’s coffee in your hand. 

It didn’t matter, if you didn’t take the test right then you were pretty sure you were going to explode. So you sat the drink down on the desk, locked yourself in the bathroom and pulled the two tests out from their hiding places. 

Peeing on a stick was just as awkward as you thought it would be, but you were proud that you got it on the first try. 

And now, you just had to wait. Three minutes had never taken longer in your entire life, you were sure. But, you’d made sure to buy the tests that would clearly say one way or the other so there was no guess work. You tried to keep yourself calm, foot tapping as you watched the seconds click by on the timer you set. In just a few minutes, you were going to know if your instincts were right.

By the thirty second mark, you were hovering over the tests, watching the electronic bar load, flashing on the final stage. And then, the first one turned, revealing one word.

Pregnant. 

“Holy fuck.” 

You’d known. But now you knew. And holy shit. You were actually pregnant. The second test turned then, yielding the same result. There was no denying it.

The butterflies in your gut were overwhelming and you sunk to the floor, a hand going over your tummy. There was baby in there. And it was Grayson’s baby. You felt like you could scream, or cry, or explode. 

“I’ve gotta tell Gray,” you mumbled to yourself. You wanted to do something special, but you also knew that there was no way you were going to plan an entire elaborate reveal - you’d break and tell him early. Something simple, something quick, but still something Grayson...

It clicked. Building. You immediately started searching on your phone for what you needed, deciding that you’d use his projector to put it on the wall. But should you film it? You didn’t want it to be a production deal, but a larger part of you wanted to have the footage of such a special moment. And you wanted it to be good quality, but you didn’t know how to work a camera for shit. 

You needed Ethan. You quickly stashed the tests in a bathroom drawer and reached for your phone, pulling up your texts with Ethan.

Come to Grayson’s room, don’t be suspicious, bring a camera, don’t ask questions

You knew he would be confused, but you also knew that he would do it. You got excited all over again when you thought about telling Ethan the news. He was your best friend - hell, he was your brother, and you knew he was going to be over the moon for you. 

It wasn’t five minutes later when he snuck in, closing the door and looking at you in confusion.

“What the hell is going on? Are you pranking him? Because if you are I so want in,” Ethan grinned. He was already filming - you wondered if you looked as wild on camera as you felt.

“Oh jesus please don’t make him think this is a prank. E, I need you to set up that camera so that you can see this wall with the projector. And then I need you to leave and not ask me any questions.” 

If he started prying, you knew you’d tell him, and you’d feel terrible that Grayson wouldn’t be the first one to know.

“Okay... are you alright? You’re acting weird, you’ve got me a little worried.” Ethan frowned a bit, concern on his face.

“I promise I’m fine. And I’ll tell you what’s going on as soon as I can. I swear,” you said, offering him the most reassuring smile that you could muster.

“I’m holding you to that,” he muttered, setting up the camera in a good place and making sure it was recording before heading back to his room. Once he was cleared out of the room, you pulled up the picture you wanted onto the projector.

It was a wooden crib, simple but cute. And it would serve its purpose, which was all that mattered. Once you had it as you wanted, you turned the projector back off so you could pull it up at the right time. Then, you grabbed one of the positive tests and hid it in the waistband of your shorts. 

Trying to keep it together, you poked your head out of the door, willing yourself to do your best acting.

“Hey Gray?” You called out.

“Yeah baby?” From the sound of it he was still in the kitchen.

“Can you c’mere for a sec?” 

“Comin’,” he responded. You felt like your legs were going to give out. Your whole lives were about to change in the next few minutes. He came in casually, rubbing at his hair. “What’s up?”

“Well. I wanted to ask you if you’d do something for me,” you said. He quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms. He was suspicious, but that was bound to happen.

“Okay....” 

“It’s nothing bad, it’s just that I don’t know how to build it, but I think that you’d do it really well,” you explained. He relaxed a bit at that, leaning into you a bit more before wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

“Well now I’m excited. Show me,” he grinned - you were glad you’d picked this as the way you’d tell him, he got so excited about building.

With a deep breath, you turned on the projector, the picture of the crib popping up. You looked up to watch his face. As you expected, he was immediately confused. 

“What even is that? Is that a bed?” He let go of you, moving to the wall and looking at it even closer. “It looks like a crib, with all the bars on the sides and stuff.”

“Yeah, I know it’s complicated. But you’ve got about nine months to get it done, so no rush or anything.” You were beaming, just waiting for the moment it would click. 

“9 months? Why would I need 9 mo-”

You watched the realization come across his face, his mouth opening slightly into a little ‘o’, and then his expression turned to disbelief. Any of your nerves faded away as you realized this was all you ever wanted - having a kid with the man that you loved more than anything. You relaxed fully, trying to take it all in. 

“No. No fucking way. No way.”

“Yes way,” you laughed.

“You are not. Is this a prank? Are you pranking me?” He was frozen to the spot he had turned at.

“I wouldn’t prank about something like this.”

“You’re pregnant? You’re actually pregnant?!” 

“We’re having a baby,” you exclaimed, reaching for the test and pulling it out where he could see. That got his feet moving, and he only had to look at it for a second before he had his arms around you and you were both spinning around. You weren’t sure you could remember a time where you were happier. 

It was good that you knew Grayson would never drop you because suddenly the two of you were sinking, and you realized he was sitting down on the floor, squeezing you to him in the tightest of hugs. It took a minute for you to register the wetness on your shoulder, and when you pulled back slightly, you realized that Grayson was crying.

“Oh baby, don’t cry, you’re gonna make me cry!” It was too late - you were already tearing up, but both of you had the biggest smiles across your faces. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just so fucking happy right now. This is all I’ve ever wanted,” he said, voice cracking a little bit. You pulled him back to you, and the two of you rocked back and forth together, bodies close. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours; neither of you knew, or cared. 

Grayson was the first to speak up, and the questions started flowing.

“Have you told anyone else? When did you even find out?! Do we need to go to a doctor? Oh we definitely need to take you to the doctor.” 

“Relax baby, I just found out like 5 minutes before I told you, I went to the store to get tests cause my period was late. We’ll get an appointment made, I already have a gyno. And no, I haven’t told anybody.”

“Holy shit. So just you and me know? I gotta tell Ethan! I gotta tell my mom!” He was already shifting, starting to stand up. You let him lift you, but you caught his hand. 

“We should probably wait until we go to the doctor and get everything checked out before we tell everyone,” you cautioned. 

He looked a bit puzzled. You hated to damper his mood even a little bit, but you weren’t ready for the whole world to know about a pregnancy that seemed so fragile to you. It clicked for him, and he immediately put a hand to your stomach, fingers splaying out over soft skin.

“You’re right.” He nodded his head, still looking down at your stomach in awe. There was an unspoken question that you knew he was biting his tongue on.

“We’re definitely telling Ethan though, for sure. Like right now,” you smiled. Grayson looked up, beaming.

“Oh thank god, there was no way I could keep this from him.”

“I have an idea,” you grinned, explaining it to him quickly. He agreed that it was perfect, and went to get the camera that had been recording the two of you so that he could capture this too.

You went over to the long forgotten coffee that you’d brought home for Ethan. It was cold now, but you could microwave it. You grabbed a sharpie from the desk, scribbling what you wanted on the cup before taking Grayson’s hand and leading him to the kitchen. You popped it in the microwave - it wouldn’t be great, but that wasn’t really the point - and Grayson set up the camera. Once everything was done, you and Grayson exchanged a giddy glance before setting it into motion.

“Ethan! C’mere!” You called out.

“What do you want!?” He yelled back in his typical I-don’t-wanna-get-up tone.

“Just c’mere real quick, I forgot to give you something!” 

Grayson was giggling next to you, trying to keep it together.

“Alright, I’m comin’,” he called out, and a few moments later he was in the kitchen. “What’s up?”

“I forgot to give you your coffee earlier, here,” you smiled, handing him the cup. He took it gratefully, though he was giving you the when the hell are you going to explain earlier look as subtlety as he could with Grayson still in the room. 

“Dude, what does your cup even say? They totally spelled your name wrong,” Grayson said, unable to wait any longer for his brother to notice. Ethan held the cup up a bit so he could read the writing on the side.

Uncle Eteeweetee 

“Haha very funny, eteeweetee, you got me.” He rolled his eyes, taking a sip. 

“Wait, what exactly does it say?” You asked. Grayson was giggling beside you.

“It says ‘uncle eteeweetee’, which is just fucking stupid.” He looked a bit peeved, knowing he was missing the joke. “What? What’s so funny about Uncle?” 

“What if I told you that the big news I couldn’t tell you earlier was that you actually are an uncle? Or at least, you will be in about nine months.” Now you were beaming. Ethan figured it out immediately, sitting the coffee cup down.

“You’re joking. No fuckin way, are you joking? You’re pregnant?!” 

You nodded, and before you knew it he had you wrapped up in a hug. You squeezed him back and then let him go to his brother. They held each other tight for a minute, and though their words were a bit muffled you caught the end of it.

“I’m so fuckin’ happy for you bro. You deserve this,” was what Ethan said, and you couldn’t have agreed more. 

february

Oh you were definitely pregnant. Even without the tests, or the doctor’s visit or the missed period, you would have been 100% sure by now. This had become your morning routine, and you hated every minute of it. 

Right around 6am on the dot you’d wake up, a thin sheen of cold sweat on you and a churning in your stomach. You threw yourself onto your feet, running towards the bathroom and immediately hurling up anything you had left in you. Usually it wasn’t much, and that somehow made it worse. Your throat was sore from the bile morning after morning. It usually took you a good twenty minutes to get everything up, and another five after that for your stomach to settle. 

Each morning, at the feeling of you leaving the bed, Grayson was right behind you. He’d hold your hair back with one hand, other hand gentle and soft as they rubbed over your back. You knew how much he hated being around people throwing up, but he never even flinched. 

When your stomach would finally empty, you’d come down off your knees onto your butt, leaning your weight back against him. 

“This shit sucks,” you said one particular morning, fully exhausted.

“I’m sorry baby, I wish I could fix it,” Grayson murmured, kissing your temple. 

“I feel disgusting,” you grumbled, turning a bit and nuzzling into his neck. 

“You wanna shower?” 

Usually, you weren’t a morning shower type of person, but between the vomit and the sweat, it had become normal as well.

“Too tired,” you said, curling up into him. The fatigue was real these days, and you occasionally felt bad for being so lazy. Grayson would have none of it, reminding you that not only were you growing body parts with your body, but you were also still doing more than Ethan was on the daily. 

“I’ll do the work. C’mon pretty girl, let’s get you cleaned up.”

And he really did all the work, from stripping you down to washing your hair and body, then drying you off and handing you a toothbrush. 

“I’ll get some clothes while you brush,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he disappeared. You were grateful for the minty taste in your mouth as he came back with a pair of his sweats and a t shirt. You let him pull the shirt over your head before you spoke. 

“I don’t understand how I can be this fucking tired,” you muttered as you put your hands on his shoulders, steadying yourself as you stepped into the legs of the pants that Gray was holding out for you.

“Fatigue is really common during the second month, it’s supposed to get better by the third though, so hopefully it won’t last too long,” he offered in reassurance. You smiled at that - he’d been listening to any podcast he could get his hands on related to pregnancy and parenting. It was the cutest thing, and every time you thought about it you started to tear up.

“Hey, hey, why we cryin’? What’s wrong?” His thumbs were wiping at your cheeks - it was like an instinct now since he had to do it at least once a day.

“You’re gonna be such a good dad,” you blubbered, leaning into his shoulder. You felt him chuckle a bit and you crumpled. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to. You’re just cute.”

You groaned. “Cute. Right. I’m grumpy, lazy and gross. Not cute.” 

“You’re none of those things. Well, you’re kinda grumpy with Ethan, but so is everyone.”

It was true - you’d been very grouchy lately, especially with Ethan for some reason. The cute things he usually did to make you laugh got under your skin like no other, and you’d snap at him, which would in turn make him sad, which then made you feel guilty and ended in tears every time without fail. Ethan was a great sport about it, always accepting your teary apologies and teasing you nicely about the hormones, but you still hated not feeling in control of your emotions and yourself.

Knowing it would only be worse if you didn’t get any sleep, you stumbled your way to bed and climbed back under the covers. Grayson climbed in next to you, opening his arms so you could lay on his chest, his fingers tracing patterns on your back as you drifted back into exhausted sleep. 

march

You stood in front of the mirror, hand rubbing gently across your belly. There was definitely a bump there starting to form, and it mesmerized you every time you thought about what was within it. It was tiny. Anyone else looking at you wouldn’t notice, or would think it was just a big breakfast. But you knew that it was your baby, growing away. 

And you loved your bump, but Grayson was even more obsessed - any time you were sitting within reach of him his hand was across your stomach. Though he wouldn’t admit it, you knew part of it was protective. He’d become very cautious since you’d found out about your pregnancy, always making sure you were safe, not letting you do anything too ‘strenuous’. You’d had to get him to back off a few times, assuring him that stirring pasta wasn’t going to cause the baby any stress. 

He’d been even more worried when you and the boys took a flight home to Jersey so you could tell Lisa and Cameron the good news. All through the airport he was right next to you, hand around your waist guiding you through the terminals. 

“Grayson, flying is only dangerous if you’re like... super pregnant. Like might-deliver-on-the-plane pregnant. We’re fine.” You reassured him. 

“We?” His face softened at that. It was the first time you’d really referred to the baby and yourself as a unit. It was a nice feeling - you were finally starting to get back to normal, and feeling like yourself. The morning sickness had let up, only about once a week now. Ethan didn’t piss you off any more than normal. You were still a bit weepy, but that was to be expected in some ways. 

The biggest issue now was your cravings. They were so intense, way more captivating than you thought even possible. When one hit, you couldn’t think about anything else. And the worst possible place to get one? A plane.

“Gray. Grayson,” you whispered to him over the hum of the airplane engines.

“Hmm?”

“I want a soft pretzel. Like I need one.”

“Like you want one or you’re craving one?” He’d learned to differentiate between the two with all your wild food preferences these days.

“Craving. Craving so hard.” 

“Well that’s a new one. I brought some of your other cravings just in case, but not gonna lie, didn’t bring a soft pretzel with my snacks. Do you want any of these?” He gave you a sympathetic smile and showed you the stash of snacks he’d brought for the 5 hour flight - lots of the candies you’d been craving, peanut butter, chocolate. 

“Thank you, but for some reason thinking about eating any of that is making me nauseous,” you scrunched up your nose. 

“What!? You ate like 20 twizzlers yesterday alone!” He looked a bit exasperated, but you just laughed and rested your head on his shoulder.

“It’s okay baby, not your fault. Guess we’ve got a picky kid. Oops.” 

The rest of the flight went without event, and when you went to go pee after you got off, Grayson found an Auntie Anne’s in the terminal and brought you back the biggest soft pretzel they had. You hummed as you ate it, wiggling a bit in excitement considering you were pretty sure it was the best thing you had ever tasted in your entire life. 

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” Grayson teased, taking your bag from you so you could fully enjoy your snack as you walked through the airport. 

The drive to the Dolan household was about an hour, and you napped through most of it, head on Grayson’s lap in the backseat - the fatigue was fading, but it wasn’t fully gone. He woke you up gently as Ethan turned into the driveway, and you felt the excitement mounting. Not only were you getting to see Cameron and Lisa, but you were getting to tell them the news. You were finally comfortable with more and more people knowing, though you didn’t want it out on any social media. 

When you came in it was three straight hours of hugs, smiles and stories, and there wasn’t even a lull in the conversation where you could have said something. Besides, this was Grayson’s family, so you wanted him to be able to make the big reveal anyhow. 

He’d decided on a scavenger hunt that Ethan helped him set up; you stayed with the girls and feigned your innocence, which almost backfired completely. 

“You seem different Y/N. Did you get new makeup or something?” Lisa asked, giving you the same suspicious look that Grayson often did.

“Um, yeah, yeah I got a new bronzer that I’m trying out.” You went along with it, hoping that if you somehow looked different she would attribute it to that.

“I thought so. Your skin is glowing!”

“Awe thank you!” You smiled, trying not to seem nervous. You’d heard of mother’s intuition, but damn. Luckily the boys returned then, sending their sister and mom on the hunt around the house. It took about 15 minutes, but finally they ended up with the card that had your most recent ultrasound photo in it. 

Lisa blubbered for a good thirty minutes, all the mixtures of emotions about becoming a grandparent coming out. She held her youngest son close for so long, and you gave them their moment by explaining all your pregnancy woes to Cameron, who was beyond excited to finally become an aunt. 

The trip only lasted a few days, but you enjoyed spending the time with Grayson’s family and watching him relax and recharge. When it was time to go and the boys were loading the rental car, Lisa pulled you aside.

“I know pregnancy can be really hard, so you just call me if you need anything, okay? Any questions, anything you need. I’ll fly out any time you need me.”

“Awe thank you Lisa,” you smiled, giving her another hug.

“No, thank you honey. You’ve made my whole family so happy, I can’t thank you enough.”

april

“I give up. I literally give up, I’m never leaving the house ever again.” You threw the shirt across the room, plopping down on the bed in defeat. Grayson spun his chair around, one ear of his headphones already off. He’d been editing, but heard you grumbling.

“What’s the matter love?”

“None of my clothes fit! I’m huge!” 

“Well first off, you’re not huge. Second, you’re growing a fricking human, so yeah your tummy is gonna get bigger. Do you want me to find you a shirt of mine?” He offered, trying his hardest to console you. You’d been pretty good at avoiding the meltdowns lately, and he wanted to keep that trend going. 

“No. I don’t wanna wear your stuff.”

“Baby. You ask me for my clothes like, every day,” he reminded you.

“Yeah. But I like having the option of wearing my clothes,” you pouted, looking at your discarded top on the ground. 

“Okay, well then why don’t we go shopping tomorrow and get you some new clothes. Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agreed. You didn’t love the idea of having to buy new clothes in bigger sizes, but you knew you’d have to do it eventually. 

“Hey, c’mere,” Gray smiled, patting his thigh. You obliged, climbing onto his lap. His hand went to your bare thighs, rubbing circles. “You’re beautiful, you know that right? Even when you don’t feel like it, I promise you that you are.” 

You blushed at that, knowing better than to argue with him. Instead, you just kissed him, fingers gentle on his cheek. 

“I love you,” you smiled against his lips. 

“I love you more. Why don’t you go take a swim, I’ll come out as soon as I finish this edit.” His suggestion was a very good one - the fourth month of pregnancy was mostly nice, but you were starting to get sore, especially your back and hips. The best relief you could find was in the pool, and you’d never been more thankful to live in California. 

You kissed him one more time before getting up and pulling out a bathing suit. He cheekily watched you change with a few side glances, making you blush even harder. 

The pool water was inviting, and you swam around for a while trying to loosen up your muscles. Then, you climbed onto a float and drifted off into a nap. A nap that was ended quite abruptly by cold water being splashed at you. 

You peeked an eye open and all you saw were red shorts. 

“Rule number one Ethan. Never wake the pregnant lady,” you grumbled.  

“I know I know, but I got you something! Look!” Ethan was beaming when your eyes finally adjusted to the sun. You had to look closely to realize that it was a pool float in his hands. Specifically, it was an avocado pool float.

“Awe, thanks E!” Even if you didn’t really understand the gesture (you had plenty of floats), you still appreciated it. 

“It’s a pregnancy one, see!?” He exclaimed, pointing out the picture on the box. Sure enough, it had a hole in the design. “So once your bump gets like, huge, you can still lay on your tummy and then your bump is like the pit!” 

He had such childish excitement that it was contagious, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You could feel the baby fluttering around in your tummy a bit as you giggled - you’d been feeling them move around some lately, though it wasn’t enough for Grayson to feel externally yet. 

“Well, if I try to blow it up I think I’ll pass out, but I wanna see what it looks like!” You grinned. He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks, sitting on the edge of the pool and putting his feet in while he unboxed the plastic, finding the plug and beginning to blow it up. 

You watched the process, which took a good while, but it was worth the excitement on his face when he stood up and held the giant avocado up. 

“That thing is huge! How much did it even cost!?” 

Ethan was known to spend too much money on things that no one really needed.

“Doesn’t matter, happy momma happy baby, and since I did it, happy baby means I’m the favorite uncle.” 

“I think you already win favorite uncle E, but I’m sure the baby also loves the float,” you smiled as he blushed. Though he wouldn’t admit it, you could tell he was a bit nervous at the idea of becoming an uncle. Grayson was always the brother who took over when it came to kids, and Ethan felt a bit behind in that department, but you knew he was going to be great.

“Here, come try it out!” 

You waded over to the edge of the pool by Ethan, who was holding the float steady at the edge. You took his other hand and he helped pull you up. And when you laid on your stomach, you realized just how uncomfortable the other float had been.

“Holy shit, this is nice E. Thank you. You should come hang out for a while, I feel like I haven’t seen you in like a week.” 

“Lemme get changed,” Ethan smiled, letting go of the float and heading inside. It wasn’t often that you got to hang out with just Ethan anymore. He was your best friend, and you were grateful for such a strong friendship that had eventually led you to being friends (and then more) with Grayson. It was like having the best brother-sister relationship that you could imagine, with the teasing and the caring perfectly balanced. You were so excited to see him be an uncle to your kid that it wasn’t even funny. 

When he came back in his swim trunks, he had a bottle in his hands. You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Sunscreen, you’re getting pink on your back,” he explained, walking into the water from the stairs and coming over to you. He put some in his hands and starting rubbing it on your back. The groan you let out wasn’t voluntary.

“Ew gross, wrong twin,” he teased. You flipped him off.

“Shut up, my back’s just sore, it feels nice,” you explained, relaxing. 

“Still sore huh? That sucks dude.”

“Yep, you know just trying to make room for a human in here and shit,” you chuckled. He finished putting it all on and stowed the sunscreen on the edge of the pool. The two of you talked for a while, about work and Wakeheart, new video ideas and Ethan begging for the fiftieth time for you to let him buy the baby clothes already. 

But as he was pleading his case for the baby needing a matching outfit to his, he realized that you had drifted off back to sleep. So he pulled the float over to the side of the pool, using one hand to scroll his phone and the other to push and pull it back and forth to create a sort of rocking motion that would keep you asleep. 

When Grayson came out ten minutes later, he was a bit confused at the sight. Ethan immediately turned and put a finger to his lips.

“She’s out,” he explained. Grayson smiled at that - as much shit as he could give his brother sometimes, he really did have the biggest heart.

“Thanks for taking care of her man, I’m done with the edit I can take over,” he offered. Ethan brushed him off.

“Go take a nap or something, I’ve got this.”

Though he would never admit it, he really did like taking care of you. So Grayson let him, going to catch up on some sleep on the couch with a smile on his face.

may

“You okay baby?” 

You frowned, wondering why he’d asked. Then you noticed that your knuckles were white where you were clinging to his hand. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous - it was just another ultrasound scan. Maybe it’s because of what you were finding out.

“I’m alright, just nervous. I can’t believe we’re finally finding out if it’s a boy or a girl.” You brought your other hand to your bump, rubbing gently over it. You already felt connected to the little human inside you, but the thought of knowing something else about them made you feel even closer.

“Then we can finally start shopping,” he smiled, bringing your hand up to his mouth and kissing the back of it. 

Your OB came in then, ready to begin your scan. You watched in awe as she moved the ultrasound head around, searching until a perfectly clear picture of your baby popped up. You watched their little heart flutter while Grayson watched in awe.

“Everything looks perfect, they’re growing great, got a good amount of fluid in there to swim around in. And if we can get them to turn just a little bit, I should be able to let you know if it’s a little mrs. or mr. in there. Are you all wanting to find out the sex today?” The doctor wasn’t looking at either of you, eyes focused on the screen as she spoke.

“Yeah, we wanna know, if you’re able to see.”

“Alright, well they seem pretty active so we should be able to get a good view here in a minute. Some babies start to wiggle when mama does something, is there anything you do that makes them move around more?”

“They move when I laugh, or when Grayson talks to them.”

Grayson blushed a bit at that. You’d told him over and over that when he talked to your baby, they moved around. He would talk to them every night, hands splayed across your belly, just waiting for some type of kick. And though you could feel them inside, he had yet to feel anything. 

“Why don’t you give that a try Grayson, see if they’ll move,” the doctor encouraged. 

Grayson was obviously nervous to be put on the spot - he was only used to doing this in the comfort of your room at home. He cleared his throat, leaned in close to your belly, and started to speak.

“Hey baby, it’s daddy. I know you’re probably really comfortable just chilling in there right now, but we need you to move just a little bit. Not too much, but maybe just towards me a little bit. I know, I know, it’s a lot of work, but you’re tough, you can do it.” 

You loved the way he talked to your baby, so sweet and adorable. You were enthralled with his words, almost forgetting where you were.

“Well, it looks like you two have a got a major daddy’s girl on your hands,” were the words that pulled you out of your trance. You hadn’t even felt the baby turn. 

“Girl? We’re having a girl?!” Grayson’s eyes were wide, and he had the biggest smile on his face as he looked at you.

“Looks like it. Congratulations guys! I’ll give you guys a minute and go get some of these stills printed, then you all are set to go!” The OB wiped the gel off of your tummy and gave you a warm smile.

As soon as the doctor left, Grayson pumped his fist in the air in excitement.

“I was gonna be happy either way, but I was totally pulling for a girl,” he admitted. He was beaming - you’d always known he wanted a daughter so badly. 

“And apparently she’s already a daddy’s girl. I’m in trouble,” you teased. You held your bump with both hands, looking at it in a whole new light. “Hi baby girl. Momma loves you.” 

june

You knew that this day would be hard; even harder than it had been for Grayson the last few years. So you weren’t all too surprised when you woke up to an empty bed. 

Your back was stiff as you crawled out from under the covers, and you gave yourself some time to stretch and put some sweats on before heading out to the living room. You saw the silhouette of him through the glass doors.

Grayson was in the backyard, sitting on the patio couch, staring out at the view of LA. You decided to give him a few more minutes alone, going to make the both of you a cup of coffee (yours unfortunately decaf). 

You made sure to make a little bit of noise when you opened the door, not wanting to startle him. He turned, relaxing when he realized that it was you. His eyes were puffy and red, and you knew it wasn’t from allergies. 

“Hey,” he said, throat obviously tight. “How’re my girls?”

“We’re alright. Just wanted to come check on you, see if you needed anything.” 

There wasn’t much you could say to make him feel better. Father’s day would always be very bittersweet for him. 

You’d thought about getting him a card, or a small gift that was ‘from the baby’, but you knew that the day would be so laden with emotions that you’d rather not potentially make it worse. 

You passed him the coffee as a comforting gesture, and he gratefully took it.

“I can give you some more alone time if you need, I just wanted to see if you were alright,” you offered, giving him a soft smile. Sometimes he preferred to let his emotions out by himself, and you respected that. 

“Stay please. And thank you, for the coffee.” He patted the seat next to him and you sat down, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He leaned into you, and it wasn’t long until the shaking started. It was like the sobs were being ripped out of him, and it physically pained you to see him hurting. You did all that you could, pressing kisses to his skin and holding him as close as your bump would let you until the tears finally started to let up.

You wiped away what was left on his cheeks when he sat up to get some air, and he laid the weight of his head in your palm, obviously exhausted.

“I just miss my dad,” were his only words, and you swore you felt your heart crack right down the middle.

“I know baby. I’m so sorry.” 

“I have so many questions for him, about being a dad, and raising a daughter. And I know he would have been so excited to be a grandpa. I wonder if he would have wanted her to call him grandpa, or poppy. And now she won’t even have one,” he said, a fresh batch of tears coming to the surface. 

“He’s still her grandpa baby. I know he’s not here, and god I wish he was. But she’s gonna know about her poppy Sean, and what an amazing person he was. We’re gonna tell her stories, and show her pictures, and she’s gonna see all of his best qualities in you. You’re going to be an amazing dad, because you had an amazing example.” The words came spilling out of you, just like the tears came spilling down for both of you. 

Coffee cups discarded somewhere close by, he took your hips in his hands and pulled you onto his lap. He buried his face in your neck and you held him tightly, running your fingers through his hair. When he moved up to your shoulder, you felt him press a few kisses to your skin - a silent thank you. 

“You really think I’m gonna be a good dad? You’re not just saying that?” His voice was muffled against your skin. 

“I honestly think that you’re going to be the best. And I’m not just saying that, I swear.”

“But why? Why do you have so much faith in me? I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Neither do I. I’ve got motherly instinct to go on, and some babysitting, and that’s it. And I know you think you have no idea how to take care of a kid, but I know that you’re going to love her, and you’re going to protect her, and those are the most important things you can do. You already love her so much,” you explained.

There was an odd sensation in your tummy just then, and you gasped at it. It was new, a slow dramatic motion, and as you looked down you could actually see your skin moving. The movement tracked down the top of your bump and towards your belly button, which was pressed against Grayson. You didn’t have to ask - you knew he had felt it.

“Was that...”

“That was all her,” you assured him. You recognized the feeling as her stretching, but you realized quickly that it was the first time he’d actually felt her move. His hands moved to spread across your bump, the sadness that had been on his face now replaced with awe.

You both watched closely, waiting to see if she would do it again. You felt it first.

“She’s moving, she’s moving again, right here.” You took his hand and moved it to the right place, just in time for him to feel her kick. He looked up to you with wide eyes.

“Holy shit! I actually felt that! Does she do that all the time?” 

“She’s been doing it a lot more lately. Guess she’s trying to make more room. I swear, she really does move around a lot more when you’re talking to her.”

Something about his voice made her decide to do flips all the time. Most the time it was fine, though sometimes it would be a bit sharp if her little feet or elbows found a rib. You’d never tell him that though - watching his face light up was worth any kick.

“Hey baby girl. Whatcha doin’ in there, huh? You showin’ off?” His voice softened every time he spoke to her, and your heart softened with it. On cue, she kicked again, right into his hand. 

“No way! That’s so cool! Does it hurt?”

“Not unless she catches an organ or a bone,” you teased, loving how excited he was, and grateful that he was finally getting to experience this. It went on for another hour, both of you enthralled to see how she moved. 

“I think she’s saying happy father’s day,” you said at one point, not thinking it through. But to your relief Grayson was beaming proudly at your words. 

july

You spotted the glitter from across the store, and immediately started shaking your head. 

“No. Absolutely not,” you protested as the boys approached you. Whatever it was in their hands, you weren’t going to let them buy it.

“But baby, look. It has ruffles on the butt,” Grayson explained, holding it up. It was a bright pink glittery onesie, that did indeed have ruffles on the butt of it. 

“I am not putting my daughter in that.”

“I mean, Gray and I both want it. So technically you’re outnumbered,” Ethan countered, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well I’m growing her butt with my own body, so technically I get to decide that I’m not putting ruffles on it,” you mocked, eyes narrowing. He backed off, knowing better than to mess with you. 

“What if we got one that wasn’t so bright? They have non-glittery ones,” Grayson offered. You always softened up when he suggested things, and looking at how small the newborn clothes looked in his hands had you in a puddle. 

“Non glitter would be... better.” You said, still a bit suspicious. 

It wasn’t that you were totally against girly clothes - you just thought all the baby boy clothes were so much cuter. Who wanted unicorn onesies when you could get some with jungle animals, or sea creatures? You’d found yourself wandering over to the boys section more and more, picking out little hoodies and things with simple patterns. 

Grayson took you to the ruffle butt section, and you had to admit the ones in more neutral colors were quite cute. You picked out a few with him, and then it was like his eyes glazed over. 

“Oh my god,” he said, head falling back a bit before coming back up to a pout he only got when he saw something too adorable. You followed him over to the sundress section where Ethan was already holding up a tiny little dress with sunflowers on it. Even you had to admit, it was adorable.

“I love it, but she’s due in September. I don’t want her to be cold,” you sighed, hand going to your tummy. You’d started to feel more and more protective of her recently. 

“We’ll buy her a little jacket or something.” 

You weren’t surprised that the next 30 minutes (and $300 most likely) were spent in the dress section. You decided to let the boys have their fun - you knew you’d be the one dressing her more often than not, so you could put her in whatever you wanted. 

When you got back home, you headed to the nursery, which was really starting to come together. The boys were putting in so much work to make it perfect, and it made you so happy. There was a crib that Grayson had built, and tested about twenty times as well. You’d assured him that it didn’t need to hold 200 pounds, but he was very proud that it passed the test of him laying in it.

“What if she gets scared and needs me to sleep in there with her!?” was his main argument for that one, and you couldn’t fault him. 

They’d painted the walls a dark gray with a few pops of light purple. There was a changing table and dresser built by Grayson as well, though right now you were focused on the closet as you put her clothes away. 

“I can’t believe she’s gonna be here in like, two months,” Grayson mumbled as he hung a tiny dress up on a hanger. He was moving the delicate straps by pinching them with his fingers, which was somehow more adorable than the dress itself. 

“I know, it’s crazy. Not gonna lie though, this bump is getting a little heavy. I wouldn’t mind her getting here a little sooner,” you sighed, leaning slightly to try to relieve some pressure on your back. Standing all day in the stores had your ankles swollen and your back screaming. 

“Hey, I got this. Why don’t you go lay down, I’ll give you a massage when I’m done okay?” 

You balked a bit at that. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him - he was perfectly capable of unpacking baby clothes. But your nesting instincts were coming in hard these days, and you were very particular about anything nursery or baby related. 

“I...”

“Color order, and separate it by type of clothes and sizes, I know. Onesies in the drawer, plain on the left and cute on the right. Plus, you’re probably going to rearrange it all next week anyways.” Grayson reassured you, checking all the boxes you didn’t even have to say.

“You’re the best,” you smiled, standing on your tip toes to kiss him - the bump was getting in the way these days. 

“I know,” he joked. “Now go lay down.”

You did as he said, and he was unsurprised to find you asleep in bed when he got back a mere twenty minutes later. The sight of you curled up on your side, cradling your bump, made him smile. 

He helped get you changed into pajamas - you grumbled a bit as he moved your limbs, but you didn’t wake all the way up. 

Then, he moved to your ankles, rubbing at the puffiness to try and get it to reabsorb - he’d looked up the best massages for pregnant women months ago, but they were really starting to come in handy now. By the time he got to your back, you were humming at the sensation, somewhere between dreams and bliss. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled. Grayson wasn’t sure if you even knew you said it.

He smiled, leaning down to kiss your forehead, then your bump. “Anything for my girls.”

august

You’d resorted to pool noodle violence, seeing that you were quite slow even in the water. You brought it down as hard as you could on Ethan first, then on Grayson. 

“Enough!” you yelled, exasperated. The boys stopped in their tracks - they’d been wrestling and bickering about something for a while now, and you were annoyed. Not because they were arguing, but because the baby was doing all sorts of flips and kicks to the sounds of their voices. She had always responded to Grayson’s voice the most, but apparently Ethan’s was similar enough that he got the same response. Which meant them arguing was actually quite painful.

“If this baby kicks me in the ribs one more time because of you two, I swear,” you grumbled, rubbing over your sore stomach. 

“Sorry, I keep forgetting,” Ethan apologized, giving you a look of sympathy. 

“Sorry baby,” Grayson sighed, coming over to the edge of the pool where you were. It didn’t matter what you did these days - you were just uncomfortable. Your bump was huge, and you felt like a whale day in and day out. It was making you grumpy, and you hated it.

“No, I’m sorry. She just won’t stop kicking. Like girlfriend, you’ve gotta chill out,” you gestured to your bump, making both of them chuckle.

“You be nice to your momma, so that she’ll be nice to your uncle E,” Ethan said to your bump. “Oh my god, I wonder if she’s gonna get us confused.”

“No. She’s gonna know exactly who I am,” Grayson argued, a bit peeved. 

“What if she likes me better?” Ethan prodded, trying to get more of a reaction as he often did. 

“Hey. She’s still trying out for the world cup over here, whisper if you’re gonna talk,” you grumbled, pressing on the side of your bump to try and soothe the pain. Grayson’s hand replaced yours, rubbing soft soothing circles. 

“I bet she’s kicking cause she thinks you’re annoying, like her dad does,” Grayson retorted, smirking a bit. It would have been a good comeback if he didn’t have to whisper it.

“I’m gonna be her favorite, cause I get to be the fun uncle,” Ethan countered quietly with a wicked smile. 

“You both have useless nipples, therefore I’m pretty sure I’m going to be the favorite for a good 6 months at least,” you chimed in, defeating both of their arguments. “Now then, I’m getting pruny, I’m going in.”

Before you could protest, Grayson had already pushed himself up and out at the edge of the pool, coming to help you up. He wasn’t letting you out of his sight for even a second these days. He was afraid you were going to go into labor and he wasn’t going to be there. 

The closer your due date got, the less worried you were. It confused Gray - he figured you’d be anxious about the delivery, the labor, all of it. But you were just excited to meet your little girl. You both hadn’t picked out a name yet - all you knew was that you wanted it to be strong, and have meaning. You were going to wait until you saw her face to fully decide.

Caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t even realize that you’d made the turn into the nursery instead of into your room. It was a bit hard to believe that you were going to have a baby of your own living in here in just a few short weeks. 

“Do you wanna go back through your hospital bag and make sure we have everything?” Grayson’s voice came from behind you. 

You shook your head with a soft smile. 

“Oh. Do you wanna rearrange again?” You could tell he was a bit more hesitant on that one - you’d asked him to move the furniture around at least twice already this week. You couldn’t help the hormones, but you did feel bad for him. 

“No, I think it’s perfect. Just picturing her in here,” you explained, taking his hands in yours. 

“How are you not freaking out? Are you not nervous at all?” 

“A little I guess. But I’m more excited,” you smiled.

“I’m terrified,” Grayson admitted a bit sheepishly. 

“What’s got you so worried?” You wanted him to talk about it, mainly so you could try to figure out a way to help.

“I just want everything to go smoothly. My delivery didn’t go well, and I don’t want anything to go wrong with ours. Plus, I really, really, don’t wanna see you in pain. That’s gonna be really hard.” 

“I’m pretty tough,” you teased, trying to address the only thing that you could actually comfort him about. 

“Hell of a lot tougher than me, I know that for sure. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For carrying our kid. I haven’t thanked you enough for the sacrifice of it. You’ve given your body up for so long, so thank you.” He was looking down at your bump now, hands rubbing over the skin. 

“Best thing we’ve ever done,” you smiled, pulling him closer to kiss him, though you both had to lean a bit. “Though I’m not gonna lie, it’ll be nice when I can actually kiss you normally again,” you teased.

“I’m pretty sure the baby will be stealing most of the kisses from me,” Gray said. 

“Not all of them,” you assured him, leaning to kiss him again.

september 3rd, 3am

Grayson had passed behind you at least ten times. You watched him in the mirror with a bit of a smirk. You were brushing your teeth, breathing deeply through your nose as a contraction started. 

“Are they close together? Oh god, I’m supposed to be timing them, shit, okay, hold on,” he mumbled, heading back towards the room again. You caught his hand, holding him there while you spit out your toothpaste and rinsed your mouth.

“Baby. Relax.”

“Relax? How are you so calm right now!? Aren’t you like, contracting?” His eyes were wide, panicked. You knew the only way to get him calm was to stay calm yourself.

“I mean yeah,” you shrugged. Right now, it was no worse than bad period cramps. You weren’t going to freak out - waking up to your water breaking wasn’t exactly your plan, but you were more excited than anything. 

Grayson packed the car while you brushed your hair, and he came back in to walk you to the car. He held your hand for the whole drive, bringing your intertwined digits up to kiss the back of your hand any time you tensed up with a contraction. There was luckily no traffic at 3am, and the drive to the hospital was easy enough. 

Ethan was at home, in charge of letting everyone know that it was time, and getting Lisa and Cameron when they made it into town. So it was just you and Grayson, and you loved it, even though he was freaking out. 

You got checked in and taken up to your room. Grayson was at your bedside, hand in yours from the moment you got settled with your IV. The nurse was sweet as she came in to give you your first exam. It wasn’t comfortable, but you hadn’t expected it to be.

“Well momma, look at you! Already 4 centimeters dilated! If you keep up this pace, you’re gonna be holding that baby girl in no time! Around what time did you say that your water broke?”

“Around 2:45 this morning,” you said.

“Wow. You really are moving along quickly, especially for a first time momma. I’ll come check you again in about a half hour, and we’ll see how you’re feeling okay?” 

“Sounds good, thank you,” you offered her a smile as she headed out. 

When you looked back over, Grayson’s eyes were on your face. 

“Looks like things are gonna go pretty smooth,” you wiggled your eyebrows at him, just trying to make him laugh. He smiled, shaking his head. 

“You’re insane,” was all he could say.

“Hey, I told you I was tough! And I’m sure it’s going to get a lot worse from here,” you reminded him. 

“I was fully prepared for you to be screaming in pain. And you’re just here, hanging out like nothing’s happening!” He was exasperated. 

“Screaming isn’t really my style. Well, I guess it is sometimes,” you winked at him. 

“You are not making sex jokes right now.” He had the biggest smile now, which was all you wanted. Another contraction hit then, low in your back. You sucked in a deep breath, squeezing on Grayson’s hand as it came through. You breathed your way through it, trying to get a rhythm down that you knew you could keep going. They’ll pass. They come and then they pass was going to be your mindset for the rest of the time. 

And it worked. Each time a contraction came you closed your eyes and breathed deep, focusing on the sensation of the air coming in your nose and out over your lips. The only other sensation you were willing to acknowledge was Grayson’s hand in yours, his lips on your forehead, the sweet encouragements he was whispering in your ear. 

And they got worse. Much worse. The nurse came and checked you often, reassuring you that things were moving well. It was a few hours later and you were already at 8 centimeters. 

“I haven’t seen a first time mom move this quickly through labor in a long, long time. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” the doctor said when she checked you. 

“But that’s okay right? It’s not bad that it’s going fast right?” Grayson was immediately concerned.

“No, no problems at all. Less time in labor means less stress on mom and baby, so better all around. You’re a natural Y/N, I’ll give you that,” she smiled. “I’d say we’re gonna be pushing in the next hour or so.”

“Sounds great.” You gave her a soft smile, trying with all your might to be pleasant. Your hips were on fire, like you’d been holding a wide squat for the last 3 hours. You knew it was just everything widening, but damn did it hurt. 

“You’re doing amazing baby, you’re so strong.” Grayson’s words came at the right time. 

“I think I’m ready to be done now,” you laughed a bit, and it was the first time you’d felt any self pity the whole time. But you were tired, and you knew that pushing was supposed to be the worst part of the whole thing. You weren’t sure you were as ready for that as you thought you were. 

“I know baby, I wish I could make it better. But you’re gonna have your daughter in your arms so soon, and it’s all gonna be worth it,” he reminded you. His face was laced with sympathy as he leaned in to kiss you. 

It was enough encouragement to help you through, though you weren’t as quiet as you had been. Each contraction was longer, and closer together now. You were groaning a bit at the pain, trying to keep it under control as you had before, but it was getting harder. 

The time crawled by, and you shed a few happy tears when the doctor came back in and told you that it was time for you to push. 

It was a bit of a blur from there, all guttural instinct and people counting and breathing. The only anchor you had was Grayson, who kept himself in your view the whole time, encouraging you and letting you know you were close, that it was almost over. 

And then you heard it. A loud cry, a bit of a gurgle at first, and then clear as day.

Your baby girl was here. 

The nurses were wiping her off just a tiny bit, and then she was there in your arms, on your chest. 

“Hi baby girl, hi sweetheart,” you cooed, wrapping her up in your arms. The tears were streaming now, and you looked up at Grayson. He was crying too, a look of pride and happiness that you’d never seen on his face before. 

“Congratulations, she’s beautiful! Dad, you wanna cut the cord?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Grayson’s voice was rough as he moved to help, cutting the cord where the doctor’s clamped it off. You were mesmerized by your little angel’s face - she had Grayson’s nose and lips, you could tell already. 

“Hi pretty girl, it’s momma. Welcome to the world,” you said, running a finger over her tiny nose. 

“Alright momma, you catch your breath, we’re gonna get her cleaned up and swaddled okay?” The nurse gave you the warning before going to take her off your chest. You let her, and then you looked at Grayson. He was obviously torn, looking between you and your daughter. 

“Go, go with her,” you encouraged him. You relaxed back into the bed, body spent entirely, but eyes wide open as you watched what was unfolding, trying to ignore everything that was happening with you, from delivering the placenta to the clean up. 

They weighed her first - 6 pounds and 2 ounces - and then you watched as they wrapped her up and put a tiny hat on her head. The nurse turned and placed her in Grayson’s arms. His eyes went wide for a moment in nervous panic, and then he settled as she fit perfectly in his arms. His tears flowed freely as he looked down at her in awe.

“Hi precious. It’s daddy, yeah, it’s daddy,” he cooed, and you swore you’d never been more in love with him in your whole life. He walked slowly back over to you, leaning down and lowering her back into your arms. You scooted over as best you could, and Grayson got the hint, helping you move over with his free arm and climbing into the bed next to you. 

You took her in your arms like you’d done it a thousand times before. She was peaceful there on your skin, content and happy. Her eyes opened a bit as you held her close, Grayson’s hand behind her head. 

“She’s perfect. You did so good,” Grayson praised, running a thumb over her soft hair.

Gazing at her face, you knew that the name you’d secretly been considering was perfect. 

“Bailey. I wanna name her Bailey. After you. And I want her middle name to be Shawn, after her poppy. We can spell it s-h-a-w-n, or s-e-a-n, either way,” you said, looking up at Grayson.

His tears were enough of an answer. 

“Bailey Shawn Dolan. I love it. It’s perfect,” he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. You weren’t sure how long you sat there with them. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that there was much to come. Ethan, and Lisa and Cameron would be there soon. There would be more nurses, a lactation specialist, doctors. But right now, all you could do was watch little Bailey breathe, and be grateful for the perfect little family that you had.