#ems is a tough field

[dear-fellow-travellers]

i’m like totally still around y’all 🥴

nah fr i disappeared but i’m back now for the most part. mwah 💋

[reidrum]

if you keep asking | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: this was requested with “if you keep asking me i’m not gonna be okay” or smth along the lines 😭 i am a glutton for hurt/comfort fics so if yall have any more requests send em in :)

summary: in which you’re trying to keep it together when you hear some detectives talking ill of you, and spencer isn’t gonna have it

cw: hurt/comfort, self deprecation, insecure!reader, bitch ass detectives, protective bau my heart, use of she/her pronouns

wc: 2.2k

_______

the bau team was filing into the bullpen after landing from their last case in seattle, everyone making a beeline for their desks to get a head start on their reports so they could go home faster. everyone, except you. it felt like you were on autopilot, remembering your last known movements and just repeating them for as long as you could.

the case in seattle was rough to say the least. the unsub’s mo seemed to change every minute, making any progress the team made obsolete. the only thing that seemed to be somewhat consistent was where the unsub was taking his victims, which meant the geographical profile was the most important part to solving the case, a task you and reid were assigned to.

it started off fine, you both had found the comfort zone of where the unsub would strike next to figure out how to catch him in the act. except the next time he struck it was completely out of the predicted range, and this time a kid had died. no one could have anticipated that happening. it didn’t make the loss hurt any less.

the team knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault, humans are unpredictable, and that includes serial killers. spencer made sure to tell you specifically that it wasn’t your fault, he knew how you’d get if someone didn’t tell you.

his efforts went to utter waste when you walked by a room at the precinct with detectives whispering about how “you fucked up the whole profile, that’s why that kid died” and “it’s clear you make the team stupider, how did you even get into the fbi in the first place?”

it wasn’t the first time your abilities were in question. you were the newest member of the team, having only transferred six months ago from cold cases. you may be new to the field, but there was a reason hotch chose you personally for the bau.

you tried hard to prove yourself, despite pretty much everyone saying your skillset was enough proof. you’d stay late to finish reports, do extra research on cases to help garcia narrow her searches faster, and you spent countless hours at the training range.

you were a worthy agent, anyone who knew you or read your resume knew that. but right now, you felt like the smallest person on earth, an imposter. what the hell were you even doing here if you couldn’t save him.

you shouldn’t be allowed to feel relief that the team caught the unsub, not when there’s blood on your hands.

the bad thoughts swirling in your head causes you to stall your motions when you’re putting files away, gaining the attention of morgan, “you alright, sweet cheeks?”

“i’m good morgan, don’t worry.” you lie effortlessly. if he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t mention it and turns back to his work.

taking a deep breath, you stand up to go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, when you run into jj finishing up making her own, “i was just thinking about you, i got this new creamer i think you’d rea-, hey, are you okay?” jj starts but ends concerned.

you try to focus on metronomic tick of the clock so you dont escalate, “i’m fine j,” you laugh unconvincingly, “what creamer did you get?”

she ignores your question, “because i know that was a tough case, and if you need to talk about it with someo-“

“jj, drop it, please.”

the blonde’s face drops a little at your sternness, but respects your space and offers you to try the creamer before returning to her desk. you feel bad for snapping at her, but the growing guilt within you is giving you apathy, and you can’t bring yourself to care at this moment.

you linger in the kitchen so as to avoid any more concerned faces, and you’re left to your own devices that are slowly overtaking you.

unbeknownst to you, spencer had been watching you since you all landed back in quantico. he kept his distance, mostly because he knew how overwhelmed you get at confrontation, especially about your emotions. he was the same way, a man of logic getting befuddled by emotion was enough cognitive dissonance to last a long time.

he knew it was different with you. you had a way of internalizing everything in your surrounding, a downfall to your endless empathy for others even if they never deserve it. he could explain the logic behind your beliefs, and hopefully use facts to help you relax, but that was the other thing he knew about you; you were stubborn. asking for help is something you hated doing, and if it wasn’t on your accord to be asking, it was even more detrimental to your mood.

so when he watched you duck out from the kitchen and push past the glass doors of the bullpen, he knew you were reaching the head of your doom spiral quickly.

spencer got up from his desk, “i’m gonna go check on her.”

jj nodded, “just be mindful spence, something feels different.”

they’d all been on cases that hit a little too close to home, how could they not when all they do is rid the world of the evilest of evildoers. but after a good cry, a rant to a teammate, or even an emergency therapy session, even the worst of the scum could be washed away.

something about the way you’ve been acting since they landed seemed like those fixits aren’t going to work this time.

he let out a sigh in response and walked out of the bullpen, realizing he didn’t actually know which direction you went in. assuming you’d want to be alone, he thinks the bathroom might’ve been a viable option for you and heads towards it.

the nice thing about the seventh floor is that it’s only for the bau, the bullpen was where the team spent most of their time but outside the doors there were so many empty rooms being used for storage.

so as spencer walked towards the bathroom in the hopes of finding you, his ears pick up on a tiny sniffle a little ways before it. he stops in his tracks, hoping he was just hearing things. but another pained sob rang through the door on his left, and he knew he’d found you.

he rapps the door a few times, softly calling your name, “hey, it’s spencer…can i come in please?”

you were on the other side sitting at one of the abandoned desks with your head down, but shot up at hearing spencer’s voice, “i- i’m fine i just needed a minute. i’ll be back in like two minutes, i promise.” you angrily wipe at the tears pooling on your face, grateful that you took your makeup off in the plane.

“honey, that’s not what i asked,” he starts, “is it okay if i come in?

your heart clenches at the term of endearment as you stare at the door knowing he was waiting for your okay to come in, and you start to internally weigh your options. you could let him in, and let him in to do whatever comforting you know logically would help. or you could lie, and feign ignorance to the end.

don’t they say ignorance is bliss?

you make sure to wipe the last of your tears and your runny nose before practicing a few fake smiles so it didn’t look like your face was frozen in sadness for the last thirty minutes. turning the knob you swing the door open, borderline creepy smile on your face as you greet the man, “hi dr. reid! was there something you were looking for?”

he furrows his brows at your complete (fake) shift in mood, but he comes in and shuts the door behind him, and moves to stand a few feet from you, “what’s going on?”

“nothing spence, i’m fine.” you insist.

spencer thinks if you could be more see through you’d be a windexed window. you’re avoiding eye contact with him, picking at the skin of your thumb, he can see your nose is red most likely from all the tissue blowing, and your eyes are still puffy and lined with some unshed tears still. you are so clearly breaking at the seams, like an old childhood teddy bear with stuffing falling out the sides yet hoping you can offer some semblance of stability despite your state.

“you don’t look fine, honey. why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

his words almost make you falter, and you think the walls you built so high are starting to chip down. “it’s not a big deal spence, i-,” a hiccuped breath gives you away, “i can deal with it on my own.”

spencer instinctively shortens the gap between you two, “you shouldn’t have to. i just wanna help you.”

“but i’m oka-“

“no you’re not.”

there is only one tiny thin thread left holding you together. “well,” you take a deep inhale and your voice gets impossibly small, “if you keep saying things like to me i’m not gonna be okay.”

“that’s why i’m here.” he says softly.

you look up at him with the biggest glassy doe eyed look he’s ever seen, and it’s like spencer can hear the snap of the thread in real time when he watches your face absolutely crumble. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his embrace, allowing him to hold your head down in the middle of his chest while his other hand smooths up and down your back in comfort.

“i know, shh, hey it’s okay, i got you.” he comforts.

your hands wrap around his waist beneath his suit jacket and you keep your face buried in his chest, inhaling the musky vanilla scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh laundry detergent smell letting it ground you back to him.

“i’m sorry.” you cry.

“don’t say that,” he hushes, “is it about the case?” you nod in his embrace, “we talked about it remember? there was nothing we could have done. we did everything right, sometimes it just doesn’t work out, you know that.” he moves his hand to tangle in your hair and rub your head.

“i- i know,” you say through labored breaths. you take a big breath before admitting the true reason for your anguish, “when we were about to leave, i walked by a room with some detectives talking about how i ruined the case and that…i’m the reason the kid died.”

“what?” he pulls back to look you in the eyes hoping to find any indication that you didn’t believe those poisoned words, “we both worked on that geographical profile together, the whole team agreed it was accurate and acted accordingly. what happened was not your fault. at all.” he emphasizes the last two words.

“yeah but…i don’t know maybe i could ha-“

“stop. you can’t do that to yourself. we did what we could with what we had, the burden of that child’s passing does not fall on you. we were only able to find the unsub’s hiding spot when you figured out he’d been going to the same gas station since the murders started.” he reinforced to you.

“they said that they didn’t know how i even got into the academy in the first place, and that i make the team stupider.” you quietly added.

spencer felt the rage consume his body, already planning the ways he was going to obliterate seattle pd. he cradled your head to look at him in the eyes, “listen to me. you are an important asset to this team. you make this team better at what they do, you make me better at what i do. you mean so much to me and the team okay? please don’t forget that.”

he swipes at a fallen tear on your cheek as you tell him between sniffles, “thanks spence…” you hope he understands the sentiment and love you’re trying to exude to him, even thought you’re unable to vocalize it.

“you gotta tell me if something like that happens,” he softly scolds you, “i’ll make sure they lose their fucking jobs.”

you’re about to speak when he cuts you off, “and don’t tell me that we should be the bigger people, because once the rest of the team hears about this, they’re all gonna be fighting over who’s gonna kick the shit out of them.”

you let out a tearful giggle, “you sound really funny when you curse.”

he scoffs, “what the hell, i do not!”

“you sound like a baby duckling that just learned how to say fuck.”

he starts to guide you out of the room and towards hotch’s office so you can recount what happened, “ouch, i’m hurt. i’d like to think the pistol and fbi badge i carry makes me intimidating.”

you giggle again, and spencer puts aside his rage to revel in the fact that you’re feeling better.

when hotch learned of what happened he immediately called seattle pd to file a motion to get those detectives fired, and the rest of the team were secretly praying for a case in seattle again so they could, as spencer predicted, kick the shit out of them.

[keferon]

… you think Human Ratchet having a tiny EM field without knowing contributes to how much Drift trusts him?

Like, Deadlock is super wary of anyone, so he’s paying especially close attention to any kind of danger warnings Ratchet could put out.

But through observation, he realizes that Ratchets acting like Deadlock can’t detect his field, the doctor doesn’t hide it whatsoever and there’s very rarely any instance where it doesn’t line up exactly with what Ratchet is saying anyways.

And eventually, he realizes Ratchet straight up can’t detect EM fields. He finds this out by doing the EM equivalent of shouting right behind him. You know, like how they check for deafness in cats? And nope! No reaction whatsoever.

So Drift always knows exactly how Ratchet is feeling and Drift can let his field get as embarrassingly sappy as he wants with none the wiser

OH MY GOD YOU ARE RIGHT

Ratchet being grumpy and loud and scolding Deadlock and acting tough

While all Deadlock can read in his little EM field is deep deep care. And the moment he realises that Ratchet not only can’t control his em field BUT ALSO doesn’t even know about it displaying his emotions?? Ratchet becomes his most dear and trusted person in entire fucking world.

Deadlock is so used to other cons acting nice while secretly being backstabbing assholes. But then he meets Ratchet and it’s all other way around?? Ratchet appears to be harsh while secretly being so protective and caring and for Deadlock it’s like a breath of fresh air.

Also Ratchet being surprised when Deadlock out of nowhere somehow just knows when he’s feeling bad even if he doesn’t show it ’,:)

Next

[newtonsheffield]

face blindness is totally real with baseball players lol, imagine an au where Anthony plays baseball for Kate and Appa’s favorite team and she starts enjoying watching him playing but when she meets him outside of baseball she doesn’t recognize him and starts going all protective mother hen on him for something he did and doesn’t realize she is giving a dressing to her favorite baseball player and Anthony is enjoying it

Genuinely when they have their hats off in the dugout: I don’t know who that man is! That is not the man I recognise. Sorry to that man.

Okay but imagine Anthony, after having a pretty ordinary game the night before sees a woman standing in a Bridgerton jersey when he went to get his coffee in the morning. He waited for her to notice him when they were in line together and she didn’t and now, as they stand there waiting for their orders he’s actually starting to get a bit offended. It doesn’t hurt that this woman’s absolutely stunning and he thinks it’ll be fun and flirty to go over to her and make a joke about the jersey.

“Were they out of all the others at the team store? Didn’t even have any plain ones left?”

She’s even more beautiful when she looks up from her phone, her eyebrow raised. “Would you believe, I went there with the express purpose of buying this one. Love me a shortstop, I guess.”

Anthony smirked a little, “Did they give you a discount on it? I’d be happy to reimburse you.”

“Are you one of those pathetic people that think one game means they’re done?”

Anthony’s lips parted, the realization dawning on him that she didn’t recognise him. “I… not usually.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Sure he hasn’t had a hit in two games now but let’s not pretend there haven’t been some awful calls. Some umpires obviously think the plate is 3 feet wide.”

Anthony chuckled, “I agree actually,”

“Bridgerton’s spent his whole career being touted as a hero when he does well and washed when he doesn’t hit and other people get away with much more mediocrity.”

“You seem like you know what you’re talking about.”

“You thought I wouldn’t because I’m a woman?”

“No, I just-“

“Bridgerton!” A man called out as he passed, clapping him on the back. “We’ll get ‘em tonight man! World Series is coming home!”

“Thanks man!” Anthony called back turning towards the woman who was staring at him in horror.

“Oh, my god. You’re him.”

Anthony grinned at her, “In my defense: I only meant to do a flirty, cute little bit. Thanks for telling me I’m great though.”

“You look so different without your cap on.” She gasped, “And I’m usually much… further away from you when I go to games with my Dad.”

“I’m handsome in and out of the cap, thanks.”

“I’m so fucking embarrassed.”

Anthony shrugged, “Don’t be. Are you coming tonight?”

“Nope.” She shrugged awkwardly, “Postseason is tough to get tickets for.”

He had no idea what it was about this woman that made him want to do it but he shrugged, “I’ll leave some tickets for you. What’s your name?”

“You… Don’t have to do that.”

“Least I can do for my biggest fan.”

She scoffed, “I’m not your biggest fan.”

“Oh sure.” Anthony said, “What’s you name?”

“Kate. Kate Sharma.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing you there tonight, Kate Sharma.”

He’s not sure why he feels nervous as he gets ready in the clubhouse that night but it’s the first thing he does when he steps onto the field; Look for her in his seats behind home plate. She’s sat next to a man who could only be her father, both of them in their jerseys and he can’t help but make a show of putting his cap on for her, calling out:

“Do you recognise me now?”

Her face splits into a wide smile, “There he is!”

For some reason it’s her he looks to when his song plays over the speakers in the 8th inning, two runs down with the bases loaded.

She’s staring at him, her thumbnail caught between her teeth as he adjusts his batting gloves and taps the plate with the bat before he takes his stance.

He stares down the pitcher, takes a deep breath as he waits for the ball and swings.

He felt the crack of the ball against the wood of his bat and The ball went soaring up over the outfield and the crowd roared as they realised what was about to happen just as he did.

He flipped the bat, fists in the air as he pointed to Kate, rounding the bases, soaking in the moment. Hero once again.

He felt a little stupid as he snatched the bat up at the end of the game, begging someone for marker as he scribbled on it, hoping she hadn’t left already before he scrambled out of the dug out, over the wall.

“Kate!”

She was just leaving, her father ahead of her and she turned around shock and surprise written on her face.

“Yeah?”

“I um- Thanks for um… thanks for coming tonight.”

She blinked at him, a little embarrassed as everyone stared at them, taking photos. “Thanks for the tickets. That was sweet and you didn’t have to and my Dad’s going to be talking about this forever.”

Anthony waved to her father who was watching curiously over her shoulder. “Well, I’m glad I could put on a good show for you.”

“Congrats. Hero again.”

“I wanted to give you this.” He held the bat out towards her. “I’ve been having a… yeah I haven’t been playing my best but thank you. I just… I’m… thank you.”

“I can’t take that.”

“Yes you can.” He grinned at her. “And who knows… maybe you’ll use it.”

He waved at her father again and pushed his way back through the crowd before he could lose his nerve, her voice calling after him.

“Is this your actual fucking phone number?!”

“Call it and find out!”

[goldfades]

Tee Higgins imagine where Tee comes home upset after the Bengals lose to the Chargers and wholesome moment between him and reader.

tee comes through the door slower than usual, his keys jangling in the lock like they weigh more than they should. the sound echoes in the quiet apartment, a sharp contrast to the muffled cheers and jeers that had spilled from the tv earlier, back when you were curled up on the couch, nervous for him in a way he’d never ask you to be. you didn’t watch the end—couldn’t. when the game started slipping, you turned it off and distracted yourself with laundry or emails or something equally mundane, anything to avoid the ache that comes when you see disappointment take over his face.

you’re in the kitchen now, leaning against the counter, your hands still warm from the tea mug you just set down. you look up when you hear the door close behind him, a quiet sigh slipping out as he shrugs his bag off his shoulder. he doesn’t notice you at first—too busy kicking off his shoes, running a hand through his hair, mumbling something under his breath that you can’t quite catch. his shoulders are tight, the tension in them bleeding into the air between you, like it wants to cling to you too.

"hey," you say softly, just enough to catch his attention. his head snaps up, and for a moment, you think he’s about to paste on one of those polite smiles he gives to reporters after a tough game. but then his eyes meet yours, and the wall cracks, just a little. his expression softens, but not in the way that makes you think he’s okay—it’s more like he’s letting you see the exhaustion, the weight of a night where nothing went right.

"hey," he murmurs back, his voice low and rough, like it’s been scraped raw. he crosses the room slowly, his steps careful, deliberate, like he’s walking through mud. when he reaches you, he doesn’t say anything else—just leans down, resting his forehead against your shoulder, his breath warm against your collarbone. it’s not dramatic, not theatrical, just… heavy. a quiet surrender.

you let your arms circle his waist without thinking, your fingers tracing idle patterns against his back. his hoodie is soft and familiar under your hands, the kind of thing he always wears on game days when he’s trying to stay loose. "tough night?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

he doesn’t answer right away, just stays there, his weight leaning into you like he’s afraid to let go. finally, he mutters, "yeah. tough night." it’s simple, but there’s a world of frustration and disappointment packed into those three words.

you hum softly, not in agreement but in acknowledgment. you know better than to try and fix it right now—better than to tell him it’s just one game or that he’ll get ’em next time. instead, you just hold him, grounding him in the quiet, in the softness of the moment.

the silence stretches between you as you both move through the familiar rhythm of your night routine. it’s quiet, but not in a bad way—more like the kind of quiet that speaks for itself, that doesn’t need filling. tee brushes his teeth a little slower than usual, and you catch the furrow in his brow when he glances at his reflection. you don’t comment on it. instead, you just squeeze his hand as you pass by, heading to the bedroom to pull back the covers and settle in.

when he joins you, his steps are soft, deliberate, like he’s trying not to disturb the air too much. he slides into bed beside you, his body sinking into the mattress with a heaviness that feels more emotional than physical. you can tell he’s trying not to bring it into the room—not the loss, not the weight of the game, not the frustration that’s clinging to him like a shadow. but you know him too well to miss the way his jaw tenses when he shifts onto his back, staring up at the ceiling like it’s got the answers he couldn’t find on the field.

you turn onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at him. the soft glow of the bedside lamp catches the curve of his profile, the way his lashes rest heavy against his cheeks when he finally closes his eyes. but his breathing’s still uneven, and the way his hands fidget with the edge of the blanket tells you he’s far from relaxed.

“come here,” you whisper, your voice just loud enough to cut through the quiet. his eyes flicker open, and for a second, he hesitates, like he’s trying to decide if he wants to keep his guard up. but then he exhales, slow and shaky, and shifts closer to you.

you guide him gently, pulling him into your chest, your arms wrapping around him in a way that says i’ve got you. his head rests just under your chin, and you feel the way he melts into you, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. your hands move instinctively, running slow, soothing lines up and down his back, tracing over the muscles that carry so much more than they should.

“talk to me,” you murmur, your lips brushing against the top of his head. it’s not a demand—it never is. it’s an invitation, one he knows he can take or leave.

at first, he doesn’t say anything, just presses closer, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. but then the words start to come, quiet and halting, like he’s sorting through them as he goes. he talks about the missed opportunities, the way the game slipped through their fingers, the way it felt like no matter how hard he tried, it just wasn’t enough.

you don’t interrupt. you don’t try to fix it. you just keep holding him, your hands steady, your breaths even, grounding him in the here and now. eventually, his words start to trail off, his voice growing softer, sleepier, until it’s nothing more than a hum against your skin.

you feel it when his breathing evens out, when the weight of the day finally gives way to the pull of rest. and as you press a gentle kiss to his hair, you whisper, “i’m proud of you, tee,” even though you know he’s already asleep.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[blingblong55]

Somebody to you-Simon "Ghost" Riley

Based on a request: Hear me out … 141 gets a medic. Ghost gets injured BAD, and considering his shitty childhood (if ykyk) he's lowkey scared because he likely never saw a GP. He's always dealt with the injuries on his own. Also the medic's nickname for him is 'the grim reaper' lol ---- GN!Reader, medic!reader, platonic!relationship, trauma!medic ---- A/N: for me "Grim" is the name used for all my GN, M and F Readers, which is why instead of Ghost saying "Grim reaper" he just says "Grim"...just to clarify

Ghost was always the one to treat his minor injuries when alone, and if it was something serious he would let a doctor help him. When 141 became a known group amongst base's Price was advised to get a medic, one that would know their medical history, know how to treat them and know how to deal with the lieutenant himself. Laswell recommended you, a young medic with expertise in trauma medicine.

The first time you met with the task force, you were told to run the medical centre on base. Price, Gaz and Soap were fine but Ghost sustained a gunshot wound to his abdomen and it seemed critical. "Get the doc, Price," Ghost said through gritted teeth. After one long run to Ghost room and an hour-long trying to get the bullet and close the one later, he shook your hand. He didn't want to be medicated but to Price's recommendation, he accepted morphine.

As the assigned medic to the team, you became close to them, except Ghost, who gave you tough love. Tough love in the definition of Ghost that is.

At around two in the morning, you walk to his room, checking his vitals and ensuring he is comfortable. "Doc-"

"Grim reaper, that's my call sign," you smile and he nods.

"What a shite name for a medic," a low chuckle escaped his lips. "I'll call you Grim," he continues. You nod, "So, how are ya feeling, Ghost?"

"Shit. what else would I feel?"

"Discomfort, pain, embarrassment-"

"I don't ever feel embarrassed."

"I heard Ghost never gets any major injuries, I'd say this day should be the first in your books and mine."

He shakes his head, "Y'ain't a good doc if you shit talk your patients, Grim."

"Who says I shit talk my patients?"

After months that turned into three years of working with 141, Ghost grew closer to you. If he went on a mission that had to be far from base, you went along with him to the closest base possible. "Get the doc," became an everyday sentence. No longer did he hide his minor injuries. One scratch, he called you. "Seriously, for this little thing?" you'd ask and he would nod. "What if it gets infected? Hm? Will you not care if your favourite lieutenant gets an infected injury and can't work? I mean, what a shit friend you are mate." He was like an annoying brother.

You did do your hair that morning? He would ruffle it, make it messy and then make you do push-ups for not wearing your uniform properly. One loose strand from your hair and he would shake his head. "Y'my favourite, Grim but that hair gets you in trouble." "Mate, you just messed it up!" "Now now, don't lie, no need for lies 'ere," a muted laugh as he noticed your annoyed look.

Watching him train was torture for both of you. "How was that?" Ghost would ask about his aim and you would shake your head. "You could've done better, y'er shit at this." If he messes with your job, why can't you mess with his? "Then shoot the damn thing yourself!" "Now now, no need to pout, Ghosty-" "Grim," he warns and you laugh.

You were brutally honest with him, something others didn't dare do with him. This was all because you knew him under that mask. In the field, you knew Ghost and on base, you knew Simon.

There was one time a close call, he lost so much blood and everyone was telling him he would be okay. One look at you and you sigh. "You die, I'll tell 'em about your secret favourite movie genre," you whisper in his ear and he smiles. "Then find this bloody bullet."

Time and time again, everyone saw him as the guard dog to the sweet medic and vice versa. You and him were a pair of idiots when late at night he would smoke with you, and tell the worst of jokes.

It was nice, to be somebody to someone. The best friend to a medic with a scary name like 'Grim Reaper'. He wouldn't complain. Ghost and the Grim Reaper, fighting enemies and injuries. He was somebody to you and at the end of the day when his body ached, it was all worth it.

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[danikamariewrites]

Hello!! I love your writing so much!! Could you do one where reader and Xaden have a slow, fluffy morning and him just being a grumpy morning person?

I could totally see him finally waking up one morning in a good mood with reader then Dain being a little whining bitch that he is (got a little carried away there lol), pounds on the doors waking the squad up for training.

Hope you are doing well!!!☺️☺️

Good Morning

Xaden x reader

A/n: thank you anon I hope you’re doing well too! I love fluffy Xaden ahhhh

Warnings: fluff, suggestive, nudity, and more Dain slander bc I hate him. Like I said this is not a safe space for Dain Aetos bc fuck that guy

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you hear Xaden’s light snores and feel his muscular arm tighten around you a little. You smile up at your boyfriend, he looks so peaceful like this. The complete opposite of his conscience state, dark and broody.

You turn, resting your chin on his broad chest. You trace little patterns on his face until he begins to stir. Blinking his eyes open he gives you a sleepy smile, brushing your hair behind your ear and cupping your jaw. “Good morning beautiful.”

You move up his body and kiss his cheek. He pulls you down to snuggle into his neck wrapping his arms around you to pull you fully on top of him. Letting out a sigh he says, “This is perfect. I don’t want to move, just stay here and hold you.”

You giggle against his skin and kiss up his jaw. Xaden turns to catch your lips with his. You deepen the kiss as his hands begin to wander to your hips, moving to grab at your butt. You start grinding on his crotch and feel his cock harden.

Xaden moans into your mouth. He slowly flips you onto your back sneaking his large, rough hands under your shirt. Just as he was about to remove the restrictive clothing you heard a pounding on the door next to yours and a voice yelling. Then the pounding fist was on your own door.

“Up and at ‘em cadets! Surprise flight training, let’s go! I want you all on the field in 20!” Dain yelled. Xaden let out a loud and angry groan as he dropped his head in the crook of your neck. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” You laugh at his dramatics.

Patting his shoulder you try to sit up. “Come on baby, I gotta get up or he’ll kill me if I’m late.” Xaden laid down flat on you. You groan at his weight on you. “Xaden, seriously I need to get dressed.”

He lets out another aggravated sigh. “No. Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m letting Aetos cock block me.” You let out a laugh and push at Xaden’s shoulders again, shimmying out from his grasp.

Padding across the room you open your armoire and collect your flying leathers. As you strip you feel Xaden’s eyes on you. You look over your shoulder at him. Smirking you ask, “Enjoying the view?” “I’d enjoy it a lot better if the view was under me screaming my name right now.”

You roll your eyes turning back to finish changing. After lacing up your boots you pad over to bed and kiss his forehead. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, tops. You can stay if you want and then we can finish what we started hmm.” Xaden let’s out a dramatic sigh, “Fine. But if this heads into an hour and a half I’m getting on Sgaeyl and dragging you back here myself.”

You give him one last kiss before leaving. “Ok tough guy.” As you open the door you look back and see Xaden watching you with a sad look on his face. You give him a sad smile and whisper, “Get some more sleep baby.” And head out for training.

tags: @wrotethestars @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris @twsssmlmaa

[mysteryshoptls]

Happy Winter Holiday Gift Calendar 2023

These are all the messages that you get from the boys when you log in during the Winter Holiday Campaign from 09 Dec 2023 to 31 Dec 2023! For those that want to read them again, you can find them in the Album, under GIFT CALENDAR 2023.

"How will you be spending the day?"

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle

I think I will go to the library today. There were someone's scribbles all over the book I borrowed yesterday, you see. It disrupts my focus, so I plan to find a replacement book. Seriously... It's a terrible crime to deface a book like this.

Ace

Today? Well, it's snowing outside, and I got no club practice, so maybe I'll check out on my streaming service a movie or show that catches my eye. I can stay warm and cozy in my room, all while munching on some snacks. Don'tcha think we deserve lazy days like this sometimes?

Deuce

I'm going to try to finish the assignments I got today, before the day ends. That's what an honor student should do, right? But... The first question is already a tough prac app question...? Right! Just gotta hunker down and get down to it!

Cater

Maybe I'll surf Magicam for some 'cammable spots that're only available in the winter. Stuff like diamond dust, or hotels made from ice... Knowin' they're only limited to the season really gets me psyched up!

Trey

It's pretty cold every day now, so I think I'll stock up on lemonade-ginger syrup. It'll warm you right up if you drink some. What, according to the Queen of Hearts' Laws, we can't have lemonade after 8 o'clock? Well, this has ginger in it, so it's a completely different drink, isn't it?

SAVANACLAW

Leona

No plans worth mentioning. What, not what you were expecting? Well, too bad. The campus is completely covered in snow, so the best thing for me to do is just to get back to my dorm room and relax while solving some chess problems.

Jack

The track team has practice today. But since it's supposed to snow in the afternoon, it may just end up being indoor training. It takes a while or the body to get limber in the winter. That means we need to extra thorough in our warming up exercises.

Ruggie

Obviously, I'm gonna be workin'! Today, I'm at a cake shop, and tomorrow I'm waitin' tables at a restaurant... The holidays are coming up, so 'tis the season for a ton of high-payin' temp jobs to fill my pockets, too! Shishishi!

OCTAVINELLE

Azul

As always, I will be awaiting everyone's visit to the Mostro Lounge. On a cold day such as this, we usually receive orders for dishes that are more common in the winter season. I'm sure today will be a rather busy day.

Jade

I thought perhaps I would make a herbarium. The atmosphere this time of year tends to be dry, so it is the perfect opportunity. How would you like to join me? No need to worry, I will show you how everything is done.

Floyd

Yesterday I saw someone wearing these boots lined with fur, and it looked kinda fascinating, so I thought I'd try to find some in town. I wonder if it's hard to walk in? If I find a good pair, I think I'll buy 'em and try 'em out.

SCARABIA

Kalim

Today, we have travelling salesmen from the Scalding Sands coming. I'm planning on buying a ton of stuff for the holidays! It's so exciting to think about what kind of treasure I might find! You should bring some friends over and check it out, too.

Jamil

There's no club activities today, so I plan to look into a few things. My family will be going on a trip over the holidays, you see. Tourist attractions, climate, local cuisine, souvenirs... Never a bad idea to gather too much information, don't you think?

POMEFIORE

Vil

I intend on picking up the spring coat I had on order. I'll also look for accessories that go with it while I'm out. Hm? It's too early to think about spring attire? If I wait to prepare everything for after it starts to get warmer, then I'll completely miss out on the season.

Epel

Snow's piling up again today, so I'm plannin' on clearing the magical shift field with the rest of my clubmates. Didn't bother me none, but the other guys were all dog-tired... Pathetic, ain't they?

Rook

I plan to check on the houseplants we are cultivating in the Science Club. Fufu, I wonder what sort of expressions they'll have today? I do hope there'll be some changes from yesterday that I'll get to enjoy.

IGNIHYDE

Idia

Obvi, just been hyperfixating on my online games, like always... Rather, why would you think I'd go out in cold weather like this in the first place? I recently overhauled the internet speed in the dorm, so it's crazy fast now lol. Gonna actually pull an all-nighter, it's been a while!

Ortho

It'll probably be a game day with my roommates, since the new game that I ordered online arrived. Physical games might take up more space, but I just can't help but want to actually collect my favorite games, y'know?

DIASOMNIA

Malleus

It's chilly today. The best thing to possibly do on days like this is to warm my room and enjoy some frozen treats. Perhaps I'll invite Lilia and the others later. Fufu... I suppose it's not a bad thing to be the one making preparations for them once in a while.

Silver

I will be practicing my swordsmanship with Father after this. I thought I would finish up my assignments beforehand, but... Before I realized it, I had fallen asleep and my notepad was completely blank. What should I do...?

Sebek

I plan to read the book I ordered from the Mystery Shop the other day. It's a book that I've been eagerly awaiting. Grandfather was the one to recommend it to me, so I must read it over and over again and tell him my thoughts on it!

Lilia

We have band practice today. However... When it gets cold like this, my fingers get numb and hard to move. Hm? Naah, I already have the songs memorized. It's really only about staying in rhythm with the other members!

OTHERS

Grim

Brrr, it's cold～! Hey, henchie! Today we're gonna stay cozy under that "Ｋ���ＴＡＴＳＵ" thingie. We'll have some snacks and play some games together... Myaha! Today's totally gonna be a blast!

Requested by Anonymous.

[stone-stars]

here is a post with the lyrics for every song from lullabies for the wild side! (thanks to alli @operationslipperypuppet for transcribing half of these)

Serpent’s Serenade child, don't listen to their words you're not a monster no matter what you've heard you're everything i dreamed you'd be a miracle to me they don't get to tell you what you're worth

darling, you're native to the night so take these wings i gave you and take flight don't ever be ashamed of your claws, your bite, your strength they don't get to tell you who you are

honey, don't ever change a thing your fire breath, your many heads, your poison serpent sting just because they're afraid doesn't mean that you have strayed they don't even get to have a say

i can not give you their love but i can make you strong and brave and i can make you tough their swords and arrows cannot pierce the hide of one so proud, so fierce they don't get to tell you who you are

they tell you you're a prophecy but you're a possibility they don't get to tell you what to be and let them write their histories clinging to their legacies you and me, we know just what we're worth

The Moon’s Elegy Oh, how I love you, though you’ll never know. Anywhere I go I’m in your shadow. No, I will never find the nerve to broach, anywhere you go I will follow.

‘Cause we share a sky but I still can’t seem to catch your eye. And try as I might, I’m a pale reflection of your light. I tied my life to your chariot of fire— why? Oh, why?

And the prettiest nights are the ones I cry the most, teardrops turn to stars and start to glow. And an endless chase of your golden blaze I go, hiding just behind but all alone.

Cause we share a sky but I still can’t seem to catch your eye, and try as I might, I’m forever half a day behind. I crave your light like a moth to the fire— why? Oh, why?

And you burning brightly and me so blue, how can I get close to you? And you with your fire and me with my gloom, what’s a moon supposed to do when everyone wants to be with you? That’s why I’m so blue.

Ballad of a Green Knight Darling I can’t see you anymore, I’m afraid they’ve summoned me to war. Promises I have made to the Queen and to the Fae, and I intend to keep ‘em with my sword.

Darling if I never make it home to you I’ll visit you as butterflies and dew. In another place and time, I swear I would have made you mine But I have got a duty to strike true.

Green though I be, remember me, and who I could have been if we lived in peace. Married my blade to the fate of the Fae, traded my days for honor and fame.

Green be my steel, be my bow, be my shield, Pledged to defend the vine and the hedge. Remember me when the leaves, and the breeze, and the trees start to tease the first breath of spring.

I would’ve loved to pledge myself to you, but that is not the world that I was born into. A knight is always forged in the crucible of war, And that is what I gave my word to do.

So I will fight with all my verdant might, the blight of night will never dim my light. Though the memory of you makes me turn a shade of blue, a Green Knight has a duty to the Wild.

Green from my head, to my toes, ‘till my death Pledged to protect the vine and the hedge. Green is my blood, I’m sorry my love, remember us after I’m gone.

Oh, that I could be in love and be good, But I made an oath to the fields and the wood. So think of us all when the snow starts to fall, and though we may fall, the order lives on.

Darling, in another place and time I’d have been content to make you mine. And in the dream of death, I’ll dream the life I could have had if I hadn’t pledged myself to hedge and vine.

A Gloaming Lullabye In the gloaming of the night court, the queen calls you to sleep, she blankets you with moonbeams, she beckons you with dreams. So surrender to her majesty, and heed the queen’s decree, she’ll swaddle you in starlight and beguile you with peace.

So meet me in your dreams and we will never be apart. I promise I will find you in the shadows and the dark. The day is gone, the nights are long, and this is just the start. So meet me in between the moon, the galaxies, and stars.

As the scene begins to set, the queen collects her debts. She comes to you with heavy lids to tuck you into bed. As the day turns into night, the queen demands a tithe, you cannot run, you cannot hide, but you can close your eyes.

So meet me in your dreams and we will dance across the sky, a minuet, our heart’s duet, a tango improvised. And who’s to say what lays in wait when day turns into night, so look for me in your dreams, I promise so will I.

And when the sun returns, we’ll savor all we learned; the tutelage of dreams, the alchemy of sleep. And if we spent our dreams in pleasant company, then you will wake in harmony.

So meet me in your dreams, cause I can’t get enough of you. I’ll climb the stars, I’ll scale the moon, there’s nothing I won’t do. And when we meet in sleep so deep, I think that you will find, the day is nice, but nothing beats the night. The days are nice but, oh my god, the nights.

Winter’s Mantle Winter’s Mantle, heavy with fur and snow Icy, still, until the north wind blows Frost on the panes, darkness pervades, rest my pretty babe

Flowers grown shy, dirges and lullabies

Rest, my darling, there’s no work to do Sleep, my child, night is calling you

Sunlight estranged, darkness remains, rest my pretty babe Flowers grown shy, dirges and lullabies

The Giant’s Lover gather round the giantess, beaming with tale to tell listen as she weaves her web of a lover that did excel, small though he was, the way that he loved was enormous stature be damned, he was two times the man that a giant was

met him down in irondeep, sailor of sky and sheet navigated expertly her every last giant need never before had a lover performed like this tour de force titans and ogres rendered mediocre by this tall dwarf

small folk, big fun, sure-foot, hard-won giant lover like no other thick of quad, colossal heart, his size belies a huge surprise

so she waits by window side, dreaming of his return never to be satisfied, inside her his memory burns smallfolk take heed, this tall dwarf has pleased with enormity a small folk she met but a titan she wept for when hardwon left

[kefiteria]

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.

A comfort letter from Scaramouche, just for you.

So, I've noticed you've been retreating into your mind more than usual lately. It's like you're doing a disappearing act even Houdini would envy. But hey, I get it. People are complicated creatures, and occasionally it feels safer to hide behind our thoughts than to face the chaos out there.

About this facade you've got going on. You know, the one where you're holding on to your inner child like it's a winning lottery ticket? It's almost comical how tightly you cling to it, as if someone's lurking around the corner waiting to snatch it away. Newsflash: nobody's taking it from you, dear.

Now, about those tears. I know, I know, crying is for the weak, right? Wrong. Even the toughest nuts crack sometimes. Take it from me, I've shed more tears than I care to admit, and yet here I am, still standing, still better as ever. You don't have to plaster on that smile 24/7, you know. Let those tears flow like a leaky faucet if you need to.

And speaking of tough times, let's talk about failure. It's not the end of the world, despite what your overactive brain might be telling you. Trust me, I've had my fair share of failures, and look at me now—still standing, scheming and myself.

So, when are you going to cut yourself some slack? Stop beating yourself up over things that are as out of your control as the weather. Tomorrow's just another day in the grand circus of life, and guess what? I'm your ringmaster, baby. You're not in this alone.

And those feelings you've been bottling up? Yeah, it's time to pop the cork and let 'em out. Trust me, it's like a pressure valve for the soul. Cry if you need to, scream into the void if you must. Just don't keep it all locked up inside. That's a recipe for disaster, believe me.

So, here's the deal: you're not alone in this. I've got your back, whether you're crying like a baby or plotting world domination (ugh just do it in moderation though). Just remember, it's okay to let your guard down once in a while. After all, even the sharpest swords need a little sharpening now and then.

Alright, let's wrap this up before I start growing a conscience or something equally absurd. Seriously, who knew pouring my heart out on paper could be so exhausting? I feel like I've been on a marathon run through a field of emotional landmines, and I'm not even wearing my running shoes.

But hey, if this little rant of mine manages to knock some sense into that stubborn head of yours, then I guess it's worth the carpal tunnel I'm bound to get from all this writing. Just promise me one thing: don't go making a habit out of this whole “feeling your feelings” nonsense. It's bad for my image.

So, there you have it. Consider this your one and only free pass to the sappy side of Scaramouche. Don't get used to it. Now go on, get out there and conquer the world, or cry yourself a river, whichever floats your boat. Just remember: you're not alone in this crazy circus we call life. I've got your back, whether you like it or not.

“It's okay, your world, and feelings are precious, so precious just like you are now.”

Fondly yours (don't make it a habit),

Scaramouche.

Other Version 🍨: Zhongli , Kazuha, Xiao, Thoma

[detydia]

Imagine Dean Winchester x You

Dean writes a love letter for your birthday.

Hey there, Birthday Girl,

Well, look who's a year older and still lookin' good. I guess you're stuck with me for another year. Lucky you, huh?

I ain't much for fancy words or flowery stuff, so I'm just gonna lay it out straight. You mean the world to me. You've been there through the thick and thin, the good hunts and the really ugly ones, and let's not forget the times when we've run out of pie. You've stuck by my side, and that's not something I take lightly.

You know, I used to think I had this whole hunting thing figured out. But you showed me there's more to life than just saving people and hunting things. You've shown me what it's like to have someone who's got your back, no matter what. Someone who can make you smile even when the world's falling apart. Someone who can make a lousy motel room feel like home.

You've got this way of being strong and soft at the same time. You're tough as nails out there in the field, but when it's just the two of us, you're like a warm, comforting hug. I've seen you face down demons, monsters, and things that go bump in the night, and you do it all with this fire in your eyes that makes me proud to stand beside you.

And speaking of proud, I've watched you grow and kick some serious monster butt. You're not just a sidekick on this crazy ride. You're every bit a badass in your own right. You've saved my bacon more times than I can count, and I don't know what I'd do without you.

I know I don't say it enough, but I love you, Y/N. I love your passion for the things that matter, like the thrill of the hunt and the perfect classic rock tune on the radio. I love the way you laugh, and how you can make me laugh even when things look bleak. I love your relentless curiosity, the way you dive headfirst into research, even if it's on some obscure supernatural creature. And I love how you put up with my quirks, like my obsession with my baby (the Impala, not an actual baby), my pie addiction, and my inability to use the right grammar sometimes.

So, on this special day, I want to wish you a happy birthday, Y/N. May your year be filled with more badass hunts, plenty of classic rock, and, of course, some well-deserved kisses from me. You deserve all the good things in life, and I'm gonna do my damnedest to make sure you get 'em.

Here's to many more birthdays together, partner.

Yours forever (whether you like it or not),

Dean

[hooked-on-elvis]

EP Playing Touch Football

This ripped shirt reminded me of something Jerry wrote in his book. I wonder if this shirt ended up ripping accidentally, with a random, non-directed pull (maybe E even ripped the shirt himself, somehow), or if the guys still gave El a harder time than they did the other players every time he played with them (I didn't notice any other guys with the torn clothes).

JERRY SCHILLING'S MEMORIES OF PLAYING FOOTBALL WITH ELVIS:

At one of our bigger games in the spring of 1955, we’d been playing for a while when a couple of very large men showed up and asked if they could get in the game. They explained that they were semipro players, had heard about the Elvis games, and wanted to be a part of it. The rest of us were not so eager to play with these big guys, but as far as Elvis was concerned, these players were stepping onto his turf and he wasn’t going to stand down. He wanted them in.

We worked out the teams again to include them and got set to play. On one of the first offensive drives, Elvis was taking a break from quarterbacking duties and was on the line blocking. When the ball was snapped, this 200-pound-plus semipro hit Elvis hard and ran right over him. Elvis took his time getting up — he was obviously a little shaken.

Now, we played tough at these games, with all-out effort, and we regularly knocked the hell out of each other. But the point was that everybody got knocked around — nobody ever specifically targeted Elvis. You wouldn’t think twice about hitting him if that’s the way the play went, but nobody was ever going out of their way to try to hurt him. From the look of that semipro player’s first hit, it seemed that maybe these guys weren’t so interested in playing ball for fun they were going to teach “Pretty Boy” Presley a lesson.

As we got back into a huddle, it was clear that Red West was furious. “I’ll take that son of a bitch out,” he said.

“No, Red,” said Elvis sharply. “Damn it, no. Just play the game.”

We ran a few more plays, and it was the same thing each time —Elvis got a tremendous hit from this charging rhino. But Elvis made a point of hopping up a little faster each time and just shaking it off. It got to a point where the day just didn’t feel like fun anymore. All the regular players were furious, and we were all telling Elvis that the game couldn’t go on like this, but he wouldn’t hear it. He wanted to play through. I found myself lined up next to Elvis, with the same big guy ready to charge at him again.

“Hit me from the left side,” said Elvis. “What?” asked the rhino. “Hit me from the left side.” “Why?” “I got a few bones over there that ain’t broke yet,” said Elvis.

The big guy started laughing, and by the time the ball was snapped he was laughing hard enough that he didn’t have the strength to steam-roll Elvis. After the play, we took a break and the guy went over to his fellow rhino. In a few minutes they walked back toward Elvis. Now the big guys were all smiles.

“Excuse me, Elvis,” said the one who’d been knocking him down.

“We sure did enjoy the game. Hope there aren’t any hard feelings.”

Red was still ready to lunge at them, but Elvis just shrugged.

“No hard feelings,” said Elvis. “Just bruises. Good luck with your season.”

Their big faces lit up like they’d just been blessed by the Pope. They started to walk away, when the guy who’d been knocking Elvis down turned around and came back.

“Uh, just one more thing, Elvis? Our wives are over there—can we bring them over to meet you?”

“Sure,” says Elvis. “Bring ’em over.”

As Elvis signed autographs for their wives, it all came together for me; if he had let Red and the rest of us go after these guys, then he would have ended up with some more enemies. Instead, he took a little punishment and ended up with four new fans.

There were a lot of people in Memphis that wanted to knock Elvis down, figuratively and literally, but what I saw happen on that field with the semipro guys was something I’d witness over and over again: A lot of people thought they had something against Elvis, but I never saw anybody who spent any time with him walk away not liking him.

Excerpt "Me and a Guy Named Elvis: My Lifelong Friendship with Elvis Presley" by Jerry Schilling (2006)

December 27, 1956. Elvis played touch football at the Dave Wells Community Center in Memphis with some friends.

[tunastime]

Sunset in the Heart of that Green Valley

started drumming up an au accidentally with some input from the mutuals beloved. told myself it wasn't going anywhere but this so I had to stick as much as I could into just. this. I SWEAR. < lying

Bdubs can't remember a part of his life without Etho--no matter the shape or profession, the danger or lackthereof. It was always Etho, and himself, and this wild, wasted world. Or, Bdubs watches his cows on the farm. Etho joins him on his horseback ride around the perimeter fence.

(4111 words)

It's a long, slow ride a mile from the wire fence and sparse tree line that borders the ranch. It's nothing but cool wind and wiregrass for miles, soft green and brown as the spring starts to roll in. Soon enough the field will be full of baby calves and their healthy mamas, big brown eyes and full stomachs. Horses too—lots of 'em, kind natured but tough, enough to fight you but not enough to bite the hand that feeds 'em. He'll be able to lift a foal into his arms to stand it upright and watch its mother nose his armpit and look at him with those soft brown eyes. For now, BdoubleO takes that long ride along the border, listening to cicadas sing in the trees. That's not the only thing singing though. Besides the breathing of his horse beneath him and the cattle dog that runs ahead, is the soft, mellow voice of his partner, Etho, humming indistinctly. 

He has his head turned toward the tree line, eyes scanning listlessly for any sign of movement. Just a couple of weeks ago, they lost a handful of chickens to a fox, a thing neither of them could stand to kill even as they went looking for it. From where he rides next to him, Bdubs can see the holster for his revolver strapped tight to his thigh. He's never actually seen the gun, for what it's worth. Not in action. Not even the smell of gunpowder on Etho's leather work gloves. He's only ever watched his thin, strong, meticulous hands clean the individual parts and put it back together. It makes sense why Etho's focus is so drawn to that tree line. He probably doesn’t want it to happen again.

Bdubs watches the curve of his shoulders under the off-white button-up he's wearing. It's loose at his elbows and under his arms, but from the way he slouches, hat tipped back to cover his neck, it's tight across his back. Bdubs sighs—for a moment, that's the only thing that breaks the silence. Bdubs' longing rings out in the stale air, and a chuckle joins the hum of that wordless melody.

"Somethin' the matter, 'dubs?" Etho says, glancing over. He can just hear him through the scarf tucked around his face, tied behind his neck. His hair is tucked under his hat, tied away nearly the same. Its just his eyes, warm and smiling, eyebrows raised, when he looks over. Bdubs scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"No," he says. "Nothin's the matter. What's it to ya, anyway?"

Etho shrugs. He shuts his eyes for a second when he does. Bdubs can picture the little frown on his face when he does.

"Figured I'd ask," he says cooly. "That was a pretty profound sigh."

"Nothin' for you to worry about," Bdubs gripes. He taps Lacey with his heels and she meanders forward, huffing out through her nose. He hears Etho laugh as he pulls away, and it's only a second before Etho's at his side again. He tugs Bdubs' hat over his eyebrows.

"Don't be like that, 'dubs!" Etho pouts. "You sounded upset."

"Quit teasin' me," Bdubs grumbles, swatting at him with the hand not wrapped around the reigns. Lacey patters to a stop as Bdubs slackens on the reigns, trying to grab Etho's hat. Etho ducks his head.

"Bdubs!" He laughs, pushing his hands away.

"Quit!"

"You quit!"

Bdubs huffs again, shrinking back, then straightens. Etho's turned away from him, all of a sudden. Bdubs goes to speak, but as he does, he hears Etho say something so quiet it's felt more than heard. 

It's sunset, he's just realized. The orange light leaks through gaps in the trees, casting gold bars over the wheatgrass and dry dirt. He can see light blue leaking into orange, pink, yellow, blending into white clouds above him. This time, the profound sigh whistles out of Etho's chest. Bdubs bites his tongue. Haloed by the gold light, Etho looks like the type of things only lonely cowboys dream about. The perfect outlaw, or the hardworking ranch hand, or the kindhearted sheriff looking for love. The things you read in dime novels, no matter the flavor of romance. Bdubs feels his heart squeeze, the want pooling in his elbows and the joint of his hips. He won't sigh again, or make any other sound, not as long as Etho watches the sunset. 

"Wow," Etho mumbles. His horse snorts. Etho huffs a laugh, reaching just far enough to pet between his ears. "Wow..."

"It's gorgeous," Bdubs says. He'd be lying if he said he was talking about the sunset.

Etho turns back to him after a beat. Bdubs's eyes flick up to his face, tilting his head a little as Etho's soft eyes linger on him. He can see the indistinct scarring up part of his face, near his eye and eyebrow. Tugging off his gloves, Bdubs raises a careful hand up to Etho's face. There, he tucks two fingers in the space between his cheek and the scarf over his face, and tugs it down. Etho doesn't stop him. In fact, he's smiling just so when Bdubs does. He's got nothing to hide, really—the scarf is for the dust, more than anything else. He scrunches his nose as the scarf falls around his neck.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Bdubs says softly. His hand cups Etho's cheek, thumb smoothing over the rough, scarred skin of his left cheek. Fire. They're all healed burns. His thumb dances over them anyway, like he'd never seen them or brushed them or kissed them before. Two long strands of hair frame Etho's face. Here, Bdubs tucks one of them behind his ear, still moving to cradle his face. The look that passes over him makes Bdubs' stomach fold over. He's smiling, wide and soft, and his eyes shut as he leans into Bdubs' palm.

"Hiya, Bdubs," Etho mumbles. His voice hits a low octave as he whispers. Bdubs flushes. Etho's hand falls to Bdubs' hip, both steadying for himself and for Bdubs' balance, thumb pressed into his hipbone as he leans forward into Bdubs' space. Etho's hand comes to tip his hat back as far as it'll go before it knocks from his head, scrunching up his nose as Bdubs' flush grows a little warmer, a little further over his cheeks and ears. He's smiling, though, and so is Etho. Bdubs can't help it—he was just so damn handsome, that stupid cowboy. Damn him. He keeps himself lingering in Etho's space for a beat longer, tracing out the high of his cheek with his thumb. The sun's still setting, warm and orange behind him. He can't even see stars yet. 

"Can we stay?" Bdubs asks, sighing out his nose. His eyes flick behind Etho's shoulder for a moment, watching the bars of light through the trees. "Just to watch?"

Etho smiles, his eyes going all soft and round like they do when Bdubs says something he particularly likes. Must've liked that, then. He noses Bdubs' palm just a little, looking up into the sky before settling on Bdubs' face again.

"Sure," Etho mumbles. "Why not? Stars haven't even come out yet."

Bdubs grins, knocking their foreheads together, a soft laugh bubbling up in his chest before it leaves him with his exhale. Etho scrunches his nose. 

Leaning forward as far as he can, Etho kisses him. His warm, gloved hand fits over the back of his neck, brushing through the close cropped hair there. His lips are chapped from the dusty air, but they're dry and warm and Bdubs feels Etho hum against his mouth. He presses back and up into him, free hand falling to his knee to stabilize himself. Etho pulls in a fast breath through his teeth and kisses him again, firm but gentle. Bdubs shuts his eyes and keeps them shut, feeling Etho's hand curl against the base of his skull, feeling them work in tandem with each other. It's nice and easy and tender in a way that curls up in Bdubs' chest and rests there, calmly. It's sweeter than anything else he knows, or damn near close to it. 

He smiles against his lips, dragging his thumb in a slow line across the rippled scar on his cheek. He's so gentle with him, Etho is, as he is with Etho, up until the point of course that they're chasing each other around on foot and on horseback and scrapping in the dirt just to prove a point. But here it's intentional. Bdubs rubs his cheek and that scar so Etho knows he wants to feel it He wants to feel where it starts at the high of his cheekbone and ends just under the low dip of his eye, how the uneven surface gives to smoother skin, how it’s all patches of rough and light. He wants to see that it cuts through his eyelid and eyebrow and that the eyebrow never really grew back and his hearing wasn't always that good in that ear. He wants to. He loves him. To love Etho was to love each thing he called an imperfection. 

"I'll be damned, cowboy," he mumbles under his breath. Etho laughs, just a little, from somewhere high in his chest.

"What's that?" he asks, crushing his cheek into the heel of Bdubs' hand. Bdubs shakes his head.

"Nothin', gorgeous."

"Mmh," Etho agrees. Bdubs can tell his face is warm from more than just the desert heat. 

"You liked that, mm?" he says. He leans up to kiss Etho just once, sighing out through his nose.

Etho nods, stilted, still flushing as Bdubs draws himself and his hand away. There's a moment that Etho's hand stays warm and solid on his hip and the back of his neck. His dark eyes sweep over him, the clouded vision of his left still trying to focus on Bdubs' face. A soft smile lingers on his face, lifting the edges just enough to form the smile lines Bdubs loves to kiss. They're there more often than not, still fading as Etho's face softens, as he takes care to wash the grime off and soothe his skin with beeswax. They linger for a second before they, and Etho, draw away, settling back on his saddle and sitting up. He stretches, screwing up his expression as Bdubs hears his spine pop.

"Augh," he vocalizes. Bdubs snorts as Lacey does, shuffling her hooves in the dry grass. 

"Let's get a move on then, old man," Bdubs teases, reaching for his reins and to prod the soft of Etho's knee. Etho jerks, trotting his horse a step away from Bdubs hands. There, he sticks out his tongue, fixes his hat, and tucks the bandana around his nose again. There's that familiar shape—sheriff to outlaw, the line of Etho's eyes honing his gaze to razor sharp. Bdubs sighs, letting himself laugh, before he jerks his head forward, pushing his hat back onto his head. He prods Lacey with the heels of his boots and she steps forward into a jog.

Above his head, the wink of stars begin to shine in the dull, pale blue sky. He can still see the lick of orange light like flames above the treeline, cascading over the red-grey and sparse green hills, framing Etho in a delicate picture. Bdubs grins, eyes settling on his partner behind him. He sees Etho's eyes squint as he presumably smiles. Nudging a little more, Bdubs brings Lacey up to a trot, and further to a canter as he hears Etho laugh, loud and clear across the planes, behind him.

In the distance, he can see the warm cast of oil lamps they lit before they left. As much as Bdubs' bones crave the man not even a few yards behind him, they ache for the cool halls of their house, warm coffee, and the light he can just barely catch in the rising night.

Later that night, Bdubs scrapes congealed fat out of the cast iron skillet Etho cooked in. His body and stomach are heavy with the meal they’ve just finished, beans and pork and cornmeal grits, the taste of whatever last few seasonings Etho had thrown in still lingering between his teeth. He scrubs the pan in the hot water, feeling out what were nicks in the pan and what was dirt. He’d hate to ruin the seasoning they’d just built up on the pan. He raises it from the soapy water after a moment, giving it a good shake as his eyes track over the dusty-grey surface. Clean as can be. As he finishes, toweling off his hands as he lays the skillet to dry, he turns back to the room behind him. 

It’s starting to smell a bit like coffee and a bit like woodfire smoke, the embers of their fireplace and stove fire still filling the room. Etho has tucked himself on the couch, knitted blanket draped over his shoulders and a book open on his folded legs. That was one thing about the desert that Bdubs never got used to—it got cold quickly. The air seeped the heat right out of the ground, right underneath your feet, as soon as the lick of sunshine from the day was gone. Etho had the right idea, curling himself into the smallest spot on their worn couch, blanket drawn tight around him, enough to where only his socked feet poked out. He’d tied his long hair up and away from his face, stark white locks delicately balanced on the top of his head. Bdubs hums as he wanders over. 

Etho picks up his head, blinking slowly at him. His gaze seems far away as it pins on him.

“Hi, Etho,” Bdubs says, scrunching up his nose. “You fall asleep on me after dinner?”

“Mm?” Etho questions. He shakes his head. “No, no, never.”

Bdubs snorts. As he stands beside the front of the couch, Etho’s hand comes out, his cold fingers wrapping around Bdubs’ wrist. Bdubs makes a small, startled sound, but lets Etho tug him forward and onto the couch beside him. He was deceptively strong—it was the one thing nobody would guess about him. Well—maybe not the only thing. Etho’s life, much like his own, was so different compared to the docile, almost domestic, ranch life they’d build together. Bdubs sinks into the couch cushions, and not even a beat later, Etho leans his back against his arm. Bdubs’ hum peters into a giggle.

“Y’know,” he starts. “I’m not sure I believe you. I think you might me lyin’ to me, Etho.”

“Mm? About what?”

Bdubs shrugs.

“Dunno, you looked pretty dang tired a second ago.”

Etho shakes his head, leaning back a little further. Bdubs gets the message. He shifts around until his leg hooks under Etho’s arm, until Etho can settle back and rest his head and back against Bdubs’ chest. The book rests on Etho’s shins now, all but forgotten as Etho tips his head back to take a look at Bdubs behind him. He seems satisfied with what he sees, because he shuffles to get comfortable.

“I don’t know about that,” Etho drawls, a smile tugging at his mouth. Bdubs scoffs. He kisses the top of Etho’s head, hands cupping around his ears to hold his head still. He feels that smile tug at his cheeks a little more and nuzzles his head for good measure.

“Alright,” he placates. “I’ll believe you for now.”

Etho hums, satisfied.

“Good.”

Bdubs lets his hands fall to Etho’s shoulders. As Etho reaches to pick up his book from his lap, Bdubs shifts him a bit more, sitting upright. His hands fall to Etho’s upper back, before he starts to shift his hair, unweaving it from where it had balanced atop his head. Etho seems to pick up on his message, sitting forward a bit as Bdubs begins to comb his fingers through Etho’s white hair. 

It’s much longer than it’s ever been, Bdubs thinks—it must be. He doesn’t think it’s ever been past his shoulders when they were together before, and definitely not when Etho was a sheriff. He’d never get away with hair past his shoulders. It was bad enough that he got so many nasty scars from scrapes and threats and whatever people threw at him. Bdubs smooths his hand down the back of his neck, feeling out the base of his skull. It’s painful to think of what Etho had to get through to get here. His hair must be a testimony to that, the fine, white-blond strands reaching to just past his shoulderblades. Bdubs is careful as he weaves his hands through, tucking stray strands behind Etho’s ears, combing back from his widow’s peak to the base of his head. 

He was a criminal before he was a sheriff—Bdubs remembers that. He remembers it because he was one, too. Pretty damn good. It was hard, though. Hard on Etho, who was just trying to do something with his life, to put his artistry to work, his craftsmanship. When he finally landed a job, the gang was already falling apart. He wasn’t even the first to leave—someone left for a damn sheriff. And Bdubs had laughed, then. He watched Etho set his hat on Bdubs head and felt those now memorized, strong hands squeeze his shoulders. 

He found him again when Etho walked past the tiny 3-by-3 cell Bdubs had managed to worm his way into. Wasn’t that a sight for sore eyes? The fine line of Etho’s jaw cuffed by a high collared marshal's uniform, badge and all, hat pulled low over his eyes. He hadn’t meant to lock himself up in there, but as soon as he was out, he promised Etho he’d never go back. And he never did. He sat himself at the strong wooden desk catty-corner to Etho’s and dispensed justice like he’d never done a wrong deed in his life. They were fair, though. Nothing but fair. No blood but on their teeth or nose or throat. No blood on their hands.

Etho sighs warmly as Bdubs starts to braid his hair. He keeps a firm hold on the strands he weaves in and out of each other, working slowly and carefully as he absorbs himself in thought. He was there for a lot of Etho’s life. But he wasn’t there when Etho got his scar. He only saw it afterwards, during that first time he saw him from that cell. 

Etho had described it late one night, after all was said and done between them, their bodies pressed so close in the same, small bed in Etho’s home that there wasn’t a molecule of space left. He’d let Bdubs trace the valleys and ridges of the burnt skin, tucked his face into Bdubs neck to breathe out a wet sigh. Coals and fire—not an accident like Bdubs had always presumed. He’d weaseled himself out of their gang of bandits, but it’s not always that the life of bandits leaves you. He’d messed up an order for another group, he’d said, when he finally got a job as a metalsmith. Too few bullets. It was a lie. He’d known from the shape of the man's mouth as he’d spoken it, but his face found the furnace regardless. Hot ash, coals, smoke in the back of his throat. It had been a long time since he’d been really able to see out of that eye. It hurt to read. It was too blurry to focus. 

Now, Bdubs knows, Etho focuses and reads just fine. And Bdubs drags his fingers over his skin like it were any other part of him to touch. And touch he did. Hey! He wasn’t ashamed of himself! He spent a good few years loving this man and he was allowed to love him right and true. Whatever Etho wanted, Etho could have. He’d build him a terracotta and tile ranch house, with darkened oak and stained wood floors, a fireplace big enough to hang a kettle in, horses, cows, dogs, cats, wheatfields tall enough to lose himself in. The rolling hills of the valley were endless. They’d find a homestead, a life, friends, family, anywhere they went. And so they went. And they found the ones they’d loved all along just as they thought they would. 

Bdubs cards his fingers through the braided hair for a final time, letting it hang loose and wavy around Etho’s shoulders. He instead maps the rise of his spine with his palm, listening to Etho hum and feeling his heartbeat.

“How’s your book?” Bdubs asks softly. Etho nods.

“Good,” he says, just as quiet. “It’s a real tough read, ‘Dubs.”

Bdubs glances over his shoulder as Etho leans back into his chest, trying to catch a glimpse at the cover. Etho’s tucked the book under his knee, though. He can’t even peek at the type of book it is.

“Mm?” he says. “Is that so?”

“Mmmhm,” Etho drawls. “I’m real deep into some equations that I can’t wrap my head around. It’s this long complicated thing that’s supposed to help determine scale and size of the fractal-izing of light, and how we can use planetary distances to figure it out.”

Bdubs blinks, scoffing. 

“Etho,” he hums.

“I’m trying to figure out how this could be relevant for our growing seasons and how I can best predict rainfall in the valley—”

“Etho—”

“And I’m sure Tango will want to know all about it considering he’s making that huge telescope, don’t you think—”

Bdubs thwaps his head laughing.

“Quit!”

Etho laughs, reaching back to grab at Bdubs hands on his head. They swat uselessly at each other for a moment.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Etho?” Bdubs grumbles.

“You’re just jealous because I understand math,” Etho jeers. “It has nothing to do with how smart I am.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Bdubs huffs. “I bet you read the almanac in your spare time!”

Etho gasps, but the gravitas and dramatic turn he does to worm away from Bdubs is enough to hint that he’s doing it for a reason. He scrambles back, tucking his book behind him as he does. Blue cover. Bdubs doesn’t know many books with a blue cover. Maybe it is the almanac after all.

“How dare you insult my knowledge of flowers, Bdubs!” Etho gasps. “I just know all those things.”

“All those things about the regional weather, too?”

Etho nods, trying to hold back a smile. Liar.

“Mhm,” he says. “All of it. I’ve known it since I was a wee little boy, ‘Dubs.”

Bdubs rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure,” he placates. “Nothin’ to do with how we just moved here a year and a half ago, no?”

Etho shakes his head.

“Not at all. I’ve known it all my life,” Etho says. He can’t fight the smile this time, or the way he draws out the a of his word, his smile growing with it. He finally cracks enough to giggle and Bdubs swats his knee. Etho sticks his tongue out at him.

“And what’s the almanac say about me?” Bdubs asks, watching Etho shuffle back into his corner, looking comfortable. He tilts his head a little, eyebrows furrowing.

“You?” Etho says. “I don’t know. Nothing—I’ve never read it. I doubt they put people in it.” Then Etho smiles, adding: “I can check my book on 100 facts about B-double-O, though.”

Bdubs startles.

“Your book on what?”

Etho snorts, tipping his head back, laughter bubbling out of him. Bdubs jabs him with his socked foot and Etho curls further into himself, still giggling. Bdubs can’t help but smile, though, watching Etho break into a giggling fit over his stupid comment. He rolls his eyes as he peels himself off the couch and over to their bookshelf. Standing there for a moment, feeling the cold seep slightly into his clothes, Bdubs scans for a book. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for yet, but he’ll know it when he sees it. 

In the meantime, he halfway searches for that obviously fake book Etho had mentioned. He snorts, just to himself. A hundred facts, huh?

Plucking one of his well-worn novels from the shelf, Bdubs turns back to the couch. He drops a kiss to the crown of Etho’s head as he passes and Etho is quick enough to pull him down to kiss his cheek. It’s worth it, though, as Bdubs tucks himself back against the other side of the couch and Etho’s legs tangle with his. He loves the stupid smile on Etho’s face too much to care about much else.

[newtonsheffield]

Kate Sharma and Anthony Bridgerton in Step up to the plate (start swinging) by Moomin_94 (newtonsheffield)

Anthony leaned towards the woman wearing the “Were they out of all the others at the team store? Didn’t even have any plain ones left?”

She was even more beautiful when she looked up from her phone, her eyebrow raised as she fixed his with a sharp look. “Would you believe, I went there with the express purpose of buying this one. Love me a shortstop, I guess.”

Anthony smirked a little, trying not to preen “Did they give you a discount on it? I’d be happy to reimburse you.”

“Are you one of those pathetic people that think one game means they’re done?”

Anthony’s lips parted, the realization dawning on him that she didn’t recognise him. “I… not usually.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Sure he hasn’t had a hit in two games now but let’s not pretend there haven’t been some awful calls. Some umpires obviously think the plate is 3 feet wide.”

Anthony chuckled, “I agree actually,”

“Bridgerton’s spent his whole career being touted as a hero when he does well and washed when he doesn’t hit and other people get away with much more mediocrity.”

“You seem like you know what you’re talking about.”

“You thought I wouldn’t because I’m a woman?”

“No, I just-“

“Bridgerton!” A man called out as he passed, clapping him on the back. “We’ll get ‘em tonight man! World Series is coming home!”

“Thanks man!” Anthony called back turning towards the woman who was staring at him in horror.

“Oh, my god. You’re him.”

Anthony grinned at her, “In my defense: I only meant to do a flirty, cute little bit. Thanks for telling me I’m great though.”

“You look so different without your cap on.” She gasped, “And I’m usually much… further away from you when I go to games with my Dad.”

“I’m handsome in and out of the cap, thanks.” He mused, “Blue really suits me. Brings out my eyes I think.”

“I’m so fucking embarrassed.”

Anthony shrugged, “Don’t be. Are you coming tonight?”

“Nope.” She shrugged awkwardly, “Postseason is tough to get tickets for.”

He had no idea what it was about this woman that made him want to do it but he shrugged, “I’ll leave some tickets for you. What’s your name?”

She looked stunned. “You… Don’t have to do that.”

“Least I can do for my biggest fan.” Anthony winked at her, untucking his sunglasses from the front of his shirt.

She scoffed, “I’m not your biggest fan.”

“Oh sure.” Anthony said, “What’s you name?”

“Kate. Kate Sharma.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing you there tonight, Kate Sharma.”

For @grayhello22 who saw I was teetering on the edge of becoming a baseball fan and gave me a solid shove in the direction of Wrigley Field

Now on Ao3

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Wildflower pt 4

Pairing: Unrequited!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Fiance!Reader

Words: 2,279

You overhear some gossip. An ask is made and a direction is followed.

Tags: Mild age difference, fem!reader, heavy exposition, non-canon politics, original characters

<Previous - Next>

It had been both a hot morning and one full of action. Already, sore muscles grew sorer.

Shoes glanced against the grass, tiny bits of dew clinging to your ankles.

You marched easily, slowly as you made your way through the fields. Past long fronds and heavy rustling, you heard the raspy, muted tones of invested conversation. 

Besides you was a large cart with wooden wheels nearly the height of the place just above your hip, chalk-full of bales and barrels of both the dusty and fishy variety, respectively.

“Y’hear? With old man Harald and Frode?” There was an interested lilt to his voice that had you tilting your head ever-so-slightly away. You had no time for mingling or gossip. The clear words made their way over to you anyhow.

“‘ckh, how couldn’ I? They were shouting louder than Heaven in Hell.” 

You grimaced, pausing for a moment as a particularly tough breeze ran over you, brushing down fields like a hand down one side of a gorgeous fur coat, bowing and coming back up smoothly. In a much similar fashion, in that moment, some small, wet patches were rendered nothing more than crusted patches of sweat.

 It seemed that Duckmaw and Bjorner hadn’t been the only ones locked in battles of words.

Exhaling deeply for a moment, raking in the fresher air, past dusty yellow and drying greens twitching and shifting under the breeze, your eyes grazed over Saint Livary, with his hunched back and downy gray hair. He was skinny for a fisherman but very, very tall with quite the exotic name.

You weren’t particularly sure where it had come from, but it was probably Christian.

“You saw it happen, then!” You didn’t know the other one. You didn’t spend much time looking at him, his likeness only half-caught as you glanced away. 

He was tall and large enough to nearly dwarf the both of you though not as much of an intimidating presence as the Chief. His voice was nearly obscured not just by the sounds of distantly bleating sheep but also the sound of heavy chewing, the slight cracking of wood against teeth as they were picked at.

“Saw it happen? They were right up in my ear! It was my fish baskets they were arguin’ over- Who had the right to ‘em.” He shook his head out, long hairs twirling in the wind, “Well, I wasn’t sellin’!”

He barked out a laugh, “Those clansmen, I tell yeh.”

Your shoulder blades ached slightly, head tilted forwards at an awkward angle as your upper back was pressed flat against wood.

Yearningly, you thought of wide wooden basins and warm, slightly murky waters. You thought of freshly-washed skin and the feel of all the day’s hardships being washed away- unfortunately, you’d only your rags to look forward to tonight. Two rags and a bucket of cold water.

It was nothing a quick trip into the woods wouldn’t fix, though it seemed that the majority of Berk’s woodstockers were growing quite lazy. 

“You’ll be whistlin’ by a different tune once they start houndin’ you for yer woods.” He paused for a moment, “Woods and coals.” 

The shade felt like cool ambrosia soothing your skin. The break in your journey upwards was enough for your twinging lower back to deflate, the muscles loosening enough that you knew you would have some trouble getting started up again. 

You leaned closer. 

And, well, trouble was a long way off, you were sure… but, if there was anything to know, you would surely rather know it.

“Was the Jorgensons and the Thorstons before, wasn’ it?“

“Get off it- Harald’s an Ingerman.” Livary rasped, something smacking against what must have been the large, hollow horns of his metal helmet.

 You didn’t know of anything else that could make that sound, contracting sharply against the one that marked the shifting wiry shoulders and bag-like clothing. “That whole bit’s done and over with. Couldn’t find the papers.”

You leaned back, drooping down your ax with a heavy thunk.

 It stood on the ends of its blades for a moment before following you and leaning against the cart, wood clashing against wood,

It was only the expression of suspicion by the suspicious that would be able to raise the hairs on the necks of the suspect, so you didn’t bother to hide. While gossip was by nature secretive, the subjects of gossip were no secret and the Vikings of Berk were both bold and brash. It wasn’t worth the effort, anyhow; even if they knew you were there, they wouldn’t care much, and their chattering was nothing a pint at the Hall couldn’t earn you less than a coin.

“Pity. Made ‘emselves a whole show- was a mite interested. ‘Specially with ‘ol Gorm… That Gorm Halfdan knew how to make business interesting...”

“Gorm was a drunk. A waste of clean air.” Saint Livary barked out. “But- Ah, don’t look so disappointed yet, son. You ever know a Jorgenson who stayed out of it?”

You rolled your eyes, picking dirt out from under your nail with one hand, the other draped over the crook of your elbow, your ankles crossed.

The Jorgenson clan was a full one fueled mostly by ego and pride. They boasted of more of their accomplishments in war and coin than any other family. If you thought right, they might have already come.

It was nearing noon when you finally made your way back up to the house, past shoulder-height stone Vikings and up uneven rock-and-dirt paths. 

It felt later than noon, cool as it was, with shadows and strips of light stretching and marking the flooring, setting the stage for small, glowy bits of dust, which had somehow kicked up in the stillness of the room, now slowly settling down under intense beams of warm light.

Cloth caught over cloth as you brushed against the slightly splintered wooden door frame of the Haddock house. 

You could feel threads pulling against each other, sensation pulling at your arms the same way it did running your hands against raw, matted sheep’s wool, listening to the sound of a hard nail dragging against dusty stone.

A measly loaf of bread, not even enough to dwarf the width of your own hand, lay discarded on a small, cracked plate by the side of one large, hairy, freckled elbow.

 It was a poor excuse for a snack and an even poorer excuse for a meal, but Berkian society was one fueled by war rations. As of late, the meals had been sparser and the stews thinner than you’d ever seen them.

Once, a long time ago, you had a measly cookbook. It had been lost alongside your first pot and a plate you’d hidden away in the fields to make and hoard your own food. You’d already known how to cook some small things by the time you’d arrived. Unfortunately, the knowledge you’d had had been sparse and much of it had been lost to time. 

Still, you were sure your cooking skills were still much better than anyone else on the island.

“Chief,” You greeted, waiting still and patiently.

Dwarfing the chair to his back the same way the hoof of a sheep looked to an ant, the Chief leaned over a small table, his head in his hands, bear fur spilling through crooks of his arms and over wooden top, mingling with the seams of his clothing and twining itself in with foreign threads in a way that made it look nearly sewn-in.

The room immediately felt fuller and the rest of the world much, much smaller.

His hands were large enough to fully grasp your skull, calluses rough enough to slice papercuts into the softest part of your arms, his forehead hidden by a wide-horned helmet and a generations-old thick, furred coat donning his back in a way that made his giant self all the more imposing.

A few, measly scattered scrolls lay by his elbows, slightly worn and yellowed, pages crumbling and delicate like the ends of a daisy flower you'd once held between small fingers. 

You’d much rather be messing with your notebook, relishing in the feel of old leather and twine, feeling nearly spellbound, flipping pages with casual abandon. 

 Onto the Chief’s papers, in clear, old handwriting, were runes, clearly inscribed using a mix of the liquids and pastes found in the intestines and guts of dragons, killed, turned inside out and disposed of.

 It left a very specific sheen- for many years, so long it was practically tradition, dragons have been used by the higher clans to make their inks and seal their woods, mixed with dyes and blood and plants and plastered onto paper.

It was a luxury for some. 

There wasn’t enough wealth on Berk for there to be anything like Jarls- they lacked the excessive gold and silk clothes, crowns and castles and whatever else might dictate such a fancy name, rules born from tales from distant lands… Or, perhaps, that had just never been the way the people on Berk did things. Even still, there lay many discrepancies between the people. In most cases, status was marked by smaller things, such as this. 

You stilled for a long moment, waiting. 

It wasn’t so often you saw the Chief in such a state, light and shadow casting over him, washing away his color, making the thick lines over his face look nearly skeletal.

“‘Been a long night, lass,” He grumbled deeply.

You hummed something terse, face blank as he sat up, pushing back his chair with his back as if he hardly noticed it, moving back with a thick, wooden scrape against the hut’s floor. 

You were an easy ear to rant at, your silence taken as permission, your person first in line to fall victim to loose words and heavy hearts.

You weren’t surprised by his answer. In fact, you felt somewhat eager.

“The Jorgensons-” His words spoke nothing of your intrepid fiance nor any of his unVikingly obsessions, his head full of odd wheels and cogs- Your fiance was quite noteworthy, though only because of his failures. It was a feat for anyone to outstrip him in that manner, but if it had to be anyone, it would have been Jorgenson. 

You cleared your throat awkwardly, still standing at full attention. You kept your eyes focused on him still, a beast named ‘Curiosity’ glowering from a place far behind them. 

You might have been silent, tamed, but you were no less hungry for it.

“They’re land-hungry. That lot knows better than to get ahead of themselves.” He went on, large arms stilling, boxed fingers coming up to brush against his large mustache. “...They’ll stop the trouble, one of these days.”

“I’ll hit the books,” You offered. The library was always open in time like this. Abhorrently, peacefully quiet. Always empty. Things to read, to learn, full enough to keep you occupied for hours.

He looked at you appreciatively, appraisingly. He’d never found a reason not to. 

You took to hard work with ease and did not complain if you’d even bothered to speak a word. 

 Of course, he’d only taken you in as a favor, a response to a plea from a stranger. He’d probably never expected so much of you. He probably didn’t expect anything from you now, though it was a rare occasion in which you offered to help with any politicking.

His words were gruff, “You’re good help, lass.”

You nodded, something in your chest feeling- it wasn’t necessarily good or bad, pride or pleasure. Still, it was bright, and the feeling was a very, very rare thing, slightly dampened. Under normal circumstances, you’d never allow it, though even the most hardy plants needed rain. 

As you turned to leave, you hid your grimace.

You crumpled new paper between shaky and to let it fall to the floor, knowing more than ever what it felt like to pull in the heavy weights of dewey tears- Of course, the boy- you’d rather not be his carer, so it was just fine. You hardly liked him at all.

You'd always known you could do things- you just hadn't always known how to go about them. But…

You stared at the crumpled piece of paper on the floor, small fists clenched around the body of your skirt, dark shadow of your small, curtain-sectioned-off sleeping place under the stairs making egg-ey white look that much more gray.

Messy scribbles and your neater, still clumsy handwriting, some small correction, a small, hesitant smile, a bold rebuke, a broken bond, made not by either small hand but one large voice- It hurt.

You had hardly a clue in the world how to go about things here, where everything was so harsh and bleak and cruel. Maybe it was better if you washed your hands of him.

“Lass… better not,” He said, voice nothing like it had been before, sounding tough and displeased. It was stiff, threatening flat tones, awkward, far from the comforting baritone he’d most probably intended.

You did your best to keep your mouth still even as your hands threatened to shake, looking over at him with watery, ornery eyes.

You stared at his large hands, pressed aside worn, dirty green-gray cloth, his crouched knees, his shoulders that barely fit halfway through your makeshift ‘doorway.’

He scared you twice as much as he’d ever been able to ease your spirits.

You kicked the small, crumpled paper aside with the toe of your boot as if you might be able to hide it. You knew you couldn’t.

It was fine.

You’d only just been trying to help.

[maenchkin]

-“Warm Memories”

how ponyboy got close with y/n

(side series to “pink tulips”)

-𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭🌷

Pony’s POV

You know, out of the entire gang, I think Y/n gets me the best. Johnnie and Soda are definitely up there with understanding me, but with Y/n I think it’s different because she doesn’t have to act all tough in front of the boys. I think a lot about how life would be if she never took a liking to Darry. I think it would be a lot less colorful without her.

Y/n’s known me since I was a pup. I can sorta recall the first time she was over. Darry n her were working on some sort of assignment for school, and she let me read some of her books.

Well, read to the best of my ability with how young I was. 

Mom and Dad enjoyed her jokes that she cracked in front of em, so she stayed for dinner. After she left Mom demanded she be over more often. She said to Darry, “You don’t let a girl like that one go,”. I think that really stuck with Darry, because Darry and Y/n have been basically inseparable since.

Sometimes I don’t understand how she can put up with Darry, but Y/n can put up with anyone. She’s friends with half the town, and definitely doesn’t need us. In fact, if it weren’t for the gang I think Y/n and Darry would’ve been some sorta Socs. She definitely has the connections. 

I’ve asked her about it before, and she snorted, laughing at my comment like it was some outta left field statement. She said “I got you, and Darry, the gang, and my Mama. Why would I ever wanna be a Soc when I have you guys?”.

Everyone in the gang loves her too. Her house is bigger than ours, so it can house the whole group pretty comfortably. She has an extra bedroom too, which is always available in case one of us needs a place to crash. Dally’s there any time he’s gotta escape the fuzz, and Johnny is there prolly once a week. But Y/n has to drag him there since he’d never ask her for such a big favor. Her cookings amazing too. It competes with my mom’s, which is a hard feat.

She’s the first person Dally calls when he needs a ride from the cooler, but from what I’ve heard from him, the first thing he hears from her is “nagging”. She cares a lot for Dally. The two of them coming from big cities and all, she knows what the hood’s like in places like that.

I’ve never met Y/n’s dad. From what I’ve gathered, her parents had a nasty divorce, which resulted in Y/n and her mother moving from Chicago all the way to Tulsa, where they took Y/n’s Grandma’s house. For a few years Y/n would go to stay with her dad for a few months in the summer, but that stopped after her father got remarried. I’ve seen a picture of him in Y/n’s bedroom. He’s a good lookin’ guy, but not Hollywood handsome like Soda. More ordinary handsome.

Y/n’s mom is great. You can really tell where she gets all of her generosity from. The first time Darry went over to their house, his shirt had some sort of hole, or tear or something. He came back with the hole repaired, and a box of cookies that Y/n’s mom demanded he take home after she found out about Soda and I.

I’ve heard the term ‘You can take a girl from the city but you can’t take the city from the girl’ before, and I think it definitely applies to Y/n sometimes. Even though she moved away in gradeschool, I think she’s a still a city girl at heart.

Don’t get me wrong, Soda’s gotta be one of my favorite people. But unlike Soda, Y/n can sit through movies, and loves to read with me. I would love to do it more often, but she works a lot, like Darry. I’m still grateful though. 

Her house has this huge room dedicated to books. Like a personal library. Y/n said a lot of the books were her mother’s, but some of them she’s read herself, or were gifted to her by family members. I’m welcome to any book there, as long as I return it in good condition.

Darry and her confuse me a little bit sometimes. It’s blaringly obvious the two like each other, so I don’t understand why they ain’t together yet. The boys have a bet going on the two of them. Soda and I think that they’ll be getting together any minute now, and Two-Bit and Steve think that they’ve already gotten married in secret. I’m really hopin’ Soda and I are right because I got a good few dollars relying on it.

I would say that I didn’t get super close with Y/n till I entered secondary school. When I was in 6th grade, I really found an interest in reading. My English teacher announced that as a requirement in his class, we had to read this whole list of books. All the books were already rented out from the library, and we ain’t got too many of the books on the list at home.

Third POV

“Darry I ain’t know what to do,” Pony sighed, resting his chin on the dining room table, staring at his brother doing homework. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait till the other kids are done with the books,” he said, half interested. “But the kids in my grade take ages to get through a page! I wanna get goin’ on this now,” Pony whines, rolling his eyes. “Now don’t you get mouthy Ponyboy. You’ll get to it when you get to it,” Darry responded. The front door opened and closed. “Hey Y/n,” Darry called out, “Heya Dar-Bear,” Y/n responded, sitting down next to him. Darry and Pony’s heads whipped up. “What’d you just call me?” Darry asked, confused. “Nothing,” Y/n teased, pulling out her notebook. 

“Darry, you don’t get it. I’m itchin’ to start this now,” Pony said, continuing his and Darry’s conversation. “Hm? What’s going on?” Y/n asked, looking between Darry and Ponyboy. “Ponyboy’s got this assignment in his English clas-” “We gotta read a whole buncha books in my class and I’m totally outta luck! All the books are checked outta the library.” Pony whined, staring at Y/n. 

“Hmmm, well. I could do something to help you,” Y/n smiled, watching Ponyboy’s eyebrows lift, “What d’ya mean Y/n?” he asked. “You’ll see.” she responded, “I gotta finish my work first,”. 

-

Y/n finished her last algebra problem, and looked back up to Ponyboy, who was already looking at her. “All finished?” Pony asked eagerly, smiling at her. Y/n giggled, setting down her pencil. “I suppose,” she smiled grabbing her bag. “Darry, we’re heading out,” Y/n called to Darry, who was in the living area. “Alright Y/n” he responded.

“C’mon Pony, the surprise’s at my house,” Y/n said, leading Pony out the door.

-

The two approached Y/n’s house pretty quickly, thanks to the extra pep in Pony’s step. 

“My mom’s at work right now,” Y/n said, opening the door. Pony made sure to slip his shoes off when he got in. He still shudders at the memory of Y/n’s mom chewing out Two-Bit for tracking mud on the carpet.

“Ok, now close your eyes,” Y/n said. Ponyboy shut his eyes and felt Y/n grab his and to lead him through the house. He heard her open the door and let his feet follow Y/n’s pull.

“You can open your eyes now Pony,” she said. Pony let his eyes flutter open, and dropped his jaw. All around him were books! Books from the floor to ceiling! 

“It’s our family library. Feel free to read any book in here, just promise to take care of it while you have it.” Y/n said, watching Ponyboy analyze the shelf in front of him. “Really?” Ponyboy asked in disbelief, looking back at her, “Yeah definitely. I’m glad you like reading, it’s good for you,” she said patting his shoulder. “Now, what books are on your list? We should hopefully have most of them,” Y/n said, looking around. 

Ponyboy grabbed the list that was folded in his pocket. “We can start with ‘Old Yeller’,”

-

Pony’s POV

Ma really saved my butt back then. And turns out, that assignment really jump started my book addiction, thanks to her. We would have reading sessions after school. I got my list finished in two months flat. My teacher said I was the first one done, and Y/n took me out for burgers at the Dingo that night to celebrate. Darry and Sodapop tagged along too. Y/n and I got real close after all that, I think she was happy she had someone to talk about books to. Y/n’s a real special girl to me and the gang as a whole. Life would be a heck of a lot different without her.