#hiding in a toaster near you

[conundrumcomics]

WWW Issue #6 "Music by Toast"

[awriterinthenight]

"You Look Cute Flustered"-Anthony Lockwood

requested: anonymous

words: 1221

warnings: not much, the word suicidal maybe (idk if that counts), also implied that reader was shorter than Lockwood, but in my defense I usually use myself as reference when needed and I'm 4'11, but not much just cute fluff

summary: Lockwood was always charming and witty around everyone else, except for you. Around you Lockwood's mind would always draw a blank and he would become even more flustered. And it only got worse when you started to date.

Everyone knew one thing about Lockwood and it was that he was incredibly witty. Wherever he went, whoever he talked to, he could charm his way out of any situation. Anyone, and everyone would easily fall for whatever smile, or smirk Lockwood would put on, just to get out of any situation. Even if he was just talking to someone he could capture their full attention in a matter of moments with the softest of smiles.

Lockwood was like that around everyone, except for you. When it came to you Lockwood couldn't seem to even get out a proper sentence without his brain almost short circuiting as he stumbled over all his words. This would always result in you smiling, or sometimes even teasing him by saying, "You look cute flustered."

One time you and Lockwood were in the kitchen preparing breakfast. You were making tea, while Lockwood was trying to finally make toast that didn't burn in the toaster. You were just trying to grab the sugar that George decided to put on the top shelf when he reorganised the entire kitchen during one of his maniac cleanings.

You could just barely reach when you felt a hand wrap around your waist, as a hand went up to grab the sugar for you, "Thanks, Anthony," you said, referring to him by his first name, something he only allowed you to do.

Lockwood didn't know if it was the way his hand rested on your waist, or the smile you gave him, or the way you said his name, making him feel like his entire self was made of butterflies. All poor Lockwood could manage out was a simple, "N-no problem," while turning back towards the one burnt toast, trying to hide the massive blush on his face.

After that interaction, whenever you said something to him he would immediately blush, then proceed to stumble over almost every word before getting the fragments of a sentence out.

Many more of these a occasions occurred, and they only got worse when the two of you started dating. Lockwood somehow got even worse. Every sentence took him a second to say after trying to get over his initial fluster.

Complimenting him, he was flustered. Making him tea, flustered, unable to express how thankful he was. Saving him during a job, even more flustered and takes him a moment to thank you and assure you that he was okay. Even just standing next to him, and that man turned as red as a tomato.

One of the most notable times this happened was while giving a report to Inspector Barnes. Lockwood and Co. had just escaped a suicidal job after showing up with almost no research. You managed to somehow cut yourself on your rapier when you were distracted. Now you were getting your hand patched up while Lockwood was waiting for Barnes to come back with the paperwork.

You had just finished getting your hand bandaged up, and started to head towards Lockwood. For once he wasn't flustered by your mere presence, more filled with concern for how you were doing.

The moment you were near him his arms wrapped around you, "How bad is your hand?" he asked, concerned for you since you would most likely be off the job for a week or two.

You shrugged, "Not horrible, but not good. I have to keep it bandaged for a week, and I can't do anything too straining, that way I don't break my stitches. I'll be out of operation for a week or two," You said, a bit sullen looking since you would be letting George, Lucy, and Lockwood work without you for a couple of weeks.

"It's okay, love," he said, placing a small kiss on your forehead, "Just do as the doctor said. No working till your hands fully healed and you'll be all better soon. When we get home I'll make you some tea and you can get some well deserved sleep, and you won't have to lift a finger for weeks, so that your hand can heal," Lockwood assured him. He would probably die from how much he cares about the people he loves. It was really just a small injury, an inconvenience as you thought of it, but Lockwood saw it as a reason to now take care of you more than he already did.

"That does sound nice, but I feel bad not being able to help you guys on jobs. It's just frustrating to me. It makes me feel useless" you told him, looking at the ground filled with your own pity for yourself.

Lockwood lifted up your chin so that you could look at him, "You're not useless, love. You can still help with research, but you're anything but useless, you know that?

You let out a breath, "Yeah, I know, I just hate it," you told him, relaxing further into his touch for comfort.

Lockwood lent down to plant a small kiss on your lips, "I'm just glad your okay," he said, leaning down for another kiss, this time a lot longer than the first one.

You stayed like that for a moment before you were interrupted, "Alright, I have all the paperwork, just sign here, here, and-" Barnes cut himself off when he noticed you two, and how you jumped apart.

In a moment like this Lockwood would usually say something witty like 'Your timing is impeccable', but once again Lockwood could no longer form words in his flustered state.

Instead it was you with the witty response, "You've clearly mastered the art of comedic timing, haven't you," you joked, looking at Barnes' shocked face. You and Inspector Barnes had a weird relationship. You'd known Barnes since you started out, and he even pointed you in the direction of Lockwood and Co., not purposefully since his words were more like, 'Whatever you do, do not join Lockwood and Co. and stay away from them', yet here you were. So Barnes was more than surprised to see his least favourite (his favourite) troublemaker kissing the girl he tried so hard to mentor to become a good person.

"I-I," he stumbled, confused to what was happening, "Since when have you been a thing?" Once again Lockwood tried to speak, but was unable to find any sort of words.

"A month, two I think next week," you told Barnes, thinking back to when Lockwood finally asked you out. Barnes decided to ask questions later, and for now hand you all the necessary paperwork.

Once you finished, Barnes collected it and turned to leave, but not before he told Lockwood, "Don't hurt her, I already am not your biggest fan, so don't screw whatever this is up to."

Lockwood probably would've made some sort of joke, but all he did was nod, smile, and try to stumble out some sort of 'understood' while trying to not blush too much. Barnes could tell Lockwood would never do anything to hurt you, just by how he was acting. No one made Anthony Lockwood flustered and unable to use his charm and wit, except for you. While looking over the paperwork Inspector Barnes thought about how one day he wouldn't be surprised if (or more like when) he saw your name have the last name Lockwood behind it.

Current Taglist (ask to be added)

@almost-gabrielle @scarlett-8 @atashiboba @that1deerpersondownstairs

[tmntonthebrain]

Girls Look Better in a Real Tight Sweater

Content: 2003 Donatello x fem!reader

Warnings: Bringing alcohol to the function

Notes: Based off an edit I re-found on TikTok, aged up Turts (they are all late 20's). This is my first time writing for TMNT so please be gentle!

• ───────────────── •

It was Thanksgiving. Mikey was prepping all the dishes with Raph in the kitchen, Leo and Splinter were helping set up the table and drinks, and Donnie was tinkering with something in the corner. April and Casey would be over later, they had to visit their respective families first, but one person was coming over soon...one that everyone made sure not to tell Donnie.

You were walking down the sewer path with a brown bag in your hand. You knew you had to bring something...so why not bring something everybody could enjoy? You were wearing a cream sweater that hugged your body with some blue jeans. The sweater was a size too small, but you didn't have any time to buy a bigger size before the dinner.

Entering the lair, Leo looked up and his face brightened. "(Y/n)! So good to see you!"

The reason he spoke so loud was to alert Donnie. The turtle in purple froze mid-screw with his screwdriver. All of his brothers and his father knew of his feelings for you...but you had been none the wiser.

"Hey Leo! Hey Splinter! Wow, this is a nice spread." You admired the table the two of them had pulled out with the cloth and silverware sets.

"Thank you, (Y/n)," Splinter spoke, walking up to her. "What have you brought?"

Grinning ear to ear, you pulled the alcohol out of the bag. It was a clear blue bottle, very fancy looking. "I brought Moscato d'Asti for everyone to enjoy."

Splinter grinned and gently took the wine bottle from her. "This looks very nice. I'll put it on the table."

"Thank you, Splinter." You smiled.

"Why don't you go see Don? He's been dying to see you." Leo suggested, after giving you a little side hug in greeting.

"You read my mind."

Donnie hadn't seen what you were wearing yet. You were hoping to get him flustered, at least...you didn't know if he had returned your feelings, but you hoped he did. You figured you'd know based on his reaction to your outfit, even if you hadn't originally intended to make him flustered with it.

Walking up behind him, you tapped on his shell, a habit you had picked up on doing. You just liked the sound it produced when you did. He slowly turned, and when he did, his jaw nearly dropped on the floor.

"You...you're um..." Donnie stuttered.

"Here?" You chuckled.

"No...yes...wait...hold on..." Donnie swiveled back around and put his head in his hands.

He thought to himself. You looked so hot in that sweater...too hot! How could he ever hide how he feels after that?!

"Don?" You asked.

"J-Just a second! I'm uh...working with the toaster!" Donnie quickly picked up the trinket he was tampering with and in his haste, just pried it open...when the whole point was to put it back together.

You blinked a couple times before nodding slowly. "Okay...do you want a hug?"

"Just hug my shell."

Smiling, you leaned over him, your arms loosely around his neck when you hugged him. Donnie was damn near sweating now. He could feel how your soft chest pressed into his shell. He was gonna fucking lose it.

"Yo angelcakes! Get in here and help, Raph's about to kill me!" Mikey yelled from the kitchen.

"Coming! See ya, Donnie~." You purred in his ear.

He shivered. Well, if you didn't know before, you knew now.

• ───────────────── •

Here's my TMNT masterlist in case you wanna request something!

If anyone has any feedback, don’t be afraid to comment or dm me!

[aph-mable]

dpxdc; My Uncle is Nuts.

My Uncle Is A Nut

Written by:

Aph-mable

@thegatorsgoose

Having been announced the heir and Co ceo of D.A.L.V co, Danny has gotten used to being dragged to formal events with Vlad against his will. Getting caught up in saving one of the many galas he’s forced to attend, Danny catches the eye of one Lex Luther. 

Chapter 1

Danny tries hard not to sigh for the umpteenth time as Vlad drags him towards another group of rich folks and reporters.

When his Godfather had publicly announced Danny as his heir during one of his mayoral speeches he thought he was going to die all over again from sheer embarrassment and frustration, especially when he started calling Danny out of class to work on ‘special’ projects or drag him to Gala’s like this one.  

Usually at least one member of team Phantom would come along, usually Sam since her parents often forced her to attend anyway, unfortunately this time everyone was busy.

Sure Danny could have asked, but he didn’t want to take away what little free time they had during spring break, so for now he was going to face this party on his own. After all nothing really interesting happens at these and he’s not going to end up socializing much anyways. 

At the moment Vlad had rolled him over to a group of men who were chatting away about their latest technology, a nerdy looking yet buff reporter taking notes on everything. 

Danny was only half listening to what was being said when the frootloop budged in, something about wanting to partner up with Wayne tech since DALV co was already partnered with Lex co.

He could only roll his eyes and cringe as his crazy arch nemesis wrapped an arm around the shoulders of the bald ceo who looked just as done as he felt.

Seeing Vlad finally to distracted with his deals Danny took his chance and snuck away, moving his wheelchair as fast as possible to make a break for it, away from the party and to explore the building. maybe even escape if he was lucky. 

Unfortunately as he reached one of the doors the pesky security stopped him, saying he needed to stay within the building, so he pulled out the oldest trick in his book. 

“I have to go to the bathroom, can you at least point me to it?” He even pulled out his pleading eyes to look as innocent as possible to make the security guards feel uncomfortable.

“It’s through those doors over there, just across from the kitchen… do you want-” before the guard could finish Danny was already zooming to the door and shouting, “No thanks, byye!” 

Once out of sight he at least made an effort to head towards where the bathroom was but stopped in front of the kitchen.

First double checking all sides of the hallway, he pushed himself into the kitchen in search of something to tinker with. Danny swears he will drop dead if he doesn't get some kind of technology in his hands. 

When he entered the place was completely empty of any staff. makes sense as they had set up a huge buffet in the main hall and had all the kitchen staff stand against the wall to show who cooked what, like it was some kind of grand show. 

This left Danny to ‘borrow’ a few appliances, they’re rich they can afford it!

He ends up taking a toaster, a blender, and some kind of cylinder air fryer, stuffing them all into his magic bigger-than-it-looks bag and bolting out of there as fast as his wheels could take him so as to not get caught. 

Once he re enters the gala he parks himself in the furthest corner near a window. He starts pulling out his mini tool kit and the items he took, trying his best to hide them by making them semi invisible so it just looked like he was messing with his tools as he gets to building an ecto gun. 

Danny tried to stay alert and scan the room on occasion but nothing much was happening, Vlad was still bragging to the group of men, and there were only three other kids around his age hanging out on the opposite side of the room. One looked ready to pass out while the other two stood next to the door arguing over who’s dog was best.

Danny pulled his goggles down over his eyes and rolled up his sleeves so his specialized gloves could start putting power into the ecto gun. He quickly starts to hyper focus as he tinkered with the homemade gun, his mind drifting off to play among stars that were just out of reach. 

Even with everyone talking around him it all faded to white noise, finally quiet enough he now focused his power to flow through the machinery as he twisted the screws into the right place. 

His very core sang with how peaceful it was as he finished making the home made ecto gun and set it down in his lap. 

Just as Danny turns it invisible to put it away, his chair is suddenly jerked as he’s dragged towards the now frightened guests, a group of men dressed in green and purple question marked suits threaten everyone into a corner as they start setting up strange equipment.  

Clutching his invisible weapon tightly in his lap one of the goons tries threatening him with a gun, but before Danny could react Vlad steps in front of Danny, letting out an instinctual growl to make them back off. 

The goon rolls his eyes before directing them to where he wants them to go, trying hard to not let his hands shake too badly as he thrust more people into the now overcrowded corner, keeping watchful eyes on Vlad who is seconds away from losing his temper and ripping someone's throat out.

Now most people in this situation would just listen to their captors, sit still, be quiet, all that jazz, especially with how many of the goons were now bringing in strange green canisters of gas that gave off the scent of pure fear.

Yet as Danny rams Vlad’s ankles with the wheels of his chair it's pretty clear he wasn’t like most scared civilians. For once he was siding with his godfather as he was very, very angry. Angry that they were targeting innocent people, angry that Vlad was treating him like he was helpless, angry that he had to show up to this stupid gala in the first place… He had noticed some of the other kids giving them the slip earlier, at least there’s that. 

Just as they bring in the last canister one of the goons trips and nearly brakes open the container, which got the already annoyed second incharge to yell at them. 

“For fucks sake! Be careful with those things, we don’t even know what they’ll do yet!”

The younger looking goon, who looks barely out of their teens, shrinks away as they whimper out an apology. He sets the items down as others around them either stare in frustration or sympathy. 

Yeah, no. 

 “Wow you people are pathetic.” 

The second in command turns at Danny’s outburst, taking a step forward and clenching his fists. “What the fuck did you just say?” Danny rolls his eyes before glaring at the goon “I said you’re pathetic, did you get that or do you need me to repeat myself again?”

The crowd looks on in half horror, half shock as the leader walks up to Danny, resting his hands on his arm rests and leaning down to stare at Danny threateningly. Danny leans back in his wheelchair and looks up at him with a bored expression, unphased. Vlad tries to shove his way to Danny, but is held back by several goons. Danny spares a quick glare at his godfather, he has everything under control.

“I may be a criminal, but even I don’t like kicking a kid when they’re already down.” The goon says, moving his eyes down to glance at Danny’s wheelchair and back up again, glaring into his eyes. “So I’m going to give you one last chance to take that back.”

Danny narrows his eyes at the goon as he clutchs the invisible ecto gun in his lap, it’s now or never. With near inhuman speed he quickly reaches for his bag and pretends to pull the weapon out, aiming it right at the goons temple. There’s audible gasps from the crowd as the goon stumbles away with wide eyes before gaining his footing and going right back to glaring.

“And I’m going to give you one last chance to reconsider what you’re doing with your life” Danny smirks at the goon, already reading up the lecture in his head.

“It’s 30 minutes past start time, what is taking you so-“ Danny’s smirk evolves into a full shit eating grin as the Riddler walks in to scold the goons, what perfect timing.

With the crowd distracted Danny uses his other hand to unlock his phone. With a few simple swipes, Danny has the gala on lockdown. With the main asshole inside.

Perfect.

_____________________________________________________________

Damian puts on his Robin suit with trained proficiency once they make it to the cave. Unfortunately he and Jon were the only ones able to leave on time, the rest of the family having been dragged away. Truly, this proved that he had good reason to not mingle with the crowd. It had nothing to do with the noise. Or the lights. Or the small talk.

Truly.

“Who do you think it is this time?” Jon asks, an excited smile on his face. But even while being carried, Damian could see the tension in his frame, the nervous tick in his brow. His friend was worried. “I mean, they have the question mark thing going on, but they also had the gas canisters which I don't think the Riddler does that? And the gas itself kinda smelled like lavender and hazelnuts like fear gas but it was also kinda minty? And not like candy cane minty but like straight mint leaf minty? I don’t know, I only know there’s a difference cus ma tried to make mint tea that one time cus she was super sleep deprived and she read online that mint tea could improve memory or something, that stuff reeked!” Another indication of Jon’s nervousness, rambling. By the time Jon had finished his rant, they had already made it to the gala.

Once he’s put down Damian dusts himself off and turns to Jon. “It is most likely a team up, then.” He pulls out his katanas and readys himself for the fight ahead. “Once you break down the door our job is to stall long enough for the others to get out. We don’t know what the gas can do, so keeping the containers safe is our top priority.” As much as it pains him to admit, just him and Jon won’t be enough to handle it themselves. There’s too many people, and they need some of the bats to disperse around Gotham in case the riddler has set up a larger plan.

Jon smiles at him and nods, hopping from foot to foot in excitement (which he doesn’t find adorable at all). “You ready?” Damian gives a sharp nod before Jon kicks in the door.

“-I mean COME ON, people would PAY you to have a chance at your game show! You could even do your whole “riddle me this!” Thing as it’s own segment! But noOOOOooo, you wanna risk the lives of countless civilians so you can get a fucking furry to answer your stupid riddles, most of which aren’t even original! And NOW you wanna partner up with a fear junky cus why?”

“I-“ a clearly startled Riddler tries to answer before being interrupted.

“Oh yeah, cus your BUDDY, your PAL scarecrow, thought it would be so FUNNY to release an UNTESTED gas in a gala for a fucking THRILL HIGH.”

But instead of a fight they walk into.. this.

 A wheelchair bound boy with black hair and blue eyes (who he’s sure his siblings would call “adoption bait”) holding a strange silver and green gun that looked straight out of one of Damian’s sci-fi mangas, at a confused and startled Riddler. It seems the crowd used this as an opportunity, as the rest of the goons were restrained near the walls by a mix of his family, Kent, and various gala attendees, while the middle of the room was occupied by the armed boy.

“Huh?” Jon let his arms rest at his sides as his head tilted to the side in confusion (it does NOT remind him of a confused puppy, absolutely not). However before Damian could say anything, it seems the boy has finally noticed them.

“Oh, you’re here. Took you long enough.” The boy finally puts the gun down and into a bag at his side. “Have fun.” He says in a bored tone as he turns and starts pushing himself in the direction of a man with silver hair, Vlad Masters, who met him in the middle only to start fussing over him, seemingly much to the boy’s annoyance.

Finally shaking off their shock both Damian and Jon rush to detain the Riddler until the police show up, yet Damian’s curiosity keeps bringing his eyes back to Master’s and his ward. outwardly, the concern seemed genuine, but with how the boy was reacting to just being touched by Master’s… made him think otherwise. 

Even Lex Luthor was side eyeing the man instead of resuming his chatter with father or Mr. Kent, meaning something was happening and Damain was determined to find it out one way or another. 

For now though, they have their hands full because of Riddler and Scarecrow.

Domain knew he should have stayed back with Ace. 

____________________________________________________________________________

End of chapter 1

[nixie-writes]

Heblo! I is here to offer ideas!

How about a fic where reader is attacked badly while walking through the city, and when they return they fail miserably at hiding their injuries from Alastor? He helps patch them up, maybe hands them to someone else; but secretly he's super pissed that someone touched HIS plaything/friend.

Can be platonic or they're pining for each other- either one!

I made this platonic because we need more platonic Alastor

-you were strolling down the streets of Hell, carrying two bags of items Charlie needed for her first week celebration for Sir Pentious. If you were honest to yourself, you didn't like the guy one bit, even after having the chance to get to know him. He was a genius at inventing but he had the communicable skills of a toaster.

-following the GPS on your phone back to the Hotel you accidentally bumped into a shorter demon you hadn't noticed, being too engrossed in your phone. You profusely apologized to him and tried to make your way around him but he grabbed you by both wrists, making you drop your items and breaking the glass decorations.

-"ah, what the hell??" you demanded, trying to break free. The demon, a small loan shark, had an iron grip on your wrists and wasn't letting go. He moved both wrists to one hand, which was somehow big enough to hold both your wrists, and with his free hand he drew out a knife, hastily jabbing it in your stomach and running away. Blood spewed from your new wound, covering your freed hands and your bags. Leaving them where they were you stumbled back to the hotel to patch yourself up.

-right as you entered the hotel Alastor manifested near you, his Cheshire grin bright as always. "I smelled blood, I thought you brought me someone to eat," he chuckled. He hadn't noticed your injuries. Good. You didn't want him to make a big fuss over your stab wound.

-swallowing the blood rising in your throat you shook your head. "I'm afraid not, tall dark and creepy. I lost the groceries and I need to shower up before heading out to get more," you explained in a hurry as you tried to heave yourself to the staircase. Alastor placed a hand on your shoulder before you could make a movie however, gently removing your hands, revealing your fresh stab wound. His eye twitched, smile wavering slightly.

-"who did this to you?" he inquired as he summoned a first aid kit and laid you down on the floor. You looked away from him as he gently lifted your shirt to examine the wound. "Just some short stack loan shark. I bumped into him by accident and his response was to bruise my wrists and stab me before running off." You weren't sure why at the moment but Alastor took a good, long sniff of your wrist, as though committing it to memory.

-"stay still, this will sting," he warned as he pressed a towel doused in rubbing alcohol against your wound. You instinctively hid your mouth under your hand, grunting in pain. As soon as it happened it was over, and Alastor was applying gauze to the wound and pressing some bandages around the edge to keep it in place. "There, go find Willow and she'll do a better job than I did," he helped you to your knees and watched you waddle off to the small nurse's station.

-In a brief moment of solitude Alastor's smile faltered. He considered you to be his only friend in this joke of a Hotel. You had known each other for a long time and while he found it silly that you supported Charlie's idea, he appreciated your breath of fresh air. He clutched his cane in one hand, the other balling into a fist. Before anyone else could see him he left the hotel with a certain goal in mind.

[buckychristwrites]

About You | Day 4 | j.t.

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Summary: Your job? Pop culture journalist for The Independent. Your assignment? To write a profile on the cocky footballer that you're publicly feuding with.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Idk maybe its kinda fluffish. Cussing. Enemies to lovers

A/N: Let me know what you think! :)

Masterlist | About You Masterlist | Main Blog

It was admittedly difficult to sleep that night. Firstly, the couch was just not your choice of  a preferred sleeping spot. Secondly, it was weird having a person sleeping in your bed, especially a person who you didn’t sleep with, and especially especially since that person was Jamie Tartt. 

Which explains why you were up so early, two pans on the stove with breakfast. One with eggs, the other with potatoes frying up. On the counter was the bread, waiting patiently to be cooked in the toaster.

Movement in the bedroom told you that Jamie was awake. Turning from the pans, you threw two slices of bread into the toaster. By the time you had turned back, the door to the bedroom crept open and slow footsteps made their way down the hallway. Rubbing his eyes, Jamie appeared in the open living room. When you looked up at him, you found him still just in his boxers. The two of you stared at each other for a while with similar looks of surprise. You couldn’t say why he was in shock, but for you, it was because of the nakedness. 

“I woke up thinkin’ that I had the strangest dream,” He said slowly, looking around the room with squinted eyes. His back was facing you when he spoke again. “Guess it was not a dream.”

“Not a dream,” You said, scrunching your face. He flopped down on your couch, running his hands up and down his face.

“Drank too much,” He admitted. “My head is fuckin’ killin’ me.”

“Did your clothes evaporate overnight?” You asked him in an unusually high pitched voice. Though you weren’t looking at him, you could sense his eyes jump back towards you. 

“They’re still on the floor, thanks.”

“Well, thank God. I was worried, since you decided not to dress before coming out.” He was trying and failing to hide a smile.

“Fine, fine.” He sauntered back towards the bedroom, and against your better judgement, you looked up from the stove, letting your gaze fall up and down his backside before he disappeared down the hall. 

“We have to be out the door soon, so hurry up!” You called to him, receiving a groan in response. The toast popped out of the toaster suddenly, making you jump. You grabbed a plate and filled it with half the food, setting it down before doing the same with another. When Jamie re-entered the scene, this time fully clothed and with brushed hair, you handed him a plate. 

“Eat fast. I’ll drive us to work.” The sentence felt so weirdly domestic, and you wanted to hate it more than you did.

He nodded, taking a seat at the small dining table and digging in. You sat across from him and did the same. It was a silent meal, but comfortable, as if the two of you had been eating meals together for a long time. Before you knew it, the plates were empty. Jamie stood just as you were about to and grabbed your dish.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” You said, reaching to take them from him, but he waved you off. 

“Please.”

You said nothing more, instead rushing towards the bedroom so you could get ready. From the kitchen, you could hear water running and dishes clanking together, making you freeze. Is he doing the dishes? You finished getting dressed and quickly brushing your hair before walking back out. Jamie was just pulling the gloves off his hands as you came into view. Turning towards you, he looked you up and down, expressionless, before speaking. 

“You good?” He asked. You nodded, a surreal feeling washing over you.

How did your day start like this?

The two of you made your way down to the car park, where you climbed into the driver’s side. The rain was still modestly falling, although it was nowhere near the magnitude it had been the morning prior. Despite turning the car on, you made no move to leave, even after Jamie was in and secured. A few seconds passed before you felt his stare fall on you.

“I think we should start over,” You said, before turning your head to meet his gaze. “We’ve both done things, and continuing to fault the other for the past is counterproductive. I think we should go into today with a clean slate between us.” 

“Dunno,” He said as you came to a stop light. A moment of deja vu hit you as you turned to face him, reminding you of the evening before. When you met his eye, you found him smirking. “I kinda like bein’ mean to ya.” 

“Well, in that case…” You trailed off, the both of you laughing at the exchange. After a second, you tilted your head. “I’m not saying we have to be the best of friends who braid each other’s hair and share their deepest darkest secrets. But at least while I’m around for the next week, we can pretend.”

He lifted a finger at you before saying, “Or two.” You looked at him in confusion.

“Or two what?”

“Weeks.”

“Or two weeks,” You repeated back to him in agreement. 

But you didn’t think it was pretending, at least not for you. It was then that you realised that you were, indeed, starting to like Jamie Tartt as a person. Though he was still stubborn and arrogant, the night before had been a moment of clarity for you. He was just as broken as everyone else, despite his cool exterior. Inside, he was just a young boy, begging for validation and affirmation. But most importantly, he was begging for the love he didn’t receive from his father. Beyond that, the night before had you laughing the hardest that you had in a while. 

The car behind you honked, you cursing under your breath as you drove through the green light that you had, once again, missed.

“I think you’re right,” He finally said. A smile playing at your lips, you glanced over at him. “It’s hard bein’ angry that you’re here.” He paused, and it was then you noticed the water bottle in his lap, which was he messing with the lid of. “You…” A beat passed. “You didn’t turn out to be the villain I’d made you in me head all these years.” 

Something about that made your heart swell.

“You’re not as bad as I made you out to be, either.” You smiled with your face forward. And though you weren’t looking at him, you thought you caught a smile out of the corner of your eye.

“Although,” He added, his voice quiet. You eyed him, waiting patiently. He let out a slight laugh, rubbing his forehead. “You actually do know my deepest, darkest secrets now.” 

Something fluttered in your stomach.

The next thing either of you knew, you were putting the car in park. A few spaces over was Jamie’s car, patiently waiting for him. You pulled his keys out of your purse and handed them.

“I take it you'll need those.” 

He opened his mouth to say something, but immediately seemed to backtrack. You studied him. For a man who had been drinking so hard the night before, he seemed like he was in good spirits. Suddenly, he was jumping out of the car. 

“Can’t sit here all day, can we?”

You followed, having another moment of deja vu as the two of you walked in the club together. Despite having worked there for what you could assume was a while, the security guard still appeared overjoyed at the sight of Jamie, and forgot to check your pass. 

It seemed like the entire team was waiting for the pair of you, for once he, then you, entered, a chunk of them circled around like a pack of dogs.

“What happened last night?”

“Did you drive, Jamie? Is your car okay?”

“Did you sleep on the street?”

“Lads, lads, let’s calm down, yeah? A man is still nursin’ a hangover,'' Jamie pushed through them to get to his locker. Once he had broken from the pack, all eyes landed on you. The anxiety in your chest began to creep up.

“I drove him to his place. threw him in bed, and then I went back home, myself,” You explained to them. Over Dani’s shoulder, you could see Jamie look over at you. Holding his gaze for a moment, he nodded at you as if to thank you. You looked back at the others without giving any sort of reply. They all seemed to accept this explanation without further questioning. 

“We are just glad you got home safely,” Sam said, a wide smile that he gave to both you and Jamie. 

“Didn’t seem concerned when you sent the enemy after me, did ya?” Jamie asked, making the others roar out in laughter. You couldn’t help but laugh along with them as you could hear the playfulness in his tone. 

“We were just gonna let what God intended to happen, happen, bruv,” Isaac said to him. 

“Maybe God intended for her to go after you, Jamie!” Dani added. 

Jamie and you exchanged a look before quickly looking away. Your cheeks grew very hot. Jamie awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. 

With immaculate timing, the coaches entered in that moment, saving the both of you from having to come up with a response. You took your place against the wall, although now you allowed yourself to stand a bit closer to Jamie’s locker. 

As they spoke, you took notes. 

“Didya ever think that maybe you’d learn more if you listened than just writing down whatever they say?” Jamie whispered into your ear. His breath was warm against your skin. Ignoring that feeling, you shot him a glare. 

“I don’t need to know how to play football,” You reminded him, glancing at the coaches to make sure they weren’t privy to the two of you talking before going on. “So I don’t need to learn what all this means.” 

“Just tryna help ya sound smart for ya article.”

“Are you saying I sound stupid?”

“You could sound smarter…” 

“And who made you the expert on sounding smart?”

“Meself, obviously.”

“What are your qualifications, footballer?”

“Well-“

“I’m sorry, is this meetin’ interruptin’ you?” Roy’s voice boomed through the room, making the two of you jump.

“Sorry,” Jamie called out, raising his hand in apology. You lowered your head and furiously pretended to be writing notes innocently. Roy’s glare lingered for another few seconds before Beard continued talking. 

When everyone began to head towards the tunnel, you walked towards the entrance to the stands. 

“Oi.” You turned to see Jamie watching you. “Just come out with us. You can stand with the coaches.” When you opened your mouth to counter him, he waved his arm towards himself as a gesture to follow him. “It’ll be easier for you to take your wee notes. Let’s go.” Conceding, you followed him out onto the pitch. 

The rain had stopped, the sky still blanketed with clouds. The players started running their drills. You stood a few feet behind the coaches. Being on the pitch as opposed to the stands did make a difference. It was much easier to hear the coaches, and you could hear the players as well. 

“So,” A voice next to you said. You jumped, damn near throwing your notepad across the field before turning to find Beard next to you, standing in the same exact stance when he had been in front of you just moments before. “A truce was called, then?” After you remembered how to breathe, you nodded. 

“We talked it out, I think.” The two of you looked out in time to see Jamie fold over in laughter over something Isaac said. 

“I haven’t seen him in such high spirits since Ted left,” Beard admitted. The mention of the former head coach brought your thoughts to a screeching halt. You glanced at him for a brief second before turning back to Jamie.

“He hasn’t brought Lasso up at all to me.” 

Beard blew a raspberry, shaking his head. “He was really torn up about it. I don’t think he wanted anyone to know.” He was thoughtful as he continued to watch the footballer kick a ball into the net. “I think he viewed him as a father figure.” You thought back to the conversation from your car, where Jamie told you about his abusive father. The pain in his voice was so clear, along with the hesitation to tell you. 

“He told me a little about his dad,” You said quietly. 

“I’ve never witnessed such behaviour from a parent,” Beard admitted. “Disgusting.” This truly grabbed your attention, making you turn your entire body towards the coach.

“You saw it?” You asked. “You saw his father abuse him?” The expression on Beard’s face became a pained one, the memory clear as day on his face.

“It was at Wembley, when we played Man City,” He explained. “Pops came backstage, clearly sloshed. Wanted to bring his buddies through security to take pictures of the pitch. Jamie said no.” He began to shake his head. “Started calling his own son names, and getting in his face. We had lost, morale was low. Jamie clobbered him right in the nose.” At this, he looked proud. “He deserved more than that, but I’m glad he got what he did get.” 

You felt sick. The breakfast you had worked so hard to make was threatening to make a reappearance all over the rich green grass. 

When Jamie had told you about his dad, you had assumed it had happened a long time ago,  maybe as soon as when he had just started out. Never would you have ever thought that it was happening so recently that Coach Beard, or any of the current members of the team for that matter, would’ve been there to bear witness. 

No wonder your articles hurt him so much. It all made more sense now. He was getting abused two fold.

The second your eyes found Jamie, seeing his smile as he passed the ball to his teammates, you felt a surge of pride towards him. He was a huge jerk for a long time, following in the shadow of his father. But he learned, and he grew. Now he knew kindness and love. 

The transformation was quite magical.

The whistle blew and the players made their way towards the coaches. Jamie stood next to you, eyeing you curious.

“You alright?”

You turned to face him, and it felt like you were seeing him for the first time.

“I’m good.”

He stared at you for a long time, eyes searching your face, before nodding. Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned to face the front again. You began taking notes again. It was hard to focus, with the newfound information fighting to be at the forefront of your mind. It felt strange, knowing something so intimate about Jamie that he hadn’t told you. Part of you wondered if you should tell him, but maybe that wasn’t for the best. You weren’t out of the woods yet when it came to your relationship with him, and it wasn’t best to rock the boat further. Maybe after the article you’d-

No. After the article, you’d be back to business as usual. There wouldn’t be any chances to talk to him about anything, really. You’d be off the pitch and back in your office. He’d continue to play football and be Jamie. And it would be like none of this ever happened.

Why the fuck is this making me so sad? You asked yourself.

Pulling you from your thoughts was Jamie bumping his hip against yours. You jumped slightly, before turning to look at him. His face was filled with amusement.

“Sorry, Jumpy,” He said with a voice filled with laughter. “I was thinkin’ we could have a chat after practice, if ya want.” You shook your head with more force than you intended.

“Yeah, that would be great!” There must’ve been something off about your tone, for he knitted his eyebrows together, his head tilting slightly.

“You sure you’re alright?” 

Inhaling slowly, you nodded again. This time with more ease.

“I’m fine, Tartt.” At first, he seemed shocked that you were back to calling him by his last name, but the smile you gave seemed to placate him, as he returned it almost as quick. 

When practice was over, and the field had been cleared out, it was just Jamie and yourself who remained. You sat in the grass, running your fingers across the even cut blades. Jamie was standing, and was moving around as if he wasn’t able to stop.

“Do you ever relax?” You asked him, your phone already set to record. He paused at this, raising his hands in question.

“I’m always relaxed.”

“That’s definitely not true.” He scoffed, but you continued. “What do you do to unwind?” This made him stop, genuine thought on his face.

“I dunno,” He admitted. “I like havin’ a pint with friends. Layin’ on me couch sometimes.” When his eyes found you again, he found your face scrunched up. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m gonna make that the headline,” You said as you raised your hands and wrote a line in the air in front of you. “‘Jamie Tart: He Also Drinks Beer and Lays On The Couch.’” He laughed.

“Fuck off.” Shaking your head, you looked around at the field.

“If you could talk to any deceased person for 30 seconds, who would it be and what would you say?”

The next words out of his mouth hit you like a train. In the most earnest voice, he said, “I’d talk to George Harrison, and tell him thank ya for inspirin’ me to live my life.”

The recording was instantly turned off, as it was ruined by the way you were laughing. Jamie looked scandalised as you fell backwards into the grass.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny?”

“Didn’t you only just find out about George Harrison dying?”

“I didn’t know!” He shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “Can’t know everything all the time, can I?” As you came down from your laughter, wiping a tear from your eye, you shook your hand.

“No, you can’t.”

He started moving around again, and you watched him. Recalling the conversation from earlier with Beard, you bit your lip.

“What about living?”

He paused.

“What?”

You inhaled sharply. “If you could say whatever you wanted to any living person, with no consequences, what would you say?” 

This made him really freeze, his eyebrows properly knitted together. After a moment of silence, he took a few steps forward and sat down just a few feet from you. Elbows on his knees, he rested his chin in his palms.

“I’d ask my dad why I wasn’t enough to keep ‘im sober.” All traces of humour left your face. He nodded before continuing, “I’d tell him I needed him to treat me as more than a punchin’ bag.” Another beat passed. “And then I’d thank him. I’m the man I am today in spite of him. And I’m proud of that.” 

He was staring at his hands right then. You smiled at him.

“You should be.” 

His head jumped upward, eyes falling on you once more. Your smile was more broad this time, as you leaned forward a little.

“Yeah?” He asked, as if his opinion was hanging by the thread of your answer. 

You nodded firmly. “Yeah.”

[adore-laur]

CALIFORNIA DUSK

— birth of baby #2 in the dadrry universe 🌊

——

6:24 AM

California dawn brings serenity to the house. The sun is leisurely rising, painting the sky with wispy pink brushstrokes across an endless canvas of powder blue. Seagulls croon as they fly parallel to the hazy horizon, gracefully dipping their claws down in the water to catch their first meal of the day. Waves crash against the vacant ocean shore with persistence, as if to announce that morning has arrived once again.

Soon, golden rays will seep through the flowing curtains and cast shapes on the hardwood floors. The trees will start to sway from the coastal breeze, sending earthy scents of pine and cedar into the kitchen. Toys scattered in the living room from the night before will be left alone to wallow until their owner sleepily waddles from her bedroom with a yawn and an empty stomach.

A spoon clinks against the edge of a mug, echoing throughout the tranquil kitchen as chickadees sing their song near the window. Yet the current calmness of your surroundings doesn't quite match how you feel inside.

Being awake for the past two hours—hunched over the kitchen island and rocking side to side while breathing through painful cramping—isn't how you would've liked to commence your morning. Harry is brewing homemade coffee for himself since there's a high chance it will be a long, tiresome day ahead. He's been up with you since you started having contractions, and you tried to convince him to keep sleeping, but there was no way to persuade him since he's naturally an early riser. And you know he would never let you handle the discomfort alone.

Your daughter is still fast asleep in her room down the hall, oblivious to how soon she'll be a big sister. You're not looking to traumatize her at a young age, so Harry's mother is on her way to pick her up in case you give birth.

You've decided on a natural water birth this time. Being in the hospital for your first childbirth experience was tolerable, but the atmosphere gave you tremendous anxiety. The nurses hovering over you, the constant beeping of the machines, and the stale room all felt suffocating. You're confident you'll feel more at ease in the comfort of your own home, with only Harry and the midwife witnessing you in your most vulnerable state.

As the pain temporarily alleviates in your abdomen, you slowly straighten your posture and walk some laps around the living room. There's nothing you can do except hang tight and see if anything progresses. The contractions haven't gotten to the point of being unbearable, but they still beg the question of whether you'll be having a baby today. It's a waiting game.

Harry is surprisingly relaxed, and you suppose it's because this isn't his first rodeo. Seeing the difference in his composure compared to the first time you went into labor is humorous. He had clammy hands, was a stuttering mess, and also forgot to bring his driver's license when he drove you to the hospital.

Now, it's like he has never been more prepared for anything in his entire life. He could be hiding his nerves well, but otherwise, he's extremely put together as he whistles the "We Just Got a Letter" jingle from Blue's Clues that always gets stuck in his head because your daughter watches the show every morning. He's already dressed for the birth that might not even happen today—swim shorts for when he gets in the birthing pool with you and a faded graphic tee that looks like it has seen better days. His favorite blue baseball cap is snug on his head, covering his messy hair that curls upwards underneath. He looks casually gorgeous in the morning light.

After your tenth lap, you wander back to the kitchen and stand beside Harry as he drops two slices of bread into the toaster. He looks down at you and smiles.

"Hi," he says, leaning his hip against the counter. "Contraction over with?"

"For now," you reply dully. "I'm sure there'll be plenty more."

He jerks his chin toward the sink. "I want you to drink some water."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Please just drink one glass for me, baby," he says, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a jar of grape jam. "Let's not have a repeat of last time."

You roll your eyes and steal a cup from the drying rack. He clearly remembers when you vomited at the hospital just hours before giving birth. Yes, you were dehydrated, but that was the last thing on your mind.

As you sip cloudy tap water, you watch Harry silently spread jam onto his perfectly browned toast. He's been too quiet this morning—entirely cool, calm, and collected. You miss his delirious morning humor.

"You're scaring me."

Harry freezes with the butter knife in his grasp. "I didn't know your husband making breakfast was a fear of yours."

There it is!

"No, not that." You wipe off a glob of jam on his thumb. "You're just really relaxed right now."

Setting his toast on a plate, he turns to you with a crease between his eyebrows. "Should I be freaking out?"

"Well, I might give birth soon," you say, your heart rate increasing at the mere thought. "Doesn't that, I don't know, make you nervous?"

"Of course, I'm nervous," he replies, gently squeezing your shoulders. "I'm sure I'll be a hot mess once you're in full-on labor. I'm just enjoying the morning with you while you're still pregnant. You know... soaking it all in."

You release a shaky exhale, your mind spiraling as everything becomes more real the longer you talk about how you'll be a family of four very soon. "Okay," you whisper unconvincingly. "That makes sense."

Harry obviously doesn't buy it because he stares at you briefly before trapping your fidgeting hands with his own. "What's going on?"

"I'm freaking out," you admit weakly. Your voice wavers, and the lump in your throat is hard to swallow.

His face softens with sympathy as your eyes gloss over with tears. "Let's walk down to the shore," he suggests, kissing your forehead. "Just you and me before it gets crazy in here."

Sniffling, you ask, "What if I can't make it back to the house?"

"Then I'll carry you."

"Good luck with that," you mutter before grabbing your phone from the kitchen table. "Let's go while I have a break from contractions."

He nods, taking his plate and the baby monitor from the countertop, and then leads the way out the patio door.

During the short journey there, your heart blooms with fondness when you catch Harry smiling to himself as he walks, his tattooed arms swinging. It's too endearing not to keep as a permanent memory, so you open the camera on your phone and press record. The fresh air has rapidly lifted your mood, and you're thankful for it.

"What are you grinning about over there?"

Harry looks up and gives the camera a big, open-mouthed smile, pure excitement exuding from him. He's been waiting so patiently for another baby, and now it's slowly but surely becoming reality.

"What's got you so happy?" You laugh and stop recording.

He shrugs, still smiling contagiously. "I can't believe it's happening. It just hit me right now."

Both of you reach the sand and sit away from the lapping waves in case you have to head back to the house promptly. Harry places himself behind you, a position that's supposed to help when a contraction comes. You can hold onto his legs for leverage and support, and he can massage wherever you're hurting.

"I can't believe it either," you reply with a pensive shake of your head.

"Talk to me. How are you feeling?" Harry asks, taking a crunchy bite of toast. "Emotionally, I mean."

Talk to me. It's a three-word sentence he's been saying to you for years. He always wants to know how you're feeling whenever you bottle up your thoughts—anger, sorrow, or happiness. It has never changed, and it never fails to help immensely.

"I'm not as nervous as last time," you answer, closing your eyes when he starts playing with your hair. "I feel more prepared since I know what to expect, but it's terrifying that I'm doing it naturally this time."

He hums in acknowledgment. "That's completely valid. No one expects you to be one hundred percent confident when pushing a baby out, no matter how many times you've done it before. Just know that I'm eternally grateful that you've grown two beautiful babies for us. You're a superstar."

"Thanks. I just feel like—" You gasp suddenly, your hand quickly shooting to your side as another contraction hits.

"Okay," Harry says soothingly, grabbing your hand so you can squeeze his own. He quickly unlocks his phone to set a timer. "It's okay. Breathe with me."

You inhale and exhale through the internal pain, the tight cramping making you lean back against his chest. "Harry, it hurts," you cry as your other hand grips his knee. "Ow, ow, ow."

"I've got you. Just breathe through it." He lifts the hem of your oversized shirt and spreads his hand on your stomach. It's stretched beyond belief and has dropped significantly throughout the past week. "Focus on my breathing, all right? And relax your shoulders. They're too tense."

You breathe with him as he massages your lower back. Your face is getting hot and your throat is dry, but the only thing you can fully pinpoint is the penetrating pain.

"Tell me something. Please distract me."

Harry kisses your temple. "You look really pretty."

"Shut up," you mumble with a laugh that quickly turns into a groan of discomfort.

"I'm serious. I love how you look in the morning when the sun hits your face, like right now. It makes you glow even more than usual. And the way it brightens your eyes reminds me so much of our daughter." He turns your face so you're looking at him. "I see you in her all the time."

You smile weakly and rest your head on the dip between his neck and shoulder. "Yeah, but she has your bunny teeth."

His deep, comforting laugh vibrates against your back. "Mm, you'd be the one to notice that."

You just tiredly nod as the contraction subsides. You make a good guess that you're not close to labor yet because of how far apart and mild they've been so far. The midwife is only five minutes away, so there's no dire need for her to come and check on you.

"I think that one's done." You carefully sit up and release his hand. "How long was it?"

Harry checks his phone. "Forty-seven seconds."

"Short," you think aloud. "They've been irregular, so I think they might be Braxton Hicks."

He dramatically falls back onto the sand and spreads his arms out. "Does that mean no baby today?"

You snort and cuddle up next to him. "Soon. You have to be patient."

He's silent for a minute before asking, "Isn't sex supposed to induce labor?"

You scoff and swat at his chest. "I swear you asked me that last time."

"Oh, I definitely did. You rejected me and then literally didn't go into labor until a week later, remember? You should've listened to me."

"I don't think it would be enjoyable for either of us if we tried. I couldn't even walk down here without feeling like passing out."

Harry draws patterns on your belly with his finger, causing a response of fluttery kicks from the baby. "I know, I'm only joking. We don't have to be anywhere or do anything right now. Let's stay out here for a little bit, yeah?"

"Sounds like a plan," you mumble into his shoulder. The world around you drowns out like the shells under the waves as you focus on his heartbeat. The rhythmic thumping of your favorite part of him lulls you to sleep, his hand gently stroking your hair as time passes with each movement of the sun.

Your nerves wash away with each ocean tide, and you know everything will be all right.

——

7:03 PM 

The tub is ready.

You are not.

A shirtless Harry is already sitting in the circular birthing pool, looking like he's ready to deliver the baby himself. You've changed into your swimsuit and are now vaguely listening to what the midwife is telling you as you lean against the wall and suffer through another contraction—a particularly strong one that indicates you're going to start pushing soon.

Your water has already broken, and you're not quite sure why you're waiting until the very last second to get into the tub, but nothing in your mind is making sense due to the overwhelming pain. The bedroom is too small, the lights are too bright, the way Harry's dotingly looking at you is too much, and your body feels too weak even though it's about to perform the most vigorous exercise imaginable.

"We need you in the tub so I can check your dilation," says the midwife, snapping you out of your overthinking spiral.

"I-I can't," you reply helplessly. "I don't think I can do this. I don't want to do this."

You regret not just sucking it up and going to the hospital so they can inject you with an epidural.

"I am going to do everything I can to give you a safe and smooth delivery process," she assures you. "Your husband is waiting for you. He's going to be your support system the entire time, okay? Do you trust him to do that?"

You frantically nod your head—you've never trusted anyone more. "The water will help with the pain," she adds with a kind smile. "It will relax your muscles and make you feel very nice. Can you get in the tub for me? Harry will help you."

You look at him, seeing his slightly shaky hands beckon you closer. You swallow and take a deep breath before slowly approaching him. Equipment scatters the floor and the bed beside you—clean blankets, a tarp for the mess, towels, medical supplies, and a cup of ice.

Harry carefully helps you into the birthing tub, positioning you so your back is against his bare chest. Once you're situated in the lukewarm water, you focus on his heartbeat pounding double-time.

"I can't do this," you repeat as you slide your swimsuit bottoms off.

"Yes, you can," Harry says, kneading your shoulders. "It'll be so worth it. We'll have a baby boy or girl to hold tonight."

"I'm scared. What if something goes wrong? What if I can't handle the pain? What if I—"

"Hey," he scolds softly. "Please don't think like that. Remember last time? What did I tell you to do to distract yourself?"

"Count your tattoos."

"That's right. I've gotten quite a few more since then, so get to counting. Distract your mind from the pain. I'm not going anywhere."

You begin counting, starting with your name tattooed on his right thigh. You then grab his left arm and count all the small ones near his hand. The chrysanthemum on the inside of his wrist represents your daughter's birth flower, along with her date of birth written in cursive underneath. There's also the outline of a wave representing his home with you in California, where you built your life together. They all mean something near and dear to his heart.

The midwife brings you out of your trance when she leans over the pool and checks your dilation as Harry places comforting kisses on the back of your head. "You're about eight centimeters," she tells you after a few seconds of uncomfortable inspection.

"I feel like I need to push," you say timidly. "I feel the baby really low."

"We need to wait until you're ten centimeters," she replies. "If you can just hold out a little longer, it'll be much easier to push, okay?"

You nod and let out a long groan when the contraction moves from your lower back to your pelvis.

"Do you want your ice?" Harry asks.

"Yes, please."

He reaches behind him and grabs the cup filled with chipped ice. You begin chewing on a piece to cool your body temperature and force your brain to focus on something else.

Several minutes pass, with Harry whispering loving encouragements as the midwife talks you through what's about to happen. She allows you to exert tiny pushes while applying pressure to your abdomen. Everything goes in one ear and out the other, but you know the moment is almost here. There's no stopping now.

"Do you still feel like you need to push, honey?" the midwife asks, checking your dilation again.

"Yeah. Am I ten centimeters yet?"

"Just about. I'm going to have you push now."

You turn your head and stare at Harry with wide eyes. He messily captures your lips with his, then moves them near your ear. "I'm right behind you. Whatever you need, just let me know. If you need me to get out or scream at me—anything at all."

You look forward when the midwife parts your legs and encourages you to push using all of your strength.

The first push is the most agonizing. Your head throws itself back on Harry's shoulder as you grit your teeth and contract what feels like every muscle in your body. The midwife counts to ten, the seconds dragging on like minutes. Your face is scrunched up tight, and your legs are tense in the water. Harry softly counts in your ear, taking your left hand in his.

Breathe out for three. 

The second push feels like you're on fire, but not in a good way. The aching, cramping, and stinging pain shooting all over your body is borderline unbearable. It's felt externally, internally, and everywhere in between. You let a cry escape your mouth as the pain strikes your lower abdomen in full force. Harry kisses your ring finger and sets your hand on his heart.

Breathe out for three. 

The third push gets you the farthest. Your ringing ears distantly hear something along the lines of I can see the head, and you feel a sharp breath from Harry hitting your neck and a kiss behind your ear. When the midwife gets to number two, she pulls the head out. The burning sensation remains, but the most challenging part is out of the way.

Breathe out for three. 

The final push is when you give every ounce of energy you have left, squeezing both of Harry's hands so tightly that you're afraid you might break his bones. You're told to give your strongest and longest push, making your entire body rigid as you stop your breathing to make this the last one. Harry chants motivational words from behind you: They're almost here, you're doing so good, I love you. 

Then, all at once, there's release.

Relief.

Remission.

You quickly pull your baby up from under the water and cradle them against your heaving chest. You're shivering from the adrenaline, and your body feels bizarrely empty.

"It's a girl!" announces the midwife as she wipes and rubs her down with a towel.

The tears immediately fall. You hear Harry let out a quiet sob as he buries his face in your neck with trembling lips. With his forehead pressed to your skin, he sniffles while the sound of your baby girl's cries fills the room.

"Would Dad like to cut the cord?"

Harry nods and palms his tear-filled eyes. She passes tiny surgical scissors over to him and stretches the umbilical cord, showing him where to snip. He carefully moves out from behind you and releases an emotional breath as he opens the scissors, but he drops them in the tub because of his shaky hands.

"Sorry," he says with a choked laugh. He picks them up and tries again, successfully cutting the cord. The midwife cheers and begins setting things up for the after-birth process.

You cradle the back of your baby's head and cry with unspeakable happiness. "Hold her," you tell Harry now that she's detached.

He reaches his hands out, and you carefully pass her squirming body over to him. He seems almost lost in a trance for a second, but when her cries die down instantly once her skin meets his, he looks at you with the most breathtaking smile.

She clings to him like a lifeline, her cheek squished against his chest and her tiny hands spread on his collarbones. "Look," he whispers to you with watery eyes. "Look at her."

"I know. She loves you already."

His gaze is now focused on you, with an expression conveying so many emotions. You think he's never looked more beautiful.

"Thank you," he says.

Those two simple words are spoken with a heavy amount of sincerity. You know what they mean: Thank you for letting me be a father. Thank you for pushing through all the mental and physical changes again. Thank you for her. 

You smile and blink back more tears. "All in a day's work."

Harry shakes his head as his eyes dance over your face. "You're the strongest person I know. I've never seen anything more incredible than what you just did."

"Thank you for helping me through it."

"I always will," he says while stroking your baby girl's back with his large hand. It almost engulfs her entire body.

"Are you insinuating we're going to have more babies?"

"You know I'd have a million with you. You're fuckin' perfect."

You slap his arm lazily. "Don't swear."

He leans in until his forehead touches yours. "Give me a kiss."

"Your lips are dry."

He licks his lips, and you meet his mouth. He hums and grins into the kiss, pulling away from you with a glint in his eyes. "I love you so much," he murmurs before glancing at his daughter. "Both of you. My heart beats for my girls."

"I love you."

A tiny hand suddenly hits Harry's mouth. He sputters a laugh and grabs it, kissing it repeatedly until she lets out a gurgle. He laughs in disbelief and hikes her up to smell her head, the baby scent being one of his favorite parts about having a newborn.

"Already a daddy's girl," you slur tiredly, exhaustion finally catching up to you.

He puckers endless kisses onto her head. "Think I'll keep you forever, angel," he tells her. "Is that okay? Hmm? Gonna be my snuggle bug when I need it the most?"

Her eyes remain closed, and her lips smack as she lets out a silent cry. You look at Harry, and you find him absolutely mesmerized by her. Every small movement she makes, every change in facial expression, every noise that comes from her—he's watching it all with proud eyes and a permanent smile.

No other man would you want as your husband. No other man would you want to be the father of your babies.

——

8:40 PM

It's been a little over an hour since you gave birth, and since then, you've been moved to the bed after being cleaned up. You've just finished breastfeeding and now lie with her in your arms as you try to fall asleep next to Harry. He's still making calls to his loved ones to tell them the news, and each time he does, he gets emotional all over again when the person on the other line gasps or screams with joy.

He's wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, and part of his hair is held back with one of your daughter's pink butterfly clips. You're both running on empty but have never been more blissfully content as she sleeps, her body wrapped in a white swaddle and a baby beanie snug on her head.

The windows are open, letting the ocean breeze waft in and cool your body's dull ache. The midwife had been kind enough to bring you snacks, leaving ice water, a plate of crackers, and a bowl of strawberry yogurt for you on the nightstand. There was an instance when Harry asked for a spoonful of your yogurt, and when you fed it to him, some dropped onto your baby's cheek. You both broke into silent laughter until she got fussy from your movements. Or maybe it was from the cold dollop of yogurt on her sensitive skin. Either way, it was entertaining.

Now, you drift off beside him and feel the soft breaths of your baby girl on your breast as the linen curtains blow in time with the swelling waves meeting the shore.

"Are you awake?" Harry asks quietly after he ends another call.

"Barely," you whisper into his sleeve. It smells like heaven.

He kisses your temple and inhales deeply. "I just got off the phone with my boss. He says congratulations and to name her after him."

You release a laugh laced with drowsiness. "I don't think she'd appreciate being named after an ornery old man."

"True. That was the last call I needed to make, by the way." He scoots down the bed and gently nuzzles his head into your side. "Get some rest. I'll be quiet now."

"I don't want to miss anything," you say, even though your eyes have been involuntarily closing for the past ten minutes.

He lightly scratches up and down your arm. "She's sleeping, my love."

"I know, but what if she does something cute?"

"Then I'll wake you up."

"Promise?" Your eyes droop once again with overpowering fatigue.

"I promise." He seals it with a tender kiss on your shoulder. "You need—"

A knock on the bedroom door interrupts him and makes your head turn toward the sound. The knob jiggles for a few seconds before the door slowly opens with a creak to reveal your daughter standing there. She's holding her favorite blanket, her thumb tucked in her mouth. You assume Harry's mother must have just arrived and is letting her have some alone time with the both of you.

"Hi, lovebug," Harry says softly. "C'mere, we've got a surprise for you."

She cautiously shuffles over to the edge of the bed and inspects the sleeping bundle in your arms. "Did you have fun with Grandma today?" you ask her.

She nods distractedly, her eyes still glued to the baby. Harry smiles and picks her up, setting her on his lap. "That's your baby sister," he explains. "You're officially a big sister now."

She looks at him. "Where?"

He lets out a breathy chuckle and shifts her closer to the baby. "Right here, sweetheart. She's sleeping, so you have to be quiet."

"Oh," she whispers. You and Harry exchange smiles.

"Isn't she pretty?" you ask.

"Yeah." Her voice is still a whisper as she pokes the baby's fists. "So little."

"She is," Harry says with a sniffle. "You were once that little. You have no idea how perfectly you fit in my arms."

You kiss her cherubic cheek. "Do you want to hold her?"

She glimpses at Harry as if to ask for permission, and he nods his head in encouragement. He positions her between the two of you, and then you maneuver the baby into her arms while ensuring the head is supported.

The sight is something out of a dream. How attentive she is to her new baby sister, admiring her like a delicate flower, examining her closely like a beautiful specimen, gently touching her nose and puckered lips. She keeps looking at you and Harry when the baby wiggles or makes a noise, a look of pure innocence and curiosity that brings more heartfelt tears to your eyes.

You eventually peel your gaze away from her and find Harry staring at you. A tear falls from his bottom eyelashes, his nostrils flaring from residual emotions hitting him. Reaching over, you thumb away the teardrop and focus on the bay window. The sun has dived below the darkening horizon, allowing stars to faintly dot the sky. Cicadas buzz in nearby bushes, and the night tides of the ocean collide with the sand that will soon be illuminated by the moon.

It's quiet in the bedroom, with nothing but the sound of soft breathing and the occasional coo from the baby. Your family of three is now four, and you've never felt more full of love. The world around you is serene, just like it was during the sunrise before she came into the world.

California dusk has brought you an angel.

——

[ajokeformur-ray]

Imagine being overwhelmed and just wanting to... hide from the world.

So when you get off work, you go to Arthur's apartment and let yourself in; he gave you a key months ago, after you told him that his home made you feel safer than your own did.

You lay on the bed. Arthur's scent surrounds you but it's not quite right; light is streaming in through the window and it's distracting you from your own thoughts. Sometimes you just have to wallow for a bit before you can pick yourself up. You lay on the sofa; same thing. Light creeps into the room through the window and that isn't what you want right now. You try sitting on the kitchen floor - same thing again.

Arthur's apartment is just flooded with light but you don't want that. You want it to be night time, so that it's dark and cosy and warm.

Like a cave. Or... the embrace of your beloved when you bury your face into his clothes.

Finally, the sofa seems good, but you don't sit on it, no. You sit behind it. And then you lay down, flush to the floor, and grab the blanket which is hanging down over the back of the sofa where Arthur had flung it haphazardly this morning, and you drape it over your face and upper body; legs kicking it down over you.

You want the floor to open up and eat you, you want to disappear for a little while. You're so tired. Slowly and then all at once, you slip into your threshold consciousness, quite forgetting about everything except the fact that, for the first time all day, you feel safe and at peace, and second, that Arthur will be home soon.

You're trying to imitiate the feeling that only Arthur can give you as best as you can, by laying up against the back of the sofa, which served him as a bed for most of his life, using a blanket which is saturated in Arthur's scent like a shield, in his home. Your thoughts of him keep you company, though it's a mere echo of the real thing.

But it'll do. For now.

You know not how much time passes but soon, there is the familiar sound of metal scraping against metal as Arthur lets himself in, the door shutting and then the drag of a chain against the deadbolt. Keys are tossed into the bowl on the sideboard, a pharmaceutical bag full of medications is thrown haphazardly ino the kitchen. You hear it hit the wall near the toaster before it settles with a loud rattle next to the microwave. You know these precise details because Arthur's home routine is almost as old as he is; for so long has he been the man of the house that it's almost as if it's all he's ever known.

Perhaps it is.

You hear Arthur pad around the apartment, but you can tell by the way he hesitates slightly before entering and leaving each room that he knows you're in here somewhere. Your work bag and shoes are on the floor. And he can feel that the air in the apartment is different to how it is when he is home alone. Arthur knows you, he knows you, and he knows you're here.

He just doesn't know you're curled up behind the sofa, wanting to disappear from the world for just a little while so you can breathe and recentre before you resume your life.

You hear him pause by the coffee table in the living room and you can almost see him tap a long finger to his thin lips as he considers where you could go. Indeed, you hear a "hmm" and the mental image combined with the sound reminds you of how Carnival pretends to be confused by the way his wand flops around unless it's held a certain way... It makes you smile for the first time that day.

It dies as quickly as it's born when you realise it's already evening. The fact you've been feeling like this for the majority of the day just makes you even more tired, somehow.

Finally, it all becomes too much for Arthur. "Y-Y/N? Are you in here?"

Through your threshold consciousness do you find the strength to raise a hand from your makeshift cocoon. Your arm is barely visible over the back of the sofa but Arthur sees your fingers and he almost bumps into the coffee table as he rushes over; peering down at you.

He gasps quietly, and then slowly, he comes and kneels down by your head. His fingers hover in the space between you, hesitant is he to touch you. But now you're leaning forward, and he hums in weary understanding. Arthur's ability to get it, no matter what it is, is one of your favourite things about him.

"How long have you been hiding?"

You shrug. "End of shift."

Arthur glances at the clock above the television; your shift ended almost two hours ago. Minus commute time... You've been here longer than either of you would like, but Arthur doesn't tell you that. He simply shifts so that he's sitting with you, and somehow your head ends up in his lap and his fingers end up rubbing across your scalp, and something deep within you clicks back into place.

Your body brought you to Arthur's home, apartment 8J, but now in Arthur's warm embrace, are you finally home.

Tomorrow is for tomorrow. For now... Rest.

[volturi-stuff]

The Dark

Demetri Volturi x reader

TW: depression? Sadness? Crying?

A/N: well… I’ve been gone for a long time but hey.. I’m trying to write again. <3 I normally don’t write stuff like this but it’s a vent one.

The light had seemed to fade, the joy in your heart had ceased to exist. You were faced with your thoughts, every single time you had believed you were moving forward, they kept coming back.

It had been days, days where you hadn’t left your room, the blinds were shut illuminating the darkness, your navy blanket was pulled up to your shoulders, as the hot tears rolled down your cheeks, onto the blue silk of your pillowcase. The only sound filling the room was the soft sound of silence followed by the sniffles of tears you tried to hide.

That’s how you spent your nights. Every night casually got worse, as the vast loneliness only seemed to grow, the ache in your heart only got stronger. The endless days of pain, that little voice in your head telling you you’ll never make it out only got louder by the second.

Little did you know, today would be different. Today was the day for change.

You woke up, in the same baggy sweatpants and a large oversized hoodie as you were too exhausted to change from yet another sleepless night. You wiped your eyes dry as you noticed the soft hues of the outside light shining through your curtain, brightening the room a bit. The dark storm clouds started moving in, making the baby blue look like smoky cigarette ash.

You ran a hand through your tangled messy morning hair, as you made your way into the kitchen. You could already start to hear the thunder off in the distance towards east. You grabbed the loaf of bread out of the cupboard and started preparing your toast. Your mom was sitting at the table with her usual morning coffee, as she flashed you a small smile. You weakly returned it as your eyes sunk back down to the bread in the toaster, waiting for it to pop back up. “I’m gonna head out… I wanna go down to the bookstore near port Angeles, if that’s okay.” You said just above a whisper in a soft mumble. Your mom eagerly nodded just wanting you to go out and get some fresh air. “That’s okay with me Dear.” She said with a faint smile. With that you put the crisp pieces of toast on a plate, carefully handing it to your mother before you headed upstairs again.

You made your way into the small shop, as the smell of honey with a hint of cinnamon hit your nose. Days like these, made you feel a little hopeful, as the rain started coming down heavily, echoing off the roof of the store. “Dreary weather out there, hm?” The old cashier, Mary asked as she gave you a kind smile, enhancing the small wrinkles under her eyes. She was always happy when you came in. You gave a soft nod as you gandered through the book selection she has for you today. “I guess so… I take a liking to it. Makes it peaceful, you know?” You replied in a soft mumble, as you put your book up onto the belt of the register. Mary sent you another half smile, as she held up the little book in her hands,”The bridge to Terabithia, again?” She asked in a soft wise tone. You gave a soft nod with a genuine smile. “It’s my favorite.” You said taking the small bag out of her frail hand, “Thank you.” You said before walking back out the glass door.

You began walking down the end of the alleyway, as a dark figure appeared out of nowhere. You couldn’t see his face through the heavy downpour and how far away he seemed to be, as you squint your eyes for a better look. The man took his hood down, as you were met with crimson eyes, paired with pale skin, with dirty blonde strands of messy hair. You should have been scared, but you weren’t. As soon as your eyes met his, you felt it. You felt the strong pull to collapse in the strangers arms, as you got a comforting feeling. That ache in your heart was long gone, as hot tears fell from your eyes, in pure relief. Your knees caved in under you, as you fell into a puddle in the downpour. Your bag rested on the sidewalk, as you couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything else. Everyone tells you how colorful the world is, yet you can’t see it. It all felt gray around you, until now. It all rushed back. Looking at him, you felt joy. You felt happy for the first time in years, you felt like you were home.

The man had noticed this, one minute he was across the road, and the next he was by your side holding your bag in his gloved hand, “Darling, are you okay?” He asked, in a soft accent that made your heart flutter. It was like heaven, hearing him speak. You gave a small nod, “Y-Yeah I-I just…” You couldn’t finish your sentence as your voice cracked. “I’m Demetri, come here you must be freezing.” He said in a soft tone, placing his black trench coat over your shoulders, his gloved hands grabbed onto your warm ones, helping you to your feet. You looked up at the tall stranger, as his red eyes sparkled already locked onto you. You felt the insane pull to him, as a small sigh escaped your lips. You didn’t understand this feeling, the feeling of needing to be in his arms, to have his protection, someone who would protect you for once. The cold rain hits your skin, sending small shivers down your spine. “Want me to walk you home?” Demetri said with a small smile. You gave a soft nod, as another shiver ran through your body. “Yeah, you can. I’m y/n.” You said as you felt hope for the first time in a long time.

[willowswiththorns]

Could you write an sfw alphabet for Alex browning from fd1 please 🩷

I’m so sorry for the wait!! I got two commissions for this, so I’m going to do my best. Now this is the first time I’m writing for Alex, so if it’s a bit ooc, I apologize heavily. Thank you for the wait. - Willow

Alex Browning Fluff A-Z

A = Affection (are they affectionate with you?)

He’s awkward when it comes to physical activity, but he does try his best. Overall Alex will hold your hand or protectively put his arm around you, but the man will be a bit flustered when doing it.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Alex is a fun best friend to have for the most part, he’ll play around with you and tease you a bit like he does Todd and George.

If you both have a common interest, there’s a chance that you’ll be doing that interest with him most of the time.

The start of the friendship would mostly be before the events of the movie, most likely in high school. He’d notice some merch that you had on you or on your locker and strike up a conversation with you.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He’s likes to cuddle, but he doesn’t do it as often. This man gives both big spoon and little spoon vibes, he’ll be the big spoon for you when you want to be held or comforted.

However when it comes to the nights where he’ll wake up in a panic, it would be best to hold him and remind him he’s safe

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

——

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

When it comes to breaking up, Alex gives off the type to break things off and go no contact if he knows being near him would cause you immediate danger.

Not hearing from you would absolutely destroy him.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

When it comes to the idea of marriage and kids, he hasn’t really thought too deeply into it. Settling down or even living up to his 30s isn’t even something he thinks will happen for him. Death’s design is always on his trail.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Alex tried his best to be gentle with you, but this dude has a tendency to be a bit clumsy and rough with you by accident.

However when it comes to emotions, he’s a bit stunted. Alex is a teenage boy, so trying to show his true feelings can be difficult for him to explain to you. He really does try his best.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

When it comes to hugs, it really depends on the situation. If he’s in a good mood, he’ll hug you and kiss your forehead. When he’s stressed or frightened, his embrace will be much tighter and he’ll hide his face in the crook of your neck.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Like it was said before, he’s a teenager. He’s too emotionally immature for dropping the L-word on the first or second date. It’ll definitely take him a while to get to that stage.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

If a random person was flirting with you, he’s the type to just pull you away or walk up and hold your hand.

Now if it’s someone he has known beef with ( someone like Carter for example) Alex will be more snarky towards the guy.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kisses with him range between little pecks on the cheek/lips to very longing kisses.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He’s okay near kids, but he really doesn’t like being around them too long. Alex doesn’t give off the vibe that he’s a social kind of person.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Alex will make some coffee for you and maybe put some waffles into the toaster.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Most nights you’ll watch movies until you both pass out by the tv. It’s very romantic.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s scared you’ll think he’s crazy like the others, so opening up to you would take a little while.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He’s easily agitated, but never really angry. The most “ angry “ he’d be with you is when he’s trying to explain death’s design and you’re not really believing him right away.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Alex remembers almost everything you tell him, he’s always remembering the details. Just make sure never to get into a debate or argument about something you’ve told him about, he’ll make sure he wins the argument every time.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Alex has a lot of favorite memories when it comes to y’all. However, his favorite memory by far would probably be when you both go in to kiss each other after a date and accidentally bump heads.

Watching you hold your head , his actions matching yours almost in sync. You both stare blankly at each other for only a slight moment before erupting in laughter.

A small awkward mishap turned into a cute little memory that he likes to think back on time to time. Even now he has a tendency to sometimes to put his palm on your forehead as he goes in for a kiss.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

If this is during the final destination movie timeline, Alex is 100% your protector.

He’s making sure you’re not next in the list of victims to come. It’ll start off as little things like putting his arm out in front of you as a small attempt to cover you.

However overtime it’ll become more noticeable like keeping you by his side all the time, and getting mouthy with Carter if he tries to get in your face about something

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He’s a bit awkward when it comes to romance, but he really does try his best.

Little bracelets or trinkets he sees when he goes out would most likely be your gift.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Alex has a tendency to get in his own head about things. He’s a bit of a superstitious kind of guy. He’ll usually freak himself out and shut down.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s not too crazy about his looks at all. All that he wants is for you to like him for him.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Alex would definitely feel incomplete without you. It would most definitely eat away at him, especially if death was after you too.

If you died, he’d be absolutely heartbroken. He wanted to save you and break the

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Alex gives off the vibe that he’d ask you, George, and Todd to hang out and watch movies together. He wants you to feel included in his friendship with him and Todd.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He’s not much for people who are narrowed minded or ignoring his theories on how death is tracking him. He wants a partner who will trust him and understand his feelings rather than invalidate them.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Dude sleeps on his back and doesn’t snore really. Sometimes he’ll wake up in the middle of the night due to stress and just needs to be held to fall back to sleep.

[tblsomedoodles]

Okay, for the Adopted Donnie AU, I keep seeing jokes about the 03 boys wanting to kill Rise Splinter but I don’t know what specially caused it! Do you have a one shot or comic buried somewhere I can’t find?

Not really? There's some asks somewhere that touch on it, but i highly doubt i'lll be able to find them.

It's kind of a mix of things that make them not particularly happy with Rise Splints. Like, while they had baby Dee, they didn't know much about him, just what they knew from Dee himself. So basically they had this kid that wasn't talking, didn't know how to handle being praised, was skitish about being touched, and was named after a color. And yes, there are different reasons for most of these things i listed, and they were aware that could be the case. but it still didn't paint a very good picture of the other rat man (particularly when Dee was more upset about not seeing his brothers than not seeing his dad. or that Dee fairly quickly adopted Raphie as a parental figure.)

TO make myself clear, before they got reunited, they were only a little meh about him. After all they never met him so they couldn't really have an opinion of him.

After they reunite with Dee? Well, that's when they fall into the more "does not like" category.

And that is purely because Dee himself did not like Splints upon coming back to Rise. (which is due to him going from having 5+ adults who gave him all sorts of attention, to having 1 that has already decided they were adult enough to take care of themselves and basically left them to it.)

So Dee, upon meeting up with his 03 family again, complains up a blue streak about those early days since he knows they will understand those complaints better than his brothers had. He's basically just like "None of them were trained properly in like anything! they learned from Splinter's old movies and that was it! They were mutant turtles and they didn't learn how to hide themselves beyond putting up their hoods! And Mikey does like all the cooking! which isn't fair. I wasn't allowed near the toaster until i was 12 and he was using the oven at 11? oh and don't even get me started on the state of their electrical system when i got there. Splinter had made a mess of it before leon got ahold of it, and even then, i was still cleaning up the rat's mess!"

so yeah, their dislike of Rise Splints comes from Dee (and the difference in parenting styles). and the only reason they haven't taken them all back to 03 permanently is because Rise Splints has become more active of a parent and, by then, even Dee is willing to let him do so.

If that makes any sense.

TLDR: 03s just really don't like Splint's hands off parenting style, especially when they find out about it via Dee's rapid fire complaints.

Thank yoU!

[poppyandzena]

Gayfesh has confirmed that the “poisoning incident” was when “ Poppy or Zena melted a plastic tortilla bag by placing it too near the toaster oven and then blamed the kid for it.”

Even if Spawn had done this, it doesn’t prove that they are “negligent”. An able body, neurotypical person could easily make the same mistake.

I can’t believe Saige tried to frame this as “chemical poisoning”. She knows damn well what that implies.

That was the last straw for me. Unless she has solid proof behind any of her testimony going forward, her word means less than nothing.

If this is what Saige is referring to--and I have a strong belief it is--you will find the context under the header "11/6 the burnt tortilla bag" in the doc. I cannot believe Poppy, Zena, and Saige are still pissed about that goddamn tortilla bag incident.

[aigeneratedportraitofdoriangray]

well, there goes, damn near everything else i owned; me and a coupe other strays out here were using a vacant old home as, mostly a stash space for the bulk of our belongings (because, we should not be confined to carrying our ever fiber of being in one backpack nor burdened with the weight of everything we owned if we do not want to limit ourselves to the former), and for getting out of the worst of the weather. it was very much a "worst kept secret" of the neighborhood kinda thing, but no one -openly- seemed to mind, and in fact were either quite kind to us or happy to ignore us as we made no trouble, one household on the other side of the spot even ran us a cord to use electricity occasionally and gave us a old microwave and toaster, among a few other trinkets.

but it seems someone did not like us, and either took it upon themselves to remove all of our stuff, or got the cops to to it for them. but near everything we had was taken, not even thrown in any nearby trash for any hope of retrieval. luckily we all word world weary enough to put some extra care into hiding a few of our most important things but all of our basics are gone.

lost mostly, was clothing, anything we did not hide well enough or were currently carrying with us is gone. this means: all our pants, shirts, etc, and the basics like our underwear and socks are gone. that last, is of course to anyone who knows, a major loss. being able to change socks regularly is very important for us who live a lot of our time on our moving feet, even more-so when regular full bathing is not guaranteed. we also all lost a a lot of our hygienically items, i always carrying the oral care essentials, some soap, and deodorant so i at least have those but the others are not quite as lucky. i know where i can get a lot of what they lost for free fairly easily, if not the best quality, but some things like shaving needs and basic skincare items are not as easy to come by.

a few people in the neighborhood have talked about trying to get some items together for us, but, if anyone else can help out, i am going to pool anything i can gather over the next few days or the week, from donations or plasma if i can donate or hopefully the little odd job or two i have been discussing with some friends, together to help replace stuff for all of us.

if you can add anything in CASHAPP: $cryptiditpyrc VENMO : @cryptidcoin (i regained access but this is still not the ___________________________best option as i have to transfer it to a card ___________________________prone to monthly fees, forgotten ___________________________subscriptions being taken out, etc)

[mimilind]

A Magical Classmate - Part 4

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2600

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

You wake up with the hangover of the century, and later get to see Drake's apartment. At the end of the semester the class wants to give him a present.

4. The Morning After

You woke up and wished you hadn’t. You must be dying. You were so sick… And why was it so bright?

You feebly tried to cover your eyes with the duvet.

“Here, drink this.” Drake poured liquid from a small bottle into a drinking glass and put it next to you. He was sitting on his bed, fully dressed, not even looking tired.

“What is it?” you mumbled, groaning weakly at the torment of speaking.

“Medicine.”

“Thanks.” You picked it up with trembling fingers and gulped it down. Too late you realized it tasted absolutely vile.

Drake’s lips twitched at your horrified look and he gave you another glass. “This is for the taste. Orange juice.”

You gratefully emptied the second glass as well.

To your surprise your head now felt perfectly clear and the pain had disappeared. “Wow!” You touched your forehead. “I feel good. What was that?”

“An American treatment," he said smoothly. “Very effective. Want breakfast?”

“Yes, please!” Your nausea was gone and you were hungry. “Can I use the bathroom first?”

“Of course.”

He turned his back when you put your jeans on, for which you were grateful. Your face heated as you thought of how unshyly you had undressed in front of him yesterday, but then you recalled how he had looked when he did the same and felt an excited twinge in the pit of your belly. His ripped body as he finally exposed his biceps and wide shoulders had been bewitching, and the snake tattoo he tried to hide was sexy. You would probably live on the memory of Drake in a sleeveless shirt for quite a while.

After freshening up, you returned to the kitchen where he had spread a classical English breakfast complete with toast, scrambled eggs and baked beans. 

“I didn’t know if you wanted tea or coffee so I made both.”

You chose tea and put a small amount of beans and a large amount of eggs on your plate; the beans mostly to be polite. That wasn’t a common breakfast in Sweden. 

The china looked expensive and very old, it was silver rimmed with a green leaf pattern, and you suspected the cutlery was real silver too.

An awkward silence fell as you began eating; Drake was probably equally embarrassed over getting so drunk, but at least he hadn’t vomited all over town like you did. 

Instead of talking you focused on the food. It was very tasty, even the beans to your surprise. The scrambled eggs were divine and you had two more helpings. “You’re a great chef,” you complimented between mouthfuls.

Drake seemed amused but also pleased over your appetite.

When you munched on a piece of buttery bread you curiously looked around the kitchen. How did he make toast without a toaster? In fact, you saw no appliances at all, and though there was a stove it was so spotlessly clean it looked unused. 

The eggs were served from an iron skillet, so perhaps he had fried the bread in that as well? He must have wiped the stove meticulously afterwards. 

Now that you had eaten, the curiosity over Drake’s home grew. It was the most old-fashioned place you had seen outside a museum. No wonder he dressed so formally and used a real ink pen if this was how he lived. 

You looked out through the large windows and managed to figure out where you were. At the other side of the road was the large Slottsskogen park, which meant this apartment must be near the botanical garden; an expensive area, known for housing many retired doctors and dentists. 

You weren’t surprised Drake lived here. He had mentioned old blood yesterday, that he was from an old family. Almost royalty, he had said.

There were bookshelves lining the walls, full of tomes with leather backs in shades of brown and black. An actual concert piano stood in front of them.

”Do you play?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. I prefer piano music to the noisy stuff they play at the pub.”

“Can I hear it?” You drew your fingertip along its shiny, black surface.

“Sure.” He sat on the leather stool and began a soft, beautiful piece you vaguely recognized. His long fingers danced over the keys, mesmerizing you. You would never tire of watching his hands.

“That was amazing,” you breathed when he had finished. “What was it?”

“Mozart. And thank you; I’ve practiced a lot. Not much else to do here.”

That was true. Looking around, there was nothing in the apartment to use for entertainment. No TV, no stereo, no computer, no games. There wasn’t even a phone. Just the old books and the piano, and in a corner a pile of dumbbells and gym weights that explained his great physical shape.

A door led into a separate room and you poked your head in. It had shelves with assorted glass bottles with labels written in Drake’s neat hand, and a table with two clean cauldrons and a rack of test tubes. The room looked straight out of a Frankenstein movie, but less cluttered and messy. “So, are you a mad scientist or something?” you joked.

He chuckled. “I like old things. Mouth-blown glass… the plates we used during breakfast. I browse antiques shops for things to add to my… eh, collection.” He picked up a small bottle with the label pepperup potion and swirled its contents.

“That’s where you get the books as well?”

“Mm-hm.” He set the bottle down.

It became quiet again in that same uncomfortable way as before. 

When the silence grew too pressing you mumbled: “I guess I should get going then…” Even as you said it, you wished you had an excuse to stay longer, to keep him company – for now that you had seen his home you could also envision him in it, the way he must often be. Alone. Bored. Practicing a piano piece for the hundredth time, doing endless repetitions of weight lifting, memorizing a chemistry book just because.

“Okay. I’ll see you out.”

You nodded morosely.

To your delight he followed you part of the way. It was already noon, a chilly November day, but when walking next to him you didn’t feel the cold at all. 

As you went, he asked about you; your family and background, where you went to school.

”Was your school in America?” you returned.

He hesitated before replying. ”No, Britain. I went to a boarding school from the age of eleven.”

“Eleven!” You gave him a sympathetic look. “That must have been lonely. Didn’t you miss your parents a lot?”

“I did.” A shadow passed over his features and he swiftly changed the topic. “What do you remember from yesterday? You were pretty wasted.”

“You were too,” you retorted, face growing hot. “And I wasn’t that drunk. I remember everything.” Except for the brief blackout at the bar which you certainly wouldn’t tell him about.

”Everything?” He sounded disappointed.

”Don’t worry, I won't tell anyone if you won’t. It’s our secret.”

“Hm.” He stopped walking. “I have to return now.”

”No worries.” You hid your disappointment under a forced smile. ”Well, bye then. Thanks for having me over and for the amazing breakfast… Oh, and not to forget the impressive musical performance!” 

You gave him a hug – which was the usual way of saying goodbye in your group of friends – but to your surprise he kept holding you, prolonging the hug way beyond normal friendliness. 

Thrilled and flustered at the same time, you leaned into him, feeling his strong arms around you. You pressed your face against his chest and let his pleasant perfume fill your nostrils.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low, sad voice. 

“What for?”

“There is something I must do. And I don’t want to, but I have to… it’s about the things I said yesterday.” He released you, distractedly rubbing his arm. His expression was so reluctant and pained that you wanted to hug him again.

“Okay?”

“If there was a way for you to forget what I mentioned about royalty, and about that… tattoo you saw – then would you?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you said again. Why was he behaving so strangely? You didn’t know what to think.

“But if you could erase it from your memory, would you agree to do so for my sake?”

“Of course. If it means that much to you, why would I refuse?” You tried to smile. “Sadly I can’t, but trust me, I can keep a secret.”

He gently cupped your cheek. “Look at me.”

You nearly stopped breathing as you met his gaze, spellbound by his beautiful eyes. Clear and pale blue, matching the wintry sky. 

Then they clouded over with regret, and he murmured a word in a foreign language.

“I have to return now,” he said.

”No worries.” You hid your disappointment under a forced smile. ”Well, bye then. Thanks for having me over and for the amazing breakfast… Oh, and not to forget the impressive musical performance!” 

You gave him a brief hug and he returned it.

When you released him, you noticed his expression had become deeply sad. It puzzled you. Was he regretting inviting you over? You hoped things wouldn’t get weird between you from now on.

“Are you alright?” you asked.

He looked away. “I’m fine. Take care.” 

“You too.”

You watched him go with a strange feeling in your chest. Like there was something you had lost.

Drake didn’t show up at uni the next day, nor the day after that. You were not the only one who missed him; most in class relied on him to answer questions and help them during labs.

“Perhaps he’s sick,” said Catrine. “Too bad we don’t know where he lives, or we could go cheer him up.”

“I do. I’ve been there,” said you. 

The others looked surprised. 

Feeling a little smug, you explained that you had followed him home after the party. “It was somewhere near Slottsskogen I think, but I didn’t memorize the address.”

“Ahh, you drank that much, eh?” said Martin with a teasing grin.

That was too close to the truth for comfort. Thinking back, there were a few blanks in your memory both from the walk home and the morning after. “Did not! It was too dark to see when I got there.” And in the morning you had been preoccupied talking to Drake as he followed you out, but you didn’t add that.

“So, what happened?” Catrine moved closer, piercing you with her most quizzical gaze. “I need all the juicy details.”

“So do I.” Martin took the seat at your other side.

Both embarrassed and flattered, you described how nice his apartment had been, with the concert piano, his collection of old glassware and books, and the delicious breakfast he had served.

“Yeah, yeah, but what about the night?” Catrine’s eyes gleamed excitedly. “Did you sleep in his bed?”

“No!” You gave her a shove. “It wasn’t like that at all. I slept on a spare mattress and nothing happened. We’re just friends.” But even as you said it, you thought of how the two of you had danced long after the others left, and how he had seemed so pleased when you called him a nice guy. And you didn’t think you had imagined him checking you out. 

You certainly had checked him out. With a flutter of excitement you saw in your mind’s eye how he had looked in the tank top. His fit body, muscular arms… you just wished you could recall what had happened next – whether he had taken off the tank top too, or slept in it – but you must have fallen asleep right after he undressed.

No, you weren’t just friends, at least not where you were concerned.

More days went by and Drake still didn’t return. By now, you were both worried and more than a little guilty. There had been something off about him when you parted – was it something you had said or done that scared him somehow?

But that made no sense. Drake didn’t seem like someone who became afraid easily.

Two weeks later he suddenly turned up again, entering the lecture hall with a rather sheepish expression.

The class greeted him eagerly, with many curious questions about where he had been.

“We thought you were ill,” said Catrine.

“I was, yeah,” he said without looking at her.

You had a strong feeling he made that up on the spot.

“You should have told us so we could bring candy and get-well cards,” she scolded him.

That made him smile and look more like himself. “You would do that?”

“Of course. That’s what friends do.”

His smile widened. “Then next time I will.”

During the day, you soon noticed something had changed in Drake’s behavior towards you. It was subtle, but you felt he kept his distance. Treating you kindly but not more.

Dismayed, you figured you knew why. He must have realized you liked him a little too much and decided to put you in the friend zone.

The next morning you got more bad news: you had failed one of the midterm exams. But in a way you were glad about that, for with the extra studying you wouldn’t have as much time to think bleak thoughts and pine over boys.

You spent the rest of the semester with your nose in the textbook. You told yourself you were over Drake, but it was hard not to throw long glances at him in class or think about him at night. Pondering endlessly over what you did wrong that time.

When there were only a few days left until the Christmas break, Catrine gathered the class at lunch when Drake had gone to his usual restaurant.

“I say, we ought to buy Drake a Christmas present. He’s been so nice and helpful to us all, and I’ve noticed he’s seemed a bit down and distant ever since he was sick. A gift would cheer him up.”

You were surprised; you had thought it was just you he kept away. Had he been like that to everyone? Then maybe his behavior wasn’t your fault at all… That made you feel a lot better.

The others agreed to the plan wholeheartedly. But what would you give him?

You thought about his lonely home that lacked entertainment, and got an idea. “He likes piano music but doesn’t have a CD-player. Maybe we could afford a small one if we all contribute?”

Your suggestion won, and the next day Catrine and you went downtown to buy it. Since you were a big class, the collected money was enough for a whole CD-box of classical music to go with the CD-player.

When it was time to deliver the present, Drake looked both surprised and pleased.

“For me?” He gingerly prodded the wrapping, pulling on a serpentine string and releasing it to bounce back. Then he looked down, coloring. “I didn’t know… I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” you exclaimed earnestly. “You’ve helped us so much. With labs, and saving us from robbery, and…” You didn’t add how he also helped you when you were too drunk to ride a bike.

Clearly a little emotional, he opened the gift. “I love it,” he stated, though you suspected he probably had no idea what a CD-player was or how to use it, the same way it had been with the appliances in chemistry labs.

You showed him how to turn it on and put in a CD. 

When the music started, his eyes grew large. “Mozart! My favorite composer. Seriously, this is the best Christmas present I’ve ever got. Thanks a lot, mates!” He turned his gaze to you. “Someone must know me well.”

You knew he understood the gift had been chosen by you, and his warm expression made you fuzzy within. 

For the first time in weeks, you felt hopeful there could be something between you after all. 

A/N:

Thanks a lot for reading! If you like the fic, I thoroughly appreciate reblogs, likes and comments. xx

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[palettepainter]

Weirdos in love

I’ve got Lew Zealand x Crazy Harry brainrot so have some small headcannons while I’m cutting stencils at work:

-Harry sleeps unnaturally still…to the point sometimes people panic and assume he might be dead. It doesn’t help that Harry naturally has a very pale completion which often has people mistaking him for being unwell when they first meet him. Harry is also not apposed to collapsing asleep at a desk or table. When Lew catches Harry asleep and unmoving he’ll place a written note by his head saying “Not dead, sleeping”

-Lew Zealand is trans I don’t make the rules guys 

-Harry loves taking apart random appliances to tinker with them and see how they work. More then once Lew has returned him to find Harry taking apart the toaster 

-They live in a small house together near a lake where Lew likes to go fishing. The house has an old basement Harry hides in to do all his explosive related work, while Lew practises his boomerang skills in the garden 

-Lew likes to go fishing, it’s a hobby he picked up in his teens but his family have always had a knack for fishing. He’s always been a more catch and release type of person though, he’s fine with eating fish based dishes but he doesn’t have the guts to kill a fish himself 

-Lew loves swimming and he used to compete in competitions at his school. He is very aerodynamic in the water and basically considers it a second home with how comfortable he is in the water. Harry on the other hand cannot swim to save his life, he never learnt, ontop of hating how cold water feels on his skin and the feeling of weightless ness Harry avoids large bodies of water at all times 

-Harry and Lew aren’t as smart as Bunsen and Beaker, but they’re not as oblivious as most people think. Lew has always loved and been passionate about sea life, he has a fondness for tropical fish and other species that often look peculiar or silly, like puffer fish.

Harry is also smart. He was the smartest kid in his science class and left with high grades…But he also knows a lot of bizarre weird facts no normal person would think about: like how to make a pipe bomb out of an air fryer, or how quickly acid can burn through metal, or how to pick locks without leaving evidence, how to hot wire a car, how to escape a country in a day (I’m not saying Harry has a past of criminal offences and may have gotten in trouble with police and has a past wrapped in mystery but I am saying it’s a possibility) 

-Harry loves knitted cardigans and sweaters, though he leans more towards cardigans. Maybe he could have grown up somewhere cold and far away from any big city? Hence why he can sometimes be a bit out of the loop with social ques and norms. All of his cardigans are well kept, but they all stink of smoke 

-Lew can’t cook to save his life and Harry only knows how to use a microwave and air fryer, so they often don’t eat the most healthy foods. Mac and Cheese is Harry’s favourite while Lew isn’t fussy and tends to eat whatever Harry does. Chef - as a culinary master - is personally offended at their poor diets and on more then one occasion has cooked meals for them (Lew and Harry are very enthusiastic about Chef’s meals, but his irritation about their poor eating habits fly right over their heads)

-They adopted, aka Harry found and brought home, sphynx cat named Newton. They thought they where a boy but it was only after they’d had the cat for a month did they realise it was a girl. Newton is Lew’s and Harry’s adopted hairless baby and they love love LOVE her. Harry in particular is very fond of their little wrinkly four legged child. If it wasn’t for Lew Harry would have adopted a whole army of hairless cats (he knits Newton sweaters in his free time)

-Harry has a bizarre ability of just…appearing out of no where. You’ll walk round a corner and Harry will unexpectedly be there, unblinking, staring at you 

-Lew and Harry are close with the band, and Harry in particular is good friends with Animal - mostly because the two balance out each other’s craziness. Newton also loves Animal and likes to curl up on his drum stool or lick at his mess of hair. The other band members are sometimes caught off guard by Harry and his ability to appear out of no where, except for Floyd 

-Lew is a big summer guy, while Harry hates the heat. Lew is all about summer fun! Swimming in the sea, sandcastles, ice cream, volley ball on the beach, fishing, kayaking, the whole show! Meanwhile, Harry is huddled under an umbrella at the far end of the beach the furthest away from the sea 

-Harry is the best person for scary stories because he doesn’t hold back, something which Lew learnt the hard way and paid the price for by not sleeping well for the next five days. 

-Lew and Camilla are surprisingly very close, they bond over the fact of them both having crazy, bizarre husbands who they adore dearly. Camilla sometimes asks Lew to “eggsit” for her when she and Gonzo go out for the evening. Harry doesn’t understand why they need to babysit…eggs of all things, but he knits Lew egg cozies for them 

-For some reason I can picture Lew as being Italian, or at least he has strong family ties in Italy 

[idiotpoemguy]

Another poem I made, this one I called "A Masked Beauty", this time done as a final project for my CW class last semester.

Throughout almost the whole semester I had a real troublesome spree of writer's block so I'd often go to a recreational room on my campus where people did... well, anything. Near the end of the semester a girl who always had a face mask on had started painting nearly every day in that room. It's weird to say, but I admit I'd often watch her as she painted. I'd never seen the process of working on physical art in person before, and her concentration and determination on the piece was really interesting. I could tell that with every brush stroke she made there was a vision behind it that would be made into a bigger picture. She oozed passion as she worked, and it was so infectious it broke me out of my writer's block and I went ahead and made this.

I never got to see the finished product.

My process through this poem started out real simple and ended real simple. My professor tasked us with writing an elegy on one of two things: Either an item you constantly use but don't think much of, or someone you see often but never interact with. It was hard at first (and my brain really wanted me to make a poem about my toaster) because the girl I saw didn't show up until the last three weeks of the semester and I honestly didn't keep much of an eye out for people around me who I didn't know. Then she came along.

At first the poem was going to be just about her looks, that was easy enough for me to do and at the time easy was what I was aiming for when it came to this final, I hadn't written in months before then so I figured it'd be fine. I described her hair, dress, and mask as I went on but then I realized that was kinda... lame. My interest in this girl wasn't with her looks (though the mask hiding half her face did add an air of intrigue that was in the original draft of the poem) it was in her art, something that she clearly loved doing.

Anyways this eventually came out of it two days before it was due. Some finalization and boom, done poem. Though I did use "who's" instead of "whose" in the final draft accidentally but wasn't called out on it so it's confused me if that's the right one to use but yaaaaayy.