#i am just awestruck and honored and i will be framing this and putting this lovely lovely art on my wall 💙✨

[2aceofspades]

I will NOT RECOVER /POS

Having this moment of the two of them illustrated like this is such an honor and I am EMOTIONAL :')

TW: Blood/Injury, Implied Death

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With you

Lil one-shot I guess...??

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After the dust cleared, it was dead silent. The air was thick with moisture from the dark clouds looming above them all. Someone, probably Raphael, yelled out something Two didn't quite process, his ears still ringing as his vision slowly cleared.

A faint blue glow flickered in the near distance, not too far from where Two was slumped on the ground. More muffled shouts rang out as Two attempted to collect himself, staggering to his feet and trudging over to the source of-

No.

Just the image alone was enough to bring Two collapsing back to his knees. Stupid, he thought.

"H-hey..." One's weak voice just barely got through to Two, snapping him right out of his thoughts.

He stared down at the dimming blue glow, watching it flicker and fade in and out. How the hell are you still here, breathing?

His thoughts became flooded in his head, even more so as he felt his arms cradle his brother's near-lifeless body.

"Did we win?"

Two felt his jaw clench at One's question, feeling frighteningly close to grinding his teeth until they were flat.

Did we win?

The question echoed in Two’s head, as if that would better help him process this moment. In any other instance, he would have deflected and scoffed at such an empty, meaningless question. Did it matter? he thought as he titled his head up, looking around briefly at the wasteland that surrounded them. It was over, that much was apparent.

"Yes,” he huffed, looking down at his brother in his arms as he continued, “Now, shut it and save your strength. Your heart-"

"I know," One croaked out in between a few sputtering breaths, interrupting Two in more ways than one. Two tried to ignore the cast-off of blood coming from his brother's mouth, despising the sickening feeling settling in his stomach as it hit his chin. One smiled weakly up at his brother, his eyes dull and unfocused.

How dare you, Two thought to himself.

His eyes flickered from One's exposed heart, bleeding out and hardly beating, and back to his brother’s face. His brother looked beaten, bloody...broken. It wasn't a look he saw from him often, if at all. It was that damn smile that he watched waver as One's heart beat softer and softer. What cruel irony, Two couldn't help but think, a metaphorical expression brought to life by his stupid, thoughtless, idiotic brother.

Two could still fix this. Even as he held his brother tighter against his own plastron and felt his shirt get soaked by the horrid mix of blood and empyrean; he thought to himself how he'd be the one to fix this.

There was no other choice left.

“Good…” One let out the softest of chuckles, “…we…we can s-start over.”

Something in Two’s own chest faltered, even just briefly. It was enough to shut out the feeling of One’s pathetic coughs and wheezes against him. He watched how One's eyes dulled further, his gaze wandering away from Two's face.

Starting over? That wasn’t ever an option, not one that Two had ever weighed in his mind. He wasn’t sure if that was even an option now. After everything he had done, everything he sacrificed, worked for…his brother still wanted to burn it, bury everything down and out of Two’s reach. One wanted this win, he wanted the impossible.

“Impossible…” Two muttered under his breath.

He heard yet another faint chuckle. And then the dense silence that followed.

_______________________________________________

~bonus doodles~

(':

[stratiotis-nth]

The few times Cas spoke about his true form, Dean had always imagined some terrifying robed creature with a bazillion heads and rotating rings and fifty giant wings from different animals. He imagined mighty beings that embodied the idea of God’s warriors. Cas once said his true form was size of the Chrysler building, and Dean had had to hide just how impressive the angel was despite looking and acting like a total dork. Cas as Cas was intimidating enough, but Castiel—the Chrysler-sized warrior of divinity—sounded terrifying and majestic all at the same time.

But apparently, Cas had omitted a few details. He had neglected to tell Dean that little bits of his true form lingered with him while he was in human form, some additions that couldn’t be seen but existed with him in another plane of reality.

So imagine Dean’s shock when he’s on a case and accidentally uses the holy fire glasses in his insurance company disguise. He didn’t even realize the difference until Cas joined him and Sam to help.

They were dealing with a Shifter who had been killing old people in a wealthy neighborhood in upstate New York. Cas, a fully functioning angel again, had offered to help when Sam and Dean realized they were up against a Shifter duo instead of a loner.

Sam was out getting grub when Cas appeared in the motel room with a whoosh of wings. Dean knew how much Cas had missed flying, and even he had missed hearing him announce his presence with that characteristic whoosh.

“Hey Cas.” Dean greeted without looking up from the laptop.

“Hello, Dean.” Was the usual response. He flicked his gaze up to Cas briefly, peering over the rim of the glasses he hadn’t bothered taking off. Dean did a double take when he caught a flash of black within the glasses’ lens. Frowning, he pushed the frames up his nose until he could squint through them properly. A sharp intake of breath caught in his throat.

“Dean?”

Cas’ voice floated through his mind but he couldn’t process it. He stared at the Castiel revealed through the lens, abso-fucking-lutely floored.

A pair of black wings, ones Dean had only ever seen the shadow or scorched remains of before, were folded neatly against Cas’ back. As the afternoon sunlight hit the feathers, Dean could see them shimmering and reflecting all the colors of the rainbow subtly. The feathers looked spun of night sky and stardust, light as clouds but dense and powerful was cooling lava. Dean had a really, really strong urge to run his fingers through them. They looked like they’d make his fingers tingle with lightning.

Alongside the wings, the other newly revealed part of Cas was his halo. He had never mentioned one before, so Dean had just assumed halos were just another one of those things crazy Christians made up. But apparently, angels did had halos, because there was a thin ring of glowing light surrounding Cas’ head like a circlet, hovering above his ears and just a few inches away from his hair and forehead. It gleamed an ethereal pale gold, almost white, light. As he looked at it closer, he noticed a few gaps in the ring, like jagged cracks where pieces had fallen away. Were they supposed to be like that?

Dean was so shocked that he wondered how the hell he was even seeing these parts of Cas now. It took him a moment for his sluggish brain to piece together that he must had accidentally taken the holy fire glasses instead of another fake pair.

“Dean? Are you alright?”

He blinked, still taking in the halo and wings, and cleared his throat. Cas was frowning at him in concern, his head tilted adorably to the side. The halo drifted and followed a half second behind his movement.

“Uh—“ a strangled noise escapes Dean’s throat. His fingers itched to dig themselves into those feathers, to trace that halo and try to feel the warmth of light. He swallowed thickly, his throat clicking. The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Are there supposed to be cracks in that thing?”

Cas blinked at him, thoroughly confused. A split second later, his face both flushed and paled at the same time. Dean worried the sudden blood flow would make him pass out, but then he remembered Cas was an angel.

“Those glasses have been burned in holy fire, haven’t they?” He asked, his wings tucking more firmly against his back like he was trying to hide them.

“Uh, uh yeah.” He stammered, wondering if he should say something to ease Cas’ obvious insecurity. “Grabbed ‘em by accident.”

Cas shuffled his feet awkwardly, the light of his halo dimming shyly. He obviously wasn’t going to offer any information unless Dean pressed a little more.

“So?” He managed to sound somewhat casual, even though his heart was beating loudly in his ears. “What’s with the missing pieces?”

“Ah.” Cas rumbled in his low voice. He avoided Dean’s eyes, his chipped halo floating after every movement of his head. “Well, to angels, the halo represents purity and devotion to God. It is the manifestation of each angel’s divinity. When Lucifer rebelled against Heaven, his halo was shattered as a sign of disgrace and he was banished to Hell. Other angels like Gabriel and Anna had a chip broken off because they rejected Heaven and their loyalties were to their own well-being. Angels cannot exist fully if their halos are damaged, but because Gabriel was an archangel and Anna became human, they were exceptions.”

Dean frowned. But Cas had way more than one piece missing and he was still alive and still an angel.

“So how come you’re still around?” He asked, waving a hand at Cas’ cracked halo.

“Because I was created already broken.” The words, delivered in a flat, emotionless tone, still cut through Dean’s heart. That wasn’t true. Cas wasn’t broken. He was just Cas. Perfectly fine the way he was. “As you have heard from many angels and Chuck himself, I came off the line with a crack in my chassis. I was created to be flawed.”

“Cas…” Dean began, trying to find the words to tell him that it wasn’t true, that everything Naomi and Chuck had told him was a lie.

“It’s alright, Dean.” Cas said gently, glancing at him for the first time since the conversation started. “When Jack restored me to my full power I asked to keep the cracks I bear. Not as an punishment.” he added, somehow interpreting the frown flashing across Dean’s face. “but as proof that angels can exist with their flaws and still do good things. That they can still protect humanity, as was their reason for existence.”

Well, when he put it that way, Dean really couldn’t protest. It was very Cas-like of him to not give a single fuck about being perfect and defying everything anyone has ever known by doing it his way.

“But I am sorry.”

That made Dean snap his head up sharply, looking at Cas in surprise.

“For what?” He asked incredulously.

“For forcing you to see me like this.” Cas’ wings spread out momentarily before being tucked tightly against his back again, hiding their magnificence from Dean. He hated that. He hated that Cas thought Dean wouldn’t want to see him like this, one step closer to his true form, to the real Castiel. “I understand it was undoubtedly shocking and unsettling, but if I could hide these parts of myself from those glasses, I would for your sake.”

“No.” Dean snapped vehemently, jumping to his feet and jabbing a finger at Cas. He hated that Cas believed the things he was saying. How could he not be awestruck by him, by his beautiful wings and perfectly flawed halo? “Shut the fuck up, Cas.”

Cas’ face fell even further than before, the corners of his mouth ticking down and his eyes falling downcast. He looked so…rejected. It cut right through Dean’s heart again, and he scrambled to fix it before they fell victim to miscommunication again.

“Cas.” Dean said firmly, ducking down to catch his gaze. Like a moth to light, that piercing blue gaze fixed on green and followed them up. “I ain’t unsettled. Shocked, but in a really good way.”

Cas looked frowned, confused. Dean plowed on.

“Dude, don’t be ashamed of who you are. Your wings and halo…they look awesome, man. Seriously. You look badass.”

Cas’ lips parted in shock. Dean nervously fidgeted with a pen he had forgotten was in his hands, tapping it against his palm as he struggled to find the right words.

“You ain’t broken or flawed—you’re just Cas. My—“

Best friend didn’t cut it anymore. They had gone through too much together to be best friends. Brothers didn’t sit right either. Dean didn’t feel the same things for Cas as he did Sam (it made him shudder in disgust just thinking about his little brother like that). Dean knew what it was like to lose Cas and Sam—Sam, he had lost his family, his blood. Cas, Dean had lost a part of his soul.

“—you’re my—“

Dean wanted—needed—to say the words. But nothing fit, nothing felt right. No word could describe just what Cas was to him.

“—you’re my angel, Cas. And I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Cas just stared at him with another one of those soul searching gazes. Even when he was human, Dean felt he could still see straight through him, searching for deception or lies and every time never finding one.

There was a small, awed smile on Cas’ face, and before Dean could register what was happening, Cas gently cupped the back of his neck and pulled Dean down. Soft, chapped lips pressed briefly against his forehead, warm and sweet and grateful. They were gone a moment later, and so was Cas’ hand.

“Thank you, Dean.” He said softly after a while. “I appreciate it.”

Dean blinked and nodded stiffly. His entire body was shaking, aching to feel that warmth again. “Don’t…yeah, don’t mention it, Cas. I just…you gotta know the truth.”

Cas’ wings were fluffed up a bit, and they twitched against his back like they were itching to spread out. His halo was glowing much brighter than before, matching his smile.

“I have always been honored to be by your side, Dean, but it is nice to hear that you consider me yours.”

There was a lump in his throat that muted his voice. He nodded, shivering when he felt the cool, electrified tingling brush of a feather run down his arm and the warmth of light as Cas’ halo grew brighter.

“Always have. Cas.” He murmured, staring down at the pen clutched between his trembling fingers. He could feel Cas’ smile grow, and the primary feather of his wings brushed against his arm with a little more intent.

“As have I.” His response was so quiet that Dean almost didn’t hear it. But a shiver ran down his spine nonetheless. There was something different in the air, now that there were these confessions in the open. It wasn’t quite like a straightforward declaration that Dean was Cas’ and Cas was Dean’s, but it was pretty damn close. It was just a soft, gentle confirmation of how they had felt about each other since Cas pulled Dean from Hell all those years ago.

The quiet, peaceful moment between them was effectively shattered when they both heard the motel door open and Sam come barging through. They both jumped apart. They might have confessed…something between them…but that didn’t mean they were at all comfortable letting Sam see them in such an intimate moment.

“Uhhh…” Sam came to an abrupt halt as he took in Dean and Cas all but throwing themselves in opposite directions. “did I…?”

“No.” both Dean and Cas said quickly. They faltered and fell silent. Sam glanced between them hesitantly, like they were a bomb about to go off. Dean peeked over at Cas, noticing how his wings were fluffed up almost twice their size, his cheeks burning when he noticed Dean had noticed.

“Riiiight.” Sam said. “Well…there’s uh…been another body. I was gonna grab you and go…?”

“Yeah.” Dean said immediately, straightening up. “Let’s go.”

Cas looked like he wanted to protest—or force Sam to leave so they could deal with twelve years of tension—but Dean pointedly sent a prayer his way.

Tonight. Promise.

Cas’ wings fluffed up even more, his halo’s light shone so brightly it poked Dean’s eyes, and his face was redder than a tomato.

Dean grinned before grabbing his keys.

“See ya at the crime scene, angel.” He said before ducking out of the motel room.

“Is Cas okay?” Sam asked when they were in Baby.

“Oh yeah.” Dean grinned smugly, already looking forward to tonight. “He’s definitely okay.”

He’s got a chipped halo and beautiful wings that had once been burned to bone.

He’s Dean’s angel. He’s perfect.

[mcyt-amber-tftsmp]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐀𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 {𝐂! 𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫}

Character: C! Foolish

Side Character(s): Awesamdude

Story-type: Fluff Romance

Story Length: 2200 words

AU or Not: Not much really

Time Period: Somewhere in the future like maybe after three years- Idk

Plot Summary: Foolish talks to Sam who's your father and plans on taking you on a special date to ask you the big question.

Small Info: You're Awesamedude's adoptive daughter

Keywords: Y/N = Your Name Y/F/F = You Favorite Flowers

Trigger Warning: None

Normal Warning: adorable but maybe cringe but cute ig-

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Foolish's Point of View~

I stood outside of Sam's house as I was sweating while feeling very nervous. I took a deep breath as I knocked on the hard wood as I waited for Sam to answer the door.

After a few minutes, I could hear small footsteps as the door opened to reveal Sam on the other side of the door. My nervous level literally went up a little.

"Oh hey Foolish. It's a surprise to see you here." he said as I mustered up a smile as I nodded.

"Yeah. I just wanted to talk to you about something if you aren't busy at the moment." I asked as he looked at me before nodding.

"I am not busy so you can come in and we can talk." he said opening the door even more to let me in as I entered his house while he closed it and led me to the living room.

As I entered the living room, I noticed a shelf which had picture frames and I saw a picture of Sam and Y/N when she was just little and then a picture of when she was just a teenager.

I smiled at the pictures before I sat down on the chair opposite to where Sam was sitting. At this point, I was feeling pretty nervous and scared to ask him.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Sam asked as I looked at him.

"I came to ask for your permission." I said as he looked confused.

"My permission for what?" He asked as I let out a sigh.

"To have your daughter's hand in marriage." I said as silence fell in the living room.

I glanced at Sam who seemed to have a look of shock as if trying to process whatever I just said. I was pretty scared right now and I was already scared of Sam the minute I started to date Y/N.

"Wait so... you are asking me for Y/N's hand in marriage?" He asked but he didn't seem angry.

"Yeah. I am Sam. I really love Y/N. She's everything to me. She's the reason I am happy cause seeing makes me smile and she's helped me a lot of times." I said as I felt Sam looking at me.

"What do you like about Y/N?" He asked as I looked down before speaking.

"I like how she's kind, smart, very optimistic and knows how to make someone smile. I'll be honest Sam, in my eyes she's like a Goddess to me because she radiates so much happiness that it just makes me feel happy about myself. She's very accepting too." I said as I smiled at what I said about her.

"I understand if you don't give me permission Sam." I finished as I looked down as to not meet his eyes.

I heard him sigh and then suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder as I looked up to see Sam not having a negative look but was smiling.

"I give you my blessing and permission. I wish you the best of luck." He said as I looked at him in shock but smiled.

"Thanks Sam." I said as he nodded.

"Anytime. Now get going." He said as I got up and left after thanking him again.

I already had a date planned with her tonight. I just needed to get things ready and I had plenty of time to do so. I quietly ran my way towards my summer home so I can get things and myself ready and pick up Y/N.

Timeskip brought to you by Foolish Jr. and Finley~

I took a deep breath as I came towards the front of her house as I knocked on it as I held the bouquet of Y/F/F behind me to surprise her. I was feeling nervous and excited at the same time.

After a few, I heard the door open to be greeted by Y/N herself. I was speechless as to how she looked. She wore a long elegant yellow green floral dress with beading florals as he hair slightly long hair was loose and pinned at the back by a silver barrette.

(Dress Reference)

She looked like a Goddess honestly. I could feel my cheeks warming up as I was blushing at this point. I smiled as I held out the flowers to her.

"For you m'lady." I said as I heard her giggle as she took the flowers.

"You didn't have to Foolish but thanks anyways. These are lovely." She said as I shook my head.

"I wanted to do it. But may I say you look really beautiful tonight." I said as I saw her blush.

"T-thank you. You look rather handsome yourself." She said as I chuckled as I held out my hand to her.

"Shall we?" I asked as she smiled and took my hand.

"We shall." She said with a small giggle.

We carefully made our way to my summer home. Luckily we didn't run into any mobs in the nether. Today was pretty quest there too unlike how it's filled with piglins and such. When we came through the portal to my Summer home, I stopped.

"Is something wrong?" She asked as I shook my head.

"It's nothing but I want you to close your eyes." I said.

"Why?" She asked confused.

"It's a surprise." I said with a smile.

"You're not planning to kidnap me are you?" She asked as I shook my head.

"That would probably the lats thing I'd ever do." I said to her.

"Okay okay. I'll keep my eyes closed." She said as she closed her eyes.

I carefully guided her towards the place where I set the date up. After a few moments I stopped in front of the place. It was a very place for a view to with the ocean and the stars shining bright in the sky. I looked over at Y/N, smiling.

"Okay. You can open your eyes now." I said as she opened her eyes only to have a look of shock as her eyes twinkled.

"Foolish... This is... amazing!" I heard her exclaim with excitement.

"I am glad you like it. It was pretty easy to set up and I did this for you the most. I mean we've been dating for a while now so I thought of doing something extra special for this date." I said as she hugged me.

"Thank you Foolish." She said as I hugged back.

"Anything for you. Now let's enjoy the night while it lasts." I said.

It was a very well-going date so far. I was glad to see Y/N smiling most of time. I am glad she enjoyed the date so far as much as I did. We mostly talked for a while.

I was trying to figure out when to confess to her. I wanted to confess to her during this date but I wasn't sure when to. I could do it now but I am just waiting for the right moment.

Then I remembered something. I quickly checked my watch to see the time and saw that it wad five minutes till the meteor shower was going to happen.

"Hey Y/N. Come on with me. There's gonna be a meteor shower tonight." I said.

"Wait really?!" She said as I nodded.

"Yeah. I didn't know either until later. Come on!" I said as we both got up from her seats and took her hand.

I dragged her towards the sandy shore of the place as we sat down to look up at the starry night sky. Not even a minute later, the meteor shower started.

It was a pretty sight to be honest. I glanced at Y/N who seemed to be awestruck at this. I smiled as I felt the box which held the ring in my pocket.

I was going to do it tonight and I wasn't going to leave without even confessing to her. The meteor shower ended after a few. Right now we were just looking at the night sky as the stars twinkled. It was peaceful to say the least.

"The stars are really beautiful tonight." I heard her say as I looked at her with a smile.

"Not as beautiful as you." I said as she blushed and looked at me and let out a small laugh.

"I am nowhere near beautiful as them Foolish." She said as I put my hand on top of hers as I kissed her forehead.

"You're just as beautiful as the stars." I said as she looked at me with a smile knowing there was no point in arguing about it.

She leaned her head on my shoulder as I wrapped my arm around her. We stayed like this for a few until, I felt Y/N shifting a bit as she pulled away.

"What time is it right now?" She asked as I looked at my watch.

"It's currently 3 in the morning." I said as she slowly got up and I followed to do the same.

"Thank you for the date tonight Foolish. It was one of the greatest dates I ever had and will always cherish the moments we had." She said as I nodded with a smile.

"Anything for you, Y/N." I said as she smiled.

"I have to get going or my dad's gonna start freaking out." She said and that's when I remembered what I had to do.

I quickly pulled the box out of my pocket and held it tight behind me as I stopped Y/N from walking away from me any further as I carefully grabbed her hand.

"Y/N wait! Before you go, I have to tell you something. I promise it won't take long!" I said as she stopped to look at me as I let go of her hand.

"Okay sure. What is it" She asked as I let out a sigh before I started to speak.

"Y/N, these three years of my life were the greatest when I first met you. You're smart, funny, kind, caring and even the most optimistic out of everyone here. You would always try making others smile and laugh. Not everyone can do something like that. I felt blessed when I met you and the fact that you even accepted to be my girlfriend. These three years have been nothing but the greatest time I have spent with you and I don't want to ever let you go." I said as she looked at me with shock and I could tell she had tears coming out of her eyes with what I have just said.

"I... Foolish what are you trying to say?" She asked in an audible whisper.

"What I am trying to say here is that..." I started as I took out the ring box from behind as I knelt down in front of her as I opened the box to reveal a beautiful silver ring which had an emerald stone in the middle with small diamonds surrounding it.

"Will do me the honors of making me the happiest man alive and marry me?" I asked as I saw her covering her mouth in shock and tears.

"Foolish... I..." I heard her start. I was expecting the worst honestly. I wouldn't argue if she rejected me but what she said next shocked me.

"Of course I'll marry you!" She said as I was tackled to the ground by her as we both laughed.

We both sat up on the sandy floor as I put the ring on her finger and kissed her on the lips as she kissed back. We eventually pulled away as we stayed in each other's embrace for a bit more.

I couldn't think of anything else other than the beautiful girl that was right in my arms who is now my fiancee. I kissed the top of her head as I smiled while resting my chin on her head.

"I love you Foolish." I heard her whisper as she let out a yawn.

"I love you too. Sleep well my Goddess." I said as I saw her falling asleep in my arms.

I looked up at the sky. I smiled as I looked down at the sleeping figure in my arms before I let out a small chuckle and kissed her temple.

"Under the stars, I only see you."

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

I may have actually died from the immense fluff of the oneshot but I am actually pretty proud of this and I hope you like it too Yams!

Prompt Used: "under the stars, I only see you."

Tag: @yamturds

[your-eternal-muse]

Wish I Were....

Heather Series Chapter 12 (FINAL PART)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Bonus!:Readers Card Confession Bonus!:To Hold On, To Let Go, Spencers take Bonus!:Series Playlist

Summery: Reader no longer wishes she were someone else

Words: 4k

Warnings: Swearing, Description of Birth, just pure, tooth aching fluff

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Y/N: This is it y’all. This is the final chapter of the Heather's Series. I started this journey a little over a month ago, and my god, has it been amazing. I never thought it would pick up the traction it did, and I am so glad I decided to start posting in the first place. I’m gonna take a short break from posting any writing just to recuperate and stuff, but it won’t last longer than a week, and I will still be interacting on the platform itself. I want to thank every single reader who has liked and/or reblogged my work. It means so much to me, and I would not have gotten this far without your support. I love you all with all of my heart. There will be one more bonus “chapter” that I will be posting within the next couple days, but it’ll be mostly headcanons, and answering any questions you may have about the series. I hope the ending is worth it. 

With love, your eternal muse,

Frankie <3

~~~~~

I used to be a night owl.

I used to live in the night, sit under the stars and soak it all up.

I used to not go to bed until hours after the sunset, perfectly content to not waking up until hours after it had risen.

Now, I’m lucky to sleep for a few hours between dusk and dawn.

But I’m okay with that.

The ringing of trembling tears echoes through my ears, and I stir awake.

I rub my face, looking at the clock as I push back the comforter.

4 am.

Oh goody.

“I’ve got her baby, go back to sleep.”

Spencer whispers in my ear, planting a kiss on my shoulder, and I’m not one to argue.

I fall back into the pillows, pulling the blanket back up to my chin, my eyes closing without much resistance.

I wake an hour late, expecting to feel his body warmth against my back.

I turn, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, realizing that the blanket is still pulled back from when he got up the hour before.

Oh dear lord please tell me she didn’t get sick.

I climb out of bed, padding down the hallway towards the soft glow of light emitting from her room.

I pause at the doorway, watching as he holds her close to his chest, a smile draped across his face.

I can’t help but stand and watch as he sways back and forth, watching her sleep in his arms.

I notice her tiny hand is clasped around his ring finger, the gold of his wedding band glowing in the dim light.

I love that ring on him.

I never thought I’d be the one to put it on him.

My heart is pounding in my chest.

Why am I so nervous?

He’s not going to leave me stranded.

Right?

Jesus, get a grip, y/n.

“Are you ready y/n?” Hotch walks around the corner, fixing his cuff links as he walks up to me.

I take a deep breath in, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t going to throw up.

“Yep. I’m ready, I just….” I fan myself. “Is it normal to feel like you’re going to pass out on your wedding day?”

He smiles, coming forward and taking hold of my hand. “It is. And I guarantee you, he’s worse than you are.”

I laugh, just imagining the state he’s in.

He hasn’t seen me in three days, since I’m a stickler for tradition.

It was my bachelorette party, than his bachelor party, and now here we are.

“When Haley and I got married, I was a nervous wreck. I don’t think I took a normal breath until hours after just because I was so worried about everything going to plan.”

He brushes some of the curls framing my face out of my eye sight.

“But, when I met her eyes, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. It was just us, and I knew, at that moment, that everything would be okay.”

I nod, exhaling. “Okay. I’m ready.”

He loops my arm through his, turning to the closed doors where my future waits for me.

“Thank you, Aaron. For giving me away. You’re the closest thing to a father I’ve got.”

He pats my hand. “It’s my honor, y/n.”

I hear the start of the music, and my heart jump starts. 

I grip his arm, trying to control my breathing. 

“Don’t let me fall.”

“Never.”

The doors open, and for a moment, I panic.

But then my eyes meet his.

And everything else disappears.

His hands are clasped in front of him, and I see him look me over, taking in everything.

Tears are streaming down both of our faces, and god, I never realized how much I missed him when he’s gone.

We reach the altar, where a proud Rossi stands, and Hotch hands me off with a kiss to my cheek.

I hand JJ my flowers, turning clasping Spencer's hands in mine.

When my hand touches his, my breathing returns to normal.

However, before I even notice, JJ is handing me a folded piece of paper that holds my vows.

Weddings always seem longer when you’re not in them.

I unfold the paper, clearing my throat.

“I don’t have an eidetic memory, so I need this so I don’t make a fool of myself.”

A couple laughs from the crowd.

Okay, here goes nothing.

“The first time I saw you, you were sitting at your desk, while Derek and JJ sat around you, watching you explain the scientific inaccuracies of Star Wars.”

He laughs, and Derek pats his shoulder from behind him.

“I was awestruck to say the least. The way your eyes lit up with excitement, how your hands couldn’t stay still.”

I take a breath, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I fell in love with you at that moment. But I knew I was done for when you looked at me for the first time.”

Rossi produces a tissue from his pocket, and I laugh, accepting and blotting at my tears.

“You are my best friend. You are there for me in my darkest times, and are often the cause of all my light ones. You hold me when I cry, and you laugh when I’m angry at something stupid. You never make me feel stupid. You are the greatest thing to have ever happened to me.”

Christ, why was this so hard?

“I love you. And I promise to cherish you, and not get annoyed when you ramble on about god knows what, because I love to listen to you talk. I promise to never make you feel like you don’t matter, because you matter so much. I promise to love you through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, until the end of time itself. I choose you, forever and always.”

I fold the paper up again, dabbing away my tears.

“Well, look at that, I still made a fool of myself.”

More laughs, and I hear a few sniffles here and there. 

Spencer wipes his own eyes. “I don’t know if I can top that.”

I giggle.

He goes into his jacket, and pulls out a white envelope, and my face scrunches in confusion.

“It’s not what you think it is.” He whispers.

He opens it, pulling out a car, and begins to read from the inside.

“You told me once, in a card similar to this one, that the moment you admitted to yourself that you loved me, was on a road trip to visit my mom. I thought it fitting that I tell you that, that was the moment I admitted to myself that I loved you in the same way. So here we are.”

I bring a hand up to my mouth, covering the ugly sobs that threaten to spill out.

“We had only known each other for a month, but you were easily taking over every brain cell in my mind. I was terrified of you saying no, but I asked anyway. Those two weeks were some of the best of my life. I fell in love with your laugh, your smile, the way your hair looks in the sunlight. I fell in love with you from the driver's seat and I’ve loved you ever since. You deserve to be reminded of that every day for the rest of your life. I promise to hold and cherish the heart that you have given me. I promise to catch you, every time you run away. I promise to protect you with my life. You mean everything to me, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of forever with you. I love you, forever and always.”

He closes it, and it takes a moment for me to gather myself.

“I promise I didn’t look at your vows before writing mine.”

I laugh.

Rossi clears his throat. “The rings please, Henry.”

Henry walks forward, our rings sitting on the pillow as he smiles at us. 

“Thank you buddy.” I say, taking hold of Spencer’s between my fingers.

“Alright. Y/n, repeat after me. I, Y/n Y/l/n, take Spencer Reid, to be my husband.”

I repeat the words, a smile growing bigger and bigger on my face.

“To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until the end of time.”

Can I kiss him yet?

I say the words, like casting a spell, before slipping the golden band onto his finger.

Rossi repeats the phrase, and Spencer’s smile is as big as mine, if not bigger.

“Until the end of time.”

He delicately slips the ring on my finger, and my heart starts pounding.

“One more question for each of you. I promise, we're almost there.”

He smiles at each of us, before turning back to me.

“Do you, Y/n Y/l/n, take Spencer Reid as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

Not even a question.

“And do you, Spencer Reid, take Y/n Y/l/n as your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

I start bouncing on my toes, too excited to care.

“Then it is my great pleasure and honor to pronounce you, husband and wife.”

He turns to Spencer. “You may now kiss the bride.”

He doesn’t hesitate, cradling my face in his hands as he places his lips on mine.

It’s just me and him, in an empty room.

I move my hands up his chest, wrapping my arms around his neck.

It’s only when we break, that I remember people are here, and the room is filled with applause.

With our hands clasped together we walk back down the aisle, and I swear I am never going to be this happy ever again. And that’s okay.

My eyes fall from his arms, to the dresser sitting next to her crib. 

The top is covered with photos, personalized trinkets, and books. 

One picture is framed with her name in gold lettering down the side.

My first sonogram.

Through the glass I can see wrinkles in the film.

Spencer carried it with him until the day she was born.

He had always mentioned how he wanted to have kids someday.

It didn’t make me any less nervous to tell him, though.

“Hello?”

“Hi! Is this Mrs. Y/n Reid?”

I stop writing, my pen mid stroke on my paper.

“This is she.”

“Hello! This is Nicole calling from United Health with the results of your pregnancy test.”

Jesus that was fast.

“Oh! That was quicker than I expected.”

I set my pen down, closing my file, pushing some hair behind my ear, looking around to see if anyone was in ear shot.

They weren’t.

“We get that a lot. But, I’d like to say congratulations! You are pregnant!”

I stop breathing for a moment.

“Oh my god. Oh my god! Thank you!”

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

“You’re so welcome! Congratulations again! Have a great rest of your day!”

I hang up, still trying to grasp the words that have just been spoken to me.

I’m pregnant.

I’m fucking pregnant.

Holy fuck.

“Y/n? Baby, are you okay?”

I snap out of my daze to see Spencer standing beside my desk, a look of skeptical worry on his face.

“Uh...yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. Um…”

I have to tell him. I can’t keep this a secret from him, even if I wanted to try and surprise him.

I stand, running my hands over my pants.

“Okay, somethings wrong. You do that when you’re nervous.”

I can’t help but laugh, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Nothings wrong, Spence. Um, I just got a call from United Health.”

He’s confused, setting the file in his hand, down on my desk.

“Why would United Health be calling you?”

There are days when I can't believe he has an I.Q. of 187.

“I went in yesterday, to get a test done. I’ve been gaining weight, and I’ve been getting sick in the mornings. I also skipped my last period.”

I can sense the wheels beginning to turn in his head.

“Wait. Are you…”

I nod, tears falling down my cheeks. “I’m pregnant, Spencer.”

It takes a moment for the words to register in his brain, but then he’s yelling in excitement, throwing his arms around my waist, picking me up and spinning me around.

He sets me down, his eyes red rimmed, his smile one I will never forget.

“You’re pregnant. Oh my god we’re having a baby.”

His hands are placed on either side of my face, and I can’t help but laugh at his infectious excitement.

“Who’s having a baby, now?”

Derek walks up, and Spencer turns, and I know Derek knows just by the shit eating grin on Spencer’s face.

But I just love saying it.

“I’m pregnant.”

Derek’s eyes light up as he claps his hands together, before pulling Spencer into a hug. “My man!”

JJ and Emily gather around, all smiles and squeals as I’m captured in the middle of a group hug.

Penelope walks into the bullpen then, confusion written across her face.

“What’s going on out here? Why are you guys screaming? Who won the lottery?”

I bite my lip, trying to hold back the smile.

“I’m pregnant!” I all but scream.

Penelope’s expression changes in an instant as she practically runs forward.

“Oh my god! Holy crap! Baby genius! That’s so much better than the lottery!” 

She catches me in a bone crushing hug before suddenly pulling back.

“Crap. Sorry. Fragile baby.”

“Congratulations baby girl.” Derek swaps places with Penelope, who is now hugging Spencer with everything she has.

“Alright, why are you guys hugging each other?”

Rossi and Hotch walk through the glass doors, taking in the commotion.

I feel Spencer wrap his arms around me from behind, as he kisses my shoulder, my neck, my cheek.

“I’m pregnant!”

A smile immediately forms on Rossi’s face as he comes forward, grasping my face between his hands, kissing me on each of my cheeks.

“Congratulations, principessa.”

“Congratulations, to both of you.”

Hotch is smiling, waiting his turn to give hugs.

“It’s decided, celebratory dinner at my place tonight!” Rossi announces and we all cheer.

I turn my head, placing my hands over Spencer’s which are now resting over my stomach.

“I love you.” I smile.

“I love you, too. Both of you.”

Soft humming breaks the silence of the room, and quiet words float through the air as he sings to her sleeping form.

“Come Josephine, in my flying machine. Going up she goes, up she goes.”

I enter the room then, tip toeing over to stand by his side, leaning my head against his shoulder as I gently stroke her hair.

“Up, up, a little bit higher. Oh! My! The moon is on fire! Come, Josephine in my flying machine going up, all on, goodbye!”

She’s tiny.

I couldn’t fathom how tiny she was a month ago, and she has grown, but she’s still so small.

Has it already been a month?

“Jesus fuck, I  promised myself this wouldn’t happen at work.”

I shouldn’t have come in.

I know that.

I know that waking up with contractions is a tell tale sign that you should not go to work.

But she isn’t due for another two weeks. Two weeks is a long time. Hopefully enough time to get a grip on myself so I don’t panic that I’m gonna fail as a mother every time I think about it too hard.

I thought maybe I could just get through the day, but the warm stream trickling down my leg is a big fuck no to that.

I’m trying to steady my breathing, the cup of tea I was making abandoned on the counter as I grip the edge with a force I didn’t know I had.

“Y/n? Is everything okay?”

Hotch walks up, worry creasing his brow.

He places a hand on my back, a comfort as pain ripples up and down my spine.

I shake my head. “I need Spencer.”

I shift my weight from leg to leg. “And a towel.”

He nods his head, looking around for a chair, frowning when he comes up empty.

“Aaron,” I say, turning my head towards him. “Please go get my husband.”

“Right.” He nods, taking a second to make sure I wasn’t going to topple over before almost running towards Penelope's bat cave.

A hiss escapes my mouth as I feel a jab in my side.

“Yeah, I know baby, I wish he would hurry the fuck up too.”

A plethora of footsteps fall upon my ears, and Spencer immediately places a hand on my lower back, taking hold of mine with his other.

“How far apart are they?” is the first thing out of his mouth.

“I’m fine, honey, thanks for asking.” I say as we start to make our way towards the front glass doors.

He gives me a look and I sigh.

“I don’t know. I thought if I didn’t count they’d go away and I could pretend this isn’t happening at work.”

“I wish it worked like that.” JJ laughs, holding open the door and what I presume is my go bag.

“Me too.” I grit, squeezing Spencer’s hand.

“Remember our deal. Not one statistic, or fact is to be uttered from your mouth today. You are not a doctor once we enter the hospital.”

I can see the panic start to form on his face, but he laughs.

“Yes ma’am.”

~~~

I’m never doing this again.

I don’t think I’ve ever been in this much pain before.

I’ve been in this room for what feels like forever, because she’s taking her sweet time being early.

No amount of pillows or soothing rubs can help the aches that are washing over me.

My hair is falling from the bun I threw it up in, sweat coating every inch of skin I have.

I feel gross in every sense of the word.

I lean forward and groan as another contraction rips through me.

How do women do this?

Spencer brushes some hair out of my face and lays a cool washcloth on my neck as I grip the side rails of my bed.

“You’re doing so good baby.”

It feels like I can’t breath.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

He knows there’s not much he can do right now to help, but he holds my hand, trailing his hand up and down my back.

“Just a little bit longer. I promise. She’s almost here. You’re doing so good, y/n. I’m so proud of you.”

If only he knew about the panic flowing through my veins, the thoughts that I’m not ready to be a mom bouncing around my skull like an insistent headache.

A knock at the door, and my doctor walks in, smiles and bright eyes. “How are you feeling, y/n?”

“Like a,” I groan, trying to move away from the pain, shifting forward and backwards. “Like a million bucks.”

She laughs, and I don’t have the energy to be nice and laugh with her.

“Well, I still need to check, but I’m pretty sure you’re ready to push.”

I close my eyes, not wanting to look as she sticks her fingers in a place that will need some R&R after this. 

“I was right. You’re ready. Now, your body knows exactly what to do. It’s best to not fight it, and just listen to what it’s telling you okay?”

I start to move myself back away from her, my breathing picking up pace.

I can’t do this.

“No. No. I can’t. I’m not ready.”

She doesn’t seem phased at all, but Spencer easily notices the fear in my voice. 

“Hey, Hey, Hey. Look at me.” His hands stroke the sides of my face, and his fingers are wet from my tears and sweat.

I shake my head. “I’m not doing this. I’m not ready. What if I fail? I don’t want to fail her. I can’t. No. I’m gonna be a horrible mother.”

“Y/n, baby, breath with me.” He takes my hand, and places it on his chest.

I can feel his breaths beneath his breastbone, the frantic heartbeats that give away his true state of mind.

I hate that I’m stressing him out.

“You are going to be a great mother. One of the best. I don’t think you could fail even if you tried.”

He brushes my tears away. “But you can’t force your body to stop. You need to let go. I’m right here.”

“Alright, were ready, y/n.”

My eyes pass between Spencer’s and I know he’s right.

I just need to let go.

I nod, and I move back to where I was. 

My left hand grips the rail, while my right is situated inside Spencer’s. 

I feel the next contraction start. 

“Alright I need you to push for me.” 

I’m on the brink of a mental breakdown, but I take a breath and let my muscles do the work.

I hear that groaning and screaming can actually help, so that’s what I do. 

With every push, my voice grows louder, words lost in the back of my throat.

But I’m getting tired, and I can feel myself crashing. 

So when another contraction pulses through me, I push myself forward, and use every muscle in my body.

“Get out, get out, get out, GET OUT!” 

I don’t think I’ve ever screamed that loud, but it seemed to work.

It felt like a gush and then crys fill the room.

I fall back onto the bed, tears streaming down my face.

“She’s beautiful!” I hear my doctor say over her screams.

Spencer kisses my forehead, his own tears coating his face. “You were amazing, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

“Here she is!”

My doctor lays a bundle of white blankets onto my chest, and when I see her face, my heart stops. 

The world could be burning around me, but I wouldn’t care. Even covered in gunk and red faced, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. 

I sob, holding her close to me, Spencer right there beside me, his hand gently stroking the top of her head. 

“Hi, Ettie.” I whisper. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“She’s so beautiful.” He whispers, his voice thick with emotion. 

I can’t take my eyes off her. I never want to let go of her.

Nothing else matters anymore, nothing but her.

Juliet Diana Reid.

Born at 6:08 am, on the third of December.

He places her in my arms, and I clutch her close to my chest as I move back towards her crib to lay her down again.

I don’t understand how I could have ever doubted how amazing my life would be with her in it.

Soft snores emit from her small mouth, and Spencer wraps his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder, only moving when he hears me sniffle.

“Why are you crying, love?” he whispers

I wipe my face, turning around so I can face him.

His hands are on my hips, his thumbs rubbing circles on my skin.

“For so long, I was jealous of so many people.” My hands play with the fabric of his t-shirt, rubbing it between my fingers.

“I was jealous of Heather. Of what she had.”

My hands move up his chest, coming to rest at the base of his neck. 

“I dreamed about this. About having this with you. And I never thought I would get it. But here I am.”

I smile up at him. “I have everything I have ever wanted. I wouldn’t wish for another life even if it was offered. I have you, and Ettie, and the life I wanted so bad. I’m just…”

I swallow the noise threatening to spill from my throat, so I don’t wake up the sleeping girl behind me. 

“I’m just really happy is all.”

He smiles softly down at me, and he brings up a hand to cup my cheek. 

He leans down and kisses me slowly, gently, in a way that always leaves me paralyzed. 

“I love you.” He whispers. 

I nuzzle my nose against his, before laying my head against his chest, feeling his arms wrap around me, holding me tight against him. 

“I love you, too.”

I love you, Spencer.

I love you.

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[samuel-dean]

Valentine’s Surprise.

INVOLVED: Samuel Evans and Mercedes Jones. LOCATION: Evans’ Estate; Atlanta, Georgia. TIME FRAME: Friday, February 14th, 2020. NOTES: Samuel surprises Mercedes on Valentine’s Day.

Samuel stood waiting patiently for Mercedes and Nouvel to join him for their Valentine’s Day surprise. He stood off to the side, his hands were behind his back as he leaned against the wall. To stand in any other spot of the home would just ruin what he’d done for them both this year. His eyes rolled over his handy work, he loved it, he couldn’t imagine a single individual having pulled off something like this is their home today and he prided that fact. Any minute now he was sure she’d come down the stairs with their daughter in hand to join him, he looked to his watch and licked his lips as he continued to wait. If he’d trusted the right people, which he was sure he did, they’d make her take the steps nearest him. There was a simple note left beside her for him that didn’t lead much into what was going on but he was sure it left her guessing.

Valentine's day had never been on Mercedes radar. Most of the time, she'd had some big job to finish. -Some audacious  surprise for some rich, well to do man's wife or mistress. Yet, today she'd awaken to a note the left her giddy from head to toe. What was Samuel up to now? She spent all of two seconds contemplating the day, before rushing, but not attempting to look like she was rushed.  Brent was a lifesaver, he gave her time to put on makeup and do her hair again, something she'd missed taking time for. She smiled at the man as she entered the room to get Nouvel, who never seemed to cry with him around. Before long, she was headed down the stairs which was odd. For some reason the elevator was out of order.  She'd have to remember to mention that to the head housekeeper. She thought absently, before all other thoughts left her mind. The sea of flowers before her was breathtaking. She slowed, eyes wide as she ascended the stairs. Awestruck as she found Samuel, always storybook handsome, standing among the pedals. "Oh my..." Was all she managed to say as she approached the man, wide eyed.  

Samuel watched Mercedes walk down the stairs and if she had said anything at all it had fallen on death ears considering the orchestra of music being played live behind him. How often did some hire people to play a sea of love songs for you as you walked down the stairs to a room adorned in roses? He smirked at her and Nouvel, bright eyes and nestled right where she loved to be most. In her mother’s arms that is. He smiled at her and said “you look refreshed” with a smile on his face. “Happy Valentine’s Day, you two” he said as he leaned in to kiss Mercedes lips sweetly and then to peck their daughter’s plump cheek. “For you” he offered a single rose to her not that it mattered to do so considering the whole bottom half of this wing was covered in them. “I have something to show you two” he said as he grabbed her hand, his other still behind his back and he moved them towards the next set up. It was a pain getting this done, he’d been up all morning trying to make sure that the set up was perfect and for a moment he didn’t know if the walkway of towered rose covered hearts were actually going to make the cut. But it was pulled off in a timely manner, in that same room was the bodies of the musicians playing along in unison. “You know I wrecked my brain on what to do” he told her softly. “And, for a while I wasn’t sure” he told her looking down at her. “But, you showed me a side of you I couldn’t ignore. And it left an impression on me that I would never forget. I never felt so secure in your words and your touch” he told her as she walked her through the heart set up. “It’s only one thing a man this in love could do on a day that is to be showered in love….” he breathed looking at her again as they stopped at the end of the walk way. “Could you guess what that is?” he asked.

Mercedes free hand covered her mouth, as Nouvel cheerful babbles and Samuel's words were lost behind a melody music. The man thought of every thing. And while most would chalk it up to his staff, she knew every inch of this was by his design and she loved him all the more for it. Still in a daze, she felt Samuel move towards her for a kiss. She went up on her toes immediately to meet him. "Oh baby" She said, hand resting against his chest.  If he never did another thing for her.  This was enough. She accepted the rose with a chuckle. "Thank you." She said, bringing the flower to her nose, careful to stay clear of Nouvel's grasping hands. "Oh" She said, as she stared up at him, "And this wasn't for us?" She joked, as they waded the sea of red. Her whole body was on fire as she looked away from his gaze. Not fearfully so. Just overwhelmed. She wanted to say he didn't have to do anything, but it would be lost on him so, instead for once, she buttoned her lips, squeezed his hand tightly in her's and let herself be loved. Tears were at the corners of her eyes as she stared up at him, havel eyes meeting blue. "I haven't a clue." She told him with a shake of her head.  

At her words he chuckled “I had a feeling you’d say that” Samuel told her honestly, he licked his lips growing a little serious now. He thought he would have been nervous about this, but no, he was calm and self assured. He opened his mouth preparing to say what he felt on his heart he wouldn’t be long winded but he needed to say what he thought. He expected her to pack her shit and leave him in his house to suffer in silence without her after the embarrassing moment they shared. But instead she chose to embrace him and she didn’t make him feel half a man about it. “Nine months can teach you a whole lot about a person. And then one minute they do something that is impossible for you to put into words and you know in that instant that, that is more than enough assurance for you. I wouldn’t have changed anything that happened, everything that aligned to make this day possible I am truly grateful for. There were some slip ups and even times where I am sure I thought differently but on this day” he stressed nodding his head with a smirk and he revealed his hidden hand bouncing the velvet covered box in it. She was going to make him do it, after all she deserved it, lowering himself on one knee though he never really pictured doing this ever in his life he said “ I have no doubt in my mind that I Samuel Dean Evans, would be honored if you Mercedes Antoinette Jones, would grant me the privilege of making you my wife? Will you marry me?” he concluded opening the box to her. Now if she rejected him, he’d understand it might be too much too soon for her, but if she accepted it, oh what a happy man he’d be.

Mercedes' laughter rang out only adding to the music around them. She quieted and repositioned Nouvel on her hip as Samuel grew more determined. Sometimes things are too much, his kindness, his love... She didn't deserve him. "This is enough Samuel." She told him in a sobbing whisper.  Alarm bells started to ring in her mind, growing into a deafening roar. As if in slow motion she watched through her tears as he slid to one knee, revealing a box that could only hold one thing. The diamond was the size of a goose egg, surrounded  by yet another ring of glittering gemstones, filled her sight.  Wordlessly, she sank down, seating herself on Samuel's outstretched knee, the world spinning as her breathing became shallow

Samuel watched her expectantly, as she cried he smiled a bit thinking to himself that there was no need for her to. When she lowered herself on his knee, he sat the box down on the ground for a moment. He wrapped an arm around her, his other resting against Nouvel. She had to gather herself which he understood, he rubbed her back and asked her. “You okay?” concerned as he watched her closely. “It’s okay” he coached, not to sure if he was coaching himself into a yes or no but it would still be okay either way.

Mercedes had accepted certain things in life. Being the breadwinner in her family. Check. Being the strong, responsible one. Check. Being alone. Double check. And in the matter of months everything she worked towards her whole life, had changed.  Uncertainty had become her new constant. The losses were great, but wonderful things had  also been born out of change. Things she'd never hoped for or seen. It was selfish to want this man. She'd achieved something for her child, her mother had never for her.  A father who loved and adored her.  As if to remind her, Nouvel's hand, scratched against Mercedes face. She looked down at the baby, as lovingly Samuel did as always the right thing and comforted her. She looked up at him, then rested her hand against his beard. "You sure about this?" She questioned, giving him an out if he wanted it. Or maybe trying to spare herself... She was never sure anymore.

As she finally looked at him, he smirked as she cupped his face in her hand. Samuel nodded his head confidently at her “I have never been so sure of anything else in my life” he admitted to her truthfully. And that was a fact, though he’d done the dance with Scarlet more than once he knew deep down she wasn’t the type of woman he’d wanted to make his wife. Or even the type of woman he knew for sure cared about him as much as he cared about her. Though she had tried to hide and deny it for so long Sam realized that it had all been a gimmick. The way she attentively cared for him that night was a testament to that and he was sure. If he wanted to bank his money on anyone it was Mercedes, it had always been Mercedes he guessed. “I am sure” he said caressing her side lovingly. His eyes fell on their daughter and he smirked at her for a moment before he looked back up at her “I want to make us a family, through and through. All the way” he said, caressing their daughter’s cheek lovingly.

Fear clawed at her. It was too soon... You'll mess up.  You are a novelty and when he's tired of you he'll leave you too. Everyone leaves... All her insecurities were present. All of them wanted to ruin this moment.  Oh, the fear was there. His answer however was strong enough to quiet those fears, and without another moment of hesitation, she gave in. "Yes.." Mercedes blurted, cutting off his final set of words. She  covered his face in kisses, before placing her lips tenderly against his, with a sigh and a smile. "Yes." She said once more her lips never leaving his.

She sat there essentially weighing her options he thought in his own mind and when she finally said something and he happened to also double as relief to him he smiled again at her. She kissed around his face and he chuckled before she kissed his lips and he closed his eyes basking in the feel. She’d said yes, his heart could let up it’s pounding now. Samuel made sure to keep her steady, making sure she nor their baby girl came tumbling down off his knee. He gripped her side with his large hand as he finally opened his eyes again moaning against her plush lips.

Mercedes sigh was long and deep as she melted into his kiss.  Lingering on his lips for a moment, hesitantly, she pulled back, and kissed his nose once more. Then rose from his knee. She pulled her lips into her mouth and put out her finger, idly looking to the box where it sat on the floor. She loved him. There was no doubt about that, but she wanted  to see how that ring would look on her finger.  

As she pecked his nose his cheeks got a little rosey, she stood up and he didn’t let the opportunity pass to pat her butt for good measure. Samuel watched her hold out her hand and he picked the box back up, removed the engagement ring from it before he slid the huge rock on her hand. He smirked as he moved to stand up “I loved every moment of designing this for you” he told her as she grabbed her hand looking it over. “I love it, do you?” he asked her curiously before he pecked her hand sweetly.

Mercedes giggled as his huge hand slapped down on her bottom. "Not in front of the baby." She playfully fussed, still giggling as she spoke. The ring slid onto her finger as if it had been specifically made for her hand. No glove or ring had ever fit her better. She sighed at his comment, shaking her head.  Why was she not surprised?  "Do you want my critique from a designer standpoint or as a woman?" She questioned, mischievously. Smiling though she gave her answer."It's absolutely perfect." She breathed gazing at the ring. She looked at him, seriously, her hand still in his, "I love you."  She uttered simply yet wholeheartedly.  

Samuel chuckled at her “you are right, not in front of precious” he replied as she cooed at Nouvel a little. At her question, he had to think about it, was one any different than the other? They were both critical as hell if you asked him. It amused him that she answered his question anyway. Good, he got that right too, he thought to himself happily. “Great” he said to her before she spoke again telling him how she loved him and he wrapped them up finally dropping her hand. “I love you too” he told her pecking her lips. “Oh” he said as she moved to grab another box for their daughter. “Daddy didn’t forget about you Nouvel” he sung out to her happily as he opened the box to reveal the necklace he’d had made for her. It resembled her mother’s ring and he loved the way it came out as well. He took the necklace out of the box and moved to place it around the child’s neck fastening it securely. “Look at that Nouvel” he told her watching as the diamond danced against her tiny chest.

Mercedes leaned her head back, gleefully accepting his kiss. Her mind already ran  over dress designs and venue options.  She never dreamed of wearing a gown, and now needed to be clear on what she wanted before telling Titus or the man would take over for sure. Her eyes went wide once more at Samuel's forgetful "oh." What other trick could he have up his sleeve? She was about to ask when he produced a miniature version, if what appeared to be a full 2 or 3 carat diamond could be considered miniature, that mimicked the design of her ring and fastened it around Nouvel's neck.  The child's small fat hands, tried fruitlessly to grab for the sparkling gem around her neck with only fleeting success. "You are going to spoil us.  You think of everything." She gushed, watching Nouvel. Seriously feeling her gifts to him were wholly inadequate.

Samuel watched their baby. He turned to Mercedes after the thought, he smirked not saying a word before he grabbed Nouvel from her arms. “You gave me the greatest gift of all” he challenged as he looked at what they’d created. “You’ve spoiled me enough for a lifetime” he said proudly, as he kissed the little girl’s face again. “Besides, I love planning all of this for you” he said looking around for a moment. “Otherwise, how else would you learn how much I cherish you both. I don’t think me saying it enough will ever suffice. I must tell you too” he breathed out. He hugged Mercedes close before he stole a cookie from a tray behind her back and treats were brought out to them by the staff. “Congratulations ma’am” Samuel’s ole pale said as she offered Mercedes a chocolate covered strawberry, Helen could have foreseen this coming and on the contrary she was actually excited about it though professionally she wouldn’t show it. Samuel bit into the cookie and he munched happily as he looked to Nouvel again bouncing her lightly “they made use a steak dinner for two” he said chuckling a bit at the thought, his staff thought of everything. He guessed he wasn't supposed to know up until the point that he gathered downstairs but he was nosey. He couldn’t help it.

Mercedes narrowed her eyes, as he took the baby from her arms. "I knew you'd say." was her quick reply, eyes going back to her ring. No, she hadn't spoiled him. Which grieved her. How do you spoil a man who has everything? Truthfully, she had no idea. She have to come up with something and soon.  She rested her heavy laden hand on his chest, as the staff entered as if on cue. "Thank you, Helen." She said, grinning at Samuel, idly wondering how much the woman had known and for how long. She released Samuel choosing as strawberry, nibbling at it.  Mercedes smiled fondly at Helen and the assembled staff, “That was sweet of them. Well I guess that means they have the rest of the day off huh?”

At Mercedes comment Samuel thought to himself for a moment “I hadn’t considered that, but why not” he added as he walked Nouvel over to the flower arrangements. “Look” he breathed to her happily, lasting memories that’s what he wanted to create with them. Helen looked to Mercedes as she pressed her new fiance and she didn’t know what to think. A day for them to rest? Was that even possible? Did they know how to? In all her years of working for the Evans’ she never once had a day where she had nothing to do, she couldn’t conceive it. When she opened her mouth for the entire body of staff to assure Mercedes they needed no day off she heard Samuel and her eyebrows rose. Oh they were going to adore the woman being the Queen of this Palace she had compassion and kindness infused in her, not that Samuel didn’t he was just structured and nowadays she was breaking him out of his routine and it was amusing to watch. “Alright then” she said as the head of staff she looked at them signaling them to set the desserts up for the family and get lost.

[freshlyjuicedbeetles]

Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century Fanfiction

Meet the Family 

Sherbeth

Holmes meets the Lestrade family.

Sherlock Holmes would admit to rarely feeling nervous. He had stared down James Moriarty numerous times, fallen from great heights and found himself in life-threatening situations on an almost regular basis and never bat an eye at it. The situation he currently found himself in was not like any he had found himself in and he was a bit anxious.

Having been courting Beth for almost a year, it was time to make the trek to meet her family in America. Holmes had spoken to most of her immediate family previously, her parents, her twin brother and her grandfather, the Lestrade family patriarch via holophone but they were not the ones who concerned him. He was being introduced to the entire Lestrade family, aunts and cousins at a family dinner at her grandfather’s house, in Holmes’ honor. Beth explained to him that he was sort of a mythic hero to the family, his cases told to the younger generations like fairytales and how Gregory Lestrade worked right alongside the famous detective.

While he does own the infamous Inverness and deerstalker, that is decidedly ‘country wear’ for him. He had to wonder if he needed to pull out those iconic items just for the family. Holmes always dresses smartly; a finely tailored suit and tie are his staples while conveying an anachronism. His pocket squares always accent the color of his tie and his black leather shoes are always shined to perfection.

“Should I bring these?” Holmes asked as they packed, holding a brown deerstalker and matching Inverness with a gold clasp and buckles on the sleeves.

Beth cackled, “First, you’ll swelter in the heat. Second, they know you’re not the character the world knows. Just be yourself.”

Holmes never felt compelled to live up to his literary caricature, not that he believed that that was what the family was expecting, but when you are meeting your significant other’s family who seem to have a high regard for you, you feel a tad nervous regardless. Not only that, but this was the family he had put in charge of his final wish, to be reanimated. If the process went sideways, he feared that anyone else would not be objective enough to know when it was time to reinter him. He couldn’t express how grateful and indebted he felt. Still waters run deep within the great detective and he steeled his nerves. Sherlock Holmes had other matters to worry about during this holiday.

Inspector Gregory Lestrade’s great-grandson, Andrew left London and moved to America where he started a family. The Lestrade family still resides in the same city Andrew settled in. Policing was a strong tradition in the family, with Beth’s great grandmother, grandfather, father, brother and forefathers and foremothers working with the local police department.

Holmes and Lestrade had flown from London early in the morning. Beth spent most of the flight asleep on his shoulder. He with noise-canceling earbuds, listening to an audiobook. Matt left a car for them at the airport. Once Holmes stepped out of the air-conditioned building, the oppressive heat and humidity of Beth’s home state assaulted him, despite the night air. Beth wasn’t too keen on going back home during the summer months, saying that the weather was one of the reasons she left. This was the only time she could get enough time off work to do so.

“How do you stand such weather? I feel as though I need gills just to breathe!” Holmes complained.

Beth laughed, “You’ll get used to it. Wait until its noon and it's one hundred plus degrees, then you can complain. Ever see a tornado, Holmes?” She teased.

“I’d rather not.”

As Beth drove, she pointed out local interests; this place is where famous so and so got their start, someone of prominence died right there. They left the small metropolis and drove on a dark, rural skyway dotted with houses, cemeteries, farms and the county water tower. After a twisty skylane lined with the tops of trees, a small burg emerged.

“I wrecked my first car there. Totaled it. Wasn’t my fault.”

“That place has the best cheesecake.”

“That’s Grandpa’s house,”

“I had my prom here,”

Beth dropped the speed as they pulled into a neighborhood and a home at the center of the cul-de-sac. Matt’s car was in the driveway, no less too excited to meet the great detective to wait until the dinner.

“Ready?” Beth asked.

Holmes beamed confidently, “My dear, you make it sound as though I am meeting my judge, jury, and executioner.”

Beth made a face that cast doubt on that logic. He may be Sherlock Holmes, but he was still the man dating their daughter/sister/niece. He needed to live up to their standards.

They walked in and the sleeping home sprung to life. Matt and her father David, previously asleep on the couch and recliner in front of the tv jolted awake at the sound of the door opening.

“Beth?!” Tresa Lestrade called from the hall, eager to see her daughter. Tresa was a sprite of a woman, short and petite with brown hair and warm brown eyes.

An old brown, greying boxer with floppy jowls named Stewart hid conspicuously behind the couch, warily watching this new human. His stranger danger alarms were going off.

Matt scrambled from the couch to Holmes and Lestrade. “Oh my god, you’re really him! Holy shit, dude!” he gushed, “I mean, yeah, I’ve talked to you on the phone but gah! You’re really here! Can I get a selfie, an autograph? Oh my god, this is so cool! Hey, so about that Red-Headed League plot hole…”

“Matt, calm down. You’re going to have a heart attack,” Beth chided, “Sorry about him, I think that cage training isn’t working,” She teased her twin. He was so awestruck by Holmes that he let it slide.

Holmes smiled good-naturedly, shaking Matt’s hand, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“Out of the way, out of the way, shoo!” Tresa urged, trying to get to her daughter, pushing her son and the 250-year-old detective.

She hugged Beth tightly, showering her with kisses, “You need to come around more! I can’t go so long without seeing you!”

“I know, mom, I know.”

David Lestrade joined his family at the door. David was a tall, burly man with more salt than pepper hair and beard, “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I’d never thought I’d ever get to see you standing, let alone in my own doorway.” He said, offering his hand.

Holmes took it, “Yes, I do owe your family an abundance of gratitude. I would not be here today without you all. I simply cannot express it.” Holmes was struck by how much David looked like a larger Gregory Lestrade.

Tresa turned to Holmes, “I’m speechless. It’s really you.”

“You have a lovely home, madam.”

“She’s cleaned, like, all day for you guys,” Matt said.

Tresa laughed, “Well, on that note, I’m going back to bed. Matt, can you grab their bags, please? Put them in Beth’s old room. Beth, I’m sure you can show Mr. Holmes around from here?”

“Please, call me Sherlock.”

“You’ll have to give them time, something about showing proper respect and whatnot,”                Beth said.

“Why do you still call him Holmes?” Matt argued.

Beth shrugged, “Force of habit. Hafta on the job though.”

“Whatever,” Matt said dismissively as he and David carried in the luggage.

Matt stretched and groaned like a Yeti, “Yeah, I’m going to bed, too. Night.”

“Don’t you have a place of your own?” Beth jeered.

“Yeah, I don’t feel like driving back only to come back in a few hours,” Matt answered simply.

“You live, like, five miles from here. You just want to hang out with Sherlock, you nerd!”

“I’m a nerd!? You’re dating him! What does that make you?”

“Kids!” David barked.

Holmes was enjoying the comedic scene in front of him. The Lestrade residence was so different than his own growing up. It felt like a library where you couldn’t speak. Here, it was lively. It truly was a home.

Matt grumbled as he stalked off down the hall. David turned to his daughter. David hugged Beth, their foreheads touching, “Oh how I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Dad.”

David regarded his daughter for a moment, then Holmes and followed Tresa to bed.

“I’m sure you noticed the elephant in the room; Stewart over there trying to hide. He’s a few bulbs short of a full Christmas tree. He’s friendly but a doofus.”

Holmes slowly approached the dog. When he was at a respectful distance, he offered his hand. Stewart sniffed it and promptly sneezed into his hand.

Beth howled with laughter as Holmes cleaned his hand with a kerchief.

“C’mon, I’m beat.” Beth said, leading Holmes to their room for their stay.

It wasn’t lost on Beth that her childhood idol was now sharing her childhood bedroom with her. Most of her things had long since been packed away and sent to London, leaving little trace of a young Beth Lestrade who spent hours reading Watson’s journals, the published casebooks or watching anything Holmes related. Now, it was simply a guest bedroom with neutral bedding and accents. The garish red walls that Beth begged to be painted when she was fourteen was covered up by Tresa as soon as possible.

Pictures of the family dotted the room; on the desk was a replica of a daguerreotype of Inspector Gregory Lestrade himself. The senior pictures of Matt and Beth framed the window; Matt with an aw-shucks grin in blue jeans and his letterman’s jacket and Beth, her hair and makeup expertly done, in a blue dress. Her eyes, even then, soul-piercing, could make you confess your mortal sins.

Matt and Beth’s childhood and teenage trophies remained. Countless awards of varying sizes, colors and shapes stood on a bookcase by the door; Beth’s for karate and gymnastics, Matt’s for American football.

In the dark room, the lovers turned to face each other in bed, legs intertwining under the sheets. They whispered as to not wake the family.

“You’ve never told me what your parents were like.”

Holmes shrugged, caressing Lestrade’s arm with the tips of his fingers, watching goosebumps arise. “There’s nothing much to say, really. They were both teachers and strict authoritarians. They were firm believers in the ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ method. Once, when I was a young lad, eight or nine years of age or so, I punched Mycroft in the face, knocking out one of his teeth. Mother shut me in a closet and promptly forgot about me until morning.”

“Jeez, Holmes, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, my dear. I bear no resentment for them. Mycroft and I both knew we were loved, though the sentiment was rarely uttered. We were not abused and rarely went without. Our parents simply had their own way of doing things.”

“I once punched a boy who had been teasing me and Dad took me out for ice cream as a reward. Okay, what about Mycroft?” Lestrade asked.

“I suppose you can say we had the typical older brother/younger brother relationship. He found me annoying and to be a burden. I do not wholly disagree with this assessment. When he went out with friends or to buy candy, Mother would insist he take me. I was a curious child and had to examine anything I found interesting, rocks, dirt, discarded newspapers. I would follow people I found interesting, wanting to learn about them. I most certainly slowed him down. My turn. Why did you leave?” Holmes asked, admiring how the moonlight cast its glow on her face.

“I wanted to make my family proud and join the Yard.” She replied, toying with and caressing his hand and arm. She locked eyes with him, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes. “Besides, someone had to take care of your wrinkly ass while you were in that honey.”

Holmes drew her close, Lestrade giving a startled yelp, “I didn’t hear any complaints from you about it before we left London,” he husked in her ear, kissing her neck.

~*~

Morning came far too early for the weary travelers. All Beth wanted to do was stay under the covers with Sherlock and sleep until dinner. The way Beth’s warm body was curled into his own was divine. Holmes, usually hating inactivity, was thinking along the same lines until he heard sniffing at the door.

“Stewart!” Beth exclaimed, not moving or opening her eyes, “Chill out. It’s just a new person, not a pox upon the house.”

The old boxer sighed and laid down, his tags clanking on the wood floor as he did. The world stilled once more for several moments. Eventually, Beth sighed and sat up, “Well, I’m awake.”

Taking Beth’s cue, Holmes got up and dressed for the day as Beth played on her phone. The sounds of a home waking up could be heard; running water, a coffee maker, the opening and closing of cabinets.

Holmes offered his hand to Beth as encouragement to start the day. She took it and groaned as she was pulled from the comfy bed.

As they passed Matt’s room, Beth used her best ‘cop knock,’, yelling, “Get up loser!”

They could hear Matt startle awake and a flood of profanities aimed at his sister. Beth giggled.

The scene in front of them in the kitchen was an utterly domestic one. Beth’s parents in their robes and pajamas, the morning news on as they started breakfast. The table was already laden with syrup, butter, jams and steaming coffee. Though Stewart sitting on a chair at said table was a bit out of place.

“Don’t ask,” Beth said. “It’s his chair.”

“Good morning!” Tresa said cheerfully in a singsong voice, “I hope you’re hungry!”

“Because it’s waffle time!” David announced excitedly as though he was a sports commentator.

“Dad makes the best waffles. I have literal dreams about them.” Beth did like her carbs.

“It’s the nutmeg,” David said proudly, grinning ear to ear.

Matt shuffled tiredly in the kitchen and plopped down. Holmes noticed how Beth and Matt both sat, their legs on the chair curled into their bodies. Beth only sat that way when she had just woken up.

Stewart visibly avoided looking at Holmes.

“Beth, Matt, will you take Stewart out please?” Tresa asked.

The twins groaned and complained, but ultimately acquiesced, taking Stewart out the backyard.

Holmes was left inside with Tresa and David. He knew what was coming, the ‘if you hurt my daughter’ speech. Holmes’s mind was divided if he should ask David first while they were on the subject, but he doubted Beth would like that.

David wasted no time and Tresa leaned in. “Now, man to man, I need to know that you have Beth’s best interests in mind. I’m in an awkward position here. I feel like I’m speaking to an elder and I’ve only read how you were characterized. I don’t know exactly what was truth and what was fiction. You have been described as cold and had an utter apathy towards the law. Gregory always complained that you were hard to work with and to be blunt, utterly misogynistic. However, from the few times I have spoken to you, you don’t seem anything of the sort. You certainly respect and care for Beth, and I haven’t seen anything troubling. Basically, I’m asking, what’s true?”

“Shall I say I have softened in my old age?” Holmes countered. He took a drink of his coffee, strong coffee only a police officer could brew. “What you have read was about a proud man. Later in my life, I was humbled by my own mistakes, namely the case of Ann Kelmot, my friendship with the Munro boy and my own defects; my deteriorating brain. I have always strived to not look at myself as the character Dr. Watson has portrayed me to be, but I will admit, that fame got to me at times. I have what a precious few have received and what many more pray for; a second chance. While morals and values fluctuate from person to person and pious will never be an accurate descriptor of my person, I do intend to do better this time around.”

David listened intently and nodded. He took a drink of his own coffee, “Well, in that case, welcome to the family, Holmes,” he said holding out his hand to the elder.

Holmes shook David’s hand. David looked to Tresa and nodded. She agreed.

A peaceful silence settled for several moments.

“Beth leave Matt alone!” Tresa chided, “a bunch of wild animals they are. Can’t say a nice thing about the other! Knock! It! Off!” She said as she tapped on the window, getting their attention.

Both men stood up from the table. Beth had tackled Matt to the ground and were wrestling over an unknown argument, Stewart running and jumping around them as though he were a part of the game he thought they were playing.

“You sure you want her?” Tresa asked Holmes, sighing.

The twins trudged in, Stewart rushing ahead of them, their heads down, ready for a lecture.

Tresa put her hands on her hips. “Well?”

“Beth said – “

“Matt said – “

They said simultaneously, pointing at each other.

Tresa held her hands up, “I don’t even want to know anymore. You’re both adults. Just keep it out of the hospital, okay?”

The twins muttered affirmatives. Matt started to walk off, but Beth feigned a lunge at him, startling him for a second, before heading to the living room.

Beth looked back and forth towards both men at the table, “Dad…why do I feel like I just walked in on something? Oh zed, you didn’t give him the ‘I’m not afraid to go back to prison and to chop you into a million tiny pieces’ talk? Do you know how many boyfriends you’ve scared away?”

“No need to fret, my dear,” Holmes said standing up and taking Beth’s hand in reassurance, “It was a simple talk between a father and his daughter’s suitor. I am no worse for the ware, though I do believe we all agree that I have passed the test, at least the preliminaries?”

David winked in response. “You should thank me for scaring away those boys, Beth, you would have never met Holmes!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Beth muttered as she skulked off to change.

Beth emerged in a pair of denim shorts, a tank top and a simple grey shrug with three-quarter sleeves. Around her neck, she wore the delicate gold locket Holmes had given her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the geometric tattoo of a sigil long thought to bring protection. Simple studs in each piercing of her ears complimented the gold necklace.

At first, it had been a bit jarring to see the modern fashions women wore, so uncovered. In Holmes’s time, their bodies were hidden and shapes altered. Now, women were encouraged to wear what they pleased. Though Holmes couldn’t deny the benefits of being able to regard Beth’s beauty without having to account for layers and layers of fabric and boning. Beth wasn’t much of a girly girl, but she endeavored to always look nice and put together.

“Hey, Sherlock, let’s take a walk around the block before it gets too hot,” Beth said after breakfast.

Holmes nodded and followed Beth outside.

Though the pavement was cracked and pitted, the neighborhood was a nice one with well-maintained homes and mature trees and gardens. There was just enough shade and a breeze to keep the walk enjoyable.

“I kinda need to tell you what went down right before you were resurrected,” Beth said once they were a few houses down.

Holmes nodded, listening.

“Obviously, I had to get my family involved ‘cause dad had the code to the lockbox that had all your papers in it. We basically had a big family meeting to discuss if this was a good idea.”

“Someone was against my reappearance,” Holmes stated.

“Kinda. It’s my Aunt Maggie. We won her over. She was very against the idea while she was your caretaker. She worried that you may not have been able to take all the stress. If you were on her watch, you wouldn’t be here. Look, the last thing I want to do is to put drama between you two, but I know she may say something, and I just wanted you to be aware of that.  Just give her time, give her space. Everyone else is really excited to meet you.”

“Yes, a formerly dead man is a great party guest.” Beth wasn’t sure if he was joking until she saw the grin on his face. She matched his but knew this was a symptom of a bigger issue, it just wasn’t the right time to talk about it.

“Oh, and my cousin Luke thinks you’re Jack the Ripper.”

Holmes stopped in his tracks, “Excuse me?”

Beth laughed, “I mean, the evidence lines up…I bet the only person in the world who can get away with murder is you.” She teased.

Holmes huffed, “I know you think you’re complimenting me, but you’re really not.”

By the time the couple made it back, Tresa was scurrying around the kitchen, her arms laden with groceries and utensils, “I’m heading to Grandpa’s early to start cooking with Jett, Mag, and Kas. We don’t want Grandpa trying to cook for all of us by himself.” She explained. She gave Beth a peck on the cheek and flew out the door.

While David puttered around the garage and Matt played a loud video game, Beth and Holmes went back to their room for a nap. Travel may have advanced since Holmes’ time, but jetlag was still a thing. Beth sat an alarm for ten minutes before dinner.  

~*~

They pulled into an older neighborhood and landed in a driveway littered with cars and a blossoming magnolia tree to the side, partially obscured by a fence. Beth led him into the open garage and opened the door to the home without knocking. Inside the Lestrade clan was scattered around the living room, on the sofa, loveseat, recliner and the younger generation sitting on the floor. The house was already smelling of a delicious dinner cooking. They were in the midst of conversation when they heard the door open and the room fell silent.

“My word, it’s actually him.” Grandpa Adam said.

“Hey everyone,” Beth greeted, “Holmes, let me introduce you; that’s my grandpa, Adam, next to him is my Aunt Jett and Maggie. Maggie’s daughter Kassie, her kids Brittany and Wesley. Jett’s son Luke and his daughter Lucy and son Ben.” Matt and David had arrived a little before Beth and Holmes.

“Hello,” Holmes nodded.

Holmes and Beth took an empty seat.

“How are you finding the 22nd Century, Mr. Holmes?” Adam asked, not taking his eyes off the man.

“I am adjusting well, thank you. Without all of you, I may not be here. I truly thank you all for the care you have provided. I know it was a hard and inconvenient task, one you did not volunteer for.” Holmes knew that the now American based Lestrade family would make regular trips to London to check on him before his return.

“It was my pleasure,” Adam said.

“Think nothing of it,” David said.

“Can you deduce anything about me!?” Brittany, a young girl with long brown hair asked excitedly, running up to the detective.

Holmes examined the girl for a few seconds, rubbing his chin as he took inventory. He wasn’t one to use his talents as parlor tricks, but he did want to show off a bit.

“You are an artist and a quite good one at that. Before Beth and I arrived, you were helping your great grandfather in the garden and lastly, you were given the unfortunate task of giving Spike the pug his medication.”

Brittany gawked. “How did you do that?” She asked, as though she had just seen a magic trick.

“Easy. There are paint stains on your shoes. While inexpensive paint nowadays washes off easily, allowing for a novice painter to make mistakes, the more costly products do not, due to the ingredients that give them their quality. Your parents would not buy you such costly paint if you were not any good. There is also dirt clumped on your shoes, as well as your great grandfather’s, and no one else’s. Notice the color and consistency of the dirt, red, almost clay-like that is common in these parts. You do not just pick up the clumps from walking around, but from working in the garden where the soil has been tilled and the red clay dirt exposed, from the garden I saw as Beth and I came in overhead. There is also fresh produce on the counter. As for the pug family,” Holmes said, looking past the young girl to the family of snorting pugs itching to come inside, staring at the human family through a nose smudged glass door. He returned his attention to her, plucking off several white hairs from her shirt, showing her. “You are positively covered in dog hair. From what your cousin tells me, Spike puts up a fuss when it’s time for his medication.”

The room clapped. Oh yes, Holmes was going to enjoy this night. He regaled the family in the tales of his adventures, new and old, with Gregory and with Beth. Soon dinner needed to be tended to. Most of the older Lestrade family had gathered in the kitchen, preparing dinner as the younger generation showed Holmes around. Beth sat on the counter with a can of soda.

“What’s he doing?” Kassie asked. The family soon gathered round the window, watching the famous detective.

“It looks like he’s hunting for something?”

“Did he drop something?”

“He’s probably looking for bees. He’s been wanting to diversify his colony that he keeps in Sussex, part of his original brood.” Beth answered, with the mild interest of someone who has heard enough about bees.

“He’s gonna get stung!”

“He can tell you how many times he’s been stung, in both lives.”

Aunt Jett shivered, “’ Both lives’, ooh that gives me the heebiest of jeebies. He seems so…calm. Acclimated? How did he take when he was first…revived?”

“He took it in stride. He knew what he was doing. He really misses Watson, the real one.”

“Does he talk about it…y’know death?” Matt asked.

Beth shrugged, “He says that all he remembers is going to sleep in 1947 and waking up in 2103 as though it were the next day.”

“What about the depressive episodes? Dr. Watson said he could starve himself for days!”

“He does have his issues, I’ll give you that, but he made first chair violin in the London Symphony Orchestra. He’s already gotten music to learn. That should keep him occupied enough. I’ve never seen anything alarming when cases were scarce. I think he’s figured out how to actually live with himself. If he gets freaky, well, I’ll get Matt’s pea shooter and shoot a Valium down his throat.” Beth said, mimicking a slingshot as Matt grabbed his throat and pretended to choke.

“And what about his other vices?” David asked, his large arms crossed over his chest.

“Not a thing. He barely drinks.” Beth answered, shaking her head.

“He could be hiding it,” Maggie said, stirring at the stove.

“He could, but I would have seen evidence or track marks. We’ve been having sex for quite a while. Pretty sure I would have noticed.” Beth replied casually. The family stared. “Hey, you asked. All he wants to do is play the violin, solve cases, play with his bees and occasionally box and fence. He’s doing great, I promise.”

Matt took the opportunity to change the subject, “So has he got a new batch of Irregulars?”

Beth took a drink and nodded, “Yeah, they’re pretty good kids. They’re getting close to graduating. They’re almost always over after school. Guess it helps when you have homework about the Victorian Era, and you know someone who lived through it. He’s teaching one of the kids, Daniel Wiggins, how to box actually. The resident computer whiz, Joshua Tennyson manages Holmes’ social media presence. Deidre Owens keeps him up to date on the new slang which is absolutely hilarious. It’s like a foreign language to him!”

“They aren’t homeless, are they?” Luke asked.

“Oh no, not at all. They all have decent enough families. I ran a background check on all of them long ago. Though Deidre and Wiggins aren’t above exploiting tourists for cash.”

“So,” Grandpa Adam said, “What’s it like working with him, the Master?” Pride and joy swelled in his voice.

The family listened as though they were about to hear the conclusion to a long-awaited saga.

Beth smiled, “It’s pretty great actually. Well, afterward, during the matter it’s like pulling teeth. He does what he wants which temporarily puts me in an awkward position with Greyson but who cares, Greyson can go fly a kite. He’s gotten too comfortable behind that desk, which he promptly forgets about once Sherlock closes the case.

“He comes on strong when excited about a case, asking questions and making deductions in rapid-fire,” Lestrade said, snapping her fingers in time, “He’ll rarely tell you what his plan is and you’re just caught up in his storm, along for the ride.”

By then, the kids and Holmes had settled in the living room and were giving Holmes a crash course on all the incarnations of his persona. They were hanging on to every word.

“In this one, they made Watson a girl and you have a lot of tattoos!” Lucy said.

“Tattoos? Me? Heavens!”

“You’re a mouse in this one!” Ben said, showing Holmes the character on his tablet.

“And a dog in this one!” Brittany said.

“Where’s Watson now? The robot, I mean?” Wesley asked.

“Probably playing mother hen to the Irregulars, watching too many soap operas and American baseball with Wiggins,” Holmes answered.

“Did you really shoot words into the walls of Baker Street, Mr. Holmes?” Ben asked, his eyes wide.

“Unfortunately, I did. I never got the deposit back from Mrs. Hudson either. I wouldn’t suggest it.”

The kids laughed, awestruck at the man.

“Do you really go in disguise, Mr. Holmes?” Lucy asked.

“I do! My closet is comprised mostly of costumes and disguises rather than my everyday clothes.”

“I bet you’re a really good actor, Mr. Holmes. Can you do an American accent?”

The question and answer session turned into the kids asking Holmes to do various accents and nailing them.

“I’m surprised at how well he’s taken to them,” Kassie said.

“Well, they are flattering him. He’s peacocking if anything.” Beth replied.

“So, he’s normal now?” Luke asked, continuing the conversation from earlier.

Beth snorted, “Normal isn’t even a setting on the washer at Baker Street. He still argues with the Yard and he’s still arrogant as can be. He still gets up close and personal with the crime scenes. He’s still Holmes, but maybe a better version of him.”

By then, the kids had lost interest in Holmes and had wandered off or to play with the dogs. Holmes found a large assortment of family photos on a shelf.

“That’s my mom,” Maggie said, noticing Holmes was looking at a certain picture.

“She’s beautiful,” Holmes remarked. Beth had that same bright grin as the woman in the photo.

“She was something else. She could drink coffee, crochet and watch tv at the same time. Those fish on the wall? Dad didn’t catch them, she did.”

There was a pause.

“Mr. Holmes, there are things you may not be aware of in this family, some past trauma if you will. My mom died of Alzheimer’s right before your return. It was an ugly battle, unfortunately, Beth and Matt saw a lot of it. I don’t want to see a repeat performance.” She said, looking squarely at the detective, almost accusatory.

“And you have my word that neither do I. Sir Hargreaves has ran my genome backward and forwards. He has seen no mutations in any of the genes pertaining to my memory. While he cannot prove that I will succumb to senility once more, he can neither do the opposite. I must remind you, as bizarre as the sentence sounds on my lips, that I died of old age. Far before any more distressing symptoms or more dramatic memory loss could occur.”

“Sir, I saw you dead. I saw your corpse. You scare me, a little bit. I vouched for your return, but it’s different seeing you, standing there. I don’t mean to put pressure on you, but you don’t know how much you mean to this family. We grew up hearing your stories. Do you know the impact you made on the world? Modern forensic science would literally not exist without you. When Beth was in the Yard’s academy, there was a mandatory class on your deduction techniques. Dad, David and I certainly used what we learned from you when we wore our badges. There are countless other ways you were remembered.”

“Yes, there is quite an ugly statue of my likeness far too close to Baker Street.” Holmes knew there was no logic behind this meeting. It was merely an aunt, traumatized by the prolonged death of her mother, trying to shroud her niece from another round. There was nothing either of them could do but Holmes knew that she had to get it off her chest.

“Just please, Mr. Holmes, take care of yourself, for Beth?”

“It is my every intention,” Holmes loved Beth dearly, more than he thought he could love a woman, anyone. At times, he felt in his past he was a robot, cold and analytical but now, he was alive, human. He wanted to do right by Beth and even the Irregulars.

“Dinner’s ready!” Adam called from the kitchen, a welcome reprieve for both Maggie and Holmes.

The meal was set out on the dining room table and everyone took a seat.

Adam carefully stood up, his aged knees slightly shaking as he did so. He raised his glass in the air, “I would like to raise a toast to our guest, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. It is truly an honor having you at this table. Your visage is a sight I thought I’d never see in my lifetime. You, alive and well, is the culmination of generations of hard work for this family. We also must raise a toast to Beth, for it was her tenacity to finally go through with it. We were so very proud of her before our guest was resurrected, and we are just as proud that she continues to work with you. You may be adding our Beth to the Holmes family, but we can assure you, you are a part of the Lestrade family as well.”

“And good luck with Beth, you’ll need it,” Matt said behind his glass.

The table laughed as Beth slugged him in his arm, teasingly.

“Kids…” Tresa warned.

“Sorry mom,” The twins muttered, the smirks on their faces saying it wasn’t over.

“And Beth, let’s keep Holmes from heights, whaddaya say?” David teased after the toast.

“Can I just point out that one of his latest batch of Irregulars speaks only in Binary and only Holmes can understand him without looking at his readout?”

“I merely recognized the pattern over time,” Holmes replied, simply.

The dinner was a jovial and warm one. Holmes had been welcomed into the Lestrade clan. Family stories were told, old cases were discussed, and laughter was all around.

After dinner, the couple slipped out the back door.

“As you can see, Grandpa Adam and Grandma Hannah had a bit of a green thumb,” Beth said. Along the edge of the fence and property line that dipped off into a shallow creek were several tall pear trees that provided a shaded path. There was a blossoming dogwood tree in the corner and off to the side of the house was a produce garden.

Holmes and Lestrade walked hand in hand under the grove of pear trees. A mighty oak, stories tall dominated the back corner of the backyard, a rope swing swaying in the breeze hung from a low, sturdy branch.

Beth sat down on the old piece of wood that made up the seat, “Grandpa made this for me and Matt when we were little. I spent a lot of time out here. Push me.” She said as she kicked off.

He pushed her for several minutes before he could wait no longer. Holmes caught the ropes as it came back towards him and steadied Lestrade. He moved to face her.

“Know that I do not take this proposal lightly. I may have caught up with times in some ways, but in others, I have not. I do not care for this so-called serial monogamy for myself. Forgive me if I do not have a flowery speech made up, but I never thought I’d meet a woman like you, who has enraptured me since day one. Will you marry me?”

Sherlock Holmes for the first time, dropped to one knee for a woman, not caring about the dirt below him. From his pocket, he pulled out a velvet ring box and opened it, revealing a Marquise cut diamond on a gold band, flanked by a dainty round diamond on each side.

Tears of joy welled in the Inspector's eyes, “Do you need to deduce my answer?” She said, pulling Holmes in for a kiss.

[yaachtynoboat711]

Fonder 5.1

A/N: I AM SOOO SORRY FOR THE HIATUS! I missed you guys. The secret’s finally out! The mystery of Mr. Gatsby’s identity is being revealed! There may be smut included in this chapter also. Thanks @babygirlofwakanda for helping me out with that! Lastly, the italics (besides the sounds) are Yaa’s inner thoughts. 😬😬😬😬😬 Reblog and like!

Word Count: Get your popcorn ready (~3.5k)

Warning(s): SMUT, slow burn, plot progression, introduction of a new character, few errors/typos

NEW YEAR’S EVE 10:34 p.m.

“I-I-...I don’t understand. It was you all along...but you’d just hopped in my DM’s right before I got here!”, Yaa attempted to collect the thoughts that had scattered on the floor.

Gatsby chuckled, “ Yeah, I know. It’s ok to be confused. I’m the last person you’d expect it to be, I’m sure.”

“So why me? All these fine Hollywood jawns and wannabe socialites rippin their own panties off just to get to you...and you choose the one non-celebrity on the other side of the country?”

Gatsby sipped some champagne as he listened to Yaa, nodding his head as he began mentally creating his response to her outlandish claim. He finally sat his fluted glass down on the desk.

“Not to sound like a creep, but ever since Tanisha told me about her bomb ass lawyer friend, I’ve had my eyes on you. Don’t worry; I haven’t been that close. I learned enough about you to still have many questions left over to ask you. You’re a complex and multi-faceted woman that deserves to be exalted. Plus, from what I’ve also heard, you’ve been eyeing me too. Why’d you think the riddles and passwords were how they were?”

He was right: she’d had her eyes, heart, and womanhood set on him for years. It began way back in the summer of 2002. Her almost 12-year-old self had no business watching anything graphic and raw, yet alone watching The Wire. Her parents encouraged to watch it surprisingly. Then it happened—he came on the TV. Though she hated cornrows, even in the early 2000s, she found herself head over heels for the peanut head with the cornrows—Wallace. She hated the fact that he was a teenage drug dealer but hell, that was life in the Pit. The season finale left her distraught, crying for days as though he’d broken up with her or something. She followed his work and had proclaimed her love for him for 12 years and now here he was—Michael B. Jordan—standing before her explaining how he wanted her. Funny how life works.

She burst into a fit of nervous laughter; he joined.

“What’s so funny, Yaa?”, Michael asked.

She subdued her laughter as much as she could. “I’m laughing because I know this has to be a drawn-out prank or some shit. The man I’ve been mentally dating half of my life isn’t in front of me right now, and he damn sure ain’t telling me he finna risk it all for me. Not against his own will at least.”, she stammered.

He raised an eyebrow at her disbelief. His shoulders bounced as his cocky grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So, you think this is a game? Hmm?” He kneeled down and lifted her chin for her honey brown eyes to meet his calming dark brown eyes. “Talk to me.”

She nodded her head yes. “Show me this isn’t a game.”, she challenged.

“Say less.”

He lifted her chin some more. He went in for the kiss—an offer easily accepted. Jackpot. There was a jolt of electricity between their lips. As their kiss deepened, his hands held gently her neck, lightly brushing against her coarse honey blonde locs. Her arms linked tightly around his neck. His hands scooped under her large ass, picking her up and causing her to break the kiss. Her eyes flew open as she began looking down at the floor. The second time she’d been picked up and the skinny nigga was the one on the cusp of changing her life. Her embrace around Michael’s neck tightened significantly as she braced for an abrupt drop.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”, Michael teased.

“Last time I was picked up, I couldn’t dance for a month. You’re scaring the shit outta me.”, she sputtered.

There went that cocky,raspy laugh. Michael dropped her down and quickly caught her before she could get anywhere near the ground. “Oh, so you scared the skinny nigga can’t hang? C’mon now. You should know I’ve been waiting on you for a minute. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, baby girl. Best believe that.”, he reassured. With that being said, he walked confidently across the room to the couch with his scared thick lawyer in tow, carrying her 200+ pound frame like she was a bag of nothing. That Creed training made him a monster.

He stared into her eyes once again in awe. In such a simple expression, there was enough fire and passion in her eyes to light up the fireplace across the room. He slowly gave her lips more kisses, savoring them like the last of a 5-star meal.

“You got all of these sweet kisses, girl.”, he groaned, “Must’ve been saving them for a special reason or someone.” Not by choice, baby boy.

“I’ve waited for a long time for this”, she chuckled into his lips. Knock knock knock.

Michael’s head dropped and Yaa looked up into the dimmed lights palming her face, both clearly frustrated with the mood-killing visitor at the door.

“Who is it?”, Michael yelled as he re-adjusted his black double-breasted tux and bow tie. He walked towards the door, still awaiting a response.

“Me, nigga!”, the nearly hoarse voice replied defensively.

Michael smacked his teeth and opened the door. “The fuck you want, Steelo?”

“Mannnnn, it’s almost 2015! Folks lookin’ for you an- oh, heyyyyy how you doin’? I’m Steelo.”, he slurred. His attention was suddenly brought to the clearly annoyed Yaa.

“I know who you are. Nice to finally meet you.”, Yaa said.

He redirected his intoxicated “focus” back to his best friend. He’d recognized Yaa. “Hold up, that’s her?”

“Yeah, that’s Khalida, the lawyer. We’ll be out in a sec—”

“—YOOOOOO! She bad as fuck,bruh. Thick too? Niggggggaaaaaaa...I heard them fat jawns be changin’ liv—”

Without saying a word, Michael pushed his drunk best friend out the door like a dolly and locked the door. “Look, he’s drunk as fuck and I’m sorry that h—”, Michael apologized.

Khalida placed two fingers over his lips. “Fat isn’t a bad word. No need to apologize. Now, come on— we have a new year to celebrate.”, she replied.

Michael’s deep dimples and smile stretched across his face as he watched Khalida walk out of the door. “You comin’ or not, Gatsby?”, she teased.

11:09 p.m.

By the time Yaa returned to the action, there were more faces—famous faces—in the crowd. All in attendance were dressed to the nines with their CRISP finger waves, feathers, furs, pearls, and enough cigarette holders for an old Hollywood film. Yaa walked to her VIP section to find her best friend Tanisha lit off of her spirit of choice—Bombay Sapphire gin. Steelo and some of Michael’s other friends had joined her in the booth. Tanisha sashayed to her friend to greet her.

“BIIIIIIITCCCCCCCCHHH! Where the FUCK have you been?”, an impaired Neesh questioned.

“I was talking to Gatsby. You literally saw me leave. Second, I’m finna beat yo ass.”, Khalida yelled over the music.

Tanisha stepped back and put her hands up. “What for?”

“You know why. Gatsby ends up being my childhood crush?! Howwwww in the hell were you able to pull that off?”

“Sis...just know that I got the connect. Now shut up and drink--we gotta New Year to ring in.”

Without further protest, Yaa opened the new bottle of D’usse and poured it into her glass. A few glasses and three tequila shots later, she was feeling nice. Not drunk, but nice, tipsy at most. She’d stepped out of her shell of skepticism and began socializing a lot more.

During the course of the night, Michael and Yaa had been getting cozy with each other. They never left each other’s side. They exchanged flirty looks and “you goods?” When they weren’t refilling cups in the VIP section, they were deep in conversation, topics varied as their sobriety faded away. Then, it happened: his curious hand trailed northbound on her leg. Usually, Yaa would smack the taste out of any man’s mouth for feeling up on her, sober or drunk. But let’s face it: she was feeling him and it was obvious the feeling was mutual. She bit her lip and winked at him in response.

“So we just gon’ pretend like yo whole hand ain’t up my dress?”, Yaa playfully questioned.

“Yup.”, Michael replied with a grin. He was so proud of himself. “Finally able to get my hands on you.”

Yaa rolled her eyes. “Don’t getcha skinny ass hurt fuckin around.”

She got up, leaving him awestruck at her model-like walk.

“10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1… HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Gold and silver confetti and balloons fell from the sky. Cheers from every corner of the room paired with the popping of champagne corks. Yaa hugged Tanisha and kissed cheeks in celebration of the New Year. Yaa felt two taps to the right shoulder. Ready to curse, Yaa whipped her body around to see that the tapper was none other than Michael. He rubbed the back of his neck and flashed his smile, revealing his pair of ridiculously adorable deep dimples.

���I-uh...know we kinda just met like an hour and a half ago...but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind having the honor of sharing this New Year’s ki—”. Yaa grabbed him up by his lapel and kissed him passionately, yet drunkenly. She laughed.

“Happy New Year to you too, Kari. Sorry, but I’ve always wanted to call you that.”, she laughed.

1:47 a.m.

Thud. For all it’s worth, Yaa’s back as going to be sore for the next couple of days from the impact of hitting her back against her chest of drawers. She also couldn’t have given half a fuck about her neck or her back. Hell, sis was finally getting dick. The more violent her and Michael’s tongues were becoming in each other’s mouths, the more familiar their hands were becoming with each other’s clothes and bodies. Still focused on his Dom Perignon-flavored kisses, her hands anxiously searched for his belt. But before she could unbuckle his pants, the D’usse demon jumped out. She smirked seductively as she boldly grabbed his print and freed herself from his arms.

“Oh shit.”, he mumbled, “So, you nasty nasty.”

The devilish smirk she gave was all the response he needed. She slowly got on her knees and freed his dick from the constraints of his pants, licking its length on both sides. Her head bobbed to the beat of the music playing in her head. Watching her bob on his dick, he began undoing the bottom of her chignon so that the rest of her hair wouldn’t get in the way of his undoing.

Thud. His head went against the wall as his undoing was becoming apparent. He cursed under his breath and kept his bottom row of teeth tucked underneath his bottom lip to keep from moaning aloud. Yaa would have cared less for his current state. She continued to slurp and coat his rock-hard member with spit. Keeping eye contact, Yaa continued licking him like a melting popsicle. He growled to keep from moaning, along with a chorus of “Shit” being recited under his breath.

Forever came to an end as Yaa slowly got off of her knees. He helped her up, only to be blindsided by her sloppy kisses. She began walking backwards with him towards the king-sized bed but stopped at the edge of the bed.

He placed her on the edge of the bed. Michael kissed her lips gently and slowly began to make his way to her promised land. His kisses became wet as he made his way down to her neck—her spot. He kissed her collarbone tattoo, licked his way down to her large breasts, and paused at her nipples. With his hands now caressing her breast, he wrapped his tongue around her nipple and began sucking with enough pressure to make her moan. While he sucked on her nipple like a pacifier, Michael dropped his hand from hoisting up her other breast and began to timidly creep his fingers down her baby-soft skin and the scrunched fabric of her dress. Feeling his hand touch over her thigh, he began to aggressively pull up the bottom of her dress. There was a slight discoloration created on her skin from the irritation from the material being forced against it, but Michael didn’t stop until the bottom of her dress pooled around her stomach. Once he realized where the material had settled, he pulled his lips from around Yaa’s areola, fixating his eyes on her lower half. Quickly noticing that she was panty-less, he felt a smirk tug at his lips--better--he peered up at his flushed lover. “So that’s how you rollin’, huh?”, he questioned as he slowly rolled his bottom lip underneath his teeth before winking up at Yaa and sinking to his knees. Staring at the awe-striking sight of her glistening folds, Michael admired the intimate view as he could replay the numerous times he tried to capture this very image many a late night.

He pushed her legs further apart until her kneecaps were damn near touching the mattress before trailing his way up her inner thighs. Placing soft, gentle kisses and occasional nibbles against her hot skin, he increased his pressure, making her feel the individual pricks of his coarse facial hair making Yaa a squirmy, wet mess. Timidly reaching her glory, Michael brought his hands up and steadily separated her lower lips with both of his thumbs before pressing his mouth forward. “Looks like someone’s been waiting on me.”, he said with a cocky confidence.

Chest rapidly rising and falling, Yaa couldn’t form a coherent word, phrase, or sentence. She gulped heavily before rolling her head back as Michael’s lips connected to her folds. She gripped the sheets up as his tongue controlled her every move. He finally licked her wet opening with a flat tongue going from the bottom to the top. His tongue was a weapon— it was both long and thick. He licked his name on her bud—slowly torturing her it with every dip, twist, turn, curve, and dot of each letter in his name. He then inserted two of his thick fingers into her opening as he licked the letter "C" and began pumping his fingers at a moderate pace. Desperately panting from his actions, Yaa began to shriek once she felt Gatsby toy with her clit. This raggedy ass nigga finna suck you dry and ain’t shit you can do about it at this point.

His fingers picked up the pace the moment he noticed her unraveling, his tongue explored deeper into her womanhood. She struggled to feel for the nearest pillow, but when she found it, she quasi-covered her mouth to subdue her moans of pleasure.

The sounds of Yaa’s hitched breathing and impending sexual eruption ricocheted throughout the master bedroom. Her back was arched completely off of the bed and she held a firm grasp of his head. If it wasn’t a moan or gasp, Yaa let out a “fuck”, “shit”, or an “Oh Lorddddddd.” Hearing Yaa unravel brought Michael much pleasure—the match to his sexual fire. He occasionally laughed at her undoing; he finally had the object of his affection under his mercy, quivering at his touch. Right as he could feel the pressure change for her release, he pulled his fingers and tongue away from her now swollen bud. She quickly leaned up on her elbows to see why he was stupid enough to pull out right as she was about to release. He smiled maliciously as his soaked fingers neared his mouth. “Nuh-uh. I gotta taste this first, it makes the kisses taste sweeter.”, Michael explained as he slapped her hand away from his. Bitch, no the fuck he didn’t! The two locked eyes as he sucked his two drenched fingers like he’d just ate the last extra wet lemon pepper wing.

He motioned for her to sit up. Before he could even ask, Yaa leaned in to taste her sweet essence on his tongue. A shiver shot down his spine as her candy apple colored nail gently traveled down his back. Their kiss led to Yaa laying on her back once again. Michael bit his lip as he hovered over her. He snatched her by her ankle to the edge of the bed, sliding himself between her legs. “Missionary’s a bold first choice, don’t you think?”, Yaa asked as she handed him a condom. He chuckled, “Nah. I’m just tryna see sumn, that’s all.”

His thumb rubbed against her wet clit as his girthy member slowly entered her tight, slippery entrance. Yaa inhaled sharply as she felt her body tremble and his thick length push against her tight bounds. “Fuck!” She cursed, as she felt him move slow trying to feel each and every ridge of her plush opening. Their fingers intertwined within each other as he went further into her. The lustful gaze into her honey eyes only intensified the overwhelming sensation of euphoria emanating from her core. With her back now arched completely off the bed, her new position gave him more room to dig deeper into her guts. Her mouth was agape as she tried to breathe through her stimulation. His rhythm steadily increased with every stroke.

Watching Yaa’s scrunched facial expression, Michael moved his hands to grip her waist as he quickened his pace. Taking his off of her face for a second to peek at their connection as he smirked at the sticky surface of his and hers wet organs. With the erotic scene unfolding before him, Michael slowly rolled his bottom lip underneath his teeth once the sounds of their moist skin slapping against each other reached his ears. She was helpless—her eyes burned from the tears of pleasure and she struggled to grip onto the gold link chain that dangled from his neck. Her moans and whimpers continued to fuel his drive. Chuckling darkly at her body’s responsiveness he said, “Yea, this is that shit I was talking bout. Just listen to that shit speaking out to me, fuck.” before fluttering his eyes closed and pounding into her.

3:34 a.m.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound of the headboard repeatedly being knocked against the wall served as a light sound buffer to Michael and Yaa’s moaning. Michael’s thick hand applied the perfect amount of pressure around her neck as he continued to deliver those dangerous strokes. Just as they were able to sync their rhythms, he pulled out. This nigga done lost his Black ass mind. She opened her mouth to complain, only to be interrupted by the sudden shift from her back to her tummy. “On your knees. Now.”, he commanded as he smacked her ass. She as she was told—only to be rewarded with the reunion of his lips to her lower lips. No, he didn’t, bitch! The byke?! He eatin’ it from the muhfuckin’ byke?! This is Daddy!! Fuck a Winston,chile. His alternating kissing and sucking on her swollen bud caused her to fall flat on her stomach from the overstimulation. His hand went underneath her to lift her back up. He centered himself before sliding his member back into her. He slowly increased his tempo as he twisted her locs into his fist.

Yaa’s voice was hoarse. Had been hoarse half an hour ago. She had been depleted of any common sense she’d thought she had and was running on adrenaline. Michael, though appearing to be the victor of the night’s bout, was still at odds with his challenger. She was tired but still fighting like hell. He sweated profusely—like a champ battling it out in the 11th round. She wasn’t going down with a fight. He flipped her around one last time. This time, he pinned her legs past her ears—a position that both were surprised by.

“You ain’t tappin’ out?”, he asked between pumps

“Why and you about to tap out yourself? Let’s tap out at the same time since you so damn excited.”, the raspy-voiced Yaa boldly replied.

“Aight, say less.”

He went into overdrive. He quickly moved her legs from near her ears to around his waist. Not even two minutes later, the pair released within seconds of each other,his body collapsing onto hers.

“Don’t move.”, Michael whispered in Yaa’s ear as he tried to get himself together.

She shook her head. “Bitch, I don’t wanna move.” She paused, “Actually, I need to finish wash my face. Move.”

The moment both feet landed on the ground, gravity betrayed her. Her knee gave out, causing to limp and almost fall. Thankfully, Michael’s body was turned away from her. After returning from the bathroom, she limped to the bed. Oh, heating pads are the move all day today. This was the beginning of something different, and what a way to begin a new beginning than on New Year’s Day?

A/N: Yeah, sorry for the trash ending. I got too impatient.

I’m in the kitchen, TAGS ERRYWHERE!

@muse-of-mbaku @kumkaniudaku @eriknutinthispoosy @whoramilaje @mbakusthrone @mbakuwife @crushed-pink-petals @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @jackburtonsays @randomwordprompts @forgottenthoughtsandmemories @bartierbakarimobisson @wakandan-flowerz @blackpantherreblogs @babygirlofwakanda @eerythingisshaka @washyourlinens @turn-thy-paige @doublesidedscoobysnacks @wakandas-vibranium @dramaqueenamby @oshasimone @destinio1 @teheeboo @sarahboseman @iamrheaspeaks @ljstraightnochaser @chaneajoyyy @thememoireeofme @lovelynervouschaos @cay-cah @coonflix @katasstrophey @mareethequeen @jozigrrl @great-neckpectations @jellybean531 @yofavcocoa @storibambino @maya-leche @blackgirloneshots @royallyprincesslilly @texasbama @certifiednatural @abeautifulmindexposed

[loveofshows]

Well.

This was certainly happening.

Kara stood outside his door, slowly breathing in and out, as she planned out what she was going to say.

The direct approach- Querl, I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a child. (But he could go into shock, or faint, when she told him. He could just run away, or go back to his own time, because he was scared, or didn’t know if he could handle having a baby with her.)

The more subtle- Remember that night on Argo? (Which he might be able to put together- he still was the smartest person in the universe, so he could figure that out, and they spent quite a lot of nights together, memorable ones, and many of them included the two of them making love. But at the time, neither of them knew if they could even have a child together, so that was still in question.)

Or she might just still be too nervous, and not tell him at all- instead deciding to sleep in his bed with him, fall asleep holding him close and say those words in the early morning, in the hours when things were hazy and he may or may not be awake to hear her.

There were so many possibilities- she could just instead tell him she loved him, or kiss him and guide his hands to her stomach, or turn away at that moment and wait to say anything until the next day (which would turn into the next day, and the next, and so on until she started showing and couldn’t hide it anymore).

Or she could ask him to marry her again, on Earth this time with their other family, and let him find out on his own, marrying him right before she started growing out of her wedding dress.

But she knew, as both of her mothers had told her, that she had to tell him soon. She’d waited long enough, and before long he could be the last person to know. And she loved him too much to do that to him- especially after they were already married on Argo, and everyone knew about it- not to mention she couldn’t imagine just lying to him while he was still recovering from an injury.

So she knocked on the door, much calmer now, and waited for him to open it.

~

“Kara.” He said, which was enough for her to hug him right then and there. After days of not hearing his voice, it sounded even more beautiful to her. She held him close, doing her best not to hurt him, and he held her just as tight. Her eyes closed as they embraced, and she got used to the feeling of holding him again- which was almost enough to make her forget what she was there for.

“Welcome back.” She answered, softly. “Do you want me to come in?”

“Always.” He said, and led her into his room.

(A part of her ached at how long it had been since he moved in, and yet how bare most of it still was- though it felt lived-in now, with some of what he was working on and pictures of her inside it, a framed portrait of the two of them on his dresser, she still felt like he deserved better. Something that could be a home, was all she wanted for him.

And soon he would have a true home, once they moved in together completely, and everyone knew about their baby and their marriage. But that was a matter for another day.)

She found herself gently pulling him down onto the bed, holding his hands. Both of them were quiet, as they sat together, and she was still smiling at him. Grateful that he was alive, happy that he was awake and strong enough to be there with her, and happy to tell him her news- even if she was unsure of how he would react to it.

“I… I love you.” Kara said, first.

“And I love you. More than anyone.” Querl answered. “That has not changed.”

“I know, it isn’t- but something else has.” Kara said, pulling his hand closer. She moved forward on the bed, too, and soon her hand was on top of his, leading it up her leg, and on her waist, and then onto her stomach.

“Kara.” He said, looking breathtaken. “My love. Are you…”

“I’m pregnant, yeah.” She answered, voice hollow. “And I know you might be scared. I am, too- that’s why I didn’t tell you right away.”

“Oh, Kara…”

“I didn’t even know this was going to happen- but I guess something just clicked, when we were on Argo, and now… now, if you want to keep the baby, we’re going to get through this together. I’m with you, every step of the way. And we won’t be alone, that I can promise.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since I went to Midvale last month.”

“Who else knows?”

“It’s just you, Eliza, and Alura.” Kara said. “I was too nervous to tell everyone else, especially while you were hurt.”

“Kara.” He said again, before kissing her stomach, her hands, her lips. “I love you indescribably. And I cannot tell you how much of an honor it is to know I will be a father. And though I was nervous, as you are, and worried that any child of mine could turn out to be a future Brainiac… now I can say with certainty that, as the father of your child, I will make sure that is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Our child.” Kara corrected, before kissing him back, as they embraced once again, and he cushioned her as they fell onto the bed. “She’s going to be ours.”

“She’s going to be ours.” He repeated, awestruck, before they lost themselves in each other, just like those nights on Argo.

In knowing, hopefully, that the brightest part of their future together was still to come.

[codyfernaesthetic]

Dichotomy

Part 4:

The Sanctuary holds a massive celebration in honor of Michael Langdon’s return from Outpost 3. Mallory attempts to adjust to her new life with the help of new friends.

Author’s note: Hello! Shorter chapter this time, but I didn’t want to put it off any longer. I have big plans for Dinah and other minor characters so I wanna draft that out and get all of it together. Until then, here’s the ballroom scene! I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Warnings: Language, mild sexual themes, mentions of anxiety

Mallory didn’t have long to settle into her new home when a knock came from the door. Rhoda quickly rushed forward past Mallory who was already making her way and opened it. Outside the threshold was an older African American woman, short and stout; brown freckles were dotted across her round cheeks and nose, framed by dark curly q’s with stripes of gray splashed throughout. She wore a black, purple brocaded vest over a flowy white shirt, a violet skirt decorated with black silk trimmings stopped below her knees in the front and fell past her ankles in the back. Her shoes were royal purple, large black stones sparkling in their center. In her right hand she carried a large, worn leather bag.

“Hello, dear.”

She entered without Mallory having the chance to grant permission. As Rhoda shut the door, the woman held out her hand, “You must be Mallory. My name is Lydia Porfirio, perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

Mallory took her hand with a small twinge of uncertainty, until taking another moment to think and realizing where she recognized her.

“Yes!” She exclaimed with a smile, “Coco sent me to pick up your summer collection that she got for her birthday.”

“Coco?”

“My...” her face fell, a wave of further realization crashing over her, “former employer.”

Lydia patted her hand sympathetically, “She didn’t survive, I’m assuming?”

She shook her head and muttered, “No.”

She released her hand and set down her bag, saying, “You look devastated over it. I’ve known too many assistants who would’ve loved to murder their employers. Hell, I know I did when I was working for some no talent hacks before selling my soul to ol’ Beelzebub,” she removed a pair of black gloves and set them on the bed, “So, I suppose you two must’ve been good friends.”

She began opening the bag, pulling out measures and sewing kits and patterns; all the while Mallory watched, dumbfounded, unsure how to voice the forming ideas in her mind.

“So, this is all a Satanist thing.”

She stopped. She turned her face to her with a wry smile, “What was your first hint?”

Mallory hesitated, then asked in a low voice, “What does that make Mr. Langdon?”

Lydia cocked her head to the side, as if registering her question. She slowly stood straight, sudden realization in her eyes that Mallory truly didn’t know, “Michael Langdon is the Antichrist.”

Her head spinned as she grappled for the edge of the love seat, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Now, hold on,” Lydia grabbed her by the arms and gently helped her sit down, “just take a deep breath, honey.”

She threw her head back and commanded Rhoda, “Go get her some water.”

She rushed to complete her task and knelt down in front of Mallory, presenting the glass before her. She waved it away, rubbing her temples, her breathing shallow.

“Why am I here? Why didn’t he just kill me?”

She wished she’d stayed dead the first time. She wished she never had to learn about Coco. Everything she knew was twisting and morphing before her eyes and she didn’t understand why.

“You must be something very special,” Lydia consoled, “Only the richest people got a chance to come to The Sanctuary. I know it’s a lot to take in, but you really are a lucky girl.”

She tried to chuckle, but it only came out as a mirthless, throaty grunt. She rubbed her eyes, a sharp pinprick headache forming at the base of her skull.

“I hate to do this to you,” Lydia stood, twirling a tuft of hair, “but I do need to start working if we want you in something presentable for the celebration.”

She looked up at her, “What?”

“I was sent here to make you a dress. I’m assuming you just came here with the clothes on your back.”

Mallory shook her head, disgusted and tired, “I can’t.”

Lydia answered sympathetically, but with a warning undertone, “It’s not optional, dear.”

She wrung her hands and closed her eyes, she never remembered praying to anyone or anything before, but now found herself calling out into the universe. Like an ant screaming to the top of a mountain, begging for anyone at all to hear her and help.

“Ok.”

*.*.*

The grand ballroom of The Sanctuary sprawled the length of a football field, its floor pure black marble, shined to reflect the domed ceiling towering above. Chandeliers of silver hung from the rafters, red rubies spilling down them like drops of blood. Murals were scrawled across the entire circumference of the ceiling, resembling the art of the Sistine Chapel, but with a much darker overtone. The people of Babel stood in pride, beholding their beautiful tower that touched the stars, defying the will of God; another, the grizzly scene of the murder of Abel, his brother Cain violently crushing his head with a stone. But in the center of the dome was the most vivid of them all. The scene was a perfect cloudscape, hues of gold and violet and orange dazzled and danced between puffs of white, the sky above radiant with white light, with the exception of one lone aberration. A figure with his arms outstretched, encrusted head to toe in clothes of fine silk and jewels, wings sprinkled with starlight, golden hair swirling around his angelic face, branches of lightening cracked around him to form a terrifying halo. Below him, his reverent epithet, the words, “Lucifer, The Morning Star, Conqueror of Earth, Harbinger of the Apocalypse”

The denizens filled the room, clad in gothic balllgowns and crimson waistcoats. The women’s hair was pinned and braided with jewels, and the men wore ostentatious rings of black diamond and silver, every outfit attempting to outdo the other. Long tables of rich food and decadent wine were placed all around. However, all eyes were focused on one man who stayed off to the side, surveying the crowd of his loyal subjects. Michael Langdon hung back from the crowd, arms behind his back in typical fashion. He was every inch an imposing, demonic king. Upon his head he wore a crown of silver thorns, entwining into three spirals at the top, tipped with rubies. His flowing, golden hair framed piercing eyes rimmed in black; black eyeshadow sexily smoked out on their corners. He wore a long, velvet coat, decorated with silver buttons and accents of leather over a black shirt with a thin mesh V sliding down his broad chest; a silver pentagram pendant around his neck, and leather boots, laced in silver.

Men and women eyed him, some with reverence, others with lust, but all watched him with hungry and desirous eyes. A particular rumor was buzzing around about the Devil’s son and the Cooperative’s plans for him, and all wanted to know how their King and Savior would go about fulfilling the plan.

But their heads turned with his as he stared awestruck at the ballroom’s threshold. Mallory stood there, escorted by Rhoda, panic seizing her as all eyes latched onto her at once. Lydia was a fast worker, though she had worked from a previously created pattern. Mallory’s gown transformed from a black satin bodice at the top to red strips swirling around the bottom like flames, her dark hair curled and done up with red jewels. She might’ve been the most simplest dressed there, but she might as well have been the only one in the room with the way Langdon’s eyes were locked on her. They tried to ignore him and continue conversation as he strolled towards her. Langdon, sensing their gaze, turned and waved them off, signaling that they best continue their revelry, and mind their own business; but some still gave Mallory dirty looks.

He appraised her; clinically, or so she thought. She balled her hands into fists, trying to hide how badly she was shaking.

“Your dress is lovely. Lydia works well under pressure.”

He tilted his head like a curious owl spying on his prey from up in his hideout; icy blue eyes drilling into her with such scrutiny that a pleasant heat pooled into her core, mixing with frozen shards of fear.

His lips pulled into a genuine smile, “May I have this dance?”

She tore her eyes away from his gaze and took his hand with trembling fingers, panic and rage swirling in her gut. Violins began their sweet, hypnotic tune. With one flowing movement, his left hand gripped her waist with a firm, but gentle touch, while gracefully whirling them onto the ballroom floor. She felt his eyes burning into the top of her head, her gaze fixed on the steps of their feet on the black marble floor.

“It’s very rude to not look your partner in the eyes.”

When she said nothing in response, he stopped abruptly. She braced for the worst, terrified that she had angered him, and would be severely punished for her insolence. Instead, his hand snaked further around her waist and up her back, drawing her closer til there was no space between them. His fingers pressed into the bare nape of her neck, a strong pressure, yet teasing. His warm, full lips made contact with the curve of her neck, pressing a tender, innocent kiss. Without her consent, a gasp of surprised pleasure escaped her throat. Within an instant he moved back to his original posture, a devious smirk adorned his face now that her eyes were well-fixed on him. His hand slipped back to her waist, but no effort was made to separate their bodies. They returned to their dancing without a word, the ghost of his lips haunting the dip of her neck.

“Did you ever dream of this when you were a child, Mallory?” He asked, his eyes lingering on her neck, brushing his tongue over his bottom lip, “Being in a beautiful gown, at a ball, in the arms of a king.”

Suddenly, a vision came upon her. Black, bat-like wings stretched out from behind Langdon’s form, spanning across the entire room. Serpentine black horns climbed from his head. His eyes became as red as blood. The same grasping darkness she’d encountered in the tunnel sprung up from the ground and entwined itself around her legs.

“And the fact that the same king holding you close,” he continued with a heady voice, “Could twitch his finger and end your existence, does that scare you?” His mouth twisted into a grin, “Excite you? You know who I am, what I am capable of,” he leaned in closer and whispered, “Are you frightened, Mallory?”

She gulped back tears, the terror threatening to overtake her. The darkness tightened its grip.

“You will speak to me,” he commanded with a dangerously gruff voice.

She grit her teeth and looked him in the eye, power coursing through her, pushing back the darkness.

“I am not afraid of you.”

When the words left her mouth, the vision vanished. The normal sights, sounds, and smells wafted all around her, bringing her back to reality. Langdon took a step back, still holding her right hand. He tilted his head in a slight bow, as if agreeing to a challenge.

“Good.”

[omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts]

If Looks Could Kill...

Author’s Note: So IDK WHAT TIME PERIOD THAT ADRIAN WAS TURNED but this is kind of an AU in a sense because this girl killed him instead of him dying in the war (as you can read from the last chapter of my lil’ series ;)) Therefore, I decided that he should be turned in around the 1850′s (I’M HONESTLY JUST MAKING THIS UP SO DON’T FACT CHECK ME ON WHEN HE GOT TURNED AND DON’T COME FOR ME PLZ) And this probably isn’t historically accurate, but here goes... I really hope you enjoy :) SORRY IT’S SO SHORT!!! But I will make it up to you with a longer part next update

Summary: Adrian regales the tale of the first women he ever loved and how the met, set back in the 1850′s, a Victorian Era. Here’s the story of love, lust, betrayal, desire, and death, all fueled by one thing. Hunger. There will be a part 2 coming soon... @ashtonmore @ashtonwalker @mymandrake @drakewalkerwhipped @maxiarapamaya @devineinterventions2

Warning: OKAY SO THERE’S HARASSMENT AND SOMEONE BEING RACIST because it’s the 1850′s and people were terrible to so many people back then, this is a way to show Adrian being protective, Sweetness, Fluff of course for the first part of this little story within a story, it’s gonna be one to remember my lovelies ;)

“Watch where ya going, foozler!” a man barked in Adrian’s ear, causing him to fall in the dirt by the main road. 

Adrian wipes dirt off his cheek, gritting his teeth as he gets back up to his feet, brushing it off his grey dress slacks, adjusting his sleek, ebony top hat, bow tie, and beige blazer. He has to look presentable for the people he’s photographing, he’d never hear the end of it otherwise. His boss is a stubborn, set in his ways man with a bit of a temper, but the job is good money for him, putting food in his mouth and a roof over his head.

He gripped his ancient, Kodak camera tightly in his hands, being sure not to drop it as he walked down the bustling roads of 19th century Paris, France, an entirely new city all for him to explore. Being just a young man from New York, he’s traveled out of the country, yes, but not anywhere this extravagant and wondrous. The sun glowed on his tan skin, illuminating the curiosity and excitement in his hazel eyes, getting a few lustful glances from women in Victorian gowns, white, lacy umbrellas propped on their shoulders when they wave a demure, white gloved hand at him.

He dips his hat to them, flashing a big, heart-stopping smile and sending them a small, coy wink, making them giggle and whisper to each other when they continue to walk past him.

Perhaps this city will be more fun that I expected... he thinks fondly to himself with a growing smile.

He stops in front of a seamstress shop, a glass wall revealing a series of intricate and hand-sown gowns, dresses, suits, and rolls of fabric hanging on the back wall. He looks at the address written on the yellowed envelope in his hand, nodding when he sees he’s at the right place. 

Adrian pushes past the doorway, looking around the quaint, lovely shop, spotting an older man with white hair, going in all directions, stroking his beard and pushing up his black spectacles before noticing Adrian’s presence. A large, eccentric grin takes up his entire face, the prominent laugh lines and crows’ feet making an appearance when he walks over, clamping a friendly hand on Adrian’s shoulder.

“Ah, you must be the allusive and talented Mr. Adrian Raines! It is truly a pleasure and an honor to have you in my humble shop,” his grin widens.

Adrian tips his hat, “The pleasure’s all mine, sir, and thank you. I hope I live up to your illusions of me and do you proud, sir.”

“Call me Onry! And they are far from illusions, Mr. Raines. I’ve heard great things about you and your work in the photography field. That is why I insisted you come to Paris! You have quite an eye for these things, my boy,” Onry says, guiding Adrian towards the back room with the subject he will be photographing is staying.

Adrian smiles bashfully, “Thank you, Onry. That’s all very kind of you to say, but-”

His words are lost when he sets eyes on a woman, laughing at something one of her friends said, sitting upon a white painted stool. She wears a beautiful, gold and rose-colored gown with a string of pearls around her neck that contrasts extraordinarily with her golden, brown skin. Adrian is rooted into place, mesmerized by the woman’s beauty, only seconds after laying eyes on her. The flush in her full cheeks, the angle of her jaw, the curl of her raven hair, pinned at the back of her head with a few escaping to frame her face, her warm, cocoa eyes, her soft, pink, impossibly irresistible lips, everything about her made him frozen with admiration for this one women.

The most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

She finally sees his staring and tilts her chin up, scrutinizing him from across the room, “Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s impolite to stare?” she says, her voice smooth and music to his ears, laced with a lilting, French accent.

“Not when the woman I’m looking at is this...” he meets her eyes, flashing the same smile he did to those girls just moments before. “Astoundingly beautiful.”

She appears unfazed, laughing at him, “Your charms won’t work on me, mon cheri, I’ve dealt with my fair share of American boys. You’re just like the rest of them.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” he asks, humoring her.

Onry clears his throat from beside Adrian, touching his shoulder to bring him back to reality, “Mr. Raines? I am well aware of my dear friend, Luella’s wit and beauty and how enticing she can be to men, but we don’t have much time. I need this picture as soon as possible.”

Adrian answers, eyes still on Luella, “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

Adrian sets up his camera in front of Luella, her friends moving out of the shot as Onry sets everything up for the background, smiling proudly when everything is finished and Adrian is ready to take the photo.

Luella places her hands in her lap, straightening her back in the stool, and tilting up her chin, a small smile gracing her full lips. He’s almost too awestruck from her bewitching beauty. He tucks under the hood and snaps the photo, knowing whatever the outcome, she will look absolutely stunning.

After a few more shots and tucking away his camera, Onry takes one of the photos he shot and sets it into Adrian’s hand. 

“I thought you might enjoy this photograph, Mr. Raines,” he cracks a knowing smile. “Safe travels, my friend, and have a wonderful time in our wonderful city.”

Adrian smiles graciously and tucks the photo into his pants pocket. He walks up to Luella, extending his hand to help her off the stool. She cuts her dark eyes to him before hopping off herself, brushing past him and out the door. He hurries after her, speeding up so he’s by her side, walking with her.

She sighs, “What is it you want, Mr. Raines?”

“Adrian is preferred if we’re going to be friends,” he smiles. “And Luella? Doesn’t it mean warrior?”

“It does,” she looks at him from the corner of her, lips edging into a small smile. “I see you aren’t as dim-witted as I expected you to be.”

“I think the name is pretty fitting.”

She smiles. “Why do you think my father chose it for me?” she asks him before getting shoved into the wall by a burly, large man.

“Hideous slave! Go back to your master where you belong,” he shoves her again, her shoulder painfully hitting the wall. She winces, lunging for the man to fight back, but Adrian puts himself in front of her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she whispers through gritted teeth, a hand on her hurt shoulder, he scowls at the man and the bruise blossoming on her skin.

“Some warriors need to know when to choose their battles,” he whispers to her. “Let me help you.” 

He turns back to the man with a deep frown, “That is no way to talk to a woman. Or anyone for that matter.”

The behemoth of a man chuckles darkly, “She’s not a person, she’s living dirt! Human scum! Woman belong in the kitchen, cooking and cleaning for their husbands. She belongs in the fields! Now step away from her so I can finish what I started!”

Adrian pushes the man away from her, making him stumble backwards, “You will not lay a hand on her, you cretin. If anyone is living dirt, it’s you, people like you that are intolerant and cruel, putting others down for no reason at all. So run along before you get hurt because none of us want that,” he says, towering over the man, eyes darkening with anger.

“What ya gonna do, boy? Hit me?” the man raises his fists. “I’d like to see you try.”

Adrian swings his fist without hesitation into the man’s jaw, making a loud crack as the man falls limp to the ground, knocked out cold. Adrian turns to Luella, shaking out his fist, the other hand on her arms, comforting her.

“Are you alright, Miss Luella?” he says, looking for the bruise he’d just seen on her shoulder, but not finding it. How peculiar...

“I’m fine,” she gulps audibly, looking up at him through her thick lashes. “Thanks to you. I could have handled it myself, mon cheri. This is what I go through everyday on these streets, it is nothing new.”

He frowns, shaking his head, “You shouldn’t have to.”

“The world isn’t fair, beau,” she smiles sadly. Before he can speak, she rises on the toes to press a soft and quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Mr. Raines. Hopefully I can repay you someday for what you did for me.”

“You could go to dinner with me,” he beams, breath catching in his throat even after she pulls away, he rubs the spot where her lips brushed, flushing intensely. She flashes an amused smile, taking his breath away. 

“You’re only in town for a day or two, Mr. Raines. That wouldn’t be very wise for me to get attached.”

“I could stay,” he blurts out without a second though.

“La mignonne...” she says with a soft chuckle, brushing a hand across his cheek affectionately. “You really shouldn’t,” her face dims.

“I would,” he says.

“I’m sure you would,” she smiles, despite her best efforts, unable to resist his charms. “But what would this dinner entail?”

“Just before sunset, tomorrow,” he says, taking her hand and pointing her finger in the direction straight ahead, just where the water lies. A few trees and grass for places to sit and talk together. “A picnic.”

“It does sound lovely,” she smiles wistfully at the thought, before looking him in the eye. “But I cannot go.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“I have a ball to attend tomorrow, a masquerade soiree for Onry, he’s throwing the celebration at his estate,” she tilts her head when a smile makes a way to Adrian’s lips. She matches his expression, “What is going on through that head of your, mon cheri?”

“I could escort you,” he steps closer to her, chuckling nervously as his nerves begin to take over. “If you’ll have me.”

She considers this for a moment and despite her mission, she smiles kindly at him, knowing the party will be dangerous for someone like him. Taking his hand in hers, she squeezes it for assurance. “I do not think it would be... safe for you to go. It is... not your way of life.”

“Let me go,” he grasps her hand in both of his, bringing it to his lips to kiss her knuckles, making her meet his eyes. “I would die a happy man if I were to have the pleasure of escorting a Queen like yourself.”

She flushes, tucking a curl behind her ear, “Are you sure?”

“More than anything.”

Luella nods, meeting his eyes with a determined smirk that captures Adrian’s heart in an instant, knowing this woman will surely be the death of him. “Very well, meet me here, tomorrow night just before sunset and my coach will take us there.”

He beams, “Thank you, Luella.”

Her heart clenches, hiding it with a lip curling grin, “It’ll be a night to remember, mon coeur.”

She lets go of his hands, sending the American one last smile before turning on her heel and walking down the sidewalk, bustling with life, but all he sees is this one woman. 

He grins as he watches her leave, deep in his heart knowing this is the girl he will spend the rest of his life with.

PART 2 COMING SOON!!!! Tell me if you want more ;)

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Ramsay Bolton/Snow x Fem!Lannister Reader

King's Landing was busier than usual,being a fine Spring day,and Sandor Clegane,again,had to take care of the oldest Baratheon child, Y/N,who kept pulling on his hand to walk with her through the gardens. Her golden blonde hair kept swaying as she twirled in the divine light of the Sun,her giggles rang out like lullabies,which made Sandor chuckle softly at her childish behaviour. He knew,however,that despite her innocent and lovely appearance,her deep,emerald eyes held only mischief and cunning. She,like her mother and grandfather,was a true Lioness,despite her 'Baratheon' title. She was stubborn,and everytime someone would call her by her proper name,she'd offer a poisonous grin and correct them.

"Y/N Lannister,if you please."

The girl was the epitome of freedom,a powerful feline who manages to trick everyone into letting her do whatever she pleases,and therefore,she's either out with her beloved Guard dog,or inside,bugging into the Kingdom affairs,much to Tyrion's amusement.

And just imagine the shocked faces of Robert's advisors when they saw his daughter sitting on his leg,reading a book,and when she heard a rather disagreeable statement,she'd refute in a second,shocking everyone.

Y/N:Come on,Sandor,loosen up a bit!It's such a gorgeous day,it'd be a pity to be all grouchy~! Sandor:Sorry,little song bird,but being a Sunflower isn't my thing. Y/N:Dear Sandor,I am a Lioness,not a useless song bird,but you are excused.However,you won't be excused from missing out a nice dance with me! Sandor:Don't be ridiculous,girl,I'm your guard,not some fancy shit lord. Y/N:*chuckles* You are Sir Woof Woof,whatever do you mean~? Sandor:You're crossing a fine line there,girl,I'd pay attention if I were ya. Y/N:And what are you going to do,sweet Sandor?Bite me? Sandor:Sometimes I wonder who's a bigger cunt. Y/N:Joffrey.Always Joffrey.Definitely Joffrey.He doesn't care about you like I do~. Sandor:And he doesn't use me like you do either. Y/N:Oh,Sandor,your words cut me deeper than the Marianna Trench.Honestly,you must know my intentions of dancing with you are purer than the first snow of the year! Sandor:It hasn't snowed in King's Landing since the last Winter. Y/N:*giggles*Then...I want to see the North!Don't the Starks always say how Winter is coming?Oh,Sandor,I've never seen snow!It must be so beautiful!I am quite tired of this golden landscape,it's so old-fashioned!Silver is the new trend! Sandor:You might like snow,but only when you first see it.It's like a gorgeous enchantress,but sly and deadly,much like you. Y/N:*arranges her hair*Oh dear,that was so poetic of you,sweet Sandor!If I were to go to the North,would you come and crown me the Queen of Winter? Sandor:Snow is much better than fire,anyways. Y/N:*gleams*SWEET!I shall talk to uncle Tyrion at once!I overheard my lord father when he was talking to someone from the Small Council.Apparently,Jon Arryn died mysteriously,and he wants Ned Stark as the new Hand of the King~!Do you know what that means~? Sandor:Oh great,more death in the City of Death,how unexpected. Y/N:Call it Murderville.But I wonder...why did they call it "King's Landing"?Is here the place where Kings just...land?Fall?To their death?*gasps*Oh no,it's raining Kings! Sandor:How childish...it almost fooled me. Y/N:Come on,Sandor,relax.Let's go to a pub,and I'll treat you to all the ale you wish!Just smile for me~! Sandor:Not bloody likely,little song bird.But I'll take your offer,for now.After you.

#####

After talking to the right people,she convinced her father to ride on a horse along her beloved Hound on the way to the North,which was oddly entertaining for the both of them,much to the displeasure of her mother and brother. When they arrived,however,they were not only expected by the Starks,but another noble house- House of Bolton.

The girl quickly asked her friend about the Boltons,not having heard much about them,and found out a few details about the Lord,Roose Bolton,and his bastard son,Ramsay,who's treated just like his legal son. Much to the dismay of every existing courtesy,seeing Ned Stark,she jumps off her horse and runs to hug the said man. Most of the ones witnessing the act were horrified,while the others were quite impressed,much like the youngest Stark daughter,and a certain Bolton.

Y/N:Uncle Ned!It's so good to see you again!Oh,how I've missed you so dearly!And now that I'm finally here,I get to meet your children!I'm so excited! Ned:*ruffles her hair*Welcome to Winterfell,my Princess.These are my children,though they are a bit younger than you,I believe you will enjoy their company. Robert:Ned Stark,you look much older.The cold sure took its toll on you. Ned:And you got significantly fatter.Is it the privilege of being a King? Y/N:*giggles*You sure are best friends! Robert:*laughs*Ned Stark,my greatest friend,and Y/N Baratheon,my dearest daughter.Might I say,she reminds me so much of Lyanna... Y/N:*confused*I don't know who Lyanna was,but she must have been a truly amazing woman. Robert:Y/N,go play with the others,I and Ned have some catching up to do. Y/N:Yes,father~!Have fun! 

She got her siblings and they all introduced each other merrily or shily,and then went to play together. Arya,Myrcella and Sansa were cheering as Tommen and Bran were sparring. The young lioness,on the other hand,noticed the older Bolton boy staying lonely and observing the youngsters. Being a princess,she got in front of him and smiled brightly at him,surprising him.

Y/N:*extends hand*Hello,I heard your name is Ramsay,it is nice to meet you!I am Y/N Lannister.

Ramsay,however,smiled charmingly at her,and kneeling in front of her,he took her hand delicately and kissed it,making her cover her mouth lightly and giggle,a light blush blooming  on her pale cheeks. She was used to having people be court with her,but never this... Charming. She gently put her hand on his hair,then caressed his pale visage,smiling softly.

Ramsay:It is my honour of meeting you,Your Grace. Y/N:Honestly,Ramsay,please get up,there is no need to go this far.I'm nothing important,just another Southern girl.Forget of my titles and enjoy our time together.Shall we? Ramsay:My lady's wish is my command. Y/N:Ramsay~ Ramsay:Yes,my lady, Y/N: Just Y/N is fine,please.

He chuckled lightly and went to the group of younger children along with the fair princess. Obviously enough,Tommen lost against Bran,and the next round was Robb versus Joffrey. Much to the annoyance of the young blond,the only one cheering for him was Sansa. Robb obviously beat him up easily,but when he turned around to put back the sparring sword,Joffrey ran to attack him. To his dismay,his older sister grabbed the sword from Tommen's grasp and easily parried his blow. When the two swords collided,everyone but Joff,who growled angrily,gasped. The girl smirked victorious and easily disarmed him.

Y/N:*grins*That wasn't very honorable of you,younger brother,now,was it~?Is this how you were raised? Joff:Don't cross me,sister!

The girl was japing and taunting him further,until Robert and Ned came by,and seeing the scene unfold,rushed over.

Robert:Were you fighting again? Y/N:No,papa,but I wanted to play fight too,and one of the boys volunteered~! Robert:Are you sure you didn't beat Joffrey at sparring again? Ned:Robb? Robb:Father... Y/N:*giggles*Busted~! Ned:At this age,Lyanna was beating me up too... Robert:At this age,everyone was beating you at sparring,Ned. Y/N:*bows*What can I say,I trained with the best in the Seven Kingdoms. Robert:*laughs*She has the Baratheon fury in her blood!Look at her!Who did you train with? Y/N:Woof~

The King was confused,until Sandor Clegane handed her Joffrey's discarded sword,and patted her back,then barked,smirking proudly.

---

That night,at the feast,Y/N had both bastards sit with them at the table,making everything more chaotic than it was.

After Arya threw lemon cakes at Sansa,making her cry,Lady Catelyn made them both go to sleep.

During the commotion,Ramsay whispered a nice plan in Y/N's ear,making her slip away unnoticed,and meeting the older bastard outside,in the freezing cold.

Y/N:Why,Ramsay,whatever do you wish to show me? Ramsay:It's your first time in the North,is it not,my Princess? Y/N:It is,but it is not the first time I'd correct you. Ramsay:My apologies.I only wished to show you the North's beauty,at its finest.Nevertheless,it will always pale in comparison to you. Y/N:*giggles*Oh dear,if I had a golden dragon for everytime I've heard that,I'd be rich. Ramsay:Aren't you,already? Y/N:Borrowing money from the Braavosi Bank doesn't make you rich. Ramsay:The affairs of King's Landing are much too troublesome and confusing,so I will not bother with it. Y/N:Neither should you~.

As they walked and chatted,the girl started trembling from the freezing cold,and even her voice became shaky,making Ramsay chuckle and put his furs tightly around her. She tried to protest,arguing that he will get cold too,but he merely smiled and pointed out that Northmen are cold resistant. Getting to a high peak,the girl was left awestruck at the godly landscape in front of her.

Having started snowing,the dark blue sky suddenly lit up with thousands of powerful coloured lights,dancing and sparkling. The young lioness was gleaming and cheering,more enthusiastic than she had ever been before in her life time,and much to his shock,she hugged him tightly,thanking him.  The young bastard was rooted to the spot,not having expected such a physical act of pure affection and warmth from one that is supposedly a mere stranger in his eyes. Having grown up as a bastard and with only his father,in a cold and harsh environment,he never experienced any emotion that would make his heart leap,and not from fear.

Instinctively,he wrapped his arms tightly around the frail girl's frame,protectively,and unconsciously smiled,seeing her happiness. All his life,he's only witness dread,hate,torture,sadness,rage,misery...but this time,it seemed like a light of hope appeared in front of him. A light of purity that seemed to fill him... And he couldn't seem to get enough of it. He was greedy.

Big snowflakes were slowly falling,and with that,they knitted a crown of crystals in her golden hair,sparkling,making her look like a true Queen. And that's what he was going to do. He'll make her his Queen. All those playthings he's had his fun with were dirty,unclean,disgustingly plain,worthy of being tainted and abused. But her... This young lioness... He was going to preserve her purity and innocence... All to himself.

Being already late enough,he picked her up bridal style and walked her home,promising to take her there each night.

###

The true reason why the Boltons were at the Starks to greet the King and his family was so Roose could ask for a favour and legitimize his son,so he could one day inherit the rights of the House,which,with little persuasion,Papa Baratheon agreed (much to his daughter's glee).

Without even realizing,when she got home,she started telling Uncle Tyrion of all the nice stories she shared with Ramsay during that little amount of time,and seeing his sweet niece so happy,he decided to make up an elaborate plan and make her dream come true,as much as possible. Since Ned Stark kindly refused the Hand of the King position,saying that his kin must always remain in the North,her father had no other wise option but to trust Tyrion,yet another Lannister. And thus,he organised frequent trips to the North,giving her the role of the Ambassador of the Seven Kingdoms,and along with her dear Hound,they'd travel all day long.

---

One beautiful day of Spring,the golden maiden was taking a stroll through the forest,enjoying a light conversation with her potential paramour,when she noticed a few changes in his behaviour.

Slightly more affectionate acts

More compliments More smiles More protectiveness

And all this made the girl smirk-but she had to keep her façade,still.

Y/N:Why,sweet Ramsay,if I didn't know better,I would have said you might be...courting me~? Ramsay:And if I were to admit my crime,what would you do,My Princess? Y/N:I do not know,my dear.Your punishment might depend on the gravity of your actions~. Ramsay:But would Your Grace be merciful if this one would dare to be so bold and ask for her hand in marriage? Y/N:Honestly,I hope you are not jesting,for it would be quite a pity otherwise. Ramsay:I may love japing,but not about this subject,for I am thoroughly serious.Princess Y/N Lannister,would you allow me to be the happiest man in Westeros and become my sweet wife? Y/N:But are we not too young for this,sweet Ramsay?This is very serious,and if we don't take in account everything that might occur- Ramsay:There is no rush,so do not fret,my love.All in due time,and everything will be resolved. Y/N:Ramsay...I have only one request,before everything...and it might sound weird but... Ramsay:What is bothering you,my sweetling? Y/N:So far,we have only ever done and discussed mine own passions,but I know nothing of yours.I wish to know everything about you before I take such an important decision.Therefore...*smiles*next time you flay someone,please call me to assist you. Ramsay:*hesitant*I...am not sure how that will influence or affect your final decision,however,if this is your sincere request,and you will not be bothered by any illicit or nefarious deed I might do...then by all means,you are my guest even now.The Dreadfort has enough prisoners to last a lifetime. Y/N:*grins*Thank you for trusting me,my dear.Now,let us prepare for an entertaining activity~!

He chuckled at her and during the whole week,he showed her the dungeons,the flaying,the torture,and the hunts,in which she was greatly interested,and asked to join as well. It was a great shock for the man,who never expected such a pure golden light to enjoy and embrace his darkness,but he felt more and more attracted to her. He was lost in the well of light that engulfed her,and swore solemnly that he would make sure no harm ever comes to his angelic saviour. He will protect her from anything and anyone that might wish her ill,despite being loved by the Realm. He was now Lord Ramsay Bolton,son of Roose Bolton,and rightful heir,and he would make sure Y/N Lannister,his golden lioness,is going to love him forever.

####

All the time alone,he tried to straighten his priorities,all while still enjoying his release with Myranda,but truly,he felt rather bored of the plain girl. Nevertheless,she was the only woman worthy of keeping around for such deeds,for he would never dare taint his paramour,sent by the loving Maiden to be his light during the darkest times. He just needed her near him,to touch him with those soft and delicate hands,to gaze at him with her forest green eyes,full of love and admiration,to rest his head on her lap,by the calming river,as she played with his dark hair,and would sing some foreign song she'd hear from the travelling singers.

All of these seemed like the sweetest Utopia,which quickly broke when he realised days and weeks passed,and upon the turning moon,she hadn't returned. Gravely worried and not having received any word or letter from the South,he quickly mounted and got a few trusted members of the Bastard's Boys,and went for a private audience at the court.

But much to everyone's horror,he found out that the girl departed two weeks prior and was expected to arrive soon. Because the King specifically requested the Hound to guard his other three children during a very important meeting,the girl took with her other knights on the journey- Proving unsuccessful. Cersei was the first to go hysterical,being her mother,and ordered Varys and Maester Qyburn to gather as much intel as possible. Tyrion,thinking of a shrewd plan,sent word to Bronn to search around all low-life building and find anything useful. Within the week,they haven't found out much,which shook the whole Realm- Until a strange Raven arrived,and with it,a barely readable scrap of parchment tied to its leg.

"Save twins frey flay me save"

The paper had drops of blood and liquid that could only be tears,and the writing was as messy and shaky at it could get,but at least they had a lead,false or not. What would the Freys have against the poor girl,though? Ramsay returned to the North to tell the problem to the Starks and call all their bannermen,to aid the cause of the kidnapped Princess,and great was everyone's shock and rage when they found out the circumstances of such a horrible crime against the Crown.

In less than a Fortnight,an endless army,lead by Jaime,Ned and Ramsay went against the Lord of the Twins,the abominable Walder Frey,who kept the Lioness in his basement dungeon. After an outright war,the young Bolton's Bastard Boys managed to sneak inside and raid the castle,searching around the dungeons,until the sharp hearing of the anxious brunet heard a soft whimpering from one of the cells. Gently opening the door,he saw his golden maiden all bloody and broken,struggling to breathe,and tied up on a wooden X table,made to resemble the Bolton flaying methods.

His breathe hitched in his throat as he sat there,rooted on the spot,unable to breathe,due to the burning rage. He could only see red in front of him,as damaging thoughts were attacking his  sanity.Shaking,he could only think of the answerless questions that kept swarming his head. why her? why like this? what had he done wrong? was he not  worthy of happiness or love? No...He had to save his beloved angel sent to him by her Maiden God as a gift... The only gift he’s ever got. The only gift he’d ever need..

Regaining himself,he quickly cut off her restraints and caught her as she fell like a feather in his arms. Seeing his only means of sanity damaged and tainted,he swore eternal revenge and cursed the whole family tree of the wretched House of Frey.

###

Days later,the girl,treated by the best Maesters brought from Oldtown,managed to remain stable,but she wouldn't leave her room,nor accept any visitors. Instead,the maids would have to leave the food trays in front of the door,and relatives would have to write letters and shove them under the door,hoping-in vain-to receive a reply.

But she felt disgusted. Wretched. Tainted. She wasn't what she wanted to be. And what frustrated most,is that the true Mastermind's identity was known to her,but she just couldn't seem to remember. It was someone she knew very well... Someone she saw often at the court in King's Landing... Someone she obviously knew not to trust... But who was to be trusted in that God-Forsaken place?

knock knock knock . . .

knock knock knock

Ramsay:Love,I know you're there.I know you want to hide,but you're worrying everyone.I am not one to beg,and you know it,but open the door. Y/N:Go away... Ramsay:Don't make me break down the door. Y/N:Leave... Ramsay:My sanity is going to disappear if I don't see you soon.I can't breathe,I can't think,I can't control my anger around anyone,not even my own father. Y/N:You won't like me anymore... Ramsay:There is nothing in this world that will make me not love you.

With a soft whimper,she put her hand on the handle and opened it,still hiding behind the door,and looking down,avoiding any eye-contact. Upon seeing her,he dropped to his knees and embraced her torso,trying to calm himself. The whole scene unfolded like a bad tragedy mummers’ show,and she put her bandaged hand on his tired and desperate visage,just like in the old,happy days that passed way too soon. He kissed her hands,all her knuckles and fingers,then raised and kissed her forehead,hugging her properly and holding her tight.

The girl had had her fingernails peeled away,a cut on her face,slightly damaging her eye,and multiple cuts along her limbs,along with obvious malnutrition,which weakened her greatly,barely keeping herself standing. She let herself be engulfed in his warmth and closed her eyes,finally feeling safe,after having endured so much,for no reason,and allowed herself,for the first time,to weep at her own misery. After she managed to calm down slightly,he wiped away her tears with his thumbs,and touched foreheads.

Ramsay:The King requested an urgent Council meeting and wanted you to attend.It was the order of your little dwarf uncle. Y/N:Uncle Tyrion asked that...? Ramsay:I think there's more to it than meets the eyes.Do you know who kidnapped you? Y/N:I do,in a way.But...I'm not sure...I told Tyrion of this... Ramsay:Then this is his master plan. Y/N:How despicable...how unsightly of me...to be seen like this... Ramsay:You are the only light I see in this darkness,never doubt yourself. Y/N:So easy to speak when you’re not the ugly one. Ramsay:You are the Grace of the Realm.All these wound will soon fade,but your beauty is eternal. Y/N:Better pray you’re right,or I’ll kill you...

With help from her beloved,she out on a hooded cloak and walked to the court room,where all the Council people,Cersei,Jaime,Ned and Tywin sat,letting the couple stand in the middle of the room.

Cersei:Y/N!My sweet babe,you're finally standing.Have the Maesters attended you properly?I'll put their head on a spike otherwise. Y/N:I'm fine...but it was rather cruel to summon me while looking like this,Uncle Tyrion.Nevertheless...I... Tyrion:My sweet niece,I do hope you are feeling much better.All these people came here to see how you fareth after such a horrible crime. Y/N:*scanning the room*Yes,I am feeling much better,but I cannot say I'm fully cured yet.

Saying that,she went into a bloody coughing fit,making her lose her balance and dirty her bandages,and leaning on her paramour for support. Her mother tried to rush over,but Jaime stopped her. It was all according to the plan. She slowly took of her hood,revealing her bandaged eyes,and smirked.

Y/N:It has come to my attention that the perpetrator of my kidnapping has been caught and punished accordingly,am I correct? Varys:Yes,your Grace.Lord Walder Frey has been set up in our dungeons and is currently tortured. Y/N:Perfect.And what of the Mastermind?Varys,you and Lord Baelish are the ones with the greatest information network across Westeros and beyond. Petyr:Your Grace,I think you are mistaken,there was no Mastermind. Y/N:*smirks*Uncle Tyrion~!It seems my memory hasn’t betrayed me yet~!The disgracious cockroach that came to visit me just before I've received this wounds...was him.Petyr Baelish. Petyr:Excuse me,your Grace,but I am confused.I have not left the Kingdom. Tyrion:Is that so?Because funny enough,my trusted sources said otherwise. Petyr:Well maybe your trusted sources failed you! Tyrion:That is where you are wrong,again.You see,money never fails.Humans are so easy to corrupt with a few golden coins. Y/N:Oh,but what a shame.You were a decent Master of Coin to the Crown...But that’s where your shrewdness stops and mine overshadows yours.Don’t you know?A Lannister always pays his debts.Always.And I believe it’s high time we get rid of your treacheries and betrayels to the Realm and to the King and...experience the horrors of being tortured and humiliated. Ramsay:The flayed man is on our banners for a reason,filth.we’ve been flaying our enemies for 1000 years. Y/N:Never go against the Realm,or cross a Lioness and a Flayed man.It’s bad luck~!

Being attacked from everywhere and not being able to refute,he tried escape,but Jaime got to him much quicker,and in his rage,almost choked him to death,until his calm,but triumphant “niece” stopped him,saying that he needs proper torture,not just a petty beating.

---

All is well when it ends,and the two retreated for the rest of the day,enjoying the peace and quiet in each other's loving embrace,after such a rollercoaster of emotions and bad things happening. He held her tightly,not daring to keep his eyes off of her,in fear of the nightmare repeating itself over and over again.

Y/N:Sweet Ramsay... Ramsay:Yes,my sweetling? Y/N:I will marry you.

The time stopped for him,and he didn't even realize he was smiling brightly for the first time in his life,until he felt a light kiss,which woke him up from his trance. Seeing her gentle smile and her doe-eyes looking at him lovingly,he kissed her back just as softly,as if not to break her,but all the emotions were unleashed. As she rested her head on his chest,snuggling to him,he would sing softly a song and play with her soft golden hair. And for the first time,they finally felt at peace. Together. Forever.

((Picture by @littleaestheticmonster Thank you so much!They do amazing aesthetics! :3 ))

[catsandorchids]

A letter to Terry Pratchett

alright, how to do this. Since i was 12 my favorite author has always been Terry Pratchett. His Tiffany Aching series shaped who i am today, and i hold his writing above all other writing. i always fantasized about meeting him and telling him how much his writing meant to me and how grateful i was. And then he died the day before my 17th birthday. and god, i wept. i completely broke down. it took me a while to recover, and even longer to find the words, but i wrote him this letter, and i thought i’d put it by the terry pratchett memorial next time i came to london (i live in denmark), but by the time i came the memorial had been painted over. and so this letter has been sitting in my documents folder for a long time, and i feel like that iis wrong. i need to put it out there somewhere in the world - even if its just for closure. i watched the BBC documentary ‘back in black’ recently and i got the idea to publish the letter here, so i may live to regret this but here it comes; my badly written, far too long letter to a man who will never read it:

Dear Sir Terry Pratchett,

I don’t really know why I’m writing this letter. As things are, you’ll never read it, and even if you could, I don’t know if I’d dare give it to you. Or if I’d even dare approach you. You see (and you’ll probably disagree/dislike me for this/get miffed about this), you rank frighteningly high on my list of natural forces, my hierarchy of deities. You probably wouldn’t like that, rather a rising ape than a fallen angel, but that is how it is. I believe in a god, but you are closer to him in my accounts than you will ever be to me. Maybe that’s wrong, don’t put your heroes on pedestals and whatnot, but I don’t think I can stop it now. It’s just how it is. So I don’t really know why I’m writing this letter, or if anyone will ever read it, but I think I needed to do it. Get out all the things I will never get a chance to tell you. Very human, isn’t it?

I got my first discworld book when I was around 11. I don’t know if it was exactly that year, maybe earlier, maybe later, but on my birthday one year in my early tween years (horrible expression by the way. Tween) I got one of your books. It was called “The wee free men” (or ‘de små blå mænd’, because I live in Denmark and couldn’t yet read English with enough confidence to brave whole books of it) and it was one of the oddest books I’d ever read. It was a large paperback book with a porcelain shepherdess and something resembling drunk smurfs on the cover, and the bit on the back spoke of witches and faeries and kidnappings and I was intrigued. Or I would’ve been if I knew what intrigued meant. My vocabulary wasn’t as big as tiffany’s.

It was my grandfather, who gave me the book. He actually gave me both that and a hat full of sky (en hat fuld af himmel). I think you would’ve liked my grandfather. He was one of those “defy-the-odds” “screw destiny” kind of people and he had a great respect for books. He had 14 grandchildren and he gave all of them books (never the same books) and urged them to read. I like to think I would’ve found a love for reading regardless of his interference, but he definitely helped things along, and to this day, all of his grandkids read, and most of us have even found a strange fondness for the odd, strange, wibbly-wobbly sci-fi or fantasy kind of books. My grandfather always gave us books for Christmas or birthdays and they were almost always great. I later found out that in his later years, my grandfather would just describe the person he was buying the books for to the clerk in the bookstore, and they’d help him find something fitting, but that didn’t erase the magic of it.

Anyway, I got the Tiffany Aching books and I was hooked immediately. Being a weird kid, the kid who’d rather read than play hide-and-seek, the kid who was always curious, who actually looked forward to school and who despised being patronized, I found a kindred spirit in Tiffany. I blew through the two first books (I didn’t know there were more than that) and to this day, the wee free men is the book I have re-read the most times. I loved your dry humor, your footnotes, and the way I would be re-reading the books and finding new jokes every time. I probably re-read the books once a year during my teenage years and they shaped me.

I wasn’t completely like tiffany – I for one would not mind being a princess – but I found elements of her in me (I especially loved that she was sarcastic and didn’t need to be saved by a prince. She would do the fighting on her own thankyouverymuch) and that kinship helped me in some really tough times. Later, when I was bullied and had suicidal thoughts, or a depression, I would think ‘what would tiffany do?’ if I was in doubt, and when I was nervous(which I was a lot given my anxiety disorder) I would scribble the ‘land-under-wave’ symbol on my left wrist with whatever writing utensil – preferably ball pen – was lying around. I started to relate to tiffany even more, given that I was now even more aware of the feeling of being the kid who cannot ‘click’ with her peers.

 I once again related more to my idol when my grandfather – the same one who gave me the books – died and I felt like there were words left in my throat, hopping around, because I’d never said them. It hadn’t felt like the time or the place or I’d forgot, and now it was too late and he wasn’t around to hear them anymore. He wasn’t around to thank for the books, to ask for advice, or to just be. And I didn’t really know how to deal with that. So Tiffany became my idol, and you one of my deities and I began to read more discworld. (I still haven’t read all the books, not even close, but I will.). And when I needed to do an exam or a presentation for school, or sing at a concert, you could find a small wave with a line under it drawn haphazardly on my left wrist.

I got it tattooed when I turned eighteen. The wave symbol, tiffany’s symbol. I’d wanted to get it tattooed since I was fifteen and realized that sometimes you don’t have a ball pen and that ink really isn’t good for your skin. I’d always have these fantasies, stupid daydreams about going to a convention or a book signing and getting a book signed by you, by the great Sir Terry Pratchett, and meeting you. I’d meet you and show you my tattoo and you’d think it was funny or cool or pretty or something and I’d tell you how much your books, and Tiffany in particular, meant to me. And you be nice and clever and fantastic and just like I’d always imagined, and I’d be awestruck and it would be good. I always imagined that, imagined just how it would be to meet the great Sir Terry Pratchett – the only sir that mattered in my head – and I could never get it to be quite real because I could never quite imagine you. But it was good, it was a promise to myself, a thing to look forward to, to look back on years later and smile. And then it wasn’t.

On March 12th 2015, you died in your sleep. And on march 12th 2015, the day before my 17th birthday I was on my couch, just 20-or-so minutes before I had to leave for gospel choir, and I read an article on my phone, from Facebook I think, and it said that you’d died. And I wept. I wept for the death of a man I loved and respected. I wept for a man who was gone too soon. I wept for a young witch I’d never hear more about, and for a young girl who’d never meet her idol. I wept for a fantasy, a daydream that would never become more than that, and for a genre of literature, which would never again reach its peak. And when my mum came in from the kitchen and asked me why I was crying I brokenly sobbed out explanations of an amazing author, a deity in my eyes, who would never again put pen to paper. And she held me and tried to comfort me, but she didn’t understand. She’d never read anything of yours, and even if she had she hadn’t grown up with, and been shaped by, your writing. And so, the tattoo became less of a thing to show you and more of a thing to honor you. To show that I remembered a man who could write colours into existence and anthropomorphic personifications to life. And I have the tattoo now. It’s on my left wrist as always, and, Sir, I really wish you could see it.

The next time I cried for you was almost a year later – the 11th of March 2016 – when my parents gave me a ‘pre-birthday present’. I was going on a week-long school trip to Spain the next day, and I’d be gone on my birthday, and so they’d decided to give me a little present the day before I left. It was a frame, and inside it was an illustration from one of your books. It was called ‘a view of Lancre’ and I was excited to begin with. And then I noticed that the bottom right corner had a bit of writing. Right there – in the bottom right corner of the page was a pencil-signature. Your signature. And I teared up. I was utterly dumbstruck. The bottom left corner had a notation: 429/950 and I could vaguely hear my parents’ slightly apologetic humorous notes of “it’s made in kind of a big batch, so it’s probably not worth much” and “it might be someday” but all that mattered to me was that signature. Because I had given up all dreams of ever getting that signature. And sure, it wasn’t the whole dream, wasn’t the meet-and-greet experience, but it was there. And I almost wept.

I try to write too, sometimes. It doesn’t always work out, and its nowhere near decent quality, let alone the quality of your works, but I try. I kind of like it, even if the process can be incredibly frustrating. I like the feeling when my words just naturally glide onto the paper, and it feels like I have a voice. I like publishing it online and seeing people react to it. Reading their responses. I like creating characters and thinking of what to do with them. And I like improving, seeing how far I’ve come, even if my stuff is closer to horrible than good.

I tried to sound like you once, in my writing. I tried to use metaphors and dry wit like you did. It didn’t turn out good, and I’m almost certain you would’ve hated it. I still cringe when I read it. But I think it’s fitting. My voice isn’t yours, and will never be yours, so I should probably stop trying to even attempt to make it yours. No one can write like you, no one ever will and that both saddens me and comforts me. After all, if heroes were replaceable, why would they be heroes? I like to think you’d like that, the acceptance of people’s voices being different. But I never met you, so I might be horribly wrong. They all say not to meet your heroes. I guess this time they’ll get their way, whether I like it or not.

I don’t know how to end this. What can I say in my imaginary letter to my dead fantasy deity? Have a nice day? Don’t drink the cool aid? I hope the afterlife is nice this time of year? I guess this letter is a way for me to get out all those things I never got the chance to say. And to say thank you. Thank you so so so much for everything. For Tiffany, for DEATH, for Susan, for granny Weatherwax, for every lesson, every morale, every dry joke or poke at the way of the world, for every book, chapter, line and word. Thank you for making me a kindred spirit and for teaching me things I hadn’t learned otherwise.

If we have learned anything from balloons, there are times we shouldn’t let go. I can promise you that I won’t.

Thank you sir.

Julie

P.S: I’ve put in a picture of my tattoo. Just so you could see

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

A Queen’s Return

“I remember you being… prettier.” He stares down at me, brows furrowed in contempt for the woman he is betrothed to marry. I do not open my mouth, biting back the fire in my throat I wish to spit at him. In true womanly manners, I smile before bowing my head as my body automatically curtsies. 

“I apologize, my lord. She came to us like this,” the Duke detaches all blame from himself, avoiding any possible way I could meet his eyes. Not moments ago he was reassuring and comforting, however in the face of a King true colors are shown. I am not here to be beautiful, I am here to follow through on an alliance. Had either of them known what I had been through away from court, maybe their words would be kinder. I refuse to allow them to pity me, I will suffer disdain before pity. The King shrugs, grown bored with my arrival, and I am shipped off to my chambers to prepare for my first official dinner back at court. 

As I am escorted from the room, I hear all manner of talk to cancel much of celebration for this evening. It seems the King does not wish to show off his now ugly bride. He may do what he wishes, I shall have no more influence on him now than when we are married. Despite what ladies maids and lesser courtiers whisper, I am no more happy about this arrangement than he is. 

My chamber is considerable, as fit for a Queen to be. A large bed, four wooden posts with all manner of floral designs cut into them by hand, taking hours, perhaps years, supporting an elegant canopy. Around the large room are symbols of my future husband's country; crests and colors of the flag, as to constantly remind me of where I must spend the rest of my days. Bitterly, I almost refuse to sit on the bed, wishing to burn the entire room in order to redecorate it myself with all the things I wished to bring from home. However, I would most likely be ordered to enjoy the smell of burnt curtains. I am no longer of my home, there is nothing there for me now. 

Within the wardrobe are dresses off all style and color, in the drawers shoes to match. All manner of makeup and skin care products in the vanity. It is all any courtier woman would dream of. To please my King, these things will be plastered across my face to achieve some sort of aesthetic favor, distract him from the fact that in 15 years I have indeed changed. A long, sad sigh lets up from my throat but I have no time to pity myself. My task has been planned and ingrained in my memory since I was old enough to understand my father's advisors crafty words and double meanings. I’ve been sent here for one reason and I mustn't fail. I hear a knock on the door, the page enters announcing the names of my ladies. I forget them within minutes as their expressions of joy turn to exasperation at my unpleasing looks. 

They all rush to me at once, pulling out dresses by the armful in order to compare the color with my skintone. Pale yellow makes my face look sunken in, emerald doesn’t go with my eyes, and lavender washes out my hair. Finally, a deep blue gown is pulled from the very back, causing one of them to mutter how it was left here by the last one. Last one of the King’s ladies I assume with annoyance flaring in my gut. An unmarried man is allowed any past he wishes, especially a king, women on the other hand must be chaste else our worth be destroyed. I am sure that every eye in this castle is on me, looking for some stain on my reputation to remove my chances of marrying the King. 

The blue, despite its former ownership being questionable, makes my skin, eyes, and hair glow according to the women. It’s a simple piece, which has my appreciation and does not require much fuss to put on or walk in. Next, my face and hair are tugged at, smeared with substances, and drastically changed so that when I am allowed to look in the mirror I do not recognize myself, there is no trace of me left. 

The dinner bell rings, erupting in a rush of last minute checks in every reflective surface on the way to the dining room. The dining room itself was stripped of the grandeur previously planned, set with the lowest of plates and pewter goblets. It was a non-verbal slap in the face to my honor as a guest, but I did not waver in my stoney expression, acting as if I had not noticed. Surprisingly, a server pulled my chair beside the King out for me and I was prepared to sit by myself without anyone standing in honor, when a figure shadowed by the dusk light stood at attention and saluted me as my countrymen do in the highest honor. 

Whispers were silenced as I remain standing, awestruck and speechless at this outright defiance towards the King and allegiance to me. Politely, with as little smugness I could muster showing through, I smile and return to salute. It is good to know I have a friend here at court. As I sit, the figure waits a moment before following suit, and then the food and drinks are brought out from the kitchen. Servants do not bother to stick to the shadows as they do in formal meals, there is no glass raised to toast my return or talk of joyful memories many at the table and I shared as children. Courtiers gossip about the goings on in countries they’ve never set foot in, perpetuating false rumors that ruin kingdoms overnight. I move the food in front of me about my plate, not trusting that the smallest bite will not poison me. I keep my head high, posture straight, and eyes meeting everyone at the table. It’s better to know who will meet my eyes and who will avoid it at all costs, so far the only one I can trust is the dark figure at the end of the table who raises their glass or nods their head slightly whenever they find my glance on them. 

Four courses and not a chanced bite later, the actual guests take their leave, receiving a head bow and a generous thank you from the King. He has not looked in my direction once all evening, not that I expected him to. Even with the supposed miracle work my ladies had done, I am no more than the once beautiful young child and now ugly woman. We are escorted together from the hall, sheltered by our perspective parties from one another. The ladies talk of dresses and new people visiting in the coming days to see me before I am married to the King. A wedding date has been set for the coming year, plans being drawn without consultation from me as I am to assume everything will be. 

I take my leave from the incessant jabbering just as the four voices start to sound exactly the same. As if one person is having four parts of a conversation with herself. I strip from my gown, taking pleasure in removing every pin and kohl mark from my hair and face. There is a framed picture on my bureau I catch behind me in the mirror, it wasn’t there before. Once I am myself again, I pick up the picture. It is of me as a young child, formally taken here when a photographer came to visit the castle about his invention. Even through the grain, I see that I have changed so much. Looking back into the mirror, I analyze my features in attempt to justify the hatred for me. As a young girl my hair was the color of shadowed honeycomb, but as I grew older it darkened into a brown with only a glimpse of auburn. My eyes, too, have changed from a reflection of the pure blue sea to deeply sad olive green. Even my skin which once was pale and smooth has deepened to tan with an abundance of freckles. How could I have changed so much? 

Shaking away the brewing headache from not eating, today’s events, and my most recent inquiry. I turn down all the oil lamps and pull the covers up around my body in preparation for an uneasy night's sleep. I can practically hear my father growling in my ears, pushing me to complete my task that very night. He is a regularly impatient man, which is why his advisors charged me with this duty to my country. I must gain the trust of the King, be in his every confidence and thought as his wife. Only then may I take my choice of vials hidden amongst the few belongings I was awarded to bring, picking the poison most fitted to kill the King without rising the most suspicion. 

I will kill the King.  

The coming morning I am woken by a rather rude serving woman, angrily announcing the King’s Mother had demanded an audience with me. Grumbling to myself in the few moments of peace I have before the ladies arrive to fuss over my lack of presentability. I take a seat at my vanity, brushing fingers against the features I find agreeable despite being criticized otherwise. My elegantly sharp jaw and shapely cheekbones, I trace the underside of my collarbone sighing. I had just pride in it before, how my face thinned after being so full as a child. I had not much of a choice, really, fullness in the cheeks are gained through eating healthily as a royal, and such a luxury I was never afforded. 

Natural fullness in my figure has served me well in my life and this court, seemingly the only attribute that is not looked upon with almost promise. I stand and shrug on my robe as the four women storm into my chamber unannounced in a rush of giggling gossip. 

“Have you seen the size of his wardrobe? It’s as large as a lady’s,” one of them laughs heartily, her yellow hair is curled in waves down her back and set in graceful beadwork. I suppose that as I am to live here the rest of my known days, I should at least learn to separate one girl from the next. 

“Compensating for much smaller things I have no doubt,” this one has red hair, it curls naturally in untamable spirals only to the edge of her shoulder blades. The others giggle in agreement, only perpetuating what is implied. 

“Well you would know, Diana, or was it another noble that kept you from the lady’s chamber until this morning?” The third smirks over her shoulder at the fourth, presumably Diana. Both have raven hair, so straight it seems unnatural, and pinned with combs that are identical except in color. Sharing the same rounded jaw and soft brown eyes, I assume sisterhood. Diana gives no reply but a rude look to let the giggles die down. Finally, all four acknowledge my presence.

“Morning, your grace,” They say together, half curtsying. The urge to demand respect strikes my chest, but I must earn favor not grudges. I force a smile which appears real after all the practice I’ve had. 

“Good morning, ladies. I trust you slept well.” Looks of confusion and caution cross their faces as I had not spoken a word to anyone yesterday and scarcely met their eyes. Collectively, they nod in response muttering affirmatives. “Shall I start pulling my own dresses?” At that, it is a rush away from my eyes and to the wardrobe which is freshly stocked with gowns in shades of blue, violet, green less rich than the emerald I tried yesterday. Easily, I am dressed and even the process of my makeup is less extreme than it was for dinner. 

Soon I am being escorted to my future mother-in-law’s private balcony. She is also presented in less grandeur than last night’s dinner. Her brown hair matches that of her son, despite being grown out to be voluminous and lovely adorned in a Queen’s fashion. The morning sunlight glows the slightest gold within her dark chocolate hair. She looks up as soon as I enter the balcony, it is set with only two plates from the simplest of a Queen’s dining ware, much more respect than I received with dinner. “Good morning, my child. Please sit and have breakfast with me.” 

I smile softly with a deep bow and take the seat opposite her, smoothing out my skirt before speaking, “Thank you for having me, your Majesty. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.” 

“Oh, dear, if it is alright with you I’d prefer to skip all this formality and get to the point.” Her tone is light, but I am cautious as to what point she wishes to discuss. I am prepared to defend the alliance both she and I are sworn to. I nod in agreement, secretly happy to not constantly worry about every syllable I let escape my mouth. “Good, now as clearly made by the disgrace of a dinner, my son is not happy with this match. While I knew fully that you would change naturally over the years, my immature son expected the fair haired, doe-eyed, girl he enjoyed playing with as a child. Despite whatever the King may believe, we both know there is no way out of your marriage.” 

She pauses as servants bring out a plate of eggs, toast, and sausage. There was a bowl of sliced melons was placed on the table along with the filling of our goblets with white wine. I take a small sip and find it pleasantly refreshing, only momentarily hesitating with the thought of poison. The Queen nods her head knowingly, “We eat from the same pot, you have nothing to fear within my charge.”  

“Thank you, your Majesty, I am glad we are of equal mind on this matter.” 

[historicalsp17-blog]

Cyanotypes

Rachel Ruston

The photographer, artist, art historian and educator Constanza Martinez has worked with photography from a young age. She has studied its history and experimented with various styles/processes, all which has led her to making the materiality of the print the central focus of her work. She developed a series titled “Prussian Blue” which utilizes the cyanotype process. She describes “the process of making as central to the meaning of the work”. In this series, Martinez creates images of various shapes and sizes that include no tangible forms. The subject matter is simply the process itself. There is no drawing, photograph or text included, and no discernible shapes are found. Personally, I find them reminiscent of the study of cells or perhaps unidentifiable micro-organisms. They are toned to include various shades of blue, with multiple white sections stretching and seeming to erode into lighter and then further, a darker blue. While staring at these images I feel as though I can sense there textures, smell fresh chemicals atop the damp paper, and I patiently await the mixture to continue to drip out of frame. These images are beautiful, simply put. Whether they are seen individually or as a series, I find them extremely compelling. One could wonder whether they are the result of paint and a curious hand, or trimmed fabric that’s dye has crawled and spilled from edge to edge. Untitled Image 2, from her series “Prussian Blue”, feels the most scientific to me. The circular shape and various textures appearing to erode are mesmerizing. Untitled Image 2 focuses on the many shades of blue that can be created by this process and remind me of the dropping edges of my own cyanotype pieces I have created in the past. Both works feel as though movement has been paused and we are left to reflect on how these have been created.

The color blue, eliciting the burden of sadness, the feel of cool water, hinting at a nostalgia for times long gone. When an image is made from the cyanotype process, it is strikingly blue- bright, beaming and left with a soft blur. The effect of light on iron compounds produces images that speak to viewers about memory and the beauty of nature’s many forms. The process is often described as quick and relatively easy. Cyanotypes are not limited to photography, one can transfer drawings as well as text to paper and/or fabric. Photograms were widely popular with the cyanotype process, some well known examples made by the mid-19th century botanist Anna Atkins.

The process itself was created in the 1840s by the British scientist Sir John Herschel, and by World War I the popularity of the process was largely replaced by black and white images. And yet now, over 150 years later, the artists Annie Lopez and Constanza Martínez have both made various works by utilizing the cyanotype process. And neither of them have produced what one would describe as a “typical image”.

                       Untitled Image 2, taken from the series “Prussian Blue”

Untitled Image 1, taken from the series “Prussian Blue”

Martinez explains that she is exploring “the expressive potential of the photographic medium through a thorough investigation of its most basic elements: light, chemicals, and substrate”. We as viewers are left without a subject, instead free to comprehend the surface of a photograph. To study the beauty of the medium itself, lacking a negative or any true illustration of the material world. I admire Martinez’s bravery to not include a subject, and am grateful for the chance instead to focus on the alluring features of the cyanotype process itself. Martinez is fascinated by photographic processes and the history behind them, and by creating these works, she allows the viewers to experience why. The idea that the process behind resulting images can stand alone becomes a reality. I am left awestruck at the beauty that awaits within a mixture of chemicals.

The artist Annie Lopez has utilized the cyanotype process in a completely different way. Lopez creates art with intensely personal subject matter, she puts her vulnerability into the process and allows it to dry beneath the sun. Lopez uses the cyanotype process in quite an unusual manner. Often experimenting with what she can print on, Lopez began to use tamale paper to make cyanotypes. Her family always made tamales at Christmas so she thought this was an appropriate material for the personal nature of her work. Finding she could successfully sew these together, Lopez made a dress. She titled this series, “Storybook,” saying, “Another story, another dress”.  Lopez stated she “wanted to sew her problems into a dress,” and thus her cyanotypes took on a sculptural form. Her dress titled “Medical Conditions,” discusses her father’s battle with Alzheimer's. She includes photocopies of medical books, medical texts about dementia and with comments made by her family members like, “you should help your mother more”.

Medical Conditions, by Annie Lopez

Lopez has made many other dresses that also discuss her family memories, such as a dress titled “Fire Took What Was Left of Us” which is a piece discussing an arson fire that destroyed her family’s business just one year after her father passed, the dress includes the fire reports from the investigation. And “C Student,” which includes copies of her report card from when she received a C in her first grade art class. Each dress is made from 20-40 pieces of tamale paper and each image she prints takes about twenty five minutes to process. While designing each dress, she subtracts and adds images as needed in order to tell her story.

Lopez’s work discusses the functional quality of cyanotypes, to print text such as the medical records, report card, and fire reports. Since there is so much detail in each dress, I find that the process becomes a minor thing to focus on when understanding the entire work. Her series becomes about the interpretation of the collection of text and images, the significance of the materiality of the dress, all accompanied by the cyanotype process.

While Martinez draws necessary and well deserved attention to the process itself, I believe Lopez is successful in producing a more conceptual image- rather than a study. For me, this results in more powerful work, one that I will be left reflecting on for a significant time after, rather than just appreciating the beauty of a piece. Both artists are experimenting with the process itself, Martinez by making that very thing her subject matter, and Lopez by bending what is acceptable to print on. I appreciate the challenging of the usual “photographic image,” and what it means to interact with the subject matter and the process that produces the final product. It becomes so much more than the click of a button.

Works Cited

Lengel, Kerry. "Annie Lopez, Pioneer of Phoenix Arts Scene, Honored at 2016 Governor's Arts Awards." Lohud.com. N.p., 25 Mar. 2016. Web. 21 Apr. 2017. <http://www.lohud.com/story/entertainment/arts/2016/03/25/arizona-governor-arts-awards-annie-lopez/82235484/>.

Loos, Ted. "Cyanotype, Photography's Blue Period, Is Making a Comeback." The New York Times. The New York Times, 05 Feb. 2016. Web. 21 Apr. 2017. <https://www.nytimes.com/2016/02/06/arts/design/cyanotype-photographys-blue-period-is-making-a-comeback.html>.

Martinez, Constanza. "Prussian Blue." Constanza Isaza Martinez. N.p., n.d. Web. 21 Apr. 2017. <http://www.constanzaisaza.com/galleries/prussian-blue>.

Voon, Claire. "Photography’s Blue Period Gets Its First Major Show in the US." Hyperallergic. N.p., 25 Feb. 2016. Web. 21 Apr. 2017. <https://hyperallergic.com/272915/photographys-blue-period-gets-its-first-major-show-in-the-us/>.