#i strayed from the prompt a little because instead of going crack by using the prank advisor or marvin

[mattzerella-sticks]

Remember that episode where it turned out Martin Mystery was a senior advisor of the Psi Psi Sorority? Think of a AU or reboot show where Martin is roped into an “sorority” of mean girls from all around the world led by Mandy from Totally Spies (either Korean here or some other Asian-American ethnicity) as either recurring characters or maybe the show is centered around Martin and this sorority. Either way, this is influenced by Malcolm in the Middle. This started at first as Martin seeking help

I remember the show but I have no memory of the PPP sorority episode or Marvin lol... and then the Malcom in the Middle angle... 🤔

I had some googling to do. And I still don't get half of it.

But it's not like I haven't had my own ideas for a Martin Mystery reboot, so let me entertain the above.

Let's say that The Center, due to some bureacratic and over-arching plot reasons, has been shut down. Not even MOM saw this coming. The main cast all kind of accepts this: MOM, Billy, and Jave with a kind of dejected resignation, Diana okay with it (since she was moving on elsewhere with an internship with a political figure 😉), and Martin the most devestated. Though, at seeing no one willing to stand up and fight, he dejectedly tries to move on as well (though it's obvious he's not happy). And, unlike Diana, he doesn't know what to do with his life after graduation.

Now cut to the college they formerly went to, where Mandy has transferred after flunking out of Malibu University. She expects to take over this new school only to find no one is willing to put up with her mean girl schtick and - though she tried to get into the 'popular' sorority ends up pledging and being taken in by the 'loser' sorority (think House Bunny).

Where Martin's and Mandy (and the sorority's) paths cross is maybe there's a ghost haunting a building - Martin recognizes the signs of a haunting whereas Mandy has convinced the girls to throw a party and renting the building.

The party fails, obviously. The only other guests besides the sorority girls is Martin. As Mandy begins to throw a tantrum, that's when the ghost attacks - and it's up to Martin and the other girls to save the day!

Once the ghost has been dealt with, the girls and Martin come to an agreement where if he teaches them how to be paranormal investigators, they'll act as his 'new organization'. Mandy gets roped into this as well, unwillingly, but decides it's better than being shunned. Plus she can help fund missions. Martin, meanwhile, gets 'hired' as a handyman/cook/gardner/job-of-the-day for the sorority by the college after Mandy puts up a stink.

Along the way we get cameos. MOM and Billy come and give lessons and also act as partners of this new organization. Java, who retired after The Center was shut down comes in from time to time. There's Diana. But we also have an overarching big bad who is revealed to be the politician Diana works for as well as the person behind The Center's disbandment.

We don't find this out until the very end, as the go-between for him/her and the Alpha Gamma Heta (or AGH!) crew is his/her son who (and this is where I inject some of the vibes from MY ideas for a MM reboot) we will see act antagonistically to the group, especially Martin, but in his everyday persona finds Martin to be charming and cute (he works alongside Diana so he deals with Martin by proxy).

Also, during their time working together, not only do the girls improve as paranormal investigators, but Martin and Mandy become both bffs and better people. Mandy learns to think about other people and be a self-starter, meanwhile Martin becomes more mature as he is put in a situation of team leader and counselor. He also learns more about himself, as he finds himself falling for the politician's son.

And yes, there is an episode where he worries about a date between them and the girls (and Mandy) help him get ready for it.

The whole first season wraps with the politician being found out by Diana, and he/she brainwashes her to have her be a mole. We also have the son go turncoat because he and Martin realize who the other is, and he realizes he doesn't want to just follow orders especially when he doesn't agree with the end goal. Except, with Diana as the mole, the politician captures Martin, his son, MOM, & Billy, chaining them us as he/she begins the evil ritual to attain ultimate power unopposed - or so he/she thinks.

Because Mandy, faced with the choice to be accepted by the sorority that first rejected her or jump to action, chooses the latter and rallies the girls into going out and saving the others.

They end up disrupting the ritual and saving the world. And, after the politician's machinations are discovered, the Center is reinstated. However, it won't be run as it was before. MOM decides to take on a more advisory role, with Martin taking lead on day-to-day oerations. Diana is offered a spot, too, but she declines saying her heart isn't in the business like Martin's is, and still wants to move forward into politics. However, because Mandy needs money because, now that she is set to graduate as well, her parents have cut her off.

So the next season can continue the mission but at a grander scale because the girls will be official Center agents while also training new inductees who pledge next year.

Hope this is like something you might have in mind?

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Author: sourcherryjam

Group: Final

Prompts: Baby milestones. Panic, expect, ambition, compact. Treasure.

-

The Treasure Hunt

Belle held the compass out in front of her, hand on her hip. The needle pointed at Mr. Gold, standing behind his desk and watching her, somehow both with bland disinterest and a little hint of panic.

“You’re not serious,” he said. 

“You can see it with your own eyes.” She pointed at the compass needle. “You’re involved.”

“I’m not participating.” 

At the town meeting that morning, the Storybrookians in attendance had all received what Belle could only describe as a message from above that they needed to find the self-destruct diamond or their town would implode. Belle hadn’t known that towns could implode, or even that there was such a thing as a self-destruct diamond, but here she was, standing in Mr. Gold’s shop with the compass that had appeared in her pocket as if by magic—magic!—because it had led her right to him.

“Why not?”

“Everyone in this town expects me to solve all their problems, dearie,” he said. He folded his hands over the glass counter, but kept his eyes on the compass. “Well, today, I’m closed for business.”

Belle snapped the compass shut. “Closed for all business?” 

It wasn’t many people who could set a verbal trap for Mr. Gold, but then Belle suspected, after months of popping by to admire a set of first edition Jane Austens and, subsequently, chat, she could only trap him because he allowed her to.

“Have you finally come to make a purchase, then?”

“No.” She leaned onto the glass, careful not to smudge it. “I was thinking a deal.”

When he grit his teeth, eyes straying toward the compass, she knew she’d won.

****

“This is hardly a victory,” Mr. Gold muttered as Belle sat on a towel in the sand, sifting through seashells. 

“It’s a baby milestone.” She discarded a small, broken one. “We solved the riddle, we should feel good.”

“It’s not solving the riddle until we have the next clue.” 

Belle hummed but otherwise ignored him. He’d been crabby at every stop they’d made, from the library to the grocery, but he’d driven them to each one without protest, limping out of the car and watching her flit from place to place, rubbing shelves and walls and furniture to see if anything caught her eye. The compass had so far led them nowhere else, just kept spinning toward Mr. Gold whenever Belle tried to use it, so she figured that clue was done.

“Move over, this is taking forever.” 

Belle hardly had time to register that Mr. Gold had spoken before he was folding himself onto the towel with her. He’d abandoned his jacket in the car long ago, but the image of him in most of a three-piece suit sitting on a towel on the beach, one Oxford-clad foot stretched out so his leg didn’t cramp, would not be leaving her soon.

“That’s the spirit!” She scooped up the pile of shells she had yet to sift through and dropped it between them.

While she picked through every shell, studied every crack, ran her finger over every crevice, Mr. Gold just stared at the pile, eyes slightly narrowed. She wished she could read his mind right then.

“There.” He flicked a few shells off and pulled out what looked to Belle to be a normal, if slightly shabby, clam shell. “That’s the one.”

She picked it up and ran her fingers along the grooves, into every crack and crevice, and then felt a slight pulse. He was right.

“How did you do that?” she asked.

“I trade in precious objects, Miss French.”

That wasn’t so much an answer as a statement of fact, but she didn’t press. Time was running out. 

Shell in hand, she took the compass out of her pocket to see if this would make a difference, but all it did was continue to point at Mr. Gold. Useless. 

“Okay.” Belle pocketed the shell. “I think we need to go to the woods next.”

She hauled herself to her feet and then offered a hand to Mr. Gold. He could have gotten himself up, she was sure, but instead, he took her hand, allowing her to help.

****

By noon, they’d collected the clam shell, a compact mirror, the leaf from a fiddlehead fern, a handful of loose tea leaves that Mr. Gold stuck in an Altoid tin, and a perfectly spherical rock that looked like someone had taken an ice cream scoop to the sidewalk.

“Does it not bother you that the supposed end of our town is being thwarted by nothing more than a glorified treasure hunt?” Mr. Gold asked as they drove back to his shop. 

It did bother her, actually. It bothered her every time they collected a new, nonsensical item, every time they saw another team out and about.

“Well, what else can we do?” Belle asked. “I’m not just going to sit back and watch my home implode.”

He glanced at her, and she thought she saw the beginning twitch of a smile. She had grown to recognize the expression in their short, almost daily at this point, chats. 

“If we are convinced that this magical divine hand of fate is, in fact, real, and if we are convinced that, if we do not solve this series of inane riddles by midnight, we’ll be destroyed, then I think we need to stop solving the little riddles and try to solve the big one.” 

“I like it.” Belle straightened up. “Ambitious.”

“I’m nothing if not ambitious,” he said. “Besides, the clock on your deal is running low.” 

Belle pursed her lips. Being ambitious herself, she’d only begged Mr. Gold for six hours of teamwork. She hadn’t expected to be creeping up on hour four feeling no closer to the end. “I only traded you for a favor sometime in the future. I’m sure we can work out an extension arrangement.”

He smirked, a much more common expression, though she’d never seen him so friendly.

“I’m sure we can.”

****

“If it’s a diamond,” Belle said, pausing between fries. “Then maybe we should check where diamonds are.”

With her time extended and Mr. Gold assured of two favors, they’d swung by Granny’s. Granny Lucas was so busy, she’d just made to-go containers of grilled cheese and fries, handing them to everyone except Mr. Gold, who she charged full price for both of them.

“I was thinking the same.” He drove with one hand, sandwich in the other.

“Mr. Gold?”

“Yes?”

“Do you really think there’s some sort of doomsday diamond in Storybrooke?”

“I never rule out anything.”

Belle watched him, slowing down her chewing to study his profile. He still wore his waistcoat  and sleeve garters, but throughout the morning, his tie had come a little loose, his hair had gotten a little windswept and salty at the beach, and now he ate a grilled cheese for what she imagined was the first time in his prim and proper life. 

In all her time in Storybrooke, she’d never imagined Mr. Gold would let his guard down enough for her to see him like this. 

She snuck the compass out of her pocket and opened it. The needle was already pointed at Mr. Gold.

****

They stood at the mine entrance, all the trinkets stuffed into Belle’s pocket. She had no idea if this was it or not, but it felt momentous, like once they stepped into the darkness, nothing would be the same.

She hoped Storybrooke would still be there.

“Is it good or bad that we’re the only ones here?” Belle asked.

“Neutral,” he said. “I’m sure Regina will think of it soon.”

Belle nodded. Whatever happened, she had done her best to be the hero that her town needed. 

“What if we’re not the only ones here?” She inched closer to him without thinking, gripping his cane arm.

He looked down at her hand with an expression she couldn’t read—or maybe she could, but she was afraid to at this moment, standing in front of their possible doom. 

“Then we’re not the only ones here.” 

She nodded. “I’ll go in first.”

“No.” He withdrew a small pistol. Had he been carrying that around all day? In his pocket? “I’ve got better aim.”

“You don’t have to do this.” She gripped his elbow. “You stay outside. I’ll go in.”

He cast her a wry look. “I’ve only broken one deal in my life, and I don’t intend to break a second.”

“I guess I’ll owe you a pretty big favor.” She attempted a smile.

“Two pretty big favors.”

That startled a laugh from her, and maybe she was crazy, but she could have sworn that a faint pink tinged Mr. Gold’s cheeks. 

“Wait.” She tugged back on his arm, though he hadn’t moved, and then pulled the compass out of her pocket. “I just want to check one more time.”

He lowered the pistol. She opened the compass. The needle pointed at Mr. Gold.

“I can’t believe that the divine hand of fate would drop a compass into my pocket from nowhere and it doesn’t even do anything.” She snapped it shut. 

“Maybe it only works once for a person,” he offered. “Here, let me try.” 

She could have let go of him, but instead, she waited for him to stick the pistol back in his pocket—his pocket—before handing it over.

When he opened the compass, she couldn’t see over the lid, but she could see his jaw clench. He looked at her, then turned his back to her, shaking the compass.

“Well?” she asked. “Is it pointing at you still?”

“No.” He didn’t move.

“What’s it pointing at?” She tugged on his sleeve and, slowly, as though it took great effort, he turned back to face her, snapping the compass shut. 

“What’s that information worth to you?”

Taken aback, she let go of his sleeve. Why was he suddenly being difficult? He’d been so accommodating all day, even tromping half-crouched through the woods until they found the exact fiddlehead they needed.

“What’s it worth to me?”

He shrugged, his bland expression back. He could have slapped her. “Either you want to know or you don’t.”

Something like fire bubbled up in her. Maybe she could open her mouth and scorch him. 

“How could you do this to me? Right now, at the end?”

He shrugged again. “We don’t know this is the end.”

“Fine, give it to me, and I’ll go in by myself. You can leave.”

She tried to snatch the compass from him, but he held it out of reach, fending her off by barely moving his cane. How was he so much more agile than her? 

“I’ll tell you what.” He held the compass above his head. Her fingertips just barely touched his wrist. “If you check it one more time where I can see, I’ll tell you what mine said.”

That knocked the wind from her sails. She dropped to her flat feet. “Fine. Hand it over.”

He did without comment or complaint, and she threw the lid open with more force than was probably warranted. The needle wavered a bit, but still pointed solidly at Mr. Gold.

“There. Are you happy now?”

But when she looked at him, his expression was unlike anything she’d ever seen. He might have been about to retch. Her anger evaporated. Mr. Gold wasn’t trying to be difficult—whatever he’d seen had scared him.

“Where did yours point?” she asked.

“A deal’s a deal, isn’t it?” His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it, tinged with something like anguish. “Have you figured out what it’s meant to point at yet?”

If a deal was a deal, why did she still not know where the needle had gone for him? 

“I don’t know,” she said. “It pointed at you and you brought me here, so maybe it’s not about the doomsday diamond at all, but the thing I needed most to get there?”

“I don’t think it’s about the diamond,” he said. “If it was, we’d have seen other people wandering around with their nose in compasses, or maybe a map.”

What was he getting at? Belle knew she was clever, but she felt daft then. “Okay, so—just something I needed most?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Mr. Gold, I’ve never raised my voice to you, but I think I might. Where did it point for you?”

His lip twitched, the familiar gesture putting her on more even footing. “It pointed at you.”

She opened her mouth to say that of course it did, if they were meant to be on this treasure hunt together, it made sense that the compass would point to one another, but then it sunk in. What if, like he said, the compass wasn’t about doomsday? What if whatever force had dropped the other clues had dropped this in her pocket as some sort consolation for the end of the world? A way to allow her to spend the whole day with Mr. Gold?

“You need me?” she asked. 

“It would appear so.”

She pursed her lips. “Mr. Gold, don’t be so stubborn.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes as he watched the compass. “Sorry, dear. It’s in my nature.”

Well, it was in hers too. Emboldened by the fact that he hadn’t yet fled for the car, she took a step toward him, then another, then touched her lips to his. The ground shook.

He didn’t move, and she pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, hoarse.

“If we’re going to die, and we both agree that we need each other, I think we should kiss at least once.”

“Do we?” he asked. “Do you? Agree?”

“I agree.” She kissed him again, and this time, he slid his free arm around her waist, and she cupped his cheek, and then the ground shook so hard they both fell over. Belle managed to grab him so that she took the brunt of the fall instead of him and his bad leg, and when the world stopped shaking, he did not look pleased.

“Belle,” he said, filling her veins with warmth. “Now you’re hurt. What have you—”

A high-pitched whine screeched from the mines, and they both hunched. Belle grabbed his tie and yanked him to her.

“What are you—”

“Kiss me again, it’s working!” 

Maybe it was presumptuous to think that pressing her lips to Mr. Gold’s had anything to do with stopping the end of the world as they knew it, but as she did it a third time, she couldn’t have cared less.

-

[something-tofightfor]

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #10: Dieter Bravo - A Kiss While Baking

Writing this made me realize how much I miss Locked Down Dieter. This takes place after the chapter I'm currently working on (it's like ... 70% done) ... and it's motivated me to get back to them.

Thank you for requesting this, @jessthebaker - I think I went a little off from the direction you'd anticipated, but I hope you still like it!

No real rating or warnings - but it *is* Dieter, so be aware of his habits.

Word Count: 1,672

You heard him before you saw him. The sound of his voice - low but frustrated - carried from the kitchen to the hallway where you stood. 

“Dieter?” One hand trailing along the wall as you peeked through the open entryway, you grinned at the sight. “Are you … cooking?” 

“Mmmhmm.” He grunted the agreement out without turning to look at you, the set of his broad shoulders determined. “Well… I’m trying to bake, anyway.” Scanning the countertop while crossing the wide-open space, you reached up when you stepped behind him, your hand pressed to the center of his back. 

“What are you making?” 

“Brownies.” He paused, sliding a mixing bowl across the counter to rest in front of him. “Or, they were supposed to be brownies. I think I fucked up and missed a step because this doesn’t look right.” He turned his head toward you, scowling. “I was going to make them and have them waiting for when you got here, but then I got distracted.” 

“I don’t blame you. You had a lot to do last week before you came to see me.” Leaning in, you kissed his cheek. “Can I help? I’m not sure what you’ve already done, but …” Pointing with one finger, you cleared your throat. “I don’t know this recipe, but if you’re already mixing wet and dry, the eggs should probably be out of their shells.” 

He swore, reaching up and rubbing at his forehead. Without saying anything else, he stepped to the side, making room for you. “This is my grandmother’s recipe, and I’ve made it too many times to count, but…” He trailed off, the man’s fingers deftly cracking eggs against the side of the bowl before he split the shells, the contents dropping in with the other mixture. “But today I’m a little … out of it.” 

“The holidays are always harder.” Nudging him with your elbow, you began to grease the pan, sneaking looks at him while you worked. “Especially for you, since you’re trying to wrap up a bunch of stuff in the next couple days and you’ve got a girlfriend that kept you awake really late last night.” 

“Yeah. How dare she.” He huffed out a quiet laugh. “I kinda miss last year, y’know?” He set the spoon down, brushing stray flour from his palms. “When all we had to worry about was whether or not Gunther was going to get pissed that we weren’t following his rules.” You laughed, setting the paper towel that you’d used down, too. 

“It seems like we’ve known each other so much longer than we have, Dieter. If you would have told me last Christmas that we’d be here now, in your kitchen, making brownies together, I wouldn’t … I would have wanted it to be true, but never thought that it could have been.” 

“First of all,” he started, reaching past you for a bag of chocolate chips. “While you’re here, this is your kitchen, too.” He dumped half of the bag into the bowl, paused and then shrugged, dumping in more. Why am I not surprised? “Second of all, if I remember right, last Christmas was when this picked up between us, and  that was about when I started picturing you here.” 

That admission shocked you, but instead of making a comment about it - even as a joke - you stayed quiet. If that’s true then … we wasted so much damn time between then and now. 

 He’d fit into your family’s holiday celebrations with ease - the man charming them just like he charmed so many people he came into contact with on a daily basis. Even though his visit was short, he’d won them over easily, none of your family batting an eye when you’d mentioned that in the new year, you were thinking about exploring the idea of spending more time in California. It’s because I’m already gone so much. It wouldn’t be any different for them.

“Pass me that spatula.” He used his chin to gesture toward the utensil, one hand under the bowl of batter, the other steadying it. “Or, nevermind. Just hold onto it for a second.” Fingers closing around the wooden handle, you waited to see what he’d do next. 

Dieter poured the batter with precision, splitting it between the two greased pans. He focused on what he was doing, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips - and you smiled at the sight, eyes flicking down from his face to his hands and then back up. “I could get used to seeing you in a kitchen, Dieter. How’d you hide this for so long?”

“If you move out here, you’d be able to get used to it.” He glanced over, smirking. “And I have a reputation to uphold. Can’t just let everyone know I’m not as inept at taking care of myself as it might seem.” You laughed quietly, turning your body so that you could rest your hip against the counter. When he took the spatula from you and used it to scrape the sides of the bowl, you focused on the flex of his fingers and the way his wrist moved with each motion. I am the luckiest fucking - “Wanna lick?” 

He held the utensil up, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, you’re one of those.” Rolling your eyes, you cocked your head to the side. “Bet you eat raw cookie dough, too.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” He grinned, extending his tongue to clean one side of the rubber off. “They have that eggless shit now, and it’s supposed to be safe. But it doesn’t taste the same.” He held it out to you again and you took it, fingers closing around his. “Best part of baking is licking the spoon clean, and the most exciting part is the looming threat of food poisoning or Salmonella or whatever the fuck it -”

“Well then, Dieter… guess we’re both gonna risk it. Good thing I’m here for two and a half weeks.” You closed your eyes at the taste of the chocolate as it coated your tongue, groaning as you got your first taste of the rich flavor. “Wait a minute, is there cinnamon in these? I didn’t see you -”

“If I told you then I would have to kill you.” He winked, reaching for your wrist and closing his fingers  around it. “This recipe is a secret. The only way I can give it to you is if you were to become a Bravo.” Oh. Oh, shit. It was the first time he’d brought that up - even casually - and based on his reaction - the slight twist of his lips and a raised eyebrow - you realized that you must not have been able to hide yours. “Do you like it?” 

“I do.” You set the spatula down into the sink, wiping your hand off on your denim-covered thigh. “And I’m no stranger to carefully guarded family recipes, so I get it.” Your heart was pounding despite your voice remaining steady. “I can’t wait to taste them when they’re baked. You put so many chocolate chips in there, they’re going to be gooey and -”

“Her recipe actually calls for walnuts. But since I can’t eat ‘em, she’d…” He swallowed hard, the joking tone replaced with a serious one. “She’d make me my own batch - first, before she made the other one, and replace the nuts with extra chocolate. So now I do the same.” 

Your chest tightened at his admission - and like so many of the other tiny truths Dieter had gifted you with over the months you’d known him, that one hit hard.  “I’m glad you had people to care for you like that as a kid, Dieter. It’s the small things, right? Those are the ones we rememb-” 

He cut you off when he leaned in to kiss you, Dieter’s lips sealing over yours with a practiced ease that not even all the time you’d spent apart could change. You kissed him back, arms going around his neck to hold him close - and when Dieter sighed against your lips, his tongue trailing over them with purpose, you knew that he agreed with you. He pulled back first, the smile still on his lips though it was lazy. “Got some chocolate right… there.” 

He reached out as he spoke, thumb swiping over the corner of your lip and then toward the center, where he pushed it between them. You cleaned it off, focused on the way Dieter’s eyes darkened at the suction - and when you smiled around the digit, he gave you one in return.

“Fucking tease.” Shaking his head back and forth, Dieter moved to step back, but you didn’t let him. “What?” 

“You didn’t put anything into the oven yet, so we wouldn’t have to worry about them burning…” Leaving things open - and the opportunity for him to make the decision - you waited, fingers laced together behind his neck. 

It didn’t take him long to choose, Dieter’s grin growing and his hands dropping back to your hips. He took a step backward and pulled you with him, never looking away from your face. “You’re a bad influence, and coming from me that’s saying a lot..” But you’re not saying no. 

“I’m about to be a worse one.” He stopped moving, hands tightening against your body. “When I saw you baking, I figured you’d be making pot brownies or something, but -”

“Oh, that’s a different recipe.” He wrinkled his nose. “She’d come back just to kill me if I did that to her brownies, so I never have.” He leaned closer, resting his forehead against yours. “But the ones from the dispensary around the corner are much better than anything I’ve ever made. They know their shit. We’ll order some later, if you want. I’m sure they’re wondering why they haven’t heard from me in a while.” 

You laughed at that, Dieter sliding one hand away and then taking yours, palms pressed together. “Sounds good, Dieter. Whatever you want.” As long as it’s me.

—

[formerlycookierunauprompts]

Hi, hello! I have an actual request this time, I know a real shocker. Anyways since I’ve been exploring a cookie with a seriously degrading mental health with a side order of depression and anxiety, I was wondering if you could write shadow milk cookie after being released. He sees a cookie he recognizes a cookie within the group. Reader would be either a beast like them that didn’t get sealed or a long lived cookie race that doesn’t look all to good. From an outside perspective they probably only look a little tired but to shadow milk the difference between how they used to be and now is striking. Would he think them pathetic or would he be concerned? Maybe help in his own way, up to you. Hope you have fun with the prompt see you.

so i may have gotten a bit too silly and wrote for GBC instead of the reader. yeah :P but anyways i hope you still enjoy!

(post writing comment : i think I may have accidentally strayed a bit from the prompt.)

Requested Prompts #35 - 💔

Their efforts hadn't been enough. It had seemed at first like the crack in the tree had been sealed, only for it to burst open again in a vortex of blue disembodied eyes and shadows. Butterscotch Cookie, or rather Golden Butter Cookie as she knew herself as, could only watch on as the shadows spread out of the void alongside his laughter. It almost taunted her, really. Because of her cowardice she'd been afraid to seek out the truth of what had happened to him. It was only due to Rosemary's encouragement that she was able to leave the Toy-Box. " Aaaah! Doesn't this fresh air just feel... divine!" She heard his voice echo, bracing herself alongside the others for him to make his entrance. She was sure that he'd make his entrance grand and boisterous, but what she didn't expect was for more shadow to rush out. It skittered across her vision, blotting out the faerie kingdom and Goldie Butter's comrades, leaving her alone in the darkness. She steeled herself, instinctively putting a hand over her concealed soul jam as she summoned a spear to the other. " Oho? I see that we have an extra special member here in our audience today!" His voice chirped, she could just feel his excitement through his tone. Almost like a cat waiting to pounce. And pounce he did, with a hand made of shadow grabbing and wrapping around her torso she was pulled further into the darkness. She was soon face to face with him once again, Shadow Milk Cookie. It was only him and herself that appeared to be illuminated in the darkness, likely illuminated from the light of their soul jam. Even still, it didn't make seeing him any less difficult in the emotional sense. She could feel everything she felt over the past few thousands of years beginning to bubble up, it felt like she was going to start sobbing from both grief and anger. And yet, she stays silent, only staring up at him with a dulled, weak glare. How could she blame him for abandoning her when he got sealed by the witches? Of course, she didn't know exactly when but... " Wow. Goldie, starlight, you look... terrible." He almost seems surprised, heck, maybe he even is. The hand sets her down unto the shadowy ground, it feels like it's made of solid liquid... Don't ask how that feels but it's similar to jelly I suppose. She brushes herself off, looking back up at him. " Anyone would after getting abandoned with no answers to their questions for thousands of years." She can see him recoil with a wince at her harsh words, making it rather clear that he feels remorse for at least this. He laid on his stomach, at least trying to get on her eye level. " Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to leave you like that." He apologized, Golden Butter scanned his face for any signs of deception... Even though she knew that there was likely none. " I didn't mean to go and get sealed, the witches took us by surprise!" He excused himself. " I heard." She began. " ... You should have known that they'd come for you all eventually." " I thought that they'd do it one by one!" He exclaimed. " I thought that, with all of us together... minus you of course I know you didn't want to drag yourself into our mess, that we could beat them!" Golden Butter waited for the 'but' that was soon to come. " But..." And there it was. " But you weren't, were you now?" She asked, tilting her head to the side a bit. He visibly deflated. " Nope, not at all." He sighed, resting his head in his arms. There was a beat of silence before that wild grin of his made it's way back into his face. " But now, we can make up for lost time!" He cheered, getting up onto his feet and grabbing Golden Butter Cookie from the shadow hand with a spin.

Soon, the spinning stopped. Leaving her a bit disoriented and grasping at Shadow Milk's hands to stabilize herself. " Oh I'm just so so so so so excited to finally get to talk with you again! I missed you so much Goldie!" He exclaimed, Golden Butter thought for a moment that if he wasn't holding her then he'd be bouncing on his feet. But then, another thought came to mind. " Shadow Milk Cookie," She began, her voice once again stern. " If I'm here... then what's going on with my frie-" She catches herself, " The other cookies I was with." " Oh, them. Well they wanted a fight sooooo.... I just gave them one of my puppets to play with! They aren't important anyways, what's important is you and me!" He chirped, he looked extremely excited... And Golden Butter doubted that she could get out of this easily... plus, she had also missed him.

[nehswritesstuffs]

questions for fic writers!! answer however many you'd like :)

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

10. How do you decide what to write?

15. What's your favorite AU that you've written?

21. If you wrote a “missing scene” in Double Date from Hell, what would it be?

42. Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

thank you!! <3 have a lovely week!!

I'll answer all of them! :D!

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

So this one is kinda interesting, because it's very different if you include all my works (207 thus far (soon 208) and I'm not done transferring everything from my FFN days) compared to my One Piece offerings, which is what you, my specific friend, are most familiar with. Under all stories my list is:

Prompt fic (117)

Fluff (says 55, toggles to 57)

Alternate Universe (says 41, toggles to 60)

Not Beta Read (37; the real tag is no beta we die like Roger: laughing at the chaos we've caused)

Angst (25, toggles to 33)

...but if we filter to only One Piece stories, we've got (aside from the specialized No Beta tag and designating what originally posted to FFN):

Alternate Universe (18)

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence (10)

Crack (9)

Pre-Canon (6)

Alternate Canon (6, toggles to 11)

That's... a difference. The first list is pretty clear that I've done a lot of prompts with plenty of fluff, angst, and AUs. The second focuses in on those AUs. I do have a lot of non-searchable tags in the more recent offerings, which affects things. They're both pretty spot-on, though playing around with my filters brings surprising stuff in many of the categories.

10. How do you decide what to write?

I do not decide what I write. God decides what I write. Sometimes He leaves it to my brain. That's usually a disaster.

15. What's your favorite AU that you've written?

I love all my AUs what are you talking about...

If I had to pick one I think my favorite right now is a tie between little seagull, little seagull, where shall you go? and Adventures with the Denizens of 1000 Sunny Rd, just because they're both really fun for completely different reasons. One's just the Great Dilfening of Trafalgar Law in its varied forms and the other is Modern pseudo-Midwestern American AU w/Sunny as a sus af party house in rural suburbia that totally isn't based on my local metro area what are you talking about. Both torture Law though, and that's what counts. :D

42. Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

A comment that stood out? Well, I think comments that stand out to me are usually the long ones, as well as the ones that end up in long-winded conversations and exchange of fandom squealing. While I've gotten some in recent years, I cannot express how it was very different back in the heyday of my years mainlining FFN. So, like, 2004-2010, I'll say. Those were really good days, and people loved commenting/reviewing! There were still lurkers, obviously, but there was way less commodification of fandom like we see now. It's definitely not a "fandom old yells at teens" thing because I know it's not necessarily fandom's fault for the shift and is instead the corporate end that has trained us (especially newer fans) to treat media and fandoms alike the same one would cheap paper towels, but that's not what fandom is, and oh would you look at that I strayed from the topic.

21. If you wrote a “missing scene” in Double Date from Hell, what would it be?

A missing scene from Double-Date From Hell? Well then, don't mind if I do...

“Ah, there’s your kid,” Bell-mère noted. She watched Law cross the street from the hospital to head into the restaurant a few cars ahead of them. At least he was in scrubs and a doctor’s coat, making it a little less likely he’d murder them. “Didn’t you teach the little shit not to jaywalk?” “Jaywalking is the least of our worries right now,” Cora replied, his eyes following his son as he disappeared into the restaurant. “What if they see right through us?” He worried his hands as he grew progressively more fidgety in the passenger seat. “They’ll be too off-guard to think that,” she replied. From her vantage point, she could see the kid walk to the back corner of the seating area and slide into a booth, face getting real close to someone with very orange hair—must’ve been Nami. “Come on—where’s your sense of humor? It was working great last night.” “Last night I wasn’t staring this down so concretely,” he frowned. “I don’t want my kid and his super-cute girlfriend to hate me now that they’ve both met me.” “If she hasn’t run for the hills yet, they’re fine.” Bell-mère winked and killed the engine. “C’mon, let’s get this party started, shall we?”

[frogtanii]

iwaizumi was... overwhelmed, to say the least.

the past few days had been such a whirlwind of change that hajime could barely properly process, much less appropriately react to it all, so he behaved much like a zombie, saying yes when prompted, signing papers when told, and packing up what was his entire life for the past 11 months.

wow. iwaizumi collapsed on his bed as he scanned his now barren bedroom. he’d been here for almost a year and yet, all his belongings were in boxes within a couple of days.

hajime couldn’t keep the disbelieving chuckle from escaping his chest as he leaned back on his bed, dark brown eyes trained on the ceiling.

it felt like he’d spent such a large chunk of his life trapped in this house, under the foot of the woman who he thought he’d marry but in reality, he’d been in little leagues longer than he’d been in love.

iwaizumi scoffed and rolled his eyes. yeah, “in love”. it’d been about a week since his whole life started to unravel and he had hardly seen, let alone spoken to meiko throughout that entire time.

over text, she’d sworn up and down that she loved and cared about him but as she passed by him packing his things a few days ago, she’d barely spared him a second glance.

hajime wasn’t going to lie. it hurt. he’d opened his heart up to her, something he didn’t do easily, and she’d taken his trust and used it to twist him into her weapon.

he always believed he was stronger than this — he’d never forget his mother telling him so when he was younger. he had fallen and scraped his knee yet he refused to cry to keep from upsetting his mom. iwaizumi existed to live up to what his mother thought of him but here he was, completely enveloped in meiko’s shit, doing her dirty work and following her bidding like some mutt.

god, toorū was right. he really was her bitch.

“i could hear you thinking from down the hall, iwa-chan.” speak of the devil...

oikawa stood at his doorway, leaning against the frame with a posture that seemed relaxed at first glance but if you looked a little closer, you’d notice the tenseness in his shoulders and the tightness of his smile.

hajime quickly sat up on his bed before motioning for his old friend to enter. “uh, yeah,” he began, his voice cracking a little from disuse, “i have a lot to think about.”

the light haired brunette let out an understanding hum before wandering into the room, sharp observant eyes darting to look at all the empty walls. “looks like you’re all packed.”

“pretty much,” iwaizumi nodded before the room fell into an awkward silence, the two childhood friends completely avoiding one another’s eyes.

“look, i-“

“iwa-chan, i’m-“

they both paused for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound carrying into the hall and throughout the house.

hajime wiped a few stray tears from his eyes, shaking his head at their awkwardness. “you first, shittykawa.”

toorū gasped in halfhearted mock offense before quickly sobering up, training iwaizumi with a completely serious look. “i’m sorry and before you go on some bullshit, self sacrificing rant, you’re not the only one to blame for what happened to our friendship.”

he sighed while making his way to iwaizumi’s bed, sitting down gently beside him. “i should’ve known better, okay? i shouldn’t have let my jealousy and insecurities get in between us but i guess i got swept up in the attention, yknow? meiko is actually charming when she wants to be.”

iwaizumi nodded in agreement, knowing all too well how compelling meiko could be. the room fell into a more comfortable silence as both boys escaped into their thoughts, questions about the future of their friendship flitting throughout their minds.

“oh!” oikawa was pulled out of his own head at hajime’s exclamation, his eyes moving to observe his friend dig through his pockets to procure a thick white envelope. “here. i’d like you to give this yn.”

all toorū could do was nod, his brain short circuiting at the sight of iwaizumi’s apparent kindness to the woman he tormented for so long. “uh, what’s in it?” he ventured to ask, his soft hands toying with the sealed envelope flap.

a soft chuckle came from across the bed. “don’t be so nosy toorū, just give it to her, yeah?” oikawa rolled his eyes but obliged, the bed creaking as he stood to his feet.

“so... this is it, huh?” it was like the reality of the situation was just now sinking in — they hadn’t been close in a while but iwaizumi was still his best friend and he wasn’t quite ready to let him go.

they’d been through so much together, practically growing up together and now, they’d only see each other on holidays, if even then, and then he’d never be invited to hajime’s wedding as his best man as they’d planned and he also wouldn’t be the coolest uncle/godfather of iwa’s children and—

“fuck no,” hajime scoffed with a bright grin on his face. “thought you were gonna annoy me til the end of time shittykawa. don’t tell me you’re quitting your job now.”

the hidden meaning behind iwaizumi’s words brought tears to oikawa’s eyes and before he could stop himself, he launched his body into iwa’s arms. hajime hesitated, his hands stuttering at toorū’s sides as though he’d forgotten how to hug but the feeling passed, his arms winding around his friend’s lithe waist.

“‘m gonna miss you hajime,” oikawa’s voice came out as a broken whimper, his arms tightening around his shoulders.

iwaizumi hummed instead of responding, too afraid of his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. they stood there for a moment but the honk of the moving truck outside signaled the both of them of their limited time.

hurriedly, oikawa wiped the tears off his cheeks before waving awkwardly at iwaizumi as he left the room with a friendly, “don’t be a stranger.”

and then he was gone.

toorū finally allowed himself to collapse into sobs on his best friends empty bed, his palms pressing into his eyes as he sat there and just let himself feel.

apparently, he wasn’t crying very quietly because it took only a few moments for you to find him, your soft footsteps alerting him to your presence. oikawa scrambled to wipe away what he knew was an unattractive mixture of tears and snot as you got closer.

you were one of the last people he wanted to see him like this.

“hey,” you whispered, standing a few feet away from him. “um, i know this is probably a bad time but i just wanted to thank you for apologizing? back at the awards show?”

toorū sniffed as he looked up at you with confusion written on his face. “what? you shouldn’t thank me for apologizing. ‘s common courtesy.”

you laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “well, not always. so, thank you.” finished with your piece and not too keen on lingering where you weren’t wanted, you moved towards the door but were swiftly stopped before you got there.

“um, here. it’s from iwa-chan.” you gaped at the thick envelope oikawa was handing you before taking it and opening it, a low curse falling from your lips.

inside the package was a dense wad of cash, more money than you’d seen in months. accompanied with it was a letter, written in beautifully loopy handwriting.

you shut it quickly before oikawa could see, stuffing the envelope deep within your pocket where you could access it alone in the depths of your room.

“do you wanna come eat? last i heard, bokuto and tsumu were doing a cooking competition and i’m sure it’ll be fun to watch.” you were severely thrown off by the money and letter but you were determined to show toorū that you’d accepted his apology and were on your way to making amends.

he gave you a shy nod and trailed behind you to the kitchen, the loud sounds of fire and screaming coming from down the hall. you wanted to focus on the fun and merriment but the envelope was practically burning a hole in your pocket.

later that night, you finally got the chance to open the letter and read it, your former manager’s words bringing tears to your eyes.

dear yn,

i’m probably the last person you expected to hear from. you probably didn’t want to hear from me at all if i’m being honest and i don’t blame you. i know there is nothing i can say that could make up for what i’ve done to you but i’d like to try.

i’m sorry. those words don’t nearly express in and of themselves how truly remorseful i am but they needed to be said. there’s no excuse for how i treated you — not meiko, not my stress, absolutely nothing.

you deserved my common decency and respect and i didn’t give that to you. instead, i abused my position and made your life hell. i’ll never forgive myself for that.

uh, i bet you’re wondering what the money is? i promise i’m not trying to pay you off, it’s just all the money i’ve denied you since you moved here. i have a lot of wrongs to right and this is one of them.

sorry, i’m not very good with words but i just wanted you to know that i’m very sorry for everything that i’ve done. and i’m in no place to make demands or anything but i just wanted to ask if you’d keep an eye on oikawa for me.

he’s strong but he’s also vulnerable. he might be a pain in my ass but he’s my best friend and since i can’t keep him from drowning, i was wondering if you’d do that - not for me but for him.

anyways, this letter is shit but i suppose you get the gist. use the money for whatever you want and if you’re as unselfish as i’ve heard, you don’t owe me anything. you don’t owe me money, kindness, or forgiveness.

take care of yourself,

iwaizumi hajime

℗ poker face

so... this is it

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - soooo m back :D hopefully this is the last of my mini hiatuses!! this chapter sucked to write but i’m not mad at how it turned out?? pls let me know how i did skjdkd don’t forget to feed me <3333

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[drowningbydegrees]

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Read on AO3

He can’t remember the last time waking up was a remotely soothing experience. Geralt’s sleep muzzy mind has no other word for the body plastered against his front from shoulder to hip, the steady heartbeat against his palm where his hand is splayed out across someone’s chest. His nose is tucked against the nape of someone’s neck, and the scent is far too familiar to be jarring.

“Jaskier,” he rumbles quietly, his mouth miles ahead of the rest of him. The quiet, absent pleasure of waking up tangled with someone who smells sleepy and content and like they’re his leaves no room for reason. There’s no room for anything really, except to press a kiss to whatever patch of skin he can find, savoring the soft sigh it earns him.

Jaskier is… The night before rushes back to him, and Geralt almost jerks away, even though it would be entirely pointless to bother with that now. He cracks an eye open and is met with the disaster that Jaskier’s hair, mussed in the night by sleep, and by Geralt’s fingers buried in it before that. Even as worry begins to creep in, he sort of wants to do it again.

This isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed. This probably isn’t even the hundredth time they’ve shared a bed. This is most definitely the first time they’ve done so with so little clothing between them, none to be exact. There’s only the blanket tucked around them both, warm and lovely and unexpectedly distressing.

Geralt isn’t sorry, per se. Jaskier’s chest rises and falls under Geralt’s palm in the slow rhythm of sleep. It’s the loveliest thing Geralt can remember waking up to, and therein lies the problem. An emotion fed only grows, and this unruly, sprawling affection is the worst offender. Stupidly, Geralt had thought getting this out of his system would quell it, but the longing reaches a fever pitch instead.

Jaskier is beautiful, all the more so for the way he shifts in his sleep, closing the gap Geralt has tried to put between them. Geralt could happily wake like this every day for the rest of his life, but it isn’t a fair thing to ask of someone who flits from one love to the next like a butterfly between flowers. He will not trap Jaskier in this just because he happens to be besotted. Somehow, the resolve not to try to keep this does nothing to ease the guilt welling up that he wants to in the first place.

Nothing Jaskier said the night before conveyed meaning beyond a playful desire to tumble into bed together. Moving the target now would only be cruel. He should be rolling out of bed, hastening them back to normal. He should be proving that this has done nothing to harm their friendship. It isn’t Jaskier’s fault, after all, the way Geralt wants to breathe him in and kiss him senseless and forget the rest of the world until the innkeeper boots them out.

“Geralt?” Jaskier startles the witcher from his worries, wriggling impossibly closer and laying a palm over his knuckles. “You okay?”

“Thinking,” Geralt replies vaguely.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Jaskier teases, still warm and lethargic with sleep. Geralt almost manages to take advantage of the levity of the moment and extricate himself, but before he can, Jaskier rolls over so they’re nearly nose to nose. His fingers cradle Geralt’s cheek and any attempt to escape now would just be graceless. “What about?”

Geralt doesn’t know how to answer, so he only hums noncommittally and hopes Jaskier will let it lie. Of course, Jaskier being Jaskier, does no such thing. He takes advantage of the change in positions to tangle his legs up with Geralt. “I can’t tell you to knock it off if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“We should get going.” Geralt tries once more to escape, frowning when Jaskier shows no sign of releasing him. It’s silly of course. Jaskier couldn’t hope to hold him here if Geralt was set on leaving. He just can’t actually make himself do it.

“Was it that bad a night?” It’s an easy opening, an invitation to stray back to their usual banter, but Geralt gets no further than a raised eyebrow before Jaskier is clasping a hand over the witcher’s mouth. “Wait. Don’t answer that or I might have to smother you with a pillow and that’ll just be unfortunate for both of us.”

Right there, with Jaskier smiling at him, Geralt can almost believe they’re going to survive this. Almost, but almost still leaves a distance he cannot cross. As soon as Jaskier pulls his hand back from Geralt’s mouth, the witcher opens it. “They’re not going to let us sleep in forever.”

“They might if I convince them to let me play again this evening. We could move on tomorrow,” Jaskier ventures, but something in Geralt’s face must give him pause. “Oh do not look at me like that. The world isn’t going to end just because you stop to take a breath once in a while, Geralt.”

“That’s not…” Geralt starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish. There are no words that convey the razor wire sensation of facing down the impermanence of Jaskier’s affections, of realizing how deeply his own feelings run far too late.

“Shh.” Geralt knew what to do with impulse, with Jaskier’s mouth crashing into his, with Jaskier’s hands scrabbling at him to shed his clothes. He doesn’t know what to do with the tender, intentional way Jaskier regards him this morning, lips pressing to the witcher’s brow and lingering afterwards. Does it mean something, or does Jaskier grant all his lovers this subdued, aimless devotion? Lust was so much simpler than this aching sort of affection that puts down roots even as Geralt tries to burn it away.

Geralt doesn’t precisely surrender, but he resigns himself to the lazy attention Jaskier is so determined to lavish on him. If he lets Jaskier turn him away later instead of now, there will be at least this one pleasant thing to remember. So he doesn’t complain at Jaskier’s fingers combing through his hair, or the bard’s body pressed warmly to his. If every touch feels like a harbinger of their demise, it’s still hard to let go of.

He almost passes things off as okay, he thinks, until Jaskier kisses him. It’s a brief thing, immediately withdrawn. “Geralt?”

If realizing the hopeless situation he’s stumbled into was uncomfortable, the idea of talking about it is nothing short of torture.

“Well, you haven’t shoved me out of bed yet, so you’re not mad. Talk to me,” Jaskier coaxes, his expression so openly concerned and affectionate, Geralt could scream.

“It’s no-” Geralt starts, but Jaskier shut him up with a theatrically sour look.

“I swear if you say nothing,” Jaskier threatens aimlessly, an easy smile on his lips, but underneath, Geralt can hear the way his anxious heart threatens to vibrate right out of his chest.

“I don’t know what this is,” Geralt admits because that, at least, is safe. It’s nothing about how he feels in relation to anything. It’s nothing about the want that simmers under the surface despite his guilt.

Jaskier’s brows scrunch in a way that would be endearing if the entire ordeal didn’t feel so fraught already. “I don’t think I follow. I mean, I know having a conversation isn’t your usual wheelhouse, but it’s not exactly a foreign concept.”

“Not. That.” Geralt bites the words out, tight and clipped while he gathers his frayed nerves enough to explain. “You’re not in the habit of keeping people. I don’t know what you want.”

For just a second, Jaskier looks like he’s been struck and Geralt wants desperately to take the whole thing back. But the bard’s expression smooths out and then twists up in a wry smile. “Of course I don’t. What would I even do? Drag someone else along on our travels?”

There’s a point Jaskier is making. It’s right there. He knows it is, but it eludes Geralt anyway. “You could have stayed somewhere if there was someone you wanted to stick around for.”

Jaskier laughs, just a giggle at first, and then so hard that even his efforts to bury his face against Geralt’s shoulder do nothing to stifle it. “You are absolutely right. I could fall completely and utterly in love with someone and choose to stick around.”

“I don’t see how that’s funny,” Geralt says flatly, staring at the far wall of their room. The urge to curl around Jaskier and forget the whole stupid conversation in strong, and maybe he’d have been better off doing that in the first place, but he doesn’t surrender to it.

“Well, you’re one of the smartest people I know, so these moments where you decide to be an absolute idiot happen to be hilarious,” Jaskier teases. The bard must take pity, because his palm slides to cradle Geralt’s jaw, and Jaskier puts himself right at eye level where the witcher can’t look away. “Don’t you realize? I fell in love with someone, and I chose to stick around. It happened ages ago.”

Geralt has long since given up on trying to anticipate what Jaskier will say to any given prompt, but that is… somehow not even on the same continent as anything he might have expected. “What?”

“You really are determined to make this as difficult and stressful for me as possible, aren’t you?” Jaskier asks. There’s a tightness around his eyes when he looks at Geralt, leaving the witcher with the awful realization that Jaskier must be flying as blind as he is. He’s probably as unsure of Geralt’s intent as Geralt is of his. And yet… “I chose you, you ridiculous man. I always choose you.”

That… that explains a lot, actually. Geralt swallows thickly as Jaskier’s nose bumps against his. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

“Ah yes. ‘Hello my very dear emotionally… hampered witcher who will sometimes, on a very good day, admit that we are friends. Would it it complicate things overly much if I also happened to be completely, utterly in love with you?’” Jaskier huffs out a helpless, almost panicky sort of laugh. “Tell me Geralt, is there any time in the last few years where that would have gone well?”

Years? Now, confronted with the full force of it, Geralt isn’t sure how he even missed it last night, let alone for so long. Now that he knows it’s always been a bit painfully obvious. And much as he’d like to, he can’t really argue against Jaskier’s point that it probably wouldn’t have gone well to say so. “What changed?”

Jaskier sighs in that dramatic, overdone way he tends to when he’s being asked what he thinks is an exceedingly silly question. “You did.”

“Hmm.” Geralt doesn’t comment and Jaskier doesn’t press for further conversation. It’s peaceful, this thing blossoming between them, now that his most immediate concerns have been silenced.

That Jaskier laid his heart on the line and asked for nothing back isn’t lost on Geralt though. The words catch and stick on his throat, so Geralt writes them into the tender way he traces the curve of Jaskier’s spine with his fingertips. He presses them against Jaskier’s lips, jaw, throat with lazy, lingering kisses.

“So tell me-” Jaskier starts, the words interrupted by a soft sigh as Geralt’s thumb skims the divot of his hip. It’s an unmistakably promising sound all by itself, even ignoring that delightful way Jaskier presses into the touch. He finishes his thought, but it’s unmistakably breathless. “What are you thinking now?”

The recognition that this isn’t some fluke settles warmly around him. This could be always. There are so few things a witcher really keeps, but for now he’s willing to entertain the notion that this might be one of them.

“I’m thinking…” Geralt mumbles against the side of Jaskier’s neck, delighting in the way the bard’s fingers tangle in his hair and tug. “That maybe we’ll leave tomorrow.”

[goodlucktai]

(I feel like I should finish your prompt first but. These ones are so good....feel free to ignore if you have too many asks but 29 or 33 with chocobros...?

PROMPTS LIST

33. “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

ik i just did this one for natsuyuu but...........chocobros

x

They're somewhere in Duscae, near enough to the coast that each breeze carries a hint of the sea, on another errand for another stranger to scrape together enough gil to eat tonight.

They've stopped at the last little roadside cluster of shops before the countryside stretches far and wide and wild, stocking up on what meager supplies they can afford.

Noctis has never lived this way before. He's never gone to bed hungry before. Neither has Gladio or Ignis, for all their world-weariness and the general practical knowledge and common sense they walk around with that far surpasses Noctis' own.

Ignis can budget with the best of them, and Gladio is willing to eat literally anything at any time, but Prompto is the one who gets it.

He chats at length about all the times he's had to get creative with pasta or rice because it was all that was left in his pantry. Back in high school, when he could only work part-time. When someone should have been taking care of him, and instead he was left to figure out how to stretch a tiny budget much farther than made sense.

"Come on, Iggy," he said once when they were out shopping, half-laughing. Like he thought Ignis was joking. "Fresh produce? We've got like a hundred gil between the four of us and we're totally out of restoratives."

And Ignis paused, and glanced sidelong at him. He put back the crisp, flowery vegetables and pulled out his little notebook and asked for suggestions instead. It took Prompto a few minutes to convince himsef that Ignis was taking him seriously, but now they like, bond over canned fruit.

"I'm gonna kill this catoblepas with my bare hands," Gladio says with feeling, leaning against the car. "I'm so godsdamned sick of pasta. Don't tell Iggy I said that."

Noctis rolls an energy drink between his hands absently, brow furrowed. It's tricky business, and he's not very good at it just yet, but home-made elixirs save them a ton of gil. He feels guilty when they have to spend their money on something he should be able to do himself.

"I'm telling him," he says without missing a beat. "He'll never forget, and he'll give you shit every single time you make cup noodles from now on, forever."

"I can't stand you," Gladio tells him seriously.

The bell above the door of the convenience store rings brightly, and Noctis glances up to see Ignis and Prompto walking out looking a lot more cheerful than they did going in.

Gladio's face does something very subtle and specific when he sees them, there and gone in a second, before Noctis can pin it down and figure it out.

"What are you two chucklefucks up to?" he calls over. Ignis immediately narrows a disapproving stare at him, but Prompto beams.

"I got a commission, sort of!" he says.

"A commission?" Noctis parrots, sending the energy drink back to the Armiger.

"Sort of?" Gladio adds.

"While we were checking out, the store-owner saw my camera, and seemed really into it," Prompto says. "Since, you know. It's unique."

Noctis does know. The digital camera hanging at Prompto's side has been with him since Noctis first bought it for him three years ago. He would rebuild it every so often, bowed over a collection of impossibly tiny parts spread out carefully across a dish towel at the kitchen table in Noctis' apartment. To call it unique is a bit of an understatement.

Gladio frowns, sensing where this is going a split-second before Noctis does. "And?"

"And he offered me money for it! Like, more than it's worth probably. A lot more."

"I don't see how that could be possible," Ignis says smoothly, leaning through the open window of the Regalia to put the shopping bag in the backseat. "Since your camera is clearly priceless. Which is what I explained to the man."

Noctis relaxes, glad that Ignis and Prompto have bonded over shopping to the point that neither of them want to do it unless they can go together-- because if Prompto had been in there by himself, he 100% would have sold his camera. He would have hated to do it, but he would have done it. It's like he thinks he owes his friends something just for letting him exist.

"Good looking out, Specs," Gladio says gruffly. Prompto waffles a bit, looking torn between pleased and embarrassed. Noctis decides to rescue him.

"What commission, though?" he asks.

"Oh, right. Well, he was kind of bummed about the camera, but he asked if he could see some of my photos, and Ignis said we had time-- "

If it were literally anyone else, Noctis thinks, up to and including and especially the Actual Crown Prince, Ignis would have said they were in a hurry and not to show off.

"--and he seemed really impressed! With the photos! I told him we were going to take down a catoblepas, and he asked why, and I said for some cash, I mean, clearly," Prompto adds, gesturing at the four of them and their general road grime. "So he, ah-- well he's never seen a catoblepas up close before, and he said if I could get some good pictures of it, he'd pay me for them. He gave me a figure, and it's, like, better than some of the jobs I've done for Vyv."

He's delighted, clearly. He likes feeling like he's pulling his own weight. Noctis is always so relieved when Vyv calls, not because of the inherent payday, but more because it puts this light in Prompto's eyes that Noctis would easily climb a hundred volcanic mountains for.

"Damn, Prompto, at this rate you'll have funded our whole trip," Gladio says. He doesn't ruffle his hair anymore, because Prompto actually hates that, just sort of scrunches his fingers through it instead. Prompto doesn't hate that at all. It's adorable.

Sometimes in the early morning, when he and Noctis are the last to drag themselves out of the tiny camper, they'll do their affirmations together:

"Gotta be our best today," Noctis will say, and Prompto will put on this absurdly determined expression, bed hair hanging into his eyes and cheek still creased pink from the pillow.

"Gotta get those hair scrunches," he'll reply gravely.

"What else did he say, Prompto?" Ignis says in a pleasant tone of voice that Noctis hasn't trusted since he was seven years old.

"Um! Nothing. Nothing worth repeating, anyway, you know." He is looking completely away from them now, an avoidance tactic if Noctis has ever seen one. "Woah, is that really the time? We better get going if we wanna catch that cow before it gets dark!"

He turns toward the car and runs into Gladio's arm instead.

"He suggested that Prompto's talents would be put to better use in different company," Ignis says, his voice carrying clearly over Prompto's whine of 'nooo, Iggy, let it go.' "He said that if Prompto ever got tired of our lifestyle, his door would be open."

Ah, Noctis thinks, followed by, ouch?

"Oh, fuck that guy," Gladio blurts. "Let me go talk to him."

"No!" Prompto clings to his arm, throwing all his weight into keeping Gladio in place. The Shield, who could bench Prom's entire body weight in one hand, lets himself be detained anyway and pretends to be annoyed about it. "Ignis, why are you causing trouble right now?" Prompto says frantically.

"Transparency is important in a relationship," Ignis replies.

"There's transparency and then there's causing trouble. Noct, tell them."

"I think Gladio should go talk to him," Noctis says immediately. But then Prompto looks betrayed, and it makes Noctis feel awful. "Ugh, okay. Okay. We're leaving. Ignis, Gladio, that's an executive order."

"Are you sure I can't punch him in the face?" Gladio grumbles.

"Am I-- yes, dude!" Prompto half-laughs nervously. "Very sure!"

"What if I just broke his nose a little?"

"Then that would be treason, I guess, cause Noct just said no."

It's with the standard amount of bickering and noise that they climb into the car, the top rolling up over their heads as it starts to drizzle. Ignis pulls smoothly back onto the cracked asphalt road and reaches over to turn the radio on; a peace offering. From the backseat, Noctis can see the corner of Prompto's smile, framed by a flyaway piece of yellow hair.

They live this way now, but they didn't always. Noctis used to have the run of the whole Citadel, had his own penthouse apartment, grew up dodging banquets and lavish dinners. It's not like he likes sleeping on the ground and having nothing to eat. It's not like he chose to lose his home.

But it could be worse. It's not a bad way to live, just Noctis and the people he loves best and these countless hours together. There's a lot of hard work and sometimes he goes to bed hungry but he knows he'll remember these days forever. He knows he'll miss them.

"Hey," he says, over the quiet sound of rain on the windows and the catchy synth-pop crooning out of the speakers. "Don't ever sell your camera, okay?"

Prompto says, "I mean, I wouldn't ever want to."

"Seriously," Noctis presses. He doesn't want to let it go. It feels important. "Your pictures are-- they mean the world to me, Prom. I can't even tell you."

His friend looks bewildered. He's half-turned in his seat, and his eyes stray to Gladio, then jump to Ignis, then settle back on Noctis. Whatever he's looking for, he seems to find it, because he smiles.

"Okay, weirdo," he says, "one fully-documented roadtrip, coming up. I won't leave anything out."

Noctis is counting on it.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

“Did we fuck last night?” Smut starter w/ our baby boy Santiago ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ love your work :)

A/N: Thank you so much for the prompt and the kind words! I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for every reblog, comment, and like. 

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F! Reader 

Warning: 18 + (For language, oral (F! Receiving), vaginal sex, alcohol use NSFW

My Masterlist 

Last Night at the Party 

Unknown number: Good Morning. 

You: ...Morning...who is this? 

Unknown number: Santiago Garcia, ya know Frankie's friend. 

Fuuuuucccckkkkk

Santiago Garcia: Quick question...did we fuck last night? 

You groan and fall back into the bed, your hand thrown over your eyes as the sunlight fights to sneak through the crack in the curtains. Your head pounds from the amount of alcohol you consumed the night before. Frankie and his fiancé, not wanting to be apart even one night, had a joint bachelor/bachelorette party. 

You worked in the front office at the tour office. Frankie flew for and had quickly become fast friends. He was funny, sweet, and a wonderful friend. But with Frankie came Santiago Garcia, the man who stalked your dreams. He was handsome as fuck, with salt and pepper curls and deep brown eyes. His arms always straining against the fabric of his t-shirts. The man had an ass that was simply divine. Many a night, you had dreamt of kneading it in your hands as he slammed into you. 

But he never noticed you. Not at least in the way you wanted to be seen. You tried on the days you knew he would be coming by. Wearing tighter clothes or shorter dresses and attempting your best at flirting. The only thing gained by any of this was Frankie's amusement as he slung an arm around your shoulder and told you there were better men than Pope. 

That's another thing, the nickname; Pope. You once asked Frankie about it jokingly. Frankie told you it was because Santi in the army brought people closer to God, and all the women he fucked. You had just about given up all hope, till last night. 

********

The party was in full swing when you arrived—wearing a dark blue halter dress that stopped just above your knees, converse, and a black leather jacket. Frankie and his fiancee greeted you with a hug and gave you the rundown of the land. It was casual. They had rented out a private space in the local brewery. You could order anything on the menu and open bar. Thank fuck for that as you watched Santiago flirt with some redhead at the bar. 

You walk down to the opposite end, sit down, motion for the bartender, and ask for an IPA. You try everything in your power to keep from looking over at him, but your eyes stray without your knowledge. Gazing around at the way the denim hugs him in all the right places, the top buttons on his shirt opened up to see the sun-kissed skin peeking through. It's almost magnetic the way his eyes drift up to meet yours across the sea of strangers. You see him smile and turn back to his partner before he grabs his beer and heads over to you. 

"Is this seat taken?" his deep baritone snaps you out of your head, and you look at him, nodding. "You're the girl who works in Frankie's office, right? The secretary?" 

"Yep, that's me, the secretary," you take a deep drink from your beer and try to keep the passive aggression out of your tone, turning snarky instead. "And you're that guy who comes and talks to Frankie and interrupts my office with idle chit chat." 

He looks a little taken aback, but he brushes it off, grinning, "I never knew you had this much fire in you. What's your name?" 

You roll your eyes, "I have told you my name on four separate occasions, and now you want to know it again? Why don't you guess?" 

"Okay," he smiles, taking a drink, "how about ginger?" 

"I think your thinking about your friend on the other side of the bar," you laugh and gesture for another drink. 

"Fuck," he mumbles under his breath, going through a plethora of names, none of which is your own. You've finished two beers before he actually guessed your first name correct—each name sinking the knife deeper and deeper into your chest. 

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner," you sarcastically chime, and he smiles, a real genuine broad smile. Fuck him and his perfect smile. "With how many names you had to guess, I'm actually delighted you never noticed me. I'd probably have an STD." He spits out the drink in his mouth, coughing and patting his chest with his fist. 

He laughs, looking at you wide-eyed, "I do not have any fucking diseases. I get tested regularly." 

"When was the last time?" you can tell he's thinking back. 

"Tuesday," he says triumphantly, "and I haven't fucked anyone since then so." He takes another sip of his drink, grinning at you over the glass. 

"So if I wanted to fuck you, it would have to be tonight?" You casually sip your drink, staring at him, bold from the alcohol flowing through your system. 

He sputters and coughs again, choking on his drink. "Are you trying to kill me?" he puts a hand to his forehead and looks at you. "Are you serious?" 

"I want you to fuck me Santiago," you take his hand down the rest of your drink and pull him towards the back of the brewery. Your eyes connect with Frankie, and you give him a wink pulling a shit-eating grinning Santi behind you. He walks past you and pulls you into the cold night air of the alley. 

It was dark and deserted; the country music blaring from inside echoed off the exterior's red brick wall. For an alley, it was relatively clean. The sidewalk to the public wasn't visible from around the dumpsters. Not the most romantic spot, but when Santiago latched his lips onto the soft skin below your ear. The spicy scent of his cologne overwhelming your senses. 

"Does that feel good?" he whispers huskily in your ear, nipping the lobe lightly. The moan you release has him smiling against your skin, "that's a yes," he chuckles. 

"Stop teasing me," you whine as he gropes your breast through the thin fabric of your dress. He pulls away from your neck and tilts your chin up to look at him. 

"Do you want this?" he whispers, a ghost of his lips on your lips. 

You don't answer, only lunging forward and recapturing his lips in a moan. He uses the opportunity to sweep his tongue into your mouth. You fight in a battle for dominance that he eventually wins. His hands moving beneath the shell of your leather jacket and running over the smooth skin of your exposed back. 

He takes his time moving down to your cheek, your neck, and then sucking hard into the skin of your collarbone. You are sure to have bruises tomorrow, but at this point, you don't fucking care. His hands move further down and cup your ass before moving under your dress, sliding your panties down slowly, he unlatches from your sensitive skin. Dropping to his knees and groaning, pulling down your panties over your converse before pocketing them. 

He throws your dress over his head and dives into your folds, his tongue working against your throbbing clit. You grab the side of the dumpster as you feel the scuffle from his face, scratch against your thighs, as he rocks his tongue back and forth over you. "Fuck," you moan as you feel him slip one thick finger slide into your pussy. Your head drops back, hitting the brick wall. He chuckles, and the vibrations draw another deep moan from inside as you pant. 

The sound of the backdoor of the brewery opening snaps your head to the side. Your bottom half is covered from the dumpster, and you frantically hit Santi on the head. Still, he doesn't stop, instead adding a second finger, stretching you deliciously. Frankie's signature cap pops out into the alley, and he turns to look at you. You try your best to smile and bite down hard on your tongue, almost drawing blood as he sucks your clit into his mouth. 

"Hey! We're about to do speeches, and Santi's my best man. Have you seen him?" 

"N-n-no," you stutter, and Santi reaches a hand on your ass to push you even further into his mouth. "We came out here to talk, but he left like five minutes ago? Maybe he went out f-f-front." 

Frankie looks at you, questioningly, "Are you okay? You're acting kind of strange." 

You yelp, throwing a hand down on top of the dumpster with a laugh, "I am just fantastic, you know, if I see Santiago, I will be sure to tell him he's needed." 

"Okay, thanks," he throws out a wave going back inside with a click of the door. 

"Such a good girl," Santi chuckles from beneath your dress, and you feel yourself cum all over his tongue gushing around him as he adds a third finger pulsing inside you. 

You bite down hard on your lip, and he keeps licking and fucking you with his mouth. His nickname making more and more sense as you literally feel closer to God. You dig your fingers into his curls and pull his mouth away. Dragging him up to kiss you again, you taste yourself on his tongue, and it makes you even wetter. 

He steps back and unbuttons his jeans pulling out his cock. He's thick and rigged, the tip spewing pre-cum. He grabs his wallet and pulls out a condom making you giggle. "Hey, every good soldier comes prepared," he laughs, pulling it on. 

He pushes you back further into the brick, bringing your legs up around his waist and bunching your dress up. He lines himself up, and you look into his eyes, stifling a scream as he slams into you. You've never felt so full in your entire life, clenching around him as he starts to slowly rock into you. 

You converse crossed against his back as he kisses you again slowly and passionately. Not the quick fuck you thought he would give you. For the location and the time, it was strangely intimate. "Are you okay?" you pants against your neck. 

"Yes," you gasp as he hits inside you just right, "just, please don't stop." He pulls away from your neck and kisses you again, licking into your mouth. 

"Don't worry, baby, I'm gonna treat you right." He picks up the place and reaches down between you to your sensitive clit rubbing it in time with his thrusts. 

"Oh fuck, right there, Pope," you moan, and he picks up the pace. The brick digging into your back as he furiously fucks into you. Your orgasm slams into you without warning, and you tug on his curls, throwing your head back as you stile a scream. 

"Yes, cum for me," he praises you through a second orgasm. Three more thrusts and he's cumming, biting down on your exposed shoulder as he groans. You both come down from your high, and he pulls away, smiling at you. You laugh at his mused hair, lipstick smeared across his face, he looks freshly fucked, and you feel a sense of pride knowing you did that to him. 

The awkward, you've just fucked a mutual acquaintance in an alley moment comes faster than you anticipate. He pulls out and ties off the condom throwing it in the dumpster and pulling up his jeans, relatching them. You straighten your appearance the best you can. Running your fingers through your mused hair. You search the alley floor for your panties hoping to throw them away or better burn them when you hear a whistle. 

Santi is standing before the back door holding your panties on the crook of his finger and smiling. "I have to go back and give my speech, but after… I would really love to buy you a drink. Maybe we can go back to my place for another couple of rounds?" 

You bite your lip, nodding, and he smiles, pocketing your panties and going inside. The door latches, and you sigh, closing your eyes and trying not to freak out. The door slams open; you jump as Santi runs back out and closes the distance kissing you again. The kind of kiss you feel down to the tips of your toes. He places his forehead against yours. "I really want to see you again, don't run away, okay?" he whispers before kissing you again and running back inside. 

**********************

You look at the text message again. The perfect night of passion with Santiago, and he doesn't even remember if you...The phone chimes again. 

Santiago Garcia: I'm a moron. I don't know why I said that. I know that we did. It was one of the most incredible moments of my life. 

You: Then what the fuck, Santiago?

Santiago Garcia: I want to take you to breakfast, on a date. It's the least you could do after bailing on me last night. 

You: Well, I'm not sure I want to. 

Santiago Garcia: Well, that makes this awkward. 

You: What? 

Knock Knock 

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @a-seeker-of-imagination @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell @letoartreiides 

Also tagging @josepedropascal Oscar Train toot toot 

[unknownzapy]

Trigger Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Unhealthy relationship, Exploitation, Psychological Manipulation, Self Destructive Nature, Psychological Abuse, implied Gas lighting, 7 stages of grief, self hatred, implied self harm. Further triggers are welcome if I missed anything else.

Author’s Note: Should I be doing other requests? Yes. Am I ashamed? Definitely. Am I going to do this random prompt anyway? Totally. These head-canons follows the Deltarune Snowgrave route and of course, you (The Player behind the slaughter) have your own vessel, however this strays away from the original plot of Snow-grave. Like always, please give me constructive advice if Spamton (or any of the characters mentioned here) is out of character.

Prompt: Spamton (Deltarune) realizing that the [[HeartShapedObject]] is actually “God” (This could go either Platonic or Romantic).

Spamton, In all his trash gremlin glory, will not hesitate to shove you in his chest if commanded to. But you prevented him from doing so because the power you had will probably cause him severe injuries, but who knows.

He was beyond ecstatic that little sponge Kris had you this whole time, so his hunch was right when needing that [[HeartShapedObject]]!

After tearing you out of their chest, Kris left you for dead in the alley, even if they suffer greatly from it. That’s when you found a slumped individual near the garbage that Spamton called home.

Instead of finding him firsthand, you found your man made vessel from the very start of the game. Curious and fascinated that it was discarded yet found, you inhabited it as it should be by its rightful owner.

It took a moment for you to adjust to the new body, but alas, you quickly took control of the empty husk of a “human” and sat up straight, forcibly standing on your new two legs.

Like Kris and Frisk, it was easy to control the vessel, especially since there was no one to resist your orders nor horrid manipulation.

You already knew that Spamton would pop out of the garbage can from previous play throughs and already proved himself worthy of being your next plaything.

On cue, he does his little dialogue about being a former [[Big Shot]] up until he realizes that you are not Kris, but instead that you are indeed the one he’s looking for: God themself.

*Cue maniacal laughter and punch on the garbage can*

He proceeds to go on a rant that he can finally go to [[HEAVEN]], but first, take over the Castle with your help.

Knowing the secrets within and throughout the castle, it was easy for Spamton to become NEO and with your power, overthrow the Queen. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel all kinds of emotions after reclaiming his [[BIG SHOT]] status, even more so with “God” themself.

As sad as it is, Spamton loses his own sanity (if any left at all) for you. Like, he praises the very ground you walk on, worships you like a dog, ect.

It doesn’t matter how long it takes him to [[HEAVEN]], the Darkner knows better than to question your painfully obvious ideology. If pointed out by anyone, he’ll be in so much denial about it and, dare i say, go as far as to harm those who oppose you.

Let’s face it, We all know that Spamton is weirdly obsessed with you and your SOUL, but since these are head canons, it’s amplified by a million.

You, of course, exploit him for your own gain. He literally becomes your right hand man and sticks with you by the hip.

You always say reassuring things to him if he shows any guilt or doubts about the entire situation. Always a promise, always a compliment, always SOMETHING to keep him in line or “motivate” him somehow to do your bidding.

On incredibly rare occasions, You even go as far as to (somehow) give him a bit of your Determination just to keep him around, as sickening as it is.

Anyway, you don’t have any plans for Spamton achieving [[HEAVEN]], only acting like you “forgot” about it and use it against the poor guy. After awhile, and I mean a LONG time, he finally cracks and realizes that he’s not going to [[HEAVEN]], quit the opposite really.

He’s in [[HELL]].

Never shows or voices his growing hate and immense guilt for doing all these “errands” for you out of fear of what you would do to your [[#1 Salesman of 1997!]], safely staying by your side even if it hurts him more and more.

Whenever it gets too much for Spamton and gets his little breaks, he’ll do some��complications to himself. Especially since he has specs of your Determination, Spamton despises his actions more and more. He can’t particularly blame you since he was so damn naive and dumb, but at the same time solely dependent on you.

All he can do is somberly watch you rule The Cyber City with an iron fist.

[theoreticslut]

O’ Captain, My Captain // s.r.

steve rogers x reader

requested: no - # 2/7 for my 2k writing challenge where I used all of the day’s prompts!

summary: A stealth mission gone wrong leads to some injuries and an accidental sharing of feelings. 

word count: 2.8k

warnings: mentions of fighting & injuries, very slight angst if you squint, fluff

A/N: I debated posting this tonight bc I already posted a fic, but you know what? fuck it. I don’t want to wait forever to post this bc I like it. I’m pretty sure this si the first marvel fic I’m posting?? I know I’ve got some that I’ve started before this one, but I don’t think I’ve posted any yet?? Idk. I hope you like this!! Xx

“Would you be quiet?” You huff, shaking your head at the blonde man walking beside you.

For someone who has supposedly done stealth missions before, you’re questioning how he ever managed. You swear that since you step foot in the base, he hasn’t stopped talking. Honestly you’re not sure how you haven’t been found out or caught yet.

“At this point, if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“We won’t get caught, y/n. Settle down.” Steve huffs, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance.

As soon as the words leave his lips, you hear a loud clang from somewhere behind you, although it could be in front of you as the hallway you’re currently in is awful echoey. 

Senses heightened, you find yourselves surveying the entirety of the hallway before even considering moving.

“Won’t get caught, huh? Say that again and I’ll try to believe you.” 

“Just stay alert. I’m not going to let you get caught, but that doesn’t mean anything if you don’t make it out of here.”

“Got it. Stay alive.” You quip, not able to keep your sarcasm at bay.

~.~

“Cap!” You shout as one of the bad guys sneak up on his backside.

You had managed to get through the hall, and even all the way to the basement laboratory before the two of you encountered hydra goons. 

It would have been fine, if you had paid attention when they first attacked you. Instead, you twisted your ankle and fell backwards when trying to dodge their advances because you hadn’t paid attention to the layout of the room. This meant that Steve had to help you up before helping himself, leaving him open to attack.

“Got it. Are you good?” He checks, glancing back at you as you get your footing, your ankle already screaming at you.

“Yep. I’ve got it. Let’s take care of them.” You reassure, ignoring the pain in your ankle as you ready yourself for combat.

Dodging an attack from some short, dark-haired hydra agent, you sweep your leg out to trip him, pinning him to the ground with a few simple jabs at certain pressure points.

You catch sight of Steve fighting off a handful of agents himself, but before you can even think of helping out you’re being cornered by two new agents.

It doesn’t take you too long to take them down, but as soon as they're taken care of there’s more advancing. 

You honestly can’t tell how long you’ve been fighting now. It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, but time passes differently when you’re trying to survive.

In all honesty, you’re getting worn out, but you know that the second you let it fully take over your body will be the second you fall. That means that even though your muscles are burning and you’re hardly able to take a deep breath anymore, you keep pushing and fighting.

“Y/n, look out!” Steve shouts, spotting a stray agent getting ready to attack you.

You don’t register his words in time though as you get thrown back by the agent, hitting the wall with more force than you had expected. It’s not until he’s stalking towards you do you realize that he must have been another test subject of theirs - gaining super strength at the cost of his humanity.

You attempt to get up to fight back, but the combination of being tired and hitting the wall has your head spinning. As soon as you’re attempting to push yourself up, you’re stumbling down again and dozing off.

~.~

Coming to, the first thing you make out is the small room you’re in. You’re guessing it’s a hotel of some sort by the setup - a small table with a coffee maker, a single dresser with a TV set on top of it, and one sole full-sized bed. The second thing you notice is just how tired you still feel, along with the ache in your entire body.

You groan as you try to sit up, but as soon as you do you begin feeling lightheaded.

“Oh, you’re up. How are you feeling, y/n?” Steve asks as he comes into sight, carrying a couple bags in his hand.

“Sore...those hydra agents were relentless.” You groan, still attempting to push yourself up to a sitting position which is proving to be more difficult than it should be.

He catches you wince lightly, frowning as he sets the bags down on the table to help you.

“Let me help.” 

You sigh, nodding lightly as he carefully wraps an arm around your waist, giving you his other one to pull on.

“Thank you.” You murmur, resting your head against the wall as you shut your eyelids.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah...yeah. Just a little lightheaded.”

He nods, pursing his lips in a frown, watching you take a few breaths to steady yourself.

“You hit that wall hard, after you had already hurt your ankle. I’m sure you’re going to be sore for a few days at least.” He tries to console. He may be good at pep talks, but he’s never been all that great at comforting people.

“Just get me some ibuprofen and I’ll be fine. When are we heading back?” You question, opening your eyes enough to look at him.

“Not for a day or two at the very least. You need to heal some before I’ll even think about getting us back.”

Before you can even register or question his words he’s continuing.

“You might just have a twisted ankle and some soreness here and there, but I doubt it. You’ve got a broken ankle and a concussion at least, on top of various bruises from fighting.”

“And how are you so sure?”

“I’ve seen broken bones and concussions on the battlefield enough times before to have a pretty good idea that you’ve got the same.” He deadpans, but cracks a smirk nevertheless when you roll your eyes.

“Alright Rogers, whatever you say.” 

“I’m really hoping those bags you were carrying contain food. I know for sure that I could eat.” You blatantly hint, drawing a chuckle from the blonde man.

~.~

You can’t stop the yawn that wants to escape your body. It’s been hours now since you woke up to Steve returning, and you are thoroughly exhausted.

Not that you’ve done anything to warrant such exhaustion - since he returned the two of you ate, he tended to your injuries, you both changed into lounge clothes he had picked up, and then watched some tv and chatted.

It’s certainly been nice, but it feels wrong all at the same time. Sure it’s been lovely having the entire evening to hang out with Steve, but you can’t help but feel like you should be doing something. If you’re not trying to get back to headquarters, then you should at least be trying to gather information on the hydra operations you’re trying to take down.

Instead, the two of you have just been laying around, talking and laughing. You’ve watched some rather boring tv before you found a movie that interested the both of you. You can't lie and say it's been torture, because in all reality, it's been more like heaven. 

You never really had a chance to get to know Steve aside from missions and running the Avengers. You had obviously heard stories from some of the other members, but you didn't really know him. 

You've always found him pretty attractive, but he was older than you - even ignoring the 70 year time period that he had been frozen. That, and he was your superior in a way. You knew that you would never have a chance no matter how much you hoped for one.

That's partly why you never got to know him. Sure, you've been dying to every day since you met the man, but you figured that the best way to keep from continually falling for him was to avoid any unnecessary socializing.

“Are you tired?” Steve asks softly, catching you yawning. 

He can’t help but admit to himself that it’s rather adorable seeing you so sleepy, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“A little bit.” You admit, another yawn escaping your body as tears line your waterline.

“Get some rest then. It’s been a long day, y/n.” 

You nod lazily, carefully adjusting yourself to a more comfortable position. 

You hiss, wincing as you put just a bit too much pressure on your ankle and twisting your torso more than you should have. Immediately Steve is checking you over, trying to figure out what happened.

“What happened? Why are you wincing?” He asks, eyes bouncing all over your figure  - from your pained expression to how you're holding yourself tensely.

“I moved the wrong way.” You hiss, trying to breathe through the pain as tears brim your waterline.

“Where does it hurt?” He asks, features relaxing slightly. He had tried his best to tend to your injuries, but there’s only so much he can do here without the proper education or equipment.

“My ribs and ankle.” You sigh, gently relaxing yourself as you attempt to lay down in the bed more.

He nods, pulling the blankets back to grab ahold of your leg to prevent you from applying pressure to the ankle as you wiggle down into the mattress.

Once you’re settled, he helps you get your leg situated so you’re comfortable but the ankle won’t hurt. Then he pulls the blankets back up over your body, tucking you in with a little smile.

“Good night.” He murmurs, starting to walk away from the bed.

“Wait! Where are you going?” 

“Just to the chair over here.” He chuckles, pointing towards the piece of furniture as he watches you pout slightly.

“You’re not sleeping there, are you?”

“Yeah…?” 

He watches your frown deepen, wondering why you’d care. He didn’t want to spend too much on a room, which is why he just got a single. He had already planned on you taking the bed, not thinking it’d matter to you.

“No. That’s going to be so uncomfortable, Steve. You need a bed too.” You pout, watching him as he watches you, confusion plastered on his face.

“….but there’s only the one bed.”

“So? I don’t mind, and I mean, I-“ you stutter, warmth blossoming in your cheeks as he watches you with furrowed brows. 

“You….what?”

“I don’t want to be alone.” You mumble, watching as it finally clicks in his head that you want to share the bed with him.

He mouths a little ‘oh’ before smiling and making his way back over to the bed. You watch with bated breath as he pulls the sheets back again only to crawl in beside you.

“You okay?” He asks, smiling lightly at you, taking in how beautiful you are as he does so.

“Mhm. Are you?”

“I’m perfect. Now get some sleep, y/n.” He chuckles, pulling the blankets over himself.

You whine but nod nonetheless, situating yourself the tiniest bit before you’re closing your eyes, hyper aware of just how close Steve is next to you. If you were brave, all you needed to do was wiggle back about six inches and you’d be curled up in his side. As much as you’d like to, you figure it’s probably best to keep that little bit of space, opting instead to just try to fall asleep.

~.~

Steve groans lightly as something hits him in his sleep. Rubbing his eyes he looks around, frowning when he doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary.

He finds that he fell asleep to the tv playing, some irrelevant sitcom playing on the screen. Sighing lightly he goes to find the remote, finding that he can’t move.

Looking down, he can’t help the groggy smile that fills his face. Somehow in your sleep you had turned onto your other side from which you fell asleep on, entangling your legs with his while your arm was thrown over his stomach in a hug. He could feel his heart swell as he admired your sleeping form. 

There was no denying that you were attractive. He himself had been attracted to you since you first joined the Avengers. The sole reason he never made any moves was because he could tell you were trying to keep your distance from him. It hurt, but it’s not like it was the end of the world. He figured that you had your reasons for staying away and he wasn’t going to push it.

Now that your body is practically on top of him, though, he can’t help but wonder what the exact reason is for you keeping your distance. He’s tired of it in all honesty. He thought that maybe he could get over his little crush if you were going to stay distant, but his feelings have only grown tenfold.

He can’t walk into any common area of the compound without wondering if you’d be there or if you’d walk in. He’s constantly wondering if you’re thinking the same things of him. He’s always watching you whenever you’re in sight - including during battle, which isn’t the best thing to be doing, but he can’t help it.

“I’m going to take care of you, I promise.” He murmurs, going to press a kiss into your hairline.

“We’re going to get your ankle all fixed up and then I’ll make sure your concussion is getting better. I promised you that you wouldn’t get captured, and I’m promising you now that you’ll heal up just fine.” 

As he talks, he mindlessly plays with the ends of your hair, gently waking you in the process.

“I’ve never broken a promise to you before, and I’m not planning to now. I care for you too much to ever think about hurting you. God it killed me when you passed out. There were still so many hydra agents and I-I just couldn’t let them hurt you. I think I blacked out myself, honestly” he rambles, chuckling lightly, not noticing that your breaths are deeper against his chest.

“I remember watching you pass out and worrying that they’d hurt you while you were out, and then, I don’t know. It’s like I woke up and all the hydra agents were taken care of.”

“All I knew was I had to make sure you were safe. We may not be close, but god do I wish we were. I get that you have your reasons for wanting to keep your distance, but I can’t keep pretending that I don’t have feelings for you. I just wish I could say that to you awake…”

You can feel him sigh, and you can tell he’s frowning without even looking at his face. You can’t help but smile lightly, a small blush covering your cheeks as you bury your head into his chest slightly.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” He mumbled after a moment.

You nod lightly, gently lifting your head to look at him as he chuckles and shakes his head, his hand rubbing at his temples.

“I have feelings for you too, Steve. That’s why I put distance between us. I-I didn’t think I had a chance….” You admit, looking away from him as you continue your thoughts.

“I thought that having some distance between us would help me stop falling for you.” You chuckle.

“Did it?”

“Not at all.” You laugh, blushing wildly as you look up to him to find a large smile on his face.

“Good.”

With a smile he leans down, capturing your lips with his in a near mind blowing kiss. Years of pining and hidden feelings are finally brought forth, and it’s more than you could have ever dreamed. You swear it felt like fireworks were going off throughout your body - your stomach twisting, your heart racing, and every nerve hyper aware of his touch.

Pulling away you can’t help but giggle, giddy off of his touch. He smiles, tucking some hair behind your ear before pressing kisses all over your face.

“I really like you, y/n.”

“I really like you too, Steve. I’m glad that you were there to make sure I was okay.” You giggle, pressing one last soft kiss to his lips before settling back into bed beside him. 

Making sure that the tv is off, Steve wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his body so there’s not an inch of skin without yours upon it. Of course he makes sure you’re comfortable first and that you’re not hurting anywhere. As soon as he’s sure that you’re okay, he presses another kiss to your hairline, whispering sweet words and promises to you as you drift off to sleep once again.

As he feels your breaths become shallower, he can’t help the content smile on his lips. Playing with your hair as you sleep, he drifts off for the night with you.

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

General - @moatsnow @yikesyikesyikes95 @onyourgoddamnleft @justfangirlingoverhere

Steve Rogers - @jackys-stuff-blog @stoopidwithtwohoes @teawiththeweasleys @kaslupin @mollysolo @lilypad-55449 @roonilwazlibswhore

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[blossom-hwa]

I don't generally request stuff and the reason why I am doing this is because I absolutely love your work, especially the Kingdom Series and the Mermaid!Younghoon and I am a little embarassed to put out my little imagination request out

But I would like to request

Sunwoo + colour lavender but could you make it best friends to lovers au too? (It is okay if you can only work on one part too!!! Whatever you are comfortable with)

Thank you so much! Congrats on your 4 years, and thanking for alllllll the amazing work you have put out!!!!! Really big appreciation for you and your writing!!! Ly❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

hi love! there's no need to be embarrassed at all about this - it's a lovely idea, and thank you so much for your kind words and the request! I hope you enjoy this token of my thanks for your support <3

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

~

Title: Palette

Pairing: Sunwoo x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.8k

Triggers: none

~

"What color am I?"

The question comes on a hot day spent on the couch with the air conditioner broken, when everything feels like it's melting under the heat of the sun baking your apartment to a crisp. Somewhere in the building, a repairman is trying to figure out what's wrong.

You and Sunwoo, however, are melting into puddles on the sticky hardwood floor.

"What?" You shake yourself out of the blank state you’ve slipped into, staring at the empty ceiling. You've never spent much time looking at the ceiling. It's off white, maybe eggshell, a little cracked and blemished but not enough for you to say to no to the cheaper rent. Looking at it now, though, it's kind of ugly.

"You said Juyeon is yellow, like sunflowers.” He pauses. “Eric’s... green, I think. Sangyeon was red, Changmin was also green, but brighter than Eric. Right?”

Something tugs at the back of your mind, a memory of using your paints to describe some of your friends. Your eyes drift to the abandoned easel in the corner of the muggy room. You can almost feel the canvas melting off of it into a paint-splattered puddle on the floor. “Right,” you reply, wiping a bead of sweat off of your head. 

“You didn’t give me a color,” Sunwoo says. You can’t spare the energy to look in his direction even though he’s literally right next to you, but you imagine he looks about as wiped out as you feel. “So I wondered.”

Colors. Yes, colors like the off-white eggshell of your ceiling, the blue of the sky outside... 

What color is Sunwoo?

Orange is the first one that comes to mind, orange like a sunset, burning as it slowly dips under the horizon. Its rays wisp into the sky, fading in some places, intensifying in others, turning it into a mural of oranges and pinks and yellows, burning like the passion that fuels Sunwoo’s soul...

Oh, but yellow. Yellow exists - maybe not as golden as Juyeon’s yellow, maybe not as bright as the burning sun, but darker, deeper, like marigolds - orange mixed in, perhaps, but still yellow in abundance, like flower petals bursting into bloom. 

You frown. Sweat drips down the side of your face, but this time, you don’t even notice. Orange and yellow - they’re right, but not quite right. Not exactly. Not yet...

Sunwoo’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “Still thinking?” 

“Shut up.” You flail around a limp arm, smiling with satisfaction when it hits his stomach with an audible thump. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“You’re thinking about a color.”

“How long do you think it takes me to mix the exact right shade for each part of a painting?” You turn just enough to let him see your raised eyebrow. “Thinking about colors takes a lot of work.”

He grumbles but shuts up, eyes closing as he settles back onto the floor. You keep watching him though, follow the curve of his jaw down to his chin, tanned skin shiny with the sheen of moisture that seems to have covered everything in this tiny apartment...

Bronze comes to mind, warm, metallic, rich like the color of his skin. They made weapons out of bronze in the past - strong, steady, unyielding, like Sunwoo’s will to push past obstacles no matter how hard they seem at a glance. He could be a bronze statue, for all you know - he’s handsome enough for that, certainly some sculptor from the past would have been taken with Sunwoo’s looks if he’d been around and created a statue that would have lasted for centuries afterward. 

But it’s warm. Too warm. And maybe it’s just because of the hot sun pouring into the room even with the shades drawn, but thinking about metal, about bronze, makes you feel like you’re touching a burning hot stove on a day like this. There have to be other colors, right? Other colors that aren’t bronze, green, pink, maybe blue - 

Blue. You latch onto the thought. Not the color of the relentless sky, but maybe like the ocean - cool, deep, ceaseless in its flow but not overbearing until a storm comes, whipping the waves into a chaos of whirling water that slashes and swipes across the beach. Sunwoo’s a little bit of both, you think, the part of the ocean that goes with the flow, but also the part that gets a little angry, a little passionate, a little too worked up about some things sometimes. 

But his anger isn’t quite blue. Not really. Sunwoo is quick to anger but also quick to calm when dealt with correctly. The storm builds up its rage and lashes out as long as it wants, but Sunwoo... no. He’s not that way. Not quite. 

You stifle a groan. Is there any color that fits Sunwoo perfectly, then? Any single color on the stained palette next to your easel, any single color in the world? He’s too complex, too much of everything all at once - he could be blue, could be bronze, could be orange or yellow or pink, of all things - you could find a way to justify every single one but none of them would be enough - 

Your gaze rises from his chin to his lips, and your mouth goes dry. 

Maybe he’s red, like the first time you ever noticed the fullness of his lips. 

No, don’t think about that. You squeeze your eyes shut tight before opening them as though that’ll erase the image of his lips from your mind. It was in high school - you’d handed him his water bottle after ten minutes of running laps and you’d watched him tip it against his lips so full and soft, and for a moment, you had let yourself imagine what it’d be like to have those lips against yours. 

You force yourself to look somewhere else, anywhere, just away from the lips and the shade of red beginning to shimmer before your eyes. Red, right - your mind scrambles to turn its thoughts away - red - colors - that’s what you were supposed to be thinking of - not lips, colors - 

Your gaze rises above the lips to Sunwoo’s closed eyes. 

Only they aren’t closed anymore. 

You can’t breathe. You literally can’t breathe - how long have his eyes been open? How long did he see you watching him like some stupid creepy stalker?

Did he realize you were looking at his lips?

“Done yet?” he asks, breaking the silence. Is it just your imagination, or do his eyes flicker down to your lips too?

Just your imagination. “Shut up.” Even the jab comes out weaker than you’d like to. You want to look away, but you can’t seem to do it - something’s rooting you where you are, eyes fixed upon his. “Give me a minute.”

“How many minutes has it been?” It’s just your imagination, just your imagination... “Is it really that hard? You thought of Eric’s in, like, a second.”

You’re too much, you think. Too many colors all at once. But instead of saying that aloud, you just swallow, like the idiot you are. “Let me think,” you say. Your voice almost cracks. 

Red. Shades of red, beautiful red, the color of his lips, the core of the sun burning at sunset, smoldering embers on a dying fire splashed across the canvas of your vision. And yes, it’s almost perfect, almost there - you have his flaring temper caught in a color, now, but it needs something to cool it off - 

Blue. Blue, like you thought before, the ocean and its ceaseless flow. Blue and red, blue and red, blue and red...

“Purple,” you whisper, too close to his lips. Rich, royal, the coolness of blue and the fire of red... “Some shade of purple.”

“Purple.” Sunwoo repeats the word with curiosity on his lips, almost like he’s tasting the color on his tongue. “Why purple?”

“I -” You swallow when the soft puff of his breath hits your face. When exactly did you two get this close? It wouldn’t take more than a few inches to close the gap between your lips. “I couldn’t choose between blue and red,” you say honestly. “You’re both. In fact, it feels like you’re a bit of every color. But purple... that’s the closest I can get without giving you a specific shade.”

“Which shade?”

Something clicks into place in your mind, and it is definitely not your imagination this time when Sunwoo’s eyes fall down to your lips. 

The dryness in your mouth makes it difficult to swallow. You try anyway. “Give me a moment,” you murmur, heart beating unnecessarily quickly. 

Think. Shades of purple. Do you go darker or lighter? Warmer or cooler? Is he magenta? Mauve? Violet? Your mind flicks as quickly as it can through the catalogue of colors in your mind. Cooler, probably - he’s more the ocean than the fire, more embers than a full flame - lighter, too, like a breath of fresh air - 

A blast of cool wind gusts down from the vent. It’s gone almost as quickly as it comes, but it stays with you in the name of the color forming on your lips. 

Your voice comes out like a whisper. It feels wrong to speak any louder. “I’ve got it.”

Sunwoo blinks. His lashes look so lovely, framing his eyes. “Really?” he asks, and you have wonder if he closed the distance slightly since the last time you spoke - the few inches that separated you before seem to have decreased to a mere centimeter or two. “So what color am I?”

There’s another blast of cool air. Neither of you reacts to it. Instead, as blissfully cold air begins to filter through the vents, impulse drives you to lean forward, to close the entire distance at last -

Sunwoo’s lips are softer than you ever thought they’d be. They feel cool and warm all at once, purple as a base but lighter, cooler, a breath of fresh air on your face after a horribly hot day spent in the sun.

“Lavender,” you whisper against his lips. “You’re lavender.”

You don’t offer an explanation, but he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, like he did with purple. It’s okay. You think he knows it. Feels it, at least, when you kiss him once more, fresh air washing over your bodies, painting the canvas of your skin in cool, blissfully cool strokes. 

Lavender. 

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 26, Post #1 by @cheesyficwriter

Title: The Greatest Chapter 

Author: cheesyficwriter

Pairing: Harry/Ginny

Prompt: Moving in together

Rating: T

Trigger Warnings: None

Prompt: Moving in together 

  The Greatest Chapter

At age 10, I had the most embarrassing schoolgirl crush on Harry Potter. I'd see him and run in the opposite direction, painting the perfect image of me as a young girl who lacked the confidence needed to formulate words — any words — around someone I liked. 

Before getting to know Harry for who he really was, I was so infatuated with the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived. I wanted so desperately to be going to Hogwarts with Ron before I was old enough, knowing that Harry Potter would be there too. 

The way Harry took on a basilisk to save my life during my first year did nothing but solidify my growing feelings for him. My crush never really went away but instead transformed into a casual friendship based upon our shared experience in the Chamber of Secrets, a friendship that I was willing to accept at the time because I just wanted to be around him. 

As we grew up, I started to relax more in his presence. We gained a mutual respect for one another, exchanging laughs in the Great Hall and sharing in-jokes during Christmases at the Burrow. Those little moments, in between all of the chaos and turmoil of what used to be, helped me learn a few things about Harry that I wouldn’t have discovered otherwise — not even on the front page of The Daily Prophet.  

When I was younger, I admired Harry because I was under the impression that he possessed traits that I didn’t. I never imagined that I could be as brave, or courageous, or charismatic as he was to me. What surprised me the most about our developing friendship at Hogwarts was that there were far more similarities between us than differences. We shared the same wicked sense of humor — that I like to say I inherited from my plethora of brothers — yet could still hold my own during quick-witted battles, and I often found myself looking at Harry whenever something made me laugh, just to see if he was laughing, too. My stomach always spiraled when, more often than not, I found him looking back at me. We used our shared humor to our advantage, and I was thankful for that small respite in the midst of so much darkness. 

We shared the same values, both of us realizing the importance of family, friends, and love above everything else. It’s what we fought for every day, even when it seemed like we were too young to really know what love was. 

As our friendship continued, my romantic feelings for Harry were buried deep down in a place where I was once convinced they would stay. I decided to throw all of my energy into school, developing my skills as a witch, thus growing the confidence I needed along the way to put myself out there with other, more available boys. 

For years, we were caught up in our own lives, and it shocked me more than anyone to have captured Harry’s attention when I least expected it. From the first moment he kissed me, I never hesitated. All of those feelings I had attempted to bury came rushing back to the surface, like revealing a galleon that I had stashed at the bottom of my trunk. 

I will never forget those few stolen weeks we had together when I was 15 and he was 16. He described it as something out of someone else’s life, and at the time, I had thought that was all we would ever be. Time was fleeting, and there wasn’t enough of it. 

Harry had no choice but to dedicate his life to fighting for the wizarding world, and I was always determined to be right there beside him, up until the point where I couldn’t. I was smart enough to understand why he didn’t ask me to come with him. It was his mission. His, Ron’s, and Hermione’s. I didn’t often miss the times the three of them carried on by themselves, engaging in secret conversation and disappearing without the faintest clue of their whereabouts until much later. 

On that fateful day that Harry broke things off, I already knew what he was so desperately trying to convey to me. If I were to have accompanied him on the Horcrux hunt, it would’ve been me he was worried about instead of finding the pieces of Voldemort’s soul that were crucial to defeating him. 

That notion — although tragic in a sense — gave me more pleasure than the feeling of scoring an impossible goal during a Quidditch match. 

Regardless, Harry was never far from my mind those long months that he was gone. My childhood crush seemed silly at that point because I had gained so much more than a fleeting romance. 

As time passed, and Harry and I found our way back to each other after Voldemort's defeat, it took us a minute to catch our bearings and resume our relationship that we had put on an indefinite pause. 

It hadn’t always been easy dating him. In fact, dealing with the fame that Harry carried around with him from being a war hero had been a lot harder than I ever anticipated. But it was always unspoken that we managed, despite what any publishings had to say about us. 

I came to love him, not for being Harry Potter, but for who he truly was. His heart. His courage.  

As I stood reflecting on my relationship with Harry in the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place, I was overcome with emotion. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was the one we were destined to have, and that made every hardship worth it. 

The room housed a large window overlooking the street, a charming — albeit dusty — fireplace, and ornate fixtures. For a person who just moved in, I felt like the house itself could have been in worse shape. Harry did an exceptional job keeping the place organized, especially for someone who, up until just a few days ago, lived there by himself. 

That’s not to say I hadn’t already spent plenty of nights at Grimmauld Place over the last couple of years. In fact, I probably spent more nights there than I did at the Burrow once I returned home from my final year at Hogwarts. 

It was during those nights that I discovered just a fraction of the pain Harry went through. He’d always been intensely emotional, and so many nights I spent shaking him from his residual nightmares of the trauma he went through, despite the wizarding world being in a much better place. I comforted him the best I could in those moments, determined to make it clear to him that I’m never letting go — not this time. 

I smiled to myself as I took a seat on the piano bench, observing the peeling paint from one of the large, cracked walls. We had a lot of work to do, but moving in together was a proper next step for us. 

"Gin? Are you home?" Harry’s voice carried through the dusty walls. 

Before I could respond, Harry was already standing in the open archway, head tilted to the side with curiosity etched across his face. “Were you just staring at a blank wall?”

I crossed my arms, determined not to let him know about my extensive reflection into our past. “So what if I was, Potter?”

He looked as if he wanted to question my retort further but instead joined me at the piano, bumping his shoulder with mine. 

“It’s a lot of fun coming home to you,” he admitted, the rich, melodic sound of the piano filling the open space from his fingertips pressing against one of the keys. 

“You know that’s practically how we were before, right? When was the last time we spent a night apart?”

Harry shrugged, and it was clear he never really thought about it. “Dunno, but it was one night too many, I reckon.”

I sighed, wanting to ask a question that had been weighing on my heart. “Do you find it odd that we’ve never really argued? I mean, even when you broke up with me-”

“Why must we go back to that?” Harry interrupted, a pained look crossing his face. 

I gave him a playful pat on the arm. I wanted our past to be something positive we could look back on and didn’t fancy dwelling on the shit times. 

“Shush. I’m just saying, even though it hurt a lot to not know where you were for almost a year, I always understood your decision. You had to go.”

Harry’s eyebrows knitted together, clearly still trying to work out the point of the conversation. “Where are you going with this?”

“I just-I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I rubbed my temple to ease my stressed-out mind. “I’m actually worried that we will never fight.”

“Oh, we’ll fight.”

I turned towards Harry, who was too busy fiddling with the piano keys to even look at me. He responded straight away, like he didn’t even have to think about it. “How can you be so certain?”

Harry snorted. “I’ve witnessed you get all hot-headed when you disagree with other people.” He sent me a dazzling grin, reaching out to trail his fingers through my stray ginger strands that hung loose from my ponytail. “You’ve got that fiery red hair. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Hey!”

“In fact,” Harry smirked with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I think you’re the most problematic person I know, Ginevra.”

Harry yelped when I pinched his forearm. “You prat.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to pull me closer. “In all seriousness, though, we’re going to be fine.”

I stared at him in awe but leaned into him. “You are so sure of yourself.”

He grabbed my shoulders, pivoting our bodies so that we were facing each other on the bench. “You wanna know how sure I am?”

Before I could respond or even react, he kissed me full on the mouth. He growled as our kiss intensified, and all at once, our positions shifted as I felt a sharp pain in my back from my body making contact with the piano keys with a resounding trill. I was left dizzy and breathless, snogging Harry as a wave of happiness resonated through me. 

When he pulled away, his fierce emerald eyes locked on mine set my mind ablaze. “Does that answer your question?”

I decided his question didn’t require a verbal response, so I simply attached my hand to the nape of his neck before dragging his face back to mine. We didn’t talk much for a while after that. 

I knew, perhaps more than anyone else, how much Harry desired moving forward from the past. I’m ready, too, to start the greatest chapter of our lives.

[restmyheadatnightcontent]

Could I request prompts 1. + 23. from the 101 ways to say i love you with actions prompt list + Yennefer/Jaskier, please? thank you so much!!!

thank you nonnie! this one ran away from me a bit but here is some pre-transformation yen at university with jaskier (is this modern au? is this oxenfurt? who knows) and its also pre-relationship but i've decided that jaskier is already in love. hope you enjoy!!

cw: mentions of ableism

1. hugging them as they're crying & 23. brushing a stray strand of hair out of their eyes

Idiots, she curses as she slams the door open and marches outside, they are all complete and utter idiots.

She knew coming here was a mistake, that they would never be able to see past her looks, see beyond her back and her jaw, would never even give her a chance to prove herself. She is smarter than every single person in that room, she knows she is, but none of them had even given her a chance to speak, and when they did they just looked on her with pity, not listening to a word she said.

Honestly, she doesn’t know why she expected any different. She has spent her whole life being looked down on by everyone just because she was different, being pushed to the floor because it was funny, she is used to the flinches as gasps as people see her when she walks down the street.

But she thought it might be different here.

The people here were meant to be smarter, were meant to have seen more of the world, there were people here from all over, from all walks of life. She hoped there might be people here who could accept her, who would listen to her, who would like her, just as she is.

But they don’t.

Because no-one ever does.

The people here may have read more books, but they are no cleverer than the people in her village, they are not willing to broaden their minds or their views, they are just as scared of anybody different.

She keeps on marching through the crowds, keeping her head down, knowing that she just needs to get back to her room, because she can already feel the treacherous tears building behind her eyes and then she can start figuring out what she can do next, because she sure as hell is not staying here and—

“Yennefer!” the body she has just bumped into cheerily calls.

She sighs as she sees who it is, because the last person that she needs to see right now is Julian bloody Panktraz.

The boy (because although he is technically a man, he spends all his time acting like a child, so he is still a boy in he eyes) latched onto her in the first week and refuses to leave her alone, which wouldn’t be so bad if he weren’t the biggest idiot of them all.

But he is also one of the few people, if not the only, that actually talks to her and treat her like a person, so she can’t quite bring herself to be rid of him just yet.

“Yennefer, you’ll never guess who I saw just—” he starts, but the cuts himself off when he glances down at her. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” she bites out, hoping that he won’t hear the slight tremble in her voice and turning away so he won’t see the tears forming in her eyes.

His hands come to rest on her shoulders, and he frowns in concern. “Are you sure? Because you look like—“

“I said I’m fine,” she replies, shaking out of his hold and starts walking away from him. She just needs to get back to her room and then it will all be alright.

She doesn’t get far before he catches up to her, looping her arm through his, and starts walking alongside her.

“Julian, what are you doing, I said I was fine—”

“I know that’s what you said, but you obviously aren’t so we are going to go somewhere a little more private so you can tell me whats wrong,” he says simply.

She considers kicking him in the shin and making a run from it, but she decides against it, because she does want to talk to someone about it. Tell someone about all the thoughts that are swirling around in her head , she wants to scream in someones face about how unfair it all is and for someone to listen for a change.

He leads her to a bench and sits them down and soon it all comes spilling out. She tells him all about the snide looks she gets in her classes, the comments she hears people make as she walks through the corridors, the fact that no-one wants to help her and she feels like she is drowining, completely alone and no-one is coming to save her.

He pulls her into a hug and wraps his arms around her as she cries, her tears muffled by his ridiculously patterned shirt as he runs his hands up and down her back, making sure to avoid her painful shoulder.

She tries to stop the tears but they just keep coming, months of hurt and pain and anger all spilling out of her. Because it is more than just the unkind comments, it is the fact that this was meant to be it. This was meant to be her escape, her way out, a chance for people to see her for what she is inside, to be more than everyone said she would be, but instead it has turned out to be exactly like everywhere else.

This was meant to become her home, because the village certainly never was, but it hasn’t and now she feels like she is stuck on the ocean, drifting from place to place, barely clinging on to her raft as the storm rages around her, trying to get home, but its impossible because she doesn’t have a home.

And she is alone.

Because that’s the real trouble here, isn’t it?

Because maybe she here she could have finally become important to someone, become someone that people care about.

Because all this would be so much easier to bear if there was someone she could lean on.

“I’m just – I’m just lonely,” she admits quietly, the words choked out between her tears. She feels lighter for saying it, but still she wishes she could take the words back, to try and desperately paper over the crack she has now shown. Because being weak isn’t going to help her now. The last thing she needs is more pity.

She holds her breath for a moment, waiting for him to laugh and pull away, to leave her on the bench, wishing he had never sat down.

But instead, he just tightens his arms around her and gives her a squeeze before pulling back and giving her a small smile. He reaches up and brushes away a strand of hair that got caught in her fringe.

“Maybe you were,” he says softly “But you won’t be anymore, because now you’ve got me.”

And as she looks into his eyes, she can feel the storm beginning to calm, his hand reaching in to pull her out of the water.

Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

send me a prompt!

[ships4you]

flames & deception {zuko}

Request: Heyoo!! Can I request a zuko x reader where Zuko and y/n get into a fight, and Zuko accidentally burns y/n? But instead of y/n getting mad at Zuko, y/n forgives him, kinda like the scene where Zuko and Iroh reunite? Ty!! ❤️❤️❤️(It can be either headcanon, imagine, whatever you’re the most comfortable with!) (*´ω｀*)

Pairing: Zuko x Earth Kingdom!Reader

Prompt: After setting Appa free Zuko has a nasty fever that leaves him sick in bed for days on end. While the reader is watching over a sleeping Zuko he has a nightmare, causing him to accidentally hurt the reader.

I’m such a sucker for againsty Zuko😻

“You know I saw a wanted poster for the blue spirit the other day.”

Lee ignored your comment, continuing to pace around his apartment above Mushi’s tea shop.

“You do know what that means, right? If someone spots you they’ll send guards after you. Or even worse; the Dai Li.”

You’ve been dating Lee for about two months now. Even though you didn’t know much about his past, he seemed to be very open and comfortable with you. A couple weeks into the relationship he told you about his evening excursions as the ‘Blue Spirit’. It never bothered you, but after climbing through your window one night all bloody and cut up from a fight, you couldn’t help but worry about your boyfriend.

“Do you hear what I’m saying?!” you raised your voice, annoyed at his I-could-care-less attitude. “Yes.” he responded dryly, slipping his swords into its sheath. You sighed and marched up to him, placing your hands on his chest. “Lee…” you said rubbing your thumbs in circles against his black skin-tight suit, “I just want you to be safe… Please, isn’t there another way?” you reached up to brush his hair out of his face. Before you could reach the black locks he grabbed your wrist tightly.

“You wouldn’t understand.” He lowered your wrist back down to your side, “I have to do this.”

This made you furious. “Oh of course!” you seethed through your teeth, “Of course I wouldn’t understand! You know not everything can be fixed with this little ‘hero’ act you have going on. Am I just not supposed to worry about you anymore?!” you yelled at him.

“Yes (y/n)! You don’t know me! You don’t know the things I’ve been through, the shitty things I have done. Hell, the shitty things I am going to do! You only care because you think I am this wounded, helpless creature, but guess what? I’m. Not. I’ve been on my own for years now and I don’t need you telling what I can and can’t do. When will you get it. I. Don’t. Need. You.”

He was now merely inches away from your face, eyes filled with fire. You weren’t sure when exactly the lump in your throat appeared, but you could feel soft, subtle tears sting against your cheeks. “Well. The next time you’re covered in cuts and bleeding out, don’t come to me.” you said before walking out, slamming the door behind you.

***

Three days after your big fight you received a letter in the mail.

Dearest (y/n),

I am afraid Lee has fallen extremely ill. He has been under my constant care for days, yet cannot seem to break his fever. I know my nephew hurt you, he often speaks out of fear— lashing out at those closest to him. I sincerely apologize on his behalf.

I need to go across town to fetch medicine to hopefully help his temperature go down. Would you be willing to come and sit with him for an hour or two? You are more than welcome to decline. Either way please come by the shop for a cup of tea soon. Seeing your beautiful smile warms my heart.

With all my love,

Mushi

As angry as you were, you knew how much he loved his nephew. You could not stand to break his heart. So, the next day you swallowed your pride and walked into the tea shop with your head held high.

He greeted you with open arms, as if nothing had happened. “He has been asleep for days,” Mushi explained leading you up the stairs to the apartment. “He just needs someone near to refill his water and keep a damp cloth a top his head. He will occasionally become restless in his sleep and thrash around a bit,” he said with sad eyes, “I will be back as soon as possible. Thank you (y/n). Your act of kindness is a gift from the spirits.” Resting your palm against his arm you said, “Mushi, you know I would do anything for you.” He smiled gratefully, bowing before leaving the room.

He looked so peaceful for the first few minutes, despite the small beads of sweat you noticed dripping down his face and chest. You made sure to switch out the damp rag with a new, cool one and refilled the bucket with fresh water. As you were putting the bucket down you noticed a worried expression stretch across his face. Before you knew it he began writhing back and forth, “Lee?” you knelt down and reached out to wake him up.

Before you could reach him, he quickly sat up and hurled his arm in your direction. You quickly jumped out of the way, and that’s when you noticed it. Fire ripping past your body. Your body was far enough, but you left hand that had come up to instinctively block your face was grazed by a stray flame. You yelped and squatted down to the floor, cradling your hand.

“(y/n)?”

You opened your hand, a slash across your palm already fading into a bright red.

“(y/n)… Please tell me I didn’t do that.” His eyes began filling up with tears.

His eyes were fearful. Terrified of what he had just done. Then the pain started to hit you. Panicking you ran to the bathroom, latching the door behind you. Your mind racing as you submerged your hand underneath the cool faucet.

Lee was a firebender.

He pounded on the door, “(y/n) please let me help you”

Was he a spy?

“Shit! I’m so sorry, please don’t hate me.” his voice cracked. It was obvious to tell he was crying.

No. Not a spy. Then why was a firebender in Ba Sing Se?

“don’t-hate-me, dont-hate-me, please just- fuck! I can’t lose you. I need you.”

“Is your name even Lee?” you felt your mouth move before you could think.

You heard him exhale through the sliding door. “No.”

You turned off the faucet, waiting for his explanation. “My name isn’t Lee. My real name is Zuko… Prince Zuko. My father- he. He is the Firelord. Two years ago he he burnt my face for speaking out against him.” he paused, “I was banished from the Fire Nation after that… My Uncle, Iroh and I have been on the run since I was 14. We came to Ba Sing Se to start over.”

You slid the door open. You were terrified to ask, but your heart needed to hear his answer “Have these last two months been one big lie? Is this… Us-” He stood in front of you eyes red from crying, his hair still damp with sweat. “No.” He said sternly, “Not you. Never with you.” His chest heaved as he spoke, “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and I pushed you away. I am so sorry. I don’t deserve you.” he swiped his hand down his face, “I lied to you. I was stupid to let myself forget who I am, the kind of person I am. Being around you just made me feel… Normal. I was lost and confused and I used you. You have every right to hate me.”

“Zuko.” your lips testing the sound of his name. “I could never hate you.”

He sighed heavily. He walked up to you wrapping his arms around your middle, tucking his head into your neck. You curled your arms around his shoulders, embracing his head with your hand, stroking your fingers through his hair. You could feel his breath quicken, his tears damp against your clothes, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you.” your body tensed, “Please don’t leave me.” his voice whispered, muffled against your skin. Sliding your hands to his neck, you lifted his head from his chin. “I’m not going anywhere.” you reassured, hands now cupping the sides of his face, brushing the tears with your thumbs. “I love you too.”

He immediately pulled you into him, latching onto your lips. His hand slid up the length of your back, pressing your chest against his. You tilted your head downwards, resting your forehead against his. As he pulled away your hands fell to his chest. “Can I just say…” you sighed. He glance at you through his lashes, tightening his grip on your hip. “Yes. Anything.”

“I like your real name so much better than Lee.” you couldn’t help but giggle. He groaned throwing his head back, “Ugh, yea. My Uncle gave it to my as a joke. I got him back by calling him Mushi though.” You both shared a quick laugh.

“Yea I have to be honest, I had to hold myself back from moaning your name all those times. Lee is such an un-sexy name.” you joked, hooking your hands behind his back. He rolled his eyes jokingly, “I just told you I am the crowned Prince of the Fire Nation and that is what you take from it?!” You smiled giddily, “Mhmm, yup.”

“You are ridiculous.” He said before kissing you lightly. “Come on, I used to burn myself while training as a kid. I know a recipe to help it heal.” he said leading you to the kitchen.

***

Let me know if you guys want a part two, maybe a prequel or just more of this Earth Kingdom!Reader plot-line to carry throughout the storyline of the show. Maybe them reuniting on the outer walls with Iroh and the white Lotus or after the war is finished. Hope you guys liked this one <3

Tag List: @myexgirlfriendisthemoon​

[hb-writes]

The Shelby Women’s Alliance

From the Little Lady Blinder universe. 

Prompted by this ask: “Would you write about Clara getting her period and she’s scared she’s dying so she tells Ada/polly?”

Characters Featured: Ada Shelby, Clara Shelby (Shelby!Sister), and Tommy Shelby (because apparently I just couldn’t leave him out of it).

-----

Ada sighed at the end of her sister’s long-winded and quickly expelled explanation. She quit her spot hovering by the door to sit beside Clara instead. 

“Oh, you poor little love,” Ada said, her voice letting out the slightest cavalier bit of laughter as she pulled her in for a hug. “You’re just fine. I promise you’re not dying.”

It took a moment for Clara to accept her sister’s hug, to release her small arms from around her own body and properly reciprocate. Clara felt as though she’d been hugging herself for days, not entirely sure what was going on with her body but far too embarrassed to talk to one of her brothers about it. 

Ada did feel sorry for the girl, for having it happen when she was the only female in the house for so many days, with Polly gone away for some time off. And she felt sorry for not preparing her better, for assuming that her little sister growing up in the same house and being vaguely exposed to the things women went through would be an education enough. Clara Shelby thrived on having the necessary information and she turned inward without it, a muddled attempt of protecting against the sense of deficiency not knowing made her feel. 

Ada should have sat her down and discussed it months ago, before she and Freddie moved to London, even. But as much as she felt sorry, and understood her sister’s embarrassment, and regretted not preparing her better, Ada was also concerned that her sister hadn’t voiced to a soul that she thought she was dying, not for three whole days. Clara had done no more than begging off school for the end of the week, citing nothing more than some nondescript nausea. 

Not until Ada, Freddie, and the baby walked through the door of number 6 for a visit that had been planned weeks ago, had Clara given even the slightest indication of there being anything more going on. And even at that, it had taken a bit more prompting than it should have for Ada to gather enough information from her sister to fully understand the situation.

“It’s alright, Clara. You’re a young woman now, is all.”

A wail came through Clara’s lips and Ada held her tighter. 

“But I don’t wanna be, Ada,” she answered.

“Well, we don’t have much choice in it, love,” she answered. “But you’ll be alright. Just a few days a month and--”

“This happens every month?” Clara shouted, pulling back from Ada’s shoulder, her eyes wet with tears. “Ada, I don’t want this every month!” 

Ada fought to keep her composure at her sister’s outrage. She rubbed Clara’s shoulders, giving her a sad smile.

“It’s just a few days and--”

“And it’s terrible and unfair and it hurts,” Clara whined.

“Yes, you’re right,” Ada answered, “but you’ll grow accustomed to it. It’ll get easier and--”

“I don’t wan--” 

A knuckle rapped on the bedroom door, cutting Clara off for a moment. 

“Go the fuck away, Finn!” she shouted from her perch on the bed.

The door swung open and Tommy leaned in the doorway. “What have I told you about that word?”

Clara gulped and her lip started to wobble, whether from her brother’s tone or the pain in her abdomen or the tiredness that had plagued for days or the fact that she’d been going through it all alone or any number of things floating through her mind.

Ada sighed, turning away from her sister for a moment. “Let it be, Tommy.” 

“Let it be?” Tommy met Ada’s eye. “Your sister’s been up in this room claiming sickness for two days now, feigning it by the looks of it, and--” 

“Get out, Tommy!” Clara shouted as she stood, moving towards the door, shoving her hands into his chest. “Just get the fuck out!”

“What did you say?” Tommy asked as he stepped into the room, his hand wrapped around Clara’s arm. 

“Oh, leave her be. Your sister’s not feigning anything.” Ada stood up to meet them, pried her brother and sister apart as she settled between them. “And she won’t be feigning it next month when it happens either, so if she asks you to get the fuck out, just do it.” 

Tommy’s mouth opened as his mind got around to understanding the meaning behind Ada’s words and he took a deep breath, nodding as he met Ada’s eye. “You’ll handle this, then?”

“I’ll handle it or Polly’ll handle it or Esme’ll handle it and I can’t imagine she’d ever want anything from you boys about it.” 

Tommy glanced behind Ada. Clara was still standing there a few steps away, her lip quivering, a few stray tears streaking her cheek as she held her arms around her body. He moved past Ada and grabbed Clara by the shoulders, pulling her into a hug before she could push him away. 

Like with her sister, it took Clara a moment longer than normal to accept the hug, to thaw enough from the cold solitude of the preceding days to accept the comfort of her brother’s arms. 

“If you want me out, I’ll get out,” Tommy said. “Next time just find some better words, eh?” 

“Get the hell out?” Clara mumbled into his chest.

Tommy chuckled. “Maybe put a please in there, eh?”

“Alright,” Ada started. “Enough with the semantics, Tom. We were in the middle of something.” 

“Ada’s right.” Clara pushed out of her brother’s hug. “Please do get the hell out.” 

“You know, I’ve always thought an alliance between you girls would be the greatest threa--”

“Women,” Ada interrupted.

“What?” Tommy asked, turning towards Ada and stepping away from Clara.

“It’s an alliance between women,” Ada corrected. “Your sisters are both women now, Tommy.”

That would take getting used to, the idea of his Clara being a young woman. “Right.”

“Well, Tom, unless you’d like to stay for a chat about the particulars…” Ada began, leading him towards the door with a hand on his shoulder. “Do pretty please get the fuck out.”

Ada offered him a smile as she held the door open a crack. 

“She’ll be fine, Tom. If you’d like to help maybe go fetch her some tea and biscuits, eh? The Shelby Women’s Alliance has the rest handled,” Ada whispered to him before she shut the door. 

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder stories here.