#last one is how grocery shopping feels but it’s not deliberate and I don’t even get a prize for finding everything

[peach-pot]

radical new ideas for grocery store organization:

everything sorted by state of matter. liquids in the left most aisles, solids in the right. goops somewhere in the middle.

each aisle only has one color of food.

most purchased to least purchased. left most aisles are gonna get crowded, fights will break out.

one aisle with all the stuff I need, every other aisle is random. fuck everyone who isn’t me.

alternatively, one thing I need in every aisle, and it’s randomly hidden. I do get clues though. so like a fun scavenger hunt, but only for me.

[fernsam]

Shop Right With ShopRites Music Scene

Grocery shopping is a place where everyone goes to get the food that they need for the week (or more weeks). I also go grocery shopping for groceries, but I find myself occasionally going there just for fun, even when I don’t need anything. Why? Because my go-to grocery store is Shoprite, and I love everything about it. The premade sushi, the in-store Dunkin, the personal care products, and of course the food. But there is something I have found even more interesting about Shoprite: the music. I’ll admit I never go to ShopRite to listen to the music, but I always make fun of it. It’s usually some patriotic music (like they literally played “God Bless America” once on a random day in June), or some old tune that I tune out. However, today when I went to Shoprite, I kept an ear out for the Shoprite music scene, I noticed that there was a lot of “olden day” music, but it was pretty nice. 

The first song I heard when I entered was “And We Danced.” This song was pretty groovy, and it sounds like a typical 80s songs. It’s just a song about how they danced with the basic 80s tune in the background. I thought it was actually a pretty good song, but shoprite plays it at such a low volume that I can barely even hear it. I was kind of disappointed that this wasn’t the typical american songs I would make fun of, but according to Wikipedia, it is from an American rock band, so I think this is close enough. Honestly I was impressed that Shoprite played this song because although it is a typical 80s pop song, it is pretty good background music and it sort of makes you feel happy to shop. 

The next song I heard was “No One Gets the Prize/The Boss.” The genre is soul and the vibe was very funky. Like the previous song, it is from the 80s and is also a typical 80s song, but the singing is very nice for this one. I definitely see how this song fits both the soul and funk genre because it does make you want to dance, but the singing is so vocal and present.  At one point, she starts vocalizing and making that “ow” sound and I really liked it. This song also stuck out to me because it was 9 minutes and they played the whole thing. Even though it was really long, I found myself listening to it the entire time while I was shopping. 

The last song I will talk about that stood out to me was “A girl like you.” The song started off kind of different, with some clue-sounding music. His singing is very deep singing, and a strange robot sound follows after him after he sings. There was even a constant guitar solo. The vibes of this song were again old, but a different kind of vibe. Rate Your Music said it was released in the 90s and the genre was pop rock and cocktail nation. Again, a basic genre of pop but cocktail nation was an interesting description. Appearntly cocktail nation was made ironically due to lounge music. That is so interesting to me because you would expect a grocery store to play lounge music, but instead, they are playing this divergent genre that uses lounge music in a way that makes it more entertaining and lively. 

Although all three songs were pretty old, I never knew Shoprite put effort into the music scene. I don’t know how popular these songs are in their time, but to me these aren’t the generic pop songs I usually hear at stores. I walked in ready to hear some patriotic American songs but instead, I got some groovy songs that make me energetic. In general, I feel that stores deliberately pick a certain genre depending on what vibe they are going for. I could tell that I did not fit Shoprite's typical demographic of people who go grocery shopping on a Thursday night, but I could tell they put effort into making the music scene comforting for their demographic. And maybe next time I won’t make fun of Shoprite's music taste and keep an open ear because honestly some of the songs were fun to listen to. 

[contemplativepancakes]

sunsets for somebody else

Daphne runs into her long lost husband arguing with another man in the grocery store. Things start to take a turn when she realizes they're married.

The bottle of bleach drops from Daphne’s hand into her cart, landing with a sloshing thud as she takes in the scene in front of her, frozen in her tracks. Emmanuel is standing right in front of her, arguing with another man about cleaning supplies.

Wearing a beige trench coat for some inexplicable reason—it’s almost 90 degrees outside—Emmanuel listens to a man who’s explaining in minute detail how to clean an oven. They��re both wearing wedding rings, and Daphne’s heart swells for a moment before she realizes it’s a different ring from the one she gave Emmanuel all those years ago.

“Dean, I don’t think this is safe for Jack. This is going to create noxious fumes,” Emmanuel says, squinting at the ingredients of the cleaner apparently-Dean had thrust at him.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, and Daphne squeezes the handle of her shopping cart harder, feeling faint. It’s not every day you come across your long lost husband at the Stop N’ Shop.

“I think the kid can take some fumes,” Dean says, plucking the bottle out of Emmanuel’s hands and putting it in the cart. “We wouldn’t even have to worry about this if someone didn’t let the pizza fall onto the bottom of the oven.”

“The directions said to put it directly on the middle rack!” Emmanuel protests, and Dean rubs a hand down Emmanuel’s back in a familiar way that makes Daphne’s stomach roil.

She’s not jealous, she’s not. She was just helping Emmanuel when she found him, after all. Their marriage was simply one of…convenience for Emmanuel. It’s not like he had a birth certificate with him, or a social security number. What did Daphne get out of all this? Well. Daphne looks at his cheek bones wistfully, her gaze dipping down to his strong forearms his trench coat is rolled up to reveal.

Dean rolls his eyes fondly, and then he tugs Emmanuel into his side, kissing him on the temple. Daphne jerks her stare away for a moment before returning it, noticing now that their wedding rings match.

“Emmanuel?” she chokes out, against her better judgment.

For a long second, she doesn’t think Emmanuel heard her, but he turns around. “Daphne?”

Daphne nods, her words forsaking her. She doesn’t miss the way Dean clutches possessively at Emmanuel’s hip.

“I…thought you were dead,” she finally says. “I filed a missing person report.”

Dean squints at her, before something like recognition passes over her face, and now that she thinks about it, Daphne recognizes him, too. He’s the one who showed up right before everything went to shit. Horror stories of Stockholm syndrome flash through her mind.

“Emmanuel, are you…happy?” she settles on.

Emmanuel gives her a smile, leaning harder into Dean. “I am.”

“Good. That’s. Good,” she says, a strangled look on her face, she’s sure. “Would you want to catch up some time?” she asks before she fully registers what’s coming out of her mouth.

Emmanuel gives her a warm smile. “I’d love that.”

As they set up a time to get coffee, Daphne tries to ignore the glare Dean levels at her throughout the whole conversation. He insists that their meeting be tomorrow, since apparently they won’t be in the area for long. Daphne tries to ignore the warning bells in her mind that tell her she’s about to get murdered and takes solace in the fact that at least they’re meeting in a public place.

Besides, even if Emmanuel’s husband is a serial killer, surely Emmanuel won’t let him murder her, right?

-

The next day, Daphne hems and haws as she debates what to wear. Whatever this is, it’s the exact opposite of a date, anyway. She knocks on the door of her foster child, Alex, to wake them up before she goes into the bathroom to do her hair and makeup. Really, she’s just doing it for herself. She’s allowed to want to look nice!

When she finally deems herself as ready as she’s going to get, she goes back to Alex’s room to make sure they’re actually up. To her pleasant surprise, they’re sitting on the edge of their bed putting on their socks and almost ready. “Excited for school today?” she asks.

Alex makes a face at her. “Never,” they say, but their voice at least has the edge of a smile to it.

They’ve come a long way since they were first placed with her, and even though Daphne knows she shouldn’t be getting overly attached, she can’t help it. She walks down the steps and into the kitchen, deliberating for a moment on breakfast before putting frozen waffles into the toaster. If she’s about to get murdered while Alex is at school, she can at least make sure the last thing she made for them wasn’t cereal.

Alex tromps down the steps, dragging their bookbag behind them, and Daphne hides her smile behind her glass of orange juice. Alex lights up at the sight of the waffles, disturbingly easy to please, as always. They inhale them, as teenagers do, before putting their dishes in the sink. Daphne cracks open her laptop as they wait for the bus, attempting to get some of her work done for the day since she’ll be taking a break later for the coffee. She really hopes her boss doesn’t try and call her while she’s out.

Or, maybe she does. She’s not sure she’s prepared for the level of awkwardness that she’s about to go through, but maybe it won’t be as bad as she thinks. She really wants to know what Emmanuel has been up to for all of this time. She’s still…embarrassingly hung up on him, and it would be nice to get some closure.

The bus pulling up in front of the house jerks her out of her thoughts, and she gives Alex a wave before they race off to get on. She watches them settle into a seat with one of their friends, and smiles at the fact that they even have friends now.

In the end, Daphne doesn’t manage to get much work done before she clambers into her car and drives to the coffee shop they agreed on. She doesn’t really think she needs caffeine with the way her leg is bouncing already.

Emmanuel and Dean are already there when she walks in, Emmanuel with a cup of black coffee he’s dumping sugar packets into and Dean with something with whipped cream and chocolate syrup drizzled on top. She gives them a tentative wave before ordering hot chocolate for herself, settling herself delicately in the seat across from them.

“So,” Dean says. “You were Cas’s wife?”

She squints. “Cas?”

Emmanuel speaks up. “After I regained my memories, I remembered that was my name.”

“Oh.” Smiling weakly, she tries to reconcile that. “You have them all back now?”

Emman—Cas nods.

“Just forgot about me, though?” she tries to ask lightly, but it comes out a little garbled.

“You took advantage of him!” Dean explodes from the other side of the table, making Daphne flinch. “Who the fuck finds someone naked with no memories and marries them?”

“Dean,” Cas chastises, his arm shifting like he’s putting his hand on Dean’s thigh under the table.

“I was helping him,” Daphne says hotly. “Would you have just wanted me to leave him there?”

Cutting Dean off before he can say anything else, Cas looks at Daphne and smiles in a way that makes her heart flutter. “I’m very grateful. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to let you know I was alright.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, taking a sip of his sugar monstrosity. He comes away with a whipped cream mustache, and it’s hard not to laugh as he wipes it away in total seriousness.

“So,” Daphne says. “You two have a kid? Jack?”

Scowling, which seems to be Dean’s automatic reflex, he exchanges a glance with Cas before softening. “Yeah, we have a kid. He’s four.”

Daphne thinks maybe Dean should have been a little bit more concerned about the fumes of cleaning chemicals if they have a four year old, but she keeps her judgments to herself. Cas beams. “He’s very bright.”

Returning the smile tentatively, Daphne asks, “How long have you two been married?”

“It’s almost our one year anniversary,” Dean says gruffly.

Daphne tries not to let it affect her, even if that’s more time than she ever got with Cas. “Practically newly weds, then!”

“It’s been an adventure; that’s certain,” Cas says, smiling serenely even as Dean elbows his ribs. “Tell us about you, Daphne. What have you been doing?”

Daphne shrugs a shoulder. “Oh, not too much.” Mourning the man I pulled out of the woods and saved and married, she doesn’t say. She knows Emmanuel never felt the same way about her that she did him. “I got approved to be a foster parent, so I’ve had a few kids come through.”

“Helping people has always been your calling,” Cas says softly.

Daphne takes a few minutes to gush about Alex, and her previous kids before them, before she notices Dean’s not actively glaring at her anymore.

“That’s…nice,” he begrudges when she finishes.

“What do you do, Dean?”

Looking like he just dropped something on his foot, he stammers before he hastily says, “I work construction.”

Daphne squints at him. She has the feeling he’s lying to her, but she has no idea why he would be.

“And what about you, Cas?”

“Oh, I mostly just take care of Jack.”

“You’re a stay at home dad?” she asks, the thought making her stomach twist into knots and heat rise to her face.

“Of a sorts,” Cas agrees.

God, they’re making it impossible to carry on a conversation with them. Daphne keeps a smile pasted to her face. “What do you two do for fun?”

“I’m convinced Dean thinks fun is superfluous,” Cas confides, even as Dean splutters at him. “But I like to drag him to thrift stores with me. Dean likes to bake, also.”

“I work on cars, too,” Dean says, and Daphne can feel his desperation to maintain his facade.

She tries not to quirk a smile at his discomfort. They chat for a while longer, Dean getting increasingly dodgy about the questions she asks before she finally excuses herself to go to the bathroom. She shuts the door behind her and looks down at the dank floor. Is she getting what she wanted out of this? She has no idea what she even imagined happening when she asked to catch up. Emmanuel running away with her? Maybe in her wildest fantasies. Taking a deep breath to ground herself, she looks in the mirror and checks her makeup, rubbing at her under eye circles before walking back out of the bathroom.

Cas is at the counter ordering another drink, for Dean, by the sound of the sugar content, and she walks over to him. Hesitating before she bites the bullet, she asks, “You’re not…like, being held against your will, right? That Dean seems,” she pauses, “interesting.”

Cas laughs warmly, putting a hand over Daphne’s. “No, nothing like that. This is a choice of my own free will, believe it or not. Dean is much more caring than he lets on.”

Well, Daphne’s not sure she believes it, but. At least he’s happy, and in the end, that’s all she’s ever wanted for him.

[zhanyes]

Tianshan dating headcannons because i also love these two dumbasses too

Also dedicated to @el-mundo-real who requested tianshan headcannons 🖤

. . .

- Literally no one knows whether they’re dating or not. Not even themselves because they don’t talk about it

- Jian yi thinks they’re dating already and Zhengxi says they’re still getting there (somehow they’re both right) and they make a bet

- He tian likes staying over at Mo’s and he’s gotten pretty close to mama Mo

- Mama Mo teaches him how to knit !! He tried to knit a scarf for Mo but it came out a little messy and tangled. Mo still wears it anyway saying it’s a waste of yarn if not used (He’s actually really touched)

- He eats dinner there about 5 times a week and sleeps over thrice a week. He’s a permanent fixture in the house now, he has his own plate and mug, utensils, toothbrush, a spare key, and more than half of his closet migrated to Mo’s closet

- Sometimes Mo “accidentally” wears He tian’s sweaters and He tian dies a little bit every time

- Sometimes He tian deliberately wears Mo’s clothes and it’s always tighter and a bit shorter on his body so when he moves his arms the shirt rides up. Mo guanshan shouts at him to change and to stop contaminating his clothes but his ears are red anyway

- They bicker A LOT. Over the smallest things because He tian loves riling him up and Mo gets riled up too easily

He tian, for the 7th time in 5 minutes: “What does this thing do?”

Mo guanshan, losing his mind: “THAT’S A FUCKING MICROWAVE WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK IT DO?!”

- There are times when homicide is the best option

Mo Guanshan: “I acknowledge that I can be mean sometimes-”

He tian, in the bathtub: “Sometimes?”

Mo Guanshan: “Shut the fuck up. So I brought you a bath bomb as a peace offering.”

He tian: “That’s a fucking toaster.”

Mo guanshan: “Exactly. A bath bomb.”

- Contrary to what his actions say, Mo guanshan is actually relieved that He tian spends most of his time in their apartment. He tian never told him but he can see how lonely the other teenager is

- Mo guanshan tries to teach He tian chores because He tian knows nothing about cleaning or doing everyday things

Mo guanshan: “How the fuck do you not know how to wash dishes where the hell do you eat?!”

He tian, drinking milk straight out the carton: “Obviously on plates, Momo. I just throw them away after.”

Mo guanshan, sputtering: “WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU THROW OUT PLATES?!”

- The first and only recipe that He tian managed to cook successfully is instant noodles with boiled egg that’s not quite cooked enough. Sometimes he brings Mo noodles as breakfast in bed and he looks so proud of it Mo has a hard time saying that the noodles are overcooked and that noodles aren’t exactly breakfast food (he eats it anyway)

- Mo sometimes, only sometimes, brings He tian grocery shopping because he needs to learn how to buy food for himself. Somehow He tian always ends up in the miscellaneous section where he has a pack of ballpens he’ll never use, 2 journals he’ll also never use, a couple of scented candles, various dog clothes and leashes for the dog he doesn’t have, a couple’s mug, and a vase in his cart

- He tian stopped trying to barge into Mo guanshan’s bed and sleeps on the futon on the floor beside it. It’s not the most comfortable and he had a hard time sleeping on it at first but he likes being in Mo’s company even while sleeping

- Sometimes Mo would move in his sleep and leave his arm dangling on the side of the bed, He tian grabs it of course and Mo wakes up to sweaty palms. He still leaves it for a few moments before harshly slapping away He tian’s hand

- Mo’s hands aren’t smooth at all because of working all the time and practicing the guitar but He tian loves them all the same. He likes to feel the contrast in textures with his slightly smoother hands

- He tian has a thousand pictures of Mo guanshan sleeping in various angles and poses. He has his favorites framed and keeps it on his bedside table in his apartment so when he’s sleeping there he still feels like they’re sleeping together

- Mo guanshan has a few of He tian sleeping but he swears up and down that he'll never do anything as disgusting as that. He makes one of them his wallpaper.

- Sometimes when they don’t feel like sleeping yet they stay up talking and arguing about random things

Mo guanshan: “Why would aliens be in space? The ocean is definitely the way to go.”

He tian: “But why would they be in the ocean? They’ll drown.”

Mo guanshan: “They’re aliens maybe they have gills or some shit.”

He tian: “I’m telling you they’re not in the ocean, Mo.”

Mo guanshan: “And I’m telling you you’re wrong, bastard.”

- On rare days they would stay up talking about their pasts and about life in general, with the lights closed and the only source of light is the moonlights from the window

- One of these nights, Mo told He tian about what happened to his dad and their restaurant, why they’re in so much debt over it and He tian holds Mo’s hand tightly throughout

- He knew better than to say that he could pay for that debt so Mo doesn’t need to worry anymore (He still says it anyway and Mo blew a fuse) but he swore to help Mo through other means

- The next day he orders a whole carton of mangoes, apples and peaches in his apartment and learns how to peel properly through youtube and Zhengxi

- He goes to Mo’s part time job in the grocery and helps him peel fruits, Mo guanshan doesn’t mention anything when he notices the bandaids on the other’s hands but he does cook him beef stew for dinner

- As expected He tian’s presence brings more customers and the manager asks if he wants to work there permanently but he said he’s only working for Mo so the manager can give Mo a raise instead

- Once, Mo got sick so he missed his part time job for the day (He was supposed to give away flyers on the streets) and got extra pissy because He tian didn’t visit him and wouldn’t answer his phone 

- Apparently He tian took over his job for the day and he only finds out when he goes to the manager and the manager asks when his ‘boyfriend’ can come back to work again because the customers love him

- He tian almost never talks about himself but once he talked about the puppy who disappeared after he saves it and then found out that it’s still alive after all these years

- Mo keeps quiet about it the whole time he was talking and the next few days he takes time to knit a small dog plushie and leaves it on He tian’s futon

- He tian didn’t cry, he didn’t (he did), but he hugged Mo and whispered a sincere thank you. For once, Mo lets it happen

- Mo quickly regrets his decision when He tian names the plushie “Chicken sandwich”

- He tian brings Mo in a lot of not-dates (according to Mo) like arcades, ocean parks, festivals, and fairs because he didn’t get to go as a kid and he wants to experience it for the first time with Mo

- They get crazy competitive in every game. Every. Single. One. If it’s a co-op shooting game they would compete on who kills the most enemies, if it’s a harmless crane game it becomes a competition of who can get the most plushies

- They both each have a photobooth strip. Mo keeps his as a bookmarker in a journal, and He tian has his in the back of his phone.

- They go on a double not-date with Jian yi and Zhengxi and it ends up in almost getting chased by a police car at 2 am in pokemon onesies and holding a bag of chips 

- Sometimes Mo would visit his dad in prison and just rant to him about He tian

Mo guanshan: “The nerve of that guy to do something like that in front of a teacher urgh.”

Papa Mo: “Your boyfriend sounds like a fun guy, son. I want to meet him soon.”

Mo guanshan: “BO-BOYFRIEND?!”

Papa Mo: “Yes???”

Mo guanshan: “No??? That bastard isn’t my boyfriend??”

Papa Mo: “Are you sure about that?”

Mo guanshan: “...Yes?”

- Enter gay panique because he doesn’t actually know whether He tian is his boyfriend or not

- They don’t call each other boyfriends and they never talked about it so no??? But they’re also not just friends so maybe??? Do they go on dates?? Can grocery trips be considered dates??

- He rings up Jian yi and the blonde just laughed for 5 minutes straight without stopping and he wonders how he’s still breathing

Mo Guanshan, after hearing Jian yi laughing for 5 minutes: “Are you fucking done?”

Jian yi, trying to catch his breath: “Man this is some top-tier entertainment.”

Mo guanshan: “WELL?!”

Jian yi: “Look bro literally no one knows whether you’re dating, fucking, planning each other’s murder OR planning a murder together.”

Mo guanshan: “What if it’s all of the above?”

Jian yi: “Then congratulations…? Please don’t murder me?”

Mo guanshan: “Urgh you’re fucking useless I should have called Zhengxi.”

Jian yi: “Wait don’t, I don’t wanna lose the bet. How about this, there’s a festival upcoming for couples and families, if He tian asks you then you’re probably, maybe, dating?”

Mo guanshan: “That’s stupid. AND WHAT BET?!”

Jian yi: “Ah woops gotta water my dog.”

- Mo tells himself that it’s stupid and there’s no way he’s falling for that...but he feels disappointed anyway when He tian doesn’t ask him the following days

- He tian asks on the last day before the festival, but he asks mama Mo first and Mo guanshan second cuz he wants to celebrate with both of them. He confessed that he’s never actually went to a festival with a family before so he was trying to build up courage to ask

- Mo guanshan is an absolute goner after that

- On the day of the festival, they find Zhanyi there on a date but decide to leave them alone. While they were leaving Jian yi kept throwing Mo guanshan so much winks that Zhengxi thought he got something in his eye

- The festival was fun but Mo couldn’t take his eyes off how happy and content He tian looks

- Queue cliche fireworks scene but it’s He tian being amazed by the fireworks and Mo looking mesmerized at him thinking, “Ah, I want him to look at me like that.”

- The next day, he drags He tian to visit his dad in jail

Papa mo: “Oh this is a surprise, you’ve never brought someone before?”

He tian, trying to introduce himself: “Hello, sir. I’m He tian, Mo guanshan’s fri-”

Mo guanshan, cuts him off: “Boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend, dad.”

He tian:

[youarejesting]

Sly like a... ? Part 6

[Master list] [Sly Master List] Beta: n/a (at the moment) Rating: All Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have plot in those scenes and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story. Words: 1.8k

Summary: Human’s strive to be better, faster and stronger looking to animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.

[First] [Prev] [Next]

There had been a moment when Taehyung seemed almost reluctant to leave, as if he was having fun with the hybrids around his age and you couldn’t blame him. He had spent his life with older people who didn’t really do anything particularly thrilling. 

But the night ended without any fights from any of the hybrids so you considered that a bonus. They were slowly becoming more accustomed to the other presence and though there were a few small shoves, hisses or choice words, all in all they were being polite.

Sitting at the dining table talking with Jimin about your plan tomorrow at the shopping centre, he was very close, you knew it was a dominance thing, that he knew you the longest and he was unintentionally rubbing it in the other hybrid’s faces. Seeing Jungkook’s eyes barely staying awake you wished him good night with a hug and told him to get some sleep. 

Yoongi was slinking around looking like he wanted to say or ask something but waiting for you to be alone. Seokjin and Namjoon both headed off to bed and Jimin reached over taking your hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his brows creasing in the same concern that laced his words, “you keep making sure we are okay, that no one has asked you?”

“I’m good,” you admitted with a smile, “how are you taking this?”

“You know I am used to it, we grew up in hybrid homes just like this one,” Jimin laughed, “gives me a bit of nostalgia.”

“The only thing that is unsettling at the moment is the smell of the carpet, it is driving me mental?” you laughed, “that bleach not only burns it just makes the place feel empty.”

“I know what you mean, but if you would like I can scent the house?” he wiggled his eyebrows. “like we used to?”

“Jimin we were children running around naked was okay back then now it would be weird,” you scoffed, pushing him away, “go to bed.”

“You want to sleep in my room?” he pouted, “there is no need to be a martyr”

“Thanks but, I am going to stay up a little later and work out some things.” Jimin walked into the hall eyeing the older hybrid and gave a deliberate, let me know if you need anything spiel.

“Hey Yoongi, is something wrong?” you smiled patting the seat beside you, he hesitantly sat on the seat keeping his distance. He seemed to mull over his thoughts and choose his words carefully before he attempted to speak.

“When I was in University the first time, I was studying psychology, I wanted to help young hybrids,” you repressed a squeal he was opening up and you were so proud, “I was wondering, if there is a chance I could continue that course? I still want to help other hybrids like myself.”

“Of course, that is perfect, I can get you ready I will get your folders and work transferred over and we can have you started in no time, they might ask you to do an entrance exam so if you don’t mind I can give you a little refresher with the other boys and then you will be all set, all the Uni classes are online, so you don’t have to worry about transport and it’s all paid for so money isn’t an option either.”

“I don’t like free things” he played with his sleeves, “I much rather get things on my own”

“Well, if you would like I can give you pocket money everyday and you can save it so that you don’t feel helpless. Let’s say accompanying me grocery shopping, I could wash up the dishes and you could dry and little things like that and I can give you... uh, fifty dollars a week,” 

“That is too much,” He said, shaking his head, “not when you are also paying room and board. That is way too much and I don’t want to take more of your money”

“It’s not my money, you forget, I am living free here as well,” you laughed, standing up and holding out your hand. He took it and you walked him to his room, “please don’t stress Yoongi, I promise you I am not as scary as I look, you are safe and I want you to feel safe and if that means you have a little money box under your bed than let’s do it”

Yoongi laughed, “You aren’t scary at all”

“I don’t know if you had seen her dancing this evening, that was scary,” Hoseok called from his room. He was a very easy going guy, he liked to hear the others better so he left the door open. It must be hard coming from the country with night noises and lots of hybrids snoring to a place that is genuinely quiet with the occasional sound of a car and his own room.

“Alright Yoongi time for bed, I am here now so I hope you like being tucked in?” you walked him to his bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin and you could hear the purs as you pet his head.

“I want to be tucked in too,” Jungkook wined down the end of the hall, and you froze as the chorus of me too filled the hall. Rolling your eyes you stood up pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s forehead and stepping out.

“Fine, let me start with Jin, you want to be tucked in?” You grinned and the oldest hybrid nodded vigorously from his bed. You made the rounds and visited every room, Namjoon announced he was already tucked in and would accept a good night. He was acting proud but you thought to try anyway. “your blankets are askew, let me help, you can’t be tucked in if your blanket is all wonky”

The excuse worked and he purred deep in his chest as you pet his head and kissed his forehead. Hoseok made you laugh and requested multiple kisses but received a “Don’t be greedy,” from his neighbor Jimin.

Jimin gave you his signature eye smile that you just knew was there even without your superior night vision. You thought about it and a lot of the hybrids in the house were nocturnal giving reason to their late bedtimes and keen senses in the dark. You weren’t too sure about Hoseok and Taehyung so that would be something to google before bed.

Stepping up to Jimin’s bed he grinned, “Tuck me in,” he declared his arms out as if he was getting a hug. 

“Okay but you have to lay down and stop squirming,” you reprimanded, making him still long enough to tuck him in placing a kiss on his forehead with a pat, his hands holding his tail as he always did when he slept. “You still hold your tail when you sleep”

He blushed and turned away, “I dunno it’s comfy”

“It’s cute, have a good night” you walked on to the last room where Jungkook was standing at his door obviously having gotten impatient. You walked him to his bed and sat beside him as he got comfortable.

“y/n, I love being here and I don’t want you to give me up but, I miss my family, I barely remember anything about my mother I can’t even remember what she looked like, all I remember is she smelt like clean cotton and sunny days” He said a few tears in his eyes. 

Wiping his eyes he sniffed, “I wanted to be cool for you, but I am just a big baby” he whined, “Can you stay with me until I fall asleep, sing me a song or tell me a story?”

“Alright, get comfortable and I will tell you a story koo” tucking him in you opened your mouth when he grabbed your hand, “Is something wrong?”

“You have to give me a goodnight kiss too, while I am awake or I won’t feel it” he gave a big cheeky grin and you laughed brushing his bangs to the side and pressing a small kiss on his forehead. “Alright I am ready”

“This was a story that I was told when I was young,” you shuffled onto the bed more, “in japan there are monsters and mythical creatures called yokai…”

“Yokai were sometimes even gods they could be good and they could be bad, the kitsune was a yokai, they said when a fox grew to a certain age they would be able to transform into humans” Felix spoke cleaning some of the toys off your bed.

“Like Hybrids!” You giggled, jumping on your bed, your stuffed toy under your arm, Felix tackled you onto your pillow and grinned, tucking you in and switching off the light. He reached over to turn on a small night light. “Or like the other story where they peel off their skin?”

“Alright, I admit it was a mistake to tell you that, are you still having nightmares?” he sighed rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I still haven’t been let off babysitting duty because of that, the earful Astrid gave me”

You laughed at his dramatic shiver, she wasn’t that scary, but Felix always seemed to think so. “If you know so many stories about fox hybrids then why did they make me, if they were already out there?”

“That is the thing little Kit, they aren’t hybrids” his smile was big and his eyes gleamed mischievously. “They are huli jing, kitsune and kumiho, they aren’t hybrids. These are special beings; foxes with the ability to transform into humans, they are special.” 

“If they can disguise themselves as humans how do you know they exist, have you seen one?” you were ever curious to know more about fox related things it made you feel like you were getting to know more about yourself and why you did the things you do”

“Humans can’t see them unless they wish to show themselves to them first, but they can see each other, they can’t hide from one another,” he hummed

“Are you a fox person Felix?” the memory of the other night in your head when you thought you saw two tails and some ears attached to him.

“I am just Felix and you young lady are up past your bedtime. So lay still so I can tell the story.”

“The fox breathed fire burning the forest and when their emotions calmed they saw the town destroyed and the woman the fox man had loved had died from the flames along with her new husband” you whispered, Jungkook’s little snores were cute and you readjusted the blanket and gave him another kiss on the forehead before retreating to the living room couch.

A thought passed by about perhaps using Taehyung’s room but you thought it was best to not invade his privacy, that was his safe place and your scent would ruin that. The thought didn’t last long as you were soon out cold from exhaustion.

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[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 31

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L  Warnings: Language, smoking weed, shitty parenting, mentions of death A/N: more of a filler but it helps establish stuff. *unbeta'd

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 31: Drowning on Dry Land

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

The week before her flight back, Matthew’s parents invited her over for dinner.

Waiting to greet them at the door was Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin. Matthew’s father, a Half-Maj, was a Potioneer while his mother, an Old-Maj, was a Court Scribe. They wore large, kind smiles as Mrs. Gaplin pulled her into a tight, crushing hug.

After pleasantries, she and Matthew kicked off their shoes while his parents ushered them to the dining room.

“How are you darling? '' Mrs. Gaplin asked, floating plates in their direction as everyone began helping themselves to food. “Matt wouldn’t stop talking about you since we knew y’were coming.”

She side-eyed Matthew who groaned loudly. “Did not!”

“Sure thing,” she added, which caused Matthew to slump in his chair as his parents laughed at him.

It was a nice, charming evening; filled with laughter and heartfelt conversations. His parents continued to gloat about Mathew’s achievements that he hadn’t told her. It caused him to almost get up and run out of the room from embarrassment before moving to boast about Y/N. Even Mr. Gaplin asked her regarding her OWLs which pleasantly surprised her.

A few times, Mr. Gaplin pressed a few cheeky kisses to his wife’s face as Matthew made loud retching noises.

“Disgusting!”

Mr. Gaplin laughed. “Ya sixteen. Suck it up.”

“But you’re still my baby!” Mrs. Gaplin cooed, getting up to collect the plates.

Matthew tried to look insulted but she could see the small smile that threatened his lips as jealousy nipped at her toes.

The next few days were spent staying at the Gaplin household. Matthew’s parents insisted constantly that she should stay over so they could utilize the little time they had left before leaving. At first, the idea made her feel intrusive. Although, her mother hadn’t returned to the brownstone house, preferring to sleep in the on-call rooms at the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. It quickly got lonely and boring before Y/N finally agreed. Besides, Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin were only around for breakfast and dinner - working for the day but never failed to return; always wearing larger smiles than the previous night.

They made her feel welcomed and warm - even taking her and Matthew to the local pictures. They included her in everything, even their trivia and board games after dinner.

It was quite the change compared to her family life.

Then an identical routine ensued. She would wake up, get ready for the day; spend hours with Matthew; then twilight fell as they stayed awake into the early hours of the morning.

The day before she was due to leave, she and Matthew ran up to his room after dinner. He went to lean on top of the small coffee table, rolling up a joint as she collected her possessions scattered around his room; not wanting to leave it for the last minute.

“Fancy some grass?” He asked in a poor British accent.

“Nah,” she shook her head, “But thanks love.”

Mathew’s smile turned bashful as he stood, turning on the radio in the background. She moved to open his window which was just above the roof of his shed as she stepped out with steady feet. Perching herself down on the blankets and pillows they hauled outside the night prior, she stared at the glowing city splayed in front. From the window, The Velvet Underground flowed softly.

Matthew proceeded to hop out, sauntering over as he threw a flirtatious wink.

“Brough this,” he said, tossing the camera he’d taken from her bag. She caught it as he nestled beside her and lit the joint; placed in his mouth. Billows of smoke clouded around them while she snapped a few photos of the view.

“Ya sure you gotta leave?” Matthew whined, embers of the end of the joint sparking with another huff. “Maybe you can smuggle me. Shove me into that trunk.”

She pulled the camera away from her face, inhaling the earthy, pungent scent. Her head felt a bit lightheaded from it. “A hardcore criminal at sixteen?”

Matthew was mildly amused until a troublesome look passed through his features. “Um — name something ya miss most about home.”

Home. What a funny word — place — feeling. Home was supposed to be something that made your heart glow, feel warm and happy — by that definition, a year ago home would’ve been her little house back in Toronto with the beautiful maple trees swaying in the backyard. Or home would’ve been Ilvermorny and its tall ivory walls. But now, London, or maybe just Hogwarts, had become her home. The scrolls around the Herbology greenhouse, the library, sneaking around past curfew; the Black Lake, Hogsmeade — Lily, James, Marlene, Dorcas, Remus, Regulus…

Unsure of what to say, she opted for, “You?”

Matthew rolled his eyes, bringing the joint to his lips. “Real charmer.” Then, smoke surrounded them. “But really.”

“Why?”

“C’mon! I need an answer! — I don’t know… say somethin’ like… lobstah.”

She chuckled. “Lobster? Really?”

“Or coffee from ya regular cafe.”

Deliberating it for a second, lips tugged up. “Coffee Crisp.”

He snorted. “A candy bar? Really?”

“Or Ketchup chips. Haven’t seen them in London yet.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

And then the silence returns but it makes Matthew shuffle in his spot. He blurted out, “Go — more brit insight.”

Y/N felt a bit hazy from the secondhand smoke. “More? You’ll get bored.”

“I won’t,” Matthew replied quickly, sounding oddly sincere. “Please, just… go on. Tell me everything.”

“Um… a friend of mine says crikey a lot. I think it just means to be mildly surprised? — They don’t say bloody or blimey as much as you’d think… Oh! Tea — they really drink that much tea. Also —”

Continuing, Matthew shut off again, going completely silent — not once speaking up or adding funny commentary; only staring at her, simply watching.

“Okay,” she turned to take the joint from his hand, “You're freaking me out. Spill, what's up?”

“S’nuthing.”

Whack!

“Jeez! Would ya stop wiv that! Gonna kill me…”

“Spill.”

“Fine! It’s just that…'' Matthew shifted, obscuring his face. Maybe if she didn’t feel so fuzzy, or if there wasn’t the smoke coming from the blunt or her small headache forming, she would’ve picked up on all the little signs. “It’s just —” he sighed, “I wanna hear ya talk — commit it to memory.”

“Obsessed with me? Not new.”

But that seemed to trouble him more. “It’s just… I don’t know if or when I’ll hear it again…” He looks up to the city in front. “Ya my… best friend. Could never forget ‘bout ya, but s’hard — keepin’ in touch.”

She pats him, encouraging and smiling. Her voice was hopeful, so much so that it made Matthew’s lip quirk up. “We’ll find each other. Always.” She said simply. “You and me, we’re like… salt and pepper. Soap and water — Hansel and Gretel!”

“Fuckin’ Dr. Seuss,” he smiled, that worried look fading away.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

The warm summer breeze flowed around them, just as the sun peeked above the airport. Expanse, clear skies with blue mingled with deep purples and pinks shimmered against the metal from the building.

“Gonna miss ya,” Matthew muttered into the crown of her head. Her mother didn’t want him to come, but Y/N simply ignored that request as he came to send her off.

“Don’t get mushy on me now,” she joked but felt her throat become tight.

“Betta get goin’ — Doc’s lookin’ like she’s ‘bout to butcher me if ya don’t.”

She snickered, pushing Matthew’s shoulder as she picked up her bags, walking backwards while waving. “Write me!”

“Course I will! Until next time!”

“Till next time!”

Once the plane took off, awkwardness swelled among the two women. Not once had her mother said anything to her — not to apologize or see how she was doing — although they never really did talk much. Honestly, she half-expected her to leave her in New York with the Gaplins. Easy to dispose of her.

The next few days Y/N, poorly, attempted to fix her sleeping schedule. It was a miracle that she managed to get up before dinner as her head poked into the master bedroom.

She cleared her throat, feeling herself swaying in place. “Um — hi. I’m making dinner tonight.”

Her mother was dressed in a simple, yet sleek dress. She was bent over, putting on high heels as she looked up.

“The hospital is throwing a party for me — the surgery was a success.”

“That’s amazing! Er — will you be back for dinner though? It’s just that I leave soon and... two parties are better than one.”

She considered her for a long time, eyes mostly distracted by her hair slowly changing to a different colour.

“Sure. But I have to go now.”

“Right, sorry, have fun.”

Thudding down the stairs and the door clicking shut, she followed not too long after. Making her way to the kitchen, she picked up a dusty cooking book, blowing off the dust and cracked it open; flicking through the pages.

Deciding on the seemingly easy noodle dish, she rushed out of the house to the local grocery shop for ingredients. It would be the first time they would be spending any time together. It had to be perfect. But she overestimated that no matter how closely she stuck with the dishes’ instructions, the outcome was a disaster.

The noodles somehow were rock hard. The sauce she made looked grey and was chunky, similar to badly mixed concrete and it tasted horrid. At one point, even the stove exploded into flames as she had to grab her wand and use magic to extinguish the fire.

Potions... She could use a cauldron, use multiple ingredients, make some of the most complicated spells and even had tricks of her own to make the process easier but she couldn’t make a simple dish…

Her face screwed together as she glanced up to the clock; she was going to come home soon as the dinner she made was disastrous. She panicked, cleaning up everything in a rush and decided to order food.

Waiting patiently at the dinner table, her eyes fluttered up to the clock in anticipation. She felt giddy, a surge of excitement rattling throughout her bones at the prospect. Her mother wanted to spend time with her! And she should be home any minute.

But then a minute turned to two, then five, ten, twenty, thirty — then an hour ticked by.

And then another.

Y/N got up, her chair squeaking loudly. Losing all her appetite, she went to her room, sleeping in early.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 20th, 1976

Going through the potential NEWT courses she could take was the highlight of her day. The possibilities were endless.

Wanting to take Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations and most of all, Potions, left her excited for the school year.

But the more she thought about the upcoming school year or potential courses, she was left to contemplate what ther5 future entailed.

Was she ready to give up magic? Something that fundamentally altered her life and moulded her into what she was? Magic was her essence, something she developed and nurtured — but to put her life in danger…

Rethinking that word again: home… Was London her home? Was she willing to leave, move again to be safer? But practicing magic around the world these days for New-Majs was dangerous. Or the potential danger she would put her mother in if she continued with it?

But magic… Maybe home wasn’t necessarily a place — but rather something she carried. In all sense, magic made her heart glow, feel warm, safe and happy — it felt like what home was supposed to feel like. And the idea of being ripped away from it, forcing herself to live a normal, Muggle life…

Magic was home.

So die, but have what she cared and loved most was by her side or live a dull life without magic — ensuring her life would be miserable.

There was a clicking of shoes in the hallway that snapped her out of her thoughts. Her mother came walking by.

Lips smushed shut into a tight line, still annoyed from the other night but was determined to spend some time with one another.

“I was planning to go to Diagon Alley for the first time — to get my textbooks... '' She stood awkwardly. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I can’t,” she replied, so quickly that it had Y/N almost scoff in disbelief. “Work. But have fun.”

She sighed but still waved her off and said a small, ‘I love you, stay safe.’ Her mother only gave her a look, something unreadable and left without a word. With a heavy heart, she grabbed her purse filled with gold and left for Diagon Alley.

Passing through the Leaky Cauldron was an adventure in itself. The shabby, tiny pub was jammed with wizards and witches zipping by.

Diagon Alley was bustling with so much magic she could feel it pumping through her blood. Students were hypnotized by the shiny new Firebolt on display; others were giggling, running around with shopping bags while older witches and wizards took a scroll. Her head turned in every direction; walking into the Apothecary, a potions ingredients and book shop.

Emmeline was there. She gave a tight-lipped smile which she returned.

Emmeline by every definition was nice, extremely kind and neither girl ever had a problem with the other. James was the problem and Y/N would gladly stay out of their feud.

Passing clamouring students, she managed to get all her supplies but stopped in front of the potion ingredients. She took a few minutes, flicking through the Advance Potions textbook and grabbed everything listed needed for most of the potions.

She made her way around Diagon Alley, going through many shops. The shelves were stacked high to the ceiling with books and materials. She spent more time than necessary there but it was beautiful.

As she was paying for her Herbology textbook, a large boom! rumbled the ground. Y/N took her bags, ready to sprint to the Leaky Cauldron but the shouts caught everyone’s attention.

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” A crowd of witches and wizards shouted. Their wands were transformed into microphones as a few shot fireballs up in the air.

“What’s happening?” A woman asked an old wizard. He only shook his head, grabbing a copy of the Daily Prophet, handing it to the witch.

On the front page, there were moving photos of people protesting, similar to the wizards and witches currently shouting.

‘Protests Break out in Light of Muggleborns and Halfbloods Burned Alive

Voldemort and his followers have been attacking Muggleborn and ‘blood traitor' families with the usage of fire. By burning them alive, or their houses. They bonded the witch or wizard with magic, making it impossible to apparate or leave their houses. Their broken wands were found at the scene.

Since then, protests all around Britain and Scotland have broken out. The Ministry of Magic —’

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” The crowd chanted.

Rage filled every inch of her body as she stomped out of Diagon Alley.

If she wanted to stay in the magical world, she had to be the greatest at whatever she did, because if she wasn’t, someone of her status was never going to get anywhere.

Magic was home, and she wasn’t going to let them take it from her. She didn’t want to surrender. They weren’t going to take that away from her.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Immediately after Diagonal Alley, she began working; taking in her thoughts from earlier to heart.

Making sure to cover any windows from prying eyes, Y/N fiddle with first with new charms. Still unassured by her abilities in Charms, she considered taking another class before realizing all the different routes it led to. To become a Healer, Auror or Potioneer, she needed Charms.

Multiple charms backfired, causing them to ricochet off the walls, leaving a dent or chipping the wallpaper.

After trying out more than half the Charms in the book, there was one spell in particular that she attempted to cast many times, but without fail, was never able to properly cast it. Frustrated, her hand made a sharp flick and the spell spurted out instantly.

She tried again with the same hand gesture. To her astonishment, the charm produced easily. Quickly, she jotted down the note in her book.

Next, she glossed over her Transfigurations and Defense Against the Dark Arts book until her eyes caught onto the word: werewolf.

She learned briefly about werewolves, but that was in third year. And now that she knew a werewolf, it would be good to rehash it.

A werewolf, also known as a Lycanthrope, is a non-magical or magical being who transforms under the rising of the full moon. However, non-magical beings have a greater risk of dying rather than turning.

As the name suggests, werewolves are closely related to the non-magical animal, wolves. However, they have distinct characteristics that make them easily identifiable from wolves.

She flipped the page.

Wolfsbane flowers are poisonous to the non-magical world but it has been proven to have no effects on werewolves like they do on wolves. Werewolves are immune from the poison they emit and there are reports that Wolfsbane flowers help alleviate symptoms.

She underlined that section.

It’s a uniquely magical illness known to spread by saliva and blood. Werewolves are dangerous, blood-thirsty beasts — she flipped the page.

They cannot choose to transform and will no longer retain their human mind. Given the opportunity, they would slaughter their loved ones — flipped the page.

A mixture of powdered silver and dittany applied to bites help seal bite wounds. It’s also commonly put in liquid and digested in anticipation of full moons to help with the symptoms of transforming.

Y/N’s face scrunched as she continued to read.

There is no known cure Potion used to help treat lycanthropy.

She felt oddly intrusive knowing parts about Remus’ condition. But then questions arose. How were there no Potions of any kind there to help werewolves during their transformation?

Pushing the thought away, she turned to the cauldron, picking a potion to brew. They all were fairly easy, some she’d even done before just by playing around. But one potion that grabbed her attention was Draught of Living Death. Even at Ilvermorny, that potion was notoriously difficult.

Starting up the cauldron, she grabbed hold of the sopophorous bean. However, it kept jumping when she tried to cut it. She quickly resorted to another method, running down to her kitchen and grabbing the handheld garlic press, placing the bean inside, squishing it down as so much juice spurted out, even going all over her clothing.

The potion turned into the light lilac like suggested. But then as she stirred, her potion quickly became ruined as she restarted immediately.

Hours ticked by; several items in her room were Transfigured into cauldrons, as she poured the existing solution into the nine other cauldrons as she conducted her experiment.

Stirring counterclockwise was a sham, so she stirred clockwise. Nothing, the potion went bad. The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise and then clockwise, alternating between every stir. It showed promising progress before it turned a bright red after the seventh stir, bubbling over.

The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise, then clockwise after the seventh stir as the potion turned a pink pale. That’s what the book said would happen. She quickly cleared the rest of the cauldrons, pouring in the pink liquid just in case.

She continued to stir until it became a clear liquid. Surely, that was good enough but she could never be sure. After all, she didn’t know if this was what it was supposed to look like.

Deeply immersed, she hadn’t realized how late it got.

She laid on her bed, her light on as she read the scribbles on the margins of the books she'd penned. The textbook was outdated and everything she’s written down, there were easier ways to perform spells, create Potions and more. The other books must’ve been outdated too.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 22nd, 1976

Today, her attention was drawn to her Herbology textbook as she flipped right to the medicine section. Y/N had sneakily stolen a few of her mother’s medical journals as she scribbled down notes.

She flicked through the diagrams. Wizards and No-Majs were different when it came to their bodies and sickness, she knew that, but their anatomy was still the same.

An opera played in the background as she sat in front of the television. It filled the silence as her mother came from behind her, creeping her way closer to the door.

Y/N called out from where she sat. “Care to join me?”

“Can't, work.” She grunted out.

She placed the pen down, full attention drawn to her. “I only have a few days until school starts… you can’t spend some time?”

Her mom wasn’t looking at her, ostensibly staring at the floor, anywhere other than her face.

“It’s not that interesting, but um - I need help with medical terms and illnesses. You’re the best at that!”

“I can’t,” she said roughly. “Can't you see? You have to stop bothering me when I’m busy.” And then she left again, leaving her alone. Y/N would’ve been more bothered had she not been so focused on her studies.

There was a pattern.

In the Herbology textbook, in the werewolf section, there were a few ingredients used to help alleviate symptoms of Lycanthropy.

Dittany, Powered silver, Powdered Moonstone, Aconite…

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 26th, 1976

“Do you want to —” “Work.”

“But you always have work… can’t you take some time off?”

“You know it’s important to me. Why do you keep trying to limit that?”

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 29th, 1976

She was partially through her Potions and Charms textbook. It was all she could fixate on.

Deciding to take a break, Y/N went to stretch, getting up to talk to her mom who again, was getting ready to leave. She opened the honey-coloured wood draw close to the door. She pulled out a set of keys, fixing her appearance in a nearby mirror.

She had already opened the door.

“Hey mom, I was thinking of getting lunch… Will you be back soon?”

But, there was faint muffling outside the door.

“Ready for our date?”

Y/N, desperate, seized hold of her wrist, pleading. “Please, I leave in a day.”

“I'll make it up to you,” mom replied, “I promise.” And then, the door clicked shut.

Again.

She stared at the door, trying to regulate what she was thinking.

What made them worthy of her time when their’s were limited.

Robotically, Y/N turned to walk to her room, her hip bumped into the drawer which hadn’t been fully closed. Her eyes flew to it, about to push it in as she caught a flash of white.

Yanking it open, she swore her heart could’ve shattered. White envelopes filled the draw; her familiar handwriting scribbled on top of each letter. She picked one up, twisting it over to the flap.

It was unopened.

She picked up another. Unopened.

Then another. Unopened.

Unopened.

All of them were unopened, sealed. Hardly tampered with and there was hardly a wrinkle.

Was there something wrong with her? Something so disgraceful that made her so disgusting that people kept forgetting - pushing her away? Like an insidious disease.

Was she truly that unloveable? That much of a nuisance? What made someone else so much more important than her?

It was too much to process but if she had to describe the feeling, it was like drowning on dry land.

Whatever home was, it shouldn’t feel like this: cold, lonely, sad.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

Slang dictionary (+ a bit of history bc i didn’t realize how many ppl didn’t actually understand what I was talking about in other chaps):

Coffee Crisp = a very popular chocolate bar sold in Canada. It was a variation of a treat made by a company from the UK. It was briefly introduced to the UK in the 60s but was pulled back because people thought it was too similar to Kit Kat. From what I know, Coffee Crisp is not commonly found in England (I've never seen it in stores) but it’s sold in Scotland.

Candy bar = US term for chocolate bar / chocolate

Grass = during the 60s - 70s, the term 'grass' was very popular slang for weed in New York bc it featured in vogue.

And yes, the British do drink that much tea.

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[ambivalentmarvel]

happy birthday amy @thinkingisadangerouspastime!!!! i’m a day late, but i love you!! thank you for all your fic snippets, fielding my ramblings, and sending me ffwf asks even though i’m not always good at responding to them asdfasdf. enjoy some domestic sambucky (+ aj and cass) being annoying and also in love at the grocery store.

sweeter than us

“For the last time, why do we need the app when I have perfectly good coupons right here?” Sam asks in a grocery store aisle, holding up his binder clip stuffed with deals cut out of the newspaper.

“Babe, quick question.”

“Shoot,” Sam challenges, his eyebrows raised in a way that should be inquisitive but is mostly just irritated. Vaguely. Bucky is nothing if not talented at pushing Sam’s buttons, particularly when they’ve both chosen something to argue about for the hell of it, so he’s gotten familiar with the look.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the old man here?”

Sam glares. AJ and Cass stand off to the side, debating what color the frosting on the cake should be. Sam is still holding out the binder clip between them, and with the way his fingers clench it, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to turn it into a weapon or, at the very least, a projectile; he’s seen people do more with less. “You, James Buchanan Barnes, are a major pain in the ass.”

“I’m your pain in the ass. Also, the app can price match.”

A vein in Sam’s temple throbs dangerously. Bucky, frankly, doesn’t understand why his reliance on modern technology is such an inconvenience for him. If everyone in the 21st century carries around tiny computers, shouldn’t they use them? Sam is sucking in a breath and Bucky is preparing to continue his defense of his grocery shopping app when AJ speaks up: “Uncle Sam, we’re getting stuff for chocolate cake, right?”

Sam shoots Bucky a look to say this isn’t over, but he turns to face his nephew. “Hell yeah we are.”

Cass frowns. “Mom says you’re not supposed to cuss around us.”

“Your mom is also getting a chocolate cake when everyone knows vanilla is the better flavor,” Sam points out. “Besides,” he winks, which makes both AJ and Cass grin conspiratorially, “are you guys gonna’ tell her?”

“Hell no!” they chorus, and Sam’s vein is doing that thing again.

“Now, wait a second—”

Bucky lets him chew them out. They’re up early getting ingredients for a cake and breakfast in bed for Sarah, seeing as it’s her birthday, and while he suspected bringing AJ and Cass along might not help their productivity any, it is endearing to see his boyfriend around them.

Bucky eyes their cart. Going to the grocery store with a big family—and somehow, Bucky has one of those now—inevitably means, as Bucky has learned, picking up things you didn’t plan on getting. They’re not doing too bad this time around, but lunch meat, goldfish, cantaloupe, chicken nuggets, and ice cream, among other things, are definitely not the ingredients they came for.

“—just because I say something doesn’t mean you get to say it!”

“Why not?” AJ grouses. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m an adult. You two are not.”

“But—”

“And I’m Captain America. Comes with special privileges.”

Bucky’s pleased he tuned in just in time to hear Sam pull the superhero card on his nephews. The boys glance at him, maybe to see if he’ll jump ship and side with them to irk Sam, but he prioritizes staying in Sarah’s good graces over bothering his boyfriend. Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know what you guys want me to say—I’m a super-soldier. The two of us get shared benefits.”

“Shared benefits,” Cass mocks under his breath, distorting the words into a higher pitch. Bucky chooses to let that one go, as does Sam.

“Do we have everything we need yet?” Sam asks, effectively distracting the boys. “We were down to more cocoa powder, oil, and powdered sugar for the icing, right?” 

“And sprinkles!” Cass interjects while AJ skitters to the back of their group.

Sam shakes his head. “We already have sprinkles at the house, bud.”

Cass ignores him, going to a shelf, standing on his tip-toes, and reaching for an admittedly oversized container. “But these are yellow. And sparkly. And yellow is Mom’s favorite color!”

He makes a good point. However, Bucky can see that Sam isn’t convinced, and he has to be the boys’ uncle’s cool boyfriend somehow. He leans in, pecking Sam on the lips. “Come on, babe, it’ll be a good touch. And they’re sparkly,” he reiterates.

Sam turns to look Bucky in the eye, his expression equal parts exasperated and fond. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

Bucky holds up his hands placatingly. “I live to serve. You should too, Captain Ameri—”

Sam tugs him in for a kiss by his collar to cut him off, and Bucky’s vaguely aware, through the haze of appreciating that a) he has a boyfriend b) he loves his boyfriend so fucking much and c) the cake is, honestly, going to look fun with the sprinkles, of AJ and Cass gagging in the background. 

“Gross!” AJ complains. “Grooooss!”

Sam pulls away from the tragically brief kiss rolling his eyes. “That wasn’t even that long,” he points out as he tucks an arm around Bucky’s back. “If you guys want a gross kiss—”

“No!” the boys shout together, and though Bucky and Sam keep grinning and accidentally-on-purpose bumping into each other as they grab the last few things they need, they keep the PDA to a minimum, as their audience has so clearly requested.

It’s not until they’re up to the register that Bucky clocks that his jacket pocket feels suspiciously light, and when he glances around, he finds AJ at the end of the checkout taking deliberately bad selfies on his phone. His mouth drops open because how did a ten-year-old get the drop on him, a seasoned assassin? Sam starts using the contents of his stupid, outdated binder clip. “He got you while you were convincing me about the sprinkles,” he smirks.

Bucky tosses a half-hearted glare toward AJ, but in terms of revenge, it’s nice that he has a lovely, if annoyingly smug, boyfriend to capitalize on. Distracting Sam from scanning the cantaloupe—which he’s getting a discount on, the asshole—Bucky leans in for one more kiss, and while AJ loudly protests, Bucky thinks Sarah’s birthday is off to a pretty great start.

[manonblaqkbeak]

Group Hang

..........me again. i haven’t written in so long and it feels good to start it up again. this time it’s a human au. just fluff and aelin’s bad cooking and rowan defending her bad cooking because he actually likes it

3083 words

When Aelin had suggested a dinner at their house for the next group hangout, Rowan was more than happy to accommodate that suggestion.

The last hangout was bowling, and while Rowan excelled at many sports, bowling was strangely not one of them. He almost got banned from the local one when he started swearing his head off when his last bowl was close to becoming a strike when it veered to the side and didn't knock down a single pin.

All their friends behind him starting laughing, Aelin too, when he started going on about how the floor was uneven, the game was rigged and just had a general hissy fit that he never had in his entire adult life.

To be fair, he had one too many beers and it was hot as hell in the bowling alley, the air conditioner barely working that night. So he blamed those conditions on his attitude.

To make it worse, Aelin had managed to snap a picture of him sulking in his seat, posted it on her Instagram with the caption 'when your old man sucks at bowling and comes last'. Rowan hadn't realised it until the morning when he woke up to dozen of notifications from people tagging him and laughing.

Apparently, according to his comment, Fenrys saved the picture and made it Rowan's contact photo. With others saying that they were going to do the same.

Even Lorcan, the stoic bastard, had found it funny.

Aelin laughed at his expression as they laid in bed together, and laughed harder when he sputtered, “I'm only five years older than you!” and fucked her with the vigorous strength of a thirty year old healthy man (Aelin had never climaxed so hard, which made Rowan puff up with pride afterwards, with Aelin rolling her eyes, even though her blood was singing in her veins and a dopey grin was on her face—it was her her secret joy to ruffle Rowan's feathers whenever she could).

So yes, while the aftermath of the bowling night was much better than his losing, he was more than glad to have a quiet night at home; although his friends weren't really the quiet bunch, especially when Aelin, Lysandra and Fenrys had one too many.

However, what he wasn't expecting when he and Aelin went grocery shopping that Saturday morning was when Aelin claimed that she was going to be cooking.

Now, Rowan loved Aelin, loved her so much that he had started planning the night he would propose to her, but the thing about Aelin was that she couldn't cook—at all.

But he grew to love her cooking; came to love the burned crunch that always accompanied it, came to love the under-cooked and overcooked food, loved the dryness of what she piled on his plate when it was her night to cook, the lumpy and misshapen cakes that she made whenever the desire to bake came to her.

Aelin was skilled in many things and cooking was just something she completely sucked at—like Rowan and his bowling. Truly, he didn't mind, although it did stump him how she managed to ruin a sandwich when she sometimes made his lunch for him for work.

Unfortunately, their friends were not him. Dorian, Gods bless him, still went on about the time Aelin accidentally gave him food poisoning on his twenty-first birthday with the homemade cake she gifted him.

Which was why Rowan was the cook in the relationship. His father was a chef and while Rowan wasn't as good as him, he knew enough to cook well and how to present food on a plate.

While they started their weekly shop, Aelin claimed that she was making lasagna, and Rowan was all ready prepared for the under-cooked pasta sheets, salty marinara sauce and overly milky Béchamel sauce and dry mince meat.

He offered to help but she said she would be fine. They continued their shop, with Rowan always appreciating the sight when she had to bend over to pick up something, with Aelin in turn appreciating the sight of Rowan's muscles moving smoothly when he reached for something on the high top shelves.

So here they were, hours later, Rowan watching Aelin as she moved around their kitchen, adding things in from time to time (he was fairly certain he saw her dump some cinnamon in the mince meat, but didn't say anything). She did ask for his help to stir the Béchamel sauce as she made her homemade salad dressing (which would more than have too much olive oil in it, but again, Rowan didn't mind).

He noticed that the sauce was lumpy and on closer inspection, realised that it was large chunks of onion (and why were there large onion chunks? Because she was wanted an obscene amount of onion, she said when he asked about it).

It smelled good though when it was all done and his stomach grumbled as it rested on the kitchen counter, with Aelin rushing to have a quick shower.

Her quick shower always meant twenty minutes, but Rowan tidied the kitchen as she showered and placed the store-bought garlic bread in the oven when the doorbell rang.

Sighing at the incoming whining that would occur when everyone realised that Aelin had cooked, Rowan trudged over to the front door, painted a beautiful shade of Terrasen green.

Rowan barely opened his mouth to greet everyone before they made themselves at home—Fenrys holding a large pink box from Nesryn's bakery, but the woman wasn't in the group, she had a dinner with her fiance's family tonight.

What did surprise him was Yrene's curly head as she walked in with Chaol, the man's hand wrapped tightly on his walking stick as the couple made their way inside. Yrene was a nurse at Terrasen hospital and worked insane hours, so it was a nice surprise to see her.

Dorian and Manon walked in, the latter holding three bottles of Dorian's fathers expensive wine (which either one of them probably took without asking), her black diamond engagement ring sparkling even at night. Dorian claimed that he stole it from his father when he was a teenager and he never even noticed, apparently his father didn't bat an eye when he saw the ring on his future daughter-in-law's ring finger.

Elide and Lorcan followed Lysandra and Aedion, the dark haired man having to duck slightly to walk inside.

The only people missing, other than Nesryn and Sartaq, were Vaughn and Connall—but he knew that the last two were now working night shifts and that it would be hard to catch up with them from now on. Nehemia too, as she was currently on vacation visiting her parents.

Aedion sniffed at the air as they all made themselves comfortable in the lounge room. “Where did you guys order from? It doesn't smell too bad.” And truthfully, the food did smell good—that was something that surprised Rowan about Aelin's cooking, that while somehow everything tasted bad, it always smelled like it came from a five star restaurant.

“Aelin cooked lasagna,” he said and all eyes turned to him, “and there's plenty for everyone,” he added, before any of them could make some flimsy, bullshit excuse about how one of them should maybe order a pizza.

“What do you mean, she cooked?” Dorian asked, eyes wider than everyone else's. His tone implying that she somehow managed to create a radioactive bomb.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “I mean, she's been in the kitchen all evening preparing a dinner for all of us, so you better shut up and eat it, is what I mean when I say she's cooked.”

The timer went off for the garlic bread so Rowan went into the kitchen, but before he did, he deliberately locked the front door, making sure everyone watch him do it.

He wasn't about to let them upset Aelin just because she was a bad cook.

“Yrene, do you have, like, a food poisoning kit on you, by any chance?” Dorian asked.

Yrene snorted. “No, Dorian, you'd have to go to the hospital for that.”

“Oh, Gods,” he cried.

“Dorian,” Chaol sighed, having witnessed many moments of Dorian acting like he was minutes away from dying. “You're twenty-five now, and you're not dead. I'm certainly not, and I dated Aelin for a year.”

“Yeah, when you were eighteen and she was seventeen, I don't think she even went near an oven at that age.” Dorian and Chaol were Aelin's oldest friends, as well as Elide, so they would know.

“I can hear you, you know,” Rowan said from the open kitchen, cutting the garlic bread in equal slices.

“It's okay,” Fenrys said, smiling. “I've got cake from Nesryn's and Manon has good wine, so tonight will be salvageable.”

Rowan pointed the knife at his friend, silently telling him to shut up.

Aelin chose that moment to exit the bathroom, her towel wrapped tightly around herself. Her smile was warm as she smiled at everyone and greeted them. “I'll be done in a couple of minutes, so everyone sit at the dining table. Rowan, could you see to the serving?”

“Of course.” She quickly came over to place a kiss on his cheek and rushed for the bedroom. Everyone went to the table, Dorian acting like he was walking to the electric chair, Manon rolling her eyes at his theatrics.

The glass dish was still hot as hell, so Rowan walked over carefully, hands wrapped in giraffe oven mitts, Lorcan snorting at the sight.

“Shut up,” Rowan muttered as he placed the dish down, took the mitts off and started cutting up the lasagna. He plonked down the slices, pointedly looking at everyone as he did so (except Yrene and Chaol—the young nurse saying that she's had worse cafeteria food, quickly throwing a no offence when she realised what she said, and Chaol, like he had stated, he had Aelin's food before and was fine—joking that his spinal injury was from a freak accident rather then from Aelin's cooking).

Dorian still didn't look happy, and Fenrys was frowning at his plate. Elide poked at it with her fork, Manon inspecting it with narrowed eyes. Lorcan was stoic as always.

“I swear to the Gods I can smell cinnamon,” Lysandra said. “Rowan, did Aelin put cinnamon in this?”

Rowan shrugged and acted like he didn't know.

Sitting down, Rowan looked at his friends and said, “I know Aelin's cooking isn't the greatest—”

“She's definitely not winning any prizes in the future,” Aedion muttered but promptly shut up at the scathing glare that Rowan sent his way.

“But she's been in the kitchen all evening, as I said before, and she's really excited for you guys to try it. It may be under-cooked and dry, but you if you cannot even afford the common decency to offer her respect after making everything from scratch and act like adults instead of sulking children, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave. And Dorian, do not bring up food poisoning for the rest of the night."

Rowan got mumbled apologies, with the man feeling like a scolding father, but they all sat up straight as Aelin entered, dressed and her hair thrown into a messy bun.

They all dug in, and as expected, the lasagna sheets were under-cooked, the Béchamel sauce a little too milky and far too onion-y, the marinara sauce too salty and there was definitely a hint of cinnamon in the meat, but everyone ate it, with Lorcan claiming that it wasn't too bad—which was high praise coming from him, but then again, it could be a lie, he was fairly good at that, something Rowan knew from experience. The salad did have too much olive oil, but the dressing was nice.

Dorian, though, still looked like he was being sent to his death, but ate his food, only lightly gagging once. Aelin didn't notice, thankfully, too caught up in her conversation with her cousin about the upcoming Whitethorn family reunion that she and Rowan were expected to attend. They both had mixed feelings about it since Rowan had a large family and he couldn't stand a number of his cousins and everyone would bring up his dead parents, whose death still hurt even after ten years, as they passed away suddenly. Aelin wasn't looking forward to it, since one of his cousin's was dating his ex-girlfriend Remelle and Aelin could not stand the woman for multiple reasons.

Everyone ate everything on their plates and once the wine was emptied and the cake reduced to crumbs, everyone left, thanking Aelin and Rowan for their hospitality and everyone starting to suggest what the next night out would be as they left.

Aelin and Rowan cleaned in tandem, Aelin changing into her stag pyjamas as Rowan had a quick shower himself (which was actually a quick one) and soon joined her in bed, kissing her cheek as she settled in for the night, picking up his current read.

After long minutes, Aelin said, “I heard what you said to everyone.” Rowan's eyes snapped over to hers, finding Aelin lying on her side, a soft smile on her face. “Is my cooking really that bad?”

“Not to me,” he said truthfully. “I like your brand of cooking.”

“Even the burnt toast?”

“Especially the burnt toast.”

Aelin leaned over and kissed him on the lips, once, twice, three times. “I can't believe that Dorian still goes on about the food poisoning. I think he'll still be going on about it when he's on his death bed.”

Rowan snorted at the imagery that popped up. “He probably would.”

“I have to admit that I liked how authoritative you sounded,” Aelin said, “it turned me on more than it should have.”

Rowan ran a hand up and down her arm. “I'll have to use it more often then.”

“You will,” Aelin agreed, leaning in to kiss him again. Aelin snuggled into him, tucking her head under his jaw with Rowan wrapping his arms around her.

Rowan was on the verge of drifting off when he felt Aelin placed her chin on his chest. “Rowan?”

“Hmm?”

“Rowan, will you marry me?”

He woke up at that and found Aelin's blue and gold eyes shining brightly in the lamp light. “Pardon?” was all he could manage.

Sitting up, Aelin placed a hand over his heart, Rowan's hand covering hers instinctively. Giving him a beautiful smile, the one he fell in love with, she said clearly, “Rowan, I love you so much that I can't even put it into words how much I love you—but I do know this; you're my soulmate and I don't ever want to be away from you. I love you with everything I am. So, Rowan, will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

Tears filled Rowan eyes as he looked at the woman he loved with everything he had. “Of course, I will.”

Crying happily, Aelin launched herself at him, kissing him wildly, wrapping her arms around him. Until she suddenly pulled away and almost fell off the bed in her haste to reach for the velvet box she had hidden in the bottom draw of her nightstand.

Inside it was a gold ring, inlaid with a brilliant ruby and engraved in the band were the words 'to whatever end', their promise to each other.

The ring fitted him perfectly and Rowan sat up, capturing her face in his warm hands as he kissed her, their tears falling.

Pulling back, Rowan gave her a smile and went to his own nightstand and showed Aelin the velvet box he had hidden away. Aelin gasped in delight at the sight of it, a wide blooming on her face as he opened it and saw his mother's gold and emerald ring.

Also engraved in it were the words 'to whatever end'.

Aelin was sure she was going to die from pure happiness.

“Aelin, I love you more than anything. I'm so glad I met you in that dingy gym all those years ago. And I don't ever want to be away from you, too. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?”

“Yes, of course, yes,” she said, crashing into him again. Rowan's fingers shook as he placed the ring on her finger. “Thank you for loving me and all my bad cooking.”

Rowan laughed heartily and kissed her soundly. “Thank you for loving me and all my sucking at bowling.”

“You really are bad at it,” she said, laughing.

“I know,” he agreed, kissing her.

This was better than any idea he originally thought of when he started thinking of ways to propose. And it was perfectly Aelin that she proposed first, considering that she was the one that asked him out first all those years ago, to say 'I love you' and to ask to find a house and be Adults together with a mortgage and everything it entailed.

And in the morning, after a rare sleep in, she called her parents and told them the news, Evalin barely able to get any words out as Aelin told them how it happened, even Rhoe, who was a bit of a stoic man, teared up at the story.

They went to their favourite cafe afterwards, getting a slice of chocolate cake on the house as Aelin told their regular waitress their news.

They went to the local garden, after visiting his parents grave, with Aelin snapping a picture of their jewelled hands, the sun making their rings sparkle in a brilliant glow and posted it on her Instagram with a simple caption stating, 'We both said yes'.

Rowan posted the same photo, the first he had in months, since he didn't post often, and he much preferred the streams of congratulations that came their way, their phones soon blowing up with calls after calls.

And as the the sun shone brighter on the beautiful day, Aelin let loose a snorting laugh that had her choking when Dorian pleaded, “Please don't bake your wedding cake. I really don't want to be sick on your special day, I'll feel like an arsehole.”

Rowan promised that she wouldn't and laced his fingers in his fiance's hands as they went to his car towards their home, deciding that last night was the best group hang that they ever had.

[kyloswarstars]

ROOMMATES • Part 4

Divergent • College AU • Eric x Reader

ROOMMATES masterlist 💫 Divergent masterlist

You escaped your current living situation by moving in with your friend Christina – and five other college students. Little did you know that one of them was the guy who was your ultimate pain in the neck since your first semester. Now, you had to find a way to not strangle him in his sleep out of pure frustration. Also, you had to find a way to get rid of those weird butterfly feelings for him that slowly grew in your stomach.

Words • 2.3k

Warnings • mentions of drug use and unsettling text messages

The enemies to lovers story no one needed.

/////

In the following weeks you noticed Eric’s drive to make your life extra hard, by going against your opinions, decreased. You got along. Occasionally, your thoughts drifted back to that weird moment in the furniture store. Holding hands. And his fingers trying to intertwine with yours. If that was a deliberate action or an automatic reaction – you couldn’t say. All you knew was that the memory of it made your stomach twist and you didn’t like that.

The number of folded papers in your pockets had increased immensely. They were pulled out under the dinner table when you couldn’t endure Eric’s stares anymore. Or while waiting for the shower to be free. Or right after the ‚GN‘ knock at night when that stupid smile on your lips didn’t want to leave.

It was Friday. Friday was the weekly grocery haul day. It was your second time having to fulfil that task. The first time it had been with Tris who patiently showed you what everyone’s favorite snack was – Eric’s were those little pretzels covered in chocolate – and what kind of vegetables were an ultimate must buy.

It was Friday. And this time you had to go shopping with Eric. In the morning he told you to get read for noon. At noon he told you to get ready for five. At five he tried to push it back once more but you grew impatient.

„If we don’t go now, we don’t have to go at all today. All the fresh stuff will be gone,“ you pointed out, grabbed your backpack and didn’t leave him a choice anymore really. You put on your shoes and left the apartment. Eric was rambling something as he came rushing down the stairs after you.

„Where did you park?“

„Left.“

You walked ahead and tried to spot his car without being able. Further down the road you started to cross a street and suddenly felt a hand around your wrist. Eric nodded behind his back. „This way.“

His hand was immediately gone after telling you to change directions. Still, the spots where his fingertips had touched your skin was burning as if they had left marks. I don’t like that at all.

You were well prepared. After all you had the complete day to brace yourself for the struggle you expected. The shopping list was in your pocket, though not the only paper in there, the community money was in your backpack and you took a drag, or five, of Will’s joint earlier.

The store wasn’t that filled as you thought it would be on a Friday. Good. A lot of people made you nervous.

Eric pushed the cart and already at the first stop, fruit section, he remembered that your last discussion had been a few days ago. Too long. Time to settle for a new one.

„Take the blueberries.“ He pointed to the little containers as if you didn’t know what blueberries were.

„I want apples so I’m getting apples,“ you stated.

„Blueberries are super high on antioxidants, you know.“

„Cool but I don’t want to eat thirty tiny things. I want to eat one thing.“

„Fine. But I want blueberries.“

„Then take them yourself. You’re not decoration, Eric. You have hands to use them.“ You shook your head at how ridiculous he was. You weren’t his personal shopping assistant, this was a team work thing.

The veggie section wasn’t any better. You just tried to work your way through the shopping list and directed Eric on what else to pick. Admittedly, since living with your roommates, your eating got a lot healthier because they actually knew how to cook.

You completed the booze area, cheese heaven and dairy aisle without any further debates and turned into a new aisle. Then took a step back out of it again to look down the hallway.

„What now?“ Eric stopped the cart in time before running you over.

„I thought I saw someone I know.“ No one was there though. And if that person, you that had been there, really was there, you were glad they disappeared. Meeting ghosts from the past was under no circumstances something you wanted to happen while Eric was around.

Snack aisle. You grabbed some nuts for you and also the chocolate pretzels without thinking twice. Which caused another awkward moment when you placed them in the cart. Was life to be full of awkward moments now?

Eric looked at you bluntly, then forced a smile on his lips. You picked out the favorite snacks of your other roommates as well to show that his wasn’t the only one you remembered.

Whenever you turned into a new aisle you nervously checked if there was a ghost from the past. You never found one and were incredibly relieved when you made it through check out and had stored all the groceries in Eric’s trunk. And the backseat.

„Smartie waved at me yesterday,“ Eric said as the car rolled from the parking lot onto the street.

„Are you sure you didn’t imagine that?“

„It was close enough to be counted as a wave,“ he admitted. Though, talking about penguins broke the tense atmosphere. You hadn’t even been on the road for a minute and Eric pulled into another parking lot. He stopped at a diner drive thru window. „Milkshake?“

„Doesn’t look like I can say no now that we’re here.“

He rolled down his window and you were greeted by a waitress. She asked what she could serve you.

„Two milkshakes,“ Eric turned to you. „What flavour do you want?“

You leaned over to the window. „Strawberry, please,“ you smiled at the waitress and found yourself – too close to Eric’s face. Half leaning on his chest he mumbled a ‚for me too‘. Yep. Life would be full of awkward moments from now on.

You saved yourself to the passenger side and tried to hide the heat rising in your face by looking out the window. In fact you rolled it down to get a cool breeze. No chance, though. Chicago didn’t want to help you with that today.

„There you go!“ The waitress handed your milkshakes to Eric and you carefully made sure that this time your fingers wouldn’t touch. You sipped on your milkshake all the way back to the apartment.

The more often you took the way up and down the three flights of stairs, the more your muscles grew used to it. On moving day your legs had trembled so bad. Now, that all the groceries were up in the apartment you didn’t notice a single muscle being impressed by the stairs anymore.

Eric kneeled at the fridge, you handed him all the groceries that had to go in there. When you fished his blueberries out of the bag you couldn’t bite back a remark.

„Here, Eric. May they taste as good as my apples.“

He just shook his head and put them away. Once all the food that had to be cooled was put away, you stole away to sit on the balcony and finish your milkshake. He actually joined you.

„Why do you want to become a doctor?“ That question slipped faster than you had thought it to an end in your head.

„The obvious reason. To help people.“ He sipped as loudly on his milkshake as you did. „Why are you studying math out of all terrible things?“

„Same reason as yours,“ you bluntly stated.

„Yeah?“ Eric had stared at you ever since you sat down on the balcony. You had noticed that out of the corner of your eye. Now you looked at him as well.

„Yes.“ A smile grew on your lips. That was what you hoped you would be able to do one day.

/////

The evening atmosphere on the balcony was relaxing. Will came and joined Eric and you at some point. Then Christina got back home as well. One after the other found a spot on the balcony floor to squeeze in and contributed to a growing conversation.

It was warm instead of hot and Four provided everyone with beer. Tris suggested to head out to the beach all together soon. Everyone was all hyped for her plan and you hoped they wouldn’t notice that your excitement for that was just nonexistent. Nevertheless you enjoyed them making plans for everyone together. Christina didn’t exaggerate when she said, all those weeks ago when she suggested for you to move in, that all the roommates were like family.

Eric got out of one of the two lounge chairs. „Who wants pizza?“ And that question was the most rhetorical question he could’ve asked his roommates. Because everyone wanted pizza.

In this house pizza was made all by hand. So far the only pizza you had eaten here were takeouts someone brought home. The thought of completely self-made pizza sounded too good to be true.

Eric navigated his kitchen ‚staff‘. It seemed that when it came to pizza, he was the chef.

„Tris and Chris, you’re slicing the veggies. The guys can prep the tomato sauce.“ You waited to get a task too but so far he didn’t trust you with anything.

Eric grabbed flour from the shelf, oil and some water and yeast from the fridge. He placed it all in front of you on the countertop and fetched a bowl out of the cupboard. Balancing some sugar and salt down from the shelf, he came to stand right next to you.

„Did you ever make pizza dough yourself?“ He lowered his head a little for you to understand him better with the loud bantering about the vegetables that was going on behind your backs.

„Not really.“ You were a little overwhelmed. Not even cookie dough was within the realm of possibility for you.

„Wanna try?“ Eric’s voice sounded encouraging. He must’ve noticed the look of horror on your face.

„Don’t blame me if it’s gonna be a total mess.“

„No worries,“ he stated and he lowered his face a little more. „I’ll teach you step by step.“ His body came closer as well. It actually closed that little gap between your sides as he reached for the yeast. He crumbled it into lukewarm water and told you to add some salt and sugar. It had to set for ten minutes until you could continue with the flour. And during those ten minutes you realised that his body didn’t accidentally close that gap between your sides. Eric did it on purpose and he held it there. You sensed he gave you the chance to bring some space between you again but… you didn’t want to. You physically couldn’t, just couldn’t break the contact. It was way too intriguing, almost electrifying. And for ten minutes straight, he lowered his upper body to shield your nonchalant conversation about penguins – of course – from the others.

When the yeast-water-mix was ready, his following instructions were only whispers, so you had to keep close to him. Why was he doing that?

He added the mix to the flour, along with some oil, and dug his hands in to start kneading. The way his hands applied pressure, provided by his arms, made you… look. To say the least. To be honest, it turned into a very distracting sight. Eric kneading pizza dough? Come on. You had to give in and admit to yourself that this was something you couldn’t deny being totally sexy. The arm muscle escalation, whenever he flipped the dough and kneaded in once again set off a chain of thoughts you really didn’t want to have in a kitchen full of roommates.

„Wanna try?“ Eric asked with a brief glance in your direction, luckily unaware of your current admiration for his arms.

„Nah,“ you mumbled. In hopes to keep watching his arms. You were able to do so for a few more minutes. And were entirely embarrassed when you turned around to find Christina and Tris look at you with a mischievous grin on their lips. You deserved that.

From then on you kept a good distance between Eric and you. While the dough had to rest some. Later during making the pizzas and baking them. Only twice you met eyes with him during dinner. He probably didn’t even notice. After all, why did your brain make such a big deal about it? You were certainly not playing in Eric’s league nor was there even profound reason to think about that.

You were just roommates. Former enemies going onto maybe being some sort of friends.

And then there was a knocking on your wall again. Long, long, short. Long, short. GN. You turned to your wall and foolishly smiled at it. When you didn’t respond right away, the knocking was repeated.

Just as you wanted to knock good night as well your phone buzzed. For a second your pulse quickened, wondered if it was Eric because you didn’t respond soon enough.

You fished for your phone and unlocked it. It wasn’t Eric.

you were seen today

Your heart stopped for a second and then started beating in light speed all of a sudden. You opened the chat.

was that your new lover? already got someone new whose life you can fuck up?

or did you break up because of him?

The text messages didn’t end. Peter still understood very well how to provoke and intimidate you.

ANSWER ME

Do you think I’m just gonna let that sit???

You left the chat and threw it into your sheets. It bounced with a thud up and against the wall but you didn’t care. You searched hectically for a paper but all the clothes you grabbed were empty. The phone buzzed again. First you didn’t pick it up, scared it was Peter again. Then you rummaged around your sheets to find it because maybe it was Eric this time asking what that sound was. It wasn’t Eric. Again.

you’ll regret it. believe me y/n

/////

Taglist • @longlostinanotherworld • @dosentier • @dhunhdchrih • @coryisagee

[onebatch2batch]

24 or 43 for kastle from the 50 prompts thingy??

43. “Are you drunk?” [ao3]

I got a little carried away....not sorry. Thank you for the prompt!!

--

The sun has long since set by the time Karen manages to shoulder her way into her apartment building, annoyed. It’s been a long and difficult week, and she had been so excited to get home to her pajamas, wine, and fuzzy socks. In fact she’d been almost out of her office before realizing that her cabinets at home are completely empty. She’s been so busy at work that grocery shopping has been on the back burner, and she knew that if she’d just gone straight home after work she would have ordered in food all weekend. Her budget would never allow for that--and so she’d stopped at the little bodega on the way home and bought what she needed. All in all it had amounted to about four bags and a bottle of wine tucked safely away in her purse. She’d walked the five blocks home with aching hands and aching feet, dreaming of her quiet apartment. Maybe I’ll take a bath, she thinks as she shoots the broken elevator a sour look, or maybe I’ll just lay in bed and watch Netflix. Or try to work through one of my cold cases. Or read. Oh, maybe I’ll read in the bath.

She does none of those things. Karen reaches her floor, turns the corner, and her heart stutters.

There’s someone at her door. He’s got his back to her, so she can’t make out much, but he’s in dark clothes and his hood is up. He’s got his forehead pressed to her door. Part of her hopes he’s just drunk and thinks he’s somewhere else. The more logical part says that she definitely recognizes those combat boots even from behind.

“Frank?”

He jerks, then turns to give her a wide, loose smile. “Hey, Kar’n.”

She stares. Blinks. Stares some more. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh.” He shifts, nearly trips on a frayed part of the hallway carpet, catches himself last minute. “Can we talk inside?”

There goes my quiet evening.

As happy as she is to see Frank Castle alive and well, she knows not to expect more than a friendly social call. Karen passes him a handful of groceries and digs out her keys, letting them both into her warm apartment. Frank slides the lock in place behind her as she moves towards the kitchen, kicking off her heels with an embarrassingly happy groan. “Is this a coffee conversation, or something strong?” she asks over her shoulder.

Frank carefully maneuvers the handful of bags onto her counter and focuses on removing everything for her to put away. “You worried ‘bout me bein’ here?”

That’s a loaded question. She raises a brow. “Frank, you never visit recreationally. What’s going on? Are you on the run again? Need some info on someone?” If they have to have this conversation, she’d rather get the niceties out of the way and get back to her weekend.

“Nope. None of that.”  He smiles again, nearly drops an apple, and then something clicks.

“Wait a minute,” she gasps, amazed. “Are you drunk?”

His answering grin is enough. Karen laughs incredulously, some of the tension knotted in her spine loosening. As soon as she’d seen him she had assumed that he needed something, or needed her help. Not that he was paying a visit on the way home from a bar.

“I didn’t even think you drank,” she huffs, amused. She quickly puts away her groceries and then pours a glass of wine for herself.

“I don’t usually,” he admits, leaning against the counter. Now that she knows what she’s looking for, there’s a warm flush on his cheeks and a looseness to his limbs that’s different from his normal, tense posture. “It’s Curt’s birthday, we had a couple after group.”

She’s glad to hear he’s still going to that group. They settle on the couch and exchange small talk about how it’s going and how Curtis is until curiosity gets the better of her. “So why are you actually here, Frank?”

He looks caught. She’s interested to see that his usually expressive face is much more so when inebriated. Every flicker of his eye and clench of his jaw gives away what he’s thinking. It’s like reading a book on how dodgy a vigilante can look. “Well, I wanted to see you.”

It's such a line, and coming from anyone form him she would have rolled her eyes. As it stands, the idea of The Punisher making a booty call because he’s had a bit too much to drink makes her laugh. She catches the hurt look on his face before he can hide it.

“What?”

“Oh no, Frank, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I’m glad you’re here.” She reaches over to squeeze his arm reassuringly, which seems to mollify him slightly.

“What’s funny, then?”

“Just the thought of The Punisher making a booty call.” Karen laughs again, unable to help herself. Frank is the most intense person she’s ever met, and she would certainly know if that was his plan. She doesn’t think he would be able to hide it if it were. She looks at him, inviting him to share in the hilarity of the idea, but he’s not laughing. Not even a little. In fact, his face flashes red and he clears his throat, looking away.

“Hang on,” Karen says slowly, laugh dying in her throat. “Is that what this is?”

“No,” Frank says quickly. “No, of course not.”

He’s lying. It’s the first time he’s ever lied to her. Karen’s mouth drops open. She stares at him, waiting for him to crack a smile or announce that he’s messing with her, but he just stares out the window and clenches his jaw. When she realizes he’s not planning on explaining, she takes two large gulps of wine and sets down her glass.

“Really? Because it kind of seems like I hit the nail on the head there.”

He’s already shaking his head emphatically. “No, Karen, Christ, I just, I--I wanted to see you, that’s all--”

This could go so many different ways, she’s not sure which option to explore first. She could let him off the hook and feign ignorance, maybe talk for another hour and then send him on his way. Or she could demand he tell her what he wants. Or she could mercilessly tease him--who can say they’re able to tease The Punisher and get away with it? And anyways, he’s gotten her into plenty of life-threatening situations (even if he usually saves her from them later) so joking around to get back at him is too good to pass up.

“Is there something off putting about me, then?” She raises a brow, having only a hair too much fun. “Because now you’re being a little too defensive for my tastes.”

“Oh Jesus, Karen--”

She shrugs. “I’m just saying, we’re both single and know each other and if that’s what this is, then you just have to say it--”

He’s starting to look panicked. “No it’s--”

“Come on, Frank, just admit it. You came here for a booty call--”

“Hey, no--”

“Because you’re drunk and have some excess energy--”

“It’s not because I’m drunk.”

The game is over. Frank is looking at her with a particularly focused expression that steals the air from her lungs. He leans forward, in her space, stopping just short of her lips. “If you think,” he rasps, and now it’s Karen’s turn to flush at his proximity, “for a second that I would come here just to sleep with you like it’s not something I’ve thought about constantly for two years, like I would just ruin this for one night--along with you and your fucking stubbornness and your smile and how you look in those fucking--...skirts--...” he takes a deep breath in, closes his eyes briefly, and then snaps them open to give her a loaded look, “--then you’re fuckin’ crazy, Karen.”

And then he sits back, and looks away.

She’s sure she looks like a complete idiot, but Karen can’t wipe the shock off her face. After a few moments where it feels like her heart literally stops beating, it reanimates with a pounding she can feel between her legs. Her throat is suddenly too dry, and she swallows hard. Her mind races to get them back on solid footing, but her mouth has other ideas. “So you’ve thought about us having sex?” is the first astonished thing to escape her lips.

“No,” Frank sighs patiently, but like she’s deliberately being obtuse. It’s such a funny, cute little sound that she’s never heard from him before, and it’s doing nothing for the desire that’s coursing through her. “I think about us in every way. Having sex, sure. But watchin’ tv together. Gettin’ a dog. Goin’ grocery shopping. Shit, just gettin’ up and having coffee in the morning. Just...I just think about us.”

It’s such a momentous confession that Karen feels inadequate to handle. Ever since she pleaded with him in the hospital, begging for him to leave the fight behind for her, she has filed away her feelings. After such a staunch dismissal of her feelings, she was sure he wasn’t interested in her other than as an informant and maybe, just sometimes, a friend. Now with his (albeit drunk)  confession, she knows otherwise. She still doesn’t know what self-sacrificing, self-deprecating bullshit caused him to turn her down before, but that’s a discussion for another time. Right now, she wants to drag him towards her and kiss him senseless. She wants to smack him for waiting so long to say something. She wants to cry with relief. She wants to make him feel validated and loved. She wants to prove to the world that Frank Castle is a good man who has been dealt a shitty hand, even if she has to scream it from theEmpire State Building. “Frank,” she chokes out, “you should have said.”

He tenses, looking at her wearily. “Am I too late?”

She doesn’t answer with words. She’s too busy closing the gap between him and burying her face in his neck. He smells familiar, like sandalwood and vanilla, reminding her of a different day in her apartment. She’d hugged him for much longer than appropriate and he hadn’t pulled away. She thought maybe it had been a sorry and thank you all at once. And then he’d left again, and it had nearly broken her in two. “Never,” she vows into his skin, painting a promise with her lips.

She hears his ragged exhale, and then he’s drawing her up towards him. His kiss is soft, just a brush of lips against hers before he presses another to her cheek, her forehead, her chin. When he returns once more to capture her lips, Karen lets her hands wander the wide expanse of his chest, lets herself revel in the firmness of his body against her. Touching him like this is such a foreign feeling, but like she’s finally found the missing piece to a long started puzzle. His hands are just as eager, running along her spine and then resting on her hips before his strong fingers sink into her hair, the others pressing firmly on her lower back so that he can grind up against her. Karen gasps and Frank takes advantage of her parted lips, deepening the kiss, his tongue curling against her teeth. As Karen loses herself in the feeling of his heat and hands and kisses, she daydreams about what could happen next. She could slide off his lap to kneel between his legs. She could take the very strong evidence of his arousal and pepper it with kisses until he begs her to take him in her mouth. She could get him just close enough, and then crawl up the hard line of his body to take him in every way possible. She could make him believe that he’s been worth waiting for.

Instead, she pushed lightly on his chest until he pulls away with what she can only call a pout. He looks the definition of dishevelled with his soft curls askew and pupils blown wide. Her chest heaves, and she bites back a small noise of disappointment when his hips cease their wonderful friction against hers. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re drunk,” she reminds him unsteadily.  

Frank lets his head fall back against the couch. His hands tighten on her waist briefly, reminding her of their precarious position--as if she could forget. She hasn’t been so turned on in eons. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I know.”

“We should stop.”

His head lifts, eyes meeting hers, hopeful. “For now?”

Karen smiles, allowing one more brief kiss. It takes every bit of self-control in her to keep it chaste. “Until you’re sober. Then we’ll talk. But we can check one thing off your list, if you like.”

His mind struggles to switch gears. “Which one?”

Karen kisses his nose before clamoring off the couch (and his lap) on wobbly legs. “I’m going to preset the coffee machine for the morning. Now, which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

When he gives her a tentative, wonderful, bashful smile, Karen has to force herself to walk into the kitchen. Frank Castle has never been so dangerous as he is now, she thinks, sitting on that couch with mussed hair and swollen lips. Every instinct begs for her to return to his lap and continue what they started, but she measures the coffee out and stays strong. They can finish tomorrow, but they have things to talk about.

Over coffee. She smiles and sets the timer.

[smallheathgangsters]

Habits | M.G.

A/N: So, I combined my submission for @maggiescarborough​‘s writing challenge with a request that I got. It’s pure angst, but I still hope you enjoy. Also, I’m glad I’m back to uploading regularly!

Pairing: Michael Gray x Reader

Word Count: 1649

Type: angst

Summary: Michael leaves for America and when he gets back, there is nothing left to save.

Tag List: @livingforbarnes​ @multi-fandom-iimagines​ @lovemissyhoneybee​ @peakyblindersengland​ @lucillethings​ @callmesunshinexx​ @simonsbluee​ @anyasthoughts​ @sophieshelby​

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You had never met Henry. You had never met the sweet, innocent boy who knew nothing about guns and murder and violence, who knew nothing about the Peaky Blinders and their business. The boy that had helped his foster mom pick apples from trees and his foster dad cut the lawn. The one that had worn colourful ties and light brown trousers with suspenders.

But you had had the privilege to meet Michael before everything went south.

You had helped him find his mother’s home after he had escaped from the country. Birmingham was big and easy to get lost in. You had run into him while he had been wandering cluelessly around Small Heath, a piece of paper with an address in hand.

“May I help you?” you had asked him.

There had been uncertainty in his eyes. “I’m looking for my mother.”

“Is that her address?” you had said, pointing at the note between his fingers. Michael had nodded and passed it over to you. Only a quick glace was necessary for you to realise who he had been looking for.

You had huffed surprised. “Polly Gray is your mother?”

“That’s what the man had told me …”

His voice had been a little shaky. You had quickly noticed that he was from the city. “What man?”

“He said his name was Thomas Shelby.”

You had inhaled deeply when the two last words had left his lips. If this young man really was Polly Gray’s son, then he clearly did not know what he was getting himself into. And of course, Tommy had made sure to take this boy away from his foster family just to expand his army. At least that’s what the Shelby family seemed to have become.

Still, you explained the way to Mrs. Gray’s home to the quiet stranger in front of you. Though, you couldn’t hold back a comment. It had hung at the tip of your tongue. “Be careful …”

He had noticed that the unawareness of his name was the reason for your pause.

“Michael.”

“Michael,” you had repeated. “The Shelby’s are living a very dangerous lifestyle. You don’t seem anything like them. Don’t get caught up in their business. It’ll ruin you.”

You had saw him gritting his teeth. Probably not what he wanted to hear from some random girl on the street in an unknow city.

So, he had simply thanked you for your help and took off.

After that, you didn’t see Michael for a while. And you had almost forgotten about the handsome country boy, when one day you spotted him walking towards you on the street. You were on your way to get some groceries at the shop nearby, planning on baking a lovely apple crumble for your family.

At first, you were unsure if you should keep your head down and ignore him. Walk past and act as if you didn’t recognise him. But your eyes wouldn’t obey. They kept moving to the young man, now dressed in a clearly expensive suit. His hair was slicked back, making him look like a million pounds.

You cursed under your breath for being so captivated by him and tore your gaze away with much effort.

Since Michael was not born yesterday, he had spotted you looking at him. He stopped in his tracks just as you were about to pass him and greeted you kindly.

“Oh, hello Michael.”

“How have you been?”

You shrugged. “Normal?”

Michael chuckled at your response.

“What about you? Have you settled in with your new family?”

“Well, technically they’re my real family,” he corrected you promptly. “But yes, they have been very welcoming. I even got a job in Tommy’s company. Since I went to school the longest, I’m pretty good with numbers.”

“Sounds great,” you said. You felt uneasy knowing he was a Shelby now. The ones who people avoided when they went to the pub or walked down the Small Heath alleys. The ones that made their blood run and their heart beat faster. That made deals with men even more fearsome than themselves.

“Are you on your way home?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I’m going to the store to buy a few things for dinner tonight.”

“I could accompany you, if you like,” Michael offered, giving you a gorgeous smile. You frowned at his proposition. “Don’t you have to be somewhere? You look rather put together to pick up some groceries.”

He laughed. “I don’t mind. And I’m sure waiting half an hour won’t hurt John either.”

Michael went with you to get groceries and escorted you home. He “accidentally” bumped into you the next day again and you had lunch together in a café just a few blocks from your home. Michael invited you to the Garrison one Friday evening and introduced you to his family. He made sure you felt comfortable around the men that intimidated you so much. He started telling you more about the work they did and slowly but surely opened up to you about the aspects that obviously clashed with your morals. He understood and accepted the fact that you could and would not identify yourself with the illegal side of their business.

Nevertheless, you fell in love. You fell in love with Michael because he cared about you so much. He was attentive and gentle and interested in hearing about your day. About the things you liked to do and were passionate about. He was there when you were feeling down and he was there to enjoy the days that simply could not get any better.

You didn’t believe in soulmates, but if they were real, Michael was yours and you were Michael’s.

Then he left.

Fucking America.

Fucking Wall Street.

Fucking stock markets and money and drugs.

He left without an explanation that would help you sleep at night. That would help you with getting up in the morning and going to work. That would calm down the burning anger you had towards the Shelby family.

With Michael leaving, you decided to leave the Shelby’s. As kind as they had been to you, they did not bring any positivity to your life. Not anymore.

Michael did not call. Michael did not write. It was as if he had never existed. But your heart was aching so much, you knew he wasn’t gone. Your heart in his hands, fingers squeezing tightly around it. Almost stopping it from beating.

You had noticed him changing. You had felt his touch getting colder and his words getting fewer. He came home later and went to work earlier.

As foolish as you were, you told yourself to ignore the signs. And in the end, whatever you were trying to save, came crumbling down.

You had counted the days after he’d left. But you eventually stopped. How many years had it been? Two? Three? Four even? You had lost track of time. And just as you thought you were over Michael Gray, he was back in Small Heath.

With a woman.

You tried to push through the busy crowd of a sunny Saturday morning after accidentally locking eyes with him. You wanted to get away. Erase the images that were now spinning around in your head.

Just as you thought you had saved yourself from an unpleasant encounter with the man you had once called yours, a strong hand placed itself onto your shoulder.

“Please wait …”

You spun around, holding the handle of your basked tightly, as though it was giving you the support you needed in this situation.

“I have nothing to say to you,” you spat. Against your own expectations, you didn’t look away.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back his hand awkwardly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about if you did it willingly and on purpose. And since you’ve never officially broken up with me, I take your new girl as an indication that our relationship is over, eh?”

You were never one to mince your words, but you knew where to draw the line. Usually. Whereas Michael, standing right in front of you, seemed to be triggering the worst in you. You would not try to be nice. You would use words that hurt. That would stab into his chest and rip out the little of a soul he had left.

Michael winced at your remark. You could see that this conversation was painful. Too bad, he didn’t understand the pain he had put you through when he left you. “I never meant to hurt you–“

You rolled your eyes.

“You know that this business changed me, Y/N. You knew I wasn’t the same man you met when I asked you about Pol’s address,” he continued.

“Oh, how romantic, referring to that day?”

“Please don’t be like that,” he begged. You knew he tried to sound pitiful. It wasn’t working. You were over and done with this theatre.

“It wasn’t the business that changed you, Michael. You yourself decided to change. And you decided to be cruel,” you told him, the tone in your voice harsh. Merciless even.

You watched him close his eyes for a moment, most likely annoyed at your unwillingness to talk this through, maybe even come to an understanding.

There was not one fibre in your body that was having any of it.

“I can’t change the man I am deep inside,” he tried explaining his behaviour. You huffed and shook your head in disbelief. “You’re an asshole, Michael Gray. And just for the record: Cruelty isn’t a personality trait. Cruelty is a habit. And you deliberately made it your habit.”

Then, you turned your back on your former boyfriend and began walking away. Taking the largest and proudest steps possible.

“Where are you going?” he shouted after you, baffled by the outcome of this dialogue.

“Home. To bake a fucking apple crumble.”

[southslates]

legally you have to write a zutara miraculous au bc you made the bluetara marichat comparison

i have! i don’t think i ever posted it on tumblr but i wrote a blutara marichat inspired au a while ago. i’ll just drop it under the cut :)

the strength of my convictions / blutara / 2.4K / oneshot: 

“Katara! C’mon. Please, don’t be boring —”

“Shut up,” she says as she dusts herself off and gets out of her brother’s van. Suki bends over from the back as Aang and Toph tussel about the latter’s music taste.

“ Katara. Sokka’s new friend will be there —”

Aang manages to get himself out of Toph’s headlock long enough to bend his neck outwards and smile genially at her, lips quivering as if he wasn’t just in the process of strangulation. The short girl smirks and tugs harder at him but he temporarily ignores her — and he’ll have to pay for that, Katara knows. “You know Zuko! He’s really nice and new and he’s —”

“He’s Fire Nation, isn’t he?” She raises an eyebrow and Aang rubs his hand against his neck sheepishly before getting pulled back into the car. Sokka grabs her hand as she turns around. “I know who Zuko is and I don’t want to go meet him, Sokka.”

Suki’s painted lips quirk up a little bit as she tilts her head pleadingly. “Come on. He’s a great guy and you told me that you were going to start expanding your horizons —”

“Suki!” Katara hastily gestures to Aang, who luckily is fighting over the radio dials and too busy to hear those words. The martial artist rolls her eyes playfully and reaches over to tug at her. She pulls away and crosses her arms. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine. My dating life is fine. And I’m not going to date your new Fire Nation friend.”

“Just meet him, please? And you can’t tell me the fact that he’s Fire Nation is throwing you off —”

“No it’s just . . . I’ve met him. He spilled coffee on me last week when you guys were checking out the hospital’s structure and he always dresses in all black. He looks like he screams trouble and I don’t want to get involved in that even if you all are fine with throwing yourselves to the wolves —”

“So, what? You’re going to sleep at nine on a Friday and just —”

“I have an early shift tomorrow and you know it, Sokka! Someone here has to be responsible. And my dating life is fine,” she addresses her best girlfriend. “Seriously, don’t sweat it. I’m cool for right now. I’m happy with my early nights.”

She knows that there’s probably a strange lilt to her tone but Toph’s won the war and her cacophonous noises mask it, and the dark and dry night hides the small flush of her cheeks. Sokka sighs once more before releasing her arm and letting her go into the night; she reaches down to hug Suki before tossing her bag over her shoulder and giving Aang and Toph a small wave that they both ignore. The van speeds off as she stands in front of her apartment, her face contented.

/

“Who are you texting?” she says as she places her backpack on her couch and slides down onto it as well. “Wait, how’d you get in?”

“You shouldn’t leave your window unlocked, sweetheart, a criminal might come in,” she can tell that he’s smirking as his wooden mask brushes her face. She moves the bottom part of it up and warm lips touch her forehead. “And I’m just canceling plans I forgot I made with a few friends.”

“Sneaky,” she laughs as he falls into place next to her. “I’m glad that I don’t have to account for more terrible lawbreakers coming here.”

“You’re happy with this one?” he asks teasingly as he pulls her closer to him.

“Yeah,” she looks up into the mask’s terrifying visage — it should be worrisome that she doesn’t know what lies beneath it but she trusts the Blue Spirit implicitly. She has for the past several months. Her lips curve up and then she buries her face into his warm black outfit, his smoky and spicy scent comforting. “Yeah, I am.”

He moves his arm around her and grabs the remote; she takes it from his hand and starts clicking through Netflix, selecting a cooking show to watch after a moment. As they watch contestants line up he breathes into her ear. “You left your front window open too, you know. I heard you come in. That was your brother, wasn’t it?”

“And Suki, and Toph and Aang,” she hums, pulling the mask up a little to bare his lips to her, tracing them with her fingers before widening both corners until he’s faux-smiling. He chuckles through his teeth.

“They wanted you to go somewhere with them?”

“Yeah, to meet one of their new friends or something,” she says dismissively “I’d rather be here, though.”

His voice shudders. “Do you not like the . . . person?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Zuko . . . I haven’t interacted with him very much but I’m really certain that Suki, at least, wants to set me up with him.”

She waits for a moment and then his voice croaks. “Oh.”

Katara threads her fingers through the hand he has around her waist and stares at some kid chopping asparagus. “I said no, of course. I’ve got you.”

“Katara . . .” he says hesitantly, “you know that I know I can’t ask you for this much, right? It doesn’t really make sense for you to . . . I’m a bad guy . . .”

“It’s in quotations,” she replies slowly. “I like you just the way you are with all of your heroics.”

“I can’t ask you for that, though. You don’t even know my real name —”

“Blue,” she looks up into the sheer panel around his eyes, pulling the mask down a little so she knows that she’s truly making eye contact with him. “You like me, right?”

His breath catches for a second before he does something like stutter. “Y—yeah, of course. I like you a lot, Katara. I think I like you — the most, out of all the things I like —”

“Then we’re fine,” she winks at him, crushing his fingers, long and pale as they are. She draws his hand into her lap and starts rubbing her fingers on his wrist. The skin there is clear and smooth. “And they say I’m boring.”

“You like sleeping at nine at night, I’ve heard,” he says ruefully, and she’d like to think he’s raising one of his eyebrows.

“I definitely do. I’m a model child, definitely. I sleep on time and then go to work —”

“And you don’t associate with criminals,” he abruptly stops. “I’m winking, right now. You can’t tell,” he grows quiet for a moment as the judges on the television deliberate over their dishes. “I should tell you who I am, Katara. You should — I like you. You should know.”

“You’re not getting out of it forever, definitely,” she winks exaggeratedly at him. “But I don’t think you’re comfortable with it right now and I want you to be okay with it.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he lets out a breath and moves himself over so that his chin is resting on her head. His voice sounds small and she smiles secretively.

“You deserve everything,” she pronounces, turning in his grasp to tap at where she thinks his nose is. “Let’s order food. I’m hungry.”

“I can cook.”

“I haven’t gone shopping for groceries in, like, a week,” she admits as she gets up, running her hand over his hair as she goes to grab her phone.

“Katara! Not cooking?” He asks mockingly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m busy,” she sticks out a tongue at him from where he’s turned around and facing her. “And you fill up my spare time, you creaky spirit. All my friends really think I’m a basket case,” she admits before perking up. “Pizza?”

“Yeah, of course — and Katara? You’re not boring at all —”

“What toppings?”

“You know. But you’re not a basket case —”

She plugs one of her ears to rattle off their order — a large spinach and olive and pepperoni pizza — into the phone. He quiets down as she finishes and then reaches for her hands as she wanders back. “You know they’re probably kidding, right? They’re just concerned about you. I mean — they don’t know about me. They have no idea how you’re spending your time. Not that they should know everything you’re doing or anything like that, that doesn’t make much sense either, but they’re just concerned . . . Katara?”

“I’m fine.”

He reaches a hand up and warmth cushions her face and wipes away her tears — she sniffles. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

She just nods and shoves her face into his chest. He holds her with one arm and angles his mask up a little again, shifting it to the left to ensure that it covers his scar before pressing his lips to her cheek. She tastes salty. “You’re not boring.”

“I mean, what do I do besides be with you and work? Watch Netflix?”

“That’s what everyone does. You’re not missing out on — I do wish I could take you out in public,” he sighs, and she snickers.

“I can just imagine us going for a picnic in the park and everyone just staring . . . that would be hilarious, wouldn’t it?” He doesn’t think it’s quite that funny at first but after a second he considers the implications and starts chuckling as well.

“Yeah, we would make quite a pair. The doctor and the criminal.”

“Sort-of-criminal.”

“I’m a criminal.”

“You have a heart of gold,” she says, her eyes clear again, as she reaches up to press his lips against hers. And now he feels emotional again and like he’s going to cry — he’s lucky she can’t see a tear leak out of his damaged eye. That’s going to be a hard one to bring up eventually anyway, even if she hasn’t yet brought up Zuko’s. But at least she doesn’t completely hate him. He feels so dishonest. “Now let’s shush. I want to finish this episode. I think the girl in the flower apron should’ve won that round. At least she hasn’t been disqualified yet.”

Katara curls her feet up into him, clothed in large fuzzy socks, and he smiles as he gathers her up into his lap.

/

She’s already asleep by the time the pizza guy comes knocking at the door, and he lets her down gently as the person outside slams it harder. Zuko makes quick work of his mask and grabs his wallet from his back pocket, grabbing a twenty-dollar bill and thrusting it at whoever’s outside before grabbing the warm dinner and stealing it back in. He’s just tightened the last string on the blue visor when Katara flops and turns around, her eyes opening slowly.

“Time to get up, sleepy,” he teases, walking over to her kitchen and sliding out two plates. She wanders over to the bathroom to wash her hands before they dig in, and ostensibly also to wash her face and remove the lethargy marking her features. When she’s back and he’s cleaned himself as well he sits with his mask up a bit and places a piece on both of their plates. With another yawn she takes a smacking bite. He reaches out and smooths out a portion of her hair before digging in himself.

“It’s good,” she moans around it, and he hides his smile behind his own bite.

“You should sleep after this, too. When did you wake up today?”

“Four or five,” she mutters. “But I napped in the shuttle.”

“Yes, for barely an hour,” he reprimands. “Sleep time for you.”

“You woke up early too.”

“I work a nine-to-five, sweetheart. I’m much luckier than you.”

“Just like Sokka,” she groans. “You crazy engineers.”

“We’re very sane,” he notes as he reaches for the chili peppers. She shudders as he spills them across his slice.

“Nobody who enjoys that much spice can be sane.”

“You want some?” he smiles and hands out the nearly empty packet to her. He’s gotten slowly better at matching his voice and mouth to his expressions, but it’s hard to be fully candid without his eyes. She shirks away immediately before seeming to reconsider.

“One bite. I’m living on the edge today.”

“Every day,” he reminds her and sprinkles some over her slice. One second later and she’s running over to the trash can and spitting the bite out. “You really have no tolerance, do you?”

“I have tolerance. I can eat really salty and bitter stuff but spice — ugh, no,” she shudders, eyes lighting up. “I should make you try sea prunes!”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he notes but she’s already reaching for her phone and heading to her grocery list app.

“I’m adding them right now. You’ll come over on Sunday, right?”

He tilts his head and stares at her expression through the mesh, so unbearably happy in this moment. “Where else would I be?”

“Good point,” she declares. Then she finishes the rest of her slice, eating around the reddened area, before grabbing another and shoving it into her mouth. He matches her pace and by the time they’re on their thirds they’re both full.

“Dishes on me,” he grabs them and Katara brightens at him before sliding the box into her empty fridge. She stares at him rinsing their two plates for a second before he sets them aside, pouting when he reaches down to rinse his hands.

“I should sleep.”

“You really should,” he notes, turning away only for her to ram her way into his arms. “You’re going to do lots of intelligent-people things tomorrow.”

“Boring things.”

“Never,” he reiterates, slowly shuffling away until they’re in the middle of her living room. She’s almost pressed to the wall and her cheeks are flushed. He leans down with his pizza breath and kisses her on the lips; she returns the favor to his cheek before flattening down off her tiptoes.

“I probably won’t be home tomorrow,” she pulls his mask down and he nods.

“Okay. I’ll come over on Sunday. Does any particular wine go good with your stew?”

“No wine will be involved,” she points her finger into his chest. “It’ll just be the two of us. And a good time. I’m going to miss you.”

“Me too. I like you,” he traces the contours of her face and she blushes, running her hand over the mask and the skin right below it — the right side, luckily.

“I like you, too. Now go, you spirit.”

At that he moves over to her window and slides it open a little before stepping out onto the fire escape below. She turns off the lights before he hits the bottom, but he can see her figure outlined in the dull glow of the moon, sending him off.

[generalfoolish]

Mavar

Rating: 18+ (minors take a hike)

Warnings: helmet less!Din

Word count: ~1.8K

Pairing: (eventually!!!) Din Djarin x F!reader

Summary: Two Mandalorians go to the grocery store (restock)

A/N: Hey babes! This is number eight of the #mandomay2021 prompt list. Sorry it's a little late! I definitely hit a bump. It's pretty much all fluff. I will continue be taking Din's helmet off as often as I can, I'm a sucker for that face! Feel free to send me hate for the last few lines! Enjoy 💕

Masterlist | Partaylir | Ori'vod

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Hyperspace was always cold. An experienced pilot, like yourself, knew that. You were expecting the cold, but what Mando gave you was a freeze. No, not Mando, Djarin or Din? You tucked it away, he hadn’t given you his name yet, and Skywalker had interesting ideas of what a “good” nickname made.

You had hid yourself away in the hull, and that afforded you some reprieve from the tundra in the cockpit. Mando’s helmet was fitted snugly back on his head, and you had just skulked downstairs to wait. The jump to Naboo would be short, and Mando could pilot his ship without your company.

You had scoffed when he had suggested Naboo for the refuel. A Mid Rim planet? For a fuel-up, no less. You had just about bit through your tongue, when he punched the coordinates in. Whatever, you had told yourself, a temperate climate would be nice after the stifling, muggy swamps of Dagobah. You had to remind yourself, though, that it was just another step to what you wanted.

Except, what you wanted might be changing. Or had already changed. You picked at the peeling black paint, and eyed the untarnished silver below. The children on Jelucan, and Mando’s child on Dagobah, had you considering a different path. One you find yourself craving for in the dim, red-washed lights of the hull. A youngling of your own? Or maybe not even that complicated, just a...family. Someone to keep fighting for. You had a creed and a plan, but between you and the storage crates you were perched on, you didn’t think you cared to uphold that creed any longer.

Who was it for? Your kin were all dead. You thought of Mando, the man of ice upstairs, and assumed his kin were likely dead too. It was a common side-effect of living on the Outer Rim. It was an even bigger side-effect of being a mandalorian. You wondered, not unkindly, if he was lonely. If he simply had forgotten how to be.

Then your rising stomach acid, the familiar burn hot on your throat, reminded you that he was plenty friendly to Cara and Luke. Loving to Grogu. You assumed he would be kind to Karga, too. Anyone in the galaxy, except for you it seemed.

You groaned, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. Or, if it was, it was because you had thought he was going to murder you. For the record, you thought, it’s unlikely.

He cleared his throat twice before you noticed, teetering dangerously close to falling from your crate from the startle. He titled his helmet, and you decided it was an apology.

“We’re dropping from hyperspace, and docking, so, if you want to strap in somewhere…” He trailed off, but was vaguely gesturing to your impeccable balance. You snorted in response, but followed him back up the stairs.

He seemed to have thawed in your time apart.

~~

“It is beautiful here, isn’t it?” You mused, your modulated tone not carrying the wonder you felt. Mando only nodded in response, and paid to be refueled. You shrugged and stepped off the ramp. You wished you could deeply inhale, the air seemed clean, even at the Kwilaan spaceport.

You followed the crowd, the intermingling of species a stark contrast to any covert you’d been in. You had always loved the variety of life, and found it lacking in mandalorian culture. Not that it was strictly humans, like you and Mando. It was quite the opposite, as far as you knew. A misread text, a few generations of stuffy “believers,” and a civil war, kept most mandalorians beneath their beskar. Even painted beskar sang of mundanity. Even the light of Naboo reflected off of Mando’s pauldron paled in comparison to the stormy eyes you knew were just below the visor.

Yelling brought your attention back to the market, and you smiled when you saw the bountiful fruit selection. Jelucan and Nevarro had their charms, you were sure, but a selection of fresh fruit wasn’t one. Understandably, Mando’s ship wasn’t stocked with any, and yours hadn’t been either. Luke had shared his meals with you, but Dagobah seemed treacherous. You hoped he would take his X-Wing and Grogu and fly somewhere nicer. A beach planet, hopefully.

Mando gently squeezed your arm, and it brought you back again. You felt heat creep up your neck, and wondered when you had gotten so airheaded. You motioned to the fruit, and paid the merchant for a heavy bag. You tugged Mando’s arm with you to the next stall, and so it went. You flitting around, stocking up for the journey, and pulling Mando along. He stood beside you, not possessively or threateningly, just there. Not that you needed help looking intimidating. The chipped black paint gave you the look of a seasoned warrior.

It was far from the truth, but it helped keep the pickpockets away. When you had finished your shopping, and pulled Mando back to the flow of the crowd heading into the station, he seemed to deflate a bit. You smiled at his hesitancy. When you got to the ship, you watched as Mando toggled his vambrace to shut the door.

“Want to camp out by a lake tonight? We have a long trip ahead, and this planet is too good to pass up.” You spoke confidently, but you flexed your fingers at your side to stop their shaking. He tilted his helmet dramatically to the side, and you waited for the disapproving verbiage. It didn’t come.

“It is getting pretty late…” He told you quietly, and motioned towards the cockpit. You followed, setting the few bags down, and taking the rungs two at a time.

You sat down behind him, and he punched in some coordinates. The ship lifted easily, and you watched the city die down until there was nothing but mountains beneath you. You sucked in a sharp breath when the mountains broke away and revealed a beautiful lake vista. Mando surprised you by setting the ship down, right in the field. You looked at him, sure your helmet betrayed your shock, and he chuckled.

“I thought you might ask, so I checked a few places.” He shrugged, not knowing that the gesture was too much. Too big. Just a few hours ago, you had resigned to never talk to him again. And here he had found you a gorgeous campsite. You rested your hand on his, for a moment, and then took it away. You hoped it conveyed the right message, but you weren’t sure what you wanted that message to be anymore.

You stood slowly, and eased your helmet off. You paused for a minute, and then decided to go all the way. You took each piece of armor off, casting it aside, until you were down to the under clothes. Mando watched silently, and you wondered if it felt sacrilegious to him. Until, he reached up under his helmet, and slipped it off. His hair was messy from the helmet, but the curls still plopped around his face. He was less hesitant in removing the rest. Soon, he was in his dark under clothes. His slight smile was a delicious sight.

“You can bring the blaster.” You joked, as you made your way to the ladder. He fixed you with a glare, and then smirked.

“Of course. Weapons are my religion.” You giggled as you picked the bag of fruit up, and walked down the ramp. Mando was two steps behind you, controlling the ship with his vambrace. You liked that feature, you’d have to have him set yours up. If you ever made it back to your ship.

More and more, you were hopeful you would. You watched as he spread a small blanket out on the soft grass, and you joined him when he clumsily sat down. He laughed, a sharp, barking laugh. An unpracticed laugh, you realized.

“I can’t remember the last time I sat down with the suit.” He explained, grabbing the muja fruit from your hand. You glared, but grabbed a new one, anyway.

“That’s incredible. I can’t wait to have mine off.” You muttered into the skin of the fruit, before taking a bite. You felt his eyes, so you met them. He looked amazed. Or maybe, curious.

“Doesn’t your armor feel natural to you? Like a second skin. Or even your only skin? I feel so exposed right now.” He confessed, taking a bite. You considered it for a moment.

“I...I never felt like I really belonged in the suit at all. It’s stifling to me.”

“Probably because you painted it black.” He told you, his usual deadpan tone ruined by his loping grin.

“Well, I only just did that. It was part of my death rite, I guess.” He lifted an eyebrow, so you continued. “I didn’t think I would still be alive. I had big plans, but then...the Force? No, not for me. Whatever controls the universe, reminded me what life was actually like. My clan was wiped out, and for a while, I couldn’t breathe.”

“I was orphaned when I was young. It was a war. I was rescued. Were you born in?” You nodded, stealing another glance at him. His brow was furrowed, and you wanted to smooth it.

“I’ve never known anything else...but it doesn’t feel right to me. I don’t know, Mando-”

“Mando?” He interrupted, looking bemused.

“Yeah, I don’t know your name.” You took a bite to cover how awkward you felt.

“Yes, you do? Luke said it back on Dagobah.” He reminded you. As if you had forgotten, what the most beautiful man you’ve seen was named.

“Well, you hadn't told me. It seemed too...personal. And you were mad at me.” You told him, matter-of-factly.

“I wasn’t mad at you, ridiculous girl. I was amazed. You just…” He mimicked taking his helmet off. “Without any hesitation. You let me in, just like that.” You felt your ears start to get hot.

“You saw me without my helmet in the covert?”

“That wasn’t deliberate.”

“It could have been.”

“I don’t think it was.” He murmured. It was only then you realized how close you had gotted. Both of you gravitating toward the other, the blanket bunched by your legs, his breath hot and sweet in your nose.

“Din.” He told you, his nose grazing yours, before he pulled back completely.

“Nice to meet you, Din.” You whispered, your mind not as sharp as it was, drunk on his smell. He lifted his fruit to yours, and met your eyes again.

“To names and faces.” He smiled as he waited for your cheers, and you couldn’t string together a thought, let alone a joke.

“To...mavar.” You said plainly, taking a bite of your fruit.

**Mavar: freedom.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 33

Fandom: Marvel 

Summary: Based on “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​

[Somewhere in a universe far, far away…] 

There was a soft brush of fabric on the polished floor that accompanied the approaching steps of leather shoes. Frigga stopped a little to Heimdall's left. 

"What do your golden eyes see, my friend?" 

"They see many things, my queen." 

Bifrost glimmered in the million colors under their feet. Lines and flashes passed faster than the human eye could see. The sword that was the key to every way, waited in Heimdall's hands.

"What do you see of my troubled sons?" 

"They are both learning through new experiences." 

Frigga sighed. "Which usually means they’ve gotten in even more trouble. Tell me, what is it this time?" 

Heimdall stood tall on the dais, the armor forged in ancient times by the hands of legends half forgotten by time still impeccable. The worlds moved before his eyes, with no secrets hidden from the gaze of the All-Watcher. 

"They are faring well, my queen. Even Loki." 

"I had hoped that banishment to Earth would be a better choice than the dungeons." Frigga's hand clutched the gown over her heart. "What did he do this time?" 

A smile ghosted on the lips of the All-Watcher. "It appears that he's made friends. Quite close ones, I dare say." 

"Oh, dear," Freya repeated in a completely different tone. A wicked light played in her eyes. "Do tell, my friend." 

*

[The same universe, a little closer] 

Life in big cities bears a certain strain on everyone's minds. Despite what the newspapers, thirsty for anything and everything worthy and unworthy of filling the pages with, would like you to believe, life had always been difficult. 

Time is always lacking, and money is never enough, and no matter how much you strain your brain, it just sometimes happens that you might not remember about the things stored at the very back of your tiny shop, tucked cozily into the corner of a very calm street. 

"Well," the man said. "I had no idea that I still had those in the freezers. I could've sworn that I have cleaned them before the winter and left nothing except for the packed broccoli. It must be your lucky day, my boy." 

The boy indeed felt very lucky. It was not everyday that one could be sent out to fetch ice cream for a living god in the middle of winter. 

"Have a nice day, sir!" he called on his way out. 

The chilly breeze bit into his cheeks, warmed up in the comforting interior of the grocery. Snow shined on the few surfaces not yet stamped on. The sidewalk Peter chose was a slippery trap that only his spider senses got him through unscathed. 

Loki sensed his coming, and looked over his shoulder at the approaching boy. His other arm was currently wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you closer into him. Peter tried his best not to stare too openly, but couldn't stop the grin from splitting his face. He sat on the other side of the god, the bench icy cold. 

"Thank you, my boy." The god took the ice cream with obvious delight. It had been your idea to spend the few hours before Peter's totally-not-a-date trying out the goods New York had to offer. At first, Loki had snickered at the suggestion of trying out whatever ice cream was available in the middle of winter, but after a few interesting flavors were discovered, Loki apologized. There was an almost disturbing variety of flavors Loki couldn't even imagine existing. 

"You're welcome, Mr. Mischief. I'm sure there would be a bigger choice if it was summer. I always go to that one vendor two streets away from my house, because he has this special recipe that absolutely blows my taste buds away every time." 

"Sounds intriguing." Loki's mind conjured the last time his taste buds had been blown away. If he recalled that unfortunate event correctly, it had something to do with pizza and a bet. "But I think I'll pass for now." 

The look of pure adoration in the boy's eyes hadn’t  perished. 

"I still can't believe you won't get sick after having so many," you said, and watched Loki devour the caramel. 

"It must be nice to be a god," Peter sighed. "You have awesome superpowers, get to do what you want and they even make action figures of you…" 

Loki frowned. "The what?" 

Peter blanched. He started fumbling with his jacket and 'accidentally' looked at his watch. "Oh, I think I’ve gotta go, it's getting so late and I don't want to make MJ wait—" 

Loki reached out and fixed the hair Peter had been nervously fighting with for the past few hours they'd all spent outside. "Don't forget the ring, boy." 

"Thank you!" 

The boy was beaming on his way out of the park. 

"I'm never washing my hair again." 

The totally-not-a-date that was steadily approaching was something Peter wasn't sure he was ready for. So many things could go wrong—and he had already imagined most of them. It wasn't as if he couldn't sleep all night thinking about it, he just… Was busy. Thinking. 

Peter straightened the jacket that was in absolutely no need of straightening. His hand moved to his hair, but he stopped it halfway with a smile. It'd  been touched by the hand of god, so it was as good as it could ever get. 

On his way out of the park the three of you had been resting in for a while, Peter's mind was in a strange disarray of thoughts. However, he was still capable of noticing the interesting new graffiti decorating the Avengers' statues set up in the middle of the park. Whoever decided to redecorate them this time, certainly had a pair of skillful hands. The wild mustache covering half of Iron Man's face looked almost lifelike. 

Loki and you watched the boy leave, nervousness apparent in his every too-stiff step. 

"They grow up so fast," you sighed, leaning further into Loki. 

He nodded. His finger circled lazily around your shoulder, drawing spiralling patterns. Loki turned his head toward the memorial statues raised in the central part of the park. People took pictures in front of them, posing and smiling as they milled around. Those were the heroes, after all. Saviors of the day. 

Loki added a mustache to another statue. 

You noticed and eased a giggle. "They're going to be so pissed." 

"My very soul aches at that thought. What a terrible crime." 

The patterns changed as you shifted slightly. The presence on his shoulder was warm and softened by the fabric of clothes that kept the winter frost from you. 

"I thought using magic in this world was difficult." 

"It is.There's a lot more focus required to make it work than I'm used to. It's nothing dramatic, though. I've heard of worlds where the trickle of magic is even more strained, to the point where it barely exists at all." 

"Do you miss them? The other worlds, I mean. Like Asgard." 

The patterns changed again. They slowed down, became more deliberate. 

"Sometimes," was the honest answer and the one he gave after careful consideration. 

"Will you leave, then?" 

Loki looked down at his wrist, where a thin band of metal used to reside, blocking every and all effort he might take against leaving Earth or using magic in any form. It was no longer there, which meant, although it would be extremely difficult to conduct, Loki could technically leave. 

The only obstacle was that it was no longer his priority. 

"I've never been one to sit aimlessly on my ass for too long, and especially not when and where I had been forced to do so. I think I could name more than a few places I'd like to pay a visit," he admitted, putting his cheek on the top of your head. His throat bobbed slightly. "The only problem is that I just recently found out how terribly boring touring alone might be. It's a real wonder why anyone bothers to do so anymore, and," he swallowed, "I think I could use some company." 

Loki cursed himself for putting his head on top of yours, and blocking the view of your face. Especially as he still didn't get any answer. His heart jumped into his throat, making it difficult to breathe. 

"...I mean, I know it's still so early, and that's okay if you feel overwhelmed or unsure and I won't force you into anything more than you're willing to do—” 

Loki's rumbles were cut short when you finally moved to look up at him. The wild gleam in your eyes and a wicked smile so similar to his struck him dumb. 

"You'd never be able to leave this planet without me." 

A choked breath, so similar to a whispered name ghosted over his lips. "Of course I wouldn't. What would be the fun in that?"

*

[The galaxy, elsewhere] 

"Oh, dear," the queen broke the biscuit in half with perfect manners. Barely any crumbs dared to ruin the fragile dessert. "I guess he really is experiencing something new." 

Heimdall sipped the tea. Servants at the queen's quarters left them with a small table full of goods of the highest sort. The warm breeze played with the curtains with the subtle shimmer of gold. The trees rustled on the wind, losing old leaves to it. 

"He's also plotting an escape," Heimdall added. His helmet laid on his knee. 

Frigga waved the biscuit in a gesture that had very little to do with manners. "That sounds more like him." 

The softest hint of a smile graced her features. 

"I wonder what will become of him. Maybe it's in my nature as a mother, but no matter how much I try, I can't help but continue to worry about him, even after all these years." 

"I swore to keep an eye on him, and I will." Heimdall put a hand to his heart. There was no smile on his face, only seriousness as he recalled an oath he'd never break. 

"Thank you, my friend."

[courage-in-immensity]

6 Lilymoore

iZombie Prompt Response: Why the hell is there glitter everywhere?

“I feel evil,” Peyton Charles whispered as she shook out a bag of sequins on her best friend’s bed. “You’re a fake ray of sunshine, Ravi. If Liv figures us out, I’m blaming you, just so we’re clear.”

“It’s payback, sweetheart,” the doctor grinned. “Major dares call me Princess Sparkles; I’ll give him sparkles.”

“I think he was just naming your beard, honey,” Peyton laughed. “Besides, you got all the glitter out eventually.”

“That’s not the point,” Ravi pouted. “Those two put me through multiple personalities every day, a man’s got to blow off steam somehow.”

“But what if they think the kids did it?” Peyton mused, referring to three orphaned zombie children Liv and Major had taken in after Seattle had been over-run by zombies and the city’s humanity imploded. “You know how orphans stress about reasons to end up back on the streets. Why put them in that position?”

“What makes you think they’re not in on the plan?” said Ravi mischievously. “Ollie and Annie are right little monkeys, not as saintly as you seem to think. Even that adorable Pippi isn't as innocent as she looks.”

“I give up,” Peyton grimaced. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love,” said Ravi airily, spreading another handful of glittery sequins on the pillows. “There, that should do it.” He checked his watch and ushered Peyton out of the room. “We need to get out of here, those two should get back from their grocery run any minute.”

Not much later, Liv and Major returned with arms full of fresh groceries. “It feels nice to be shopping for a house full after so many years of living with just Peyton, that girl eats like a bird,” Liv commented, nudging the door open with her shoulder. “Where do you think the kids are?”

“It is suspiciously quiet,” Major frowned. “Do you think it was a good idea leaving the kids home alone?”

“We have to show them they’re trusted,” Liv pointed out. “You know better than most how troubled kids can be sometimes.”

“I do know, that’s exactly why I’m worried.”

“You worry too much,” Liv laughed, depositing her grocery bag on the kitchen counter. There was no response, however, and she returned to the living room curiously. “Major? What’s going on?”

“I told you so!” he said triumphantly, pointing at the staircase. A trail of glitter led all the way up the steps to the upper floor. “Why the hell is there glitter everywhere if those little monkeys didn’t do anything?”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” said Liv calmly.

“Does nothing shock you anymore?” asked Major, quirking a bushy eyebrow.

“Not since I married you, babe,” she said coolly and her husband tilted his head thoughtfully.

“After all these years, I still can’t tell whether you’re insulting me or not sometimes.”

“It’s a compliment,” Liv assured him. “Look, I don’t think we need Clive’s detective skills to figure out where this mess came from. Do you?”

“Hell no,” said Major, shaking his head vigorously. “After all these years and I still feel like a naughty kid when Clive is around, the threat is too real.”

“Seriously? I’ll be sure to tell him that sometime.”

“Don’t you dare!” Major objected, grabbing his wife around the waist and spinning her to face him. “You’re really not funny, Mrs. Lilywhite.”

“Aww, here I had record-breaking comedic ambitions,” Liv giggled, pushing herself up on tiptoe to reach his lips. Before she could make contact, Major stiffened alertly and pulled out of her reach once more. “Quit making me work so hard for a kiss,” Liv groaned but Major wasn’t listening. “What the hell is going on?”

Major didn’t answer, too busy storming up the stairs. “I know who is behind this,” he declared as he went. Shaking her head in amusement, Liv followed. Looking positively manic, Major checked each of the upper floor’s bedrooms, one by one. “Aha! What did I tell you?” he said triumphantly. In the girls’ bedroom, he found Annie and Pippi giggling conspiratorially. “Ladies, what’s going on here? You wouldn’t happen to know where that glitter trail on the stairs came from, would you?”

“No,” said Annie, drawing out the word deliberately even though she was turning as flaming red as her hair. Major glanced over his shoulder at Liv, who was smirking knowingly at the mischievous girls.

“You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?” said Major in disbelief, frowning at his wife.

“Totally. Believe it or not, I used to be a teenage girl, you know.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Major threw her one of his crooked grins and pulled her in for another kiss. “Or have you blocked the nineteen-year-old who lived in my football jerseys from memory? You drowned in them back then and still would.”

“I see grossing the kids out so much they confess is your tactic here,” Liv teased. “I like the way you think.”

“Dad, cut it out,” begged Annie and Major looked up at the redhead with an innocent expression. “You’re scandalizing Pip,” said the girl, pointing at her foster sister. Sure enough, Pippi’s eyes were wide, but decidedly eager rather than offended.

“Speak for yourself!” snapped the youngest of their three foster kids, elbowing Annie in the ribs in frustration. “It’s so cute, I love it. My last foster family before you and Ollie helped me run away were always fighting. This is a good change.”

“Pip, you have got to be the only one in this house cuter than your Mom,” said Major decidedly. He scooped the twelve-year-old up and hoisted her over his shoulder to shrieks of delight.

Annie muttered something exasperated under her breath and Liv moved to stand beside her. “Something on your mind, kiddo?” she prompted. “Where is Ollie anyway?”

“Who knows?” Annie shrugged impatiently. “He’s probably the least used to this new family arrangement out of all of us.” She dropped her gaze, as if reluctant to speak her mind. “I guess it’s just been easier for Pippi to believe it’s real,” she admitted quietly. “I can’t get comfortable and then lose everything again.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” asked Liv gently. “Did something happen to make you worry about that? Because as far as we’re concerned, you’re our family now. You three made dreams come true that were only vague concepts until we met you all. It sucks that you had to lose so much to get here but we wouldn’t change a thing about this family, you have to know that.”

“I wish Ollie would stop trying to run away,” Annie sighed. “I feel steadier somehow when he’s home…no offense. If I could have as much faith as Pip does, I totally would.”

“You’ll get there, sweetie,” said Liv reassuringly. She had barely put a comforting arm around Annie’s shoulders when Pip popped up as if out of thin air and nuzzled against Annie too. When Major sat down on Annie’s other side, Pip scrambled onto his lap like a clingy monkey. “So, now that’s settled, does anyone have an explanation for that glitter trail on the stairs?”

Annie and Pippi looked at each other, stifling giggles once more now that the fear of being reprimanded was over. “Uncle Ravi and Aunt Peyton were here,” Pippi blabbed. “Only they said we weren’t supposed to say anything.”

“You just did, dummy,” Annie pointed out, rolling her eyes at Pippi.

The younger girl’s expression crumpled guiltily but Major instantly gave her a squeeze. “That’s my girl,” he said proudly. “What do you say we plan a revenge prank for Uncle Ravi and Aunt Peyton? This mess is going to last us a long time.”

“I’ll say,” Liv laughed, running her fingers through her husband’s sandy hair. “Hey Princess Sparkles, you’ve got glitter in your hair.” It was hard to say if Major’s groan or the children’s giggles were more prominent at her words, but Liv knew for sure they were among her favorite sounds in the world: the sounds of home.

[watchtower-feed]

Running Hot

Notes: I lied. I didn’t write at all yesterday because I watched a sports anime on running. That’s the origin story of this baby. Also, I needed a break from the angst and write something fun. Words: 1,611

     Waking up in the morning to go jogging on campus is one of the hardest things a student has to work through to build into a habit. But not you. Not when you have a six foot three beefcake acting as your carrot (and hopefully, stick).

     Every morning, at three in the morning, an hour you didn’t know existed until now, Damian Wayne leaves your co-ed dorm to jog around the campus. After he finishes his route through every trail, he heads straight for the varsity gym until his first class at ten.

     You’re not a stalker. You don’t know this because you deliberately sought it out. You came across this information by accident. It was one drunken night where your friends forgot about you and you forgot how to get back to your dorm. So you sat by the park bench in front of the varsity building.

     That was where you first saw him. Sweat lathered limbs that made his muscles shine even in the low light. Shorts short enough to see half his ass. No shirt. And eyes that can pierce through your soul like a real, actual bad boy. Not the leather-wearing kind that smokes their lungs to shit or breaks windowshields and then runs off before the cops arrive.

     No. This boy--- this man looks like he would wait for the cops and stare them down until they agree that yes, he had to do it.

     Once sober and once it’s time for a new dawn, you put on your running shoes (ones you only use when you go grocery shopping) and head out to maybe accidentally run into this perfect hunk. You’re surprised to find the door opening before you even touch it. You look up and right above your head, there’s a strong hand pushing it open.

     You stare at it and follow the tanned muscular limb with your gaze until your eyes meet with dark green eyes setting your skin ablaze. Suddenly, it’s too hot to breathe from your nose alone. You stare and only now realize that he’s crazy tall, close to a head taller than you.

     He’s looking back at you and raises an eyebrow at your stunned figure. You completely lose it. He looks like the bad guy your parents warn you about as teenagers but you go into his van anyway because his eyebrows alone promise the most amazing sex you’ll ever experience on this planet. Maybe even in the entire galaxy.

     “You’re in the way.”

     His voice fits his body perfectly and you wonder if God is a sexually frustrated woman. It’s low and deep, almost guttural, like an animal. Can’t be tamed. Defintely wild and dangerous.

     Like a mute, you keep staring at him and Damian Wayne isn’t known for his patience. He rolls his eyes and steps closer so his foot can hold the door open. Then he grabs hold of your waist, calloused hands and a firm grip, (oh how you wish you were wearing a sports bra or crop top), and lifts you outside, out of the way of the dormitory entrance.

     As soon as he put you down, you cover your face with your hands because you may not see it but you can definitely feel the red on your face. When you look, he’s already gone.

     The next morning, you’re wearing a sports bra and running shorts, and you’re already stretching outside at 2:30 am. You hear kinks and cracks every time you fold your limbs over the other and you wonder if you should do this regularly, at least to keep healthy.

     Finally, at 3:08 am, Damian walks through the doors. His eyes catches yours for a single second before he already breaks into a run. You almost trip as you try to keep up. You’re swearing to yourself as you try to keep up with him. His pace makes you wonder what ever happened to warmups? Or jogging? Why does he have to be running?

     You last 5 minutes before you stop and lose him. You’re wheezing like an asthmatic 6-year-old during his first PE class. “Fuck you, Damian Wayne,” you say out loud.

     The next day you’re already jogging. You take your chances and see if he follows the same path. By 3:11 am he runs past you and you speed up to keep up. You last 8 minutes this time, losing him again.

     You keep doing this every day and you keep asking yourself if you’re a stalker or a madman. Why are you doing this to get Damian Wayne’s attention? Why can’t you just ask him for his number like a normal college student? 

     But this has gone on for too long that you don’t feel like giving up. You just want to finish his whole lap around campus until he enters for the varsity gym. If you do that, if you can finally keep up, then maybe you’ll stop this. And maybe Damian Wayne will ask you out.

     Of course, it’s not easy to get on athlete’s level. Especially if you’re not even an amateur. So it takes you months. At least it’s not half a year, but months of running every single morning is still an insane amount of dedication to chase after a hunk whose eyes can make you cum in an instant. Or is it?

     You shake your head, dispelling such thoughts because the view in front of you is amazing. You’re staring at Damian Wayne’s bare back, chiseled to perfection and ruggedly adorned with long scars that could rival a bear hunter’s marks.

     Then you realize it’s past 4 am. You’re suddenly giddy with excitement and adrenaline because he’s about to head to the varsity gym.

     Suddenly, all happy chemicals in your body leave you as you watch him turn towards the campus border. You stand, breathing loud and annoyed, while watching Damian Wayne continue running on the road until he was out of sight.

     You skip the next day. You lay awake until it’s time for your first class and you go through the day just like any other, but more upset.

     “Gosh, Y/N. Why are you in such a pissy mood? Isn’t exercise supposed to give you happy hormones or something?”

     “It’s called dopamine, dumbass. I almost made it yesterday, okay? But then Damian Wayne decides to change his running route and goes off campus!”

     They chuckle, “You fucking stalker.”

     You hit your friend and pout, “I’m not. This information just came to me.”

     To your further annoyance, they laugh and tease you some more. One of them suddenly stops and stares at someone behind you, and quickly says, “Kind of like how Damian Wayne is coming to you. Right now, Y/N. Like now.” Your friend grabs your shoulders and turns you until you see him standing behind you in his full (and fully clothed) glory, along with some of his varsity friends beside him.

     He looks at you with his arms crossed and he raises one eyebrow. You suddenly ask the god of sexual frustration what you’ve done to anger her.

     “I didn’t see you running this morning.”

     “Oh,” you stammer dumbly because your jaws and mouth muscles have suddenly gone stiff. “Cramps?”

     His eyebrow goes down while the other shoots up. Dear god, he can do it with both of them!

     “Are you asking me?”

     “No! Did I? Did I ask you out?”

     Loud groans flood your table like a tsunami. While his friends snicker loudly.

     “No, I didn’t! Ugh--” you harshly rub your face, trying to wipe off the stupidity you woke up with this morning, “I meant to ask you out--” but it obviously didn’t work. “I’m going to stop talking now.”

     “Promise?” teased one of his friends who’s leaning in over Damian Wayne’s shoulder while holding his stomach, cramped from all the laughing.

     Damian Wayne pushes his face back effortlessly and turns to you with the same deadly serious expression he always seems to have. “So you didn’t run this morning because you were going to ask me out?”

     You sigh. Tired of the groans and chuckling, you decided to come clean. “I’ve been running with you, or more like running behind you, these past couples months because I… Ithinkyou’rehot?”

     He narrows his eyes and leans down, closer, “Telling or asking?”

     You stare at him and you can really see his features now. His protruding cheekbones. His prominent jawline. His annoyingly clear skin. His soft jet black hair. “Definitely telling,” you blurt out. “But I never caught up with you-- obviously-- so I thought-- maybe-- if I--” Goddammit finish an actual sentence before the hot guy leaves. “If I finished your run with you before you go to the gym then maybe I can ask you out.”

     You bite your lips as you eye Damian Wayne and wait for your doom. Your friends are crossing their fingers but definitely invested in such a scene.

     Damian gives this little sigh and a small tilt of his head, as if saying ‘is that all?’ 

     “Yesterday I ran with my brothers at Gotham park. Tomorrow, finish my run with me on campus.” He pauses to look at you, making sure you’re still keeping up because you’re just gaping at him. You nod. “I’ll skip morning practice. We’ll walk to this small diner in the city. My oldest brother calls it ‘a hole in the wall’ because they make all kinds of breakfast foods.”

     You’re still gaping but your mouth has definitely opened wider. Impatiently, Damian uses his rough hands to close it. “Nod if you agree.” You nod. “Good. See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

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