#later litters it gets better. she engages more with them

[unauthorized-author]

The Snowbird-Scorchfur age inconsistency thing certainly exists :( Here's what I'm thinking to combat it in my pseudo-au; Ratscar and Snowbird were born in different litters. Ratscar's birth is pushed back to the end of TPB, so he can be an elder by the time of Rowanstar's leadership and serve throughout Blackstar.

(also, Snowbird somehow served under Blackstar but Ratscar didn't?? not to mention Snowbird somehow isn't an elder?!?!)

Snowbird's birth is being moved to somewhere in TNP, so by the time of PoT, she can be an apprentice. This would make her around the same as Scorchfur. This would also make it so that Snowpaw and Scorchpaw had a litter as, yk, apprentices. I would age Scorchfur up, but he actually plays a role in Rowanstar's leadership in canon, mainly criticizing him, so yeah. Kinda need him to be as old as he is, because he'll also be a Kin advocator in my AU.

So, I was thinking that Snowbird has postpartum psychosis as a result of giving birth as an apprentice. The cats can refer to it as Queen-Isolation, not as an official name, but as a "treatment" name. Probably will elaborate on this later. I'm planning to give it to a few other cats, so it wouldn't be just a one-time thing, but something seriously dangerous, and the cats understand this. Snowbird gets treated pretty early, but it permanently fucks with her personality. I should mention that Scorchfur is a bit violent here. He's blinded in one eye from a battle fought as an apprentice before he joined the Clans, and as one of the results, the eyelid is permanently drooping (similar to ptosis, and yes cats can have ptosis) and reddish. Snowbird is going to be very outgoing and outspoken about her opinions since she's kinda like that in the books unless I'm confusing her with Gullswoop, but something about Snowbird is just… off. It's like talking to a potential murderer and your gut is just screaming at you, but hey they seem nice enough! Snowbird is mindless until she isn't... if that makes sense. The lights are on but somebody IS home, they just aren't doing anything Like, she's very attentive in conversation, chiming in with her own thoughts, and doing her best to be a warrior for ShadowClan. Very typical, but something just isn't right is what I'm trying to say. I might have overexplained this bit. Anyway, Since Snowbird would be giving birth in the same book Scorchpaw showed up in canon (Eclipse), there is plenty of room for her other kits to be born since Berry, Clover, and Ripple would be born in PoT, and there's like two arcs between that and ASC (excluding DOTC), technically three arcs between PoT and CS since ASC finished up. And there's even MORE time for everyone to grow up since 15-ish books happen between Hollyleaf's Story and The Apprentice's Quest. The timeline here is still very rough, but yeah this is like an outline.

[1-800-local-slut]

Word of Advice...

Spencer Reid x Black! Fem! Pregnant! BAU! Reader

Spencer Reid Masterlist <3

Spencer and his fiancée are having a baby, and everyone has some advice for them.

I based this on JJ's pregnancy in season 4. This is basically the three times someone gave Spencer some advice about being a dad and his fiancé some advice, I cried writing this because of hormones y'all

Warnings: pregnancy, brief mention of sex, mention of a daddy kink, nothing really, fluff, twins

Request are also open if anyone wants to send anything!

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

"You know, no matter how much you research it won't help when you have to actually hold the baby."

Spencer's head jerked up from his computer, no longer fidgeting with his nails and glanced over to Derek. Tabs upon tabs of information distracted him for the past hour. 'What to do as a first time dad', 'When to Start Expecting Cravings', 'How to Prevent Diaper Rash', 'Baby-proofing 101' and more.

The office buzzed softly behind him, other agents bustling around. It was a cool morning, nice and bright but had all the cold spring air Spencer had grown to love with the early call time of his job. Hotch was up in his office, Rossi was currently in the bathroom attempting to battle some sort of meal his stomach didn't agree with, Emily called in sick, JJ had a doctors appointment and wouldn't be in until later and Penelope was busying herself with some random task.

"Sorry, what?" Derek chuckled, his eyes ran over the mess on Spencer's desk. All of his case files, the parenting books he'd bought, the cups of coffee littering the area. How was this guy gonna keep his house clean with a kid running around in it?

"Morgan is right, even though he should be focused on his work. A word of advice, its good to get into the habit of picking up as you go along. Helps in the long run, you know." Hotch appeared from nowhere, in typical Hotch fashion with words of wisdom.

It was true. Spencer Reid, at the age of 27, got his girlfriend fiancée (he was still getting used to the title) pregnant. He got her pregnant, and then all the initial joy and imaginary world where everything would be perfect everything came slightly faded for him. He suddenly remembered him and his fiancée work a hard job with hard hours and an even harder toll on the mind. But he'd been trying not to focus on that, instead just trying to stay on the constant upside.

"Well yeah. I guess coffee cups all over the place aren't gonna be helpful in trying to keep the place tidy." Spencer chuckled, tapping one of the coffee cups on his desk with a random pen.

"I’ll say. You know your girl isn’t down with the nonsense, you better keep that house spick and span if you want to keep your ass clear of a beating. And if she's gonna be the one stressing with child care it'll be safer is you just stay clean and out the way.” Derek lamented. Hotch chuckled and Spencer glanced down at his hand while he grinned.

While he wouldn’t normally wear his engagement ring to work, they weren’t in the field today (hopefully) and he may have forgotten to taken it off this morning when they decided to stay in bed for an extra 45 minutes to sleep soundly. So what was the harm in wearing it? It was a little bit of his home life he would let seep into his daily life.

"Isn't it a little bit too early for you to be looking at all of this anyways? I mean I guess it's technically never too early but she's only what a month a long?" Derek asked, settling himself to sit on the corner of Spencer's desk.

Derek pushed an empty chip bag out the way, as he had settled on the one clear part of the desk. Spencer instinctively grabbed the bag and tossed it into the small trash bin he kept under his desk.

"It's never too early! I figured the better I prepare, the better I'll be able to help out when I'm home. I want to take as much paternity leave as I can, I want to be helpful when I'm home with her." He really should be attempting to clean. A stack of papers straightened, coffee cups gathered into one hand and tossed into the bin two at a time.

"Word of advice..." Hotch grimaced, as he tapped a coffee cup that sloshed and Spence had to grab to keep it from spilling all over his desk. "If you keep your desk as clean as you intend to keep your house, she'll be sending you back to work faster than you can imagine." With a ghost of a smile, Derek chuckled and ruffled Spencer's hair. Hotch smirked, seeing Spencer's mouth hanging open, and the two decided to take their leave to go back to doing the jobs they get paid so much for.

It was true, Spencer is usually a very clean guy but sometimes things get a bit messy. And usually, his fiancée wouldn't mind as long as it wasn't too outrageous but pretty soon those pregnancy hormones would come in full force. A shiver went down his spine as he imagined facing her anger at him leaving piles of books and coffee mugs all over the living room with a chubby baby sat on her hip. Picking up the last few coffee cups, Spencer straightened up his desk once more and finally tried to focus on work.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

"Morning JJ, you want some coffee?" Of course, I was joking. The joke was that JJ (who had recently returned from her maternity leave) was pleased that she could drink coffee again. If anyone bounced right back from pregnancy it was Jennifer Jareau. She looked flawless, glowing even more after her pregnancy. I can only pray to have that same miraculous recovery.

I couldn't drink coffee, the smell making me sick now. Of course I already couldn't have it, you know growing a baby, but it was far easier to resist the temptation.

A job like this has you running on caffeine, quitting cold turkey was like stopping cigarettes over night. Now I settled for some decaf tea, like peppermint or lemon and ginger.

"So, how's things going for the first term?" JJ chuckled, as I placed my spoon down on the counter and blew on the tea. This morning was some hot apple cider with cinnamon and I had a nice everything bagel on the side with some cream cheese spread over it.

"Well I've had too pee every sixty seconds, my tits are expanding with every second, and everything I eat makes me gain forty pounds thanks to bloating. So, great." The happy mood I had this morning was gone. I got to work and suddenly I wanted to put my fist through the steering wheel. And for some reason, Spencer's aftershave was making me want to cry. He just smelt so good, and he looked so good driving us to work, and lately he's just so handsome. Maybe it's knowing that we were about to have a bundle of joy?

"Mood swings getting you, huh?" JJ chuckled, turning around and heading to her desk as I followed behind.

"I'm ready to stop coming in now, I don't know how you were here up until you gave birth. You literally went into labor, I'm ready to go home now. Right now." I scoffed, and grumbled in irritation. I was even ready to stop wearing heels to work.

It felt like at any moment, I would just explode. That extra 45 minutes of sleep helped very, very little.

"Well, a word of advice, positive self talk is so helpful. I don't know why but when I was pregnant everything Will did drove me up a wall, I'm talking I wanted to take down his side of the bed only." JJ chuckled as we approached our desks. I slid into my seat, chuckling. JJ threw down her jacket, a push present from Will, and stretched.

Across the bull pen, Derek and Penelope walked past giggling about something. The two of them thick as thieves like always. The Sun had fully risen, and the world was wide awake. Cars honked outside, the team was wondering around on the floor and of course with no reason to be in the field today it was time to hunker down.

Sit down, do some paper work, the whole 9-5. I couldn't focus on the 9-5 though, hormones driving me to run into my fiancé's arms. To smell him, to hug him and remind him just how much I love him by showering him with hugs and kisses.

"How would you even take down his half?" I laughed as a blew on the cider and opening the file on my desk.

"I was looking at chainsaw's on Amazon, I had a plan I just needed to do it." JJ shrugged, opening her own case file and looking up at me through her lashes.

"Listen, my point is, you just have to try to talk to yourself. You're mind is vulnerable right now to all sorts of crazy emotions. You might suddenly hate everything about Spencer. You can randomly wake up and decide you hate him, you hate yourself, you hate the way your house looks, and that you should just take your baby and run away but you have to remember to keep yourself grounded in reality." With a soft sigh and took a sip of my tea, glancing over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't about to hear what I was about to say.

"I'm having the opposite issue with Spencer. I want to like, live in his skin." Was I ashamed to admit it? No. Was it slightly embarrassing to say it out loud? Yes.

"Oh! Okay! I mean, if that makes you happy!" It would make me very happy. Happier than this bagel was presently making me.

"No but I mean it. The mood swings will get worse as your first trimester goes on, you have no idea. Just try talking to yourself as often as possible, journal. Take care of yourself."

"Okay okay, I will. Thanks JJ, you're the best." With a shared smile, it was finally time to get some work done. Or just finish my bagel. Yeah, I'm just gonna finish my bagel.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

"No, mom you need to stay in the house. Yes, she's home with you, you will be fine. I saw my fiancée this morning, I don't miss her that badly in the two hours I've been outside. I'm at Target mom. Okay. Love you, bye mom."

Finally off the phone, Spencer slid his phone back into his back pocket. Diana was there for a visit, something she begged Spencer enough that she wore down his negotiating skills. So she got out of the ward for a fun few days.

And yes, Spencer did love the time he got to spend with his mom. He was more than happy to have her. But preparing for a baby, his fiancée either soul crushingly sad or horny or showing him things for their baby because in four months she'd be forcing it out of her body, and keeping your mom on her meds and your fiancée on her prenatal meds...sometimes a man needed to go to Target.

Sometimes a man needed to make breakfast, intentionally finish the milk and eggs, and suddenly have other errands that needed to be run outside.

Pushing through the aisles of Target, they all blended together. Everything just seemed crazy now. His fiancée was pregnant. She was pregnant, and their baby was coming in four months. She was nesting now, according to JJ.

When they found out she was pregnant she remained logical. She mapped out each important date, each doctors appointment, and left major shopping for a bit later. Spencer was the one buying mountains of books, crying over the minuscule things. Now though, she was crying over the little things, waking up with insane cravings (his favorite one to be woken up at 2:47 in the morning over? Buffalo sauce. Not like, buffalo wings. Buffalo sauce by itself but it needed to be hot and in a bowl and when Spencer protested she looked ready to rip him in two), and each day was filled with 'Spencer look at this, Spencer we need this, Spencer we HAVE to have this for our baby or we're shitty parents, Spencer, Spencer, Spencer.'

He was in heaven.

His wife couldn't get enough of him, literally sniffing him like he was a big ass pile of coke, his mom was over, it was almost time for their gender reveal (which Emily and Rossi somehow ended up in charge of planning but whatever), and he would be a literal daddy. Not in the sense that she called him but in the actual way.

Without even realizing it, he was in the baby section. His feet basically dragged him there. There was a little onesie, which would be the perfect size for his baby, a pair of baby booties randomly placed near by. But the couple made a promise to themselves, they wouldn't buy anything without each other unless they literally had to have it for their baby. Like the really cute onesie that Spencer found with a little 'R' on the front. 'R' for Reid. Soon they'd be Mr. and Mrs. Reid. Their baby's last name would be Reid.

His fingers ran over the soft cotton fabric of a pink onesie, that had the cutest little flowers stitched on the toes. He pictured it for a moment, a little chunky light skinned baby with curly hair and dark eyes. Brown eyes and chubby cheeks for his/her mommy and daddy to bombard with kisses.

With soft little fingers and little toes. With big eyes filled with innocence that was Spencer's job to guard, that he already knew he'd lay his life down to protect in a heart beat. A baby with a tiny heart beat that he'd be honored to hold. His baby. Their baby together that they made together.

Spencer didn't know when he started moving again, or when he weaved through the groups of people making their way around Target, but he was now on his way to the front and suddenly stopped in front of the cribs.

A large wooden crib with pretty little birds carved into the side. A mobile hung over the soft insides. There were some pillows inside and a mattress inside that looked nice and soft. On the left of it, a white crib, nothing on it but it looked nice and sturdy. And he knew they could probably find some nice designs to put all over the sides.

"First time?" A deep, scratchy voice pulled Spencer from his thoughts. It was an older man maybe 15-20 years older, with his wife standing close to him. Their cart was filled with toys and an abundance of blue. Blue onesies, blue bottles, blue pacifiers, blue toys, blue bibs, blue blankets, blue teething rings. If it was blue, it was in the cart. Clearly not their first time.

"Yeah. I mean, yes, my fiancée. She's pregnant." The smile and blush of happiness that came whenever Spencer told anyone came back. Heat filled his face with joy. Not nerves or anything just pure joy. He wished she was there with him. He wished she was with him looking at the cribs and holding his hand while they looked around. The couple chuckled at how pink he got before the wife began to speak.

"Word of advice, crib shopping without her is a good way to start a war. If he went crib shopping without me for out first I would've murdered him." People say such crazy shit when they don't know you're in law enforcement. Spencer knew she was kidding and couldn't care less but sometimes he wondered how different everyone around him would act if they knew he was FBI.

At work, when he walked onto a scene wearing that jacket with the letters big yellows letters on the back people steered just a bit more clear of him. I mean the FBI is literally the FBI. If he was a normal ass cop he'd be a bit intimidated as well.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she'd do the same thing. I'm just looking right now though. I don't want to do any part of this without her." Spencer would never be this open with strangers but some strange part of him, maybe the part that wished he had grandparents, had him telling this couple with kind eyes. And he of all people knew not to judge a book by its cover. Sometimes it was the nicest looking people who committed the most vile crimes.

"Oh, sometimes you'll have too. Of course, you would never make that choice but take it from 40 years of marriage and 38 years of parenting: sometimes you have to make the calls on your own. It doesn't seem likely now, but as a father you may have to make the best call for your child if your partner is unable to make any sort of choice." Huh.

He never thought about that. Well he should've. He's seen marriages torn apart (usually by the most stressful situation possible, your child being kidnapped or murdered or something) because of one parents choice. Usually it being glancing away for one second. But what if his kid needs something while she's out cold? Maybe she's fast asleep and his kid wants to go outside or something. God forbid it's something far more serious, Spencer would have to make a choice.

Maybe. Who knows. But it was true. Sometimes, Spencer would need to make a choice on his own. And although they promised to make any and all big choices together smaller things would require an adults attention.

The realization was too clear on his face because the man chuckled.

"I'm Clive and this is Judy, it was lovely to meet you young man." He extended a hand, and Spencer took it, returning the firm handshake.

"Spencer. It was nice to meet you too. Thank you for the advice."

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

Music was one of the most emotional things in the world. It connected people, spoke to people, saved people. Right now it was destroying me. Right now, I could only hear my heart beat and the Billy Joel song that was wearing me down. The song had me in tears.

I was sitting at our bay window, Diana was watching Judge Judy and sitting calmly after she took her medication this morning with her breakfast. I had a blanket thrown over my legs, a pillow behind my back and my headphones strapped over my ears. She was softly breathing, clutching a pillow to her chest and fidgeting with the soft fringes around the edges of the pillow. From here, she looked a bit like Spencer, eyes focused on the screen with her head tilted slightly to the side. How much would our baby look my me? Or Spencer? Or even Diana, maybe his father or my parents? Anything was possible.

The soft rain pitter-pattered on the window and it just added to my mood. Was I sad? Was I happy? Bitter-sweet was the right word. How would I feel as our child grew before my very eyes? As I watched my baby get bigger with each passing moment? Before eventually they stood on their own two feet and walked completely on their own? I whimpered, an ache in my chest. Each day would be a beautiful reminder of what was to come.

I tried my hardest to keep it down, lest I bother my baby's grandmother. Oh god, grandmother. Diana would be a grandmother. The dam broke all over again and I buried my face in the sheet that was thrown over my knees

"A word of advice," I perked up when Diana's voice added to the mix of music, muffled sobbing and Judge Judy screaming at some random lady.

"When I was pregnant with Spencer, I was all over the place. I kept it to myself, I felt alone. I felt that because I was off my medication my feelings weren't normal but they completely are. Keeping my feelings inside, that turned into stress. Then resentment. For myself, for my husband and sadly for Spencer. Try talking to Spencer about your issues instead of letting them fester."

She read me like a book, what the fuck. Okay I hadn't been the most inconspicuous with my crying BUT dang I wasn't expecting that. I was actually planning to go into the bathroom because I didn't intend to disturb her. Something about being and FBI agent meant emotional constipation. Therefore, I didn't want to talk about my feelings on a deep level, and I did not want a whole thing to be made of it.

But Diana didn't look at me. She didn't turn around and look at me with pity or understanding, she didn't stand up and attempt to hug me, she didn't try questioning me on what was wrong. She just said it. She said it, blue eyes trained onto the TV as a commercial for mesothelioma played. I did my best to wipe tears from my eyes, and from down my face. Perhaps it was time to do away with the music. But in a way, I didn't want this feeling to end. I wanted to feeling to stay. The bitter-sweet feeling washing over me like a blanket. My heart hurt in the best possible way.

"Thank you Diana. I'm not upset, just...feeling things." With a chuckle as I wiped my eyes rubbed my no doubt puffy eyes.

"Well. As long as you're feeling something." Her eyes glued to the TV screen as Judge Judy came back on.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

"Hi everyone, thank you for coming. I just wanted to say thank you for coming to our lovely couples baby shower, Lord knows we all expected to be here sooner." Derek chuckled, raising his ginger ale to us, as we sat perched on the couch next to Rossi's pool. Chuckles and laughter went up all around us, Spencer laughed into his Pepsi. His smile lines crinkled under his sun glasses. God, he just looked kissed by the Sun. God (if there was one) took his time. He took his sweet ass time sculpting each little crease, crinkle, each hair on his head. And it truly paid off.

"Now, if the parents will just come to the front, we'll have them figure out the gender." Finally, Jesus. I loved Derek. I do! But my God could the man talk. And talk. Then talk some more. Maybe it was just the heat bothering me.

It was a sunny day, not too hot though just hot enough to annoy me. People in pink and blue bathing wandered around, Hotch was lounging in his blue swim trunks, Jack standing next to his dad and asking him a stream of questions (he was in that stage) had a the funniest amount of hot pink I've ever seen a child have on.

The wind gave a gentle breeze that offered slight reprieve from the heat as JJ and Will sipped virgin pina coladas from fun sippy cups in their matching pink swim suits. Henry was left with the rest of the kids in the play area with the baby sitters (the same company I planned on using for our wedding) and he arrived in a precious little pink ensemble with pink little sunglasses and sun hat.

And Penny, who could ever forget the darling Penny, who was coming back from the bathroom, with pink hair dye and basically everything else on her body. Even pink eyeshadow. I felt put to shame, thinking my all pink get up was a lot. Spencer had on a blue buttoned up shirt only for the sake of possible opposing sides.

Emily and Rossi (the only people who knew the gender) both wore black swim suits as they sat at the bar. Both giving us no clues at all to the babies gender. Honestly, this entire thing was a bit too big for a regular baby shower.

But we weren't setting any forest fires. Just spending a lot of money on our first child. And with the money we make, of course our children would be pampered each step of the way. No expense needed to be spared. And Spencer, easy going as it is, allowed me to handle the planning for our baby shower (as much as Emily and David allowed me) along with planning our wedding.

The bar, custom drink menu I created, the baby sitting company for all of our friends to bring their kids (honestly this is a small practice run for our wedding), catering company, the pool toys, the kiddie pool Rossi let us set up, and the goodie bags. And Spencer showed up, looking perfect as usual.

Rising to his feet, Spencer gave me a hand and pulled me up from my seat. We waddled (I waddled, Spencer pushed through the small crowd) through the waves of folks who came to see us today (or just came for free food) and eventually climbed to the front.

Looking out at the sea of faces, I almost cried again. I felt Emily place a palm on my shoulder and I wiped my tears before they could fall down. She handed Spencer and I both ice picks, Rossi directing the videographer and the photographer (a personal gift from him). Two black balloons, held in place by David and Emily.

Two black balloons that held out entire future. Two black balloons meant more to me than I thought was humanly possible. My heart beat pounded, as Derek said something about a countdown. The crowd began counting down from ten, as if a countdown was enough for the most important moment of my life, my hands getting sweatier by the moment. Spencer gripped my hand and I glanced over.

Ten...

And I realized then Spencer was terrified as I was.

Nine...

But we were terrified together.

Eight...

And we'd feel everything together from the moment this baby came

Seven...

No matter what happened, no matter how many faces we saw before us right now, it was Spencer and me, and our baby. And maybe one day, more of our babies.

Six...

My soon to be husband, and my child. My eyes welled up again, and Derek made a joke about mom crying early. I'd have to curse him later for being so funny. Our little family was no longer just him, I, Diana and my parents, who were in matching blue outfits watching in anticipation.

Five...

My tears and heart beat combined sounded like the ocean thrumming in my ears and Spencer chuckled nervously and stared down at his flip flops.

Four...

Almost...

Three...

Almost right at my future, the rest of my life.

Two...

Jesus just get to one!

One...

I nearly froze from fear but pushed the ice pick into the balloon, and a sprinkle of pink fell over me. I screamed, my heart soared and I jumped onto Spencer with joy and people clapped an cheered. My mom screamed, literally sobbing as she fell to her knees.

A girl. A girl, to love, and care for, and teach. I wouldn't have cared, either way I wasn't worried but I had always wanted a baby. To have a girl. To love a daughter was truly a gift.

Spencer stood stalk still, like he was a statue and he a terrified grin crossed his face. I saw Rossi nod as Derek chuckled. There was a man holding up a sign, right in front of us with a giant '2' written in pink. Right in front of Spencer, no matter he saw it first.

"Uh oh, Dad's looking a bit- oh my god, oh my god!" And Spencer was flying backwards into Hotch and Rossi.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

"Oh, you can see him start to look a bit pale right there." Penelope narrated to his mother, who they were showing the video too on face time. Spencer was now sitting up right on the living room couch and sipping a ginger ale with trembling hands.

Spencer Reid was having twins. Could his life get any better? What did he ever do to deserve this much happiness? His head hurt just a bit, mainly from when he slipped off the couch after being set down and cracking his head on the floor but this was really happening. It was real.

Suddenly he felt a familiar presence. There she was holding two of his children inside of her and staring up at him with the most gorgeous eyes. She was gorgeous, even more so with the knowledge he had now, and he didn't even know it was possible.

He couldn't help himself, the tears filling his eyes as his mother and Penelope suddenly ended the call and she excused herself gracefully (the internet in the home was shitty, so she'd probably be calling back within the hour) and now he felt tears rushing down his face. She smiled at him, so softly that he couldn't even speak.

"I love you." She whispered as she drew her face closer to his and pressed a kiss onto his forehead.

"I love you too. And I love them." The words whispered, just for the two of them.

Well. The four of them.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

The end! I cried a lot during this for no reason lol. I literally bawled my eyes out, I'm suffering from massive baby fever. Anyways, I hope you all like this one <3

[amerricanartwork]

RW Headcanon: How Arti Gives Back

In the RW community on this site, I’ve heard quite a few Artimand thoughts about how Gourmand would help Artificer heal from her trauma and grief. And while that’s all good, something that’s continuously puzzled me when shipping Artimand romantically is, “but how would Artificer help Gourmand?”

Let me tell you, one of my all-time favorite qualities in a ship is the characters helping each other improve themselves, especially in ways no other character pairing can. And while it’s easy to see Gourmand helping Artificer improve, given the vast amount of grief and lust for vengeance she has to overcome, and since Gourmand probably has a natural inclination to help others in need, what would she give to him in return? And to add to that, why would Gourmand fall in love with her and choose her as a mate, as opposed to just casually looking out for her and straight pitying her at worst, especially when she’d most-likely appear very un-qualified for romance initially?

Well, I’ve developed some thoughts and headcanons for that, and I’ll put them below the cut! Please let me know if anything could be improved, or if you can add to it! I’d love more reasons to think of these two sweethearts!

Option 1: Combat

Arti would help Gourmand improve his combat skills. The way I see it, Gourmand is a very strong warrior, but doesn’t often engage in combat simply because he doesn’t see a need for it outside of defense. Even then, due to his kind nature, he typically only fights back enough to deter predators, not kill them. However, with Arti being a carnivore, and having LOTS of experience with more complex combat situations than just defense (mostly from scav encounters), I like to think that Arti would give Gourm more combat tips and they may even end up bonding on occasional hunting trips together. And it would circle back to Arti because Gourm, with his cooking skills, would make the resulting meals from their hunts taste SO much better than what Arti is used to, allowing her to slow down and really enjoy food in a way she hasn’t been able to with her warrior lifestyle!

Option 2: Motherhood

This one’s pretty self-explanatory. Given Arti was a mother once, and Gourmand’s story ends with him getting 2 pups, I could easily see him wanting Arti to stay around to act as a mother for them. Not only would that give her the chance to embrace motherhood again, but it would take some pressure from Gourmand because he has a partner (and an experienced one at that) to help him with parenting! I mean, don’t get me wrong, Gourmand is undoubtedly great with pups, but even so it’s good to have some help! Even more so since (depending on what general age you headcanon the pups as) he’d likely have to leave his pups alone while getting food; it’d be nice to have someone with her own experience caring for pups who can look after them during those times and, to add onto the first option, even help teach them how to hunt and survive on their own!

And heck, I personally actually like to imagine that, a little later, after she gets comfortable enough and fully overcomes her grief, Artificer would actually have a second litter with Gourmand (naratively-speaking, this would signify the completion of her character arc)! Of course it’d be a big deal for Arti, but just imagine how much fun Gourm would have exploring the new experience of getting to raise biological pups this time! And I can just see him being so, so thankful that Arti somehow managed to give him even more family to love!

Option 3: Passion

So this one’s the most personal-headcanon-based, and built off my personal depiction of Gourmand as a character. In my headcanon, Gourmand starts out as a rather reluctant leader of his colony. I have this whole idea of what specific event led to him becoming the leader, but to summarize, it seemed like a very sudden chance event at the time, yet from it he was more-or-less unanimously chosen to lead by the other Outer Expanse slugcats due to him having shown great creativity, survival skills, and protectiveness. Gourmand himself, however, doesn’t really feel he’s fit to be a leader; he’s used to an easygoing life just peacefully surviving and doing his own thing, not managing and defending an entire colony! He’s so used to seeing the simple parts of the world that he often underestimates himself, so something as “grand” as leadership often appears too great for him.

That’s where Arti comes in. I like to imagine that Artificer is extremely passionate, but that for a long time after her pups’ deaths, that passion was manifested almost exclusively as immense rage, grief, and desire for revenge against their killers. But imagine if, once she gets comfortable with Gourmand’s colony, she begins to show that passion in positive emotions! Not only would she, after seeing what he’s capable of in hunts, help him see that he IS the perfect leader for his colony, but just IMAGINE: Arti hyping Gourm up as the biggest, strongest warrior in the Expanse, just before the two prepare to take down a king vulture; or Arti patching him up after a really tough battle and assuring him he’ll be even better next time; or Arti teasing Gourm and them chasing each other around as they spar together in the OE fields; or Arti getting all dramatic as she recites tales of her epic scavenger battles to his eager pups; or Arti showering Gourm with kisses after he makes a REALLY good meal with her favorite meats!  There are SO many possibilities for hypeman Arti, and I figure that, once Gourm sees her fiery spirit used in a positive way, especially to help him and his family, he can’t help but fall for her! And this idea is part of why I like the Spicybun ship name so much - while Gourmand helps Arti mellow out, Arti literally spices up his life! They just compliment each other so perfectly!!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

MAN do I love these two so much! This is about all I have right now on this subject, but again, I’d LOVE to hear any other ideas for how Artificer would help Gourmand, or additions to these ideas! I just adore the “opposites attract” ship trope (although I personally prefer to call it “inverses attract”), and I think Artimand is easily one of the best examples of that in Rain World! 

Thank you to anyone who made it to the end of this wall of text! And let me know if I should share any more Rain World headcanons, because I’ve definitely got more!

Oh, and if you've found this, @melissa-titanium, hope you like it again! Let me know if you ever want me to stop @-ing you with these Artimand headcanons, by the way!

[wtfsheikura]

6

Y/N FOLLOWS MY MOM INTO the backyard while giving me the cold shoulder.

She has plenty of reasons to be upset with me, starting with putting her in this predicament. I have a tendency to dive into situations without evaluating the potential repercussions of my actions, and I suspect I'll face the fallout when we're alone later.

The last thing she wants is to pose for photos with my family and pretend we're in love, especially when she's upset about me not bringing up the acquisition sooner. As soon as I suspected she might not be aware of it, I should have addressed it. To hell with the merger's confidentiality rules. I should have put Y/n first. I won't make that mistake again.

Once we get to the back deck, Mom and Tomoe leave us to help Rin and the photographer with arranging a couple of wooden benches in front of an ivy arch on the property's edge.

Y/n and I stand side by side as Mia comes out of the house dressed in a bright blue summer dress and silver sneakers. Her golden-blonde hair falls in waves to her waist, framing her distinct, mismatched eyes—one blue, the other green.

She moved in next door to Akira a year and a half ago, and he didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat. Everything changed when his long-term nanny quit, and Mia stepped in to help care for Lola. It didn't take Akira long to fall for Mia, and after three months where she lived abroad, they moved in together and recently got engaged.

"Look who finally showed up," Mia teases me.

"It's good to see you, MiMi." I wrap my arm around her shoulder in a side hug.

"You must be Y/n." Mia extends her hand to Y/n, who accepts it with a small smile. "I'm Mia, Akira fiancée, and that's our daughter, Lola." She motions out into the yard, where Lola is running, chasing after their dog, Waffles.

"Waffles stole my headband again," Lola shouts in our direction.

Mia adopted the Australian Shepherd/Corgi mix with comically large ears from an animal shelter before she moved to Aspen Grove. She felt an instant connection because he also has mismatched eyes—a combination of one brown and one blue.

I laugh when I spot the three tiny furballs with floppy ears trotting closely behind Lola, yipping with excitement.

Akira slings his arm around Mia's shoulders and tugs her close.

"I can't believe you're keeping the whole litter," I say with a hint of amusement.

Mia recently started volunteering at the local animal shelter, and a couple weeks ago, someone brought in three Aussie-Corgi mix puppies they found on the side of the road. Instantly reminded of Waffles, she knew she had to take them home with her. What started as an offer to foster them quickly led to her adopting all three.

"Yeah," Akira grumbles, but his tone changes when he glances down at his fiancée with affection. "Mia doesn't want to separate them."

"They're part of our family, and I won't abandon them," she declares. "Who else would love them like we will?"

"I'm sure Satoru and Y/n would." Akira smiles at us. "What do you say, lovebirds? Do you want an adorable puppy as a wedding present? Consider it therapy to bring you closer when the honeymoon stage is over." He winks at me.

Y/n fixes him with an icy stare. At least we can agree that Akira's joke isn't funny. The last thing we need is to add an untrained puppy to the mix.

"Akira, tell me you did not just try to pawn off one of our dogs." Mia swats him on the chest.

"I'm sorry, sunshine." He places a kiss on her forehead. "I was just messing around. They're not going anywhere," he promises.

Akira might not be enthusiastic about sharing his home with three more furballs, but he's smitten with Mia. He would do anything to make her happy, even if it means being the owner of four energetic dogs.

"Let's hope you have better luck training them than you did with Waffles," I taunt, shooting him a playful smirk.

"Hilarious," Akira responds dryly.

"I thought so." I grin triumphantly, squaring my shoulders.

Y/n glances between us with a confused look.

"Waffles wasn't trained when I adopted him," Mia explains to Y/n. "Akira made it his mission to whip him into shape, but Waffles gave him a run for his money."

"Hey, now," Akira playfully chides, his voice filled with amusement.

"I'm just messing around," Mia quips, using his own words against him.

Akira chuckles. "Touché." He takes Mia's hand, lacing his fingers with hers. She gives him a soft smile, and he looks at her like she's his entire world. When Mia came along, Akira was a grumpy cynic whose primary focus was raising Lola and growing Gojo Holdings. She has brought light into his life and taught him how to smile again.

Even as a carefree, unattached bachelor, I often wonder what it would be like to look at someone the way Akira looks at Mia. My gaze drifts to Y/n, who's watching Mia and Akira's interaction closely, chewing on her lip. Despite our less-than-ideal circumstances, I'm glad she's here. It didn't occur to me how much I missed her until I saw her sitting at that hotel bar in Vegas.

"Akira, Satoru, why are you all just standing around?" Tomoe shouts from the yard. "The photographer is waiting." He motions for us to get a move on.

"We're coming," Akira hollers back.

"You ready for this?" I whisper in Y/n's ear.

"Do I have a choice?" she mutters.

"Nope." I grin, taking her hand in mine as we follow Akira and Mia to join the rest of my family.

Two hours later, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Lani, the photographer my mom hired, isn't messing around. She must have taken hundreds of photos by now, and I'm hoping she'll wrap things up soon.

Y/n has kept her distance despite Lani and my mother constantly encouraging us to stand closer together. She talked with my dad and siblings in between poses and tolerated my mom's never-ending questions.

From my shameless eavesdropping, I've learned that Y/n depends on coffee as her lifeline, works long hours, and is a décor enthusiast.

I'm the type to go with the flow and never sweat the small stuff, but even I'm left wondering how we can pull off a fake marriage. We couldn't be more opposite if we tried.

I don't own a coffee maker—I prefer protein shakes and smoothies. I'm usually the last one to arrive at the office in the morning. And let's just say the décor in my London apartment is somewhat lacking.

"Satoru, Y/n, you're up next," my mom announces, breaking me out of my thoughts.

What is she talking about?

"For what?" Y/n questions, mirroring my confusion.

"Couple photos," my mom states like it's obvious. "I have no pictures of your wedding, so this is the next best thing." She clasps her hands together with anticipation.

"Come sit over here." Lani motions toward a blanket she's laid out, with several fruit trees and the barn in the background. "Y/n, I'm going to have you take off your shoes, if that's alright."

"Okay," Y/n says, her voice filled with uncertainty.

She's wearing a light blue spaghetti-strap dress. Her hair is styled in loose waves, and she has on a pair of open-toed heels. Even without advanced warning, she came ready to crush family photos.

She's a goddamn vision. I can barely contain my fingers itching to reach out and draw her close to me, to feel the warmth of her skin against mine.

"I'm going inside to make dinner," my mom announces. She turns to Mia and my brothers, sitting on a nearby bench. "I could use some help."

"Sure thing," Mia jumps up, pulling Akira along with her.

"Have fun, you two," Akira calls out as they walk toward the house.

Tomoe gives Y/n a sympathetic look before he follows behind.

Ari and Rin disappeared inside thirty minutes ago, right after their photos. I don't even want to guess what they're doing.

My dad is playing with Lola, Waffles, and the puppies on the deck, and when my mom reaches the patio, she gestures for him and Lola to go inside too.

With everyone out of view, Y/n exhales and her tense shoulders drop. I offer her my hand to help her down onto the blanket, but she shakes her head.

"I can do it on my own," she says curtly.

"I know, but I want to help," I reply, my hand cradling her elbow as she lowers herself to the ground.

She glances up at me, her eyes softening for a moment. "Thanks," she murmurs.

Y/n settles on the blanket and I take a step back as she slips off her shoes. Once she's finished, she shifts to the middle and smooths out her dress, waiting for further instructions.

"Satoru, sit behind her, please," Lani directs me. "You're going to spread your legs with your knees slightly bent and once you're in place, Y/n will lean against you," she instructs.

Once I'm seated, Y/n reluctantly leans into me, her back pressed against my chest as her thigh brushes against my leg. She fidgets with her hands and I can feel her breathing quicken as she leans into me.

"Satoru, wrap your arms around her and kiss her forehead. Y/n, hold his hand and place your other hand on his calf to show off that gorgeous ring of yours," Lani instructs.

Y/n's eyes widen in alarm, but luckily, I'm the only one who notices. Lani is too busy checking the settings on her camera, and my family is all inside.

It was convenient that my mom required every member of our family to help with dinner except Y/n and me. I don't buy it; she always has an ulterior motive. She probably figured she'd get better photos of us without an audience, and I'll do my very best to make sure Y/n is as comfortable as possible.

Y/n lets out a nervous laugh as she awkwardly rests her head on my shoulder. Her hands tremble as she places one on my knee and the other on my lower leg.

Lani moves positions, and the angle of her camera focuses on my left side. My hair is pushed back from my face, which means my scar is visible. My body freezes up, and my breathing becomes shallow. I was so focused on making sure Y/n was okay that it didn't cross my mind that couple photos would include close-ups of our faces. There's a reason I don't like to look in the mirror. I'm not under any illusions that I'm physically attractive, and prefer to avoid daily reminders of that.

Group shots are easy to manage since I can stay in the back and angle my face away from the camera. However, I steer clear of close-up photos whenever I can.

Y/n tilts her head back, worry etched on her face. "Are you alright?"

"Let's try another pose," I suggest. "I'd prefer my good side showing." I gesture to my face.

"If you'd like, I can edit out your scar," Lani offers.

"Absolutely not," Y/n interjects sharply, glaring at Lani before looking back at me. "You're beautiful. Your scar is part of you." Lowering her voice so only I can hear, she adds, "This situation isn't easy for me either, but we'll get through it together, okay?" She gives me a soft smile as she brushes her hand across my scar.

I blink down at her, rendered speechless. I'm well aware that most women don't find me attractive. They tolerate my looks because they have to, but no one has ever called me beautiful. Part of me wants to dismiss her words as mere pity, but I know that's not accurate. If it were anyone besides Y/n, I wouldn't believe it, but she's not one to mince her words.

"Whatever you say, boss," I choke out, overcome with unexpected emotion.

"Everything okay?" Lani asks.

"Yes," Y/n says, turning back to face her. "We're all set to continue."

"Perfect. Cash, wrap your arms around her," Lani says when I don't move.

If she finds it strange that Y/n and I are uncomfortable with each other, she keeps it to herself. Thank god Akira and Tomoe are inside, or they'd be teasing us without mercy.

I band my arm around Y/n and pull her tight against me. My racing heart reverberates in my ears, its steady rhythm grounding my senses. Y/n's shallow breaths are a dead giveaway that I'm not the only one affected by our proximity.

She feigns indifference, but now and then, I catch her mask slipping. Like when she couldn't stop sneaking glances at me when I walked into the hotel bar. Or when I woke up with her clinging to me like a baby koala.

"Y/n, scoot a little closer to Satoru, please," Lani calls out from behind her camera. "Pretend I'm not here, and you're just sharing a special moment as newlyweds."

Joke's on her because Y/n would rather watch me get struck by lightning than be my wife. Unfortunately for her, she's stuck with me—at least for now.

The sooner we cooperate, the sooner this will be over.

I take the opportunity to enjoy this fleeting moment as I bury my face in her hair and inhale the scent of jasmine, lavender, and vanilla. She smells like heaven, and I'm forced to push aside any thoughts of her writhing against me in pleasure.

Fuck me.

Maybe taking photos together was a bad idea. This woman is toying with my mind. One minute, I'm agreeing that getting an annulment is a good idea, and the next, I'm consumed by an overwhelming desire to explore every inch of her.

My instincts take over as I grip her hair in my fist and push it over her shoulder. A part of me can't help but wonder what it would feel like if I peppered kisses along her neck, holding her hair like this. Would she hum in delight or cry out in pleasure as I played with her breasts, alternating between pinching and twisting them with my fingers, my tongue slipping inside her mouth.

That's not an appropriate thought to have during a family photo session.

That doesn't stop my cock from pulsating with excitement. I use my newfound daydream to keep me in the present as I caress Y/n's hand in a hypnotic fashion—back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She sits still as a statue but grips my calf tightly, proof that my touch is affecting her—no acting necessary.

Her reaction pushes me forward, and I drag a finger along her arm, leaving goosebumps in my wake. I pause for effect, and as she lets out her next breath, I plant several kisses along her shoulder as my hands tug her closer to me. The tension crackles between us.

"Why don't you kiss her on the mouth, Satoru," Lani suggests as she snaps another picture.

That's a terrible idea.

Common sense doesn't stop me from fixing on Y/n plump red lips, practically begging to be kissed. Technically, our first kiss was at the chapel after we exchanged vows, but we were both buzzed, and I didn't get to enjoy it the way I wanted to. There's no chance I'm passing up the opportunity to taste her now that we're sober.

One little kiss can't hurt, right?

I'm sure that thought will come back to haunt me later, but I can't find it in me to care.

My dick is doing the thinking when I lightly grasp Y/n chin and tip her head back, coming face-to-face with her wanton expression, her chocolate-brown eyes ablaze with desire. Our intermingled panting is music to my ears as I slant my mouth across hers.

"Can I kiss you, N/n?" I murmur.

"You'll smear my lipstick," she whispers teasingly.

"Fuck it, I'm kissing you anyway." I brush my lips against hers in a teasing stroke, and I'm both shocked and pleased when a soft moan escapes her mouth. As I deepen the kiss, the tension between us becomes an inferno.

Our lips are interlocked as I cup her cheek with my hand. She shifts position—her ass pressed against my rock-hard cock.

Kissing her is like tasting forbidden fruit. Every touch is electric; every breath is charged with anticipation, making it all the more sweet.

I'm lost in the moment when Lani's high-pitched voice jolts me back to reality. "That was perfect," she exclaims. "I got so many incredible shots. I'm all set."

I jerk my head up to find her retrieving her equipment bag from one of the benches nearby. Y/n and I were so caught up in the intensity, I briefly forgot Lani was here.

My gaze pings back to Y/n. She stares at me, cheeks flushed, like she can't believe what just happened. She finally snaps out of it, scrambling out of my arms, pausing when she sees my face.

"Uh, you should take care of that," she says as she motions to my lips.

I swipe at my mouth with the back of my hand, grinning when I glance down at my hand, now marked with red lipstick.

"I'm going inside," she announces, refusing to make eye contact.

She puts her shoes back on in record time before hustling toward the house.

"I'm right behind you."

Holy shit, I just kissed Y/n... again.

Now is not the time to panic; it won't do me any good.

When I look at the house, I spot Tomoe and Akira watching out the window with smug expressions on their faces.

Even I'm starting to see that our dilemma has gotten out of hand. The sooner we leave for London, the better.

Something tells me that our kiss just complicated things, especially since now I want to do it again... and again.

[valemya]

Where Threads Entwine

Pairing: Tech x Vale Bridger (OC/DRself) Words: 1,613 Summary: "Garia had been a lovely planet, all things considered. The scenery would’ve been holo-worthy had it not been for the makeshift separatist stronghold erected dead centre on the horizon, conveniently obscuring their view of the planet’s lush, grassy hills on approach. Vale would’ve taken the opportunity to snap a holo *after* the ensuing battle, but there wasn’t much beauty in the patches of scorched grass and upturned soil littered with the carcasses of battle droids, if you could call those scrap heaps anything resembling a formerly living being. Nonetheless, the mission objective had been completed. Now she could use the downtime to get some relaxation of her own; the source of it no doubt tapping away at the various consoles in the cockpit just out of sight from where she was leaning against some precariously stacked crates." --- Tech and Vale have a quiet post-mission conversation in the cockpit of the Marauder.

Cross-posted on Ao3 here.

Garia had been a lovely planet, all things considered. The scenery would’ve been holo-worthy had it not been for the makeshift separatist stronghold erected dead centre on the horizon, conveniently obscuring their view of the planet’s lush, grassy hills on approach. Vale would’ve taken the opportunity to snap a holo after the ensuing battle, but there wasn’t much beauty in the patches of scorched grass and upturned soil littered with the carcasses of battle droids, if you could call those scrap heaps anything resembling a formerly living being. 

Nonetheless, the mission objective had been completed. She thought it best not to think about the environmental damage left behind in the aftermath of such conflicts. 

She hadn’t been with her own battalion for this one, the 501st staying behind on Coruscant for some well earned rest and relaxation while she jetted off to assist Clone Force 99 in their specialised mission. They hadn’t needed her assistance, not really, but she figured the request for her “necessary expertise” on the mission had been a half-sincere, half-banthashit attempt to make a routine op just a bit more entertaining for them all. Not like she was going to complain- it beat sitting around on Coruscant doing fuck all waiting for the next directive. 

Besides, she was certain she’d find the time to get some relaxation of her own; the source of it no doubt tapping away at the various consoles in the cockpit just out of sight from where she was leaning against some precariously stacked crates.

After the mission she’d let him be for a while, giving him time to sit in the cockpit and decompress in his natural element. No better way to unwind than rewiring some finicky gadget, or whatever he was up to in there. After boarding she’d taken to some light conversation with the rest of the batch as they began to unload a few of their belongings, nothing really having much of a designated home amidst the clutter. She didn’t have anything of her own to put away, let alone her own space to deposit it, but she opted to unclip her lightsaber and place it on Tech’s bunk. Sure, she liked having it on her at all times, but it felt a bit awkward standing there doing nothing while everyone else was putting things away. And if she happened to forget it on the ship, well, that was just as good an excuse as any for her to come back around and see him later.

Vale had been standing and quietly chatting with Hunter and Echo for a while, engaged in idle conversation as they prepared for their sleep shift, graciously offering up a bunk for her to rest too. Besides the fact she questioned the dubious cleanliness of the sleeping mat, she didn’t care all that much for sleeping in this present moment. Not when she hadn’t been able to spend much “alone time” with Tech for the past weeks because of their continually clashing schedules. 

Her conversation with the two of them reached a lull, and Vale left them to go off to bed with a polite “Goodnight, and good job today” before heading up to check in on her boyfriend. 

Tech was deep in focus, giving all his attention to the multiple screens in front of him displaying detailed star charts and hyperspace routes, likely running his own calculations on the most efficient route to Coruscant. It was a very standard planet to navigate to, considering it was the core. Virtually every hyperspace route led to it in some way, interconnected by a mass of lanes you could enter at any point and follow along until you reached your destination, or the end of charted space. 

Vale thought of her connection to the force in a similar way; every living being a destination along the expanse of a thread, a thread that loops and crosses over, and doubles back, that she could locate and traverse until she found the being she was trying to reach. Similar to the hyperspace routes indeed. Yet, unlike the bounds of wild space, the end of the line for charted territory, she held no concept of a definitive “end” to her thread. What she had discovered in recent years was that, much like the galaxy had a centre, a certain marker for the core of the known universe, she too, had a centre. She had, perhaps against her philosophy, expected that centre to lie within herself, but it was now abundantly clear to her that this was not the case. It was not her at the centre of this thread- it was him.

And she always seemed to find herself the most grounded at her centre. 

It didn’t appear like he’d noticed her presence yet, she had a habit of walking a bit too quietly and unintentionally scaring the living daylights out of people. Lingering off to his side, she waited a moment and watched as he tapped away at his datapad before placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to unobtrusively announce her arrival. Solid plastoid met her fingertips and she instinctively gave a reassuring squeeze, the muscle memory paying no mind to the physical barrier that separated him from her touch. 

Not redirecting his attention too far from the screen, he offered her a quick glance before readjusting his goggles that had begun to slide down the bridge of his nose slightly. Vale thought that half the amount of times he reached up to adjust them they hadn’t even budged from their position on his face at all, he just fiddled with them purely out of habit. 

“We will be on track to Coruscant shortly,” he said, “I am just double checking I have planned the most efficient route for us to take. Garia is not situated in a major hyperspace lane… I have concluded we will actually save time by diverting our course to Bacrana and entering the Corellian Run from that entry point, as opposed to following the lesser-known path directly from here.”

Her hand removed itself from his shoulder as she casually leaned against the backrest of the pilot’s seat, humming a quick “ah” in agreement as if she knew anything about the minor hyperspace routes surrounding the planet. 

“And you figured this out yourself? If only you were as good at judging the appropriate speed to come in for landings as you are at calculating hyperspace routes…” she trailed off, purposely avoiding his annoyed gaze and laughing to herself about the playful tease.

It wasn’t a genuine rile up, of course, but some of his rougher landings across various bases came to mind; like that time on Anaxes he’d sped toward the landing strip a little too close for comfort, practically bowling over some of her men on the ground and managing to upturn dozens of newly delivered storage crates.

Of course she was the one who copped her head supply officer’s lengthy complaint, not Tech. 

“My landings are adequate.” He replied, finally putting the datapad down to rest on his lap as his hands moved deftly across the ship’s controls, preparing for the jump to hyperspace. 

Vale couldn’t help but smile at that. “Really? I can think of a few occasions you’ve come in too hot and nearly taken out a communications array or two.” 

That earned her a faux-death glare as he sat hunched over the panel, briefly pausing his taps on the buttons and switches to hold the look for a few seconds before he broke, a mischievous glimmer curiously rising in his eyes and dissolving his frown. 

But he wouldn’t admit defeat, as much as he knew her comment about his landings was mostly true. 

“I have never taken out a communications array,” he retaliated, “I happen to have very good piloting skills, actually. My landings are completed with incredible accuracy.”

It was true of course, but Vale was committed now.

“I don’t know… You’re a bit wobbly with the steering at times. Could be a little smoother.” she said, crossing her arms and purposely avoiding looking in his direction.

“Not me though.” she added. “Being a good pilot is in the Bridger bloodline.” 

Being a good pilot was definitely not in the Bridger bloodline- she recalled her parents being decidedly average pilots, if she was being honest. The only thing giving her a bit of an edge when she flew was the fact she had the force. She imagined a lot of those close calls in her starfighter would’ve been totally fatal had she not had the innate sense that alerted her to impending danger.

She could pretend she was born to be a good pilot though, for the sake of acting like she had anything over Tech. 

He sat back in his seat for a second, momentarily straightening his posture out a bit after he finished readying the ship’s controls.

“I’ll be a Bridger when we get married. That will count.” He said nonchalantly, pushing forward the lever to send the Marauder into hyperspace like he hadn’t just delivered the smoothest line Vale had ever heard. 

A sudden warmth spread across her face at that, an accompanying sensation of butterflies arising in her core and settling into a new home in the very essence of her being. 

“You’d better get some more practice in before then.” she replied, unable and unwilling to reign in her adoring smile as she looked down at him. 

He huffed out a quick laugh and turned the seat to look at her fully for the first time in their interaction, a small smile on his face at Vale’s easy response. She knew he meant it.

[i-am-still-bb]

Treat for 22/10:

One of them is a modern witch and an owner of a famous potions recipe blog. The other one is a bit of a fanboy / just trying not to get his eyebrows synged off…

A/N: Originally conceived as an AU of The World Next Door. That had me stuck though. So we have this. But it still has similar elements, age gap, instructor/student dynamic, etc.

—

Fili drummed his fingers on the walnut conference table. One. Finger. At. A. Time. Focusing on how there were pits in the wood and some scratches in the varnish beneath his fingertips.

“Do you have any ideas?”

The silence following the question stretched on a beat too long and Fili knew he was supposed to answer. “Can you rephrase the question?”

“Enrollment numbers are dropping.”

“I’d noticed.”

“We need better student engagement and retention. Do you have any ideas? You are the most junior member of staff.” That last part was a thinly veiled dig and threat.

Fili shrugged, brushing off the words, “We could try putting some stuff on social media, teasers, sneak peeks, behind the scenes stuff. Stories about how potions and other magic sometimes go awry.”

Frowns appeared on the tenured track professors’ faces as soon as the words “social media” had left his mouth. This is why he rarely spoke up during these things. He kept his head down, did his research, lectured, and quickly attended conferences and published. 

Alice, the other young faculty member, specializing in potions that assisted in the growing of plants, clapped her hands. “My students would love something like that,” she grinned. “And I think it would do them good to see us as human, to see that we also make mistakes and singe our eyebrows and armchairs off.”

The department head looked skeptical. “It is an ‘interesting’ idea,” Fili could hear the air quotes around the word. “I think one of you younger people should be in charge. And as Ms. Yu is already assisting the Archives in their project then it should be you, if you don’t mind.

Fili did mind. Very much in fact. 

“It shouldn’t take that much time, maybe an hour a week,” the Head continued. 

And that was how a decade later Fili found himself spending more time on social media (Instagram, TikTok, and the like) promoting the university more broadly and the potions department specifically. 

He had asked for an assistant and was denied. 

It was fun. 

Sometimes. 

But other times he was just answering basic questions, or telling people “NO! ABSOLUTELY DO NOT MIX THOSE THINGS TOGETHER!” and then hoping that they actually listened.

Most of the time he was typing up replies, proofreading, posting, recording response videos, without paying much attention to the usernames that came across his screen. Sometimes there was one that would strike him as particularly ridiculous or clever; he would screenshot it, crop it, and save it to a special folder on his computer. He did the same with responses that made him give up home for humanity. 

But then there was one user, K.O.A.K., who asked questions that often made Fili pause and wonder and sometimes his only response was “I don’t know” even after he did some research and some serious thinking. 

They had a video chain going back at least six months at this point. 

Fili’s videos were well-lit against a carefully chosen background from a tripod; all courtesy of a performing arts student who interned for him for a semester. Really, she had bullied him into letting her do an unpaid internship. She was a double major and she said that the content of his videos were fantastic, but everything else was tragic. 

So now part of Fili’s large office / workspace was permanently set up for filming videos.

K.O.A.K.’s videos were probably worse that Fili’s had started out as. He always held his phone which sometimes made Fili nauseous while the user tossed ingredients into a travel sized cauldron that sat on a stove that had a single burner and plugged into a wall outlet. The wooden table it sat on was scarred from mishaps and frequently littered with ingredients, snacks, dust, and the occasional iced coffee cup of varying fullness. 

K.O.A.K. never showed his face. 

His hands featured in nearly every video. Sometimes his bare feet (which Fili had scolded him for, “What if you spill [insert potion here]? Or it boils over?” K.O.A.K.’s only response had been laughter, and to show off a fairly impressive old scar on his shin from just that thing happening) appeared. 

Fili shared tricks for making a potion that temporarily improved hand dexterity. “Roast the willow root before cutting it into thin 1 inch strips.”

K.O.A.K.  responded with a video demonstrating the differences between his original potion, one following Fili’s tip, and then one where he had added some olive oil to the foil packet before roasting, and then had roughly minced the root. 

Fili amended his notes.

He toyed with the idea of sharing his phone number as they starting talking about more than just tips and tricks for potions. But decided against it. This account operated in an official capacity. And it was probably bad enough that he was carrying on personal conversations through it. 

But he did notice that the twinge of excitement he got when he saw a notification form K.O.A.K. was the same as the one he would get early on in a new relationship. He had more than a little bit of a crush. It was merely academic, or so he told himself. He did not often get to talk about potions with anyone else.

—

Direct Messages between You (Prof.Durin) and K.O.A.K.

You: Why don’t you have a degree in this? You’re better than some of my grad students.

IDK.

You: You should apply to Erebor’s program. 

I don’t think they’d take me. I never took those ridiculous tests.

You: I’ll get them waived.

… I may not have finished secondary school

You: I’ll see what I can do.

—

Fili dismissed the class early. The first day of a new semester was always short. Most of his students were out of their seats and out the door before Fili had finished wiping down the whiteboard. Except for one. He was standing by the lectern, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Did you have a question?”

The student shook his head. “I just wanted to introduce myself.”

Fili consulted his attendance sheet for a moment, “It’s Killian Oaks, right? If you would prefer something else, I can certainly do that. I just don’t have a note from the college about anything like that for you.”

“It is. But that’s not how you’d know me.”

Fili frowned in thought, one hand splayed over his papers on the desk. There was the niggle in the back of his brain that told him he was missing something.”

“You’d know me as . . .”

--

Taglist: Everything: @silvermoon-scrolls Fili/Kili: @dubhlachen

[neurospicy-diaries]

Hello dear diary,

it's been a while.

these last few days have been... tough. Mentally I'm exhausted and it reflects on my well being, or in other words, I'm not taking properly care of me.

Lately I'm having problems with eating. Again. I just don't want to do it.

I don't want to eat. I don't want to think of what to eat. I don't want to prepare food. I don't want to buy groceries.

Clearly I'm having problems again with my lack of routine, which our current work situation is not helping at all.

I'm also having lots of problem with phone gaming and binge watching. After several weeks of total disuse, I found myself to rely completely on the distraction blocker app. I even installed a session on the laptops browsers so they will block several websites after 23:30. The apps instead will be blocked on the phone after 23:00 (I left out, of course, any app that would be needed in an emergency).

I also have to start a session banning games almost daily so I can actually do something, even if not much or just stop staying on the phone (yesterday I activated it and then started doing sudoku).

Sunday I had to engage my sister help to just go and buy material for more shelves in my apartment, because I really need to don't have boxes and stuff on my floor anymore. But when we came home it was already 18:00 and I was too tired, so we scheduled their mounting for the next day; she had stuff of her own to do though and now there's more materials in my home.

I'm procrastinating going to buy sealing film for my windows, not sure why. It's not that long of a ride on bus and they're not so expensive. I can also easily go by car. I guess it's also the anticipation of all I have to to once I have them and the possible problems that could arise in doing so. Or the intuition that it will amount to have just more materials around the house.

That being said, I'm continuing at least the regular deeds of the day.

I'm keeping my dishes clean. Last time I didn't emptied the dishwasher but I was able to keep some order in the dirty dishes and yesterday I emptied it and filled it in half an hour and programmed for later that night

I washed a pair of sheets. Just in time and literally because the last clean pair were on the bed and ready to be swapped. I still have two pairs to wash but I might be able to do at least one by the end of the week

I did a laundry. I was behind. A lot. Now I have the towels and sweaters to do but I can dress myself decently this week. It's nice.

I'm still doing my bed as soon as I get out of bed. I'm quite proud of this. I was able to make it so that the autism now will be annoyed if the bed is not made, so ADHD has no choice but to accept that.

I'm keeping the bags in and coats in their places.

The couch is still free of stuff.

The desk is still quite workable

I emptied the litter box

I got the kitchen in order just yesterday, my table is free of stuff and the cupboard top is free of empty pills sheets and other trash

All in all I'm trying to still function, but it's hard and the holidays fast approaching is not helping (not a big fan of them).

I'm also reevaluating my life, in particular my childhood and... it's though. But I need to do it in its own post.

Anyway, I better start to write regularly every day again, because I clearly need it.

Bye.

[victoria-daydreams]

AN: Don’t know if I will continue this story, don’t know where I want to go after this chapter, but I do know I’m happy it’s out my head and my drafts.

Trigger Warnings: racial slurs, use of google translate

Isabella Davies, dressed in an elegant, navy blue and white trimmed gown, sat rigidly in a finely upholstered chair on a grand ship called the Kerberos. Daintily, she sipped hot English tea out of a china cup, her dark brown eyes lazily scanning her surroundings over the rim. The dining hall was decorated with wooden paneling on the walls and had floors made of linoleum tiles, featuring an elaborate red, brown, and triangular pattern. Hundreds of tables littered the space, filled with any range from two to five people. Low murmurs floated about in the hall along with clattering of the china, for eight, long days she would have to endure this.

“Morning tea, noon tea, evening tea.” she thought.

This voyage was not one she voluntarily wished to be on. It was not her fault high society and her did not mix for reasons out of her control. Though diamond earrings adorned her ears and a diamond pendant hung from her neck, Isabella would never be seen as one of them.

“Isabella?” Mr. Wood called, causing her to lower her cup and look at him. “Are you listening to me?” he asked, peering over his glasses.

Wilfred Wood, a plump and almost balding man sat beside her. He was her breakfast companion, more than that, he was also her legal guardian since her father passed. He was a kind man, treating her with respect and dignity despite her complexion. However, at the moment, she was in no mood to hear their itinerary; they had more than enough time to discuss it later.

She stared at him with mild interest, “Wholeheartedly,” Isabella responded, placing the porcelain cup onto its saucer.

“Good, as I was saying, once we get to America,” Mr. Wood continued, not picking up on her sarcasm.

Isabella tuned him out once more, shifting her blank gaze to two tables from them. There sat a young couple who looked to be about her age. Although, Isabella felt the term was being used too loosely by her. If she opened a dictionary and searched for the word unhappiness, the two of their faces would be plastered next to the definition. Isabella couldn’t help but carefully watch their interaction with each other. The pretty, brunette attempting to engage in conversation with her handsome husband who’s attention lied elsewhere; she quickly followed his stare to discover he was looking at the geisha across the room.

She could see the distance between the man and woman, it was plainly obvious if you knew what to look for. Isabella, for reasons unknown to her, was immediately captivated by this man. Curly brown hair, light blue eyes, a well groomed mustache above plump lips, even the determined line of his jaw. Isabella wanted to get to know him better, but in a way, she felt she almost knew him already. Wrapping her fingers around the handle of the teacup again, she went to raise it to her lips when her eyes noticed faint movement at the bottom of the couple’s table.

Isabella’s eyes drifted down to the source and was shocked to find it came from the handsome man himself. Just out of sight of everyone, his left hand began to tremble uncontrollably. Furrowing her brows, Isabella shifted her eyes up to find the man staring back at her. Startled, she quickly turned her head and looked straight ahead, sipping at her cooling tea.

“Isabella!” Mr. Wood called again, his voice low.

“Yes, Mr. Wood,” she replied, glancing at him.

“You have not listened to a single word I’ve said have you?” he questioned.

“I have,” Isabella said, quietly putting the cup down. “With the utmost interest,” she added, an easy smile on her lips.

He looked at her for a moment, “Repeat to me what I just said,” Mr. Wood challenged simply.

Isabella’s savior to answering the demand, came in the form of a scarred, lanky man from third class suddenly bursting into the dining hall, shouting in a foreign language. She welcomed it, because she didn’t have the faintest idea of what Mr. Wood had been droning on about. Still yelling, the man’s shouts echoed in the hall while passengers nervously looked around at each other. Isabella concentrated on the man’s words, trying to put her lessons to use to decipher what he was saying. The language he was speaking vaguely sounded like German, but she knew it couldn’t be as she would’ve understood him perfectly.

“I think he’s trying to ask for something,” Isabella whispered, looking at Mr. Wood, his thick brows raised.

“Doctor!” the man exclaimed, desperately looking around the room.

Just as he managed to say the one word in English, three crew members came from behind him and roughly dragged him out the room. A second had barely passed when a redheaded woman jumped from her seat to find the man who was dragged away. Slowly, hushed conversations resumed in the hall.

“Well,” Mr. Wood began, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a cream colored napkin. “That was enough excitement for the morning,” he remarked, putting the cloth onto the table and standing up. “Let us go, where you’ll be less distracted as we discuss what is to come, hmm,” he said, outstretching his hand for her to follow him.

She exhaled, “I do not have much of a choice, do I?” Isabella retorted, rising to her feet.

Side by side, they walked to the double doors and Isabella briefly glanced off to her left. Like magnets, dark brown eyes locked with a familiar pair of blue ones and at that moment, it was as if time slowed. Gliding past him, their eyes never left each other’s. Isabella was mesmerized. She began to wonder how many other women had gazed into them, held fixed by the wordless spell? With a soft creak, the trance Isabella was in shattered, forcing her to look ahead and follow Mr. Wood out the doors.

~~~x~~~

Isabella’s fingers mindlessly tapped against the railing, imagining them as piano keys as she looked out into the bleak, gray sky.

“This was your plan all along, to cozy up to him! You have robbed the both of us from our father’s inheritance, his blood! You two-faced, negress whore!”

Echoes of the upsetting memory floated through her mind, unsettling her and causing her palms to tremble. Tilting her head, Isabella closed her eyes as a gentle sea breeze blew, sending the loose strands of her dark hair across her face. The sound of waves lapping against the ship soothed her as the steel behemoth cut its way through the ocean bound for America.

“Est-ce que quelqu'un vous l'a dit, regarder est impoli?” a deep, male voice stated, standing beside her. (Has anyone told you, staring is rude?)

Isabella’s eyes opened, her head whipping to the side and she was pleasantly surprised to see the slim frame of the handsome man from earlier. She relished the temporary distraction from her sullen memories.

“A Frenchman,” she thought.

“Pour être juste, je crois que tu regardais aussi,” (To be fair, I believe you were also staring.) Isabella responded smoothly, a small grin tugging at her lips. “On peut difficilement appeler ça du regard, si ce n'était qu'un simple coup d'œil,”  (One can hardly call it staring, if it was but a simple glance.)

His eyes widened slightly, surprised Isabella responded in his tongue.

“Tu parles français?” (You speak French?)

“Oui,” she nodded. “Je m'appelle Isabelle, Isabelle Davies,” she said, flashing him a friendly smile.

He merely stared at her, “Isabelle, un si beau nom,” the Frenchman commented. (Isabella, such a beautiful name.)

Blood rushed to her cheeks, “Merci,” Isabella said, bowing her head shyly. “Et tu?” she asked, gesturing to him.

“Lucien,”

“Au plaisir de vous rencontrer Lucien,” (A pleasure to meet you, Lucien.)

His eyes trailed over her face as if he was trying to commit it to his memory. Shifting his weight to one leg to another, he moved closer to her.

“S'est-on déjà rencontrés? Il y a quelque chose en toi qui m'est familier,” Lucien commented.  (Have we met before? There is something about you that's familiar to me.)

“Non,” Isabella shook her head. “Sauf si vous avez visité Londres récemment,” she added, with a hint of playfulness. (Unless you have visited London recently.)

Lucien’s lips quirked up a little, “Non, je n'ai pas encore eu le plaisir,” he said, chuckling half heartedly. (No, I have not had the pleasure yet.)

Isabella mirrored his expression before a silence fell between them, she lowered her gaze taking to studying the deck at her feet. Glancing upwards, she quietly observed Lucien. Both of his hands were tightly clutched around the railing, to the point his knuckles had turned white. There was a tightness in his jaw ceasing as he gazed at the white foam the ship left it in its wake.

"Your secret is safe with me," Isabella said suddenly. The words came tumbling out before she could stop herself.

Lucien’s head jerked in her direction. His expression expectant as his eyes met hers. He wanted her to say it. Isabella chose her next words carefully.

"À propos de votre état," she finished, in French. (About your condition.)

He searched her face intensely, looking for deceit and Isabella held his stare. Only the waves continuing to lap against the ship bore witness to their interaction. Without taking his eyes of off her, he stepped closer to Isabella, just enough for their proximity to be still considered socially proper.

“Merci,”

“De rien,”

Isabella went to speak, but just beyond Lucien’s shoulder she spotted the prying eyes of Virginia Wilson, who appeared to be taking great interest in their conversation.

“I should go,” she said hurriedly, focusing back on him.

“Non,” he protested softly, reaching out to her.

“Mr. Wood is no doubt searching for me,” Isabella guessed, stepping away from him. “C'était un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Lucien,” she added, smiling sweetly at him. (It was nice meeting you, Lucien.)

Isabella didn’t give him a chance to respond, immediately turning around and walking along the side of the rail. The heels of her boots loudly clacking against the wooden deck, the noise reverberating in the still air.

24 year-old Isabella sat silently at one of the small tables in her late father’s study. Murmured conversations between her brothers and other guest happened all around her, but she didn’t dare speak. The death of her father had all but numbed her to human emotion. The executor cleared his throat, silencing the room.

"As you know, you have all been summoned to hear the last will and testament of William Davies,” he began, taking a seat behind the desk.

He took a single sheet of paper out of his leather briefcase. Isabella had no expectations for herself inheriting much if anything. She was his adopted child, not blood. She glanced beside her where Henry, her brother was, a smug expression painted on his face.

“I, William John Davies, being of sound mind, do hereby after mature deliberation, declare the following to be my last Will and Testament with respect to such property as may be left by me at the time of my death.

“To my daughter, Isabella Lucy Davies I leave the remainder of the Davies fortune and the whole of the estate Davies Estate, Kenbrick Manor including everything residing inside it,”

Isabella nearly fell out of her chair.

“This money is to be left in under the control of Wilfred Wood, until such time as Isabella reaches the age of 25 and contents of the inheritance are turned over to her control. This Will and Testament is the only one valid, and revokes all my previous testamentary dispositions, should any such exist after my death,” he finished.

The executor placed the paper back into his briefcase and folded his hands to look over the room.

"This is outrageous!” Henry shouted, seething in anger.

Isabella shifted in her seat uncomfortably, knowing it wasn’t the chair bringing her discomfort, far from it. Rather, it was feeling the brunt of everyone’s stares and what they meant. She was now the heiress to an enormous fortune, every pence her father owned and the family manor.

“Father cut us out the will and is giving everything to her!” Matthew exclaimed in disbelief. “A colored urchin he plucked from the streets,” he sneered.

“How much is the remainder of Father’s fortune?” Henry demanded.

"The remainder is about £300,00,” the executor replied matter of factly.

"Three hundred pounds," Isabella repeated breathlessly, speaking for the first time.

I am feeling rather ill. I think the sea air is getting to me. Please excuse me to my cabin." Ruth looked up from her conversation and nodded.

"Of course, dear. Go."

In a dreamlike trance,

The sight and smell of those about her all merged into one along with the the smell of the fresh paints and the feel of plush new carpets beneath her feet. It was all so beautiful. So brand new.

Rose's body woke her up sharply at five in the morning. Slowly, she propped herself up on her elbow and scanned the room. The first hints of the day were beginning to shed through the curtains.

Olivia woke the next morning to her bedroom curtains being thrown open and bright sunlight pouring into the room.

[kotofvi]

So, I’m not dead or anything! I’m doing a lot better as of late, but this weekend is gonna be a rough one. I do plan on coming back once I get settled into myself a little more though! I know some folks are probably wondering “Yooo what the actual fuck happened? Did you just like, die and forget about us?” Nah, a lot of shit happened. Long story short: I lost everything I owned aside from my work clothes and the few things I had kept at my sister’s house. So I went into full shut down mode and basically just started working more and more until I had no time for myself or anything else. I did not wish to burden anyone and felt inconsolable due to all of the losses I suffered quite literally over the span of two weeks. But! Like I said, doing better after a year and it took months out of that to semi-get my shit together.

Now if you wanna know everything, here’s the long story: 

Okay, so my POS step father that I have been financially taking care of for years decided every dime I handed to him for RENT would not make it into the hands of the landlord. I had been living with my sister for a year in another city an hour away from work because his alcoholism had gotten to be horrid and I couldn’t handle it anymore, but I was still paying all of the bills in both houses. Hence why I became less frequent around here. To shorten it up a bit, I lost everything I owned because of these actions due to not being able to enter the house due to him destroying it in that year to a level where it was actually deemed unsafe to enter the premises. He was cheating on my mother as well, stole 1800$ from me when I gave him my phone and my card to get essentials one day and used that to stage an elaborate engagement party to the side bitch and post it on facebook where she could see it.  I lost the truck I had been working on for a decade to customize, I lost all of my electronics because I hadn’t been able to get them out and left in a hurry and to spite me, when I did go back for my laptop one day; he’d poured beer on it and threw it in a litter box so it wasn’t useable anymore. In the same week that all of this came to light and transpired, I also lost my dog Ace and was in a frenzy trying to find who had picked him up, found him and got him home safe, and also had to take my two other dogs to my friend’s house in the mountains. Not even a month later, one of my dogs (Thor) died from being bitten by a snake under the shed. A few months after that, my older dog (Paco, who was 17) died from old age. I was not able to be there for either one of them due to the circumstances I was in. My brother moved in with my sister and I moved in with a friend, I could not have them at her house so yeah.  Nothing would have helped me, as much as anyone could’ve tried, nothing would have made any of this better. I’d lost everything, my home, my dogs, my cats were given to a shelter and I couldn’t even look at my own family anymore. I couldn’t go to see my mother a few weeks after everything happened because she let him live there. He is still there, so I haven’t seen her since I went last time and broke a few fingers punching him as hard as I could. Guys, he didn’t even apologize. Not once. I gave him the chance before my dogs died to say something, anything, and instead; he said “well what do you want me to say?” Like bitch, maybe an apology??? Anyways, I was in such a bad way that as much as anyone would’ve wanted to help, it wouldn’t have made a difference. As it came to be when a couple of my friends thought they’d help by getting me to talk about it and otherwise giving me advice. I tried to say that I would put said advice to use when I could but alas, it only upset them further that I couldn’t do it then.  I get it, wanting to help is natural, but nothing would’ve made anything better. At that point, I was just genuinely lucky to still have some kind of will to live and get out of bed to go to work. No, that wasn’t me cutting anyone off or just saying fuck it either. I needed time. It took a year, I know, but I needed fucking time to consolidate my many immeasurable moments of grief, anger and pain. The people I did cut off were my family. Honestly, this whole ordeal made me lose some good friends too but if they couldn’t understand even after I explained to them that I needed time to get through it by myself, after knowing me for years and years, then perhaps it isn’t a bad thing. I wish them well, but if you’ve spent literal years with me then you know I best figure out things myself and that I need time to myself to work through things. Even if that’s weeks, months, or a year. Something extremely traumatic happened in multiple stages and at various levels of heinous, expecting me to just be there and exist is all anyone should’ve asked of me rather than expecting me to rely on people in an unfamiliar way. 

But anyways, to put some good into this: I live with my friend and former coworker who’s an amazing individual. She can’t deal with crying but she leaves cupcakes at the door whenever she hears it and asks if I wanna go to wally world to walk around afterwards. She understood that giving me time and space was necessary though and just let me do my own thing. She’s my best friend and an awesome person. Another person has helped me a lot in getting through this shit, found me having a whole ass break down in the paint booth at work and proceeded to just pat my shoulder and has since; decided that he is now my golden retriever level support with no braincells, only weird hobby support and entertaining my dumbass whims to go randomly vault myself off a bridge into a lake. (Surprise, he’s my boyfriend now after hanging around my espresso depresso self for a year. Still don’t know how that happened, he legit just decided we were dating and I agreed? Fucking mint.)  I’ve reached some level of happiness, still have my break downs and shit but I’m getting there. Tomorrow is father’s day though so I’m having a hell of a time trying to get through THAT. The level of rage I have is unreal right now, but y’know, shit happens I guess? I’m trying to keep with the typical policy I have of “Chuck it in the mcfuckit bucket and call it a day” but yee, I’ve decided on violence apparently due to this day. (Btw, if you have a shitty not-dad I’m y’er dad now, I love you and y’er doing great.) But to wrap this up, I’m getting there. It’s still gonna take a little time but I’m doing a lot better now. And yes, this is the short version, a lot more happened and shit like that but y’know, basics. 

[grappel-writes]

Re: Previous Ask Post

HUGE Writing exercise answering a bunch of character building questions about my Tav, Orion, under the cut.

His go to drink order is beer, but it better be good. Things like an unfiltered wheat beer flavored with cardamom or an oatmeal stout. If it's more than $7 a glass at a gastropub, he's all about it. Could be persuaded into wine with company.

On his own and separated from his parents' bank account, his money now goes to armor, weapons, and the keep and care of them. This isn't just for fun. He's learned with the best equipment and knows how deadly poorly fitting armor and a dull blade could be. They need every advantage they can get, and if he has the means to make sure no one ever has to worry about a loose hilt or boots that slide in the mud, he just sees that as another way to take care of his little crew. Outside of that, he's always willing to splurge on little luxuries like finer fabrics and meals.

His grooming routine is more involved than most. He keeps his hair pulled back when fighting, so he has to walk the fine line of keeping it long enough for that, but not so long it gets in his way the rest of the time. His nails are kept short, and care is taken that there's no jagged surfaces or wild cuticles as best as he can manage. Just because they're traveling the wilds doesn't mean they have to look the part. His right hand (sword hand) is more calloused than the other, especially on the inner edge of the palm/index finger. Not much to be done about that, and he kind of likes that it gives way his experience when shaking hands with someone in polite society. Less so on the road and in survival mode, but usually he trains regularly and maintains a balanced, useful build. Both for vanity and practicality. He looks forward to one day indulging and feeling like he doesn't have to maintain that, but for now, it's necessary. He also refuses to go to sleep dirty. Will drag himself after even the hardest days to at least a wash basin and rag before he sleeps covered in road dirt and gore. He keeps a backup change of clothes that are at least presentable in cases of emergency.

Before he got worm'd, he didn't have any significant scarring. He's racked them up over the journey, though. A burn on his right calf from the grymforge, a jagged one over his right pec where he was bit so hard by a spectator. his armor cracked and cut into him, and of course, two faint dots on the left side of his neck. They're uneven from repeated abuse but easy to miss on an initial glance. He's also littered with other very faint scars from various battles that will likely be gone in the next decade.

The right side of his neck has an intricate flower tattoo, punishment of his brother's lost bet. He keeps it covered when possible with high neck collars.

In armor or out, Orion wears the same bespoke leather boots he has for years. He maintains them himself, scratching the soles for extra traction when needed, and replacing the soles altogether when that no longer works. They have straps for interlocking with sabatons, and wouldn't dare to switch them out while in dire circumstances like these. He's so calibrated to these, and extension of himself, that something as slight as stiffer leather could throw off his calibration. Better to stick to what he knows.

Last time he cried was 10 days before his abduction. His brother and childhood best friend announced their engagement, and while he was outwardly their biggest supporter, he broke apart later that night. Oddly, it was the first time he cried about the ordeal. When they began courting and discussing marriage, he was fine. The announcement made it too real. This was the first time he cried as an adult. It's difficult to move him to tears.

He's the youngest child, with a half brother that is 5 years older. He's his father's second son and his mom's only son. There was a brief time where he lived with his mother when he was very young as an only child, but she wanted the stability of the city for him, and he's lived with his dad, stepmother, and stepbrother ever since. Baldur's Gate is what he would consider home, even if he has fond memories of "camping" with his mom.

His brother, Dallin, has always been his idol and best friend. Even as they grew older and began to develop opposing ideas on how Baldur's Gate should be protected and lead, Orion always yielded to his brother's insistence.

Favorite holiday is Greengrass - the holiday that welcome the return of good weather, the sun, new beginnings, and renewal. Lathander is revered by the house, and this holiday holds special weight to their family (and many other Baldurian families). He spends the morning in quick, private prayer, before joining festivities outside in the city.

His bedroom at the family home is smaller, cozy. It looks befitting the house and name. He's got a four-poster bed that dominates the space, a large window that points to the back patio and topiary garden (and a small training yard). The fireplace in the room is small, and the floor is tiled, but a large rug covers most of it. Squeezed in where they can fit is an armoir and weapons rack. Compared to the rest of the house, it's obvious that this room was an afterthought. Before him, it was a sunroom for entertaining guests during daytime gatherings. All the other bedrooms are upstairs, and he's located right next to the kitchen, so the noise of the staff getting things ready for the day has been his alarm for as long as he remembers. At camp, he's secured a round marquee tent, light brown, and attached a small fly to the front to extend the habitable area of it. Flags hang off the edge of the tent in goldenrod yellow. Inside is a cot, with basic belongings stored underneath. This includes a box full of his clothes, a basket full of dry goods, and a box containing towels, bandages, and polishing rags. If they're stained with blood, oil, or polish, it's probably best not to ask. Rugs spill from the inside to the outside, laid down and overlapping haphazardly. In front, he's got a nicked up wooden table, adorned with a map held in place with a knife. Small baubles and coins are used as place markers on the map to work through battle drills and strategies. Master of the battlefield, just don't ask him to navigate. Next to the table and entrance to his tent are a pile of pillows (some with elaborate embroidery that's obviously much newer than the pillow itself). This is where he sits to repair armor, mend leather straps, and sharpen blades. There's always enough room next to him for an elf working on the knee of a pair of pants to comfortably fit.

Like any good fighter, Orion always keep a knife on him. He has smaller, more delicate ones for polite events, and a large dirk carried horizontally on the back of his belt for all other situations. Additionally, he keeps his wallet and any valuables inside his clothes. Perhaps a bit paranoid, but he's seen too many rogues work to allow himself to be an easy target. He knows he'd be mocked relentlessly if he fell victim to a pickpocket.

[cipheramnesia]

In the end, Loren and Dandridge spent the better part of the day in the mark-out. The highlight for Sy remained split between snagging digits from Brian, and the pair of hot bao they each picked up from a street vendor. He hadn't come across anything that had the oddly pleasant stringy and chewy texture of what he figured as the protein and something greenish brown, just a little bit crisp, chopped up and mixed together inside a soft carb wrapper of some type. He'd blown air through his mouth to cool it down while Dandridge smirked. It would have been annoying but Loren ate his the same way.

"You won't burn your tongue if you wait like three minutes," Dandridge said.

Around hot bites and a full mouth, Loren said, "It's better hot."

"What is it?" Sy asked, similarly engaged in trying to eat each steaming bite the minute he could swallow.

"Just garlic beef and broccoli," Dandridge said, taking his first experimental bite before deciding to take a bigger bite.

"It's really good!"

Dandridge just shrugged, too busy trying to blow air through his mouth to cool his bite down.

After lunch they hit up one building after another, Loren's wide eyed and excited explanations of their civs, followed up by Dandridge and his cynical disregard for what each new trader always assured them was the best offer, seemingly an effective tactic to Sy's understanding. Then again, he didn't know how you'd place a value on a genetic splicer which utilized an untested fluid based summoning ritual, a room sized gateway for what was either an alien god or intended for ocean trawling, air that when inhaled permitted the user to breathe chlorine gas, and some items which Sy didn't completely appreciate.

"I would have given my left arm to get a crack at that fishing gate," he said to Loren, as they were on the way back to the Paperclip.

"Sure," Loren said. "Me too, so would Cat for that matter. That's this job though, you gotta he curious enough to know what you're trading, cynical enough to give it up. And that table netted a hundred twenty kee's of diamond, which your weird computer is gonna... eat?"

Sy nodded. "Yeah, it eats diamonds."

Dandridge shook his head while Loren continued. "Anyway, if your wolf girl got lucky, that's gonna make a really tidy snack."

Sy blushed and murmured Laika wasn't his girl, but Loren and Dandridge got distracted with Dandridge insisting they could have done better with a pattern diamond currency change and Loren claiming it was too close to gambling. Sy smiled to himself a little. Whatever they'd traded would be loaded soon, cashed into the Paperclip crew accounts, and they'd be headed for the rendezvous point.

It'd be nice to see Laika again, he liked her shy smile. Hopefully everything was going smoothly on her end.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Laika collapsed into the freezing cold dirt of the moon, in the dark. She was breathing hard, her leg still ached, but she had a case of stardust tight against her chest to balance the weight of the extra peck of ghosts pulling at her soul.

A moment later Doc had her lights up and was breaking down the artifact she'd used to translate to the Ghostlands. The silver disc was pitted and scarred, while the frame was blackened and nearly burned through in places. When she unscrewed the water circulation system, several parts crumbled to dust. Doc did her best to scoop the dust into the carrying case along with the ruined mechanism.

The absence of the field of black-out stary eyes made the formerly familiar surface of Luna uncomfortable for Laika. She felt like the stars were too far away, and she might just fall up into the sky forever. Laika pulled herself to a sitting position. "Sloane, I think it's trashed. Let's just go, no one's gonna fine us for littering." She shivered, the cold in her mind snaked through her veins.

"Blaine," Doc said, more absently than usual. "We don't learn to fall from birds." Doc placed the last twisted bit of scrap in its place and stood up. "No insect is less trivial than those crushed against the glass," she added by way of explanation, which Laika wanted to ask about, but Doc was already walking.

Laika carefully stood up with her baggage and limped after Doc. In a few moments more her phone blinked and sent digital distortion into her ears for a half second.

"Hey GK," she said. "Nice to see you waited for us."

There was a tone Laika couldn't quite place in its voice as GK replied, "It was my greatest hope in the past hours you might forswear the alleged humor of which your species seems so fond. I see once again I am to embrace disappointment."

"Missed you too. We're headed back, obviously, with some of the godseye stuff Loren was talking about. Turns out he wasn't full of shit."

"There is no additional form of energy matter I can detect. You should inspect- Ah, there is new information in your region. This does not type match any structure of this system. I would suggest we delay our rendezvous to conduct analysis of the structure. I may find useful information in its composition."

Laika closed and latched the outside case and limped a bit faster to catch up with Doc. She glanced at the sky again as she jogged, and it was black and empty as ever. She finally figured out the weird tone in GK's voice. Relief, and affection. "Sure GK. We got time, and it's not like anyone's looking for us way out here."

"That," GK replied, "is not entirely correct."

Part 4: A Midnight Summer Dream

a story by @rox-and-prose and @cipheramnesia

Luna was a pale sliver of paint in the stars, a slip of the brush in the forever of the sky.

"That's it," Michele Loren said. "This is where we head our separate ways for the moment."

Laika took her hand of the control vines for Genghis Khan as she stared wordlessly. The earth civ moon, original version, a system unto itself. She had devoured all she could find about Luna, the multifacet god, in hopes to understand the call she felt in the days after leaving home. She'd put the hope of seeing Luna with her own eyes at the bottom of a box and buried the idea. Her muzzle hung slightly agape as she searched for something momentous to say, to share with GK how much it meant to be in the here and now.

She noticed Sy was watching her, and the dryad smiled and glanced away when he saw her seeing him. She blushed and her face felt hot, and she forgot her train of thought.

"I never imagined I'd rob the moon," she said.

"You're only robbing a very, very small part of it," Cat Nguyen corrected.

The crew of the Paperclip were sharing the bridge of Genghis Kahn, with varying expressions of perplexity on their faces watching the werewolf executing the peculiar movements and footwork involved in manipulating the various switches and nerves and pedals essential to a Pilot. Even Doc seemed entranced, silent through all the system jumps, or structure solutions, or whatever GK liked to call them. All except Dandridge who returned to the Paperclip immediately in a sullen huff, vowing never to set foot on GK ever again. Laika was going to need to find out what exactly GK had done to piss him off so bad.

Now they were gathering up helmets and and gloves for their envirosuits, looking around for just the right way to excuse themselves from the room which Laika had seen enough of before she was eight to recognize. "Okay," Loren said. "Well, you know. This should go fine, just stick with the plan, keep it simple, you know."

"I can do better than that," Doc (Laika still hadn't figured out if the woman was Blake Sloane, or Sloane Blake, or something else), pushing her bracelets along with the sleeve of her purple, double breasted, knitted suit jacket. "I can stick the plan to me." There was a mess of writing which Laika deeply hoped was meant to look smeared and half erased on Doc's forearm.

"That's, that's a great- Good job Sloane."

"Doctor Blake, why can't you ever get my name right?!"

"I'm sorry. Doctor Blake. Fantastic work as always." Loren turned to Laika. "Look, I don't know how to uh. You know how much work this has been for me. Well, just be careful. Make sure next time I see you, you have the godseye or Doc, or both. Or don't let me see you again?"

"Is that a threat," Sy asked.

"Think of it as friendly advice," Loren said.

"And also as a threat," Nguyen added, despite Loren's sharp look. "What?" she shot back at his frown.

"Do I have do go with these guys?" Sy looked at Laika who said "no" at the same time as Loren and Nguyen said "yes."

"We'll keep our end," Nguyen said, "along with your friend. You keep yourself along with Doc."

"Who you wouldn't be sorry to see killed, I gather."

"We'd prefer she come out of this mostly intact," Loren sounded almost apologetic.

"Okay, okay, fine. Let's not draw this out, I get it."

Loren breathed a small sigh of relief and Nguyen just smiled. "We'll get going then," he said.

"Take care of yourself," Laika gave Sy a shoulder pat as he walked by, then impulsively pulled him into a hug.

"I'll be good," he said into fur. "You have the hard job."

"Pulling off the heist?"

"Being alone with, uh, the Doc."

Loren and Nguyen waited at the entryway to the bridge. Laika set down Sy from the hug and stood her full height. "Oh," she said. "Before you go? GK, please threaten them."

Its voice coming from nowhere as usual, GK said, "Thank you Laika, for this commendable request. Captain Michele Loren of the Paperclip, please prepare for receiving a threatening missive."

"What?"

"Captain Michele Loren, Pilot Cat Nguyen, and the remaining crew of the ship Paperclip not present aboard myself, I am placing you under the advisement that should even the smallest fraction of an injury occur to Pilot Laika Blackwood, or Sy Drangea, electrical engineer, I will track you to the end of earth civilization space, and to parts unknown. You will never know safety or peace for as long as you remain alive. I will find your dreams, and take them from you. There will be no power up to and including the total heat death of this universe which will stop me from extracting your lives in payment. If you die, I will find yours souls. I will tear apart the essence of your beings. I will disperse the electrons of your bodies into every star of this universe. I will burn your souls to ash. Nothing will remain. Please ensure Sy returns safely to me upon our next meeting."

Loren stared, open mouthed.

"Uh," said Nguyen, "You're... really good at that."

"Thank you," said GK. "Your praise is insignificant to me. Please have a safe trip."

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

part i, autonomy in your coherence | c.g

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

You’ve forgotten your feelings for Carl, because he didn’t feel the same.

You just wished you did a better job at it.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, suicide ideation

this is a continuation of watch you burn away and i recommend you read that, first! this is also part of a series, so here is the masterlist if you need it!

(cross-posted on ao3!)

Your father once told you he had a patient that died from heartbreak.

“Your heart can’t really break, though, right?” You’d said. A doctor for a father and a laboratory technician for a mother made you more than aware of things, seeing through the myths and pretty white lies of figures like Santa and the tooth fairy.

(They had gone through with it anyway, because although their child knew, it was a gateway to normality in such a busy home.)

Your father scratched his chin, unsure how to respond. “My patient had died from a broken heart, though the process wasn’t as simple as it’s term name. A broken heart — the nonliteral meaning — can be the cause and the domino toppling to many things that could lead to death.”

“Like what?” You’d said with little admission into the conversation, having been flicking through a novel you’d picked up a while back (which featured a one eyed pirate and his partner who’d ended up dying in the end — not that you knew, yet, at least.)

“I don’t know, er,” Your father swirled his coffee lightly, gesturing wildly with his free hand, “Mental health issues, for one. Erratic actions, depression, a lost sense of self. Obsession.”

“Huh,” You muttered, looking up at your father for the first time. “A lost sense of self? Really?”

“What is your father teaching you?” Your mother said, stepping into the kitchen with a questioning expression. The conversation ended there, without so much as a thought after.

You wish you pried your father for further answers. What you’d give to get the workaholic of a man to dump his duo psychology medical major thoughts unto you with little care.

The knowledge would be gold in your time of need, when pulling and pushing distance further between you was like venturing through a field of thorns.

(Perhaps you just missed your parents. But that couldn’t be it, right? They’d died and you had lived, their blood on your hands and the gun in your fingers, their glazed over eyes and your own that nearly matched, cold and willing without a drop of emotion.)

But you’d gotten through it for him— without him. Without anyone, quietly harboring scratches and bleeding from the field with little effort.

If someone asked, you would tell them with full and honest confidence that you harboured no more attachments. You were a naive teenager, running through your feet and over yourself for something that was just a crush.

Crushes are — in their whole singularity and purpose —  temporary.

They are brief, and momentarily something that causes ripples and waves in your thoughts, just the slightest mention or faint sight makes you detour down a road of sickly sweet dreams and fantasies.

He was first love (like? You didn’t love him, no, it was a crush and it was something for the unattainable and the inappropriate — in which with full truth, he was.) so you poured the honey glazed remembrances and rose coloured lenses over your memories, because he was a first love, and you know that those were cracks in the heart, growing vines and constricting the part that was him — the part that’d always, always be there, without a doubt.

(However much you didn’t want it to be.)

The leaves and the venomous flowers that sprout in decaying grooves come with age, and you are older now.

You bear fresh scars that litter your entire being and wear newly buried bones of people who were once not just that, the dirt still sitting in the crevices of your nails, and you seem to forget their voices with each passing day.

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

More and more, the faces look like reference art rather than a taken from life picture, which was all telling them to sit still and watching their eyes crinkle at the edges when you show them the result, voices echoing and asking if they could have it.

Everyday, as it has become a peevish habit like biting your nails or obsessively reminding yourself your stove is off, you draw pictures of everyone.

If you are close enough with them, you ask the subject to sit and model for you, analyzing every breath and laugh they take when you crack a joke or engage them in meaningless conversation just to see how the light hits their brows when they raise, the shadows pooling in their aging lines.

Everyday, you wish and hope and even fucking pray that their portraits continue to be something of anxious routine, rather than trying to dump their image out of your head and onto paper so you can see their faces one more time.

His image seems to change with each moment he sits in for you, once a face with two piercing blues, then a patch and eyes that looked at the dusty wooden floor, and later, someone who looks at you straight, something that told you he was a survivor, who bore his battles proudly, the scar on the right of his face sitting ruggedly and bewitchingly.

You draw him, exactly the way you see him, and when you show him the picture, he laughs, and says “You made me look too pretty,” and you shake your head, “It’s exactly the way I see you.”

You do her, too, upon request. When she sits, you draw her almost like it was professional, drawing the curvature of her face with exact precision, intense shading, marking the features she holds. The dip in her nose, the straight of her hair.

(You often forget who you’re drawing in these moments, and when you step away from the canvas you’re hit with whiplash. It’s subconscious, the way you do these things to please him, wanting to see so clearly how his face spreads delicately with delight.)

It takes a little while for you to convince Ron. When you first propose the drawing, he gives you a confused face, before walking off to do shooting practice. He’s gotten better with the gun over the years, and doesn’t respond when you tell him you know why.

(His mother didn’t come out of it alive, and his brother didn’t come back without harm. The younger boy was alive, but would grow up with only his brother by his side and one less limb to account for.)

The second time, he makes a snide comment, albeit with no bite, about how ‘you must be a horrible artist, to ask me of all people to model for you.’

The third time, you’ve dragged him to the small office you makeshifted for the drawings in the garage. He studies every slit of paper you’ve ripped out of your book, the unfinished sketches or yet-to-be painted canvases piling up against the walls. Complete works sit proudly on your wall, displayed for the world to see.

His hands hover over the paints sitting on your desk, charcoal, dirt, sticks, paintbrushes, handmade dyes, wallpaper cut-outs.

“Why?” Ron says curiously.

“‘Why?’ what?” You echo, fiddling with a fork you grabbed from the kitchen, splaying out a thick lather combination of beet dye and cement onto your finger to check the consistency.

“Why do you draw these portraits? I get the others because,” He says, leaving the words “because they’re dead” hanging in the air between you two in mutual and regretful acknowledgement, “But you draw these everyday. You drag Carl and Enid off, or just sit on the benches and draw Maggie and Glenn knee-deep in the dirt.”

You sigh a dreadful breath, wiping the rest of the beet-cement mix onto the page with the pad of your fore-finger. “We’ll forget them one day.”

He looks at you, unblinking. The dead, the gone, and the soon to be long forgotten only existed in your memories, in your words, and when the time came that the world had moved on and stopped, they would cease. Their whole memory relied on the living, nothing about them able to reach and grasp life on their own. Memory was all that was left, and it was all you could do to wash away regret.

“And the rest?”

You bite your tongue hesitantly, your movements rigid, “You see their portraits. Everyday they get less and less coherent. When — when time comes , these drawings will be the only thing getting me by.” You whispered.

The ball had dropped. Coping and grief in it’s big and ugly form, preying on your conscious hungrily, taking shelter in your largest worries. Claws sunken in your flesh, the monster was a thing that felt like it would never go away, because it would loom right alongside death itself, watching and waiting for the moment they’d deemed someones time to have been enough.

(It would never be enough. Enough meant they’d pop in from next door and ask to borrow something, enough meant they’d swipe dirt across your face to make you angry — enough meant they would come in everyday and sit for their portrait once more.)

A creaking on the floorboard caught your attention, eyes watching as Ron’s feet walk to the corner of the room, before hopping onto the wooden seat with little effort.

“I’m not going. I never will. But — do it anyway. I’d… like to see how I look on paper.” He said cheekily, picking up a thin pencil off your desk and handing it out to you.

So you did. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes snowballed into hours in the dim lighting of the garage, asking the blond to turn his body, stretch his head and make different expressions, fulfilling and destroying the little worm of worry sitting in your head.

When you’re done with the charcoal, turning it around for Ron to see and to inspect, he asks, “What about you?”

“And what about me?” You say. His questions never make sense without further discussion, but the boy always has to wait for you to pry and ask him to elaborate.

“You don’t have any drawings of yourself. You’re the artist, the photographer, the one who makes these things that will stay longer than the memories and the words — so what about you?”

It’s rare that Ron delves into his emotions and the things he really means, but when he does, it’s something that stays, for a long while.

“I,” You didn’t have an answer for it. You weren’t one to do a self-portrait, it not being the same as having someone to sit and take from. “I don’t want to.” You finished simply, an ice cold realization coming to reality in you.

“Why?” He says the same words as before, but the words hold a heavy weight.

“I don’t know.”

You knew.

Maybe one day, you’d wished that you’d wash away like seafoam on the beach. You wouldn’t leave a single portrait behind of you, and the memories and the words were left mum behind his lips, because you knew how he got in a loss.

Quiet and unfeeling, it was so selfish of you that you’d counted on how he got in that state to leave you behind, neglecting you like the fruits of your memories you’d never get to bear.

Ron’s gaze bore into you like he knew exactly what you were thinking, telepathically taking in every thought you’d conveyed at your dispense.

“You should.” Is all he says, before stepping off the wooden stool and out the door.

What was wrong with you? You feel so… entirely foolish. Obsolete. Embarrassing.

You walked past the remnants of those who were gone everyday, obsessively creating canvas over canvas of them and the only thing you could think was that you’d wish to position yourself beside them?

This world was catching up to you, and fast, but you’d just have to run faster than it could.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Honest and Truly

Summary: Spencer has his prom 10 years late, but none of that matters when it's with the girl of his dreams.

Word Count: 4.8 k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female (She/Her)-- Fluff

CW: Minimal vulgar language (PG-13)

Author's Note: This just might be my most favorite thing I've written in a very long time :) Also listen to the song I linked, it makes the title and the ending make more sense! thank you to @spookydrreid and @writhingintheroses for helping me a particular scene!!

Add yourself to my taglist! It makes it much easier for me :)

Honest and Truly

“A prom?” Spencer asks, realizing that the conversation had entered uncharted territory, a territory in which he had not a single clue how to navigate. Spencer, being a preteen in high school, never attended prom.

“Yes, Reid. A prom,” Penelope says, staring at him over the many monitors and stuffed cats that littered her desk, “It’s going to be so much fun!” she says, excitedly.

“That sounds like, uh, I’ll have plans that night,” Spencer tells Penelope, spinning around in the swivel chair as he eats his turkey and cheese sandwich. He usually enjoys their lunches together, but when Penelope gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her.

@s“Now I don’t believe that for a second, Reid. The only time that you have plans is when you’re with Y/N. And Y/N is going to be at this prom,” Garcia says, her pink glasses sliding down her nose. She winks at Reid, almost like she enjoys watching him squirm.

“How do you know that she’s going? Did she say she’s going?” Spencer asks, unable to conceal his eagerness that Y/N could be attending. Spencer might hate dancing and those fancy shoes that are too tight on his toes, but all that can be talked away if Y/N is there.

“Yes, she’s going because you’re asking her. That and I’m making everyone go,” Penelope says matter of factly.

Spencer opens his mouth, attempting to talk away Penelope’s suggestion. But Spencer Reid is a smart man and he knows better than trying to argue his way out with Penelope. Especially when it comes to Y/N. He might have an excellent poker face, but Spencer can’t hide his love for Y/N.

“I’m not going to ask her. You know she’ll think it’s because-” Spencer says, prepping for a long winded rant before the door of Penelope’s office swings open.

Y/N, with two coffees in hand, floats into the room like she’s walking on air. Or maybe it’s Spencer’s mind that’s floating when Y/N walks in. He can never tell. Whenever he’s near her, it’s like everything is sweeter, lighter and airier. Wordlessly, she passes the coffee to Spencer. Feeling her fingertips graze his reminds him of how pathetic he must be. He nods, telling her thanks, knowing that he’s unable to fully articulate just how grateful he is for the littlest things.

“Who are you not going to ask and to where, Spence?” Y/N says, leaning against the filing cabinets and sipping her coffee. Penelope, never one to be quiet, silently watches as Spencer and Y/N converse. Spencer looks up at her, feeling that light and airy feeling again. He brushes his hair that falls against his forehead nervously thinking of an answer.

“I- uh, I was thinking of asking my mother to come stay with me for a couple of weeks. You know, she hasn’t seen DC in a couple of years. And I do have some personal days banked,” Spencer says, telling Y/N a small white lie.

“She’s in Vegas, right?” Y/N asks, interested in what Spencer is saying, which is something that he’s still not used to. Spencer nods, smiling awkwardly.

“Yeah, she says that she likes the heat,” Spencer says, hating how formal and cold the conversation sounds. It’s normally flowing with easy and familiarity, but something is wedged between them. Penelope, long forgotten by the pair, types rapidly on her keyboard.

“You know, Spence. If you’re up for it maybe we can have lunch or meet at Elmwood Park. I’d love to meet the woman that made my favorite person,” she says, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes. Her stare is so intense that it’s like she’s looking into his soul. He thinks that if she looks deep enough she’ll see her own reflection because his soul belongs to her.

“I-I uh,” Spencer says, immediately thinking that he should actually invite his mother out for a visit, “I think that’s a good idea. She likes the sites and all,” he tells her nervously, trying to ease his beating heart.

He’s her favorite person.

Out of all the people in this city, this world. He’s her favorite person. Spencer, a lover of math, is tempted to figure out the odds of being his favorite person’s favorite person. He knows it’s slim. He knows it’s rare. It’s something magical and Spencer is terrified he’s going to ruin it. He’s terrified he’s going to fuck something up that’s not even his.

“It’s a date,” Y/N says, turning to Penelope, who’s still long forgotten, “Oh, Penny, you need to yell at Morgan for me. He ate my leftovers,” she tells Penelope, who feigns horror, “And now I don’t have lunch”

“How dare he!” Penelope says, her exaggerated response inciting chuckles, “he can get away with murder because he’s pretty,” she says, shaking her head.

He knows that she’s pretending to be disappointed, but he still doesn’t like to see it. Spencer unwraps the other half of his turkey and cheese sandwich and hands it to Y/N. She looks surprised, as if Spencer just handed her a million bucks.

“Spence, you don’t have to,” Y/N says, softly, handing back the half of the sandwich, “It’s your sandwich, I don’t want you to feel-”

“Eat it, Y/N,” Spencer says firmly, looking straight at Y/N, “You need to eat something. We both live off coffee as it is,” he says, hoping that Y/N will take the sandwich.

He’s looking straight at her and she’s looking straight at him. Spencer wonders if he looks deep enough he’ll reach her soul. He dares to think that if he can find her soul, he’ll stare at his face. He’s her favorite person after all, that’s got to count for something.

“Thanks, Spence,” Y/N says, smiling softly, “You make the best sandwiches,” she tells him, taking a bite of the sandwich as Garcia’s eyes flit from Spencer to Y/N. Back and forth, she watches the pair engage in the world’s best miscommunication.

“Y/N, did you hear? I’m throwing a prom!” Garcia says excitedly, hoping that Y/N’s reaction will be more enthusiastic than Spencer’s.

“A prom?” Y/N asks, unconvincingly, “God, I hated my prom. I got punched spilled all over my dress and my date tried to sneak alcohol into the banquet hall. It was a shitshow,” Y/N says, remembering the less than happy memories from high school.

“I didn’t go to prom. You know, between being a 12 year old and a dork,” Spencer says, self deprecatingly, “It’s not the ideal scenario, but I am familiar with the cultural significance of proms in American high school,” Spencer says, speaking to no one in particular, yet looking at Y/N directly.

“Maybe we’ll both get the prom night we deserve, Spence,” Y/N offers, tossing out her wax paper wrapper. She walks past him and it’s like the air is sweeter. He believes in science, but loves magic. Y/N is magic.

“Maybe,” Spencer says, refusing to make eye contact with Penelope, “you know, sorry to uh, cut this short. I have some paperwork to finish. Hotch’s been on me all day about it. So, uh, see you later,” he says, walking out of Penelope's office like a bat out of hell.

He tries to ignore the knowing stares from Penelope and Y/N’s confusion as he ducks out and walks into the bullpen. Spencer doesn’t have paperwork. He finished all his paperwork by 11:12 am. But what Spencer does have is a flight from Vegas to Quantico to book.

And prom shopping.

___

As it turns out, Spencer doesn’t know much about teenage American culture. Sure he’s seen 90s movies that Y/N forced him to watch. But it was quite difficult to pay attention when all he could feel was Y/N’s fingers brushing up against his in their shared bucket of popcorn or her head laying against his shoulder when she got tired.

He doesn’t know much of anything when it comes to romance. But he knows that he loves Y/N— and hopefully that’s enough. He still hasn’t asked her if she’d go with him. Honestly, he’s not too sure why he even has to ask her in the first place. She’s going to be there already, but Garcia and Morgan convinced him that it’s part of the so-called “Prom Experience”

“Spence,” Y/N says, she’s perched on the tall bar stool and rests her elbows on her kitchen island, “did you find a suit yet? I was thinking that we can go to that vintage store on Rock Ave. They have a surprisingly good size selection, and I think that this whole vintage thing fits your aesthetic really well,”

“My aesthetic?” Spencer questions, again lost at sea.

“You know, you’re like nerdy chic. Equal parts dorky and equal parts handsome,” she tells him. He feels his cheeks burn at her words.

Handsome

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not,” Spencer says, eyeing Y/N over the rim of his hot coffee.

“It is,” Y/N says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like him being handsome is just as obvious as him being dorky, “And get your wallet. We’re going to the vintage store,”

Spencer has a hate-love relationship with weekends. He loves spending time with Y/N where it was so easy to pretend that she loves him as he loves her. He hates the weekends for the same reason he loves them. Spencer knows that it’s all fake. It’s a façade of the truth.

“Spence! You’d look great in this,” Y/N suggests, holding up a gray sports coat, “I think it will match your eyes perfectly,”

“If you think so, Y/N,” Spencer says, nodding his head in agreement. She continues eyeing him as if she’s imagining what he’d look like in the jacket. He has to admit, it’s a very nice jacket.

“Come on, Spence. There’s a mirror over in the corner. Try it on for me,” she requests and not even a second later Spencer finds himself being dragged by the hand to try on the suit jacket.

Y/N holds the jacket open for him as he slips it on through his arms. He’s surprised to realize that it fits perfectly. He looks into the mirror, staring at his face and Y/N, who tugs and smooths the jacket. Spencer can’t look too much longer because if he does the lines between reality and fantasy will be difficult to distinguish. As much as he wants to stare into the mirror all day long, pretending that this is real, he much rather it actually be real. But wishing and dreaming only ends up with battle wounds and broken hearts.

“You look very handsome, Spencer. Very handsome,” Y/N says, staring into the mirror too now. But she’s not looking at the jacket, she’s looking at him. The beat of silence lasts longer than what’s comfortable, “Um, I think, I saw some pants that would look good on you, with this jacket, I mean,” she says, stumbling over her words. She’s not looking in the mirror any more, her gaze is noticeably away from Spencer and the mirror.

“Okay, uh, whatever you think, Y/N,” Spencer says, “I’m not even sure why I agreed to this thing. I don’t dance,” he says, regretting his choice to go to Penelope’s prom, but feeling guilty for maybe disappointing Y/N all in one breath.

“Did you ask her yet?” Y/N asks, holding up a pair of similarly gray colored pants. She must notice his confusion, “You know Austin, the woman you heroically saved. Does any of it ring a bell, Spence?” Y/N teases. Spencer feels his cheeks burn and his heart tighten, that happens a lot around Y/N.

“Oh Austin, uh no. She wasn’t interested in me, after all,” Spencer says, shifting his weight and staring at his converse, “I mean, I should have seen it coming. It’s transference, that’s like Psych 101,” he says, feeling strange. It was odd when Austin broke up with him, even if you can consider it breaking up. He felt a strange sense of relief when it happened, like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

Y/N clicks her tongue in annoyance as she walks over to Spencer. Tugging slightly on the sleeves of the jacket she says, “well she’s not as smart as I thought she was. You have to be a complete fool to let someone like you go,” she says quietly. She’s standing too close, looking too beautiful, and seeming too perfect for Spencer to not be completely enamoured.

Then it breaks, like shattered glass. The rosey glasses are lifted, leaving only cheeks that sting with nervousness and hearts the yearn for something a little more tangible.

“Stop staring at me and go try it on,” Y/N says, handing him the pair of pants, “Oh and I’m going to look for a vest and a tie to match. This store is unbelievable,” she tells him, pushing him into the makeshift dressing room.

Spencer puts on the pants, which fit, despite being maybe an inch or two loose in the waist. He looks into the tall mirror, which is noticeably empty without Y/N standing with him. A floating hand, belonging to Y/N appears. She holds a burgundy tie and a dark brown vest, both of which are very Spencer. He smiles slightly, strangely happy that Y/N has picked something out that’s perfect for him.

“Tell me when you’re decent,” she says, her voice muffled by the curtain that separates them. He sticks his head out of the curtain, his eyes immediately finding Y/N’s.

“Ohh, Spence, you look amazing. Very handsome,” she says, her hands clasped around the tie, tugging just like she did with his suit jacket before, “What do you think?” she asks, looking at him curiously.

“It’s nice,” Spencer offers, approaching this like he does everything: cautiously, “I do like the texture,” he says, running his hands up and down the sleeves of the jacket.

“You look more than nice, Spence. I know I’ve said it like 30 times, but you look very handsome,” she says. Spencer hopes that she means it. He needs something to be real. Sometimes besides what he feels, because what he feels is the realest thing in the world.

“It’s nice to hear,” Spencer says, “you know from someone who’s not my mother,” he jokes, shrugging off the jacket and grabbing the hanger from Y/N.

“You deserve to hear it,” Y/N says so softly Spencer wonders if she’s saying it all. That beat of silence, followed by the awkwardness is back.

“So, uh, I saw a dress that I’m going to try on,” Y/N tells him, her gaze shifting everywhere but Spencer’s eyes.

“I’ll go pay for this,” Spencer says, walking back into the dressing room and the mirror that lies to his face.

___

Back in Y/N’s car, Spencer shifts in the passenger seat trying to find a way to sit comfortably while holding his suit jacket, pants and vest. Y/N hangs up her dress, that’s wrapped in a gown bag. She wouldn’t let Spencer see the dress, despite her practically picking out his entire outfit.

“So what’s next,” Spencer asks, as Y/N gets into the car. She smiles over at him sheepishly, leading Spencer to think she’s got another trick up her sleeve.

“I’ve got a confession, Spence. And please don’t hate me for it,” Y/N says, her voice coming out a little nervous as she eyes Spencer.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, even if I tried. And I’m certain I’ll never have to,” he says softly, resting his hand over hers on the console. He rubs the back of her hand gently, thinking about just how easy things are with her. If he could only be a little braver, maybe then the mirror wouldn’t be so empty.

“Okay. I knew that things didn’t work out with you and Austin. I overheard you telling Derek,” Y/N confesses, “And I know that it makes me a horrible friend or whatever, but I’m sorry that I eavesdropped,”

“Oh, uh how much did you hear?” Spencer asks, suddenly quite nervous. He can feel his heart drop, waiting for the moment when Y/N laughs at the thought of her loving him. He knows that it’s not fair to her, but then again all is fair is love and war.

“Enough to know that you’re still hung up or or someone else. I left once my conscience got the better of me. Once a Girl Scout, always a Girl Scout,” she says, making the three finger salute that’s common in scouting, “I just wanted to hear it from you, you know you’re my favorite person and all,” she says, a frown forming.

“I think, uh,” Spencer says, “That I was just a little embarrassed. You know how Derek and Penelope and Emily and JJ can get. It’s basically just you and Hotch who aren’t jumping down my throat about being, you know, alone,” he says, chuckling awkwardly.

“They just want to help you, Spence. In their own ways, but I’m always on Team Spencer. You never got to worry about that,” Y/N offers, squeezing his hand.

He considers what she says, not responding verbally, but nodding his head. He hasn’t ever had someone on his “team”, so it’s strange. But a good kind of strange.

“Spence, you okay? I wanted to give you something. To be truthful, I’ve been thinking about how I was going to do this for awhile,”

“Ask me what?” he questions, wondering what she has in store. He watches as Y/N rummages in his bag, clearly looking for something. He’s thoroughly confused when she pulls out a TI-84.

“What on earth?” Spencer says, as she places the calculator in his hands. Her sly grin, beaming up at him only further proves his point: his heart just beats faster around her.

“Just shut and press the on button. You’d think that a genius would know how to work a calculator,” she comments, rolling her eyes playfully.

“You know, I never used these. I can just do it in my head faster,” Spencer says, winking at Y/N when she pushes him teasingly.

“God, Spencer just turn it on!” she demands, very apparently getting more and more impatient.

He turns the calculator on and is brought to a green screen that has a picture of a graph. Spencer raises his eyebrow, as if to ask Y/N for the next direction.

“Press the graph button,” she says, getting quieter as Spencer looks at her.

He presses the button that she said to, waiting for whatever is supposed to happen. Spencer watches as the screen draws four black lines running parallel to each other. A curved line is drawn on the first two black lines, forming the letters “P” and “R”. The screen continues to draw, making an oval that looks like an “O” and the last two parallel lines are joined together with a “v” shape, forming the letter “M”. He takes a second glance, reading the 4 letter word slowly.

P-R-O-M

“Well?” she asks, waiting for his answer.

He’s speechless. Spencer blinks. It’s like his brain has stopped working. It’s a prom, a stupid prom that’s 10 years too late. But it’s the girl of dreams that’s asking him. And that’s the stuff those rom-coms he couldn’t pay attention to are made of.

“I mean, of course. Of course, Y/N,” Spencer says, dropping the calculator into the cup holder and leaning in to hug Y/N.

His heart stops again. Falling into that tricky habit of either speeding up or stopping when she’s around. He thinks he’s ready to implode when she pecks his cheek. Her lips don’t linger, hardly touching his skin for it to be considered a kiss.

“I don’t think I’d want to go with anyone else,” she says, mumbling into his skin. She seals his fate with her lips against his skin. Never again will Spencer imagine what it’s like to have her lips against his skin. Even though it’s a fraction of the time he’d want, it’s tattooed in his mind.

“I’m not much of a dancer, by the way,” Spencer says, reluctantly letting go and sitting back into the passenger’s seat, “so don’t expect too much,” he jokes.

“Oh you better watch it, Doctor Reid. I’m getting you on the dance floor, even if you hate it,” Y/N says, smiling as she backs out of the parking spot and turns into the street.

Spencer looks out the window, thinking to himself that there’s probably nothing he can hate if he’s doing it with Y/N.

--

Spencer didn’t go to prom in high school. He didn’t do a lot of the traditional things that most former high schoolers reminisce about at his age. He didn’t go to football games or have a best friend to make lifelong memories with.

He didn’t have any of that, until now.

But it’s prom night, 10 years late. His hands are sweaty and his mouth feels dry. Spencer wasn’t this nervous for even his first day at the BAU all those years ago. He tries to fix the burgundy tie that Y/N picked out at the vintage store. It looks crooked and twisted. Nothing like when Y/N tied perfectly in the store for him. He supposes that he can wait till she comes to pick him up.

The mirror, again, is noticeably empty without Y/N standing beside him. He can get lost in there, thinking about her standing with him. He does, because it feels like seconds later when he hears a rapid knocking on his apartment door.

Standing on the other side of the door is Y/N. She wears a sage green dress that looks like it’s made of softest silk. He smiles at her, not sure if he can trust his words. Spencer doesn’t think he’ll be able to do much thinking when all he can focus on is the tiny straps that rest on her shoulders or how the sage green compliments her skin tone.

“You look, god. You’re beautiful,” Spencer says, partly under his breath partly aloud to Y/N, “so beautiful,” he says again, focusing on her eyes.

“And you’re looking very dashing in that suit, Spence,” she says, pushing her way in, “do you need help with your tie?” she asks, looking at the tie he holds in his hand.

“Yes, please,” he says sheepishly. He holds out the burgundy colored tie, but takes his hand back as an idea crosses his mind, “oh wait here, I’ll be right back,” Spencer says, walking quickly to his bedroom.

“Alright,” Y/N says sceptically, “Don’t ditch me, Reid!” she calls out from the living room.

Spencer returns, hiding the new tie behind his back. He places an olive green tie with dusty blue and pink flowers in her hands. He notices her smile grow, realizing that he’s picking a new tie for a reason.

“I might not know much about prom, but I think that we’re supposed to match. You know, since we’re going together,” he offers, “but I need help putting it on,” he says.

“We’re going to match!” Y/N says excitedly. As she unbuttons the first button on Spencer’s cream colored shirt he holds his breath. He can’t breathe when she’s this close. Her fingers are quick and nimble as they feed the tie around his neck and elegantly create a knot. If Spencer wasn’t already in love, he knows that watching her eyes twinkle and her tongue poke out as she concentrates would make him declare it then and there.

“So handsome,” she says, using that quiet voice that makes it seem like she’s talking to herself rather than him, “I can’t wait to dance with you,” she tells him tugging the tie.

“I’m not going to be good, Y/N. I’m going to be a fool,” Spencer says, lamenting already about what an idiot he’s going to look like in front of Y/N.

“That’s nonsense, Spence,” Y/N says, waving him away with a toss of her hand, “You’re going to be the best dancer there,” she tells him rubbing her hand up and down his arm, like she did at the store.

“Would you believe it, if I told you I never danced with anyone?” Spencer says, being the most honest and true he’s ever been.

“We can change that,” Y/N says, stepping towards Spencer and linking her hand in his. She squeezes, restarting and stopping his heart all in one go, “oh wait we need music,” she says, feeling around for where her phone usually is.

“I got it,” Spencer says, stepping away from Y/N. He walks over to the small record player in the corner of his living room. He doesn’t play it too often, the records he has were once his mother’s and they’re too painful to play most days. But Spencer’s sure that he can make every exception to all his rules for Y/N. Maybe he’ll get some happy memories out of it.

“Going old school I see,” Y/N says, teasingly as Spencer walks over grabbing both his hands in hers, “everything about you is very charming, Doctor Reid,” she says, softly swaying to the jazzy tunes of Sarah Vaughan.

“I’m not too sure about that,” Spencer says, following Y/N’s lead as she floats around his living room, carrying him everywhere she goes. She rests her head against his chest and Spencer swears that she’s going to get a concussion from how hard his heart beats.

They’re alone, no audience to witness the moment that Spencer wonders if he can dare to call intimate. It’s intimate to him because every moment with Y/N is intimate. Maybe if someone had told Spencer that dancing like this could bring pure paradise all the way from your fingertips to your eyelashes, maybe he would have done it sooner.

“You’re quite the romantic, Spencer,” Y/N says as the song comes to a close. The record player stops, but they don’t stop swaying, “And you told me you couldn’t dance,” she scoffs lightly, with her head still resting against his chest.

“Is that okay with you?” He asks, “me being romantic,”

“I don’t think that I’d want it any other way, Spencer,” Y/N says, removing her head from his chest and her hand from his. She cups his face, touching him lightly. Y/N holds him like he aches to be held. It’s gentle and tender, yet leaves him desiring more.

“Honest?” Spencer asks, daring to be brave.

“Truly,” she responds.

Spencer shifted slightly, so he can also hold her face in his hands. Y/N drops her hands though, wrapping them around Spencer’s waist to pull them closer together. Spencer’s phantom fingers are like that dance around that dance around Y/N’s skin.

It’s Y/N that initiates the kiss. She moves in slowly and tenuously, looking just as nervous as Spencer is. He’s shaky slightly, the anticipation getting to his head when all he can see is Y/N’s eyes looking into his and all he can think about is how soft her skin is. It’s all he’s ever wanted to think about. Her lips are soft and pillowy.

But it’s more than that.

Kissing her is everything to Spencer. It’s the breathy sighs she lets out as he moves his hands and rests them securely behind her neck. It’s the peachy scent of her perfume that’s so sweet and strong it should be overwhelming when all it is, is intoxicating. Kissing her is dizzying and terrifying, but wonderful and sweet. He can’t tell where his lips start and where her’s end, but it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t open his eyes because he knows he’s facing the mirror. But unlike before, he doesn’t need a mirror to know what he’s looking at. He can look into his soul for that.

“Very romantic,” Y/N says, smiling through the quick kisses she plants on his jawline, “I always thought you’d be a romantic,” he tells him.

Spencer brushes his thumb over Y/N’s bottom lip. It’s puffy and bitten from his kisses, but he thinks that it would be a shame to not bite and kiss it some more. He smiles so hard he knows that he’ll wake up in the morning and his mouth will hurt. But that’s the least of his worries if Y/N’s there to kiss it better.

“Honest?” Spencer says, calling back to the song, that’s now their song.

“Truly,”

---

TAGLIST (ADD YOURSELF HERE)

@shemarmooresfedora @willowrose99 @calm-and-doctor @spideygenius @measure-in-pain @nomajdetective @spencerreid9 @saspencereid @laurakirsten0502 @winifrede @muffin-cup @idonotexiste @pastelbabygirl19 @strawberryspence @g0lden-cth @spookydrreid

[kiranogareru]

STAR GAZING

WARNING: Language, but this is all fluffyyyy

A/N: I present to you, my first requested work. Dedicated to @mysticmaee I apologize for taking so long, I hope this meets your expectations. Enjoy and again I'm so so sorry it took me so long

Y/n and Bakugou -as much as he refuses to admit it- have been pretty good friends for a while and they recently started dating

Katsuki is well aware of the fact that he isn't all that good at this whole relationship thing!

He knows how a relationship is supposed to be like, he's read all those things about them in novels before and even though they appeared unrealistically perfect to him, Bakugou couldn't help but compare himself and feel inferior to those fictional men and their romancing abilities!

He has observed how well Y/N seems to be fitting the role of a girlfriend and has taken mental notes of the way she always shows him how she feels, whether that's through words or affectionate little gestures, such as simply holding his hand!

Bakugou has never really been the type for physical contact, one could even say he is quite touch starved in all honesty, which makes him a little bit timid to show her his appreciation that way, since it makes him feel uncomfortable and it gives him this weird fluttery feeling inside

The blonde thinks back to the short time they have shared as a couple and how sweet Y/n has been to him, even before, when they were just friends and he insisted on pushing her away!

Bakugou is suddenly left dumbstruck, when he comes to realize that he never even asked her out properly! She just kind of blurted out her feelings and he simply claimed her as his..and by his, he means his one weakness, but of course it goes without saying that he would never reveal that!

He then decides that he wants to try harder. He knows he can do better 'I can be the best boyfriend she's ever had, I'll be her number one!' he tells himself

'She put so much effort into approaching me and I know I made it even more difficult -I can't help it, that's just how I am- but the least I can do is put in just as much effort, it's only fair!'

He doesn't want to be a shitty boyfriend, because for 1 he knows that's not what she deserves and 2 he's the best, he's not one of those stupid extras, who would let her slip right through their fingers!

'It's time I finally lowered my defenses' he thinks, although he's still hesitant of showing his softer side and unsure of what that can possibly lead to

Katsuki walks in silence as he rakes his brain for a way to make it up to Y/n for the way he's been so far.

It's not like he's treating her bad or anything, as a matter of fact he is at his calmest when he's around her and all he does is admire the way her beautiful e/c eyes sparkle when she's focused on something she enjoys, or how her face lights up when she's happy, or he revels in the taste of her lips against his own whenever they share an unexpected kiss!

This warm feeling spreads throughout his chest and blood rushes to his cheeks, tinting them with a shade of pink, at the thought of the memories!

That's when it hits him and the perfect idea pops up in his head. If he's learnt anything from romance novels, it's the fact that every relationship starts with a date!

And that's something they haven't done yet, which gives Katsuki the opportunity to change that!

"Katsu?" Y/n stops in her tracks, making him break out of his trance and do the same

"You zoned out, is everything ok?" She asks with a soft smile, placing a hand on his cheek

"Tch, everything's fine dumbass, I'm just thinking" Bakugou returns the smile, resting his hand at the back of her neck, gently pulling her head closer and leaning in to leave a chaste kiss on her forhead

Y/n is left speechless and her cheeks burn up at the sudden action, Bakugou doesn't usually behave this way, especially not in public!

'I don't know what he's been thinking about, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with this adorable change' She ponders

Y/n is quick to wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his chest, inhaling the scent of burnt caramel and cologne -something that she's grown so accustomed to, that it now brings her comfort

Bakugou's eyes widen in surprise and he lets out a breath as he relaxes, bringing one hand to her head as his other one makes it's way to her back to hold her close

They stand there in each other's embrace for a bit, before they decide to continue their walk to the dorms, hand in hand

•••

Once they reach the dorms, they catch the attention of a few of their classmates and friends. It's only logical though, since a smiling Bakugou Katsuki is not a sight one could easily miss!

The rest of the day goes by pretty quick as usual, since everyone is studying either alone or in groups, but once that's out of the way most of the students normally spend their free time by engaging in their hobbies of choice

While Y/n is hanging out with Jirou in the purple haired girl's room, singing and having a good time, Bakugou takes that chance to go to the kitchen and set his plan in motion

He has all the time he needs to prepare a few things for later

While the ruby eyed boy is in the middle of cooking, Sero walks into the kitchen, Kaminari following close behind him

"Kacchan?!" Kaminari exclaims in surprise

"Hm?" Katsuki turns around and realizes he has an audience

"How come you're cooking today?" Sero questions in confusion

It's not uncommon for the explosive boy to cook for his classmates, but he had done so just a few days ago already, that's what didn't sit right with Sero

"All of you extras cook like shit, tonight we're having some actual food!" Bakugou's voice remains low in volume, but his usual aggression is evident in his tone

"It smells amazing, what is it?" Sero technically drooling as he walks over to check

"I bet it's something spicy!" Kaminari declares, knowing his friend's taste

"Damn right Dunce Face! Let's hope you idiots can handle it this time! Tch" Bakugou tries to mask the smile forming on his face with his signature, cocky, smirk

"Kaminari.." Sero gives the electric blonde a look

"I know right!" Kaminari laughs, returning the look

"What are you idiots on about?" Bakugou raises an eyebrow

•••

As soon as the table is set and dinner is served, the students pick up on something unusual

"Hm? Where did Bakubro go?" Kirishima points out, while looking around the room

Kaminari and Sero stand back to back with a hand on their chin and wearing a knowing expression of confidence on their faces! The sparkles surrounding them are technically visible at this point

"What do you know? Spill the tea!" Mina interrogates with a pointed look

"Has anyone seen Y/n? I thought I saw her come downstairs earlier.." Jirou asks, seemingly popping up out of nowhere

"They are probably fu-" Sero wraps Mineta up using his tape with an unbothered face

"Shut up you nasty grape!" He scolds "They are on a date! We are sure of it!" He continues pridefully

"Who knew Bakugou could be so good with the ladies, right!" Kaminari comments, almost in disbelief

Meanwhile Y/n is comfortably sitting on a blanket behind the dorms with Bakugou. The night air feels cool on her skin, but not cold enough to give her goosebumps. It is rather refreshing if anything

They place their now empty dishes on the tray that's sitting in front of them and Bakugou pushes it aside

"That was delicious!" A look of content spreading on her features

"Hm, of course it was!" He cocky voice sounds. A winning smile playing on his lips

"Katsuki, this is so sweet..thank you" Y/n softly speaks, tilting Bakugou's head slightly with a hand on his cheek and leaving a feather-like kiss on the other

"You don't need to thank me dumbass..you deserve it!" His tone calm and loving

Bakugou lifts his hand and places it over her smaller one that is resting on his face

They lie down on the blanket, eyes staring at the wide night sky, littered with sparkling gems

"That one reminds me of you!" The excitement clear in her voice as she points at the sky

"How can a star remind you of me dumbass?" His laughs in amusement

"The way it shines looks like an explosion, it's powerful and beautiful!" Her explanation flusters the blonde momentarily, but he gathers himself and starts looking for the perfect star

"That one right there is you then!" He gestures towards it

"Is it now? How can a star remind you of me eh?" She teases

"It stands out, it's so bright and has such a stong presence!"

"Katsu..you idiot" She murmurs feeling bashful

"Huh who are you calling an idiot, idiot?"

Y/n intertwines her hand with his and Bakugou tenses up!

He still isn't used to the gentle gesture, since he has always perceived his hands as weapons, however as he eases into it he starts rubbing small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb

"This side of you is so soothing, so intoxicating~" She smiles before continuing

"I'm so lucky to be the one who gets to see you so peaceful..Dynamite" He is caught off guard by the mention of his hero name, which only she knows this far

The first reaction that comes to his mind is to kiss her and his body acts just as fast, pulling both her and himself to sit up and doing exactly that

His lips connect to hers in an uncharacteristically slow and passionate kiss! It is as if Bakugou is pouring everything that he can't put into words in this kiss!

He pulls away with his confidence restored

"Do you want to be mine?"

"I'm my own person idiot and we're already dating!" She laughs, knowing what he meant, but wanting to mess with him regardless

"I know that dumbass! You think I would date some sort of weakling?" He asks matter-of-factly

"I'm already yours and you're all mine!" She boasts

"Damn right!" Bakugou cups her face in one hand, tilting it upwards and leaning down slightly to capture her lips with his once more

[acourtofidiots]

I posted 3,329 times in 2022

That's 3,329 more posts than 2021!

617 posts created (19%)

2,712 posts reblogged (81%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lovesickxmelodykxmelody

@brutallyjuliaallyjulia

@thewritingdollitingdoll

@singledadharringtondharrington

@glitterandsummerdazeummerdaze

I tagged 2,540 of my posts in 2022

Only 24% of my posts had no tags

#ask julia - 279 posts

#julia talks - 272 posts

#about me - 232 posts

#dc titans - 182 posts

#dick grayson - 178 posts

#anon - 154 posts

#anonymous - 153 posts

#jason todd - 147 posts

#recs - 146 posts

#luke hemmings - 78 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#no like so many people my age that i went to hs with (i’m 23) are getting engaged and married and having kids and its such a weird time

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

i can’t believe canonically jason called himself daddy a;lsdkjf;alsdkjf;saldkjf

minors DNI or i will block you

460 notes - Posted February 27, 2022

#4

dick grayson pool smut dick grayson pool smut!!!! skinny dipping or swimming on a hot summer night and things getting steamy <33333333

YES YES YES!!!!!

minors dni

~~~~

there was nothing better than swimming sans bathing suit at night. except, maybe, your partner sitting on you on the edge of the pool and burying his face between your thighs.

"fuck, dick," you whined, a hand curling into his tawny locks and shoving him deeper into your pussy. his tongue parted your inner lips and traced around your clenching entrance, coaxing sighs and whimpers from your lips.

he pulls back, slotting two fingers into your pussy and pushing forward, letting out a deep grunt when your walls clench around him. "I swear, your cunt is so fucking tight, baby. it's as if I'm not fucking it enough." baby blues gazed deeply into you, fingers slowly sliding in and out.

"don't i fuck you enough, doll?" an eyebrow raises, and you nod your head.

"y-yeah." a moan escapes you, but not before being cut off by a deep inhale as your boyfriend brushes against that one spot inside you that never failed to drive you wild.

he hums as he eyes the way your walls envelop his digits. "I think it's because you're a little brat who always acts like she isn't getting fucked enough. but I always treat you so well, don't I?" a slap rings out across the pool, red handprint blooming across your right thing.

"y-yes, sir," your hips buck up once again, trying to encourage dick to move faster, push you over the edge and make you forget everything just for a night.

he dips his head down, lips brushing against one of the many marks that littered your skin, electricity shooting down your spine as you felt your incoming orgasm start to overwhelm you. 

“hmm...should i let you cum? that’s the real question, isn’t it?” his threat hangs int he air, thick and heavy like how your head was feeling. your eyelids flutter as you felt his thumb gently circle your throbbing clit. 

“please, sir,” you could feel the tears start to build up as you chased your orgasm, “please let me cum.” you didn’t know how much longer you could take it, especially with how he was no purposely rubbing against your g-spot with every trust of his calloused fingers. 

he cocks his head to the side, eyes glinting in amusement. “hmm, let me think about that.” he continues his movements for a moment, and you could feel yourself start to fall over the edge when he stopped. 

you cry out, your thighs scraping against the roughness of the pool deck. dick withdraws his fingers and shoves them against your hips, most likely leaving marks that you would sure to appreciate later. 

when you calmed down, your eyes opened as you took in heaps of air. and what you were greeted with practically sent you on edge again. 

hand wrapped around his own throbbing cock, he gives you a once over before his lips curl into a sneer. “i don’t think my brat deserves anything, especially being greedy with her pleasure. now, get on the lounge chair, hands and knees. i’m going to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, and you better take it all like a good slut.”

462 notes - Posted June 13, 2022

#3

imitation [jason todd]

wc: 1.1k

warnings: pure smut, gun play (ish????),

a/n: back at it again with the smut 😎 did a lil collab with my love @stxrryskygrayson and you can read her dick fic here! also sorry for any formatting issues. my laptop is out of commission for the rest of the semester since my laptop charger broke again and i don’t have a spare charger :( but i hope you enjoy this!

minors and blank blogs, do not interact. i will block on site.

Jason hated Halloween. The spookiest time of the year gave thugs and criminals the opportunity to be a bit more villainous than normal. And that was the last thing Jason wanted: have more innocent victims fall for a supervillains scheme.

You, on the other hand, love Halloween. The costumes, the lore, the parties. You loved it all.

This year, you wanted to up your costume game. You wanted something unique, not like another angel or demon that is overdone each year. As you walked past a costume store, you suddenly had an idea.

You would dress up as noneother than Red fucking Hood, your own boyfriend.

You smirked to yourself as you entered the shop.

~~~

When you hear the telltale sign of Jason coming home, you quickly make your way to your bedroom, arranging yourself on the chair in the corner so that your legs were spread open and that your face was covered by one of his spare helmets.

“Y/N? Baby?” He called, the thumping of his boots echoing down the hallway of your shared apartment. Your stomach erupted into butterflies the closer your boyfriend got to the bedroom door.

Jason let out out an audible gasp the moment he saw you lounging against the chair. In an all too familiar set up.

“Baby,” he said, voice low as he stalked towards you, much like a predator hunting its prey.

“Surprise,” you purred, angling one of the spare guns (thankfully empty) towards the ceiling, a mock of how he tends to sit when he was trying to get information out of someone.

“I think you make a better Red Hood than I do.” He reaches a gloved hand towards the helmet, undoing the latch and pulling it away to reveal the domino mask that covered your eyes. A smirk graced your lips, standing up and pulling him down to the chair, switching your positions. You tucked the gun into the holster of the pants as he looked you up and down, erection starting to stir in his own pants.

“Oh really?” You say, hands pressed against the arms of the chair, effectively caging him in. “Why don’t I show you how the big, bad, Red Hood operates around here?”

See the full post

512 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

#2

“I feel safe with you” but plot twist it’s Jason who-probably-suffers-from-PTSD Todd who’s saying it

“Jason who-probably-suffers-from-PTSD Todd” LMAO I LOVE ALL THESE NICKNAMES FOR THE BATBOYS

~~~~~

“jay?” you called out, setting your keys down on the kitchen table before shrugging of your winter jacket and toeing off your boots. snowflakes fell around you as you brushed yoru way to remove any flakes that fell onto your head as you walked from work to your your apartment.

by the looks of it, he wasn’t on the couch. normally, he would be waiting for you on the couch before leaving for patrol that night, reading a book in his red hood gear. who would of thought, the big bad red hood would be a literature nerd. but he was your literature nerd.

you walked down the hallway towards your bedroom, seeing a trail of clothes lead from the bed to the en-suite bathroom. your stomach fluttered nervously as you approached the room, wondering if today was one of those days for jason.

you were greeted by humidity and the quiet drip of water leaking from the sink faucet, the burly form of your boyfriend sitting silently in tub. you could see the shakiness of his body, half-moon indents littering his upper arms. shit, shit, shit.

from the times you helped jason deal with his trauma, it was best to give him a few minutes to process his thoughts before he spoke. so you busied yourself in the meantime by taking out a few of the lavender and vanilla candles you set aside just for nights like these, where one or both of you couldn’t deal with the dreams that were plaguing you.

the bathroom lit up in soft light a few moments later. you set the lighter aside before kneeling next to the tub, taking a calloused hand in yours and squeezing it gently. he acknowledged you with a light squeeze of his own, teal eyes locked to the spot where the tops of his knees poked out of the water, a down-side of having a rather small tub for a big guy like him.

a moment of silence passes before he speaks. “i thought i saw the clown again,” his voice was gravely, like he’d been screaming on end with someone. “i went to get sometime from that convenience store on the corner and i thought i heard his voice.” he takes a shaky breath before he looks at you, and your heart shattered at how vulnerable jason was being. he wasn’t used to someone looking after him the way you did, and it took months for him to gather up the courage to be honest about his past, about his revival after the joker dealt one to many hits with a crowbar.

a fresh wave of tears was building on his face, and you were quick to pull him into your arms, not caring if droplets of water was soaking into your shirt. the vigilante shoves his face into your neck as a sob wrecks his body. you combed your fingers through the black and white locks, scratching his scalp the way you know he likes.

“oh baby,” you coo, making sure to give him an extra squeeze as his tears dripped down his face.

you stayed like that for a few minutes, until his sobs turned into sniffles. he pulls back, eyes red and irritated and he gives you a soft smile despite his wrecked appearance.

“thank you. i know i might not show it s-sometimes, but i feel safe whenever i’m with you,” he whispers and you shush him, pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss.

“i love you so much, jay. i won’t let anything happen to you. nothing can take me away from you, i promise.” he gives you a small smile in return before standing up and stepping out of the tub. you immediately knew what he was asking for, judging by the way he glanced at the bed behind you.

“now, come on. i know that bed is calling our name.”

599 notes - Posted May 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Melt with You [Jason Todd]

wc: 3.4k

warnings: a/b/o dynamics (alpha!jason x fem!omega!reader), smut, heat sex, some choking, usage of toys, masturbation, dirty talk, breeding kink, swearing, canon-typical violence, mentions of trafficking (pretty brief)

a/n: i got this request from a lovely anon the other day asking for alpha!jason todd and fem!reader and the reader going into heat while out on patrol. so here you go, my dude! i hope you enjoy it! also title is from “melt with you” by modern english <3 (also i was picturing wayne family adventures jason while writing this but you can picture whatever jason you want!)

minors and blogs without an age indicator will be blocked

reblogs and feedback are welcomed and appreciated

the sound of a grappling hook being deployed and the thump of a body landing on the roof behind you pulled you out of your thoughts. glancing behind you, you were met with the white eyes of Jason’s helmet and you gave him a nod before turning back to the streets.

“penny for your thoughts?” he asked, leaning against the wall next to you.

“just thinking about how much i love this shithole,” you reply. “she’s got this special charm, y’know?”

“you and me both.” a peaceful silence fell between the two of you, the sound of police sirens and horns filling the air. it wasn’t often that you and jason had time with each other and you could take any moment you could get to hang out with the alpha vigilante. but in the next couple of days, you wouldn’t be anywhere near him, due to it being that time of the month where your body was screaming to be filled with an alpha’s knot.

before you could open your mouth to ask him what he was doing here, a scream cut through the air and your head snapped towards the building across from you, a women being dragged by a large man into the alley across the way from you. you quickly pulled out your own grabbing hook and aiming at the building, watching the hook sink into the brick before descending down from the roof. you ran across the empty street, seeing the woman being held hostage by the large man and two other low-lifes next to him at the end of the alley.

“be quiet, bitch,” the captor snarled, pressing his arm against her neck. the smell of omega in distress filled the air, and you knew how important it was to rescue this poor woman. there’s been an uptick in kidnappings, specifically targeting omega women. this crime was near and dear to your heart, as you were an omega yourself, so you knew you had a responsibility to stop these crooks.

“HEY FUCK FACE!” you shouted at the end of the alley. the men looked up for a moment before sparing a glance at each other and bursting into laughter. “let her go!”

“this doesn’t concern you,” said the middle man, narrowing his eyes toward you.

“yes it does, considering you’re going to traffick an innocent omega to some unknown place and will never be heard from again,” you growled, hands reaching behind your back for your escrima sticks. “let her go or you’ll be suffering the consequences.” the women widened her eyes at your threat and squirmed in her captor’s arms.

“what does a bitch like you think you can take 3 alphas on by yourself?” the right one sneered, stepping forward and pulling out a blade out of his worn jacket. crouching down into a fighting stance, you were about to lunge forward at the criminals before a voice rang out in the alleyway.

“she’s not alone,” comes Jason’s rumble before a loud bang is heard and a bullet is wedged into the shoulder of the knife-wielding goon. the knife clatters to the floor as the man clutches his shoulder and howls in pain.

“shit, the red hood,” says the goon on the left, backing away until the rough brickwork scratched at his back. you almost forgot that jason was on the rooftop with you before you caught a whiff of his pheromones. the scent of angry alpha and protectiveness filled your mind and you could feel your body heat up. shit, why did your body think it was the best time to go into heat?!

See the full post

714 notes - Posted April 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[newtonsheffield]

~She could have sworn right there, in this party her heart stopped. “I want to marry you, and buy us a house, and one of those little loaf dogs you like so much. That’s what I want. That’s almost all I want Katie.”~

Now Molly you can't just tell us that Anthony wants to get a corgi for Katie and not expect us to want to see it please 😇🥺😍 . I would love to see Newton make an appearance at this universe🥰🥰

Okay! But imagine Anthony, who's just graduated University, and so has Katie, and they're super excited because for the first time in a long time they're going to be in the same city, and he's just asked her to marry him and miraculously she said Yes! The night she graduated from university he got down on one knee right there in the auditorium as soon as she got back to their families.

And he's just excited for their life together to start. In the house that he bought for them.

"Okay, little buddy, It's time to meet your Mama!" Anthony said as his car pulled up in front of the house he and Kate had moved into a week ago. The one that he'd spent hours with the estate agent in, asking question after question My fiancée and I are looking for somewhere to raise our family when it comes along. He'd said on the phone, Even though she hadn't quite been his fiancée then, though she was now, and the thought made him burn with Pride.

He picked up the tiny puppy, cradling it against his chest as he neatened the little bowtie he'd put around his neck, nodding approvingly at how adorable it was.

"Alright buddy, deep breath, don't be nervous, she's going to love you."

Anthony had spent months in contact with the breeder, making sure he chose the right one, he'd met the puppies numerous times and had finally settled on this little guy, who had stood at the very front of the litter barking defiantly and then smiling brightly, and it had reminded him so much of Katie he'd said.

"This one. I like this one."

Katie had wanted a corgi ever since he'd known her, every time they'd imagined what the rest of their lives looked like she always said Can we get a dog?! Please! I Always wanted one and my Dad's allergic! And he'd known from the very first time she'd asked, even then, that whatever she wanted, he would find a way to give her.

"Honey, I'm home!" He called out, happily, casting around for Kate.

"I'm in the fucking study!" Her irritated voice called back. "You have too many fucking books Anthony, I've had it, some have to go!"

He chuckled to himself. "Mama might be a bit cross with us." he hummed to the tiny puppy currently wiggling in his arms. He padded upstairs, peeking through the door.

Kate was standing with her back to him, rifling through boxes of books, a pile of textbooks in front of her. Anthony cleared his throat. His heart thrumming with excitement. And she didn't turn around.

"Do you want to through out my textbooks or yours? We studied exactly the same thing, which seems... stupid actually. Are we too embarrassing?" She hummed as she sorted through the books, her engagement ring catching the light sending Anthony's heart thrumming again.

"Katie-"

"I'm just saying we might be a bit of a cliche."

"Katie-" Anthony sing songed as the puppy started to struggle.

"High school sweethearts getting married, same degree, our book collections are pretty similar and-"

"Katie!" Anthony raised his voice, the puppy wriggling even more, straining in his arms to get to the new person, his tail wagging madly.

"What?!" She spun towards him exasperatedly and as soon as she laid eyes on him she let out a startled squeak, the book in her hands falling to the floor, as her hands covered her mouth. Anthony felt a smile stretch across his lips.

"Anthony is that-?" She pointed at the puppy squirming to get to her.

Anthony nodded, "Surprise?"

Kate rushed towards him her hands reaching for the puppy who wriggled towards her already licking her face.

"He's so cute." She practically whined wrapping her free arm around Anthony's waist sandwiching the tiny puppy between them. And even though he'd never ever considered a dog before her, he'd never been happier, because she was so perfectly happy.

"I can't believe you did this." Her voice shook a little, her eyes shining up at him.

"This is... this is the kind you wanted right? One of the ones that looks like a loaf of bread, Yoda ears?" Suddenly nervous.

Katie laughed. "You are... the sweetest husband ever." She said, staring down at the puppy, who was chewing at her hair.

Anthony felt his cheeks flush though his smile stretched wider.

"I think I like you calling me your husband."

"Better get used to it."

"Already am." He stared down at her, enamoured with the tiny dog. "What are we calling him?"

She hummed for a moment staring the puppy in the eyes as he yipped happily. "Newton. His name is Newton."

Anthony groaned, "Katie, no! I'm not calling out for Newton all the time!"

And yet two weeks later he was chasing an escaped corgi puppy down the street, his shoe trailing after him, held by the laces,

"NEWTON!"