#like i know the characters getting books in the back five are less of a focal point in the front five

[kxsagi]

may I ask for blue lock characters headcanons on how they would propose to the reader if they have been together for more than 5 years? you can add anyone you like but this is for my one and only glorious supreme king isagi yoichi.

THANK YOU

“𝐬𝐚𝐲 ����𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧”

a/n: i might like writing proposals more than fluff (i also have an isagi proposal fic i wrote here and i still love it sm)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, mikage reo, nagi seishiro

isagi yoichi

he’s been thinking about it for months. writing drafts in his notes app. texting rin for help and getting roasted. pacing the training room during breaks muttering, “what if she says no?” even though you’ve been his person for five whole years. 

when he finally does it, it’s quiet. domestic. intimate. just you and him on a sunday morning. he makes you breakfast with heart-shaped pancakes (they’re wonky, but endearing), and insists you stay in bed. when he brings the tray over, there’s a little folded napkin next to your juice. you open it and it reads: “marry me?” in his handwriting, complete with a nervous smiley face. 

you look up and he’s on one knee holding a ring with trembling hands, eyes glassy, voice cracking when he says, “i want to be with you forever. through every win, every loss. just… us.” 

he fumbles the ring, panics, catches it mid-air. cries when you say yes. you end up lying on the floor laughing with him, tangled in blankets and feelings. 

won’t shut up about how he bagged the love of his life. reposts his own engagement post three times. 

itoshi rin

takes 7 business days to say “i love you,” so proposing is the olympics of stress for him. 

he keeps the ring in his pocket for weeks. but every time he tries to do it, something throws him off. you burp mid-dinner. you wear his hoodie. you beat him at mario kart. it’s too much. he short circuits. 

finally proposes when you’re brushing your teeth together at night, and he’s looking at your face in the mirror like, this is it. this is what peace feels like. 

mutters, “marry me,” like he’s asking if you want takeout. then freezes. stares at your reflection. 

when you ask, “wait, for real?” he just nods and pulls out the ring from his hoodie pocket. he’s literally shaking. 

later pretends he had a whole speech of “i know i’m not good with words. but being with you makes life feel… less heavy. you make things better. you make me better. so please stay with me. forever,” but forgot it. he did not say that. he ended up saying: “u cool. marry me.” 

itoshi sae

it takes him years to admit he wants to marry you. not because he doubts it (he's known since day two), but because he's scared. terrified, even. of needing someone that deeply. of showing that part of himself. 

he doesn’t want something loud or flashy. instead, he books a quiet trip to a secluded coastal town in spain. it’s the off-season, the weather's breezy, and you spend the whole day exploring sleepy streets, eating gelato, watching the boats drift lazily in the harbor. 

at the end of the day, he takes you to a rocky overlook at sunset. the water’s glowing. the sky is all peach and gold. 

and then he hands you a little notebook. every page is dated. he’s been writing you letters for five years. 

entries from after matches, on planes, in hotel rooms. thoughts he never said out loud. memories. fears. the way his chest tightens every time he looks at you. how your laugh sounds when you’re brushing your teeth. how the world softens when you're near. 

the final page just says: “i don’t want to be brilliant without you. will you marry me?” 

you look up and he’s already kneeling, lips pressed into a line like he’s holding back a million emotions. 

“i know i’m difficult. i know i get quiet. but you’re the one thing i’m sure of. please say yes.” 

and when you do, his hands shake. his breath catches. he presses his forehead to yours, and for the first time in a long time, sae itoshi lets himself cry. 

you whisper something like “i love you, dummy,” and he laughs softly, the kind of laugh he saves just for you. 

he doesn’t post it. doesn’t tell the world. 

but at the next press conference, a reporter asks about the ring “so pretty it makes influencers cry” spotted on your finger by fans inspecting recent paparazzi pics of you. 

he just smirks and says, “guess i won something better than a trophy.” 

bachira meguru

his proposal is a chaotic masterpiece. it starts with you waking up to a crayon-drawn treasure map taped to your forehead. yes. your forehead. 

he’s turned your entire city into a love quest, each stop filled with inside jokes, goofy gifts, and memories from your relationship: your favorite boba place (the cashier gives you a note), the alley you once slow-danced in (there’s a heart chalk drawing), the bench where you first kissed (a polaroid taped under it). 

the final clue brings you to the soccer field where he first told you he loved you. it’s covered in fairy lights and handmade decorations (and probably a few fire hazards). he’s waiting at the center in a suit covered in paint splatters because “i wanted to look fancy and like me.” 

he runs up to you with a goofy grin, gets down on one knee, and says: “you’ve always been my favorite teammate. wanna play life together?” 

you say yes and he tackles you into the grass. you're both crying and laughing and covered in glitter somehow. he puts the ring on your toe as a joke first. classic bachira. 

kaiser michael

obnoxiously extravagant. skywriting? rented out a soccer stadium? flash mob in berlin? absolutely. 

but here's the twist: he plays it down. tells you you’re going to a “boring sponsor event.” 

when you get there, it’s pitch black… then boom. lights, camera, roses in the shape of your name, string quartet playing a romantic song, and kaiser walking toward you in a tux. 

"everyone knows i’m great. but being with you? that’s the only thing that ever made me better." 

drops to one knee like he’s on the cover of GQ proposals edition. the ring is a custom design with your birthstone and an engraving that says “you win. i surrender.” 

when you say yes, he kisses you so obnoxiously dramatically that the quartet messes up their notes. 

later posts a selfie of you two mid-kiss with the caption “#ringed 💍 #shewonfr.” comments on his own post: “undefeated.” 

mikage reo

reo has had the ring for eight months. he’s shown it to nagi. to his driver. to the chef. to his tailor. hell, he’s almost asked you during brunch three different times but chickened out because “no, it has to be perfect. 

so, he builds perfect. 

he rents out an entire rooftop in tokyo, overlooking the skyline where you both made so many memories together. he has a custom-built garden placed on the deck with flowers flown in from your childhood town. your favorite piano music plays softly in the background, courtesy of a live quartet. the air smells like your favorite scent. 

there’s no crowd, no press, no flashy headlines, just you and him, dressed in your finest, alone at a candlelit table under the stars. 

after dinner, he leads you through a string-lit walkway where framed photos from your relationship hang like a timeline: your first trip. your first christmas. your matching sweaters disaster. the moment he realized you were it. 

at the end, he stops, takes both your hands, and says with a nervous, reverent breath: “i’ve had access to everything: money, power, comfort. but nothing ever came close to what it felt like holding your hand for the first time.” 

he kneels. his voice wavers, but his heart doesn’t. “i don’t want a future if you’re not in it. will you marry me?” 

your “yes” comes with tears, kisses, and a full dip spin because reo is dramatic and romantic and very in love. 

later, when he twirls you around to slow music, he whispers: “you made me believe in forever.” 

(he doesn't even post it on social media. the moment is too sacred. but nagi leaks it by accident with a story captioned “finally. he shut up about it.”) 

nagi seishiro

nagi never liked effort. until you. and for the first time in his life, he wants to try. for you. 

he doesn’t propose with a big event or a plan that reo drafted. instead, it happens on a normal day, a slow, rainy morning where you're both wrapped in blankets, watching old anime on the couch. 

you’re sitting on his lap. he's playing with your fingers, tracing your knuckles with soft, sleepy circles. 

out of nowhere, he mumbles, “you ever think about marriage?” 

you blink. “uh… yeah?” 

he nods like it’s no big deal. “cool. wanna marry me then?” 

you pause. “wait… what?” 

he stretches, yawns, then digs into the hoodie he’s been wearing for three days and pulls out a velvet ring box like it’s nothing. like he didn’t practice this moment in front of the mirror at 3 AM while trying not to wake you. 

“got a ring and everything. it’s comfy. like you.” 

you’re crying and laughing and he just stares at you with those tired eyes that hide galaxies of devotion. “been with you so long it’s hard to imagine not being yours. don’t wanna try, honestly.” 

when you whisper yes, he finally smiles. a sleepy, bashful smile as he slips the ring on your finger. 

he kisses your cheek and hums, “cool… now i don’t have to stress about it anymore. let’s nap.” 

(he later uses the story to brag to reo: “took me five minutes. still beat you.”) 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[isdalinarhot]

personally i think its kind of insane that ash and taln get books. fucking lirin has more povs than taln.

[shirefantasies]

The Hobbit Characters + Pregnant Reader (Wife!Reader)

I just love fluff ok and, say it with me, I did this for LoTR 😁 (you can think of the older characters’ as being set when you guys are younger, not during book/film events 😊)

Warnings: conception mentions, some implications of infertility, pregnancy-related illness and symptoms, very long post 😂

Balin

✧ Five years. For five years you had tried. Six you and Balin had been married, happily as anything, but children never came. Your struggles had broken you down, leading you to try all the remedies well-meaning elders and healers alike recommended. Eat more good, strong foods, less of that greasy stuff. Drink this tea, it’s great for women! It’s only a bunch of tiny needles- the pain of birth will be worse anyway. Don’t be so active, let yourself relax for Mahal’s sake, girl! Remedy after remedy, you put your body through it all and put your hands up and prayed. Weeks passed and you had taken ill, attending the healers’ just to get something to ease your nausea, and that was when the questions began. Illness forgotten, you wandered in a grinning daze out of that hall and straight into your husband’s arms. When he chuckled and asked what this was all about, all you could do was snuggle into his chest deeper and whisper “It’s finally happened.”

✧ Such years leant of course to Balin being a bit extra protective of you. You often chastised him, good-naturedly of course, that he hovered so over you, and every time he would simply kiss you and say "That's right".

✧ It brought you both to tears when you began showing, when your condition had persisted long enough to be real, to last beyond the known months of danger. Forehead pressed against yours, your husband held you tightly and warmly for some amount of minutes you did not know, but minded not at all. Balin's words of love and reassurance were as music to your ears.

✧ Hormones confound you some days, pulling you from peace to ruin in mere moments, but Balin is always there with warm arms and wise words, reminding you that whatever you may think, you will never be alone.

✧ The one time during your entire pregnancy that you saw Balin cry was the day you brought home a tiny red coat that looked just like his and showed it to him with pride glowing in your eyes.

✧ He is so calm during all the worst sides of your condition, standing right by you through the good, the bad, and the ugly and dusting and cleaning you off each and every time. "We fought hard for this," he reminds you, "And I'll keep fighting with you every step of the way."

Dwalin

✧ You had wanted children all your life, certainly, and you'd seen Dwalin around them a few times, but what would he say? Your husband was a renowned warrior, hardened in the face of blood and steel and tolerant of no foolishness. But still he went soft as clay when his beloved wife fell into his arms. Thus that night you softened him up but good with all the great food and affection you could muster, so much that you had him remarking what a wonderful home he'd been blessed with. "And would you be willing to share it?" At that, your husband rose from his chair, hands tensing at his sides. "You don't mean-" "I do," you nodded. Without warning, you were swept up into Dwalin's arms, hoisted gently into the air with a giggle. "Just when I thought Mahal couldn't bless me any more! My beautiful wife, with child."

✧ Cue the two of you bickering back and forth like, well, a married couple, about who the child is going to look like. "I'll have 'em look just like you, thanks." "I for one relish in the thought of toting around a miniature Dwalin." "Come now," your husband teases back, running a hand over his shaven, tattooed head, "If they look like you they'll have better hair!"

✧ Dwalin has tiny wooden swords and axes made in time for your little arrivals, ensuring the axes match his to a tee.

✧ He sleeps flush against you now, head leaned against your growing belly and one hand firmly atop it like a lovely little line of defense.

✧ You have him absolutely wrapped around your finger, even more so now. Bat your eyelashes at him and make any request and he melts like butter. You’ll never want long for anything you crave!

✧ Admittedly he knows very little of a woman’s workings, but the moment he hears all your explanations he dubs you as great a warrior as he! “Beautiful as the stars and strong as the mountains to boot! That’s my girl.”

Thorin

✧ He has waited so long for this. So many years of this hanging pressure and yet when he has you by his side, all the feeling of necessity behind trying fades away. You two can simply enjoy life. So when you return to Thorin's side one day, eyes brimming with tears, all you say to him is "It's happened". And with that you see your king, your husband, collapse as if his whole body is sighing, pulling you into him like he needs you to breathe. One hand reaches up to hold the back of your head, gently caressing your hair.

✧ Vows every day that he will protect you both, be the father and husband you deserve, taking your hands in his and then leaning down to address both his queen and your child.

✧ Thorin also assures you that despite what any members of the court say, your new addition will be equally loved and equally worthy of the throne whether you welcome a son or a daughter. "All I wish is a healthy child with their mother's heart." "And their father's good looks," you tease in response, pulling your husband in for a kiss.

✧ You begin stealing his clothes, stating that his tunics are so much more comfortable than your dresses with an innocent bat of your eyelashes that has Thorin relenting every single time, heart rent at the way they begin fitting you tighter.

✧ You see a different side of Thorin in this stage of your marriage, one you’ll never complain about, not when he softens so, gazes down upon you with such love as he hovers over you, kissing your lips, your neck, your belly.

✧ There is no denying that you both glow during this time, pride and joy illuminating Thorin’s features right alongside the radiance of your childbearing state. Everyone stops you to say what a beautiful couple you are and you cannot help the flush of heat that rises to your face as Thorin thanks them and guides you away from the crowd, a protective hand on the small of your back

Oin

✧ Predicts it before you even realize because you’re exhibiting all the telltale symptoms; annoyed as you may be by his insistence that you are with child, what do you know? Oin is right. Oin is, unfortunately, also quite smug about this. Once the initial triumph wears off, though, he’s shouting for joy and crushing you with a hug!

✧ The absolute dream husband to have when you're with child, for he has worked taking care of countless dwarrowdams in your condition. He knows what you need. He understands. And most importantly, he does not judge.

✧ In fact, you two get a kick out of poking fun at the other husbands who roll their eyes at their wives' demands or take shots at their cravings because, frankly, that could never be you. "He doesn't know her body needs more iron!" "I bet he moans and groans about grabbing her a pillow, too."

✧ Having married such a well-known dwarrow, you’ll have all manner of strangers approaching you with congratulations that you reluctantly just accept, correctly assuming they’re patients of Oin’s that he’s proudly blabbed to.

✧ He’s always asking you to guess if you’re having a boy or a girl, insisting that “‘tis the mother’s intuition, after all.”

✧ You insist on remaining on your feet as long as possible, and your husband does not protest, knowing that exercise is good for the baby. That doesn’t mean he won’t be right behind you to catch you if you fall or check on your precious little bump, though, of course.

Gloin

✧ Not so subtle in his so-called 'baby fever', your husband has been going on and on about how his child will be his little flame, the apple of his eye, his world. You have no fear, then, sharing the news, in fact you amuse yourself by dropping your state in conversation like the plainest fact. "I'm glad you've got those new blankets, dear, what with the baby coming in winter and all," you told Gloin, taking a sip of your tea. Deafening is the only word you can use to describe the roar of celebration he gives, wonderfully bone-crushing and teeth-rattling your embrace and kiss.

✧ Tackles you to bed almost every night the first week, covering your cheeks and belly alike with kisses.

✧ Spends that very same time period sharing with absolutely any soul who even remotely listens that he’s going to be a father!

✧ Gloin is very insistent upon your care, even taking it upon himself to make your meals by hand. Which, suffice it to say, is a bit disastrous the first few times but he emerges triumphant in the end and succeeds in filling you with all the hearty things your budding dwarrowling needs!

✧ Being married to a dwarf means you have a husband who absolutely adores the extra pounds you put on and has no qualms about showing you in and out of the bedroom! Even just stopping by the market he’ll be wrapped around you.

✧ Encourages the baby every time they kick, shouting out praise of their strength while you tell him to cool it, all those kicks are going to you!

Bifur

✧ A large part of him thought that he would never be able to experience fatherhood. Not since the injury, and that had happened at such a young age. You cut right through that fear, assured Bifur that he would be an amazing father regardless of if he did some things differently. And that he would soon see, for your family would be growing early the next year.

✧ In all honesty, you feel blessed to have a husband who signs, for your baby will likely be able to communicate early! When you tell Bifur this he breaks out into tears, for what an angel you are to see the beauty in him. Every side of him. He promises to do the same.

✧ And make good on that does he! You will never want for love for even on your illest days Bifur is right by your side, his caresses gentle and speaking volumes of adoration.

✧ Absolutely adores jumping into the bath with you! His excuse being he has to help you and may as well rinse his beard off, but you can see how eager he is to run his hands over your hair and see the way your body relaxes at his cleansing touch. He wants nothing more than to feel useful, needed, and you assure him you cannot do this without him.

✧ Again and again, in fact, on the days when he stands behind you, holding up your burden and cheering you with little jokes and flirtation in Khuzdul even as you are overcome with exhaustion.

✧ Proudly tells everyone who will listen that he’s got a little warrior in there whenever the baby kicks!

Bofur

✧ You hadn’t exactly been trying. You hadn’t exactly been not trying, either. The news comes to you through a haze, muffled by the great rush of other thoughts bombarding your mind and sending your heart beating, but at their heart comes the image of Bofur holding a little one and bouncing them upon his knee and your chest flutters and soars. Your visit is completed all in smiles, and upon returning him to your husband’s questioning about the flu you’ve gone in for, you tell him it likely will not go away until the end of the year. “The end of the year? Why ever that long? I’ve never heard of a flu like that, not even-” “‘tisn’t a flu, my darling,” you smirk at him, “it’s a baby.” “A- you’re- we’re gonna have a-” Bofur is all agape, stepping closer and hovering his hands over your middle like he doesn’t want to grip you in a way that breaks you. “That all right?” You ask, half-teasing, for he has recently confided in you his envy of Bombur’s family. “All right? Song of my heart, I could kiss you!” “Well, what’s stopping you?”

✧ If you thought Bofur was affectionate before, well Mahal be with you, for you haven't seen anything yet! He falls even more in love with your body knowing it's carrying his and your child, hands nearly always holding or roaming you. When you're out and about, your husband usually has a hand at the small of your back, supporting the weight you carry as you walk and running soothingly up and down. Kisses all over your belly in private.

✧ This lends to how quick your husband is to reassure you on days you don't feel so friendly with your body, those times when you'd like nothing more than to shatter the looking-glass. "All I see," Bofur tells you one day, a hand on each of your shoulders as you peer together, "Is the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my lucky eyes upon, and she's not got an easy job. If I were her, I'd be proud of myself. Proud of making a comfortable home for our little one. And if I was her husband, why, I'd take her as she is right here and now! Right nice for me I am her husband, eh?"

✧ “Imagine havin’ a little girl.” Lying side by side, you heard Bofur’s wistful tone and felt a small smile creep onto your lips. “I’ll do her hair up in braids and tie them with ribbons. She’ll have all the pretty things she wants, because I have mine right here,” he adds, turning over to caress your belly and pull your lips into his.

✧ Marrying a toymaker comes with distinct perks: your husband crafts the most magnificent little wheeled contraptions and carven animals for your new addition! He spends hours carving and glazing them, and sometimes you catch him having fallen asleep at his workbench when you struggle to stay in dreamland, covering him up with a spare blanket.

✧ You worry because the baby doesn’t seem to move much, but Oin confirms everything seems to be going fine. “Your wee bairn just got this one’s personality, it seems!” He jokes, stabbing a mock-accusatory finger Bofur’s way.

Bombur

✧ A baker's dozen. For as long as you've known him, that's how many wee ones Bombur purported wanting. Thirteen more than most dwarves have, you always tease him, but in reality every time you see your sweet husband with children and hear him dream of a family your heart leaps. That is why the moment you take his hands and tell him it's come true is special, intimate, a quiet draw in and out of breath that has him sobbing joyously and nuzzling into your embrace with so much love your chest bursts from the flight of it.

✧ Sixth senses never seemed real to you until you became pregnant and it was like Bombur knew what you were craving and was making it before you could even say anything!

✧ Cannot keep away from you. Always wants to be kissing you and cupping your cheeks and holding your hands, just so so sweet!

✧ Bombur is so much more good-natured than you, for all the jokes about how you'll be as big as him soon have you swinging, but he just holds you back and laughs alongside them, saying he's looking forward to it with a twinkle in his eye.

✧ Literally baffled if you ever feel bad about your body; his legitimate confusion alone halfway snaps you out of the sad reverie, and all the following words about your beauty and your husband's appreciation of every inch does the rest.

✧ "You know I'll keep you safe, right? Both of you," he tells you one day, a hand resting upon your bump, "I may not be some great warrior, but Mahal help anyone who comes between us."

Dori

✧ From even before you were actually wed you knew that Dori would be an excellent father. Having taken care of his younger brothers from quite an early age, he had knowledge atop a naturally caring personality you fell for. Gentlemanly Dori waited with you, keeping chaste until after your wedding, but once it is official you know your news could come at any time and you accept that. On your one-year anniversary, in fact, your first gift to Dori is the tiniest bracelet of fine amber beads. “Does this mean…?” As soon as he sees you nod, Dori is taking you in his arms, cradling you gently as if you were made of fine porcelain and thrice as precious.

✧ Caring father-to-be. A little too caring. "If those are too heavy for you, I can carry them!" "They're just books, I'll be alright, Dori." "Oh, don't eat that, you got sick last time." "I haven't been sick in a month!" "That's a lot of steps, should I carry you?" "...Actually, sure."

✧ Always sleeps with his arm wrapped around your middle. No exceptions.

✧ Has every manner of tea and remedy you could desire on hand or otherwise purchases it. Same goes for supplies- Dori even found a ring-shaped cushion for you to lay on! He has your back for any ailment and is often there to make or apply your cure himself. After all, he wouldn't trust anyone else to do it!

✧ You love this dwarf with all your heart. He takes it upon himself to find dwarrowdams willing to let him practice changing diapers on their wee bairns and surprises you with this newfound skill when you return home one day!

✧ Dori’s love of the finer things absolutely carries over into his future fatherhood, as he has the loveliest little velvet clothes made and procures the dearest little bejeweled hairbrush. All in all, both of you amass far more than you need because any time you go out it inevitably devolves into you two clasping your joined hands between each other, gushing over all the wee things, and taking them home!

Nori

✧ He never thought he would get married at all, let alone have a family, but as time goes on the desire to continue his lineage and finally settle down takes hold. Then suddenly there he is desperately trying to seduce you into trying for a little one! It doesn't take long, not with his charm, until the day comes when you teasingly tell him that he got his way. Smirking until the realization takes hold of him, his arms are then snaking around your waist to pull you close.

✧ Always talking about how he's going to teach his little one everything he knows. When pressed about it, responds with such things as fighting and picking locks. His defense? "What if 'e gets stuck somewhere, or-"

✧ Impatient! "When am I gonna be able to feel 'em?" He asks, a hand upon your belly, which has yet to display any changes. "Not for another few months, Nori! I haven't even begun to show!"

✧ Hides things sometimes or puts them up places you can't go just so he can swoop in and help you, saving your day and pressing a kiss to your cheek as he tells you he can handle it, don't you worry your pretty little head.

✧ Nori always teases you when he pours himself a drink. "Bet you'd like some of this, huh? Not for three more months!" He chuckles. Your brows furrow. "Three months? What about when I'm feeding?" "What does tha- oh. Does that really-" "Yes, yes it does." "By the stars, I could have got my baby drunk!"

✧ Talks to the baby quite a bit, especially when he finally can feel the kicks. "Where you running off to, huh?" He chuckles, feeling the flutters against his hand pick up. "That's 'cause of me, isn't it? You hear me? That's right, it's your da. Can you believe it? Me, your da! I'll take good care of you, you hear?"

Ori

✧ "Ori, dear," you implored your husband, "Might you knit something for me?" Looking up from the scarf he'd just finished, Ori's eyes fell upon you and he gave that smile, the special one reserved just for you. "Of course. What would you like?" "A wee pair of booties," you replied, hands clasped and expression dreamy. "Who needs booties?" He asked, head cocked. "We will in the fall," you answered, stepping closer and resting a hand upon his. Ori's jaw dropped. "You... I... We-" Smile widening, you nodded. "I. You. We," you agreed.

✧ Nearly from the first day you know you are with child, Ori is rattling off names. After tossing out a great deal, he finally pauses and gives a sheepish apology. "I'm sorry, I suppose I've thought about this a lot," he confesses with a grin, "I just can't believe it's happening." Your hand joins with his, resting over your little bump. "Neither can I. It's like a dream."

✧ "So," you ask Ori one day, leaning your chin upon the couch where you'd lain, "What should our plan be for when my water breaks?" Your husband's brows furrow. "When your what?" "Oh, no," you mutter. Cue Ori spending his afternoon receiving a great multitude of lessons. What he got for being raised by other dwarf men, you suppose. "That really all happens to you?" He asks, gaping at you as though you came of the Valar themselves. "Yes, it does. Birth is a great deal of work. They don't just run on out, you know!" "Yes, I know. Of course I know." Ori's voice is faint; he excuses himself and you assume it's to faint or be sick, but about an hour later he returns bearing gifts. "I'm sorry I'm putting you through all that." "Sweetheart," you chuckle, cupping his cheek, "You know it takes two, right?" Your sweet husband reddened, but he nodded.

✧ Ori takes on almost all the cleaning himself- you haven't even asked! Finally curiosity gets the better of you and you inquire as to why he's gotten so into housekeeping. "Well, aren't you tired?" He asks simply, innocently, and you wonder how you got so lucky.

✧ He also knits far more than that pair of booties you requested- all three of you will have matching sweaters before your little one has arrived!

✧ Ori's favorite thing in the world is sitting with you in his lap, one hand cradling your growing bump and the other holding a book as you two take turns reading aloud, filling your cozy hollow with the sounds of voices your little one will come to love. The books are hand-drawn, written, and bound by him, of course!

Fili

✧ You two speak of little ones so much it borderline infuriates the others, Kili himself even bursting out in frustration one day at yet another interruption about tiny clothes, "Just get her pregnant already!" "Good idea. See you later," Fili replies, scooping you up and carrying you off bridal-style. "Wait, I- Damn, brother..." In reality, Fili just carried you around the corner and set you down while you two burst out laughing, but about a month later your tries were in fact successful!

✧ Honeyed words were no trouble for your husband before, but now? Praise falls endlessly from his lips. "Never did I think you could get more beautiful, and yet each day you succeed beyond my wildest dreams."

✧ Fili has a near-magical sense for your new struggles of coordination, all but flying to your side to catch your hand or waist whenever you trip or even whenever you must rise up again from your seat!

✧ He loves to tease you, asking what disgusting thing you'll think of him to fix next or joke that he can finally beat you in a fight in this state, but every joke is punctuated by the most loving eyes and gestures that they cannot do a thing but warm your heart and make you chuckle.

✧ Your baby is very active, kicking all the time! "We've definitely got a little Fili in here!" Your husband exclaims with a grin, hand resting atop your belly to feel your little one's exuberant motions. "A strong babe for sure," you sigh, "Much to the pity of my ribs!" "Too bad we aren't having a Kili. Nice and lazy for you." "Hey, I heard that!"

✧ He turns his head, peering over his shoulder at you as you waddle after him, golden hair cascading down. "Care for me to slow down a little?" "I care for you to shut up," you shoot back, crossing your arms and fighting your smile.

Kili

✧ The thought crossed your mind far before it did your husband's. Not that Kili had no desire for children, it was simply that the possibility was all the more yours to consider. It took a visit from your young cousin, who had Kili wrapped around your finger, for the fire to light in your husband's head as well, a smile lighting up his face. "We- we could..." "I know, Kili." You could and you certainly did but a few months later.

✧ "I hope they look just like you." "Me too." Kili pulls his head out of the crook of your neck. "Hey, that is the part where you say 'no, I hope they look like you'!" "I'm doing the work of carrying for how long again? Nine, ten months? Least they can do is resemble me a little," you shoot back with a smirk.

✧ It was Oin who brought the news: "Both babies seem healthy as far as I can tell!" "Both?" You gape. "Both babies?" "'s right," Oin replies, "I know I can't always hear the best, but I haven't been wrong on a heartbeat yet. You can feel 'em." "Guess we did pretty good, eh love?" Kili teases, earning him an elbow to the ribs, but he just shakes his head and tugs you closer against his chest. "Should we make their names confusing as well?" "Don't you think it might get old for them?" "Fili and I switched names plenty of times and we aren't even identical!" You should have known.

✧ Kili takes to sleeping facing you, close enough that sometimes your cheeks brush. Others he slips down lower and you awake with your husband cuddled up to the bump of your belly.

✧ Will come running from any room, anywhere, to feel the babies kick, and also loves tugging along any of his family he can take, too. Childlike wonder fills your husband's eyes every time and pride glistens in his dark eyes when he's brought along his mother, his brother, even his uncle the king!

✧ Never once do you doubt yourself or have one moment of room for insecurity, for Kili still flirts with you as if you were tweens and sneaks all sorts of touches, pecks, and affectionate hands in your hair wherever he can find it! The notion of a baby destroying the romance of your relationship is laughable to you, who married a dwarf that has no shame telling you you're the most gorgeous creature to walk the earth and warm his-and the baby's in a different way-body.

Bilbo

✧ Bilbo's a perceptive hobbit. He knows something's off with you. You don't usually scurry around the way you are like everything has to be perfect. That's his job. "Something the matter? Are you... expecting someone?" Your husband follows you down Bag End's hall as he gives his inquiry, eyebrows shooting up at the look on your face when you turn around. Consternation, resignation, finally a smile. "I was going to tell you after dinner," you answered, "But since you asked it like that, yes I am expecting someone. Our child this spring." At that, it was Bilbo's turn to shift through expressions. Shock, realization, finally a smile.

✧ Nursery shopping has become Bilbo's favorite pastime. Baby Baggins isn't arriving for months and yet your husband is returning from market with all manner of trinkets for the shelves and paper for the walls. You cannot help giggling at his armfuls of supplies and kissing his cheek as you relieve as much of his burden as he allows you to.

✧ So sweet, always helping you dress, pulling on every garment with the utmost of care and even avoiding your reflection on days you feel bad. Quickly kissing each part of your body before he covers it with something he knows will be comfortable.

✧ You'll be eating well whether you like it or not! Bilbo will make you anything under the sun if it means you and Baby Baggins are getting nourishment and he certainly will not have you skimping! Anything that makes you sick simply is not allowed in Bag End at all, end of discussion.

✧ One night, you awake to soft whispers and your heart melts at the sight of Bilbo resting his chin on your growing bump talking to the baby. Not uttering a word, you simply watch, taking in the moment beneath the sheen of tears in your eyes.

✧ "Careful, careful," Bilbo is always telling you, holding your hand and guiding you over the smallest of obstacles, even little puddles and rocks.

Thranduil

✧ He has talked about getting you pregnant before, but speaking of it and doing it are two entirely different things, especially with...well, words of such nature. Thus, you find yourself nervously wringing your hands before your husband as he strokes your face, asking whatever is the matter. At Thranduil's touch, his intense gaze, you fin yourself melting and admitting all, confessing that you are expecting his child. You are certainly not expecting the way his confident smile utterly falters, dissipating in favor of the look of a man near tears. "Truly? A little one of our own?" "Yes," you whisper, finally able to smile as the tension melts from your body, which is soon pulled against the Woodland King's. "Long have I dreamed of this day, my love."

✧ One of his favorite new activities is commissioning you new maternity dresses; you will certainly have plenty to wear if Thranduil has any say about it! In addition, when the time comes of course he requests that you model them for him.

✧ Thranduil loves to sneak up behind you, lightly wrapping his hands about your waist and laying them atop yours, his head resting in the crook of your neck and breathy, pleased laughter warming the skin there.

✧ When you start showing, oh, he loves it. One more sign that you are his, utterly and truly his queen, his beloved, claimed by Thranduil in every sense. He follows your lead, a hand around your waist, letting you shine like the gem he knows you to be. Rarely will you two be seen apart, not when the king can bask in your glow, relish the eyes upon your beautiful form, heavy with his child.

✧ There is one day he catches you in tears and heart tearing he steps to scoop you up against him, cheeks held gently in his elegant hands, which begin to glitter with your tears. "My rings no longer fit," you sob, head falling to his chest. Thranduil holds you close, grip loose as though you might break. "That is not your fault, meleth nîn." "I feel so... so massive." "Who wishes a small dwelling, hm? Piteous thing not to have any comforts. Your body is a host of life, the vessel of a bloodline. Beautiful in all its forms. Never forget that, oh dearest one."

✧ Thranduil is experienced; he knows many little tricks to help you feel better, be they massages or ways to bear your weight. He impresses you with the knowledge he has of the ways of women, understanding your water breaking, dilation, and every complication the healers warn you about and telling you before they even do!

Feren

✧ First to know was neither you nor your husband, but rather your cat, for she had suddenly become your little shadow, following you about your home and taking rest upon your lap as often as she could. "I wonder what it is that got into her," you commented one afternoon, smiling and stroking her back. "Growing up, ours got like this when my mother was carrying my younger sisters. Both times. It was like he could sense it," Feren replied. You both sat in smiling silence for a moment longer before simultaneously straightening, looking each other right in the widening eyes.

✧ Gets a little flustered, frankly. Not so much at your news itself, simply the realization sinking in that he is to be a father. He, Feren, will have a child. He says this out loud several times before suddenly breaking out into a smile. You tease him for going through half his emotions at once, but now the wave of joy has swept him up!

✧ Playfully rolls his eyes and mock-complains every time you remind him that he has to clean up after the cat now! Subsequently adds that he would fetch you the moon if you asked it.

✧ Loves helping you bathe the more difficult your condition makes it, scrubbing your hair with such care and gently massaging your sore feet and ankles as you wash up. Despite your husband's skill in battle, Feren's hands are the most loving and delicate you could ask for.

✧ Your husband has a natural tendency to rise early, so now that your sleep has become more fitful you do find that you have more time to spend together. Your head falling to his shoulder as you whisper to each other, seated as you are upon your bed with blankets draped over your shoulders.

✧ Feren wins your heart time and time again, like the day he lowered you down gently onto the grass of a sunny meadow, basking with you and weaving flowers. He made you a ring, crowned you with a wreath of flowers atop your head, and made another little one to place gently on the curve of your belly, bringing your heart to soar.

Bard

✧ Uncertainty wracks your heart and wrings your hands at the would-be-cheerful news. In fact, you yourself do feel joy, have since your suspicions were confirmed, but would Bard see it the same way? He already has three mouths to feed, three children all old enough to take care of themselves. Will he wish to start it all over so? "What's wrong, love? Your lip is bleeding." So it is. You've practically gnawed the poor thing off in all your stewing. A sigh escapes you. Bard is your husband. No sense in delaying a very necessary conversation. "I know we should have spoken more about it..." You begin, trailing off. At once, Bard senses your reservation and rises to your side, taking hold of your arms; the love in his dark eyes brings a small smile to your lips and relaxes you slightly. "I'm with child, Bard." Almost childlike is the wonder and joy spreading across your face, and before you can say another word you are being pulled into Bard's chest, face snuggling into the fur of his coat.

✧ He knows what to expect, naturally, so Bard is definitely not the type of husband to gripe about your requests, though he does smirk and poke fun if you’re especially outrageous with it or have a funny enough delivery. Then kisses you if you pout about it before fetching what you seek.

✧ Caution overtakes you and your husband as you make to tell his older children the news, particularly you, but your wringing hands relax when you can see the joy in their eyes, particularly the girls! They hope the baby is another girl, hugging you so tight you almost cannot breathe, but you complain not.

✧ Happy is Bard to take on assistance cooking; he knows it can make you sick sometimes and besides, it's a nice excuse to make sure you get all the nutrients you need! You are certainly very lucky in the skill and domesticity of your spouse.

✧ Stands behind you and reaches his arms around you, lifting up the weight you carry and smiling, kissing your neck and cheeks as you relax from your burden.

✧ He also has no qualms about making you rest, down even to physically lifting you up and carrying you to bed if he must!

Beorn

✧ Hesitant as he always would have claimed to be about bringing more Skin-Changers into a world so cruel to them, Beorn feels his nesting instincts kick in very quickly after you become his wife. You see it in the things he gathers, the way your husband moves things such as your blades to higher, safer locations. He is anticipating something. Something you cannot help pulling him aside and asking about, and when your feelings on the subject are made known, well, it is entirely possible you conceived that very night.

✧ Beorn has an almost eerie sense for all the changes taking place in your body. You feel a sharp pain in your back, and without a word your husband is behind you, ushering you down for a massage with some of the oils he's pressed.

✧ The aforementioned nesting instincts manifest early on, your husband carefully blunting corners and tucking away the best blankets so the little one-or ones!- will be nothing but safe and comfortable.

✧ Withdrawn as he could be, Beorn's affection is drawn out by your condition, his big brown eyes soft upon you as he pulls you into his lap, large hands secure about your waist and sliding gently up and down your growing belly.

✧ And grow it does! It seems to get heavier by the day, but that is explained thanks to your husband's exceptional hearing. "Four heartbeats. One is yours. A litter- three are coming!" Spots dance in your vision at that news, but Beorn's smile as he grips your hand brings you back to the light. You could do it with him by your side. "Our little litter."

✧ He attempts to reassure you anytime your anxiety grows. "My dearest flower, I have delivered hundreds of calves and piglets in my day! You will see this through." Reassuring? Perhaps not so much. But in your heightened emotion, that does break you into a wild laughter that does indeed relax you nonetheless.

Want to meet the little ones? Perhaps there will be a Part 2 😉

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[catzncoffee]

A little FiddleStan AU I cooked up, more information about the AU below the cut!

I'll probably post a few more characters from this AU later!

Aren't they just the cutest couple? (* ´ ▽ ` *)

BADEND FiddleStan Au

> Welcome to BLIND EYE CO. : Unsee It All!

-To Start us off, Ford sends his postcard over to Stanley a lá Canon, and Stanley immediately drops everything to rush up to Gravity Falls all the way from New Mexico, spending his last dime on gas and driving with as little breaks as possible. At this point in time, Fiddleford has left Stanford and is actively going through a divorce and the process of loosing his mind via mind gun overexposure. Stanford is not doing well, paranoid and extremely sleep deprived, watching for Bill in any eye sockets or triangles that flash in the corner of his eyes. None of them are doing well to sum it up.

- Stanley arrives fresh off a no breaks drive to meet with his estranged brother of 10 years, and while not exactly expecting a warm welcome, a crossbow pointed at his head and a flashlight shone in his eyes certainly didn't help set the tone of the meeting. Or help the spinning in his head. Or the Nausea. Frankly he only caught the tail end of Fords very concerning speech, but at least he knew to follow him down the stairs.

-naturally things devolve from there, Ford demanding Stanley take his research and flee while Stanley grapples with the fact that it's all Ford wanted of him. Spiraling into a physical fight once old grudges are dug up from their graves. A Fight that brands Stanley with a symbol he can't even understand, turning something on he didn't even know the danger of. A singular shove that absolutely wrecked Stanley's world, and the last words "Do Something Stanley!" Haunting the room as the portal that his brother built ate him and imploded.

- Fiddleford notices the gravitational anomalies and panics, going into hiding but terrified for Fords safety against his better judgment.

- Stanley spends the next week desperately trying to peice together both the portal and the journals contents, and his mental health takes an even steeper decline. He sits in the same lab going over whatever books he can find and that stupid journal over and over and over until he works on the portal till the next injury or road block, surviving off of whatever canned food both he and Ford combined had left

- Enter Fiddleford, who couldn't bear not to check on Ford after the gravitational anomalies and continued radio silence. Just a confirmation that he wasn't dead, Fiddleford told himself. Nothing more. Stanford deserved no more from him, after all Fiddleford had given. Just a quick safety check in for the sake of an old friend. A knock on the door, however, brought a slow shuffle towards it and opened to reveal a very tired, very devastated..... not Ford? But also Ford? At least he certainly looked like Ford. But Ford had less muscle mass last time Fiddleford saw him. Less hair too, because Stanford? Have a mullet? What sealed it was the normal, five fingered hands that the Not-Ford rubbed his eyes with when Fiddleford demanded, as politely as possible, to know who he was and where Stanford went.

- Fiddleford is invited in and the two sit on a couch Not-Ford cleared off in this waste zone of a house and explains that his name is Stanley, and he's the estranged brother of Ford. Who also happens to be his identical twin. Ford had called him up to help him by taking his stupid journal and running, the two got in a fight, and Ford got sucked in. Fiddleford felt cold panic settle in his gut, thoughts scattered and memories of what was on the other side coming back in nauseating waves, lapping at his consciousness.

- At first Stanely succeeds in getting Fiddleford to help him with the portal, and he's extatic while Fiddleford is decidedly not. However much to Fiddlefords surprise, he isn't forced into the basement, or working on that devil machine, or even couped up in the study to work nonstop. Instead, Stanley gives him a notebook and pen, and gives a description or photo of the exact thing he needs help with, explains to the best of his, admittedly limited, knowledge what the problem is, and has Fiddleford help. Then, Stanley thanks him profusely and dissapears by himself down to the depths of the lab, laving Fiddleford with the glow of the TV and a warm drink.

And it confuses him.

Greatly.

Because there were very few times Ford mention having a twin; Fiddleford could count them on one hand. But Ford had been angry most of those times, other than the one or two when crying and drunk, saying that Stanley had been 'ruled by emotion' and was 'brash with no tact'. But where Ford had been accusatory and sharp, Stanley had been understanding and toned down. There had been very few times over the last few days Stanley had raised his voice, and it was more out of frustration or picking at a touchy subject than anything. And more than that was the way he would shrink just a bit and apologize with enough self loathing that Fiddleford could taste it, sticky and bitter in the back of his throat. Stanford ignored everything when in a project. Stanley only seemed to ignore himself. Stanley was nothing like Stanford had been, and Fiddleford found himself craving those differences more and more, craving more time spent with Stanley, more conversation, more memories, just more Stanley. A pleasant but confusing change, especially when Stanley's features where so similar to Fords.

- Fiddleford would blame the fact that he didn't notice Stanley's condition until much later into staying back at Fords place on the way his mind was still shifting itself into something usable again, however once he noticed he would never stop cursing himself for how he didn't before. Stanley had collapsed in the kitchen, and it had taken nearly all of Fiddlefords mental power to drag the information on his injuries out of Stanley so he could treat them. The poor man had been walking around with that nasty burn treated the best Stanley could, but improperly the whole time, and infection had begun to set in like a bastard. That wasn't even beginning to speak of the malnutrition, dehydration and multiple other bruises and cuts, some yellowed, faded, crusted over, some fresh, purpled and bloodied all on too pale skin. Scars told of a life that was harder than Fiddleford had ever originally thought to think of, questions popping in his mind as he treated the increasingly more worrying Stanley.

And in this Time, Fiddleford was alone with his thoughts.

Fiddleford was here. Again. In Fords house, trying to save him from himself. Again. And frankly he was tired. He'd pushed past his family in favor of Fords shiny promises and stayed far past when he should have, gave more of his knowledge, more of his friendship, hell, more of his heart than he'd ever thought possible. And Ford still always wanted, Needed, more. Fiddleford had felt all that rage for himself and his life over and over, but feeling it for someone else was new. Yet here he was.

Here Stanley was.

Because really, what kind of man gets a call from a man he hasn't seen in 10 years, basically a stranger, one who never talks about him, and drops absolutely everything to help them? New Mexico was a 20 hour drive from Gravity Falls, and Stanley had driven that with the absolute last of his money, no sleep, just driving. Only for Ford to completely dismiss him for the survival of his research over the world. Fiddleford had no idea what Stanley supposedly 'did' when they were younger, like Stanford had vaguely mentioned and Stanely kept saying in a heartbreakingly familiar tone dripping with guilt and self hatred, but Fiddleford could tell from a mile away it was bullshit. Stanford had no reason to hate Stanley so badly. Stanley had no reason he should have helped Ford after God knows what he went through, but he did anyways. Ford? Fiddleford would bet the last of his sanity just to say that Ford wouldn't return the favour. He never had before.

- Fiddleford spirals deeper and deeper as he treats a heavily feverish Stanley, his hatred for Ford growing into a tangible thing the more he thought. And oh, how much simpler this would have all been if he'd simply met Stanley first. Rougher around the edges but kinder. Sweeter. God the way he was so gentle with Fiddleford even though he had no reason to be. The way he'd taken the existence of the memory gun in stride and stated he'd be here if Fiddleford needed support with it. It would be so much easier if Stanley just agreed to shut the portal down forever. Then they could just live. Together, of course, Fiddleford didn't think he could live without Stanley's gruff support now that he'd had it, but just. Simply live. Without the threat of the world, or demons, or weirdness over top of them.

Without the threat of Ford.

Oh how tempting it was, Fiddleford thought, in the days were Stanley was becoming more lucid while still soft and warm due to his sickness, to just simply erase Ford from Stanley's mind. But that would leave too much of a gap, and as he regains his mind bit by bit, Fiddleford begins to come to the conclusion that the memory gun needed a bit of work, yes, but as long as it wasn't over used then it's intended purpose would be served. Over using included, however, memories that were too big to simply pluck out completely. Its where he'd went wrong with his own treatment, and like hell he would leave Stanley to deal with the consequences of that.

Then, in the last few days where Stanley was beginning to move about in small increments as he shook away the last clawing hands of illness away, Fiddleford realized it. He didn't need to erase Ford completely from Stanley's mind.

Fiddleford just had to erase Stanley's love for Ford.

- So, he was patient. Fiddleford waited until Stanley was well, until he walked with full strength and his laugh was full again, until he was sure that the grown affection Stanley had for him after his illness allowed him close enough.

Fiddleford even made sure his memory gun was freshly updated and tuned to the most perfect he'd ever gotten it, making sure the shot would be clean and accurate for his Stanley's sake. Only the best for that man from now on, Fiddleford swore it.

Then he waited until he'd made sure Stanley was relaxed. Had gone out for the day and convinced him to go out to Greasys with Fiddleford. Had taken Stanley for a walk through the woods and laughed as his eyes sparked in excitement even as he cussed out a gnome. Had curled up together, warm and safe on the couch, watching movies and drinking a couple beers. Fiddleford even managed to persuade Stanley away from another long night in the portal room, asking him to stay to sleep for Fiddlefords sake, which Stanley relented to nearly immediately. It was all just such a perfect day. It all just confirmed to Fiddleford that he was absolutely doing the right thing. He'd be happier. Stanley would be happier. And Ford could stay having his horrific adventures on the other side, just like he had seemed to want so badly.

In the dead quiet of that night, Fiddleford pulled the memory gun silently from underneath his pillow, and smiled at Stanley, sleeping soundly on his chest, and fired it directly at Stanley's temple. The only sound Stanley made was a soft exhale, one that Fiddleford chose to believe was relief.

- In the following years, Fiddleford never regretted that choice. Stanley woke up and immediately broke down to Fiddleford, initially panicking him at first thinking he'd broken Stanley, them realized the man was talking about desperately not wanting to bring Ford back, asking Fiddleford if he thought he was horrible for saying so. After that it had been Fiddlefords pleasure to inform his sweet Stanley that not only did he not hate him, but shared his thoughts and truthfully didn't want to open that portal ever again. Things had moved quicker with Stanley dismantling the cursed thing than building it, and Fiddleford hadn't ever been happier. Clearing out Fords house of anything not safe to research or just plain garbage had been so satisfying too, convincing Stanley with little effort to replace any symbol of Bill with quite literally anything else. The Society of the Blind Eye had been a surprise, after all Fiddleford had never expected a group of people to find his scrapped plans or suggest he ever start them, but it was sweet, professional conman Stanley who had suggested making something more out of it. Afterall, Fidds had wanted his own company once, why not start with this?

- With that, BLIND EYE CO. was born, originally starting as a cover for the Society to do their work, growing into a more legitimate business with Fiddlefords inventions and Stanley's charisma faster than they'd thought possible. Fiddleford even continued the Gravity Falls anomaly research to better understand what could cause what, and which things were better of forgotten. Stanley, however, wanted nothing to do with the research of the journal to help with these findings, stating that nothing Ford had made he would ever want to touch, which suited Fiddleford just fine, in fact it delighted him. With Fiddleford and Stanley as both the owners and CEOs of the company( and the Society not that the town knew) it was no wonder the town quickly came to love them and know them, this large company that gave back to the community and was started right here in sleepy little Gravity Falls! How novel.

- Fiddlefords son, Tate, (now allowed to visit since Fiddleford was 'mentally stable') had taken the change badly at first, seeing his father turn from fine to broken to better than ever before, but warmed up once Stanley showed his soft side to him. Tate seemed to like Stanley better than he ever had Ford, which made Fiddlefords heart absolutely soar with happiness. Stanley and Fiddleford, while it wasn't legal to be married just yet, didn't have a solid relationship with the law anyhow and happily wore matching rings with pride. The memory gun is still in use and is consistently upgraded, with Fiddleford being the main figurehead to use it while Stanley happily sat next to him and did whatever he needed.

- Meanwhile in the nightmare realm, things are absolutely not going how Bill Cipher thought. Seriously how the hell was he to know the hillbilly would come back and steal Mackerel away from fixing the portal?! Stanley should have been getting that portal open to get Fordsy not forgetting he ever even liked sixer! Once again that stupid Specs, always messing up Bills progress. He does, however, get a new idea on how to screw with Ford while he's trapped here.

- Ford is greeted randomly, via Bill, with mirrors into his home dimension, taunting him with what's happening just to screw with him as he survives.

And screw with him it does.

Ford watches helplessly as his closest friend and former partner cuddles up to his frantically overworked brother finally at rest, and puts the memory gun to his head, and sees pure Red.

Ford is now hopping though dimensions with a purpose; subdue Bill, get home, cure Stanley, and Kill Fiddleford. And he won't stop until he does.

- Enter Mabel and Mason(Dipper) Pines, sent to their Grunkle 'Stanford' and his husband for the summer, when Dipper finds a journal that seems to have a page of a diffrent kind of paper hes never seen sticking out. The note holds an incantation written in the same cursive as the journal, and details preforming a spell on a mirror, labelled simply as EMERGENCY CONTACT NEEDED. Upon doing the incantation, the children are met with a shadow in the mirror telling them he's their trapped uncle, he's trying to get back to someone named 'Stanley' Pines, dont make deals with yellow triangles and above all else:

Do NOT Trust FIDDLEFORD

Do NOT Trust 'STANFORD'

TRUST NO ONE

Welcome to Gravity Falls!~☆

[sp0o0kylights]

Indie horror filmmaker Eddie Munson, high off his first big (underground but notable) success, knows the movers and shakers of the film world have their eyes on him. 

They're just waiting to see if he was a one hit wonder before they open all the doors he's been trying to kick down. 

His next upcoming film is his chance, his shot at finally making it. Of being like Rob Zombie and the other creators he looks up to that masterfully blended metal and horror. 

This is his golden ticket. 

The project starts off smooth. His last success has greased the wheels, and things fall into place faster than ever before. 

He's got the best idea for this insane haunted house story, a true "mazes in mazes" type of deal with a queer twist. A real look at how a place can haunt a person just as easily as a ghost can.

 Everything's going swimmingly--until one of his leads drops out the day they're due to start shooting.

No call no show's, and later, Eddie will find out the guy got a last second call back to be a contestant on one of those Love Island bullshit romance gigs (and laugh his ass off when the main love interest takes one look at Billy Hargrove and goes on a five minute rant about ugly mullets on national television) but right now? 

He's fucked. 

He's called in every favor he has for this film. Maxed out every credit card he owns, tapped every contact, got on his hands and knees and begged his rising star journalist best bud to help him market it. (Which Nancy agreed too, for way less cash than she should have.) 

 Eddie can't get anyone on the phone, much less find a replacement actor and the amazing place they rented, that is so dark and wonderfully eerie, is booked out the rest of the year as an AirBnB. 

If he doesn't film now, he loses it all.

Cue the other lead, unknown theater actor Steve Harrington, watching his hair pulling, tire kicking, 'cursing and hopping while holding a toe' mental breakdown and asks why Eddie himself doesn't act in it. 

"Just go full Kevin Smith man. Act and direct." He says, with an easy grin. 

Jeff, Eddie's tried and true videographer, trades glances with Gareth and Grant (Eddie's long used special effects and makeup team, who double for about twelve other jobs because they're also his best friends and they're all in this together, make or break.)

"We don't really have a lot of other options." Gareth hedges. "You're already using me and Grant as background characters." 

Eddie, hands fluttering around his face as though trying to wave away this entire situation, squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a pained hiss. 

"Fine, fine!" He announces with the air of a man running towards a fire. "Fuck it, this is our one shot and so help me I will be shooting it!" 

Steve politely hides a laugh with a cough. 

"Chuckle all you want big boy, I'm going to tragically romance you so hard people will forget both of our characters actually live." Eddie snarls.

Steve, the handsome bastard, just winks.  "Looking forward to it." 

Eddie blushes, but hides it with a surge of frantic energy, conveyed by lots of yelling and moving and getting the ball rolling. 

Two days later, Steve would give the performance of a lifetime down on his knees, covered in a literal pound of fake gore, booty shorts and nothing else as he sobbed about how a lover could become a home. His hands clawed at Eddie's jeans before resting a tear stained face on a slim leg as he bent his body towards Eddie like it hurt to be away from him. 

Eddie would later receive equal praise in his own acting during the scene, with the world and every reporter in it asking how he conveyed an otherworldly panic so beautifully throughout Steve's performance. What was he thinking, to evoke those expressions on his face? 

The way his own pale hand, unmarred by blood and acting as a metaphor for the plot, would come to stroke Steve's cheeks.

Eventually he'd come up with a smooth polished answer that cheekily pleased his audience, but nothing would ever come close to the truth. 

("Eddie I've known you since grade school." Jeff said that night, a scant few hours after they'd wrapped. "You can act man, but not like that." 

Eddie made a wild "shut up" gesture, looking frantically over his shoulder before admitting; "You saw how close his face was to the prince of darkness!? I was seconds away from popping a boner next to his lips, in front of the 4K camera!” 

Eddie bounced into Jeff’s face so he could hiss: “He fucking had his chin on my thigh, Jeff, and I am only a man. A mere mortal!" 

"So we're gonna unpack all of that later." Jeff said finally, when he'd managed to get his mouth working and Eddie back out of his personal space. "But dude, we've talked about you calling your dick the prince of darkness." 

Eddie flipped him off.) 

One year later and critics named Corroded the best horror film of the year, praising the camera work, practical effects, and how there wasn't a soul alive who was surprised to hear Eddie and Steve were dating after their explosive on screen chemistry.

No one ever quite understood the prince of darkness jokes or why Steve mentioning it made Eddie blush, but that was a secret to find out later. 

Today on WIP’s I have no intention of writing, indie horror movie AU!

[artsninspo]

012 | Richmond Inc.

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

「 ✦ aaron pierre & characters library ✦ 」

⇚ 011

♠ summary: Lorence goes back to work and Terry shows up like never before.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)

♠ word-count: ~2.7K

⌖ - Richmond Inc. HQ

I feel like I’ve been thrown into a pressure cooker. I don’t know how Terry has managed an entire organizational overhaul after spending the weekend rearranging my insides, and then traveling extensively all week. But then again, Mr. Richmond the Boss never ceases to amaze me. I maintain the smile on my face as my colleagues file out of the conference room. We’ve just spent five grueling hours scrutinizing every aspect of our new recruit training program. It got tense on more than a few occasions. Thankfully, no one found any faults in my proposals. Unfortunately, that led to a long Q&A period that I took standing. As much as I want to pretend I’m at a hundred percent, I still have a ways to go.

Joel comes into the conference room with a wheelchair, and it makes me smile. I guess someone wasn’t fooled by my ruse. I walk over and sit, grateful for the reprieve.

“You did great, kid,” he says, patting my shoulder as he wheels me toward the accessibility route, giving us some privacy.

“You think?” I ask.

“I know you did. After those proposals you put forward during the others’ presentations, I’m positive they would’ve ripped into you if they could.”

“I don’t know. After this past week, I was thinking maybe it was favoritism,” I mutter, and Joel laughs.

“Definitely not. You really are one of one, Lo,” he smiles, wheeling me in. “Campus is gonna kick your ass though—maybe use the favoritism to come in less. Work from your home office while you rebuild your strength and endurance.”

As much as I hate the idea, it’s solid advice. We get to my floor and find Emerson waiting at my office door. I stand, not wanting to show blood to a shark. He blinks a few times, registering that I’m still injured, and his expression shifts.

“Emerson, what can I do for you?” I ask, noting how his eyes flicker toward Joel.

“I didn’t realize you were still recovering…” he mutters.

“Just limited mobility,” I explain, and he nods.

“I’ve got a meeting, Cole. See you later,” Joel says, giving me a look that clearly says be careful. I keep my guarded expression in place as I unlock the door. Emerson follows, folding the chair and tucking it into a corner. I smile at all the flowers in my office—until I feel Emerson beside me. He steadies me under the arm as I walk, then pulls out my desk chair.

“Thank you,” I say, nodding politely. He steps back in front of my desk.

“So, how can I help you?” I ask.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened in Monaco. And if you need anything… reach out.” He smiles to himself. “Though Joel’s clearly got your back.”

“Pardon me?” I ask.

“You probably won’t call,” he says, just as a knock on the door grabs our attention. Terry’s expression tells me he’s been standing there long enough. I know that angry simmer of his, even though I haven’t seen it in a while.

“Cole, Cassandra didn’t see a meeting in your calendar,” Terry says, entering without invitation. Emerson’s usual cavalier expression is nowhere to be found. It catches my attention how he tries to shrink into his seat.

“I don’t. I was just going to look over a few things. Emerson stopped by,” I explain.

“It can wait,” Emerson says with a forced smile more typical of him. “Nice to see you, boss,” he adds, standing.

“Cole, I’ll have my EA check your schedule and get something on the books,” he says, giving Richmond some distance. I nod and send him a tempered smile. As the door closes, I feel Terry’s stare burning into me. I meet his blue eyes.

“That was odd,” I mutter. Richmond locks the door, triggering the smart glass to frost over.

“Hi baby. How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in a few days. I missed you,” he murmurs, giving me a buffet of options before parting my lips with a kiss. His jealousy and complete disregard for workplace norms stirs something in me. But when the kiss deepens, I press a hand to his chest—knowing where this will lead.

“Terry,” I whisper, breathless. “We’re at work.”

“I own the company,” he reminds me, just as there’s a knock on the door. I glance up and silently thank my choice of transfer-proof lipstick. I un-frost the glass to reveal one of my junior agents. Her excitement fades when she sees the boss.

“I’ll come back!” she says, clutching her folder to her chest. It makes me smile.

“Five minutes,” I mouth, holding up a hand. She nods before offering Terry a sheepish glance. He frosts the glass again.

“Your entire team’s afraid of me,” he mutters.

“You have a reputation. And… I did miss you,” I admit with a smile. I notice the growing bulge in his pants and shake my head. He’s always ready, and while it’s been perfect... this isn’t the time or place.

“No Terry. I told her five minutes,” I warn, pulling away. He groans, standing upright and wiping his mouth, checking for lipstick.

“Next time, I’m not wearing transfer-proof makeup,” I tease, and he smirks, knowing I’ll follow through.

“I’ll remember that tonight,” he replies, dirty. I pretend to be unphased, but the threat definitely hits. I want us to hold hands, kiss, melt into each other.

“How’s your schedule?”

“Clear, once you walk out,” he says.

“I want to talk. Monaco. All these changes.”

His face switches to full Mr. Richmond mode. “What about it?”

“There are a lot of changes, and I’ve been gone for two weeks. I feel like I’m missing things. There were a lot of people absent from today’s training—excellent reconnaissance officers.”

“It’s been five minutes,” he says, trying to shoo me out. I withhold a laugh but can’t stop the smile.

“I guess a tense work relationship is one way around things.” I mutter.

“The only conversation we need to have about Monaco is the one where I tell you everything’s been handled. That happens when I have all the answers,” he says, calling the shots. I cross my arms, annoyed, then decide to let it go and head for the door.

“Lorence,” he calls from behind me.

“Mhm?”

“I see Emerson touch you again, and he’s getting a write-up for misconduct,” Mr. Richmond says. “Sit. I’ll tell the agent you’re ready.”

His jealousy shouldn’t be amusing, but it is. “Thank you,” I say, conceding.

“What do you want to eat tonight?”

“Pasta. Italian.”

“Alright. I’ll see you later,” he says, dipping to kiss my forehead.

“You might want to hide the situation happening,” I note, gesturing downward to his pants.

“Lorence, this isn’t the first time,” he say, heading into my bathroom. I glance at the clock, amused and wondering—but he’s out quick and looking normal. I don’t ask. He doesn’t tell. I snicker as he leaves. His tall stature, defined back and commanding presence has me silently swooning. It’s like he knows I’m watching and turns back to me with a small smile before his posture goes back to ridgid business as usual.

The rest of my workday is spent behind the safety of my desk until the car service is ready to take me home. It’s Beau’s last week at Joel’s, and it’s about damn time. I miss walking into my house and being treated like royalty. I head upstairs, pack a bag, and take a quick shower to freshen up. I’m not naïve enough to think Italian food is the only thing on the menu.

Terry shows up about an hour later, jogging up the stairs, dressed down and relaxed. He opens the car door and pulls me into a bear hug, lifting me off the ground. Professionalism is out the window. When he kisses me, I lean in instead of pulling away.

“I missed you,” I tell him again.

“I missed you more,” he replies, making us those corny people.

“Are you cooking here?” I ask, noticing his casual look.

“Nah. But I’ve got to run an errand before we eat.”

“Okay. I packed a bag,” I say, motioning to the edge of the staircase. He frowns when he sees it.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to lift anything.”

“It’s no more than ten pounds. Stop fussing.”

He shakes his head, and I wonder if we’re already those people—bickering like my Ma and Pa do. He takes the bag, and we head out. His car smells freshly detailed, and he’s got a new haircut.

“Your haircut looks good,” I say, running my fingers along the fade. He doesn’t tense up.

“Thanks, Lorence,” he says, pausing at my name.

“What?”

“Nickname might be a slippery slope at work,” he mutters, backing out of my driveway. I smile at him, always thinking steps ahead of everyone else. Once we hit the freeway, his hand finds my thigh. I place mine over his – happy to have him back. The silence is peaceful but I can tell he has a million things on his mind.

“Any leads on Monaco?” I ask.

“Lorence…”

“Terrance…” I tease.

“I have almost everything I need.”

“And?”

“No one’s in imminent danger. It was a colossal fuck-up. Everyone’s tucking tail and running scared. Nothing you need to worry about. It’s handled.” he assures me once again. I rack my brain for anything else.

“Then why the overhaul?”

“Because if everyone was as focused on their jobs as you are, you and Cassandra wouldn’t be in recovery.”

“So that’s what the workshops are about?”

“Yes. I’m benching all Executives and pulling travel perks until they start acting like agents again.”

I sigh. It’s the kind of move I hate—but I get it.

We end up at the private airport, and I sit upright. When the car stops in front of his private jet—not the employee one. I blink.

“What the...?”

“You asked me to take you on a date. I hope you didn’t think I forgot,” he says, putting the car in park. It’s the most extra thing anyone’s ever done for me.

“I don’t have my passport or clothes.” I start.

“Cassandra packed some things. And you can authorize your digital passport from your work phone.”

I look into his eyes and see how serious he is. There’s depth—like he’s worried I might say no. A smile creeps onto my face, and I kiss him quickly. This is what has had him on edge the entire drive.

“I didn’t think you forgot… I just didn’t expect this.” I beam.

“Pleasant surprise?”

“Mhm,” I nod, and he steals one more kiss before signaling to the valet to open my door.

The moment I step into the jet, I’m struck by the ambiance. It’s not sterile or corporate like I expected ��� it’s like his home. Cream leather seats, soft ambient lighting, and a familiar scent I can’t quite place but instantly associate with him. There's a chilled bottle of wine resting in a bucket of ice, and fresh roses on the side table.

Terry steps in behind me, his presence immediately soothing. He doesn't rush me. He just watches.

“You did all this?” I ask, voice softer now.

He shrugs. “You ask, I will make it happen.”

His assurance makes me smile again and I take a step back into him. Terrance wraps his arms around me instinctively as I admire the scene he’s set for me. I know there’s a tremendous amount of thought behind it and it fills me with so many emotions. When I relax I smell Italian food. Terry motions me to sit and I do. I have to definitely watch what I say around this man. He smiles and I can tell by the glint in his eyes he’s enjoying my reaction. It should be too much. It should feel overwhelming. But instead, it’s grounding—like someone finally seeing me in a way that doesn’t require explanation or translation. I settle into a seat and accept the glass of wine he pours. He takes the one across from me, even though there’s room beside me.

We’re wheels up before a flight attendant emerges with plates of food from my favorite Italian restaurant. I smile to myself knowing it isn't something I told Terry - but something from my mom’s food blog. I feel seen in a way that’s hard to explain or express. I know how much his time is worth and I understand what it means to have him here now treating me to a first date we need to fly to. 

“Thank you Terry, I’m sorry if I’m quiet but I’’m so-”

“Are you happy?” he asks.

“Yes” I nod, unable to hide my smile. He smiles back giving a shallow nod.

“That’s all I want to do Lorence, keep you happy and make you happy” 

“Why-” I immediately regret the words when they escape my lips.

Terry’s patience with me is infinite and he doesn’t seem upset by my question. His body language welcomes it. He lets go of his form laying his large hands flat on the tabletop. 

“Because Lorence you're my person.” he says and the feeling is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. So is how sure he is. We sip our wine in companionable silence as the jet cruises mid air. He drapes a soft blanket over my legs, adjusting it with such care it squeezes something in my chest. This isn’t the boss who takes no prisoners. This is the man who buys flowers in my favorite shade and searches my mother’s food blog for my favorite things, gets his sister to pack me clothes.

“You’re very thoughtful when you want to be,” I murmur resting my head on his shoulder as he comes to sit beside me.

“I always want to be. I just don’t always know how.”

The honesty in his voice slices through the atmosphere like a thread of gold. Vulnerable. Earnest.

“I’ve misjudged you Terrance” I admit. He leans back, staring at the ceiling like he's holding onto something tightly. Then, slowly, he reaches for my hand.

“I was terrified when we got the call that something was going down in Monaco, the thought of losing you like that before getting to know you did something to me.”

The words come out quietly, like they cost him something, like there’s more to them.

He pauses, collecting himself. “I didn’t let myself care about anyone for a long time. And then you came out of nowhere, challenging everything. I gave you every reason to judge me the way you did, so I’m not afraid to earn your trust. I don't need you to rush or play to my feelings Lorena just keep being honest with me.” he says.

I swallow hard, feeling the weight behind every syllable. I turn my hand in his, lacing our fingers.

“I do trust you Terrance.”

That pulls his eyes to mine. Blue and sharp, but softened now. “And you don’t have to pretend you’re not scared either.”

“I am,” I admit. “Not of you. Just… of this.” I admit feeling relieved.

He nods. “Me too.”

Silence stretches again, but it’s not empty. It’s rich. Full of the words we haven’t found yet and the ones we don’t need to say. We both know loss, and so we both know the value of a person's presence and how to honor it – and it feels safe.

“Where are we going?” I ask after a moment.

He smiles. “Somewhere warm. With a view. And a beach.”

I blink. “Are you taking me on a cliché romantic getaway?”

His brows raise. “You should know I don’t do cliches. I only deliver the best of the best.”

“When did you have time to plan this elaborate date?” I ask.

“I make time for the people I care for. And for the record, it’s not a date. It’s the date, Lorence.”

I narrow my eyes. “The date?”

“The one where you finally believe I’m not going anywhere.”

The words slip out so easily, but they land with a thud in my chest. I stare at him, speechless for a beat. Then I lean in and kiss him—slow and grateful and steady.

“I’m starting to believe it,” I whisper, seeing there’s so much more he wants to say.

authors note: Lorence and Terry are settling into each other and 'flying high' literally and figuratively. What do you think happens next? Thanks for reading, don't forget to reblog, comment and like.

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[cactus-cuddler]

🅒🅞🅤🅡🅣🅢🅘🅓🅔

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Word count: 1,7 k

Plot: While reading in a park, you unexpectedly run into one familiar faces—Sam Wilson, your old high school friend, and his colleague, Bucky Barnes. Sam humorously pushing the two of you together. Despite Bucky’s awkwardness and Sam’s meddling, you find yourself drawn to Bucky’s genuine nature, leading to a sweet first date and the promise of more to come.

Author's note: sorry for my bad English

You’re at the park, trying to channel your inner bookworm by reading outside like those romantic novel characters who always seem so serene. The only available bench, however, is inconveniently located in front of a basketball court. At first, it’s peaceful—the court is empty, and the summer breeze is making you feel like this might just be the best idea you've ever had.

But then, the peace shatters as the distant sound of children’s laughter and shouts approaches. You sigh, deciding to stay put. They’re just kids, after all. At least, you hope so. Teenagers, you remind yourself, are a different story. They’re like wild animals—unpredictable, loud, and far too aware of the chaos they can cause. You were one not long ago; you know this all too well.

The court quickly fills with noisy kids, and then, two men join the fray. One is a tall, African American guy with a goatee and sunglasses, exuding confidence. The other is a muscular man with a vibranium arm—yes, vibranium—and a look that says he’d rather be anywhere else. Your book, once a portal to another world, now seems less interesting with these two towering figures before you, dressed in tank tops and basketball shorts like they just stepped out of a fitness magazine.

“Kids, keep it down! There’s a young lady trying to read over here!” the guy with the goatee shouts, pointing directly at you. You blush, sinking into your seat. Great. Now you’re not just a background character; you’re the center of attention. Getting up and leaving would only make things worse.

You lower your head, desperately trying to look absorbed in your book, but the words are just a blur now.

“Hi there, young lady!” The same guy calls out, strolling toward you like he owns the place. The other man, the one with the vibranium arm, follows reluctantly, looking like he’d prefer to melt into the ground. As they get closer, something clicks. You know that voice. It's Sam Wilson—the guy who used to talk to you in high school, the one who was always kind when no one else was.

“Sam?” you blurt out, closing your book and standing up with a smile.

“Hey, beautiful! What brings you here?” he asks, leaning in to kiss your cheeks like no time has passed.

“I live around here,” you reply, and he grins, launching into an explanation about how he and his friend, Bucky Barnes (yes, that Bucky Barnes), teach basketball to local kids.

“This is my buddy Bucky. I wish he’d stop flirting with my sister, though. You seem more his type,” Sam teases, nudging Bucky, who looks mortified.

“I don’t flirt with your sister,” Bucky grumbles, clearly frustrated.

“And what about that look you give her?” Sam presses, and Bucky, flustered, attempts to defend himself.

“It’s called a friendly expression.”

“You don’t know how to be friendly. Admit it, that’s your flirty look,” Sam insists.

“This one?” Bucky flashes a smile that could make hearts stop.

“Tell me if that’s not a flirty look,” Sam asks, turning his gaze to you.

“That’s definitely a flirty look. Very effective, by the way,” you add, earning a high-five from Sam while Bucky rolls his eyes skyward.

“Well, you should be happy if your friend likes your sister,” Bucky retorts.

“Except that friend tried to kill Captain America a couple of times,” Sam quips, and you decide—for your own sanity—to believe that’s a joke.

“You promised not to bring that up again!” Bucky snaps, clearly exasperated, but Sam just pats him on the shoulder.

“So, how about you go out with him?” Sam asks, turning back to you with a grin. “But if he tries anything, just call me. The Falcon will come to your rescue,” he adds with a wink.

You chuckle at Sam’s antics, but there’s something about Bucky that intrigues you. Maybe it’s the quiet strength in his eyes, or the way he’s trying so hard to maintain his cool around Sam’s teasing. Whatever it is, you feel a spark of curiosity.

“Well, if Bucky’s interested, I wouldn’t mind a coffee date,” you say, surprising yourself with your boldness. Bucky’s eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, he looks completely caught off guard.

Sam laughs, clapping Bucky on the back. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a date, Buck!”

Bucky glances at you, checking if you’re serious. You give him a reassuring smile, and he quickly looks away, cheeks tinged with the slightest blush.

"I'm sure you'll get along. He read “The Hobbit” as soon as it came out!" Sam exclaims, and you can't help but be a little impressed.

As the day winds down and the kids' mothers arrive to collect them, Sam invites you to join them for a drink at a nearby bar. You’re eager to catch up with Sam, who you’d lost touch with after high school. You share stories, laugh about old times, and it feels like no time has passed since you last hung out.

"Back in school, Sam was the only one who talked to me. He'd always pop up from nowhere, scare the daylights out of me, and drag me to whatever crazy thing he had planned, like alcoholic parties when he was always finished drunk and try to find me a boyfriend dating his friends" you say, laughing at the memories.

“That sounds annoying,” Bucky adds, and you nod in agreement, much to Sam’s mock offense.

"You seemed so close, why did you stop talking?" Bucky asks while sipping the draft beer he ordered.

"I joined the army, became Falcon and didn't have much time to keep friends anymore," Sam replies looking at the table with nostalgia caressing his face "but every time I feel nostalgic I look at our old photos," he finally says and you smile at him.

As the evening wraps up, you exchange numbers with Sam and Bucky. Just as you’re about to leave, Bucky catches you when Sam isn’t looking.

“So, tomorrow…” you start.

“Let’s meet at the park, if you want,” he suggests, his tone soft but sure. You smile at him, pleasantly surprised by his forwardness.

“I saw that!” Sam shouts, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. You both jump, just like back in high school.

“Damn it, Sam!” Bucky exclaims as Sam bursts into laughter.

The next afternoon, you arrive at the park dressed simply but with a hint of elegance. You didn't want to overdo it, but you wanted to make a good impression. Bucky is already there, playing basketball by himself. You watch him for a few moments—he's really good. When he notices you watching, he blushes slightly, clearly a bit embarrassed.

"Want to take some shots?" he asks, and you nod, knowing full well that you’re terrible at basketball. But Bucky is patient, guiding you through each shot, his hands steadying yours as he stands close behind you. His chest brushes against your back, and you can feel the warmth of his breath on your neck. It’s more than a little distracting, but somehow, you manage to score. He smiles, clapping his hands in approval, and you can't help but cheer.

“They’ll definitely sign me to the NBA by the end of the day, right?” you joke.

“Absolutely. A tall man in a suit will show up any second now,” he replies, chuckling. You both share a laugh, and he gives you a look that’s all kinds of sweet.

After you’re both too tired to keep playing, Bucky surprises you with a bouquet of flowers he’d hidden on the sidelines. You’re impressed, and silently thank yourself for always carrying deodorant and perfume. You offer him some deodorant, and he accepts without hesitation, even though it’s clearly for women.

“Perfume?” you ask, holding out the bottle, and he shakes his head, probably thinking it’s too “girly.” But you spray some on him anyway, and he starts coughing, his eyes narrowing at you.

“Has Sam rubbed off on you with his disregard for people’s choices?” he teases, and you giggle at his joke.

You walk side by side, talking about your lives. You find yourself increasingly fascinated by him. Compared to his epic saga, your life feels like a short story, but he listens intently, making you feel like every word you say matters.

“I had a great time. Thank you,” you say as you stand in front of your door, smiling up at him.

“Me too,” he replies, his voice soft. You lean in, leaving a gentle kiss on his cheek. You can see the blush creep up his face, and it only makes him more endearing. You're already thinking about your next date—this one went far better than you could have imagined.

Just as you’re about to say goodbye, Sam appears out of nowhere, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Guys, this date is missing all the essentials!” he exclaims, causing both you and Bucky to jump. Bucky groans, clearly exasperated.

“No candlelit dinner? No romantic phrases? Not even a kiss under the moon? Come on, guys! I’m trying to organize a wedding by the end of the summer. We don’t have time to take things slow,” he jokes, winking at you.

“Don’t listen to him. We can take our time and see each other again,” Bucky reassures you, his eyes locking with yours in a way that makes your heart flutter.

“You could’ve at least taken her to your place and shown her your amazing couch!” Sam insists, clearly not ready to let it go.

“You’ve never even been to my house! Stop talking about my couch,” Bucky grumbles, rolling his eyes. You can’t help but laugh at their banter—it’s clear these two have a friendship built on teasing and mutual respect.

"You two have another date tomorrow," Sam finally declares, pointing at both of you with a smug grin. Bucky waves goodbye, and as he turns to leave with Sam, you can't help but feel a warm sense of anticipation for what’s to come. Sam, of course, is already giving Bucky a barrage of unsolicited tips on how to "improve" the next date.

As they walk away, you stand there for a moment, still smiling, your heart light and your mind already replaying the best moments of the day. You’re looking forward to seeing Bucky again—he’s sweet, awkward in the most charming way, and there’s a connection between you that feels genuine, like something that could really grow.

And as much as you appreciate Sam’s meddling, you’re glad that Bucky wants to take things slow, to give you both the time to get to know each other. It’s refreshing and makes you even more excited for tomorrow.

As you head inside, you can still hear Sam's voice in the distance, likely teasing Bucky about that "flirty look" of his. You laugh to yourself, feeling grateful for the unexpected turn your day took. It’s funny how life works—what started as a quiet afternoon at the park with a book turned into something so much more.

[flawseer]

3000 AS character drawings

(Clearsight, Listener, Thoughtful)

I suppose this might be a new collage? Probably not a complete one, but I would like to draw some of the characters from this time period that I liked or found otherwise notable.

I wanted to include Clearsight's parents in this post, but the prospect of drawing five full-body pictures of dragons in one post filled me with some kind of emotion, so if I do that, it'll likely happen later.

Clearsight

The mother of pantaloons herself. She is described as slender, beautiful, and as having purple eyes. The graphic novels so far have one depiction of a Nightwing using future-sight and it shows her eyes glowing an eerie white while she does it. Clearsight's method of using her clairvoyance is very unorthodox, but I like to imagine she still gets this effect when she looks ahead at future events. Only in her case it looks less ominous and much more casual. I picture her sitting at the dinner table with her eyes lighting up every few minutes, until her mother finally goes "now dear, we've agreed; no future-vision during meal time." So she sighs and silently continues eating her beet salad.

Also, obligatory mention that the silver scale in the center of her forehead is, once again, a reference to my partner @flamebringer0 's theory about Nightwing powers and indicates the presence of prophetic powers, like eye scales would mark a mind reader.

Listener

Clearsight's bestie is described as large, long-necked, and curvy, and seems like a good extroverted foil to someone who spends most of her time cooped up inside her own head. She comes across as a bit of a romance-obsessed airhead, but some of the things she tells Clearsight are actually pretty reasonable, and I like to think Clearsight becomes more appreciative of Listener's ideas and influence once she departs the continent and they are separated.

Apparently she later writes a scroll about Clearsight being the most brilliant prophet who ever lived. I would like to know how that affected her life, considering the Nightwing tribe probably remembers Clearsight as "that lady who was fawning over the crazed warlock we all ran away from". Did Listener catch push-back for publishing a laudatory script about someone like that?

Thoughtful

Here is glass boy. The book describes him as handsome with circular glasses. I accidentally drew him a bit more chubby than I intended, but honestly, I think it suits him. He looks very pleasant and friendly, which seems to be in line with his general character. I am actually very happy with how this drawing turned out.

Also, he is not bipedal in this picture. He is resting his weight on his two hind legs and tail. I think of this as "tripod stance"; it's a body posture a dragon can assume to free up their front legs to do precision work. It is relatively stable, but grows uncomfortable if you stay that way for too long (tail cramp).

Also, you can't really walk like that. To walk on their hind legs with any kind of proficiency, a dragon has to place both of their wings on the ground to substitute their front limbs.

[glowettee]

ehmm.. hie.. sis... i don't really know how to frame this question i have because.. u see .. I am not really a girl but.. I wish (desperately) I was born one .. unfortunately, I can't even indulge into feminine things in real life but dearly I wish I would atleast feel the femininity in my heart and I don't know I can achieve that.. i mean.. if u understand what I really mean.. but I hope u get it... ohh and your posts are really something.. keep up the good work sis..

✧˖° femininity is not about permission ✧˖°

(a guide to feeling feminine, even when the world says you can’t)

@glowettee | mindy

hi angel, first of all. come here. let me hold your hands for a sec. let me tell you something true: you are not less of who you are just because the world doesn’t see it yet. you don’t need their validation. you don’t need permission. your femininity is yours, and it has always, always belonged to you.

so let’s talk about this. let’s talk about ways you can feel soft, beautiful, delicate, divine, fully yourself. even when your reality isn’t making space for it yet.

✧˖° step one: reclaim femininity as something internal

the world teaches us that femininity is about looks... the hair, the makeup, the dresses. but real femininity? starts inside. it’s in the way you nurture, in the way you dream, in the way you feel.

so start there. even if you can’t express it externally right now, you can still: ➝ romanticize softness. let yourself be gentle, loving, graceful in the way you move through the world. ➝ embody feminine energy. the way you speak, the way you carry yourself, the way you care for others. it’s all part of it. ➝ think feminine. speak to yourself like you’re the most delicate, beautiful thing to exist. let your inner world be a safe, pink, glowing space where you are fully her.

✧˖° step two: let yourself secretly have it

i know there are things stopping you from fully expressing it outwardly, but who says you can’t sneak it in? make it yours in little ways, in ways only you know about.

➝ wear perfume. something sweet, something floral, something that makes you feel like your feminine self. ➝ keep something soft, just for you. maybe a silk ribbon in your pocket, a delicate bracelet under your sleeve, a pretty notebook where you write your thoughts like love letters. ➝ play a secret game with yourself. give yourself a feminine name in your head, one that makes you feel you.

✧˖° step three: create a sacred feminine space

even if you can’t express it fully in your day-to-day life, you can carve out a private world where your femininity exists freely.

➝ a playlist of songs that make you feel like the main character. ➝ a secret pinterest board full of your aesthetics, your dream looks, the version of you that feels most real. ➝ a small corner in your room, a little shelf, a box. filled with things that make you feel beautiful.

your femininity doesn’t have to be loud. it can be quietly yours, a safe, sacred place where you get to exist exactly as you are.

✧˖° step four: connect with feminine energy around you

sometimes, femininity feels unreachable because we don’t see enough of it reflected back at us. so seek it out. surround yourself with it in whatever ways you can.

➝ read books by women who make you feel understood. ➝ watch movies that celebrate femininity. not just the aesthetics, but the power of it. ➝ listen to women who make you feel seen, even if they don’t know you.

the more you absorb feminine energy, the more it becomes a part of you.

✧˖° step five: remind yourself. this is yours

you are not less feminine just because you can’t fully express it yet. you are not any less real just because the world doesn’t see you the way you wish it did.

your femininity is yours. it’s in your heart, in your mind, in the way you dream about it. and that? can never be taken from you.

so hold onto it, angel. protect it. cherish it. and one day? you’ll get to live in it fully, beautifully, openly. i believe that for you. i believe in you.

with love, mindy

[pluckyredhead]

So Jon went into space when he was 11 and came back 6 years later, when he was 17, yes?

And then he hung out with the Legion for a bit, but since Bendis is the king of decompression, it doesn't seem like he was there for more than maybe a few days before the book was canceled.

And then in Superman: Son of Kal-El, he decided to enroll in college. Which made me raise an eyebrow, because he's only 17, but fine, some people start a year early. Or maybe he had a birthday somewhere in there. But more importantly, he never finished high school. So...what's the plan there, Jonno?

Anyway, Jon literally doesn't even make it into the administration before he blows his (temporary) secret identity and has to leave. And since that comic, which was published nearly four years ago, Jon has not attempted to go back to college. Or finish high school. Or get a job. All of which are valid choices, but like...what does he do all day?

Also, where does he live? Because Clark and Lois adopted two kids and I doubt their apartment had three or more bedrooms. Did they move? Did Bruce buy them a penthouse? Is Jon sleeping on the couch?

Meanwhile, Jay - who last we saw is a college undergrad, probably a freshman - shows up as the head of communications for Steelworks. Which...no! Not only is he hilariously, insanely unqualified for that job, but from everything we know about radical leftist anarchist Jay Nakamura, the last thing he would ever want to do is become the mouthpiece for a corporation!!!

And then Jon decides he wants to move to San Francisco.* Um...with what money, baby? You don't have a job. Are you going to live on your boyfriend's VP salary? How is he supposed to finish his second semester of college from the other side of the country?

And this week Jay declared that they are "twentysomethings." NO! NO YOU ARE NOT!!! YOU ARE NINETEEN AT MOST!!!!!**

Anyway this is mostly a petty rant, but here's the reason it matters. Even though I would love to know how Jon spends his time and where he sleeps, it's not all that important for me as a reader to know. The issue is that I'm very certain that DC doesn't know. I'm sure if you asked all the writers and editors who have worked on Jon in the past five years, they'd have different answers.

And that matters, because how a character chooses to spend their time when they aren't punching Doomsday tells us something about them. Clark Kent being a reporter tells us what he values. Same with Barry Allen being a forensic scientist, or Hal Jordan being a test pilot. Even Bruce Wayne having a civilian life that is mostly for show.

If Jon is [insert vague age here] and lives [somewhere] and puts his energy into [file not found], he isn't a character. He's a cardboard cutout with the words "Good Representation" written on it. (Which, on that note, I feel like if you asked those same writers and editors to describe Jon, they'd say "He's Superman's son and he's bi" and...that's it.***)

Anyway. If you're wondering why Jon seems so much less vibrant now than he did when he was ten, it's worth noting that when he was ten, we knew where he lived and who his friends were and how he felt about his pets and his parents and his cultural heritage. And now we don't even know how old he is.

*Well, actually, I'm not convinced that Jon does want to move to San Francisco, but he's convinced himself that he does, which is pretty much the only interesting thing they've done with him in half a decade.

**Do not tell me that time passed and they've been dating for years, because a) that has not been demonstrated in the comics in the slightest, and b) Damian is still 14. So unless Jon and Jay went back to that volcano, they've known each other for maybe six months.

***Possibly excepting Nicole Maines, who seems to be doing something interestingly messy (see above re: San Francisco), and Sina Grace, whose issue of Shazam! this week was the first time in five years a writer has acknowledged that Jon probably has trauma. But I'm still mad at him over "twentysomethings."

[tawked]

I know we're all real big "read the comics" fans here but, considering the show is now 32 years old and many people in the Batman fandom might not know about it -

if you do not want to read the comics, might I recommend the massively acclaimed Batman animated series from the 90s instead?

Seriously, room-temperature take: it's better than what was going on in the comics at the time.

DCAU Batman: kind, empathetic but still troubled and a little self-centered at times. He understands even scary dangerous mentally ill people are not beyond help and that what they really need is support and care. He actively tries to resolve every conflict with a minimal of violence and brutality, with stories often focusing on detective work in a pulpy noir atmosphere, or the clever use of a tactic relevant to a bad man's gimmick. Every character is consistent and has a clear, coherent vision. There is exactly one profoundly stupid retcon and it's in an extremely skippable bottle episode of another show (Justice League Unlimited, and the retcon relates to Batman Beyond, the Wise Man's Favourite Batman). Respects women (here to take back the night, for her). Loves his gay sons and daughter. Does not turn his car into a murder tank to shoot people with.

90s comics Batman: violent asshole who is mean to everybody because idk Denny O'Neil thinks that's what autism or PTSD or whatever is. Makes absurdly stupid fucking decisions that later need to be retconned into making sense and even then they rely on everybody else being an inconsistent nonsense character. Launches into monologues about how it'd be super easy if he could just kill people, especially those incurable freak scoundrels at the crazy people prison more often than you would think. Truly horribly mean to women (Huntress and Spoiler especially) in a way that is simply beyond the norm of the genre at the time. Relentlessly weird and abusive in "my dad never hugged me" ways toward his ever-growing collection of sometimes dead children. Constantly turning his car into a murder tank to shoot people with.

This show is not an adaptation of the comics (though some individual issues are adapted or reworked), but if you just specify you're writing about or discussing DCAU Batman, people are pretty chill and in my experience will actively tell you about specific issues or TPBs that relate to the show. Other than that, it's just an extremely solid, accessible version of Batman, and the version of the character most people remember / care about when they criticize mean asshole comic book Batman for being "out of character" (even though comic book Batman has kinda sorta been that way since Crisis).

The same is basically true of Superman. His DCAU series has less of a reputation but is honestly crazy underrated. Best version of Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen.

The Justice League cartoon, a sequel to both series, will also introduce you to a bunch of mainstay DC characters, albeit usually pretty far-removed from their own stories and exclusively in a team context. The only major outliers are The Question, Wonder Woman (kinda) and Martian Manhunter, who were basically 100% rewritten for the show. Even then if you just specify you mean the DCAU versions of these characters people will get it, the shows used to be more popular than the comics in the 90s.

This will also sneakily onboard you to the Zeta Project and you will learn, albeit indirectly, who the most insufferable kids in like 2002 were. Seriously, I sound insane telling children this now, but Ro's design was like... the rosetta stone for shit Deviantart anime OCs for a whole five years or so.

The watching order I'd recommend is:

Batman: Mask of the Phantasm.

Batman: The Animated Series.

Superman: The Animated Series.

Batman & Mr. Freeze: SubZero.

The New Batman Adventures.

Batman: Mystery of the Batwoman.

Justice League.

Justice League Unlimited.

Batman Beyond.

Batman: Return of the Joker (the only Tim Drake story I like lol).

The Zeta Project (severely optional).

I'd place Static Shock somewhere before Justice League Unlimited, personally, but you can move that one around as you please. There's some jank to it because it wasn't originally going to be part of the DCAU, but then come season two they started incorporating little crossovers and nods.

Batman & Harley Quinn and Justice League vs. the Furious Five are also in continuity but I pretend I do not see the Harley Quinn farts in the batmobile and fucks Nightwing movie, and have not actually seen the Furious Five movie.

Easy, simple, no fuss no muss. Batman is the only character to appear in every single show (albeit not every episode, obviously), so he serves as kind of a connecting throughline for the "Timmverse."

A lot of these shows are on Netflix and I mean, y'know, just pirate them, it's not like Warner Bros. needs more money lol.

Other recommendations:

Super Friends - no bullshit. It's aged pretty horribly, especially the animation, but I kid you not, this show genuinely captures what golden age superhero stories and especially Batman feels like. Not at all remotely character-driven (but neither were 90% of the comics), instead centered 100% around very badly animated action. I fucking love it. It will teach you how the idea of Batman worked before he was Gotham's dark moody emo prince. I don't recommend watching all of Super Friends, there is a lot of it, but there's value in just blasting through a couple eps. The benefit here is that they tinker with the format and line-up every season so if you do find yourself enjoying that 1970s American cartoon style of storytelling, they do keep it kind of fresh.

The Batman - that is, the 2004 series. Hated on arrival for not being more Timmverse DCAU stuff. Some of the most creative direction in villain and action design the franchise has ever had, but like, everybody in this show is a kung fu fighter when that is extremely not the case in the comics lol. Will demonstrate Batman as a pulp scifi detective, and how his stories can work when he's an isolated character. Plays hard into the idea of empathy for some villains, and provides most villains with pretty human motives. Downplays Batman as mentally ill and makes his Bruce Wayne persona, uh... more "relatable" to kids in the mid-2000s lol. Doesn't really supplement comic book canon but if you want to see how concepts can be stretched and adapted for fanfiction purposes, this is an invaluable show.

Batman - The Brave & The Bold. Captures the vibe of the wider DC universe during the 1950s - 1970s, with a lot of fun modern characters reworked into a silver age vibe and aesthetic. Very lighthearted and silly, but feels like if Gardner Fox were around today he'd fuck with it hard. Not a replacement for comics that people actually read and discuss in the tumblr fandom, but will introduce you to a range of characters, some of whom are actually pretty obscure, in an extremely digestible format. Has a bad, Teen Titans Go esque habit of responding to reddit fan criticisms in the Bat-Mite episodes, but those are paradoxically some of the most solid shit in the show.

[byoldervine]

Motivation For Writing

Getting Off Your Butt:

1. Aestheticise it. Let the light in through the curtains, turn on your fairy lights, lay a blanket over your lap, light some candles, whatever you need to do to feel like a writer. The right vibes can go a long way

2. Picture that one scene. There’s almost always a moment you’re super excited about that basically inspired the whole book. Picture it, play it out in your head in full cinematic fanfare, gush to yourself about how cool it is and how everyone will love it, picture a future fanbase going nuts for it. You might get excited enough to go back to writing

3. Set a word count goal. During NaNoWriMo this year I think I wrote more than I ever have in one go. The thing that kept me coming back was the desire to not fall behind. I ended up with ~45K words after some complications irl caused me to drop off in the final few days, and that’s all just because I was adding up the 1667 a day word count goal and realising where I needed to be at to keep up. I definitely can’t stay as rigid as I did with 1667 words every single day, but seeing that you’re only a few hundred words off of a goal is super motivating - just be sure to set realistic, easy to achieve parameters for just general use, like 1000-2000 words per week. I know 200 words per day is a popular one for people trying to establish a writing routine that can’t dedicate forever to the craft

Maintaining Motivation:

1. Writing sprints. Writing sprints are a godsend for me, I like to set myself up in the living room with Abbie Emmons’ writing sprint video on. The video lasts two hours and is broken up into two parts; 25 minutes to write and 5 minutes for breaks between writing, so four 30 minute sprints overall. Having the timer and countdown with peaceful music and an aesthetic background is both relaxing and encouraging, as well as giving me a specific time for how much longer I have to push through. It’s easier for me to say “Okay, only ten more minutes, then you can take a break” then it is to say “Just keep going, we’re not stopping until I say so” which is too arbitrary for my brain to accept

2. Give yourself a choice. If you’re struggling to keep your focus, come up with a finish line and tell yourself you don’t have to do any more work once you’ve reached that point. Finish the paragraph, go for another five or ten minutes, keep it up until your next scheduled break. Whatever sounds realistic and doable without being overwhelming. And once you’ve met this goal, ask yourself if you still want to stop. With any luck, you’ll have gotten back into the zone and will choose to keep going. Maybe you’ll want to take a quick break but you’ll come back later on. And maybe you’ll decide that now actually is a good stopping point. Just remember that, if you do still want to stop, don’t force yourself to keep going. You can’t strike deals with yourself if you know you won’t keep your word and all you’ll end up doing is burning yourself out, which will lead to even less writing getting done

3. Try a new angle. If you can’t be bothered to write anymore, is there anything else you can do for your book? Plotting, editing, worldbuilding, character sheets, one-shots all that sort of thing can still be productive for your book while still being different enough to give your brain a slight respite. It also means less work in that particular area later on

Afterwards:

1. Organise. Clean up your workspace and put everything away so it’s nice and neat for when you come back to it. Or if you don’t need to pack things out the way, set it up in an aesthetically pleasing way so it will tempt you back next time. Let it give you the writer vibe

2. Take care of yourself. Get a drink, have a snack, walk about, stretch your limbs, take a breath, cuddle your pet. Something that gets you away from straining your eyes looking at text for a bit. This is also a good time to reward yourself if positive reinforcement is something you use on yourself. If you always feel shitty after your writing sessions, you won’t want to go back to it

3. Positive reflection. Make sure to tell yourself you did good, even if you didn’t get as much done as you would’ve liked or it isn’t up to a standard of quality you’re aiming for. That can all be fixed later on, and you’re infinitely better off than you would’ve been if you didn’t do it. Be proud of yourself. Tell yourself you’re proud of your hard work and your dedication and your effort. Remind yourself that this is a fun thing you like to do. Marvel over how insane it is that you’ve gotten this far - not many people do - and that you’ve got all this tangible work to prove you’ve accomplished something so many people wish they could pull off. If this isn’t fun overall, there’s no point

[cosmerelists]

Ranking the First Five Stormlight Novels

For the record, this is not meant to be an objectively correct ranking or anything--but it is my personal ranking. I wanted to wait to do this until Stormlight 5 came out!

And I gotta say--I like all of the books. But I can rank them by "least favorite" to "favorite," even if they're all among my favorite books in general, you know?

[Spoilers for Wind & Truth! ...And all the other Stormlight books too!]

#5: Wind and Truth

I feel bad ranking the newest book at the lowest spot...but so it goes. The thing is: I'm a simple woman. I come to Stormlight Archive looking for people with huge fantasy swords fighting each other in the sky. And while I do respect and understand Kaladin finding his place outside of battles and becoming a Therapist to the Stars, I did honestly miss him getting to duke it out against overwhelming odds.

I will say that this was probably my favorite Adolin book--his WAT arc was my favorite. I also loved the new ways that Shallan is using her powers, to say nothing of finally getting the Rlain/Renarin love story. It was also extremely gratifying to finally get a lot of the backstory about the Stormfather and Honor and the Recreance. I'm also fascinated that so many arcs involved oaths being broken framed as a good thing.

Lots of great stuff in Stormlight 5. But my monkey brain really wanted more sky fights.

#4: Oathbringer

I have to imagine that if you are a Dalinar stan, Oathbringer is probably your absolute favorite book. I'm a Dalinar fan but not a Dalinar stan, so that definitely flavors my reaction to this book.

This one does have one of my favorite Sanderlanches--the battle of Thaylen city is amazing (and Shallan single-handedly fighting an entire army does legitimately make me tear up every time). The invasion of Kholinar storyline is also great, and I loved meeting Azure.

Again, lots of good stuff, but not as much good stuff as some of the other books, at least for me.

#3: Rhythm of War

Rhythm of War was challenging for me because Kaladin is having the ABSOLUTE WORST time in his whole life and it's sometimes legitimately hard to read about it. At the same time, we get such great Kaladin fights thanks to the Pursuer, and one of the all-time great Kaladin Dramatic Entrances at the end.

Plus, I mean....Navani and Raboniel? So good! So toxic! Such an accidental toxic yuri horrifying love story. I'm such a sucker for self-sacrifice too, so Raboniel sacrificing herself to save Navani AFTER Navani killed her? That could have been created in a lab just for me.

PLUS this book had Maya and Adolin, both their kata fight and the whole "WE CHOSE" scene.

Incredible book, IMO.

#2: Way of Kings

I go back and forth about whether Way of Kings or Words of Radiance is my favorite, if I'm being honest. At the moment of writing this list, it's turned out this way.

I really love Way of Kings. The whole bridgeman plotline is horrifying but so compelling, and I love watching Kaladin build himself and his man back up. I love seeing all of the ways they manage to survive, from the side-carry to, well, war-crime armor I guess. The scene of Kaladin surviving the highstorm--with Syl in front trying to block it--is one of my all-time favorite scenes ever. The Tower Fight is fantastic all the way through. And the end with Dalinar giving up his shardblade to save the bridgemen is so earned.

On a first read I was less compelled by Shallan's narrative but it honestly gets more compelling the more often I reread which I've done...let's say a few times. She's such a great character from the first line.

#1: Words of Radiance

As I mentioned at the beginning, I am a simple woman sometimes when it comes to my fantasy series. Words of Radiance wins for me because it contains my three favorite plotlines / scenes:

The 4 v. 1 duel. So amazingly fun to read. Such a good scene for Adolin, for Kaladin, for Renarin. "Honor is dead but I'll see what I can do." Come ON.

Kaladin & Shallin fieldtrip in the chasms. I loved the way their relationship developed over the course of this scene. The end when they're huddled in the cave in the middle of the highstorm while listening to the Fused above them, telling each other their true stories--top-notch. Plus I'm a sucker for storylines where people have to both use and hide their powers, and so the fact that they're both Radiant and trying to hide that from each other makes me giggle maniacally.

The Kaladin vs. Szeth duel. This fight has EVERYTHING. They're in the sky. It's a highstorm. They literally run across enormous boulders that were RIPPED from the GROUND by the storm while said boulders are SPINNING THROUGH THE STORM. It's so over-the-top and it's my favorite fight in the whole series.

So that's me! I know there are tons of "What's your favorite Stormlight book" polls out there, but if you want to put your ranking in the tags I'd be interested to see it!

[sirianasims]

Chapter 44.6

Greta Hawthorne thumbs through the pictures in concentrated silence. Her subtle yet obviously expensive perfume wafts through the air, carried by the air conditioning unit working overtime against the late summer sun that insists on bearing down on the valley.

She pauses to hold up one of the photos, squinting at it as if she’s inspecting counterfeit currency. Then she closes the folder with my name and places it on top of the rather impressive stack on her desk.

“Paul, these headshots are almost a decade old. And while they’re good – those full-body ones are particularly impressive – you’re not thirty any more. We need something current.”

I shift awkwardly, feeling heat rise in my cheeks at both her admonishing tone and the unexpected compliment.

“I’ve been meaning to update them,” I mumble, my voice sounding less confident than I’d intended.

She leans forward slightly, her piercing blue eyes locked on mine.

“Stop meaning and start doing. Book something for next week. I’ll send you some names of photographers I trust.”

“Got it,” I nod quickly, trying to hide my embarrassment.

She scribbles something onto the notepad, already moving on. “And you said you don’t have a manager?”

“Uh, no. Not yet.”

“Then who’s managing your social media presence?”

“I guess… I am,” I say hesitantly. “I’m not exactly active, though.”

She puts down the pen, shaking her head as if I just confessed to something truly scandalous.

“Paul, if you’re serious about getting back in the game, you need the right people around you, people who know what they’re doing. I have someone in mind, if that’s OK with you?”

I nod again, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest, painfully aware of how amateurish I must look. Heat pricks at the back of my neck. What am I even doing here? Over fifteen years in the business and it feels like I’m starting from scratch.

Greta leans back, the chair creaking softly beneath her. She glances down at her notes.

“Now, before we dive into the specifics, why did you step away from on-camera acting? Voice work is fine, of course, but with your history?” She shrugs. “People wonder.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Most worthwhile things are,” she replies bluntly. “What happened?”

“Llama Man happened.” I pause, searching for the right words. “Don’t get me wrong, it was mostly great. I will forever be grateful for everything that role got me, for getting to play such an iconic character. But that’s also the problem, isn’t it? After the show ended, that’s all I was known for. I’d show up to auditions where the director had no intention of casting me, they just wanted to meet me. Most of the time, they’d say they couldn’t take me seriously as anything else, or they’d want me to essentially play the exact same role. I couldn’t break free. So after a while, I just… gave up, I guess. And then they made the animated series and I’ve had plenty of voice work since.”

Her eyes narrow. “When was your last screen audition?”

“Maybe five or six years ago. I never liked them, the whole process feels like an exercise in humiliation.”

Greta arches an eyebrow. “Well, you will have to suck it up and get yourself out there again. Beggars can’t be choosers, Paul.”

“I’m not a beggar,” I reply gruffly, feeling my jaw tighten defensively. “I’m independently wealthy.” The words slip out before I can stop them, childish, I know, but the mere thought of stepping back into an audition room puts me on edge.

She peers at me over her glasses, choosing to ignore my outburst. Clearly a professional, unlike me. “Are there any directors or producers I should avoid reaching out to on your behalf?”

“Uh…”

She catches my hesitation immediately.

“Spill it, Paul. Everything that happens in this room is confidential, and I can’t help you properly unless I know. Neither of us want any nasty surprises.”

I shift in my seat, clearing my throat. “Well, there might be one. Floyd Kauffman.”

“Kauffman? Why?”

“There was an… incident.”

“Could you be more specific?”

I don’t want to, but something tells me Greta won’t let it go that easily. “I, uh, accidentally slept with his wife.”

Greta raises her eyebrows. “Accidentally?“

The memory is surprisingly clear. Irene had been flirting with me on set for weeks, and I was still somewhat new to being famous, to being approached by beautiful women instead of being the one to take the initiative.

All I knew was that she was the director’s personal assistant, and it made sense that she wanted to meet in secret to keep it professional on set. Her fingers softly brushing against me when she passed by soon turned into stolen kisses in the dressing room, the tension becoming more unbearable for each day.

I should have realised when I saw the house, but I followed her blindly to the bedroom, caught up in my eagerness to finally taste her, feel her, do all the things I had been fantasising about for so long. We quickly lost track of time.

And then Floyd came home. Irene tried to calm him down but I was certain that he was going to throttle me. He shoved me into the wall, raging, yelling incoherently – and then he hesitated, as if realising that there was still one more week of filming left and makeup can only hide so much.

Kauffman’s movies always came first. Maybe that’s why Irene did what she did.

A wave of embarrassment heats my face as I hide it in my hands.

“I mean, I slept with her on purpose, obviously, but I didn’t know she was his wife.” I didn’t want to know either, never paid enough attention or asked the obvious questions. Naivety or plausible deniability? I no longer remember.

Greta firmly marks something on her notepad. “Very well, he’s out then.” She smirks slightly, amusement in her voice. “Any other directors you’ve cucked, accidentally or otherwise?”

I groan through my fingers.

“… none that I’m aware of.”

“Good enough,” she says, returning to her notes, unfazed. “We’ll get new headshots, clean up your socials, and find you a reliable manager. Do you know Miles Donovan? He’s fantastic with comebacks.”

“Fine by me.” I suddenly feel exhausted. “Greta, I have to ask – why me? Sierra says you’ve been wanting me to call for years. But you’re the best. You can have your pick. So why do you want to work with someone who’s been out of the spotlight for nearly a decade? Surely you can find someone less… difficult to represent.”

Greta just smiles, then stands and turns towards the window behind her. She reaches up to open the blinds and the large diamond on her hand glitters, catching the relentless sun. I remember the small ring box still hidden in my bedroom. I really should get around to returning that.

“Come here, Paul.”

Her voice is suddenly soft, her back still turned. I join her by the large window.

“Both of my sons grew up watching you save the world every week. You were their hero. You were everyone’s hero. We all wondered what you’d do next. And then you just… disappeared.”

Across the street, on the old theatre building, an ancient billboard still proudly displays a weathered Llama Man logo.

She turns to me.

“Recognising talent is my job, Paul. More than that, it’s my life. And I can’t stand to see it wasted. I want to get you back on that screen, and I want to remind people why they fell in love with Paul Romeo in the first place.”

I feel an odd tug of emotion, a mixture of long-forgotten pride, shame, and something else. A sense of excitement that I haven’t felt in years.

“Well, I suppose if anyone can do that, it’s you.”

She sends me a wry smile.

“Welcome back, Paul.”

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[harmony867]

Not many people discuss Harry character development when it comes to his and Hermione relationship. What I mean is how he treats her when Ron and Hermione are arguing.

In the third book, there is the infamous firebolt incident. This is where people claim that ‘Harry ignored Hermione for months.’ The scene in question.

“There’s nothing wrong with it!” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly. “Honestly, Professor —”

“You can’t know that, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, quite kindly, “not until you’ve flown it, at any rate, and I’m afraid that is out of the question until we are certain that it has not been tampered with. I shall keep you informed.”

Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and carried the Firebolt out of the portrait hole, which closed behind her. Harry stood staring after her, the tin of High-Finish Polish still clutched in his hands. Ron, however, rounded on Hermione.

“What did you go running to McGonagall for?”

Hermione threw her book aside. She was still pink in the face, but stood up and faced Ron defiantly.

Ron's reaction was a lot stronger than Harry's and obviously colored the whole thing. Harry would probably be angry without Ron there but there’s a contrast between their reactions.

(PoA12): Harry knew that Hermione had meant well, but that didn’t stop him from being angry with her. He had been the owner of the best broom in the world for a few short hours, and now, because of her interference, he didn’t know whether he would ever see it again. [...] Ron was furious with Hermione too. As far as he was concerned, the stripping-down of a brand-new Firebolt was nothing less than criminal damage.

This reaction is literally the first thing we’re told about Harry’s feelings regarding the incident. Harry is obviously disappointed and annoyed by Hermione’s “interference,” but also immediately acknowledges Hermione “meant well.” (I think we have to pause and realize that this is a rather measured reaction from a 13-year-old boy who had just received the most amazing gift and had it taken away from him.) In contrast, Ron was "furious" and viewed Hermione’s intervention as tantamount to encouraging a criminal act.

And at least at the beginning, it is Hermione who places distance between her and the boys:

‘Hermione, who remained convinced that she had acted for the best, started avoiding the common room. Harry and Ron supposed she had taken refuge in the library and didn’t try to persuade her to come back.’

This is what they “supposed.” They didn’t even know where she went. So, initially, we can at best fault Harry for not deliberately seeking out a girl who was actively avoiding them. (Though, the phrasing "taken refuge" suggests that had she stayed, something bad would have occurred. As the only person we see attacking her during this entire time is Ron—never Harry—we have to assume that's what she's avoiding.)

Meanwhile, we see Ron and Hermione get into arguments when they do encounter each other (e.g., over Lupin). And we see Hermione clearly feeling uncomfortable and “rushing past with her face averted” when Harry tries to bring up the broom with McGonagall. Again, we never see Harry show anger or annoyance toward Hermione. We never have Harry actively feeling like he should avoid her or ignore her or show her the silent treatment or ANYTHING. It's never stated, unlike many other times in the books when it's explicitly stated that Harry avoids someone.

And Harry becomes exceptionally busy at this time. Quidditch practice now happens five days per week, and he has anti-dementor classes with Lupin, so Harry notes that during this period he had ‘only one night per week’ to do his homework. It's not like it seems he had a lot of time to even casually encounter Hermione, who was also so wrapped up in her own schedule of taking a ridiculous number of classes.

(Note that the only scene where we see Harry having a reaction about Hermione during this time is when he's distracted writing an essay on his one night he has to do homework and can't really focus on why Hermione's schedule might be weird when Ron mentions it. He doesn't express anger or annoyance at talking about her or tell Ron, he doesn't care; he just is distracted by other things and is unable to think further about her schedule at that moment.)

After the Firebolt was returned on February 3rd, Harry immediately tells Ron that they should go make up with Hermione. It's almost like he had been feeling bad about it, but wasn't going to go against Ron (who, as we saw, was much less understanding about it). Look at literally the first thing out of Harry’s mouth:

[Ron said,] “She gave it to you? Excellent! Listen, can I still have a go on it? Tomorrow?”

“Yeah... anything... ,” said Harry, his heart lighter than it had been in a month. “You know what—we should make up with Hermione… She was only trying to help...”

Harry just got his prized possession back, and Ron's reaction is about whether he can ride it. But Harry doesn't seem to care about that now: note the ellipses, as if he's distracted and not really thinking about what Ron's saying. Instead, we know his "heart" has become "lighter than it had been in a month." Why his heart? Because he's been estranged from Hermione, and the very first thing he wants to do is make up with her.

He appears to miss her, and there's no hint that he's still angry with her. That contrasts with other places in the books where we know Harry holds a grudge for some time and will have little bursts of anger periodically well up inside him, as when he's estranged from Ron in GoF (he literally wanted Ron to throw a punch so he could fight him) and again in DH; none of that is described here toward Hermione after the initial reaction when McGonagall confiscates the Firebolt.

And Harry's immediately noticing how tired she looks, suggesting that she might ease up on her workload a bit. Overall, his attitude is far from someone who wants to “ignore” her—he seems legitimately concerned about her:

“How are you getting through all this stuff?” Harry asked her.

“Oh, well — you know — working hard,” said Hermione. Close-up, Harry saw that she looked almost as tired as Lupin.

“Why don’t you just drop a couple of subjects?” Harry asked, watching her lifting books as she searched for her rune dictionary.

“I couldn’t do that!” said Hermione, looking scandalized.

During the period of their estrangement, on that one night when Ron brings up Hermione's schedule, we also see noted in the passage that Hermione's been stressed out and isolating herself surrounded by books. Although the text doesn't explicitly say that Harry noticed this, it's explicitly framed around him: he's struggling to complete his homework in one night per week, but "Even so, he wasn't showing the strain nearly as much as Hermione." The circumstantial evidence thus suggests he was noticing and at least somewhat worrying about her (or at least thinking about her), which gets confirmed in the way he approaches her here and offers some advice.

Unfortunately, as Harry and Hermione are just beginning to have a nice conversation about Hermione’s interest in Arithmancy, Ron bursts in and claims Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers. Ron then goes into full-blown ostracization mode with Hermione again, but Harry keeps trying to keep the communication going with her (PoA13):

Personally, Harry was sure that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, and when he tried to point out to Hermione that the evidence all pointed that way, she lost her temper with Harry too.

“Okay, side with Ron, I knew you would!” she said shrilly. “First the Firebolt, now Scabbers, everything’s my fault, isn’t it! Just leave me alone, Harry, I’ve got a lot of work to do!”

Harry’s clearly trying. He repeatedly approaches her and keeps attempting to bring her back into his circle. After the next Quidditch match, he breaks away in the middle of his own celebration party to check in with her:

“Did you even come to the match?” he asked her.

“Of course I did,” said Hermione in a strangely high-pitched voice, not looking up. “And I’m very glad we won, and I think you did really well, but I need to read this by Monday.”

“Come on, Hermione, come and have some food,” Harry said, looking over at Ron and wondering whether he was in a good enough mood to bury the hatchet.

“I can’t, Harry. I’ve still got four hundred and twenty-two pages to read!” said Hermione, now sounding slightly hysterical. “Anyway...” She glanced over at Ron too. “He doesn’t want me to join in.”

Hermione would never miss one of Harry’s Quidditch matches, of course. But she’s feeling uncomfortable and continuing to distance herself, even though she knows this is about Ron now, not Harry. But Harry takes the initiative and tries to break down the barriers, yet again.

And when Ron repeatedly upsets her, Harry clearly wants to do something to help her, but isn't quite sure what—and also doesn't want to cross Ron. But Ron can't stand to see Harry and Hermione be friendly: he chooses this moment to speak up about Scabbers again, resulting in Hermione fleeing.

Hermione burst into tears. Before Harry could say or do anything, she tucked the enormous book under her arm, and, still sobbing, ran toward the staircase to the girls’ dormitories and out of sight.

“Can’t you give her a break?” Harry asked Ron quietly.

Ron keeps this up apparently for a couple months after the Firebolt is returned. We see Harry repeatedly approaching her with olive branches, but she's upset with Ron, and Harry seems kind of stuck. At this sort of age, it's natural to continue to segregate friendships by sex, so even though he wants to make up with Hermione, while Ron is ostracizing her, Harry doesn't do more. They both finally realize how poorly they’ve acted when Hagrid has a conversation with him, and ultimately they make up around Easter (which fell on April 3rd, so after about two months).

And when Hagrid does bring it up—well, let’s look at the contrasting reactions between the two boys (PoA14):

“She’s in a righ’ state, that’s what. She’s bin comin’ down ter visit me a lot since Chris’mas. Bin feelin’ lonely. Firs’ yeh weren’ talking to her because o’ the Firebolt, now yer not talkin’ to her because her cat —”

“— ate Scabbers!” Ron interjected angrily.

“Because her cat acted like all cats do,” Hagrid continued doggedly. “She’s cried a fair few times, yeh know. Goin’ through a rough time at the moment. Bitten off more’n she can chew, if yeh ask me, all the work she’s tryin’ ter do. Still found time ter help me with Buckbeak’s case, mind. . . . She’s found some really good stuff fer me . . . reckon he’ll stand a good chance now. . . .”

“Hagrid, we should’ve helped as well — sorry —” Harry began awkwardly.

“I’m not blamin’ yeh!” said Hagrid, waving Harry’s apology aside. “Gawd knows yeh’ve had enough ter be gettin’ on with. I’ve seen yeh practicin’ Quidditch ev’ry hour o’ the day an’ night — but I gotta tell yeh, I thought you two’d value yer friend more’n broomsticks or rats. Tha’s all.”

Harry and Ron exchanged uncomfortable looks.

“Really upset, she was, when Black nearly stabbed yeh, Ron. She’s got her heart in the right place, Hermione has, an’ you two not talkin’ to her —”

“If she’d just get rid of that cat, I’d speak to her again!” Ron said angrily. “But she’s still sticking up for it! It’s a maniac, and she won’t hear a word against it!”

Look closely at what’s going on here. Hagrid’s framing this as how both boys supposedly aren’t talking to her, but it’s clear that only one of them (Ron) is angry, while the other (Harry) is apologetic. And when Harry does try to apologize, Hagrid waves it away, excusing Harry with his Quidditch practices. I think Hagrid’s probably also sensitive to what’s really going on here: it’s not Harry who is ostracizing Hermione—it’s Ron, specifically. Hagrid may even have seen Harry trying to be conciliatory with Hermione, or perhaps she even told him. Regardless, Hagrid’s focus here is clear, and it’s not about Harry. While Harry could have done more, Hagrid’s trying to mend stuff with Ron and Hermione, as he likely sees that both of them are distancing from each other (and Hermione’s driving Harry out in the middle).

Note that the real cause of this all is established yet again when they do make up. Ron offers to help with Buckbeak’s appeal, Hermione apologizes about Scabbers, and then all is well again. If any of this were about Harry’s anger anymore, there would need to be a reconciliation with Hermione too, but this was clearly never much about Harry. They had made up months before, even if Hermione kept pushing him away (out of her anger with Ron and her anger at Harry for “siding” with him).

The distance appears mostly created by her and Ron. So we might (and should) fault Harry for not being more proactive in making up with her earlier, but there’s not really any evidence Harry is “ignoring” or actively shunning her, even in PoA. He and Hermione are both incredibly busy during this time too, and the moment the Firebolt is returned, he immediately queries Ron about making up with her.

Given gender dynamics in friendships at this age, it’s very understandable for a temporary break like this to happen, particularly given Hermione and Ron’s strong personalities.

We can compare this to Harry reacts when he’s older after the events of GoF and OOTP and has clearly matured more. When Ron and Hermione start fighting against in HBP. To jog your memory, Ron finds out that two years ago that Hermione allegedly kissed viktor krum from Ginny and starts giving Hermione the silent treatment. He starts dating lavender in retaliation for Hermione kissing a boy that asked her out two years ago while she was single.

HBP14: Harry catches a glimpse of Hermione (as Ron is snogging Lavender for the first time) and immediately goes after her to check on her abandoning quidditch celebrations.

Harry turned away from Ron, who did not look like surfacing soon, just in time to see the portrait hole closing. With a sinking feeling he thought he saw a mane of bushy brown hair whipping out of sight.

He darted forwards, sidestepped Romilda Vane again, and pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady. The corridor outside seemed to be deserted.

‘Hermione?’

He found her in the first unlocked classroom he tried. She was sitting on the teacher’s desk, alone except for a small ring of twittering yellow birds circling her head, which she had clearly just conjured out of midair. Harry could not help admiring her spellwork at a time like this.

HBP15: Unlike in PoA when Ron and Hermione are fighting, in HBP Harry gets away from Ron while Ron is “busy” to regularly spend time with Hermione. (Also it shows that the people who say that Harry doesn’t like spending time with Hermione is false, he chooses to spend time with her as he does multiple times across the books)

Hermione’s timetable was so full that Harry could only talk to her properly in the evenings, when Ron was in any case so tightly wrapped around Lavender that he did not notice what Harry was doing. Hermione refused to sit in the common room while Ron was there, so Harry generally joined her in the library, which meant that their conversations were held in whispers.

HBP15: Harry runs after Hermione and tries to help when she’s crying after Ron does a cruel impression of her in class

Hermione laughed unkindly at Ron’s disastrous first attempt, during which he somehow managed to give himself a spectacular handlebar moustache; Ron retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which reduced Hermione to the verge of tears again. She raced out of the classroom on the bell, leaving half her things behind; Harry, deciding that her need was greater than Ron’s , scooped up her remaining possessions and followed her.

We see here that Harry prioritises Hermione, deciding that ‘her needs were greater than Ron.’ He spends time with her and comforts her.

Harry, again more assertively than in PoA, actively calls out Ron for being unkind to Hermione and immediately goes to comfort her.

A long way along the table, Hermione was sitting alone, playing with her stew. Harry noticed Ron looking at her furtively.

‘You could say sorry,’ suggested Harry bluntly.

‘What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?’ muttered Ron.

‘What did you have to imitate her for?’

‘She laughed at my moustache!’

‘So did I, it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.’

We see that now Harry is way more defensive in defiending Hermione, providing way more support while in PoA he was more passive, being apologetic and reprimanding Ron but not as aggressively while now he defends Hermione for laughing ‘unkindly’ at Ron’s stupid moustache. This shows his character development, from passively defending Hermione to actively defending her, growing past the maturity he had as a thirteen year old boy.

[vampykween]

Second Chances (part 1)

i wanted to write about singledad!ghost x teacher!reader (which is so self indulgent as im a teacher hehe) and thus this was born summary: little poppy is simon riley's entire world and you've just had yours turned completely upside down. despite everything, it seems like everything falls into place when you're with each other. this is going to be a little series - i already have a few drabbles written and have l more ideas up my sleeve, but feel free to let me know all of yall's ideas too!! dedicated to @suimon since you love my dad!ghost so much hehe mwah

Simon is just short of pulling his hair out. He’s spent all morning wrestling with a five-year old who, last night was bouncing off the walls excited about her first day of school, but now is inconsolable and quite frankly working his last nerve.

“Poppy, love, please just get dressed. We don’t have all morning for you to mess about.”

Poppy shrugs her shoulders and blows a raspberry right in her father’s face. “Let me go, I’m not going to school,” the five-year old squirms in her father’s grasp, less than thrilled at the prospect of getting dressed for school.

Simon briefly considers whether he should invest any more energy into their morning battle or if he should just concede and let his daughter win this round. Despite her protests, he keeps his hold on Poppy and tries his best to calm her down enough to reason with her. Sometimes Simon couldn’t believe this was his life, he was tussling with his daughter about getting ready for school, when in a past life all he was ever worried about was backing his team throughout a mission. He used to be a trained killer now the only thing he’s an expert at is making silly voices for all the book characters at bedtime.

“You were so excited about school just last night, what happened lovie, what’s going on with you?”

Poppy just stares at him with her big doe eyes, the ones that look exactly like her mother’s, and makes Simon’s chest ache painfully. It’s moments like these that make him feel like the grief would never end.

After a drawn-out minute, she finally squeaks out, “What if I don’t like school? What if people are mean to me?” Simon’s heart breaks at his little girl’s admission, he, of course, worried about those things too; he wasn’t sure he even wanted to send her off for hours every day, but he also knew that Poppy could handle it.

Simon grasps both of her much smaller hands, “You’re the best girl I know, what’s not to love yeah? I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends, sweetheart.” Simon isn’t sure who he’s reassuring more at this point, but he’ll say anything to get them both through this day and all the ones that come.

Poppy sighs loudly and by something short of a miracle, she concedes with getting dressed; Simon let her pick out her own outfit, in hopes that it would rekindle her previous excitement. It helped, but only marginally.

Standing in the doorway of the classroom, is not the teacher Simon had been expecting. When he thought of teachers, he imagined either super strict, uptight older women or bright and bubbly young women fresh out of university. You were neither of those – you wore a bright smile that reached your eyes, and your voice had the most warm and comforting lilt to it. Contrastingly, you were dressed head to toe in an all-black outfit, but it didn’t make you look dark and dreary, no, on you it worked quite well. Poppy finally, but reluctantly revealed herself from behind her father’s legs, and stepped forward to greet her new teacher.

“Hi! What’s your name?” you were clearly not from anywhere near, and Poppy immediately comments on it.

“My name is Poppy, like the flower, and you talk very funny.”

Simon groaned, “Poppy, that’s not very polite, love.”

“No, no it’s alright. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that this morning,” you laugh breezily, not affronted by the little girl’s observation. The sound of your laugh is like a mirage in a desert, and Simon is taken aback at how much the sound affected him. You crouch down and introduce yourself to Poppy, then rise to greet Simon as well. You hold out your hand, clearly in an attempt to shake his, and he shakes his head to clear his stupor and takes your hand. Your hands are much smaller than his own, and much softer, not calloused from battlefields and the hardships of life.

❀

You hope you’re coming off as a well put together adult, one who’s supposed to be in charge of people’s most precious gifts. Threatening to ruin your façade is the fact that you’re shaking hands with quite possibly the hottest man you’ve seen since you upturned your life and moved to London a few months ago. This is your student’s dad, jesus get a grip, you hastily remind yourself. You can’t help yourself though, and your eyes are roaming over his massive hands searching for a wedding band. You’re not sure whether it’s a good thing or not when you see there isn’t one. He’s hot, but he’s got a child, and you’ve just had your heart shattered into a million pieces this summer. The last thing you need is to be lusting after your student’s unreasonably hot father.

You’re not even sure you want to be here; nothing had gone the way you planned and now you’re a million miles away from your family – who had forewarned you that your ex maybe was not worth moving across the world for, but you were in love, you didn’t want to hear that.

Poppy, who seemingly gained some confidence, breezes past her father and finds her way easily into the classroom. You looked back up at her father, realizing you hadn’t caught his name – he tilts his head ever so slightly at you as if he’s trying to discreetly assess you and it makes your palms sweat.

“I didn’t catch your name, can’t call you Poppy’s dad all year now, can I?” you prod causally, laughing despite the stifling air that was forming between you two.

“You can call me Simon,” he replies elusively and suddenly you’re overcome with the feeling that there’s something mysterious about this man – and as attractive as he is, the revelation also makes you feel unnerved.

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