#listen to your auntie peg

[peggy-sue-reads-a-book]

I’m a real bitch about precision of language so if y’all don’t wanna go there with me stop reading. If you’re still with me, I’m so done with the incorrect and overuse of the word “empathy.” Sorry, but not all y’all are empaths. Even if you were, it wouldn’t make you a good person, because you could choose complacency or even use it to exploit people. Like you still gotta make a fucking decision. There’s not a special trait that exempts you from being an asshole, sorry, bud. Be fun if there was but there’s not.

Empathy is a relational skill (one of many) which some people are born with. When it’s used as a big trendy synonym for nice, those who have it are undervalued and those who don’t are problematic.

Big news, guys, most people don’t magically emote on behalf of others. If that really is you, great. But if not, who cares? Like who cares. And I’m talking about the neurotypicals too, ok, like seriously you can read the room, have the most normal response ever, and not once empathize. So don’t let em give you shit. Nothing’s stopping you from being a great listener, or responsible voter, or whatever the fuck is helpful in your sphere. You’re great. You’re fine. Do what you can actually do.

And for the love of god please just use “accepting” or “considerate” or even “compassionate” if that’s what you mean. Those are all great things really anyone can choose to be.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Performative Guilt

Summary: At the mall, Eijiro watches as his buddy Bakugou approaches a green haired woman. He is shocked bu what follows.

Notes: A short written after reading one to many 'Bakugou is very guilty feeling after Izuku jumps' fics where Bakugou has nothing happen to him. This is very Anti Bakugou. Could be part of a larger work one day? I like the idea behind it at least.

If you like my work and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee

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 When Class 1A showed up at the mall to hang out, Eijiro was happy to get their most moody  classmate to come. Bakugou Katsuki was a loud kind of guy who tended to be a bit rough but you could tell he was a good guy. His hero name was the Deku Hero: Dynamight! You don't get that kind of name from nothing. He volunteered at Quirkless shelters and donated money to charities! The guy was just a bit of a rough asshole, but given his Quirk he probably face some bullying. Real friends would help!

 Walking through the mall, they passed a green-haired woman who looked exhausted, tear tracks on her face and holding a yellow bag in her hands. Bakugou slowed down, eyes wide.

 “Auntie…” he said before he approached the woman. Eijiro and Kaminari waited for him. Eijiro figured she was a relative of some sorts and had gone through something. Why else- 

  The thunderous slap echoed and everyone now watched at the green-haired woman glared fiercely at the shocked Bakugou.

 “How DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME BAKUGOU KATSUKI!” she screamed. “MY SON IS IN A COMA AND WE MAY HAVE TO PULL THE PLUG BECAUSE OF YOU!” she glared angrily at Bakugou who curled into himself.

 “Auntie I-”

 “You lost that right to call me that the first time you beat up my son using your Quirk!” the woman yelled. “You have some damn nerve approaching me right now. Oh wait I know why, it's cause of those boys.” she pointed at Eijiro and Kaminari who froze in confusion. “Classmates? You want to be seen mourning the boy you bullied for his entire life, the boy you told to jump off a roof and DID!”

 “What the fuck?” Kamianri asked quietly.

 “Au- Mrs. Midoriya it's not-” Bakugou said and Eijiro knew the blonde was a good person. He'd obviously changed he had to.

 “Don’t talk,” Mrs. Midoriya said coldly. “You got away with it because my son is Quirkless. Or was anyway. The police told me I should be happy you bullied him so badly he wanted to die because he unlocked his Quirk. Yet he's still in a coma because of it. He's still almost DEAD because of you.” she glared at Bakugou and Eijiro moved.

 “Ma’am, please-” he began but Mrs. Midoriya glared at him.

 “He didn't tell anyone you know. This boy right here never told a soul what he did. A classmate confessed to me and I tried frequently to get the police to listen but they never did. This boy right here instead decided to use it didn't you Bakugou Katsuki.” Mrs. Midoriya glared. “Using that nickname you gave my son when you were three years old and happy you could bully a smaller child, the useless Deku.” she snarled. “Can't even blame his Quirklessness on it. Not that if you could it would be better. Bullying the poor boy without a Quirk?” she mocked. 

 “Holy fuck,” Kaminari said. Eijiro turned, expecting… he didn't know. A shocked look? Confusion? Anything but the realization on Kaminari’s face. “I knew you were a piece of shit but damn! What the fuck Bakugou?!”

 “Excuse me dunce face?!” Bakugou turned and glared.

 “See?! The insults, the attitude! Me and Sero pegged you as a douchebag but thought you were in UA for the rehabilitation stuff they do.” Kaminarsaid and Ejiro didn't know what he meant. Nothing made sense, what did… What did that mean?

 “What?!” Bakugou shouted. 

 “He isn’t because of a Mineta on the school board telling me my son isn't worth the mark on his record.” snarled Mrs. Midoriya. “I got lucky that Midnight answered and listened when I requested that Deku be banned from your usage. Is that why you came up to me?”

 “I… Mom said you weren't talking to her and that you'd be here so…” Bakugou said. “I used it to remember Auntie! Please its-”

 “Don’t.” Mrs. Midoriya cut him off harshly. “I don’t talk to your mother because she keeps defending you and going ‘boys will be boys’ when YOU crossed the line years ago. What is it when you use your Quirk to hurt someone? Right! Aggravated assault!” Mrs. Midoriya glared at him. “And you didn't try to use it as a reminder. You did it for that backstory you keep claiming. ‘Boohoo I went to a poor school and got into UA. Ignore the fact my parents are rich enough to have me go to a better school, pay for tutors and my Quirk Counseling.’” 

 “Aun-”

 “Stop.” Mrs. Midoriya sighed. “Just stop Bakugou. Stop lying, stop pretending. If you'd cared you'd have said something. I bet you felt relief when my son was said to have a Quirk. Relief he lived because then ‘hey I'm not at fault. He didn't die.’” Bakugou’s face and flinch made Eijiro feel sick. She had hit the mark, hadn't she? The woman turned and walked away, heading to a hero merch store, passing by people who looked horrified. 

 “Auntie!” Bakugou shouted. Mrs. Midoriya paused to look over her shoulder and glare.

 “Stop calling me that. You should know your former classmate has finally gathered together every scrap of evidence he can, every social media post made and every video taken. It goes live in three days. I wonder if UA’s board is so willing to protect you then.” she walked away after that, and Bakugou paled. 

 “Bro, are you okay?” Eijiro asked him. 

 “You're asking him if he's okay?” asked Kaminari in disgust. 

 “Look, she's angry and maybe she-”

 “They can't release it, I’ll lose my spot!” Bakugou says in horror. Eijiro’s stomach dropped.

 “That's what you care about?!” Kamianri asked. “Not the kid you drove to suicide?!”

 “It was when I was fourteen!” Bakugou said.

 “Didn't you just turn 16 two months ago?” Kamianri asked. “What would happen if I looked it up? How long ago was it?” 

 “Over a year-”

  “Oh so what, probably barely a year ago.” Kaminari shook his head. “I’m out. Kirishima, if you're half the guy I thought you were you'd leave to.” he walked away, as Eijiro stood there, staring at the guy he thought he knew.

 What had just happened?

-0-

 The next week was spent with the media blasting about how awful it was UA had let in a person like Bakugou, and Eijiro watched the video put up. It was bad.

 Really, really bad.

 Eijiro had to stay away from the internet for a little while, disgusted with what he saw. He thought he KNEW Bakugou. Thought the guy was just rough around the edges. Maybe a victim of bullying given his Quirk was destructive. But no. He’d been wrong. Bakugou wasn’t a victim, he was an aggressor. He was an abuser. 

 And through all of it, even with Bakugou on the news, the guy kept trying to justify it. Kept saying things like he was a kid, he didn’t know any better, it was anyone’s fault but his own. He waved around the stupid hero name he gave himself, the hours spent at a Quirkless shelter, anything.

 All of it felt so… fake now. Performative, to show he was sorry.

 Eijiro didn’t know what to think.

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Notes: pet peeve of mine in every ‘Midoriya jumps’ fic is the Bakugou Whump and uwu poof blasty so sad. More so when he doesn't admit what he did, still goes to UA and then… what? What does he do? Nothing.

 Bakugou is very guilty and doesn't do everything performative but the name? That was performative as is volunteering. 

-Bakugou is expelled for this because even if it happened before UA its now a stain on their entire reputation. 

-Izuku does wake up and his Quirk is very strong, and the reason he took so long to wake up.

-Kirishima makes a point to meet him and talk. They become friends and Izuku eventually gets into UA. His linger complications from the jump prevent him from being a hero but he is a support student.

[fixomnia-scribble]

On Starting University

Dear students starting university alarmingly soon:

You're going to be fine.

It's going to be okay.

You absolutely don't need to have your whole path mapped out. Or your faculty. Or whether you graduate or not. Life changes fast. Interests and opportunities come up out of nowhere, and you can fall out of love with a subject too. You may learn you are neurodivergent, or are carrying trauma around, or need accommodations for anything at all, and that doesn't make you belong any less, whether you ace a course or re-take it later. You might find that trying to make your square pegs fit the round holes of academia is too high a cost, and that's totally legit. Noping out through self-awareness can save you a pile of trouble.

First week and first month are a roller coaster. Go to the Orientation sessions and the Welcome events and at least look into free workshops on studying, time planning, budgeting, safe relationships, essay-writing and all that. Even if you pick up just a grain or two or new information, they're led by people who know their stuff. And if you are a deep introvert (like me) these events are a good way to be near people and start to make contacts without having to actively Network With People. You can learn a ton by being there and listening - and some schools give you Co-Curricular credit just for turning up to these developmental sessions.

Ask the silly questions in tutorial. Guaranteed, someone else wants clarification too.

Look out for freebies. Many schools have food pantries, free produce pick-up days, birth control, emergency funding through Financial Aid...look around. Going to events or focus groups just for the free pizza is a time-honoured tradition.

Keep your head screwed on tight and your heart in the right place, breathe deep every night before you crash, and trust your guts.

(Most importantly: love school all you want, but know that institutions don't love back. Learn about your rights and policies and self-advocate like hell.)

It's going to be okay.

Love, Your academic auntie

[gretagerwigsmuse]

okay i love the song ‘smoke gets in your eyes’ and had it in my head the entire time i was reading this UNTIL I REALIZED IT HAS A DIFFERENT MORE LITERAL MEANING!?! cruel mila! cruel! i just about died earlier when i saw your reblog saying the chapter count - i am so excited to tuck into this for the next couple friday nights!!

“How much do you trust me?” “That’s… kind of a loaded question, Anya.”  - this is so true. because they know each other so so well, but don’t at the same time? they trust each other, but do they really?

Bradley is so close to you, holding your arm, looking at you with those warm brown eyes, and you are suddenly all too aware you are sitting on his bed. - from him looking at her lips and wanting to kiss her to pulling her back to him when she tries to leave i am swoooooooning

“Have you learned morse somewhere? How quick are your fingers? Because it’s not just what is sent, it’s about how it’s sent. Too slow? Too fast? Rhythm off? They’ll peg you for a fake, a foreign agent that tortured my single-use emergency code out of me.” His fingers are tightening around your elbow, jerking you closer to him. “You’d have one shot at this or essentially sign my death sentence.” - i didn’t even consider this, but it’s true. it’s more than asking someone to deliver a note or make a telephone call, there’s a lot of factors at play here and he’s also have to trust her with the contents of the message too?

You’ve been physically close together, almost challenging one another to take another step closer, but it never quite felt like this. So sincere. So vulnerable. You’re just sitting next to each other, not ever really touching. - gahhhh i want them to take just the slightest step closer!

Yeah, of course, you weren’t great at everything you tried (dancing comes to mind…) - mila…………i need it. also this isn’t a dancing song and was written after the war as a response to the way, but i love this aaron copland clarinet concerto, it’s beautiful and haunting

Rooster sounds so strict; you wonder if that’s his officer voice. - oh

Sometimes Bradley wants to grab your hand and guide to through every dot and dash until it’s forced into your muscle memory. - this is so cute! tbh i was thinking he’d do this when i first read she wanted to learn, but his rationale totally makes sense even if my shipper heart dies a little

You were able to transcribe messages with high accuracy in a matter of days, so it’s clear you grasp Morse as a concept: why, for the love of god, are you so incapable of tapping the message out then? - oh no is he going to think she doesn’t want to get it right? like she’s doing it on purpose? maybe she’s going to turn him over? bradley she wouldn’t!! she’s just nervous as shit and wants to make you and herself proud!

He missed this. Even though it’s been only a few short days, less than a week, since you walked down the street together, hand in hand. Or when you wrapped your arms around his neck, looking at him with such fondness - sighhhhhhh i miss their walks too

“No, it feels like it’s still hanging on by a thread.” - aren’t we all anya!!! my nerves are shooting through the roof right now

A sudden flash blinds you temporarily…… - the entire sequence of the radio shorting out was described so well. i could picture the soot and sound of the pop (like a burnt out lightbulb) and also aunty and anya sitting on the floor all dejected while covered in coal and shoot. god i hate how it turned out, she had code down. she needed the confidence boost of it working for bradley and he needed the hope

She shakes her head at you. “Sometimes there’s nothing you can say. You can only listen.” - poor anya and bradley, i know he’s going to be so upset and she’s just going to let him let all his anger out on her 🥺 sweet girl

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 8 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 5.6k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Library

Chapter 8—Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

His eyes follow you around the room as you pace, brow furrowed. Your teeth have been driving into your bottom lip for so long; Bradley wonders how you’ve not yet drawn blood. He’s sitting on the edge of his neatly made bed—no matter the circumstances, some habits are so ingrained he does them automatically. He likes things neat and precise. 

Hand resting on his knee, he’s letting you stew. Every time you walk by, the fabric of your skirt brushes against his knuckles. You are good at not talking or talking and not really saying anything, but this borderline catatonic pacing is setting him on edge.

You just can’t get the words out. Last night, you barely slept; your brain ran through every possible scenario, trying to come up with any solution. Every time you just about had it, it felt like you lost the thread and had to scramble again. Your whole head feels like it’s boiling over.

Finally, you plop yourself down on the bed next to Bradley. He looks surprised.

“How much do you trust me?” 

It’s the first complete sentence you’ve said to him since you laid out the whole problem in a few concise, clipped sentences a good 10 minutes ago. After that, you started to say something a few times, only to shake your head in frustration, turn on your heel, and start pacing again.

Bradley had wanted to say something, but he thought better of it every time the words almost left his mouth. If you were wrapped up in walls before, you now carry a thunderstorm.

“That’s… kind of a loaded question, Anya.”  

You are looking at him intently, your lip slightly swollen from incessant chewing. Bradley’s eyes wander over your face, but they keep coming back to your lips —he wonders if they would look so blushed and swollen after a kiss because he bets you would taste so sweet he couldn’t stop. But right now, it’s distracting him from the question —and he can see your eyes narrowing. 

“Forget it.” You push yourself up from the bed again, sighing heavily. The slight crease between your eyebrows is a full-on frown now. Where were you even going with that question?

 But before you are fully upright, Bradley grabs you by the elbow and pulls you back onto the bed. You stumble backward gracelessly, half falling into Bradley. His strong arms steady you, but you move away, flustered. His fingers remain firmly wrapped around your arms —he won’t let you escape. However, he’s also not ready to answer your question.

“What are you planning?” His voice is low, serious. It’s not a time to be playing around, not with everything at stake. “I need you to talk to me, Anya.”

Taking a deep breath, you purse your lips for a moment. Bradley is so close to you, holding your arm, looking at you with those warm brown eyes, and you are suddenly all too aware you are sitting on his bed. 

“You have to promise to hear me out, Rooster.” You say soberly. He opens his mouth to reassure you, but you cut him off. “I mean it—you can’t…” You trail off. Laugh? Get angry? Bradley is looking at you expectantly. 

“I promise.” His voice is so steady and warm, making your heart jump.

“It’s too dangerous for you to travel right now,” It feels like you’re trying to bluff your way through an oral exam in school by reiterating the premise of the question. “And we don’t know when it will be safe again—if ever.” 

“Which means I can’t get to the radio.” Bradley supplies, like he’s impatient for you to get to the point.

“And we can’t bring it here.” You continue, undeterred. “Which brings me back to the question: how much do you trust me?” 

Bradley doesn’t respond, his fingers practically burning a hole through your sleeve.

“Because,” You swallow before looking him right in the eye. “I could send the message for you.” 

Involuntarily your hand tightens into a fist at your side, nails digging into your palm as you wait with bated breath for his reaction. Bradley is just looking at you, eyes narrowed ever so slightly—you can practically see the wheels turning in his head. But why isn’t he saying anything? Doing anything?

The longer the silence stretches, you think to yourself that actually Bradley laughing would be preferable, as it would at least be something. But if anything, it’s annoying you.

“Look, it’s our best shot right now,” You urge. “The tide at the Eastern Front might be turning, but where will they retreat to? The situation might feel dire now, but it will get worse before-” “I get it.” Bradley cuts you off so sternly you almost recoil from him physically. There is a flash of something akin to anger in his eyes as he looks at you harshly. Nevertheless, you refuse to look away. “You ask if I trust you like I have a choice,” His voice is icy as he stares you down, but you refuse to flinch. “But it’s not about that. It’s not about whether I trust you; it’s about whether I can trust your capabilities.” 

You narrow your eyes. Your capabilities? “Tell me, doll face, how good is your memory? Before you can even start replying, he continues in that same stern, cold tone. “Have you learned morse somewhere? How quick are your fingers? Because it’s not just what is sent, it’s about how it’s sent. Too slow? Too fast? Rhythm off? They’ll peg you for a fake, a foreign agent that tortured my single-use emergency code out of me.” His fingers are tightening around your elbow, jerking you closer to him. “You’d have one shot at this or essentially sign my death sentence.”

Vaguely you wonder where the joking, teasing, and smiling Bradley suddenly disappeared to. 

“Yours as much as my own.” You reply testily, pulling away from him again, trying to put more space between your bodies. “And I’m a quick study.” It comes out more arrogant and haughty than you want it to, but you don’t like the implication that you are somehow unaware of the risks of this endeavor like you haven’t thought it through. You’ve barely slept, running every possible iteration through your mind, turning the problem upside down and inside out. 

If Rooster has a better idea, he’s welcome to share it, you think bitterly.

“I can do this.”

“I won’t let you do it if you’re not up to par.”

Bradley’s cold, bossy tone raises your hackles—let you? Just who does he think he is? You are the reason he’s still alive in the first place, you seethe.  

He watches your lip curl up in anger. “Just watch me.” You snarl, pulling back further from him and wrenching your elbow from his grasp. God, you look so cute fired up like that—despite the seriousness of the situation, he can’t help but take in how your eyes blaze with determination, your shoulders are set, and your jaw is clenched.

His little spitfire.

“I trust you.” He admits, voice a lot softer. It feels nice to say it out loud. Bradley does trust you—so far, you have given him no reason not to. It’s also scary because it feels like he’s revealing something about himself that is sensitive, real, and fragile. He doesn’t particularly make a habit out of that.

Your eyes grow wide, anger deflating under the gravity of Bradley’s words. Your shoulders relax as your arm brushes against his again.

“Thank you,” You reply in a half-whisper. “I trust you too.”

“We’re going to get through this together, right?” There’s a hint of uncertainty in his question. You’ve been physically close together, almost challenging one another to take another step closer, but it never quite felt like this. So sincere. So vulnerable. You’re just sitting next to each other, not ever really touching.

“Of course we are.” You smile up at Bradley. It’s not even a lie because if you are going to get through this, you have to believe it more than anything. He smiles back, and suddenly your heart is racing again.

***

From that moment on, every bit of your time is devoted to practicing Morse code. You only have five days and need to memorize Rooster’s code and execute it flawlessly, but you must also note down the reply.

As you clean, your index finger taps out the code against the mop handle; when you try to read, tap the rhythm out against your cheek, and as you walk down the street, your hand is moving in your pocket, tap tap tap against your thigh.

And to your utter desperation, you are struggling. You just can’t seem to get the hang of it, and this has honestly never happened to you before. Yeah, of course, you weren’t great at everything you tried (dancing comes to mind…), but you’d always make progress nose-on-the-grindstone. Under pressure, you usually perform exceptionally. But now you can barely get past the first string of words of the code without a mistake, let alone the coordinates. And on the rare occasions, you get it correctly, at least in part, it’s too slow. 

Rooster isn’t helping, necessarily. He tries to be patient, but you can see the frustration bubbling under the surface; his eyebrow twitches whenever you miss a letter or tap the wrong one. You hear his sharp exhale when you’re too slow. 

It’s putting you on edge even more. 

You didn’t think this would be so hard, but the absolute horror is dawning on you that you’ve bit off more than you can chew. And that you’re disappointing Rooster.

That thought stings more than you’d care to admit.

It’s late Friday night. You have until Sunday morning to get this. Tapping out what must be the thousandth attempt, your eyes are stinging. You feel entirely depleted—after work, endless practice, Rooster’s sharp looks—every fiber of your being feels exhausted. 

“Start over.”

Rooster sounds so strict; you wonder if that’s his officer voice. He’s sitting across from you, arms crossed, and watches you shake your head in frustration and start tapping the code from the top.

You never thought you’d miss the annoyingly jokey and smiling Rooster. But you’d like to hear him crack a joke now or make some innuendo. God, you could use a hug right now. Your sleep-addled brain wonders if you should just ask for one. Typically, you’d be pretty sure Rooster would happily give you one—hell, he might even welcome it.

However, since you’ve started this crazy-paced drill, Bradley has been keeping his distance. Every day he’s taking you to task in endless training loops, hours upon hours. You wake up for work exhausted after the long days and nights, restless dreams keeping your brain and body from catching up on the rest you need.

The only thing you have going for you is that you are managing to correctly transcribe the codes Rooster taps out for you at lightning speed. It makes you feel a little bit better that your brain isn’t completely broken. But it still doesn’t make him smile.

It’s only half the mission, after all. 

Your fingers don’t seem to be capable of doing what your brain wants them to, however—shaking, stuttering, struggling through every movement.

“Again, from the top.”

You purse your lips and blink heavily, starting the sequence anew. Tap, tap, tap. The pad of your index finger is starting to feel sore. Miss. You hear Bradley sigh.

“Again.”

You stop yourself from swearing, biting your lip instead, and starting over.

This time you get a lot further, and just as you feel the tiniest glimmer of hope, you might actually make it to the end without any mistakes; your brain completely misfires.

Suddenly Bradley’s palm lands on the table loudly, shaking the wood. Then, with a scream, you jump up, your chair loudly scraping over the wooden floor. Your fists are balled at your sides like you’re ready to fight.

Bradley has gotten up from his chair, hunched over, leaving heavily on his palms. The anger and frustration are rolling off him in waves, but you don’t move. His sleeves are rolled up messily, muscles straining in his forearms, and veins bulging. 

A painful silence settles between you. 

You wait for Rooster to start accusing you, releasing some of that anger he must be feeling. He can’t help but run his mouth under every possible circumstance; what’s stopping him now? Clenching your jaw, you meet his angry eyes. 

Your heart is beating so hard it’s making your fists shake. It’s like you are waiting for impact: you can hear the bomb whistle through the air as it falls, but you have no way of telling when it will hit you. But Rooster sits down, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

“Give it one final go for tonight, Anya.” He grunts, not looking at you.

Cautiously, you pull your chair back in. Trying to gather your nerves, you let out a shaky breath.

Bradley looks at you through his fingers. You look absolutely exhausted. Miserable. He hadn’t meant to make you jump like that, but you had been so so close to finally getting a flawless run; his frustration got the better of him when you stumbled. Again.

He noticed that despite your loud yelping, you didn’t look scared. On the contrary, you looked ready to swing at him if you had to—his little spitfire. A fondness settles in his heart again. You’ve made incredible strides in an enormous short amount of time through pure determination and discipline. 

While he hasn’t told you, he’s impressed. No matter how often he tells you to start again, you simply go, the crease between your eyebrows deepening. Despite the late nights, despite your shoulder sagging every time you miss a beat—you haven’t complained once.

By god, if only your fingers weren’t so clumsy. Sometimes Bradley wants to grab your hand and guide to through every dot and dash until it’s forced into your muscle memory. But you need to be able to do this by yourself.

On your final attempt, you don’t even make it halfway. Bradley sighs but tries to push rising anger and disappointment away. You look at him as you get from the table without saying a word. For a moment, you look so incredibly crestfallen he almost gets up to wrap you in his arms to assure you that you’re in this together and you’ll find a way to make it work. It’s what he keeps telling himself when he tries to fall asleep at night. 

But he stays seated as you grab your coat and bag from the bed. Bradley has noticed that sometimes you don’t put your coat on, despite being cold outside. He figures you’re staying somewhere close, somewhere that doesn’t disrupt your daily routine. But you’ll never share that information with him.

You don’t wear your coat tonight, leaving it folded over your arm. 

“Sleep well, Rooster.” Your voice sounds thick with sleep. You don’t wait for him to reply before you walk out the door. 

“Sleep well, Anya.” Sounds his reply just before you close the door behind you. His voice sounds flat, like a knife twisting in your gut. Your eyes are stinging from tiredness, from tears—you don’t even know anymore. You have an overwhelming urge to cry but need to be quiet. It’s late, and you sure as hell don’t want to alert any neighbors as you sneak back to your own building.

Crying won’t solve anything anyway. What you need is sleep and buckle down once more tomorrow: it’s your last chance to get it right; otherwise, you’re going to miss your window of opportunity to send the message.

Trust your gut. You can do this.

Except Saturday is just as miserable. In the morning, Eva remarks you don’t look so good and can barely reply from the incredible wave of anger that suddenly consumes you. So instead, you pitch your half-drunk tea into the kitchen sink and partially run out of the kitchen. You hear her call you a bitch, which knocks most of the anger out of you. You just want to go back to bed and sleep and pretend non of this happened. The whole war was just a bad dream; you’ll wake up on a sunny day in September, grab your books, and start a new year at university.

And practice with Rooster really isn’t going any better. He seems to have buried his frustration deep inside, but that only means nothing else is left. Not a smile, not a joke, not even a curse—just stern commands.

It’s sometime in the early evening—the sun is just going down—when after another failed attempt, you drop your forehead onto the table heavily, the noise reverberating through the wood. You don’t say anything, your eyes screwed shut (the uncontrolled impact of your skull against the tabletop actually hurt). Instead, Bradley looks at you—hand-rolled palm up, your messy braid, and the shallow breaths rocking your shoulder.

“Come on…” He starts carefully—he feels as tired as you look. “Let’s keep going.”

“No,” You moan, almost pathetically. “Just give me—like, a minute to rest.” You raise your head a fraction of the table to look at him. There’s a red spot where your head collided with the table. “I promise I can do this. I just need a break—please, Rooster.”

Your pleading tone tugs at his conscience. You’ve been practicing for hours without a break, going at the code over and over and over. It’s worrying him that you can’t seem to get it. It’s not easy, sure, but it’s not precisely flying a plane, either. On the other hand, you memorized the alphabet quickly. You were able to transcribe messages with high accuracy in a matter of days, so it’s clear you grasp Morse as a concept: why, for the love of god, are you so incapable of tapping the message out then?

Your hand is still resting on the table in front of you, fingers slightly curled up, practically inviting him to reach out to you and touch you.

Bradley is frustrated and progressively feels like the room's walls are closing in on him. He used to look forward to seeing you every day, but this week has been a soul-crushing grind. He doesn’t want to get angry—hell, he doesn’t want to feel this furious—but it’s hard to stave off the emotion every time you miss a beat. It’s not that you’re not trying; you are, but… He doesn’t know how to explain it, but you are getting on his nerves.

Despite that, he reaches out, needing to feel something other than anger and anxiety. He brushes his fingers along yours, lingering for a moment. 

It feels nice. 

He missed this. Even though it’s been only a few short days, less than a week, since you walked down the street together, hand in hand. Or when you wrapped your arms around his neck, looking at him with such fondness—and god, he knows it’s your job, but you are so painfully good at it. He’s been all too happy to play along, of course, enjoying every moment you welcomed his touch.

Bradley knows he should pull back again, not drag out the moment. But, instead, he’s setting himself up for disappointment. It’s been all fun and games before, and he enjoyed flirting with you—but the reality is that you have a mission. Namely, getting him out. He needs to stay alive and not complicate matters.

However, before he can move again, your fingers thread through his, keeping him in place. You don’t look up; you don’t say anything or acknowledge in any way that you’re holding his hand now. So he won’t either; instead, he wraps his hand around yours and savors the moment of peace between you.

Your stomach is in twists. For days you had been hoping Bradley would reach out to you again, try to make you laugh again. And now that he finally touched you again, you had to grab onto it. You hold your breath for a moment, afraid he will pull back—he’s been so distant, and you hate how much it stings. You’ve been struggling with getting the code down as is, but Bradley pulling back from you, not even leaving you the illusion of being your not-husband, just feels like another kick in the gut.

But now he’s holding your hand, actually reciprocating your gesture. It fills you with some hope—you are in this together, and you have to rely on each other. You squeeze Bradley’s hand, finally lifting your head from the table again.

“Okay, I’m ready now.” You say determinedly, a slight smile on your face. Bradley nods, holding your hand just a moment longer before pulling back again.

You don’t know where you’re getting the energy or the motivation from at this point. But you finally restart the practice with renewed vigor—you are even more determined to get it right. For the next hour, you start again and again tirelessly, not even waiting for Bradley to tell you to start over, cutting him off with a sharp shake of your head and tapping the dots and dashes again from the top.

Finally—you’ve lost count of how many attempts you’ve made since your break; the whole sequence goes off without a hitch. The moment you finish, you freeze, looking up at Bradley to confirm. He looks back at you, half in disbelief, and just nods.

You want to jump up in joy and cheer, but you just sag back into your chair, sighing deeply instead. Stretching your arms above your head, you feel your spine popping. It’s pitch dark outside. Bradley looks like he has finally relaxed, too, his shoulders eventually sagging from the tense and stern posture he’s been holding. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s clear how heavily this has been weighing on him too. When he looks up at you, because you’ve been staring pretty much, his eyes look so much older than his twenty-eight years.

“Told you I could do it.” You tell him jauntily, hoping to tease a reaction from him. But, instead, Bradley rewards you with that trademark lopsided smirk of his—and suddenly, it’s like there’s a different person in front of you again. The person you’ve missed more than you’d like to admit.

“Why don’t you show me again, sweetheart?” He teases right back, leaning towards you. ***

You’ve barely slept. Again. 

Every time you managed to fall asleep for a short time, vivid dreams would wake you up again—you are terrified of fucking this up. So when you sit on the train on your way to the town where the engineer lives, you start up, tapping out the code on your thigh but stopping short. 

It’s like going to an exam: there is a cutoff until when practice and revision are useful. After that, you’re only psyching yourself out. Fuck up now, and you’ll fuck up when it matters.

You can do this.

Trust your gut.

To keep yourself from trying to practice, you fidget with Rooster’s ID bracelet in your coat pocket. You somehow keep forgetting it’s there, although it has never left its hiding spot since you tucked it in there after Rooster threw it at you. You’ve never mentioned to him you still have it, although he never asks about it either. But it brings you comfort right now, the cool metal sliding between your fingers, the ridges of the embossed U.S. Navy shield pressing against the pad of your hand.

You’ll return it to him in due time, you promise yourself. 

It’s sometime past noon when you trudge up to the sunny yellow house, Kaya barking excitedly the moment you come into view. Slipping through the green metal gate, the dog sniffs and whines, pushing her wet nose against your palm. When you move to give her a good scratching behind the ears, she shoots away, sniffing around the gate you just closed.

You scowl. Is Kaya looking for Rooster? The dog met him once and already preferred him over you?

Scoffing, you turn away and walk towards the house. No belly scratches, then.

Although you wish Rooster were here with you. It would make you feel more at ease, besides the fact that the onus of successfully sending the emergency code wouldn’t be solely on your shoulders.

The engineer’s wife immediately pulls you into the old coal cellar. She seems as anxious as you are. 

You both kneel on the dirty floor before the radio, built into a suitcase and perched on top of an upturned apple box. The orange light of the old gas lamp flickers eerily.

“You look as scared as I feel, Auntie.” You try to joke, although your voice is quivering.

She just sighs heavily in response.

“The parts you brought were rusted; the radio keeps shorting out.”

You swear, trying to take a look at the machine. It looks normal, but then again, you’re not much of an engineer. “Do you think we have shot at at least sending one message?” 

“Maybe, maybe not,” Auntie wipes the back of her hand over her forehead. “Sometimes it shorts the moment your press the transmitter; sometimes it holds off for about a minute.”

You chew your lip. 

“A minute is more than enough.” You reply confidently. “Is it all setup?”

Auntie nods as she flips a switch on the board. A low buzzing emits from the radio, punctuated by a few clicks. The contraption is littered with buttons, dials, and tiny lights that blink intermittently. 

“Do you have the frequency?” Auntie asks, pointing to a large dial in the right-hand corner. You nod mutely and squint, trying to get a good look at the small white numbers around the dial. Then, fingers shaking, you start turning it. Somehow, you expected it to go smoothly, but it feels like sand is stuck in the rotation. As you pass each frequency, you hear voices—English, Germans, Czech, Polish—mixed with music, static and mechanical beeping. You're met with a ghostly silence when you finally arrive at the frequency Rooster designated for you. 

You look at Auntie, who is following your movements wide-eyed.

“Do we actually know this works?” You breathe as you shift uncomfortably on your needs on the dirty, coal-stained floor. She shakes her head.

“We can’t send a test message.” She swallows nervously. “There’s no one to receive it; it would only open us up for interception.”

“How do we know this message won’t be intercepted?” You can’t really keep the panic out of your voice now.

“It probably will be,” Auntie replies matter-of-factly. “All we can hope is that they don’t take an interest.”

“Hope seems a dangerous thing to rely on.” You counter anxiously.

“It’s all we have, Anya.” Auntie cuts you off. “You better start before the whole thing shorts out again.”

The moment you press the little lever and it goes down, the low buzzing suddenly stops, and the little lights die out. The cellar suddenly feels a lot darker and quieter. Hesitantly you press the lever again, but there is no reaction.

“Shit.”

Auntie suddenly moves closer, swatting your hand away from the radio. So it shorted. Your anxiety is only worsening, your fingers trembling as you dig around for Rooster’s bracelet in your pocket. Trying to get your breathing under control, you watch Auntie open a side panel on the suitcase and moves the light away to take a closer look. From her apron, she digs out a small screwdriver that she uses to poke around in the cavity of the radio.

You are too scared to ask if the radio will work again. So instead, nervously, you glance at your wristwatch—you’ve only been down here for about five minutes, although it feels at least ten times that long.

“Come here, Anya,” Auntie motions you over. “Your fingers are younger and more nimble.” 

“I can’t—” You hesitate. “Just do as I say, girl.” 

You can hardly believe you’re being scolded right now. You shuffle over, sinking onto your knees by the open panel in the side of the suitcase. 

“Now what?” You are clutching the bracelet in your hand like a lifeline. 

“Reach in carefully.” Auntie’s breathing is heavy—the air in the small cellar is damp and strangely warm. “With the tip of your fingers, you’ll feel several wires—one looser than the rest.”

You nod, nervously wiping your hand on your coat. Suddenly you are keenly aware of the weight of the metal bracelet in your pocket. The back of your neck is prickly as sweat starts beading down your hairline. Breathing through your nose, you carefully edge your fingers through the opening. The flickering orange light of the gas lamp is absolutely no help—the gap can’t be that deep, you surmise, but it’s impossible to see anything.

“Slow and steady wins the race.” Auntie encourages you. Feeling around in the darkness, you keep your eyes strained on the shadows dancing on the wall. You feel metal ridges and bumps under the tips of your fingers. In the uncomfortably contorted position you’re in, squatting down, your feet are starting to hurt—the creased leather of your boots is cutting into you. 

“Hold on.” You mumble, pulling your hand back for a moment as you sink on your knees, the fabric of your pants grinding against the dirty and dusty floor. 

Biting your lip, you slowly move your hand into the opening again. Lightly the tip of your fingers brushes against what must be the cable. “I can feel them.” You announce.

“Good.” Auntie’s voice sounds steady, clinical almost. “They should be three wires.” You nod. “Two of them should barely move—you should be able to feel they’re attached on both sides.” She continues.

“Okay, okay, yeah, I feel them.” You try to sound calm, but your voice sounds uncomfortably loud. “The third one feels loose—it gives when I touch it.” 

“Is it completely loose on one side?” Her voice doesn’t betray a thing.

“No, it feels like it’s still hanging on by a thread.”

Auntie exhales deeply. “Good, that means the wire hasn’t burned through all the way yet.” 

She wipes her forehead with her sleeve again. “Now, here’s where I need your nimble fingers. Grab the loose wire, and push it up on the right side, as far as it will go.” 

“How will I know it’s gone far enough?”

“When you let go, it should hold in place.” 

“Okay, that’s easy enough.” You mutter, more than anything, to assure yourself it will be alright. 

But the opening is small, and between the hard metal ridges of the suitcase interior, twisting your fingers to get a good enough grip on the wire is tough. You curse under your breath as it slips between your fingers, the sharp edges of the suitcase digging into the skin of your wrist.

By now, you can feel sweat travel down your spine. The air in the cellar is oppressive. The cable keeps slipping between your fingers, your wrist scraping along the sharp metal edge. Finally, you get a good grip, awkwardly pinching the cable between your index and middle fingers. You press it up—expecting some sort of click or any indication the cable is back in place. There is nothing. The only way to find out is to let go.

Hesitantly you relax your fingers—the cable doesn’t sag.

“Oh, thank fuck.” You exclaim, carefully retracting your hand.

“Watch your language.” Auntie admonishes you, tone still completely serious.  In the moving light, you can see the red marks along your wrist and the back of your hand—they sting as you move your fingers. You grunt an apology as you move back into position before the radio. Auntie clicks the panel back on and flips the power switch. You know you have no time to waste now. The frequency has been set, so as soon as all lights are on and the low buzz fills the room again, you need to start sending the message—you wish you had a moment to gather your thoughts, to run through the sequence one more time mentally, but there simply isn’t time. 

You wipe your hand over your coat again—through the fabric, you feel Rooster’s bracelet safely tucked away in your pocket. Trust your gut.

Decisively, you start tapping out the message—hoping, praying someone is listening. You know the code; you can do it flawlessly. 

Trust your gut.

A sudden flash blinds you temporarily. Your fingers, which had been on the metal lever, are suddenly red hot. There is no explosion after the flash, just a loud pop, and arid smoke immediately filling the small room. You fall backward, flinching as you break your momentum with your hands—your burned fingers screaming in pain as you skid over the dirty floor. You see colorful spots; purples and greens are dancing in front of your eyes in fluid shapes. You hear cursing and scrambling—ironic, you think, half-dazed, as you’ve just been told off for that. 

Suddenly you are hoisted by your arm and pulled out of the coal cellar. Auntie is yelling at you, and as soon as you get steady on your feet, she pushes you up the stairs. You stumble into the house's hallway, the dirt—coal dust; you see now—falling off you in small black clouds. 

As your vision returns to normal, you sag down onto the floor, the colorful blobs melting into the background again. 

Auntie comes up the stairs, coughing heavily. It smells like burned ozone. You fully expect to be scolded again for sitting on the floor, coal dust fluttering down with every move. But Auntie just closes the door and slumps down next to you.

With that comes the ice-cold realization: that radio won’t work anymore.

Tears fill your eyes, but you angrily blink them away. The words are on the tip of your tongue several times, but you bitterly swallow them each time. But ultimately, would you rather know the painful truth or live with the uncertainty of not knowing?

“Auntie…” You start hesitantly. Just finishing the question makes your chest feel tight. She looks up at you with a motherly look as if she already knows what you will ask. “Was it my fault?” You grind out like there is a vice around your throat.

“Oh, poor girl, no.” Her voice is warm and assuring. “So many parts we rusted or otherwise damaged; that wire couldn’t have been the cause.”

“How do you know?” You’re not sure why you keep asking, but somehow you want some sort of reasonable explanation for Rooster.

Oh, Bradley. He’s going to be devastated.

“That wire couldn’t have caused enough sparks for something to catch fire,” Auntie replies matter-of-factly. “The coil probably overheated.”

You hear Kaya padding around in the kitchen down the hall.

“It’s a lost cause, isn’t it?” You stare at the neat white wall of the hallway, almost too scared to look Auntie in the eye. “There is no way the engineer…”

“There’s nothing that can be done.” Auntie cuts you off. “Come on, get up. You look like you’ve just climbed out of a mine.” She heaves herself up from the ground as she keeps talking to you in that same motherly tone.

“Take off your coat; I will brush the dust for you.” She instructs you. “Go wash your face in the meantime.”

You comply, your head too full of questions and worries to argue.

***

Before you leave the house, you stop in the doorway. Kaya is weaving around your legs excitedly, wanting to play.

“Auntie…” You frown. “What do I say?”

She shakes her head at you. “Sometimes there’s nothing you can say. You can only listen.”

You sigh. It seems such a small comfort, hardly enough to soften the blow of reality.

“Remember, Anya,” Auntie continues, touching your shoulder. “Hope is all we really have.”

“What if that isn’t enough?” You can’t help but scoff lightly. Hope. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like enough right now.

“This too shall pass.” She squeezes your shoulder. “And everything we do is to hasten that passing; remember that.” 

note | welcome back <3

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[foreverdolly]

What about Austin teasing you at a family dinner?

I love a good role reversal, so i hope you don't mind if I made it the other way around.

It was your great aunt’s ninetieth birthday, and she had made a fuss over not wanting to do anything special for it. Your grandmother had taken it upon herself to plan a party, probably just looking for an excuse to show off the new renovations she and your grandfather had made to their old farm house. 

“Aus, you can’t keep giving her chocolate.” You whispered in the kitchen, reaching out to grab his hand before he could get your great aunt yet another Hershey kiss from the candy jar. He wrinkled his nose, turning back around to face the dining room, looking at the pile of silver foil that she had tossed onto her empty dinner plate. He narrowed his eyes at you, quickly grabbing another one before you had time to complain. “A couple pieces of chocolate isn’t going to hurt anyone.” Your husband could be so bull headed sometimes. “Am I the only one looking at the mountain of empty candy wrappers on her plate? I haven’t been sneaking her candy, Austin. Grandma and grandpa haven’t stood up from the table once. It’s you,” You gave his chest a poke. He tried to keep himself from laughing, so he sucked his lips into his mouth. “You’re the candy bandit.” Before you even had time to snatch the sugary treat out of his hands he was practically running across the kitchen. 

“Here ya go, auntie.” You heard him purr from the dining room. Your husband wasn’t just bull headed, but a smug bastard. With a sigh you turned back around, grabbing the pitcher of sweet tea before joining the rest of your family. Sometimes you were sure that they all loved Austin more than they did you. 

And you would be correct in thinking that, apparently. 

He had crouched down between your great-aunt and your grandma, his hands on both of their shoulders as he listened intently to whatever stories from their youth that they were no doubt blabbering on about. There was a long period of time where you had been the one that was constantly fawned over and talked to, but then your beanpole of a man sauntered into your life and then boom. You’re what’s out, and he’s what’s in. 

You would be a liar if you said that you didn’t love it though. Seeing him go above and beyond for the elderly members of your family made you fall even deeper in love with him, and the way he was with all of your baby cousins and nieces and nephews? 

Your baby fever was at an all time high. Both of you, actually. 

You set the tea down in the center of the table, moving to sit back down in your seat. Maybe you were being childish, but there was a part of you that wanted so badly to bully Austin. He had looked too smug in the kitchen earlier for your liking, and you wanted to knock him down a few pegs. Make him squirm. With a small smirk you dug your phone out of your pants pocket, clicking on his contact. 

I think we should try for a baby. 

You leaned back against your chair, wiping the smile off of your face as you heard his text ringtone sound. He began digging into his pocket, his car keys jinging softly. His eyes scanned over the text again and again before he quickly looked up at you, blue eyes as wide as saucers. ‘Really’? He mouthed, starting to stand up from the floor. You began looking through your camera roll, eyes alight with mischief. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he looked back down at his phone again, eagerly waiting for your response. After a few seconds of typing, you turned your phone off, trying to keep the evil smirk off of your face as you stood up from the table. “Excuse me guys. I think I want to take a look at what grandma had done to the basement.” Your family waved you off. 

You had seen Austin’s reaction. He had practically dropped his phone in his haste to turn it off, mortified by the idea that your elderly grandparents would see the lewd photo you had just sent him along with the suggestive message. You made your way down the basement stairs, and your husband was quick to push his way into the room right along with you, closing and locking the door behind him. “You’re crazy,” He whispered breathlessly. “Now?”  You nodded. “H-Here?” You nodded again, moving to unbutton your pants. 

Austin stood there for a beat, watching your hands closely as they moved down to the zipper. 

“Alright, fuck it.”

[internalsealpanic]

Hello I love ur works & I come here to suggest this idea! Slade have romantic feeling for Bruce's close friend despite knowing that she can easily kick his ass. That could cause much trouble for three of them, couldn't it? :)

a/n: Sorry this took so very long! Merry Christmas! Special shout out to @littleredwing89 who convinced me to write this. This fic totally fits Christmas. There's a guy with a whitebeard, family gatherings and family drama. warning: Mentions of sex, crack, and batkids taking advantage of a situation (Jason particularly)

There is no blood in your smile but some detail, some quality of it makes it carnivorous and it makes something hot and wet stir in Slade. The feeling (if he can call it that) is almost naked in its intensity as it spreads through his chest. You dig your heel lightly into his chest, resting your weight on your knee, that smile never wavering. He can hear your heart beating with the rush of adrenaline the fight gave you. "Are you finally going to listen to my request or am I going to have to be more persuasive?" you say, keeping the breathiness out of your voice.

Slade snorts, sharp and derisive. Sure, he's all ears. You certainly have his attention. You've had his attention with that snug catsuit but the fact that he is flat on his back under your heel definitely helps keep his attention on you. He angles his head, partially to look you over and partially to show that he is in fact listening.

"I'd like you to go on a date with me."

His cursory glance over your body stalls as he processes your words. He grins up at you though he doubts you can see it through the mask still your smile melts into an annoyed scowl as a breathless chuckle starts to rumble from his chest. The way the corners of your mouth twitch down is too reminiscent of the Bat for Slade not to be amused.

"Kid, if I'd known you were interested— shit!" He growls as you dig your heel between his ribs. You weren't sadistic by nature but you knew what you were doing. The ribs beneath your heel crunch and Slade isn’t a masochist by nature but he may be turned on. “So, I assume you don’t mind me asking what made you change your tune on my offer?” He asks, gripping your ankle.

You quirk your lips and shrug.

Your heart is steadily spilling out of your chest into your throat. It pulses painfully, crowding your breath out and leaving your lungs burning. You can remember so many times you've come through the doors of Wayne Manor with little more than the words 'we need to talk' as your one and only explanation.

It was too little.

Too vague.

Too horrible, letting your mind run amok with too many of Gotham's horrors playing around in your head.

Your footsteps are harsh, honestly, one brusque step away from just tossing your kitten heels and just running up the steps to ask Bruce what the hell was going on then you see him.

Jason calmly walks out from the kitchen, cheeks filled to the brim with Alfred's cookies.

"What?" Jason asks, crumbs flying out from his mouth.

Your eyes burn with tears brimming in your eyes as you throw your arms around Jason, squeezing the life out of him.

"Uh, hi?"

"Ok, you're not dead, so who is?"

"Why am I the first person you peg to die?" Jason squawks.

"Do you want the list?"

Jason seems to seriously consider this. "I'm guessing no."

You pinch his cheek, planting one of those gross spit-filled kisses aunts always give on TV shows. You could kiss their cheeks like a normal person. You could. But being the wonderful aunt that you are, you never miss the chance to have Bruce's children experience the full Auntie experience. Jason blanches and attempts to shove you off, muttering about how gross you are and how he might die if you keep embarrassing him. You would think the kid would be different after a few years but his reaction hasn't changed between 12 and 20. Your laugh is a little hysterical.

Your senses return to you when Jason finally manages to wiggle out of your grip. Jason rubs at his cheek as if he was trying to peel the skin off his face.

“Ok seriously, who is on the market for a coffin?” you ask, not really letting go of him.

“Dunno.” “What do you mean ‘dunno’?” “Well, it’s a portmanteau of ‘don’t’ and ‘know’— Ow! What the hell? Ok, ok, fine. Bruce didn’t actually tell me anything. He just said there was an emergency.”

You groan. “How has Clark not drilled communication into his head yet?” Jason snorts. “Do you not notice how thick Bruce’s skull is? Superscout would have an easier time drilling to the center of the earth.”

You blow out an incredulous breath, your nerves settling even just a little.

You stomp into the room, the thunk of your heels filed to a vicious point as you direct a glare at Bruce that looked like it could peel paint off the wall. "Damian or Alfred better be on a gurney down at the Batcave. I canceled a fucking meeting for this," you snarl, still a little breathless. Your heart is still sitting at the base of your throat aching at the idea of either Damian or Alfred being injured.

"Oh god, they were meeting today," croaks a small voice and you find yourself caught off guard to see Dick crumpled in a corner. His knees are bent to his chest held in place by his arms.

"Who?" Jason asks, stepping into the room after you, arms still full with a cookie jar. Dick turns catatonic eyes to Jason and shakes his head mournfully. His face looks... ashen and it dawns on you, just now, what this was.

You stare at Bruce then at Dick then back at Bruce then up at the ceiling. Your face makes this expression that's more of a twitch rather than a coherent pattern as your facial muscle try to decide on what was the least inappropriate expression is for whatever the fuck Bruce is about to subject you to. Running your hand through your hair, you flop onto the nearest offensively comfortable couch, pointedly avoiding the stern look in Bruce's eyes. There's this twitch in his jaw that you feel should automatically be followed by grinding teeth but it isn't which makes it even more disconcerting.

You peek through your fingers and see the remote clutched in Bruce's hand and any moment not a projector light will turn on and the first slide will flash the words '(Y/n) (L/n)'s Current Life Decision', subtitled: 'An Intervention'.

You groan.

Bruce shifts against the table, posture uncomfortably stiff. "(Y/n), we need to talk. About Deathstroke."

"Need is a strong word."

Bruce doesn't dignify that with a response.

"Bruce, Brucie, B, I love you. I really do even if you are hands down the worst best friend in the world but you are literally the last person who is allowed to give me shit for my love life," you say, feeling your heart sinking down to the floor.

Cass and Duke who weren't interested before perk up and tear their eyes away from whatever game they were playing.

Jason frowns, lowering a cookie back into the jar. "You people called me all the way here to talk about her love life. What does Deathstroke even have to— Oh."

The rest of the room seems to process the words along with Jason. Tim chokes on his tea, spilling it on some important-looking documents that you hope aren’t for WE's marketing department. All eyes are on you now.

"Bruce, please stop."

"We need to talk about this."

"We really don't," Tim pipes up.

Cass throws a sock at him and Tim glares, starting to take his own sock off. Duke is handing Cass his, making his stance on the matter clear.

"Why couldn’t you have picked one of Bruce's villains?" Dick groans, head buried in his knees.

You scoff. "Duly noted, I'll see if I can contact Bane."

"Thank you," he says, looking like he can breathe again.

Bruce's mouth opens and closes trying to gather the words. "No! At least pick Harvey."

Dick's face crumples into a scowl. "Two-face almost killed me!"

"Seems like (Y/n) has a type," snickers Duke who's got his tongue poking out as he aims for Tim's head.

Slouching into the couch, you grin lazily. "I'm sorry, Dick. Duke's right. Men who almost kill you specifically are really hot."

"NO," Dick exasperates, "I refuse to call him Uncle Slade."

You blink, forehead crunching. "You... don't *need* to call him Uncle Slade. Jesus Bruce, what did you tell them?"

"That you needed help and that you're in a relationship with a very dangerous mercenary."

The word relationship is what really catches you here. It lands oddly like it falls on the wrong angle and can't quite fit right into your thoughts. "I'm not. We're not," you run your hand through your hair again. Your skin flushes as the frustration begins to boil beneath your skin. You very much consider chucking your heel at Bruce's head and call it a day.

"Ok, ok," Dick says, life coming back into his form as he bounces onto his heels. "Why him?" There's genuine curiosity in his eyes and you decide to latch on to that instead of the annoyance stirring in your chest.

You shrug. "Bruce pissed me off," you don't remember why, "and I was feeling petty so I... sort of invited Slade to spend the day with me just to get Bruce's blood pressure to skyrocket and we hit it off." You scowl at both of their bewildered looks. "It's not a thing. It's casual," you add. It comes out sounding more defensive than intended and you wince.

"Causal," Bruce repeats, laying the air quotes on thickly.

"Yes, casual," you affirm. "Bruce, I trust your expertise on a lot of things but relationships and emotions are on the very bottom of that list. How would you even know?"

"He gives you that look," Bruce hisses and for once, and this is impressive, he's left you utterly lost.

"What look? The one where he wants to pin me—"

"One more word and I am leaving this family," Dick says, face cradled in his hands.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. Tilting your head, you turn to Jason. "Jay, I will give you whatever car you want if you can either end this or turn your siblings against Bruce."

There's this evil little smile that spreads across Jason's face and the muscles of your face threaten to follow suit but you press it into the heel of your palm as you watch Jason make his way over to his older brother.

"Jason." Bruce warns.

Jason bulldozes past his tone with a roll of his eyes, plopping down next to Dick. "Dickie bird, I don't think you're seeing the big picture here," Jason says, the affectations of a used car salesman spilling into his voice. You don't know why or how but it grabs Dick's attention.

"Jay, pretty sure the guy who used to try and murder me weekly is now trying to date my aunt is a pretty big picture," Dick says with a little laugh, finding the situation particularly ridiculous.

Bruce huffs, pleased that Dick can see reason, but you have more faith in Jason.

Jason shakes his head. "Ok, but consider this if you hate it this much, imagine how he feels about it."

A spark flickers across Dick's features. "I'm listening."

"Picture this, you're fighting Deathstroke, he doesn't know you know, then bam you just start calling him Uncle Slade and giving him shitty dating advice."

You and Bruce side-eye each other. That shouldn't have convinced Dick.

But he tilts his head, seeming to genuinely consider this.

"I'm in."

You have to smother your laughter with your hand lest you wake up every ghost in the mansion. Bruce looks like he might have an aneurysm.

Tim leans over the armrest of his chair. "If we annoy him enough, maybe he'll show up to PTA meetings." A slow grin creeps upon his features. The look on Bruce's face sparks an entire detailed discussion on how to convince Slade 'the Terminator' Wilson to attend Damian's PTA meeting.

You had no doubt that Jason could do it.

"If no one is dead I am leaving," you say, getting up.

Bruce scowls, "we are not done talking."

You scowl back. "No. I am leaving and you will NEVER do this again," you make your way towards the door. "If you try, I WILL tell all of them the stupid shit you did in highschool. Yes, including that one."

The kids perk up. (Yes, Dick is still a kid.) Cass's eyes glitter looking like she's going to pounce. Bruce cuts her off though like a stick in the mud. "Are you going to stop seeing him?" Bruce’s eye is twitching.

"No," they shout collectively.

"We need him for thanksgiving," Cass protests.

"Someone has to show Damian the best way to cut a turkey with a sword," Duke says, tone disgustingly sensible.

"He is coming nowhere near this house."

Tim raises his head from his arms, "maybe we could ask him when he’s going to marry (y/n)?"

Jason looks all too happy with the idea. "Excellent, that will maybe explode his remaining few brain cells."

"Ok, I doubt he has any," Dick chuffs, "but we could give him proposal ideas that (Y/n) hates."

"Oh like the stripper cake one," Cass says.

You all stare at her.

"No one does that. At least, I hope not," Dick says.

Tim shakes his head. "There's a company down at East End that does it."

"No shit," Jason breathes, walking over to Tim. "Huh, ok so that's one thing we can suggest."

"We could also..."

Bruce looks like he wants to keel over. Taking the chance, you walk away, feeling a little more drained than what you would have been if you had to help perform surgery.

You honestly hadn't meant for it to get this bad. Well, not it wasn't bad. You're just two consenting adults having fun. That's all it is but leave it to Bruce to blow things out of proportion.

Slade's phone pings again and it rattles against the nightstand in protest. He doesn't bother to check it. He knows who it is. He pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache creep in. It's too early for that brat to be hacking into god knows what system just to find one of his phone numbers.

He turns on his side to ignore it and props his head in his hand. Beside him, you're fast asleep, head buried under a pillow, your allergy to waking up early rearing its head. He glides a hand on your back. Calloused fingers trace over puckered scars, the peaks and valleys shaping your back, and the evidence of your amorous night together in the shape of bite marks and hickeys. Hand settling on the small of your back, Slade presses his thumb on the hickey he'd left there, waiting for the telltale shiver that rakes your body when he touches a sensitive part of it. You make a soft noise under the pillow and try to buck him off. He feels his face melt into something fond as he watches you squirm more under the pillow in an attempt to catch the last cusp of sleep.

Lifting the pillow, Slade sees your face scrunch up. He flings the pillow away. You squint at him and make your annoyed 'hnnnn' audible as you turn away from Slade. Slade waits for a second then your body turns back to face him, scared back by the sun streaming in from the windows. Your hand tries to tug at the pillow under his arm to which he responds to by putting more weight on the pillow. You curse softly, scooting into his chest. Slade rests his hand on your hip, pulling you closer to him.

"Why is Todd texting me about birthday presents?" he asks, feeling your breath on his collar bone.

You squint up at him. Your brain is taking its sweet time chewing up his words. You look so sleep rumpled that Slade doubts you could do basic arithmetic right now.

"Wha?" you slur.

Slade lets his head drop onto the pillow. "He’s asking for a convertible Ferrari."

You blink away the haze and an expression finally surfaces on your face. It's sheepish. Slade might even dare to say shy. "Oh, uhm, expect Dick to call you uncle and maybe Tim," you pause and take a breath, inhaling his morning musk. "And Cas... and Duke... god, Steph's gonna join I just know it," you grouse, burying your face on his chest, letting the peach fuzz tickle your face.

Slade's breath is on the cusp of laughter. The swift kick you give him under the sheets only tilts it further. "They're certainly taking this well."

You sigh and smile up at him, only a little evilly. "Only after they figured out you had to deal with them too."

It's Slade's turn to sigh. The Bat and his gaggle of creatures were irritating enough to deal with on the field now they’re planning to interfere with his personal life.

"B, still hates it," you say, the corners of your eyes wrinkling with glee, "he staged an entire intervention which backfired as you can see."

Slade hums, feeling the corner of his own eye wrinkle with amusement. "Really? They think I’m that bad?"

This draws a laugh out of you, a husky bark of a throat still raw from exertion. It's beautiful. "You should have seen how traumatized Dick looked," you say, cupping your hand over your mouth, joy still spilling between your fingers. "Maybe that’s why I like you."

"Here, I thought you hated me," Slade says, pitching his brow up.

You mirror his expression but you manage to make the smallest of expressions cute. "It's not mutually exclusive," you cluck, drawing circles on his chest.

"They aren't," he agrees and the ease of which makes you very suspicious but because you have been around Alfred long enough to absorb manners, you keep your lips sealed shut. "Have to know though, what do you like about me?" You have never before regretted being polite as fast.

Well done, Slade Wilson. You are officially worse than Damian Wayne.

You make a move to get out of bed but Slade hauls you on top of him easily, the calloused pads of his fingers raking over your back. You boost yourself up on your elbows scowling down at the man looking back at you with his head propped on his ridiculously large arm. "Did I not just say it?"

"No, you didn’t."

"I can show you," you purr, grinning down at him. Your grin broadens when he generously eyes your skin, his tongue darts over his lips, gaze turning hungry.

Slade laughs huskily. "I’m all game for that, kitten..." Good. You are too. "...after you tell me what you like about me besides the free orgasms." The look on his face is the embodiment of smug and you find yourself rearing back.

"I had to work for those."

"Beg you mean," he corrects happily.

"Go to hell."

"Gladly, after you clarify," he says pressing his fingers into spots where he knows will tickle. This results in a gasp followed by a trickle of laughter.

"No! Stop!" Tears prickle your eyes and your stomach aches with laughter. "Please!"

Slade grins, looping an arm around your waist to keep you from escaping his dexterous wrath. Nibbling at the junction of your neck, he presses fingers to your side. You flail and shriek. “This isn’t funny!” You howl, thumping your hand against his chest. “On the contrary, it’s pretty funny.” “Ass.” “Is that what you like about me?” “I take it back, I just hate you,” you whine into his chest.

Slade pets your hair, humming, "thought so."

Slade takes another sip of his coffee, letting the tension in the air hang like Gotham smog. Bruce's manicured expression stays firmly in place. They've had this stalemate going for half an hour and neither of them was planning to cave. Well, Slade doesn't care. This is all on Bruce's dime. Slade knew the moment he got pinged by a client in Gotham that it was Bruce because who else would it be?

Slade leans back, arm hooked on the back of the wing-back chair. He slurps the coffee loudly. Bruce's face twitches. Slade's face does too but his face has that smug grin that makes him look ten times more insufferable.

"Wilson," Bruce says, voice hushed and flat.

"Wayne," Slade says, setting his cup down, "or was it Malone? Which one are you today?" He drums his fingers. There's no particular rhythm and he can see how this whole situation is getting on his nerves, delightful really.

"We need to talk."

"Do we now?" Slade chuckles. "I'm pretty sure that that's not your forte."

"It's not yours either."

Slade's mouth pulls down at the same rate Bruce's twitches up.

Bruce isn't wrong. One Addie Kane can attest to that. Though something about hearing it from someone who seems to have a speech limit that makes Slade's blood boil. Maybe it's the sheer hypocrisy. That does track with Bruce's MO.

Bruce sets his coffee down but his hand is still gripping the mug, poised to throw it at Slade the moment this temporary non-aggression pact is lifted. Slade should grab something to chuck at him too. Self-defense and all that.

"When it comes to y/n, I have to," Bruce sighs, and the stress lines that never show up on in his Bruce Wayne face show.

Slade scoffs, "no, you really don’t."

The tight grip Bruce has on his mug turns his knuckles white. "You expect me to trust you not to hurt her?" he says, voice low, face edging into a glower.

"She's broken 3 of my ribs. I think she's made it crystal clear she'll be fine." Slade says jaw tightening. The bulk beneath his skin coils. He doesn't know why Bruce's words get under his skin. The accusation is fair given Slade's past relationships and it's not like Slade's gonna deny that but still, something about the idea rubs him the wrong way. He can't or doesn't want to place it.

Bruce looks... surprised, brows hiking up to the ceiling, mounting an escape from Bruce's face. The expression looks wrong on him. "Only 3?" He asks carefully.

Slade crosses his arms and angles his head. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"She," he pauses, "she normally goes for a higher count with damages. Not even a cracked skull?" Bruce's stoic features look lost amidst the crisis looming in his brain.

Slade's posture relaxes. "She clearly has a soft spot for me," he says all smug and petty. Now, this, this is more comfortable.

Bruce coils, ready to strike.

Slade smiles, honestly rearing to also lay Bruce out on his ass.

"Slade?"

They both freeze at the familiar voice that floats over the crowd. Mechanically, Bruce turns his head only to see your pinched confusion get blown wide by surprise then flex into concern. Maybe the right word was that you were flummoxed. He watches the muscles in your face work, slotting between expressions you'd prepared for the meeting you had with the man now tapping your shoulder. Bruce winces as you short circuit.

You had a catalog of Bruce's identities and your brain is trying to process why this one is here in this nice, well-lit cafe, at noon of all times. You excuse yourself, slotting on your most pleasant face, telling your new acquaintance that you'll keep in touch. You neglect to tell him it will be your assistant keeping in touch but that's mainly because you're currently trying to puzzle together the picture in front of you. You're pretty sure Matches Malone's natural habitat is shady alleyways and dive bars, not faux french cafes. Your eyes slide to Slade instead and it clicks, so does your tongue.

Slade and Bruce watch as you weave your way towards them, your mind still wading through a mix of irritation and confusion. You're predictably clumsy because of it. Slade can't fault the smile that softens his features as you come heart-stoppingly close to getting coffee splattered onto your crisp white shirt. He knows he's letting too much of the fondness crowding his chest show on his face so he tries to angle it away from Bruce and towards your oblivious ass.

All the color in Bruce's face drains when he catches Slade's expression in the corner of his eye.

You reach the table, miraculously unscathed. You scowl down at Bruce, open your mouth, then shut it before proceeding to ruffle his hair violently. Bruce slaps your hand off but it just makes its way back to his hair. The slap fight continues and eventually, you seat yourself on to the arm of Bruce's chair. The ease of affection between the two of you is palpable. This... irritates Slade.

"What did I tell you?" You say, this time tugging on Bruce's hair with actual force. He winces but again slaps your handoff in an exercise of futility.

"This isn't an intervention."

Your face scrunches up, less glower and more pout. Crossing your arms, you look between the both of them before turning the full force of your ire on Bruce. The annoyance flaring is Slade's chest is smothered by this and he angles his head so Bruce can see the satisfaction on his face.

"Your kids are gonna hear how you almost got Harvey expelled from GA."

The declaration lands and for the second time that day, Bruce's face goes ashen. He opens his mouth to plea but thinks better of it and just resolves to keep you away from his kids for however long your anger lasts.

You continue to sit there and be mad at Bruce when your watch buzzes. Looking up, you groan then curse softly.

"Meeting," you offer briskly, planting a kiss on Bruce's forehead before getting to your feet.

"Lucius?"

You're tilting your head back to let another sour sound out but then settle for "God, I wish."

All seems to be normal until you brush past Slade. Without thinking, you reach down to kiss his nose then proceed to call your chauffeur.

Slade and Bruce stare at each other in stunned silence. That wasn't a calculated move. Both are well-trained enough to know that. As Bruce starts to emulate a man being swallowed up by the ground while Slade's face unfurls in the most unfailingly smug grin in the history of human faces.

[songtoyou]

Tempting Fate - Part One

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,272

Summary: Tommy is not a believer in fate or destiny. However, a new resident in Small Heath will question his beliefs and push his boundaries outside his comfort zone.

A/N: What can I say? Tommy Shelby is continuing to demand all of my attention. The man is needy. Here is my first Tommy x Reader fic. There is no Grace or Greta in this fic. They do not exist in the realm of this alternate universe. Please do not post any of my fics to other sites without my permission. 

Italics represent flashbacks.

Uncle Charlie used to say, “Fate brings natural order within the Universe. It cannot be changed, despite how hard we may try. We cannot ignore our life calling, Tommy.”

With Aunty Polly, she would tell her nephew, Thomas, “A person’s destiny can change through courage, compassion, and sheer willpower. You must have patience if you want to change your destiny. When one takes responsibility for their own life, they are choosing to shape their destiny actively. Never leave anything up to Fate, which provides no mental or emotional growth.”

Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders, CEO of Shelby Company Limited, could not fathom how you quickly infiltrated his life. You showed up one day out of the blue at The Garrison, asking Arthur for a job as a barmaid. Without so much as sitting you down for an interview, Arthur immediately gave you the job, much to Tommy’s dismay. He took one look at you and knew you were trouble.

“Arthur, it is important to conduct standard business practices, such as taking the time to interview potential new employees. What do you know about this new barmaid that you so happily hired?” Tommy grilled his older brother.

“Tommy, she is harmless, trust me. Plus, I did interview her before hiring.”

“Really, what did you ask her?” Tommy questioned, lighting a new cigarette.

“Which is better: Irish whiskey or Scotch whiskey? She answered correctly with Irish whiskey,” Arthur replied with a sheepish grin on his face. He felt that Tommy was being ridiculous and asked Tommy to give you a chance.

Standing up from the table, Tommy gulped down the last of his whiskey, and said pointing to John and Arthur, “Keep a close eye on her, the both of you.”

When Tommy left, John turned to Arthur and asked, “Why is he so spooked over a new barmaid?”

“Beats me.”

Later that night, Tommy returned to The Garrison; the usual rowdy patrons were all inside. He took his spot at his standard table in the back. Tommy lit up a cigarette and leaned his head back on the wall, eyes closed. A business deal he conducted earlier did not go as planned, which left him feeling more on edge.

“Can I get you anything to drink, Mr. Shelby?” a feminine voice spoke up.

Tommy did not need to open his eyes to know it was you, the new barmaid.

“Irish whiskey,” he ordered without so much as looking at you.

“Right away, sir.”

Tommy noticed you had a slight sing-song effect to your voice; it was not too unpleasant to his ears.

When you returned with his drink, Tommy opened his eyes to get a good look at you. There was nothing too extraordinary about you. Average height, average built. However, it was your eyes that were wild. You were not a person to be tamed, Tommy noted. The other aspect that stood out to him about you was your hair and how unruly it appeared. A set of braids ran along the right side of your head. Individual strands of hair were intricately braided with ribbons.

“You’re a gypsy,” Tommy remarked. “What’s your name?”

When you told him your first name, Tommy shook his head, “No, your last name. What clan are you from?”

There was no point in lying or running away now. “Young. From Cambridgeshire, sir. I should be getting back to the other patrons.”

“Take a seat,” instructed Tommy pulling out a seat with his boot. “And what are you doing up here in Small Heath?”

You took in a deep breath and answered, “I didn’t want to be where I was.” You motioned towards his pack of cigarettes and offered one to you. The first drag seemed to help calm your nerves, so you went on, “I wasn’t born a gypsy, you know. My parents found me when I was a baby, alone and abandoned along the river. They took me in and raised me as their own, along with my brothers and sisters. Never treated any different. It didn’t matter to them that I didn’t have the blood of a Young running through my veins; I was one of them. But I wanted to be on my own for a while. I need to figure some things out before I head back. Does any of this help put you at ease about me, Mr. Shelby?”

Tommy smirked, “I’m never at ease, darling. You better get back to work, it’s Friday, and the patrons can get a tad rowdy if they don’t get their pints promptly.”

With one last drag, you stubbed out your cigarette and left the table without much as a goodbye. Retreating behind the bar, you took over the drink pouring from Harry. You looked over at the man in the faraway booth from time-to-time. You saw how he made little to no effort to socialize with the other folks in the pub. The only time he did talk was when either Arthur or John stopped by his table to bring him a drink or partake in small chitchat.

While Tommy continued to chain smoke and drown his sorrows in whiskey, he sat back and watched you. He saw that you developed a friendly camaraderie with the customers and could keep them in line when things turned heated. You had no qualms with giving Arthur and John a hard time; both men appeared to relish in your attention. The more time Tommy watched you, the more he was able to see your attractiveness.

Nevertheless, he still pegged you as trouble. No one in their right mind would ever choose to come to Small Heath willingly. You were up to something, and Tommy was determined to find out why you were here.

Tommy would not comprehend when he’d eventually find out why you were in Small Heath because destiny brought you.

You were here to find your soulmate. One of the Elders in your clan told you that your destiny, the man you were to be with, was up north. The Elder, named Diana, described Small Heath, Birmingham, in her dream about you and the still unknown man.

“I don’t believe in destiny,” you told Diana.

“You should, child. It is what brought you to us. You are meant to be a Young. Everyone has a soulmate, a person they are destined to be with. Do you really want to miss out on finding him? He could be out there waiting for you?”

You merely scoffed, “Why do I have to find him? Why can’t he come and find me? Why do I have to put in all the work?”

Diana looked down at her tarot cards to reassess. “It is complicated, dear. Love is not as easy as one might hope. There is darkness one has to overcome to see the light.”

“None of that helps me. Can you give me anything on what this man looks like?”

With a smile, Diana let out a chuckle, “Child, you will know when you know. Just listen to your heart.”

You never believed in soulmates. You felt it was a term that was overused. A person can have a connection with different people that all have a purpose in their life. For you, it was how this person coming into your life would make it different? A soulmate is not someone who is a perfect fit. A soulmate is someone who can show the things that are holding you back from the goals you want to achieve. It is someone who can change your life, for better or worse. A soulmate is someone you cannot fool.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Harry Hook x La Bouff!Reader -oneshot - Different

=

Harry slammed his book shut and pushed it away from him, the book sliding to the edge of the table. He muttered to himself as he buried his face in his arms “fuck this, fuck school, fuck math, and fuck beasty boy for good measure” he growled, sitting up, grabbing his bag, and pushing back his chair. he stomped out of the library, ignoring the shushing librarian.

Back on the isle he never had to deal with this kind of shit, no cow-cu-les or whatever it was called, no algebra or devision. (math terms spelled wrong on purpose)

It was kill or be killed, steal or starve, math didn’t matter on the isle, only knowing how much you were owed did, and he never had to know that thanks to Uma calling the shots.

That was probably why he was comfortable as first mate, he was the scary one, the one who threatened and dished out punishments, not the one who counted how many rubies the Frollo’s owed them for protection.

He was failing all his math classes, failing English, failing chemistry, and he HAD to pass almost ALL his classes if he wanted to stay in Auradon.

It was known for all vks that if you failed most of your classes you would be expelled and sent back the isle.

Which was bullshit but Auradon was strict in its rules, he had even heard one of the Pan kids be threatened with expulsion for low grades.

But he wouldn’t be sent to the isle, he would be sent home…and the isle was Harry's home…so, it was the same in the eyes of Auradon.

Harry stomped out to the gardens and slumped down on a tree, next to one of the little lakes full of koi and turtles.  Harry sighed, rubbing his face, letting his bag slide off his shoulder and slump on the floor.

“fuuuuck school” he muttered, his head falling back against the trunk, letting the cool breeze flow around him, listening to the water as the koi jumped around.

He felt a stray tear of stress trail down his cheek.

“Are you okay suga?” a light southern drawl of a girl suddenly spoke in front of him, Harry snapped his eyes open, staring into the kind (e/c) eyes of a (short/tall) (skinny/muscular/thicccXD) girl that stood in front of him, her face dropped in concern for him. “I saw that little show you did hun, I know that feelin, school drawin you down?”

Harry huffed and grabbed his bag, standing and glaring at the honey-voiced girl “none of yeh business lassie, mind yers” he pushed past her and towards the dorms, done dealing with people other than Uma or Gil for the day.

He felt kinda bad because the girl seemed to be showing genuine concern (like most Auradon kids, annoyingly kind) but his stress about school was his to deal with, he didn’t need some over concerned Auradon brat in his business.

=

Harry muttered to himself as he scribbled in his notebook, glaring down at his English book. He had an essay due in the next three days and he understood nothing about the subject.

He growled and chucked the book away from him, the heavy book sliding against the soft grass and stopping under a heeled boot. He burled his head in his arms and went still, teeth-gritting and his mind attacking him.

“hun, are you sure you don’t want help?” the honey-dipped voice asked again, closer this time, and just across from him instead of above. Harry looked up, eyes once more locking with the kind-eyed girl.

Harry glared at her, going to grab his book but jumped as her eyes narrowed and shook his book in his face “hun, I know the consequences if ya fail ya classes! None of yall deserve to go back to the isle over some failed classes, please let me help, you won't owe me anything over it, I promise” Harry sighed, looking at the now outstretched hand of the girl, he grabbed it, yelping as she strong armed him into a standing position.

“shit lass how strong are yeh!?” Harry muttered, staring wide-eyed at the girl, she laughed and grabbed his notebook and bag, shoving them into his arms and tugging him towards study hall.

“quite~ I work with my aunty at her restaurant~” Harry hummed and pulled his jacket out of her grip, fixing his grip on his bag and slugging it over his shoulder.

“alrighty then” he muttered, opening the door for the girl and letting her step into the hall first before following in after her.

=

(y/n) La Bouff, was the girl's name, and she had been….a much better tutor than he thought she was going to be, his Fs and Ds had turned to Cs and Bs and was no longer threatened with expulsion.

Which resulted in Uma hunting down (y/n) and inviting her to sit with them for lunch, as thanks for helping her first mate not be kicked out of school.

And like the sweet thing she was, (y/n) happily agreed….and now three months later was still sitting with them every meal and had been gifted an anchor necklace as her welcome to the crew.

At the moment he and (y/n) were strolling down the hall, making their way to their next class. Galvin suddenly slammed into (y/n)s shoulder, making her wince, Harry turned, glaring at the shorter teen and growling. (y/n) placed her hand on his arm and shook her head “ignore him” she whispered, forcing him to walk.

“Why did he-“ Harry was about to ask why he shoulder checked her before Galvin turned and chucked a balled piece of paper at (y/n)s head. “hey ‘La Bouff’” he taunted, giving a nasty grin “still faking your status? Have you told your pirate friends that your not even really Charlotte’s kid?” harry raised his brow….this-This is what he was bullying (y/n) over for? That she was adopted? Wow, Auradon kids really had nothing better to do, did they?

“oh fuck off Gavin, at least my ma wanted me, yours is stuck with you~” (y/n) smirked, kissing her middle finger and blowing it at him, harry snorted and leaned over, coughing on his spit.

Gavin turned red, sputtering over his words, trying to find another insult “well-well, um-you’re just using the pirates to gain popularity!”

(y/n) pursed her lips, placing her hand on her chest “oh bless ya heart suga, I think you got me confused with your shallow self~ now why don’t you run back to ya little friends and go pretend to be better than me somewhere else where I don’t have to look at you~” Gavin turned scarlet, turning and running off, cursing under his breath.

Harry snickered, rolling his eyes at the cowardly boy and tossing his arm over (y/n) shoulder protectively, daring any more bullies to try to rouse a fight with (y/n).

“yer mighty impressive lassy” harry hummed, looking at the grinning girl, who giggled and bowed her head.

“thank you kindly harry~ I do take pride in takin them down a peg or two~” she laughed, wrapping her arm around his torso, pulling herself flush against his side.

Some Auradon kids raised their brow at the odd pair, adopted granddaughter of high-class wealth and the most powerful man in New Orleans, and the son of a pirate.

Their eyes drifted to Harry's new necklace, the shining gold hook swinging side to side as he walked, then to your simple silver anchor necklace, polished but obviously not expensive.

But the two of you didn’t seem to care, glad to have each other's friendship. That would probably turn to something more one day.

Which Uma did bet $50 on you making the first move so it better turn to something more one day or Uma would be out $50 bucks.

-end-

permtaglilst

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @amorathegamingkitsune

@random-thoughts-003 @rintheemolion

[smiting-finger]

Bin AU Headcanons

Part II of the (〃ω〃) 500 followers! unwritten-headcanon amnesty (some given in response to AO3 comment questions, and others given unsolicited, lol), this time for Out of the Bin and Into Your Heart and from me to you, my heart to yours

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian

Pre-Wei Wuxian’s first arrest, Lan Wangji was quietly volunteering as general legal aid (helping old migrants with their internet/other service contracts, helping women with their domestic violence paperwork), and then Wei Wuxian gets arrested at a protest and Lan Wangji is not there and he doesn’t know this area of law so he signs up to get involved with Activist Legal Support the next day.

Relatedly: Lan Wangji’s approach to helping Wei Wuxian has always been to turn up, do what needs to be done for Wei Wuxian to achieve his goals and then silently leave again. So when the two goobers eventually move in together (and are finally fully in each other’s space, and fully across each other’s movements), Wei Wuxian goes through a period of constant realisations like “Oh, Lan Zhan, you’re the one who’s been doing this? This as well?! THAT, TOO???”

Pre-fake dating, Lan Wangji knows that Wei Wuxian won’t keep any gifts given by secret admirers, but will shamelessly accept anything that Lan Wangji gives him outright as a friend (”friend”). He derives a petty satisfaction from that, and so has responded more than once to a gift-incident by giving Wei Wuxian a corresponding gift of his own:

So if he heard about the gift socks, he’d go out and get Wei Wuxian a pair of novelty There’s No Planet B! socks, which Wei Wuxian would naturally wear both immediately and proudly with his shortest pair of 4/5ths pants. (And Lan Wangji would stand next to him and somehow radiate smugness without making any change to his expression.)

Needless to say, Wei Wuxian has received a lot of Lan Wangji chocolate (chilli, fairtrade), lunches (homemade, nutritious) and other small items.

Wei Wuxian never even considers the possibility of not putting all his fake-dating eggs into the Lan Zhan basket. And also never stops to think about why that iss.

In re kungfu practice: when sparring against normal people, Lan Wangji does annoyed-leg-sweeps because of “I’ll bring you down every peg to the floor” reasons he’s too well-bred to voice. 

Past recipients of this treatment have included:

Wen Chao, 

Xue Yang at his most obnoxious

Jin Zixuan when gossip about his comments in re Jiang Yanli not being pretty or successful enough to date him (”I can’t believe my mum set me up with someone so mediocre”) is at its height.

This is pre-Wei Wuxian onstage-punch. That comes during the second round of gossip.

With Wei Wuxian (and only Wei Wuxian), however, it’s always leg sweeps and pinning, which is because of ... “irritation”.

The Phoenix Mountain Reserve photo has been Lan Wangji’s favourite shot of Wei Wuxian since it was made publicly available, but he couldn’t use it as a wallpaper for obvious reasons.

Then he agrees to the fake-dating, sees how far Wei Wuxian was going to take it and realised: chansu!

At some point during the fake-dating, Wei Wuxian escalates from the phone entry of Oppa to calling Lan Wangji “Oppa~!” in real life, and then from there to a full “Oppa! Saranghaeyo~!” with the arms-on-head love heart. 

After n iterations of this, Lan Zhan responds with a mirror arms-on-head love heart and a deadpan “Saranghaeyo.” with his face still like (• _ •) and it’s an instant, supereffective K.O. for Wei Wuxian.

Every so often, when another one of his romantic overtures has soared right over Wei Wuxian’s head, Lan Wangji considers Jin Zixuan’s over-the-top demonstrations of affection and thinks (bleakly) “...Jin Zixuan got a singing telegram. Must I also resort to a singing telegram? ; _ ; “

In re: the concert hip-hop number, shirtlessness is the goal all along:

A-Qing (who is also a troublemaker on Lan Qiren’s radar - as soon as he receives the form that says that she and Wei Wuxian will be working together, his spidey senses start tingling) has been constantly referencing it throughout all their practices like: 

“Well, because you’ll be shirtless, you’ll have to make sure to-”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea, totally do that, but remember that you’ll be shirtless too, so-”

Even Song Zichen and Xue Yang know about it and have been visibly bracing themselves for the dress (or undress, lul) rehearsal

Wei Wuxian has missed all of this because of his amazing tunnel vision.

Speaking of Song Zichen and Xue Yang, while they’re having their Moments:

Xiao Xingchen is swanning around like “But do you think the performance had artistic integrity? A-Qing, I’m a little worried that the choreography didn’t do full justice to the abilities of all our members! I hope they don’t think I’m hogging the limelight!”, taunting them with his half-nakedness while he earnestly tries to make sure that all the other dancers are comfortable and happy with the final arrangement

A-Qing fully notices the heart-eye beams shooting over from the wings (and fully notices the same heart-eye beams shooting over during various practices), briefly thinks about saying something to put the two losers out of their misery (because Xiao Xingchen is not the special level of oblivious that Wei Wuxian is), but then thinks ... nah.

During practice back-painting, Wei Wuxian is so focused on Not Looking that his mistimes his ~sexy stretch~ and gets it in precisely when Lan Wangji has turned his back to get the towel, so it really is all for nothing, RIP.

In the reprise back-painting session (and there definitely is one, what with Lan Wangji’s love for marking and the fact that Chinese calligraphers usually sign their name on their work), the levels of both shamelessness and trolling shoot through the roof on both sides:

Wei Wuxian suddenly feels the need to do a lot more whimpering and moaning, and his flinches of “surprise” and wriggling to “get comfortable” suddenly happen a lot more in the hip area than they did before.

Lan Wangji does a lot more touching of the skin he’s about to paint to “warn” Wei Wuxian that the brush is coming (do warnings have to be quite so ... lingering? Only Lan Wangji knows), discovers a sudden need for wrist-pinning to “hold Wei Wuxian still while he works” and his blowing on ink to get it dry suddenly gets a lot more ... sensual ...

Lan Wangji is the teacher that all his babies are always proposing to. They lOvE him with every inch of their tiny baby hearts, and after they get together, Wei Wuxian watches on with a knowing nod, like “My fam, I getcha. Gege will support you in expressing your feelings and we can ALL win!”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know it, but he has a group of grannies and grandpas wringing their hands over his happiness, too: It’s all well and good that he’s seeing the Lan boy now, but when are they gonna get married, huh? HUH?! WHAT’S THE POINT OF SAVING THE PLANET IF YOU’RE NOT GONNA FILL IT WITH BABIES, WEI WUXIAN???

So once they officially start dating, Wei Wuxian steps into the Cultural Centre like “Ah, our fresh new romance! Even after all this time of fake-dating, I’d better give people some transition time to get used to this new state of affairs!”

And in the background, 73 aunties and grannies are thinking “Look how behind schedule you are, Wei Wuxian!” (because it’s definitely his fault, and not Lan Wangji’s). “Where are the babies? WHERE ARE THE BABIES??”

The wedding advice Wei Wuxian got from the grannies during Mianmian’s wedding prep is liberally flavoured with real life anecdotes like:

“Don’t be like XX’s son. He made the mistake of trying to skimp on the dowry - so disrespectful to people who’ve poured so much love and energy into raising a daughter - and it poisoned the entire relationship.”

“That venue is no good - YY’s daughter had her reception there, and we all had diarrhoea after eating the prawns.”

(And Wei Wuxian is like: “How can you retain all of this bullshit detail about every wedding the Cultural Society has ever witnessed, but still not know how to say the phrase ‘Excuse me, what time is the bus coming’ in English?!”)

Mianmian definitely also gets strong-armed by her excited mother into some glorious(ly terrible) Chinese-style studio wedding photos (with industrial-strength airbrushing and wedding costume changes that span many cultures and many Chinese time periods).

Mianmian swears to never let Wei Wuxian get his grubby hands on that album, on pain of death.

But then her parents host something, and Wei Wuxian goes, and right there, hanging in their living room, is a floor-to-ceiling calendar, featuring Mianmian and Mian-man dressed as Chinese emperor and empress (because Mianmian certainly didn’t want it in her house, but it came with the package.)

Wei Wuxian makes a noise that Mianmian previously thought only dolphins could produce, and proceeds to take SO MANY photos with his phone.

At some point after Mianmian’s wedding, Lan Wangji comes out of the shower to find:

1 pair of pyjama bottoms waiting for him on the bed; and

Wei Wuxian in the corresponding top (which doesn’t cover his butt after all, but whatever, he’s committed), shooting him a double-thumbs up and wearing an expression like 8D!

(And Lan Wangji decides it’s not worth fighting and just goes with it.)

Lan Qiren

Lan Qiren is totally the kind of parent who never boasts about his children directly, but will listen politely to you telling him about how your son scored 86 in his maths examination, and wait for you to obligation-ask about his kids before casually saying, “Oh, Wangji? He scored full marks” and smiling thinly.

He’ll add “Sounds like your son worked really hard” for extra fuck you value if you were being particularly obnoxious.

The greatest tragedy in his parenting life is realising that if your children are The Best, it’s only possible for them to marry down.

His initial feelings regarding Wei Wuxian dating his nephew can probably be summed up as: “Wei Wuxian, I did not lovingly raise my precious Lan Wangji just to give him to you!!!” 

(The problem is that his nephew (inexplicably) likes Wei Wuxian so much, mumblegrumble.)

For weeks after The Resentment of Lan Qiren, every time Lan Qiren sees Wen Ning, he shakes his head sadly to himself and mutters “What a shame, what a shame.”

When Wen Ning responds with a slightly panicked “?!”, Lan Qiren just pats him on the shoulder, like, “No, no, it’s not you. We can’t choose our relatives. And isn’t that the greatest shame in the world?” - and then DOESN’T EXPLAIN ANYTHING.

And after many bouts of thinking and rethinking still lead him to the conclusion that Wei Wuxian is the best choice in comparison to all the other available options, Lan Qiren may or may not visit Cangse Sanren’s grave to burn some incense for an excuse to stand there and offer a sullen, “You fukken got me again, you bastard. I can’t believe you.”

He doesn’t know who he hates more:

Wei Wuxian for being himself and yet still the best choice

Cangse Sanren for not letting being dead stop her from continuing to be a thorn in Lan Qiren’s side

Wen Ruohan for being undesirable enough to disqualify the only valid competitor

The other parents for failing to produce children who are better than Wei Wuxian 

(Like: Surely it can’t be that hard if he (+ his brother + his sister-in law) managed to produce two)

So he settles for hating everyone.

For his next birthday, Lan Xichen sends him a box of blood-pressure-lowering supplements.

Lan Qiren is like “!!!” but he still takes them because just because his nephew is being impudent does not mean there is not also a Need.

In re 3zun:

Lan Qiren goes around determinedly Not Thinking about Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao. Every time his eyes approach something he doesn’t want to see, he just turns his head like NOPE.

He eventually realises that he and Wei Wuxian have this in common and that Wei Wuxian is therefore his most valuable ally - both in terms of having someone to pivot to and have very loud, very enthusiastic conversations about anything else whenever the 3zun do something they don’t want to see, and also having someone to commiserate with about Not Wanting to Know. (But because they’re them, they alternate between teaming up for self-preservation and using their mutual weakness to take petty jabs at each other.)

"-If two of them are dating, then where does that leave the third one?!"

"RIGHT? Imagine finding out that they were silently pining away, forced to third-wheel for their unrequited love and best friend - unrequited LOVES AND BEST FRIENDS? What would you say to that?!"

"That's not even considering which one the third wheel would be - I honestly don't know which option would be the worst, they're all terrible."

"I'm almost ready to say that I'd rather they all be dating each other, except then I'd have to think about how that would work, dynamic-wise, like - who calls the shots? Do you think Nie Mingjue is domineering all the time, or do you think it’s a public front, and he then goes home to be dominated by-"

“STOP.”

Even before 3zun get together (both Lan Qiren and Wei Wuxian have chosen to Never Know when this is), Jin Guangyao is throwing out suggestive comments left and right and then immediately whipping out his (◔◡◔✿) face for anyone’s double-take:

50% to test the waters of public sentiment before he makes a move and it actually becomes his problem

50% because he’s a troll who likes dominance displays

Knowing this factoid, one of Wei Wuxian’s mental 3zun Dynamics possibilities features Superdom!Jin Guangyao, but he does his best to avoid thinking about that.

After Lan Qiren mentally accepts Wei Wuxian into the fold:

He still internally responds to at least 50% of the things that Wei Wuxian does with “Why, that little shit”, but it’s also implied that Wei Wuxian is their little shit now.

And for Lan Family! Qiren, this means: If you shit on him, WE shit on you.

“Shufu” 

Lan Qiren definitely Notices when Wei Wuxian calls him that, but it Doesn’t Do to make a fuss.

He probably has a conversation with Lan Xichen sometime around the first family dinner that goes:

LQR: You've noticed that he's still calling me 'Uncle Qiren' like we're nothing to each other.

LXC: ...If you want him to call you Shufu, should you perhaps not mention that to him?

LQR: What? No, he should already know these things!

And then after the wedding:

LQR: Your brother's boyfriend is finally acting like one of the family. LXC: Haha, oh my.

Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan

Although their mothers have been friends for ages, Jin Zixuan grows up in a different city, so they don't see each other growing up. The Jins later move for Jin Zixuan's high-flying corporate job, Madam Jin joins the Culture Society at her friend's behest and immediately falls in love with Jiang Yanli as a daughter-in-law. 

After a lot of cajoling (in both directions), she gets them to agree to one date, which is a disaster (I have more headcanons about this but they won't fit in here) 

Jin Zixuan has a lot of money and zero sense of proportion, which does not generally result in tasteful things. (Where Jiang Yanli is concerned, his desire to keep up a "cool" image is completely overpowered by his desire to please, so that doesn't help either. Like a golden retriever who wants people to think he's a cat.) 

After they get married, Wei Wuxian sometimes thinks about the peacock's peacocking rituals, like: "It's good that he's gotten more reasonable now that they're married - no, wait, what if he hasn't gotten more reasonable, but there's just no one around to see it because they're married?!" and never gets brave enough to ask his sister about it. 

After Jin Ling's birth, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng (and maybe even Jin Zixuan) get locked in an ongoing battle for Jin Ling's affections. Jiang Yanli is the clear favourite, as she should be, but they all want to be #2, and their constant jostling is how he ends up with no chill despite being raised by one calm mum and one aloof (but secretly disaster) dad

But because Jiang Yanli is around, he's very polite about it: the kind of kid who barrels in screaming blue murder, skids to a halt and says "Auntie", and then tears out screaming blue murder again

Wei Wuxian tones it down a lot after he and Lan Wangji adopt A-Yuan because he’s got better things to do, but it’s still A Thing (during visits, A-Yuan spends a lot of time in Auntie Yanli’s lap being gently fed things while his dad and shushu yell at each other over the top of his cousin’s head)

Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli

Initially brought together by their brothers, they now meet up for regular, peaceful, wholesome tea-dates where they discuss the lives of their mutuals and gently exchange advice (and strategies on how to keep their angry-angry parent/proxy-parent's blood pressure down.

Whereas Jiang Cheng gets closer to coughing up blood with every year that passes by without Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji getting their shit together, Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli take the more optimistic view of "Look at how well-prepared we are, we've just run another year ahead of schedule!"

Dinner Crew

Jiang Cheng has been the unwilling audience to years of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s bullshit. 

If asked, he would say: “And you wonder why I’m so angry?! What do you mean ‘dating’, you’ve been fucking married for the last five years!” but no one ever does :’D

Every so often, he thinks about how happy their sister is about the dating situation because she doesn’t know that it’s fake, and he grinds his teeth because why can’t he also not-know!?

To this, Nie Huaisang says, “If we didn’t know we couldn’t help!”

And Jiang Cheng replies, “WE’RE NOT HELPING ANYWAY, LOOK AT HIM!!!”

Meanwhile, Jiang Yanli continues to gush about how happy she is for Wei Wuxian and all Jiang Cheng can do is laugh really unnaturally because he has to “Be strong, Jiang Cheng! Be strong for A-jie! ╥﹏╥”

He goes to read the comments on the Society Facebook after the fujoshi conversation, and gets so angry at all these people who are like “Ah, their love is so beautiful!” that he has to uninstall his Facebook app, and go and shout into a cupboard somewhere.

The non-Wei-Wuxian members of the dinner group have set up a separate chat to act as a support group, where they all go to:

Wail and gnash their teeth after Wei Wuxian does something particularly dumb

Scheme ways into getting Wei Wuxian to get a clue

Console one another when someone’s brave attempt at getting Wei Wuxian to face the truth fails miserably (because while they play by the rules of ‘what a normal human would do’, Wei Wuxian lives by the principle of ‘lol norms are for losers’.)

Relatedly: for every resigned Nie Huaisang face or enraged Jiang Cheng face that Wei Wuxian notices, there are at least three desperate-yet-silent exchanges that he doesn’t. 

Wen Ning is always really optimistic about it, nodding encouragingly like “He’s gonna get it - he’s gonna get it! - oh no, he’s not gonna get it. Oh. Oh no. Ó╭╮Ò”

Wen Ning always has at least one small child hanging off him at all times when he’s at the Cultural Centre because they know he can always be bullied into playing with them and they think he’s great.

Past bullshit dinner group projects have included Getting Jiang Cheng a Date and Making a Picture out of Jin Guangyao’s Forehead Dot While He’s Sleeping

(In re the forehead dot, they end up settling for making it bigger every time he nods off during a movie night at Nie Huaisang’s house, and Nie Mingjue comes home to what’s basically a Japanese flag on Jin Guangyao’s forehead and is like ಠ_ಠ)

Future dinner group projects include providing Wei Wuxian with support for Grand Plans like Getting Along with Uncle Qiren and providing Jiang Cheng with unwanted support for things like Workshopping Jiang Cheng’s List of Partner Requirements

A-Yuan

After A-Yuan’s adoption, Wei Wuxian and Lan Qiren redouble their efforts in Can we divorce an in-law?! because although they couldn’t save themselves from being related to Jin Guangyao, for their PRECIOUS BOY--

Therefore, when A-Yuan is five or six and starts to sound out how he’s related to people and why:

A-Yuan: So if Jin-yeye is Uncle Guangyao’s dad, then that makes him my-

Wei Wuxian: NOTHING!

Lan Qiren (springing up from the other side of the room): NOTHING!

Lan Xichen: lol

At around about this same time, Wei Wuxian, who is never gonna stop trolling Lan Qiren about ruzhui until the day he dies, runs A-Yuan through the “You see, my son, my family is not so well-to-do, and since your Uncle married into the Nie family-” talk, and then proceeds to reference it at every opportunity:

1: Despite A-Yuan almost certainly not asking, and

2: despite (/especially because of) Lan Qiren shouting “DON’T TEACH HIM WEIRD THINGS!” in the background.

(Lan Wangji probably lets it happen or encourages it because he thinks it’s funny)

[carmichealroyals]

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, DAVEN COUNTRYSIDE, 10:01PM

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

Dorothea: You showed up.

Natalie: Thea--

Dorothea: Honestly, I didn’t think you would. This is a nice surprise. 

Natalie: Well… when it was such an enticing invitation, how could I refuse? 

Dorothea: Yeah…

Natalie: So… you’re back in town for the summer?

Dorothea: Yeah. Monaca has been really nice.

Natalie: I haven’t had the chance to go yet, but I’m sure it is.

Dorothea: You’ve got the means. You should come visit sometime. 

Natalie: Listen, Thea, I--

Dorothea: What about you? You’re going to UBrite, right? 

Natalie: Yeah. 

Dorothea: What are you doing there? English Literature, right?

Natalie: With a Sociology minor. 

Dorothea: Sounds fun. You were always one to have your nose in a book.

Natalie: … did you really invite me here to… what, talk about school? Catch up like nothing happened between us? 

Dorothea: I think that the message I left would have made it obvious what I wanted to talk to you about.

Natalie: It did. Thea, I… it was so good to hear your voice again. I listened to that message five times over before deciding to even come here tonight, and then a few more times after I decided -- how could I not come? You, apologizing? That was something I had to see happen.

Dorothea: I meant every word I said, Nat.

Natalie: ...about… about your feelings, too?

Dorothea: Especially that.

Natalie: …

Dorothea: Well?

Natalie: You have to realize the position I’m in.

Dorothea: Here we go again.

Natalie: Thea, my uncle is the King. I’m expected to play a certain part in all of this -- smile and wave, take on engagements with the rest of my aunts and uncles and cousins when I finish school, be this perfect Princess that I’m expected to be--

Dorothea: And there’s no room for me in that life. I remember what you said. God, how could I be so stupid?! I thought that…. I thought that if I came back and tried to talk to you again that we would be able to fix what had gone wrong, that we could… that we could be together. Properly, not have to sneak around anymore. But you haven’t changed your mind, clearly, so why even bother--

Natalie: Thea, wait, please! It was stupid of me to think there wasn’t a place for you before. I agree with you. And… there is a place for you in my life. I wasn’t sure how I felt about you now, but… but I do still love you, too. Against all odds.

Dorothea: Then come clean. Tell your family.

Natalie: It’s not that simple.

Dorothea: It isn’t simple for anyone, that doesn’t make it impossible. 

Natalie: I’m still in the succession line--

Dorothea: But every time one of your older cousins has a kid, that knocks you down a peg. You live in a fancy house, you wear fancy clothes, you have status, but none of that matters if you can’t be yourself around them.

Natalie: I want to be with you, Thea, please, but you have to listen to me. I think I have a plan. 

Dorothea: Does it involve you coming out?

Natalie: … in a way. Please, just listen to me, okay? 

Natalie: I’m not ready to tell them. I’m not. I know that I’m bisexual, I know it in my heart, in every fiber of my being, but nobody knows. Not even my brothers. And nobody can know, not yet. I don’t know how my family is going to react, especially my Uncle. He got so mad when Auntie Diana started dating Uncle Nico and that was just his sister. If he found out I was gay… He has the power to kick me out. Fully. Not even Dad could stop him. This is uncharted territory, you have to understand that. 

Natalie: So… I have to date someone. A boy, specifically. People are going to get suspicious, especially since my brother has a girlfriend now--

Dorothea: I fail to see where I factor into this, Nat.

Natalie: I’m going to date him publicly. Be seen around town with him, go to state occasions with him, that stuff. But Mom and Dad have told me I could move to Hareshire Cottage if I wanted. I’d be by myself. We could be by ourselves there, while you’re here for the summer and whenever you decide to come home. That can be our place, for us, where we can be together.

Dorothea: We’ll still be hiding.

Natalie: Just until I’m ready to tell them. And then we can be mobbed by the press all you want. I love you, Thea, but I don’t want you dragged into this mess with me.

Dorothea: And if he genuinely falls in love with you? If he wants to marry you?

Natalie: Marriage is not on my mind right now. I want to finish school first. But... if it does go for too long, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Dorothea: You’re sure this will work?

Natalie: No. It could go wrong at any turn. But it’s the only way we would get to be together, and I don’t want to go another day without you next to me.That much I’m sure of. 

Dorothea: ...then I’m in. Let’s do it. 

Natalie: I love you, Dorothea Driscoll. 

Dorothea: You’d better if you’re going through all this trouble, Natalie Carmicheal.

[writemarvelousthings]

Operation Babysitters

Name of piece: Operation Babysitters

Square filled: Bed-sharing

Rating: (General) 

Warnings: A lot of fluff and slight pining. 

Summary: You’ve been asked to babysit Steve and Peggy's daughter with Bucky, how will you cope with your feelings for Bucky when you have to look after a mischievous three-year-old with a stubborn streak? 

Created for: @buckybarnesbingo

A/N: Listen I LOVE the bed-sharing troupe but I wanted to put my own spin on this. Slightly AU as this is set after CATFA and everyone survived and lived on happily. I love 40s!Bucky and I’ve wanted to write something for him for the longest time! I hope you all enjoy! Big, big thank you to @bucky-plums-barnes for helping me brainstorm this idea!! 

Gif not mine made by the amazing Gen! Thank you, darling!

You smiled at the tiny blonde head of curls running around her ‘uncles’ feet.

“Sarah honey you gotta slow down, Uncle Bucky isn’t as young as he used to be” under normal circumstances Bucky would have told Steve exactly where to go. But with ‘delicate’ ears around Bucky's response was more guarded. A warning stare and a soft grunt as the tiny toddler slammed into his legs.

“Darling please be careful” in all the years you had known Peggy she still managed to look glamorous. Even caked in mud on the front line in France not even her lipstick smudged. Feeling a wave of self-consciousness you wiped your sweaty palms down the front of your navy slacks, the peach blouse was new and probably not the most ideal item to wear chasing a three-year-old around for the next few hours.

“Ah come on Peg, we'll be fine” you grin at the brunette who gives you a questionable look.

“Yeah, we’ve taken down secret Hydra bases with Captain America we got this” Bucky slapped his right hand on Steve’s shoulder. The action drew your attention to the lack of limb on his left, you had all pleaded with him to talk to Stark. Amazing advances have been made since his fall,  but his answer was always the same.

“But it would clash with my rugged good looks. Plus I could still take your punk ass with one arm any day of the week Stevie”

Every time his response would ignite the same reaction inside you.

“You’re perfect to me, I don’t care if you had three arms or no arms. I love you regardless”

Steve rolls his eyes, shoving Bucky’s arm off his shoulder, a small scuffle ensues as you scoop Sarah up in your arms. Brushing her blonde curls away from her big brown eyes you still marvel at how much she was a perfect blend of her parents.

“You be good for your Aunt and Uncle my darling” Sarah giggled as her Mother pressed her red lips to her pudgy cheeks. Not a trace of lipstick transfer insight, Steve presses two kisses to his daughter's nose and cheek.

“Behave Pumpkin, I want a good report when we get back okay?” Sarah grinned give a tiny mock salute that melts your heart.

“Bye Mama, bye Pa” you hitch Sarah higher on your hip, waving as Steve pulls out of the driveway and peels out into the slowly setting sun.

“Now how do you girls feel about spaghetti for dinner?” You give Bucky a grin as Sarah squeals at the prospect wiggling out of your arms and padding towards the kitchen.

“Spaghetti?” You arch a brow at him, closing the door with a soft thud following the never-ending energy that was Sarah Rogers.

“What? It’s the only thing I can cook. Plus I know you’re good with your hands 24” your stomach flips, pausing in the hallway.

“(Y/N)?” Bucky’s voice is soft, the lamp lighting bathing him in a warm glow. Hair free of gel, falling in soft curls around his forehead.

“Sorry, it’s just... no one has called me that in a long time” Agent 24 was your code name during the War, once the SSR disbanded there was no need to keep it during your new role at Shield. Taking the title Special Agent or simply Blackbird. The name Agent 24 brought back a flood of memories, not all of them good. The day Bucky was found half-frozen caked in blood springing to the forefront of your mind.

“Hey it’s okay, I get it” the warm hand on your hip brought you back to present day so fast it almost gave you whiplash. Your lips form a tight smile as you gently pat your hand on top of Bucky’s, he squeezes his fingers into the fabric of your trousers and for a moment. Just a moment, you allow yourself to fall deeper into the security of his sky blue eyes.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you..” your eyes fell to Bucky’s lips, the pink tip of his tongue poking out for a brief moment as he swallowed thickly.

“Auntie (Y/N) I can’t find my colours” the high trill of Sarah’s voice snapped you both out of the warm fog clouding your minds.

“Coming sweetie” giving Bucky once last smile you reluctantly come to the three-year-olds rescue plucking her box of crayons off the bookshelf.

                                                          ~~~

For the rest of the night, you couldn’t help your mind wander back to the moment you shared with Bucky in the hallway, brushing Sarah’s hair back gently you smiled watching the young girl face the battle all children face every day. Trying to stay awake. You nudge Bucky slightly making him tear his eyes away from his place of The Princess and the Pea. Sarah Rogers had a stubborn streak to her (Bucky swears it’s because she’s a Rogers and Rogers have universally known thick skulls)

“Peanut I think it’s time for bed” Bucky gently snapped the book closed with his hand. Gently passing it across to you to place on her bedside table. The small bed was a squeeze normally with you and Sarah on it. Adding Bucky’s broad frame it was almost ridiculous. Both you and Bucky had a leg placed on the ground to anchor yourselves.

“One more.. pwless Unkle Buck”

“Your Pa will have my other arm if he finds your still awake when they get home” you chuckle as Sarah turns her big brown eyes up to her Uncle.

“Will you stay wif me?” You slowly start to detangle yourself from the two of them. The wireless calling your name as you knew Sarah favoured Bucky staying with her while she fell asleep.

“Both of you” the sound of the tiny pleading voice rooted you to the spot, throwing a slightly panicked look to Bucky who shrugged helplessly.

“Of course honey” it took a few tries but both you and Bucky found yourself looking face into each other. The small body wedged firmly against you. Sarah’s face presses up against Bucky’s chest and suddenly you felt very jealous of the three-year-old.

“Would you have guessed during those years in Europe we’d end up here?” You almost didn’t catch Bucky’s soft low voice, finding yourself too lost in his eyes.

“What, all of us safe and alive living the lives we deserve?” You chuckle, shifting slightly to lay your head on the pillow.

“Yeah, kinda scary if you think about it” you smile knowingly, glancing down watching Sarah’s breathing evening out.

“So what did you..”

“Before when I said..” biting your lip you watch as a slight flush crosses Bucky’s cheek.

“James Buchanan Barnes, are you blushing?”

“Don’t tell anyone, I got a reputation to maintain”

“Your secret is safe with me” something in Bucky’s eyes changes, a softness you’d only seen reserved for Sarah. It makes your throat dry up and your palms sweat, subconsciously you wipe a hand against your pants. The moment goes unnoticed by Bucky who gently takes your hand in his, your fingers naturally lacing together.

“I wanted to ask you something, but the moment never felt right. Watching you take on those five Hydra guards, I just knew you were something else. A woman that could hold her own but had this other side to her, the side you show Sarah” you could feel your throat constricting as you squeeze Bucky’s hand.

“Oh James..”

“Just let me get this out darlin, cause if I don’t I never will. I know we’ve known each other for a long time. You’ve.. you’ve been there for me through my worst and I just.. I’d really like to take you out one and maybe I can call you my girl one day…” you try and open your mouth but you realise Bucky is on a roll.

“And if you don’t want that. If you want to call me a stupid one arm idiot you can because I’d rather be your friend than loose.... Ommpf” Bucky’s rant was cut short but the press of your lips to his, eyes comically widen before slowly closing leaning into you slightly. You could feel your heart explode in pure joy, years of longing and yearning for the man you were completely and utterly head over heels for had finally come to a beautiful crescendo.

“Mmm,” the soft high pitched hum was like a bucket of cold ice being poured over you as Sarah shifted in her sleep. Quickly you both pulled away, horrified at the thought of Sarah waking up.

“Let’s not tell Steve about that one” You presses your face in the pillow, muffling your laughter as Bucky chuckled softly. Once you had calmed your heart down to a normal beating rhythm you turn to look at Bucky, his warm smile greeting you.

“I’d love to be your girl one day Bucky” the warm smile turned blinding.

“I’d really like that Darlin”

                                                           ~~~

“I’m sorry Steve but I’m the Director I can’t not talk to him”

“But he’s infuriating Peg, I’ve seen filing cabinets with more charisma!”

“You’re always so dramatic” Peggy can’t help shaking her head at her husband.

“Yeah but you married me didn’t you,” the brown eyebrow arching says all Steve needs to know as he wraps an arm around his wife’s waist.

“A decision I still debate was a good one or not”

“Careful Mrs Rogers” Peggy pushes Steve in the middle of his chest, still mindful of there house guests. Not wanting them to walk into their compromises position.

“Where are Bucky and (Y/N)?” the quiet of the house alerting the two of them.

“They’ll be around, I’ll check on Sarah” Steve leans down, capturing Peggy in a kiss laced with a promise of later. Silently opening his daughter's bedroom door Steve shakes his head affectionately, there on his daughter's bed, with no sign of said daughter he noticed. Was his best friend and the woman he had been pining for since ‘43. Bucky’s right arm thrown over (Y/N)’s waist, his face pressed against the back of her neck as the sleep soundly.

“Steve” Peggy’s voice draws Steve’s attention to their shared room, moving across the hall Steve smirks as his daughter curls up against his pillow. Waving Peggy’s confused expression as she investigates Sarah’s room Steve gently rouses his sleeping daughter, his heart-melting as those big brown eyes blink up at him.

“Hey Pumpkin, I take it the mission went well?” Sarah nods, scooting onto Steve’s lap pressing her face into his chest.

“Mmhm, did just what you said Pa”

“Do you mean to tell me you used our daughter as a pawn in getting our friends together?” Steve at least had the decency to look sheepishly towards his wife.

“Some people need a little push Mommy” Peggy gave a fake sign of annoyance. Her daughter was more like her father every day.

“Guess we’re all sharing the bed tonight then” Steve pouted slightly as Sarah gave a small cry of joy, making herself comfortable in the middle of the large bed.

“Don’t look so offended Captain, consider this your punishment for meddling”

[jackiejacks923]

A Story to Tell the Kids

Prompt: “It’s the wrong color.” - @challengingwords​

Pairing: Shownu x reader feat. Minhyuk, Hyungwon & IM

A/N: So I somehow accidentally made a series without even realizing that I did...lol. My brain surprises me sometimes. In this story, we revisit the world of the Chang siblings that were introduced in an earlier fic. Check the masterlist for the corresponding stories. I’ll be updating that soon. I hope you enjoy <3

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

“Uncle Min!” you heard ChangMi exclaim from the patio facing the beach, “It’s the wrong color! The sky is not purple!”

You and Hyunwoo laughed from the kitchen as you prepared the meat and side dishes to cook on the grill of the vacation home you rented. ChangMi was painting a landscape side by side with her Uncle Minhyuk and ChangGun was on the beach burying a sleeping Uncle Hyungwon with the assistance from his Uncle Changkyun. You were glad that at least a few of your husband’s brothers could join you and the kids on this short summer getaway.

“ChangMi, it’s called ‘creativity’,” you heard Minhyuk explain to your daughter as you and Hyunwoo brought out the food and he started up the grill. “It doesn’t have to be exactly like what you see with your eyes. It could be what you see in your head and heart.”

ChangMi tilted her head in thought as she continued to paint her light blue sky. “So you have purple skies in your head?”

“Yup,” Minhyuk answered, “And yellow whales, and pink water, and a blue sun.” He painted such a picture as he described it and he was rewarded with a giggling ChangMi.

“Uncle Min,” she said as she put down her paintbrush and stood to wrap her arms around her uncle’s neck as he painted, “you have a pretty happy place.” Minhyuk smiled as he placed a kiss on the little girl’s cheek.

You walked to look over the balcony and check on ChangGun with his uncles since it was unusually quiet. Years of experience has taught you that quiet is not always a good thing. You discovered the small mound of sand on top of Hyungwon had taken a different shape. You quickly took out your phone and snapped a picture of the turtle shell in the sand that Changkyun helped design with ChangGun. How Hyungwon stayed asleep through it all astounded you, but for as long as you had known him, you knew this wasn’t unusual.

Knowing that your kids were thoroughly preoccupied with different activities and bonding with their uncles, you went back to Hyunwoo’s side at the grill to help him cook.

“It’s nice to know this place hasn’t changed much, right?” Hyunwoo commented as you were making skewers to place on the grill.

You nodded in agreement. “We have a lot of memories with this place, don’t we?”

You felt Hyunwoo’s arm wrap around your waist and pulled you in to place a kiss on your temple. “We do.” You smiled up at your husband before he turned his attention back to the grill.

The smell of the meat grilling soon spread and moments later a laughing ChangGun in the arms of an equally laughing Changkyun came up the steps to the patio followed by a sandy Hyungwon which made everybody laugh.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” he said as he dragged his feet across the patio and into the house.

“Uncle Hyungwon dirty,” ChangGun laughed.

“I think he’ll think twice about sleeping around us, right Gunnie?” Changkyun said as he tickled the little boy’s tummy, who laughed and happily agreed with his uncle.

The pair then began to take their seats at the table you began to set with ChangMi and Minhyuk joining shortly after. Hyunwoo brought the cooked meat over right on time for Hyungwon to return from cleaning up and joining the rest of the family.

“We should plan for a whole reunion here next time,” Minhyuk suggested as you all ate.

“It has been a while since the whole group was here together,” you added.

“Have you been here before Uncle Min?” ChangMi asked as she took a bite from her plate.

Minhyuk nodded. “Your dad and your other uncles and your aunties and mommy would come out here every summer in college.”

“Oooohhh,” the little girl replied.

“This is a special place for mommy and daddy, too,” Changkyun revealed.

“Why is it special?” ChangMi asked curiously.

You and Hyunwoo then looked at each other as the events of that fateful summer came back to you as vividly as it was yesterday.

You found yourself around the beach bonfire. Your sorority sisters had given you a makeover after finding out some info that one of the guys you invited from the fraternity, MuChi, actually harbored a crush on you. They were determined to find out who. Unfortunately, the outfit Dasom and Bora had picked out wasn’t very warm.

“You look cold,” Hoseok commented as he offered you his hoodie. You started thinking that maybe the outfit was strategically planned after all.

“Thank you,” you said as you pulled it over your head. As you were putting your arms through, you pondered over the thought you didn’t even notice he had a hoodie with him to begin with. He took the seat next to you and you felt a nudge from Soyou from your other side. You began some small talk with him since you didn’t want to be stuck in awkward silence for the rest of the night.

“Shall we start some games?” Hyolyn then loudly suggested. The group was in agreement and started to form a small circle next to the bonfire that was keeping you all warm from the ocean breeze. Hyolyn started with the word association rhythm game and each person that messed up would have to do a penalty. You all laughed as each loser executed each penalty, whether it be a shot of soju or some other ridiculous penalty request the group agreed upon.

Then came the moment where you messed up the rhythm and had to execute your penalty.

“Aegyo!!!” Hyolyn yelled out before bursting into a fit of laughter and the rest of your sisters betrayed you by agreeing this would be your penalty. So much for solidarity.

You looked around as you reluctantly stood up to see all eyes eagerly set upon you. You closed your own and took the deepest breath you could while quickly executing the best aegyo you could muster in 5 seconds and promptly pulled the hood of your borrowed sweatshirt over your head and tied it closed. All you could hear were the group’s giggles and exclamations of “how cute” from all angles around you. You took a deep breath from inside the hoodie and took in the woodsy scent it held. You had never pegged Hoseok to be a woodsy type guy with his cologne scent, though. You became attached to this scent the more you breathed it in. It had such a calming effect on you.

You then felt a pat on your head and a voice close to your ear as you continued to hide. “That was really cute,” the soothing voice had told you. You eventually came out of your makeshift hoodie tent to see who it belonged to, but someone started the music and so dancing and drinking around the bonfire began and the owner of the voice was no longer at your side.

The ratio of guys to girls was off so you were all just aimlessly dancing. Until a song came on the speaker that you knew the choreography to and so you busted out in the dance moves. The group then began cheering for you. When you turned your head, you discovered you had a dance partner in this impromptu performance after all. You and Hyunwoo kept in sync through the whole thing which made you smile. The song ended and your friends applauded the two of you. You smiled at each other, but before either of you could say anything, you were pulled away in different directions by your friends dancing to the next song on the playlist.

After another hour or so of more bonfire celebrations, you excused yourself back to the beach house to call it a night. You were starting to feel the effects of the soju and were aware you were close to your limit and would eventually fall fast asleep.

“Y/N!” a voice called out to you. You turned around and saw Hyunwoo catching up to you. “I’ll walk you back.”

“Daddy then told me that the hoodie belonged to him and not Uncle Hoseok,” you told your daughter.

“And I built up the courage to finally ask mommy out on a date,” Hyunwoo added.

“A few years later we came back here for another summer celebration with everybody,” you continued.

“And that was the trip your uncles and aunties helped me plan my proposal to mommy,” Hyunwoo concluded.

“Wow,” your daughter eventually said as she leaned against her Uncle Minhyuk’s arm attentively listening to her parents' story.

Hyunwoo took your hand and brought it to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles. You smiled lovingly at him.

“Does that mean I might find the man I marry here, too?” ChangMi innocently asked. Her dad and her uncles focused their attention on her with shocked looks.

“Maybe one day, my darling,” you answered her.

“Not for many, many years though,” Hyunwoo added.

“When you’re 30,” Hyungwon suggested.

“Why 30?” Changkyun asked, “I say 40.”

“ChangMi,” Minhyuk said, “You don’t need any other guys. Just daddy and your uncles.” You and ChangMi laughed at the ridiculous responses her overprotective bodyguards had to her question.

You smiled at your daughter and prayed that maybe one day, this beach will hold a special meaning for her as it did for you...when the time was right.

[cynicalrainbows]

The Next Best Thing (Pt 1)

For those who were interested- the AU drabble I began in which Cathy goes to live with her godmother after her parents die. It was sort of meant to be a spin-off story from the AU I posted on on AO3 in which Joan and Kitty are foster children to Jane (and where the other characters briefly feature too) but never really developed.

I know it’s an overdone trope and I’m not really adding anything new but I might write more anyway- I have such a soft spot for Cathy and Catalina based fluff.

Warning: I am Not Good at writing children!

They pack her clothes for her but she packs her own books, into the hard shiney holiday suitcase with wheels. They don’t all fit, the rest are stacked in piles in crumpled plastic bags that she sneaks from the kitchen.

(Is it her kitchen now that her parents are gone? She knows she can’t stay there by herself- she’s seven, not stupid- but when she is told the house will be sold, she feels an empty hole open in her chest. She’d imagined it would be left, preserved and intact, for her to return to when she’d grown up. Instead, it’s divided up into pieces and seeing the once familiar pieces of furniture out of their usual surroundings makes them different, as if they’re not really the same anymore. Her own bed, the big squashy armchair for reading bedtime stories, when set outside on the curb for the van, become just pieces of furniture. Their familiar safe feeling has leaked out.)

They tell her off for packing her books in her good suitcase- apparently the suitcase is meant to be for clothes- but she doesn’t care. When they suggest she just pick out one or two books to take with her and leave the rest since she’s read them all already anyway, she’s suddenly afraid- it’s like they’ve suggested she choose a finger or toe to leave behind and the fact that they’re looking at her as if they’ve what they’ve suggested makes sense is scary. 

She offers to leave her clothes behind instead, and they laugh like she’s joking.

When she won’t choose, they choose for her and the rest of the books are left with the furniture. Parents, home and now her most special things have been peeled away from her and she feels smaller as she slides resignedly into the car and buckles the seatbelt.

She tells herself she won’t cry but she does.

*

Her godmother has been Catalina for as long as she can remember, never anything else, not in birthday cards or Christmas and Easter cards, and not in person during rare family get-togethers, during which she would peek around corners at the imposing woman with the suitcases and the heavy accent and the stories about somewhere called Castille, waiting for Catalina to notice her, to beckon her forward and ask what she has been reading.

(Her godmother would listen seriously to her answer as if it mattered and ask her serious questions about characters and plot and although it was strange, the absence of the faux-bright ‘talking-to-children’ tone that some of her other relatives adopted, she quite liked it.)

Her godmother has always been Catalina but they refer to her as ‘Aunty Cathy’ all the way to her house in the bright, florid tones one uses with children and pets.

She considers telling them that Catalina is her godmother, not her aunt, but she doesn’t.

She considers telling them that Catalina never goes by Cathy, that she’s seen herself how firmly she corrects the unwitting, foolish few who try to angelecise her name but she doesn’t.

She doesn’t say anything at all and she can tell that it makes them uncomfortable, embarrassed, when she stays musical-statue-still at their repeated requests to ‘say hello nicely’ and ‘give your aunty a hug’.

Catalina doesn’t seem particularly discomforted though- her smile is sad but as warm as ever, and she brushes off their apologies for her uncooperative ‘niece’.

‘It’s quite alright. And actually, she’s not my niece.’

It doesn’t make Cathy happy (she can’t imagine that she’ll ever feel happy again, she can’t imagine smiling ever again) but she does look up from her shoes.

(They’re her best shoes- birthday-parties-only shoes- but the tired-looking social worker hadn’t known that she was getting ready. Maybe the rule doesn’t exist now anyway since there’s no one to enforce it. It occurs to her that maybe she can wear special clothes all the time now and the thought makes her want to cry.)

‘She’s my goddaughter.’

Catalin catches her eye and smiles.

She nearly responds.

***

She should be sad about her parents- and she is, she is- but she’s sad about her books too. 

Not having them makes her feel smaller, untethered, like she’s not quite real.

Everything makes her feel not quite real. Her things (what’s left of them) have been added to Catalina’s small flat, the spare room bed is now hers. Catalina buys things at the supermarket that she’s sure she never used to buy before- rice krispies and chocolate spread and ribena- and a lower coat peg has been added to the hall cupboard for her coat...but she still feels as if she could disappear and not be noticed.

Catalina finds her curled up and crying under her bedspread one afternoon and scoops her out worriedly, asking if she is hurt, if she has pain. Her palm feels cool against her hot, damp cheek, her long fingers brushing away tears.

‘Talk to me, querida.’

It’s not the first time she has called Cathy this but it’s the first time since the moving-in four days ago. She’s the only one who has ever called Cathy that and so it doesn’t hurt like it does when other adults unthinkingly use names her parents once did- ‘Sweetheart’ ‘Darling’ ‘Honey’.

‘Tell me.’

She doesn’t want to- she doesn’t want to admit that she’s crying for things, for her old bedroom, for fear that it makes her seem heartless, selfish, unloving.

She should be crying about her parents, but that would require thinking about them and that’s something she only lets herself do in short bursts. She isn’t sure why but it makes her think of the time she sprained her wrist last summer (in a badly misjudged attempt at jumping from tree to trampoline during a game of Explorers)- after the initial chaos of noise and screaming (Anne, who had been playing the part of co-explorer at the time) and crying (her mother, who had argued against the trampoline in the first place), the pain had subsided into a dull, threatening throb, and she’d known instinctively that even to lightly brush against it would result in the sort of white-hot agonies that would make injections and scraped knees seem like nothing.

She doesn’t think too much about her parents but she is afraid to tell Catalina the truth in case it horrifies her, in case it makes her pull away and not want to have Cathy live with her anymore, because where would she go then?

So she whispers ‘Mum and Dad’ instead, and feels Catalina’s arms go around her tightly. 

She feels sick with herself for the lie.

[kryptonite-cutie]

An open letter to old lady stood at the bus stop behind me.

I can hear you. Every word, every comment every tsk. I can hear what you say about my hair and my clothes. I can hear what you say about my make up. I can hear what you say about the music I was listening to. I can hear you tell your husband how ‘(I’m) everything that I wrong with society’ and how ‘(I’m) probably one of those lesbians’ and how ‘people like (me)’ are the scum of the earth and the world would be better with us. You’re so quick to judge but you don’t know me. You think you have me pegged because I listen to loud angry music and I wear different clothes. Well here’s some things you don’t know, I’m kind and caring. I put my family above all else, I have four of the most beautiful loving cats on earth and am a proud auntie to the most beautiful pupper on the planet. I have collection of over 700 books and I cried one time when someone got me a surprise pack of Magic Stars. I work I’m in a fish and chip shop and serve every customer with the brightest smile because I’m a big believer of paying it forward, even a smile can change a persons day. I’m a huge advocate for environmental change and how we save our planet. I try to see the beauty in all things, great and small. I hope one day you try to see things the way I do, without hate or judgement and I hope the world will be a brighter place for you.

Live and love in peace ✌️

[lifeasitis21]

Newness

Imagine: Henry Cavill x Reader where the reader is a single mom who meets someone that makes it easy to love.

Things took a while to feel normal again after signing the papers. Connor was more broken than you could of imagined. It hurt that one moment he could be agreeing with you, that it was over and that you both deserved to find that ‘one,’  and then the next moment he could be reminiscing about all your good times. You loved him in a different way now, every time you looked at your son, you saw him, it was inevitable. But for the sake of Sam, your entire world, you and your ex needed to show him what it really meant to be happy. 

Explaining divorce to an 8 year old shouldn’t of been easy, but Sam somehow just knew exactly what you were trying to say. He had such a kind heart.

Every once in awhile the emotions would get to you, and when they did Sam would come and find you, always with a bag of fruit snacks in his hands. 

He would sit in your lap and the two of you would share them. You didn’t let it happen often though, and when it did you would always make sure to end the session with a joke or a movie night to take his mind off of it. 

The lives you and Connor lead allowed you shared custody. You alternated weeks with Sam, which was hard sometimes, but it was always just enough of a break, which you needed in the beginning. Not because of Sam though, he was easy. The night you told him about the divorce he’d taken your hand, noticing that you had tears in your eyes, and said “Will this make you happy mom?”

It hit you like a ton of bricks when you realized your 8 year old son had somehow said exactly what you needed to hear, and the answer to that question was yes.

It was almost two years now since the divorce. Sam was 10, and 10 year olds have lives. He loved to play soccer, it took up most of him time now actually. He  had friends he loved, his father who was just as devoted to him after the divorce as he was before it, and you. Above all he was happy, which was all that really mattered to you.

“I know, I’m thinking about going. It’s the weekend before Sam goes to his dads...Yeah I think it’d be fun.”

At the moment, your sister, who was on the other line, was desperately trying to get you to go on this camping trip a few of your friends had planned.

“We both know you deserve to do something for yourself, and they’re your best friends! Sam will be just fine if you’re unavailable for a few days and you know it.”

She was right about that. She was always right but that was beside the point. And your attendance would be more of a favor than anything. Anna, who you’d first met at work had become your closest friend. She loved Sam, and after the divorce, she was with you two almost every day after school.

As a favor to you one time, she attended one of the schools PTA meetings. You had to stay late at your office but you wanted to make sure you didn’t miss anything important, so she went for you. While she was there she struck up a conversation with one of the single dads in attendance. You didn’t know much about him other than that his name was Jason and he was always really sweet to everyone.

You would describe him as a little dorky, but in a good way. Anna definitely took a liking to him, and the pair had even gone on a few dates. Since then the three of you had gotten to be good friends. Anna wanted things to be more serious between the two of them though, so she planned this camping trip, freaked out at the last moment, and then begged you to come with them.

“Alright, I’ll go. But I’m telling Sam to call you if he needs anything while I’m gone alright?”

“Of course! Of course, Aunty Beth always has time for the little bug...who’s probably getting tired of me calling him that.. Anyway, I’m proud of you. You’ll have a great time.”

You didn’t know about a great time, but it would be nice to get out of the house.

At the end of the week, you picked Sam up from school and drove him to his dads house. Before you dropped him off, he made sure to assure you that he would be perfectly fine. Of course you believed him.

You still had some packing to do, Anna was on her way to your house now. She pulled up with the entire back seat of her car filled to the brim.

“Y/n! Are you ready for this?” She seemed to be trying to act excited to cover the fact that she was a little worried about all of this.

“I am! It’s going to be great. Don't worry, If anything ever gets too serious for you, just let me know and I’ll dull the romantic mood. I’m great at being a third wheel so--”

“Third wheel, what do you mean third wheel? Fourth wheel.” She looked at you like you were crazy. Only before realizing she had forgotten to fill you in on some pertinent details of the trip.

“Ohh shit.” She brought her hands to her hips then, “I didn’t want you to feel weird, and then the other day in the office, you know that guy, the hot one. His desk is two desks to the left and one forward of your office door? You know.”

“Henry?” You asked, really hoping she wasn’t about to say what you thought she was.

“Yeah, you know. He over heard me on the phone with Jason, talking about how we were all going camping.”

“That’s weird he heard you.” You said dramatically. “You sit right across from him, so weird.”

“Okay yes, yeah he heard me and then, very nosily if I may add, asked if we’d picked a campsite. And the answer was no, none of us know shit about camping. But then he said he used to camp a lot and he knew of a really beautiful place and one thing lead to another and Invited him and both him and Jason are meeting us at the campsite.”

“Hmm.” Was all you could say. 

After Anna came inside and helped you pack, the two of you hit the road. Apparently Henry sent her the directions to the site. Seattle was a beautiful place to be in nature, and you really had no reason to be upset about anything, so you decided you’d try a little optimism to start the trip.

“Do you know anything about Henry? I mean, I’ve seen him around the office, maybe said hi a few times but not much more than that.”

Anna fiddled with the radio as she drove. “I know he has a childlike crush on you. Oh! Okay and he’s actually been in a few movies before! It was when he was younger though, he said he quit because he liked creating the stories rather than acting in them. Isn’t that beautiful, God he’s hot.”

“What do you mean a crush, Anna?” 

She looked over at you and waved you off. “I don’t know for sure, I’ve caught him looking at you like a few times, he asks questions sometimes. I don't know, you’re his boss so it’s not that weird he would have questions.”

Henry started working at the publishing company a few months ago. As assistant editor, you never really spoke with him very much, you did recall working on a few of his scripts, and if you remember correctly, they were actually really good.

The drive was less than an hour. It was a little off the beaten track, but Henry had been right, it was absolutely beautiful. As you pulled up you saw only one other vehicle. 

“Did they drive together?” You asked.

“Yeah, Jason met Henry at his house and drove with him. He thought it would be good to get to know him on the drive up.” Anytime Anna ever talked about Jason a silly smile formed on her face. It made you happy to see her happy.

After grabbing your bags, you walked a few yards when you saw a clearing. Jason and Henry had already set up both of their tents from the look of it. Jason was working on the fire when the two of you approached.

“Anna, Y/n! You made it.” His eyes lit up as he walked over to Anna and placed a kiss to her cheek.

Then to your surprise, he came over and gave you a hug which you returned.

“How’s Sam doing? Good? Is he enjoying Soccer?”

“He is, yes. He’s great. Thank you for asking.” You said with a fond smile. That was Jason, probably the sweetest person you knew.

“Henry, he’s great. He’s down by the stream, wanted to check it out he said. Real cool guy.” His man-crush was showing.

Him and Anna resumed trying to get the fire started. You thought you’d head down to the stream to introduce yourself formally to Henry. You could hear it before you saw it. Everything was breathtaking, and you were suddenly really glad you came.

Off a little ways from your site you saw Henry. He stood on the bank as he tossed stones into the river. He turned when he heard you approaching, an unnecessarily beautiful smile graced his lips.

“Y/n. You made it.” 

You smiled as you settled in next to him, looking out over the water. “It’s nice to officially meet you Henry. Its great you could come. None of us know too much about camping.”

“Oh, I’m sure you know more than you’re letting on.” He glanced towards you, his eyes on you making you a little anxious.

“I’m happy to help you set up your tent though.”

“Oh, right. That would be great.” You said gratefully.

When he said he would help, what he really meant was he would do it for you. Which you appreciated. You also didn’t mind watching him as he did.

“So, tell me about this kid of yours.” 

He clarified when he saw you looked caught off guard, “Anna told me, you have a son right?”

“Oh, of course. Yeah, his names Sam. Amazing kid really. He’s uh, with his dad this weekend.”

You didn't know why you told him that, but it seemed like something you should say.

“You two separated?” He asked.

“Yeah, two years now.”

He didn’t respond for a second as he struggled with one of the tent poles. “Me too.”

“You were married? Any kids?”

He shook his head as he hammered down the last peg. “No, just married.”

After being married and going through a divorce, it was easy for you to talk about things like this. It was the new normal.

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

Henry watched you as he walked towards the stump you were sitting on and sat next to you. “I was really young, we both were I guess. We didn’t know what we were doing, what love even was.”

You stared forward as he talked. His voice was soft but deep. Easy to listen to.

“I understand that. My ex and I, well after Sam, we thought it wasn’t fair for him to grow up in a house with parents who didn’t love each other in that way. So I guess it was just as much for him as it was for us.”

“Divorce sucks, but it sounds like it was the best thing for you.” He looked over at you, your shoulders rubbed against each other a little. 

When you looked back at him you started to laugh.

“Jesus, it’s so nice to meet you, let me tell you my deepest secrets.”

He laughed at that. “I couldn’t stop myself. I looked in your eyes and I just-- couldn’t help it.”

From across the sight, you saw Anna and Jason approaching from one of the paths.

“You two look like you’re having fun!” She said, taking a seat next to you.

“There are some amazing hiking trails up here Henry. Great pick.” Jason chimed in.

“Well thank you. I’d be be happy to show you guys some more if you’re up for it?”

Henry looked to you for an answer, but you felt antsy under his gaze so you looked to Anna who was lounged out on the ground. She had never been one for hiking.

“God, no, we just got back from a hike. Let’s go tomorrow.”

If Anna said so, that was the plan, and that was what you loved about her. It was starting to get dark anyway so you also thought it best to stay near the camp. Now was Jason’s time to remind you all why he was here and showcase his “outdoor cooking skills” as he called them. 

The other three of you enjoyed the warmth of the fire and broke out the alcohol that you and Anna had been sure to pack.

“Pick your poison.” Anna held up a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other.

You figured either would taste good in hot coco so you reached towards the whiskey, seemingly at the same time as Henry.

“Great minds think alike.” You said, letting him take the bottle. You had your hot coco in hand, waiting for him to pour some in.

He smiled up at you and filled the rest of your cup before pouring it in straight to his. 

“Jesus Henry, take it easy. You’re our only hope of survival if we get stranded out here.” Anna said with a look of worry on her face.

From across the fire Jason looked at Henry. “She’s absolutely right. And I’m not even offended.”

You all laughed at his comment. And after a few drinks of whiskey, you were all laughing at really anything anyone said. 

Just as promised, Jason cooked up an amazing meal. Just in time to keep you all from feeling too drunk.

You spent dinner telling stories, talking about work. Even about yours and Jason’s kids. Anytime you talked, you noticed Henry turn towards you as much as he could and give you his full attention, just that small thing had you starting to swoon. And on top of that, Anna was so right, he was hot.

It was dark, but a full moon lit the world around you. Anna had chosen the vodka,  and she was on a whole other level when she was drunk.

She got that look in her eye before looking over to you and saying, “We should go for a swim.”

“Right now?” You said, a questioning smile on your face.

“Yes right now. Let’s all go.”

You were a little tipsy, just enough to actually want to. It was unusually warm tonight, and your muddled thoughts couldn't find any reason to say no.

You looked over to Henry who was watching you two with a lazy smile on his face.

“Is it safe?” You asked.

He liked that you asked.

“Of course. I say we go.”

That was all it took for the four of you to clumsily jog down to the bank where Anna had no problem stripping out of her pants and treading into the water.

“OH FuCk!.”

Jason laughed as he lifted his shirt over his head and followed in after her.

“Is it cold?” You yelled from the side.

“No it’s fine.” She was lying.

Beside you Henry lifted his own shirt above his head and said, “I’ll go in if you do.”

“Mmm, yeah okay.”

You stripped out of your pants but left your shirt on.

The moment your feet touched the water you regretted it, but Henry grabbed your hand and tugged you along with him.

“Come on Y/n. I got you.”

Jason and Anna were a little more than waist deep now, giggling and splashing at each other like children. Henry continued pulling you until you were both in a little deeper than your chest.

You began to shiver, not able to keep your arms out the water any longer.

“You alright?” He asked, concern in his voice.

“I’m okay, yeah.” You laughed through a shiver, the alcohol’s affect beginning to wear off but definitely still there. 

After a few minutes your body started to get used to the cold. It was a beautiful night. You took a deep breath and took in the night air as you shifted onto your back and let yourself float on top of the water. Everything went quiet as your ears sunk just below the surface.

You stared up at the stars and swore you could stay like this forever. Calm, quiet, happy.

Henry watched you as a contentedness settled over your features. It seemed like his eyes would always wander to you each time he saw you in your office, or when you walked off the elevator in the morning, when you would sit at your desk late, after everyone had left. But now, with you right in front of him, he understood why. He watched as you looked up at the stars, wonder in your eyes, and he knew exactly what you felt, as he looked at you.

He took to his back next to you, letting his hands drift over to yours. His fingers caressed yours in the water. Every time they incidentally touched, you relished in their warmth. 

“I wish I could live up there. It’s beautiful.” You said slowly.

He smiled knowingly and let his finger almost intertwine with yours. 

“I know.”

The next morning you woke up to the sound of birds chirping. As best you could, you got dressed in your tent and got out. Anna had woken up at the same time as you.

“Hey beautiful, how’d you sleep?” She said drowsily, coming over to you and resting her head on your shoulder.

“Just fine, You?” She knew the question in your voice was about sharing a tent with Jason.

“Like a baby.” She smiled up at you just as Jason and Henry came towards the camp from the lake.

As he approached, you noticed the warm smile on his face was pointed right at you.

“Morning ladies.” 

He walked over to with his hands in his pockets. In the warm light of day he looked a little more nervous than he had last night. He stood next to you, close enough for you to feel him kinda bump into you.

“You want some coffee?” He watched you nod yes and poured you a cup from the thermos. 

“Thanks.” 

“What say we head out on that hike now? Henry and I found an amazing trail to take.”

Anna and Jason walked ahead of you hand in hand. The hike was an easy one. Full of gorgeous landscape. 

You hung back with Henry, who let the hand closest to you hang down at his side.

“Tell me about your acting.” You asked, trying to find a way to fill the suggestive silence.

“Sure. I acted in a few movies when I was young, 17--18. It was a world of it’s own. Met a lot of people, went a lot of places.”

“Is that where you met your wife?” You glanced over at him for a moment before looking back down at your footing.

“It is actually. She worked on the set of the last movie I did. What about you and uh--”

“Connor? We met at a mutual friends party. We dated a year before getting married, two years after that we had Sam.”

“The silver lining.” 

That made you smile. “Exactly.”

When you looked up at him, you lost track of where you were stepping, causing you to step down onto the wrong side of a branch and lose your balance.

Henry tried to grab you before you hit the ground, but you fell forward, scraping your knee against a rock as you did.

“Oh, shit.” You yelled, gripping your now bleeding knee.

Henry was next to you in a heart beat.

“Are you alright?” He had a panic in his voice as he leaned over towards the leg you were holding.

“Mmmyeah I’m okay.”

Your face told a different story, so did your knee, which you could feel sticking to your pants with blood. The fall ripped a hole where you hit, and Henry reached towards it.

“Can I take a look?” 

You nodded and he carefully tore the fabric of your jeans at the knee, revealing the bloodied cut across your knee.

“Shit.” 

“It’ll be fine but I should clean it up so it doesn't get infected.”

You were less than half a mile away from camp so you figured you would just walk, but as you tried to get up, Henry picked you up in his arms and started carrying you back.

“What the fuck?” You said, caught by surprise as he did.

“Don’t worry about it Y/n. I got you.” He smiled a little and just kept on walking, in spite of your multiple request to walk yourself.

“To tell you the truth, this was my plan all along.” He joked. This was the first time you’d ever been this close to him, and he happened to be holding you in his arms on top of that.

“Wait for you to hurt yourself and then hold you in my arms like any hero would.”

You laughed as you tried not to turn your face to his, which was inches away. “What if I would of sprained my wrist or something, then what?” You said.

“Still would of carried you.” He laughed, “It was just the right thing to do Y/n.”

You were beginning to like the way he said your name.

When you got back to camp, he set you down on stump and jogged to his truck to get his first aid kit.

He pulled out a small bottle of Saline and poured it over the wound. You closed your eyes as he poured it, making him grin when he caught you.

“You okay?” He asked, wiping away the blood and wrapping it with a bandage.

“All good. Thank you, Henry. My hero.” You said with a smirk.

He still had his hands resting around your knee, his eyes found yours and held them for a moment. He started to move towards you slowly, but you stood and hobbled towards your tent, leaving Henry kneeling on the ground.

“I’m sorry Y/n. I shouldn’t--”

“No you, don’t need to apologize. I’m just--I haven’t really..”

He held his hand out towards you, “I understand, you don’t need to explain yourself Y/n.”

He was still just as sincerely kind as he’d been since you met him. And the last thing you wanted was for him to think you weren’t interested.

“I, just need a little time, is all.”

That brought a lighthearted smile to his face.

“Take your time. I can wait for now.”

The blissful weekend ended far sooner than you wanted it too, The minute you got back within cell service you called Sam, who as you expected, had been just fine.

He asked about your weekend, and you were happy you had good news. 

When it came to things with Henry, you couldn’t just think about yourself anymore. You wanted to be sure about him before letting him into your lives, you weren’t even sure if thats what he wanted.

You walked off the elevator on Monday morning not expecting anything. You looked towards his desk and saw Henry focused in on something on his computer screen. Thats when It started to feel like that weekend was a dream.

You dropped your stuff underneath your desk and pulled out the last few scripts you needed to finish by the end of the week. You thought you only had three left, but there was a fourth sitting on top of the stack. 

“Unfinished” was the name of it, and below that was the authors name: Henry Cavill.

You only had to read through the first few pages to realize the premise was about two star-crossed lovers who literally crossed the stars together. He only had about a dozen pages of writing so far. The last page ended with the two main characters about to kiss before the last words which were, “and I don't know where it’ll go from here, still working on it.”

From outside your office Henry must have noticed you’d read his script first because when you looked up, he had his head down in his notes, but an ever expanding smile on his lips.

That night when you left the office, you ended up in the elevator with Henry beside you. 

"Can I have your honest opinion on my story?” He said, breaking the silence.

“I think...you need to finish it.”

He looked over at you, trying to decipher the look on your face, apparently failing.

“I’m not very good at this anymore Y/n.” His answer caught you off guard.

“Good at what?” You said, turning towards him with an innocent look on your face.

“I’m just going to ask, you’ve left me no other choice really. Can I kiss you? And that’s that. I said it, out loud,” You began to laugh as he continued to ramble. “Do I regret how lame I just sounded? Absolutely, but you are too pretty for me to know what the hell I’m doing.”

“You can--kiss me, that is.” You said as non awkwardly as you could.

But Henry wasted no time before placing his hand at your jaw and leaning down into your kiss. 

You held your breath at contact, it was brief and charming at the same time. He seemed to be just as nervous as you were. 

When it ended, he pulled back, hand still holding the side of your face. Neither of you said anything but you both felt something you knew you’d been looking for for a very long time. 

You walked out into the brisk night air and it took you back to the night under the stars with him. His hand hung loosely next to yours, grabbing onto your fingers every once and awhile. 

“Where does our story go from here.” He asked, a playful hopefulness in his voice.

“No one can say, but I’m willing to follow it as far as it will take us, if you are.”

He watched you, wanting nothing more in that moment than to taste you on his lips again. But instead of that, he lifted your hand to his lips and placed a kiss to  the back of your hand and said, “I’ll follow you anywhere Y/n.”

Tag List: @jaderbugz @a-girl-who-loves-disney @chillnadia @pietrosprincess @cojootromuelle @smexy-bucky-waifu  @maragaretcarter  @supersleepyfangirlthings  @shortstoryimagines  @omg-fuck-i-love-you  @thebutterflyxx  @posiemax @tomhollambucky @samdean-67

[n3rdybird]

Like Fathers, Like Son

Like Fathers, Like Son

Sons of Anarchy

Reader x Chibs/Tig x Venus Family fluff.

Growing up SAMCRO, you knew the club was family, albeit sometimes dysfunctional family.

Even when a fling with Alexander “Tig” Trager ended up with you knocked up, your dysfunctional family stepped up in every way they could.

Tig was a great father. No one would have pegged him to be excited to be a dad again, and at first he didn’t know what he felt. But the day he found out he was going to have a son was one of the happiest days of his life. That moment was trumped only when Leonard Trager-(Y/L/N) came wailing into the world. He had the same wild dark hair as his dad, and your eyes.

Co-parenting with Tig had its ups and downs, but you made it work. Although you were now parents, you both decided staying friends and focusing on your son was the best plan of action. Besides, a copious amount of alcohol and one night stand doesn’t make a functioning relationship.

Gemma was an amazing help especially since your own mother had died when you were younger. Leo also had a multitude of uncles to help out and spoil the newest “member” of SAMCRO. Each one of the men kept a close eye on you and Leo.

Especially a certain sexy Scotsmen. Filip ‘Chibs’ Telford. He was always quick to help when Tig wasn’t available, running errands and generally just being there for you and your son. It was only a matter of time before the late night conversations led to feelings of the romantic kind.

When the two of you grew closer, Tig watched with a smile on his face. It was clear that Chibs was falling for you and vice versa. He was quick to give his blessing to his baby mama and long term friend.

*********

You were having coffee with Venus when your cellphone rang.

You answered with a smile, in the middle of laughing about something Venus was telling you.

Within seconds, your smile disappeared as you listened to the voice on the other end of the conversation. Venus picked up on your mood change, her face mirroring yours in concern.

You hung up the phone and rubbed the bridge of your nose with a sigh.

“What’s wrong hun?” Venus asked.

“That was the school. Leo was in an “altercation”,” you said mimicking the principal’s words.

Venus gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

“No way, not our Leo,” she said in disbelief.

You shook your head, also having a hard time believing it. Regardless of who he grew up with, Leo had never been in a fight before.

“Either way, I have to go to the school. Can you call Tig and Filip while I drive?”

Venus smiled and nodded.

“Of course hun, whatever you need.”

She gave you a hug, and the two of you tossed your coffee cups on the way to your car.

**********

Two voice mails later, the two of you entered Leo’s elementary school main office.

Leo was sitting on a bench alone, kicking his legs. He looked up to see you and his Auntie Venus. You gave your son a smile to show you weren’t angry, and Venus flitted to her nephew, fussing over him. She brushed his hair away from his face, checking for bruises or cuts.

Unlike the bruised and bloodied boy sitting across the hall, Leo was relatively unscathed. The only signs of him being in a fight was his red eyes and slightly red knuckles.

Venus sat next to Leo and you knelt in front of him, kissing his forehead.

“Hey baby, what happened?” you asked softly.

“What happened is your unruly monster attacked my poor Donnie,” a woman snarled as she stalked up to her son. She pulled out a handful of tissues, dabbing at her son’s broken nose.

“Monster-” you started, your rage starting to boil, but Venus put her hand on your arm to keep from snapping at the Stepford PTA mom. Brenda Decker was the same uptight hag from high school.

The door next to them opened, and Principal Carter waved the parents into his office. He looked to you and tilted his head in confusion.

“Will Mr. Trager be joining us?”

“I’ve called both Filip and Alex, but they are working. This is Venus Van Dam. She’s one of Leo’s emergency contacts.”

He nodded and sat down at his desk, gesturing for the rest of the group to follow suit. When they settled, Principal Carter steepled his fingers.

“Leonard and Donnie were involved in an altercation this afternoon. Both have refused to say what caused the fight.”

“There is no way my sweet Donnie would ever start a fight,” Brenda interrupted. She sniffed haughtily at you and your son, her nose high in the air.

“Clearly he was just defending himself,” she said.

You held back a snort. Donnie looked terrible compared to Leo.

“He did a shit job defending then,” you muttered. Venus heard you and had to hold back a laugh.

Principal Carter cleared his throat.

“I’d like to ask again what happened. Leonard?”

You ran your fingers through your son’s hair.

“What happened baby? I promise I won’t be mad.”

Leo glared at the other boy.

“Donnie said my family was bad. That daddy and pop are bad guys. And that Auntie Venus was a…” He paused.

“He called Auntie Venus a bad word. And I said he was wrong. And he pushed me. And I hit him.”

You sighed. Charming would always be small town with small minds.

“While I’m glad you stood up for your family baby; we don’t hit,” you said proudly but firmly.

Brenda tsked.

“Well there you have it. What are you going to do about this? He needs to be punished.”

“We have a no tolerance rule for fighting, and normally Leonard would be expelled. However, since it is his first offense, he will be suspended for a week.”

Brenda looked outraged and all you wanted to do was smack her. Which would not solve anything.

“Suspended? And have my Donnie back with his attacker?”

Principal Carter leveled his gaze at Mrs. Decker.

“This is not the first time I’ve heard that Donnie was bullying another student. We also have zero tolerance for bullying. So Donnie will be suspended for two days.”

Brenda tried to argue, but the unflappable principal held up his hand.

“My decision is final.”

**********

You and Venus walked out of the building, Leo swinging between your hands.

Brenda rushed past you, bumping your shoulder as she drug her kid behind her.

“You better keep an eye on your son. Pretty soon he’ll be in jail just like his father,” she sneered.

You stilled.

“I’d keep walking if I were you,” you said evenly. This woman was working your last nerve.

“Or what? You and that tranny-”

You snapped, letting go of your son and closed the distance to Brenda. Her nose exploded in a gush of blood.

“You shut your damn mouth. Venus is a classier lady than you’ll ever be. So you can take your busted fake nose and your close minded cunt rag of a son, and get the fuck out of here,” you growled out.

Brenda paled and all but shoved Donnie into their minivan.

You shook out your fist and turned to Venus who had covered Leo’s ears when you started your rant. You kneeled in front of your son, feeling like you failed him.

“That was wrong of me. To hit Donnie’s mom.”

“To hell with that, that was the sexiest thing I’ve seen,” Tig called out. He and Chibs were sitting on their bikes a few spaces away.

They duo sauntered over to you. Chibs slapped you on the ass.

“Nicely done lass,” he whispered against your neck, giving you a kiss.

You blushed.

“Brenda Decker is such a bitch,” you mumbled.

“I’m such a bad influence on you, I love it,” Tig said wrapping his arm around Venus, who popped him in the stomach.

“While I admit that woman was a nightmare, you didn’t have to do that honey. She wasn’t the first or the last to talk about me,” Venus said.

“No way was I gonna let her talk shit about our family.”

Venus smiled, tearing up a bit at your declaration. Tig took this moment to kneel next to his son.

“So it looked like you won bud,” he said proudly. He held up his fist and Leo bumped it proudly.

“That’s our boy,” Chibs said laughing. You and Venus shared an exasperated look.

That was your men, rough and sometimes crude. And you loved them all the same.