#not like that but you know...the family tree is something

[yenasmatik]

French person here, and it's kind of a big joke that we treat our president (and also other countries' heads of state, to be fair) like big fancy royalty with huge security and fancy cars/planes when our Belgian neighbors have actual royalty who would never be this much of a nuisance to the population.

Here football players snort disdainfully when asked why they take a private plane instead of the train.

He's right we're just like this.

[narnian-neverlander]

Jason Todd with eyes that have been different ever since he came back.

Jason Todd with eyes that are haunting. People have trouble keeping eye contact with him, cause it’s not just the color, a few shades too bright to still be considered a natural green, there’s something off about his eyes. An uncanny valley effect; the longer they look the more they realize that something’s not quite the way it’s supposed to be, that something’s wrong. Eyes that have seen things no human should, eyes that should no longer be walking the mortal plane.

Jason Todd with eyes that literally glow when he feels any emotion strongly enough; the stronger the emotion, the brighter his eyes. And the first time it happens, during an argument with his family that turns nasty and bitter, he doesn’t even know it. Doesn’t know why his siblings all of a sudden look at him like they just got confirmation that he is the monster they all think him to be. He rarely takes off the helmet around them after that.

And then there’s you.

You, who still looks at him the same way you did before the pit, because you don’t care if he came back different, if he came back slightly wrong, because he came back. He came back to you and that’s all that matters.

You, who consistently comes up with new things to compare his eyes to and he truly doesn’t know how the hell you haven’t run out yet. Last week, it was the way sunlight filters through a trees’ leaves in the summer. Yesterday, it was the little plants growing out of cracks in the concrete jungle that is Gotham, resilient and determined despite all odds. Today, you’d simply reminded him that green is the color of spring, of renewal, of hope - the same hope he brings to the little people of Gotham. Tomorrow? He’s sure you’ll come up with something.

You, who regularly stares at him with the most lovesick grin and the softest eyes, to the point where he has to tell you to cut it out, cause you can’t possibly like what you’re looking at that much, only to be told that ‘art should be appreciated.’ His eyes glow then, too, but he doesn’t feel the need to hide. Not when you look at him with nothing but awe and affection in moments like that.

You, who causes him a freaking heart attack when you start bawling the first time he tells you he loves you because, unbeknownst to him, his eyes have never glowed brighter.

[leashybebes]

They need somewhere to go, Buck thinks. Somewhere that isn't Minnesota.

He didn't think so at first, in the immediate aftermath, because Bobby was everywhere, so deeply intertwined in all of their lives that Buck only had to let his eyes half-close and he'd see Bobby in the corner of every room. In the way Buck ties his tie. In the way Hen settles a comforting hand on the arm of a distressed civilian. In the way they roll the hoses. In the way Chim raises his eyebrows. In the way family dinners continue. In the way May folds her arms. In the way Eddie bows his head to pray. In the way Harry laughs.

But now...time is passing. They'll never forget him, but he'll fade from those corners, swept away by new memories, new people, new ways of living and loving and working. They'll move houses, move stations, carry the threads Bobby tied around them to whole new places. But he won't have been in these places.

They need somewhere to go.

"I think I want to plant a tree," Buck says into the silence of the bedroom.

"Mmyeah? F'r Bobby?"

"Yeah," Buck says, because of course Tommy gets it just like that. "Something that'll grow with us. Somewhere to go. Somewhere to take the kids. Somewhere to remember him."

"I like that," Tommy says, sounding a little more awake. "He'd like that."

"You know a guy?" Buck asks.

"I might," Tommy says, reaching for his phone.

[inthehouseoffinwe]

I think of all the elves, of all his family, Maglor best understands what it is to be world weary. To want to leave. I feel like there’s this connection which forms between his and his grandmother’s fëa, and over time, she’s even able to reach out. To give him a little comfort. To give him just enough will to keep going, because Maglor would never forgive himself if he didn’t:

Miriel on the ocean’s waves, adding a little tune of her own to Maglor’s lament

Maglor not even fully away of what he’s singing, what part of the Noldolantë is being composed but still picking up the quicksilver thread and turning it into its own tapestry

Miriel’s strangely proud of her singer

Maglor alone and cold and lost in hallucinations and dreams. Miriel reaches out and is able to twist them into good ones. Into memories of Aman, memories with his brothers and cousins from a time less marred

Miriel sees her son in the halls and watches him determinedly walk through each section depicting his sons’ fates, make himself see what he did to his family.

And he manages to make it to the end, soaking each one with his tears

But then he sees his second son alone, screaming his grief to the ocean, he collapses

His other sons he has comforted, he’s held snd assured them of his love. He’s sent them on their way to be healed and released.

But this one… this one he cannot reach

And it breaks her heart. She knows too well what it is to see your son in agony and have no way of comforting him. Of assuring him you don’t hate him, that you want him to move on and live a full life again.

She sings her own grief into the next tapestry of Maglor’s she weaves, and is stunned to hear a song reaching right back

Vairë and Námo tell her Kanafinwë’s power reaches to her threads. She weaves their history and he sings it.

Their fëa which should have connected in life, now connect in each of their deaths.

Námo seems to smile at this development and gently wiping away her tears gestures to the newest tapestry of Maglor clenching his burnt, blood soaked hand. More spirit than elf.

“Call to him.”

She does.

And she finds him responding in his semi awareness.

Maglor is his music. Maglor is his song. What remained of anything else is swept away in the endless tides of his grief and lamentation

He’s fading. Becoming a spectre of the shore because he will not die. Refuses to die.

But this little spark of home, the fire so similar to his father’s but older, more steady and persisting, breaks him from his fading.

And when Fëanor beholds the newest tapestry, his remaining son has more colour to him, tattered robes standing out against the grey backdrop, and his head is tilted as if listening intently to something.

He looks *alive*

The next tapestries solidify Maglor even more. Where he was blue and grey, faded red comes back, his loose hair falls in his favoured braids, eyes clear grey shining tree light rather than milky white.

Maedhros, so like his father, determined to see his little brother fade in a final attempt to atone and keep him company as he’d failed to before, is stunned

And when his grandmother sings his brother’s song, he understands.

Miriel holds his hands warmly.

“I’ll take care of him until he comes home. Go, Maitimo. Heal. Be there when he returns.”

Fëanor sits for years, in front of the weaving of Maglor’s small smile as he beholds a crab crawling along his robe. The first smile since he let go of his twin stars.

Eyes wide. Unblinking. As if turning away would bring everything crashing down and Maglor will be a wraith again

Miriel continues to call out to her grandson, and the spirit that brought Fëanor’s fire to the world slowly revives his son.

She breaks her son from his frozen state and takes him to her weaving room.

“Ammë?” He sounds lost.

She smiles and in a familiar sing song gestures to the loom.

“Look, Fëanaro.”

Because there sits Maglor, singing still but with new robes, a smile creasing his eyes and his foster son leaning into his side.

And behind, a familiar silver haired figure in the ocean mist singing right alongside him

“Ammë… you?” Fëanor’s jaw falls. “How? Why?”

“He is my grandson, yonya,” she says firmly. “As for how…”

She explains the connection, and the song.

Somehow in speaking the Doom, Maglor reached through Mandos’ halls to the one member of his family whose skill lay in the same craft.

“Does he know?” Fëanor finally asks, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Does he know his family love him. They protect him. They long to see him again. That he can come *home*-

To this, Miriel sighs.

“I do not know. But he knows he is not alone.”

Maglor returns with Elrond to Imladris where he meets a little boy called Hope who speaks of ancestors reaching out to him and innocently asks the old elf if his family do the same.

She’s glad to be the one recording Maglor’s stunned face, and for the first time, laughs while weaving. It’s enough to bring Fëanor desperately knocking and Vairë shaking her head.

Some days pass and for the first time, she hears a song reaching out with intent. A hesitant question.

“Atya?” It calls.

She sings back.

“Not quite, my Songbird, though he sends you his love.”

Quicksilver hands and restless humming.

“It cannot be…”

“Hello, grandson of mine.”

Her influence is no longer needed, for Maglor is alive and healthy and keeping the heir of Isildur safe. Teaching him all he knows.

But she sings alongside him as he fights in the final battle by the Black Gate. Song and sword flashing as they haven’t in two ages.

She grabs Fëanor by the hand to show him Maglor singing and laughing at little Estel and Arwen’s wedding. And for the first time, Fëanor’s weeping is for joy.

Then the Doom is officially lifted read: please come back, everyone misses you and Galadriel is to sail.

And Miriel reaches out one last time.

“The Doom is long lifted. It’s time to come home, Makalaurë.”

And when Maglor comes home, he sees a silver haired elf in his periphery, grin flashing white in the afternoon sun before she disappears again

Miriel will never leave the halls.

She doesn’t need to.

Because she’s firmly entrenched in their family now, and Maglor sings to her everyday.

[sugardollcurse]

Can you do something for a reader with an odd name? :3 like something you would have never hear of it’s so odd,

(Preferably with Paulie or all the Bugs but ya don’t gotta if you have another idea for it! ^u^)

𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔 & 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒅𝒅 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆

꒰ pairings ꒱ paul mccartney x reader, john lennon x reader, george harrison x reader, ringo starr x reader

꒰ note ꒱ this is such a cute idea!!! thank yew for requesting :3

꒰ JOHN ꒱

"You're daft, you know that? Suits the name. You're both completely outta your tree."

The first time he heard your name, he blinked at you like you were fucking with him.

“You’re havin’ a laugh, right? That’s yer real name? Christ.”

He loved it instantly.

The oddness made it feel like you were part of some secret language.

Constantly bastardizes it into absurd nicknames; adds “-y” or “-o” or “-arse” to the end until it barely resembles the original.

Pretends he’s offended when you don’t immediately catch it if he butchers your name into new and increasingly absurd forms.

“Tch, don’t y’know yer own bloody name by now?”

If he’s feeling especially cheeky, he introduces you to strangers with your real name but says it so deadpan and serious that they think they’re the weird ones for blinking.

But over time, it turns into a thing. He actually gets protective about it. “Hey! Only I can take the piss, alright?”

Jokes about getting it tattooed on his ass

“So it’ll always be behind me, har har”

꒰ PAUL ꒱

“So... posh, innit? Sounds like some fancy film star I’d be too scared to talk to.”

Tries so hard to act casual about it the first time you introduce yourself but completely fails.

His eyebrows shoot up halfway to his hairline.

“Oh, that’s��� lovely! Very… unique, yeah!”

Gets very attached to it quickly.

Like, dangerously fast.

Won’t shut up about how “it suits you.”

Starts calling you gentle, funny pet names based on your name.

Weirdly proud of being the only one to come up with a song lyric that rhymes with your name. Forces it into a verse.

Will not stop asking questions about where it comes from.

Is it a family name? Something made up? What does it mean?

(Even if it means nothing, he insists it must mean something now.)

Gets teased by the boys for how often he says it.

George: “You gonna marry the name or the person, then?”

If anyone ever pokes fun at it he’s immediately defensive.

“Oh yeah? What’s your name then? Colin? Get over yourself.”

꒰ GEORGE ꒱

“I like it. It’s like something you’d name a cloud."

Raises an eyebrow the first time he hears it.

Goes “…Is that real?” with his nose all scrunched.

Not in a rude way, he’s just genuinely puzzled. Intrigued.

Once you confirm it, he’ll give a tiny nod and just accept it without question. Doesn’t matter how weird it is.

Finds obscure, deeply spiritual meanings for it even if none exist.

Keeps a page in his journal where he’s just written it over and over again like a boy with a crush.

Has a weird pet-name spin on it that only he uses.

It makes no sense.

You ask him why and he shrugs.

One time a reporter scoffed at your name and George just deadpanned, “What, and ‘George’ is supposed to be sexy?”

He likes that your name is peculiar.

It's not flashy-peculiar. It's not “spotlight” strange. It’s quiet weird. Softly feral.

Once he writes it out in marker on the back of his hand. When you ask why,

“Looks good there.”

꒰ RINGO ꒱

“If anyone’s got a name like a star, it’s you.”

His eyebrows shoot up when he hears it. “Eh?? Say again?”

Writes it inside his drum kit case.

You find it scrawled in marker with a heart next to it.

Starts making up weird folklore about you.

Gives you about 20 different nicknames based on it. Most of them don’t even sound like your name anymore.

So.. yeah, immediate nickname guy.

But he always circles back to your real name, like a little treat.

Once bought you a bracelet with your name engraved wrong. Pretended it was intentional.

Adores that it’s odd.

Says it like it’s candy in his mouth. Sings it. Uses it in sentences where it doesn’t belong.

In bed, he says it low and warm into your neck.

He adds "my" in front of it and suddenly it sounds like the most natural name in the world.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee

[andy-wm]

We are enough and love will always win

I've just returned from Singapore where I was lucky enough to see Hobi for his Hope on the Stage concerts.

Besides the absolute awesomeness of Our Hope, which I'll come back to, I wanted to share a few things.

The first being that when he sang Equal Sign I cried.

Hate’ll paralyze your mind

Gotta see the other side

It costs ya nothin’ to be kind

Not so different you and I

Lookin’ for love in a different light

Until we find that equal sign

It's a beautiful song and being surrounded by ARMY from across the globe, all singing together, filled my heart with warmth.

I love the community of ARMY.

I'm not saying we're perfect, not at all. We're messy and loud and too inclined to throw punches when we could just use our words. But we're also instantly a family when we are together at concerts.

Strangers from all over the world embrace each other, support one another, and share the joy of Bangtan.

We laugh together, we cry together, we form bonds that might last a few hours or might last a lifetime. We are ARMY and in that moment, that's all we need to be. We love them and that is enough.

We are enough.

💜 These are two of my favourite photos even though theyre out of focus. He was so happy 💜

And that brings me to the second thing:

ARMY is OT7.

The overwhelming feeling at these concerts was that Our Hope is opening a door that's been sealed since 2023.

It's the door to our Magic Shop

ARMY time had so many beautiful words of love and support for Hobi. But there were also many banners celebrating the return of Bangtan.

We cheered thunderously for those banners.

We are waiting for them.

For all of them, together 💜

The cheers and screams for Hobi's solo work were amazing but when Mic Drop gave us the opportunity to do the fan chant, that whole arena shook.

Bear in mind this is a small venue - Singapore Indoor Stadium only holds about 12k people. And this video doesn't capture the swell of sound because I was in the tiny standing pen wedged between the side of the stage, the screen, and the wall supporting level 1 seats.

Believe me, we were LOUD.

In that moment I knew for sure... ARMY are still OT7.

Solos and antis will never win.

Another of my famously terrible videos. I amaze even myself with my ineptitude.

But back to the star of the show:

Our Hope

I can't tell you how cathartic these concerts were. I can't tell you how much I needed to be there. I was too busy and distracted to realise until I got there, that I was hanging by a thread.

I've spent the last 18 months drowning in grief, trying to come to terms with a huge personal loss. I've kept my mind on other things, pushing the pain into the dark corners of myself, but my energy has been dwindling and I desperately needed respite from all of it.

I needed something good. I needed Hobi.

I needed his light and his energy and his poetry and his rage.

And boy, did he deliver.

Hobi is fearsome and relentless and unstoppable. He is a perpetual motion machine.

He generates fire and life and joy.

Singing, dancing, rapping, flirting (seriously, he's outrageous) and moving, moving, moving all the time. One moment he's a storm and the next he's a gentle breeze but he never stops moving. And like the Pied Piper you can't resist him. You have to go with him, moving and singing and being carried by his effervescence. He's a vibe, and a solid presence on that stage. You just know the future's gonna be okay when he's up there.

I would go and see him again and again if I could but money doesn't grow on trees so I'm back at work replenishing the bangtan savings for the next concert and the next one after that. Because this is not gonna be the last time.

It is never gonna be.

Jungkook said so, and I believe him.

🕺🏻💜🕺🏻💜🕺🏻💜🕺🏻💜🕺🏻💜🕺🏻💜🕺🏻

[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY PREVIEW.

EVERMORE: CHAPTER I

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape.

Preview under cut!

...

The late afternoon sun dips low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the garden as soft chatter floats through the air. The scent of fresh roses and blooming lavender perfumes the breeze, and strings of fairy lights hang from the trees, gently swaying. Everything feels like a dream, a romantic still frame of the perfect moment. You sit on your seat on the bride’s side, nestled between rows of white chairs, surrounded by family and friends dressed in soft pastels and summer suits. The aisle is a winding path lined with petals, leading toward a floral arch that frames the altar, and beyond it, the endless sky.

Julian stands at the front, fidgeting with his cufflinks and taking anxious glances down the aisle. He looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him, his mouth pressing into a tight line as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

Beside him is Hyunjin, the best man, looking entirely too composed in his sleek black tuxedo. The sunlight catching on his cheekbones like it’s trying to show off for him. He catches your gaze and grins, eyes sparkling.

“You look beautiful,” he mouths, followed by a playful wink.

You feel your cheeks warm as you shake your head at him with a smile, mouthing “Behave.”

Then the music shifts. The gentle notes of the string quartet swell as the bride chorus begins to play. Everyone rises from their chairs. You stand too, breath caught in your throat, eyes fixed on the archway at the start of the aisle.

And then she appears. Tigerlily. Your baby girl. She walks out slowly holding a bouquet of Tiger Lilies, her arm tucked into Chris’, the train of her dress sweeping across the grass. The sunlight catches on the delicate beading of her gown, making her shimmer like something out of a fairytale. Her face is radiant, cheeks flushed, eyes glistening with emotion. You almost lose it. You feel tears prick your eyes, the kind that tug at your soul and make your heart swell with pride and nostalgia all at once.

Chris walks beside her, steady but quiet. His smile is soft, but you know him too well—you see the storm behind his eyes. You know it’s taking everything in him not to crumble. He looks like he’s walking her toward the end of something, not the beginning. Like letting her go is breaking him in the most quiet, graceful way.

They reach the front. Chris lifts her veil and kisses her forehead, saying something that makes her smile through her tears. Then, with a deep breath, he takes her hand and places it in Julian’s. You watch that exchange, your heart clenched and full.

Chris walks over to you and takes the seat beside you. He doesn’t say anything at first, just exhales like he’s been holding his breath the entire walk. “She looked like you,” he whispers, voice low and full of everything he’s feeling.

You smile through your tears. “No. She looked like her own.”

And together, you both turn your eyes toward the altar, watching as your daughter—glowing, loved, fearless—stands at the beginning of her forever.

The ceremony unfolds like a dream under the soft golden hour light, with the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds punctuating the vows. Julian’s voice wavers slightly as he speaks his promises, and Tigerlily’s hand trembles in his—but she’s glowing, absolutely glowing. And when it’s her turn to speak, her words are steady and full of warmth, brimming with all the love she’s always carried in her heart.

You catch Hyunjin stealing a glance at you from across the aisle, and your heart stumbles a little. He doesn't smile this time—not fully. His gaze is calm and steady, almost reverent. Like he's seeing not just you, but the idea of forever with you. Like this moment, this ceremony, is a mirror of something he imagines for the two of you someday.

You glance down, the thought so sudden and visceral that it lodges itself deep in your chest. When you look up again, he’s still watching you. Still quietly imagining that future. But then your attention shifts—to your right, where Chris is sitting still, his hands folded tightly in his lap. His jaw is clenched, eyes glassy, blinking fast to fight the tears. You nudge him lightly with your elbow and lean in.

“You’re crying,” you whisper, teasing gently.

“I’m not,” he mutters, voice thick.

You smile at him, your heart aching in the softest way. You reach out your hand, palm up, inviting. He hesitates for a second. Then takes it. And just like that—your hand in his, Tigerlily’s laughter ringing through the garden as she slides a ring onto Julian’s finger, and Hyunjin's eyes still quietly resting on you across the aisle—it feels like everything has aligned. The past, the present, and the future, all suspended in this one, perfect moment.

Chris squeezes your hand once, tightly, and doesn’t let go until the officiant finally announces: “You may now kiss the bride.”

The guests erupt into applause and joyful cheers, but you stay there, sitting side by side with Chris, hands linked. And somewhere in the space between it all, you find peace. And hope. And the fragile, blooming warmth of something just beginning.

...

Full fic will be released this Friday, May 2nd. Or you can read it early on my Patreon:

[spencerrsmopbucket]

Fatal Attraction (3) | Paul Lahote

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Reader Summary: The battle is ruthless, just as everyone had expected. But bones aren't the only thing that crack.

The moments before war were quiet. Still. It was as if every molecule in the air was paralyzed, creating no movement. You felt suffocated, yet every undead nerve in your body was buzzing with anticipation. The flameproof gloves on your hands let out a small squeak, only audible to a vampire, as you tightened and loosened your fists. The reason for the gloves?

Grip. The skin of a porcelain figure was easier to hold on to with the gloves. Not to mention the heat.

Today would be the first time anyone but the Cullen family or the Volturi saw the power you held. You could feel it sitting in your chest, propelled by the dread and anticipation. It was ready to loose itself. The feral newborns, organized by Riley and Victoria, wouldn't be able to make sense of what they were seeing. They'd be eliminated before they could.

You felt Rosalie beside you, a cold hand meeting your clothed shoulder. Her touch was grounding — cool, elegant, and oddly reassuring. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Her silence was louder than words, laced with quiet solidarity and shared rage. It wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about proving something. To the enemy. To yourselves.

The wolves had begun to form behind the tree line, thick paws silent on the snow-dampened forest floor. You didn’t have to look to know Paul was there. You could feel him — his heat, his presence — burning against your spine even with all that space between you.

Your eyes flicked toward the open field ahead. It felt wrong to call it that. A field. It sounded too peaceful. There would be nothing peaceful about what happened here. You curled your gloved fingers again, listening to the minute sound.

"You good?" Rosalie asked lowly. Her voice was tight with tension, but it had the edge of protectiveness. You and Rosalie had never been soft with each other, but there was respect. And she’d seen what this war meant to you. Now, it wasn't just extending your protection to people that had once been your family. It wasn't just extending your protection to the human woman who'd destroyed your relationship. It was extending your protection to the one fated to be with you.

A wolf, nonetheless. He didn't really need your protection. You knew Paul could handle himself. Him and his pack of dogs were ruthless. It didn't mean the mating bond didn't make you feel like he did — in fact, your skin crawled at the idea of him even being involved. You couldn't help it.

You were sure he felt the same. In fact, you could feel it in the way he watched you. Tracking your every move with dark, brown eyes.

A quiet growl rumbled low from the tree line. Not loud enough for the humans. Not even for the vampires, unless you were listening for it.

You rolled your golden irises, sending a sharp glance his direction, before answering Rose.

"'M alright," you responded, pulling your gloves further up onto your deadly hands. "Just ready to get it over with. It's unfortunate it had to come to this."

Rosalie hummed her agreement, though her expression remained cold and unreadable. Her gaze was already fixed on the shifting silhouettes beyond the trees. “They made their choice,” she said. “Now they’ll see the consequences.”

You didn’t respond. What was there to say? You were tired. Not physically — you hadn’t felt physical exhaustion in a long time — but emotionally. Spiritually. This cycle of blood and vengeance and claiming had worn you thin. The newborns were victims of their own manipulation, but still, they would not leave this field breathing.

You felt Paul’s presence close in again, pressing against the edges of your consciousness like a pulse, a heartbeat not your own. He hadn’t moved, but you could tell he was poised to. Ready to lunge at whatever or whoever dared get near you first.

Possessive bastard.

You sighed, flicking a bit of snow from your glove. “If he growls one more time, I swear—”

“He’s going to combust if you so much as get a scratch,” Rosalie muttered, voice dry.

You scoffed. “We both know I’m the one they should be worried about.”

“Then show them.”

Your eyes flicked toward her. There was something hard in Rosalie’s face now — something proud. She'd always put herself in front of you, protecting you closely as your best and closest friend, but she knew strength when she saw it. And she knew what it cost you to stand here, for Paul, for the Cullens, for the strange twisted fate you never asked for.

A crack. A blur of movement at the far end of the clearing.

The newborns had arrived.

No more time for dread. No more space for grief.

You turned toward the chaos with a calm that felt entirely foreign. You were done hiding what you were. What you’d become.

Behind you, you heard Paul’s growl deepen into a snarl, the unmistakable sound of his shift beginning.

The wolves charged.

So did you.

You saw them approaching, red eyes thirsty for chaos. There were newborns of all kinds — young girls, young boys, grown men and women. All confused about what they were and what they'd experienced. You could feel it, your empathic ways burning the inside of your body. As confused as they were, they were also as rageful as they'd been taught to be.

You watched as Leah Clearwater eviscerated a small girl who'd eagerly reached for her throat, a deafening snarl ripping from her own. First kill. It had officially begun.

The air was filled with snarls and bone-crunching collisions, snow spraying like white fire with each movement. You didn't hesitate. You launched yourself into the fray, a blur of precise, lethal momentum.

You dodged a broad-shouldered newborn who aimed too high, twisting beneath him and gripping his arms — your flameproof gloves sparing your skin from the fire — and ripped them clean from their sockets in one smooth, brutal motion. He collapsed to the ground, howling, only to be silenced by a wolf — Embry, maybe — who tore into his throat with a snarl.

You moved on.

The field was chaos incarnate. Jacob barreled into two enemies at once, sending limbs flying. Rosalie fought beside Emmett, the pair of them a tornado of sheer force and fury. Jasper was methodical, cruelly elegant, dispatching his targets with a grace that looked almost choreographed.

And you —

You were the storm.

The power building in your chest finally cracked free like a dam breaking, spilling outward in a wave of blistering energy. A newborn lunged toward you and froze midair, his body seizing like he'd hit an invisible wall. His scream was choked, trapped in his throat as his rage turned to blind terror. Your ability turned his aggression against him, amplified it until his mind couldn’t hold. His body burst into flames, melting his jacket, permeating the air with the smell of burning leather.

He hit the snow hard, twitching and trembling, before you snapped his neck with a twist of your boot. Your golden eyes were emotionless, cold.

Another came at you — faster, savvier, but sloppy — and you ducked, grabbed her by the wrist, and let the gloves channel your hold. She struggled, screeched, her panic blooming in your veins. You shoved it back at her tenfold. Her eyes widened, mouth open in a silent scream. She dropped.

You didn’t hesitate. You ended it.

It was going well, newborns getting crushed left and right by older and far more experienced vampires. Their sloppiness, their bloodlust, their hunger was turned against them, causing their instincts to become their own fate.

Although you were focused into sharp precision, you tried to keep a watchful eye on Paul.

The moment you'd been bombarded with four newborns working in a team, though, your watchfulness slipped. A grunt left your lips as you swiftly leapt into the air, mounting the shoulders of one and tearing his head off. Next, you used your momentum to fling his limp body into another, knocking her off balance.

She hissed, lunging for you, but you were faster — ducking beneath her outstretched arms and planting a kick straight into her ribcage, sending her crashing into a nearby boulder with a sickening crack. Her body shattered on impact.

The third one barely had time to blink before your hand was around his throat, your power flaring like wildfire. You didn’t even need to tear him apart — you flooded him with enough dread to paralyze him completely. He groaned in panic as his limbs went up in flames. That moment of hesitation was all you needed. A clean twist. Gone.

The fourth was smarter, staying just outside your range, eyes darting between you and her fallen comrades. She didn’t attack — she ran. You braced for the chase, your lip pulling back into a snarl, but then you heard it.

Agony tore across the battlefield — not human, not vampire. A sound only a wolf could make.

You turned, instincts screaming louder than reason.

Paul.

Two newborns had him pinned — one latched onto his flank, the other clawing at his shoulder, trying to rip him open. His massive form bucked beneath them, snarling, struggling, blood darkening his fur. But he wasn’t getting free fast enough.

You moved before you could think, a blur of black and vengeance.

“Embry!” you barked, voice slicing through the chaos like a blade. He caught your eyes, understood instantly, and broke from his own fight to follow you.

Together, you hit the newborns with every ounce of fury you had left.

Embry tackled the one on Paul’s back, ripping his throat open with a savage snap. You landed on the other, barehanded now — gloves long forgotten — your fingers digging into his jaw. He screamed, more in confusion than pain, as you flooded his senses with fear and regret so potent he collapsed under the weight of it.

One more twist. One more break. He was done.

You didn’t wait to watch him crumble.

You fell to your knees beside Paul as he shifted back, bloodied and gasping, naked and trembling against the snow. His breaths were ragged, pain carved into every inch of him.

“Hey — hey, Paul. Look at me.” Your voice was lower now, frantic, but controlled. You gripped his jaw gently, trying to ignore the crimson staining your hands. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re gonna be fine.”

His eyes flickered open, glassy and strained.

“You came,” he whispered hoarsely, barely audible.

“You idiot,” you snapped, voice cracking despite yourself. “Of course I came.”

Embry hovered nearby, eyes wide, panic barely masked. “We need Carlisle. Now.”

You nodded. “Go. I’ll keep him awake.”

Embry darted off, but you didn’t tear your gaze away from Paul.

You leaned in, pressing your cold forehead to his burning one. “You’re not dying here,” you whispered fiercely. “You don’t get to scare me like this and then check out. You hear me?”

His bloodied lips curled faintly, a ghost of his usual arrogance. “Still bossy.”

You snort halfheartedly, rolling your eyes. "Yeah. I am."

The thunder of footsteps barely registered as you kept your hands firm against Paul’s bleeding side, your mind a frenzy of panic and desperation. You could hear Embry muttering to Paul, encouraging him to keep his eyes open, but your focus stayed locked on the open gash across his ribs, where angry red muscle met shredded skin. It wasn’t just pain you felt—it was the sickening, molten fear crawling up your spine through the mating bond.

Then — finally —

“Move aside,” Carlisle’s voice rang out, calm but urgent.

You shifted immediately, though your hands hovered like you couldn’t bear to let go. Carlisle dropped to his knees beside Paul, his medical bag already in hand. You hadn’t even seen him arrive, but that was Carlisle — quiet, fast, terrifyingly competent.

“I need you to stay calm,” he said without looking at you. “You’re not helping him if you panic.”

You exhaled, sharp and shaky, but nodded. You forced your hands into fists at your sides to keep from reaching for Paul again.

“He lost a lot of blood,” you said, voice low and tight. “Two of them. They blindsided him.”

“I know.” Carlisle’s hands were already working, examining the wounds with surgical precision. “Embry, hold him still.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a curved needle and suture thread.

Paul groaned when the needle bit into his skin, and your knees nearly buckled. You hated this. You hated having a mate. You felt everything they felt, you had an overwhelming urge to protect.

Your fists clenched tighter, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to stay still, to let Carlisle work. But every sound Paul made felt like it was happening to you. The bond flared and sparked in your chest like a live wire, his pain weaving itself into your very marrow.

You hated this.

You swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “It shouldn’t have happened. I should’ve—”

“No,” Carlisle said gently but firmly, finishing the final stitch. “Don’t do that. You saved him. Focus on that.”

You looked down at him, your golden eyes locking with his bloodshot brown ones. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he muttered, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. “But it’s kinda hot when you go all feral for me.”

You huffed, a weak glare directed at him. “Shut up and stay alive.”

“Deal.”

Somehow — somehow — he managed a chuckle, weak and breathless. “Figured… you cared.”

Your throat tightened. “Yeah. Well. I fucking hate it.”

Carlisle's voice cut in, brisk but less urgent now. “Bleeding’s slowing. I’ve stitched him up. He’ll heal — wolves always do. But don’t let him shift for at least twenty-four hours. If he does, he’ll tear the stitches open and we’ll be back to square one.”

Hours later, when the battlefield cleared and the worst was over, you sat at Paul's bedside with the permission of Sam.

He slept, sometimes a small groan slipped from his lips. You felt his warmth, pouring from his unnaturally hot body and seeping into your bones. Your golden eyes analyzed him, looking for any cause for concern.

When you looked at Paul, with the absence of his mouthiness and snide attitude, you felt almost better about the whole imprinting-mating arrangement.

He was beautiful.

Even bloodied and bandaged, bruises blooming dark along his ribs and arms, Paul looked like something carved from heat and fury — raw, rough, and undeniably alive. His copper-toned skin was slick with sweat, stretched taut over sinew and muscle. Strands of his black hair clung damply to his forehead, disheveled from both battle and fevered tossing in unconsciousness.

There was something about the quiet that made it easier to look at him without the usual firestorm of emotions. No yelling. No bickering. No storming off in opposite directions only to find your way back to each other again. Just silence — and him, lying there in the aftermath.

His chest was rising and falling in shallow, steady breaths. His jaw, normally tight with arrogance or smirking mischief, was slack with sleep. Even the scar just beginning to form beneath the fresh stitches couldn’t mar how peaceful he looked.

You swallowed hard. Your hand hovered over his for a second before you gave in, intertwining your fingers with his. His hand, even while unconscious, shifted slightly — the smallest movement, like his body recognized yours even now.

Stupid wolf.

You hated how your chest ached when you looked at him. How the imprint made every inch of you ache to pull him close and protect him from everything — even the things he was built to fight. You hated how natural it felt to care. How it was no longer about choice, but instinct. Like breathing.

You hated how easily your eyes traced every scar and fresh wound, how your chest clenched tighter each time you counted one. Even still, in all the aftermath — bloodied, battered, breathing — Paul Lahote had never looked more real. More yours.

"You're holding my hand. Didn't even have to force ya." His raspy voice rang out, laced with amusement.

You didn’t pull away.

Didn’t snap at him. Didn’t deny it.

Your eyes stayed shut, trying to smother the sudden flare of emotion in your chest — part mortification, part bone-deep relief.

“You were unconscious,” you muttered, your voice lower than usual, hoarse. “Didn’t think you’d wake up to be annoying about it.”

Paul gave a breathy chuckle — more of a wheeze, really — but the sound was warm, familiar. “Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t,” he said, voice cracking slightly.

You opened your eyes and turned your head to find him watching you. Barely, but it was there — the steady weight of his gaze, soft beneath the sharp edges of exhaustion and pain.

He didn’t speak for a moment. Just looked at you — not with the usual bite or smirk, but with something quieter. Something almost hesitant.

Then, in that same rasping voice, he said, “You’re cold.”

You blinked, brows pulling together slightly. “Uh, yeah. Vampire.”

He huffed — a weak laugh that turned into a wince. “Exactly. Cold. You should… maybe get in here.”

You stared at him.

“What?”

He didn’t look at you, suddenly preoccupied with the ceiling. “I’m burning up,” he said, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “Thought maybe your freakish ice-block skin could help break the fever.”

It was such a Paul thing to say — dramatic, stubborn, and absolutely terrible at asking for what he actually wanted.

You didn’t move right away. Your hand was still in his, and his grip hadn’t loosened. If anything, it had grown more certain, more intentional.

“You want me to get in bed with you,” you said flatly.

“I want to not melt into the mattress, yeah,” he muttered, eyes flicking toward you without turning his head. “But if that helps you sleep at night, sure. Let’s pretend it’s just a temperature regulation thing.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight him on it. Didn’t tease, didn’t call him out — not this time.

Carefully, you shifted, slipping out of the chair and easing onto the bed beside him. The moment your body touched his, he sighed — not dramatically, not playfully, just… relief. Quiet, tired relief.

Your palm rested gently against his chest, over the slow thud of his heart. His hand moved, settling around your waist with surprising softness.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

Then, just as your eyes began to close, you heard him murmur, barely above a whisper: “You smell like rain.”

You smiled against his shoulder, settling in.

“Try not to drool on me, wolf.”

“Can’t make promises when I’m feverish,” he mumbled, boldly pulling you closer to him.

For a while, the room was filled with nothing but the rhythmic sound of Paul’s breathing and the low hum of the fan overhead. His body radiated heat like a furnace, but your touch didn’t flinch. If anything, the contrast between his feverish warmth and your chilled skin made you more aware of every place your bodies touched — shoulder to chest, thigh to thigh, his arm curled loosely around your waist.

You told yourself it was only temporary. Just until he fell asleep. Just until his fever broke. Just until you could talk yourself out of the weight in your chest that came from being this close to someone who wasn’t supposed to matter this much.

But then his fingers moved, slowly — not with the intention of pulling you closer, but more like he needed to remind himself you were real. That you were there. His hand splayed across the small of your back, fingertips brushing the hem of your shirt.

“I didn’t think you’d say yes,” he said, voice soft, eyes still closed.

“To lying next to you?”

“Mm.” He turned his head slightly toward you. “To staying. After everything.”

You exhaled, the sound quieter than a sigh. “You’re not exactly easy to leave.”

A half-smile ghosted across his lips. “Flattered.”

“Don’t be,” you muttered — but your voice was gentler than your words.

There was silence again, but this time it wasn’t empty. It held weight — the kind that filled the room like fog, quiet and creeping and full of things left unsaid.

You stared at the rise and fall of his chest for a long time. Watched the way his lashes rested against his cheeks. Traced, in your mind, the lines of his face — normally sharp with attitude, now softened by exhaustion.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, barely above a whisper.

His eyes opened, a little unfocused. “You just did.”

You rolled your eyes, and he smiled again, smaller this time. Tired, but genuine.

You tried again. “When you imprinted on me… did you hate it?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment he was quiet.

“No,” he said finally. “I didn’t hate it.”

You didn’t speak — just waited, because you could feel there was more.

“I think I hated how much I felt everything. How fast it hit. How much it scared the hell out of me. You walked into my life and every instinct I had went to war with itself.” His voice dropped again, quieter now. “But no. I never hated you.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t hate you either.”

“Liar.”

A soft laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Okay — I hated parts of you.”

“Still do, probably.”

“Definitely.”

His hand moved again, up your spine now, gentle and tentative. “Still staying?”

“For now.”

He hummed low in his throat, pressing his cheek against your temple.

“Then I’ll try not to push my luck.”

You didn’t tell him he already had.

Instead, you let your eyes fall closed, the heat of him warming the cold edges of your body, your mind. Your hand found his beneath the blankets and stayed there.

"Name?" He asked, breaking the silence. "It's my turn to ask you something."

You blinked your eyes open at the sudden shift, but the warmth of his voice kept you from moving too much. You were comfortable, more than you expected to be in his presence, and now curiosity piqued.

“What’s the question?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

His eyes studied you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His hand moved to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. It was so much quieter now — no noise from the battle outside, no tension from before. Just him and you, the quiet weight of everything between you, settling in like it had always belonged there.

“Why?” he asked, the word simple, but there was more to it. “Why stay? Why not walk away like I expected you to?”

Your chest tightened at the question, unsure how to answer. How could you explain that the choice wasn’t as simple as leaving or staying? That something in you just… stayed, no matter how hard you tried to pull away?

“Because...” You took a breath, feeling the weight of the silence hanging between you. “Because I’m here. With you. And for once, it doesn’t feel like I have to fight it. None of it matters — the age old enemies bullshit, the Cullens.. None of it.”

He studied you for a moment, his dark eyes searching, trying to find the answer hidden beneath your words. Then he exhaled, a slow breath, like he’d been holding something in for longer than you could see.

You could feel it in the air, that moment — the subtle shift between tension and something more. Something soft, undeniable. Something you hadn’t expected to feel, not in a thousand years of trying to fight it.

He leaned in slowly, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. There was no rush, no need to say more. The space between you was filled with everything that had been unsaid, everything that had been building since the first time you met.

And then, with the quietest of movements, his lips pressed to yours.

It was soft. Tentative, at first, like both of you were testing the waters. But it deepened, the hesitance melting away as your body instinctively leaned into him. His hand found the curve of your back, pulling you closer, as though the distance between you could no longer exist.

The world outside — the battle, the old grudges, the mess you’d both carried for so long — faded into nothing. It was just the two of you now, in this quiet room, the warmth of his touch and the softness of his kiss pulling you deeper into something more than just the physical. It was comfort. It was home.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to fight it anymore.

He pulled away, nuzzling his nose against the crook of yours. His mannerisms even reminded you of a wolf, nuzzling its snout into its mate.

You giggled quietly, your hand coming up to press against his cheek. The smell of him didn't even bother you anymore — in fact, it naturally faded into something you enjoyed with the help of the mate bond.

He paused at the sound of your soft giggle, his lips curling into a small smile against your skin. There was something about the sound of it — a break from all the tension, the heaviness that had lingered for so long — that made his heart ease just a little more.

His eyes softened, tracing the lines of your face as your hand lingered against his cheek, the warmth of your touch grounding him in a way nothing else could. The connection between you, the bond that had been created so fiercely and unexpectedly, was undeniable now, as natural as breathing.

"You know," you said, amusement lacing your voice and bringing back the soft banter. "For a big, slobbery wolf.. You're not a bad kisser."

Paul's eyes flickered with amusement at the jab, and a low, rumbling chuckle escaped him. His hand found the small of your back, pulling you in just a little closer.

"Slobbery?" He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the hint of a smile. "You're lucky you're cute. Otherwise, I'd have to take that personally."

You grinned, the playful edge to your voice never fading. "I mean, you are a big, slobbery wolf," you teased, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge. "Doesn't exactly scream 'smooth operator,' you know?"

His expression shifted to mock offense, but there was a warmth in his eyes that made it clear he was only pretending. He leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against yours, the kiss lingering just enough to remind you of how natural this felt now. How comfortable.

"I'll have you know," he muttered against your lips, "I could teach you a thing or two about being smooth."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide the smile that tugged at your lips. "I think you're doing just fine," you said softly, your voice playful but genuine.

You studied him for a moment, the seriousness of his tone stirring something in your chest. But then he gave you that half-smirk again, the one that made everything feel light again.

"Maybe I'll show you just how smooth I can be, if you’re lucky," he added, voice thick with promise.

A laugh escaped you, and you settled back into him, the rhythm of your heartbeat aligning with his as if you were always meant to fit this way.

"Then you'll have to try harder," you teased, "because I’m not easily impressed."

Paul chuckled low in his throat, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that surprised even him. "Challenge accepted."

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a challenge at all. It felt easy. Natural.

Like everything was falling into place.

The next morning, when you went back home to the Cullens, they instantly smelled the wolf on you.

The moment you walked through the door of the Cullen house, the familiar scent of the air seemed to shift just slightly. A subtle change in the atmosphere, something that was immediately noticeable to anyone who was paying attention.

Alice, of course, was the first to notice. Her sharp eyes locked onto you as you stepped inside, and her lips curled into a knowing grin. "Well, well," she teased, a playful edge to her voice. "Did someone have a very interesting night?"

You froze for just a second, the heat creeping into your cheeks. You didn’t even have to look down to know that the scent of Paul still clung to you, mixed in with your own. The imprint bond was still fresh, stronger than ever, and it left an undeniable trace.

"Please don’t start," you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, but you could feel your face flush deeper.

Jasper raised an eyebrow, giving you a knowing look as he stood up from the couch, his eyes never leaving yours. "It’s not exactly subtle, you know."

You sighed, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. "I didn’t plan for it to be," you shot back, though the way your heart raced said otherwise.

"Mm-hmm." Alice waggled her eyebrows in an exaggerated manner. "And what exactly happened last night, huh? You just happened to get cozy with a hot, muscular wolf who’s been on your mind for weeks?"

You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t stop your smile from widening. "It wasn’t like that," you protested weakly, though deep down, you knew Alice had nailed it.

Emmett, lounging on the arm of the couch, let out a low whistle. "You know," he started with a smirk, "I thought you’d be the one to hold out longer. But hey, who am I to judge? The wolf's got his claws in you now."

"Not funny," you muttered, though the light teasing didn’t bother you as much as it would have before.

"You stayed the night?" Edward asked, his tone more neutral than Alice’s, but there was an amused glint in his eyes as he watched you.

You winced slightly, but your response was straightforward. "Yeah, I stayed. He was… sick. I had to make sure he didn’t burn the house down with his fever."

"Right, sure." Alice’s grin widened. "And you just happened to stay because of his fever, huh?"

You groaned and rubbed your temples. "Alice, please."

But her smile only grew. "It’s okay," she said, her voice mockingly soft. "You don’t need to be shy. We all know what’s going on." She gave you an exaggerated wink. "Just remember to tell me all the juicy details later."

"Not happening," you muttered, though there was no hiding the amusement in your tone now.

"You might want to watch your back, though," Emmett added, his voice playful. "That dog's probably gonna be even more clingy now that you’ve shared a bed with him."

"Emmett," you protested, though you couldn’t deny that the idea made your heart skip a beat. "It wasn't like that!"

"Keep telling yourself that," Alice teased, crossing her arms over her chest. "We’re all just so happy for you."

You shot her a look but couldn’t suppress the smile that played on your lips. "Thanks," you said, a little sarcastically, but the warmth in your voice betrayed you.

And as the teasing continued, it felt strangely comforting. Despite the teasing, despite everything that had changed, it was easy to relax in their presence — to know they weren’t judging you, but just enjoying the newfound dynamic.

They might have been a little over the top with their teasing, but it didn’t matter. You were here, with them, and with Paul. And for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to hide it. You felt okay.

The ache of loneliness subsided. You felt loved.

[bambieyedoll]

⋆·˚ ༘ * EMMETT CULLEN HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ

𐙚 emmett cullen x shy!reader

emmett immediately notices you, even if you try to blend into the background.

you’re the quiet girl who always looks down, but he notices the way your eyes crinkle when you smile at your book or how you fidget with your sleeves when you’re nervous.

he adores how shy you are. not in a mocking way—he genuinely finds it endearing.

the way your cheeks go pink when he compliments you? yeah, that makes his undead heart stutter every single time.

“you’re blushing again, baby… you know that’s not fair. i can’t compete with how cute you are.”

he’s so soft with you.

as big and energetic as he is with everyone else, with you he lowers his voice, touches you gently, and asks before doing anything that might fluster you.

he wants to make sure you always feel safe.

he gets a kick out of seeing how bashful you get when he calls you things like “sweetheart,” “baby girl,” or “angel.”

he’ll say it just to see your eyes widen and hear you stammer out his name.

“say that again?” he’ll tease gently when you mumble something under your breath. “i wanna hear your pretty voice.”

when you’re out in public and get overwhelmed, emmett immediately notices and subtly shifts closer, creating a physical barrier between you and whatever’s making you nervous.

his arm slides protectively around your waist, and he’ll lean down and whisper, “you okay, love?”

he lives for when you cling to his hoodie or hide your face in his chest when you’re feeling overwhelmed. he wraps those big arms around you and presses a kiss to your hair.

his favorite thing in the world is making you laugh.

he’ll act like a total goofball just to hear the soft sound of your giggle, and the first time you laughed so hard you snorted? he died of happiness.

emmett’s favorite way to show affection? picking you up like it’s nothing and spinning you around when you least expect it—especially if you’re too shy to say you missed him out loud. “you don’t have to say it, babe. i know you did.”

he loves sitting behind you with his chin on your shoulder while you read or draw.

he doesn’t make a sound—just wraps his arms around your waist and stays there, completely content.

he also loves to sneak up behind you and scoop you into his arms when you’re in your own little world. “gotcha,” he says with a grin, while you squeak in surprise and hide your face in his chest.

emmett brags about you constantly to his family.

“she’s shy, but she’s got the biggest heart in the world,” he’ll tell rosalie or alice with a proud grin. “you should see how she looks at me. like i’m worth somethin’.”

when you get nervous around the cullen family, emmett is always by your side, cracking jokes to make you laugh and squeezing your hand under the table so you know he’s there.

he is so proud when you start to come out of your shell.

the first time you spoke up in front of the family, he practically beamed at you for an hour and kissed your cheek like you’d just saved the world.

“that’s my girl,” he whispered, grinning like you just won a gold medal.

he’ll always let you take the lead when it comes to affection.

you don’t like big public displays, and he respects that to the core. but when you shyly reach for his hand in the school hallway for the first time? he lights up like a christmas tree. “oh, so we’re doing this now? babe, i’m honored.”

and when you finally, finally work up the courage to kiss him first? he freezes like his brain short-circuited and then melts. “you’re gonna ruin me, sweetheart. you really are.”

when you’re too shy to say something in front of others, emmett will gently encourage you, or—if he senses you’re really uncomfortable—he’ll say it for you and shoot you a wink like, “don’t worry, i got you.”

emmett has learned your body language like a second language. he knows the difference between your nervous fidgeting and when you’re shy but happy.

if he sees you twisting your fingers or tugging your sleeves, he’ll gently slip his hand into yours or whisper, “want to step outside for a sec, angel?”

you get flustered when he stares at you too long, and he does it on purpose. he’ll prop his chin on his hand, just gazing at you with this stupidly soft smile.

“what?” you whisper, cheeks hot. “nothin’,” he shrugs. “just admiring my girl. don’t mind me.”

he leaves little notes in your books or on your backpack. “i love your smile.” “you looked so cute this morning.” “can’t wait to kiss you later.” always signed with a tiny doodle of a bear or heart.

he once got you a giant stuffed bear and said, “this one’s for when i’m not around—but let’s be honest, it’s not as good-looking as me.”

he keeps a polaroid photo of you blushing and smiling tucked in his wallet (even though he technically doesn’t need one). it’s his favorite picture ever.

emmett absolutely knows you’re shy about physical affection, especially in public, so he never rushes you.

he’s touchy in his own subtle ways—offering his hoodie, brushing his fingers along your hand, tucking your hair behind your ear—but he never pushes.

he’s the kind of guy who’ll pause before leaning in, eyes searching your face, and gently ask, “can i kiss you?”—in a voice so soft it feels like a secret.

your first kiss happens somewhere quiet, away from prying eyes—maybe sitting on the tailgate of his jeep under the stars, your legs swinging and your hands barely touching.

you’re rambling nervously about something when he interrupts with a quiet, “you’re really beautiful when you talk like that.”

you blink up at him, heart pounding, and he leans in just enough that you feel his breath on your lips. but he waits.

and when you finally nod, cheeks burning, he kisses you like you’re made of glass—slow, warm, lingering.

when you pull away, flustered beyond belief, he just grins and murmurs, “worth the wait.”

after that, emmett becomes obsessed with quick, stolen kisses when no one’s looking.

like pressing a kiss to your cheek when he hands you your books. or gently brushing his lips against your temple when you’re too shy to say anything.

he’ll carry you on his back when you’re tired, no hesitation. “c’mere, sleepy girl. let your man do the heavy lifting.”

despite his size, he treats you like the most delicate thing in the world.

but the moment anyone makes you uncomfortable? that playful grin disappears and emmett gets real serious real fast.

when you cry or get overwhelmed, emmett sits with you in complete silence. no pressure to talk, no teasing—just warm arms, quiet heartbeats, and gentle fingers running through your hair.

jealous emmett is… hilarious. someone compliments you in front of him? he immediately wraps his arm around you, grinning a little too wide. “yeah? my girl is stunning, huh?”

if he sees someone making you laugh a little too much, he gets all pouty and weirdly competitive.

he’ll dramatically throw his arm around your shoulder and say, “she laughs harder at my jokes. watch this—hey baby, remember that time i broke that tree wrestling edward?” (he tells the story again, even though you’ve heard it six times.)

he lives to reassure you afterward. “i trust you, baby. it’s them i don’t trust.” then he kisses your forehead and adds, “besides, no one else gets to see that cute little blush but me.”

the first time you get jealous (even slightly), he is delighted.

you mutter something about a girl looking at him too long, and he turns into an actual golden retriever. “wait. you’re jealous? of me?”

he hugs you so tight you squeak and whispers, “god, you’re so cute when you get possessive. i’m all yours, baby.”

he’ll bring you flowers after a night out when he was a little too protective. “sorry if i went caveman on you last night. i just… can’t lose my girl.”

emmett never makes you feel like being shy is a flaw. in fact, he thinks it’s one of the best things about you.

“you don’t need to be loud to be strong,” he says one night, thumb brushing your cheek. “you’ve got this quiet kind of magic. and i’m lucky it’s mine.”

[delilahsturniolo]

⟡ ݁₊ welcome to the end of the world! (please leave your sanity at the door.)

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 . . . four friends: nick, matt, chris, and you—find themselves stuck together at the end of the world, trying to survive a zombie apocalypse with nothing but their wits, a questionable supply of snacks, and zero emotional maturity. you’re just trying to stay alive without losing your mind—or falling for someone on the team.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . . . violenceee, use of guns & other weapons, matt shooting people, physical fighting, jumping of buildingssss uhhhh cursing, mentions of blood.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SECRET BUNKERS

read other parts here!

the air is still, unnaturally still. like even the wind knows what’s coming. below, the strangers don’t flinch when you challenge them. they just smile. calm. calculated. “we were hoping you’d say that,” their leader calls back. and then, they move. two of them peel off left and right, circling, flanking. the others raise weapons, but not at you. at the tower’s support beams. “shit!” matt grabs your arm, pulling you away from the edge. “they’re gonna bring it down!” chris yells, “protect the kid!” already diving to shield lana

“everyone grab something and hold on!” nick shouts. the first shot hits, wood splinters. the tower groans beneath you like it’s alive and in pain. you drop beside matt, one hand bracing against the floor, the other gripping your gun like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to earth. “they’re trying to trap us in here,” nick growls, shoving ammo into the rifle. “wait ‘til they move in closer. we fire on my mark.” matt looks at you. not panicked, focused. “you ready?” you nod, heart hammering. “with you? always.”

“gross,” nick mutters, even as he lines up a shot. “if we die, i’m haunting you both.” more bullets. more wood cracking. the support beams won’t last much longer. you hear footsteps below. they’re coming up. matt’s voice cuts through the chaos. “now!” you all move in sync, one perfect, chaotic heartbeat. shots ring out. one of the raiders drops. then another.

you catch movement on the stairs, someone climbing fast. “matt!” you shout, pointing. he doesn’t hesitate. fires once. a body falls back with a sickening thud. but another one’s right behind him, and suddenly they’re inside, everything turns to screaming and blood and chaos.

you wrestle with a man twice your size, barely holding your own as he slams you into the wall. you feel the breath punch out of your lungs, your grip loosens—

“get away from her!” matt snarls, slamming the butt of his rifle into the guy’s skull. he crumples. you fall to your knees, dazed. matt’s there instantly. “you okay? talk to me.” you manage a breath. a nod. “i’m good.”

“never do that again.”

“wasn’t planning on it,” you wheeze. another blast hits the tower. it lurches violently, wooden beams snapping below. “we have to get down!” chris shouts.

“jump into the trees!” nick says. “they’ll break our fall!”

“or break our spines,” chris snaps. “either way, fun!”

lana tugs on your sleeve, holding something up. the key. small. silver. covered in grime.

“i know where it goes,” she says quietly. “i can take you. but we have to leave now.” the tower groans again. this is it. one more hit and you’ll all go down with it. matt grabs your hand, breathless. “we jump on three.” you squeeze his fingers.

“three,” he says.

“two…”

you look at everyone. your found family.

“one.”

you all leap.

the world flips.

branches slap past your face. pain blooms sharp and fast across your back as you crash through leaves, slam into bark, land hard.beverything spins. but you’re alive.

you gasp, roll over, matt lands beside you with a grunt, grabs your shoulders. “are you okay?!”

“yeah,” you croak, “i think—” but before you can finish, gunfire erupts again. they’re still coming. the group scatters into the woods, dodging bullets, ducking between trees. lana leads the way, fast, determined. her fear’s gone, replaced by something fierce. matt sticks to your side, always. covering you. trusting you.

“you sure she knows where she’s going?” nick pants behind you. “i trust her,” you say. “she’s survived this long, hasn’t she?” matt glances back, eyes sharp. “keep moving. they’re gaining.”

you break through a clearing, and there it is. a bunker. half-buried in the earth, hidden under ivy and rot.

lana runs to the door, jams the key into the lock. turns it.

click.

the door creaks open, rusted, heavy. you all pile inside, pulling the door shut just as the first raider breaks through the tree line. darkness.

then, soft lights flicker to life.

a hallway. clean. dry. stocked. you all stare, breathing hard.

“holy shit,” chris mutters. “it’s real.” matt turns to you. there’s blood on his cheek. your blood, maybe. or his. you don’t care. he cups your face again, forehead pressed to yours. “we made it.” you nod, breath shaking. “barely.”

“still counts.”

he kisses you like it’s the last thing holding him together. and maybe it is. maybe it’s the only thing holding you together, too. because you don’t know what’s waiting inside, but you know who’s with you, and maybe that’s enough.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: last chapter + epilogue soon <3

[marymary-diva17]

Human wife shenanigans

Having a human mate who is also a dream walker could be special. There is so much to learn about their world and cultures. That was something that many navi had to know right away when they had become mates with the ones who came from the skies.

Y/n “ …….” You are collecting data in the forest, as you are not entirely alone. As your baby son had come as well, refusing to be left at home with any caretakers.

Y/n “ Look over there noaw there are a family, of viper wolves over there.”

Noaw had smiled and pointed towards the viper wolves. He even made the viper wolves' growls, which had you laughing. 

Y/n: “ It seems like you have been listening to your father's stories very closely at bedtime or when he has you for the day.”You kissed your son's forehead, making him smile brightly and clap his hands. 

Y/N: “ You are such a cutie pie like your older brother. Now, let's see what else we can get into before your dad comes looking for us.” You soon placed Noaw back down in a safe spot as you started collecting more data and sharing it with him. 

Y/n “ You know, baby boy, I had a day like this many years ago with your Uncle Jake and Uncle Norm with grace. Let's say trouble had found us. Which led me and your uncle Jake to have a run-in with some viper wolves, and soon enough, I met your aunt Neytiri and dad.”

Noaw “ Sempu.” Noaw had also started laughing and speaking gibberish as you soon kissed his forehead. You soon left him there as you climbed the tree to gather the flowers you had seen. Noaw watched you while looking at other things as well. 

Y/n “ got some.” you had been able to grab some flowers. 

???? “ Noaw, there, baby brother. Where is Mom? " Spider had come by to pick up his baby brother. 

Noaw, “Mama. " Soon, he pointed up towards you, and the spider looked up and saw you as you smiled towards him. 

Spider: “Hey, mom.”

Y/N “ Hello, sweetie; I will be down soon. Just get some flowers.”

Spider: “ Cool, but I don’t think Dad will be happy about this, seeing how he has been asking you to take it easy since Noaw was born.”

Y/N: “ Yes, I know, my boy. There's no need to worry; I will be down right away.”

???? “My sons, there you are.” The boys soon turned their heads to the left to see their dad, Tsu’tey, come over. 

Tsu’tey: “ I had a feeling you two will be out here with your mom, speaking of her where she is.” Both boys had become quiet, as none dared to say anything about you in the tree. 

Spider: “ She is collecting some plants and data, Dad. She asked me to watch over Noaw for a while.”

Tsu’tey “ Did she yanwtu.” Tsu’tey soon looked around but couldn’t see you, as he soon looked up to see you in the tree. 

Tsu’tey “Ma y/n, why are you up there.”

Y/n “ The betterment of knowledge and beauty of pandora.” Tsu’tey soon sighed as he looked at you and his sons. As you made your way down the tree, once you were close to the ground, Tsu’tey grabbed your hand and helped you the rest of the way down. 

Tsu’tey: “ I felt you were not going to take it easy fully.”

Y/N: “ I was taking it easy, but now that our Noaw is older, I have decided to do more work.”

Tsu’tey: “There are times when I worry more about you than about our kids.”

Y/n “ My dear husband, I’m just doing what I usually do, even before I become a mother.”

Tsu’tey: “ I shall support you no matter what happens, ma y/n, but you still need to be careful when you participate in these shenanigans.”

Y/n: “ Well, my dear husband, you should have gotten used to shenanigans by now.” You soon kissed Tsu’tey, catching the man off guard as you walked towards your sons. 

Y/n “ Now come on, boys. Let’s get you home while your father follows after and tries to see if we shall do anything human-related.”

Tsu’tey: “ I love you and our kids being humans, and I shall always love that, but there is so much I still need to get used to as well.” You soon laughed with the boys as Tsu’tey soon caught up with you, and they headed home together after gathering everything. No matter how many years go by, your shenanigans will always catch your husband off guard. 

[revcleo]

Most of it is tory voters going to reform, like most of those places were tory already.

The main difference between reform and tory ideologically is that reform openly want to do all the batshit stuff that tories want to do secretly.

But a big difference technically is that reform are incompetent dipshits who aren't used to controlling anything. They can attempt a lot of things, but due to the actions of Thatcher who stopped a lot of things councils can do for raising money, and the actions of Tony Blair who encouraged councils to start selling off their property, and David Cameron who defunded schools and other council run volunteer things. The main things they can/want to do at the moment are:

1. anti-climate change things like promoting cars over active travel/buses/trains and not planting trees - this will make where they live worse, less healthy and less interesting for people to live

2. firing people in a bigoted way - the best thing they can get from this is a bunch of constructive dismissal lawsuits or otherwise unfair dismissial suits. One thing which could happen with this if they fire people for being "woke" or "dei" or whatever, might relate to the terf ruling where people who do things outside of work so long as it doesn't influence work in negative ways aren't allowed to be fired. If they change that, then it changes that ruling.

3. they want to stop people working from home if they work for the council, which will cause their best workers to leave, meaning you know how shit councils are? they'll make them worse

4. Reform candidates have historically been inept buffoons who can't stop getting into scandals. So that'll be funny to see at least.

But we do need to look out for right wing dickheads feeling empowered by this, so whenever you can just say how stupid they are. Because they are, and people talking about that openly makes more people openly happy to say how stupid they think they are.

But one thing which is also true about the whole thing is that lib dem and green numbers have gone up too. There's also fewer people who voted in this election than for a while, and normally not many people vote in local elections.

LIke look, almost all of these are from tories, less two.

Green and libdem doubled their amount of seats. Labour is in 4th in this election and tories are in 3nd. It's pretty mad to see lib dems in 2nd! Labour are on 99 and Green are on 80, that's so close!

If you want to see a really funny result check out the absolute dogshit which first past the post does in a place which is trying to get two councillors for a position:

(Broxtowe Alliance are the left wing candiates who split from Labour)

So yeah, if you are in a place which now has Reform councillors, they're your councillors send them emails because they work for you.

Watch out for dickheads celebrating, because they're dickheads, talk to your friends and family and random people on the street about how dickheads are dickheads to get solidarity.

But honestly the results aren't surprising, it's just showing people are sick of Labour and sick of Conservatives. If you're scared then just go out into your local community and find a nice knitting or rambling group or something to chat with so that you have some local support. But otherwise honestly, councils are fucked anyway compared to how much money they should have.

watching the UK council elections results like

[petty-richonne-rj-fan]

Richonne Joy

I’ll never recover from the joy Rick got from knowing his son looks and acts like him. Rick asked Michonne a confirmation question about their child- a question that lets us know even though he never met his son, he already knew him, because you can’t be from Rick and Michonne and not be stubborn. I’ll never be over the joy this pillow talk brought Richonne and it’s all because of the joy their child brings them. I’ll never be over the fact that most of the time Rick smiles in the series, it’s because of Michonne, and knowing that she and himself gave themselves a little gift that immediately made him smile. I hate that he had to hide his joy of having a child. Even though he had to hide his happiness, his sweet smile that emerged when Michonne told him that Junior called him The Brave Man., was chefs kiss. That scene was the definition of actions don’t always equate to emotional truth, because Rick is a leader and his emotional truth was that he wanted his child but Jadis stanky ssa made him afraid to be there for the kid who he wanted.

Rick and Michonne deserve so much happiness after the cards they were dealt. I think back to how badly Michonne was treated after ricks dissparepence. I think to how she is held to impossible standards by fans when she is the definition of loyalty and being in love with Rick. In season 1, Rick disappeared for a month and when he found his “ family” his ex- wife had already extended a branch in Shane’s family tree. On season 9, Rick disappears for 6 YEARS, and all Michonne did was allow Zeke to kiss her before pushing him away. She had every right to move on and feel something after the community forsook her. No one forsook L0ri like Michonne. Her betrayal of Rick was entirely voluntary. Michonne is the victim racist wish L0ri is.

I’ll never be over the joy illustrated by these two. Trauma and pain are necessary stories, but joy is just as paramount, especially considering that Michonne is a dark skin woman who is usually stereotyped to be angry. I’m so thankful that they make eachother smile…

…And I am so thankful that they’ll always see each other’s smile on the face of their beautiful little legacy that they deserve after all the truama. Their beautiful little legacy, the greatest gift that only they could give eachother

🤴🏻👸🏾🫅🏽

[stars--eternal]

finally started my acotar re-read, and here are my thoughts on the first two chapters:

tl;dr: feyre is an angel. elain should have been written more consistently with the personality sjm claims she has, but she can be redeemed. nesta sucks.

feyre is so selfless, it's insane. she was the one risking her life and providing their basic necessities, and still her thoughts were never focused on her own hunger or needs, but on that of her family. "i knew the expression that would be on my elder sisters' faces when i returned to our cottage empty handed yet again.", "we wouldn't last another week without food."

she had to ask for handouts from the wealthier townsfolk, and just imagine how humiliating that must have been for her. really let that sink in. the youngest in the family, the baby, had to ask for charity because the people who should have been responsible for her were useless.

there is this really heartbreaking moment in the very third page of the book where feyre, who was living on survival mode for years, stopped to admire the swirl of the snow and the way it coated the trees. she says she couldn't remember the last time she had stopped to look at anything lovely or interesting. what a miserable life. and then she says she just wished nesta and elain would get married already, so there would be enough food to go around between herself and her father, and some money to spare to buy paint. . . this is literally heartbreaking. look at the way she had to live, the things she had to give up, because her family was leeching off of her. imagine if she had actually been selfish like people claim her to be, then she would have only hunted for herself, provided for herself, and used the money all on her. but also imagine how this could have been so much different if the whole family came together to help in providing, they were their own enemies, for real, they were in the way of themselves living a better life. not perfect by any means, but any help would have been an improvement to them.

"i needed new boots, but elain needed a new cloak, and nesta was prone to crave anything someone else possessed." this literally summons their personalities. feyre needs something, but so does elain, so feyre will let her have it, and nesta is a selfish bitch lol

"my sisters' voices fluttered out to meet me. i didn't need to discern their words to know they most likely were chattering about some young man or the ribbons they'd spotted in the village when they should have been chopping wood, but i smiled a bit nonetheless." i swear, she's gonna make me cry.

"no mention of the blood on me. i'd long since given up hope of them actually noticing whether i came back from the woods every evening. at least until they got hungry again." it's insane to me that SJM wrote things like this about feyre's family, but she expects people to forgive them. how can you possibly read this and let it slide? lol

granted, she made an effort to leave hints that elain was not so bad, though she isn't off the hook, i really like this part: "it wasn't that elain was cruel. she wasn't like nesta, who had been born with a sneer on her face. elain sometimes just. . . didn't grasp things. it wasn't meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty. i'd never been able to decide whether she actually didn't understand that we were truly poor or if she just refused to accept it. it still hadn't stopped me from buying her seeds for the flower garden she tended in the milder months, whenever i could afford it. and it hadn't stopped her from buying me three small tins of paint — red, yellow, and blue. it was the only gift she'd ever given me, and our house still bore the marks of it." this? this is understandable. this is redeemable. this is fixable.

feyre painting every little corner of the cottage a la rapunzel because she wanted to be remembered after she was gone :(

i hate their father. he's the worst.

"nesta snorted. not surprising. any bit of praise for anyone — me, elain, the villagers — usually resulted in her dismissal." this bitch is so miserable lmao and this is who we're supposed to forgive and understand and root for down the line? nah, let rhysand deal with her.

sometimes feyre would speak and SJM made a point of writing that the family ignored her, like they didn't even hear her at all. this is what i don't get about elain. if she's supposed to be different from nesta, if she's supposed to be this lovely, docile girl without a mean bone in her body, shouldn't she show a modicum of sympathy for feyre? definitely listen to her when she speaks, and answer her. maybe offer to dry the meat, or not spend feyre's money on herself, or at the very least defend her from nesta and stick by feyre rather than nesta. like, this is the bare minimum of what elain could and should have done in order for those traits to be believable about her character, instead SJM had elain arguing with nesta about who would get to spend feyre's money, but spoiler alert: it was never feyre lol

nobody talks about feyre's trauma having to watch her father get beaten up and assaulted by those men as a child, that's actually so sad.

and i'm expected to feel bad for her?! please, whatever she gets isn't bad enough. this is also the same person that was hissing and barking at elain in the same scene, but we're supposed to believe nesta would have whored herself for elain, who she literally thinks of as a dog and has said as much in her spin-off, but live, laugh, love "healing arc", right?

reading about the dresser feyre painted, the night sky that was just for her, makes me all sorts of happy and giddy skshsks feysand really are the blueprint, guys, i'm afraid no other couple will ever touch them.

fuck mother archeron for asking feyre to promise to take care of the family, and fuck sjm for not developing this further because there is literally no reason for feyre to ride so hard to keep a vow to a dead mother that never gave a rip about her? this part specifically is so undeveloped, it's annoying.

"you can't chop wood for us, but you want to marry a woodcutter's son?" LMFAO, a rare snarky feyre in sight!

"but i'd made do, even if it had killed not to have white paint, to do something so flawed and lasting." baby, please :( feyre is so humble and grateful, dude. i just know she thanks rhys for every little thing, and it breaks his heart the way it does mine, that she views even basic necessities as luxury.

"believe me, the day you want to marry someone worthy, i'll march up to his house and hand you over. but you're not marrying thomas." — feyre about nesta. she knew and cared even about nesta's heart, about the life she would live in private, and she wanted nesta to find someone WORTHY of her. this is the sister that you all hate on, by the way. but you love the sister that slut-shamed her right after this display of nurturing feyre showed.

this is also the difference between feyre and nesta when it comes to elain. feyre would have never allowed elain to be engaged to a guy like grayson if they were still in the cabin at the time. elain, who she liked more than nesta lol for sure, she would have been more watchful with elain.

but back to how inconsistent sjm is with elain's supposedly lovely character: "i laid my palms flat on the table as i stared her down. elain removed her hand from where it lay nearby, as if the dirt and blood underneath my fingernails would somehow jump onto her porcelain skin." this isn't the behavior of someone who is kind and caring and thinks of others. this is the behavior of someone who is shallow and arrogant and selfish. also, for somebody who is later on spoken of as not caring about dirt because she gardens, this doesn't add up either lol but i digress because sjm is known for showing little consistency with her writing.

feyre calling nesta a burden to her face is some good fucking food, where is this feyre in acomaf? acowar? acosf? sjm really shut her up for no reason, let my girl fight back for once in her life.

literally talking to feyre like she's an animal and not her own baby sister. and this is the perfect display of abuse and emotional torture, by the way. nesta literally admits in her own book to enjoy causing feyre pain and hurt. she's deranged, mentally deficient, and i don't know how she even has a single stan. and she has the nerve of being like "as if our life was that bad", "since having sisters sucked so much for you", like SHE wasn't doing all this 😭 the perfect display of a narcissistic abuser fr.

and again, elain showed sympathy to who? exactly.

my heart goes out to feyre so much. how could she possibly have hope when everybody was leeching off of her and abusing her? she feared she was going to be lost and forgotten to time, and nesta fed into that fear. there was no hope for her.

anyway, this post is already too long, so i'm finishing it here, but i expect to pick up on the pace soon, i probably won't have much to say about tamlin and lucien 'cause i don't really care about them as characters so yeah lol

[bad-holmes-impression]

TELL ME EVERY TTS/VAT7K HEADCANON YOU HAVE

PLEASE NO I HAVE A FAMILY

why did i subject myself to this. i’m still gonna do it, though. (these aren’t fully dedicated to any one character, so y’all can still ask about them! just thinking of the overall shows)

-varian got down on one knee to propose to hugo. hugo laughed and said “ha, you’re even shorter now.” there was a moment of absolute silence before hugo realized what was going on. varian started to stand up. hugo frantically begged him to wait and start over.

-cassandra and eugene occasionally called off their rivalry for cass to teach eugene to play chess. cass had realized he didn’t know how (orphan, poor, thief) and said that a future king obviously had to learn. cue surprisingly cute, very gruff training.

-varian is terrified of maximus. maximus can smell the criminal on him. varian has had to hide in a tree from that horse several times.

-there was a point in hugo’s life, after vat7k, where it finally dawned on him that he was safe and happy. varian held him as he cried with too many emotions he couldn’t describe.

-hugo absolutely despises frederic and arianna. he performs elaborate, heist-like pranks on them for varian’s sake. they don’t know it’s him. they’re losing their minds.

-for a long time after his redemption, varian didn’t see anything wrong in his relationship with andrew. he just thought “well, he’s standing in for my dad.” and then he did consciously realize “he’s evil”, but he didn’t actually unpack everything that went on. i don’t think andrew did anything to him, but i think he was extremely creepy, and there’s still something so horrible about a man in a confined space with a boy who was 13 only a year ago.

-upon the separatists of saporia breaking out, andrew made sure to keep varian busy in the castle so he didn’t realize that the citizens of corona were enslaved.

-varian’s truth cookies made pete and stan confess their love.

-nuru is afraid of ruddiger at first (not a lot of wildlife in a meteor-ravaged kingdom). she finally gets over that fear just in time for varian to have to turn ruddiger into beast-ruddiger for some reason. nuru is even more emotionally scarred.

-“plus est en vous” goes differently in my mind. in my ideal reality. in my headcanon. i don’t know exactly what happened, but i do know varian, lance, and eugene play MUCH bigger roles.

-hugo is an emotional drunk. varian is a stupid drunk (while inebriated, he once invented a ship, which had already been invented at the time. ((by “ship”, i mean boat.))) rapunzel is also an emotional drunk. cass is the death-wish kind of drunk that would deliberately try to get run over by a carriage. eugene can keep an objective in mind when he drinks, like getting information out of somebody, but he will also get distracted by a really pretty swirl of wood on the table. lance is a philosophical drunk.

-the whole team, from both shows, hums their big songs to themselves when they’re bored. those things may spring out of their innermost psyches and display themselves in fits of passion, but damn if they aren’t catchy.

-angry once won an arm-wrestling match against lance. no one knows how it happened. lance swears she hypnotized him.

-eugene lets rapunzel paint on him, and she comes to him for fashion advice.

THAT’S ALL I CAN THINK OF RIGHT NOW AND THEY AREN’T EVEN CHARACTER-SPECIFIC SO OH BOY I GUESS I HAVE MORE

[rav1377]

Goodnight Loving Trail

cowboy!John Price x fem!reader (ranch au)

put my whole Texas behind into this one…if it’s too technical for y’all lemme know. my family has experience cattle ranching so i have knowledge on this subject and if i wrote something that you’re looking like “what the hell is she talking about.” LET ME KNOW! if you’d like something more visual for the calf stuff, i HIGHLY recommend watching the Houston Rodeo reruns of team calf roping AND tie down roping, all on YouTube! i know it may seem harsh as you read this, but the cows aren’t being hurt.

tw:kissing in this one, comfort, father getting sicker, dementia, not taking pills, ranch work, etc etc etc NOTE: reader does reference something of John’s as “bigger than hers”, NOT a reference to readers size/weight, merely a JOKE, it’s a JOKE. I do NOT mean to offend anyone or make them feel this fanfic is not for them. reader is reader, meaning YOU!!! if you feel that im inaccurately writing or not being inclusive, LET ME KNOW! I will try to fix it! That being said, I’ve written these as if I was the reader, and I am personally a little chunkier! But if you don’t like this, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF THAT IS GOOD INFORM ME. -cass 💕:D

the cool Texas morning rolls in on the east wind, and the oak trees shift and move in the early hours of the morning. you lie awake in bed, on your side, and face the open window. your pa isn’t getting better and refuses to take his pills. the cows haven’t been worked in days. the fields need tending to. the garden has weeds over growing and strangling your other plants. the barns need to be prepared for winter. the goats and sheep need to be checked. the dogs need to be fed. the perimeter needs to be rerun. the fence on the west side needs to be fixed. the pipes are leaky and need new pieces. the roof is old and crumbling, needing new shingles. everything is falling apart to you. you sigh and sit up as your clock hits 4:30am. maybe with John here things will be different. you didn’t want to admit you needed his help, but you do.

you stretch and try to get the sleep in your eyes away. the wardrobe in the corner of your room is open and you reach for a pair of worn jeans and socks, slipping them on slowly. your belt comes on next, followed by an old tee shirt. walking to the bathroom, you turn the old sink on and brush your teeth thoroughly before splashing some cool water on your face. a hair brush pulls hair from your face and into a ponytail. the mirror sits in front of you and you don’t want to look. all you’ll see is a tired girl trying to keep a farm together, bags under her eyes, exhaustion clear. sighing you turn off the light and slip down the hallway. John’s rooms light is on and you hear him moving around. you’d told him to be ready at 5 to help with the morning chores and you smile, pleased he’s ready to work.

the stairs creak slightly as you walk down to the kitchen, pulling out bread and eggs. John comes down not even five minutes later. “mornin’.” he rumbles, deep morning voice present. you nod and buck your head to the toaster. “morning. could you put some bread in there for breakfast?” you ask. he’s quick to follow your orders, promptly entering two slices in before pressing the button down. he watches as you make scrambled eggs, adding a bit of salt and pepper. the toaster pops, and he places a piece on each plate that you already laid out. you turn back to him, eggs done, and serve portions onto each. you place a bigger clump of eggs on his and his eyebrows furrow. “no no, put some back on yours.” you roll your eyes. “John i have plenty on my plate. i made the extra for you on purpose.” orange juice is poured into cups as the two of you sit down. John’s miffed for him getting more than you. his father always told him to make sure his wife always got plenty of food before eating each meal, to make sure she was provided for. of course you weren’t his wife but he thought the philosophy still applied. you did seem okay with your meal, but it still rubbed him a bit wrong.

your sweet voice cuts through the chewing of food. “we have a lot to do.” you whisper, head drooping. “that’s what i came for.” John says, looking at you. “tell me what needs to be done.” he says, putting down his fork after his last bite. “well the priority is the cows. calfing season is coming up and we have a lot of heifers that are having their first babies. so we need to check and work them today.” he nods as you talk, taking a sip of his juice. your thigh is pressed against his and he watches as your hands move with everything you say. “we should also start to prepare the crop fields. we need those to get through the winter. and if we can squeeze it in, start on the barns.” you finally finish, head resting in your hands. “there’s so much to do John and I don’t have the time or means to do it on my own.” you whisper. tears prick at the corner of your eyes as your voice begins to shake. his chest hurts, distraught that you’re so stacked with things to do. “it’ll be okay. we can start on a bunch of the work today.” he tries to console you, hand resting on your back. “these aren’t one day jobs, they’ll take days.” you murmur, head back up. your eyes are far off and filled with worry. “it’ll be okay. y’ever thought about getting more help?” he says. you shake your head. “i don’t need help.” you say firmly, eyes coming to reality again. John sighs in his head. always stubborn. that’s what he remembers most about you from school. you’re hard to change, and when you found something you stood for, you dug your heels in like an anchor. “well we can still get a lot of this done today.” he says, rising from the nook in the kitchen. he takes the plates and glasses, rinsing them in the sink. you nod, eyes stinging. you stand and pull a pill box from the counter, writing something on a sticky note before placing the box on the table. John watches from the sink. “my dads meds.” you explain. he nods and returns to the dishes. “he refuses to take them, he’s just being stubborn.” you growl out. “reminds me of you.” he says, but his eyes are filled with something that you can’t put your finger on. you sigh and look away, headed to the back door.

pulling on your boots, you slip a jacket on to brace the cool fall air. John follows suit and you throw work gloves into your pocket. grabbing your hat, you open the door and walk out to what you call the shed. John follows close behind, steps heavy on the wet grass. the shed isn’t a shed, rather a large barn where you hold everything that you need for work. the tractors, mules, and atvs all sit out in here, waiting to be used. you’ll check cattle first though, and you prefer to be on horses for that so you can get really close to the cattle. “you know how to ride?” you ask, walking over to the tack room that’s connected to the stables. John hums in affirmation, still taking in the room. “good.” you say, walking into the much smaller tack room. you pull off a saddle blanket and saddle before kicking open the door to the stable. your horse Big Red sits on the right stall, chuffing like he’s waiting for you. you smile and throw the saddle over to sit on the fence. Oliver sits in the stable to the left, nickering at the commotion. John walks in behind you, saddle and blanket in hand. “this one okay for me to use?” he asks, showing you. you nod and return to Red, entering his pen. “you’ll ride Oliver today.” you jut your chin out at the large black horse. Oliver was named after Oliver Loving, co-creator of the Goodnight-Loving cattle trail. another black horse in a pen is Charles, named after Charles Goodnight. your father had bought them when you were fourteen, a rare pair of twin brothers. Big Red is your most recent baby though. you bought him as a foal when you had just turned 18, a sort of birthday gift to yourself. his brown-red coat gleamed in the sun and reminded you of the mountains of Arizona and New Mexico.

you enter the stall and throw the blanket and then saddle over your horse, securing it with the straps and belts. you hear John do similar across the room. you walk back to the tack room before bringing out a bridle and harness, then grab a lasso rope before calling out to John the things he’d need. “we’re not completely sure if premie calves have been born so we’ll take some rope just in case.” John nods and returns to the tack room to get his own supplies. you needed a saddle bag for the tag piercer and anything else you might need to work cows, including some water for you and John. some chaps sit in the tack room and you pull your pair on over your jeans, leaning over to fasten the clasps. you hear John’s steps behind you coming into the room and you stand, pointing to where some extra pairs lay. “see if any of those fit you, might be a little tight though. they were my dads.” you say and he nods, pulling on a beaten navy blue pair. they are a little tight, and squeeze his thighs, but aren’t too uncomfortable. when the two of you are finally ready, you open Red’s pen and walk him out into the pasture before mounting him. John follows, but Oliver is playing a joke on the new man, moving every time John tries to bring his right leg over his back, causing him to stumble. you watch, amused, as John tries to get on him again. this time, Oliver moves a good three feet, and John falls right on his butt. you laugh, pressing a hand to your mouth. he looks up to you from the ground. “oh this is funny?” he asks, eyebrows raised. you nod, wheezing. his eyes dance with playfulness as he grasps Oliver’s reins. you walk Red over there, barricading Oliver’s right side so he can’t move. John’s successful this time, and snugly fits into the saddle. “ride ahead to that gate. well go to the Dawn pasture first.” he nods. you watch and follow behind him as he guides Oliver where you directed. his strong legs grip the sides of the horse before resting his feet in the stirrups. eyes trailing upward, you can’t help but look at his ass that’s snug in the saddle. you smirk and look away. he’s got a fatter ass than me you think to yourself.

when you reach the gate, you explain how the farm works. 3 large pastures, each over 100 acres. the Dawn pasture, the Grant pasture, and the Conner pasture. the names help everyone keep track, though unusual. they were the last names of the men your pa worked with in the mines, killed in a mine collapse in Wyoming. Dawn pasture is where you keep a lot of the heifers and young cows, along with sheep or goats if you have them some years. Grant pasture keeps the more seasoned cows and bulls, ones that won’t be too crazy. Connor pasture is the biggest and roughest. Clearwater lake sits on the front part of the pasture that faces the house, and the albeit small Watson mountain ranges sits in the bag. Watson mountain range isn’t really a mountain, but this is Texas land and it does what it wants. it encapsulates the northwest side of the property and the land is rocky and tall, hard to navigate. mountain lions and coyotes roam the area, but you let some cows roam near the lake. they’re smart enough not to venture too close to the mountains. you have three crops that you grow; corn, cotton, and wheat. four if you count the hay field. the corn crop sits in front of the main house while the wheat field sits in front of Connor pasture. the cotton field is relatively small, and is snuggled between the horse pasture and the corn barn. the hay field is nestled between the grant and Connor pasture, and sits diagonal from the main house. that’s all John really needs to know for now, and you unlock the gate, riding into Dawn pasture.

heifers are roaming the hills, grazing at the grass. some of them aren’t pregnant with their first calves but most are. you silently do a rough count of them as you and John ride side by side. one sticks out. an early calf. you have to be careful with these, needing to check and watch over them because they’re a bit early. you look at John and gesture with your hands at the calf. “we need to tag that one.” you call, separating from John. he immediately picks up what you mean and rides to the right side of where the momma cow and the baby are. you turn off to the left as you get closer, pull your cattle stick from the hook on Red’s saddle. the mother is on the left side of the calf, staying close to her baby. John pulls off his rope and swings it slowly in his left hand, legs guiding Oliver on their own. you nod at him and start making noise, whooping lowly and clicking your tongue. the mom sees you now and turns to face you. John creeps to the right and speeds up, moving to lasso the calf. the rope lands around its neck perfectly, and John tugs the rope to get the mom away from the calf. you ride between the gap, and dismount. the momma calf knows who you are though, and thankfully doesn’t make too much trouble, instead watching the situation closely. you walk slowly to the calf, John staying on Oliver. the little animal is panicking, crying for its mother. the momma calf moos at her child, trying to calm them. the momma cow paws at the ground and scrapes up dirt nervously. you pull open your saddlebag, pulling out the tag piercer and a new number ear tag. you walk to the little animal, calming it as you rub its stomach. you swing one leg over its side slowly, pressing her, you check in between your legs. you’ve found that similar to a cow chute, these calves are calmer when they’re squeezed. you make shushing noises as you bend over, pulling its head up gently so you can slip the tag through its ear with the piercer with a clear ca-chunk.

you throw off the lasso and release the cow to her mom, hearing her duck under her moms body. you smile and nod at John before walking back to your own horse. the two of you walk around and check the pasture, counting only one more premie and working it. the rest of your heifers are looking great, still healthy and round with their coming babies. the whole ordeal takes about 4 hours, and by the time you’re done it’s almost 10:00. as you ride back to the horse pasture John sighs. “well, we got that done in four hours, we started at six?” he asks. you nod, looking at the brunette man. “we’ll have to run those calves to the chute to get them their shots and register them.” you say. John slides off Oliver to open the gate to the horse pasture. “well use the horses again, but i need to run inside to check on my pa.” you say, dismounting after he closed the gate. you hand Big Red reins to him. “ill be right back.” you say, nodding. his blue eyes bare into yours and you stay silent. the walk back to the main house is silent and lonely. wish John was here. your mind unconsciously thinks and you scold yourself. you can’t be thinking about him like that. he’s a ranch hand, nothing more. the house is quiet when you walk in.

walking to the living room, your pa is sat in his normal armchair, watching some news channel. “pa?” you ask, kneeling by him. “hello.” he says, finally looking at you. as you look up at him, you can see it in his face. he doesn’t recognize you. “hi.” you whisper. “what’s a nice young lady like you doing in my house?” he asks, sitting up straighter. “nothing sir, i’m just passing through.” you say, standing. “i have something for you.” he nods, rising as well. “you need to swallow these. do you understand that?” picking up your fathers pill box you open today’s day and hand them to your father. “swallow them with water or when you eat something, okay?” your pa nods and walks to the fridge. “well i’ll just swallow them right now then.” he says, pulling out the pitcher of sweet tea. you nod, eyes stinging as you pull him a cup. he doesn’t remember you. he pours himself a glass of tea and takes his pills. nodding, you walk back to the back door and pick up your hat from its hook. “you know, lemme tell you somethin’ girl. you look just like my wife Audrey.” he says, nodding as he sips his tea. “i bet she’s real pretty.” you whisper before walking out the back door.

John’s waiting for you like a loyal dog at the horse pasture. you climb back on your horse and John unlocks the gate. “you know how to team rope?” you ask as you ride side by side. “i do. i’m better at heading.” he says, voice gruff. it sends a shiver down your spine and you look away. in rodeo, team roping is one of the best events. two cowboys both with lassos, chase a cow. when they’re ready, they release those ropes, one trying to get the calf’s head, called a “header”. the other cowboy tries to get the calf’s legs or foot, called a “heeler”. that’s what you and John will be doing. it’s easier to get the calf immobilized so you can lead it back up to the cow chutes at the front of Dawn pasture than trying to get it there by herding alone. you don’t need the whole herd, just the two calves. luckily, you don’t have to go far. you can see the two calves from this morning with their moms and you head toward them. you pull off your lasso and John follows suit. he pulls a piggin string from his belt and tucks it between his teeth. as you spin the lassos, approaching, the calves are skittish, but you and John hook one successfully. his rope flies around the neck, tugging the calf to him and Oliver as you release yours, perfectly hooking on its rear left leg. Johns already off Oliver, turning the calf to tie its legs. when he finishes, he picks up the calf and rests it on top of his horse, sitting in front of him.

it’s your turn. you pull out your own piggin string and tuck it in between your teeth. John leads this one, blue eyes zeroing on the second calf. as you ride to it, swinging the ropes, John releases his, perfectly landing on the animals head, slowing it for you. you’re quick to release your own, roping both of its back legs, something challenging for heelers. you’ve only done it a handful of times. John lets out a whoop and a laugh as you dismount Red and wrap the calf’s legs together with the piggin string. “you ever done that before?” John calls to you, voice filled with excitement. “yeah, twice! and one of them the calf seemed like it was running through molasses.” you say, grinning up at him. hauling the young calf to your horse, you follow suit of John and place the calf across Big Red, sitting snug next to you so you can keep it safe. the two of you ride back in laughter, talking about what just happened, conversation flowing like wine. you can’t remember the last time you laughed so much. when John gets to the chute he enters the pen and pulls his calf with him, letting the thing run around in the pen. you follow suit, releasing your little calf. “want me to get them in the chute?” he asks from inside the pen. nodding, you walk up to chute controls, opening it for the first calf. John’s clicking his tongue and holds his arms out to herd one into the chute. the skittish one runs in instantly, and you close the door on the young calf to keep him trapped. he moos at you and you nod, pulling out the shot kit you keep in a storage box by the chute. “i know i know.” you say, continuing to babble back at the young cow as he bellows at you. they’re like your children really, you talk like they’re grown and can understand you. preparing the dosage, you come to the side of the chute before pressing the needle into it’s skin. the cow chuffs and rattles inside the chute. pulling out a clipboard, you fill out a registration form for the calf, including his new number and vet information. you pull open the lever for the chute and the young cow runs back down the fence line, back into Dawn pasture. John herds the second calf next, she seems to be the more stubborn one. she’s escaping John’s arms and refuses to move when he waves at her. you chuckle. “come on John! i thought you were a cowboy!”you call, leaning over the fence to watch him struggle. he growls something at you, and finally guides the calf into the chute. you hit the lever and the cow stops. preparing another shot, you carefully inject her before registering her as you did the other. John’s huffing and breathing hard as he comes to stand next to you. when you release the cow you face him. “worn out because of a little calf?” you tease, smiling up at him. he shakes his head, still out of breath. his face is flushed, and his chest moves rapidly under his white shirt. you laugh and pat him on the left side of his chest before walking back to the horses. you mount yours and John follows suit. it’s almost noon as you finish tacking away the horses and gear. the house is loud, some old music playing on the radio your pa listens to. “there’s sandwich stuff for lunch if that’s okay.” you offer, going to the fridge to pull out the pitcher of tea and some strawberries. John nods and pulls out bread. you pull ham and cheese out of the fridge as well, trying to balance it all. the packet of ham starts to slip out of your arms but John catches it. “thanks.” you smile at him and place the contents on the counter. as you stand side by side and make lunch, someone watches from the hall.

your father leans on his cane, but stands deathly still as he watches the scene. you’re smiling again. laughing. like some invisible burden was raised from your shoulders and you can be young again. it reminds him of his Audrey. they used to stand in the kitchen, making dinner together, dancing around the hardwood floor. he’s got so many regrets. he should’ve married Audrey sooner. should’ve had his family when he was younger. instead he waited until he was an old man, back tired and sore from the mines. now he’s older and has trouble remembering. remembering his daughter. he doesn’t want to leave you alone. hours spent in a collapsed mine surrounded by the corpses of his friends haunt him of that at night. the thought of his wife bleeding out on the street alone after being shot wake him up from sleep. that’s partially why he put in an ad. hoped that whatever ranch hand out here (after he made sure they were safe and hard working) would help after he died. maybe have some compassion and help you with the funeral before moving on. you’d be able to move away with the money from his will and from the land. go to the city. but he was a young man once. sees the glint in that boys eyes when you laugh. hears the way you laugh. maybe that boy would stick around. for good.

John and you eat out on the back porch. a swing sits on and faces the pastures, and the combination of the rocking, the breeze flowing down the hills, and the good meal you just ate is making you sleepy. John’s shoulder presses against yours as he eats. his eyes are wide and take in the scenery as he takes another bite of strawberry. you smile and relax your shoulders, placing the plate to the right of you. eyes drooping, you don’t even feel yourself drift off to sleep.

John feels a weight on his bicep. you’re leaning on him, eyes shut and arms crossed over your chest. he slows his feet that are pushing the chair and stills. the plate and sandwich in his lap are left discarded, and he slowly licks off strawberry juice from his fingers before relaxing. he could sit while you napped. wouldn’t move an inch. you were probably tired. it’d been a long day and the weather was only getting warmer, cicadas clicking in the distance. jackets had long been left inside and hats hung on their hooks for later use. your nose lets out little puffs of air, and your body begins to really relax. your shoulders go completely limp and your body leans forward more, unable to hold itself up. so John tucks you under his right arm. moving slow, he shifts so your left thigh is almost on top of his right and your back leans into his chest. his right hand searches for a place to sit and tentatively rests on your right hip. the breeze floats through the porch, soothing the both of you. John’s eyes flutter closed and stay closed.

it’s mid afternoon when you begin to stir. you feel something heavy slung over your hip as your eyes open. the porch sits in front of you along with someone’s wide legs. you sit up slowly, taking in the environment. looking to your left, John’s asleep, head tipped back against the porch swing. snores leave his mouth and drool runs down the right sound of his mouth. his plate sits in his lap, half of a sandwich left over. his hand is the one on your hip and you try to stand, blushing. his hand tightens and pulls on your waist before you finally escape his grasp. you’re sure your face is flushed as you straighten your shirt and pick up both discarded plates. leaving him on the porch, you walk inside and rinse them both, looking out the window that overlooks the land. your father comes up behind you. “y’all worked hard this morning.” he says, coming to get a drink of water. you nod, scrubbing at the plates with soap. “he’s a fine worker. good man.” your father remarks, taking a sip before walking to pull a chair from the breakfast nook. you nod along again, drying the plates with a rag. “y’all work together well.” he says, looking at you directly. you hum, placing the ceramic plates in the cabinet. “yeah. got work done quick today.” you say before grabbing your hat and placing it on your head. you pick up John’s as well, knowing he’ll want it. “we’re going to go check the fields. start on the hay one.” you say, looking back at your pa. for the first time in a while, you see him. he looks old, hair graying and bones weak. he smiles at you still, just like he did when you were a kid. “okay sunflower. i’ll be here.” he says, and you slip out the back door. gazing where John sleeps, your mind turns. you shouldn’t do it. shouldn’t let him get close. you think back to your high school days, when you’d exchange glances at each other in the halls. flitting stares in class. his eyes straining to see you as he stood on the football field on game days. you’d hoped there’d be something between the two of you then, but it never happened. that was 5 years ago. not long at all, but to you it was. you stare at his sleeping form for a few moments more. his large chest rises slowly as he snores, and you look down. you shouldn’t. you won’t. but at the same time, it’s John. you’d smiled more than you have in the past year, laughed more than you have in the past three. you’re not sure what to make of the feelings in your chest, but you know John’s the cause of it.

you step in front of him, and rub his left shoulder. “John.” you say, pulling him upward a bit. “John. we have more work to do. John.” you say all of this softly, and his eyes flicker open, head raising to look at you. his hairs tussled and sticks up, blue eyes blinking blearily at you. drool clings to the side of his mouth and you smirk. “wipe your face.” you say before putting his hat on his head and walking to the Shed.

the first thing John hears is your sweet voice saying his name like it means something. he blinks his eyes open, your pretty eyes look down at his, hair looking perfect beneath your hat. he’s caught up in you, your soft lips and face with a healthy dose of warmth on them. “wipe your face.” is all he hears before you’re placing his hat on his head and walking off. he scrambles up and jogs after you, porch swing rattling in the process. he does what he’s told though, wiping dried drool off his mouth before catching up with you. opening the door to the Shed, you pull keys for an atv four wheeler. “we should go check the hay field.” you say, walking to the garage door, hitting the controls to open the large thing. “you okay with riding on the same one?” you ask. “kind of forgot to fill up the other one…” your voice trails off and you rub the back of your neck. that really was on you. John couldn’t care less, nodding as you walk back over. he watches you swing your leg over and lean to the front of the vehicle before turning over the engine. John didn’t account for being so close to you though. as he swings one leg over, the front of your thighs become flush with the backs of yours. he tries to keep himself leaned back, not touching you at all with his hands. “good.” he says gruffly and you nod, pulling out of the Shed. the drive to the hay field thankfully isn’t too bad. John’s more focused on the way your thighs touch his. as you slow to the fence of the field you nod at him, and he gets off to unlock the gate. basically a universal ranch rule. the youngest or the grunts get the gate. right now, he’s the grunt, so he gets the gate. as he pulls it open, you ride through and idle, waiting for him to get back on. “you can leave it open! we’ll be back.” you call over the rumble of the engine, and he climbs back onto the vehicle. a worn down path cuts through the middle and you ride down it, eyes scanning. John leans in closer and you feel his stomach touch your lower back. “what are we looking for?” he shouts so you can hear him. “animals, bull nestle, any odd plants, vultures, or large groups of bugs!” you yell back. John leans away at that, his eyes start scanning.

you’re riding the permiter of the fence now, looking out at the field to the left. just then, something catches John’s eye in the air. his right hand darts to your shoulder and his left points upwards. “there!” he says, and you slow before taking a path cutting through the field to the left. a vulture is circling around something on the ground, floating in the air. finally you see it. a dead coyote laying in the patch of grass. the vultures don’t scare and continue to pick at the dead animal. you turn off the engine and reach down by the bottom of the atv to pull off the rifle strapped there. leaning the barrel over the seat of the atv, you aim carefully before you have the vulture picking at the animal in sights. John crouches next to you quietly, soft breath hitting your shoulder. you exhale and take the shot.

dead on. John’s impressed as the vulture falls to the ground and you’re quick to aim for the one in the sky, holding the barrel still for all of two seconds before another shot rings out. dead on. you’re like Annie Oakley or something. he watches you rise and strap the gun back to the atv. “pop the seat, there’s some trash bags in there.” you say before pulling on your work gloves. he pulls the bags out before he’s pulling his own work gloves from his back pocket and tugging them on. like the chaps, they’re a little tight but not terribly bad. the two of you walk to the animals, John helping maneuver the coyote and vulture into the bag before picking up the other dead vulture that’s a few feet away. “this all looks fresh so the grass should be okay.” you say as you walk back. John ties the bag into a bungee cord on the back plastic part of the atv before you drive, ready to check the rest of the field. thankfully, everything else is clear, grass healthy and tall. Itll be time to bale it soon. the sun is getting lower in the sky when you’re finally done. dinners next. the house is quiet, your pa reading a book in the breakfast nook. “hey pa.” you say, taking off your hat and resting it on a hook. he looks up and grunts. “i was going to make mac n’ cheese with some chicken we have. that okay?” you ask, not really directing the question to anyone. John nods at you while your father speaks up, always something sarcastic to say. “you ask that like you’ll cook something else.” he grins. rolling your eyes, you pull out the ingredients, laying them on the counter. “well no, but it’s polite to ask, ain’t it?” you counter. your pa huffs and returns to his book.

everyone’s laughing at dinner. John told your father of how you roped both legs of a calf today and the older man brought up the time you tried to do that as a girl with a much bigger bull, and got thrown straight off your horse when the bull ran. you’d gotten thrown into the mud, completely dirtied, but you didn’t let go of the rope, held right onto it until one of the other men in the ring picked you up. even then, you were screaming like the devil, trying to get that bull. Johns eyes danced with light, and they flitted to you with every laugh. your pa was grinning like a cheshire cat, letting out wheezing laughs. you felt your face flush as you smiled into your lap, shoulders shaking as you suppressed laughter.

your pa helped you with dishes today, bones feeling good to stand. he laughed and teased you about things that happened when you were a girl. “you were such a pretty baby. cutest cheeks on earth. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I ever saw.” he chuckles, drying off a plate. you smile and rinse silverware. he looks at you, placing a plate back in its stack. “you still are the most beautiful thing in my life, sunflower. my daughter.” his hand comes down on your shoulder and you smile at him. he pulls you in for a hug before pressing a kiss to your temple. “i’m going to bed.” he says, walking off onto the stairs. “goodnight! i’ll be back later, going to do the night chores!” you call, and he replies with a goodnight back. walking to the front door, you open it to see John sitting in a rocking chair, eyes looking at the setting sun. “hey. want to help me with the night chores?” you ask, walking to him slowly. his eyes look up at you, shining in the orange light of the sun. he nods and stands. “okay. well i usually go to the Shed first, we lock everything up and make sure the horses have hay for the night, then we go to the corn barn and make sure everything’s stored properly. we have some barn cats in there so we feed them as well.” you say, leading the way to the Shed.

John goes to check on the horses while you lock up the doors and check fuel levels on the vehicles. “they’re fed, got hay in the feeders. low on the troughs though.” he says, walking over to you. trying to ignore the way he just fills a room with his presence, you nod. “we’ll feed them in the morning. let’s go to the barn.” you say, trying to turn away from him. the walk is silent, and his hand brushes yours as you walk side by side. John walks slowly, basking in the day. you have no desire to make it go any faster, comfortable with the large man next to you. the corn barn is silent when you walk in, but two heads peek out behind a corner wall, mewling at you. “Matthew and Matilda.” you say, pointing at the cats. one is a white cat, dusting of brown fur along her back, and the other is a tawny color. “Mathew’s the tawny one.” you explain, walking over to a storage closet. pulling out the cat feed, you open a can and toss the other to John. “sometimes we spoil them with meat meat, but this is what they get for now.” Matilda walks over to you, rubbing on your legs as she purrs. when you place down her tin, she’s quick to dive in. Johns letting Matthew smell him, petting the cats head gently. Matthew whines when he smells the food and John smirks, placing it down on the ground. he rises, looking over to you. orange light still streams in from outside and an idea pops into your head. “cmon.” you say, turning to a set of stairs pushed on the side of the barn. the old steps hold your weight and when you get to the second level, you push open a door to the roof. you look back at John and smile, climbing up. when your feet are planted, you walk up the ton roof to the top, sitting on the flat part of the peak. John sits next to you, and looks out over the land. the view is better from here. the sun hits the grass and trees just right, and the painting of colors in the sky makes him feel at peace. he’s seen sunsets before of course, but never from here. never with you. your legs are stretched out in front of your and your hands sit on either side of the ground.

John’s fingers twitch. he shouldn’t. you’re his employer. you’re busy and don’t need this. you don’t like him. nothing happened when you were in highschool. he shouldn’t touch you like this. but something pulls at his heart.

you feel fingers brush your right hand, curling to hold your own. you flinch and look at John. what the hell is he doing. why is he touching you. oh my god he shouldn’t be touching you. but his hand is so nice. he’s treated you so well. he made you laugh. you still love him.

so maybe that’s why you don’t pull away from his touch. maybe that’s why you lean on his shoulder. maybe that’s why when his right hand comes to cup your cheek so you’re forced to look at him, you relent.

“is this okay?” he asks, thumb brushing your cheekbone. you feel yourself nod, mind to blank and heart racing too much to think. he slowly presses his lips against yours and you feel like your melting. it’s soft and sweet, he’s moving slow like he’s trying to savor it. your lips feel like they’re made to be against his, and you sigh his name against his lips. he pulls away and drops his hand, looking for a reaction from you. “still okay?” he asks. “yeah. ‘m okay.” you reply, leaning in to kiss him again. your lips press against the right side of his mouth, and they drift up to place one on his jaw. his sighs, and you’re placing your left hand on his bicep, gripping it as his hand drifts to your hip. he moves his head to catch your lips again, and the warm Texas sun makes the whole thing a little bit warmer.

you’re sneaking back to the house now. the sun had gone down significantly, but the purples and blues still lasted. John’s trailing behind you, hand clasping yours as you open the door. you sneak up the stairs and pause at the hallway between your two doors. he pulls you close, chest flush against his as he cups your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ll see you in the morning.” he whispers before opening the door to his room. you nod, retreating to your own. as you go to the hall bathroom to shower, the warm water slows your mind down. slipping a nightgown over your head, you tug it down before brushing your teeth. your hair is damp and tangled as you walk back to your room, shutting the door. you hear John’s footsteps into the bathroom, followed by the squeaky shower pipes. turning to your mirror, you brush out your hair before laying down in your bed. you’re still up a hour later, mind racing over the days events. so you creep out of bed, open your door, and open John’s. he’s snoring softly, blankets kicked down to his thighs. an old band shirt sits on his chest, hand pushing it up to expose his stomach. he’s hairy, dark hair covering so much of him. you see the dark happy trail snake under his belly button and down to the v-in his hips. his boxer shorts fit loose on his legs, and you shut the door behind you. walking to his bed, you climb in next to him, curling into his side. his eyes flutter open and once he sees you, he relaxes. “hey.” he whispers, pulling his arms around you. you whimper into his neck and he kisses your cheek. “everything okay?” he says, hand tracing down your back. you nod. “i wanted to be with you.” you admit softly, curling your hands into his hair. he chuffs and smiles, pulling the blanket to cover you both. “goodnight-lovie’” he whispers as he sees you close your eyes.

PHEW!!!! LONG CHAPTER!!! MY FINGERS HURT!!! SO GLAD ITS DONE!!!!! SMUT IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! SIMON IS COMING NEXT!!!

-cass💕:D