#she just reminds me of an orange creamsicle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

briamichellewrites · 1 year ago

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Bria and Brad met Joyce and Donn at a restaurant in Agoura Hills, where he and his brothers were from. She had been there with Mike for Thanksgiving and Christmas while they were dating. It was a nice community with around twenty thousand people and mountains for miles! She remembered Mike telling her that he, Brad, and Rob grew up there. They were friends from high school, who went their separate ways after graduating. Rob was a couple of years behind them because he was younger.

But he was a great drummer! He found that out when they were in a band together. She thought of how cool it was to start a band with guys from high school. Blue Table was a trendy European-style café with vegan options. Perfect choice for them. She dressed comfortably but fashionably with a white t-shirt, button-up sweater, and a black skirt that went down to her knees.

It was elastic to give her stomach room to breathe. She didn’t want to buy maternity clothes until she was in her second trimester. Just in case. He approved her outfit before they left. His parents were liberal, but he still wanted her to make a good first impression. That meant not showing too much skin. She didn’t wear dresses that often because she found them uncomfortable. The fabric never kept her as warm as pants did. She wore them when she had to.

They hugged her while introducing themselves. Hi, I’m Bria. It’s nice to meet you. After sitting down, they asked her about her name. Where was it from? It was French. Was she French? Her father was. He was from Alsace, which was on the border of Germany and Switzerland. What about her mother? She didn’t know as she had died when she was six months old.

They got to watch her and Brad joke around, especially when she decided to order something with chicken. He jokingly called her a murderer. Tasty, tasty murder. He laughed. As they continued asking her routine questions, they found out her mother died from AIDS and how she was infected; her father’s death, and her schooling. She had gone to a French immersion school where she learned French, Spanish, Chinese, and Japanese. Her Chinese was elementary level.

She spent a lot of time in Cannes with her father during school breaks. He had an apartment there. She and Mike talked about going there in the distant future. They also discussed going to Japan, though she would need to translate for him. How did she meet Brad? It was through Mike, who she was dating at the time. He introduced her to Joe, Brad, and Rob.

Brad mentioned how she liked to bring her cats when they were in the studio. How many did she have? Two.

“I adopted Tiny about a year ago. She’s a Scottish Fold. Then, I just adopted Garfield. He’s a Domestic Shorthair.”

“Tiny? Where did she get that name from?”

“The people who bred her gave her that name because she was the smallest in the litter. They didn’t think she would survive. Both cats are very friendly.”

“Is Garfield orange?”

“He’s orange and white. He reminds me of those frozen creamsicles you have in the summer.”

They knew what she was talking about. Though she was from a lot of money, they found her to be humble. They could see what their son liked about her. She was very beautiful but she was also very engaging and respectful towards them. What did she do for money? She was an investor. Investor? Yes, she invested in Apple computers. Brad mentioned how she offered to invest in their new record label. How much? Ten percent.

Donn thought that was a good investment. Since they recently discovered she was pregnant, they had yet to make any concrete decisions. They were more throwing out ideas. Joyce asked about her religion. She was raised without religion, though she respected other people’s beliefs and religions. They were Jewish, which she knew about.

Would she be okay if they raised their child Jewish? Yeah, she could keep an open mind. The only thing she would want was to follow the pediatrician’s guidelines for a vegan diet.

“If the pediatrician recommends that we don’t introduce a vegan diet until they are whatever age, then I’m going to follow that. If they say it’s okay for them to have meat substitutes, then that’s fine too. I would rather listen to the experts.”

“We have no problem with that. What about vaccines?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course. I’m not against that at all.”

Brad was thrilled his parents were getting along well with his girlfriend! He imagined they were more open-minded than Brad’s conservative parents. They were welcoming her in with open arms. While they might disagree on some aspects of how she raised their child, he could be sure they would work together on finding a middle ground.

They were not going to have a nanny, as she would be a stay-at-home mother. They would have to work around his schedule with Linkin Park. He did want to visit Cannes with her sometime. It sounded like a nice place. They were all happy that she was willing to learn about their Jewish beliefs. It wasn’t just a religion to them, it involved everything in their lives. Did they approve? Yes. They would invite her to join them in their family celebrations.

During their meal, they saw a homeless man being kicked out for not having enough money to pay. He tried explaining how hungry he was. Brad got the feeling she was going to do something. He was right when she grabbed her wallet and pulled out some money. Joyce asked what was going on. He told them to wait and see. They saw her talking to the waitress while handing her a fifty dollar bill.

“Get whatever you want. It’s on me.”

“Thank you! God bless you!”

Brad had to laugh. His parents were impressed by her generosity. That was just who she was. She never looked down on anyone. Donn commended her for what she did. Thank you.

When they got home, the cats were meowing loudly like they had never been fed in their lives! We’re starving to death, humans! Meow! They followed them into the kitchen, where she got their food out. After dispersing it evenly, she set the plates on the floor. Thank you, human! Brad looked down at them. Cats were demanding, especially when they were hungry!

“They act as if they have never been fed a day in their lives”, she joked.

He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve seen a more demanding animal.”

She excused herself to change clothes. He sat down with them. Yes, but they were so adorable. Garfield was bigger than his sister, even though he was months younger than her. Cats were interesting animals. They were dependent and independent at the same time. Garfield finished eating and found his way into his lap. Only his little ears stuck out. He reached in and petted him.

When Tiny was done eating, she looked for her little brother. He reached his paw out startling her. Hey! She poked her head in and swiped her paw back at him. Their play fighting reminded him of how he used to play with his brothers when they were younger. They used to annoy each other. That meant he usually got into trouble because he was the oldest. He missed those days. His brothers were older and he was so proud of them.

When Bria came back down, she was dressed in the same t-shirt but with sweatpants. She joined them on the floor. He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. It had been a very fun afternoon. Now, she was ready for a rest. Being pregnant meant she got tired more easily. She was more than happy to just sit there and play with the cats.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

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ukai-simp-services · 4 years ago

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hq character’s favorite lip smacker flavors

warnings: none, just slight cursing

a/n: wow the way this was one of my best ideas... anyway some of these are kinda repetitive so bare with me 😭

karasuno

hinata

i feel like hinata would be down for one of the really fruity flavors, like watermelon or mango sunrise. forgets it at home or in your car a lot so you always buy him extra.

kageyama

kags is def giving me the classic strawberry or cherry vibe, like the one that ALL stores sell. they’re the easiest to find and he likes the flavors.

daichi

ok i feel like daichi would use the peppermint flavor a lot, but i can also seeing him use the cinnamon flavor every now and then too, spice things up a little.

sugawara

i can see suga using some of the sweeter flavors, like strawberry as a daily chapstick and maybe sugar cookie when he wants to switch things up.

asahi

mans got the whole berry pack. uses them pretty frequently throughout the day, has a different flavor in different places. like one in his school bag, one in his gym locker, one at home, etc.

tanaka

ok tanaka probably doesn’t use use them that much, but when he does, he fucks w the soda flavors. like coke and sprite.

nishinoya

i don’t even think he knows what lip smackers are....but let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and say he would use one of the sugary ones. like the skittles one.

tsukishima

vanilla. no pun intended. i just totally see him using the vanilla flavor, probably the coconut one too.

yamaguchi

i can see bby using the pink lemonade,,,maybe the cucumber melon too mmmm. applies them a lot.

ennoshita

he uses that lime flavor (i forgot it’s exact name) but that and probably some fruity shit like tropical punch.

ukai

PLEASE. he wouldn’t sell lip smackers at his convenience store so he’s like ?? tf is that babe ?? but, once you show him he’d definitely be down for the rootbeer or coke flavor, he’s a soda man what can i say. BUT i imagine he’d keep it simple most of the time w peppermint. (u also make him start selling them so he ends up trying the fruity flavors~)

kiyoko

god, i wanna say the cherry flavor bc of the mf katy perry song (pls tell me if yk what im talking about) BUT i can also see her using the mint one and the coconut one too. queen has multiple flavors, as she should.

yachi

100% one of the candy flavors, like bubblegum. definitely the cotton candy one too. yachi’s lips always taste good period.

nekoma

kuroo

another cherry chapstick lover, but he spices his shit up with the cherry cobbler flavor. wants to taste good at all times for you~

kenma

doesn't use it often, but when he remembers or you remind him, he'll usually use a fun soda flavor like from the fanta pack,, or even just regular grape.

yaku

giving me grapefruit delight vibes...idk why but he just is. i can see him whipping it out in the lockerroom before practice starts, quickly applying it before any of the other guys come in.

yamamoto

omg ok so i feel like similar to some of the other guys, he’d shy away from using it in front of anyone. but i can see him using the tropical punch flavor ??

lev

tell me lev wouldn’t use the vanilla icecream one...like i can just see it. i feel like he would lowkey take pride in it too, like he knows that shit taste good.

seijoh

oikawa

this mf uses peppermint religiously. but this is oikawa we’re talking about so i think he definitely would have multiple flavors; definitely watermelon, probably chocolate mint, and for sure starburst.

iwaizumi

he’s kinda shy about using them so he sticks to the more lowkey flavors, probably like blue raspberry or kiwi. (pls gimmie a blue raspberry kith haji)

mattsun

i feel like he wouldn’t use it much, but he’d use the lemon drop flavor. loves using it during the winter bc of the weather.

hanamaki

another soda lover. i feel like he sticks to the coca cola flavors, like vanilla and cherry. (i love the cherry one omfg) maybe the root beer one too.

kunimi

bubblegum. that’s it. that’s the flavor. it’s always on him at ALL times. like that shit doesn’t leave his pocket, he once even accidentally washed his pants with it still in the pocket.

kindaichi

mmmm i think he’s definitely a berry guy, likes mixed berry or wild raspberry.

mad dog

yes i just labeled him by his nickname instead of his real name what about it- anyway. why do i think he’d use orange creamsicle on the LOW. like mf HIDES that shit. can never catch mad dog applying mf orange creamsicle chapstick. nope.

fukurodani

bokuto

omg ok bby definitely uses strawberry cheesecake or sour apple. ik they’re like two totally different flavors but, he just DOES. and he’d pucker his lips towards you every time he applies it like “BABY GUESS WHAT FLAVOR MY LIPS ARE” like ok bo c’mere then.

akaashi

he’s a simple man, he enjoys a nice strawberry banana lip smacker on his lips. maybe even pumpkin latte (during the fall of course) bc he’s festive <3

konoha

mans is using the dragonfruit flavor (i forgot if it’s just dragonfruit or if there’s another flavor combined in there) but, he literally just uses that flavor. like idk what to tell you. he just does.

yukie

ok i love her sm, i just know she would have strawberry kiwi and probably strawberry banana too. mmm yummy.

shiratorizawa

ushijima

i feel like kageyama, he would only buy the ones he sees at most stores...so a classic like mango or kiwi.

tendou

ohmygod, mans has a whole mf collection. like first of all, he has the fanta soda collection, obviously. then, there’s the candy pack with nerds, fun dip, laffy taffy, jolly ranchers, etc... he also fucks w any sour flavors. basically, everytime you kiss this man you’ll be tasting something different.

semi

another blue raspberry mf, but also i can see him using the dr pepper flavor LOL....i wanna taste>:(

goshiki

he’s a sucker for the grape flavors, regular of course, grape jelly, grape fanta, etc.

shirabu

mmm i can see him using pineapple. it’s a subtle flavor, but its the one he likes best. i don't think he'd use it all that often tbh, but when he does his lips taste absolutely ~fresh~

date tech

aone

PLSSS i just know mans wouldn't even know what a lip smacker was, would probably just be using normal burt’s bees like most people - till you introduce him to the wide range of flavors that lip smackers have to offer. he'd be like “hm, banana.” LIKE. either THAT or piña colada, he’s really trying for y’all.

kanji

cake donut?? do i have an explanation?? nope. i don’t even know what that would taste like, but i can imagine pretty sweet? just give him a mf kiss.

inarizaki

atsumu

PLEASE. he’d use the strawberry flavor ALL the time. like ok maybe occasionally the vanilla icecream too. but im so soft rn for ‘tsumu’s strawberry lips T_T

osamu

omg he’s such a cheesecake mf i just KNOW, so he’d have the strawberry cheesecake flavor. probably use chocolate moose sometimes too if he’s in the mood.

kita

this is NOT up for debate, he’d 100% use berry pie all the time. kita get ur ass here rn, we’re bouta smooch.

suna

pls bc he’s another one that’d only use it on the low. i’m feeling watermelon,, he’d always apply it before he sees you too.

aran

ooooo i can see him using cinnamon swirl, but also grape on a more common occasion. yummy....

extras

terushima

HHH sour apple for sure. he’d try to put on you all the time so you can taste like him too, he’s like “baby c’mere ;)”

saeko

bitch omg, why can i see her using the cherry cream soda one.... i literally don’t know where she could buy it but she’d fucking have it, like for SURE.

sakusa

STOP bc he’d definitely reprimand you for using lip smackers instead of a brand like ChapStick or burt’s bees. like shut up bitch...but also if you’re persistent like me, then you’ll definitely sneak the lemon drop flavor into his jacket pockets whenever you have the chance. you know it’s his secret guilty pleasure <3

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em0avacado · 4 years ago

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Pen Pals - Ezekiel Reyes

trigger warning : none other than brief mention of removing someone’s pelvis, wearing maybe.

word count : 2068

Dear Ezekiel,

Her first letter started simple, she wasn’t sure whether to address the inmate more formerly, or of this was fine, but with lack of better knowledge on this, she settled on that. It all started when curiosity got the best of her. She had a friend who would constantly talk about her very own pen pal, she’d talk about the stories theyd tell her, how they were interesting and that they had, in reality, not much better to do with their time in lockup. At first, the young woman was rather skeptical, but after reading some of her friends letters herself, the curiosity started eating her alive from the inside out. Maybe she’d give it a try, what’s the worst that could happen? So, after a few hours of extensive reasearch, she’d picked an inmate and began writing, although, after the first two words of the letter, she was stuck. It wasn’t long until she realized how much time had passed since she’d actually written a letter to someone who wasn’t her grandmother.

With a pen gripped tightly in her hand, the black ink began to spill onto the page as her mind finally came up with things to scribble onto the soft blue lines. The nails of her right hand tapping against the finished wood of her desk, it wasn’t long until she ripped the paper out of the coiled notebook and started over again.

Dear Ezekiel,

My name’s Ophelia, I’m about twenty six years old, and my favourite colour is orange, because it reminds me of orange creamsicles on a hot summers day. Seems childish, I’m aware, but alas, my curiosity only carried me so far. It’s been years since I’ve actually written a letter, let alone made a friend. You see, I’m a very reserved person but i supposed that the only way of really making friends with a pen pal is to start off by introducing myself into a bit more depth than small talk. The friends I do have, they call me Oph, no one really calls me by my first name.

God, she sounded so utterly stupid, she thought, but what else was there to write? Who even knew if this man would write back? No one, no one did. But, can’t be for sure unless she tries, right? right.

However, she went on, writing down anything she could possibly think of that could stark some sort of interest from the man behind bars. She went from how the green on the trees in the spring brought her a specific joy in her heart because when she was younger her father would point out that the green in forests meant that the wild life was happy, healthy, to explaining what the saw was initially invented for. Once her hand began to cramp, she called it a day. Folding the papers together neatly, she shoved them in an envelope and sent it off to the right address before her hesitation stopped her. Now; it was time to wait. And she hated waiting.

Without a real timeline in her head on when she’d hear back from Ezekiel, she waited days, then weeks, at some point, the thought seemed to slip her mind. Heading to work each day, only to head home, check her mail box, head inside, prepare herself for the night and get at least a few hours of sleep before doing it all again the next day. An impossibly boring routine that was disturbed when she found an envelope, with blue in scratched into the front. Reading the name ‘Ezekiel’ within the first few lines of the actual letter, thrilled her. Quickly, she tossed her bag and keys to the side, kicking the door shut behind her, she tore into the envelope and began to read.

Dearest Ophelia

You can tell me absolutely anything you wish to, just from your first letter i can tell that your mind is a place of wonder. If you think anything like you write, I’d love to pick your brain some day, those run on sentences really get a man thinking.

A wide grin spread across her lips, her eyes flit across the pages as she read ever word scribbled onto the lines in blue ink. He told her anything that reflected topics she covered, answering all the questions that she asked, even adding in commentary here and there. He matched the amount she wrote, rambling on just as much as she did.

P.s. were chainsaws really invented to cut open and take out the pelvis of a woman who took too long giving birth?

A cackle rolled passed her lips when she read that very last sentence, and she dove into explaining the history of it once more. Every letter she wrote, would end in a fact so buzzard it was hard to believe. The two went back and forth as fast as time would allow, matching the length of letters, each and every time. Quickly, that ugly blue ink from Ezekiels pen became her favourite colour, replacing the orange colours that she once preferred over all else.

But, all good things do eventually come to an end, for years, they’d go back and forth, writing letters and knowing everything about one another. Occasionally letters were sent with tear stains wrinkling papers from when she poured her heart onto the page, she’d sent a picture of herself once too, one she never got back. Dozens of paper cuts, empty pens and notepads empty, pages torn out and sent. Then, one day, it all just stopped, her last letter never got a response, she waited weeks, but weeks turned to months quickly and she assumed he’d gotten out, it wasn’t worth contacting her anymore now that he was set free into the world once again. It hurt, it shouldn’t have, he was just a pen pal, a friend who wasn’t permanent in the slightest, she knew that, she did, but that bond she thought they developed was broken. Perhaps she got attached, but, for lack of better wording, it sucked.

It was now the middle of December, and Ophelia had planned what she usually did during the holiday season. Nothing. She didn’t have family left, her friends had their own families to attend to, besides, she had just up and moved to a town she was dangerously unfamiliar with. Although, none of that really phased her. On her way home from work, she stopped by the store, a hardcore case of the munchies leading her down chips isle. Humming to herself softly, her eyes scanned the shelves, tossing a bag or two in her basket before strolling down the isle.

A small, white sheet of something, perhaps paper? Swayed to the ground slowly, landing rignt at her feet, with a quirked brow, she leant down and picked it up. The man who dropped it, standing not too far in front of her, didn’t seem to notice that he’s lost it. A man, with a buff figure, broad shoulders, he walked like he’d been constipated for a week now, his phone in hand, which his focused had zeroed in on. She trapped the small paper, which turned out to be a photograph. Ophelia didn’t want to look at it, to respect the mans privacy, but curiosity killed the cat, right?

The photo, she immediately recognized the bright red hair, the pearly white smile, the mess on the pale skin and the beaming green eyes. That was her, the photo? it was the one she sent to Ezekiel all those years ago, when they first started talking. But why did this man have it? With confusion, she rushed forward, tapping the man on his shoulder “excuse me -“ she started, but her words caught in her throat when he turned around, it was him. he looked like he did in the pictures on the sight, the one he sent her, just slightly older, his hair had a tight trim, he had a few more stress lines than the picture did.

The basket tucked under her arm just moments ago, hit the ground with a crash. Her eyes went wide, her skin paled. Ophelia looked like she’d just seen a ghost, Ez mimicking the shock on his own features. “you- i-“ she managed to get out, forcing her mouth shut.

A nervous chuckle came from Ez, paired with a weak “O- hey.” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

She raised her fist and punched him in the bicep “what the fuck?!” she asked, her shock replaced by anger as she waved the photo in front of him. “really?! I thought we were cool, friends? even? you said I was one of the best friends you’d ever made and I don’t even get as much as a ‘oh hey Ophelia I’m getting out talk to you never!’ ?! and you just carry my picture around like a creep?” she asked, pushing it against his chest and crossing her arms over her own. “well?”

“Listen, I’m sorry.” he said, looking for ways to explain himself, why he hadn’t kept in touch, any sort of excuse but there was nothing, truth was, he had wanted to stay in contact but everything with the club, and the deal, and pops got in the way, so it kept getting pushed back. “it was a dick move and I’m sorry.” he said, looking down at her.

“yeah no fucking shit.” she spoke, her arms still crossed over her chest, her glare burrowing holes into his head. She opened her mouth, ready to add more onto what was already said to him, but in that moment someone in a kutte that nearly matched his own, rounded the corner, ready to speak to Ez until her glare shifted from him to the slightly taller man, his green flannel buttoned up, chains clanging together.

“Hey boy sco-“ he stopped mid sentence, not taking another step, he narrowed his eyes at her, looking between her, and his brother, a smile came to his lips in realization “oh shit.” he laughed “you can deal with angry fire crotch on your own, I’ll wait outside.” he laughed, heading out and leaving the two alone again.

“Angel?” she asked, he looked exactly like Ez would explain in his letters, nodding his head, she furrowed her brows slightly and leaned down, picking her basket up again, hanging it in the crease of her elbow. “Look I get it, you got out, had better things to do, I shouldn’t have let my anger get the best of me but come on? We spoke for years, we bonded, or so I thought? Feels ridiculous now, but, hey, I hope that your life treats you better than it has, I’ll see you around.” she said, nodding her head at him, turning to head to the till when she felt his hand on her arm, spinning her around.

“I looked for you.” he started “not nearly hard enough but they never gave away your address, nothing, which was smart but I did look for you, where I could.” he confessed “not once did I forget about you, Ophelia, I couldn’t.” he dropped his arm when she stood, looking up at him.

“I know. Duh. Your memory is like- permanent.” she said, and he nearly rolled his eyes.

“okay smart ass that’s not what I meant.” he groaned. “you’re unforgettable, even if I could forget, I couldn’t.”

“you’re much smoother on paper” she added another little side note.

“Ophelia.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyways, that picture was the only that allowed me to feel a sense of home as of lately, and would be the only thing that did until i found you. That’s why I kept it.” he told her, her gaze softening. “Now that i have, found you, i won’t let you get away again.”

“sounds kidnap - y.” she muttered, interrupting him. He dropped his hands, slapping against his thighs with a soft sight, he shot her a glare.

“Ophelia I swear to god i’m trying to confess my feelings right now could you put a pause on that for a moment?” he asked her, raising a brow.

“no.” she said simply, scratching her nose. “don’t confess your undying love for me in the middle of a grocery store, please. That old lady has been listening and eyeing you this whole time.”

#angel reyes x reader #ez x reader #ez reyes #mayans fanfic #mayans mc #jd pardo

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kingexpl0sionmurder · 5 years ago

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Earl Grey and Lavender - Shinsou Hitoshi

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder Rating: 16+ Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi/F!Reader Words: 2,713 Warnings: Language (Bakugou has a potty mouth), adorableness, Denki is a crack head, I have weird taste in ice cream. AN: Welcome to my contribution to the BNHarem SFW server collab for June! The prompt was summer! I got lucky and nabbed Shinsou and this is just wholesome and adorable. Also yes, Earl Grey and Lavender ice cream is real, you can get it in the Harry Potter park at Universal and it slaps. Check the rest of the collab submissions HERE HERE is my masterlist Buy me a Kofi! ---

There was only one thing that you loved about working at The Ice Creamery during the summer, and that was the free ice cream.

The hot and shirtless guys walking past the shop on the daily were a nice treat too, of course. But the fact that you could have a free scoop of whatever flavor you wanted once a day was the highlight of your summer, and there was no man that could walk into that shop and distract you from it, no matter how handsome or stacked they were.

That was until you met Shinsou.

There was something about him that had you immediately attracted to him. Maybe it was the color of his hair, or his eyes, or the way he smirked at you and quirked his eyebrow when you made fun of him.

It started on a regular Friday afternoon. The shop was busy as usual, the summer bringing tourists to the beaches in droves. You happened to work at a location that was close to the water, so a lot of people would stop by on their way back to their cars or hotels for a cone or sundae. You were manning the freezer case, taking orders and scooping flavors, when you heard the bell jingle on the front door, signaling the arrival of new customers.

You barely spared them a glance, concentrating on scooping ice cream into the metal cup in your hands, and then spinning around to add milk and shove the cup into the milkshake machine. It wasn’t until minutes later when your co-worker came by, whispering excitedly in your ear about the pro hero Red Riot, that you took a good look.

A group of pro heroes were standing toward the back of the shop and peering at the chalkboard menus behind the counter, talking among themselves as they decided what they wanted. You could immediately recognize Red Riot, his bright red hair held back from his face with a bandanna. To his left was Ground Zero, the ever-present scowl adorning his pretty face as he glared daggers at the menu like it had personally offended him.

On his right was the pro hero Pinky, who was leaning against Cellophane, the two of them arguing over the merits of a waffle cone versus a sundae cup. Chargebolt was beside them, talking to a guy with purple hair that you’d never seen before. His equally purple eyes were trained on the menu above you, his lips twisted in a frown as he read through the flavor choices.

Deciding that you were probably being creepy by just standing there, you cleared your throat. “Can I help who’s next?”

Red Riot flashed you his shark-toothed grin, stepping forward and dragging Ground Zero behind him. “Hi! Can I get two scoops of rocky road on a waffle cone, please?”

“Sure! You want a regular cone or the chocolate-dipped?” Pointing at the different cones you had on display, you held back a laugh when you saw his look of confusion.

“Oh no, I don’t know!” The pleading puppy dog look he gave his grumpy friend was comical. “Bakubro, what should I get?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Clicking his tongue, he folded his arms across his chest and glared. The sour look was short-lived as he caved under the pouting bottom lip of his red-haired friend. “Get him the chocolate-dipped one. And let me have 2 scoops of mango, in a cup.”

“Please and thank you!” Red Riot perked up, grinning at you again.

You nodded, getting to work on the order, passing it off to your coworker who was working on the toppings, trying not to think about how adorable that entire exchange had been.

“Mina, I don’t know why you were even arguing with me, we all know you’re going to get the same thing you always get and then complain that you can’t eat it all.” Cellophane teased as he walked up to the counter.

“And then she’ll force me to help her finish it and I’ll feel like shit later because I ate too much,” Chargebolt added, shaking his head.

“Shut up! I just know what I like, okay?” Mina chirped, bounding up to the counter and leaning on the glass. “Can I get a banana split, please? Go hard with the chocolate sauce, I can handle it.”

“You got it. Is that for here or to go?” You grabbed a banana from under the counter and got to work on peeling it open.

“For here. We need to sit and cool off, it’s so hot out there!” She slumped forward, resting her cheek on her palm. “These boys are running me ragged. I don’t know why I agreed to go on this vacation with them.”

“Because you love us?” Cellophane supplied helpfully from behind her. “You’ve been putting up with us since we were 15, Mina. Did you forget how we are?”

“I think I was trying to repress it.” She deadpanned, winking at you. “But you keep reminding me, Sero.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Enjoying a glimpse into the personal dynamics of these pro heroes was the highlight of your day. Everyone knew them as celebrities who saved the world on the daily, but it was kind of cool to witness them being normal people firsthand.

Once you had the banana situated in the dish, you added the ice cream to the middle and added the whipped cream and copious amounts of chocolate sauce. “How’s that?”

Peering through the glass, she smiled. “Perfect!”

“I went HAM with the chocolate sauce as requested.” You slid it over to your coworker for the rest of the toppings. “Give her extra cherries.”

“Aw, you’re sweet. I like you!” Mina cheered, shuffling over to give her friend some room.

Sero ordered an orange creamsicle milkshake. “I know it’s lame but…”

Chargebolt patted him on the shoulder. “It’s not lame, bro. It would be lame if you just got plain vanilla.”

“I half expected Bakugou to get vanilla.” The purple-haired man spoke for the first time, his deep voice surprising you.

Snorting, Chargebolt laughed, clutching his stomach as he bent over. “I mean, he does go to bed at like 8 pm. He seems the type, doesn’t he?”

“Shh, Denki, he’ll hear you!” Cellophane pushed his friend, rolling his eyes. “You have a death wish, I swear.”

You glanced over to see their explosive friend was concentrating on his mango ice cream at a table in the back, Red Riot beside him and chattering happily, struggling to keep up with the ice cream dripping down his cone. You were pretty sure he couldn’t hear them, anyway.

“What can I get for you?” You asked the blonde, pouring the milkshake into a cup and finishing off the top with some whipped cream. You handed it to Sero with a smile, turning your attention to the electric hero in front of you.

“I can’t decide between the cotton candy and the bubble gum.” Sighing dramatically, he scrunched his nose. “Life is so hard.”

“Why am I friends with you?” His nameless friend looked exasperated. “Just pick one.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Shinsou. You don’t even know what you want yet.”

Shinsou opened his mouth, but you cut him off.

“Why don’t you get a scoop of each? Then you don’t have to choose.”

Gesturing to you, the purple-haired man raised his eyebrows. “Look at that, Denki. I know that’s a foreign concept to you, but we call that problem-solving.”

“Shut up!” Denki pouted at his friend. “I know what problem-solving is, you overgrown troll doll.”

“Ha!” Eyes wide, you slapped your hand over your mouth, realizing you’d laughed a little too loudly.

“He looks like a troll doll, tell me I’m wrong! The way his hair defies gravity like that? It’s completely natural, too. He doesn’t even put gel in it or whatever.” Denki giggled, leaning on the counter.

“I wouldn’t sleep tonight, Kaminari,” Shinsou threatened ominously, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Great! Well, cutie, since I’m going to die tonight, I think I deserve a scoop of each like you suggested, in a cup.” He winked at you, and you blushed, nodding and moving to replace your gloves before you got his order together.

“I hope this doesn’t give you diabetes.” You said sincerely, handing him his ice cream, frowning at the sour patch kids he’d requested for the top. “My blood sugar is through the roof just looking at that thing.”

“Diabetes is nothing compared to how Shinsou will be murdering me in my sleep!” He said cheerfully. “Gotta go out with a bang, you know?” He saluted you and wandered over to the register to pay for his ice cream.

Finally, it was just you and Shinsou. You were relieved to see he was the last one in line as well, so you would have ample time to check him out and flirt with him shamelessly.

Remembering what Denki had said earlier, you smiled at him. “Did you figure out what you wanted yet? I can give you some suggestions if you’re not sure.”

Amethyst eyes trailed over the menu again. “I don’t know...”

Clearing your throat, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “I have a secret talent, you know.”

He blinked at you. “You….what?”

“I can tell what kind of ice cream is right for you just by looking at you.” You glanced down at your nails, feigning disinterest. “It’s a gift, I guess. I’ve got second sight when it comes to desserts.” You looked back at his face, fluttering your eyelashes.

Shinsou’s chuckle made you shiver. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.” He leaned against the counter, smirking at you. “Go ahead.”

Clapping your hands, you bounced on your toes. “Oh yay! Okay, let me see…”

You stroked your chin, squinting at him, watching him squirm under your gaze. He was wearing an old and faded band t-shirt over his black swim shorts, and you could see his biceps bulging beneath the short sleeves.

“Well?” He interrupted your blatant staring. “Have you figured me out?”

“Mmhm!” You turned and grabbed a cup, walking to the end of the freezer, and sliding open the door. You moved over the chocolate chip to reach a hidden tub of ice cream, filling the cup with 3 scoops of the pale purple treat.

“What is it?” Shinsou asked when you placed the cup in front of him and shoved and spoon in it.

“It’s a secret flavor. It isn’t on the menu, and they really only make it because it’s my favorite and I begged them to keep a tub of it for me. I’m allowed one scoop a day for free and this is what I have.” You pushed it toward him. “I’m trusting you with this secret. No one can know I have this.”

“You make it sound like it’s forbidden. Is there some kind of Ice Cream FBI that’s going to come in here and arrest you or something?” He smacked his palm on the counter, leaning in and speaking lowly. “Is it like the Vegan Police?”

Snorting at his Scott Pilgrim reference, you shook your head. “No, I just don’t want anyone to know because I don’t like to share it. But, I’m making an exception for you.”

“Why me?” He asked, looking surprised.

“I don’t know. It kind of matches your hair, so I feel like you’re worthy.” Shrugging, you crossed your arms. “It’s Earl Grey and Lavender.”

“Like the tea?” He looked down at it, puzzled. “Hmm. That sounds...good.”

“It’s a revelation. You can thank me later.” The bell jingled above the door, signaling that you had to cut your flirting short. “Let me know what you think, okay?”

Long fingers wrapped around the cup as he picked it up. “Thank you…” He squinted at the name tag on your shirt. “Y/N.” Clearing his throat, he smiled at you. “I’m Shinsou, by the way.”

“You’re welcome, Shinsou.” It took everything in you not to watch as he walked over to pay for his ice cream, turning your attention to the new customers walking up to the counter.

You busied yourself with helping them, trying not to glance over at the table in the back where you could hear Denki starting some kind of trouble. You were taking a chance with that ice cream flavor. It wasn’t for everyone.

You didn’t have any kind of sixth sense like you’d said, obviously. You’d just wanted to get him flustered and maybe get his attention. There was just something about him that told you he would like it. You just hoped you were correct.

Telling your coworker that you were taking your break, you got yourself your free scoop and headed into the back to enjoy it in peace. You were about halfway through it when she poked her head in the room.

“Some guy with purple hair is out here asking for you.”

Jumping up, you forgot all about your ice cream, leaving the cup sitting on the desk you had been leaning against. Patting down your hair, you walked out into the shop, noticing it was completely empty, save for the man who was looking for you.

He was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, waiting patiently. You walked around the counter and smiled at him. “Everything okay?”

He stood up straight, letting his arms drop to his sides. “Everything’s great. I just wanted to thank you again.”

Waving your hand in dismissal, you blushed. “Aw, don’t mention it. Did you like it?”

“It was probably the best thing I’ve ever tasted. How did you know I’d like it?”

Smiling at him, you shrugged. “I’m a firm believer that your taste in ice cream flavors says a lot about your personality. You just looked like the type of guy who likes tea and reading books with a cat on your lap while you listen to The Smiths. That’s the kind of person who likes earl gray and lavender ice cream.”

“That’s eerily accurate. Is that the kind of person you are then?” He raised his eyebrow. “Cause if that’s the case, then I’m going to need your phone number.”

Your heart flipped in your chest at his words. “I could be. Give me your phone.”

Grinning, he pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it, pulling up his contacts and handing it to you. “What time are you off work?”

Your hands were shaking with nerves as you typed in your number and handed it back to him. “I’m off at 7.”

“Good. Want to hang out after? My friends want to go to a bar, but we’re not sure what’s good around here.” He took the phone from you and slipped it into his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I mean if you’re not busy.”

Pretending to think about it, you teased him. “I mean, I guess I can make some room in my nonexistent social life for you and your friends.”

“I’m flattered.” He smirked. “As long as you’re prepared to deal with them, that is. They’re kind of a handful.”

“I think I can handle it.” The bell above the door chimed again as more customers came in. “I’ve got to go back to work though. Text me?” You bit your lip, glancing up at him from under your lashes.

“You can count on it.” He blushed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “See you later?”

Nodding, you walked backward a bit, not wanting to say goodbye so soon. “Yeah, see you later.”

You walked back behind the counter, watching as he left the store, your heart hammering in your chest. You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket a few minutes later, your face hot as you blushed at the message you received.

Unknown: I think I have a newfound appreciation for ice cream. I wonder why?

You threw yourself back into your work, forgetting about the ice cream you’d left on the desk in the back room. That was the first time you’d let it melt before you’d finished it, and it was all because of Shinsou.

It wouldn’t be the last time, either.

#hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #shinso hitoshi #hitoshi shinso #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #bnharem collab #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinso hitoshi x reader #mha #mha x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #kingexpl0sionmurder writes

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be11atrixthestrange · 4 years ago

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Waking Up In Vegas: Chapter 3

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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Chapter 3

[Ron]

The door slams behind Hermione just as Ron calls her name, and he's left gaping after her and clutching his marriage certificate. Their marriage certificate.

He should have told her. It would have been easy just to hand it over, but he couldn't. She was horrified to wake up next to him and angry when he tried to apologize. If that was her reaction to sleeping together, how would she have reacted if she knew they had gotten married?

With a groan, Ron stumbles to the kitchen counter, collapses onto a barstool, and drops his head into his hands. He thought that getting to know each other better might repair the damage of their first impression. It would have been nice to become friends during this trip, but unfortunately, the morning's events have made that unlikely. Even if they can get back on track after a one-night stand, the moment she finds out they're married, it'll all be ruined.

Ron's head is throbbing — a pain that only worsens when he glances around at his hotel suite. The color scheme reminds him of an orange creamsicle, and the harsh contrasting lines of neon orange and white wall paint don't do much to calm his hangover. Neither do the jagged edges of the kitchenette's quartz countertops, the lingering smell of champagne in the air, or the rock-hard barstool that might leave a bruise on his backside if he sits here too long. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his king-sized bed — it has far too many pillows, and its blankets are all ruffled up. He knows he should straighten it out and hide the evidence of a hook-up, but his heart sinks when he thinks about doing it. Unlike Hermione, he doesn't want to forget it happened. He wants to remember it, but he can't, and what a waste it is.

Although not intentionally, he's pictured her in his bed before. His mind conjures up the image with any appropriately aged, attractive, single woman, but for some reason, throughout this trip, it's been an image of Hermione more than anyone else. Something about their dynamic intrigues him. They really haven't spent much time alone since their first meeting back in London, but their brief conversations are always riddled with tension. Not sexual tension, just tension. Awkwardness. They affect each other, and Ron is simply curious what that would translate to in the bedroom. As anyone would be.

Now he's experienced it, but he doesn't remember, and fixing the bed would make it feel like it wasn't real.

Overcome with frustration, he nearly gives in to the temptation to tear the marriage certificate in two, as if that would change anything, but he's interrupted by a knock on the door. His stomach lurches — could it be Hermione again? If so, this could be a chance to tell her and make it right. Ron folds up the certificate and shoves it into his pocket before opening the door.

"Morning!"

It's just Harry. "What are you doing here?"

Harry looks offended. "I'm checking on you. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

Ron opens the door wider in invitation. "You could say that. Why are you checking on me?"

Harry laughs. "Well, for one, I was worried. You disappeared last night."

"Did I?" says Ron sarcastically. "Can't remember."

"Too much to drink?"

Ron's grunt seems to be a sufficient answer for Harry.

"So there's no point in asking what you got up to, then?"

"Nope," says Ron, as the door slams closed behind them. "Can't recall a thing."

Harry pauses when he catches sight of the still-disheveled bed. "Ron, why does your bed look like someone else slept here?"

When Ron doesn't immediately answer, Harry whips around to face him, eyebrows raised. "Did you bring a woman back here last night?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Ron says, shifting uncomfortably as he eyes the bottle of whipped cream and empty champagne flutes that he didn't think to hide. Unfortunately, he's not subtle at all. Harry follows his gaze and smirks.

"Sounds like a lie. It looks like one too."

Taking a precarious seat on the kitchenette's barstool, Ron dumps his head back in his hands to rub his temples. His headache is getting worse every second as the adrenaline of the morning wears off, and he barely manages a muffled apology to Harry. "Sorry for disappearing."

"Ah, it's fine. I'd be more annoyed if I didn't also have a good shag last night."

"Oi, mate. That's my sister you're talking about." Even though they're best friends, Ron still hasn't gotten used to the idea of Harry and Ginny together, and he definitely doesn't want to think about them in bed.

"Sorry, forgot we can't talk about that kind of thing."

"Definitely not," says Ron. "If you were marrying anyone else, then we could."

"Still worth it,' says Harry shrugging, and begrudgingly, Ron has to admit that there really is no better person for his sister. "You can still tell me, though. Who was she?"

As tempted as he is to change the subject, his compulsion to confide in Harry is stronger. "Apparently not a stranger." He can't tell him about the marriage, not until Hermione knows.

"What do you mean?"

"There was a girl last night, and it was someone I already knew."

"That's impossible...the only people we know are in the wedding party." Ron gives Harry a significant look, and his jaw drops. "It was one of Ginny's bridesmaids, wasn't it?"

Ron nods, and Harry's face slowly melts into a grin. "What?"

"If it were Lavender, you wouldn't be skirting around it."

He's right. Even though they've broken up, Ron and Lavender still enjoy the occasional shag, and Ron has never been secretive about it. "True. It wasn't Lavender," he confirms.

"So," asks Harry. "Who was it?"

Ron rubs at his temples again, his head still pounding.

"It was Hermione, wasn't it?"

When Ron doesn't answer right away, Harry beams, and his smugness compounds his headache. "How did you guess that?"

"I don't know," shrugs Harry. "Demelza has a boyfriend. Luna's Luna. It was a lucky guess."

"Bollocks, isn't it?"

Harry shrugs.

"What?" Ron scowls.

"Well, it's not exactly surprising."

"It's not?"

"Well… some things are surprising. Like that," Harry nods towards the whipped cream. "But not you and Hermione shagging."

"Sure it is," says Ron incredulously. "We don't exactly get on particularly well."

"So?"

"We hate each other."

Harry laughs. "No, you don't."

"What are you talking about? We fight constantly."

"You flirt constantly."

Ron shakes his head. He can't imagine any of his interactions with Hermione being misinterpreted for flirting. Their limited conversations usually involve pointless arguments about itineraries, travel arrangements, or plastic straws.

"She was horrified when she woke up here this morning."

"She was probably just embarrassed."

"To be seen with me?"

"That's not what I meant," says Harry exasperatedly. "She's… proper. Casual shagging is likely new for her, and she might have needed a moment to process it all."

"Proper?"

Harry nodded.

"You talk like you know her."

"Well, I do," he says. "I've gotten to know her quite well through Gin. She's a good one." There's a familiar tone in Harry's voice, similar to Ron's when he defends Ginny.

"Can I ask you a favor?" asks Ron suddenly.

"Of course."

"Don't mention this to Ginny."

"I won't." Harry smiles smugly. "But she'll probably ask Hermione at brunch."

"Brunch?"

"Yep. The girls have brunch reservations today."

Ron groans, shuddering at the thought of Hermione and Lavender sitting together over bottomless mimosas, talking about whatever it is women talk about. For her sake, he hopes the girls aren't as curious about her whereabouts last night as Harry was about Ron's.

"Anyway, the rest of us are going to the pool," continues Harry. "Care to join us?"

"Yeah," says Ron. "I'll be down in a bit."

"Great," says Harry, making his way toward the door. "See you soon."

Ron waits for Harry to leave before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the marriage certificate. Even though he didn't tell Harry the entire truth, their conversation did help to clear his head, and he no longer has the urge to rip the certificate in two.

He studies the piece of paper and then spots it — scribbled on the certificate, under his and Hermione's signatures, is the officiant's name and the venue's address. Ron types the address into his phone, and his search result turns up a website.

Erised Elopements Follow your heart's desire!

Maybe he can make it all disappear, and he wouldn't have to tell Hermione anything. He saves the address and pockets his phone.

"There he is! The man of the hour!" Seamus calls as soon as Ron arrives on the pool deck — which he now realizes isn't an appropriate descriptor at all. Seamus' body is draped in a hammock hanging between two palm trees, growing from the landscaped beach that meets the pool's edge. The natural yet dusty odor of the sand mixes with the stronger smell of chlorine into an aromatic blend that Ron's brain can't process at the moment. Ron squints when he approaches Seamus, the sunlight reflecting off the glittery white sand and blinding him.

"I think Harry's the man of the hour," he says, reaching for his sunglasses.

"Yeah, well. We were talking about you. Specifically about where you ran off to last night."

Ron shoots a quick glare at Harry, who shrugs innocently. "Last night?"

"Yeah, you disappeared. We thought you might have brought a bird back to your room, but Harry says no one was with you when he checked this morning."

"Well, no birds last night," says Ron, eyeing Harry thankfully. "Just went to bed early, that's all."

"Then why do you look so rough?" asks Dean. "Looks like the sun is melting you."

That's because it is. "Blessed to be a ginge, I guess."

"Really?" presses Dean..

"Fine, I went to bed early last night because I was drunk as hell, okay? Didn't want to make any bad decisions. Now the hangover is killing me."

"Yeah, that checks out," says Seamus, and the boys all laugh. Ron doesn't even mind them laughing at his expense; he's just relieved they don't seem to need more details.

"Since you're the last to arrive, the next round of drinks is on you," says Neville.

"Alright, fine," says Ron, feigning grumpiness, although he's more than okay with the subject changing. He rises to his feet and mucks off to the bar.

The manufactured beach turns abruptly to a boardwalk, then to a loud and ostentatious eatery where brunch is in full swing. Every corner of the room is packed with tropical trees, and he can smell the moisture in the air — probably false humidity in a feeble attempt to keep the flora alive. The humidity pools on his skin like sweat, and he wonders if his shower was even worth the waste of water. He's never been very into green living, but he's suddenly curious what the sea turtles would think if they were to see how flippantly humans use clean water. And plastic straws, of course.

He scans the room for the source of his sudden environmental distress — Hermione Granger. He scours the bamboo tables, the forest-green walls adorned by portraits of safari animals playing blackjack, and the giant decorative goblet standing in the middle of the restaurant, advertising its signature cocktail, the Goblet of Fire. Eventually, amidst the chaos of the hotel's theme-indecision, he spots Ginny's flaming red hair at a round table, along with Luna, Demelza, and Lavender. Notably, Hermione is absent, a realization that elicits a sigh from Ron. Whether it's from relief or disappointment, he doesn't know.

He can't help but imagine her back in her hotel room, unable to face his sister in case she serves as a reminder of last night. Is she really that regretful?

Ron dejectedly turns toward the bar but freezes when he spots a bushy brown head of hair at the counter. It's undeniably Hermione, and she's talking animatedly to a blonde-haired woman who, for some reason, looks vaguely familiar.

Where have I seen her? In her dark green jumpsuit, long neon-pink fingernails, and gold spectacles, the woman appears as eclectic in her fashion choices as the hotel does in its decor. He probably met her when he was smashed last night — he would have remembered had he been sober.

Instead of bothering himself with the mystery woman, he takes in Hermione's appearance. She's wearing a sky-colored dress, the same one she wore the day they arrived in Vegas. It's just short enough to make Ron wonder what's hiding under the hem, and the fabric in the front crumples together in a way that draws Ron's gaze right to her chest. Thanks to that damn dress, it took a lot of effort to keep his eyes away from her breasts that day, so he chose not to look at her at all. Especially because he could feel Lavender watching him, scanning for any sign of his wandering eye as if she had any claim to his attention.

Ron backs away from the bar and slips into a doorway, obscuring himself behind a cascade of glass beads that hang from the ceiling like a waterfall. He feels utterly ridiculous hiding from women in a bar, but he brought it upon himself. He watches Hermione and the stranger pass a phone between one another, and his curiosity piques again. Who is she, and what are they talking about?

They soon part ways with a hug, and Hermione's left alone at the bar. She spends a few moments intently staring at her phone before the bartender places five mimosas in front of her. She pockets her phone, pays, and grabs the tray of drinks to carry it back to the table, expertly swerving between ferns and palms like she's on a mission.

Ron waits for a few moments, just to assure that the girls are distracted by conversation before he approaches the bar, wishing his hair was a little less conspicuous.

"Hey, handsome."

Lavender's crooning voice shudders Ron awake; he didn't realize he fell asleep. If only he hadn't jolted awake, or he might have been able to pretend to still be sleeping.

"Hey," he reluctantly greets her. "What time is it?"

"Two."

Okay, so he has only been sleeping for an hour. He's hanging in a hammock by the pool, luckily hidden from the sun by a cabana, and Lavender is stretched out on a towel below, staring at him through oversized, ridiculous-looking sunglasses. "How was brunch?"

"It was fine. Still happening, actually."

What does she want? "Then why are you here?"

"I have questions about what you did last night," she asks, running her fingers through a mound of sand.

Ron lifts his sunglasses from his face to look her in the eye. "I went to bed early."

Lavender eyes him suspiciously. "That's not what Hermione Granger said."

His heart rate stutters at her accusation. There's no way Hermione told the girls about last night. She wouldn't. "What… what did Hermione Granger say?" he asks tentatively.

"Oh, not much. She just said she spotted you with a girl," shrugs Lavender. "And that she was quite pretty."

Ron tries to resist the urge to laugh but can't and instead lets out a soft chuckle. "She did?"

"I know she's probably just saying that to piss me off. She doesn't like me."

Ron puts his sunglasses back on, mostly so Lavender doesn't see him rolling his eyes. "Don't take it personally; she doesn't like anyone."

Lavender scoffs, and Ron can't resist smirking. Sometimes, he enjoys dodging her attempts to fish compliments from him. "Well, were you?"

"Was I what?"

"With a girl?"

"Honestly, Lav? I don't remember much of last night. There was no girl in my bed this morning if that's what you're getting at." She looks relieved at his lie. "Did Hermione say anything else?"

"No, she just changed the subject. A little too quickly, if you ask me."

"Oh, well. I guess it's a mystery, then," he says, settling back into his hammock.

But Lavender isn't finished. "She kind of sounded jealous at the thought of you with a girl."

Ron chuckles again. "Doubt that."

"Oh, come on, Ron. She has a thing for you. That's why she doesn't like me."

"Nah."

"Why else wouldn't she like me?"

So many reasons. "I don't know, but she definitely doesn't have a thing for me." He knows that by the way she nearly cried then stormed out of his room this morning.

"I think she does."

Lavender's insistence reminds him of Harry earlier that day, insisting that he and Hermione are always flirting. Maybe they're onto something. There may be a little bit of flirting, but if so, it's clearly one-sided. "You're just paranoid that everyone has a thing for me."

Lavender shrugs. "I can just sense it."

"Lavender, if you really need to know if Hermione fancies me, just ask her."

"I wanted to, but she disappeared. She said she wasn't feeling well and went back to her room."

Ron leans back on his pool chair, his heart suddenly beating faster. If Hermione's tucked away in her room, it's a good opportunity for Ron to escape to the venue location and figure out how to undo the damage of last night. If he leaves now, he won't draw suspicion from her. "Well, sorry that I can't answer your questions," he says, hoping the finality of his tone will end the conversation.

She continues to look expectantly at him, but he has nothing else to say. "I guess I'll just go back to the brunch table, then,' she grumbles, after a few moments of awkward silence.

She rises to her feet and gathers her towel, leaving behind two sandy motes as she drags herself from the beach to the boardwalk. He hears the snapping of her sandals once she reaches solid ground, and waits until it grows quiet in the distance, muffled by the bustle of the restaurant. Ron then opens his eyes to see that the boys are either napping in hammocks or floating aimlessly in the pool, never too far from the swim-up bar. He flings his legs over the edge of the hammock and slips his feet back into his shoes. Shoving his hand into his pocket to assure he still has the folded-up wedding certificate, he figures the best time to try and fix this mess is either now, or never.

#hp fanfiction #hpromione #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #Romione angst #muggle au #romione fics

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troop-scoop · 4 years ago

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Mistakes & Regrets XVII

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Swearing probably

• • •

Staring at the buckets of meat that Steve placed by your feet, you made a face, nose wrinkling up a bit as he handed you yellow gloves.

“I cannot believe I let you guys convince me into buying seven pounds of raw meat.” You grumbled, putting the gloves on your hands, the fingers of the gloves to long for your hands. “Bullshit.” You mumbled. “Can I just not wear gloves?”

Steve looked at you, before seeing the gloves were big on you. “Dustin says he ate his cat, so that means he likes raw meat, and no. You’re wearing gloves or going home.”

Tilting your head a bit while he grabbed the can of gasoline from the trunk, placing it by your feet again while Dustin walked a few feet away, talking on his walkie.

“Poor Mews.”

“You knew the cat’s name?”

You stayed silent for a moment, staring at him, hearing Dustin speak to Lucas. “I lived two blocks away, and that cat had a thing for getting out. Of course I knew his name. He was the fat orange tabby. His orange reminded me of a orange-creamsicle.”

“You compared the cat to ice-cream?” He questioned, grabbing your bag and kneeling down with the bat to put it in, while you leaned into the trunk, opening the gun case.

“No, I compared his coloring to that of ice-cream. Don’t put words in my mouth, Harrington.” You joked. “I think part of it was because he was a soft orange. . . like a strawberry blonde!”

Steve took a second, staring at the pebbles by your feet for a second, searching for what to say to your statement, because looking back up a you. “The fact that came to your mind, is weird.”

You shook your head, loading the magazine to the pistol and slamming it into the butt of the gun. “Maybe.”

“Pretty sure he’s a baby Demogorgon.” Dustin told Lucas over the headset, while you made sure the safety of the gun was on, putting it in your pants like you used to see in movies and TV, tucking your t-shirt in behind the weapon.

Steve looked up at you before asking, “Do you even know how to use a gun?”

You nodded a bit. “One parent from Indiana who wasn’t ever big on guns but knew how to shoot one when he was in trouble, and the other from Texas. . . So. . . Yeah, I know how to use one.”

Steve stood up, handing you one of the three buckets of chopped up raw steak. “I’ll never be able to think about my Pa’s steak the same again.” You said with a breathy laugh as Steve smiled and shook his head, closing the trunk.

“All right, let’s go.”

• • •

“You kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl who. . . who you just met?” Steve asked from behind you, talking to Dustin who was in front of you.

You never spent this much time with one of Will’s friends. At least not just one of them. And not in the 80’s. You’d spent an entire month with your Uncle Mike and Aunt Jane in Indianapolis when you were ten. Out of all of your aunts, you were the closest with your Aunt Max, but Jane was a different kind of closeness, like you had something in common with her.

“All right, that’s grossly oversimplifying things.” Dustin spoke while you tossed a chunk of raw meat onto the abandoned train tracks.

“I mean, why would a girl like some nasty slug anyway?” Steve asked.

Looking over your shoulder you looked at him. “When I was their age I was fascinated by snails.”

“See!” Dustin said excitedly “Y/n, what if it was an interdimensional snail?”

But that was where you drew the line, seeing as if this ‘slug’ really was a baby Demogorgan, then that meant it came from the Upside Down.

“Maybe.” was your verbalized answer, not wanting to mention the fact that you’d been where that thing was from. At least not in front of Steve. He was the only person you were close with who didn’t know. And you wanted it to stay that way.

“Okay, well even if she thought it was cool, which she didn’t, I. . . I just. . . I don’t know. I just feel like you’re trying way too hard.”

“Well, not everyone can have your perfect hair, all right?” You could see how Dustin seemed a bit deflated in confidence now.

“It’s not about the hair, man.” Steve told him, catching up to walk next to you.

Looking up at him, you noticed how his hair added at the least, two inches to his height. Making his hair 6′1. You never saw why he put so much effort into it, but you respected it.

And you knew that was part of the reason a lot of girls at school liked him. His hair framed his face better than a lot of boy’s hair did. Not even the new kid’s hair suited him very well. And you were pretty sure the new kid had a perm, while Steve’s hair was natural.

“The key with girls is just. . . just acting like you don’t care.” You had to stifle a laugh and prevent it from coming out, already you could tell that this conversation was about to be a bunch of horse-shit put on an expensive plate made in Milan, Italy.

“Even if you do?” Dustin asked, looking at Steve while you dropped a few more chunks.

“Yeah, exactly. I drives them nuts.” Dustin asked what next. “You just wait until, uh. . . Until you feel it.” You furrowed your brows a bit as he tossed a few chunks onto the ground

“Feel what?” Dustin inquired.

“It’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh. . . electricity, you know?” You could see how Steve was trying to put it into words with Dustin who was still listening intently.

“Oh, like in the electromagnetic field when the clouds in the atmosphere-”

Out came a string of ‘no’s’ laced together from Steve. “Like a. . . Like a sexual electricity. You feel that and then you make your move.”

Steve saw you shaking your head and rolled his eyes a bit. “So that’s when you kiss her?” Dustin asked making you laugh and making Steve stop him. “No, whoa, whoa. Slow down, Romeo.”

“Sorry.”

“Sure, okay, some girls, yeah, they want you to be aggressive. You know, strong, hot and heavy, like a. . .” You’d never actually seen a guy try to give girl advice, and while you knew most guys were as clueless as Cher Horowitz when it came to relationships, you didn’t think it was this bad. “I don’t know, like a lion. But others, you gotta be slow, you gotta be stealthy, like a. . . Like a Ninja.” When Steve looked back at Dustin you could see how proud he was at his own simile.

“What type is Nancy?”

The air around the three of you shifted a bit, or at least between you and Steve, who knew about Halloween night. “Nancy’s different. She’s different than the other girls.”

“What about you?”

Looking down at the middle schooler, you realized he meant you. And even Steve looked back at you, seemingly also curious.

You shrugged a bit. “I don’t really know. Last boyfriend I had was in seventh grade, and he wasn’t really my boyfriend, since we were like twelve. But neither really. In fact most girls don’t actually like it when a guy tries to play hard to get from what I’ve heard.” You told him, looking back as Steve, to see him still looking at you, and yet, not tripping on the train tracks.

“You two seem pretty special, I guess.” You reached a hand over to Dustin, squeezing his shoulder in a reaffirming manner.

“Yeah.” Steve started. “Yeah, they are.”

You looked at Steve, seeing him looking down at the tracks before he snuck a glance at you. But when he made unintentional eye contact with you, he quickly looked away.

You couldn’t hear what Dustin said, because you were busy staring at the back of Steve’s head in confusion, only stopping and still ignoring what they were saying when Steve stopped Dustin.

But when they started walking again, you did hear “Fagergé.”

“What?” Dustin asked, making a face.

“It’s Fagergé Organics.” Steve Clarified, pointing to his hair. “Use the shampoo and conditioner, and when your hair’s damp, It’s not wet, okay? When it’s damp.” Dustin repeated the word, mentally taking note of what your friend was saying. “You do four puffs of the Farrah Fawcett spray.”

“Farah Fawcett spray?” You picked up on the amused tone that Dustin used, and it made you smile a bit, tilting your head subconsciously.

Steve stopped walking again, turning to Dustin, his face showing that he was serious. “Yeah, Farrah Fawcett. You tell anyone I just told you that and your ass is grass. You’re dead, Henderson, Do you understand?”

“Yup.”

Steve turned his head to you and you smiled even more. “What?” He asked, still holding a fistfull of raw meat, and pointing a gloved finger at Dustin.

“Nothin’.” You told him, an idiotic smile on your face at how he acted with Dustin.

He sighed with an uncertain smile, throwing the chunks of meat onto the ground. “Okay.”

You were totally never going into that grocery store ever again.

• • •

Add yourself to the taglist!

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @jxnehxpper @yllwtaxi @songofcosplay @potatopooper05 @cheesecakeisapie @robinsdolan @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @the_passionate_freak @bisexualpears @ilovebucketbarnes @random-thoughts-003 @philopatris @mochminnie @big_galaxy_chaos @inlovewithmiddleagedcelebs @abbyg217 @stevexscoops @cashmereandtears @sireddobrev

(If there’s a slash through your username it means that I couldn’t tag you!)

#steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington slow burn #steve

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ribbonetteart · 5 years ago

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So this has been sitting in my inbox for a while lol

Some notes about her redesign below:

Well for starters! I don’t really dislike Cream’s design in the first place so let’s get that clear. However what’s always bugged me just a bit was that she’s (and Vanilla too) supposed to be a lop eared rabbit but her ears are actually facing backwards! Real life lop eared rabbits have their ears facing inward toward their skull. In my redesign, Cream’s ears are facing inwards and flop over much like actual lop eared rabbits.

Sometimes I totally forget Cream even has those little triangle hair thingies in her original design, so I got rid of them and opted to give her bangs that resembled whipped cream. It’s bouncy and acts like “emotive hair” (springs out when she’s surprised, curls tighter when she’s nervous or tense, etc.). I made her eyelashes shorter because she’s younger and didn’t think they should be as prominent as the older sonic girls’ eyelashes.

I replaced her orange sailor fuku with a big cardigan. I tried going for a more Japanese kindergartner outfit instead, hence the big collar and cardigan. I used brown for the buttons to compliment the blue cardigan. I thought Mary Jane shoes would look sweet, and I kept her socks as they were. She has plain white gloves much like the other sonic characters. She’s also got pockets! Probably to store candy to share or treats for Cheese.

I didn’t want to change her color scheme too much because her orange color scheme reminds me of a creamsicle, which goes with her whip cream cowlick, as well as tying in with ice cream being her favorite food. But I didn’t want the orange to be too bright either. Instead I wanted more pastels because I think a softer look would suit Cream’s polite and soft spoken personality more. I also wanted to incorporate more of the blue from her tie in her original design because I wanted more color contrast overall. I also sprinkled in more brown (buttons and shoes) as a neutral tone, as well as making her appear more down-to-earth and bringing out her eyes more, which stayed the same color from her original design.

#Cream the Rabbit #Sonic the hedgehog #mizzletea #request #redesign #sonic redesign #my art

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katedrakeohd · 5 years ago

Text

Christmas Love ~ Part Two

[A Very Valtorian Christmas Masterlist]

Rated: Mature for Adult Themes, Angst, talk of Depression and Emotional distress during pregnancy, otherwise this story is all fluff and good stuff.

(I suck at trigger warnings, so I apologize in advance)

A special shout out to @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria for the drake & kate in a bathtub story challenge. 😊

Tagging:

@jlpplays1 @walker7519 @drakesensworld @kimmiedoo5 @speedyoperarascalparty @furiousherringoperatortoad @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @jovialyouthmusic @samihatuli @kingliam2019

@fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @sirbeepsalot @dcbbw @desiree---1986 @emceesynonymroll @wickedgypsymoon @gardeningourmet @indiacater @bobasheebaby @loveellamae @rainbowsinthestorm @burnsoslow @mskaneko @bbrandy2002 @jessiembruno @emichelle @griselda1121 @msjpuddleduck @princess-andromeda-nazario @princess-geek @princessleac1 @addictedtodrakefanfic @janezillow @nikkis1983 @texaskitten30 @debramcg1106 @moonlightgem7 @be-still-my-aching-heart @walkerswhiskeygirl

With a sigh Drake looks around the bedroom. The bed clothes were wrecked from their play wrestling, and the girls in the laundry were going to fuss over the wrinkled sheets, but he had other concerns. Kate hadn't come back from the bathroom yet. Had he been too rough? He knew he got carried away sometimes, and today he had awoken Kate earlier than usual. Setting his phone and the bag of cookie treats on the bedside table, he walks over to the bathroom to check on her.

To his surprise the door is ajar and he hangs back for a moment to watch his wife. She was standing at the sink in her pale silk dressing gown dabbing at her face with a damp wash cloth. Her eyes looked sad as they met his in the mirror. Her gaze shifted back down to look at the water in the sink as he eased the door open and entered the bathroom.

“Kate?” he says in a low voice, his face softening with concern. Stepping up beside her he turns and leans against the marble counter, “Honey what's wrong?”

Still looking down at the sink Kate shrugs and then starts rambling, “I don't know, just feeling a little overwhelmed I guess. I was looking in the mirror at myself, standing in this gilded and fancy bathroom that belongs to a Duchess, and wondering what a nobody waitress from a New York dive bar was doing in such a place. A pregnant waitress, pretending to be a Duchess, who is going to birth a child that is destined to rule a country. It all seems so bizarre considering where my life was headed just a year ago. What do I know about running a Duchy, or about being a Mother to royalty?”

Drake reaches out and gently cups her cheeks in his hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs and tilting her face up to look at him.

“Kate, our Duchy is fairly self sufficient, there isn't much you really need to do. And the Mother part… I’m going to be with you every step of the way, you aren’t ever going to be raising our child alone. We're both new at this and we'll figure this out together, and we've no shortage of help whether it's friendly advice from those who love us or the help of our Manor staff. There are healthcare professionals, counselors and support people to guide us in Parenting if we need it. There are political advisers and tons of community support to help us keep the Duchy running smoothly. There's nothing for you to worry about.”

Seeing the calm and loving expression on Drake's face, and knowing that he's making perfect sense, brings fresh tears of gratitude. His tone isn’t condescending or teasing just honest and full of love. Kate covers her face with her hands. “I'm so sorry. You must think I'm so foolish and crazy.”

Drake pulls her into his arms as she continues crying against his shoulder. “Sshh, you're not foolish or crazy. You're only human Kate, and I love you. You're growing a whole other human in that beautiful body of yours and you have every right to get emotional about it.”

The thin material of her robe offers little warmth and Drake realizes how cool her hands are as she cuddles into his chest. “My gosh, Kate you're freezing. We really need to find a way to heat this bathroom better. Let me draw you a warm bath, and then we can talk some more.”

Kate nods wiping at her puffy eyes and sniffing back her tears as she steps back. Drake grabs a bath sheet and wraps it around her shoulders, “Here hold onto this while I draw us a bath.”

“Us?” Kate asks quietly, wiping her nose on the corner of the towel.

Drake chuckles quietly, leaning over to turn on the taps on their large soaker tub. “Well who else is going to wash your back for you?”

“You're so sweet to me Drake, I bet other husbands don't do this for their wives.”

Drake fetches Kate's favorite shampoo and body wash out of the shower, “Well they should.”

As Kate watches, he places the shampoo and body wash on the side of the tub along with another bath towel for himself. Reaching into the bathwater he tests the temperature and then sits down on the edge of the tub to wait for it to fill.

Kate shifts from side to side, rubbing one cold foot against the other. How Drake could walk around naked in the chilly marble tiled bathroom and not shiver was baffling to her.

Drake glances down at her shuffling feet, “The floor does get cold in here doesn't it? I think we should invest in some infloor heating.”

Kate nods, “I suppose in the meantime I could get some slippers.”

Drake turns off the taps, and then walks over to Kate. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders he places a kiss on her temple. He grasps the edge of her towel in his fingers, “May I?”

Kate lets go of her towel and Drake pulls it away with a flourish, quickly folding it and placing it next to his. Untying her robe, he slips it down off of her shoulders and it melts into a puddle at her feet. Kate gasps and instinctually wraps her arms around his ribs to soak up some of his body heat.

Cradling her gently around the back he tilts his face down and closes his eyes, smiling against her lips as she tilts her face up to meet his. Their kisses are soft and unhurried, lips parting for each other under gentle pressure as they meet again and again. Once Kate feels warmed all over, she tips her head back and whispers, “Thank you, I needed that.”

Drake nods, “Mmhmm, I know. Ready for your bath?”

Kate nods and Drake steps back and then dips down to scoop her up in his arms. Kate holds onto his neck and shoulders as he turns and gently places her down into the warm water. Scooting forward a little she allows him room to climb in behind her. Drake settles down into the warm water with a sigh, drawing up his knees and Kate slides back to lean against his chest. Lifting his hand face up out of the water and resting it on his knee, Kate takes the silent hint and places her hand in his lacing their fingers together. Tugging his arm back to hug against her chest, she kisses the back of his hand. He dips his head down to kiss her shoulder. They sit quietly like this for a few minutes, watching the steam rise from the water. Kate breaks the silence first, “So what did Preston want?”

Drake presses more kisses against her shoulder and neck, working his way up to her ear. “He brought me my phone, that I'd left in the SUV yesterday, and for you he brought a special treat.”

Kate caresses up and down his thigh, raising her eyebrows with surprise, “Ooh, what kind of treat?”

Drake squeezes her hips gently with his thighs and kisses her on the cheek, “Oh, something round, sweet, green and Italian.”

Kate frowns in thought, “Sweet, green..and Italian?”

Drake sweeps her hair off to the side, kissing the back of her neck. “Remember the last time we visited Rome? We went into that sweet shop and you fell in love with the Pistachio Almond cookies on the sample tray?”

Kate gasps as she remembers, “You got me Peluso's Pistakì cookies?”

Drake smiles as he reaches for her bottle of body wash and the bath sponge. “Mmhmm, I asked Preston to enquire about them at the candy shop in town. I told him to tell them that they were your favorite cookie and asked if they could get them in stock.”

“Oh Drake, that's the best gift ever. Now I don't have to go all the way to Italy to find them. How did you know I was craving them?”

“I've watched you nibbling on bowls of mixed nuts and trail mix lately, and there always seemed to be almonds and pistachios mixed in along with your chocolate covered raisins and cranberries.”

Kate blushes as she gnaws on her bottom lip. “So you've caught onto my cravings for sweets then?”

Drake uncaps her body wash and squirts some on the sponge. “Uh huh. But you've seemed to keep it on the healthy side for the most part. As far as I can tell. So kudos to you.”

Kate thinks back to the cookies and milk and gum drops she was snacking on yesterday. Hana made sure to save as many green candies for Kate as possible. Kate nods, glad that Drake can't see the guilty expression on her face, “Yes, yes I try to.”

Drake knows she's lying but lets it slide. “Want to sit forward so I can wash your back and shoulders?”

Kate scoots forward in the tub, enjoying the scent of orange blossoms and vanilla as Drake washes her shoulders. Watching the creamy foam slide down over her breasts as they rise out of the water reminds her of ice cream. Breathing deeply and closing her eyes, Kate suddenly has a craving for an Orange Creamsicle.

Drake drags the sponge underneath the water and rubs Kate's back with it, bringing a moan of satisfaction to her lips. “Mmm, that feels so good. Why do you do so much for me?”

Drake wets down her hair with the sponge and then hands the sponge forward and reaches for her shampoo. “Cuz, it's my job.”

“I didn't know bath buddy was part of the Duke of Valtoria job description.” Kate giggles as Drake runs his fingers through her hair.

“No, but it's on page three of the husband and lover handbook.”

Kate bends her knees up and scrubs down her legs with her sponge. “That's funny. I've never seen that book in the library before.”

“It's in the special ‘Guys only’ section.”

Kate closes her eyes as Drake lathers up her hair, “So if bath duties are on page three, what's on page one and two?”

Drake smirks, as he scoops water up in his hands and rinses out her hair, “Sorry that's classified information.”

“Ok, point taken. So what other surprises should I expect on our first Christmas day?”

“I dunno, you'll have to wait and see. Oh just to clarify, you didn't really want a pony did you? Because we could always add one to the stables.”

Kate laughs, turning around in the tub to kneel between his thighs and lean in for a kiss. “No silly, you're my pony.”

Drake grins, sliding his hands down to cup her ass as she giggles between his kisses, “And what about the rockets and fireworks?”

Kate gasps with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Ooh, could we really have fireworks?”

Drake squeezes her ass and teases butterfly kisses across her cheeks and nose, “Not for Christmas, but maybe for New Year's Eve.”

“Ooh, they would be so pretty to set off over the lake.”

Drake nods, “Sounds like a plan, consider it done.”

---

Later, all warm and cozy in flannel pjs and sitting cross legged on the bed, Kate opens up her package of cookies. “It's a shame I can't have a cup of coffee with these. I miss coffee.”

Drake wanders out of the closet dressed in a pair of track pants, “We could get some decaf sent up from the kitchen. Or maybe some tea. I know I could use a coffee too.”

Kate unwraps a cookie and bites into it, closing her eyes and savoring the sweet flavor, “Mmm, these are heavenly. Do you want one?”

Drake watches her lick the powdered sugar off her lip. “Maybe later. Don't eat too many of those we still have to make an appearance at breakfast.”

Kate pouts as she finishes off her cookie. “Oh fine, just one….or maybe two. One for me and one for Little One.” Kate rubs her belly affectionately as she reaches into the packaging for another cookie.

Drake walks over to the bedside to check his phone, there's a light flashing indicating messages. “Damn, it's almost dead.”

He opens the bedside drawer to fish out his charger. Sitting down on the edge of the bed he hears the rustle of another cookie being opened. He sighs and then glances over his shoulder at Kate. “I thought Little One, or whatever was only having one cookie.”

Kate looks away, brushing some pistachio crumbles off of her chest. “Sorry.”

Shaking his head, Drake rests his elbows on his knees and thumbs through the messages on his phone. “Seriously, save room for breakfast. Oh look.. it seems that Bertrand and Savannah won't be coming to our Christmas dinner after all.”

Kate raises her eyebrows, mumbling around a cheekfull of cookie, “Aww, why not?”

“Bartie's sick and they don't want to travel with him and get us sick too.”

Drake turns and snatches away the box of cookies, “You're gonna make yourself sick eating so many of these. Can't be good for Little One.”

Kate tears up a little at his gruff scolding, “Hey those are mine! We're hungry.” She rubs her belly and pouts.

Drake frowns rubbing at his forehead with his thumb and fingers, “Quit it already with the childishness. Besides using the nickname ‘Little One’ over and over again is bugging the hell out of me. We need to pick out baby names or something.”

Kate looks down at the bedspread as she picks at the crumbs around her, “Actually Hana helped me pick out names yesterday.”

Drake sighs with annoyance, tossing his phone down on the bed. “Hana helped you.”

Kate shrugs avoiding eye contact with Drake, “And Nicholas…I'm sorry, I know you wanted for us to do that together.”

Drake's nerves bristle at the mention of Nicholas helping pick names for his heir. He and Kate had been adamant that their baby was to be raised as they saw fit, and that the heir to the throne business shouldn't be a priority until it really needed to be. “You let him pick names instead of me?”

Kate tries to diffuse Drake's anger before it got any worse, “Not exactly. He just supervised as Hana and I researched names from Cordonian noble history. We were just throwing around the idea of reviving an old name that would help our child connect to the past.”

The idea of his child being named after some long dead stuffy noble grated on Drake's nerves even more. “So we could instill a sense of stuffy pretentiousness in our child from day one?! You've got to be kidding.”

Kate sighs, her stomach feeling queasy, and her baby moving about adding to her growing discomfort, “Look, it's just a list of names. It's not a binding contract or a damn yoke around our baby's neck. You have the right to veto any name you don't like or toss the whole list away and we can start a new one. I'm sorry Drake, really I am. I didn't realize you would get so upset.”

Drake's phone vibrated on the bed and he picked it up to check it. With a groan he runs his fingers through his hair, giving it a tug and then letting go. “Well Fuck, if that doesn't add insult to injury.”

Kate looks on with concern, “Now what?”

“Olivia has invited herself to dinner.”

#long post #drake x kate #a very valtorian christmas #trh fanfic #drake walker

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pyrrhicvictoryhq · 2 years ago

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welcome to the capitol — mica ( annie cresta ) and britt ( buck marshall ) !

make sure to read through our checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! oh, and remember that the games don’t end when you exit the arena, so we hope the odds are ever in your favor!

( luca hollestelle | twenty | cis woman | she / her ) oh darling, did you see? that’s annie cresta, a victor from district four! they won the 70th hunger games at just eighteen years old, i remember it being quite the event. i did see on their latest magazine article that they’re sensitive, intuitive, and observant, and that they aren’t mentoring this year. honestly, they remind me of the way the sand sticks on one’s thighs after rising from the sand, the taste of an orange creamsicle on a summers day, knowing that you were born with pain that you will never outrun. what the public doesn’t know is that they’re a part of plutarch heavensbee’s rebellion, but such things can’t be said out loud. [ mica | est | 23 | she / her ]

( jensen ackles | thirty-seven | cis man | he / him ) oh darling, did you see? that’s buck marshall, a victor from district ten! they won the 51st hunger games at just sixteen years old, i remember it being quite the event. i did see on their latest magazine article that they’re understanding, stubborn, and mischievous, and that they are mentoring this year. honestly, they remind me of the smell of whiskey in a smokey bar, the sound of horses hooves hitting the dirt, and the smell of freshly laid hay. what the public doesn’t know is that they’re a part of plutarch heavensbee’s rebellion, but such things can’t be said out loud. [ britt | est | 24 | she / her ]

#pv:accepted #accepted

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theoriginalladya · 5 years ago

Note

Wearing clothes in their favorite color.

from this prompt list - Thank you for asking!

On AO3 here

This one was a challenge, and I’m a bit surprised at the pairing that decided to claim it! lol However, considering how the games have been going, it really shouldn’t be that much of a surprise ...

~~~

It starts as an accident, really. He doesn’t even notice at first. When your entire adult life is lived in navy blue twenty-four seven, opportunity to wear other colors can go one of two ways; outright fear or a desperate attempt to showcase individuality. Normally, he opts for the second. Like the blue, white and green jersey he wears on leave in support of his favorite hockey team back on Earth. Or the cream and crimson sweater his mother knit him for Christmas one year. It never occurs to him there’s a third option; mourning.

In the weeks following Alchera, after multiple debriefs, watching his former crewmates reassigned elsewhere, he is given leave to recuperate before he reports to his next duty station. He has nothing but time on his hands, and that, he discovers to his chagrin, is a problem. The idea of leave alone reminds him of the years between BAaT and enlisting; not a place he wants to revisit, especially now.

A friend from basic offers him a place to stay on Arcturus, and he accepts. Heading home might work, but there will be questions, most of which he doesn’t want to answer now. Arcturus, on the other hand, is different. He has mixed memories of time spent here, but it is connected with Earth and home, as well as the Citadel, his next assignment, so why not?

Still, too much time in idle hands can be a dangerous thing.

It begins the night of his arrival. After dropping his things at the flat, he’s spent the rest of the day wandering the station, reacquainting himself. He’s passed through here on several occasions, but this is the first time he’s had more than a day and he wants to get a better lay of the land. But, where to start? The obvious choices are where he’s been before: Arcturus Memorial Hospital or Murph’s. He opts for the former, but ends the day at the latter.

He sits alone in a booth in back. It’s quiet here and gives him a good line of sight on those already present as well as a view of the door. As if he’s expecting someone to walk in …

Not this time.

He orders a glass of Tullamore – the same as last time – and nurses it the rest of the night. His server eyes him suspiciously, but notices the rank insignia at his collar and says nothing. He stays until last call then heads home. He returns two nights later; same seat, same drink, same server. She’s less suspicious this time thanks to the generous tip from his last visit, though she still says nothing. Two nights later, a third visit. Then a fourth.

The fifth time he’s seated she walks over with a genuine smile of recognition. She doesn’t ask what he wants, simply sets a glass of Tullamore in front of him. But, for just a moment, she slides into the seat across from him, folds her hands together and rests her chin atop them, looking straight at him. “Each time you visit,” she observes quietly in a voice with the same lilt he’s come to know so well, “you remind me a little more of home.”

He isn’t quite sure what to make of that, and simply arches one thick brow in response.

She nods at his shirt; he glances down. Old and faded, what used to be bright orange now hints at its former glory, more resembling an orange creamsicle he used to eat as a kid. His old school logo is long ago faded, but the quality of the material is surprisingly good, so he’s kept it in his rotation. These days, it barely fits anymore, but the dark green jacket he’s grown fond of hides that fact well enough. Brow still arched, he asks, “What do you mean?”

Her smile widens. “Éire, my friend.” She sighs softly, but her smile remains in place except in her eyes. “I had hoped you might be a little slice of home come to visit.”

His eyes close on a sharp wave of pain as her words filter through. “I – .” He pauses, clears his throat, then tries again. “I’m not, no,” he finally forces out, “but I just lost a good friend who was …”

One of her hands darts out to pat his gently even as she rises back to her feet. “I’m sure they’d be happy to know you are thinking of them fondly then. Sláinte!”

She leaves, for which he is thankful, because the toast is nearly his undoing. A small tremor that begins in his hand rolls up and around his shoulder. He has to set his glass down or risk spilling the contents.

Thinking of you fondly? He stares at his hands in front of him for one long minute before bracing them flat against the table. How is this supposed to work, Shepard? You were the best commander I’ve ever served with. A Spectre beyond reproach. You saved us, the galaxy from a threat that the Council and Alliance both want to sweep under the rug. Someone has to remember you, don’t they? Keep up the fight?

His eyes fall to his shirt and jacket once more. An accident, but one that makes sense now that it’s been pointed out to him as memories of Commander Caleb Shepard return, resplendent in his specialized N7 armor of dark green with bright orange stripe down his arm.

He takes the glass and downs the liquid in one gulp tonight; he fights his way past the burn to his belly and feels a fire stoked deep inside. You may be gone, but neither you nor the fight will not be forgotten.

He pushes himself to his feet and finds her again on his way out, slipping her twice his usual tip. At her startled gasp, he finds his first true smile since Alchera. “I’ll see you next time,” he tells her as he turns to leave.

#50 Wordless Ways to Say I Love You #ladya writes #when the muses attack #mass effect fanfiction #implied Caleb Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #pre-mshenko but on the way-ish #sorry but Caleb's armor in ME2/3 has been the green/orange from the flag #and it fits him so perfectly #guileandgall

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midrashic · 6 years ago

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a café drink: the patriot

it is no longer july fourth here but it IS still july fourth somewhere in this godforsaken country, so this is fine 🎆👀🎆

the story.

when eve was an agent, one of her favorite things to do was sample local drinks. wild coffee in yemen, romani compot, rhubarb soda wherever there was an upscale supermarket. she never grew out of her childhood sweet tooth--something about the quick, sugary burst of energy during the afternoon or midnight or 72-hour stakeout slump. she’d live on smoothies if she could, has, in fact, spent a few days here and there surviving on liquids alone, and the cocktails. when she was an agent she wasn’t allowed to be picky. some agents like bond go the other way and train themselves to savor everything, to find strange food a sensual experience, if not always a pleasant one. eve just stopped tasting things altogether. she ate whatever she could, at bars she ordered easy, generic drinks like cosmos and gins & tonics and bond’s fucking martinis, and she never, ever let her distaste show.

now, though, she’s a young woman with a disposable income and a job that (mostly) doesn’t involve killing people, and she can be self-indulgent, she can be eccentric. she discovers a particular penchant for drinks that taste like some kind of dessert. she finds a cachaça thing that tastes exactly like an orange creamsicle. she makes bond cringe when she orders martinis that come with descriptors like “lemon drop” and “key lime pie.” at one point, she drinks something that tastes more like apple pie than actual blended apple pie. she’s going to try something called a “starfucker” the next time she’s at the weird little cocktail place that’s become her local. she can’t wait.

the real story.

weird, but true: one of my closest friends--a boxer, a cutie pie, a woman with a voice of command that could freeze serial killers in their tracks--reminds me of nothing so much as a 5′2″ captain america. so this is a cocktail recipe for steve rogers on his birthday. & it’s a gift for the definition of “spunk” that peeled itself off the dictionary page and started walking around boston. guess which is which?

ingredients: easy mode.

1oz / 30ml vanilla-flavored vodka 1oz / 30ml fireball whiskey 4oz / 120ml apple juice 2oz / 60ml ginger ale 1tbsp + .5tsp / 15g granulated sugar .25tsp / 1g cinnamon ice lemon wedge for garnish

ingredients: hard mode.

.5oz / 15ml apple-flavored vodka (preferably pearl apple pie, but smirnoff green apple & ivanabitch dutch apple also acceptable) 1oz / 30ml vanilla-flavored vodka 1oz / 30ml fireball whiskey 5oz / 150ml apple juice 3oz / 90ml ginger ale 1.75tbsp / 22g vanilla sugar .25tsp / 1g cinnamon a very small pinch each of ground cloves & ground nutmeg & allspice ice honey, cinnamon sugar, lemon wedge, apple slices, & cinnamon stick for garnish

instructions.

(rim a mason jar using honey and cinnamon sugar. jauntily arrange the lemon wedge and cinnamon stick in the empty jar.)

in a cocktail shaker, combine alcohol, juice, ginger ale, (spices,) and ice. shake vigorously for thirty seconds.

pour into glass (or mason jar over the garnishes). add remaining garnishes by sticking the lemon wedge on the rim (or, if you’re making the overachiever version of this cocktail, arranging thin apple slices and dusting with cinnamon sugar).

#007 fest #teambondvillains #fandom: this is the end #ch: a name that starts with m #midrashic: kitchenology #midrashic: proseology #ella headcanons #event: gee brain what do you want to do tonight 2019

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harryandmolly · 6 years ago

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The Long Way Home -9-

Summary: His world is a little rocked when Shawn is joined on his 2019 world tour by Emma, a former child star with a chip on her shoulder and a voice that haunts him.

Warnings: Language, The Reckoning

Word count: 5.5k

Shawn is not too happy, at first, when Emma insisted they keep this, whatever this is, quiet.

She’s smart enough to give her decree between plush kisses to the spot on his collarbone that makes him whimper like a 16-year-old girl and he kinda resents that, but she’s a woman on a mission so he has to respect it, too.

Technically, she reminds him, she’s still supposed to be with Kyle.

“Kyle?!” Shawn whines, chocolate eyes going wide with dismay as she calmly brings it back to his attention, “But… I mean, why does it have to be Kyle? Why can’t it be me?”

Emma’s heart squeezes hard at his innocent suggestion. She peels her eager, slightly swollen lips away from his shoulder and regards him affectionately.

“Because you’re not a bad boy,” she says, eyes full of gratitude. He swipes a thumb against her wet lower lip and pouts playfully.

“Is that a requirement for you?” he teases. His voice is a little less squeaky than a few seconds ago so she thinks she’s hopefully getting somewhere in calming him the fuck down.

They’re still tangled up on her bed. Clothes have remained firmly in place and they’re above the sheets, it’s all been even just barely PG-13 so far and Shawn hasn’t done this in a long time. He hasn’t kissed someone just to kiss them without pretty soon falling into bed to sprint toward an orgasm. Not in recent memory, at least. It should feel maybe a little juvenile, a little fraught with sexual tension, but it doesn’t. It’s nice. He spent so long wanting to be close to her that getting to lie here on her Ravenclaw duvet with her bare toes prodding at the seam of his jeans and their linked fingers twirling and unraveling and re-vining while they talk, it all feels absolutely enough.

He’s forgotten for a second that he asked her a question. When he looks up at her he sees her smiling like he’s been caught daydreaming. She kisses the tip of his nose and god, he can die happy right here.

“It’s just for a little while,” she whispers earnestly, smile faltering into a sincere near-grimace. She doesn’t want to fuck this up. She doesn’t want to make him feel unimportant when he’s the opposite. But things are tenuous right now while she clandestinely searches for a new regime.

After a moment, he nods. “I get it. It’s fine, really. We’re ok.”

She rewards him tenderly with a kiss halfway down his jaw. He tilts his head back to give her more access, a silent plea for her to explore as she might want to. She takes the opportunity, weaving pecks and licks and little nipping tugs around the thin, tanned flesh of his neck.

“Don’t leave a mark, ok?” he hums.

She pulls her lips away only to nod subserviently. “Ok,” she breathes, the vibrations singing through his nerve endings until he’s squirming. She notices and backs away, giggling nervously.

“Sorry,” she whispers. Her cheeks are gorgeously flushed and she’s nibbling on her lower lip. He doesn’t know if she’s apologizing for starting or for stopping but he figures it doesn’t matter. He gives her that perfect close-lipped smile she loves and plays with her fingers again.

“I don’t even want to ask but… what time is it?” he croaks without looking away from her dainty fingertips.

Emma reaches for her phone and scrolls past dozens of texts she doesn’t care to read. “4:45 almost. God, we’ve been kissing all day.”

“And talking,” he reminds her, laying a sweet, if slightly wet kiss across her forehead, “And singing,” another gentler kiss on her cheek, “And playing,” he glances at the guitar and pecks at the corner of her mouth.

“Mostly kissing,” she giggles, burying her face in his neck briefly, inhaling the faded scent of expensive cologne and boy next door, “I have to go pick up my sister. Lacrosse camp ends at 6 and I’m taking her to dinner.”

Shawn smiles at how excited Emma sounds. “That sounds great.”

They’re quiet for a few moments until he speaks again. “Are you… gonna tell her?”

“That Shawn Mendes has been kissing me in my bed all day? Not while I’m driving, her head will explode all over my fine blonde leather interior,” Emma jokes. Shawn barks a laugh.

“No, then?” He tries not to sound hurt. Emma tilts her gaze up to his again, that same knowing, appreciative smile at just the corners of her mouth.

“I don’t keep anything from Georgie. I might just wait until I’ve got her in public first so she can’t make a scene. Though knowing Georgie, that might not stop her.”

Shawn wants to ditch his dinner meeting. He’s going to have to put stuff in his hair and shake hands and schmooze. He’d much rather get in Emma’s passenger seat and get stuck in traffic and sing to the radio and sit with Emma and Georgie in a booth at Gordon Biersch or something eating garlic fries and tracing the lines on Emma’s palm under the table while he asks Georgie about lacrosse game rules. He almost suggests it. But Emma never gets time like this with her sister. He’s not about to hog it. Even if he wants to hog her.

They pry themselves off the bed and slowly, very slowly, too slowly because the Uber driver has called Shawn three times and has threatened to leave him there, make their way to the door to say goodbye.

With one final kiss that has him sucking her lower lip into his mouth and her gripping his shoulders for dear life as her knees wobble, she releases him. He skips out the door, pink cheeked and tripping around her cacti as he turns back to look at her.

“I’ll call you tonight!”

It’s not that she lied to Shawn, she just didn’t tell him everything.

Her explanation of her evening with Georgie made it sound like they’d be collapsing on Emma’s couch by 8:30 to watch To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before again and be in bed by 10. She didn’t feel the need to clarify that instead, she’d be packing into a Lyft heading into WeHo for a quiet drink with a big opportunity. She doesn’t want to tell him until it’s certain. She doesn’t want him getting his hopes up, or worse, feeling like has should step in and help her reorder her professional life. That isn’t what she wants. That’s not why she wants him.

That’s what she’s telling herself as she fiddles with the brooch on the breast pocket of her smartly tailored creamsicle orange blazer. She got ready for this meeting in only 45 minutes after dropping a dazed and elated Georgie back off at their dad’s house, assurance she can function without Mabel who, though likeable, is a henchwoman of Margaret.

“I’m gonna change everything, G,” Emma assured her sister, voice shaking almost imperceptibly, “I’m going to fix it. All of it.”

The words are vague and innately powerful. Emma’s not stupid. She knows Georgie knows all, sees all. She only barely described what went down at the video shoot, leaving out the grimier details of the bruises she woke up with that Shawn did his best to distract her from by leaving a couple of his own. But the look in Georgie’s perfectly clear green eyes reminded Emma what she’s known all along – Georgie knows everything.

Maybe this one meeting can’t fix all of it. She knows more about this business than people think she does and she knows there’s no magic spell to undo the years of careful planning and manipulation Margaret and her mother have woven to keep Emma wound up tight. She knows a new manager is only the start. But the start is finally starting and Emma is so ready.

Andrew made the first call on her behalf, a carefully-worded suggestion that while she’s in town, Angelique Carter should meet Emma Kingston.

She’s not what she seems, he promised, There’s something to this girl that you should be interested in.

Angelique likes Andrew a lot, she really does. He’s straight up, has a great reputation in the industry for doing his job well with dignity and respect for artists and for other managers. He’s well-liked and highly regarded. She knows she has to take him seriously when he makes any proffered suggestion to her, even if she has been in the business longer.

But Emma Kingston?

The paranoid part of her, the part that has kept her edge finely honed from years of being a woman of color in a white male-dominated music industry, has her hackles up. What is he trying to pull? What kind of mischief could be lying underneath this?

But she could find nothing. Nothing made sense here. What could Andrew possibly have to gain from foisting Emma Kingston onto Angelique’s plate?

It only meant one thing – he was right. Angelique needed to meet Emma Kingston, indeed.

Buckling under curiosity, Angelique sits, eyes and wits as sharp as her posture, in $600 jeans and a t-shirt she stole from an ex-boyfriend, in the corner of a bar she’s never heard of. It’s decorated in 30s Golden Age Hollywood-style and has the feel of a place that was outrageously popular five years ago and has faded into ubiquity. Angelique kind of loves it, so that’s one brownie point to Miss Kingston, who picked the locale.

And there she is. She gives the illusion that she’s tall with her killer cream-colored Louboutins and the carriage of a woman beyond Emma’s just-shy-of-19 years. She’s smiling genuinely in a way Angelique’s never seen Emma smile in the barrage of interviews she pored over in preparation for this introduction. Angelique, for once in her career, is thrown off.

“Angelique, it’s so great to meet you, thank you for taking the time for me,” Emma says in her signature quiet but firm tone, keeping her gaze level with Angelique’s as she stumbles to her feet to greet the teen queen. Angelique blinks, looking to recover.

“My pleasure, Emma, I was very… interested when Andrew suggested we sit down.”

Emma sits and immediately, without even the lift of an eyebrow or a glance around the room, draws the waiter over to take her order. Her very presence did the trick. Angelique is a little enchanted. Emma orders a club soda with lime. Another brownie point – Angelique hates alcohol at business meetings and resents how big a role it plays in the music industry. She herself is proudly drinking a Shirley Temple.

“Andrew’s been great to me. I’m not sure how much he did tell you, but I want you to know I specifically asked if he knew you because I’ve been looking to work with you for a few years.”

Emma is direct. Angelique’s beginning to lose track of the brownie points. She’s still trying to mentally reconcile what she has heard of Emma Kingston’s reputation (shallow, cold, detached from the inner workings of her own business) with the woman sitting across from her who hasn’t yet broken eye contact or raised her voice above a confident, soft murmur. But she manages to nod anyway.

“Have you?”

Emma’s jaw tightens up. Angelique can feel the story behind… whatever this is bubbling up in Emma’s million dollar throat. She squirms in her seat with anticipation. She realizes for a moment just how invested she suddenly is.

“I’m not sure how much of my career you’re familiar with but I’ve done quite a bit of research on you and I know you too like your research. So I’m guessing you know everything about me.”

Angelique cracks a crooked grin that sets Emma more at ease, as it was meant to. “Homework is important in this job. In this business.”

Emma nods eagerly. “It is. Then you know I’ve been managed by Margaret Henderson since I was little.”

Oh, Angelique knows. Googling Emma’s representation was the first thing she did when she set the meeting. Margaret Henderson has been the Queen Regent of teen queens since the mid 80s. She’s practically legendary. She has a few more skeletons in her closet than Andrew does, though. There are more whispers about her, more half-truths and killed stories. Angelique used to think anyone who’s been around long enough has those. But she’s trying to work on her cynicism.

“I’m looking to part ways with Margaret. I’m looking for someone who will collaborate with me, who understands that the end of my adolescence brings about the opportunity for a new direction, one that suits me more than my current image.”

Angelique is blinking again. This speech doesn’t even sound rehearsed. She knows the girl’s an actor, but either she’s a damn good one or she’s more eloquent than anyone gives her credit for. Angelique wouldn’t be surprised by either.

Emma leans in slightly as if to confide something. “I know you’ve never worked with a country artist before. Anyone would tell me if that’s my path of choice, given how much I’ve already established myself in the pop field, I should go with someone similarly ingrained in the country music world. But the thing is… I don’t want to. I want to trust someone.”

Angelique can feel the cogs turning in her head. She heard a rumor once a few months ago that Margaret and Island Records had buried Emma’s first record and recorded a different one. Perhaps there was a bit of truth to it.

“And you trust me?”

Emma sits back again, eyeing Angelique. “I do. That probably sounds stupid because I don’t know you. But I’ve been following your career and I like the way you do your job. You don’t… run your artists. You work with them. You trust them and they trust you. I’ve always wanted that. I’ve never had it with Margaret. It’s a huge risk, me telling you all this, me arranging this meeting while she’s still on my payroll and making every decision about my career without my consent. I hope that shows you how serious I am about this. I want us to do this together. We might fuck it up. I doubt it, because you’re brilliant and I want this so bad I don’t know what to do with myself. So… there. That’s my pitch.”

Angelique goes to speak when the waiter brings back Emma’s club soda. She smiles and nods a thank you.

“Usually people wait for their drinks to arrive before they go in on the damn thing,” Angelique chuckles appreciatively. She tucks a stray dread behind her ear.

She’s quiet, running through Emma’s every word, every incremental facial expression of the last few minutes in her mind. She’s searching for bullshit, searching for flakiness, something she can use as an excuse to get out of this.

This is the kind of opportunity that scares the shit out of every great artist manager there’s ever been. This is the fork in the road. This is where she chooses to continue representing acts that might become the next Rihanna, the next Childish Gambino, the next Halsey. Or she chooses to help be a part of something new, something no one can compare so directly to anyone else. This is where she decides to continue on her road, the road oft-traveled, the road littered with people making the same choices, opting for safety over greatness.

Angelique smiles. She doesn’t mind the road less traveled. Her Range Rover has four-wheel drive.

There are no magic spells in the music industry, only mountains of paperwork.

It takes over a month to draw up and negotiate a contract for Angelique after she and Emma shook on their deal that night at the little West Hollywood bar. Emma’s lawyers are under strict instructions not to breathe a word of anything to Sandra or Margaret. Meanwhile, Angelique is tying up loose ends, making some quiet calls to feel out killing the “Fireheart” video and waiting in the wings for the Reckoning, as Georgie has taken to calling it.

Emma is having regular freak outs on the DL about firing her manager and finally alienating her mother. She knows her agent will back out the moment Margaret’s name is no longer attached to Emma’s, so that’s another thing for Angelique to handle. She’s being a sport about it, though. She consults Emma before she does almost anything. No task is too small. When she’s not straightening out the behind-the-scenes, she’s brushing up on her country music knowledge. Turns out she really loves Tammy and Patsy, too.

Angelique’s paperwork, along with Margaret’s generous severance package, padded heavily to attempt to sidestep any legal action she may threaten to bring, is expected to be ready right in time for Emma’s 19th birthday.

Which Shawn doesn’t know about until she mumbles something about Kyle flying in for a party while they’re in D.C. as he’s suckling at the inside of her left breast at 5:30am in a hotel room in Pittsburgh. He lifts his head and stares at her.

“Your birthday’s next week?” he pants.

She giggles at the ragged sound of his breath and the rosiness of his cheeks. She nods.

“You’re not the only Leo in this bed.”

He makes a face and huffs. “Well, when were you gonna tell me?”

“I just did, babe.”

He narrows his eyes. “You just told me your fake boyfriend is flying in for your small, intimate, paparazzi-friendly gathering, too. C’mon, it’s your birthday, Em, can’t you take a break from being Emma Kingston for one night? We don’t have to go out. We can stay in the hotel and—”

“I can’t make any waves right now, Shawn,” she reminds him gently, sheepishly. After “the handshake,” Emma proudly called Shawn to tell him the news. He was a little floored, because he didn’t know she was quite so close to replacing Margaret, but he put down another mental note to thank Andrew for doing right by his… well, not girlfriend.

They haven’t had that talk yet. It’s a little complicated, what with her fake boyfriend and their sneaking around behind everyone’s backs but Georgie’s. And Emma’s pretty sure Angelique knows, too, but she doesn’t have confirmation. She just has a feeling. Angelique’s a little like Georgie in that way. It bodes well.

Shawn is struggling with trying not to be aggravated by all this. The secret was so sexy at first – catching her by the hand to pull her into a dark corner for two minutes between their soundchecks, unable to share more than a casual glance for hours at a time, sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms at 2am just to spend a few hours together. Neither of them is sleeping worth a damn, but they’re both noticeably giddy.

But the novelty is starting to wear off. Shawn wants Emma. He wants her in the morning when they wake up and part ways to meet with their trainers. He wants to bring her tea and kiss her good morning in front of the whole crew when they arrive at a new venue. He wants to hold her hand as they walk around the venue like it’s their personal playground. He wants to take her out to explore new cities on their off days. He can’t do any of that while she’s still making headlines as one half of “Kyma.” Which, by the way, is a shitty ship name. It sounds like a 6th Kardashian sister. He hates it.

He’s been incredibly patient, he thinks. And she reminds him, too, how much she appreciates it, how she knows it’s not ideal, how it’s definitely not forever. Even Georgie texts him sometimes when she’s feeling nosy to remind him that “the Reckoning is coming.” He always rolls his eyes and smiles at that.

What he really doesn’t like is how Emma and Kyle bring out a side of him he doesn’t recognize. This side of him feels devolved, like a Neanderthal. He sees Kyle’s arm around Emma’s waist and wants to club him over the head. He doesn’t, of course, he plasters on his best “I’m a Canadian good boy” smile and waits for Emma to show up in his room at some ungodly hour and shower him with kisses. She always makes it pretty easy to forget for a little while. But the little freckled bastard always comes back. He’s ready for him to get taken out with the rest of the trash. The Reckoning is coming.

Shawn swallows his pride again and nods at her. “Ok. So he’s flying in for the party. Cool.”

Emma casts a sympathetic glance before she seems to come up with something to placate him. “I was thinking, though, you and I might have our own party the next night? Maybe we could do something a little more special than 15 of my closest non-friends at some trendy restaurant.”

He’s not getting the hint, instead nodding and picking at a piece of blanket lint in her hair. She trails her fingers down his bare chest for his attention. His eyes lift to hers. She raises her eyebrows.

Delighted recognition paints his face and almost makes her giggle.

“Oh! Oh. Yeah, that… I mean, yeah, if you want to. If you’re sure you’re ready. I don’t, I mean, I want to make sure… you know…”

She frowns. “Shawn, I’m not a virgin.”

Shawn’s face goes blank. “Oh. I mean, I wasn’t totally sure…”

They’ve been taking it slow. They haven’t had a formal discussion about it but neither of them wanted to rush it, especially given their opportunity for only short, sweet rendezvous right now while their relationship remains below board. Shawn doesn’t mind, he’ll take what he can get. And he’s never been one to push anyway.

That doesn’t mean he hasn’t thought about it. Because god, has he thought about it. Emma Jean Kingston is the best looking woman he’s ever touched and his body never lets him forget it. She sets him on fire and he’s just dancing around in the flames. He’d happily go steadily insane for her if she insisted on keeping on like this. But if she’s suggesting they round the bases as described by the timeless baseball metaphor, he’s definitely down with that too.

She snorts at the look on his face. “Dude, I brought home that French guy from Sound Control, remember?”

He sighs. “Vividly, thanks. I just didn’t know. Could’ve been part of the Emma act.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, it sort of was, I guess, but that particular scene of the Emma act did not have a happy ending.”

Shawn chuckles. “Oh no?” He confidently begins tonguing at the freckle on her breast, which always makes her shiver for him.

She shakes her head. “Nope. I’m the queen of hopeless one-night stands. I have a magnet for guys that have… no idea what they’re doing.”

Shawn lifts his head and stares at her questioningly. Her own words dawn on her and she grabs his shoulders.

“Not you! No, you’re… well, from what I’ve seen, you’re absolutely excellent. You’re the exception to the rule. For sure.”

Shawn looks smug and plants a wet kiss on the base of her throat. “You’re gonna have a very happy birthday, Emma. A very, very, very happy birthday.”

The Reckoning is coming, the Reckoning is coming.

It’s a good mantra for the times when the alarm goes off at 4:30am for Pilaticardio and Margaret’s walking into her bedroom unannounced and squawking at her about being late when she’s not and not working hard enough when she is.

As planned, the papers are messengered to Emma on her birthday. She’s in bed texting Shawn when Mabel announces there’s a messenger here for her. She bounds out of bed and almost snatches up the folder from the prying eyes of Sandra and Margaret, whose only birthday present to Emma was to let her skip Pilaticardio for a day.

She marches back to her back lounge bedroom on the bus and rips at the packaging. Inside are just loose-leaf pages full of legal jargon but they’re going to change Emma’s whole life and it’s the best birthday present ever.

She grouptexts Shawn and Georgie: The Reckoning is here

They respond with effusive excitement and lots of emojis. She has a stupid smile on her face for the rest of the day until Kyle arrives in typical fashion with a band of merry miscreants he thought would be “the more the merrier” for her quiet, intimate birthday dinner. He plants his hands on her ass and sticks his tongue in her mouth right away upon his arrival outside the hotel where fans are waiting with phones. She knows it’s mostly for the cameras but also a little for feeling out whether she might fuck him tonight. She’s glad Shawn’s not watching.

Emma’s dinner feels a little bit like the Last Supper to both Shawn and Emma who are stealing glances at each other from across the table over Asian fusion and cocktails even for the decidedly underage. He’s too far away to touch, which means he’s also too far away to see Kyle ghosting his fingertips along Emma’s bare thigh. She crosses her legs away from him and swallows more of the fruity rum drink, looking back to Shawn. He smiles at her softly. Her heart soars.

They get papped according to plan outside the restaurant and head back to the hotel due to an early bus call the next day. While waiting for the caravan of hired cars to arrive, Shawn casually slides up next to Emma while Kyle is occupied yammering on to his friend about some club in Mallorca.

“Do you want me to come with you to talk to Margaret?” he hums, almost under his breath. She smiles softly and angles toward him, brushing her fingers over his, hoping no one’s watching. His hand twitches in response.

“No thank you. Gotta stand on my own on this one.”

She looks up at him meaningfully. He holds her gaze proudly until the cars arrive and they’re separated.

Shawn doesn’t sleep that night, not a wink. The Reckoning is here.

Sandra gets on a red eye back to California for a “charity” (i.e. networking) event in LA. Emma only has to slay one dragon at a time. After a pep talk from Angelique and another emoji-filled text from Georgie, she’s standing outside Margaret’s hotel room door at almost 1am with a manila folder full of endings.

And she finds she can’t knock.

She should’ve changed. She feels like an idiot with her high, tight ponytail and her mini dress and absurd high heels firing a woman who’s been running her life since she was a toddler in a tiara.

What’s the appropriate thing to wear when firing your second mother? Not that she was a very good one, but still.

Margaret has been there for every single one of Emma’s major life events. She remembers her kindergarten graduation. Margaret bought her the Bratz doll she had been begging for. She remembers when she was hospitalized for dehydration and exhaustion when she was shooting the second season of Fake It. Margaret never left her bed side even when Sandra did. When Georgie broke her wrist playing in the game against Warburton Prep last year, Margaret shut down her photo shoot and drove Emma to be with her at the hospital.

Emma doesn’t hate Margaret. She kind of wants to. It would make this easier. In fact she thinks, at this point in their journey, Margaret really thinks she’s doing what’s best for Emma by forging her path without consulting her and refusing her attempts at owning her creativity in favor of a boxed, processed version she thinks will make her more successful.

Margaret doesn’t hate Emma. Emma is the closest thing Margaret has to a child of her own. She’s always just wanted what’s best for Emma, right? That’s what Sandra has always said. That’s what they all want. They want Emma to succeed.

Emma slumps against the wall, closing her eyes against Emma Kingston’s voice inside her head. She’s so tired of it. There’s a part of her that worries that this duality she’s lived with for so long, the duality Margaret helped create, the duality Emma let them split into her, might not just evaporate when Margaret’s influence does.

What if Emma Kingston never really leaves? What if this is all a waste because Emma Kingston was who she was always supposed to be? What if Margaret was right?

Even holding herself up on the wall becomes too much. She sinks to sit on the heavily patterned hotel hallway carpet, blinking away tears of frustration and confusion.

What is she doing? Why is she doing this?

Her stomach roils. Her brain riots. Her pulse threads thin and erratic.

She buries her face in her hands.

She’s desperate for divisiveness, for one thing, one memory to rip her into certainty from wherever she is now.

She holds her breath and waits until it comes.

It’s an old memory, one long filtered by time and numbness and fear. It’s bitter in her mouth and hurts so bad her eyebrows pinch together and she holds an arm over her stomach like she’s afraid it will split her apart from the inside.

Emma is 8. She booked a guest spot, a one-liner on an episode of “Project Pink,” an old Disney Channel show. This is the big one, everyone tells her. If you do this well, you’ll be a Disney star. You’ll get one of those commercials where you trace the Mickey head with a glow stick.

“I’m Emma Kingston, and you’re watching Disney Channel.”

She’s practiced it a thousand times and then a thousand more. She wants it so badly.

She’s on set for two days. Her one liner is spoken with another little girl on set. Her name is Ally. She’s loud and funny and speaks Spanish really good so Emma likes her. She doesn’t get to meet a lot of kids her age. She wonders if maybe Ally could have a sleepover this weekend? Ally likes the idea. She’s been to tons of sleepovers. Emma’s nervous about staying the night without her mom and dad so Ally says she can come to Emma’s place.

Emma asks Margaret because she can’t find Sandra and Margaret is just as much her mom as Sandra is at this age. Margaret looks down at Emma with a look of distaste.

“That’s not what we’re here to do, Emma. This isn’t a game. This is your job. You need to tell her no. No sleepover.”

Emma is quiet. She knows better than to try to ask her mom or dad. They’d just check with Margaret and it would make Margaret mad to know she didn’t like the answer she got so she asked someone else. Emma tells Ally she can’t come over. Ally doesn’t understand. She gets upset. She calls Emma stupid.

Emma believes her. She stops asking for sleepovers. She stops asking for anything. She just obeys.

She heads back to her trailer and picks up a pencil her tutor left. She swings it in the air in a perfect Mickey head shape.

‘I’m Emma Kingston, and you’re watching Disney Channel.”

19-year-old Emma’s eyes open. She stares at the hotel room door. She blinks, resigned. Her heart hurts. Her limbs are heavy. But she lifts herself to standing and knocks.

Margaret answers, bleary-eyed in a big t-shirt and sweatpants. She’s still awake doing her job, supporting Emma’s career. Supporting the career Emma had no say in.

“Emma?”

Emma lifts her chin and hands her the envelope. “It’s over, Margaret. You need to go home.”

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