#shes been there less than a month and shes taking my favourite shift

[sad-sad-times]

Ya know when you know something isn't a big deal and you know the person isn't doing it as a personal attack on you, but... the bpd doesn't know that and so get that blind anger feeling you get when you think someone's trying to annoy/hurt you on purpose and so that person is dead to you

[blackdollette]

"got your bible, got your gun." || part seven.

꒰ ៹ . " 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆. "

west coast. - lana del rey

୨୧˖-ׁ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: cheers to a job well done...

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: new ! bau ! female ! reader x jealous ! spencer

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.0k

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: spencer gets drunk, implications of sex

ㅤㅤㅤ꒰ ៹ . 🍒 previous chapters: 𝐈 , 𝐈𝐈 , 𝐈𝐈𝐈 , 𝐈𝐕 , 𝐕 , 𝐕𝐈

“well if it isn’t the BAU’s very own ladykiller.”

derek sauntered over to the barstool next to spencer’s, his teasing comment followed by a firm slap on spencer’s back. 

the news had spread around the team like wildfire. spencer had been in bed, and not alone. the warm, small motel room that insisted on minimal clothing, the late night, and the tiny bed that you were forced to share all made the perfect recipe for a night of passionate lovemaking. surely, you and he were both fully aware that nothing went on within the thin walls of the motel, but no one was willing to swallow that important piece of information. but even with all the accusing stares and whispers, the case had been solved and wrapped up perfectly. and now you were all at the bar celebrating.

spencer groaned, shooting derek a warning glare. “knock it off, man. she’s right there.” 

their eyes shifted in unison to the area of the bar that held you. in the months that spencer had known you, he would’ve never thought that it was your scene. so his surprise was nearly immeasurable when he saw you sitting under the colourful lights, chatting it up with a guy who was the polar opposite of him.

a low whistle fell from derek’s pursed lips.

“she sure is something else, i’ll give you that.” he muttered, swishing around the bottle of beer in his hand before taking a short swig.

spencer bit back a futile protest. despite not having a single article of his clothing removed during that night with you, he definitely had woken up with the same thrill that came after an intense hookup. especially after waking up to the feeling of you clinging to him like he was your lifeline.

“...c’mon, morgan…” spencer said defeatedly, “...you know i’m not the type to sleep with a woman i barely know.”

derek feigned offense to the direct reference to his love life. “maybe not, but i think you know a lot more about that girl than you let on.”

derek let hit words linger, standing up from the chair and strolling over to where most of the action was and leaving spencer alone with his thoughts.

he had slept in the same bed with you, but that was as far as it went. he repeated that to himself like a mantra, forcing himself to believe that nothing else had happened while you were under those sheets with him.

so if that were the truth, why did he feel that pang of indignation from seeing you with a man who clearly wouldn’t be able to handle your prowess?

he felt unbearably out of place in this setting and here you were, blending in effortlessly. spencer had noticed your ability to do so the day you had met, and he wasn’t any less amused.

however, there had been some truth in derek’s words. he knew a lot more about you than he was willing to accept. that short night with you had allowed him to get the aroma of your hair that the pillow had soaked up. he knew your shoe and clothing size, found out your birthday from stealing a glance at your license, and was pleased to discover that you shared the same disadvantage regarding eyesight. 

“there’s my favourite roommate. i’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

spencer flinched. as usual, you always seemed to appear whenever he was in a deep train of thought. he clutched his unopened beer a little tighter.

“don’t call me that. it was only one night.”

you rolled your eyes, taking the seat next to him and letting your elows rest on the granite counter, a few drops of alcohol scattered across the surface.

“oh c’mon, spencer. don’t be like that. don’t you think everyone’s giving me a hard time too?” you put up air quotes. “last member of the unit but first to get in spencer’s pants. i’ve heard it all tonight.” 

spencer tried to hide the furious blush that stained his cheeks, the warm toned but dim lighting working in his favour. “don’t you live for that kind of attention?”

you scoffed. “touche. but i’m not willing to let you off the hook for calling me an attention whore.”

spencer’s expression tinted with slight annoyance. “how much have you had to drink tonight? you’re even more… ‘you’ than usual.”

you shook your head. “i don’t drink. i’m not good with alcohol. and judging by that unopened beer, i can tell that you aren’t either.”

you and your damn perfect profiling skills.

spencer didn’t hesitate to snap back. “actually i just got it. so if you could just give me a second…”

he began to struggle to get the metal cap off the bottle. derek had done it so effortlessly, and now here he was struggling right in front of you. he brought the bottle to his mouth, popping off the cap with his teeth. judging by the way your eyebrows slightly inched upward, he had finally managed to impress you.

he took a swig from the bottle and nearly gagged from the taste. he never understood how something as repulsive as alcohol could become addictive, but one sip had turned to two, and before he knew it he had reached the last sip.

you were surprised that he had downed an entire bottle of beer within 5 minutes. even you were willing to admit how gross the drink was.

but what didn’t shock you, not even in the slightest, was that spencer reid was a total lightweight, already tripping over his words and hiccuping like a fool. it simply didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

~~~

the drive home was as normal as could be when you had a drunken agent in the passenger seat next to you. you practically had to carry him out of the bar and knew right off the bat that he was in no shape to get behind a wheel. so, you figured, why not have another night with him? it was already becoming a little pattern between you two.

just one night of having him on your couch couldn’t hurt…

[mariacallous]

Earlier this month I complimented a friend on her new Bottega Jodie bag. She had recently got a promotion at work, and is now a senior manager at a respectable record label earning six figures. The bag was a celebratory gift, she told me, only it wasn’t Bottega—it was a dupe.

As someone who has a closet full of designer labels—and who could certainly afford to buy the real thing—her admission surprised me. My face must have given that away. “It’s real Italian leather,” she quickly followed up, “and their website says they manufacture in the same factories as some luxury brands. You couldn’t tell the difference, so why would I spend thousands more for basically the same thing?”

It’s a question many have been asking since dupe culture went supernova over the last few years. A shorthand for duplicate, dupes are cheaper alternatives that are basically the same as the real thing. Think of it as a cousin to counterfeit culture, but instead of being a cheap knock-off that infringes on a brand’s trademark, they’re uncannily similar imitations—promising the same qualities of the product at a fraction of the cost.

It’s not just my friend who loves them either. Roughly one-third of all US adults have intentionally bought a dupe, according to Morning Consult, with that figure rising to almost half for Gen Z shoppers and 44% for millennials. In the UK, research by Mintel shows 47% of consumers are now open to buying luxury lookalikes in 2024, compared to just 12% in 2016.

“The shame of buying these things has gone,” says Alice Sherwood, author of Authenticity: Reclaiming Reality in a Counterfeit Culture. “Luxury prices have skyrocketed while the trend cycle has rapidly accelerated. People no longer want to spend upwards of £4000 on the latest ‘It’ bag that might be out of vogue within a year.”

Add their proliferation on social media into that mix, and the dupe culture has been normalised in ways that “knock-offs” from Canal Street never were, she says.

Just one scroll on TikTok would affirm this. At the time of writing over 260,000 posts have been made under the #dupes hashtag, with the majority featuring creators sharing their best dupe finds across fashion, beauty, lifestyle and homeware. Most of the time they’re from fast fashion retailers like Shein, Amazon and Temu, but more recently, a new crop of companies have been dominating dupe culture by offering quite a different proposition.

Low-Price Luxury

Take my friend’s new favourite brand, Quince. According to their website their mission is “to create products of equal or greater quality than the leading luxury brands at a much lower price”. To do so they’ve sourced factories used by “well-known luxury brands” to manufacture their goods, but by cutting out the middlemen and hefty markup, they can sell them at far more affordable prices.

They’re not the only ones. Leather goods manufacturer Sitoy Group Holdings regularly uploads videos on social media showcasing how the quality of its $100 handbags is almost identical to those sold for upwards of $1000, all the while advertising that they use the same production lines used by Prada, Tumi and Michael Kors. Then there's Chicjoc, one of the largest Chinese fashion apparel brands on Taobao and Tmall, claiming it uses the same fabric manufacturers as those used by the likes of Chanel, Valentino and Louis Vuitton.

This shift towards high-quality dupes puts luxury brands in a difficult position. For decades, they’ve justified their high prices with the promise of superior craftsmanship and materials. They've even poked fun at these imitations. But when brands are offering near-identical goods allegedly manufactured in the same factory as luxury brands for much, much less, that justification starts to crumble.

Another brand that has gained significant traction online this year is Los Angeles-based premium basics brand, Italic, with many consumers on Reddit expressing their satisfaction with the quality of the products. “Most of our products take 5–10 sample runs and 6–18 months, sometimes even longer,” says Italic CEO Jeremy Cai. “Our sourcing process involves rigorous vetting and ongoing quality controls, including factory certifications, samples, and production quality.”

This meticulous approach stands in stark contrast to what many might expect. Italic contacts 20-30 potential suppliers, evaluates 5-7 factories, and ultimately works with just 1-2 of them for any given product category, visiting each factory on-site.

The key difference between Italic and the high-profile brands using the same factories, Cai explains, is in the pricing: “Most of our factories' clients sell for 2-4x more than our SRPs (Suggested Retail Prices), often much higher.” By cutting out the markup typically associated with luxury goods, Italic offers high-quality products at a more accessible price point.

Cai is quick to point out that Italic does not market itself as a “dupe” brand. However, that hasn’t stopped consumers from drawing comparisons to more expensive luxury labels. In contrast, competitor Quince leans into dupe culture, positioning itself more overtly as a challenger to high-end brands. On Quince's website, woven intrecciato handbags, which resemble Bottega Veneta's iconic designs, are showcased alongside price comparisons to their luxury counterparts.

Quince also frequently analyses luxury competitors’ best-selling items to identify opportunities for replication. “Data collection is crucial in our product development process,” says a Quince spokesperson. “Our team uses a variety of sources, including Google Trends, social media, and customer feedback, to understand the market and ensure we’re delivering what people want.”

Quince’s strategy is built on the belief that luxury can—and should—be more accessible. “Our founding team, with years of experience in luxury and DTC (direct-to-consumer) retail, knew that competitors add a 40–60% markup on similar products,” continues the spokesperson. “As costs in the luxury market become more transparent, consumers are less willing to accept these inflated prices.”

To that end, Quince works globally to source manufacturing partners that share their commitment to transparency, while innovating to keep costs down. Every product page on their site includes detailed information about materials, country of origin, and certifications for working conditions along the supply chain.

Luxury brands, on the other hand, have traditionally kept their manufacturing processes shrouded in secrecy. William Lasry, founder of Glass Factory, is working to change that.

Lasry travels the globe, visiting and spotlighting factories with superior craftsmanship and ethical practices across his social media platforms. While not all brands are doing their very best, he is sceptical about some companies' supposed connections to luxury factories, pointing out that these dupe brands frequently exploit this ambiguity for marketing purposes.

“There are many instances where a factory will produce a sample for a luxury brand,” Lasry explains. “Luxury brands often request samples from hundreds of factories, but in many cases, nothing materialises beyond the sample stage. The factory might then turn around and claim, ‘We’ve made samples for Gucci,’ even though no production deal was ever finalised.”

Petros Analytis, head of research at Glass Factory, agrees that it’s hard to draw the line. “Unless they let us come into the factories and see for ourselves, it’s hard to ascertain.”

Premium Tax

While transparency might be slowly improving, one thing the luxury market has always clung onto is its appeal. Conglomerates like LVMH and Kering built empires on the foundation of an alluring narrative—one that combines centuries of heritage with modern-day prestige. By blending Old World craftsmanship with the new-age glamour of celebrity culture, they made handbags, shoes, and clothing a gateway to an elite, exclusive world.

For a long time consumers were happy to pay big bucks to belong in this world. Perhaps unknowingly, they were buying not just a product but an experience. The true value of a designer label wasn't simply measured by the stitching or material, but by the feeling it evoked—the confidence boost, the social status, the feeling of exclusivity. “It’s a real skill to make a handbag into an object desired by millions of women, one that has so much meaning and can do so much for your self-confidence,” notes Sherwood.

Yet, behind the curtain of glamour, the reality of some products was very different. While consumers believed they were buying the pinnacle of luxury, what they were often getting was a product only marginally superior to midrange alternatives—and occasionally no better at all. The excessively high margins were less a reflection of quality and more a tax on the brands' appeal.

“They are the architects of their own problems,” continues Sherwood. “By making so much of their products not about the tangible product, but about the intangible aspects of the brands - those sexy ads, the celebs who carry your products, the stores, the glossy ads, the slogans, the heritage backstory, all that stuff that isn’t actually the product itself.”

In turn they’ve created an enormous gap between what consumers are actually paying for and the real value of the product. As these companies have increasingly pursued the ultra-wealthy, they’ve left a gap in the market that other brands, eager to capitalise, are starting to fill. “They know that the prices at the very top of luxury are too high to reflect the actual value,” Sherwood says. “But have turned these notable silhouettes and styles into desirable items that a dupe brand can free ride off of.”

Then, recently, the veneer began to crack even further. In March, Italian luxury brand Loro Piana became embroiled in scandal after an investigation revealed the material behind their $9,000 sweaters was sourced by low-paid workers in Peru. Just a few months later, in July, Italian prosecutors alleged sweatshop-like conditions in factories supplying certain products for high-end labels such as Dior and Armani. The revelations triggered outrage among consumers, many of whom had long trusted these brands to uphold the highest standards of craftsmanship and ethics.

Across online forums like the r/handbag subreddit, once-loyal customers voiced their disillusionment. For many, these scandals revealed that the luxury brands they idolised were not living up to their promises. Both Loro Piana and Dior have denied the allegations. However, The Business of Fashion revealed that Milan's public prosecutor said in a court document that they had found “an illegal practice so entrenched and proven [that it could] be considered part of a broader business policy exclusively aimed at increasing profit.” Neither company has been charged in relation to the probe.

Such reputational damage couldn’t have come at a worse time for luxury brands. Coupled with the rise of dupe culture, these scandals are forcing consumers to rethink their relationship with high-end goods. If craftsmanship is no longer exceptional, and ethical practices are called into question, what exactly are people paying for when they buy luxury?

Rebuilding the Dream

Recent sales figures underline just how far demand for luxury mega-brands has fallen from its post-pandemic highs. In July, some of the industry’s biggest players reported disappointing revenues for the second consecutive quarter. LVMH, the world’s leading luxury conglomerate, missed sales estimates, while Gucci’s parent company Kering, experienced a decline of 11%. Other major brands like Richemont and Burberry also reported disappointing figures, with first-quarter sales plummeting by a staggering 20%.

At the heart of luxury’s current struggles is the erosion of the very dream that once propelled the industry. The disconnect between the marketing mythology and the reality of production has left consumers feeling disillusioned, meaning the days of blindly paying a premium for a logo may be at risk.

The democratisation of information and consumer power through social media has played a huge part in this. Platforms like TikTok and Reddit are filled with conversations that challenge the industry's value proposition, which has made it so much harder for luxury brands to control their narrative.

To regain their position, Brittany Steiger, principal analyst of retail & eCommerce at Mintel says they will need to focus on what once made them so desirable—authenticity, superior craftsmanship, and a narrative of prestige that feels both aspirational and attainable. Some experts suggest that embracing more transparent practices and truly living up to their ethical and quality promises could also be the way forward. Brands that fail to do so, may find themselves increasingly irrelevant in a world where high-quality dupes continue to gain ground.

It’s clear that the old model of luxury has been disrupted, and it’s no longer just about price anymore. In the battle between heritage and value, consumers are asking more questions—and luxury brands must have better answers. And if they don’t, there’s a whole industry on the sidelines who do.

[moghraidhs]

rest

just a little something for my favourite sailor <3

tw: allusions to ptsd, past character death mention

"Where were you last night?"

Your hands stilled over the teacup you were washing in the sink. Tom's tone wasn't accusatory, but you could feel him watching you.

You took a quick breath and pasted on a smile before turning around. "Rosie's been fussy. I stayed with her." Your six-month-old daughter lay fast asleep in her basket nearby, sucking her thumb contentedly. You envied her.

"I didn't hear her crying." You felt more than saw the crease in Tom's brow and your chest tightened, but you managed a laugh regardless.

"That doesn't mean anything. You once slept through a thunderstorm and didn't realise."

"Realised you never came to bed at all last night, though." Tom's voice was flat. He wasn't going to let this go. "In fact, since I came back we haven't slept in the same bed once."

Your eyes widened. "That's not true. The first night…"

"Yeah, we were together, and I fell asleep, and then when I woke up it was 3 o'clock and you were downstairs cleaning the kitchen." He stood up, jaw set tight. "You've not been sleeping in Rosie's room. Lois is driving an ambulance all night and even she looks less tired. What's going on?"

"Nothing," you said it quietly. The word sounded feeble even to your ears. "Nothing's going on, I just–" You turned back to the sink, intending to put the cup down, but somehow it slipped from your grasp and shattered on the floor.

"Fuck." You let the curse slip without thinking. Automatically, you bent down to pick up the broken pieces. A sharp bit sliced across your palm, and a thin scarlet line appeared. Tears filled your eyes, less from pain than frustration. "Fuck!"

"Leave it." Tom's hand grasped your wrist. Without looking at you, he guided you over to the table and went and rummaged around in the cupboards. You sat staring at your bleeding hand blindly, tears and unspoken words crushed together in your throat.

Tom came back with a bottle of antiseptic and some bandages. You sucked in a breath as the sharp smell of the alcohol hit your airways and the liquid stung your hand. After the wound was clean, he started bandaging it up deftly. You watched him, a little surprised and strangely saddened at how easy this was for him now. That was all life had come down to this past year. Patching things up and hoping the cracks didn't spread.

"I can't sleep." The words came out almost involuntarily. Tom glanced up, but you didn't meet his eyes. You looked over at Rosie, still sound asleep.

"I was at the house that night. When your dad–" You swallowed hard. "I brought Rosie over and we had dinner with him and Lois and Vera. Later on…"

Why was this so hard? Your throat was getting progressively tighter, but you forced the words out anyway.

"I left," you whispered. "A few minutes before it happened. Rosie was getting fussy so I thought I'd take her back to ours. Then the sirens started up and I went to the shelter. When I came back in the morning with Lois, it was just…everything was gone. And all I could think about was that if I'd stayed five more minutes I'd have been there too with Rosie and your dad. So, since then…whenever it gets dark…I just–I can't sleep. Because if I go to sleep then I might not hear the sirens and I need to–I need to know…" Your voice cracked on a sob, and then another, until you were crying hard, your shoulders shaking.

You felt Tom shift, pulling you in close. You buried your face in his shoulder as he stroked your hair. He didn't say anything, but that had never been his way and you were just glad to have him there.

Finally, your sobs eased. You pulled away, swiping your uninjured hand across your face. "Sorry. I'm being stupid. I should've said…"

"It's not stupid." Tom's voice was quiet. He reached up and thumbed away the tears from your cheeks. "Sometimes I think I'll be glad if I never have to get on a ship again when all this is over. After the first one, when I went back, I traded someone a whole pack of fags just so I could sleep near the door. Didn't want to be trapped if we got hit."

Instinctively, you reached for his hand, linking your fingers with his. He glanced down and held onto you a little tighter.

"Being scared isn't stupid. If there's one thing I learned from my dad it's that we're all the walking wounded around here. Doesn't matter if you're on a ship or driving an ambulance or looking after the baby. We've just got to take care of each other. One day at a time."

A fragile smile tugged at your lips. "How did you get to be so smart?"

The familiar cheeky glint in Tom's eyes returned. "Just call it life experience, love. Had to happen sometime."

You squeezed his hand.

"Go on upstairs and get some rest," Tom said. You opened your mouth to protest, but he shook his head. "If you stay up, we won't have any cups left. I'll look after Rosie." As if reading the silent fear in your heart, he kissed the top of your head and held you close. "I won't let anything bad happen. Promise."

And even though you knew this was only temporary, even though you knew a day would come where he'd have to leave and you'd spend the next few months praying for his safe return, you believed him.

[thewolvesof1998]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Tagged by the wonderful @watchyourbuck @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @wildlife4life @hoodie-buck @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus @wikiangela @malewifediaz @disasterbuckdiaz @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @theotherbuckley

I thought I would take inspiration from some of my mutuals and give you a tease of multiple fics:

Alright, Cowboy, Go Get 'Em (Masterlist of posts about this fic):

Eddie sits up and wraps his right arm around Buck’s waist, using his grip to help him bounce. The closeness allows him to place kisses on Buck’s chest and lick at his salty skin and bite nipples and suck marks onto his pec. He adorns Buck with his marks until he’s a panting, whining mess, unable to anymore more than roll his hip in a desperate grind.  “Ed’s please” Buck begs “What do you need baby?”

Bank Robbery Fic (prev snippet):

“-listen to me you son of a bitch, you can ask for all you want but make sure to add a medkit because if she dies because of you, I will make your life a living hell.”  Buck’s phone slips from his hand as he turns towards the speakers where a voice he would know anywhere, even in his sleep, just came through. Eddie. Eddie is in the bank.  Buck is lunging forward before he ever makes the conscious decision to move. He feels arms grab onto his coat and then there's a body in front of him. He smells Bobby’s cologne and arms wrap around him as he collides with Bobby, halting him in his tracks.

Pirate AU (previous snippets):

“You’re new,” A deep voice says and Eddie turns to look at the man. He’s got blondish-brown hair that is curling in the humidity, a pink mark above his eyebrow and at the corner of his pale blue eyes that almost seem to shift colour like the sky before a storm. He’s got the start of a beard that frames lips as pink as his mark. They look pillow-soft and sinful and he’s wondering what they would feel like under his before he can think better of it. He’s wearing a white shirt, its loose fitting, the buttons undone to improper level and sleeves rolled up to his elbows displaying strong forearms and ink.  “What?” He asks, dragging his eyes away from the man’s arms.  The guy chuckles, “I haven’t seen you here before.” “I’m new to town,” Eddie manages to get out without embarrassing himself further.

No Nut November (previous snippets):

Buck’s been babysitting Chris a lot lately now Eddie’s been going on more and more dates with Marisol. He loves it but he does miss his best friend, if it wasn’t for work Buck’s pretty sure he’s seen Chris more than Eddie this month. If he didn’t know better he would say Eddie’s avoiding him, but he wouldn’t do that, he has no reason to. It always gets like this when they date, they see less of each other but that's completely normal. This is just the anxious voice in his head making him worry about something he doesn’t need to.

Halloween Fic (previous snippet):

“These are my favourite jeans of yours,” Buck slides his hands around and squeezes Eddie’s butt, “Your ass looks amazing in them,” He lets go and slips his hands around the front, his fingers graze against Eddie’s straining dick before going to for the button, “So I’m going to be nice and not destroy them.”  Eddie is only a little bit disappointed, would have loved to see Buck use his strength to seamlessly tear the denim but that's pushed out of his mind as Buck swiftly undoes the jeans, pulling them down, along with Eddie’s underwear, until he can easily step out of them. Buck’s hands slide up his thighs and around to squeeze Eddie’s now bare ass. Buck kneads the skin, pulling it taunt and apart until Eddie can feel cold air against his hole.

tagging: ​ @eddiebabygirldiaz​ @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @911-on-abc @shitouttabuck @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @sammysouffle @smilingbuckley @carrierofthepaperclips @jeeyuns

[v3nusxsky]

Hiiiiiiiii !!! First hello glad your reading this, wanted to say, you write absolutely amazing! Love it.

This is a request, hope your interested.

Can you write Chubby Reader x Larissa. Where Reader and Larissa are married and by Larissa efforts ( unprotected shape-shifted sex ) reader gets pregnant. While there’s a parents meeting in the school, (students knows that pregnant Reader & Larissa are married with a baby on there way, parents don’t know.) a single student’s father begins to flirt and try to seduce a 6 month pregnant Reader thinking she’s single. Larissa turns passive aggressive and manages to run the single father away, and showing everyone who Reader belongs too by wrapping a hand around Reader’s swollen middle and resting a hand on Reader beautiful baby bump. In the night in the privacy of their bedroom, Larissa shape-shifted cock pounds Reader’s needy wet cunt, to show her who she belongs to, while gently grasping Reader’s baby bump on her hands and moaning about how gorgeous reader is by being pregnant with her child and how she will keep reader always pregnant. (Can you put Heavy breeding kink, mommy kink, doggy position, cock warming.)

Bump 18+

*Authors note~ i couldn’t seem to fit cock warming in their im sorry! This is one of my favourite tropes though I had a blas writting it*

Trigger warnings~ heavy breeding kink, mommy kink dom l sub r pregnant r shifted dick praise kink worship? Oc jake mentioned

Prompt~see ask^^^^

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Marrying Larissa Weems is nothing short of a dream come true, but carrying her child? Out of this world. By the gift Larissa was bestowed with you were blessed with a beautiful baby girl that you we're currently six months pregnant with. Your little Arwen Saige would be here soon, the students of Nevermore were all buzzing at the prospect of a new arrival, they even went as far to throw a little baby shower last weekend. It was adorable and such a surprise for you and Larissa. You'd have to remember to thank Enid for that day.

This weekend was parent's weekend so you made sure to adorn a lose fitting dress to conceal your beautiful bump just enough to make it slightly less noticeable to the parents. It went smoothly at the start, parents weren't really taking much notice of the potions teacher, Larissa did her speech before settling down at the table with you and some students who's parents didn't come to see them. It was sad but some of the students had been at this very same table since their first year and had got use to the disappointment but some were new and fresh faced, and struggling to understand what was happening now. The look of abandonment fresh in their eyes alongside poorly hidden tears.

When it came to mingling you were immediately caught in a conversation with Jakes dad about how his grades were poor. Truly he should be doing better than he was but he was a very complicated young man and you knew his mental health was struggling. He mentioned the recent death of his late wife and how Jake needed a mother figure. Jake did nothing but rave about you and apparently that made you a prime candidate.

Larissa couldn't help herself, she noted the way he looked at you. Her wife. Like you were free and claimable, you were not. You are hers. She immediately came to stand behind you and place her hands on your baby bump, moving the clothing to show the bump more defined. A simple kiss to your cheek, and a gentle rub to the bump as Arwen kicked her other mothers hand. With a sickly sweet smile, Larissa managed to tear you away from his preying eyes, guiding you away with her hands on your bump showing everyone who's you both were.

The rest of the day went smoothly, you sticking with Larissa as she placed her hand on your stomach whenever she could, a soothing measure. As soon as you both retired to your bedroom Larissa was on you instantly, her lips making home on your neck and leaving purple blemishes in their wake. "Ris" you whined tilting your head back to give her more skin to work on. You're pregnancy hormones had been wild recently, alongside cravings. But this, the need to be taken by her over and over again. An insatiable desire for her to help you. "Ris please please I need you" you whimpered with need as you moved her hand off the bump and to your needy core as best as as you could do. "Okay darling, I know love. Mommy's gonna fix it baby, gonna stuff your needy cunt with cum until it can't hold anymore" she purred while shifting her anatomy.

"Mommy" you mewled feeling it pressing into your body as she tore through the clothing creating a barrier between both of you. That was how you found yourself on your back Larissa mercilessly pounding into your absolutely soaked cunt walls. One hand on the mattress to hold herself up while the other hand caressed where Arwen laid. Her mouth working on showering your swelling breasts with love and attention, taking extra care as you were feeling sensitive these days. "Mommy! God mommy I god fuck" you whimpered as the head of her dick bumped against your cervix repeatedly.

"God, the way you're gripping me darling, can't wait to fill you up with my cum. You're so beautiful like this. All round and full of our child. Gonna stuff you full with my cum. You're always gonna feel me inside you baby. Gonna keep you pregnant with my children forever. God these breasts, the way they got bigger as you prep for our Awren" she panted and moaned with the labour of her thrusts. With your heightened sensations due to your hormones, it wouldn't take much more to having the coil snapping and throwing you into pools of ecstasy. The same process happened time and time again in different positions, Larissa’s favourite was you on your hands and knees as she supported your bump.

You came with her hand caressing your stomach as your fluttering walls clamped down around her shaft which triggered her own climax. Larissa's warm white spurts of cum painting your walls white. One thing pregnancy had done for you meant your orgasms were that much more overwhelming now but also you became sensitive quicker. "Mommy, no more please no more" you whined causing Larissa to hush you as she worked you both down and cleaned you both up. Truthfully she could've gone round after round with you but not wanting to hurt you or Arwen she happily settled between your legs to place sweet little kisses on your bump. "Hi baby girl, mommy loves you wen wen, so so much. You're gonna be the most beautiful baby every darling, gonna take after your momma."

Arwen choose that moment to kick you stomach, where Larissa's lips had just pressed. "Oh you cheeky little monkey. "We love you so much Wen now you be a good girl and not keep momma up tonight my darling" she murmured before she gave your daughter one more kiss goodnight. "Ris?" You whimpered, "I uh um I'm craving orange sorbet." Larissa chuckled and moved to grab a cover, "right away my queen, we must give our princess what she requires."

Word count~ 1205

[lizzybeth1986]

Too Little, (But Perhaps Not) Too Late

Book: The Royal Romance

Rating: PG

Pairing: Kiara & Penelope (platonic). Hints of Hana x Kiara.

Word Count: 3, 085 words.

Summary: At King Liam and Duchess Esther's bachelorette party, Penelope has something to say to her best friend Kiara.

A/N: This is supposed to take place during the events of TRR3 Ch 16 (the MC's bachelorette), but with significant changes that will be a part of my series Petals and Thornes. Penelope's surname is Drammir, the bachelorette is not in Vegas but at Côte d'Or in Cordonia, and by this point in the story Kiara and Hana are secretly a couple.

Tagging @kiaratheronappreciationweek for KTAW Day 5: Friendships, @choicesficwriterscreations for FotW, @choicesjunechallenge2024 for Ending/Beginning, @choicescommunityevents for Best Friend Day.

"Un Soixante Quinze, s'il vous plait."

Kiara has been to Côte d'Or - and this nightclub - enough times that every bartender there knows without even looking at her that her favourite is a slightly tart French 75; Deirdre smiles, her eyes trained on a violet-coloured bottle somewhere.

"I'll do you one better, Lady Kiara. How about some Empress Gin and a dash of lime?"

Kiara's laughter is a silent gurgle in her throat rather than the court-appropriate tinkle or a loud cackle (that for some reason, Hana seems to love so much), the amusement making her eyes light up. "That'll be fun."

Far more fun at least than watching half the court pair up for dancing from the sidelines, knowing she can't do the same. Yet.

She tries to make her sideways glance towards the other side of the bar look casual, but damn if Hana doesn't make it hard. In a black velvet minidress studded with diamanté, like stars in the night sky, she looks good enough to eat. There is a faraway, dreamlike feel to the way she stares, unseeing, at the opposite wall; Kiara shudders. The same dreams haunt her too, night and day.

Olivia seems to be sashaying her way to the spot where Hana stands, and Kiara turns away, swallowing. That woman has a knack for noticing everything and using that skill against everyone around her in the worst ways. Neither she nor Hana need the additional humiliation of being caught by Olivia Nevrakis of all people, before they're truly ready.

She jumps as she hears a jaunty hello right behind her. It's Penelope - practically prancing her way to Kiara from her spot on the dance floor, flushed and ridiculously happy, several tendrils of hair out of place, lips and cheeks rosier than usual. Kiara instinctively searches the crowd for her brother Ezekiel, and finds him talking to a minor noble some distance away, the dishevelment of his hair barely noticeable.

Kiara smiles back at Penelope. Clearly this night isn't going to be just a celebration of King Liam and Queen Esther's very obviously romantic union, but also a chance, for the many couples that have cropped up in the past few months, to be open about their love in the wake of that passionate love story. Cordonia seems to be changing, Kiara thinks, with a brief pang (she tries...really hard this time...not to look over at Hana again), right in front of her very eyes.

Penelope's attention has already shifted to the way Deirdre masterfully mixes Kiara's drink. The gin and the simple syrup had already been mixed and shaken before Penelope made her appearance; Deirdre's now getting to what Kiara knows Penelope would consider the fun part. She squeezes out a wedge of lime, quietly stealing a glance at her audience of two as the drink's hue changes from clear to a rather vibrant shade of purple.

"Ohhhh," Penelope's gasp comes out in a burst of pleasure.

"Empress 1908 Gin," Kiara whispers to her, "they infuse the concoction with butterfly pea blossoms. They change colour if you add anything acidic to it."

Penelope handwaves the information away with the carelessness she gives most pretty things - it only matters that they look pretty; she couldn't care less for the process that gave her that incredible sight.

Much as Kiara doesn't like to admit it...the word "careless" does seem to be the apt word to define how Penelope goes through her life.

Carelessness in court. Carelessness in her everyday life. Carelessness with belongings, with tasks, with people. Even the ones she genuinely believes (and she does. Truly) she loves.

Part of it - Kiara is aware - has to do with how overwhelming court life, on its own, can be for her. Penelope may have exaggerated some of the hardships she seems to face, but this she has never once lied about.

Navigating court is hard enough, even for Kiara herself, but too often Penelope exudes the appearance of a doe entering a den of lions. For every one thing she manages to get right, Penelope has to fear the hundred things she'll do wrong. At some point you just get resigned to the possibility that a good day might be one where you made fifteen mistakes rather than fifty.

But anyone who stays around Penelope long enough knows that there is a inherent lack of urgency about her, a certain reluctance to think things through, a certain comfort with being tended to, getting pampered, being let off out of sympathy even as her choices wreak havoc. A tendency to consider only her comforts and no one else's.

It isn't meant maliciously. These things just don't occur to her.

Kiara meets Penelope's eyes once, then nods and turns to Deirdre with an order for a strawberry daiquiri. Penelope passes her a grateful glance, relieved at having that decision taken out of her hands.

Kiara sighs. There are a great many things you learn to get used to as Penelope Drammir's best friend - her indecision and passivity being one of them. She shakes her head as she absently twirls her stirrer over her drink. The days Kiara allows herself to think of how annoyed she used to feel (way back during the engagement tour) around Penelope are few and far between, and she does feel guilty of doing her friend a disservice whenever she does. Of being ungenerous, judgemental.

Of abandoning empathy. Even if empathy is a gift she hardly expects to get herself from...well, from anyone.

Kiara steals another glance towards the other end of the bar. Hana and Olivia are standing side by side, their backs facing the bar, their eyes never leaving the dancing couples. From time to time Olivia seems to say something (and Kiara almost bites down her cheek to stop herself from going there and rising to Hana's defense, in case it's something nasty). If Hana is affected, you couldn't tell - so nonchalant is her stance against the bar.

Hana's words from a week ago - warm and soothing and smelling of melted chocolate - still ring in Kiara's ears. You deserve to have people you can lean on, Kiara. As much as anyone else. You need to be able to depend on your friends sometimes too.

Her hand barely ghosts over her side, but Kiara doesn't allow it to linger there. She allows the words to wash over her, like balm. Like some sort of elixir that she hopes will heal her, slowly, spreading its warmth and sweetness in small trickles, taking away the hurt and resentment and self-derision bit by bit.

When she's calm enough to turn to Penelope's side again, she catches her friend staring.

Her eyes no longer on her dairiquiri; she stirs it absently, very much the way Kiara just did a few minutes ago. Those very eyes are suddenly a deeper blue, a darker shade, her gaze more intent and more serious than anything she has ever seen from Penelope in all the years they've known each other.

Kiara takes a nervous sip of her drink (sweet. tart. refreshing), her laughter betraying a slight discomfort. "You're staring at me like I've grown an extra head."

Penelope's gaze doesn't shift back to her usual - the unfocused flitting of the eyes from corner to corner. The intensity of it makes Kiara shift a little in her seat. For all her faults, seeing Penelope be her usual thoughtless, fickle-minded self - always distracted by the newest shiny object or the antics of the nearest dog - has always been reassuring.

"I...I haven't been a very good friend to you, Kiki, have I," Penelope says, quietly.

She says it as if it isn't a question but a statement, as if she has thought enough about it that it has become an already-unquestionable fact in her mind - that for a few moments Kiara finds it hard to say anything in response.

"What makes you say that, Nena?" She says, using that old affectionate nickname that Penelope only allows family and close friends to use with her.

Penelope fiddles with the shell bracelet she usually wears with the dress she's wearing, a sumptuous affair in her house colours - completely inappropriate for Esther's bachelorette (they're all supposed to wear dark or muted colours so the bride could shine in her sparkly gold outfit). But because it's Esther - who honestly couldn't care less - Penelope managed to get away with it.

Much like she has managed to get away with a great deal of things, Kiara realises with an unfortunate twist in her gut. A terrible court performance. Being involved in smearing another courtier's name (learning about that last engagement tour, realising Penelope was comfortable expecting friendship from the woman she did that to and never even bothered to let Kiara know almost ended their friendship for good). Wanting Esther and her friends to pamper her within an inch of her life if they wanted her to accompany them for their tour, even though her past conduct demanded - ethically - that she at least offer unconditional support.

(And never, ever once asking about how Kiara was healing after she was released from hospital. But that was something, perhaps, that she couldn't lay blame on Penelope alone for. For the longest time, her injury really seemed to matter that little to most).

And whether or not Penelope seems to realize how good she has had it without making enough effort from her end, yet...she certainly seems to have made a good enough start right now.

Penelope's voice goes a little softer, her eyes suddenly unable to meet Kiara's. "I think it's all the time Zeke and I have been spending together," she says, one fingernail tracing the seam of a fake shell. "He's been feeling a bit guilty himself, you know. He always tells me he's the older one, he's the one who should be taking care of you...but it's you always playing that role instead."

Kiara winces. "Well... he's never asked that of me, has he?"

Has it been like that, really? Has it? All she knows of her relationship with Zeke is how often she loses patience with him when his reluctance to move out of his safe zone creates problems, either for himself or their family. It's the one thing she has always felt a little guilty about - as much as she has felt whenever she got frustrated with Penelope.

"That's the worst part, he says. That he let you adopt that role, and never give you the same level of support. That of course you find him a little hard to understand, but that never stopped you from trying to help. And of course you never ask for any help in return, but there were so many times you should have gotten it from him anyway," Penelope's sigh comes out in a shuddering breath, and Kiara notices a redness creeping up to her cheeks from her neck. "I never realised until he said that, that I've treated you that way too."

When Penelope looks at Kiara this time, her lashes are spiky with tears. Kiara tries to swallow the lump in her own throat, suddenly overwhelmed.

For a while now, these were thoughts Kiara did have. Thoughts she'd tried to quash in the many, many hours she spent struggling to move in that hospital bed without feeling that pain on her side, thoughts she fought off after being reminded - again and again and again - how she got hurt there. Thoughts that terrified her so much she suppressed them, experiencing a mixture of relief and disappointment when no one, not even her close friends, seemed to find what happened to her important enough to remember.

These were thoughts she could only allow herself to have for no more than a few minutes. They would damn near destroy her if she thought about them any longer than that.

These were the thoughts that made her want to kick herself for being so ungenerous and petty and judgemental. To hear those same words, the words she only allowed herself to think in her darkest, most bitter moments, from Penelope's mouth - without blame, without censure - and to know that Zeke has felt it too...there is a burn in Kiara's throat that she knows won't leave for a long, long time.

Oh, no, Nena, a part of Kiara still wants to say, you're a wonderful friend. Those words, constantly at the tip of her tongue whenever Penelope gets into one of her melancholy, self-pitying moods, seem to haunt Kiara again, urging her to keep their friendship the way it is. Unequal. Unbalanced. Practically one-sided. Kiara forever as protector, Penelope forever as protected. It must be better that way.

Hana's words come back to her - a balm to her bruised spirit.

You need to depend on your friends too.

"I may not have been the friend you needed all this time, Kiki," Penelope whispers, "but from today, I promise you I'll really try."

As Kiara does in the rare occasions she finds herself overcome with emotion, she lets out a wavering, watery laugh.

Will Penelope truly change that? She doesn't know yet. But damn does it feel good that she cares enough to try.

All this time, all this guilt and self-blame...for not being the kind of friend most people would insist Penelope needed. All this resentment, because people would certainly think long and hard about what it meant to be literally anyone else's friend and catering to their needs. Olivia's. Penelope's. Even (ugh) Madeleine's.

But not Kiara's. Never Kiara's.

"I don't know how to respond to this yet, Nena. But I need you to know that I appreciate this. Truly."

Putting her daiquiri down, Penelope crushes her in an impulsive hug that almost sends tiny purple droplets of Kiara's drink flying onto her outfit. Neither of them notice.

They part, reluctantly, and spend the rest of their time together drinking in companiable silence as the vibrations from the nightclub's loud music thumps on the floor beneath them. When the tune changes to a slower, more romantic tune, Kiara can't stop herself from taking a peek at the other side of the bar.

Penelope follows her gaze, and smiles when it lands on Hana. "You should go there."

"Hmm?" Kiara murmurs, barely hearing Penelope. Hana and Olivia are still talking, but the vibes feel far more chilly than they seemed to be a few minutes ago. Now Hana is the one slightly smiling, like the cat who got the cream, and Olivia looks surprisingly...pale? Perhaps a little ill?

Definitely not as smug as she seemed when she sauntered her way to Hana's side.

She isn't sure how that came about, but the possibility that Hana may have had something to do with it does fill her with an odd sort of pride. The kind of pride that makes her want to point to Hana in front of a crowd of twenty-plus nobles and announce, as loud as she can, "that's my girlfriend!!"

Penelope giggles so hard she almost snorts her drink out of her nose. "Go get your girl, Kiki."

Kiara stares at Penelope for a minute, then self-consciously runs her palms over her own outfit. "Am I that obvious?"

Penelope is still giggling. "Only right now, and only because I'm literally standing next to you."

Kiara laughs, relieved. This love she shares with Hana will still be her - their - secret. She wants it to stay that way, just a little bit longer.

The strains of the love song currently playing feel a little out of place for this nightclub, but Kiara's feet are almost itching for a slow dance in someone's arms. Head over heels when toe to toe. This is the sound of my soul. By the way Hana is looking at her now - alone at the bar again - Kiara can tell she wants it too.

Penelope places a hand on Kiara's shoulder, taking her leave with a grin and a conspiratorial wink. "Zeke must be looking for me. Have fun, Kiki!" Clearly in a mood for generosity, she kisses Kiara on the cheek before she leaves.

(For a woman who has never slept with, well, anyone before, Hana seems to be quite adept in the art of seduction already. Kiara has to bite the inside of her cheek just to fight the urge to whisk her to her hotel room for the rest of the night)

When she reaches Hana's side, the other woman's gaze moves over her in the most leisurely pace known to man. Slow, sensual, soaked in knowing, promising more than just one dance.

The soles of Kiara's feet tingle just from imagining the possibilities. She knows what they're going to be doing at least an hour (Kiara's being generous - she probably might not even last that long) from now.

"Lady Hana," Kiara says, holding out her hand and inwardly laughing at her own playful formality, "I believe I owe you a dance."

Hana breaks character, laughing delightedly. "A dance would be a good start."

Hana rests her head on Kiara's shoulder, her face nestled close to her collarbone. Her face is nestled close enough to Kiara's collarbone that she could breathe in her perfume if she wanted; she can feel Hana's long, deep inhale reverberate through her own body as she does. As Kiara runs a hand down Hana's back, she begins to sigh in tandem to the music too, drunk on her love for this woman. Ah ah ah haa haa. I know this much is true.

Even with her eyes closed, Kiara can feel the lights - deep purple and sea green - dancing behind her eyelids. The feel of Hana's palm against hers. A whiff of Gucci Bloom that comes and goes - that Kiara registers, instinctively, as the presence of her best friend stealing another dance with her brother. Kiara sighs happily.

Tomorrow might be as hard to live through as yesterday was, as this morning was, as every morning has been since this tour began. But every once in a while, she's gifted with tiny miracles.

This evening - every bit of it - has been a tiny miracle. And if this tour has taught her anything, it's that the tiny miracles are often the most memorable ones.

Almost as if they can both sense a desire to come closer, Hana and Kiara tighten their arms around each other almost imperceptibly.

Kiara smiles, again. Tomorrow may be different. But today...today has been beautiful. Today has been perfect.

This night of miracles does seem to be in any hurry to leave, and she's going to embrace it with both hands.

--

References:

French 75 - a cocktail made from gin, champagne, lemon juice, and sugar. It is also called a 75 Cocktail, or in French simply a Soixante Quinze.

Learn more about Empress Gin gin French 75 here.

The song Hana and Kiara are dancing to at the end is "True" by Spandau Ballet.

A/N1: I hint at a scene that is not part of canon but that will eventually show up at this point of the story when I write it in Petals and Thornes (basically Hana and Olivia talking. I won't be talking about it here, but it will be a major scene from Hana's PoV at this point in the story).

A/N2: Often, when the fandom speaks about the Kiara and Penelope friendship, there tends to be a lot of sympathy for Penelope and criticism for Kiara. But when you take a closer look at canon, the opposite applies. The narrative tends to center this friendship on Penelope alone, with Kiara needing to constantly worry and protect her, and Penelope rarely ever showing the same regard or concern for Kiara. It's a grossly imbalanced friendship, and I did want some acknowledgement of that.

A big thank you to @thecapturedafrique for suggesting this title 😁😁

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Chapter 9!! I genuinely cannot believe I've actually kept up with this 😅 honestly I'm the worst ask every teacher who ever wanted coursework from me 😂 the love and support I've received from everyone who's enjoyed this has been mind-blowing and I'm so grateful to each and every one of you 💖

Betting It All On Love

Robin, surprisingly, took him shopping, which was only surprising because of how much she truly hated it. She hated the crowds and the trends the masses felt a weird compulsion for, and that was before she got on to the whole thing about consumerism. But she knew how much he loved it, knew how a new outfit could bolster his mood, how the hum of voices echoing through the space soothed something deep in his soul.

The one advantage to still having anything to do with his biological parents was that they still paid off the credit card they'd given him when he had gone on a class trip to the zoo in middle school, so on the rare occasion he felt the need to go wild in the aisles, he didn't feel like he had to feel too guilty about using it. Especially when that meant he could buy Robin the plaid coat she hadn't been able to take her eyes off of from the moment they'd walked into the mall.

Especially when she grinned like that at her every reflection as she wore it around the air-conditioned space, which was far too chilly for the tee and shorts combo she'd chosen for the day. Not that Steve was quite sure why there was a surf and ski clothing store in the middle of Nevada, but it didn't matter, he knew the coat would be perfect for when winter came to Indy. It hadn't been quite perfect in the moment, of course, and he was seriously considering giving in and just going into the nearest store to buy her yet another hoodie.

"Steve, I'm hot!" Robin whined as she wandered listlessly by his side.

"So take the coat off," Steve reasoned calmly, shifting the shopping bags in his hands to take some of the pressure off of his tattoo.

"But then I'll be cold!" she countered.

"Truly a cross to bear," Steve muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes to himself as he steered them back towards the souvenir stand; because no way we're they ever going to own another average hoodie, it was going to be the most disgustingly gaudy 'I heart Vegas' glaringly obviously touristy hoodie humanly possible. 

Except as they continued to stroll along their new route, it took them right past the food court, Robin enthusiastically exclaiming "Ice cream!" That was how they ended up crammed into a booth, the amount of bags they'd acquired practically pushing them off their seats, a giant bowl of banana split sitting between them as they both picked their favourite parts out of the dessert.

"So, how's things going with Chris?" Steve asked as he shoved a spoonful of strawberry ice cream into his mouth.

Robin nodded, chewing thoughtfully on the caramel coated banana, "Good," she admitted, blushing deeply and ducking her head. "She's amazing, Steve, I've never met anyone like her. She's like a ray of fucking sunshine, you know? Like the kind cats curl up in. Just joy and warmth and, I don't know, magic, or something," she gushed, waving her hands and her empty spoon around as she talked, saying more about her feelings than what was actually coming out of her mouth.

She bit the inside of her cheek but couldn't keep the lovesick grin off of her face as she stared into the distance, gazing vaguely at the lime green vinyl of the booth seat just over Steve's shoulder, "I swear to God, at Charlie's last night, I was this close," she pinches her finger and thumb together so there's only the tiniest sliver of light between them, "to asking her to marry me! And not just drunken Vegas marrying, like full on, come home and meet my folks, months of planning and white dresses, marrying. That's insane, right?" she asked, finally looking at his face.

Steve wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to respond, part of him was insulted that she thought his marriage was less than because of how it had happened. Part of him was just incredibly proud of her. It was crazy, and it also wasn't crazy at all. Sometimes when you know you just know and given how long they'd all actually spent together, it wasn't like she was just jumping in feet first. Robin had probably spent more hours with Chrissy than she had ever spent with Sammi and that relationship had felt like it was never ending.

Luckily, he was saved from actually answering when, after swallowing another mouthful of partially melted chocolate ice cream, she jabbed her spoon at him and exclaimed, "And oh my god, Steve! In bed! The best I've ever had!" And Robin might've continued to elaborate on that, but Steve had unceremoniously dropped his spoon to cover his ears and “la la la” loudly until her lips stopped moving.

It was a running joke between the two of them, the first guy he'd been on a date with after Billy had been phenomenal. Alex had blown Steve's tiny small-town mind, and even though they’d both agreed that their relationship would only ever be a casual hookup, it hadn’t stopped him from wandering around for three whole days like he was on an actual cloud. Robin had quickly become sick of his permanent grin and had asked him "what the fuck he had to be so happy about?" She hadn't liked the answer and ever since whenever either one of them went into specifics about their love life that was what the other one did.

She laughed, and he did too knowing full well she'd tell him, in intricate and unnecessary detail, all about Chrissy's skills in the bedroom as they finished their shopping spree; they still had to find Dustin’s book after all, and they both knew he would listen while she gushed about what an incredible lover she'd snagged, and he'd try desperately not to be green with envy that she'd found the love of her life and was actually going to get to keep her.

They didn't talk about Eddie, he could tell she wanted to, she kept opening her mouth to ask questions and then just snapping her jaw shut and carrying on, distracting him with pretty things and tasty foods. Part of him was glad. Part of him wanted to talk it through with her. Part of him just wanted to enjoy time spent with his best friend and live in the delusion that everything was fine. He had no doubt there'd be plenty of time to talk about it when they got home, even if Robin and Chrissy immediately moved in together, and he had to learn to talk to Chrissy the same way he talked to Robin (which he honestly didn't think would be that difficult) he had no doubt that they’d make space and time for him to mourn his loss, and maybe even mourn it with him.

At least with Chrissy across the hall, he'd finally have someone to watch sports with again. Chris' taste in sport had so far been Robin's only complaint. She'd been excited to finally find someone she was attracted to who actually liked sports but had been quickly disappointed to find out that Chris preferred watching basketball and the NFL like Steve, which meant that Robin still wouldn't have anyone to watch soccer with.

Even though Steve was always happy to watch it with her, he just didn't share her enthusiasm for it. That was the thing that apparently baffled Robin, because “how could any self-respecting bisexual not enjoy a field full of men in tiny shorts chasing a ball?” And honestly, it was the chasing the ball part that seemed to be the off-putting bit. It kinda felt more like watching golden retrievers in the dog park, and although the whole point of football and basketball was to get a ball in a goal, he was proud that neither were a game a dog could play.

As he was ambling around the bookstore looking for the fantasy section, it occurred to him that it would probably be the last time he’d be asked to do anything like this for the kids. Not that you could really class a bunch of twenty-somethings as kids anymore, but it occured to him somewhat horrifyingly that all of them were about to start going out into the real world. They’d all soon be grown-ups and would soon have to deal with all the problems that came with being an adult that were coming for them thick and fast. Real relationships and jobs and rent, for most of them this summer would probably be their last one at home with their parents.

It might even be the last summer he had a chance to see some of them ever again. Max still wanted to go home to her dad and the chances of him getting an invitation to California were probably slimmer than he’d like to admit. As he picked up the copy of Earthshaker he’d been searching for, he vowed to himself to spend more than one weekend back home before they all headed back to college. Take his camera home, organise a big party, and tell them all how much he loved them. It’d be fine, the summer wasn’t over yet. 

Robin interrupted his rapidly derailing train of thought when she came bounding around the bookshelf, a stack of books cradled to her chest like a newborn. He purposefully didn’t ask, especially when he could see that the one on the top of the stack read ‘Nuclear Medicine In Tropical And Infectious Diseases’. He just grinned knowingly and waved Dustin’s book in the direction of the register, mainly because they both knew full well that given the opportunity, Robin could and would happily spend the rest of their vacation immersed in the endless racks and shelves. 

He did, however, self indulgently snag the latest Jackie Collins novel to add to his growing collection as he passed by the display. Sweet old Mrs Johnson had been the one to get him hooked. She used to read them when she would babysit, at first to herself, but then there’d been a bad storm one weekend when he was six and the electricity had gone out for hours. It was winter so although it had been early in the evening, it was dark and he was scared. But Mrs Johnson had just pulled him into her lap and let him curl into her while she read by candlelight.

He hadn’t really understand the story itself, but she had had a nice voice, and he had liked listening to her read. From then on it had been what they had done on rainy days. In fact, the weekend before she had died, it had been stormy, and they’d spent two whole days curled up in her favourite armchair in his living room while she read to him.

The books had made him mad for a while, after she’d left him, but then when he was older and trying to navigate high school he quickly realised he preferred the salacious crime novels to Shakespeare or Chaucer that were, as far as he was concerned, basically the same thing but written in another language. It hadn’t been until he was older still that he realised that some of the characters in those books had also been vital in helping him create the King Steve persona that kept him safe for four years.

 

Steve hadn’t realised how quickly the day had disappeared until they made it back to the hotel. Not that he minded, his stomach full from the tacos they’d been unable to resist, and he’d had a wonderful day with his best friend.

They’d bought so many things that even in the short walk from the lobby, his fingers had started to take on that distinctive claw shape as the handles had dug into his skin. Sighing heavily in relief as he finally released the bags onto his bed, and again in frustration as Robin cheerfully tried and failed to check their voicemails, nearly making a collect call by accident. He used his one still fully functioning finger to press the necessary buttons, flopping down next to his best friend on her bed.

Beep. “Hi. It’s me. Chrissy,” she paused giggling to herself, “I hope you two are free tonight! Meet by the creepy looking goat statue at six?” she sounded so happy and hopeful, Steve couldn’t keep the endeared smile off of his face. Robin almost cut the message off before Chris had had chance to finish, and he couldn’t help feeling like a bit of a hero when he stopped her movements just in time to hear “Okay, see you soon. I love you!” Beep. 

Robin’s eyes immediately bugged out, if she wasn’t careful it was likely they’d fall out of her head altogether. She glanced franticly between Steve and the phone, her whole demeanour screaming “You heard that, right?” Steve grinned and jostled her playfully, enjoying the deep blush on her cheeks and her silent fluster as she processed what she’d heard.

Not that they really had time for an emotional crisis, “Come on, blushy! If we’re meeting at six, that only gives us half hour,” he reasoned, flipping himself off the bed and heading to his wardrobe to find his black pinstripe shirt and dark jeans. He had no idea what they would be doing, but it’d be a fine outfit for an evening in Vegas.

He was standing over the sink adding some serum to his hair when he heard her mumble from the doorway, “Isn’t it a bit early for ‘I love you’?” She sounded so small and hesitant, he dropped his hands immediately, stepping over to her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, being extra careful not to get sticky fingers on her fancy blazer.

“Is it ever too early to say how you feel?” he asked, pressing his cheek against the top of her head.

“I don’t know” Robin muttered glumly, grabbing two fistfuls of the back of his shirt and scrunching it between her fingers anxiously. “There’s no way she meant “I love you” right? I mean, she can’t be in love with me, Evie. It doesn’t make any sense! We’ve known each other for what? A few days! There’s no way she could… She must’ve meant “love you” you know? Like in a friend way,” she rambled frenetically; whether she was trying to convince him or herself, he really couldn’t say.

Steve hummed thoughtfully, “Does it feel like love in a friend way?” he asked evenly.

She scoffed harshly like he expected her to, “No! But she wasn’t just talking to me, she was inviting both of us,” she pointed out.

It frustrated him how easily she could convince herself that people couldn’t possibly love her. He sighed heavily trying really hard not to roll his eyes, “She was talking to you,” he affirmed, because he had heard that message, and contrary to popular belief he wasn’t actually stupid, and he’d witnessed with his own eyes how crazy Chrissy was about her, how crazy she was about Chrissy.

Huffing loudly, she removed herself from his hold, so she could look him in the eye “But it’s been days!” she whined, still trying to convince someone that the facts weren’t the facts, probably because she was actually just kinda scared.

Steve just shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, but how many hours has it been? How many hours did you spend with Mickey? You were in love with her. How is this different?” he asked, rather reasonably considering she was driving him up the wall because how could she not know by now how easy she was to love.

“Does sleep count?” she asked, wincing even as the words fell out of her mouth.

He laughed dryly, “No, Robbie, you can’t count hours you weren’t conscious for!” he deadpanned, tugging her back into his chest before she could start pacing like a caged tiger.

She made a pained sound in the back of her throat as she leaned heavily into him, gripping the sides of his shirt, moving her fingers around as she counted against his ribs. Eventually, after at least three recounts, she huffed the way she always did when he was right for a change.

“Do you think maybe you’re freaking out because you feel that way too?” he asked calmly.

“Maybe,” she muttered sighing heavily like she was holding the weight of the whole world. He knew he’d hit the nail on the head when she huffed a frustrated breath through her teeth and pushed him off, “How would you feel if Eddie said that to you!” she accused, pointing a finger at him.

Steve snorted derisively, too tired to be anything but honest, “Honestly, I’d be fucking delighted. I’m so fucking in love with him, it’s insane!” he admitted, trying desperately to ignore how whiney and pathetic he sounded.

All the fight dissipated out of her as he spoke, her eyebrows scrunching together in sympathy, “Really?” she asked softly, a pained look taking over her face when he nodded solemnly, “Have you told him that?”

Steve snorted a humourless laugh, “No! Jesus, Bobs, I’m not a complete fucking idiot!”

“But you just said--”

“Yeah! Because it’s obvious you feel the same way!” he yelled, not entirely sure why he was shouting. It wasn’t her fault he’d got himself all tangled up in infatuation again, “Sorry,” he muttered.

Robin wasn't fazed though just waved off his apology and raised a singular eyebrow at him, “And it’s not with Eddie?!” she asked condescendingly, folding her arms over her chest.

“No!” Steve exclaimed, because it was very unobvious, thank you very much! Robin didn’t argue with him, just threw her arms in the air like he was being the frustrating one, tutting and heading back into the bedroom to finish getting ready, leaving Steve to deal with the silence and his half serumed hair.

Chrissy, as it turned out, had procured tickets for a boxing match of all things. It wasn't something neither he nor Robin ever would've chosen, but apparently Chris' best friend from her cheerleading days, Beth, was now a ring girl, and she had pulled some strings and got them into a private box. They had their own bar and a balcony view over the proceedings, meaning they could see everything without getting coated in blood, it was different but once-in-a-lifetime experiences were kinda what Vegas was all about.

Robin was leaning with her back against the bar, Chrissy curled into her running her hands up and down the lapels of Robin's jacket, both of them giggling and whispering like schoolgirls. As much as he was glad Robin seemed to have overcome her earlier conflict, he was starting to find it all a bit sickening. It wasn’t their fault, and he wasn't really mad with them at all, he'd just been in a terrible mood since bickering with Robin and the dark cloud hanging over his head had only worsened when Eddie hadn't been waiting with Chrissy in the lobby like he had hoped.

He'd offered to go back to the room, part of him wanting to let them have a night to be together, the other part just wanting to be alone so he could sulk some more, but neither of them would let him. They’d giddily pulled him into their hold, linking their arms with his and practically frog marching him out the front door of the hotel and into the waiting taxi. 

In the seclusion of the private space, however, and with two or three shots in each of them, both girls had dropped all their inhibitions and seemed to have forgotten all about him. Honestly, he’d never been a third wheel before, not even with Tommy and Carol but he was seriously starting to feel like he should go home and call Barb and apologise for every time he and Nancy had made her feel how he was feeling because maybe he was technically married, but he’d never felt more single or more alone.

He sighed heavily, snagging a beer from the bartender and heading out onto the balcony, leaning heavily against the railing surveying the crowd below him. The venue was packed, not a single empty seat to be seen anywhere, which struck him as odd because the match wasn't due to start for at least another twenty minutes, and he'd been to enough ball games in his life to know that normally there was a mad dash to grab your seats before the game actually kicked off; but apparently the ring girls were supposed to be their entertainment, like some sick warm-up act.

The last time he'd seen a crowd as rowdy was at the strip club when he'd been inexplicably invited to Mark's stag do. Mark was his dad's number two, the guy being lined up to take over the company when his old man finally bit the dust. The bloke had spent the whole night weirdly trying to rub it in Steve's face how close he and his dad were, only finally shutting his mouth when after four beers Steve had lost his temper and had casually asked: "So are you sucking his dick, or--?" Mark had blushed furiously, started stuttering and stammering and had quickly disappeared. Steve had just downed the rest of his beer and hailed a cab, heading home to Robin to bemoan a wasted Saturday night.

Robin had whined about how it hadn't been fair that he'd been invited, but she hadn't. Everyone at the company had assumed they were a couple and after their first few jobs together they'd learned to just stop correcting people. Mainly because if they didn't their coworkers wanted to know why there weren't dating and usually "because we're like siblings" wasn't a good enough answer and then they had to deal with months of constant badgering and peer pressure to hook up. Robin had been right, of course, she would have enjoyed the strip club far more than he had. Personally, he thought grown men drooling over a half-naked woman, especially ones young enough to be their daughter, was a little grim.

A petite brunette who he assumed was Beth when she'd bounced up and down waving excitedly to him as she had headed into the ring, and her friend, who were both dressed in nothing but a metallic bikini and high heels, seemed to be enjoying themselves, however, especially when Beth's friend caught the attention of a stag do sitting in the front row. 

The groom-to-be was obviously a high school jock surrounded by his "bros" and by the looks of things, either his father or the father-in-law-to-be who was glancing anywhere but at the ring, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. It made Steve shudder to think that if his life had gone a little differently, if he and Nancy had stayed together, if he'd stuck with Tommy and the team, would that be him now? Would that be his dad? Or worse, poor Ted? 

Thankfully he didn't have more time to dwell on it when Robin appeared next to him bumping purposefully into his side, swapping his empty beer for a cold one with a gentle smile. Chrissy quickly joined them on the balcony carrying a beer and a tray of nachos to share, shouting over the noise of the crowd to explain the rules to Robin when she had asked how they'd know who won.

Steve knew Robin knew the rules of boxing. Mainly because her grandpa had been an Olympic boxer, but he wasn't about to call her out on it. Plus, he liked how patient Chris was with her, he thought it was sweet when he wasn’t busy being a grumpy bastard.

The ring girls left the ring, Beth waving enthusiastically, shooting Chrissy a few hand gestures that Steve didn't understand but made Chrissy belly laugh as she headed out of sight. Then it was time for the match to get started; two gigantic blokes followed by a team of helpers charging into the ring, bouncing on their toes next to the smallest ref Steve had ever seen.

There was a bit of chatter and then the bell dinged, the ref moved, and the giants started to dance around one another, sizing each other up and dodging a few hits before the real action started. One hit, two. The excitement of the crowd and the anticipation were getting Steve's adrenaline pumping. 

That was why he jumped three feet in the air when he felt hands land on his waist (that's what he told himself anyway).

Eddie laughed brightly as Steve spun around, his hands raised placatingly, "It's only me!" he yelled, giggling adorably. He smiled, placing a careful hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezing some of the tension out of his shoulder blade with gentle fingers. Slipping Robin a placating smile as she no doubt glared at him over Steve's shoulder. He elbowed her absentmindedly, giving her a look that said "eyes on your own date!" before turning his full attention to Eddie.

Steve was honestly kind of dumbfounded by Eddie's presence, when Chrissy had been alone in the lobby, he'd just assumed that Eddie wouldn't be joining them at all any more. He wouldn't have been at all surprised to find out that Eddie had packed up and gone back to Indy with Dan, even if he had spent the past half an hour trying desperately not to think about the implications of that. Especially when Chris had deliberately not said anything when Robin had asked the only question that had been on Steve's mind, “Where’s Eddie?” 

Even a foot away Steve could tell something was off, Eddie’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and he’d done a terrible job of trying to hide it behind a thick layer of eyeliner. There was a permanent red patch down the side of his nose, like he’d scratched or rubbed at it too many times, bursting the tiny blood vessels. His hair was overly oily at the roots like he’d spent the day running his fingers over his scalp and his fingernails were bitten down to the quick; the skin looked painful to even look at and Steve had no idea how he’d dealt with acetone and nail polish to repaint his nails.

It was the gasp of the crowd reacting to the first real punch landing that brought him back to himself. Steve glanced behind him in time to see blood pour from the slightly taller one's mouth, followed by cheers and screams as the smaller of the two landed a second punch.

Steve shook his head, immediately turning back to Eddie, "Hi," he mumbled in astonishment.

Eddie smiled cautiously, "Hi," he greeted, stepping closer and reaching up to tuck a loose strand behind Steve's ear, "I'm sorry I'm late," Eddie yelled over the roar of the crowd, "Can we talk? After the match?" he asked nervously.

Steve's brain very obviously and very quickly went to the worst case scenario, that Eddie was here to officially ask for a divorce, but his poker face must not be what it once was because Eddie cupped his cheek gently forcing Steve to meet his gaze, "No! Nothing bad, I promise. I just want to tell you about my day, maybe we could go for that dinner we talked about?" he asked hopefully, pulling Steve’s SuperEl shirt out from behind his back and offering it to him.

Steve blinked at the shirt for a second and felt the smile tugging at his cheeks threatening to split his face in two. Hope starting to bloom unchecked in his chest, making his heart skip out of beat. Eddie's hopeful little smile had been the most adorable thing he'd seen since he'd seen him drooling into his pillow that morning.

Eddie beaming back at him when Steve nodded bashfully, nervously tugging the collar of his shirt through his fingers, came in a close third. Eddie’s hand got dislodged from his face when his head automatically flicked back to the action when the crowd let out an elongated "ooh!" as one of the boxers went down hard. 

Steve took the opportunity to take Eddie by the hand and lead him out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing to face the action, waiting for Eddie to mirror him and get absorbed in the match, then turning to watch Eddie react with the most adorable second-hand winces as the smaller boxer tried and failed to get up.

Steve quickly found himself wanting to watch Eddie more than the fight. He tried to stealthily turn his whole body so he was leaning sideways against the railing. The metal bar digging into his ribs a painful reminder that he was here and this was real. That Eddie was with him, and he wanted to go to dinner and talk. That he wanted to tell Steve about his day! Wanted to take him on a proper bonafide date! Because he’d brought Steve his shirt. Honestly, he’d forgotten that he’d even left it in Eddie’s room. The thought that he must’ve hung it up in the closet for him, so it wouldn’t get wrinkled was so sweet it was making his heart want to burst out through his chest. 

He knew he must look like the worlds most lovesick fool stood staring at Eddie's profile like he was the most beautiful man on the planet (which he was) and like he was the luckiest man alive to even be in Eddie’s presence (which he was) but he just couldn't find it in himself to care, he was going to take this moment while he could and store it in his heart forever.

The bell dinged again and Eddie looked over, flicking his eyes down noticing Steve's posture and smirking to himself. Steve felt the blush creeping up his neck and turned back to the action, forcing himself to not push himself too far into Eddie's personal space, but he needn't have worried. As soon as Steve was settled against the railing again, Eddie threw his arm around his shoulders, jostling him lightly and smiling joyfully at him, pressing a gentle kiss into his shoulder.

As the match went on Eddie's arm slowly slipped down his side holding onto his waist, then slipped further down to his hip where Eddie gave up and just hooked his thumb through Steve's belt loop, tucking his chin over his shoulder and pressing the odd kiss to any bit he could reach but just staying as close as he could, curled tightly into Steve side for the rest of the night; until the bigger of the two boxers had been knocked down for the final time, and it was time for the masses to disperse.

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

Part 10

tag list my beloveds @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @adhdsummer @nerdfighteratheart @anaibis @dolphincliffs @hbyrde36 @marinarasarah @deadflowercollector @lunabookworm @a-couchpotato @wonderland-girl143-blog @ddharrington @abstractnaturaldisaster @lololol-1234 @bestwifehaver @steviejeebiez

[therhythmafterthesummer]

you’ve talked about pregnancy scares before buttttttt how would the situation be different if it was before any of the couple were officially together and the scare was with a mystery man/ex? Also like kitten with an ex (her telling Min probably before that guy), I feel like Chris would find the test box and try work around it gently, and our poorest spicy is just on edge till her next period after leaving her old pack. Also very specifically for ginger, she must have been nesting sooo much right when she left but who’s scent was in the nest? (Was it just here’s or was she incorporating other’s?)

how do you think the boys would react and if those choose to try and help what do you think would happen? Who would be delulu and offer to raise it as their own with them….Christopher?

-🍑

OH MY GOD SDJFHSKDJHFSDFHSDKFHJ

okay okay.... here's what i think (tw for some... non-consensual themes, mentions of abortion and alcohol consumption, and other topics related to pregnancy):

Chris:

so, i imagine this happened in the earlier months of her living at his den. maybe right before she found out they were werewolves, or maybe a bit after.

Chris was helping pretty put away some groceries she bought and saw the box in one of the bags. he recognised it immediately (why he was able to recognise the packaging is another story, but i'm sure you can imagine), and at that moment, all that distress and anxiety he'd been picking up from her scent the past couple of days started to make sense.

he was so shocked to see the box, he was speaking before he could stop himself: "are you late?" right there in the middle of the kitchen. you bet he was mentally facepalming himself after that.

pretty mum, of course, looked surprised, and probably like she was going to burst into tears, which made Chris' heart ache.

she explained that she had to deal with a broken condom situation, that she'd taken the morning after pill, but that she wasn't sure if it had worked, either because she might've been ovulating or because of her weight.

she was, in fact, late, and with every day that passed she was getting more and more stressed. the regularity of her periods fluctuated often, but it had never taken her this long to get her period. so she got the test.

Chris encouraged her to take it, because he could almost feel how this whole thing was affecting her. he figured he would've been able to pick up any shift in her scent if she were pregnant, but with how it'd been tinted with stress these days it was hard to tell, so he genuinely felt like he was in the dark.

while they waited for the results, he joked that "if it's positive, i'll help you raise them, you know??" but when he said it, he knew he meant it. she chuckled and swatted his arm before she sighed and told him that "even then, i don't want it to be... i can't have a child right now... much less if it some guy's..." which Chris could totally respect and understand. he decided to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that was telling him that she'd be a great mother. he didn't need to tell her that right now, and she surely didn't want to hear ir.

when the results came back negative, pretty just hugged Chris and started crying out of relief. he just tried his best to provide her with some comfort, treated her to her favourite meal and everything.

Minho:

so... when kitten explained to him what had happened he was absolutely livid. it was very obvious, too. but he was trying his absolute best to not make her any more stressed than she already was.

the story went like this: kitten had gone out to a party with her then boyfriend, had a bit too much to drink (more like, a whole lot...) and woke up the next day naked in her bf's bed, sore, just like when you are after having sex, y'know?

when she asked her bf about whether or not they had used protection, he said something along the lines of "it's okay, i pulled out". she tried to convince herself that that was a very normal answer, and that it was okay. obviously, it wasn't.

she was now late and telling Minho this story, sobbing, and he was seeing red, muttering under his breath "i'm gonna fucking kill him". kitten just asked him to not do anything, that right now she just needed his help because she was too scared to do the test on her own, and she honestly didn't trust her boyfriend enough anymore.

so Minho tried his best to put aside his need to beat this man up, and went to get that pregnancy test. the pharmacist was an old lady that made an unsolicited comment on how "you two would make such lovely children" while kitten was paying for her things, which just made her smile nervously at the woman and Minho stare blankly at her.

anyway, fast forward to them both in Minho's flat, looking at the negative pregnancy test and sighing in relief. Minho told her that "you know, Jisung would've taken care of them if this had been positive" to which kitten just replied "AS THE NURSE DURING MY ABORTION, RIGHT???" which had them both bursting out laughing.

afterwards, though, Minho couldn't keep his mouth shut and told her what he thought of her boyfriend. and that the fact that she hadn't even wanted to do this with him was sign enough that something wasn't working out.

she agreed, of course. and that was another one of her relationships down the drain.

Changbin:

we know Changbin and Autumn started getting close after she moved in. so close that one day, right after Changbin had come home, she came into the kitchen like "i still haven't gotten my period. i need to take a pregnancy test. this is eating me alive" and Changbin could definitely tell it was. she'd been laying in her nest every day, for the entire time she'd been home--unless she was eating or going to the bathroom. he could smell it on her scent, too. the distress, that was.

so he was like "okay, then. come here" and he just took her to his room, where he took a pregnancy test out from the back of his closer and handed it to her. Changbin realised just how weird that might've looked, so he just threw her a "look at the expiry date, though. that has been buried in there for a long time".

they both sat on Changbin's bed while they waited for the results, because, in her words, "i can't be waiting inside this bathroom, this is too stressful".

they just sat there for a bit, quiet, until Changbin dropped the "do you wanna be a mum?"

to which Autumn, after a bit of silence, replied "i do.... eventually... but i don't wanna have Hyunwoo's pups. that'd just be another thing he'd try to use to control me, and i just can't have that. i can't go back to that", which Changbin could understand completely.

he didn't really say anything else, just held her hand--probably the first time he had initiated physical contact after she had settled in his flat. for a brief moment, he did entertain the possibility of that test being positive. he imagined how his flat would look like full of toys and baby clothes... and, although he didn't say anything, the thought was... nice. he only wished it wouldn't have been connected to the whole Hyunwoo situation.

the negative pregnancy test had Autumn shouting the loudest "THANK GOD..." and asking Changbin "DO YOU HAVE ANY MORE?? I NEED TO MAKE SURE THIS IS A TRUE NEGATIVE". he did, in fact, have a couple more. which she took, and also came back negative.

Changbin could immediately tell her mood had lifted considerably, and that night, they just cooked a delicious meal together to celebrate.

[ichig00]

Back To Black

Ethan Winters X Reader

A/N: Now that I'm done with my first Au, I would like to open up to some requests now with this Ethan Winters mini series! So please, if you like the works I post and would like to request, feel free to do it.

This story would also most likely include the reader who is in a situationship with Leon. I named this after one of my favourite songs called "Back to Black" by Amy Winehouse. I couldn't stop imagining myself slow dancing and laughing with Ethan, which is just soooo romantic. I feel like Ethan is a shy type of guy that his shyness would wash away after a few glasses of wine. So I decided to make this and put some twist on it. I also ship some specific characters whose prob canon, if you dont like the ship- welp, jump out of it.

Included characters: Ethan Winter (Mia Winters), Rosemary Winters, Leon Kennedy, Claire & Chris Redfield, Carlos Oliveira, Jill Valentine, Rebecca Chambers and Steve Burnside.

Warnings: home wrecker (kinda), physical touch, jealousy, and some teasing.

Next

It's been hell of a whole year that had been passed, and you are now on your way to welcoming another whole year, which you wish would be a lot better than the other one.

You're on your way to a cabin that you and your friends have rented to celebrate the upcoming New years.

Finally, at some point in your life this year, you had a time to take a break and relax for sometimes with your friends who had been mostly on your whole life.

Being part of BSAA, especially being THE captain of one of the special forces that could put up to the strength of Chris Redfield's group, is one of the heaviest work you've been on. The pressure of being the captain of a special group and pressure of carefully trying to not lose them in every mission you've been through is being a huge worried on your life that you end up having anxiety attacks when you're alone.

Well, at least you had someone who could rest your head in with his shoulder.

Leon S. Kennedy, the MORE than friends for you but LESS than lovers, too. You couldn't really point out your relationship with him, but you sure now that there is something between you and him. With every touch, every look and every word you exchange between each other has a deep meaning to it. It's fragile and yet blurry at the same time. It's like it's near, but you couldn't get a hold of it.

Afraid of commitment? Maybe, afraid of love? Never cross your mind. You know and would never deny it that you love every single bit of Leon and every moment you spend with him.

From the day you met during the Racoon City out break, from doing missions together as a federal agent under government's hold and up until now. Even if you left being an agent and got promoted as a Captain in BSAA.

BSAA saw your potential. They saw Leon's too, but the government couldn't lose leon out of their touch. The president was very fond of you two, but he has to pick one between one of his best and favourite agents. He couldn't lose both.

You pull up in the driveway of a huge cabin in the middle of the woods, but there is also a frozen lake at the side of it. Not far away, and you could literally see the reflection of the sunset through the frozen cold waters of the lake as snows fall down from the sky.

You couldn't help but sigh and admire the view after parking your car next to Carlo's car, which you easily recognize by the brand of it.

Your gaze shifted to the main door of the cabin where you saw something move there from your peripheral vision. You're lighted like a moon in a deep dark sky as you saw little Rose who just turned 4 years old months ago.

You chuckled as Ethan followed her around as Rose recognized your car and immediately got excited after knowing you arrived. You hoped off of your car immediately as you open your arms while Rose stumbles on her way to you. Good thing she was near for you to catch her.

"Rose!" You happily exclaimed in excitement as you lift her up and twirl yourself with her, making you both let out a giggle.

You swear this kid has a great memory, especially when it comes to you. She immediately remembered you even though it was just your car but couldn't even remember Who's Chris and Carlos. Maybe because of their similar body built and skin colour which you all laugh about as you find it cute.

More than 3 years had passed since what happened at Romania, Ethan and Rose were saved, and as for Mia. She was found dead after a year from the kidnapping incident that happened. According to Chris, Mia left Europe without telling Ethan, you or Chris. For the third time, it was from her work, and now it killed her.

There was conflict between Chris and Ethan after the kidnapping, since the way Chris is doing things is inappropriate for Ethan to approve.

"You could've warned me!" Ethan insists for many times now, resulting for you to be assigned to handle Ethan now that he is considered as a 'bioweapon'.

He was under monitor for a year and a half, and they ran experiments on him. He has no choice but to agree because if he couldn't, BSAA might not even give him a chance to see his daughter again. Though they let him be for now as long as nothing goes bad to him, they left you to monitor them.

As for Rosemary, BSAA decided not to do anything with her YET. You insisted it, you could never allow them to use or hurt her. BSAA now how much power you hold, that's why they obey you with your words and reason why they hire you here.

You glad you accepted working for them because they were the reason for you to meet Rose.

"How's my favourite baby?" You cood as lightly pinch her puffy and red cheeks. She giggled again, and your words and voice tickled her.

She knows understand things and learn more and more as each day goes by. You watched her grow up after you found out that Mia Winters is found dead. It was hard for Ethan. It was very hard for him.

You were checking on him everytime specially when he lost his wife. You take care of Rosemary too when Ethan undergoes through experiments or training.

Now, he was undergoing more military training for two years to enter as a BSAA member.

You didn't question that BSAA is now using a bioweapon to kill some bioweapons because you know to yourself that it will happen in the future. You and Chris had a topic about it before.

"M-mommy!" Rose babble out of her mouth, making you stare at her in awe. Of course, during the times you were with them almost every day, you couldn't help but treat Rose as your own child, too.

"Not mommy Rose, just Y/N." You said to her and touched the tip of her small nose as she played with your finger.

"She's still calling you that?" Ethan said, walking past the two of you to get your luggage out of your car.

"Well, I must be a cool mom." You said proudly to him as you continue to play with Rose, who is still in your arms.

You heard Ethan said something, but you couldn't hear it.

"Y/N!" You have a very familiar voice at the distance. You look over to the porch of the cabin and see your best friend Claire leaning on the ballisters while waving happily at you.

You felt excitement in your heart the more people you see in here. It's been a while since you saw Claire. The last time you saw her was when you visited Chris' home, and at the same time, she was also there just dropping off some things for Chris. That was 4 years ago.

"Long time no see, Y/n!" You smiled at the person who stood beside Claire.

"Still alive, Steve?" You said smiling widely as happily Rose waved back to them when they saw them waving at you, making you all giggle at his cuteness.

"What a reunion." You heard Carlos say, coming out of the garage from the side of the cabin. A cup on his hands as he nods at you with a smile.

"Yup." Ethan said as he stood next to you, agreeing at what Carlos had said. You smiled at him as you locked your car while still holding Rose at your side.

You tried to drop her down earlier, but she keeps crawling to you and whining about now wanting to get away from you.

"Alright, Rose, stay with y/n as long as you want." Ethan said, chuckling and shaking his heas before following you as you walk towards the cabin.

You look back at him smiling.

The sky is already dark, lighted up by the bright moon with the stars. The music that's been playing eversince earlier surrounds the living room as you and your friends dance and drink together.

Carlos and Jill are happily dancing together at the wide space in the living room. Carlos took a lot of convincing just to ask Jill to dance, but glady they're having fun now.

Carlos likes Jill a lot, but never know if Jill really likes him back. You and Claire ask her before but never get a straight answer.

"Nice of you to show up." You heard Chris said, making you turn your head to hi. Who's sitting at a stool at the mini bar here in the living room, beside him is Ethan, who looks tipsy by the red on his face.

You know you couldn't have him tipsy since he had his daughter here who will need him sooner or later.

You'll just have to find a way to sober him up later.

It was Leon! He has bits of snow in his leather jacket and his hair, too. He looks awfully tired, though.

You walked up to them and brushed off the snow out of his leather jacket. He immediately tensed up and turned to you. He relaxed when he saw it's just you, smiling at you.

"I'm glad you made it here safely." You said to him as you crossed your arms above your chest while smiling at him too.

"Same here to you." He replied, knocking off the snows out of his hair and looking up to you after with a small but tired smile.

"Looks like the president keeps you up too long." Chris said, breaking the eye contact between you and Leon. You both look at Chris, but you end up looking at Ethan, who you can feel staring at you.

He immediately looks away after you catch him staring, his already flushed face turning more into dark red.

"Ethan? Are you okay?" Rebecca asked while getting drinks from the other side of the counter at the mini bar. She also noticed the reaction Ethan did after looking at you.

You tilted your head a little, watching every move Ethan makes. Somethings seems so off with him.

"Y-Yeah." He answers Rebecca's question and waves his hand off.

"Too drunk already?" Leon said to Ethan in a teasing way. Ethan shook his head and took a sip on the glass in his hand. You watched him drink as he made a sour expression after chugging the alcohol.

"Please, Leon, don't be an ass." Claire butted in walking near you and putting an arm above your shoulders. He was followed by Steve at the stool next to Ethan

"I'm not." Leon glared at Claire, but she laughed it off. "He wasn't being an ass. He always was." Chris said and took a sip on his glass and gave Leon a glass that Rebecca poured in.

"Seems like Carlos and Jill are having fun over there." Steve said, watching the two who's obviously having fun dancing together. Carlos doesn't seem to not want to let go of Jill, and Jill seems to have fun. You haven't seen her laugh in ages.

"You wanna dance?" Claire asked Steve, Steve smirked without saying anything and stood up before pulling Claire towards the space where Jill and Carlos were having fun.

"Wow.. fun." You mumble to yourself as you took another sip to your glass, not expecting anyone to hear it and walking up near Rebecca. You ask her for another, which she gladly gives.

"I'm glad you guys had time for a vacation." You said to Rebecca as she pours into your glass. She smiled sweetly and nodded.

"Yup, what a hassle year for us." She agreed, making you smile back at her.

"Wanna have fun too?" You heard Ethan ask beside you, you look at him. He was smiling drunkly at you.

"Ethan, have this before having 'fun'?" Rebecca handed him a bottle of water. He thanked her and accepted it before drinking it.

"Come on!" Ethan said excitedly after he finished the bottle and pulled you towards where the others danced.

The music that is playing is now Back To Black by Amy Winehouse. The meaning of the song doesn't match the atmosphere of the surroundings, but no one actually cares about it, and their mind is set to having fun with each other.

[catsafarithewriter]

o’er-fraught heart

A/N: Okay, so confession time: I’ve never read any hanahaki fics (just not my type of thing for reasons) but @tcrmommabear threw an idea at me, and I couldn’t resist running with it. I’m taking this in a sideways direction, so the flowers bloom with any suppressed emotion, not just unconfessed love. 

(Also this hit 3k words?? heads up in advance, I guess. Also: don’t worry, this has a happy ending!) 

x

Baron can’t remember the last time his lungs weren’t wood. 

It doesn’t really matter, not really; after all wood is what he was originally carved from, and it is better that the flowers should bloom within a lifeless chest, than one made lifeless by their blossoming. The flowers will not kill him, and so they have almost become like old friends; a constant through the years, even as everything else changes. 

The first petals to drop from his lips were white; tiny pale buds native to oak that caught on his tongue while he searched for his missing soulmate. The last time he’d seen blooms like that, they’d been carved into the brim of Louise’s hat, a tidy nod to the tree she’d originally been created from. They are laced with unspoken sorrow, salty with unshed tears. 

He lets them drop and shifts his chest to wood. 

Dwelling on such things will change nothing.  

The sorrow subsides in time. The flowers still grow, but softer, slower. He learns to compensate for his perpetually lifeless lungs, pacing the drain of magic until he can function without tempting the worried glances of his companions. Then a day goes by without a petal passing his lips. A week. 

A month. 

He should be relieved. Instead, the guilt gathers in redundant lungs at the realisation that he is forgetting her – no, more than that, he is moving on from her. His mind has become preoccupied by new challenges: by the Sanctuary world he has discovered, by the Cat Bureau he has established, by the managing of his two companions -  a crow Creation and a cat, forever bickering - and that somewhere amongst the mundane he has become comfortable in this Louise-less life. 

The flowers that blossom from his guilt are black rose petals. His lifeless lungs do not feel their thorns, but in his dreams he does. 

“You can always talk, you know,” the crow Creation offers one evening, once a case has been solved and the day is done. Toto shuffles along the inner balcony, his feathers as inky black as the petals Baron strives to hide. “If you need to.”

Baron continues to tidy up his desk. He sweeps away a tiny white petal caught beneath a file. If he speaks of his grief, the flowers will disappear entirely, and he will lose the last connection he has to his lost soulmate. “Thank you, Toto. But I’m fine.”

His friend watches him for a long moment. 

He does not ask again. 

In time, even the rose petals falter, but their roots remain woven through him. He sometimes wonders how far they will spread; if he will one day find roots in place of veins along his arms, if there will come a day he is more grieving, guilty blossoms than Creation. 

Life continues. 

A schoolgirl turns up on the Sanctuary doorstep with a Cat Kingdom on her heels and lilac petals on her lips. The Bureau helps - how could they not? - and when the time comes for them to go their separate ways, both dilemmas are dealt with. The girl stands atop her school roof and finds the courage to confess a burgeoning crush that sweeps the flowers free. 

Life continues. 

He tucks the fallen oak blossoms between the pages of favourite books, but favourite books change over time and he encounters fewer and fewer surprise petals as the years pass. The black rose blossoms find their fate swept into hidden corners, where neither Baron has to consider them, nor his friends fret over. 

And then the schoolgirl returns. 

Years have passed, for she stands taller now - both literally and figuratively - and when she smiles it is difficult to imagine that blossoms ever spilled from her mouth. She comes to them with a problem she hopes the Bureau can fix. “If you meant what you said before,” she adds, “that your doors would be open, be it day or night.”

“I never say anything I do not mean,” Baron assures, and it is true; he simply does not say everything he means, and therein lies a world of petal-speckled difference. They solve her dilemma - a haunting in a museum - and when it comes for her to walk away again, she lingers. 

“It’s all been rather exciting,” she confesses, “and I must admit I wouldn’t mind helping with any other cases you need a human around for. It’s proven to be kinda difficult to unsee all the magic, once you’ve set foot in it the once.”

There’s never been a human in the Cat Bureau, but the case had been all the easier for having one accompany them. And Haru has seen most of what their adventures have to offer - the planning, the running, the hasty re-planning after the first one have gone astray - and she’s still interested, so he really can’t claim she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into. He promises they will call on her, should they need human aid. 

The Sanctuary seems happy with the human’s addition; the next time Haru enters the little Creation world, she shrinks down to a more convenient height and is able to make herself at home on the sofa, instead of perched on the chest. She comes and goes, tentatively at first, but then more frequently as she finds her place among the Bureau and its inhabitants. She cooks with Muta, plays chess (and loses) with Toto, borrows books from Baron and discusses her thoughts over cups of tea. 

A petal - dead and dried - is settled gently on his desk. He looks up from the violin he is tuning. 

“I found this in the book you lent me,” she says by way of explanation. She stands awkwardly across the desk from him, but there is a stubborn twist on her lips he has come to heed. “Baron, are you... Are you okay?”

He smiles - because what else can he do? - and gathers up the pressed oak blossom. It is smaller than he remembers, shrunk from its time between pages, It seems almost impossibly delicate. “Of course I am, Haru. What would make you ask otherwise?”

Her lips twist further. She has no way to be sure it is a hanahaki flower, and not just a regular blossom pressed for his own uses, but he can see in her eyes she will be watching from now on. She leans against the desk. “Just... tell me if that changes, okay? If you need someone to talk to, I... Just remember you’re not alone, alright?” Her hand curls around his, an intimacy only previously shared in the heat of adventure, in catching of hands to drag out of danger or steady. “You have friends.”

Having a human in the Bureau is easier, until it isn’t.  

He spits out a petal the following day. It’s pink. 

A cherry blossom. 

A fluke. A mistake. Spring is heavy in the air; he’d probably half-swallowed it and was only now coughing it back up. Improbable, but more comfortable to believe than the alternative - until a second petal catches on his teeth, the same pastel-pink as before. 

The new blossoms are sporadic at first; coughed up at sudden, seemingly unpredictable moments. Listening to Haru singing nonsense lyrics to classical music while baking with Muta. Watching her laugh, with head thrown back. Readying himself to catch her as another case goes horrendously south, and her trusting him every single time. 

Haru. Haru. Haru. 

She sits curled up beside him on the sofa, book in hand and head leant against his shoulder. The casual intimacy is reassuring and intoxicating all at once, a dizzying mix that leaves his brain gently fizzling and his eyes re-reading the same paragraph for the sixth time in a row. He is sure he feels another cherry blossom bloom in his lifeless chest. 

He is so intent on hiding his inattention, he has no idea Haru hasn’t turned a page of her own book until she lowers it. She doesn’t twist to meet his gaze, but he feels her breath shift. He wants to bottle up this moment, before it can be lost to the pain of reality. 

“Did you know I used to suffer from hanahaki a lot when I was younger?”

He shifts his gaze to try and catch hers, but she is stubbornly looking away. “It’s not uncommon in teenagers,” he says, recalling the state she had first come to them in. “It’s a turbulent time, so I understand.”

Haru laughs, short and sharp. “I had it bad, even for a teenager. I hid it so my mother wouldn’t worry, but my best friend found the petals and went ballistic. She tried to convince me to admit my feelings - it didn’t even have to be to the guy I liked, it could be anyone, just so long as I actually said the words - but I never did.”

His breath hitches, even in absence of working lungs. To the likes of him, the blossoms are a nuisance, something inconvenience but worked-around, but to humans the flowers will take root in veins and arteries, weaving their way through the body until their carrier collapsed. “What happened?”

She meets his gaze now. Her cheeks redden. “You did.” She looks away, but the blush only slightly lessens. “Sure, it was partly because you raised the bar and I lost interest in a guy who barely knew I existed, but it was mostly because I found the courage to speak up for myself. You did that. You and the Bureau.”

“I think you were a big component in finding that courage yourself,” Baron reminds her. 

She laughs, gentler this time. “I suppose I was. But - more to the point - I know what it’s like. I know the... strange comfort that comes from the flowers.”

“I don’t follow.”

She doesn’t look like she believes it. “If I never confessed my feelings for the guy, if I held all my emotions in, then I could never be rejected. I would always hold the potential of our relationship in the blossoms instead. It was... safe, in its own way. Except for the whole... flowers growing inside me bit. That was less safe.”

“Creations don’t suffer from that malady,” Baron says, before he can stop himself. “We can use our magic to keep the flowers from causing any harm.” 

“You mean close off parts of yourself.” She’s watching him now, and does not miss the surprise that lines his face. She taps his chest. It makes a hollow sound. “How long have you been keeping the blossoms at bay, Baron?”

As long as they bloom. He’ll take the pain, so long as he does not forget. 

“It’s been a lifetime,” he says. “Why stop now?”

He does not put a name to the cherry blossoms, although their springtime petals leave little doubt as to their cause. They will fade in time, he is sure, just as all the other blooms have; in his long life, nothing is permanent. And yet, the more time Haru spends with them, the greater his internal garden grows. The blossoms take root in his heart, and he turns that to wood also. 

“You should tell her,” Muta remarks one morning. He sits with his newspaper before him, not even deigning to meet Baron’s gaze. He kicks a pink flower out from beneath his chair. “Before things get worse.”

Things must be plenty worse, if even Muta has taken to trying to offer advice, Baron suspects, but he only sweeps the blossom away. “I have everything under control, Muta.”

“Yeah?” The newspaper lowers. “You’ve got something just...” Muta gestures his collarbone. 

Baron picks another cherry blossom from his jacket. Strange. He doesn’t even remember coughing that one up. “A few flowers here and there won’t kill me.”

Muta grunts and flicks the paper back up. “Tell someone, Baron. It don’t have to be her, or me. Tell the birdbrain, even. Just get some things off your chest before it starts to take root there.”

Too late, Baron thinks.

Haru Yoshioka is many things - kind, resourceful, stubborn - and straightforward, most of all. Whatever strength she found with them in the Cat Kingdom, she carries it with her still, speaking her mind as she sees fit. He’s never seen a single hanahaki petal fall from her lips since her reunion. 

But he - his chest is full of flowers, in unequal parts for his soulmate and for the human woman who has stumbled into his life. How can he chase after one happiness, when Louise’s blossoms still bloom within? 

And he will not burden Haru with knowledge of what his heart is doing to him. Or worse still, she might suggest the sensible option - that her absence might keep the flowers at bay. 

He will suffer a few blossoms, if she can only stay a little longer.    

He doesn’t shed so many oak flowers or black rose petals anymore. They still linger, dormant in corners of his lungs, but they are overrun by the cherry blossoms. 

He is grateful for his fur. It hides the stems which run along his shoulders, the roots which burrow along his arms. Slivers of wood scar his form, keeping the sakura from growing into flesh and blood. He does not know how deep the blossoms will grow; any mortal would have collapsed by now. 

He sees his friends sparing him worried looks, and he offers them reassuring smiles with a half-wooden smile. 

Spring comes around again, and Haru joins him on the balcony one balmy afternoon. He gives her a hand up, and the contact is comfortable. Easy. 

“We really should put in a ladder one of these days,” he says. 

“Yes, but then I wouldn’t get to be lifted up by you,” she replies with that teasing affection that blooms fresh blossoms in his heart. She swings out of his hold to take a seat at the outer balcony edge, her feet hanging over the side and her shoulder leaning against the railing. 

He joins her, shoulder to shoulder. 

She leans closer still, and for one wild moment, he thinks she’s leaning in for a kiss, but then she plucks something from his jawline. 

A cherry blossom. 

“They’re growing on the outside now, did you know?” she asks softly. “I’ve never seen it get this bad before.”

“Creations are hardier than your average mortal.”

She doesn’t answer immediately, only cups his face with her hands and picks another flower, this time growing from behind his ear. He doesn’t even feel it. She cradles the blossom in her hands, gently stroking at the pink petals. “You must miss her very much,” she says eventually. 

“Who?”

She looks hurt then, and Baron can’t understand why. Does she think he’s deliberately misunderstanding her question. “Your soulmate. Louise.” A breeze rocks the flower. “Toto told me about her.”

Of course he did. 

“If you wanted,” she continues, softer still, “if it would make things... easier, I can always leave.” 

He almost believes he can feel his inanimate heart lurch inside him. “Why would I want that?” 

“I’m aware that things between us could get complicated.” Her gaze flickers to him, to his half-wooden lips, and away. “That maybe we are both wanting things that can never come to pass, and I... Look, I’ve done that pining from afar thing before, and it got me nowhere. Well, to be exact, it got me a chestful of lilacs, and I’m not interested in repeating the past.” Her smile is sad. “If we keep this up, something is going to break, and I fear it’s going to be you.”

She shifts, as if to move to her feet, but Baron curls a wooden hand around her wrist. She hesitates. 

“I only knew her for a little while before we were separated,” he says, and he feels the roots loosen. “She was my soulmate in the literal sense; we were created by the same artisan, so our souls came from the same source. We were meant to be together, always.”

“But she was lost.”

“I looked for her,” he promises, although he is not sure who he is promising - Haru, himself, or his absent Louise. “I looked - for years. She can’t be gone - I would know, but...”

Haru’s weight shifts, and she leans against him once more. “But eventually you had to move on.”

“I never meant to. It simply... happened.”

“We can’t be sad forever, Baron.” She gently drops the cherry blossom into his palm. “However hard we try. However much we may think we deserve it, or we want to keep it.” 

“The awful thing is, I’m not sure I was ever in love with her.” He cups the blossom. It’s already beginning to wilt. “I wanted to be - no,” he amends, “I felt I should be, but we barely had a chance to get to know one another before I lost her. I miss her, but I also miss the future we might have had, we should have had.”

He feels the roots loosen.

“Is that why you feel the guilt?”

He meets her eyes, and her face takes on a sheepish air. “I asked Toto about the black rose petals. He worked out what was going on with you a long time ago, but every time he tried to talk, you rebuffeted his attempts.”

“I suppose I wasn’t quite so subtle at hiding it as I’d hoped.”

“Don’t quit your day job to play poker, that’s all I’m saying.” She nudges her shoulder against his, a light attempt at joviality. “He’s known you for a long time, Baron. Of course he knew something was up. He said he hoped you would eventually realise that what happened to Louise wasn’t your fault, and neither was you moving on.”

“Some things are easy to say, harder to believe.”

“I know. That’s why we have friends to say them for us.” 

He exhales. “The oak blossoms were the last connection I had to Louise, and then when that began to fade, the roses felt like a fitting punishment for my lapse. If I let either one of them go, I was somehow failing her.”

"She wouldn’t have thought that.”

“You are right about many things, Haru, but that is beyond your knowledge.” 

“I know you,” she counters, “and I cannot believe anyone created from the same soul as you would wish another person to suffer in their absence.” She drops her head against his shoulder, eyes closed. “Did you realise you’re breathing again?”

He falters. The weight from his lungs has gone, and the wood has receded with the threat. The air is sweet, tinged with springtime warmth, the scent of freshly-cut grass and tentative new growth. He hadn’t realised Louise’s flowers had grown so thickly within, even while the cherry blossoms still dominated the rest of him. 

“It’s been a long time,” he exhales. 

The emotions still linger, he doesn’t think they will ever truly leave, but they are lighter on his tongue than they ever were in his lungs. Haru tentatively nudges a finger against Baron’s hand. He curls his hand around hers. 

“I love you, Baron,” she whispers. “You don’t have to say it back, but please, tell someone. Tell someone before the person I love becomes a sakura tree, please.”

Blessed with breath once more, he feels the way his chest constricts at the soft plea. He had forgotten the way emotions could take root in unexpected places. He brings his hand to Haru’s cheek, letting the cherry blossom drop, and leans his brow to Haru’s. Neither move. Breath catches in his throat. 

He presses his lips to hers, and she responds in kind. 

In his heart, the flowers fade, and something else blossoms in its place. 

When they break away, Haru’s eyes are bright and full of stars, and they roam across his face. She runs a hand along his cheek, fingers brushing over his living lips. “I suppose that works as well as any confession,” she whispers. 

Baron can’t remember when his lungs first turned to wood, but he knew he’d remember their renewal for the rest of his long life.   

[englishstrawbie]

hi! how are you?

i recently saw your lyric prompt challenge and i like your writing, so i thought i’d send one :)

i really like the song Quiet by Camila Cabello and maybe it could make a nice marina fanfiction. to be honest i love the lyrics to the entire song haha but i’m gonna send you the chorus because it sort of reminds me of the maya/carina dynamic.

But now your hands are touchin' my waist

In the back of the car, you just couldn't wait

And now my hands are movin' in ways

Like I need you right now, I just couldn't wait

And my, my mind's made so much noise for so long and it's gone

'Cause when you kiss me, it's quiet

Oh, it's quiet

im sorry if this message was longer than necessary 😅 byee

There is really no need to apologise! Thank you for sending this one, I love the lyrics and I know what you mean, these lyrics feel very them. It also gave me the chance to write a little bit about what their reconciliation might look like. I hope you enjoy it! 😊

A link to the song

>>>>>>>>>>

It had been Maya’s idea for a date night. Something fun and different – plus, they are showing Dirty Dancing. Maya doesn’t tell many people, but it is her favourite movie, something that Carina finds both surprising and amusing.

They are still getting used to being in each other’s company again after three months apart; still healing from the traumas they have both been through. Maya continues to see Diane on a weekly basis, back at work now and settled into her role as lieutenant. Carina is still staying at the Archfield and sees her own therapist once-a-week to figure out her own thoughts and feelings.

They both still wear their wedding rings, both still committed to the idea that they can find their way back to being happily married again, but it is going to take time. So they start with dates – breakfast at Carina’s favourite coffee shop on Jeremy Street in between the end of Maya’s shift and the start of Carina’s; lunch at Enzo’s, where Carina shares stories from her childhood in Italy; dinner at The Everest, where they reminisce about their first proper date.

It is becoming easier, there are less awkward silences and fewer lulls in their conversation. There is a little teasing and flirting sometimes, but Maya doesn’t push it any further than that and Carina needs more time before she will let those walls come down. The most intimacy they have shared is a soft kiss on the cheek before they say goodbye, sometimes lingering, taking in the scent of each other’s perfume that fills their senses with memories.

Carina drives, the large trunk of her Porsche providing the perfect spot to curl up and watch the movie. She has filled it with blankets and cushions to make it comfortable, even gone so far as to put up twinkle lights to soften the mood.

Maya is responsible for the snacks and she brings an ice box full of sodas and sparkling water, popcorn and candy – plus a selection of desserts from Little Roma, the same they enjoyed the first night they met. Too much for just the two of them, but she still gets butterflies in her stomach whenever she knows she will in Carina’s company.

“Are you comfortable?” Carina asks, plumping a cushion a little before resting her back against it.

Maya’s breath hitches in her throat as a waft of Carina’s shampoo fills her nostrils. She had bought her own bottle the day after Carina had visited the apartment for more of her belongings, the smell still one of Maya’s favourite things.

“Yeah,” she says eventually, trying to ignore the way Carina’s legs are resting against hers under the thick blanket as they stretch out in the back of her SUV.

In hindsight, maybe she shouldn’t have suggested spending the evening cosied up in such a small space. It is a little bit of torture, being so close but not being able to touch her – not in the way she would like.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to see Dirty Dancing again,” Carina laughs as the opening titles start to play and The Ronettes start to sing, the sound coming from her car stereo behind them. “How many times have you seen this movie?”

“Not enough,” Maya says with a grin, throwing a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “It’s a classic!”

“You know, I’m not sure inviting me on a date where I have to watch you swoon over Patrick Swayze is as romantic as you think it is,” Carina teases lightly.

Maya blushes. Romance – is that what she’s trying to achieve with this?

“Yeah, but it made you smile.”

Their eyes lock for a moment before Carina looks away and helps herself to a cannolo. She bites into it, the pastry cracking and leaving a smear of lemon cream on her lips. Maya watches as she licks it away with her tongue, sinking her teeth into her own bottom lip to stop herself from expressing her frustration out loud.

They fall into silence as the movie plays, watching as the story unfolds. Carina giggles like she always does at the ‘I carried a watermelon’ moment (“it’s so corny!” she always says), and watches Maya during the dancing scene.

Maya’s cheeks burn, knowing that Carina is watching her.

“Stop looking at me,” she says with a playful shove of Carina’s ribs.

Carina laughs. “I can’t help it. You always look so…” She pauses as she looks for the right word. “…smitten whenever he moves his hips. You never look as enamoured at anyone else.”

“Only when I’m looking at you.”

The words tumble out of her mouth before she realises what she is saying and Maya scrunches her face.

“Sorry, that was…”

“What?” Carina asks.

The soft tone to her voice takes Maya by surprise and she looks at her cautiously.

“Too much?”

She sees Carina shake her head. “No, bella, not too much.”

She doesn’t know who makes the first move, but before she knows it their lips are crashing against each other, the bag of popcorn falling to one side and making a mess as their hands slip under the blanket to find each other. Carina’s fingers find a gap underneath her sweater and grasp at her skin, the physical contact after so long making Maya’s body scream with delight.

The movie is forgotten, the noise around them fading as all Maya knows is Carina’s lips against hers and Carina’s hands on her body. In that moment, it is like all of the pain and anger and fear and loneliness of the last few months is gone in a flash, and all that is left is love.

Carina tastes of sugar and lemon and cola, and Maya feels her head start to spin. And then Carina’s lips are on her neck, sucking and nipping at her earlobe, and a moan escapes from Maya’s mouth.

“God, I’ve missed you,” she murmurs.

“I’ve missed you too, bella, so much,” Carina whispers in her ear, before guiding Maya’s lips back towards her own.

Suddenly, they sense a light on them as a flashlight shines into the back of the car. A security guard looks at them sternly and they break apart, waving their apology at being caught breaking the rules. Maya falls back against the cushion, breathless, as Carina drops her head onto her shoulder, slipping her hand into Maya’s and holding it close to her hips.

“That was…”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence as they become reacquainted with the movie, neither knowing what else to say. Carina starts to laugh first, Maya joining in quickly. It feels good, like they have found a piece of them again. A piece that is easy and fun and free from hurt.

“I guess Patrick Swayze wasn’t a bad choice for a date movie after all,” Carina muses.

“Oh yeah? Well, maybe we should do this again.”

Carina lifts her head from Maya’s shoulder, her eyebrow cocked curiously. Maya grins at her.

“They’re showing Ghost next weekend.”

[reikurusu]

Ask Meme

I got tagged by the lovely @jalapenobee!! Thank you!! <3

Do you make your bed?

I neatly fold the cover open during the day so it can air out a bit? xD But when I go to bed, I always pull the mattress cover (whatever that's called in English) neatly because it often crumples up. But I don't daily make my bed, no.

What's your favorite number?

Not really.

What is your job?

I've worked at a local library for a little over a year now! It's really fun to do! I have to take care of the adult non-fiction section, which is more fun than I would've thought, as well as admin and helping people during opening hours. Right now, a colleague has been absent for 6+ months, so I've been taking on her section as well, which is youth (fiction and non-fiction) and comics. So quite a lot at the moment. But it's a really fun job!!

If you could go back to school, would you?

I'm not sure... I didn't hate going to school and it was actually a lot less stressful than adult life. I think I'd mainly go back to be my younger self again and maybe do things differently?

Or are we talking about going back to school at this age? If school was the only thing I'd have to focus on, and money and all didn't matter, I think so, yeah! Probably something creative or art history or something.

Can you parallel park?

I can.... But it's either perfect on the first try or I have to retry like 5 times. And if there's a car waiting while I'm failing... Yeah, we're going around the block again and try again afterwards.

A job you had that would surprise people?

I think my previous job. I worked in retail as a Saturday job during college. After graduation, I worked at a company for two years but I quit because it wasn't my thing and was lucky that the store I used to work at was looking for someone. I really liked working there and there was a lot of varied work (admin, window dressing, helping clients,...). But I feel like people at my current job (library) are surprised when I tell them I worked retail? I don't get it, though.

Do you think aliens are real?

Hmmmm... I don't think aliens like the stereotypical aliens exist, but there's no way the universe is this gigantic and Earth is the only place with life.

Can you drive a manual car?

It's the only kind I know how to drive. I've never driven an automatic car. I actually love shifting gears. It gives me something to do while driving, if that makes sense xD

What's your guilty pleasure?

Uhm... I don't think I have one? At least not something that no one else does? Nothing special comes to mind atm...

Tattoos?

None. I just have no idea what I'd want to have permanently on my body. So I doubt I'll ever get one.

Favorite Color?

Blue! All kinds of blue! But I really like a minty-blue, like this.

But lately, I've come to love yellow as well. I'm not sure why, but it's been making me happy for some reason.

Favorite type of music?

In general I either like a song or I don't like it. And because of this, my taste in music can vary a lot. I can like certain songs by a certain artist, yet despise the rest of their music.

As for favourite artists, I love Taylor Swift, The Script and Niall Horan. I think those are my top three artists (she says without any actual proof of it).

Do you like puzzles?

Like, riddles or jigsaws? If it's jigsaws, I haven't made one in years! I'd love to, with some music or tv show in the background, but I don't have the time for it. If it's riddles, yeah, I love riddles! Doesn't mean I'm good at them but I played my fair share of Professor Layton growing up!

Any phobias?

None that I know of. Like, I'm not a fan of creepy bugs and heights and blood and all those typical things, but I wouldn't call them phobias. Like, I'm not a fan of spiders, but I'd never kill one and just put it in a jar and take it outside. So nothing I'm insanely scared of.

Favorite childhood sport?

I don't think I had a favourite sport growing up? I'm not really the most athletic person. But I do know that I was decent at shooting basketballs into the hoop, even for being short lol

Do you talk to yourself?

... Do people not do this? I do this all the time??

What movie(s) do you adore?

I'm not sure if I have an actual favourite movie, but I love Tangled and The Lion King!! I also really love Back To The Future. *looks at dvds* OH! The Holiday and Love, Rosie as well!! I think these are all films I'm always down to watch.

Coffee or tea?

I'm definitely more of a tea person. I most often drink black tea with milk (like, at breakfast, in the evening and when I'm not at work, in the afternoon as well).

I also drink coffee but when I do, I have to have it with milk and sugar and often with some sort of syrup (vanilla, hazelnut or caramel). Or iced! Iced coffee!!

First thing you wanted to be when growing up?

I think I wanted to become a farmer? At least that's what my mum told me. I can't imagine being a farmer now, I think kid me thought it would be fun to have a bunch of animals and be outside all day. Grown up me knows it's very different from that. And very often not that nice for the animals...

Also a veterinarian! But.... Y'know, blood and cutting into animals... Pass.

I'm going to tag a couple of mutuals and followers I very often see in my notes, but obviously anyone who wants to do this, can!

And don't feel obligated to do this just because I tagged you! <3

@silversoulstardust @actually-the-devil @in-a-faith-forgottenn-land @keeeegs @aflockofravens @heytheredeann

[aretrothing]

A (kind-of) analysis of A2A 3x01

I wrote this on and off for about a month or so back in 2021 (the last time this was updated was 26th August ‘21) and, though i’m no longer into a2a, I thought it might be interesting to post it now because it’s been a while and i’m quite proud of it. There was probably more to be written but I never got round to it.

(i have tidied it up tho)

A kind-of analysis of 3×01

First off, I love every single episode of Ashes especially S3, but this one I think is my favourite just because of the shifts in power and character from one series to the next.

This is under a cut so you don’t have scroll past the entire thing.

As an opening episode, it stands out from the the others in the previous four series before it. In LOM episode one, we were introduced to this crazy fantastical world and in that 2×01, much was the same as the main episodes in the first series. Nothing much had changed from series to series, something which again happens with A2A between series one and series two.The hairstyles and general look have changed due to the setting being the next year and, especially with Shaz, the characters have changed a bit due to Alex's influence and the events of the series beforehand, but overall series two is pretty similar to series one in terms of character development. Of course, we have the mole storyline with Chris which adds a bit more there with him and there are other bits - but it's with 3×01 where we really see the most shift in characters and atmosphere.

In 2×08, after the revelation with Chris, everyone works together to make sure that Operation Rose fails and it seems to be business as usual. Shaz and Ray make up with Chris and it seems everything will be fine until Alex gets shot - ending that entire 20 minute facade. The shock of the shooting is the catalyst for much of 3×01 and series three as a whole.

The shift in Shaz is the most evident, she was optimistic and sweet for two series but it's apparent as soon as we get in that, while she's still recognisably Shaz, she's changed in more ways than Ray and Chris. She's angry, frustrated and we see a different, slightly darker side to her character. She's always been attached with Chris and this time she isn't, she's a kind of lone wolf so to speak and that impacts her character as well. She's had to put up with a lot since Alex and Gene left at the end of November and she's definitely angry and hurt at being abandoned, she's lost all her rocks and is drifting somewhat in space (This vulnerability is what Keats takes advantage of later but that's not what we're here for). She's also as Montserrat Lombard described in the interviews for series 3 "Feeling strange but doesn't know why", something which, again, is evident in her angrier personality and other ways across the episode.

Chris' shift is less noticeable than Shaz's, but it's there. As well as losing his fiancé (though they're still friends), his best mate's become his boss and as such the one relationship he thought he could rely on has changed as well. He's also had time to reflect on what happened in series 2, both with him being the mole and his relationship with Shaz, and he's still trying to regain trust with the latter especially. It's obvious from the get go that he didn't want to break up with Shaz, but they have and Shaz considers it the end of matters. With Ray, though they retain the good friendship they've retained for a long time it has shifted, Ray’s now his boss and as such they’re a little more apart than before. He’s again, a lone wolf, and it’s quite obvious that he’s lonely and has been for some time. However, instead of channelling his loneliness into visible anger like Shaz, he takes it in a different direction and bottles it up a lot more.

Ray is again, less noticeable than Shaz and Chris but his changes are a little more subtle in a way. Due to Gene fleeing to Spain, he’s been promoted and has had the responsibility he’s always wanted come upon him. If it wasn’t for the fact it happened in such horrible circumstances he’d be pretty happy about it, but because it happened in this way he feels like it’s been forced upon him and he’s in shoes he didn’t feel ready to fill at this point. He mentioned in the TV scene that “They never think my best’s ever good enough,” which hints that the other members of CID including Shaz and Chris still wish for Gene to come back and though Ray’s trying to keep everything afloat they’re a little angry at him for replacing Gene so soon, though Ray just wants to do his job. He’s also had a lot of responsibility put on his shoulders in a very short amount of time, shown when he remarks that “D&C are going to have a fit”, something which sounds so unlike Ray that it’s almost like he’s a different person - which, really, he is. And what does he get for keeping the entire team afloat for 3 months? Nothing. This is major plot fuel  across the series, and again something that Keats takes advantage of.

-end analysis-

[torreshalstead]

Your eyes in my life - Chapter 2

Summary - The night of Kim’s final layover as a flight attendant ended with a one night stand with a stranger she met across a bar.

6 years later, that same stranger walked into the 21st District and was assigned as her new Rookie and her life was thrown upside down. She hadn’t seen Adam since that night in LA. But she saw his eyes every day. In the eyes of their daughter.

Chapters - 2/?

Chapter Summary - Kim was excited to be assigned her first rookie but she wasn’t expecting who Platt paired her up with.

Notes - Thanks for the support on the first chapter last week, this chapters a bit short but it came to a natural conclusion, hope you enjoy! AO3 Link

6 years later

‘Morning Sarge’, Officer Burgess said cheerfully as she stopped at the front desk at the district, her arms resting against it, flashing a smile as she leant. Sergeant Trudy Platt gave her the same look she always did, disdainful, but Kim knew it was all an act. She had known Trudy for 5 years now and knew that desk sergeant had a heart of gold and would do anything for the officers under her command. She could still put the fear of God into you if you stepped out of line however.

‘Burgess, chipper as ever I see’, Trudy said, glancing at the officer over the top of her glasses, her gaze meeting the sunny smile that Kim was giving her. ‘We’ve got some new recruits today and I thought you’d like to be the one to welcome them to the district’.

Trudy wasn’t the type to pick favourites but if she had to choose, Kim Burgess would be near the top of that list. She had taken her under her wing from her first day on the job, seeing a glimmer of herself in the young officer and not wanting any of the old 74’s to crush her spirit. The world needed more cops like Kim Burgess, and Trudy was going to make sure she stayed the course.

‘Thanks Sarge!’ Kim said animatedly as she grinned and headed downstairs to welcome the recruits, an extra spring in her step.

Kim loved her job at the 21st more than almost anything and was forever thankful to Trudy for her mentorship and if she was honest, her friendship. It was Trudy who had pushed her to become a Field Training Officer and this batch of new recruits would contain her first Rookie. She was excited for the challenge but there was something nagging in her brain that she couldn’t quite shift. She stopped at the entrance to the roll up, took a deep breath, smoothed down her shirt and headed through the door.

‘Welcome to the 21st, I’m Officer Kim Burgess and for the next 12 weeks this is your district. Three things before we start, get the desk sergeant on side and you’ll never have to ride in the car’s that don’t have AC. Respect your TO and remember your pledge. You are here to serve the city of Chicago, not to serve yourself. Remember that and you’ll succeed here.’

At the end of her speech, Kim had successfully made eye contact with the 9 recruits that were in the room. She could tell this would be an interesting batch. As normal there were significantly less women than men, only 2 in the group. In her rookie class there had only been 1 so she guessed it was a slight improvement. As she continued to assess the group and wondered silently who Platt would have her paired with, the door to the carpark slammed open and she heard someone call out, ‘sorry I’m late Sir, Chicago traffic’. When she looked over to where the voice had come from, her knees threatened to buckle and she felt like all the wind had been knocked out of her.

Standing in the doorway was someone she had never expected to see again. The years had been kind to him, his hair was slightly longer, his beard fuller but she could see the gleam in his eyes from here. The same gleam that had plagued her dreams for months after the fact, and sometimes still drifted into her subconscious even now. He was removing his jacket and hadn’t had the chance to take in who was actually standing in front of all the recruits, she was thankful for the moment it allowed her to compose herself. Now was not the time.

When he finally looked up, he dropped his jacket and his jaw onto the floor. Flustered, he reached down to pick up the former.

‘Ma’am’, he said, ‘Ma’am, sorry’. His eyes never left hers. ‘Ruzek, Adam Ruzek’, he said after a second.

‘Take a seat Ruzek’, Kim said calmly gesturing to the empty seat to her right. Adam walked towards her and took the seat she offered. If any of the other recruits in the room had noticed anything off, no one said anything.

‘As I was saying, remember those and you’ll succeed here. It’s an honour to serve this city, do it and yourself, proud.’ She looked around the room again, carefully avoiding looking at Adam, and was impressed to see everyone hanging on every word she said, maybe she had a grip of this FTO thing.

Just then Trudy walked into the room with a stack of files and a number of other officers following her. Kim recognised them as the district's other training officers. She suddenly felt a small burst of pride over the fact that Trudy had picked her out of everyone to welcome the recruits, as some of them had been on the job for years longer than her. She knew she was good at her job but still enjoyed being recognised for it on occasion.

‘They’re all yours Sarge’, she said with a smile and walked over to join the rest of the TO’s, earning a fistbump from her best friend on the job, Kevin Atwater. They had come up together at the police academy, both having their own reasons for becoming cops and he had been her rock. And he still was, he was the one she’d always turn to if she had a bad call and needed to grab a drink to forget about it. And likewise, if he was having issues with his siblings, she’d be on the other end of the line with comforting words. She was forever grateful she had found a friend like Kevin.

‘Nice one Burg’, he whispered as Trudy took over with her standard first day spiel. Kim risked a glimpse over to where Adam was sitting and noticed that his eyes were still fixed firmly on her, apparently not taking in anything the desk sergeant was saying. She averted her eyes quickly and continued to listen to Trudy.

‘Listen carefully, I’m going to now assign you to your training officer. They will be in charge of you for the next 12 weeks. You will listen to everything they say. If they say run, you run. If they say stop, you stop. If they say get me a coffee, you get them a coffee. Understand?’

The recruits were nodding, all transfixed on what the desk sergeant was saying, Trudy had that effect on people.

‘When I read your name, stand and your TO will come and collect you. Any complaints, I don’t want to hear them’. As Trudy started to rattle through the names, Kim’s palms started to get sweaty, her leg started to twitch, her name hadn’t been called yet and neither had Adam’s. She was still actively avoiding eye contact with him.

‘Tay, Atwater’. Kevin gently nudged her shoulder as he strolled over to where one of the two female rookies had jumped to attention.

‘Ruzek, Burgess’.

[mariacallous]

Last autumn, I started to learn Ukrainian. After a reporting trip to the country, I felt that on my return, I really should try to be less than totally linguistically helpless. The Ukrainian Institute in London offers group and individual lessons remotely with highly qualified teachers but, perversely perhaps, I decide I would like to learn from an instructor based in the country itself. I am recommended a friend of a friend, an internal refugee from the capital now living in Ivano-Frankivsk, western Ukraine.

Olya Makar, who manages to make her Zoom lessons fun and exacting, is carrying on her work despite many setbacks. Owing to Russian missile strikes on the country’s energy infrastructure, she has electricity only for three two-hour blocks a day – supposedly according to a schedule, but one that can shift unexpectedly – and a patchy internet connection. We reluctantly have to cancel a couple of sessions.

Like most Ukrainians I have met, she greets such problems with bracing realism; things could easily get more difficult, she says. “After each attack it’s getting worse and worse,” she says. “But we will find new ways to adapt.” I also tune into the Ukrainian Lessons podcast, in which a cheerful and charming voice belonging to teacher Anna Ohoiko guides me through the early steps of learning a language: saying hello, describing family, and eating out. The first seasons of the podcast were made in 2016, and there’s a bittersweet feeling in them of time-travelling to a different Ukraine, with Ohoiko describing carefree trips to the market and her favourite park in Kyiv – which was hit by Russian cruise missile attacks when I was in the city this October.

Then there is the language app, Duolingo, which, to my surprise, has a Ukrainian course. I imagined Duolingo Ukrainian may be something of a minority sport – but last month, the app’s data crunchers reported that it was Duolingo’s fastest-growing language of the year in the UK, with users rising by 1,254% – and that it had grown by a remarkable 2,229% in the Republic of Ireland. In the UK, there was a spike for Ukrainian learning in February and March, and then another in May, when the system finally spluttered into gear and Ukrainians began to arrive in substantial numbers, the curve in the graph a reflection of the inefficiency of Britain’s refugee scheme.

The overall trend is similar in other countries receiving refugees – Poland, Germany, the Netherlands and the Czech Republic all saw spikes in Ukrainian learning this year. But there have been sharp rises in Japan, Vietnam and Latin America too, and “in just about every country on Earth” that uses the app, according to Cindy Blanco, one of Duolingo’s learning scientists, many of them receiving few or no refugees. Around the world, 1.3 million people started learning the language on Duolingo in 2022, she says.

In short: people across the globe have been learning Ukrainian to express their solidarity with the victims of Vladimir Putin’s aggression. At the same time, the growth of Russian has slowed, which, in relation to the rate of uplift in app users overall, amounts to a decline. In a delicious irony, Vladimir Putin himself is behind this extraordinary own goal in soft diplomacy terms, since he is indirectly responsible for the very presence of the Ukrainian language on the app: in 2014, in the wake of Russia’s occupation of Crimea, the US’s Peace Corps withdrew its volunteers from the country, freeing up some of the staff to pursue individual projects. It was one of them, Iryna Krupska, who worked with Duolingo to develop a Ukrainian course, as well as an English course for Ukrainian speakers.

There are many reasons to learn a language: school, university, work, relationships, ancestry, the prospect of holidays and travel. Sometimes, though, the reason is political, since language and politics walk in lock step. Ukrainian was audible in TV footage of the invasion; it was heard when President Volodymyr Zelenskiy’s daily addresses were broadcast round the world. It became swiftly clear for those following the war that the language itself was at stake in the conflict. Putin’s obsession with Ukraine hangs on his false conviction that the country exists only as an appendage of Russia and has no identity of its own; many Ukrainians have been dropping Russian in favour of speaking Ukrainian as a symbol of resistance.

Ohoiko tells me she’s seen numbers for her podcast surge – by 600% on Spotify, for instance, while her Ukrainian Lessons’ Facebook group has grown from having a couple of thousand active users before February’s invasion to 10,000 now. When I confess to her that a small part of me feels Russian would be a more “useful” language to learn, more adaptable to many countries in the former Soviet Union, she tells me that one of the main reasons she set up her podcast was her certainty that Russian would enter a long-term decline, in her country and others.

“I’ve always felt that it has been a generational question,” she says. “I always hoped that when I was old and retired, and Ukraine was developing towards democratic values and European integration, that Russian wouldn’t be as strong as it used to be in Ukraine. Since independence there has been a slow move towards Ukrainian, but now it’s become much faster.”

Ukrainian is not straightforward for those who do not already speak a Slavic tongue. I myself am under no illusions: if I can say a few words and order my dinner in Ukrainian, I’ll be doing just fine. But in my case too, studying the language goes way beyond the practical. It makes me feel a connection with friends in Ukraine, and draws me towards a cultural landscape I’ve been reporting on. I feel closer to the country when I practise the language, whether it’s because of my teacher’s struggles to keep going with her work, or Ukrainian Lessons’ social media posts highlighting vocabulary that, says Anna Ohoiko, “we are hearing every day on the news and matter a lot to us now – words for air raids and missiles, different types of weapon, ways of describing the energy crisis”.

I feel small shots of triumph, too – when, for instance, I read my first poem in Ukrainian, Vasyl Symonenko’s glorious You know that you are human? (and I feel a chill when I learn he died in 1963 aged 28, after being beaten up by police). One day, though, I want to be one of those who learn in order to increase their pleasure in holidaying in a perfectly normal country – when I can raise a glass of Ukrainian red wine, червоне вино, on the peaceful shores of the Black Sea.