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miraculousturtle · 7 years ago

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to you, i thee wed (chapter ten)

They didn’t know they were marrying each other until the bride got to the altar. And then panic ensued. Married at First Sight AU.

(AO3//FF.net)

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

WC: 8.5K

Paris is dark by the time they make it home, the airport chilly, but not as frosty as the Faroe Islands. Remnants of magic grab at his clothes, tendrils tugging him somewhere cozy and safe. But bright lights and no stars in the sky remind him that he’s home again and that’s both exciting and terrifying.

(Like free from tall buildings and jumping out of planes and leaping over rooftops and—)

He cranes his neck back and tries to close his eyes, take in this moment of bustling life on the tarmac but winces. Adrien hisses in pain though, the side of his head still a dull ache.

Last night only flashes in bits and pieces towards in the early morning hours. Marinette’s soft body against his, the less than chaste kisses on an icy sidewalk. Laughter sounding through the air as they made their way upstairs.

It blurs when he hits the bed, the last of his memories of Marinette’s mouth against his, of blue eyes and pink lights and—

Dreams of Ladybug bathed in lamplight.

He rolls his eyes, his heart caught up in the past and in the present, an old love that’s gentle like a flame and...something new he doesn’t know how to name. It is brighter and warmer though, the promise more than great, hope washing over him like an ocean’s wave.

“Goddamn it,” he whines, “please remind me to never drink again, okay?”

Marinette’s face twists for a moment in sympathy and she gingerly rubs his back.“Yeah, wouldn’t want you to, um, fall again.”

She’s cute. Her midnight hair loosely frames her face, mussed slightly from sleeping on the plane. Even with chapped lips, she’s imperfectly gorgeous. Effortless and real. And in some ways, his.

“Yeah. No kidding. God, I just remember laying down in bed with you and nada. Besides waking up to this splitting headache.”

She tangles her fingers with his. “I know, you told me.” A nervous smile awkwardly paints her features, spread a little too tight and thin.

Adrien decides to focus on the now instead of the then. None of this is Marinette’s fault, he knows. He just...got stupid and fell and this is his reward: to have a sore noggin with a bruise spreading under his hairline.

He lets out a yawn, “I know, I know. You’ve been listening to me complain all day about it, but yeah, it’s been a long day anyway.”

The wind whips at her grey coat as she gives his fingers a gentle squeeze. “I don’t mind listening to you complain though. Not about...this at least...or anything really. Complain away!”

Despite the poor lighting, Adrien swears he can see a healthy rose dust her cheeks. Marinette’s heart is stitched into her sleeve whether she knows it or not. She’s a cautious girl in theory, but in application, he’s only met a few that are so brave. His wife leads much more with her heart that he thinks she’d care to admit.

Adrien shrugs, enjoying the warmth from her hand. “Nah, I think I’m okay for now. I’m just cranky from the flight. Not even the longest one, but the short ones always make me a little green around the gills.”

“Ah yes, I’ve married quite the world traveler. How soon I have forgotten,” she says with a coy grin.

Lights reflect off her eyes like a starry sky, gleaming bright pinpricks of color. He stares a moment longer than he should. Her smile becomes shy, like moonlight through curtained bedroom windows. He never knew that night could be so soft and kind.

Adrien wraps an arm around her, breaking eye contact. He hugs Marinette close to his body, enjoying the small gasp she emits. “You’re just jealous of my passport. I saw you eyeing it.”

Marinette chuckles, with a playful accusatory tone. “It just has a billion stamps, Adrien! A billion! I’ve only had a few since I rarely leave France, let alone the EU.”

He beams at the envy, the unspoken praise his spouse gives him and the awe in her voice.

“Good thing I didn’t get any stamps this week or that would really suck for you,” he teases. “But it’s okay. We can get more together. That should be fun, right?”

Her reply hangs in the air, shifting the atmosphere to something heavier. Marinette’s fingers curl into his coat, at the spot between his shoulder blades. “...are you sure?”

Her voice is a small, a low thing that could easily be caught on a chilly breeze. These are the moments where Adrien can see the purple outline of his wife’s anxiety, the obscurity in the unknown. Unsurety clouds her brave spirit.

Adrien blinks. “Marinette!” he says. “Of course I’m sure. I married you, didn’t I? Who else am I supposed to travel with?”

“I don’t know. Nino?” she wonders, her foot scuffing the ground.

He bumps into her shoulder. “Nino is an awful flight companion. He also snores.”

Marinette finally relaxes, her body less tense. Her mind travels far away though, no response to his retort. A dreamy haze envelops her form.

She gets like that sometimes, he learns. Like at the hill overlooking the water, he felt when he saw her there, that she would fade away if he spoke. She’s a shadow out of the corner of his eye. If he turns too quick, she won’t remain.

“Marinette?”

Her gaze settles back on him, clarity registering. “Oh yeah, I was just thinking.”

Adrien takes a step closer, rubbing his thumb where he thinks her heart would be on her sleeve. “About?”

She can be skittish too, his new wife. It’s best to sometimes step lightly and speak in a low voice. Almost cat-like, he thinks, much to his amusement.

“Where are we gonna sleep tonight? I mean, we don’t have a place that’s...ours, you know. I know that we’re supposed to start house hunting tomorrow.”

Adrien chews on that bit of information for a bit and tries to be as nonchalant as possible. “I mean, you live all away across the city and...I don’t know...don’t. So, um, you see, uh, if you don’t mind, we can sleep at mine tonight?” he babbles. “And, uh, tomorrow, we could...always head over to yours?”

He inwardly cringes at himself. Just. Wow.

(This is what he gets though. Applying as the start of a joke and then actually getting married to a wonderful person. How in the hell is he supposed to measure up? Just. He’s. Yeah.)

Marinette shuffles her foot for a moment before slightly grinning, easing the erratic beating of Adrien’s heart. “That should be fine, I think. Do you have any PJs for me though?”

Adrien stares at his wife for a moment and tries not to swallow, anticipation sizzling under his skin. “We’ll manage something.”

Marinette blinks for a second and tugs him to the re-entry area. “Oh my god, Adrien. I don’t even want to know where your mind is going,” she says, humor warm in her voice.

It takes a moment for him to reply, mock annoyance coming out as he grips her hand harder. “Hey!”

His wife laughs and pulls him with more force this time, the cool air fanning their faces as they tease and bicker with each other. He still feels caught in a dream, the faint looming doom that he might wake up and none of this was real lurking at the back of his mind. He chooses to ignore it.

It doesn’t take long for them to be verified as French citizens. Once through immigration, they make it through to baggage claim easy enough. It’s warm, this feeling of not being alone.

When was the last time he took a trip for fun? Let alone with family?

(Adrien remembers the flight to New York. The somber silence that rested between his father and him remained almost impenetrable as they flew across the Atlantic. A suffocating end to lives they both promise they would never revisit. Not as long as they had each other.)

At baggage claim, they are surprised by happy faces.

Holding up a big sign that says: Welcome home Mr. and Mrs. Agreste are Mr. and Mrs. Dupain-Cheng. Marinette screams with glee and lets go of Adrien’s hand instantly, making her way to her parents with an extra bounce in her step.

“What you doing here?” she says as she launches herself into her father’s arm.

“Surprise, Angel!”

Adrien watches from the side. Plagg looks up from his big coat pocket and offers a rare soft smile and pats his knuckles. Adrien curls his finger under his chin, rubbing the point with affection.

Family is an “us versus them” thing sometimes, an invisible wall of where he feels like he’s on the outside looking in, a relationship that he’s not—

(meant to have, he wants to say)

—but Mr. Dupain-Cheng looks over the top of Marinette’s head. He surges forward, curls a large arm over his shoulders and wraps him up too, memories of when he was a child springing forth as his father used to do the same. The warmth hits him automatically, cracking the glass and the world becomes snugger as his wife slips an arm around his waist, a point to follow because it’s like the world...the world is more than it was before two seconds ago. More—loving and kind and—he didn’t think that could be possible.

“Tom, you’re crushing your new son-in-law,” Mrs. Dupain-Cheng says, laughter in her voice as she tugs husband away.

Tom laughs, boisterously and full of heart. “It’s tradition, my dear. Father-in-laws have to smother new son-in-laws.”

Sabine gives him a pointed look, raising a brow, completely unimpressed. “Just because my father was crazy, doesn’t mean that you have to go and—and—” she fumbles before looking at her daughter. “Marinette, what’s the word you used to say when you were a teenager and liked all that Japanese stuff?”

Marinette colors pink and Adrien can barely contain an unattractive laugh. He answers instead, feeling like he’s finding wondrous new ground with his wife. “I think you’re trying to say glomp.”

“Yes! That’s it!” his mother-in-law says with a snap of her fingers. Scolding her husband, she juts a finger at him. “You can’t just go and glomp the poor boy, Tom!”

Out of the corner of Adrien’s eye, Marinette cringes and covers her eyes. Under her breath, he hears her, “Why me?”

Adrien wraps an arm around her shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. “You were a weeb,” he sing-songs.

Marinette peeks from her fingers and glares. “Shush you. I remember Nino telling me about your weeb phase.”

Adrien shrugs. “What phase? I’m still a weeb, through and through.”

“Oh my god,” she groans before her parents turn their attention back to them.

“Anyway,” Mr. Dupain-Cheng says loudly while looking at his wife. “As I was saying, it’s tradition and welcome back and we’re here to take you home.”

“But dad, we live all over the city.”

Her mother laughs. “Not your homes, our home! At the bakery! With lots of warm food and a good place to sleep.”

“But—” Marinette says, looking up at Adrien sheepishly. “We were, um—maybe…”

Oh, she looks so shy. A part of him inwardly wants to decline, wants to spend time alone with his new wife; however, looking at his in-laws, they are eagerly waiting to hear their reply.

Adrien decides then and there, giving his wife a quick squeeze while saying goodbye to alone time.

“Sounds good, Mrs. Dupain-Cheng. Thank you. We’re kinda tired anyway.”

His mother-in-law smiles and throws her arms around them much like how her husband did. “No! Thank you, sweetheart. And you can call me Sabine.”

“And Tom is fine for me, son,”

(Oh god, son. No one has called him that in a long, long, long time.)

Sabine and Tom are off to get the car, leaving Marinette and Adrien alone surrounded by many busy and honking taxis. With her parents finally out of sight, Adrien releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The night air seeps into his lungs with a chill.

Beside him, Marinette laughs. “Sorry. They’re a bit overwhelming, huh?”

Adrien warms his hands with his mouth and nods. “I didn’t realize—,” he starts, yawning again, “that I would be getting a real family too out of this experiment.”

Marinette hums in agreement. “I know, from the way the doctors were telling me, it seems like families are a bit more distant, but maybe because my family knows you and they’re just more excited about it than others.”

“Oh yes,” he teases. “I bet they’re just cackling on how you got to marry your girlhood crush.”

(He will never tire of that, of the sweetness that melts his heart. His wife loved him once—and that is...wow.)

(Adrien remembers always looking at her back, how tall she would stand and laugh with her friends. Marinette both timid and bold, creative and daring, quiet and loud. A paradox only noticeable if you saw her shift between situations. Shy and awkward with him, quirky and funny with Nino, driven and sweet with Alya.)

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Seriously, you’re never, ever going to let that go, are you?”

“What proper husband would I be if I didn’t constantly seek ways for you to stroke my ego?”

Marinette gives him a flippant response. “Oh, I’ll show you stroking.”

Adrien stills, breathing ceasing to be a function. “What?”

Marinette huffs, absentmindedly repeating herself. “I said, I’ll show you strok—” before her face twists with mortification. “Oh my god! Um, no—not like that—but like—well, maybe?”

“Maybe!?”

“I don’t know, maybe?!” she squeals. “Maybe later? Don’t ask me these things,” she whines.

“Maybe what?” Tom says.

In horror, both Marinette and Adrien snap, “Nothing!”

Sabine looks at them then at her husband. “Oh, oh dear, honey—this is definitely something we don’t want to know.”

“Maman!”

Tom throws a thumb, grinning wildly. “Anyhoo, car’s this way kiddos. Please leave all marital embarrassment on your honeymoon and come back to reality. Right this way.”

“Papa!”

The trip to Marinette’s house is pleasant. Idle chitchat as her parents ask about the honeymoon and all of the mishaps. From incorrect flights to big breakfasts on a hidden gem of an island. It boggles the mind, they say. Even slightly soap opera dramatic, but—well, what about their marriage isn’t a soap opera?

Tom drives the car around the back of the bakery and pulls into their garage. It strikes Adrien then, as the door is lowering itself behind them at this is really happening. He’s spending the night at his in-laws with his new wife and it’s a bit—exciting.

He stifles a large yawn behind his hand when Marinette catches his eye and gestures towards the house door. Looking at her father, she pleads. “Papa, please tell me there’s food.”

The trunk pops open with a satisfying click. Tom chuckles as he lifts both suitcases, a smirk in his voice. “Darling, did you hear that? Our child asked us if there’s food.”

Sabine ushers everyone inside, her fingers brushing against the mid of his back. Smiling from ear to ear, she shrugs. “It’s like she thinks we don’t live in a bakery.”

Marinette huffs. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway! We’re going up to my room!”

They both kick off their shoes by the back door and Adrien takes a moment to admire the way the family lines their shoes together. Nice and neat. It’s adorable. He places his pair of shoes a smidge closer to his wife’s.

Marinette laces her fingers between his. “Ever since they got the floor redone, they’re very anal about scuffs on it.”

Adrien knocks into her shoulder. “It’s not a problem. Makes sense. I personally don’t wear my shoes inside for the same reason. I hate the mess.”

“Adrien, don’t listen to her,” Tom calls. “We’re a very Chinese household! I was born there, you know!”

He turns at the sound of the voice, unsure exactly where Tom could be. Marinette shakes her head as her mother’s laughter rings somewhere not too far away.

“Don’t humor him. He already thinks he’s a very funny man.”

“He kinda is a funny man.”

Mariette sends him a mock glare, mirth clinging to her voice. “Don’t!”

With that, she drags him up the stairs two at a time into the main living room. Adrien smiles broadly all the way. It’s a dream, he thinks, it has to be a dream made of good things as she looks back at her eyes sparkle with mischief. She leads him up the slight ladder and pushes her floorboard open. It’s almost like entering a different realm, the way the moment vibrates with magic.

Or as if the time-traveled and they’re both teenagers again.

It’s still completely pink, Adrien realizes when he enters and Marinette flicks on a light. It’s neater though, more mature. Stocks of fabric hang everywhere in a corner, taking up most of the room. Mannequins display work in progress pieces for various gowns and outfits. He’s instantly reminded of his father’s studio.

(A cramped office with swaths of fabric in every direction. Beads in containers and a singular mannequin with brown stains. An old lamp with a bright bulb sways overhead.)

“I use this place a lot for storage or when I design wedding dresses,” she says.

Her words interrupt his thoughts, his fingers admiring the embroidery on a satin gown.

Adrien turns to her. “You design wedding dresses besides for your own wedding?”

She rubs the sleep out of her eye. “Sometimes. On commission. I design a lot of things though.”

“Yeah, enough for your own shop and it’s doing—?” he asks.

Marinette wears a bemused smile, idly folding wayward fabric scattered on a nearby table. “Well. It’s doing surprisingly well. I get asked to do a lot of fashion shows and I even have three of my own employees.”

“Wow. How did you manage that?”

Marinette coughs. Her hands still as she folds another piece of fabric for a second, before ruffling it all up and starting over. “Um. Your dad actually. He—so many scholarships and things...I won a lot of them…”

(I am the future, Adrien. And to be the future, you have to help people along the way.)

Serendipity and happenstance pull at this moment, tug at him and want him to notice. Point out the alignment of how too much is happening at once. That his tremulous past is converging with his present in paving something new.

Pride warms his heart, but the edges remain brittle from ghosts he doesn’t want to name. He doesn’t show her the duality of his conflicting emotions in his praise.

“That’s amazing, Marinette!” Adrien pulls her into a tight and affection hug. “He would have been so happy! God, he loved those scholarship things!”

Her laughter buries into his shirt, over his heart, and helps chase away the cold that tries to come forth. She’s quickly becoming—

(—all that he needs, his heart wants to say, but it won’t. Not yet.)

Marinette peers up at him, her blue eyes sparkling gems. “Did he now?”

Adrien leans back and cups her face. “Yes. Yes, he did. He wanted talent to matter, not connections. God, wow, Marinette. You’re spectacular!”

He presses a quick kiss to her forehead, her cheeks warm in his hands.

“...thank you,” she blinks, stunned for a moment before looking down bashfully.

Adrien swallows and releases his wife, sticking his hands in his pocket. However, before he turns away, he doesn’t miss how her fingers go to her forehead, coupled with a small beaming smile.

The room falls oddly silent before Marinette blurts out. “Why become a professor? Why not work for your father’s company?”

Adrien finds her own chaise and sits on it, patting for her to follow. “Well, a lot of things.”

Maybe because he’s told the story so many times or maybe because there’s a lot of good things in his life and those good things outweigh the bad. Like when his dad helped her become an amazing designer from far, far away. Like his wife being amazing.

He starts as his fingers curl around her hand. “I’ve always liked science. Always. I mean, yeah, I was a good model, but science. Now that’s the stuff,” he says fondly. “When my dad and I left France after high school and moved to New York, I started taking heavy English classes and fell in love with school again. It was a good move for us, to be happy, you know?”

(Happiness is subjective, he thinks. Happiness never meant the same thing for the two of them.)

“I was about 21 at the time and I got my acceptance letter to NYU and well—my dad—he passed away,” Adrien says, swallowing over the lump that wants to form.

He won’t cry this time. He’s cried too many times before so he refuses to do so now. Refuses.

He blinks once and finds his voice again. “So, like, he was controlling the company overseas and when he passed, I decided to do it. But running a company is hard,” he emphasizes. “Six months of sleepless night plus grief and let me tell you, I don’t have a strong business sense,” he laughs, “I just...don’t. So, I made Natalie the CEO and we moved me to the position of the owner. She gets to make the hard calls and all I’m required to do is help pick new designs. I do a get a lot of the final say so with our fashion trends which is a bit fun.”

(Marinette patiently listens, doesn’t mind his rambling, doesn’t mind the emotion that leaks into his voice as he talks about his father. Her fingers only tighten around his in solidarity and in comfort.)

“Really?”

“Yeah, which is part of the reason I’m relaunching a lot of my dad’s older products from the start of his career.”

“Ah, I noticed that,” she says softly. She rests her head on his shoulder. “It’s been so refreshing to see all his old pieces! I really loved the re-release of some of his printed graphic pants. The one with triangles or the one with palm trees. They’re so sleek now, the cut much more modern.”

Adrien preens at the praise. “That may have been my personal suggestion. The new cut on the pants.”

Marinette happily sighs. “Oh, you know, I never thought I would have gotten a husband who was into fashion, but I’m so glad I did.”

“Well,” he starts. “I’m just happy to have you.”

They sit side by side for a breath, capturing the moment and enjoying that comes with it. Downstairs, his in-laws hobble around and their joyous laughter comes muffled through the floorboards. Adrien wonders briefly where Plagg has disappeared to, the black cat hiding somewhere in his wife’s old bedroom.

Marinette lifts her head and places her hand face to move him in her direction. Her fingers warm the apple of his cheek. “No, I’m the lucky one,” she whispers leaning closer. “Truly. You’re amazing.”

She kisses him lightly on the mouth and Adrien sighs into the kiss. It’s so easy to kiss her, so wonderful. His palm slides up her spine, her body melding closer to him as she grins with pleasure.

Her nails scrape the collar of his shirt and Adrien begins to push her down an—

There’s a knock at Marinette’s trap door, revealing Sabine as both Marinette and Adrien spring apart.

She grins at them, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Dinner’s ready kiddos.”

Marinette smooths her hair and clears her throat. “Kay.”

His wife gets up and stretches her back, rolling her neck from side to side. Looking over her shoulder, she extends her hand. “Ready?”

“I’ll meet you in a second. Gonna run to the bathroom first.”

Marinette nods. “Sounds good,” she says as she makes her way downstairs.

Adrien waits for the trapdoor to click. “The coast is clear, Plagg.”

Plagg zips out and yawns. “Thank god. I was too warm. This is why I hate when you wear sweatshirts. They make me extra sleepy.”

Adrien rolls his eyes. “Well, if you promise not to get caught, when I head downstairs, you can go sleep in my bag. And well,” he pauses. “I think I’m going to have to tell Marinette about you much sooner than I intended.”

Plagg stops stretching his body and narrows his eyes at Adrien. “What brought this up?”

“Mostly that I can’t keep you scrunched up all the time? I hate doing that to you?”

Plagg looks thoughtful for a moment before smirking. “You know I love to exploit your kindness.”

Adrien rolls his eyes and makes his way downstairs. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon O God of Destruction and Chaos.”

“Don’t yeah, yeah, me!” Plagg starts. “I—I want my own cell phone!”

Adrien stops and turns back. “A cell phone? Why?”

Plagg crosses his arms. “Well, other kwamis get cell phones! I should get one too!”

“Other? Kwamis?”

“Yeah. L—,” he starts to say, but clamps his mouth instead. “Just! Other kwamies have cell phones and awesome data plans and I want to watch TV shows and stuff. And maybe text and call my friends.”

Adrien’s brows furrow together before he shakes his head, lifting the trap door. “I—look, okay. We’ll talk about this. I don’t see why not, but yeah. I’m too tired and hungry to figure out the logistics, but yeah. Sure, whatever. I’ll buy you a cell phone with an awesome data plan.”

Plagg preens before zipping away into the shadows, swelling pride in every movement as he flies out of Adrien’s sight.

Going down the stairs, Adrien admires the photos that line the wall and sit on the bookcase. Dozens of family photos everywhere. From school pictures to family vacations to portraits. And much to his surprise, there’s a snapshot including all four of them. They all look very—happy.

Hearing his name pulls him out of his reprieve and he joins his new family at their breakfast nook. The clinking of bowls and silverware echo. Heat insulates the kitchen as warm spices fragrant the air. Set up neatly on their breakfast nook are little dishes with sliced red meats and vegetables. In the center, a large pot sits on a burner and Marinette squeals with delight as she bounces to her chosen spot by the window.

"Really? Hotpot and fried lotus root too? Is that pickled eggplant and...kimchi?"

Tom rubs his nose and beams. "Well, yeah. It’s easy and your mom has been on a bit Korean kick lately. You keep recommending those dramas to her!"

Marinette giggles. “My friend has really good taste so I trust totally trust her when she says one is good.”

Sabine turns to Adrien and guides him to sit next to her daughter. "I hope you don't mind. It's one of Marinette's favorites. The broth is pork bone and I didn’t make it spicy."

Adrien smiles. "No, it's fine. I love spices. And hot pot is always good."

"Oh, that reminds me! Marinette used to be so amazed that you spoke Chinese! My uncle was really fond of you when you came helped translate when the two of you were in school."

At the mention of Uncle Wang, he laughs."Yeah. I'm still nearly fluent. I try to keep up with it if I can."

"See, Mari. I told you'd marry a smart man one day," Tom jibes, pointing his fingers in her direction.

The rice cooker next to Marinette dings and automatically she pops it, adding a starchy scent to the aroma of the kitchen. She takes the plastic paddle and starts to pile rice into a well-loved matching set of bowls.

Marinette rolls her eyes, sarcasm dripping with every word. "Ah yes. You knew this would exactly happen."

(He doesn’t ignore how she serves him, edges into his personal space and places a bowl of rice in front of him. Naturally banters with her father as she feeds the people she loves mos and Adrien happens to be apart of that too.)

"Well..." Tom side-eyes, smirking his wife with mischief.

"Papa!"

Sabine heaves a great sigh and lightly smacks her husband. "This is why she doesn't want to come home all the time, Tom. You always tease her." As she places onions, pumpkin, and small mushrooms in the pot, she looks to Adrien, giving him a defeated look. "Adrien, please, don't let my husband scare you away. I need you to bring my Angel home to me."

He grins, nudging her shoulder. "No worries, ma'am. I'm sure we can have weekly dinners, huh, Marinette.”

She scoffs, cracking a few eggs and letting them disappear underneath the broth’s surface, much to Adrien’s fascination. "Adrien, don't let my parents fool you. I'm here several times a week at all different hours. They're just upset because they only had me and now they have no one else to smother."

"Well, excuse us, my love, if we love to smother our dear daughter," Tom pouts, placing a generous heap of kimchi on Sabine’s plate. "We just love you."

"Papa, I love you too,” she says, adding some red meat into the pot. “But we all know that I'm here all the time and that is apparently not enough."

"We just miss being able to bother you, that's all."

"You bother me fine. All the time. Every day!"

Adrien laughs, enjoying the togetherness as he takes a bite of lotus root. "Well, I'm free for both bothering and smothering, if you must. Gives a chance for my wife to have a break."

(It’s different—the lotus root. Pretty when sliced revealing a flower. Almost chalky like water chestnuts, but better because it’s fried and crispy. He doesn’t really like water chestnuts anyway.)

"You hear that, Sabine. The boy wants us to smother him. He's perfect." Turning towards his daughter, pouring beer into four glasses. "Divorce or no at the end of this experiment thing, I'm adopting him now."

Marinette sighs and steals a piece of pickled eggplant Tom was eyeing. "Papa. I don't know why you're always so dramatic. You're such a drama queen."

Adrien relishes in the closeness between Marinette and her family as he picks meat and vegetables out of the pot to eat. He finds a nice piece of meat and shyly places it atop Marinette’s rice, hoping she doesn’t mind.

(The surprised smile she sends his way proves that she doesn’t.)

Her father frowns for a moment, before quickly grabbing a piece of pumpkin."Ah, my love, but the best men for you are men like your papa. We are romantic and I'm sure Adrien is the romantic sort, yes, son?"

Adrien slurps his broth a little too quickly and burns his throat. He coughs as he settles his ceramic spoon on the side of his bowl. "I guess you can say that. I'm more cheesy if anything."

Tom blinks before breaking out in boisterous laughter. "Marinette loves cheese! It's her favorite danish! And fondue is her other favorite. As well as smelly cheese."

The new information strikes him oddly funny. Because of irony and things related to cosmic little gods. "Of course," he snorts. "Good to know."

Marinette shrugs, fishing out a hard-boiled egg from the soup. "What? I'm a lover of all things salty. And cheese is God's gift to man."

"Marinette, when in doubt, you still can't survive off cheese," Sabine says, warmth in her voice as she chews on kimchi.

"No, Maman, I can't survive off sweets. I've tried."

“Well, here, darling. Have some more onions so you can grow big and strong.”

“Mother. I’m twenty-six years old.”

Sabine scoops more things out of the pot and puts more side dishes on her plate. “Well, you’re not twenty-seven yet. So, still growing.” She pauses for a moment and then puts more food on Adrien’s plate. “And some for my new son-in-law too!”

Adrien blushes. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

Tom takes a swig of his beer, some of the foam caught in his mustache. "Should've just been a baker like her mama and papa, but no! Had to be a fashion designer," Tom mutters. "Did you know that my daughter is a fantastic wedding cake decorator. She could have joined the family business, but she decided to go follow her own dream." He picks at his meat before shoving some rice into his mouth.

Sabine takes a sip of her beer and gazes fondly at her husband. "But she's following her own dream just like her father, right, dear? Because if I remember correctly, your father wanted you to take over mortuary."

He grumbles, his fingers tapping the condensation on his glass. "So? Running a bakery and running a funeral parlor are two different things! And my father came around to my bakery."

Marinette giggles and reaches across the table to lay her hand atop her father’s. "Yes, but Papa, you've always supported me and fashion."

To that, Tom gives a small smile and pats her hand. "I know, my love, I'm just being playful.”

Marinette flicks his hand, her expression changing lightening quick into a scowl. “Well, stop being playful then and eat your dinner!”

"Goodness," Tom says, faking a sniffle. "What a bossy and mean daughter I have. All I want...is to love you..."

(Across the table, Sabine shakes her head with fondness, giving Adrien a look that states that both father and daughter are always like this.

He swallows the bubbling happiness that rises in his chest, wanting to almost cry for something he can’t explain. Maybe for all the good things.)

Marinette groans and puts her hand on Adrien's shoulder. "Look here, Papa. I've given you a son. A son up for your constant smothering and dad jokes."

Adrien looks him straight in the eye with an affirmative nod. "I do love dad jokes, sir. I need a daily dose along with puns."

Tom perks up and grins like a madman. "Puns? You love puns too?"

Sabine stage whispers towards her daughter. "Look what you've done. I've been training him not to do that."

Marinette whines and wiggles in her seat. "I'm sorry, Maman. I've unleashed the apocalypse."

Sabine sighs. "All I wanted was to spend a nice evening with my daughter and new son-in-law, and yet my ham of a husband and child have made my life very difficult."

"Oh, but my darling, if I didn't make your life difficult, you would have left me long ago. For some dashing bad boy."

"You were supposed to be my dashing bad boy. Do you remember how we first met?

Tom looks to Adrien as Marinette blissfully sighs and rests her head on Adrien’s shoulder. “This is such a good story,” she whispers. “You’ll like it.”

Adrien nods and wraps an arm around Marinette for a quick squeeze, intent on listening.

"So, I first met Sabine when I was in my early twenties and at this fancy bar in London,” Tom starts, with a twinkle in his eye. “We were both on holiday apparently. But, there's this pretty girl and she's wearing this pretty dress, completely stunning. It was a bright red dress and her hair was long and framed her face,” he says fondly as he grabs his wife’s hand.

"Either way!” he continues. “I never got around to learning English, really. Just never suited me much, but I didn't let that stop me! Couldn’t really when there was this gorgeous girl and my mates were all chatting up other ladies anyway and this other man was eyeing the same pretty girl I was!.”

Adrien chuckles at that, Tom’s expression so annoyed at reminiscing the past. He wonders if he’ll feel the same in the future—tell his story to someone with such expression.

Sabine chimes in, playfully rolling her eyes. "So, I see this cool looking man come up to me and my friends. He's super tall of course, and just as big-shouldered, wearing this leather jacket. Now, I had recently broken off an engagement to someone. So my cousin convinced our parents to let us and some girl friends go across the Channel and I was out on the town to flirt a bit and maybe dance.

"And Tom used to look far more menacing looking back then. He's always been a sweetheart, but with his slicked back hair and dark clothes, he could have been a mobster. Anyway, this supposed bad boy comes up to me and I assume asks me if I want a drink in English, but I don't speak English. I speak French and Chinese.”

“But I didn’t know that, you know! Had no clue!” Tom interjects. "So, Sabine and I speak in broken English at the bar talking about the weather and it was awkward because I already said all the words I knew! But then! But then, she mutters some French under her breath and I was like--wait, I speak French! And the rest is history."

"Well, no, not history,” Sabine sighs happily. “More like a new beginning, but I forgot to give you my number and address and we didn't meet again until a year later in culinary school when you asked me about pies. However, I only started taking you seriously when one of my relatives passed and I ended up in your family's funeral parlor."

Marinette turns her head to whisper in Adrien’s ear. Her breath fans his neck and he wants to shiver. “The infamous funeral parlor my father refused to inherit,” she says, laughing quietly.

Sabine catches his attention again, wearing a bittersweet smile. "It was my favorite cousin. She was very sick, but when I told her about the man, the one I met in London, she always told me that she would help me find him. And she did, in a way, because we met in culinary school because she thought I should open my own bakery. When I told her I found him, she told me I was going to marry him. She was right about that too."

Tom nods, just as wistful. “Marie was right about a lot of things.”

Sabine grins up at her husband before locking eyes with Adrien. “But yes, that’s how Tom and I met, honey. That’s our love story.”

"Wow. That’s...some love story," Adrien says slowly, unable to form a more coherent sentence.

Marinette giggles. "You have no idea. These two are like romance novel constantly. I love it."

Adrien opens his mouth to reply when Tom cuts in. "No, you don't! You tell us all the time how gross we are. Like a baby."

"But I'm your baby, Papa. And it is gross sometimes. You two are ridiculous."

"We are your ridiculous then."

"More like ridonkulous."

And Adrien doesn't know why that strikes him funny, maybe a way to ease the tension of being with such a warm and loving family. They love each other and argue over silly things, but he remembers love like this once too, a long, long time ago.

Between his mother and father before everything went wrong.

And yet, Adrien lets out a snort, a kind of laugh that he definitely categorizes as his most ugly: the kind of sound that tickles your throat because you got too much air going up your nose and it becomes a half sneeze, a choke, and a whine. A bit mucusy too as some spit went down the wrong way. It only happens at the worst of times.

Like now, when all three members of the Dupain-Cheng house snap their attention to him and Tom's face washes with panic. He shoots from his seat as Adrien reaches for a glass of water and wraps his two bear arms around him to perform a Heimlich maneuver.

Expect when Tom's hands fist too hard under Adrien's ribcage, trying to expel something that isn't there.

"C'mon, son! I got you! Let's get that out," Tom grunts.

Adrien makes another choking sound, this time from being punched in the gut one too many times.

Marinette scrambles to her father's side. "Dad! Dad! You're hurting him!"

"He's choking, Marinette!"

Adrien is finally able to tap Tom's hand, trying to get him to stop. Tom lets go as if he was burned and Adrien falls to the ground.

Marinette rushes to him and touches his face. "Adrien, are you okay? Oh God!"

Through all of the chaos, Sabine sighs and grabs her cell phone. "112? Hi, so my husband tried performing a Heimlich maneuver on my new son-in-law, but I think he caused more damage than good...no, no. He actually wasn't choking—just had an awful laugh...."

Heart monitors beep out of sync, the air chilling her to the bones as the doctor scribbles notes on a clipboard. He’s pinned two x-rays up on a board, illuminating Adrien’s ribs. Nothing is broken. Thank goodness.

The doctor tears a note from his pad, the sound ripping through the air as he glances at her husband. His lips twitch. "Well, at least your father-in-law tried to save you. Mine isn’t as kind."

Adrien weakly laughs a stunned breath before grimacing. "Yeah, that’s good at least. I guess he likes me?"

The doctor smirks. “It’ll make Christmas go smoother. Trust me.” Looking at Marinette, the doctor gives her a prescription. "I gave him some painkillers earlier, but you can pick those up in the morning for him. He's to have bed rest and take it easy. Luckily, there was only some minor bruising to his abdomen area. My nurse will give you a numbing ointment at the desk and you can pick up a full size over the counter as well tomorrow."

"Thank you, doctor,” she says, gently taking the paper from him. “I hope you continue having an easy night.”

He nods. "Anytime, Mrs. Agreste. And believe me, me too! Must be a blue moon out tonight! Either way, good night to the both of you, and remember, take it easy!"

The doctor shuts the curtains behind him, closing the pair off from the rest of the ward. Marinette awkwardly smiles at her husband, her fingers digging into the material of sweater. "I am so sorry. So, so, so sorry."

Adrien shakes his head, happily experasted. "Marinette. It’s fine. I’m okay!"

"Uh, but my father indirectly assaulted you! And he’s my father and oh my goodness, does this mean I participated in indirect spousal abuse?!"

Adrien eases himself off the examining table, hissing. "Please, don't make me laugh. I hurt."

Marinette darts to his side. "I’m being serious, Adrien," she pouts. “I don’t like you injured.”

Mostly by my family. Whoops.

"Yeah, I'm starting to think that you Dupain-Chengs are a bit of the unlucky sort."

Marinette chuckles. "If only. C'mon, let's go back to my parents. My dad will most likely feed you until you’re nice and round."

“Mmmmm. Breakfast.”

“Not until tomorrow, you silly goose.”

Adrien wraps his arms around her and they make their way to the car. He playfully swats her on the shoulder. “I’m a cat for your information.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle. “Ah, yes. My apologies Mr. Kitty.”

His body is warm like his voice as they hobble down the halls together. “That’s Husband Kitty to you.”

Her reply is a quiet giggle as she holds him closer. There’s an easiness with Adrien, she realizes. Almost as if they’ve danced this sequence before in a past life. They always revolved around each other in school, but she was never this comfortable, this calm, this—

(She’s reminded of rooftops and close fistfights where he’d pull her in close and keep her out of harm’s way. In a life where her fingers skimmed the sky and her best friend taught her to fly. Because once upon a time, a little ladybug and black cat were—)

Marinette snaps back to reality when the cabbie pulls up to the front of the bakery, displaying his fare for her to pay. She slips him a fifty euro bill and runs around to the other side to help Adrien out of the car.

“I got you.”

“Thanks, babe,” he says offhandedly.

(And Marinette prays to everything under the blinding sun that she can keep her focus.)

The climb upstairs to her bedroom is a more daunting task than she expected, but Adrien champions through it all, taking each step at a time despite that his face is always on the edge of crumbling. She silently promises that he just can’t get hurt again on her watch.

They enter her room with a mighty huff, her husband collapsing on her chaise.

"See? That was good step in the right direction," he says as he stares at the light scattered upon her ceiling.

With her hands on her knees, Marinette pushes herself upright. "I'll show you the right direction."

"Like you'll show me stroking?"

Marinette's mouth hangs open before snapping shut. Propped up on her chair, Adrien is more than pleased. He’s more than tired, but joyful as she straightens her posture. As she crosses the room, he only becomes happier.

"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"

"'Course not. That's what fantastic husbands do. Annoy their wives."

"Stop taking notes from my father," she sighs.

"I think I should take notes from your father," he says. "Your parents...wow, that's magic."

Marinette fondly smiles. "Yeah. They definitely have a one in a million kind of love. I really would love to have a marriage like theirs."

Adrien's eyes go downward. "We can try if you'd like. To have a marriage like that."

Her fingers brush his hair, sweeping his bangs out of his face. "That would be very nice. But how about we have our own marriage first and complete the experiment,” she replies. “Time is flying by so fast already and my head is spinning. I feel like we've been married for ages in a way, but at the same time, I barely know you. Like all the odds and ends of you."

A car honks outside, the moment stilling. "I think we were the lucky ones out of the experiment, Marinette,” he confesses, voice low. “I mean, to know each other, even a little bit, that puts us in a whole new category. We can take our time and I don't feel—very rushed at all, do you?"

Her fingers trace his jaw. "No. I don't. That's what I was a bit afraid of. That my new husband would want to have sex like...the night of...which would have been fun, but I'm glad we haven't yet. I feel...like we’re maybe more genuine this way..."

"Maybe because we see less of an expiration date," Adrien mumbles as she kisses the center of her palm.

"Maybe."

Marinette wraps her arms around him and rests her chin atop his head. She closes her eyes and enjoys the quiet that envelops the room. Like a piece of herself is settling into its new mold just right.

"Would you,” he starts, his breath warm through her shirt. “Would you be open...to having sex with me during the experiment?"

She stills for a moment and strokes his hair, letting the words flow from her with honesty. "I'm not against it. Let's just see where it takes us, okay? We're dating, but plus all the heavy commitment."

Adrien smiles against her shirt, almost over her heart. “I married such a smart woman.”

Marinette chuckles. “You know, some of my favorite romance novels have been the arranged marriage kind.”

“And why is that?” he asks, pulling back to peer at her. Adrien’s green eyes are jade in the low light. Luck and good things combined. “Are you saying you’re the reason we’re married.”

She shrugs. “Don’t think I’d go that far, but...there’s just something so beautiful about watching two people being open to love. Those were the best ones,” she says, caught up in dreams of romances she’s adored. “The ones where the couple opened up their hearts to the other since the day one.”

Warmth tickles her throat, sitting above her heart as she gazes down at the man she’s tied herself to by both chance and choice. Bliss permeates her skin and drowns her soul.

Adrien reaches up cups her cheek. “Is your heart open for me?”

She blushes, her heart hammering in her chest. “Is yours?”

His voice is a quiet whisper. “Yes.”

At his admission, her world closes in on this moment, her heart swelling in her chest, taking her very breath away. Affection leaves prickling goosebumps on her skin, coating her veins with utter captivation. Ever gently, she stands on her tiptoes and brushes her mouth against his, savoring the simplicity of them.

“Let’s get ready for bed and I’ll help put the cream on for you,” she whispers against his lips.

He wrinkles his nose. “What a kind wife I have.”

“Extremely kind,” she taps his nose.

Leading Adrien to her loft, she guides him to carefully sit on her bed, her heart twisting at his hiss of pain. Placing his pajama pants beside him, she pulls back the covers and then disappears to get changed.

When she comes back, his jeans are crumpled on the ground and his eyes find hers as she makes her way to her loft.

“What’s wrong?”

He plays with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t think...I can take this off by myself.”

“Oh. That,” she swallows, “does seem like it’d be hard.”

Adrien blinks, his mouth twitching. “Do you just...know what you just said?”

Marinette tilts her head to the side as she places a knee on the bed. It dips with her weight. “Not at all. I mean, this is what wives do. Sometimes. Undress their spouse?”

��Oh my god,” Adrien says under his breath. “You’re so unknowingly funny, but don’t make me laugh. Please.”

“Unknowingly?”

Adrien nods and winces as he lifts his arms in the air.“You have no clue how funny you are.”

“...I’m funny?”

“More than you’d know. Now, just...I feel like a child.”

Marinette suppresses a smirk and peels his shirt away. “You’re supposed to feel like a husband.”

(She doesn’t realize this, but her palm rests on his shoulder, burning him to his bones and—)

“Well,” he says, licking his lips. “If we continue down this course of undress, then, believe me, I’d feel like a husband.”

Her mouth feels dry. “Oh?”

He wears a small smile and a part of Marinette feels like for some reason it’s fragile. Like if he moves it one degree in any direction, he’d shatter, leaving her nothing but glass.

Adrien rests his hands on her hips and strokes up to her waist. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Adrien sighs, his hands holding her firmly. “But much as I want to continue and find out what exactly can happen, I’m going to use my upper head and say no.”

Marinette smiles and pecks his forehead. “Okay. One day?”

His voice is quiet, but full of promise. “Most definitely one day.”

DISCLAIMER: before someone tries to drag me for hot pot, one of my most favorite dishes in the world that i love to eat on a regular basis, look. this is how me, my fam, my host fams, my friends, my boyfriend, my everyone i fucking ever loved do shit. we have fun. it's communal soup. we like to take care of each and serve each other. please let me live and dream happy thoughts about my most favorite dishes in the world next to pho.

AND HI. I AM ALIVE.

Can you believe I've been working on this chapter for like 4 months? Because I was working on this chapter for four months.

Also, my life has like extra changed. Yay!

Thank you for everyone who has had well wishes for mom! She's doing great and is back at work. I, myself, too have a job. Long story short: be really mindful to who and what companies you think you are talking to on the internet kids because I almost lost my job totally because something seemed too good to be true.

EIther way, thank you for all the comments, likes, and reblogs! Everyone's love for this fic has def gotten me through some tough times. You guys are the best and just thank you for waiting. I love each and every one of you.

#anapost #text #drabble #adrienette #miraculous ladybug #miraculous: tales of ladybug and cat noir #ladynoir #omg #i updated this story #marriage au #hi #i know it's been like a hot fucking min #but here you go!!!

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 7 years ago

Text

Anniversaries (Children Part 7)

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1697

Summary: Tasha is 11 years old, and it's time for her to go to Watford.

Read on AO3

Baz

“Oh, stay away from the catacombs. That place is disgusting,” Snow adds as he turns the car around another curvy bend.

“Stay away from the merwolves,” I say. “They’re terrible.”

“Is there anything good about Watford?” Tasha says with a smirk and raised eyebrow.

Simon scoffs. “Of course. The classes, the teachers, the food, being around other mages. But we’ve already been over all that. We’re just giving you important tips.”

“Well, you’re sort of bumming me out for my first day of school.”

I reach back to pat her leg. “Sorry, darling. We just want you to have the best time there.”

“No, you’re projecting your nervousness about me going to school into needless advice.”

I lean back. She’s sitting in her seat with her arms crossed and a smug smile. I narrow my eyes. “You’ve been talking to Aunt Penelope.”

“Yeah. She says you’re both worry warts.”

Simon grumbles, lip jutted out in a pout. “My best friend is bad mouthing me to my daughter. Wonderful. And, we’re here!”

He pulls in front of the Watford gates. I can sort of see the buildings from here. They’ve added one more since my time there. It’s modern looking, relatively tall and made of glass and steel. It’s where they teach more Normal subject classes, so Watford students feel more ready for the modern world. Though the Old Families kicked up quite a fuss, most people agreed it was necessary. Mages need to know magic but also how to just live normally. But there’s still the Whitechapel, and the Weeping Tower, and the Wavering Wood, of course, Mummer’s House. At its core, it’s still Watford.

We climb out of the car. I wake up a dozing Ebb. All four of us stand at the fence. Tasha goes right up to bars, gazing at it with wide eyes. She’s been here before a few times. But she still gets this dreamy look in her eye every time she sees it. It reminds me of the way Simon looked when he first came. But when I glance at Simon now, he looks through the gate very scared, mouth all twisted and quivering. He hasn’t been back here since...well, since the Mage. I take his hand.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “He’s not here anymore. He can’t hurt you.”

He squeezes me tightly. “I know. But still...being here, it brings it all back.”

“I know, love. I know.”

Ebb walks up and takes Snow’s other hand. “It’s okay, Daddy,” he says. “It’s not bad anymore, right?”

Simon smiles, his tight grip loosening on my hand. “No, bud. It’s all good now.”

“It’s so awesome!” Tasha shouts, skipping over to us. “Every time I’m here I can feel the magic. There’s just, there’s so many of us here. It’s not like anywhere else.”

Snow grins, as do I. We know what she means. Simon’s told me that the magic feeling was one of his favourite things about Watford. It’s one of mine too.

“No it’s not,” Simon sighs. “And you’re going to love it here, Tasha. I know you will.” He lets go of Ebb and my hand. “I should go get your bag.” He walks off, looking taller than he did a mere few minutes earlier.

I kneel down so Tasha and I are at eye level. She looks absolutely giddy, hazel eyes sparkling and teeth showing in a grin. I reach forward, placing a hand on her shoulder under her side braid.

“Now, Tasha, I know you’re Dad and I have been over worrying, but we’re still very happy for and proud of you. I think you’ll love it here. However, if you ever feel bad or lonely or sad, don’t hesitate to call us. We’ll always be here for you. Okay?”

She rolls her eyes while still smiling. “I know, I know. Don’t worry, I’m a big girl, Papa. I can take care of myself.”

I sigh, tilting her chin to look me right in the eye. “But here’s the thing, you don’t have to. You’re only eleven, darling. You’re still a kid and should get to act like one, even while you’re living away from us. Dad and I were forced to grow up far too fast at your age. We had to deal with a lot of stuff all on our own at Watford that we shouldn’t have had to. So never feel like you can’t talk to us, or that you have to cope with anything alone. We’re your parents and we’re here for you. Even when you’re here. Okay?”

Tasha’s expression softens, and I think she finally gets it. She nods slowly. “Okay, Papa. I’ll remember that.”

“Good. Now can I have a hug? Or are you too big for that?”

She smiles again. “Never.” She throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I laugh and squeeze her back. I try to memorise the feel of her embrace. I’ll need to remember when I inevitably miss her too much. Suddenly, two other arms try to engulf us. We both look down at Ebb, trying to hug both of us at once with his relatively small eight year old arms. I laugh and bring him into the hug with us.

“Hey! No group hugs without me!” Simon shouts before embracing all three of us. We sit there for far too long. Because this is the last time we’ll be able to do this for awhile. All four of us together. Even though I know we’ll see Tasha again soon, I have to will my heart from breaking.

Slowly, we pull apart, Simon unsurprisingly the most reluctant. He subtly wipes away a tear. I can’t blame him. I’m a breath away from crying too.

“Alright,” Snow says, voice only cracking a bit. “Got all your stuff? Laptop? Books? Wand?”

Tasha nods rapidly. “Yup, yup, and,” she opens her jacket and pulls out her wand, “yup!”

“Okay, okay, good. We’ll bring anything if you forgot it.”

“I know you will. But I’ve checked my list five times, I’ve got everything.” Simon’s face twists slightly. Tasha walks forward, taking his hand. “You can still come visit me, y’know. You don’t need the excuse of bringing me stuff. I still want you to come.”

I keep myself from laughing. She can see right through Simon. It’s absolutely hilarious and adorable. Simon smiles wryly, then scoops her up in a big hug, spinning her around as she giggles.

He sighs as he puts her down, patting her head. “How did you get so smart?”

“Well, Papa taught me a lot.”

Snow raises an eyebrow. “And what about me?”

Tasha shrugs, unsuccessfully hiding her smirk. “You helped I guess.”

He shoves her head playfully. “Well, you definitely have Papa’s sense of humour too.”

She sticks her tongue out. Which is definitely more of a Snow move than a Pitch one.

Simon, Ebb, and I hand her the luggage and backpack we brought. Ebb gives her his most favourite rock to, according to him, “keep her dreams nice.” She accepts it happily. Simon gives her one last tight hug.

“Now,” he says as he pulls back, “remember, you should learn, but have fun too. Also, be nice to your roommate. You have no idea how you two could end up.” He gives me a small wink. I roll my eyes smiling. Yeah, like the two of us are a common occurrence.

“I’ll remember, Daddy. Love you,” Tasha says sweetly.

“Love you, too, darling.”

She moves over to Ebb and hugs him tightly. He’s crying unabashedly. (We’ll definitely need to have ice cream tonight for him. Well, for all of us.)

“Bye Bye, Tashy,” he mumbles sadly into her shoulder.

“Bye for now, Ebby.”

Once released, Ebb immediately runs to hug Simon, still whimpering. Poor little guy, I’ll hug him later too. She stops at me. There’s a small tear in the corner of her eye. I lean down and wipe it away, and press a kiss to her forehead.

“Good luck, little puff. I love you lots.”

She kisses my cheek in return. “Thanks, Papa. Love you too”

With that, she walks towards the gate. It opens for her, like it should. Once the guard checks her in, she gives us one last wave and dashes across the Great Lawn without shame. Simon chuckles under his breath.

“I still think she’s worse than Gil,” he says, still holding our moping son.

I put my arm across his shoulders. “Don’t tell Bunce that. She’ll hang it over us for years.”

“Of course not.” He sighs, his head leaninging against me. “Today’s our anniversary, y’know.”

“We got married in the spring, Snow. You’re getting dotty in your old age”

“No no, not that one. Anniversary of the day we first met. When the crucible brought us together.”

“Hm, that’s very true.” I turn to him, one brow quirked. “Would you have guessed on that day that we’d end up here?”

Simon smiles, simply content. “Nope. But I’m glad we did.”

I kiss his lips once softly. And it’s absolutely perfect. “Me too.”

“Daddy? Papa?” Ebb says, still sniffling a bit. “Can we have chicken fingers for lunch? I’m sad. Chicken fingers make me happy.”

I sigh, petting his hair. “Sure, little puff. I think we all need some happy food. Agreed, Snow?”

“Agreed, love.”

We load back into the car. I take the driver’s seat this time. Snow puts on some upbeat pop music, which immediately improves Ebb’s mood. They sing along terribly as usual. It makes my ears hurt, sure, but I’m too happy.

I still remember all those years ago, clear as day. I remember being drawn to that grimy boy with blue eyes and bronze curls holding his stupid red ball. Standing in front of him, little did I know how he’d change my life. Or how I’d change his. Even when I fell in love with him, I truly never thought we’d end up like this. Married, with kids, singing off key Top 40 hits with our youngest after dropping off our eldest at Watford.

And I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.

AN: And that's a wrap folks! Phew, 30 days, 23 fics, it's been nuts! But it's been lots of fun. Seriously I've really enjoyed doing this. Thank you to all the people who left kudos and comments on AO3, and those who liked and reblogged my posts here. You're kind words made my day. Thank you so so much <3

Of course, I'm not done writing snowbaz fics, haha. Now I'll be working on the final kiss fic requests, which I haven't forgotten about I promise! And I hope to publish them in the new year. So look out for those! :D

On a final note, happy holidays y'all :)

#carry on countdown #coc 2017 #carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #children #family #anniversary #fluff #mysnowbazfic

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blossom-hwa · 7 years ago

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Run |3| - YUTA

Well, here’s the last part of the story! An epilogue will come tomorrow (to commemorate the Dreamies’ comeback :DDD)! I hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Yuta x fem!reader

Genre: action, angst

Triggers: violence, somewhat graphic?

Word Count: 1.9k

Your gang is dead and only one person knows you’re alive. Since you know nothing but the gang world, you turn to working for those who killed your family. It doesn’t really bother you, but your identity gets found out by the wrong person on one of your… excursions.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

NCT Masterlist

Yuta really is just a gigantic man-child, you think as you hurry home after another successful heist. You’d been hired to steal a hard drive back for a gang leader who’d lost it to someone else. It’d been successful, no one realizing you were there.

“Went well?” Taeyong asks when he meets you at the door. He looks exhausted, with bags under his eyes and flecks of blood in his hair. “Yeah. You?” He nods, leaning on you. You unlock the door to your small home, saying something along the lines of “Taeyong, you need to sleep” before you stop short at the absolute mess that greets you.

“What-” Taeyong collapses on the ground, a small dart protruding from his neck. You look around wildly, just barely missing another dart that whizzes past your neck so close you can hear it fly by.

“Who’s here?” you yell.

A laugh sounds. “No one. Just an old friend.”

Old friend my ass-

You feel a sting in your back, and you collapse, out cold.

. . . . .

Yuta notices you don’t come over the next day, which is strange, because you’re always there. It’s one of your good traits, he thinks. You’re loyal and you always deliver.

The day goes by with no trace of you, and Yuta starts to get worried.

When the next three days go by without you showing up, Yuta starts to panic. Why, he’s not sure, but he is. His father doesn’t seem to notice, so he confronts him first.

“Father, where’s Y/N?” Yuta asks as though mildly curious. Aito simply shrugs. “Who knows? Doesn’t matter much to me.”

Yuta glances at him, disturbed. “Weren’t you the one who wanted her to work here in the beginning?” he questions.

“Yeah.”

Yuta looks at him weirdly. “Then… why are you so flippant about all of this?”

Aito sighs. “Fine, since you’re so persistent. I let her identity out.”

Yuta’s jaw drops.

“She’s been pretty much useless, and her insistence on continuing to hire herself out will be detrimental to our syndicate. Better to get rid of her early on.”

Yuta snaps his mouth shut, anger beginning to flare in his chest. “Are you serious?” he hisses, his voice so venomous even his father is surprised. “She’s been nothing but loyal to you, and now you’re killing her off like this?”

Aito laughs. “Son, since when did I care about loyalty?” He walks off a little bit, then turns back, fixing his son with a cold glare. “You were also getting too soft around her.”

Yuta is left in the hall, seething. Two thoughts run through his head.

He will find you. And he will get you all out of this mess of gangs.

. . . . .

It is the tenth day of your captivity. The mastermind behind it all was the leader of the Jung syndicate, and the son and heir is the one who is questioning you.

You hated the Jung syndicate and the Jung syndicate hated the Lee syndicate, which you were part of. The Jungs had a rivalry with the Lees, and you guess when the Lees burned down, the Jungs didn’t get enough pleasure from that. From what you’ve heard, they didn’t even have a part in orchestrating the fire, which probably pissed them off.

Based on what’s going on, you assume that they’re trying to get all the information about gangs out of you, and then they’ll kill you. You have no idea where Taeyong is. When you tried to ask, Jaehyun punched you in the cheek. You’re pretty sure there’s a spectacular bruise there.

Jaehyun comes in again, but you barely raise your head from where you sit in the corner. He laughs quietly. “Broken?”

Nah, not really. But you don’t say that out loud.

He reminds you of Yuta when he caught you stealing the painting. Only, unlike that time, you’re pretty sure you won’t end up working for the Jungs. Or alive, for that matter.

What a dreary thought.

Jaehyun grows impatient with your silence and yanks you over by your hair. You very nearly scream in pain, but you bite your lip so hard it draws blood instead.

“I hear you’ve been working for the Nakamotos. True or not?” When you don’t respond, you get a kick in the stomach. You nod.

“What did they make you do?”

“Steal. Hack. That’s it.”

Jaehyun snorts. “Don’t believe you. Doesn’t matter. We’ll get the information out of you anyway. Meanwhile, Dad’s got a surprise for you. Let’s go, shall we?” He doesn’t wait for a response, instead grabbing your arm harshly and dragging you somewhere with him.

Well, shit, you think. If Papa Jung has a part in any of this, then that’s not good.

He throws you in a small room with a chair in the middle, holding an emaciated figure. The figure lifts his eyes, and you start to cry.

Taeyong.

“Kill him.” Jaehyun’s voice brings you back to reality, and a gun is being shoved into your hand, another one pushed into the back of your head. You stare at the metal, unable to comprehend the weight in your hand.

No.

. . . . .

Yuta is frantic by the time Sicheng calls him back, the hacker telling the elder that he knows where Y/N is. Yuta wastes no time in grabbing his own weapons, ready to leave immediately.

He is stopped by his father, who eyes his son as though he knows where Yuta’s headed. “You know, son,” he says softly, “you’re really too soft for her.” He shakes his head in disappointment.

Yuta glares back without a word.

“Go. Just know that if you do, you have no place back here with the rest of us.” The elder man turns on his heel and walks away.

Yuta doesn’t care. He runs out the door, only an earpiece in his ear connecting him to Sicheng. “Now, Yuta, I get that you’re pissed, but remember to fucking listen to me. Last time you didn’t, you nearly died,” Sicheng admonishes. Yuta deflates, remembering the situation. “Yeah. Got it.”

. . . . .

You sob, crying out all the unshed tears over the deaths of your gang, your friends, and the people that are dead because of you and your thievery. You cry because the only friend you have, Lee Taeyong, is about to be killed, either by them or by you.

You don’t know which is worse.

Taeyong coughs weakly. “It’s fine, Y/N. Just do it. I understand.” His smile is more of a grimace, and you sob even harder.

“No,” you choke out. You turn around so that the gun pressing into the back of your head is now planted on your forehead. You swallow one last sob, and you speak. “Kill me instead.”

You see Jaehyun raise an eyebrow in cold disbelief. He opens his mouth to say something, probably the order to kill.

Then someone yells outside, something that sounds suspiciously like “Help!” before a series of gunshots are heard.

Jaehyun looks confused. The person holding the gun to your forehead slackens his grip, and in that moment, you spring into action. You knock his gun out of his hand, then kick him in the family jewels. He goes down with a groan, and you kick his head to knock him out.

A bullet lodges in the other guard’s (Is he a guard? Who knows.) shoulder, forcing him to drop his own weapon. Another cuts right through his stomach. You turn around, gritting your teeth, as you raise your gun to Jaehyun, only to realize he has one of his own.

It is pointed at Taeyong.

“Do anything stupid and I kill him,” he says monotonously. “Drop the gun.”

You can see Taeyong struggling in his bonds. Jaehyun’s finger twitches on the trigger.

You drop the gun with a thud.

Jaehyun’s mouth curls in a mirthless grin. “Alright-”

And then Yuta comes barreling into the room, two guns in hand and a wild look in his eyes. “Y/N,” he breathes when he sees you.

A laugh sounds, and all of you in the room look at Jaehyun. “Funny seeing you here, Nakamoto,” he says amiably, as though he and Yuta are best friends. “Care to give an explanation?”

Yuta growls. “I’ll give you an explanation, you bastard,” he says lowly, raising both the guns in his hands.

In a flash, a gun is pressed to your temple, Jaehyun’s finger on the trigger. You exhale slowly, trying to calm your breathing, and look Jaehyun in the eye. “You sure?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “I can guarantee you won’t live long after killing me with Nakamoto like that.” You jab a thumb at the Japanese male.

You can feel Jaehyun’s hesitation. He is like you, you think. Unwilling to die so easily.

In that moment, you make eye contact with Yuta and you snap into action.

Yuta fires at Jaehyun just as you duck down and throw yourself to the side, launching yourself towards Taeyong. Using the unconscious guard’s knife, you hack through his bonds, and he willingly gets out of the way, albeit slowly.

Jaehyun screams, his hands bloody probably from Yuta shooting the gun out of his hands. You pick up the gun you dropped and throw it like a Frisbee at him, catching him right in the head and knocking him out cold.

“Let’s go,” Yuta hisses, picking up Taeyong. You agree.

. . . . .

It is nighttime when Yuta deems that you are all in a safe place. Having understood that he was kicked out of his family, you don’t complain at the ‘safe place,’ which is really a clearing in the woods.

Taeyong is asleep nearby, totally exhausted. You and Yuta sit on the ground in silence.

“Why did you come to find me, Nakamoto?” you ask quietly, staring ahead into darkness.

“Dunno. I just felt like I had to. As cheesy as it sounds, it was like my heart was telling me to. I was so angry when my father told me he’d betrayed your secret, and I felt I just had to find you.” Yuta picks at a blade of grass next to him, looking at you.

“I’m glad you came,” you say softly, looking at him too. He nods, a slight smile on his face. “I’m glad I did, too.”

A breeze blows by, making you shiver and unintentionally scoot closer to Yuta. Instead of moving away, though, like you thought he would, he pulls you closer, resting an arm over your shoulders.

Startled, you look up at him. His eyes are tired and sad, but when you look up, a little hint of the mischievousness you’re accustomed to seeing comes back. “Falling for me?” he asks, a slight smirk on his lips.

To your surprise and his, you answer, “I guess so.”

He recovers quickly, a gentle smile spreading across his face. “Good thing I am too.”

A chapped pair of lips touches yours, and in that moment, it’s as though all is okay.

Even if you have to keep running for the rest of your lives, it’ll be okay, because a. you can protect yourself and b. he has your back.

With that kiss, Yuta gives you the energy to keep running forever, no matter how far, so long as he is by your side.

#nctwriters #smtownnetwork #kpop #nct #nct 127 #yuta #action #angst #triggers #gang!au #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct yuta scenarios #run #scriptura-delirus

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folklore-musings · 8 years ago

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Camera Shy (Part Three)

Summary: AU. Jughead is an aspiring photographer. His final project requires him to shoot nude photos of someone who inspires him. With no one else to ask Jughead asks Betty. Insecure of her body Betty is quick to shoot the idea down, until Jughead reminds her that she owes him. - Bughead leading to eventual smut.

Part One Part Two

Read on AO3 here

As expected here is a new chapter! I’m so tired but it was so worth staying up for. Thank you so much for all the support and interest in this. Enjoy!

Betty wakes up to the sound of footsteps in the hall. She opens one eye and groans, wondering why she’s asleep on the couch instead of in her bed. Attempting to lift herself up she winces and lies back down. Her head is throbbing, and underneath her blanket she’s wearing nothing but her underwear.

“Good morning sunshine,” Jughead says, walking past the living room and into the kitchen. Betty hears him open the fridge, suddenly realizing just how dry her mouth is. Before she has the chance to ask, Jughead enters the living room and places a water bottle on the coffee table, along with a bottle of aspirin. “In case you need this.”

Betty smiles gratefully. When she reaches for the water the blanket shifts, exposing Betty’s chest and stomach. For a brief moment she’s embarrassed, but the memories of the night before resurface like a distant dream. The wine, the pictures, agreeing to do the photoshoot. She looks up at Jughead, who’s already retreating back into the kitchen. “Thank you,” she croaks, her lips are chapped and her mouth tastes like something died inside. Begrudgingly, she makes herself get up. Wrapping the blanket around herself, she grabs her clothes from floor and heads into the bathroom.

She returns a few minutes later, dressed and feeling more like herself. She folds up the blanket and throws it over the back of the couch and joins Jughead in the kitchen.

“What do you want for breakfast?” he asks, digging into his leftover Chinese food, Lo Mein noodles dangling from his lips.

Betty glances at the clock, shocked she let herself sleep for so long. “Pop’s serves all day breakfast. And I’m craving some French toast.”

Jughead smiles and puts the Lo Mein back in the fridge. “Let me go grab my coat.” He reaches for the beanie he left on the counter the night before and shuffles into his wool lined jean jacket. The only time Betty ever sees Jughead rush is when he knows food is on the horizon. She smiles to herself and puts on her jacket and shoes, following Jughead out the door.

The walk to Pop’s is quick. Overnight another few inches of snow had fallen. What should be spring air is crisp and uninviting, but at least the snow subsided and the sun is shining. Thankfully, Pop’s isn’t too busy and they’re able to slip into their favorite corner booth.

“How did you sleep?” Jughead asks Betty as his eyes quickly scan the menu, already knowing what he’s going to order.

“Like a log.” Betty replies. Their waitress comes over and asks what they’d like to drink. “I’ll have a coffee and a glass of water please.” Jughead orders the same and returns to his menu.

“You fell asleep on the floor, you know. I picked you up and put you on the couch. You were out cold.” Jughead laughs, setting his menu aside, letting the waitress know he’s ready. Betty blushes, fully embarrassed by her crazy wine drinking ass. Jughead must think she’s nuts.

Betty apologizes as the waitress walks over. Jughead orders the Country Boy breakfast, complete with 3 eggs, two pieces of toast, 4 slices of bacon or sausage links (Jughead opting for two of each) and a side hash browns lathered in butter and topped with grilled onions. The waitress surveys Jughead with wide eyes and thin lips, undoubtedly wondering the same thing as Betty. Where does the lanky dark haired boy put it all?

Betty settles for French toast with a side of fresh fruit, ordering an orange juice as well. “Someone’s thirsty,” Jughead notes, looking at her half empty mug of coffee and her empty glass of water.

“Just a little dehydrated.” Betty sighs. She hands over her menu to the waitress and sits back, impatiently waiting for her food.

She and Jughead make small talk, neither one mentioning the night before. Like kids, they flip over the paper placemats and play hangman and tic-tac-toe until their food arrives.

Betty’s stomach lurches, rumbling and grumbling when her French toast arrives. She unwraps her silverware and dabs some butter on the bread, before dousing the fluffy, powder sugared toast in maple syrup. Taking a bite she moans, savoring the sweet flavor on her tongue.

Halfway through the meal Jughead speaks up. “So I think we should leave the apartment around three, so I can set the studio up in time before our shoot.”

His comment catches her off guard. Betty swallows and takes a sip of her orange juice. “What? You booked the studio for this afternoon?” She looks down at her French toast, losing all the appetite she had for the abundance of sugary carbs and starts spearing the fruit in the bowl beside her.

“Yeah.”

“But how? I only agreed to this little plan last night.” The waitress comes by and fills Betty’s cup. Betty thanks her as walks away.

Jughead mumbles something under his breath, sounding a lot like “Fuck.” The heat rises in his cheeks and he opens his mouth to speak. “About that, I booked the studio two weeks ago. I’ve known about this assignment since the end of February. I’ve just been too chicken shit to ask you. That’s why I made it seem so important yesterday. I’ve been running out of time.”

Betty drops her fork, falling to the table with a clatter. She reaches for her newly refilled glass of water and twirls the straw around the edges. Her toe taps incessantly against the tiled floor, and she checks the time on her phone. She thought she’d have days to prepare, not hours. She had to go home, she had to shower, she had to shave. Her legs were furry creatures, hibernating in the winter weather and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d plucked her eyebrows. She’s starting to panic as her stomach clenches. Again, Jughead’s timing is always the worst.

“You couldn’t have told me this sooner?” Betty finally says, tugging on the neckline of her sweater uncomfortably.

Jughead shrugs sheepishly, refusing to meet her eyes. “I was afraid to ask. I’m sorry Betts.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts before speaking. “You’ll still do it, right? Because if not, at this point I’m going to have make this project a set of awkward, naked selfies.”

Betty laughs. “Now those I wouldn’t mind seeing.” She reaches for his hand across the table and caresses it gently. “I’ll still do the shoot Jug. But next time, please give me a warning at least a week in advance. I need to go home prepare.” Betty slips out of the booth, leaving Jughead to take care of the bill. “Oh, and please have her box up my French toast, I’m definitely finishing those later.”

Betty jogs home, hoping it will help burn a few of the calories she’d just consumed. The pavement is hard beneath her feet; all signs of ice from the day before melted away under the sun’s shining rays. When she reaches the apartment she’s short of breath and sweating. Hastily, she slips off her shoes and texts Ronnie.

Betty: The little fucker didn’t tell me the photoshoot was today. Help me get ready? I’m hopping in the shower now. Come by in a half hour?

Ronnie replies almost instantly.

Ronnie: Okay! You’ll be such a smoke show when I’m done with you!

Betty tosses her phone on the counter and heads for the shower, ignoring the coiling feeling in her stomach.

By the time Betty’s finished Jughead is already home. The clock on the wall in the hallway reads 1 o’clock. She has just a little over two hours for Ronnie to help doll her up. With a towel wrapped around her, Betty passes Jughead’s room on the way to her own. “You know you could just start walking around naked now.” Jughead calls through his open door.

Betty stops in her tracks and peers into his room. “You wish Jughead.”

“It’s not like I’ve never seen it before.”

She holds the towel tighter around her body. “What are you talking about?”

Jughead grins smugly. “Remember back in high school, when I lived with Archie for a few months?” Betty nods, already dreading where this is going. “Well Betts, you really should’ve kept your curtains closed more often.”

“What did you see?” She’s beginning to drip onto the wood.

“A lot of side boob. But don’t worry; it was very tasteful and pleasing to the eye. Fifteen year old me really appreciated it.”

Betty groans and stomps her feet the rest of the way to her room. Behind her back she retorts, “You know, I can still back out of this. It’s not like I’ve signed a contract.” She closes the door forcefully behind her. At least he was being honest.

To help her get ready Betty puts on some mood music to help her relax. She pulls on robe when she hears a knock on her door. “It’s open,” Betty says, reaching for her brush.

“Hey babe,” Ronnie waltzes in as if she owns the place. She turns up the stereo and grabs the brush from Betty. “I promise to make you beautiful Betty,” she says mimicking from Jughead’s voice. “He’s so gone for you, how can you be so blind?”

Betty rolls her eyes and winces as Ronnie drags the brush through her hair, showing now mercy. “You read too much into what Jughead says.”

“No, I just know when a guy is head over heels in fucking love with you. Back when I lived in New York…” Betty drones her out, focusing on the music as Ronnie plays with her hair. “…you’re not even listening to me, are you?” Betty shakes her head, guilt displayed on her face. “Fine, I won’t bore you with the glamorous lifestyle I used to live. Let’s talk about you and Jughead instead.”

Betty purses her lips. “I’d rather not.”

“Come on Betty, you can’t deny he’s dreamy in a Heath Ledger meets Leonardo DiCaprio kind of way.”

Betty’s lips form a straight line, refusing to speak. Ronnie finally drops the subject and plugs in her hair dryer. Betty sings along to the radio while Ronnie fluffs and primps her hair. There’s no wonder she ties it back every day, having to put in actual effort would take way too long.

Around two-thirty Jughead peeks his head into the room, a hand covering his eyes. “Are you ladies decent?”

“Yeah,” Betty says, and he walks right in.

“Okay. Well I just wanted to let you know I’m going to head over there now. I want to take the chance to get everything ready. You know where the Fine Arts building is, right?” The blonde nods. “Good. It’s on the third floor, Room 347. I’ll see you there.” Jughead retreats from the room, knowing when to take his exit.

Another half hour flies by and Ronnie’s just finishing up the final touches with her makeup. She had a knack for using neutral tones to make Betty’s beauty more natural and alluring. “You’re all set. Thank goodness we don’t have to worry about a wardrobe. I would have needed a full 24 hours to set that up.”

Betty sits back and admires her reflection in the mirror. She plays with her curls, gently twirling them around her fingers. “Wow Ronnie.”

“I know, it’s a gift.” She spins Betty around in her chair. “Now you listen here Betts. You are going to walk into that studio, and blow that stupid beanie off his head. Seriously, let me know what it feels like to run your fingers through his hair. I wonder what sort of conditioner he uses? His hair always looks so soft.”

“Ronnie! I’m not going to run my fingers anywhere near Jughead’s hair, or any other part of his body for that matter!” Betty cries. She tosses her hair back in a ponytail and grabs her jacket and keys. “Okay…wish me luck.”

“Buena suerta sweetie. You better tell me everything.”

“I will, don’t worry.”

Betty walks with her hands in her pockets, her mind buzzing with anticipation. She’s nervous and excited and terrified all at once. The whirlwind of emotions makes her feel dizzy and light headed. She’s donning a casual sweater and jeans, not bothering with underwear, knowing she won’t need it where she’s headed. In her bag she has a robe Ronnie let her borrow, warning her Jughead will lose his shit when he sees her in it.

With every step closer she gets her heart beats faster. She struts into the Fine Arts building with unsteady knees and shaky hands. Locating the studio Betty sneaks inside, shutting the door softly behind her.

The room is a lot smaller than she imagined. One wall is nothing but a mirror, with a barre wrapped around it. To the left there’s a small stage with a singular stool. Jughead’s standing there, messing with the lens on his tripod while another camera hangs from a strap around his neck. Two spot lights center in on a plain white black drop. Off to the side there’s a folding screen for her to change behind.

Too wrapped up in his magic, Jughead doesn’t hear Betty approach him. She taps him on the shoulder, almost startling him to death. “Betty, you’re here.”

“Were you afraid I wasn’t going to come?” she asks, swaying from side to side, unable to stand still.

“N-No of course not. Please, make yourself comfortable. You can, err, change over there.” He directs her towards the screen.

Betty disappears behind the screen, exhaling slowly, trying to steady her breath. “Here goes nothing,” she sighs. She undresses precariously, taking her time with each article of clothing. Once she’s done she takes a minute to regain her composure, ready to walk out and face the music.

꙰

Jughead forces down a swallow, watching with lidded eyes and fervent excitement as Betty steps out from behind the divider, wrapped in nothing but a sheer, floral robe. Her hair is down, tumbling in waves surrounding her face. Everything about her is enchanting, luring Jughead in. She’s a drug and he’s an addict, craving every inch of her skin beneath his fingertips.

The gleaming lights illuminate her skin, bringing to life a vision of Betty he never imagined could be real. Shadows enlighten her features, accentuating her hallowed cheeks and lavish lips. She looks at him with distant eyes, hugging herself and continuously biting her lip.

Jughead takes his first picture. She’s nervous. Her fists clutch onto the robe around her, wishing she could disappear into the shadows. “How do I look?” She whispers.

Jughead can barely breathe; barely speak as Betty stands before him. The words flow from his mouth without even thinking. “Flawless.” He searches for oxygen, hoping to clear his head before continuing. “Now let the robe fall off your shoulders, but continue to hold it the way you are.”

Betty does as she’s told, the thin fabric slipping slowly from her shoulders. She tosses her hair over her back and turns her head to face him. He snaps another photo, the flash resounding in the tiny studio.

Jughead walks away for a moment and moves to the corner of the room. He bends down and pops a CD inside an old boom box, letting the music fill the room softly; anything to help distract him from the palpable tension between them.

“I love this song.” Betty tells him with quivering lips. When Jughead turns around the robe is lying in a limp puddle on the hardwood floor. He steadies his quaking knees as he walks back towards her. A piece of dark, unruly hair falls in his face and he tucks it back into the beanie. He needs to focus.

“I’m beginning to think you love every song, Betty.” She smiles coyly, dropping her arms from around her chest. Her breasts rise and fall with the beat of every breath she takes and Jughead can’t help but stare in wonder. The way her body curves, he can hardly think, hardly breathe. Her skin is luminescent. He falls in love with the shadows she creates. From head to toe he examines her body and all the dazzling qualities it possesses.

Her hair, he wants to get lost in it. Her eyes, he wants to search until he finds her soul. Her lips, he wants kiss, breathing her in as if she’s the only thing he needs to survive. Her collar bones, he wants to bite them. Her breasts, he wants to feel the way her supple nipples perk as he drags circles around them with his tongue. Her hips, he wants to hold them forever between his fingers, leaving marks to remind her that she’s his and his only. It takes all the willpower in the world to tear his eyes away and clear the scattered fog currently residing in his mind.

“Dance for me,” he breathes, holding up the camera.

He steps around the room, capturing Betty from every angle possible. At one point he’s lying on the floor, snapping a photo of her from the hips down. “Whoa – I never said you could photograph me there.” But Jughead’s not paying any attention. He studies the way her muscles move as she stands on the tips of her toes. “Hey Jug, eyes up here.”

“Betty I’m not looking there,” but he stumbles to his feet just the same.

She continues to dance, song after song, wrapping Jughead up inside a fantasy. Everything about her is blurred lines and careless angles. She’s free and invincible inside her own skin. She moves through the 8 basic ballet poses, Jughead capturing endless photos of each. Betty pirouettes and spins around on stage, opening her arms up to the heavens and the stars.

A new song comes on and Betty sits down on the stool he provided, crossing one leg over the other. She reaches up and pulls her hair off her shoulders and away from her face. Jughead zooms in, watching her movements through the lens. She has daring eyes and playful lips. He burns; he yearns desperately for her touch. For her lips hot on his mouth, his fingers tangled in her hair. He takes one picture after the other, fully aware that he’s taken enough to fill a full photo album with bewitchingly beautiful Betty.

He requests multiple poses of her. One with her back to him, her hands clutching the stool behind her as her hair sways to and fro. Another of her straddling the stool with her lip caught between her teeth. She looks at the camera as if she’s in love. Her blue green eyes are alight with a fire Jughead’s never seen before. She’s intense and she’s treacherous, ensnaring Jughead into a world where only the two of them exist.

Hesitantly he staggers up to her on the stage. He manages a few close ups, admiring the strong line of her jaw and the delicate way her eyes flutter every time the flash goes off.

Jughead removes the camera from around his neck and places it on a table off to the edge of the stage and out of sight. “I think I got what I needed.” His voice is low and unsteady. He wonders if she can sense the desire in his tone.

Betty grips onto the edge of the stool she’s sitting on, making no move to leave. “Are you sure?” she asks.

She draws in her lip, biting tenderly on the abused skin. Unable to handle it any longer, Jughead closes the distance between them. He reaches up, cupping her face in his hands. “I’m sure.” He breathes. His nose bumps against hers softly, just before he kisses her.

#bughead #betty x jughead #bughead fanfiction #im so tired yall #minor smut #my writings #im going to bed

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arplis · 5 years ago

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Arplis - News: My 22 Goals for 2019

Goal #1 — Spend More Time Doing What I Love I think we only have about 60% of the boxes unpacked, but the best part is all nervous energy is gone and I don’t even care that we’re sleeping on a mattress on the floor or that our stuff is strewn all over the house. In another week or so things will be in their place, we’ll have a proper bed to sleep in and I’ll have found the hairdryer. Moving is super stressful, but all the hard stuff is over now {well, the HH does still have to put the treadmill together but that’s his problem, not mine}. 😉 Goal #2 — Garden, Garden, Garden The color pallet for the front garden at the new place is going to be blue, pink, white and green. I’ve already ordered 200 white, and 200 pink tulip bulbs as well as 500 tiny grape hyacinth {muscari} to plant in the front flower bed. {Don’t you think that’s a dreamy color combination?} Now all I need to do is hunt down 9 blue hydrangea plants and about 36 baby gem boxwoods and I’ll be good to go. Oh, and maybe one or two pink common hibiscus for the tall corner in the front. And then HEY… I can settle in for winter and worry about the rest later. 😉 Also, I thought I’d mention that Botanical Interests is offering 30% off seeds right now in case you wanted to do a little late fall/winter sowing. {I’ll be planting a bunch of poppy seeds just before the first hard freeze}. Goal #3 — Plant an Orchard {Calling it Quits on this one.} I never did get around to planting an orchard, but Lemon and all but 2 of her babies survived the journey and the new place has a plum tree so that part is good. And, I think there might be room for an espalier tree or two at the back of the new house so I may get an orchard after all. But, it wouldn’t be planted until next spring. Goal #4 — Gussy Up the Potting Shed Done! I left the potting bench but took the party lights with me. Goal #5 — Grow Enough Extra Vegetables, Eggs and Flowers to Earn $1500 at my little roadside vegetable stand. It was totally my intention to grow a ton of fruits and vegetables to sell at the farm-stand when I made my list of goals for 2019 last winter, but then we moved. So, that whole goal was sort of a bust. The new peeps wanted the vegetable stand, and we were happy to leave it for them since it was made specifically to match the front of the house, so hopefully the tradition will continue. Goal #6 — Finish Every Single Unfinished Rug Hooking Project in My Pattern Bin + 10 Things from back Issues of Magazines/Books I’ve Been Meaning to Make. I finally finished the turkey rug I’ve been working on the past few weeks along with a few other things and I was able to upload them to my Etsy shop this weekend. I also hooked another pumpkin and a cat head and will try to get those listed along with some new wool bundles later this week. I still have a ton of things to hook if I’m going to meet my goal of clearing out my pattern bin, but I think once November and December roll around, the HH won’t be able to pry me off the couch because I’ll be in full on hooking mode and I’ll be able to finish all my rugs by the end of the year. 73 rugs in my pattern bin {now down to 34} 183 hooked flowers {finished 133, now down to 51} 10 “things” from back issues of magazines {finished 0} Goal #7 — Create 12 New Rug Hooking Patterns {with at least half of them being large ones} DONE! So far this year I’ve added 12 new rug hooking patterns and 13 beginner rug hooking kits to my Etsy shop. New rug hooking patterns I’ve created and added to My Etsy Shop this year: Tullia and Thomas Turkey Double Nantucket Whale Runner Miss Henny and Penny Miss Penny Simple Kitty Primitive Flowers 2 Fat Cats Annabell’s Big Day Old Fashioned Double Tulip Fat Brown Hen Busy Little Bee Queen Bee Rug Hooking Kits Busy Little Bee {in 2 different colors} Folk Art Heart Small Nantucket Whale Primitive Crow Miss Robin {in 2 different colors} Simple Kitty Primitive Flowers Sunflowers A Basket of Spring Posies Fat Brown Hen Chicky’s Garden Goal #8 — Split and Stack 2 Cords of Wood for Next Winter All that firewood! We sold it. 😉 Goal #9 — Do Something with the 5,002 Photos on My Phone Current number of photos on phone is 10 million. Goal #10 –Lose the Muffin Top I went out for a walk yesterday and guess what I spotted… A little hello from Mrs. HB. Hahaha! I still think it’s weird there are people walking the streets and picking their teeth. Why can’t they do this in the privacy of their own homes? WHY!? WHY!? I just don’t understand. *The shoes are made by DuckFeet style: Jylland {you can get a $30 off coupon HERE}. Someone always asks. Goal #11 — Run, Walk or Crawl a 5k, 10k, Half Marathon and Marathon Hey! I have picked out not only a 5k Turkey Trot but a half marathon as well. Looks like this goal will be wrapped on Thanksgiving. Saaaweet! Goal #12 — Read or Listen to 26 New Books {17 down, 8 to go} I finished Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand and highly recommend it. And also requested a few more audiobooks. Currently on Request: I Feel Bad About My Neck by Nora Ephron Mr. Churchill’s Secretary by Susan Elia MacNeal The War That Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley Books I’ve Read or Listened to So Far This Year: Marilla of Green Gables #1 Still my favorite The Great Alone #2 The Aviator’s Wife #3 Before We Were Yours #4 Secrets of a Charmed Life #5 Where’d You Go, Bernadette #6 Carnegie’s Maid #7 The Gown #8 Unbroken #9 The Alice Network #10 The Shape of Mercy #11 Will’s Red Coat #12 Big Little Lies #13 Bunny Mellon {Doesn’t count because it was my second time} On Writing {Doesn’t count because it was my third time} Walden Finder’s Keepers Delicious! Following Atticus Goal #13 — Try 52 New Recipes. 24 down, 30 recipes to go. OCTOBER. October is going to be my month for cooking! Goal #14 — Clean Up 52 Old Recipes on the Blog 9 down, 44 to go. I’ll get crackin’ once fall {and cooler temps} come around. Goal #15 — Fill 100 Canning Jars 48 down, 52 to go. I won’t be able to get any canning done in the next few weeks but I am planning on getting some jam on the shelves for us to use on toast as well as to give away this Christmas. I’ll probably need at least another month to get settled in though. Oh! And get this. The new house has a root cellar… AND the perfect spot for storing canned goods. 😉 I’ll have to show you the space when I get some time. So far this year I’ve I canned: 7 jars Peach Jam 7 jars of Strawberry Jam 15 jars of Carrot Cake Jam 15 jars of Spiced Pear Jam 4 jars of Almond Pears. Goal #16 — Finish Furnishing Our House So here’s the funny thing…. Even though we sold the old house and a boatload of furniture, I am still keeping this goal. I already have my eye on some pieces for the family room and then all I need is a new bed and we’re good to go. The new place is much smaller than the old one and so getting the entire house furnished by the end of the year, is going to be a snap. High five for downsizing. Goal #17 – 52 Dates with the HH {28 down, 24 to go} We went to a fancy-schmancy restaurant to celebrate. 😉 Goal #18 — Take One Adult Education Class Done {I’ve taken 3!} I’m keeping the first class I took with my neighbor top secret for now {Mel know’s what it is though} 😉 Spoon Carving Class with Heather. Mini pottery lesson {I loved it! and now I want to sign up for a full class} Goal #19 — Secret {for now} Holiday Project The big reveal will be on Friday, November 1st. So now you know why I had to push back the date on the big reveal. I have all the supplies on hand to get started and my practice piece done, but I still have boxes to unpack and the need to get the majority of the house in order before I start on the main holiday project as its going to need it’s own little assembly line set up. Goal #20 — Create 12 Wowie Zowie Party Platters 5 down, 7 to go. Finally! I made some pickety bits. 😉 Goal #21 — Visit 12 General Stores 8 down 4 to go. So far this year we’ve visited: Chase’s Daily {I think it should count} Squam Lake Marketplace Harrisville General Store Dodge’s Store in New Boston, New Hampshire Zeb’s General Store in North Conway, New Hampshire Dan and Whit’s in Norwich, Vermont Hussey’s General Store in Windsor, Maine Goal #22 — Compete with Carole….. Get on My Front Door Game On I can still compete with Carole from afar, right? Once we get closer to Halloween I’ll hang Mrs. HB’s spectacular Halloween wreath she sent me. But for now, I’ll settle for a few pumpkins and a swag of Indian corn on the door. Front Door Bling I’ve Made So Far This Year to Compete with Carole: Late January : Valentine Heart Late February : Shamrock Late March : Giant Carrot May: White wave petunia hanging basket June/July: Tin Star and Flag Bunting August : Sunflower September: Indian corn and pumpkins ************** How about YOU? What are your goals for 2019? If you told us about them HERE, check in! We want to know how you are doing. Because seriously, it’s so much easier to get those goals checked off your list when you have people rooting for you! 🙂 Have a great day everyone, Mavis You can read more about my 22 goals for 2019 HERE. Have a Great Day! The post – Week 38 of 52 appeared first on One Hundred Dollars a Month. This content was original published at One Hundred Dollars a Month and is copyrighted material. If you are reading this on another website it is being published without consent. Comments So many questions…. *did Girl go with you? *oh no! Like ... by tia in boise A series on HOW you got rid of stuff would be helpful -garage ... by Anne The grape hyacinth image is lovely and reminds me of the ... by Mel Me too. I have been busy but somehow I must have missed that ... by Ginger Ha-ha! Yes, will HH be firing up the grill. by Ginger Plus 5 more... Related Stories – Week 39 of 52 – Week 37 of 52 – Week 36 of 52 #12GoalsForTheNewYear

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/my-22-goals-for-2020

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lilwriterinalostworld · 5 years ago

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Red virgin Pirates Debut Chapter

Whittle

2670, 320 years after The Great War

10 million suns, 800 dives and five winter peaks later we're finally getting the bow fixed. "What d'ya think, Wit? New fixture, mermaid or a double-tailed dragon?" Wit is short for Whittle and Whittle is my name, or well nickname. But seeing as I've been called this for my whole life on y'old Bloody Mary I take it as my real name. Really my real name, or so they say the name that they found me with, is Weasly. Not sure what my ma had in 'er noggin when given me such a shite name. Anyway, Whittle, Whittle is a combination of Weasly and little cause they found me when I was little and I 'aven't grown so much since then. "Double tailed dragons are bo-or-ring" Luce complains. Luce is Nance's daughter, Nance short for Nancy- the most original nickname of our crew- is our cook. She said a little more of 'ese things called nu-nutrinos-nutrinuous? Nutriends- Nutriunts? And I'd have grown slightly taller. I'm just happy that I didn't rot away in the alleys like the nameless do. Instead, the crew of Bloody whisked me away and now I'm a part of the family, one of the Red Virgin Pirates.

"She 'ave the longest hair? The dragon 'ave the sharpest teeth?" I ask.

"She was damned well a beauty but he was askin for double the price for her then the dragon." Luce replies

I roll my eyes. Those keepers always tryna cheat us. "We'll take 'er anyway."

"Ya didn't even ask the price Wit?" Lunes replies.

I turn my head away from the heavy waves crashing into the port to glare at Lunes. Lunes is the prettiest girl on the ship with 'ese blue eyes and long blond locks, but also the weakest and most pitiful. She and Luce are the only one who ever step onto the shores in the day. Lunes takes down what we each need and then they buy the supplies for Bloody. Which is why it has taken winters to fix our bow. But she does have her blessings. The girl's beauty makes all the lads swoon, so we tend to get better prices on most things. Those that we can't get cheap, we steal. Lune's face pales. "Oh, ya mean at night?" I roll my eyes and look back at the sea. You'd think after a few years on the decks she'd know the ropes by now.

Picked up at an old bedding house we saved 'er from the leers and dirty touches of older men. That first night she'd been all tears. Nance had led 'er to the kitchen where she locked them both in for oceans. When they finally came out, she was as thin as a stick and the rest of us were a growling hungry, nutty rats' nest of a crew. We gave 'er quite the fright we did.

I think Luce said she'd boil her skin and bones into a delectcy?-deliatcle?-delectable? soup. I'd said I'd relish that soft skin as a blanket and roast her flesh over a fire.

I can't say she's warmed to us since but she's as much of a part of the crew as I am.

"I'll go tell Ash then." Lunes says lightly, then scampers back off below deck.

My fingers tap the chipped railing of the balcony as I drift off into my future.

10000 old coppers was a mighty sweet amount. We could buy some of that sugar Bird always raves about. Bird has probably the weirdest background of all of us- she's apparently a princess. I'd be damned if that short squat of a girl with muddy brown eyes and frizzy hair is a princess. But I'd be twitching if I said she didn't talk about all these weird things that few of us 'ave ever heard of.

A long green fruit that has a soft inside, a juicy, tender slab of meat called a steak and a sparkling red drink that makes everyone dangerously dizzy called wine. The last one sounds just like the ale we drink on 'ere, or that everyone but me drinks. I can't stand its vile taste. Instead, I get to enjoy the early hours of the morning, stopping everyone from falling overboard. Not that I wouldn't mind seeing a few of them taking a nice cold dip in the moonlight hours.

Wherever Bird is from is apparently now long gone. Torn apart by a rift and then, in its weak state, raided by neighbours.

She doesn't talk much about it, but when she does her eyes soften and her shoulders slump.

"Oh Whittle, what are ya doing standing there all dreamy?" I feel heat attack my cheeks and clench my fists. Scowling, I face Stern. She's a whole body taller than me and a better fighter by a right hand and she doesn't ever let me forget it.

She's also the captain of our beauty, and the daughter of a sea sleeping pirate.

"Dreaming of all that money?" She asks. I shake my head.

"I ain't ever dreamed a day in my life."

Her lips tip up at the corners, and with her long legs she saunters over to ruffle my hair.

"Oh Whittle, do I have to remind ya of the time ya were so lost in the clouds that we found ya with a rat nibbling at ya ankles?" My cheeks burn further, and my hand instinctively clasps the hilt of my dagger savouring the feel of the smooth wood against my palm.

Some things just feel so right; the cool wind on a festering day, the first sign of the red fish come warming season, the sheer power of a storm that forks and the hilt of my dagger, polished and smooth, sat against my palm. I ring my bottom lip through my teeth before grinning.

"Want to say that again?"

~~~

"What's the key thing we have to remember tonight?" Stern utters impatiently as she paces up and down the deck in front of us. I roll my eyes, it was just another attempt for her to regain her control over us after our last robbery-if you could even call it a robbery. Nothing was gained unless you count a single pearl earring –not even a pair, it was such a success. "The dog down the street?" Ash asks jokingly, knowing full well how much Stern 'hates' dogs. Hate is what she says because she doesn't want to admit her deep, irrational fear of them, but we see how she reacts. Some old sailor must 'ave scared her with some grizzly tale when she was wee. "Ashen you brat, why don't you go off back to your doting mother and father?" Luce replies, she pauses for extra effect. "Oh, yes, how dreadfully sorry I am. I forgot, you killed them both." She smiles serenely.

"By the winds! Luce don't you think that was just a little bit far?" I ask, apprehensive, my hand already inching downwards to where my dagger rests in the lining of my scratchy pants. "A LITTLE?!" Ash screams finally regaining the ability to speak. "THAT WAS COMPLETELY UNCALLED FOR!" Her face reddens and she steps right up to Stern so she's standing over her. "You know full well I had nothing to do with that fire." She grits, "take it back bitch."

"Evidence saysotherwise." Luce chants.

"It was, planted! PLANTED!" Ash says her fingers sprawled out in desperation.

"Guys, get a GRIP." Stern asserts. "Sort this out later when we're back on the ship for Ocean's sake!"

Now I should explain, there's not normally this much tension on ol'Bloody. However, that robbery that I spoke about, well it went awry because of a single person, Luce. Luce though, being the excellent sea worthy pirate, would never go down with her ship, so she pushed the blame. We all know that Ash did nothing but that hasn't stopped Luce from throwing some nasty comments towards her. In all honesty Luce just really needs to untie the topes and kiss Ash, this tension has been between them for far too many moons now. Oceans forbid either of them actually make a move before one of them dies in some unfortunate accident. "Would you guys get a hammock?" I sigh and they both turn their heads to glare at me. I raise my eyebrows in indignation, "the moon and stars are running out so you can keep on brawling or call it peace and we can actually get with kidnapping this rich ass girl."

We crowd behind the back window of a tall three-story house. "By the old world!" Ash exclaims, as she marvels at the beauty that we can see with the remaining glint of sunlight, from the heavy star that has just passed below the horizon. She was right, the wondrous structure of strength and curves with holes where glass once of mustbeen, was probably from the old world. Conserved or rebuilt to fit the fashion back then, frivolously glamourous. It was a far cry from the insulated steel boxes that lined the shore, in their neat rows, weather beaten but sturdy and reliable. Having never lived in a house I couldn't say that I would rather live in either. But standing there I dreamt a silent dream that maybe one day I'd be able to appreciate such luxury.

"Ok girls," Stern utters quietly slashing the silence and my thoughts of silks and slippers."On my count; 3, 2 , 1." As soon as she says one, I'm scaling the fence. The daylight is slipping away further and further down the horizon. The house thickens their security at night so we can only act now; before the change of guards but also not in broad daylight. There are far more shadows to fit into at this time. Not that I have such a hard time keeping hidden with my short stubby stature.

I hoist myself up to the top of the first window. Thank god the house has such a luxuriant design; all this extra building material makes for very convenient foot holes. My role in this kidnapping-not that we've done too many kidnappings in the past- is to sneak in and smother her with this rag covered in this strong stench of a chemical while she rests peacefully in her bed. It will knock her out. The others are working on taking out some of the guards stationed around the house and clearing a path for me to drag her down and then through the back door.

Sounds simple enough but as we learnt from the robbery things can very easily go very wrong. I climb up the pipe that runs along the house. Yes, you're reading this correctly, they have running water, fresh running water when so many people still walk miles to wells, even more so than in the old world. Bird trailed the piping and it leads to a fresh river from a spring in the nearby mountain. They must be epically rich to be able to afford the old relics of technology capable to produce such a feat of engineering. We were originally going to contaminate their water, but with money come maids and butlers and we didn't want to hurt anyone more than necessary.

I make it to the girl's window without making a peep of sound; I'm deathly silent on my feet thanks to years of training, or well sneaking food on a rickety ship. It's not my fault I was extremely malnourished and that my stomach was constantly growling in anguish. When I look inside the window the first dagger to our plan hits me and I immediately must balance right on the edge of the ledge to stay out of her view. She's awake, just great. The girl who we've tracked for the last month and maintains perfect routine down to the time she falls asleep, on the one night we want to kidnap her, is awake?!

I sigh and look down to where Lunes stands ridged against the wall. "Hey, Lunes!" I whisper towards her and she almost jumps ten feet into the air. Not entirely sure who appointed her watch today. She'd be much safer and more satisfied if she were back on the boat. In fact, maybe if she lived in a house like this, that would suit her perfectly -if we were still capable of living that kind of crazy life in this age. This rich girl's father must have ripped the arms off babies to acquire his fortune. As gruesome as it is to say, in some parts babies arms have become a delicacy, don't ask how I know. I'd like to forever forget the plate I saw, the long soft pink arm and the tiny hand clasping a plum in its little fingers surrounded by the tongues, of what species I'd rather not guess.

I purse my lips at her to indicate that she needs to signal to the rest of the crew that something's up. She immediately begins to mimic the softest and sweetest bird songs of one of the few species that can still be found on this island. It's the sweetest little thing, with green tipped feathers and a black tipped beak. It's also a massive nuisance of a thief and has these tiny thin bones than get stuck in between your teeth. Rumour has it it's a mutation from the famous roach of 2067. Turns out the ugly flying things weren't the only things to survive or flourish in that region.

After a while Lunes stops, and something red catches the corner of my eye, a long strand, like the silk of a spider web. It reflects the sun's embers and I freeze as still as a statue. Hair, she must be right by the window. Whose idea was it to choose bird call as our signal tonight?!

I stretch my eyes far around and I can see some fingers against the bottom of the window, her nails are these long shiny things, covered in sparkles and I feel my eyebrows break my stiffness, rising as I almost bark out a laugh. This was taking the piss. Each finger of hers could probably feed a family for three months.

I wait for what feels like forever with the shallowest breathing, tension in my every muscle. If she took very much longer, we would have to go to plan C, which was non-existent, so we were basically screwed. No, don't ask what happened to plan A, and, yes, we've already had a short, costly fight about it.

When she finally moves from the window and slams the 'protective' glass panes into place I suck in a deep breath. We had just enough time. On average, the night shift arrived after the first star was visible in the night sky. Now there are only the planets haunting us above our heads. When I peak into her room, I see she's moved these black swathes of fabric that block her from the outside, I sigh. I would just have to knock her out while she was awake. Honestly something that was rather exhausting, but right now it looked like we didn't have another choice, I pull my sharp beauty of a dagger, ok it's not that pretty but appreciate its blood value of ten. Yes, it's killed ten people, ok not all mine to claim, but ten and it's basically almost legendary. At least I like to think it is. It's the one thing I can truly claim as mine, and it's been with me ever since that fateful day when we took down those nasty, blue satin, bastards on that useless, stink of a Sapphire roughly two moons ago.

I jam my blade underneath the window and hoist it up. It squeaks in this awful way as if I've disturbed this nest of rats, and I recoil almost falling off my small ledge of stability. Fortunately, she never comes forward and this girl is firmly planted on this thin strip of roughness to live another day. I raise the window just high enough so my small ass can fit in and then gently pull across the black fabric, the room is as dark as a royal dungeon and it takes my eyes a while to adjust. They take in the lush carpet that looks like it killed tens of sheep, the table with a tall mirror and a million mighty fragile but beautifully crafted glass bottles filled with all many of liquids that catch the moon light; the painting of these bright yellow flowers in a curvy jar that must be far more vibrant in the daylight and then the four poster bed. What heaven it must be to sleep in that bed. Unlike an ordinary bed it has a roof of this rich fabric. I can only imagine how many soft tufts of feathers make up those pillows and how much support that mighty mattress must offer her back. Confusion crowds in my brain- there's something missing from her room. I search around until I realise how stupid I've been. Where the fuck is the girl? "Shit." I swear, as I'm taken down by this mass of black that has been standing unnoticeably still in the corner of my vision. She pulls down her curtains with me and I'm immediately surrounded by nothing but blackness. Well this was going just great. She clamps me down under her full weight.

"Who are you? What do you want from us?" Her voice is the strange combination of eloquent letters, a harsh bitterness and the quietest quiver of fear. I would reply, expect I don't know what to say and I'm currently focused on breathing through this suffocating material and all of her weight crushing my lungs, since when were girls this heavy? I feel a sharp point pressing into my bare calf free from under the blanket. "If you don't speak, I'm cutting a clean line down your leg." Oh, oceans above, she was a little dramatic. I cough and sputter until she lifts up the blanket over my head. I find myself staringat floral wallpaper in front of me. She digs the tip slightly deeper. "Ok," I choke out. "I'll speak, would you just get off my lungs first?" Maybe she's foolish, or I'm incredibly convincing and charming, because she lessens her weight and I throw her off my back. She coughs in shock, and I twist and clamp her arms down. I'm face to face and nose to nose with her. Her soft skin touches my rough calloused and silky garments scratch against my coarse ones. I'm confronted by these pale green eyes, assaulted both parts by innocent and beauty and then the fierceness of her expression with her fire curls. Her small limbs struggle against my muscled and I hold her down with relative ease. "Who on Earth are you?!" Disgust curls her lips.

"Someone you'll wish you never met." I grin. "Now you can make this easy or go down the hard way. I'd recommend the latter seeing as your frail, pale skin probably bruises pretty easily." She spits in my face, giving up trying to fight me off and I roll my eyes. "Why doesn't anyone go down easily these days?" I muse aloud. I kick up my knee into her chin knocking her head backward and I one of my hands shoots to the pocket in my shorts. I feel around in the bottomless pocket for the small but vital foul-smelling cloth to realise that it must have fallen out in the hustle. In the seconds it takes my eyes to dart around the room and locate it, she regains focus and now it's my turn to have my head thrown backwards against the ground. Her hold on me is weaker though this time and more panic has ebbed into her eyes. "Who are you?" she says, her tone still surprisingly strong, but her eyes constantly darting to the door. Well at least something must have gone right tonight; Ash and Stern must have successfully disabled the guards. I slowly inch my hands to towards the cloth just in reaching distance. "I'm Whittle," I reply, and she looks directly into my eyes, I pause my movement. "Whittle?!"

I scoff, "Come on it's not really such a bad name is it?" She almost, almost cracks a grin. But worry keeps lines etched into her face. "What do you want, gems, coins, some of the finest fleece all the way from the mountains of tremulous?"

I shake my head my hand ever progressing towards the piece of cloth. "What then?!" She says her voice exasperated but yet again contrasting with the confusion and deepening fear in her eyes. Whatever fanciful life she must live she must be very used to concealing her emotions. My fingers clamp around the cloth.

"You my dear." I say and thrust the cloth into her face. She moves backward in shock, but soon her limbs go limp and she's falling backwards. I reach forward quickly and stop her head from thumping against the floor. Not for her though, simply because we decided it would be less effort to take out every guard. I send out my bird call, the call of a small fat black bird which lives in almost any congregation of steel bone houses. Shortly the door creeks open and Ash and Stern appear in its entrance. "What took you so long?" Ash asks. "Could have done with some help up here." I mutter and gesture my head downwards towards the knocked out ginger beauty. The worry lines still etched into her forehead even in her slumber. Ash and Stern walk over to help me pick her up. "Help you when you had the easiest job?" Ash scoffs and I glare at her. "We were keeping watch for the other guards anyway." Stern says studying the girl.

"We've got the right person?" I ask.

"None of the other rooms were occupied," Stern muses. "And how many houses do you think are left out there like this one." Ash chimes. I rest my hands under her body, while Ash clamps her hands onto the girl's legs with no regard for the fragile unmarred skin, and Stern cups her head. We hoist her up and carry her downstairs with haste. "I wish all the houses still looked like this." I sigh, most were now either piles of rubble, drawn upon and battered so they were unrecognisable. "You'd rather live on land?" Ash replies surprise raising her eyebrows. I share a conspirator grin with her, "Oh hell no, these legs only know life on the rocking decks. Maybe though, maybe if I'd been born into one of these places or like in the old days, a place where one only had to worry about getting the luxuries others had, would I be able to appreciate and relate to the rest of human race and the enjoyment they gain living on land." Ash shakes her head and smiles wistfully at me. "Sometimes, or should I say, most of the time, Whittle, you say things that make absolutely no sense."

#Red Virgin Pirates #Chapter 1 #LGBT Fiction #Lesbian #Dystopian #Yearn #Pirates #Pirate Life #Treasure #Fighting #TW kidnapping #TW Swearing #TW Violence #Ask to tag

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morrisbrokaw · 6 years ago

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Talin Spring, a True Design Inspiration

Have you ever met someone that you truly want to be when you “grow up”? Well, I don’t know if I ever have wholeheartedly experienced that feeling before, until I stepped foot into Talin Spring’s eclectic Northeast Minneapolis studio, also known as Spring Finn & Co.

If you haven’t traveled in quite some time, walking into Talin’s studio and by-appointment-only shop will make your head spin with serious wanderlust. It leaves you with a yearning to redecorate while simultaneously brushing up your French. (Or in my case, learn French altogether.) The sensory overload you will experience, let me tell you. The scent of sweet tea, murmurs of soothing music and surplus of eye-catching fabric pinned to every wall – the floor to ceiling textures you will long to touch or just stare at for 8 minutes straight will most definitely hold you enchanted for hours at a time.

After meeting with Talin to discuss her life story and what she has been up to as of late, I was not surprised to learn that people often spend up to two hours in her store just browsing and drinking tea with her. It’s as if time stops and you are brought back to old Paris where life was good, at a time when authentic craftsmanship was at an all-time peak and mass-manufacturing was not yet discovered.

Her studio feels like a home you’ve never experienced and I found myself wanting to nestle in for the entire day. In a world of fast fashion, over-manufactured cheap goods and sellers trying to make a quick buck on Amazon, the “real world” seems to halt in a dreamy, old-world space continuum when you meet Talin, who refuses to compete or comply with American societal norms. She really reminds you of why people began making meaningful items in the first place.

Talin taught me that quality is key and focusing on the bottom line is not always important. Chasing your passions and living a fulfilling life is unquantifiably more meaningful and rewarding than working in a profession that doesn’t make you happy. Staying genuine is the key to Talin’s special sauce. She refuses to sell her goods on Amazon or eBay, or even sell them wholesale into other local boutiques.

Catch our interview with Talin Spring below, a true design inspiration!

You have such an interesting and vibrant life – tell us about yourself!

Oh, I am just another human (she smiles).

I read you grew up with makers, at what age were you when you started making items?

Not that young. Although I had a mother and grandmother who were makers, they were quasi-professionals so everything had to be done by the rule, they would show me things but as soon as I would start helping… It was never right and whatever I did had to be corrected, a little frustrating. So I started rather late, in my thirties, mostly after taking night classes in mosaics, figure drawing, and ceramics over the years.

You were born in Istanbul, raised in France and spent a lot of time in bazaars, you must have so many amazing stories, what was that like?

Istanbul is a magical and mysterious city with so much history around every corner and the body of water that has such a big role in everyday life; Paris is just another unique place I don’t need to describe. Having lived in 2 fascinating cosmopolitan metropoles at an early age and speaking several languages (and hearing them around me daily) probably made me who I am today.

Was your childhood home as vibrant and beautiful as your studio is?

Yes, lots of colors, furniture made by local makers (but that’s how it was then), textiles embroidered by my mother or grandmother. My mother made most of our clothing, and our shoes came from my father’s shop. My grandfather was an iron forger, so lots of things were made by him including a veranda where all the pieces would hold together by screws, not welded, entirely dismountable; it was a work of art.

What was it like going to Columbia in NYC or school in France?

It was an amazing experience. In France, University is free but the means are really limited too, and you don’t live on campus. Libraries open all night, teachers available to talk to you when you want, listening to Ann Sophie Mutter playing on campus, afternoon cookies and tea at the International Affairs building… are all luxuries I was not at all used to. I used to say that everything was done in the American universities so you can study in peace, that’s all you had to do, learn; in France it’s more of a struggle with the lack of material means, that’s why of the 1100 first year economics major students only 400 graduated the 4th year.

What was it like working in investment banking. What skills has that taught you that you take throughout your life?

There were good and bad things about it. Good since I made friends for life, traveled to faraway lands, negotiated deals, met with Fortune 500 company managers, learned a lot about international finance, but bad because of the hierarchy, a stiff corporate environment, misogynistic tendencies… those were things I didn’t especially enjoy. The skills I took for life are certainly discipline, accountability, questioning and figuring things out because there were not hands held, but also, let’s not forget, proficiency in Excel :).

I read that your favorite part of product design was the hours spent with artisans, working with them, following the process from my drawings to the final product. What is your biggest takeaway or learning from working with artisans?

Patience, because every hand technique takes years to master and endless hours are invested in making one beautiful piece.

What is it like to create every day, do you love it?

I love it! Couldn’t do otherwise, a day without creativity is a depressing day, I day where I am not happy with myself. But creating does not mean creating a new bag or something extraordinary every day, it can be very small things such as a beautiful table setting that night, a little drawing that came out as you want, or the discovery of an artist that inspired you and added a spark to the day. I didn’t use to be like that, only big accomplishments would give me satisfaction. I now believe that all those small creative things are steps/ building stones for something bigger, that happens once in a while.

How do you stay inspired every day to create?

By using all my senses and trying to absorb as many new things as I can, reading (books on architecture, design, textiles, arts, set design), listening to music, definitely museums, movies… But also taking walks in nature, and having time alone is so important for creativity.

What is an average day like for you now?

Since a year I have a new studio, full of light and good energy. As soon as I get up and have breakfast, I go to the studio, it’s my second home and arranged as a home too. Depending on the day, I can be working with leather, making prototypes for clothing, just sitting and reading a book on a particular textile technique, preparing a trip. But my work also involves things that I have to do that I don’t enjoy doing at all: accounting, taking photos and putting items on the website… I love meeting friends after work or having them over for lunch at the studio.

I interviewed Alex Roberts about Hotel ALMA what a beautiful place, what was it like designing that? What was the process like?

When I arrived on the project it was very late in the process, everything was more or less decided on paper but Alex was not satisfied with the result. Inspired by Alex’s cuisine which uses seasonal local ingredients, I created a story around it and made the space a physical expression of his cuisine: simple, crisp, unpretentious, and seasonal. After I presented my mood boards for the rooms and the building Alex bought in the vision that I wanted to communicate at the end. The furniture I designed for the rooms was locally made by Marvin Freitas, most accessories found in local shops or estate sales, while the lighting and textiles came from around the world. Many hours were spent in the spaces thinking about the guests and their movements, we wanted to give them a feeling of being at home, a human environment that would engage all their senses, they could enjoy intimacy in the quiet beauty of the rooms or go down and join the crowd for a great meal and fun moments. It was a wonderful adventure even though I don’t think I slept more than 3-4 hours between May and November. I was lucky to find a person who took a big risk and put such trust in me with no design background on paper, accepting enthusiastically pretty much everything I proposed.

What are your favorite places to visit in the world and why?

Japan was my latest discovery and I fell in love, the level of care about every detail corresponds I guess to my way of being, I have no patience for sloppiness. India has always been my big love, although its the complete opposite of Japan in everyday life. There is so much craft in that country and so much knowledge/tradition in every field that I always think the entire place should be protected by Unesco.

After living abroad for the majority of your life why Minnesota?

I have the same answer as most people who are not from here: my husband’s job.

What are your goals with Spring Finn & Co. for the future, are there any new exciting designs you can’t wait to try?

SF&Co. started with just bags as an American made brand because I was in the middle of the country with 2 little girls, unable to travel often or far. However, my love for artisans just like my love for humans is not towards people who surround me, I love humans and artisans around the world and in other fields than leather bags. I started that already with some clothing we are manufacturing in Jaipur, some home goods too. We’ll see what the future brings, I am not a big planner, I believe in encounters & serendipity.

Where do you see yourself in 5-10 years?

Most likely in Marseille, continuing to create, maybe owning a small hotel/cafe with friends, enjoying the Mediterranean and the sun daily, cooking and having my friends around my table in the evenings.

Do you have any fun or exciting upcoming trips planned? Paris in the very near future, because I have my parents there and I am designing a sweet apartment with a terrace, a rarity in that city. Probably India in the Fall and Colombia towards the end of the year.

I am dying to go to France what are the top places to visit/cities to see and things to do while in France?

Oh, there is so much to write… I would arrive in Paris for a few days and take the bullet train down to Marseille, rent a car and explore Provence. Camargue is where the Rhone delta empties into the Mediterranean; it’s magical, so wild, worth the visit.

Would you ever consider teaching a workshop about how to do what you do?

I could, but I am probably not the most methodical teacher.

How much of your time is split between product design and interior design and sourcing artisan made products for your shop?

I would say 50/20/30.

Who are your favorite designers or people you look to for design inspiration?

My inspiration comes from many fiends, not just design, and it’s more an inspiration for life, a way of being… Elsa Schiaparelli, Diaghilev, Leon Bakst everything related to the Ballets Russes, Calder, Ilse Crowford, Georges Perec, Macha Makeieff, Matisse, Offenbach, Pierre Desproges are a few of my favorites.

What is your favorite quote or life mantra?

“Don’t take yourself too seriously.”

Favorite book you’ve read lately or in your life?

The Life Before Us by Roman Gary, probably the most touching and funny book I have ever read, Dead Souls by Gogol, a masterpiece of novel writing.

Who has been your biggest teacher in life?

I can’t say I had one, besides my mother for certain things and today I am learning mostly from my daughters.

Do you have any morning rituals? How do you usually get your mornings started?

No, I wish… I am terrible at that, have read every book about the necessity of rituals but cannot seem to stick to one more than 3 days in a row!

What is your best life or business advice to entrepreneurs or people looking to do something different?

To do something you are sincerely passionate about, not getting into the baby food business or cosmetics for example just because you read that there was money to be made or that it was trendy.

What are you most proud of making?

Happiness and beauty around me, for my family, friends, customers, and strangers too!

Stefani Hodzic is the Editorial Director at Wit & Delight. When she’s not feverishly editing or writing about style and interiors, she runs her bohemian shop Arden Trading Co. where she sells artisan-made home goods. She lives in Minneapolis with her husband Muhamed.

The post Talin Spring, a True Design Inspiration appeared first on Wit & Delight.

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andfeminism-blog · 7 years ago

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I’ve known this lovely lady since we were running aorund a soccer field together as kids. Well, I was running, she was saving all the goals. I’ve had a mad girl crush on her since the moment I saw her play, she’s absolutely incredible. Since those days loooong ago, Leah has done a ton more cool stuff! She went to culinary school, pastry school, traveled around, became an aunt and more. She’s this super cool woman that oozes magick from her soul. She’s sweet, strong and smart. Read on to become inspired by her journey thus far!

Find her on Insta here. Find her on FB here. Find her website here.

You’re a hobbyist baker and I’m totally in love with everything you create. You went to school for it as well, what made you get into baking? You are so sweet! I am equally in love with all that you create! Yes I attended VIU and was lucky enough to partake in field school that took me to Belgium and France. Which was both an incredible life and career experience. As for what made me get into baking, I would have to say that would be my Grandmother. As a child I spent my summers at her house in Metchosin, BC. A house my Opa built from the ground up, on 2 acres of land covered in the most dreamy flowers and fruit. So much so, that we had no need for a fence, because wild blackberries surrounded the property. There were 7 cousins that I spent my summers chasing after, to keep us busy, my Grandmother would give us all empty ice cream containers to fill with blackberries so she could make pie and preserves. To this day I still strive to make pie as good as her, as well as her dream worthy chocolate cake. Those summers will always inspire and keep me dreaming.

How did you come up with the name Copper Fox for your baking? Honestly it is pretty silly. My friend Alex and I were in University of Victoria at the time, and I was having a classic existential crisis, trying to figure out what to be when I grew up. I found myself procrastinating from schoolwork, and baking or cooking for my friends instead. When I finally came to the conclusion that I needed to take the plunge and attend culinary school (I went to Culinary first then pursued Pastry), Alex said, “You need an identity!” Alex had always told me that I had a “little fox nose” especially when I laughed, which always made me feel more confident, as I was always self-conscience of my nose. It was truly perfect since foxes had been my favourite animals since I was a child. As for copper, aside from the fact that I am obsessed with it, is because there are scientific properties that make copper magic in regards to baking. There is a reaction between it and the albumen in egg whites, causing it to stick to a bowl better and create a beautiful meringue, as well as it conducts evenly making it the best for working with chocolate. And so, in 2011, we concluded that my baking/cooking nom de plume would be the Copper Fox, and so it was.

My “little fox nose” Photo Credit: Tyler Meers Photography @tylermeersphotography

What do you hope comes from Copper Fox? Oh, I have so many hopes! Currently I am just doing my baking as a hobby. One day I hope to open a storefront, that includes both my trades. The dream is for a breakfast bakery, as homemade and from scratch as possible. I am currently living in Prince Rupert, which is a beautiful town, but has little local produce/ingredients, so a move one day may be in order. For now I exercise my artistic need by creating wedding cakes when I have time, generally for friends, or friends of friends. I love that I found this passion; it is the perfect therapy and expression of myself.

What’s your favourite thing you’ve ever baked? That is so tough! I suppose my most current favourite is the wedding cake I made this past summer for my friends Dave and Soph. The interior was a tangelo (orange) chiffon cake, with dark chocolate grand marnier ganache. Covered with vanilla Italian buttercream. The colour inspiration was urchin purple, so I made a rustic ombre from darkest at the bottom to ivory at the top. I made edible barnacles out of gum paste, and hand painted them with luster dust, and cascaded them up the side. Then topped it with shells the bride had found and sterilized. It is my favourite, because they had told me the colour and then I dreamed up the rest. I showed her what I wanted to do, and she threw her full trust into me. When people trust my vision and let me create something for them, that is when I feel I do my best work.

What’s something you’ve struggled with in life? Hm, honestly, I have struggled with a lot. But, I would have to say chronic depression is the biggest one. I am outwardly a very happy loving person, very empathetic, and a huge people pleaser. So taking care of my mental health has always been something that gets neglected. Living in a northern town like Prince Rupert can be dangerous with SADS (Seasonal Affective Disorder Syndrome), also my full time job is with BC Ferries, where I live aboard a ship for upwards of 2 weeks at a time. I don’t get much sun suffice to say, I have what you might call a “rain tan”, I basically give Snow White a run for her money in the pale department. Baking has however been a great help for me, giving me an outlet to create, and make me happy. Though, sometimes I take too much on, and over do it. As my mother says, “burning the candle at both ends.” I need to work on that bizarre word “no” everyone keeps talking about…

Has it taught you anything? It has taught me to be more cognoscente of myself, and my needs as a person. To take care of myself more, and to try and put myself first as well as focus on self care.

What does a typical day look like for you? Depending on whether I am on my two weeks at work, or my two weeks off. At work, it is essentially Groundhog Day, work, eat, sleep, and repeat. If I am lucky, I am night cook and I get to be creative in my meals and even get chances to bake for my coworkers, but seniority rules, so that is not often the case. With my job I am very lucky, as there is always training opportunities, to learn a new position and try something out of my comfort zone.

On days off I try to keep busy, chores around the apartment, hikes with my dog Maggie, or potlucks with friends. I try to bake 2-3 times on my days off, and take opportunities to cater or do weddings/birthdays. My job schedule does make it hard to take people on with their requests. I also like to keep creatively charged, by painting, drawing, or writing. It is also a full time job attempting to keep my urban jungle alive when I am gone half the month. Plants, everywhere.

What’s one thing you’ve always wished for? That some how Bon Appetit Magazine/Test kitchen discovers me and hires me to come work for them, or travel and write about food for them. Dream… Job.

What’s something you need more of in your life? Adventure! I am always craving more, but seemingly lacking the motivation to make it happen. So I suppose I require more motivation too. Down time is so necessary after 2 weeks straight of work, that I often find myself making excuses for my laziness. I need to get past that.

What’s something you’re really proud of yourself for? I am proud that I am excelling at my day job. I am proud that I followed my dream and went to Pastry school. I am proud that I finally went to Peru and hiked Machu Picchu and fished in the Amazon River (“Piranhaaaa” in the voice of Dory from Finding Nemo). And I am very proud of the person I have grown up to be.

Is there anything you wish people knew about you? I wish people that I was stronger and smarter than I seem. Not that I feel people view me as weak or dumb, I just feel I am often underestimated. Though that could be the patriarchal society I exist in.

Can you show me your favourite photo you’ve ever taken? I know it looks over saturated, but I swear this is the way my old iPhone 5s took the photo. It was early morning, like 0630. I had just done what felt like a never-ending stairway made by evil sorcerers, and had finally made it to Machu Picchu, which literally translates to “Old Mountain”. We were siting on the cliff side, learning about the history of the Quechan Royalty and waiting for the mist to subside, when in the corner of my eye I caught the most brilliant shade of blue/purple. And so in the midst of sitting in awe I snapped this photo. I know it is probably an atrocity for a photographer like your self, but I love it. It reminds me that even if the skies are grey, there is still beauty to be seen. (Note from Paige – let the record show that I think it’s a stunning photo!)

What’s something you’re looking forward to? So much! I am up for a promotional training opportunity at work. A good friend of mine is getting married, and I am making the cake, as well as doing her make up and hair. My mom is coming to visit me this spring, and stay at my new apartment, that I love. The summer, I have some camping and fishing trips planned with friends. Also, my vacation block is coming up in November and I get 6 weeks off. So I look forward to visiting family and maybe jetting off to somewhere I have never been.

What’s something that makes you feel alive? Adrenaline. I am a serious thrill seeker. Just ask my friend Christa, whom I just travelled to Peru with. Anything from bungee jumping, to white water rafting, zip lining, or down hill bike racing, I love it all. Show me to the roller coaster and you will see nothing but smiles from me.

What’s your all time favourite song? This is an extremely hard question. All songs Fleetwood Mac or Otis Redding When I grow up by First Aid Kit Lost in the light by The Bahamas Current Obsession: Mistake by Middle Kids But seriously, there are so many more!

What do you hope people remember about you? I hope they remember me as kind, that they remember me as laughing, for my eccentric dance moves, and for making them full with delicious food and desserts.

What is your ultimate goal in your personal and professional life? Girl you are killin�� it with the hard questions. My ultimate goal? Well, I suppose when summarized, is to be happy. I hope to make Copper Fox a well-known name, and household tradition. To fall in love and create as well as raise a family of my own. But ultimately take all my dreams and make them an unwavering reality. The only way to get anywhere is outside the box you call the comfort zone.

Thank you so much Paige for choosing me to be a part of your wonderful blog, and for always being so supportive.

May you always be magic, and may you always… Stay Foxy ❤

#yyc #yycliving #calgary #alberta #canada #canadianblogger #canadianblog #calgaryblog #interview #wildwomen #wildwomenseries #girlpower #strongwomen #smartwomen #inspiringwomen #womensupportingwomen #supportwomen #girlgang #coolgirls #girlclub #inspire #life #canadianwomen #canadiangirls #lifestyleblog #lifestyle #momblog #personalblog #baker #baking #hobbybaker #chef #adventuregirls #adventure #adrenalinejunkie #adrenaline #lifeadvice #advice #copperfox #copperfoxbakery

Wild Women: Leah K I've known this lovely lady since we were running aorund a soccer field together as kids. Well, I was running, she was saving all the goals.

#Advice #Interviews #Life #Wild Women #Wild Women Series

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