#so changing her hair colour was kinda like turning over a new leaf for her

[blubxtch]

GUESS WHO'S BACK WITH MC ART WOOOOOOOOOOO

Lyubomira was the one to go through this quest for the most part, Bori was just there on occasion. This is how Chiara and Lyubka became friends! She was very distrustful of werewolves at first, but quickly warmed up to them thanks to Borf (and working with Cecil). After finding out Chiara’s a werewolf, Lyubka strongly reconsidered her stance on werewolves (she thought they were very dangerous) and would start to publicly ‘defend’ them without any explanation as to her sudden change in attitude- not even to Bori. The two would later start hanging out, mostly in the Great Hall, Common Room and Hospital Wing, and became quite close by the end of their time at Hogwarts, to the point they still keep up with each other years later.

[dreams-of-yunho]

o, swear not by the moon

yunho x princess reader

rating: m

genre: smut with a dash of angst

wc: 2.7k

warnings: sex !!!!!!! just kinda sex stuff idk

summary: you fell in love with the enemy and he breaks your heart

:( but in a sexc way

______________________________________________________________

O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, who monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

If the days were forgiving, you did not know. If there was love in this life, you could not feel it.

But, the day you met him, among the tulips, everything seemed to shine more brilliantly. Everything felt more warm.

~

Water coated your feet as you glided through the rain soaked grass, returning to your promised place. Dense mist hung in the cool night air. Drops of water hit your face as you slid through the leaf covered branches which concealed the forest alcove.

You had met him during the vibrant summer months, when the forest was at its fullest. When the leaves were green, bright moss clung to the sides of trees, shade living flowers thrived. But now, an eastern wind ran over your skin and the leaves turned brown and fell to a cold ground.

Blush coloured silk brushed across your goosebump covered skin as the breeze caught the hem of your dress. Lily Pads and their flowers shifted across the pond’s surface. This place, once a great temple, had been built by the ancient elders of your empire for the forest deities. And, as the old gods were lost to time and the first age passed, the once glorious house of worship became a forgotten forest alcove; a great willow tree grew, tall and proud, from the ruins of the marble temple. A murky pond who’s bottom seemed limitless and was concealed by delicate flowers, swayed around the stone foundation. Honeysuckle vines climbed towards the forest canopy across the decaying and crumbling pillars.

War had drained your spirits and left you cold and alone. You could barely remember the days before, when you were so young and ignorant. How the palace was alive with music, parties, and love. How your father and mother would kiss you goodnight and bid you farewell to the realm of dreams. Then, one day you woke and they were gone; that warmth drained.

The warrior princess, your mother was heir to the throne of the empire and, in a scandalous affair, married her younger brother’s best friend and general of the eastern army. They both died in battle, their bodies never returned to the royal capital for burial.

With the war came the clouds; heavy and gray. The sun seemed to disappear, die. So did the spirits of your people. Food became scarce, fathers and brothers were sent to war, and the raging fire of hope doused in an ocean of fear.

After years of brutal and unforgiving warfare, a caravan rode into the capital. Believing they had thoroughly gutted and drained your empire of all it was worth, the enemy came to commence talks of peace.

The son of the chief diplomat-- he came with his father to the palace and, now, sat at the edge of the half submerged temple stairs, kicking his feet in the chilly water.

“Yunho,” you called, the pond standing between you and him.

He glanced up and smiled, waving a beckoning arm.

He had been at the palace for nearly three months now though, you’ve only known him for one. He came from an empire in the south where the sun knew no night and, even in the white light of the moon, his skin glowed golden. Long nights you spent under the star scattered sky as he told you of his coastal home; blue waters and warm winters. How you longed to sink your feet into the white sand of his palace beaches, to feel the sun on your skin again.

Though, as you came to sit next to him on the cold, stone stairs, felt the warmth he generated, the golden light he seemed to produce-- you realized that you didn’t miss the sun as much as you used to.

“I have news from the negotiations,” his voice echoed through the ruins. “This foul war is over; there will be peace again.”

These words could not be true. With the joyful memories of your childhood not even shadows in your mind; a waring state was all you knew.

He seemed to sense your reluctance to believe as he said, “it is true, my love. Our armies have been told to stand down and will be pulled from their posts come next week. It’s all over.” Warmth spread over your cheek as his hand met your face, a gentle smile across his red-wine lips.

“This is glorious news,” you cheered, mind lost in a cloudy excitement. Yet, his words seemed to pull you down to earth; all over. “Yunho,” you raised your head to meet his deep brown eyes, and you couldn’t help but see sorrow in them. “What’s wrong? This is a time of celebration but you seem to mourn.”

He removed the hand from your cheek and returned it to his lap. “I ride south with my father at first light. There is news that my sister has given birth to a boy and, with his work here done, father does not wish to wait any longer to hold his first grandchild.”

“No,” was all you could manage to speak.

He wasn’t supposed to leave; he was your life. Without him, you would sink into the darkness again.

“N-no,” you didn’t know what to do, how to act. Your hands began to shake, acting upon their own volition. Your shoulders followed. Suddenly, you couldn’t breath; the weight of the world crashing down upon your lungs.

“y/n,” Yunho reached for your hands, eyes widened in concern.

But you began to wheeze harder as his warmth spread throughout your body. What would you do without him? What would you become?

Your world shifted as he pulled you into his arms, your head falling against his shoulder. “I’m here,” he spoke into your neck. “I’m here.”

Crisp air filled your lungs again as you became limp in his arms and your mind swam in his words. He was here now, you thought. These were his arms which held you and his lips which spoke and soothed.

Your fingers reached for the lips you’ve loved before, thumb brushing against the plush curves as he comforted you. The fall of his nose, arch of his brow, sweep of his eyelashes, angle of his cheekbones; sharp yet beautiful features, a face you could never forget-- the face of your soulmate.

“Will you forget me?” your arms wrapped around his neck to bring you face-to-face with him.

“We won’t be apart long enough for a single strand of your precious hair to disappear from my memory.” His breath danced across your jaw. “As the moon joins us each night,” sweet whispers fell from his lips and fell to the shell of your ear. “I will return for you. I promise you, my love.”

“Kiss me,” you told him. “Love me while you’re still here.”

Tears began to well in the corners of your eyes as he looked at you, unmoving, just staring. “If I love you now,” he said softly. “It will hurt more while we’re apart.”

“I want to remember the feeling of your lips on mine; your gentle touch.” You held his face in your sorrowful, needy hands. “Please, Yunho.”

“I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have.”

“Yunho,” you swiped a thumb across the apple of his cheek. “You could never hurt me. I love you -- now and forever.”

His forehead met yours as his eyes dropped and he released a shaky breath. “Now and forever,” he repeated, lips moving to meet yours.

His hands fell to your hips as your lips moved against his. Your hands running through his dusty brown hair as he gently sucked on your bottom lip. You grabbed his hand and brought it to the intersection of your neck and shoulders, wanting to feel his warmth on your bare skin.

Lips separated with a quiet smack and he began to press gentle kisses to your cheeks, nose, and the corners of your eyes. Slowly, his lips traveled down to where his hand rested on your skin, causing hushed whispers to leave your mouth. “C-can,” he pulled his lips away from your soft skin. “Can you kneel back?” He asked, running his hands across your curves with great desperation.

Your hands dropped from his hair to his shoulders as you raised yourself to rest on your knees. Wide eyes stared up at you as he sat, a hand reaching up to move your hair back. His hand rested on your cheek and you nuzzled into the warmth. The other ran behind you, tugging at the laces of your dress.

Shivers ran over your skin as the silk of your dress pooled around your legs leaving you in nothing but a thin slip. You kneeled before him as he stood, a finger tracing over your jaw. “Come here,” he called, hand leaving your face to extend the invitation.

You stood and immediately collapsed into his arms. “I love you,” he cooed. Soft hands grazed your shoulders as he slid the straps of your slip and dropped them down your arms. His tongue ran over his top lip as he looked down at your exposed flesh. A shaky hand reached out to touch you but pulled back slowly.

“What’s wrong, Yunho?” You asked worriedly. Did he not like what he saw? Were you not his type? Were you not like the other girls he’d been with? Not pretty enough?

“Nothing,” he sighed and smiled down at you, a hand finally caressing your goosebump covered frame. “You’re just so pretty; I-i don’t deserve you.” He pressed his lips against your forehead.

But he did deserve you. He deserved you and more.

“Take your clothes off, Yunho.”

His head flew up having not expected such an order from you. But, nonetheless he obliged. Nimble fingers worked the ties of his coat and buttons of his shirt. As the last piece of clothing hit the stony ground, you took a step towards him, your palm coming to rest on his toned torso. “You deserve the world and more,” you said, slightly more shaky than you had anticipated.

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. “You’re perfect, y/n.”

You sighed at his words.

Wet lips suddenly met the side of your neck, sucking until a dark purple mark appeared. His tongue ran down the valley between your breasts causing you to gasp. Air left your chest again as he swept you off your feet, laying you gently on your discarded gown.

“So perfect,” he barely whispered, staring down at you.

His gaze was painfully intense. You couldn’t stand it. It was like he was looking at a meal.

“Yunho,” you whined. “Please, don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re just so beautiful.” His knees landed in between your parted legs, preventing you from closing them as you would instinctually.

Slowly, he lowered himself onto you, his lips dancing with yours. An elbow supported him as he entangled another in your soft hair.

An aroma of rose petals surrounded you, as if he bathed in rose water. Roses were a rare and exotic flower which weren’t native to your empire. You would miss it. The scent of roses having become a constant in your life.

The kiss deepened and your hands grabbed at his broad shoulders. His tongue entered your mouth, brushing against your front teeth.

Reluctantly, you pushed him away, desperate for air. But, he didn’t stop kissing your body, his lips sucking softly on your neck. Your hands ran up his neck into his hair and his sweet lips returned to yours.

Tenderly, a hand ran down your side and to the inside of your thighs. Your heart raced as no one had ever placed a hand there before.

“It’s okay, my princess,” his lips fell to your collar bones. “I’ll make you feel good.”

Warm fingers traced the lips of your pussy, becoming slick with your wetness. Softly, they came to press against your clit and you shifted your hips, having never felt something like this before.

“Relax,” he cooed, his hand parting to encouragingly rub your hip.

You nodded, signaling for him to continue and he returned to gently rubbing at your nub. The warm feeling coming from his fingers quickly turned into a flaming heat. Deep in your lower stomach, something began to stir.

“I,” you didn’t know what to say, the feeling totally foreign.

“Relax, love,” he repeated, his fingers quickening.

The feeling in your stomach grew tenfold; a tight, knot like feeling.

Then it snapped.

Tears streamed down your cheeks and glued your hair to your neck. It all came crashing down on you at once and you sobbed as you came. He was going to leave you. The scent of roses would disappear. His warmth would fade. He wouldn't make you feel like this again; like you were swimming in the pools of heaven--bliss.

“Y/n,” his hands left your body and flew to your face. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

“No,” you tried to steady for breath as you came down from your orgasm and grief. “I just love you so much.”

His eyes melted from worry to tenderness. “I love you more than you could ever know.” His lips pressed gently on yours.

You matched the slow and passionate pace of his lips as you caressed his neck and shoulders. You shifted and your thigh brushed against the angry tip of his dick, causing him to moan into the kiss.

He broke the kiss to press his forehead against yours. “Can I make love to you?” He asked, his breath shaky, desperate, and, almost, pained.

“Yes,” you moaned, feeling something brush against your swollen clit.

“Ack,” you watched him wince as he grabbed his cock in his hand, pumping it quickly. His face contorted in pleasure so beautifully; you wondered if you looked like that when he touched you.

“This will sting a little,” you felt his tip at your hole. “But it will feel so good.”

He watched your face as his tip entered you. And, it didn’t hurt you at all, so he pushed further in. He was immense, stretching your tight walls impossibly.

You tightly clenched your jaw, feeling like you were being torn in half.

“It’s okay, y/n, my love,” he brushed your hair lovingly. “It’ll feel better when I move.”

“Move,” you choked out, your body incredibly tense.

He pulled his hips back and pushed back in slowly. He repeated, rocking his hips back and forth until the burning turned into pleasure.

“That’s it, princess,” his pace quickened as your walls clenched around him. “You're so beautiful, princess.”

He started to push deeper into you, his hips meeting yours with wet smacks. Your hands desperately gripped his shoulders in need of stability.

It was rapid, the growing of the lustful knot in your stomach. All you could do was moan out as he thrusted into you.

His mouth enclosed yours in a breathy kiss as he felt his own release approaching, the thrusts becoming faster and increasingly deep. Your orgasm threatened to slam into you as his tip grazed a deep spot, causing you to see stars.

“You feel amazing,” he breathed.

The praise encouraged you, your hips coming to meet his, pushing him impossibly deep.

“Y-yunho,” you continued to moan out his name like a credo.

“Come with me,” he kissed up your neck. “Come for me, princess.”

Your second orgasm was even more wonderful than the first, crashing down upon you like a waterfall. Your nails dug into his muscular shoulders, legs trembling around him.

The feeling of his cum painting your walls was like a third orgasm. His warmth completely filling you to the brim.

“I love you, y/n,” Yunho peppered your face with light kisses as he pulled out of you. “Now and forever.”

~

The sun shone above your free nation, beating down upon you, kissing your skin red as you stood in the field of tulips but, you couldn’t feel it. You were cold, frozen, alone.

Do not swear at all.

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Twelve: Family

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: THE FINAL CHAPTER! very emotional, new beginnings, bullying mention, poverty mention, abuse mention, allusions to pregnancy.

Word count: 3000>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED.

Masterlist 

Previous - Chapter Twelve - Epilogue [coming soon!]

“I don’t know if I could do it,” Maxwell sighed, pacing around in anxious circles. He looked different, in his denim jeans and khaki-green cable knit sweater. It made a change from the oversized powersuits he once donned. Alistair was sat at the dining room table, colouring in, and Max was having a nervous breakdown about getting his haircut. “I’ve had the blonde in for so long.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his shaggy and unstyled hair. When it wasn’t perfectly coiffed, it was wavy and glossy, and smelled distinctly like the freshest green apples. “It’ll be okay. Think of it as washing away all the terrible things that went on in the past and starting anew. Like… turning over a new leaf.” 

You made a very good point. Maxwell knew he had to suck it up and just do it. It would be okay. He didn’t have to be Max Lord anymore, and he didn’t have this television persona to live up to. His main focus now was just being a father, and that’s all that mattered. All he needed to be, was himself. Maxwell Lorenzano.

“Daddy look!” Alistair smiled, waving around the piece of paper he’d spent the morning drawing on. It was stained slightly from his breakfast, and crinkled in the corners for where he’d applied slightly too much pressure when colouring, but all-in-all, it was perfect. Maxwell took the artwork and looked closely at it. Another typical family portrait of you, Alistair and Max. But this time, Maxwell was doting brown hair, and it reminded him of his younger days when he was first starting out as a businessman. “This is how you’ll look when you come home from the salon!”

“Wow Alistair, I love it!” Maxwell praised, unable to contain his grin. He held the portrait to his face and showed it off. “What do you think?” he asked you. “Do you think I’ll look good with the brown hair?” 

You giggled and nodded your head, before pressing the palm of your hand flat against Maxwell’s chest and brushing your lips against his. “You’ll look so handsome, I’m sure.”

“Ew!” Alistair cried, pulling the paper from his father’s hand as you kissed him softly on the lips. The curve of Max’s nose nudged against yours and he laughed at his son’s reaction.

“Alright,” you said, pointing your finger. “You better go. Don’t want to miss your appointment.”

Maxwell nodded and took a deep breath. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” he announced.

The second Maxwell left the house, your stomach began to twist. You’d been living at Lord manor for a month now but truthfully, it felt like a lifetime. It felt like you had always been there. You were adjusting to your new life pretty well, but this morning sickness that you had started to get was an unwelcome experience. Amazon’s never got ill, so this was brand new to you, and you weren’t enjoying it one bit.

You rubbed your stomach and took a sip of the glass of water that you’d been nursing. Sliding down to sit next to Alistair, you watched as he finished his drawing, adding a few final perfections. Once it was done, you hung it to the refrigerator and praised him for his hard work.

“Ali, why don’t you grab your shoes and we’ll have a walk down to the Smithsonian?” you smiled, grabbing your jacket that was hanging over the kitchen door.

“Ooh! Is there a new exhibition?” He enquired curiously, hopping onto his feet and fastening his shoe laces.

“I don’t think so,” you admitted sheepishly. “I have to go meet with some friends.”

Taking the bus was a new experience for both you and Alistair. Joe, Maxwell’s driver, would normally drive Alistair around to and from places. But not today. The bus was slightly smelly and the seats were sticky, but by the looks of it, Alistair was having the time of his life. He pointed out the window, grinning, and talked to you about all the different D.C. landmarks the both of you passed as you were driven into the city centre. He might have only been six years old, but that was six years of living in the world of man. You’d only been here for a month, and so Alistair could teach you a lot. 

Driving past the park, Alistair gasped, and shuffled into your body. “That’s the park where we first met,” Alistair pointed. You narrowed your eyes as you took in the sight of tall green trees and shrubbery. He was right. “Do you remember that day? You were wearing an awesome superhero costume like something out of my comic books. And you wore a tiara, and I asked if you were a princess. And you scared my bullies away, and helped me look for dad.”

“I remember.” you smiled, ruffling Alistair’s dark hair.

You remembered asking Alistair what his father looked like, and the only thing the boy could say was ‘strong, cool, and the best dad in the world’. Counting your lucky stars, you were so thankful you had found your forever family. You had come so far from that moment.

“Did you ever tell daddy… about those bullies in the park?” Alistair asked you hesitantly, his voice suddenly small and timid.

You pulled off him and looked him in the eyes. “No. Why?”

Alistair paused for a moment and glanced back out the window. “I was afraid he’d be disappointed in me.”

Your heart shattered in your chest. “Ali,” you said quietly, tears threatening to prick your eyes. “Your father could never, ever be disappointed in you. You know that, yes?”

Alistair nodded his head silently.

“He loves you so much,” you continued. “And the whole bullying thing… I think he’d understand better than anyone else.”

You remembered all the visions you had of Maxwell, even seeing him as a child at one point. You remembered him wearing rugged clothes that were too small for him and how he was picked on for his broken shoes. 

“Really? You think so?” Alistair asked.

“I know so,” you confirmed, pressing a kiss into Alistair’s hair. “Those bullies will never amount to anything if they continue doing what they’re doing. But you are so much better than them. Stronger. Your power lies in your heart, and in the truth, and in love.”

Alistair smiled. “You’re a real hero, aren’t you?”

“We’re all heroes.”

————

Yourself, Maxwell and Alistair loved trips to the Smithsonian. Diana always organised special access for the three of you, to go after hours when the entire museum was empty. Alistair was admiring the fish in the aquarium, when you noticed Barbara and Diana, and waved them over.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” Diana smiled.  

“It was sort of an impulse thing,” you explained. “Uhm, actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

You pulled Diana to one side and left Barbara with Alistair. “Remember how you said ‘I owe you one’, since I like… got your girlfriend to renounce her wish and kinda helped you save the world by destroying the second dreamstone?” you grinned, trying to hold back a laugh.

Diana rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “What are you plotting?”

“Max has been… worried, to say the least. We’re going to have to sell Black Gold and it’s a real shame because-- he worked so hard on it. We have some money and well, I haven’t exactly ran this by him yet but I was thinking about investing what we do have into the Smithsonian. Just like what Maxwell promised to do in the first place.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Diana sighed. “The gemology department is doing just fine.”

You shook your head, your smile only growing. “No Di, that’s not what I was getting at. How would you feel about… expanding the gemology department?”

“I’m not quite sure I follow…”

“I’ve heard Barbara talk about how there’s a lack of space to facilitate all the rocks and stones the Smithsonian keeps bringing in. She has a real fear that the entire paleontology department could be shut down and replaced with something else.” You sighed, running your fingers through your hair.

“That’s true…”

“So what if we use the Black Gold building as an extension for the Smithsonian, and have it specialise in all these fancy rocks and gems and stones. We could transport everything over and then we could utilize the leftover funds that Maxwell has, to keep all the palaeontologists and geologists employed. Hell, with a whole new building, we could even create more jobs for people. It would also mean that we wouldn’t have to fire Max’s old employees and-- Oh Di, I just know Max would love it. He really does have a passion for gemology. And his son, Ali… he has an interest too.”

“So I heard,” Diana rolled her eyes, but, to be frank, she liked what you were getting at. An expansion wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing… “It’s a big responsibility though, and it seems you haven’t even spoken to Maxwell about it. You would get funding from the Smithsonian as an institution, yes, but… it would still be Max’s business. Do you really think he could handle that? After what happened to his last business?”

“He’s smart,” you assured her. “And he’s a good businessman. He knows all these things I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Last time he just got unlucky. But this, this could really be something great. We have the building, and the passion, and enough money to get started. Please Diana… I know you could make this happen. Please.”

Diana spent a moment pondering the possibilities before shrugging her shoulders in defeat. “Alright,” She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You grinned and squealed excitedly, wrapping your arms around your half sister and squeezing her tight. “Thank you Di!” She laughed and rubbed your back before you pulled off her. “Oh, and Di… there’s one more thing.”

Diana tilted her head and gazed at you with fresh bewilderment. Looking around the museum to make sure no one was around to hear what you had to say, you leaned into the Amazon and whispered a confession you’d been keeping to yourself for the past month. 

————

Maxwell sat in the chair and frowned upon seeing his reflection in the mirror. “What can I do for you?” asked the stylist as she smacked her lips on a piece of gum. Max wasn’t sure if he could really bring himself to do this, until he remembered your words. This was ‘turning over a new leaf’-- a new start and fresh beginnings. 

“Uh, a trim please,” Maxwell requested before taking a shaky exhale. It was now or never, he just had to take the leap. “No, that’s not everything,” he sighed. “Could you perhaps take the blonde… out of my hair?” The question left his lips with an air of unsurity. Could one even do that? Take the colour out of hair?

“You want the colour stripped?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. Maxwell supposed that was one way of putting it.

“Yes, I do.” he confirmed.

The stylist processed Maxwell’s words for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. “As you wish.”

As the stylist wrapped Max’s shaggy golden locks into foil, he closed his eyes. He’d come so far since the whole dreamstone debacle. His whole life had been a rollercoaster of up and down events but now, finally, things were evening out for him -- in the best way possible. He’d fallen in love and secured his family and home. The only thing he was mildly worried about, was the issue with Black Gold. But he knew that he’d somehow figure it out, especially now that he had you by his side to help him.

He’d always seen himself as an independent man. He fought hard to be as successful. He escaped his hometown, his abusive father, he ran away from poverty and was discriminated against by upper class white businessmen who told him he could never amount to anything. He proved all of them wrong. Because now, he had everything he could ever want. He didn’t need stacks of money or material possessions when he had you and Alistair. Maybe he wasn’t as independent as he once thought he was. Maybe, just maybe, he liked the company of others. He liked having you and his son around.

In his fight for wealth and success, he’d lost everything that mattered the most. But most importantly, he had lost himself. Maxwell swore that he’d never let that happen again.

As the stylist removed the silver foil from his hair, Maxwell nervously anticipated the result. His once bottle blonde hair was now a chocolate brown colour, and it reminded him distinctly of his youth. Max couldn’t help but feel like he looked younger, and he wasn’t going to complain about that. 

He just hoped you liked it as much as he did.

————

“I just don’t understand why mommy is taking so long,” Alistair grumbled as he and Barbara waited outside the ladies restroom. “And why did auntie Diana have to go into the toilet with her?”

Barbara stifled a laugh. “You’re inpatient, just like your dad.”

Impatience must’ve run in the family because you were sitting on the toilet seat, tapping your food as anxiety flooded your body. You didn’t expect to be this nervous. You’d wanted a child for so long -- in fact, your whole life to be exact. But now that there was a chance of it actually happening, you were beyond terrified. Maybe it was the fact Maxwell didn’t know about your symptoms, but you knew better than to feel alone. You were never going to be alone.

“How long left?” you asked Diana, who checked her wristwatch. It was an antique from the early 1900’s, something very special and something she kept very close to her heart.

“It should be ready now.” she told you, handing you the stick you had just peed on.

“I don’t want to look.” you squirmed, covering your face with your hands.

“Wow,” Diana hummed, her jaw parting slightly when she took in the results. 

“Wh-- what is it?” you asked, nervously.

“You’re pregnant.”

————

When Maxwell came home, you were shocked to say the least. His brown hair was absolutely gorgeous, and it suited him better than you’d expected. The deep shade was identical to the colour in his sparkling eyes. Jokingly, he tossed his hair and you let out a laugh.

“I was right,” you giggled, running your fingers through his locks. “So handsome.”

“I love it daddy!” Alistair cheered.

“Thanks buddy,” Maxwell grinned. “I like it too.”

Taking a deep breath, you took Max’s hand and pulled him into the living room, shutting the door behind you. It was quiet in there -- the perfect place to tell Maxwell your news. It had been a nostalgic day, and even standing in the living room reminded you of the time Max first brought you home. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked you, slightly concerned. But your warm smile soon eased him. You felt the need to wrap your arms around him and envelop him into a hug. Max had taken a big step today, and you were proud of him, but now it was your moment. It was now or never.

Harnessing every ounce of confidence within you, you took his hands and looked him in the eye. “Max, I’m pregnant.”

Max’s brown eyes widened and he was completely lost for words. “I-- you-- you’re--”

“Yes.” you smiled, taking his hands and placing them on your stomach.

His shocked expression turned into an elated grin as he processed the good news. “You’re really--”

“I am.” you confirmed.

You didn’t think you’d ever seen Maxwell so happy in your life. He wrapped his arms around you and held you so tight, like he was afraid to let you go. He swore in that moment he would never leave you, or his growing family, ever again.

This was it for him.

This was the start of Maxwell Lorenzano’s new life.

————

THE END.

————

Author’s Note: “I won’t cry” she says while sobbing into her Google Docs document. Thank you all for reading I Believe In Love. It’s a story I have wanted to share with you since I saw WW84 in the theatre, and I just can’t believe it’s finally over. This fic will always have a special place in my heart. The themes and plot points mean so much to me, but not only that, I’ve had the most amazing feedback on this fic and I will honestly cherish that for the rest of my life. I poured my heart and soul into writing I Believe In Love and it honestly one of my biggest comforts. I want you all to know that an epilogue is coming and if you have any requests for these characters I have created, feel free to send them my way. I adore my Amazon Goddess!Reader and I would absolutely love to continue their story at some point in the future. If you’ve followed me on this journey over the past four months, all I can really say is thank you. I love you so so much.

————

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal  @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen  @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @ladyjenny19 @readsalot73 @softmedics @jade10077​ @dodgerandevans

I Believe In Love taglist: [in the replies!]

[chaotic-nick]

Note: reader is modelled after me who's allergic to flowers. They're all aged up, like mid twenties going on thirties

Actor Au, where Miche is done filming for season 1 and comes back home to help out with his family's restaurant

Wordcount: 1k || no warnings pure fluff

Event organiser: @michezachariasweek

《《 Day 1 || Day 3》》

To put the very difficult feelings running about in his mind, every woman he’s ever come across was beautiful in their own ways. It just so happens that in the industry, professionals come in to enhance their features. Cameras pointed at every angle. Each of them was unique in its own features.

Yes, he had a ‘type’ back when he was some twenty-year-old who thought they were an adult who could take on the world. Hitting his thirties though, it’s the personality he’s looked for. Especially now that he’s made a name for himself. Miche truly believed that a pretty face was only ugly when the truest of the true colours were shown.

But this one— (Y/n) as the patrons studying at his parents’ cafe called her, always arriving exactly at 4.50 pm to join them. Her hair down from the updos he’s seen her in on the rare occasion she swung by for breakfast. This one was different.

It’s both cheesy and comedic to say that he felt like a teenager in a coming of age movie when she walks in, always waiting for her to spare him a glance. Miche wondered what sort of rock she lived in to not scream at his, declaring her love a character he played. Would she turn over to a new leaf if he told her that he was an actor?

No, it doens’t seem like it. Not that he liked assuming things, but she looked like she followed a strict discipline.

“I thought I loved law,” Cried Alex, the reason why she comes in. From what his mother told him he was a law student.

And the one to always comfort him always came in on weekends. Or days when he wasn’t flying. “But you’re still crying. What’s this one?” Was his twin, Theo the pilot.

“Family law and crime.” Miche started the coffee machines when he’s seen Alex hide his face in hands, its whirring bringing the noise to the quiet restaurant. Today was slow.

“And she’s here!”

“Order whatever you guys want!” And she was unusually chirpy. Waving what could be a paycheck or a bonus.

The joys of having a job in your twenties.

“You are a godsend, (Y/n)!” Miche turned to the work station, hiding the unprompted blush beginning at the tip of his ears.

She's extra pretty when she's beaming with joy.

On a quiet day of no customers, and the online deliveries making up for the loss. Sending their brains in a frenzy. She was seated by the windows. Scribbling down whatever was on her tablet. And he, having memorised how sweet she ordered her drink, made it. Taking the opportunity to approach her. “On the house,” he reassured when she snapped up at him with a very confused look. An earbud falling.

“Thank you so much!” was it relief on her face when she took the cup in her hands.

The familiar colours displayed across the screen and the name of the university pulled his soft eyes from her. “Northwestern?”

“Seeing Alex is making me consider studying again. He's not the smartest out of the bunch, but he's just so determined.”

“Oh,” he pulled on the seat beside hers, how he changed his posture to give her his full attention not going unnoticed. ”may I ask what?”

“Considered law as well, specialising in aviation law. I have a degree in communications so, it’s kinda flexible, but— I’m considering this,” she turned her tablet for him to see. A manicured nail pointing at the program.

“Master’s in film writing?” So, she does follow a strict discipline. There’s a sliver of a chance that they met before. “Are you in the film industry? Entertainment?”

“Yep!”

“How come I never met you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Me? Have— do you know me” No. Her silence answered that.

“Miche Zacharias? Attack on Titan?”

Nothing.

“ ‘Death comes at noon’ ‘Tell me to leave’? ” There's ought to be something, right?

Right?

“I don’t watch anything besides anime, so, you’re a scriptwriter, too?” no.

“Yeah,” he’s lied before to avoid after parties, “you wanna talk about . . . stuff when I’m not working? Writers stuff, I mean.”

“Sure, why not!” Her neutral expression changing to one that is full of question when Miche stood up, gathering the fresh flowers out o their vases.

Dabbing the wet ends on his apron, he stretched them out toward her. “I’ll . . . i’ll get you a better one at dinner.”

“Oh, thank . . .you?”

“ . . . it was a very short-lived lie,” he laughed, rubbing the arm where he hid his newest tattoo. The bouquet of the flowers that he put together in his parents’ cafe. How it all started.

“How so?” The late-night show host urged on.

“Went over to her house the night we were supposed to have dinner. Told her I’m going to make the struggle meal I make when Isayama-san makes us shoot another scene. Poof, completely blew off my cover,” he paused to make way for the very forced laugh the host was giving him. Too . . . showbiz like. “I was looking for a sign— asking for it to ask her to be my girlfriend. Until she showed up on set and I ran up to her, to ask her to give me the brutalist death one can think of. When I saw what she came up with I was—” Slowly he felt a very genuine smile tug at the corners of his lips.

At thirty-seven he hid his face behind his hand, feeling as bashful as he can be. A muffled “Ugh, I love my wife,” came out.

Taglist: @axoxtxhxh @sinnerofthewalls @takemetofarlanchurch @ghost-party @stigandr-the-cat

[jazzistolkienfanfics]

Beads and Braids - Kili x reader

Type: Imagine  Pairing: Kili x reader Summary: post BOTFA, everyone lives!AU, in which Y/N, a girl from Rohan seeking shelter in Erebor, befriends the Princes, and the mischievous Kili needs better ways of confessing his feelings. Warnings: ‘fuck’, ‘shit’ Word Count: 2735

All italicised, non-English words are in Khuzdul, one of the main Dwarvish languages.

Y/N was no stranger to being alone, nor was she unused to being unusual. Being on the run from a dangerous league of hunter assassins that were sweeping through her hometown of Rohan, spending months trying to reach Erebor, the Mountain of Gold, then arriving only to be turned away, had taught her not to care too much about loneliness.

Sure, she’d been allowed in eventually, after she’d insisted to the stingy King Thorin Oakenshield that she had ‘absolutely no fucking interest in your goddamn gold’, but the reminder that she wasn’t wanted in Erebor still stung dully day after day, even as she attempted to bury the emotion beneath layers of stone. 

Although, she was no longer completely shunned while in Erebor. The first few weeks had been difficult, especially as she was at least eight inches taller than everyone else, even as a relatively short human - Y/N was surrounded by Dwarves, and it was a transformative experience (she enjoyed being tall for a change). 

But as time went on, the Dwarves became far more accepting - mostly because when Bard visited with his children, Sigrid and Tilda (who was the reason they were there, to say hello to the ‘lucky Dwarves from the toilet’, namely Dwalin, her favourite) and saw her, he spouted a whole speech on the helpfulness of humans in the Battle of the Five Armies, especially how a number of them had charged Azog’s numbers, saving the line of Durin. That made Thorin begrudgingly become kinder to her.  

Y/N spent most of her days outside the cold fortress, reading old books on Dwarven culture and their previous interrelations with other relations on the ramparts or the grasses below the Mountain. It was on one of such days that she ran into someone who would change her life.

Well, Y/N didn’t run into him.

He really ran into her.

Y/N had been sitting on the ramparts, her legs swinging over the side and continually tucking her h/c hair behind her ears as the wind blew it into her face. A large book with a f/c leather cover that had stood out to her in the towering shelves of the Library was sitting in her lap, gold-leaf lettering across the front of it boldly proclaiming ‘A History of the Honourable Line of Durin’. She’d been told by Balin (a frequenter of the Library) that it was updated often with the latest triumphs of the youngest of the Line of Durin: Thorin, Fili and Kili, the Royals Under the Mountain.

Y/N wouldn’t lie, she was mostly reading it to make fun Thorin, but then again, history was interesting. 

She looked up from a particularly hilarious passage about Thorin’s ‘incredible bravery and innumerable acts of service to the Throne of Erebor’ at the harsh cry of a raven. It circled around her, cawing enthusiastically with something less akin to malevolence and more to happiness in its black eyes, before flying off. 

Y/N had been smiling but she frowned when she realised that the raven was not flying towards Erebor, as most did, but away from it.

Then it had to be flying away from something … Y/N connected the dots just as the door to the battlements whipped open and something slammed into her back just as she was turning around, knocking her off the ramparts.

She screamed loudly, looking at the ground beneath her and envisioning the fifty different ways she would splatter all over it.

A hand encased in a brown glove but for the fingers suddenly swung into her view, catching ahold of hers in a startlingly tight grip.

Y/N looked up, seeing a Dwarvish face that was at once familiar and entirely seperate from her small existence in Erebor, and she couldn’t put a name to him.

His brown hair reached just past his shoulders, and was not braided. Paired with his beardless, kinda attractive face (stubble did not count in Y/N’s eyes), Y/N reached the conclusion that he was still young, definitely under 100.

He was holding onto her with one of his hands and his other was held by a blonde Dwarf with much more facial hair than the former and a messy blonde mane like a lion who stood behind the battlements where she had been sitting prior to being knocked off by (presumably) one of the two. 

Y/N was very impressed that the Dwarf was holding her up with one hand, as she was at least more than half a foot taller than him, but she had no energy to be focused on that emotion beyond the hot fear coursing through her veins.

“Oi! Pull!” the brown-haired Dwarf yelled, and the blonde did so, clenching his teeth and heaving, until all three of them were safe on the ramparts.

“I am so sorry for my brother’s clumsiness, Miss Y/N!” the bearded, seemingly older Dwarf apologised. 

“Itkit! (Shut up!)” the younger brother hissed, giving the blonde a scathing glare. “But I do apologise, Lady Y/N.” He emphasised the title he gave her, though it was definitely not one she actually possessed.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N replied to the two enthusiastic Dwarves with confusion etched all over her face. Here they were, having knocked her off the side of a fucking Castle, calling her ‘Lady’ and apparently knowing her name when she could not match a name to either of their faces. “How do you know my name? Do I know you?”

“Oh, that’s right,” the brunette said thoughtfully, turning to his brother. “Uncle Thorin said she was new.”

“He also said she was a-”

“Oh Mahal, shut up! How many languages do I have to say that in?”

Uncle Thorin? Oh shit ....

“Anyway. Prince Fili-”

“-and Prince Kili-”

“At your service!” they both chimed, bowing low in unison and springing back up with wide grins that made them seem a lot younger than they probably were.

“Fuck...” Y/N muttered under her breath, curtseying as low as she could. “My Princes, I apologise-”

Her embarrassed apology was cut short with a squeak flying from her mouth as she was yet again jerked up by Kili, who brushed off her f/c dress that was dirty from falling off the ramparts. 

“Lady Y/N, you needn’t apologise; it is technically my fault for knocking you off the walls of Erebor!”

“Then you needn’t call me Lady Y/N,” the girl retorted, almost instantly regretting the familiarity with a royal figure, but also proud when Kili gave a loud laugh and wide smile. “I’m just Y/N.”

“Alright then, Just Y/N,” Kili teased, wiggling his eyebrows and taking her hand, kissing it gently. “On behalf of the Prince of Erebor-”

“-Princes, you little shit,” Fili interrupted, casually spinning a knife on his fingers.

“... Princes of Erebor,” Kili rolled his eyes. “Welcome, new friend.”

---

“You two are unbelievable,” Y/N complained, though a wide smile was affixed on her face.

“We know,” Fili and Kili replied, both still covered in flour from when they’d begun to throw it like snowballs in the middle of baking with her. 

“Well, at least we salvaged-” Y/N cut herself off as she took the cake out of the oven. “Mahal. What is that?”

The cake was less a cake, and more a complete mess. Half of it looked gooey and porous, and the other half burnt. Y/N just turned to the brothers, raising an eyebrow.

They eyed each other too, shuffling their feet. 

Y/N sighed. “This is why we don’t have food fights in the kitchen, guys.”

Fili and Kili had the decency to look a little sheepish as Y/N turned to dump the mess in the bin. As she did so, she glanced out the window and flinched.

“Shit! I’m meant to meet Bard soon - it’s a meeting of great importance. And I’m not ready, there is flour everywhere, my hair is a mess-”

“Well, we can handle at least one of those things,” Kili told Y/N, lightly pushing her into a chair, his hands clean of flour now. “I know a really good hairstyle for special occasions - our mother used to wear it.”

He began to run his fingers through her hair, gently untangling the knots with a brush Fili gave him (honestly, how much did that Dwarf have in his coat?) and braiding it. Y/N closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his hands in her hair and its soothingness. Suddenly, she opened her eyes, flushing red. 

Was she falling for the Prince of Erebor?

No, surely not. After all, he was a dwarf, and she a human: a human the King of Erebor didn’t exactly have a partiality towards. It would never work out.

That doesn’t mean feelings just stop, dumbass. Y/N’s brain reasoned. She rolled her eyes at herself. 

 “Alright, it’s done! And Fili and I will clean up the kitchen,” Kili announced, pulling her up and lightly dusting off her f/c dress, careful to avoid any areas it was improper to touch, a small hint of pink on his cheeks as he did so. Y/N pulled some of her hair around her shoulders - Kili had done several braids amongst her loose hair, most of them tied with black bands but one with a beautiful bead in it that she didn’t get a proper look at.

(A/N - imagine this hairstyle, but only one bead, and that bead has lots of jewels all in different colours)

“We’ll clean up what?” Fili protested. Kili smirked, pushing her out the door.

“We’ll see you later, Y/N!”

---

Y/N ran as fast as she could, considering her annoyingly impractical skirt, and she finally skidded to a stop in the snow outside the great doors, taking in who was there.

Bard bowed his head in greeting, his eldest daughter, Sigrid by his side. (Y/N had thought she had heard faint giggles from inside, meaning Tilda was hanging out with Dwalin again), Thorin stood impatiently, leaning on his sword, and next to him, keeping a petty distance was …

“My lord Thranduil,” Y/N bowed, having also read all about the infamously glamorous Elvenking of Mirkwood. “I apologise for my tardiness.”

“You are on time, Y/N,” Bard said, giving Thorin a side-eye. The damages of the Battle of the Five Armies went far beyond death. 

Thorin chose to sit on a ledge that a) placed him higher than all of those present and b) allowed him to rest. Recovering from being impaled by the Pale Orc was a lengthy process, and one still far from finishing. 

“What is the importance of this meeting?” Y/N asked, eager to go back to her chambers and think on the startling discoveries she’d made on what her heart told her about Kili Durin.

“The purpose, Y/N, is for this …”

---

After the meeting, Y/N went to leave, but Thorin called her name, stopping her.

“Yes, my King?”

He reached for one of the braids Kili had put in her hair, smiling kinder than she had ever seen him do so.

“Kili’s bead. So you have not tamed the Lion, but you have chosen the Fox. Loyal, yet cheeky and sweet.”

Y/N opened her mouth, confused, but Thorin kept speaking.

“I congratulate you on your courtship, Y/N. I wish you much love and happiness.”

“My King, I’m sorry, but I am not courting-”

He swept off in a majestic swirl of furs, leaving Y/N with a finger raised and her eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.

“Courting?” she wondered aloud. “What in Middle-Earth ...” 

Suddenly, she recalled Thorin’s observation of ‘Kili’s bead’, and she pulled her hair in front of her face, scanning it for the singular, beautiful silver bead, with its nine differently-coloured gemstones, and some vague thought buried in the back of her brain called to her.

“That Dwarf ...” Y/N cursed colourfully, tossing her hair over her shoulder, picking up her skirts and running as fast as she could to the most familiar area of Erebor.

The Library. Shelves upon shelves, thousands stretching out further than Y/N could see from the entrance. She raced for the section on Dwarvish customs, pulling a dusty red tome titled ‘Dwarves and Their Secrets - The Rites and Customs of Their Culture’ and flipping through it, coughing as swirls of dust swam into the air.

Finding the page she was after, she slammed the open book onto a nearby table, running her finger down the page as her h/c hair fell in her face.

“That little fuck,” Y/N hissed, closing the book with a slam and sliding down one of the shelves until she sat on the floor, her arms curled around her knees, her face hidden from the world and vice verse by her h/l hair.

“So you found out,” a meek voice said, prompting Y/N to lift her head as Kili sat next to her.

“You bet your non-existent beard I did,” Y/N grumbled. 

“I’m sorry,” Kili mumbled, burying his face in his hands, which were large, the same size as yours. “I didn’t know how to tell you that I liked you. I chose the coward’s way out.”

“I can understand that,” Y/N admitted. “Although telling everyone that why were courting via my hairstyle was not the smartest way of going about it.”

“Well, technically, your hairstyle doesn’t say you are dating. (A/N: this part here is completely made up) These braids in this style, paired with the loose hair actually means unrequited love. And seeing as I did your hair, and I have a matching braid-” he briefly pushed his hair behind his ear, pulling on a small braid, that was, indeed matching, even with a simpler version of the bead, with only two gems. “-it basically tells everyone that I have a crush on you. Uncle Thorin just misunderstood because he only looked at the bead, which he knows I own.”

“What do the gems mean?” Y/N asked, knowing she was avoiding the topic of Kili’s love for her and her possible love for him, but too afraid to cross that bridge.

Kili smiled nervously, already flushing from what he anticipated Y/N’s reaction to be, and he pulled the bead from her hair, pointing to each gem as he explained their meaning.

“The white one with the blue sheen - moonstone. It means patience, like how I am willing to wait for you. This pink one is morganite. It symbolises divine love and prosperity. These two are the ones that I have in my matching bead.” And Y/N saw that this was indeed true.

“The red ruby, which symbolises passion.” Kili’s cheeks looked as red as the jewel as he hurriedly moved on. “An emerald, green, which is fertility. Not only in children, but fertility in the soil that grows the flowers of success. Old wive’s tale. The purple one’s an opal - which is for emotional purity. It’s meant to guard against jealousy and anger. The garnet and the citrine - orange and the yellow - both stand for protection, though the citrine also provides prosperity and success.”

Y/N was completely entranced by his knowledge of the gems, even as he came to the last few.

“This pastel blue one is for fidelity, although I don’t think you need that, you have loads of it.” Y/N and Kili laughed together, and Kili fixed the bead back in her hair.

“Wait! You didn’t explain the last one!” Y/N protested, eager to hear more.

Kili stopped, smiling. “Oh. That’s a sapphire, which means trust, like how I’m trusting you with my heart. But I put it in there because it’s the exact colour of your eyes.”

Y/N was so touched by this last one, that he trusted her with his heart, even after she heard that it had been broken by the death of the Mirkwood elleth, Tauriel, that she threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight. On the floor, they were a similar height, and he hugged her back lightly.

“You know, Kili of the Line of Durin,” Y/N said teasingly as her arms lingered around his neck, though she pulled back so she could look him in the eye. “I think I need to thank you for the bead and the braids, because you made me realise something.”

“What?” Kili breathed.

“I realised I’m kinda in love with you.”

And hidden in the endless shelves of the library, Y/N kissed him, right there and then.

Hi there guys! I’ll be putting up a dialogue prompts request list soon for you to request UP TO THREE numbers.

Thanks for reading! Please feel free to heart this imagine, give me a follow and/or request (it makes my day so much!).

[sian22redux]

Field of Dreams

Here we go!  No 2 in the fics I owe @nomadicpixel and @theycallmebecca.  Nomad asked for Steve and a relationship that is new and my brain said how about a little enemies to lovers everyone?  Not to worry it all works out in spectacularly happy fashion--but before that Y/N has a PR disaster to sort out and really, he’s a hard guy to forget, even if he is a little stubborn about Brooklyn. ^_^   

Part 1 of 2.  And obviously the tweets I’ve made and embedded here are not real, do not belong to any real account.  

---------

“Y/N have you seen this?”

Your harried Media VP, Stephanie, uncharacteristically dressed in a rumpled suit and no make-up, barges into your office, trailed by your harried looking PA.  It’s 7 am, mid-morning in LA, and you are jet-lagged; bleary eyed and something that passes for awake after two precious weeks at your New York research labs.  They were heaven, but now it’s back to routine, back to the long days that keep Fleur in Bloomberg’s list of Ones to Watch.

“What is it?” you ask, setting your latte down and rising to your feet just as the pair screech to a halt just before your desk.

From the look of things ‘routine’ will not be today’s best adjective.  Steph, a night-owl through and through, is never here this early.  Her face is flushed and her eyes red as she waves a piece of paper covered with a screen print in your direction.   “It’s a mess is what it is.  And how you should respond I have no idea.”      

No idea?

 Steph can finagle her way out of PR jams that reduce grown men to tears.  “Respond to what?”  With a sense of doom you take the paper from her outstretched hand and quickly scan the contents.  

‘Not shoot O’Malley twice?  What the ever-loving hell?!  

Steve Rogers—THE Steve Rogers—finally gets a twitter account and the first tweet he sends six months later trashes the Dodgers baseball team?!

Your Dodgers.  

“Why is he @CapRogers?” you ask, more than a little stunned as Steph looks on.

Her face is pale and her fingers shake.  No coffee yet this morning.  Mary, your brilliantly practical PA, settles on priorities and quickly hands her a steaming cup.  “Captain America was already taken.”

Of course.  It’s his first ever tweet and the one he’s pinned and everyone has already followed him.  No way any soul on Planet Earth has missed this missile. You scan a few of the 50,000 comments. They range from the politely encouraging <welcome Cap!> to the crassly supportive <F*ckin A!> to the downright militant <Get your own team pal>  

Oh god.  What a perfectly shitty time for this.  Fleur’s new board are well pleased that its initial public offering has gone viral but are still a little wary. Six months of thirty-six hour days and you are secure beyond your wildest dreams: number 25 on Forbes’s Top Thirty under Thirty; lauded in all the trade reports for your business acumen; working hard to turn your chemistry degree to more ground-breaking organic lines.  

It’s been tough but satisfying.  

Buying the Los Angeles Dodgers has been your one gift to yourself.  

It has not been without its bumps. A women in Major League Baseball’s old boys club has ruffled feathers amongst the owners and grey-haired stodgy boardrooms around the world.  You’ve heard it all.  The back-biting and the snide sideswipes.  The outright misogyny.  The threatened egos.  What does she think she’s doing?  What does she know about baseball?  Who does she think she is?

Oddly, the one group that hasn’t groused about the change has been the Dodger’s staff.  You’ve kept their pennant chasing front house crew.  Let the manager and coaching staff stay undisturbed.  Got to know the players and their families.  You love them.  And they are beginning to cautiously love you back. The team is your baby and while your instinct is to not let anyone give them stick, some battles aren’t worth taking on.  Especially from a national icon.

“We didn’t move them, perhaps we don’t need to be too direct,” you point out, hopefully passing the paper back.

“No way,” Steph shakes her auburn head.  “You are Fleur and Fleur is you.  It’s too critical a time.  Besides, if you don’t publically speak out the team might take it as a slight and the True Blue sure will.   He’s too visible a figure.  You’ll have to respond and support LA, show that you are in their corner.”

You groan.  She has a point.  TrueBlue are the diehard LA fans--a colourful and vocal lot—southern California through and through, and they are proud to have a woman owner.  You owe it to them.  

Well then.  You smooth your skirt and sit back down again, flip up your Macbook lid, hurriedly type a few pithy lines.  Steph comes around the back of your desk and scans them over your shoulder, bites her lip while reading.  “You sure it’s what you want, the pointed ref…?” but you nod firmly.  She said direct and this is that.

“Ok…”

There’s a satisfying whoosh as it flies out into the Twittersphere.

Two weeks and a lifetime in business later you pause to smooth down your red evening dress, set your shoulders back and stride forward into the barrage of cameras as you reach to shake the President’s outstretched hand.

It is her inaugural formal State Dinner.  Like the rest of your homeland you are pleased and proud she chose Justin Trudeau of Canada to be the first.  He is confident and always on point, a neighbour with an aligned agenda and you incline your head, almost as thrilled to meet him as her.  The handshake is brief. He jokingly asks in French if you will have the Canadien’s hockey game up on your phone as it isn’t even Spring Training yet (he has read his briefing book), and you laugh, saying that Los Angeles is your home now.  The Kings are King.

The resulting laughing group photos are snapped and Steph, you’re certain, will be wildly pleased.  

After half an hour of polite chat with several CEO’s you know, a quiet gong sounds and you, like the other luminaries, search for your seating card along the white expanse of silver and china-decked dinner table.  

Mme. Y/N Y/N is written in gold on elegant white card. Right next to a name that makes your stomach plummet through the floor.

Captain S. Rogers

Of course the White House has invited prominent expat Canadians.  Of course it has invited Americans Justin would like to meet.  

Oh god.  

You reach for your water glass just as the gold lattice chair pulls out.

“Miss Y/N.”  

A pair of inhumanely blue eyes wait for some acknowledgement and you nod, just a fraction, wondering how in the world you will navigate this.  Was it a joke by the President’s Chief of Staff?  Some kind of not so subtle message?  Or, more worrying, a comment that your pointed retort was not officially appreciated?

“Captain.”

The medal-garnished superhuman in a dress Army uniform takes off his cap and sits down.  Blushes faintly.  Runs a hand through perfectly trimmed blond hair and awkwardly clears his throat, making a blandly positive comment about the weather and décor.

The flowers?  Really? Who thought this was a good idea?

You do your best:  asking after the Avengers’ latest escapade, the health of Agent Hawkeye who is known to have been banged up, the adjustment of his friend.  You are CEO of a multinational beauty empire, formal events with strangers go with the turf, and so you are relieved to note the pleased surprise in Captain Rogers’ eyes.  Not everyone supports James Barnes’ parole.  You’d have thought that that will break the ice but as soon as the appetizer plates are whisked away he turns to his left and engages Canada’s Junior Minister for Defense in a discussion about NATO that lasts until dessert.  

What the?          

Beside you, the US Consel for Montreal looks suitably embarrassed, but there is nothing either of you can do. You pound back a few flutes of champagne and another quite good Whiskey Sour as the speeches arrive with coffee and dessert.  By the time the music starts up and the room applauds Justin’s smooth waltz with the President you are ready to make an escape, get something out of this mildly disastrous night by pigeonholing the head of Lauder for a little competitors chat, when a fresh-faced aide with Maple Leaf pin taps your silk-clad shoulder.

“Madame..”

“-oiselle,” you correct automatically.  

“Le Premier-Ministre serait honoré d'avoir une danse. »  

Of course you will.  You rise and follow the young man onto the dance floor, accept Justin’s outstretched hand and proceed spend a delightful ten minutes flirting with one of the handsomer and more chatty leaders in the world.  Thank heaven. As the cameras click you banter back and forth, relieved you took so much time on your wardrobe.  A sleek but stylish chignon. Marcasite studs. Louboutin heels and fall of red silk slashed to just above your knee.  You look good.  Tomorrow’s morning tweet of you both will likely get thousands of views you think, when a low voice comes off from your left.    

“May I cut in?”

“Of course, Captain.” Justin bows and drops your hand and you are swept up into the arms of the last person you thought would dance.

“Captain Rogers?”  My word his chest is broad. You take a deep breath and dare to look up into those eyes.  They look a little pained but hopeful. “Are you---?”

“Apologizing. Yes.” He quickly nods his head.  “Look, I’m new at this.  Never tried the social media thing before and I kinda..forgot..about the bigger repercussions.”

“Evidently.”  You take a breath, watching his brow furrow and quickly thinking of what to say.  “You are of course entitled to your opinion but blanket statements of where things belong are unfair to the players today. As their owner I have a duty to support them.”

“I know.  Look I didn’t mean to be hard on those guys.”  

The blue eyes droop.  He looks abashed and a little like a puppy taking an expected scolding and so you relent, search for something positive to say. “They’ll recover.  If LA is good at anything is it definitely bouncing back, Captain.“  

“Call me Steve.”

“Steve.”  He’s nodding, looking a little more confident. As he leads you (surprisingly smoothly for one so big) around the floor you start to relax a little. Chat about dancing as a lost art.  Admire the cut of his uniform and the straight line of his jaw.  He is, if anything, more handsome up close and personal, although there is just the faintest twinge of anxiety still in his face.  A Man of Out of Time.  Yes..and still adjusting to the world he’s landed in.     

Maybe you could be generous and try an olive branch.

“Brooklyn are still as famous today as they were then,” you say, squeezing the hand that holds onto yours.  The other at your waist is warm.  “The first team to break the colour barrier.  Nine World Series titles.  Cy Young pitchers and All Star MVPS.  You can be proud of all that they did. ”    

A sunshine smile warms his handsome face.  “I am! Of course I am.  Jeez, they were so much a part of our life Buck and I scrimped and saved every penny we could just to get into the nose-bleed seats.  75 cents was lunch for a week. If we couldn’t find it, we listened on the radio. Everyone did.  Young and old, rich and poor.  They played their games on Sundays so that working stiffs like me could go.  It was the only day we had off: a ticket and beer money was a treat.”

You’re seriously starting to enjoy yourself, listening to him reminisce.  This is a veritable soliloquay.  “Ebbet’s might have been shaped like a bandbox but it was a right-handed slugger’s dream.  McPhail was a genius.  Ladies’ Days for ten cents.  Half price if the temps’ got too high.  I miss it so. Hot wood slats and popcorn and warm beer.”

“The best.”  You grew up with baseball too.  The crazy cement white elephant that was The Big O where the Expos played.  Gary Carter and Bill "The Spaceman" Lee.  Hot, steamy summer nights near Montreal’s broad lazy river.  

But you’ve made the switch—LA are your boys now.  

“Dodger stadium is baseball’s beautiful showplace now,” you explain.  “We have tried to honour Brooklyn’s spirit—playing to win always and keeping the park accessible. There is even a pop-up museum to them.”

He stills and you fall just slightly behind the beat.  “A pop-up museum?”

“Yes.  It has old jerseys and ticket stubs and photos of the team.  It will run until the fall.”  

Steve looks far from impressed.  “That’s all? Nothing permanent? No one’s set up a display to stay?”

You stiffen a little in his big hands, beginning to be a little frustrated. “We do own the trademark. There are statues to Jackie Robinson and "P. W." Reese where the Brooklyn Cyclones play today.”

He snorts derisively.  “Heck that’s mnor league.  And Coney Island. Doesn’t count.  Ebbets Field and Flatbush were their heart and that’s all gone. They’re an ugly old apartment complex now.”        

A frustrated silence falls.  Some how you’ve fallen into it again and you can feel your ire rising.  He isn’t the only fan who’s had a team be traded.  Business is business. A team has to have support at the gate or it isn’t sustainable.  Some, like Brooklyn, move to greener pastures.  And some are forced to fold. 

You stop on the edge of the dance floor and pull back, looking him squarely in the face.  There’s a muscle jumping in his cheek and annoyance deepens the french flavour in your accent.  American icon or no, you’ve had enough with his pity party.   

“I miss the Expos just as much as you do Brooklyn.  My team was traded, too.   But I do try to be more balanced about reality.  I don’t go round trashing the Nats or complaining that Washington has no memorial for them.  At least your Dodgers kept their name!”

Steve blinks and a press camera clicks.  

You both drop hands when the music ends and retreat--him to the bar, and you to ladies room.  

Insufferable. Stubborn. (Gorgeous) Man.  

You try to put the experience behind you, get on with work and cheering on your team, but of course the world conspires to interfere.  

LA clinches their pennant run but the photo of you and Captain America looking daggers at each other tops the front page of every newspaper the next day.

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

💐👀❓ about Emala please! I absolutely love her!!!! 💜💜💜

HELLO MY LOVE THANK U SO MUCH FOR ASKIN!! 💜💜💜

💐 Does your OC like flowers? What are their favourites? Do they keep a garden of some sort? What flowers would they use in a flower crown? (and if you like, research the meanings behind those flowers!)

Emala loves flowers. Would die for flowers. Would cross a war zone for flowers. She loves plants in general, but there’s just something about plants with flowers, especially since when they bloom it’s like a little ‘thank you for taking care of me!!’ Mala might be a Slytherin but she is ALL HUFFLEPUFF when it comes to plants lmao Her all-time favourite is lavender, she loves how they look, the colour is her favourite, and the smell is just so nice and calming. Some other favourites are forget-me-nots, orchids, daisies, tansy, and she genuinely loves dandelions (especially when they poke through the cracks in the pavement, she thinks that’s so hopeful and sweet.) 

Fun fact: roses are some of her least favourite flowers, and she’s always giving Mars Disapproving Wrinkled-Nosed Looks because he always smells like roses. XD

👀 Describe your OC through the eyes of another person! (bonus + specify who) + ❓ A random fact or short drabble! Or make up your own question to ask the OC!

I’mma do it with Ben because 👏 Ben 👏 Loves👏 His👏 Little👏 Sister👏 So👏 Much👏 not to say the others don’t also love her just as much but, y’know. This kinda ended up being both. XD But also a random fact about her is that her favourite item of clothing is a knitted yellow poncho :D

‘We’re all supposed to be unchangeable, how can she have changed so much?

The thought circles in my mind, turning and over like a leaf in the wind. She used to be so... pure, so hopeful. She still is, but it’s so different now. Faint lines crop up at the corners of her mouth when she frowns, around her eyes when she smiles and means it. Her violet eyes seem a shade darker and fathoms deeper. Her posture is still impeccable, but her shoulders do droop when she thinks nobody is watching. Flyaway hairs float into her eyes, being puffed back every so often absentmindedly. I watch as she makes her way quickly and efficiently through her apartment with the little metal watering can, checking on her plants for the night, humming to herself and completely focused on the task. I never understood how she could be so driven and single-minded without hurting others as she went. It’s not that she can’t, I’ve seen her pushed beyond her limits and I know she is more than capable of protecting herself, but that it’s an instinct, a part of who she is. Care, consideration, gentleness, it all comes so naturally to her, as simple as breathing.

“Do I have something on my face?” she says lightly as she walks by, tapping the watering can against my shoulder.

“Pardon?”

“You’ve been staring.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I pause. “You know I’m proud of you.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Yes.”

“I don’t say it enough.”

“Hm, no. I only remember you saying it.... ten times in the past week? Maybe twenty. Thirty?”

“Okay, okay,” I say with a smile. “Is that fern new?”

“You mean Rupert?”

I laugh, I can’t help myself. “His name is Rupert?”

“Shut up!” she frowns, waving the watering can at me threateningly. “Come and say hello, they all like you.”

“Okay, I’m coming.” I set the books I brought for her down carefully on the table and go over to kiss her forehead.

“Ben,” she says, voice muffled by my shirt.

“Mm-hm?”

“Don’t say it.”

“I wasn���t going to!”

“Don’t lie, either!”

“Fine.” I wait a beat, then lean in and say “love you, proud of you” and hurry over to Rupert before she really can turn the watering can into a surely very deadly weapon.’

send me symbols for my OCs?

[freugeist]

Rules: answer these 85 statements about yourself, then tag 20 people

I was tagged by @lesknope, thank you so much fran!!!

Last….

1. Drink – water

2. Call – my aunt

3. Text message – my friend

4. Song you listened to – nothing’s gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex

5. Time you cried – couple of months ago, dunno

Ever….

6. Dated someone twice? – never dated anyone in general rip

7. Kissed someone and regretted it – nope

8. Been cheated on – no

9. Lost someone special – yes

10. Been depressed – yes

11. Gotten drunk and thrown up – once or twice

Rest under the cut….

Fave Colors…

12. dark reds (like wine red and burgundy)

13. cream white

14. yellow like in the emoji heart

In the last year have you…

15. Made new friends – yessss

16. Fallen out of love – kind of

17. Laughed until you cried  – every time i laugh

18. Found out someone was talking about you – nah

19. Met someone who changed you – kinda i guess

20. Found out who your friends are – oh big time

21. Kissed someone on your facebook friends list – no!

General…

22. How many of your facebook friends do you know irl – a good 80-85%

23. Do you have any pets – my fam has a labrador but i don’t have any pets at my place unfortunately

24. Do you want to change your name - no i love my lesbiconic name

25. What did you do for your last birthday – uhh i think i went out for lunch with my mom and sisters and uni started again that day

26. What time did you wake up today – 7:00 

27. What were you doing at midnight last night - sleeping 

28. What is something you can’t wait for – meeting gillian on saturday and going to norway for a semester starting in august!!!!!

30. What are you listening to right now – apocalypse by cigarettes after sex lmao

31. Have you ever talked to a person named tom – don’t think so

32. Something that’s getting on your nerves – people insisting cishet aces/aros are lgbt

33. Most visited website - twitter

34. Hair colour - very light brunette/dark blonde i guess

35. Long or short hair – a little over shoulder length

36. Do you have a crush on someone – gillian anderson and 2 other people i am a slut

37. What do you like about yourself – i’m excitable and will get these random intense flashes of energy and have handled every card i’ve been dealt in life so far so... maybe i’m also reliable and structured

38. Want any piercings? – no other real ones really beside the ones in my ears

39. Blood type – no idea

40. Nicknames – ellie

41. Relationship status – useless single lesbian

42. Zodiac – aries

43. Pronouns - she/her

44. Fave shows - the fall, friends, modern family, b99

45. Tattoos – i have the outline of a maple leaf on the left side of my ribcage

46. Right or left handed - right

47. Ever had surgery - thankfully not

48. Piercings - just those in my ears

49. Sport – the occasional session at the gym

50. Vacation – london april 13-16 

51. Trainers – converse

More General….

52. Eating – chips

53. Drinking – water

54. I’m about to watch – riverdale yes i hate myself

55. Waiting for – my parcel delivery tomorrow and derm appointment on wednesday

56. Want – to go to canada again

57. Get married – yes!!!!!!!!!!! i want to have a wife!!!!!!

58. Career – i... want to be a prof

Which is better…

59. Hugs or kisses – hugs

60. Lips or eyes - eyes

61. Shorter or taller – taller or same height

62. Older or younger – older

63. Nice arms or stomach – arms for hugging and cuddling reasons 

64. Hookup or relationship – relationship but i’m scared

65. Troublemaker or hesitant – hesitant

Have you ever…

66. Kissed a stranger – nope

67. Drank hard liquor – yeah

68. Lost glasses – last week. ran through my parents’ house for 10 minutes in my half-blind state

69. Turned someone down – yesss girls and guys alike. lesbian rejector 

70. Sex on first date – nooooo

71. Broken someones heart – yes

72. Had your heart broken – yes

73. Been arrested - no

74. Cried when someone died – no i mean i am affected but i just hardly ever cry

75. Fallen for a friend – lowkey kinda yeaaaah

Do you believe in….

76. Yourself – sort of, on good days

77. Miracles – definitely

78. Love at first sight – not love, but a first stage of that kind of affection

79. Santa Clause – ahaaaa no

80. Kissing on a first date – yesss

81. Angels – yes

Other…

82. Best friend’s name – rosie

83. Eye colour – green/grey

84. Fave movie – imagine me & you

85. Fave actor – gillian anderson!!! and kate winslet lowkey i just wish she’d not be problematic

tagging @mooninlesbian @greentealesbian @annavolovodov @mappho @enbyshaw @hadestudy @middletonkate @madchenamicks @sparklightdreams @aphrodihe & generally anyone who’d like to do this!!!