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noriaki-kak · 11 months ago

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Another question 👀 (if that’s ok I don’t wanna bother you) but would you be willing to post any writing pieces you made of the Braithen kids,,,,it’s ok if u can’t !! It’s totally fine!!

Here’s some paw prints of my dog 🐾 as compensation idk,,,

OOH! Doggy... thank u for this offering! I wish I had more writing to share, but tbh I have a lot less written abt the Braithen kids than I'd like. Wrangling my ability to write is always a whole thing so a lot of stuff I do have is unfinished or so context dependent it's hard to tell what's goin on.

I do have one thing I can share though! I waffled on posting it because it takes place towards the latter half of Penelope's story and a LOT happens that I haven't covered yet. But I wanted to share it so I'll try and give a bit of context under the cut before the actual Thing itself!

SO, I think @dapper-comedy has mentioned some of this but just to be sure. After Leo is cursed and his father dies, the kingdom is left without a ruler. Penelope steps up and makes a bid for the crown, successfully taking the throne with support from the church and Leo's mother.

However, the decision to make this move wasn't entirely made by herself. An angel appears before her and basically tells her she's been chosen by god and given a sacred mission to save Braithen from demonic influence. He tells her that Leo is a lost cause and the only way to free him from his pain is to end him.

He's absolutely selling her a load of bullshit, making stuff up wholesale, manipulating her for his own agenda. He also goes a lot softer on the sell when they first meet, encouraging her to take the crown, hiding the more intense stuff (i.e. "saving" Leo), and kind of telling her everything she's ever wanted to hear.

She hated her father, but she also felt intense guilt near constantly for not being the model daughter she was supposed to be. Her desire for more out of life makes her feel like she's doing something wrong.

So this angel showing up, telling her god is real and approves of her, that she should grasp power and use it to make meaningful change, that she's allowed to want more out of life than being a good wife. It gets to her. Especially being in a vulnerable state after her confrontation with Leo, seeking meaning and concrete direction.

Over the years he acts as her "guardian" angel, appearing around her and offering counsel. He starts to let the act slip as time wears on and Penelope finds herself too deep in and too weary to take note or care.

This scene is one of the worst moments of Penelope's life. I believe Thea has spoken before about how Caspian tried to end things in a church after his demonic heritage is revealed to him, before his dad swoops in and takes him to live in hell instead.

This is the aftermath of that, with Penelope not knowing where Caspian is aside from the note he left behind. (Sorry girl, going through my half finished writing and so much of it is Penelope rlly goin thru it. Promise I'll write you into some kinder scenes soon queen.) So! Without further ado.

Penelope bursts through the doors of the church for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. She stumbles, rain soaked and bedraggled, down the aisle and collapses to the ground right before the last row of pews.

It wouldn’t be long before news spread. She had acted as was her way when she found the note, swallowing her feelings and drowning herself in practicality. Simple orders to find him had already been passed to any guard stationed in the area.

All night she searched, scouring every inch of the church inside and out. At first the lack of a body had given her a torturous hope, but as the horizon begins to faintly glow, the glorious light rips it from her.

She had to find him, she could find him. She would apologize for not being there. For closing herself off with Giselle’s passing, with the duties of the crown, with Leo’s sin.

Her fingers are numb as she gropes at her pocket, she can’t bring herself to actually reach inside, to touch the paper. The feel of the crumpled note through the damp fabric of her dress forces her to remain in reality, the words flooding her mind.

She would tell him it wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t a demon. He wasn’t, he could never be. She was at fault, all of this, everything… She would tell him, she would tell him-

She would find him somewhere crying. And he would wipe his tears when he saw her and smile sheepishly and pretend his eyes weren’t red.

And she would pretend the same, or no…

She would cry and hug him, she could put off her duties tomorrow, they could have lunch. Maybe they could go out and pick blackberries, and the taste would remind them of Giselle. She would talk to him about her.

She would find him, she would, someone would. They would bring him to her, there wasn’t a body, that means he must, he must-

“What sort of wretched way must he have left this earth to not even leave a body? Perhaps his note speaks true, perhaps his corpse fell to ash in this holy place.” He speaks with a well practiced gentle pity. It’s not as if she ever feels his presence truly leave, but he had been utterly silent up to this point, and hearing him makes her freeze.

His words gall her, a disgusting fury wrenches at her bones.

“Please...” She wants to command him to be silent but her voice is hoarse and feeble. Shaky exhaustion ruins her strength, her pride. She gasps for air and tries again.

“Please do not speak of what you do not know.” It’s nothing, her words are paper thin. In this moment she is ruler of nothing, fallen to the floor. Frail and idiotic, and beholden to everything she hates.

“Does it not ease the pain? If he was indeed stained by the demonic, you’ve been spared from saving him.” She cannot see him, but she feels him close. “He was a good man, to rid the world of another demon for you.”

White hot fury flashes in her, she crosses her arms and grips at her shoulders, clawing at herself. She crumples forward, fighting the rage, the tears. She presses her forehead against the stone floor, her face contorted in a mask of agony.

The first dry sob wracks her body, ugly and stifled. Her throat is so tight, she sounds like an animal in pain.

“T-Take me. Send me to hell, please.” It is unlike her, she pleads like a child, honest in a way she hasn’t been in years.

“If everyone I love will be taken this way, send me too.” She begs foolishly, eyes screwed shut. Any pain would be better than this, an eternity burning would mercifully kill her mind.

“And what of Leonidas?” The name makes her grit her teeth and claw deeper into her shoulders.

“You would leave him in this world alone?” She lifts her head and he’s before her now. Through blurry vision she’s certain he looks more and more sickly every day.

She lurches forward and grips his arm with a desperate strength, digging into his flesh. He doesn’t flinch.

“Help me find Caspian, guide me to him.” She croaks out. A nausea rises in her, she desperately redirects the conversation. She’s so tired of him, she knows he has answers. Why can’t he just help like he used to-

“I swear to God I speak the truth when I say your friend no longer resides in this world.” His face is blank, and yet she knows he isn’t lying. This isn’t usually how he twists his words, this is a blunt hammer.

Something freezes in her, her eyes are bugged and glassy as she looks at her surroundings, as if suddenly lost. It’s like something is broken. She releases his arm and her hands fall limply to her sides. She wishes the church would collapse on top of her.

“Leave me.” There’s barely enough air in her sore lungs to form the words. “Leave me now, or kill me.”

There’s no response, when she blinks he is gone.

She is drenched in the silence, and her eyes search the cavernous cathedral from where she sits in a solitary delirium. The early morning glow alights upon the stained glass windows, and filters through warmly.

The glass eyes of the depicted figures bore into her, silent judges in her every failure and transgression. She fumbles in her pocket and pulls out the damp crumpled note. She doesn’t dare to unfurl it, or read it again, instead she presses it firm against her heart.

On the left she thinks.

Her far away eyes cast themselves upwards towards the vaulted ceilings, this prison she was born into, the prison she chose. Or did she really choose? No, this is her fault, she…

She thinks about the last time she saw Caspian, the empty look in his eyes that she ran from, and the dam breaks.

It is an ugly and angry sound that rips through her, it would be generous to call it a sob. The tears run hot from her eyes as she curls in on herself.

The thoughts she desperately locks away spill forth in a deluge. What was the point of any of it? What has the false strength she built herself been for? What is the power she’s grasped for if she can’t use it to protect the ones she holds dearest… held dearest.

She is alone, and a hideous selfish fury washes over her. A desperate childish rage at Caspian for leaving her here alone. The feeling only fuels her self-castigation, he apologized so profusely in his note, so convinced he had done some wrong-

She had always been the problem, not him. Sweet Caspian, kind sweet Caspian, heart so full and trusting. She can’t imagine life without him by her side, how was she supposed to…?

Memories of him pour over her. The frozen grief she stifled over Giselle’s death joins, and her rage breaks as warm thoughts of Leo intermingle. Every moment is like a new knife, loss, and loss, and loss, after loss.

How much more could she stand to lose? How much more can she fail those around her?

She crumples like the note in her hand as her grip grows tighter, and her mind goes blank with despair. Her weak sobs sound in the quiet cathedral, echoing off the intricate stonework. She cries in a way she hasn’t in years, snot pouring from her nose, body hunched and trembling.

Her heart breaks, for the third and final time. So she mourns loudly, knowing that once the sun is risen, she will have nothing left to give.

#i rlly put Penelope thru it im sorry girl 😭#i never really post my writing so im a little shy dfghj #but! im happy to share #oc tag #suicide mention #to be safe

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sskk-ao3feed · 1 year ago

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BSD Watch The Show

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/w4dHUzT by Fyozai4eva_Vanoe The BSD characters all get teleported to a theatre to watch their lives. Or more specifically, Dazai's life. (It isn't actually all Dazai's past but it mostly just focuses on Dazai bits in the anime I guess). This doesn't impress the suicidal maniac one bit. Mori thinks this will benefit him but he couldn't be more wrong at all. Fukuchi can't wait to get out but will be beggin for mercy when everyone's done with him. All the kids team up with Dazai to be chaotic. All the ships get to together. Someone help me, Chuuya keeps on threatening to blow up my theatre!! This includes a Fyozai relationship reveal so that will be fun. Plus Oda, Ango, Hirotsu and Fukuzawa being Dazai's dads agenda. SPREAD IT. Oh yeah and I brought Odasaku back from the dead because I AM GOD. Odango reunion too + Dazai still pissed at Ango and making murder 'jokes' at him. The ADA also unfortunately get to meet the Demon Prodigy and witness some horny simps. Words: 3134, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/F, M/M Characters: Armed Detective Agency and Port Mafia Ensembles (Bungou Stray Dogs), Decay of Angels Ensemble (Bungou Stray Dogs), Edgar Allan Poe (Bungou Stray Dogs), Lucy Maud Montgomery (Bungou Stray Dogs), Fukuchi Ouchi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Sakaguchi Ango (Bungou Stray Dogs), Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Shibusawa Tatsuhiko (Bungou Stray Dogs) Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nikolai Gogol/Sigma (Bungou Stray Dogs), Edogawa Ranpo/Edgar Allan Poe (Bungou Stray Dogs), Ozaki Kouyou/Yosano Akiko (Bungou Stray Dogs), Fukuzawa Yukichi/Mori Ougai (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Oda Sakunosuke/Sakaguchi Ango (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Gin/Higuchi Ichiyou Additional Tags: They Kind of watch the show, The show being Dazai's past, Protective Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), in a PLATONIC way though, Fyozai rules, Angry Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Threats of Violence, Some Humor, Attempt at Humor, Kunikida Doppo & Nakahara Chuuya Friendship (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu & Oda Sakunosuke Friendship (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu & Edogawa Ranpo Friendship (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu & Yosano Akiko Friendship (Bungou Stray Dogs), Mori Ougai Being An Asshole (Bungou Stray Dogs), Protective Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Bungou Stray Dogs), Mori may die multiple times, By may I mean definitely, Author Is Sleep Deprived, The Author Regrets Nothing, Chaotic Nikolai & Shibusawa & Fyodor, Sigma is So Done (Bungou Stray Dogs), Fukuchi gets beat up, By Ranpo because I hate that old man, Dazai hates Ango still, Dead Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), but I bring him back to life, Odango are protective dads read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/w4dHUzT

#ao3feed sskk #akuatsu #fic rec

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douxlen · 3 months ago

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The Fight Over Tim Walz’s Midwestern Appeal

New Post has been published on https://douxle.com/2024/08/10/the-fight-over-tim-walzs-midwestern-appeal/

The Fight Over Tim Walz’s Midwestern Appeal

Now that Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz has skyrocketed into the public eye after being named Vice President Kamala Harris’ running mate, voters have been introduced to his plainspoken, Midwestern communication style.

As former President Barack Obama wrote this week in his statement regarding Walz, “Tim’s signature is his ability to talk like a human being.”

Walz’s manner of speaking has already become apparent in his first days as a vice presidential contender and candidate. Walz’s jabs and jokes have gone viral and drawn attention from voters and the media, from Walz originating Democrats’ new strategy to call the GOP candidates “weird” to his reference in his very first appearance with Harris to a lewd Internet rumor about Ohio Sen. J.D. Vance, former President Donald Trump’s running mate.

Political strategists and experts say Walz’s style could be an asset to the Harris campaign. “The vice presidential nominees often take on the the role of attack dog, and the danger there is they end up looking nasty, but if you can do it with a smile and a wink and with some humor, you can convey that message without it necessarily backfiring on you,” says Travis Ridout, political scientist at Washington State University and co-director of the Wesleyan Media Project. “That’s the Midwesternism that will allow him not to sound nasty.”

George Washington University Professor David Karpf agrees: “Two weeks ago, delivering that line about Donald Trump and J.D. Vance just being plain weird wouldn’t resonate, but because the ‘Midwestern dad governor’ said that, he can deliver that line and have it land really well.”

Read More: How the Harris-Walz Camo Hats Became a Viral Hit

The contrast between Walz and Harris, who is from California and spent her early career in San Francisco, also lends stylistic balance to the ticket. Born in the small town of West Point, Nebraska, Walz’s roots run deep in rural America. “Where I grew up, community was a way of life. My high school class was 24 people. I was related to half of them,” Walz said in a video posted on social media to announce he was running with Harris. After high school, Walz spent 24 years in the Army National Guard, before moving to Mankato, Minnesota, where he worked as a high school social studies teacher and football coach until winning his first congressional election in 2006.

“The question is do people identify him as a Midwesterner when they see him and hear him? And the answer is yes,” says Kathleen Hall Jamieson, professor of communication and the director of the Annenberg Public Policy Center at the University of Pennsylvania. “That gives him credibility inside the battleground states of Wisconsin, Michigan, and rural Pennsylvania.”

The Trump campaign has already begun trying to separate Walz from his Midwestern identity, instead tying him to a “West Coast” liberalism like the kind they argue Harris represents. On Aug. 6, the Trump-Vance campaign released a statement about “Radical Leftist” Walz as Harris’ running mate, calling him a “West Coast wannabe.”

“It’s no surprise that San Francisco Liberal Kamala Harris wants West Coast wannabe Tim Walz as her running-mate – Walz has spent his governorship trying to reshape Minnesota in the image of the Golden State,” Trump’s campaign spokeswoman Karoline Leavitt wrote. “Walz is obsessed with spreading California’s dangerously liberal agenda far and wide.”

Vance has echoed this rhetoric, telling reporters in Philadelphia on Tuesday that Harris has “chosen a running mate who will be a San Francisco-style liberal.”

Read More: For Tim Walz, the IVF Political Battles Are Personal

A Harris campaign official argues this comparison is strained, noting San Francisco is “a city [Walz] has spent virtually no time in and visited for the first time last month.” The official also points out that Vance lived in San Francisco and began his career there.

The Trump-Vance campaign did not answer TIME’s request for comment.

Walz and Vance in particular will battle over the coming weeks to establish themselves as the representation of the Midwest and to help their respective presidential candidates win over those crucial votes. Vance grew up in Rust Belt Ohio and became famous after the publication of his memoir Hillbilly Elegy in 2016.

At the Republican National Convention in July, Vance used his first speech as Trump’s running mate to cast himself as a fighter for the working class. Throughout his speech, he claimed that he would work to elevate the interests of blue-collar voters, repeatedly naming Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Wisconsin. “This moment is not about me,” Vance said. “It’s about the auto worker in Michigan, wondering why out-of-touch politicians are destroying their jobs.”

Now, as the Trump campaign attempts to paint Walz as a California liberal, Walz has begun highlighting Vance’s connections to Silicon Valley and Yale University to claim he’s the one out of touch with many Americans. When the campaign heats up, voters will take a gimlet-eyed look towards everything from finances to policies to upbringing to speaking style in order to, according to Jamieson, “certify a difference between Vance and Walz on whether they can still identify with the people they grew up with.”

#News &x26; Politics

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y0itsbri · 3 years ago

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hello i am here to spread the ‘mickey is a cat person’ agenda

(am i projecting? maybe)

i can’t stop thinking about ian dragging mickey with him to an animal shelter because carl is getting a dog from a shelter that one of ian's old emt friends used to volunteer at.

mickey’s never been to an animal shelter because why the fuck would he? he’s nervous about seeing all the little shits in cages. he’s spent enough time behind bars himself for more than a lifetime. that was just how life was in the past, but he didn't want that for his future. so he stops outside, the shelter grabbing a pack of smokes out of his pocket and telling ian he’ll meet him in there. ian pauses for a moment, but then squeezes mickey’s shoulder once before heading inside with carl.

after a couple cigarettes, mickey sighs and determines he needs to man the fuck up. they’re just animals. it’s fine. the bell jingles as he opens the door, alerting the receptionist of his presence. he must look as frazzled as he feels because the receptionist takes pity on him with a smile, “dogs on the left, cats on the right.” mickey mumbled a quiet “thanks” and promptly turns the quieter direction eager to escape the chaos and calm the rapid beating of his heart. what the fuck was wrong with him?

he finds himself in a room with small cages and the doors all ajar. there was some sign on the door about scheduled play time but he hardly skimmed it on his way in.

most of the tiny escaped beasts in the room were napping, finding new locations and sun spots now that they were temporarily freed. there was a dad and his small daughter quietly playing with a black cat in the other corner of the room as other sleepy cats curiously watched from a distance. they looked happy. mickey could handle this.

he crossed the room and sat down on a chair, checking his phone for any missed texts from ian.

Ian (2:16 pm): Hey mick! Carl already found a dog 😁 come join us whenever! Paperworks a bitch

mickey smiled at that. fuck, maybe he was becoming soft. damn gallagher. he was about to reply to ian that he’ll be right there when he felt a shove against his ankle.

“the fuck?” he questioned and was quickly met with a chirp and a mesmerizing pair of gold eyes. the cat rubbed against his ankles again.

“alright alright little dude. you’re almost needier than ian... and that’s saying something.”

he reached down and scratched the cat along its neck. apparently so well that the cat eyed his lap briefly before jumping up and settling onto his thighs.

“well, fuck. look’s like we’re staying here, huh? you better not use those claws on me, i happen to like these pants."

the cat seemed to agree that they were indeed nice pants as it threw its head back into mickey’s palm. mickey took a picture of the cat in his lap and sent it to ian, deciding that it was an adequate explanation of his whereabouts.

the purring from the little creature distracted mickey enough that he didn’t even notice when the door swung open again.

“aw, my baby’s got a baby,” ian cooed from across the room.

“fuck. off.” mickey replied with his eyes closed.

“i don’t think i will, thanks for the suggestion though.”

mickey rolled his eyes at his dumbass. the cat looked up at their new distraction.

“that’s ian,” mickey explained and the cat seemed satisfied.

“telling a cat all about me now?” ian teased.

“how’s the paperwork coming?” mickey changed the subject.

“almost done. carl found this little terrier and they're already buddies. it’s real cute. but something tells me we’re still gonna be here for awhile,” ian sat down on the seat next to mickey, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. the cat on mickey’s lap stretched its leg out, resting its paw on ian’s thighs.

“oh shit now that’s real fuckin’ cute, pops,” mickey cooed.

it was ian’s turn to return a “fuck off.”

and if they spent the rest of the day signing papers off for a little cat with treasure gold eyes, that was nobody’s business.

#my posts #shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #carl gallagher #ian x mickey #shameless headcanon #shameless headcanons #mickey x cats #shameless fanfic #shameless fanfiction

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sylvie-writes · 4 years ago

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Petty Golfers

Warnings: Swearing, but what can you expect with a Ransom fic? Some cheesy, real bitchy moves. Bad depictions of golfing. Some suggestive material, but not rlly? Dad Ransom! There’s so much affection that I might have diabetes from all the fluff.

If you can’t tell, I suck at writing summaries and warnings. Please just take a leap of faith and read. It took me a week to write this and we are at a whopping 7k word count. So please leave some feedback, ik I sound desperate. Love y’all!

Summary: A trip to the country club with Ransom and his aristocratic friends goes south.

“Ransom! Your mother is on the phone!”

You were curled up on the sofa when Ransom’s phone rang, a picture of Mrs. Drysdale herself showing up. She rarely ever called, except to bitch at you or her son. Out of curiosity, you had answered the call, unknowingly becoming an victim to her demands.

“Get Ransom for me.”

“He’s on his way down.”

“Tell him to make it quick.”

Who the hell did she think she was? You rolled your eyes, annoyed at her demand. The phone that was once pressed against your ear, was now pulled away from your face.

“Ransom! Your mother is on the phone!”

A quick huff from your mouth made you regain composure, continuing your ‘conversation’ with the woman.

“Why did you answer my son’s phone, anyway.”

Linda’s tone was cold, just as when you had first met her. In the five years you had been with Ransom, not once had she shown you any form of kindness.

Sick of her impertinence, you shoved back a snarky remark.

“Well, I don’t know if you know this, darling, but I’m dating your son! Actually I’m even engaged to him!”

Her end of the line was silent except for a loud scoff.

It was about time that Linda learned you weren’t some obedient dog, cowering down to her like Richard or Walt would.

“That’s my girl!”

Ransom, thank the heavens.

Turning your gaze to the stairs, you saw Ransom wearing a smirk, sauntering his way over.

The man bent down to kiss your lips before swiping his phone. You could practically imagine Linda’s screeching fit to her son and husband about what just happened. Clearly, it was actually happening as you heard Ransom nonchalantly reply, “That's not my problem.”

You took this time to get cleaned up and ready, seeing Ransom was currently occupied and would be for at least the next hour.

This was the first time you were gonna go golfing with Ransom and his friends. It was pretty obvious they were all gonna show up in Castore golf clothing, while you opted to wear a coral Columbia polo shirt and navy skort, caring less about the name of the brand and more about its versatility.

After applying some minimal makeup, you walked out from the bathroom to take a peek in the bedroom mirror.

The coral polo was neatly tucked into the navy skort, stopping mid-thigh. Taking your hands, you slowly smoothed out the shirt, stopping on your small baby bump. About 22 weeks in, and you were already in love with this child.

“Hi, little lemondrop. Oh goodness, are we gonna have a long day, honey.”

As you talked to your baby, Ransom quietly snuck into the room, smiling at how great of a mother you are already turning out to be. In his mind, he figured at least the child would have one good parent figure.

“Hey Sweetheart, sorry to interrupt, but I found you some golf shoes that should be comfortable.”

You looked up into the mirror to see Ransom behind you, with a big grin on his face and a pair of white golf shoes in his hand.

“Thanks, Ran.”

A bashful smile spread on your lips as you took the shoes. A part of you felt guilty for him getting you these shoes, but you knew he didn’t mind. Unfortunately, your feet and calves had already started swelling due to the pregnancy induced edema.

A quick trip to the bed, and you sat on the edge, struggling to get your shoes on, while Ransom was in the closet getting changed into his own golf attire.

Ransom confidently stepped out in all his glory, a navy polo and some light khaki shorts, that clung to his muscular physique. Your eyes were glued to him in awe and like the cocky asshole he is, a smirk grew on his face.

“Like what you see, Babe?”

“Oh shut up, Drysdale.”

You threw your shoe at him which he so expertfully caught. He gave a teasing smile and raised his hands in surrender before making his way to the edge of the bed where you were sitting. Getting down on one knee, Ransom gently picked up your foot and put it in the shoe, tying the laces, but not too tight.

“Hmm, this feels vaguely familiar.”

Yup, Mr. Silver-Spoon Fed, was down on the ground, putting on your shoes. In his own words he’d only do the “Helps” part for you.

Once Ransom was done tying your shoe, he motioned to himself on his knee, trying to provoke the memory of when he proposed months ago.

Leaning forward, you placed your hands on his shoulder, and pecked his lips.

“I do.”

With a wink, you got up and left the room, also leaving Ransom on the floor, as he just chuckled to himself.

In all honesty you were dreading the day’s agenda. Ransom was taking you to the country club for a few holes of golf with his friends and their newest set of girlfriends.

Even though you had met Ransom’s friends and all, you could tell they had never liked you from the beginning. Eventually, with some work, Bently and Dylan warmed up to you. Without doubt, you understood why they were Ransom’s friends. They were exactly like him in every way, lifestyle and all.

In the years you had known the two men, Mallory and Samantha were the longest to stick around so far. Five months to be exact. This was an outstretched time of fidelity for the life-long playboys.

Maybe the men were trying to somewhat settle down like Ransom had.

The two women were standoffish from the start, always talking about things you never really cared about. Their lame attempt at trying to make you feel like an outsider was just straight-up annoying. When they did include you, it was a constant conversation about Ransom. You loved him and all, but if you were gonna be friends with these chicks, they might as well like you for you and not your fiance.

Out of all the ‘lady friends’ the guys had brought, Mallory and Samantha were total bitches in comparison to the rest. And no, you weren’t jumping to conclusions and making assumptions about these women. Life had given you a fair share of bullies back in your day.

This whole ordeal could be marked as the most uncomfortable thing you’ve done in your life.

Mallory and Samantha were anything but friendly, going on and on about a Versace fashion show, and some model, from last month. Inwardly you reminded yourself that you were doing this for Ransom, who was having the time of his life with Bentley and Dylan. How they could have this much fun golfing, was beyond you.

The three guys golfed while you three ladies stood watching and chatting. In a more accurate account, the three guys golfed while the two ladies stood watching and chatting about purposeless things in life, deliberately leaving you out.

Well, come to find out all along you really weren’t gonna play golf, you were just gonna watch. Yay, so exciting.

You would’ve played golf with the guys had Mallory and Samantha not opened their opinionated mouths and made the decision for you.

At this point Mallory and Samantha were now blabbering about some new type of leather purse and you really wished Ransom’s club would have hit your head at that moment. Anything to relieve you from having to hear their pathetic whining. The two women didn’t care to include you. Surprise, Surprise. Apparently, you weren’t good enough to be in their aristocratic circle.

What the hell was this, high school?

“So how are you doing, (y/n)?”

It was odd how Samantha was actually trying to engage in a conversation with you. You just hoped that maybe this was her olive branch. These were Ransom’s friends' significant others and you were gonna try your damndest to impress them, not really wanting to stir up any drama if it weren’t necessary.

“I’m doing pretty well, thanks for asking. How about you two?”

Now both women were fully turned to you, their attention no longer on the men, more so Ransom.

“Dylan and I are gonna take a trip to Europe, not exactly what I wanted, but good enough I guess.” Samantha rolled her eyes and heartily laughed along with Mallory.

Her simple statement made your eyes almost bug out of your head. It was like an expensive trip to Europe to her was just nothing more than a drive across the state line. You swallowed harshly in an attempt to figuratively stomach Samantha’s words. Ransom regularly offered those luxurious things to you, but as always, you turned them down, claiming he was just enough. It was very true, though. You didn’t have high standards which took Ransom some time to get used to. Most women he was ever with, wanted things, extortionate commodities.

You didn’t want to ruin your only chance at a somewhat blossoming friendship, so you trepidatiously giggled along with them.

“Oh honey, did you gain weight? I know a great personal trainer, really cute too, maybe not as cute as Ransom though.” Mallory’s perfectly manicured hand motioned towards your growing stomach.

You just stared in utter shock at what she just said. To most people that would be offensive but then you remembered the crowd you were with. Judgemental.

“Umm, no-well, uh, I’m expecting.”

Sheepishly, you looked down at your feet, now noticing the difference between your choice of shoes and theirs.

Samantha was wearing those white oasis Hermes sandals she had mentioned earlier, while Mallory was sporting some gaudy rockstud Valentino stilettos. Yeah, they definitely did not come here to golf.

“That’s why Ransom kept someone like you around!”

And that was definitely not the answer you were anticipating. If anything, you figured they’d be gushing over your pregnancy like any normal person would.

“Oh Sam!” You saw Mallory nudge Samantha who looked at her in shock, immediately stopping her obnoxious laughter.

A breath of relief left your mouth as you looked to smile at Mallory in gratitude.

“I should’ve known it would take a fake pregnancy to get him!”

“Yeah, he can’t have a bastard child running around, now can he? He would never get laid again!”

Your smile collapsed.

Samantha and Mallory grabbed each other’s hand, careful of their bubble-bath groomed nails, yet laughing so hard that they had to support each other.

The three men looked over in the direction of the women’s giggles and smiled, returning back to their game, completely unaware of the real situation.

Of course they didn’t see you, because your back was to them. If they had, your impression of a deer in headlights would have most certainly piqued their attention.

Your jaw dropped and you couldn’t even comprehend what you just heard.

Holy hell, they were just egging it on, weren’t they?

It was then that you realized Mallory wasn’t trying to stand up for you just a minute ago.

So apparently the two women weren’t trying to become your friends at all. You were just their little toy to ridicule.

“Aww hon, don’t get upset! We are just joking around.”

Samantha gripped your shoulder tightly and you gave a tight lipped smile, in an attempt to show that you weren’t hurt by their idiotic antics.

As Mallory and Samantha turned to continue to stare at the men, you saw them roll their eyes, for the nth time.

“Joking, my ass.”

You just stared daggers into their backs, slightly wishing the daggers were real. How dare they insult you by saying you were “faking” it? They could joke with you, but definitely not your baby.

The motherly instincts were already kicking in apparently.

“Hey girls, wanna try?”

Dylan waved his driver club in the air trying to get your attention. You were in such a trance, anything anyone said was just tuned out, that was till two arms wrapped around your waist.

The simple action made you jump out of your own skin, ready to strike whoever was behind you.

“Jumpy, much babe?”

When you turned to be met with Ransom’s grin, a wave of relief swept over your anxious body.

“Huh, yeah. Sorry I kinda zoned out.”

“I definitelyyyy couldn’t tell.”

Crossing your fingers, you had hoped that Ransom wouldn’t question your edgy tone that came out with the sentence.

Luckily, he didn’t notice and instead unwillingly dragged you over the teeing ground where the rest of the group was standing nearby.

“So, who wants to go first?”

Bentley spun on his heel to face the caddy and pulled out a gap wedge, handing it to Samantha who giddily volunteered herself first.

“I’m not really sure what position, I should be in.”

Samantha held the club, elbows bent, and performed a lazy test swing, striking the grass.

“Ransom, could you help me? After all, you are the one winning.”

Her flirtatious wink made you wanna vomit. You practically held back the gag, not wanting to cause another scene. Ransom’s water bottle was in the cart. Deciding you couldn’t watch anymore you walked to go get the water that seemed life saving at the moment.

“Ok, so first off you are gonna want to spread your legs a little.”

Samantha moved her hips suggestively as she got into the proper stance.

“Is this the correct position?

Ransom nodded, not catching her drift at all. The way she said “position” was absolutely flagrant.

As you turned from the cart and back to the group, you saw Samantha pushing her hips into Ransom, her Prada dress, lacy, white, and most of all short, slid up just a hunch.

“Oh, good god I’m gonna be sick.”

Briskly, you semi-jogged towards the country club, not wanting to catch anyone’s attention.

No one had noticed your disappearance as expected and just continued on with the game.

Of course, you came back just in time for Mallory’s turn, who was also getting coached by your fiance.

“Don’t get mad, don’t get mad.”

The navy skort you were wearing, had to take the hit as you clenched your fists tightly, balling up the smooth fabric.

Mallory swung the golf club clumsily, her arms way out of whack. You just grimaced, these women were supposed to know how to golf for goodness sake. After all, golfing was a sport for the rich, at least in Mallory’s own words.

“Oh Ransom. I think I might need your help. How do I swing again?”

Ransom politely nodded and strode away from his previous conversation. He situated himself behind Mallory, her back resting against his chest, his arms encasing around her sides. The golf club was positioned in between Mallory’s long legs and the two of them slightly bent at the hips, Ransom’s hands over hers as they slowly swung the golf club a few times.

It finally came time for Mallory to actually swing. She insisted that Ransom help her, and of course he did. As they swung their arms over their shoulders, Mallory twisted her head and kissed Ransom’s cheek. The ball teed off and Mallory thanked Ransom once more.

“Thanks for all your help, Ranny.”

Mallory then leaned in to hug Ransom tightly, smirking when she saw your belligerent attitude.

You swore to yourself that you were living a movie because my god, was this so fake. No one in their right mind would ever have the guts to accomplish anything that had happened so far today. Quite the lucky streak you have, if I might say so myself.

“You wanna go, Momma?” A teasing offer came from Bentley, one you wouldn’t pass up.

Confidently, you smirked and walked over to grab a pitching wedge from Ransom’s golf caddy.

You were really ready to knock these women off of their damn high horses, it was time they joined you all in the corral.

“Gladly.”

The straight up sarcasm that dripped from your sneer thoroughly confused Ransom.

Straightening his posture, he quickly walked over to help you tee off too.

Normally, you wouldn’t have minded Ransom’s help, but at this moment you were fuming, striking the ball on the tee with great vehemence.

Shamelessly flirting with Ransom, even when they knew you were right there. The deliberate actions of your so called friends really was the last straw. You could normally handle the level of pettiness Ransom’s friends propounded, but you couldn’t take it anymore. It all flowed through your blood and into your swing.

Ransom’s eyes widened when he saw how you hit with a perfect form, swing straight and all. Your ball even landed on the green, closer to the end, unlike the two women who landed on the rough, even with his help.

“Well looks like Ransom got a good start, now.” Dylan shook his head in disbelief as Ransom winked at you, a token of his appreciation. Unfortunately, you were only seeing red and completely missed his action of affection.

“That’s impossible!” Samantha had a look of repugnance on her face. Visibly upset that she wasn’t beating you in this game of cat and mouse, insult edition.

Mallory then discreetly flipped you off, the guys too busy packing up in order to move further down the course.

“I’m over this shit.” You walked away from the teeing ground and towards the swarm of people.

“You ready to move on ladies?” Bentley pointed towards the golf carts that were pretty much all packed up, except for the club in your hand.

“Sure!” Mallory’s overly peppy and fake voice was the last straw.

The two women started to walk away with the men, swaying their hips, every step taken with aplomb.

“No, you know what, Sam, Mal, who gives two shits about a Versace runway model standing three inches off center, because I sure as hell don’t.”

Bentley, Dylan and Ransom stood gaping with confusion at your sudden outburst. From their point of view, nothing extreme had gone down between you and the girls all day long.

You turned from the outraged women, disregarding their insults thrown your way and meeting the faces of the befuddled men.

“Sorry boys.”

“Oh and one more thing, girls. If you say one more shitty thing, so help me, I am gonna take Samantha’s Hermes heels and shove them so far up both your asses, you’ll be able to cough them up.”

You ever so gracefully returned Mallory’s kind gesture and flipped her and Samantha off.

In typical Ransom fashion, you turned away once more, basking in their shocked looks and ignoring their pitiful attempts at being the victims.

With that you handed Ransom the golf club which he gripped angrily, as you stormed off towards the women’s locker room. You could feel him practically burning holes into your back.

It was almost impossible to put in the combination to the lock for your eyes were welling up with tears. What made the whole thing worse was that Ransom didn’t even say a word, and he was angry at you?!

With a swipe of your hand, you wiped away the tears before grabbing your purse. You looked at Coach logo laughing when you thought of the Celine and Louis Vuitton purses Samantha and Mallory had.

When you had gotten to the country club, Ransom handed you the keys to the Beamer to put in your purse. His car was the only other thing he loved more than himself, you, and the baby. In reality, it was his first child.

Seeing the Beamer in the parking lot was like light at the end of the tunnel for you. Into the driver seat you plopped and the keys turned to the ignition. At the moment you could care less where you ended up, you just wanted to run for the hills and get far from here.

Sure, you were embarrassed, but you were more angry than anything else.

As you drove past the golf course you didn’t miss Ransom’s appalled look when he saw the Beamer leaving without him in it.

Back at the course, everyone stood around giving each other confused looks.

Dylan bravely broke the silence first.

“What just happened, man?”

Ransom just huffed and shook his head.

“No clue. Hormones probably.”

Samantha full on giggled while Mallory took the next step and grabbed Ransom’s bicep as she laughed.

“Thanks for making me laugh Ran, I really needed it after what just happened.”

Mallory looked up into Ransom’s deep blue eyes with her sparkling green ones and batted her long eyelashes at him seductively.

The clueless men took no mind in what was unfolding in front of them.

“Oh that’s right. Congrats dude!” Bentley supportively patted Ransom’s shoulder, before returning back to his own caddy at the cart.

Another shaky breath left Ransom’s mouth.

“Yeah, thanks.”

As Ransom headed back to the golf cart, he couldn’t shake the weird feeling inside.

What was it, you ask?

Concern.

He was concerned about (y/n).

A cloud of vexation and offense floated around in the car with you, that when you arrived at Harlan’s estate you had not even registered it quite yet.

The keys of the beamer were clenched tightly in your hand as you knocked, waiting patiently for Marta or Harlan himself to answer.

As the door swung open, it revealed a surprised and smiling Marta.

“Oh hi (y/n)!”

It was then that the weight of the prior events came crashing down on you and sobs were the only thing you could manage.

Marta quickly ushered you inside and enveloped you in a hug.

For the few minutes that passed, you had finally calmed down. Taking a deep breath you explained everything to Marta while she led you to the guest room you and Ransom normally stayed in.

“I’m so sorry for your terrible day, love. Why don’t you get cleaned up and you, Harlan and I can have some dinner?”

At the offer, you returned a small smile, but a genuine one nonetheless.

A hot shower would hopefully help clear your mind a bit. You padded over to the bathroom, starting the water and then returning to rummage through the wooden dresser. Thankfully, Ransom had left his maroon sweater and your leggings. Your first win of the day after a colossal shitstorm, maybe things were starting to look up.

The last thing on your mind at the moment was Ransom, who was supposed to be here with you. Just the mere thought of him, irked you.

When you returned from the long and much needed shower, you checked your phone.

Ten missed calls from Ransom Drysdale

Five text messages from Ransom Drysdale.

You just scoffed, turning off your phone. He definitely didn’t deserve an answer from you and you most certainly didn’t want to hear his lame-ass excuse. Was he even calling to apologize or was he calling to pester you?

Whatever.

The cell phone just rested on the bed, while you scurried downstairs to the smell of lasagna, tending to yourself with Ransom in the very back of your mind.

It had been about an hour since you left and Ransom couldn’t get in touch with you. Bentley and Dyaln had just left the table to get some more drinks at the bar, something Ransom clearly needed.

He called your phone once more, but to no avail, it went straight to voicemail.

Your sweet voice rang through his phone, oh how he wished you were here.

“This is (Y/n) Drysdale, I’m not here at the moment, please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a great day!”

Ransom felt a sense of pride that emerged when you used his last name as your own. Never in a thousand years had he assumed he’d ever be married, until you came along. You charmed him with your humbleness and patience for his antics. So many things about you were good for that man. Long gone were the days of shunning off a committed relationship with his pinky ring that now rested upon your index. A small diamond engagement ring, another symbol of Ransom’s love, made home on your ring finger too. You, a beautiful vision in white, walking down the aisle, and he can already imagine it.

An annoyingly squeaky voice broke him from his enchanting daydream of you as his wife.

“Oh Ranny, just give up.”

Long fingers wrapped around the glass flute, bringing it up to the red lips of the vanilla-blonde woman.

“Excuse me?”

Mallory moved her drink away from her lips, resting her hand on Ransom’s right forearm that laid on the table.

“Well it’s no use to get in touch with Betty and the bastard. She isn’t gonna answer, clearly, but I will.”

Now he could see why you were upset.

They must’ve said something to you. What was really surprising though is that you’d never take shit from anyone. Why would you cower down now?

He mentally scolded himself, that was a question to ask you later. First order of business was to give these two lovely ladies a taste of their own bitter medicine. Revenge was practically the man’s middle name, unfortunately.

Ransom couldn’t lose the only thing in life that mattered to him. You brought him light in the darkest of his days. Family get-togethers always put him in a terrible mood, but when you were linked into his arm with a bright smile, things seemed a little bit more bearable.

Who cared about the consequences at this point, Ransom madly grabbed the bellini and spilled it across Mallory’s black Dior button-down dress.

“Don’t ever talk about my wife and child like that.”

The two women cried in disgust, popping up from their seats, prompting Samantha to drag Mallory to the ladies’ room.

Bentley and Dylan came back to the table, cackling, three Malibu sunset cocktails in hand.

Ransom was practically seething at this point, his jaw clenched as tightly gripping the glass Dylan was handing him.

“Woah man, what’s up with you?”

“Your petty ass girlfriends, that’s what.”

Many drinks later, Ransom had finally finished his story, Bentley and Dylan not believing anything the brunette spoke about.

“You’re bullshitting us, Drysdale. Maybe we should take your drinking privileges.”

Ransom’s signature smirk curled onto his face as he found his evidence.

“Look over a few tables, fellas.”

There was Samantha, her tongue down some guy's throat, Mallory wearing the other man’s large polo.

“Shit, man!”

Dylan dropped his glass onto the table in complete shock. He had really just assumed that Ransom was drunkenly hallucinating.

“I’m not here to listen to both of your problems, now help me go win my wife back.”

Bentley and Dylan weren’t even phased by Ransom’s forwardness, for they were both too caught up in their own drunken sorrow.

“Why? Can’t you see I have plans tonight with some rum?” Bentley motioned to the bar before chugging his own drink down.

“She-” Ransom hung his head in shame. “She-took-my-beamer.” In one quick breath the man made his embarrassing confession.

“Fine, it’s only because I like your wife. She’s good for you ya know.”

“Yeah, yeah, just get your drunk asses out of here.” All three men doubled over in cachinnation due to Ransom’s quip.

Like expected, Bentley and Dylan continued to tease Ransom before going off to get some water in hopes of sobering up, coming back with two women instead.

A small snicker left Ransom’s mouth. He could remember the days when that was him, but now was much happier and satisfied to always come home with you.

You were ecstatic to be greeted with Harlan’s large and welcoming smile. The man was basically your grandfather.

“Well there’s my favorite granddaughter and soon to be great-grandchild!”

“Hiya Harlan!”

Your crappy day suddenly brightened at the appearance of your favorite Thrombey.

“Something’s wrong isn’t it?”

Harlan rested his hands in yours offering a reassuring smile. You chose not to deny the correct accusation from the man, instead going to sit down with him and Marta, once again explaining the story.

“I just wish Ransom wasn’t mad at me.”

A dejected sigh fell from your lips as you looked down at your growing stomach.

“My dear, if you tell him what you just told me, I am positive he would understand.”

“But I feel terrible for not being able to handle those girls. I mean he was having such a great time with his friends-.”

Harlan abruptly stopped you from spiraling into a depressive cloud.

“No buts, (y/n). Ransom’s friends are a crazy crowd of people, well, then again you have dealt with the rest of our family. Besides, Ransom’s friends deserved to be shown a bit of what you are made of. They need to understand that it’s not about the money or title, but the character within the person.”

You chuckled at Harlan’s exquisite speech.

“Wow, so this is why you are a best selling author?”

“I guess so, just remember (y/n), stay humble and who you are. Don’t change for Ransom or his friends because in the end that boy really needed a girl like you.”

A beautiful smile graced your lips at his encouraging words. Harlan always gave advice with much equanimity.

You finished the sapid and delectable lasagna with Harlan and Marta, often stopping to talk about the baby, who was to make an entrance in a few months.

After dinner was finished, you helped Fran clean up the dishes which she greatly appreciated. It was surprising to anyone that someone with your kind and caring personality would end up with a bonehead like Ransom. If only they all knew, Ransom was rarely ever an ass to you, occasions like these didn’t occur frequently.

By time you were done cleaning, Harlan had retired for the night, but not before playing a round of Go with Marta, who happily obliged and Fran gave you some clean sheets and then headed home herself. You were all alone now, only hoping when you’d see Ransom again. The two of you were both stubborn knuckleheads, who never wanted to surrender to the other.

Step after step, the wooden staircase creaked loudly as you slowly climbed to the second floor. Hand on the knob, you leaned against the bedroom door, tiredly pushing it open. A glance at your cell phone told you it was only a little after nine o’clock. It was an emotionally tolling day and you only wanted to curl up with your fiance, oh who are you kidding, your husband. Unfortunately, the closest thing you had to him at the moment was his maroon sweater, casing your body. All of this made the silk bed sheets even more comfortable, entrapping your exhausted body and lulling you to sleep.

Shooting up from your slumber, you made sure your phone was not on silent, just in case Ransom called again. Content, a void of darkness littered your sight, and you were out like a light.

RING!

The loud ringing emitting from your phone startled you, making your head shoot up from the pillows.

Bentley Livingstone

The bright light from the screen awoke you fully. Squinting to look at the time, you scoffed.

10:14 pm

“What the hell, Bentley.” Your voice raspy from sleep, it was evident that he had woken you.

“Sorry Momma Bear, but can you let us in?”

“Us? And if you are at the house, I’m not there, Benny boy.”

The last thing you wanted now was to be talking to him, you practically ripped apart his girlfriend, who he was actually committed too for once. You felt awful for ruining Ransom’s day with his friends, but quickly reminded yourself that those women were even worse to you. The men probably thought you were a total bitch, after their girlfriends had played the victims.

“Cut out the sarcasm, will ya? I’m not mad at you, and actually I’m here at Harlan’s.”

You felt so relieved that you could almost cry, damn hormones.

Bentley must’ve known something had happened which meant Dylan knew and hopefully Ransom too.

“Fine.”

You went to the bathroom to hurriedly tame your messy hair and brush your teeth, ridding the final taste of lasagna away.

Harlan was asleep and Marta had left by this time, so as you opened the front door, you made sure to make it as quiet as possible.

“Hi (y/n).” Bentley was the first to walk in, giving you a hug which shocked you before reciprocating the action. Dylan did the same and you were bemused at the men’s kindness.

“So… what’s up.” Nervously, you crossed your arms over your chest, resting them on your small, yet protruding bump, all while awaiting an answer.

“We’d like to apologize on behalf of Samantha and Mallory.” Dylan stepped forward, placing his hand comfortingly on your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry guys. I didn’t mean for all this to happen.”

“Hey don’t be sorry! I’m glad I found out Sam was in it for your hottie.”

“Yeah. I’ve dated plenty of women but not anyone that cold.”

“Thanks, guys.” You looked up to be greeted with their bright smiles. It was nice to be so trusted.

“Dude, those babes said they were free tonight.” Dylan held out his phone to text said woman, Bentley doing the same.

Without second thought, you quickly put your hand between the two men, still having a very animated conversation.

“As much as I’d love to hear you guys babble over some girls, do either of you know where Ransom is?”

“He’s right here.”

A very familiar voice sounded from behind you.

There he was. Your hormones were through the roof and you couldn’t stop the happy tears that fell.

You ran to your fiance, throwing your arms around his neck, while his one free hand wrapped around your waist. Ransom placed a sweet kiss on your neck, laying his head there for a while, relishing in your love. How could he be so deserving of someone with such patience?

Too caught up in the moment, you didn’t even notice Dylan and Bentley sneaking out the front door.

Ransom held out a bountiful bouquet of exquisite light pink roses. With his free hand, he took both of yours, placing a few kisses to your knuckles.

Turning your hands over, Ransom kissed your wrists and then handed you the bouquet. You couldn’t help but giggle at all his affection.

“Pink roses, for you and our baby girl. I owe you both an apology.” Like a scolded puppy, he held his head in shame.

“I owe you an apology too-”

Your fiance’s index finger came up to shush you.

“No you don’t, I do.”

Ransom took your left hand, your ringed fingers intertwined with his now bare ones and led you up to the bedroom.

You went to go flump on the bed, observing as Ransom shut the door, and wordlessly sat next to you.

“I’m sorry that I, of all people, upset you. I should have been there for you, but I wasn’t.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, full of remorse. Truth be told, you had never seen Ransom like this. Taking your left hand, you lifted his chin gently, the cold metal of the rings somewhat startling, making Ransom turn his solemn face to look at you.

“How did you know?” Gazing into his gorgeous and endless eyes, you saw his sorrow, a large pang to your heart.

“Well, both girls tried to make a move on me. Mallory called our little lemondrop,” Ransom took a deep breath, saying the next word like it was gonna summon the devil himself, “a bastard.”

You were so desensitized at this point, you just accepted the vile words. There was no use in letting their locutions affect you, because if they did, you’d be letting them win.

“Yeah, they both kinda said that to my face too.” In hopes of lifting the mood, you let out a dry chuckle to let Ransom know that you were somewhat okay. Especially, that he was here, next to you.

“You girls were laughing and everything, I truly thought you were having a good time. I am so sorry, Sweetheart.”

Ransom was so upset, he buried his face into your chest, while you slowly and soothingly rubbed his back. Instead of telling him about your other banters with the women, you just kept your mouth shut. The poor thing was already so unsettled, you didn’t want to make matters worse for him.

It seemed like an eternity that Ransom was in your loving hold. His sobs were quieted and he examined your look of content. First, he softly pecked the corner of your lips then placed his warm hands on the small bump of your baby.

“Hi little miss, I owe you an apology too. Today I was not a great father at all. You and your mom will always mean the world to me. I can’t wait to meet you, honey.”

Ransom ended his heartfelt confession with a slow kiss to the unborn baby, that even you could feel through the sweater, making your heart flutter. For many months, Ransom worried about being a terrible father. Well, if what he just said didn’t prove that he was gonna be a great father, then you don't know what would.

Your hands flew up to your fiance’s face, once again holding him close, so close that your noses bumped. Both of your eyes were closed in bliss, that was until Ransom quietly spoke up.

“The beamer’s fine right?”

Believe it or not, but sometimes Ransom could be a comedian around those he cared about. A few giggles left your mouth as you pulled away from the man who was also laughing himself.

“I-I’m...serious, babe!” It took a few tries for Ransom to get the sentence out without cackling. For years it had been a running joke that Mr. Drysdale loved his car more than himself which was quite the revelation, if you ever heard one.

Getting up from the bed, you leaned down to kiss between Ransom’s eyebrows that were knitted with concern.

“Yes, your other child is fine.”

“So now that the air is clear, are you hungry?”

Don’t judge, just because you may have eaten lasagna just a while ago, didn’t mean you’d pass the golden opportunity for more food. You eagerly nodded your head before sitting on Ransom’s knee. His arms were wrapped around you in a protective manner, while his hands held the phone with the menu on screen.

“Ran, what Chinese place is gonna be open this late?”

“Trust me, I know this place.”

Half an hour later, a man showed up on the doorstep holding a plastic bag hopefully filled with your late night smorgasbord. To your surprise, the bag was actually filled with all its content which needless to say didn’t last long. Between your endless stomach and Ransom’s growing hangover, the greasy meal trays were soon empty. You and Ransom had taken the food up to the bedroom, devouring it all, while laying on the bed enjoying the time together.

Even when things were rough, you and Ransom always found a way to get through.

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #chris evans #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale x you

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ourstarscollided · 4 years ago

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jatp fanworks appreciation - day 3 (wips)

wip wednesday - I didn’t think I wanted to join in on this day for my own stuff considering I’ve never posted anything original for this fandom, but I think this might just be the little boost I need from myself to actually finish the wips that I have sitting around. I am peer pressuring myself and holding myself accountable by posting this - or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. Most of the past 6 mths has just been me screaming to no one in a Google Doc, so here are some things I’ve been ruminating about over the last 6 months (and if my secret agenda is to get other people to write about it so I don’t have to? Then that’s between you and me).

Everything’s under a read more because I like giving context and that usually spirals out of control!?!?

If you would like to see more from any of the below, feel free to shoot me an ask/message and I can definitely share some more! (Or you can just come yell at me about JATP in general.)

Strangers Fake Dating AU // Julie x Luke

I’m a simple person. I see a prompt, I latch onto it, and then I completely miss the entire point of the prompt as my imagination goes wild for no real reason. This really was supposed to be a super short drabble, but it manifested into a 3k+ thing that isn’t even finished.

Julie’s not really sure what she’s supposed to do now. Nothing has ever prepared her for a situation in which she’s supposed to pretend to be a stranger’s girlfriend, especially if that situation involves parents. Does she continue this ruse? Can she come up with a quick enough excuse to tell this Luke character that she actually can’t stay? What if this is just all an elaborate plan to kidnap her? Has she been listening to too many true crime podcasts? Why does Luke smell so good? Does he know how to cook? Why does his shirt not have sleeves? What-

“I can hear you thinking from here.” Her head whips up at the sound of Luke’s voice, which is now at a whisper and kind of frantic. “I just- I just really needed to get my mom off my back, so I kinda need you to pretend to be my girlfriend. Just for the night. I swear I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

Julie studies Luke’s face and it’s nearly impossible to not cave under his gaze, which can only be simply described as ‘puppy dog eyes’. She finds herself smiling back, letting out a huff, “I hope you like lasagna.” And the grin that spreads across the boy’s face is enough for her to know that he’s incredibly relieved that she agreed.

“I’m Luke by the way. Luke Patterson.”

(Okay, he’s kinda cute. And no one this cute is a serial killer. Right?)

She gives a small smile back, “I’m Julie.”

5+1 alive!Juke AU // Julie x Luke

Inspired by paper - LANY

This is one of the first things I ever felt the urge to write down back in September because I love exploring the idea of how two people can appear to be the perfect relationship on the outside, but are actually fighting their own demons. Especially when it comes to celebrities and people who are in the spotlight. It’s basically a 5+1 fic about the moments from other people’s perspectives who happen to orbit around Julie/Luke that all revolve around paper. My outline for this is so long because I can’t manage to narrow it down, and there’s zero cohesiveness but I do have little things jotted down.

“Hey little man,” Luke’s knelt down to match his 5 year-old height, and a hand extends out to him for a high five, “What are you doing here?”

His eyes flicker to the left, towards his own apartment door, where his mom is giving him an encouraging nod. “ I- I just wanted to-” he stutters and finds himself looking at his feet as he shuffles back and forth on the spot. “I- I drew you guys something!”

He shoves the paper out towards the older boy in front of him, but doesn’t look up.

Reincarnation AU // Julie x Luke

I had a random thought in December about how magical it is that Julie and Luke are so tied to one another that their love transcends time and space, which will always lead them back to one another. I remember reading a book a long time ago about how the main character is fated to die at a certain age, and that kind of sparked this little idea. I can’t bring myself to actually plot out every single timeline right now, but I did manage to write a little bit.

It will never be as complex as Rosie’s idea and all the wonderful additions in the link here, and I don’t really plan on it being anything more than a small idea. But I really do still think someone should write some sort of reincarnation AU cause I’d hop on that so fast!!

“Okay- that’s not- Luke. You seriously just ran away?”

“What was I supposed to do Alex? We all know how this ends.”

His friend looks at him, face painted in understanding and he sighs, “Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

Because it’s true, Alex does know, so does Reggie and Bobby. Most importantly, so does Luke. It’s the exact same tragic love story every time.

Call it a curse or fate or destiny. Maybe it’s because Mercury is in retrograde. Whatever. It always ends the same way - with a heartbreaking goodbye, a whisper of the promise that they’ll find each other again, and the possibility of a happy ending. He’s said the same goodbye at least 734 times, but it’s not like he’s counting or anything. Fuck the universe and its mystical ways.

Competitive Alex // Alex x Willie

No real thoughts or reasons for this other than I just think I self-projected my need to play board games with people in real life into a fic. And maybe a little bit of my competitiveness onto Alex and then threw in Willie because I think he would be able to handle it while also finding it endearing. I also have written nothing about the actual competitiveness, it’s just 2k words of Alex crushing on Willie.

“Wait,” his eyes dart between the three boys, “You both know Willie? How come I’ve never met him?”

His roommates look at each other, and there’s a smirk on Luke’s face when he says, “Actually Alex, I think you have. Remember that time you got really drunk after one of our shows?”

Oh no. He really hopes that it’s not the time he’s thinking of, so he tries to sound nonchalant. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Luke.”

“The night we played at that tiny bar at the edge of the campus! We got paid in those tiny colourful shots?” He doesn’t really know where Luke is going with this, so he’s slowly nodding along. “And you were super upset that the hot dog vendor at the end of the street was closed?”

Dear Julie, Love Mom series

I made myself sad with this thought when I first watched the show and was talking to my friend about how I think that Rose would’ve left messages for the Molina family, especially when we found out that Wake Up was actually from her mom. I wrote a bigger explanation for it here.

Anyways, I started with the one for Julie’s wedding and it kind of became an 8k monster with three different POVs?!? As much as I love how I wrote this, I feel too unsure about my writing to share it in full, so you will get carefully selected looks alkfe. (I’m also kind of stuck on some of the more emotional scenes and I may or may not have procrastinated by photoshopping a moodboard for it.)

Excerpt 1 (Julie POV): A look into where I’m going with this whole letters from Rose thing.

The key clicks into place, and with a turn, the latch falls open. She’s not sure what she wants to find in the box, and she’s too scared to think about it really. All she knows is that this was the sign from her mom that she was waiting for all week, and in true Rose fashion, her mom had managed to give it to her, even if at the last second. Her dad turns the box to face Julie, and gestures to her to open up the lid.

Tucked inside is a VHS tape, the words ‘For Julie, on your wedding day’ written in her mom’s cursive on the cover. Some loose glitter and confetti fall back into the box as she reaches in to pick up the tape and turn it over in her hands. There’s a little purple butterfly etched on the back, the same one that’s been drawn on all the other messages that her mom had left her. Her finger automatically finds its way, tracing the shape of the small doodle.

“Do you want me to leave you alone, mija?”

Excerpt 2 (Julie POV): This part has absolutely nothing to do with the main plot of the story, but it self-inserted itself into this fic after @tangledstarlight and I talked about You’re Still the One by Shania Twain being their first dance. This whole scene came to me at 4am one night and might be the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written.

They knew that when they had asked Reggie to be in charge of the first dance performance, that they (and Alex) weren’t allowed to veto any of his ideas. Luke had warned Julie that that would be a mistake, but the giddiness that radiated off of Reggie when she had told him he could have free reign was worth it. She just hadn’t thought that he would actually take it to heart and run with it.

Sure, they had chosen You’re Still the One by Shania Twain as their first dance song, and sure it was more or less a country song, but she didn’t really imagine that she’d be staring at her adoptive brother, Carlos and her Dad wearing cowboy hats and boots at her wedding. They had somehow managed to ditch their Flynn-approved suit jackets and were sporting a taupe-coloured suede-textured vest over their dress shirts. If she looked closely, she could see that they had somehow also found some gaudy looking bolo ties with a matching set of ornamental clasps to wear. When she envisioned her wedding, she really didn’t expect that her first (public) dance as a married couple would be a full-on Western themed occasion. The only exception was Alex, who had settled on his cajon in the back, still in his pink suit, eyes rolling when she met his gaze. But even she knew how there was no real annoyance in the blonde’s reaction or else he wouldn’t also be wearing one of the tacky ties around his neck as well.

“I’m gonna seriously kill him.” She hears Luke grumble under his breath, only low enough for her to hear. But she’s still too busy giggling to actually be mad, and she knows that Luke isn’t really going to kill Reggie. At least she doesn’t think so.

Excerpt 3 (Luke POV): Idk man. My mind went “What about Luke?” and I said “You’re right!! What about him?!?”

He doesn’t realize that he’s just been silently staring at the woman in front of him, until a gentle voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Julie’s peering at him from under her eyelashes, a curious look on her face.

“You just-” he gives a little shake of his head, trying to come up with the right words. He wants to tell her she’s beautiful. Stunning. A wicked beauty. But she’s more than that - she’s almost angelic. “I can’t believe you’re my wife.”

“Luke, we’ve been legally married for like, a whole year.” Her lips are quirked up in a grin, amusement in her voice. “You’ve only just realized that now?”

“That’s different.”

“Yeah? Different how?”

This feels a little strange to post and a little like my inner self seeking validation but let’s not talk about that.

Kskssj anyways present me @ future me: finish one of these because writing has been really cathartic for you and you didn’t think it would bring you so much joy!!!

#gotta tag this so that it doesnt ever show up in any tags on tumblr.#i like that what got me to post about my writing was a fanworks appreciation week. but i will say that a couple weeks ago when i was feeling #extra good about my writing. i made a promise to myself to post smthg for the 6 mth mark of jatp and that kinda got backtracked because of #my requirements to be an adult and my general insecurities about putting out content that is mine for the works to judge sjsjsj #so this is me making it up to myself by sharing some things.#thank you rosie for indulging me in my ramblings. you’ve really given me confidence in my work even tho you’ve never read anything of mine.#just know I APPRECIATE YOU A LOT!!!!#i hope you dont mind that i tagged you!!!#anyways this is gonna get thrown into my queue for wednesday and whenever it posts is whenever it will post.#i also typed this on my phone (i DO NOT RECOMMEND IT) so sorry if the formatting is janky. i didnt wanna give myself time to second guess #myself and end up not posting it. sjjs #jatp fanworks appreciation week #sometimes i write #personal #<- need to come up with tags for myself welp #sunset queue

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ageofevermore · 4 years ago

Text

Riders On The Storm

SUMMARY — stiles stilinski wasn’t in love with lydia martin, he just didn’t remember the blue eyed girl taken by the lightning.

WORD COUNT — 5k

WARNINGS — mentions of death, ghost riders, kidnapping

NOTE — this was originally going to be a full length series, but then I couldn’t think of a complete concept. so enjoy this lil thing. pls let me know what you think

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───── ･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ: *. ☽ .* : ☆ﾟ. ─────

Stiles was lost.

His head was heavy on his shoulders, disoriented for a reason he couldn't place. His lips tasted strangely of coconut and carmex — which didn't seem right either — without fault strawberry and burts bees struck his memory harshly.

Lydia. Lydia. Lydia. Lydia. Luna.

Her name was like a whisper in his mind, urging him to recall wisps of chestnut hair and ocean eyes. His head was heavy on his shoulders, strawberry blonde hair turned brown. The image was drawn on the back of his eyelids without consent, a disgruntled moan slipping from his lips at the sight.

Jackson Whittemore. Jackson Whittemore. Jackson — Luna Miller.

Nothing made any sense to Stiles as his eyes snapped around the trivial train station, trying to make sense of the cobwebs and town names. The travelers beside him were captivated in a daze, dressed in scrubs and suits with no recollection of the destination they sought.

Stumbling from the bench towards a ticket booth, Stiles felt his lungs stiffen at the layers of dust adorning the rickety booth. His fingers swiped at the wood, pulling away with mountains of abandonment on his fingers.

Brushing his fingers off in a fit of desperation, Stiles is taken aback by the oncoming announcement. Rows of comatose eyes fall prey to the hypnotizing announcer, standing from the benches in a shared trance. His heart was beating heavily in his chest at the sight, his words falling upon deaf ears when he asked panicky for directions and clarification.

He passed a few familiar faces — none that held any meaning to him — but he'd identified them as victims minutes ago, and their glazed over glances only added to the sickness coiling in his stomach. Wind swept across his face, particles of debris compiling below his eyes and tangling in his lashes. Hooves broke apart the tranquility of the silence, and soon what was a maze of mindless followers erupted into a village of traumatized patrons.

Stiles watched as horses rode in, whips cracking at any sign of rebellion. Faceless terrorizers dropped yet another victim into the crowd, path set towards Stiles when he was abruptly pulled out of the way. His heart was heavy as it raced, eyes clouded over with tired tears.

As quickly as the chaos came it vanquished, and left alone were comatose victims awaiting yet another moment of hypnosis. Stiles was shoved into abruptly, his whiskey gaze falling from the blue of Peter's eyes to the crown of chocolate hair. Expecting the worse, Stiles was speechless in the face of vacant Prussian blue eyes.

THEN

Her breath fanned against the air as she passed yet another row of eerie trees. Her calves burned from the miles she trekked, but she couldn't stop now, not when she was so far from home. Tightening her ponytail, she rounded yet another curve, the path disappeared beneath her feet and instead turned to a mushy field of grass and twigs. Slowing down to slight jog, the trees stopped meshing together, allowing for a beam of light to shatter what was once complete darkness.

Two gasps shattered the silence, eyes meeting in a fleet of panic. Stiles Stilinski looked guilty beneath the moonlight, his usual troublemaking attitude in full effect. His hands were clammy as he grabbed at the girls forearms, his eyebrows pinched in worry.

"Luna?" Stiles asked, equally as confused as the girl under question. "Shit." Stiles cursed, pulling Luna behind him without question just as a K9 officer broke through the trees, a flashlight blinding Luna as she tumbled to the ground, pulling Stiles with her.

The dog's nasty snarl had her whimpering in fear, the mud beneath her palms cold and unpleasant. Stiles wasn't much better beside Luna, though he wasn't as startled by the compromising position. His elbow was pressing against Luna's stomach, a circle shaped bruise sitting beneath the pressure he was applying.

At the sound of his father's approaching voice, Stiles pulled himself up off of the forest floor, offering a shaky hand to Luna who was anything but prepared for yet another blinding flashlight shining unapologetically in her eyes. When Luna was on her feet, their contrast height difference was noticed, the girl having to look up at the Stilinski to offer him a small smile of thanks.

Stiles scratched at the back of his neck when he flashed his gaze towards his visibly angered father, "Dad, how are you doing?"

"So, do you, uh, listen in to all of my phone calls?" He pondered, lowering the flashlight when he noticed the girl beside his son softly lean away from the steady golden beam.

"No, heh. Not the boring ones." Stiles was only digging himself into a deeper hole, his hand continuing to nurse an injury on the back of his neck. It was definitely a sight to see. The son of the Sheriff cowering away from law enforcement, stalking around the woods with his own agenda.

"Now, where's your usual partner in crime?" The Sheriff barely even turned his gaze to Luna, instead looking off in the distance in search of his son's best friend.

Luna found it cute that Scott and Stiles had remained so close throughout the troubling years of middle school, their close nit bond reminding her of Harry and Ron. If Beacon Hills were Hogwarts Luna was sure they'd fall into the same comedic category.

"Who, Scott? Scott's home. He said he wanted to get a good night's sleep for the first day back at school tomorrow. It's just me. In the woods. Alone." Stiles' words fell upon deaf ears, especially considering the short brunette beside him.

The Sheriff just turned back to the woods, his light reflecting off of trees. "Scott, you out there? Scott? Take Luna home, and when I get back, you and I are gonna have a conversation about something called invasion of privacy."

"I can just walk." Luna softly informed the pair, not wanting to overstep a boundary when she wasn't even sure where the line was drawn for Stiles. She was almost positive that he didn't want a stranger sitting shotgun in his jeep when his best friend was alone in the woods.

"Stiles will take you home." The Sheriff left no room for argument, his eyes hardening on his son who just lowered his gaze, raising an arm and motioning for Luna to follow him.

Luna Jensen followed Stiles Stilinski back to his jeep, a feeling deep within her stomach telling her she wouldn't be able to untangle herself from his presence anytime soon.

NOW

Stiles felt frozen beneath a blanket of sophomore year memories, the whisper in his mind suffocated by guilt. The coconut on his lips began to burn, his eyes filling with regret the moment his gaze dropped to her glossy strawberry tinted lips.

He couldn't remember a moment past junior year that was spent in her embrace. Her shy smile and breathy laugh was like a rhapsody of someone else's lifetime before his eyes as memories overcame his mind.

THEN

Luna shuffled to her seat quickly, ignoring the laughs that followed her as she took a seat besides Stiles, Allison ironically filling the only other empty seat beside her and behind Scott McCall. Luna frowned in confusion when she watched Scott twist around, handing Allison a pen without question.

Without thinking too much of it, she twisted in her seat to glance at Stiles, fighting off a smile as she watched the boy drum his pencil against his claimed desk. Luna reached out, striking the Stilinski quickly, not wanting to rile up Curtis within the first three minutes of class. Stiles' eyes snapped towards her, grabbing at his arm, a wounded frown tugging at his lips as his eyes didn't leave Luna's. A gentle lingering of warmth from her poke spread down his arm, making the rest of his body tense at the contrast to the cold winter air.

Luna passed the boy a note she'd written the night prior, hardly able to sleep thinking about how much trouble she must have gotten him into. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Greenberg, the jock twisting in his seat to send Luna a suggestive wink that had her stomach coiling in disgust.

Turning away from Stiles, Luna let her attention settle on Mr. Curtis, already longing for the day to end.

NOW

When had she been taken?

Stiles was overcome with panic, hands tightening around Luna's forearms despite her glazed attention span and heavy hands. She was a pawn before him, hardly conscious enough to recognize that her arms were being massaged by calloused fingertips aged with tender care.

"Moony?"

Gentle blue eyes fell upon his, a gasp shattered her silence. Head a mess of memories, Luna leapt into Stiles' awaiting arms like it was the only move she could make. Her fingertips pulsed at the close contact, thighs quivering in exhaustion.

How long had it been since she had hugged anybody?

Stiles held her tightly, unbothered by the lingering scent of Jackson on her sweater. It was all coming back to him now. The late night messages to London had strained against them for weeks, but Luna had been desperate to escape Allison's death and visit her cousin in England. She had been whisked away with Isaac and Argent, and texted so frequently Stiles was worried about his phone bill.

She had gone radio silent for about a week he could remember, but then it had all faded. His mind was no longer plagued with worry for his heavy hearted girlfriend, and his camera roll was void of her pictures. Like a dreamscape memory Luna Miller faded from his mind, being replaced with Lydia Martin and a third grade fifteen-year love scandal.

"Stiles?"

He couldn't find her name on his tongue, enthralled by her effortless beauty. His heart was hit with guilt, stomach coiling at the thought of his lips against Lydia's. His hands were growing clammy against Luna's skin, enforcing a fear across her already petrified heart.

"Stiles? Where am I?" Her tone was cloudy with fear, pale blue eyes still the same innocent shade of sixteen years old.

Her seventeenth birthday had passed months ago, a forgotten milestone scribbled across his calendar. Though, Stiles figured time didn't move in the parallel universe they were trapped within. His girl was still only sixteen, and her heart hadn't healed from the trauma that was void.

She had just barely managed to mend her heart when it came to Jackson Whittemore.

THEN

When the day had ended, Luna and Allison separated. While the latter of the pair got to escape to her locker, Luna was held back by her math teacher, the women wanting to play a round of twenty questions in relation to Luna's rising GPA. Just barely able to escape the women, Luna cringed at the sight displayed before her. Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore had Allison cornered. Her soft smile was anything but genuine as she nodded along to Jackson's words, eyes dancing across the hallway to smile at Scott McCall.

Just as Luna made an advance towards the trio, Jackson's jaw clenched and he turned away, pulling Lydia with him. The redhead didn't take well to the abrupt departure, grabbing at Allison's hand and pulling her along forcefully. A frown settled onto Luna's lips as she watched yet another person get dragged away from her by her sexually frustrated and immensely immature cousin.

Scott and Stiles had watched the scene unfold before their eyes, wishing they hadn't as the crestfallen gleam on Luna's face was enough to make their own hormonal hearts tremble. Stiles was stuttering over his thoughts as he tried to find Luna's name on the tip of his tongue, but by time he had managed to collect himself, Luna had disappeared down the hallways.

Luna wiped at her eyes when a tear fell down her check, her fists clenching at her sides. She was stupid to think Jackson would let her have Allison. He had pulled everyone else away from her without a care, spread a rumor so vile even Erica Reyes refused to speak to her. He made her a laughing stock, all because her parents hadn't taken him in after his died.

Jackson Whittemore had ruined Luna Millers's life, all because he no longer wanted to be family.

NOW

"Your hands are bigger." Luna's words were so soft, afraid of being dismantled by the violence of surrounding hostages that even standing so close to Stiles felt like they were miles apart, "How did your hands get so big overnight?"

His breath caught in his throat when Luna so brokenly held her hand against his, her fingers barely brushing against the indent of his second knuckle. Funny how a moment could mend a mile and yet months had grown between Luna and Stiles.

Stiles wasn't prepared with knowledge on how he could possibly explain all of this to Luna. She was so easily broken apart by the injustice of the world, how could he be the one to tell her she was but a ghost to the faces of their friends?

"Moonlight—" Luna stiffened beneath his clammy hands, blue eyes turning grey with overwhelming confusion. Her stomach was churning by the approaching moment, fingers twisting at the fabric of Stiles' flannel. He only ever called her moonlight beneath the trauma of supernatural misfortune.

"Don't call me that." She was fearful in his arms, pressing her cheek against his chest as if the rhythm of his heart rate could pull her from this nightmare, "That means somethings wrong. What's wrong, Stiles?"

Stiles cradled her head against his chest, eyes closing at her intimate closeness. Betrayal was a friend they knew too well, trapped between it and grief. Loss was a part of their obligated heroism, and yet so much had been stolen from Luna.

"Luna," Stiles didn't even know where to begin, "You remember the song Riders On The Storm, right?"

THEN

Cold feet pressed against Stiles' side, his face smothered by the four body length pillows adorning his girlfriends bed. Her cloudy white blankets were gathered at the foot of the bed, dressed with matching grey throw blankets. He wondered how she could spend a night surrounded by so many objects, but one look at her exhausted frame addressed his confusion.

Her blue eyes were barely open as she pushed against his side, teeth chewing at the fabric of his lacrosse hoodie. Her cheeks were painted with the remnants of summer, and at any moment they were bound to get a text from Scott. Stiles couldn't worry himself with Scott, too invested in Luna's blissful innocence.

"Gonna bite a hole through my hoodie, Moon." He teased, fingers wiggling against her ankles to capture her attention. Her gaze was hooded, a lazy smile pulling at her lips. She snuggled deeper into the bedding, not bothered by the fluffy white blanket that fell before her eyes. "Come up here, sleepy."

Luna complied, dramatically, but nonetheless let her body mold against Stiles'. The damp sleeve that was once between her teeth now rested on his bare chest, sending shivers down his spine. His fingers poked and prodded at her sides, desperate to bring yet another gleaming smile to the surface before she succumbed to exhaustion.

"Girl you gotta love your man." Luna tiredly stressed against Stiles, her fingers curling into the ringlets at the nape of his neck. She pulled lightly, basking in the gentle groan he let out. His lips pressed against her temple for a moment, sweet sparks igniting in her belly.

"Are you seriously quoting Riders On The Storm?" Stiles scoffed gently, slipping his hand beneath the hoodie on her torso, happy to find that she had stripped of her undershirt. The gentle skin of her torso was hot against the cold of his hand, yet Luna didn't flinch away. She could never bear to pull away from Stiles even if his skin lefts third degree marks against her skin.

Luna yawned deeply, "Your dad was singing it at the station." Stiles just rolled his eyes, pressing a string of sweet kisses to Luna's face.

His lips were the last thing she felt before sleep overcame her.

NOW

Luna was horrified, to put it simply. Pale blue eyes usually brighter than stars danced between Stiles and Peter, hoping that beneath her melancholy gaze one of them would break and revel in their poor sense of humor. The laughter never came, though.

"A year?" She wept, pressing harder into Stiles' side when her eyes began to burn. "I've been gone a year — Allison's been gone a year?"

Stiles' breath caught in his throat at the mention of Allison Argent. The bitter sweet moment of Scott scribbling her initials across the silver metal of the book shelf was well deserved in his memory, and yet to Luna, it was forced and rushed and harsh against Allison's gentle memory.

"They don't remember me?" Luna whimpered, lower lip quivering beneath the heavy weight of forced abandonment. "You didn't remember me?"

The air was thin around Luna and Stiles, clinging to their heartbreak and creating oceans of mistreatment. Luna was inching closer to a breakdown, eyes stormy with lightning like anger. Stiles flinched away from her hard expression, thumbs wiping at the tears that painted her cheeks.

"Let's go." Luna seethed, pulling away from Stiles' embrace despite her overwhelming want to just collapse against his chest and let her life leave her body in the form of salty tears. "We're getting the fuck out of here."

Much to Luna's disappointment, departure wasn't easily achieved.

She had sobbed against the unmoving doors for minutes before Stiles pulled away, only to become completely hysterical when Trent fell to the ground in a heap of green, turning to ash before her eyes.

"Luna — Luna!" Stiles grabbed at her face, forcing her eyes on him when her sobbing became worrisome. Painted with tears and detrimental panic Luna succumbed to his urges, melting into his embrace with defeat. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

"Not this time, Stiles." Luna sniffled, nose pressing into the base of his neck when she couldn't bear to bring her eyes up to his. Reality was heavy on her chest, creating shadows on the past and what memories could have been made in her absence. "You're already being forgotten."

THEN

Luna was anything but pleased with the continuous shitty weather London brought. She had been with Jackson for days now, and had seen nothing more then his shirtless boyfriend, and their water painted windows. Not to mention the continuous storm clouds were creating an ache in her bones.

"Is it always like this?" She whined, sprawled out across the couch with her feet warming Ethan's lap. Her body quivered with every crash of thunder, glassy eyes looking between Ethan and Jackson for clarity that the end would soon come.

Luna had never liked storms.

"It should clear up in a day or so, Lovegood." Jackson didn't have to turn around to see the glare Luna sent him. "Do you piss Stiles off every time there's a storm?" He taunted, earning a scoff from his cousin.

"Don't start being an asshole again, Voldemort." She sneered.

Her eyes traced the interior of the apartment, recounting every decorative piece Ethan and Jackson had secured against the walls. Luna smiled gently when her eyes found an image of two little boys, scarily identical and childishly proud. She would have given anything to acquire such an innocence again.

Thunder crashed against London, lightning creating shadows on the wall. Growing sick at the sight of three cowboy hats, another strobe of lightning created horses against the wall. Luna cried out, scrambling away from Ethan but unsure where else she could go.

It only took a moment for a heavily scarred face to find hers in the darkness, a crack of lightning mending with his weapons and collecting Luna in a flash of green smoke.

In a moment Luna was gone -- from the flat, from London, from memory -- and all that remained of her life was a birthday reminder scribbled across Stiles Stilinski's calendar five million miles away.

NOW

"Do you ever sleep?" Stiles worried. Luna was decorated in exhaustion, her gentle blue eyes framed with bruises. Her frail body was curled into his lap, cold hands beneath his shirt and clinging to his torso for warmth. "Looney-Tunes?" He hummed gently, bringing his hand down the small of her back when she didn't answer.

Luna sniffled quietly, effectively breaking Stiles' heart, and pushed herself farther into his embrace. Stiles cradled her body close, the soft flutter of her eyelashes against his neck creating ripples in his mind. The bond between reality and written reality was breaking apart the longer he held Luna. The mystery of love with Lydia had become a conundrum still unsolved. How had the ghost riders thought Lydia Martin an equivalent to Luna Miller?

Luna made his heart beat a mile a minute.

He adored the way she whimpered in her sleep, and always slid her hands beneath his shirt. She stole a new sweatshirt from his closet at least once a week, and at the end of every month, sheepishly she would show up at his doorstep with armfuls of his clothes. She thought she was slick when she sprayed herself with his cologne, or when she purposefully fell asleep in his bed so she didn't have to go home.

Everything about Luna made him breathless.

"You don't need sleep here, bubs." She whispered against him, teary eyes tracing the comatose faces of all her fellow hostages. "Not when you're like them. They don't even realize the trains are never going to come. It's this never ending anxiety, just waiting to board the train. Most of them think they're going home."

Luna yawned against his embrace, struggling to stay awake within his arms. She never wanted to leave his side, content with spending the rest of her life at his side, but she knew sleep was inappropriate at the moment. Her boyfriend was ever the optimist, settling for an eternity of sleeplessness and frozen time was anything but pliable for him.

"Where did you think about going?" Stiles asked quietly, afraid to disrupt the peace around them. Everything about this moment was eerie, but it belonged to them.

"Going home to you." Luna smiled gently, tilting her head so she could see the twitch of Stiles' lips. "I couldn't remember anything else. I didn't know my name, or where I had come from. I could only think of getting back to you."

THEN

Luna Miller was not easily brought to hysterics, yet Stiles had managed to provoke her without fault. Her heart had been heavy for days now, paranoid with the arising chaos scripted by her possessed boyfriend. The moon had risen a handful of times, yet never did she get more than a few hours of sleep filled with nightmares.

His eyes were filled with tears, hands bound by ropes that threatened his humanity. The man bound before Luna was nothing but a monster wearing her boyfriend's face, and yet she couldn't bear to see those familiar whiskey eyes so sad.

"Stiles?" She asked gently, setting a hand on his cheek. His complexion was paling by the millisecond, eyes dressed with dark purple rings of exhaustion. Stiles leaned into her forbearing embrace, eyes fluttering closed at the familiar warmth of her skin.

With a trembling grip, Luna pulled the silver tape from his mouth, expecting a rhapsody and being given a requiem.

"Really, Luna? I shed one tear, that's all it takes? Come on now, you can't crumble that easily. How are you going to hold up when Stiles sees the truth?" Luna flinched away from Stiles, refusing to even look into his hazy glare. Her heart was pounding, her hands trembling as she scrambled away. "When he finds out you never really wanted him. He was just the only one who didn't see you as a whore."

Luna stiffened at the old wounds fresh against her bruised skin, chest aching and eyes burning. Stiles, her Stiles, knew how deeply those memories cut. He had spent countless nights easing panic attacks, telling her that eventually it would all blow over and classmates would take her word over Jackson's. He had promised he would never be corrupted by the vile rumors of her willingness to fuck.

Ignoring the tears that burned her skin, she surrendered to the insults, "Come back to me, Stiles."

NOW

Discouragement was nothing abnormal for Peter Hale, however his willingness to create doubt had all but shattered Luna's eardrums. She flinched away from Stiles in shock as a high pitched frequency ruptured the silence, the machine by Peter's side wailing in protest. He was no help to Stiles or Luna as they scrambled to find a loophole — a contact to the other side. It was an even bigger inconvenience that in the face of chaos Peter had thrusted himself through the portal, leaving nothing but the scent of burning flesh behind.

"Stiles." Luna sighed, surrounded by wires and buttons. Hope was dwindling by the passing moment, exhaustion weighing down so heavily her fingers were hard to move. "If this doesn't work--"

"It's going to work." He replied, "It has to."

He was the same over-achieving teenager she had loved a year ago, and yet so clearly had he grown. His eyes didn't shine as brightly as they once had, worn down by the madness that ensued around Beacon Hills. There had been loss, and love, and relationships in the recent year that Luna would never understand. She was in love with a memory, and craving the touch of a ghost.

"Luna!" Stiles was ecstatic as he called her over, eyes twisted with gentle glee. It was a good look on him, but not the hyper gleam she had known. "Hello?" He spoke into the intercom, words mixed with dread and hope. "Hello, is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?"

Luna felt herself break apart at the hope in Lydia's voice when she answered, his name a whisper on her lips, "Stiles?"

"Scott? Lydia? Is that you?" Stiles pleaded, bringing Luna closer to his chest when warm relief flooded his veins. "Do you remember the last thing I said to you?"

"You said, remember I love you."

THEN

Luna's head was heavy.

Tears had been fresh on her cheeks for days, pain arising every time she thought back to Allison Argent and the way in which she had lost her life. It was a bond unbreakable from the beginning, and yet in less then a year Luna had lost a friend. A part of herself had died with Allison, and the anchor she found in Stiles had been redefined.

Her suitcase was packed messily, clothes thrown in without a care. Lydia had been appalled at the sight, but had let Luna carry-on without objection. Nobody had taken Allison's death as hard as Luna.

Stiles had driven Luna to the airport, a stiff silence overcoming them. Luna didn't blame Stiles, she would never be able to, but that hadn't stopped her from remembering that his body had been used to kill Allison. His whiskey eyes had watched Allison crumble, and the minute she fell a smile twisted his lips.

Stiles Stilinski was covered in blood he hadn't spilled.

"Remember I love you?" Luna breathed gently against Stiles' lips, relishing in his delicate hold against the harsh winter breeze.

"Always."

NOW

Luna was lost.

Her head was heavy on her shoulders, disoriented for a reason she couldn't place. Her lips tasted strangely of strawberry — which didn't seem right either — without fault burts bees struck her memory harshly.

Jackson. Jackson. Jackson. Jackson. Stiles.

His name was like a whisper in her mind, urging her to recall wisps of charcoal hair and whiskey eyes. Her head was heavy on her shoulders, dirty blonde hair turned brown. The image was drawn on the back of her eyelids without consent, a disgruntled moan slipping from her lips at the sight.

Ethan Steiner. Ethan Steiner. Ethan — Stiles Stilinski.

Nothing made any sense to Luna as her eyes snapped around the trivial train station, trying to make sense of the cobwebs and town names and dusty school books. The travelers beside her were captivated in a daze, dressed in scrubs and suits with no recollection of the destination they sought.

Like a distant calling, her name was being sung sweetly in her ears. A gentle lulling of warm breath against the shell of her ear caused her to shiver, and when it happened again, her comatose blue eyes shifted beneath her closed eyelids.

"Moonlight." Her breath caught in her throat with the gentle calling in her mind, eyes fluttering open just in time to witness soft whiskey eyes centimeters from her.

"Stiles." She gasped, rushing forward when the limpness in her body dulled. Overwhelmed with gratitude, she couldn't help but notice that lurking behind their steady embrace was gentle faces of familiar ghosts. "You did it!"

Luna pulled away from his embrace, her hands slipping beneath his shirt and tracing patterns on his warm skin. Her smile was proud, blue eyes twinkling with delight.

"Did you ever doubt I would?" He teased, fingers tracing her cheekbones as his hands cupped her face. Luna let her eyes flutter closed at the feeling of him on her, his breath tickling the tip of her nose.

Stiles smiled gently, bending down to close the space between them. His lips captured hers innocently, strawberry lip gloss mixing with the waxy moisture of his burts bees chapstick.

Months had separated them, and yet nothing had changed. Stiles felt at home in her embrace, never wanting to break away from the sweetness of her lips. It was a moment carved on the face of the moon, written in the stars with dreams. It was a moment well deserved, mending heavy hearts.

Stiles held Luna tightly, never wanting to let her go again.

#teen wolf #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #lydia martin #peter hale #ghost rider #riders on the storm #malia hale #malia tate #stydia #sterek #sciles #allison argent #dylan o'brien #stilinski

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thewooreview · 3 years ago

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daily meditation: a shower for your brain

"I'm so busy today, that I'm going to meditate for 2 hours instead of 1.” -Ghandi

Daily meditation has numerous benefits, one of the most relevant being that it’s a free and effective way to treat anxiety.

I use Insight Timer, a free app with guided meditations and a timer. Try meditating for 10 days in a row, and I guarantee you’ll feel different.

A Shower for Your Brain

Meditation is part of a healthy mental hygiene routine. You can think of it as a shower for your brain. You learn to watch your busy thoughts and let them pass by you without judgement instead of chasing them down their respective rabbit holes. It teaches you how to observe your emotions without getting plugged in.

A friend once explained how her daily meditation practice helped her get to know herself better, giving her a clear understanding of what was her stuff and what wasn’t. (My dad always says that ‘everyone has a tape playing in their head’. Brené Brown would call this the stories we tell ourselves, often related to shame.)

Last year I developed a morning meditation practice thanks to the Nature of Work. I practice daily in the morning, after I walk my dog and do a short home yoga practice (watch my morning movement and evening movement favourites, here). Although I haven’t always been strict with it, I’ve found it to be the most impactful practice I can do to improve each day.

Benefits of meditation

Some of the scientifically proven benefits of meditation include improvements to:

mental health

compassion

mood

stress management

happiness

connection

self-control

brain function

focus and productivity

wisdom

humbleness

Types of Meditation

There are many practices to choose from, so you should be able to find one that suits you.

Practice Makes Perfect

The best way to develop a new habit is to establish one new routine at a time, ideally on a set schedule (ie. meditating at the same time every day). Monitoring new habits also helps them stick, so consider tracking this in your agenda or on a checklist.

Learn with Meditation Apps

Although a big part of mental hygiene is in device management (ie. limiting screen time and notifications), there are many meditation apps that can help with your practice.

Insight Timer is used by over 11.4 million people and has the largest free library of meditations, with over 3,000 titles. These are the mantras of my favourite morning mediation by Johnathan Lehmann, former Wall Street lawyer turned meditation guide. There’s a link to the meditation at the bottom of this post.

I make plans, but I remain flexible and open to the surprises that life has in store for me. I try to say yes as often as possible.

I cultivate patience, and by doing so I also cultivate self confidence.

I welcome the opportunity to step outside of my comfort zone and I do not let myself be guided by fear.

I love myself unconditionally because it is essential to my happiness. I love the person that I aml and I do not need other people’s approval to love myself.

I am going to drink water, eat fruit and vegetables, walk, take the stairs, and exercise. Today I’m giving love to my body.

I give everywhere I go, even if it’s only a smile, a compliment, or my full attention. Listening is the best gift I can give to those around me.

I try to be impeccable iwth my word and to only spread positivity. It’s counter productive to my happiness to speak against myself or against others.

“Don't treat yourself so gingerly; you can let go of stuff. Sometimes it takes three breaths instead of two to do it, but you can do it. Be a little tougher and don't cling to stuff. People go around carrying everybody's stuff all of the time. I just pick it up and put it down. Pick it up and put it down.”

-Ram Das

Try Johnathan’s free morning meditation via Insight Timer or YouTube

Image: Christian Weber, via Pinterest

#meditation #free #self care #selfcare

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streetsofsecretswegone · 4 years ago

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▌ Real Name: Nicholas Gavino Scozzari. Nick for short, but there's a lot of people who have called him Nicky or Nico. Or Niccolo. ▌Single or taken: Single ▌Abilities or powers: He has a talent for improvising with weapons. Creating makeshift weapons. He knows how to silently kill someone, how to have a body quickly decompose - yeah. It's a mixture between prison knowledge and street knowledge. It’s creepy. He also has the ability to make shit happen™ - do you want to know what that means? you don’t want to know what that means. ▌Eye colour: Brown ▌Hair colour: Dark brown/black. Back when he had hair, that is. ▌Family members: When it comes to both sides of his family? There's too many fucking people. Re: The Scozzari Family. ▌Pets: None, at the moment. He's inclined to get a dog, though. However, during his final years in prison he was in a lenient environment that allowed inmates to have animals. His cellmate had a cat, and when he was released Nick had to watch after it. The cat kind of weirded him out, though. ▌Something they don’t like: Millennials. Gen-Zers. Specifically, he hates the music that's being produced, he hates the slang, he hates their sense of humor, he hates - well, literally everything about the younger generations. ▌Hobbies/activities: In prison he lived his life on a strict routine of working out, playing cards, letter writing, watching sports/the news on television (also participating in sports - basketball) listening to 70s/80s/90s music. Volunteering for The Red Cross caused him to develop the 'shamefully relaxing' habit of crocheting. He still deeply enjoys it in privacy, but doesn't boast. He use to love to draw, and specifically enjoyed spreading his artistic talents through graffiti. He's rusty now, but inclined to do it with his son or one of Cassandra's sons. ▌Ever hurt anyone before: All the time. ▌Ever killed anyone before: Absolutely. ▌Animal that represents them: Probably a German Shepard. ▌Worst habits: He thinks the worst of people the moment he meets them, they often have to prove themselves to him in some way. Smoking cigarettes. Hot-headed. Speaks through his expressions and eyes too much, like his mama. ▌Role models: When he was young it was a cross between his dad, Salvatore and his mother's cousin, Winston. Then he wanted to break away from them as a teenager - establish 'himself' and build his own legacy, but he isn't too proud to admit that his father's conduct and moral code has influenced him the most. ▌Sexual orientation: He might be straight, he feels straight atm. ▌Thoughts on marriage/kids: Janie over at @chxoticmuses could have been his WIFE and the mother of his CHILDREN but she wanna play all these games. >:/ But really, Nick has a traditional view of marriage. He's not a player like he was as a teenager (but even then he was like, a lowkey romantic. Burying it down) but he has yet to settle down. The women he's slept with and has had kids with don't want to marry him because he's dangerous and...there’s always this fact he may go back to jail at any time, so- ▌Fears: Nuclear war, especially when you have two clowns going at it without a care. Sea creatures. Large beds of water in general. ▌Style preferences: Suit and tie. Plain t-shirts. Leather jackets. ▌Someone they love: He adores everyone in his family so much, even Louis! But he's especially tender and protective with the children in his family. Nick may be a stone cold killer, but he's a really good father. ▌Approach to friendships: Keep them close, but keep your enemies closer. Often, friendships come with agendas on his behalf and he guesses he probably hasn't let his guard down since he was kid. But even in childhood, he had a hard time overcoming his (secretly shy) barriers and forming bonds with others. If people want to be around him though, that's cool. ▌thoughts on pie: His mother makes excellent pie. ▌Favourite drink: cognac, mountain dew, pepsi ▌favourite place to spend time at: His parent's home. His childhood home in Bed-Stuy, but now its occupied by Cassandra so he can't hang out there as much as he use to. As a young boy, Nick was most relaxed on top of rooftops watching the sunset. ▌Swim in the lake or in the ocean: Neither. ▌Their type: Technically gorgeous, sweet women who are actually dangerous af with murderous undertones. ▌camping or indoors: Indoors.

tagged: @armsdealing tagging: @represaliia, your pick! @pcplarstreet, also your pick!

#dash games : nick.

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waywardaardvark79 · 5 years ago

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Check Yes or No Part 5: Pb&J, Ding Dongs, and Beef Jerky

Summary: You've been best friends with Dean Winchester since childhood. When you finally realize what's been in front of you this entire time will secrets threaten to destroy what you have before it really even begins.

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: language

On the walk to your car you were making a mental checklist of everything you still had to do today. You had to stop by the shop and finish clean up, bring Charlie her computer, and also start trying to find a replacement for her. Thank God you had tomorrow off.

You were trying to think if you knew anyone off the top of your head that would be a good temporary replacement for Charlie, but your thoughts kept drifting to your elevator ride. You had never really cared for Lisa Braeden, even before she had started dating Dean. You had tried your best to put aside your differences and actually give her a chance when Dean started dating her, but it didn't last very long.

You always felt that she had an ulterior motive or hidden agenda behind everything that she did. Her "permanent roots" comment played on a loop in your head, and you couldn't help the knot that formed in the pit of your stomach. You tried to shake the feeling. Lisa Braeden was the least of your concerns right now.

Back at the shop you busied yourself with clean up and trying to find the help wanted sign. You cursed yourself for being so disorganized. You were so lost in your own world that you didn't hear the bell above the door chime. You were bent down searching under the front counter when you mumbled aloud, "If I were a help wanted sign where would I be?"

"Try the window." someone said.

You quickly jumped up, startled by the reply, and banged your head on the underside of the counter. "Oh, fuck!" you shouted as you quickly cradled your head in your hands.

You didn't have to open your eyes to know who was the current cause of your injury. You would know that voice anywhere. "Thanks for that, Captain Obvious, but don't you think if I knew where the sign was it'd be in the window." you said.

Dean chuckled as you resumed your position and continued your search. "What do you need the help wanted sign for?" asked Dean.

You popped back up, your hands full of different papers, "Didn't you get my message?" you asked.

‘Dean shook his head, "My phone died." he said.

"Oh, well, I told Benny to tell you, but I guess he forgot, umm, Charlie had an accident. It wasn't anything too bad. She's a little beaten up, and has a broken leg. So, I need to find a temporary replacement for her until she gets back on her feet." you explained as you started to flip through the papers you had pulled from the counter. "Also, you will never fucking guess who I ran into at the hospital. Holy shit. Look at this." you said.

You handed over the picture you found. It was a picture of you and Dean from your first day at the bakery. You remembered being so nervous to start the job, and Dean offered to drive you. Your mother, who insisted on photographing every moment of your childhood, followed along.

She just had to get a picture on her baby's first day. You remembered her directing you to stand in front of the window as she ordered you to smile. She ordered Dean to stand next to you and much to your surprise he happily joined you. He slung an arm over your shoulder, and you both smiled brightly into the camera.

Dean smiled at the picture, walked over to the chalkboard that held the daily specials, and tucked it into the corner. "You were scared to death." he said as he turned back to face you.

"Yeah, I was. I was scared I was gonna screw up and get fired on my first day." you said.

He pulled you to him, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. "And what did I tell you?" he asked.

"Some sappy bullshit about me being perfect, and how great I was gonna do. Then I'm pretty sure you asked me to smuggle you home some pie." you said as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"And once again I was right." he said.

You rose up on your toes, and gave him a quick peck on the lips, "I'll never admit to that." you said.

You wiggled free from his grasp. "Come on. Let's get outta here." he said.

You sighed, "I really want to, but I still have to take Charlie her computer, and find the fucking sign, and." you said.

Dean cut you off, "Take Charlie her stuff, forget about the sign, and go home and get ready." he said.

"Ready for what?" you asked.

"Our date." he said.

Dean started to drag you towards the door. "Our date?" you asked as you grabbed your purse and keys.

"You did agree to go on one with me." He came to a stop and turned to face you, "Don't tell me you're backin' out on me." he said.

"You can't get rid of me that easy." you teased.

"I never want to get rid of you. I'll pick you up at seven." he said before pulling you in for a kiss, and walking out the door.

You stood in front of your closet trying to decide what to wear. You didn't want to wear something really formal, but you didn't know if your usual jeans and a t-shirt would be appropriate.

Normally on a first date you would dress a little formal, but this was Dean. Did it matter? Technically it was a first date, but the man had seen you on your worst days.

You finally decided on a nicer pair of jeans, which for you meant no holes, and a form fitting black tank top. You threw on some light make up and let your hair hang loose.

You were checking yourself in the mirror when you heard a knock at the door. "Who in the hell is that?" you asked yourself as you walked to the door. You looked out the peephole to see Dean, his hands behind his back, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

You opened the door and he quickly stilled and cleared his throat, "Hi. Wow, you look great." he said.

He started to sway back and forth on his feet a little. Was he nervous? "I, uh, brought you these." he said as he handed you a small bouquet of your favorite flowers.

"They're beautiful." You watched as he brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Why are you nervous?" you asked as you walked into the kitchen to put the flowers in some water.

"I'm not." he said.

You turned to look at him, "You look like you want to jump outta your skin. De, you've known me since we were five. We've had sex. You don't have anything to be nervous about." you said.

He took a deep breath, "I just really don't want to mess this up." he said.

You sat the vase on the counter and grabbed your keys before walking over to Dean and lacing your fingers with his, "You're perfect. You're gonna do great." you said. He rolled his eyes at you and tried to look annoyed, but you could see the hint of a smile that he was trying to hide.

When you got to the car he opened the door for you. You slid inside and watched as he rounded the front of the car before plopping down into the driver's seat. You waited for him to start the car, but he sat there looking at you. "I got something on my face?" you asked.

"Nah, I just like looking at ya." he said.

"Let's go, Romeo." you said.

He held up one finger, "I need you to do something first." he said.

You turned your full attention to him and nervously replied, "Ok."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blindfold. "Put this on." he said.

You let out a heavy sigh, "Really?"

Dean gave you his best puppy dog eyes, and you snatched the blindfold from his hand. "You know I hate surprises." you grumbled.

He started the car, "Actually, you just like to tell people that. You secretly love them."’ he said.

"You secretly love them." you mocked as you crossed your arms over your chest. Dean cranked up the radio to drown out the 100 questions he knew you would have and pulled out onto the road.

You sat there silently trying to rack your brain to figure out where he was taking you. You were coming up empty until you felt the car slow and noticed the uneven terrain.

You smiled to yourself. You knew exactly where you were going. A few moments later the car came to a stop and Dean turned the radio off. You turned in your seat, the blindfold still on, and asked, "Your dad and Uncle Bobby' s scrap yard?” you asked.

The blindfold was suddenly ripped from your eyes, "How in the hell did you figure that out?" he asked.

You shrugged your shoulders, "I had no idea until I felt the gravel. It's only fitting that our first date be at our spot." you said.

He threw his head back against the seat, "I wanted it to be a surprise." he said.

You suddenly felt really guilty, grabbed the blindfold from him and put it back on. "Come on, Winchester. You owe me a date."

You didn't see the smile that spread across his face, "Sit tight for a minute." he said.

You heard him get out and close his door. The sound of the backdoor opening, some rustling around, and the door closing is what greeted you next. Your door was pulled open next and you held out your hand for guidance. Dean pulled you to your feet, closed the door, and started guiding you forward.

You were pretty sure you knew exactly where you were headed, but didn't want to ruin the surprise. "Ok, just stand here for a second." he said as he let go of your hand. You heard him moving around as you stood and waited for him. "Ok, you can look." he said.

You slowly peeled off the blindfold and your breath caught in your throat as you took in the site in front of you. The beat up old truck that you spent many days playing in as children, and that you had decided was your spot when you were older sat before you just as you remembered it.

However, Dean had sat candles on the hood, had blankets and pillows laid out in the back, and a cooler sat near one of the long deflated tires. You turned to him, your eyes glassy with tears, "It's perfect." you said.

He shrugged and kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot, "S'just a beat up old truck." he said. You started to shake your head no, and tell him what you thought, but he quickly cut in, "This was stupid. I should have taken you to a nice restaurant or something." he said.

You grabbed his hand, "De, this is perfect."

"You don't have to say that." he said.

"I do. I would want this over a fancy restaurant any day. This is our spot. It's perfect. Really." you said.

He gave you a shy smile and pulled you forward. He yanked open the passenger side door and you scooted onto the old cracked leather seat. He left the door open as he went around to the other side to join you. "Open it." he said motioning towards the glove compartment.

You popped it open, "No way." you said as you quickly gathered up the contents.

You looked over the little notes you had written each other as children, the snapshots of you guys together, and the little trinkets that both of you thought were once so important.

You raised your hand and wiped away a stray tear, "You saved all this?"

He nodded his head. "You always used to say that's where we should keep our important stuff. That's important stuff." he said.

You quietly looked through the notes and laughed under your breath at one. You handed it over to Dean. He looked down at the faded paper. His own messy handwriting staring him in the face. "Will you be my best friend?" he read out.

"I kind of broke the rules on that one." you said as you pointed to the bottom of the paper.

The usual square boxes with the words yes and no were there, but you had written in your own answer at the bottom. Dean raised his hand and traced the check mark you had made in your own box next to the word forever and smiled.

"You know I love you, right? I mean, I know that it might seem fast and we have really only been something for a couple days, but you gotta know.." he said.

"I love you too, De." you interrupted.

You can't remember the last time you saw him smile that big. He pulled you over to him and leaned in until his lips were just inches from yours, "Say it again." he said.

"I love you, De." you said.

He crashed his lips into yours. Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck and you pulled yourself closer to him. He broke the kiss, "Say it one last time."

You whispered, "I love you." against his lips. You pulled back and looked at him, "That won't be the last time." you said.

He looked back at you with a look of worry that you didn't understand, "You promise?" he asked.

You leaned in and kissed him, brought your hand down to his chest and traced a check mark over his heart, "Yes." you said.

You didn't understand the relief that seemed to wash over him at that moment, and before you could question it he was pulling you out the door. "Time for part two." he said as he led you to the tail gate of the truck.

You climbed up and sat back against one of the pillows as he lifted the cooler and a backpack up to join you. He sat next to you and asked, "Do you remember when we were like seven and we decided...." he said.

"To run away." you finished for him.

He nodded, "We each packed a bag, and came out here." he said.

You laughed at the memory, "It seemed so far away at the time. It felt like we rode our bikes forever to get here." you said.

"Do you remember what we packed?" he asked.

You shook your head no. He opened up the backpack and started pulling things out, "Pb and j, ding dongs, and beef jerky." he said.

You giggled, "That is pretty much still my diet."

He nodded his head, "I know."

He opened the cooler and pulled out two juice boxes and handed you one. You smiled, "You would always give me the apple one because I didn't like grape." you said.

He pulled out one last thing. You couldn't tell what it was at first until you heard the familiar cracking sound, "You made sure to pack glowsticks in your bag because you knew I was scared of the dark." he said as he laid the glowstick between the two of you.

"Wasn't your dad the one who found us?” you asked.

Dean nodded, "Said he found us curled up together in the front seat."

You laced your fingers with his, "I hope you know how perfect all of this really is.” you said.

He laid back against the pillow and pulled you down next to him. You laid there and talked for hours. Dean noticed that you had been quiet and looked down to see you sleeping.

He eased himself out from under you, and quietly picked everything up. He placed everything in the seat of the old truck, deciding that he would come back for everything tomorrow. He climbed back into the bed of the truck and gently shook your shoulder, "Come on sweetheart. Let's go home." he said.

You had made it back to your apartment. Dean was already in bed waiting for you while you brushed your teeth. You heard your phone ringing and yelled for Dean to see who it was. "It's Charlie." he said.

"Answer it. I'll be there in a minute." you yelled back.

You walked into your bedroom a moment later. "Everything alright?" you asked as you crawled into bed and flipped off the light.

He pulled you into his side, "Yeah, she just wanted to tell you to check out the ads she put up." he said.

You sleepily nodded. "M'kay."

You were almost asleep when you heard Dean clear his throat, "Charlie said you ran into someone at the hospital today."

"Mhmmm." you hummed.

"Who was it?" he asked.

"Lisa Braeden." you said with a yawn.

You felt Dean tense for a moment. "Let's just talk about it tomorrow, De. I'm so tired. Love you." you said.

"Love you too, sweetheart." he replied.

Dean stared at your ceiling unable to sleep. Everything had went so perfect tonight, and the mention of one name had pulled the curtain back, and forced him to look at reality.

#supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #reader insert #dean #spn fic #spn #fluff

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