#they’re doing this over a month early this year and clearly didn’t time it well 🙄

[firstkanaphans]

Hiii!! I hope you're doing well. I just saw they announced the day for the GMMTV lineup for 2024. I was wondering.... This is my first time following it up close, how does it work? Do they announce all their series and plans for the subsequent year? Also, do you have hope we might get another FirstKhaotung series?? I fell so in love with them, maybe I'm being too greedy but their chemistry is so good 😭😭😭😭

Yeah, so we should get an update on all of the 2023 shows that haven’t aired yet and then they play the pilot trailers for all of their 2024 shows. The trailers will have English subs and there will also be a live subber fighting for their life trying to sub the interview portions as well. You can skim through the 2023 show here to get a feel for what will happen. It’s usually a lot of fun, but the fact that this is only Part 1 is throwing me. Don’t they know people are taking off work for this?? I can’t do that twice 😩

As for whether FirstKhaotung will have a show in 2024, I’m almost positive they will. Mostly because them talking about wanting to do a romcom is so entirely out of left field. They’ve been asking for a mafia drama for literal years, so for them to change their tune so suddenly, I think they already know what’s coming next for them.

GMMTV also just has no idea what to do with them except stick them in a BL because neither of them meet Thailand’s very narrow beauty standard of what a “leading man” should look like. So I personally think we’ll be getting a new BL from them every year for as long as they want to do it.

My best guess? We’ll get a FK romcom, Homeschool season 2 for Khaotung, and then something extra for First as well. He was definitely filming something with Off and Sea one day a few months ago, so maybe that?? I’m really excited! It should be quite a show.

[janeyseymour]

Just Sex

Summary: Melissa is hooking up with the chief at the firehouse, so you decide that you can have your own fun.

WC: ~2.1k

After the failed relationship and proposal with Gary, Melissa has been going out to bars and staying out late at night. She finds herself in bed with quite a few men and women, and while she’s not thrilled that she’s back to this lifestyle, she’s impressed that she still has what it takes. Getting older did not make it any easier to attract people.

But then one night she sees the fire chief out at the bar, one thing leads to the other, and they’re in a friends with benefits sort of situationship.

Of course, all of this comes out when you’re renewing your CPR training certificate with the Abbott clan, and Barbara has made it quite clear that she’s upset Melissa didn’t tell her of this relationship before.

You had been busy trying to pass your test, but now it’s your partner’s turn to go, and you tune back into the world around you.

“But if I were gonna label it, I would say it’s just sex,” you hear Melissa tell her work wife in a low voice.

You don’t really know what she’s talking about, but you shrug it off. That is, until Janine comes back into the room and asks for the gossip. Barbara of course goes off, claiming that her friend of over fifteen years trusts her no more than a common street stranger. It becomes apparent to you that whatever hookup situation they’re talking about has been going on for a bit of time now. You feel a nasty pit settle in your stomach at that.

That pit only grows when you go out with the crew after the CPR course to celebrate the fact that you all passed. Of course, conversation leads back to Melissa and Jacob both having sexual relations with people from the firehouse.

“Well, I think I blew that one,” Jacob groans as he finishes off his aperol spritz. “But let’s talk about you, Mel Mel.”

“There ain’t nothin’ to talk about,” the redhead waves him off. “It’s just casual sex.”

“Casual sex that’s been going on for how long?” Barbara asks with a raised brow.

Melissa purses her lips as she thinks. “Couple weeks now?”

“A month,” Jacob cuts in. “C’mon, Melissa. When are you just going to admit that you like him?”

���I do not,” she states very clearly. “I just need something to take the edge off for me, and… he does that.”

“How kinky is it?” Ava asks, a smirk on her face.

Jacob opens his mouth, and Melissa very quickly shoves her hand over his mouth. “You say a word, and you’re out on the curb faster than you were out with Zach.”

The man’s eyes widen, and he nods quickly. She pulls her hand away from his mouth, and he breathes a deep sigh in relief. 

“I’m not looking for a relationship or nothing… not unless the right person comes along,” the second grade teacher says as she finishes off her beer.

Barb turns to look at her work wife with a curious face. She knows of the little crush that her best friend has on you. Melissa just nods at the kindergarten teacher’s silent question.

But you don’t take it that way, because you have no idea that Melissa has had her eye on you since before she broke it off with Gary. You see it that you have no chance with your favorite coworker at all.

Feeling as though you could burst into tears at any given moment, you quietly excuse yourself from the rest of the outing and head for your apartment.

“What was that?” Melissa furrows a brow and purses her lips as she gazes in the direction that you left.

“I’m sure it was just a long day for her is all,” Janine tries to come up with some sort of logistical reason as to why you would leave early. “I did have a meeting with her before school even started today, so she’s been up for quite some time.”

Everybody seems to accept that reasoning, and they continue on with their night.

The next day, you march yourself into Ava’s office bright and early.

“Girl, what are you doin? I’m tryna get this knot out of my back,” your principal groans as she shuts off her personal back massager.

“I need your help,” you tell her, not even bothering to acknowledge that she isn’t doing her job at all.

“With?” She leans forward just slightly in her chair.

You smile at her. “I know you know a bunch of people… set me up with someone?”

“Oh, girl,” she laughs. “What’s gotten into you? Every other time I’ve asked if you want someone, you decline!”

“Just… thinking I should get myself out there,” you shrug. “You know? If Melissa can do it, so can I.”

Ava’s jaw drops. “So this is about Melissa.”

“What?”

“I knew you had the hots for her!” the principal grins. 

“What? Not! I- I just figured, if everyone else can have at it, so can I?”

“Oh, girl,” she laughs in your face. “This ain’t you at all, but I am in full support of it. Give me til the end of the day, and I’ll have someone for you.”

You end up going out with a woman that night that Ava set you with, and you do end up actually liking her… and she’s pretty damn good in bed.

The next morning, you’re practically glowing while you drink your morning coffee in the break room. Julie, the woman that you ended up in bed with last night, is texting you about maybe meeting up again later this week.

And if you weren’t still in love with the redhead that comes in a few seconds later, you would say yes. Instead, you send her a text that says, Maybe. Kinda busy the next couple weeks.

She texts you back a picture… a rather scandalous picture. And you blush when you see it.

“What’s got you all giddy today?” the redhead asks as she leans over. She sees the picture before you can close out of it, and her eyebrows creep up her head.

“Who’s that?”

You shrug. “Just someone Ava set me up with.”

“Ava?” Melissa asks in disbelief. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“Not long,” you tell her. “It’s just sex, really.”

The redhead folds her arms over her chest. “I didn’t think you were like that.”

“I’m not, but I figured I might as well give it a shot,” you say. “Now, I have to head to my room to finish up some of my grading, but I’ll see you later.”

You don’t have any intention to see her later. And you don’t. You pull back from her and her group- although most of them still find their ways to you. It’s mostly just the redheaded second grade teacher that you avoid. And it happens that way for a few more days.

You’re in the break room heating up your lunch when Ava comes in. “Girl! Are you gonna text Julie back or not?”

Melissa makes her way in, and you sigh. “It’s just sex. I’m not looking for a relationship or nothing… not unless the right person comes along,” you unintentionally repeat what the second grade teacher had said out at the bar. The microwave indicates that your food is finished, and you pull it out before heading back down to your classroom for lunch.

You miss the scowl on Melissa’s face, but Ava sure as hell doesn’t.

“Girl, you jealous or something?” the principal leans in with a smirk.

“What would I be jealous of?”

“That someone else is hitting that hot piece of ass,” Ava says like it’s obvious. The second grade teacher rolls her eyes, but Ava continues. “I see the way you look at her. Practically undressing her with your eyes every time she walks into the room.”

Melissa crosses her arms again. “I can’t believe you set her up with someone if you knew I like her.”

“I was hoping it would give you a swift kick in the ass that she was gonna start hoeing it up,” Ava shrugs. “Now admit that you’re jealous before everyone else comes in here.”

“Okay, I’m jealous,” the redhead relents. “But it don’t matter anyway. She isn’t lookin’ for anyone- she just said that.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘I’m not looking for a relationship or nothing… not unless the right person comes along. And girl, you’re that person for her!”

Everyone else starts filing in, and Ava makes it so that she looks impossibly bored, although she is actually quite the opposite. “Okay, I’m leaving this snooze fest.” She heads out, but not before giving Melissa a subtle wink and tap on the wrist. “Get it, girl.”

That day, Melissa sits thoughtfully during her lunch period about what Ava said… maybe she’s right? But she can’t be sure, so after dismissal duty, the fiery second grade teacher heads down to the front office and bursts into the principal’s office.

“Schemmenti,” Ava grins. “You do it yet?”

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’ until I’m positive Y/N has a thing for me too,” Melissa sits down across from the woman. “So tell me what you know.”

Ava spends a long time telling the redhead about the various times she’s caught you checking Melissa and only Melissa out, how you always seem to linger around her during events, how the two of you are almost always partners for things now and how you being around always makes her soft and you absolutely bask in her warmth. She even confesses that you went down to her office to ask her to set you up because of Melissa.

“You convinced yet?” the principal asks after ten minutes.

Melissa bites her lip. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I’d make a move quick though. She said something about potentially seeing Julie today.”

“Isn’t that going to piss off your friend that Y/N might leave her for me?”

“She ain’t my friend,” Ava says as she files her nails. “I made a dating profile for Y/N and picked the first mildly attractive woman I saw.”

“You’re unbelievable sometimes,” the redhead pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Maybe, but ain’t you gonna go get your girl?”

Melissa stands from her chair and thanks the principal before rushing out and down your hallway. She hopes to catch you before you head out for the night. And of course, because you’re a dedicated teacher, you’re still there prepping for tomorrow. She knocks on your doorframe and leans against it.

“Just a sec!” you reply cheerily, not turning around yet. You’re hands deep in soil for the gardening project that your students will be participating in tomorrow.

“I don’t got a second,” Melissa says. You whip around at her voice.

“Hey,” you sigh, all joy in your voice gone.

“Don’t go out with Julie tonight,” the redhead tells you.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I want you to go out with me instead,” she tells you seriously.

“You’re dating the fire chief,” you deadpan.

“I ain’t dating nobody because the only person I want to date is you,” the redhead admits.

That gets you to drop the dirt that is currently in your hands. “What?”

“I told everyone I was just having casual sex and wasn’t looking for a relationship unless the right person came around because… because the only person I would want to be in a relationship is you, and I didn’t think I had a chance.”

“Melissa, are you an idiot?” You ask her. “I’ve shamelessly flirted with you since you broke it off with Gary and practically thrown myself at you in hopes that you would pick me instead of some random hookup.”

She crosses the room, and she’s kissing you before you even know what’s happening. You instinctively kiss her back, and… wow. When you pull away, you quickly wipe the dirt off of your hands before pulling her in close again.

“Don’t go out with Julie tonight,” she pleads again.

“Don’t go out with the fire chief anymore,” you mumble against her lips.

She nods and mutters, “I already called it off. You cancel on Julie, and meet me at my place?”

You end up at Melissa’s house within the hour, and she wines and dines you. And then you end up in her bed seeing stars. Your legs tremble for what feels like forever before she makes her way back up to you.

“And just so you know,” she husks into your ear. “There ain’t nothin’ casual about this. This ain’t just sex.”

Tags: (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22

[youcouldmakealife]

Raf/Grace, Bryce/Jared, various; solemn occasion (pt 1)

For the prompt: A collision of worlds at Raf and Grace's wedding: Bryce and Jared, David and Jake, maybe throw in Robbie and Georgie too…

Pre-wedding for now. We all know this thing is going to end up being 15,000 parts long.

On the drive home after Chaz and Ash ask them to be in the wedding party, Bryce says, offhand, “You know Raf’s asking next.”

“Yeah,” Jared says through a yawn. It's still early, so he thinks Chaz and Ashley’s perpetual exhaustion might be contagious.

“No, I mean, he’s going to ask you to be his best man,” Bryce says.

Jared snorts and shuts his eyes.

“I mean it,” Bryce says.

“I’d be a terrible best man,” Jared says. “Raf’s too smart to do that.”

*

Jared clearly overestimated Raf’s intelligence.

“Um,” Jared says. "Wait, really?"

Raf blinks back at him.

“Bryce said you were going to ask me that,” Jared says.

“And you said ‘good because I’m definitely going to say yes’,” Raf says. “Right?”

“Is that what you want me to say?” Jared says.

Raf shrugs.

“Are there like, responsibilities involved?” Jared asks. “Or is this a symbolic thing?”

“A few,” Raf says. “The bachelor party, I think, though obviously it’s not going to be, you know. Traditional.”

“No strip club?” Jared asks.

Raf vehemently shakes his head, and Jared relaxes.

“There are a couple other events,” Raf says. “Rehearsal dinner and the like. I think most of the logistics typically end up being handled on the bride's side, but Grace and I want to make this equitable.”

“Of course,” Jared says. “Naturally.”

Raf narrows his eyes. “You tried to make me write your vows.”

“You’re never going to stop bringing that up, are you?” Jared says.

“Your vows,” Raf says. “The words you use to express your love for and devotion your husband. You asked me to write them for you. And then you asked Chaz.”

“Okay, but I wrote my own in the end,” Jared says. Well, made a bullet pointed list, and then ignored all of it to embarrass himself in front of everyone he loved, but semantics.

“Because Chaz and I said no,” Raf says.

“Which was bullshit,” Jared says, and Raf smirks.

“You really don’t need to do much,” Raf says. “I’d rather handle everything myself, frankly.”

“You’d end up taking over even if I tried to do it, wouldn’t you?” Jared says.

“Probably,” Raf admits.

“And you don’t want me to write your vows,” Jared checks. Vows are not his forte even when they're his own.

“I actually want Grace to marry me,” Raf says, and laughs when Jared kicks him under the table.

“When’s the wedding?” Jared asks.

“Next summer,” Raf says.

“Uh,” Jared says.

“Don’t worry,” Raf says. “We’re coordinating with Chaz and Ashley so nothing overlaps. And I already gave Arvan a heads up.”

He gives Jared a look then, like ‘remember the time you forgot to tell Arvan you needed time off to get married?’. One of the drawbacks of knowing him so well is that Jared knows his looks mean, and a good number of them are withering.

*

Jared didn’t know being a best man would involve so many logistics. Like, sure, he asked what was involved, and Raf said he’d handle most of it, and Jared’s pretty sure he is handling most of it, but there are so many moving parts it makes Jared a little dizzy. And this is only two months in. Jared dreads the remaining ten if this is any indication of what’s coming.

In the movies it’s mostly funny speeches and bachelor’s parties, and he was already dreading that enough — Jared is not good at speeches or events, and he continues to be grateful Raf has absolutely zero interest in going to a strip club because Jared is way too gay to deal with that particular form of locker room talk. But they’re basically planning an event for over a hundred people, and even from the sidelines Jared can tell it’s a lot more complicated than ‘book a nice vacation house, get expensive catering, don’t forget a cake’ like his own wedding was.

There’s the venue, which they had to book a whole year in advance. The catering, but on a whole other scale. The wedding party’s been picked, and they’ve all got to match for some reason. Flowers are a thing. A big thing, apparently. Thankfully Jared doesn’t have to hear that much about them firsthand, but he knows from calls, texts, and in person venting — many of them — that they are stressing Raf out. Even at the spitefullest peak of Jared’s wedding planning he didn’t give a shit about flowers.

And all that’s not even getting into the invitees, which is what Raf called to bitch about. Jared didn’t think Raf had this many friends. Like, Jared pegged them as having a pretty similar philosophy on friendship — quality over quantity all the way — and there were like, a dozen people at Jared’s wedding.

And to be fair, there would have been more if it wasn’t for the whole ‘secret relationship both of their teams wanted to keep hidden’ thing. His mom’s side of the family hasn’t stopped giving him shit about not knowing who Jared’s husband was before it was trending on twitter. At first he thinks they were genuinely upset, but now it’s become the new running joke, like Erin getting shit about her hair constantly changing colour, and his dad getting shit about being the lesser Don in the family, and his mom gets shit about absolutely everything.

The problem, apparently, is that Raf and Grace booked a venue for two hundred people, and that’s somehow not enough.

“You seriously know hundreds of people?” Jared asks. That sounds like a nightmare. "How?"

“I mean,” Raf says. “My family. Her family. The Caps, Grace’s university friends, some former Hurricanes—“

“You still keep in touch with your teammates from the Dub?” Jared asks. “Seriously? Why?”

“You’re currently babysitting for your old captain,” Raf says.

Jared looks over to where Maia’s sitting in Bryce’s lap, both riveted by whatever show Chaz told Bryce to put on if she got cranky. Apparently blue dogs are timeless entertainment.

“That’s different,” Jared says.

“Okay,” Raf says.

“You’re friends with him too,” Jared says.

“I am,” Raf says.

“We’re babysitting specifically because your fiancée and his fiancée are currently shopping for wedding shit together,” Jared says. Well, they said ‘brainstorming’, but considering they’re brainstorming at a mall, Jared stands by describing it as shopping.

Raf was supposed to be having a day to himself, which doesn’t seem to be going well, judging by the fact he’s talking to him right now. Jared has no idea what Chaz is doing, because all he did was mumble something about ‘freedom’ and ‘go crazy’ when he dropped Maia off, and Jared felt it might be best to just leave the man alone, especially after he practically hissed after Bryce offered him a drink.

“This is only supporting my point, you know that, right?” Raf says.

Jared is unfortunately aware of that.

“Do you think it’d offend people if I kept the hockey players separate from everyone else?” Raf asks. “I know it’s not time for the seating plan yet, but —“

“I think it’d offend people if you didn’t,” Jared says. “Because hockey players are obnoxious.”

“Hey,” Raf says, then, “Good point.”

“Put them all in the corner,” Jared says.

He swears he can hear Raf taking notes.

Bryce raises his eyebrows, and Jared raises them back, then has to bite down a laugh when Bryce raises one of Maia’s pudgy little hands in a wave.

“Okay,” Raf says. “Next on the docket.”

“Is there a docket?” Jared asks. "Do you have a list in front of you? There better not be a list.”

It’s impressive that silence can sound so guilty.

Jared groans and wanders over to the couch, letting Bryce tuck him under one arm. “Okay,” he says. “For the record, I’m babysitting now, so you’re just going to hear ‘yeah’ and ‘uh huh’ to everything you say.”

There’s another silence, this time considering.

“Okay,” Raf says, and Jared ‘uh huh’s through far too much detail about ideal seating arrangements until Ash and Grace arrive to rescue them.

[pluralismajestatis]

( send me a Pride Month prompt or I'm replacing you, the reader, with ChatGPT. )

@bonesandbolts / AO3 link

--------

“Come on, I can’t believe this…” The woman brushed back her dark hair, reaching just underneath her bony shoulders revealed partially from underneath her loose, wide-necked shirt. Its sleeves were crumpled up above her elbows, exposing lengths of pale arm, ending in bony wrists and slender hands, one ring on her left index finger and one on the thumb, then another on the right index finger, with a loose brass bracelet to accompany it.

She was giving her phone's screen a despairing stare.

Tim was glancing at her from underneath his cascade of curly hair covering that side of his face. The other, exposed by the undercut, felt cold under the pub’s aircon.

“Who the hell would pass up on a snack like me…? I thought I had it this time. Goddamnit…”

She clearly didn’t know that she was being heard, or seen, by anyone. Tim might as well have been air to her. No matter; he was good at coming out of the shadows. Even now, the way he slid his body around until his knee was facing her and his lap was revealed from underneath the shadows of the counter, the way he relaxed onto the elbow of his right side - he looked natural, and he knew it. He’d been here a thousand times.

“Ghosted?”

“Oh, yeah. Guess I must have hit up a whole haunted house, this is the third time in - doesn’t matter,” she sighed, finally giving him a look. It seemed to change her mind about something, and Tim enjoyed that. He straightened his spine and cocked a brow.

“No way,” he said with an exaggerated look of surprise on his features. “Damn, they don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

“Yeah, right. A cocktail of sweet summer fun and a gallon of bad memes,” the woman half-laughed, half-grunted. She had a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Does that cocktail have a name? I’m Tim, by the way. Short for Timothy. And you can call me whatever you’d like.”

She examined him, and Tim knew she was trying hard to make up her mind about him. He was putting up a good pose, a relaxed, cocky head tilt, letting the soft bump of his lower belly press up against the loose shirt over his otherwise long frame. His fingers, littered with freckles this time of the year like the clothes of a spray painter were marked with collateral, headed for the sharp bumps of his collarbones. His shirt, between hot pink and a shade of fleshy purple, didn’t quite match the way hers hung over her shoulders, but left little to imagination as it was.

“Alice,” she said hesitantly, grinning, “Tell me, what’s a snack like you doing here all alone?”

“Same as you, looks like,” Tim chuckled and gave it a defeated half-shrug. “I was gonna meet someone but they didn’t turn up, and now I’m washing away the pain with piña colada and regret.”

“So it’s just us, then,” Alice noted.

“Snacks and cocktails with no buyers in sight. Seems like,” Tim confirmed.

“Waste of my money, really,” Alice pointed out. “Since I didn’t come here to pay for my own drinks.”

“Funny, because neither did I.”

“Oh, damnit. I was hoping for a Prince Charming.”

“Sorry, turns out I’m a princess, too. But you should have got that by now, since we’re both stuck in this tower.”

She had a nice laugh - the kind of a bitter, sarcastic laugh that Tim knew he’d enjoy listening over a drunken conversation late at night. It wasn’t late, though; barely seven in the evening. He’d have to put in at least some effort to make it stretch further, for science of course, to see if he’d really enjoy it when he was too far off his mind to worry about tomorrow.

“You know what?” Alice said then, breaking Tim out of his early plans.

“No, you’ll have to tell me first.”

“I think you and I,” she carried on, evidently ignoring his quip, “should get the hell out of here and go somewhere much cheaper.”

“Like where?”

“My place? I’ve got some really good movies I’ve been planning to watch.”

Tim snorted. “Wait, are you calling me in for a Netflix and chill?”

Alice let out a raspberrying sigh. “Nah, mate, I’m calling you in for Netflix and beer. It’s the best I’ve got but it’s already paid for and besides, I’m going to look awfully sad if I get to all of that on my own later when I’m already drunk.”

Tim chuckled. “Sold,” he said, then emptied the rest of his drink without really tasting it. “Two heartbroken princesses and a movie night. Who needs a man anyway?”

“Not me,” Alice confirmed, wiped her hands on a napkin and stood up. “I’m done with dating apps for at least another month.”

[kriegertops]

This is a very long one:

I was going down a tumblr rabbit hole and came across and old Binoe page that had A LOT of Krashlyn content from 2019-late 2022. And I came away with a few observations:

1) Ali and Ash were deeply in love. The pics, videos, events, comments to each other, just their sheer history together is overwhelming, and they looked happy, affectionate and just in sync thruout. This idea that Ash was in an unhappy marriage is ridiculous. Bc nothing she ever posted indicated anything close to that.

2) The early Sloane months were adorable, and their captured family moments were so cute and loving. They absolutely doted on that child. She was the center of their world, and they documented so much of her cuteness, and it reminded me of how fun Ash was during this time, and I *briefly* remembered why I liked her back then.

3) I hadn’t realized that makeup artist Alex had been with them for so long- I thought she was new once they got to NY. But no- she was there on their wedding day and before. Also, forgot how close both A’s were to all the Gotham girls when they first got to the team, and how tight Midge was with the whole family.

4) I was reminded of how much soccer connected them, and how it dominated their lives.

I eventually had to stop scrolling bc I got sad seeing how they used to be.

So what in the heck happened?

1) I think Ash was not at all prepared for retirement. She didn’t really line anything up that would be sustainable employment, and not having that identity as an athlete was overwhelming. I’m guessing she had some mild/severe bouts of depression, and despite having an adorable family, she realized it wasn’t fulfilling her. That probably led her to be mean and resentful of Ali, which progressed into outright anger, and bc she’s at her core a narcissist, she blamed Ali for her own sorry situation.

2) there’s been so much talk of, how did Ali not know things were so bad? Well, after all those YEARS together, Ali probably assumed they would work it out. Even after ash moved out, she might have still had visions of repairing her family. Trust me, no mom willing concedes 50% of their time with their kids without a hard core fight. I think Ali was willing to do the work- she just couldn’t give it everything bc she was trying to f’ing retire.

3) those women had a TIGHT group of friends. For years, very formative years. Megan loved Ash. They were effusive abt their friendship. Reliving all their posts back and forth again signified how telling it is that almost NONE of their friend group publicly supported ash. National teammates, club teammates, outside soccer friends (makeup Alex), preschool families- they all gave her the heisman. They didn’t engage in SM, didn’t post pics, really just dumped her like a bad habit. Divorces happen in friend groups- it can be kinda awkward, but they’re grown adults who can make their own choices. And they all very clearly chose a side. And you wouldn’t do that as a friend unless what you saw was behavior so egregious and abhorrent that you couldn’t in good faith support it. And that’s exactly what happened. Ash recently posted something abt friends who chose her over optics, clearly indicating anger at those old friends. Her and Pinoe were at the same event this week, yet no public pics or any indication they interacted. I’m assuming they did, but in the past we’d see evidence of it. She goes on and on abt her new friend group, but it has to hurt a lot that she lost her old tribe. And people that know both her and Sophia- like a Glennon or Foudy, have given the couple no play at all.

4) While I have absolutely ZERO empathy for Ash, I do think she’s gotten herself into a situation that has lots of complications and might not end the way she expects. How do two self involved love bombers stay together once the newness wears off and they are in the mundane realities of everyday life? Ash has 17+ years left of raising kids. And once the kids are doing events and activities, she won’t be able to bail for a week at a time. And eventually she’s going to need to find work. Courts don’t like parents who don’t pull their weight. I think they got caught up in their infatuation, are bonded over their us vs them mentality right now, and once their feelings come back down to earth, it will be a different reality for them. I don’t really care- I don’t wish them any luck. I just think they have an uphill battle.

And my last musing after all this was about how much deep respect and awe I have for Ali. She was served a complete shit burger in the middle of her retirement season. When she should have been riding high, enjoying her last professional soccer games as a player, she was thrown into the worst chaos a person can be in. I will detest Ashlyn forever for putting her in this situation, and not having the maturity to wait it out with Sophia, and let her former wife have her moment. I think back to that Pinoe game where she and Sophia paraded around and my blood completely boils for Ali. I don’t know what happened between them, but the intentional cruelty and vindictiveness Ash showed is so disgusting, it defies logic. I am so thrilled that Ali has moved on, is thriving and has shed this dead weight from her being. I can’t imagine what she’s gone thru, but to see her unbothered and smiling now is just wonderful. I wish nothing but happy things for her!

Okay, I think that’s it! Thanks for reading my dissertation 🤣

Thank you for this anon!!! I appreciate the time you took to write this cause damn this is long😂🔥 I agree though with your thoughts on the situation and honestly the more we find out the more obvious it becomes that Ashlyn is nothing but a narcissistic cheater and Ali’s a warrior and queen who deserves happiness!

[dbloodmarch]

“When was the last time you had a partner?”

[Cameron Valentine x Damien Bloodmarch]

Word count: 930

Yumetober day 7 prompt (ignore that I haven’t done anything else for yumetober)

My first time sharing my writing, pls be nice to me T-T

It had been a few months since Cameron and Damien’s relationship had become more than just coworkers or friends. It was slow and steady moving but even so, Damien had offered his home to Cameron for those times when he just needed to get away from his family. He never wanted to make Cameron uncomfortable or to seem like he was pushing for things to move quicker but from what the younger man had told him about his family, he didn’t want to sit aside and allow him to struggle in a household that was actively holding him back and hurting him. Cameron wasn’t uncomfortable at all though, more so relieved and grateful that Damien was okay with it and allowed him to stay as long as he needed. Spending more time like this together in such a domestic way only made their bond grow stronger as they learnt about each other in much deeper ways. Even so, there were still things they didn’t know about each other but Cameron had noticed older photos around the house, photos from when Damien was just a bit older Cameron’s age, back when he was married to his late husband. Cameron was curious, nosey, but didn’t ask as to not overstep a boundary. The curiosity still ate at him though, he didn’t have nearly as much experience in relationships and just kind of wanted to know what they were like.

Damien offered Cameron the guest room when he was over but the younger man gave him those faux, sad puppy eyes that tugged at his heart. Of course, he didn’t mind sharing his own bed, he was just trying to make his lover as comfortable as possible and if sharing the bed is what he wanted, he wouldn’t say no.

As the two lay in bed one night, Damien reading a book while Cameron was doing whatever on his phone, the younger broke the silence.

“When was the last time you had a partner?”

He blurted the question out suddenly, stealing Damien’s attention from his book. The older man was surprised but not upset or offended but he did wonder if Cameron was reading something on his phone that made him want to ask. He looked up in thought as he tried to remember exactly before answering, “a few years. I had several partners after but husband passed but obviously, they didn’t last and I just gave up after a while. Why do you ask?” Cameron nods along as Damien responds, “nothing in particular, just curious.” It was understandable, after all, Cameron already mentioned early on that he hadn’t been in a relationship with anyone before.

“What were they like?”

Damien smiled softly, finding his curiosity endearing, “some were good and some were bad. Some breakups were mutual while others were quite dramatic, as relationships are sometimes.” There was simply another silent nod from the younger man. It was silent for a few moments again until Damien spoke again, “is something on your mind?” Cameron had just been staring at the ceiling, clearly lost in thought, he let out a sigh and responded, “it’s stupid… I get worried about not being enough and thinking the other people you’ve been with must have been way better than me.” Damien lay a reassuring hand to his boyfriend’s head, he couldn’t say he blamed him for getting hung up on such things. He did too sometimes.

“Oh, dear… my time with those people have passed and they were a long time ago, I promise you needn’t worry about such things. I prefer to appreciate what I have now instead of focusing on the past.” He runs his fingers through his lovers hair as he gave his answer, twirling the longer strand of ombré red around his finger. “You know, I get similar worries too sometimes.” Cameron turns his head to face Damien, “how so?” Damien mimics his boyfriends movement and shifts so they’re now facing each other.

“Well, I have to work so much, I’m a dad providing for his son on his own so I don’t have much time off to do as I please. So, I worry that you’ll grow bored that we can’t go out as much as opposed to someone younger who’ll have more time to spend with you.” He feels slightly embarrassed to be opening up about this, he thought he’d just keep this to himself until he got over it or, in the worst case, the relationship ended.

There were so many similarities between the two despite the differences in age. It brought a sense of comfort and solidarity whenever they were together.

A smile appears on Cameron’s face, “I don’t think I could ever get bored of you.” The confession was tender and brought a soft blush to Damien’s face. The two shared a look of understanding. They’ve opened up to each other about something they hadn’t discussed before. They’ve learnt something new about each other. There’s no need to say anything else and they quietly but happily return to their previous activities.

As it gets later, they eventually settle down to sleep, only gentle breathing heard amongst the silence. Cameron slowly started shuffling closer to Damien and it brought another smile to the man’s face. He understood Cameron intentions well, he knew his lover was just too shy to ask to cuddle and would just carefully move closer until there wasn’t a single inch between them and they wound up falling asleep in each others arms. Damien was glad Cameron didn’t choose to sleep in the guest room.

Taglist: @carnival-of-love @allpointyears @snowpuffclovers @rivastraut @areggo @v1-kisser @pinepurican ᯓᡣ𐭩

[that-sarcastic-optimist]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Doing this for the first time ever and here we go--

So, a few days ago I say people doing something called wip wednesdays, and that looked fun, so here's mine--

It's a one-shot for my drabble series, and not edited AT ALL, so have your pinches of salt ready.

Is it really fair to have one’s life reduced to seventeen years?

It’s kind of ironic, isn't it, Caroline asks herself, to live, die, live again, and then promptly die once again promptly in the same year?

She’s sixteen, she’s seventeen, and then she’s seventeen forever.

Well, not anymore. She’s dying.

She’s almost dead.

Caroline’s favourite grandmother, her mom’s mother, had early onset Alzheimer’s since she was forty-nine. Caroline remembers visiting her at the old age home, watching her beloved grandmother pinch her cheeks and ask her mother what she and her lovely daughter were doing at a place like this.

She remembers the lucidity. A few precious moments every few months, when her grandmother would remember who she was and Caroline and her mother rushed to the home to spend those few minutes with her, celebrating the fact that she recalled them.

It always felt fake, to Caroline. Something unreal. Another effect of the disease slowly eating away at her grandmother.

Similar to the disease that’s eating away at her. She’s been hallucinating since an hour, plagued by memories, mostly of her grandmother and her parents. The period right now, the one where she’s just lying on her bed, waiting for her hallucinations and the poison from the werewolf bite to just take over her, wating to succumb to the pain because she just can't—

She can't—

That’s her lucidity.

Calling her mom is hopeless. She loves her so much, so blindly, that her mother’s spent the last hour just searching for a cure to werewolf venom, when in fact, there isn't one.

Well, not one that’s going to be given to her anytime soon, anyway.

So Caroline waits. Waits for the poison coursing through her veins to kill her without even trying. Because what's even the damn point, when she can't even have her stupid birthday in peace without dying, again.

And the hallucinations must be reaching a point where she’s nearly dead, because they’re getting more and more vivid, because there’s no way Klaus Mikaelson would be in her room.

She cracks open her eyes.

Oh.

There he is.

He’s standing at her door, looking at her as if she’s—

He doesn’t care. Whatever’s on his face, he just doesn’t care. Live or die, Caroline Forbes, Klaus Mikaelson couldn’t give a flying fuck about you. You're just a pawn in his game, something to be sacrificed. She’s a test subject to make sure the sire bond worked.

She’s nothing. And he agrees.

So she says, “Are you going to kill me?”

She hates that her possible last words sound so resigned. So weak, so pathetic, when she promised herself that at least her death would be prouder than how her life had been.

Caroline Forbes, born 1992, died 2009. She didn’t do anything worth living in those measly seventeen years that she got. Go on, Klaus, rip her head off. It isn't like she can do anything to stop you anyway.

Klaus’s eyebrows pull back, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s actually surprised. “On your birthday?”

It doesn’t shock her that he knows today’s her birthday. He could have known her social security number and she wouldn’t have been surprised. She makes no effort to show him any emotion when he continues, “Do you really think that low of me?”

She could have laughed if it weren't so pathetic. Was he kidding her? She was dying because of him and he had the audacity to ask her if she thought he was a lowlife? There had to be some amount of shame in the man, right?

Clearly not.

“Yes,” she rasps out, not bothering to keep the contempt out of her voice.

[tinydeskwriter]

CINEMA {Chapter II}

A/n:  know that Anne announced her father’s passing on the 23rd, but a little digging on the internet pointed out that Brian passed on the 21st of August of a infection at 86 years old. I don’t thing they would announce it before a funeral and service have already been held due to media and public interest in Harry. Also, quick note that London is 8 hours ahead from LA. word count:2425

CINEMA | Previous Part

TONIGHT IS GOING TO BE THE LONELIEST

The 21st of August was the saddest day of 2021 for Harry. 

Perhaps one of the saddest of his life.

It started early in the morning, on their daily video-call Anne had commented that Grandpa Brian was not doing well—a mixture of his Parkinson’s disease, diabetes and the poor health that plagues old age—that they had better start preparing for the worst.

He was clearly shaken after the call, pensive, if not a little catatonic with the news, grandpa Brian was one of Harry’s people in the world, and after meeting the old man in 2013 it became clear to Y/n where so many of Harry’s’s most endearing personality traits came from. 

Y/n tried to distract him by taking him out of the house, ‘enjoy the last days of summer’ she told him. They went to the beach in Malibu and enjoyed iced tea from their favorite little coffee shop sunbathing on the golden sand, her head on his lap as they talked about their next few months and plans to visit each other while his tour was on the road, and they had lunch in a nice vegan place. No paparazzi to bother them and they just got recognized on three occasions by Y/n’s far more controlled fans.   

It was shortly after they got back to the house that Harry received Anne's second call that day to inform him that grandpa had passed away a few moments before.

Apart from all the grief, the saddest part was that Harry wouldn’t be able to attend the funeral to pay his respects and say a last goodbye to his beloved grandfather. 

Y/n’s heart broke for him.

There is something truly heartbreaking about seen someone so full of life and love, so sad and grief stricken. His grandfather may have been frail for a while now, but nothing never truly prepares you to lose someone you love so much. 

Harry and Y/n have been at each others side through some amount of grief and loss over the years. Harry had been with her when she lost her grandmother in 2013, and again in 2018 when her beloved grandfather passed away—the only family members she had been close to, with her parents to busy with their careers, and older half-siblings that didn’t care much for her—, and she had being with him after Robin’s passing in 2017, getting in the first flight back home from Canada just to be by his side as they buried his stepfather. 

Due to COVID health guidelines it was impossible for Harry to attend the funeral, even if they waited the maximum period for the burial and religious ceremonies it would still not be enough time.

Y/n stood by his side, hands intertwine with his, as he talks to his mom and sister.

“They’re burying him tomorrow afternoon, there is no real reason to wait longer.” He tells her as he ends the call. “I will be attending the service through Zoom.” He says with a humorless laugh.

Y/n’s heart sinks as she sees Harry’s red, teary eyes.

“Oh, my Love…” She wrapped him in her arms, allowing him to mourn.

He remains in her arms for a while before pulling away kissing her forehead, their hands still intertwined.

“I need to call Jeff and the rest of my family.” he says sniffling, her thumb caressing the back of his hand.

His eyes dart out to where they're intertwined. Her elegant, small, pale hand intertwined with his larger, tanned hand.

“Do you want me to call someone?” She asks in an almost whisper.

His eyes return to her face.

“Can you call Mitch and Sarah, please? Let them know…” He asks looking her in the eyes. 

“Of course my love.” Y/n she agrees, nodding her head. “I will text Luis, ask him to bring mourning clothes for you from the rental.”

Harry looks at her gratefully and remains silent for a moment.

“I do not want to be alone.” He confesses after a while.

“I am here.” She assures him, her free hand travels to the back his neck and Harry lowers his head, touching his forehead to hers. “I will always be here.” She promises.

He agrees, kissing her forehead again and excusing himself to go make phone calls.

Y/n walked through the familiar long halls of her house, her office was right next to the music room, a space that did double duty as an office and library—she knew Harry was probably in backyard—two of the walls had floor-to-ceiling shelves with all the books Y/n had ever read, and the collection he had inherited from his grandparents, a Guglielmo Ulrich desk occupied almost all the space in front of the huge window overlooking the side garden, an Urban Outfitters desk chair and G. Zema's Anemone armchairs being the only places available to sit in the room. 

The actress closes the door behind her with her cell phone and address book. Before anything else, she orders flowers to be sent to Anne with a condolence note, and a wreath from the same flower shop in London that she had used years ago for her grandfather's funeral—the owner of the business was a discreet lady.

She sent a text message to Luis asking him to bring Harry mourning clothes, explaining that his grandpa Brian had passed away. 

Harry never really did well alone, he always needed to be surrounded by friends, so Y/n spends the next few hours talking to Mitch, James, and Glenne, inviting them to come for Harry’s grandfather’s service, she texts Gemma asking for as many photos of Harry with his grandfather as she can get, and order flowers to be brought to her house the next day. If Harry can’t go to his grandfather service, she intended to do something nice for him so he would be able to say goodbye.

Her Love deserved no less.

Y/n only realizes the late hour when Luis shows up at the house with Harry's clothes and a Nobu bag.  

“I figured dinner would be the last thing on your minds.” Says Luis as he passed everything to Y/n's hands and greets her with a kiss on the cheek. “Got H’s favorite.” 

“Thank you so much baby, I didn’t even notice the time.” The young woman smiles at him.

“How is H?” The assistant asks a little worried not seeing his boss anywhere around.

“The last time I saw him he was still on the phone talking to his family.” She says placing the suit bag on an armchair in the living room and carrying the bag of food into the kitchen, leaving it on the island. “Are you coming tomorrow?” She asked in a lower voice.

“Of course, totally.” The man nods, “Do you need me to bring anything?”

“I have everything under control, just show up for brunch.”

“Alright, Y/n/n, I need to get going, but text me if you guys need anything.” Luis squeezed her shoulder in farewell. “Hug H for me, will you?”

Y/n escorts Luis to the door and then goes looking for Harry around the house.

The first thing that struck her when she walked into the music room was the unmistakable smell of tequila and whiskey through the room. The second thing that struck me was the music. Harry was playing some messy, off-key blues that was both making her sad and also making her ears metaphorically bleed. He didn’t even notice Y/n ’s her presence until she was almost in front of him.

“Lovie!” He smiles drowsily, abandoning the piano keys to turn to her. 

Y/n's heart tightens in her chest as she takes in the sweaty hair and bloodshot eyes, there were tear marks on his face and Y/n just knew he had been crying. 

“Oh My Love! How long have you been here?” She eyes at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey, and the uncapped bottle of tequila.

“I love you, babe.” Harry said against the fabric of her clothing. “You are the fucking love of my existence.”

“I love you too H.” She lifted his face to look him in the eye. “You are the other half of my soul.” She says making him give a drunken smile.

“Why did we broke up?” He asks, his drunken smile suddenly gone.

Y/n sighs, feeling a little drained at the thought of having that conversation with a Drunk Harry.

Why did they broke up? 

He had broken up with her, it would be a better way to say, she had just accepted his choice so she could keep him in her life. They’re too young too be so serious about each other, was his reasoning.

“H, let’s go to bed.” Is what she chooses to says, there was no point talking about their past with him so drunk.

“Promise you won’t leave.”He demands.

“Never in a million years.”

****

Harry woke up alone in their bed—since when their bed became a synonymous for her bed—to the smell of fresh tea and sunlight streaming into the bedroom. His cellphone was charging on the bedside table along with a few tablets for his hangover—he smiled at that—he only had a few unread messages of condolences from other family members and some more close family friends, who are probably informed by either his mom, Jeff or Y/N.

He gets up stretching his back, deeply regretting having opened the drinks cabinet the night before. He showered and changed into the clothes left for him on an armchair—a Gucci double breasted black suit—.

The ‘Watermelon Sugar’ crooner found Y/n in the kitchen, in front of her custom sage green Aga Stove—after buying her dream mid-century house in LA, the model turn actress decided to renovate her entire kitchen and made it more ‘English’, it was the only thing she did really change at the house—in a black 'The Vampire's Wife' dress, he recognized because Olivia had the same dress in another print, Y/n had an apron on, protecting her clothes from anything that might fall on her, Dorothea, her cook, was nowhere in sight, Rebekah and Luis were sitting on stools by the island, both with their iPads in hand and coffee mugs in front of them.

Luis was the first to notice Harry in the kitchen entrance, getting up and offering his condolences to his boss on his grandfather’s passing, followed by Bekah.

Y/n takes the fry pan off the stove, spreading the vegan sausages and beacon onto a platter, before taking of her apron and going around the island, opening her arms to hug Harry.

“What’s this?” He asks, noticing for the first time what looks to be a full English breakfast spread arranged in porcelain plates around the kitchen island.

“This is comfort brunch… for you.” She says with a small smile, feeling a little silly with Harry looking at her so intensely and the two PA’s watching their interaction. “I want you to feel loved during your grieving moment, so…” Harry cut her off with a peck, cupping her face in his hands.

“Thank you, Lovie.” He thanked her with sincere honesty, hugging her.

“Why?” Y/n she looked at him confused.  

Harry just smiled. That was just something so very Y/n to do…to do something just so caring and gentle, and just not seeing that it wasn’t simply what ‘anyone else would do’.

“Simply by being you.” His green eyes traveled across her face.

“Babes, why don’t you take H to the backyard?” Bekah interrupts them. “Luis and I will take the food.” Y/n gives them both a grateful smile taking Harry’s hand in hers and leads him to the backyard.

There’s an energy of intimacy that you wouldn’t tell they’re anything other than a couple, it was something in the way he followed her with blind trust, his eyes on her the entire time, or how her head was leaning slightly on his shoulder and she had his hand between hers. And to any of the thirty people in the backyard, they looked like some sort of beautiful quirky couple straight out of a Tim Burton movie.

His eyes are still following her across the lawn when they are separated by friends who wish to greet Harry and offer their condolences on his grandfather's passing.

Harry felt loved with so many of his friends showing up to support him. His whole band was there, James with his family, the Azoffs and the Gerbers, Tom and Jenny, Tyler, Jeff, Molly, even Nick and Lily, Niall showing up had been a surprise, but that was Niall.

Olivia was an unexpected presence, as they were in an awkward place in their relationship, she stayed close to James, Julia, Nick and Lily as he greeted them, Harry wasn't sure who had warned her, if it had been Jeff or James—he was pretty sure Y/n wouldn't have been, the two hadn't even said hello. 

Of his close and dear friends, those not in attendance made themselves present with flowers and heartfelt messages. He was admiring the arrangements with Glenne and Jeff when he noticed what appeared to be papers hanging by ribbons from the English oak that Y/n had been given by a director years ago.

His band were admiring whatever it was with smiles on their faces. Harry's eyes again turned to the other side of the pool where Y/n was talking to Kaia.

“She organized everything yesterday.” Harry turned to Glenne who was looking in the same direction as him.  “Have you seen the tree yet?” 

“What are those hanging things?” He asked with some curiosity, heading towards the tree without even realizing it, Glenne beside him.  

It was only when he was close enough that he realized they were photographs, most of him and his grandfather, some of the whole family, framed and hung from the tree with colorful ribbons. He glanced briefly at where Y/n stood before his gaze returned to Glenne. 

“She texted Gemma yesterday, spent a few hours printing everything out, and this morning while you were sleeping, Jeff and I helped her frame and hang it up.”

They were interrupted by Y/n advising everyone to take a seat in front of the big screen that the service was about to begin, and they would be reunited virtually with the rest of Harry's family.  For a second their eyes met, Harry smiled despite the moment, 'Thank you' he said mutely, to which she smiled back at him.

{next| coming soon}

Taglist: @slutforcoffein ; @lilsiz ; @pandxthings ;

@ameerakane20 ; @angywritesstuff ; @dzastinocha

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

E Rated Fics Masterlist (13)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 /

Created: November 15th, 2023

Last Checked:-----

Magnum Opus-DistrictZero (MythicallySnappy) (ao3) Summary: “Sometimes,” I say with a fortifying breath, “I wish you’d let me show you— what it feels like to be loved.”

Make Me-LemonLuvGirl (ao3) Summary: In which Katniss goes to her favorite bar to play pool and things go suddenly awry. I wrote this story in response to a request for a drabble featuring “Come over here and make me” + Everlark.

Making Up Lost Time-glintwarsgreatest (ao3) Summary: From the "Need" universe. Peeta shows Katniss the effect she has as they make up for lost time.

Masquerade-purple_cube (ao3) Summary: "I just want to see what it’s like to be completely anonymous, if only for a few hours."

Maybe This Summer-hutchabelle (ao3) Summary: Katniss Everdeen needed a vacation. On a whim, she reserved three months at Panem Resorts in North Carolina. She expected to spend her time recovering from the recent death of her sister, exploring the nearby nature reserve, and reminiscing about happier times. What she didn’t foresee was bumping into Peeta Mellark, one of Panem’s most valued employees, during his early morning run. Neither did she think she’d grow to admire him when she’d hated him from first sight, but his killer smile and gorgeous blue eyes had a way of breaking down the walls she’d built around her heart. Maybe this summer she’ll finally get what she’s always deserved.

Maybe Tomorrow-katnissdoesnotfollowback (ao3) Summary: Written for the 2020 Everlark Fic Exchange to fill the prompt: one night stand everlark sleeping together the same night a terrible snowstorm hits the city and everything gets shut down with no way to get home. Perhaps a two night stand?

Mic Drop-hutchabelle (ao3) Summary: Katniss Everdeen doesn’t share the details of her life with many people—that is until forced onto stage at an open mic night by her friend. Recently divorced and still smarting, Peeta Mellark buys her a drink, and they commiserate and debate the fine art of a real mic drop.

Mine-teetorini (ao3) Summary: She’s used to this by now—strange guests in dark suits showing up at her grandfather’s house at all times of the day. Thugs, her nanny calls them one evening before bed. And they are, most of them, often wandering down the halls with a glint of ill intent in their eye. “You stay in your room when they’re here. Do you understand?” her nanny asks, tucking away the last of Katniss’s toys in the white chest near her dresser. “Yes, nan.” Except for that night, she doesn’t listen.

Misbehavior-hutchabelle (ao3) Summary: Katniss Everdeen is an accomplished, successful, well-liked science teacher in her West Virginia town. She has a particular way of doing things, and she's pretty sure people who don't follow suit are lacking in some way. Peeta Mellark, the young and newly-hired English teacher, sweeps into town with his charm and new-fangled teaching strategies and pushes every one of Katniss' buttons. They're both professionals, but how are they supposed to just stand by when the other is clearly wrong? A teachers!Everlark story in which hijinks ensue, rules are broken, and Finnick goads them both into misbehavior.

Moonrise-misshoneywell (ao3) Summary: Once a year, the twelfth colony of Panem makes sacrifices to the Clan of Claws. This time, the Lupine prince eagerly awaits their volunteer. In-Panem Fantasy AU.

[hermionegalathynius]

The 2nd time Steve surprised you.

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Warnings: talk of family issues on Steve’s part.

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” You asked Robin as you kept her company while she scooped ice cream. 

  After the chaos six months ago through which Dustin’s friend Eleven closed the gaping hole in the material of the universe, you and Steve Harrington actually managed to become friends. Through babysitting Dustin and his gang of troublemakers, you began to see a lot more of the guy. At school, it seemed he had lost his ‘King Steve’ title, as well as most of his friends after his break-up with Nancy. While you had a few friends at school due to band, you mostly kept to yourself during the day, but this changed as Steve (not wanting to remain seated next to Nancy in certain classes) moved next to you. According to the boy in question, he had just asked those teachers to move him and they had coincidentally placed him next to you in every. Single. Class. 

  Not that you were complaining. When he was away from his asshole friends, Steve Harrington was a decent guy and actually pretty funny. It came as a surprise to the both of you, but conversation became really easy, and time flew by when you were together. Eventually you developed a routine where the two of you would go get Benny’s Burgers whenever you’d had to drop the kiddies off somewhere. The tradition started during the Winter Ball when Dustin had insisted Steve tag along to drop him off for emotional support. The older boy had actually come early to help your brother with his hair and show him how to style it. The image of the two of them fussing over Dustin’s untameable curls definitely shouldn’t have made your heart melt the way it did. 

  After Dustin had clambered out Steve’s BMW, you and him had decided to stop by Benny’s to get dinner while you waited for the agreed-upon time at which you needed to pick Dustin up. It was the first time you were actually spending time alone with Steve since the demodogs, and it was… nice. 

  Then, summer had arrived. You and Steve were officially graduated. While you planned to use the summer holidays as a time to rest before you moved up to Indianapolis to work in a theatre orchestra for a year, Steve’s dad made him get a job. The boy had spent a good hour sitting in the car outside Benny’s, ranting to you about how much the man infuriated him. You sympathised, expressing your own disapproval of his father’s actions and attitude towards Steve. As far as you were concerned, the man clearly didn’t know his son very well, because if he could just see the wonderful man he was growing up to be, maybe he wouldn’t be so harsh on him. 

  One of the biggest shocks that came over the summer, was Steve working alongside Robin at Scoops Ahoy. When the boy had called you halfway through his first week on the job and begged you to come save him from his mean coworker, you had been delightfully surprised to find out that his ‘mean coworker’ was in fact your friend Robin Buckley from high school band. 

  To Steve’s dismay, he ended up having to share you with Robin, who he was liking less and less now that she had you on her side. 

  That’s why, when Dustin came home from camp, he jumped at the opportunity to help the kid translate a Russian code in the back room. 

  “From what I can hear,” said Robin, replying to your question, “they are trying to decipher a secret Russian communication your strange brother intercepted on his mega-radio.”

  You had literally left the store for twenty minutes to drive Max and Eleven to Starcourt mall after the two girls had called begging you to take them. Twenty minutes, and the two boys were already looking for trouble. 

   “Russian communication?!” 

  Your friend shrugged, holding up her hand and placing her forefinger and thumb half an inch apart, “Honestly, I’m this close to marching in there and insisting I help them just so Steve will come out and switch with me.”

  Your huffed a laugh, “If you do, I’ll come with you. I don’t need to witness another one of Steve’s failed attempts at flirting with the customers.”

  Robin groaned suddenly as Lucas’s sister and her group of My Little Pony fanatics entered the store. 

  “Not again,” she muttered. 

  You winced and gave her a pat on the shoulder, “Want me to hurl Steve up here so he can deal with it?”

  She shook her head, “Nah, I’ll push through. This is my last customer for the morning though. After, you and I are gonna go help your strange brother translate his Russian code and dumbass can sling ice cream.”

  With a grin, you hopped up onto the small surface behind the counter and leant back on your hands as Robin dealt with Erica’s relentless ‘tasting’. 

  After fifteen, excruciating minutes, the gaggle of girls finally left and you and Robin were free to go into the break room. 

  “Alright, babysitting time is over, you need to get in there,” Robin stated, pushing through the door, you trailing behind her with a smirk aimed at Steve that said ‘you’re in for it now, sucker’. 

  “Hey, my board! That was important data shitbirds!” the blonde yelled, whirling on the two boys. 

  You eyes snapped to the whiteboard hanging on the wall, and sure enough, instead of the usual shipment dates and stock numbers, the Russian alphabet was written out in bright red marker with its English counterparts labelled in black. Your smirk widened and you raised your brows at Steve who was halfway through popping a piece of banana in his mouth. His eyes widened innocently and you rolled yours. 

  “I can guarantee you, what we’re doing is way more important than your data,” Dustin replied. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you should be impressed or afraid for your little brother at his adamant cheek towards your significantly scary friend. 

  “Oh yeah?” Robin challenged, walking to stand opposite the table to Dustin and Steve. Ever the loyal friend, you moved to stand beside her, crossing your arms. 

  “Yeah,” Dustin said, keeping his ground. 

  You sighed, “And how do you know these Russians are up to no good anyway?”

  The boys froze — Steve still had a mouth full of banana when Dustin demanded in a lowered tone, “How do they know about the Russians?”

  “I don’ know!” the older boy protested around the banana.

  “Did you tell them about the Russians?”

  “It wasn’t me!”

  “Hello, we can hear you!” Robin exclaimed, clearly becoming pissed off. In all honesty, you were too. Sure, you’re brother was a little science genius, but you had taught him almost everything he knew — except for all of the stuff Mr Clark had taught him. He got his passion for science from the same gene pool you did. It was about time Dustin started acknowledging your superior level of intellect as the older sibling. 

  “Actually, we can hear everything you’re saying,” you added in, “You’re both extremely loud.”

  “You think you have evil Russians plotting against our country on tape and you’re trying to translate but you haven’t figured out a single word because you didn’t realise the Russians use an entirely different alphabet than we do,” Robin continued. 

  You both watched as they looked at each other in defeat, clearly beat. Steve was refusing to meet your eyes. 

  “Sound about right?” she finished. 

  Thinking on your feet, you lurched forward, making a grab for the tape lying on the table. Steve — realising your aim — was too fast for you and grabbed the tape out from under your fingertips. 

  “Woah, woah! What are you doing?” he yelled, hugging the tape to his chest. You glared at him, blowing a flyaway strand of hair from your eyes. 

  “We want to hear it.”

  “Why?” The boys asked in unison. 

  “Because maybe we can help,” Robin said, shrugging. 

  “She’s fluent in four languages,” you pointed out, pinning your brother and your best friend with a stare. 

  Dustin perked up, “Russian?” he asked.

  “Ouyay aryay umbraday,” Robin recited. You stifled a laugh, knowing she just called Dustin dumb in pig latin. 

  “Oh ho ho ho!” Steve exclaimed. 

  “Holy shit!” said Dustin. 

  “That was pig latin, dingus,” Robin told them. 

  Steve smacked Dustin’s arm, “Idiot.”

  You rolled you eyes again. 

  “But,” Robin continued, sliding into a seat, “I can speak Spanish, and French and Italian.”

  “And we’ve both been in band for twelve years,” you added.

  “Yeah, our ears are little geniuses, trust me,” Robin finished, “What do you say?”

  She directed the last question at Steve. He laughed dryly, beginning to shake his head. 

  “Come on! It’s your turn to sling ice cream, my turn to translate! I don’t even want credit I’m just bored!” she complained, torso resting on the table too dramatically. 

  You looked at Steve and found him watching you, an expression of defeat on his face. You grinned, knowing he was about to give in. 

  “Fine,” he said, “But only if Y/n comes with to keep me company.”

  “What? No! I want to help too!” you exclaimed. 

  “Deal,” Robin said, and Steve handed her the tape. 

  You whirled a betrayed expression on Robin, “Traitor!”

  She smiled apologetically, “Sorry, kid. It’s like I told them. I’m bored.”

  You sighed, and accepted Steve’s hand to drag you back out into the store. 

  “I don’t know why you’re complaining,” he whined, “You’re my best friend.”

  Deciding to just grin and bare it, you bumped your hip against his as he grabbed a scooper, “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

  He pouted, “I’ve barely seen you this summer even though you’ve been right in the store with me.”

  Your heart warmed at his words as you jumped back onto the counter again, “You been missing me, Harrington?”

  His cheeks flushed as he leant against the counter next to you, “I…” he sighed, taking off his sailor hat and running a hand through his hair, “Every night I go home to my jackass father telling me how disappointed he is in me and explaining why I’m a terrible son. It’s been like that for as long as I can remember, and until a few months ago I had nothing to help me cope. Then I met you, and we became friends, and suddenly I could look forward to seeing you everyday.”

  You weren’t sure you were breathing. 

  “I know I don’t say it enough, but I need you. And I miss you even if you’ve only been gone five minutes.”

  “Steve,” you breathed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”

  He shrugged, finally meeting your gaze with a shaky smile, “It’s not your fault.”

  “You have to know I need you too, right?” You said, leaning against him and resting your head on his shoulder, “I’m generally someone who likes her own company, but with you I never feel like I have to back away for a moment and take a breather. Back in high school I was always a little tense in the mornings because I knew I would have to interact with people I’m not comfortable around, but then I’d get to my locker and see you standing there and suddenly I could relax.”

  Something in your chest was aching as you spoke, and the truth behind your words brought a surge of affection for the boy next to you that definitely exceeded the boundaries of friendship. 

  The two of you sat like that in comfortable silence for a moment. At some point during your confession, Steve had tilted his own head to rest on yours as his hands fiddled mindlessly with his scooper. 

  Then two familiar girls walked into the store, giggling like the children they were and you frowned.

  “Is El even allowed here? I didn’t check before I drove the two of them…” you mused.

  “Either way,” Steve said, pushing off the counter, “That’s my cue to do my job.”

[deconstructed-paradise]

Mom? I’m coming in whether you want me to or not. We need to talk.

I think we— what are you doing. [Full name redacted], get out of here right this instant.

Or what. Or what, mother? You’ll be mean to me again? 

Why the hell did you bring your girlfriend here, I told you not to do that!

Well, maybe she’s my emotional support girlfriend, did you ever think of that?

Could you have picked a single worse candidate. Are you trying to piss me off? Is that what you want?

She’s trying to stay safe.

Tch. Not like I’m the threat here. What do you want.

I want you to talk to me.

You want to be yelled at and condescended to? Please, and here I thought you were done being a child.

The past few days, you just— did I say something wrong? I thought we were okay, and now it’s nothing but you shutting me out from the other side of the door! I’m sick ofit, mother, I finally thought maybe you were changing, and now you’re— and now— You can’t just do this to me all over again, you said you were getting better!

I am, I— what am I doing wrong this time, it’s never good enough for you!

There! Right there, you’re acting like it’s my fault! Why, why do you keep pushing me away like I'm not worthy of your love anymore? 

Because I can’t do this to you.

Can’t do what, mother?

I can’t. Hurt you. Again.

Well, that’s not your choice to make. It’s mine.

You. You put my daughter up to this, didn’t you?

No. I think she should have cut you off long ago.

Wh— what do you mean, you— then why—

Because that’s what people do for each other. When they actually give a shit. I will be blunt: I don’t like you. And I don’t think you’re going to get better. I think this is a waste of time. But what [name redacted] does isn’t mine to control, and I promised to support her. I’m not going to treat her like you did.

If you ever do, I’ll kill you.

Mom— mom, [name redacted], please. Stop fighting.Mom, please. You— you’re acting like. Like nothing I ever do is good enough to deserve your love or attention, so you tell me to go away. Please, just tell me why. I deserve that.

…[name redacted,] please go out into the hall. Just for a minute. I promise not to yell or be mean, all right?

Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight…

[Name redacted]. Sweetheart. I… you know your mother isn’t well, don’t you? Your little friend… can’t cure everything. That’s why I’m still here. You remember how I told you, when women reach a certain age, they start bleeding from here and having mood swings once a month, right?

Wait, what? That happened when I was seven, though. I was so freaked out, I thought I was dying.

You were an early bloomer. A little too early, so we had to put you on some medication to delay it. I… meant to take you off of it when you were of age for your body to just… resume puberty normally. I was going to explain it to you, as well. But then. Well. Things changed. I changed But I suppose you left at the right time. It tends to happen to girls when they’re a few years older than seven.

…right. So it wasn’t a coincidence. That my body started changing all at once after I left. My old clothes don’t even fit anymore.

A-anyways. You understand that things… outside of your control, can periodically impact your mood, right?

Yes, I’m not stupid—

That’s what’s happening to me. It’s— I can see clearly one day, and then the next I feel obsessive and I try to do something idiotic like stand up and forget how to bend my knees. I wanted to spare you from the worst of that. You’ve already seen such awful sides of me, hon, I didn’t want to subject you to that.

That’s not your choice anymore!

You’re still a child. Maybe… maybe I did make too many choices on your behalf. I just didn’t want you to see the worst of me.

I already did see the worst of you. I saw it two years ago. That’s why I decided to leave, too. I wondered when you’d get sick of me and decide to just… lock me away in the ice forever.

You two done?

No. And you can fuck right off, because— oh, fine. Skies above, why are you treating me like I'm the threat when I can’t even stand? You’ve already got that on your side, you don’t need numbers. You could poison my IV drip and I’d be unable to stop you; this is just overkill.

…I’m not going to poison you.

Oh, so it’ll be a good old fashioned beatdown, will it? I’ve still got this lovely souvenir from our last meeting—

WILL BOTH OF YOU STOP IT! Mom, I— I’m going.

I told you not to bring her here. I told you this would happen.

Why does no one listen to me?

[peninkwrites]

Karl and Quackity (don't) Date - Ch 15 of ?

Tubbo is brave, Schlatt is paranoid, and Quackity is fed up with both of them.

[CW: abuse, alcohol, violence, guns]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 14

Mafia AU

~

The progression had been so gradual.  From the earliest days of their relationship, Schlatt only giving him a slap only at the peak of a heated argument, giving backhanded compliments alongside seemingly genuine ones, on bad days withholding affection even when Quackity was so obviously starved for it; to now, where Quackity is not only afraid Schlatt will kill him but has certifiable near misses to back it up, he doesn’t know how that shift had passed by so unnoticed.  Maybe he shouldn’t have been so tolerant in the beginning, like a frog in a pot of boiling water, but it’s too late for that now.

Not to say Schlatt hadn’t figured out ways to hold onto him early on, well before the need for all out death threats.  Over the course of the first six months of their relationship, Schlatt sunk his claws in deep.  He would be sweet and caring and give Quackity the attention he was so starved of; intermittently he’d cut off that attention until Quackity was panicked over what he’d done, desperately vying for affection, which Schlatt would finally give.  Then, Schlatt would threaten to leave him, and Quackity would beg Schlatt to never let go, to sink his teeth in if it would help him hold on tighter, because he was already convinced that he needed Schlatt to survive.  Not just physically, but Quackity needed Schlatt’s touch like he needed water, he needed his praise like he needed air, and he’d found he didn’t need food as much as he thought he did.

Two years on, Quackity was beginning to accept that while he had changed far more than Schlatt had, Schlatt still had a hold on him in more ways than one.

So Quackity goes to the hostage exchange, because why wouldn’t he?  Why would it be a big deal if nothing happened, right?  Fuck, Quackity is praying Schlatt lets this go.  It’s already unnerving that he’s clearly had this shred of paranoia stirring for weeks before now.  What if it’ll remain under the surface until he finds he needs another excuse to fuck him up?

The setup is typical.  Guns watching their backs, Tubbo waiting gloomily to count the cash.  One of the men ringing the room is the same one tasked with following him; Morelli.  He avoids Quackity’s gaze.  A bold choice on Schlatt’s part.  What if Quackity recognized him and connected the dots now?  That, or this is Schlatt’s way of testing how good of a job the guy was doing, staying out of Quackity’s sight.  Quackity is good at pretending not to recognize people.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Schlatt snaps his fingers for them to open the doors.  They don’t.

“No one has showed yet, Boss,” the man standing to the right of the door speaks up, and with the uneasy glances he gives his nearest comrade, he’d been nominated to give the bad news.

“The fuck do you mean no one has showed yet?” Schlatt scoffs.  “Do they think their fucking wife, their fucking mother, their apparent loved one,” he says the word mockingly, “is just feeling all nice and cosy in the cellar?!”

The man knows better than to speak, watching Schlatt with bated breath.

“Fucking hell… fine, fine, I guess we’re killing her then!  Their loss!” Schlatt says it so loudly Tubbo flinches.

“Boss, I mean, shouldn’t we wait for a minute?�� Just to see?” Quackity asks.

“Why the fuck would I do that?  I gave them the time, and if they’re not here, they’re not here–” Schlatt is cut off by the front door being forced open.  “What the fuck is this?!”  He snaps as eight armed men enter, one for each of them.  Considering one of their numbers is a kid, they’re still outnumbered.

“We’re here for Jennifer Bartlet and we’re not leaving without her,” the man at the head of the group calls out as the others aim their guns at Schlatt and his following.

Fuck.  Quackity hates a shoot out.  Why the fuck would these morons waste their hostage fund on mercenaries?!

“Yeah, and I gave you a fuckin’ price tag.” Schlatt laughs, unafraid to the point of suicidality.  If Quackity were a bit more suicidal himself, he’d smack him.  There is a weighted pause wherein no one bends to Schlatt’s whim.  Schlatt seems unperturbed and shrugs.  “Fine.  Kill ‘em, then we kill the hostage.”

Quackity doesn’t know who shot first, but both sides are definitely fucking shooting now.  Quackity is well versed in hitting the ground fast.  He sees Tubbo has done the same, hiding himself behind the stairs.  Quackity sees his ingenious partner has remained on the steps, high up and an obvious target, but he’s not the one firing a gun, so the mercs are more occupied with his dogs.

Quackity thinks he’s coping relatively well.  And he thought he saw Tubbo duck behind the banister, but evidently fucking not anymore since he’s currently standing between Quackity and the barrel of a gun.

“Whoa whoa, stop!” Quackity yanks Tubbo behind him, and they get lucky.  The man hits the ground in a spray of blood from a rogue bullet, dead or alive, he won’t be doing any more damage.

“What the fuck?!” Quackity hisses frantically to Tubbo, pulling him back behind the steps.  “Are you fucking kidding me, Tubbo–?!”  Quackity is distracted by Tubbo grabbing onto his tie and dragging him around the corner into the hall, “whoa whoa whoa, what’re you–” Quackity narrowly missing a bullet piercing the wallpaper above his head.

“We should– We should get the lady out,” Tubbo says, a tremor in his voice but shockingly steady.  He’s let go of Quackity’s tie, trusting him to follow.  “While he’s distracted, we c-can–” Tubbo flinches and ducks when the sound of another gunshot echoes down the hall, but it wasn’t toward them.

“What are you talking about?!” Quackity is almost shouting at him.

“The lady in the basement!” Tubbo snaps.

Quackity laughs, high and frantic.  “Are you fucking kidding me, Tubbo?!  The only leverage against the people currently trying to–” Quackity sees someone turn the corner at the end of the hall and drags Tubbo into the kitchen.  “To kill us?!”

“If we don’t you know he’s gonna kill her!” Tubbo snaps back, rushing to the cellar door.

“If we don’t get the fuck out of here, Tubbo, something is gonna kill us!” Quackity grabs onto Tubbo’s arm, dragging him back.  He desperately tries to think.  Tubbo seems to be doing the same.  Quackity grabs a stool.

“Oh, good idea!” Tubbo grabs one as well, to Quackity’s continued bafflement.

Quackity wedges the legs of the stool between the wall and the door handle, barricading it best he can in the circumstances and spins to the back wall of the kitchen, pulling his beanie down tighter and bottling the urge to throw a fucking fit.  “Okay, okay, we get out the door into the alley and we run for it–”

Quackity is distracted by Tubbo making one stupid decision after another, as he’s taken his barstool and has started trying to bash it against the padlock on the cellar door.  Quite loudly.  “What the fuck are you doing?!” Quackity lunges to grab the stool from him before it can make another thud giving them away.  So far he thinks the gunshots have covered for them, but it’s not going to last if Tubbo keeps it up.

“Me?! What’re you doing?!” Tubbo says fiercely.  Quackity is taken aback.  Tubbo is different.  Tubbo stares up at him, affronted and unyielding, wrenching the stool back from him.  “I’m not leaving when I know what’s going to happen, and neither should you!  At least not until we get her out with us!” He nods back toward the cellar door and gears up for another swing.

Quackity flinches when Tubbo bashes the stool against the lock once more.  It’s scratched the paint, it’s starting to loosen the screws on the latch, there’s no way of them hiding this happening at all now but if they get the fuck out of here, they can blame it on the mercenaries.

Tubbo stops when there’s a dull thud against the kitchen door.  Both of them freeze, staring at the door handle as it rattles.  Rather than freezing up, rather than that meek, rabbit in a headlight panic Quackity expects, to his continued exasperation, Tubbo starts attacking the lock with far more vigor.

“What the fuck is wrong with this door?!” Of fucking course it’s Schlatt’s voice.  He’s a goddamn cockroach.  It’s like he’s allergic to bullets.

Tubbo flinches at the three sharp bangs against the door, but he remains resolutely focused on breaking the lock.  It’s starting to tear away now, the wood is splintering, at the same time, Quackity is the one frozen in the middle of the room as he watches his makeshift door jam rattle ominously against the doorhandle.

“Who’s in there?!  Unless you wanna eat lead, I’d start fucking talking!” Schlatt shouts against the wood.

“I-It’s me!  Schlatt, it’s me!” Quackity doesn’t say Tubbo’s name.  There’s no fucking hiding what they’ve done, but maybe he can shove Tubbo out the back and take the stool so Schlatt thinks he was busting the door down.  Maybe he can even lie and say he was trying to get to the hostage first.  Maybe that will even work and he’s not about to kill himself or, if he’s being optimistic, just sign himself up for some egregious harm.  It won’t fucking work if Tubbo keeps hitting the fucking door.

“Aw, guns too scary for you, sweetheart? I thought you’d stopped being such a pussy,” Schlatt’s patronizing drawl doesn’t sound suspicious, but certainly irritable.  “Open the goddamn door.”

“One sec!  It’s stuck!” Quackity calls back.  He doesn’t even think he’s buying them time, because Schlatt is already trying to ram the door open, but anything to make Schlatt think they weren’t defying him deliberately.

Tubbo pauses once, staring at Quackity, daring him to open that door.  Quackity stares back, daring him to hit the lock again.  Tubbo maintains eye contact with Quackity as with one last hit, the lock finally clatters off the cellar door and Tubbo drops the barstool with it.  He’s opening the door now.  He’s seriously going to try to run downstairs and get that woman out the back door before Schlatt can get his dogs to break the fucking door down, which they’re bound to do any second.

So Quackity does something he hopes Tubbo will eventually forgive him for.  He grabs onto Tubbo by the collar of his shirt and yanks him away from the cellar.

“What’re you doing?!” Tubbo cries out.

Right in time for the other barstool to finally clatter loose and for the door into the kitchen to bang open.  Even then, even as Schlatt enters the room followed by four gunmen, Tubbo is still trying to get to the cellar, Quackity can feel him trying to pull away even as he cannot comprehend what’s possessed him.  Quackity grabs him by the shoulders, shoving him against the fridge.  “Stop trying to act strong!  Stop trying to act strong!”  He shakes him roughly, Tubbo’s eyes widen, stunned, mouth hanging open in wordless fear that Quackity has to ignore.  “You’re just a fucking kid!” Quackity shouts in his face, harsh as he is terrified.  He can deal with Schlatt, he doesn’t know how to cope with Tubbo being unpredictable.

Tubbo doesn’t say a word.  He doesn’t even look as Schlatt sends someone down into the cellar.  He just stares at Quackity, and once more Quackity cannot bury the thought that he needs to teach Tubbo how to have any semblance of a poker face, because right now, that kid’s miserable fucking expression bleeds hurt.  All that fear and confusion as he stares up at him, and it’s so raw Quackity feels like he needs to cut the kid’s heart out before it crushes him.

“You’re a fucking kid,” Quackity snarls again.  It’s all he can do.  And all of his terror on Tubbo’s behalf comes out vicious and cruel, his hands still pressed to Tubbo’s shoulders, refusing to let him move.

Quackity doesn’t know.  He doesn’t know that three days ago, Schlatt had told Tubbo something.  Utterly matter-of-fact, Schlatt had told his son that he’s not allowed to get out of this family alive.  It doesn’t matter when, or even if he turns eighteen, because Tubbo knows too much now.  He’s signed into this family for life and it’s over Schlatt’s dead fucking body that he runs away from this.

That changes things for Tubbo.  All he had been able to hope for was running away the moment he turned eighteen.  In four years time, it will change things even more.

Quackity lets go.  Tubbo doesn’t try to get to the cellar.

“The fuck were you two playing at?” Schlatt cuts in.

Quackity turns back to face him, and Schlatt glances between them.

“My idea, Boss.  Thought it was best we get to her first,” Quackity says dully.  There’s a gunshot in the basement and Quackity flinches.  He doesn’t look back at Tubbo.

“And you kept me locked out why?” Schlatt sneers.

Quackity shrugs and pretends his heart isn’t still pounding in his ears.  “Didn’t react fast enough.  Sorry.”

“I guess I’ll pretend to believe that bullshit, but what gives you the fucking right to go running off making decisions behind my back?  Eh?” Schlatt steps closer, towering over him like always.  “We’ve discussed this, baby!  Your job is to stand there and look pretty while me and the boys do the actual work.  Somehow I seem to find myself tripping over you instead.  When you should definitely know not to get in my way.”

Quackity is already running on too much adrenaline.  “Maybe you shouldn’t start a fucking gun fight without any fucking caution next time!” Quackity shouts in his face and he knows what happens next.  He braces, but it still hurts, Schlatt’s gaudy rings digging into his cheek when the man backhands him hard enough he stumbles.  His cheek stings and he wonders if it was enough to draw blood but he doesn’t reach up to check.  He refuses to react at all.  None of this satisfies the frustration boiling in his chest.

Schlatt tuts him.  “Why the attitude, Quackity?  If you want me to hit you so bad, how about you just ask next time?  Didn’t know you were into that.”

“Come on, Boss.  Lay off.  He’s just… he’s freaked out from the fire fight.  Maybe cut him some slack?”

Quackity looks past Schlatt to Morelli, who had dared to speak, stunned.  Schlatt scowls at Quackity’s expression, before turning back to the man.

Schlatt laughs in his face.  “You’re lucky I don’t cut out your fucking tongue.  You don’t have the fucking right.  Why the hell do you give a shit, eh?  You don’t know him,” Schlatt sneers very deliberately, a warning, daring him to fuck this up.

Morelli has the survival instinct to back down, turning on a dime.  “Sorry, Boss.  Didn’t mean to overstep.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.  Now, if you’d meant to, I’d just fucking kill you.” Schlatt says.  “You know better than to mouth off.”

Morelli just nods.  He does not acknowledge the obvious threat, nor the indignity of a grown man voicing any thought being referred to as mouthing off.

“Get this cleaned up and get out of my sight,” Schlatt waves them off.  He grabs onto Quackity’s arm tightly, dragging him back into the hall.  Quackity doesn’t look back at Tubbo.  He doesn’t want to know what that kid’s face looks like after that woman was shot.  Quackity sees only four dead in the front entryway, a couple of them are theirs, the other two from the mercenaries.  The rest must have decided it wasn’t worth it and fled.  Schlatt stops behind the stairs, cornering him against the wall.

“What was that about, Quackity?” Schlatt finally lets go, staring at him, sharp and accusing.

“I told you, I was just trying to get to her first and the kid followed, I wasn’t trying to keep you out, it just–”

“No, not that– not whatever,” Schlatt waves him off dismissively.  “You don’t think they give a fuck about you, do you?”

Quackity stares up at him, baffled.  “Uh, who?”

“The boys!” Schlatt gestures irritably toward the hall.  “My boys.”  He paces for only a moment before turning back to close in on Quackity.  “You’ve got no idea the shit they say when we’re not in the room.  You think that son of a bitch is any different?  Huh?  He’s acting like a goddamn gentleman right now, but you think he’s not laughing along with all them?” Schlatt says it like an accusation, and Quackity knows his answer matters, but he’s just so startled.  Quackity hadn’t viewed Schlatt as the jealous type until recently.  In the beginning he acted like giving Quackity any attention was a chore, like Quackity being allowed to grace his presence at all was something Quackity had to cling to like a lifeline.  This is certainly not that.  And it sure as hell isn’t better.

“I mean…” Quackity laughs, and has yet to partake in caution.  “How would you know what they’re saying if you’re not there either?”

Schlatt smiles.  “Because sometimes I am there, and I can tell them to shut the fuck up, or I can join in.”  Schlatt reaches out and pinches his cheek.

Quackity’s irritation is finally replaced by hollow disgust, which is exactly what Schlatt had been hoping for he presumes.  Quackity doesn’t want to know.  He does know they’re not all like that.  Schlatt acts like such a fucking know it all, but Quackity knows it means something when they look at him different, like he’s an actual person.  He won’t hold it against them for laughing along when Quackity has done the same thing.

“Right,” Quackity laughs and it sounds strained.  “Is that supposed to make me feel better, Schlatt?  Doesn’t exactly paint you in a very good light, now, does it?”

Schlatt startles him by grabbing onto his shoulders, not too tightly, but unnerving nonetheless.  “You know I’m the only thing standing between you and those animals?” He expects Quackity to look him in the eye, demanding he not merely listen but understand Schlatt’s point.  “You think I’m harsh, or… or demanding–” Schlatt cuts himself off with a brief, wet cough that makes Quackity shut his eyes. “Or whatever it is you bitch about all the goddamn time, do you have any fucking clue how much worse it could be?  I am the only thing keeping them off of you.  They don’t care if you fucking live or die.  I weren’t here?” Schlatt leans in closer, hissing a warning, “they’d be on you like fucking wolves.  You’d be dead by tomorrow.”

Quackity buries a shiver, hitting the wall behind him as he steps just another inch back.  He wants Schlatt to let go, so he nods.  Even if he refuses to believe Schlatt in entirety, it still makes his skin crawl.  It’s bad enough when they agree with Schlatt and just call him cute or stupid.

“Good.  I’m glad you understand,” Schlatt says, and that illusory calm returns.  He brushes out the wrinkles from Quackity’s shirt.  He continues, voice slow and measured and raspy.  “Now, we’re gonna go back in there, and the brat is gonna explain to me why he wanted to bust into the basement so bad.”

Quackity’s heart drops to his stomach.  Schlatt glances over his shoulder as there’s some well-timed shouting from down the hall; Quackity is more distracted by what Schlatt has said.

“Schlatt, that’s not–”

“You’re gonna tell me that’s not what happened?!” Schlatt cuts him off harshly, voice rough and weakened.  “Because it sure as hell wasn’t you, not from the way you were chewing him out.”

“I-It wasn’t– He–” For once Quackity can’t think of a lie fast enough.

This seems to confirm whatever suspicion Schlatt had, as he gives Quackity an almost understanding nod, and heads back toward the kitchen.

Someone else had the same idea as Schlatt.  Tubbo’s title as a mob prince gives him no authority nor apparently protection.  In the brief period out of the room, something must have gone down, because Tubbo is currently hunched over the kitchen sink and two of Schlatt’s dogs seem seconds from a brawl.

“Whoa whoa whoa, the fuck is going on in here?!” Schlatt barks.  “Which one of you fucking rats hit the kid?!”  He glares between the two of them.

Quackity goes to Tubbo, without a word getting him to turn to face him, revealing a bloodied nose still pouring into the sink.  Quackity tilts his head back so he can assess the damage.  Not broken, he doesn’t think, but Quackity sees Tubbo failing to hold back tears.  Quackity turns away from him to wad up some paper towels to stem the flow of blood.  Schlatt waits for an answer.

“Hello?!  Can you two not fucking hear or some shit, I asked who fucking hit my kid?!”

Quackity goes to the freezer to dig up some ice, glancing back at the pair of them.  He doesn’t give a shit what happens to the man responsible.  He’s for once grateful for Schlatt’s rage, because if Schlatt hadn’t started talking, Quackity would’ve gotten himself hurt doing something instead.  Morelli and some prick Quackity doesn’t know the name of stand in silence.  Quackity thinks Morelli isn’t a snitch.  He also doesn’t think the guy is the type to hit kids, hence, they’re waiting for the other man to crack.

“You saw it, Boss!  He must’ve been trying to–”

“Ah, ah ah!” Schlatt silences him with a tut and a raised hand.  There’s a long pause, and Quackity has a feeling the old man is holding his breath to dodge another coughing fit.  It’s easier to hide the other symptoms, the fatigue, even the dizziness, but that cough, that’s harder.  “I didn’t ask you what you fucking thought he did, I asked if you fucking hit him.”

“I…” The man struggles to defend himself.

Schlatt sighs, grumbling half under his breath as he gets out his revolver.

“Hold on!  Hold on a sec!” The man shouts hoarsely, backing up toward the back door.

Schlatt pays him no mind.  He snaps open the cylinder and sighs more loudly.  “Anyone got a bullet?”  A pause.  None of them are going to stop Schlatt, but maybe there’s some semblance of comradery there as no one replies.  “Quackity.  You didn’t shoot, correct?  You ran for it with the kid?” He says snidely.

Quackity nods.  He knows it makes him look weak, to immediately act as if on Schlatt’s side after the man hit him and dragged him out for a lecture, but he doesn’t give a shit.  He’s on Tubbo’s side, not Schlatt’s.  He unholsters his own revolver and feels a hand hold on tightly to his arm.

“Big Q,” Tubbo says, voice thick and muddled.

Quackity doesn’t respond.  He hands Schlatt his gun.

“Big Q,” Tubbo says again, and Quackity knows he sounds horrified behind the blood in his nose.

“I– He disobeyed you!  It was the kid!  He was the one trying to get downstairs!  Come on, Boss, wouldn’t you have done the same fucking thing-?” The man falls silent, holding out his hands as if to stop a bullet that way and flinching back as the gun goes off.  A bullet is embedded in the cabinet to the man’s left.

“Apologize.”  Schlatt says coolly.

“I’m sorry!  I– I wasn’t tryna go behind your back–”

“Not to me.” Schlatt cuts him off.

Despite the gun on him, the man still grimaces at the thought of being made to apologize to a child.  “Sorry, kid.”

“It’s fine!” Tubbo says, voice strained and high.

“See?  Was that so hard?” Schlatt sneers.  “Are we all clear, here?  Crystal?  None of you get to hit him.  None of you.”

One of the few good things to say about Schlatt is he never flat out hits Tubbo.  If Quackity thinks about it, the most he thinks he’s ever seen him do was throw something near him or shove him or hold on too tight.  For a brief, wild moment Quackity thinks that’s better.  He knows that’s ridiculous.  Harm is harm.  Schlatt is still a hypocrite.

Schlatt waits until there are a few nods of ascent before proceeding.  “Good.”  He glances back at Tubbo, and then again to the man responsible.  “Somebody break his nose.”  No one moves.  “Am I speaking fucking French?  Can you not hear all the sudden?  You, you already gave it your best shot, eh?  Try again,” he gestures with the gun for Morelli to hit him.

Morelli winces, but he does as he’s told.  Quackity sees Tubbo turn back to face the sink when there’s an awful crunch, and the man hits the ground, sniveling like a coward.  Tubbo’s nose isn’t actually broken, but he still took a punch better than this prick.  Tubbo meets Quackity’s gaze and quickly looks away, but from that glance, Quackity knows Tubbo is upset with him.  Quackity doesn’t fucking care.  He does care, but nowhere near enough to regret it.  He didn’t sign up for this shit, but he’s in it now.  Has been for years.  He keeps Tubbo safe.  From Schlatt and all else.  Quackity is startled when Schlatt turns and offers his gun back to him.  Quackity is quick to holster it, relieved that he hadn’t shot the guy if only because Tubbo would’ve taken it personally.

“Come on.  While these fuckin’ morons clean up, I want a drink.”  He nods Quackity to the door.

~

Schlatt has his drink.  Then another, then another.  Then another.  Unsurprisingly, that’s how the evening goes.  When Quackity finally drags him back upstairs, he’s all but dead weight.  Quackity thinks he might be trying to sedate the cough out of himself deliberately, but getting fucking wasted does nothing to help with the dizziness, as Quackity well knows from Schlatt leaning away from him before staggering back onto him.

Quackity finally dumps Schlatt onto his side of the bed where the man remains upright, barely.  Quackity takes a pause to catch his breath.  He’d stopped after two drinks when he realized he’d have to drive them home from the speakeasy he’d bullied into hosting them.  Not Niki’s, of course.

Quackity recovers somewhat, and sighs as Schlatt remains sitting there, making no effort to go to bed.  Giving in, Quackity leans down and undoes the laces on Schlatt’s smarmy oxfords.  He feels Schlatt clumsily try and run a hand through his hair and brushes him away, pulling off one shoe as if undressing a toddler.

“That fuckin’ kid, he’s always been scared as shit.  Freaked out by gunshots before he knew what they were…” Schlatt mutters.

Quackity pauses on the laces of the other, looking up at Schlatt.  “What?”

“The… the kid!  You know the kid,” Schlatt scoffs derisively.

“Tubbo?”

“Yeah, unless we got another one running around I don’t know about,” Schlatt says drolly.  He’s coherent enough to talk, apparently, but he doesn’t do anything to help or stop Quackity from slipping off his other shoe.

Quackity gets up, deigning not to be on the floor for the rest of this ordeal, and reaches out to unclasp Schlatt’s belt.  Schlatt starts trying to undo the buttons on Quackity’s pants.

Quackity smacks his hand away.  “Nope.”

Schlatt moodily returns his hands to his sides.  Another benefit to Schlatt’s growing weariness is he’s quicker to tolerate a firm no.  He’d always grudgingly get there eventually, but Quackity appreciates that it’s less of a fight.

Schlatt resumes his tangent like there was never any pause.  “Y’know, took him three years to say a word, and he skipped right to complete sentences!  Took me by surprise, I was about to call him a dud and have the boys put him in a sack and toss him in the river, y’know? Like a bag of kittens,” Schlatt laughs wetly, Quackity pauses, staring at Schlatt in stunned disgust.  “I’m kidding, Jesus fucking Christ, you think I’d kill my own blood?  Why d’you think I’ve kept him around this long?”

Schlatt meanders back to his original topic, while struggling drunkenly with the buttons of his shirt.  “First… first words were shut the fuck up.  Ha!  Probably heard it from me.  He didn’t say it to me, to be clear, otherwise I’d have smacked him for getting mouthy and then he probably would’ve been mute for another three years.  Made me laugh, though.  Y’know…” Schlatt seems to struggle to think something through, enough so that he has to pause with his shirt buttons to focus on it.  He lets Quackity pick up where he left off.

“I dunno who actually taught him to talk.  Must’ve just picked it up from the boys, I guess.  He had a nanny for the first two years or so, but the turnover rate was so fucking high.  None of ‘em had the guts to stick it out––Actually, one of ‘em tried to take Tubbo with them.  Some… some former military type, an old Captain or some shit and decided he’d rather deal with diapers?” Schlatt scoffs.  “Thought he wouldn’t be a pussy about my business with that kind of history, but nah.  He tried to run for it.  With the brat.  Bastard should’ve drugged him or something, you can’t smuggle out a crying baby!” Schlatt points at him intently, as if he’s offering pertinent advice before once more drifting off, hands slack at his sides.  “That was probably the last one.  Not gonna risk someone stealing my fucking blood.  So, at that point… I dunno.”  

“Wait!” Schlatt snaps his fingers.  “I remember!  I think… I think it was some British pricks, I dunno.  They thought it was funny trying to make him repeat the shit they said, especially after his first words were so fuckin’ ridiculous coming out of that tiny mouth.  They had that kid swearing like a sailor by the time he was three.  And… and they’re responsible for the fucking accent he’s got… back then I had a whole ring of Brits running around with me… probably saw him more than I did...”

“That’s how the kid learned to talk?” Quackity asks, his initial disgust traded for curiosity as he pulls Schlatt’s shirt off of him, leaving him in a white undershirt disturbingly damp with sweat.  “How does he sound like the fucking Queen now?”

“Fuck if I know, sometimes I think he started with the– the saying please and thank you and sorry, sir!” he says each phrase mockingly, “just to… just piss me off…”

“Right,” Quackity says dully, tossing the shirt to the floor and moving to leave.

“It’s his birthday soon, you know,” Schlatt actually puts a hand on Quackity’s arm to stop him, as if what he’s saying is important.  “He thinks I don’t know when it is, but it’s… it’s this month.  He’s still my kid, even if I… I didn’t really want a fuckin’ kid, y’know?”

Quackity knows when Schlatt gets into one of these rambling moods there’s no use dissuading him, better to just listen until he talks himself to sleep, but Quackity can’t help it, pulling away from Schlatt and going to the other side of the bed.  “No it isn’t, Schlatt.”

“Huh?”

“His birthday.  It’s not this month.”

“The fuck are you talking about?  How would you know?” Schlatt sneers.  “It’s… it’s the 21st.  The 21st of March,” Schlatt nods resolutely.

Quackity kicks off his own shoes and starts loosening his tie.  Maybe if Schlatt had been anywhere near close, the right month, or maybe even the right season at least, Quackity might’ve just moved on.  It’s too fucking much, all of it.  Every word Schlatt has said tonight.  “December.”

“Huh?”

“It’s in December.”

Schlatt scoffs.  “And you would know?  Like you know and I don’t?”

“Yeah, actually.  Yeah, I do,” Quackity says stiffly.  He flinches when Schlatt clumsily hits him over the back of the head, just enough to startle and sting.

“Shut the fuck up…” He mutters Tubbo’s first words and slumps over onto his pillow, and Quackity stops trying.

[ginoeh]

Shipper Tag Game

I was tagged by the lovely @tj-dragonblade , thank you!

What ship were you completely obsessed with as a teenager, but now you don’t care about anymore?

As a teenager... well, that was quite a while ago lol. I suppose that would have been Harry/Draco. First fandom, first queer pairing, first smut stories. I was such a sweet sweet summer child XD The early 00s were wild

Which ship would you consider your first one?

Soooo. Funny story. Way back when, I got into fanfiction via fanfiction.net. You know how their filter system is bad/non-existent? Yeah. Little me, on her first outing to ffnet, didn’t know how to operate the character settings. I clicked on the first story on the top of the first page of the HP section. It was a Snape/Hermione star-crossed lover deal. It flash-fried my brain, taught me content curation in a crash course and incidentially made me partial to the ship for quite a few years...

Your first fanfic was about which couple?

See above lol. I will never ever forget the experience. I tried to find that story later for downloading (like an ugly beloved keepsake ig lol) but never managed.

If you mean fanfic I've written: it was gen.

Do you remember the first couple you saw fan art of?

Kakashi/Obito

Have you ever gotten into ship discourse?

Nope. Scraped by a few times since I entered the tumblr bubble but managed to stay out of it. I don’t get the point. It's freaking fictional characters in fictional worlds. Go touch grass or something instead... (but you will make me fucking mad if you try to drag me into these things with wild ad hom accusations based on what i ship or dont ship)

Did you used to have a NOTP or have one currently?

No, not really. It's only ever preferences. There are some I dislike due to my own hc/inability to suspend my disbelief but I wouldn’t call them NOTPs. I just don’t read them.

Who were the last couple in the last fanfic you read?

Dreamling

Currently, do you have any OTPs?

I actually dislike the term OTP. It's a scale of preferences for me. There are few (read: none) fav characters that I can only see with one love interest (and anyway, sometimes i do prefer plot over love story. wild take i know) and the more time I spend in a fandom the more I diversify.

Is there any couple that, to this day, you are extremely mad about not getting into?

I don’t get this question, sorry. If I'm interested, I'll search it out. Even if the fandom is old. AO3 is an archive for exactly that reason.

Is there any ship you used to dislike but now you think they’re kind of interesting?

Not that I can think of, at the moment!

Do you have any ship that, in the past, would have been considered normal but now you would be cancelled over?

Probably? I'm not clear on what all one is getting cancelled over this week/month/year by which group of 'concerend bystanders'. I suppose I might get cancelled for the mentioned Hermione/Snape?

What is your favourite crack ship?

I'm so glad you asked. It's clearly Dream/Helm (thank you for that @writing-for-life ) Or Gollum/The One Ring (thanks go to Neil himself here). Or - actually, never mind lol.

What is the couple you read the most fanfics about?

At the moment it's Dreamling. But I cycle through fandoms/pairings periodically...(btw im looking for more Johanna/Death? If anyone could point me in the right direction?)

What do most of your ships have in common?

At least one character has a dark/unknown/violent/tragic past (they can be victim or perpetrator!!! I'm all for character development babey)

What do you absolutely hate in a ship?

I don’t hate ships? As I said above. Possibly the reduction on 'I can fix him/her' or 'my love will save him/her from depression/"the darkness"/etc.' but that is mostly a matter of the author's style of crafting characterization and plot and has nothing to do with the ship itself.

I'm tagging @bazzybelle , @seiya-starsniper , @writing-for-life if you want to or maybe just point me towards your post if you've done it already?

[sunbratz]

hi its time for my bad dndads takes again here on my silly little blog and todays feature is inspired by @babacontainsmultitudes‘s post about similar taylor and nick are and i was actually going to add this onto that but i didn’t want to take up their space so.

what i actually want to talk about is cassandra and glenn! and how their differences as single parents really shaped the key difference between taylor and nick which is!! taylors confidence.

one of the big similarities pointed out about nick and taylor is this propensity towards loneliness both of them have. both of them very much have their set circle of people and idolize their parents in a very similar way that leaves them seemingly a bit isolated from other people their age (and otherwise, with nick trying to get glenn to abandon the party early s1)

during the trials, nick finally kind of unravels about his relationship with glenn in reference to this though by discussing how a lot of his loneliness and connection with his dad festers in this place of grief over his mom. he had his mom until he was 7 and looks up to his dad in a way where he feels they aren’t able to communicate about her death without ruining the “vibes” in the connection they have and he doesn’t even see him for at least 2 months out of the year. nick isn’t even comfortable enough to tell his dad he prefers universal studios and minions until the trial when he’s directly asked whether glenn indulges in his interest because he’s mimicking his dad so hard to keep that connection between them strong.

cassandra has a lot of clearly intentional similarities to glenn that are very obvious: she’s a single mom, celebrity-adjacent and isn’t around very often, she gives her kids video games for detention because she’s a bit out of touch and she’s not one to care about rules and restrictions presumably.

but something that anthony and freddie have worked into her character that wasn’t built in with glenn is that she has taken a LOT of care into showing her interest in taylor’s needs. 

the first thing we learn about her is that she quit (or at least put on hold) her daytime tv career in order to pursue voice acting because she thought it would be something her and taylor could bond over. she knows taylor well enough to give him video games he would enjoy during detention and to go through his bags for weapons she knows he has so he doesn’t get into further trouble. she trusts taylor enough to get an uber home from school but has enough foresight to tell him not to take the scooters because they’re dangerous even if they are the cooler option. she’s confident enough to answer taylor’s questions about nick not being around whenever he asks (which is implied to be at least more than once). they have a habit of giving kisses to each other over the phone when she’s not around which is precious but furthers the way she’s tried to continue to bond with taylor even when she couldn’t physically be around due to work or whatever.

and taylor mimics her love by doing things back for her. he gives her cakes and checks in with her when he can, not because he has to but because he wants to, versus nick who felt he had to learn to smoke weed and love disney and be cool in order to maintain that connection with glenn.

i think this is why taylor’s confidence and security makes so much sense. taylor is a lone wolf with only a close inner circle because he chooses to be. it’s why it’s so funny that he really just does not care about nick as his father at all! he has questions, of course, but most of those questions are based in his own curiosity and how they build out his story/background rather than his need to have a father. he’s confident enough in his choice of friends that he turns back for link, even after nick tells him his whole extended family (that he doesn’t know) is threatened if his friends choose to betray him like nick’s did to him. he’s happy to have his dad around but doesn’t feel the need to impress him or reduce himself to fit nick into his life because he’s fully secure with it just being him and his mom. 

i think this also goes into how a lot of their actions are similar but are driven by worry or confidence. nick didn’t choose to leave taylor as a baby but felt like he had to in order to protect his entire family (a classic hero’s backstory). taylor's so confident in his actions he feels he can fight his way out of any situation he’s put into (getting kidnapped, like, three times, willingly pretending to throw himself out of a tree in order to use his dad for a plan to get to hell, ect.) while protecting his friends not because he feels like he needs to but because he just simply wants to. nick chooses to minimize his needs out of worry for glenn where taylor is confident enough to argue with his mom over bringing weapons to school or because she’s ruining his favorite anime by dubbing it but still takes the time to make sure she knows he cares about her and is proud of her.

anyway i dont know if this was anything and i kinda lost my thought halfway through this because i know i had more to say, so i might add onto this later or something but. considering we don’t really get a lot of her and im not sure how intentional it was, i think the way they’ve used cass to foil glenn to make the dynamic between nick and taylor that much more interesting is really fun and cool to see play out. 

[casitafallz]

LTRL AU | Acceptance

“How did you sleep?” Abuelita’s voice was soft as Isa came down.

“Good, Very good.” Isa smiled because it had been unexpected; she hadn’t predicted she’d sleep well, let alone feel the warmth and relief that…Abuelita wasn’t going to kick her out or…punish her for this. It felt…so nice to have that.

Abuelita hatted her shoulder. “I’m glad to hear.” She led her to the table, though Isa noted that breakfast looked a little…different on her plate. It was the usual Huevos Pericos but had a slice of avocado, Apreas, and cheese. Far more than usual. No morning coffee, only juice. “I know you’ve not accounted for the need for extra calories, but I think it’ll be best if you start in case that’s what the child needs to grow faster,” Abuelita spoke, seeing her questioning look.

“Oh.” Oh. Isa hadn’t considered that. “Does…does Abuelito know?”

“He does,” Abuelita nodded, “I spoke to him last night about it after you went to sleep, and… he’s asked me not to talk to the family just yet.”

Isa let out a soft breath. “I’m glad.” Isa began to tuck into breakfast regardless, her stomach was rumbling.

Abuelita chuckled softly. “He also said to tell you to inform the father on your time, not because I asked. He doesn’t want you two to rush into marriage when there’s still a lot of time.”

The mention of marriage did make Isa wince internally a little but… it wasn’t against marrying Mateo. Her other family would certainly try and push for marriage to be quick and done as soon as possible…before the birth. She’d much rather marry Mateo than Mariano any day. She didn’t have to pretend with him, he enjoyed her for…her. Not that it was a fault on Mariano’s behalf—he had no idea what she was hiding. Both had their baggage and fears. Mariano never had that. Never could understand.

“Why is Abuelito so against arranged marriage?” Isa asked because that hadn’t escaped her notice that Abuelito was more of a voice against that.

Abuelita pondered her question for a moment, setting her fork down to sip at her coffee. “It’s… personal. His aunt was forced into a marriage when she was young. A…unhealthy marriage that… sadly resulted in her death.”

Isa’s eyes widened at that, though no details it was clear details, it painted a very vivid picture. One that clearly impacted her Abuelito still. Either Abuelita knew the whole story and was leaving that story to Abuelito or she didn’t. Isa believed it was the former, over the latter given they had been married for 50 years.

“He doesn’t like to talk about it.” Abuelita sighed, “Best if you don’t enquire either.”

Isabela nodded. “Si, Abuelita.”

Abuelita was quick to shift the topic onto something else. “I was thinking, since your Abuelito’s setting the shop to open early, I’ll pick up your new spinning wheel soon, you can spend this morning setting it up and trying it out.”

Isabela perked up a little. “Sounds good. I do have an hour of pottery this afternoon.”

“How’re the lessons going?”

“Alright… but I was thinking of dropping the lessons after I finish learning the wheel lesson today” Isa admitted because… the last four months had been educational and she enjoyed pottery but… it wasn’t fun. She could make a pot, bowl, and plates… could easily shape the clay and she just about knew how to mix to get the desired consistency of clay but… the people teaching her kept it as a job. It sucked the fun out of it.

Today was the last day of the wheel chapter before they moved onto a new method this time for making roof tiles. Not her interest. 

“So soon?”

“I want it as a hobby, not a job. It’s not overly fun when it’s taught like your livelihood depends on it. It was good at first because it meant I learned a lot to start but now… ugh.”

“Ah.” Abuelita nodded. “I suppose that’ll open your timetable a little more?”

Isa nodded, “But I can pick up more time at the weaving houses if they’re open to it. They have much larger looms than what I’ve brought back.” The family had a recent clean-out so she had been allowed to keep some of the old looms. The floor loom was the largest and had to be completely dismantled to be replaced. She couldn’t keep that but the new ones they had worked better. As much as she hated warping them, it was good to see her creations come to life on it. “It’ll be nice to make bigger things than the small looms.”

“Perhaps your Magical room could create one up for you? I heard that almost all the furniture had been created with magic after all.”

Isabela paused mid-fork full at the suggestion. She hadn’t considered that. Her room would always adapt and change to her needs, with more space and elevated areas for breaking up the dead spaces… her bed had changed in the last 9 months now, no longer something she rose to the air to hide in her curtain of flowers but it was still the center of her room. She hadn’t known what to do with it, even after the expansion of her gifts that had melded her room in vast diversity.

It was still a double bed, branch-like edging, and now framed with a branch-poles that produced a canopy. It was easy to produce a simple curtain of plants around to hide away in sleep.

She just…never paid it too much thought but…it made sense even the furniture would change.

 “I guess I’ll see when I go back.” Which, now Isa realized was going to be…risky. “Oh…”

“What?”

Isa swallowed tightly, “we…probably don’t have a lot amount of time when I go back before someone finds out”

Abuelita’s brow dented further with concern. “Are you worried about your cousin? I think she’d done quite well if she’s kept the secret this far.”

Isabela wrinkled her nose. “A little, but I’m worried…if I slip up. I was happy to ignore and carry on and now… I can’t ignore it and they’ll probably find out I’m hiding something!”

Abuelita’s hand came to her wrist. “You’ll be okay. Take a breath. We have three more days until you’re back over.”

Isabela exhaled deeply, forcing herself to nod. She was right. Of course… they had time. A lot could happen in three days.

“I’ll talk to the father today.” Isa opted. “I think… he’ll need the time to adjust first before the family finds out.” He’d need a way out first if anything and be ready to pack as well. Once her family then Mateo’s family would know. “I’ll invite him around this afternoon, he can’t be seen in public with me.”

Abuelita’s lip pursed, “Why?”

“His family dislikes me, it’s one of the reasons he wanted to keep things quiet on his side as well.”

Abuelita’s head cocked to the side, finishing her plate quickly, “is the father the Marquez boy?” Isabela’s pause seemed to be the answer. “I see…. I can’t imagine they’ll be thrilled at the news of the pregnancy, will they?”

“Nope.”

Abuelita nodded softly. “I…do have to ask… and forgive me for asking but have you two… done anything here?”

“No!” The heat rose in her cheeks, “No. Nope. The walls are thin and the shutters aren’t soundproof. Wasn’t worth the risk.”

Abuelita nodded, satisfied with that answer. “Aside from…the clear failure, were you trying to be responsible between your activities?”

“Yes, I had my teas and can we please not talk about this?” Isa begged, dropping her cutlery to cup her burning cheeks.

“We can, but you forgot, I’ve had children and your father’s not been subtle when growing up—”

“Ew.”

“—but I have to make sure you’re being safe. Don’t put yourself in dangerous situations for the sake of keeping secrets. Did you have Dolores help sneak him in and out of Casita?”

Isabela paused, wishing she could bail and get going but her morning was open and nowhere to go. “No.”

“You snuck him out of your window?” The disapproval was clear in Abueltia’s voice, “your windows are ten feet from the ground!”

“There’s a little bit of the dining room’s roof sticking out.” Isa defended weakly, not willing to let on that she was grown vines.

Abuelita sighed heavily, “Please don’t…let him exit that way. If you’re not going to stop your activities, then do it in a safer environment. The last thing you need is for him to slip and break his neck on Casita’s lawn.” She rose to her feet, taking the empty plates.

“You’re…going to allow us to continue?” Isa knew she should be concerned, but… it felt weird. Like permission. From Abuelita of all people.  Isa picked up the rest of the used breakfast items, helping clean them as she waited for Abuelita’s response as she began to wash up.

“You’re an adult… and since you’re already pregnant, there’s little reason to stop you. For me, as long as you’re both safe and discreet, I don’t see why I should. Couples don’t wait for marriage, not even your Abuela. As I’ve made it known before, the no-boys rule is fairly stupid so your Abuela should have dropped it when we asked.” The sour tone returned to Abuelita’s voice as she washed up, setting the newly cleaned plates onto the rack to drain. “I know your Abuela disapproves a lot of my ways, but… my physiology is different to hers. You know that.”

Isabela smiled, her arms coming to wrap around her elderly frame. “Thank you.”

  The new spinning wheel had a few kinks in it and by the time Abuelita had returned with the device to the shop, Isabela had spent an hour before carding and combing her cotton into elongated, fluffy sausages that’d be easy to wind on the spindle. The woodwork itself was beautiful, all the bobbins worked and sat in the Flyer but it took some oil to keep things a bit smoother and the drive band hadn’t been included but it was easy to remedy that.

“It is beautiful.” Abuelita gushed, helping her finish the setup.

“It is.” Isabela smiled as she could see the attention to detail Mateo had put. The three legs were simple but had gentle, vine carvings that wound around it, the wheel was in a similar state; the shape was unchanged but the décor was what made it stunning in the dark walnut wood that was simply varnished. Its beauty was not to hamper its practicality.

One of the few things that set Mateo aside from Mariano, if she were to compare; he knew he didn’t have to add the details, tending careful details of her interests into his work despite it adding time to his work. He added them because he wanted to. No getting gifts like chocolates she never ate—Camilo had served his use in having them for her to get the kid off her back with his good humor at the time for having a boyfriend—and no getting flowers when he knew she could grow them herself.

Those trivial gifts were just…meaningless to her.

This meant something. Isa couldn’t deny this personalized made her feel special. She was the only one in Encanto to have a customized spinning wheel like this.

“I think it’s time to get going.” Isabela happily twirled the cotton fibers to its initial start into the bobbin and slipped it into place and turned the wheel to start it all off and gently began to press down the treadle to keep it going.

 The threads weren’t as fine as she was used to and it took a bit of time before she got more comfortable and made a few adjustments for things to become much smoother, pulling the threads finer to test how fine she could get them on this wheel before she got into a familiar routine.

The soft sounds echoed of the wheel filled her ears, though Isa was in her own bubble as she worked in her Abuelita’s shop. The new apprentices had come and started work, Abuelito was helping with clothes adjustments of the men in the sub-section of the shop and Abuelita came and went.

Isa hadn’t noticed the figure standing in the doorway until she spoke.

“How does that work?”

Mirabel's voice startled her more than the question, almost knocking over the wheel before she caught herself quickly from reacting though quickly stopped the wheel from moving before hse could lose her strand and jam up the contraption.

“Sorry!” Mirabel stepped back, a sheepish wince on her face. “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

Isa simply sighed, gathering herself up though took the opportunity to gather up a new handful of cotton. “It’s fine.” She shrugged, “it’s easy to forget other people.”

Mirabel nodded softly though her eyes turned back to the wheel. “How does this work? Does the thread go around the wheel to first or am I missing something?” She stepped in closer. “How do you get the cotton like that?”

“You sew. How can you not know what sort of threads you use?” Isabela asked because she was sure, out of anyone in their entire family—Mirabel had more of an idea here. She worked with the stuff daily.

“I use the premade stuff, I don’t see them getting made.” Mirabel pointed out, pushing her glasses up her nose, stepping further in, “I’ve never seen it made before.”

Isabela’s eyes flickered to the door, suddenly well aware that the talking in the other room was still going and she was…very much alone with Mirabel. She could barely remember the last time they were alone… Someone—most likely Luisa—was always there to keep an eye on her.

So this was a little weird.

“Do you…want me to show you?” Isa asked carefully.

Mirabel brightened up, “If you don’t mind.”

Isa looked around and nodded her chin towards the foot stool. “Bring that over and sit down, it’ll be easier to show you.”

Mirabel complied, taking the stool and seating herself close—not too close either—to see her as she started the wheel and carefully began to pinch and let the fibers spin into shape.

  Mirabel was amazed as she watched as the balls of puffiness were reduced down into spools of threading in her sister’s fingers though she had somewhat been disappointed to see the wheel only serves to spin the flyer than spinning the thread around it to tighten it.

The art of spinning…wasn’t what she was interested in but she could appreciate it and the work it created. She just never imagined Isabela of all people would do such work until she had properly seen her in passing at the houses she was learning from. She could see it was reflected now.

Mirabel didn’t ask the questions to learn, but she’d happily let Isabela talk it instead; a topical conversation and… it felt good to keep it to such anyway. It was easier to bond with someone when there was a middle ground—she wasn’t for anything more but… this was a start Mirabel wanted to make. Isabela would never make the first move—who could blame her—but the others weren’t either.

Mirabel knew she had to be the one to start the process... because despite it being a rotational period, Isabela leaving felt like a weight on her back. A small, weight but a present one nonetheless. Isabela had left because of her.

It was odd that Isabela was gone and…Mirabel hated how much the changes had been to the family had been so…different. Almost pleasant. While Isabela was gone and she hated the…relief that came with it in the first few weeks. It didn’t stop the guilt that came with it and… how the family seem to lighten as if a dark cloud was gone from the corner of their eye.

Mirabel hated that as well.

Isabela wasn’t the problem or a dark cloud. She was the reminder of it. Of their flaws. At least, that’s how Mirabel saw it.

Now, Isa barely felt like a member of the family. Mirabel only saw her at meals when it was her week in Casita and even then, the girl didn’t look her way.

How odd, Mirabel had realized how they had almost swapped places in the eyes of the adults. Once upon a time, she had been the one overlooked for her giftlessness despite her attempts to prove herself. Isabela, the golden child with the perfect gift was now…reduced to a girl in the family with her. Overlooked—giving her more freedom—but more unknown.

It felt odd to see her sister but feel more and more like a stranger.

It was odd to be alone with her, following along with her instructions on something so menial. She felt…relaxed.

Far more relaxed than she expected to be in Isa’s presence.

“Can you make sewing thread in this?” Mirabel asked. “That’d save me a lot of money if that’s the case!”

Isabela snorted, “I can but the work is a lot; you’ll spend more time making the thread than using the thread.”

Though after a moment, instead of carrying on a new puffball. Isabela pulled the half-full bobbin from the setup and set it into the lazy kate of two other empty bobbins, she began to pull and began to wind it up around her fingers and then,  knotted it up and began to start molding it into a ball of yarn.

She watched until it was a small ball before Isabela held it out. “Here, you can have this.”

Mirabel smiled, before she lent forwards and took it, surprised a little at how soft it was. “Thank you, Isa.”

  Isabela felt good as she collected the wheel on her return after her pottery class and headed back to her home with it covered by a thin layer of fabric from prying eyes but took a long pause at the post-box for her and Mateo to drop off a note, tucking in a red petal in the box’s side for him to see the urgency of it before she made it back home.

As expected, no one else was home and wouldn’t be for hours. The perfect time to tell him. Isa gently set the wheel up next to her window, glad to find her spare basket of cotton was not lost and pulled out her simple frame loom where she still had work of her hand towels still going and sat down at her bed to continue.

Isa felt surprised at how…good the day had gone. Mirabel’s unexpected…visit to the shop was pleasant. She didn’t expect the girl would try and seek her out… the last time she had was months ago before she was allowed to leave Casita alone and they both got a little heat about that. Isa knew better given she wasn’t still allowed to seek Mirabel out. Of course, it wasn’t applied the other way.

It was nice.

Mirabel had…put in the effort and seemed very interested. Of course, perhaps her work was very close to Mirabel’s passion was the main reason but… it was nice. It felt nice to feel a little more like Mirabel’s sister than the girl that almost killed her. Maybe Mirabel would try again? should she keep setting up at Abuelita’s workshop?

A knock at the door pulled her mind from her personal mind bubble, holstering the needle, and dropped the loom onto her bed and hurried to the door.

“Mateo!” She grinned as she opened the door to see Mateo standing nervously on the other side, anxiously shifting on the spot before she pulled him in and quickly shut the door after him. Not seeing the flicker of a blue skirt disappear around the corner.

“Isa, is everything alright?” Mateo asked, his hands coming to her shoulders in concern. “Are you okay?”

Isa paused though gently took his hand and led him away to her bedroom. “It’s… complicated.”

“Not really helping, Isa. Did something happen? Do you want sex, is this what this is about?” He asked again as she shut the door after him. “I thought this place was off limits?”

“No, I didn’t ask you here for that.” Isa moved her loom and set it on her desk. “I…have news and I…don’t know how else to say it but we don’t have time to really wait and….” She paused, her eyes flickering to the bed, “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Mateo’s face didn’t change—still concerned and even more worried. “You’re kind of scaring me a little, Isa…” Though he sunk down onto her bed carefully, “Please just…spit it out and it’ll be fine.” He reached for her, pulling her closer though she felt the warmth of his touch—pleasant against her growing nerves

“I’m pregnant.”

Mateo froze up, his hands tightening on her sides but she could see the color drain from his face and his expression wiped completely. Her hands came and gripped at his, her heart now thundering in her chest but she kept her grip—to keep grounded as possible.

“What?” his voice was nothing but a whisper.

Gently Isabela guided herself down seating next to him though gently stroking the back of his hand to try and get him back to earth than to panic….

“I’m sorry…but I’m pregnant.”

Mateo sucked in a heavy breath, his hands shifting to take her in a tense grip. “Ohh…” He shook his head. “Oh….” He repeated. “I’m a dead man.”

“No.” Isa shook her head. “No, you’re not. You’ll be okay.”

“I-I..” He stopped, his face full of panic. “My sister will kill me if she finds out! I’m not speaking figuratively here!”

“She won’t! I-I know this is scary but… I’m sure we can make an arrangement quickly. You won’t have to return when the news drops” There was a bitter relief the panic wasn’t about the baby and more about his sister’s reaction.

Mateo looked on the verge of passing out so Isa did the only thing she could think of and grabbed her bedside glass of water and pushed it onto his hands. He looked down into it for a moment then within moments drunk it though remained clinging onto the glass like a lifeline but it looked to have forced him to calm even by a fraction.

“Oh, this should have been whiskey.” He moped. “Ohh… okay” He took a breath, “A baby.” He stated, “Let’s focus on that right now…”

“Please do.” Isabela leant into his side. “I know… with things, it won’t be easy but… I’m sure we can come up with a plan of action. I know this…is far from ideal. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t… don’t be sorry.” Mateo’s frightened face softened, “I… I want to be a father… I just… I’m scared. Now is hardly a good time…and we’re not even married! My father won’t tolerate a bastard grandchild.”

“Aye, you’re not the only one worried about that.” Isabela added, “You know my family’s reputation has already taken one hit because of me. This is going to look so bad on top of that.”

Though the fear was still there, Mateo’s demur shifted to his more…calculated work side. Like he was solving a problem. “We probably have about nine months, so… plenty of time. If we get married, then we shouldn’t have to worry about an illegitimate birth… and I could move into your room and out of my family’s home.”

“Two birds, one stone.” Isabela realized, “though… we don’t have nine months, Mateo.”

Mateo paused, “What? It takes nine months to grow one! You’re stunning and I doubt that’ll change when you’re belly grows.”

“I’m… not early in the pregnancy.” She awkwardly stated, wincing at the confused frown on his face.

“Eh?”

“Let’s say… I have a family history of surprise, non-showing pregnancies and I’m…in my seventh month…” she spoke slowly.

Mateo stared at her for a moment, his head slowly cocking to the side then his gaze dropped to her middle. Isa remained still, watching as he processed this information. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s how it started.”

Isa’s joke had been unexpected from her own lips but it caught Mateo just as off guard before he snorted; breaking the unease and tension.

“How about this… we talk to the priest tomorrow and see how quickly we can get married.” There was no getting around that fact; marriage was a necessity and…she’d rather marry Mateo. Maybe they’d finally be able to develop what they had instead of self-imposed boundaries for the sake of secrecy. Abuela wouldn’t keep a husband and new father away and would certainly push for a quick wedding to maintain family integrity, even with the shame of it and the shot-gun nature of it.

“I’ll…see about getting some of my things packed…just in case. But… I don’t have spare tools. My Pa owns the ones I use and he’ll keep them if he finds out I plan to leave. I’ll lose my lively hood.” The note of panic returned in his voice but Isabela patted his cheek, pulling his worried gaze to her.

“No, because do you think your best friends would simply let you live without a way out?” Isa questioned, “Fran…may have a spare set of tools at her home in case you’re put in a situation where you can’t get your set.”

Mateo’s face pulled in for a moment but didn’t look any different. “You two…went behind my back?”

“I know you don’t like our interference like this. I’m sorry but… is it not better for you to have a spare set now? You won’t lose you’re livelihood and… this baby might have a better chance with you helping support it.”

His body loosened up a little at the mention of the baby, his head turning down to her belly. “Can I?”

Isa nodded though she had her doubts about his ability to feel something she barely could.

“How is it so…hidden?”

“I...don’t know too much. Something about my uterus being tilted but...also the baby might be smaller than its gestational age. Dr Lopez said these sorts of babies develop slower; he thinks this baby is a month behind in development.” She mused, moving his hand higher, “This is…where I think it kicks. I…can’t be too sure.”

“You haven’t felt it kick yet?”

“No, but… Bella did say the placenta may be in a different place—taking the brunt of it more so I can’t feel it.”

Mateo nodded though his fingers trailed more around her abdomen though Isabela jumped at his arms suddenly wrapped around her pulling her against his body.

Isa stifled a laugh, relaxing against him but shifted this time, crawling to straddle his lap. She could feel his breath against her neck, and the gentile rise and fall against her of his breathing though the soft circles from his fingers rubbed into her lower back that…felt good against the pressure that had built from the day.

“That feels nice.” She mumbled.

Mateo’s head tilted back a little, though she rolled her eyes as she realized he was looking at her breasts. “I missed these. Not too sore, are they?” He asked, going as far as to pull a hand in to pull the edge of her shirt down an inch.

“Tender, but otherwise no.” She smirked, already seeing the cogs in his mind start to turn. Though she weighed her options as he pouted up to her with the question in his face. “Five minutes,” she decided, which was all Mateo needed to hear before he skirted his hands up her skirt to tug on her bloomers.

Her shirt had barely touched the floor with his before the hot, tranquil air was sucked away as the door to her room was slammed open. Isabela felt her inside turn to ice as she pulled sharply back from Mateo to see her Abuela standing in the bedroom doorway looking just as enraged as she had after the incident while Luisa stood in the background.

“Get. Dressed. Now.”

[oftatteredwings]

⸻  FREEMA AGYEMAN. SHE + HER / have you ever     heard of  STRONGER (WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU) by kelly clarkson, well,     it describes AMBER STEVENSON to a tee! the 42 year old, and MIDWIFE  was spotted browsing     through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know     them? would you say  SHE is  more guarded or more STRONG  instead?     anyway, they remind me of fresh flowers dotted on every surface, the glow of fairy lights, a few too many self-help books and early morning walks with a freshly squeezed orange juice, maybe you’ll bump into     them soon! 

time in notting hill ; 17 years.

tw: death, war mention, alcoholism, premature birth, death of an infant

ABOUT.

Name: Amber Stevenson Nicknames: None Age: Forty-two Date of birth: 22nd August 1981 Birth place: London, UK Occupation: Midwife Romantic/sexual orientation: Heteroromantic/bisexual

Amber was very much born to be a city girl. She decided early on that London was the place for her, she’d become a high-flying businesswoman and spend her weekends staying in the most expensive hotels sipping on Cristal champagne.

All of that came crashing down around her when she turned 15 and her father up and moved the whole family across the ocean to Atlanta.

She struggled to fit in, was always going to, she was the strange kid from England who clearly hated everything and everyone around her. That was up until Timothy stepped into her life anyway.

Amber never planned on falling in love, especially in high school, but that was exactly what happened. She ended up graduating on complete and utter nine, something that lasted up until the day he told her he was going into the army.

Things after that became a blur. An undeclared major at college, a dead end job, with sporadic visits from Tim. Back and forth, back and forth, it wasn’t really the life she’d asked for. 

Then one year, at the holidays, he came home and he proposed. It was an instant yes. Naturally. And then six weeks later, she made the discovery she was pregnant. She didn’t think that life could actually get any better.

She was right. Three months down the line she received the news that Tim had been killed while away serving. At first she didn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it, but as the news sunk in her dependency on alcohol began. Drinking erased the memories, staved off the nightmares that threatened each night.

Two months later she went into premature labour. She knew it was too early, she panicked, she screamed and she cried. Jessica Ada was born 17th June 2006 and lived only a week.

Shortly afterwards, Amber made the decision to travel back to London to stay with her grandparents and that’s where she’s been ever since. She got herself sober and began to attend counselling, started a brand new life, even chose to go back to university to study medicine.

It took her a very long time to start dating again. She dipped her toe in and out of relationships, still undecided if the time would ever actually come that she found someone again. She told herself it didn’t matter though, even if sometimes she felt lonely.

Over the last couple of years she has finally developed something with someone she works with. It was very much a slow burn, from colleagues to friends, from friends to lovers, from lovers to... well they don’t know what yet. They’re still figuring that part out.

All she knows is that she’s happy, but she thinks of Tim every day.

HEADCANONS.

Amber is a bit of a fitness freak, she loves to swim and hits up the gym at 6am every day she’s not working.

She does her best to eat healthy, too, but she won’t lie she has a bit of a sweet tooth and eats way too much Turkish Delight. Her mother always orders her a hamper full from Fortnum and Mason around the holidays.

Flowers are one of her favourite things. She has dozens of indoor plants and a couple of window boxes, seeing as she lives in a flat.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

- cousins. - tim’s best friend from back home. - close friends. - colleagues. - past attempts at dating. - current love interest.