#things got rough my friend ended up passing away if yall remember since she was sick

[bellicent]

hello

[skyeet-the-writer]

backwoods to beaches (rooster x female!reader)

1 — Piano-Playing Pilots

ever since i watched top gun 2 i've been obsessed with miles teller. like obsessed like it's embarrassing. so, to deal with my problem, ive written and entire ass essay as seen below you. and there will be more. much more coming towards yall

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x female!reader

summary: as a girl from georgia, california is a big change. but working at a bar gives you a perfectly good reason to oogle at piano-playing pilots on a late night

word count: ~5.8k

warnings: some swearing, alcohol (obv), suggestive mentions, hardcore flirting around the end

notes: if you couldn’t tell by the title or the summary, reader is from georgia and down south so there will be a lot of mentions/references to this. i myself am from western ky, but if i’ve gotten anything wrong or aren’t portraying it correctly, lmk how to fix it! other than that, enjoy y’all. x.

insp by @heartsofminds fic “blooming”

playlist:

That first summer as a bartender was rough. California was a lot hotter than you thought it would be, and by the time the night was over and the rush of military men and women had thinned, you were covered in sweat.

California was also not as pretty as you had made it up to be in your head. There were a lot fewer trees than you would have preferred. But there were beaches.

Back from where you came from, everything was pretty to you. Rolling hills, fields full of wildflowers. Beautiful sunrises and even more stunning sunsets. Acres upon acres of forests, with dirt trails dusty and worn from generations of four-wheeling and ATVing. Miles of farmland that were always ready when harvest comes around. Creeks clear as glass and ponds full of almost every kind of fish one could think of. Everything you had grown up with and around was absolutely gorgeous to you.

California had her fair shares of beauty. But not as many as back home.

When you and your best friend graduated college, you two wanted a change of scenery. And so, when her uncle called her and invited her to live with her, she accepted and took you with her. It was hard, watching that small town you had lived in all your life fade in the rearview mirror, but at the time, it was what you wanted.

Your friend's uncle was in the navy and he lived in Miramar. Also called "Fightertown, USA". You quickly figured out why when a jet flew over your head as you two exited the car upon your arrival at your new home.

You and your friend smiled at each other, excited to have a fresh start.

To complete the absolute teenage dream, the two of you got a job at the same bar, the Hard Deck. It was just a few minutes away, a perfect fit for your friend, who always happened to be late to everything. Not to mention that it paid pretty well, had tips, and was also run by a woman.

But on your second week, you realized how much of a nightmare it could be. The naval men and women always came in, talking loudly, and began to laugh louder after a few drinks. But somehow, it reminded you of home. That's why you lasted longer than your friend did.

You found joy in your stressful job. The owner, Penny, often called you into work during the weekend, the busiest time. You began to recognize people's faces and remember their names, even remembered a few orders as the weeks went by.

When the summer came to an end, you had become some of the patron's favorites. Some were familiar with your accent and you found friendships in those ones, asking what part of Georgia, Louisana, or Carolina they were from and smiling at stories you could relate to.

Another year passed and the next summer, you became even better at your job. When you first started, you were a nervous, shy little girl from Georgia who had trouble remembering things but was still so sweet. Suddenly, you became this young lady with a thick accent and an even thicker skull. The girl who used to blush and twirl her hair at any man who flirted with her to a woman who would simply shake her head at another young boy just vying for attention.

Tonight, the bar is hopping. Penny, who, despite being your boss, is one of your closest friends/motherly figures, is busy chatting it up with some older guy who doesn't look over the age of thirty. You didn't catch his name, far too busy with the customers Penny should be dealing with. But you don't mind. You don't know a whole lot about Miss Penny's personal life, but something tells you that there was once something between her and the older man.

"Could I get another beer, Miss L/N?" asks Cooper, a regular from last year.

"Of course, Coop," you tell the man, taking his glass from him. "What was it, Bud Light?"

He nods. "You got it. Say, how come you always rememberin' all these orders. I couldn't ever do that."

With a smile, you refill his glass and place it back to him with a new napkin under it. "Ain't you a flight operator?" you tease with a raised brow.

Cooper smiles and laughs. "Yeah, that's true." He lifts his glass to his lips.

You tap the bar in front of him and move to another patron next to him. "Besides, you come in here often enough for me to remember." You turn to the woman in front of you. "You had a whiskey on the rocks, right, darling?"

The lady nods and suddenly there's a loud ringing of a bell from nearby. The bar erupts into cheers and you spot Penny's date with his head in his hands and Penny with a triumphant smirk.

"Looks like this one's on the house," you tell the woman, topping her glass off before sliding it back towards her.

Humming to yourself, you mentally prepare for the next round of drinks on the man. It was bar rules that if anyone insulted a woman, they had to buy the entire bar a round. It sure was fun to watch their smirk vanish from their face. You've rung that bell a few times yourself and watched the color drain from the man flirting with you fade from his face almost as quick as the smug smirk.

"Hey, pretty lady!" comes a familiar voice that makes you smile. Jake Seresin, A.K.A. "Hangman", approaches the bar, grinning. "Can I get four beers on the old man?"

With a simple nod and a smile, you reach to the fridge below the bar and pull out four beers, two in each hand before handing them to Hangman.

"How's your evenin' been, Jake?" you ask him, taking just a moment to have a small conversation.

The man grins and says, "Pretty good. You?"

"Had three guys ask for my number," you reply, grinning. "Threatened to ring the bell on 'em if they didn't cut it out."

Jake groans. "You shoulda done it anyway! Would've saved me a lot of money." With a laugh, he walks off, likely to his friends. You've been watching them play pool all evening and you can hear their banter even from over here.

As the night wears on, you quickly begin to wear out. Bartending is an exhausting practice, mixing drink after drink and refilling or restocking. Thankfully, most people only get beers. Those are your favorite kinds of people, the ones where you can just hand them something and have them be on their way.

Eventually, your best friend, Dixie, comes in, instantly claiming her usual seat at the bar close to the door. You smile when she walks in and she races to steal one of the few open barstools before someone else can claim it.

Dixie doesn't drink, which is odd considering how often she comes in to bother you. You place a bowl of chips in front of her and sparkling water and wipe your hands down.

"Y'all are busy, huh?" she asks, crunching on one of the bar's chips. "Look at all these hunks, Y/N."

With a roll of your eyes, you remember why she comes in so often. She loves to oogle at the military boys that filled the majority of the bar. She always had a thing for military men. That was one of the few things you didn't have in common: despite living in a military town, none of the men seemed to do it for you. Most of them were too cocky, too bold, their egos too big. You never preferred those kinds of boys.

Dixie on the other hand? They were her favorite. You remembered her bringing a couple of them back home your first few months. Those were the nights you sat out in the back screened-in porch watching some movie or show with your earbuds at max volume.

"Dixie, you know I can't stand them," you tell her with a smile and a shake of your head. "Their egos are way too big."

"Wanna know what else is big?" asks Dixie, wiggling her eyebrows. You give her a look of disgust and she laughs.

"I'm telling your momma next time we head home," you threaten, pointing at her.

She laughs again. "We both know you won't, Y/N."

With another roll of your eyes, you head towards another patron waving you down. "What can I help you with, darlin'?"

"Can I get a few shots of tequila, please?" asks the man.

You nod. "Sure thing. Three okay?"

"Yeah, that works."

With a bright smile, you say, "Alrighty!" and get to work. Picking three shot glasses out, you fill them to the brim with tequila. You also put some salt on a plate with a few wedges of lime and pass it to the man. "You got it all?"

He nods, carrying the shots in one hand and the plate with the rest of the fixings in the other. He thanks you before walking off back towards a table.

With a glance to the door, your heart almost stops. You know he's a fighter pilot. He's not wearing a flight suit or a uniform or anything. No, he's just in a white beater with a faded Hawaiian shirt and aviator glasses. But there's something about him that you just know is the epitome of a fighter pilot. You've met enough of them in the year that you've lived in Fightertown, you're confident you can spot one from a mile away.

For a naval pilot, though, there's something different about him. Maybe it's the way he's standing, slightly slouched and not fully upright like so many of the other ones do. Maybe it's the way he's biting the bottom of his lip like he's nervous. Or maybe it's the way he somehow exudes a vibe of...chill. An aura of calmness and relaxation that you can feel from over here.

You watch him spot a group back near the pool table and watch him walk up to them, where Jake is laughing with his fellow pilots. You watch Jake stand up and raise a brow. Does he puff his chest out?

"As I live and breathe," you hear him say with a smirk evident.

The other man, who appears to be the same height as Jake, says nothing. He just shakes his head, pushes his shades up, and leans on the table.

You wonder why he's wearing sunglasses in an already dark bar.

However, you’re quickly snapped out of your fantasy when you see someone else waving you down. With a small blush you hope is mostly invisible in the dim light, you walk over, apologizing.

All throughout the night, you can’t seem to keep your eyes off of that pilot. You have no idea what his name is and you’ve never seen him before in your life. But there’s just something about him that makes you yearn. Your eyes yearn to him while you pour another drink and you almost spill a few times, much to the amusement of Penny.

Eventually, you spot Penny's date counting his cash and cards, trying to find a way to pay off his debt. Then he smiles sheepishly, holds his hands up, and the next thing you know, Penny is yelling out, "Overboard, overboard!"

Hangman and a few other airmen who happened to be around the bar grab the man, each having a limb. You've seen this happen plenty of times, and it still makes you laugh, watching another man get thrown out of the bar because he couldn't pay his debt.

It was never anything mean, just playfulness. That's what the bar was. It was playful, it was friendly. It was a place for naval men and women alike to come after a hard day's work of...whatever they did and get a drink and play a game of pool or darts with a friend. It was one of the many things that reminded you of home.

During a short time when things calm down, you lean next to her where she’s chatting with Dixie. “Hey, Pen. Who’s that guy over there by the pool table?”

She looks in your direction and tilts her head. “Y/N, there’s no one over there.”

With a frown, you see that there isn’t anyone over there indeed. Scanning the bar, you search for him. “W…where’d he go?”

Suddenly, the music from the jukebox comes to an abrupt stop and there are cries of dismay and a few curses. But the single note on a piano has you whipping your head in that direction.

That same man is sitting there at the piano, his friends gathered around him. You tilt your head and lean your forearms on the counter, watching as he plays a few notes you almost recognize.

"You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain. Too much love drives a man insane. You broke my will. But what a thrill."

"Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!" sings nearly the entire bar, voices blending together perfectly.

You laugh as the pilot continues the song that you now recognize as a song by Jerry Lee Lewis. It's one of your favorites, you remember your grandfather playing it on the record machine he refused to give up.

"I laughed at love cause I thought it was funny. You came along and you moved me, honey. I change my mind. This love is fine."

"Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!"

A soft, manicured hand grabs your own and pulls you to the bar. Dixie is smiling, mouth open, and singing along with the rest of the bar. "Kiss me, baby!" She presses a long, exaggerated kiss to your hand and you laugh loudly.

"Mmmm, it feels good!" you sing, grabbing both of her hands as she stands. It's difficult to dance together across a bar, but you make it work. "Hold me, baby!" You bring Dixie up to the edge of the bar and give her an awkward type of hug.

"I wanna love you like a lover should!" she sings with you, cheeks pressed together. "You're fine. So kind!" she pulls away and grabs your shoulders as you wiggle them, sending the two of you side to side, grinning and laughing. "Imma tell the world that you're mine, mine, mine, mine!"

You push her away as she picks up an empty beer bottle and uses it as a microphone. That's what you've always loved about Dixie, how she was always so confident in herself.

"I chew my nails and I twiddle my thumbs. I get nervous but it sure is fun! Come on baby, you're driving me crazy!"

"Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!"

You laugh and stop singing for the piano solo. You take a second to look at the man playing said piano. He makes it look so easy. He's smiling, surrounded by his friends, and you can't see his fingers, but you're sure they making a blur across the keys. His friends howl and holler at him, Fanboy thumps a hand on the wooden instrument. You notice that his sunglasses have slid down as he slides his fingers down the piano, creating a glissando. He smiles at his friends turned fans, clearly enjoying the attention.

You bounce to the music, continuing to watch Dixie attempt to copy what the pilot is doing. She's failing, quite terribly, but she doesn't seem to care.

"Kiss me, baby! Woo, that feels good. Hold me, baby! I wanna love you like a lover should."

You yourself get lost in the music, leaning across to also sing into the empty beer bottle with Dixie, almost like a duet. Your eyes are closed and your cheeks are red, maybe from the heat, maybe from the excitement.

What you don't spot, however, is the gaze that the piano-playing pilot gives you while he sings. He spots you halfway across the bar, how can he not? Hell, he can even hear your voice from over here. There's some kind of drawl to it, one he hasn't quite heard. But your singing is good, almost as good as his. Your friend's voice, not so much, but you don't seem to care, singing along and bouncing your head, a bar towel in one hand.

He finds himself smiling before looking down at the keys, making sure his fingers are in the right spot, even though he knows that they are.

"Come on baby, you're driving me crazy!"

"Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!"

The song finishes off with a few final notes and the bar erupts in cheers and howls, quickly turning to a chant.

"Rooster, Rooster, Rooster, Rooster!"

You tilt your head, clapping as Dixie joins the chant, holding a fist up. That can't be his real name, surely. Perhaps a callsign, like Hangman. Still, you somehow think it’s fitting for a man like him.

The pilot, Rooster, stands and does a cheesy dance. He lifts his arms and moves his hips awkwardly and you laugh at how utterly stupid it looks. You're not sure if you imagine it, but you think that this Rooster character looks directly at you and winks.

But you must be imagining it because the next moment he's leaning back and throwing his arms back before standing up straighter as the chants become faster. You laugh and even begin chanting yourself as he pumps a leg up, exclaiming. He pushes his glasses up with one hand, beer bottle in the other, before looking around the bar and smiling.

The chants die down and after a few minutes, someone plugs the jukebox back in and some song by Elton John begins to play again.

Dixie sits back down, pushing her hair out of her face. "Man, I love this town."

You nod in agreement and move to hand out a couple more beers.

A little after 2 a.m., the bar begins to empty out. You stopped selling alcohol twenty minutes ago and most patrons had left an hour before that. 5 a.m. wake-up call was the next day and you couldn't imagine it being easy. Most days you didn't wake up until after 9.

You and Penny are both closing up together. Dixie had left a long time ago with some young pilot, again. You sighed and rolled your eyes, watching her be all blushy and giggly as he pulled her out of the bar, pretending like it was her first time.

"I swear," you say to Penny, sweeping. "I'm gonna be an aunt one'a these days if she keeps this up."

Penny laughs, continuing to wipe down the bar. "You think so?"

"I know so!" you exclaim, pausing at your area by the pool table. "You should hear her. At least once a week, she brings one of those boys by and they keep at it all night long. That girl has stamina!"

Penny laughs again, loud, like she always does. She covers her mouth with her hand, waving a hand to get you to stop. “I believe you, I believe you!”

With a shrug, you get back to sweeping. “I just hope that they’re done by the time I head back.”

Your boss and friend just laughs and you sense her shaking her head. Silence fills the bar again, the quiet songs on the jukebox providing the only background music. You spot a bottle cap hidden under a table and reach down to pick it up, tossing it in a nearby trash can.

Suddenly, you hear Penny curse and turn your head towards her. “What’s wrong?”

“Amelia just texted,” she answers, setting the rag down to use both hands on her phone. “Says she’s throwing up and has a headache…”

You frown. “Aw, poor girl. Hey, you go on home, take care of her. I can finish closin’ up here.”

She looks at you, head tilted and brows furrowed. “You’re sure?”

You nod, grinning at her. “Of course! I’ve closed up enough. ‘Sides, we’re almost done.”

Penny nods and quickly walks out from behind the bar, giving you a quick hug. “Thank you so much.”

You hug her back. “‘Course.” While she heads to the back to grab her things, you finish sweeping, putting all of the dirt into a dustpan and emptying it before tying up the trash, prepping it to be thrown away after you lock up.

Penny comes back through, jacket over one arm and purse in the other. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

With a nod, you add before she leaves, “Get her some ginger ale! Works better than Sprite. For me, at least.”

The woman nods and thanks you before leaving. Soon, you hear her car start up and pull out of the gravel parking lot.

You’re alone. For the first time all day, you’re alone and it feels great. With a little smile, you head toward the jukebox, wanting a particular song. Finally, you see it and clap your hands a little before selecting it.

"Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene," you sing with Dolly, making your way to the bar to grab the rag and wipe down everything one more time. "I'm begging you, please don't take my man. Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene. Please don't take him just because you can."

The guitar and the drums give you a nice beat to move to, and you find yourself walking in step with the music. Years of learning to dance in elementary school and dancing at weddings really paid off.

Dolly Parton has always been one of your favorite female artists. She was your first real introduction to music when your Meemaw played her while baking your cookies. It was one of your earliest memories, one you've always cherished since her passing.

"Your smile is like a breath of spring, your voice is soft like summer rain. And I cannot compete with you, Jolene."

You wipe down the tables again. You've had a habit to wipe them down right before you leave, so you can make sure you've gotten everything. You reach the area by the pool tables and rearrange them, putting the pool sticks back in their correct spots and making a neat triangle in the center of the pool tables.

The door opens, and though you can't see who walked in, you know it's not Penny. Thinking it's someone who doesn't realize you're closed, you shout, "Sorry, y'all, we're closed! We're open at five tomorrow!"

Footsteps on the wooden floor echo through the mostly quiet bar. A voice calls out, "Yeah, sorry to bother you, but I think I lost my wallet."

You pause, hands resting on the furry green pool table. That voice. It's familiar yet not. You tilt your head and turn the corner to see whoever it is.

It's him. The piano player from hours ago. Rooster.

And I can easily understand how you can easily take my man. But you don't know what he means to me, Jolene

With a smile, you put on that bright, southern charm that comes so easily and so naturally. "Oh, for sure. I don't believe me or Penny have seen a wallet, but what's it look like?" You tilt your head. "I'll help you look."

He's not wearing his sunglasses anymore, they're hanging from the collar of his white shirt. His eyes look you up and down but from this distance, you can't quite see what color they are. Still, you can see the way his cheeks warm and how he clears his throat. "Thanks," is all that he says. His voice isn't quite deep, but something about it sends your heart thumping.

"What's it look like?" you ask again, heading to the bar to double-check the box that's been dubbed a lost-and-found. Basically, it was where you and Penny dumped things that had been found and not claimed yet. There were a few wallets, but those ones had been there for weeks. There were a few pairs of glasses, both reading and sunglasses. A couple of cards that Penny was waiting to cut up and even the random shoe. You had found that one, and you and Penny spent twenty minutes arguing about who could walk out while missing a shoe.

Rooster meets you at the bar, leaning his forearms on the surface. You take the box out and place it next to him. You definitely don't linger on how damn strong his arms look and how tanned they are.

"It's dark brown," Rooster explains, sifting through the box. "Got my initials stamped on it. It's thick as shit, I throw everything in it."

With a light smile, you ask, "What's your initials?"

"B.B.," he answers.

With a click of your tongue, you walk out from across the bar to search the booths and tables. You didn't run across it during your sweep or wipedown, but you could've missed it. "Those stand for somethin' other than Rooster?"

You hear him chuckle and it sends a jolt down your spine. "They stand for Bradley Bradshaw."

"Oh." You smile, putting up the chairs as you search. "See, that makes more sense."

He laughs this time. Suddenly it stops and he asks, "What the fuck is a shoe doing in here?"

With a snort, you turn to him from across the room. He's holding up said shoe, an old and beat-up white Nike Air Force 1. It's been there for a week, and you and Penny hadn't bothered to throw it away.

You answer him with an innocent smile and a shrug. "No idea. Penny found it last week, under a table. Asked her what we should do with it, she just threw it in the box."

Rooster chuckles and throws it back in. "It's not in here."

You lift another chair up and flip it over, placing it on the table. You give the man a look and say, "Help me find it then, princess."

He gives you a teasing smile and asks, "Princess?"

With a cheeky grin, you give him no reply and continue to look. You've always been a tease, ever since college. Your friends always told you how a classmate had gotten a crush on you just by one look. Whenever you met someone cute in a bar or at a party, you would give them a look, flirt with them for a few minutes, and then disappear. It wasn't something you really did on purpose (at least not all of the time), it was just something that happened.

Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene. I’m begging of you, please don’t take my man. Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene. Please don’t take him even though you can. Jolene, Jolene.

For the next several minutes, you and Rooster look for his wallet. You stack all of the chairs up and he searches between the booths and around on the floor.

You search near the piano, running a finger along the keys. This piano is incredibly out of tune and old as dirt, but when he played, it sounded brand new.

“Where’d you learn to play?” you ask, turning to see him by the dart board.

He meets your gaze and something in his eyes change. There’s a flash of sadness behind those hazels. You can see his eye color now, and it reminds you of acorns in early October mornings.

“My mom taught me,” he answers.

The jukebox clicks and the song changes. A Johnny Lee song plays, his voice nostalgic and comforting.

Well, I spent a lifetime lookin' for you. Single bars and good time lovers were never true. Playing a fool's game, hopin' to win. And tellin' those sweet lies and losin' again.

You smile, sweetly. “That’s sweet.”

He nods, glancing at the floor. “Yeah. Apparently my dad knew how to play and she wanted to teach me.”

“We’re y’all close?” you ask, wiping a stripe of dirt off of the instrument. It’s thinner than you thought it would’ve been.

Something in the atmosphere shifts and you look up at Rooster. He’s staring at the green dart in his hands, turning it between his fingers. His brows are furrowed and are his shoulders shaking?

“Bradley?” you ask softly, tenderly.

His head snaps up to you and he quickly says, “Call me Rooster.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause everyone else does.”

Biting your lip, you tell him, “I ain’t everyone.”

I'll bless the day I discover another heart, lookin' for love.

Finally, his face breaks into a grin, his mustache making his smile look ever better. “You know, you’ve got a pretty way of speaking.”

“Yeah?” You walk towards him, hands clasped behind your back. “What about it do ya like?”

He throws the dart at the board and it lands in the inner circle. Then he turns to face you, walking towards you. “I like the way you hold your vowels out. And how you shorten words that don’t need to be shortened.”

You smile. Many people on this side of the states have complimented your accent. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before. But something about it coming from him, Bradley, made it feel different. He was a pilot. An attractive one at that. Tall, blonde, dark and lean. That pornstash your mother always found sexy on Tom Selleck you now found sexy on him. The way he’d lick his lips, always getting the bottom of it wet. Your mind went to the gutter and you wondered how scratchy it would feel somewhere else.

"Where are you from?" he asks, walking closer.

"Georgia," you answer. "Small town named Pearson, it's right by Savannah."

He nods, finally stopping in front of you. He's tall and he looks down at you with a small smile. You're not so close that you're practically touching, but you're close enough to smell him. And you note that he smells like the ocean and sweat and beer. Somehow, all of those scents at once make you weak in the knees.

"How long have you been in Fightertown?"

"Little over a year."

"Have you, uh, met anyone in that year?"

With a smirk, you say, "Nah," and lift up the wallet you found under the piano bench. "Fighter pilots just don't do it for me."

Bradley's face twists into a smile of sorts and he takes the initialed wallet from your head. "What makes you think I'm a pilot?"

Walking away from him, you say over your shoulder, "Call it a hunch."

Lookin' for traces of what I'm dreaming of, hoping to find a friend and a lover. I'll bless the day I discover another heart lookin' for love.

Your nerves are on fire and you can barely feel your legs. But you still keep walking even though you know his eyes are on you. You're nearly done closing up. You just need to take the trash out and turn the lights off before locking the doors.

Part of you is excited you're closing up. It's past two in the morning, you woke up before eight and you're absolutely exhausted. You smell like beer and other various alcoholic beverages. You want to take a shower and pass out for the next nine hours.

But another part of you is upset because you know your conversation with Bradley is coming to a close.

"Do you live here?" asks Bradley, eyes following you as you take the trash up and tie it at the top. "Or are you just visiting?" He goes to the jukebox and turns it off, sensing that you're nearly done.

"I live here," you answer with a nod. "Come on, I want to go home." There's a pile of mostly empty trash bags by the door that Penny was kind enough to put there for you to grab on the way out and you move to them after grabbing your purse and your phone charger that was in the back. "Hey, don't you got early wake-up call?" You make your way towards the door, sure you look awkward carrying four garbage bags over your shoulder. Still, Bradley says nothing while you shut the lights off in descending order before walking out the door.

"Yeah," Bradley admits, holding the door open for you. He even takes the keys from your hands and locks up the doors to the bar for you.

"Thank ya," you say, breathing a sigh of relief at the warm ocean breeze that greets your face. The air smells salty and slightly fishy, but you've never wanted to smell anything more. "Well, what are you doing here still, then?"

He slowly follows you towards the dumpster at the far corner of the parking lot. Normally, you'd be nervous outside at night, but tonight, you're not by yourself. You've got a big, strong navy man to protect you. Not like you'd need it.

"I needed my wallet," he says, honestly. Then he adds, the grin in his voice audible, "Plus I'd never pass the chance to talk to a pretty lady."

"Oh, you're quite charming!" you call, tossing the bags in the dumpster, thankful trash day is tomorrow. Wiping your hands on your shorts, you make your way back to your car, noticing that he parked next to you. "You must make all the ladies swoon."

He scoffs and throws the keys across his car back to you. You catch them in your fist and dangle them around your middle finger. "Maybe. Not enough to keep them, that is."

You tilt your head, heart thumping fast and face flushed from all of this flirting. "Shame. You seem like a catch." Throwing him a grin, you open the door of your old, beat-up truck your father gifted to you the moment you turned fifteen. "Go to sleep, Bradley!" you call, starting the vehicle up.

He smiles, watching you. "Yes, ma'am."

With a small shake of your head, you turn the volume of your radio up just a bit. Some random Miranda Lambert song is playing and you back your truck up, throwing an arm over the seat to watch where you're going. When you're far enough back to clear Bradley's tailgate, you crank the wheel to the right, gravel crunching under the tires.

Bradley is in his car, but you still smile at where he was and tear out of the empty parking lot into the even emptier streets. Taking a left, you head home, exhaustion finally catching up. Your eyelids grow heavy and you yawn. Still, you don't miss the bright red taillights of Bradley's car taking off in the opposite direction of you.

With a satisfied and triumphant whoop, you beat your hands on the top of the steering wheel. Your heart is racing and suddenly your exhaustion vanishes as you recall the last twenty minutes.

Bradley Bradshaw. Rooster. What a character. Piano player, singer, flirt, yet still kind and charming. Chivalrous, almost. You have no idea how long he'll even be in Fightertown. Most people stay for a few weeks until eventually being deployed elsewhere.

You hope that he'll stop at the bar every night and lose his wallet again.

[malfoymanortings]

to be so lonely

REQUEST FROM @gxvrielle : George Weasley x Reader. I wanted the reader to be a muggle who is best friends with Hermione and attends her Wedding with Ron. She meets the Weasley Family and can't help but grow interested in George.

this one definitely got away from me. i had to cut it a bit short at the end, but if there’s interest for part two, i got yall!

hope this is what you wanted! or, at least suffices.

“Millie, you absolutely cannot tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

The summer heat was beating down on the two young girls. One had a wild, unruly bush of brown hair. The other, the smaller of the two, had her long brown hair pulled back in two neat ditch braids. They sat side by side on swings, their feet dragging them to a stop. Hermione Granger and Millie Wilkins had been friends since they were in diapers, and had no plans of changing that.

Millie nodded, her big green eyes staring doefully at Hermione. The tone of her friend's voice was different than usual, and it seemed to set off an alarm in the back of her head. She couldn’t help but feel that something was changing, shifting.

“Y’know how I can.. Do things that you can’t?” Hermione began, waiting until Millie nodded before continuing. “I’m a witch, Millie.”

It seemed as though Hermione was waiting for Millie to yell, maybe cower in fear, or even run away from her. The caution that was written all over the bright young girl's face almost made Millie laugh, were it not for her astonishment at the revelation Hermione laid down in front of her.

“A witch?” Millie repeated in hushed tones. “Like… like Cinderella’s godmother?”

Hermione nodded vigorously, her curls flopping about wildly. “Yes, exactly! Well, probably not exactly, but.. Close enough.”

Millie nodded, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “How d’you know?”

Hermione’s brown eyes glittered wildly, and she launched into an animated recount of a woman named Professor McGonagall, who had come to her home and explained that she was a witch. Hermione would be attending Hogwarts in the coming school year, a special school for witches and wizards. She would need to get special supplies, like a cauldron and even a wand, in a place called Diagon Alley, which was only available for magical folks to enter.

A hard lump seemed to have settled in Millie’s throat, as she realized that her only friend, her very best friend, nearly her sister, would no longer be with her in their next school year. It appeared that the only time she would get to see Hermione would be during the summer.

It appeared that her world had shifted around on its axis. It was a lonely feeling, even with Hermione right beside her.

Ever the intuitive child, Hermione seemed to catch onto what Millie was feeling.

“Oh, Millie, I asked if you could come with,” Hermione’s nose scrunched, and her mouth twisted down. “But she said you’re a muggle. Muggles can't come to Hogwarts.”

Millie’s heart twisted painfully, but she mustered a smile for her best friend. “Well, that just means you’re going to have to tell me all about it next summer. Oh! Maybe you could write me while you’re away!”

Hermione’s eyes glittered with excitement, and she launched into a detailed account of Owl Post, which is what magical folk used to send mail. Millie was almost able to forget that things were changing, as she felt herself get swept away in the excitement of the wizarding world that she herself would never be part of.

Hermione’s departure soon after was full of tears and many sleepless nights for Millie. She felt out of place without her best friend, and found it difficult to find her place in her new school. Hermione was supposed to be here, and it was hard for Millie to adjust without her. She constantly found herself daydreaming about the mysterious Hogwarts, and wished more than anything she was with Hermione.

Millie found herself drawn to the world of crystals and tarot cards around her fourteenth birthday, much to the amusement of Hermione. Millie soon became almost an expert on the subjects, and she felt more at ease having found her own kind of “magic”.

Summer rolled around once more, and Hermione had many stories to tell Millie of her new friends Ron and Harry. It appeared that Hermione had found her place at her new school, and Millie was happy for her, as long as she ignored the twinge she felt at her best friend's adventures. There was also an awful little cockroach, Draco Malfoy, who was utterly disgusting to Hermione. Millie vowed if she ever ran into Malfoy, she would punch him dead in his face.

Time seemed to move fast, after that summer. Millie found a place in her school, and made a few friends, although none of them were like Hermione. She still waited anxiously for summer to come, so she could drink in all the magic of Hermione’s new world.

Of course, good things don’t last forever. Their summers began to be cut short, as Hermione was whisked away to her new friends, and Millie still knew Hermione well enough to know that the witch was hiding things from her.

Summers passed, school years came, and soon, Millie found herself ready to move onto university. She hoped she would see Hermione, one last time, before she left, but she didn’t hold much hope. Hermione had shared very little of her new life, but what she did share wasn’t positive. There was a wizarding war going on, and her best friend was in the thick of it.

It was a sweltering hot day, and Millie found herself lounging on her front porch, swinging back and forth on the swing as she re-read Pride and Prejudice. She loved romance novels, although she herself hadn't experienced anything of the sort. Of course, Millie had plenty of suitors, but none of them were right for her. She always had a reason, and excuse, but truthfully, she didn’t want something mundane. She was still captivated by the world of magic, and no “muggle” had yet measured up to what she wanted.

She had grown alright with the idea that she would forever be alone.

“Hello, Millie.”

The porch swing had stopped moving as another person sat next to her. Millie would know that voice anywhere. She placed her bookmark in the book, and set it down next to her. Turning her head, she saw Hermione Granger giving her a wistful smile.

She wore a pink jumper, and worn jeans. Her hair was as wild as ever, pulled back in a low pony. A stark contrast from Millie, who had jean shorts and a tank top on, her hair neatly pulled into a braid.

“Hermione,” Millie smiled, taking her friend in a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “I’ve missed you too.”

Their hug lingered for a few seconds longer than usual. Millie had a sense of foreboding grasp her, and she looked at Hermione sharply.

“I get the feeling that this isn’t a usual, ‘home for the summer’, homecoming, hm?” Millie raised her eyebrows, chewing her lip out of habit.

Hermione laughed humorlessly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “It’s not, no.”

Millie nodded, and the two girls sat in silence for a moment, swinging back and forth on Millie’s porch swing.

“I’m going to University soon,” Millie said in the silence, running her fingers along the rough worn wood of the swing. “It's a few hours away from here. My parents aren’t too thrilled about me moving so far away, but it’s what I wanted. I got Valedictorian, as well, although I’m sure it would have gone to you if you would have been here.”

Hermione smiled wistfully, taking Millie’s hand in hers. “I don’t know, I think my competition would have beaten me.”

Millie shrugged, enjoying the feeling of Hermione’s hand in hers. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“Remember how I told you about the war?” Hermione blurted abruptly, barely waiting for Millie’s nod. “It’s gotten a lot worse. Harry, Ron, and I have to go into hiding. I don’t know.. I don’t know if I’ll get to see you again, so I wanted to come say goodbye. I can’t stay long.”

Millie closed her eyes, feeling her heart thud in her chest. This was what she had been afraid of. Leave it to Hermione to make friends with the face of the Wizarding War.

“Be safe, Hermione,” the words came out funny, her throat was closing. “If you can, when it’s safe… find me. Goodbye, Hermione Jean.”

Hermione smiled sadly, and pulled her in for one more hug. “Goodbye, Millie Rose.”

Millie took one last look at Hermione, and when she blinked, she was gone. In her place, was a photograph the two had taken last summer. Hermione and Millie had each other's arms thrown over their shoulders, smiling and laughing. To her shock, they actually moved.

She gingerly took the photograph, holding it tightly to her chest. This was the last memory she may have of her best friend, and it was magic.

A few years passed, and Millie had graduated from University. Although she hadn't heard from Hermione, she had never stopped thinking of her friend. The magical photograph of the two of them stayed on her dresser as always, and she grieved the loss of her best friend as though she had lost a sister. It certainly felt as though she had.

Millie was able to get a job in her chosen field, primary education, and she was due to start next week. She had her own flat in London, decorated to her liking with hints of magic and literature hidden throughout it. Throughout her home, there were crystals of all different kinds and shapes. They were comforting to her, even if they weren’t wizard magic.

Although she had many good things in her life, she still felt as though she was incomplete.

It was the middle of the night when she woke up to the sound of something crashing in her living room. Her heart thudded, and her blood ran cold. She slowly got out of bed, pulling on her robe. She cursed herself for not having any sort of weapon, and settled for a rather heavy candle she had been gifted for receiving her new job.

“Honestly, Ronald, this isn’t how I would have liked to enter her flat, breaking her plant all over the floor-”

“Oh really ‘Mione, because breaking into her flat at two in the morning is such a good idea itself-”

Millie stopped in her tracks. She would know that voice anywhere.

Rushing into her living room, she flipped on the lights. Hermione Granger stood in her living room, arguing with a tall ginger man.

“Hermione-” Millie sputtered, unable to find words.

“Millie,” Hermione rushed forward, smiling widely as she gathered her into a hug. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Millie held onto her tightly, relishing in the smell of vanilla and gardenias that the young witch always smelled of. Hermione pulled away, a warm smile still on her face. Millie took note of the changes the young witch had. There was a thin white line on her throat, similar to the ones Millie had on her thighs. There were a few more worry lines on Hermione’s face, and although she looked tired, she also looked.. Free.

“Alright, Hermione,” Millie gestured towards her couch and began making her way to the kitchen. “You and your friend make yourselves comfortable, I’ll put on the tea.”

When Millie re-entered the living room with her tea tray, Hermione and the ginger were both sitting on the couch. The ginger had Hermione’s hand in his, his thumb rubbing smooth circles over her skin. Millie’s eyes widened in understanding, as she realized this must be Ron Weasley, the ginger Hermione always pined over.

“Well, Ron, it appears you finally got your head on straight,” Millie sniffed, sitting down in an armchair. “Poor Hermione didn’t think you’d ever find your sense and make it official.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open in shock, and Hermione laughed rather loudly, covering her smile with her hands. Millie smirked, taking her cup of tea and dropping three sugars inside.

“Oh, Millie,” Hermione shook her head, fixing her own tea. “I’ve missed you.”

They stayed up well into early morning, as Hermione finally told her all of the details she had withheld over the years. Everything with Voldemort, Harry, the war. Millie learned so many things that she felt she had no more room for new knowledge. By the time Hermione was done relaying everything, Millie’s eyes were heavy and she couldn’t stifle her yawns any longer.

“Oh dear, I’ve been keeping you awake,” Hermione shook her head, standing up. She flicked her wrist, and their tea dishes were cleared away. “Before we go, there’s one more thing I’ve got to ask of you.”

Millie nodded, in astonishment of the overt display of magic Hermione had given her. She had never seen her do anything like that.

Hermione glanced over at Ron, who had been admiring her the entire time. A blush coated her pale face, and she shook her head slightly as she looked back at Millie.

“I’m getting married, Millie, and I would love for you to be there as one of my bridesmaids.”

Millie hadn’t been expecting that, although she should have. It made sense, the way she and Ron interacted. “Of course, Hermione. I would love to.”

Hermione smiled brightly, and handed her a card with details on it. “I’ll have one of Ron’s brothers come for you, when it's time.”

Millie narrowed her eyes, looking down at the card. “Hermione, this says your wedding is in two days.”

Hermione nodded, looking bashful. “Yes, it took me longer than I would have liked for me to find you. Your parents didn’t live in our old neighborhood anymore.”

“Yes, I convinced them to move,” Millie said softly. “I wasn’t sure if they would be safe with.. Everything.”

Hermione nodded knowingly, a sad smile on her face. “I understand if you can’t make it.”

Millie shook her head. “No, I’ll be there. Just… not much time to look for a dress..”

Hermione scoffed, shaking her head. “Oh, Millie, please. I have one for you.” with a flick of her wrist, Hermione produced a shimmering pale pink gown.

Millie’s eyes widened in shock again at the magic, and she gingerly took the garment from Hermione. It felt soft, silky, and she instantly fell in love with it. “Thank you, Hermione.”

Hermione smiled, and gave Millie one last hug. “One of Ron’s brothers will be here to bring you on Saturday.”

Millie felt that Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. She would finally get to see Hermione’s wizarding life.

Saturday arrived both quickly and slowly at the same time.

Millie wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hair, so she settled on leaving it down in soft curls. She knew Hermione, so she didn’t bother doing much more than natural makeup. The pale pink dress clung to her curves in a shimmery, silky fashion, the top cut in a v shape that exposed her ample chest. She absently wondered if perhaps Hermione had enlisted someone else to pick out the dresses, as the color and fabric was the only thing that shouted Hermione.

Then again, it wouldn’t be far fetched to assume the girl -woman- had changed during the years apart.

At a quarter to noon, Millie sat perched on the edge of her couch. All Hermione had said was that one of Ronald’s brothers would be arriving to get her, and that seemed to be all the explanation she was going to be given.

A sudden shuffling from her fireplace alerted her to someone’s presence, and her heart leapt to her throat as, with a crash of dust and a flash of green, someone stumbled out from the hearth.

Millie gasped loudly, quickly picking up the first thing she could find- an Obsidian crystal tower with a rather sharp point. She brandished it towards the man that had arrived from her fireplace, but slowly lowered it as the red hair registered him to be Ron’s brother.

“Millie, correct?”

Millie nodded, lowering her Obsidian tower back to where it had been. The man was shorter than Ron, and burly, with a few tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of his black shirt. “Charlie Weasley, here to escort you to the wedding of the century.”

“Erm, alright,” Millie took a moment to center herself, nervously grabbing at the Amethyst crystal that was ever present around her neck. “How will we be..”

She trailed off, and Charlie gave her a warm smile. He reminded her of a giant teddy bear, and she felt her reservations slide away. “We’ll apparate.”

The word and definition came out from the recesses of her mind, a long ago conversation a much more naive Hermione and Millie had shared together while the latter had been drinking in any mention of the Wizarding world she could get.

Millie nodded, and rather awkwardly took Charlie’s arm that he extended towards her. “Hold your breath.”

An uncomfortable pulling began at her navel, and it seemed as though the world began to whip past them in a nearly unbearable speed. She could feel herself get nauseous, and as she felt her stomach twist, it all stopped. She would have fallen to the ground, had it not been for Charlie’s arm around her shoulders.

“Millie!”

Said girl swallowed hard, trying to rid herself of nausea. Hermione was rushing towards her, her wild hair tamed and pinned up in an intricate updo, light makeup on her face, completely out of place with the worn flannel button up and jeans she wore. An utterly Hermione combination, Millie thought with a smile.

“Gotta say, ‘Mione, love the outfit,” Millie teased, swallowing away the last bit of nausea she felt. “You’re missing something blue, and something new, however.”

Hermione tsked good naturedly and drew Millie in for a hug, pulling way to examine her childhood friend with an awestruck look. “Millie, you look so… Beautiful.”

“Oh please,” Millie waved away the compliment, blushing. “It’s just makeup. You, on the other hand… Stunning.”

Hermione beamed brightly, a new glow seeming to emanate from her face. A giggle escaped her lips, and Millie couldn’t help but notice the brunette seemed.. Different. Although, she couldn’t put a finger on it.

“I’m going to go find Luminita,” Charlie told Hermione, his face softening at the mention of whoever that was. He turned to Millie and gave her a hug, much to her surprise. “Nice meeting you, Millie.”

The two girls watched the redhead go off, and Millie turned to Hermione.

“Luminita is Charlie’s wife,” Hermione replied, smiling. “They met while he was training Dragons.”

“Dragons?” Millie questioned, but before Hermione could answer, she was interrupted.

“‘Mione, where’d you go?”

The two brunettes turned to see an utterly gorgeous redhead walk out from the oddly shaped house behind them.

“That’s Ginny, Ron’s sister, and my best friend,” Hermione explained quickly, smiling at Millie, noticing the flinch the other girl had at Hermione’s description of the beautiful girl. “At least, my Hogwarts best friend.”

Millie nodded, shoving her feelings of inadequacies away for a different time, and instead exchanged greetings with the exuberant redhead with a dry sense of humor. As she walked back into the house with the pair, she found it was easy to be in company with Ginny. She didn’t make her feel any less than the two of them, even though Millie knew she would probably be the only muggle there.

The house was suddenly thrown into a flurry of activity, and Millie found herself meeting many of the people she had heard stories of nearly her entire childhood. Arthur and Molly, Harry, Neville, Luna, Bill, and countless others that she hadn't heard of. It appeared that Hermione had delegated Harry to the task of leading her about and introducing her, as Hermione had her wedding to prepare for.

“So, this is the Burrow,” Harry explained a bit lamely, his eyes trailing back on Ginny, who disappeared into another room, presumably to follow Hermione. “We’ve spent a lot of our time here.”

“Yes, Hermione told me about that,” Millie smiled fondly, brushing one of her curls behind her ear. “The Golden Trio. I was always so jealous.”

Harry gave her a soft smile. “I think we may have been a bit jealous of you. Ron especially. You got to know Hermione first, before she became the brightest witch of our age.”

“Well, it’s interesting to know this,” she gestured around wordlessly. “Hermione Jean as well. Overwhelming, of course, but I always was fascinated by magic.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a voice she hadn't heard yet.

“Oi, Harry, Ron’s going barmy, can you come speak some sense to him?”

Harry looked at her regretfully, turning to the voice. “Course, George. Can you keep Millie company?”

“Ah, ‘Miones friend?” The tall ginger man walked towards them, his eyebrows quivering in interest. “Sure, mate. Just make sure my brother doesn’t bugger off.”

Harry clapped the man on the back, said goodbye to Millie, and hurried off to wherever Ron was.

Millie took that moment to look at the man before her, her eyes widening at how attractive he was. It was rare that a man caught her interest in such an intense way, but George was… different. She felt drawn to him, although she wasn’t quite sure why.

“Millie, right?” George questioned, his warm brown eyes staring at her green ones. His lips turned up in a smile. “I’m George. Ron’s older brother.”

“George…” Millie trailed off, the name pinging her memory. “Fred and George?”

The reaction that name gave George was instantaneous. His smile crumbled, replaced with a firm line. His fists clenched, and a muscle in his forehead twitched. It almost looked like he was going to be sick, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“I-I’m sorry,” Millie rushed out, wanting to place a hand on his shoulder but unsure if that would be the right response. “Erm, so, you’re Ron’s older brother, yeah? You guys sure seem to have an awful lot of siblings.”

He still had his eyes shut, and showed no sign of relaxing. She tried again, and began rambling in a way that should have embarrassed her, in a way that she only did with Hermione.

“I always wanted siblings growing up,” she watched his face carefully, waiting for him to show some sign of relaxing. “I had Hermione, and she basically was my sister. We basically floated between each other's houses, y’know? But I still had wanted my own sibling, my blood sibling. My mum tried, miscarried a few times. I didn’t mind much, because I had Hermione. But then she left.”

George seemed to be relaxing, and had opened his eyes. They were haunted. He nodded, in a way to urge her to continue.

“She left for Hogwarts, but we still had summers together.” Millie swallowed hard. “Then things got more complicated because of the war stuff you guys had going on. I was always so jealous of her, the magical world she got to be part of… But honestly, with everything she went through, I feel like I may have been lucky, to have been spared all of that hardship. Did you know muggles have their own version of witches and magic?”

The question seemed to have caught George off guard, and he clenched his fists and relaxed slightly, save for a furrow in his brow. “Yeah, card tricks.”

Millie laughed, an edge of relief mixing in. “No, more than that. Some muggles think that with intent and manifestation, certain things can be achieved. There are special stones as well, called crystals, that can help with that. There's different herbs too, which reminds me of Herbology that Hermione told me about. Even Tarot cards, which is like a form of Divination.”

George seemed almost taken aback by the onslaught of info she threw at him, and he blinked slowly. “Am I to assume that you participate in.. that?”

He didn’t say it in a degrading way, but she still felt a bit defensive and cursed herself as she blushed. “I… I do, yes. I’m wearing a crystal right now, it’s a rose quartz.” She pointed out her necklace, holding it out.

George reached out and took the small stone in his large hands, scrutinizing it. “It doesn’t feel much different from any old rock. It’s pretty, I suppose. What is it supposed to do?”

A blush coated Millie’s cheeks once more. “Erm, well. It’s a love stone. It, um. Opens the heart and increases self acceptance, it brings peace.. Helps with transitions, too… It basically helps in all facets of love, intimate or friendship.”

George blinked again, a small smile gracing his lips. “Are you finding it hard to find love, Millie?”

This time it was her turn to be caught off guard, and she took a moment to answer. George let the necklace drop back to her chest, and she didn’t miss the way that his eyes lingered on her chest. A thrill ran down her spine.

“Most people bore me.” She decided it was the easiest explanation, looking up to meet his gaze.

“I’m far from boring.” The words left his lips quickly, his brown eyes not wavering from hers.

She felt it again, that shock of electricity that seemed to emanate from George Weasley. She examined his face, a strong jawline and nose, with wide lips. A smattering of freckles across his face seemed to sharpen his features, disappearing underneath the smartly fitted suit he wore. His shoulders were wide, strong, and he was at least a head and a half taller than her. Even through the suit, she could tell he was muscular. And his hands… They were large and had almost a musical feel to them. She wondered, for a moment, if he played any instruments, muggle or magical.

Unbeknownst to Millie, George was drinking her in the same way she had done to him. It had been a long time since anyone, much less a girl, had peaked his interest. It had been exactly two years, three months, and seventeen days, to be exact.

Millie was short, something that had always been attractive to him. She was deliciously curvy, with wide hips and an ample chest. He had always liked bigger girls, and Millie was… exactly his type. She had long honey hair that brushed past the middle of her back, that fell in wonderfully soft curls he had to resist reaching out to grasp.

Her dark green eyes were framed by long lashes that seemed to sweep her cheeks when she ducked her head in a blush. Her hands were small, and he wanted nothing more than to hold his up against hers to revel in the size difference. Her lips were plump and paired perfectly with her ski slope nose, and carved cheekbones. He wondered what it would feel like to have her neck between his hands… and he had to stop his train of thought there.

“Georgie, good, you’ve met Millie,” Ginny appeared out of nowhere, startling the two out of whatever trance they had been in. “You two are walking together. It’s time to start, let's get going.”

The two looked away from each other suddenly, following the whirlwind that was Ginny Weasley. Each time their hands brushed, it felt electric, and Millie had never, ever, felt this way with anyone before.

They joined the rest of the bridal party, and Millie squinted as she tried to recall everyone that was there. The sun warmed their skin nicely, and they all arranged themselves in line and began their procession into the aisle, where they would eagerly await the appearance of the bride and groom. George held his elbow out for Millie, and she nearly jumped at the feeling she got when her arm as their arms interlinked. From the way George seemed to flinch, she wondered if he had felt it too.

Ginny and Harry led the way, with George and Millie following. Next came Neville and Luna, then Bill and Fleur, Percy and Angelina being the final ones to walk the aisle. Charlie was officiating the wedding.

As the music started up, and Ron was led down the aisle by his father, Millie couldn’t help but wonder who, exactly, would give Hermione away. Her parents were in Australia, forever addled by the memory charm the young witch had been forced to throw upon them. She couldn’t imagine who Hermione picked to replace them.

Hermione wore a beautiful white gown that bore a striking resemblance to the one Millie recalled seeing Cinderella wear. It was a story she and Hermione had been captivated with growing up, and when Hermione and Millie caught eyes, Hermione gave her a wink, and Millie nearly laughed. Of course, Hermione would have gotten Cinderella’s gown for her wedding.

Millie didn’t recognize the person leading Hermione down the aisle, but she was a tall, slender, formidable old woman, who had an undeniable air of authority around her. She had a soft look on her face as she walked Hermione towards Ron, and Millie could have sworn there was a tear in the corner of her eye.

“Thank you, Minerva.” Milie just barely heard the words leave Hermione’s lips.

The woman, Minerva, gave Hermione a swift hug before returning to her seat. The ceremony began, and Millie found herself staring at the people around her. Everyone here… they were Hermione’s chosen family. It nearly took her breath away to finally see them for herself.

Her eyes kept wandering to George, and each time she looked at him, he was already looking at her.

The ceremony ended rather spectacularly, with cheers of joy and hollers breaking out around them. Ron wrapped Hermione up in his arms, kissing her like she was the last woman on Earth. Millie’s heart swelled for her best friend. She had finally gotten her happy ending. Hermione deserved it more than anyone Millie knew.

Magical folk definitely knew how to throw a party. The backyard of the Weasley’s burrow transformed into a reception area complete with a dance floor, music, fireworks, and plenty of drinks and food that Millie hadn’t heard of before. She mingled with the people she had met prior to the ceremony, aside from George. She wasn’t sure where he had gone. It seemed as though after the vows were said and done, he disappeared into the crowd.

After an hour or so, Millie found herself slightly overwhelmed and needed a break. She grabbed a bottle of Butterbeer, that of which Hermione assured her actually contained no alcohol, and she wandered off to the edge of the property. Away from the crowd of people, she leaned against a tree, taking a deep drink from the Butterbeer. It was surprisingly good, and she laughed as she almost felt irritated that Hermione had never shared this with her.

“What do you find so funny?”

Millie nearly jumped, looking up to see George in the tree above her. “Oh my goodness, I had no idea you were there!”

George jumped down, landing rather gracefully for someone of his height. “Seriously, what did you find so funny?”

Millie gestured to her drink. “Just thinking that this is pretty good, and how I’m almost irritated that Hermione never brought this home for me to try. With everything I had to miss out on, it feels like this could have been one thing I got to share with her.”

George laughed, although it appeared to be humorless. “There’s a lot of things I wish I could share with someone who is no longer here.”

Millie cocked her head at George, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t seem as though he was going to, until suddenly, he ran a hand down his face and pulled a wand out from his pocket. Flicking his wrist, he conjured up a swing that hung from the tree, reminiscent of the one she had at home. He sat down, and motioned for her to sit with him.

“Just let me get out what I have to get out, and then comment, alright?” George asked, waiting for Millie to nod. She did, and he continued.

“Fred was my twin brother. We did everything together, always have. Towards the return of Voldemort, we opened up our jokeshop. It was super successful, just as we thought. We fought against Voldemort with our family, we fought during the final war, and Freddie… Freddie didn’t make it. It's been two years, three months, and seventeen days without him, but sometimes I wake up and I feel like he’s still there with me, and I’ll rush to go tell him something, but then… he’s not there. And I remember it all over again. When things like this, a wedding, happens, it’s harder. Because Freddie should be here, giving a speech about how we tried to make Ron’s name a taboo, or how we gave him a fear of spiders by turning his teddy bear into one, or how we burned a hole in his tongue with an acid pop, or just… anything embarrassing, because that was our job. And now, without Freddie, it’s pointless. Everything feels pointless.”

Millie waited for George to continue, but it seemed he was done for now. She felt her heart twist for the redhead beside her, and she placed her hand over his.

“I’m so sorry, George,” she said sincerely, watching as George swallowed hard. “I can’t imagine how that feels. I wish that I had the right thing to say, but there really isn’t one. I could go on about how it wasn’t fair and it was senseless, but you already know that. I think all I can say is that you are incredibly strong and although I didn’t know Fred, I’m sure he’s proud of you for making it without him. He’ll be waiting for you, when it’s your time. And then you can tell him about all the havoc you caused without him.”

Again, George swallowed hard, and he turned to Millie with a sudden urgency on his face. He gently placed a hand on her cheek, brushing a curl out of her face. His gentle brush felt like fire on her skin. His eyes flicked from her lips to her eyes, almost like a question.

Millie leaned forward, shutting her eyes, feeling his lips connect with her own. It was like fire, she was almost surprised that there wasn’t a flurry of electricity around the two of them. She hadn’t felt anything like this before in her life, and she reached a hand up to tangle her hands in his wild red hair.

His own large hands roamed around her neck, and down to her sides, his thumb brushing against the side of her breast. She moaned softly in his mouth, surprising even herself. He trailed his hand down further, stopping to rest on her thigh, his fingers gently massaging her skin through her dress.

Their lips parted, and George rested his forehead against hers. Millie felt her head swimming, and took a steadying breath, breathing in the scent of cinnamon that seemed to come from George.

“I think,” George murmured softly, clearing his throat. He pulled away slightly, reaching one hand up to cup her cheek, the other still on her thigh. “I think I may have underestimated you, in a way.”

“How so?” Millie asked, her heart thudding in her throat. What could he mean by that?

“You’re going to be far more important to me than anyone has ever been.”

Before she could respond, George stood, and held a hand out to her. She took it, a bit unsure, and he pulled her up from the swing, keeping her hand in his.

“Care for a dance, beautiful?” He asked, a crooked grin on his face, and Millie broke into a smile as she nodded.

His hand felt so wonderful wrapped around hers.

The two re-entered the party, which had only slightly begun to die down. George and Millie found a place for the two to dance with, and continued conversation.

“So, that thing around your neck is a crystal?” George asked, twirling Millie around in a circle to the fast paced song Millie didn’t recognize.

Millie nodded. “There’s other ones, of course.”

“Like what?” George asked, a smile on his face. “Tell me your favorite.”

“If I had to choose one, it would be Amethyst,” Millie replied thoughtfully, blushing as George rested a hand on her hip. “Although, Smokey Quartz is a close second.”

“What do they do?”

“Well, Amethyst is a calming stone, and it just balances everything out. I usually wear it everyday, unless I feel compelled to wear a different one, which is rare,” Millie supplied. “Smokey Quartz helps get rid of negative energies, and helps with organization. I’m always so disorganized.”

“It’s a good thing I’m a fairly organized person,” George winked at her. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“Nothing beyond going home,” Millie replied sadly, reality seeping into the rather magical night she had had. “I start a new job on Monday.”

“What do you do for work?”

“I just got my teaching credentials, so I’ll be teaching primary come the school year,” Millie smiled, her face softening. “For the summer, I’ll be teaching early childhood.”

“Little kids?” George questioned, smiling when she nodded. “Well, perhaps sometime soon you could come by my jokeshop. In Diagon Alley.”

Millie nearly shouted with excitement. “I could go to Diagon Alley?”

George grinned, nodding. “I think I could arrange that.”

Millie hugged him tightly, not even thinking twice. George didn’t hesitate, he wrapped the shorter girl in his arms, vowing to himself that she would experience magic for the rest of his life.

[gooferdusted]

hypothetically, if I were to write a fix-it/rewrite au fic, (thinking of starting at s5 but debating starting earlier) what are some storylines you’d take out/change, characters you’d save/kill, and specifically changes to sam’s character/arcs you’d like bc i need ideas

ok. ok. I'm gonna try to not go completely off the fucking rails while I write this up but I gotchu (also these r all just my own hot n spicy takes so like. pick what u like, it's all goodie goodie)

• no time passing differently in hell. literally four months is ~Enough!~ a year is enougghh!!!!!! like I get that they wanted to make hell this horrible unreachable thing but u can still like... get that across without having it be this unfathomable chunk of time out of a persons life. like sam was down there with TWO very pissed off angel's for 180 years??? how can he still speak english??? how does dean remember ANYTHING about his old life when mentally more than half of it was spent being endlessly tortured until he finally cracked??? its just.... Too Much...

• ON that note, I feel like later on they never rlly had sam and dean bond over the fact that like... they are genuinely the ONLY two people on earth who have survived actual hell. I mean we got that one off line from dean at some point but??

• no chuck as god. just a greasy greasy rat man getting insane stories projected into his brain. and on the topic of that.... I dont like the reflection of the real life fanbase in the spn universe??? they're pulp fiction novels, it should be all like 50 year old + ladies who picked them up at the local bargain bin, not b*cky r*sen

• I like... WANNA say smth abt s4..... bc I think the way that they handled things were a little out of character BUT I also think that was lind of the point??? like the angels and demons were manipulating them to say/do things they would normally never say/do to eachother to drive a big enough wedge between then that they would eventually say yes to being the vessels. like it hurts to watch sooo much but it did drive the plot forward in a very particular way that probably couldnt have happened otherwise. that being said, when the levee breaks makes me sad, and I dont want to see sam crying for his dead mother alone in a basement! cest la vie.

• sam and dean.... are Friends...,, why did we all forget that..... watch hell house and maybe I'll calm down.....

• PSYCHIC SAM!!!!!! you all know me. you know how I feel about psychic sam... robbed. s4 finale rlly had sam like "drinking that much demon blood has truly changed me forever..... theres no going back now...... 😔😔" like ok. ok. where are your superpowers. where are they.

• I wish some of the other special children had made it out :(( I really liked andy and ava (also sam finding other friend who are like him??? queer allegory??? spare queer allegory?????)

• I also dont think the roadhouse shouldve burned down!!! that shouldve been a Staple Location like Bobby's house. same w Missouri's, literally why did we only visit her once.

• ur sending an ask to my blog so I assume this is just a given for u but!!! we're takin away the misogyny. we're takin away the fetishization! anything that would be given the greenlight by joss whedon we are putting straight in the trash. <3

• this is mostly a thing in later seasons like. idk 9-15, but no ppl knowing who the winchesters are. they are NOBODIES. they pop up like little meerkats and fuck everything up beyond repair.

• also no fancy tech. no iphone 76z or whatever the fuck. sam has an ipod 1. the wheel is so stuck he can barely press play anymore. remember when he literally just tore off the top casing off his laptop and threw it away? more of that.

• no nice clothes. NO nice clothes we fuckin hate that. everything sam and dean own was purchased pre 1995 and dean is an expert at removing blood stains and sewing up jackets. dean will walk into a laundromat with a tide pen and just start goin for it like that scene in deadpool.

• tbh.... I feel like the issues in later seasons are really this massive horrible domino effect. like I could say heres how to fix s7-10 but the fact is if shit hadnt gone down lile it had in s7 s10 would be a different story entirely.

• I am gonna do it tho bc I suck <3

• s6: soulless sam was funney but did that really go anywhere? no. tbh I dont remember what happened w cas and I'm just not going to look it up. it's just not in the cards for tonight. dean w lisa.... ehh.... I've discussed this at wayy too much length w mushroom and we both agreed that dean would probably keep hunting to keep his mind off things and to try and honor sams sacrifice. I guess theres an argument to be made for the fact that it kind of was Sam's dying wish that dean just go fin her and live a normal life but... idk. purgatory was. . indeed a Concept..... that could have maybe gone somewhere if it didnt rapidly spiral into....

• s7!!! I mean. jesus christ. I know some people like this one but jesus christ. the way they literally couldnt commit to having sam have genuine mental health problems after centuries in hell or to just magically wipe them away..... bobby dying halfway thru.... charlie was a bright spot I suppose, but her intro is not my fave episode w her.... idk what the fuck happened w cas, I guess he was god. the leviathan designs were kinda neat but like oh my fucking god it wasnt worth it.

• s8: uh. rough start. idk why the turn tables so suddenly and dean's like "why didnt u look for me >:((" bc??? yall agreed not to???? at the VERY least they couldve had sam been like "I legitimately had no reason to think u werent dead and in heaven and tha wouldve been a little rude of me to pull u out of that." but we went for ~drama~ to make it spicy I guess. ouygh. bunkers there!!! that was cool!!! MoL is a cool concept!!! altho... it doesn kinda contradict the whole sam and dean are nobodies thing... idk. trials of hell was like... cool in theory but bad in practice unless they were planning on ending the show for realskies. and they did not.

• s9: uhh... hated gadreel! hated that shit! wish they had spun that whole storyline to be more "hey sam I noticed u were s*icidal should we maybe address that??" or even like.... I mean dean probably couldve just TOLD sam abt his plan, he had already convinced him to stay alive by that point??? there was no reason to lie!!! plus the betrayal of gadreel not being who he said he was wouldve been like. literally enough drama, we didnt need to fracture the team again. and cas was??? where exactly??? be was human for at least half of that season but hey didnt know what to do w him so they chucked him in a convenience store??? good lord.

• s10: got no suggestions for that one, just toss it

• s11: ok... shes cute.... we can forgive her.... the lore is shaky at best but the episodes SLAP and the characterization is *chefs kiss*. it's been a hot minute since I've seen it so if smth sucked I dont remember and I plan to keep it that way!!!!

• s12: n.. no. no mary. no mary unless we're doing it right. and I promise u doing it right was not poorly ripping off kingsman. couldve brought back bobby!!! if they desperately wanted some drama couldve brought back john!!! actually fuck that, no way

• s13-15: no thoughts, only jack kline <3

[paperpenz]

[ Moments in Time ]

A short story I did back when I took creative writing classes. I’ve edited and made some minor changes since then.

Hope yall enjoy this small read !

-

Songs to listen to as you read:

1.  데려가줘 | TAKE ME by GIFT

2. Someday, The Boy by Kim Feel

3. Still Fighting It by Lee Chan Sol

-

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The gentle beating of the heart monitor echoed through my cells and bones, as my consciousness slowly seeped back in, causing me to stir awake.

My eyelids, heavy with drugs, fluttered open as the constant shuffling of feet filled the large white room, my home for the past 3 years. The smell of alcohol and disinfectant still dancing around my nose like bees in spring, groggy, I felt a weight on my arm. Staring down at the white bandages wrapped neatly around my arm, confusion filled me. Then, slowly images filled my mind …

A little boy’s cry of dismay…

A balloon snagged on a tree trunk…

My hand, inching towards the balloon…

A heart-wrenching snap beneath me…

A sharp pain…

Blackness

 “I see that you’re awake now.” A calm and deep voice broke through my thoughts.

 “You had a bad fall. Thankfully, you didn’t sustain any major injuries except for a broken arm, which would heal soon enough, if you don’t strain it too much. Now Grace, mind explaining to me how you, a perfectly sensible soon-to-be 18-year-old young lady, would be doing on a tree?” His calm voice now laced with worry and concern.

 “I wanted to help the poor boy retrieve his balloon?” I smiled sheepishly at the man in white –Dr Raymond, Ray for short chided.

 “You need to be more careful Grace. You can’t afford to injure yourself.” He said while jotting down the readings of different monitors and scribbled them down, all part of the routine.

 “Looks like your readings are normal. I’ll come back later in the evening to check on you again. Please stay out of trouble and within the hospital vicinity.”

I simply nodded, but we both know that it’s simply not possible.

The moment his footsteps were out of hearing range, I slipped on my slippers, slowly draped my cardigan over my shoulders, grabbed a pen and a piece of paper hidden under my pillow and snuck out to a straight cemented path behind the hospital. It led to a single willow tree perched on top of a small hill. Tugging my cardigan tighter around me as the wind kissed my already rosy cheeks, I hastened my pace along the path I knew all too well before they realised I was missing.

Rumour had it that before the hospital was built; a young lady born into a rich family was to be wed to a suitor of her father’s choice. However, the young lady already had someone in her heart, a young lad, born to serve her family. They were madly in love but not only did her father disapprove of their relationship, but the young lad was called away to serve their nation in times of war. Heart-broken, they pledged their love under the tree and the young lad swore to return for her. Unfortunately, fate wasn’t kind towards them. The young lad had perished during battle and when the young lady heard the news, she was grief-stricken. She made her way back to the old tree where they once pledged their love and decided to join him in the afterlife, for life without the young lad was already a death sentence. Ever since then, people claimed that they would sometimes hear soft wails in the middle of the day… Or so they said.

I’ve always had a thing for tragic love stories; maybe that’s why I was attracted to this looming, hollow, arched tree that I now call Fingers –due to her overhanging, tear-drop like leaves, gracefully dancing along with the wind. Her arched branches tower over me, resembling a mother’s hand –protecting me from the harshness of the sun. With her I felt safe, she was my refuge. I would write to her each day, leaving my notes in her hollow trunk –the perfect hiding place.

However, 2 years ago my notes were replaced with an unfamiliar one –a reply. Clearly somebody had found my notes and not only decided to read it, but to respond to it and even had the audacity to sign off. Anger and embarrassment stirred within me, I felt exposed, naked but above all curious. Out of curiosity, I decided to respond to this so-called “J”.

Eventually, exchanging letters became our way of communicating.

He –yes, I managed to establish that “J” was a ‘he’, understood me in a way nobody could. We talked about all sorts of things, from his noisy drummer neighbour, Mark, to picturing the perfect vacation, to even describing how our days went.

The only thing is; he doesn’t know that I’m a girl with an expiry date. He thinks, or how I led him to think that “Grace” is an average soon-to-be 18-year-old girl. And I intend to keep it as such.

Slouching by her slender trunk, Finger’s leaves rustled as I jotted down my ‘little adventure”. Ever since we exchanged our letters, it became my way of picturing life as a normal teenager, doing what every other girl should be doing. It helped me forget that I’m not what people considered to be ‘normal’.

“Today, I saved a little boy’s balloon that was stuck on a tree branch. The poor boy cried really badly, I felt bad for him and decided to retrieve it. Although I can’t say that I left unscathed. I broke my arm in the process, but thankfully it wasn’t my dominant hand. School was boring, as usual, the same old class, teachers and tests. Hopefully school has been better for you.

-G”

But of course, “going to school, taking tests and complaining about teachers” were only half-truths. Signing off, I dropped my note into Finger’s hollow trunk and headed back.

 “You look better than when I first saw you earlier in the day. Something interesting happened that you would like to share with your Doctor-in-charge?” Dr Ray asked playfully. Dr Ray found out about “J” by accident one day, but never once did he mention “J” to anyone else.

 “Has it got to do with that secret lover of yours?”

 “Firstly, yes. And secondly, “J” isn’t my lover of any sort. He’s just a good friend that I have never formally met and besides he thinks I’m a normal girl enjoying her life.”

 “Be careful, for all you know he might be just some creep preying on unsuspecting young girls such as yourself.”

 “Yes, ‘mum’.” Rolling my eyes at his comment.

 “I know “J” isn’t some sort of creep, even if he were to ask to meet up, I don’t think I have the courage to let him see me –the real me, ‘the girl who probably won’t be able to live past-’”

 “What’s wrong?” I asked upon seeing Dr Ray’s brows frowned in confusion.

 “Well, this can’t be right” The way Dr Ray rubbed his chin unleashed waves of uneasiness in my heart. “It’s probably nothing, don’t worry about it and get a good night’s rest. I’ll check up on you tomorrow morning.” Before I could ask any further, he disappeared into the never-ending corridors, leaving me with my raging thoughts.

It’s probably nothing like he said; you’re overthinking again Grace. I assured myself before dozing off to the endless possibilities of becoming healthy once more.

Or so I hoped…

Sitting under Fingers luscious thick leaves, my hands tightly clutched “J”’s letter unable to process what Dr Ray had just explained to me.

What am I going to tell “J”? I can’t simply tell him, “Oh hey just so you know everything about me attending school was a big fat lie and I won’t be able to write anymore, cause apparently my time got cut short. Looks like I won’t even make it past to see my 18th birthday since the cancer cells are growing at a ridiculously fast pace. Thanks for everything up till now’.

I simply can’t tell him that. What would he think of me?

Tears clouded my eyes when I remembered the piece of paper that was now crumbled in my hand.

“On behalf of the boy that you risked your arm for, I thank you. No really, you are a hero.

School’s been the same old cycle, you wake up, go to school, hear teachers preach about their subjects and soon you’re home again doing the same old homework. Thankfully, I had good old Mark and his drums to accompany me through the night; I swear I could hear him even in my dreams. Do you think they’ll notice if he goes missing?

On another note, I respect not knowing each other’s identities, but I do want to meet this amazing person behind these letters if that’s okay with you.

-J”

He wants to meet me. “J” wants to actually meet me, the girl whose time got cut short. He wants to meet the “normal teenage” Grace, but nothing about me is normal, especially when your due date is almost up. Why can’t I be like every other teenager? Why of all things did I contract leukaemia, why can’t it be some other curable disease? Is that too much to ask? Biting my lip, I let the tears fall.

Letting it all out sure did feel good, but the problem remains unchanged. “What am I going to tell “J”, Fingers? Should I tell him the truth? Should I even meet him since I wouldn’t live any longer? Gosh, why is it so difficult? I guess after writing this letter, I have to say goodbye to you too huh Fingers.”

Feeling her rough woody bark under my fingertips for the last time, I began crafting my final letter.

“Mark definitely deserves the Best Neighbour Award of all time (note the sarcasm). Jokes aside, I have something to tell you. I do want to meet you, really, I do… But I’ll be going on a trip soon and I’m not sure when I’ll be leaving or when I’ll be back. Before leaving, I want to let you know that you are a special existence to me and our time writing was surreal, unfortunately, it’s time to say goodbye to those days. Thank You for everything.

-G”

Every word penned down on that piece of paper took a piece of my heart with it. I figured that this was the best decision for us, I guess mostly for me. I couldn’t bear the thought of meeting him only to leave him soon after. It’ll be too painful. I didn’t go back to see Fingers, neither did I return to see his reply.

And just like that, 2 months passed. I spent most of my time in the hospital, going through tests which honestly, I don’t see any point for, considering that I’ll be gone soon. Not seeing Fingers and not being able to write to “J” killed something inside me. I guess I was already dead before I knew it.

 “Grace, you have a visitor.”

Turning my attention away from the window, my pale blue eyes met a pair of hazel eyes that belonged to a lanky boy dressed in a plaid shirt with brown pants, and a chocolate-coloured hair that was slightly covered up by his grey beanie. “Grace, this is Jack, my younger brother.” Dr Ray introduced. “Apparently he has something that he wants to tell you; I’ll leave you two to chat. I’ll be back in the evening to check on you again.”

 “Hey”

 “Hey”

 “Well, it’s nice to finally be able to talk to you live, and not through a pen and paper, G”

That’s when it clicked. Jack is “J”. And “J” is standing in front of me. He –the boy who made me forget that I was ever sick, is standing right in front of me. He found me and he knows me –the real me.

Suddenly, I felt self-conscious, with the way his gentle eyes met mine, how his cheeks flushed to form a slight pinkish shade and the way he rubbed his neck sheepishly. While my eyes seemed hollow and cheeks drained of any sort of colour.

 “But… But how? How did you know that I was here and not someplace far away?”

 “Well, it’s sort of a long story. I knew that you’ve been living in the hospital 3 years ago since I’m a frequent here, poor immune system and all that. You intrigued me, a girl that found out she contracted leukaemia 3 years ago was filled with so much spirit and life. It was pure coincidence that I discovered the notes that you left inside Finger’s trunk, I also figured you didn’t want me to know about the whole hospital thing, so I kinda left it as that. After reading your letter, I knew something was up and I may or may not have asked my brother subtly about your condition. And I may or may not have also begged him to let me finally meet you.” He grinned, his cheeks forming a small dimple.

Having him by my side was no easy decision; but somehow, he managed to convince me. Since then he visited me each day without fail, telling me stories of his hopes and dreams, just like he did in those letters. He silently supported me, giving my hand a little squeeze each time I went through the tests.

When I was bored of being cooped up in the room, we would sneak out of the room to race each other to the hill, lying on the grassy patch, gazing at the endless array of stars in the night sky. Eventually, my body became too weak and I no longer had the energy to walk, let alone stand. Even so, Jack still stayed beside me.

Whenever the pain felt unbearable, he would hold me close, patting my back as he whispered words of assurance and comfort. The room was always filled with life and laughter. Every moment spent with him was truly more than I could ever ask for. I loved him wholeheartedly and I knew that Jack did too.

Soon, my time was coming to an end and we both knew it.

 “Jack, I have a request. I want to see Fingers one last time.”

Pushing my wheelchair up the hill was no easy feat but he still did it nonetheless. Waves of nostalgia consumed me, memories of us writing to each other were now far behind us. Leaning against his shoulder, I felt safe and protected like I once did. His fingers interlaced with mine, like two fitted pieces of a puzzle –his hands fitted to mine. Breathing in the cool evening breeze, we sat in silence, but our thoughts roared like lions.

Taking one last glimpse of the fiery sun slipping beneath the clouds, I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the world in the palm of my hand, and the earth beneath me. Memories of the days spent together replayed in my head.

Leaning on his shoulder, I felt safe. 

I whispered a word of thanks before drifting off into an endless dream, awaiting the day where we would share more moments in time together. And maybe this time, I would be normal once more.

-

I left the ending open-ended so it’s up to yall to guess what happens to her in the end. Does she simply fall asleep? Or has she passed on? The ending is up to your very own interpretation!

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this small read :)

[lazyfox411]

Qrow Angst

This is the first ever fic I’ve written for RWBY! and the first one ive published in a hot minute  thanks to @r3al-illusion and @spiderling-the-meme for being my awesome beta readers! love you guys <3 this is compliant with and set immediately after the volume 5 finale (so...spoilers if you havent seen that?) pretty please yall tell me what you think of this!! this will be my first work in this fandom and i want to know if you guys would like to see more!

His hands were shaking. He needed a drink.

After a minute of inspection, he handed the relic back to Yang. She didn't much look like she wanted to hold it, but neither did Qrow; he'd already made up his mind on carrying Ozpin--err, Oscar--back to the house, and his shaky hands were threatening to drop the lantern if he didn't hand it off. He was a trained huntsman, but he'd taken some heavy hits, and his aura could only protect him so much. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and replacing it was a plethora of aches and pains. The worst, though, was the hollow, empty feeling in his chest. Growing, and festering, threatening to swallow him whole. He slipped his flask from his pocket and took a swig, but it didn't help like it usually did.

Pro huntsmen don't just disappear like that.

They don't, Qrow thought bitterly, unless they get mixed up in the business of a bad luck charm.

It was too late now. They were all gone. Maybe if he had warned them, if he wasn't such a fuck-up, if he would just get his head out of the goddamn gutter then maybe he could have prevented this, maybe they could have taken out Salem long ago, or at least maybe he would have known better than to just let Lionheart keep scheming.

But he hadn't done any of that. And all of those innocent people had paid the price. Maybe to some they didn't seem innocent, and sure, not all were respectable, some were lowlifes that scrounged around bars and taverns, but none of them had deserved to die for a cause they didn't even know existed.

He scooped up Oscar. The poor kid was still passed out on the floor, looking very small and very exhausted. It was hard to believe Beacon's former headmaster was stowed away inside. 

Qrow looked around for the rest of his kids, subconsciously wondering when he'd ever started to consider them "his" kids. The Schnee girl was handling the bombardment of questions from gathering police and reporters, telling them only what they needed to know and remaining composed and cordial.

Just like her sister, Qrow reflected, and very much unlike himself. Hell, he was ready to just yell at all these nosy people to just go home and mind their own damn business. He didn’t have the energy for this.

The dark-haired girl who had just shown up, Qrow recognized her as one of Ruby's teammates he'd been told so much about, though he couldn't for the life of him remember her name with the pounding in his head getting worse and exhaustion sweeping in. She had turned to address the massive group of Faunus she'd brought with her, thanking them for coming and bringing down Adam Taurus, and even though he'd escaped they'd done a number on him and blah blah blah. Qrow lost interest.

Yang had retrieved her arm, now, and was helping Ruby to her feet. The blond kid and what was left of his team were gushing over his newfound semblance, and Qrow...Qrow was tired.

He was silent on the walk home. Ruby and her teammates blabbered the whole way, filling each other in on their adventures. The dark haired girl introduced herself as Blake, and the other Faunus boy she'd brought with her was Sun.

"Pleasure to meet you," Qrow managed in a low, gravelly voice, "Ruby's told me a lot about you."

He tuned everything out after that. Or rather, the fuzzy, ringing sound in his head took over, and he didn't try to stop it.

They'd arranged a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor for Oscar when he'd showed up, but this time Qrow brought the boy to the room he shared with Ruby, and laid him in his own bed where he could rest more comfortably.

Qrow was pretty sure every bone in his body cracked as he straightened up, and a stitch in his side had him lowering himself back down to sit on the edge of the bed. He pulled out his scroll, and uncapped his flask, and went over the list of names one last time. All brave, strong warriors. All gone. All because of him.

A part of him knew that not all of this had to be his fault, and Lionheart's betrayal was really to blame, but right now that part was swallowed in grief and loathing.

He tossed his scroll aside and set his head in his hand. "What do I do, Oz?"

The only reply was Oscar's soft breathing.

Qrow hauled himself to his feet, grunting with the effort, and hobbled his way back into the living room. God, he'd never felt this old before.

The rest of the kids were sat in a ring around the relic, curled up on couches and cross-legged on the floor. They all stared at him when he walked in.

"You should all get some rest," Qrow told them, noting the way their eyes drooped and shoulders sagged. One by one, they filed out of the room, mumbling quietly about sleeping arrangements now that there were more of them in the group.

He and Ruby were the last in the room. She smiled up at him tiredly and stretched out her arms towards him.

"Nope," he denied her grabby hands, though they both knew he'd already caved. He groaned as he gave in and scooped her up in his arms. Qrow was exhausted, but there was no way he could say no to his little niece.

He carried her to bed and tucked her in, pulling the covers up to her chin.

"You gonna be alright, kiddo? Is there anything else you need?" He asked softly, or as softly as he could.

Ruby looked up at him with wide silver eyes. "Some water might be nice. Please," she added, and, "I love you, Uncle Qrow."

He gave her a wry smile, "Get some sleep, kiddo." He paused as he left the room. "Love you too."

She was asleep when he got back. He set her glass of water on the bedside table and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. He left a second glass for Oscar, and gathered up the tray he'd prepared for the rest of the kids.

He went to Yang and Weiss' room first. Blake was with them, and they each gratefully accepted a glass of water. Yang gave him a quick side hug. He didn’t miss the haunted look that hadn't left her eyes since the loss of her arm.

"You did good today, Firecracker," he told her, "take it easy."

"You too," she nudged him gently with her elbow, "old man."

Qrow chuckled. That certainly didn't help make him feel any younger.

Jaune accepted the tray and what was left of the glasses with a nod and thank you, and disappeared into his room where the rest of the team was holed up. Qrow all but collapsed on the couch after that, basking in the silence. It was only a few minutes before his hands started shaking again.

How much did Shiro owe you?

Qrow took another drink.

His name is clear.

He sat, and he drank, and he tried not to think.

There was light shining through the windows when he finally pulled himself out of his thoughts. He didn’t dare look at the clock, didn't want to know how many hours he'd spent just sitting and thinking. He'd emptied the flask.

"Uncle Qrow?" The voice was Yang's.

It took him a moment to remember how to move. Slowly, he turned his head. Yang, Weiss and Blake were standing in the threshold, all looking concerned.

What are they looking at, Qrow thought, brain going numb again, there's nothing to see.

"Uncle Qrow, are you alright?"

"Peachy," he muttered.

"Are you hungry?" Yang asked tentatively. "We were going to make some pancakes."

The thought of eating made him want to vomit. "No."

"Maybe you could help us make them," Weiss offered, and bent down to speak to him as if he were a child, "to take your mind off things."

A part of him knew they were just trying to be nice, trying to help, but that was the same part that knew all those deaths weren't all his fault. Something inside Qrow snapped.

"I said no!" he roared, pushing himself off the couch and making his way to the door.

Listen buddy, I'm having a rough week. Can you tell me where she is or not?

"Uncle Qrow?"

Daddy?

"Where are you going?"

Does this man know where mommy is?

"Out," Qrow snapped, I'm terribly sorry to bother you.

He slammed the door with enough force to knock a few shingles loose. Just his luck.

He slapped some lien down on the counter.

"What do you want?" the bartender asked.

"Whatever you've got," Qrow said hoarsely, shifting in his seat. His back was just about killing him.

Pity filled the old barkeep's eyes, mixed with a sad understanding. Qrow pretended not to notice. He downed the first drink, and the second. Stopped counting after that. Kept going until he couldn't feel himself shaking anymore.

The bar wasn't empty, not quite, there was somebody passed out in a corner, and a group of people engaged in a poker game around a worn table.

A woman stood up from the poker table to get her group another round of drinks. She bumped into Qrow at the counter.

"Sorry," she said.

"Hmph," Qrow mumbled.

Five minutes later, she lost the game.

"Guess your luck ran dry tonight," one of her friends said. Qrow started to laugh, quietly at first, ending in a series of loud, hacking coughs. Heads turned. They all looked at him like he was a lunatic. Hell, maybe he was.

He stood up from his seat, clutching onto the edge of the counter.

"Did I--hurp--pay you 'nuff?" he slurred at the bartender.

The old man didn't answer. Instead, he asked, "Do you have a family?"

Qrow scoffed, thinking of Raven. Then he thought about Ruby, and Yang, and the other kids.

"Kinda," he replied, blinking the blurry spots out of his vision.

"Go home," the bartender said, not unkindly.

The cold air hit him like a brick wall when he stepped outside, suffocating, imposing, encasing. The force knocked him to weak knees, and he vomited a stream of bile onto the ground. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything. Maybe he should have taken the girls up on their pancake offer.

God, he'd really yelled at them, hadn't he? What was Ozpin going to say to him? What was Ruby, sweet and innocent Ruby, going to think of her beloved uncle now? All those kids looked to him like he was the adult, the grownup, but they were more grown than he'd ever be. They'd all lost people, people they were close to, and they were still fighting. And where was Qrow? On the ground, drunk and alone, in the middle of the night. When had it even gotten dark?

"I'm sorry," he said, to no one in particular.

Overhead, a flash of lightning lit the sky, beckoning a clap of thunder, and all at once, the heavens rained down, drenching the city of Mistral in heavy rain.

"Seems about right," Qrow muttered, hauling himself to his feet. It wasn't long before he began shivering. He pulled his tattered cape tighter around his shoulders and headed back to his kids.

He fumbled with his key in front of the house, clothes soaked through and dripping wet. Inside, he leaned against the door as shivers racked his frame and water pooled beneath him in a puddle. He closed his eyes and and waited for it all to subside.

"Uncle Qrow?"

"Ruby," he sighed, looking to where she was perched alone on the edge of the couch, "what are you doing up?"

"Waiting for you," she said simply. "Where have you been? We've missed you."

They both knew she already knew the answer.

"I missed you," Ruby continued. "I was worried."

Qrow opened his mouth, but then closed it. He didn’t know what to say. Ruby was worried. He'd worried her. She cared about him. Maybe he should feel grateful about that, but all he could feel right now was ashamed.

"Come sit down," Ruby patted the couch next to her, "you look tired."

That was probably true. He hadn't slept in a while. Qrow shuffled over and slouched into the soft fabric.

Ruby tugged a blanket over his shoulders, sticking her tongue out as she concentrated on adjusting it just right. Qrow just sat there and let her.

"There," she said, curling up next to him, warmth pressed against his side. She didn't say anything for a few minutes, which was unusual for her, and then came a soft, "I'm sorry Uncle Qrow."

What was left of Qrow's cold, bitter heart shattered.

"No, kid, no, it's not--this is my fault, this is all on me. I'm the one who's sorry. Don't be sorry, don't blame yourself for, for this," he gestured vaguely at himself, his current state, "for me. I'm just..."

"It's ok," Ruby said, and Qrow was inclined to believe her, because she was so honest and pure and good. "I know it's hard, Uncle Qrow, I understand."

Having this conversation was a hell of a lot harder than anything he'd imagined.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "You kids deserve better than this, you deserve better than this, kiddo. I'm...I'll do better, I can do better."

Ruby smiled, and hugged him tighter. "I love you, Uncle Qrow."

Qrow let his eyes slip shut, and rested his chin on her head. "I love you too," he whispered.

[queencassiopeia6]

Take me back to the night we met .0

The next morning I did my fair share of traslating texts (I’m a linguist) and finished up after midday to catch the bus out of town to spend the rest of the weekend at my family lake home. During the one hour ride I checked my insta multiple times (like people check the fridge) to see if maybe D had posted anything, even a story. I had liked a couple of his posts that same morning. I felt oddly drawn to him, this wouldn’t be the first time a boy had gotten my attention, but this was a boy I knew almost nothing about. hence odd.

The day with family was nothing out of the ordinary, we did some planting, some watering, I took a wonderful long walk along the lake, breathed in that late spring merky lake water and felt in place. It was around dinner time, when I was sitting down on the cold sandy lake shore staring into the cold water thinking about what this coming summer may bring, that my phone notified me that I have recieved a DM, from no other than my new-made friend.

I panic. A lot. My hands get sweaty and shaky. My heart races. And since my blood pressure is already low, it drops even lower and as my head starts to spin everything tends to go black as I feel like I am about to pass out. So now yall know just how I felt as a reaction to that text I recieved. It was a hello and a thank you to me liking D’s posts. I wasn’t sure how to react, can’t just say “oh, don’t mention it”, (by the way - I also overthink. Overthink everything). And as I was nervously trembling my thumb over the keyboard, he texted again - how’s it going, whachu up to. I am that much of a weirdo, that it took me about 20 minutes to get myself together to reply to that little message! God help me. After that, everything seemed so much easier. It’s as if we’ve been chatting for ages, like we knew each other. We hit the keys back and forth until well after midnight, just finding out everything about each other. Movies to recommend, music that is life, flavored tobacco etc. I ended up passing out at some point and kind of left him hanging, to which he waited for an hour, and bid me good night. The next morning I felt stink that I passed out without warning, so I sent a few random messages, so that when he woke up - we’d have something to go on.

It was just after lunch time, while we were packing up for the long drive home that D replied. My hands were kind of busy so I took my time with getting back to him, which I wish I hadn’t. D figured I was preoccupied, so after a few texts, he sent a voice message asking if I were keen to have coffee later today, hinting that it would be a lot easier to have this conversation in person. I don’t think I need to mention how nervously I agreed to have coffee with him. And after 3 hours of washing the smell of burnt wood, old leafs and paint off me, after putting on a full face of make up, then washing it off cause it was waaaaaaaaaay too much, and doing it all over again - I felt like I was ready to have coffee.

We met at a coffee palace in an atrium of a near by hotel. Me being me, too resposible to be late EVER, arrived early. I had been sitting down with my tea reading from my phone when D walked in. In the few moments while he looked around to find me, hung his coat and ordered a coffee, I got a decent look at him, properly. D wasn’t much taller than me, I’d say we were about the same height. His dark, near black hair was streaked with natures highlights, at the young age of just 22 his head was was flowing with grey hairs. To be fair, much like mine, but I felt the pressure of society to cover that up in order to avoid questions of why I had so much grey hair while being only 26. I couldn’t tell much about his physique due to a baggy sweater and straight cut jeans. As D sat down and we started talking, I got a good look at his eyes. They were a mixture of colors I had yet not witnessed. Much like hazel, but darker, a lot more mahogany in his iris. But when the setting sun which lit up the atrium hit the top of the building behind my back and shined into his face, I saw a million emerald sparks that had settled all around the hazelhunt iris. They were overshined by the amber streaks that made his iris look like a golden sky of constelations, as for the every jade spot, a golden line would lead from there, to another one. I must’ve dazed off and had began to stare as I noticed that D was now quietly checking out my appearance, which must’ve made me blush like a mad woman since he smiled from ear to ear, and said that he was just mirroing me. Now that might sound awkward, but I suddenly felt right in place, as if I hadn’t been blushing cause D had caught me staring. In place, like there was nothing wrong with me getting a closer look at him. And I knew D felt the same, well, cause he told me that there was nothing wrong with him noticing that I too have oddly colored eyes, that my freckles don’t settle much over my face other than my nose, but they are well spread over my neck, collar bone and shoulders, like stars. Now that one made me blush.

We talked, a lot, a few hours worth, about everything. The tea had been refilled and there was a few origami roses made from table tissues. It was almost dark, the sun was barely getting through the tall buildings which this town was made of, when D offered that we take a walk down a few blocks from said hotel to the place where we had met, the place where he no longer worked but is always welcomed at, and smoke a delighful sheesha - LBB. That sounded fantastic. A lovely way to end an evening, a weekend. I’m saying the word end as if this person wasn’t to stay in my life. As if he wouldn’t occupy my mind for the next year and a half (so far) and that I wouldn’t go a single day without thinking of him. As if I wouldn’t grown to hate him at moments but feel the biggest relief when I would see him and wouldn’t be able to help myself but to smile when he was around.

The walk didn’t take long thankfully as it had gotten rather chilly outside and my leather jacket wasn’t doing a great job at keeping me cozy anymore. I shared my ear buds and we listened to my infinte playlist as we continued to talk about random things. At LBB we met up with O and M and sat down for an evening filled with sheesha and Monopoly (which I hate but we were short on entertainment). I realised that the clock had stricked after mid night only when O reminded me that we were to start work earlier on Mondays due to her physical therapy after a minor bike incident she had while in Bali. M began to pack up the game as her boyfriend (N) arrived to chill a little and then drive her home. I looked at D and he mentioned that time does fly when you’re enjoying yourself, and with a suddent blast of confidence I said (not asked) - “walk me home”. With my peripheral vision I saw how O’s facial expression changed in a smile of surprise to a nod of being impressed, she hadn’t seen me flirt before and knew how shy and socialy awkward I can be.

As we stepped outside, O kissed me goodnight and got into her cab, D said that we were taking a different route this time, a longer one. I asked if that was a good idea due to the temperature taking quite a drop and how I wasn’t dressed appropriately for a long walk. D told me not to worry, he said he’ keep me warm. As he took my hand I felt his palm tremor, his hand was so warm but rough skinned yet oddly comforting - “your hands are so cold, it’s insane!”. Having low blood pressure, being anemic and it being cold outside was a triple threat, but with my newly found blast of confidence I quickly remembered a witty come back “they’re not half as cold as just under oxygenated” (yes I do enjoy The Fault in Our Stars). D’s smile grew fondly as he took a step towards the garth’s and nodded his head in the direction of the street lit alleys, as if asking me to follow him. I think at that point it hit me - this was a date, and oh boy was I happy about it. As we walked towards my house we discussed the causes of anemia and my witty remarks about how not everyone was given the gift of having a 1000 degree body temperature, seriously, this guy was like his own sun. And the topic of being single came up too. Not one I favor to discuss, but I layed all my cards out in front of him - make sure that it was all on the table and so he knew that I don’t enjoy letting people in, making sure he knows that goodbyes are hard on me.

Turned out M lived only a few blocks away from me since D mentioned that he felt like I was taking him to her place as we got closer to mine. The conversation was growing quiter as we reached the entrance of my apartment buidling and his hand had gotten hotter as well as mine sweatier (face palm). We both knew that this date was bound to come to an end at some point, but neither of us had wanted that point to any time soon. We stood at the door, I jangled my keys trying to not look at him because I didn’t know what would come next. I mean I knew what I wanted to come next, but plans don’t always coexist in seperate minds. To be honest I found myself at that rare moment when my mind drew a complete blank. Nothing, not even a tumbleweed. D was still holding my hand, and was at an arms reach when he took a step closer towards me turning that distance nonexistant. I nervously looked up and met his stare. I could tell D was slightly worried about what was to come also, but trust me, not like I was. We looked at each other a few seconds as he told me that he’s really like to kiss me right now, followed by permission to do so, asking me - ‘what do you think about that”. “I find myself not thinking at all right now” I replied honestly. D leaned his head forward, took my face into his hands and our lips locked. I’m not gonna say it was magical. That would be the understatement of the century. My lips were bigger, much bigger than his, so with every lock we made I got to feel every chap in his dry lips, every curve his tongue made when he’d try to lick his own lips in the quick betweens of head movements. His left hand still holding my face and his right hand had slowly moved down my neck, over my shoulder and under my arm to my weist and pushing my torso into his. I in return had my left hand on his shoulder, sinking my fingers into it as if terrified that at any moment he would dissappear. My right hand was on the back of his neck at the contour of the hair line and bare skin. Gently running my fingers upwards into his short hair, clenching all I could in a fist and pushing my face into his.

I don’t know how long we were kissing in front of the entrance but it must have been a while since the motion detector light went off and we were standing in complete darkness when D’s phone had rung and interrupted us. He pulled his face away, and removed his left hand from my face to get his phone, whilst keeping him right hand on my weist, as if to let me know that we were not done here. It was M, calling to inform him that while she was closing up, she had found his back pack and if he would like her to drop it off or if he’d prefer the keys to the lounge so that he can later pick it up himself. He said that he’d prefer the keys due to not being ready to go home quiet yet. D winked at as he said that last bit and pulled me closer. I blushed knowing that this not ending just yet and that there may be more to come. We held each other and talked for the next 5 to 7 minutes while waiting for M and N to drive up and hand D the keys to LBB. We saw them pull into the parking lot and as M hopped out and walked towards us I could tell she was feeling at least slightly excited. Her big brown eyes were lit with sparks and her large nude colored lips were moving in in a smirk, the girl knew she had interrupted something juicy. We exchanged pleasantries as she handed over the keys and wished us a “most sensible” night and laughed as she hugged me goodbye. As D and I watched them drive off into the night, we giggled like we were 15 and had just been caught by the school staff while making out behind the bleachers or something. I said that I can not invite him inside my apartment as I do not live alone, but we could at least move this party to the stairs in the entrance hall way. So we did.

I think I’d like to leave the rest to another tbc

[bitsfordays]

Work Visits

Another part to my nurseydex children series! Ive offically deemed this Au “Things That Stop You Dreaming” and it can be found on AO3 under that title!

Enjoy Addy being cute af, plus an introduction to Bella! 

(pst, i posted this in two parts on AO3 but yall will get it all in one bc im lazy)

“Daddy, are we there?”

Derek sighed and looked at his daughter for probably the seventh time in the last 10 minutes he's been driving. This was the seventh time she asked.

“Addison, I know you have the route to the rink memorized, so I know that you know that we are literally in the arena parking lot. You don't have to antagonize me.”

Addison gave what could only be described as a shit-eating grin from her spot in the back seat. She swung her legs happily. “I know Daddy, but Papa says that I should mess with you more often. He says its funny”

Derek was going to kill his husband.

He pulled into one of the parking spots reserved for players families and shut off the car. He turned around so he could make proper eye contact with his daughter.

“Okay Addison, Papa is playing against Uncle Jack tonight. Uncle Bitty was in town already for his book tour and so he brought Bella with him and we’ll be sitting with them in the family section. Do you remember the rules for when Uncle Jack plays against Papa?”

“Boo when Papa gets checked but don't cheer if someone on Uncle Jacks team gets checked, unless it's by Papa.” Addison explained neatly.

“Anything else?”Derek prompted.

“Don't curse?”

Derek couldn't help but laugh. Addison had learned her fair share of curse words, despite only being 6 years old. It's what happened when a child had an uncle whose name was literally Shitty.

“Not quite, lovely but that's a good one. I was actually going for ‘don't heckle Uncle Jack.’ He needs to stay concentrated on the game ”

“Oh.” Addison shrugged her little shoulders. “I can do that. Can we go inside now?”

Derek laughed. “Yes, Addy. We can.”

They got out of the car and made their way inside, not even bothering to wave their passes at the security guards, who they knew by name and had for years now. They went to their seats in the family section, directly behind the glass and found their family already there.

“Bella!” Addison tore her hand from Derek's and ran to greet her best friend/pseudo-cousin. They hugged tightly in the way that only young kids could.

Bella was a year older than Addison but that didn't stop them from being as thick as thieves. They lived three hours apart so they didn't see each other often but they adored each other just the same. Bella was more soft spoken than Addison was,

“Nursey!” Bitty grinned and pulled Derek into a tight hug.

“Hey Bits.” Derek laughed and hugged the other man back, just as tight. “How was the book tour?”

“Oh, you would not believe...”Bitty launched into a story about his time touring for his newest cookbook and Derek let his thoughts drift as Bitty rambled on.

“Oh, there they are!” Bella interrupted her father, pointing down at the ice as the players skated on for warm ups.

Jack and Will  were both easy to spot. Even from under his helmet, Will’s ginger hair was easy to spot, just as Jacks distinctive blue eyes were easy to spot behind his face guard.

“Papa!” Addison jumped up and down in front of the glass and waved her arms furiously. “Papa! Papa, over here!”

Derek could see Will’s grin from the other side of the ice. Will waved at his daughter, who waved back energetically. Derek could see Jack’s shoulders shake as he laughed and saw Jacks mouth move in some chirp. Will grinned and said something back before they skated their separate ways to warm up with their teams.

Addison kept waving her arms, trying to catch her father's attention again until Derek had to put a stop to it. “Add,let Papa warm up in peace. You dont want to throw him off his game, do you?”

“Its preseason, Daddy, it doesn't effect the season.” Addison responded, not looking away from the ice. Bitty chuckled from his seat.

“Addison. Leave him be until after the game, okay? Then you can harass him as much as you want.”

“Fiiiiiineeeee.” Addison backed away from the glass and sat down between Derek and Bella with a pout but Derek couldn't help but chuckle. There were times where he wanted to do the same thing.

Addison kept pouting and Derek took pity on her. “Hey Addy, how about you tell Uncle Bitty how your skating classes have been going? Im sure he would love to hear about them.”

Addison perked up immediately and Derek smiled.

This was going to be a good evening.

Rangers beat the Falconers 4-3, with Dex getting the game winning goal at the end of the 3rd period. Jack clapped Will on the shoulder during the handshaking and from the stands, Derek could see him say something and Will laughed before they both went on to shake more hands.  

They met Dex outside of the Rangers locker room. He was sweaty and gross but he still beamed when he saw his husband and daughter. It made Dereks heart do flips, the same way it did when they met in college.

“Papa!” Addison tore her hand from Dereks and did a flying leap towards her father. Will dropped his hockey bag to open his arms as his daughter slammed into his chest. “Hi Papa! You played really good tonight!”

“Thanks baby.” Will hugged her tightly. “Did you enjoy watching the game with Uncle Bitty and Bella?”

“Yeah! Did you know Bella is taking figure skating classes? Im gonna have her show me all the stuff shes learning there and Ill teach her everything Im learning in my hockey skating class!”

“Thats wonderful, Addy-Girl.” Will smiled. He set her down and looked over at Derek. “Hey babe. Did you enjoy the game?”

“You know I did.” Derek smiled and kissed Will on the cheek. “Nice check on Jack during the 2nd. Had him rattled for a second there.”

Will shrugged. “He got me back in the 3rd, twice as hard. I felt my brain rattle.”

Derek frowned. “How's your head?”

“It's fine, Der. They got me all checked out and I'm fine.”

“Good. I like you better with your brain intact.”

“Same.”

“Quit being gross!” Addison jabbed Will in the leg to get his attention.

“Ow, Addison. That's not how you get people's attention.” Will chided.

“Sorry. Can we go see Uncle Jack and Bitty and Bella now?” Addison said.

“Sure. Lead the way.” Derek said.

Addison lead them around to the visitors lockers, just in time to run into Jack, Bitty and Bella, who was currently asleep on Jacks back.

“Nice game, Cap.” Derek said with a smirk.

Jack sighed. “I havent been your captain in over a decade, Nurse. Please stop.”

“Ah, but you were the best one Ive ever had. Sorry Bits.”

Bitty and Jack both rolled their eyes.

“We would love to stay and chat with you two but we gotta get headed towards the airport.” Bitty said. “Especially since Bells already asleep. Shes been up since 6am with me and is just bone tired.”                                                             

“Okay Bits. We’ll see you in a few weeks for the Falconers home opener. Wanna get dinner before hand, while our husbands do their thing?”

“Sure. We’ll see you then. Have a safe flight you three.”

“See yall later!”

The Zimmermann-Bittles walked away, leaving the Poindexter-Nurses on their own. Addison tugged on Dereks hand. “Are we gonna go home now?”

Will grabbed Addison's free hand and smiled. “Yes, Addy-Girl. Home for now.”

“Okay.” Addison gave a tired smile. “It was a good game, Papa.”

“Thanks baby.”

Together, the three of them left the area at the end of another good day.

Derek Poindexter-Nurse hates writing. Its difficult, its time consuming and tedious to do. He hates writing with an undeniable, fiery passion.

Which is why he does it for a living. Obviously.

When it comes to writing, Derek’s been lucky. Hot got published only a few years after college and he quickly made it onto the bestseller list. He has hordes of teenage fans who would probably commit many crimes if he asked them to, all of them clamoring for another installment, another book, another bonus story, another anything. He could give them a five hundred word shit stain and most of them would probably be content. Literally anything.

Which is of course, how Derek found himself holding down the ‘H’ key for ten minutes, thumping his head continuously on his desk, as if that will make the ideas come faster. Usually when Derek gets into a slump like this, he just goes and talks to Will but its early May and the Stanley Cup playoffs are looming in front of the Rangers, so Will’s at practice and will be for another four hours, meaning that Derek is stuck stewing in his own mind indefinitely.

Indefinitely doesnt last for long. Dereks stewing is interrupted by a knock on his study door and it being pushed open to reveal Addison in all of her 13 year old glory.

“Are you okay Dad?” Addison said, looking at her father with a mixture of concern and vague disgust.

“No.” Derek sighed. He thumped his head aginst the wood again.

“Um..” Addison walkedd ina nd leaned against the desk where Derkes head currently was. “Maybe stop hitting your head against the desk? I dont think getting a concussion would be very good for you. Besides, Papa’s gotten enough for the both of you.”

Derek leveled a glare at his daughter but he lifted his head off the desk and sat up. He rubbed the red mark on his forehead. “Ive gotten my fair share of concussions too, ya know. I did play hockey for a lot time.”

“I know, I know, all im saying is that Papa had a concussion like, a month ago. “ Addison shrugged. “So his might be a little more relevant.”

It was true. Will had gotten a harsh check and was out of the game for a while because of it. It was rough on all three of them, just as it always was whenever Will got hurt during games. It always made Derek worry, usually about how much longer Will could play in the NHL or if they should continue letting Addison play in her junior league. It sent his head in swirls and him and Bitty and Caitlin have spent hours talking about the stress of being married to three of the top players in the NHL. And Derek knew that their children have had similar conversations about being the children of NHL stars.

“Dad? Hello?” Addison waved her hand in front of Derek's face to get his attention. “You still with me or did you actually give yourself self a concussion? Do I need to drive you to the hospital?”

“You can't drive yet, Addison. You're 13.”

“I know but I figured that if you had a concussion you would let me try anyways.” Addison grinned.

“And that's where you're wrong.”  

“Worth a shot. So what's wrong?”

Derek let out a long sigh. “Writing is hard, Addy. Don't do it. It isn't a viable career. “

“I mean, it wasnt on my list. I was more thinking hockey.”

“Huh?” Derek stared at his daughter and his heart thumped extra hard. “Really?”

“Well, yeah.” Addison shrugged. “Its what makes sense and I like it a lot. Is there…..something wrong with that?”

Derek let out a breath. The idea of his daughter, his pride and joy, one of the two most important people in his life, playing a dangerous game that both him and his husband loved made him feel nauseous. He knew first hand how dangerous the game was and while he knew that Addison took after her fathers in her love for the game, part of Derek wished that she didnt.

“Just..be careful.” Derek said carefully. He didnt want to admit to her how much it scared him. “You have time to decide. Most kids your age have no idea what they want to do. But, me and Papa will support you no matter what, okay?”

“Okay Daddy.” Addison leaned over and hugged him tightly. Derek hugged her back, putting all of his concerns and hopes into that hug.

“So, how can I help you get past your writing block right now?” Addison asked, pulling away from the hug.

Derek glanced at his laptop, which was just showing a word document full with the letter “H”. An idea tickled at the back of his brain. Something about an over-do meeting between a main character and their parent. A nice conversation about fears. Derek grinned

“You've already have.”

[thedappleddragon]

Day 88 (Monday June 8)

i woke up from a crazy dream where my siblings ad i were traveling by car in some magic world and i was katara. i dont remember much, but i tried to press an entire treebranch like you would flowers between the pages of a book while the city law enforcement was chasing after us. at one point we walked in on a presentation and when they told me to get off stage i asked if ic ould please speak for a moment. they told me no, so i asked pretty please. i think that was a re-occurring part of the dream. 

i dont really rmember the specific order of what i did today, but here we go. i  spent some time outside today with my cat and ate a sandwich, but it was so unbearably sunny that we went inside. i later came back outside in the evening at like 8 pm when it was cooler and shadier and i brought a spray botttle with a little fan on the top. i sat on a towel in the grass and kept an eye on my cat and watched tiktoks until my phone died, so i switched to playing with the grass and making grass chains that kept falling apart. i spent so much time outside that my mom got mad at me for not responding to her calling for my help inside. at some point i could hear the neighbor kids playing hide and seek in their backyard. im always afraid that they think i’m spying on them, since i face their house because thats the side of the yard my cat likes to hang out in. thankfully theres a big minibarn in the way, so if im sitting in the grass i cant see any of their backyard. 

i was hungry and wanted potato slices, and then i remembered that we owned an apple peeler/slicer/corer combo thing and i thought it would be cool to try using that instead of cutting the slices by hand. the peeler part had too strong a spring, so it dug into the potato so i just moved it back lol. it worked really well other than that. i sliced it, put it in a pan with some oil, and then tried cutting up an apple with the thing, but the spikes that hold it in place just bore a hole into the center instead of pushing it into the blade, so i just cut it buy hand perpendicular to how you normally cut apples. i thought it would be a fun idea to try and bake one of the slices, so i put it in a pan with a little pad of butter longside the potato in the oven, flipping both ever so often while watching youtube in the kithen. i added a little brown sugar to the apple slice. the potatoe turned out good, its hard to mess up lol. but the apple tasted like ass. the butter i used was salted, and the apple was sweet instead of tart, so i just threw it away. im glad i only used one of the slices instead of like 3 like i had origionally planned. i think if i used unsalted butter and a granny smith it would turn out ok, but i dont think im going to try it again lol.

i took a couple driving practice tests in the morning, but i got frustrated that i didnt know stuff and gave up. i promised myself that i would try again later today, but i kept procrastinating whoops. its 2 am but i might give it a shot. i have to practice a lot tomorrow, because if i dont pass i probably wont get to take it again for like a month because all the bmvs are so busy and only taking appointments. 

i was scrollling through tiktok and found an audio i thought was funny and would fit one of my ocs so i did a really rough sketch animatic that i’ll eventually clean up. i would add it to the post but im on my laptop right now because my phone died and my sister borrowed my charger :/ i’ll add it in the morning if i remember. yall are going to make fun of my for having a teeth kink or something tho because thats the only part of the sketches i put any effort into (pensive face emoji  😔) (idk if that worked i just copid and pasted it lmao) 

i dont acually know much about my friend’s oc (Osimiri/Osi) that i’m shipping with my oc (Valka) other than she’s kinda grumpy so i scrolled back through our texts to see if she gave me a ref or any character description and i found a bunch of her cute art of GillFauns (thats thier ship name because Osi is a siren (gill) and valka is a goatfolk/tirfling so she has hooves (faun (even tho she’sa goat not a deer shhh))) and now im re-obsessed with them omg <3 and i also realized that i have no idea if i’m drawing her correctly/ how my friend intended her to be interprited. our art styles are SO different, and with hers i have to just guesstimate what she means with her character designs. (tbh she’s not that good at art but i still love her drawings because she’s so passionate about it and i love some of her ocs) but because of a combo of her art not being that detailed and me just drawing from memebery and not knowing the character that well, i have no idea if i’m taking too many liberties and stealing the character away from her. although on the other hand she doesnt really actively use that oc. she was meant to be a dnd oc, but idk if she ever actually went to ANY of the meetings. if she did, it was before marching band ended and i was able to join dnd club. 

anyway sorry this post is so long, i fing it easier to ramble and get my thoughts down when im on a keyboard than on my phone typng is much faster and a lot of fun so i always type more lol. but uhhhh its 2 am and i want to take a driver’s test or two before i go to bed, and get to sleep at a decent-ish time.