#to be fair one of the papers is on the god of small things which like

[slutabed]

I found some of my old drafts and papers from undergrad/grad school and rereading them now I’m like !!! wow look at that I was pretty smart!! I wish I had even a little more confidence back then (aka any of the medications I so sorely needed without realizing I needed them) bc they’re fairly strong even when I didn’t think I was accurately understanding the theory. like I can read them now even years removed from my direct study of julia kristeva and still be like wow yeah okay that makes some sense good point past me

[shmalk]

141 is filled with alphas, not a single omega in sight. there are a few betas, but they're either low-ranking or transfers that were never going to last.

like you! (beta!reader) who works at reception and takes calls, scans badges and is the first point of contact for the task force.

none of them know your name, none of them even speak to you - maybe price, when you transfer a call to him, he'll mumble a thank you. or even laswell, when you bring her a coffee.

it's nothing, really, you don't mind.

only, one day, a totally normal friday, you've done the exact same style in your hair you always have, and you're wearing more clothes than you were yesterday.

price wants a coffee, sure- you make it, just the way he likes, and head towards his office. you knock, and wait a few seconds until you hear 'come in.'

the office is silent, it usually is - but this time there's more than just price inside.

they're finishing up just as you enter, soap and gaz sitting in front of the desk whilst ghost leant against the back wall.

"my apologies, captain." your voice isn't exactly quiet - why should it be, you've done nothing wrong, but its still respectful. price just nods as you place the cup down on his desk.

"thanks, that's all." he dismisses everyone in the room, and you wait for the boys to file out before you do, soap and gaz both giving you a cheeky smile.

ghost is the one to hold open the door, standing just adjacent to the doorway with his arm sprawled against it. its a heavy door, and you swallow as you pass him.

"thank you," you all but mumble out as you rush past him - straight into the break room.

you can't help but rant about the situation to your roommate whilst you're packing up your things, your phone tucked between your jaw and shoulder.

"i mean- he held the door open for me and i couldn't even look him in the eye to say thank you!" you stress, throwing your bag into your passenger seat before leaning back against your car. "god, all i wan't right now is a plate of sushi and some boba."

"too bad its pizza night, dweeb."

"thats not fair! i could loose my job, i should be allowed to eat my comfort food when im stressed out."

you stress about it over the whole weekend, and when you return back to work on monday you try to act as casual as possible. of course, you don't see ghost - price doesn't order a coffee, and youre break time comes around quicker than you expected.

you had brought- oh, theres- your favourite sushi, and a boba drink sitting where your food was supposed to be. in somewhat messy hand writing, on a small piece of paper, theres your name.

signed ' s. riley. '

i am a sucker for sweet lil moments like this !!

in my head i think that simon would like a beta, or an alpha, but in this lil snippet (which is CERTAINLY getting turned into a fic) he's big and broad and gets worried when he's with alphas because they can't think straight, he tells them what to do and he does it.

but you? you dont react to his scent or chase him down to get him to court you - so, of fource, he courts you. <3

[strvberrydoll]

Rosemary

Summary: who would have thought that a small piece of paper could be the very thing that would crush your dreams with Arthur ? part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link (better rewritten version of this fic on ao3)

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

content: suggestive, angst, hurt/no comfort (for now) probs grammar errors srryy

wc: 2k

a/n: hear me out, I thought about writing a jealous!reader oneshot with Arthur but,, I got a bit carried away and so many ideas came into my mind so I was thinking about making this a mini series with a pt.2. Let me know if you’d be interested in a pt.2 <33 (gif from pinterest)

Nothing was more relaxing to you than fixing some of Arthur’s shirts and pants while sitting outside your shared tent.

Seated on a small cushion placed on the ground with your back against one of Arthur’s chests your hands worked delicate but precise movements mending the cotton of his favorite black shirt. The rays of light sparkling from the east coast of the flat iron lake at Clemens Point casting a golden halo around you and the usual buzzing of camp making you feel at ease, letting you loose yourself in your thoughts.

During these moments your mind often drifted to thoughts about you and Arthur, the way he would make you feel all warm inside like a young naive teenager with just his soft glances and loving touches, how he would make you dream some of the craziest things for a couple of outlaws like yourselves like having a proper family with him, getting proper married before god and maybe even owning your very own ranch at some point.

Your dreamy stream of thoughts was soon interrupted as Mary Beth’s light footsteps on the dry grass could be heard coming towards your direction, with a strange expression you couldn’t quite decipher on her face and a small letter in her hands. As she saw you sitting down near yours and Arthur’s tent her fair features twisted into an anxious manner, her expression resembling the one of someone who just ate a whole lemon in one go, her steps faltering almost imperceptibly before continuing her path towards your shared tent.

“Hiya Miss,” she said in a chirpy tone, her voice higher than usual as she stopped in front of you, her eyes looking around avoiding your confused gaze as she played with the paper edge of the letter in her delicate hands.

“Arthur hasn’t come back yet ?” Strange. Her voice cracked a little at the end. She quickly cleared her throat with a small smile. Mary Beth's usual cordial and friendly façade cracked the more she was near you, letting you see her unusual unease.

“‘M afraid not, he said he was going into town for some ‘deputy thing’ with the Grays, why ? Did something happen ?” you replied imitating Arthur’s low voice and accent as you put down his shirt which was now fixed and your sewing kit. At your failed attempt at imitating his accent Mary Beth let out a small laugh, covering her smile with her free hand, relaxing just a tiny bit before regaining her previous composure.

Smoothing out the white envelope in her hands she handed it over to you, as you took it you couldn’t help but notice the sender’s name written in what you called a ‘fancy cursive’. You weren’t exactly good at reading or writing but the fancy ink swirls made out a familiar name.

The sender was Mary Linton.

“It’s for Arthur, it arrived this morning,” she told you looking at you with something in her eyes you couldn’t quite make out. Was it a shared distaste for the woman in question or was it perhaps pity toward you what you could see reflected in her eyes ?

You weren’t a stranger to who Mary Linton was, having joined the gang when you were eighteen and Arthur fresh of twenty-six you knew who Mary was, how she was Arthur’s first love, the woman he almost married if it wasn’t for her strict father not approving his lifestyle. The woman who completely shattered his heart.

You knew that after his breakup with Mary he was distraught, drinking and sleeping around almost every night before eventually getting one of the girls he slept with pregnant with his son Isaac. How he, from time to time, went to Eliza’s cabin and visited them, never failing to bring sweets and shiny toys for his Isaac who met him with a toothy little smile every time Arthur visited them until one day the only thing Arthur was met was an empty robbed cabin and Eliza’s lifeless body hugging Isaac’s one.

For almost a year you helplessly witnessed Arthur, the gang’s main enforcer, spiraling more and more into a toxic lifestyle. He began to drink more, often found sitting near the campfire drunk every night, his actions during jobs sloppy and reckless not sparing a single ounce of mercy for whoever dared to wrong him. His mood around camp bringing everyone down until one day you decided you had enough.

He had just come back from a job went wrong with Hosea, the older man's sour mood perceptible from miles away as he hitched his horse and quickly walked away to his tent, leaving Arthur behind talking pretty much to himself how it wasn’t his fault and he didn’t do anything wrong, the pungent scent of alcohol surrounding the space around him. Seeing the scene in front of you you quickly put down your cleaning rag and marched towards him giving him a loud earful in front of everyone in camp not caring that he was a 6’1 massive killing machine of an outlaw and eight years older than you and that you were the last addition to camp making you a nobody in the eyes of what was basically Dutch’s golden child. You simply had enough.

From that moment onwards Arthur started to get better, letting go of his usual whisky bottle and surprisingly starting to pay attention to you rather than avoiding or despising you, eyeing you with respect each time you expressed your opinion around camp, coming to your tent almost every night for advice or just to talk about life opening up to you about his family and past love building day by day an unexpected friendship which blossomed years later into your current relationship.

Seeing her name now again after so many years left you with a sour taste in your mouth.

You took the letter and placed it on Arthur’s nightstand as you thanked Mary Beth and began to tidy up your things.

The sky was beginning to lose its rosy color making space for a deep blue when Arthur came back, the gallop of his and Dutch horses announcing their arrival into camp.

You were chatting with Karen and Javier at the round table near the fire when you felt his hand on your shoulder, the scent of wood and gunpowder filling your nose letting you relax under his soft touch. He bent down to quickly kiss your cheek, a small show of pda which left you all warm inside, almost letting you forget about the letter. Almost.

“Hello sweetheart,” he said in his usual low tone near your ear, a shiver traveling down your spine at his vicinity a soft blush making its way into your cheeks.

“Miss Jones, Javier” he greeted your company before taking your hand in his calloused one letting you up from your seat and guiding you towards his tent leaving Karen and Javier sharing knowing glances between them.

As soon as you walked into your shared tent he made quick work of closing the flap before taking your face in his hands and kissing you. His soft kisses soon turned into hungry ones as his right hand left your soft cheek to trace down your neck then your collarbones before settling on your hips using your hips to guide you to lay on the bed.

“missed ya a lot today sweetheart,” he breathed on your neck as he positioned himself on top of you before kissing your sensitive spot, your eyes closed as your soft hands traveled onto his hair, tugging at his dirty blonde strands.

“got you in my mind the whole day, damn near made Dutch real name slip in front of them Grays. Jus’ couldn’t help but think ‘bout your pretty face.” he continued to kiss your sensitive skin, his words and his lips working like magic on you. His hands exploring your body inch by inch toying with the buttons of your white shirt.

As you open your eyes to look at Arthur you couldn’t help but remember the envelope sitting on his bedside table.

“Arthur,” you sighed trying to keep your voice stable but failing miserably as his teeth playfully bit your neck. The pleasure and the warmth of his body on top of yours was heavenly making you melt like butter under his touch but you were too curious to see what was in that letter to continue, your hands came on his shoulders to try and get the man off of you. “darling you, fuck, you’ve got a letter.”

As soon as you finished your sentence Arthur stopped his actions at once, his hands dropping on the soft mattress before getting up into a seated position beside you. He sighed as he ran his hands into his hair before taking the letter, his eyes quickly scanning the sender’s name before opening the envelope.

As his eyes read the elegant handwritten letter of Mary you couldn’t help but feel your heart beat out of your chest with anticipation, you knew it was stupid to feel this way but you couldn’t help but worry. Why is she mailing him after all these years of radio silence ? What did she want from him and how exactly did she know how to contact him ?

Deciding it was best to feign ignorance than to straight up get defensive and be viewed as possessive with Arthur you scooted closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder as you asked, trying your best to keep your façade, from who was the letter.

“Mh, nobody jus’ a sorry fellow I met.”

Your heart sank.

He lied to you. He lied to you without even an ounce of hesitation. A small ‘Oh’ left your lips as you didn’t know exactly how to respond, mind racing with many thoughts, the knowledge of his lie felt like an iced bucket of water was thrown at you, freezing you in your spot unable to move. A sense of nausea overtaking your body.

With a swift movement, he folded the letter and put it in the bottom drawer of the nightstand where other papers filled the small space. Turning back to face you he put one of his large hands on your cheeks caressing you with a delicacy that in that moment only made you further nauseous about the situation. His lips met your forehead, then your nose descending further down to your lips, too caught up in your thoughts you sat there unmoving. Arthur sensed your unusual attitude.

“y’alright sweetheart ?” he asked, you internally scoffed at his seemingly concerned expression. The nerve he had to be asking you that after he blatantly lied to your face.

“yeah just tired that’s all.” you dismissed him shifting on the bed and laying down on your side of the bed. You needed space to think, your mind going haywire. Was this the first time she mailed him ? Why was that as soon as you mentioned a letter he seemed to already know it was from her ? Why did Mary Beth act so strange when giving you the letter ? Why did he lie ? Why.

You wished you could let this go, forget about everything and melt back into his warm embrace, but you couldn’t. You had to find out what was going on.

Later that night when the outlaw was fast asleep beside you and the only sounds that could be heard were his soft snores that filled the space in your tent you found out that the other papers in the drawer were not random papers.

The drawer was full of Mary’s letters.

[weasleyreidstyles]

between the shelves

for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge!!

prompt 1: "is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?"

pairing: theodore nott x reader (no house specified)

warning(s): none

~∞~ a short little drabble – i've never written anything for theo so i thought i'd give it a shot.

There are many beautiful mysteries within the castle walls. That includes Hogwarts' expansive library that holds every book one could think of, and more. It's earthy tones and the smell of ink on parchment paper permeates the air at all hours of the day and the rustle of books is the only sound, besides idle chit chat that fills the vast room.

Right now, you despise the library.

The table that you and your potions partner had chosen was small and crammed into a corner of two towering bookshelves and the heat that magically swept through the room seemed to be set to sweltering hot as you sat, clinging to the fabric sleeves of your cardigan, which you refused to remove. There are potions books strewn across the table, which you absolutely abhor to look at, especially as his deft finger trace featherlight patterns against the worn covers as he jots a note down onto a separate piece of parchment for the assignment the two of you have been tasked with completing.

It all seems physically impossible. The fact that you're totally abysmal at potions, paired with the way Theodore Nott made you so nervous. Sitting in the sweltering library with him, is the last place you want to be right now.

He was one of the most popular boys in your year. Star quidditch player; top of all his classes without even having to try; he had more friends than you had fingers and he was just so godsdamn attractive. Everyone either wanted him, or wanted to be him in some capacity. Sometimes when you looked at him, jealousy festered in your gut because how can he sit in lessons so nonchalantly, but still remain just below Hermione Granger in all of them? And how can someone be made to be that fucking attractive?

It was not fair.

But more often than not, when you catch yourself staring at him (it happens more frequently than you'd care to admit) you find yourself constantly picking out the little things about him that make your heart soar.

Like the way his nose twitches irritably when his slightly curled hair falls over his eyes, yet he refuses to get it cut shorter.

Or the way his mouth tilts into a devious smirk that has people swooning instantly.

When he's on the quidditch pitch, his agility could rival the professional. He was truely a real talent and he could have an amazing future career, you think.

But the most fascinating thing about him are his eyes. Theodore has the most captivating eyes you've ever seen. They are a kaleidoscope of blues and greys that you find yourself wishing to get lost in.

Unbeknownst to you, Theo looks up from his note taking and watches as you stare off into space, the potions book in front of you long forgotten. His lips lift into that arrogant smirk that you seem to admire quite a lot as he abandons his own work in favour of staring you down.

You must be miles away in your own mind because you barely concentrate on the fact that he's looking so deeply at you, that he may as well have been staring right at the makings of your very soul.

"Have you got a staring problem, dolcezza?" he asks, his deep voice a mixture of smooth and raspy. It makes your heartbeat pick up in speed as you're jolted from your wandering thoughts.

"I'm bored." You mumble, moving your hands, which are resting on your lap, to lay upon the table so that you can lie your head down. "Potions is so draining and it's so bloody hot in here."

"Is that it, or is it because you're in love with me?"

You sit up abruptly, eyes wide and mouth threatening to gape like a fish out of water as he merely stares back at you with his brows slightly raised. His smirk is widening, almost to a full blown grin. Gods he's so pretty, is all you can think as you roll your eyes at him.

He lets out the lightest of snickers as you ignore him and open your abandoned book, in favour of evading his gaze. But he could already see the blush crawling further and further across your cheeks.

"You can admit it if you want to, darling." He says teasingly, his voice is arrogant and silky and it makes you blush even more. "I don't blame you. Everyone seems to be in love with me."

He smiles prettily at you as you glare at him from across the table.

"No one like an egotistical brat, Theodore." you retort, but there's no bite in your words – there never is when it comes to him. And as he stares you down, you swear you can see the reciprocation in his gaze, but it's gone almost instantly when he turns back to his own notes.

One day, you'd tell him how you felt.

Today was not that day.

[drabblesandimagines]

Imperfections

Leon Kennedy x female reader Fluffy festive nonsense

Leon squints at the small piece of paper, trying to decipher the name upon it. It’s not the handwriting he’s struggling with, more the fact he probably does need reading glasses and he hates to admit it. He looks around, making sure no-one is looking in his direction and holds it aloft, trying to find the perfect spot where the blurry squiggles will finally transform into a name.

A name he knows all too well, it turns out.

Yours.

You’ve been working for the department just shy of a year – a new recruit in February – and had been partnered with him on a fair few missions. He’d underestimated you at first, mistakeably deemed you too sweet a thing to be wrapped up in this sort of business, but you’d shown him your mettle from the off and especially when things had got dicey – held your own, got the job done, saved his ass a couple of times and all usually with that beautiful smile on your face.

God, Kennedy, he chides himself, smitten or what?

He folds up the slip of paper, sticks it in his wallet for safe-keeping and his mind begins to whirl - what in the hell is he going to get you?

Secret Santa at the DSO – a bit of holiday nonsense put forward as a suggestion to ‘boost morale’ and apparently the President had loved it, has thrown together a whole Holiday Mixer around having the exchange. Everyone working here isn’t depressed due to a lack of Christmas spirit, more the state of the world itself and the dark depths they’re forced to confront…

But, hey, Leon S Kennedy will do as he’s told as far as the President’s concerned, and so he’d stuck his hand in the Santa hat when it had been thrust in his direction, full of his colleagues’ names.

There’s rules – has to be in government-officiated fun – gifts to be exchanged at the Holiday Mixer in a week’s time and, to try and avoid an influx of gift cards and novelty socks, it must include a handmade element, with a $25 limit.

“So,” you plonk yourself down on his desk - right on a pile of manilla folders that were left there earlier for his upcoming briefing and he’d yet to tackle - and lean in, “who’d you get?”

He sweeps his hair out of his eyes and sits back a little in his chair to take you all in. “Uh-uh, that’s against the rules.” You roll your eyes at that. “And since when has Leon Kennedy been a stickler for the rules?”

“I just don’t wanna be on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Fine.” You pout, crossing your arms in fake annoyance. “I won’t tell you who I got either.”

“Good, cos I don’t remember asking... And don't make an old man joke."

“Wasn't gonna." He gives you a look and you can't help but smile. "Okay, but seriously - I get the handmade rule, I do,” you shuffle back a little more on his desk, making yourself comfortable as you get to your point, “but what I don’t get is why it’s mandatory to participate in the whole thing.”

“It’s not really mandatory. We’re a small operation – you don’t participate, you’ll show up on the President’s radar for not being a team player. You know he’s all about that.”

“Well, make us do a team building exercise - build a bridge out of newspaper, do trust falls or something besides try and be crafty.”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not doing a trust fall with you – not after last time.”

You open your mouth to reply – that was most definitely not meant to be a trust fall, Leon had just straight up fell - when Hunnigan pops her head around the cubicle, not even surprised to see you sitting on his desk, and gives the two of you a polite smile.

“Kennedy – intel briefing set for 1200. You prepped?”

“Sure am.”

Hunnigan eyes the pile of folders she clearly remembered placing on his desk first thing this morning, the exact ones which are nestled underneath your thighs.

“Uh-huh… Conference room seven. See you there.” She turns on her heels and departs, and you feel Leon’s hand ghost your thigh.

You look down, a little startled – sure there’s been flirtatious touches here and there, a time where you would’ve bet that month’s pay check that he was gonna kiss you after a particularly close call but swerved for your cheek at the last moment – and realise he’s tugging at the corner of a folder.

“Whilst I won’t deny that you’re an awful pretty paperweight, mind if I get back to work now?”

 You slide off – managing not to take the folders down with you - and mock a salute. “Yes, sir.”

--

The briefing is dull, which should be a good thing, really. No current BOW threats on the radar, though the threat level remains at orange. Leon can’t remember the last time they lowered it to yellow, so it seems a pointless system to him but he still throws in his two cents when called upon. He’s got another few weeks of desk duty to get through after Alcatraz after his medical - knows he’s not getting any younger and that’s why it’s taking him a little longer to recover after quite the beating.

Dismissed from the briefing, Leon swings by your desk on the way back to his, only to feel a little silly when he’s disappointed at the lack of you at it. There’s a shoebox sat on your desk though, lid taped on with a few rounds of parcel tape, but overall it looks a more than just a little worse for wear - crumpled corners and scuff marks all over the cardboard.

“Snooping, Kennedy?”

He can’t help the smile when you come to his side, your laptop tucked under your arm – must’ve had a meeting of your own. He holds up his mug, waving it from side to side in demonstration. “Was gonna see if you wanted a coffee, actually. That package looks a little suspect to get through the security check, right?”

You place your laptop down beside it and frown, before reading the return address. “Oh, no. It’s just some things that I asked my ex to send on. I forgot them in the move, only realized when I went to put my tree up last week…”

You trail off as you move the box towards you ever so slightly and there’s a horrible clinking sound that makes your stomach sink.

You grab a biro, jamming it through the tape lined around the edge as a make-shift knife and tentatively pull off the lid, bracing yourself for what you might discover within. Whilst you had safely stored them away in layers of bubble wrap, each in its own bo, he seems to have dumped them all out into the shoe box, one layer of bubble wrap on the bottom, another on top and they’ve obviously cracked together in transit, resulting in the shattered mess before you.

“Shit.” He comments, softly, watching as you pick up shards. “What are they?”

“My grandmother’s baubles.” Your voice goes flat as you pick up pieces of what once were precious memories and his heart aches. “She was a really talented artist before the arthritis got bad… Used to paint these and sell them at Christmas fairs.”

He’s silent as you continue picking through the pieces. There’s one that seems mostly intact, a smaller one but after further investigation there’s a big chunk missing from the side and you drop it back down in the box in defeat. Leon lays his hand on your shoulder then, seeing how you almost deflate in front of his very eyes, and he hopes to give you a reassuring squeeze – to let you know he’s here, he's always here for you, even if he’s not going to say it aloud. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” But he knows it’s not by how tight your voice is. You’ve never got emotional in front of him before, not even when you’d been injured had you let that stupid, gorgeous smile falter. “I… I have to head out. I’ll see you later.”

You place the lid back on the shoebox and shove it off the desk. It lands in the waste basket with another awful sound of broken ceramic.

“Whoa, wait, don’t you wan-?” He begins to protest but you shrug his hand off your shoulder, shaking your head and now keeping your eyes downcast.

“Sorry, I really have to go.” He swears you just about jog out of his sight, no real destination in mind.

Leon doesn’t see you the rest of the day, though he swings by your desk a few more times when he gets up to stretch his legs. The maintenance team will be in later – dispose of the shredded paperwork, wipe down surfaces empty the waste baskets… so he doesn’t think twice when he picks up the shoebox as he leaves, holding it tightly in the crook of his arm as if it were the broken pieces of your heart.

--

Later that evening after dinner, he sits on his sofa, changed into his sweats rather than stuffy shirt and suit trousers, a soda on the table in a heavy-bottomed glass – doesn’t drink anymore, isn’t worth it, but he still likes the weight of a good glass in his hand – with his laptop perched on his knees.

The cursor blinks in place before he slowly types in the search bar.

How to fix a broken ceramic bauble.

He’s good with his hands from weapons maintenance, can handle delicate stuff, so why couldn’t he glue some bits of ceramic back together into a sphere?

He scrolls down the search results – various how-to articles and videos. He reads through a few, learns that it can depend on such factors of where the break occurred, if it’s clean break or not, how thick the ceramic is and, after all that, there’s the danger it could look like a kid put it together for their mom at kindergarten with a pot of PVA glue and got bored halfway through.

He’s not put off, though, as he continues his scroll until something bright and gold catches his eye…

Kintsugi?

Huh. Sounds… promising.

--

He does a test first. Practice makes perfect, and he’s determined he will make them as close to perfect again as he can… once he’s sure he’s got the hang of it. He buys a box of six ceramic baubles from a nearby department store, whacks one off the table edge gently until it shatters into reasonable-sized pieces, then sets about setting it back together with the kit he’d bought online – paid for express next-day delivery as well, no time to sit and wait around for 3-5 working days, longer in the Christmas build-up.

You’d not mentioned the baubles the next day in the office or how you’d rushed off, just came and sat on his desk with a coffee, had the usual back and forth banter but he can tell you’re a little flat, the light isn’t quite reaching your eyes as it once was and he hates it. You’d been excited for Christmas – even brought in a Christmas mug on the 1st of December – but it’s all been extinguished, now a DSO-logo stamped black mug in your hands.

It takes him the entire box over the next few evenings until he’s confident enough to tackle one of your prized possessions. Each bauble is unique – swirling patterns of pastel colours on all-white ceramic, but he treats the pieces like a puzzle as he slowly divides the piles into category of each bauble – four in total – and gently works out which piece belongs to which. There are bits that aren’t going to be a clean seam but he’s prepared for this in his practice rounds, still a little shake in his hand as he finally puts two and two together.

He likes the meaning behind the practice - embracing imperfections, not trying to hide the cracks or broken bits, but instead highlighting it, making it a feature with bright and beautiful gold. Lord knows he isn’t perfect, far from it, and he will never be the man he was before Raccoon City. A few years ago, when he was at his darkest, he would’ve described himself as beyond repair – too smashed up to ever be whole again.

Slowly but surely, he’s began to piece himself back together, embracing the fact that whilst he’s not quite whole and might never be, held together by his friends, his will and some glue and now your presence in his life giving him a little bit of sparkle.

He shakes his head, leans forward and switches off the made-for-TV Christmas movie.

--

Friday evening is here before he knows it and, frustratingly, an intel mission he’s on runs a little long – gets caught up in traffic. He needs to swing by his apartment to pick up your gift and needs to get changed while he’s at it – the dress code quite clear. He enters the hotel ball room in a shirt, suit jacket and trousers, sans tie, an over an hour and a bit late, carrying the gift bag as carefully as he would a baby or a bomb. The mixer already seems to be in full swing - there’s half a dozen round tables, discarded wrapping paper scattered across the tops of them as well as empty champagne glasses and he realizes he must’ve missed the gift exchange.

“There you are! I thought you were a no-show.” You tease, appearing at his side a little too quick to not have been waiting for him. You’re looking beautiful in your black cocktail dress, the one that hugs all the right places and your hair half up and half down, held in place with a red bow.

“Duty called. Did I miss the exchange?”

“Eh, kinda. It wasn’t a whole big thing. The President’s not coming – double booked himself, so everyone’s just been awkwardly exchanging gifts and downing more and more free drink.”

He tugs at the ribbon hanging down off your shoulder ever so gently.

“Well, you certainly look as pretty as a present. Please tell me you didn’t panic and gift yourself…”

You ignore him, loop your arm through his instead and guide him over to an empty table – there’s a large queue at the open bar and hopefully a few more minutes of privacy before making endless small talk – and encourage him to take a seat. As he does, you crouch besides another chair and fish for something underneath, pulling out a red and gold gift bag, an embarrassed smile as you hold it out to him.

“Merry Christmas, from your Secret Santa.”

He raises an eyebrow but still accepts the bag, placing it on the table. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Why?”

“You’re my Secret Santa?”

“Can you at least hold in the disappointment until after you open it?” You pout.

“No, I mean… I got you. We got each other.”

“What? That’s… weird.” You sit down heavily in the chair, looking a bit bemused. “What’s the statistics on that even happening?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to demand a re-count.” He rolls his eyes and holds out his own gift bag. “Ladies first.”

You smile, brushing your fingers with his as you take it, before placing the gift bag down on the table and see four small cardboard boxes nestled within. You take out the first one and unfold the tabs, carefully, before removing the piece of red tissue paper he’d nestled on top.

What lies below it makes your heart stop.

It’s your grandmother’s baubles, or one of them, now held back in one piece and held together with threads of beautiful gold.

You look at him and then back down at the bauble.

“Is this…?”

“Yeah.”

“Leon, I…”

He sees the tears in your eyes as you take out the remaining boxes with a shaking hand, lining them up on the table and revealing each one in turn.

“I hope they aren’t an insult to your grandmother’s memory.” He blurts out after sitting in silence, unsure of what to make of yours. “They were just about to be tossed and so I took them, did some research on repair techniques and, well…”

“Did you do this?” There it is – the smile, the real smile that lights up your eyes.

“What, you think this old dog can’t learn new tricks? Everything’s on the internet these days.” He shrugs off – he won’t tell you the hours he spent, the headaches he got from squinting as he pieced parts together. Hell, he’d do it all again if he had to.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful. I… I can’t believe you did this for me. I… I just, I mean…”

He places a hand on your knee, gives you a soft smile.

“There’s a lot I’d do for you, you know, if you’d let me.”

There’s a moment as your eyes meet that you feel perhaps your cheeks have gone as red as the bow on top of your head and quickly try to deflect, nodding your head at his unopened gift bag.

“You should’ve let me go first - this is going to be such a disappointment in comparison.”

Leon gives your knee a squeeze before he peers into this gift bag, digging out a small gift box. He places it down on the table and tugs off the lid to find there’s a beautiful ridged glass nestled in red tissue paper, heavy-bottomed – you know his preference all right - but there’s something within the glass too. A mass of what appears to be red and green yarn, a little loop of black string at the top… He picks it up between two fingers.

“It’s…” He trails off, looking at the colours. “It’s certainly festive.”

“Okay, I can’t knit but I tried and that’s the important thing here, right?”

“No, no, it’s… cute.” He smiles. “And the glass – I love it. Just my style.”

You bite your lip, looking a little flustered and unsure, but he assumes you’re still feeling a little emotional over his present… until you try and yank the yarn from his hands.

“Hey!” He gets to his feet out of instinct of being attacked and clutches whatever it is closely to his chest.

“Look, if you just give me it, I can try some other craft thing. Just I was in a pity party all week and I stayed up all night doing that and it shows.” You get to your feet then, trying to weasel through fingers into his to retrieve it. “I can’t leave you with that, it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s mine.”

You don’t give up your attempt to wrestle it back, though Leon’s grip never falters. “You don’t even know what it’s meant to be!”

“Sure I do. It’s…” He retaliates, whipping it quickly above his head and yours – too high for you to snatch out of his hands despite your heels – and squints once more, comparing it against some of the festive décor in the hall.

“Oh.”

“It’s so dumb.” You begin your protest again, now trying to grab it from above your heads. “I just tho-” Leon wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you forward firmly against his chest, before he finally drops his other arm and cups your cheek, knitted mistletoe still in his fingers and kisses you firmly on the lips, swallowing down the rest of your sentence. He can’t help but grin as he feels you relax into his embrace, pressing your palm now flat against his chest. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, poking ever so gently to seek permission and-

“About goddamn time, Kennedy!” The shout of an inebriated agent causes the two of you to pull apart and you feel flustered by both the overdue kiss and what feels like the eyes of the entire DSO on the two of you.

Leon takes it all in his stride though, keeps a warm palm right on your lower back as he smiles and nods at whoever the hell it was that had interrupted, before pressing a sweet, solitary kiss to your cheek.

“Now, seeing as I’ve got this mistletoe, how about we go back to my place and try it out a little more, beautiful?”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[zoesmp4]

PHOTOGRAPH “we keep this love in a photograph.” carl grimes x fem!reader

tags: angst, death, use of y/n, 8x9, some fluff

a/n: first angst, i was bawling my eyes out while writing this 😓. based off photograph by ed sheeran, lyrics r in italics. i hope ygs enjoy!!

loving can hurt sometimes. you never really understood how much until now.

FLASHBACK. 

“we should do something.” carl says, fiddling with your promise ring which he got you. he saw it while on a run and thought it was pretty, “pretty items for a pretty girl.” he thought. you were sitting criss cross applesauce in front of him, him doing the same. both of his hands were interlinked with yours, giving light squeezes. “and what’s that?” you ask. “we should take a photo. you know for the future.” “for the future?” “like to show our kids.” you wanted to kiss him until you couldn’t breathe. did he really just say that? did he mean it? this boy would be the death of you. 

“wait okay so- i just do a random pose?” you say, looking at the camera carl held in his hand. “up to you baby.” he never failed to make you feel special. you were so in love, and you knew he was too. “m’ ready!” “sweet.” he angles the camera to fit you both into the frame before you press your lips onto his cheek. his lips curve up into a smile before you hear the click sound from the camera. 

carl held the photo of you both in his hand, examining every part of it. mostly examining you. the way your hair fell perfectly upon your face, the way your lips looked perfect on his skin. god, he just knew he was going to make you his wife one day. you giggled at the light kiss stain you left on his cheek. 

PRESENT TIME.

you held the necklace you got when you were fifteen, heavy tears flowing down your face at a rapid pace.

FLASHBACK.

“carl.. you didn’t.” you say, looking at the beautiful silver heart locket in the small black box carl handed to you. “you like it?” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “i love it. i- you didn’t have to.” you say, your eyes getting mistier by the second. “don’t cry pretty girl.” he says, putting his hand on your cheek. “i love you so much carl.” “i love you more.” 

PRESENT TIME.

holding him closer til’ our eyes meet. did it have to end like this?

FLASHBACK. 

“carl you can’t leave me like this. i wo- i won’t allow it. this isn’t fucking fair.” you say, hitting carl’s chest softly. you were so angry, and sad, you didn’t know how to feel. “y/n you’ll be fine. i know you will. you’re a strong girl. it’ll b-“ 

“what about- what about the plans we made? who am i supposed to talk to late at night when i have nightmares? w-who am i supposed to cry about stupid things to? carl i can’t do this without you.” you started to choke on your words, the realization hitting deeper and deeper that you would never get to see, to talk to, to hold, to kiss, to love carl grimes ever again. 

carl pulls you into his chest for one last hug. you embraced him tightly, trying to make the best of it while it lasted. he then cupped your face and pressed his forehead onto yours. “my girl, my y/n, i love you.” 

PRESENT TIME.

you kept his last words deep within your soul. your hands quivered as you slowly opened the piece of paper which carl left for you. your heart stopped when you saw his handwriting. all of his words written on the paper. you wished it could’ve lasted longer. you wished you had more time with him. 

“my dearest y/n. i remember when we first met. you looked so scared. you were always quiet, always alone. i felt so bad for you. i would always admire from afar, watching the wind blow through your hair. you were so pretty. i don’t know how i ended up having you as my girlfriend, but it’s the best thing i could’ve ever experienced. 

i know you’re sad. i know you’re angry. i’m frustrated too. i meant it when i said i wanted to show the photos to our kids. i meant it every single time i said i love you. because i am truly in love with you. every part of you. and nothing will ever change that. in another lifetime we will reunite once again. i will always be with you. don’t ever be scared. we keep this love in a photograph. we made all of these memories for ourselves.

so you can keep me, hidden in the pocket of your ripped jeans. you won’t ever be alone. wait for me to come home.” 

you look at the photo which fell to the floor while you were reading the letter. quiet laughs mixed with sobs come out of your mouth when you remember that day. forever you will have this memory. captured in a photograph. 

[leahsgirl]

dramatic much | ella toone x female reader

veryyy short ella blurb to get back out there. no warnings.

sorry for my disappearance - writers block got the complete best of me and i hate every draft i make.

—

ella busied herself in the kitchen, occasionally stopping stirring the sauce in the pan to re-read the recipe on her phone.

some may say she’s been a little too aspirational in opting to make a three course meal for herself and you, considering she can barely make a bowl of cereal without something going wrong. but with her being away so much with with international duty and pre-season duties lately and little time for just the pair of you - she wanted to do something special.

in all fairness, everything was going to plan. she prepped the veg in advance, seasoned the chicken, and is yet to call alessia to come and save her (and the meal).

but nothing is ever easy in the world of ella toone, so as the brunette was jamming along to one of her notorious spotify playlist as well as peeling potatoes; she accidentally managed to slice her finger.

“fuckin’ el” she retracted her hand back in a jolt, watching in horror as blood pumped out of the small but painful cut.

she’s pretty sure this is the end, any minute now and she’s going to die from a haemorrhage which is why in a swift motion - like any self respecting adult would do - she whipped out her phone from her back pocket.

“hey babe.”

“how far away from home are you?”

“about five mins-ish, why?”

“i’m gonna die man! you need to hurry up.”

“what do you mean, what have you-“

but ella hung up and there you was; heart rate through the roof as you sat driving your car. it didn’t take long for you to get back though, probably breaking a few speed limits here and there.

“ella?” calling out as soon as you entered the premises.

“in the kitchen!”

you find the girl hunched over the counter-top, about thirty pieces (not an understatement) of kitchen roll wrapped around her hand. “what have you done?”

“bloody sliced my finger open.” you see the half peeled vegetables on the chopping board and piece two and two together, letting out an airy laugh “let me have a look.”

ella propped herself up onto the counter as you gently unravelled the tissue paper to reveal… a small cut. barely a nick, really, but enough to have your dramatic girlfriend convinced she was at death’s door. “oh my god you are such a hypochondriac.” 

“mate it was like a blood bath in here i nearly died.” the mancunian defended herself as you hummed along amused, searching for the first aid kit.

“it’s your fault too.” she vindicated.

“of course it is.” you said with a grin, playing along “what did i do?”

“if i wasn’t cutting potato’s for this meal i was making for you, then it wouldn’t of happened.” she huffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“or maybe you and the kitchen just aren’t meant to be.” you opened a sachet of antiseptic wipes and motioned for her hand. “but i love the thought and effort.” you kissed her lips while slying cleaning the wound.

“shit shit shit!” the brunette pulled back and immediately went to wave her hand to stop the stinging “what you do that for?!”

“would your dramatic ass let me do it if i had told you? the answer is no.” you smiled sweetly at her and put a plaster over the cut. “there. all better.”

“wait you forgot something.” looking expectantly at you as you cleared away the rubbish. “what?”

“kiss it better?” you laughed at the childish behaviour but gave in, conceding a quick peck on her finger. “i’ve never known anyone as dramatic as you, ella toone.”

“good thing you love me isn’t it?” she hopped off the kitchen surface and smacked your butt.

“mhm. now go get changed so i can put that shirt in the wash.” pointing to the scattered red marks on the material.

“fine, but i’m stealing your hoodie.” she called over her shoulder as she made her way to the bedroom.

_

well what was supposed to be ella’s culinary masterpiece ended up being your handiwork. after convincing the girl she’d done enough damage for one night, you took over in the kitchen, following the recipe she found. to your surprise, the meal turned out pretty tasty. ella hovered around you the entire time, watching your every move like an eager student, offering unhelpful advice and distracting you with cheeky kisses. not that you minded—it was nice to see her so invested, even if it meant she spent more time fussing over her finger than actually helping

with dinner over and dishes abandoned in the sink, the pair of you was settled on the sofa, scouring the tv for literally anything to watch. ella was cuddled into your side, messing with the remote as you combed your fingers through her hair.

“why don’t we see what’s on netflix? i think there’s some new shows out.”

“ugh there’s nothing good on netflix anymore.” the brunette moaned.

“you’re so hard to please sometimes y’know.” you teased as you took the remote off her and put on a movie both of you liked, one that you watched together more times than you can count “happy?”

ella nodded, “i’ll go grab some snacks.” she manoeuvred off you and the couch, bending down to steal a kiss on the corner of your mouth, the brief contact leaving you grinning. you watched her disappear into the kitchen, hearing the familiar clatter of cupboards opening and the rustle of packaging as she gathered your favorites.

she was back after a couple of minutes, hands now full with a bowl of popcorn, a bar of chocolate and two cans of pop. “here you go m’lady.” she said with a mock bow, gracefully placing the bowl on your lap and handing you one of the drinks. “thanks babe.”

she went to the other couch and picked up the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cloak and making her way back to her personal pillow (you).

“ah! shit shit shit!” the older girl was now hopping around holding her foot.

“literally what’s just happened?” you look on in disbelief because realistically how many accidents can this girl get herself into.

“stubbed my bastard toe.” ella hissed through gritted teeth “think i’ve broke it, swear I heard a crack”

“oh for fucks s-“

[oh-stars]

Recognition

Love is showing up when someone doesn’t ask.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1257 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

“What time will you be home?” Eddie asks, perched on the couch like a bird, elbows on his  knees and sitting on his heels, toes straining under his weight. He feels like a little gremlin, body needing a way to expel all the energy his boring day off built up while Steve’s been at work. 

Steve sighs and adjusts his tie in the mirror by the door. “If all goes well, eight?” 

Eddie groans and falls back, limbs flailing. “If they expect you to go to school after hours, they should at least pay you,” he says, face squished into the fabric. It’s miserable being on different schedules. He’s been working at the plant until the construction is done on his shop, which means weird hours and being completely off rhythm with Steve. He barely sees the man! 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Steve huffs as he smooths down his shirt, walking towards him. He carefully bends over to kiss Eddie’s pouting lips, laughing at him. God, Eddie’s so glad this man is his. He’s too precious to let go. “I’d stay if I could,” Steve says softly. “You know I hate going to these things.” 

Eddie sighs, giving him a small smile as he touches up the few strands of Steve’s hair that were betrayed by his hairspray. “I know,” he says. “I could always come with you.” 

Steve shakes his head, cheeks pink. “Thank you, but you, uh, really don’t want to go to a boring PTA meeting. All they’re going to do is fight over which classroom should get the crayons.” 

“I’d go for you, Steve,” Eddie says. He sighs again and pushes Steve away. “Go so you can get back.” 

“I love you,” Steve says, stealing another kiss before he finally stands up. 

“Love you too,” Eddie says, smashing his face back into the couch. “I’ll be here, rotting away until you return, my sweet knight.” 

Steve shakes his head and grabs his wallet and keys off the coffee table. Then he’s gone, with the rumble of the Beemer and the faint sounds of David Bowie announcing his departure. 

Eddie lasts a whole three minutes before he’s shooting up off the couch and pacing around the living room as he thinks of something he could do to occupy his time. He’s done about as much housework as he could manage for the day, he doesn’t think he could practice anymore today or write at all with how depleted his creative juices feel, and he knows nothing good comes on TV on Tuesdays in early January. 

That’s how he ends up piddling about Steve’s desk. Steve keeps all his papers that need to be graded meticulously organized, with the ones that are fair game for anyone to grade (aka the ones with scoresheets) in the blue folder. On days where Eddie’s brain was too much, when he couldn’t even look at his guitar without feeling pain or pick up his pencil to be creative in any fashion, he needed something to do to get the excess brain energy out. Robin’s much the same way, so Steve started setting aside his pop quizzes and multiple choice tests in the blue folder for either of them to grade if they needed. Otherwise, he’d get to it eventually. It’s mindless enough to calm their brains, they feel good helping Steve, and it helps give Steve more time to focus on the essays and presentations that need more time to be graded. It’s a win win all the way around. 

The blue folder isn’t as full as normal, but there are a few worksheets Eddie can take care of for Steve. He reaches for the sticker book and the purple pen (Steve’s signature grading color) in the mug Wayne gave him that’s an apple with a little worm for a handle that he uses as a pencil cup. That’s when he sees the PTA flyer. It’s jam-packed with information and minutes from the last meeting, but in big, bold letters at the bottom of the flyer, Eddie reads:

Join us to honor this year’s Teacher of the Year, Mr. Steve Harrington, eighth grade English. 

Eddie puts down the blue folder, the pen, and the flyer. He’s still for exactly one minute before his body goes into flight or fight mode. Within ten minutes, he’s dressed in his nice date clothes and his hair is tamed back into a tight bun, threatening to snap the band. 

Time crunch or not, he drives like a bat out of hell. He has plenty of time to get to the school, they live close enough, but he needs to make a few stops first. All in all, he gets there right as the principal is starting the meeting. 

He tucks himself in a corner in the back, watching the whole thing patiently. The problem is, he can’t really see Steve. Eddie cranes his neck and bounces on his toes, trying to find a way to make it to one of the seats in the center of the auditorium, closer to the stage. 

His opening comes after the chorus does a performance, when the parents at the front scurry their students away before the meeting can continue. First off, rude, but it works in Eddie’s favor. Steve’s award is next and Eddie isn’t missing this. 

Eddie slips into the front row as the principal starts shifting gears, whispering to the vice principal as the crowd settles. 

She announces Steve to a polite applause, but that’s just not good enough for his Steve. 

His palms ache with how hard he’s clapping, just shy of letting out a loud ‘whoop’ – and he’d do it if it wasn’t for the pretty way Steve’s face and ears are pinkening up. Their eyes meet as Eddie beams. 

“Hi,” he mouths, trying so hard to not vibrate out of the seat. 

Steve’s smile softens as he gives a wave of appreciation to the crowd, eyes darting back to Eddie. As the principal sings Steve’s praise and when she hands over the microphone for Steve to say a few words, Steve’s eyes never leave Eddie’s. It isn’t until a few of his students get up to speak that Steve finally looks toward the speaker, his shy smile turning into one of pride. Eddie knows he could care less about the words themselves (it’ll be later tonight that Steve will have a crisis and finally let the kind words sink in, where he’ll cower into Eddie’s body and panic over how much these kids trust him), but rather seeing how brave his kids are for speaking to a crowd this big and doing it so well. 

The award is the last part of the meeting, so after another round of applause, everyone is dismissed. Eddie jumps up to meet Steve at the bottom of the stage. 

“You didn’t have to come,” Steve says as he jumps down. 

“I wanted to,” Eddie says. “I’m proud of you,” he adds as he bumps their shoulders together. 

“I’m just doing my job–”

“Stop,” Eddie says kindly, “you deserve this.” He grabs Steve’s hand and gently tugs him toward the exit. “C’mon, I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate.”

“What about my car?” 

“I’ll drive you to work tomorrow.”

Steve’s blush is even stronger up close, but he doesn’t fight Eddie. And it’s an absolute privilege to watch as Steve gets all shy again when Eddie presents him with flowers once they’re at the van, stammering his thanks as Eddie kisses his cheek swiftly. 

--

Ao3 Link

Thank you @lady-lostmind 💜

[big-tiddy-bi]

Without ao3 I became inspired. Ok so being tired of the justice league not helping/believing brakes into the tower while a meeting is taking place to show one of the heroes what is happening I.E. you failed and don’t come here we don’t want you, we don’t need you. You come here and you will be treated as a super villain and dealt with as such.

—————

Danny was sick, tired and powerful. A dangerous combination for most peoples. Myths and legends written throughout every religion every people every and every world based on gods feeling those exact things, and that is the thing Danny closest too, not ghost, not human, but a god. Even if he does not himself as such.

Today was the justice league’s last chance, Walker had decided to change up his tactics. Instead of going after Danny directly he was going to play dirty. Imprisoning 300 living for ”harboring a fugitive”. The justice league was called, one last chance before thing got out of hand. 300 people held captive in another dimension should be a priority for a group called the justice league.

Their response “the justice league contact system should only be used for emergencies, pranks will not be tolerated”. a simple response. directed and to the point. A metaphorical death sentence for the justice league and the people of amity’s faith in them.

No one died, thank the ancients, but blood was spilled. Red and green fell to the floor like water from the large cuts on Danny’s arms and the side of his torso, he was mostly fine, a couple stitches, about a gallon of filtered ectoplasm and a trip to the nasty burger had fixed him up. Meaning that every time he tried to move his arms he felt like he was being stabbed and he could not breathe without pain, which in all fairness was kind of normal for him, it sucked but it was normal.

The real problem was the 300 people I’m the hospital, ecto contamination, not to the extent of being fatal but extremely painful. That could have been avoided if Danny had more help than just his team of 4 other teenage vigilantes and his adult sister.

So after that fiasco Danny did something, else, something more political, he mad deals. With permission from the most important people in town the ones who keeps everything running, IE Mr lancer and Jazz. He also got permission from the mayor, bribed with Danny going to a Green Bay packers game with him.

Johnny 13 and kitty could joy ride before 12 am and after 9am as long as property damage stays at a minimum, a couple smashed mailboxes, broken windows and spray painted cars/buildings paid for by the mayors office was better than bad luck to the entire town and people disappearing.

Skulked got to hunt Danny in a building made for that purpose, Spector-cameras installed in it so people could stream it live to “witness the greatest hunter of the ghost zone”.

Ember got to play her music and travel on tour as she pleased as long as she didn’t mind control people.

Some wouldn’t take the deals but most of the heavy hitters did, it calmed down a lot, but as they say it the calm before the storm.

With the viewers of the “ghost battles” (it was basically a game of extreme tag) and embers fans talking, the ghost situation became a known thing

And again the justice league responded. “we will be there in a month”

No apologies for not believing them no apologies for not helping, just a we are on our way 8 months after the incident and they were going to be there 9 months after. All the people where health again, Walker was punished, locked in his haunt for the next 100 years. The justice league has nothing to do. They have no point in coming to amity. Where they just going to show up, say “sorry for not helping you, welp peace” and then just leave.

Maybe that was the point, that though crossed Danny’s mind as he read the message out loud to his team. They didn’t have any to do, a vanity project, help the small community that they abandoned so that the people don’t go blabbing to the papers, a pr move.

Sam and Valerie had voiced the same opinions on what the justice league was doing. The rest of the team agreed after a short conversation.

This led to Tucker hacking the league computer system to find the next meeting date and we’re it would be held. “Unhackabal my ass” and a plan was made.

So here he is, invisible, intangible and floating above the justice league. Batman walked up to the podium and began to present.

“8 and a half months ago the league got a report of 300 people being kidnapped and sent to the ghost dimension, this was believed to be a prank and filled as such, we were wrong” he said while clicking through slides, some of medical reports of the victims, some of the photos taken of him helping people out of the portal next to the hospital he mad to help the victims faster. Then he said “ this is the city’s resident hero team” the next slide showing the picture of Danny, Sam , Wes, Valerie, tucker and jazz receiving the key to the city. 

“We one know of this misstep because of videos posted online of phantom pictured here” he pointed an Danny receiving the key, another picture of him helping a man to the hospital appeared “and here”

“Do we know who trained them they don’t look older than sixteen” Wonder Woman asked. Before batman could answer Danny revealed himself, though he made his skin slightly translucent to show his bones, it was all part of the plan.

He floated down to the floor and looked directly at her “we trained ourselves”

He turned to face the whole room. “ I am not here to fight you” he said as a couple of hero quickly moved from their seats. “ I came to warn you”

He took in a breath “ I came to warn you, stay out of amity and stay in your lane.” He put a small amount of his ghostly wale into his voice, just enough to shake up their hearts. “ we don’t need you. We don’t WANT you” he cold the room slowly a couple degrees a word. “ do not ask around for us ghosts, do not look for us, if you find one of us. RUN.” He dropped his voice louder as emphasis. “ if you find one of us causing trouble, send us a message, but otherwise don’t acknowledge us or amity, the dead have nothing to give to you” his eyes became fussy staring at nothing green tears fell out of his eyes,and his Lichtenberg scars began to glow Ice blue, but his voice did not waver,.“ you may not have killed us yourself but you signed our death warrant long ago, you have ignored us far to long” is voice soften at the last word.

Then his eyes turns red, as fast as he could he pulled Superman out of his chair and pushed him to the wall. Danny’s hand went intangible as he pushed in into Superman’s chest. His hand wrapped around Superman’s heart, Danny soften the intangibility so Superman could fell the hand but not get hurt. “I can rip your heart out without a single fight” his skin became entirely invisible to show his skeleton. “To all of amity” Superman’s breathing quickened “to me” he move close to Superman’s ear “you are villains, and will be treated as such” he dropped Superman to the floor.

“Stay in your domain and I’ll stay in mine” ice began to form at his feet, looking mor like crystals than ice. “Come to us with please of forgiveness is as pointless as asking of it from your god” ectoplasm dripped from his mouth onto the floor. “Do not come to amity” and with that he went invisible again and watched the room in amusement. He was kinda freaking out at how awesome he sounded.

A couple minutes of silence followed. As John Constantine entered the room, “what did I miss?”

———————-

Hope y’all like it <3 Sorry for spelling mistakes. I don’t think this need trigger warnings but if you think so please comment so I can add them. I started writing this and I couldn’t stop. If only I had that energy for the original story’s I want to write lol Have a nice day/night and drink some liquids that aren’t caffeinated and/or poisonous <3

[hugmeimtouchdeprived]

COD Bakery AU

I can't, for the life of me, come up with names/titles for anything I write (tips and suggestions are more than welcome!)

Content warning: None (I don't think?), other than that this is very, very self-indulgent :)

Also that I'm just not going to have a specific plan for this, just writing when I feel like I need to write something fluffy and not stress about it (although I do have some minor plots in mind, but we'll see!)

Pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x fem!reader

The first time he comes in is in autumn, early September.

You’re putting a freshly decorated cake in the display case when you hear the bell chime above the door, notice the tall figure approaching the cash register.

And boy oh boy, does he leave you speechless for a moment.

Tall and muscular, with a slight tan like he’s just come from a vacation or something, messy mohawk on his head, dark shirt tight around his muscles. You can tell those aren’t just for show, either.

“What can I get for you?” you just manage to get the words out as you walk up to the register, pen and paper in hand to take his order.

“I’m lookin’ to buy something for my mam,” he responds, looking at the cakes and pastries on display, as if he’s examining each and every one. “What’s this one? A strawberry cheesecake?”

“Strawberry and lemon. The one next to it is blackcurrant and white chocolate,” you point at the white and blue cheesecake. The man nods.

“A couple slices of both of the cheesecakes, please,” he smiles at you. You tell him the total and start putting his order in a white box, making sure to keep them upright.

“Is there a special occasion?” you ask, trying to fill the silence.

He shakes his head. “Nae, just been gone for work for a couple months, mam’s been worried sick. Wanted to bring her sort of a peace offering,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ah. Well, these should calm the storm, then,” you chuckle, tying a ribbon around the box before handing it to him. “I wish you luck. Hope she likes sweets.”

He laughs. God, how can a person be so attractive? It’s not fair, the way his blue eyes twinkle as his lips curl upwards.

The man takes the box, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. Enough to make your heart flutter slightly. He gives you another smile before leaving.

The second time you see him is only a few days later. You’d almost forgotten about him; it was mostly his looks that had caught your attention. Otherwise, he seemed to be just a regular customer amongst the others. You don’t even know his name.

You’re joined by your boss this time. An older man, who inherited the bakery from his parents a decade ago. The bakery is fairly small, with only one other employee working there besides you and the owner. You prefer the days when you’re either working alone or paired with Ava.

Ava, only a couple years older than you, is sweet. She does most of the baking when she’s in, but always encourages you to bake and decorate things, especially if you express even the slightest interest in trying something new. Always giving you tips and complimenting the things you make.

Your boss, Brent, is the opposite. You can tell he’s not used to actually having employees, used to working alone for most of that decade he’s been in business. You and Ava were both hired mostly because the business started to eventually take off, way more than Brent had anticipated, so he hired the two of you to keep up.

“What the hell is that?” he asks, looking at the apple pastries you’re currently sprinkling powdered sugar on top of.

“The apple pastries you asked me to make yesterday,” you respond quietly.

“Looks like shit.” Brent has never been one to hold his tongue, always finding something to complain or whine about. You and Ava often compare him to Gordon Ramsay, except even he’s actually nice to his employees, from what you’ve heard.

Besides, Brent has openly admitted to not even enjoying baking; he’s only here because it’s what he has left of his parents, which is admittedly admirable. But the man bakes only when he has to, otherwise making you or Ava do it.

You just nod your head at his insults; sometimes it’s just best to roll over and show your belly, so to speak.

“Smells good in here,” a voice comes from behind you, behind the cash register.

Both you and Brent turn at the same time, seeing the same Scotsman from a few days ago.

“Looks good, too. Those for sale yet? I’d like to have one,” he continues, pointing at the pastries in front of you. Brent rolls his eyes at you and waves his hand, motioning for you to take care of it, before disappearing in the back room again.

“For your mum again?” you ask with a smile on your face.

“Nae, just for me this time. And a coffee, for here, please.”

You go about charging him for the order, before sending him off to take a seat wherever he’d like, that you’ll bring everything once it’s ready.

You place the pastry onto a plate with a dollop of whipped cream on the side, pour the coffee into a cup and bring it on a tray to the man, setting everything in front of him on the table.

He pays and takes a seat near the large window at the front of the bakery, with a direct view of the small kitchen behind the register. The bakery used to be someone’s home ages before it became a business, with a bit of a yard at the front with outdoor seating in summer and a few parking spaces. Perks of being located more on the outskirts of the city.

Unlike many other bakeries and cafes, the kitchen isn’t hidden somewhere where customers can’t see; it’s right behind the cash register, so customers can easily see whatever is being made or decorated.

“Mam really loved the cakes, by the way,” he tells you before you can turn and walk away. “She really wanted me to bring her here sometime, had to sneak out of the house just to come today.”

 “Why not bring her today?” you ask curiously.

“Eh, she can be a lot sometimes. I can too, so I thought you wouldn’t want to deal with both of us,” he explains with a laugh.

You take a quick look at his attire. Not to ogle or anything, it’s just hard not to steal a glance at the stranger. It looks like he was going for a run, you assume that was his excuse for his mum.

“I’m Johnny, by the way,” he finally introduces himself. Johnny. So that's his name.

You tell him your name in turn, which he repeats under his breath. You like how it sounds coming from him, with that accent.

“Well, as much as I’d like to continue chatting, I have to get back to work. Hope you like it,” you tell him, motioning towards the pastry in front of him before returning to your duties, before your boss can get a chance to complain.

Johnny’s eyes linger on you as you work, hustling behind that counter, trying to keep up with everything even as a large group arrives just as you’re pulling two cakes out of the oven and trying to get two more in.

He enjoys moments like this, even if he’s not one to go out for coffee very often. Prefers his coffee in the quiet of his own apartment, or sometimes at his mother’s house if she insists he come over when he’s on leave.

Johnny even gains the courage to leave his phone number on the receipt for you, when you inevitably come to clear the table after he’s left. How could he not? You’re too pretty for your own good in his eyes, too good to resist. Plus, this way he doesn’t feel like he’s pressuring you into anything; you can just toss the receipt into the trash if you’re not interested.

It's such a shame that it’s your boss who ends up clearing the table when Johnny eventually leaves, eyeing the receipt and the number and the “Text me! -Johnny” scribbled onto it before discarding it himself, not giving you a chance to see it.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!🌷

[justmeinadaze]

A Virtual Romance (Steve X Reader)

A/N: I was going to release this tomorrow but I'm proud of it and I want to hear what y'all think. This would definitely be a little series. It is set in the golden days of messenger and them fun Samsung flip phone. I clocked it at about 2002. This is based off A Cinderella Story. I told you guys I watch stuff and I'm like "This would be cute for Steve or Eddie." Lol. But yeah :). I hope y'all like it.

If it has their screen names next to it they are talking via messenger. If it doesn't they are texting. I'm going to color code it to make it easier on the eyes. Her virtual dialogue will be in color, Idk which one yet lol

@lunatictardis I dedicate this to you!

Warnings: A lot of this is virtual communication. They do have a smutty moment near the end. All dirty talk and masturbation.

Word Count: 2559

YOU

You rub your eyes as you squint at the computer screen. Senior year at Hawkins High was really kicking your butt when it came to the curriculum and your grades. You couldn’t afford to slack off though. You were so close to getting that academic scholarship for college. 

The monitor in front of you pinged softly as a small notification appeared in the corner. 

StealthyNinja02 is online.

You smile as you lean back in your chair, waiting. After a few seconds, the little box popped up in front of your homework. 

StealthyNinja02: Hey you : )

StealthyNinja02: I already know what you’re going to say. Give your brain a break!

You bite on your bottom lip trying to control the grin on your face. The first time you saw his name appear in the Yahoo chat room for “People in Hawkins” you thought it was stupidest thing you had ever seen. He would occasionally pop up in conversations regarding Hawkins High or flirt with one of the girl’s names you recognized. 

One day, you noticed some students bullying another when she messaged asking some questions about the new year starting. You immediately intervened, telling the popular kids to fuck off. You never understood why Tommy and Carol insisted on using screennames that made them easily identifiable if they were going to be assholes to people online. 

StealthyNinja02 reached out after your interaction praising you for standing up for the kid. From that point forward, you two were inseparable. Well, virtually that is. He messaged you throughout the day and texted you when you weren’t online. For a while he insisted on meeting but you kept refusing. That didn’t curb your curiosity though. He never gave any specifics in the chats and, to be fair, neither did you. 

It was a common understanding in the group chat rooms that you just don’t call out people’s names. You were fine with how things were though. Honestly, at this point, you were more afraid that if he found out who you were or vice versa, it would shatter the illusion and you would lose him forever. You liked talking to him and the way he made you feel. 

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: Okay! Geez. Stop yelling at me : )

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: How was your Sunday?

StealthyNinja02: It was fine. My parents are still out of town so just went to hang out with some friends. What about you?

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: I was at work all day. Now I’m just finishing up my paper for English. 

StealthyNinja02: Shit. I should properly get started on that. 

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: Omg! Lol. 

StealthyNinja02: God I wish I could hear your laugh.

You sit there and grin at his words. You never know how to respond when he talks like this. You don’t want to lead him on but…

StealthyNinja02: Did I scare you away? I don’t mean to make you nervous or anything.

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: You don’t make me nervous. 

StealthyNinja02: : ) Can we revisit the topic of meeting?

You cheekily set you status on messenger as AWAY and turn off the computer. The phone by your bed vibrates and you giggle as you flip it open to read the text message. 

So no then? Lol. 

Goodnight, StealthyNinja!

Good night, Ouyay.

####################

“So how late were we up this time talking to prince charming?” Your friend grins over at you from her place in the driver’s seat. 

“Not too late. I spent most of the time studying last night.”

“Uh huh. Is that what the kids are calling it?”

“Shut up, Sam!” You both laugh as you roll your eyes. 

After she parks in the Hawkins High parking lot, you wait by her trunk as she digs through it for her schoolbooks and papers, shoving them in her bag. 

“Sometimes I wish I was more like you and then I see stuff like this.” You gesture at her with your finger. 

Suddenly, you feel a hand push you forward into the car, knocking your own books out of your hand. 

“Oh shit! Excuse me. You should really watch where you’re going.” Carol giggles as her boyfriend Tommy wraps his arm around her shoulders and they head for the school. 

You bend down to gather your things when a man’s hand comes into view handing you some of your things. 

You look up coming face to face with the king of Hawkins High himself, Steve Harrington. 

“Are you ok? Let me help you.”

You clear your throat trying to regain your confidence. “I got it, thank you. You should help your friends to not be assholes.”

He sighs as he nods. “Yeah. They can be that way. Look, I’m sorry if they…”, he points at your stuff. When you don’t respond, he smiles awkwardly as he runs to catch up his group. 

“You know, he may be a bit of a jerk but damn is that boy fine.” Sam watches as Steve disappears. 

STEVE

How’s your day so far?

Steve grins down at his phone as he picks at his lunch in front of him. Tommy and Carol are across from him talking about some mundane crap he couldn’t care less about. His fingers quickly started pressing numbers on the keypad.

Sigh. Boring. I wish you were here to keep me company. 

Lol I’m sure I’d just bore you more.

Why do I doubt that?

How’s your day?

“Steve!” Tommy snaps his fingers in front of the boy’s face. “Are you even listening? Who are you even talking to?”

“None of your damn business.”, Steve replies with a joking tone. 

“We were thinking of meeting some of the other kids at that restaurant by the school when we leave today. Are you in?”

Steve casually nods his head as he turns his attention back to you. 

Frustrating. Some of the popular kids were jerks this morning.

Ugh I’m sorry. Do you want me to beat them up?

Lol no! But thanks for the offer : ). 

I’ll talk to you later, ok? My lunch is almost over and I have to get my homework out of the way before work tonight.

Steve’s head looks around the cafeteria. You were in the same room with him, so close but yet so far. 

####################

Steve and his friends piled into a booth near the corner of the burger place just a few blocks from the campus. He had only been here a handful of times but it was a pretty okay restaurant. The girl that Carol invited along pressed herself up against his side. He gave her a stiff grin as he tried to scoot his body further away from her without falling out his seat onto the floor. 

“Hi there. What can I get you guys today?”

All four pairs of eyes looked up to meet yours. Carol and Tommy chuckled at your messy attire. You had on the standard uniform the restaurant required, jeans and a black shirt, but your shirt had some grease stains blotching the fabric. Your hair was pulled back in a messy bun and your sneakers squeaked against the linoleum.

“Wow. Um, don’t you look ravishing, Y/N!”, Carol giggles. 

Steve looked over at her with an annoyed expression. 

“Oh, thanks Carol. It’s a new look called independence. Maybe one day when your daddy stops catering to your every whim, you’ll be able to recognize what that looks like.”

Your eyes turned to look at Steve as he started choking on the water you had brought to the table. He placed his hand over his mouth trying to cover his smile. 

“Shut up, Harrington. Look, are you going to take our order or not?” 

You flash them your pad and pen signaling you are ready. After you bring them their food they sit there for a while, talking. The girl next to Steve kept trying to put her hand on his leg but he kept trying to nonchalantly shake it off. 

“I’m going to go smoke real quick.” Without waiting for a response, Steve got up and exited out the back door. 

I hope you’re having a good shift. I’m thinking about you.

He closes his phone as he leans against the wall the outside wall staring off into the distance. 

“I’ll see you inside, honey.”

Steve’s head abruptly turns seeing you and another woman sitting on a bench a few feet from him. The woman gently pats your hand as she passes him, giving him a polite nod before going back into the building. 

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Oh, no you didn’t. We were just on our 15.”

He nods as he moves a bit closer to where you are. “I’m also sorry for my friends.” Steve reaches into his pocket and hands you some bills. You look at them completely confused. “If I know them, they aren’t going to leave you a tip so…” He smiles as he turns to go back into the restaurant.

 He doesn’t see you pull your phone out and grin at the screen. When he gets back to his table his friends are already heading for the door. “We were just about to go look for you. Let’s go hang out at your place.” Tommy loops his arm around Carol.

“Not tonight guys. I think I’m just going to go home and relax.”

“Alright, old man.” They laugh at him as they head for their car. The girl that had been flirting with Steve gave him her number as she followed after her friends. 

As soon as they drove off, he tore up the paper she had given him, throwing it into the cup holder of his car. Glancing at his phone, he bit his bottom lip when he saw he had one new message. 

Aw : ). I’ve been thinking about you to. I’ll message you when I get home!

YOU

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: What are you up to?

StealthyNinja02: Waiting for you ; ). How was work?

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: It was ok. Boring lol

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: What else did you do besides wait for me?

StealthyNinja02: Um that’s all I ever do? Lol

StealthyNinja02: I hung out with my friends and they brought some girl along. 

A pang of jealousy coursed through your body. Obviously, he wasn’t yours but you couldn’t help it. 

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: Oh? Like as a date?

StealthyNinja02: Uh oh. Ouyay, are you jealous? : P.

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: Maaaaaybe!

StealthyNinja02: Well, I’m flattered : ). 

StealthyNinja02: No to answer your question. I think she wanted it to be a date but

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: But what…

StealthyNinja02: But she’s not you. 

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. 

StealthyNinja02: Don’t do that. 

StealthyNinja02: Please don’t go silent on me.

StealthyNinja02: I want to meet you.

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: I don’t think that’s a good idea. 

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: I like what we have…

StealthyNinja02: What if I want more.

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: Like what?

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: Tell me. 

StealthyNinja02: I want you here in front of me. With me. I want to take you out on a proper date. I want to hang out with you at school and hear your voice when you scold me for not doing my homework. 

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: Lol

StealthyNinja02: : ). 

StealthyNinja02: I want to wrap my arms around you every morning before class and every night before I drop you off back at your house. I want to taste your lips against mine every chance I get. I want to lay next to you in my bed talking about everything. You’re so smart. I love hearing you talk about things you like. 

You hesitate, hovering your fingers over the keyboard, deciding on if you should type the thoughts in your head. Maybe it will distract him enough to forget about wanting to meet with you. 

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: Is that all you want to do with me in bed?

You watch as the little bubble appears and disappears. A shaky breath escapes your lips as you wait for him to reply. 

YOU AND STEVE

Steve stares at his computer, reading and rereading what you wrote. You both had talked about sexual things in the past but it had been things picked up in conversations. He had mentioned Lover’s Lake once and you talked about how lost your virginity there. You made a joke once about him needing to release some of his sexual tension and he jokily made you an offer that you laughed off. You didn’t come off like a prude and neither did he but he was a gentleman so he never wanted to push you into doing or saying things that make you uncomfortable. 

But YOU initiated this. Does he brush it off or does he play along? Are you bluffing to see what he’ll do or do you really want to play?

 StealthyNinja02: No.

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: What else would we do?

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: What would we do if I was there with you right now?

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: I’m standing in front of you right now in my Hawkins t shirt and panties. What about you? 

StealthyNinja02: I’m in my boxers right now…

StealthyNinja02: Are you wearing anything under your shirt?

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: No.

Fucking hell. This girl was going to kill him. 

You uncrossed your legs as you leaned back in your desk chair. Sliding your hand under your shirt, your fingers gently grazed your stomach before landing on your breast. You moaned softly as you thumb touched your nipple. 

Steve’s own hand started palming the growing bulge in his boxers. 

StealthyNinja02: I wish I could see you. Youre making me so fucking hard. 

You licked your lips at thought of him touching himself to you. He pulled his cock out, spitting into his hand, as began stroking his length.

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: I want touch myself but I don’t know how big you are. Stealthy, how many fingers should I use?

A heavy groan of pleasure left Steve’s throat at your question. You reached between your legs, spreading them wider as you moved the fabric blocking your cunt so you could slide your fingers along your clit. 

StealthyNinja02: Use 2. Fuck I wish you were here. Id throw you on my bed and devour your pussy over and over until you were begging me to stop. Even then I don’t know if I would. 

You slid your middle and ring finger into your dripping entrance easily. His filthy words were driving you crazy. You had stopped responding so Steve knew you were pleasuring yourself. He pumped his hand faster at the mental image. He reached for his keyboard typing with one hand. 

StealthyNinja02: Im gonna cum. Are u?

Ouyay_Areyay_umbday18: Yes

You both cum at the same time. He grunts as ropes of his seed hit his stomach and you clasp your other hand over your mouth to keep yourself from moaning too loud as your pussy clenches around your fingers. 

Everything is quiet for a few moments; no one saying anything. Your eyes glance up to the message box to see the dots next his name hovering. 

StealthyNinja02: Meet me at the Halloween dance Friday night. Everyone will be wearing costumes so you can keep your identity to yourself still if that’s what you want. 

StealthyNinja02: I just need to know that you’re real. I need to hear your voice and see you in front of me. 

StealthyNinja02: I’ll be waiting for you in the middle of the gym dance floor. 

StealthyNinja02: Please.

[courtforshort15]

Sooooo somehow I hit 700 overnight (!!!!) and felt the need to celebrate with all of you lovely people. I wrote this as a thank you❤️

Slice and Dice

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 2,000

Summary: Reader reacts to Matt’s haircut.

Trigger warnings: none, it’s just fun

Masterlist

"...and I'm just saying," Foggy's voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner to your apartment, criss-crossing in and out of the throngs of people on the sidewalk who are far slower walkers than you would like, "that he was a little self-conscious about it when Karen said something. I tried not to laugh, but you know Matt, he'll pick up even the slightest giggle, and once he turned towards me, I lost it."

"Great, Foggy," you say dryly, eyeing your building that sits just half a block up. "Such a great friend."

Foggy's laugh floats from the earbud you have shoved in your ear. Thank God for bluetooth, the technology allowing you to balance your purse in one arm, grocery bags in the other, as the man fills you in on his day at the office. "You'll understand when you see him later."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Ehhhhh…it could be worse. I mean, I’ve actually seen it be worse before, so it’ll be fine. Just…be nice to him. And maybe don’t mention that I found it hilarious.” Foggy says with another laugh. 

“I’m always nice to him,” you argue, smiling as you shift the weight of your purse so that you can pull open the apartment building’s door and step inside. You head straight for the mailbox, setting a few things down before shoving your key inside and pulling out the envelopes within. 

Bill.

Bill.

Credit card offer.

Pizza place coupon. 

Bill.

Foggy snorts, and the sound causes a laugh of your own as you toss everything but the pizza coupon into the trash. All of your bills are automated, no use looking at a paper statement that’s just gonna remind you of the money that settles in your bank account for a day before it’s whizzed off to cover the cost of utilities for the month.

“You enjoy giving him shit just as much as I do, so I will affectionately call that a lie.”

This laugh bubbles louder in your chest and out of your mouth. You shove the coupon into your purse, pick up your items, and make your way to the elevator. “This is a completely honest and fair statement, Mr. Nelson. And you all love me for it.”

“We do,” he says cheerfully. A woman’s voice sounds on the other end of the phone, and Foggy responds to the other speaker before he turns his attention back to you. “Karen said hi. Anyway, text me later. I’ll need status updates for your reaction.”

“Will do, Foggy. Will do.” 

“Ta ta for now.” 

“Dork.”

The phone call ends just as you’re stepping inside the apartment, and with another laugh, you set your keys on the table that sits right inside, kick off your shoes, and make your way down the small hallway. Once things are put away, you head to the bedroom, desperate to take off your work clothes.

You’re not home for long before you hear the front door open, the sound quiet and familiar as you stir the dinner you’re making at the stove. You listen for the normal signs of his arrival, the sound of his cane being folded up and put onto the table in the hallway, jacket hung on the coat rack, and by the time his footsteps have rounded the corner, you’re already turning away from the stove to face him, hand setting the stirring spoon onto the counter.

Your mouth can’t help but part in surprise, and at your silence, Matt stops his trek into the kitchen. He looks borderline like a deer in the headlights, all senses turned one hundred percent towards you as he pauses. It’s almost like he hadn’t known you were home, which you know for a fact isn’t the case, but the way he has stilled at your attention is amusing.

“Matt,” you say slowly, eyeing his ensemble up and down with a barely contained smile, “why are you wearing a baseball hat?”

Matt grimaces, mouth twisting at the corners, as he finally moves again and removes his suit jacket, laying it across one of the chairs that sits at the kitchen table. He looks utterly ridiculous, dressed in a full suit with a Yankees hat perched on top of his head, and you can’t help but swallow down a snicker.

He gives you a look, knowing exactly the sound you've forced down, and the pout that sits on his lips still manages to be charming in the way that only Matt Murdock has ever been able to pull off. His red glasses are peeled away from his face and placed onto the table in front of him, and you can’t help but soften as his eyes are revealed to you, amusement fading momentarily. You’ve always been a sucker for his hazel eyes, especially when they’re lit up by the light still filtering in from the windows like they are right now.

“You know why,” he says with another frown, slowly beginning to open up the buttons at his wrists, preparing to take his collared shirt off. Which, yes please. “I’m sure Foggy or Karen called you already. Probably Foggy; he never knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

You snort. “It was definitely Foggy.”

Matt blows out a breath, face turning to the ceiling as he settles his hands on his hips, pausing the removal of his shirt, as if the next words were difficult to say. “And so he told you that…that the man at the barber-”

“A man at the barbershop absolutely fucked up your hair.”

He huffs out a laugh, face lowering so that it was turned towards you once again, mouth finally pulling into a quick grin. “That is an accurate telling of the story, yes.”

You take a few steps towards him, placing a hand on the counter, the other on your hip, observing the man in front of you. “Are you going to show me?”

“Thinking about it.”

Laughing, you continue to watch as he slowly resumes unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, and you can’t help but hungrily eye the expanse of his chest that is slowly being revealed to you. He sends you a smirk, obviously knowing the type of reaction he’s having on you, and he slows down the motions, almost teasing you with the pace.

“Taking off your shirt won’t distract me,” you say dryly, though the drool pooling in your mouth is anything but. You cross your arms over your chest in a false display of defiance.

“You sure about that?” His smirk takes up his entire face now, dimple appearing on his cheek, and finally, finally, the shirt is off and joining the suit jacket over the chair. 

Your resolve crumbles, though you’re not exactly surprised. His chest is a thing of dreams and glory, and monuments should be built in its honor.

“Yes? Maybe? No. You got me.”

With a laugh, he steps the rest of the way towards you, and pulls you into him with a warm arm around your waist and a hand on the back of your neck as he kisses you hello. When he pulls back, his bare chest is pressed against the front of you, and you can’t help but sigh into him.

“Hi sweetheart,” he says with a smile, tilting your head back to kiss your forehead, as he always does when he greets you. “Have a good day?”

“It was much better than yours was, apparently.” The look he gives you causes another laugh. “But I’m still waiting to see the haircut.”

With a groan, he backs away, determining he was unsuccessful in distracting you. “Don’t laugh.”

“No promises.”

His hand reaches up to pull off his hat, and he only hesitates for a brief second before the hat leaves his head and is tossed onto the table. Your eyes take in the sight in front of you, and a hand is covering your mouth a split second later.

“Oh no,” is all you can manage before a giggle rips its way up your throat and out of your mouth. “Matt–”

With a frustrated growl, he runs his fingers through his hair, pulling lightly at the roots. “I know it’s bad, you don’t have to say anything.”

“It’s not…awful,” you tell him, and you’re being completely honest, because while it doesn’t look great, he’s still the sort of man who can pull any look off, much to your amusement. “It’ll grow back.”

“Not fast enough,” he replies, his voice sounding too forlorn for your liking. “It feels way too short.”

You step up to him, reaching up to tilt his head down so that you can run your fingers through his hair, the soft strands still feeling like silk, regardless of the length. The hair is too short, seeing as how Matt usually likes it a little longer on top, but it’ll be fine. Pulling his head further down, you plant a soft kiss to the top of his head before releasing him and stepping backwards.

“What happened?”

He sighs and shuffles his feet, looking like a kicked puppy even while he stands shirtless in the dining area, scars and bruises proudly on display. “Andrew was out, and they didn’t tell me until I was already there. But I wanted it cut before I met with Peter Parker, and I figured I was already there, so I just went with the other barber they had available. I have, unfortunately, learned my lesson.”

A sympathetic noise came from the back of your throat. “It happens to the best of us. Bad haircuts happen.”

“I could literally tell as he was cutting it that it wasn’t going to turn out well. I could hair almost every strand hitting the floor, could hear the way he was taking too much off of the top, but I didn’t know it looked that bad until Karen said something.”

“That woman is ruthless,” you say in amusement, watching as a smile slides across his face again, because yes, he’s well aware that Karen Page takes no prisoners. “But maybe she thought she was doing you a kindness by letting you know.”

“And then Foggy laughed in my face.”

“He wouldn’t be Foggy if he didn’t.”

Matt’s mouth twitches into a wider grin, and you breathe a sigh in relief, glad that this was something he wasn’t going to focus on too harshly, despite the small blow he’d taken to his ego. 

“Seriously, Matt. It’ll be fine. He parted your hair wrong, but that’s easily fixable,” you tell him, reaching up to run your fingers over his scalp again, already focusing on how to fix the way his hair had been angled, but he catches your wrist and places a kiss to the inside of it.

“You know what running your fingers through my hair does to me, sweetheart.” His voice has dropped to the lower register he tends to use while he’s got you underneath him, and the heat immediately settles in your skin. “Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”

You can’t help but snort even while the look he’s giving you is dripping in sin. Goddamn this man. “How long have we been married now, Matt? You should know by now that I’m always ready to finish it.”

The smirk that slides back onto his face is dark and hungry, and it’s easy to take your eyes off of the poorly executed haircut and focus instead on the pretty mouth that’s still dangerously close to your skin. He opens his mouth to say something, no doubt something that will be warm and devastating to your self-control, but before he can say anything, the growl in your stomach interrupts the moment. Laughing, he pulls away, already unbuckling his slacks as he makes his way to the bedroom, no doubt ready to change into some sweats.

“Dinner first, then you can play with my hair all you want,” he calls out, voice ringing through the apartment as he steps out of his pants and throws them in the hamper. “Though, I won’t be held accountable for my actions after that.”

“Deal,” is all you say as you turn back to the stove, immediately grabbing the spoon and stirring the pan. “How did the meeting with Spiderman go?”

The apartment goes suspiciously quiet. Your head turns slightly back towards the bedroom, eyeing your husband curiously as he stands in the doorway, another grimace on his lips.

“Yeah, no, I fucked that one up, too.”

[thescarlettbitch]

The gods don't care about the price tag on your tools

Whoever you work with, they're not going to mind if their offering dish is a paper plate, or one of your normal dinner plates. They're not going to care if you give them store bought food or home made. They're not going to care if all you do is say goodmorning and good night to them to say thank you, or if you give them a long complicated ritual every third day or whatever.

My offering dishes are an iridescent bowl I got at Kroger half off and a Costco tiramisu glass cup with an eight pointed star drawn on them in sharpie with a piece of packing tape covering it to keep it on. I was just thinking about trying to get inanna a tankard from the ren faire and I felt this overwhelming feeling of "no." Which was her. She told me that those are going to be out of my price range and then said that if there was anything she wanted, she'd let me know.

And she did! I went to the Ren Faire (this has been in my drafts a bit) and I felt her pulling me towards small things, like a lapis lazuli shaped like a moon that was a dollar (it was tiny). I love her so much.

But the main point of this post is to say that your deities Don care if you're giving them water and a granola bar, they're going to appreciate anything you give them. They know you're struggling. They don't mind.

[brummiereader]

PREVIOUS PART

A Ghost Of A Man (PART FOUR)

Summary: With the folder she found at the antique fair, the reader goes to see Tommy once again. Will he open up about what happened the night he died?

Warnings: Language, supernatural themes

It had been a few hours since you arrived back home. Sitting on the sofa daydreaming, the TV on in the background you had the folder you found a few days ago on your lap, when all of a sudden the front door swung open.

" Fuck! Louise you scared me" you said as the folder fell to the ground.

" Hello to you too, you didn't text me by the way"

"I'm sorry, shit I've been such a crappy friend these past few days" you apologised as you started picking up the folder and it's contents, balancing your other hand in the air.

"What the hell is that?" she said as she noticed a tea bag resting precariously on your hand.

"Oh, it's just this chamomile thing for the pain" you said, oblivious to how ridiculous you looked.

"A chamomile tea bag" she laughed raising her hands in the air then dramatically slapping both her thighs with them " You know what? I'm not even gonna ask where you got this idea from" she said uncontrollably laughing.

" Alright, alright.." you replied not being able to hold back a laugh. " I was told it was good for injuries" you added as you adjusted the tea bags position.

Still laughing she sat down beside you " How is it anyway?" She asked as she nodded towards your hand.

" It's fine just need to rest it"

" Didn't go get it checked out did you?" She said with a huff. "Thought you said you were no longer using them" she added pointing to the folder in your hand.

" I'm not, just thought I'd read through it all again"

" So... what is it about this Tommy Shelby that has got my friend so captivated?" She asked moving closer to you to look at the folder.

" I'm not captivated" you said rolling your eyes fidgeting slightly. " I don't know... I just think there's more to him. Yes he was dangerous and menacing, but there's something else...I don't think he was solely a bad man".

" Not many people a purely evil, I'm sure there was good in him too" she said with a small smile, seeing that you was quite taken by this mysterious man. " Do you have a picture of him?

" Erh yeh, I do actually" you answered looking through the papers as you pulled out the picture the old lady gave you.

" Which one's Thomas Shelby?"

" That's him" you replied as you pointed to him on the old black and white picture.

" Ahh so that's why you're so captivated" She giggled nudging your arm with hers. " He may have been a dangerous man, but my god...was he hot" she said as she took the picture from you. "Mr moustache is pretty fine too" she giggled again.

Laughing you looked at the picture with her. He was good-looking, no one could deny that. He looked the same as he did in the picture, piercing eyes, sharp jaw, muscular build, impeccable sense of style. Only his complexion was different, a stark reminder of what he was now. Was he still the same man as the one in the picture you wondered, or had the years made him too bitter and angry. What if you could help him, help him change his fate, give him a second chance. Would you do that for a man as dangerous as Tommy Shelby?

The next day you decided to ditch going to Uni altogether. You planned to go back to the building back to Tommy once again. Standing In front of the mirror you pulled on your long black coat, you had actually made an effort today. Now free of its bandages and feeling far less sore, your hand seemed to be healing quickly. With the folder on Thomas and the Peaky Blinders under your arm you walked out the front door and headed for the bus stop.

Walking up the old wooden stairs for the third time, you noticed Tommy sitting on one of the secretary desks facing the large window that looked out onto the street below.

"Back so soon?" He said turning to face you.

Feeling slightly embarrassed that you had returned so quickly, you stayed near the staircase closing your open coat around you.

" I can leave if you want?" You said in quiet voice as you started to feel self-conscious at your choice of clothing, his evident glare looking at you from head to toe.

" What's that ?" He said pointing to the folder under your arm ignoring your question, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched your restlessness.

" Oh, yes, It's Mr Campbell's folder" you replied slowly making your way closer to him

" Hmm" he nodded as you was now right beside him.

" Thought you would like to see it" you said as you placed it on the table beside him.

Tommy reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a cigarette from a silver case, placing it between his lips then lighting it, all the time not losing eye contact with you once. Why did he stare so much you wondered as you tried to avoid his challenging glare, was he trying to scare you off again? Still sitting on the edge of the desk now with the lit cigarette loosely resting between his lips he turned to look at the folder beside him, opening it his fingers traced over the various documents. A little overly enthusiastically you pulled out the photo of him and his family from within the folder, moving his hand out the way. His cold fingers felt polar opposite to your warm hands and with that Tommy pulled his hand away from yours swallowing harshly as he stretched out his fingers from your touch. It had been so long since he had felt the now unfamiliar warm heat of a woman, the softness of the skin, like silk under his fingers. Watching his reaction you stepped back, uncertainty in your eyes. But then Tommy picked up the picture of his family, glancing up at you he gave you a faint smile.

" I remember having this picture taken" he said reminiscing. " Took four goes until everyone stopped fucking arguing" he slightly chuckled as he watched you smile at his memory.

" Who was Mr Campbell?" You asked looking up at him from the picture.

" Chief Inspector Chester Campbell" he replied correcting you as he walked away from the desk taking a drag of his cigarette. "He was hired by Winston Churchill to recover a missing consignment of guns from the BSA factory" he added clearing his throat.

"Missing?" You said with a small smile. "Why did he have a folder on you and your family?"

" I think you know why miss Y/L/N" he replied as he cocked an eyebrow.

" What really happened that night you died" you asked overly confident.

Huffing Tommy strided over to you " You ask a lot of question you know that? And I rarely answer questions. You know everything about me and yet I know so little about you"

" Do you want to know about me?" You asked slightly embarrassed by your bombardment of questions.

Taking a drag of his cigarette leaning against the wall he gestured with his hand for you to talk. He did want to know more about you. Who was this young girl that had suddenly entered his world like a freight train coming at full speed, he was more than intrigued by you.

" Well... You already know my name". You said standing up from sitting on the edge of the desk. " I'm in my mid 20s, i'm a student at the University of Birmingham studying history. I live in Sparkhill with my roommate in this old converted attic. My family are from the area. I moved to the city a year ago, I work at the Sparkhill library. I like the history of this city...i erh I like to collect antiques" you said like you was reciting a checklist.

Tommy watched on with amusement as you paced arms folded with a flustered face back and forth in front of him, trying to think of something even a little more interesting to say.

"That's it" you said coming to a stop In front of him, your eyes avoiding his out of embarrassment.

" It's that why you like busying yourself in other people's history, because your life is so mundane" He said with a cocky smirk.

" Fuck" you sighed quietly turning your face away from him, your eyes welling up as you shook your head in disbelief at his brutal remark and the realisation that it was true. You had always thrown yourself into the history of other people's lives, so much so that you had forgotten to live your own life and make your own history, the realisation was uncomfortable.

Not intending you to take it that way, Tommy walked over to you turning your chin with his thumb to face him, you flinched at his coldness but he kept his thumb in place.

" I was only teasing" he said lowering his head trying to get you to look at him " Maybe you just need a bit of excitement, eh?" He said as he brushed a lone tear away with his thumb.

" Maybe" you sniffled as you gazed into his eyes. They were the bluest eyes you had ever seen and you found yourself getting lost in them, pulling yourself away from your daydreaming you looked down at the floor.

" I was heading to my car" he said letting go of your chin. " Sabini and his men jumped me, beat me within an inch of my life" he added as his eyes glazed over, no emotion omitting from his body. Had he become so accustomed to that life you wondered as you watched him talk like he had recounted this story a thousand times.

" How did you get back to your office?"

" I barely did" he said as he turned his head and looked at you. "I was trying to get back to phone my brother...i think you know the rest" he added as he took a long drag of his cigarette, straightening his posture out.

You remembered the article and the old ladies words. Tommy was found dead slouched in his office chair, he was too weak, barely alive. He never made that call in time.

" You get to go back, each year...to try and change the outcome though? You asked him, a hint of hope in your eyes for him.

"Now how do you know that?" He said as he tilted his head narrowing his eyes at you.

" The old lady on Watery Lane" you replied apprehensively, like you was not supposed to be entrusted with this knowledge.

He scoffed shaking his head in disbelief as he made his way back over to sit on the old secretary desk.

" She talks too much that one" he said as he went to light another cigarette. You watched him as he lit the match once again, the small glow of the flame warming his face for a brief moment. You found yourself unknowingly staring at him once again. Shit, was your friend right? Were you captivated by him.

Tommy however noticed your staring, a cocky smile formed on his mouth as his lit cigarette burned between his lips.

"Y/L/N" he said aloud pulling you from whatever daydream you had entered this time.

"What?" You answered flustered, cheeks now an embarrassing shade of red.

"Y/L/N" he replied once more. " You wouldn't happen to be related to the Y/L/N's that live just outside of north Birmingham, would you?"

" There's lots of Y/L/N that live around Birmingham" You said looking at him as his eyes sparked with mischievousness.

"I know everyone in and outside of the city love, and your last name I have only heard a few times" He said shaking his finger at you. " Mill Street, no?"

Oh fuck, it had never occurred to you that he might have known your ancestors. What was he going to do, go back and have them offed for their great granddaughters incessant nosiness into the life of Birmingham's most dangerous Gangster.

" It must be another Y/L/N family, mine only moved to Birmingham recently" you lied through your teeth.

Getting up from the desk his hands in his pockets, he walked over to the other side of the room all the time watching you with a smirk on his face. He knew you was lying. You wasn't exactly very good at it, fidgeting hands, eyes down to the floor cheeks crimson red. He found it almost endearing, watching you stumble out a lie to protect your family. From what he remembered your family were good people, your great grandfather a respected man and a force to be reckoned with, not that different from himself, but nonetheless hardworking and honest.

"Don't worry love, I'm not going to go back and have them killed" he said like he was reading your mind.

" I wasn't thinking that" you replied as confidently as you could only to be betrayed by your restless hands once more. "...I need to get going" you added looking at him as he nodded to you.

Walking over to the desk you started putting all the various newspaper clippings, documents and papers back in the folder.

"Leave the photo" he said as he watched you.

Nodding, you started heading for the stairs until Tommy's hand caught you by your hip.

"Will you come back?" He asked turning his head to face you as he looked down into your eyes, his hand still on your waist.

"Yes" you nodded smiling to him as he smiled back. Now at the top of the stairs you turned around to face him.

"Bye Tommy"

"Goodbye Y/N"

NEXT PART

Tag list: @theshelbyclan

[vee-crytraps]

Good Luck, Babe! | Ch 1-2 | Ice Cream for Breakfast

{Trigger Warning/Themes Masterlist} This is split into a billion parts because it's long as hell! Read on Ao3 to avoid the headache!

You might not have the freaky little memory that your family of detectives boasted, but you would be out of your mind if you ever let yourself forget that Bruce Wayne owed you one. Exactly one year ago to the day, Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian had abandoned you at Rollerworld, a frown fixed onto your face as you had watched them all peel off in the name of Bat-Family business. The threat hadn’t even ended up being serious. Serious for Gotham, anyway. At the time, you had grateful to have corralled them together- at a roller rink of all places, for the twenty or so minutes that you had them- but you remembered finding it tough to remain in high spirits for the rest of the night. You hadn’t even seen them until the next morning, when Bruce had promised you a day of anything you wanted to make up for the embarrassment of having to carry home the remnants of a too-big-cake on your lap, enduring the stares and snickers of the other people on the train.

You reveled in the way Bruce’s frown deepened as he watched you sitting triumphantly at the head of the table. He fixes you with one of his patented bat-glares before finally giving in. “Fine,” he sighs, defeated. “Ice cream for breakfast.” “From the look on your face, you’d think you’d sentenced him to the electric chair,” Dick laughed, plopping down in his usual seat. He spun a spoon between his fingers like a drummer about to let loose. “C’mon, Bruce. Live a little!” “It won’t be so bad, I was kind enough to make sure to get everyone’s favorites. Even Damian’s god awful mint chocolate chip stuff,” “Mint chocolate chip is the most delicious flavor in the world,” Damian warns, and beside him Tim prays you two won’t get into a whole thing about it. “It’s a perfectly fine treat,” “It’s an abomination is what it is.” Tim laughs. You toss him a set of plastic Mardi-gras beads, which he snatches mid air with his impressive reflexes. “Did you give me these because I agreed with you?” He questioned aloud. “I see you’re being extra insufferable about today, birthday girl.” Jason hums, pulling up his own chair. You elect to ignore him, gesturing for Bruce to join you at your right side. “I even got some low cal, non-dairy vanilla for you. Matcha for Dick, Coffee for Tim, and for Jason-“ “Rocky fuckin’ Road.” Jason finishes with glee, cracking open the pint in front of him. “I’m sold. All hail the birthday princess.” He catches his beads and dons them with pride. “I expect everyone to eat at least one bowl. You are supposed to be making it up to me for ditching my party last year.” You reminded. The whole table erupts into groans. “Oh for the love of- how is it our fault that Scarecrow decided to have his grand re-debut like twenty minutes into your party?” Dick whines, digging into a spoon of matcha flavor. “To be fair, we would have back pretty quickly if you and Jason hadn’t gotten caught up one-upping each other,” Tim shrugged. “I don’t know why you’re all complaining, I’m the real victim here,” You joke, digging into your own ice cream. “Besides, Ace and Titus don’t seem to mind,” With your spoon, you gesture over to the pair of dogs who lap at the pet friendly ice cream seated into their bowls. Both beasts sport tiny paper party hats that had been carefully strapped to their heads. “Ace and Titus are animals, sweetheart.” Bruce cracks a small smile, pushing his ice cream around in his own. “I do not understand why you are making such a huge deal of this,” Damian interjects. “We’ve all had celebrations interrupted by villains." “It was my seventeenth birthday, Damian. The last one I would have before becoming a dumb, annoying and boring adult. No offense. Let me grieve for it, at least.” “It is wayyyy to early for this,” Jason groaned, leaning back in his chair. “And I was kind of looking forward to waffles.” The only people he’d rather be eating with less other than four superheros were probably four other superheros. You all eat together in relative peace, and as you really savor your first spoonful of birthday ice cream with all of the fixings, you can’t help but sigh with pleasure. “Oh my god,” you relax into your chair, savoring the melt of it on your tongue. “Now I know why you never let us keep this in the house. I could eat this for every meal.” “I can hear your teeth rotting from here,” Damian mutters under his breath. He can’t help but be confrontational, even if it is really good ice cream. He makes a face as Dick artfully squirts chocolate syrups into his matcha ice cream, topping it with crushed Oreos and a few gummy worms. “I have witnessed deaths more appealing,” Damian remarks, watching his eldest brother scoop the abomination into his mouth. “I’ve had deaths more appealing.” Jason snorts. “Babies! Whiny little babies, all of you.” You scold, pouting as you loaded your spoon once more.

Part 3

[lilac-hecox]

Omg so excited ur writing prompts again I literally love everything you write ❤️

I’d love a fluffy ass one of Ian and Anthony where Ian gets sick and clingy. Just love sick fics.

Ian/Anthony - Sick Fic

--

Ian sniffles and tugs the blanket further up his body, leaving it just under his chin. He’s alternating between too hot and too cold, but right now he’s cold, his body shivering on his couch even with the cozy blanket.

He’d caught a stupid cold and usually his immune system is a little stronger, but this one is kicking Ian’s ass to the point that he stayed home from the office today. There’s a history documentary playing on YouTube and Ian has his eyes closed as he half-heartedly listens to the video, it’s just background noise at this point, something to try and help to lull him to sleep. 

Ian might doze off. He’s not sure for how long, but he rouses when he hears the jangle of keys turning in the front door of his home. The list of people who have a spare key to his place is small and so Ian has a feeling he knows exactly who it is. 

There are footsteps and the rustling of a paper bag, and Ian can hear those footsteps getting closer and closer to where he’s resting. Then they stop and there is a quiet stillness before Ian hears a familiar voice. 

“Ian? You awake, buddy?” 

“Yeah,” Ian says from his spot on the couch. His throat feels sore even with the one word he spoke. 

Then Anthony rounds the back of the couch and comes into focus. He’s got a mask on - probably because they can’t afford for him to get sick as well and Ale and Kiana would kill them- but his eyes are the same warm and affectionate brown that Ian’s always known. 

He’s sick and maybe that’s the reason that Ian feels extra happy to see Anthony. 

“How you feeling?” Anthony asks, leaning in and pressing the back of his hand to Ian’s damp forehead. 

“You shouldn’t touch me,” Ian says, “you’ll get sick.” and if he sounds just a tad more pathetic than he might otherwise, well, that’s his business. 

“I assumed the risks the moment I stepped in the door,” Anthony says. “Are you hungry? I brought you soup.” 

Ian opens his mouth but Anthony must sense the question because he barrels on. 

“It’s that good kind you like, the fancy one.” 

Ian smiles despite feeling so ill. God, he’s happy to see Anthony. 

“I got you popsicles too. I remember you used to eat them when you didn’t feel good as a kid.” 

Damn Anthony and his steel-trap memory. 

Ian sits himself up, tugging his blanket to wrap around his shoulders like a makeshift cape. 

“A popsicle sounds good.” 

Anthony nods and pads into the kitchen, Ian trailing along. 

Anthony digs into the freezer and produces the bright yellow popsicle box, popping open the sealed edge. 

Ian doesn’t have to tell him which color he wants. He watches as Anthony digs around for a red popsicle and hands it over to Ian. 

Ian takes the popsicle and sits at the stool at the island of his kitchen. Anthony turns to the paper bag and starts putting the cans of soup he bought away. 

“How was the office?” Ian asks, wrapped in his blanket and sucking at his popsicle. 

“Fine, everyone says hi,” Anthony says as he closes the cupboard and turns to face Ian. He smiles, which Ian can manage to see through the mask. “If I’m honest. It was boring as hell without you.” 

Ian smiles and he feels a little blip of affection pulse through him. 

“I’ll be back soon.” 

“I know,” Anthony says. “It’s just weird without you.” 

“Your turn to be a single parent,” Ian teases. 

Anthony laughs, “Okay, fair.” 

Anthony turns back to the bag and pulls out some medicine, setting it on the island in front of Ian. 

“I got you a couple different things. A syrup and a pill form, and some cough drops.” 

“Thanks,” Ian says. 

He pictures Anthony at the grocery store close to the office, walking through the aisles and picking out what he thought Ian might want or need. It makes his chest feel warm. That Anthony thought about him. That Anthony cares about him enough to come over, to bring soup, to bring medicine. 

“Of course,” Anthony says, “you’re my best friend, Ian.” 

Ian is quickly realizing he’s a sap when he’s sick and the words hit him harder than they might have otherwise. Anthony is his best friend. Anthony cares about him. Ian is glad for that. 

“For real,” Ian says again, “Thank you for taking care of me.” 

Ian knows he sound sickeningly sincere and if he weren’t sick he might be blushing. 

Anthony, he smiles, and Ian can see where the edges of his eyes get all misty. 

“Now I know you’re sick because you’re being really sweet.” 

“Shut up,” Ian whines. He has a tendency to be ‘baby girl’ as Erin likes to put it, around Anthony, and being sick only makes Ian want to slide into that role even further. 

He likes Anthony taking care of him, bringing him soup, smiling at him. 

“So,” Anthony says, “what were you watching?” 

Ian shrugs as he finishes off his popsicle, his mouth tasting of artificial cherries and childhood. 

“Just some history thing.” 

Ian slides off his stool and uses his foot to press down on the lever of his trash can, opening the lid up and tossing the stick inside. 

Anthony stretches and Ian thinks maybe he’ll decide to leave. After all, his job here is done for the most part. Ian is surprised at himself that he doesn’t want Anthony to go. 

“Sounds cool, let’s go watch it.” 

Then Anthony leads Ian into the living room and Ian settles on the couch, tugging his blanket back over him. Anthony sits in a recliner off to the side, a safe distance from Ian. 

Ian is comfortable, happy, as he chooses a brand new documentary to watch so Anthony can get the gist from the beginning. Anthony happily interjects his thoughts as they watch. Ian still feels like crap, but with Anthony over, the illness is a little more manageable.