#welcome to the forest ask box

[drone-of-theforest]

A small white drone stumbles through the frozen forest, her white optics darting to and fro in frantic hope one of her siblings will show up, but no one did.

Drones should love the cold, but, it was getting too cold

@assortedmurderdrones

hmm? god damn it

[hops out of the tree hes in infront of the drone]

what the fuck are u doing in my woods?

[he says prepped to use force to get whoever this is out of his territory]

[thecoochiefairy]

thugga. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 2.3K word count. blackfem!reader, drabble, boyfriend! onyankapon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, exhibitionism, couch sex , black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, kissing, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ day 484848489 of liyah’s faithful celibacy pact meaning she’s having the most nasty, egregious thoughts. come back to enjoy my black man fantasies. the links inspired this fic ofc, just wanted to put something out while working on an upcoming full fic. aight, bye.

link. link.

YOUR BOYFRIEND WAS A DEMON. And the worst part about it? He didn’t even have to try. 

Those eyes—he gave them to you at the worst times, and this was truly bad timing. Your elbow leans against the pink of your desktop, slender eyes drooping against the screen of your alabaster IMAC. You’d been on a work call for the past hour, and you were already feeling irritable, tired—over it. The only upside was being allowed to have your camera off. 

Your fingers rake through the dark ocean of your curls, a huff blowing through your nose as you unmute your mic to respond to your boss. But before you could—Onyankopon entered the kitchen.

You knew him, loved him, seen him enough times to know what he looked like with your eyes closed. You just couldn’t understand why he looked so good right now. He’d currently been in and out of the living room as he was attempting to fix the sink, on the phone with one of his friends to pass the time. But he made something so simple look so—sexy. His deep voice carries within the ceiling as he sends a voice memo, his big tatted frame turning a deep caramel beneath the lights, grey sweats showing off the print of his bulge. Your eyes watch his full lips move, the shadow of his grill melting in gold, mouth surrounded by the facial hair on his sharp jaw as forest  green gloves cover his palms. 

You were supposed to be focused on the main speaker of the call, watching the mouse move along the shared PowerPoint for new renovations within your company—but your eyes can’t help but peer over your desktop, watching him work. 

He’d move to the left, his toned body contorted in a way that made your tongue dry, your thighs involuntarily squeezing into each other. His back flexed taut as he reached under the cabinets, heavy hands twisting the pipes below, continuously talking within his phone atop of the counter. 

It’s when he begins pacing throughout the kitchen, tool box now in his hand and his phone pressed against the shell of his ear, that he catches a glance of you—his eyes locking onto yours. Despite his neutral expression, it’s clear that he’s caught you, and your slender eyes glazing over his body tells him everything going on in your head. He knew you.

You almost forgot your boss had asked you something.

Your voice is soft as you mindlessly reply to the computer, “Uh—no questions, at this moment. Sorry.” 

Your boyfriend's gaze is now on your figure, taking in the soft slope of your waist, up to the thick swell of your thighs and hips beneath your loose shorts. He admired you just as much as you did him, if not more. 

“Come here.” 

That’s all you hear. 

You quickly mute the microphone, your voice soft as you reply, “Ony—not now, baby.”

An eyebrow raises at your words. Head now tilted to the side, his dark eyes roam your figure as you sit at the desk, taking in his jersey you wear, leering at the way he knows your body becomes tense underneath.

“You tellin’ me no?” 

There’a a pause, and your silence speaks for itself. There it is—his eyes narrow, his jaw clenches, and that glare comes upon his expression. 

You tried. You really did. But listening might’ve been better than telling him no. The sound of the computer chair creaks beneath you, the tips of your toes just barely reaching the floor as your fingers clamp along the ink branded onto his bicep—your face screws into a pout, your whimpers gaining strength with each bounce on his dick. He’s watching, keeping you at one angle from the way he clamps his palm against the back of your neck, helping you come down.

Your boyfriend was strong, weighted in the right places. Every movement is calculated and precise—a machine. He knew your body better than you did yourself, knew what you wanted even if you didn’t say it—just by the way he’s got you pinned down, legs spread around his lap, one heavy palm against the side of your throat—he’s got ownership of you in moments just like this, when you’re at his hands—his mercy. 

Your brain registers the voices along the zoom call, but your sense is gone in the moment. His hand squeezes at the nape of your hair, your palms finding a resting space on his shoulders as you drop your hips down, a huffing whine passing your lips as your thighs ache in discomfort.

His eyes are glued to your face, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed, the way your eyes roll and thighs tremble around him like a vice— he’s proud about it. Onyankopon’s free hand comes under your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he holds you. Plop, plop, plop—you’re light to him, almost effortless, and he moves you with ease, always. 

You’re his toy for the time being.

The sound your skin makes, clapping against his in a wet applause from the cream that mixes along his tip, has you burying your face within his neck as you quietly mewl, “U—Ughn…” 

It’s embarrassing with the way he can have you whining. There’s a low chuckle from him, the grip on your hip tightening as you can feel his breath against your ear. Your boyfriend's eyes are all over you, taking in the way you cling to him—the way he’s got you shaking in his lap. 

“You’ gettin’ tight, Mama.”

He murmurs to you, “Gon’ head and put your mouth by my ear.”

And you do—your lips drag along the brown of his skin, finding his lobe as one of your hands rubs along his facial hair. Your eyes roll back again as you whimper, “Oohshit,” your gasp sucking between your lips as you keep your body moving.

His hand comes down, a resounding smacking sound as it connects with the flesh of your ass— it’s loud enough that in that moment, you worry that they can hear it through your microphone.

“Don’t get loud,” he grunts, “You bein’ too good for allat.” 

His words were always worse than the pleasure he gave you. It ignited something within you, something filthy, something horny. Something that could have you forgetting you were on a work call. 

They make you bring your head up, pressing your hands along each side of his face, rubbing continuously at his ears—your skin resounds a loud secretion against his abdomen as you bounce yourself with more effort, eyes rolling as you rotate your hips, “Ohmyg-Ony.”

His face contorts into a snarl, and you can see the gold chains around his neck shift in a way that leaves you mesmerized.

He’s gripping your flesh like a vice, fingers sinking into the fat of your ass, pulling you down as he takes your own mouth, biting, biting, sucking on your bottom lip while he thrashes you onto his tip—your folds kiss at his balls every millisecond, your clit throbbing in return. 

“Youn’ even care, you’ goin’ crazy on this dick—my good lil’ bitch.”  

He’s holding you by your throat now, squeezing as he knows you’re unable to stop moaning. Your own palm comes over your mouth, trying to muffle the whimpers and cries that spill through as you can still hear the voices from the other side of that computer, though faintly. 

“Yeah,” he spanks you in reward, “That’s a good look on you, pretty girl. You listenin’.” 

“I love this dick, baby.”

You gasp into his ear, “I love it sooomuch…”

His grip on your neck tightens, and his eyes are on you now—completely. 

“That’s what I wanna hear. You love this big ass dick.”

You’re so horny. Your hands reach for the back of the chair to hold onto, placing your feet onto the sides of Onyankopon as you rock yourself down, eyes peering behind your shoulder to watch the way your ass claps on the way down. You groan, the sight making you go harder by the second.

Your boyfriend's eyes are focused on the way he splits you open, his gaze hungry, like a predator looking at his prey. His palm comes up, hand connecting to your face as he grunts, “Keep bouncin’ on my shit,” the sound loud and firm enough that the voices stop completely from the computer.

“Everything okay over there?” 

It takes everything in you to keep quiet, your hand clamping over your mouth as Onyankopon responds, “Everything’s cool. She ran to the bathroom.” 

“Alright…we’ll get back to it then.”

The other voices faded back into conversation, and the attention was now back to you, your boyfriend's gaze locked on your form.

“Keep fuckin’ me like that.”

The words are hushed, inaudible compared to the conversation taking place in your headset. He’s not being gentle with you, he never was, and he didn’t plan to start now. He’s just lifting and dropping you on his lap.

“Feels good, huh?” You can see the look on his face, “Soun’ like you wantin’ it.”

“Feelsgood,” you can only cry back in a whisper, you brain firing off babbles as you drag out, “Mmph-shit-ah—,” clamping your mouth shut as you watch yourself—you won’t stop, your legs shake each time the back of your thighs meet with the front of his.

His own thighs are tense to the touch, Onyankopon’s face flushed the same tone as your cheeks, his jaw clenched. 

“Oh—goddamn, look at you,” he’s watching you, too, the way your body slides against him, and the way his grip has your skin painted red. 

He’s groaning, and you can feel the way he thrusts up into you, his hand reaching up to your face, his thumb sliding across the side of your lips. 

“You bein’ good as fuck right now. Just takin’ this muhfuckin’ dick—I’ll kill a nigga behind this pussy.” 

He’s whispering the words into the shell of your ear now, each breath tickling the hairs along your skin. His face is close, so close to yours that you can feel the heat radiating off of him— you could taste it. 

You whimper so softly to him, “Keep sayin’ that,” bouncing, bouncing away.

He grunts, “You hearin’ me, huh? I’ll kill a nigga bout’ this shit.”

He’s saying it to you like a secret, his hand coming up to your chin, tilting your face towards him.

You frown, tears welling in your eyes as you warm, “Baby—I’m…” you moan to him, pressing your face back into his throat as your entire body vibrates. 

“You finna’ cum, I know. Stay here.” 

Onyankopon’s words are simple, but the command in them is clear. His arms wrap around you, nose pressed into your hair as he huffs, “Stay. Don’t be movin’.” 

It’s easy for him in this position, the way that his hips grind up into you, leaving you unable to move at all. Both hands are wrapped around your throat, keeping you in place as he fucks you through your orgasm.

Your body shudders, throat vibrating a moan. Onyankopon’s grip is as strong as it’s always been, his fingers tight enough on you that it’s beginning to make your skin tingle. 

“You close.” 

He’s not asking a question, but telling you so. He can see that you’re on the edge, the way the tears are welling in your eyes, how your thighs are trembling against his. 

You softly sob, voice whiny as tears shudder your vision, “Gimme’ a kiss, Ony.”

“C’mere then. Like you ’suppose to.” 

He pulls you closer, his lips connecting with yours in a slow, deep kiss. It’s enough to bring another shudder through your body, your own hands grasping at his shoulders in an effort to ground yourself. 

“You got it baby— I know this pussy all for me—Lemme’ feel that shit.”

He’s continuously murmuring against your skin, his hand running down the back of your neck, “Come on now, Mama. You’ right there, I know you’ is.” 

His lips brush over your ear, “Let it out. I’ll listen.”

You gasp, one so deep within your chest you nearly lose your breath. Your toes curl as your body vibrates in violent waves, knocking your face within his as you moan out your sobs, the sound dragging with each syllable of it. Your arms cradle his upper body, shaking so bad that holding onto him keeps you from becoming faint. 

Everything is hazy for a few moments. He holds you against him, arms wrapped tight around you as his lips brush over the side of your face. You’re drenching his tip, thighs soaked from the arousal that slicks along his dick, so wet that you can barely feel him anymore. 

His hands keep you from trembling as he whispers against your skin, “You makin’ a mess all over me, Mama. Pretty ass mess.” 

He’s watching you, taking in the way your face contorts, how your body spasms against him—the way all your words are reduced to nothing but soft sobs and whimpers.

You exhale as you feel your body coming down, keeping yourself held onto him regardless. Your breathing is softer, and your face flushes, a small—embarrassed groan pushing from your lips as you immediately bury your face within his throat.

He can’t help the low chuckle that escapes him, a heavy hand running over the back of your hair, fingers brushing through the tresses of it. 

“You gon’ be all shy now?” 

“Ony,”  you pressed your face under his jaw, grunting as you could feel the vibration of his chuckle, “What if they heard me?”

“Then they heard you. Not my fault you’ loud.”

“Onyankopon.”

“You was’ on some typa’ time, girl.”

“Oh my god. I’m logging off.”

You quickly turn towards your computer, clicking on the exit button of the meeting. You slip off of his lap, “Consider yourself a stranger. I don’t know you! Goodbye!” 

You’re already walking towards the bathroom, ignoring his voice as he smirks, “Ooh, girl—Look at allat’ ass—I’m still feelin’ X—Rated! Come back!” 

“No!” 

Onyankopon chuckles, “Aight. Love you too, then.”

[mysteryshoptls]

do you have a list of the Queen of Hearts rules that we know?

Some have been stated (usually by Riddle) with their actual number, while others have been stated generally. Here are the ones we know so far. Please feel free to chime in if I've forgotten one! (Just let me know where I can find it for confirmation, so I can add it). These may be out of order from when they first appeared. There are also a few that may have mentioned being a rule but without enough specificity for me to confidently add to the list, such as all the things required for an unbirthday party.

Queen of Hearts' Rules with Known Numbers

Rule 1 (Book 7-293): In order to stay in place, one must run as hard as they possibly can.

Rule 23 (Prologue 3): One must never bring a cat to a formal affair.

Rule 25 (Prerelease Comic/Wish Lantern 1-9): There must always be a tea party on the 5th day of every month.

Rule 53 (Book 1-4): Stolen items must be replaced.

Rule 89 (Book 1-2): Never eat a tart without the Queen's permission.

Rule 124 (Halloween II 4-8): When you get soaking wet, you must dry off with a run in the ocean.

Rule 153 (Book 1-14): Tea at night should be herbal tea.

Rule 186 (Book 1-9): No eating hamburgers on Tuesdays.

Rule 228 (Halloween I 2-2): Flowers in gardens must never be picked on Wednesdays.

Rule 249 (Book 1-19): Flamingo caretakers are to don pink attire.

Rule 256 (Book 1-14): No drinking honey-sweetened lemonade after 8PM.

Rule 271 (Book 1-9): One must leave the table within fifteen minutes of completing their lunch.

Rule 304 (Book of Heartslabyul Comic Vol. 2, Pg. 13): On days when a hedgehog sneezes, all card soldiers are to assemble to perform a song.

Rule 346 (Book 2-12): Croquet must not be played after 5PM.

Rule 339 (Book 1-9): Tea after meals should be lemon tea with exactly 2 sugar cubes.

Rule 372 (Book 7-282): When a mushroom with a red cap sprouts on a Monday morning, all roses in the garden must be white.

Rule 412 (Beanfest II 31): When you see a pair of moving glasses in the forest, never go back the way you came.

Rule 434 (Nightmare Before Christmas 4-5): When you see a caterpillar that is exactly 7cm tall, you must recite a poem to the one who discovered it.

Rule 469 (Ceremonial Robes Trey Vignette): When throwing a party for new friends, one must decorate with both red and white roses.

Rule 529 (Beanfest II 2): If you eat steak on the night of a full moon, a cat must play the violin afterwards.

Rule 562 (Book 1-16): One must never bring a chestnut tart to an unbirthday tea party.

Rule 648 (School Uniform Trey Vignette): One must brush one's teeth twice over after eating turkey.

Rule 703 (Ghost Marriage 14): Anyone who comes in second in a croquet tournament must serve the queen tea the next day.

Queen of Hearts' Rules without Known Numbers

(Birthday Boy Riddle Tap Line): You may eat whatever you like and speak freely on your birthday.

(Halloween Riddle Vignette): Always return what one borrows.

(Night Sky Chiffon Riddle Vignette): Scones must be eaten with rose jam during tea parties.

(Dorm Uniform Cater Vignette): There needs to be a dormouse in the pot if you pour from the one in front of you.

(Dorm Uniform Cater Vignette): Dormouse has to be asleep.

(Dorm Uniform Cater Vignette): Spread jam on a woken-up dormouse's nose.

(Dorm Uniform Cater Vignette): The teaware and croquet equipment must go in specific boxes, in a specific order.

(Birthday Boy Trey Birthday Login Message): You're allowed to ask for anything you want on your birthday.

(Dorm Uniform Trey Vignette): Cake must have candles.

(Dorm Uniform Trey Vignette): Party prep is a full-team effort.

(Ceremonial Robes Trey Vignette): Tea is always served when celebrating anything other than a birthday. Coffee is strictly forbidden.

(Ceremonial Robes Trey Vignette): The main dish of the welcome party is to be mincemeat pie.

(Dorm Uniform Floyd Vignette): When holding a meeting to determine prizes for a croquet tournament, the records of the proceedings must be written in blue ink.

(Book 1-16): Formal dress on party days.

(Book 1-21): [The queen] takes tea every day at 4PM sharp.

[oaksgrove]

Lieutenant’s Sanctuary

pairing: Platonic Task Force 141 & Lieutenant!Reader, CallSign ‘Reaper’

synopsis: After years of tradition, the 141 team decides it’s time to crash at Lieutenant Reaper’s place for the first time. They’re expecting something practical and minimal, but instead, they find a storybook-like sanctuary.

warnings: Fluff, humor, found family vibes, and Soap being Soap.

word count: 1700

a/n: I’m such a sucker for Found Family and tiny cottages so this was so cute to write!

Every time Task Force 141 returned from deployment, they followed the same ritual: gather at someone’s place to decompress. It started as an impromptu thing—no one ready to face an empty flat just yet—and quickly became tradition.

Ghost’s apartment was Spartan: a single chair, a TV that looked like it had seen combat, and exactly one fork in the kitchen drawer. Soap’s place? Chaos incarnate, with mismatched furniture and a fridge stocked solely with beer, takeout boxes, and mystery condiments. Gaz’s flat was sleek and modern, but he was never there long enough to enjoy it. Price’s house was comfortably captainly, with sturdy furniture and the scent of pipe tobacco lingering like a welcome mat.

But no one had ever been to Reaper’s.

“You got a place, Reaper?” Soap asked, leaning against the Humvee after their latest mission. “Or d’you just materialize out of the shadows like a proper ghost?”

Reaper glanced up, her expression unreadable beneath the smudges of dirt and exhaustion. “I’ve got a place,” she replied simply, tossing her gear into the back of the vehicle.

“Really?” Soap pressed, grinning. “I thought you just slept hanging upside down somewhere…”

“It’s a house,” she replied, voice as flat as her expression. “And it’s off-limits.”

Soap didn’t relent. “So you do live in the shadows! Does it come with creepy fog and a drawbridge, or bats coming out of the chimney…?”

Reaper gave him a deathly glare through the rear mirror

“It’s a house,” she deadpanned. “And no bats.”

Soap wasn’t done. “How do we know you’re not just haunting an abandoned castle somewhere?”

“Because I’m not you,” she shot back smoothly.

The team laughed, but Soap was relentless. “So, when are we visiting this haunted manor of yours?”

Reaper sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fine. One visit. But don’t touch anything.”

And with that ominous warning, the deal was sealed.

The drive to Reaper’s place was unnerving, to say the least. Pavement gave way to gravel, gravel turned to dirt, and dirt became a narrow trail flanked by looming trees. The deeper they went, the quieter it got.

“Are you sure you’re not leading us to a burial site?” Gaz asked, staring out the window at the oppressive forest.

Reaper didn’t answer, her silence only adding to the tension.

“Swear I saw this in a horror film once,” Soap muttered. “Five soldiers go into the woods, only one comes out.”

When they finally pulled up, everyone stared in stunned silence. Nestled by a bubbling stream, the house was a picture-perfect storybook cottage. The small structure had ivy creeping up its stone walls, a pitched roof dusted with moss, and a chimney that puffed lazy spirals of smoke into the air. The garden surrounding it was meticulously cared for, with rows of herbs, vegetables, and vibrant flowers. Wind chimes tinkled softly in the breeze.

“Did we take a wrong turn?” Soap whispered. “This looks like something out of Sleeping Beauty.”

“Is this where you live,” Ghost asked dryly, “or where you lure unsuspecting hikers?”

“Are we meeting a witch to trade for supplies?” Gaz joked, his arms crossed as he surveyed the scene.

Reaper cut the engine and grabbed her bag. “It’s mine. Don’t get too comfortable.”

Before anyone could respond, a low bark rumbled through the trees.

The massive dog bounded out from behind the house, a massive blur of fur and slobber. “Bloody hell!” Soap yelped, scrambling behind Ghost, who, to his credit, stood still as the enormous Saint Bernard thundered toward them stopping in front of Reaper, wagging his tail so hard it could have knocked a grown man over. Clifford, as Reaper introduced him, was as big as he was slobbery.

“You never said you had a bear,” Soap muttered, peeking out from behind Ghost.

“Harmless,” she said, scratching behind his ears.

“Harmless, she says,” Soap grumbled. “That thing could bench-press me.”

Clifford tilted his head at Soap’s voice, letting out a deep woof before trotting over to sniff at his boots.

Gaz, meanwhile, was practically cooing at Clifford. “You’ve got a dog? That's adorable.”

Reaper raised a brow. “I’m not adorable.”

“Your cottage begs to differ,” Gaz shot back, gesturing to the idyllic scene around them.

Ghost raised a brow. “You live here?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Ghost gestured helplessly at the idyllic scene. “You don’t exactly give off ‘granny in a cottage’ vibes.”

Reaper smirked faintly. “Good.”

“Figured you’d live in a dungeon,” Soap teased. “Not... whatever this is.”

If the outside surprised them, the interior rendered them speechless. The cabin was minimal yet cozy, every detail carefully curated. Handmade quilts and pillows adorned the couch, and shelves were lined with jars of dried herbs and homemade preserves. String lights cast a warm glow, and a faint aroma of lavender and something earthy lingered in the air. A bookshelf in the corner overflowed with worn novels and journals, while a small fireplace crackled softly.

Ghost, who rarely spoke about anything unrelated to missions, ran a gloved hand over the carved wooden mantle. “You made this?” he asked, nodding to the intricate designs.

You nodded, a little sheepish. “Most of it. I like working with my hands when I’m not… you know, shooting.”

Soap was already poking around, pulling open cupboards and exclaiming over jars of pickled vegetables. “You’ve got jam? Like, homemade jam?” He held up a jar like it was a precious artifact. “She’s got jam, boys. Homemade bloody jam!”

“Yes,” Reaper said, crossing her arms. “Try not to break anything.”

“Did you crochet these pillows too?” he teased, holding up a throw pillow embroidered with flowers.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Keeps me busy.”

“Busy,” Soap repeated, incredulous. “You’re secretly everyone’s gran, aren’t you?”

“Oi, I’m not that old,” you protested, swatting at him with a dish towel.

“But look at this!” he said, holding up a patchwork quilt.

Reaper didn’t dignify that with a response, just shrugged, but Clifford let out a loud snore from the corner, effectively ending the discussion.

As Reaper prepared a hearty stew, the team gravitated to the kitchen. Soap and Gaz hovered like starving children, while Price helped slice bread.

“Is this… homemade?” Price asked, nodding at the loaf cooling on the counter.

“Figured you’d be hungry, it’s not that hard.” Reaper said, not looking up from the pot.

“Not that hard,” Soap mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “Meanwhile, I nearly set my flat on fire boiling pasta.”

Dinner was a revelation. Ghost surprised everyone by going back for thirds, and Soap declared it the best meal he’d ever eaten (between mouthfuls of stew and bread).

“Not bad, Lieutenant,” Ghost muttered, which from him was practically a glowing review.

“You’ve ruined us,” Gaz added, wiping his plate clean. “How’re we supposed to go back to regular food after this?”

“This is the best thing I’ve eaten in months,” Soap muttered around a mouthful of bread.

“You’ve been hiding this paradise from us?” Gaz said, gesturing at the cozy interior.

“Thought you preferred your chaos,” Reaper replied, smirking faintly.

“We do,” Soap said quickly, “but this? This is next level.”

By the time the meal ended, the team had fully invaded every corner of Reaper’s space. Soap challenged Gaz to cards, Clifford sprawled across Price’s feet, and Ghost—ever the enigma—quietly helped Reaper chop vegetables for tomorrow’s meal.

“You don’t have to,” she said with a sympathetic smile.

“I know,” Ghost replied simply, his tone soft.

“You’re full of surprises,” she said as he handed her a perfectly diced carrot.

“You have no idea,” Ghost replied, his tone unreadable.

As the night wore on, the team sank into an unspoken rhythm. Soap’s laughter mixed with the crackle of the fire, and even Ghost’s stoic presence seemed lighter.

Price absently scratched behind the dog’s ears, looking unusually relaxed. “You’ve got quite the setup here, Lieutenant.”

Reaper glanced at him, settled into one of the armchairs near the fire, her expression softening slightly. “Thanks, Captain.”

As the night wore on, the unspoken bond between them deepened. For all her stoicism in the field, Reaper’s home was a haven—a place of warmth and quiet that each of them hadn’t realized they desperately needed.

By morning, it was decided.

“This place is a bloody sanctuary, this is the spot now,” Soap declared, stretching as the sunlight streamed through the windows. “First day back, we’re coming here.”

Reaper raised a brow. “I didn’t agree to that.”

“You didn’t disagree either,” Gaz pointed out, grinning.

Reaper sighed, but there was no real frustration in her tone. “Fine. But next time, you’re bringing the beer.”

“Sorry, Ghost,” Soap added. “Your spooky flat’s been officially replaced.”

Ghost shrugged, leaning against the wall quietly observing as Reaper worked on mending a tear in her field jacket. “Fine by me.”

For all her darkness in the field, Reaper’s home was paradise, and her team decided they’d never let her live it down.

“Well, Reaper,” Soap said, biting into a fresh slice of bread, “you’re officially the heart of this team.”

She rolled her eyes, though couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t mind having you lot here—as long as you pull your weight in the garden.”

As the team loaded into the Humvee, Clifford gave each of them an affectionate nuzzle. Reaper stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her usual stoicism softened by the faintest smile.

“Drive Safely” she said simply.

And they knew they’d return—because for all her darkness in the field, Reaper’s home was a haven, and they were lucky to be part of it.

-

Months later, after another long and grueling deployment, the team returned to the cabin. This time, Clifford greeted them like old friends, and the warm light spilling from the windows felt like a beacon.

Reaper, standing in the doorway, simply smirked.

“Welcome back.”

[deerspherestudios]

THEORY!!

i have had this theory for a while now , but i feel like MO is based on the sleeping beauty. how so? 1.) Mychael's three hens parallels with the three faeries in the sleeping beauty 2.) Menu screen theme but thats more obvious lolol 3.) The princess in the sleeping beauty was cursed to prick her finger on a spindle's needle , when it was time for the curse to take it's action she was almost in a state of hypnosis[?] and walked up to the spindle wheel to prick her needle. NOW mc in MO is sort of hypnotized too because we see on day 3 how mc [sort of] willingly walked upto a mushroom ring [if your choices lead to that] and attempts to touch it. i think i've connected the dots..... /silly 4.) this might be a little farfetched but mychael watches us sleep.... sleep... sleeping.... sleeping beauty,,,,, honk mimimimi.... 5.) Maleficent cursed aurora because she was considered an 'outsider' and wasn't invited and welcomed to the grand celebration. guess who else is the 'outsider' [sort of]? MYCHAEL!! humans do not welcome him well! 6.) the forest themes... yummy.... i loved the aurora living in a cabin in woods parts of the movie... who else lives in a cabin in woods? you guessed it!! mychael!! 7.) my memory is hazy but i think one of hen's name is a direct reference to the sleeping beauty... primrose was aurora's name when she had to hide her identity as a civilian. thats what i think so far... i might've not worded some of it correctly but i hope this made sense! i really really reallyyyyyyy enjoy MO<3 thank you for sharing this piece of art with us :DDD have a lovely day i hope this ask finds you and doesn't get consumed by tumblr algorithm TnT <333

,,,I'm actually stunned speechless because hey? I kinda see it,,,?

I can debunk it wasn't based on Sleeping Beauty but I commend you for connecting dots I didn't even realize I'd made haha! It's just incredible coincidence you were able to find pretty decent comparisons here.

I don't usually add much to theory posts because that's the fun of theorizing but enjoy me yapping below if you'd like!

Of everything above, the only thing I can confirm is

4.) this might be a little farfetched but mychael watches us sleep…. sleep… sleeping…. sleeping beauty,,,,, honk mimimimi….

is exactly what I was going for; since Mychael did indeed discover you while you were sleeping (ironically the one point you thought was farfetched haha) and that's what made me choose the main menu theme!

The reason it happened to be a music box version of Once Upon A Dream is because (get ready for Cheea lore here) I played an OFF fan-game titled UNKNOWN as a teen, and in it was a music box version of A Cruel Angel Thesis; it changed my brain chemistry about music box covers ever since. (I don't even watch the anime 😭!)

In fact, I almost used the music box version of Waltz in E-Major, Op. 15 Moon Waltz by Cojum Dip in Astronought's ending scene!

It's also a major part of the reason I gave Mychael a kalimba! I recommend looking up music box covers of songs you know if you enjoy the sound!! <3

Everything else was a coincidence!

Also just an extra tidbit for people who read this: when I was deciding Mychael's favorite Disney movie, it made me think how much he'd want to be Prince Phillip, (I mean genuinely the movie was never about Aurora it was about the fairies lmaoo but I digress) especially after the finale with him defeating Maleficent with the fairies' help.

He'd never consider himself a princely hero but he wishes he could be. And something about meeting your soulmate in the woods by accident really spoke to him.

[herpsandbirds]

Hello, not sure if your requests are open but if they are could I request some not-well-known tortoises and 🐢 turtles? I've requested a few things already though so if its a problem that's OK!

I would like to ask one question though- do you also run mammilianmammals (I think that's how the url is spelled?) I know you run typhlonectes (again I think that's how it's spelled) all 3 including this one are wonderful blogs I was wondering if you ran that one as well.

Great job as always and thanks in advance if you do this request!

Youre always welcome to send asks or requests. If the function is enabled, then I'm here for you. No need to apologize.

Yes, my mammals blog is Mammalian Mammals. My cute animals and animal re-blog blog is Fucxing Cuties.

I really love turtles (and tortoises). I have some really nice chelonians for you...

Coahuilan Box Turtle (Terrapene coahuila), family Emydidae, endemic to the vicinity of Cuatro Ciénegas in Coahuila, Mexico

ENDANGERED (~1500 left in the wild)

Unlike other species of North American box turtles, this species is aquatic.

photograph via: Turtle Conservancy

Southern River Terrapin (Batagur affinis), male in breeding colors, family Geoemydidae, Cambodia

CRITICALLY ENDANGERED.

photograph by Brett Bartek

Cochin Forest Cane Turtle (Vijayachelys silvatica), family Geoemydidae, from the Western Ghats of India

ENDANGERED.

photograph by Davidvraju

Western “Namaqualand” Tent Tortoise (Psammobates tentorius trimeni), family Testudinidae, Northern Cape, South Africa

ENDANGERED.

photograph by m_burger

Stripe-necked Musk Turtle, Sternotherus minor, family Kinosternidae, in a river in Tennessee, USA.

photograph by Isaac Szabo

Malayan Snail-eating Turtle (Malayemys macrocephala), family Geoemydidae, Bangkok, Thailand

Photograph by Artur Tomaszek

Meso-American Slider (Trachemys venusta), family Emydidae, Honduras

Photograph by Paul Freed

Painted Terrapin (Batagur borneoensis), male, family Geoemydidae, found in SE Asia

CRITICALLY ENDANGERED.

photograph by Andrew Brinker 

[thefreakandthehair]

mistletoe.

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompts: mistletoe | wc: 999 | rating: teen & up | tags: alternate universe- no upside down, alternate universe- flower shop au, eddie pov, eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington, confident!steve harrington, fluff, getting together, first kiss, background buckingham mention

It’s chaos. 

Clippings, and rogue petals, and ribbons that still need to be tied into bows as far as the eye can see. Long tables lined with crinkling plastic to protect the aged wood take up the center of the room, and somewhere off in the distance, Eddie can hear Chrissy on the phone with what sounds like a disgruntled, last-minute customer. 

“... Sir, it’s December. Most of our poinsettias have been reserved for weeks. We have two left that we can give you. You can have them, or you can—”

Eddie’s sure Chrissy’s about to kindly tell the phone stranger to go fuck himself and he couldn’t be prouder of how far she’s come, really, but he loses the thread on the conversation when Steve bustles in from the back.

“How many carnations does one middle school Winter Wonderland dance need, anyways? Are there even this many kids in the town?” In his warm, forest green jacket and black beanie with wind-flushed cheeks and rosy nose, Steve exhales and sets the box of carnations down on the counter. 

“Enough to pay the rent this month with carnations alone, apparently,” Eddie jokes, tapping Steve’s jean-clad shin with the toe of his boot. “We’ll be here all night doing these ribbons, won’t we?”

He tries to make it sound like a chore, like something he hasn’t been looking forward to since Chrissy told them she had a date and couldn’t stay. Any amount of alone time with Steve is welcome, even if it means tying tiny bows on small carnations and pricking his finger a hundred times with the stupid little pins. 

“Probably, yeah,” Steve shrugs with a smile. “It’s not so bad though, right?” 

“Not at all.” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to keep from beaming. 

When Chrissy wraps up her part— invoices, confirmations, and all of the paperwork shit that Eddie and Steve are better off leaving to Chrissy— she practically skips out of the office with a wave and a smirk. 

“You do know that if she and Robin hit it off, this is gonna be a regular thing, right?” Eddie jokes, hoisting himself up to sit on one of the tables and grabbing a ribbon to wrap around another flower. 

“Robin hasn’t stopped talking about Chrissy for months. This is going to be our life, Ed. Mark my words.” Steve laughs with Eddie’s favorite crooked smile, the one that only ever seems to be targeted at him. 

He tries not to let Steve’s phrasing dig its claws too deep into his lovestruck brain, but our life wiggles its way in regardless. 

Eddie looks around and takes in all of the fine details— a half-eaten bag of plain chips, two cans of coke, carnations and ribbons strewn about in somewhat orderly piles. Chrissy left the radio on when she left, the station alternating between the top hits and classic holiday songs, and Steve bobs his head to Wham!’s Last Christmas. 

This could be their life; not just the tumultuous riptide of highs and lows, but all of the mundane minutiae in between. 

Eddie and Steve. 

EddieandSteve. 

“You okay? Stab your thumb again?” Steve asks, tearing Eddie from his reverie. 

“Yes, and actually, yes,” Eddie laughs, breathy through his nose, and wipes his thumb on his jeans. Before Steve can grab his hand and check him over, and probably push Eddie over the edge into doing something incredibly fucking stupid in the process, he brushes it off. “It’s fine. Let's get these bitches done.”

Hours pass, quickly and comfortably, and they eventually tie their last ribbon. 

“We did it, Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie celebrates, hopping off of the table and tossing the last carnation into the box. “Do you still have skin on your fingers? I don’t think I have fingerprints anymore.” 

“Now would be the time to go commit some crimes,” Steve snorts, his nose wrinkling, and Eddie wants to kiss him right on the mouth. “Before you head out though, I uh, I think we forgot one. Close your eyes for a second.” 

“What?” 

“Just close your eyes? Please?”

Eddie does as Steve asks because he’s helpless to not, his brows knitting together in confusion because closed eyes. He hears rustling and the sound of scissors snipping ribbon. What’s so special about this carnation? What’s so secretive that Eddie has to close his eyes and miss valuable alone time with Steve? Doesn’t Steve get it? Every second with his eyes closed are seconds he doesn’t get to stare. 

Steve’s stool slides against the tile floor, scraping as Eddie feels Steve standing closer. Close enough that he can feel Steve’s breath against him when he says, “Okay, open your eyes.”

In front of him is Steve Harrington, his favorite smile, and wide, hesitant eyes holding a hastily tied together bundle of mistletoe just above their heads. 

“I know it’s not Christmas yet or anything, but I couldn’t wait.” 

“You’re not fucking with me?” Eddie asks, heart clattering in his chest as hope gouges its way out of its deepest recesses. 

“Definitely not. I really like you, maybe more, and I know I didn’t have to wait for some big moment but tonight, just the two of us, it felt right. If I’m wrong, I’ll chuck this in the garbage and we can never bring it up again but—”

Eddie launches himself at Steve, both arms wrapping around Steve’s neck. 

Maybe he should’ve taken it slower— maybe their first kiss should’ve been patient, tender— but he’ll have other opportunities to show him the softness he deserves. Instead, Eddie kisses Steve just like he’s fallen in love with him: spontaneously, impulsively, urgently. Steve drops the thicket of branches and pulls him in closer, one hand balling the edge of Eddie’s shirt up in a fist by his hip and the other cupping the back of Eddie’s head, meeting his intensity wordlessly. 

Through the murky daze of Steve’s lips against his, Eddie hopes that this is their life. 

[throughparisallthroughrome]

"Got the Blues Back in Boston"

Chapter 1

Pairing: Modern!Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Description: Leaving behind an incompatible college and profound heartbreak on the Virginia Coast, you find yourself home again in Brookline, Massachusetts. A new opportunity presents itself to you at MIT, joining your brother ben and childhood friends/neighbors, Anakin and Ahsoka. Despite the familiarity, you discover just how much of a difference 2 years away can really make between the people you once considered family.

Warnings:f!reader, angst, jealousy, pining, smut, masturbation, mentions/descriptions of domestic abuse, cursing, drinking/drug usage, academic obsession, general obsession, hardcore partying, frats, general college bullshit

DISCLAIMER!!! READ BEFORE PROCEEDING: I’ve never been in an abusive relationship- I’ve only witnessed them. I’m an aspiring psychology major and have done a lot of research on the topic of domestic abuse/violence. This series deals with this topic HEAVILY, so be warned. 

Word Count: 6.3k A/N: First chapter is up! I'm sorry it took so long, I was really hoping to nail a certain feel and aesthetic with this series, and I really hope that translates. I'm probably gonna post the playlist I listen to while writing this because it does have a lot of influence on the story and everything. Please let me know if you wish to be tagged! Requests and ask box is open, and any/all criticism is welcome! Thank you for reading and supporting me <3

masterlist.

The drive to Brookline was always a hassle. Whether it was crossing the scary bridge along the coast of Virginia or through New York City—knowing that you’d still never been—it always ached. Maybe it was because you hadn’t been home in two years—and you missed Boston. 

Piled high in the back of your black Ford Focus was the last two years of your life that you could fit. You left behind everything else. 

The forest that encompassed you on I-95 offered a clearer perspective on your situation. As devastating as it had been, your new beginning after high school was not quite what you expected it to be. Hampton was a lovely place; the beaches were excellent, the people friendly, and there was always something to do. Somewhere to go. You made decent money working as a cocktail waitress in a club near your apartment, which is how you met Nick.

Tall, with a handsome face and a charm that was impossible to resist, Nick was the kind of man you couldn't help but be drawn to. He had a gorgeous smile and a body sculpted from the gods. The night you met him, he smooth-talked his way into your bed, introducing himself as Nicholas, saying how he never met someone as beautiful as you. The other waitresses just didn’t compare. And the rest was history. Were you usually the type to sleep with someone on the first date (if you could call it that)? Definitely not. But something about him was so captivating. 

But as the trees passed you by and your grip on your steering wheel tightened, you felt a tear fall onto your shaking hands. What happened to the Nick you loved? What went wrong? Who did you both turn into? Besides, the whole thing going south was your fault- you both knew that. You wanted too much; you let those men flirt, and you were never there for him. You never did what he asked. And you’d never amount to anything. At least, that’s what Nick always told you- and part of you was inclined to believe it. 

Your heart ached at the loss. The 11-hour drive was increasingly painful by the second, only two hours in and not even through the first city. The morning sun beamed in your eye as your car trudged through the wetlands, bathed in its golden hue.1 In the distance, you could make out the skyline of DC, the first city you needed to travel through.

It was nice in DC. You had attended a few times in the past. On one of the many family vacations you took throughout the years, you, your parents, and the Skywalkers had all made a trip together to that specific destination. You intentionally took the longer way home to ensure you remember it all. Besides, the Delaware Peninsula was far from interesting. And you needed the time to think- and probably mentally prepare yourself for what you’d arrive at.

The most exciting part of the trip was Baltimore, Philly, and NYC back to back. Despite sitting in mind-numbing traffic a lot of times, there was always something to look at. And people-watching was always your favorite. You felt your heart hurt, wishing for the opportunities that these cities could bring. As New York City and Hartford disappeared in the rearview mirror, the approaching Boston skyline sent a shiver down your spine, your breath catching in your throat. And there was the traffic.

You shakily reached for a cigarette out of your purse as your car came to a stop, breaking your own promise that you wouldn’t smoke in the car you bought. A wide smile spread across your face as you lit the cigarette, your body relaxing as the sweet scent filled the air. Naturally, your mind went straight to Anakin. Whenever you tasted cigarettes, it was impossible not to think of him and the bittersweet moments you shared. After all, he started your bad habit. Once again, your hands shook. Did he ever think about you while you were gone? You were close, but he was also an incredible pain in your ass. And what if he and Padme suddenly got back together? Ahsoka would have told you, right? Maybe. 

She would have told you. 

The familiar streets of Brookline outstretched before you, energetic and alive, instantly flooding your mind with cheerful memories that brought a grin to your face. Your smile widened across your face as you glanced at the familiar sports bar on the corner, reminiscing about the laughter and friendships you developed during your time as a hostess in high school. You turned the corner at the next light, a quiet laugh escaping your lips as the vibrant lights of the movie theater danced before your eyes, eliciting the sweet nostalgia of your god-awful first kiss. You weren’t expecting little Tommy to stick his tongue down your throat in 7th grade. As you approached Emerson Garden, a bittersweet ache tugged at your heart, memories of laughter and familiarity flooding your mind—the memories it held. 

The streetlights flickered as you turned down the most familiar road of all. You bit your lip in anticipation and ignored the urge to light another cigarette right then and there- your mom didn’t need to know about your filthy habit (although she smoked, too). The soft melodies of Radiohead and the laughter echoed from the back porch as you parked in the driveway. Gazing at the house with a smile, you felt a hint of excitement about reclaiming your old room. It had been far too long. 

The porch light turned on, and out ran Ahsoka, not even giving you a chance to turn your car off.

“You motherfucker!” She yelled, opening the car door and throwing her arms around you as you laughed, “It’s been so fucking long!” 

You looked back at her, pulling the beanie off her head and giggling, “Well, don’t tell the others, but I only came back for you.”

“Shut up,” she stands up, pulling you up with her, “Get your ass inside.” You laugh and salute her, following her through the familiar corridors of your house and into the kitchen. 

“Shut the FUCK up. She’s real!” Your mom squealed and quickly set her wine down, embracing you as if you’d be gone in an instant. “Never leave me like that again.” She pulls away and laughs, her tone laced with a hint of seriousness. 

“Never.” You promised, smiling wide before your dad caught your attention, tossing you a beer and shooting a wink in your direction. Although he wasn't typically sentimental, you could tell he missed you. 

“Where are the boys?” you asked, opening the can and drinking the bitter liquid. “Jesus Christ, Miller Lite never gets better, does it?” You squinted your eyes in disgust, giggling at your own reaction. 

“Nope, thought I taught you better than that.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders, kissing the top of your head. “They’re outside with Cliegg and Shmi.”

“Okay, sweet, I’ll go say hello.” You motion towards the back door, catching a glimpse of Ben from the back porch. 

“Hey,” He grabs your arm before you can turn to leave. “We missed you. I hope you’re okay. Ahsoka didn’t give us any details, but she said things really went to shit in Hampton. I just want to make sure you know you always have a home here, and we will do what we can to make it better, okay?” 

You nodded and smiled before practically running out the back door, forgetting exactly what you were throwing yourself into. 

“You fucker, you cheated!” Anakin yells, throwing down his cards as Ben takes a swig of his beer and laughs. 

“I’m afraid you just have an awful poker face, Anakin.” He sets his cards down and stands up, turning to face you with a smile. “There she is. About time you graced us with your presence.” 

You give a shrug before embracing Ben tightly, fighting back tears welling up in your eyes. You and Ben were close, and you knew that if he found out what happened, it would devastate him. He and Anakin were always there to keep you safe, but you had a distinct sibling connection. He knew you too well, always able to read your thoughts with uncanny accuracy. 

“You okay?” He pulled away and whispered, searching your sad eyes.

“Yeah, just tired. Long ass drive. Took the long way this time.” You sniffled, and he nodded in response, letting go and pulling a chair out between Anakin and what you assumed was Ahsoka’s chair. With a quiet thank you on your lips, you raised your beer to your mouth and took a long, satisfying gulp, feeling a gentle buzz settle in. 

“So, you’re back.” Anakin avoids eye contact, shuffling the cards before him as Ahsoka stifles a laugh. “Took you long enough.”

“Anakin!” Shmi scolds, noticing how his lips turn into a smirk, “You know he missed you, Y/N. He’s just a sore loser. Ben’s kicked his ass at poker three times now.” 

“Ah,” You nod, a grin spreading across your face, “He just doesn’t want to admit he sucks at poker- OW!” You feel a sudden impact as Anakin's foot forcefully meets the top of yours, causing you to shoot a glare in his direction. His eyes remain fixed on the cards, completely disregarding your look, while he bites down on his lip, trying to contain his amusement. "Sore loser indeed," you mutter under her breath, shaking her head in annoyance as you pick up the cards he handed you.

Of course, the hand was awful. You weren’t sure how you’d make it out of this alive. Family poker nights were a tradition started by your parents and the Skywalkers, which you were all quickly introduced to by your 10th birthday. Once you hit double digits, you were old enough to gamble. Ahsoka was always the best, but you had a habit of making a comeback when people least expected it. And you had a great poker face- Anakin did not. Anakin had a habit of wearing every thought and emotion on his sleeve his entire life. Shmi always swore it would be his downfall- as a child, you thought she was just talking about his downfall at poker. But once you got older, you quickly understood. 

When you discovered his breakup with Padme, you felt like maybe part of you understood. But you never really knew why they broke up. Everyone just told you, “They were better off as friends,” and that was all you knew. Did you want the real story? Absolutely. But part of you was worried about what he’d tell you. You knew better than to get involved in Anakin’s love life, and deep down, a part of you didn’t want to taint the image you had always had of him in your mind.

“Heard you finally got into MIT,” Anakin breaks the silence and your train of thought as he pushes a couple of chips into the center of the table, “Congratulations, although I’ve never heard of anyone going to MIT for an Archeology degree.” You roll your eyes and sigh. 

“There it is.” You giggle as everyone groans, setting their cards down as they fold. 

“There’s what?” He shoots you a disapproving glare.

“You’ve never given me a compliment without an insult. Was waiting for it.” You shrug, laying down your cards, “Full house.” Anakin’s jaw drops as you pull all the chips in your direction. 

“Shit,” He mutters, setting his cards down and laying his head on the table as he groans loudly in annoyance, “Fucking done with this game.”

“And so are we,” Shmi motions Cliegg to stand, “Love you guys. Have fun. Good to have you back, sweetheart.” Shmi kisses your head as Cliegg ruffles your hair before leaving to say goodnight to your parents. 

“Mhm,” you hum, finishing the last of your beer, “and plenty of people go to MIT for archeology. It’s a great school. Besides, it’s about time I joined you all there. And it’s only a 15-minute drive. Speaking of- how’s biochemical engineering going, little one?” With a gentle tap on Ahsoka's knee, she reluctantly tears her gaze away from her phone and responds with an eye roll.

“Fucking awful! I love what I’m studying; the school is incredible- just so much work. I’m so tired. I have time for nothing!” She groans and sinks further into her chair while you, Anakin, and Ben burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Coming from a recent MIT graduate- it doesn’t get any better. Just wait until you get further into your major- Biochemical Engineering is far from easy.” Ben offers her a smile while you and Anakin continue giggling. 

“And on that note,” You stand up, shaking your empty can, “I’m getting something stronger than this Miller.” 

As you enter the house, a soft purr fills the air as your familiar furry companion, Giz, wraps himself around your legs. You squat down on the floor and feel the warmth of his fur as you pet him, "Missed you, little guy."

“He missed you too.” Your mom leans against the doorway, handing you an obnoxiously full glass of wine. “Had a feeling you came in for this. Are we gonna talk about what happened?” 

You sigh, standing up and rubbing your hands on your thighs. “Now’s not really the time or place, Mom. I just got here. The last thing I wanna think about is that.” You grab the glass out of her hand and attempt to turn around before her hand is on your shoulder, pulling you back. 

“Not so fast.” You turn around and meet her concerned eyes, your hands feeling more sweaty than they did a minute ago. “Y/N, no one just up and leaves their entire life for the past two years suddenly without something major happening. I know you haven’t told anyone- and I know the last thing you want to do is talk about it- but please, for the love of God, talk to someone. We can all tell something is off. You’re not yourself, honey. We care about you- and we’re concerned. As much as I’m so fucking happy to have you back, I know something bad happened, and I want to be there for you.” 

“Mom,” You put your hand on her shoulder, fighting back tears with a smile. “You’re doing enough. I just want to have a good time, focus on being in my dream school, and g-get my life back together, okay?” 

“O-okay,” she nods, her voice laced with apprehension as she turns away from you and back into the kitchen, “Pasta on the stove if you want it!” 

“Thanks!” you yell, shutting the back door behind you and sighing loudly as you plop back into your chair, earning an eyebrow raise from everyone, “I’m here for an hour and she’s already bugging me.”

“She just loves you, Y/N/N.” Ben tries to reason, and you feel your leg bounce. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, fidgeting with the poker chips on the table.

“So,” Anakin leans forward, opening another beer, “You and that guy still together? What was his name.. Harry? James?”

“Nick.” You answer for him, unconsciously biting your lip. “And no, we’re not.” Everyone’s ears suddenly perked up at the confession, the consensus being just how little they knew about your life. 

“Damn, what’d you do?” Anakin jokes, searching your face for a smile, only to be met with nothing.

“Ha. Good one.” You chuckle under your breath, your lips forming into a frown.

As soon as Anakin brought up Nick, you lost interest in the conversation. Nick never met the family; you only told them about him over the phone while you were gone. He had always insisted that your life was meant to be in Hampton with him, where you would create something new together. You didn’t need to return home to your family; if you did, you’d be leaving him all alone. Holidays and significant moments came and went, and all the while, you were stuck at a college you loathed, sharing your life with a man you mistakenly believed was the one.  

During your nights in Hampton, you and Nick would often find yourselves curled up on the couch, indulging in excessive drinking while he introduced you to various illicit substances. You pretended to enjoy soccer and cocaine, drinking more tequila than you needed. Shot after shot, followed by line after line, you barely knew who you were. He constantly told you how pretty you were, how you were made for him, but if you forgot to run to the liquor store that day, he would treat you as if you were dead to him. Nick offered little in return for your support, except for empty assurances that the life you would build together would make it all worthwhile. Nick's behavior took a downward spiral as he began staying late at work and arriving home in a drunken stupor. From that point on, things spiraled out of control. 

And maybe a part of you once loved Nick, but now you felt suffocated in the relationship. And when you tried to bring things up to him, he’d tell you that you were a cheap whore who was only made to be his personal fuck toy. And just like that, the conversation came to an end. The coercion left, and he started to force you to use the drugs he’d use, tell you to skip class, skip tests, skip your job- you were losing yourself within him, and you were worried about the consequences if you didn’t let it happen. He was always a kind, sweet, romantic boy- but he could be so, so evil. 

And you’ll never forget the first time he hit you, the sound of his hand connecting with your skin echoing in your ears. As you sat on the counter, the alcohol made your vision blur, and your head throbbed as if it was about to explode. You were already at your limit, and the last thing you wanted was to do was another line. Your nose was already starting to bleed a little, and he begged and begged for you to keep going- telling you he needed it. He didn’t want to do it alone- you had to do it. As you stubbornly declined once more, a sudden, fiery sting seared across your cheek, causing your nose to finally bleed and droplets of blood to stain your thigh. He apologized profusely, waiting on you hand and foot as he cleaned you up, held your hair as you puked, washed you, and still talked you into sex- but it had happened. You knew you needed to leave, or your life could be at stake. 

“Y/N?” Ben asks, and you break out of your Nick-induced trance with a sharp gasp, your eyes glossy and lips bloody from your nervous tic. 

“I’ll be back.” You stand back up, taking a concerningly long swig from the wine before exiting out the back gate and into the driveway. 

“I’m really concerned about her.” Ben watches you leave and bites his lip. Ahsoka nods along with him. “Listen, as happy as I am to have her back, something’s not right. As her brother, I just- I fear the worst. She’s not herself.” 

“Did you see the way she reacted when you asked about Nick?” Ahsoka whispered, leaning in to closer to the table, “Something had to have happened.”

“Wait.” Anakin says, as he and Ben both turn to face her, their brows furrowed in confusion and concern, “Ahsoka, you don’t know anything either? She’s your best friend.”

“I- I know nothing. And I hate it.” She confesses to the boys, the air growing thick as Anakin uncomfortably shifts in his seat, and Ben sighs.

“I think I’m gonna try to talk to her.” Anakin stands slowly as Ben raises a brow and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes.

“Anakin, no offense, but I doubt she’ll want to talk to you,” Ahsoka murmured, avoiding his scowl. 

“Well,” he pushes the chair behind him, walking towards the gate. “We’ll see!” 

Curled up in the Papasan chair on the porch, you lit the joint between your fingers and watched as the lights in your neighbor's windows turned off. Your thoughts drifted from Nick and onto the childhood you missed dearly—so many snowball fights on the street before you, bike rides, and scraped knees. You remember the Johnsons across the street particularly not liking Anakin, so you and Ahsoka egged their house, only to backfire and get Anakin in trouble. You confessed to doing it, and no one believed you. It had to be Anakin. But for some strange reason, he never cared. He accepted the punishment, mowed their yard for a year, and never brought it up to you, no matter how many times you apologized. And every apology that slipped from between your lips was met with a grin. 

And that time in 7th grade when Ahsoka really got into it with Julie down the street. She never liked Ahsoka and always found a way to get under her skin. However, this time was particularly awful. When you found Ahsoka, she was sobbing on the corner while Julie laughed at her, calling her pathetic, telling her that even her adopted parents didn’t love her and that her big brother wasn’t there to save her now. But you were. You pushed Julie onto the grass so fucking hard, only for her to get back up and swing. Ahsoka screamed for you to stop, but a newfound rage took over as you pounded into Julie’s face. She ended up on the pavement with a broken nose, and you ended the fight with a fractured wrist and grounded for a month (Only a month because your mom found out who you fought and what she said). Anakin was waiting for Ben to return from tennis and heard the commotion. He ran down the street, finding Ahsoka sobbing, Julie on the pavement, bloody and teary, and you sitting on the corner, shaking and clutching your throbbing wrist in your hand. He instantly asked Ahsoka what happened before making his way to you, holding your wrist, picking you up, and taking you and Ahsoka back to your house. Your mom called Julie’s mom and talked about what happened, and fortunately, Julie confessed to everything. And that’s when you found out her parents were going through a nasty divorce, and Julie was starting therapy. And surprisingly, she actually grew into a really decent, respectable person. 

The four of you had always done everything together. You had always been inseparable. And when you left, it tore that apart. You left a hole in Brookline, and you knew it as well as they did. Even though they swore they were happy for you, moving on and doing more, you could see in their eyes that they selfishly did not want you to leave. They didn’t like the years of friendship to be put on hold just like that. And, of course, you felt guilty about it all, but you thought you needed to get out of Brookline. You assumed you wanted something bigger than Boston, bigger than you, bigger than those childhood friends. And two years later, you realize just how naïve you were. Those were your lifelong friends; your life was in Boston, and your dream school was there, too. You missed them more than you could ever envision, and the guilt ate at you every single fucking day. And you wished that 19-year-old you had just stayed. Things would be so much simpler if you had stayed. You let some pathetic man in Hampton tell you that it was just you and him- forever. And you knew deep down your 19-year-old naive self didn’t believe a fucking word he said- she just wished she did.  

“Oh, that’s not a cigarette.” Your eyes flicker up from the street and towards a drunken Anakin leaning against the patio rail in front of you. His lips were curled into a mischievous smile, his hair curly and messy. 

“No,” You lean forward, handing him the joint, “No, it’s not.” 

“So,” He took a quick draw from the joint, flicking it against the deck railing as he looked back at you and smiled, “You just got here, and you’re already running from us? What’s up with that?” 

You scoff, snatching the joint from him and leaning back in the chair. 

“Just wanted some alone time, is all.” You avoid his gaze, and it’s his turn to scoff, plopping himself next to you in the chair. 

“Yeah, because you’ve been so fond of that your entire life. I don’t believe you.” 

“And? Never said I cared that you did.” You quickly retorted, earning an eyebrow raise and a smirk. 

“Relax,” he said, snatching the joint back from you and holding it hostage. “Talk to me. It’s just us.” His hand met yours; his gaze was intense and empathetic. 

You weren’t sure why you wanted to tell him. It was probably the weed mixed with a bit of liquid courage, but in that moment, you needed to get it out. He was so welcoming, holding your hand and offering you the comfort you needed in that moment. Was it pure manipulation? Possibly. But you knew Anakin loved you just as much as you loved him, and you knew you could trust him. He had kept your secrets before, so what’s another one? However, none of those other secrets typically included an abusive relationship; it was mainly about Ben and Ahsoka. You gripped his hand back, watching his eyes soften and his lips curve into a small smile.

“Just-” You started, dropping your voice into a low murmur, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.” He looked into your eyes like he would die to protect your secret. That was precisely what you needed to see. 

“Nick- uh- sorry,” You sniffled, rubbing your eyes as you searched for the right words. “He- uh- he hurt me—a lot. I barely made it out of that relationship in one piece. I think my breaking point was when I asked him to visit for your grandma’s funeral, and he knocked me out. I woke up in my bathtub, my face covered in my blood, and he was gone. I applied to MIT that morning. The day after I got in, I packed everything I could and left. He’s blocked on everything, and he hasn’t attempted to reach out in any sort of way. Anakin- I don’t know what would have happened to me if I didn’t leave.”

Your eyes met Anakin’s glossy ones as your hands shook underneath his touch. He crooked his head to the side, bringing you in for a much-needed hug. You let yourself cry softly in his arms, feeling his shaky hands rub in slow motions up and down your back, his other hand stroking the top of your scalp.

 But when he looked back at you, the softness in his gaze had disappeared. His fists clenched at his side, his eyebrows furrowed as he bit his lip in frustration. 

“A-Anakin?” 

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell anybody? We would’ve come to help! We could have put that piece of shit in jail by now!” He stands up abruptly, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing deeply. 

“I-I’m sorry- I-” You stutter, your mind racing as he paces before you. His eyes meet yours, and he points at you as your heartbeat accelerates.

“Y/N, I swear to god- I’m gonna kill that motherfucker. He’s fucking dead. I don’t care what hap-” He stops momentarily, cut off by your sobs from the chair. Fuck. He’s yelling at a domestic violence victim- no- he’s yelling at you. What a fucking asshole. 

“HeyHeyHeyHey-” He’s quickly on his knees in front of you, shushing and brushing your hair out of your face, “I’m so fucking sorry- that was so selfish of me to do. I shouldn’t have said or done any of that. You opened up to me, and I yelled at you.. that will never happen again, okay? Why don’t we get you to bed?” He held your hands in his, searching your red eyes for an answer as you quickly nodded. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go say goodnight to everyone, you just hold tight here. Sound good?” You nodded once again, and he giggled. “Words, sweetheart. I need you to say something.”

“That’s what I want, Ani. Bed.” You mumble out, forming your lips into a sad smile. His heart broke at the sight of you. 

The second the back gate opened back up, Ben and Ahsoka immediately shot out of their chairs at the sight of Anakin. Their interrupted conversation suddenly had no meaning as he entered, taking a quick seat next to them.

“She’s- uh- she’s pretty upset. And fucked up. I’m gonna take her to bed.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair as Ben and Ahsoka looked at him, puzzled. 

“Well, what happened? Is she okay? Does she need help?” Ahsoka frantically broke the silence, asking the questions she and Ben were both thinking. 

“Listen, she’s in rough shape right now. I’m just gonna get her to sleep, and I’ll tell you guys all about it. I don’t even know if she’s done talking about it. I’ll be right back.” 

“Y/N?” He calls out your name as he steps on the other side of the gate, jogging up the front porch to see you passed out in the chair, joint hanging loosely from your fingers. 

Amused, he grabs the roach from your fingers and casually tosses it off the porch, letting out a small laugh. Clearly, you didn't waste any time before drifting off to sleep. All the crying and weed must have done something. As he crouches down beside you, he tenderly brushes your hair, his eyes filled with adoration as he looks at your sleeping figure. 

“I’m so sorry about everything,” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, sighing softly, “I know you’re going to hate me for what I’m gonna do. Just please know it’s in your best interest. I care about you so much.” He bites his lip in thought, his eyes searching your figure.

As he rises to his feet, he effortlessly swipes your phone and tucks it away, his eyes briefly glancing at your water bottle. With a tender gesture, he reaches his arms beneath you, drawing you close to his chest and ensuring the blanket envelops you snugly as he lifts you from the chair. Your head is cradled against his chest, his hand wrapped around your waist and under your knees. 

Anakin carried you gently up the stairs of your house, each step creaking under the weight of his feet. Passing through the familiar corridors, he reached your bedroom door and pushed it open, immediately being overwhelmed by the alluring scent of your space. As he laid you down on your bed, he couldn't help but notice how little the room had changed since you left, the same photos on the walls and the same worn-out rug. Your mom kept everything intact, probably hoping you’d come back eventually. He filled your water bottle, plugged your phone in, left some medicine on your nightstand, and tucked you in tightly. Just as he turned on the fan and kissed your forehead goodnight, your eyes fluttered open to meet with his, and you gave him a sleepy smile. 

“Ani?” You mumbled, watching as his smile grew above you. 

“Hey, sweetheart, feeling pretty sleepy, huh?” 

“Mhm,” You stretched your arms out momentarily as you yawned. “I’m sorry I dropped all of that on you earlier. And I’m just- I’m sorry about it all. I feel so-”

“Y/N,” He gets on his knees next to you, the warmth in his eyes matching the tender smile on his lips, “You don’t need to apologize for a thing. I’m always here. And so are Ben and Ahsoka. We got you. You take as much time as you need to process, recover, and do whatever you need to, okay? It’s about you, Y/N/N, don’t worry about us.” You giggle and nod at his words, your eyes attempting to flutter shut. He laughs at your exhaustion, ruffling up the hair on your head. “Sleep well, okay? I’ll be here if you need me.” 

He closes your door and leans against the door frame, exhaling heavily as he tries to make sense of everything that happened throughout the night. How could someone be so fucking despicable to do this to you? His girl. His fists clenched tightly at his waist, his eyes burning with rage as he vividly imagined the torment you endured. He tried not to let his mind go there. He really did. Resting against your bedroom door, vivid visions of you, covered in blood and pleading for help, overwhelmed him, plunging him into a downward spiral. And in a moment of weakness, he did exactly what he promised he wouldn’t do.

“She was abused. Badly.”

“WHAT?”

Ben and Ahsoka jump from their seats on the porch, rushing towards Anakin as he angrily makes his way from the house onto the deck. 

“That fucking piece of shit!” Ben shouts, punching his fist against the side of the house while Ahsoka tries to calm Anakin down, asking him for more details.

“Okay, Anakin, I need you to give me more than just ‘abused.’ I know you have details.” Ahsoka sputtered while she held the sides of his arms, guiding him over to the table to sit down while Ben paced behind them. 

“It was that asshole she was dating for the past two years- Nick. The one we conveniently never met, which I’m sure was on purpose. She didn’t tell me much other than that if she didn’t leave when she did, she could’ve- well- she- it just wouldn’t have ended well.”

Anakin's words hung in the air, creating a thick silence that was almost tangible with tension. Anakin's throat tightened as he locked eyes with Ben and Ahsoka, their glossy gazes reflecting their shared pain. Ben found a spot at the table, deep in thought, as he absentmindedly stroked his chin, his eyes devoid of any emotion. Ahsoka carefully finished the last of her wine, the cling! of it ringing out as the glass met the table one last time.  

“Well-” Ben tried to start, cut off by his sudden sobs. He pushed his head on the table, covering his face from Ahsoka and Anakin as he attempted to take deep breaths, processing the information he had just learned. In an effort to hold back tears, Anakin bit his lip, his hand trembling as he rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. As she silently wept, Ahsoka soothingly rubbed Ben's back, hoping to ease his pain.

“I just- I should have known.” She mumbled, picking the cat's hair off of the back of Ben’s sweater. 

“There’s no way you could’ve, Snips.” 

“It’s just that- I thought it was odd when she suddenly asked me to pick up her cat. Saying she couldn’t take care of him and that it was an emergency. I never even met Nick, and she wouldn’t let me stay at the apartment long. I hardly saw her. So many fucking red flags..” she trailed off, feeling her head hurt at the thought. 

“Ahsoka, it’s okay.” Ben sniffled, lifting his head off the table as his red eyes met Anakin’s. “There is no one at fault here other than Nick.”

"Exactly," Anakin paused momentarily at his comment, his eyes widening. “Guys, she made me promise I wouldn’t tell you. Considering everything, I think we should wait until she opens up. Even though it hurts, the last thing I’d want to do is hurt her anymore.”

“Yeah,” Ben whispers, and Ahsoka nods, holding onto each other as they try to calm down.  

“We should get to bed, guys. It’s 3:30.” Anakin mumbles as he stands up and stretches, offering his hand to Ahsoka. “We’ll see you soon, Ben. Get some rest.”

As he lay in bed, Anakin’s mind wandered off to you. How could it not? Besides being your best friend, he always looked for more in you. The knowledge weighed heavily on him, and he despised himself because of it. To him, you were his world, his everything. Always. And hearing/seeing how hurt you were? It fucking destroyed him. So, he let himself cry. He allowed himself to feel those emotions for you, and he always had buried them deep down. Instead, he buried his face in his pillow and soaked it with his tears. His admiration for you would never falter, and neither would his protectiveness. He felt as if a part of him failed, and as a result, his guard was down. He felt the desire to love you and keep you safe increased, knowing that getting the chance to do so may destroy him inside and out.

And it didn’t help that you lost your virginities to each other. Sharing such a unique, intimate moment with the person he always knew was the one, well, that just really fucked things. Literally. There wasn't a moment when he wasn't haunted by the memories of that night; it was a constant presence in his mind. And then he got with Padme, and you left for Virginia, and things got so lost and confused, and life moved on. You moved on. He tried to. But he searched for you in everyone and everything. Padme knew it, he knew it, fuck, his mother probably knew it! He’s just thankful Ben doesn’t know it. As much as he hated to say it, Anakin knew he would have gone back in time to do anything to change that moment. Because now you’re here, and his feelings have only intensified. Feelings that should have left a long, long time ago. And yet, as he cried himself to sleep, he continued to dream of you, just like every night before.

Please let me know if you wish to be tagged!

Series tags: @w0rsh1psells @ursogorgeous13 @tommyvelvet @mistress-amidala @queenofnigthdarkness @nikkissecretlibrary @doblasftcisco @ann4zw @catachlysmicjedi @googie-jeon @xoxo-hayden-fangurl-xoxo @anakinstwinklebunny

[tolkienhorrorweek]

Welcome to Tolkien Horror Week! This is a new event, following in the footsteps of Terrifying Tolkien Week, last run in 2019. This event celebrates all things spooky and creepy in Tolkien's work—both the things he tells us explicitly and the things he leaves up to our imaginations.

The event will run from October 27th to November 2nd and accepts all types of fanworks. There is an AO3 collection for the event here.

Below are some suggested prompts for each day of the week. They are not mandatory; feel free to combine them or disregard them entirely.

Day 1: Angband & Utumno | seeth all things crooked | captivity Day 2: Angmar, Rhudaur, & Minas Morgul | of such dread and dark enchantment | sorcery Day 3: Mordor & the Dead Marshes | the pitiless land | control Day 4: The Barrow-downs & the Old Forest | the clinging mists | corruption Day 5: Mirkwood, Nan Elmoth, & Taur-nu-Fuin | the shadows grew long in the forest | hunting Day 6: Nan Dungortheb & the Paths of the Dead | by perilous paths | terror Day 7: Isengard, Moria, & Númenor | we cannot get out | trapped

Please mention @tolkienhorrorweek in the body of your post and tag #tolkienhorrorweek and #tolkienhorrorweek2024 in the first 10 tags. You may also submit a post.

Given the nature of the event, please also tag for any potential triggers or content warnings and place any NSFW content beneath a read more/link to AO3.

For more information, please see the FAQ. If you have any questions, drop them in the ask box.

Art is by Alan Lee.

[drone-of-theforest]

Hello! is this rp blog for asking questions or full on rp? I'm just curious because I don't have many fellow rp muns in the Murder Drones Fandom

for both really, i'll be posting and other rp peeps can interact and reblog stuff, u can also ask questions and we can rp from there with reblogs-ooc

hope that clears stuff up and didnt sound confusing-ooc

[yanderecrazysie]

Title: Rulebreaker (Part 1)

Pairings: Yandere! Riddle Rosehearts x F! Reader

AU: My Fantasy AU

WARNINGS: yandere themes

Notes: Riddle’s story was second-most voted, so I decided to start working on it. A Dragon’s Hoard will probably get a NSFW Part 3 on Tumblr, so look out for that lol.

What you had expected to see was a bustling marketplace, chaotic and teeming with life. Instead, market day seemed to be a subdued event. Each stall was tidy and pristine-clean. Every item for sale was arranged perfectly- books from A-Z and fruit by color. People didn’t seem to talk unless necessary, leading to long silences while customers perused goods in utter quiet. 

Your orange-and-black striped tail twitched with discomfort, off-put by the eerie silence. With as good hearing as yours was, the quiet seemed amplified. You let out a soft chuckle that sounded loud to your ears and muttered, “Well, he’s managed to ruin this too, huh?”

No wonder you were the only non-fae attending this event- no one would feel welcome in an atmosphere so dominated by a need for perfection. 

You walked up to a stall run by a young man around your age. You took a moment to admire his rounded, transparent wings and his pointed ear tips before requesting, “One tour of Heartslabyul Kingdom, please.”

“I ain’t no tour guide,” he snorted, turning up his nose at you. You pulled a pouch of coins from your dress pocket, allowing the opening to part a little to show the gold within, and his eyes went wide. “One tour, coming right up!”

The “castle” itself was a tall, stone-walled building that stretched across entire villages and kept them all in one giant box with only one exit. A secondary castle, front and center, served as the royal family’s home. This castle was pointed and elegant and, as daunting as it was, with its dark shadow over the villages, you were eager to visit it.

The home of the royal family was enclosed in a garden, similarly to how the primary castle was surrounded by forest. The garden is what you wanted to see most, as news of its beauty had traveled all the way to your home in Savanaclaw. 

Ace, as you came to understand your guide was named, pointed out mundane things on your way to the royal castle, such as the well he fell into as a child and every flock of flamingos around watering holes.

Finally, the dirt gave way to grass, signaling the start of Heartslabyul’s royal garden and it was every bit as breathtaking as you had hoped. The grass beneath your bare feet was soft and vibrant and put a spring in your step. The air smelled of flowers and, while plenty of species were present, perfectly arranged in separate beds, they could not compare to the roses the size of your head that lined the hedges.

Ace looked around with a mixture of admiration and apprehension, “Don’t step on anything, the queen’s got a thing about keeping this place clean.”

“Queen?” you asked, ears perking up.

“Figure of speech,” Ace said, peering up at the towering spires of the royal castle, “King Riddle runs this show, but you’d think he was some kind of flower tyrant with how much he obsesses over his precious garden.”

You smiled, “I’ve heard of this ‘King Riddle’. I’ve heard he’s got over a thousand ridiculous rules.”

Any trace of a smile disappeared from Ace’s face, “And you’d better follow every single one of them if you want to make it out of here.”

You hummed in response, not particularly bothered by the fear in his voice. Your tail swished back and forth as you reached out a hand towards one of the biggest roses in the garden. Each petal was the size of your hand, and you found yourself caressing the soft white petals, loving the feeling of the silky texture on your fingers.

“Someone’s here,” Ace said, stiffening, “Behave yourself!”

The man that came around the corner was not who you were expecting in the slightest. He was short, with red hair and blueish-gray eyes, and he looked absolutely furious, charging towards you with the air of a charging bull. You quickly let go of the rose and stepped away from it, eyes on Ace, who looked like he was now made of stone. From his reaction, you could surmise that you had just met the “Queen”. 

The red-haired man stormed ever closer, his wings trembling with rage. Despite his small stature, each of his steps carried the weight of authority. “You!” his sharp voice rang out, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Your ears flattened at how loud he was yelling. You held up your hands in surrender, “I was just admiring the roses.”

“Admiring them?” Riddle’s voice became dangerously low, “Rule 412: No foreign hand shall lay claim to the blooms of the Life-Garden without express permission from the king or queen!”

You blinked in surprise, “I wasn’t ‘laying claim to the blooms’. I was just touching them a little. No harm done.”

Ace threw up his hands, “Your Majesty! She didn’t mean any harm! She’s just a visitor so she doesn’t know all the rules!”

Riddle was not swayed, “Ignorance is no excuse for disorder!”

“Oh, shut up,” you snapped, “The roses are fine and your rules are dumb.”

His head snapped back as though you had slapped him. He spluttered for a moment, completely blown away by what you’d said. “These rules were put into place by the Great One herself!”

“I don’t care,” you said simply, “And if you try to lock me up for this, I guarantee you the Savanaclaw officials will come for me.” That was a lie, but you really didn’t feel like going to jail.

Riddle glared at you, but there was something behind his blueish-gray eyes that made you feel bare. “You’re insolent! Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?”

“I do,” you replied, “You’re King Riddle. You’re the one who thinks a list of rules is more important than the people who live under them.”

Ace gasped loudly, wings twitching in panic, “She didn’t mean that!” He waved his hands as though trying to undo the damage.

Riddle ignored him, an unkind smirk curling at the corner of his lips, “You’re unlike anyone I’ve met before,” he murmured, almost to himself, “Bold but foolish.”

You crossed your arms, “I’ll take bold, but I don’t claim ‘foolish’.”

Riddle’s eyes flashed, “Why are you here? What brings you so far from home, Savanaclaw were-tiger?”

“I wanted to see the kingdom everyone’s always gushing about. I guess it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Riddle’s smirk vanished, “You tread dangerously close to treason. A stay in the court would do you good.”

Ace’s wings drooped, “Oh boy…”

Fear flashed through you at Ace’s expression, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Riddle’s smirk returned, “You’ll remain here as my guest. You’ll learn the rules of Heartslabyul and you’ll come to understand the beauty of order.”

Your tail lashed, “Yeah, that’s not happening. I’m leaving.” You turned to storm out of the garden, but Riddle called to you.

“You’ll find leaving… difficult.” The glint in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, “Every flower, every tree, even every blade of grass answers to me.”

“You’re trapping me here?”

“Not at all,” Riddle said smugly, “You’re free to leave at any time- if you can.” Riddle let out a bitter laugh, “You wanted to see my kingdom? Well now you can experience it in its entirety.”

He stepped back, wings spread wide, “Welcome to Heartslabyul, little rebel. Let’s see how long your defiance lasts.”

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Kansas City - Interview Broadcast Day [9/17]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 7.6k Summary: The campaign rolls through Kansas City to make a pitstop to watch with the rest of the country as your interview with Oprah airs on Sunday night primetime television.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened. And in case you missed it, this is who I mentioned in a post that I cast to play the role of Jake, our fearless campaign manager.

Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

The savory aroma of slow-cooked meat and smoky spices envelops you as you step out of the campaign SUV and onto the sun-baked sidewalk in front of Arthur Bryant's Barbeque. The iconic Kansas City establishment stands before you, its red brick facade and neon sign a beacon for barbecue lovers from across the nation.

Steve emerges from the vehicle behind you, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the restaurant. "I've been looking forward to this all day," he admits, a boyish grin spreading across his face.

You can't help but smile back, feeling a flutter of excitement in your own stomach. You’re beginning to believe butterflies will never stop hitting you when he smiles at you like that.

After days of campaign events and press conferences, this small detour feels like a breath of fresh air. There will still be conversations, meeting strangers, taking questions, hearing from the people, and press capturing everything second of it, but part of these kinds of stops at least feel slightly more organic. You feel like the conversations, at least, are more real, and you get to know people for who they really are in the places they actually go on a regular kind of day. The fact that it involves world-famous barbecue is just a bonus.

It’s also one of the rare days you both get to be dressed down and casual. Steve even wears a dark blue baseball cap to help lower his profile of being recognized even more.

As you approach the entrance, you and Steve reach for each others hands, fingers locking, natural as anything now.

The moment you step inside Arthur Bryant's, you're hit with a wave of nostalgia. The no-frills interior, with its simple tables and chairs, feels like stepping back in time. The walls are adorned with photos of famous patrons and news clippings, a testament to the restaurant's rich history.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with a warm smile approaches. "Captain Rogers, Mrs. Rogers, welcome to Arthur Bryant's," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Jerry, the manager. We're honored to have you here."

Steve shakes Jerry's hand firmly. "The honor is ours, Jerry. We've heard amazing things about your barbecue."

"Well, we hope to live up to the hype," Jerry chuckles. "Why don't I give you a quick tour before we get you set?"

As Jerry leads you through the restaurant, pointing out photos of past presidents and celebrities who have dined there, you can feel the eyes of other patrons on you. There are whispers and a few excited waves, but for the most part, people seem content to let you enjoy your visit.

Jerry brings you to the counter where the magic happens. The smell of smoked meat is even stronger here, making your mouth water and your stomach growl audibly. Steve glances at you with an amused smile.

"Now, what can I get for you folks?" Jerry asks.

Steve's eyes light up as he scans the menu board. "I think I'll have the burnt ends sandwich and some fries," he says.

“And you, Mrs. Rogers?”

“I want a brisket sandwich,” you reply.

“Only the half?” Jerry asks.

“With sides of the cheesy corn, baked beans, onion rings, and cole slaw,” you add.

“Atta girl!” the man grins. “This one knows how to order!” he calls out to the others around. “She’s got my vote!”

You laugh at Jerry's enthusiasm, feeling a warmth spread through you at the easy camaraderie. Steve grins and shakes his head. "I think I've been outdone," he says good-naturedly.

Jerry chuckles as he starts preparing your order. "Well, Captain, maybe I’ll swing my vote to you by the time we hit November. Now, what can I get you to drink?"

"Sweet tea for me," you say.

"Make that two," Steve adds with a smile.

As Jerry busies himself with your order, you and Steve take a moment to look around the restaurant. The dinner crowd is starting to filter in, and you can see a mix of curiosity and excitement on the faces of those who recognize you.

A young woman approaches hesitantly, her phone clutched in her hand. "Excuse me," she says, her voice slightly trembling. "I'm sorry to bother you, but would it be okay if I took a picture with you both?"

Steve responds with a warm smile. "Of course, we'd be happy to."

The young woman's face lights up. "Thank you so much! I'm Emily, by the way.” She hands her phone to a nearby friend.

You and Steve position yourselves on either side of Emily, smiling warmly as her friend snaps a few photos. As Emily checks the pictures, her excitement is palpable.

"Thank you again," she says, her eyes shining. "I've been following your campaign. It's really inspiring to see people I feel like I relate to running instead of just old white men."

“Well, technically Steve’s a very old white man,” you tease.

Steve gives you a mock glare, and Emily laughs.

“No, I guess what I mean is people who seem like people and not just politicians,” she clarifies. “I felt like that about Charlie Young before, too, and so I’m glad he’s your running mate.”

Steve's expression softens. "That means a lot, Emily. What issues are most important to you in your day to day life?"

Emily takes a deep breath, considering her answer. "I'm about to age out of my parents' insurance, and I'm worried about how I'll afford coverage on my own."

You nod sympathetically. "We'd love to hear more about your perspective if you’re willing to share."

Emily glances at her friend, who nods encouragingly. "Well," she begins, "I'm 25 and I work as a teacher's assistant. The pay isn't great, and the school district doesn't offer health insurance for part-time employees. I've been looking into private plans, but they're so expensive. I have a pre-existing condition, and I'm worried about how I'll manage my healthcare costs once I'm off my parents' plan."

Steve listens intently, his brow furrowed in concern. "We believe that access to quality, affordable healthcare is a right, not a privilege. No one should have to choose between their health and their financial stability."

You nod in agreement. "We've been hearing similar stories across the country. It's clear that our current healthcare system isn't working for many Americans, especially young people just starting their careers."

Emily smiles gratefully. "I’m not asking for hand outs - I’m working, but it needs to not feel like it’s impossible to afford to live.”

Steve nods, his expression serious. "Absolutely, Emily. You shouldn't have to struggle to afford basic necessities like healthcare while working hard and contributing to society. I want us to implement solutions that work for all Americans, not just those at the top. I think we start by simplifying the process and expand subsidies under the Affordable Care Act to make coverage more affordable for young adults and low-income workers, but next steps will involve looking to other countries who have better healthcare systems and adopting what we see is working. Detractors say that some of those other systems don’t work for everyone or they’re not perfect, but what we’ve got here isn’t much to write home about as it stands."

"And it's voices like yours that help shape our policies and remind us why this work is so important," you add.

Emily beams, clearly touched by your words. "Thank you for listening. It means a lot when I know it must be so busy for you both. Isn’t your Oprah interview airing tonight?” she asks.

“Yes, we’re just here to grab a bite and to pick up some food to take back to the campaign staff while we watch later.”

“Well, thanks again, and good luck tonight,” she says.

As Emily rejoins her friend, Jerry calls out that your order is ready. You and Steve thank him as he hands over your loaded trays.

"Enjoy your meal, folks," Jerry says with a wink. “We’ll work with your guys to load up your catering to-go boxes, y’all just enjoy.”

You and Steve thank him and then scan the bustling restaurant, looking for an open table. The dinner rush is in full swing, and most tables are already occupied. Your eyes land on a table in the corner where four men, all appearing to be in their seventies, are engaged in animated conversation over their half-eaten meals.

Steve catches your eye and nods towards the table. You both make your way over, trays in hand.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Steve says, his voice warm and friendly. "Would you mind if we joined you? Seems like all the other tables are taken."

The men look up, their eyes widening in recognition. There's a moment of stunned silence before one of them, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes, breaks into a wide grin.

"Well, I'll be damned," he says, his voice tinged with a hint of a Southern drawl. "Sure we’ve got a space for Captain America and his peach of a wife!”

As you and Steve take your seats at the table, you can feel the energy shift. The men are clearly excited, but there's also a hint of nervousness in the air.

"I'm Bill," says the man with the Southern drawl, extending his hand to Steve. "These are my buddies Tom, Frank, and Joe. We've been coming here every Sunday for the past 20 years."

Steve shakes each of their hands in turn, his smile warm and genuine. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I'm Steve, and this is my wife," he says, introducing you by name.

You smile and greet each of the men, feeling a sense of ease settle over the table.

"So, what brings you folks to our neck of the woods?" Frank asks, leaning forward with interest. His weathered hands cradle a half-empty glass of iced tea.

"We're just looking for the best barbecue in the country," you explain, unwrapping your brisket sandwich.

The four men all laugh heartily, and you grin before you take your first bite. Your eyes widen in appreciation. “Oh, wow. This is incredible.” The meat is tender and flavorful, practically melting in your mouth.

"Best in Kansas City," Tom nods proudly. "Been coming here since I was knee-high to a grasshopper."

As you enjoy your brisket sandwich, Steve takes a bite of his burnt ends, his eyes closing it seems to fully savor that first mouthful. "This really is something special," he agrees, reaching for a napkin.

"You've got to try this," he says, holding his sandwich across to you. You smile and lean forward for a bite, letting him feed you, hoping that not all eyes are on you.

“Mmm, that’s good, too,” you hum. “But if you offered so you could try a bite of mine in return, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

This garners another round of laughter from the men along with some hoots and some ribbing, and Steve just smirks and shakes his head at you.

“I’ll share my sides, though,” you say with a teasing smile, pushing your tray closer to the middle.

Joe, who's been quietly observing until now, clears his throat. "If you don't mind me asking, Captain, what made you decide to run for office? I mean, you've already done so much for this country."

Steve sets down his sandwich, his expression thoughtful. "Well, Joe, I've always believed in serving my country, in whatever way I can. After everything that's happened in recent years, I felt like I could do more good by working within the system, trying to bring people together and address the issues that matter most to everyday Americans."

Bill nods, a wistful look in his eyes. "It's refreshing to hear, I'll tell you that. Feels like politicians these days are more concerned with having an office than serving the people and a lot of us old-timers are worried about the direction the country's headed."

Steve’s brow furrows. "I understand those concerns," he says thoughtfully. "The world is changing rapidly, and it can be unsettling. But I believe in the resilience and spirit of the American people. We've faced challenges before, and we've always come through stronger."

Bill nods slowly, a pensive look on his face. "That's true enough - and when you say it, we can believe it because we know you’ve got old experience in those bones, too. But it feels different now, doesn't it? Like we're more divided than ever."

Steve nods solemnly, wiping his hands on a napkin. "You're right, Bill. The divisions in our country are deep, and they're not going to be healed overnight. But I believe we have more in common than what separates us. We've been crisscrossing the country, meeting people and hearing their stories. We all want safe communities, good jobs, affordable healthcare, and a bright future for our children and grandchildren."

Frank leans forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "That's all well and good, Captain, but how do you plan to actually bring people together? Seems like every politician says that, but nothing ever changes. It feels like people aren't even speaking the same language anymore when it comes to politics."

You take a sip of your sweet tea, watching Steve carefully as he considers his response. You can see the determination in his eyes.

Steve leans back in his chair, his eyes scanning the faces of the men around the table. The warm glow of the restaurant's lighting casts a soft hue on their weathered features, each line and wrinkle telling a story of years lived and experiences gained.

"You're right, Frank. It does feel like we're not speaking the same language anymore. But that's exactly why I'm running as an independent candidate," Steve begins, his voice calm but filled with conviction. "I'm not beholden to either the Democratic or Republican party. This isn't just about wearing a different color tie or having a different letter next to my name on the ballot. It's about fundamentally changing from a battle for political power between red and blue to calling for consensus to see action that matters to the three hundred and thirty-four million people who live in our country."

He pauses, reaching for his sweet tea. "I believe we need to start by listening to each other again," Steve continues, his eyes meeting each of the men's gazes in turn. "Really listening, not just waiting for our turn to speak. That's why we're here, sitting with you gentlemen, sharing a meal. It's why we make these stops at local businesses and community centers across the country."

You nod in agreement, swallowing a bite of your brisket sandwich before adding, "We've found that when you sit down with people, break bread together, and have real conversations, you often discover that we're not as different as the headlines make us out to be."

Tom, speaks up. "That's all well and good, but how does that translate to actual policy? How do you bridge the gap when it comes to the big issues?"

Steve leans forward, his elbows on the table. "It starts by voting for policies, not parties. When we focus on specific issues rather than partisan loyalties, we often find more common ground than we expect. For example, take healthcare. Most Americans, regardless of political affiliation, agree that healthcare costs are too high and that something needs to be done. The disagreement is usually about how to solve the problem, not whether it exists."

He pauses to take another bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "We just spoke with a young woman over there named Emily who's worried about affording health insurance. That's not a red or blue issue - that's an American issue."

Joe nods slowly. "I can relate to that. My grandson's in the same boat."

"Exactly," Steve continues. "So instead of getting bogged down in partisan debates, we need to look at what's actually working. What can we learn from other countries? What innovative solutions are individual states implementing? We need to be willing to try new approaches and admit when something isn't working."

Frank leans back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That sounds good in theory, Captain, but how do you get Congress to go along with that? They seem pretty set in their ways."

Steve nods, acknowledging the challenge. "You're right, Frank. Changing the culture in Washington won't be easy. But I believe the American people are ready for a different approach. If we can build a broad coalition of voters who demand bipartisan solutions, we can put pressure on Congress to work together."

"And," you add, setting down your fork, "Steve isn't just talking about compromise for the sake of compromise. It's about finding common ground and building on it. For example, both parties agree that we need to improve our infrastructure. So let's start there and create jobs while we're at it."

Bill nods slowly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I like the sound of that.”

The conversation eases from there to the two of you learning more about the four men and the lives they’ve led in Kansas while you eat. Once you’re finished - Steve having cleared both your trays when you’d had your fill of the collection - you take a picture with these men as well, and with Jerry and some of the staff by the counter before you leave.

When you and Steve step out of Arthur Bryant's, the warm evening air envelops you. The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the city streets. You can still taste the smoky flavor of the barbecue, and your stomach feels pleasantly full.

A small crowd has gathered, word having spread of your presence at the iconic barbecue joint. There's a mix of excitement and curiosity in their faces as they call out greetings and words of encouragement.

Steve pauses to shake a few hands and exchange brief words with some of the gathered people. You follow suit, touched by the warmth and genuine interest of the Kansas City residents.

"Thank you for coming to our city," an older woman says, her eyes shining. "It means a lot that you're taking the time to visit places like this."

"We're honored to be here," you reply sincerely. "Thank you for your hospitality."

As you walk towards the waiting SUV, the ever-present security detail for your public outings moves seamlessly around you, a constant reminder of the enormity of what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Steve opens the door for you. Just before you step in, you turn back to wave at the small crowd, and Steve waves at them, as well.

Inside the SUV with the door closed, the calm quiet is nice. Steve's hand finds yours again, and he gives it a gentle squeeze. "That was something, wasn’t it," he says, a contented smile on his face.

You nod in agreement. "The food was incredible, but the conversations... that's what makes these stops so special."

"It really is," Steve replies, his voice thoughtful. "Every time we do something like this, I'm reminded of why we're doing all of it. It's about the Emilys and the Bills and the Jerrys."

As the SUV pulls away from Arthur Bryant's, you both settle into a comfortable silence, processing the events of the evening. Steve's thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand, a now-familiar gesture that never fails to sooth you and make you feel more connected to him. "You know," he says softly, "I was thinking about what Bill said. About how things feel different now, more divided."

You turn to face him, seeing the thoughtful expression on his face. "What are you thinking?"

Steve's brow furrows slightly. "I've seen this country go through a lot of changes, faced a lot of challenges. But there's always been this... resilience, this underlying unity that pulled us through. I wonder sometimes if we've lost sight of that."

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. "I don't think we've lost it completely. It's still there, just buried under a lot of noise and frustration and fear. What we saw tonight - people coming together, sharing a meal, having real conversations - that's the spirit of America that's always been there."

Steve nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're right. And that’s the job now - uncover that spirit again, remind people of what we can accomplish when we work together."

You shift back to get more comfortable in your seat again, but keep holding hands as you look out the window.

"Are you nervous about the Oprah interview airing tonight?" you ask, breaking the quiet.

Steve chuckles softly. "A little," he admits. "It's one thing to have these intimate conversations with people like we just did, but knowing millions will be watching..." He trails off, shaking his head slightly. “And the revelation about our marriage…”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You were amazing during the interview. Honest, authentic, just like you always are. People will respond to that."

He turns to you, his blue eyes filled with warmth. "We were amazing together," he corrects gently. "You went with me when I climbed out on that limb of truth.”

“I was feeling the need to set the record straight, too,” you reassure him. “It felt like you were reading my mind.”

He lets out a breath that apparently he was holding. “I couldn't imagine doing any of this without you now."

You feel a flutter in your chest at his words. Even after all this time, he still has that effect on you. "Well, good thing you don't have to," you reply with a soft smile.

As the SUV winds its way through the Kansas City streets, you both fall into a comfortable silence, watching the city lights flicker to life as evening overtakes the afternoon.

The weight of the campaign, the responsibility you've taken on, settles over you like a familiar blanket. There’s the mantle of potential presidential job ahead, but then there’s things like the motorcade. To come on this very small outing to get food, there were three SUVs - the one the two of you are riding in, one ahead, and one behind - and eight Secret Security men and women, plus two campaign staffers who had come to make sure things went smoothly in and out, pick up the food, and pay for everything, and Steve is only a candidate.

If he becomes president, it will only grow - more security, bigger motorcade, four years of responsibilities and obligations and opportunities and being scheduled every waking hour of the day.

As you contemplate the enormity of it all, Steve's voice pulls you from your thoughts.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks softly, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on your hand.

You turn to him with a small smile. "Just thinking about how much our lives have changed. And how much more they would change if we win."

Steve nods, understanding in his eyes. "Sometimes I still can't believe we're here, doing this."

"Do you ever regret it?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Deciding to run?"

Steve is quiet for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "No," he says finally, his voice firm. "It's not easy, and there are days when I feel the weight of it more than others. But then I think about the people we meet all day, every day.”

“Your big heart is a sucker for people,” you tease him good-naturedly. “If only you were more surly and selfish.”

Steve chuckles at your teasing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're right, I am a sucker for people. But you're no better, Mrs. Rogers."

As you continue to banter, the SUV turns onto a tree-lined street in a quiet suburban neighborhood. The sun has fully set now, and the warm glow of streetlights illuminates rows of well-maintained houses. Each home seems to tell its own story - some with Halloween decorations already adorning their porches, others with children's bicycles left haphazardly on front lawns.

The SUV slows to a stop in front of a charming two-story house with pale yellow siding and white trim. A wrap-around porch extends across the front, complete with a porch swing gently swaying in the evening breeze. The lawn is neatly manicured, with vibrant flower beds lining the walkway.

"Home sweet home, at least for tonight," Steve says with a smile as he opens the car door. “Tell me you’re just as eager as I am to meet Jake’s family.”

“I’ve been dying of curiosity ever since we found out!” You step out of the car, walking quickly up the front sidewalk.

No one knew Jake’s sister lived in Kansas with her husband and four kids until Elsa brought up whether the team should watch the interview together at the hotel or in groups in a few of the suites when Jake said that wouldn’t be necessary - that his baby sister had insisted she wanted to host the full traveling staff in her home for it.

As you approach the front door, it swings open before you can knock. A petite woman with Jake's same dark brown eyes and infectious smile emerges, her face beaming with excitement.

"Welcome! I'm Kathy, Jake's sister," she says, extending her hand. "It's such an honor to have you both here."

Steve shakes her hand warmly. "The honor is ours, Kathy. We can’t thank you for opening your home to us."

You follow suit, greeting Kathy with a smile. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."

Kathy ushers you inside, where the aroma of freshly baked cookies mingles with the scent of coffee, and the rest of your team begins to file in behind you. The living room is cozy and inviting, with overstuffed couches and chairs arranged to face a large flat-screen TV. Campaign staff members are already scattered around the room, chatting animatedly and nibbling on chips and cookies.

The house is alive with domestic energy, a stark contrast to the usual hotel suites and conference rooms you've grown accustomed to. Children's laughter echoes from somewhere upstairs, and you can hear the distant chatter of voices coming from what you assume is the kitchen.

Kathy's husband, a tall man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper hair, emerges from the dining room. "I'm Tom," he introduces himself, shaking your hands. "We've set up a spot in the dining room for the barbecue spread.”

“Sorry for descending on you with all this chaos, Tom,” Steve apologizes.

“Oh, please, we’ve got four kids from four to sixteen, this is hardly new for us. Bring this kind of feast and you’re welcome any night of the week,” he insists.

Steve heads through to the dining room with Tom, but you make your way to the kitchen instead. Your eyes land on Bucky who’s in close conversation with campaign spokesperson Lisa and one of the new speechwriters.

They look up when they notice you.

“Where’s Sophia?” you ask. You don’t need her in this moment, but you’re so used to her finding you whenever you arrive at a new location if she isn’t already with you that it’s strange you haven’t seen her yet.

With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Bucky informs you, “She’s out on the back porch with Sam.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise and ask, “Alone?”

Bucky just smiles slyly and confirms your suspicions - he's trying to play matchmaker. You had wondered if you were only being hopeful at seeing signs of a potential spark between them, and now you’re glad it wasn’t only you seeing things happening there.

“Hang on,” Lisa slams her water bottle down on the counter. “Sam and Sophia?”

Bucky nods, “Mhmm.”

“No! Not yet!” she blusters. “We’re still three weeks out from election day! This is your first campaign, Barnes, so believe me when I tell you we need to avoid as many campaign crushes coming together as we can for at least another week - two if we can manage it - if we want to keep this operation running like a well-oiled machine! We want people pining as long as we can, not working through the awkward is this crush lasting after the campaign phase in the final days.” And with that, Lisa’s already rushing out of the kitchen, no doubt on her way to need something from one of them.

You shake your head, amused by Lisa’s reaction. As much as you understand her perspective from a campaign management standpoint, you can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Sam and Sophia. After all, you know exactly how difficult it is to navigate feelings in the midst of such an intense, all-consuming experience.

But you wonder how Lisa’s timeline translates to you and Steve because this isn’t a campaign crush? You’re married to the someone you’re building a relationship with on the campaign trail.

Because you have developed strong, deep feelings for Steve. You know they’re real. You know he has feelings for you. You’ve said things to each other indicating you both know this isn’t only a marriage to have a President and potential First Lady campaigning for the White House any more. But what are the next steps, and is there a too soon to take them on the campaign trail? The past week has been wonderful, spending time so effortlessly together as you can, routinely sitting right next to each other without question, holding hands, Steve’s arms often around your shoulders. There hadn’t been more kissing like your night alone in Brooklyn, but there had been more chaste kisses exchanged, and easily.

In a matter of hours things would fundamentally shift given what the rest of the world was going to learn about your marriage from the interview, so it would probably be smart to maintain whatever you were now and ride out whatever the fallout might end up being, and not add any more complexity to the situation.

“She’s right,” the other woman in the room says, bringing your attention back to the moment with Bucky and the speechwriter. “I’ve seen so many campaign crushes peak too soon, and it’s painful to watch,” she laughs - but do you detect it’s a little nervously?

Jake enters the kitchen with a broad smile.

"You made it here!" he exclaims. "I see you've met the family. What do you think of my little sister's humble abode, Mrs. Rogers?"

You return his smile warmly. "It's lovely so far. Your sister and her husband really are so great to host all of us."

Jake chuckles. "Yeah, Kathy's always been like that. Heart of gold. You should see her at Thanksgiving - she insists on inviting every stray and lonely soul in the neighborhood."

You arch an eyebrow. “Jake, I have this suspicion there’s a big softie under your campaign manager persona to rival your sister.”

“Sure, of course,” he admits, “but people can’t know I have a marshmallow heart up front. When the staff are afraid and want to impress me, they set the bar high and only keep climbing from there.” He points at the Bucky and the speechwriter, “I will deny it if you spread that nasty rumor.”

You all laugh.

“Will you two make the rounds?” Jake looks at Bucky and the speechwriter. “Let people know dinner’s up and that I need to talk to everyone about five minutes before the interview starts to air? Living room.”

Jake's request sends the other two off, leaving you alone with him in the kitchen. He turns to you with a more serious expression.

"How are you holding up?" he asks, his voice lowered. "Big night."

You take a deep breath, considering your answer. "I'm okay. A little nervous, I guess. It's one thing to do the interview, but now that it’s done but finally going to be out there for better or worse..."

Jake nods understandingly. "It's natural to feel that way. But I want you to know, you and Steve both knocked it out of the park. The footage I've seen is powerful stuff."

You feel a flutter of anticipation in your stomach. "Thanks, Jake. That means a lot."

"And I do mean it," he continues, leaning against the counter. "You know I don’t get paid to bullshit anyone. The honesty, the vulnerability... it's exactly what people need to see right now.”

You smile gratefully at Jake's reassurance. "I just hope the public sees it that way."

Jake nods confidently. "They will. Look, I've been in this game a long time, and I've rarely seen candidates connect with people the way you and Steve do. This interview is just going to reinforce that."

As you're about to respond, Steve enters the kitchen, a plate of barbecue in hand. "There you are," he says, smiling warmly at you. "I was wondering where you'd gotten off to."

Jake straightens up, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "Just giving your wife a little pep talk before the big show," he says with a wink. "I'll leave you two alone for a bit. Don't forget, living room in about fifteen minutes."

As Jake exits, Steve moves closer to you, setting his plate down on the counter. You grin, familiar now with how much food the super soldier can pack away.

"You okay?" Steve asks softly, his blue eyes searching your face.

You nod, grin softening to a smaller smile. "Jake says we’ll be fine, but I can’t help a few nerves still."

Steve reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. "We're in this together. Whatever happens, we face it as a team."

His touch and words calm you, as they always do now. You squeeze his hand back. "You're right."

Steve smiles, then glances at his plate of barbecue. "Want to help me out with some of this?"

You laugh, eyeing the heaping plate. "No way. I’m saving the small bit of room I’ve got for one of Kathy’s cookies."

The two of you chat with campaign staffers as they filter in and out of the kitchen and Tom and Kathy - who comes through with a plate of her cookies - until it’s time to congregate in the living room.

Once everyone is packed in on all the furniture, extra chairs that have been brought in, and even some pillows and cushions on spots of the floor, its crowded but cozy, and it seems like it would be wrong to have any of the team in the other room for a night like this.

Jake stands in front of the tv - which is already on but muted until the interview goes live - and clears his throat. The room falls silent, all eyes turning to him. The excitement in the air is palpable, a mix of nervous energy and anticipation.

"Alright, team," Jake begins, his voice carrying across the crowded living room. "Before we dive into the interview, I've got some news to share." He pauses, building the suspense, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I just got off the phone with our polling team," he continues, his eyes scanning the room. "We have official data as of an hour ago, and I've got to say, the numbers are looking good. Really good."

A murmur of excitement ripples through the group. You feel Steve's hand tighten around yours, his body tensing slightly beside you.

Jake holds up his hands, calling for quiet. "Now, I don't want anyone getting ahead of themselves, but..." he pauses again before his face breaks into a wide smile. "Our latest poll shows that Steve has gained four points in the last week alone. This puts the Rogers-Young ticket just three points behind our closest competitor."

The room erupts in cheers and applause. You see Sam clap Bucky on the back, both men grinning ear to ear. Campaign staffers high-five each other, their faces beaming with excitement. You feel a surge of elation course through you, and you turn to Steve, who's wearing an expression of disbelief and joy.

“However,” Jake cuts into the celebrations, “no one can coast, especially after tonight. In tonight’s interview, Captain and Mrs. Rogers shared some information about their relationship that is going to dramatically shift public perception of their marriage. There are about a dozen people who already know, and I’m going to tell you now so that you have the next twenty minutes or so to wrap your head around how you’re own reaction.”

The nervous excitement in the room turned to trepidation within less than a second.

Jake continues, “There’s superstitions - or expectations - that there’s always some type of news that will break weeks or days before an election that has a significant impact on the narrative of the campaigns for public perception and tip the scales for who wins - it’s called the October Surprise. This might be it.”

You hold your breath and Steve holds tightly to your hand.

“Some of you have idly asked questions or made comments about the Rogers’ quick engagement and marriage and accepted the statement that they realized if they were going to get married, they needed to do it before the filing deadline to officially get Steve on the ballot. Others have noticed and wondered why we always book them separate rooms. I said the directive to our advance coordinator came from me, that it simplified things if one of them had an earlier departure time than the other.

“The truth is,” Jake explains, “that I said Captain Rogers needed a wife if we were going to have any chance of winning with him running as a third-party candidate without a prior political career. Theirs was a politically arranged marriage, and they met the day of their wedding.”

There are gasps and murmurs immediately around the room.

“I know you will have questions. Elsa is giving the same news to our team back at campaign HQ in DC,” Jake says. “I’d like everyone to watch the interview before you ask any questions or make any statements or decisions. If you’re in this room, I’m betting you’re giving your blood, sweat, and tears for more than the semantics around their marriage, and I think what you’ll learn from their conversation with Oprah will answer most of your questions. Deal?”

There’s still some tension in the air, but the consensus is there.

“Then, here we go,” Jake says. “Remember, as with everything else on this campaign, only Lisa makes statements on behalf of the campaign, and that includes texts from your family and friends who want an inside scoop from you tonight while they watch with the rest of America.”

The television is taken off mute, and within moments, the program begins.

Watching the interview is an out of body experience. You remember every moment, reliving it as it plays out on screen. The ninety minutes seem to stretch on forever, and yet when it’s all over and done, it feels like it can’t have been more than five minutes.

Everyone says it went well. You think it went well. Steve feels like it went well. The team has a few questions - mostly for Jake about strategy and messaging moving forward. Steve says he’s more than willing to answer questions, but Mike - one of the policy advisors - seems to speak for everyone when he says, "I think we're good, Cap. We all probably need some time to fully process this, but the interview spoke for itself. You two were honest and open. I'm still 100% behind this campaign and what you stand for.”

There are nods and murmurs of agreement from the rest of the team. The tension that had filled the room earlier has dissipated, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

Jake claps his hands together. "Alright, team. Let's all get some rest and we'll regroup in the morning. Elsa and Peter have already been working on strategy ahead of tonight, and they and Lisa will already be working tonight and with the first wave of morning shows bright and early. Dump questions and thoughts into the Slack workspace to your directors as needed or straight to me. We’ll meet in the morning discuss our next phase and handling the positive and negative reactions we expect moving forward."

As the group begins to disperse, you and Steve make your way to Kathy and Tom to thank them for their hospitality.

"It was our pleasure," Kathy says warmly, pulling you both into a hug. "We're honored to have been a part of this night."

Tom nods in agreement. "You're welcome back anytime you’re in Kansas. And for what it's worth, I think you two make a great team, arranged marriage or not."

You feel a warmth spread through you at his words. "Thank you, Tom. That means a lot."

Behind them, there’s a smaller TV on behind them, muted, but showing pundits already discussing the interview.

Jake approaches. "The SUV is ready when you are," he says. "I've arranged for you to have a later start tomorrow morning. I figure you both could use some extra rest after tonight."

Steve nods gratefully. "Thanks, Jake. We appreciate it."

Sam, Bucky, and Sophia are all with you and Steve on the ride back to the hotel.

There are six or eight of your team who arrived ahead of you, and you cross paths with them on the way to the hotel bar. They invite the five of you to join them, when you meet Steve’s eyes, you can see he’s feeling as drained you, and so the two of you encourage everyone else to go and make your excuses to go upstairs.

In the elevator, Steve drapes an arm around your shoulders and pulls you to his side. You melt into him, wrapping both arms around his strong chest, and inhale his scent - smiling at the tinge of barbecue smoke that mingled in and still lingers from earlier in the day.

As the elevator rises, you feel the tension of the evening finish melting away. The warmth of Steve's body against yours is comforting, and you allow yourself to fully relax into his embrace.

"What a night," Steve murmurs, his voice rumbling in his chest.

You nod against him. "I still can't believe we actually did it. Told the whole world."

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

The elevator dings as it reaches your floor. Steve keeps his arm around you as you walk down the hallway to your rooms. When you reach your door, you both pause, and he moves away from you just enough to clearly look at you.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his blue eyes searching your face.

You take a moment to consider the question. "Relieved, I think. And a little scared. But mostly... hopeful?"

Steve nods, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I feel the same way. The weight has been lifted, but now we're stepping into uncharted territory."

You lean against the door frame, looking up at him. "No more hiding, no more pretending. It's all out there now."

"For better or worse," Steve agrees, his eyes never leaving yours.

Steve's hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. You move to close the gap between you, cup your hand around his neck, and press your lips to his. There’s heat in the kiss, but it’s soft, warm, promising.

The kiss deepens as Steve's arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. You sink into his embrace, fingers threading through his hair, falling further into the kiss.

When you finally part, you're both a little breathless. Steve rests his forehead against yours, a soft smile on his lips. "I've been wanting to do that all day," he murmurs.

You can't help but smile back. "Me too."

For a moment, you both just stand there, savoring the closeness. Then reality creeps back in - you're still in the hallway of a hotel, with your security details positioned nearby, trying to be as discreet as they can in a long hallway which translates to almost zero discreetness.

Steve seems to realize this too. He straightens up, though he keeps one arm around your waist. "We should both get some sleep," he says, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

You nod, but don't release your hold on him. "Probably," you agree.

For another moment, neither of you moves, but then you hear the elevator ding again at the end of the hallway and break apart as it opens, a few staffers stepping out.

As the staffers approach, you and Steve exchange a look that speaks volumes. The moment has passed, but the lingering warmth remains.

You exchange a few words and offer polite nods as they pass by. Once they're out of earshot, you turn back to Steve with a small, almost shy smile.

"Goodnight, Steve," you say softly, reaching for your room key.

He catches your hand gently before you can insert the key, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. "Goodnight," he murmurs against your skin.

With one last lingering look, Steve reluctantly lets go of your hand and steps back. You slip into your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. Leaning against it, you take a deep breath, your heart still racing from the kiss and the intensity of Steve's gaze.

You move through your nightly routine on autopilot, your mind still buzzing. As you climb into bed, you can't help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. The world knows the truth now, and there's no telling how they'll react.

But as you drift off to sleep, it was such a good day that you find yourself feeling more excited than anxious.

Twelve hours later, you would not believe how wrong you were.

next part: Kansas to Tucson

I gave you a little calm before the storm.

Plus some seeds of Sam & Sophia! 🥰

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[ilovejungwonandhaechan]

scented skies - hjs. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

pairing: scentshop owner!joshua hong x reader

trope: friends-to-???

summary: getting the first smell of joshua's new scents comes with the best friend benefits, but getting a full line of scents dedicated to you? that was not exactly a part of the deal.

🎧 1979 by the smashing pumpkins

word count: 2,926

a/n: happy belated birthday joshua!! not proofread lol

fic under the cut!

The shop was quiet now, a soft hum of the world outside the only sound reaching your ears. The last of the daylight had long since faded, and the warm glow of the scattered lamps gave the room a peaceful, almost dreamlike atmosphere. Shadows flickered across the shelves lined with jars, their contents a rainbow of wax waiting to be transformed into unique candles. The gentle scent of melted wax lingered in the air, adding a cozy layer to the ambiance.

You and Joshua were the only ones left in the shop. The front door had been locked, the customers long gone, and the usual hustle and bustle of the shop had given way to an intimate calm. Joshua's workshop, the create-your-own-candle table, sat in the center of the room, surrounded by an array of fragrance oils, waxes, and little glass containers. The low hum of a fan in the corner was barely audible, but the delicate warmth it radiated added to the shop's welcoming vibe.

Joshua placed two boxes in front of you on the table, the cardboard a little worn from use, but inside, the promise of something new. A freshly brewed coffee, still warm from the café down the street, sat between you two. Its rich, earthy scent blended nicely with the soft perfume of the shop, and for a moment, you just let the quiet and the coziness of the scene settle around you.

"I’m glad you're here," Joshua said, his voice almost conspiratorial as he leaned forward, excitement dancing in his eyes. "I've been waiting to show you our new lines of scents."

The first box Joshua opened revealed small vials, their glass smooth and cool in the dim light. The labels were minimalistic, hand-written with care. You could see the weight of each scent as it was revealed—a promise of new memories to create, new moods to set.

He pulled out the first bottle and held it up, a glint of pride in his eyes. You reached out eagerly, your fingers brushing against the cool glass before uncapping the bottle. As soon as the scent hit you, it was as if you had stepped into a tropical garden at dawn—sharp, sweet pineapple mingled with the fresh, zesty bite of bergamot, and the earthy undertones of cedarwood brought you back to the deep, rich scent of an old forest after rain. It was fresh yet grounding, evoking a sense of summer mornings and long, lazy afternoons.

"That's the first one," Joshua said, his tone soft with an almost secretive air. "I don’t have a name for it yet, but I was thinking something tropical, maybe even a little nostalgic."

The second scent you tried was more delicate, a warm embrace in a bottle. Vanilla, sweet and smooth, curled gently around a subtle hint of coffee—like an espresso brewed fresh on a chilly morning. A touch of pear added a crisp, juicy sweetness, and together, they created a fragrance that felt like the perfect rendezvous in a small, hidden café, the kind with dim lights and rain softly tapping on the windows.

The third scent was a complete contrast—deep, rich, and bold. A blend of almond, rum, clove, and vanilla, it was something undeniably masculine, reminding you of leather-bound books and old whiskey glasses, a dark room lit only by the glow of a fireplace. It carried a weight to it, an air of mystery, like a story that had yet to unfold.

You leaned back in your chair, the soft creak of the wood beneath you grounding you in the moment. The room, now illuminated by scattered lamps, seemed almost enchanted. The faint scent of wax and the lingering perfume of the oils mixed in the air, creating a heady atmosphere that invited conversation.

"You know what’s funny?" you asked, breaking the quiet.

Joshua glanced up at you, raising an eyebrow. "Not particularly."

You giggled to yourself before speaking again. "This is exactly how I imagined Baekhyun’s new album to smell." The words slipped out easily, the connection between scent and music obvious to you now. You didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you before, but these fragrances had a way of capturing the essence of each track you'd been listening to.

Joshua's laughter echoed in the room, warm and rich, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world outside had fallen away.

"I’m being serious," you said, still grinning. "The first one is so obviously 'Pineapple Slice', the second one is so incredibly 'Rendez-Vous, and the last one is totally giving 'Truth Be Told.'"

Joshua let out a dramatic groan, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. "What, do you want me to name this new line of scents after your king Baekhyun?"

Your sarcastic laughter joined his. "Yes, Shua, I think that would be a great idea."

He shook his head, though his eyes twinkled with humor. "I will never take name suggestions from you. Ever."

The air between you both was filled with warmth and familiarity, the kind that only comes from years of friendship. The room, the scents, the soft glow of the lamps—everything seemed perfectly aligned, as though the universe had conspired to create this simple, yet unforgettable moment.

Joshua’s hands moved with a practiced fluidity as he pulled out the second box. It was a bit larger than the first, and as he placed it down in front of you, the lid came off with a soft scrape, revealing yet another set of bottles, each carefully sealed, their colors deep and inviting. The faintest glimmer of excitement flickered across his face as he began to unwrap the scents one by one.

The air in the room seemed to shift slightly, charged with anticipation, and you couldn’t help but lean forward, intrigued. The first bottle he lifted smelled almost cold, a crisp, fresh scent that immediately took you to the edge of a windy cliff, the sea below churning with frothy waves. You could almost feel the air stinging your cheeks. There was something sharp in the top notes—eucalyptus and mint—sharp and clean, like a sharp breath of air after a storm. Beneath it, a grounded base of moss and earth, almost like the feeling of standing in the middle of a clearing just after the rain, the grass still damp beneath your feet.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. “If this was weather…” You trailed off, eyes still closed as the scent wrapped around you. “This would be a cold, windy morning, the kind where the sky is cloudy and heavy with the promise of rain but it never comes. The air is thick with anticipation, and you’re standing outside, waiting for the storm that never quite arrives.”

Joshua leaned in, watching you carefully, a little smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I knew you were going to say something like that,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head affectionately. “Always reading the sky, huh?”

You shrugged with a smile. “I can’t help it. The world smells like weather sometimes, and my brain just connects the dots. Anyway,” you said, reaching for the next bottle. The second scent was much softer, warmer, a delicate mix of amber, warm vanilla, and the faintest hint of lavender. It was the kind of scent that made you think of the slow, steady descent into dusk, when the world is soft and golden. It was a soft glow, the fading sunlight kissing the horizon, and everything in the world seemed to slow down.

“If this one were weather,” you mused with a dreamy look in your eyes, “it would be a late afternoon thunderstorm—one of those brief, violent storms that rolls through, but then the sky clears up again, and everything smells fresh and soaked. The air’s still warm, but there’s this crispness that follows after the rain.”

Joshua’s eyes softened as he watched you, a knowing glint in his gaze. “That’s exactly it. I knew you'd say something like that.” He pulled out the next bottle, this one a darker, more grounding scent. It smelled like deep woods and earth, with notes of sandalwood and leather, wrapped in the comforting warmth of a smoky fireplace. There was something ancient about it, something you could imagine walking into an old cabin in the middle of winter, where the air is dry, the fire crackling, and snow falls silently outside.

You sniffed it deeply, your mind already wandering, and then laughed softly. “This… this is definitely a winter night. The kind when it’s snowing heavily outside, and the world is quiet and still. There’s a clear sky, so you can see all the stars, but the cold just lingers in the air. It’s peaceful but heavy, the kind of night that makes you feel small but also strangely at peace.”

Joshua leaned back with a grin. “I thought you'd say something like that, too,” he said, his tone affectionate but laced with something else, something that made the air between you feel thicker. He began pulling out the labels for each scent, one by one, placing them in front of you as though he couldn’t wait to see your reaction. As he slid each label toward you, your heart skipped a beat.

Each label was adorned with a photograph of the sky—clouds, sunsets, stormy horizons, or a deep, endless night sky—each one a text message you’d sent him over the past few years. There was the picture of the sunset you had sent last summer, with the caption: “The sky's a canvas right now. I swear it looks like the colors are coming alive." Another label had a photo of a thunderstorm, the caption: “The world feels like it’s holding its breath right before the storm hits. Can you smell it?” And the last one was a quiet winter evening you’d shared with him years ago: “The air smells like snow tonight. So still, so clean.”

You froze, your breath catching in your chest. As you looked at the labels, the realization hit you like a wave crashing against a rock. It wasn’t just about the sky or the weather anymore—it was about the connection between you and Joshua, one that you hadn’t seen for what it truly was until now. You hadn’t noticed before, not with this kind of clarity.

He was looking at you now, his expression soft but laced with a hint of vulnerability, something he rarely let show. There was a depth to his gaze, an unspoken understanding in the way he watched you now. The corners of his lips curled up in a quiet smile, but there was something different in the way he held himself, something that felt as though the entire room had shifted.

For a moment, you were completely still, your heart thudding against your chest. His dedication—the care he had taken to incorporate your thoughts, your feelings, your interpretations of the world around you into something so tangible, so beautiful—felt like a promise.

The realization struck you harder than any scent, any image, any word. You’d been falling in love with him for years—since childhood, really—but now, with the pieces of his heart scattered before you, the truth was undeniable. You didn’t know when it had started, or if it had always been there, waiting for the right moment. But suddenly, everything about your relationship with Joshua felt different. He saw you with new eyes. And for the first time, you wondered if maybe he’d always seen you this way—if maybe, all along, he had been falling in love with you, too.

You looked up at him, feeling a pang in your chest. There was warmth in your face, but a strange ache at the back of your throat. “Shua…” you whispered, not quite knowing what to say, but feeling everything at once. You blinked, not trusting your words to come out right.

Joshua didn’t say anything at first, just gazed at you with an intensity that made your heart skip. Then, as if testing the waters, he spoke softly, a touch of humor in his voice but something deeper beneath it. “You know,” he said, his voice almost too quiet, “I’ve always thought the sky is just as beautiful as you say it is. But now… I think I understand it a little more.”

His words, though simple, made the air between you two feel electric, like everything had just changed. And for the first time, you weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or simply sit in the stillness of it all. But one thing was for sure: the landscape of your relationship had shifted forever.

The space between you felt different now, fuller, like an unspoken truth was hanging in the air, too delicate to name yet too real to ignore. And in that moment, the only thing that mattered was how everything—his words, his look, the way your heart seemed to flutter—felt like something new, something you'd both been dancing around for years without ever realizing it.

[spectre-azula]

LACKADAISY OC🐈‍⬛

Hey y'all! Just want to share two of my characters here, you're welcome to collaborate and be friends with them 🪄

Harkin Väsäinen🌹

“Brains aren’t just for thoughts—they’re for feelings too.”

Bonnabelle Väsäinen☀️

"I was reading about hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia when I realized that if I say extra-long words, the important person will probably give me a cookie to keep me quiet. That’s definitely how negotiation works, right?"

I have other information and details about them but just click it down below to proceed only if you want to know them more ✨

Introduction:

Name: Dr. Harkin Väsäinen

Age: 32

Height/Weight: 5"10 / 154 lbs

Voice/Accent: Low, calm voice with a Finnish accent

Cat Symbolism: Siberian Cat – intelligent, cool-tempered, loyal

Appearance:

Lean but toned build

Slightly sunken violet eyes

Sharp jawline, soft cheekbones

Prefers button-downs, vests, long coats/lab coats, muted pastels

Has mild oculocutaneous albinism

Likes:

Lemon tea

Stargazing with Bonnie

Candied lemon peels

Reading rare books

Dislikes:

Loud disruptions

Overbearing people

Adults who talk down to children

Hobbies:

Journaling case notes

Organizing books by obscure systems or reading

Tasting Lemons (actual Lemons!)

Personality:

Harkin is a man of quiet depth and ironclad gentleness. There is a certain stillness to him—the kind found in snow-covered forests, or libraries where only the ticking of a clock can be heard. His words are meaningful, stitched with care and precision. As a psychiatrist private practitioner himself—he listens more than he speaks, but when he does speak, his voice carries a soft authority that hushes a room. By age 23, he had already earned a PhD in Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences, graduating top of his class and publishing a widely respected thesis on trauma and resilience. Now, he runs a successful private practice, holds licenses in two countries, and publishes psychological journals that other professionals quote in conferences.

He is often mistaken for cold due to his pale features and observant silences, but those who know him understand: Harkin is warmth hidden beneath layers of caution, intellect, and empathy. The kind of father who packs lemon-curd toast for his daughter with a handwritten riddle on the napkin. He journals thoughts in poetic metaphors and stargazes not for astronomy, but for peace. Harkin sees people as puzzles made of glass—not meant to be solved, but handled with reverence.

Introduction:

Name: Bonnabelle Väsäinen

Age: 6

Height/Build: Very short and petite, chubby cheeks

Voice/Accent: Clear voice with faint Finnish intonation

Cat Symbolism: Ragdoll Cat – affectionate, playful, clingy

Appearance:

Bright yellow-brown eyes

Rich orange hair

Lolita outfits but sometimes wear oversized sweaters and animal-themed jumpers

Likes:

Cheese sticks

Warm milk with honey

Spelling impossibly long words

Drawing maps of imaginary places

Dislikes:

Wassabi or Anything Bitter

Being babied (except her dad Harkin)

“Boring” answers

When people don’t let her finish her 100 questions

Hobbies:

Reading dictionaries + histories

Naming rocks and keeping them as her guardians xD

Making cute little pins

Climbing furniture to deliver speeches (with those silly jargons)

Personality:

Bonnie is a wildflower in a field of neatly trimmed grass. She is brilliantly odd and unfiltered, an exuberant brain housed in the body of a tiny chaos-gremlin. Her love of knowledge is matched only by her desire to share it—whether or not you asked. She's the type to build an elaborate cardboard kingdom in the living room, complete with its own economy, just because she found an old cereal box and somehow she loves mixing jargon words, turns out to be a funny one but you can't stop her with her big interests throughout expressing odd and long words in it.

Moreover, Bonnie was fiercely but emotionally attuned, switching from rambling about volcanoes to hugging someone who looks sad in an instant. Her logic is airtight—even sometimes she’s entirely wrong. With Bonnie, nothing is ordinary, and every day becomes a hypothesis or an adventure. She is curious, complicated, and a little exhausting, but endlessly lovable.

Thank you for your time reading!

[the-ellia-west]

Hello and Welcome!

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

About me:

I am a Christian, and a Devoted one!

I am a Minor (High School) So DON'T BE WEIRD

I am a Woman

I am Straight and a Hopeless Romantic, but I'm not looking for a Relationship currently

I am an Author/Writer

Amateur artist, (Started drawing August 2024)

I am a Plotter, and I just recently figured that out!

I love to ramble and listen to rambles!

My MBTI is INFP-T

I live in the USA Midwest but I spell grey with an e

✦ I promise I don't bite! Please interact with me! ✦ Feel free to ask me anything about Writing or my WIPs, I love to help!

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Favorites: Book: John Carter, A Princess of Mars (By Edgar Rice Burroughs) Movie: Narnia, Voyage of the Dawn Treader Artist: Tobymac Song: Sleep in the Storm (Unspoken) Colors: Blood Red, Gold, Lilac Purple, Forest Green Hobbies: Writing, Doodling, Rambling Food: Eggs, Grapes, Noodles, Specifically Spaghetti, and Pork lo-mein Drink: Taro Milk tea & Cherry Italian Soda Characters: Haymitch, Zuko, Knuckles, Eustace, Darth Maul, Gummigoo, Hunter, Doey, Yarnaby Tropes: Magnificent Bastards, True Kings, Romantic Subplots, Grumpy Mentors, Darkest Hours, Redemption arcs, & Happy Endings Current Interests: Sonic, The Owl House, TADC, ATLA, Fool's Gold, PPT ch4

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

I Post about:

Any of my Interests

Talking with and Supporting Friends

My Life and Feelings

My WIPS! (Usually Characters but sometimes Plot & Actual Writing) -[See Below]

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

My Wips!

Just Click on the Titles for more info! (Masterposts Coming soon) QNA OPEN - PLEASE ASK ABOUT MY OCS

Jest of Royalty -JoR- Genre - High Fantasy Action Drama Type - Webcomic Theme - Anyone can be redeemed if They have the Remorse and are willing to put in the work Description - A Young Farm boy named Ronan Breaks the Magical Staff of a god, and embarks on a Vengeful quest to get them back, Finding a new family along the way and learning the true meaning of mercy and love

Fallen Genre - Romance Fantasy Type - Written Theme - Nothing said, done, or changed, Can Make a Person unworthy of love Description - In a World where name means everything, a Noblewoman named Adémiah runs away from home and meets a Criminal called Dyn who saves her life several times, and through a dangerous journey they learn to love one another, with the help of a Traveller called Bard

Chomik Genre - High-Fantasy Comedy Type - Comic Theme - None Description - Young Hero, Kaezal, is yoinked into a quest for knowledge by a researcher, Akea, and they come across a variety of different Foes and Reoccurring Villains

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Tags:

#Ellia scribbles - My Drawings, doodles, & art practice

#Ellia's rambling - My incoherent Ramblings about the stuff I love

#Ghost-stories - My Actual Writing

#Tea and trinkets - Yapping with my Friends

#Quill-and-ink - My Poetry

#Haunting box - Any asks

#Ellia's dollhouse - My Real Life

#Ellia's dolls - My Hyperfixations/interests

#Fallen wip - Anything important Fallen-related

#Chomik work - Anything Chomik-related

#Ellia's jor - Anything JoR-related

#JoR memes - Memes and random funny stuff

#JoR family - Character info, Team Dynamics, conversations, ect.

#JoR psychology - We dive into the minds of the Characters

#JoR characters - Stuff about individual characters

#JoR vital - Things I may need for later/important stuff

#JoR building - Worldbuilding

#JoR story - The Plot

#JoR snippets - Scenes, Writing, ect.

#JoR thoughts - My ramblings about the WIP

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

My Moots:

@thewritingautisticat @yolbert @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @lunaeuphternal @an-indecisive-nerd

@homelessnerd @thebookishkiwi @write-with-will @pastellbg @i-do-anything-but-write

@darkandstormydolls @supercimi @blargh-500 @sunflowerrosy @corinneglass

@carb0n-m0n0xid3 @tiredpapergirl @vesanal @fourwingedsnake @ellowynthenotking

@busybussinbee @the-letterbox-archives @harleyacoincidence @cosmolumine @urnumber1star

@thecrazyalchemist @i-hate-happy-endings @stars-forever @fantastictrashpolice @blue-kyber

@artsandstoriesandstuff @rivenantiqnerd @cybercelestian @aalinaaaaaa @agirlandherquill

@smudged-red-ink @clever-naming-convention @carb0n-m0n0xide @theweirdbox123 @seastarblue

Farewell, and have a good day Loves!

[celiastjamesoscar]

Clean

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: when Natasha comes back hurt from a mission, she lets you clean her wounds.

Warnings: fluff, light cussing, mentions of sex, jokes about kidnapping, reader being a menace

My Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6K

AN: this is probably the softest fic I have ever written 💀

The sound of soft footsteps echoed throughout the compound as Natasha made her way into the kitchen. She quietly opened a cabinet and grabbed a bowl along with the box of Raisin Bran. She set the bowl down on the island before moving to the fridge and grabbing some milk, and then she made herself a bowl of cereal.

Today had been one of the rougher missions she's been on; it was supposed to be a simple bag and grab, but Hydra agents had gotten the drop on them, and she came back battered and bruised. Along with the bruises, Natasha had minor cuts littering her body, and a small jolt of pain ran through her body every time she moved.

You had warned Natasha not to go on the mission; it sounded too easy. And now, as she sat on the couch and rewatched her comfort episodes of New Girl, she wished that she had listened to you. You were always the wiser one in the relationship, and Natasha sometimes hated that about you. You would always try and talk her out of doing risky missions and she rarely listened to you. She was scared to face your wrath, so she wasted as much time as possible before entering your shared bedroom.

You had joined the Avengers as a surgeon; you were one of the country's best and met Natasha during one of her missions. She was undercover at a bar in Italy when she saw you.

It was a rowdy Friday night, and Natasha’s target was at the same bar. You had accidentally bumped into her, causing her to ruin her dress, and naturally, she was bitchy with you for it. You ushered out a plethora of apologies; you told her that you were only here because your friend had dragged you here but then left once she found someone to hook up with, causing you to be stressed, and that’s why you accidentally ran into her.

You bought her a drink as an apology, and she gladly accepted it. You wanted to talk to her, but she told you she had some business to take care of once she saw her target leave the building.

“See you in a minute, yeah?” She asked once she finished her drink and placed her hand on your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Of course,” you replied, smiling as you watched the redhead leave the bar. Natasha was a willow, and she bent right to your wind, begging you to take her hand and meet her after dark.

Naturally, you didn’t see the woman again, and you felt ashamed for getting your hopes up. Eventually, you saw Natasha again in the same bar, and this time, she bought you a drink. The two of you conversed back and forth about your lives, even though you suspected she wasn’t telling you the whole truth about her job.

“I do background checks at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington,” Natasha said as she sipped her drink. You lightly laughed at her words but didn’t pry; you knew she was lying because her forest-green eyes refused to meet yours for over three seconds. You told her that you were a surgeon at one of the hospitals in New York City, and when she asked what specialty you are, you told her trauma.

The pair talked into the hours of the night, and when it came time to leave, Natasha asked you for your number, and you happily gave it to her. You spent one more week with Natasha before you returned to New York, and it was the best week of your life. You went on lunch dates with her every day she was free, and you quickly bonded with the woman.

When it came time for you to leave, you kissed Natasha’s cheek as you stood outside her apartment with a bouquet of lavender and violets. “I’m heading back to New York at 3 today, and I just wanted to say goodbye before I left,” you said with a smile, but your eyes had pain in them as you handed Natasha her flowers. She smiled at them and welcomed you into her apartment while she put them in flowers. The apartment was bare of any photos except a few that you could tell were of a fake family near the fireplace in the living room.

Take-out containers were in the trash can, while the fridge had a scarce amount of food in it. You weren’t naïve; all the signs you had picked up on that Natasha was a spy. You had dipped your toes in this line of work before; you had worked with Interpol for a year and a half before switching to medicine, so you knew all the signs.

When Natasha returned after putting the flowers in a vase, she invited you to watch a movie with her until your flight, and you gladly accepted it. When the clock hit one, you pulled your head up from Natasha’s lap and grabbed your things. “See you in a minute, Natasha,” you said as you kissed her cheek again and disappeared down the hallway.

Naturally, when Natasha returned to the States, she ran your name across all kinds of databases, and eventually, she found you. She read your file a dozen times: graduated high school as the valedictorian with enough college credit to be an incoming sophomore, finished a year early in criminal Justice, and soon worked with Interpol as a spy. You spent 18 months with Interpol before an injury threw you out, and that’s when you switched to medicine.

Just like high school, you graduated at the top of your class and got an internship at one of the best prestigious hospitals in the country. You’ve been there for roughly a year now, but you were one of the best residents there.

You weren’t even back home for three weeks when an agent from SHIELD asked you if you would like a job offer at Stark Tower. At first, you were a bit shocked at the offer, but when you entered the first floor of the Stark Building, and you saw your redhead, you knew it was her doing.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Natasha said with a sly grin as she led you through the luxurious building and toward a room with ‘T. Stark’ on the name mantle beside the door. You give her a questioning look before entering the room. “Good luck,” Natasha said gently before leaving you alone with the genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist.

The interview went well, aside from the fact that Tony kept hitting on you, and you were offered the job of a head surgeon. The salary was definitely an increase, and it had much better benefits than your old job, plus, you would get to see Natasha a lot more, so of course you took the offer.

One week into your new job and Natasha asked you on a date. It was nothing fancy; a picnic date on the top of Stark Tower, but you would be lying if it weren’t the best date you’d ever been on. You two talked and drank a bottle of Dom Perignon deep into the night, and when it was time to go your separate ways, Natasha pulled you into a soft and gentle kiss. It’s been eight months since Natasha started calling you hers, and she’s never been happier.

However, as she recalls all the happy memories since the start of your beautiful and gentle relationship, she gets called back into reality when she hears soft footsteps echo off the walls. She held her breath and prepared for the scolding that she would inevitably receive, but to her surprise, it was Wanda up looking for a light night snack. “Trouble in paradise?” Wanda asked as she grabbed her own stash of pop-tarts; no one dared to mess with Thor’s.

Natasha sighed at Wanda’s words; the poor girl was on the same mission as her, and Wanda knew how badly Natasha was banged up. “No, I just know that Y/N is going to have my head when she sees how bad it is,” Natasha said with a defeated sigh as Wanda walked over to her.

The Sokovian placed her hand on Natasha’s shoulder and gently squeezed it, “I wish you the best of luck with your lady; may your survival be long,” Wanda joked as she walked off.

“May your death be quick,” Natasha mumbled under her breath once Wanda left the room. She finished up her cereal and cleaned the bowl and spoon before she tipped-toed to your shared bedroom. The Russian quietly opened the door and gently climbed into bed, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you into her. You sighed at the contact before subconsciously nudging your head into your girlfriend’s neck.

“Where were you?” You mumbled into the crook of Natasha’s neck before kissing her clothed collarbone. “I had an amazing day, love. I’m so glad you asked,” Natasha joked as she pulled you closer and kissed the top of your head.

You groaned at Natasha’s words before nudging your head against the redhead’s chest. “Life360 said you got home an hour ago, Nat. So where were you?” You asked as sleep left your body. Natasha knew that this conversation could go one of two ways: she could be honest with you and have you scold her, or she could lie and have you not find out until training in the morning and then have you scold her. “I'm cheating on you,” Natasha lied.

“Seriously, Natasha? I'm not going to fall for that,” you stated. The last time she had pulled that was when she snuck out at midnight to watch Barbie with Clint. When she told you she was cheating on you, you went ballistic; you were on the verge of throwing her off a cliff until you saw a pink box in her purse backpack.

“Natasha, what’s this?” You had asked as you made your way over toward her bag. She tried to stop you, but you were too quick, and you pulled out a Barbie doll from its box. “Did you go watch Barbie without me?”

“Y/N, I love you so much, but this was the only time Clint could go with me. You are so beautiful,” Natasha said while making her way over to you. “I bought you the Barbie and car the theater was selling.”

You scoffed at Natasha’s words before setting the Barbie down on your dresser along with the car. “I want to wrap my hands around your neck and not let go, but I’m going to let it slide: on one condition,” you stated as you walked back to Natasha and stopped before her.

“Yes, anything.”

“I get to be on bottom for a week, no questions asked.”

“Deal.”

See, Natasha was one of those people who will lie only when the truth sounds like a lie, and you quickly found that out after that incident.

Pulling back from the memory, Natasha wrapped her arms around you tighter and whispered, “Promise me you won’t get mad?”

“Depends on what it is,” you replied. Natasha took a deep breath and kissed your head once and then twice before speaking, “The mission went a little south today, but I’m okay.”

At the mention of the mission going wrong, you pushed yourself up and the bed and turned on the lamp next to the bed. “What happened, Natasha? Are you alright? I swear to god if someone hurt you,” you trailed off at the end at the thought of losing your lover. “I’m fine, detka. Don’t worry,” Natasha replied as she gently grabbed your hands at the hems of her shirt.

“Natasha,” you warned as your eyes pierced the other soul; she knew you could be intense, especially regarding her safety and well-being. The Russian groaned at your words before allowing you to take her shirt off, and her heart broke at the small gasp that left your lips.

“I told you it’s not bad,” Natasha joked as you pulled her into the bathroom and flipped on the lights. You motioned for her to sit on the sink while you looked through the cabinets for a first aid kit. Now that you were in better lighting, you could see all the cuts and bruises that littered your other half’s body. There was hardly enough skin that wasn't either turning a dark purple or that didn’t have a cut on it; you didn’t know whether to scold her for being so reckless or to cherish her for still being here with you.

Deciding to go with both, you gently cupped Natasha’s cheeks and pulled her into a loving kiss expressing all your love for her. She kissed you back as she wrapped her arms around your waist and slid off the sink. “I love you,” Natasha murmured against your lips as her breath fanned your lips. You kissed the words and pulled back, “I love you too, but I cannot believe you got this hurt and didn’t tell me about it! Now, get back on the sink so I can take care of you,” you said as you opened the first aid kit.

You grabbed some peroxide and put it on a cotton ball before gently pressing it against a cut on Natasha’s lower abdomen. Natasha hissed at the sting and gripped the sink’s edge as she groaned. “I told you to be careful,” you remarked as you set the cotton ball down and put some Neosporin on a bandit. “Yeah, yeah,” Natasha mumbled.

“Tell you what, for every cut I clean up, you get a kiss?” You proposed as you gently placed the bandit on Natasha’s cut. The redhead smiled at this proposition and tried to pull you into another kiss, but you put a finger to her lips, stopping her advances, “Nuh-uh, you’ve already gotten yours for this cut.”

The woman threw her hand back and groaned at your words, “Why do you hate me?” She exclaimed. You scoffed at her words as you grabbed another cotton ball and put peroxide on it, “I don’t hate you; I’m just not letting you bend the rules,” you said with a playful smile as you ignored how Natasha mumbled something under her breath.

When you placed the cotton ball on a cut near Natasha’s collarbone, applying more pressure than needed, she hissed and pushed you away from her, “Ow! What the fuck was that?!”

You rolled your eyes at Natasha’s comment before grabbing her shoulder with your left hand to keep her in place as you pressed the ball back onto her skin. “Stop being a baby, Nat, and let me clean your wounds,” you replied with a slight chuckle, causing Natasha to smack your arm. “Hey! Do not hit me, you little shit!”

“Don’t call me a baby, then!” Natasha retorted, refusing to let you clean her wounds again. You scoffed at her words and put the first aid kit back in the cabinet, and walked off to bed, “Fine, then. If you aren’t going to let me take care of you, I guess you just have to have Doctor Lee take care of you.”

Natasha froze at the mention of Doctor Lee. She’s only been to him once since you started working here, and she hated every second of it. You had the day off and were having dinner with a friend when you got a call from Natasha.

“Excuse me for a second,” you said to your friend while exiting the dining table. “What’s up, my love?” You asked when you stepped outside the restaurant and answered the phone. You had expected Natasha to ask if you would pick her up some food or maybe even ask if she could top tonight, but you didn’t expect her to scream in Russian about Doctor Lee. You had picked up a little Russian just from being around Natasha, so you knew the basic of what had happened: she had gotten a small cut on a mission that required stitches, and Lee made the cut worse, so Natasha had to get more stitches than needed and Lee complained about how rude Natasha was to her face.

Doctor Lee was a grumpy older man but was the best doctor you had ever worked with, so everyone put up with his attitude. You listened to Natasha rant about him for another five minutes before you interrupted her, “Natasha, I love you so much, but I’m going to need to get back to Kate before she thinks I left her,” you said with a small laugh when you heard Natasha groan. “Fine, let’s just hope I don’t bleed out all over our floor, and you have to clean it up,” she replied in an upset tone.

You rolled your eyes at her comment as you walked back into the restaurant, “you will be fine until I get back. If it’s that bad, I’m sure Lee can help you again.”

“He’s the one who got me into this mess!” Natasha yelled into the phone.

“Ah, so it must have been him who stabbed you then?”

The phone was silent for a few seconds before Natasha replied, “Yes.”

“Oh my god, you leave that poor man alone! He’s brilliant,” you said as you sat down at your table and across from Kate, who sent you a knowing smile. She was friends with Natasha’s sister, and she knew that the sisters shared a similar trait of exaggerating things.

“Just because he’s smart doesn’t mean he’s a good person,” Natasha retorted.

“I guess you’re right. I’ll talk to you when I get home, okay? I love you.”

“That’s if I don’t bleed out and die,” Natasha mumbled into the phone before adding with excitement, “I love you too,” before hanging up.

Natasha shook off the painful memory when she heard you get into bed and shut off the lamp. “Hey, Y/N. Wait,” Natasha said as she walked into the bedroom and sat beside you, touching your hip. “Please don’t make me go to Lee.”

You rolled over and faced Natasha, your face heating up as her hand was now on your lower abdomen, and you had to fight back your thoughts. “Are you going to complain?” You questioned. Natasha shook her head and prayed that you would finish cleaning her wounds; she would rather die than return to Lee. “Okay,” you said as you moved from the bed and walked back into the bathroom with Natasha on your heels.

“Do I still get kisses for every cut cleaned?” Natasha asked as she sat on the sink. “Maybe, if you behave,” you replied with a playful smirk as you got out the first aid kit again.

You repeated the same actions with the cotton ball as you did moments earlier and lightly pressed it onto a small cut on Natasha’s shoulder. “Do you remember when we first met?” Natasha asked randomly as you placed a bandaid on her cut. “Mhm,” you replied as you quickly kissed the Russian’s lips, holding up to your end of the deal, “the bar in Italy.”

“Yeah, but do you remember when we met again in the bar?”

You weren’t quite sure where Natasha was going with this, but you wanted to play along. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

The redhead hissed when she felt the sting of peroxide seep into her cut as you pressed the cotton against her skin. You noticed how her eyes looked everywhere but you and how she played with her fingers in her lap; she was nervous about something, and you had no idea why. “I went to that bar every single night after I first saw you,” Natasha admitted after you placed another bandaid on her.

You laughed at her words and her nervousness. “Natasha, you literally stalked me and basically kidnapped me after knowing me for a week! Why are you so nervous to admit you also stalked the bar looking for me?”

“I did not stalk you!” Natasha defended, “I just missed you so much; I searched everywhere for you and didn’t stop until I found you. And I didn’t kidnap you. You were 24 years old!”

“Mhm, if you say so, you can still kidnap an adult,” you replied as you threw away the ball and kissed Natasha again, “that looks like all the serious ones.”

Natasha frowned at your comment; she didn’t enjoy you cleaning the cuts, but she wanted the reward of your kisses. “No, I think I have some more on my back,” your girlfriend replied.

You pulled her off the sink by her hands and turned her around; there were tiny cuts over her back and some light bruises, but nothing that needed cleaning. You pressed your pointer finger into a bruise that was turning purple, “nope, looks good.”

The pain that shot through Natasha’s back when you dug your finger into her bruise was something she would never forget; she would be on her deathbed and still remember that feeling. She ducked away from your finger and turned around, “What the fuck is wrong with you?! That hurt!”

“That’s what you get for ‘adultnapping’ me,” you replied as you put up the first aid kit and left the bathroom. The older woman was right on your heels after turning off the lights, “Don’t act like it wasn’t the best crime ever.”

The sound of laughter bounced around the room as you climbed into bed and opened your arms for Natasha, and she quickly crawled into your grasp, laying her head on your chest. “We were jet-set; Bonnie and Clyde, huh?” You replied and placed a kiss on Natasha's head. “Mhm. I’m just glad you didn’t turn me in for the crime,” Natasha mumbled against your collarbone as sleep slowly took her.

“Of course not, my love,” you replied as you kissed Natasha’s head and rubbed her back as sleep consumed you; slowly drifting off with the love of your life in your arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: I rushed this and I kinda hate it but oh well 💀