#Ashley Finally Writes

[crazymadpassionatelove]

Cool Fiancè

Notes: 18+ sex mentioned

Special shout-out to @ab4eva and her fabulous editing skills! This is the second installment in my cool girl saga. Read Part 1 here

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Five Things to know about Austin Butler’s New Fiance ::

Although his reps couldn't be reached for comment, sources close to the Elvis actor confirm he has popped the question to his mysterious lady love!

Butler and the stunning brunette were recently spotted at the iconic Les Puces market in Paris last Friday, and she seemed to be sporting a new accessory. Austin was dressed in a black leather jacket, a white v neck tee, and black moto boots. She was clad in a classic trench coat and vintage Dior kitten heels as she kept her head down and let the winner lead the way. His face was mostly obscured by aviator sunglasses, but his smile was very apparent according to onlookers. “Austin was holding her hand and pointing out jewelry at different booths. They were very friendly with local vendors and Austin ended up buying her a gold charm bracelet. He told the dealer the bracelet was a momento to celebrate their recent engagement,” a fellow American tourist overheard. The twosome reportedly spent the prior week soaking in the city of lights and meeting with the YSL fashion house. Austin was recently tapped as the brand's newest ambassador.

Since returning stateside paparazzi pics have finally surfaced and revealed a closer look at that ring. Montana based indie jeweler Jada Kaye has been revealed as the designer of that serious sparkler. The 5 carat, flawless emerald-cut emerald is set in solid gold and flanked by two white diamonds on either side. Inside sources told Elle Magazine that Kaye and Butler worked closely together to craft the one of a kind creation. There's even rumored to be an inscription on the inside that's significant to the couple and the ring is estimated to cost a cool $100,000. Austin's fiancè was photographed heading into a ballet studio yesterday wearing pink tights, a pink leotard, Ugg boots, and of course that ring. Her curly dark brown hair was slicked back into a bun and she seemed to be sporting a pair of the actor's sunglasses.

Here's everything you need to know about the future Mrs. Austin Butler;

She's from New England —

A, as she's known, was born in Rhode Island. She grew up splitting her time between Rhode Island and Kennebunkport, Maine. Her teenage years were spent working the local Del’s lemonade truck, former neighbors say. She attended the Rhode Island School of Design after high school but never graduated.

She and Austin met via her former job –

Whilst working at the New York location of Vibrant Vintage, A, served as the fashion archives buyer. She also happened to be on hand when Butler visited the store. Supposedly she helped him find the perfect pair of leather boots, and the rest is history. Things clearly moved quickly between the two lovebirds, with A relocating to Los Angeles not long after. According to Vibrant Vintage, she is no longer employed there but “remains a close friend and consultant,” says their PR team.

She's a hit with his friends –

She organized a birthday party for her man’s co-star and close friend, Callum Turner. Turner posted an Instagram story showing off a fairly large garden party celebration and a “homemade blueberry glaze cake” according to the post. “Huge thanks to Austin's lovely lady xx” accompanied the video footage. She and Austin were also seen dining with his other Masters of the Air co-star, Nate Mann, while in Paris recently.

They've (supposedly ) got matching ink –

An unnamed employee at the iconic Bang Bang tattoo in NYC has said that Austin and A made a late night visit to the tattoo studio. Where exactly are the said-to-be matching minimalistic tattoos? Reportedly, Austin was inked on his left hip and A on her inner left thigh.

Old fashioned love letters are her thing -

Notably social media shy, Austin and A have taken up the lost art of handwritten love notes. Sources exclusively say that custom monogrammed stationery was crafted for the duo whilst Austin was filming in England. The hand pressed, vintage inspired paper bears a unique coat of arms style symbol with intertwining letter A’s and two sparrows (Fun fact! Sparrows mate for life and always find their way back, no matter how far they fly). While separated, the couple often writes letters to one another, even having the letters sent via jet instead of mail for privacy reasons!

_______

Suddenly one morning articles begin to pour in about your engagement. It catches you off guard, that ring akin to a skating rink has been sitting pretty on your hand for a bit now. The engagement had happened so naturally as everything with the two of you seems to. In the early morning hours while his swollen, rock hard member thrusts into you repeatedly you begin to awaken. On your side, his teeth clamp down on your shoulder as his finger twirls round the curls at the nape of your neck.

His gasps and needy groans tickle your ear. “Couldn't help myself..”, he shudders as you suddenly clamp down around him, barely able to register it all. You stretch and arch, allowing him the room and space to take what he needs. It is his after all. His teeth and pillowy soft lips mark your shoulder blades and when you reach down to where the two of you are joined, you feel his very full balls. Your newly manicured fingers tease and tug the best you can, scrunched up like some sort of acrobat. “Ugh, ugh…baby… you're gonna make me -”. Then he does. Hot, viscous, cream floods you and makes you sigh in a contented whimper. “Thanks darlin’,” he pets your head and you close your eyes dreamily. That is until you hear him rustling around in the bedside table next to him.

You cock open an eye, figuring he's looking for smokes or even the book he had been reading late last night. Your hands are stretched above your head, gripping a pillow. The perfect position for him to suddenly slip the most gorgeous piece of jewelry you've ever seen onto your finger. When your eyes shoot open and you jump up, he's lying there grinning that smile that makes you weak at the knees. “Will you be my wife?” As if your answer would be anything but yes, please Daddy. You smother him in kisses, straddling him and giggling. It's the perfect moment, the perfect proposal. You were never one to want a fireworks display or heaven forbid, those ridiculous and wasteful walls of flowers other celebrities seem to have for every occasion. This private, simple moment is everything you could ask for.

You feel the sudden urge to take him in your mouth despite him just finishing. With your head hanging off the side of the bed, you take him down your throat. Choking and gagging, you really give it your all. Fighting to keep your eyes open so you can see the way his lip curls and his eyes slam shut. Talking is always your thing. This time, though, he's sputtering and rasping words of utter devotion and love. Promises to worship your body until the day he dies. My perfect, perfect wife. Soon you can't be sure if the tears are from his cock down your throat, or his beautiful words. Maybe both. Those pretty boy fingers twist and tug on your nipples and then crawl lower and flick that special spot. The only fireworks you enjoy happen, twice for you actually. He's so dutiful and charming, when you're done pulling yourself back together and fixing your hair, he's handing you a surprise glass of champagne. What a way to mark the occasion.

You decline a proper press announcement. Phone and FaceTime calls follow to those who truly matter to you both - your families, both absolutely thrilled. Then Baz, Cal, The Presley's, everyone can't stop gushing about how perfect you are for each other. That ring, oh how sweet he designed it himself. You come up with a family-appropriate story to describe the proposal and the evening that followed, conveniently leaving out the mind-blowing sex the two of you have all over the house and in the hot tub. Why do things feel so different now that you're engaged? You can't get over the way the light hits the ring as you stroke him and something in that dirty girl heart of yours feels like it's really, truly, official when you have to clean his cum off the stone.

He's due back to set for some reshoots a few days later and of course you follow. Bringing throw pillows from your living room to spruce up his trailer and plotting out how to plan the most private, under the radar wedding possible while you lounge in his trailer in a cute little dress you sew yourself from vintage scarves bought in London. Your newest hobby, that and the ballet classes. He yammers on and on about wanting to sneak in and see you dance. You're sure it's just the tights and leotards spurring his interest though, let's be real. The paparazzi are as relentless as ever, but head down with big sunglasses helps keep the chaos at bay.

You visit Disney World, a whole crew, the two of you, your families, friends with their little ones. Thankfully Disney security is familiar with celebrity guests and you can actually let your guard down for once. Which is good, because seeing Austin chase after your friend's newly toddling little ones makes your stomach flip flop with joy. You make a mental note to expedite the wedding plans, he makes it known that he's chomping at the bit to be a father. When you visit Main Street, you decide a pair of new Mickey ears are in order. Gold stitching with Mrs. Butler is what you finally decide on after Austin's encouragement, his hand on your lower back as you walk miles and miles around the park with hands full of churros and cotton candy. Sure, some overzealous fans snap cell phone pics of you with your ears and immediately post them to those ridiculous Austin fan blogs who've now decided you are the evil villain in his story. You won't allow them to burst your Disney bubble though. Your fairytale is just beginning after all.

__

[icequeen-07]

For @wacem! I'm your Secret Santa ;P I hope you enjoy some Chris/Ashley angst from after the mountain! I threw in a handful of headcanons as well <3 It was a deLIGHT to write!

@untildawn-secretsanta

[cringefaecompilation]

see, i made the mistake of thinking that people cared about fearne as a character outside of shipping and just made the assumption fans would be nasty about her if any ships were to become canon based on her character. but people clearly do not see her as anything more than a romantic interest or wingman for the character or ship they like.

like i can go into ashton's tag and find a lot of debate on what their arc is and what his opinions on stuff happening in the world outside of shipping is, but i try to go into fearne's tag to find like-minded individuals to say "hey it's a little fucked up that fearne's getting strongarmed into taking a shard she has said time after time she doesn't want that could very well thanos snap her into dust by her friends (including orym. orym.) who mere days ago assured laudna they wouldn't let anything bad happen to her but don't show her that same leeway because 'destiny said so' and 'they'd make a cute couple' and the only pushback against it is ashton feeling uncomfy and grossed out about being shoved into said couple against their will and she's just an afterthought" only to find it's full of people arguing if callowmoore is Inherently Problematic™ and nothing else talking about her outside of that except for like three guys tops

[sapphire-weapon]

I often think about the ending jetski scene. Before Ashley's "Mission accomplished, right?" She steals a look at Leon (that pouty look), and the way she says it makes me feel like she sort of believes that Leon only cares about her because she is his mission. She seems sad about "mission being accomplished", because it means this is where Leon and she will part ways.

But then Leon replies "Mission accomplished... when you are home safe." Maybe he does want to prolong the time he can spend with her too. And I think that reply ignites some hope in Ashley, that's why she tests the water by asking if he wants to be her personal detail.

Also, the music in that scene is giving me a lot of vibes.

What do you think of that exchange in that scene?

I'm being 100% honest when I say that, the very first time I beat this game, there was a half-second where my brain legitimately thought they were going to kiss during that scene. And it was this weird moment of cognitive dissonance because I also knew that it was completely insane for me to think that, but that's what their body language was doing, that's what the tone of their voices was doing, and that's how the scene was being paced.

And I didn't even think she was going to kiss him -- I thought he was going to kiss her! WHICH IS EVEN MORE INSANE TO THINK. But that little pause between her saying "Thank you for saving me" and Leon going "Don't mention it" I just was like... ???????? Capcom what are you doing??????

Look at the way they're fucking looking at each other and the way that Leon is leaning back towards her are you fucking kidding me with this shit

Honestly, he probably wanted to. Kiss her, that is. After everything they went through together and the bond that they formed and all that Leon had to overcome mentally and emotionally in order to get them both out of there alive... to hear her actually say the words out loud "You saved me" was probably more powerful and more moving for him than any "I love you" he's ever heard.

Don't forget that Ashley is Leon's first success story. He made the decision to study criminal justice at 18 in order to go into law enforcement at 21 with the desire and motivation to protect people. Now, he's 27 -- nearly ten years removed from that initial decision -- and he has only ever watched people die and gotten people killed instead. There were probably so many emotions going through him in this moment that it's actually impressive that he didn't lean back and kiss her -- or even choke up and cry. (Though, you can tell he kind of wanted to do both. Probably at the same time.)

I don't think that Ashley thinks that Leon only cares about her because of the mission; I just think that she knows that their time together is about to come to an end, and she's not sure how he's feeling about it, so she's trying to figure out from which angle she wants to approach the "I don't want you to disappear from my life" conversation.

And while Leon has the emotional intelligence of a bird (and that's on a good day), he does actually pick up on what she's trying to do with that line. That's why his response back to her is "Mission accomplished... when you're home safe." It's his way of saying "It's not quite over yet. We still have a little bit more time."

But then, when she pushes the issue, he's forced to face the uncomfortable reality of the circumstances of his own life. RE4make is a fairy tale, and Leon knows that fairy tales aren't real. When the story ends and the real world comes back and takes over, this dream of a romance they've been sharing will end, too.

That's why the very first piece of meta I wrote for this game was about his line "You don't need me." There's nothing that Leon would love more than to stay in this dream world of a fairy tale with her forever -- to remain at her side as her loyal knight until the end of days -- but he can't. And he knows he can't.

All he can do is try to assure her that things will be okay when they both wake up. But I'm not sure he believes it, himself.

[daydadahlias]

For Ransom

lol i like writing crack fics about bondage <3

Summary: Kidnapping Ashton Irwin is not nearly as hard as Calum thought it would be.

Word Count: 8,903

Pairing: Calum Hood/Ashton Irwin

Rating: M

READ ON AO3

[xxang3l-trapxx]

Be Trans, Throw Hands!

Decided to throw together this fic, haven’t written any in three months.

*Disclaimer I’m not a trans girl so I hope that my portrayals of trans women are accurate (for Wendy and Ashley). Also I think that “housekeeping” ‘s treatment of trans girls is muy aborrecible!

Also trigger warning for dysphoria, needles, transphobia, Catholic trauma, slurs and implied suicide. If those will upset you, don’t read, your mental health is more important than fanfic!

5. Wendy knows she isn’t like the other boys, because she never was one.

From a young age, she kicked and cried whenever her parents gave her Spider-Man underwear or tried to put her in a suit when Thanksgiving or Christmas come, insisting that she didn’t like it and that she felt wrong. She could never put a name on that feeling, only that she had it.

“¿Que pasa?” Her mom asks when they’re in a Macy’s dressing room, having to calm her down after Wendy ran out of the boys section crying.

Wendy shrugs. “Simplemente no quiero.”

And with that, mom rolls her eyes subtly and buys the least decorated pair of underwear.

Wendy looks at the pack when in the privacy of her room, studies the comfort level of them and quickly deduces that boxers suck. Briefs are nice, but they could be better.

Wendy spends the rest of the evening on the computer looking for drawers that would fit her right.

‘No’ becomes her favorite word she mutters while browsing, trying to look at the images and not what looks back in the reflection.

Eventually she ends up on the Victoria’s Secret website, just to see if there’s anything good, not for anything else. Not like how the boys (especially Frankie, an 8th grader she knows) go on there to jeer and act gross during computer time.

The Angels are beautiful, all tall and giving “you know you want me” smiles at whoever looks at them. They model all types of underwear Wendy’s never heard of, and she gazes at one of them for a little too long, a brunette named Sarah with a blonde streak at the front like she has. She looks so confident. Why can’t Wendy look like that? Does she want Sarah?

Or does she wanna be Sarah?

The answer comes to her a few days later, when she and Julie are watching The Shining. Wendy likes it, it’s so pretty, and the set design is something she could drone on about. But what she likes most of all is the characters; Jack Torrance who slowly goes insane due to the supernatural forces of the Overlook Hotel, poor Danny Torrance who deals with ghosts and Tony who lives in his mouth (the little goth girl who lives up the hill says Tony might be a metaphor for some mental illness, but when she tried to explain some boys called her a real mean name so she punched him) and poor Wendy Torrance, who has to deal with both on top of Jack’s verbal abuse.

As Jack Torrance freezes to death in the snow, Wendy can’t help but feel. Not for Jack, nonono, but for Wendy—Onscreen. She’s trapped in a prison of Jack’s making, and she doubts herself as the cold winter months drag on. Kind of how Real Wendy feels, except she’s trapped in her mind, a horror movie she can never escape from.

Real Wendy repeats the name—it means ‘friend’ apparently, over and over, rolls it around on her tongue til it sticks in her mouth and clicks in her mind.

I’m Wendy.

She rushes to her parents room, before stopping. She’s heard about people who think they’re Jacks instead of Wendys, or Wendys instead of Jacks, and it’s not good. It rarely turns out good, as evidenced by the forums she’s read for the past week. She thinks back to the boy from next door, who confided in her a few weeks ago about how he hated his long hair and heavy boobs and wide hips and how he was gonna tell his parents how he felt.

They exploded on him and sent him away, and Wendy hasn’t seen him since.

“Are you okay honey?” Her dad asks, and she realizes she’s been standing in the doorway for the last five minutes. Ah.

Okay, she thinks. I’m gonna tell mom and dad how I feel, and hopefully they under-

Her mouth opens before her mind can finish. “I’m Wendy now. I think. I just never—” she swallows. “Felt right being my old name, ever. Please don’t kick me out, please.”

Wendy’s father stands up, walks toward her, and wraps his arms around her.

“I’m glad you told me, sweetie. We’d never kick you out,” dad says. “Right Maria?”

“Never,” says mom, when’d she get here?

She tells Julie a few weeks later, and her response is typical: a shrug, and then she skips off.

Better than nothing.

4. In the next house over, things weren’t so lucky.

The Wises are a very traditional family.

Clara Wise is a homemaker, all Lucy pin-curls and Ponds Cold Cream and “Did you hear that so-and-so’s daughter got pregnant? How trashy!” Robert Wise is a smoking pipe with legs, all golf and “This generation is heading down a dark path. Don’t become one of those whores, Jason. Do you hear?”

Jason’s parents are a little bit older than the other parents, well into their twenties when the others were in middle or high school, so maybe that’s why they feel this way.

It doesn’t hurt any less when they speak about certain things. They hate almost everything, Jason keeps a list in his diary: Abercrombie & Fitch, Violent video games, immigrants (the ones from Yugoslavia are okay, everyone else can suck it in his parent’s eyes), Pokémon, MTV, R&B, the list goes on.

They especially hate gay people and anything to do with them. “It’s a sin,” his mom says. “I don’t want that shit around my family,” his dad barks.

Jason thinks this is bullshit. God made everyone the way they were, and if She made a man to like another man, or a woman to like another woman, then so be it. The same goes for men who want to be women and women who want to be men and recently he’s heard about other genders and that piques his interest.

It distracts him from the way jeans fit way too tight around his legs, the way his shirts strain against her chest, no matter what color he wears. “Black is slimming!” Whoever said that is a liar. A filthy liar and Jason wants them to choke.

One day when his mother lets him out, he overhears a conversation in the convenience store. Part of Jason thinks gossip is a sin, but then he remembers that if that were true, all the tabloids would burst into flames.

“I heard that weirdo chick, you know the one that hangs with the…whatever from on top the hill and shit, is a boy,” says one girl from church. There’s a gasp.

“No way. How could she be a boy? I thought she was a dyke,” another church girl says.

“Well apparently she’s a transvestite and a dyke. Pick a struggle. You either wanna prey on girls or you wanna act tough. She’s all talk,” the first girl says.

Jason runs into the first aid isle before he can hear anymore. How mean can someone be, not only to speculate on other peoples lives but to then make fun of them after words?

He closes his eyes, praying those girls see the light, and opens them to see rows of compression bandages in front of him. Immediately he thinks of Mulan, and how she bound her breasts and cut her hair to look like a boy. Mom and dad turned up their noses at this, before Jason reminded them that it was so she could help her country. They’d been pleased that it was for the military, and watched the rest of the movie with smiles on their faces.

Where was he again? Oh, right.

Jason looks at a box of bandages, sees that they’re only three dollars, and checks the amount he has—just enough, and smiles. And enough left over to buy a new hair clip.

He buys the bandages and clip, disposing of the evidence in a trash can and stuffing them in his skirt pocket.

After biking home, Jason kicks off his shoes, bolts upstairs and into the bathroom, ripping off his dress and sweater and looking at himself in the mirror. He grabs the bandages, holding one end to one side of his chest. It shouldn’t be too hard to do this. Dad taught him how to wrap one of these when he hurt his wrist two summers ago, when he was 10. How hard is it to wrap breasts?

Very. It takes Jason over 10 minutes to properly strap them down, and he can hardly breathe for a minute, but after a few seconds he’s right as rain. He puts pack on his clothes, sliding into his room and checking himself out in the mirror.

There's nothing. He’s completely flat.

Jason walks around like this for a few days, and mom and dad don’t even notice. They never notice. How the hell is he invisible in a house with three people?

He addresses his grievances with Wendy over ice cream in the backyard, the latter watching over Julie as the young girl plays with her dolls in the grass.

“I feel the same way too. I told my parents, and they accept me,” Wendy says, licking her ice cream. “Not too sure how yours would react. Have they said anything about transgender people?”

Jason shrugs. “I don’t know. They only focus on gay people.”

“Well if the way they talk about gay people is bad, that gives you an indication as to how they feel about transgender people. As above, so below, you feel me?” Wendy explains.

He sighs. “But I…I…”

“You wish they’d be more accepting?”

“Yeah.”

Wendy relaxes further in her chair. “I know.”

They sit in silence until the sun sets and Jason has to go home, forlornly waving at Wendy.

He enters the home to find his parents in the family room, faces grim. And a notebook sitting on the coffee table. His diary.

Fuck him gently with a chainsaw.

The next 3 hours are a blur of both of them yelling, him screaming and his heart working over time. Jason doesn’t remember anything but one line from his mother, the woman who’s supposed to always love him, soror mea, the whole she-bang:

“You’re not my son, but you sure as hell aren’t my daughter either!”

It felt as if his heart had ripped from his chest, torn up into pieces and lit on fire. Then ran over with an 18 wheeler for kicks.

And suddenly he finds himself being dragged out of the house, a small bag being tossed at him.

“You’re staying with your uncle in the town over. He’ll straighten you out, see how much you like that little lifestyle of yours in 3 months,” his father spits at him.

And as uncle Claude’s beat up truck drives further and further out of McKinley, Jason can only pray God loves him enough to help him.

3. Before settling on her current name, Ashley briefly thought of the name Clover. They’re a symbol of fortune, and of good luck. Something not everyone else has when it comes to being trans.

Despite her carefully crafted valley girl image, Ashley is acutely aware of the realities girls like her face. One of her online friends came out to her parents, and suddenly she went dark. That was in January, and it’s June now. She knows what that means.

Her parents can afford everything for Ashley, and she knows this. Puberty blockers, new clothes and voice training are all readily available. And oh, the shame she feels when her mother takes her to PINK. The guilt she feels when she steps into the clinic to do voice training and the sinfulness she feels when her parents shower her in compliments.

Sometimes, with month long breaks in between, Ashley will cry herself to sleep over the girls like her who can’t afford estrogen, or pretty underwear, or voice training. She sees them in the forums and AngelFire websites, spilling out their hearts to hundreds of faceless people about how they’ll never feel girlish enough, how they cry when they run out of estrogen and the pharmacist doesn’t refill it.

Ashley wants to reach through the screen and wrap her arms tight around her sisters, whispering reassurances and complimenting them. She can’t exactly mail estrogen or wigs to the girls; but she can only hope her words are enough.

Instead, she helps the girl in her class with her hair and makeup, refers her to the clinic where she does voice training and tells her doctor to not charge the family too much, and becomes her personal cheerleader throughout their friendship.

She (the girl) blossoms. From a bud to a flower, Ashley is glad that she can help at least one girl in her life time.

It doesn’t even bother her when she looks in the mirror and breaks down sometimes, collapsing to the ground and clawing at her face, not wanting to look at her face. Oh, her face.

She’s fine, though. It’s just her being over dramatic, like always.

Her parents come into her room, asking if she’s okay, and every time, blinking away the tears, Ashley gives the same answer.

“I’m fine, really!” Same response every time. She never says her real feelings, never to anyone, never wanting to be ungrateful.

So every time she feels the way she does, Ashley writes in her diary, tears out the page, sets it ablaze and lets the bits that remain fly into the night.

2. For as much as Ian is strong mentally, he’s a big chicken when it comes certain things. Roaches, blood, and most importantly needles.

He supposes it all comes from the time a doctor fucked up putting a needle on his arm when he was eight, causing massive bruising on his arm and leaving him with a lifetime of fear. And he’d be content with never touching a hypodermic needle ever again.

If it weren’t for the fact that they’re required to inject T and the local pharmacy doesn’t carry gel.

Ian holds the needle above his leg, attempting to hype himself up to just inject the damn thing.

“C’mon, you’ve got this. You didn’t go through tuberculosis, fall out of a window and almost drown just to be scared of a damn needle,” he says to himself, hand shaking. He sets the syringe on the sink across from him, taking a few breaths and staring at the ceiling above him.

Eventually after ten minutes, Ian swallows his pride and calls out for his mother.

“Mama, can you help?” He asks, hoping he’s loud enough for her to hear.

She comes in soon enough, sitting on the edge of the tub with Ian and asking him what’s wrong. He tells her.

“Oh, is this because of when you were eight?” She asks him. He nods.

“I’m grown, I don’t know why I’m freaking out about this shit!” Ian exclaims, pulling his legs to his chest. His mother laughs.

“Well you’re 14, so I don’t know how you jumped to being so grown up all of a sudden. But it’s okay to be scared of a needle,” she says, reaching across the bathroom to grab the needle. “I’m scared of them, and I’m 43!”

“But you work with them,” is Ian’s response.

His mother laughs. “Well the people I stick them with aren’t necessarily alive,” she says. “And I finished the shot. You’re good to go.”

He stands up, hugs her, and looks away while she disposes of the needle, willing himself to not faint.

1. Erin knows she’s a bit strange. She walks on the tips of her toes like she’s floating on air, hums a different song to whatever plays on the radio, and sees and hears things the others swear they can’t. And she knows she holds some ideas that mainstream society doesn’t like, like how a woman should serve herself before her husband (if she’s got one), that marriage and children aren’t the only way for women to be fulfilled, and that men and women aren’t the only concepts, both when it comes to gender and sex.

The last part gets Erin in the most arguments, even when she pulls out undeniable proof that third genders exist, people roll their eyes and dismiss her.

She vents and argues to forums online, trying to see if anyone shares her sentiment. They normally don’t, and one day, in the middle of April, someone asks her a question on AIM.

Why do you care about any of this? He asks, and Erin wonders. She wonders all the way from the library where she talked with the guy to the bus stop to home. Mamí and papa notice her wondering.

“¿Que pasa?” Mamí asks as she puts away the dishes after dinner and dad gets her sisters ready for bed.

Erin looks up from the floor from her place at the kitchen table. “Huh? Nada mamí. It’s..nothing,” she says, watching from the back kitchen door as a car passes through the neighborhood.

Mamí shrugs. “Well if it’s nothing, you mind helping me load up the dishwasher?” Erin agrees.

She’s still hung up on the question a week later, so she calls up the one person she knows probably has some expertise on the subject.

“So you talked with the guy on AIM about other genders, he asked why you care so much, and then you went home,” Lara from Philly says, swinging higher in the park, feet touching the trees. Erin nods, sitting still on her swing.

“So if there was no flame war or any threats of doxxing being thrown your way…why are you still hung up on it a week later?” They ask, leaning backwards.

Erin thinks for a bit. Why does she care? She gains no money from defending the concept of third genders, it’s not like anyone she knows is one, so what could be the other option?

“I…don’t know. I guess it’s cause seeing people bash on others…makes me real pissed,” she says.

Lara comes back down, blowing some blonde hair out their face. “I think it might have something to do with you,” they say, poking a finger into Erin’s chest. They dig around in their overly decorated messenger bag, pulling out a book and handing it to her. Erin studies the cover, two blurry men edited in pink and blue.

“Me?” She asks Lara.

“It’s obvious that this is more personal than you realize,” they reply, getting off the swing.

Erin blinks. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Lara starts to walk. “Just read the damn book! And keep it when you’re done!” They call over their shoulder as they head to the bus station.

She takes the advice to heart, reading it the minute she gets home. There’s talk of trans women and men and one other term Erin hasn’t heard before.

Non-binary. People who aren’t men or women but neither. Her mind immediately goes to rockstars of the seventies, then to seventies movies, and then to Dr. Frank-N-Furter. When she first watched Rocky Horror as a kid; around the corner when she was supposed to be asleep, she was always confused whenever they came on screen. They had a deep voice like her father, yet they dressed in heels and stockings like her mamí during Christmas and Three Kings Day.

Now Erin’s realizing that Sherman and O’Brien might’ve been onto something in 1975, if unknowingly. And now she’s realizing stuff about herself too.

So she does what she always does when it comes to her emotions, she writes a poem.

Erin trudges out into the backyard with a paper and pen in hand, sitting on the ground and watching as her skirt spreads around her. She copies the chirps of the birds as she writes.

Not Girl, Not Boy, A Secret Third Thing

By Erin Ulmer

My gender identity is whatever I want it to be

My gender is whatever

It changes with the weather

I want to be a lady, tall and fair

Extra large boobs and long flowing hair

But also a man, big and strong

A sense of machismo

No one to tell me I’m wrong

At times I feel pretty, and at times I feel tall

And sometimes I feel like I’m nothing at all

She folds the piece of paper once, then another time, then sticks it in the book Lara gave them, and puts that book on a shelf, just hoping their parents don’t notice.

@brains4ne @cinemagh0ul @whatsaudreythinkingabout @kymyit @xxbatmanb3y0ndxx @w3ndyslvrr @seikointelli

[dumbfuck-mojave]

Bottle for Two🥂

Franchise: The Evil Dead

Pairings: Ash Williams x Reader

Also Featured: Shelly, Scotty, Cheryl, random college students I made up. Mentions of Chet, Linda and Brock. 

Warnings: None really. Swearing. A few mentions of both alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, but only for a few sentences. Reader is reluctant to play spin the bottle, but only because Ash is there.  Active consent is asked and given throughout the entire thing! Don’t let anyone force you into anything, dear readers. Also sorry for the bloody gif my man just looks FINE in it. Homosexual activity is present /j. 

A/N: This was super fun to write!! Got a bit caught up in letter commissions last month so I kind of neglected actual writing but I have so many ideas, I just need to sit down and do them. This takes place before the first movie! Ashley still has both of his hands and everyone is a bit younger. I hope you enjoy, I love writing for Ash!!

Word Count: 1,672

@f1nalboys @goodguydxll @skeletonsinthebasement @horrorstolemyheart @early20sfailingplenty @sassypotatomoose​ <333

Support me here! 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“I just don’t know.” You sigh, turning back to the fridge as you search for another drink.

“If they don’t want to do it, they don’t want to do it,” Cheryl joined in on the conversation, having come into the kitchen for a drink herself, “Forcing them to say yes is compulsion, you know. It can count as a criminal offense.”

“They’re not saying yes or no, they’re just saying 'I don't know’ over and over!” Sadie retorted, her gaze softening as she looked back at you, “Listen, if you don’t actually want to do it I’ll stop asking. But we both know the real reason you’re saying no.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?” You scoff, cracking open a can with your pointer finger while still tapping the sides with your other ones. The soda fizzed anyway. 

“Yeah, what is that?” Cheryl asked, her brows scrunched up in confusion. It was cute. 

“They just don’t want to play because Ash is here~” Sadie said in a sing-song voice, leaning towards you with a cocky grin on her face.

“Oh, grow up. It’s not because of that.” You roll your eyes, making your way back out to the living room.

“It so is!” Sadie laughed, following after you, “It’s understandable, even! We’ve all seen him, he’s a hunk of-”

“Um, ew.” Cheryl cut her off, but then looked over at you, “Is that really the reason?”

You blush. 

“Yep, your face is hot!” Sadie exclaimed, putting her hand up to your cheek, “Don’t try to hide it, body indicators tell all!”

“Maybe it’s because I’m not a cold-blooded worm like you.” You simper, sipping your drink with a calm expression.

“Hey, at least Ash likes cold-blooded things! Isn’t that so Cheryl? Like iguanas and stuff?”

“Ugh, yes. He used to beg dad for a snake every Christmas growing up.” 

“A snake, huh? Fitting, considering his-”

“Both of you hush up!” You whirl around just outside the entrance of the massive living room, “No more talk about blushing or Ash’s snake, okay?”

“So, what’s your answer then? Will you play?” Sadie raised her eyebrows at you.

You sigh, looking over your shoulder at Ash’s hunched form on the couch.

“You know what? Fine. I’ll play.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Scotty huffed as he straightened up, having just pushed the large glass coffee table off to the side so everyone could sit on the floor together.

“Ready!” Angela squeaked, falling chest first onto the pillow in front of her. You could see her boyfriend, Danny, eyeing her a few spots down for you. Oh yeah, this would be a fun night. 

Out of the fifteen people at the party, twelve were playing the game. You, Ash, Sadie, Shelly, Scotty, Dave, Angela, Danny, Tonya, Erin, Michael, and Mickey. The party’s host, Christina, had gone upstairs to talk to her parents about an apparent ‘family emergency' and Cheryl and Ginny were curled up above everyone on the couch. Both had chosen to sit out to be spared the awkwardness of having the bottle land on their sibling, and now chatted away without a care in the world. You noticed how flustered Cheryl got as Ginny leaned into her and you smiled. 

“Alright, a few warnings for everyone!” Shelly spoke up, laying back against her pillows like a Canova statue, “If you don’t kiss in ten seconds, you have to French. Couples, if you get mad at your partner kissing someone else, get your head out of your ass! You both agreed to play this game. Finally, don’t be scared! We may whistle and holler, but seriously. We’re all just here to have a good time, agreed?”

“Agreed!” The lot of you piped up, a few nodding their heads as well. Shelly clapped, a brilliant smile on her face, and leaned forward to set the empty beer bottle down on the cardboard piece that had been thrown in the middle of the circle.

“Then let the game begin!” 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright Y/N, it’s your turn~” Shelly crooned, straightening the bottle out. You clear your throat and square your shoulders, nodding. 

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Being the forth to go, you had already witnessed some of the action caused by the game. Danny miraculously got Angela on his spin and for a game with a French kiss rule, they were somehow too intimate for any public setting. Dave’s spin landed on Erin, who now sat with his face in his hands, red sweeping up his freckled neck. Michael’s landed on Mickey, who had turned away from comforting Erin to give her boyfriend a swift peck on the lips, much to the displeasure of the other players. No matter gender or relationship status, they wanted passion and you feared for how they would react on your turn. 

There was another reason you hadn’t wanted to play this game, and you looked upon in horror as the neck of the bottle slowed to point at your first reason. 

Ash, despite being almost directly across from you, had not looked at you the whole game. He sat crisscrossed between Shelly and Mickey, the former of which had been whispering and giggling to him since the start. You weren’t jealous, no, but a feeling had formed in your stomach. Like you were witnessing something you weren’t supposed to be in on. 

But now he looked at you, wide eyed and owlish, as Shelly jumped up.

“Y/N and Ash!”

“I, uh, shit-” You stutter out, matching Ash’s expression. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Scotty barked out, nudging Danny beside him, “Go on, lovebirds! Have at it!”

“Scotty, enough!” Shelly chastised, sending a cool glare his way. Scotty folded under her stare, shutting up immediately. 

“I’d rather we do it in private, if that’s okay.” Ash spoke up, looking at Shelly with a strange expression. 

“Oh, c’mon! That’s not-”

“WE CAN MAKE AN EXCEPTION, DANNY!” Shelly cut him off with a loud growl, waving her hand towards Ash, “Of course you can, no worries.”

“Thank you,” Ash whispered out quickly before getting up and strutting towards you, holding out his hand, “You ready, Y/N?”

“Yeah.” You were confused, but grateful. Ash pulled you up and quickly made his way towards the dark stairs, which lead a steep path up to the unlit second floor. 

Christina still hadn’t come out of her room, the first one on left, but you didn’t have time to think on it as Ash herded you into the third room down, closing the door behind him and locking it. 

“Let me explain-”

“Thank you,” You said, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “I, um, it was stupid of me to agree to play.”

Ash raised an eyebrow at you, and you scrambled quickly to clarify. 

“Not because of you! Really, you were my top choice, I just…I’ve never done this before.”

“Spin the bottle?” Ash queried, sitting down next to you once you nodded in confirmation at his non-verbal prompt. 

“No. I mean, yes, but it’s bigger than that.” You grew quiet at that, the energy thick in the room. 

“You’ve…never kissed someone before, have you.”

“Very observant.” You chuckled to yourself, not meeting his eye. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Strange, because I’m usually very not so.” Ash laughed as well, and it helped ease your nerves. You turn to face him as his hand finds a place on your shoulder. 

“Listen, we really don’t have to do this. We can just say we did it and if anyone argues Shelly can yell at them for us. Or we can just be direct, we didn’t do it because you were uncomfortable. That’s fine too.”

“No, I want to, it’s just-” You stopped, what he had said fully clicking, “Did you and Shelly plan this?”

“What!? No! I wouldn’t do that to you.” Ash started with an alarmed tone, “Shelly just knew I wanted the bottle to land on you but I guess she also knew you haven’t kissed anyone so she suggested I take you upstairs but she didn’t tell me that I swear-”

“Ash, calm down. You’re rambling.” You grabbed his shoulders as he looked up.

“I just didn’t want you to have the wrong idea.”

“I don’t, I promise,” You held out your pinky and smiled as he took it, shaking your hand, “You want to kiss me though? Me?”

“Of course I do! Y/N, I’ve liked you for ages!”

“Oh my-” You slap your hands over your face, falling back onto the bed with a groan, “I like you too! I just thought you didn’t feel the same.”

“Why wouldn’t I feel the same?” Ash leaned on his elbow, beside and slightly above you.

“Ash, do you know the reputation you have? I talked to Linda, and Chet when he visited, you don’t really come across as a one person dude.”

“Well, I am. I promise.”

He paused for a moment, gazing down at you with a fond expression. 

“What?” You whispered, desperately trying not to look at his lips hovering just a few inches from you. 

“I’ll be your ‘one person dude’, if you’ll have me?” Ash asked, a dopey smile growing on his face as you wrapped an arm around his neck.

“Oh, come here, you big goof.” You laughed as his shadow consumed you.

Laying there, on the four digit mattress in Christina’s guest room, you had your first kiss. Laying there, with Ash’s body half over you, you felt the touch of his soft and warm lips as he cradled the back of your head like you were the most precious thing in the world. Laying there, you imagined the life ahead. A future with him.

It was perfect. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, did Christina ever say why her parents called?” Ginny asked as Cheryl turned away from the stairs, “Cher, they’re fine, I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Cheryl responded, leaning into Ginny’s shoulder, “Also, Christina’s brother got arrested. Again.”

“Of course he did.”

[therulerofallpotatos]

The way i wrote a 2500word chapter one to a new project (Blackwood Mountain) and about a 2k oneshot for a different fic (Dr. Oz and his Final Girl) and im itching to start chp 2 but i have to go to work

[riftdancing]

Interruptions

Both cared not for solicitors, preachers, or visitors perched upon the home’s doorstep like vultures scavenging for a moment’s reprieve from the Ishgardian chill.  Home was a solitary solace, a place free from public distain or prying eyes.  A place where two dedicated to wearing masks could leave them on the hanger by the frigid chill seeping in under the door.  No Solicitors.  Visitors not welcome.  All signs were clear.  The windows dim, a quiet home tucked in back alleys never once beckoning a wanderer in.  And yet, still once or twice a week, a knock would come upon the heavy wood and iron door which gave way to their hearth and in turn sent a scarlet haired Mithran Miqo’te to greet them.  Most days it was easy enough to turn a visitor away without rousing the home’s heir.  But, on rare occasion such as this day, certain familiar faces simply could not be turned away.

The impish side of Mihli Mihgo often enjoyed interrupting the research of Lysander Ervaut, especially when he was lost to his work, leaving her lonely or perhaps bored out of her mind for hours.  Such actions, while in some ways reprimandable, still presented her with the attentions she sought. However, today was not a day she’d planned for it.  Rather, if he was working, it meant she too could study or work in peace without him looming or lumbering about.  The feline’s plans had been a deep study session in the rare sunlight of her favorite windowed book nook, however, fate had a funny hand in ruining things.

A knock at the door would reveal a pretty white haired Miqo’te gentleman who came finely dressed with a tall, handsome, attractive ginger haired Highlander women.  Two who could not, and would not be turned away.  While delighted at least to see an old friend, the Highlander, it meant once more Mihli would have to disturb Ervaut’s work.  She would be warm and gentle in her methods and approach this time for she was not looking to spark his ire.

In the meantime, the pair were warmly invited past the threshold.

[catboy-bride]

(slightly messy) concept art of ashley from the resident evil 6 au i'm working on!

after the events of re4 ashley took a similar path to leon. after seeing him in action, she looked up to him and also wanted to do something meaningful to help protect people after experiencing first-hand the atrocities of bio-terrorism. she knew it would be difficult to attend certain political events due to affiliation with her father and therefore had to work under a pseudonym as secretary, reporter, and eventually back under her real name as a senator. over that time period she worked with leon on multiple missions and also "recommended" the mercenary ada wong to her higher-up employers in order to obtain information while keeping an eye on particularly suspicious politicians.

[crazymadpassionatelove]

Cool Girl

Notes: None of this would be possible without my dearest darlings @ab4eva and @precious-little-scoundrel! All the hugs and kisses to you both xo

Part 2

-

Here's the thing nobody ever admits about being the other half of a celebrity: it's actually as hard or as easy as you make it. Enter hunky, gifted actor who just happens to be hung like a horse? Well, being his lady isn't hard at all. You just have to know the rules. Number one, you can't hear the noise. Not literally, you can hear it. You must strive to live in such a bubble that none of it matters though. You shop, power walk your gated community, and take cock like it's the only job you have. Truly, it is. Pleasing him is of utmost importance. Be ready to hop a plane at a moment’s notice, or even get fucked on said plane. You're so busy spending your man’s cash snapping up authentic mid-century modern homes before certain celebrities turn them into minimalist gray prisons, raising money for dogs who need prosthetics, and trying your hand at that sourdough bread craze, you really don't even have time to see the Instagram hate being spewed your way 24/7.

Number two, remaining an enigma. Selling energy drinks on social media? Having your man pay off some fast fashion brand to “partner” with you for a collection? Appearing on some campy sitcom as a guest star? Not for you, the thought of it actually makes you recoil. You're too busy doing all the little things and making his once barely furnished house a home. Homemade chocolate chip cookies with the chocolate specially flown in from Belgium on his private plane? Check! Gold vintage jewelry via that cute little flea market in Paris is clanking as you insist on being the ones to change the bedroom sheets. A housekeeper comes once a month, and even she comments coyly about your chemistry. Still, she need not see the soaked sheets from the multiple round of lovemaking the two of you do at all hours of the day and night.

Being seen on the red carpet is not your cup of tea, but it's the equivalent of attending your man's office Christmas party. So you pick out a dress, aka one of the couture houses offers to dress you, and he flies you to Paris for multiple fittings and macarons. Then there's some vintage Van Cleef jewelry that appears on the dining room table one morning, and a fresh new pair of Louboutins is the final piece to the puzzle. Then, looking very demur and shy, you appear on his arm, clinging to it actually. You'll smile at the various television hosts and press. Speak softly, and practically defer to him for all questions. He's the star, you're just a great supporting act. Then, when the night is finally done, you both breathe a sigh of relief and he thanks you for being such a good sport. How about a McDonald's drive thru run, huh? That face, oh that handsome fucking face of his that you've been dying to kiss all night. He just always knows what to say. So that's how you're papped still in your couture gown, he in a wrinkled white button down, his jacket slid around your shoulders, feeding each other French fries and chicken nuggets, splitting a milkshake. How wholesome and Americana honestly.

That night he promises to thank you again. Austin's perfect lips wrap themselves around your puffy clit as two, then three fingers curl, shove, and squelch inside you. “You were such a good girl the whole night, baby.” There's something about being called a good girl that makes you absolutely feral. He brings you to orgasm over and over, you lose count after about 7. He's just getting started though. He hasn't even slipped inside. When he does though, it's rough. The glorious slapping sounds of flesh fill the room as he brings himself to the edge over and over, denying himself a release and giving you an additional, what three or four orgasms? You've left feral behind and have crossed over into absolute animalistic filth as you bury yourself in the goose down pillows and practically shove it in your mouth howling. Letting him have his way as you throb and clench, hot and pink with almost blurred vision as he talks you through it. Peppering the conversation with lots of “that's my girl, my pretty baby cums so damn pretty”. When you think you're in need of a paramedic, he blows inside you something reminiscent of Niagara falls. He knows how much you love a vocal man. You end the night not being able to feel your limbs or do anything beyond closing your eyes with a lazy, bashful grin. He gives you one last slap to the ass then mentions as you drift off, “Could you make some of those brownies of yours for the cast and crew tomorrow?”

The third rule of being the other half to everyone's favorite blue eyed baby boy actor? Less is more. This sort of goes hand in hand with the enigma rule. Those celebrities who traipse around in loud designer clothing and accessories covered in flashy logos? That's not you or your man for that matter. Sure you have handbags that cost more than some people's cars, but they are solid authentic leather bags your guy finds you in far flung corners when he's on location. No one really notices when you're papped and printed in People Magazine. You keep your head down in aviators he takes to wearing, a nice little subtle nod. The bands you each wear on that finger are a solid Welsh gold. Whenever his slightly deranged fans see you, the one thing they can't call you is a golddigger. You drive a jeep or even that old Ford truck he restored himself, no Lamborghinis in your garage.

Part of the less is more shtick though is being able to give a cute little nod to him here and there when appropriate. When he's cast in a certain biopic that alters his career and your lives? You sit tight and let him have his moment, after all, you know all the behind the scenes work that goes into it. The blood, sweat, and tears. There are times when he takes method acting to such a level that it's almost like going to bed with another man. You can't exactly complain though. The slight drawl that appears when he says your name is something he is never able to truly shake and you're glad. When the moment is right though, you post a tongue in cheek Instagram post. Your feed is normally bogged down with pictures of the pets, your baking, and various charities you support. This time though, you post a rare photo of yourself looking like you're a certain sort of American royalty stepped from a time machine. It's a candid shot with you at his feet. Worshiping. Except now it's sort of like you worship two men. It's fairly well received, friends tell you, though there will always be hate. Remember, you can't hear the noise. You certainly can't hear the noise women old enough to be your grandmother are making as they lust over the man who's cock you gag on every night.

Those utterly delectable fingers of his snake inside you, make you hiss and come undone as that tongue in cheek sort of throw back makeup you're sporting runs down your cheeks. “Who's my pretty girl?” He teases you. A good hour later when he finally allows himself his own release he's panting your name into your ear. He settles himself in between your breasts. Didn't his agent once mention the girls on Tumblr call him baby boy? If only they could catch a glimpse of him now. Murmuring against your skin and tracing what feels like hearts on your arms. You scroll Zillow and read out the six-figure price tags on castles in Ireland. How does fucking in a dungeon sound, honey?

Rule number four? Be ready to go to bat for him at any moment, others opinions be damned. Being Austin's other half brings out a protective streak in you. A maternal bodyguard quasi agent of sorts. Always keep your eyes peeled for the photogs, especially when he's indulging in that pesky little smoking habit he doesn't exactly like to advertise. That actual management team of his isn't bad, especially once the Elvis flick is underway and you learn just exactly how bad certain managers can be. Still, nobody has his best interests at heart the way you do. Keep his favorite snacks on hand in your purse, water ready at a moment's notice. Your boy has a tendency to work himself to the bone and you certainly cannot allow him to run himself ragged. Tea with hot honey every night was a must while he immersed himself in Elvis. Be his soft place, let him cry and vent while you run your fingers through those golden locks. Take whatever you can off his plate so he can dedicate himself to his craft.

Some wonder if you've lost yourself in him and his life, but it's the exact opposite. You've found yourself. When that angel boy praises you during press tours and jokes on talk shows about you flying out in the middle of the night to see to it his shirts are starched the way he likes and he eats breakfast, well you just sit there and smile. “I couldn't be me without her.” Those words make you melt and you immediately crave the feeling of his hot cream inside you. Playing Elvis brought out a side of him that never truly leaves once filming wraps. Stressed? Tired? Enamored? Him bending you over while you're brushing your teeth becomes a common occurrence. “That's my baby – take it, take it,” you've gotta talk it all out of him sometimes and that's fine with you. You stand in the wings of the Kelly Ripa show and try in vain to hide your red face when a PA offers you a napkin. “I think you spilled something down your leg,” the young girl offers. Something spilled all right, him inside you with his hands gripping your hair just minutes before he was due on stage.

Everything is just so right, it's only natural that cool girl very quickly becomes cool wife.

-

[acciokaidanalenko]

Taking on the Universe: Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten: Nightmares and Apologies

Summary: Commander Shepard is plagued by the fragmented visions given to her by the Prothean beacon as they mix with her haunted memories of the Skyllian Blitz.

CW/TW: Mention of blood/death

Preview of chapter below the cut. AO3 link: here.

There's a familiar warmth, one she's missed for such a long time. It brings back so many memories, and she revels in it, letting it envelop her entirely. It's the kind of comfort that she's been without for far longer than she cares to admit. She feels the warmth of skin against her own, taking a deep breath and recognizing the scent of him.

Her eyes fly open at the realization, only to be met by a pair of soft blue eyes staring back at her. Her heart flutters at the sight, a relief and an ache in the same moment. That crooked smile and husky chuckle.

She's missed him so much.

"Arthur, you're here," she whispers as she rests her hand gently against his bare chest, her fingers tangling in the small patch of curls at its center. He clutches her closer to his body and places a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Never left you, Nat," he replies, his breath hot against her skin. Goosebumps rise across her body at the sound of his voice.

This is all familiar. Almost like a memory.

Something catches her eye, and her gaze shifts. Odd. She isn't used to wearing the ring on her finger, but it seems appropriate with their bodies so close together. Its simple beauty stuns her. The metal feels heavy against her skin. Unfamiliar. She's acutely aware of the promise she's made to this man. They've known each other for more than half their lives. They've been together since they were sixteen. It wasn't a surprise when he proposed.

Natasha's eyes move back up to his face, drinking in every small detail. The eyelashes surrounding his perfectly blue eyes are long and beautiful. There's a slight sparkle in them, which ignites something inside her as a smile spreads across his lips. The darker stubble that's grown on his face since his last shave is a contrast to the lightness of the short, sandy brown hair atop his head.

The tiniest of details, which she's clung to so desperately as more and more time has passed.

Her stomach turns as she's reminded of reality. Time has passed.

[astranne]

anne reporting from the airport at 1am.

how is it living my dream and one true wish?

[deebris]

From annoying to beloved

Homelander x fem!Reader

Synopsis: The new member of the Seven annoys Captain Patria with their habit of doodling in the corners all the time, but he didn't expect to end up liking it.

During the fourth season, it can be read as both romantic and platonic.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of murder, the reader has the power to control plasma, fluffy.

The reader is also kind of anxious.

Word count: 2.9k

"You gotta be fucking kidding with me." Homelander interrupted abruptly upon hearing snores in the room. "Is Noir sleeping?"

"Mmhmm," Firecracker murmured in agreement, but the masked superhero jolted awake when The Deep kicked his chair.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, guys." Black Noir straightened up, while the Captain shook his head in disbelief, unable to fathom what he had just witnessed.

"Ah, what the fuck." The blonde furrowed his brows, eyes darting around the room quickly, then fixing on a specific point when something else caught his attention. He had noticed you earlier with a notebook and pencil, but now you're not writing but drawing. The irritating sound of the graphite scraping against the paper had been bothering him for some time, but he had tried to ignore it, assuming as a newcomer you were taking notes.

He wouldn't lie. Though he found taking notes utterly stupid, he liked to think someone was that focused on what he said. Not that he needed it, just opening his lips and everyone would be watching him. But as if that weren't enough, he finally realized you were dressed in regular civilian clothes.

"Radiance, where's your suit?" He asked slowly, but angrily. "Can't anyone do anything right around here?"

You finally tore your attention from the paper, meeting Homelander gaze directly. It's not that you weren't paying attention—in fact, you were, maybe more than anyone else there. It was easier to absorb things while doodling, a way to calm your nerves. Well, that or rubbing your sweaty fingers together until they hurt.

No one ever understood. Even back in school, your parents used to receive complaints about you drawing during class, no matter how high your grades were or the fact that you were the top student.

This was your first meeting with the Seven, and the last thing you wanted was to give the impression of being careless or not caring about being there. It could be said that one of the best days of your life was yesterday when Vought sent you a notice, letting you know that the greatest superhero of all had personally chosen you to join the team. After so many "retarded" - in his words - he had been forced to accept into the Seven, Homelander saw in you, above all, the opportunity to make up for Firecracker's ridiculous weakness.

When Ashley began talking about your powers, he had no doubt the last spot was yours. It was simply brilliant. Who the hell would have imagined someone would have powers to control a state of matter? You could maneuver fire, generate electrical discharges, disrupt magnetic fields, and damn it, you could split atoms as if slicing butter.

Vought's scientists said they didn't know if it was possible, but you could destroy the damn out of a star one day. Homelander wasn't a science guy, but in one of his moments of boredom, he got curious and did some research. He didn't even know that plasma crap was all that, he thought it was a cell thing or whatever.

He always thought someone with a power as peculiar as yours, and at your age, would be arrogant or just plain dumb. But you were actually the complete opposite. You didn't speak unnecessarily, and while you seemed very aware of your own actions, you had no clue how powerful you were, or perhaps ignored that fact. The blonde thought you were an idiot for it, but he appreciated the inferiority you submitted to, especially in relation to himself.

"I don't have one, sir," you replied to his question, feeling small with everyone looking.

"What the hell?" He continued, focusing on you with incredulous voice, he couldn't believe it. How did someone end up here without even having a superhero suit?

The truth was, you had never been part of any team before, nor had you received any sponsorship during your life, or even attended Godolkin University. The only thing you had were your powers, which were indeed impressive. You never chased after any position, nor were you ever obsessed with being a famous superheroine, but lately you thought it would be a good adventure to radicalize your life. That's when you applied to join the Seven.

"How do you have a name and not have a fucking suit?" He asked, boiling with anger, fists clenching tightly behind his back.

"They gave me a name when I filled out the application," you answered honestly. That day, after they chose to call you Radiance, a random and easily commercial name, you couldn't complain much and didn't want to bother, so you left it at that.

"You'll be introduced as an official member of the Seven tomorrow, how do you not have a suit?" He took his hands off his back, moving them as he spoke to express his confusion, and for a few moments you followed it movement like a child who can't keep their attention on anything for long. "Who's handling your marketing?"

You couldn't answer, so you stayed silent and no one else dared to say a word either. You had no idea who was handling your marketing, not knowing you should even have that. You glanced quickly around the table, perhaps seeking some kind of help for the situation, but everyone looked down when they realized you were staring at them. They were enjoying themselves, and that made you exhale through your nose in embarrassment.

"You know what? Fuck it, doesn't matter." Homelander brought his fingers to his furrowed forehead, letting out a loud sigh as he calmed down. "Just... don't show up like this in public until someone gives you a suit."

"Yes, sir," you replied tensely, relieved that he had resolved the matter.

Sister Sage widened her eyes in relief when she finally saw the superhero sitting beside her. She opened her mouth to begin speaking, as she had intended from the beginning, but when some sound was about to come out of her mouth, Homelander spoke to you again, this time pointing an accusatory finger at you:

"And stop drawing, damn it," he ordered, causing you to slowly drop the pencil on the table, as if caught doing something wrong with the weapon of the crime in hand. You stared at your lap throughout the entire meeting, embarrassed for messing everything up on your first day.

When the meeting ended, you followed most people out of the room, but stopped nearby in one of the hallways. You slid down the wall, crouching in a hidden corner, and lightly tapped the sketchbook against your forehead in annoyance.

"Stupid," you murmured softly to yourself. It was so ridiculous, yet it embarrassed you so much. Maybe this first day wasn't so bad after all. You would have plenty of time to prove your worth to everyone, no need to dwell on this situation. Even though you had been corrected in front of some of the most iconic supers by Homelander himself, this situation could be overcome. It was thinking about it that kept you from letting the burning tears fall.

"I can hear you whining," Homelander voice made you jump to your feet, startled to be caught once again doing something you shouldn't. He didn't seem happy, and his expression was so intimidating that you felt like Mariah Carey performing for a crowd of Eminem fans.

He approached you in slow steps and you held the sketchtebook protectively to your chest, as if that could protect you from something. He glanced down to briefly see the object in your hands and looked at you with disgust.

"If you don't straighten up, I'll kick you out. Got it?" Everything about him exuded threat. Maybe if he weren't so imposing and powerful, that sentence would have sounded a bit like the janitor from your old school scolding you for spending too much time in the bathroom during class.

You were paralyzed standing there and all you could do was a nod. But your gesture made him more aggressive.

"Answer with your mouth. Are you mute or something?" And there he was, hands behind his back again. He seemed to enjoy that pose.

"I won't mess up, sir," you said, swallowing your saliva.

"And get rid of that. Or burn it, do whatever, just get rid of it. And I better not see you with that again," he said referring to your notebook, walking away faster than before. "These kids..." you heard him mutter distantly.

After that happened, you didn't destroy the sketchtebook, but you were afraid of being caught and kept it safely tucked away in the back of a drawer in your room. What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel, right? You mentally made a promise to yourself not to use it anywhere else but here, to avoid causing more trouble.

It's been a week since you've been with the Seven, and several strange things have happened. You quickly realized that Homelander wasn't the pristine and merciful hero everyone believed him to be. But the truth was that deep down you already expected that. Everything about heroes always seemed too perfect and pure, there had to be a catch. Despite everything, you still remained yourself, never intentionally hurting anyone or getting involved in murders and conspiracies.

You were comfortable helping out with some minor crimes that Vought sent you to solve, but by now you suspected that sooner or later Homelander would ask you to do some of his atrocities. It was still hard to think about how to feel about it, but you weren't naive, you were already mentally preparing to submit to it or else be killed.

During that time, as you adjusted and interacted with the team, it didn't go unnoticed by Homelander that you were drawing on your own hand, or on napkins and on random sheets you found lying around, even though you hadn't shown up with your sketchtebook again. This was starting to wear on his last nerve, but he tried to ignore it. As long stayed as you were, without asking too many questions and obedient, he made an effort to continue overlooking your makeshift drawings.

"Meeting's over," the blond suddenly declared, interrupting another of the Seven's weekly gatherings while cutting off The Deep's rambling about his ideas.

"But I haven't even talked about the flying shark yet," he tried to defend himself.

"Shut up," Homelander's voice rang out sternly in the room, issuing a warning that the man promptly obeyed.

"Right. Meeting's over." Ashley nervously moved to gather the portfolios on the new soda advertisement she had come to present, but as soon as she touched the first folder, specifically the A-Train one, the superhero exploded in rage:

"Ashley! Get out!" She immediately dropped the folder in place and hurried out in her heels, unable to run in them. "All of you! Get out of here."

Everyone got up from their chairs, even you, and filed out through the front door, leaving the folders on the table. Sister Sage hesitated, thinking she might be an exception, but when his scowl deepened, she understood she should leave too.

With the room empty, Captain Patria took a few minutes to admire the view from the tower. He enjoyed staring at it sometimes, even when bored.

"Bunch of idiots," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in denial, indignant. If he had to spend one more minute with these morons, he would have a heart attack, even though that was technically impossible for him.

He threw his cape back as he turned to leave, looking down and not focusing on anything in particular. But his eyes caught something different from the other folders. It was obviously yours, with a huge drawing covering the text and images printed on it.

That was the first time he actually saw something you had scribbled. And damn, it was perfect. It was a drawing of everyone in the room, with him in the center looking angry. Just as he was. His ego flared up as he noticed that his figure was more detailed than the others'. You must have started drawing him first, hence had more time to detail him. The idea of you making him the main focus of this particular drawing made his pupils dilate. He used his super hearing to check if anyone else was around and secretly took that sheet for himself.

The next time he saw you drawing in the Seven's room, he couldn't help but wonder if you were drawing him again. As soon as he noticed you sneakily reaching for a pen that belonged to Ashley, he looked in your direction. The noise that used to annoy him now sparked curiosity. And after staring at you for so long, it didn't take long for you to look back at him too. The blond thought you would be embarrassed, like most people, but you just grinned as if you were used to being caught looking. And indeed, you were.

You began drawing Homelander more frequently when you realized he never caught you watching him. It was easier and avoided awkward situations with other people. After two whole weeks of drawing him continuously while taking advantage of this freedom, you felt capable of drawing his face without even needing to see a photo, having memorized most of his distinctive features.

Well, it seems he's finally noticed you.

Sometimes, when alone in your room, you took out your sketchbook and started practicing the memory of his facial features you had developed. Just like every other time, you became absorbed in the drawing, focusing only on the voices around you to understand what was being said. This was also a way to keep yourself engaged during conversations, so you wouldn't get restless from being still while being a mere spectator of everything. After all, you never participated much or gave opinions; Deep already did enough for two.

The meeting had already ended, but you stayed in your chair, even as everyone else left, to finish just a part of the hair. You thought no one would mind, and then you would leave as usual, but a voice caught you by surprise:

"Can I take a look?" Homelander asked, for the first time, using a gentle voice beside you. His expression was enigmatic, somewhat relaxed, and shy at the same time.

You turned the stack of post-it notes, also taken from Ashley, for him to see what you had drawn, fearing what he would say. You weren't ashamed of drawing people, much less of them catching you doing it. You feared because he found your habit annoying.

He observed the drawing, seeing his posture from the side, upright and imposing. He wondered if you drew him exactly as you saw him, or if it was just another caricature of reality, like those Photoshopped pictures spread around. He looked much better than he imagined, though he had that superiority complex that made him see himself as a god.

For a moment, he was offended to see his image stamped on such despicable things as scraps of paper and these damn post-it notes. Your fingerprints were also visible stains, and the paper was slightly wrinkled from his sweat. He had noticed that sometimes you drew calmly, as if you had all the time in the world, and other times it was like drawing on a boat in a storm. Today seemed to be the latter situation.

"Do you like drawing me?" He glanced at you.

"I do," you shrugged. That was the simplest and most truthful answer you could give. "Sorry, I won't do it anymore," you said, thinking he was bothered by it.

"Why?" He ignored your apology.

"You're drawable... I guess," you stared at the table, not understanding the flow of the conversation.

"And what the fuck does that mean?" He asked in a louder voice, turning to face you, obviously confused. "Is this some artistic shit?"

"It's just that you're easy to draw because you have unusual characteristics. It's a good thing," was your answer, and it inflated his chest with narcissistic pride. Unusual, that's what you said, but to him, it was like being called extraordinary.

"Next time you draw me, try using a sketchbook," he said sternly, pretending to reject your work, but deep down, he just didn't want to show that he really liked it. That statement was his way of encouraging you to continue, but at the same time, it was so ironic, considering he got mad at you just when you were drawing him in the sketchtebook that day.

"But you asked me to get rid of mine," you said simply, your voice dwindling with each word of the sentence, not wanting him to find out that you had never thrown it away.

"I'll get you a new one," he said dismissively, taking the entire stack of post-it notes with him, including the drawing, as if you wouldn't notice.

[daydadahlias]

I cannot wrap my mind around the fact there’s only 2 more chapters of magnolia. Like what do you mean this story ends? 🥺

honestly, I can't wrap my mind around it either. like, hold on, what do you mean ive been writing about the same two little dudes for 8 months and now i just have to stop???

[herembers]

Love writing silly little scenarios 🥰 silly little indulgent romantic scenarios hehehe