#Blues trying to help ink by drinking milk ^^ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

poisoned-peppermint · 4 years ago

Text

Part 4 of incorrect quotes because i feel obligated to make more due to the sheer number of people who liked it

Dream: My dearest beloved fuckos, is a fun, gender-neutral way to begin a speech

George: See also, esteemed bastards

Bad: Gentlefolk, Ferals, and Domesticated cryptids.

Sapnap: My fellow yees and haws

~~~~~~~

Techno:Hey I know skyrim is revered as a classic but are we just going to ignore the fact that the entire game only had like 3 voice actors

Wilbur:Stop right there criminal cum

Techno:My ancestors are smiling at me, bastard, can you say the same

~~~~~~~

Foolish:When's your bedtime :)

Purpled: Whenever I next collapse in purely up to the gods

~~~~~~

Ranboo:Human skin is a fursuit for skeletons

Tubbo: i’m going to debone you like a fucking trout

~~~~~~

Bad:You’re enough

Bad: love yourself!!!!!!! or suffer my wrath!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dream:And by wrath I mean love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bad:no I mean wrath!!!!! You reading this, if you don't love yourself I’ll beat you with a stick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

~~~~~~~

Bad:I hope everyone is today well! And tomorrow!!!! After that you’re on your own.

~~~~~~

Bad:what am I supposed to do all day while you’re at work

Skeppy:I don’t know, what do you normally do while I’m gone

Bad: wait for you to get back

~~~~~~

Velvet:For my next stunt, I’ll wake up at 5am on the day I can sleep in

Ant:Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.

Velvet:Early to bed and early to rise makes me a massive bitch

~~~~~~

Tubbo: 3:23 AM make a wish

Ranboo: I wish that you would go to sleep

Tuddo: Yeah well I wish I grew an inch taller every day as you get an inch shorter until you’re as flat as as a piece of paper and I’m 11 feet tall

Ranboo: You’re going to die of a mixture of skeletal instability and heart disease.

Tubbo: Yeah but I’ll look good while doing it.

~~~~~~

Bad:Disrespect me again and I’ll determine your bodies resonant frequency and play a jaunty horn solo that boils your miserable organs inside out

~~~~~~

Quackity: If I were dating you? Well, heh. Let’s just say horses wouldn't be called horses anymore

Karl: hey what the honk does this mean…..I’m shaking what does this mean!

~~~~~~

Skeppy: Are you ok?

Bad wrapped in a burrito blanket drinking his 6th cup of coffee: Yes, this is exactly what mental stability looks like

~~~~~~

Sam: My hands are cold

Ponk: *holds their hands*

Ponk: better?

Sam: My lips are cold too

~~~~~~

George at dream’s funeral: can I have a moment alone with them?

Sapnap: of course *leaves*

George leaning over dream’s casket: Now listen, I know you’re not dead.

Dream: yeah no shit

~~~~~~

Skeppy, jokingly: I should have Bad kill you for that.

Bad, peering around the corner: Who do I need to kill?

Skeppy: Wh- no, I was just kidding around.

Bad, pulling out a switchblade: No, who’s bothering you

~~~~~~

Bad *watching the news*: Some idiot tried to fight a squid at the aquarium.

Skeppy *covered in ink*: Maybe the squirt was being a dick.

~~~~~~

Peacock: *spreads feathers at Bad*

Skeppy: It’s trying to attract a mate

Bad, extremely confused: *shyly lifts top*

Skeppy: No!

~~~~~~

Sapnap: Karl, do you eat olives? My dad wants to know

Karl: No, I hate olives. Olives are the spawn of satan. I hate olives so much my mom forced me to live in Mount olive for the rest of my childhood as a curse from the olive gods. Do you understand how much olives have ruined my life? I'm so offended that you asked me that have some consideration for people who have been abused by olives please!

Sapnap: K A R L ……….they’re just olives!!?

Karl: JUST OLIVES EXCUSE!

~~~~~~

Tommy: If you’re bored you can simply close your eyes and rotate a cow in your mind. It’s free and the cops can’t stop you

~~~~~~

Wilbur: is there anyone even named sheldon irl?

Tubbo: my class turtle from 6th grade :)

Wilbur: that’s a turtle

Tubbo: When god sings with his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

~~~~~~

Ranboo: No bcuz why do ppl like salad?? What’s so good about it

Tubbo: chew leaf like god intended

Ranboo: No

Tubbo: Abandon god and see what he does next time you lift your hands in prayer

~~~~~~~

Tommy: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly.

Wilbur, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

~~~~~~

Quackity: So according to the cease and desist order I got, apparently you can’t ‘legally’ be a lawyer if your license is ‘cut out of a cereal box’.

~~~~~~

Puffy: If you had too, what would you give up food or sex?

Bad: Sex.

Skeppy: Seriously, answer faster.

Bad: I’m sorry honey, when they said sex I wasn’t thinking about sex with you.

Skeppy: It’s like a giant hug.

Puffy: Ant, what about you? What would you give up sex or food?

Ant: Food.

Puffy: Okay, how about sex or dinosaurs?

Ant: ……...Oh my God it’s like the movie Sophie’s Choice.

Gumi: What about you Velvet? What would you give up sex or food?

Velvet: Oh… um… I don’t know, it’s too hard.

Gumi: No, you gotta pick one.

Velvet: Um, food… no, sex… no, food…sex… food. Ugh! I don’t know! I want both! I- I want Antfrost on bread!

~~~~~~~

Tommy, holding a gun: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true WHOEVERS CONTROLLING MY SIM I JUST WANNA TALK.

~~~~~~~

Bad: Why are you guys acting like this?

Boomer: Oh, we’re not acting. We really are like this.

~~~~~~

Techno: Dream has only knocked me out three times this week. Our friendship is really developing.

~~~~~~

Tommy: You’re pathetic!

Wilbur: You’re pathetic-er!

Techno: You’re both losers.

~~~~~~

Bad: I wish I could help you, but I shorn’t.

Skeppy: Bad, please!

Bad: What part of shorn’t don’t you understand?

~~~~~~

Tubbo: Why did you leave Wrestlemania on for Michal?

Ranboo: They need to learn how to protect us.

~~~~~~

Antfrost: I regret getting dragged into your heterosexual tomfoolery.

~~~~~~

Bad: Strawberry milk doesn’t taste like strawberry OR milk.

Skeppy: Go the fuck to sleep Bad!

Bad: LANGUAGE!!

~~~~~~

Ranboo: Tubbo, please calm down.

Tubbo: I asked for two large fries!

Tubbo: *dumps fries onto table*

Tubbo: But all they did was give me a MILLION FUCKING LITTLE ONES!

~~~~~~

Bad: That was the worst throw ever. Of all time.

Skeppy: Not my fault. Somebody put a wall in the way.

~~~~~~

Wilbur: When you’ve been on the internet for as long as I have, you develop thick skin.

Tommy: Navy blue isn’t your color.

Wilbur: Navy blue brings out my eyes you prick! *Chases after Tommy*

~~~~~~

Bad: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere*

Puffy: Where did you get that?.

Bad: My pocket.

Puffy: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket?

Bad: Skills.

~~~~~~

Tubbo: I will come to your house after work and knock on your window at 11 AM. You will not open the curtains, knowing full well what awaits you, but the knocking only grows louder, more demanding. Finally it stops, your ears ringing. You nervously let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You're safe now. Minutes pass by and you start to relax. And then you hear a knock at the front door. Like before, you stay still and clutch the blankets around you. You try to tell your self that it's just your imagination. Maybe the milk man? But why would he come so late? Everyone else was asleep, save for Naomi who was playing video games down stairs. To your relief, the knocking stops after a few. Minutes and you breath easy once more. Until you hear a knock on your bedroom door. You don't move. It's just your imagination. She isn't here. She can't be here. You tell yourself, shutting your eyes and willing yourself to sleep. The knock comes again, but with horror you realize that it came from the closet inside your room. You know that you have no choice. You get up, climbing out of bed with shaking limbs. You walk to the closest, trembling, and holding back the tears threatening to spill over your porcelain cheeks. You hesitate with your hand over the closet handle. Maybe it's just your imagination? She's not really there. You can go to sleep and laugh it off in the morning. Your naive thoughts are cut off by another, more demanding knock on the closet door, inches from your face. You know what you have to do. You open the closet door, and there she stands. Chuck e cheese, the mouse looms over you in the dim light. It's soulless eyes boor into you. It raises its arms, and you flinch as it begins to floss at lightning speed. Tears spill over your cheeks. This is the last thing you'll ever see.

Ranboo: Wait, Chuck e cheese’s pronouns are she/her? Trans Chuck e cheese? Good for her.

~~~~~~~~

Bad: Would you like something to drink? *They opened the fridge* We have water, milk, juice, spiders, Dr. Pepper-

Quackity: Spiders?

Bad: Spiders it is then.

Quackity: No, that wasn’t-

*But they were already pouring him a brimming glass of spiders…

~~~~~~

Puffy : Make her pussy wet not her eyes.

Velvet : Make his dick hard not his life.

Punz : Break her bed not her heart.

Skeppy : Play with his boobs not his feelings.

Ant : Get on his dick not his nerves.

Bad : Always salt your pasta while boiling it.

~~~~~~~

Wilbur: Bet you can’t eat 15 crayons!

Tommy: Bet you I can!

Phil: *sips coffee, checks to make sure 911 is still on speed dial, and goes back to reading the paper*

~~~~~~~

Ant: We need a way to lure in new customers?

Ponk: Maybe we could have some fun, interactive events!

Skeppy: Badboyhalo bath water.

Bad: ABSOLUTELY NOT!

~~~~~~~~

Fundy: GET BACK HERE YOU DUMB FUCK!

Wilbur: LET ME RUN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!

~~~~~~~~

Bad: Mint is just cold spicy.

Pummel party Squad: …

Gumi: What the actual fuck is wrong with you.

~~~~~~~~

Quackity: Isn’t it amazing how I can feel so bad and still look so good?

~~~~~~~

Tommy: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt?

Phil:

Phil: Why are you eating dirt?

Tommy: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.

~~~~~~~

Tubbo: I wish I could control wasps and bees to sting my enemies.

Quackity: You’re too young to have enemies.

Tubbo: You don’t even know.

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Is there a cactus where your heart should be?

Puffy: What’s up your ass this morning!

Bad: *walks in* …Hi!!

Puffy: Hmm… nevermind.

Skeppy: WAIT NO!

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Ha! Don’t you know the trappers trap can trap the trapper?

Skeppy: I must be losing it, I’m quoting Bad.

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Bad, I sense hostility.

Bad: Good, because I hate you

~~~~~~~

Bad: Are you a painting?

Skeppy: What-?

Bad: Because I want to pin you to a wall.

Skeppy: OH GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY YOU WANTED TO HANG ME OR SOMETHING-

~~~~~~

Tommy: You’re giving me a sticker?

Phil: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a kitty saying “me-wow!”

Tommy: I’m not a preschooler.

Phil: Fine, I’ll take it back-

Tommy: I earned this, back off!

~~~~~~

Dream, sweating: George, there’s something I need to ask you-

George: Finally! You’re proposing!

Dream: How’d you know?

George: Dream, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.

George: I even picked it up once

~~~~~~~~

*Bad and Skeppy looking at a locked gate into a park*

Bad: Aw. :(

Skeppy: You know what they say.

Bad: Please don’t-

Skeppy: BE GAY DO CRIME! *hops gate*

Bad: Frick-

~~~~~~~~

let me know if ya’ll want more <3

303 notes · View notes

esdithequeen · 2 years ago

Text

Hatchling

Ao3 Link

The worst part of being a lawyer, of any kind, was undoubtedly the paperwork. It piled up high on the desk, blocking out all light and joy from one’s life, and was undefeatable, a hydra of ink and printer paper— one stack went and two more appeared. An ouroboros of despair and suffering, inescapable and unending.

Which is to say that Simon wasn’t having a fun day at work.

He wasn’t having a very fun day at all, to be completely honest. Kay had to leave early in the morning in order to sort out some pre-trial nonsense, and he had been woken by the sound of Taka screeching and clawing at the bedroom window to try and reach some pigeon that had settled outside. The coffee machine in the break room had broken, and he couldn’t be arsed to go to the cafe down the road from the prosecutor’s office, mostly because he knew that in the time it would take him to walk there and back another pile of paperwork would appear on his desk.

So caught up in his own quiet decaffeinated rage, Simon didn’t even notice that Kay had poked her head through the door until she spoke up, “Is Taka in here?” She half whispered.

Simon’s brow furrowed, “Not right now, no.”

Kay sighed in relief, pushing her way into the office with a cup holder bearing two takeaway cups in one hand, and a shoe box cradled in the other. The drinks were all but thrown at him, and he grabbed one to take a sip as the box was gently set down on the desk, grimacing at sickly sweet concoction in his hand. Kay took it off of him, “That one’s mine, obviously.”

She moved to close the window as he reached for the other drink and cautiously brought it to his lips. An oat milk matcha latte with half a shot of vanilla. Much better. He eyed the shoe box on the desk, wondering why on earth was in it and why Kay had it— until the box chirped. Simon swivelled his chair around, “Kay…”

“Don’t get mad at me just yet.” She insisted, “I didn’t kidnap the little guy.” Pulling up a spare chair, Kay sat down at the side of the desk and pulled the lid off the box.

The sad little creature didn’t even have its down feathers yet. Its eyes were firmly shut, and despite being bundled in a nest of old rags and paper towels it shivered. Surely the chick could not be older than a day or two, “Another crow?”

“A scrub-jay.” Kay corrected.

“And you couldn’t find the nest?”

“I found what was left of the nest.” She pulled out a bright blue tail feather, “And what I assume to have been mom. Whatever attacked clearly didn’t see him fall beneath the bushes.”

“Or its hunger had been sated.” Simon considered the tiny hatchling for a moment; it barely moved other than its violent shivering, already halfway to death’s door by the looks of it, “You know the chances of it surviving are extremely low, don’t you?”

Kay removed her gloves and gently lifted the chick out of the box, bringing it close to her chest in an attempt to keep it warm, “Of course I know that,” she said firmly, “but I couldn’t just leave him there. The thought of him starving alone out in the cold was too much for me.”

“It might not even survive the night.”

“I know.” Kay held it tighter to herself, a crease in her brow and her voice wavering slightly, “But I have to at least try.”

He wanted to chastise her for being too soft, but the sight of her pulling her legs up onto the chair and curling around the little bird, as if it were the most precious treasure in the world, caused the words to die in his throat. Of course she would see this half-dead orphaned hatchling and do everything in her power just to have a chance at saving it. This was the same woman who visited him every single week for almost a year, determined to prove him innocent even when he had already accepted his fate on death row.

Simon sighed, “You’d be better off taking it to a rehab centre.”

“I already did, but they didn’t have room for him. It’s fine though, we’ve both raised birds before.”

“We? You want me to help?”

“Well yeah. You will, won't you?” She held out the chick to him, “Here, hold him while I try to get some food in him.”

Simon gingerly accepted the bird, holding it in one hand. It was splayed out awkwardly, anchored down by the weight of its own head, yet the tiny beastie barely even filled his palm. Fishing out a little syringe of food from one of her many belt pouches, Kay propped up the chick’s head with a single finger and manoeuvred the tip of the syringe into its mouth. It took a while— the bloody thing seemed determined to starve, but once she managed to get a bit of the sludge down its gullet the chick began to flail its stubby little wings around, letting out the weakest, squeakiest little chirp Simon had ever heard as it begged for more.

It was… a little cute. In that strange ugly way that baby birds often were. Simon remembered when Taka was first thrust upon him by the prison guard, a mess of white down and sharp talons that cried and bit at his fingers when it was hungry. That clawed its way over his body just so it could sleep in the crook of his neck at night. He remembered wondering why he had been saddled with such an ugly, needy little beast, but now he couldn’t imagine being parted from Taka for more than a day. Simon began to gently run his thumb down the chick’s back.

“He’s winning you over, isn’t he?” Kay smirked.

“Only a little.” Once there was no more food to offer, Simon lowered the bird back down into its box, fluffing up the bedding around it, “But we still can’t let ourselves get attached. So no naming it, understood?”

She leaned against the desk, eyes only the small scrub-jay chick, “Too late. His name is Noodle and he is my son.”

Simon sighed, “Our son.” He corrected.

#faraquill #simon blackquill #kay faraday #ace attorney #writing

5 notes · View notes

uni-seahorse-572 · 2 years ago

Text

turns out the cure for my writer's block was fanfic about a movie that doesn't exist

disclaimer: Goncharov is not and has never been a real movie, but instead one based on a misspelling on a shoe tag that spiraled further thanks to tumblr creating a strange canon mashup. Whenever I refer to it as though it is real, it's part of the collective Goncharov bit

this is the missing tale of what Katya was doing the morning the betrayals went down, because we never did see where she was. anyway. dedicated to everyone who watched Goncharov and was stricken with sorrow at the shocking dearth of women kissing

The morning Katya betrays him, she wakes up with Goncharov lying beside her in bed, one arm tossed around her waist. Given the years of marriage between them, this should not be unusual in itself, but in practice it’s been months since she’s slept next to him. He doesn’t ask where she goes in the night anymore, and she extends the same courtesy, but she’s the one who’s been trying at the very least. She hasn’t taken a lover since they said their vows. She cooks for them, or at least she has their help only do part of the work. It’s not her fault. She was never supposed to be a housewife, was never born into a line of small women living small lives.

Katya eases her way out of the covers. His arm flops downward onto her residual warmth, but he won’t wake. Goncharov sleeps like the dead.

Like she would any other morning, she powders her face and curls the ends of her hair as though she expects a socialite party instead of a shootout down in the worse part of town. The one concession she makes is to don her crimson dress, the one that hugs her hips and exposes the hollows of her throat… she’s felled many a man in this dress, one way or another. Tonight, when the blood flows, she will remain pristine in red.

The coffee shop on the promenade isn’t the type Katya would usually frequent—too dingy, too dull, no guarantee that the servers have washed their hands of grime. You’d think she’d be used to unpleasant places after so many years entangled with organized crimes, yet she remains an aristocrat at heart.

The first time she’d taken her coffee here, it had no milk, no sugar, and it was hours after midnight as she clawed the last of the blood flakes from beneath her fingernails. She’d gagged at the bitterness that hit the back of her throat, and Sofia, a stranger then—one table over with ink dotting her hands, had suggested she try something she could handle. Since then Katya has ordered a black coffee every time she’s sojourned on these sticky seats.

No one sets the terms for these meetings. No one sets the times. More often than not, Sofia cannot sleep, and so instead ventures here from her boarding house down the street. When Katya heard that the first time, she’d said it’s dangerous here, this late.

Sofia had just laughed. From you and your ilk? It poses no danger to a woman such as you.

What Katya hadn’t said then, and might not ever, was that Sofia was a very different sort of woman. Not in a way easy to name either, for she was as unflinching in any circumstance and as loose in morals and loyalties. Yet she hadn’t been raised to think the world was hers. Where Katya cloaked herself in beauty, hiding every darker thought with the pearls draped around her neck and the subtle red of her lipstick—her weapons strapped to her thigh and her words twice as sharp, Sofia was a wilder thing. She had no qualms with dashing about Naples in garb more suited to a man, refusing to be beholden to anything other than herself.

The doorway chimes. There’s Sofia, at last. Her chestnut hair lies half-tangled down her back, barely restrained by her hat. Her heavy blue coat hides her form neatly and sweeps nearly to her knees

Katya raises her mug in greeting.

Though Sofia notices her immediately, she takes her time. She orders her own drink at the counter and waits for it there. One leg bounces, clad in tight pants tucked into her boots.

Today Katya has chosen the territory, claimed it first, one of the coffee shop’s corners where shadow hides most of her face thanks to the broken lightbulb directly above. Sofia settles down across from her, plunking down her cup on its saucer and a thick slice of ciambella. She takes her coffee with only a dash of cinnamon, no cream, but she never grimaces at the taste.

“You had a productive night, I see,” Katya says mildly, nodding to the black stains that coat Sofia’s fingers. Here she needn’t bother with pleasantries.

Sofia is a writer, mostly a poet. She’ll never make anything of it. Not with her lack of a family name with any repute, not with the cold facts of her life and how she must squeeze it into the scant hours after she gets off work. She prefers the old-fashioned quill and ink. Katya is under the firm belief that if one is insistent on remaining so antiquated, they should at least be able to avoid making a mess of their skin and workspace. “It tends to help to have a muse.” Sofia shrugs. The way she can say such things so casually will be astounding no matter how many times she does it.

Katya will miss her, once this is over. Naples has swallowed them all whole and she’ll cut her own way out of the city’s stomach if it kills her. She’ll leave the rest of them to rot. Theses demons will only die if she does it herself. The chill of the gun beneath her dress burns.

“You will have to show me your work sometime.” She takes a long draught of her drink. It warms her to the bone.

“I doubt it would suit your tastes. I’m no Pushkin.” Sofia takes the ciambella in her hand, breaking off a piece and offering it out. To Katya’s surprise, she brings it directly to her lips, Sofia’s fingertips brushing against her mouth. The cake sits heavy in her stomach but sweet on her tongue.

Slowly, she reaches out to return the favor. Sofia catches her wrist gently as she takes the offered bite. They stay there, in a holding position, and Katya catches herself thinking of everything they might have been. The clock chimes. “I expect I’d rather read Sofia of Naples’ pieces over his.” Perhaps, she considers, she’d be able to convince Sofia to let her finally peruse them if she had just one more week in this city. It is what it is. “You are doing well, yes? Does Andrey still have you keeping tabs on Morelli?”

The day she’d learned that Sofia, the one person in her life untouched by the violence that seemed to orbit around her, had been working with her husband’s mafia all along had nearly broken her. Sofia did it for money. For power. For the thrill of it, too, the way her eyes lit up when she sank deeper into the tangled web they’d all woven together. “Do stop worrying,” Sofia says, giving Katya’s hand a gentle squeeze. “He does, yes, and I’m afraid it only goes deeper.”

Katya wonders how much she knows. There was a time when she had so many contacts under her thumb that she could have told you exactly what everyone in St. Petersburg was thinking at a given time, but since coming here she’s had to rebuild. Perhaps if she had the same connections here they wouldn’t be in this mess. Instead, she’d been forced to turn to Goncharov’s rivals for information about why her brother had traveled to Italy and make her dreadful promises. But she isn’t doing this for the sake of the word she’d given her enemies. She’d have no qualms breaking that. Her world has been fractured for longer than she’d care to admit, and Goncharov has always been the source of the break. Removing him from the equation… now that will be the way to finally heal.

Her husband is a slippery man. Nevertheless, even he couldn’t find a way out of this trap. He’d trusted the wrong people. He’d trusted his own wife and his supposed right-hand man and maybe-lover, and look where that’s about to land him.

Sofia’s sad smile says more than her speech. “Care to withdraw to somewhere more private?” she asks, and Katya is as ever helpless to resist her. They rise from their seats and leave a generous tip. There’s money to burn now.

There’s a narrow alley by the coffee shop. There was a Katya once who’d have scoffed at the very idea of setting foot in such a place, until she met a woman worth rending the earth to pieces for. They have their routines here—one: Sofia acts first.

It was here that Sofia made clear what manner of person she is. You see it best in how she kisses. Hard and fast, taking every ounce of control she can wrestle away. Lips tender with the raw flesh where she’d chewed them and breath catching hot.

Her hands come up to seize Katya by the back of her neck, a bare shoulder. She doesn’t touch Katya like anyone else who’s ever touched her, like a beautiful, precious thing, something to have and something to protect and something to fear breaking. No, Sofia matches sharpness with sharpness. She holds her as though trying to meld them into one.

It gives Katya ten times the heady rush of power from gleaning such worship from a man. This is nothing sacred. They kiss and it’s the two of them chasing understanding in the other’s lips. Never the clash of violence she’s always known. Katya tips her chin back, pushing herself up onto her toes to better match Sofia’s height and giving as good as she gets as she rakes her nails down that blue coat. There’s no cold to be found out here with how close they’re pressed together.

Fine. So maybe Katya half-lied when she claimed to have never taken a lover, but she puts no stock in truth’s virtue. Besides, she’s never taken anyone, not even Sofia, into her bed. That’s as faithful as she has the capacity to be.

A clock chimes again. Sofia draws back, cheeks flushed. “I must go,” she says. Her fingers are curled around Katya’s cheeks, and her mouth is stained with secondhand lipstick.

Katya doesn’t crumple inward. Doesn’t dwell on what that means for this moment: it is to be their last together.

There’s so much she ought to say. An I love you sits ready on her tongue for the first time in her life, unmarred by being offered to any other. If she was a different sort of woman, she would say it now. There isn’t enough time to become that person. There isn’t time at all.

Tonight will be her last in Naples.

“I bid you well,” she says. It rings hollow.

Sofia—the love of her life who’ll never know it, the indomitable force who can stare down old money and mafia men in ill-fitting trousers, the poet by late night excursions and the only person who could make her stay—strides away, marking the first and most irrational time Katya has ever been betrayed.

#goncharov #unreality #katya goncharov #katya x sofia #ari writes

3 notes · View notes

alilbihh · 5 years ago

Text

woods&witches — knj

masterlist

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: You think it ends with you saving a fox. That is, until you start getting love letters sent to your doorstep and little knick knacks left on your window sill.

genre: fox shifter!namjoon, witch!reader, fluff

words: 4.5k

a/n: this was meant for the bingo challenge but completely escaped its original prompt. anyway. heres shy!lovestruck!namjoon bc i love him. also no this is nOt a witch au blog idk whats wrong w me

A finch flutters onto your windowsill, and you shuffle over once you hear a tap, tap, tap on the glass. You push it open and the bird hops inside, beak leaning forward tentatively.

You take the letter. "Ah, so they sent you this time?" Or maybe the finch volunteered, you wouldn't be surprised. They are quite the gossips.

It's a soft blue envelope, and when you turn it over there's a scrawled #12 on the left side corner. You think that even if he hadn't written that, you'd know. It's easy to keep track, after all.

A maple leaf slips out when you open the envelope. You set it aside and tentatively take the letter, brush a hand over the ink. It was written by hand in messy but deliberate hand writing and it smells like chamomile and honey, like it was written under a half-moon.

You read it once then twice then three times until it feels like you've been dipped halfway underwater, until the buzzing of the midday cicadas has faded into white noise and everything is suddenly tinged blue.

The man, you deduced a while ago, tells tales of palm trees and blue ponds and red and pink frogs, of catching crabs on a stranded shore. He's writing poetry but he's not, writing reality but he's not, and you don't know how he does it, how he can make five paintings with just one phrase.

You clutch the letter to your chest, feel yourself have an out of body experience because of a not-poem. Your head whips towards the finch when it chirps suddenly, and you huff.

"Why're you still here?" You shield the letter from the bird's eyes. Its head tilts. "And don't give me that look, I know exactly what you're thinking."

The bird only gives another chirp before flying away.

You scoff out a laugh, and when you walk towards your bedside table, the drawer opens before you can even think too much about it. You glare at your walls before tucking the letter with the others, as if to stop the house from teasing you too much.

It all begins and ends on a sunny afternoon.

The tree roots whisper as you pass, as if to purposely lead you astray, but you follow them anyway. The forest is never wrong, after all.

So when you stumble against a snowy white fox lying on a field of wisteria, you're only a tad bit surprised.

"Ah, you don't want to do that," you say some time after it woke up in your home and stopped panicking. It's now looking down at your polka dot socks, then looks up sharply to stare at you. You don't think there's a way for foxes to show emotions, but you think that if there were, he'd be staring at you with a little bit of awe.

You clear your throat. "Your foot, I mean. You don't want to strain it."

It just keeps staring at you, one ear twitching a bit.

"Um." You say when it doesn't stop, "You'll be better in a few weeks time. It wasn't that serious."

The fox blink blink blinks before shaking itself off, fur spilling every which way. You take it as acknowledgement enough.

In a few minutes he's managed to sniff and inspect every piece of furniture in your home, ranging from your small couch to your droopy house plant. He trudges and limps and sometimes skips from place to place, and then becomes highly confused when you don't let him climb the kitchen table.

Yoongi appears on your window somewhere between the fox kneading at your rug and the fox trying to catch a moth with its mouth.

"Hey grump," you say to the black cat, scratching behind his ears. Yoongi's tail twitches in dismissal, but he whines when you stop petting him, anyway.

You can almost see when Yoongi's gaze settles on the fox, because when you turn to look he's frozen solid on your couch, as if hoping he can't be seen if he stays still enough. The cat gives you a look.

You raise a brow. "What? Don't look at me like that."

He keeps looking at you like that.

"I helped him over by the wisteria. His foot's a little bad, but it's nothing too bad." The fox stays curled up on your couch, digging his nails into the cushions much like a cat would. An ear twitches in your direction, as if he's sheepish but won't admit to it.

Yoongi mewls a single, drawn out mewl of acceptance. You nod nod nod, and the cat jumps down your window and disappears into the woods right when the wind starts blowing north and the sun starts climbing higher before dropping lower.

The world stills for a while as you work through your home, organizing your chipped cups and bent spoons and funny forks. The mushroom wraith on your door wiggles when you pass it by, and when the frog figurine on your counter croaks in greeting the fox nearly jumps out of its skin.

(The fox is gone by morning, right when the sun settles over the honeysuckle tumbling down your thatched roof. You try to feel for his presence, but it's overwhelmed by the snails and woodpeckers and oversized mushrooms.

You think that's when the letters started coming, perched nicely over your windowsill whenever you're not looking).

There's a man in your pond.

The carp in the water yells indignantly as the man tries to stand but tumbles, pondweed curled over his ankles as if begging him to stay. You just stare because the man tries to get up once then twice then three times, hair loose and windblown and positively drenched, twigs and pondweed in the knots.

You stare and stare until the man notices you and startles, looks away quickly before cringing and hesitatingly meeting your eyes. He lifts a hand, lowers it, lifts it again and waves. You wave back.

"Hello." You say. The man looks a little stunned, more stunned than when the carp had nipped at his feet. You point at the pond, "You're standing in my pond."

"Ah!" He startles, head whipping down like he'd forgotten all about it. "I am! In your pond, I mean. Sorry, sorry." The pondweed untangles itself mercifully, and he shuffles out of the water, toes curling into the dirt around it.

"It's okay!" You shoot him a thumbs up. He stares. "Do you want to, uh, come inside?"

So the man walks through the slim wooden trellis and diligently wipes his feet on the rug, shuffling through the door with hesitant steps. He looks a little like a painting left out too long in the rain, all ruffled hair and stiff shoulders, but pretty nonetheless.

"Would you like some tea?" You say, already grabbing the kettle from the cupboards, "It will have to have milk, though, since the cups don't like serving without."

"Okay! Tea is nice. Thank you." Then he smiles with knee-deep dimples and pinchable cheeks and something inside you kinda melts a little.

The man's name is Namjoon and his skin is tan despite it already being winter, the color of salted caramel. He's so bright you find it easier to look away, to look instead at the space around him, the shadow against the pane of his neck, the length of his-- very long legs. You'll pretend you never noticed that.

You don't talk about why he was in your pond, not really. He's already apologized to the carp, he says. You talk instead about mushroom glades and why avocados are acceptable dinner foods and his intense love for moths and his hopes for snow this year.

When Namjoon leaves it all feels a bit unprecedented. Lost souls show up on your doorstep often, always leaving after a cup of tea and a few helpful directions, but Namjoon doesn't look lost at all. Looks a little like he belongs, really.

He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, then sticks a hand out in offering. You shake his hand. He nods, lingers on the doorway, plays with a loose stitching of his soft green overalls.

"I'll-- be seeing you, then," he clears his throat, and you just laugh a little loosely because no, you won't. With lost souls, you never do.

Except Namjoon does return. He returns, in fact, in green baseball shorts and an open-collared shirt with sugar packets sticking out of the front pockets. He looks a bit like a dad showing up for his son's football game. Looks a little dangerous but in a harmless way, like a huge gangly bug. A six-foot stick insect hovering outside your door.

You're a little stunned. Very stunned. So stunned that Namjoon cringes, shuffles a bit on your welcome mat. It's a frog with a thought bubble that says welcome! that Namjoon has expressed his love for on multiple occasions.

"Hello," he purses his lips. "I... wanted to thank you. Again. For everything." He sucks in a breath. "Bad time? Bad time. I don't actually remember knocking-- did I knock? God, I didn't, did I? I'm so rude, I'm so sorry."

"No, no," you say once you've recovered. "You, you definitely knocked."

"Oh!" His lips form a surprised little 'o'. You're so fond. "That's good. Okay. I'll... be leaving, then."

"Um!" You interject, "You can come inside, if you want?"

So he comes inside and drinks tea and names the cactus by your windowsill Gerald and discusses his complaints on climate change and you're a little content and a lot confused, because--

Only creatures of the forest can find your house more than once.

Unless--

(That night, you knock on your own walls and glare indignantly. Say, "You led him here, didn't you?"

The walls do nothing. You think you hear a floorboard creak, though.

You stomp your feet like an overgrown child. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but I'm not falling for it!"

No response. Except the wind chimes outside sing brightly, but when you look out the window there's no wind at all).

Namjoon visits once then twice then three times, always showing up unplanned and out of nowhere. He brings a pinecone first then a dandelion next, blushes and says I didn't pluck them against their will! I told them they looked pretty and they volunteered to help me.

He's so pretty it's become a little harder to hold in. He was always pretty, always smiles a bit too brightly, like he's swallowed a star and can't quite keep all the brightness to himself, but something's shifted a bit.

(You contemplate this in a mid afternoon. As in: whisper-screaming to the ceiling for a while. And then whisper-screaming some more when Yoongi walks directly across your face.

"You're a monster," you inform him.

He digs his tiny monster-claws into your stomach.)

One day, you learn the man is weirdly good at knitting. You learn he has a pretty solid grasp on quantum physics. You learn that when he laughs it's a little hah! under his breath, and when he really laughs it turns sideways and belly-up, pitching into something that could almost be defined as a giggle. You learn that you need to stop staring.

Another day, Namjoon sits in the corner of your couch, curled up reading a book he'd picked up from the next village over. It's small but very thick with what could only be very small letters, because he's squinting a bit as he reads. It's vastly endearing.

Another day, he makes cheesy bread in your toaster and felt bad about it for the next three weeks. Which is also the amount of time it took for you to get all the cheese out.

Everything's great.

Today, though, you're walking through the forest alone. The forest doesn't guide you, not really, maybe because it knows you're walking on your own terms.

The forest is noisy with the sounds of birds calling and trees growing and little things skipping here and there through the undergrowth. Your shoes are so muddy you don't really care for how much worse they get, and they squelch when your heels sink into puddles and spongy moss.

You walk and walk until you come across a clearing, a bird feeder propped neatly over a tree branch. A sparrow squawks when it sees you.

"Hello," you say in greeting, and the tree with the bird feeder sighs, the wind blowing and carrying the sound.

A tree root on the ground grabs a fistful of dirt and promptly flings it onto your knees. You shriek indignantly.

You have a lot to figure out, the tree echoes because of course it does. It has a history of saying things vaguely and hoping you'll understand.

"I don't understand," you say out loud.

It flings more dirt onto your knees. You step back protectively, "Okay, okay! I get it!"

One, two. Four clouds in the sky, for now, it says at last, and you're a bit afraid of prying, so you just accept what it says as fact and move on, say one last goodbye to the bluetit that flutters onto the bird feeder.

It starts raining not long after that, when more than four clouds settle over the evening sun, makes it a bit harder to maneuver through the woods. You walk based on feeling, a hand brushing over the tree trunks, silently cursing the tree.

Namjoon is already waiting when you arrive home, hurries forward when he spots you through the trees, holding an umbrella up high.

And it's-- sweet. Just a really sweet thing to do, really considerate. He could have waited inside, in the warmth and shelter, but instead he's walking through puddles to meet you halfway with an umbrella.

He looks a little funny when he stops in front of you, hair disheveled and sticking up in random places, eyes all worried and sullen. He looks like a goose.

"You look like a goose," you say out loud with a little laugh, "I'm already wet though, so there's not much point in this, you know?"

Namjoon's smile is a bit dopey, a bit sloppy at the edges. "But there's not many trees to shield you, from this point on." He says, "Let's-- go inside?"

So you go inside, the house already setting the fireplace with its never-ending firewood, the frog figurine croaking and the wind chimes singing and everything feels a little right. A little more homey.

"Did you find your way back easily?" Namjoon says later, hands cupping his tea mug as he sheepishly adds, "I know this is your-- home, obviously, I don't wanna just assume anything, but-- For me, it's a bit harder to navigate when it rains like this. Fogs my senses and all," he clears his throat.

You purse your lips to keep from smiling, "Do you know how a wood witch works, Namjoon?" You continue when he shakes his head, "A wood witch is the one who planted the first seed that sprouted the first tree that grew the first forest," you say, half-chanting it, cite it like a rhyme long forgotten.

He looks a bit awe-struck. A lot awe-struck. Says, "Oh." And that's that.

You add, sheepish, "It's really not much. I'm not as powerful as other wood witches, but I am grateful to the woods." You hum, "They gave me this cottage. They gave me who I am, really."

"Oh." Namjoon says. "Oh." He stares and stares, open mouthed and in awe and sort of dazed but pretty, pretty. His gaze trails over the room once before settling back on you, says, "You're all the beauty in the world."

And the world-- stills, maybe-- balanced atop a drop of nectar.

You whisper a small, delighted "Oh." And that's that.

Namjoon somehow manages to drag you outside the woods.

You're being dragged through busy streets, cars and crowds and carriages that boggle your senses. The difference between the village and the woods is astounding. (Not that you've never been to nearby cities or villages-- sometimes you crave poptarts and there's nothing you can do about it-- but it's been a while since you've walked into the very heart of it).

You might be a wood witch, but Namjoon is the one who looks a little — lost, outside the woods.

"This is my favorite corner cafe," he admits proudly, "Um, if Seokjin-hyung says anything, please be aware I'm not associated with him."

"Got it." You like this Seokjin guy already.

Taylor Swift is blasting through the speakers when you walk inside, a broad shouldered man swaying from side to side behind the counter as he pours milk into a cup. Once his eyes land on Namjoon he positively grins.

"Namjoon, my man!" He belts out a particularly impressive high note as Namjoon approaches him, but no one around seems at all fazed. "It's been so long!"

"I've been here last week, hyung." Namjoon says but he seems a bit happy to be missed, sheepishly ducking his head.

"That's too long. You should visit more often, it's great! I get free coffee here and don't have to walk through muddy paths and ominous sounds to visit you."

"It's not free though?" Namjoon frowns, "You may own the shop but you're the one who buys all the coffee in the first place."

The man behind the counter makes a noise that's too distorted to understand. "If I wanted someone to tear apart my ideas with logic I'd talk to Yoongi, you're both insufferable."

You want to interject but at the same time don't. You get so absorbed in your own thoughts you almost don't notice when they mention a Yoongi. Huh.

"Oh, you know Yoongi? The cat?" You blink when two sets of eyes settle on you.

"Ah, yes. Yoongi." The man you've now established has to be Seokjin sighs, resting a chin over his palm, "The devious fiend. The pest of the nest. The gremlin goblin."

"Do you ever think before you speak."

"I do! I thought of those words and then I said them."

Namjoon sighs and none of them elaborate any further, but you decide not to pry. You can always just ask Yoongi, anyway.

You both sit in a booth in the far corner where light reflects onto it perfectly but not in an overwhelming way, just enough to be warm and comforting. Seokjin pads over with your drink and Namjoon's latte and shoots excessive finger guns as he leaves, and Namjoon looks a bit like he's refraining from apologizing on his behalf.

Namjoon doodles on napkins and talks like he's reciting a far off poem, except he's talking about what should be the correct pronunciation of pickles and you're kinda maybe really hopelessly endeared.

"Do you think I should paint my nails?" He's saying, closely inspecting his nibbled nails, "Maybe it will make me stop biting my nails."

"Have you thought of green?"

He hums delightedly, "Green! I love green. I'm thinking pink though, since gender norms are a social construct and pink is just pretty in general."

"You'll look like a pretty little winter fairy!" You grin. He flushes pink, too.

Then when you get up to order another drink he stands quick, as if intending to order it for you, but you're already grinning and skipping to the counter and when you turn to look at him he's slowly sitting back down, defeated.

You're maybe smiling too hard when Seokjin walks to take your order. "Ah, Y/n-ssi! How may I help you, my gentle woodland elf?"

"Can I just have the same thing, please?" You say and he hums, walking mechanically towards his cabinets.

Then after staring dazedly at the separate christmas mugs and cinnamon buns and droopy plants, you're looking around when you spot a box by the back counter that looks like an awful lot like a letter slot, a stack of envelopes sitting neatly on top. Oh.

"What's that for?" You gesture towards the box, and Seokjin turns away from the coffee grinder to smile something a little gentle. A little secretive.

"We're a letter shop too, you know?" He looks like he's suppressing a sort of devious smile he doesn't want you to see, "We deliver letters on the writer’s behalf, so the sender stays anonymous."

Your organs twist and melt together all at once. You mumble a small "Oh" and that's that.

Then when you leave Seokjin winks before sending you both off, the man waving boisterously and maybe obnoxiously but you're immensely endeared, wave back until the shop is out of sight and Namjoon is sufficiently embarrassed.

You predictably invite Namjoon inside after you arrive home, deciding that soup after coffee doesn't sound too bad. So you watch as the fireflies do somersaults and the moths hover over lamps as you both go for seconds and then for thirds and you don't say much, maybe say nothing at all, but that's okay, too.

The soup signals a change, you think. Either

1) You are in love with Namjoon and need to tell him.

2) You are in love with soup and need to seek help.

So you walk through the forest.

Namjoon is at home, you know, but you feel that talking to Namjoon about your possible love for Namjoon is a bit counterproductive, so you walk through the forest instead.

Everyone is still adjusting to last night's downpour, the floors muddy and the leaves droopy and everything smelling like wet earth. You walk but you're hovering a few inches off the ground, silently thank the forest for its kindness.

You walk through the forest again the next day, think back to the tree with the bird feeder and think that maybe he wasn't so vague after all. Just wish that he could tell you what to do next.

It's easier to listen to a tree's vague advice than it is to follow through with it, you think, until a few weeks later, when the universe decides you need a little push. A big push. The biggest push.

Namjoon has been visiting consistently for the past month or so, sometimes staying over and sometimes staying just before nightfall, but for maybe a week you haven't heard of him at all. He's disappeared without a trace.

The forest guides you this time, patches of sunlight shining through trees as you follow. You think you hear the shrill argument between a finch and a jay on the treetops as you navigate through mushroom patches and mossy rocks.

It's the field of wisteria. You're in the field of wisteria when you find a small burrow, a little home for a woodland creature.

When you turn, you see-- Namjoon. Namjoon, eyes widened in horror, a strangled sound breaking free from his throat. Two white fox ears standing ramrod straight on his head.

You clear your throat. Say, "Hi, Namjoon."

He shrieks.

A finch flutters onto the bird feeder, eyes twinkling, "Guys, you will not believe what I just found out--"

"We know," the jay says.

"We know," the bluetit says.

"We know," the sparrow says.

Even Yoongi mewls from a higher tree branch.

The finch squawks, gossip stolen from right under its wing, "How on Earth did you all know?"

"The forest made the house bigger," Yoongi drawls, tail swishing here and there, "And we all helped deliver the letters."

"Different from someone, we can actually keep secrets!" Says the jay, chest puffed proudly, ignoring the offended squeals from the finch.

"You know, it was actually kind of obvious."

You hum from beside Namjoon, his arm draped over the back of the couch inches away from dropping onto your shoulder. He wants to tug you closer, comb a hand through your hair, but the mere thought has his face burning and ears threatening to pop out at the stress. He's kissed you before, dozens of times, for many reasons and for no reason at all, but it all still feels a little nerve wrecking, like one push will have you burst at the seams.

(Which, frankly, is ridiculous-- you're the strongest person he knows, but-- but.)

"What is?" He says to distract himself.

"The letters stopped coming after you started showing up, and you literally took me to a letter shop." You falter and add, "And just.. the way you say things, it sounds like how you sound when you write. I don't know if I'm making sense, but it's-- nice." You explain, a hint of affection on your voice.

That has nothing to do with being a fox shifter and everything to do with you sitting so prettily next to him, smelling like Ilsan sunshine and kept promises and damp earth, like the forest itself.

"Hmm," he hums, a hand settling on your thigh, finally gathering the courage to drop his arm onto your shoulder--

"Namjoon, you really don't have to hesitate for this kind of stuff." You say, turning to look at him with a grin. His face burns as he clears his throat pointedly, crossing one leg over the other as he finally drops an arm over your shoulder.

"M'sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be," You press a kiss to his chin, "And you better kiss me properly this instant, because it seems you still think that crocs are acceptable footwear. I'm gonna come to my senses any second now."

"Please don't," he says, a little wild. Then he's moving, nose brushing over your cheek, and then— and then—

A hand curling softly over your cheek, a little giggle, and his lips pressing gently over your own. Something a bit real. Un-takeback-able. You taste a lot like the poetry he writes, still writes, like you're pressing the wonders of the world to his lips, like he's skimming the universe with his hands.

(Once upon a time, you saved a fox lying in a field of wisteria.

The rest of the story is told in open envelopes, messages left for the moon to see.)

1K notes · View notes

n0wornever · 5 years ago

Text

Is It Really Me You’re Missing? (pt. 2) - Luke Patterson x Reader

Read Part 1 Here

It had been a few weeks since she had last heard from him. She blocked his number in her phone right after she got home that night, and she had deleted him from all social media. They still lived in the same city, but in a place as big as Los Angeles, she wasn’t worried about bumping into him any time soon.

She grabbed her book bag and her keys and raced out her apartment door. As she turned to lock it, she found a small note sitting on top of her welcome mat. Grabbing the tiny envelope, she flipped it over and saw her name written in red ink. She knew that chicken scratch writing anywhere.She sighed before opening the top flap. She pulled out a piece of notebook paper. "The One Where Luke’s a Total Dumbass” was written on the top of the sheet, and she couldn’t help but giggle at the reference.

“I understand why you had to leave. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I hope that we can at least be civil at some point. - Luke”

She slipped the note back into the envelope before walked toward the door.

She bounced into the coffeeshop that she worked at with a smile plastered on her face. Her coworker Aster glared at her from the cash wrap. Y/N ignored her eyes as she wrapped her apron around her waist. She took her position behind the espresso machine and took a look at the first ticket.

London fog latte with a cinnamon muffin. She thought about that order for a second. She shook the intrusive thought out of her brain as she started to steam the milk.

As she finished the order, she yelled over to Aster to see what table ordered it. The emotionless girl pointed to a booth in the far right corner. A boy sat with his back toward them. Y/N walked over to the table, tea in hand and a smile on her face. She set the drink down, reciting the order back to the patron.

“One London fog latte and a cinnamon muffin!”

“Thanks,” a groggy voice replied.

Her eyes met his dark green ones and she let out a soft gasp. He gave her a small smile.

“Don’t show up at my work,” she said plainly.

She rubbed her hand against her apron before turning on her heels to jog back to the bar, not saying another word to him.

She went right back to work, taking several orders during lunch. She tried to ignore the fact that he switched seats, his eyes wandering over to her now that he could see the front counter properly. Her eyes flashed over toward him a few times, but they never held for long. As the rush slowed, Y/N moved to cleaning some of the front tables. She saw his shoes walking toward her as he moved to put his cup in the dirty dish box.

He stopped slightly, trying to catch her eye, but she kept hers focused on the table below her as she scrubbed for her life. She heard him sigh before he walked out the front door. She felt like she could actually exhale again, taking deep breaths as she leaned against the chair near her.

She saw Aster actually smile as she leaned over the counter to talk to her.

“Did something happen between you and lil mr. rockstar?” She cocked an eyebrow at her coworker.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Y/N spat, eyes stabbing into the other girl’s.

Aster put her hands up in defense before walking back toward the register. Y/N looked down at her hand and realized she was clutching the towel tightly like a stress ball. She let go, shaking out her fingers before picking it back up and walking back to her station.

At 9 p.m. she locked the front door, like she always did, and started her walk to her car. She looked around her, anxious as she rounded every corner. She got to her car, opened the door and sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the brick wall in front of her. She let her chest heave as she felt tears start to fall silently. She let them for a moment, before putting her car in drive.

She turned on the radio to clog her racing mind. Her favorite song by Amy Winehouse played, and she tapped along on the steering wheel. As she turned into her parking spot, she turned off the car and sat there. Her hand sat on the handle, but she couldn’t get herself to open the door. Her finger tapped on the cool fabric for a moment. She moved her hand back over to the ignition and restarted it.

She couldn’t think straight as she drove quickly down the highway. The flashing lights and bustling nightlight dimmed as her eyes tunneled toward her destination. She saw quaint with and pulled into the lot across the street. She looked up at the corner room and saw the purple and blue lights flickering in the distance. She put her hands in her pockets and ran across the street. She stared at the building for another moment, before pulling out her phone. She wrote rapidly across her keyboard before shoving it back in her pocket.

Her leg was bouncing up and down as she waited on the sidewalk, her brain fighting the urge to sprint to her car. She saw the front door start to open and began to turn around. With her back toward him, she heard him call out her name softly.

“Y/N?”

She stood in place, her hands coming up to cross at her chest. She heard his feet walk across the grass, moving toward her. As he approached her, his hand came up to rest on her shoulder. She felt her neck chill at his touch.

“I don’t know why I’m here.”

He didn’t respond, staring at the back of her head with furrowed brows. He let his hand fall down her arm, lightly grazing her skin before grabbing her hand. She didn’t interconnect her palm with his, but he continued to grip hers to stabilize their contact.

“This is stupid, and I’m making the same dumb decision I always do.”

He still stayed silent, biting down on his lip as he heard her voice weave in and out as she began to cry. Her hand shook in his as he held it, and he squeezed it lightly.

“Luke, I don’t want to keep coming back to you.”

“So why are you here?” He finally questioned, voice in a low octave.

“I....I don’t know.”

He let go of her hand and let it fall to her side. She grabbed her right wrist in her left hand and finally turned to face him. He almost fell apart just looking at the state of her eyes. Their normal bright hue tainted in red, swelling at the edges. He crossed his arms and walked back a step, keeping his distance as he looked at her.

“Why did you show up today?”

“I missed you.”

“Bullshit.”

He laughed at her almost growl that the last statement rolled in with. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“It’s true. Do I deserve to? That’s a whole other question.”

She stayed silent as she listened to him.

“Y/N, I’ve messed up enough for like 50 people combined, but none of my faults hurt as much as the fact that I lost you.” He walked forward toward her, eyes never leaving hers. “I’m sorry that I never realized what I really lost out on. That I wasn’t present with you. That I never realized how lucky I was.”

Tears spilled out of her eyes as she watched him cry in front of her. He drew closer to her, his hand reaching out for her cheek. He stroked it softly as he drew her forehead in for a kiss. As he pulled away, he pressed his lips together in a frown.

“I guess I should have been more honest with you too....”

“No, this isn’t on you,” He shook his head. “I refuse to let you take ownership for my mistakes. I knew we were great together, Y/N. I missed you every single time you left. I just didn’t take us any further, because I wasn’t ready to give up my love life and it’s chaos.”

The last words stung her chest as he said them, but she knew that internally she had always knew they rang true.

“The second you left I knew I ruined the only thing in my life that was worth chasing. Y/N you deserve so much better.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets as his eyes rose to meet hers. She shook her head, moving close enough to touch him. Her hand landed on his upper arm and she rubbed her thumb against his skin. She leaned her head to the side as she took in his face once more. She leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you Luke. You’re still so important to me I- I just need time to figure out what that means.”

He nodded, grabbing her hand and bringing it to his lips, planting a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“I’ll be here if that time ever comes.”

Tag list: @xplrreylo @lovesanimals, @anythingandeverythingfandom, @crybabyddl, @oswin05, @themaddies-obx, @lukeys-giggle, @bumbleberry-pie @kiss-themoongoodbye @marinettepotterandplagg, @lolychu, @bathtimejish, @dasexydevitt13 @musicconversedance, @txrii @bestdressedandstressed @daisiesforlacey @epikskool @bookfrog247 @carleywhittaker @princessvader15 @rudysbay @spooky-season-bitch @kcd15 @meangirlsx @itz-jas @whatever-happens-imma-stand-tall

#luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson fanfiction #jatp #julie and the phantoms

248 notes · View notes

doctorthreephds · 4 years ago

Text

Synapses: Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 3.3k

TW: Again, nothing, except excess amounts of knowledge about forensics. Also the books suggested are great reads.

Summary: Your not-so-date date with Spencer arrives and you prepare for the worst to find out that the two of you have more in common than you realize. It is then when you begin to find feelings for the resident genius.

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @green-intervention

The next couple of days are a blur, with the signing of paperwork at the Bureau and enjoying your time off before you’re officially hired. Your lack of excitement was confusing. Usually most are nervous or excited to start a new job. But, for you, seeing Spencer was the most nerve-wracking thing you had experienced in a while.

That Saturday, you wake before your alarm. Even though the night before you had a hard time getting to bed, you wake once the light shines in through your window. It streams in and baths you in a golden glow. You had told Spencer to meet you at the bookstore around nine in hopes of checking out some books and then grabbing a bite to eat together, but you knew little to nothing about how flighty he would be. Would he take the books and leave? Or would he want to stay and chat? Perhaps you were overthinking a little bit.

A startling ring comes from your phone, forcing you to sit up and grab at it to silence the loud alarm. You groan as you throw your legs over the side of the bed, walking over to the closet to look through the hangers of sweaters and blazers amassed from years in academia. You think back to that night, what Spencer was wearing. His usual get-up was a blazer over a sweater vest and a button-up, at least it was for that night. It was cold then too. A beige sweater over a white button-up and a thick wool coat would do for today, it was rather chilly in D.C with the recent snowfall.

Your stomach bubbles with butterflies as you walk into your bathroom. After splashing some cold water on your face, you brush your teeth and try to calm your shaky hands. The blood rushing through your ears is like an anthem playing to your every movement. Was your heart pounding that loudly? You pause and take a deep breath before walking out of your room and into the kitchen. Opting for decaf so that your hands don’t shake as violently, a splash of milk and a teaspoon of sugar drop into the blue cup before you sip on the warm drink and stare out at the cityscape through your window like the calm before the storm. It was peaceful to see the bright white snow stand out against the brick and concrete as people pass by and get on with their Saturday morning. The steam from the drink tickles your nose as you take small sips, trying to pass time in an effort to not show up too early. You didn’t want to appear as if this was the only thing you had been thinking about for the past week, even though it was.

“You can do this,” you whisper to yourself, the phrase playing over and over in your head like a mantra, before grabbing your bag off the island countertop and typing in the code to start the security alarm. Rushing out the door, you close it behind you, the blanket of safety falling around your shoulders. Just another one of your father’s little things. At least you always felt safe.

Making your way down the stairs, you get down to the lobby and then out the glass doors into the rushed city streets. The chill relaxes you, calms your warm clammy skin as you walk down the sidewalk to the bookstore. A small smile grows on your face as puffs of air are made present with each breath. Your apartment was perfectly located, close to both the metro and the bookstore that you loved so dearly. It killed you to leave it behind when you got your Ph.D. but you were determined to be near it when you moved back.

A familiar ringing of the store bell engulfs you in a feeling of comfort as you near the store. It had been years since you went on a date, not like this was one, but you were definitely interested in Spencer and feared scaring him away or just not being interesting enough for him.

Walking through the door was like being transported into another world, The walls were lined with books, floor to ceiling. It was like a palace and you knew that every single book had a different world you could escape to when you needed to, when reality got too much. Every time you brought your dad here to sign some of Shelby’s collection of his books, he too had a similar face of awe. His job was stressful enough, it was the least you could do to help him gain some sort of escape.

“Hey there!” Shelby, the owner, calls out.

“Hi, Shel! How are you today?” you ask, glancing over at at the wall of candles next to her and checking to see if any of your favorites were restocked. It was one of the most alluring parts of the store, the book-themed candles with matching scents.

“I’m doing great, how did your last interview go? I know you were on the last one of the whole process,” she asks.

“It went great! I actually got the job and celebrated that night with my dad and his coworkers. There was actually this one guy--”

You hear the bell ring behind you and twist around to see Spencer standing there, an awkward smile across his face.

“Hey, Spencer! Welcome to the best place on earth,” you swing back to wink at Shelby and then walk forward to stand next to the young doctor. It makes you smile to see his crooked tie sitting underneath his maroon sweater vest and navy blazer. Out of instinct, you reach forward and adjust it before pulling back to realize what you had done.

“I am so sorry, it’s just a force of habit from when I do it for my dad,” you mumble and look down to the floor bashfully in an attempt to hide from the awkward shame.

“No worries. Shall we get to the books?” he asks and looks out to the bookstore. It was mostly barren due to the early hours, but it was perfect in your eyes. The overwhelming smell of paper and ink fills your senses as you direct Spencer over to the true crime section.

“I remember when I first found forensics books in the true crime section. It makes sense, though, forensics is all technically up to interpretation as anything but to me, it’s an interesting way of looking at science,” you state and begin pulling out books from the shelves. The Poisoner’s Handbook by Deborah Blum, Forensics by Val McDermid, and All that Remains by Sue Black. It wasn’t the heftiest stack of books you had walked out with, but you were sure it would tie Spencer over for at least a couple days.

“The same thing could be said about profiling, a lot of people show hesitation when it comes to our profiles, but we haven’t been wrong yet. It was only really in the last 50 years that people started to take it more seriously, although some still don’t believe it to be helpful” he states and you look up at him.

“Alrighty, there are three of my favorite ones. And honestly, if anything I can get you my college textbooks if you really want to enrich yourself, but I doubt those will be as entertaining as these,” you say and let out a little laugh.

“I’ll probably get through these today,” he glances down at the stack of books as you stare in awe.

“How? No way,” you mumble, your eyes widening.

“I can read 12,000 words per minute,” you pause in place, staring in awe as he speaks.

“I stand corrected, I wish I had your mind when I was working on my dissertation. God, I spent hours reading research papers and textbooks that I thought my brain would melt. For you? Light reading,” you state and shake your head. “Spencer you’re incredible.”

“Hm,” he hums and looks down at the floor, almost like a resignation. It was sad to see. Did he not know how amazing his mind is?

“What?” you ask and frown.

“Most people don’t say that when I tell them about me. They usually look at me in awe or like I’m a freak of nature,” he mumbles and huffs. You pause and stare at him for a moment before speaking.

“Well, you shouldn’t listen to them,” you boldly state as he looks up. “Growing up, knowledge and education was the one thing that no one could take away from me. Spencer, I think you’re the coolest person I know, and my dad is pretty famous.”

He lets out a small laugh at that as you take a moment to look at him, really look at him. His hair was a plop of messy curls on top of his head, smoothed down to try and look somewhat put together, and his eyes were a deep brown although slightly dull from lack of sleep. He carried himself a little bit timidly, but he carried the books in his arms like they were the key to unlocking everything. And for that? You adored him.

“Do you wanna go grab some lunch? I’d love to get to know one of my new coworkers,” you tell him and begin walking over to Shelby.

“Sure,” he says, a slight flush on his cheeks appearing as Shelby rings him up and you go through a couple of the candles, taking a quick whiff of the ones that look interesting. You take one that smells like butterscotch and place it on the counter, reaching over to your bag to bring your wallet out.

“I got it,” he mumbles and smiles as you frown, shaking your head.

“No, it’s okay,” you tell him as Shelby takes his card, looking at you pointedly.

“No, it’s alright, I got it.” he responds and takes the small receipt back from Shelby along with his card.

You narrow your eyes, a playful smile appearing on your face as you stare at him while Shelby bags up the books and then hands you the candle.

“I’ve got lunch then,” you tell him and gently nudge his shoulder, a smile spreading over your face. He nods and the two of you walk out of the bookstore into the cold D.C. street. The cafe you had in mind was only a couple stores over and the irresistible smell of freshly baked pastries was unmistakeable as the two of you walked closer. As you approach, Spencer speeds up and holds the door open for you as you mutter a small thanks to him.

The cafe itself was rather small but full of people who were enjoying their mornings out. The menu was littered with several different drinks and food in French. Glancing into the case full of food, you set your eyes on a spinach and cheddar cheese quiche as well as a warm mug of tea. When you walk up to the counter, you look over at Spencer for a moment as he too stares up at the menu. He suddenly looks back at you and you feel like you get whiplash from how quickly you look back to the woman behind the register.

“I’ll take what she’s having and a coffee with room for cream and sugar,” he responds as you quickly hand over your card, ensuring that he has no time to take out his wallet. When the transaction is finished, the two of you move off to the side to wait for your food and drinks.

“So what else do you do besides working and reading? Although, I’d guess work takes up a majority of your time,” you ask, looking over at him as you rub your hands together to help warm them up a bit. You should have brought your gloves, but it had slipped your mind this morning in the midst of all your chaotic thoughts about the day.

“I play chess in the park when I find the time. I also like to watch foreign movies and knit occasionally, although I haven’t really found time for it recently. Most of my time outside of work is dedicated to reading,” he responds.

“Oh gosh, I could never knit. I tried it once and it went very poorly, I just have really bad coordination with my non-dominant hand. Crocheting is my personal favorite type of fiber art, it only really requires one hand,” you smile as your name is called out and your drinks are put on the counter alongside your food. Quickly, you grab the mug full of tea with one hand and feel relief as it begins to warm your cold fingers. With the other hand, the two of you grab your quiches and walk over to the condiments section where you watch as Spencer proceeds to dump several sugar packets into his coffee.

“Not a fan of the bitterness?” you ask and laugh as he dumps the sugar in, stirring it around with a stir stick.

“Just a sugar addict,” he smiles up at you and your heart almost skips a beat in your chest as the two of you maneuver over to a table.

“I remember, sugar over alcohol. I hope the cake that night was to your satisfaction,” you say and begin digging into your food after a quick sip of tea to warm your insides.

“I think it could have had more sugar,” you bark out another laugh and take a bite of the quiche.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you mumble.

“What about you? What do you do in your free time?” he asks and you pause your eating to warm your hands with the mug of tea.

“I like to read as well, although I usually read science-related books. I’ve been trying to broaden my horizons and read some classical literature, I think there’s a lot to be learned from fiction that most scientists fail to recognize. There’s often a gap between humanities and science-related majors, but I think that they’re a lot more similar than they realize,” you speak and feel your hands sweat as you look up at Spencer who appears to be watching you as you talk. “Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?’

“No, you’re fine. It’s not often that people think the two are connect when, in fact, there is a lot that can be bridged between the two. Science can only be progressed if information is shared and made available for people to read, that’s why papers are only accredited if they’re peer-reviewed. I’d like to think psychology is a marrying of the two, both humanities and science. Without the knowledge of human nature, we cannot predict and better ourselves as human beings but without the scientific process, we are left unable to process experiments and theories. So, you’re completely correct,” he says and the two of you are left staring at each other as you soak in the information. Your heart soars at his response and you can only smile as you bow your head slightly to try and hide the warmth in your cheeks.

“Very astute analysis there, Dr. Reid,” you mumble, hiding your smile in your cup as you bring it up to take a sip.

“Thank you, Dr. Montgomery,” Spencer does the same with his coffee and you feel your cheeks stretch even further than imagined, a warmth growing in your chest.

The rest of your “not date” is spent talking about similar things, the disparity that people seem to observe between humanities and science as well as fun facts thrown around to keep the atmosphere light.

“I mean, before photographs, people had to draw crime scenes to keep track of where everything was. The procedures for crime scene investigation were very poor then, though, but they did what they had to do. I find that facial reconstruction is one of my favorite connections between art and science, the fact that scientists learn how to sculpt faces in order to make an identification,” you state as you finish the last bite of your quiche and drink the rest of your tea.

“It goes hand and hand with forensic anthropology to help identify victims. It’s moreso for the family than it is to help find the unsub, but it can add to victimology and help understand how the victim died,” he responds, also finishing the last of his sickeningly sweet coffee.

“But it’s so cool how science and art really are married. To be good at figure drawing, you have to have a good understanding of anatomy and to successfully construct a face, you must know how to sculpt,” you finish and look down at the finished meal, you feel a bit sad to find your time with Spencer coming to an end. “I’ll bring this over to the trash.”

You stand and take the plates with their respective mugs over to the tub of used dishes and discard your tea bag and napkins used. Walking back over, you find Spencer standing next to the table grabbing his own bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Shall we?” he mutters and you nod, following him out the door.

“I’m going this way,” you tell him, pointing back in the direction of your apartment and the bookstore.

“You didn’t take the train?” he asks, hugging his bag close as he furrows his brow.

“Oh! No, I live just a couple blocks down from the bookstore. I chose my apartment for that reason,” you clutch your bag close as well, almost a sort of object to ground yourself so the endless nerves are redirected some place other than your brain.

“I’ll walk you down, then,” he states and moves to stand beside you.

“You don’t have to, it’s just a couple blocks,” you state and shake your head.

“I insist,” he smiles and you can feel your heart jump in your chest. Maybe it was the bright blue cloudy sky behind him or the chill in the air, but something about him felt a bit unreal.

“Al-Alright,” you mumble and begin back down the street, a calm silence settling as the two of you walk in tandem and allow the noise of D.C. to fill the air. The walk is short, shorter than you remember, but the warmth of Spencer next to you is distracting so perhaps the fact that you can’t keep track of the streets is enough to make it feel like no time has passed. In fact, you almost walk past your apartment building, but the glass doors swing open and stop you in your place as someone else walks out.

“This is me,” you glance up at the building and look back at him, unsure of what to say.

“We should do this again some time. I’ll bring you some of the classics that I have so you can have more to read,” he suggests but takes a step back, almost like he regrets the words coming out of his mouth as they do so. “Only if you want to, you don’t have to--”

“I’d like that,” another pause as your heart begins to pound faster. “I’ll text you.”

You lean forward on your tip toes and press a kiss to his cheek before spinning around and walking into the building, attempting to catch your breath and not turn to look at his reaction. Hoping and praying you didn’t overstep, you head into the elevator and look out at the street where you see Spencer staring in a sort of awe, a silly smile on his face. The doors close in front of you as you ponder. Maybe it was a date.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #penelope garcia #david rossi #derek morgan #jj #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss

93 notes · View notes

beauregardlionett · 5 years ago

Text

morning begins with your lips

AO3 Link

The Mighty Nein was a group that one could describe as existing in a constant state of flux. Sometimes they appeared competent and sometimes...well. Precious little in their lives remained as a fixed constant, including themselves. They were always changing and shifting one way or another, and it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It did, however, make it rather difficult for allies and enemies alike to keep up.

There was, however, one consistent constant - even if it was a minuscule detail. Beauregard Lionett always woke first in the morning.

Her training was a hard thing to shake, and life on the road did not lend to sleeping late most days. Beau also wasn’t in the market for changing her sleeping habits. So she woke moments before the dawn each morning and went through her usual workout.

That morning found them in a tavern, Caleb having used up too many spells the day before to cast their tower. It was a fairly nice tavern, so none of them minded. Beau sat herself at a circular table in the corner with coffee and some food (thankfully they had bacon here), and waited for everyone else to arrive.

The rest of the Nein arrived in a particular pattern - one Beau kept intricate familiarity with. About twenty minutes after she got back from her workouts, Caleb would show his face, slightly haggard, but awake. His inner alarm clock benefited him in waking up on time. Veth often followed close on his heels, especially since they frequently shared a room.

Fjord came next, no more than ten minutes after Veth. Beau suspected his life at the docks had ingrained the habit into him over the years of work. Jester and Caduceus were a toss up because sometimes Jester arrived first, others it was Caduceus, and sometimes both appeared at the same time. No matter what the order, the clerics always arrived to breakfast looking perky and put together.

Yasha always woke last, and Beau knew it was because the Aasimar always struggled to fall asleep at night. She slept late every morning, and usually just rolled out of bed, straightened out her clothing, and came down to breakfast.

A consistent morning routine that Beau knew by heart, a practice in a punctual routine that soothed like meditation. A promise kept the same way the sun rose every morning.

Sure enough, Beau sat in her seat, nursing her coffee and savoring her bacon as Caleb trudged down to the tavern. His tired blue eyes scanned for her, his feet carrying him her way once he located her. Beau watched as he gave the barmaid his quiet request for breakfast on his way over. The wizard dropped into his seat beside her and yawned a greeting.

Beau slid what remained of her coffee his way in silent commiseration. His fingertips were ink stained, which meant he probably had gotten little sleep, the fool.

Veth came bounding over minutes later, cheerful and sleep rumpled as she perched on Caleb’s other side. Stretching up on her tip-toes, the Halfling planted a sweet kiss to his cheek (a practice only done occasionally) before hollering an order to the barmaid that hollered back.

“Morning,” Beau said as she tugged a piece of bacon into two, trying to make it last longer.

“Morning,” Veth returned, fiddling with her crossbow already. Beau didn’t ask what she was attempting this time, just monitored the mechanism in case it misfired.

Their conversation didn’t extend much past that as Veth continued fiddling and Caleb tried to keep his eyes open. Beau was content with the familiarity.

They had barely finished exchanging pleasantries when Fjord arrived, yawning but alert. The half-Orc caught Beau’s eye with a nod before he wandered over to the bar. She watched him exchange pleasant conversation with the barkeep for a few minutes, probably gleaning some information about the town or surrounding area. He did this sometimes when they got to new towns none of them had heard of or been to before, and it almost always helped.

Beau tracked Fjord’s movements as he left the bar with a coffee, making his way to their table. The barmaid arrived with Caleb and Veth’s plates as Fjord sat down on Veth’s free side.

“Whatever you’ve got works for me,” Fjord said pleasantly, his effortless charm pulling a smile to the woman’s face. She bustled away, and Fjord suppressed another yawn as he turned to the table.

“Barkeep says the town’s been calm ever since the war was called to truce. Decreased presence of guard, not as many brawls in the streets and bars, and trade has been up. I don’t think there’s much going on here if we want to move on later. We might have some luck in the market for rations, but beyond that,” Fjord ended with a shrug.

Beau appreciated his forethought in matters like these, because she sometimes got caught up in the bigger picture. Her mind worked in ways better attuned to connecting threads and digging up nuanced details. Sometimes she could ground herself enough to get shit done in the present, but it was hardly ever regarding mundane day-to-day plans.

“So, shopping and hit the road?” Beau said, tearing her bacon into smaller pieces again.

“Sounds like a plan,” Fjord nodded, sipping at his coffee. The barmaid arrived then with the half-Orc’s food before she bustled off again.

Beau settled into her seat, one leg thrown over Caleb’s lap as he chipped away at his plate. Veth began needling at Fjord in teasing conversation, the half-Orc indulging her with fond exasperation. Beau watched on and chuckled now and then, thoroughly entertained.

Veth had just convinced Fjord to play a game of boulder parchment shears for his last piece of sausage when Caduceus and Jester arrived. The clerics were discussing the benefits of talking to the massive oak tree they saw on their way into town as they took their seats. Jester flounced into the seat beside Fjord, Caduceus sitting on her other side as they kept talking. The pair paused long enough to greet the table before getting back into it.

“I’m just saying - morning guys! - we should try it,” Jester said, eyes boring imploringly into Caduceus’. “Maybe the oak will be friendly!”

“Of course we can try,” Caduceus agreed, setting his staff to lean against the table. “But in my experience, oak trees are always rather stuck up.”

Beau decided not to question how many oak trees Caduceus spoke to in his free time. The barmaid swept up to their table again, distracting the clerics momentarily.

“I’ll have some potatoes and tea, please,” Caduceus drawled with a pleasant smile.

“Do you have any pastries?” Jester asked predictably, violet eyes wide as she twisted in her seat.

“We’ve got muffins?” The barmaid said, eyeing Jester’s bright, eager eyes warily.

“I’ll take three!” The Tiefling chirped. “And a glass of milk, please!”

“Sure,” the barmaid nodded before sweeping off.

Beau gnawed on her bacon as Jester and Caduceus resumed their conversation, Fjord dejectedly losing his sausage to Veth’s victorious crow. Caleb started tapping an absent rhythm against Beau’s knee, and she let him. All was as it should be thus far, Beau’s eyes wandering to the stair as she waited for the last piece of the puzzle to fall into place.

Yasha’s absence when she had been under Obann’s control was a jarring discontinuity to Beau’s routine. She had been off kilter for more than one reason the entire time Yasha had been away. Beau hated to remember those days. As much fun as they had on some of their adventures, there was always that missing piece, that quiet snark that never piped up in conversation. There was no one at her back in those fights, no familiar battle cry, no unyielding support that Beau could fall back on with absolute trust.

She knew Yasha was last to rise, but the passing minutes never failed to pulse in Beau’s veins with anxiety. An irrational yet rational fear that she would never show.

Beau counted the minutes, tuning out conversation, absently aware of Caleb’s pattern against her kneecap.

Yasha stumbled down the stairs, tugging her tunic into order as she made her way over to their table. A surprising amount of tension bled from Beau’s shoulders with every step closer Yasha took. Jester came up from devouring her muffins long enough to greet Yasha, crumbs falling out of her mouth as she did.

“Mornin’ Yafa!” Jester managed through her food. The Aasimar offered the Tiefling a sleepy smile as she headed for the only empty seat between Caduceus and Beau.

“Good morning,” Yasha murmured as she rounded the table. Her eyelids still drooped with exhaustion she had yet to shake off. But she smiled small and warm at them all, her eyes landing on Beau as she stepped up beside the monk. Fondness made Beau feel like her heart was melting in her chest as she grinned up at Yasha, tipping her head back to catch her eye.

Yasha bent down and planted a quick, sweet peck on Beau’s lips, the monk’s smile curling wider as Yasha pulled away with a murmured, “morning Beau.”

The Aasimar wandered off to the bar a moment later to get a drink, yawning as she did. Beau happily went back to her bacon, picking it into pieces and popping them in her mouth. It took her a few moments to realize that something had changed.

Looking up, Beau froze with bacon halfway to her mouth when she found everyone at the table staring at her in stunned silence. Caleb’s tapping against her knee had ceased, Veth’s mouth was hanging open with sausage half-chewed. Fjord and Caduceus were giving her matching stares that were somehow both knowing and awed. Jester looked as if she were two seconds away from combusting into glitter.

“What?” Beau asked, somewhat defensively.

“Beau!” Jester exploded, squealing loudly. “You didn’t tell me you and Yasha finally talked!”

Beau’s cheeks grew hot, and she put her bacon down slowly. “Talked about what?”

“You kissed Yasha like it was a normal, everyday thing!” Veth said, thankfully swallowing her mouthful of food beforehand. “When did that happen?”

Beau froze, eyes going wide.

Oh.

“Uh...just now.”

“What?” Fjord said, brows furrowing.

“It happened just now,” Beau said, quiet and struck.

“Oh my gosh,” Jester gushed, practically vibrating in her seat. “That was your first kiss with Yasha? And it was that easy? And we all got to see it? That’s so romantic, Beau!”

Beau’s eyes flit to where Yasha stood at the bar. The Aasimar had twisted around to look back at the table, eyes wide and mouth agape. Clearly, she had come to the same realization as Beau. That same fondness from before softened everything in Beau’s countenance near instantly, and she smiled across the tavern at Yasha. She watched the Aasimar blush as she grinned back, turning to the barkeep to order when they came up to Yasha.

“I guess it is pretty romantic,” Beau whispered.

Veth and Jester squealed with each other as Fjord and Caduceus went back to their breakfasts. Caleb gently pinched the inside of Beau’s knee where her leg was still across his lap. He smiled when she looked at him and squeezed her ankle.

Beau’s chest felt full to bursting when she realized that her happiness could spread so easily among this family she had cultivated. She settled into her seat as Yasha came back and held her hand under the table for the duration of their meal.

This was something new Beau wouldn’t mind adding to their routine.

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha #m9 #writing #my writing #[shrug emoji]

105 notes · View notes

vintagedolan · 5 years ago

Text

mixtape | track five

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

*contains smut*

It took two nights for Grayson to officially give in and admit that Indiana’s bed was more comfortable than his. Although he wasn’t exactly utilizing the space the way he wanted to at that moment, considering he was criss cross on top of the comforter in front of his very stressed out girlfriend, holding out a water bottle like it was a toy for a toddler.

“Hey. You need to drink some of this.”

“Mhmm, yeah,” she mumbled as a response, blowing him off as she had been all evening, one finger tracing over her notes. He resisted the urge to pull them out of her hands, knowing he might rip them on accident.

“Dee. Stop. Drink.”

“Yeah, just gimme a sec.”

“No, cause you said that five minutes ago. Drink.”

“I’m fine.”

“Holy shit.” He unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and held it over her notes, blocking her view. “Drink it or I’m pouring it.”

That got her attention enough, and when she looked up her gaze was icier than he’d ever seen it.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” He tilted it just barely.

“You’re annoying,” she grumbled, grabbing the bottle and taking a quick swig before trying to hand it off again.

“And you’re stubborn. Three more drinks, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“You know, I’m two months away from a college degree, not a two year old.”

“Then you should know how important water is,” he countered, not budging an inch. She gave in to appease him, taking three long swallows before she passed it back to him, licking her lips slowly as she moved back down to her papers.

As if he wasn’t already worked up enough.

He was trying to behave, he really was. But there was just something about the way she was so focused. He’d always found ambition sexy, but it had been a long time since he’d seen someone academically driven, and he’d forgotten how attractive he found someone with intelligence. She was right there in front of him, hair pulled up in a loose bun on top of her head with a pencil stabbed through it somewhere - she didn’t need it, she had 17 different colored pens lined up in order on top of her planner page, which was full of blocked out times and perfect penmanship. She’d been chewing on her bottom lip, a nervous habit he’d noticed, but now it was bright pink and slightly swollen, and all he wanted to do was lean over and lay her down against the bed, kiss her rough, feel her skin under his hands, get her out of that damn cudi hoodie that he’d let her borrow a few nights ago.

“Flex.”

He only realized she was looking at him when he pulled himself out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Take your shirt off and flex your arm.”

“Uh… why?”

“For science.”

His ego could have burst, and he couldn’t help the smug grin that spread across his face after he slipped his sweatshirt off over his head. He reached over and tucked a finger under her chin, tilting it up until she was looking at him with those bright blues that he hadn’t seen nearly enough that day.

“You know, if you wanted me to get naked, all you had to do was ask.”

For a moment he tried to remember what movie or book or show he’d ripped off just then, but he got distracted when Indy smacked him across his arm.

“I need to look at your muscle structure, not drool over you.”

He deflated immediately, in every form of the word.

“Oh.” It sounded small, even to himself, and it was apparently all it took for him to finally have her full attention. She frowned, guilt immediately spreading across her entire face.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

It wasn’t often that Indiana did anything less than perfect (in his eyes anyways), so he jumped at the opportunity to milk it a bit.

“No it’s fine,” he muttered, toying with his fingers.

It worked.

It wasn’t two seconds later and she was intertwining her own fingers with his, tiny little pen marks of different colors on her skin as she pulled herself over towards him. Before he knew it his hands were on her waist and she was crawling into his lap, settling herself directly over him. She was a hair taller than him like that, and he tilted his head up to look at her, keeping his pout on his lips until she kissed it away.

“Sorry,” she murmured, lips moving against his as he traced his fingers over her sides, up under her hoodie to her warm skin. He felt her relax with each pass of his hands, the tension leaving her shoulders as she got lost in him.

“S’okay. Everybody gets a little grumpy when they’re stressed,” he hummed, thumbs running over the curve of her hips.

She pulled back from him immediately, offense all over her face.

“I am not grumpy.”

He waited for a moment, bold enough to raise his eyebrows at her but not to say anything.

And then her bottom lip was quivering, and he saw the tears welling up in the corners of her shiny eyes, and his stomach dropped faster than it ever had.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Baby what’s wrong?” He moved a hand up to her cheek before she crumpled forward onto his shoulder, her tears warm against his skin.

“I’m grumpy,” she moaned, followed by a sniffle.

“You’re crying… because I said you were grumpy?”

“No, because I am.”

He re-ran her words through his head a few times, only getting more confused.

“I’m not following.” He fessed up, bringing his hand up to run over her hair that was still tucked up in the messy bun that was tickling his cheek.

“I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out, and I get crazy with exams, I can’t help it, I’m sorry. I just… I can’t fuck this one up, and I’m gonna fail it. But that’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t be grumpy just because I’m stressed.”

The way that the worry in her voice pulled at his gut was a new sensation, something he’d never felt with anyone but Ethan, and even then it was different. He wanted nothing more than to be able to cheer her up, to make her feel better any way that he could.

“Hey. Look at me.”

She brought her head up slowly, eyes pink and irritated as she rubbed at them with the bottom of her sleeve.

“Have you ever actually failed an exam before?”

She shook her head and sniffled. If it wasn’t so sad, he would have thought it was adorable.

“Then there’s no reason to think you’re going to fail this one.”

“But-”

“What specific part are you on right now?” He kept up the bid to distract her, happy to see that no new tears were appearing.

“All the brachial muscles.”

“Brachial?”

“Arms. Arm muscles.”

He perked up, raising up an arm and flexing.

“I have those. Lots of those.”

He let the eye roll slide because of the laugh that followed it - he couldn’t think of something he’d produced that he was prouder of in the last month.

“My professor did say if we needed to look up muscle definition for reference to google pictures of Ryan Gosling, or Channing Tatum.”

Grayson wrapped his arms around her, but not before he snagged her phone and moved it out of her reach, getting another laugh from her.

“I think I would suffice.”

“You should be top of the list,” she hummed, kissing him again. He let her settle all her weight against him, which put her snug over his crotch in a way that she hadn’t been before, and he tried to think of absolutely anything else to keep himself from popping the most obvious boner he’d ever had. He felt like a high schooler again, with wild hormones that were ready to betray him at any moment.

And Indy had no mercy for him either, chasing away her worries through rough passes of her tongue against his, lips warm and urgent as she kissed him. It took all of his self control to keep himself from rolling her over, flipping her onto her back and really getting to work.

Luckily, her hands slid down his arms, over the ridges of his muscles and she hummed.

“Which one is that?” He took the chance for the distraction, looking over at the way her nails traced over his skin.

“Well this is the short head of the biceps brachii. This is the long head, and this is the pronator teres,” her fingers ran over the inside of his elbow, crossing over.

“What’s that do?”

“Pronates your arm.” He waited. “Like this.” She turned his arm so his palm was facing down.

“And you have a supinator too, which turns it the other way. It’s right… here.” She felt around on his forearm until she found a smaller muscle up by his elbow, squeezing it. Sure, he knew the basic muscles in his arms - anything he could target at the gym, plus anything important to build up for a planche. But it was incredible to him, the way she could trace a finger over his skin and mutter something to herself, another muscle, another nerve that went into it without having to look at any notes. She was content like that for a while, but eventually she perked up.

“Can I write on you? They’re skin safe pens.”

“You think I’m worried about skin safe pens?” He asked, looking down pointedly at the tattoos on his foot and ankle, the only ones she could see outside of his sweatpants.

“Oh shut up. My mom used to get so mad when I wrote shit on my hands, said I was gonna give myself ‘ink poisoning’, it’s habit.”

“My dad took me to get my first tattoo so… I think we’re good.”

The tug on his heart was a little less painful than it usually was.

“Play some Cudi. It helps me think.”

“Your wish, my command,” he teased, pulling out his phone.

She leaned him back against the pillows with a gentle push to his shoulder, moving her notes out of view and grabbing a black pen. He pulled up his Cudi playlist, letting his left arm rest against the comforter. Indy took it in her hands, moving it around with her pen held between her teeth, tracing fingertips over his skin as her mind worked ten times faster than Grayson’s probably ever had, he was sure.

Music filled the room, bringing in a more relaxing vibe as he tried to be a good model, only twitching when something tickled him - she didn’t seem to notice, so intent on scribbling the names of muscles he’d never heard of on his skin, his arm resting over her lap as she sat criss cross. He couldn’t resist tracing his fingertips over her skin where he could get to it, a gentle reminder that he was there for her, even if he was being quiet.

Ever since he could remember, Grayson had to be on the move. Had to be practicing, moving, working, doing something to keep his brain busy. It’s why he was in sports as a kid, why he was always starting new projects, always had 85 things going on in the background. But there, laid out on the comforter watching her wiggle around to the beat as she sang along, he couldn’t think of anything he would rather be doing. Even when she moved on to his ‘trunk’ muscles, made him hold his arm up and wrote serratus anterior across his ribs, he didn’t care. She never looked back at her notes, and he could tell she knew the information inside and out, but he humored her anyways, focusing in on the feeling of her fingers on his skin. Before he knew it, it was 11:30, and half of him was covered in Indy’s handwriting as he laid on his stomach and she wrote on his back.

“Done. I think that’s all of them.”

“Well, how do I look?” He peeked over his shoulder at her.

“Like a page of my notes,” she teased. “Come see.”

She tugged on his hand, leading him over to the mirror that hung behind her door. He stood tall next to her, a soft smile on his face as he looked over his skin.

“You really have to know all these?”

“And their origins and insertions,” she mumbled, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “Where they start and where they end,” she explained. “I need to go to sleep.”

“Hang on.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “C’mere.”

She did as he asked, letting him pull her up against his side a bit more, angling so they looked good in the mirror before he snapped a quick picture.

“I look like death,” she mumbled, pouting a bit.

He just shook his head and kissed her forehead. “Let’s get you in bed.”

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

Indy woke up to her alarm in a cold bed - which a month ago wouldn’t have been a thought in her mind. But she knew that her personal space heater had definitely fallen asleep next to her last night, considering it was him running his fingers through her hair that lulled her down. So she stood up quickly, rubbing at her eyes and following the sound of movement towards her kitchen. But on her way she saw her backpack and her stomach turned - a reminder of the exam she had in just a few hours.

The only - and probably best - distraction that she could have had was what she found in the kitchen. Shirtless Grayson, moseying around in his own little world, bed head sticking up in six different directions with slightly smudged pen ink still on half of his torso. It took him a moment to notice her there, still in his sweatshirt with her hands covered by the end of the sleeves.

“Morning gorgeous,” he smiled, small knife in one hand and an avocado in the other. “Figured I could make you breakfast before you had to leave.”

She swallowed hard. The thought of eating anything with her stomach so tight made her mouth taste like metal.

“You can get ready if you want, it’ll be a minute before it’s done.”

Indy nodded and gave him the best smile she could muster before she went back into her room. She made it as quick as she could, pulling on a pair of leggings and a bra - it was tempting for her to put Grayson’s hoodie back on, but she went the hygienic route and found a cozy sweater, burnt orange fabric soft against her skin. She gathered up all her school things, triple checking that she had a pencil and two extras, her notes and her laptop so that she could study right before.

When she made it back out to the kitchen, there was a plate waiting for her, organized quite particularly with a piece of avocado toast and strawberries, with a mug of coffee steaming beside it.

She swallowed hard again.

“Look good?” He beamed, obviously proud of himself as he started working on his own.

“Yeah, it looks great.”

Indy forced herself to take a bite after she sat down, chewing it so many times that it went soggy in her mouth. She washed it down with coffee, which seemed to go much easier. So she stuck to that, taking sip after sip until the last bit was gone, bringing her mug back down to the table, hoping she’d played it off.

But the look on Grayson’s face when she finally put the mug down told her she was sorely mistaken.

“You don’t like it.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, no it’s not-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to eat it.”

“Grayson-”

“It’s not-”

“No, Grayson, it’s not the toast. I love avocado toast.”

“You don’t love my avocado toast,” he pouted.

“It’s not that. I promise,” she sighed, her stomach only tightening even more.

“What is it then?”

“I’m anxious. And I can’t eat when I’m anxious cause it makes me nauseous. And then eating just makes me more nauseous.”

His face fell from a pout to concern in an instant.

“Baby why didn’t you say something?”

“Because! You got up and you made breakfast, cause you’re cute and you’re thoughtful and now it’s gonna go to waste because my brain is stupid.”

And then he was laughing - a light sound that filled the kitchen and broke through the awkwardness that had found its home in the air.

“You’re adorable.”

She frowned, and he moved around the counter so he could stand tall in front of her, stealing a strawberry off her plate and popping it in his mouth.

“So lunch, not breakfast, on exam days. Got it.”

“Gray, you don’t-”

“Shush. You said you wanted to study before for a little while, so you probably need to get going, right?”

He was right and she knew it, but it still made her huff. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“There’s nothing to make up. Now go ace your exam so we can have the rest of the afternoon, hmm? You sure you don’t want me to walk you?”

“I got it, it’s okay. Just hold down the fort here, and I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

She got out of her chair, pulled her backpack over her shoulder and grabbed her water bottle, turning back towards Grayson.

“Good luck, not that you need it. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“What’re you gonna do while I’m gone?” She mused.

“Snoop,” he teased, squeezing her hip in his hand. “Actually I might hit a quick workout.”

“In here?” She looked around. “With what?”

“All you need for calisthenics is yourself and your muscles. You know my, uh-” he looked at his arm, squinting at the slightly smudged writing from the night before. “- flexor digitorum profundus, and uh… the rest of them.”

He knew he butchered the pronunciation, but he’d do it again to get the same laugh out of her.

“Last minute review, go,” he grinned, spinning around slowly so she could see all the work from the night before. She was still laughing when he stopped and grabbed her face with both hands, kissing her with a smile before making himself let go.

“Bye,” he mumbled. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill it.”

“Bye.” Love you. She held herself back from saying it, leaning up to give him one final kiss on the cheek before she turned and headed towards the door.

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

When Grayson took exams in ‘high school’, it usually consisted of him and Ethan sitting next to each other on the couch with their notes spread out in front of them, picking each other’s far too similar brains for the answers.

Indiana on the other hand, was a solo everything. Solo test taker, obviously, but also solo studier, solo crammer, solo sit-before-the-exam-and-panic. Which worked out in her favor when she finished the exam - first in the class every time - because she didn’t feel the need to wait for anyone to discuss it. And she was especially thankful for it that day, because she had no reason to stay in the science building any longer than she needed to. She was out of the room, down the stairs and out onto the street immediately, with the image of Grayson laid out on the couch waiting for her at home pacing her steps even faster than usual.

But when she unlocked the door, there was no 6ft italian on her couch. In fact, there was no 6ft italian anywhere that she could see, and it took her a minute to place the sound of the shower running from her bathroom as she sat her bag down. The relief of having the exam out of the way was almost euphoric as she flopped down onto the bed and stared up at her ceiling, breathing her first easy breath in a few days. She stretched her arms up above her head and let her body fully settle down as she waited for her boyfriend to reappear.

Grayson, on the other hand, was taking his sweet time in the shower, and trying to ensure that there was no evidence that he’d definitely borrowed her razor to shave the puff of his chest hair that was a little too long for his liking. Needless to say, it was another 15 minutes before he made it out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist to head out into Indy’s room to find his bag. His hair was still dripping as he leaned over and searched for a pair of decent boxers.

“Boo.”

The towel was centimeters from falling off when he practically jumped out of his skin, but Indy wasn’t about to complain.

“Holy fuck you scared me! When did you get back?!” He gasped, trying to catch his breath as he clutched the fabric around him. It was low enough to show off the V lines that Indy had first noticed while they were cliff jumping, and it had her mind derailing in a much different direction.

“Like twenty minutes ago. I think you take longer showers than I do,” she teased, propping up on her elbows so she could actually look at him.

Jesus christ.

“Hang on, let me put pants on.”

You don’t have to, she wanted to say, but she bit her tongue and just enjoyed the view.

Pants, luckily, were just some very tight and short boxers that left little to the imagination when he re-emerged from the bathroom that he’d ducked away to change in.

“So how’d it go, how was the exam?”

“I missed two.”

He blinked at her a few times.

“Questions?”

“Yep.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“But… how… you know what, nevermind,” he laughed, shaking his head gently before he threw his towel over his hair and started to rub it dry.

“What?” She laughed with him, and a bit at him, for the adorable way that his hair had become fluffy from the towel when he tossed it to the side.

“I’m not even gonna try to understand your brain anymore. I give up, I forfeit.” He threw his hands up in defeat, and Indy watched the way it made his abs move. She swallowed hard, her skin buzzing as she tried to keep her tone playful while her stomach floated.

“You forfeit? You?”

He seemed entirely unfazed - it struck her that he was probably very much used to girls looking at him and imagining all the things they wanted him to do to them. She tried not to dwell on it, and to remind herself for a moment that he was there in front of her, in her bedroom, in boxers. Very tight boxers, with a very, very clear outline of his dick.

“C’mere.” She took her moment of vindication and ran with it, reaching out a hand for him as he grabbed a pair of sweatpants. He raised his eyebrows at her but obliged, taking her hand and letting him pull her over to the bed so he was sitting on the edge. She swung herself over into his lap, happy to feel his hands settle on her hips to hold her there, sweatpants dropping to the floor.

“Well hi,” he hummed as her arms wrapped around his neck. “Whatcha doin’?” His tone was still playful, less affected than she wanted it to be, almost like he didn’t realize what type of mood she’d suddenly found herself in. It was true that most of the time, he was making the moves - but only because he was so touchy that she never needed to.

So she kissed him before she answered, harder than usual, slipping her tongue into his mouth before he could get to hers. She let her hands roam through his soft hair, nails against his scalp as she tilted his head back to change the angle of his lips, shifting herself up with her forearms on his wide shoulders. He grunted a bit, breaking free of the kiss to press a few to her neck, his scruff deliciously rough against the sensitive skin.

When he pulled back his pupils were blown wide, eyes trained up on her face, flickering down to her neck, then her boobs, which were far too hidden under her clothes.

“I said I was gonna make it up to you,” she finally answered. “So let me.”

“Fuck yes,” he mumbled, hands immediately bunching in the bottom of her sweater. His instinct was to strip it directly over her head, but he paused as he pulled it up, looking at her for reassurance. She nodded with a soft smile, lifting her arms up as he guided it off, revealing the skin he hadn’t seen yet. Sure, her crop top had been small, and even more revealing once it was wet, but-

“This hits different,” he murmured, hands moving to hold onto her, thumbs rubbing over her ribcage on either side.

“This hits different?” She said, eyes going incredulously wide before her head fell back in a laugh, which turned into a squeal when Grayson buried his face in her cleavage for a moment just to get a reaction. He reveled in the feeling of her hands back in his hair, even if it was to pull him back.

“Can I take this off?” He kissed the swell of each boob, hands ghosting over the back of her bra as he spoke.

“Yes. Please.”

He did as she asked, flicking the clasp open with ease and catching her lips with his again as he guided the straps off her arms and tossed the black garment somewhere behind her. As soon as he could he leaned her back a bit, holding her there with his hands spread against her back as he kissed down her neck, over her collarbone and down to her boob. The angle wasn’t quite right for him to get enough of what he wanted, so he sat back up instead, vowing to himself to give her tits the attention they deserved later. He kept the next kiss slow, wrapping his arms all the way around her torso so he could press her against him, feel every possible inch of her skin against his. It was bliss in its rawest form, and he would have been mostly content to stay just like that.

His dick had other ideas, hard to the point of almost painful underneath her warmth as she settled over him, his boxers too thin to show him any mercy. Every time she shifted above him it sent a jolt of heat straight through him, and it wasn’t long before he rolled them to the side, taking control of the situation before he literally came in his boxers.

Indy didn’t seem to mind, beaming up at him as she settled on her back, her flushed skin on display above the white comforter. It was a beautiful sight if Grayson had ever seen one, and he just looked at her for a moment, tried to etch it into his brain so he’d never forget. He’d had his fair share of girls on a bed in front of him - honestly, more than he was proud to admit. It always just happened so fast, where one minute they were talking and within the weekend they were tangled up in eachother.

But Indy was different - there was an innocence about the blush in her cheeks and the way she crossed her legs a bit, like she was hiding from him even though she still had her leggings on. It was driving him insane, and it took all his willpower to remind himself to go slow, to focus and cherish every minute of it that he could.

So he climbed over her, sinking down to kiss her again and letting some of his weight rest on her, happy to feel her smile against him.

“You okay?” He asked, kissing down her jawline slowly, over to her ear and then down her neck. Her hair smelled like vanilla where it tickled his nose.

“Mmmm,” was her only response, and he took it as his sign to move farther south, brushing his lips along her collarbone. “More than okay,” she breathed, back arching just barely to meet him.

“You wanna keep going?” Please. Please.

“Do you?” She asked quietly - he could hear the nerves in her tone, and it stopped him in his tracks. He propped himself up so he had a full view of her face.

“Only if you do.”

She bit her lip, looking up at him. The hesitation was enough for him to start to move off of her, mind already trying to remember where he’d thrown her sweater so she could cover herself back up. Her hand wrapped around his arm before he could get any further.

“No wait! Wait, I do. I do want to, I promise, it’s just… it’s uh… it’s been a while.”

He’d never seen her face so red, and then she was talking over herself to try and get the words out fast enough.

“And by a while I literally mean like… years. I’m talking uh, junior year of high school. And I can tell you that they obviously didn’t know what they were doing, so I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, and I just wanted you to know that before we really, like, got into it, and…”

He stopped her lips with his, waiting until her body gave way to him and relaxed underneath his hands before he pulled away.

“Baby, I couldn’t care less when the last time you slept with somebody was, or if you know what you’re doing. You have nothing to be nervous about.”

“Says the experienced one,” she teased, but he could tell his words had given her at least a little bit of comfort.

“Just let me take care of you. You deserve it, you worked so damn hard all week, now you get to relax.”

“You’re in charge,” she breathed.

“I like that.” He flashed her a playful grin before he really got to work, kissing down to her chest and paying specific attention to her nipples to get her worked up again. It didn’t take long, and when her back arched up he slid his hands down to her leggings, letting his fingers hook in the waistband.

“You ready for these to come off?”

“Yeah. Yours too though.”

He pulled everything off her at once, jokingly backing up and tugging to make her laugh until the ends popped off her feet. He tossed them aside and moved to his own boxers, pushing them down and stepping out of them, using his foot to kick them away.

“Jesus,” Indy said, and then immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide in embarrassment. Grayson couldn’t help but to bust out laughing, the kind that went through his whole body, made him clutch at his chest.

“Was that a good Jesus or a bad Jesus?”

“A good Jesus. Is bad Jesus even a thing?” She mused, laughter and excitement overriding some of her nerves as he moved above her again. His kisses started at her boobs this time and moved down slowly, almost torturously light brushes of his lips against her skin. Grayson eased her legs open with one hand, reaching up and under her thigh with the other, searching until he found her hand and laced their fingers together. It settled her in a way that only he could, and she let out the breath she’d been holding, sucking in another one when he ran his fingers over her for the first time. Her body jolted at the feeling and he pressed a kiss to her thigh.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he said, and instead of making her blush, the words just made her wetter somehow - she already felt like she was dripping. He dipped one finger into her and she forced her muscles to relax, let herself melt into the comforter as he leaned forward and started in with his tongue, small flicks at first that already had her twitching. It was obvious that he knew what he was doing, but unbeknownst to Indy he was enjoying her inexperience - it made her more reactive, made him feel special that he was the one who got to give her this. It focused him as he tried to read her body, find the right angles and spots to make her tick as he moved up to two fingers, stretching her slightly to get her ready.

“Oh god,” she whimpered, hand squeezing his so tight it was borderline painful, but he wouldn’t move it for the world as she clung to him.

“All good?”

“Yes, yes, god that feels good.”

He could practically feel his chest puff up before he dove back in with renewed purpose, eyes trained up on her as he watched, tried to find her tells so he could commit them to memory as he explored her with his tongue. He found it when her breath hitched and her back arched for a moment, and then her legs were shaking beside either side of his head, a blissful whimper falling from her lips and filling the room as she came. It was easy to work her through it, and he backed off when her legs twitched towards closing, letting her catch her breath.

“C’mere,” she mumbled, tugging on his hand until he crawled back up her body, a bit surprised when she brought a hand up to his hair and pulled his lips down to hers.

“Fuck me.” It came out as a whisper, but all that familiar Indy confidence had returned to her tone as she hooked a leg up onto his back in an attempt to get him closer to her. He groaned into her mouth, biting at her lip as his dick rubbed against her, warm and wet.

“You sure?”

She just pushed him a bit further as her answer, letting go of his hand so she could wrap both her arms around his back, fingers running over the ridges of muscles that she was familiar with now.

He reached a hand between them, lined himself up carefully until just the head of his dick was settled inside of her. Eyes on her face, he started to move, stopping when she sucked in a deep breath through her nose.

“Don’t let me hurt you, you gotta talk to me,” he said, tone suddenly serious. The last thing he wanted was to be over eager. She nodded at him, eyes still closed as she tried to relax.

“Just go slow.”

With anyone else, it probably would have taken every ounce of willpower he had to hold himself back. But his concern for her overrode his own needs, and he aired on the side of caution, moving slowly in small thrusts, gaining a bit more each time. His head was clear enough until Indy grabbed his face and brought it back to hers, leaning up for a deep kiss that had him spinning. He could have busted right there when she moaned into his mouth, nails sharp against his cheeks as her head fell back. With her neck exposed in front of him he couldn’t resist leaving his mark, sucking a quick hickey by her collarbone.

“Fuck me Gray, please, please,” she groaned, her own way of giving him the go ahead. He picked up his pace, holding himself up with one arm and grabbing her hip with the other, keeping her steady. Indy didn’t know where to put her own hands, so she settled for exploring, tracing over Grayson wherever she could reach, appreciating every inch in front of her as best she could with the feeling of him inside of her, filling her up so much she was sure she was always going to feel empty without him.

“Fuck,” he huffed out, the first sign he’d given her that she was doing something right. She tested it out, running her nails down his side, over his ribs, watching the way it made his eyes roll back just slightly, made his abs tense up. It was a race then, trying to see who could get the other to come undone first, with angles and groans and touches and whispers in each other's ears.

Grayson won.

Her second orgasm was somehow stronger than the first, and she was so caught up in the stars that she barely registered that Grayson had pulled out. He stayed close above her as he finished himself off, cum shooting onto both of their chests as he groaned, barely able to hold himself up with just one arm.

Needless to say he collapsed next to her on the bed to catch his breath as they both stared up at the ceiling. Indy moved first, finding his hand again with hers and holding on, eventually pulling it up to her lips so she could kiss each of his knuckles.

“Woah,” was the word he finally chose when enough oxygen caught back up to him.

“Good woah or bad woah?”

He rolled over onto his side at that, raising his eyebrows.

“You have to ask?”

“Well it was amazing for me, but that doesn’t mean it was amazing for you,” she explained, only making him shake his head.

“You underestimate yourself too much. It was perfect. Best first time I’ve had with anyone, ever.”

She flushed pink at his words, looking down at herself and the mess that they’d made.

“I know you just showered but… you wanna join me?”

Instead of answering, he just stood up, glad that his legs weren’t wobbly as he scooped her up from the bed, laughing at her squeal as he carried her to the bathroom.

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

“Earrings, you do too much.”

“It’s nothing, just something for you to have while we can’t visit. Indy helped pick it out.”

Indy offered Bekah a smile as Grayson spoke, trying to keep her mindset positive. Which was much easier said than done, considering Bekah looked like she’d lost ten pounds since the last time they’d seen her, especially with the oxygen cannula in her nose. Still, she had the biggest smile on her face as she reached inside of the massive gift bag that Grayson had put together for her earlier that day. Indy watched as she pulled out the blanket they’d found, adorned with cute little smiling pumpkins and black cats with their backs arched.

“For spooky season, you know?” It hit Indy then that it was already mid October when they were shopping earlier, and by the look on Bekah’s face she hadn’t realized it either. It felt like September had only been a few days ago.

“We love cute spooky vibes,” Bekah smiled, trying to get it the rest of the way out of the bag. Her monitors started to beep more rapidly, her oxygen levels dropping.

“Here, let me help,” Indy offered, moving to the bag and pulling the rest of the blanket out, sitting it at the end of the bed. Bekah gave her a quiet thankful smile and took a few deep breaths through her nose before moving back into the bag. It was full of small decorations that she could sit around her room, and a few halloween themed coloring books and word searches to keep her mind busy - Indy knew she liked those. The nurses had decided to air on the side of caution and have her isolate for five days prior to her surgery, which meant she would need something to keep her mind busy.

“You all didn’t have to do this,” she said, laying back against the pillows.

“We wanted to. I’m sorry we can’t come see you,” Indy sighed, adjusting her blankets and moving around some of her tubes and lines. Grayson knew she was fidgeting because she was nervous, but he didn’t say anything.

“S’okay. Don’t really want you all to see me like that anyways. Don’t really want you all to see me like this either but here we are.”

One of the downfalls of being in the medical field was knowing more than you wanted to. Indy knew the chances of Bekah’s surgery going well. She knew the percentages, knew how bad she already had to be for them to even be considering something above chemo. Her weakness, her need for oxygen, everything else. They were all major red flags on a textbook page, signs she would highlight on a case report that could be consolidated into one word - declining.

But she couldn’t quite get herself to use that word, to rationalize it when it was Beks in front of her. She seemed smaller now than she had the first time Indy had met her, and it unsettled her in a way that made her want to scream and cry at the same time. Grayson served as the anchor in the room, the solid middle ground that she could cling to and distract herself with to keep from spiraling. She wished she could physically sit by him, lean against him and feel his warmth. But they were sticking to their rules - nothing coupley in front of Bekah.

“You guys should go do something while you can’t come see me. You spend a bunch of time here, you deserve a hospital vacation,” Bekah mused, picking at a few spare pieces of lint on the blanket. “Do something together even, keep her from worrying about me for the entire week.” She looked at Grayson when she spoke that time, and Indy frowned.

“I’m gonna worry about you no matter where in the world I am, so suck it up.”

She managed enough energy to stick her tongue out, but even that seemed to take a lot out of her.

“Grayson, can you go see if Jessica can get me some water?”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” He jumped at the opportunity, giving them both a quick smile before he went out in the hallway in search of Jessica.

Indiana was not so quick to assume, and turned to Bekah expectantly, heart breaking as she saw the start of tears in her eyes.

“Can we uh, can we cuddle for a minute? Like we used to?”

“Of course we can.”

It was rare that Bekah asked for anything, much less physical comfort of any kind. Indy had only done this a handful of times in the years that she’d known her, and it put a pit in her stomach to realize just how bad she must be feeling to even think about asking for it. She pushed the thoughts aside, climbing in the bed next to Bekah and pulling the blanket over the two of them, wrapping her arm around her so she could rest against her shoulder. She ignored the feeling of her tears when they started to soak through her shirt. They sat in silence for a moment before Bekah finally spoke again, voice at a whisper.

“Indy I’m scared.” The vulnerability in her voice was a dagger into Indy, and it took all her power to keep herself steady.

“I know. I am too. But if anybody can get through it, it’s you. You always have.”

“This time feels different.”

“Hey, don’t think like that, okay? Gotta go in with a positive mindset.” The words felt phony even as she spoke them, but it was a knee jerk reaction that at least got an eye roll out of Bekah, which helped her to stop her tears before Grayson came back in with a bottle of water and a cup of ice.

“I couldn’t find Jessica, so I just bought one and got a cup of ice from the lounge. Is that okay?”

“I don’t drink Dasani.”

Grayson deadpanned, looking down at the bottle and then back at Bekah, then over at Indy like she could do something to help.

“Kidding Earrings,” she teased, laughing a bit when his shoulders slumped down. “But, I will give you a 30 second pass on treating me like I have cancer and opening that bottle for me.”

He did as she asked, opening it up and pouring it for her with a sympathetic smile that she would have given him shit for any other day. Grayson didn’t say a word about the way they were curled up in the bed - he just sat at the end of it, putting two and two together and realizing she’d probably asked him to leave for a reason.

When 8pm rolled around, it was hugs goodbye and promises for facetime calls if she felt up for it. But mostly it was the unspoken fear that hung over the three of them like a cloud, and it only darkened as the walls lost their color on the way back out of the pediatric wing.

By the time they made it into the elevator Indy could barely speak around the lump in her throat. So instead, she decided to hide, wrapping her arms around Grayson as soon as the doors closed behind them and burying her face in his neck.

“Hey, shhh, shhh,” he murmured, holding her close to him and praying no one had hit the button for the first floor. He kissed her hair.

“Take me to Jersey. Please.” If he’d asked her why, she wouldn’t have had an answer.

Luckily, he didn’t.

“Okay.”

He took charge then, leading them home with his arm wrapped tight around her waist. When they got to the apartment he helped her pack an overnight bag in a bid to get it done faster, slinging it over his shoulder as they headed back out into the streets, to the garage where he paid an astronomical amount to park the truck any time he came into the city.

She didn’t even bother with the passenger seat, immediately sliding across the bench to curl up next to him as they started down the road. At one point he texted Lisa and Ethan, giving them the heads up that Indy was coming back with him, but she was already asleep by then, laying down with her head against his thigh, the stress of the last few days and hours catching up with her it seemed. He kept an arm over her the whole way home, just in case.

Indy woke up to the mixture of the bumps of gravel under the tires and the sound of Grayson singing Tame Impala slightly off key above her. A sense of peace washed over her when she sat up and saw the familiar glow of Lisa’s house amongst the trees, but Grayson’s worry was filling the cab as he put the truck in park.

“I’m okay.” She answered before he asked.

“No you aren’t.”

“I’m okay enough. I just… I feel better out here. I feel better with you, wherever you are.”

He hugged her to him, breathing her in as his arms coiled around her.

“Then I’ll always be here. I promise.”

It was as if time froze in that little cab, in each other's arms, until finally the October chill seeped in enough for them to give in and head to the house. If Lisa had noticed the time they spent in the driveway, she didn’t act like it. Instead, she lit up as if two of her kids had walked through the door and not just one.

“Hi guys! How was the drive? You hit traffic?”

“Hey Ma.” Grayson went in for a mom hug - one of those things you take for granted until you can’t have it anymore. But when he let her go Lisa moved on to Indy, and it felt so close to an actual mom hug that she almost teared up.

“Ryan and Ethan are in Cameron’s room setting up the mics, but if you need to eat first there’s vegan spaghetti in the fridge.”

It was obvious by Grayson’s face that he’d forgotten about the podcast all together in the last few hours. Indy smiled at him, tried to convey with her eyes that she was fine, because she was.

“Go work. I’ll still be here when you get back,” she reassured him. “We’ll have some girl time.”

“It’ll be an hour, tops.”

“Don’t rush. Have fun.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and then headed up the stairs.

Lisa waited until his footsteps stopped, considering they could hear them all the way to Cameron’s room, and then she turned to Indy with a smile.

“So, do you need a girls night or a distraction night?”

“A distraction night?”

“Something to get your mind off things. You seem like you’re in your head. Was it your exam? Did it go okay?”

She blushed at the thought of Grayson talking about her with his mom. “He told you that?”

“Oh honey he tells me all about you. When he gets to talking about something that he loves, he doesn’t shut up. Got that from his dad.”

“Sean talked a lot?”

“Oh all the time. If you got him started on anything sports he went on for hours, and the boys always ate it up. They were mini-him’s growing up. You know they started wrestling each other when they were two years old? Actual maneuvers he taught them when I wasn’t looking - I coulda killed him when I found out.”

And with that, Lisa led on a distraction night without Indy even realizing. Stories of Sean mostly, her voice full of love with just that hit of sorrow that you only get when someone is too far away from you. Things shifted when Lisa asked about Nicole, and Indy found herself remembering stories that she hadn’t told anyone in years. The time they went camping in Georgia and skunks took over the campground, or the time she’d scored the game winning shot in a high school basketball game and her mom tackled her, right in there with her teammates.

“You know, if there’s ever anything ‘mom’ related that you need, whether it’s a haircut or just a hug, I’m always here. And that goes for when Grayson isn’t around either - my door is always open.”

“Thank you Lisa. That means a lot. More than you know.”

They were hugging when the three boys came back down the stairs, laughter bouncing off the walls as they continued a debate that was definitely a part of the pod. They enveloped Lisa into the conversation, but Indy wasn’t listening. Her attention was on Grayson alone, watching the way his nose scrunched when he laughed just hard enough, and the way he leaned his head against his mom’s shoulder when she stood by him. His eyes flickered over to hers often, and eventually he continued the conversation from right above her head, his chin resting on her, throat vibrating when she spoke.

Eventually goodnights and goodbyes were given and everyone went on to their respective rooms, Grayson grabbing her bag and taking it with them. They made quick time of their nightly routine, finding themselves in pajamas with minty breath and fresh faces in no time, eager to climb into bed and find solace in each other again.

Indy moved first, nuzzling up to his neck as soon as he opened the blanket up for her to climb in. He tucked it around her before wrapping her up in his own arms and peppering kisses along her forehead.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. Not tonight.”

“Okay. What did you and my mom talk about?”

“You mostly. And your dad. She had so many stories about him.” She traced a triangle over his chest to keep herself busy, feeling his breath filling up his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“That you lost him. And that I can’t give you him back.”

“Nobody can bring people back Dee. You don’t have to be sorry about that.”

“But I can’t even give you a little. Your mom treats me like I’m one of her kids, so when I’m here, just for a minute, it feels like I have a little bit of my mom back. And I can’t give you that. You deserve that.”

He shifted so he could see her, cup her face with his hand.

“Indiana Cross. You don’t have to give me anything but yourself. And I don’t even deserve that. You hear me? I love you. For you. Not for anything else that you could ever give me. Okay?”

“You love me?”

“Of course I do.” He leaned down to kiss her slowly, as if to make her feel his words. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

She let the weight of her head, and her heart, rest in his palm.

“I love you too.”

#SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG LMAO #pls lemme know what u think I'll love u forever #mixtape #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan #dolan twins #dolan twins fanfic #dolan twins fanfiction

121 notes · View notes

perpetuallylocked · 5 years ago

Conversation

Tag Yourself: Nancy Drew Game Aesthetics Edition

SCK: opening a new book for the first time, the nostalgia of VHS tapes, coca cola in a glass, remembering your locker combo, letterman jackets, watching true crime documentaries, empty high school hallways, 1950s diners, cramming before an exam

STFD: boxes of chocolates, tape recorders, the click-clack of typewriter keys, catching a taxi, shadows on the wall, stained coffee cups, sitting down to rewatch a tv show, perfume bottles, 1990s fashions

MHM: the sight of dust mixing with light, sightreading old sheet music, crystal chandeliers, old floral teacups, crystal balls, old rotary phones, grand staircases, intricate wooden floors, never-ending house projects

TRT: the glitter of diamonds, worn chessboards, snow-covered gardens, ink-covered hands, butterfly collections, cold tile floors, dull suits of armor, dusty history tomes, footsteps muffled by carpets

FIN: plush red velvet, the scent of popcorn, drawing art deco designs in the margins, worn carpets, old playing cards, the feeling there is still magic everywhere, meeting a childhood idol, movie posters on the wall, catching up with a childhood friend

SSH: jade carvings, steep stone steps, chocolate bars, being the only person in a museum gallery, clean lab coats, amazing sights through a microscope, visiting the hospital, remembering facts you've only heard once, checking the mail for your package

DOG: log cabins, the flapping of bird wings, the distant howling of dogs, the odd sensation when you can see the moon during the day, the scent of pine trees, old glass bottles, strolls along the lake shore, admiring 1920s fashion, long walks in the woods

CAR: antique roller coasters, old postcards, the golden light at dusk, loud band organ music, sounds of a carnival at night, ice cream sundaes for dessert, the delight of riding the carousel for the first time, paint-stained clothes, winning a prize from a carnival game

DDI: a steaming mug of tea on a foggy day, sea caves, light from a lighthouse piercing the fog, messages in bottles, approaching deep water, the sound of seagulls, vintage blue bicycles, spotting a whale on the horizon, crumb-topped blueberry muffins

SHA: worn plaid shirts, sunsets on the horizon, the clip-clopping of hooves, antique blanket chests, forbidden romance, mason jars of flowers, brown and blue eggs, playing piano by ear, faded rugs

CUR: leather-bound books, small potted succulents, curving staircases, old portraits, family secrets, four-poster beds, hearing strange sounds at night, food cravings, spending all day on your laptop

CLK: the ticking of an old clock, pearl and cameo jewelry, the scent of a pie baking, the whir of a sewing machine, reading in a window seat, flouncy dresses, bridges over creeks, driving around a small town, reading Shakespeare for your own enjoyment

TRN: ballet slippers, snow mixed with smoke, faded pastel embroidery, the far-off sound of train whistles, old parchment and wax seals, unwrapping a piece of salt water taffy, quirky local museums, organizing your collections and belongings, light shining through tiffany lamps

DAN: light streaming through stained glass windows, bold red lipstick, freshly baked cookies, tales from your grandparents' youth, long-lost love, twirling in a tulle skirt, the overwhelming desire to visit paris, planning out your outfit for the next day, park benches

CRE: wind in the palm trees, footprints in the sand, rustling in the jungle, small seashells, rope bridges, fruity shave ice, waves tickling your toes, the tangy taste of pineapple, watching surfers from the beach

ICE: frozen lakes, sitting by a crackling fire, snow-covered piles of logs, worn leather ice skates, paw prints, staying in bed after you've woken up, seeing your breath in the cold air, unexpected snowball fights, leather-bound journals

CRY: shadows emphasized by candlelight, dirt-caked fingernails, exploring a cemetery at night, wrought iron fences, the smell after it rains, shelves lined with tchotchkes, going back for second helpings at dinner, moonlight streaming through the window, a grandfather clock at the end of the hall

VEN: gelato cones, orange and brown buildings, soft italian songs, gold lockets, buying flowers for yourself, cobblestone courtyards, leaning over the balcony rail, the overwhelming desire to reinvent yourself, dancing like no one is watching

HAU: ocean waves hitting cliffs, hanging herb bundles, old stone fortresses, white lace and promises, wilting flower bouquets, whistling to keep yourself company, distant celtic music, simple diamond rings, sitting in a peaceful garden

RAN: old gold coins, wading in the cold ocean, a slow-moving hourglass, seeing where the sky meets the sea, old pirate legends, sand between your toes, looking down through clear water, buying yourself new clothes for vacation, eating fruit salad for breakfast

WAC: exploring a college campus, old trophies, distant cello music, milk and cookies, cardigan sweaters, texting your friends, bare tree branches, anthologies of stories, school supply shopping

TOT: wind rustling through wheat fields, creaking wooden staircases, white curtains on the window, golden hay bales, old fences lining the road, watching a storm from the porch, buying a new camera, hanging out in your favorite professor's office, sitting on a tire swing

SAW: the faint scent of cherry blossoms, origami cranes, taking a bath, hearing a new language for the first time, shards of glass, seeing your reflection in the water, buying a new stuffed animal, trying a new food on vacation, listening to your grandmother's stories

CAP: rereading favorite fairy tales, blood-red garnets, red hair in braids, mist in the forest, local legends, playing board games on rainy days, remembering your make-believe games of childhood, puffy-sleeved blouses, watching glassblowers make magic

ASH: blue roadsters, rapidly melting ice cream cones, white picket fences, pastel shop awnings, hand-lettered signs in front of shops, the act of simply being with your friends, revisiting your childhood bedroom, spending all day in an antique shop, visiting your friend's house for the first time

TMB: wind-blown sand, straw sun hats, the warmth of the afternoon, chipped statues, well-used research books, having an egypt phase as a kid, planning your next adventure, drinking cold water on a hot day, pushing your hair out of your face

DED: pencil-covered hands, well-oiled gears, the crackling of electricity, eating your favorite flavor of gummy bears, group projects, keeping to yourself at work, unironically wearing ugly sweaters, publishing your research, organizing your messy desk

GTH: peeling paint on a once-grand house, angel statues, sheet-covered furniture, porch swings, lit matches, lace masquerade masks, grand ball gowns, drinking a hot cup of tea and lemon, looking for treasures in the basement

SPY: old leather suitcases, distant memories, the lingering touch of your true love, piano keys, adrenaline rushes, popped trench coat collars, hugging your mom after not seeing her for ages, looking out the window on a train ride, hearing movie soundtracks in your head

MED: the view from the top of a mountain, the rushing sound of waterfalls, freshly dyed hair, shooting stars, wandering off the trail, vintage comic books, philosophical thoughts, binge-watching reality tv, feeling the sense of deja vu

LIE: hands coated with clay and paint, laurel wreaths, pomegranate juice, books of Greek myths, gold sandals, memorizing a monologue, flowing white gowns, spending all day in a museum gallery, exploring ancient ruins

SEA: the twinkling sound of old music boxes, a night shining with stars, cozy knit sweaters, curling up with your dog, model ships, old barrels, learning your town's history, watching gently falling snow, the beauty of the aurora borealis

MID: the dark colors of herbs, edison bulbs, copper kettles, slowly changing leaves, road trips with friends, carving a jack-o'-lantern, exploring cemeteries at night, small shops surrounding a courtyard, thinking you saw a ghost out of the corner of your eye

#I'm definitely CLK and ASH with a touch of WAC and a little SPY #Nancy Drew #Tag Yourself #**general

237 notes · View notes

another-dr-another · 4 years ago

Note

insert those coins babey! no point in holding onto them if they aren't used !

You Now Own:

001 - Mineral Water (x2)

Drawn from the ocean depths and rigorously purified. Ideal for a modern on-the-go public unsatisfied with tap water.

002 - Sea Salt

A basic seasoning produced from the evaporation of seawater. It also sees use as a preservative.

003 - Ration

A set of canned and vacuum-sealed foodstuffs. The taste isn't bad, and a certain snake that wants to play hide-and-go-seek is just crazy abou- wait, what?

005 - Ramune

A sweet, lemon-flavored carbonated drink. A marble plugs the opening of the uniquely designed bottle. The bottle can also be reused if you bring it to the ramune store.

010 - Ship In a Bottle

A intricate creation, a model ship within a bottle. Made with time, love and care.

012 - Envy-Enducing Envy CD

A CD of songs by Japanese band Envy. Full of unreleased tracks/first recordings.

014 - Children's Book

A children's book about family and forgiveness! The plot is about a sister who can't get along with her younger brother, but they find common ground and bond over causing trouble for their parents.

016 - Sour Soda (x2)

No flavor is listed on the bottle other than sour, which may just be a flavor in and of itself. It's a near black shade of blue... I think.

017 - Gentleman's Guide

A book that's meant to help shape you into the perfect gentleman. However, it's rather demeaning towards the reader, which doesn't feel very gentleman-ly.

018 - Masculine Cologne

Very masculine, can only be used by masculine people. No weaklings allowed, or people with the common sense to smell it before purchasing, and realize it smells really bad.

019 - Fancy Sword

True to it’s name, it looks very fancy, and very intimidating. However, it's only for show, and rather blunt- perhaps inexpensive?

022 - ??? Alcohol

It's something alcoholic. This is a school, it should be confiscated, and you won't be receiving any more information.

024 - Hair Cutting Scissors

Snip snip snip, meant for hair-cutting at home, as these aren’t professional grade. Still though, try and make it even, okay?

025 - Purple Hair Dye

Pretty purple hair dye guaranteed to not come out of hair for weeks! More of a pinkish-purple than the box advertised, but still pretty.

028 - Constellation Skirt

With patterns matching actual real constellations. Despite matching the night sky, it almost seems sun-rise themed, with its pink background and pale gold stars.

030 - Bottled Tea

When heated up, it's meant to help soothe upset stomachs, and muscle aches. Popular among student athletes.

031 - Alarm Clock

It's a digital alarm clock. One of the few normal and functional things here, and it's the thing that screams at you to wake up every morning.

032 - Broken Stopwatch (x2)

It won't stop running, no pausing or restarting. You can however make it record different laps.

034 - Baseball Cap

Perfect for keeping the sun out of your face! This one is all black though, so it'll retain a lot of heat.

038 - Card Game (x3)

One easy to play, and popular among kids. The front side of the package shows a family of four playing.

039 - Reminder Booklet

A small pamphlet that gives reminders for daily things, such as eating, drinking, taking meds, etc. Also has room for you to add in unique personalized reminders.

041 - Tiovita

A Japanese energy drink sold at most convenience stores. Pretty inexpensive, and with a nice fruity flavor- but hey, only one per day!

044 - Lie Detector (x2)

Fun for the whole family! Though not incredibly accurate... wait, how do you know that?

045 - Evidence Encylopedia

A book focusing on evidence found in crime scenes. From most overlooked to most common, this book talks about it all.

049 - Track Award

A award from a middle school track and field award. The recipient of the trophy seems to have come in second in two events, and first in one.

050 - Plane Tickets (x2)

Anywhere, anytime, round trip tickets. Probably given as some sort of thank you for volunteering to get off of a accidentally over-booked flight.

051 - Therapy Advertisement (x2)

Some therapist endorsing themselves. Upon looking at the services they offer, I don't feel very inspired to go there.

056 - Soulmate Sweatshirt

A sweatshirt that supposedly brings the most comfort not when you wear it, but when holding someone wearing it. Currently smells strongly of... lavender?

057 - Scrap Metal x3

Seems to be broken bits and pieces of some sort of engine. Could be repurposed, or simply a cool trinket.

059 - Old Journal

It seems to be from the late 80s, and kept being written in up to the early 90s. There's a entry on the last page, synopsizing the birth of the owners son, and how proud the owner is of his now five year old.

060 - Paper Boat

A piece of paper that's been folded into a boat. Apparently you can fold and tear it as you tell a story to provide a visual aid for the story, but no one here knows how.

061 - Calendar

It's got pictures of internationally famous towns on it! This particular one has been written on with a note on almost every day.

064 - Face-paint Kit.

A professional face-painting kit. However, it’s missing it’s red, yellow, blue and white paint- those colors have been all used up.

065 - Life Quote Sign (x3)

A sign with some stereotypical life quote written on it in flowery lettering. Most likely to be seen hanging in a kitchen.

066 - Throwing Rings (x2)

Meant for fair games. If you have good enough aim, maybe you'll win a prize!

067 - Pleasant Savior

Seemingly a CD filled with various performances by the same person. I haven't played the CD, so I don't know what kind of performances he does though, and the name is off-putting.

069 - “Fresh” Bouquet (x3)

Somehow still smells sweet with flowers that look flawless. It's comprised of roses that have been dyed rainbow, all of them.

070 - Hair Ribbons (x3)

They come in a variety of colors, but the Monomono Machine only dispenses yellow. Guaranteed to make the wearer feel a certain sense of self-satisfaction.

071 - Girls Profile

A student profile from a all-girls academy. The paper is water-stained and some of the ink has run, so it's hard to make out what's on the paper.

073 - Baby Doll

It seems to be from around the 90s and... not quite well-loved, but well-played-with. Doesn't come with the original clothes... or hair.

075 - Dream Catcher

Made by a past SHSL. It's actually been pretty effective, and is part of the reason they got scouted.

080 - Retro Game

It's handheld, old, and extremely broken. The screen has been shattered so it displays wrong, all cracked and distorted.

081 - Blackout Curtains (x2)

Completely block out any and all light. Strong enough to plunge a room into darkness.

084 - Noise-cancelling Headphones

They completely block out all sound! Also come with the ability to adjust the size of the band, and will stay on your ears even if you pull the band down to your neck.

086 - Wall Decals

Stickers you can put on your wall. They do a decent job of covering up holes in said walls.

087 - Antique Stuffed Animal (x2)

It seems to be bunny themed, and dressed in clothes you'd see on babies in the 1930s. It's in pretty good shape, other than a few tears where the lace trim at the end has had it’s stitches removed.

088 - Embroidery Kit

Or rather, a needle and thread to be used for embroidery. There's only one needle, and one spool of thread, but hey, it’s something.

090 - Scented Markers (x2)

A full rainbow set, all with their own unique smell! Be careful though - it's hard to get these out of clothes.

092 - Fake Christmas Tree (x2)

Too plastic to be a real tree. It's also incredibly small, but real trees can be small too, so that doesn’t really mess with the realism.

093 - Hair Gel

Top of the line hair gel, and completely unopened! Helps you style your hair and keep it in place, but doesn’t give it the nicest texture.

095 - Instant Noodles

Just add water to get something hot, salty, and/or spicy! A nice meal if you're looking for something that's quick and easy, you can dress it up some too.

097 - Drink Mix

A powder used for ??? warm drink, made with milk, tastes like... something? You try it and tell me, but it smells good at the least.

099 - The DSM-I

Self-explanatory, it's the original version of the DSM, from 1952. Index cards have been slipped in-between most of the pages, talking about what happened with the information listed there.

100 - Collection Of Old Ads

Dating back to the 1920s. A magazine full of ads from a different time, it’s somewhat of a miracle the paper held up while the ideas in it didn’t.

101 - Wooden Ruler

It's a wooden ruler. Used for measuring things, nothing else- why do you ask?

102 - Building Blocks (x3)

Stacking and stacking, and sending it all crumbling down. And then you rinse and repeat.

104 - Cutesy Hair Clips

Snap clips in pastel colors and covered in designs. Oddly enough, there isn't any non-pastels, unless you count the few white clips.

106 - Newspaper Collage

Seems to be a collection of snippets from newspaper articles. There must be hundreds in here... it's a big collage.

107 - Cropped Sweatshirt

Cropped specifically due to a parent saying not to. The sweatshirt seems to be related to some organization, with the big fancy emblem on it.

109 - Pins And Patches

A mix-and-match bag full of enamel pins, buttons, and iron-on patches. Good luck finding something to do with them all.

110 - Origami Paper (x2)

Simple origami paper, in a variety of colors and patterns! Comes easy to tear out of a book, which includes instructions on basic origami types.

112 - Colorful Band-Aids.

They come in many colors, designs, even different sizes. Some seem to be made to cover up paper cuts, others meant to help skinned knees and scraped elbows.

Thank you for visiting the Monomono Machine!

~*~

Maeda, narrating - And I thought the coins were kinda heavy...

Maeda - What now?

[Free Time Event - Uehara]

{Head to Your Room}

#dra #au #fangan #fanganronpa #yuki maeda #chapter 2 #daily life

9 notes · View notes

unholyobsessions · 5 years ago

Text

Seeking Comfort

Pairing: Anderson x GenderNeutral!Reader

Description: You take care of Anderson after Elle gets shot

Warnings: Cussing, Mentions of shooting

Word Count: 1.7k

You walk over to your desk, absolutely exhausted after today’s case. Tears sting your eyes as you think about what happened today. It feels as if everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong and there was nothing anyone on the team could do to fix it. You let your eyes wander to Elle’s desk and you quickly blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill out. You had to keep a clear head, no emotions, you had paperwork to finish. With tired eyes and and a labored breath, you picked up a file and a pen, prepared to start your report. You got about halfway before you had to take a break, the sound of the explosion and the look of the girl’s face when she thought she wouldn’t make it not allowing you to concentrate. You give up with an annoyed huff, angrily closing the folder, and spin your chair around to look at Grant.

He looks awful. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot from crying and his face is evidently puffier than usual. You frown and try to get his attention but he is too focused on the file in front of him, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. You debate whether you should go up and talk to him, but according to everyone at the BAU, you and him are nothing more than co-workers and occasional acquaintances. You spot his phone on the other side of his desk so emailing him is out of the question. And you can’t email him to his computer because the FBI monitors all emails. You stay deep in thought before an idea pops into your head. You spin back around to face your desk and peel off a baby blue post it from the pile next to your computer. You quickly write a small note, adding a smiley face at the end for good measure. You paste it inside a random file on your desk. You pack up all your stuff, pick up your bag, and stand up. You confidently make your way across the bullpen, masking any emotion and stop in front of Grant’s desk. “Anderson, Hotch wants you to take this to Agent Morrison downstairs after you review it,” you inform, interrupting his staring contest with the paperwork in front of him. He doesn’t speak, simply nods and takes the file, opening it with a sigh. He has to stop himself from smiling when he spots your note, recognizing the ink of your favorite purple pen. Meet me in the elevator I love you :) He looks up to see you already walking toward the doors of the BAU. He scrambles to get his stuff together, sticking the file in his bag in a haste, not wanting anyone to pick it up and see your note. He calmly walks out of the bullpen and toward the elevator. You peak at him through your peripheral and click the button for the elevator. You pray no one shows up wanting to hitch a ride and thankfully no one does. As soon as the doors close in front of you, you reach for his hand, giving it a light squeeze. The sniffle you hear him breaks your heart and you want nothing more than to gather him up in your arms and hold him close. But you can’t, not yet anyway. The doors eventually open in the lobby and you reluctantly let go of his hand. Both of you walk somewhat separately out of the building, so to anyone that sees, you are just two co-workers that happened to leave the office at the same time. You know for certain that he does not want to drive his car at the moment so you wordlessly guide him to yours. You open the passenger door and, when he gives no protest, proceed to buckle him in. You walk to the drivers side, get in, and start the car. Throughout the whole drive to your apartment you keep stealing glances at him, wanting to make sure that he is okay at all times. About twenty minutes later you pull up to your apartment complex. You quickly unbuckle your seatbelt and rush out of the car to open Grant’s door. He leans his head against your arm as you unbuckle his seatbelt. “Come on baby let’s go upstairs. I’ll make some hot chocolate and we can watch a shitty cable movie.” You run a hand through his hair and feel his head move in a tired nod. You gently usher him out of the vehicle and grab his hand. You push the door closed with the heel of your foot and press the button on your keys to set the car alarm. You walk up the stairs in a comfortable silence, Grant taking comfort in the feel of his fingers laced with yours. A tiny pout adorns his face when you have to pull away to unlock your door so you lean against his chest to provide him some physical contact. His arms instantly wrap around your waist like muscle memory and his face gets buried in your neck. You walk foward and push the door closed behind you. The door closing breaks the dam; as soon as you hear the click, you feel Grant’s tears against your neck. You turn around in his arms and cradle his head against you. You place a small kiss to his hair and whisper sweet nothings in his ear. “You want to talk about it baby?” You ask cautiously, not wanting to upset him even more. “Not yet. Cocoa,” he manages to choke out. You smile slightly and begin pulling him toward the kitchen. You have to separate yourself from him to gather what you need and, although reluctantly, Grant lets you go. He hops on the counter and watches you move swiftly around the kitchen, pulling a pot out of the cupboard and the milk out of the fridge. You turn the stove and measure two cups of milk before pouring it in the pot. As you wait for the milk to heat up, you walk over to your boyfriend and stand between his legs. His head is hanging down, chin against his chest, so you place two fingers on his jaw and lightly push upward. You press a small kiss on his pouty lips and smile. You wipe away a few stray tears, kissing each of his cheeks. A few minutes go by, and you go to place the bars of chocolate in the pot. You mix for about ten minutes before you decide that it is ready. You grab your favorite mugs and carefully pour the hot liquid in them. You grab the bag of tiny marshmallows and place a good amount on each mug. You hand Grant his and then make your way to the couch. You grab the remote, turning the TV on but placing it on mute. You sit in silence for a few minutes, both enjoying the warm drink and then Grant decides to speak up. “I’m sorry.” You halt your movements, the mug you were raising to your lips suddenly forgotten. “Sorry for what my love?” “For getting Elle shot.” Silent tears are streaming down his face and you have a feeling that his cries won’t stay silent for long. You place your mug down on the coffee table and turn your body to him. “You did not get Elle shot. What happened was not your fault.” You try to make sure your voice sound assertive because you need him to understand. His shoulder shake as he responds, “Yes it was. If I had just obeyed Hotch’s orders properly then it would not have happened.” You pull him into your arms as sobs rack his body, holding his head against your chest. You can hear his gasps for breath in between sobs, so you run your fingers through his hair, doing your best to calm him down. “It was not your fault. Hotch was not clear on his orders. He told you to take her home, which is what you did. He did not tell you to stay with her,” you argue. He looks up at you and you have to hold back your own tears because his usually adorable puppy eyes hold so much guilt and sadness in them. Don’t cry, you thought, you’ll only make it worst. “If you are going to blame anyone blame Hotch for not giving orders properly, blame Gideon because he is the one who called the press conference, knowing it would piss the unsub off, blame the unsub for kidnapping his daughter and sending us on a psychotic scavenger hunt, but do not blame yourself.”

He shakes his head and struggles to hold enough breath to speak. “I’m going to get suspended.” You blink away your tears because of course he is worried about keeping his job.

“Don’t think about that baby, not right now. You won’t get suspended, you have no reason to be,” you assure him. He looks at you and gives the tiniest of nods before cuddling up against you again. His hands clutch your shirt, afraid that if he lets go, you’ll leave. He’s told you before, how worried he gets when you go on a case, afraid of you getting hurt and Elle getting shot just cemented that fear.

You both finish your hot chocolate and you suggest you both take a shower. You pull him to the bathroom and turn the shower on. You start undressing Grant as you wait for the water to warm up. Once it’s warm enough he gets in and you quickly undress and follow after him. You gently massage the shampoo into his hair and clean the rest his body, mumbling how much you love him all the time. You quickly clean yourself off before turning off the shower. You wrap a towel around yourself and help Grant dry off. You both slip into your pjs and head to your bed. He cuddles up to you and whispers a small “Thank you y/n. I love you so much.” You smile at him and whisper back, “I love you too Grant.” You both drift off to sleep, content and safe in each other’s embrace.

#agent anderson #agent grant anderson #grant anderson #anderson #criminal minds #bau #bau fic #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #mgg blurb #cm

86 notes · View notes

glitterbootsharry · 5 years ago

Text

Two- Witchy Woman

Disclaimer: I do not know much about witchcraft or anything associated with it besides the few tv shows and movies I have seen. If I have gotten anything wrong or mixed up, please feel free to let me know. I want to get as much right as I can as I have done some research, but I know I do not know a lot.

previous | taglist

I bite at my thumb pad as I look my dilemma in the eye and time is running out. Rowan will be here soon, and after making the last clean up check, I decide that my bleached tee isn’t good enough for the small study session. Two button up shirts lay on my bed, covering the blue plaid quilt my mum bought me when I first moved out- she cried as she pressed the nonexistent wrinkles out of the thick fabric with her hands, tucking the corners neatly under the mattress. My eyes divert between the two. They’re the same, in reality, just inverted colors of the other. The white droplets on the black silk. The black droplets on the white silk. I walk over to my top drawer and search for the matching neck scarf that I insisted on buying, giving my older sister another reason to roll her eyes at me. I hear a sudden knock on my front door and in haste, I pull out my answer to my dilemma.

“Coming,” I call out, buttoning the white droplet shirt. I ruffle my long curly hair before rushing to the front door, my shirt half-buttoned.

I turn the knob, holding my breath as I watch Rowan come into view. Her hair is pulled into a neat ponytail hoisted high on her head and she’s wearing a black graphic tee that her sleeves rolled up. “Hi,” my voice croaks as she stands outside my flat door with her backpack on her shoulders. The black velvet chicken lays across her throat as it tighter as she smiles softly at me with her mouth parts slowly.

“Hi.” My hand grips the brass knob tightly as I lean against the wooden door, crossing my legs in front of one another. I become all too aware of how long I look at Rowan, drinking in her brown eyes and drowning in her glowing skin. I want to stare at her all day- she could be doing nothing and I would be intrigued.

“Can I come in or are we studying out here?” She cocks her brow up at me, a sly smile forming on her mouth before I push the door open completely forgetting the reason she came here for.

“Oh, erm, yeah,” I rub the nape of my neck, embarrassed as I motion her through the doorway. She walks past me, her shoulder brushing my chest, and I smell the sweet scent of flowers. “How are you?” I close the door and follow her into my living room. It’s small, with only a couch, television and its stand and small coffee table in between the two, but it’s one of my favorite places in the flat. She sits down on the cream leather couch and begins to dig through her bag.

“I’m fine,” she says as she pulls out two copies of The Tempest. “Didn’t know if you had a copy so I grabbed one from the store. If that’s okay?” She hands me the red used book, corners of the pages slightly torn from the previous owners’ use. I suddenly feel warm as I stand in the room, all too aware of my looming presence. I sit down beside her, looking over the book before realizing that my own book is in my bedroom. “Thanks,” I hold up my gift before gently opening the cover. Inside was a new inscription from the gingerly handwriting that I have just now come in contact with.

“I owed you.”

I smiled as I turned the page and began to read the play again. I can’t help but notice how close we’re sitting next to each other, feeling the electricity nearly flying through us. I clear my throat as I try to concentrate on the printed words, but her slow breathing fills my ears. I adjust my black jeans and run my hand across the length of my jeans, wiping the slight sweat away. It was too much for any man to bear, being in the room with Rowan, let alone being this close to her. My pinky could reach over and touch the exposed skin of her knees and I’d melt into liquid. I look over at her, her brows furrowed in concentration, and I feel my heart begin to race. The black ink tattoo behind her ear is of a crescent moon and stars creeping onto her neck. “Do you want some coffee? Tea? Crisps?” I ask, finally breaking the heavy and unbearable silence between us. Rowan looks up at me, completely exasperated, and smiles softly, placing her hand in the crook of the small book with her pencil stuck in her ponytail.

“Sure,” she says, her voice melodic to my ears. Her eyes are dark when looking up at me and I feel my throat run dry and I can’t seem to watch her watching me. Normally, I’m calm and collected around women- I can chat them up all the way to my bedroom to pull my leg over, but Rowan… She makes me nervous when she walks into the room with my stomach in knots. “Whatever you have is nice. Don’t go and make a fuss because of me.”

You’re worth the fuss, I think to myself. What is going on, Styles? You’re never like this.

I shake my head and leave the living room to Rowan. The kitchen, though small, is big enough to let my thoughts out. I think Rowan’s beautiful, yes, but why am I so nervous around her? She’s just my classmate and we’re doing a project together. Calm down.

The kettle hisses at me, letting me know it’s ready and I pour it into a teapot, grab two cups placing them with sugar and milk on a small tray my absent father gave me two birthdays ago and tuck the half empty bag of crisps under my elbow. I walk back into the living room with Rowan on the phone, her voice frantic.

“You sure? Is she okay?” she asks, turning her body into the couch when she sees me. “Alright, erm, I’ll be right there. Thank you, Mary.”

She looks up at me with pleading eyes full of regret before she speaks, her voice barely above a squeak.

“I’ve got to go. It’s me Gran.” She stands and proceeds to shove her book into her bag before she walks out of my flat, but not before I place the tray down on the table with a force that I never meant to use, rattling the porcelain dishes.

“Wait, let me, at least, walk you down,” I call out, running after her as I rake my hair in frustration. I closed the door, half running after Rowan as she glided down the stairs. She’s in the car park before I can break ground. The sound of the engine spurring fills the air. She tries to turn the engine again, again, and again until I reach the opened car door.

“You’ll flood the engine that way. Be no use to you then,” I say, my smile trying to calm Rowan down. “I can take you.”

“I can’t ask that of you, Harry,” Rowan’s voice breaks, tears spilling down her face.

“You didn’t ask, love, I offered. C’mon,” I nod my head back to my flat. “Let me grab my keys and wallet and we’ll be on the way, yeah?” Rowan nods as she stands outside her car. I hear the slamming of her door when I turn to leave and a hushed, “Fuck.”

***

“It’s down there. First little dirt road on your left,” Rowan points at the small brown path that barely lets my car fit on its way. It was a quiet thirty minute drive to the small village Rowan calls home. Shere- the small town that never lets any new business go unnoticed. Rowan busied herself calling Mary again to check in, letting her know she was on the way. I pull up to a small weather worn red brick house with flowers planted in every inch of ground that could be except for the small gravel pathway that leads you to the front wooden door. Roses, tulips, daffodils, wildflowers- Rowan had every flower that one could have, but the majority of the vast arrangement of color were roses- pink, yellow, purple, red. Vines and moss creep up the brick of the house with no intention of stopping.

“You want to come in?” Rowan asks as she begins to climb out of my car. “Be a shame that you came all this way without a proper cup of tea and a thank you.”

“You want me to come in?” I ask, but Rowan pushes the front door of her home open by the time I climb out of my car. She left the front door open for me and when I walked in, the strong scent of flowers and chocolate hit my nose.

“Gran?” Rowan calls out, her eyes frantic as she walks into the front hallway. “Why don’t you wait for me in the parlor? Gran should be coming soon.” She turns her head looking back into the open sliding glass door into the back garden. “Erm, she’s got a bit of a memory problem so…” She looks back up to me, tears brimming over.

“Go,” I say, “I’ll find the parlor. Don’t worry about me.” Rowan smiles, graciously, and walks into the back garden, which unsurprisingly, has more roses and plants within eyesight. I wander around the small home, the cozy air reminding me of my childhood one, before I find the small unused parlor. Book line the walls- all the way from Poe to Everything to You Need to Know about Herbs. I run my finger over the spine of a small leather book labeled “Astarte’s Book of Shadows”. I pull it from the row, the leather claiming the books that sit next to it. It feels heavy when I finally have it in my hands and I have an urge to open it, but the feeling fades when I hear Rowan’s voice.

“Gran, you can’t do that. The cookies were burning. You scared me. What if I-“

“Ya Amar, you cannot worry about such things. I’m fine. How was your reading with that tall boy you told me about?” A sweet, but stern voice spoke back at Rowan’s concerns.

“You were sitting on the garden wall- the high one. But,” Rowan sighed. “My car wouldn’t start so he brought me. He’s in the study, Gran. Behave.” A small elderly woman that looked almost like Rowan with a crooked back turned into the room. Her skin was tanned like Rowan’s but with white long hair in a braid. Her skin, wrinkled with sun spots, was also covered with small tattoos. She looked up at me and smiled before sitting down on the blue couch that I was standing behind. I placed the black book back on the shelf and sat down beside the aging woman. I extend my hand and introduce myself.

“Harry Styles, madam.” She looks at my hand and smiles. Her fragile fingers wrap around my pinky, pulling me towards her. She places her other hand over the top of mine before speaking.

“You know she likes you too. Only one who's ever been truly nice to her. Alice Lloyd.” She lets go of my hand and laughs softly as she was in a small joke that I was unaware of.

Do what? I think. I never said…

“You didn’t have to.”

“Gran, behave.” Rowan brings three cups in one hand. I try to stand to help her, but she shoots me down. She brings an antique teapot. She gently pours tea into the three cups, smiling as she hands Alice her cup and as she hands me my own, her smile is full of gratitude.

“Quite a garden you have,” I say speaking to both women. “It’s lovely.”

“Gran started it when she moved here years ago. I just try to keep it up,” Rowan sits down into the chair opposite us. Her hair is down, small tendrils falling into her face as she blows into the small cup.

“You do more than that, ya amar. You put the new basil bush in just yesterday. Don’t sell yourself short, love,” Alice sighs before turning to me. “You from London, Harry?”

“Just outside. Holmes Chapel in Cheshire. My mum owns a pub there in town.”

“How nice,” Alice looks at my shirt and I’m all too aware that my shirt is nearly unbuttoned, exposing my two swallows on my chest and the butterfly on my torso. I clear my throat as I try to casually button the rest of my shirt. “You go to the university, as well? English major? Let me guess, you want to become a writer?”

“Gran,” Rowan’s voice is short- her eyes not faltering from her tea.

“Well, it looks like the fun for me has run out. The adventure outside has taken me so I think I’ll retire to my bedroom for the evening. Good meeting you, Harry,” Alice motions me to lean closer to her with her finger and when doing so, I feel the slight wet kiss on my cheek. I smile before speaking, “Nice meeting you Gran.”

Rowan helps her grandmother up and when they think they’re out of hearing, I hear the small whisper, “He’s got dimples, Rowan. Quite handsome. Don’t mess this up.”

I smile, my dimples evident, as I hear Rowan’s small, but grand response, my heart overwhelming with joy and wanting.

“I won’t. As long as he doesn’t.”

###

@awomanindeniall @sunflwr-styles��

#harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles ofc #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry 1d #1dff #1d fan fiction #harry styles poc #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic

24 notes · View notes

diabloindigo · 4 years ago

Text

Are you the person to open a box of cereal just to get the toy inside? As a kid yes. Right now, I don’t buy cereals with prizes anymore. Do they even stuff toys in cereal these days?

Do you get scared easy? If it’s in the anxiety induced variety, yes.

What was one of the stupidest things you cried over when you were little? Not sure, it could have been anything from not wanting to wear a fancy dress or dress shoes to a party or a broken toy.

Have you ever drank milk from the carton? Despite having a working dishwasher and plenty of glasses, I “waterfall” milk and juice from the containers.

Juice or milk? I go both ways, leaning more towards juice. Apple or orange.

Do you ever turn off your computer properly? Once in a while.

Do you wish you were a fish? Not really, though I kinda envy the blue Dory (Doctor Fish?) in the tank at my gynecologist’s waiting room. It likes to swim to the bottom of the tank and ride up to the top on a bubble jet. That damn fish has probably had more fun than I have in the past several months.

Who’s your favorite super hero? Invincible (Amazon Prime). Along with Spider-Man (2002) and the Big Hero 6 movie, that character/series is a rare superhero show that makes me feel strong and vulnerable at the same time.

Who’s your favorite super villain? Slade Wilson/ Deathstroke as seen in “Teen Titans: The Judas Contract” animated movie and the 2003-2006 “Teen Titans” cartoon series.

Spiderman or X-men? Spider-Man. Tobey Maguire and Peter B. Parker from Into the Spiderverse.

Movie theatre or stay at home movie night? Theaters. Alamo Drafthouse. I love ordering boozy milkshakes and finger foods.

Do you have a Blue Ray? I have one of those external drives for my Mac though I never use it.

How about HD television? Yeah

Do you think HD television is kind of a waste of money? No.

Do you get why people get so frickin’ freaked out during football season? I do not, and living in a state with a hard-on for (American) football makes it weird when I tell people that I do not have a favorite football team/player.

Do you ever sneak scraps to the dog even though you’re not suppose to? I don’t sneak him food. If I cook or order too much to eat, then I scrape a couple of cup’s worth of leftovers in his bowl. He’s probably got only a year to live so let him live it up a little.

Are you reading a book right now? If so what? A friend gave me a copy of “The Only Good Indians” but I can't get into it so I’m reading “Full Throttle” by Joe Hill.

What was the last book you were required to read for school? It’s been so long I can’t remember.

O donuts or jelly filled? Whipped cream filled. I love Krispy Kreme’s whipped cream filled donuts with raspberry filled donuts as a close second.

If I’m feeling bland then I do like crullers.

Do you like your ice-cream in a bowl or cone? Bowl unless it’s a tasty cone.

Marshmallows in your hot chocolate or no? I could go either way unless it’s a tiny cup of chocolate.

Do you like cherry coke? Hell yes. I love going to Sonic for a cherry-vanilla-lime Coke or this greasy little 1950s type burger joint for their cherry cokes since they load the cups with several cherries.

Do you really think diet Dr. Pepper is the equivalent of a cupcake? No, it tastes artificial. Like a bastard child of a soft drink that wants to pass for cherry soda.

Do you snore in your sleep? Drool? Talk? Snore and talk (I’m pretty stressed out).

Have you ever sleep walked? no

Are you a morning person? I am now.

How do you wake up in the mornings? by alarm during the work week, naturally at 6-7 on vacation days.

Do you think guyliner is hot? What is that?

Is variety the spice of life? yeah

Do you think strawberry milk is disgusting? I like it.

Have you ever drank after anyone? Like sharing a cup/bottle? Yeah, loads of times.

Have you ever drank after anyone you don’t know very well? No.

Do you have any limits on who you drink/eat after?

If we’re talking about sharing, then I will share food/drink with family and friends. If someone offers me bite-size pieces that are individually wrapped or can be torn off the main portion, I’ll eat it, but only from co-workers or acquaintances.

Would you eat a sucker if someone already ate some of it? No.

Would you chew somebody else's gum? Hell no.

Do you know anyone who’s going to die of mono because of that? No.

Do you enjoy school? My English and psychology classes.

Are you a teacher’s pet? no

Do you have a job? Yes.

How did you get to and from school? Parents drove me or I walked for elementary through high school. I drove when I went to college.

Do you have a bedtime? And if so what is it? I’m in bed between 11-12 a.m.

What time do you get up? 6 am so I can walk/exercise before the sun boils the earth in full force.

Have you ever pulled an all-nighter? Yeah in college.

What’s more important? Beauty or brains? brains

Do you believe in yourself? Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t.

Did you ever want to be an astronaut when you were little? No. Being a veterinarian or scientist were my highest ambitions as a small kid.

How about the president? Never.

What did you want to be when you were little? Veterinarian, scientist, cartoon character.

Did you ever want to be a super model? no

Do you believe you’re attractive enough to be a super model? No.

Have you ever had an X-ray? Several in the past few months for pre-surgery and dental work.

What’s your favorite guy’s name? What’s your favorite girl’s name? Guys’: Shane, Mark, Tadashi, Austin, Cade, Trip.

Girls’: Quince, Sienna, Amy, Kit, Lizzie (Elizabeth), Raven.

Who’s your second cousin’s, grandparent’s, sister? The fuck...

Do you laugh to yourself whenever the ketchup bottle farts? No, in fact, I get annoyed when other people hear it and ask me if I farted.

Do you have any real guns in your house? I have several.

Do you know how to use nunchucks? No, I bought a pair at one of those Asian imports emporiums, but I donated them since I never learned to use them. They were these crappy foam padded ones with dragons printed on the handles.

Do you know anyone who can use nunchucks? No.

What do you want to be next Halloween? In better health and not shitting bricks about using up my paid time off to go to doctors’ appointments.

Did you ever consider getting a job as a mall Santa? No. I’d rather be one of his elves or a reindeer.

Are you the one responsible for taking out the garbage? Yes. Grosses me the fuck out sometimes with smelly discarded poultry trays or rotten food, but somebody’s gotta do it.

Do you recycle? My city has the blue recycling bins, but I heard that since we’re an ass-backward community, “recyclables” and trash all go to the same place. I just place recyclables in the blue bin to help clear up space in the trash bin. Maybe I’m wrong and this city does recycle? Can’t hurt.

When I was 11, I’d collect empty soda cans to take to the recycling guy since back in the day, they’d pay for aluminum cans. That’s how I scraped up funds for dollar movies and hot dogs.

Are you a pyro? Yeah. I carry/collect Zippo lighters but mostly because the “click-click” is satisfying to hear since I flip the lids open and closed to relieve stress. And I burn a lot of old bills and letters with sensitive info on them.

What was the last word/thing you wrote down? I was researching high fiber foods that are also low in carbs to make a grocery and dinner meal plan.

Sleeping or eating? After my surgery, sleeping.

Are you overall a positive person? I try to be realistically positive, if such a thing exists. The world will never be all sunshine and My Little Ponies, but I try to find some comfort and positivity when my world is a shit-show. Filling this survey out kinda helps.

Do you hate hypocrites? Yeah, especially the “do as I say, not as I do” types.

For instance, a certain family member is pushing good diet and health habits, but it aggravates the hell out of me if I see him drinking high sugar iced tea or eating ice cream. Or Door-Dashing Burger King, even if it is a Beyond Whopper with a diet Coke.

Do you like to prank people? Yes, but I do benign pranks like leaving dirty riddles and meme drawings on their front doors.

What was the worst prank you’ve ever done on anyone? I tried fucking with a telesolicitor but I could not stop laughing.

Have you ever jumped on a trampoline in the ice? I don’t own a trampoline.

Have you ever ice skated? No. I tried once after a local minor league hockey game. I got the skates on, but my ankles were bending/bowing out so I changed my mind.

Ever water skiid? No.

Is vacuum spelled funny? Yes.

Democrat or republican? I don’t associate formally with either party, but I hitch my pony a little to the left.

Who’s the biggest asshole you know? My former boss circa 2013. Very unprofessional and a veritable loudmouth and a poor (shit) showman wannabe.

Pen or pencil? Gel-ink pens.

Should all paper have holes? nope

Speaking of holes. Swiss cheese, what’s the point of that? Fewer calories? Spinning slices in my hand like a TV cowboy spinning his revolver in the trigger guard with his finger?

Have you ever been in a helicopter before? No.

Own any airbrushed tshirts? Nope, not even in the nineties.

Have you ever been suspended? No.

Have you ever been in a fist fight? A few playground fights as a kid.

Ever said something to someone that you didn’t mean to say? Yes.

Do you forgive too easily? I don’t think so.

What are you listening to right now? The AC running.

Have you ever seen any of MCR’s music videos? Nope.

Are you tan? No.

Have you ever been in a tanning bed? No. I have no desire to look like a Cheeto or woo skin cancer.

Have you ever played water volley? Once at my uncle’s neighborhood swimming pool.

Ever had a sunburn? Yes, from neglecting sunscreen re-applications or underestimating the sun.

How about wind burn? It hurts….. Nah, I don't live in a cold enough climate for that.

What was the first word you learned how to say? I think it was “mama.”

#random monkey shit #survey #ask #bored #Q and A #long post

3 notes · View notes