#Thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about my family 💜

[your-local-grinning-cat]

Hey love! ♡♡♡,

I'm curious, what is your grandad like? How was it growing up with him around?

(Also, because of course I should ask this as well, do you think he'd like me-?)

Darlinnnnnnnnnnnn~!!!!! 💖💖💖💖💖

*pounces on you in a hug*

My favorite Heartslabyul-shaped Diasomnian! 😹

Hmmmm…

As for my Grandpaw… I didn’t just grow up with him around, I grew up with only him around. I don’t really remember my parents. They were unfortunately lost to what every Cheshire willingly and lovingly makes their worst enemy, so I was raised by my Grandpaw!

He is very fun! I still haven’t guessed his first name, even after all these years, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually! 😼 My Grandpaw likes to tell lots of stories and you’ll never know if they’re true or not… sometimes the ones you’re so sure are the lies are the truths.

One time, he told me a story about this giant egg man sitting on a wall that was so well-to-do that a KING gave him a cravat (or was it a belt? 🤔) as an Unbirthday present and promised to fix him if the egg man broke his shell. I was pawsitive my Grandpaw was just telling tall tales with that one… nope! Learned years later that it did happen… in a different universe. Grandpaw is just sneaky like that! 🤭

He’s great with kids - he’s who I want to be when I am as old as he is. He was always so patient with teaching me how to appear and disappear, teleport, and [REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED]. I don’t know where I would be without him. 🥰

And I think he would adore you, Darlin! You’re important to me, which means he’s already going to like you, but also? You gave me earrings. And I’m wearing them. He’s gonna know that means I really like you. So that means he won’t just like you as an accessory to me, he will sit you down and get to know you so he can say fur sure that he likes you. 💜

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

i'm craving you

Word Count - 1700

Requested - Yes - chukys-mouthguard asked: Okay Quinn NHL awards night smut is all i can think about after your little blurb on that reblog, I would be down for a continuation of that if you’re up for writing something 🙈😅🥵

Author's Note - As always thank you for reading . 💜

Warnings - established relationship, y/n used, mentions of oral (m receiving), dirty talk, a quickie, semi-public sex

Summary - You couldn't stop starring at your boyfriend all night at the rewards. All you wanted to do was grab him and go sneak away some place that you could show him how proud you are of him.

Watching Quinn all night truly made you do nothing except trying not to make it look so obvious that you were clutching your thighs to Ellen who was standing to your right. You were watching from afar as Quinn finished up an interview. To be completely honest you weren’t focused on anyone except Quinn. He looked fucking amazing in his new suit and his new haircut was making your stomach feel things. You’ve been fighting the urge to pull him into some dark corner to get on your knees and show him how proud of him you were. Finally, you see a chance as he finishes up the interview. You quickly excused yourself from the rest of the Hughes as you met the oldest one in the center of the room. 

“Hi bubs I’m so proud of you.” you say as you hug Quinn. 

“Thanks baby” as he wraps your arms around your shoulders giving you a quick peck on your head as you turn your face into his chest away from all the lights for a second. 

“You okay love?” He asks as he notices you staying in his embrace a little longer than needed thinking something was wrong. The fans behind the barricades  awwing thinking it was just a cute moment between the happy couple. Little did they know what you were whispering in his ear “I really need you Q. Please Quinny I’ve been craving you all night.” There must have been something in your whines that convinced Quinn to pull away from your embrace. You could see his eyes having an internal battle of what to listen to his brian or his half-hard cock that was slowly starting to strain against his pants. Ultimately he decided his lust for you would win, as he grabbed your hand, both of you walking away to try to find somewhere quiet for a few minutes. You tried not to look too giddy as you both steered towards the opposite side of the ballroom then his family was on. After looking for a few minutes you were in an abandoned hallway far away from the party. Quinn stopped pushing you against the wall to share the first proper kiss since he was Norris two hours prior. You could feel the crown molding of the wall behind on your lower back, as Quinn shoved his tongue down your mouth showing dominance. Your whimpers and moans are covered by the party down the hall as your hands find his curls. He finally pulled away “not here baby hold on.” he whispered his voice heavy with his own need. He opened his eyes and tried the door that was next to you. It was unlocked. “Fucking finally.” As he closed your mouths again and shoved you into the room. 

You pulled away cursing as you felt yourself almost clumsy fall over something. You both open your eyes, Quinn quickly finding the light, discovering it’s a drawstring light behind you. As both of your eyes adjust you realize that you're in a custodian closet. You look at Quinn and you both share a laugh at the fact of where you are. 

“This wasn’t on my bingo card this year…” you say as you grab his face and start kissing him taking over dominance. Slowly making him back up all the way until his back is to the door. 

“Oh yeah you didn’t wanna fuck me in a custodians closet?” he asked as you moved down his neck.

“I never said never, just unexpected.” you say as you continue your attack on his neck. Quinn’s hands find your hips squeezing but also flustered that he couldn’t feel such through the thick material of your dress and spreads his legs so he can feel you as closely as possible. He lets himself enjoy the attack you're making on his neck, especially once you find that particular spot. He lets out a loud groan automatically.

“Not right now, no marks where the camera can see, you wanna be a good girl right?” He asks sternly, and all you do is whine in response, and slowly remove your head from his neck so you can look into his eyes. 

“Please all I’ve wanted to do all night is claim you, give ya just a little bite. Please Quinny.” you beg a giant pout on your lips. Your one hand going to his hair to pull his loose curls and the other sneaking between you both, to slowly grasp him. “All I wanted to do all night is make you feel good” As you slowly take your mouth to his ear to whisper the last part.  “I wanna show you how proud I am of you by letting you fuck my face. Please, my mouth has been craving you all night.” 

He takes your face and pushes it away holding it between his hands. “No. Not right now. Right now I need to feel your warm wet pussy clenching around me. While you force yourself to be quiet so we don’t get caught by the people outside.”  He’s quick to push you into the shelving so that your back is pressed against the sleeves with a bunch of random cleaning supplies. You're a whimpering mess as he leaves wet kisses on your lips and neck. As he slowly pulls back to undo his belt and unzip his pants. “Look at you, you're already flushed. I've barely touched you yet…. What do you need, baby? You gotta tell.” As he slowly comes back, using his fingertips to lightly ghost over everything except where you needed most. 

“you, I need your cock please.” you tell him as your eyes flutter closed the anticipation becomes too much to hand. His hand reaches for your leg that has the slit in it from your dress. He quickly pulls down your throng, leaving kisses on your exposed chest. 

He takes his cock out and gives himself a few pumps before sinking deep into you. You arch your back, your throat gives a small cry of pleasure. Quinn is quickly covering your mouth, “as much as I love all the sounds you make I can’t have it right now. You gotta be a good girl for me. You think you can handle that?” You shake your head yes as a response knowing that he isn’t going to remove his hand. “Fuck you look beatiful being all full from my dick.” Quinn starts thrusting in and out slowly at first making sure you're well adjusted. His one hand on your ass holding your leg up and kneading it hard. You let your back fall back getting lost in the pleasure. 

Quinn quickly picks up the pace, “fuck baby look at you always so goddamn hungry for my cock you couldn’t wait till we got back to the hotel room.” All you could manage to do was pull Quinn closer as he sped up his thrusts. The sound of the creaking shelves behind you turning you on even more as Quinn continued his attack on your neck.Still careful not to leave marks he did not need this shit in the press. You could feel him close by his thrusts get sloppier. He pulled your dress up with his other hand that was holding your mouth, making the way to your clit to help you get closer to your orgasim. You quickly took one of your hands and slipped one of your boobs out squeezing it. “Fuck baby I’m close, you fill always feel so motherfucking tight for me.”

He says as he notices you kneading your right boob. You swear his eyes looked happier in that split second than when they announced him as the winner of the Norris. He quickly took his mouth sucking around your nipple. Then he moved his mouth to leave  a love bite on your boob, you couldn’t hold it anymore. Between Quinn rubbing your clit, still kneading your ass and now playing with your boob you let go. You can feel that familiar tightness growing in the pit of stomach. 

“Fuck i’m cumming bubs.” you say as you tilt your head even further back as you cry in pleasure feeling the euphoria effect from your orgasim building. Watching your face as you came through his eyelids as he continued sucking your nipple. It was enough for Quinn to explode. He continued to slowly thrust into you as you both were still coming down from your highs. His mouth removing itself from your boob and his head falling to your shoulder as your hands found his soft curls. Allowing yourselves to get a minute to make your breaths sound normal again. “Fuck your too good to me bab”  as he kissed your collarbone and slowly pulled out. He went down to the floor to reach a pack of paper towels that fell on the floor from the shaking of the top shelf. He quickly opened the pack and started cleaning both of you up.

“I could say the same for you.” as you look at him cleaning you after fucking the absloute shit out of you. “I am still sad though.” you say softly. Quinn stopped his movements and looked up.

“What?” he asked with concern and confusion clearly on his face. 

“Yeah I still really wanna bite your neck and give you that blowjob to show you how proud I am of you.” as you pretend to pout, arms crossing over your chest.

“Tonight baby girl, promise.” Quinn couldn’t help the big smile on his face as he saw your eyes light up. 

The next morning both you and Quinn have lots of love bites and hickeys. When Luke and Jack knock on our hotel room to tell you guys that we need to hurry up or we will miss our flight. They definitely don’t leave before trying to give Quinn shit for his appearance. Answering the door in nothing but boxers, love bites on his inner thighs, hickeys all different colors down his neck and chest. They especially chirp him when Quinn turns around and they see his back covered in scratches. But Quinn doesn’t give two shits what his little brothers think because he’s happier than he’s ever been. 

[specialagentlokitty]

Stiles x reader - who you are

it's such a cliché but could i ask for stiles x mikaelson!reader that doesn't know they're a mikaelson until they come strolling into town looking for a long lost family member? - Anon💜

You had traced what your mother had told you all the way back to beacon hills. The town she had grown up in, the town where she had met your father, the town she left when she found out she was pregnant.

She told you as much as she could remember before she passed away, and she gave you the keys to the house that she used to live in, saying she was waiting for you to grow older so she could give it to you.

Parking your car, you looked up at the house and sighed to yourself, taking a deep breath as you slowly walked up to it, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

You wanted to walk in, but you were frozen in place until you heard someone approaching.

“Excuse me, can I help you?”

You turned around, looking the older man up and down before you shook your head.

“Sorry, I’m just moving in is all.” You smiled a little.

“Oh I see, sorry. That house has been empty for years, I take care of it when I have the time, the original owned said she was coming back.”

You titled your head at him and pulled out your phone, taking the case off you pulled a photo and handed it over.

“Was this her?”

“Yeah, (M/N) (L/N), she was a friend of mine. Who are you?”

“(Y/N) (L/N), She’s my mother.”

“Right, right I remember her mentioning she was pregnant. Noah Stilinski, how is your mom? I’ve not seen her for a while.���

You recognised the name immediately, your mom had told you about him and how he was a good friend of hers and how he could be trusted and he’d take care of you.

You realised your hadn’t answered his questions and you quickly snapped back into reality.

You cleared your throat a little bit and looked away sadly.

“She Uhm.. she passed a few months ago…”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t know…”

You shook your head at him and walked down back towards your car as you grabbed one of the boxes.

“It’s fine, you didn’t know.”

“Let me help.”

You thanked him, and let him help you carry everything into the house.

Stilinski explained where everything was and gave you a small tour of the house since he looked after it.

He pulled out his keys and took another set off, holding them out to you.

“The spare keys your mom gave me, you should have them.”

You looked at the keys and shook your head with a smile.

“No, it’s fine you keep them. She trusted you with them for a reason, plus I have habit of loosing things so best not to have both sets.” You laughed a little.

He laughed as well and looked at his watched before gesturing to the door.

“Well I’ve got to make dinner, but you’re free to join if you’d like. I have a son about your age, maybe you’d get along.”

“Sure, it would be nice to meet a few people.”

You guys spoke a little bit while he cooked and you sat watching, he mentioned his son, stiles was at school, and that he’d be home soon.

“So… your dad… is he coming down too?” Stilinski asked.

“No… I don’t actually know who he is… that’s why I’m here. Mom said I could find out who he was here.”

Stilinski nodded his head as he put the food in the oven and turned around to face you.

“Well if you ever need anything just ask okay? Whether it’s shopping, housework, or finding more information about your dad, I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks Mr Stilinski.” You smiled.

You told him about your mom, and the things she had done and how she often talked about her friends back on beacon hills.

“Dad I’m home!”

“Stiles c’mere a sec!” He called.

You heard a bag being dropped, then a boy your age walked in.

Immediately his gaze went to you and he looked between you and his dad.

“This is (Y/N), I knew they’re mother, they’ve moved in next door I want you to make them feel welcome and help them with anything they need, got it?”

You watched as Stiles gulped a little, awkwardly looked away before he nodded his head, stuttering a small ‘sure thing’ before he rushed away.

His dad laughed and apologised on his sons behalf.

Dinner was slightly awkward, Stiles kept looking at you and when he finished eating he rushed away again.

“Do you want help Mr Stilinski?”

“No, not at all you’re a guest. Just sit down, relax I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

“It’s fine sir, really.”

You walked over and helped him wash up before you excused yourself to go home.

Sleep never came, you simply sat up watching films on your laptop all night.

You never enrolled in the school, you stayed at home mostly going through everything your mom had sent you, and sometimes hanging out next door.

Over time you and styles had become closer, and he was introducing you to his friends when suddenly you were pushed backwards.

“Scott!” Stiles yelled.

The boy rushed over to help you up and you shook your head at him, letting him know you were okay.

“Stiles they’re not human!” Scott yelled.

“What?! Don’t be stupid!” Stiles yelled.

“I’m not! I can smell their scent, it’s not human! It’s actually kinda disgusting.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing the dirt from your jacket as you straightened it.

“Yours isn’t exactly pleasant either, but you’re right, I’m not human that’s true. But I’m not here to hurt anyone I swear to you!”

Scott crouched down, snarling at you, and Stiles backed away from between you both.

You looked over at Scott and his pack, sighing as you blinked, flashing your fangs and your eyes at them.

You dodged Scott as he tried to attack you, and you made absolutely no attempt to attack him back, you simply kept dodging as he tired himself out.

Once he had, you returned to normal, and gave him a little smile.

“Look, I swear I’m not here to hurt you, I’m sure you can’t heart my heartbeat, I’m not sure that I have one to be honest.”

“What are you then?”

“A vampire, from my fathers side.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Alison asked, “to find your dad?”

You nodded your head as you pulled out your phone, showing them a picture of the man your mom and given you.

They all looked at it and you sighed to yourself.

“I don’t know who he is, but I know you’ve got some sort of supernatural problem going on, I’m happy to help you handle it if you want, in return all I ask is you let me stay here.”

They shared a look and Stiles stood by your side.

“Come on, I’ve known them since they moved here a few months ago, they’ve done nothing wrong. They’re really nice! Please?”

“Stiles.” Alison warned.

“Come on! They can help us! We’re not getting anywhere by ourselves.” He huffed.

They looked at you and watched as you wondered a little bit, hands stuffed in your pockets.

“Fine, but you have to follow my rules, if you make one mistake I want you gone.” Scott said coldly.

You nodded your head and walked over holding your hand out towards him.

He shook it and you smiled a little and Stiles who was grinning from ear to ear at you.

“Welcome to the pack!” He beamed.

“Thank you won’t regret it.”

Anything Scott asked or said you did without question, he was your leader, and you wanted him to be able to trust you.

And as the months went on he did, and you were a fully fledged member of his pack, you even enrolled into school at his request.

Stiles asked you to date him, and although you were hesitant, you agreed to and you told them everything you knew about what you were.

You helped them with their issue, and now they were helping you with yours.

You were all sat in your living room looking through old yearbooks and any photos and news articles you could find.

“Hey what was your dads name?” Scott asked.

You shrugged a little.

“I’ve no idea. My mom said he was a well known vampire, but that’s it.”

He nodded his head and showed you a photo that looked exactly like the photo you had of your dad.

It was an article about a murder, and that man was the main suspect and your heart sank a little bit.

“Is there a name?” Stiles asked.

“No, but that’s definitely the same man.” Alison said.

You nodded your head in agreement, it was definitely the same man, and you were slowly getting closer to who it was you were looking for.

You were nearly there, you just needed his name.

Looking at them all, you frowned and you reached out, taking Stiles by the hand as you gave it a small squeeze.

“What’s wrong?” He asked quietly.

“Stiles… you won’t leave me right? If my father is a bad person, regardless of who he is or what he’s done you won’t see me any different will you?”

“Of course not, you’re not your father (Y/N), you’re different. Just because he’s your father doesn’t mean you’re anything like him, okay?”

You nodded your head and rested your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes as you listened to them debate theories about your father

[ravennaortiz]

90s Song Prompts (13)It’s the way you love me, it’s a feeling like this Yandere Prompts(3) no one else makes me feel this way, I can’t lose you OG Prompts (30) I need you Prompts with my newest obsession Angel please! I know you can make magic with these prompts my lovely!💜 thank you! Requested by @mischiefnevermanaged89-blog

As always my Stories are 18+

Dark Content warning divider by @cafekitsune

Caged Love

Giving the door of the cage one more shake you sighed. Too say you were defeated was an understatement. Your trudged back over to the soft bed and collapsed back onto it with a sigh. The familiar scent of your perfume wafted around you and you let out a choked laugh. At least you had your actual linens from your room to keep you comfortable. You should have heeded the warnings and maybe you wouldn’t be locked in a cage in your boyfriend’s bedroom.

You had ignored every “He’s a bit obsessed”, “He’s a little too into you”, “maybe you two should take a break”. It wasn’t just your friends, family and coworkers making comments. Even his brother and father had made similar statements. You had just laughed and shook your head. Your perfect Angel would never hurt you. He loved you and was too much of a sweetheart to do anything crazy. Yeah he was protective but weren’t all boyfriends? Yeah he was always showering your with gifts and affection but wasn’t that what he was supposed to? Yeah he got in his head and feelings when you talked to other guys but he was just sensitive. Nothing wrong with that. Obsessed? No he was just attentive and cared.

“Excuses” you muttered to yourself as you turned over on your stomach to look out the window. How kind he had been to build the cage next to it. So thoughtful you laughed bitterly. Always thoughtful that Angel. You couldn’t be too upset with him though. This predicament was your fault. Right? You were the one who didn’t say anything about the interview. You were the one who left the house listings up on your laptop. You were the one who went running at the drop of a hat when he called saying it was an emergency and “I need you. Please Hurry” Those five words he had gasped out as you heard metal clanging and crashing in the background.

Terrified you had left work and tore it to his place. Running through the open door, leaping over the overturned furniture as you yelled his name. Not a care for your safety you were sprinting up the stairs two at a time when you heard him weakly shout. You hadn’t made it all the way when you felt something hit you in the back and then everything went black.

“Hey Mi Corazon” called Angel quietly as he entered his bedroom drawing your attention. He was carrying a serving tray with food and water on it. “How are you feeling?” he inquired as he sat the tray down and dug in his pockets for a key chain to unlock the door. “Angel, plea-“ you started as you leapt up before he yelled at you.

“Sit!” bellowed Angel making you flinch and tears spring to your eyes. “I’m sorry. I just need you to be seated and calm so I don’t have to be forceful with you.” He explained as he frowned at the tears shining in your eyes. “You know I love you right?” he inquired as he watched you sit down on the bed. You nodded offering him a weak smile. Angel simply nodded before opening the door and grabbing the tray. Once the door was shut and locked he set the tray down on the little table next to the bed.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked quietly as he sat next to you caressing your head before he kissed your cheek.

“You were going to leave. Leave Santo Padre. Leave me.” Stated Angel as he cupped your face with his hands forcing you to look him in his eyes. For the first time you saw the hint of the real Angel. The devil within as you stared into the dark pits. “I couldn’t let that happen. No one else has ever made me feel this way. I can’t lose you.”

“Angel, I wasn’t going too. I was going to tell you. I love you. But this….” You stated waving your hands around the cage. “Are you going to keep me here forever?” you asked carefully as tears ran down your cheeks.

Angel frowned as he used his thumbs to gently wipe away your tears. “I have to. You have to understand that I’m doing this because it’s the way you love me. It’s a feeling like this….. it’s made me addicted. This is your fault baby” replied Angel with a light chuckle before pulling your face to his and pressing a hard kiss to your lips.

“Eat up and get some rest. We will go over rules, rewards and punishments tomorrow.” Explained Angel as he stood up patting your head before making his way out of the cage. “I love you” he called before shutting and locking his bedroom door.

Want more Angel? Click here

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[berberriescorner]

Sneak Peek:

AYL? Pt. 4

Currently, I'm working on a few different fics, including part four of "Are You Listening?"

I'm finally at a point where I no longer hate everything I write and start over. Here is a little snippet to hold y'all over for a bit.

Note: This is a rough draft I'm working on, so any snippets you read are subject to change. I doubt I would take anything out altogether. I would only do tweaking and editing. Hope you enjoy it!

Snippet:

(Just Cause It’s So Nice To Look At😉💜💚)

Like most things current in your life, the quiet only lasted for a small fraction of time. Constant vibration sent your phone rumbling across the luxurious dark oak coffee table. As if that weren’t already enough of a distraction, a loud pounding at the suite’s entrance sounded. Rapid knocks and phone buzzing pulled you and Miguel from a restful sleep. He shot up from a slumped form, saving the phone and Macbook from tumbling to the floor from his right leg. The sigh that slipped from your parted lips wreaked of sadness and depression. Miguel’s eyes stole a glance at your phone resting on the table. His cell and the rude knocking went ignored as his lips connected with the top of your head as he brushed the curls from your eyes.

“He’ll only continue to call, amor.”

“I’ll turn it off. Wouldn’t be the first time,” you murmured in response.

Miguel smirked, playfully shaking his head. With a nod, he signaled toward the knocking.

“Excuse me while I go and shoot whoever’s knocking like a madman.”

“Could be important. Try not to be too hard on whoever it is,” you finished with a skeptical shrug.

The buzzing continued, causing a lump to form in your throat. Avoiding a repetitive conversation, you opted to send Rio a quick text.

Maybe: Husband🥰���️💍: For the love of all that is holy, please give me a minute of peace, Rio! If it’s urgent. Text me! I do not want to talk about us. Nor do I want to get sucked into another whirlpool of emotions. Just please. Quiet–I need quiet. Running on fumes, anger, and sadness is exhausting. I’ll hit you back whenever I’m not an emotional wreck. Don’t count on that being anytime soon.

You could have easily placed him on the block list, but at the end of the day, you were his only dependable family. Given that and the business he was in, you’d never forgive yourself if anything happened and he reached out to find you weren’t there.

Harsh whispers pulled you from your thoughts. They grew near and more distinct. Miguel's voice came out gruff. The recipient of his impatience received a seething response. Impatient footsteps bounded into the room, and an all too familiar voice caused your blood to run cold.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”

Be sure to let me know what you lovelies think 👀😆😁! Thank you to sweet lovelies who have been so kind, patient, and understanding when it comes to waiting for me to drop new content. It's been a struggle to find the energy to stay focused and write. I appreciate everyone's encouragement and for checking up on me. Y'all my sweet wittle love bugs!

Tagging a few of my loves💜💚:

@darqchilddaydreamz @starrynite7114 @4everbrookemarie @nightlywords7 @fineanddandy @rio-reid-whoreee

@novaniskye @that-one-anxious-mango @1andonlytashae @blkbutterfly816 @lovedlover @vanityinvenus @librarian1002 @banana123pudding @fezcosonlylove @sunshine-flower @invisiblegiurl @astoldbychae @percosim @amorestevens @alertyoulikeitsamber

[army93bangya]

The Moon Goddess’s Chosen | MYG [M]

TEASER CHAPTER/CHAPTER 1

*Summary: Y/N has been sheltered and hidden within her pack her whole life. She is gifted and her father the alpha of the pack does not want her to find her mate and leave the birth pack. But not even he can stop her from attending the mate gathering between many packs every year to find one’s fated mate. Y/N is worried what her father will do should her mate find her and try to take her. Add in the revelation that the talked about fairly new pack Bangtan will be in attendance this year. Rumored to be ruthless and their alpha heartless, Y/N has every reason to be concerned and riddled with anxiety.

*Genre/Rating: Mature, 18+, Werewolf/Fated mates, eventual smut? 🤔🤷🏻‍♀️

*Warnings/Potential Triggers: Talks of Abuse, Mistreatment, Being Detained, Anxiety, Mention of Murder, Mention of plotting Murder, Slight mention of Rape, Possible future Smut,….more to be added in future chapters.

*Disclaimer: This work was written and owned by Army93bangya and there is no consent for anyone else to post it as theirs, this story is intended for entertainment purposes only, this story is a work of fantasy, seems a bit ridiculous to say but I do not own or have rights to BTS or the members and the characters in this story are a fictional interpretation of members.

*Notes: WHEW! I had an idea that I had written in the notes on my phone a few years ago and I decided to dust it off and work on a teaser chapter for it. This is my first time writing and posting fanfiction so I’m thinking of this as a pilot chapter with hopefully more to come. I will take constructive criticism and any pointers from seasoned authors who might happen upon this. But I would like to point out that I am a person behind this blog and do have emotions so please do not post hateful things just because. Thank you to anyone that sees this post and takes the time to give this chapter a chance. 💜💜

Next Chapter

This was the first year I am to join the mate gathering. My father had put off me attending for as long as he could with all unmated wolfs mandatorily having to go at the age of 18. I’m now 21 having missed three gatherings. He did not want me to be able to find a mate of course he wanted my power all to himself. He is a evil greedy alpha if one should even give him the respect of that title.

He often has kept me locked up and secluded sometimes even going so far as to starve me periodically if I was to get out of his view of the line that I should never cross or thus the consequences. It is extremely rare for a wolf to be imbued additional powers of the moon goddess. Usually these mage wolfs only come about once every 300 to 500 years. Very rare indeed. When one is discovered they are to be honored, celebrated, and protected as their rightful place as the moon goddess’s direct line and will is placed in this wolf. I’ve heard that the goddess will create the perfect alpha mate for her mage wolf. The perfect protector to care for and cherish her chosen. But I never asked for this, all this power has brought upon me is pain and suffering from the ones I call my pack and family.

My father’s next in line, the wolf he has chosen to lead the pack next has taken a particular interest in me. Darius can be quite cruel, he enjoys trying to make me feel weak. He wants me to submit to him and be his chosen mate. But one can only expect cruelty being groomed by a wicked man like my father. He was never gifted a mate and instead raped my mother and had her killed after my birth when she tried to run with me.

The counsel of alphas knew of my existence and nothing else, every year my father had made some excuse as to why I could not attend feigning that I had been attacked and was recovering or was ill and sickly. But this year some of my fathers enemy alphas had put there foot down and demanded my father produce his daughter just like all the other wolves and receive no more special treatment. So here I am, getting ready for the mate gathering with our camp a few miles from the meeting area. One would think I would be elated at the idea of finding a fated mate. Not everybody finds the one fated for them and if I could find mine he could take me away from my father and this pack who has always treated me like a valuable object hidden from the rest of the world. Because of that I am filled with anxiety and unease for tonight. My father and his tyrannical protégé will never let me leave the pack even if they have to put on false masks of deceit pretending to be elated if I am to be bestowed a mate, only to plot for the rest of the evening how to get rid of my mate before he can take me away.

My best friend and maid Maddie, also an unmarked she-wolf, usually has all the gossip for me. Tonight while helping me with my hair she isn’t disappointing. From her standing position behind me while I sit in-front of a mirror the gossip I am always eager to hear starts. “Apparently that newer formed pack will be here tonight. I glance at her face concentrated on my hair before responding. “What new pack?” Her face takes on a uneasy expression. “Well they formed a few years back. Their alpha is said to be joining the counsel as well during the gathering this year and he does not have a mate. I heard he is cold and merciless, he and his 6 betas had every single member of the crimson pack killed. They slaughtered them all. I heard instead of the usual excitement and joy that comes with a mate gathering, every single she wolf is terrified of this “bangtan” pack. Nobody wants to possibly be mated into that pack, and you know a male leaving his pack for his mate is rare. It’s just not traditional.” The very thought of being mated in that pack or goddess forbid this rumored malevolent alpha petrified me. If my mate was strong and smart enough to get me away from my birth pack I don’t know what I would do if it was to another wolf like my father and his heir.

“What is this alphas name so I know to stay clear of his presence as best I can? I do not want to gain someone like that’s attention.” She fidgeting with one of my curls that didn’t want to stay in place “It is said the moon goddess must have blessed him because his physically strength far exceeds a normal alpha. I wonder why the moon goddess would bestow such a gift to a wolf so ruthless.” She sighs before looking at me through the mirror “His name is Yoongi. Min Yoongi.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Assistant Peter or Best Friend's Ex Bucky?

Everybody Talks

Warnings: unwanted touches, suggestions of more.

Please send in feedback if so inclined. Thank you all 💜

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

"Rough night?" Peter sets down a steaming mug of coffee, the aroma drawing a sigh from your lungs.

You look up from your mindless scrolling and hide a yawn behind your hand. He smiles as he slides the cup closer and takes a step back, a portfolio under his arm. His youth irritates you as much as it piques your envy. He's always so chipper.

"Here you go, boss," he puts the leather folder on the other side of your desk, "this is the mock-up for the Winter spread."

"Mmm," you nod but make no move to take the folder, instead opting for the blonde roast with a touch of oat milk. He always gets it exactly right. "Thanks. Again, boss seems a bit... heavy."

"Sorry, habit," he shrugs and you notice the line of his shoulders, the way the line of his throat leads down below his collar, a hint at the broad chest that makes his buttons strain, "my old job was super strict."

"And we're not," you challenge, "Parker, you've worked here two years."

"It's gone fast, what can I say? And I still can't believe how lucky I am to have the best boss in the world."

"Calm down, you'll get a stellar reference you click on outlook and nearly purr as you have your first sip, "what is this?"

You look at the cup and give it a sniff.

"They had a new flavour in the lounge, sugar cookie."

"Ah."

"I know it's not the usual but we all deserve a treat from time to time."

"No problem, it's good," you set the cup down and rub your cheek as you cradle your chin in your hand, "thanks, Parker. You can get back to it."

He hesitates, lingering, "you sure you don't need anything else?"

"You know I didn't hire you to be my coffee jockey, you got enough on your plate."

"Yes, bo--" he stops himself and uses your name instead, "you know where to find me."

"Sure do," you say as your phone screen lights up and draws your attention. Another call from your husband. He can wait. Or rot for all you care.

❤️‍🔥

"Norman, I don't care-- No, no, I'm not one of your cronies. Or your son. Don't start that with me," you huff into the speaker, your screen saver bouncing against the walls of your monitor, "we talked about this already. You want to go, go. It will be alone. You've known about Paris all year. I can't miss it."

"Darling, you really are intractable. It's an anniversary gift and again, you want to work--"

"Yes, I do. It's my job. It's the same thing every year, Norman," you snap, "and don't begin to lecture me on work trips and family obligations, alright? How many nights have I slept alone while you're out schmoozing your business partners or late at the lab. If you want to talk about this, call Dr. Suzanne and I'll be happy to have her advise."

"Ugh, I do love your fire, dear, but it burns hot," he snarls.

"Oh shut up." You hang up and toss your phone on your desk and lean back in your chair with a growl. You don't know why you don't just go to the lawyer already. Well, you know, the same excuse as always. You're too busy.

You shake your head and roll forward, swiping away the idle screen and setting back to your itinerary. Before Norman, you weren't like this. You liked being home but he made work your only escape. It was an easy excuse not to be entirely alone.

❤️‍🔥

You're barely away as you slowly flip through the pages of the portfolio. The blue-tinted lighting of the editorial is lackluster. You don't recall giving Seasonal Affective Disorder as a theme. You scribble in your notebook and chew the end of the pen. You really don't want to have a whole new shoot but some of these photos are lit like shit.

There's a gentle knock and you lurch back in your chair. Most of the office is gone by now.

"Come in," you call over your desk as you rest your fingertips on the glossy page.

A bouquet of flowers enters. For a moment you don't notice the body on the other side. Peter holds the huge basket of petals in his arms as he angles through, his reddish hair barely visible over the top. He puts them down on the round table by the window.

"These came for you," he says as he faces you, giving a sniff to his shirt, "they smell nice."

"I can only imagine who sent them," you grumble, Norman's oldest trick. You're well past him buying forgiveness. "If it wasn't such a hassle, I'd have you dump them in the bin."

"If that's what you want--"

"Parker, no," you scoff, "what are you still doing here."

"I got a bit carried away planning for Paris. I didn't go last year so... I'm kinda excited."

"Yeah, I... guess I take it for granted," you roll the pen between your fingers and put it down, "you need to go."

"And what about you?" He counters.

"I'm headed out," you say as you close the portfolio, "promise."

He nods, his brown eyes warm and placid as he watches you stand. You give an awkward smile as your knee gives a pop. You're really starting to feel the long work days. He looks down, you assume because of the noise and you do too. Your wrap skirt exposes more than your knee but the top of your sheer stocking. You fix it quickly.

"Uh," his throat bobs, "yeah, I'll get going, boss."

You want to correct him but you're too embarrassed. You wait for him to go before you give yourself a thorough lookover. Everything else is exactly where it belongs. Great, just the young assistant seeing the grumpy old lady's thigh, no big deal.

🤛

It's rainy in Paris.

It hardly matters to Peter as you cross the airport with bags in tow and he babbles on about all the things he's read about. Lindy delayed her flight at the last moment and Howard always came early and left sooner. You try to be patient, try to remember when you were an intern in New York for the first time, but you're drawn thin. Norman didn't even say goodbye.

You get a taxi and give the Hotel's name. It's more expensive so the driver needs no direction. You tip him and Peter follows you out. He follows you up to the grand archway entrance and gives a noise of awe as you cross the lobby. You decide to give him Lindy's suite since she won't be there.

He gleefully takes his keycard and you check your phone. Yep, nothing. Norman's past hounding you. You're as infuriated as you are relieved.

"Here," Peter grabs your suitcase before you can, "I got it."

"They have bellboys--"

"I'm stronger," he winks as he wheels ahead of you, "this way, mademoiselle."

You could laugh at his little act. You trail behind him to the elevator and he lets you in ahead of him. The ascent has you slightly dizzy and you step off thankfully. You check your keycard and point him in the right direction.

You thank him, almost reaching for a bill from your wallet to give him, and catch yourself.

"Anything else?" He asks as he rolls your suitcase to stand against the wall.

"No, Parker, that's fine. Thank you."

"Peter," he says, "two years and you still call me Parker."

"I'm... sorry," you say softly, realising how you reproached him for simply calling you boss. "P- Peter, if I've been rude these last few weeks, I apologise. I've had a lot going on and it's not an excuse to take it out on you."

"Rude? No, like I said, best boss I've ever had."

You nod and let out a sigh, "well, I'll... see you tomorrow morning."

"Bright and early, mademoiselle," he grins, "have a good one."

He spins on his heel and strides out lightly. You close the door behind him and groan as it clicks, the hours in a plane seat twinge in your hips. You have to try to enjoy this trip, if only to spite Norman.

❤️‍🔥

"You can have Lindy's seat," you say as you lead Peter amid the crowds, "wouldn't look good to have an empty seat with our name on it. Especially in the front-- Maria!" You interrupt yourself as you great the silver-haired designer, "so wonderful to see you again. Thank you so much for the gift basket."

"Thank you for the editorial," she says in her lilted baritone, "oh my, have we traded in the old model?"

She tweaks a brow in Peter's direction and his cheeks redden as you peek over at him. You give a soft laugh, not enough to embarrass him.

"This is my assistant, Peter Parker. He's a photographer as well."

"Peter Parker," Maria drawls out, "what an... American name."

"I do happen to be American," Peter says dumbly.

"How absolutely adorable, I could spoon him up and eat him with a nice sorbet."

"Uhhh," Peter gives a squint.

"Don't let us keep you," you gently touch Maria's elbow, "we should find our seats."

She passes on as another voice calls out her name. You continue on to the crowded runway and edge along the front row. You sit and smooth your skirt, a vintage designer piece chosen deliberately for the event. An editor-in-chief can't look a mess even if they feel one. Peter looks good enough in a Gucci button up and slacks, hair tidy enough to seem as if he belongs. You can't help but notice the Louis Vuitton loafers.

"Are those new?" You ask.

"Oh, uh, have a friend who tends to hoard nice things," he shrugs, "and that dress?"

"Not new," you assure him.

"Still, it looks good."

"Comes with the territory. Everyone's here competing and in the front row, the press will be sure to get a couple snaps."

"Wow, is that Shaq?" He looks across the aisle, "I didn't think he'd be into fashion."

"Like I said, people come to be seen and they are seen," you say.

"Oh, right," he looks around and his eyes round. There's already a long lens aimed in your direction, "it hasn't even started yet."

"Yeah, there's really no start or end, it just happens," you say, "last year wasn't particularly great for us. Howard got a bit... tipsy so he's skipping it this year."

"Ah," he nods and smooths his shirt. You try not to pay attention as the fabric draws taut over his chest.

Another guest claims the chair next to you and you greet them, another editor, and settle in as seats begin to feel. The anticipation builds until the room grows dim. The runway lights up with shades of rose. The crowd quiets and Maria comes out to introduce her collection.

As the first model comes back, you make sure to keep your posture straight. You've done this enough times to be aware of every tick and move you make. You have a magazine to represent and right now, it's the only thing going right in your life. You watch the designs and give a thought arch of your brow, the colors are interesting but the cut doesn't quite fit.

You feel a tickle on your leg but keep your focus on the runway. Then the warmth spread across your leg and squeezes you through your skirt. You flick your lashes in shock as Peter leans over as he feels your thigh, "I like the colours..."

"What are you doing?" You withhold your chagrin as you move your lips subtly, focusing on keeping your composure.

"Just wanted to get your attention..." he whispers, "and the press. Imagine what they'll say."

"Peter, get your hand off me." You warn under your breath.

"It'll definitely piss Norman off, won't it?" He snickers as he leans even closer, retracting his hand, only to drape his arm over your shoulders, "an editor-in-chief with a younger man, too? The scandal."

"Parker--"

"This isn't appropriate."

"Don't worry, boss," he brushes his nose along your cheek, "it's not all for the press. I really am going to fuck you."

[thehyperrequiem]

TBD Oc? TBD Oc!

Name: Cracker Jack Cookie

Gender: Male

Rank: Epic 

Cookie Title: TBD Dolittle

Cookie Tags: Speed, SpecialControl, Jellies, Destruction, Items, Revival

Pet: Sailor Gruff

Basic Jelly: "No matter what brings you, always remember to speak for the creatures great and small."

Skill: There are three abilities to this one; Red Icon summons a Big Cake Beast that Cracker Jack rides on to destroy any obstacles, earning your points. The Blue Icon summons Blueberry Birds to gather any Items that are useful for Cracker Jack. The Peanut Brown Icon allows to summon Roll Cake Squirrels to give you jellies. Level up for more points and Animal Companion points, and more starting energy.

Magic Candy: Not only it upgrades the three animals' skills, but it also adds another animal to the fray, and it is a cake wolf. It can replenish your energy bar like a healing spell by howling. The stronger the enchanted power gets, the more points for the Healing Howl points!

Pet Skills: When out of energy, Sailor Gruff would ring itself to wake up Cracker Jack Cookie, giving him temporary energy refill. Level up for more points and Revival Energy Points.

Story: “The Cookie was made with molasses-flavored, caramel-coated popcorn and peanuts, a famous treat to have at baseball seasons, but of course, this cookie is not interested in any sports whatsoever, he is interested in animal life. Cracker Jack Cookie is born with the power of Zoolingualism (Ability to Talk to Wildlife), which made him a weird kid in his childhood days, but later gets loved by others considering that his disorder of his was a gift. One day, as an adult cookie, he joins in the Time Balance Department to not only make use of his Dolittling ability for good, but to discover new species of animals and such…Sure he can get a little anxious, but he always tries his best to stay strong and conquer anything that comes in his and/or any wildlife’s way!”

Pet Story: “Sailor Gruff may look like a goat head, but it’s actually an animal themed handbell. It was gifted to Cracker Jack Cookie during his time as a sailor before he became a TBD Member after his farewell party of retirement, Sailor Gruff would always wake up his master from bed and always rings when alerted, it even accompanied Cracker Jack in his TBD job, what a nice goat bell.”

Quotes:

New - “Oh Hello, didn’t see you there, Ol’ Chap.”

General:

“I know a good transportation, watch!”

“Are you ok with Tea? It’s quite soothing.”

“Oh please don’t tell me I’m late, I haven’t even finished feeding the animals.”

“Tweet-Tweet, come on birds.”

“I may be short, but I am not a kid, I am an adult!”

“You need help? I can show you around.”

“I sure hope she’s fine with my service animals.”

“Come now, we should get going.”

“Wait up, I have short legs!”

Tired - “N-No, Not right now!..”

Lobby:

Daily Gift: “Excuse me, but I do believe you dropped this, just don't want any of my animals mistook it for food.”

Tap:

“Oh, I was born with Zoolingualism, that’s why I can understand animals.”

I don't like loud sounds; it reminds me the troubles of my sailor days!

If you need info about any creature of Earthbread, I'm your cookie.

"Don't mind the birds, they are good for message deliverers!"

"I wonder if I can go on any adventures..."

"Be on the lookout for that one eyed cookie...Especially her misfits, they are scary."

Gifts:

"Ah yes, peanuts, a good treat for Funnel Cake Elephants!" (Given Bag of Molasses Peanuts)

"O-Oh...I'm so honored to have this! Majestic like an Choco Lion!" (Given Royal Golden Dough)

"Thanks for the gift, you are kind!" (Neutral)

Relationship Chart:

Cracker Jack Cookie 💜 Popcorn Cookie (Family, Uncle): "One time when I visit here back when she was young, we watched an animal movie together, good times.”

Cracker Jack Cookie 💚 Baguette Cookie: “She usually asks me for help, like carrying around big stacks of paper whenever coffee candy cookie’s busy with things.”

Cracker Jack Cookie 💙 Coffee Candy Cookie: “The kid’s great and all, but I’m worried that she might get herself hurt, and if that happens, then I have to put a mouse on her head under her hat to help her do things better.”

Cracker Jack Cookie 💛 Timekeeper Cookie: “An inspiration for me, I joined because of their offer that can make my animals helpful around here.”

Cracker Jack Cookie 💙 String Gummy Cookie: “He’s such a brave cookie, reminds me of one of the boys back in my sailor days.”

Cracker Jack Cookie 💚 Marble Bread Cookie: “He’s such a kind fellow, cleaning up every mess makes me think he is doing it for the animals.”

Cracker Jack Cookie 💚 Schneeball Cookie: “She’s quite strong with that hammer in her hand when it comes to relics.”

Cracker Jack Cookie 💚 Cookimals: “They are so cute! They can even talk, which means that I don’t have to use my Zoolingualism on them to talk!”

Appears on Relationship Chart:

Popcorn Cookie 💜 Cracker Jack Cookie (Family, Niece): "My awesome uncle!”

Baguette Cookie 💚 Cracker Jack Cookie: “Someone I can trust most of all.”

Coffee Candy Cookie 💙 Cracker Jack Cookie: “He’s so kind to me, and I know why; he was like me when he was young.”

Timekeeper Cookie 💙 Cracker Jack Cookie: “He’s quite useful when it comes to animals.”

String Gummy Cookie 💙 Cracker Jack Cookie: “He’s quite an experience of action for an animal talker.”

Marble Bread Cookie 💚 Cracker Jack Cookie: “Just doing my job sir, looking out for any mess and any of your service animals.”

Schneeball Cookie 💚 Cracker Jack Cookie: “He was quite amazed at the fossils I shown him one time.”

Cookimals 💛 Cracker Jack Cookie: “That Cookie can talk to animals? Awesome!” “He looks so kind..” “He’s so nice!”

Croissant Cookie 💚 Cracker Jack Cookie: “Just be careful around Time Rifts next time, sir.”

Fun Fact: Cracker Jack Cookie is based on Compton Boole from Psychonauts 2 for his Zoolingualism Ability and Design.

[mithrilhearts]

Random Writer Anon!!

When you get this answer one of the questions (or all if you really want!) then pass it on to 5 writer friends! 🥰If you have more than one WIP, pick at random! We want you to talk about your works, and celebrate with you! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Don’t worry if you don’t know how to answer these questions, I’ll be back with more next Sunday. 😉

What are you most excited to write with this WIP?

How has this WIP changed since the “daydream/brainstorm” stage?

Who is your favorite character in this WIP and why?

Oh!! This is so wonderful!! I love the idea, Anon!! <3 And I thank you (and a handful of others) for dropping into my inbox! :) I'm going to answer all of these with different fics, so let's get going!!

Let's talk about....Bookbinder//Songwriter!

What are you most excited to write with this WIP?

OKAY!! So I have a great answer for this one. The next chapter I think I am going to touch base on a little flashback, to truly flesh out and highlight just how Bilbo and Thorin met. If you recall in chapter one, and even in one of the later chapters (...7 I think??) it's known that Thorin struggled HARD to ask Bilbo out, or do anything, because he's a big goob, and we love him. I want to show off exactly what happened - was it love at first sight? Did someone say something silly in embarrassment? We're going to find out, and I am so excited to do it! Also, there are some conflicts on the horizon, and I'm sure many of you who are familiar with the fic can guess as to what. If not, I'll leave you with this little hint: it doesn't hurt to be wary when those who abandoned you suddenly come out of nowhere with "good intentions". Success of others makes people do anything to get a hold of it.

How has this WIP changed since the “daydream / brainstorm” stage?

So this started out as a request, probably for a one-shot at the time, and it terrified me. Brainstorming it was....agonizing lol just as it was scary. This is my first modern au style fic, and it was so intimidating. Initially I was just going to do this as a few one-shot highlights, and then after the....second chapter??? I think??? I decided to just make it a full fic - it's one of those that could go on forever, I think, and it's evolved so much since the start - just as I've evolved with it. I've learned to love modern aus, and what started out as a scary experience and what I felt was an "underrated" fic, has become one of my favorites, and a fan favorite to many.

Who is your favorite character in this WIP and why?

This is a terribly hard question. I think the obvious answer(s) is Bilbo and Thorin, respectively, as they ARE the main characters of the story, my blorbos, the ones I put into any universe and dote on whenever I can. I could sit here and ramble for ages about why I love this version of them, but I think I can convey that the best in the fic itself. So for a non-bagginshield answer.... Radagast - While he's not been in the fic a lot, he's like the uncle/grandpa figure in Dis and Thorin's life, especially since they've lost their brother, father, and their grandfather Thror disowned them. He's a supportive adult who is typically on their side, and while sticking true to his portrayal in the movie, he's quirky and odd, and I love him to bits. He also has a pet raccoon that lives in the trash cans behind the bar??? AWESOME. He's been rooting for the Durin family, and I feel like can provide a safe space for them, as well as advice when needed. Is it good advice? That remains to be seen. Nori - The mischievous little gremlin, and Dwalin's significant other, as well as bass player for Durin's Desolation. He's SUCH a fun and cheeky character to play with, but he has a wonderful heart in his chest too. He's a fantastic partner for Dwalin, and while yes, he gets on the nerves of everyone ever, he genuinely cares about those around him. He gives me a great excuse to put some silliness into the chapters whenever he is around. Sometimes you just gotta be silly, dirty, and annoying, I guess lol

Thank you so much for this ask!! I'm so glad I got to babble about this fic a little bit!!

[taegularities]

Hello lovely, I just read your post, and I wanted to tell you, that your not the only one feeling this way, I too have been feeling the same, if not worse, I just don't have any motivation to do anything, I loved studying, I loved being an exemplary student, I thrived on receiving perfect grades and professors favour, but lately I just don't feel like doing anything? I don't feel like attending classes, been skipping alot of classes lately, I loved going to family gatherings, meeting my cousins, but now I just make excuses to skip any get to gather they'd plan, and because of all this, I can't help but feel so useless? Lacking? Sometimes I'd be thinking, why can't I go back to how I was, or I wish I was as good or as social as this person if not the same as I used to be, thankfully my grades haven't been affected, yet, but I feel like that won't take much time either,and knowing my nature, ik it'll take a toll on me but I'm trying avoid it from going that far. what I'm trying to say is, its okay to feel like this, as long as you know how much you can let it affect u and when to draw your line before its becomes too much, you're not alone in this and I'm sure many are going through this just as we are, ik the feeling is ugly and ik it feels dumb to be this way, but there's really nothing we can do about it right? So how about facing it head on and not giving up? Feeling like shit but letting ourselves be happy as well, that's how I've been coping, there are times when I'm extremely anxious, depressed? But there are also times when I let myself be happy, I run after things that makes me happy, OH WANT HELP WITH THIS SUBJECT? LET ME HELP YOU.. OH YOU MADE PLANS TO GO OUT? COUNT ME IN.. DO YOU WANT ME TO PLAY GAMES WITH YOU? YES SURE!! that's how I've been coping, and if tmblr, writing and we/readers makes you happy and bring you the smallest escape, hold onto it, if it's anything else take it, just don't let it consume you. Moreover you can always,always vent here be it anything, even if it's bunch of nonsense(though I doubt that) we're here to listen and talk about it, you have us, and I hope you know that u can rely on us, always!! Be happy, cheerful, and beigey just like you always are that's just how we went our pretty rid to always be 💝💜💜

this is so fucking true. i feel the exact same — i used to enjoy studying and being social, but i've turned into such an overthinking mess and i don't know what to do about it or how to solve it. the method of letting yourself be happy is a good one though. i definitely try that by meeting people, going for walks or writing and reading...

you guys truly give me a lot more comfort than you know <3 i hold onto y'all, no matter how shitty things might get here. i really appreciate tf out of you guys, so thank you for being here for me 🤍

[scarrunner05]

sorry, i know we're strangers and this is really random, but i saw your tags on an aardwolf post and since they're one of my special interests, i was really surprised to learn that they travel with wolves sometimes ! i never knew that before. i've always thought of them to be shy, reclusive animals so the image of these little guys traveling alongside another huge canine makes me laugh. if you remember where you learned that from, could you tell me ? it would make me really happy to learn more about them.

thank you. 💜

strangers or not talking about fun animal facts is very serious business (thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about these animals i also adore learning new things and talking about animals i like)

that fact is actually not about aardwolves though,, sorry to get your hopes up because that really is a hilarious picture. its actually about striped hyenas! they're a close relative of aardwolves tho and look very similar

there's only been 1 or 2 recorded cases of them traveling with wolf packs but considering they're both predators in competition in the same territories it fascinates me anyway!! the theories are actually that the harsh conditions lead to increased cooperation as both animals struggle to get food

Striped hyenas are smaller than spotted hyenas (but a fair bit bigger than aardwolves) and are also relatively solitary tho, sometimes forming loose family groups

ill admit i dont know as much about aardwolves as i do about most other species in their family cause im a hyena guy first and foremost but you do seem right about them being generally shy and solitary. all branches of this genus are honestly fascinating tho so ill probably look into aardwolves more later

Here are some links on striped hyenas and wolves though if you're still curious, there are more articles i think if you wanted to look it up too!

[ninlilwinds]

hi again!! thank you sm for doing my request(the cuddling one), i loved it a lot💜 if it isn't much could i request platonic venti, scaramouche? xiao and childe x fem best friend reader with the same prompt as the girls when they hear someone insulting their lover but it's the best friend one this time? i hope this is clear and if not excuse me cuz english isn't my first language😅 have a lovely day!!

Character Defending Fem! Best friend! Reader!

Hi thank you for the request! Of course here you go! I hope you like it! And don't worry English is not my first language either so any mistakes I make please let me know!

Plot: Character hears someone speaking badly about their best friend. How will they react? Also, at the bottom I will have a link to a similar prompt where it's genshin girls and their girlfriends! Check that out if you have the chance!

Characters: (In order) Venti, Scaramouche, Xiao, Childe

Warning: Not Proofread.

Venti  

I don't see Venti getting too offended at first. He knows it's just words of mouth and don't hold much significance.  

Soon they will be gone with the wind.  

But more and more people join in...well that was different now. A breeze was one thing, a strong  wind another  

After hearing the insults for a while by a guy you rejected earlier that day and his pals, Venti grew more and more impatient. He walked over and waved, "hello fellow friends! What are we talking about?"  

Everyone knew you were Venti's best friend. They'd often see you and Venti walking around. When it came to matters of you, he would have zero shame. He was willing to have his reputation ruined.  

"Oh nothing important."  

Venti's cold smile was unwavering, "Oh really? Well, who wants to hear a melody about evil backstabbers getting what they deserve? I'm getting sudden inspiration." He said taking his lyre out.  

As soon as he strummed the first few chords he wind around the group picked up, blasting their hairs in their faces and making them lose their footing.  

"Oh what's this? Best we all leave seems like a storm is coming." He said in a fake worry.  

They all ran out and walked off, a sudden tornadoes following after him. Venti heard your family voice down below and when he looked over the wall u had just finished talking to Amber and were walking into the city. The winds calmed and he smiled running over to you, "(Y/N)!!" He hugged you, and even though he knew you hadn't heard the insults, he still felt the need to compliment you, "You're amazing, dealing with so many low lives and waste of times you know. Maybe we should celebrate with some wine!"  

You glared at him, "This is just an excuse to get me to buy you a drink you suck up. I haven't even gotten home yet."  

"Aw come on (Y/N). It'll be fun~" He dragged you to the bar. This was going to be an interesting night  

He made sure those guys always had an intolerable wind following them.  

Scaramouche  

The way you and Scara became friends was odd. He found you as such an amazing person compared to his murderous and dark self. Being around you was refreshing  

There isn't one thing he wouldn't do to make you happy. Well, maybe some things but that list is very small  

So he isn't scared to put some people in their place 

The girl had always been your "rival". Well, you personally held no grudge against her, but she had always loathed that in training you were always slightly better  

"You know the only reason she is actually good is because that harbinger in on her side. Besides that she's worthless." The girl scoffed. 

Her friend looked around nervously, "Maybe we shouldn't talk about this here..."  

The girl rolled her eyes, "Oh what's gonna happen? Am I gonna hurt her feelings? Boohoo." She said sarcastically.  

Scaramouche stood behind her, his shadow looming over her, "I wouldn't let that happen. I'll give you five seconds to run, but only because I want some entertainment out of this." 

The girl froze and turned around slowly, "S-sir, I can explai-" 

"One."  

"Wait I didn't mean to-" 

"Two."  

The friend began to ran, the girl too frozen in fear to move.  

"Three." 

That snapped the girl out and she began to ran as fast as she could. She turned the corner and you could hear her whimpers outside. Scaramouche counted the four in his head and he was about to begin the chase when you came into the room. 

"Oh hey Scara. Why did that girl run out of here so scared. You're not being a jerk again are you?" You crossed your arms.  

Scaramouche knew if he told you why she was running, you'd find out about the insults, but maybe that would be a wakeup call, "She was speaking ill of you."  

You frowned and remained silent then smiled, "Well thanks for defending me, but next time don't threaten them with death. It’s not that serious and I already know she hates me."  

What you said didn't sit right with him. No one should be bath mouthing you. But as long as you were ok, he would stay out of it. Away but close enough to intervene at any moment 

Xiao  

Wow this is hard. How would he react? I mean who would even dare insult you knowing you have a vigilant Yaksha on your side 

But someone staying at an inn, someone who has too much pride, bumped into you. You were carrying a tray of Almond Tofu for Xiao and you spilled it all over her 

She was furious and insulted you for a bit but then stormed off to a balcony to talk with the other friend she was with  

"First day here and I'm already meeting the waste of breaths that Liyue has. I should've stayed home." She huffed. 

"I know right. I mean you were right there. Is she blind or something?" Her friend agreed.  

The girl shook her head, "I'm filing a complaint. She looked like an employee. I hope her clumsy self loses her job."  

Xiao at first stayed away from it, but then he saw you coming up the steps towards the balcony, and he knew you'd be upset. So, he did the only thing he knew how to.  

Putting his mask on he appeared in front of the girls, "Leave." He said. 

The two girls yelped in surprise and stepped back, "Who are you?" 

Xiao took his spear out. Apparently his point wasn't coming across clearly enough. He pointed it at them and then after a long pause he repeated himself, "I said, leave."  

The girls both looked at each other and ran away, back to their rooms.  

He swore never to hurt a human, but those two girls were making his promise very very hard to keep. Are those things considered humans? More like monster in human flesh.  

You finally made your way up the steps with a fresh platter of Almond Tofu, "Sorry I took so long. I had a small inconvenience." You said walking over to him. 

He gratefully accepted the tofu you, "I know." He stated coldly, still bitter. 

"Ah I don’t pay much mind to it." You waved it off, "People like them are all...very rude."  

They didn't stay another night, and never filed that complaint. They ran out of the inn in the middle of the night when Xiao decided to scare them. He couldn't hurt humans directly, but scaring them wasn't on the list... 

Childe  

He wouldn't tolerate it under his watch. Nope. 

Those people better get ready for some "friendly sparring"  

It was a friend of yours that had recently had an argument with you, who was now speaking badly about you to his sparring partner. The partner only nodded in some points he agreed with, but that was enough to get him punished too  

"I mean she thinks she's all that, but she really isn't." Your friend said, "She lacks in so many areas and really she isn't that smart at picking up clues. She just needs to leave the Fatui. She isn't even fit for this job. She can barely hold her weapon." Your friend ranted.  

His sparring partner eyed Childe warily. He had entered during the middle of the fight and your friend hadn't noticed him at first. Childe crossed his arm with a cold smile, as if daring him to continue.  

"Um..." The partner parried one of the moves and then called timeout, "I better go."  

Your friend scoffed, "Go where?"  

"Away from here." He pointed towards Childe and then packed up quickly leaving.  

The color from your friends face drained. How much did he hear? He knew Childe. He had hung out with him when you two were together not to mention he's a harbinger. And he also knew how fond he was of you.  

Childe took his dual swords out, "Why not a friendly spar, comrade?" His smile took a devious turned.  

"Sure..." Your friend slowly took his sword and held it at the ready.  

The fight began and Childe held back a lot. He never let out his foul legacy despite how much he wanted to use it. He knew it'd do more harm than good to himself and wasn't worth it. He finally gave his all at the end hitting your friend so hard he dropped to the floor panting 

"Done already?" Childe stood over them, "How disappointing." He turned around, putting his blades away, "And in the future, I would suggest you don't speak so ill of (Y/N). Or anyone."  

In the little bit of strength your friend had, he nodded. And with that, Childe walked away, not spending another minute in the same room as him.  

He had your friend transferred away. As upset as you were about him leaving without you guys making up, once a backstabber always a backstabber. He didn't trust your friend to better himself. And so you barely saw your friend again  

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 10: London]

You are a Russian grand duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You don’t hate each other at all.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

A/N: Wow I really pulled a George R. R. Martin and just never updated my story, didn’t I?! I return now with no excuses but with plenty of excitement to at last be giving this fic the ending it deserves. There are only two more chapters left! As always, thank you so very much for reading. 💜

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of war and violence, sexual content (not graphic).

Word count: 9k. She chonky.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @okilover02​ @adrenaline-roulette​ @youngpastafanmug​ @m-1234​ @tensecondvacation​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @rogerfuckintaylor​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @someforeigntragedy​ @mo-whore​ @mellowfellowyellow​ @peculiareunoia​ @mischiefmanaged71​ @fancybenjamin​ @anne-white-star​ @theonlyone-meeeee​ @witchlyboo​ @demo-wise​ ​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

“You are sneaky,” Joe says. He holds his cappuccino in one hand and wags a finger at me with the other. It took Mr. Lee’s kitchen staff a week to learn how to make a halfway decent cappuccino—I’m not sure if Joe’s passionate coaching was more of an asset or a distraction—and now he orders no less than four a day. “You are very sneaky. But not sneaky enough to fool me.”

I flip a page in the book Ben gave me, the one about British kings and queens. There’s a lot of information about the queens, he was right about that. Overhead the leaves are golden and oche and fluttering in the October wind; there is a softness to everything in London, the air and the sky and the trees and the people. It is unlike Russia in even more ways than I had remembered, in more ways than I could ever count. Joe and I are sitting in the courtyard behind Mr. Lee’s six-bedroom house and attempting to cultivate an appreciation for what the kitchen staff proudly call the Full English Breakfast: sausage, bacon, fried eggs, baked beans, tomatoes, mushrooms, toast, ketchup, and a menacing hunk of black pudding, which is just a kinder name for grains mixed with pig blood. I’m sure Joe is fantasizing about biscotti and frittatas every bit as much as I’m missing blini and kasha. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, quite dishonestly.

“Why must you lie to me, Lana bella donna?” Joe sighs. “There is no sense in this deceit. I know it already, assolutamente. I told you. My people are fluent in love.”

Here’s what he means: we’ve been guests of Mr. Lee for two weeks now, and each night—even after Mr. Lee and his wife have retired to their wing of the house, even after the footsteps of the maids and butlers and flocks of Sealyham Terriers have quieted—I lie awake alone in my queen-sized bed and Ben is nowhere to be found. Meeting him again in secret is too risky, this goes without saying. There can be no whispers that ripen to be sold and bitten into once I have unveiled myself publicly and married into the British royal family. And yet, still, there are moments, fleeting trivial things that I had believed no one else saw: the way Ben laughs at even my clumsiest attempts at jokes, the way I graze his hand with mine each time he passes me a cup or a plate, the way he watches me from across the dinner table when he thinks I’m not paying attention. I crave him all the time, I am consumed by thoughts of him, I am acutely aware of where he stands in every room…and then sometimes I look at Ben and something about him makes me so profoundly miserable I almost wish I’d never met him at all. Almost. “It’s an infatuation. Nothing more. Like Papa and Mathilde.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” I dip a corner of buttered toast into the yielding, viscous egg yolk, golden like the sun and the leaves, like my impending future. Yet I find my appetite for gilded things to be dwindling. I peer up at Joe. “Do you think less of me?”

He shrugs with a wry smile. “I am but a humble deserter of my ancestral homeland. I have no judgement in me for anyone. Not you, not Ben, not countries or governments or armies, not revolutionaries. But the mess of it all does hold a certain sadness, no?”

“Yes. I suppose it holds a great deal of sadness.”

“Stai attento,” Joe says gently. His knowing dark eyes say it too. Be careful.

“You’re the one who wanted me to be nicer to him.”

“Yes, but you are between two worlds. And embracing one means slitting the throat of the other.”

“That’s very melodramatic of you.”

Joe chuckles, grins slyly, slurps his cappuccino. “I cannot help this. I am Italian.”

The back door bangs open and Ben comes out to join us in the courtyard. He is agitated, running his hands through his hair and frowning, looking much older than he is. He collapses into the chair beside me and lights a hand-rolled cigarette with the tarnished steel lighter he bought on the Trans-Siberian Railroad. The bear etched into the side glints in the sunshine, pawing the air and roaring soundlessly.

“No luck with Uncle George?” I ask.

“He’s still up in Scotland.” Ben spends much of his time in Mr. Lee’s study making calls on the telephone. It’s not as if he can speak to the king directly, of course; Ben calls someone in the prime minister’s office, who calls someone else, who calls someone else, on and on until Ben’s message has reached Balmoral Castle, and then the same process plays out in reverse. It all seems rather illogical to me, rather needlessly ritualistic, although I suppose Papa once did business the same way. It’s not enough to keep mere distance between royalty and the outside world; one must steel themselves against it with both palms pressed against the door. “I keep telling them that I need a private audience with King George, but I can’t make him come back to London. I’m just a press attaché. I’m not someone who matters. And obviously I’m not going to say anything about you over the phone. I don’t think they’d believe me, and even if they did we can’t have the secret getting loose before your safety is assured.”

“You matter,” I object, pained.

Ben doesn’t dignify this with words; he rolls his eyes instead. Some days he leaves me under Joe’s supervision and goes to visit his family on the other side of London. I wonder why he’s never asked if I would like to come along. I wonder if he’s ashamed of me, of my affluence, of my distinct lack of working-class wisdom.

“The king must come home eventually, no?” Joe says, trying to be encouraging.

“Sure. In a few days, maybe. Or a week. Or a month. Who knows?” Ben’s gaze lands on my authentic English breakfast and he perks up considerably. “Oh god, that looks delicious.”

I nudge my plate towards him. “Please, by all means, help yourself.”

As Ben eats—fork nestled in one hand, smoldering cigarette in the other—I resume my reading. “How is it?” Ben asks around a mouthful of bacon. He looks young again now, unguarded, curious and smiling. There’s a pang in my chest that is half red-colored longing and half heavy, dark grief. I collect myself like seashells laid in a basket.

“It’s extremely educational. Although I do take issue with some of the subject matter.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, the chapter about Queen Mary Tudor, for example,” I say. “She was the first queen regnant of England—one of the only queens—and she had so much opportunity to make her country a better place. So much potential. So much education and talent and resources. And then she spent her reign burning people and obsessing over her indifferent husband, following him around like a dog, paralyzed by misery every time he traveled abroad. Such a waste.”

Ben shrugs. “She did exactly what her parents would have wanted her to do. She married a man of royal blood and submitted herself to him. Because she believed her worth was measured only by the heirs she could produce.”

“That’s not the point.” I’m frowning, irritable; this is not the response I had anticipated. I hate when Ben is sharp like this, covered in barbs of cynicism like needles. It makes me wonder if he really likes me at all, if it’s possible he ever did. “She still had choices. She could have been kind to her people. Charitable, tolerant, forgiving.”

An exhale of smoke; a metallic glint in his green eyes. “Yeah? And what choices would you have made, had you been our dear departed Mary?”

“I wouldn’t have let emotions distract me from my responsibilities. I would have focused on helping the people I could, not falling into some pit of despair.”

“I see,” Ben says as he mops up beans and ketchup with a slice of toast. “So you would still marry the indifferent husband, just have the herculean foresight and self-control to not become quite so maddeningly inert.”

“I don’t know,” I snap, flipping pages rapidly.

“What? You suddenly don’t know what you’d do?”

“I don’t know what inert means.”

“It means motionless or ineffective.”

“Right, so yes, I wouldn’t let myself become that.”

“Perhaps Queen Mary Tudor once thought the same thing. Perhaps bitterness has a way of making monsters out of us all.”

“I’m not interested in this conversation anymore,” I say, burying my face in my book.

“Naturally.”

“Oh look, it is a cloud shaped like a cannoli,” Joe says, pointing.

“You’re not hungry?” Ben asks me with some concern.

“Not for an English breakfast.” How could anyone be hungry for blood pudding and ketchup and baked beans? Baked beans?!

“I can ask the cooks to make something else,” Ben says. “What do you want?”

“No, that’s alright.”

“Seriously, what do you want?”

“I couldn’t bear to trouble them. Our hosts have been so generous already. Once I’m in a position to do so…”—once I’m welcomed into the British royal family—“I’ll have to ensure that Mr. Lee and his household are adequately compensated for this inconvenience. And to think, I was so determined to hate him.”

Ben is perplexed. “Why?”

I reply as if it’s obvious: “Because he’s a cousin of the prime minister. And the prime minister is the man who convinced the king not to offer my family asylum.”

Ben stares at me. Joe stares at me. A silence settles over the courtyard, punctuated only by birdsong and rustling leaves. “That’s not how I understood things,” Ben says at last.

“What do you mean?”

Ben sets his fork down on the now-empty plate and clears his throat. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not going to fix anything. It’s just going to hurt you.”

I marvel at how recently he has acquired an aversion to hurting me. It’s almost like learning a new language, one he hasn’t quite found his footing in yet. “I’d still like to know.”

“Forget it.”

Joe interjects: “You really must see this cloud, look, it is incredibile, I now have a violent hunger for cannoli…”

“Ben,” I say softly, like a plea.

His words come slowly, haltingly. “From what I heard…from Sir Buchanan, and from other people on the ambassador’s staff as well…it was the king who harbored the greatest reservations about publicly aiding the Romanovs.”

Uncle George? Uncle George was the one who didn’t want to save us? Uncle George dragged his feet until my family was executed and butchered and hastily disposed of like a secret, like stolen treasure or a tainted bride? “I don’t believe that,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

“That’s fine,” Ben replies mildly. “You don’t have to.”

“Why would he do that?” I demand, my eyes blazing, daring Ben to battle me. “Why on earth would Uncle George not want to save us, his own blood, his own family? He loved my father. He loved me. He would never abandon us of his own volition. Someone must have convinced him there was no other choice.”

“Sure. Maybe. You’re probably right,” Ben concedes.

“You didn’t answer me.” There’s a white-hot fire in my chest like lightning. “Why would Uncle George not want to save us?”

Ben won’t meet my eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Because it’s not true,” I say, victorious. “Because you’re mistaken. You have to be.”

“That’s possible,” Ben murmurs.

We sit steeped in an uneasy quiet, Ben peering down at the table, Joe up at the sky, me at both of them. Ben must be wrong. Not purposefully wrong, no, not knowingly wrong, but wrong nonetheless. Uncle George would have saved us if he had known it was feasible, if he had known how truly desperate we were. The alternative is impossible. The alternative is unimaginable.

“There’s one more thing,” Ben says at last, as if he doesn’t want to.

“What?” I ask.

“The king may still be at Balmoral Castle, but someone else came home yesterday.”

I can feel my brow crinkling in confusion. “Who?”

Now Ben’s eyes finally find mine. “The Prince of Wales.”

“David?” I gasp. “Really? He’s on leave?”

“He’s at Buckingham Palace. I could try to arrange a meeting with him. Somewhere secluded, somewhere safe. Which brings me to my question for you. Do you want to see him today?”

“Do you think he’ll take me to stay with him? At the palace, I mean?” Will I ever see you again, Ben?

“I don’t know.”

My answer should be clear and immediate, but it isn’t; it catches behind my teeth like a horse’s bit. Reaching the Windsors has been my objective since I left Tobolsk in a trunk in the back of a mule cart, yet somehow this feels too sudden, too final. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a great precipice, the wind howling up to tangle my hair, my father’s blood in my cheeks, my mother’s palms on my back. But there’s only one correct answer. I surrender to it. “Yes,” I say simply, as if it took no thought at all. “Of course I want to see him.”

Ben’s still watching me, his eyes emerald-green and searching and pensive. “Okay.” He stands, bites his lower lip, shakes his head once like he’s casting out bad dreams. “Okay,” he says again, and then he retreats back inside the house.

~~~~~~~~~~

The clock tower chimes twice and ominous grey clouds are filling the sky as Ben leads me through Hyde Park, a sprawling and verdant place I’ve never been to before. He chats nervously while I barely reply; I feel like dark water, still and quiet and kilometers deep. Ben tosses me trivial trinkets of British history like tarnished coins into a fountain.

“Do you know what we call it?” he asks, nodding towards the omnipresent clangs of the clock tower.

I shake my head distractedly, skating my palm over the pliable purple petals of asters.

He grins. “Big Ben.”

“Oh. After you, of course.”

“Yes, because I am definitely that important.”

“I have a few things named after me,” I say. “A library, a hospital, an art gallery, a room in the Winter Palace, a naval base in Vladivostok…”

“Jesus Christ,” Ben replies. “No wonder you’re so humble.”

“Well…come to think of it…I suppose they probably aren’t named after me anymore. Or won’t be for much longer. The revolutionaries will erase my existence entirely, chisel me off the monuments. They’ll obliterate all the Romanovs. It’ll be like killing us all over again.”

Ben hesitates, then takes my left hand in his. This is unwise; and yet I let him. In fact, I do more than let him. I squeeze his hand fearfully, desperately, my fingertips reading his scars like Braille. “You’ll have plenty of things named after you here if you want them to be,” Ben says.

I squint up at the shadowy, tumultuous sky. “I’d rather have them named after Tatiana or Alexei, I think.”

“That could probably be arranged.” Ben releases me, shoving clenched fists into his coat pockets. Arranged by the man we’re here to meet. By the Prince of Wales.

Because a prince of a powerful nation could do anything, right? Anything he wanted. Anything at all. Except stem the blood tide of revolution, of course. Except turn back the clock and raise my family like Lazarus.

We round a corner and find a guard, uniformed and on horseback, blocking steps surrounded by tall, dense, dark-green juniper trees. His eyes flick over Ben briefly, dismissively. “Move along, quickly now,” he says, with an encouraging swing of his sword. It feels wrong for a royal guard to treat me this way, disorienting, like a clock running backwards. It occurs to me that this same man might have been serving me and my family the last time we were in London; yet now he doesn’t recognize me, now he doesn’t see me at all. But I’m the same person, aren’t I? I try to catch his eye. He doesn’t seem aware of me. I might as well be a goldfinch or a stone.

“I think we’re meant to go up,” Ben says rather meekly, gesturing to the steps, like it’s a tepid suggestion. He barely sounds like himself at all. Ben? Meek? Since when is Ben EVER meek?

The guard scrutinizes him. “Name?”

“Benjamin Hardy, press attaché for Sir Buchanan, the British Ambassador to Russia.”

“Right.” The guard moves his horse to the side. It’s midnight black and tall and shining and surely a purebred, its mane and tail lustrous, its dark eyes sharp and arrogant. Kroshka could never compare, and yet I find myself missing her. “His Royal Highness is touring the Italian Gardens. He is expecting you.”

“Thank you very much,” Ben says, bowing his head, and leads me up the staircase. The guard still doesn’t look at me, not even once.

We ascend, my heart in my throat, my feet numb and clumsy; I keep having to remind them how to work. My hands are trembling. My skin is sweated and cold, my sweater clinging to my spine. There is a break in the clouds and muted daylight cascades over us. The steps are ending just ahead. My grand adventure with Ben is ending too.

Ben glances back and asks in a murmur: “Are you ready?”

Yes, I hear Mother say confidently. Yes, I hear Papa concur with warm, dusk-pink pride in his voice. Yes, I hear Tatiana and Alexei and Olga and Maria and Anastasia whisper from their gravesite in some unknown corner of the world, waiting impatiently for vengeance. The revolutionaries may hold Russia, but they will never hold me. The Romanovs will live on. Our blood will run in the veins of queens and kings until eternity turns all the earth to ash. It is the best revenge imaginable. “Yes,” I tell Ben, as if there is no other possible answer.

At the summit of the staircase is a spacious landing overlooking water, lily pads, swans, fountains, the horizon. The Prince of Wales is standing near the railing, framed by statues of half-naked women emptying their pitchers into the pond. I might have blushed at that two months ago; now I feel only an ache of curiosity, of longing.

David Windsor turns. He is just as I remembered him, only better, clearer: tall, slim, blond, blue-eyed, graceful, composed, fit for a fairytale. An ocean of relief crashes through me.

Oh, thank God. I love him after all.

His mouth falls open. His cigar—Cuban, imported, made by another man’s hands—tumbles forgotten to the ground. He is the opposite of the guard on horseback; the Prince of Wales sees only me. I can feel myself glowing with exhilaration, with pride. I can feel my family here on the landing with me, translucent and bloodied, beaming with ethereal approval. “Dear Lord,” David Windsor marvels. “Is that really you?”

Nodding with tears in my eyes, completely overwhelmed and unable to speak, I run to him. He opens his arms and bellows amazed laughter. His embrace is kind and familiar, if a bit formal.

“There there!” David soothes, patting my back. “You’re alright now. You’re far away from those traitorous animals in Russia. How did you manage this?! What a shock, my God! Father will be elated!”

“I escaped,” I say, wiping away tears. David hands me a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. It is embroidered with his initials. “Ben…Ben rescued me. He and Sir Buchannan formulated a plot. Ben smuggled me out before my family was moved to Yekaterinburg. We…we…we were supposed to save them. I was supposed to come here and convince Uncle George to offer us all asylum. But I was too late, I…I…”

“You poor thing.” The Prince of Wales shakes his head and rests a hand on my shoulder. “You poor, poor girl. Traveling in secret and in God knows what sorts of conditions. Learning of your family’s brutal slaying while on the run like some criminal, as if you have ever done anything wrong in your life! What could you have done?! Just a dutiful daughter, a grand duchess, a little girl. You are an innocent. What have you ever done to deserve such suffering?”

I can’t seem to stop weeping. Surely David will understand; he knew my family too. He loved them too. “My parents…my sisters…Alexei…” Sobs hitch from my throat. “I would have done anything to save them, anything—”

“There there,” David says again. His words are gentle but weightless somehow, bloodless, dispassionate. “Please, dearest, do collect yourself. I hate to see women cry. It’s such a pitiful sight. There’s no need to despair. You are exactly where you belong now.”

“Uncle George will welcome me?”

“Oh, my dear, he will proclaim his love for you in front of the entire world.” There are things shifting rapidly in the prince’s pale eyes: strategy, surprise, hunger, satisfaction…and perhaps a threat of envy, too. “Yes, Father…he always approved of you, didn’t he? He always hoped that…maybe…someday…” The Prince of Wales smiles down at me. “You might marry into our empire. And here you are at last, at the end of such a dreadful voyage, on our doorstep.”

“I could never thank you enough for this,” I say shakily. “I…I…”

“Please,” he urges, uneasy. “Did you think there was any other possible remedy? Of course we will take you in. You are the daughter—the last heir—of a great dynasty, one whose blood has melded with our own for generations. You and I, we are both great-grandchildren of Queen Victoria. We are both anointed by our Creator as the finest of mankind. Your house has fallen into ruin, this is true…but you are blameless in that. Just a grand duchess. Just a daughter. What could you have done to stop it? You poor thing. Poor, poor thing.” He smooths my hair once and then steps away, his mind already elsewhere. “I will call Father as soon as I return to the palace. I will tell him that he must come to London immediately. When he is back, he can summon you to an official audience, and then your survival can be announced publicly. The king—and only the king—must initiate everything, of course. And when your proper period of mourning has passed…” The Prince of Wales smiles again, this time vaguely and into the distance. “Other announcements can be made as well.”

I fold up David’s handkerchief and stow it in the pocket of my corduroy trousers. My husband, my husband, my husband, this man is going to be my husband. Surely if I repeat this often enough, it will start to feel real. “I would very much like to see Uncle George again. To be with all of you again.”

“Indeed.” The prince’s ice-blue eyes, as his shock evaporates, travel down to my clothes. “Dear Lord, what on earth are you wearing?!” he exclaims. “An old shabby sweater? A cheap scarf? Trousers? Well, I suppose you are in hiding. You must feel so out of place. Not to worry, dearest. You will be back to your old self in no time. And the sooner I go, the sooner you will be able to resume your rightful place.”

“I’m not going to the palace with you now?” I ask, unsure if I am disappointed or confused or pleased.

“I’m afraid that just won’t be possible, dearest. I don’t have the authority to invite you there, only Father does. And we can’t have this secret getting out before Father is informed, can we? He would be furious. I’m terribly sorry about the circumstances, but surely you understand. The attaché said he was staying with Mr. Gwilym Lee, I presume that’s where he’s been hiding you too? Are your accommodations there comfortable?”

And that’s exactly the way he puts it: comfortable. Not safe, not enjoyable, not enlightening, not affectionate, but comfortable. I suppose that’s the yard stick by which my kind measure their lives. Something in my chest is sinking, darkening. Did I really think that I love him? That’s impossible. I don’t even know him. Not really. “Very comfortable. Mr. Lee and his wife have been godsends to me. And Ben…” I turn to him. Ben is standing in the shade of the juniper trees and watching us with no expression that I can read. His face is a void, flinty and heartbreakingly beautiful. “He has saved my life over and over again. He has displayed both exemplary courage and judgement. He is my hero, my champion, my truest friend. I will be indebted to him until death. He must be adequately rewarded.”

“Is that so?” The Prince of Wales—for the first time, as if it is the dimmest of afterthoughts—looks at Ben. Ben bows deeply. David Windsor considers him for a few brisk seconds; then his eyes dart to me, back to Ben, to me again. “We will have to reward him,” David says, a winter-cold edge in his words. “Won’t we, dearest?”

“Whatever you decide is best,” I recover quickly.

The prince’s arm curls around my waist. He kisses me delicately on each cheek, feather-lightly, as if he might crack my skin like porcelain. “Good day, Your Imperial Highness. We shall meet again soon. Quite soon, I think. Yes, that would be for the best.”

The Prince of Wales descends the steps, leaving a silent open space like a grave in his wake. In Moscow, the communist revolutionaries have seized control and executed most of the Provisional Government. In Passchendaele, battlefields are being combed for dog tags to send back to the households of the dead. At Balmoral Castle in Scotland, King George V is about to receive a very urgent phone call. Somewhere—and I’ll never know where—my family’s bones are alight with the promise of redemption.

Meanwhile, here in Hyde Park in the heart of London, Ben and I stare at each other as sparce drops of rain begin to fall from a ghost-colored sky.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Why haven’t you ever taken me to meet your family?” I ask Ben. We’re sitting in the ill-lit, unassuming corner booth of a pub in West London. We each have a pint of brown ale. I sip mine tentatively; it’s thick and bitter and strange. Ben gulps his like water.

“I didn’t think you’d want to,” he says.

“Why wouldn’t I want to meet them?”

“Because…” Ben shows his palms penitently. “Because of what happened to your family. I thought it might be painful for you. To see my mother, my siblings. To be around all that.”

“Oh. I was worried you were too embarrassed of me.”

He seems genuinely puzzled. “What’s there to be embarrassed about?”

I smile down at the heavy oak table and say nothing, spinning my glass between my hands.

“Do you really want to meet my family?” Ben says.

“Of course I do. You’ve already told me so much about them.”

“Okay. We’ll do dinner at their house tonight.”

I watch him as he drinks his ale, his hair falling in messy twists over his forehead, his cheeks flushed, his emerald-colored eyes flitting restlessly around the pub. I remember how his hands felt against my face. I remember the way his lips tasted on mine. There’s a knot in my chest like barbed wire. The thought of never touching him again is indescribable. “How is it possible that no one has fallen in love with you yet?”

“I told you. All I’ve ever done is work.”

“It’s a shame. It’s a crime, actually. There’s too much good in you to not be shared.”

Ben smirks at me from beneath his curls. “I suppose at this point I’ll end up with an American.”

“What will it be like for you there? When you first arrive, I mean. It must be difficult to start over somewhere new without help, without many…resources.”

“As a relatively poor person, you mean?” Ben laughs. “I’ll be alright. I don’t need much. I’ll rent some dodgy little room somewhere and scrape by until I get my feet under me. There’s cheap lodging if you’re willing to share space. And I’ll have Joe. He’ll have the time of his life finding a woman for me. He’s been trying to give me condoms for years. He hides them in my pockets and luggage when I’m not paying attention.”

“Condoms?”

“Uh…” Ben blushes a deeper red, turning shy. “Something to prevent…children. One of several possible methods.”

“Ah. Yes, I don’t believe I’ll have the luxury of knowing much about that.”

Ben frowns at me, somber, anxious. I swallow a mouthful of my dark, bitter ale.

“You could stay,” I tell him suddenly. “Here. In London. When Sir Buchanan retires, I could ensure the royal family keeps you on as a press attaché for the next ambassador to Russia. Or any country you want. Italy, France, Greece, America, anywhere. I could convince David to do it.”

“No,” Ben returns with a sad smile. “I don’t think you could.”

The way he looked at Ben. The way he looks at me.

No, perhaps the Prince of Wales will never be a man who is swayed by his wife. I won’t have any power over him. It’s difficult to have power over someone who doesn’t love you.

“He’s not cruel,” I say softly. We’ve already discussed this, but I’m confirming it.

“No,” Ben insists. “Distant. Vain. Unfaithful. But never cruel.”

“Many women have suffered far worse,” I murmur, mostly to myself.

“Yes. And plenty have suffered less.”

“Is that what you’ll write about me in your article?” There’s no malice in my words, no fight, only curiosity. “That I’m materialistic…or mindlessly obedient…or spineless…or…or weak? Too weak to consider a different kind of life?”

“I don’t think you’re weak,” Ben replies softly, staring down at his hands. “I think you’re brave.”

There’s warm contentment rising in my cheeks. Pride, even. I’ve learned that there is nothing Ben respects more than courage, just as there is nothing I prize above honor. Perhaps we have learned to see both in each other. “Really?”

“You could come to New York with me,” he says in a rush, his eyes sparkling. “You could start over too, with me and Joe, you could be anything you wanted to be. I’d help you.”

I bark out a stunned laugh. I’m positive he’s joking. It’s a ludicrous prospect. “What, and live in some tiny room in a run-down apartment, shooing away rats with a broom, driving the mule cart to the market each week to buy beets and cabbages, sharing a toilet with God knows how many other people and no bathtub in sight? Can you imagine me living like that?”

But Ben doesn’t find it funny. It’s not just his head that drops; everything in him sinks, goes silent, goes still. He’s disappointed. He’s ashamed.

“Ben, wait, I didn’t…I didn’t mean…”

“We should go,” he says, and stands before I can stop him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ben’s family’s home is not what I’d envisioned. It’s a modest little place squeezed between a bakery and a blacksmith’s shop—far from a castle or mansion, surely—but it’s not dilapidated. It’s simple, quaint, a bit overcrowded, but not impoverished. They have the entire townhouse to themselves: two floors, a few windows, a fireplace, a scuffed old piano in the living room, two basset hounds with wagging tails and drooping ears, a tiny garden in the backyard where the children tend pumpkins and kale and sugar snap peas. It’s not as desperate as I had imagined Ben’s childhood to be when he described it to me. I wonder how they can afford this.

“Let me show her, let me show her!” August, ten years old and grinning enormously, shouts as he drags me around the house and presents each room as if he lives in a palace, every piece of furniture handed down through dynasties instead of secondhand and scuffed. He looks very much like Ben; but August is brighter, more open, less pummeled by life. He makes me wonder what Alexei might have been like had he been born healthy.

Leo, fourteen, is wrestling with his mathematics homework at a worn desk in the living room. Opal and Kathryn are in the kitchen helping their mother prepare dinner: roasted chicken, gravy, potatoes, stuffing, glazed carrots, sticky toffee pudding for dessert. That was once Alexei’s favorite, I remember. I hope he can see me now. I hope he’s proud of me.

Ben’s mother is a whisper of a woman, very hushed, very thin, her face much older that her years. She is like a battered ship limping home to harbor. She is polite to me but remote; she is like that with everyone, except perhaps August, her youngest. She seems to be irrevocably exhausted, as if someone pierced the soles of her feet and bled out her capacity for loud, careless joy. She has short, black curly hair and hands gnarled with arthritis far worse than my own mother’s was. There are no portraits or photos in the house, but there are three small wooden crosses on the mantle of the fireplace, one for each of her lost children: Willis, Cecil, Louise.

As Ben and I help set the table, a young man around twenty limps through the front door. He has dark hair, glasses, a narrow bookish face, and a moderate clubfoot on his left side. He walks with the assistance of a cane.

“You’re here,” Luther says calmly to Ben, a smile illuminating his face. “Now we can read the letter.”

“There’s a letter?” Ben drops the spoons he’d been placing. “From Frankie?”

Luther fetches it from the desk drawer and hands it to Ben. We gather around him on the single frayed couch: me, Luther, Leo, Opal, Kathryn, August, the basset hounds called Pancake and Pickles. Ben’s mother listens gravely from the kitchen, stirring and basting, all the recipes living only in her head.

“When did it arrive?” Ben asks.

“Yesterday,” Leo replies eagerly. “We wanted to wait for you. We wanted to read it together.”

“I can’t believe you had the patience.” Ben rips the letter free from the envelope. The first thing he reads is the date at the top. “Only five days ago,” Ben says with a great exhale, and they all burst into cheers; even his mother casts us a weary half-smile. At first I don’t understand, and then I do: if Frankie wrote a letter five days ago, it means he survived the Germans’ last major counter-offensive. It means he’s likely still alive right now, eating his dinner out of cans while we eat ours off chipped, mismatched plates. It means he might still come home someday.

Frankie’s letter is short, probably because he refuses to tell his family what Passchendaele is really like. Instead, he writes about the books he’s read, the Allied soldiers he’s met from Ireland and France and Belgium, the weather improving, the sight of the stars at night, his memories of home. He writes that he hopes he’ll be back by Christmas. He writes about the now-infamous fate of the Romanovs, the gossip that has spread like wildfire and horrified an already shellshocked world. Little do they know that the true story has barely begun.

As Ben reads, August huddles up beside him, and Opal hold his free hand, and Leo’s eyes begin to glisten, and Luther braids Katheryn’s long golden hair; and I am reminded so much of my own family that I am flooded not with sorrow but overpowering, breathless love. I can hear Papa telling us folktales by candlelight, his voice changing with each character. I can see Mother sitting in her wheelchair and knitting a hat for Alexei, new mittens for Anastasia, a sweater for me. I can feel Tatiana combing and arranging my hair. I can smell the tobacco from Papa’s pipe. I can taste hot chocolate and snowflakes and wild raspberries plucked from bushes. For a moment, and only one, none of it happened: Papa never abdicated the throne, the wars never raged, my family never died. For a moment, I am home and always will be.

I’ll never have that again, I think.

No; the Prince of Wales is my destiny, he is as much a part of my existence as my own bones. But he will never give me what Papa gave Mother. I am only now understanding how rare my parents’ love was, how remarkable. It is an uncommon thing to find a true home here on earth, and it is magic if you can manage to keep it.

“Are you alright?” Ben asks, and I realize that they’re all watching me. The letter is finished and folded carefully in Ben’s hands. His hands…I can’t seem to stop looking at his hands.

“Are you alright?” his siblings echo with genuine concern, these children who know nothing about me except that I am ostensibly a typist named Lana Brinkley, a colleague of their brother, perhaps even his friend. I’m a nobody, and yet they see me with perfect clarity.

“I’m fine,” I say, offering up a smile. “I was just reminded of someone I used to know.”

All through dinner—as the voices of Ben’s family rush around me like the warm foaming surf of Greece or Italy or Spain or some other romantic kingdom I had once dreamed of marrying into—I am silently bracing myself for my future. I can see it like paintings in a museum: opening presents with my children under a towering Christmas tree at Buckingham Palace, attending polo games and crystalline balls, posing in tiaras for photographs, cutting ribbons at hospitals and parks and bridges, sipping afternoon tea with Queen Mary and the Princess Royal, holidaying in the Caribbean or the Mediterranean, touring countries and territories littered across the globe where the sun never sets on the British Empire. And I do, I find, believe wholeheartedly that I would be safe here: the British are not hard in the way that Russians are, nor hereditarily restless like Americans. I would never be imprisoned, tortured, guillotined, burned, discarded like the entrails of a butchered animal. I would enjoy unparalleled opulence and security for the next half a century. How many people would kill to be me? How many people live on the edge of a knife, the color of each day bruised black with hunger, violence, disease, prostitution, deprivation, slavery, filth, war? I would be insane to subject myself to such risks when I was born so high above them. It would be like kicking a hole in a ship when it’s midway across the Atlantic.

Yes, I can see my life as if I’ve already lived it, and there’s nothing there that startles or horrifies me. The Prince of Wales would be a perfectly adequate husband, popular with his people and courteous to me. He would never criticize or yell or—God forbid—raise a hand in anger. He would be handsome and stylish and proud of our children. Perhaps he would even abandon his mistresses as our bond grows stronger through the years. I realize that the thought of him with other women doesn’t especially wound me. It would be alright to embrace him, to kiss him, to do much more with him. I can stomach the idea of that. We would have a pleasant co-existence…a comfortable one, to use his own word.

No, what gives me pause is something else, something unexpected, something that is just now dawning on me: not the presence of the Prince of Wales but the absence of anyone else, the prospect of never experiencing real passion, of never knowing what it’s like to have someone I’m mad for between my thighs, of David having feasted on heat and desire and wildness while I will never taste it. I think of the bitterness that will grow in me like a child I’ll never deliver. I think of writing some dull, too-careful letter to Ben once or twice a year while whispers tangle in my skull: What if? What if?

Luther’s voice rouses me, hesitant and bashful as he stirs his mashed potatoes and gravy together, avoiding everyone’s eyes: “Ben…listen, I hate to ask this…but there are a few more textbooks that I need for the Michaelmas term…the professors just told us about them, and I thought I had enough money squirreled away but I’m…well, I’m a little short…”

“I’ll take care of it,” Ben replies instantly.

“I’ll pay you back someday,” Luther insists. “I’m keeping a list of the expenses and when I have my own dental practice I’ll give—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ben says with a wave of his hand and changes the subject, and then I know exactly how his family affords this house. I know how they afford everything they have.

As the sun is setting and his mother is clearing the table to serve dessert—and adamantly refusing my offers of assistance, slapping my hands away with her crooked fingers—I follow Ben out into the backyard when he goes there to smoke one of his very inexpensive hand-rolled cigarettes, one of infinite tiny sacrifices his mother’s and siblings’ lives are now built on.

“He didn’t really say anything about my family, did he?” I ask Ben, meaning the Prince of Wales.

“No, he didn’t,” Ben agrees, vivid amber sunlight glowing on his face.

“He didn’t say that Papa didn’t deserve it. He didn’t even mention Tati or Alexei.”

“No,” Ben says again.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Ben debates telling me something and instead replies: “I don’t know.”

“You have all these secrets now. You used to just hurl anything that crossed your mind at me like stones.”

“Yes, it is immensely inconvenient to have grown a conscious.”

I’m studying him in the receding light—fire like a yellow topaz—acutely aware that our grand adventure is waning like the starving crescent of the moon. “Can I ask you something else?”

Now Ben seems nervous. He flicks ashes from his cigarette with a restless hand. Everywhere I look I find the color of embers, like the whole world is burning. “Sure.”

“What made you choose the name Lana?”

He’s a little relieved, a little disappointed. “Oh. That.”

“If you even have a reason.”

“There’s a reason,” Ben says. “But you’ll hate it.”

“Yeah?”

“Firstly, I liked that it sounded like a nickname instead of something regal and important. Secondly, it’s easy to pronounce and won’t divulge your Russian accent. Thirdly, and most importantly…” He smirks guiltily. “It means something in Gaelic.”

Gaelic is one of the languages I haven’t gotten to yet. It’s a humble language, a working-class language, no royals study it to my knowledge; there is no recognized Irish royal family and there hasn’t been since the English invaded them in the 12th Century. But I suppose it’s likely that Ben has come across plenty of Irish people during his travels, maids and cooks and shipbuilders. He might have even grown up with some. “What does it mean?”

“Little rock.”

I erupt into giggles. It feels fantastic. “You…you named me…rock…?”

“Little rock,” Ben clarifies. “Which makes it cuter.”

“You are possibly the worst person who has ever existed, Benjamin Hardy.”

“Who’s going to keep your ego in check if not me?”

“My husband, I suppose,” I say, flatly now, as indigo night falls like a curtain.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Lees’ house is quiet and still like winter. The staff have gone home for the night, the Sealyham Terriers are slumbering somewhere with their noses tucked under their paws, Ben and Joe are outside in the courtyard tossing sticks into the firepit. It’s cold when the wind blows, but not cold enough to drive them inside. They don’t want to go to bed; they know it’s our last night together. Nothing will ever be the same after tonight. I don’t want to go to bed either.

I’m rummaging through the kitchen trying to find a pot, mugs, milk, sugar, and cocoa powder; my plan is to surprise Ben and Joe with hot chocolate, but I’ve never made it myself before. I’ve rarely navigated a kitchen at all before.

“Can I help you with something?” Gwilym Lee asks from the doorway, startling me. There’s a Sealyham Terrier wagging its stubby white tail by his feet.

“Oh, I’m so sorry…I hate to be an inconvenience…I was just thinking as we were sitting out there around the fire…perhaps some…hot chocolate?”

“Ah, just a moment.” He moves deftly around plucking items from cabinets and drawers. He’s a wonderfully benign person from what I’ve seen, and so is his wife Hazel. She has blonde hair and umber eyes and a way of telling the most cheerful, long-winded, dramatic stories. Oddly enough, she’s Australian.

“How did you meet your wife, Mr. Lee?” I say as he begins heating milk on the stove.

“Her father is a shipping tycoon back in Australia. He was here on business and brought Hazel and her mother along. I bumped into them at a Christmas ball and couldn’t stop staring at Hazel all evening. I asked her the most idiotic questions just to hear her talk.”

“What a romantic meeting,” I say admiringly. It’s the sort of thing princesses dream of. And grand duchesses too.

“It wasn’t all a fairytale, let me assure you. My parents were horrified.”

“I can’t imagine why. She’s lovely.”

Mr. Lee chuckles. “Because she’s not Welsh, of course! Although I suppose that wouldn’t be so obvious to you, being from…” He gestures vaguely, raises his eyebrows. “Elsewhere.”

I smirk down at my shoes as he stirs sugar and cocoa powder into the pot, neither confirming nor denying. “Now that you mention it, I have heard that the Welsh are…rather prideful of their heritage.”

“We’re like the Irish. We’ve never stopped bristling at British rule. And I come from an old, old family. There are artifacts in this house that date from when Wales had its own kings.”

“Rebellion everywhere,” I mutter to myself, feeling like I’m drowning in it. Perhaps everyone is, all over the world since the dawn of time; perhaps rulership is something that will inevitably be hated and act hatefully in reply. “So your parents wanted you to marry a Welsh woman.”

“Welsh was heavily preferred. From the Continent would have been acceptable. English would have been very bad, American even worse. But Australian? That was unthinkable! Australia was once a prison colony, you know. They’re just English people without the veneer of sophistication.” He grins, knowing how ridiculous it sounds, this shallow prejudice. “They’re barely humans at all.”

I observe Gwilym Lee, tall and poised, as he pours hot chocolate into three mugs: blue, red, green. Steam rises in the air like smoke, like ghosts. Something about the way he moves reminds me of Tatiana. “What made you decide to marry her anyway?”

He shrugs and smiles at me over his shoulder. “Life is long. With the wrong person, I imagine, it feels much longer.” He sets the mugs on a tray and gives it to me. “Anything else I can do for you, Miss Lana? Or should I say Lana bella donna, as Joseph does?”

“No, you’ve done quite enough already. Thank you, Mr. Lee. You shall be generously rewarded. I’ll see to it.”

From the shadowy doorway, he responds: “I’d rather you see to your own happiness.” And I’m left standing alone in the kitchen as Mr. Lee and the Sealyham Terrier vanish, the dog’s nails clicking on the hardwood floor.

I bring the tray out to the courtyard and sit in the firelight, sipping my hot chocolate, as Ben and Joe toast theirs and discuss the ethnic neighborhoods of New York City: Little Italy and Chinatown and Little Spain, Irish in Hell’s Kitchen, Norwegians in Bay Ridge, Poles in Greenpoint, Syrians and Lebanese on Washington Street in Manhattan, African Americans moving up to Harlem from the treacherous South, Jews in Borough Park, Greeks in Astoria, Russians in Brighton Beach. It’s the whole planet in miniature. Joe wants to live near other Italians. Ben wants to be able to volunteer at settlement houses and maybe even meet Jane Addams one day.

I’m listening to them, but from a distance; Ben keeps trying to draw me into the conversation and I ignore him. I’m too busy thinking about what I’m going to do next. I have an idea, you see; I’ve had it for longer than I could admit even to myself. It’s unforgiveable, but it won’t go away. And I know it’s the right thing to do because at last when I commit to it—silently, like the dead of night—I feel a great calmness settle over me, a great peace. As I cradle my mug of hot chocolate, my hands don’t shake at all.

Abruptly, I rise to my feet. “I’m going upstairs now,” I inform Ben.

He blinks. “Okay.”

“I expect you to join me in precisely one hour.”

“Okay,” Ben says again, thunderstruck, smiling. Joe stifles a rapturous laugh and pounds on Ben’s shoulder with his lithe little fists. Ben, still smiling, doesn’t seem to notice.

Upstairs, I take a bath so hot it fills the room with steam, and I lay in the tub listening to the echoing plinks of dripping water and the late-October wind rattling the window shutters. When I drain the water—opaque and shimmering with rose-scented soap—I can feel the weight of the past two years shedding off me like a snake’s skin, bleeding away like summer, disappearing down the drain. I sit at the vanity, brushing out my hair, naked and serene, gazing at my reflection. In the mirror, in the golden lamplight, I see not flaws, not history, not the future, not my family, not tragedy or triumph, but only myself; and I don’t think that’s ever happened before.

Exactly one hour after I left him, Ben opens the bedroom door. I’m waiting for him on the bed with my hair loose and wild, my skin dewy with steam, my heartbeat steady. He inhales, exhales, closes the door as quietly as possible. He walks to the bed and covers his face with his hands, his beautiful, scarred hands. I think of how pure his flesh is, uncolored by dynasties or pacts. I think of how everything he has he built himself. I stand to meet him, laying my hands lightly on top of his own.

“Ben?” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“You can look at me. It’s alright.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he drops his hands. His eyes drift over me like snow: soft, quiet, melting away. I feel no nervousness, no shame. Ben is pulling off his sweater. I skate my palms down his chest, his belly, his forearms lined with ocean-blue veins. “Goddamn,” he gasps, resting his forehead against mine. I can feel the heat coming off him in waves. His fingers tangle in my hair. His clothes are in a messy pile on the hardwood floor.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” I say.

“Believe me, I want to.”

“Everything?”

“Everything,” he breathes.

I climb onto the bed and he follows, touching my face and my neck and my breasts, kissing me so deeply the rest of the world ceases to exist. There’s no one but us, there never has been, there never will be again. The valleys and peaks of his body fit perfectly with mine. I guide his hands lower, lower, lower.

Ben cautions: “Are you sure? Now? With me? I don’t want you to regret this. And I might be legitimately terrible because I’ve never done this before—”

“I don’t care.” I’m smiling; I can’t seem to stop. “I don’t want my first time to be with some prince I barely know. I want it to be with you.”

“I love you,” Ben says. “But I guess you already know that.”

“I do now.”

It’s like a dream in the weak golden lamplight: our skin, our voices, the effortless rhythm we stumble unsuspectingly into, no pain, no thought, time running neither forwards nor backwards but fading away entirely like ink in water.

~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, we bathe together and put on pajamas—the Lees keep the dressers stocked for guests—and turn off the lights. Ben doesn’t offer to leave, and I don’t ask him to. We slip beneath the blankets and find each other again, our fingers linking together, our minds untroubled. Tomorrow will be different, surely, but tomorrow doesn’t feel real yet. It’s a legend, it’s folklore. It’s a myth people shared around bonfires, carved into stones, painted on cave walls.

I say in the darkness: “We really must thank Joe for the condoms.”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“How many more do you have?”

“Four or five, I think.”

“Hmm.” I kiss his stubbled neck, and then his jaw, and then his mouth with teasing darts of my tongue. I can still taste myself on him, inside of him, growing into his bones like roots. I can feel his lips smiling against mine.

“So you want your second time to be with me too, huh?”

“Silence, commoner,” I murmur, grinning, dragging him closer by the collar of his shirt, drawing him into me like the moon pulls the sea.

[specialagentlokitty]

Carlisle x reader - in the present

Hiya, I was wondering. If you have the time and want to of course. Could you write a Carlisle x werewolf reader. I'm in the mood for fluff and i really like your stories a lot. Hope you're doing well. 💜 - Anon💜

You were packless, a stray is what most people would have called you.

You didn’t have a family or a home to call your own, you simply just wondered and do what you loved to do.

Sitting by a large tree, you had your head resting on the body of the tree as you stretched.

You’d been travelling for a while, so you were achy and wanted to get all that tension out.

“Excuse me?” A gentle voice called.

Turning to the right, you recognised the scent of the man stood in front of you, and going by the fact he kept his distance, he knew about you as well.

“Yes vampire?” You asked.

“Are you lost?” He asked.

You tilted your head a little bit in confusion.

“No, why?”

“Because this is vampire property.”

You hummed, leaning your head against the tree body again.

Smirking a little bit, you closed your eyes as you listened to the vampire walking closer until he was stood a good distance in front of you.

“Well, I am part of no pack, so your rules don’t apply to me. And going off the fact your eyes aren’t red, I’ve got no issue with you.”

“You’re packless?”

You hummed, nodding your head.

“A choice of my own really, what’s your name?”

“Carlisle Cullen, and you?”

“(Y/N) (L/N). Do you know anywhere I can stay for a few weeks?”

“There’s a few places in the town I can take you too.”

You nodded and let the vampire take you to a decent looking motel and you gave a small nod of thanks before heading in to book a room.

Every day he stopped by and showed you around the town, and the pair of you talked until he had to leave.

As you room renting came to an end, you stretched your hand over your head and made your way down to the reception.

“Hey, all those things in my room, you can just sell them off, I don’t need them.”

“You are sure ma’am? I can post them back to your home.”

You gave a laugh and waved your hand at him.

“No, sell them. It’s fine.”

Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you made your way outside and started to walk down the the street.

As you were walking, you came across Carlisle walking up the street with a smile on his face.

“Heading out?” He asked.

“Yeah, something like that.” You nodded.

He spun around and started to follow after you while you just wondered the streets until you found yourself on the edge of forks.

“Well, this is me.”

“You’re leaving?“ Carlisle asked.

“Yeah, I don’t stay in a place too long.”

“Does it get lonely.”

Turning to Carlisle, you gave him a small smile and a shrug.

“You get used to it.”

You gave the vampire a huge grin and stuffed your hands into your pockets as you started walking backwards.

“Who knows Mr Vampire, maybe our paths will cross again!”

You started to jog away but Carlisle was quickly in front of you again, holding his hand out to you.

Looking at him in confusion, you tilted your head slightly.

“Stay here.”

“Why? There’s nothing to tie me here.”

“What about me?”

Now you were even more confused, sure, you liked the man, he was really nice and accepting. Hr was patient with you and helped you through your time at forks.

“I think you should stay, I understand it’s only been a few weeks but maybe in time I can truest give you a place to call home.”

Carlisle walked over, taking your hand in his as he pressed a kiss to the back of your knuckles.

“Forgive me for being forward, but I like you (Y/N), and I don’t want to loose you.”

“Carlisle I… I have no place to stay.. no work experience.. nothing..”

“And we can help with that. We’ll find you a place and a job, just please, stay. Let me and my coven be your pack.”

You sighed sorry and looked down at his hand in yours. You knew full well he was your mate, you knew you had imprinted on him.

You saw your future with him, meeting his coven and helping him protect them.

That’s how you also saw your demise, you died protecting him.

But the future could change, right?

Looking into his soft eyes, you gave a small smile and a gentle laugh as you nodded your head.

“I’ll stay, but only for a while.”

“That’s better then nothing.”

Reaching over, you hugged Carlisle, smiling softly as he wrapped his arms around you and held you gently.

You weren’t going to go based of imprint, you were going to go based of your heart, to make sure you weren’t with him just because of some stupid wolf instinct.

You wanted to be with Carlisle because you liked him, not because of some wolf claim you had over him.

And if you didn’t like him, then you would just leave, no matter how painful it would be for you.

But he was nice, and the warm smiles he would give you were different from everyone else and perhaps in the present, right here and right now, you were just finally glad to be holding someone

[txemrn]

Summary: After a heated conversation with friends about the Ramsey’s decision not to have children, Tatum begins to wonder if their plan is truly what her new husband wants. A quiet moment with Sienna's daughter solidifies everything.

Word Count ~3215

Warning: 🔞 Mature Audiences Only🔞 language; lots of baby/family planning talk, very brief mention of medical complications that effect fertility; bullying/shaming

A/N: I was sent a sweet "Ask" last week, where I had to choose 1 out of 4 pics, and use it as a prompt (Ask and pic shown under the cut). @messrprongss thank you so, so much for including me with this! It was such a tough choices with the pics, but this was such a FUN idea, and I loved pulling this together. Hopefully this fic will be somewhat entraining! Thanks again! *hugs* 💜

A/N 2: Some of the characters belong to Pixelberry; Tatum is my OC (as well as Dr. and Mrs. Bryant, and baby Gabriela), and Erin belongs to my sweet writing buddy @kat-tia801 (you should totally check out her fics about Bryce x Erin; surgery has never looked this good). This fic was not beta'd or pre-read, so please forgive my mistakes!

~🖤~

The clang and clatter of silver utensils against the ornate china fade into a single muted buzz in her ears. The conversation and the jubilant laughter seem to warp into slow-motion, the reverberation of the voices almost haunting, like something out of a horror movie. Dr. Tatum Erikson, the new Mrs. Ramsey, covers her mouth with the cloth napkin, concealing her attempts to rebreathe her own air to slow down the heaving of her chest.

Fluttering her eyes closed, a warm, calloused hand gently caresses her inner thigh under the table. Ethan. The handsome gravel of her husband’s whisper along with the waft of his subtle woodsy cologne suddenly breaks through to her anxious heart, and she can feel her headspace returning back to the dinner party at the Aveiros.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asks quietly, his nose grazing against his wife’s earlobe. “That got intense there–”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tatum answers softly, still covering her mouth. “I just don’t understand why people think they’re going to change our minds,” she sighs before her voice becomes slightly louder, more irritated. “And then to throw my profession in my face–”

“Shhh,” Ethan sweetly sooths, pressing his lips into her hairline. “I know, I know.” 

Tatum pauses with a blank expression, staring aimlessly at a saucer in front of her. “I think… I’m going to need a minute–”

“Tate, do you need me–?”

She subtly shakes her head, her eyes fixed on their hostess. “Excuse me?” Tatum speaks up to grab Sienna's attention, causing the chatter of the other guests to die down. She places her napkin on the table before standing up, forcing a kind smile.  “Where’s the bathroom?”

Like every newly married couple with no children, Ethan and Tatum have been subjected to the incessant asking of the same damning question: When are you going to have kids?  They give their cordial laughs and diplomatic answers, but when it comes to their friends and colleagues at the hospital, their usual answers of ‘It’s not the right time’ and ‘We’re enjoying married life’ don’t satisfy the curiosity.

And now at a dinner party, they are surrounded by several couples: the Aveiros with their little girl and a boy on the way, the Lahelas with their baby girl, and then finally Ethan’s good friend and Edenbrook’s head of cardiology, Dr. Victor Bryant and his wife Abigail with their two young children. As the dinner course came to an end, the campaign for baby Ramsey began.

Rafael was being a gracious host, pouring cups of coffee and refilling glasses of wine while his bride Sienna cleared the table for dessert. When he offered coffee to Tatum, his wife interrupted.

“Rafie,” she grabbed his attention while lowering her voice to a whisper that everyone could still hear. “I don’t think Tatum is drinking caffeine this evening,” she winks twice, “can you grab her some more water?”

“Oh, no, no, that’s not necessary, you two, thank you,” Tatum knits her eyebrows together, “and …why am I not drinking caff–?”

“Tatum,” the young pediatrician singsonged, “I noticed you’re also not drinking wine with us. Is there any reason why you’re only drinking water tonight?”

The obstetrician glanced around the room, noticing the barrage of glowing, hopeful smiles. She gave an amiable chuckle before taking a deep breath. “Well,” she started, “besides being on-call, the empty calories and the inevitable headache in the morning? None that I can think of,” Tatum stole a bite of the creamy homemade cheesecake, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. 

“Well, surely you guys are trying now,” Sienna said enthusiastically while rubbing her swollen belly. 

Her husband Rafael gently elbowed her, finding her comment almost too intimate. “You’ll have to excuse her. Once you two have kids,” he wrapped an arm around his wife’s petite shoulders, “you’ll understand her eagerness for everyone to experience the joy of parenthood.”

Already feeling his wife’s tension, Ethan tenderly placed his hand on Tatum’s lower back, tracing small circles with his thumb.

“You two do want kids, right?” Bryce questioned, which earned him a glare from his wife, Tatum’s good friend Erin. “What?” he lowered his voice, “all I’m saying is that it would be a waste if they didn’t. Two hot, published docs? Shoot, I want to meet that kid.”

Tatum gave a look towards her husband, an expression complete with widened eyes and pursed lips. Ethan embraced her tightly, pulling her back against his shoulder. Unlike her, he’s always humored when people make it their personal crusade to make him and his wife reconsider having children. Not only is it not their decision, but it’s absolutely insane that anyone would dare to argue with two educated physicians, one of which is a professional pregnancy surveillancer and baby-deliverer.

“Okay, okay,” Erin speaks up, holding up her hands to silence the questions. “There’s nothing wrong with a couple choosing not to have children,” she winks at her friend, Tatum mouthing the words ‘thank you’ in return. “Hell, I never even wanted kids–”

“But then you met Bryce,” Sienna interrupted dreamily.

“No,” the surgeon snickers, “then my birth control failed.”  The entire table erupted with laughter while a blushing Bryce pressed his lips to Erin's temple.

Once the room quieted down from the titters, and it seemed as though the subject of discussion might actually change, Abigail Bryant, professional stay-at-home mom and owner of the vlog All Because Two People Fell in Love, decided to offer her own two cents. “But, Tatum dear, don’t you feel like you’re missing out on something magical in life?” She pressed her hand to her chest. “My life feels complete now that we have our little angels.”

“And I’m so happy that it took having children for you to find some meaning in her life,” Tatum blurted out, Ethan instantly pinching her elbow. Tatum glanced at her husband who gave a subtle shake of his head before returning her gaze to Abigail. “I–I’m sorry. I…” she sighed, “I just feel very complete right now,” Tatum looked back at her husband, lacing her fingers with his as they gave each other a knowing grin. “I have Ethan. I have my job, my research–”

“You just don’t understand yet,” she chuckled condescendingly. “Just you wait. You think your life is complete now–”

“No,” Tatum took a deep breath, trying to unclench her gnashed teeth, “I’m happy. We’re happy. This… this is our life.”

“But don’t you think being childless will affect your practice?” She turned to face the rest of the table. “I mean, I would think that an obstetrician should have some kind of experience before they start lecturing the rest of the population.”

“Abby,” her husband Victor glowered at her, taking a sip of his dark roast.

“Oh,” Abigail put a defensive hand up, “I didn’t mean that in a bad way–”

Tatum takes a deep breath, letting the air escape slowly.  She placed her palms flat on the table, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. “Abigail, are you familiar with… PCOS?”

“Pardon me?”

“Or Endometriosis? Maybe even hypothyroidism?”

“Um, no, I–I don’t recognize any of–”

“How foolish would you feel right now if I told you I have an incompetent cervix, and have already had four miscarriages? Or that I have uterine fibroids? Or that I had a life-saving hysterectomy when I was diagnosed with stage 4 cervical cancer?”

“Tatum, I–”

“Or PTSD from a traumatic birthing experience? Or I am trans?” Feeling her body shake, Tatum closed her eyes, relaxing her fists that she unknowingly had formed. “My point is women… couples… they have their reasons for not wanting children. And those reasons?” She shakes her head, “they don’t owe them to you.”  Tatum presses a hand to her chest as she continues. “And don’t get me wrong. I am so happy for you and Victor for having such a beautiful life with such beautiful children… But, why can’t you be happy for Ethan and I for having a beautiful life with a beautiful marriage without kids?”

After a long, uncomfortable silence, the conversation eventually moved back to pleasant chatter, smiles and laughs for everyone.

Everyone, except Tatum. 

Normally, she doesn’t allow comments about her life choices bother her, especially ones concerning her decision not to reproduce. But why were Abigail’s words stinging so badly?  Why was she suddenly nervous? Why was she suddenly second-guessing her accomplishments? Her life?

After splashing her face with water, Tatum dabs the droplets off with a fresh hand towel. She thoughtlessly folds it up, laying it perfectly on the counter as she takes a moment to stare at her reflection. She gives a big toothy smile, checking for food in her teeth before tousling her wavy-styled hair with her delicate fingers. 

And she freezes. Chewing on her mouth, a hand slowly grazes over her lower abdomen. Was she missing out on something in life? Does Ethan feel that way? Oh, God… The couple had agreed easily that having children was not in their future, but… could it be that maybe Ethan feels like he’s missing something? Was she speaking for him? Dictating his life?  

Suddenly the bathroom walls seem to be closing in on her, but even the echo of laughter from the table make her realize she isn’t ready to return.

Tatum slowly saunters down the wall, opening the door to the Aveiro’s newly renovated study: the new nursery.

And it’s absolutely perfect.  Sienna always had exquisite taste in decorating.  With a tiny night light guiding her steps, Tatum rests her hands on the sides of the empty crib, her fingers gliding over the smooth texture of the wood grain.  The gentle neutral colors of the bedding is whimsy, simple, but comforting, soothing. I wonder what I would pick out…

She steps around the baby bed, taking in the black and white mobile, ideal for baby brain development. This is something Ethan would insist on having, she snickers to herself. 

The corner of her mouth curls up at the sight of stuffed giraffes sharing the room with her; they’re turned towards the crib as if anticipating the arrival of the new bundle of joy.

Tatum looks across the room at the matching changing table, diapers and wipes neatly within reach and ready.  On the wall were framed, finger-painted pictures, created by the Aveiro’s very young daughter for the new infant, giving the room that touch that every baby should feel: you are home; you are loved; you are welcomed.

“There you are.”

Tatum abruptly turns towards the handsome voice strutting closer to her.

“I thought maybe you opened a window and scaled down the wall,” Ethan smirks.

“Would you blame me?” Tatum’s eyes glisten as she matches his gaze.

“Hey,” His eyebrows knit with worry before warmly enveloping her body with his arms. “Sh-sh-sh, what’s this about–?”

“Be honest with me, Rams,” she interjects with a strained whisper, “do you want children?”

Ethan slowly lets his arms relax, staring intently at his wife.  He finally rubs his chin. “I feel… like this a trick question.”

“Just answer the question,” she grabs his hand, lacing her hand with his. “Do you?”

He shakes his head. “No,” his voice becomes louder, “no. That’s not for us–”

“For us,” she repeats, “I’m talking about you. What… what if the equation didn’t involve me, would you? Want kids?”

“Tate, stop. I’m not going to entertain ‘what if’ questions.”

“But–”

“Stop,” he lets go of her hand, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back into a hug. “Don’t let the words of someone,” his face contorts into comical disgust, “like Abigail Bryant screw with your head.”

“I know, I know,” Tatum nods her head against his shoulder. “Comments like that usually never get to me… but then I realized tonight… is it possible I’m the only thing keeping you from a child?  Is my love for my work keeping my husband away from his heart’s desire?”

“You are my heart’s desire, Tatum Ramsey,” Ethan whispers, looking down at her as a dimple appears amongst his stubble. “If, and I’m only saying ‘if’,” he rests a finger under her chin, turning her attention to him, “if I wanted a child, I’d want one with you.”

“Really?”

“But… then you wouldn’t be you, and like I said, if I even wanted children, I would want them with you." He presses his lips against Tatum’s forehead. "But me? What do I really, really want? I want this, Tate. I want us… what we've created. You and me. Because our life…" he sighs pleasurably into a snicker, "it's just so damn good." 

Tatum softly hums at his words. She slides her arms around his neck, her lips parting for his kiss.  As he hungrily leans in, the door suddenly swings completely open, causing them to jump from each other.

“Sienna!” Tatum shouts in surprise.

“Oh! I’m so sorry you two,” she smiles apologetically carrying fourteen-month-old Gabriela. “I was coming in here to… oh, well, nevermind,” she chuckles. “Tate, do you mind holding her while I–” she throws a thumb over her shoulder towards the bathroom, “you know.”

“Of course,” she nods knowingly, forming an expressive face as she takes the baby.

“How’s my Gabi-bug?” The little one’s dark brown eyes curiously take in the womaan now holding her before surveying the room, clearly looking for her mother. Noticing the tall older man in the room, the baby coyly begins to grin before burying her face into Tatum’s neck.  “Awww,” she chuckles, “are you being shy?”

“It’s like a miniature Sienna,” Ethan says in a hushed tone.  Gabriela peeks back out with a large smile at the sound of his deep voice only to turn back around when she sees she has his attention.

“It’s not like a miniature Sienna; it is a miniature Sienna,” Tatum snickers as her voice becomes higher, cartoon-like. “Isn’t that right, precious one?”  Tatum tickles her, eliciting adorable laughs and coos with a scrunched up face. The baby instantly looks back to see if Ethan is still watching; when she meets his steely stare, she giggles and plants her face back into Tatum’s neck. “Are you flirting with Mr. Ethan?”

Ethan raises an eyebrow at his wife, but is met with her sweet pleading expression.  He steps forward, cautiously stroking the baby's tiny, chubby hand with his finger. Gabriela turns towards Ethan and instantly becomes mesmerized as he starts talking to her.

“Hey, Gabi,” he starts, “uh, that’s a pretty bow in your hair.”  Without warning, the little girl reaches for Ethan, practically jumping out of Tatum’s arms. “Whoa there, little Aveiro,” Ethan catches her as if someone just tossed him a floppy fish. He instantly looks to his wife.

Tatum crosses her arms. “Don’t act for one second that you don’t know how to cuddle. Cuddle that baby. She likes you.”

Ethan slowly brings the girl to his chest as she instantly relaxes on his shoulder.  After a few quiet moments, he lays a hand on her back, comforting her tenderly. He begins to softly rock his feet back and forth and she grips tightly onto his shirt.  

“Is she going to sleep or something?” He quietly whispers. Tatum shrugs, trying to hide her smile at the sight. “Are you sure now that you don’t want to have a baby?”

“Oh… my… God!” Sienna walks back into the room, “Dr. Ramsey: Baby Whisperer!”

Ethan turns his body to face Sienna. “I–I don’t know what I did.”

“I do,” Sienna cups her daughter’s head, stroking her soft, thick hair. “You just volunteered to be the babysitter for the Aveiro clan,” she titters, winking back at Tatum. But then, her face falls as she looks back to her little girl. “Uh-oh–”

“Uh-oh?” Ethan repeats with concern, looking back and forth between the women.  “What–what’s ‘uh-oh’?”

“Oh!” Tatum covers her mouth, trying not to laugh. “Someone’s a little red-faced–”

“And very relaxed,” Sienna jokes.

“What does that mean—?” 

And suddenly, Ethan knew exactly what was uh-oh. 

Uh-oh was warm and wet and sliding down his arm. He freezes, swallowing thickly as his eyes pinch close in irritation.

“Oh gosh, Dr. Ramsey,” Sienna quickly grabs Gabriela, trying not to laugh at the situation. “I-I’m so, so sorry. I had a feeling she was going to need a change soon.”  She turns to her daughter, talking in a high-pitched voice. “Say, ‘Uh-oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Ethan’.”

Ethan doesn’t budge, his eyelids still shut. His jaw becomes more rigid as a swirl of crimson climbs up his neck.

“You know?" Sienna starts, watching Ethan's reaction, "we better go, and leave you two alone."

Tatum nods, winking in agreement.  Once the mom and baby were gone, Tatum escorts her husband to the bathroom down the hallway.

“Jesus Christ,” Tatum busts out laughing, earning her a scowl from her husband. “It’s nice to see that you have that effect on other people besides your interns.”

“Tatum…” he growls, staring at his arm and soiled shirt. “Not the time.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” she dismisses, “it’s just baby shit. It’s way better than adult shit–”  

“It’s still shit, Tate!” He holds out his arm, watching the blowout drip from his fingertips. “I’m fucking covered in human excrement!” 

“Yeah… not to mention you smell pretty awful.”

“Tatum!”

“Okay, okay,” she chuckles.  She unbuttons his shirt, wiping his arm down with the cotton material. “Ha!” she snorts, “Gabi is shitless, and you’re shirtless.”

Ethan glares at her.

“Damn, okay,” she playfully smirks. She pivots around and turns on the shower, adjusting the temperature before Ethan leans into the water.  She grabs a bottle of body wash from a hanging caddy, and squeezes it on his arm, Ethan vigorously lathering up.

“By the way,” he starts, “yes.”

A curious expression crawls across Tatum’s face. “What?”

“My answer… is one-hundred-fucking-percent yes. I am sure I do not want to have…” he turns up his nose, “spawn.” Tatum falls into a tizzy of laughter at his remarks. “Why the fuck would anyone choose to clean up shit for a living?”

“Oh, okay, Doctor Ramsey,” she sasses.

“That’s different,” he continues to grumble, sudsing up his arm again. “No kids… None… Absolutely not.”

Still laughing uncontrollably, Tatum starts to clean up the bathroom, throwing away Ethan’s shirt.  And that’s when she feels it: a warm, pressured stream of water on her ass. “Ethan Jonah!” She squeals. Feeling the water soak down to her panties, she twists her body to assess the spot on her linen dress; but suddenly, she feels the cascade of droplets pouring down her chest. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ethan bites his lip mischievously, holding the shower head like his own personal water gun.

“You’re making a mess, you asshole!” She grabs a towel, dabbing at her wet body.  “Sienna is going to be so pissed–”

“Sienna clearly has bigger messes to take care of than us.”

Tatum looks around the bathroom, noticing the various puddles of water on the counter and floor. “Oh, Rams…” she sighs into a chuckle, holding her cheek, “who needs kids when I have you?”

~🖤~

Tags: (please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed)

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[deexchanel]

I’m not naming my child Thorina.

Read 1 year later before reading this

Word Count:

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x BlackFem!OC, Tony Stark x BlackFem!OC

Warning: Swearing.

Summary: Lori does a big gender reveal for the whole team but by the end of the night, Thor and Steve are able to reveal something.

A/N: This is for @badbiss & @camsthesadgirlnow, you guys wanted more so here you go!!💜💜 thank you for enjoying this series, it keeps me going!

-excuse any typo or mistake-

"Is dinner ready, honey?" Tony asked from the couch with his eyes still glued to the tv. Him, Thor, Clint, and Bruce were watching football. Lori sat down the last platter of burgers.

"Yess, honey. Everyone can come eat!" She announced everyone to come to the table. "Scott, do I need to go get Hope?"

"It's fine; I'll go get her,” Scott said, then walk down the hall to his room where his wife and daughter were.

Soon everyone was sitting around the table, enjoying everyone's company. Lori couldn't hold her excitement about the news. She felt content with her family sitting around digging in the food she has prepared. Never in her life, she thought it would get this far; Lori has made it to the happiest point in her life.

"How was the doctor's appointment today, babe? Is he or she healthy?" Tony asked after swallowing his food. She rubbed her belly happily.

"Yes, they're very healthy."

"You should name them Thorina after me." Thor smiled, taking another bite of his burger. Lori tilts her shaking it.

"Thor, we are not naming the child Thorina."

His smile drops, "Thorina is a good name."

"Yeah, for your child, not mine.”

Steve snorts a laugh, but she side-eyes him again," Steve, you don't get to laugh; I'm mad at you."

"Oo Cap, what did you do to my fiance?" Tony laughs, wiping his mouth,

"I didn't do nothing." Steve rolled his eyes.

"He still talks to Sharon." Peter blurts, sipping on his water.

"You still talk to Sharon?" Hope asked, sitting her burger down in disbelief. "I thought you said you were going to tell her."

"Nope, he's chicken." Natasha gave an amused smile. "She's a nice girl, though."

"She is a nice girl. A good fighter." Bruce agrees then takes a bite of his burger. "I see why he hasn't told her."

"Bruce, what's that supposed to mean ??" Steve said, holding his hands up. "I love being around her; I just don't think she's the one right now. Don't say nothing to her, Stark."

"Not making any promises," Tony said in a sing-song voice.

"She blonde, right?” Clint asked, thinking. "I think I'm talking about the right one."

"Is Sharon the one with the big boobs that sit behind that desk downstairs?"Thor asked, trying to remember her face. Bucky facepalms knowing where the conversation was going to lead.

"You right, Clint, she's blonde, but No Thor, that's Rebecca," Steve smirked, amusedly, looking at Bucky. "Bucky knows who she is. Why don't you ask him."

Everyone looks at Bucky, making him shrink in his seat. "Bucky, how you know Rebecca?" Bruce asked, leaning forward, wanting all the tea.

"Steve got Sharon to put me on a date with Rebecca. It was all his doing."Bucky said in pointing Steve. "We got drunk; I woke up naked with a hangover."

"His thing worse than mine Lori, so be mad at him, not me," Steve whined like a little kid. Lori finished up the last of her burger, wiping her mouth.

"I guess I won't be mad at either one since I have good news. Be careful with those women because I don't mind hurting them if they do anything to hurt you. You to Thor."

She stood up, rubbing her belly, "Okay, I'm ready to announce it since everyone is done eating. Give me a second." Tony stands up, placing his hands on her waist.

"You need some help, babe?"

"I got it. Sit down."

Tony held his hands up, "Okay, honey. You got this."

Lori walked over to the oven, taking out the blue and pink icing cupcakes. She waddles over to the table, passing out cupcakes, giving Tony the biggest one. Excitedly she sat down, rubbing her hands on her stomach.

"Everyone close your eyes and on 3. Wait, let me go get something." Lori struggled to get up again. "Before you say it, no, I don't need help, babe."

"I'm just checking, honey."Tony shrugged his shoulders. She grabbed the balloons that were in the nearest room to the kitchen, which was Bruce's room. Making sure their eyes were still close, she walked out with the confetti canon and balloons.

"Keep your eyes closed!"

"They are closed!"Natasha said impatiently. Lori let go of the balloons above the table then opened the confetti popper.

"Okay, on 3 bite into the cupcake, then open your eyes."

"1.'

"2."

"3." Everyone opened their eyes, and Lori popped the confetti canon. Everyone cheers in excitement, seeing the color from the confetti and inside of the cupcake.

Pink confetti flew everywhere.

"IT'S A GIRL!?!?" Tony asked with a huge smile. He pulls her into a big hug, jumping up and down making her laugh. "IT'S A GIRLLLL!!!!!"

Steve pulled out his phone, face-timing Sam. "Sam, it's a girl!!! You owe Me and Bucky 10 dollars."

"Whatever, man! I knew it was a girl; I just wanted to be different."

"Sure man, you lost fair and square," Bucky said into the phone, then went over, giving Lori a hug then gave Tony one.

"Congratulation guys, I'm so happy for you two."

"Thank you Bucky so much! It means a lot having you here. That's why we want you, Thor, and Steve to be her godfather." Tony said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Bucky gave the biggest smile.

"Really? I would love to be her godfather."

"That's amazing news to hear. Let me go get Steve and Thor, don't move."Lori said happily waddling over to where Steve was.

Bucky and Tony watched everyone be happy over the news of the gender. It's been so long to see the Avengers truly happy since the death of someone that meant the world to them.

"I miss her so much Tony."

"I do too, every day."

"I know she would've been team boy all day," Bucky said letting out a little laugh.

"I know right," Tony said placing his hands in his pockets.

"Well, she is in here with us in our heart."

"Always."

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

After Lori's shower, she was in Peter's room on the floor helping him with the legos. She was sitting there with her legs crossed rubbing on her stomach while eating on sour gummy worms.

"Where did you want me to put this at?"

Peter points at an empty space, "Here."

"So talk to me, what's on your mind sweet face?"

"I'm excited to meet my little sister. I miss Champagne and Aunt May. Uh, I have a crush on this girl name MJ, that's about it." Peter said rushing the last part so she wouldn't hear. But Lori heard, her face brighten.

"A crush? What does MJ stand for? When can I meet her? OMGGG!"

"Mom catch your breath, MJ stands for Michelle Jones."

"You didn't answer the last question, Peter."

"I don't know Mom, I haven't told her that I like her because she is one of my close friends."

"Close friends? I thought it was just only Ned."

"I thought I been told you about MJ."

"No you haven't, tell meee," Lori said plopping another gummy in her mouth.

"Okay Okay. Michelle just started sitting with us at lunch and we always have little arguments but she is so cool to hang out with and we get along with our smartness. She's kinda taller than me and has brown hair,"

"Well, whenever you're ready to bring her around then I'll be so happy to meet her."

"Mom I thought about a name or two for my little sister," Peter said pouring out another bag of legos.

"Well, what are your suggestions?"

"I like Morgan or Maya. Have you and Dad chose a name for her yet?"

"Well no, he wanted to wait until he found out the gender so I guess now it's time to start looking for a name. I like Morgan, it has a nice ring to it." Lori said letting out a little yawn, giving her tummy another rub. A little kick frightens her a little bit.

"You okay mom? Is she okay? Do I need to get Dad?" Peter asked frantically seeing her jump from the kicks.

"I'm fine Peter, I'm okay honey. Let me see your hand." Lori said reaching for his hand. Peter leans forward scared that something was going to happen. She places her hand on his stomach, smiling a little bit. "You feel that?"

Peter smiled, "Yeah is that her?"

"It is !"

"Oh wow! I'm so excited to meet her."

"Me too."

------

Tony peaked his head through his son's door, his wife and kid were sleeping soundly. He went over placing a kiss on both their forehead making sure the cover was over them. He went down to the lab where Thor and Steve stood. It was around 10:20 p.m. so half of the team was probably sleeping.

"So did buying the injection go through?" Tony asked placing his hands on his hips. "Did she come to get it?"

"Makizeen did indeed sent her men to go get it, "Thor said looking around some lab stuff. "Stark, you might want to sit down to hear the rest."

"I think I'm good point break, what is it?"

Thor sigh knowing this was some big news," One of the scientists said they saw her. She and another girl had glowing hair with powers."

"Powers? Who are you talking about Thor?" Tony asked wanting them to spill it.

"Tony, they had sent us a security video of her," Steve adjusted the weight on his other foot.

"W-what? No that can't be. Cap, you saw her fall!" Tony stressed running his hand through his hair knowing who exactly they were talking about.

"I did Tony but I didn't see past the explosion. How are we going to tell Bucky?"Steve said now placing his hands on his hip. Bucky walked in catching the last of it.

"Tell me what?"

Lori yawned rubbing her eyes walking into the lab, "Honey let's go- is everything okay here?"

"What did you guys have to tell me?" Bucky questioned impatiently.

Steve rubbed his hand over his mouth.

"Bucky, Charmaine is alive."

That caught him way off guard.

"Wh-What?"

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

wow, Lori is expecting and they found out that Charmaine is alive.

Masterlist: Charmaine

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stay slutty my friends.