#ainsley writes

[dat-bruv-person]

GUYS SELF!AWARE HSR AU OR NO??

[ainslairo]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ affection… affection… and more affection!

The Aeon of Abundance, Yaoshi, found you in the Simulated Universe, and thinks you’re so cute! They just have to know who you are, what you are, where you’re from… so many questions! And they see you so regularly! Every week when you and the Trailblazer test the Universe for Herta, they get so overjoyed to see you in the Event of Occurrence. So, whilst the Trailblazer is fighting trotters, why not ask you out? (With a kiss on the side, of course!) Yaoshi hugs and kisses you everywhere and anywhere when they get the chance, and wants you all to themselves~

Kafka thinks you’re so interesting, so worthy of her attention, so perfect for her. She can’t get enough of you, honestly. She just wants to hold you by the waist and dance with you and give you everything you want ~

Sampo? Sampo. Sampo is just Sampo. I don’t know how you’re dating that man, you deserve better. Why do you like him, like- WHY. Anyway. Sampo can just come out of nowhere and give you a hug or kiss, but then when you turn around you won’t see him. This man, istg.

[stoner3456]

how it feels to be so hyperfixated on a character/ship to the point where I associate EVERYTHING with them and die inside every single time

[rqgnarok]

more than just a short time — jamie whelan

fandom: law & order organized crime

wc: 2,579 

warnings: SPOILERS for the season finale of law & order organized crime, canonical character death, canon mention of hospitals and violence. very self deprecating talk from a disabled character. ANGST. ANGST, ANGST, ANGST. female!reader

summary: Can someone be a widow if their partner only ever planned to propose?

author’s note at the end.

Jamie doesn’t wanna see her.

She’s on her way up, Bobby tells him gently. Jamie wishes the surge of relief that courses through him wasn’t mixed up with the abhorrent need to send her away, be as rude as possible to have her leave the room before she comes to terms with what he’s become.

He doesn’t. Jamie nods at Reyes and licks his lips. He feels his eyes burn when the door opens to (Y/N) walking in, clutching the strap of her purse like it’s a lifeline, eyes wide and terrified and determined all at once. Bobby cups her elbow in silent support as he leaves the room, and Jamie swallows the mean words that try to climb up his throat at the sight of someone else doing what he can’t; comfort her, touch her, be the steadiness she needs in a moment of chaos.

Neither of them speaks as they’re left alone, a bubble of something-not-quite-peace enveloping them and making the outside world a mere blur at the other side of the doors. It’s only them and the ticking clock, the smell of alcohol and disinfectant, and the lack of color and life one expects from this specific wing at Bellevue. 

They’d met in a bar around four years ago. Jamie had just made detective and some of his buddies at the four-nine were adamant about at least buying him some drinks in celebration. Just after finishing his first beer, another one had been delivered to the table, the waiter pointing to where (Y/N) was sitting at the bar, smile sheepish and face flushed at being caught. 

She’d heard them celebrating and figured there was no harm in inviting the next round. Jamie leaned into her space with a charming grin and said something stupid about being harmed by meeting someone so beautiful and not asking for their name. To this day (Y/N) calls it the worst pickup line she’s ever heard, but it got him a laugh and a date that very same weekend. 

It’s been good. It’s been great – the last time Jamie was so infatuated by someone he’d been thirteen and crushing after the next-door neighbor. He fell so hard for (Y/N) and simply kept falling as they moved in together before their second anniversary and started looking for rings a couple of months before he transferred to Organized Crime.

The development of their relationship has been both a whirlwind and the most obvious thing Jamie’s ever lived through. Of course he was supposed to meet her. Of course he fell in love with her from the very first night. He hasn’t been able to imagine his life without her since their first date. 

Jamie doesn’t want her here. Jamie needs her by his side. These are two things that have to coexist now, his new reality far from the idea he had for the rest of his life.

He doesn’t tell her to go.

“Hi, sweetheart,” (Y/N) talks first, breaking the silence and the distance between them all at once as if snapping out of a spell. She drops her things in the chair left behind by Bobby and is by his bed in an instant, hands hovering all over him like she’s unsure of what parts of him she can touch without hurting him. 

Jamie wills for his fingers to twitch, for his hand to wake the fuck up and reach for her, help her cross those last few inches she isn’t daring to do on her own. 

He remains limp against the bed. (Y/N) finally touches him, her fingers against his cheek. It’s enough for Jamie to shudder with a cry, turning his head so he can soak in the touch. She’s warm and steady against his skin and Jamie mourns his situation for the hundredth time in the last hour.

“Jamie,” she says, murmured and weepy. Jamie’s eyes close in agony but it feels too much like being dead already, so he opens them again. The sight that greets him is devastating: his almost-fiánce-never-to-be-wife, asking him for something he can’t give her. The lifetime together he’s been waiting to promise in his proposal has gone up in smoke in the blink of an eye.

It was the right thing to do. Jamie knew– not even the blinding pain that shocked through his nerves had been enough of a distraction to the urgency in Stabler’s voice– that the second Kyle died, the chance to put down Shadowerk would go with him. 

There really was nothing he could’ve done. The bullet had reached his spine the moment it entered his body. He was dead the second he walked into that godforsaken camp.

But (Y/N) hadn’t known that when she kissed him goodbye that morning. She’d stood on her tippy toes and wrapped her arms around his neck and joined their mouths together, tasting of toothpaste and languidly using her tongue to make him late for work.

“Hi,” he says, voice dry, trying not to sound as miserable as he is and failing. 

He’d already canceled a vacation on her earlier that week. A pre-honeymoon, he’d started calling it in his mind, maybe finally the right time to propose. He worries for a ridiculous moment if (Y/N)’s gonna be able to get a refund out of that, fretting terribly for what’ll happen to her after he’s gone.

He knows she can take care of herself but she’s not supposed to have to. Not while he’s alive and breathing.

Jamie’s overcome with how badly he wishes he’d called in sick. That he let (Y/N) drag him back to bed like she almost did and throw caution to the wind, burrow himself in her arms and her laugh, and leave the curtains drawn shut, embracing the safety of the darkness. He was so afraid of letting Bell and Stabler down, of having Reyes go out there without someone that cared for him watching his back, and where did that get him?

Without his body. Without a future with the love of his life.

The love of his life who can never find out what he asked of Bobby. Even if she loves him enough to do it for him– Jamie loves her too much to even ask. He won’t do that. He’s already planning on making her a widow, having her do it is just cruel. He made a promise a long time ago that he wouldn’t let the job make him someone he didn’t recognize and he’s not about to start bailing on it now.

Can someone be a widow if their partner only ever planned to propose? Jamie almost suggests they get a priest in here and use Bobby as a witness, but (Y/N) deserves better than that. And she’ll find it someday, Jamie’s sure of it, with an accountant or a banker or someone with a boring job who doesn’t leave the house to get shot at and get paid too little for it. 

“My day sucked,” he jokes weakly despite the inner monologue that’s rushing through his brain, trying to get her to smile and his voice cracking with emotion in the process. (Y/N) struggles with it but she manages an upward tilt of the lips, eyes wet. 

His pretty girl, so fucking resilient.

“I bet,” she tells him. She doesn’t stop touching him, which Jamie appreciates as much as he does the effort at light conversation. “Office coffee was that bad, huh.” 

Jamie’s laugh turns into a sob so quickly that he reasons it wasn’t really ever a laugh. His fragile good humor is gone in an instant, lip wobbling and features scrunching in agonized despair.

“I’m sorry,” he cries earnestly and without restraint for the first time since his mom died, probably. He shuts his eyes but it does nothing to stop the flow once it's started and (Y/N) can’t wipe all his tears fast enough. “We should’ve gone on vacation, I shouldn’t have gone to work at all, I’m so sorry–”

“Hey,” she cuts him off, equally as devastated. “Honey, it’s alright, it’s okay. You were doing the right thing, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

He keeps apologizing anyway, fervently. Jamie isn’t strong enough to stop when (Y/N) starts to cry, too. She just holds him as best she can while they cry together. “You don’t deserve this, you don’t need less than half a–”

“You’re alive,” (Y/N) insists fiercely through tears. Jamie doesn’t tell her how this can’t be much of a life. “You came home to me, baby. That’s all that matters to me, you understand?”

Jamie hums an affirmative and keeps crying, and (Y/N) keeps soothing her fingers over his cheeks, his mouth, his temple, his hair. Jamie’s tremendously grateful for her, even if the need to make himself small and let (Y/N) hold him will never be satisfied again. 

“You’re not half of anything,” she continues to reassure him without room for discussion. “You’re my everything. My whole entire life, Jamie–”

“I kept thinking of you,” he weeps, his breaths coming fast and hurried without the usual feeling of his abdomen pulling with the force of his grief. “All the time I’m out there, all I do is think of you, and I thought this time, I– I– I–”

She says his name helplessly, pressing a fervent kiss to his temple while some of her tears fall into Jamie’s hair, her breath stuttering. (Y/N) wraps herself around him as best she can without disturbing his injuries and the machines that are keeping him alive, leaving her in a most awkward position she doesn’t complain about once. Jamie’s love for her is too strong to be contained inside his body.  

“I love you,” he tells her after enough time has passed that Jamie’s almost certain he won’t break into another sob. His voice quivers but that’s about it, and he thinks he’s allowed. (Y/N)’s fingers tremble against his temple. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” she answers without hesitation, her voice a little shaky, too. She scratches at his hair and Jamie’s shiver is cut down to his neck. “I love you, baby, and we’re gonna be alright. We’re gonna be okay.”

“I don’t think we’ll make it to Alaska,” he tries not to scoff in disappointment because he knows (Y/N) won’t like it, and she proves him right when she purses her lips like she does when trying to convince herself not to slap him in the back of the head.

“Don’t be stupid,” she says, but it’s so, so soft it sounds like a term of endearment. Idiot, like honey, sweetheart, baby . “I don’t care about that. We can get shitfaced and take pictures with your thumb on the lens at home, you know.”

“Hey,” he says, trying and failing not to think about wedding rings at the bottom of champagne glasses or hidden in chocolate mousse cakes. He’s always made fun of people who think proposing with a choking hazard is a good idea but Jamie now aches for that stupidity, that normalcy that won’t ever be for him. He refuses to propose in a hospital room when he can’t even put a ring on her hand himself. “We probably won’t get a refund out of that.”

“That’s okay,” (Y/N) soothes. Nothing is, but Jamie lets her try. Maybe she’ll have better luck at pretending than he did. “I don’t mind.” 

They fall into silence and he almost goes to sleep under her hands, pacified to unconsciousness half due to exhaustion and half due to her presence: the calm in the middle of the storm. Jamie isn’t mad anymore, can’t be when she’s got him wrapped around her finger.

“I love you,” he can’t tell her enough, sleepy and quiet. The rush of air she lets out is the only indication that (Y/N) heard him. 

Breathing’s getting harder, already a chore, and now the thought of the device running out of batteries or accidentally disconnecting from where it's keeping him alive makes him anxious. (Y/N)’s worried, he can tell even if she almost never voices it because she refuses to make him feel guilty about doing the job he loves. Jamie wishes she’d tell him off, scream and cry at him and not bottle it all up. It’ll only be worse when he–

He says, "Want every day with you," with sharp breaths between each word because he's too exhausted to say I want to spend the rest of my life with you. There's a ring in my locker at the station that I've been waiting for the right moment to give to you. He doesn't say, every moment is right when we're together and I'm sorry I'm only realizing that when I’m unable to breathe on my own.

(Y/N) smiles, shaky and watery, and the most gorgeous sight Jamie’s seen in his life. She knows, and Jamie knows she does. The knot that had built up the whole time he'd struggled to stay awake, waiting for her in this hospital bed, loosens.

It’s gonna be okay. She’s gonna be alright, even if she’ll miss him. She’ll grieve and move on knowing, without a doubt, that Jamie loved her like he’s never loved anyone before. It’s enough for him. He can only hope it’s enough for her, too. 

“Honey,” she rouses him gently from an accidental slumber hours later, the sun that gave little light to the room now gone behind the horizon, (Y/N)’s fingers still caressing his face. She looks exhausted and worried and the most beautiful Jamie’s ever seen her. Her smile is brittle and shaky. “Your dad’s here. I didn’t want to wake you up, but–”

“‘s okay,” he tells her. “Can you give us a few minutes?”

“Sure,” she says softly, hesitation clouding her features only for a second before she’s leaning in for a kiss, firm and lingering. Jamie exhales into it, something in his chest unfurling at the touch. He hadn’t realized they hadn’t kissed yet. “I’ll bring him in.”

“Wait,” he says, managing a boyish grin with lidded eyes. “Do that again.”

(Y/N)’s smile is bright, and Jamie’s glad to taste it when she goes in for another kiss on his mouth and then moves on to his cheek, his nose, his chin, his forehead. “Insatiable.”

“You love it.”

“God help me, I do,” she pats his chest carefully. “Let me go get your dad before he wonders what we’re doing in here.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, and once last time because he can’t help himself. “I love you.”

(Y/N) turns from where she already had one foot out the door, expression tender. “I love you back. See you in a minute.”

Later, after crying in the safety of his dad’s presence like a little boy and saying his goodbyes, Jamie closes his eyes as his breaths begin to recede. The shrill sound of his heart monitor, the panic that takes over the room when he stops breathing, he’s aware of none of it. 

Behind his lids isn’t death, but the Northern Lights and (Y/N) underneath them, showered in colors and smiling at him like she did that first night in a bar, young and unknowing. She offers him her hand and Jamie takes it. Nothing hurts.

 ________

this fic snuck up on me ngl but the season finale fucking wrecked me. i’m still thinking about writing a fix it.

short (considering my standards lol) and somewhat sweet? hope you enjoyed and if u want tell me what u think!

<3 

masterlist / ao3 / buy me a coffee

[fansformentalydistroyedmen]

Last Names

A Malcolm Bright x Reader Fan fic

Your last name is a secret his is hidden can this love start and survive with two traumatized people. Dumb parents

Chapter 1- The Meeting

“Hold on Sam! Don’t let go! I’m trying, the rope just won’t cut. No Sam! Sam! Mom! Dad!” I sit up fast panting and hot tears running. My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. I rub my eyes and look at the clock. It was about 5 in the morning. An hour of sleep is not too bad. I roll out of bed and straight into the shower. Trying to be as fast as possible I don’t even bother trying to warm up the shower. It’s not the day to try and get over my fear of water. As I watch my hands shake as I try to scrub my hair I close my eyes and as always, there they are just like always, haunting me. “Go away.” I whisper desperately. Opening my eyes and being blinded by sunlight as it floods my bathroom. I finish up and get out, quickly getting ready for work. I grab my phone and walk out of my apartment. As soon as the door opens I can hear the busy city of New York. The loud car horns, the screaming people, and of course the sound of construction. I wave down a taxi and get in thanking the driver. As he drives away I stare out the window letting my leg bounce up and down. It’s a bright day, the sun is way too bright, not a cloud in sight. This city is terrible to live in with constant migraine but you learn to deal with the pounding in your head. I rummage through my purse and pop a couple of my daily meds, an anti anxiety, some to help with the migrain, then a few for panic attacks, and so on and so just anything they claim will help, they never really do. The rest of the taxi ride is quiet as I let my head fall back. Once my ride comes to a stop I pay and get out. I walk into the police precinct. Immediately I am flooded with familiar sounds and faces making me relax. I walk over to my desk throwing my stuff on the table. I slump into my chair and rub my face. Soon someone taps me on my shoulder, my friend Dani.

“You look tired.” She hands me a cup of coffee. I am immediately overwhelmed with the smell of terrible coffee. I smile and take a sip, is it disgusting, yes, will it only be one of thirteen, again yes.

“Thanks.” I take another sip

“You look tired, late night?” She smirks.

“Yep you know the fun stuff, insomnia, nightmares, and the occasional attack from my cat, Penny.”

“Boring you really got me excited in the beginning.” She says with a slight frown. I raise my eyebrow.

“Really you had even the slightest of hopes my night went different. Do you even know me.” I laugh. She rolls her eyes at me and walks to her desk. I start to fill out some boring paperwork and continue with my coffee. Until my Boss and Mentor Gill walks out.

“We’ve got a case!” He yells out as he throws a coat over his shoulders. With that everyone on my team gets up and leaves. I jump into Gill's car and he starts driving while Dani and my other team member JT follow behind us.

“So how are you doing?” Gill starts with his usual questions.

“You know, fine nothing exciting.” I shrug.

“How's the nightmares?” Again with the questions.

“Preventing me from sleeping but I got a whole hour last night.” With that Gills chuckles.

“So what about the migraine?” Listen, all these questions are sweet but my answers never change.

“Painful but bearable.” Once again I reply now for the lecture.

“You know if you drank more water instead of the, what is that your fifth cup of coffee this morning?”

“6th thanks for underestimating me.” I can see his eye roll. The rest of the car ride is quiet besides the tap of my foot on the floor. Once we arrive I get out but Gill stays.

“I’ll be back, just head upstairs.” I look at him weirdly but follow his instructions. I walk up the stairs and show my I.D. I see Dani and JT so I walk up to them.

“So what do we have?”

A single homicide looks pretty straight forward.” JT claims.

“Boring.” I groan realizing that was said out loud and not just in my head.”

“Sorry I didn’t mean that I just mean it shouldn't be too bad. No no of course her murder was bad I...never mind.” I bite my lip trying to shut up as JT shakes his head. We all start examining her body. Something felt wrong with this case. It was just a feeling but something was off. A couple minutes later I hear Gill talking to Dani and JT and they do not seem happy. I must of zoned out and missed something. I look straight forward only to be met with bright blue eyes.

“Holy!” My hand goes for my heart.

“Sorry you scared me.’ I shake my head.

“Oh sorry ma’am.” The strange man says. My head tilts in curiosity. Who was he and why was he so comfortable in a crime scene. I watch the wheels in his head turn as he stares at the lady.

“Can I help you?” His eyes shoot up to look me dead in the eye.

“Oh sorry, I just haven’t seen you around here before. Normally it's all the same people. I’m Y/N by the way, not that it matters.’ I smile

“Hi Y/N, I'm Malcolm Bright, a Consultant.” He smiles softly but as soon as he said his last name something went off in my head.

“Not to be blunt but why did you just lie to me about your last name?” I ask as curiosity takes over.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry when you said your last name you blinked a few extra times, that's a tell for when people lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You just did it again, the whole blinking thing.”

“I’m not lying, you must be mistaken.” He looks down at the body again.

“Why do you keep lying, you must be a terrible liar.”

“Listen, ignore the blinking thing, why did you introduce yourself with just your first name is the question? People normally use their last name.” I bite my lip at that.

“I don’t like being called by my last name, that’s my parents name not mine.”

“If you won’t tell me the truth I won’t tell you either.” He looks back at the body, I narrow my eyes at the strange man in front of me. Who was he? Why was he here? Questions flooded my head. I was caught off guard when he stood up quickly. He looked angry, I hope I didn’t upset him. Just then he starts going off about how this was a copycat of the surgeon. He went into the surgeon with a fine tooth comb. It was crazy the amount of details he knew about this case. He later stormed out of the apartment and Gill followed. I closely trailed him. He was my ride back and if he was leaving I was too. I could see them arguing. Soon Gill caught a glimpse of me so I walked out.

“Time to go back to the precinct?” Gill rubbed his face.

“Yeah, Bright gets to sit up front he’s older.” My eyes widened but I did not have the energy to argue as my head started to pound even harder.

“Fine whatever.” I exclaim as I rub my eyes and get into the back of the car. Malcolm stares at me weirdly as he gets into his seat. The car ride is quiet which I accept gratefully as it now felt like my head was going to burst open all over the backseats. Once we arrive at the precinct everyone trails into the conference room and starts talking over the case. I sit in my chair with my knees pulled up to my chest as Malcolm goes over a Profile of the killer. Once he is finished people start to trail out of the room as I stare at the board soaking in everything. Malcolm shows up behind me.

“So see anything?’ I gasp at the sudden person and noise behind me.

“Sorry, no, geez what do you have with scaring me.” I rub my eyes viciously.

“I don’t do it on purpose, just Y/N.” He says snarkily.

“Oh so that's how it's going to be Malcolm. So you're a profiler?”

“Yep and I can profile you and anyone else.”

“Ah really.” I laugh

“Yep like I can tell that either you're high on anxiety or that’s your 9th cup of coffee. Which is because you haven’t slept because of something that obviously haunts you. Family issues, financial struggle no your to put together for that, medical issues would explain the migraine you have. So what is it?” My eyes widen and my anxiety picks up as my legs shakes more viscously.

“None.” I say as I stand up way too quickly. The world starts to spin and I feel my legs start to give out. I grab onto the table as he reaches for me. I grab my head as he hesitantly places a hand on my shoulder.

“You good?” He stares with scared eyes. I blink a couple of times.

“I’m fine, sorry I stood up too quickly.”

“Maybe you should sit down or drink something other than coffee.”

“I’m fine but thank you.” I walk out of the room quickly and go to the bathroom knowing its the only place he can’t follow me. I quickly lock the door and slide down it covering my face.

[mindfights]

we got time until the next alpha. i can keep layering post-retribution chargestep drabbles right in between those epilogue slides for years.

For as clever and dangerous as you've come to realize Ortega is, he makes mistakes. Well. You've both made mistakes, but he gave you access to the delivery services and his money.

Not that you couldn't easily bankroll the nefarious idea being cooped up in his apartment inspired yourself, but that could give the game away.

So could answering the door, you think bitterly, anxiety digging in its claws, before shaking the thought away so thoroughly your neck is a bit sore.

No, this is a calculated risk.

Ortega is enough of a clotheshorse that you can pad your physique in his oversized, designer sweatshirt from his closet. Cover up the tattoos, pilfer a pair of his sunglasses, broadcast don't look at me far and wide... it'll work.

It does work.

The delivery guy walks away with the impression he got the signature from one Ricardo Ortega's chunky uncle, and that he narrowly escaped a long, long bout of chit-chat. He walks down the hallway from Ortega's door cloaked in relief.

Once you unpack the box it's an extended game of hobbling around Ortega's apartment, putting back dress shirts and sunglasses and his extended collection of Charge merchandise through the ages, smoothing them down the best you can, stowing parts of the delivery in the fridge and others carefully hidden behind the one picture he has of you all together.

It's clearly a stillframe from a broadcast, Marshal Charge at the front projecting confidence in his more-than-a-little roughed up state while Steel glowers down at you and Anathema in the back for not taking getting patched up seriously. Off regulation. It makes you smile a little sadly as you position your secret weapon behind the cracked and plainly repaired frame.

Then it becomes a waiting game.

Ortega has been trying not to maintain a strict return schedule — one more attempt to keep you hidden — but you've worked out the pattern he's unwittingly created for his Mondays through Fridays, so you know roughly when his keys should open the lock.

You make sure the refridgerated components are ready and prepared just in time, though you admit it was more of a challenge than it would have been on healed legs.

When he comes in, you're seated at the counter with your back to him, looking over your shoulder, wearing one of his dress shirts you couldn't fully unwrinkle with your hair pulled up.

Ortega closes the front door instinctually before greeting you with the single-most uneasy, "Hello?" you've ever heard from him.

"Hi, Richie."

That does nothing to relax his stance, but it does get a lopsided smile, and a questioning, "What are you doing, Ains?"

You can't exactly keep the blush from starting to rise on your face, thinking about actually enacting your plan. It's stupid, incredibly stupid, but you want it to mean something. You want him to see it means something. It's effort you didn't bother with where he could see in the old days. It wouldn't go anywhere, couldn't be anything, after all.

You take a breath and try that ridiculous communicating honestly thing. "You know how you always took me out?"

He kicks his shoes off and braves walking further into his apartment. "Yeah?"

You swallow. nod sharply to the kitchen. Refuse to meet his eyes. "I thought I could return the favor? Like a, uhm..." Motherbitch, it sticks in your throat as he steps closer to peer into the kitchen, curiosity plain on his face. "A date."

If the familiar scent combination of garlic, cumin, pork and peppers wafting from the pot on the stove didn't make his eyes widen, it was definitely you willingly calling this a date.

"¿Una cita?"

You bite down the reflex to be snappish and nod, finally looking up at him from under your bangs, mumbling, "I made... Tía Elena's chili verde." She had taught the recipe to you on one visit to the ranch while Ortega did chores too difficult for his mamá. You had been looking down then too, embarrassed by why you asked. She had only laughed and lifted your chin, thinking so loud and warmly, sweet girl, like she saw your entire agenda.

You slide off your chair with less grace than you want, the skin of your thighs making the softest friction squeak as you go, taking up your crutches to navigate to the fridge and pull out — with a little trouble and careful juggling — the cheap plastic pitcher containing the sangria you made. Not a Tía Elena recipe, but good enough to be served beside one unless your taste buds are as faulty as the rest of you.

You heft it toward Ortega for inspection and that finally seems to knock him out of the odd stupor he's been hovering in. The smile that breaks out could be the last thing you see and you'd be fine with that.

Ortega comes at you like he's going to hug you, pauses, plucks the pitcher of deep red wine and marinated fruits from your hands to set on the counter, and then resumes his approach, wrapping his arms tightly around you and nestling his face against your neck.

"You made me dinner? Not just dinner, my mamá's cooking? You must love me, Ains."

You swallow hard, relaxing in the hold and resting your hands against his lower back, whispering, "And be crazy enough to try recreating her cooking?"

He laughs so warmly against your skin before it turns into a gentle kiss at against your pulse. "Maybe a little crazy, but it smells good. You did all this because you felt guilty about all those greasy burgers I bought us?"

Now or never. You take a breath and manage to keep nerves out of your words. "I did more."

That separates you both just enough to be faced with the full force of the tenderness written on Ortega's features. Because of you.

"Look behind that awful shot of you and some hooligans," you instruct, and follow behind him as he goes digging.

Polaroid cameras aren't inexpensive, but it was a necessary splurge. Certainly one he'll enjoy more than the designer pajamas he decided to get you. And the likely survival rate in the one and only Charge's hands is higher than any other sort.

Ortega turns it over in his hands a couple of times, experimental, curious, before looking back at you for an explanation. You don't really think he needs your help to work it out, but you're not going to deny him. Not tonight. Not when you're hopelessly soft.

"You don't have any good photos of us together, right? I thought... you should have some. Now that you know."

Another risk, but one you can control.

The smile drops from his face at that and for a moment you start rethinking every step in your little plan, wondering where you fucked up. Then he's glassy eyed and pulling you into a one armed hug, raising the camera and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

The shutter noise overlays Ortega's delighted, "This will be a perfect date, chaparrita."

[mydollsmovearoundatnight]

When I get Aidan's doll my A's are never going to stop cuddling

They need a bed to lay on together so they can cuddle in comfort

[elfgremlin]

just discovered a whole half chapter written for the next chapter of halcyon which i was dreading on starting so maybe i continue halcyon

[fieryncbles]

Like this post if you would like to roleplay/write Prodigal Son character(s) on Tumblr.

Comment what character(s) you would like to write, if you want.

( Even if the thought that the Prodigal Son rpc / fandom is kinda dead and there are no rp partners is stopping you, like this post anyway, if you really would like to write those characters if you had partners )

[joshlane]

WHO: Josh & @ainsley-slater

WHERE: Halloween Masquerade

WHEN: October 28, 2023

If there was an event in town that involved food, Josh was going to be perusing the desserts; it was just a given. He had a sweet tooth, and he figured that he had earned it for how good he was at eating normally. He loved a good salad and sandwich, but he loved a good slice of chocolate cake even more. "Got any recommendations?" he asked the person next to him as he gestured to the dessert table, and then let out a laugh, "other than one of everything."

[whats-a-terrarium]

thinking about how 1x11 dropped the most insane and concerning piece of ainsley lore in the show and then never addressed it again so here’s a fic

[dat-bruv-person]

-‘๑’- all he wants: kaveh

a/n: I've been gone for quite a while huh... sorry :( Here's some angst <3

gn!reader, poc!reader friendly <3

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

Kaveh cries to get your attention -> he wants you to notice him. He romanticises everything. When you two get in a fight, he's so emotional - writing in his diary that he's sorry, the pages tear-stained. He's a little princess, guys, he's always loved royalty.

He's such a pretty thing -> he loves being pampered, especially if you take the lead. He'll cuddle you so tightly and kiss you all over and hold your hands and squeeze them. He's so tired of arguing and losing to Alhaitham, give him a rest.

He looks out the window when he's home -> He wonders if you'll come round to visit. Alhaitham is always making fun of him when he does, but your company is the best. Sometimes he'll fall asleep. It's even worse when it's raining. He draws next to the window, finishes his work there, knits there; waiting for you to come. Don't leave him.

[ainslairo]

·˚ ༘ make-out session!

Dan Heng will most definitely pull you to a library for a kiss whilst acting like he has no idea what you're talking about. What do you mean he's the one that snuck you out of your room at 2 am just for a kiss? You're being ridiculous... Now get yourself over here - these lips won't kiss themselves.

Dan Heng’s lips are so soft and pink and full, they're just AKSSJJSBAKAJ I wanna nibble on them so bad 😭 lucky youuuu

[hottubraccoon]

“Well,” she sighed, “there’s an opportunity for you.” She twirls a stray lock of fiery red hair around her index finger, her wide hazel eyes fixated on me. I sit up and fumble with the busted mic in my hands.

“Seriously?” I blurt out disbelievingly before I could bite my tongue. I felt like I’d ruined the show by announcing one song then using different lyrics, breaking a mic, and leaving the stage before I could finish the song. “You’re going to give me a chance?”

“A second chance at proving that you’re worth the effort,” she clarifies, smiling. “There’s another show here next week, it’s more rock than indie but you look like you can get a soft rock vibe going. Write and perform your own song and I’ll grade you, so to speak.” I nod eagerly, already pulling out my scrap notebook and scribbling out the date and times she gives me.

“I don’t want to let you down.” My hands hesitate over my notebook and I can’t bring myself to look up. There’s a long silence from her, all I could hear was the rest of the bar ordering drinks and the tech crew sorting through their wires. The wait pulls on my nerves and set my skin alight until, finally, I lock eyes with the woman sitting across from me.

“You won’t,” She promised.

[johnmurphysgirl]

Edit by @irresponsibear

Title: PSYCHO – JOHN MURPHY

THE HOURS FEEL LIKE DAYS. If it weren't for the guards coming to check on her every couple hours, she's afraid she'll run out of time. Ainsley Ashter has spent the last five years in Solitary confinement. The silence alone was enough to drive anyone mad, let alone someone like her. Five long exhausting years spent staring at four walls, with nobody but herself for company. Even the guards wouldn't speak with her unless they had no choice. 

Not that she blamed them. How do you look at someone who murdered their own parents brutally, with nothing but the metal post of her bed, and her bare hands? The easiest answer? You don't. 

She heaves a sigh, half laying, half sitting on her cot, her elbows propped up so her head rests in her palm. Her other hand simultaneously pulls at a string located on the thin blanket. Any time now, she'll be pulled from her room, and dragged down the corridors until they reach the air lock. From there, she'll be locked inside until Jaha presses a button, and then she'll be sucked out to space. A supposed instantaneous death awaits her. 

Keeping busy is the only way Ainsley knows to keep the demons at bay. Well, as long as she could. She's in the process of pulling one of the strings in the threading loose, when she hears the thudding of boots hitting just outside her cell. The door squeaks open forcefully, followed by four guards entering quickly. Each looking more nervous than the next. 

"Prisoner 179, turn and face the wall!" The guardsman, Walker, shouts leaving no room for arguments. 

Ainsley does as she's told. She knows the inevitable fate that awaits her, and there's not really any sense in fighting it. At least now she'll find out what it's like to die. If there's anything on the other side; if there were some truth to May we meet again. 

God, she hopes not. 

"So, what are my chances of having a last supper?" Ainsley mutters sarcastically from her position facing the wall, but not one guard dared to answer her. It's easy to assume it's because they are all afraid that she'd lash out, but the truth is; she accepts it. Her destiny. 

Guardsman Nikolas is surprisingly the first person to approach her from behind, albeit a little hesitant. Ainsley doesn't even have a chance to react, before he's shoving a needle in the side of her neck. The effects of the sedative work quickly as the world around Ainsley blurs. The last thing she remembers is the stinging sensation of something on her wrist. 

★──────────★

A groan leaves her lips simultaneously while her eyes flutter open. Once her eyes adjusted, she took notice of people strapped to seats in some kind of dropship. Some were awake, and some still trying to shake off the aftereffects of the sedative the guards used. Some has even taken the liberty to stare at Ainsley horror-struck. Out of solitary for five damn minutes and she already missed the silence. 

"Prisoners of the Ark, hear me now." Chancellor Jaha's voice rang out, coming from a monitor in the center of the dropship. His head held high, and it was at this moment that realization struck Ainsley. He's sending them to Earth. "You've been given a second chance, and as your Chancellor, it is my hope that you see this as not only a chance for you, but a chance for all of us, indeed for mankind itself." 

She frowns at Jaha's words, not really understanding how it's a second chance when he's sending them to a radioactive planet that's been uninhabitable for nearly a hundred years. Yet they call her a psychopath. Ainsley can't help but see the humor in it, as she scoffs. 

"We have no idea what's waiting for you down there," Jaha continues. "If the odds of survival were better, we would've sent others. Frankly, we're sending you because your crimes have made you expendable." 

"Oh, for the love of God and all that is holy, really? Does he actually believe this bullshit?" Ainsley scoffs, letting out a bitter chuckle. "Me, I can see it. Others? Not so much."

 A few heads turn her way, but they are quickly drawn away by a guy yelling further down the dropship. 

"Your dad's a dick Wells!" 

Wells.. Wells Jaha? Wow. Seems like the Chancellor himself sent his own son to die. Ainsley isn't surprised that one sentence is enough to send the delinquents into a fit of laughter. 

Ainsley shakes her head, and goes back to brooding. Her eyes sweep over the delinquents, before looking back up at the screen. The Chancellor's face causes her to roll her eyes again. He really seemed to believe the bullshit coming out of his own mouth. It infuriates her, and she doesn't even know why.

 

"Those crimes will be forgiven," Jaha continues after a pause. "Your records wiped clean. The drop site has been chosen carefully. Before the last war, Mount Weather was a military base built within a mountain. It was to be stocked with enough non-perishables to sustain three hundred people for up to two years." 

"Spacewalk Bandit strikes again!" 

"Woo!" 

"Go Finn!" 

The shouts coming from various delinquents causes Ainsley's head to abruptly spin in their direction. Her eyes land on who she assumes must be Finn, the space walk Bandit, who is currently hovering in the air. It's stupid of him, to be doing something so reckless. Even she, who had been locked up for five years, knows exactly what will happen when they reach the Earth's atmosphere. 

He will slam against the wall. The force of the impact probably killing him on the spot if he's lucky. If he's not, well, he will suffer before he dies. Either way, the end result will be the same. Ainsley can't help but be curious about what will happen to him after he's dead. Is there an afterlife, or would who he is never have mattered at all? 

Finn floats towards the Chancellor's son himself, Wells Jaha, and a blonde girl Ainsley doesn't actually remember. Unfortunately, Ainsley can't hear the few short words that were spoken, but judging by the expression on Wells' face, it isn't pleasant. Finn is smiling, almost tauntingly, his eyes darting between Wells and the blonde with ease.

"Stay in your seats!" The girl exclaims in the direction of two young boys who thought it would be alright to float around like Finn is. 

The boys ignore the blonde's advice, and almost immediately following, the turbulence starts. It rocks the dropship with such ferocity that Ainsley is already preparing for death. That doesn't stop her from gripping her seat so tight her knuckles are turning white. The screams of the other delinquent fill her ears along with the slamming of bodies against the wall. Her heart beat so loud that Ainsley's afraid of it exploding out her chest. 

The crash jerks Ainsley's head so fiercely that it slams into the boy beside her, the pain enough to make both of them hiss and curse. His head jerks away from hers almost immediately as if he'd been burned, after realizing who she actually is, before he leans far enough away from her and closer to his friend. A deranged scoff escapes her lips. It doesn't take her long to be drawn to the bodies on the ground of the boys who wouldn't listen to the girl. Ainsley morbidly wonders if it would be frowned upon to study them, but figures most-likely it would be so she doesn't. 

Ainsley's seat belt retracts by itself. Ignoring the pang in her head, she stands from her seat and follows the moving delinquents towards the ladder to get to the lower level. Time to see if the remainder of the delinquents would die from radiation, or if this truly is their second chance. Ainsley climbs down the ladder as quickly as she can, and pushes her way to the front of the crowd growing by the doors. Ainsley ignores the whispers surrounding her appearance. It's only a matter of time before they decide she doesn't belong. 

"Stop! The air could be toxic," the blonde from earlier shouts, doing the same as Ainsley pushing herself to the front. 

"If the air is toxic, we're all dead anyway," the man states. He's wearing a guards uniform, but Ainsley doesn't remember ever seeing him on the Ark. 

"Bellamy?" A dark haired girl pushes her way to the front, confusion and awe lacing her features as she approaches him. It's like caution drifted out in the wind when she rushes forward and places her arms around him, his doing the same. 

"My God, look how big you are." Bellamy smiles affectionately. 

"What the hell are you wearing?" The girl takes a tiny step backwards, her nose scrunching up in disgust as she looks over his clothing choice in disdain. "A guard's uniform?" 

"I borrowed it." Bellamy reassures her. "To get on the dropship. Someone has to look out for you." 

Ainsley watches the scene with only mild interest. To be perfectly honest, all she wants is those doors to open. To finally know whether they all will end up like the boys upstairs, or if they'll live. 

"Where's your wristband?" The blonde demands towards Bellamy. 

"Do you mind?" The girl standing next to Bellamy glances at the blonde in annoyance. "I haven't seen my brother in a year." 

"No one has a brother!" 

"That's Octavia Blake! The girl they found hidden under the floor!" 

Ainsley whistles slowly as Octavia tries to lunge forward to get to whoever said that, her face red in anger. In all honesty, Ainsley hopes to see a fight. It doesn't come to one, because Bellamy doesn't let it. He holds Octavia back from the crowd. Bellamy, in not so many words, tells Octavia that they'll give the delinquents something else to remember her by. 

About how grand it'll be to be remembered as the first person on the ground in a hundred years. Ainsley probably should just stay silent, to just watch everything unfold without giving the delinquents any other incentive to not trust her, but where would the fun in that be? Besides, she doesn't exactly know how to keep quiet. Being in the sky box with nobody but herself to talk to, well, she can't stop herself from talking now. 

"It's ninety-seven, actually," Ainsley says, loud enough for all the delinquents to hear. The ones closest to her took a step backwards, leaving just her and the blonde in front of the Blake siblings. The whispers started again, though this time about her, and realization dawned on Octavia. Ainsley could see it in her face. The glare is wiped off and replaced by apprehension. 

Bellamy stares at Ainsley, albeit a bit confused. He can't understand how she could be as insane as others on the Ark have said. He looks over her facial features for only a fraction of a second to be more inconspicuous, and shakes his head. She looks seemingly normal. Her soft features give off an appearance of innocence, one that even reminds him of Octavia. This is a problem he'll have to address soon, but not now. For now, he reaches his hand up to the lever, and pulls. 

The doors to the dropship open slower than Ainsley would like, and she has to put her hands over her eyes to block the onslaught of the sun's violent rays. Once she doesn't have pink dots lining her vision, she takes her first look at their new planet. It's green. The most vibrant shade of green she has ever seen. The sky's the most beautiful shade of blue with white clouds at various intervals throughout the sky. She's pulled away from looking at the trees, when Octavia begins making her way down the platform. One foot plants firmly into the dirt below, followed quickly by her other foot. Octavia holds her arms out in a 'welcome home' gesture, taking in a deep breath. 

"We're back, bitches!" 

This is all that's needed for the delinquents to cheer and scream and race off the dropship, and around the vivid forest. All except for Ainsley. Instead of cheering around like a lunatic, she simply moves to the edge of the platform and sits down. She's filled with a nameless dread as she watches them run around in absolute glee. 

How long will it take before they cast her aside like she's nothing? It's the only thing that keeps her from enjoying the new world around them. Ainsley can already tell Earth is going to be a lot more pain than it's worth. 

What if, after all these years spent alone, she is as insane as everyone thinks she is? The years have not been kind. Her life has never been kind. So why the hell would it start now? 

Read it here

[fansformentalydistroyedmen]

Last Names

A Malcolm Bright x Reader

Beans get spilled, whoops

Chapter 4, Liars

Life sucks, make a new friend and boom you lie to him. Now you are being blackmailed, how great is this. Maybe his mom is right, he doesn't need all my bullshit. I run my hands through my hair frustrated. Should I even try to fix this, he doesn’t want me not if he found out the truth. The truth about my parents, my past, and maybe even these hidden and suppressed feelings I get only around him. I groan and stand up walking to my kitchen. I grab a glass and start to get some water so I can start taking some of my pills. After dowing the glass I lay down trying desperately to fall asleep. After countless hours of tossing and turning I finally fell asleep. 

“Don’t be a wimp just pull the trigger!” 

“I told you she’s too weak to do it.”

“Pull it or I swear I will kill Samuel!” *Gun shot* 

I sit up fast panting, sweat dripping down my face. I rest my head on my wall slowly trying to steady my breath. After a couple minutes I checked my phone, to my sadness no case for right now. That's when I heard my doorbell ring, I groaned but got up to open it. To my shock Malcolm smiles and holds two cups of coffee up, how perfect. I open the door for him and smile.

“Hi, umm what are you doing?” I ask

“Well last night my mom definitely said something to you so I figured I make it up to you.”

“Oh wow that's so sweet.” I rub my face.

“Please come in.” I smile as he hands me the coffee, I 

might need something stronger if I am going to tell him. We walk over to my kitchen island and he sits down. 

“So what did my mom say, I’m really sorry by the way.” He says sympathetically.

“Umm I- Malcolm I need to tell you something.” I bite my lip.

“Are you ok?” He asked, concerned. I stand up and run my hands through my hair and he follows me as I start to pace.

“I am but you're gonna be really mad and you have every right to be and I am really sorry.” I take a deep breath and see him staring at me trying very hard to profile me. 

“Malcom my parents aren't dead, I lied. My parents are actually in jail, I am a Scott, as in Maggie and Lenoard Scott. The serial killers and experimental child abusers. I am so sorry for lying.” He just stares at me, gears turning.

“Please say something.” I plead. 

“ Why would you lie if you just found out I'm a Whitly?” He questions.

“ I was scared but then your mom told me that she would tell you if I didn’t stay away from you.” Tears now streaming heavy and hot down my face

“Did you lie about your brother as well?” He asks

“No not at all, he drowned, they killed him. “Are you mad?” he bites his lip like he’s thinking then he starts choking? Laughing? He's laughing! My eyes widened in horror and my mouth opened as I taste the salty tears. 

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry.” He says while laughing.

“What the actual hell is happening?” I yell as he continues to laugh.

“Did you really think I didn’t know you were lying?” He laughs

“I- yeah.” I say exasperated.

“Please you are a terrible liar and this is literally my job. I knew as soon as you told me they died.” He smirked.

“Why didn’t you tell me!” I yelled, still having tears running down my face.

“Well you did lie to me also I am genuinely sorry about my prying mother.”

“You jackass!” I smack him and walk off. He grabs my wrist and pulls me towards him. My eyes widen as they meet his bright blue eyes. I swallow hard and wait for anything to happen, it would be so easy to just. No! 

“Y/N I’m sorry I didn’t think it through. I didn't think it would upset you.” He said sincerely.

“I thought I ruined the only relationship with someone who gets me I have ever had, so sorry I got emotional.” I said roughly.

“Y/N I’m sorry I shouldn't have.” I was having a hard time focusing since we were so close to each other I could hear his heart beats. 

“I mean… you forgave me, I think I can forgive you.” I continue to stare at his eyes, he slowly lifts his free hand and wipes the tears that were resting on my cheeks. This is wrong. I work with him, emotions are messy, he’ll leave me. I cough and pull away quickly and start walking away. 

“Breakfast?” I ask, walking over towards my stove.

“Uh sure.” He says following 

“What do you want?” I ask

“Umm, I mean I’m not sure I don’t eat breakfast a lot.” He laughs 

“Makes two of us.” I laugh while grabbing some eggs.