#and a school shooting that happened here a few years ago got brought up

[billowyy]

.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not letting my friend take a picture of my meal?

So this actually happened 10 years ago when we were all 13/14, but I brought it up to some friends who asked why my 8th grade friendgroup imploded and they found it funny but had mixed feelings on whether or not I was fully in the wrong, so I thought I’d share it here for shits and giggles. Buckle up for some petty 14 y old drama…

My friend (Mary, 14) ran an instagram account where she would post pictures of food “she” would eat. She took it very seriously and would often invite us to lunch / dinner with her at slightly expensive restaurants so she could take pictures of all of our meals and save them for days she didn’t have anything to post. With that, she would always request that we all get something different from each other so she could maximize the photos. For context, we lived in one of those bougie suburb areas and most of our parents used to give us lunch/dinner money. Mine didn’t, I had a part time job so I had to pay out of pocket.

I got annoyed with this really fast. She kept shooting down me suggesting we go to my favorite places after school because we’d “already been there” or “the lighting wasn’t good for photos” or “the food just didn’t look appetizing”.

I didn’t want to go to some of the places Mary suggested because I am a picky eater and they were expensive, so I stopped participating in this pretty much halfway through her time running the account.

The big fight happened on a friend’s birthday party, we’d gone out to eat and I was hungry and exhausted from doing some yardwork earlier. Mary badgered me about ordering something different than another friend of ours and I snapped at her and said okay sure whatever because I didn’t want to deal with it.

When my meal showed up, Mary had been going around positioning everyone’s plates trying to get the lighting right and I snuck a few carrots into my mouth. It wasn’t noticeable on my plate, it looked fine. Mary lost her shit at that though and told me that I was ruining everything, and that I had no self control or patience and started attacking my character… To which I then decided to actually mess up my plate by taking my fork to it and making it look un-presentable.

Mary and I got into an argument at the table and people were really split between being tired of Mary being bossy annoying and controlling, and people arguing that we should be more supportive of our friend’s hobby since it really doesn’t take long to just let her take the photos.

This led to that, eventually through a string of messy group chat / private chat messages people started getting really personal with their attacks and bringing up old beef which led to the group imploding but that’s not relevant since I missed out on most of it by virtue of going to bed early.

Anyhow, was I the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[fictionadventurer]

When Emma stepped through the shining door in her palace's library, there was a blaze of light, a roar of wind, and then she landed on her hands and knees on the wooden floor of a suburban bedroom. She recognized the horse pictures on the wall, the stuffed animals on the bed, the yellow curtains fluttering in the window. She was smaller, thinner, lighter, and felt as though a world's weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

A woman's face appeared in the open doorway; every curl of her short hairstyle was familiar. "There you are, Emma!" she said cheerfully. "I've got your dressed washed for church tomorrow. Now come on downstairs. It's almost time for supper."

Behind Emma, the doorway had become an ordinary closet, cluttered with clothes and toys. The clock read twenty minutes past five. She'd been away only ten minutes.

A moment ago, she'd been the powerful queen of a vast realm whose rule had brought a golden age of prosperity and peace. Now she was twelve years old again, in her familiar old bedroom, safe with a mother that she hadn't seen in thirty years.

Emma wept for joy.

*

Emma's bookshelf contained one new volume--an exquisitely-bound brown leather book, with a tooled and embossed cover, containing a beautifully illustrated account of all the tales of Emma's reign. Her cousin Tessa--as good as a sister--was enchanted by it, and believed Emma without question when she told her that the stories were true.

"Don't you miss it?" Tessa asked, one night a few months after her return.

"Sometimes," Emma said. "But I'm glad to be home."

"You like it here?"

"Why not? We have chocolate here. And giraffes. And shooting stars. Our world is just as amazing as Athelor."

"In Athelor, you were a queen."

"Here, I'm not," Emma said. "Do you know how nice it is to wake up in the morning and do things that don't affect the fate of an entire nation?"

"But isn't it disappointing? In Athelor, you knew you were important."

"Who says I'm not important now?"

*

Emma told her mom about Athelor often. Mom thought Emma was just making up wonderful stories.

That was all right. Because the stories were wonderful.

*

After school, sometimes Mom would take Emma out for pizza. Emma would climb into a carriage that moved with a heart of fire, to a room bathed in enough light to make the night as bright as day, where she ate the cuisine of a far-off realm, and then rode home singing along with minstrels whose voices had been captured long ago and far away.

Emma always marveled that she lived in a world with such magic.

*

Emma grew. And matured. It came with different milestones here, and happened slower, but it had its share of struggles.

On nights when she felt small, helpless and afraid, she remembered that she'd once led a host of warriors--human, animal, and elfin--into battle with a horde of monsters and come out victorious.

She might not be in Athelor, but she was still a queen.

She could fill out a college application.

*

Emma was leaving the campus library with an armload of books when a sparrow spoke to her from a branch above her head. Emma looked up and saw at once it was an Athelorian sparrow.

"Iprit!" Emma cried. The sparrow had been the most devoted of the queen's messengers. "How glad I am to see you!"

"My queen," Iprit said, bowing her head. "I have found you at last."

"Is Athelor in danger?" Emma asked, suddenly fearful.

"She is well and at peace. Berna rules well in your stead."

"As I knew she would," Emma said with a smile. Emma had spent years choosing her successor. Her elfin advisor, though young, was bright and brave and loved Athelor with all her heart.

"But she rules as regent only. She would not take the crown until she knew what had become of you."

"Now you see that I am well," Emma said. "Alive and well and happy."

"Will you not come home to us, my queen?" Iprit asked. "The door stands open to you. Take up the crown and rule your people once more."

For a moment, Emma's heart yearned for it. Athelor called to her, a bright, beautiful dream, a wondrous adventure.

A gust of wind swirled in the branches over her head, sending a crimson shower of leaves down upon her. She gazed out across the campus, at a world she loved. She thought of her mother, Tessa, her classmates, her studies, her friendships, and the future she was building here.

Where was her duty? Here or Athelor?

Another wind came, gentle yet brisk, and Emma knew it for the wind that had taken her to Athelor and brought her home. It lifted her spirits and cleared her mind so she could hear the voice that had never led her wrong in her years as queen.

Emma met Iprit's gaze. "Berna may take up the crown with my blessing. I have done what I must for Athelor. Another world needs me now."

Iprit bowed in a bird-like way, spreading out one wing. "As you wish, my queen. But what shall I tell the scribes? How ends the reign of Queen Emma the Wise?"

"As all good stories should," Emma said. She shifted her voice into the melodic cadence of the best of the palace storytellers. "After many years of good and faithful service, the queen found her way home, where she lived happily all the rest of her days."

[bookshelf-in-progress]

The Return of Queen Emma: A Short Story

When Emma stepped through the shining door in her palace's library, there was a blaze of light, a roar of wind, and then she landed on her hands and knees on the wooden floor of a suburban bedroom. She recognized the horse pictures on the wall, the stuffed animals on the bed, the yellow curtains fluttering in the window. She was smaller, thinner, lighter, and felt as though a world's weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

A woman's face appeared in the open doorway; every curl of her short hairstyle was familiar. "There you are, Emma!" she said cheerfully. "I've got your dressed washed for church tomorrow. Now come on downstairs. It's almost time for supper."

Behind Emma, the doorway had become an ordinary closet, cluttered with clothes and toys. The clock read twenty minutes past five. She'd been away only ten minutes.

A moment ago, she'd been the powerful queen of a vast realm whose rule had brought a golden age of prosperity and peace. Now she was twelve years old again, in her familiar old bedroom, safe with a mother that she hadn't seen in thirty years.

Emma wept for joy.

*

Emma's bookshelf contained one new volume--an exquisitely-bound brown leather book, with a tooled and embossed cover, containing a beautifully illustrated account of all the tales of Emma's reign. Her cousin Tessa--as good as a sister--was enchanted by it, and believed Emma without question when she told her that the stories were true.

"Don't you miss it?" Tessa asked, one night a few months after her return.

"Sometimes," Emma said. "But I'm glad to be home."

"You like it here?"

"Why not? We have chocolate here. And giraffes. And shooting stars. Our world is just as amazing as Athelor."

"In Athelor, you were a queen."

"Here, I'm not," Emma said. "Do you know how nice it is to wake up in the morning and do things that don't affect the fate of an entire nation?"

"But isn't it disappointing? In Athelor, you knew you were important."

"Who says I'm not important now?"

*

Emma told her mom about Athelor often. Mom thought Emma was just making up wonderful stories.

That was all right. Because the stories were wonderful.

*

After school, sometimes Mom would take Emma out for pizza. Emma would climb into a carriage that moved with a heart of fire, to a room bathed in enough light to make the night as bright as day, where she ate the cuisine of a far-off realm, and then rode home singing along with minstrels whose voices had been captured long ago and far away.

Emma always marveled that she lived in a world with such magic.

*

Emma grew. And matured. It came with different milestones here, and happened slower, but it had its share of struggles.

On nights when she felt small, helpless and afraid, she remembered that she'd once led a host of warriors--human, animal, and elfin--into battle with a horde of monsters and come out victorious.

She might not be in Athelor, but she was still a queen.

She could fill out a college application.

*

Emma was leaving the campus library with an armload of books when a sparrow spoke to her from a branch above her head. Emma looked up and saw at once it was an Athelorian sparrow.

"Iprit!" Emma cried. The sparrow had been the most devoted of the queen's messengers. "How glad I am to see you!"

"My queen," Iprit said, bowing her head. "I have found you at last."

"Is Athelor in danger?" Emma asked, suddenly fearful.

"She is well and at peace. Berna rules well in your stead."

"As I knew she would," Emma said with a smile. Emma had spent years choosing her successor. Her elfin advisor, though young, was bright and brave and loved Athelor with all her heart.

"But she rules as regent only. She would not take the crown until she knew what had become of you."

"Now you see that I am well," Emma said. "Alive and well and happy."

"Will you not come home to us, my queen?" Iprit asked. "The door stands open to you. Take up the crown and rule your people once more."

For a moment, Emma's heart yearned for it. Athelor called to her, a bright, beautiful dream, a wondrous adventure.

A gust of wind swirled in the branches over her head, sending a crimson shower of leaves down upon her. She gazed out across the campus, at a world she loved. She thought of her mother, Tessa, her classmates, her studies, her friendships, and the future she was building here.

Where was her duty? Here or Athelor?

Another wind came, gentle yet brisk, and Emma knew it for the wind that had taken her to Athelor and brought her home. It lifted her spirits and cleared her mind so she could hear the voice that had never led her wrong in her years as queen.

Emma met Iprit's gaze. "Berna may take up the crown with my blessing. I have done what I must for Athelor. Another world needs me now."

Iprit bowed in a bird-like way, spreading out one wing. "As you wish, my queen. But what shall I tell the scribes? How ends the reign of Queen Emma the Wise?"

"As all good stories should," Emma said. She shifted her voice into the melodic cadence of the best of the palace storytellers. "After many years of good and faithful service, the queen found her way home, where she lived happily all the rest of her days."

[legacygirlingreen]

August 30th 1889 // Farmer Sebastian Sallow x Reader (Part 3)

Part 3 of the short series. Link for Masterlist can be found here:

Word Count: 2,500

Audio found here

And my flight was awful, thanks for asking

The sun was going to set in an hour or so, and she knew that her mother would call her for dinner when that happened, yet she couldn’t force herself to leave. Currently perched under the tree next to her neighbor while they both read quietly. On occasion Sebastian would look up, making sure no sheep had wandered off from where he’d taken them to graze, before looking back down at his book. More often than not she’d take that as an opportunity to stare at him. 

Since coming back for the summer, Sebastian had grown darker in complexion, as his hair had grown slightly lighter, and more similar in color to carmel, from being in the sun all day. He was more beautiful now than he had been when they’d met a few months ago. 

“You know I can feel you staring” he said smugly as she blushed and looked back down at her book, afraid of the boy making fun of her. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I am simply reading” she said with a sigh as he plucked the book from her grasp making her shoot him an annoyed look. 

“Ah yes, page 137. The same one you’ve been on for the last hour. What do you find so interesting on this page to linger? What’s it say?” he quizzed her and her eyes grew wide knowing she had paid more attention to his side profile than the book. 

“Uh…” she struggled to find an explanation, seemingly unable to provide insight on what the pages contained. Eventually she gave up, crossing her arms and pouting while muttering out “garçon de ferme” as laughter ripped from his throat. 

She had realized quite early on that Sebastian understood her native tongue. The boy was as brilliant as her Gran had suggested, knowing not only English and Gaelic as one would predict, but also French, Latin, German, Greek, Italian and even some Turkish.

“Oh how I’m going to miss that sass soon mon chou” he said with a laugh, the pet name rolling off his tongue. The unfortunate nickname had come from Sebastian, who upon learning that the French phrase mon chou for “darling”, also translated to “cabbage” in english. 

“What do you mean you’re going to miss me soon?” she asked quietly, still unaware he was soon departing Hogwarts. He figured her grandmother had taken the time to explain that come September he’d be back at school and not in Feldcroft, but he had assumed wrong. 

“Oh… um… school is starting back and I am beginning my 4th year.” Sebastian explained hoping she wouldn’t take it poorly. He was no stranger to how tightly the girl had latched to him, finding security and comfort in his presence. He had learned of her father’s dreadful passing and how unsafe she had felt leaving home. There were no other children her age in the village. 

Sebastian would be lying if he tried to deny he hadn’t found the younger girl’s company to be pleasant. She was brilliant, even for her age, which he finally confirmed as ten, nearly eleven but her birthday was after the school year began so she’d have to wait a full year before starting Hogwarts. 

He shared books with her, often ones that had difficult to understand material, and she easily grasped it. They had thought provoking discussions on magical theory, despite her not having shown signs of having any yet. In a small way he wishes she had, so he could teach her spells for when he wasn’t there. Regardless, Sebastian felt that this summer in Feldcroft had been the most comforting he’d experienced since moving here after his parents died. 

He’d start each day by finding her already reading on the lawn of her Gran’s, fruit in hand and a smile on her face. She’d help him with his chores and bring a book along when things got boring. On days his chores weren’t as involved they’d walk to the shore and skip rocks, or spend time swimming together. He had brought her to some ruins nearby, nothing too far, but they’d explored them until the sun set, finding treasures long forgotten. 

Sebastian realized she hadn’t spoken as he’d been lost in thought reminiscing on the summer.  When he looked down, he saw the young girl with tears in her eyes, staring off into the fields, not responding. The sight of her so saddened instantly made him want to draw her into his arms and let her know it was going to be okay. He settled on a less intense version as he turned his body towards her, wiping a tear off her face.  

“Hey don’t cry, it’s going to be alright… I can visit sometimes on the weekends or maybe your mum will let you visit me in Hogsmeade or -” he tried to reason with her, not caring what his classmates would say about him hanging around with a girl a few years younger if they saw him in Hogsmeade with her. Instead she shut him off with a quiet whispered phrase. 

You’re leaving me too. 

The words had immediately torn at his heart. He cursed Merlin for making her too young to come back to school with him, punishing her with another year in this stupid Scottish Hamlet alone. For allowing her father to be struck down in such a poor way, leaving her at the loss of a male figure in her life. At how her Gran continued to get worse and worse, knowing the old woman would soon likely depart as well, leaving this girl even more alone. He hated it more than anything that he couldn’t do anything about it. 

The young girl had stood not long after saying the words, grabbing her long skirt in her hands and running away from him. Her book abandoned as she sprinted back towards the hamlet from the small field they were in. She ran into the small wooded area at the base of the mountain, using the trees to hide from him as she ran.

Sebastian didn’t care he was abandoning his uncle’s sheep when he sprinted after her. If one ran off he’d spend all night chasing it down. Right now he needed her to stop running from him so he could help her see he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He couldn’t leave knowing she was upset with him. 

“Y/n stop!” he shouted as he got closer, her shorter legs no match for his longer ones. When he got right behind her, he didn’t even think, as he reached down to scoop her up and lift her petite body into the air as she kicked. 

“Put me down!” she cried out, more tears falling and he shook his head, pulling her close to him. Sebastian had hoped the girl would relax in his arms but it seemed to have the opposite effect. She trembled against him so violently as she continued to struggle, begging to be put down, to let her get some distance from him. 

Suddenly, and without warning a loud sound in the space next to them boomed through the air. In the panic Sebastian dropped the girl, watching as a small willow tree emerged from the ground and sprouted to a decent height as he stood there amazed. The girl had also stopped trying to escape simply to look, surprised at how it simply sprung up from the ground before them. 

Sebastian reached out, touching its soft light purple flowers in awe. In all the ways he’d seen or heard of someone’s magic manifesting he’d never heard of something this spectacular. In a moment of confusion, sadness and anxiety she had sprouted an almost fully grown tree, one that was often referred to as his namesake no less. 

He couldn’t help but stare at the tree in amazement, looking intently at its branches and bark. He studied the roots, imagining that to anyone else, they would assume it had been alive for decades, not to have just sprouted from the ground in a moment of emotion. But it was here, in a simple flash. Standing tall, proud, and beautiful.

“You just, your, you-” he stuttered, looking for the words to say as she looked at him confused. While the young girl knew that the subsequent tree sprouting from the earth had to have been a result of her emotional distress, she didn’t understand his reaction. 

Eventually Sebastian found the words he’d been searching for as he grabbed her again without much warning. This time she didn’t fight it, allowing him to wrench her into his arms as he picked her small body up and spun it through the air. 

“Your magic, it’s brilliant! It’s so wonderful!” He said as he laughed under the canopy provided by the willows branches. 

To say the girl had emotional whiplash at the situation was an understatement. To have gone from happy, to saddened to shocked all in a few moments, was a lot to process. Not to mention something she could only compare to warmth in her stomach at being picked up by the boy… 

Sebastian set her back down, using his thumbs to brush aside the almost dried tears from her face before smoothing her hair back down. 

“Tell me what you were thinking of when it happened,” he asked her. 

The girl knew exactly what thought spawned the massive tree in front of them, but that didn’t mean she felt so inclined to share with him out of fear of embarrassment. So she opted to look up at him, while softly shaking her head “no” as she got lost in his brown eyes. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to… I can tell you how it happened for me if you’d like? I’ve never told anyone, not even Anne” He offered and at the opportunity she raised an eyebrow, eager to know more about him. Especially if that meant getting information no one knew. 

“Okay…” she said before taking a seat at the base of the tree she conjured, sitting along one of its roots before tucking her legs to the side so her skirt wouldn’t move too high. Sebastian decided to take a seat next to her, laying his legs out in front of him. He could tell he’d brown a smidgen over the summer as his pants rose up higher on his legs than previously. 

“Well, it wasn’t long after my parents had died. I  was 8, almost 9. I wanted to visit their graves but Anne refused to go with me, and Solomon refused to take me. So I snatched the bag of floo powder and snuck out of the house in the middle of the night. Once I got there, I’m not really sure why, it all sort of hit me at once. I kept thinking of how pretty my mom used to look while she was brushing her hair and singing quietly to herself. All of a sudden I looked down and where my tears had hit the ground, some asphodels were sprouting from the freshly dug grave. They still are there ya know, to this day. In fact almost the entire area has been taken over by them the last time I visited. Only thing visible is the stone marker itself.” He explained, as he twirled his wand with one of his hands unconsciously. In the other he realized the girl had slipped her own hand without him noticing. 

“I overheard my mom talking to Gran about how worried she was that I am a squib… since my magic didn’t present itself when my papa died. I suppose now that’s not an issue” she said gently and he squeezed her hand before letting go of it. 

“That’s not possible for a witch as brilliant as you...” he said before turning around and running his open palm over the bark of the tree still in awe of it. 

“I kept thinking about how sad I was going to be without you here” she mumbled quietly as she refused to look at him.

He thought for a moment before he turned back towards her. 

“You thought about how much you were going to miss me, and in turn sprouted a sallow” he said through a chuckle. 

“A what?” She asked, confused.

Sebastian gestured to the tree they were sitting under before saying, “Willows, oftentimes called sallows” then he pointed at himself continuing “Sebastian Sallow”. 

“Oh. I didn’t realize that” she said, almost embarrassed. She hasn’t understood that she had created something so closely linked to him out of the fear of him leaving. 

“I think it’s sweet… I’m going to miss you too, you know... If I could throw you in my trunk I would” he explained with a laugh. 

“You are?” She asked timidly while scooting closer to him. Sebastian looked down at the girl whom he’d grown so fond of, so protective over, in such a short amount of time. 

“Of course I am,” he reassured her. 

“I don’t want to be alone here” she said sadly and once again her eyes welled up with tears. 

“I know you don’t, and I wish I didn’t have to go… I promise to write every day. And visit some weekends. I’ll even ask your mum to bring you to hogsmeade some weekends the school lets us visit and I can introduce you to my friend Ominis. And then next year you’ll be at Hogwarts with us” he explained, trying to cheer her up.

“Okay…” she said with a sad nod. Sebastian still felt bad so he clutched his wand, pointing it towards his open hand and conjuring her a little flower before placing it behind her ear. 

“Cheer up, it’ll be Yule time before you know it…” he told her before standing and offering a hand to pull her up. 

“It’s getting late, I need to go wrangle the sheep and you should get back to eat with your family. I’ll bring your book back later” Sebastian said and she turned to walk back to town alone. 

“How about you see Anne and I off in the morning?” He asked as she looked back at him. 

“I’d like that,” she said quietly while looking at her shoes. 

“Good. I’ll meet you by the floo tower tomorrow morning then.” He told her and with that she left before she kept crying in front of him. Once she was out of sight he reached up, still awestruck at the tree. Quickly he reached up and broke off a small strip of flowers and put it in his pocket for later.

[kharmii]

So I got the idea to actually calculate the global human population myself, city by city, and guess what.

It’s not even 3 billion.

Not even CLOSE.

There are NOT 7 billion people on the planet. You can count yourself. The overpopulation hoax is the foundation of the globalist terror regime.

Whether it's three or seven billion, the global population doesn't matter. Overpopulation is a regional problem. There are starving children with distended bellies running around in Africa and India, and yet I suspect those places aren't handing out free birth control and running article after article about how "Cats are Better Than Babies".

The globalist terror regime is focusing that on first world nations while flooding every good place to live with problem people. Here in the US, every country south of us is clearing out their prisons and mental hospitals then sending them right up to us in large caravans of tens and hundreds of thousands of people. It's white privilege to have a job with a living wage, medical benefits, etc. We need to let everybody in so large corporations don't have to send their companies to China. The whole planet should be one huge sweat shop.

Speaking of white privilege, I have an OT beef. A few days ago, a fourteen-year-old student at Apalachee High School named Colt Gray brought a semi-automatic weapon to school and shot a bunch of people before being detained by police. According to the wiki, the school is in a town that's 58% white where half the students are economically disadvantaged. Colt Gray was one of these students. His mom was a low life drug addict who was arrested for "domestic violence, drug possession, property damage and various traffic violations, including driving under the influence charges. She also faced civil fraud charges over the purchase of a used vehicle and was locked up in Ben Hill County as recently as April."

Colt Gray ended up a Kamala Harris supporting trannie who was probably bullied at school on top of having a dysfunctional family. They tried to wipe his online presence, but it's being passed around.

It looks like he lived with his dad who was also abusive, and now the dad is being arrested for giving the shooter the weapon he used as a Christmas present last year. This is the second time I've heard of this happening. The first time is when the parents of school shooter Ethan Crumbley were charged with manslaughter in April 2024 because they supposedly also supplied the weapon used.

Now I can see why people would think this was appropriate. Terrible parents who raise a kid wrong should be held accountable for setting a monster loose in the community, and yet this only seems to be a white issue. I've yet to see a black parent be held responsible for her child's actions. Black people have an 80% out-of-wedlock birth rate and fatherless household rate. They make up 13% of the population but commit 90% of gun crimes, 90% of adolescent gun crimes and most of the mass shootings. The news only focuses on the rare white person committing a mass shooting and acts like it's an epidemic, even though black people are shooting up every major city every day of the year.

You aren't even supposed to question this. Black people problems are the result of white privilege and 'them evil colonialists who brought crop rotation and modern medicine to the third world' blahblahblah. Black people who aren't qualified to run a hotdog stand at a little league game are supposed to be able to lecture white people endlessly, and yet we aren't allowed to say, *lifts finger* uh um.....maybe if you waited until you were married to pop out babies, then maybe your atrocious crime rate would go down. Srsly, we're dealing with the problems of people in generational poverty who have like a 10% literacy rate, and the media keeps beating it into our heads that all the problems of the world are caused by white people, and it's only white people who need to have fckn dogs-cats-rats-smelly horses instead of babies.

Another meme they're always pushing in the media is that 'right wing extremism is the biggest domestic terror threat' and that all mass shooters are right wing (laughably ridiculous). Then when a radicalized Marxist trannie like Audrey Hale shoots up a white Christian school, it takes literal years for the authorities to release the manifesto. It's supposedly a danger to the public. When we finally get to read it, it's nothing but the ramblings of a mentally ill radicalized Marxist who complains over and over that nobody loves them, and that's why they have to kill a bunch of white Christian kids because the media beat it into their deranged mind that white Christians are the cause of all their problems.

[noodyl-blasstal]

Musicalically

It's @taznovembercelebration day 11 and today I got "musical".

Read below or on Ao3, and find yesterday's prompt here.

-

Owning a music shop was always going to be conducive to weirdos, Kravitz knew that going in. He’d done customer service for years, he knew how to deal with people wanting refunds because their precious angel child who didn’t practise wasn’t Yo-Yo Ma; that “it was delivered like this and I want a replacement” was always going to be the default of people who didn’t remember they picked up at the store; and that kids were always sticky no matter what (how? why?”) and therefore couldn’t be allowed to touch anything valuable. What he doesn't know how to deal with, is Taako.

Taako has been there four times a week every for the last five months: the last hour of every Tuesday evening, Thursday late night opening, Saturday most of the day, and Sunday too. He wasn’t disruptive, per say, well, apart from the fact that Kravitz got distracted a lot when he was around, but that wasn’t necessarily Taako’s fault. He couldn’t be blamed for the way the light hit him when he sat at the piano in the bay window; how he tapped his pencil against his lips when he was thinking; or the way he always looked like he was pouring everything into whatever it was he was playing. Kravitz loved to watch him sway in time as he bowed strings or bop his head as he beat the shit out of the tester drum kit. He was beautiful, good at every instrument he picked up (apart from the incident with the trombone, but Kravitz wasn’t one to criticise a guy for trying something new). It was nice to have a regular too… although, maybe he couldn’t actually be considered a regular if he didn’t buy anything? But he asked Kravitz for paper one time and he was polite about it, which is more than most people, honestly.

Today Taako was noodling on a bass guitar, head tipped down, hair cascading over one shoulder and making Kravitz want to dig his hands into it. He was a vision. Kravitz had long given up asking him if he needed any help, Taako came to him if he wanted to interact, which he has increasingly often lately. Maybe they could be friends? Kravitz buries his head in receipts instead of staring more. It’s back to school season and that means parents deciding that their tiny proteges need a whole range of different instruments and college kids realising they can’t possibly go without an acoustic guitar. Who else will keep everyone entertained at parties? (He’s always a bit guilty when he sells those, but they’d get them somewhere, may as well be from him.) Honestly, Kravitz will help anyone get nearly anything musical, mostly because he likes to see them happy and know they have the instrument they want, but also bills. Bills just keep happening. Gotta keep selling stuff to make sure his dream shop doesn’t evaporate into a memory, a smokey wisp of unfulfillment. Not that things were tight right now, between the agreement to match online prices from reputable websites (Kravitz had a list and he had reasons for the ones that weren’t on it); Magnus helping him with home delivery; and the music lessons he started offering two years ago, things were pretty okay. Reasonable-ish in fact! This job was never going to make him a millionaire, but he didn’t have to worry like he used to.

He’s deep enough in rumination that he doesn’t notice the regular thud of the bass stop, or the footsteps padding across the floor. “Hey handsome, got any of that tea you like with you today?”

Handsome. That had been happening for a few weeks now. Neither of them had addressed it, but Kravitz was sure Taako just enjoyed how flustered Kravitz got every time he used it.

“I have, would you like some?”

“Taako never says no to good tea from a good man, but cha’boy brought you something to go with it.” Taako brandishes a beaten up tin which seemed to have a double horned unicorn shooting a rainbow out of its mouth painted on top of it. Kravitz wondered if he could lease the image… It’d make good stickers and stickers were always good sellers at the till.

Kravitz knows better by now than to reach for the tin, Taako will provide him with whatever it is in the exact way he intends it to be served, then he’ll plate Kravitz up anything spare in the beaten up employee kitchen which he tuts at every time he goes into. It’s not for customers, but Kravitz kind of gave up on telling Taako that. Well, he thought about telling Taako that he couldn’t go in there that one time, but he’s so handsome and acted like he owned the place and apparently Kravitz is really into that? It’s fine. Probably.

“I’ll brew a pot.” Kravitz stands and it’s glorious. He hadn’t realised how long he’d been hunched over the desk in receipt goblin mode for. He stretches his arms as high as he can and groans in satisfied delight as his back pops. It’s gratifying to realise that Taako’s staring intently at the place where his shirt rides up, showing off a strip of his stomach. He’d be embarrassed, but Taako looks positively wolfish.

“Taako’ll come with. Wouldn’t want you to get lonely in there.” He grins easily, as if he’s doing Kravitz a favour. It’s easy to believe that he is.

Taako hops up onto the counter and swings his legs aimlessly as Kravitz empties the kettle and refills it. If he has company then he’s doing things properly - fresh water for a brew.

“Do you always treat tea as a ritual?” Taako asks, leaning forward to watch intently.

“Can you explain?”

“Well there’s all the things to do, the boil and the pot and the special cups… Or are you just making things special for Taako?” Taako’s genuine, then teasing, although embarrassingly close to the truth.

Kravitz tries not to give himself away. “I guess it is something of a ritual. I haven’t thought about it that way before, but there’s something nice about making it the way I was taught - it’s familiar. I do it for special occasions.”

“But you’ve put your own spin on it too?”

“Hmmm. Maybe.” Kravitz watches the bubbles start to form.

“Guessing whoever taught you didn’t have special skull cups?”

“Oh, they’re actually my Mum’s, she got a new set and gave me her old ones.” Kravitz pours the water in slow circles onto the cloth bag of leaves.

Taako nods sagely. “Gothimily.”

Kravitz snorts. “Not my Mam, she’s colours incarnate, she’s just willing to put up with spooky nonsense.”

Taako nods again. “The Adams Family of Ballamory.”

Kravitz groans. “The themes are going to be stuck in my head for days. Why are you doing this to me?”

Taako smiles softly. “Wouldn’t want you to forget about me while I’m not around.” Before Kravitz has time to reassure him that there was no way he could be forgotten, Taako's back to his cheesy smile and moving on. “So which bit’s yours then?”

“I couldn’t forget… I mean… er.” Kravitz isn’t sure if it was a joke or not, maybe he’s not supposed to respond. “The brewing time is my bit. I did some tests one summer when I was bored. I think it was my Mums’ way of keeping me busy for a few hours so I stopped pestering them. They gave me a timer and a special notebook and unleashed me on the tea stash.”

Taako looks positively delighted about this admission. “And you did it? Baby Kravitz, no questions, just tea brewing?”

“It sounded interesting.”

Taako’s looking at Kravitz like he wants to study him, Kravitz wouldn’t object. “And was it interesting?”

“It brought you this tea, didn’t it?”

“That’s not an answer, but I’ll take it. Shall I stir?”

“No!” Kravitz grabs Taako’s hand firmly. “Stirring the pot is stirring up trouble.”

“What if cha’boy likes a bit of trouble?”

“Kravitz very much doesn’t.”

Taako raises an eyebrow. “And what does Kravitz like?”

You thinks Kravitz. “Not being cursed by tea.” Says Kravitz, because he’s a coward.

Taako nods sagely. “Mmmmmmmmmm, fine. Not being cursed is also good. But you know what would be better?”

“What would be better?”

“Giving Taako your number.”

“I’m not sure how that relates?” Is Taako teasing him? Has he picked up on Kravitz’s crush and decided to torture him?

“You don’t have to. It’s optional.” Taako sounds blase, but there’s an edge of insecurity creeping in.

Shit, Kravitz can’t ruin this. “No no no no! I want to! Wait, I’ll be back.” Kravitz heads siwftly for the door, turns sharply to reassure Taako again, “I’ll just be a second.” Kravitz dives out of the kitchen to grab a pen and paper, immediately turns back on his heel again. “Leave the tea alone!” He warns, then finally grabs the writing equipment.

“You know you could have just put it in my phone?” Taako asks, dangling said phone towards Kravitz.

Of course, why wouldn’t he just put the number in Taako’s phone instead of writing it down like some kind of paper shagger? Why did he have to be weird about it? “I can do that.” Kravitz reaches for the phone.

Taako passes it to him and Kravitz tries to nonchalantly, cooly, easy breezily and sexily input his contact details. “Just one thing?”

“Mmmhm.” Taako replies.

“Why do you keep coming in?”

“Is it a problem?”

“No.” Says Kravitz quickly and taps his number into Taako’s phone to illustrate the point.

“Do you need to know?”

“I’d like to.”

Taako tilts his head, looking for something in Kravitz’s face that he hopes he’s providing. “I’m writing a musical.”

“You’re doing what?”

“You heard me. Taako’s writing a musical.” The oppositional aura softens slightly as Taako realises Kravitz isn’t mocking him. “It’s set in space.”

Kravitz wants to know everything. Kravitz wants to help. Maybe he can open later on the days Taako comes in. “Tell me about it?” Kravitz asks as he saves his number and hands the phone back.

Taako snatches it and retreats from the kitchen like a skittish cat. Hopefully to retrieve the tin and not to flee forever and never call.

Kravitz’s phone buzzes. “How about Taako tells you over dinner?”

He’s grinning at his phone like an idiot when Taako catches him unawares again. “Open!” Taako taps his shoulder then gestures to Kravitz’s mouth.

He does, doesn’t even hesitate, and there’s sweetness bursting on his tongue and flaky pastry crackling under his teeth and it’s perfect, just like everything else Taako makes.

Taako presses a cup into his hand. “I waited for the timer, now try them together.”

Kravitz does. It’s wonderful. “Yef.” He says, through a mouthful of pastry.

“Try again, Krav?”

Kravitz chews furiously. “Yes. To dinner. Yes, I’d like that.”

-

I hope you enjoyed! Find the next prompt here.

[takeeachdayonebookatatime]

Castle fanfiction 

Why did you elbow me? 74

Out of breath

Lanie: pov I tell Castle I will sit with her during the meeting you can go home shower and get some writing done. Since Kate was doing okay the nurse unplugged her from some of the monitors, I brought the IV pole with us. At the support group I mention Kate has an upper respiratory virus, hence the teether. The cardiologist hosting the support group asked us all to introduce ourselves and a nice lady named Mary, said I don't mean to be rude or intrude but you said Kate has an upper respiratory virus. Is that the reason she is in the Er because if it is, I would like to know if it's going to happen to me because we all have arrhythmia here.

Kate: pov A young man says well, Mary her shirt does say I survived a TCA, that might also be a reason. I tell everyone the respiratory virus was caught early and no it's not the real reason I was taken to the ER. Yes my heart rate was elevated but under control. I had a normal cough like everyone else, which I still have. I was brought in for chest pain. Thankfully it was not a major heart issue, just a pulled muscle. I have past trauma to my chest so the coughing just killed my chest. As I say that I start coughing, everyone can see the pain on my face.

Lanie: pov  Once she is okay, the young guy asks what TCA stands for. I say traumatic cardiac arrest, he introduces himself as Tony, a college student who was born with arrhythmia. 

Kate: pov The Cardiologist doing the support group asks if my last name is Beckett I say yes, Dr Grayson says he is excited to finally meet me Captain Beckett here is a walking miracle a friend of mine treated her after she got shot in the chest.

Lanie: pov An old man named Gary says Captain?  Are you a police officer? I used to be one 40 years ago, retired from the force 10 years ago. I mentioned she is a Captain at the 12th precinct homicide unit. Gary spent his whole life as a cop eating food that was not good for him, the Junk food, bad eating habits and old age gave him arrhythmia.

Kate: pov Dave a national park employee who loves the outdoors was born with an extra heart beat which makes him have arrhythmia, Trina has an electrolyte imbalance that causes her arrhythmia. She says is it true what Dr grayson said about you being shot in the chest.

Lanie: pov I answer Trina's question she did survive a shooting years ago. Kate was shot on the left side of her chest at a funeral in a cemetery by a sniper causing her to flat line in the ambulance they had to use the paddles on her. I had to do CPR the whole way to the trauma room.The bullet nicked her left inferior pulmonary vein causing Tension pneumothorax on her left side requiring a chest tube to be inserted. They did emergency thoracotomy surgery on her, to gain access to the area. The trauma Caused her pericardium to distend it was full of blood compressing her heart.The Bullet also grazed her left ventricle causing Kate to bleed into her heart causing a cardiac tampon. The cardiac surgeon had to cut some of her pericardial sac to let some of the blood out, the trauma resulted in vfib causing her to go into cardiac arrest during  surgery on her heart. They had to use the internal paddles and manual heart massages. She also has ptsd which is not fun.

Kate: pov everyone in the group is so surprised by what Lanie just said. Jennifer is a school teacher with a slow heart rate causing her arrhythmia, she also wants to know if my surgery scar is huge. Lanie helps lift my shirt up a little so everyone can see my massive scar. Dave says wow that is huge, Dr Grayson mentions in some cases of heart surgery the patients develop ptp. Post traumatic pain in the area which could last a few weeks, months and even years.

Lanie: pov oh she has that ptp but not that bad. After the support group we head back to Kate's room. Her Dr came to talk to us about somethings, he wants to put Kate on like a vitamin mix that helps the heart. The red gummy one is for heart health, the pink one is for blood pressure and the dark red one is for cholesterol. He also mentioned putting Kate on a supplement for immune health since she gets sick a lot and that Kate getting tired easily is normal for someone in her line of work and with her condition. She just has to listen to her body and rest/relax when needed. Dr Livingston said since Kate has arrhythmia and the meds she takes daily prevents it.

He would also like to put her on a med that she would take once a week that helps her heart by slowing it down so it does not beat so fast. I mention that was the med she got earlier in her stay here he says yes, it helps a lot. With her arrhythmia being a ventricle kind it could lead to vfib and cardiac arrest which is not good but this med slows down her heart beat and prevents it from beating so fast.

Castle: pov Dr Livingston mentions this medicine goes in a fridge. He mentions as a cardiologist he is only looking at what is best for Kate and her heart health and this stuff will help her be able to do her job. Kate said the vitamins taste good and that they have a fruity taste which is nice. While she sleeps I order 2 tiny fridges for her new medicine. This fridge is so tiny it can sit on top of our dresser in our room and the other one can sit in the cabinet in her office at the precinct. I also ordered a tiny cooler like, bag for when we have to travel. To be continued.  ……….

[dracowars]

LOVED YOUR TOM RIDDLE. Can I please request a arranged marriage au where yn is in love with him but he hates her so when she decides to let him go or someone else wants to marry her, Tom finally realises he’s in love with her. happ ending :))))

my heart belongs to you | tom riddle

pairing: tom x black!reader

word count: 3,3k

summary: where tom and y/n are in an arranged marriage

a/n: i'm so sorry for being so inactive recently, uni is taking its toll on me.. i had to do a bit of research for this one and also tom is a pureblood here!

warnings: toxic relationship, violence

universe: harry potter

“Get out of my sight, will you?”, he angrily snaps at you out of nowhere, for the third time already on this still very early day. Furiously, he stomps past you, pushing you to the side harshly, the filled glasses on your tray swaying dangerously. Knowing that you should just leave him alone, you stand there completely frozen at the door, still feeling the breeze on your skin after he stormed past you.

The glasses clink on the serving tray as you try to keep your trembling hands under control, but you terribly fail while tears shoot into your eyes. A lump forms in your throat and you gasp in desperation, losing your composure after hearing the front door slam shut.

Slowly, you slump down and therefore with a loud rattle let happen what could have been foreseen already: a thousand shattered pieces of glass scattered across the floor around you while you cower against the wall, your elegant dress pulled over your knees, your forehead leaning against it. Heavy sobs rock through your body and tears find their way down your cheeks, dripping from your chin onto the expensive fabric of your dress.

You just wanted to spend some time with him. Together, in the house of your parents, who went on a daily trip with their close friends early in the morning, all part of the most notorious popular pureblood families in the wizarding world – the Nott’s, the Macmillan’s, the Malfoy’s, the Lestrange’s. And if his parents were still alive, probably with the Riddle’s as well.

This is primarily the reason why you even are in this position right now; crying and huddled in the living room because your fiancé hates you profoundly.

After graduating from Hogwarts last year, the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you, descendant of the pureblood Black family, got engaged to Tom Marvolo Riddle, the last living heir of the Riddle’s. He would offer you a good future, they said, and you would never have to worry about anything again.

But nobody knows that in reality, your own beloved fiancé really does not want to have anything to do with you. He does not even want to stay in the same room as you.

You can’t explain why he acts like this towards you. You do not know why he harbors such an abysmal hatred for you and any clear-headed, rational person would have done something about it long ago. Unfortunately for you, you feel the exact opposite for him.

Your heart belongs to him and only to him.

You have liked him since you first met him at Hogwarts, back in 1938, when the two of you were sorted into the Slytherin house. This initial friendly liking has quickly evolved into something more than that over the years and lead you to where you are now, at a point where you would have never seen yourself back then.

You have already tried everything to convince him that you are not as bad as he seems to think. Every morning you bring him his breakfast, you give him everything he needs. Even when you were still at Hogwarts, you always looked after him, finished his homework for him when he was too busy to do it by himself, and helped him pass all of his exams.

And not once did you hear a thank you. Not then and not now either.

Slowly gathering your thoughts together again, you rub the long sleeves of your velvet dress over your damp face, wiping away all of your tears before you get up on shaky legs and begin to clean up the mess that you have created. After you went back to the kitchen with the broken pieces and some injuries on your hands, your gaze longingly slides out the window.

Outside, the sun stands high over the magnificent garden of the mansion, making the clear water in the fountain shimmer in its bright light. A gentle breeze blows through the air and rustles through the perfectly cut trees that line a small path through the garden.

The loud, excited voices that suddenly roar through the house snap you out of your daydream and you quickly wipe the blood from your fingers before you step into the huge marble entrance hall. You arrive at the front door just in time to open it for your parents, who, to your surprise, did not come back alone. You are amazed to find not too familiar faces in front of you as they climb up the stairs to the door where you are still standing.

“And that has to be Y/N. Oh, how you have grown!”, an older man smiles friendly at you and you return his smile with a certain uncertainty in your face.

“Darling, we brought guests over for dinner today. You surely remember the Lestranges?”, your father announces happily and only now do the faces that you have seen at numerous balls and celebrations seem familiar again. Especially one.

“Reinhard?”, you ask in amazement when you spot him standing behind his parents, a big smile on his face when he sees you.

“Y/N, how nice to see you again”, he grins, carefully pushing his way past your parents in order to slightly bow venerably to you, taking your hand in his to place a kiss on the back of it. “It has been some time.”

“I am sure you have a lot to tell each other”, your mother mentions in a sweet voice, but before she can continue, she watches how your facial expression changes from one second to the other as you look past them, out into the yard.

Next to the carriage with which they have returned, Tom is standing now, petting one of the splendid noble white horses before he joins all of you.

“Tom! There you are, I was already wondering where you went”, your father says, visibly pleased when he too spotted his future son-in-law, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“Reinhard?”

“Tom?”

Within a few seconds, the two former best friends lay in each other’s arms, obviously happy to finally see the other again.

“Let us go inside. We want to show you our newest masterpiece of art in our wonderful collection, come on”, your mother announces happily and leads the Lestranges inside, but not without turning around to you once more. “The children can catch up on what they have missed.”

“I can’t believe it! You are really here, Tom. Man, you look even better than at Hogwarts”, Reinhard laughs, playfully pushing Tom to the side while you watch them in silence. “What are you doing here with the Blacks?”

“They kindly took me in”, Tom lies to him and for a moment you think he threw you a glance out of the corner of his eyes after uttering these words. His statement makes Reinhard realize that you were still there with them, who had apparently completely forgotten that you were even there.

“I am so happy to see you again, Y/N!”, he grins and takes a step closer to you, probably to be able to take a closer look at you. “Still just as beautiful as I imagined. And just as smart, I guess?”

Reinhard’s sudden compliments make you blush and your cheeks glow, which is why you nervously avert your gaze from him, directly falling on Tom, who looks at the scene in front of him with incredible resentment.

Unlike Tom, Reinhard was always there for you. You spent a lot of time together in your school days and if your parents had known about your close friendship, you are sure that he would have been your fiancé by now. Which, to be honest, does not sound bad anymore right now.

And yet your heart still belongs to Tom.

When you all sit together at dinner later in the evening, where your parents are talking about irrelevant things like Ministry of Magic, you keep making eye contact with Reinhard, who seems to be staring at you.

“Is there something on my face?”, you ask uncertainly and put your glass back on the table when you can no longer bear his piercing gaze.

“No, no, not at all. I was just wondering how a beautiful witch like you could have become so much more stunning”, Reinhard winks at you, causing you to swallow hard. You are not used to getting compliments, especially not from a handsome young man like him. Before you can answer to him, however, there is a loud clink and you startle, your eyes immediately fixed on the cause of the noise.

The glass, which you have certainly placed far away from the edge, is now lying in your lap, the little liquid that was still inside now spread over your elegant evening gown. You move your chair back in shock when, in the corner of your eye, you see how Tom puts away his wand. And not only did you notice Tom just now, but the rest of them follow your gaze.

“Tom, darling, how about you tell our guests how you and our daughter got to know each other”, your mother suddenly prompts him, not even realizing that he has just deliberately spilled your drink on you. But why did he in the first place?

„I would love to“, Tom puts on a really believable smile that no one but you questions and starts telling them how you met and fell in love with each other. He tells one lie after another, explaining the web of lies that you have spun around you over time to make your relationship as credible as possible, at least in front of other people. And suddenly nobody cares about you or your still soaking wet dress anymore.

“What a wonderful story”, Mrs. Lestrange applauds and everyone else seems to be completely enthusiastic about Tom’s fairytale. To top it off, he then reaches across the table to take your hand in his, just like a real affectionate couple would do.

You lower your gaze as he gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, trying your best to not show how uncomfortable you are. Oh, how much you wish that this were real, that Tom would actually treat you like this when you are alone, the same way as he does in front of your parents.

But he does not and deep down you know that he will never do.

“So, you are engaged?”, Reinhard scrutinizes the statement of his former best friend, his eyes focused on you suspiciously, as if he is expecting an answer from you and not from Tom. A slight pressure on your hand makes you flinch and look up.

“Y-Yes”, you force a smile onto your lips, whereupon Tom seems satisfied with your answer, letting go of your hand again with a - what seemed to you like a – disgusted expression on his face.

An uncomfortable silence spreads between the three of you, which is drowned out by the loud conversation of the adults on the other side of the table. Finally, making up your mind, you clear your throat loudly and get up from your chair, gaining everyone’s attention in a matter of seconds.

“Excuse me, I have to go freshen up for a moment”, you explain with a slight polite bow before turning away to leave the dining room.

“Reinhard, would you be so kind and help Y/N”, Mr. Lestrange asks his son, who stands up with furrowed brows, apparently just as surprised about this sudden request as you, but then follows you out into the hallway with no further objection.

“I really do not need any help, thank you”, you try to get rid of him as you walk up the large staircase leading to the first floor together, only wanting to be alone.

“Dinner like these are totally boring anyway”, he chuckles softly and shows no intentions of leaving your side any time soon, which is why you do not even try to search for further arguments. He follows you to your room where you are able to tear yourself away from him to put on a new dress while he waits outside in front of the door.

With an equally elegant burgundy red dress you step out of your room after a few minutes, Reinhard’s eyes greeting you with a sparkle.

“Wow”, he breathes out barely audible and takes you hand without asking to swirl you around, causing your dress to fly around gorgeously. Unintentionally, warmth rises in your face again and your hearts makes a barely noticeable jump inside your chest when he looks deep into your eyes after catching you back in his arms.

The loud clearing of a throat behind you makes you turn around in shock, only to see that Tom himself is now standing at the end of the corridor, not seeming very enthusiastic.

“We did not see you there, Tom”, Reinhard disguises his obvious nervousness with a laugh, acting like Tom had just caught you in doing something he should not have seen. Tom, however, does not even react to his words, but looks past Reinhard at you, his eyebrows raised meaningfully.

But when you do not move under his piercing gaze, his facial expression changes and he quickly approaches you, Reinhard instinctively pushing you behind him so that you can only see Tom approaching further over his shoulder. Before neither you nor Reinhard can say or do anything, Tom has already pulled out his wand and aims it directly at Reinhard, who flies back through the air only a few seconds later, hitting the hard marble floor at the end of the corridor with a thud.

“What the-?!”

“Come with me”, Tom orders, now standing directly in front of you. When you stubbornly refuse, he suddenly grabs your wrist to pull you away from there. No matter how much you fight against his firm grip, you cannot tear yourself away from him as he pulls you into the closest room, which turns out to be the library.

Once there, you can finally free yourself from his tight grip, but before you can reach for the doorknob to leave immediately, he locks the door with a spell. Angrily, you turn to him, despair written all over your stunning face.

“What is this supposed to be, Tom? Let me out of here, now!”, you command him in a loud voice, not caring if anybody can hear.

“What did he want from you?”, he asks you urgently and steps closer to you. Since the door is in your back, every possible escape route is blocked, and you are caught.

“We just talked to each other, you know. Like normal people do”, you answer irritably and cross your arms in front of your chest, not in the mood to justify yourself, especially not in front of someone who does not care about you at all and not after what he has done.

“But that did not look like it.”

“Tom, stop it.”

“You belong to me and nobody else!”

These words coming out of his mouth echo loudly through the dark library, his face wrapped in an eerie candlelight. Before you can even control yourself and fully process what he said, you severely slap him.

Frightened by your own horrible deed, you immediately pull your hand away, your gaze filled with fear, but the anger that keeps building up inside of you winning the upper hand after all.

“How dare you call me your property?!”, you scream in rage and tears form in your eyes because of your uncontrollable anger. However, Tom needs a moment to collect his thoughts after your heavy smack before he can answer you.

“You are my fiancé”, he spits out coldly, a touch of shock in his voice, apparently not expecting you to react like this.

“And that does not make me nowhere near your property! You never treat me like your fiancé anyway, so why now all of a sudden?!”, you bicker at him, your voice loud and constant, even though you would like to flee from this situation right away if you were able to.

But Tom does not have an answer.

“Fine, okay. If you have nothing to say to me, like you never have, then I will go back now and ask my parents to end this damn failed engagement and engage me with someone else who truly cares for me!”

Suddenly, without letting you time to catch your breath after your outburst, he presses you with your back against the door completely, his hands tightly grabbing your wrists, a little too tight for your personal liking.

“You mustn’t do that”, he softly whispers, his head lowered as if he does not dare to look you in the eyes.

“What is stopping me?”, you hiss, still full of anger and – probably for the very first time – hatred towards him.

But when you feel his lips on yours all of a sudden, all of these emotions evaporate and all that remains is your racing heartbeat, which is being repaired at this very moment. You never would have thought that at some point in your life the moment would come when Tom Marvolo Riddle, who absolutely loathes his fiancé, kisses you.

After kissing you, he looks straight into your eyes, and the Tom you met in 1938 is standing in front of you again. The Tom you fell so deeply in love with.

“I can’t explain it to you”, he finally breaks the silence, his gaze directed to the floor as he moves away from you, giving you enough space to breathe regularly again. You, however, do not say anything but just stare at him.

“I was not aware that I am capable of feeling such feelings for someone. I am unfamiliar with this feeling and I did not know how to deal with it, Y/N. I treated you badly because I did not want it to be true, I did not want to accept it. I could not imagine having feelings for the little nuisance that has always been running after me”, Tom explains, choosing each and every single word very carefully, trying to put his emotions into words which does not really work the way he would like it to. But that is how you know him. You know that this confession must be extremely difficult for him, but you can’t help but feel a sense of relief inside of you.

“When?”, you ask and manage, with this tiny little word, to make him look up at you. “When did you know?”

“Since I have been here. You served me every day and took care of me, even though I wanted to push you away from me with all of my might. You have already helped me so many times in the past without me even asking, you have always accepted me for who I am”, he desperately tries to but his feelings into words, asking himself what he is even doing right now.

“Tom..”

“No, I have to sincerely apologize to you. I had no right to treat you the way I did. And also today.. when I saw you with him and how well you got along, it finally became clear to me. Reinhard has felt something for you since our school days, I know that even though I could never understand, but now I do. I understand why he fell in love with you”, Tom continues without breathing, pouring out all of his feelings that he has hidden for so long.

“I understand if you want to dissolve this engagement and I will not stop you if that is what you want”, he quickly adds, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. He already prepares himself for the worst when you are the one getting closer to him this time.

“Idiot”, you smile slightly and place a gentle kiss on his lips while he looks at you puzzled. “I love you, I thought you knew that.”

“I know, but-“

“But nothing”, you interrupt him and take his hand to lead it to your fast pounding heart. “It always belonged to you.”

[ptergwen]

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

-

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

-

if i forgot you please lmk!

[brxceliiande]

MY ACADEMY AWARD [Fem!Reader x Joe Toye]

ACTRESS Y/N L/N ATTENDS THE ACADEMY AWARDS BUT CANT HELP BUT FEEL UNEASY, ESPECIALLY THE MONTH WHEN HER HUSBAND IS SUPPOSED TO BE HOME.

warnings : minimal swearing, some suggestive content

genre : fluff

word count : 2.2k+

note : so i usually don’t write things like this but the idea came to me last night and i thought it would be a cute one-shot/imagine

———————————

married life was not compatible with an acting dream.

reputation and power amongst hollywood’s most wealthy and fortunate celebrities was the source. if you had the reputation or the power, it could get you virtually anything and everything. except privacy.

y/n waved her hand to the hundred of people lining the streets of los angeles. it was that time of year where hollywood’s greatest actors, actresses, directors, and film producers got together. the academy awards. seventeenth. a time to celebrate performers and a person’s vision of storytelling. a waste of time, considering a war had ended.

pushing it away, the car came to a halt and marc, her manager, hopped out and opened the door for her. y/n put on her best smile, the “award-winning” smile as some call it, and exited the vehicle. flashing cameras and yelling caused her hands to clam. y/n silenting thanks for her gloves she wore with her satin dress, it was off the shoulder, dropped just below her knees and matched with a simple silver necklace.

“miss! miss! over here please miss!” multiple screams from the paparazzi calling out to her, y/n obliged with poses.

it wasn’t that she hated the job, it got annoying sometimes. she had no privacy, she was constantly told what to do, and had to deal with misogynistic people in the industry. yet, acting brought her a sense of productivity and accomplishment, all the years of acting schools and working at the bank, she had finally found something that made her rich and happy. in terms of money and fame. but as all human needs have, shes got someone making her feel beyond all that.

joe toye. a muscular, stubborn headed man who stole her heart on a simple night in pennsylvania. acting wasn’t totally useless, because of her job she got to meet interesting people, such as her husband, joe. It wasn't much compared to love stories, a bar after a long day of work and a soldier home for a few weeks. a classic soldier-civilian love story. after shooting a few scenes, steam needed to be let off. resulting in a search of good bars in the city, which just so happened to have caught the eye of joe toye also.

however, he wasn’t home yet. the war had ended a few months ago and troops started coming on ships three weeks ago. throughout the few years after that night in pennsylvania, discussions among discussions carried out about their lives and how it would be once he returns. it was letters full of hope and puppy love. wide eyed babies who saw each other but not the big picture, the war. with acting having her tied in ropes and joe having to fight in europe, they drifted apart. it tore her up, the feeling of losing someone so dear to her, not to death but to life.

y/n seemingly teleported to her seat in the hall. the room was huge and rounded with seats able to fit around five hundred. red drapes decorated the hall and the balconies reserved for special guests. a stage in front of the crowd, a mic standing alone on the stage, awaiting the host. more people piled into the room, greeting friends and foes as they passed by her down the aisles.

minutes later, the crowd had grown and the hall was filled. chatter clouded the atmosphere, nearly suffocating her. bouncing her leg, y/n couldn’t help but feel nervous, there was something different about this awards ceremony.

“ladies and gentlemen, i would like to welcome you to the seventeenth academy awards!” said bob hope, starting the awards as the host. “i am your host, bob hope, and we would love to thank everyone for coming out.”

hope’s voice drowned out as y/n stared off on a space on the stage. it was her fourth academy awards in her life and all the other times she felt fine, especially for the last two when joe was in europe. it nagged at her chest, the feeling of uncertainty and nervousness. her surroundings felt like slow motion. echoes of people clapping, laughing, and the music playing in the back when awards started being announced. it was a dream, or at least it felt like one.

“our nominees for best lead actress in film are gene tierney in ‘leave her to heaven’,” bob began listing the names off for best actresses.

many famous actresses names were announced, such as jennifer jones, ingrid bergman, and greer garson. all amazing films and great actresses who certainly all deserve the award.

“and lastly, y/n l/n in mildred pierce,” said bob hope, the crowd clapped as usual for the nominees, “now, i must say this must have been a tough decision for the viewers out there, we have five great films and actresses who all deserve this award. however, there will only be one. with that, the academy award for best lead actress in a film goes to…”

the crowd went silent and y/n could feel her throat begin to tighten in suspense. this feeling was nothing new, the excitement of being a potential candidate for an academy award was a huge honour. although she lost her previous ones, there was something different about this one and she couldn’t understand why. mildred pierce was one of the most fun she had on a film. the story was amazing, and all she hoped was that her emotion and acting portrayed her feelings for the film and how much she loved it.

“y/n l/n in mildred pierce!” said bob, the hall erupted into cheers and claps.

she did it. she won the award. y/n, aghast at the announcement, placed a hand over her mouth and got up from her chair, making her way down to the stage. composing herself as she walked up the stairs, she ran a hand over her hair and smiled at bob, who stood smiling at the microphone.

“congratulations y/n,” whispered bob and pulled her into a hug before holding out the award.

“thank you, bob,” said y/n, taking the award and standing in front of the microphone as bob went off to the side.

it went quiet. the hall was dark from her side, the lights darkening the crowd to an abyss. placing the award on the stand, she looked at it as she started to think of what to say. there was too much to say and so little time.

“wow…this is amazing! i cannot thank you enough for this award, for everyone that voted and also cheers to the other beautiful actresses nominated for this award!” everyone cheered, “uh, i would like to thank the academy for this award, my parents for putting me through acting school, the directors, producers and my co-stars for making mildred pierce the best film experience of my career yet! and lastly, i’d like to thank my husband, joe, for supporting me through this journey for that last three years from across the ocean. i love you, honey!”

the crowd clapped and whooped as y/n nodded to bob to continue and she made her way for the stairs.

“ah, y/n, if you would like to stay here for a moment, we seem to have a surprise for you,” said bob, motioning her to come back to the microphone.

confused, y/n laughed and walked over to him.

wrapping an arm around her shoulder, bob smiled out into the crowd and leaned into the microphone.

“may we, as the academy awards, present a special guest,” started bob, squeezing her shoulder slightly, “fresh off the ship from england, your husband, mr. joe toye!”

light from the stage spotted in the crowd, joe, standing up with support from crutches. y/n stopped. his letters ended a few weeks ago and all she got was a letter saying that he was injured in battle, nothing else was reported. but there he was, happy as he could be. turning to bob, she passed him the award before lifting her dress slightly and running down the stairs to her husband.

laughter and cheers filled the room as she made her way up to him. she could hardly contain herself, she didn’t know if she wanted to cry, scream, or kiss him. no letters, only some stupid report making her think the worst. joe stood there, a smile present on his lips and crutches supporting his weight on his one leg.

holding out his arms as best as he could, y/n found herself engulfed with the musky smell of cigars and sweat, but she didn’t care. her husband was alive and mostly well. there it was again, the dream feeling making everything woosy and swirly. she was in his arms again and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“great job doll,” muttered joe into her ear, “i knew you could do it,”

“i have you to thank for this, you made this happen, you supported me through everything, even when you were getting shot at.” said y/n, smiling at him.

“well, whoever helped you with the award, it was all you and for that,” said joe, pulling her close with one of his arms, “you deserve another award.”

joe pressed his lips against hers and she melted into it. one year since their last kiss and she wanted nothing more. it was a simple pleasure she dreamed of every night before bed, every morning when she made coffee and everytime she attended a party. and with the war over, she can finally have it.

pulling back, she smiled, “we should probably sit down, don’t want to keep the awards waiting.” joe nodded and made his way over to her seat, which had an empty spot beside it, while y/n went to retrieve the award.

bob smiled at her and pulled her into another hug, which she returned. showing off the award while making her way down the stairs, she hurried back to her seat and sat down with a huff, turning to joe. he leaned on the handle between their chairs and smiled at her.

“what do you say, after these awards or something, i give you another award?” whispered joe, smirking.

blushing at the thought of home and joe, she slapped his shoulder. “settle down soldier, you’ll earn your medal soon enough.”

joe shook his head with a smile and brought her face to his, kissing her once again. it was more tender and needy, a kiss waiting to happen months before. her body tingled as his hand caressed her cheek, she couldn’t stop herself from feeling things. it still shocked her that joe was in front of her, alive and well. missing a leg, but that didn’t matter, it didn’t matter what limb he lost as long as he could still remember her.

“i’ve missed you,” said joe, caressing her cheek, “and sorry about the letters, they didn’t allow me to write in there for whatever reason.”

y/n nodded and looked down at his leg, it was amputated from the knee. it sparked some questions, but knowing the horrors of war, she kept her tongue. she saw her father live with world war one, she promised herself she wouldn’t marry a soldier, but there he was, dressed in his best uniform and trying to understand the awards that were being presented. occasionally he would mutter something to her, about movies, actors, or directors, saying y/n should’ve won, despite not being nominated.

soon enough, the awards were over and bob ended the event with his signature goodbye. it was finally over and joe couldn’t wait to get out of there. he picked up his crutches and waited for y/n to get her stuff. as soon as she did, they both made their way out of the building, the los angeles sun setting on the streets of hollywood.

a black car came around and marc opened the door for both of them to get in. once the door shut, joe grabbed her hand and held it. her makeshift ring sitting on her ring finger made him smile. y/n felt her throat tighten, this time more in happiness than excitement. tears welled in her eyes as she placed her other hand on top of his. her husband was finally home.

joe lifted her hand to his lips and pecked it softly. there was no need for words, they could sit in silence forever and always know their love for each other. y/n smiled through her falling tears and chuckled as joe wiped them away.

“it’s alright doll,” said joe, bringing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his chest. “i’m alright, you’re alright, were both alright. okay?”

“i just missed you so much and when the report of your leg-“ said y/n, but her sobs stopped her.

“shh, it’s okay. i’m right here now, alright superstar? you don’t have to worry about that report anymore.”

“but what about-“

“dont worry doll, just because i lost a leg, doesn’t mean i cant do what i do.” joe smirked at her.

y/n wiped her tears away with a growing smile at his attempts at jokes. no one could stay sad or mad at the flirtatious man named joe toye, even if he lost a leg. the more she thought about it, she wanted to slap joe’s shoulder for making an inappropriate joke while in the presence of others, but couldn’t bring herself as she too, found it hilarious.

“so about that medal-“

“in your dreams, sergeant”

[talatomaz]

lockdown | jj x fem!teen!reader

a/n: i can’t believe that a year ago today, the last ever episode of criminal minds aired. i miss jj so much 🤧

this is sort of in line with my own experiences (to a certain extent). and there’s not as much jj x d!r as i’d intended but I hope you still like it.

(feedback/positive comments are appreciated)

requested by @ouat2017 : “could you do a jj x daughter where the daughter’s school is on lockdown and jj is worried or something like that?”

warnings: gun violence. blood

word count: 2.6k

masterlist | request list | request rules

r is jj’s 18 year old adopted daughter and suddenly finds herself on lockdown after someone brings a gun into her school

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Look, you’re the one that needs to be tutored so can you please focus?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance.

You were currently in the tutoring centre trying to help a self-absorbed jock pass English so he could remain on the school’s football team.

Looking around you, you saw a handful of students giving both you and Cameron - the man-child you were tutoring - disparaging looks.

“You’re not supposed to be yelling at me. You’re meant to be telling me the answers.”

The aforementioned narcissist leaned against his chair, smirking at you in a way that made you fight to hide a shudder.

You could have easily wiped the grin off his face by mentioning who your mother was and who she worked for but instead, you decided to just continue ignoring his advances and carry on teaching him.

“That’s not how this works, Cameron. Now either you listen to me or you fail and get kicked off the team. And quite frankly, I’d rather the latter happen.”

You watched as his brows furrowed in confusion. Sighing, you answered, “latter means the second thing of two things mentioned in a sentence. Now, for the love of God, just finish writing your paragraph on Heller's satire of capitalism in Catch-22.”

You let out a breath of relief when he finally relented and started to scribble on his sheet of paper. You glanced over at one of your friends, who was also tutoring for extra credit, and smiled when she rolled her eyes at Cameron’s actions.

Leaning against the large desk that stood at the front of the room, you relished in the long-awaited silence aside from hushed whispers that came from other students asking for help.

Taking out your phone, you glanced at the screen to see that it was only midday and soon the lunch bell would be ringing.

You smiled softly at your lock screen.

It was a photo of you and JJ, your adoptive mother.

It was taken a few weeks prior at your 18th birthday party. You’d been living with JJ for almost 5 years now; her having fostered you before later adopting you when you were 14.

You still didn’t know what she saw in you on that day you’d first met her - you’d lost your family in a home invasion, barely surviving yourself - but whatever it was, you were grateful because you’d gotten a second chance at life.

Several minutes passed and you’d only broken from your train of thought when you heard someone clearing their throat beside you.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw your friend, the one who’d rolled her eyes earlier at Cameron, standing beside you.

“I see you finally got him to do his work.” She whispered, loud enough for your ears only.

“Barely. He still has an essay to write and hasn’t even finished a paragraph yet.”

“I would have smacked his sorry ass by now.”

You laughed before clamping your hand over your mouth, her comment having caught you off guard.

“Ally!” You whisper-shouted, playfully hitting her arm.

She looked at you with a raised eyebrow causing you to smirk, “Trust me, I’ve thought about it but-”

Before you could finish your sentence, a large bang rang out, shattering the silence the room had once held.

With wide eyes, your head whipped to the door where the gunshot had presumably come from and you listened as the hallways were filled with panicked screams.

Running to the door, ignoring the gasps and shouts from the other students behind you, you turned the lock on the door, pulled down the blinds, switched off the lights and jammed a chair under the handle.

Looking up, you saw everyone had the same look of panic in their eyes; a few were crying, including Ally, and others were pale with shock, Cameron was one of them.

“Guys, we’re gonna be okay but we have to be quiet.” You whispered harshly, constantly looking over your shoulder at the door, listening for any indication of the shooter coming your way.

Everyone stared at you, as if you were the leader of a camp and they were small children awaiting for further instruction.

You supposed it wasn’t far off.

By taking charge, you were the one who’d been unwillingly given the role of protector.

“First things first,” you walked over to the group of 10 students, “I need you all to make sure your phones are on silent. We can’t risk being caught.”

You watched as everyone followed your instructions.

“I know you all want to call your parents but that’s going to attract attention to us so for right now, we need to be quiet.”

Your heart was beating out of your chest and as you spoke, one thought repeated in your head. JJ.

Taking out your phone, you scrolled to find your mother’s name in your contacts. You watched as your thumb hovered over her name.

Just breathe, y/n. Breathe.

Tapping your mother’s name, you brought the phone to your ear.

“I thought you said we couldn’t call anyone.”

Your eyes locked onto Cameron’s, his face pale and his eyes filled with terror and a hint of anger.

“My Mum works for the FBI.” You whispered as the phone rang out.

Any other time and you probably would have laughed at the way his face grew paler, if that was even possible. But, in a situation this tense, it was going to be difficult to find any levity.

Your Mum picked up on the second ring and you let out a shaky breath when you heard her voice.

“Hi baby. A bit early for your lunch, isn’t it?”

You closed your eyes at her soft tone, as if you were trying to engrave the way she spoke into your mind lest you would never hear it again.

From your lack of response, the blonde sensed there was something up, “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

A single tear dropped down your cheek as you struggled to maintain a steady tone. Catching a glimpse of Ally staring at you, you steeled yourself and spoke.

“Mum, you need to come quick. Someone’s brought a gun into school.”

“Oh my-AARON.”

You winced when you heard her shout for her boss, listening as you could hear her run up stairs. You held your breath as she filled Hotch in on what was happening before telling Garcia to hack into your school’s security system.

“Are you okay? Stupid question. But are you hurt?”

“Mum,” you interrupted her rambling, “I’m fine. I’m in the tutoring centre with 10 other people. I don’t know how many people are injured. It just all happened so fast.”

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay.”

Though you could hear the clear panic in her voice, her words did bring some form of reassurance to you.

“Penelope’s hacking into the system so hopefully she can have eyes soon.”

As she spoke, you could hear the clacking of keys in the background of the call; presumably Garcia doing exactly what JJ said.

“Mum?” You questioned when you heard Garcia swear.

Instead of JJ answering, the usually peppy tech analyst replied, her voice shaky and wet, as if she was crying.

“Y/N, thank God you’re okay.”

“What’s wrong, Garcia?”

“Someone’s disabled the cameras remotely. I can only get them back online if someone reprograms them from the inside.”

Grasping what she was explaining, you nodded, “I’ll fix them.”

“What? No!”

Your mother had taken the phone off of Garcia.

“You are not leaving that room, y/n. We’ll find another way in.”

“Mum, someone needs to fix the system from inside the school. I need to do it.”

Ignoring your mother’s worried shouts, you continued to speak, “Mum, I have to. I love you.”

You disconnected the phone and switched it off, preventing her from being able to call you back.

“Y/N, you are not leaving this room.”

You’d only just realised that everyone had been watching you intently during that entire interaction.

“Yes, I am.”

Moving away from the huddle, you rose to your feet and replied to your friend.

Cameron rose to his feet and towered over you as he challenged you, “No, you are not. You’re going to put us in danger.”

“Do you know how to hack into our school’s security system and then reconnect the transformer and enter the Mastercode?”

His face contorted to a look of confusion making you reply,

“Exactly.”

Turning to leave, you felt a large hand enclose around your arm.

“I said, you’re not leaving.”

Your eyes flickered from Cameron’s hand up to his face that dared you to take another step.

“Remove your hand from my arm before I remove your hand from your body. You may letter in football but I’ve been trained by some of the best FBI agents there are and unless you want to end up in a sleeper hold, I suggest you shut up and do what I say for once.”

His harsh grip almost immediately lessened as his hand returned to his side.

“Good. Now, have any of you been shot? No? I didn’t think so. Well, I have and whoever did get shot is probably bleeding out in the hallway. I can’t not do anything.”

No one dared to respond and instead, shook their head ‘no’ at your asking if anyone else would try to stop you.

Content that you weren’t going to deal with any more unnecessary distractions, you made your way to the door and gently removed the chair that was beneath the handle.

“Ally, you’re in charge. Lock the door when I leave. By my count, the FBI will be here soon. And Cameron, you do anything stupid and I’ll shoot you myself.”

Unlocking the door, you stepped out into the empty hallway and hastily made your way to where the main security hub was located.

Just a couple of hours ago, all you had wished for was silence but now that your wish had been granted, all you wanted was to hear the playful shouts and conversations between your friends and fellow students.

The silence that currently fell on your school was unnerving and unbearable. And with each step you took, you flinched at the sound your shoes made against the marble floor. Each noise practically acting as a beacon for the shooter to come find you.

You let out a sigh of relief when you found the Hub and you quickly worked to reconnect the security system. Typing on the laptop that rested atop one of the servers, you couldn’t help the smile that formed when all the cameras re-engaged.

Tapping on one of the keys, you navigated through the various cameras, looking for any indication of the shooter or of any injured people. You stopped when you caught a glimpse of someone.

Squinting at the screen, you saw, what appeared to be a freshman - since you didn’t recognise him as being a part of your year - laying on the ground, a hand clutching his stomach as blood coated his clothing.

Immediately knowing where he was, you cautiously made your way to the east hallway before running when you noticed him laying on the ground, his blood coating the once-white marble floor.

Falling to your knees, you pressed your hands against his wound, trying to stop the steady flow. He groaned out in pain, tears staining his face.

“H-Help me.” He choked out.

“What’s your name?”

“Jackson. But everyone c-calls me J-Jack.”

“Jack, you’re going to be okay. I just need you stay with me, okay? I’m-”

“Y/N.”

You failed to hide the surprise from your face making the younger teen smile despite his predicament.

“You’re t-tutoring Cameron. Everyone knows who you are. Y-You’re the one who doesn’t take any of his shit. I think h-he likes you.”

“Well, tough shit for him. I may be bi but he’s definitely not my type.”

Jack’s laugh quickly turned into another groan of pain.

Unzipping your jacket with one hand, you used the other to keep pressure on his wound. After removing the jacket, you harshly pressed it against his torso and watched as it barely absorbed the blood.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not. I won’t let you.” You said, tears filling in your eyes as memories rushed back of when you tried to save your brother after he’d been shot.

“You’re going to be okay. I just need you to-”

You stilled when you heard footsteps come up behind you.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You didn’t recognise the voice and couldn’t bring yourself to turn around to face the person who’d caused all this pain.

You opened your mouth before closing it again, unsure of what to say.

Closing your eyes, you readied yourself for your inevitable death when a shot rang out and a body slumped to the ground beside you.

Jumping at the action, you turned around and almost collapsed in relief at what you saw. Your Mum and her team stood behind you with several SWAT members flanking them.

The tears that had once filled your eyes now spilled shamelessly down your cheeks.

Without saying a word, JJ holstered her gun and ran to your side, hugging you as best she could since your hands were still pressed against Jack’s wound.

Paramedics soon followed and after that it was all a blur. It was as if you were floating outside of your body. Logically, you knew it was the effects of an adrenaline crash but you felt so disconnected from your body.

You barely took note as your mother gently lifted you to your feet, allowing you to be briefly looked over by the paramedics. Nor as your mother escorted you to one of the school bathrooms where she rinsed the blood off your hands.

You didn’t even say a word until you’d arrived back at the BAU where a worried Penelope wrapped you in a tight hug which you returned.

“I’m gonna take her up to my old office, Hotch.”

The Unit Chief simply nodded as he and the rest of the team watched as JJ led you to the abandoned office that was still filled with random case files.

Closing the door, she sat you down on her sofa and stared at you, not touching you in fear that even a simple caress would cause you to shatter.

You exhaled a long breath before finally speaking, “I’m sorry.”

Her brows narrowed, “Sorry? Sweetheart, why?”

You looked at your hands that had been coated in blood less than an hour before and then up at your mother; her blue eyes filled with nothing but concern, love and confusion.

“You told me not to leave and I did. I’m sorry.”

And with that, you started to cry heart-wrenching sobs that made your shoulders shake.

JJ gathered you in her arms, gently rocking you as her long blonde hair draped over you.

“It’s okay, y/n. I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

Her arms wrapped tightly around you as she laid soft kisses on your head, her hand stroking your back.

That only served to make you burrow into her even more, seeking comfort in her motherly embrace.

You muttered your apologies as she continued to reassure you that you were okay.

JJ was afraid that if she stopped, you wouldn’t be here, safe in her arms.

Still rocking you in her arms, she whispered in your ear,

“I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

[ravennm84]

Complicity

Hey everyone! Sorry I’ve been missing for a while, but I’ve had a lot going on and lacking inspiration, until the other day! I know that Lila thinks she’s the smartest person in the room and that everyone else it too stupid to figure her out. So, I decided to let her “think” she’s being smart, but gets caught because she did something stupid. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!

Lila was happy. Since she had become a model, she had acquired a small fan base of people that thought she had beauty and talent. Granted, it wasn’t as large as she thought it should be, but she had only done three photo shoots and had been mentioned in one magazine. But this was just the beginning; soon, all of Europe would know her name and reporters would be clamoring after her for pictures. 

But at the same time she was very angry.

This was because Marinette had been mentioned in the same magazine as her. And where Lila got a single photo that showed more of Adrien than it did of her, Maribrat had gotten an entire article and multiple photos about her designs and the collaboration she was doing with Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois since the woman had decided to stay in Paris. She had even looked at the girl’s website and saw that there was an actual wait list to receive one of her original designs.

Enraged that someone she considered to be plain, talentless, and all around lower in status than her, Lila started coming up with plans. She wasn’t about to share her spotlight with anyone, let alone Maribrat.

She was tempted to accuse the bluenette of stealing her designs and ruining her reputation, but since she had been designing for longer than Lila had been in Paris, that had too much of a chance to backfire. She’s thought of sicking one of her classmates/sheep to break into her house and destroy her commission projects, but that also had too much of a chance to backfire since they would likely blab if they were caught.

No, she needed a different type of plan. Something that would be farther removed from herself so nothing would blow back on her, but harsh enough so that even Maribrat wouldn’t connect what happened to her. It took a few weeks and a lot of planning, but she came up with something that would work. It had been the perfect plan, a way to get Marinette out of her life and the spotlight for good. 

All it took was some sweet talking one of her new followers; a large, burly boy named Henry that was a couple years older than her and not very bright. He would have done anything for her… including going after a “stalker” that had threatened to hurt her. She barely even had to suggest anything before the boy assured her that he would protect her at all costs. It even seemed to be working when Maribrat was suspiciously absent from school for a few days after Henry said he would “take care of it”.

It had been the perfect plan...

Until the police showed up. 

She had just gotten home when the police arrived, saying that she was wanted for questioning in an open case. They had already been in contact with her mother and Greta Rossi had promised them their full cooperation. Rather than risk looking guilty, Lila called her mother to make sure they were telling the truth before grudgingly going with them. 

When she got to the police station, she was met by her very confused and furious mother. This wasn’t the first time she had been in trouble with the law. There had been an incident in Rome where she’d been accused of pushing a boy, Simone, down the stairs, and her mother had been forced to pay his medical bills. She had made it very clear that if Lila caused any more problems at school, it would not be pleasant.

So there she was; sitting with her mother and a couple of police detectives that she didn’t recognize, who were giving her condescending looks. “I am Detective Cooper, and this is Detective Raimus. We understand that you have been made aware of your rights, correct?”

“Yes, multiple times. What is this all about? You can’t just bring my daughter in for questioning like she’s some common criminal.” Her mother said as she stared down the two men.

“Mme. Rossi, we need to ask your daughter some questions in connection to an assault that took place against one of her classmates.” Stated Cooper, a detective with a thick mustache.

“Are you or your daughter familiar with a M. Henry Mortaure?”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Lila lied with a shrug.

“Neither have I, who was attacked?” Her mother asked, suddenly worried about what her daughter might have gotten involved in.

“A Mlle. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, are you familiar with the name?” Asked Raimus, who looked a bit older than his partner.

Greta Rossi thought for a second before nodding. “Lila has mentioned her a couple of times, said that she was a bully. What about her?”

“The Dupain-Cheng residence was broken into a few days ago by M. Mortaure. He was armed and confessed to be doing so with the intent of killing Mlle. Dupain-Cheng.” Mme. Rossi gasped in shock while Lila was attempting to hide her smirk with a look of worry. “The Dupain-Chengs were not harmed, although the same cannot be said for M. Mortaure.” Cooper placed some photos in front of them on the table, gaining another gasp from Greta. Three of the man’s limbs were wrapped in heavy gauze, his face was swollen and bruised from a black eye and a seriously broken nose. 

Lila didn’t flinch when she saw the photos, but was now fighting a scowl at the knowledge that Henry had failed her. And since she was here in an interrogation room, it could only mean that the idiot had blabbed. But that didn’t matter, she could just say that he must be a crazy stalker who had somehow found out that Maribrat was bullying her and decided to take things into his own hands. After all, it wasn’t like she had called or messaged him from her personal phone. She had bought a burner phone with cash just for this occasion. 

“Despite being armed with a pistol, he never had a chance to use it,” Raimus stated as pushed one of the photos towards Lila. “He will require reconstructive surgery on his face from being hit multiple times with a rolling pin. His arms were severely burned when he fell into a fryer, it’s likely that he’ll never have full use of them again. Despite the burns, he attempted to go for a kitchen knife after being disarmed. That knife was turned on him and he ended up with a perforated lung.”

Greta looked like she was going to be sick, unable to look away from the pictures in front of her. But she eventually did, casting a harsh stare at her daughter. “Please, tell me you had nothing to do with this.”

Doing her best to fake her shock, she shook her head and pushed away the photos. “I swear, I had nothing to do with this. I don’t even know why he would do this.”

“We were wondering the same thing and discovered that he’s a fan of yours. He has multiple pictures of you, as well as Mlle. Dupain-Cheng. We suspected that he had been stalking you and came to the conclusion that he thought she was bullying you and decided to protect you on his own-”

“Oh no, that has to be it!” She exclaimed, skillfully faking shock. “Marinette followed me out of school last week and threatened me to stay away from my boyfriend. This boy must have seen her and decided to get rid of her.”

“If that’s the case, why are you questioning my daughter?” Greta pressed, not completely believing Lila but seeming to be coming around to her side.

“As I was saying,” stressed Detective Cooper. “We had suspected that M. Mortaure was stalking your daughter, until we got the warrant for his phone. It seems that someone, supposedly Lila, has been corresponding with him for many weeks. She had been flirting with him, sending him photos of herself, and then Marinette. She went on to tell him that Mlle. Dupain-Cheng was a stalker and had threatened her. M. Mortaure seems to have done what he did with the understanding that he was protecting Lila, at Lila’s own behest.”

“I would never do that!” Lila cried before reaching into her purse to pull out her personal mobile and set it on the table in front of them. “Check my phone, I never messaged him.”

“We have already checked your phone records against the one that has been messaging M. Mortaure, and found that the numbers did not match.” Detective Raimus said, and Lila watched her mother visibly slump from relief… but it was short lived. 

“We did, however, track the number to a burner phone that was purchased in cash from a gas station. We thought it was a dead end, but the person who bought the phone made a mistake.” Raimus continued as Detective Cooper pulled out his own mobile and dialed a number. “The person who bought it has kept it on, and it is currently active.”

Seconds after Cooper pressed send, a ringing came from Lila’s purse. Greta Rossi stared at her daughter in shock before yanking the purse out of Lila’s hands and pulling out a second phone from inside. When Cooper cancelled the call, the second phone stopped ringing. 

“What have you done?” She spat at Lila.

Panicking, she shook her head while looking around the room for an exit. “That’s not mine! They must have planted it on me when they brought me here! They’re trying to frame me!”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” Greta screamed at her daughter, causing Lila to practically fall out of her seat in fear. “You convinced someone to commit MURDER for you! That makes you just as guilty as him!”

“But-but I have diplomatic immunity! I can’t be charged for any of this!”

“Yes, you can,” Greta said, her voice going cold. “I may be a secretary to the Italian Ambassador, which grants me immunity, but that doesn’t extend to you! I told you to behave! I told you to never cause trouble like you did in Roma after what you did to that boy that called you out on your…” Understanding washed over Greta’s features as her expression morphed from anger, to understanding, and then disgust. “That’s it, isn’t it? Marinette never bullied you. She knew about your lies and you set out to hurt her just like before!” 

Standing up quickly, her mother started pacing the room before looking back to the detectives. “I’ll still need to speak with the ambassador, but you can expect our full cooperation in this.”

“Mom, no!”

“What are the charges?” Greta asked, acting as though Lila wasn’t even there. 

“As Lila is a minor, she can be charged with Complicity to Commit Murder, the decision of sentencing is ultimately up to the judge. But seeing as she purposefully bought a burner phone to use and has also lied to the police, I wouldn’t hold much hope.”

~oOo~

The trial took longer than expected. At first, things had been looking up since her followers from class had come to act as character witnesses. All of them saying how wonderful she was, a great friend that did so much for them and everyone she knew,   and that she would never do something so terrible. That Marinette was just jealous of Lila, so it was better to take whatever she said with a grain of salt.

Then, the prosecution started their case. Showing evidence of Lila falsifying records at school, video evidence of her purposefully framing Marinette for assault and theft. As well as the communications between herself and Henry, encouraging him to kill Marinette. 

Her followers had still been a bit sceptical to believe what the prosecutor was saying about her, not wanting to believe that they had supported someone who would try to get another person murdered. But then came her past victims, many of whom her mother had never known about. Simone from Rome, Sara from Florence, Giulia from Venice, Daniel from Viterbo, and Sofia from Palermo. All of them testifying against Lila, many with screenshots of threatening texts from her, photos of ruined property and injuries she had inflicted on them, and all around proof that Lila was the reason behind many hardships that had happened to them. And all because they had figured out that she was a liar and she had done everything in her power to hurt them.

After all that, the judge had not been kind. 

“It is clear, Mlle. Rossi, that you are a very disturbed girl in need of help,” the judge said, not bothering to hide how offput he was by Lila. “I cannot, in good conscious, allow you to roam freely. Having seen that these habits of yours have not only been repeated over and again, but have escalated to attempted murder. I have no choice but to have you returned to Italy where you will be kept in a juvenile detention center until you turn 18, at which point you will be transferred to a mental hospital for treatment for no less than five years. At which point, you will be evaluated to see if you will be able to safely rejoin society.”

Lila was immediately escorted back to Italy in disgrace. Her name slandered across every newspaper and magazine across Europe for what she had done. She was now famous, with most everyone knowing her name and reporters scrambling to take her picture as she did her walk of shame out of the courthouse. She was finally famous, but for all the wrong reasons

In case you are wondering. Henry made the mistake of coming after Marinette when she was with her parents. Tom and Marinette were in the bakery kitchen and Sabine was at the front. Tom saw the gun and hit him in the face with his rolling pin twice. He dropped the gun but was still coming after Marinette, she tripped him and he landed in the frier, which had been turned on to make donuts, and splashed oil all over him. Sabine had rushed back in time to see a bleeding and badly burned Henry grabbing a knife, she did some wicked moves that resulted in Henry stabbing himself. By then, he passed out from the pain and the Dupain-Chengs had called the police. The officers that came were both impressed and terrified by what happened to the boy, but the surveillance footage proved that they were only defending themselves.

TAGLIST:

@2confused-2doanything @7-sage-7 @aadnrsstar @abrx2002 @awkwardromances @bayball @babylovebug18 @botanicalfoxx @caffeinetheory @cheshire5210 @chocolateherringtacofan @city-of-all-tunas @classycollectorreviewworld  @corabeth11 @darkened-flame @delightfulcookiesrecipespizza @fandom-trapped-03 @ghostmaster @iamblinkmarvelarmy @interobanginyourmom @izang @jesussavedevenme @kazedancer @kitten12113 @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @lilypotter2018 @lunataravler @maskedpainter @ miraculouslydumb  @nerd-nowandforever @ola-is-dead @pandacatxd @plushbookworm @plz-excuse-my-inner-ravenclaw @pheonix-biach @raiderofthelostbooks @ramos123 @rowanrouge @rowanyx @ren121 @seesea22 @seraphichana @sashakoi @shypeacekitten @tazer6787 @that-girl-sakea @thecrazyfantrollshasmoved @the-smallest-kittenz @tishwinchesterannabethjackson @t1dwarrior-of-earth @ulmban @with-forward-motion @wonderbat91939 @zoiechance

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Fragrant Traces Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 香影之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This date was released on 13 August 2021 ]

Outside the iron fence carved with decorative patterns, a surprise guest waves his top hat at me.

Booke: Good afternoon, Mrs Bai.

A few days ago, Gavin and I were introduced to this Westerner called Booke for the first time at a cafe, and we talked about forming a business partnership in the future.

However, his uninvited appearance today leaves me feeling surprised.

I clench my hands in secret, though I shoot Booke a natural and relaxed smile.

MC: What brings you here? Come in.

I turn around, calling out loudly into the Western-style mansion.

MC: Gavin, Mr Booke is here!

I guide Booke to the sofa. Lifting my eyes, a familiar figure stands next to the door of the living room.

Since he’s currently resting at home, Gavin is in a simple white shirt and overalls, looking refreshing, tall, and neat.

Gavin has a hand in his pocket, an imperceptible light flitting across his amber eyes.

Gavin: We meet again, Mr Booke. I’m very pleased to see you.

Wearing the smile of a wealthy and unbridled young master, he sits down nonchalantly.

Gavin: No need for formalities. Sit wherever you like.

While Gavin says this, he pats the back of my hand affectionately.

Gavin: It’s rare to have a visit from Mr Booke. Prepare some fruits.

MC: Sure. The two you can chat first.

Booke: I’m truly grateful.

I turn around and head into the kitchen. In the meantime, Mr Booke’s voice can occasionally be heard while they engage in small talk.

Booke: Mr Bai, I heard that you and your wife are newlyweds. Looks like the both of you have a great relationship...

Walking to a corner, I take in a breath while biting my lip. In the blink of an eye, the scene from half a month ago surfaces before my eyes...

-

[ FLASHBACK BEGINS ]

Superior in the Organisation: MC, there’s an important undercover mission for you.

As a member of the Organisation, my back is straight while I hold my breath, accepting my superior’s commands in the safe house.

Superior in the Organisation: We’ll be assigning a fake identity to you as a cover for our colleagues to transmit intel. Given that this is your first undercover mission, you will carry out this task with an extremely outstanding and experienced partner. In name, the two of you will be a newlywed couple, and a wealthy young master and young lady specialising in the double-sided embroidery trade with foreigners. Understood?

MC: Understood. 

Superior in the Organisation: Okay. In that case, meet your partner.

Right after these words are spoken, the door to the safe house suddenly clicks open. A tall figure strides in calmly.

Through the glass windows, the setting sun gently lands on the sides of the new arrival’s face. He lifts his head, revealing the amber eyes beneath strands of hair...

MC: ...Gavin?!

An unexpected answer silently tumbles in my heart, and I widen my eyes in astonishment.

During my schooling years, I got to know Gavin. However, social unrest from a few years ago caused us to lose contact. I never inquired into his whereabouts over the years.

I didn’t expect him to be a member of the Organisation, nor to become my partner...

The excitement of the reunion blends with a secret sense of worry. It’s as though thousands and thousands of words have surged into my heart. Yet, the sheer abruptness leaves me not knowing where to begin.

Gavin stands in front of me, and he appears much more mature and determined than in the past.

Gavin: MC, long time no see.

Lifting my head, I meet Gavin’s composed, thousand-yard gaze.

MC: ...long time no see. 

The superior doesn’t seem unfamiliar with Gavin, and he interrupts the pleasantries.

Superior in the Organisation: I heard that you’re old friends. I trust that there wouldn’t be a problem in rapport and coordination.

After this, he lowers his voice, quickly explaining the general situation of the mission.

Superior in the Organisation: The target this time is called Booke. He’s a Westerner, and is currently residing in Loveland City. On the surface, he appears to be a respectable businessman in Loveland City. However, he has intercepted a number of intel from my side, and has been selling them to our enemies in secret. In order to divert the intel, our colleagues have gone undercover. It isn’t difficult to get into Booke’s mansion, but we have to ensure that the absolutely safety of the mission, so we require a cover.

At an appropriate juncture, Gavin adds.

Gavin: Our mission is to keep Booke in another location while our colleagues slip into Booke’s mansion. This is to ensure that our colleagues have sufficient time to divert the intel. In the north, there’s a family with the surname Bai which specialises in doing first-class, double-sided embroidery. We’ll borrow this identity to get close to the target under the guise of doing business with him.

I listen with rapt attention, my heart involuntarily dyed with a tinge of urgency.

Gavin: Time is tight. I’ve received the tickets, and we’ll leave in two days. MC, get ready as soon as possible.

Gavin pauses slightly, a faint smile surfacing in his eyes.

Gavin: Here’s to a pleasant partnership, “Mrs Bai”.

[ FLASHBACK ENDS ]

After a summarised and quick essential training, Gavin and I very quickly come to Loveland City. In a little more than a week, with much publicity, we move into this Western-style mansion.

When we met Booke in a cafe for the first time a few days ago, our colleagues had already slipped into the mansion and located a portion of the intel. However, the remaining half is also important.

After a discussion with our colleagues, we decided to take action once more to perfect the mission and divert all the intel.

Since intel has gone missing, Booke would have definitely conducted investigations. His sudden appearance at the Western-style mansion is unlikely for the simple reason of paying a visit.

After composing my thoughts, I bring over a food tray filled with fruits, sitting down next to Gavin. Gavin turns his head to glance at me, taking my hand in a natural manner.

Booke’s line of sight flits past the both of us, his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

Booke: Have the both of you gotten used to living in Loveland City?

Gavin: We’re still getting used to it, but there aren’t any major problems.

Gavin reclines against the sofa, his tone composed and bringing with it the slight arrogance and wilfulness of a wealthy son.

Gavin: After all, we do business. It requires extensive travel.

Booke: As expected, Mr Bai is experienced and knowledgeable. If you're in need of anything, I’d be very willing to offer assistance.

Booke turns around, then places a large leather trunk he brought along with him on the coffee table.

Booke: Since the both of you were recently married and have moved into a new home, there’s a need for proper celebration. Here are gifts that I’ve meticulously selected.

Maybe it’s an illusion, but Booke’s tone seems to make it clear that he will not accept a refusal.

Gavin chuckles, then responds without hesitation.

Gavin: Since these are the kind regards of Mr Booke, we’ll accept them.

At this appropriate juncture, I display the bashfulness of a new bride. On the other hand, Gavin asks a question unhurriedly.

Gavin: Oh yes. Does Mr Booke have anything on three days later?

Booke turns to look at him.

Gavin: Since we’re newcomers, we intend to hold a banquet in this mansion three days later to establish smooth business relations in Loveland City in the future. To express our sincerity, the most famous first-class double-sided embroidery of the Bai Family will be displayed at the banquet. 

Hearing the words “double-sided embroidery”, Booke’s eyes light up.

Gavin: I wonder if Mr Booke will have the time to make an appearance?

This is the final action plan that we and our colleagues decided on.

Three days is sufficient for us to prepare a set of double-sided embroidery and a grand banquet, which will make the entire situation look foolproof.

When the time comes, we’d use the banquet to keep Booke away from his mansion, and our colleagues will seize this opportunity to slip in again.

I hold my breath while waiting, and Booke responds readily.

Booke: Of course! I’ll definitely be punctual for the first banquet hosted by Mr Bai in Loveland City.

-

At the entrance of the Western-style mansion, Gavin and I have our arms linked together while sending Brooke off. Watching his gradually vanishing figure, I release a soft sigh.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

At this moment, Gavin has already stored away the aura of a young dandy, and returns to his usual composure.

In the meantime, I quietly release my hold on his arm, the warmth on my palm dissipating along with the breeze.

Gavin: Your complexion doesn’t look too good.

My heart suddenly stirs.

After all, this is the first time I'm carrying out an undercover mission. Faced with the shrewd and sly Brooke, I can’t help but feel some palpitations and fatigue. 

However, I don’t want Gavin to get distracted because of me, and I try my best to curl the corners of my lips upwards.

MC: It’s probably because I didn’t sleep well yesterday.

Gavin makes no comment. He doesn’t probe further, and simply smoothens the wrinkles on my shoulder. 

Gavin: Don’t worry. Regardless of what happens, I’ll share it with you.

Under his fleeting gaze, a strong sense of ease suddenly enters the depths of my heart, driving away much of the nervousness and unease.

Just as I’m about to say something, the clock in the living room releases a crisp sound - it’s 3pm.

Each day, 3pm is the time when Gavin would head to the study room to send confidential telegraphs. I immediately smile while rushing him.

MC: Got it, don’t worry. Go and do your things. I’ll handle things down here.

Staring at Gavin’s retreating form, I cheer him on quietly while returning to the sofa in the living room.

Opening the leather trunk, I display the gifts on the coffee table in succession. Mr Brooke has generously given us around seven or eight items, including blue and white porcelain, gold vessels, and a Western clock.

Even though I didn’t find anything strange after giving each item a detailed check, my heart constantly senses that something isn’t right.

It’s only the second time that we’ve met. Yet, he has sent so many items, and his degree of enthusiasm leaves one suspicious. Coupled with tone from earlier...

To play it safe, I check the gifts meticulously one more time. 

Pressing the Western clock to my ear, I hold my breath and give it a listen. All of a sudden, I detect an abnormality -

The second hand of this Western clock seems to be slower by half a beat as compared to normal clocks.

Harbouring an attitude of not missing out on even the smallest detail, I quickly dismantle all the spare parts. To my astonishment, there’s a tapping device hidden in the innermost part of the clock.

My heart turns frigid. Sure enough, the sizeable number of gifts were meant to be a cover-up.

Looks like the intel which suddenly went missing a few days ago has caused him to become suspicious of us.

I quickly get up, wanting to inform Gavin, who is currently sending telegraphs in the study room. However, I pause warily once I stand up.

The Western-style mansion may not be absolutely safe. There may be other tapping devices...

After a moment of contemplation, I turn around and head into the kitchen calmly.

-

Carrying a piping cup of coffee, I knock on the door to Gavin’s study room.

The moment I push the door open, Gavin quickly lifts his head.

Clear sunlight streams into the room through the blinds, casting a gorgeous halo around him.

Since he’s currently working, Gavin is wearing a pair of golden-rimmed glasses. The dark metal telephone receiver is pressed against his neck.

As usual, he’s listening to commands through the telephone while sending out telegraphs at a rapid pace.

Likely due to the sheer abruptness of my appearance, a twinge of surprise is in Gavin’s eyes even before the focus in them completely slips away.

He know that I wouldn’t enter the study room during this time, unless something warrants an interruption.

Gavin: What is it?

He asks, without a change in his expression. Feigning nonchalance, I speak.

MC: I was afraid you’d be tired, so I specially brewed a cup of coffee for you. Here. Be careful, it’s hot.

Placing the coffee next to Gavin’s hand, I shoot him a wink.

Understanding this to some extent, Gavin keeps the telegraph machine. He picks up the coffee, a natural smile in his eyes.

Gavin: You’ve worked hard.

Seizing this chance, I pull on Gavin’s hand, quickly drawing the symbol of “tapping device” on his palm.

Gavin stands up, pointing at his ear and to his right. I immediately understand this.

We deliberately converse about things to hoodwink anyone potentially listening in, and quickly split up to search the study room.

Gavin uses one hand to set the cup of coffee down with a loud and clear sound. With the other, he quickly pulls a drawer open.

In the meantime, I’m on the floor, doing my best to stay quiet while sieving through all the books and publications, and the bottom of cabinets and tables.

Behind me, Gavin raises his volume, his tone bringing with it a tinge of satisfaction.

Gavin: The coffee has a very familiar taste. Are they beans from the north?

I continue searching, sharp-eyed and deft-handed. At the same time, I lift my head, responding in a somewhat pouting manner.

MC: Of course. I wouldn’t leave behind a single thing that you like. What about you? You agreed to take me to the teahouse. When will you have the time?

Gavin chuckles, responding indolently.

Gavin: ...are you angry? Don’t worry. I remember all my promises to you.

While we talk, I check half of the study room, and have yet to find anything out of the ordinary.

I twist my head, meeting Gavin’s eyes. The both of us shake our heads - the sense of alarm is gone, and the study room is completely safe.

Releasing a soft sigh of relief, I place the items back in their original places. Without turning my head, I speak. 

MC: Although the danger has been removed for now, it looks like Booke’s on high alert.

Gavin: We have to be even more careful three days later.

I nod in affirmation. Just as I'm about to straighten up...

MC: Oof!

Without realising it, Gavin has walked up behind me. Turning around suddenly causes me to bump straight into him.

My forehead presses against his chest, and the sudden proximity leaves my mind in a fluster. Just as I’m about to take a few steps back, I feel something odd at my waist.

Because of the accidental collision, an exquisite bracelet was caught on my clothes, and the other end is still stuck to Gavin’s pocket.

The bracelet which links us together further closes the distance between us.

I feel breaths on my ear. The warmth and scent belonging to him envelops me within.

My cheeks grow hot. The more I try to untangle it, the more flustered I feel. At this point, Gavin reaches out, his slender fingers brushing my waist nonchalantly.

Gavin: I’ll do it.

Very soon, the bracelet falls into Gavin’s palm. Looking at it curiously, I realise that there’s a small and delicate pendant on the bracelet, which appears to be...

MC: Is that a rouge box?

Gavin: Mm.

Faced with my slightly shocked gaze, an imperceptible emotion seems to flit past Gavin’s eyes. The words I hadn’t heard in a long time suddenly resound in my ears.

Gavin (in a flashback): You like rouge boxes? I’ll give one to you.

Reminiscent of a small pebble, they course through the depths of my memories gently, stirring up ripples that only I know about.

The corners of my lips curl upwards involuntarily.

MC: I remember how I couldn’t keep my eyes off all the various beautiful rouge boxes along every street. Back then, I don’t think there were any girls who didn’t like them.

Gavin: Do you still like them?

[Note] In Chinese, Gavin’s question leaves the subject of what MC likes ambiguous. This means his question could possibly be interpreted as “Do you still like rouge boxes?” or “Do you like me now?”

Gavin looks at me seriously, his gaze clear. It leaves me unable to distinguish if he’s referring to what I liked in the past or something else.

MC: O-of course I do...

Gavin: MC, the things you’re talking about - I remember them all. Since I promised to give it to you, I’d definitely do it.

Even though he says this very lightly, I suddenly feel the air in the surroundings rising for some reason.

In an attempt to dispel the heat, I quickly take two steps back, face flushed as I turn away.

MC: Could you give this to me as a “memento of our partnership” after we complete this mission successfully? I think it’d be more meaningful that way.

Gavin arches his brows and chuckles softly.

Gavin: Sure. I’ll listen to my “wife”.

-

Three days pass by quickly.

It’s the 6th day of the 7th month - the night of the banquet. Along with soft music drifting from the phonograph, guests gradually arrive.

In the large parlour paved with velvet, a rhinestone chandelier sparkles with a dazzling lustre, illuminating the guests.

Some guests are drinking and chatting merrily, while some are dancing gently to the melody.

Guest A: Mr Bai, I’ve heard about you for a long time. Sure enough, you’re dignified and impressive.

Guest B: Mrs Bai is also radiating with brilliance. The two of you are truly a match made in heaven!

Tonight, Gavin is wearing a well-ironed suit vest. A unique armband reflects a smooth arc beneath the light.

He raises and sways a glass of red wine leisurely. When he speaks, he brings with him the uninhibited and unconstrained aura of someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

Gavin: I’m just a newcomer. You flatter me. I wish to offer a toast to everyone with this glass.

Everything appears resplendent and peaceful. Gavin and I have our arms linked together, our generous smiles laden with a deep undercurrent.

With an affectionate smile on my face, I press myself close to Gavin’s ear. However, my tone is frantic.

MC: It’s been 20 minutes. Why isn’t Brooke here yet?

Gavin lowers his head, pretending to brush the pearl ornament on my hair.

Gavin: Don’t worry. Wait for a while longer. Booke has been inquiring about the double-sided embroidery for a very long time. He’ll definitely be here.

Right after he finishes speaking, a dull creaking sound can be heard from the entrance. The person we’ve been anticipating finally walks in - Booke is here.

Booke: Good evening, Mr and Mrs Bai. It’s the fault of my subordinate’s horrendous driving that I only managed to make it at this time. I haven’t missed out on anything interesting, have I?

Brooke walks over with his pot belly, several subordinates trailing behind him.

Gavin walks over to Booke with unhurried steps, a smile hooked onto his face.

Gavin: The banquet has just started. However...

Gavin pauses. With a wave of his hand, he calls over a wine server. He hands Booke a glass of red wine, allowing no explanation to be offered.

 Gavin: Latecomers are punished with three glasses of wine.

Booke narrows his eyes slightly. In the next second, however, he accepts the glass of wine and laughs in a clear, loud voice.

Booke: I’ve heard of the saying, “punished with three glasses of wine” a number of times since I came to this country. To express my sincerity, of course it isn’t a problem.

-

With three glasses of wine in his belly, Booke’s fingers subconsciously rub the cup when the wine server fills the fourth. He pauses.

Booke: Isn’t Mr Bai drinking too?

Gavin clinks his glass against Booke’s, and the both of them empty their glasses in one gulp.

Booke: The banquet appears to be going pretty well. The double-sided embroidery should be the finale, isn’t it?

Gavin sways the newly poured wine. The wine in the glass seems to tinge his face with crimson.

Gavin: Good things are naturally left to the end. I heard that Mr Brooke has a set of furniture which was imported recently. Why don’t we talk about that first?

While Gavin engages Brooke in a conversation, he subtly urges Brooke to drink glass after glass, and the decanter is gradually emptied.

I quickly take the decanter from the wine server.

MC: There’s a bottle of red wine which was just shipped from Europe. I’ll let Mr Brooke try it. Give me a moment.

Gavin: Sure.

Gavin turns his head, seeming to respond casually.

However, in the moment our eyes meet, the light in his eyes dim, and we converse without words: It’s time to take the next step.

-

Brisk walking to the empty kitchen, I fill the decanter with red wine, then carefully pour a packet of knockout drugs into it.

The powder melts into the wine in mere seconds, akin to how we’re in a race against time to carry out this plan.

The moment Brooke left his mansion, our colleagues slipped in.

In order to keep him in our Western-style mansion, the so-called “double-sided embroidery worthy of a finale” is merely a ruse. What we’ve prepared is simply a set of second-rate goods which have turned mouldy.

If our colleagues manage to obtain the intel quickly, they would send us a secret signal. When the time comes, we just have to find an excuse to stall Brooke, such as improper storage such that we’re unable to perform the transaction.

But if our colleagues fail to send us a signal even after a long time, we’d proceed to the next step - the knockout drugs will be used.

-

Returning to the main hall, I see that Gavin is currently chatting merrily with Brooke.

He gives me a signal with his gaze, and I grin while handing a cup of drugged red wine to Brooke.

Shortly after, as he downs cups of red wine, Booke gradually gets into an inebriated and drowsy state. I quickly call Booke’s subordinates over.

MC: Mr Booke is probably drunk. There is a guest room at the end of the long hallway. I’ll bring all of you there to get some rest.

After positioning Booke and his subordinates, I leave the hallway in large strides. Gavin is currently waiting for me at the end of the hallway.

Gavin: Our colleagues have sent an interim signal. 

He leans close to my ear and speaks softly.

Gavin: I’ll take a look. Stay here. If anything happens, remember to protect yourself, and act accordingly.

I nod, and Gavin heads off immediately.

I’m standing in the junction between the hallway and the main hall. Although I appear to be observing the dancing crowd, I’m actually entirely focused on waiting for the signal that the diversion of intel has been successful. 

The minutes and seconds tick by. While I’m feeling frantic with my brows furrowed slightly, heavy and muddled footsteps suddenly resound from behind me in the hallway.

Brooke, who should be in a heavy sleep, is walking towards me with steady steps. His eyes are clear, and he doesn’t appear to have been knocked out at all!

My fingers tremble, and I can feel my heart in my throat. However, I immediately pretend to appear glad.

MC: Have you sobered up? Would you like me to brew sobering tea?

Brooke: No need.

Brooke speaks gloomily.

Brooke: Why is Mrs Bai alone in the main hall? Where’s Mr Bai?

Following his words, I scan the surroundings.

MC: I’ve been greeting the guests and didn’t take notice. He might have gone to the washroom.

When Brooke sees the Western clock not too far off, his eyes narrow.

Brooke: It’s getting late. I’ve been waiting far too long for the double-sided embroidery. Will I get to see it today?

Sensing the inquisitiveness in his tone, my heart leaps heavily.

MC: Just wait for a while longer. We’re planning to display it at 12am. It’d be the Qixi Festival then, making it even more auspicious. 

Brooke releases an icy hum.

Brooke: This might sound strange, but a couple of “rats” suddenly appeared in my house a few days ago. Earlier, those “rats” wanted to steal my things again, but my men managed to catch them!

What?!

My eyes widen slightly. Composing my emotions, I caution myself that this might very well be a bluff crafted by Brooke. 

MC: That’s wonderful! Rats are pretty rampant during this season, so it’s a good thing they were caught. It’d be troublesome if they were to bite and damage your goods.

Booke: Mrs Bai, you’re very humourous. 

He purses his lips in disdain, giving me a sharp stare, as though wanting to uncover something from my expression.

Booke: Let’s not waste more time. Those “rats” are waiting for me to deal with them when I return. Mrs Bai, you might as well bring me to see the double-sided embroidery right now!

With a fierce wave of his hand, a few tall subordinates immediately gather. Clearly, he has started to double our true reason for hosting this banquet.

Pretending to be shocked and maligned, I widen my eyes in disbelief.

MC: What are you doing... Although we’ve already decided to do business with you, there are many distinguished guests here today. The double-sided embroidery has to be displayed in front of everyone. Otherwise, how could we conduct business with them in the future!

Seeing that Booke is about to lose his patience, I step forward and pull on his hand, turning my head to the side and shooting him a grin.

MC: There’s still half an hour. Why don’t I invite you to dance?

Brooke is stunned for a moment, likely not expecting me to react in this manner. Seizing this chance, I successfully pull him onto the dance floor. 

-

As midnight approaches, the atmosphere in the main hall is reaching the peak of liveliness. Everyone is gathered together and doing various forms of social dances. Seeing that I’ve joined them, a number of guests come over.

On their accounts, Booke doesn’t take action despite the doubt on his face.

After a moment, along with the rousing melody, everyone collectively turns in a circle and swaps partners. Taking advantage of this, I put distance between myself and Brooke.

Just as I plan to find an opportune moment to leave the dance floor and inform Gavin about the situation, a familiar scent suddenly envelops me from behind.

Gavin: You’ve waited long, my wife.

A strong arm stops me from behind. Gavin retracts his arm, causing me to lean my face against his shoulder.

I can distinctly feel warmth emanating from Gavin’s chest on my back. The pit of my stomach relaxes instantly. 

The fragrance of red wine continues to permeate the air. Western-style music plays mellifluously.

Moving along to the rhythm of the melody and after a couple of spins, Gavin brings me to a quiet and concealed corner.

Gavin: Don’t worry. The intel has been successfully transferred.

I heave a huge sigh of relief. But the moment I think about the current situation, I immediately turn my head towards Gavin.

MC: Booke has already discovered the gathering of intel and has grown suspicious. He’s now a ticking time bomb. To be safe, should we deal with him here?

While saying this, I draw a gun from underneath my cheongsam.

In the next second, Gavin’s hand slides to my waist. He presses down on the gun in my hand, and continues to hold me as we slow dance to the music.

Gavin: I know. But nothing can happen to him while everyone’s watching.

MC: But...

As we sway gently and slowly, Gavin leans in close to my ear, strands of hair brushing my cheek gently. Although his voice is soft, it’s very clear.

Gavin: Our colleagues who slipped into Booke’s mansion discovered important leads. The Organisation has decided to bring him back for a confidential interrogation. Right now, they should have already slipped into the crowd.

MC: So the reason why you left earlier...?

Gavin: Mm. Everyone has been deployed.

MC: What do we do now?

While dancing, the crowd gathers near the entrance. The rhinestone chandelier hanging several metres above them glistens with light.

The corners of Gavin’s lips hook upwards confidently. Light falls into his eyes, reflecting a vigour even brighter than the colour of amber.

Gavin: Very simple - create disorder. Like this.

Gavin takes the gun from my hand. Accompanying the high-spirited music, he unfolds his arm. Following the movements of the dance, he naturally and quickly twirls me around and pulls me to him.

Using the curtain at this corner as a cover, Gavin lifts the gun. In a swift movement, he fires at the rhinestone chandelier!

“CRASH!”

A loud shattering sound can be heard. In an instant, the main hall descends into shock and darkness. Even though nobody is hurt, everyone frantically surge towards the entrance.

Booke is clearly taken by surprise too, and is protected by his subordinates as they run to the entrance.

Sharp-eyed and deft-handed, Gavin rushes over to Brooke, pulling on his arm and speaking softly.

Gavin: This place isn’t safe. Let’s leave.

Booke follows along for a few steps. However, when the crowd in the surroundings turn sparse, he halts in doubt, attempting to break free from Gavin’s grasp.

Without waiting for him to make a further move, Gavin has already clamped down on him, then engages in a bare fist fight with his subordinates!

Although the other parties are swift and violent, Gavin is faster, and he nimbly evades them before swinging his leg, causing the subordinates to fall to the ground one by one.

In one smooth sweep, Booke is brought under control.

Our reinforcements arrive on time. Pretending to be here to provide support, they take advantage of the chaos and carry Booke away.

-

When Gavin and I are the only ones left in the Western-style mansion, I release a huge sigh of relief.

MC: The mission is finally over...

Gavin lifts his head to smoothen my scattered hair.

Gavin: Mm, it’s over. You did really well in this mission. 

I smile lightly.

MC: After all, this was my first time doing undercover work. I’ve actually been cheering myself on every day. Fortunately, we managed to get through this daunting experience without any mishaps.

Gavin lowers his head, meeting my gaze.

Gavin: Remaining this calm during your first undercover mission - as expected, I didn’t pick the wrong partner.

MC: ...?!

These sudden yet unexpected words render me unable to respond even after a few seconds. My heart thumps rapidly.

Crystal clear moonlight pours through the colourful glass window at the side, casting a colourful shadow on Gavin’s face.

Beneath the enchanting light, Gavin’s eyes seem to grow deep and serene.

Gavin: I’ve been looking for you these few years. But the social unrest made it difficult to find you. It was only until I happened to see the name list of this operation that I knew you were in the organisation too, so...

Every word from Gavin drums against my heart.

Whether it’s because of this enchanting moment or the darkness, I’m suddenly filled with courage and blurt out the question in my heart.

MC: Why?

Why did you keep looking for me? And why did you pick me to be your partner?

Despite the abruptness and briefness of my question, Gavin understands what I meant.

Gavin: What do you think?

Reflecting the tender moonlight, Gavin speaks in a slower tone, and faint anticipation starts to rise in my heart.

Gavin: Come to think of it, do you still remember the rouge box bracelet from that day?

Amid the mottled light, Gavin retrieves the bracelet from his pocket. The metal pendant emits a beautiful light beneath the moonlight. 

Gavin: Now, the mission has been resolved successfully. It’s time for this bracelet to be given to its owner.

At this moment, the Western clock suddenly chimes, interrupting Gavin’s words. The clock strikes exactly at midnight.

Light stirs in his amber eyes. When he sees my high spirits, Gavin chuckles.

He lifts my wrist, the warmth of his finger pads brushing my skin as he carefully puts on the bracelet for me.

Holding my hand, Gavin looks up, his eyes reflecting a composed smile within.

Gavin: I’ve put it on for you. 

In the tranquility of midnight, the phonograph plays a romantic tune.

Gavin pauses for a moment, then leans in close.

My heart thumps, and it feels as though it’s about to leap out. My eyes are wide open, absorbed in that pair of eyes which reflect the moonlight. 

Gavin: Although it came a little late, it isn’t too late. Happy Qixi Festival.

👓 Calls and Moments: here

👓 Translated comics based on this date:

✧ by norelle-n

✧ by 喵哦哦哦哦哦

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[shemarmooresfedora]

If the World is Ending, I Want to Fuck You First

Summary: You need to do one last thing during the zombie apocalypse.

Pairing: Kyle Orfman (MGG character in Life After Beth) x Fem!Reader

MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)

Content/Warnings: swearing, smut, blowjob, praise kink, sub!kyle, gun violence (used against zombies), vaginal sex, choking, fluffy ending (let me know if i missed anything)

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: okay i know this is a lesser famous mgg character but i beg of you to give this fic a try because i think it’s my best smut yet and i love the ending. you don’t need to have watched the movie to understand (i give a few visuals).

Masterlist

“Open the goddamn door, Jacob,” you pounded on your ex’s door, “I want my shit back.”

A car with sirens pulled up in the driveway. Great, you thought, the cops. But when you turned around, it was just an old tan sedan with ‘Briarwood Security’ written on it.

You turned back around, “Jacob, I know you’re fucking home, you cheating son of a bitch.

“What seems to be the problem here?” a tall, lean man with a slicked back undercut dressed in a beige security uniform approached the front door.

“My cheating ex won’t give me my stuff back,” you continued to pound at the door, “I have a laptop in there!”

He sighed and spoke quietly, “This is technically still trespassing because he didn’t necessarily steal it but let me see what I can do.”

“Jacob Peterson,” he knocked on the door, “This is Briarwood Security. I need you to open the door or I have the clearance to break it down.”

He whispered to you, “I actually don’t,” and you giggled.

Jacob swung open the door with your bag of stuff.

“Take your crap and go,” he shoved the bag into your arms.

“Gladly, asshole,” you checked to make sure everything was in there.

You nodded to the security guard and Jacob slammed the door once again.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked, noticing your lack of a car.

“I live like a mile away so I just walked here but yeah, if you don’t mind, that would be great,” you accepted.

He opened the trunk for you to put your bag of belongings inside.

“Kyle,” you hummed, looking at his little name tag.

“And you are?”

“Y/N,” you stuck out your hand for him to shake and he accepted it.

“Kyle, I have a proposition for you,” you said as you entered the passenger side of the car.

“Okay…” he looked at you.

“Let me suck your dick.”

Kyle stared straight at you for a minute, not moving.

“Hello?” you asked, waving your hand in front of his face.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he snapped out of his daze.

“Let me suck your dick,” you repeated, “I don’t want his,” you pointed to Jacob’s door, “to be the last dick I sucked and I want him to see your car still parked out here, knowing exactly what we are doing. Plus, you get an orgasm out of it.”

“I’m on the job,” he tried to resist.

“If you really don’t want to, that’s okay. I’m not trying to pressure you. I just think this could be a mutually beneficial agreement.”

Kyle nodded, putting the car in reverse and starting to back out of the driveway. He made it about halfway before he braked and put the car back in park.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“Please,” he begged.

You looked down and as your eyes adjusted to the evening darkness, you could see the obvious bulge strain in his khakis.

You leaned over the center console, untucking his uniform and unbuckling his belt. You slowly unzipped his fly to tease him as he squirmed underneath you.

“Patience, my sweet boy” you hummed and your warm breath fanned out across his dick.

His needy whines were beautiful. You sat back up and removed your shirt, leaving you in just a lacy bralette.

“Please,” he pleaded again.

“Because you asked so nicely,” you leaned back down and licked a long strip up from the base of his dick to the tip, swirling your tongue at the top.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands moving to your hair.

“Hands off,” you ordered and he whined but complied.

You took him in inch by inch. He was certainly the biggest you’ve ever been with. You gagged when he bottomed out in your throat.

You could feel him using all his self-control to restrain his hands to his side.

You bobbed your head up and down, taking up a quick pace. His melodic groans filled the car.

“I’m gonna-” he panted, “Can I please cum?”

“Yes, you’ve been such a good boy for me, baby. Let go. You can touch me now,” you spoke.

His hands moved to your hair just as his hips bucked up, shooting his load into your mouth. You accepted it all with a moan and swallowed.

You took a few more gentle sucks before releasing him from your mouth. As you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, Kyle stared at you adoringly.

“Ummm, thank you? I’m not really sure what to say,” he finally spoke.

“Just drive,” you laughed.

-

You woke up to a loud crashing sound coming from downstairs. You reached for your cell but it was dead even though it was plugged in. The power must have gone out. You grabbed your emergency battery-powered flashlight from underneath your bed and your bottle of pepper spray.

You quietly snuck down the stairs but when you turned the corner, you came face-to-face with your old kindergarten teacher who died a couple of years ago. She was definitely dead but still walking somehow. You screamed as she tried to grab you as you ran for the door.

You burst out of the door to see the street crawling with zombies of dead people you used to know. You ran towards the direction of the police station. You got about a half a mile until the deceased retired high school football coach tackled you to the ground.

You fought and kicked and screamed, trying to avoid him biting you. You thought it was over until you heard the sound of a gunshot and the zombie limply collapsed on top of you. You pushed it off with a yelp.

A hand reached down to help you up, you looked up to see Kyle standing there in a slightly bloody orange jumpsuit.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You nodded slowly.

“We should get off the street but I’ve cleared this whole neighborhood so we should be okay,” he grabbed your hand.

You looked down at your interlocked hands, “I don’t know if it’s just the adrenaline talking but if the world is ending, I want to fuck you first.”

Kyle smiled softly, “It would be a hell of a last memory but I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He pulled you towards his house and jumped the fence to his backyard.

“I don’t think zombies can climb,” he said, looking up at his childhood treehouse.

“This is a first,” you laughed softly as you headed up the ladder with Kyle right behind you.

“I can feel your eyes staring at my ass,” you said as you climbed the ladder.

“It’s right in front of me! Where do you want me to look?” he defended himself.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” you smirked.

Immediately upon crawling into the treehouse, your lips were on his.

“How do you want it, baby?” you whispered into his ear.

“Ride me, please,” he whined.

You put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him back onto the wooden floor. You unzipped his jumpsuit hastily, ripping your shirt and shorts off in the process.

You released his dick from the confines of his tight black boxers and stroked it a couple of times.

“You ready?” you asked as you lined yourself up above him.

“Yes,” he nodded enthusiastically.

You sank down on his dick, adjusting to the feeling of him inside you. Kyle’s head fell back in pure pleasure.

You wrapped a tentative hand around his neck, only applying more pressure when his moans increased in volume.

His hips were bucking up to meet yours at a ferocious pace.

“Ah fuck! I think I just got a splinter in my ass,” he yelped.

“Shhh baby, you can take it. You’re fucking me so good, my sweet boy,” you continued to ride him and guided his hands up to your boobs.

Kyle groaned at the praise, “I’m close-God, I’m so close.”

“Give me a few more seconds. I know you can, baby,” you frantically rubbed your clit in order to finish with him.

“Okay, fill me up like a good boy,” you whispered into his ear.

Kyle’s hands grappled at your hips as he bucked up into you one last time. As you both came down from your highs, you collapsed on top of him.

The two of you just laid like that for a while. Catching your breath while soaking up the skin-to-skin contact.

“You know I was going to go back to your apartment and ask you on a date? You know…before the whole world went to shit. Besides giving me the best blowjob of my life, you just seemed like a really cool, beautiful girl,” Kyle admitted.

“Too bad you didn’t get the chance, I would have said yes.”

“Can I leave you here for just a second?” he asked quietly.

You hugged him closer, “I would prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Well, I would prefer it if you stayed up here where I know it’s safe. I need to get supplies and I’m armed,” he reasoned with you.

“Promise you’ll come back,” you had tears in your eyes.

“I promise,” he held out his pinky and you wrapped yours around it, both of you kissing your fists.

You and Kyle got redressed and you watched him climb down the ladder and head into his house with his gun fully loaded. And then, you waited. You counted the seconds. You were at 381 when he finally returned.

“Thank god,” you let out a sigh of relief.

He started to unpack the bag he brought with him. He pulled out a blanket and set it on the floor for you both to sit on. Then, pillows. Next, he pulled out leftover cold pizza.

“Ah, gourmet,” you jokingly smiled.

He pulled out red solo cups and placed one in between you both, putting in a rose he plucked from his mom’s rose bush.

Finally, he pulled a very expensive bottle of whiskey from the bag and filled your cups.

“My dad was saving this for a special occasion, I think zombies coming back from the dead and the world ending qualifies,” he grinned.

The world didn’t end. In fact, you were just starting your new life with your future husband.

taglist (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly @spencerreid-187

[musette22]

Local museum volunteer Chris explaining all the items and history facts to teacher Sebastian and his 20 kids on a school trip or to single dad Sebastian and his twins (one who is really into it and ask a lot of "but why?" And the other one who just sticks his fingers up his nose and yawns lmao)

Okay so I was just on a walk and I started thinking about this ask again (I am so so so sorry for how long it took me to reply to this, I suck wow) because I couldn’t get that new pic of Seb looking like a literal DILF out of my head, but I couldn’t remember the specifics so what came out is slightly different from what you suggested but not much – hope you still like it (I personally screamed into my fist multiples times while thinking about this – I’m furious at how cute this little scenario is, thank you so so much for this!)

Disclaimer: I literally wrote this just now so it’s unbeta’d and probably riddled with nonsense, but I hope you guys like nonetheless!  <3

*********************

“Hi, guys! Welcome to the Concord Museum. My name is Chris and I’ll be your guide this afternoon.”

Chris eyes the little family – a father and two young kids – standing in front of him in the entrance hall of the bite-sized museum, then makes a show of looking around the otherwise empty hall. “Seems like it’s a quiet one today, so you’ll have me all to yourself!”

The father smiles, his sparkling, blue-grey eyes crinkling in the corners in a way that Chris shouldn’t be thinking of as ‘adorable’, but does nonetheless.

“Fantastic,” the man says warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Chris. This is Margot,” – he gestures to the girl of about eight standing next to him – “and this little guy here is David,” he adds, lightly bouncing the three or four-year-old, curly haired boy on his hip. David gives Chris a wide eyed look before promptly burying his face in his father’s neck. “He’s a little shy,” the dad says fondly.

“That’s fine,” Chris tells them. With a smile, he ducks his head to try and catch David’s eye. “You’re not the only one, kiddo. I’m a little shy myself sometimes, you know.”  

“I’m not shy,” Margot pipes up.

“No,” her dad agrees with a chuckle, “you certainly are not.”

Chris turns his eyes back to their father’s face. “And your name..?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man says, “I’m Sebastian.” He holds out his hand for Chris to shake, warm and dry with long, elegant fingers that fit nicely against Chris’s own, studier ones.

Sebastian, Chris thinks. Perfect name for a perfect guy. The term ‘DILF’ flashes unbidden through Chris’s mind – wildly inappropriate, given the circumstances, but oh so accurate. Sebastian has a sweet, charming smile, incredible bone structure, and dark, wavy hair, swept up in a quiff-like style that manages to make him look both sophisticated and a little boyish at the same time. There’s a hint of grey at his temples as well as in his beard that has Chris placing him at maybe two or three years older than himself.

“New York?” Chris guesses, as he reluctantly lets go of Sebastian’s hand.

“That’s right,” Sebastian nods. “Well, formerly, anyway. We just moved to the area, actually.”

“Oh, really? What brought you all the way out here?”

Sebastian runs a hand through his hair; a nervous habit, perhaps. “Oh, um. My ex-wife got a job in Boston last year, and I didn’t want to be too far from her and the kids, so I decided to follow suit. Only moved down here last month. This is my first full weekend with these guys at my new place, so I thought I’d take them out to do something cultural, learn a little about the local history, y’know?”

“Well, we’ve got plenty of that here,” Chris assures him. “In fact,” he adds sheepishly, “that’s kinda all we've got.”

Sebastian laughs, causing Chris’s brain to glitch, which is probably why the next thing that comes out of his mouth is – “Divorce, huh? I’m sorry, that must’ve been tough.”

When Sebastian doesn’t answer straight away, Chris wants to kick himself for running his big, stupid mouth. As usual. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes hastily. “That’s none of my business. Just tryin’ to make small talk, but I always seem to forget I’m really bad at that. Just forget I said anything.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sebastian assures him, flashing Chris a quick smile. “Thank you. These things are never easy, but it’s better this way, you know?”

“They’re not fighting or anything,” Margot chimes in again, from a few feet below. “Mommy and daddy only got divorced because mommy’s a girl and daddy likes boys better than girls. Right, daddy?"

Well. Chris tries not to be too obvious about glancing at Sebastian’s face to see his reaction to that bombshell his daughter just dropped, but he’s not sure how well he manages.

Sebastian closes his eyes for a moment as if praying for strength. “That's right, sweetheart,” he says with a grimace. “But I'm sure Chris doesn't need to hear about all that."

Chris begs to differ – he’s actually extremely interested in hearing about all this, but before he has a chance to say anything in reply, Margot squares her jaw and crosses her football jersey-clad arms.

“Why not?” she asks defiantly. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Some girls just like girls and some boys like boys, it’s totally normal. It’s not prola- probu –" She sighs in frustration, looking up at her dad, who’s watching her with something like pride on his handsome face.

“Problematic?”

“Yeah,” Margot concurs, “not probametic.”  

Chris hums in agreement. “It’s not, you’re absolutely right. I’ll tell you what,” he tells her conspiratorially, “I happen to like boys better, too.”

Margot’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You do?”

“I do.”

Suddenly, Margot’s little face lights up, her shrewd eyes flitting to her dad’s face for a second, then back to Chris. “Do you like my dad?”

“Margot,” Sebastian cuts in, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “That’s enough, honey.” When he tuns back to Chris to give him an apologetic look, Chris can’t help but notice the slight blush coloring his cheeks. “I’m sorry about that. She’s gotten it into her head that she needs to find me the perfect man ASAP, or I’ll waste away or something.”

Chris laughs, throwing back his head in genuine mirth. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine,” he assures them, then claps his hands together to change the precarious subject. “So, who’s ready to learn a little bit about what living in Concord was like over a hundred years ago?”

******

Chris always enjoys volunteering at the museum – it’s nice to give something back to the community that’s been his home for his entire life, and to chat to visitors from all over who have come to visit the land of Little Women, among other things – but what Chris likes best is when he gets to show kids around the place. Some of them need to be won over (after all, a dusty old museum isn’t quite as exciting as a trip to Disney World), but others are instantly captivated by the strange objects and old-timey atmosphere – Sebastian’s kids, fortunately, seem to fall in the latter category.

There’s one room in particular that’s an invariably a favorite with kids – the one that houses the old children’s toys. Trains, dolls and dollhouses, most of them made from wood, all arranged in a colorful parade, with a few screens set up in front of the glass display cases on which kids can watch animations of the toys being used. To Chris’s delight, Margot and David are both immediately taken with the display, David pressing his nose against the glass while Margot fires off question after question that Chris answers patiently and to the best of his ability.

“You sure know a lot about them,” Sebastian remarks, not without a hint of admiration, once Chris has finished explaining the mechanics of the miniature train set.

“Ah.” Chris rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess you could say I’m something of a toy enthusiast myself. I’ve actually got a carpentry workshop – that’s my real job,” he explains. “I’m just a volunteer here – and I dabble in some toy making sometimes, too.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding. I used to want to be a toy maker when I was a kid, you know,” he says wistfully. “Probably just saw Pinocchio one too many times, but it just seemed like the best job in the world to me, at the time.”

“It kinda is,” Chris grins at Sebastian, getting lost in his dancing grey eyes for a moment. “So what did you end up doing for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a journalist. I love it, don’t get me wrong. It’s enriching, challenging. But there’s just something about working with your hands, creating something tangible, something useful…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Chris nods. He bites his lip, hesitating for just a moment before deciding to bite the bullet. “Hey, I don’t know if you guys have plans after this, but my shift ends in a few minutes. I live pretty close, maybe a ten minute drive – if you want, I could show you my workshop? Maybe the kids can try out some of the things I’ve been working on, see if they’re actually any fun to play with?”

There’s an excited collective gasp from the kids, both of them immediately turning big, hopeful eyes on their father. “Oh, daddy,” Margot pleads, tugging on his sleeve. “Can we go see the workshop, pleaaase?”  

Chris tries to ignore the way his stomach drops when Sebastian visibly hesitates.

“I don’t know, guys.” Sebastian looks back at Chris. “I don't want to intrude. It’s almost dinner time on a Saturday. I’m sure you’ve got plans, maybe with your partner..?”

Oh, Chris thinks, chest expanding with hope. He shakes his head. “No partner,” he says, holding Sebastian’s gaze. “Just a dog.”

“A dog?” Margot squeals. “Oh my god, daddy, he’s got a dog. We have to go.”

Sebastian chuckles, rolling his eyes. "They've been hounding me about a dog for months, excuse the pun. I want one too, but I'm just not sure I'm home enough.”

Chris nods sympathetically. “Yeah, it can be tricky if you work full-time, but there’s usually a solution for this kind of thing, in my experience.”

“What’s your dog’s name?” Margot interrupts, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet.

“He’s called Dodger,” Chris tells her, unable to keep the pride out of his voice as he talks about his beloved, four legged-rescue.

From Sebastian’s other side, a small voice suddenly joins in. “Like the one from Oliver?” asks David. His big, brown eyes are wide as he stares up at Chris.

“That’s right,” Chris confirms, dropping to his haunches to level the playing field a little. “Exactly like the one from Oliver. You like that movie, huh?”

David nods, looping one arm around one of his dad’s long legs while clearly fighting the urge to hide behind him completely. “It’s my favorite,” he mutters, then quickly sticks his thumb in his mouth to signal the end of the conversation.

“Really?” Chris asks, beaming at him. “It’s my favorite, too!”

David actually smiles at that, doing an excited little wiggle on the spot. “Daddy, can we go see Dodger, please?” he asks his dad, not bothering to remove his thumb from his mouth.

From his spot on the floor, Chris looks up Sebastian too, probably looking just as hopeful as the kids are – maybe even more so.

Smiling, Sebastian shakes his head. “Sure, buddy,” he laughs, ruffling David’s hair. “How could I resist all these cute little faces, huh?”

There’s a chorus of cheers from the kids that gives Chris a much-needed moment to recover from the euphoria of hearing Sebastian call him cute. Well, sort of.

“Alright,” Chris says, getting to his feet again. “I’ll just go grab my things. Meet you guys in the parking lot?”

“Sounds good.”

Chris nods and is about to head in the direction of the staff room, when Sebastian halts him with a hand on his arm. Chris stops in his tracks, swallowing as he tears his gaze away from Sebastian’s elegant hand on his bicep, back to his face.

“Thank you,” Sebastian says, giving him a look from under his eyelashes that can only be described as coy. “I really appreciate this, you know.”

Holding Sebastian’s gaze, Chris lifts a hand to cover Sebastian’s with his own, giving it a quick squeeze. “It’s my pleasure,” he replies honestly. “Trust me.”

Smiling, Sebastian bites his lip, no doubt noticing the way Chris’s eyes flicker down to his mouth when he does. “I do.”

Chris’s foolishly romantic heart can’t help but skip a beat.

“See,” Margot says suddenly from beside them, breaking the moment and sounding awfully smug about it, too. “Not prolametic at all.”

Chris barks out a laugh while Sebastian covers his eyes with his hand. “Whatever you do, never have kids.”  

“Oh, I dunno,” Chris chuckles, giving Margot a wink and David’s hair a quick ruffle. “I kinda like yours.”

Sebastian clears his throat. “Alright, guys. Let’s go find your jackets and we’ll go see what Chris has in store for us, huh?”