#and it would have each one of them with a picture their name and like a little blurb

[luvtak]

mr. sandman, bring me a dream

✧ pairing 7 dream x reader

✧ genre/tw fluff fluffy fluff fluff, what i think dating them would be like <3 an embarrassing amount of run-on sentences i'm sure.... the dreamies being the most perfect boyfriends to exist, mostly unedited

✧ w/c 2293 (about 300 words each!!)

✧ a/n back to my roots writing for nct... also,,, not the dreamies being my ult group but my last group to do these headcanons for :/ i have so much fun writing these little ideas and dreams about them let me know if you want more!

MARK truly the definition of wrapped around your finger… tells everyone about you every day of his life. Smiles at everything you say and calls you the cutest names. Makes sure everyone knows that you’re taken for life–no ifs about it. Tells you about his whole day, down to the most unimportant details. Kisses you all around your face and gets red seeing you so flustered. Constantly saying the worst pickup lines. Always always makes time for you even with his busy schedule. Talks to your family on the phone and becomes best friends with your siblings. Lets you win during video games and pretends that you’re just so much better than him. Never comes empty-handed–if you invite him over he’s bringing some sort of present he can’t help it. Wraps you up in at least three layers when it looks a little cold outside. Starts bringing up ideas for a Halloween couple’s costume in January. Celebrates your birthdays and accomplishments like his own. Holds you close to him in any moment of rest, the members are around? He’s only bringing you in closer. I’m sorry to say this, but he is definitely one of those people who refer to you as a “we”... “we watched that movie last week!” or “sorry, we can’t come, we have plans.” Would never even think about fighting with you and when it can’t be avoided, he is always the first to apologize. Walks around draped over you, his neck falling onto your shoulder and clumsily shuffling you along. Steals your phone to take silly pictures of himself, and you end up having 500 selfies of Mark making the same five kissy faces. Fixes your clothes/jewelry/hair as the day takes its toll. Kisses your wrist whenever you hold hands. Lovely and forever committed to giving you the sweetest existence possible.

RENJUN  My angel boy<3 would be the most loving boyfriend if you’re able to get past him giving you sm attitude. Lovingly scolds you 24/7 365. Pouts if you don’t say you love him back or forget to kiss him before you leave. Steals your sweaters and jewelry. Makes you laugh so hard you cry, then kisses the tears away. Has the worst case of cute aggression when he see’s you like he can’t help but take a bite out of you. Whenever you ask him to do something he’ll roll his eyes and scoff but still gets up to do it anyway. Says your name so sweetly and with so much love it could be a term of endearment. Sings to you when you’re sad. Holds you so tight when you sleep, like he could absorb you into his own skin. Carries a picture of you in his wallet everywhere he goes. Gets genuinely annoyed when other people know something about you that he didn’t–wants to know everything, especially the embarrassing stuff. Acts of service king, does things for you and expects nothing but a kiss in return. Gives you the first bite of his food. Forehead kisses 100% of the time. Extremely tenderhearted, wants to be loved and love in return with nothing holding him back. Knows your schedule down to a T. Shakes his head at every joke you tell, but still grants you a laugh. Kisses you slowly and earnestly even if theres people around. Drops the most earth-shattering confessions of love at random moments and just expects you to move on. Matching accessories are a must!! And he will be ready to break up if your forget it one day (we have seen how he is with the dreamies friendship rings). Wraps himself completely around you when no one is around, and stays that way until one of you has to get up. Loves completely and wholeheartedly and is a perfect perfect boy. 

JENO Shy and perpetually flustered, cannot believe he got you fr. Alternates between the cockiest boy you’ve ever met and the most oblivious creature around. Is so in awe of you, cannot get over you choosing him. A big baby of a boyfriend. Body slouched over yours at all times. Tells everyone it isn’t obvious how unbelievably whipped he is for you than giggles when you call him a pet name. Loves when you fawn over him lol, would feel so good about himself when you laugh at his jokes or wear an outfit because he said you looked pretty in it. Definitely the kind of boy who gets you a necklace with his initials on it. Is somehow even more smiley when you’re around. His love language is 100% acts of service–helping you with chores and making dinner, he desperately wants to wash your hair and help take your makeup off. Always takes you home himself and makes you call him before you go to bed. Kisses you all over when you’re sad and squeezes you so tight you can’t breathe. Puts his lips right over your ear and whispers so you can hear him in loud places, sometimes telling terrible jokes to see you laugh. Constantly on the phone with you–will get yelled at by his members and staff to focus on his schedule. Takes you on long drives and lets you have the aux the whole time, smiles even when he hates the song.  Snuggles up to you and has you in an iron grip all night; wakes up periodically to tell you to stop wiggling. Literally a broken record of “oh my s/o would like this!” and “you would never believe what my s/o told me…” Tucks you into his sweater when you’re cold and always carries extra clothes because he knows you’ll forget. Could never hide his feelings for you, it’s written all over–hairbands and your favorite snacks in his cabinets. Is so so so in love with you, and would never even think about being embarrassed of it. <3

HAECHAN Sweet as cherry pie. Silly and charming and the kindest boy you know. Lives his life attached to you, hands on your hips and kisses pressed everywhere he can reach. Never goes a day without telling you he loves you in the most sickeningly sweet ways possible. Listens to every word you say, goes as far as telling other people to be quiet so he can hear you better. Serenades you with the most obnoxious renditions of love songs and coos when you make faces at him. Teases you endlessly–tickles and jokes and ridiculous nicknames, but would never let anyone else make a joke at your expense. Sleeps fully on top of you, head pressed under your chin and hands slipped under your sleep shirt. Celebrates you and your relationship with all of him, always the loudest voice singing happy birthday and the prettiest flowers congratulating you for an achievement at work or school. Speaks to you so softly and with so much compassion you almost get whiplash when you see him around the dreamies. Brings home sweet treats and little keepsakes from his day out. Will watch a movie or listen to a new song and note all the parts you’d like so he can play it for you later and speak to you about it. Unbelievably protective, not in a toxic way, but he wants so much to be able to take care of you and keep you safe–hand pressed on your back while you walk through crowds, and his hand protecting you from hitting your head as you get in the car. Has lists of important days in his notes app, cataloging gifts he could get you and your order at all your favorite restaurants. The perfect silly boyfriend, caring and lovely and everything you need

JAEMIN Marry this man. Has been committed and steadfast in his dedication to you since you met. Extremely serious when it comes to your heart and your feelings. The first to say I love you or to apologize after a fight–would never raise his voice at you or say things he didn’t mean. Is always feeding you, either a complete meal that took him an hour to make or the most perfect bowl of ramyeon you’ve ever had. Constantly sending you pictures of the cats. LOVES pda–kisses you in front of everyone and laughs when they groan, cuddles with you on the practice room couch, and rolls his eyes when the dreamies gag. Always kisses you with soft hands on your cheeks and the prettiest smile. Buys you a keepsake from everywhere they go on tour and gives it to you in a huge suitcase and will not feel ashamed in the slightest. Somehow finds out how to bring you up in every conversation, “oh they really like this song” or “thats actually their favorite movie you know…” you would truly never have to worry about anything with this man, he’s gonna take care of everything, a future airport dad if i’ve ever seen one. Sends tiktoks of cute animals and pouts if you don’t like them right away. Buys you silly sweatshirts and phonecases and demands you wear them proudly as a symbol of his everlasting love. Out of all of the boys, I feel like he is the most likely to give you a promise ring, and in my heart, I know he would have his name engraved on the inside–a quiet confession only the two of you know about. Sleeps directly on top of you, I just know it… holds onto you in every crowd. So many conversations between little kisses and I love yous. Always carries your things, whether it be a bag or shoes that got too uncomfortable his hands are open and ready whenever you need them. The most perfect boy in the world, and whose surprised? 

CHENLE truly your best friend in the entire world, f2l in its entirety… would roast you every minute of every day but if anyone else even dared he is shutting that shit down right away. His arm has a permanent residence on your waist. Giggles at you when you’re annoyed at him but apologizes anyway. Makes you watch him play basketball at 11 pm and laughs when you say you're cold and sleepy, but takes you home right away. Will kiss you in front of anyone–loves it when you get all shy and flustered. Always trying to give you expensive presents and rolling his eyes when you tell him to reign it in. dog dates with Daegal!!! Talks about you so causally that the dreamies didn’t realize you were his girlfriend until he kissed you goodbye, and they were all so dumbfounded. Will watch anything if you like it and will tell you it sucked with a smile on his face before kissing you as an apology. Huge bouquets for any anniversary or birthday. Wraps his arms around you and rocks you around, whispering sweet words that he’d deny if you told anyone about. Stares at you 24/7 and gives you his 100-watt smile. Goes out of his way to help you–buys your groceries, helps wash your hair, picks you up, and takes you wherever you need to go–but always denies it. Begs you to wear his clothes, bonus points if it’s something that has his name on it, or some nct merch. Has an iron grip on your hand at any given point and giggles when you try to get free. Will listen to literally anything you tell him. Smiles into kisses and sighs when you pull away. Is so domestic and lovely in everything he does, even if sometimes he is the biggest menace. 

JISUNG so so so shy, truly does not know how to have a s/o in public lmao. When you’re alone he’s the cutest most confident boy in the world but as soon as there is another person around he does not know you. He makes it obvious that it's just because he’s awkward, but sometimes you definitely do have to tell him to stop being a weirdo and to hold your hand. Constantly makes fun of people with you and is always ready to hear some hot goss. Is always listening to you–even if everyone in the room is talking over you, he will be looking at you with his full attention and urging you to go on. Laughs at everything you say even if it's not funny. Kisses your cheek every morning first thing, and thinks you look so cute cuddled up into the covers. Piggy-backs you everywhere: you drank a little too much or it's too early… up you go! You being comfortable and happy is his priority in any situation, and if anyone including himself is disrupting that he is dealing with it immediately. Whether that means complaining to one of hyungs to help him or going straight to the source of the issue, he’s going to try and help you, even if it’s not like him to speak up for himself–you’re the most important thing to him. Tries to teach you nct dances and gets unbearable secondhand embarrassment when he sees you mess up. Almost exposes your relationship once a month. Is wrapped around you every single moment you’re alone, even if it’s just for a second–someone leaves the room? Jisung is suddenly fully enveloping you. Thinks pda is so embarrassing but would try so hard to be more openly affectionate with you. Blushes to his roots when you sweet talk him no matter how long you’ve been together. Kisses your hands when it’s cold outside and wouldn’t even think about giving you anything of his if you needed it. The sweetest, shyest boy, and so wonderful–loving him and being loved in return would be the loveliest gift.

© LUVTAK

[k0juki]

Hi, I’m so glad someone wants to write for Joost cuz it’s dry out here. Can you write a Joost x reader where he the on their first date or first hcs? either one works. hope you have a wonderful day <3

♡

First date with Joost hc.

Joost Klein x fem!reader

English is not my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors! More posts here.

A/n: I've never had sushi before so...

Wc: 525

---

• Okay, so I think he would have wanted the first date to be somehow special, you know? Nothing like coffee in some restaurant or picnic, but if you're into it, then he will do something like that.

• But I meant something like paintball or perhaps a concert, where you guys can express your feelings.

• I imagine it like you wanted to go to your favorite band concert, but unfortunately the tickets were sold out.

• And then he shows up at your door with two tickets in hand and smug on his face.

• "I heard that someone asked for (band name) tickets..." and he would be so cocky about it too.

• "Oh my god, how did you get them!? They were sold out!" You gasped and took them in your hands to see if they were real. They really were and you couldn't believe it.

• "I have my ways." Joost answered and just smiled down at you. "Go get ready, we don't have much time."

• As you arrived at the concert and 'discovered' that you guys were in the first row, you were in heaven, literally.

• With Joost hugging you from behind, his hands on your hips and resting his head on your shoulder, giving light kisses here and there on your neck.

• You two swayed together on the rhythm with a bit of singing, it couldn't be better. Just you and him.

• When the concert ended, you had a so-called "post depression concert" you're so sad it ended, even though it was probably the best night of your life, because you could spend it with him.

• Joost noticed the sadness and took your hand in his. "It's alright, love. They are going to be here next year too. We can go again if you want?"

• "I want nothing more." You answered with a smile.

• And then you guys would go somewhere to eat, just to enjoy the end of the date. Maybe some sushi restaurants that have open basically 24/7.

• "I know a good sushi restaurant that is near. So, what do you say?"

• "I've never had sushi before, you know." You laughed a little, feeling a bit embarrassed.

• "What? You never had sushi before?" Joost asked, all surprised. "We have to change that." He added and started dragging you to that restaurant.

• There weren't many people, some of them were eating and others just scrolling on theirs phones.

• You're greeted by the subtle aroma of seaweed and freshly prepared fish.

• Joost smiles warmly as you exchange glances, excitement evident in both your eyes.

• You're led to a cozy booth tucked away in a corner, where the ambiance is intimate and inviting.

• Soft lighting casts a warm glow over the minimalist decor, creating the perfect setting for your sushi adventure.

• "So, did you enjoy it?" He asked as you started to eat.

• The sushi becomes a delicious backdrop to your burgeoning connection, each bite bringing you closer together.

• "More than you think." You smiled at him.

• "I'm glad."

---

Don't copy or translate my work! Also the picture is not mine! Credit goes to owner!

[thoughtidtry]

Built To Be Bad PT. 1 - MV

SUMMARY: Angst! You know he cheated in your heart so why can't you leave him behind. PAIRING: Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader A/N: Inspired by Built To Be Bad by Grace Gachot & Alex Sampson. 1.6K+ words. I promise I like Max lol he's just so easy to write angst for.

Built To Be Bad - MV

"I used to take a hundred photographs. Just to send the perfect one"

Charles always teased you when you took selfies but for you, it was worth it. The perfect picture took time and you knew that from years of being a photographer. Even if it was only going to be seen by one person you could help yourself, especially when that one person was Max. 

You had known Max almost your whole life from the weekends you spent at the karting track with your brothers. He had always been a constant but over time the friendship you two had developed evolved into more. Charles hadn't been happy to see his rival and sister together at first but he accepted it. 

Now your time at the paddock was split between the Redbull and Ferrari garages. Seeing them racing against each other was always exhilarating but slightly painful as one would always have to lose to the other. You had stood by Max's side through his first years in F1, hearing all his frustrations, the good, bad, and ugly. 

When you weren't able to be by his side you made sure to always send him pictures of your day and what you had done. That is where your love of photography actually starts just recording your life for him. 

"I felt a hundred butterflies. Every time your name came up."

Not being able to travel to every race was normal if not expected in the f1 world. Those times away from each other only made your time together more important.  When you were away from the Max you two made sure to always text constantly and call almost every night. See his name pop up on your phone always brightens your mood. 

You felt like you could float away some days with how happy you felt having Max as your boyfriend. In the beginning of your relationship it felt like butterflies had inhabited your stomach the moment he spoke to you. Now it was more a relaxing wave washed over your body. You would still blush when your friends brought up Max but it was nice. 

“Three more years than you deserved, nervous when you never were.”

Max was never nervous when it came to you. How could he be when you had followed him around for years without any sight of of leaving. That’s probably why things took the turn they did. He could never imagine you leaving him no matter what he did. At first it had put him at ease because he knew how much you loved him but as time passes he began to take the for granted. Ever since his first world championship 3 years ago he had slowly started to care less about you. 

You had always been nervous around Max. He was talented, smart, attractive, and even though some would disagree, kind. It didn’t take much for you to become a nervous mess in from of him. A stolen glance that lasted a bit to long or even the way he with brush his hand across your back as he would pass would do you in. You love how calm he was in every situation, he was your calm. The calm you felt has slowly drifted away as time went on to the point you didn’t even know when it had started. 

“Just one of like a hundred girls, you’ll never know how much it hurt.”

Over time Max stopped calling you on nights you didn’t travel with him to races making excuses. Most of the time it was just that he had been so tired that he had fallen asleep. You understood that his job could be very tiring but that had never stopped him before. Even when he was home you started to notice he was more distant than normal. He touched you less, did want to go on dates anymore, and barely listened when you spoke. 

One day you were ordering something for the house but had left your wallet in the car so you asked to borrow his card to place the order. He had dismissively nodded not realizing what you had actually asked. That was until he heard a soft gasp coming from where you stood.

“When I saw her photograph next to mine. She had cocoa hair laying by your side.” 

You couldn’t believe what was in your hands. Max has always kept a picture of you in his wallet. One of the many you would send him. He usually would trade them out over time choosing a new favorite. When you saw it sticking out of the bill portion of the wallet you were curious about which one he had chosen. 

As you went to pull it out you notice there were two instead of one. Thinking nothing of it you pull both out. The first was one you had taken a year or so back smiling on a sidewalk in downtown Monaco while out shopping with some friends. You were surprised he still had one that was old in his wallet but knew the other would probably be newer as you moved the second to the front. 

The moment you looked at the photo you froze with a small gasp escaping in shock. It wasn’t you on the phone but a girl with cocoa brown hair. She smiled up at the camera while Max, your Max, was kissing her cheek. Before you could even fully process what you had seen Max was snatching the wallet and photos out of your hands. 

“You said she’s a friend for the hundredth time, but I saw your face and your face don’t lie.”

“She's just a friend” 

Max said while putting both photos back in their place. You looked at him for a moment before responding. He looked nervous, for the first time in years Max was nervous. 

“So you just carry pictures of random people now?”

You were so confused. Who was she? When was it taken? What does this mean for you? Max broke your train of thought to correct you.

“She is not some random person, like I said she's a friend.”

The defense in his voice along with the look he was giving you told you all you needed to know. You nodded your head slowly making Max think you believed him. He sighed in relief taking a step toward you but you quickly backed away. You wanted to be angry at him, yell, maybe even cuss him out but all you felt was heartbroken. 

“I’m going to stay with Charles for a while, he's been wanting me to come over. I am going to go pack my bag.”

With that, you quickly walked to your shared bedroom and locked the door before Max could get in. You could hear Max on the other side banging on the door but you couldn’t make out what he was saying. Grabbing your phone, you quickly call your brother. He answered almost immediately in a cheerful tone.

“Hey sis, what up? Shouldn’t you be all over Max around this time.” 

You let out a small sob that has your mask cracked a bit. He was right, you barely called him when Max was home, usually wanting to spend as much time as possible with the Dutchman. 

“Charles, can you come get me? I need to get out of here.”

You could hear the immediate sound of him grabbing his keys as you spoke. He didn’t know what was happening but if you were calling him, he would be there. The door to his apartment slamming shut could be heard through the phone as he raced out. 

“I’m on my way sis. Don’t hang up.”

You nodded like Charles could see you as you began to grab all your necessities from around the room and stuffed them into bags. By the time your brother arrived you had all you camera equipment packed along with clothes and any other important items packed into two separate bags. You heard him storm into the house like a hurricane. He was yelling at Max accusing him of so many different things when you open the door with your bags in hand. 

Max noticed your presence first, trying to get to you before Charles shoved him back and yelled at him not to even think about getting close to you. Charles looked him up and down one more time before speaking to you without taking his eyes off Max.

“The car is out front. Go ahead and get in it, I’ll be there in a second.” 

You went to argue that he should just come with you but you knew he wasn’t going to listen to you. Taking one more look at Max you did as you were told and turned to leave the apartment.

“Please liedje just let me explain.”

Max exclaimed in desperation as you left but you didn’t even spare him another glance knowing if you did you would crumble. Charles on the other hand as soon as you were out the door laughed. 

“I hope whatever you did was worth it cause you won’t be seeing my sister again.” 

Max saw red at the Ferrari driver’s statement. He quickly cleared the distance between them to punch Charles in the face but your brother was prepared. Before Max even had a chance to swing, Charles had his fist firmly planted in his stomach. 

“Don’t be stupid Max, what would she think if you punched her brother too.”

With a sly smirk on his face Charles strolled out the door as Max doubled over in pain. By the time he had gotten to the car you had already started crying. The satisfaction he felt quickly disappeared as he saw the state you were in. Getting the driver seat he silently started the engine and began to drive. He wanted to know what had happened but you need time and he would respect that.

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

A/N There will be a part 2. More angst is on the way. lmk in the comment what you think or if you would like to be tagged in pt.2!

[liyahin4k]

𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐡 || pt 2 ||

(𝐁𝐖𝐖𝐖)

(𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑)

“Girllll you are on fireee” angel your friend laughed shoving her phone in your face. You took it confuse when you did you saw there was a picture took of you and Paige having the conversation after the game and some were of the eye contact you too had that night.

“People get on my nerves sometimes,and you’re one of them” you mumbled walking past her “you know you love me” she giggled following after you “yeah,yeah” you rolled your eyes.

You walked to your room when you got a phone call from you agent “hey what’s up” you answered “you free tonight” she asked hope in her voice “yeah why”. “Great I was hoping you would do an appearance tonight at some club,it’s really cool you’ll be in and out promis” she plead “yeah and the last time you said that you got me drunk” you laughed.

“This time I promise there will be no alcohol” she chuckled You paused thinking about it it has been a while since you been out or made any appearances. “Sure”

(Ur outfit,you can imagine something else if you like)

Paige/3rd pov

“Come onnn it’s just one night please” kk cried. She had wanted to got out sense they had a free night and there was nothing else to do azzi,ice,and nika had already agreed to going but they were all waiting on Paige now.

“I said no” she told them not looking up from her phone and what she was looking at may you ask..edits..of you.

Some were from the your new movie and some were form interviews. All she could do was admire your beauty with a soft smile “whyyyy you’ve been locked up in here for days,live a little” kk cried plopping down next to Paige “it wouldn’t be a party without youuu” kk sang trying to convince her. Paige signed putting down her phone looking at her “if I say yes will you shut up”.

“Yes” kk rushed out with a smile “fine I’ll go,but you’re paying for my drinks”.

Pulling out the club they saw how crowded it was with a sigh Paige got out the car following after everyone “who knew it was gonna be the crowded” azzi wondered. “I think I know why” kk mumbled eyes wide staring ahead “what are you-“ Paige breathed hitched.

You were walking towards the club fans and paparazzi screaming your name as you smiled and waved trying to make your way through. Her breath almost stopped when your eyes met hers you smiled at before turning to angel telling her something before making your way toward her.

“B-be cool” she turned to everyone behind her panicking “more like you be cool” azzi laughed everyone else laughed with her. “Hi” you smiled stopping in front of her her mouth was opened but nothing came out.

Kk hit her back snapping her out of it “hi” she blushed “what are you doing here” you ask softly laughing at her face “uhh p-partying” she answered leaning her Hand on the wall beside her clearing her throat trying to keep her cool. “She losing it” kk mumbled to the others she all nodded agreeing watching their friend make a full of herself.

“In line” you asked confused “yeah-I m-mean no were waiting” she rushed out you plinked at her. “okayy” you answered confused,you paused for a moment looking at how long the line was you softly smiled looking back at her.

“How about you all come with me,I could even get you in VIP if you want” “WHAT” they all shouted surprise “w-what WE mean is you don’t have to do that right” Paige softly shouted looking back at them. They all looked away mumbling to each other.

Paige rolled her eyes looking back at you “it really no problem besides it just me and my friend” you pointed behind you were angel was with the paparazzi snapping as many photos as they could get of you and Paige “you sure” she asked “ totally,it no problem” you smiled taking her hand in your walking towards the entrance, the rest following behind her with smiles on my faces.



(I know it’s a little short but the next will be a little longer andddd..Paige gonna get a little jealous 🤭)

[bogleech]

Could I mayhaps know what's the name of that arachnid field guide you have 0//0 it looks really pretty and I have. A thirst for all arachnid related field guides and biology books, love those critters

The Golden Guide to Spiders and their Kin! There were lots of them, originally made in the 60's or 70's I believe, and they used to still be so common when I was a kid - still in print, and sold for just a couple dollars everywhere - I thought everybody had a few! But now they seem to be forgotten.

I had the spiders one, insects one and "seashores" one (mantis shrimps and nudibranchs!!) before I could even read, just looking at the pictures all day. As I learned to read they were how I learned concepts of taxonomy and ecology, why I knew what a "parasitoid" was in first grade and I'd talk constantly about insects that aren't really RARE, but culturally most people never heard about. These books made things like velvet ants, bolas spiders and hairy millipedes seem to me like knowledge as ordinary as dogs and cats.

That "pests of animals" page in particular is why I knew there were wingless parasitic flies, and I thought that was so cool, I was obsessed with "SHEEP KED" for my entire childhood. This bug that nobody ever heard of when I mentioned it, but was at one time deemed worthy of inclusion in an everyday field guide. And they include "duck louse" as an animal pest you're expected to encounter. Sheep and duck parasites?!.....Oh, right! When these books first published, it was still commonplace for almost everyone to have experience with farm animals. Most people at least had grandparents or aunts and uncles with a farm they might visit and help out on. Of course they would encounter sheep and duck parasites. I think they still publish these, actually, I'm sure I still saw them in Barnes and Noble only a few years ago, but it's remarkable what a different America they were made under. My old copy even recommended DDT to control bed bugs....they did eventually edit that out in newer editions.

Some of their attitudes may be outdated here and there, and they're only intended for North American wildlife, but I think the golden guides might still be perfect introductions to their topics for anyone, anywhere of any age really?? They're such well-balanced overviews so densely packed with just the most essential information about each organism.

....Did people really ever just call tree frogs "hylas?!" It's one of their genus names, but was it also used as a common name anywhere? That's a cute idea. Maybe it was, briefly, so at some point to someone there was a concept of Frog, Toad, and Hyla?

[floylia]

ELYSIAN ♫

09. Hurt to try

Visiting has never felt more invasive.

A large screen rested in the middle. Two massive, black speakers sat on each side of his desk with a small piano perched on top. A white shelf filled with trinkets and golden awards stood beside his stand-up microphone. An array of purple and silver acoustic panels hung around the wall, and you can’t forget the line of guitars laying in a fashionable order.

“Your studio is cleaner than I thought,” you whispered in awe, eyes bouncing around the small room.

Scara scoffed as he dropped his belongings on the grey sofa near the door, “What did you take me for?”

“A gremlin who never leaves his cave filled with chip wrappers and empty cans of energy drinks,” you shrugged, eyes still wandering.

He rolled his eyes and headed to his desk to start his computer up, “Don’t compare me to Aether.”

“You’re lucky he’s not here.”

“What’s his short ass going to do?”

“You’re the same height.”

“Allegedly,” Scara stood from his seat, urging you to take his spot, “I’ll find another chair, you can sit in mine or look around–I might take a while.”

You went to his shelves. You saw a picture of him when he was younger, wearing a volleyball jersey and holding a trophy with his teamates, one of them you recognized—Childe—they must have been childhood friends.

Then you saw another picture, one with his family. It was his highschool graduation, wearing a cap and gown with a stash that boldly displayed “validictorian,” – his mother, Ei, stood on his left, radiating an elegant smile, while his aunt, Nahida, stood on his right, pinching his cheeks with a mischievous grin. They must have been proud of him.

The next one was 5WIRL’s first concert. They were all young, bright with aspirations, beaming at the large crowd despite being rookies. Beside it, you saw a small octopus plush–Marlin–next to a polaroid picture with you two–a photo you’ve never seen before. You snapped a picture of it.

“[name]—” Scara entered with the chair.

You placed the picture down and trailed him.

“Are those all your songs?” you pointed at the screen.

He shook his head, “There’s more I’d like to do, but I want you to listen to this one.”

He passed you the headphones.

You wore it, “What is it called?”

“Bewitched.”

The song started out slow with a piano. His voice was smooth—different from his usually raspy voice. You took everything in—the lyrics, the melody, and piano. His stare was intense, observing every bit of your reaction.

“Did you like it?” He asked.

You grinned at his expectant face, “I love it, are you adding this? I’d be a crime not to.”

“I was planning on making it my title track,” he paused, “And if you agreed before, I wanted you to finish the second verse.”

“Oh.” It’d be a shame…

“Yeah.”

You stared at the giant screen, “…Can I see the lyrics?”

He flipped through his notebook, you see glances of his other works, scribbles of words and phrases only his brain could think of–one of the many reasons why you admire him.

He gave you the page, “It's a work in progress, but that’s the draft.”

“Can I try?”

Kunikuzushi smiled, “Of course.”

notes:

i lied im more excited for the next chapter (had to break this scene in two)

im on a roll with these updates and then ill ghost again idk jk

synopsis: After 7 years of enduring the media’s relentless pursuit of painting you as a villain, you’re forced to go through an indefinite hiatus with a tainted reputation on your head. However, just when you thought your career was over, a certain 5WIRL member wants you to feature on his solo career. Surely, this won’t affect your reputation once more, would it?

Scaramouche x fem!reader

masterlist | previous | next

Taglist (open!): @aruatsu @magicalink @featuredtofu @scarasbaby @veekoko @scaranthropy @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @vernith @thystarsshine @lily-lmao @lovemari @mellowberrie @kunikuzushis-darling @skyoverkill1 @alatusorrow @kukikoooo @kyon-cherri @keiiqq @tzuw1ce @xiaossocksniffer @kaitfae @infinitetrashbag @lvnalxve @lovelypadisarah @ulquiorraswife @sketcheeee @atyour-kitchencounter @pirate-of-the-dark-seas @neiiuna @sn1perz @kazioli @inelenastyle @hearts4shu @wisheslost @Kazeyozuha @kazumiku @eutopiastar @chemiru @bananasquash @mujiwuji @danhenglovebot @chocolatesandvanilla @boomie-123 @kookiibun @help-whatdoimakemyusername @vavrin @beaniedoodz @misterpoofin @justpeachyteastea @one-and-only-tay @peaceindreams @strxwberryfetish @shutingstar @projectsfantasy @quacking-simp @morgyyyyyyy @cante-lope @k-cris

[emocheol]

seventeens pet name for you

seungcheol

baby

loves to be a caretaker so having you be his baby is natural.

he’s always holding you in his arms, almost like he’s trying to protect you from the world and keep you to himself.

when you’re tired you actually get into baby mode and he loves doting on you, knowing that you won’t fight him on it.

“baby, don’t worry i’ll do that for you”

“baby, come give me a kiss”

“baby, i missed you so much”

“baby, you know i’d do anything for you”

jeonghan

angel

sure, he’s the angel of seventeen but you’re his angel.

always says that you were sent from heaven just for him because of how perfect you are, hence an angel.

when he sees a new picture of you he’ll screenshot it and draw a halo over your head and send it back to you with a text that says ‘your halo is shining so bright, my angel’ (love makes him cheesy)

“angel, let’s stay in bed today”

“angel, can you do my hair?”

“angel, i hope you know im obsessed with you”

“angel, you’re the only one for me”

joshua

love

such a classic and gentle name, just like joshua.

he loves you so much the only word that he can think of when it comes to you is love.

if anyone calls him a simp he will gladly own that title because, duh, you’re his partner! of course he’s gonna simp over you!

will do whatever you want at the drop of a hat. he’ll even suggest cancelling his schedules if you want him to stay home, you decline but quite literally have to push him out the door to leave.

“love, come cuddle with me”

“love, i hate every second that i’m away from you”

“love, let’s get matching outfits”

“my love, you’re so perfect”

jun

sweetheart

actually spent a lot of time contemplating what your pet name should be. he didn’t want to get it wrong!

tested way too many names over multiple weeks, seeing if they rolled off the tongue, but none of them did.

finally lands on sweetheart, when he says it for the first time he knows he’s found the perfect name.

now he barely says your name, saying that sweetheart encapsulates your entire being.

“sweetheart, want me to do the dishes?”

“sweetheart, can you read me a story?”

“sweetheart, do you know how much i love you?”

“sweetheart, you’re my favorite person of all time”

soonyoung

honey

soonyoung thinks you’re sweet like honey, so he just has to call you that!

you have the same nickname for him which results in all your friends pretending to gag when you both start calling each other honey. they say it’s sickening, sickeningly sweet

likes to dote on you, would wait on hand and foot if you told him to.

“honey, do you need anything before i leave?”

“honey, i’m home!” (his favorite phrase)

“honey, let’s go on a date tonight”

“honey, you’re the sweetest person in the world”

wonwoo

babe

has always thought that pet names were cringe but when you started calling him every sweet name under the sun he knew he had to come up with one for you.

landed on the classic ‘babe’, he says it flows well, its natural when he’s talking to you now.

doesn’t want anyone else to hear him call you it, so he usually sticks to saying it at home or whispering it to you.

“babe, stay by my side, i don’t want anything happening to you”

“babe, don’t get up yet it’s too early”

“babe, you wanna see my new game?”

“babe, i adore you”

jihoon

baby

another natural caretaker, loves to be the big strong man in the relationship so naturally you’re his baby.

gets salty when you try to dote on him since he knows he should be doing it to you instead.

landed on it because you were pouting once and he said the resemblance to a baby was uncanny.

“baby, you don’t have to stay at the studio with me”

“baby, get some sleep”

“baby, let’s stay in tonight”

“baby, i know i don’t show it as much as i should, but i’m eternally grateful for you”

minghao

darling

claims that their song ‘darling’ is about you to try and make it special (it was just a coincidence but you’ll take it)

says you’re like a sparkling jewel, so perfect, so enchanting, and so darling

always talks to you in the most endearing tone, he can never be mad at you.

“darling, what do you want to have for dinner?”

“darling, let me take a picture of you”

“darling, don’t forget to call me on your break”

“darling, you’re so precious to me”

mingyu

sweetie

loves to bake you desserts and say something like ‘a sweet for my sweetie’.

thinks you’re so sweet and lovely that sweetie is a given name for you.

food is his love language so he’s always making you meals and sweet desserts.

“sweetie, try this new dish i made”

“sweetie, give me a kiss before you go”

“sweetie, give me a bite of that”

“sweetie, you’re it for me”

seokmin

love/lovie

this man is simply obsessed with, so so utterly in love, hence the name love.

everyone swears they can see hearts in his eyes when he looks at you or talks about you.

couldn’t think of a good name for you so he went to his friends being like ‘i’m so in love with them but i can’t think of a pet name! wait… love!’

“lovie, don’t forget about me :(” (you’re just going to work for the day)

“love, do you want to come to karaoke night?”

“lovie, i’m your favorite guy, right?”

“my love~, i wrote this song for you, wanna hear it?”

seungkwan

boo

yes, his nickname for you is his last name. no, it’s not weird! he’ll call you mrs./mr. boo because he can’t wait until you have his last name.

when some calls for ‘boo’ you both turn around, thinking it was for you. this just makes you both laugh and look at each other like you had a little inside secret that no one else understood.

he’ll always say it with literal hearts in his eyes.

“boo, have a good day at work”

“my boo~, i miss you”

“boo, do you want to go have a spa night?”

“my boo~, i love you to the ends of the earth”

vernon

babe

also thinks pet names are cringe so he settled on the most obvious and classic one.

but then actually he starts to like it (to his horror), and starts to call you it all the time.

only ever calls you babe now, and will be salty if you call him by his first or middle name.

“babe, get ready i’m taking you on a date”

“babe, i got you a present you’re gonna love it”

“babe, we should get a cat to be the ring bearer at our wedding”

“babe, you know i love you, right?”

chan

honey

you originally started calling chan ‘honey’ first.

he always got so giddy whenever you said it that he decided he was gonna start calling you that too, to make you feel as special as he did.

thinks it the most special name in the world and if anyone makes fun of it he’ll go to war over it.

“honey, let me show you the new dance i learned”

“honey, did you get a haircut? you look beautiful as ever”

“honey, let’s stay in bed today”

“honey, you’re my everything”

[lookingfts]

Where does Say My Name Kate keep the photos Anthony took of her? Does she ever look at them? Does Anthony?

*sexy snippet below*

Kate knew it was reckless to keep the photos in her purse, exactly where Anthony had left them. There was just something right about it, keeping them so close to her. The final token that had convinced Kate to make the best decision of her life, and give Anthony Bridgerton a real chance at loving her.

There was also something a little naughty and thrilling about it, besides. Kate was hardly a prude, but she still blushed when she caught a glimpse of herself posed so intimately. Her legs spread, her cunt exposed, Anthony’s release filling her. It was too easy to get wet all over again at the memories. Too easy to get sentimental as Kate mused on how far they had come since then. That girl had been so scared, fighting his every attempt to show her that he genuinely cared about her.

And now she knew the truth. Anthony loved her harder than she could have ever dared to imagine, and she was safe to love him just as much.

So the Polaroids stayed. Until the day that Eddie needed to borrow a phone charger and Kate, distracted by her sauce on the stove, had offhandedly said, “Check my purse.”

There was the sound of zipping, and Kate realized her mistake a second before it rang across the house. “Oh my fucking god!”

Kate turned down the heat and raced into the other room, snatching the photos from Edwina’s hand. But the damage was done, judging by the shell-shocked look on her sister’s face.

“That’s not what it looks like,” she insisted, her cheeks flaming bright red.

“That’s not…” Eddie said faintly, then snorted. “Didi, I literally don’t think that could be anything except what it looks like.”

Shoving the photos back into her purse, Kate pulled out the charger and pushed it into Edwina’s hand. She supposed it was a good sign that her sister’s surprise had faded and now she looked endlessly amused rather than angry.

“You little slut,” she said, but her voice was teasing. “You let my ex-boyfriend take nasty photos of you, didn’t you?”

Kate rolled her eyes. Eddie loved to call Anthony her ex, and while technically correct, Kate knew she meant it more as a joke than anything else. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated.”

She supposed there was no need to tell Edwina the whole sordid tale of how Anthony had taken pictures of her after she had just made him come for the first time, on her knees and trying to get even after her own intense orgasm. Of how he’d given them to her as a gift, a promise that he wouldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability.

Might as well let her think they were more recent, a fun little experiment in a solid relationship.

“You look great,” Eddie said, waving her hand toward the photos. “Have you ever considered porn?”

“Edwina!”

-----

So, maybe her purse wasn’t the best spot. Kate took them out when she got home, bringing them upstairs with her. It was late, and Anthony was already in bed, shirtless and reading a book. Truly beautiful sight to come home to, each and every time.

She flopped onto the bed, and Anthony quirked an eyebrow when he saw the photos in her hand. “I haven’t seen those in a while.”

“Edwina found them in my bag,” Kate said, wincing. “She was fine, but it was…awkward, to say the least.”

Anthony pressed his lips together, suppressing a laugh. “But she was okay?”

“Yeah. She said I should do porn.”

“You do look incredible naked,” he said with a straight face. “But I must admit, I like being the only one to see you that way.”

“I know,” Kate sighed, snuggling in closer so she could rest her head on his shoulder. Anthony put his book aside, wrapping his arm around her waist. “I must have known when I let you take these. I believed you when you said you wouldn’t show anyone else.”

She felt his deep breath against her body, his grip tightening around her. “I know you didn’t have much reason to trust me back then, but I would never do that to you, Kate.”

“I’m well aware,” she assured him, twisting to press a kiss to his collarbone. “It was a little scary, but it also turned me on. I realized I liked the idea of you laying in bed, touching yourself to my photos. Wanting me even after our one night was over.”

Anthony tensed slightly, his breathing going a little shallower. “That was…inevitable.”

“I know that now too.” Kate flipped to the next Polaroid, a close-up of her cunt with his seed leaking out. Right after that ridiculous phone call with Tom and before Anthony had cleaned her up with his tongue. “If you didn’t take them for yourself, why did you take them?” she asked quietly.

“They were for me. At first. If that night was all I had with you, I wanted to remember it. And when you let me take them, I realized…there was a part of you that trusted me. Maybe it was buried deep down, but it was there. And I wanted to show you that I could deserve that trust. I wanted you to know that you owned me, not the other way around.”

Her heart clenched in her chest. Maybe the way Anthony showed love didn’t make sense to everyone, but it was perfect for her. He was perfect for her.

“Hey, baby?” she asked. Anthony hummed. “Do you know where your camera is?”

“It’s in my office. Why?”

“I think we should take some more photos.”

[runnning-outof-time]

A Special Woman | Tommy Shelby x Reader (featuring a very special guest)

Request: no - written for @look-at-the-soul ‘s The Grandma Series

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader & a very special guest

Summary: (Y/N)’s big day is made extra special by one of the most important people in her life.

Warnings: none

A/N: ok so there’s a lot of dancing happening here…I didn’t quite mean for it to be such a focal point, but I guess that’s what happens when you write fragments at a time. I hope it’s not overkill for y’all! I also wrote this envisioning it being set in modern times, but it could definitely be read in the PB period as well. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: I’m sorry it took me sooo long to write this, Mar but I knew that I wanted to participate in this lovely celebration of yours. I hope you like it!!

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! — YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged!

“Darling you look wonderful,” the older woman said to her granddaughter. It was probably the fourth time she’d assured her of it. “Stop fussing with your dress,” she then swatted the younger woman’s hands down.

“But what if it’s…”

“But nothing,” (Y/N) was brushed off yet again, “you’re dress is perfect. You’re perfect,” the older woman said as she moved to stand behind her. “Let me fix the back now.”

(Y/N) conceded, allowing her grandmother to work on getting the back of her dress tightened. She stood still as the buttons and ties were done up, her smile widening with each second that passed. This was really happening…soon enough she’d be married.

Her eyebrows furrowed together at the feeling of something cool being draped around her neck. She looked down and noticed that a small, light blue locket was now resting against her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes immediately as she realized exactly which locket this was.

This locket had been in her family since the day that her grandfather draped it around her grandmother’s neck. Inside of it was still a picture of the couple in their younger days. The love that was present between them in that photo still remained all of these years later. (Y/N) hoped that she’d have a love like that with the man she would soon vow to spend the rest of her life with.

“Gram…” she trailed off, getting choked up as she turned to look at the older woman.

“It’ll be your something blue,” her grandmother smiled back at her, “you wear it beautifully.”

“Thank you for allowing me to wear it,” (Y/N) said, wrapping her arms around the other woman then. “You know it’s always been one of my favorite pieces of yours,” she added once they pulled away from each other.

“Maybe I’ll get you one of your own then,” the older woman thought aloud, “you can add a photo of you and Thomas into it.”

The saying of her fiancé’s name was enough to set off butterflies in the bride-to-be’s stomach. She couldn’t help the little giddy dance she did before her grandmother took hold of her arms and squeezed them gently.

“Everything is ready for you now, (Y/N),” the event coordinator announced as she entered the dressing room.

(Y/N) acknowledged the statement before she turned back to her grandmother. The older woman instantly noticed the fact that nerves were seeping into her granddaughter’s features. She wouldn’t let them take over. “Let’s get you married,” she announced, sqeezing the younger woman’s arms once more before she led her out of the dressing room.

(Y/N) met with her mother and father in the lobby, accepting both of their arms so that they could help walk her down the aisle. She sent one last beaming smile to her grandmother, who waved at her before she entered the main area of the chapel to take her seat.

Tommy and (Y/N) found themselves on the dance floor directly after the wedding party introductions were made. They both knew that they’d share their first dance as a way to kick the reception off into full swing. A little bit of a calm before the storm, (Y/N) was calling it.

She enjoyed being held close by her husband. Even though all of their guests’ eyes were on them, she truly felt like she and Tommy were the only two people in the room.

“I’m happy all of that’s over,” Tommy mumbled into her ear, his cheek pressed against hers as they slowly swayed.

(Y/N) just had to pull her face away to see him clearly, her eyes slightly widened. “Are you saying you didn’t enjoy our wedding ceremony, Thomas Shelby?” she asked, feigning shock.

Tommy’s lips tugged up into a smirk upon seeing her expression. “Oh I enjoyed it, love,” he assured her, tilting his head to the side and grimacing slightly before he finished his statement, “the attention of our families, not so much.”

A breath of a laugh left (Y/N)’s lips as she ran her hand down the lapel of his suit jacket. “For a man who thrives off of power and attention I must say that I’m quite surprised to hear that.”

“I would’ve been happy with it being just you and I, eloping and then telling our families after the fact.”

“I don’t think our families would have appreciated that,” she commented with a smile.

“Even better,” he grinned, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers.

“Cake time!” (Y/N)’s mother exclaimed, prompting everyone to turn their attention to the newlyweds where they stood by their wedding cake. It was quite simple, a three-tiered cake that had silver and gold accents throughout its floral decorations.

Tommy and (Y/N) took hold of the cutting knife and together cut a piece of the cake from its bottom tier. Tommy held the plate between the two of them after making sure that (Y/N) had a fork.

“Clean or messy?” he asked, his words quiet enough so that only (Y/N) heard them.

“Clean…” she trailed off, raising her eyebrows and sending him a look that he immediately took as something along the lines of ‘messy later’.

“Cheeky,” he commented, winking at her before they both got a forkful of the cake.

“Whenever you’re ready!” her mom called, making the two remember that their party guests were still crowded around them. If there was one thing that (Y/N) and Tommy had down, it was that they were able to make each other feel as though they were the only people in the room.

The room broke out in applause as they cleanly placed the forkful of cake into each others mouth, and (Y/N) was easily able to distinguish Arthur’s wolf whistle amongst the cheers when Tommy leaned in and kissed her.

It was a bit later in the evening when (Y/N) saw that her grandmother was finally free. She’d been playing the role of social butterfly all night, meshing with Tommy’s family naturally. This may be the only time she was alone, so (Y/N) wasn’t going to wait a moment longer. “I’m going to go have a dance with gram, if that’s alright,” she told Tommy, making to leave the small group conversation they’d been pulled into.

“Go ‘head,” Tommy answered, sending her off with a soft smile.

“Shall we dance?” (Y/N) asked her grandmother as she approached her from the side.

“Oh!” the older woman exclaimed, surprised by the sudden voice. Her surprised expression quickly fizzled into a smile when she noticed who was beside her. “Of course, darling,” she hastily agreed, allowing her granddaughter to take her of her hand and lead her onto the dance floor.

“I see that you’re getting along with Tommy’s family fine,” (Y/N) made conversation as they swayed to the soft song.

“Swimmingly,” her grandmother smiled, glancing off to find Tommy, who was now talking with one of his brothers. “He’s good for you, (Y/N),” she added, looking back to her granddaughter.

“He is,” the younger woman agreed, smiling as she also snuck a glance over where her husband was. Her smile widened as she looked at her grandmother once more. “Thank you for all that you’ve done to help me today, gram,” she said.

“I want only the best for my granddaughter,” the older woman responded, her smile matching (Y/N)’s.

The sound of a throat being cleared made them both look to the side. Tommy was standing there, wearing a smile that made butterflies erupt in (Y/N)’s stomach. “May I steal her for a dance?” he asked, not addressing either of the ladies in particular.

“Of course,” (Y/N)’s grandmother immediately answered, stepping to the side so that he be able to take his bride’s hand.

“No, you,” he clarified, holding his hand out to the older woman.

“Really?” surprise was evident in her voice, “what a gentleman he is,” she then said to her granddaughter.

Tommy winked at his bride before he led her grandmother out onto the dance floor.

(Y/N) had to take a moment as she watched them begin to dance slowly. She quickly realized how grateful she was for those two people swaying out on the floor. She was grateful for Tommy; a man who she could love deeply and be loved deeply by. Those outside of their circle may not think that Tommy Shelby was capable of a love like that, but that was the Tommy Shelby that (Y/N) has the pleasure of knowing.

She was also grateful for her grandmother; a woman who was truly the cornerstone of her family. A woman who taught (Y/N) how to be the woman she is take. Her grandmother was truly special, and (Y/N) knew that without her, she wouldn’t know where she’d be.

MASTERLIST

Postnote: it ended rather abruptly there…I didn’t mean for that, but I’ve been hanging onto it for a looong time and wanted it to finally be out in the world. It’s also only loosely edited because…well I wanted to just get it posted already.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @notyour-valentine @theshelbyslimited

@peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss

@alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl

@emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife

@anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08

@insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter

@cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable

@thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo

[figsnpassionfruits]

Paint Away, My Little Dove - Chapter 3

A/N: I am really excited to go further into this fic, given that I have many things planned for it. The upcoming chapter will be dealing with a lot more mature themes. Please always look at the tags. You have been warned. word count: 2.2k tags: arthur morgan x fem!reader, fluff, angst, age gap, implied rape, gunshot wounds, implied torture dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive pictures are from pinterest

It had been a while since you were out without your wagon. All your canvases, colors and brushes were left at Hamish’s cabin. You however, were with Arthur. He had proposed to come here. “Just think it’s pretty over there ‘s all.” He answered when you asked why him he insisted to take you to Cotorra Springs. Both of you had your bare feet in the water, you swaying them back and forth, accidentally brushing against his every once in a while. Arthur did not seem to mind. Instead, he handed you another piece of chocolate from his leather bag on his right. Gladfully, you took it from him, thanking him with each piece he gave you.

“Just wished you had let me bring my stuff. This is just too gorgeous to not paint.” You frowned. The vibrant colors of the springs would have brought you in some money. Customers seemed to love the lively paintings, making this place perfect to turn into an art piece.  

“Yup.” Arthur groaned. “Knew you’d say that, darlin’. Gotta stop workin’ all the time. Just enjoy whatchu got.”

You let out a small breath. He was right. Whenever you left Hamish’s cabin, it was only to paint or to get your supplies. It could get monotone. Taking in the nature with Arthur was extremely soothing. Away from responsibilities and thoughts. You leaned down a little, placing your hand in the water, playing with it.

Arthur smiled to himself at the innocent gesture. It was adorable to him. In this moment, you seemed to have no care about anything in the world. You were still young, many years still ahead of you. Arthur did not think of himself as a good man. ‘Selfish ol’ fool’ He would mutter whenever he caught himself thinking about you too much for his own liking. You embodied a contrast to his own lifestyle. Being Dutch’s first protégé came with all the pressure one could imagine. He never knew an easy life. He never knew a life without responsibility. Besides, it felt wrong to him to see you as more than just a gorgeous lady. ‘Why would a pretty little thing like her want an old man?’

You tried drying your hands on the baby-blue blanket underneath the both of you, flipping your loose braid over your shoulder without using them. It felt uncomfortable- the sloppy strands falling over your face and the weight of the hair not being held up by the rubber band. “Arthur?”

“What’s wrong?”

“My hair.” You pointed out.

Arthur looked confused, scanning over your head, trying to understand what was wrong with it. “There ain’t nothin’ in yer hair.”

“No-“ You giggled, “My hands are wet and my braid is loose. Could you just tuck it away, please?”

“Could also braid it for ya.”

“You know how to?”

Arthur nodded, asking you to turn your back to him. He was gentle with it, placing one strand on top of the other, only tugging lightly at them to make sure they were somewhat firm. His broad, calloused hands turned soft whenever he touched you. It was like the non-forgiving outlaw left, and a caring man took over, not that you would know anyway. This was the only version of Arthur you knew. He intended to keep it that way. There was no point in ruining this fragment of his life. Arthur had to allow himself to have a little bit of peace. If you were it, he would gladly accept. You were the potion that allowed him to get away from his duty and the gang. He could not lose that. He could not lose you.

“Arthur.” You murmured his name, turning back to him and placing a hand on his thigh. “I truly enjoy spending time with you.”

He let out a breath, the corners of his lips quirking up to mirror the small smile you had on your face. “Me too, sweetheart.”

…………………………………………..

It had been weeks since you last saw him. No letter, no message to Hamish. Nothing. Maybe you had done something wrong? Maybe he got sick of wasting his time with a younger woman. Maybe he found someone else? Maybe, maybe, maybe. The thoughts would not stop racing. You felt abandoned. The first time the both of you met was not too long ago but the connection you felt to him exceeded it.

“Wipe that frown off of your face, Y/N.” Hamish soothed.

He did not like seeing you in any type of sorrowful state. It would remind him too much of the time of when he first took you in. You were all bloodied, wounded and freezing out in the cold. Angelo Bronte had creative ways on how to deal with anyone who wanted to turn the law against him. You were ready for him to fight back, but not to this extent. What he had done to you, you would not wish upon your worst enemy. The second you collected your courage to speak up on it, fate punished you harder. Even with all his money, Bronte was limited in Saint Denis. After all, he was in the public eye. There were things he could and things he could not to. The punishment he had planned for you, was not anything that could have occurred in the city. According to him, you were something that the Murfree Brood could deal with. His problem could disappear into the woods, making it impossible for a trial to happen. Obstacle overcome.

“What if something happened to him, Hamish?” You mumbled, looking for a sense of comfort by wrapping your own arms around you.

Hamish sighed. He did not have an answer. Instead of trying to comfort you with words, he walked up to you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

………………………………………….

Not only Buell, but also your horses were snorting, neighing and screaming outside. It was dark out, worrying you even more as to what all this was about. Maybe that wolf pack which would howl every night dared to attack one of the horses. You threw the covers from you, sprinting outside, not caring to put on a coat. Hamish had already beat you to it, standing in front of you with a rifle pointed at a horse, snorting just as much as yours were. On it, was a man, leaning over it, letting the animal carry the weight of him.

Hamish demanded a name, inching closer to the horse, his wooden foot echoing in the silence of the night. Yet, there was no answer.

You squinted your eyes, trying to analyze the situation. ‘I know this horse.’ It was Arthurs black Shire. “Arthur!” You blurted out, running past Hamish.

“I’m alright, I’m alright.” Arthur groaned, his heavy-breathed voice saying otherwise. He attempted to dismount his horse, moving as slow as he could.

Hamish had already come to the opposite side of you, trying to uphold Arthur’s weight as he plopped to his feet.

You had your hands to his side, scanning all over his body, trying to understand where he was hurt and where it was safe to touch him. All three of you took step after step, further moving to the cabin, wanting to get Arthur inside. “Arthur, please- what happened?” Your eyes were filled with tears and you could already feel the worry forming a clump in your throat.

He looked horrible. His eyebags were deep and dark, his usually clean clothes were covered in sweat and dirt. The front of his left shoulder had blood leaking from it. “’m okay. Went to camp to get taken care of. ‘m fine- just gotta- rest.”

‘Camp?’ You looked over at Hamish, trying to make sense of what Arthur was uttering. He however, seemed extremely focused. His experience with war came with all the kinds of wounds and death possible. Hamish knew exactly what to do. There was no hint of nervousness in his face.

You on the other hand, were panicking. Here comes the man you have been fancying after weeks of no contact, all weak and fragile. Your body could only respond with crying. Anything Hamish asked of you, you did.

“Put his horse to ours.” “Get a warm n’wet cloth.” “Stand back.”

“Arthur?” God, your voice sounded pathetic. It was shaky and barely audible as you watched Hamish rip open Arthur’s shirt to reveal the bullet wound on his shoulder. The residue of some balm implied it had mostly been taken care of, yet it still looked painful. A gunshot like that could not have been from a distance. This was as close as one could point a gun.

You could see Arthur lifting his hand, trying to stop Hamish from further cleaning around the damage. “Hamish, friend- ‘m ‘kay. My people took care ‘f me. Just needed to come here.” He heaved.

You moved around your own bed, crouching to be on eye level with the hurt man in front of you. You took his big hand into both of yours, giving it a slow kiss as you closed your eyes.

“How old is this wound, boy?” Hamish asked him.

Arthur let his head hit your pillow, closing his eyes and gulping. You could see how hard it was for him to recollect energy just to talk. “Couldn’t tell ya. But my camp- got there yesterday.” If it was under normal circumstances, he would have only focused on your scent on the bed he was laying on. It offered him comfort. But now, he had to make sure he would not pass out. Scaring you further was not something he wanted to do. Arthur turned his head, his hand still wrapped by yours. “Had to come see ya.”

“Oh, Arthur.” You sobbed, releasing his hand to frame his face. You leaned in closer and pursed your now salty lips to place a kiss on his nose. “What happened? Please.”

“Tomorrow, sweetheart.”

…………………………………………

Your feet were in the water again. This time however, it was the familiar lake right in front of the cabin you stayed in. You had your knees tucked to your chest, your cheek leaning on them to support the weight of your head. Last night sleep was sin for you. You did not allow yourself to sleep. Your hair was a mess, flowing all over the place with the slow breeze passing by.

“I really didn’t want ya to worry your pretty little head over me.” Arthur sat down next to you on the ground, groaning as he did. He was still in pain, there was no point in hiding it.

“You gotta tell me what’s going on, Arthur.”

Arthur sighs, looking out into the water. “I know.” He admitted. “I really wanted to keep yerself out of this mess.”

You faced him, placing your hands slowly on his forearms, every touch of you being light and careful as you feared hurting him. “You still can. But don’t lie to me.” You pleaded, rubbing your thumbs on the hairs of his pale skin. “I can’t just ignore this.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

You looked around the area, taking in the peace with a deep inhale. Arthur was safe. So were you. It was alright.

“We were set up.” Arthur started. “My gang and I, we- we were set up. It was ‘posed to be a negotiation but I got captured. But I got away. I refused to leave without a souvenir.” He said, pointing to his bullet wound in his shoulder, making him wince the second his finger grazed it.

You placed a hand in his hair, using your delicate fingers to comb through his curls. No matter how much you tried, it was hard to hide the empathy in your face.

“Don’tcha look at me like that, darlin’.” Arthur put his own hand on top of yours, attempting to stop you from going through his hair. It was not like he did not like it. He loved it actually. But he did not want you to feel pity towards him. He had gotten enough of that when he showed up back at camp in his sorry state.

But you would not accept. You freed your hand from his grasp and kept doing what you were doing before, only this time you also placed a kiss on his cheek, trying to tell him that it was okay to have this. It was okay to want comfort and warmth.

He let down his guard, the tension in his body leaving to enjoy what you had him to offer. “I gotta go back. Don’t want ‘em to think that I was taken again.”

“You didn’t tell them you were coming here?”

“Nah. They don’t gotta know about here. Told ya I’d want to keep ya out of this.”

You swallowed hard, fidgeting with your fingers. “Make sure you come back soon. I get worried easily. Or send me a letter or something just-“ You stopped yourself, your mouth slightly agape, your body waiting for your brain to finish your sentence. “Just don’t leave me hanging.”

Arthurs shoulders dropped as he listened to you. You could see his gaze soften as he leaned forward to place a kiss on your forehead. “I won’t.”

- 🍯

[anathemaspeaks]

omg…😭 i didn’t know which one to choose from your prompt list but after a while of considering i would like to request fluff 22(apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together) with shoto todoroki??

check my prompt list and send in requestsss

you were comfortable laying on shoto's lap in his dorm, lazily scrolling through your phone while he read a book, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, playing with your hair.

there was something in the air, something so minty - like candy canes, and something so shoto. you nuzzled into his body more, actively seeking the warmth of his body and the affection he showered you with.

he had the honor of calling you his girlfriend for a little over a month now, the both of you choosing to keep it secret because of the amount of gossip that would go around if people found out - and not to mention, his family's reaction.

it wasn't that either of you were scared, no. you both mutually wanted the peace of the honeymoon stage without anyone else interfering (i.e, enji todoroki plus the constant teasing from your friends).

(you didn't know he would always be this way with you - honeymoon stage or not. he was head over heels for you, since the very moment he laid his eyes on you, and that would never change.)

calling you his girl was the only blessing he had in this life, he thought. you cherished him just the same - even though it had been just a month of you dating, you both knew you'd loved each other way before that.

"you know, apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together?" he piped up, setting the book aside along with his reading glasses, opting to look at you instead, heterochromatic eyes gauging your reaction.

you put down your phone too, intrigued by the statement, a bright smile on your face.

"all of them? we did take quite some time didn't we" you laughed, remembering the way you both were practically a couple for months before you made it official.

you loved being with him alone, keeping the relationship private made these sweet moments of it just being you and him so much more intimate.

you both fell asleep on the couch, talking about memories from the days before you both were together - how oblivious he was to the fact that you liked him back.

you woke up to a series of notifications from both of your phones, kaminari's name flashing. you picked it up to check what it was, and why the hell he was spamming at 8 am in the morning.

you yawned, only to pause midway, eyes wide and mouth hung open.

"sho, baby? i don't think we're secret anymore" you said nervously, not knowing how he would react to the picture of you and him cuddling on the couch, your face buried in his neck and his arms wrapped around your waist.

only for him to hand you his phone.

you looked at him, puzzled.

"open it, love." he said, a small smile on his face and a look filled with so much adoration it made your heart hurt.

you turned it on, only to find that same picture as his wallpaper.

well, at least you guys didn't have to sneak out to the janitor's closet to meet up anymore.

sorry if this isn't what you wantedd i wrote whatever came to my mind, i hope you like it <3

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 23/34 - filing cabinet

[Read on AO3]

The water cooler gurgles as he fills a small paper cup and takes a sip. Today had been the day. After weeks of going through personnel files for prospective replacements, they finally met with a few candidates. He meant what he said to Scully; he’s ready to let go of the reins a little. That doesn’t make the actuality of handing over the X-Files any easier.

Force of habit, he thinks, to resist any and all efforts to boot them from the X-Files. He has to keep reminding himself that it was his idea this time, and that they’d still be working on them in a consulting capacity anyway. He isn’t quitting cold turkey. And besides, they’re moving on to bigger and much better things.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice at first when a few other guys gather around, each filling their own cups with water.

“So, Garcia,” the first one says, addressing a man Mulder vaguely recalls works in Organized Crime. “I hear the wife’s about to pop. You ready?”

Agent Garcia smiles, nodding his head. “Oh yeah. We’re going out tonight. One last night on the town before the baby gets here, you know?”

“You gotta do it,” another agent says. Agent Mann, or something silly like that, Mulder thinks. “They call it a ‘babymoon,’ you ever heard of that? My wife and I took a trip down to the Isle of Palms for ours before Michael was born. Great beaches. Now we’re lucky if we make it to the coast without one or all of our kids ingesting sand.”

The men share a hearty laugh, and Mulder feels a little out of place.

“Amy would have killed me if I hadn’t taken her out for a nice dinner before our first,” the first agent says. “It was another two years before we were able to go to a nice restaurant alone, so I wouldn’t have blamed her!”

Is this something people do, Mulder wonders? Is Scully expecting it? Maybe he had missed the memo at some point. Is there a soon-to-be-dad handbook somewhere that tells them how to win points with their wives before they become parents? Should he have come up with a plan to do something special for Scully? Their lives are about to irreversibly change, and he hadn’t even considered, really, that very soon, it won’t be just the two of them anymore. There will be a third person, someone entirely dependent on them just to stay alive.

He fills his paper cup again, feeling sweat begin to form under his collar.

Dinner. He can do dinner, that’s a good idea. He should ask her. One last hoorah as the infamous Mulder-Scully duo for old times’ sake. She’d like that.

With a polite nod and a forced smile at his fellow agents around the water cooler, he heads back toward the elevator, and back to the basement.

-.-.-

“Hey, there you are,” Scully says as he shuts the door behind him. She’s elbow deep in one of the filing cabinet drawers, evidently rooting around at the back for a stray piece of paper that has escaped a folder. “Help me figure out which files to make copies of. I know you’re going to want to keep some of them,” she says.

She knows him so well. He’s already started making a mental list of ones he wants to have in his personal collection. The Bellefleur file, for example. And of course, the ones with his name or Scully’s in it, but those are for much less happy, nostalgic reasons.

Slouching his suit coat off his shoulders, he rolls up his sleeves and approaches the drawer, offering his assistance in reaching the wayward scrap of paper. Her little arms are too short, a fact which he intends to tease her about later. His fingers successfully find the edge of the document, and he extracts it with careful precision.

A familiar picture stares back up at him, giving him a hearty chuckle.

“Remember this one?” he asks, turning his sketch of the Jersey Devil back toward her.

She laughs as she takes it from him, inspecting it. “How could I forget?” she says, “I think this image is forever ingrained in my psyche.”

“Hey, don’t make fun of my drawing,” he says. “I want a copy of that file. With my beautiful artwork, please.”

She rolls her eyes, but opens up a folder and slides the paper in its rightful place. He can’t help but notice it was already in the ‘to-be-xeroxed’ pile before he said anything.

The office falls silent as he continues rifling through the cabinets, plucking out a file here and there that he wouldn’t mind keeping. It’s a walk down memory lane, for him. Flukeman, Big Blue, the vampire sheriff in Texas… Who would have thought that seven years later, he’d still have Scully by his side as he prepares to let go of what became his life’s work? Their life’s work. She should have run screaming from here years ago, but she didn’t.

Now look where it’s gotten them.

Glancing up at her from over the top of the overstuffed file drawer and filled with a sudden surge of gratefulness that he doesn’t know what to do with, he blurts, “Let’s go out to dinner tonight.”

She freezes, and he mentally kicks himself for the hasty delivery of his idea. Theoretically, he should have planned a better way to ask her. After a second that feels like an eternity, she turns to him with a skeptical tilt to her brow and a small smile. 

Well, at least he knows he’ll still get to see her make that expression at him even when they’re off the X-Files.

“I mean, we could try that new place in Dupont Circle. The one your mom was telling you about? If you want.”

“What’s the occasion?” she asks, folding her arms expectantly in front of her chest as she leans back in his office chair.

“You know,” he shrugs, “pretty soon it won’t be just us anymore, and I– I like… spending time with you… So I just thought it would be nice to—”

She smiles shyly. “That sounds great, Mulder,” she says, interrupting his fumbling explanation. “Tonight at seven?”

He grins, ducking his head to hide his goofy expression. “Yeah, seven. I’ll make the reservations.”

-.-.-

In hindsight, this is a crazy idea. The restaurant they’re going to is extravagant. Ostentatious. And he knows Scully knows it, too. The margin of error for plausible deniability here is extremely small, and if she doesn’t have some idea of his feelings for her already, he’s going to have a hard time keeping it that way as they sit in a low-lit room munching on those fancy breadsticks and drinking expensive wine.

What had he been thinking? He asked her out without even sparing it a thought, not realizing how it would sound. To be going out on a date with your best friend who is also technically your wife? Langly and Frohike were right. He is an idiot. What is he supposed to do on this ‘date?’ How is he supposed to act? Does she expect anything from him? Is this his last chance to make a move? What does it mean that this is one of the last nights they’ll spend alone together before someone literally hands them a baby and lets them take it home?

The idea of making a move, after all this time spent explicitly trying not to do exactly that, has him in a spiral. He paces around the floor in his bedroom, trying not to think about what dress Scully might be putting on in her room on the other side of the hall or what she might be doing with her hair.

He can’t upset the status quo like this with the baby due any time in the next few weeks, can he? Bad idea. Bad, bad, idea. But at the same time, when else would he get the chance? He’d heard what the other agents had said… it was years in some cases before new parents got the chance to really be alone. What if he had to spend the next several years silently pining for his own wife in the home they share together, watching her be a mother to the baby they adopted? Maybe there’s a reason people don’t get into arrangements like this with their platonic best friend, after all.

How stupid was he to think he could do this without letting his feelings get in the way? Why on earth didn’t he just tell her months ago, before all this started, instead of getting his hopes up?

The answer, of course, is that he wants this. He wants this family more than anything, even if it's never anything more than friendship and cohabitation with Scully. He would have scared her away if he told her the same day she found those adoption brochures on his desk. It would be too much at once. He knows her, she would have been overwhelmed.

But, man… What if?

He checks his reflection in the mirror one more time, smoothing his hair into place. He hopes he didn’t overdo it on the cologne. Should he be wearing a tie? He puts on one that Scully got him several years ago, complete with a tie clip he’d gotten from her mother at Christmas.

He hesitates over the chain he wears under his shirt. What would Scully think if he took it off and wore it on his finger tonight? He finds that he wants to. Just a normal husband and wife grabbing dinner together. Without giving it much thought, he loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his shirt to free the necklace from its usual place. He knows that if he gives it much more consideration, he’ll talk himself out of it, so he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and slides the band onto his left ring finger.

There. He’s ready.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door to his room, intent on continuing his pacing in the living room if Scully isn’t ready to go yet.

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” he hears her call from the bathroom as his door creaks open. At a quick glance, he can see the back of an elegant dress he’s never seen before, black with a neckline that swoops down low in the back. She stands at the sink, fastening an earring in place, and it feels like junior prom all over again.

“Oh, I’m in deep trouble,” Mulder mutters to himself, rubbing his hands over his face. Forcing himself to turn away, he walks straight to the kitchen and fills up a glass of water, downing it in record time.

Not five minutes later, he hears her emerge, and he prepares himself for the sight of her.

Sure enough, it knocks the breath out of him, a fact which he makes every attempt to hide. He’s pretty sure she catches it, though, because the corner of her mouth quirks up and her eyes drift to the floor, as if she were somehow self-conscious about her appearance.

Impossible.

He’s suddenly very glad he opted for the tie, if this is what she's wearing to dinner. Although, it’s feeling a little tight, at the moment. 

“You, uh—” he starts, at a loss for words. His mouth is bone dry, despite the water he had just chugged a few minutes ago. “You—”

“Thanks,” she says, mercifully sparing him from further embarrassment. She tucks a gently curled tuft of hair behind her ear, drawing his attention to the careful way she’s arranged it. “I figured this might be my last chance to get properly dressed up for a while, so… It’s been… years, I suppose, since I’ve had the occasion to.”

This just confirms it. He’s been an idiot. Years of missed opportunities, chances he’s wasted. He could have been taking this gorgeous, magnificent woman out to fancy dinners all the time, if he’d just been able to pull himself together and see past the end of his own rather distinguished nose. 

If time travel is ever invented, he’s gonna use it to go back in time and kick his own—

“Mulder?” she says, smiling amusedly at him. He gets the sense that that’s not the first time she’s tried to get his attention, and he feels his cheeks warm. “I said, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he chokes out, finding his voice at last. She reaches down to grab her purse, and he coughs to clear his throat. “Yeah, let’s go.”

She shakes her head at him in mock admonition, but happily accepts his proffered arm as they exit out the front door of the apartment. In the hall, he glances down, taking in the sight of her hands wrapped comfortably around his right bicep.

Her ring. She’s wearing it. He swears his heart might leap out of his chest at the thought. This might just be the thing that does him in. Put it on his death certificate. ‘Cause of death: the woman he loves is wearing his ring.’ What a way to go.

He doesn’t say anything—couldn’t, even if he wanted to—but he can tell that she saw him take notice. How could he not, with the way it sparkles on her finger, like it belongs there? He feels her hold loosen, and it stirs up a mild panic in his chest. She shouldn’t be embarrassed. Please, please don’t be embarrassed.

He lifts his hand to stop her from releasing him, running his thumb over the diamond inset on her finger. It’s okay, he’s saying. Look, I’m wearing mine too.

He sees the moment her eyes fix on his ring, as he rests his left hand over hers on his arm. She avoids his eyes, but he can tell she’s moved. She swallows back her emotion, and her hold on him tightens again, which sends a wave of relief through his body. 

“Come on, we’ll be late for our reservation,” he says, his voice low, just for her ears. 

She nods, and lets him lead the way.

-.-.-

His first mistake was thinking that he could get day-of reservations at one of the trendiest places in all of Washington, D.C. His second mistake was not considering that his straightforward request for a table that evening might somehow be misconstrued to mean that evening a year from now. 

It takes all his self restraint not to raise his voice at the host at the host stand, because really, why would he be asking for something like that? He’d like to give them a little lesson on the use of the English language, but he won’t, only because Scully is there and he doesn’t want to completely ruin the evening.

She’s there watching him as all this takes place, undoubtedly amused as he fights back frustration. After a moment, her hand lands on his arm, her typical method of pulling him back from the brink of a poor decision that she’s perfected over the years, and she shakes her head.

“It’s alright, Mulder,” she says. “We can just go somewhere else.”

Yeah, but where?

“Have a good evening,” the host says dismissively, and his tone is just a little bit too smug for Mulder’s taste. It reminds him of stuffy dinners with his father’s associates or interactions he had with the pompous law students at Oxford. Maybe they don’t want to eat here after all.

Scully feels him tense under her touch, and gently guides him out of the restaurant before he can respond. What would he do without her? He’d probably get beaten up a lot more often, that’s for sure. Or at least kicked out of places, like he would have been tonight.

She leads him outside, and soon enough, they’re standing on the sidewalk by the street, at a loss for what to do next.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” he says, mentally kicking himself for screwing this up so badly. “I just wanted to do something special, and now—”

“Mulder,” she stops him. “Seriously. It’s okay. I’m happy with wherever we decide to go tonight. This is about spending time together, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let's go,” she says, grabbing his hand. “Come on, I have an idea.”

She holds tight to him as she leads them down the sidewalk, passing other couples on the street on this lovely spring evening. He has no idea where she could possibly be taking them, but she’s in a great mood, so he tries not to let the minor setback ruin his night. If she’s happy, then he’s happy.

The sun draws closer to the horizon, casting a golden glow on everything and everyone it touches. It makes her hair shine like fire, and once again he counts his blessings. It feels a little bit like the night of their wedding, and that thought brings a smile to his face.

They walk past several up-scale restaurants, and Scully doesn’t even spare them a glance. Wherever she’s taking them, she must know the way there. After a couple more blocks, she comes to a stop, standing out front of a greasy diner, maybe just a little nicer than the ones they frequent in small-town America. 

“Really?” he asks, looking dubiously up at the neon sign. “You sure you don’t want to go somewhere a little fancier, Scully? You got all dressed up.”

Her answering smile is resplendent in the glowing light.

“I want to eat here, Mulder,” she says, stepping toward the entrance. A bell above the door jingles as she pushes it open. “It seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

It does. A wave of nostalgia hits him like a truck when he realizes why she brought them here. Why a diner, of all places, would be the place she chooses for their ceremonial last meal, just the two of them. He can’t count how many formica tabletops just like this one they’ve shared a meal at, over the years. Hundreds of hamburgers with a side of fries, maybe a milkshake they end up splitting when Scully’s ice water loses its appeal. Ripped vinyl booths that Scully thoroughly wipes down with wet wipes she’d started keeping in her bag for that exact purpose.

“Well, don’t you two look nice?” a waitress in uniform says as she approaches their table. Her hair looks like the 80s have come back with a vengeance, all frizzy and permed, and she chews a wad of bubblegum aggressively, smelling like her last smoke break.

In short, it’s perfect.

“What’ll it be?” she asks.

Mulder orders for the both of them, knowing Scully’s usual order by heart. She smiles the way she always does when he remembers to ask for a lemon for her water, and he makes sure to tell the waitress to bring two straws for the milkshake instead of one.

When he looks across the booth at Scully, again, he imagines a little girl sitting next to her, coloring away on a kids menu with two, cheap, plasticky crayons that break in half if you look at them wrong.

It won’t be long, now. That will be their life. Mulder, party of three. Maybe Scully will start to carry a plastic baggy of the good crayons in her bag, for when they go to places like this. He’s absolutely certain she’ll at least double her use of wet wipes and sanitizer. He’ll become a chicken strip connoisseur, knowing all the best places in the city to get the child-favorite delicacy.

“To us,” Mulder toasts once their drinks arrive, lifting his chocolate milkshake in the air between them. “To… endings and new beginnings.”

“To endings and new beginnings,” Scully repeats, clinking her glass against his.

-.-.-

It’s past dark already, barely a hint of color lingering on the horizon, but that doesn’t stop them from prolonging the evening with a walk to the National Mall. The moon is bright, and the streets are lit up for tourists making the most of the warmer spring weather. It’s a pleasant walk. Scully feels drunk, despite the absence of alcohol with their dinner. She wonders if Mulder feels it too.

He guides her with his hand in its usual place, and she feels what can only be described as complete and utter contentment, as each brush of his fingers propels her gently forward. The street leads them straight to the reflecting pool on the National Mall, a favorite spot of theirs, not that they find the time to visit often enough. They’ve missed the cherry blossom blooms by only a couple weeks, but the sweet smell of them persists, unless it’s just her imagination.

Something about being with Mulder like this dials all her senses up to eleven. She has never experienced life like this before. Are the stars always so bright? Does the cool breeze always feel like silk on her skin?

Maybe it's his cologne that has her feeling tipsy. She selfishly hopes the scent of it will linger on her clothes and in her hair even after this night has come to its end.

The Mall is quiet and mostly empty at this hour. The Washington Monument looms in the distance, lit up brightly and casting its imposing reflection on the still waters of the reflecting pool. A family of ducks disturbs the glassy surface, sending ripples radiating outward as they paddle from one side to the other.

Mulder has this peaceful expression on his face, the corners of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he had never been here before, taking in all the sights for the first time. He watches the ducks for a moment, expelling a breath of laughter through his nose as a small duckling falls behind, then swims faster to catch up with the rest of the crew.

His hand drops from her back, but before she has a chance to mourn the loss, he entangles his fingers with hers, clasping their hands tightly together. She follows after him in a daze, her lips pulled back in a self-conscious sort of grin. She can’t help it. He makes her feel like a teenager, and… she doesn’t even know what this is, really, but she likes it. 

They circle the reflecting pool for a bit, wandering aimlessly at a lazy pace, reluctant to put an end to their time together. Eventually, they end up sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the gargantuan statue of the nation’s sixteenth president a silent sentinel behind them.

Scully leans her cheek against Mulder’s bicep. Despite her best efforts to keep them open, her eyes fall shut, her body succumbing to the serenity of their surroundings and the comfort of good company. He offers her his coat, draping it over her shoulders to combat the slight chill. It dwarfs her, the extra fabric at the hem pooling on the ground behind her.

“How about we come here on the weekends?” his voice rumbles, the first words spoken since they left the diner almost half an hour ago.

“Mm?” she hums in question.

He jostles her slightly with his arm, and she forces her eyes open again.

“You know, take the stroller for a spin around the pool,” he says, gesturing ahead of them. “Maybe stop into the Air and Space museum if we feel like it…”

She smiles. She can picture it so easily, the two of them experiencing the wonders of this city through the eyes of their child as she grows. Of course Mulder would want to go to the Air and Space Museum. It’s a wonder he hasn’t dragged her there before.

“Every weekend?” she asks doubtfully, her words slurring slightly.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as he chuckles.

“No, not every weekend,” he says, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “I’m sure some weekends we’ll want to sleep in. Maybe have a late breakfast and watch movies. I can make pancakes. Chocolate chip.”

“Children need to have healthy breakfasts, Mulder,” she says admonishingly. Something tells her it will be a constant battle to keep Mulder from spoiling their daughter with sugar and empty carbs. But if that’s the worst of their disagreements when it comes to co-parenting, she’ll happily accept the challenge.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Half blueberry, half chocolate chip,” he concedes. She decides to let it slide for now.

Above them, an airplane soars across the sky, lights blinking rhythmically as it passes overhead.

It’s funny. Before Mulder, she never looked twice at things like that. But now, she finds herself checking a second time, her gaze lingering a little longer, just in case it might be something other than an airplane.

What has this man done to her?

Mulder follows the direction of her stare, his chin tilting upward. Against the backdrop of stars, the perfectly normal, human-built aircraft flies out of sight. The hand on Scully’s shoulder drops to the ground, his palms resting against the stone steps as he reclines back a little.

“Thanks for hanging with me all these years, Scully,” he says softly, his eyes never wavering from the heavens. “I really couldn’t have done it without you.”

Her lips pull back in a smile. “We make a pretty good team, huh?” she says over her shoulder.

His lowers his gaze to meet hers. “I like to think so. You think that will translate to raising a kid?”

She has often wondered that exact thing, but for the life of her now, as she looks into his eyes, she can’t think of even one reason why she questioned it.

She leans back onto his shoulder, her eyes falling shut again.

“Only one way to find out,” she answers sleepily.

He sighs happily. “Any day now.”

-.-.-

What a day. What a night.

Mulder can’t sleep, lying stiffly on his back in bed with his hands clasped on top of his torso. All he can think about is how beautiful she looked in the blinding fluorescent light of the diner, with a bit of ketchup smeared on the corner of her mouth from when she stole one of his fries when she thought he wasn’t looking. How she held his hand, content just to walk in silence beside him in the shadow of some of the nation’s most revered monuments.

What a perfect way to put a cap on their time working on the X-Files together. He couldn’t have planned it better himself (clearly). Who needs expensive wine and stale classical music when you have bottomless milkshakes and a jukebox playing the greatest sock-hop hits of the 1950s?

It wasn’t a real date, he has to remind himself, but it sure was close to one. Usually a first date doesn’t end with both parties going home together, that’s one difference. Or, well, going home to the apartment that they both live in together, he should say. But tonight, as they returned home, they got ready for bed side-by-side at the sink, brushing their teeth and washing their faces, and it felt like they’d been doing this for years. There was no awkwardness there, just a wave of peace and stability he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel in his adult life.

If they ever move somewhere else—somewhere closer to Quantico, maybe—he’ll make sure the bathroom is equipped with a his-and-hers vanity. A sink for each of them, and plenty of counter space for all of Scully’s specialty serums and creams. It’ll be nice, he thinks.

When he finally falls asleep, it’s to visions of wraparound porches and matching rocking chairs, and maybe a nice playset in the backyard with a couple of kids running around. Now that’s a dream worth dreaming of.

-.-.-

This is ridiculous. She should just go back to bed, try one more time to actually fall asleep, get a few hours of rest at least. 

But she can’t sleep. Because Mulder had gone and put it in her head that everything is about to change, and it really could happen at any moment. Somehow, when she’s with him, she forgets every apprehension that plagues her, lured into a sense of security and assurance by some mystical power he possesses. Okay, maybe not a mystical power, but it is frightening how easily she casts aside her doubts when he’s within eyesight.

But then it all comes flooding back the moment she’s left to her own thoughts. It’s infuriating. She thought she was ready for it—for this massive life change—but she’s not. It terrifies her.

What if she can’t do it? What if she misses working in the Hoover building with him too much? What if she and Mulder have a disagreement about something trivial and it pulls them apart? What if he meets a nice woman at Quantico and wants out of this arrangement? What if it’s not enough for them to just be friends and raise this baby together? What if her feelings get the best of her, and she scares him away?

Or perhaps worst of all… What if they don’t get to go home with a baby at the end of all this? What if the mother decides to keep it? What then? Would they even have it in their hearts to try again? To wait a little longer, when there are drawers full of onesies and newborn diapers already in their home?

For weeks, the same nightmare has plagued her. Standing in a hospital hallway, their path blocked by people from the adoption agency telling them to turn around. Go home. You do not get a child.

She wakes feeling emptier than ever, and wishes for the millionth time that things could be easier.

There’s so much to think about, and she can’t take it anymore. She’s scared. And there’s only one person she likes to go to when she’s scared, and he’s sleeping peacefully right behind this door.

She sighs, leaning her head up against the door frame in exhaustion. She’ll just poke her head in for a moment. Remind herself that he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere. She repeats the words he’s said to her over and over in her head like a mantra, ways he’s reassured her in the past that he’s in this for the long-haul. But for some reason, they’re hard to recall in these moments of doubt. Maybe she’d misunderstood him. Maybe she’s remembering it wrong, applying more meaning to his words than he’d intended.

Her stomach tosses and turns uncomfortably with nerves. She’ll never be able to sleep like this.

As quietly as possible, she eases the door open, a sliver of light from the hallway piercing its way into his room. He looks warm and soft, the way his face lays slack against the pillow. He’s made himself at home here. His knick knacks line the shelves, unpacked from their boxes after the move and scattered about. As she steps carefully inside, she spots a photo of them that once sat on a shelf in their office. He must have moved it here recently, part of the slow transfer of their lives out of the basement of the Hoover building. She can’t help but notice that it sits beside him on his nightstand, right next to his glasses and whatever book he’s been reading lately.

She lets out a breath, allowing the comfort he unknowingly offers to dull her senses. Just a minute longer, then she’ll go back to her room and give sleeping another shot.

Or she would have, if he hadn’t started to stir, slowly waking from his peaceful slumber. It’s almost like he’d sensed her there, some kind of psychological link that told him when she was near, and in distress. She quickly turns back to the door, hand on the door handle to open it and make her exit before he truly notices her presence, when she hears her name spoken in a confused whisper.

“Scully?”

Her shoulders slump in defeat, and her hand falls away from the doorknob.

“Sorry,” she says, turning to face him sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He props himself up on an elbow, blearily rubbing sleep from his eyes with a fist.

“You okay?” he asks.

Her mouth drops open to reassure him that, yes, she’s fine, but she takes just a second too long to answer, and she knows he sees right through her. It’s not even worth lying to him.

“Come here,” he says, scooting over to make room on the bed beside him. “We can talk, if you want.”

She really shouldn’t, but his offer is tantalizing. She’s too vulnerable to be in this position, right now. Who knows what will slip from her mouth in her exhausted and overwhelmed state? Her feet carry her toward the bed anyway, and she slides into place under the covers, staring blankly up at the ceiling as he settles on his side facing her on his side of the bed.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks knowingly.

She shakes her head, her hair rustling on the pillow.

“Took me a while to get to sleep too,” he admits. “A lot to think about. A lot, a lot.”

At least she’s not alone in this problem, she guesses. She hates feeling like the insecure one in any situation, and that’s how she’s felt more often than not throughout this process so far.

“What’s keeping you up?” he asks, gently urging her to open up.

She tries to shrug, but she knows she’ll have to come up with an answer sooner or later. There’s no reason to hide this from him. Sometimes, he knows her better than she knows herself, and that can be a blessing and a curse.

“I’m going to miss working with you, Mulder,” she says honestly, her lips sealed tight to fight back the slight tremble in them. She can’t stop hearing her own words spoken by the reflecting pool a few years ago. ‘If I quit now, they win.’

She feels a hand land on her upper arm, stroking it comfortingly. Her eyes flutter shut. She can lie to herself all she wants, but this is why she really came in here. There’s a type of comfort only Mulder has ever been able to bestow, and she needs it now more than ever.

“We’ll still be in the same building,” he says appeasingly. “We can get lunch together every day, talk about our classes, complain about the new recruits.”

It’s silly, but his words do help. She imagines sitting across from him in his own private office—probably decorated a lot like their current office is—and munching on a salad while listening to him complain about an essay one of his students turned in. It sounds pleasant. Easy. Maybe he can come help decorate her office too. She’s gotten used to his clutter. She isn’t sure she’d be able to work in the sparsely furnished office space like she’s naturally inclined to.

“And besides– We’ll still see each other here,” he adds. “Every night. And the weekends.”

The thought sends a thrill through her. Sometimes it still feels like a dream, what they’re doing. Giving up the X-Files… that’s a tangible thing. But the baby? She’s still an abstract idea, despite the fact that physical reminders of their plans are scattered throughout her apartment. The picture he’d painted earlier of a relaxing day at home together feels out of reach—like a nice idea that isn’t really attainable. Is she that traumatized from all the disappointment in her life?

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asks, her mouth downturned in a frown. “I mean– I know you’ve said before that this is what you want, but I—”

“You’re gonna have to learn to trust me sometime, Scully,” Mulder says, a slight sadness in his voice.

She does. She does trust him—maybe even more than she trusts herself. That’s what the problem is.

“I do,” she says. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just…”

“Freaking out?” he finishes, smiling at her in amusement.

“Just a little,” she says, returning his smile.

He breathes in deeply, his face pensive like it always is when he's mulling over a difficult question.

“I think we’re ready,” he says, projecting confidence into his voice. “I think you’re going to be a rockstar mom, and we’ll wonder why we didn’t do this years ago.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“But what if—”

He shakes his head, putting a stop to her words immediately. “You gotta stop that, Scully,” he says seriously. “This is going to work out.” His fingers find the dainty necklace she wears, his thumb brushing over the cross. “Have faith,” he implores.

She closes her eyes, letting out a breath, and with it, trying to release some of the fear that keeps her up at night. She wants to do what he asks, to let herself go, but it's not as easy as that. Sometimes she can't help but feel like they're trying to cheat destiny, to force things into going their way when they've been repeatedly told “no” at every turn.

His reassurance does help, though. Wasn't that why she'd come here in the first place? 

Mulder settles back, turning his attention back to the ceiling. 

“What did you think of the new agents?” she asks after a moment, changing the subject. It’s hard to believe that it was just this morning that they’d interviewed a few of them, hoping to find some trustworthy hands to leave their work to.

“Reyes seems sharp,” Mulder says. “I think her background in folklore and ritualistic abuse is a good starting point.”

“Mm,” Scully hums her agreement. “And what about Doggett? Too staunch of a skeptic for you?”

Mulder chuckles. “He comes highly recommended by the higher ups, so I don’t know,” he says. “It’s always good to have a variety of opinions around, though, don’t you think?”

She turns her head to the left, her eyes meeting his in the darkened room, lit only by what little moonlight comes through the blinds. 

“I think… we’ll be okay,” she says then, willing the words to be true as she speaks them. Her assertion brings a smile to his face, and he leans back on the pillow, focusing on the patterns on the ceiling like she had been a moment earlier.

“We will,” he agrees. “For once, I think we’ll be better than okay.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[t1red-twilight]

soft peter headcannons

summary: might cause cavities

content/warnings: gn!reader, andrew!peter, fluffffff

word count: 0.4k

masterlist

- peter is not that much of an outspoken guy (outside of spidersona, lmao)

- this is mirrored in how he loves you

- he’s super gentle. he kisses you very gently, holds you gently, isn’t super rough at all

- ushy gushy mushy loser make outs

- he loves going on little outings with you

- whether that’s a dinner reservation, or coffee while you sit in silence doing copious amounts of homework.

- he always pays, but he does so very quietly. you don’t notice most of the time

- “you already paid? good god peter. i have money, you know” (jokingly, of course)

- you might as well be an rn with the amount of times you’ve patched him up and disinfected his wounds

- your first aid kit has expanded to be like a cabinet full of anything that you may need at a moment’s notice

- he got you matching necklaces for christmas one year

- he wears his every day.

- when someone asks him about it, he gets all giddy and tells them all about you

- “its a matching necklace with my partner! y’know they actually-”

- he's not super big on pda

- you asked him once about this, and he had told you that he didn’t want to ‘commodify’ your relationship. he wanted to keep that part private and just to yourselves

- showers together </3

- before you move in together, showers together had become so commonplace that he took pictures of your shampoo and body wash and stuff and just kinda bought them for his place

- will just hold you in the shower for an unprecedented amount of time

- i WILL write a full length version of this if even just one person asks.

- CANDID PHOTOS AND VIDEOS

- petey boy loves his camera and will take pictures of you whenever he feels prompted

- in the beginning you would point out when he would take pictures, but now you’re just used to it.

- think ‘dead wife montage’ from the beginning of a movie (minus the deceased part, i suppose)

- lowkey gives the best hugs

- he’ll hold the back of your head and tuck his face into your neck and just squeeze

- he teases you semi-regularly

- he’s super playful with you and likes to show his affection that way

- your morning routine is memorized at this point

- sometimes you don’t even to talk to each other, you just naturally know your way around each other super well

- he’s super domestic, actually

- loves making dinner together, reading the same books and talking about them, movie marathons (followed by over analyzing them, of course)

- if you’re in college, he’ll help you with your homework

- he’s very good at explaining things

- rewards you with little smooches

- puts his glasses on you

- your closets have molded into one massive super closet

- he wear each other’s t-shirts and hoodies all the time

- buys you little trinkets

- concluding thoughts: soft is peter’s middle name. he’s so loves to be around you and he loves even more that you love being around him.

[runawaysiren940]

The Day The Men Died

(A response to the many, many works which explore a gender suicide, and yet fail to represent the positive aspects of this change.)

Evenlyn Wise often felt that she did not live up to her name. Her husband frequently agreed, pointing out with lecherous joy whenever she did something worth criticizing. Sometimes, she felt that he was right, that she was wrong, but that her lack of knowledge wasn’t her fault. It filled her with a contradictory, aimless sort of anger, like a clogged drain with nowhere for the runoff to go. How was she to know that tires could be repaired if the nail was in the right spot? It wasn’t as if anyone had told her. The world was full of secret knowledge like this, which seemed to have never been researched, or asked about, but rather slipped into the minds of men, and of women smarter than her. There was secret knowledge that also operated the other way, such as that sheets and pillowcases needed to be changed weekly, or that toenails grown too long could shear them as surely as scissors; but it always seemed that that sort of knowledge was different, only important to that of the female divide. 

Other times, it seemed as if his criticism was meant to drive right into the heart of her like a stake, said only for the sake of punishment. Of course Jonathan’s fever was only from a common cold. Wouldn’t any good mother know that? A smart mother would have plied it down digit by digit by way of tylenol, that negotiator of all childhood ills. And who wouldn’t know to remind him not to bring the loaf with nuts to his sister’s house? How should he be expected to remember that she was allergic? Only someone who was petty enough to gamble with her sister-in-law’s life would neglect to issue that regular warning. Those would be the words to start up another fight, which the battlefield of marriage seemed to never be able to put to rest. Inevitably, the spats would be brought up to a third party, though never an impartial one. Her husband preferred his mother's judgment, or in severe cases, Evelyn's mom, who would almost always rule in his favor. Such was the way of the wife. If she wasn't making her husband happy and bearing a grin of her own to boot, obviously she was the one at fault. Nevermind that whatever wife he was dreaming of had never been one she was willing, or able to provide. Still, whatever fantasies her husband had about a grinning Stepford, her own were far more morose.

Evenlyn found herself fantasizing about what it would be like if one of them disappeared. She didn’t mean death; being a widow didn’t sound very appealing, with all of the required grieving and pitying. But rather- she dreamt about her husband just one day leaving for work, and not coming home that evening. She would get home first, having a far shorter workday to compensate for having to pick up their son from school, and imagined herself slaving over a complicated dish all day. One of those delicious ones that she’d go nose blind too far before it was ready, unable to enjoy it the same way those interlopers into her kitchen did, having avoided the brunt of the olfactory offense until she called for Jonathan to set the table. Lasagne from scratch, or perhaps homemade ravioli- she’d set the table just like a picture from a Southern Home magazine, waiting, idling as the food cooled and Jon started to grumble; it would be for his sake that she would serve the first portions, gently, perfectly plated, and thinly portioned. The second portion would be out of worry, and then the third, because her worry had finally split open her stomach, making room for hunger, and then- A single solitary slice, plastic wrapped and placed in the fridge. That slice would grow cold, tough and congealed, each day bringing it closer to the trash, until finally, she could admit to herself that the left side of her bed was going to remain cold and empty. It would be perfect. No blame, a manageable amount of pity bestowed upon her, preferably in the form of free childcare and casseroles, and no issues in the transferring of the house or car or assets. She would have her grief, but a private, solitary thing, and a house that was quiet and clean. 

It was far more rare that she would fantasize about leaving herself, taking nothing but a duffel bag and the keys to her car to start over somewhere distant and anew, and leaving her husband to the daycares and fevers, packed lunches and runny noses.

To find her husband dead beside her on an early Tuesday morning had not factored into these daydreams, but as Evelyn carefully pressed a finger into the stiff side of his once growing gut, she supposed she could make this work too. There was a sort of numbness that fell over her like a curtain across a stage play as she stared at him. There was drool along the side of his mouth, the left side of his auburn hair pressed flat to his scalp from where he'd slept on it. His face, one she had grown used to, like one would a morning sunrise seen on the daily commute, was frozen in a placid expression of discomfort, as if he'd been suffering from heartburn not bad enough to wake from. She took all of this in like one would a mess in need of tackling. It must have been a heart attack, or an aneurysm then. Nothing that could incorrectly be attributed to herself. 

Evelyn should call the police, she noted, but should she muster up some tears first? Panic? Or would the eerie calmness be caught by the phone operator, and understood to be a sort of autopilot she had little control over?

She should call. Evelyn knows from her murder stories that calling immediately is important. Her hand is on the phone, suddenly, pulling it free from the charger like a fruit from a vine. There are messages from her mother, sister, friends whose names all blurred together. She doesn't even bother to unlock it, instead pressing the emergency call button. The phone dials once, and then a pause. 

"My husband, he-" Evelyn stops. Her voice is oddly flat, but beyond that, another voice is speaking, half covered up by her own words.

"-unfortunately unable to answer your call at this time due to an unexpected influx of calls. Please remain on the line to be connected to the next available operator."

In the other room, the stillness of the house is interrupted by a resounding wail. Not a cry. No, she's too familiar with the sound of morning hunger, an aborted nightmare, the slight panic of an empty room. The sound is wrong, and fills her heart with panic that has her falling out of the bed. Feet tripping over the clothes her husband had left on the floor the night before, her neck lands hard on the edge of the half full laundry basket, cutting her air off like a hand around her throat. Still, even with the burn, she's back to her feet, reaching for the door. The hall is small, always seeming even smaller with the toys cluttering the floors, but it seems like a gulf now, one she struggles to cross. 

The house is quiet again. Her hand on the doorknob, turning, and-

There's her boy, her baby. With the same bronze hair, and watercolor eyes she'd fallen in love with on his father, that sharp nose Iike her own, tangled in off brand train themed sheets, gasping, mouth wide like a fish out of water. She lunges for him, knocking her shin against the bed frame as she cradles him in her arms. He's cold. Not shivering like she needs to tuck him in, like a fever needs sweating- but like an engine gone cold. She imagines she can feel his heart chugging along the final mile, each foot passed leading to the inevitable shutdown.

"Jon, it's okay baby, mommy's here, I-" She chokes as his hand twitches, as if too weak to reach for her. She grabs it, curling his stiff fingers around her own. "Mommy loves you. Mommy's right here, she'll fix this."

But even as she asserts it, she knows she's lying. His body feels heavy. Leaden, like a porcelain doll that'll shatter if she drops it. She holds onto him, gathering him into her arms as she returns to the bedroom, more carefully this time. The phone is still on, blinking under the thin linen sheets. The sheets her husband rests cold and still on. 

Her eyes keep flickering to him as she picks it up, switching the call to speakerphone. The line is silent except for the occasional chirp, as if to remind her that there is someone out there waiting for her, if she keeps waiting in turn. Her child and her husband, all in one morning- it seems like an unfathomable tragedy, the sort that only happens to other people.

She aches for her mother. It's a feeling she recognizes immediately, if only because she knows that the mother she wants is not the one she has; if Evelyn calls, she won't receive the comfort she wants, the direction she needs. Still, with shaking hands, she searches out her contact, only to pause as she realizes how many messages she's received. All capitals, ten texts from her coworker Anna, four nonsensical cries for help from her eight year old niece, and more, from women she hardly talks to, hardly knows. All repeating the same thing. The men are all dead.

[wethreetimo]

It’ll be Okay.

WordCount: 1.2k

A/N: this was incredibly rushed, I also finished this at like 4am at work so yeah!!!!!

lmk if y’all want a sequel, hehe :)

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, Depression, arguing, angst with a happyish ending!

If everything happens for a reason, I think most of us would like to know what the reason is. especially the brutal, insecure, John Mactavish.

Johnny and Simon. it was almost always them two. if you saw one, the other was looming behind. or atleast, that’s how it had been until Simon was 18, and Johnny was 15.

groaning, johnny heard the deafening beeping of the shared alarm clock the two men had. “..Si, turn that bloody thing off..” johnny mumbled, opening his eyes, but to his astonishment, simon was nowhere to be seen. “..si?”

now, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for simon to often disappear, and not be back until 4pm. But it wasn’t late. it was 7am, and simon was not a morning person. something this time was different. something johnny didn’t like.

“..Simon?” johnny was more awake by now, he pulled a hoodie on, too sleepy to see which one it even was— for all he knows, it could be simon’s.

he dragged himself out of the bed, looking in the bathroom; the shower was steamy, but nonetheless empty. “Simon? This.. this ain’t funny, lad.” johnny complained, going downstairs. he entered the sitting room, seeing a collection of empty coffee culls, sighing; and johnny being the man he is, he picked them each up. “so he’s definitely awake.” johnny agreed with himself.

he walked into the living room, and the sight he saw caused him to drop each coffee cup with an ear piercing crash.

there simon was, in what seemed a military uniform?

“Did i miss an invitation to a dress up party?” johnny chuckled, “What the hell is tha’..? Why are you wearing an army uniform.”

simon looked dreadful. his dirty blonde hair wet, his uniform looked like it was pulled on incredibly fast, and his cheeks rosy. he sighed. “I told you.” simon said in a hushed tone.

“Told me what?” johnny accused. “That I was leaving for the military as soon as i could, I’m eighteen now. i can, legally.”

johnnys heart lurched. “you.. you dinnae think this is a bit.. eh..” he paused. “irrational?”

“So it’s irrational for me to want to get out of a bad lifestyle now.” simon retorted, pointing a finger at johnny. “You told me to do this, John. You told me, that i should.”

being called john killed johnny. simon never used that name for him, it was johnny. he was simon’s johnny. and he’s just throwing that away?

“We were twelve!” johnny mumbled, faking a smile, but getting a head shake of disapproval from simon. “No, you were twelve. I was fifteen.”

“So what? You’re just gonna leave me because you’re eligible? You’re just gonna.. throw away our history?”

“we don’t have history, johnny. get that in your head.”

“who am i, simon?”

“..well your johnny.”

“how do you know?”

“you told me when we met.”

“that’s history, isn’t it?”

“we’re nothing, johnny. we aren’t a thing. all you are, is a useless man that’s decided i can’t be who i want anymore.”

johnny fell silent, “fine. go. but dinnae ever text me again. yeah?” and with that, the two parted. never seeing eachother for years.

until.

johnny joined the military aged 23, if honest, he had forgotten about simon. yeah, he still had a picture of him on simon’s shoulders at a birthday party when simon turned ten. yeah, he did. but he didn’t ever talk about him. if he was asked, all simon was? ‘oh. just my mother’s friend’s kid.’

When organised into a task force for a mission, johnny was added to Task Force 141. With three other men, Kyle Gaz Garrick, John Price, and Ghost; which for some reason, refused to share his legal name.

It was the morning of a so-called simple mission. get in, get intel, stay under cover, get out. general shepherd ordered everyone to be put into teams of two. One inside, one outside. and just purely by luck.. johnny and ghost were paired. johnny, who now had the nickname Soap, was inside to get the intel: Ghost on overwatch.

Soap had been dreading being paired with the ice cold lieutenant, not because he was scared of him, he wasn’t. more because he never spoke.

“Ghost. You’ll be paired with Sergeant MacTavish.” the general barked at Ghost. Ghost seemed annoyed, “Me? With him? Oh. No, no i’m

not going with him.”

Soap’s hearts lurched, what had he done wrong? He decided to make himself known, walking into the room with the gruff lieutenant, and nasty general. “Am i.. interrupting somethin’?” Soap asked quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

The General shook his head, “No, no you’re not, my boy. In fact I was just telling Ghost here. You two are being out together for our upcoming mission.”

acting surprised, soap tilted his head. “..Oh.”.

“See. Even J-.. Mactavish. Even Mactavish agrees.” Ghost responded, “General If i may-,” he continued, but got cut off. “Ghost I don’t want a word. You? are here because of pity. You may not, get out of my sight. Both of you.”

Ghost physically recoiled, quietly. looking on the ground. Soap noticed this. He was always good at noticing things others didn’t, the General left the room, leaving Mactavish and Ghost alone.

“..Sir..?” Soap began, but got disregarded by a hand waving away. “Leave it, Sergeant.”

“..You’re familiar.” Soap said suddenly, before even thinking. Ghost stared at him, “No I’m not.”

“I recognise you, I jus.. can’t quite remember who you are.” “Maybe we were friends in another life.” “No chance it was this one..?” “Highly doubt it, sergeant.” “I’m being serious!” Soap complained.

“And so am I. I don’t believe in this, it was destiny, kinda bs.” Ghost snapped, shaking his head.

“..wait,” Soap began, staring at Ghost closely. But Ghost wasn’t here to listen. “Enough of it, sergeant.”

Soap went silent before finally speaking.

“Simon goddamn Riley.”

Ghost froze. It had been a long time since someone called him that name, let alone the new sergeant?

“..Johnny.”

Soap nodded.

Now, in normal statements, Ghost would’ve yelled at a sergeant for using his real name, but something told Ghost that Soap knew the name from the past, not from reading a dossier.

“..No, no you can’t be here.”

“Si.”

“You can’t see me like this. I’ve changed, I’m not the eighteen year old foolish kid I was.”

“But you were my foolish kid, eh?”

Ghost froze again, shaking his head no. “I’m not gonna just let myself get so caring about a kid I knew when I was a teenager.”

“Simon we had history!”

“This? This isn’t history, Johnny.”

“Can we make it be?”

“You were nothing. Get that in your delusional mind.”

Soap froze.

“..Well. Glad I made ya’ feel that way, Si. ‘cause you were- no, you //are// my everything.”

“Don’t play the victim.”

“I’m not the victim if I’m truly hurt.”

“What?”

“Even if you’re a cold.. stoic, Lieutenant. I will love you either way.”

“Nobody loves me. Nobody loved me.”

“I did.”

“So what? Is this a pity, now? Am I being pitied for depression? For PTSD?”

“Si. You know damn well I don’t pity people.” Soap began confidently. “And you? You’re not pitied. It’s called love.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh but you DID know Si, you did know because you knew I loved every fibre of your cold body and I still do.”

Ghost shook his head, his eyes even becoming slightly watery. His hands were clasped in each other as he nervously tugged at his skin.

“I love you every day.”

“ … “

“I love you too.”

[theamityelf]

Do you have anymore insight into more of Makoto and Kamamkurized Taka? I'm not saying Taka's love for Makoto could get obsessive but... 👀

Oh, absolutely!

Taka sees this normal human who was dumped amongst the experimental abominations, this innocent sacrifice laid before false gods, and he has to protect him. At first, it's not a personal thing; it's a rejection of what the scientists are saying by placing him here. That he's expendable, that he's inferior. Taka believes that what Makoto stands for is worthy of defending, but at first he doesn't feel capable of experiencing any emotional partiality towards him in particular.

He makes sure Makoto is safe from the others.

For his part, Makoto is both amazed and horrified by what was done to his friends. Horrified, most obviously, but he's still amazed when they do incredible things so casually. They find his reactions stimulating (just picture a bunch of bright crimson eyes staring at him from every direction; a bunch of uncannily slouching bodies gracefully maneuvering around him), and Taka is entranced by the pure human emotion.

In particular, Makoto's sadness for who they used to be and what they lost.

First of all, Taka loves that this grief proves that he cared about his friends for who they were and not what they could do. If he cared only for their talent, he would celebrate the change. Who doesn't want a pop sensation who can hit higher notes and never tire of concerts? Yet Makoto misses things about them that kept them from perfection.

And second of all, the persisting faith that exists within the sadness! A lot of them tell him point blank that his friends are gone, that only the Izuru Kamukura Project remains in their bodies. He doesn't agree. He insists that his friends still exist in some form, within them.

Taka of course tells him that he can't accept the name of the one who came before him, and asks Makoto to call him by his number, but in those moments that Makoto initially forgets and then corrects himself, he feels the temptation to just take the name, the identity, the friendship. Kiyotaka Ishimaru is gone, but something lives in his body, something which would devote itself fully to being a person if he was just allowed to be. When Makoto tells him about Kiyotaka Ishimaru, and the elements of him that he believes are still alive, he is so tempted.

"You would study together?" the experiment says. He maintains perfect posture, sitting and standing, but his head he angles down, as if to hide his face. He speaks inflectionlessly, but forcefully. Makoto says Ishimaru spoke loudly, too. "For class?"

"Yeah, pretty often. Sometimes in my room, sometimes his, sometimes in the library."

He likes imagining it. Did they struggle together? Help each other? Was Kiyotaka Ishimaru better or worse at math than Makoto? Did he read faster or slower? Did his hand cramp when writing? Did he notice every color in Makoto's eyes and skin like this abomination does?

The group (especially Aoi and Leon) find it entertaining to ask Makoto to do things like peel a fruit or solve a math problem. Just small tasks that they would be able to do effortlessly. For most of them, it's like watching a cat manage to turn a doorknob. Even those of them who don't personally urge him to do things that demonstrate his flaws will stop what they're doing to watch.

Taka watches, but not because he finds it amusing. He finds it beautiful. Human effort, as it should be. He loves Makoto's difficulty peeling an orange, his sluggish long division, his serviceably legible handwriting. His imperfections are worth more than the millions of dollars spent to create these monstrosities. He would– and in fact, earnestly believes they all should –die to protect the way Makoto stumbles over his feet, and the face he makes when he tries to put his thoughts to words.

"You're not abominations," Makoto says firmly. "You're my friends. Old friends or new friends, I don't consider you abominations. Something happened to you that you didn't choose, but you're here now. You're alive, you're real, and you matter as much as anyone else. You're a person."

Taka knows (believes) that Makoto is wrong, but that's alright. Being wrong about things is part of his humanity. Humans can form bonds with all kinds of things– even soulless experiments. It doesn't matter that Makoto is wrong, because his misplaced faith is so human.

Makoto is so human.

As much as Taka knows that Makoto should be among humans, under the sun instead of the laboratory lights, he finds himself becoming just as protective of Makoto's place among them as of Makoto himself.

The thought of Makoto leaving agitates him in ways he cannot justify.

Even if the scientists told him that they were letting Makoto go, sending him back to his family, how could he possibly trust them? How could he believe that they won't either turn him into another Kamukura or kill him to keep the story contained?

One day, one of the scientists asks him to forfeit his time with Makoto, in favor of a few hours in reflex testing, and he refuses. He gives no justification and cannot be convinced.

One day, Junko wraps her arms around Makoto, and Taka dislocates her shoulder, getting her off him. He reacts similarly with Byakuya and pretty much anyone who hasn't demonstrated themself to be consistently safe. Chihiro, Kyoko, Mukuro, and Hiro are pretty much the only ones he trusts to touch Makoto, and even then he's very watchful.

"Your loyalty dooms you," he says to him one night. He sits at the foot of Makoto's cot while he sleeps, like a guard dog, and for once, he speaks quietly. Too quietly for Makoto to hear. "It seems as if you wouldn't leave us, even if we could let you."

Kyoko, in her cot, asks, "Does that make you feel better about the fact that you can't?"

"I'm sure he could," Sayaka interjects. "He was the Ultimate Moral Compass in a past life. Temperance comes naturally to him."

"Hagakure?" Chihiro says. "Can Ishimaru let him go?"

"That depends. Did Owada lead with his left foot or his right foot, leaving the bathroom this morning?" (He's joking; he's just not going to answer the question.)

"Hifumi? Have you seen us letting him go?"

"I'm afraid I'm not in this scene."

"Are you all talking to each other?" Makoto whispers, having not heard pretty much any of that.

"Yes," Taka replies. "Don't let it rob you of sleep. Your body needs rest."

"And your body takes pleasure in knowing it," Junko teases. "Isn't he so human? So pure?"

"Not an abomination at all," Aoi joins in the ribbing.

"Well, there's still time."

"We won't allow that," Mukuro says. "There are more than enough people for them to tamper with; they know better than to touch what has been made ours."

"What are you guys talking about?" Makoto asks. Again, not having heard anything since Taka spoke.

"You," Taka replies.

"Wait, really?"

"What else would we discuss? Again, you mustn't let it keep you from your rest."

"Oh, um, okay...Well, good night, guys."

Some of them respond in kind.

"I wonder if they gave him to us to prevent Ishimaru from eventually blowing up the building with all of us inside," Celeste muses.

"I've had the same thought," Aoi says, and a few of their classmates voice their agreement.

Taka ignores them, just watching Makoto drift toward sleep. He drools in his sleep. So flawed. So human. The drool on that pillow is worth more than everyone else in this room.

He knows that love is a human emotion. A thing Makoto experiences for his friends and family. A thing Makoto should one day experience for another normal human, if he ever wants to get married or...

He knows that what he feels is a perversion of the human concept of love, as much as he is a perversion of a human. He knows it, because imagining a normal human for Makoto to love makes him wish death on this imaginary person, and that's a feeling an Ultimate Moral Compass would never have. He wishes Makoto could have had a life with Kiyotaka Ishimaru, the one he studied with, the one who made human mistakes and followed the rules and tried his best always.

But he doesn't need Hagakure's answer as to whether he'll ever let Makoto go. He already knows.