#messages ( bree brown )

[janatm]

📲 BREEVA

BREE: I feel like i have given you plenty of space and time to work through whatever it is you need to work through but what the hell did you do to your wrist? @trinityhq

[harringtonswriting]

Omg Bree that list!! I would love to read 25. goodnight kisses with Bradley?🥺

ahhhh thank you so much Nova!! <3 i am SO sorry it took me so long to get this finished, but i hope you enjoy it!! god this was so adorable to write and i really, REALLY appreciate you picking this one bc it was such a cute idea <3

...

This was the best first date you’d had in a long time. Probably the best first date you’ve ever been on, if you’re being honest, but that’s not something you’re going to admit to your date. You didn’t want to give his ego that big of a boost this early, and also didn’t want him to think about your dating history being any sadder than he might already think it is.

Bradley Bradshaw had asked you out the night you met him at the Hard Deck, where he was drinking with his friends and you’d been convinced by yours to come out for some drinks and the promise of some very pretty Naval officers to look at. Which, you were happy to find, there were plenty of. Bradley included.

You’d thought he was just another good-looking flyboy when he’d walked up to you at the bar top, though his endearing smile and his outrageous taste in fashion had you intrigued enough to say yes; you had no idea how he still managed to look attractive wearing bright blue and magenta, but that coupled with his 70s-esque mustache and very pretty, big brown eyes ended up winning you over. You’d put your number in his phone, let him buy you a drink, and your friends teased you for the better part of an hour about giving your number to the first pilot who talked to you. But there was something special about Bradley, something genuine and funny and maybe you were a little tipsy, but you didn’t regret giving him your number.

Bradley messaged you the following afternoon to ask you to dinner this coming Friday night, and after the initial awkwardness (he’d responded to you with just a thumbs up emoji and you’d used maybe a few too many exclamation points), the two of you fell into an easy rhythm of texting back and forth. You find yourself enjoying talking with him, and looking forward to seeing his name pop up on your phone.

All too quickly, though, Friday night arrives and he picks you up in what is obviously a very old, but very well loved, truck. He’s got sunglasses on, big mirrored aviators, but no Hawaiian shirt tonight (he’d later tell you that he’d received advice that he should wear something a little more toned down for the first date, and you couldn’t say that a black t-shirt and jeans didn’t suit him just as well as what he’d been wearing the night you met him). He’d lifted his sunglasses off his face, clipping them on the front of his shirt as he got out of his truck, and a wide grin split across his face as he caught sight of you coming out of your house.

“You look amazing,” he says, and the words come out loud and earnest–it’s a genuine compliment, and his smile is infectious to boot. You smile as you return the sentiment.

“Not so bad yourself. I like this look,” you tell him, and you see him puff his chest out just a bit. As you walk towards him, he reaches into his truck and comes back out with a bouquet of sunflowers tied with a yellow ribbon. He holds them out to you, and you take them from his hands.

“These are for you,” he says, and you look down at the flowers. They’re beautiful, the loveliest shade of yellow from soaking up the warmth and love of the sun. “I didn’t know what you liked, but they reminded me of your smile, so I hope these are okay.” Bradley’s just a little bashful, and you rest one hand on his forearm.

“They’re beautiful,” you tell him, and it’s the truth. They are, and the fact that they reminded him of you? You don’t know how he can say that with a straight face, and if it came from anyone else you might be embarrassed. You still are, a little, but you’re just a little pleased, too, that he’s been thinking about you. You take the flowers inside, quickly putting them in a tall glass of water before heading back out to where Bradley and the Bronco are waiting. You head around to the passenger side door to pull it open… but it won’t budge. You try again, but still no dice. Oh, god, did you break his car? This is a classic, right? That’s what a lot of older cars are. He gets you beautiful flowers and you break his car. Wonderful. You look at Bradley, and he grimaces. Oh no.

“The, uh, the door sticks sometimes. Lemme get it for you,” he says, coming around to fiddle with the handle before the door pops open. You feel some relief, then, knowing that you didn’t just bust his car, and you climb in and he shuts it behind you. Then he’s getting in on his side, and the two of you head out to the restaurant he’d told you about for dinner.

It was a place that Hangman had recommended, Bradley told you, but he only decided to take that recommendation seriously when Phoenix, Payback, and Fanboy had all confirmed it was good. And you’d have to remember to thank Bradley’s friends the next time you see them, because they were right. It was a small place, not too far from the Hard Deck, with the best food you’d had in a while. The atmosphere was friendly and it was busy enough that you and Bradley had plenty of time to talk between your server’s check ups, but not too busy that you felt rushed or couldn’t get a table.

The two of you got through the basic first date talk pretty quickly; he’s a much better listener than the last few guys you’d gone out with, and actually asked you some questions when you were telling him about some work drama you’d been dealing with. You enjoy the way his big, beautiful brown eyes crinkle at the corners with crows feet when he smiles, and how he scrunches his nose when he laughs. He also talks with his hands, you’ve come to realize, and he nearly knocks his glass of water off the table no less than four times as he’s telling you a story about what had happened at work earlier today.

“Anyway, so the radio was totally shot, right? So I’m inverted above Coyote, Phoenix and Bob are freaking out, there’s no way to communicate and we still have half a training exercise to complete. Can you believe that?” Bradley has his hands in an awkward position, trying to give you a visual as to what things had looked like. You can tell by the way he talks that he absolutely loves what he does, and he loves being able to fly. And there are very few things more attractive than seeing a man get so excited to tell you all about how he managed to get his plane upside down and scare the shit out of his friends and co-workers when no one was able to talk to each other in the air.

Dinner is over all too quickly after that, though, but thankfully nothing gets spilled during the rest of Bradley’s animated descriptions of his completely serious job duties. After you’d left the restaurant, since it was still light out, Bradley suggested that the two of you take a walk together along the beach behind the Hard Deck. He swore up and down that watching the sunsets from there were phenomenal, and, not wanting the date to end just yet, you agreed to go with him. He drove you there, and the two of you left your shoes in the back of his truck while you walked along the sand, continuing your conversation from dinner.

Bradley was absolutely right about the sunset, too; it was gorgeous, seeing all the blues and pinks and oranges, and every colour in-between, painting the sky in front of you and the water softly splashing against the shore. The two of you stop walking and talking as the sun hits the horizon, the cool water gently lapping against your feet and washing the sand all around. You swear you feel the back of Bradley’s hand ghost against the back of yours as the two of you stand there, side by side.

There’s a soft breeze blowing, putting a little chill in the air, and you find yourself shuffling a little closer to Bradley. Warmth radiates off of him, and as you look at him out of the corner of your eye and see him bathed in the burnished glow of the setting sun and how it gleams in his eyes, you think all the warmth and light of that sun must have been soaked up into him. And the more time you spend here with him on the beach, the happier you are that you didn’t let the date end after dinner–and that you gave him your number in the first place.

Once the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, the two of you make your way back to Bradley’s truck as the night sky faded from dusky twilight to a deep blue. You do keep a few steps behind him, though, to admire the way he fills out his t-shirt and jeans from the back. He’d once again popped the passenger door open for you, and closed it for you before he made his way back over to the driver’s side. Then, once he’s situated in the driver’s seat, he’s peeling out of the parking lot and heading back to your place.

The windows are rolled down as Bradley’s truck speeds along the road, and the cool breeze from earlier is back and blowing through the cab of the truck. The drive passes by all too quickly, with you needing to give Bradley directions the closer you get, and before you know it he’s pulling into your driveway. He parks the truck and turns the engine off. A beat of silence passes between the two of you before you turn to him and smile.

“Thank you for tonight,” you tell him, and you catch a flash of his teeth as he smiles.

“I should be thanking you. I’m glad you let me take you out.” He’s so earnest, maybe just a bit too earnest, but you have a feeling that he’s not quite as slick as some of his friends had been at the bar when you’d met. Which wasn’t entirely a bad thing; as pretty as the green eyed blond who’d been chatting up your best friend had been, he seemed just a little too full of himself. Bradley was much more your type (though you’d probably wait to admit that, that’s more of a post-third date kind of thing, if you got a third date, that is. You hope you do).

Though you don’t really want to date to end, judging by the time glowing on the dashboard of the truck (which Bradley had insisted was only thirteen minutes behind and it had been since his father owned it, and was lovingly referred to as running on ‘Goose time’, which you hoped he’d explain in the future), it was getting pretty late and you weren’t sure if he had to work in the morning. If he did, then he probably should have been at home a while ago.

“I should probably let you get going.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and grab your bag, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you almost saw a pout cross Bradley’s face. But he nods, unbuckling his own seatbelt.

“At least let me walk you to your door,” he says, and before you can protest he’s popping open his door and you watch him jog around the front of his truck to your side. He fiddles with the door handle for a minute before he gets it open, and when he does he offers you his other hand to help you out of the Bronco. You take it, and once you’re clear he closes the truck door–and doesn’t let go of your hand as he walks all the way down the driveway, up your front steps, and stops in front of your door.

The two of you stand on the porch, his calloused hand still clasped around your own as the dim, yellow light shining above your door illuminates the space around you. A few moths are bobbing and weaving around said light, a few of them getting a bit too close and dropping down before flying back up again in an endless cycle.

“Is it alright if I kiss you goodnight?” he asks, voice a little huskier than it had been all night as he breaks the silence, and you feel cool relief flood through you when you nod because yes, absolutely, you definitely want this man to kiss you, and it feels good to know he wants to kiss you, too.

You hadn’t been quite sure what to expect, though; would he be eager? Pushy? Sloppy?

Thankfully he’s none of those things–sure, Bradley’s lips are more than a little chapped, but that’s not surprising given what he does for work. But they’re also warm, and the gentle pressure behind the kiss has you closing your eyes and leaning into him. His mustache tickles against your skin, brushing against it as his mouth works against yours.

When you pull back due to the rather unfortunate need that your body has for oxygen, you take a moment to scan his face in the dim porch light. He’s got scars on his cheek, chin, and neck, you realize, and they gleam almost silver as you take them in. There’s a tiny smattering of barely there freckles that dot his nose, and one of his deep brown curls is hanging loose and slightly over his forehead. You wonder what it would be like to reach up and brush it away, but decide that the first date maybe isn’t the right time for that. His eyes are crinkled at the corner, crow’s feet softening his deep brown eyes as he looks down at you.

“That was… wow,” he tells you, which is probably pretty close to what you’d have said, because he’s not wrong. “I mean, better than just wow, but this is probably where I should get going before I make a total fool of myself. Thanks again for tonight.” He squeezes your hand one more time before he’s turning and stepping back off your porch to head towards his truck. You dig your keys out of your bag and unlock your door.

“Get home safe,” you call after him, and he waves back at you over his shoulder with a loud laugh. You step inside after you watch him get into the driver’s side, and close and lock your door as you hear the Bronco speed off into the night.

And about half an hour later, while you’re laying in bed, your phone screen lights up with a notification from Bradley–he’s home safe, he just wanted to let you know so that you don’t worry about him, and he’d love to take you out again, if that’s something you want. You look over at the sunflowers on your dresser, yellow ribbon still tied around them, and you can’t help the smile on your face as you tell him a second date is more than alright with you.

[dear-indies]

Good day to you all! Would you happen to know of any redhaired poc? Preferably female or non-binary but willing to look at all genders if you have more suggestions. Thank you and I hope you have a great day!

Nicky Endres (1982) Korean - non-binary, transfeminine, genderqueer, and queer (they/she).

Women:

Nazan Kesal (1969) Turkish.

Amy Yasbeck (1962) Lebanese / Irish.

Nur Fettahoğlu (1980) Turkish.

Nikia Phoenix (1980) African-American.

Elçin Sangu (1985) Turkish.

Issa Rae (1985) African-American.

Han Eu Ddeum (1987) Korean.

Sabina Karlsson (1988) Gambian / Swedish.

FKA twigs (1988) Afro Jamaican, English, Spanish, possibly Egyptian.

Jenna Thiam (1990) Armenian, Belgian / Senegalese, English, French.

Park Shin Hye (1990) Korean.

Başak Gümülcinelioğlu (1991) Turkish.

Coral Kwayie (1991) Ghanaian / British.

Su Kutlu (1991) Turkish.

Carmen Solomons (1991) Black and White South African.

Alexis Jordan (1992) African-American / Puerto Rican.

Anna Shaffer (1992) Black and White South African Jewish.

Triendl Reina (1992) Japanese / Austrian.

Thiều Bảo Trâm (1994) Vietnamese.

Ahsen Eroğlu (1994) Turkish.

Khadijha Red Thunder (1994) Chippewa Cree, African-American, Spanish - is pansexual.

Aleece Wilson (1995) Metis, Afro-Canadian, Irish and Italian.

Thanaerng Kanyawee Songmuan (1996) Thai-Chinese. 

Bree Kish (1996) ¼ African-American ¾ Spanish, Irish, Dutch.

Melis Sezen (1997) Turkish.

Sonny Turner (1998) Black British.

Erin Kellyman (1998) Afro-Jamaican / Irish - is a lesbian.

Talia Jackson (2001) African-American / White.

Asena Keskinci (2001) Turkish.

Burcu Söyler (?) Turkish.

Men:

Krondon (1976) African-American - has albinism.

Jidenna (1985) Igbo Nigerian / English, German, Dutch.

Kerem Bürsin (1987) Turkish.

Elijah Baker (1991) Black British and White.

Nakamoto Yuta (1995) Japanese.

Takada Kenta (1995) Japanese.

Elliott Jay Brown (1996) Black British.

Kang Daniel (1996) Korean.

Ralph Souffrant (1996) Afro-Haitian.

Lục Huy (1997) Vietnamese.

Pierre Sekongo (2000) Ivorian / French.

Stacey Edward (?) African-American.

Hey anon! I hope you meant ginger faceclaims but if not please send another message! I'm currently in the process of moving my ginger faceclaim masterlist over to google documents because it will not let me add more people so keep an eye out for that, I might find more people in the updating process!

[morgan-weston]

you're a true friend, you're here 'til the end || bree & morgan

WHO: Bree Brown @blckbarbree & Morgan Weston

WHERE: PSU Cafeteria

WHEN: The 13th of October

WHY: Bree checks up on Morgan on the first day of the lockdown.

NOTES: Unfinished

BREE:

At least there was one person in the god forsaken place that she trusted, that she felt safe around. Wallking over to the cowboy, she placed her hand on his arm and offered him a weak smile. "Were you able to get ahold of anyone before the cell service went out?" She asked and looked at her own phone to see if there was any change. There wasn't. "I tried texting Bonnie and Jake but none of my texts went through..." she trailed off, trying not to sounds to worried or upset by the lack of communication to her loved ones. "Have you been abole to get through to your sister or you staff or- or Puck or Eva?"

MORGAN:

Sitting on a table in the empty and dark cafeteria, Morgan checked his phone continuously, going between text messages to make sure if they'd been sent you; to no luck. Looking up when he felt a soft touch on his arm, Morgan sighed and put his phone away. "No. There's nothin'," He said, defeatedly. He didn't know where to begin with his worry. His family, his horses, his...people. "It's stressin' me out, not knowin' what's goin' on with my family, or the horses. Or anyone, I guess."

BREE:

"Me too." She said in a voice much softer than she would normally showcase in a public setting, but this was an extenuating circumstance and it wasn't like she was two seconds from a breakdown in front of some random stranger. It was Morgan. "I think the city got the worst of it, you're Ranch might be far enough out that the vibrations didn't do more than spoke some of the horses and your sister is a strong and capable woman, she's okay." Setting down a water bottle and a plate of food, she offered it to him. "It isn't quite as nice as a well seasoned steak but it should keep your body strong."

MORGAN:

Morgan could feel the way that Bree was letting him in. She didn't appear this sensitive around other people, she was normally very stoic - as seen earlier in front of the other people in the cafeteria - and the cowboy figured it was based off of all the crap that her parents had made her do throughout her childhood. Nodding along, she was giving him a lot of reasons why he shouldn't be worrying. "And y'know Jake's capable of lookin' after himself, right? He knows what to do, in these cases - he's very independent," Morgan reasoned back, before seeing the food and drink she'd sorted out for him. "Thank you," He smiled softly and lifted the plate, taking the first bite. "Have you eaten anythin'?"

BREE:

The thing was, she absolutely knew the people in her life were fully capable of surviving if that's what it came to. But that's isn't what she wanted for them. She wanted them safe and easy to reach. "What if he's stuck somewhere, injured and alone?" She asked in a small voice, doing everything she could not to envision Jake like that. Instead she chose to remember he's hard headed and nobody but him us going to decide what happens to him. And he's far too stubborn to just give up. Smiling back at the cowboy, she shook her head. It hadn't even occurred to her to eat. It was the last thing on her mind and she wasn't sure she could without knowing her loved ones were okay. "I don't think I have it in me to eat right now, but I'll try later." A part of her wanted to hug the man, but it seemed... weak, so she didn't.

MORGAN:

It was breaking Morgan's heart, hearing the worry in Bree's voice. Inside of him, he was panicking about his family, Andy, Puck and Eva. Where they were, what had happened to them, if they were safe, or in worse shape and injured. But a part of him also couldn't think about that stuff too much, or linger on the mental images that his brain was creating, because it would break him down, and what good would that do him, here? He chewed on his food as he listened to Bree, nodding along. He appreciated her bringing him food, but he wasn't exactly eating for the pleasure of it. Setting the plate down as he swallowed, Morgan stood up, and instinctually reached out for Bree, pulling her into a tight hug. She was like a sister to him, and this was what his brain was telling him to do. "It's gonna be okay. We'll be out of here in no time, alright?"

[mysticalgalaxysstuff]

The Great Bake-Off (Ethan X MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Dr. Marissa Sanders)

Book: Open Heart (Beyond)

Word Count: 1.6K

Rating: Fluff

Warning(s): None

Premise: Ethan makes pancakes (!!) with his daughter.

A/N: I never thought I would be writing a fic this long, because I have never considered myself as a writer. This is my first time writing something this long. If you read it, I hope you like it. Also, I would love to thank Bree for sending me the prompt and Lin for supporting me with her helpful messages. I would also love to thank Hilde ❤ Without her, I wouldn't have given Marissa a background or shared her. Also, to all the writers who inspired me to write! I love you all ❤

“Mom, can I go to school with my hair down, today?”

Their seven year old daughter, Aria looks at her mother through the mirror as she requests the said hairstyle preference.

“If that's what you want, but let me add some clips to prevent your hair falling all over your face, hmm?” Marissa suggests to which Aria nods her head enthusiastically.

It's an ordinary day at the Sanders-Ramsey household. The family is getting ready for the day as Marissa attends to her daughter's dark brown hair, while Ethan helps his son put on his favourite green shirt with his practiced hands.

Once the kids are ready, they take-off to the kitchen, running, Ethan's warning to be careful being futile.

Ethan combs his wavy brown hair, standing behind his wife while Marissa perches on the vanity chair, donning an earring on her left ear.

“I'll meet you downstairs, my love.” Ethan smiles, looking at his wife through the mirror, the smile she returns, as he leans down to kiss his wife's forehead, before heading downstairs to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, his kids eagerly waiting for him.

“So, what do you want to have for breakfast, today?”

The kids ponder over before they collectively shout together, “Pancakes!”

Whereas Ethan is not ready. Even though the man is good at almost everything, the one thing he struggles with is making the perfect pancakes. His children unbeknownst to the fact, he does not have the heart to say no to them or to tell them that he sucks at making the so-called cake.

“Fine. Pancakes it is,” he says, masterfully hiding the panic in his eyes.

“Also Dad, can I help you make them, pleaseee? ” Aria looks at her father, doe-eyed, emphasising the last word.

And Ethan can't say no to her when she is looking at him with such a twinkle in her eyes. “I see, why not? But under my very strict supervision, okay?” 

“Aye aye, captain!” Aria gives her father the trademark salute. Ethan smiles, his tension faltering as he picks his daughter and sets her to sit on the kitchen counter. 

“So, what are we cooking?” Marissa arrives, settling beside her son on the kitchen counter's chair.

“Dad and Aria are making pancakes.” Nathaniel responds with a gleam in his eyes.

“Pancakes?” Marissa feigns surprise.“Are you sure, Ethan?” A teasing smile breaking out on her face. “If you want, I can make them.”

“I believe I can handle it, even though I haven't made them in years." Ethan replies with a genial annoyance, while rummaging  in the kitchen for the ingredients.

“If you are certain, love.” Marissa raises one of her eyebrows teasingly, meeting his eyes.

“Dad, is this your first time making pancakes? Because I have always seen mom making them for us.” Nate questions his father, already so perceptive at just five years of age.

“No, I have made them before for myself and your grandfather,” he says, while taking out flour from the pantry.  

“But…” Marissa interrupts, while preparing two cups of coffee.

“Marissa…” 

“…he is not good at making them,” she says with a huge grin on her face. One thing she clearly enjoys is teasing her husband, and Lord knows how much she is loving it to see him struggle the very moment. With his secret out, Ethan comes up with a feeble explanation.

“I'm not that bad! Dad clearly loves to exaggerate over it,” he retorts back.

“Oh, was he?” Marissa scrunches her face playfully.

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose as he composes himself to say,

“Fine. The first time I did burn it, because I thought one doesn't need to flip it. I was very young. And over time it's been a hit and miss when to flip it.”

“Wow, I didn't know you were that bad!” Marissa exclaims. “And what about now?”

“One is ought to learn from their mistakes, so let me treat my family with a hearty meal.” Ethan says with a heated determination in his voice.

“Are you promising me perfect pancakes, Dr. Ethan Ramsey?”

“I am.” He says with an assertive tone.

“Well, your confidence is noted! I'll be the judge of your guys' pancakes then. What do you say, Nate, you with me?” She peers at her son for support.

“I just wanna go to school without gastroentertitis,” he naively says.

Marissa and Ethan glance at each other, before not able to control themselves and having a hearty guffaw.

“Who taught you that word, mister?” She amusingly elbows him.

“Dad did.” He giggles.

“Seriously, Ethan?”

“What? It is never too early for him to learn some medical terms.” He jested.

Marissa good-naturedly rolls her eyes before clapping her hands together, gathering attention.

“So, what are we waiting for? Let the great bake-off begin!” she announces.

The announcement declared, Ethan (along with Aria) starts preparing the breakfast. Ethan cracks the egg, adding its contents to the bowl, while Aria waits to add sugar and vanilla essence to it, holding the spoon in her tiny hand. 

“Now, how much sugar will you add, Belle?” Ethan asks his daughter, looking inquisitively at her.

“One with the tablespoon?” She answers dubiously.

“Well done,” he praises his daughter with a smile.

Ethan places the bowl in front of her, while she adds the sugar to the mixing bowl. Marissa can't help but admire the sight of seeing her daughter and husband so adamant on their little mission.

The kind of little moments she cherishes to see her husband's handsome feature so serene, a pleasant calmness on his face, guiding his daughter through the process. It makes him look younger. 

If somebody would have asked Marissa in her intern year if she could see Dr. Ramsey, guiding an intern so patiently, without reprimanding once, she would have considered it as a joke. Hell, Ethan would himself have laughed, given his reputation in the hospital.

But after all those years she loves to see the soft and benevolent side of her husband. The only side reserved for her and their children.

Once the batter is ready, Ethan lights on the stove, greasing the pan with oil before adding the batter. Marissa sets Ethan's preferred coffee beside him on the counter, perusing his cooking. Sensing her presence, Ethan rolls the sleeves of his shirt up, revealing his strong, sculpted arms. 

The children would have assumed that their father is just making himself comfortable while he rustled up some hotcakes, but Marissa knows what he is trying to accomplish, and she is not going to be easily beguiled by it.

Two can play the game.

Before Ethan realises what his not-so innocent act transpires, she ever-so stealthily grazes her hand up his arms before leaning close, softly whispering in his ear, “Don't think you will get extra points for that, darling.” She drops the term of endearment with so much enticement that sends a shiver down his spine.

Gathering himself, he manages to utter a lone sentence, “I don't know what you're talking about?”

“Ah, don't play coy with me.”

Ethan's expression completely changes, trying to desperately pull anything from his seduction arsenal. 

“If I recall one of my fond memories correctly, it worked very well on you last night.” His voice is a deep rumble.

And then there is the look he gives her. Known to only them. Amorous. Intimate. But Marissa doesn't back down easily. She alluringly smiles.

“Yes, it worked on me last night. You should come with something better now, my love.”

She pats his cheek affectionately, flaunting him a wink, before she makes her way to the seat.

---

Twenty minutes later, Aria helps her dad decorate the cakes with viscously flowing  honey, and fresh blueberries and strawberries, before serving it to their "judges", gazing up at them with hopeful eyes.

“I have to say you guys went all out on dressing and everything, but what matters is the taste and the time to prepare, right?”

Marissa takes a bite, keeping a stoic expression, formulating a proper response. She dramatically sighs.

“Let me be honest with you, your cooking preparation was slow and superficial. Your flipping technique, amateur at best.”

“Amateur?” Ethan feigns offence, clearly seeing through her act.

“I don't know. It tastes pretty good, mom,” Nate interjects.

Ethan and Aria snicker together. Marissa gives them a side-long glance.

“It tastes good, but still it took them a lot of time to prepare it. This is not how you are going to win MasterChef US–”

“I don't plan to go to that baseless competition.” Ethan interrupts.

“You're lucky we got ready early today because this is not gonna work if we are running late, sweetheart,” she states.

“I think it's very hard to please you, MRS. Ramsey.” Ethan responds amusingly.

“Hmm, I wonder where I got that from?” She jabs back.

The rest of the breakfast goes out with endless, harmless banter while indulging themselves with the generous meal, when it is time to head out for the day. Aria and Nathaniel run to their respective rooms to get their school bags, leaving a moment of solitary silence for their parents. Ethan takes advantage of the quietude by pulling his wife close.

“Your insightful feedback got me thinking.”

“Oh really? Enlighten me,” she leans to him, interested.

“I was wondering if you could give me private lessons.”

Marissa trails her hand over his shirt, smiling as she reminisces the moment when they first met. She feels his heartbeat reverberate through his chest.

“I don't know, Dr. Ramsey, I sincerely doubt you could afford my salary.”

He laughs, lifting her chin with utmost care, to meet his eyes. His breathtaking blues meeting her beautiful browns.

“Then I'll be gladly in your debt.”

A/N 2: Thank you so much for reading! Also, if there were any grammatical mistakes or spelling errors, I apologize. English is not my first language.

He enunciates the last sentence with so much intent, before leaning down to kiss her softly on the lips.

All of this writing has made me realise that all the writers in this fandom put a lot of hard work in their works because even though I have enjoyed the process when the idea used to pop in my head, there was a time, my brain was totally blocked. I appreciate all of you for what you do and keeping this fandom alive even after an year.❤

(Tagging in reblog)

[bellarkeselection]

Bree, Kayce's baby.

Part 3

Tags - just ask to be added

@rosie-posie08

@fictionalsidepeice

@kcloveswrestling

The sun beats down on me as I ride to keep up with my daughter's horse. Bree Kayc Dutton at least I gave her their family name. Kayce and I aren't married but she deserves their name. She's got her father's hair color combination with mine, bright green eyes and she's a rebellious one. I let her get on a horse at only 10 years old, she's got her height from her father. I pull put my phone watching her dismount her horse, throwing her hat in victory letting her hair blow in the wind."Ye - ha! Beat you again mamaw!"

A childish grin on her face which makes me smile while dialing a very emotional phone number. I shouldn't be calling Kayce after the stunt he pulled but he's still her father.

"Hey kayce, it's me y/n....I know you want nothing to do your family's  ranch but I'm here - so if you want to see me...come home" I hang up hearing a certain truck pull up. A young boy my daughter's age jumped out causing a dark haired woman to chase after him. "Tate - get back here!"

John exits the house picking up the boy Tate in his arms as he calls out. "Grandpa!"

Finally I see kayce step out of his truck. Picking my hat up off the saddle I put it on my head in a heavy sigh, wearing a green tea shirt with a dark blue flannel thrown over, dark blue jeans and black boots. The hat I wear is the one he gave me the day after we met asking me on a date. Bree jumps in my arms in her own little ranch get up, walking over to her grandpa. He takes her hand and tate's saying. "You're a cowgirl and cowboy today." Monica looks my way as I rub my hands up my arms in nervous. I've never seen her before until now - he was right she's pretty too. Kayce steps beside her, coming my way.

His eyes show shock I guess he hasn't listened to the messages I've sent him. He fully reaches me stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket.

"Hey y/n - you're still here" nodding my head slowly I point a finger towards my girl. "Hi kayce...do you know who that is?"

He barely turned his head watching our daughter and his son with his father. He shakes his head no looking at the ground in disappointment. "She's - she's your daughter, kayce."

He bits his lip, as I lock eyes with him. The world around us becomes thick and everything else fades away. He still looked handsome and I cringe noticing the wedding band on his finger - I had to remember that he's no longer mine. He steps closer to me, his breath on my face is hot.

"If you a - don't mind could I take you on a ride. With um-" I reply simply. "Bree kayc - Dutton" he smiled as I tipped my hat to him seeing Rip coming over to me. "Y/n, it's time. Tell your girl to stay in the house." I race for the house having kayce chase after me.

"Y/n What's  - What's happening?" He kept up with me as I finally found my daughter and Tate playing together on the porch. I sigh taking my hat off to run my fingers through my hair before putting it back on, glancing up in his eyes. "We're taking the cattle back tonight  - I'm being a lead with your father and Lee." I try to take a step forward but his hand grabs my wrist stopping me.

"Y/n you can't do that, it's dangerous" I Iightly pulled from his grasp, wissiling to the kids to wave them inside the house. They run past us as I direct with a hand for him to sit as I sit on the swing looking out at the sunset. "Kayce I know you care about me and want to protect me but - you gave up that right to look out for me the day you left with Monica...so I'm sorry but this ranch - has become my home, our daughter's home. And I have to fight for it." I dust my hands off on my pants getting up only to be spun around to face kayce, who smashed his lips down on mine. I gasped knowing this is wrong but it feels right so I kiss him back lightly gripping his brown vest. We stay like this for a few minutes and I pulled him closer making our hats fall on the ground. As much as I wish we could've stayed like this we couldn't so I broke away from him and he gasped.

"I know I'm married and I left you both for Monica but seeing you here and now. Y/n I never lied to you all those years ago - you still hold my heart. I know this is wrong to say but I want to be apart of your life, I want to be apart of Bree's life" he rests his forehead down on mine as I take a small gasp trying to stop my rapid heartbeat. I've told myself that he doesn't care about me anymore because that's what everyone else on this ranch says. John says it, rip John's cowboy hunter does, beth said it before she left and jamie tells me it too along with how reckless his brother is. But I don't care that I fall deeper for him for it - he's become a solider of war. But there's still the innocence of that young kayce I fell for. I pull away from him a tiny bit allowing me to look at his face. I mess with his sweatshirt strings muttering where he can still hear what I'm saying.

"Kayce as much as I wish it was that simple, it isn't. You're married - and everyone in your family says that I shouldn't want to be with the man who chose the Indian reservation over his family's ranch, chose Monica and his unborn son over me...the girl who knows him better than he probably knows himself..." I whip tears falling down my face with my arm, which makes him give me a sad look as I keep going. "I've been training myself to be ready for the slight chance you came back but - I...I'm sucking at it. Kayce I - I want to just run and jump in your arms and be with you once again, raise our daughter on this ranch and somehow make all those years apart vanish yet...I know in my heart that  - that would effect Tate and Monica to lose you so I'm cutting myself out of the picture. " I picked up my hat from the ground along with his giving it to him.

I sit on the other side of the porch to hear Rip coming up the stairs angry. Rip is basically very protective of me when kayce left. "You know that girl stayed here heartbroken for 2 years....I finally convinced her that she could be the top rancher around here to distract her from you...you've got a lot of nerve coming here and playing with her emotions kayce!"

I hear footsteps move closer to him, knowing its kayce. "I'm not playing anything rip. I meant what I said to y/n. I'm still in love with her and if I hadn't gotten Monica pregnant with Tate I would've got down on one knee and proposed to her...she's everything I ever wanted.." he trails off letting rip cut in. "Well I'll tell ya this kayc, figure out who you love more. You're family at this ranch or the one on the Indian reservation. Help us out when you figure that out." Rip leaves coming around the corner to see me and I jumped hearing kayce saddle up his horse.

Rip gives me a simplistic look "you heard that." I shack my head slowly as we get on our horses. "I can't make him choose rip, he has to decide that for himself." I snake the reigns heading off to where the cattle are.

We get there and I see kayce helping us hurdle the cattle back onto our side. I race past Lee on his horse to see kayce standing on his horse in the middle of the feild trying to make a choice. My hair blows back just before Lee gets shot after hollering back to the Indian's "You want'em back, com'in get'em!"

I cry jumping from my horse, ripping a part of my shirt off trying to stop the bleeding before a bullet nick's my left arm. I curse under my breath seeing kayce race towards us with someone behind him. Kayce spins around once seeing my slightly bleeding arm to shoot the guy in the head but he fakes off his horse. Kayce tears his shirt tieing a piece harsh around my open wound as I try to help Lee who mumbled something to me. "Go y/n, run to B"

He nicknamed her that years ago and tears came down my face as he struggled for his last breath. I collapse onto his dead body sobbing but I'm interrupted by 5 gunshots. Shooting my head up I see kayce over the dead guys body, gun clutched in hands.

"Kayc - kayce - who was-" I can't even form a sentence at seeing him kill someone. He puts the gun away to help me lift Lee up on his horse.

"Monica's brother-" he doesn't say anything after that as we head back to the ranch.

John sees us coming and I can see our daughters heartbroken face from here. Beth takes her inside as he rides out to the two of us. He dismounted from his to give it to kayce telling him to tell Jamie everything. I slowly walk up the stairs to have bree race to my arms crying. I hug her but she hits my gunshot wound and I winced making her shriek.

"Mammaw!" I cup her face in my right hand trying to not let more tears slip past. "Hey it's alright - I'll get it taken care of."

She hugs me again before kayce comes to me, breaking down in my arms. Everyone leaves us to moarn somewhere else as we sit in the barn crying for hours. Finally though he lets me go to remove my bandage,  his hands careful to not hurt me. His eyes stay trained on mine the whole time as I take deep breaths.

"You - you came-" I asked still suprised once he finished unting the old one off. He gets out the alcohol looking at me with regrettable eyes. "This is gonna hurt, babe. Bite down on something."

I picked up an old rag, barring it in my teeth groaning and he puts it on the wound, lastly firing a proper bandage around it. He sits down putting my head in his lap as we look up at the stars "You called me, babe."

He hummed back a response. "Monica and Tate will worry about where you're at-"

I try and explain but he cuts me short. "That doesn't matter right now, you. You matter right now - you're safely y/n." He gazes down to me and leans down to kiss my lips lightly. I perk him back as he runs his hand through my hair calmly till we fell asleep on the hayballs in the barn.

Monica left kayce after a head injury and won't let him see Tate. Bree spends more time with him now and last night I was suprised to see him actually come home. I was in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt having just put her down for bed to see him and his dad on the porch talking. The screen door was open allowing me to hear their conversation. "Just give me a couple of days to move my stuff and you and Monica can-" John starts but Kayce interrupts sadly. "Monica left me" the conversation goes silent for a moment before Kayce gets up seeing me standing inside the door.

"I've got nothing left except this place. To give to my son and daughter that's it" John slowly nods his head, as kayce gets to his feet picking up his bag. "I'll live here but. Cowboys stay in the bunk house."

John replied back "I don't need another cowboy Kayce, besides Y/n and Bree stay up here."

Kayce nods understanding and giving me a side glance tipping his hat with his index finger revealing our signal that he wants to talk. "I know what you need..I'll be apart of this family but I'll have to work my way up to earn y/n's heart again along with my daughter's." with that he steps off the porch heading for the bunk house and I go out the backdoor racing up to him.

"You're staying for real this time." A grin is spread on my face as he sets his bag down to wrap his arm around me. I knew he just got dumped by his wife and now he's coming back for me. Yet I don't stop myself from pulling him down to me by his shirt to kiss him again. He hungrily kissed me back before we pulled away for air.

"I'm staying but I won't move in the house until I earn your trust in me back, till I learn about my daughter...I promise that to you y/n." He kisses me again before he goes to the bunkhouse for the night.

[dragynkeep]

I did notice that colors were slowly being drained from Rwby. A show where Ozpin gave a speech about colors and individuality and a whole ass war of colors. Like. It looked like they were tying up fairy tale characters and expression as the maim theme at first but went off the rails and stuff. A uniting humanity is good, but its just. What's the main message? Whats being conveyed? Why are you failing at fun character designs? I only like oscars because when he first appeared it makes him stand out. Which he should if he's gonna be Ozcar eventually. Like I just think it can fit. But they added more and more dull tones. There was also still much up in the air at first about the Ozmosis. Like will Oscars hair turn white? So on. Im bad at conveying what I want to say because RWBY just makes me feel a level of frustration. It use to be so much fun but now I'm like. Disappointed. The character designs use to be fun and fights use to be fun. It wasnt the best writing but thing is writing is suppose to improve with time and practice and more experienced writers joining. It just... Got worse. They couldn't even handle writing Ozpins battered housewife syndrome right or maybe its just the fandom being stubborn.(I still stand by that Ozpin was abused by Salem. But some fans still go he was bad??? Like no??? He was running away and got killed for it???)

Its just too much wasted time and opportunity they let go to waste. So in short words shut up Crwby and hire me and Ironpines team and others. Ive seen better takes completely on this blog than the Crwby.

no i totally get what you mean. really nothing showed just how bad they’re handling the colour aspect than not only with rwbyjnr’s latest outfits, but also the secondary characters introduced. the ace ops are all in the same colours & the colours assigned to them in the show opening make no goddamn sense.

clover’s is the only one that makes a lick of sense, with maybe elm if you take the green of a tree, but realistically brown would be the more appropriate colour. but like,

why is vine yellow, anti asian racist joke aside lmao? vines are green.

why is harriet red when nothing about her allusion or her colours from her names even allude to red; which harriet bringing to mind brown due to hare & bree also bringing brown or yellow if you think of the cheese.

why is marrow a turqoise-y blue when nothing about him reads blue except his eye colour; red would’ve made more sense for him considering his name & bone marrow being a maroon-y red colour.

but the ace ops weren’t even the only victim of this, just look at the goddamn happy huntresses.

none of these colours are interesting, they’re all stuck in the same muddy, muted ugly colours that don’t even represent them well.

may is supposed to be like a marigold which is bright gold yellow & orange. why are we stuck with this weird blue grey alongside a shit yellow that’s almost brown & a muted orange?

robyn is supposed to be robin hood, aka in a lot of green but you wouldn’t be able to tell that considering her hood is a fucking light shit yellow green & she has five different colours on her.

again joanna is supposed to be green but it seems only relegated to her hair & the weird stripe across her nose while the red of her is stuck in a muted, muddy purple red.

fiona is the only one i think works well in colour alone considering thyme is a green herb & it works well with the white from her sheep faunus nature but being stuck in the same overcomplicated, boring outfit as the red of the happy huntresses just drags her down.

these two absolutely aren’t the only ones to suffer from bad colour application, much like rwbyjnr, but they’re definitely some of the worst contenders for it. it really feels like that part of rwby doesn’t even matter anymore, considering you either have to make some serious reaches for the colour naming rule in recent characters or their last name is literally just the colour. the books just have a character called green. fucking green. it’s pure laziness at this point.

much like you, i’ve seen not only a ton of fans have some really fantastic redesigns, but that have implemented the colour well & known how to use it without making disgusting eye sores.

i definitely don’t know what to expect for the outfit redesigns in v9 / v10, but i doubt they’re going to be much better than what we got considering it feels like mkek, ein lee & erin winn are devoted to picking the worst outfits & sucking all of the colour out of a show defined by colour. it’s sad.

[sapphirelass]

I’ll be by your side - Remus LupinxDaughter

Hi!! Wooow I’m a slow writer XD To be fair though, I am graduating in June, so there’s...quite a lot to do. Anyhow, this is part 3 of my imagine deal? so I’d recommend reading that one and part two first. Remus is my favourite HP character, so this mainly focuses on the relationship between him and his daughter, but I guess it’s slight HarryxOC as well ;)

Deal? (Part 1) | Oh, darling... (Part 2) | I’ll be by your side (Part 3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word count: ≈ 2200

Warnings: Battle of Hogwarts, Angst, Blood, Death :(

Enjoy! :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“But, dad! You can’t go yourself and then expect me not to come along!”

“Yes, Bree, I can, and I will!”

He was desperate to go join the rest of the Order, and searched frantically for his old coat.

“Bu-”

“Darling, listen, this is not your fight, okay? You’re staying with Tonks and Teddy this time, and I’ll-”

She had grabbed his coat and was holding it behind her back, out of her father’s reach.

“DAD!!”

Remus stopped for a moment and took a proper look at his daughter for the first time since receiving the message about the upcoming battle.

“Look, I’m seventeen years old. I’m an adult now, and most of my younger friends are fighting. There’s literally no reason for me not to!”

“There is a perfectly good reason and you know that! Besides, your age is completely irrelevant! It wouldn’t matter if you were fifteen or seventeen, twenty or thirty, I don’t want you fighting!”

His voice was stern, which admittedly wasn’t too uncommon, but it lacked the normal comedic undertone and not even a ghost of a smile could be seen on his face. This did make Breanna feel quite uncomfortable, but she was not giving up. She couldn’t leave everyone else and just sit quietly on the sidelines. Surely he understood that, right?

“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not your choice to make. I know you don’t like it, but I’m going.”

She gave her father his coat and picked a jumper for herself, but stopped abruptly when approaching the front door. Remus had stepped in front of her, and pulled her into a tight hug.

“Please, darling… I can’t have you injured again - or worse! Stay.”

“Dad, I promised you two years ago that I would pick my fights more wisely. We made a deal. And I am choosing this one.”

“Breanna, it’s not the same! Seeing you hurt back then caused me more pain than you could possibly imagine, but this will be worse. Far worse. An-”

“Don’t you think I know that?” It wasn’t her intention to snap at him, but they didn’t have time for this argument. People were waiting. “I know it’s for real this time, it most definitely was two weeks ago, but I honestly thought you would have more faith in me. I’m not five, okay?!”

“Bree, don-”

She pulled out of his embrace, tied her shoes and apparated. Leaving him in the middle of an argument like that broke her heart. She knew the chances of them both making it out alive were low, unharmed close to none. They did, however, not have a choice. There was no time to waste. Voldemort could be attacking the castle this very moment, and Harry, Dumbledore’s army and the rest of the Order would need all the help they could get…

~~~

Breanna ran down the stairs, desperately searching for any familiar faces, and eventually spotted one she had really longed to see.

“Harry!!”

He turned at the sound of his name and smiled - really smiled - when their eyes met. They weren’t more than a few feet away from each other, and it didn’t take long before they met in the middle.

“Bree! You alright?” They hugged each other tightly and enjoyed the feeling of safety, if only for a few seconds. “What happened to your arm?”

She followed his gaze and found her sleeve torn and shoulder covered in blood. It wasn’t too bad though, she hadn’t even noticed it before Harry pointed it out.

“I-I don’t know, it’s fine. How are you feeling?”

He looked down at her and used a bloodied and scarred hand to push some of her hair behind her ear. He wanted to say “fine”, but it would have been a lie.

“Scared”, he admitted, “But also ready. Let’s finish this, once and for all?”

She nodded. “You’re right! How can I help?”

“Well, some people are trying to evacuate all the younger students through the room of requirement, think you could lend them a hand?”

“Sure! Good luck Harold, see you!”

He shook his head at the nickname, but smiled nonetheless.

“Right, good luck. And Bree?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay alive, will you?”

“I’ll do my best on one condition.”

“Hmm?”

“You do the same”

He gave her a nod before continuing up the stairs.

“And Harry, we don’t have time for the full story, but if you run into my dad, let him know I’m sorry, will you?”

~~~

Sure, Breanna loved Hogwarts, it was her second home, but this was proper chaos! Most of the younger kids were finally safe, but the battle was far from won. There were death eaters everywhere. She stumbled behind suit of armor, narrowly avoiding a flash of red light, and suddenly remembered something her dad had said the other night:

“It is the quality of one's convictions that determines success, not the number of followers”

She knew it was meant to work as motivation, but thinking about it now just made her feel sad. How could she be so stupid? She fought her way through the corridors, but after turning a corner, she found herself facing an empty hallway. A chill went down her spine as the booming voice of Lord Voldemort could be heard all throughout the grounds. He was ordering his followers to back down, hoping to get Harry to come directly to him. Great! Now she had two people to find before it was too late...

~~

Entering the great hall this time felt nothing like it had almost seven years ago. There were people everywhere. Students, teachers, children, former graduates and parents - all in this together, mourning, comforting and healing.

Breanna would have noticed Fred Weasley surrounded by the rest of his family. Neville and Oliver Wood carefully moving Colin Creevey out of the way. She would have seen all of them, had it not been for a certain old, brown coat in her peripheral vision.

Her world fell apart, she found herself unable to breathe and didn’t realize she had sprinted towards her father before she felt two, strong arms wrap around her. Breanna struggled and tried to push them away, but didn’t have enough strength to do so. She crumpled to the ground and was pulled into a tight embrace.

“Bree…”, a soft voice mumbled. “I’m so sorry. Can you try to breathe slower, please? Deep and easy, alright.”

She realized that someone was speaking to her, but she didn’t recognize the words. They held no meaning, almost as if he spoke a different language, or stood very far away. Breanna eventually stopped hyperventilating and tried to ease the shaking as she slowly turned to check who it was, sitting with his arms around her. Her eyes met a pair of emerald green ones.

“Harry.”, she whispered, still crying but trying to keep her focus on him. There was so much more she would have wanted to say, but she was unable to find the right words. “Please tell me.... Tell me he’s no-...”

“‘m sorry”

They sat for a few minutes before Harry picked a small vial from his pocket and asked if she’d be okay.

“Bree, I’m sorry, but I have to go. It’s not over yet.”

She took a deep breath.

“It’s fine, I get it. Go. I’d love a moment alone anyways.”

~~~

She sat by her father’s side for a while, but felt unable to look at him, not wanting to fully accept the reality of the situation. It was when the fifth person came up to her to give their condolences that she got up and left the great hall. She couldn’t take it, and besides, it should be fine. The death eaters had left.

She walked the familiar path towards the Gryffindor common room, but nothing seemed... real. It felt like a nightmare, only this time she couldn’t talk it through with her dad over a cup of tea. This time, nobody would be there to convince her it was just a bad dream.

This time, no one would wake her up…  

The very moment that thought crossed her mind, a dark chuckle shattered the otherwise eerie silence.

“Avada kedavra”

She barely had time to register Antonin Dolohov with his wand pointed in her direction before an intense flash of green light caused her world to go dark.

This time, she wouldn’t wake up.

~~~

*Darkness*

*A flicker of light*

*A flicker of... hope*

*Warmth?*

~~~

It was a weird feeling. She didn’t feel happy, but rather… at peace. She sat up slowly and let her eyes adjust to the brightness as two voices simultaneously asked:

“Bree?!”

She turned around and found herself face to face with a rather tall, red haired wizard, and a slightly older man with longer brown hair.

“Fred? Sirius?”

Fred skipped over and held out his hand, helping his younger friend to her feet. He immediately noticed her dried tears and pulled her into a tight embrace. Sirius remained a few feet away with a pained expression on his face, but was unable to stay quiet for long.

“What happened?”

Breanna pulled away and met her godfather’s worried gaze.

“I… It’s my fault. I thought all the Death Eaters had left the castle. They were waiting for Harry in the forbidden forest and I just needed some air...”

“Did Harry go?”

A couple Breanna had only seen in pictures, but knew to be James and Lily Potter, had appeared behind Sirius.

“I’m not sure. He left for Dumbledore’s office about fifteen minutes earlier. I’m sorry I didn’t even try to stop him but, with all due respect, he would have gone anyways. It’s impossible to change his mind once he decides on something.”

To her surprise, none of Harry’s parents looked very worried, but shared a smile instead.

“Don’t worry, Breanna.”, said Lily gently, “He’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

“You’ve both come so far”, added James, “Things will be fine in the end, and if they’re not fine, then it’s not the end.”

“I hope you’re both right…”, she mumbled quietly, “sorry, but is dad…?”

James smiled sadly and nodded before turning to call his old friend over, however Sirius got there first.

“Oi! Moony! Get over ‘ere.”

Remus had been discussing something not too far away, and Sirius’ comment made him chuckle as he approached the other marauders.

“Easy, Pads, you make it sound li-”

That was all he had time for, as two arms wrapped themselves tightly around his torso. He would have known who it was even without looking. He’d recognize that hug anywhere. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry, but all it took was one word.

one. single. word.

“Dad!”

A single word before hot, salty tears filled his eyes. It wasn’t possible!? He was completely lost for words. Didn’t know how to react, what to say or what to do. He just stood there, his arms wrapped around his only daughter, unable to process the fact that she was… dead. They both were.

“Dad, I’m so so so sorry! I shouldn’t have shouted, I shouldn’t have taken my anger or fear out on you and above all I shouldn’t have left!?! I… I..”

“Bree”

“And now Teddy won’t have his father-”

“Bree!!”

“And I swear I tried to find you, but I couldn’t and then it was too late and it’s all my fault a-”

“Breanna Lupin!!!”

She fell silent but didn’t let go.

“I’m s-”

“Darling, calm down! What’s done is done, alright. I still wish you hadn’t gone, especially given the apparent outcome, but I understand. Are you okay? Nothing broken?”

“No, I’m good, actually… Nothing hurts at all, but-”

“Good!” He pulled away and put his hands on her shoulders. “Would you mind letting me in on what happened?”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, not really wanting to talk about the last few hours, yet knowing she owed her father that much.

“I… I entered the great hall and saw… you. I don’t quite know what happened, I just… broke. Then Harry showed up and we just hugged, I guess?”

Lily and James looked at each other and smiled.

“Then we both left and Dolohov appeared out of nowhere and… well that’s that.”

Remus shook his head sadly, immediately understanding the true meaning of his daughter’s words. HE was duelling Dolohov earlier that night. HE lost that duel. Had he won then maybe, possibly, she would still be alive too. His fault... as always

“Remus? Rem?”, James mumbled, putting an arm around his friend’s shoulders, “It’s not your fault. You tried, and that’s the best either of us can do.”

~~~

Things didn’t go according to plan, but perhaps they were the way they were always meant to be.

Her body next to her fathers, as they rested peacefully in the great hall. Her soul next to her father, as they wandered through the deep valleys of Nangijala, awaiting the day lost friends and lovers would come join them. No matter in this life or in the next;

I’ll be by your side

~ L

Masterlist

[janatm]

📲 BRORGAN

BREE: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MORGIE POO!!

BREE: 🎂 🥳🎉🎈🎁🎊 @deejayisms

[desiraypark]

Ominous (Part 3)

Because the people asked for it!

Part I | Part II CHARACTERS: Adam Sackler x Brenda “Bree” Sackler CONTENT: Angst; Infidelity; Flashback; Argument; Drinking (Brief)

Adam and Bree’s Apartment (The Ritz Plaza > Virtual Tours > 2BR, 2BA)

“Good morning, Mr. Sackler.”

Adam shook the young woman’s balmy hand. She cringed, wiped it on her pants, and lifted her eyeglasses by the bridge. “I’m so sorry, my palms are all sweaty. I’m so nervous.”

Adam smiled. “That’s alright.”

She walked to the folding table behind her, grabbed a pencil and searched through a small stack of file folders. “I’ll be taking measurements for Mrs. Yang today.”

“And your name is...?”

“Oh,” she said. She placed Adam’s folder back down on the table and held out her hand again. Adam raised an eyebrow and shook it. “Brenda. Brenda Mayweather. But you can call me Bree.”

“Oh,” Bree said with a chuckle. Adam chuckled as well, taking in Bree’s heart-shaped face and the dark green lipstick that melted into her plump limps. “I already shook your hand.”

“It’s alright. Just relax. I’m just an actor,” he said.

Bree scoffed and tilted her wrist forward. She turned around and grabbed the pink measuring tape. “I’m not worried about you. It’s Peggy LuPont that I’m freaking out over.”

Adam blinked and laughed as Bree faced him and put her hand to her mouth.

“Oh my God, I didn’t mean it like--”

“I know what you mean,” Adam said. He placed his hands on Bree’s shoulders. “Relax. Take a deep breath.”

Bree breathed in through her nose, and exhaled out of her mouth. “You’re wonderful yourself, Mr. Sackler. I’ve seen some of your work.”

“Thanks, Bree,” he said. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“No, no. I’ve seen you on TV.”

Bree unraveled the measuring tape, stood on her tiptoes, and held the tape in the air. “Oh,” she said, resting her feet flat again. “I’m gonna measure your neck, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

Bree stood on her tiptoes again, and Adam lowered himself at the knees.

“No, stand straight,” she said firmly. She cleared her throat and smiled. “Please.”

Adam straightened his knees and stared down at Bree--enjoying the sight of her avoiding his gaze. She wrapped the tape measure around his neck, just under his Adam’s apple. He breathed in the light scent of lavender and lemon. Just as he’d determined what the scents were, Bree pulled away, opened Adam’s folder and scribbled something inside. 

“Are you a costume designer, too?” Adam asked. 

“Lift your arms,” Bree demanded. Adam did as he was told as she wrapped the tape around his chest.

“Please,” she said with delay. “Thanks. No, I call myself a seamstress. But...I get paid to be an assistant.”

Adam nodded. “Do you like it so far?”

“Yeah. I like Mrs. Yang. I like being surrounded by fabric...” Bree whispered a number to herself, then moved the measuring tape to Adam’s waist.

“...but?”

Bree looked up at Adam, smiled, and shook her head. “No buts. Yet.”

____________

FOUR YEARS LATER

Adam had just swallowed the last swig of bourbon in his glass when the lock turned. The sun just starting to set, Bree had ignored two phone calls and a text message during her four-hour excursion from home. Adam listened to the sound of shoes knocking against the wall--followed by the sound of the lock turning back. Then, bare feet slid across the sleek wood, bringing a glaring Bree into the living room. She flopped down on their firm green sofa and leaned back against it.

“When I was at my cousin’s wedding?” she asked after a few seconds of silence. Her face immediately began to burn.

Adam placed his drinking glass on the dining table. 

“Yes.”

Bree leaned forward and held her face in her hands. “Was she in our bed?” she asked, her voice amplified in her hands.

Adam inhaled through his nostrils, then let the air go. He rested his back against the dining chair, letting the setting sun warm his back. Suddenly, Bree lifted her head and stared into Adam’s eyes. He slowly nodded.

“...yeah.”

Bree looked down at their coffee table, letting her eyes fall wherever--on the rose-scented candle that was almost empty. She let the tears roll down her cheeks. She quickly closed her eyes again and wiped the tears away. Adam watched her chest rise and fall as her eyes stayed trained on the wall to her left. Then, she looked him in the eyes again.

“How many times?” she asked.

Adam swallowed. “Three.”

Bree nodded and looked away again. Her eyebrows lifted and she grunted with slight amusement. “Hmph. I thought it would be more than that.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this, Bree,” Adam said. He chewed nervously at his bottom lip. 

Bree shook her head and met his eyes again. “You can’t fix it.”

Adam rose from his chair, pushed it behind him with his heel, and charged toward Bree. Unable to detach herself from the sofa, she watched him make his way in front of her and fall to his knees. 

“I can. I will fix this. It’s over. I’m never gonna see her again. I’m never gonna talk to her again. I promise.” He took her hands and held them tight in his own. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Adam searched Bree’s face for...something. She was suddenly looking at a stranger--and he could see that in her eyes. He swallowed again. His eyes began to sting and water developed inside of them. 

“You can’t...” Bree started. Their wedding photo caught her attention--a framed, glossy 9x12 in the center of the console, under the television they barely watched. “You can’t fix this Adam...”

Tears fell from Bree’s eyes and she met Adam’s eyes again. His speckled face was red, his brown eyes wet. Bree fought against the blockage in her throat to speak.

“You...you cannot fix this. You...fucked...your ex...in...my bed.”

The realization of her words overwhelming her, Bree snatched her hands out of Adam’s grasp and stood up. “You have to go.”

“No,” Adam said, standing to his feet. He balled his fists, planted his feet, and shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving.”

“You think you have a choice, Adam?!” Bree shouted. “I’m not giving you one!”

“You don’t have to give me one,” Adam snapped back. The volume of his voice increased. “I’M NOT LEAVING YOU.”

“You’ve already left me!” Bree screamed. “What do you mean?! You’ve already left! Fuck you! GET OUT!”

Like a tree, Adam stood in the center of the floor, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip and shaking his head “no”. Then, Bree grabbed the pint jar on the coffee table--the red wax filling less than a quarter of it--and threw it in his direction. Adam dodged the jar, letting it hit the wall behind him. His jaw hanging low, he watched Bree sink to her knees to sob into her hands again.

“Get out...” she whimpered.

Adam walked toward the bedroom, wiping tears from his face. First, he stopped at the linen closet and pulled out a duffel bag. Then, he continued to the bedroom. He dropped various necessities into the bag from their bedroom and private bathroom--not filling it up, however. Bree’s pained sobs nipped at his flesh and tore at his soul. Soon, she fell silent. He heard the door to the guest bathroom close.

_______________

Through cloudy vision, Bree stared at the light over sink. Her neck rubbed against the painted wall behind her--the cool tile under her feet a reminder that she wasn’t dreaming. She heard the creak of his footsteps approaching the bathroom. They stopped in front of the door.

“I’m sorry, Bree,” he mumbled. Her shoulders and chest bounced as she began to cry again. 

“I love you,” he said. 

Bree heard a light jingle of the doorknob. Her heart skipped a beat, then came to a rest when she remembered that she did lock it. 

“When I get back...” Adam said softly. “Please...please let me fix this. I don’t want to lose you. I love you.”

Still, Bree said nothing. She returned her attention to the light above the bathroom sink. She listened to Adam walk away from the door. She heard him step into his shoes, open the door, close it, and lock it. She waited a few moments before she peeled herself away from the floor--her sweaty palms temporarily cooled by the tile. She wiped her hands on her pants before unlocking the door and turning the knob.

Bree dragged her body through the hallway and into the empty bedroom. She stared at her bed--the rumpled bedding, the smell of sex long gone. Then, with a growl, she snatched the blanket completely off the bed. She cried and screamed as she ripped the remaining sheets away and tossed them onto the floor--the light scene of lemon floating in the air, then quickly dissipating. Suddenly, the aroma of another woman filled her nostrils--cigarettes. Vanilla? Oranges? 

The scent--so faint, yet, so strong--sent her crashing back down to her knees. She moved every molecule in the bedroom with her anguished cry.

[harringtonswriting]

hi bree!!! may i please request knuckles brushing against each other and person A getting shy with bob floyd? thank youu ily <33

ahhh hi kait!!! thank you so much for the request!! i love bob sm and i loved writing this!! ily too, i'm so sorry this got away from me and is much longer than i wanted but i hope you like it! <33 (this is bob x fem!reader, i hope that's okay!)

...

The clock on the wall reads six o’clock, and you can’t help the smile on your face as you know your favourite customers are about to come through the doors.

It’s almost like clockwork at this point; every Friday night after they’re done work for the week, a group of young aviators you’ve become very well acquainted with comes to the Hard Deck to relax, hang out, and get drunk. There’s quite a few of them, too; on days when they can all make it, they number thirteen–though their thirteenth member usually spends his time sitting at the bar and making moon eyes at Penny while she laughs at his terrible jokes. But they usually come in a group of six, sometimes eight, depending on deployments and detachments and things that they explained to you when you’d asked, once, back when you first met them.

The music from the jukebox, which you can vaguely recognize as Kenny Loggins, is playing through the Hard Deck, loud enough to enjoy but not so loud that you couldn’t hear yourself think, or hear anyone else who might try to talk to you. The Hard Deck is still pretty empty, just a few people sitting at the bar or having gotten drinks and taken them to a table.

However, when you hear the door open, you look over and you don’t see the normal group of aviators you’ve come to expect. No, the only person walking in is Lieutenant Robert Floyd, also known as Bob. He’s the sweetest and the quietest of the group, but one you’d find yourself looking out for, singling out among the group to talk to when you brought them drinks or when you spoke to them when they came over to the bar top. He was also pretty easy on the eyes, you’d be happy to admit, and today was no exception. He’s wearing a tight fitting white t-shirt, tighter than he normally wears, and tight jeans with some light brown leather boots. He’s got a baseball hat on his head, though he’s quick to take it off as he approaches where you’re standing behind the bar.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he greets you, ducking his head slightly. He’s always been polite, almost too polite, but it was endearing coming from him. You think so, anyway. His big, sweet-looking blue eyes shine behind his glasses, and you can’t help but lean forward on the bar towards him.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Floyd,” you greet him, and he ducks his head again. You look around, between the tables, the pool tables in the back, and the front door. It’s more than a little unusual to see him on his own; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him at the Hard Deck without at least two or three of the other aviators. “Is it just you tonight?”

“Oh, uh, no, everyone else is coming by later,” he explains, still clutching his baseball hat in one hand. He shrugs with one shoulder. “We were supposed to meet here at seven, but I didn’t get the message until I was already in the parking lot here. And with traffic, if I went back home and came back here I’d really just be driving for an hour, so…” His voice trails off, and he looks around. It’s unusually quiet for a Friday, even this early in the day, and there are only four or five other people besides you and Bob and Penny, who’s talking with someone else at the other end of the bar top. There’s plenty of open tables in the Hard Deck, and none of the pool tables are being used, but it wouldn’t be much fun for him to play by himself. So you decide to be bold.

“Well, there’s plenty of seats available at the bar, if you’d like some company while you wait.” You try to be as nonchalant as possible as you wait for his answer. His eyebrows raise and his mouth opens just a bit in surprise, but then he’s blinking and nodding his head.

“I’d like that very much, ma’am,” he says, nodding once again as he politely addresses you. It’s very sweet, but you put a hand on your hip and shake your head.

“You can call me by my name, if you’d like.”

“Only if you call me by mine.” You’re not expecting him to retort so quickly, but it’s definitely not unwelcome.

“Deal.” You smile at him as you grab a clean glass and start filling it up with his usual drink of choice, a club soda with lemonade. You slide it across the bar to him before starting a tab for him on the register behind the bartop. You also grab him a fresh plastic cup filled with peanuts, holding it out for him to take as well. A faint pink flush spreads over his cheeks as he takes that too, his hand brushing yours.

As your skin makes contact with his, you see the pink flush deepens into a rosy red colour, spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. His glasses slip down his nose just a bit, and you feel yourself melt inside, just a bit, at how shy he is, and you just stand there and look at each other for a moment before laughter from behind you breaks the spell. Bob clears his throat, sitting down on the closest stool and putting his hat back on his head. He pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose while you grab a cleaning rag and start wiping down the area around where he’s sitting. You start talking to him, asking about his day, and the two of you slip into conversation from there.

He’s so easy to talk to; he keeps his eyes on you the entire time you talk, nodding along and laughing at the appropriate times. Not fake laughs, either; his laugh is like a guffaw, which you hadn’t thought was real until you heard him laugh, and you love the sound of it. You find yourself confiding in him, telling him about your week, about the latest drama with your friends, about everything and nothing and anything in-between. You do get other customers who come up for drinks, and regulars who come by to say hello, and you serve them in between topics of conversation with Bob. He also tells you about his day, about the ups and downs of flying multi-million dollar planes, and about how if he has to do any more push-ups because of Hangman and Rooster’s eternal pissing contest, he’s gonna lose it (well, okay, those aren’t the exact words that Bob uses, but if he wasn’t so polite you’re sure he’d word it like that).

But before you know it, nearly an hour has gone by since Bob first walked into the Hard Deck and sat down with you. And while he’s watching you with a smile on his face, you know you’ve been going on and on for most of it. Which is a little embarrassing, but it was just so easy. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I’ve been talking your ear off this whole time,” you tell him, feeling your cheeks warm at the thought. Hopefully you haven’t been boring him.

“Don’t apologize. I liked it.” Bob is quick to offer you reassurance, almost as if he can read your mind. He adjusts the hat on his head, and his fingers sweep some loose golden blond hair up under the navy cap. You can’t help but watch, wondering if his hair is as soft as it looks. You’d bet it is. “I like the sound of your voice. It’s nice to listen to.”

You’re not quite sure if he’s flirting with you or genuinely that kind. It might be a mix of both. But it gives you some relief, and the two of you chat for a few more minutes before you hear Penny call out a greeting from behind you. You look towards the door to see that the rest of Bob’s usual company is walking in now. As usual, Pete makes a beeline for the bar top to say hello and shamelessly flirt with his girlfriend, while the others go off to claim a pool table and some seats nearby.

Bradley looks in your direction, very noticeable in a bright green and yellow Hawaiian shirt and ripped jeans, and then he nudges Natasha to look over at you as well. There’s a big grin growing from under his mustache and he does so, which isn’t too far from normal for him, but as he waves to you and Bob before grabbing a pool table, you can’t help but wonder if he’s behind the hour delay tonight. No, it couldn’t be. Bradley’s not sneaky enough to do anything like that.

But now that they’re here, you know that Bob is going to go and join them; that’s what he’s here for, after all, not to sit with you and let you talk his ear off all night. Not that you’d mind his company, though. You honestly would gladly give him this spot permanently, just to hear his laugh and see his pretty blue eyes behind the glasses that you were finding more and more attractive on him as the night progressed.

So you decide to do something bold, wanting to keep talking to him. You grab him a clean glass and, while he’s busy looking over and waving at the others, you grab a napkin and a pen from your apron to scrawl your name and number down. You fill the glass with club soda and lemonade, and place it in front of him with the napkin when he turns back around to look at you. He reaches into his pocket, presumably for his wallet, but you shake your head.

“Your drinks are on me tonight. As a thank you for being such good company,” you tell him, and once again his knuckles brush yours as he takes the drink and napkin from you. He thanks you, his voice soft, as he turns and heads over to where his friends and co-workers have gathered. He greets Natasha first, putting his drink down on the table she’s leaning against, and talking to her. Some of the others approach the bar top and you fetch them the drinks they request, making small talk for a few minutes before they head back towards the pool tables.

Bob and Natasha are still talking when you look back at them and he’s since grabbed a pool cue to play, but you see her look at his drink and the napkin you’d given Bob with it. She points at it, saying something you can’t hear. Bob walks back over to the table to look at it, while she takes his pool cue and starts playing against Jake.

You see Bob look down at the napkin, and then he’s pushing his glasses further up his nose and pinking it up to bring it closer to his face. Then he looks up and his big blue eyes meet yours from across the bar. He points at the napkin, and then at his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s got a tightlipped, nervous smile on his face. You nod, and you can’t help the giggles that come out as his entire face lights up, his smile becoming more relaxed and you can see the pink flush that spreads across his cheeks under the warm orange glow coming in from the big windows in the back of the bar near the pool tables.

(And when you get a text message later on from an unknown number, one that identifies themselves as Lieutenant Robert Floyd who hopes he entered in the right number and is looking forward to speaking with you again, you can’t help but hope that next week the others get delayed as well)

.

.

.

[daughter-of-arda]

Descent: Chapter 2--The Grey Owl

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: unwanted sexual advances (brief)

Author’s Note: Leave a review! Message me if you'd like to be added to a tag list.

Tags: @clumsy-wonderland

——————————————————————————

In the high August afternoon, nearly four months after an unexpected visit from a Wizard and two Dwarves, Ingrid reaches deep into the garden to twist off an oblong tomato from its vine. Cupping the fruit in her palm, she admires the vividness of the flesh and inspects it for any imperfections, like worm holes. She finds none and sets it into her wicker basket among other ripe tomatoes. The plants have grown magnificently this season, producing three long harvest periods.

Everything is at its brightest in August, Ingrid thinks, picking another. The redness of the tomatoes contrast greatly with their fuzzy, wide-fingered green leaves. The green of the stems and leaves is a bright, lively green, while the green of the surrounding grass is saturated and dark. Last night brought a summer thunderstorm, piercing the sky with alternating beats of lightning and thunder. Kara had woken up once to whine but quickly fell back asleep, and the rain had rejuvenated the grass and filled their water barrels, so there’s plenty of fresh water to drink.

“Are you nearly done?” her brother Esmund asks, poking his head up from the opposite side of the garden. “We still have to muck out the chickens before lunch.”

“Yes, almost,” Ingrid says. “How full is your basket?”

“Little more than half.”

“Good. We’ll get nearly two baskets of tomatoes.” She leans back from her hands to balance on her haunches, picking some dirt out from under her nails. “I wonder if Tobias’ garden is producing as many tomatoes as we are. I suspect we’re going to drown in them if these plants don’t slow down.”

“Can I go start the chickens? You’ll finish with the garden soon.”

“No,” Ingrid says, laughing at his crestfallen expression. “We have to weed after picking. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“But I hate weeding,” Esmund grumbles, shaking his head. His shaggy brown hair slips out of its tail, falling around his shoulders. Esmund is almost fourteen but already he’s taller than Ingrid, nearly as tall as their father Kane. He’s still skinny, too much elbow and not enough muscle, but their mother Nora says he’ll grow into his height soon enough.

“Here,” Ingrid says, standing. “Let me fix your hair.” She brushes off the knee stains on her dress, which is short and only reaches to her mid-calf. Sleeveless and with a low scoop neckline, the dress hovers on the line of propriety. In Bree she’d be frowned at, especially because she is without shoes, but here in Combe the farmsteads are so far apart that there’s no one to look at her and judge. Plus she likes the deep pockets on the hips.

The ground is forgiving under her toes, slightly damp from the earlier rain. Ingrid may come to regret her lack of footwear when she has to clean her feet before being allowed to enter the house, but now the cool grass tickles her heels as she comes to stand behind her youngest brother.

Esmund tilts his head back, letting Ingrid run her fingers through his hair to get rid of the tangles before she braids it, but he frowns and shrugs off her hands.

“What’s that?”

Ingrid looks up, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand as she follows Esmund’s finger. A dark shape flies above the farmhouse in lazy circles.

“It’s a bird,” she says.

“No, I think it’s an owl.”

“An owl is a bird, you corncob.”

“Don’t call me that,” Esmund grouches. “I mean what’s it doing out here in the day. Owls are nocturnal.”

“I’ve no idea,” Ingrid says. “But I don’t want it carrying off one of the chickens. Keep an eye on it.”

The owl continues to circle the house the entire time Ingrid braids Esmund’s hair. She doesn’t want to shoot it down, especially one as large and magnificent as this. Owls hunt the mice and rats that sneak into the cellar to eat their winter food stores. They’re helpful birds, but if it lingers any longer the chickens will grow nervous. Last week the coop was ransacked by a fox, killing half the hens before her father intervened. She’s got to protect what’s left.

Picking the rest of the tomatoes and weeding the garden goes quickly, and Esmund takes both baskets and sets them on the kitchen table. He returns shortly, holding her yew longbow and two arrows, by her instruction.

“Why two?” he asks. “You never miss.”

“I want to try and scare it off,” she says. “Go ‘round the house and make sure no one’s around to get hit.” Esmund does, and he returns with a shake of his head.

“All clear.”

With a single, smooth movement, Ingrid picks up one of the arrows and steadies it against the string, drawing it back to her cheek. She aims at the bird, moving slightly to adjust to its flying, then releases. The arrow, a simple design of a pointed, round metal tip on a wooden shaft, with exactly three feathers on the back to create stability, soars up through the sky to cross right before the owl. Even from such a distance Ingrid can see the bird recoil with a screech, flapping off in the direction of the Chetwood.

“I’ll go see if I can salvage the arrow,” she says, accepting Esmund’s praise with a pleased grin. “You start mucking out the chickens.”

Ingrid walks to the opposite side of the house, past the garden and the tall oak. The arrow isn’t anywhere to be found in the short grass that borders the house, and she gives it up after a few minutes of searching. She makes for the chicken coop, ready to help Esmund muck out the old hay and food scraps. The chore doesn’t take long and isn’t too terrible—Esmund certainly prefers sweeping out the chicken coop with their horsehair broom to pulling garden weeds with his bare hands.

“Looking for this?” a deep voice asks, and Ingrid turns to see Tobias Colborn coming toward her, holding her arrow in his hand. He’s walking from the direction of the north-south road that leads straight south to join the much larger East-West Road, which in turn leads to Bree.

“Tobias!” she greets. “Yes, that’s mine. I hope I didn’t skewer you.”

“Imagine my surprise, thinking of you as I walk down the road, when one of your arrows comes out of the sky and plants itself at my feet.” He smiles, setting the arrow in her palm. “It’s as if the universe itself were denying me.”

“Denying you what? Perhaps I can help,” she says.

“I’m afraid only your father can help.” He looks at her with a strange intensity, and Ingrid drops her gaze to study his clothes. He’s in comfortable dark pants and sturdy working boots, with a loose, light brown shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows to ward off the heat. His hair, brown and straight like her own, is freshly washed and pulled up off his neck in a loose knot. He’s let his stubble grow longer than how her father prefers his facial hair, but he looks nice.

Tobias is studying her as eagerly as she is him, and he seems to appreciate her sleeveless dress and low neckline, if his little smirk is any indication.

“Your mare isn’t giving birth again, is she?” she teases, creating a quick banter that lessens the sudden force, and Tobias laughs loudly. She leads him around the house, and as they pass the chicken coop Esmund waves. Tobias waves back. “But Da should be in the bean field with Brayan.” She squints against the sun, then points out toward the two small figures in the distance. “There, near the southern fence.”

“You always had better eyes,” Tobias says, staring hard. “I can’t see them.” He looks at her. “Why were you shooting anyway?”

“There was an owl,” Ingrid says by way of explanation.

“Did you kill it?”

“Scared it off is all.”

“Those feathers would have made nice arrows.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to shoot down the bird that keeps our cellar clear of mice.”

“That is true.” He grins down at her. “Perhaps you could scare it off in the direction of my house. Mum’s trying to domesticate one of the barn cats to hunt our mice.”

“It flew off toward the Chetwood, so you’ve a good chance,” Ingrid says. “Say, are you staying for lunch? I should let Mum know if there will be another.”

“No, thank you,” Tobias says. “I need to talk to your father and return to my own fields. I was given only the morning off, and you know the walk is an hour each way.”

“At least let me get you some water before you leave,” she concedes. “I don’t want you fainting on the side of the road due to the heat.”

“I would appreciate that,” Tobias nods. “Thank you, Ingrid.” He catches her elbow as she turns away, looking deep into her face. “It was wonderful to see you, even if only for this short moment,” he says.

“And you as well,” Ingrid says after a moment. “You are good company, and my brothers enjoy seeing you also.”

Tobias nods once more, taking her hand in a sudden movement to place a kiss on the back of it. He ignores her protest of dirt under her nails and general uncleanliness, raising his own hand.

“Farmer’s hands,” he says. “Fitting to hold the hands of any farmgirl.”

Suddenly flustered, Ingrid shoos Tobias off toward the bean field. Then she turns and blinks, wondering what that entire conversation even meant. She frowns when Esmund laughs, shamelessly leaning against the chicken coop instead of working.

“He’s totally going to ask Da’s permission to court you,” he says with a wicked grin.

“Be quiet,” Ingrid snaps, strangely defensive.

Indeed, Brayan loves to tease that Tobias will soon approach her father to ask for her hand in courtship, but Ingrid knows her father respects her opinion and would refuse Tobias if she asked. But the thought of courting Tobias Colborn doesn’t bother her all that much. It’s a convenient match, but he is also kind, hard-working, and not unattractive.

A few leaves rustle in the large oak, and she spots the large grey owl perched on one of the branches, staring directly at her. With a curse that her mother would be ashamed of, she strides toward it. “Oh, come on!” she shouts. “Get out of here!”

The owl continues to stare, unflinching. It simply releases a bit of shining metal from its clawed foot, then lifts off and flies west.

“What did it drop?” Esmund asks eagerly, swiping the metal off the ground before Ingrid can reach it. It’s a cylinder, with a twist-off cap dipped in blue wax to show it hasn’t been tampered with. She can’t fathom what’s inside, but if it’s something dangerous she doesn’t want her brother holding it.

“Give it here, Esmund,” she commands. He immediately complies, turned somber by the seriousness in her words. The most similar object she’s seen is the pipe-weed her father keeps in a tin in the cellar, but the tube is noiseless when she gives it an experimental shake. Deciding that there’s no better course of action, Ingrid scores the wax with her nails and twists off the cap, storing it in her pocket.

A rolled paper falls into her palm. While strange, it appears to be harmless, and Ingrid allows Esmund to take the tube from her grasp to study it further. She’s never seen a letter delivered by tube, or by owl. Letters in Bree-land are sent on pieces of rectangular paper, folded and inserted into an envelope of thicker, cheaper paper. The address of the intended recipient is written on the front, then given to Ethen. As the southernmost farmstead in Combe, he travels to Bree twice a week, and he brings the letters, delivering them for just a few coins. Any letters whose recipients are to the north are carried back, making their slow way along the cobbled and dirt roads of Bree-land.

There’s others to bring the letter to if the destination is to the far north in Archet, or southeast in Staddle. It can take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks for it to be delivered, depending on when the farmer plans to make his trip. But most people consider letter-writing too much effort for what it is, and either travel by foot to deliver news in person or keep to themselves. Very few in Archet, Combe, and Staddle can read or write in the first place.

Tentatively, Ingrid unrolls the letter. She has only to look at the flowery signature at the bottom to confirm her suspicions.

“What is it?” Esmund asks quietly, watching her shoulders stiffen.

Ingrid takes a deep breath, slowly releasing the air. “Do you remember the day Mum and Da went to Bree, and Tobias came by to get you and Brayan to help with his mare’s birth?”

“Yes, but what—?”

“I had some visitors that morning. And they offered an unexpected proposition.”

She’d kept it secret under Gandalf’s command, the visit from Fili and Kili and the Wizard Gandalf. And even if she had been allowed to tell anyone they wouldn’t believe her, especially if she were to present it without proof. Dwarves don’t travel to Bree-land, especially to visit a young woman from Combe. They don’t offer her a position in their Company to reclaim an ancient homeland from a Dragon.

And she certainly doesn’t consider their offer, to the point where the Wizard sends a contract of service by a great grey owl.

——————————————————————————

Three days after Ingrid receives the letter from the Wizard Gandalf, she finds herself sitting at the kitchen table. Bleary-eyed, she stretches and accepts the mug of spiced tea offered by her father.

“Not that I don’t enjoy your company, Ingrid,” Kane Broderick says, sitting opposite her, “but remind me why you offered to travel to Bree in your mother’s stead?”

Ingrid yawns hugely. The sky is dark yet, dawn at most an hour away. The farmhouse is quiet, as everyone is still sleeping. Brayan will be sprawled on the bed he and Esmund usually share, but in high August it’s too hot to even accidentally brush up against each other and Esmund has been banished to the floor. Kara is in bed as well, dozing in the middle of the big bed so she doesn’t roll off. Ingrid’s mother Nora had been up a few minutes ago to see her husband and daughter off, and had just gone upstairs to return to bed with Kara.

“Can I not simply spend time with my father?” she teases, sipping the lukewarm tea.

“That’s why you’re my favorite daughter,” her father grins, knocking back the last of his drink.

“I’m your only daughter.” They exchange a knowing glance, lips twitching. “But in all seriousness, I want to give Mum a day to rest a bit,” Ingrid says, the lie taking the form of a letter rolled in a metal tube, burning cold as it’s tucked hidden in her breast band. “It’ll be good for her to bond with Kara and she can let her ankle heal.” Yesterday her mother had stepped in an old rabbit hole, twisting her ankle as she fell. Nothing is broken and there’s little swelling, but it’s in everyone’s best interest to keep her at home.

Esmund is the only other person to know her true reason for going to Bree. Ingrid had sworn him to secrecy until the time when she decides to reveal it to the rest of her family.

Her father hums in acknowledgement, walking to the main room to strap on his boots. Ingrid does the same, tying her hair back into a simple pony’s tail to keep it out of her face. Even before dawn it’s warm out, and she’s dressed in one of her short-sleeved tunic dresses and leggings. Slung across her back is a bag holding money and waterskins, among other things needed for the weekly market.

“It’s a two hour walk to Bree,” her father warns, locking the front door behind him. The iron key, strung upon a leather cord, is tucked under his shirt, and he holds a lantern aloft. “And we must make haste there. It’s harvest time, and we cannot waste a day.”

“I’ve walked to the Colborn’s land without pause, and that’s a journey of little more than an hour,” Ingrid reminds him. “I’ll be fine. Although…” She eyes the wagon as it's illuminated by the lantern. Currently full of extra tomatoes from their garden, the wagon is of simple design: an open-topped rectangular box atop four wheels, with a metal t-shaped handle.

“No, you cannot ride in the wagon,” Kane Broderick sighs.

“On the return journey?”

“It will be full of our purchases. Unless you would like to sit upon your mother’s linen and the sharpened harvest tools.”

Ingrid pouts and her father laughs. It’s nice to hear him laugh. A farmer’s life is unpredictable, and as the head of the house her father carries many worries on his brow.

He extinguishes the lantern, placing it on the brick stoop, then takes the wagon in one hand and Ingrid’s hand in the other as he leads her out to the main road. She adjusts quickly to the darkness, finding that the grass is a darker shadow than the dirt path and she can mostly walk confidently south down the road. There’s a stretch of comfortable silence as they walk, and they listen to the dawn insects and the whisper of tall corn in the breeze. As the first streaks of sunlight crest the east, Ingrid tries to pull out of her father’s grasp, but he resists.

“Can a father not hold his daughter’s hand?” Kane says teasingly, but there’s a hint of melancholy in his words.

“He may,” Ingrid says carefully. “Especially if a young man has come to him asking for his daughter’s hand in courtship.”

“Smart as ever.” Her father smiles down at her before sobering. “Yes, Tobias Colborn asked my permission to woo you not three days ago.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I would ask my daughter.” He kisses her forehead before continuing. “Hear my thoughts first, if you will. Tobias is a good young man. His father tells me he is responsible and that he cares greatly for his mother and younger siblings, not unlike you. As the eldest son he will receive everything Hilton owns upon his death, so you will not have to worry about establishing your own land. And perhaps most important, from what I have observed you and he seem to get along. But my love for you outweighs any reason or sensibility. If you wish to refuse Tobias on any account, I will support you.”

Ingrid swells with love for her father. Kane Broderick is a good man. Some fathers would not take their daughter’s opinion into consideration when searching for a match, nor would they allow her the final decision. Some men even see it as a hassle to have daughters, as they’re married off anyway, but by that logic Ingrid thinks they should also resent their second and third sons. They’ll be forced to establish their own land, as the eldest son receives everything after his father’s death.

“Tobias is a fine man,” Ingrid says eventually. “But I do not know his opinion on Kara. I am her guardian mother and I will not court someone who treats her poorly because she is not of my or his blood.”

“Tobias knew Kara’s father, did he not? Alden?”

“He did. They were friends, although less close than Alden and myself due to proximity.” She sighs, thinking fondly on the past. “It was a happy day when Welford sold that old horse barn and its land to Kristen and Alden. We were neighbors, within eyeshot even.”

“There are no shameful tears, my daughter,” Kane says gently, squeezing her hand. “You will honor their memory in raising Kara.”

Ingrid nods, sliding the bag off her back so she can grab the two apples and hunks of seeded bread that is their breakfast. She blows her nose on a handkerchief, finding that the memory of her friends stings less than it had just a few months prior.

The pointed rooftops of Bree appear in the distance, and Ingrid inhales deeply to catch the final scent of crisp morning. She travels to Bree a few times a year, but remembers the stink vividly. If there’s any rain, the whole town smells of manure. With so many people in close contact, there’s also the smell of sweat, metal, and ale. It’s a dizzying combination that gives her a headache more often than not.

Most of Bree is built upon a long hill known as Bree-hill. It runs in a north-south direction and provides enough elevation that the residents of Bree can see from a great distance and from any direction who is nearing their village. On the western side, where the hill drops off, a ring of thick hedge provides a makeshift wall. There are two main entrances into the village, both in gaps in the hedge: one on the northwestern side, and the other on the southeastern side. From there, a cobbled road leads straight into the heart of the village, past Hobbit holes and houses of Men. Bree is thrice the size of Combe and is already busy with people by the time Ingrid and her father arrive at the center, where the weekly market is held. She recognizes a few from Combe, but most are either from Bree or Staddle, which is straight east. Everyone is speaking Westron, but those from Staddle have a more pronounced accent while those from Bree are flat and unaccented.

The market square is a large open area with the main well in its center. The square is paved in even rectangular stones, and few weeds have a chance to grow with the amount of daily foot traffic. Already, farmers have set up their wagons and baskets around the perimeter of the square, and more are coming in to fill the rest.

“Here, Ingrid,” her father says, pulling the wagon between a farmer selling some sort of nut and a weaver with many brightly colored fabrics. “Deliver these to the smithy, and quick. Before there’s a line.”

Ingrid dutifully accepts the armful of harvest tools and the pocket of coins, gripping the sickles and axes with both hands as she walks in the general direction of the smithy. She knows it’s on the northern side of Bree, but can’t remember quite how far up to go. She wanders past a great deal of people, but also a few homes and businesses, in particular a mapsmaker. All the buildings in Bree are of similar style: they have a steeply pitched roof with multiple front-facing gables. The majority of the exteriors are brick, and they’re accented with decorative half-timbering that creates a mock frame of thin wooden boards. Stucco or stone fills the spaces between the boards. Eventually she arrives in front of a two-storied tavern called the Prancing Pony. Even though the morning is less than an hour old the meaty aroma of cooked bacon floats out from the door. It’s tempting, but a boy also holding harvest tools comes out from one of the side streets and Ingrid remembers her duty. She follows the lad, who notices her and smiles once but keeps ahead.

The smithy is owned by a barrel-chested man, tall and loud, but he speaks kindly enough when she and the lad come up to the counter. Behind him is the smithy, the usual hammers and anvils and fire and tongs, plus two or three men who work under the owner’s employment.

“Just a sharpening, then?” the owner asks, assessing the lad’s tools and eyeing Ingrid’s as she stands behind him.

“Yessir,” the lad says, and Ingrid nods as well.

“That’ll be no trouble at all,” the man says, gesturing to the stacks of empty barrels to the left of the counter. As Ingrid and the lad deposit their tools in one barrel each, the man continues to speak. “Smart to be here before the market opens. Everyone’ll be wanting sharp tools for the harvest. Shouldn’t take more than a quarter hour.”

The lad nods, looking somewhat annoyed, and he drops four bronze coins on the counter. Then he turns on his heel and strides off without a word.

“If my boy did that to anyone I’d whack him upside the head,” the man sighs, scooping the coins into a large hand.

“Yes, that was rather rude,” Ingrid remarks, giving him five bronze coins. “Take the extra as a gratuity.”

“It’ll only be three for you, miss,” he says, pushing two coins back toward her. “And I’ll sharpen your tools first.”

“But the lad paid four.”

“Aye, but you’ll be charged three on the account of being politer.” His eyes flick down to her chest. “And prettier.”

At his height, he can look straight down the front of her tunic dress, and he does. Ingrid flushes, snatching the two extra coins from the man’s outstretched palm. She takes a large step back. His actions make her skin crawl and there’s no doubt he wouldn’t be so lewd if she were a man, but she can’t snap at him. This is the only true smithy in Bree-land. There’s a few tools in the cow barn, but she can’t risk this man refusing her business.

Next time she’ll get Tobias or one of her brothers to accompany her to the smithy, if he insists on being so boorish.

“Sharpen my tools second, if you will,” she says, careful to keep the hard edge out of her words. “I’ve other errands to run.”

“Suit yourself,” the man says. “They’ll be done in a half hour.” He glances downward once more, a comfortable grin on his wide face. “And the smithy closes an hour before sundown if you’re interested.”

“Good day, Mister Smith,” Ingrid says stiffly, and she walks swiftly from the smithy without pause until she comes before the business labeled mapsmaker by the map scroll carved into the hanging sign above the door. It’s in the lowest level of a house, longer than it is wide. The front door is tucked onto the side of the building that faces a thin alley big enough for just one person.

But if anyone in Bree-land can read, it will be a mapsmaker.

The door opens noiselessly. Ingrid creeps inside. Immediately she’s boxed in by high shelves that reach to the low ceiling. They’re stuffed with rolled paper and parchment, but if she peeks past the shelves there’s a more open area with a long countertop. There’s a smaller shelf there, with bottles of colored inks and blank unrolled paper, but the counter is still very cluttered. The shop is very still compared to the bustle just outside, and is silent save for the quick scratch of a metal-tipped pen on parchment.

There’s only one window and it’s quite small, so large candles sit on any available surface. Most are unlit, but the flame of the nearest candle flickers wildly as Ingrid walks past.

“Good morning,” she calls cautiously. The scratching stops, then an old man appears from the back. His hair is bright white and sucks up all the light in the room. Winkles mar his face, but his eyes are lively.

“Ah, good morning!” he says cheerily. He’s not hunched over as some elderly Men become in old age, and he extends a confident hand. Ingrid shakes. “Wonderful firm grip,” he comments. “My name is John.”

“Ingrid,” she says.

“Well, Miss Ingrid, how may I be of assistance?”

“I was wondering if you could read something for me.”

“Of course!” John says, beckoning her deep into the shop. The moment he turns his back to her, she carefully bolts the door shut so none can enter. “I can read and write anything in Westron. It is Westron, correct?” He waits for her nod. “Good. Can’t do much else other than the Common Tongue, but I do have maps to Rivendell if it were Elvish you needed.” He chuckles.

Before the countertop there are two metal stools, and she sits carefully. A large parchment rests on the table, and as John searches for a flint to light more candles she studies his current project. With a jolt she realizes it’s of Combe, and she quickly locates her own farmstead. The inking is beautiful; the roads and fences are in black ink but the farmhouse is a bright red, and the Chetwood a deep green. Penned above the farmhouse is her family name, Broderick, identifying that land as belonging to her father.

“Right then,” John says, sitting on the second stool with two lit candles in his hands. He pushes the map of Combe aside and places the candles on the table, then he turns toward her. “May I have our document?”

“Before that, I need to swear you to secrecy,” Ingrid says. She holds up two gold coins. “You can tell no one of the contents of this document. Not your wife, nor drinking partner, nor dog.”

“What is this document that demands such measures?” John wonders, but Ingrid merely raises a brow until he relents. “Yes, I swear secrecy on the grave of my father Arthur.”

The gold coins fall into his hand, and as John inspects them with wide eyes Ingrid reaches into her breast band and pulls out the metal tube. It’s warm to the touch. Aware of John’s suddenly sharp gaze, she unscrews the lid and removes the rolled paper, passing it to him.

“Good quality paper,” he mutters, rubbing the paper between two fingers. “Not from Bree-land. Where did you say this was from?”

“I didn’t,” she says. “But it came from the west by a great grey owl.”

The paper is unrolled with a sharp yank. It crinkles as it’s bent the opposite direction, and John hums, the paper shielding him from view.

“Not any handwriting of the Shire, that much is certain…” he abruptly drops the document to his lap, staring at her with sharp eyes. “What business do you have with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains?”

“I have paid you to read,” she retorts. “Not to ask questions.”

“Very well,” John says, somewhat sheepish. “My apologies, Miss Ingrid. I have been told I get over-excited about maps and documents. Studied them my entire life and now I can identify anything from the race and sex of the transcriber to where the paper was sourced. This document in particular was written by a right-handed male, with fibers from a softwood conifer…but that’s unimportant,” he adds quickly, glancing at her. “Now we read.”

John clears his throat.

“Conditions of Engagement:

“Agreed hereto, freely and under neither duress nor force nor coercion nor threat to life and/or limb, and superceding any prior contract, agreement, or undertaking, survivable clauses notwithstanding, signed and witnessed below, as set forth hereunder:

“I, the undersigned, [referred to hereafter as the Archer] agree to travel to the Lonely Mountain, path to be determined by Thorin Oakenshield, who has a right to alter the course of the journey at his so choosing, without prior notification and/or liability for accident or injury incurred.

“The aforementioned journey and subsequent extraction from the Lonely Mountain any and all goods, valuables, and chattels [which activities are herein collectively described as the Adventure] shall proceed in a timely manner and with all due care and consideration as seen fit by said Thorin Oakenshield and companions, numbering sixteen more or less, to be known henceforth as the Company.

“Cash on delivery, up to and not exceeding one sixteenth of the total profit [if any]. Funeral expenses to be defined by us or our representatives if the occasion arises and the matter is not otherwise arranged for.

“The Archer shall devise means and methods to circumvent any difficulties arising from any illegal or illicit possession or guardianship of the Company’s righted home and property. Successful disposal of any such guardian, creature, or squatter in said home shall not necessarily earn any additional monetary or fiscal reward, but will definitely guarantee the Archer [if she survives] and her family the undying gratitude and promise of service in perpetuity and forever of the Company and its successors. Eviction or elimination of any undesirable guardian of the Company’s property, goods, or holdings shall take priority over the recovery of said property, goods, premises, or holds, should such a guardian be encountered. Elimination shall take priority over eviction in any and all such cases.

“Adventure undertaken entirely at the Archer’s own risk. Present Company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof; including, but not limited to, lacerations, evisceration, incineration.

“Specialist equipment required in the execution of duties in her professional role as Archer shall be purchased, procured, purloined, or obtained by the Archer, by whatever methods she sees fit. Weaponry not provided. Although the Adventure is, by nature, a stealthy undertaking, combat or self-defense is not unforeseeable and indeed may become necessary, well-advised, important, imperative, or inescapable. Accordingly, the Archer should arm herself as best befits her stature, ability, ferocity, bravery, timidity, conviction, and determination.

“Return journey is deemed outside the terms of references encompassed herein and accordingly the Archer shall return to her place of residence by her own means, guidance, expertise, and expense, but with such directions, advice, and goodwill as can be offered by the Company.

“Transport provided in the form of one [1] pony, to be returned in good condition at the conclusion of the Adventure [or money paid in lieu thereof]. The Archer hereby accepts, warrants, and undertakes responsibilities for her own shoes [if worn by her], clothing, and effects for the duration of the Adventure. The Archer shall not use her womanly wiles to bewilder, beguile, and otherwise distract men of the Company.

“Confidentiality is of utmost importance and must be strictly maintained at all times during the course of the employment with the Company.

“Signed: Thorin son of Thrain

“Witnessed: Balin son of Fundin

“Archer. Blank.”

——————————————————————————

Later, Kane Broderick greets his daughter with a wide grin, taking the sharpened tools from her grasp to place them in the wagon. He sold all the tomatoes and purchased some linen at his wife’s request, plus some peaches as a surprise.

“Long line? You were gone for quite a while.”

“Yes,” she says eventually. Again, the metal tube burns cold against skin, within it a contract spelling out the details of a fatal adventure. She hides ink-stained fingers in the folds of her tunic. “Yes, the line was long.”

[generalblizzarddreamer]

Book recommendations based on your Hogwarts house!

A/N I’ve been watching a lot of these videos on youtube and it inspired me to make this post! I hope you enjoy. I love Harry Potter and the fandom but just to be clear I don’t support J.K Rowling and her trans/homophobic statements and the fact that she is ruining the series by adding more to it.

Ravenclaw house 💙🦅(my house)

The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown

This book just screams Ravenclaw to me. The cults, the science, the research, the history, the small facts on the Smithsonian... literally everyting except the characters themselves and the plot is real. There is so much knowledge to be gained from reading this book and the plot is thick and exciting. 

Strange the Dreamer duology by Laini Taylor

Another book that screams Ravenclaw... Strange the Dreamer and the world and the culture is so thick and is presented in lyrical and intelligent word play that any self respecting Ravenclaw should definitely give this book a try. You will not be disappointed! I know I wasn’t! The main character (Lazlo Strange) is also a Ravenclaw so that is always a perk. 

This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

This book is like a well thought out chess game. The writing styles that the two authors develop is addicting and the letters going back and forth between the two character is so intriguing. There so much strategy and wit in this book that I had to put it on this list for Ravenclaw. 

Wendy Darling by Colleen Oarkes

I love this book so much. I think it’s a book that is worthy of Ravenclaw just because of it’s creativity and the twist that Colleen Oakes put on Peter Pan. I think sometimes we forget that it isn’t just wit, wisdom, and knowledge (although this book is definitely witty and has some wise messages) that Ravenclaws value but also creativity. 

Bonus book: Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. This book is the most Ravenclaw book ever. Need I say more. 

Gryffindor ❤️🦁

Lore by Alexandria Bracken

The plot is tense, most of the characers are Gryffindors, book praises bravery, cowardice is something that is punishable ad frowed upon... the list goes on and on. Lore is filled with high stakes and brave acts that Gryffindor’s will admire.  

Legendborn by Tracy Deonn

It was so hard to put one of my all time favorite books in here just solely because it’s not my house (that was not a dig on Gryffindor please don’t attack me). Bree is such a Gryffindor and does so many of the things I can see the golden trio doing. High stakes, daring acts, Gryffindor cast, a Griffindor x Griffindor relationship, perfect for any Gryffindor looking for a book full of twist and turns and bravery. 

The City we Became by N.K Jemisin

This one gives me Gryffindor vibes for the same reasons the other ones do (thrills, daring acts, Gryffindor characters etc). Except for one thing. This book could have easily been placed into Slytherin since the main character uses his cunning to change his identity according to what city he is in at the moment. But I put this book here because I think it shows how Gryffindor and Slytherin are two sides of the same coin. 

Raft by S.A Bodeen

This one was a bit of stretch. Raft is a bit of a unpopular book, I’ve seen people say it was just meh, or bad. I actually really enjoyed this book though and I think how the main character (Robie) deals with being stranded and jumping out of a plane to survive gives me Gryffindor feels. I also think Gryffindors are the kind of people to enjoy a good survival book. 

Bonus: The Hunger Games

Slytherin 💚🐍

Vicious duology by V.E Schwab

Most (if not all) of the characters in this book are so cunning and ambitious and determined to meet their goal that makes it such a Slytherin book. Vicious also makes you question morality and the characters motivations that Slytherins will appreciate this book even more because of it. Bonus: V.E Schwab is a Slytherin. Just saying. 

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

I don’t know what about this book makes me think “Slytherin” but it does. Maybe it’s because it’s about using magic in a cunning way to win, the characters, the main characters mentors (although I think they are both definitely Slytherins). But this book screams Slytherin to me, just for unknown reasons. 

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

I don’t really think I need to explain why this is a Slytherin read so I’ll just put one character name: Kaz Brekker. Kaz is such a Slytherin. He uses cuning and resourcefulless to pull off crazy heists, blackmail people and get what he wants to survive a gang ridden city. And he he put up a calm face even though he may be freaking out on the inside through everything, never revealing his full plan. I feel like these are all such Slytherin things to do, not gonna lie. 

Ash Princess by Laura Sebastian

Oh boy, I could right pages and pages on why I think this is a Slytherin book but I’ll stick to a mini paragraph. The “Ash Princess”, Theodosia, uses cunning and strategy to take back her kingdom. She manipulates to get close to certain people to achieve her goal. And even though she doesn’t necessarily think that these are good things to do, she recognizes taking her kingdom back and acheiving her goal is more important.  Sound like a certain house? 

Bonus: Son of a Witch by Gregory Maguire (So many Slytherin vibes in this book)

Hufflepuff 💛🌿🦡 (I had to put a plant just as a nod to the Hufflepuff common room)

Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares by Rachel 

This. Book. Is. So. Cute. I didn’t put this in here just because it was cute though, after reading it, it gave me so many feels and Hufflepuff vibes that I had to put it here. 

Sarah’s Key by Tatiana de Rosnay 

Just going to say this: Hufflepuffs are great finders. This whole book centers around a girl finding her brother. She shows loyalty because she travels around the world to find him. Does that seem extrememly Hufflepuff-y or is it just me? 

Guardians of Childhood series by William Joyce

Hear me out, every Hufflepuff has an inner child as well as a badass inside them, they aren’t all soft (Tonks is proof). The guardians are protectors of children (as the title indicates) but they also kick butt. I think Hufflepuff’s of all ages will enjoy it, and yeah it’s a kids book but to quote C.S Lewis; “someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again”. 

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Ok though, but Pride and Prejudice could fit everywhere on here. Lizzie is a Raveclaw, Mr. Darcy is a Hufflepuff, Mrs. Bennet is a Gryffindor (she gives me Mrs. Weaseley vibes. Especially in the 2005 movie), etc. But I’m putting it here because it’s such a Hufflepuff thing to ship Mr. Darcy and Lizzie (seriously though every Hufflepuff I’ve met say that this is their OTP). Just read it and watch as it become your OTP too.  

Bonus: Peter and the Starcatchers by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson

I do not own any of the pictures used. 

[rangers-are-cool-moved]

Taenil Ilmalire - info for mobile users

Taenil is the older twin and prefers to heal but tends to fight long range when necessary. He rarely speaks due to the constant physical pain that it causes so when he does, everyone listens. When he isn’t helping the Bounders around the Shire or on missions for the Rangers of the North, which is 70% of the time, he can be found inside the Old Forest near Tom Bombadil. He is very quiet and even his fellow Rangers sometimes forget that he is there, which causes a lot of amusement.

Taenil joined the Rangers when he was just 40 years old, not even an adult in Elvish years but he was fading. The Dúnedain Chieftain at the time, Argonui, recognised what the jaded elf was going through and twisted the wording of the Rangers’ Oath slightly. The twist caused Taenil’s power to create a connection between them that would prevent him from fading but it didn’t stop when Argonui died. Instead the link passed to his son, Arador, before continuing down to Arathorn and eventually to his young son, Aragorn.

Everything was fine until the year 3015 when a new Ranger recruit thought that Taenil didn’t belong with the Rangers of the North as he didn’t belong to their people. The Man, Falagorn, fabricated a mission that took them nearly to Mordor and led Taenil straight into a pre-planned trap, which ended with the elf getting taken by orcs under Sauron’s orders. But unknown to the new Ranger recruit, Taenil had been able to send a message to his twin before he went unconscious and in turn, Teldran had alerted Aragorn and Halbarad to what had happened.

So they were waiting for Falagorn when he got back to Bree. Two years passed and it was only due to the link that the Rangers even knew Taenil was still alive. But that changed 4 months before Bilbo’s 111th birthday, when a familiar black horse came into Bree with it’s Rider out cold. Taenil’s reappearance was kept silent by Aragorn and the others to protect him while he recovered, with only the Thain, Tom Bombadil, Dwalin and the 5 Stout-axe dwarf survivors knowing that he was alive.

Despite not wanting to sent his still recovering Ranger out into an increasingly dangerous situation due to the Nazgul seeking the One Ring, Aragorn sent Taenil anyway. The elf was the one person that all Hobbits trusted and he had knowledge about the Shire that not even Gandalf knew. There was also the fact that the Nine could be dealt damage by Taenil’s power of pure white light.

Main Facts about Taenil

FULL NAME Taenil Ilmalire

NICKNAME(S) Tae, Shadow, Shads (other Rangers), Ilma

ALIAS(ES) The Shadow Ranger

OCCUPATION Ranger | Healer | Jack of all trades

AGE Depends on SL | Turned 50 at the Fell Winter in 2911

DATE OF BIRTH Third Age | 2861

PLACE OF BIRTH On the Great East Road | Travelling Merchant family

RACE Elf | Noldor

GENDER & PRONOUNS Male | He

ORIENTATION Bisexual

HEIGHT 6ft | 183cm

WEIGHT 63kg

EYE COLOUR Blue - normally | Glowing white when using his power

HAIR COLOUR + STYLE Dark brown hair | Waist length | Kept tied back

DOMINANT HAND Ambidextrous

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES Sharp, haunted eyes.

ACCENT + INTENSITY Doesn’t really have one as he rarely talks | But occasionally falls into Brooklyn

SCAR(S) Major scarring on his throat & a jagged wolf bite scar on left shoulder INJURIES Although healed on the outside, his throat has never healed fully internally so his vocal chords tear open each time he talks, causing constant pain.

HOMETOWN Raised in the Shire

BASES Bag End, Shire | Prancing Pony, Bree | Esteldin, North Downs

LANGUAGE(S) Westron | Knows Sindarin but can’t speak it

APPRENTICESHIP (S) Tom Bombadil | Various Dwarves & Men

Mother Kirya Ilmalire | Mist Singer

Father Ferne Olorel | The Mountain

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 504

Let’s make this one quick, because tbh I really dgaf about Alicia and Isiah and I’m almost done with Maas’ new book so if any other’s in the Maaslander squad wanna chat about it, I have feelings.

They’re really dragging this Bonnet thing out, aren’t they. I mean, the books did too, but they could have, ya know, AdApTeD. Le sigh.

Hallo the house is the olde timey version of texting “here” when you get to your buddy’s place.

This episode could really be titled Men Suck.

I mean really. Roger? The Browns? Bonnet? Even fucking Elijah Ford manages to suck and we never even see him!

Jamie doesn’t suck much in this episode. Which is a nice change of pace for him. But he’s been headcanon’ed beyond recognition so whatevs.

Fergus doesn’t suck. Fergus is always the exception who can hang with the ladies because he’s cool enough to be in the good squad.

I just fucking love Fergus ok.

As someone who *hates* shopping, back in the day shopping seems like my exact version of hell.

Also, like, have these fuckers not learned their lessons about not communicating? They don’t need to fucking tell everyone the whole truth, but come the fuck on. They can at least give the Ridge Squad a heads up to not fuck with rando Irishmen who may show up.

I swear, they’re all so dumb it hurts.

Also, Bree, girl. You’re talking to an old Scottish lady. Maybe don’t shit on the Irish in a way that also directly applies to her.

Alicia was Mr. Darcy’s daughter on Ripper Street, right? She looks super familiar.

I’m offended on Fergus’ behalf that they’re wasting so much of his whisky with that leaky stopper, tbh.

Ah, toxic masculinity and patriarchal bullshit. Right up there with rape as my FaVoRiTe way to demonstrate that ye olde times sucked.

It’s like dialed to 11 this episode so obvi I spent the majority of it rolling my eyes.

The Jamie and Claire with the baby stuff was solid though.

And thank fuck they refer to her as Bonnie. Like, Diana is notoriously bad with names, but come the fuck on. Alicia Brown and Alicia Beardsley in like the same few chapters? THERE ARE A LOT OF NAMES IN EXISTENCE, DIANA. IT’S OK TO BRANCH OUT A BIT.

Every time something like this comes up, I remember that there’s another random Randall but like as a first name, I think, in the Gathering Without End. Because of course.

Fergus should really be a fucking diplomat. I mean really.

I am approximately 1000% over sing-alongs with Roger. Can we hang the fucker already so he can’t talk anymore?

Yay freedom! You know what goes well with freedom? An incestuous throuple. You do you, Beardsleys.

“You’re 14.” “Uh, I am clearly in my mid-20s.” “Nope, 14.” “Cool cool. Message received.”

“Congratulations, you work fast milord.” I JUST FUCKING LOVE FERGUS SO MUCH.

Seriously, this show needs more Fergus. Also more Fergus, Bree and Marsali bonding. Like, if we’re gonna have an episode about randos, we clearly could have better used the time to have the Fraser kiddos bonding.

“When in Rome...” STFU, Roger. Cosplaying your way through history like you’re on a fieldtrip isn’t cute. It’s fucking annoying. And you wonder why Jamie doesn’t like you. You are an eminently unlikable person.

Roger would def be the guest the hosts in Westworld want to kill.

The only good part about this side-quest is that there’s so much of Jamie telling Roger he sucks. And really, I’m here for any and all of Roger being told he sucks.

Ok but literalol at how badly Caitriona/Claire knocked over her mug. She like put it down fine and then tipped it over.

Oh hey, I wonder who that rando doctor who gives the weird advice is.

Lucinda is a cinnamon roll.

“Beauchamp, Randall, Fraser, now Rawlings? Ye have another husband I should ken about?” “Well, not yet, but you know your buddy who’s in love with you? Well...”

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall Fraser Randall Fraser Grey Fraser is a very respectable name.

DON’T MAKE FUN OF THE DRINK OF FERGUS’ PEOPLE, BROWN MAN.

Literally the whole time in Brownsville all I could think was fuck, I really don’t want them to do the ABOSAA bit with them next season but I know they’re gonna and I already don’t want to waste time doing fucking recaps.

I’m bored.

Fuck there’s still half an hour left.

“What sort of man would I be if I allowed a lady to sleep out with the militia on a cold, dark night?” Idk, the kind of man whose people kidnap and rape a lady? *preemptive rage intensifies*

I know I should be freaking out that Bree’s freaking out that Bonnet kidnapped Jemmy, but all I could think of is the old podsa ads for SimpliSafe.

The Ridge needs SimpliSafay.

I fucking hate this storyline with the passion of a thousand fiery suns, but I fucking love Marsali.

Omfg I know it’s Brownsville but them all being Browns is fucking like GoT shit. Like, diversify your gene pool, y’all.

Ok, glad there’s finally a Marsali and Bree scene. But I still wish they could hang and like chat about stuff like pals.

That being said, MARSALI IS A FUCKING SAINT AND I LOVE HER SO MUCH.

And of course, more violence against women. Because we can’t go two seconds without reminding the audience that the past is Bad and Dangerous for women.

Also, is Marsali still preggo? Which baby are we on? What time is it? How much longer is left in this season episode?

Cute of Claire to be like hey, Rog, Jamie’s trusting you with me! His favorite thing! Like Jamie’s not actually trusting Claire with his daughter’s dipshit husband.

Oh hey, remember how Brianna can draw Bonnet fairly accurately? Sure would be nice if there was a way to, idk, show those pics to folks on the Ridge. Just spit-balling here, but like, maybe giving folks a heads up would be a good idea. Kind of like how she fuCKING COULD HAVE DRAWN ROGER LAST YEAR BECAUSE TALKING ABOUT HER BOYFRIEND IS A NORMAL THING TO DO WITH FAMILY AND THEN WE WOULDN’T HAVE HAD ROGERGATE AND OMFG THE DUMB. IT HURTS SO MUCH.

Claire just fucking yeeted that baby lol.

For real though, literalol at Jamie like taking his coat off and being all dramatic as he prepares to... play DDR.

omega psi chi phi upsilon tau sigma rho pi omicron xi nu mu lambda kappa iota theta eta zeta epsilon delta gamma beta alpha

Drunk!Claire is back!

I fucking love drunk!Claire. So does Jamie.

The scene where they talk about raising the baby together is adorable. But also, like, Jamie, you’re grandparents now. All the good parts of parenting with none of the shitty parts! And y’all have been through enough shit in your lives that you deserve all the fluffy grandparenting!

“And Marsali and Fergus... Well, I’m sure they will keep the Ridge sufficiently populated if that’s what you’re worried about.” “ Yeah, that lass is with child every time Fergus lays eyes upon her.” WHERE IS THE LIE THO.

Joking aside though, they’d better keep giving Marsali more stuff to do than spit out babies. *aggressively side-eyes a certain author who DiDn’T lIkE wRiTiNg AbOuT kIdS*

Good on them for tweeting out the suicide prevention hotline. Literally the least they can do.

I’m barely really trying to give a shit about Alicia and Isiah, but alas, idgaf.

Literally the only good thing about this whole story line is Isiah being like “step the fuck off, you raging hypocrites” to Roger and Jamie.

[cajon-desastre]

A small recap of 5x12

1- Years 60, a song and a letter loaded with meaning.

2- Claire battered. This is distressing. This time it was not as graphic but it felt the same.

3- The exchange between reality and her mind was puzzling at first, then it was necessary to disconnect me as she was doing.

4- Do you know who is Ringo Star?

5- Thinking about home. Welcome Bree and Roger. What a waste of time to insert this plot to return to the starting point.

6- The cross is burning, it begins to dawn. Is the time.

7- Where is the sound of the drum? And the Scottish war cries? Although I miss it, the fight scenes are always very good. Ian, Fergus, even Roger. Red Jamie in action is the best. And that slanted image of Jamie approaching Claire.

8- Kill them all. The subtle change of expression gives chills.

9- Wrapped in the plaid and in her husband's arms. I don't know why, it reminded me of a Pieta.

10- In the river and in the bedroom. Respecting her space, barely touching her and she, so broken. My heart shrinks for both of us. For her, for what has happened and for him because he knows what she is going through.

11- I killed a man ... And? Oh Roger, how well you were doing and now this.

12- How hard it is to keep the Hippocratic oath. Her pained expression on Faith appears again.

13- Marsali. Badass! She did not take the oath.

14- Disturbing message from the Browns.

15- I didn't expect Jamie to be the one to speak this time. Only in the name of love will he do what he has to do.

16- The final image is pure art. She so vulnerable, in a fetal position and the firm embrace of him, vowed to protect her with his body and once again he is doing it. Outside there is a storm but she feels safe.

Summarizing, a very good episode and season finale. The approach of the 60s has been surprising but, as I went along, I found it very consistent and much better than the graphic images. It was even more distressing because of what it implied. The happier he seemed to be in that corner of his mind, you knew that something terrible was happening at the time, especially since the rape in the book only makes it complete one man and here it is hinted that there were many more.

Slow dancing is one of the most beautiful images of this season. Of the many that have been given to us.

Lauren, I already lack praise, she is a very good actress and has been the great secondary character of this season. And Roger is again the complainer at the beginning. His mother-in-law recovering from the most traumatic experience of his life and his wife, who has been through the same, is the one who has to comfort him. What a way to spoil the evolution he had had.

Jamie. Red Jamie. They are subtle changes in his face but it gives chills to see him like that.

All Easter eggs, references, parallels with episodes from previous seasons. Brilliant

And the final image of them naked, with an intimacy that does not imply anything sexual but something deeper that only both know. I feel like a voyeur for contemplating this level of connection beyond time.