#you get what you get and you don't throw a fit

[jenomi]

jeno is one sturdy man...

jeno has this strange habit of randomly picking you up. he can't describe it, it's just a very strong instinct he has when he sees you where he needs to pick you up and carry you around. naturally, it shocked you at first.

it happened for the first time when you were having a small argument with him. you had your hand on your hip looking up at him, fuming, then he let out a sigh before randomly kneeling down to grab you around your thighs and throw you over his shoulder. you squealed and kicked your feet and pounded your fists against his back demanding he set you down. he walked your flailing body to your bedroom and set you down gently on your bed. he knelt in front of you and apologized sincerely, but you couldn't even pay attention to his apology, shocked with what just happened.

"what was that?" you ask with stunned eyes.

he looks back into your eyes questioningly. "me apologizing?"

"no, not that.. the carrying..."

suddenly jeno broke into his signature smile making you melt, as it always does. he couldn't even explain himself but you ended up forgiving him for whatever it was you were arguing about.

it started becoming a regular habit for jeno to pick you up in random moments, both in happy moments like him coming home to you after a long day at work and in tenser moments (but you don't forgive him as easily as you did the first time anymore).

eventually you started to give in to this strange habit of his. if you come up behind him standing next to the kitchen island or something, you'll wrap your arms around his shoulders and wrap your legs around his waist and he will happily carry you around. or if you're standing on a table to fix or grab something, he'll grab your legs and lift you off the table. it truly does make you blush every time, you can't help it!

the perks of having a fit boyfriend ;)

(occasionally jeno will jokingly flex his arms afterwards, making you giggle and roll your eyes and tease him by saying, "you're not even that strong" just to rile him up and get him to continue carrying you around)

[allfearstofallto]

Do you think Childe would get jealous is reader spent to much time with the kids or would he just appreciate her not being miserable 24/7?

Childe is jealous because HE can't spend lots of time with the kids. He's unreasonably happy that you and the children get along so well, but he hates that it comes at the cost of him not having a place to fit in.

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: Reader has children, yandere themes, general angst

It was a thought that lingered in his mind more than he wanted. Despite the fact that he was adamant that he wouldn't let it bother him, it still crept its way into his brain during moments of silence. It was eating away at him, the one thing that he couldn't fight off was going home every night and noticing it. Noticing the silence, the lack of toys splayed about, the lack of laughter, the mess.

When he was a child and even up until long past his teenage years, he remembered not being able to walk two steps in his home without stumbling over a toy or board game or even some mysterious mess. He's aware that he has significantly less adolescents in his own house now than he did as a kid, but it doesn't change the fact that his his kids are just so clean. and quiet. It's almost unnerving how little he sees of those existence in the home.

And when he returns, even if there is still sun beaming down on the packed snow of Snezhnaya, his son's will already be up in their rooms. Whether it's to nap or do some schoolwork, the second he steps foot into his own home, they become unavailable, shying away from him as if he were the monster under their bed.

“Why are the boy's always busy when I get home,” he asked over dinner. A quiet dinner of just you and him. He hadn't eaten a meal with his son's in months, almost as if you wanted him to forget their existence.

A look of fear crossed your face, then confusion, then a weak, fake smile. Those smiles of yours. Forced quivering lips and wide eyes, how much longer could you continue to smile at him like that? How much longer would he allow it?

“They're both still young, Ajax, they don't want to be under their parents constantly,” you tried to assure him, following your words up by filling your mouth with food to not have to say more.

“That's bullshit,” he slammed his fist down on the table, scaring you even more in the process. You could see that he was seething with rage, close to having an outburst before taking a deep breath to calm himself. Still, his words were slow and concise as he spoke against, a growl present in his voice, “You can't even sit Damon down for a minute without him crying till he's blue in the face.”

There was nothing you could say to disprove what he was saying. He was correct. Damon was typically glued to your hip, throwing fits whenever you let go of him. He was always a clingy child, vastly different to Adonis, who only wanted you around to show you a cool trick he'd learned or an art project he'd made. But both of them would grow pale when you said that their father would be returning home soon, and even if you wanted to, you couldn't make them leave the confines of their rooms, knowing that Childe was lurking around the corner.

“I want to see my sons,” he said without waiting for your response.

“They're probably long asleep by now,” another lie. You couldn't get Adonis to go to bed without a fight most nights. You knew he was still up, possibly playing with his action figures once again, but if he heard the sound of his father's footsteps coming up the stairs, he'd be in bed with no hesitation. You remember a night where he thought it was Childe instead of you opening the door to his bedroom. He was curled up in his comforter, with it pulled up to his eyes. Peeking at the door like he was expecting the Boogeyman.

“I won't go in tomorrow then. We'll have the whole day together,”

You had nothing to say back, but also no way of forcing the boys to spend time with him. Rather, you silently picked at your food, a lump starting to form in your throat. Dinner was eaten in silence, with you only occasionally stealing glances at your husband, who was still angrily eating. Your heart sank thinking of the ways the boys would cry, but knowing that there was nothing you could do for them. Except be there as he forced himself into their lives. He was doing to them as he'd done to you. And helplessly, all you could do was watch.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

I know you mean good but fat girls can also break easily. I also don’t mean to sound rude or offend you but it’s rare for fat girls to be 6 foot, I know you might be fat and 6 foot but it’s pretty rare. I think most people stick to petite girls in cod stories because it would be scary and horrifying if they gave reader their sweater and all the sudden reader fits or barely fits in it and it only works as a crop top on them. And please try to remember just because their fat doesn’t mean they aren’t clean fat girls bathe too and do their eyebrows too they aren’t slobs. Fat girls can break when they get laid and yes I believe they also will jiggle around in the process so please try to be mindful when bringing up cod guys with a fat girl

Girl what

I'm 5"2 so idk what you're talking about lmao

Also, I have never once written fat/chubby girls in a bad light, like???

OMG WHAT THEY BATHE?!?!?!?

Ya don't say.

I'm literally a fat girl myself 💀

I've seen this before, so it's probably someone sending it to creators who write for chubby readers to get their point (???) across or something.

People can write whatever they want, okay.

Most writers write with themselves in mind, so the reader will reflect that in subtle ways. I know that the petite girl thing is become sort of a meme on here but like there are girls who look like that lol

And like, this is fiction. I don't know why you're trying to justify only writing for skinny people by saying it might be unrealistic in some ways????

If I say the reader is fat and like Johnny's hoodie is oversize, THEN IT'S FUCKING OVERSIZE OKAY

And if I want John to pick up the chubby reader and carry her across the goddamn world, HE FUCKING WILL

When did fanfiction become about realism???

Y'all write about hybrid AUs, Omega stuff, Monster AUs (no hate, I love all the unique ideas!!) but we can't write about fat girls??

Yeah no. Not in this fucking house.

And the thing about breaking easily....

Girl, we literally have built-in airbags. Whether that's tig ol bitties, thunderthighs, the tummy of love or the ass of the century.

Like we are cushioned all the way through????

If you throw me and my (skinny) sister against a wall, who do you think is gonna come out with fewer injuries?

Yeah.

Again, NONE OF THIS IS REAL.

I know this is probably a troll, but I'm so sick of people like this. Anyway,

FAT GIRLS FOREVER 🩷✨️

[dollypopup]

If Debling isn't good enough for Fran, as the Queen herself says, because he's boring and has nothing to really offer save a title

If what Debling can offer isn't good enough for Edwina, IE: a life of security without love like what Anthony was willing to provide for her

If what Debling represents, an absent figure in a household who does not invite his wife into his plans and interests isn't a good outcome for Portia, who preaches about marrying for security and then ends up scrounging for it, regardless

Why does fandom insist that Penelope has to settle for him? That he'd be a 'better option'? Why is it that she's the one who should have hopped on the first guy with a vague interest in her and tepid emotions when Colin is right there and actually desires her? Why are other women in the series allowed to prioritize love and dream of happy endings regardless of the consequences and outcomes but Penelope should be content with being the warden of a big house as her husband fucks off without her? Why is it that all these characters deserve romances and caring but Penelope should have accepted a title and an estate and being alone?

As if Colin can't provide her security. As if Colin doesn't show interest in her and listen to her. As if he's not from a good family and will also elevate her standing in society through their marriage. As if Penelope has ever been the kind of woman to go title hunting. As if Penelope finds any kind of solace in being alone. As if Penelope isn't actively looking for connection.

Peeps who think Debling is in any way a good fit for her hate Colin, but y'all clearly hate Penelope more, because what are you even talking about? Debling opened the door after getting permission to ask to marry her and didn't even smile. Colin throws open the carriage door and does the stride of pride to show her off to his family with a grin on his face. Debling dumps her with the first SNIFF he gets of her having interest in someone else. Colin runs off after her to beg her to give him a chance and not to marry the other dude. Debling wants to leave her alone in a big house as he goes on adventures. Colin cannot go traveling without writing to her and sharing the world with her.

Penelope deserves the best just as the other women of this series do. Penelope deserves to be loved in every way- with acts of service (the balloon scene, setting up a ballroom in Bridgerton House so they can flirt), with quality time (all their lessons), with touch (carriage, dances, kisses aplenty), with words of affirmation (you are Penelope Featherington, never forget that, you are clever and warm, you do not need lessons), with gifts (a ring on her finger, a house she can make a home with him together). With big gestures like running off after her and small moments like looking for her in every room.

I'm sick of Debling. I'm sick of people who don't recognize that he had 0 emotion toward Penelope save for 'she'll do'. That he liked that she was honest and alone and didn't share his interests. That she would be content with the scraps he was willing to offer her. Not passion. Not sharing. Not cultivating a life together. Not love. Not anything except money and solitude. In what world would that ever have been enough? In what world is that best for her? I'm sick of people refusing to see that Penelope wants to be and should be and will be loved all because there's bitterness in their hearts. If you throw a dreamer into a pragmatic box, they wither. As Colin would have with Marina. As Penelope would have with Debling.

Penelope deserves the best. Penelope deserves Colin. Because Colin is the best for her, to her, with her.

If you can't see that, sucks to suck.

[gyusbambi]

behind the scenes; choi beomgyu TEASER

choi beomgyu x reader, e2l, film school students, fluff, humor

you and beomgyu, former high school rivals now studying in film school, find yourselves reluctantly partnered for a challenging short film project. as you clash over creative differences and past grudges, your teammates struggle to keep the peace. beomgyu‘s teasing nature grates on your short temper, which leads to explosive arguments. yet, as the making-of documentary of your project captures your every interaction, you seem to notice something very strange. what happens behind the scenes?

TEASER

sometimes, we need a glimpse behind the scenes to realise that what we're seeking is right in front of us. don't worry, humans aren't stupid; they're just closed-minded.

consider books and movies: we readily criticize the main characters for their painful obliviousness, yet struggle to apply the same perspective to our own lives. it appears we need a new approach, a different viewpoint.

perhaps a movie about our lives could help us uncover the oblivious.

_

”cut!“

you yell before their lips meet and a disaster unfolds right in front of your eyes.

”what the hell, y/n? it was actually going really well.“

”no,“

you clear your throat when you notice everyone throwing you a questioning glare,

”beomgyu just doesn‘t fit with the character. i don‘t know, i don‘t really get the vibes… or something. anyways! i‘m saying someone with experience should take the role. beomgyu doesn‘t even act.“

now, why the need for all the rambling?

[sapphologic]

Rings of Power Galadriel actually makes sense.

I'll die on this hill and maybe I'll die alone but that's not the point, if I hear another Tolkien “““loyalist””” piss and moan about her I will throw hands.

“She's not like in the movies!”

My dudes, so was Arwen when PJ replaced Glorfindel with her. That argument is hypocritical. And since when is PJ the measure for the fandom, as some of the haters even hate on these movies, despite them being masterpieces.

“She's so stubborn and rude!”

My fucking DUDES ... Her Elven name is literally 'man maiden'. Would you say the same about a male elf on a quest for revenge?

“Her lore is wrong!”

Well, the showrunners couldn't buy the rights for other writings of Tolkien than The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings and the appendices. The Estate is ...well, the Estate. I wonder if Tolkien would like the way things are handled at all. If you have to worm your way around protected lore, you gotta do it.

“Tolkien's canon is fixed.”

Holy crap, the dude wrote on toilet paper and revised so many things. At one point you just gotta say fuck it and roll with what you like. Are we going to argue about Gil-galad's canon too? Oh wait, Tolkien left that out. Conveniently. He left as many things unclear as he revised previous statements. Over and over. And over. I'm getting whiplash from it frequently.

“Her character/personality is butchered.”

No. Just no. Again: Her literal Elven name is “man-maiden.” Tomboy. Did I stutter?!

That's what you call butchery is a character arc for an amazing heroine who has yet to learn and unlearn. Her ambitions and her hatred are obstacles on the way to become the wise and fair Lady of Lórien. Again: character arc. You should look it up.

She'll have her share of experience, change of heart, desires and hopes. She will change in the series, I would swear on the precious.

You're welcome. I did the work you should do to understand the character instead of being a crybaby about the changes you don't personally approve of. Prime doesn't need your approval. What you gonna do? Piss and moan even harder?!

Also, if you hate Haladriel, don't ever come to my doorstep whining about it. Exactly the kind of ambition Galadriel shows would let someone weaker than her fall in Sauron's hands. Take his hand in marriage. Rule. (and be ruled.)

Actually that ship is worth exploring. Galadriel isn't a bad person, at best she's misled by her thirst for vengeance.

And as an encore since the fanatic crybabies love to demand that every single word written by Tolkien ever has to be met with a 1:1 transfer into other media:

The movies and/or movies doing that would be unwatchable monstrosities and no one would have the patience for that. Same stupid reasoning as in WoT. Also: would be a monstrosity and also... some things you don't want to be seen through a modern media lens...bc then your straight white male “demi god” of an author would be considered racist or sexist or homophobic... Do you really want that? I don't think so. You don't have to embrace changes blindly, but having a hissy fit like a damn toddler about each and every inconsistency/discrepancy just makes you look like a fool.

[cmncisspnandmore]

All hands on deck -Part 3

Parings: Poly!Taskforce141 X Wife!Reader

Warnings: None?

Word count: 7844

Not beta read or edited, all mistakes are mine.

Previous: Part 2

2 months. 8 weeks. 56 days.1,344 hours. 80,640 minutes.

That’s how long John, Kyle, Simon and Johnny had been gone.

You rest your head on your hand, sitting on the dark brown chair in the corner of the playroom. Your mug of peppermint tea sitting on a coaster next to you, Right next to the book Kyle was reading before he left. Hope sits on the floor, smashing wooden blocks together, her little cheeks flushed pink. Her short brown hair pulled up in two tiny pigtails. Theo lays on the oversized bean bag, rubbing his eyes furiously. 

“Mama,” he whines, and you look over, blinking rapidly as you focus on the 4 year old.

“Yes baby?” 

“I want Papa!” he cries, head tipping back as a harsh sob leaves his lips. 

“I know baby, i know,” you frown, standing from your chair, walking over to the overtired toddler and picking him up.He presses his face into the side of your neck.

“I want Papa,” he whines again, his voice tired. For the past 2 weeks Theo had refused to go to bed, throwing monumental fits, throwing himself to the ground and crying for hours. Nothing you did soothed him, it always ended the same way, you sitting outside his bedroom door, your own tears trailing down your cheeks as you listened to him cry himself to sleep. The days with him weren't much easier, his overtiredness causing every small thing to be a battle. He had started going after Hope, hitting her, biting her, and then in turn hitting you when you tried to break them up.

The only saving grace for your sanity was that the older children had school during the day. With 3 of your 5 children gone from the house 8 hours a day you were at least able to have some semblance of order. But the house was nowhere near where you wanted it to be. The dishes piled up in the sink. Laundry wasn't done, and the entire house needed to be deep cleaned. But there wasn't enough time in the day.

You felt like you were drowning, an engine running without gas. Between waking up at every small sound in the house, Theo’s refusal to sleep, and getting up at 5am each morning to get breakfast and lunches done for the older kids. Not to mention the never ending errands you had to run, going to the grocery store, bringing Kira to gymnastics, Joseph to football, Isla to ballet. 

You were exhausted.

Theo sniffles into your neck, and you rub his back gently, trying to soothe him. 

“I want Papa,” he says softly, his tears soaking the collar of your pink blouse. 

“I know, I wish I knew when he was going to be home,” you breathe. Your lips brush over his cheek, your hand making small circles on his back. Hope toddles over to you, her hands gripping your pant legs. Her big blue eyes turned up towards you.

“Up! Up!” she demands, her hands pulling on your yoga pants. You crouch and pick her up, settling her on your other hip. Theo notices and reaches over smacking her in the face. It takes Hope a moment to register what happened and she starts screaming. 

“Theo!” you scold, putting the 4 year old on his feet. He stares up at you with his brown eyes. Tiny brows furrowed in anger.

“No! No Hope! I don't like her!” he screams, raising his tiny fists to beat against your leg. You cradle Hope to your chest as Theo beats on your thigh. Big tears stream down her cheeks, a tiny hand print on her face, 

“Theo we don't hit, it's not nice.” You sigh, looking down at him. His face is red and angry as he continues to hit you. “Damnit Theo ENOUGH!” You yell, and he stops immediately, his lower lip trembling. You watch as his face scrunches up and he starts to scream. 

“I no like you Mama!” he screeches before he takes off from the playroom, his angry footsteps disappearing down the hall. You close your eyes, your head pounding, Hope still crying softly in your arms. Theo’s angry screams down the hall, you take a deep breath. Trying to compose yourself, as you walk down the hallway. 

“Do you want some strawberries? Will that make you feel better?” You ask Hope, and she stops crying almost immediately. You shake your head, she was definitely one of your husbands kids, food seemed to be the cure all for her. You walk down the hall and set her in her highchair. You see Theo’s feet peeking out from under the island counter, but don't say anything. You know if you said something to him he would just lash out at you. He was like a tightly wound spring, one wrong move and he exploded. 

You grab the container of berries from the fridge and start cutting them into small pieces, plating them on one of Hope’s tiny pink plates. You deposit them on her tray and she digs in, hands fisting as much fruit as she can. She shoves fistfull after fistfull into her mouth.  Strawberry juice dribbled down her chin, staining her yellow dress pink.  

A little hand grabs the bottom of your pants as you put the knife into the kitchen sink. You glance down, Theos small hand grips the black fabric tight. You kneel down, knees cracking as you come face to face with your overtired four year old.

“Sowwy Mama…” he says softly, looking down at the cream tile.

“I accept your apology, but we don’t use our hands to hit people. It’s not nice, Hope didn’t do anything to you. I know you miss Papa, Dad, Da and Daddy. I wish I could make them appear so they could hug you sooo tight they squish all the sad outta you, but I can’t. And I miss them too, Theo. It’s okay to be upset, but it’s not okay to use your hands to hurt people, okay?” You rub your fingers over the backs of his hands, and he nods. Brown curls falling into his face, you brush them back smiling softly at him.

“C’mon, how about you have a snack before we go pick up the twins and Isla from the bus stop, does that sound nice?” You reach for him, pulling him to his feet. He nods, “we have any blueberries?” 

“We sure do,” you smile, and Theo races to a chair, scrambling up it. He rests his elbows on the table, and watches as you grab them from the fridge and put them back in a bowl for him.

You take a seat opposite of him, watching as he eats the small blue fruit. Your head resting on your hand, your head still pounds. Each beat of your heart is like a hammer in your head. You rub your temples, wincing as Hope starts to bang her plate on the high chair tray.

“More! More! More!” she laughs, the plate clattering to the floor. 

“Okay, okay, you can have a few more,” you push back your chair, grabbing her plate from the floor, you squick some blueberries for her, and give her back the plate. Theo and Hope eat their fruit happily, your eyes flickering to the clock on the wall. It was almost time to go to the bus stop to get the other kids. 

“Eat up my friends, we gotta go get your siblings in a moment,” you muse, walking down the hall. You collect Theo and Hope's shoes, after slipping on a pair of flats. Theo’s dinosaur sneakers are tattered and in need of replacing. You sigh as the velcro closure hangs on by mere threads. It was always something. You kneel in front of Hope’s highchair and slide her baby pink crocs onto her feet. Her face smeared in pink and purple juices from her snack. You wipe her mouth with your sleeves, staining your shirt. You could hear Simon's voice in your head, grumbling about trying to get stains out of your shirts. A smile ticked up on your lips, he did most of the laundry when they were home. He claimed the monotonous task quieted his mind, much like when he cleaned his gun. He would always scold you for using your shirt or pants to wipe the various messes off the children. At one point he was convinced you did it just to punish him. 

Not that it was your intention. You never did it maliciously to give him more to do, but with 5 kids it was faster to just use your shirt or pants to wipe small messes than find a rag. There was barely enough time to use your shirt before they smeared it over the furniture. 

The clock on the wall chimes, 3pm, the soft melodic song pulling you from your thoughts. You quickly slip on Theo’s shoes, and pull Hope from her high chair. 

“Lets go my friend, time to get the others,” you hold your hand. Theo climbs off the chair, shoving his last berry in his mouth. His tiny hand slips into yours, as you walk down the hall. Pulling open the front door you glance around, hoping that maybe the black sub they took to base would be pulling down the driveway, but it was empty. Only the discarded bikes and sidewalk chalk there. The chalk drawings faded from the sun, and various shoes walked across it.

The bus stop was at the end of your street, about a 5 minute walk from your house. Theo holds your hand the whole way, eagerly looking at the houses as you pass them. He points out all the different color flowers that are starting to bloom in your neighbors yards. A group of parents stand at the end of the street, all of them talking among themselves. 

“Mama! Piper!” Theo exclaims tugging on your hand as he spots his friend. Piper was your next door neighbor Maria’s daughter. She was the youngest of 3, only a few months older than Theo. 

“Alright go on, but stay on the grass,” You call after him as he pulls away from you, little legs carrying him towards the red headed toddler. Piper notices his running, and jumps up and down tugging on her mothers dress. Maira says something to her and she runs up to Theo, pulling him over to the grass on the edge of the street. Threry sink into the grass, plucking flowers from the ground and making them into a pile.

“Hey” Maria greets you as you walk up to the group. A few other parents giving you a small wave.

“Hi,” You smile, shifting Hope higher on your hip.

“Hello Little Missy,” Maria greets Hope, her hands coming to snatch her from you. She settles Hope on her hip, Hopes hands playing with the beaded necklace she wears. ‘How’ve you been? Have they come home yet?”

“Not yet,” you shake your head and Maria reaches out, her hand squeezing your arm lightly.

“I’m sorry, love, hopefully they’ll be home soon,” she gives you a reassuring smile.

“I hope so,” you run your hand through your hair. “The past few weeks have been a lot.” 

“You look tired, if you need anything let me know,” Maria pats your arm. “I’ll watch this little cutie for you any day, and Piper had been begging for Theo to come over and play. Maybe we can set up a playdate for them later this week? I can take them for a few hours and you can get some rest.” 

Your eyes water, Maria was always so kind to you. She knew what it was like to have a husband who was gone alot. Her own husband worked a lot overseas in the states, she would often just stop over with a meal for your family when she knew the guys were gone. 

“Oh hun, don’t cry.” She whispers, pulling you towards her. Her arms wrapping around your shoulders, Hope smushed between you two as she embraced you.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you wipe at the tears that collect on your lower lash line.

“Don’t apologize, you’ve got a lot on your plate, I’ get overwhelmed with 3, I can’t imagine 5. Kids are a lot of work, and it’s not like they’re sitting in an office somewhere like my Michael. They’re out god knows where putting their lives on the line. I at least get the comfort of knowing Michael is in a hotel room each night safe. I couldn’t imagine not knowing where my husband was, if he was alright. And you have not 1 but 4 people to worry about.” Her hand rests on your shoulder, the warmth from her palm seeping through the fabric of your shirt.

“I know, I just feel so stupid being upset by it. It’s been almost 8 years of dealing with it. I mean god, I’ve been with them since I was 18,” you sniffle, taking a deep breath.

“8 years is a long time, they’ve been your safe place for most of your adult life. It’s hard to not know when you’ll get that security back. No one is judging you for having a hard time.” She adjusts Hope in her arms, switching her to the other hip. She studies you for a moment, before she leans in. “If there’s something you need to talk to me about, I’m a pretty good secret keeper.” Her eyes drift to your stomach before she looks back at your face. A suggestive smile on her lips.

“Oh, no! No!” You wave your hands in the air. “That’s not it at all, I haven’t even gotten my period back since Hope stopped breastfeeding. Soon hopefully,” you laugh, as the bus pulls up to the end of the street. 

“Okay..” Maria hums, handing your youngest back to you. Theo runs over to you grabbing your leg as he watches the bus doors open. A few neighborhood kids get off before you 3 do. Joseph spots you first, his black backpack over one shoulder, he runs over. Kira and Isla follow. 

“Are they home yet Mama?” Joseph asks, hope flaring in his blue eyes. Blue eyes that looked exactly like Johnny’s. 

“Not yet Babe, soon though,” you pat his head, running your fingers through his short brown hair. 

“It’s okay Mama,” he sighs, a frown on his lips as he shrugs his backpack up higher. Isla skips over, her bright pink sneakers lighting up.

“C’mon Theo I'll race you home!” Isla teases her younger brother, and they both take off. Isla clearly lets Theo stay ahead of her, she steps far shorter than normal.

“Stay on the side of the road please! And where I can see you!” You call after them. Kira and Joseph walk next to you. Both of them are unusually quiet on the walk home. Isla coaches Theo on stopping at each mailbox on the way back to the house. Always looking over her shoulder to make sure you weren't far behind.

“Everything okay?” You ask, bumping your hip into Kira’s shoulder.

Her blonde hair has started to come loose from her braid, stray tendrils of hair falling into her face. She shrugs slightly, kicking at a rock with her shoe.

“Someone said that we’re weird because we have 4 Dads and that there's no way we could have 4 dads that three of them aren't really our dads.” Joseph chimes in, swinging Hope's hand back and forth, as he walks next to you.

“That's not true, your fathers are most definitely your dads. They all love you,” you frown.

“But it’s true isn't it? I'm Daddy’s and Joseph is Da’s, Theo is Dad’s, and Hope and Isla are Papas… That's why my hair is blonde like Daddy’s and Theo’s skin is brown like Dads. Joseph, Isla and Hope all have blue eyes and brown hair because Da and Papa have brown hair and blue eyes,” Kira crosses her arms over her chest, one hand playing a strand of her blonde hair.

“Yes, you’re right about that. You may look like Daddy, but who reads you a story every night when he's home?” You touch her shoulder gently as you reach your driveway.

“Dad does,” She looks up at you with furrowed brows. 

“And who makes you whatever you want for breakfast on sunday morning?”

“Papa…” she trails off.

“And who gives you the best hugs when you’re sad? Besides me of course.” You smile,

“Da..”

“And who plays whatever game you want, whenever you want?”

A smile forms on her lips, “daddy.” 

“And all of those things are what Fathers do for their kids right?” You ask, setting Hope down in the front yard and she takes off towards Theo and Isla.

“Mhmm..” she stands in front of you, as you crouch down. Your hands holding hers, giving them a soft squeeze.

“So just because you might be Daddy’s kid biologically, doesn't mean your fathers don't love any less, or love any of the other kids more. All of them love so much, and they would do anything for any of you guys. They are no less your dad just because you don't have the same blood type or the same hair color. Because family isn't about who you’re related to, it's about who loves you. If you were to ask any of them how many kids they had, they would say they have 5 beautiful, smart, kind and caring kids. Kids they love more than anything in the entire world, and nothing will ever change that. A lot of people have more than one Mom or dad. You remember Sophie right, she used to live down the street before she moved.” You gently tuck some of the loose hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, Sophie had two Moms because her Dad married someone else after her mom died,” She nods a small smile on her lips.

“So see, people can have more than one or dad, because all that matters is that they love you. So next time someone is mean to you, you just remember that your fathers love you so much, Kira. And nothing will ever change that.” You pull her to you and hug her, her arms wrapping around your neck. Her blonde hair tickles your cheek as she hugs you tight. Over her shoulder you watch as Hope chews on Islas backpack strap, Theo and Isla rolling around in the grass, Isla doing forward rolls and Theo trying to copy his older sister. Joseph watches you and Kira from the front steps. A smile forming on his lips, as you smile at him.

Your poor sensitive boy had been worried about Kira, he didn't like it when she was upset. Even as a baby whenever Kira would cry his little body would stiffen up, all his muscles tense until someone comforted her. For the longest time you had them sleeping in the same cot. When you tried to separate them they screamed and cried. You had been worried about safe sleep, insisting that they sleep separately. It was Kyle who suggested putting them in the same cot. After 5 days of little to no sleep you finally caved, and as soon as you laid Kira next to Joseph they both drifted off instantly. Little bodies pressed against each other. 

It made sense, when you thought about it. They had only ever known life with another person stuck to their side. They couldn't understand why it had changed when they were born.

Now looking at your almost 8 year olds your heart aches. You loved them fiercely and the thought of people giving them a hard time about their dads made you crazy. Why couldn’t people just leave it alone, it’s not like you were hurting anyone. Your lifestyle didn’t cause anyone harm, no one was dead because you had four husbands.

There wasn't some catastrophic event that would happen because you found happiness in the arms of four men. 

“Okay, Mama,” Kira pulls back slightly so there's some distance between you two. “Can we get pizza for dinner?” 

You can't help the laugh that bubbles out of you, and you give her a small nod. “Sure Baby, let's all go inside. I’ll help you with your homework and then we’ll order pizza.” 

Your back rests against Theos bedroom door, your ass went numb an hour ago. He had stopped crying, the camera app pulled up on your phone showing him laying across his bed, little legs hanging off his bed. His mouth opens as he snores softly.  

After dinner it was a shit show. Hope threw up all her pizza, Theo decided to draw on the walls, Kira and Joseph got in a huge screaming match over whose turn it was to pick a movie. And Isla had accidentally run into the glass cabinet in the dining room and broke it, earning herself a small cut on her hand. 

Your night ended with Theo throwing the world's longest tantrum because his Papa still wasn't home to tuck him in. 

You weren't sure how much more of this you could take. Your entire body hurt, your head pounded with each beat of your heart. Every muscle felt like you went 10 rounds with Simon. Your head knocks softly against the door, as you look up at the white ceiling of the hallway. 

It was almost 2 in the morning and despite how bone crushingly tired you were, you couldn't find it in you to get up. To crawl into your massive bed and lay there, missing your men. Sleeping alone for most people was a luxury, especially for someone who had as big of a bed as yours. But to you, the empty bed with more pillows and blankets than one person could need was a constant reminder that they weren't home. 

You had tried calling their cell phones earlier, knowing that it would just go straight to voicemail. You had just needed to hear their voices, hoping it would give you the strength to get through the night. 

Tears prick the back of your eyes, your throat constricting with emotion. You missed them so much it was starting to physically hurt. You could feel the hole in your chest growing with each passing day. You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and they started to fall rapidly. Your breathing turns harsh and rapid as you fold over on yourself. Hands gripping your knees as you sob. Your spine digs into the hard wood of the door behind you, but you barely notice. The physical discomfort is no match for the bone deep ache in your heart. Each breath is like a million tiny needles embedding into your lungs as you struggle to pull in oxygen. 

Your soft sobs echo through the hallway, and you’re honestly surprised you haven’t woken one of your children. Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth you bite back a scream that threatens to rip from you. Your vision becomes spotty as you hyperventilate, and eventually it becomes too much and you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

Warm hands, soft voices, the smell of jasmine and vanilla. Another set of hands, these ones larger. A different scent, one of gunpowder and leather. 

“C’mon Darling, open your beautiful eyes,” a gruff voice coaxed.

John.

“She’s not runnin’ a fever…” another voice, this one laced with an accent.

Johnny.

“Baby? Can you hear us?” A warm palm brushes over your forehead.

Kyle.

“Give her a minute, the poor thing looks exhausted.”

Simon.

Your eyes flutter open and you blink at the harsh overhead light from the ceiling fan over your bed. People swim at the edges of your vision and you rub your eyes, trying to focus. When you pull your hands away from your eyes, you have a sudden feeling of Deja vu. Four sets of eyes peer down at you. Two sets of blue, two sets of brown. 

“There you are,” John's lips tip up in a small smile.

“I’m not dead right?” You whisper, voice hoarse. 

“No, Baby, you’re alive,” Kyle laughs slightly, his warm hand coming to brush along your cheek. You lean into his hand, the warmth from his fingers seeping into the skin of your cheek. You look at the others, they’re still wearing their fatigues, you push yourself up onto your elbows. 

“When did you get home?” You ask, your gaze landing on Simon. He stands against the wall opposite your bed. Eyebrows furrowed as he watched you like a hawk.

 “20 minutes ago,” Johnny answers, slipping onto the bed next to you, he pulls you towards him. He cradles you against his chest, his lips brushing your cheek.

“You were asleep outside Theo’s door, you look exhausted Darling,” John puts his boonie hat on the dresser, and pulls his gun out of the waistband of his pants. He walks over, shoving Johnny over for a second to grabs his as well. John disappears into the walk-in closet and you can hear the beep of the electronic lock for their gun safe. 

“Oh…” you murmur as Johnny tucks you under his chin, his hands rubbing up and down your sides.

“I take things have been rough?” Kyle sits on the other side of you. As if on cue, the baby monitor for Theo’s room screeches to life. 

“Mama!!! I want Papa!!” Theo’s little voice crackles over the monitor.

John pokes his head out of the closet, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpant. “That’s my cue,” he mutters, walking over to the bed and dropping a kiss to your head. He slips from the room, and a moment later you hear Theo’s bedroom door open.

“Papa?” Theo’s voice is small and sleepy.

“Hi buddy, you looking for me?” John says quietly.

Simon reaches forward and switches off the monitor. Before he disappears into the closet to change as well.

“Missed you Mo Chridhe..” Johnny kisses your shoulder and hair.

“Not as much as I missed all of you,” you smile, grabbing Kyle’s hand and squeezing softly.

“Go change MacTavish, you’re gonna ruin my sheets,” Simon grunts. “Stop hogging the wife too,” he crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at you and Johnny. 

Johnny sighs and climbs off the bed and Simon slips into his spot, pulling you basically on top of him. His lips press to the side of your head as he anchors his arms around your waist. You look at his face, the dark circles under his eyes and a new cut through his eyebrow. Every muscle in his body is tense. You feel like you’re cuddling a rock wall more than your husband.

Kyle heads into the bathroom leaving you and Simon alone for a few moments. You rest your head on his large chest, his heart beating frantically against his ribs.

“It’s okay Si… you’re home now.. you can relax,” you gently rub your fingers over his jaw. The muscles twitching under your fingers.

He lets out a long breath, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks as he presses his mouth to yours. He pours everything into the kiss, his worries, his anxiety, the love he feels for you. He leaves you breathless as he pulls back.

“Get some sleep, Lovie. You need it.” Simon lets you go slightly so you can settle into your spot in the middle of the bed. Kyle flicks the light switch off and climbs in behind Simon, his arm over Simon’s body and resting on your hip. A few seconds later Johnny slips into bed facing you, his hand grabbing yours.your eyes grow heavy as he settles the blankets over you. The soft click of the bedroom door, followed by a slight shift in the mattress as John climbs in, the last thing you remember before you drift off to sleep.

You wake the next morning, bed empty, and you sit up. Did you dream of them coming home?

You glance around the room, but when your eyes settle on John’s boonie hat and Simon’s skull balaclava sitting on the dresser, you know you didn’t.

Slipping from the bed you change into a pair of leggings and a top, quickly brushing your teeth. You can hear laughter from the floor below as you walk down the hall. All the kids' bedroom doors are open, and the scent of pancakes floats up the stairs.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look, this one looks like a smiley face!” Joseph laughs.

“Nice job bud, can you make another?” Simon’s deep voice replies.

You round the corner and pause in the doorway, Theo is snuggled up on John’s chest, as John sits in a chair. His large hands rubbed the four year olds back.

Hope sits in her high chair, Kyle perched on the edge of the table as he rips up a pancake for her. Her tiny hands are grabbing the pieces faster than he can place them. 

Kira and Isla are sitting with Johnny at the table eating, their faces covered in sticky syrup, chocolate from the pancakes on their fingers.

“Hi Mama!” Joseph is the first to notice you, your shadowy figure at the edge of the doorway. All eyes snap to you, your children smiling before going back to what they were doing. Your husbands regard you for a few extra moments. Gaz only momentarily before Hope smacks her hands on her tray, demanding the man in front of her rip her pancake faster. 

John smiles at you over Theo’s head, his head tipping towards the full coffee pot. He knew you well, the first thing you needed in the morning was a caffeine fix. Johnny watches as you walk to the coffee pot, pouring yourself a cup and adding all your favorite mix ins. 

“Did ya sleep well?” He asks, wiping syrup from the table with a wet cloth.

“I did, best I’ve slept in awhile actually,” you hold the warm mug between your hands. You peer over the kitchen island where Simon is standing with Joseph making pancakes. He pours the batter onto the hot griddle before Joseph carefully drops various toppings into it. Blueberries for some, and chocolate chips for others.

“What kind do you want mama?” The boy asks, a smile on his lips as he shoves a stray chocolate chip into his mouth.

“I’m okay baby, thank you,” you walk over kissing his cheek before stretching up on your toes to kiss Simon’s. Simon’s brown eyes flicker over to you, but he doesn’t say anything just observing you.

You slide into a bar stool and watch as they continue to make stacks of pancakes. Once they are out of batter Simon plates two pancakes for Joseph, steering him in the direction of the table for him to eat. You raise your mug to your lips taking a small sip of your coffee. Your nose scrunching as the liquid slides over your tongue. Your stomach rolls slightly as you take another sip. You set the mug down on the counter, looking up to see Simon once again watching you. His hands held the empty bowl of pancake batter. 

“Something wrong with the coffee?” He inquires and you swear his eyes can see right through to your very soul. 

“I think the cream might be bad,” you push the mug away from you. Suddenly John’s hand is wrapping around the mug and he takes a sip. He’s quiet for a moment before he sets the cup down.

“Kira, Joseph, Isla, get ready for school,” John looks over at the kids who are staring at all of you. They quickly scramble from the room. Their footsteps race up the stairs as they run to their rooms to change.

“When did you find out?” He asks, and you look up at him puzzled.

“What?” 

“You don’t have to hide it, baby. We weren’t kidding when we said it before we left.” Kyle pulls Hope from her high chair and comes to stand around the counter with the other two.

“Said what?” You look between Simon, Kyle and John, your eyes flickering between them all. Johnny comes over, dropping the kids plates into the large sink.

“About wanting another bairn,” he crosses his arms over his chest. A smirk on his face as he looks at you.

“I’m not pregnant.” You blurt out, running your hands over your face. When you pull your hands from your face they’re all staring at you with doubtful looks on their faces. “I’m not!” 

“The only time you don’t like coffee is when you’re pregnant,” Simon states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“When was your last period?” Kyle asks, shifting Hope up higher in his arms.

“I haven’t gotten one since Hope stopped breastfeeding, that’s normal though,” you cross your arms over your chest.

“Did you not learn anything the last time you thought that?” Johnny laughs, and you cheeks flame. Okay so maybe they had a point, the last time you didn’t get a period after you stopped breastfeeding was when you got pregnant with Isla 3 months after the twins were born. 

“Sod off,” you grumble, getting off the stool and storming up the stairs. 

“Lovie! Don’t be like that, we aren’t mad!” Simon calls after you, but you don’t miss the laughter in his voice. 

“I’ll prove you wrong! Just gimme a moment!” You slam the bathroom door closed, and drop to your knees in front of the bathroom vanity. You pull out baskets of random items. Gauze, kids hair brushes, extra tooth paste, a Barbie doll that went missing months ago. A half used box of tissues, and more. You finally spot what you’re looking for, a box of digital pregnancy tests you kept in the back of the vanity.

You don’t bother shoving anything back under the vanity, as you quickly pee on the test strip and put the blue plastic cover on. You jog back down the stairs, the test in your hand as you place it on the counter in front of them. The little digital screen blinks, the bars creeping ever so slow as you give each of them a glare. 

John puts Theo on the floor and the 4 year old runs off, his own tiny feet going up the stairs as he goes to find his siblings. Kyle sets Hope on the counter, and she smacks the countertop with her hands, laughing at the sound that echoes through the quiet kitchen. 

“Darling, we want as many children as you’ll give us,” John reaches over and flips the test over so no one can see the digital screen. 

“We already have 5, how many more could we possibly need?” You sit on the bar stool, as Simon hands Hope 2 wooden spoons for her to play with. She shoves one in her mouth and waves the other around, almost smacking Gaz in the face. 

“I’d like 3 more,” Johnny answers, leaning his forearms against the counter. 

“8 Children total?” You stare at him, unable to wipe the slightly horrified look off your face. “You realize that there would be 13 people in our family at that point right?” 

“What's got you shaken up Mo Chridhe?” he frowns at you.

“I-I don't know if i can handle 8 kids alone….” You whisper, your voice shaking.

You could barely keep the 5 you had already alive when they were gone. Add in 3 more and you were sure you weren't going to survive. But you loved your children, and had always wanted a huge family. It was something you dreamed of as a child, and you knew how much each of your husbands adored the children. Were you really ready to never have a newborn baby again? Never experience the first time a baby smiles or laughs. Your gaze flickers to Hope, as she sits on the counter top, drool trailing down her chin as she gnaws on the wooden spoon. Kyle watches her, a smile on his face as she smiles at him. 

“We talked a lot on this last deployment, and we agreed we would be stepping back a lot,” John comes to stand behind your chair, his hands rubbing up and down your back.

“But you’re the best at what you do… I’d feel terrible if something catastrophic happened because you were home instead of where you were needed.” You look between the 3 of them in front of you.

“Love, here is where we’re needed,” Simon frowns.

“We’ve been doing this for a long time, longer than most task forces. It’s about time we think about passing the baton to another task force anyways. We’ve been talking with Laswell and she’d sent us some files of teams she thinks would be a good fit. We would train them, and we would still be working on base. But we wouldn't be deploying as much, only when we were really needed.” Kyle adds.

“We’ve been asked to help train and teach new recruits, we’ve got a lot of experience in the field, and it's helpful for them to learn from people who have been out there, seen what we have. We’ll still be doing what we love, but we’ll get to come home to our family every night. You won't have to worry if we’ll be coming back every time we walk out the door. You’d get the help with the children, and we’d get to see them more. Spend time with them. We’ve missed a lot over the years and we don't want to miss anymore.” Simon runs hand through his blonde hair, and your eyes fill with tears. 

“You’re not just doing it for me right? You want to step back right?” You look over your shoulder at John. 

“You’re part of the reason, but we’ve all taken a beating over the years. And it was getting time for us to retire anyways, we’re just doing it a few years earlier. But trust us Darling, we want to be home. Being out there doesn't give us the same thrill it did years ago. Being here, with you, that's what we look forward to.” John runs his fingers through your hair, and you nod. 

“Okay,” you breathe, your eyes falling to the flipped over test. 

“No matter what it says, we’ll be okay,” Kyle reaches across the table and rubs his fingers over your knuckles. 

“What do you want it to say?” Simon asks, drawing your attention to him. 

You chew your bottom lip, what did you want it to say?

You were happy with the 5 beautiful children you had. The twins, Isla, Theo and Hope, they were amazing children and you loved watching them everyday. But your family didn't feel complete. You didn't feel done, your heart still longed for more.You loved how close the kids you had now were, they were never alone, they always had someone to play with. And when the time came and none of you were around, they would still have each other. 

“I want more,” you finally answer, and all 4 of the men in your life smile. 

“Even if it's negative, we’ll keep trying okay?” John kisses the top of your head. Taking one last deep breath you reach forward and pick up the test. You look at all of them as they wait for you to flip it over. 

Your hands shake slightly as you flip over the little blue test, 5 sets of eyes peer down at the small screen. 

‘Pregnant, 3+’ stares back at you. 

Johnny is the first to move as he nearly climbs over Kyle and John to get to you. His arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you from the chair, and spins you around. His face is buried in your neck as he holds you tight. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mumbles as he presses his lips to yours. 

“Get out of the way MacTavish,” John grumbles as he pulls you from Soap and into his arms, he presses a kiss to your lips as well. “I love you, thank you for giving us another.

“You don't have to thank me,” You laugh as you kiss him back.

Kyle is next, his hands settling on your waist as he pulls you in, his lips finding yours. “We do, because you’ve already given us 5, and we would never ask for more if it wasn't what you wanted.” 

Simon is the last, he pulls you in, his large hands on your hips as he leans down, his forehead bumping yours as you share a breath there. “You sure this is what you want?” He asks softly, you can hear the others move about the kitchen. Kyle takes Hope to put her shoes on. John and Soap call up the stairs for the older children to get their backpacks as they slip their lunchboxes into them.

“I’m sure,” you smile, “I want this.”

“As long as you’re sure,” Simon presses a kiss to your mouth before he hugs you tight. You wrap your arms around him, leaning your head on his chest. 

The sounds of footsteps running down the stairs pull you away, Isla, Kira, and Joseph file into the kitchen, their backpacks on, all dressed for school.

“We’re ready, can we all go to the bus stop this morning?” Joseph asks, looking between you and Simon.

“Sure bud, let me just put my shoes on,” you smile, you walk down the hall to grab your shoes and pull them on. The rest of your family waits, as you tie your sneakers.  John holds Hope in his arms, Simon holds Theo’s hand, Johnny and Kyle head out the door first. The children followed. You fall in step in the middle of your group, it was warm today. Warmer than normal for this time of year, but you didn't mind it. Although the unusual warmth usually brought thunderstorms. 

Those you weren’t too fond of. 

As you approach the bus stop you see the normal group of parents waiting with their children. Maria stands next to her two older boys standing with a group of friends, Piper sits on the grass, her little head lifting as you all approach. She waves enthusiastically to Theo, and Theo pulls away from Simon. Running as fast as his little legs will carry him to his friend. They sit in the grass, building a stack of rocks to see who can get it higher. 

Maria looks at you, a giant smile on her face as she sees your husband’s with you. 

“I see they came back!” she exclaims, as you and the others stop a few steps from her.

“Pleasure to see you again Maria,” John hugs her.

“Glad you made it back,” she smiles, hugging each of them, even Simon who stiffly hugs her back.

“We’ll be around a lot more,” Johnny smiles, his arm snaking around your waist as he pulls you into his side. 

“Oh?” Maria looks at them.

“We’re stepping back, we have much more important things here,” John explains, and Maria nods.

“I’m glad you’ll be around more,” she eyes you suspiciously. “Are you still going to tell me I'm wrong?” She gives you a pointed look.

“Ma- y- how does everyone always know before me! It's my bloody body.” You grumble, and Soap laughs. 

“We know what to look for,” Kyle kisses the side of your head.

“I just knew because even though you looked knackered, you still looked like you were glowing,” Maria laughs.

“Simon figured it out because of my coffee,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“I'm happy for you, dear. If you need anything let me know. Although I wonder how you’ll fit another in that house of yours. You’re quickly outgrowing it,” Maria adds as the bus pulls up. The older children all race off to get onto it, and wave you as they all climb on. 

“We haven't figured that much out yet,” you shrug, “I'm sure we’ll think of something.”

“I’m sure you will,” she hugs you. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you hug her back.

“C’mon Theo! Time to go,” Simon calls and the small boy hugs his friend before he races over. 

You wave again to Maria and begin the walk back to the house, Hope having fallen asleep in John's arms. Her brown hair falling into her face as she sleeps peacefully. You look between the four men that walk with you.

“What are we going to do about the room… we don't have any more bedrooms.” You place your hand on your still flat stomach. How long did you have to prepare?

Where would you even put a baby? 

Isla still had her own room, and sure you could move Theo into there, but he still wasn't a good sleeper and you didn't want to ruin her sleep by him waking up. 

You could move the new baby into Hope's room with her but it might still cause problems with how frequently new babies wake up. She would be almost three and a half by the time the baby was going to be ready for their own room. And you certainly were going to need a bigger dining room table to be able to fit everyone. 

“We can always move, we’ve talked about moving in the past. Wanting to get out into the countryside more.  It would be a good time to buy right now anyways, interest rates are low. And I'm sure there’s something out in the rural parts that would be plenty big enough for us, and we can always add on. We don't really have enough land with the current house to add on, we’d be building too close to the neighbors.” John explains, as you get to the end of your driveway.

You stare at your house, you’ve been in it for 5 years, having moved in when you were pregnant with Isla, a month before she was due. The twins were still babies themselves. You loved the house, but it was too small for such a large family. With only 5 bedrooms, and 3 bathrooms it was becoming crowded. Your kitchen, although big enough for now, wasn't going to be able to accommodate everyone for much longer. And you always wanted a house with lots of land for the kids to play in. You had a decent sized yard now but it was nowhere near big enough for the swingset the kids kept asking for. 

And it wasn't like it was a small house. It had almost 3000 sqft, but when you have 5 children and one (possibly 2) on the way. You needed something bigger. Something with room to grow. 

“Okay, we’ll start looking at listings.” 

“So we’re gonna move?” Simon confirms.

“We’re moving,”

Next:

[beegalactica]

HOT GIRLS ARE CONSCIOUS.

I haven't been on Tumblr in about 3 months (life has been busy), and when I finally decided to check back in today, I kept seeing the same thing over and over again, so I am here to dispel some myths.

If you have seen any of my posts, you will know the issues I have with traditional TikTok-y trendy 'glow-up' advice, but today I realised how much of it is just a ploy to get us to spend tons of money on things we CAN live without. I think we all need to be more CONSCIOUS: conscious of what we can realistically afford and implement into our daily lives.

For example, in a typical 'glow-up' advice post, tiktok or youtube video, they recommend these super unrealistic routines that include a full skincare routine of every type of cream you could ever imagine, and an incredibly detailed list that lays out how you need to spend every 10 minutes of your day in order to achieve this perfect form.

It's all hear-say.

Don't get roped into thinking that you need those brand new clothes, or you need those skincare items to be your best self. The idea of turning your 'glow-up' into a sustainable part of your life is to do things you can manage to do over and over again. The secret to glowing up permanently is having a routine that keeps you happy and healthy. Instead of buying a full shelf of skincare all in one go, get 1 or 2 items with positive reviews to start. You don't need to throw out your whole wardrobe and sell your soul to TEMU just to look aesthetic; use what you have. Rather than making short term impulsive purchases, treat every part of your life as an investment.

Especially when it comes to clothing, being someone who has lost weight and no longer fits into all their old clothes, instead of throwing everything out and starting from scratch, I bought a little amazon sewing kit with a couple of needles and different types of thread and started cutting and sewing my way to a better wardrobe. (Even TODAY, I turned an old pair of jeans that I never wear into a cute miniskirt all from a 5 minute YouTube tutorial.) If sewing isn't your thing, you can try using some hemming tape and an iron, fabric glue, or whatever you can. Be conscious of the things you buy and how often you buy them.

I know lots of people like thrifting, and you can thrift online with apps like Vinted, which I personally use and love, if you don't have access to massive thrift stores like they do in America (I'm totally not jealous at all 🙄🙄; I live in the UK and the closest things I have near me are charity shops but there's a sort of stigma around shopping in them but honestly who cares what others think).

When you shop for clothes, look for timeless and versatile pieces you can mix and match, layer and style with lots of different things, allowing you to wear them well. Try to find good staple pieces, that will make the basis of your wardrobe. Be an outfit repeater. Do not blindly follow trends; take the time to curate and explore to find your style. Make a massive Pinterest board of everything you think looks good, and start to make a list of common items of clothing and accessories you save the most; these will be your staples. Don't feel like you have to stick strictly to one aesthetic; my wardrobe ranges from 'fairycore' maxi skirts to y2k denim skirts, but what matters is that I am mindful of whether I will use the things I want to buy.

Of course, feel free to treat yourself, you 100% deserve it, but don't get sucked into the idea that your self worth is determined but WHAT you have; instead it should be how you FEEL in what you have.

I like to see my blog as a little notebook of things I wish I could have told my younger self, and things I want to remind my future self, and I feel like it would be a disservice to not talk about the oversaturation of our feeds with infinite products, to the point where everything feels like an AD.

Moral of the story: don't just take everything you see online at face value. Don't get trapped in extensive consumerism; it's bad for your bank account, it's bad for the environment and it's bad for your mental health.

Also here's my Pinterest if you want to have a peek around <3 Pinterest

[fromgwithablomg]

I'm not gonna engage with any post directly bc I don't want that on my dash but if you're a folkmore stan sneering at the 1989 and Red sets remaining unchanged I'm gonna need you to sit down‼️

"I cannot believe Shake It Off is still on the setlist and Tolerate It isn't" SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP OH MY GOLLY SHUT YOUR MOUTH

You aren't a superior swiftie for hating glitter gel pen songs!!! Sorry!!! Shake It Off and 22 are among her most popular songs, no shit they're gonna stay on the setlist! I don't see you saying anything about Bejeweled or Love Story!

Tolerate It and the other folkmore songs are a devastating loss, Taylor gives a beautiful performance, but sacrifices had to be made and that's ultimately her decision. And concerts are supposed to be FUN. Her dramatic post-Lover songs are very cathartic to scream but so is We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together!

TLDR I understand you're upset, I am too, but we're not gonna turn our ire on the glitter gel pens ok? Especially just to perpetuate years-old hate. We're better than this. Drink some water and take a nap you'll feel better

[pennyroks77]

SCREW IT

@toonycatuwu UGLY KITSUNE TOBEY

[wildviolcts]

@inflnite

Being the new kid was never easy. She had learned as much in high school, following being sent to take care of her sickly great aunt in an entirely different state, an instance in which she understood she was being forced to leave behind everything she knew. The main difference in her expectations between then and now was that this was college. Everyone was new. So why was it proving so difficult to find somewhere to fit in?

Violet had always been a good student: the type to put her head down and study, the type to take lead - and by default, take over - on mandatory group projects, the type to do whatever it took to answer the questions she had to master the content, and even to the chagrin of her fellow students, the type to remind the teacher to stay on track, or let them know when it was possible they might’ve forgotten to assign homework. The setting may have changed, but that hadn’t. She had a scholarship to keep, and though part of her longed for friends, it was a specific longing - she wanted to be surrounded by people who were dedicated and driven. She wanted someone who could keep up. She wanted an equal - and she had dreamt about finding one in a place that should be teeming with intellectuals, philosophers, winners, but as of Tuesday of week two, she had yet to find a single person who seemed to fit the bill. The first class of her Geology lab was an absolute snoozefest. Science had never been Violet’s strong suit, and rocks especially were of no interest to her, but even though she would work with dogged determination to finish any class with the highest possible grade, she also knew there was no point in setting herself up for a headache - or worse, failure - with one of the more difficult lab courses. Knowing from experience how important picking the right desk partner could be, Violet had sized every single person up as they walked in the door. If they looked like a slacker, a stoner, a loser, or any combination of the above, she simply glared daggers at them until they got the hint and found somewhere else to sit. As they filed in in singles or pairs, it took only half a moment to examine them before staring each and every one of them down until they wilted, scurrying with their tails between their legs to the tables around her. Two minutes to 8:00 am, and the open seats were beginning to dwindle. The trickle of people had come to a gentle stop and she wondered if the open spot next to her would remain open. Had she done her job in scaring off the slacker/stoner/loser population? One minute and thirty seconds to 8:00 am. With a sigh, one that could only be described as half smug, she resigned herself to spending the rest of the semester alone. Finally feeling comfortable enough to let her guard down, Violet began digging around in her bag for her favorite pen, something she was quite particular about. She had only managed to sift through about half the bottom of the bag with no luck when she caught sight of a pair of upside down feet making their way to the edge of her lab table. She stifled a low, irritated sigh as the spotless flats gently scuffed against the floor and the seat beside her squealed against the linoleum. Annoyed, she straightened back up, forsaking her hunt for a writing utensil in favor of sizing up the poor soul who had wandered into Violet’s bubble. Based simply on how her first week had gone and the kind of people she had met in that time, Violet expected to meet the vacant blue eyes of a ditzy blonde in a low cut top and low rise jeans. She expected to have to have a conversation before the class had even started, letting the surely vapid girl who had shown up with the hopes of piggybacking off her lab partner the whole semester know that Violet was not the one, and that if she were looking for someone to keep her afloat for the entire course, she’d better find a seat elsewhere. She expected to be able to snap in typical Violet fashion, establish herself the way she always had - as the insufferable bitch who took schooling far too seriously - and use that to get her way. It had always worked before, and she was happy to let the routine continue to do its job. She expected it to be easy.

Instead, she was stopped in her tracks by liquid gold eyes and a smile as warm as any she’d ever seen, despite the way it sent goosebumps up her arms and a shiver down her spine. For the first time probably ever in her life, Violet was shocked into silence. Her mouth, which had opened with intent to maim, vitriol already dripping from her tongue in preparation, instead sat motionless as she looked the woman up and down. Glossy chestnut hair fell in gentle waves against slender shoulders, framing soft, dewy, unblemished skin. Perfect plush lips pulled easily against perfect white teeth. She tried to keep her eyes on that, on the flawless smile, rather than the flawless body, but it was difficult to say the least. Soft curves, long legs, feminine hands with gorgeous nails that Violet clocked as likely straight. She would’ve considered the woman olive-toned in complexion if not for the blueish undercast to her, making her look almost frigid. It would’ve been quite striking if Violet’s brain weren’t already short-circuiting. She was stunning. If she’d had any sense, Vi probably would’ve offered a hand to shake or something equally as stupid, but as it was, she didn’t have enough control of her body to move it, not until the knowledge of her jaw sitting slack became more mortifying than the urge to ogle the woman was entrancing. Swallowing, both to provide relieving hydration to her now dry mouth as well as to rid her throat of the lump that had formed, she tried to find her voice. Eventually, little more than a whisper came out, probably sounding more like a squeak than anything. “I’m Violet.”

[chalkrub]

mockley time it's mockley time will you have some mockleys of mine

[hailsatanacab]

@the-ghost-trader - ooooh, i love this! it has the potential to be so incredibly sad, too, like poor Damian just trying to carve out something normal for himself only for it blow up in his face

BUT, shockingly, i'm not about the angst today! not yet anyway 😇

---

“So, how was your day?”

Despite his answering groan, Damian likes this. This. This whole… thing he has with Danielle. With Ellie. 

And, yeah, he’s not exactly told any of the others yet, but can you blame him? For wanting to keep something, anything, to himself. Wanting to keep this small little slice of goodness he’s managed to carve out, untouched and unmarred by his family, by their other lives, by the rogues, the vigilantes, the assassins, everyone.

“That bad, huh?”

Being with Ellie is freeing. That’s the best way to describe it.

She knows. Damian surprised even himself when he told her—not about the others, mind, but he supposes it’s not hard to put two and two together and Dani has always been smarter than most—but it’s the best decision he’s ever made, and no matter what the niggling little voice in the back of his head says (the one that sounds suspiciously like Father), he can’t bring himself to regret it.

He won’t. Because having Ellie know gives him freedom.

She’s a safe place, a hand to hold, a warm, welcoming presence when things inevitably turn ugly. It’s the freedom to just be normal when everything else in his life spirals into stranger and more stressful missions.

“Richard is being insufferable again. I do not understand his incessant need to know everything about my life.”

“Oh? What’s he done now?” 

“I was subjected to an hour long interrogation about my love life, like it’s any of his business. It’s infuriating!”

“Ugh, tell me about it. I get the same thing from Jazz, constantly. It can be suffocating.” Ellie says as she curls herself tighter into his side. “But it’s just how they show they care.”

“Yes, well, sometimes I wish he wouldn’t—”

“Hey!” Ellie pushes herself up to glare at him, punctuating her shout with a soft whack to his arm for good measure. “What have I said about using that word?”

“Yes, yes,” he placates with a roll of his eyes, “‘Be careful what you wish for.’ I apologise, it won't happen again.”

“Damn straight it won't.”

She maintains eye contact with him for a second longer before tucking herself back into his side, squirming around with a long, contented hum that Damian can feel rumble through him. He smiles and doesn’t complain even when he has to shift to give her more room after a particularly strong elbow jabs him in the ribs. It means leaving the warm patch on the couch, but he’s rewarded with another long, happy moan as she settles and Damian can’t bring himself to mind.

Ellie constantly makes noises. Little mews and hums and laughs and songs known only to her. It reminds him of a cat, sometimes. He likes it. It calms him down; it means she’s happy, so he's happy.

They settle back into the cushions and Damian lets the subject drop, not wanting to spoil the moment. Outside, the wind changes direction and from where he’s laying he can watch as the snow starts to come down thick and heavy. Hopefully it’ll mean a quiet night's patrol.

“Is that why you haven’t introduced me yet?”

“What?” He can't help it, he stiffens at the thought of losing his secret, of the scrutiny he'll be inviting if he lets anyone know.

“Are you worried I’ll embarrass you?”

Damian’s eyes snap down quick to reassure her, only to see her light, teasing grin. He lets out a breath of relief. It figures she wouldn't worry about that.

“Of course not, don’t be absurd. You could never embarrass me.”

“I don’t know,” she muses, her voice taking on a dangerous lilt, “that sounds like a challenge.”

“Believe me, having been subjected to Father’s Brucie persona at every gala I’ve been to, it would take a lot to embarrass me.”

“Alright, bet. I’ll get you, just you wait.”

“You’ve already got me.”

She flicks him on the nose. “You’re such a sap.”

He hums his agreement, enjoying the tinkling sound of her laughter. And then, before he can think otherwise, he asks, “Is that why you haven’t introduced me?”

“That’s different,” she scowls. “You know how hard it is to get there, there’s no signal, and Danny only gets a break like—oh, Ancients!”

Damian gets another elbow to the ribs as she bolts upright, a manic grin on her face that has him laughing.

“What is it?”

“It’s the holidays! It’s nearly Truce Day! You know I said I had a family thing around Christmas?”

“Yes?” 

“Well, do you want to come to it? I can introduce you then! I mean, it’s going to be a bit formal and you’ll have to meet everyone, not just family. There’s going to be some banquets, you’ll have to sit through some long speeches and you have to be on your best behaviour at all times, okay? Absolutely no fighting, it’s called Truce Day for a reason!”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’ll be perfect! I think Jazz is going in a couple days earlier to help with the preparations, so I’ll get her to let Danny know—and fair warning, he will try to give you the shovel talk, but this is great! It’s Truce Day, so he can’t actually do anything about it!”

“I’m sorry, but you're going to have to explain a bit.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s a bit much—but that’s family, right? Danny can get pretty protective over me, which is why going on Truce Day is the best time to do it! He can’t even command the Fright Knight to stab you! It’s genius!”

“Ellie, what?”

“Like, yeah, sure, he’s the king, but even he has to obey the rules of Truce Day—and then once you’ve spent all day with him, he’ll see that you’re a fantastic, wonderful, kind, brilliant, smart, strong, capable person and he’ll get over himself and everything will be good!"

Damian collapses down onto the couch, the wind knocked out of him. This is… He had not expected anything like this at all. For all that Ellie talked about her family, she had never mentioned this.

“Did you… did you say your brother is a king?”

“Yeah! High King Phantom, have I…” The manic grin slips off her face as she turns round and notices Damian. “Have I not mentioned that before?”

“No. No, you have not.”

“Ah. Sorry. Probably should clarify that I’m also a princess.”

“Right. Yes, that follows.”

“And I’m not really his sister, I’m his clone.”

“What?”

Damian blinks and tries to say more, but he has no idea what he’s meant to do with… any of this information. 

Normal. He thought she was meant to be his normal. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Not that it changed anything, of course, of that he was certain. It’s just… a lot to take in. Overwhelming. But it's okay! He takes a deep breath, and another, and a sense of calm washes over him. Ellie makes one of her little hums as she cocks her head to the side to consider him and he can't help but relax at the normalcy of the sound. It'll be okay, he's dealt with stranger and he can deal with this.

“I’ve, uh… I’ve told you that we’re half ghosts, though, right?”

“What?”

[sunshinediaz]

wip wednesday ♥️

happy wednesday friends <3 i was tagged by @wikiangela, @exhuastedpigeon, and @rogerzsteven to share something so thank u all mwah

this is from eddie vs the hoa because he and buck made a pallet of blanket in the living room floor to sleep on and i think it was cute so please enjoy 🫶🏼

“I know,” Buck says, a little drowsy. And he does know—Eddie’s told him everything. There’s no secrets between them. “It’s big enough for you and Chris to grow in.”  “I think it could be a forever home.” It’s a whisper because anything louder might disrupt the moment. “Mine and my son’s and yours, too.”  Buck blinks, slow and sleepy. He’s less than five minutes from falling asleep; he worked so hard today. He deserves to rest. “Mine?” he repeats, voice pitched high like he doesn’t quite believe it.  Eddie’ll make him.  “Yours.” He reaches out, picks at a dark eyelash resting on Buck’s cheek, and holds the tip of his finger near Buck’s mouth. “Make a wish.”  Buck’s eyes cross, twin blobs of blue in the flickering light of the laptop screen, and he puckers his lips to blow a bit of cool air. The eyelash drifts off somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder, but he doesn’t care to know because the color of Buck’s eyes is the same shade of blue the sky was the night he stayed up with his abuelo.  “What’d you wish for?”  Buck chuckles. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”  Eddie hums. “I’ll make it come true,” he swears, and he thinks Buck’s cheeks tint red, but it might just be from the light of the laptop screen. 

no pressure tagging @honestlydarkprincess, @giddyupbuck, @eowon, @eddiediaztho, @wildlife4life, @watchyourbuck, @thewolvesof1998, @alyxmastershipper, @jeeyuns, @fortheloveofbuddie, @hippolotamus, @ladydorian05, @callmenewbie, @nmcggg, and anybody else who wants to share something!

[whentherewerebicycles]

question: when you're starting a new job, what do you most want out of your first week of onboarding? what's most helpful for you to know/understand upfront? also... what's not helpful? tell me your onboarding nightmare stories too lol

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

#dang it do i have a new oc now

Sounds like!! I'd love to hear more if you've got it!

(referring to my tags on this post)

You will meet a stranger, sometimes, if you make a habit to frequent taverns, inns, halls for game, or even the one tree where the young Bracegirdle cousins sneak off to play marbles. Well, you will like as not meet many strangers, except in the last case, but this one will be different. Or perhaps you get lucky, and don't frequent such places, but find yourself in one unexpectedly, and meet them regardless.

Everyone in Gondor knows someone who knows someone who met Lady Luck, no one has met her themself. If you do, starry-eyed romantics say, you'll be blessed with good fortune for all your days. The pragmatists tell you you'll be blessed with the good sense to discern a scam.

He may smirk at you after winning a bet, some dark-haired man, using his earnings to buy a round for the bar. It's always a different man, but it always goes to Alwed's tab. It keeps the crowd from getting too rowdy, even if the more superstitious get on edge.

No one remembers meeting them the first time, but dwarves with common sense avoid Audr's shell games and silver-toothed smile- you always win, but it's never worth it.

A woman with greying-gold hair and stiff fingers might call herself Eadrun, and challenge you to a game of dice. Few decline, and far fewer win.

For as few elves remain in Middle Earth, the one who calls himself Herendil and laughs as though his name is a joke should be recognizable. He seems young and lighthearted in a way most have lost, but he will play you cards, win just as much as he loses, and disappear, never recognized.

A hobbit-lass may giggle, red curls gleaming in the sun, and introduce herself as Peony Sandheaver, her family is visiting from Bree, and she wants to see how Shire-hobbits play Jacks.

Sometimes an orc prays over a set of knucklebones, knowing that at least one god will hear one prayer. Orcs have little luck in battle, but uncanny luck with dice.

There are countless stories, just as many true as not. Countless names, far more unnamed figures, always just out of place enough wherever they are to be interesting and promise new tales, never enough to provoke suspicion, not at first.

Even those in the Blessed Realm may find this dark-eyed stranger. Always dark-eyed, like bottles of dark glass. They stop by Aulë's workshop on occasion, to learn and suggest and play new games. They never win the first round, but most have the sense not to bet anything they aren't willing to lose on the second.

Oromë's people call them Umbarnica with a laugh and a toast in welcome. They thrive in the drunken revels after a successful hunt, sharp as ever as they dance from game to game, cackling at ill-advised propositions offered as collateral for or against a bet. Usually this means them winning to avoid it, a frequent enough occurrence as-is, but every now and then they'll decide to let someone get lucky. The bragging rights are the real reward.

And there are no guarantees with this stranger. No way to ensure their favor, though many ways to get their attention, few good. They like irony, take pleasure in hubris reaching its fall. They love superstition, even if they don't always honor it, and they love stories. There are gods that can be mistaken for kind, they are not one of them, created to serve the king the Dark Lord could have been. Their favorites are fickle, their grudges subtle but long-held. They love cheaters, unless they're at the end of the attempt. They will always catch you, and you will always regret it. They slink through candle-shadows and pipe-smoke, grinning, dance in town squares turned to faire grounds, curl up on comfy chairs indoors on rainy days.

But sometimes, in these days, you won't meet a stranger at all. Sometimes your storyteller will get a bright-dark glint in their eyes, and some dice will roll strangely high and some dice will roll strangely low and either way the story will be better for it. And if the next time the group meets you need to take a moment to remind the storyteller exactly what happened last session, well. That's why you take notes.

So pray to the dice-god, card-master, quick-sighted. It might do you no good, but they love superstition, and they love stories. And when you play a dark-eyed stranger, don't cheat at cards.