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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

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Anklets and Necklaces

Inspired by this tweet.

@5-secondsofcolor I’m not sorry.

Female Reader insert. NSFW Content (18+). My smut writing is hella rusty. So I do apologize, whoops.

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Calum plays at the anklet, spinning it around and around her joint as her legs are crossed and resting in his lap. The gold jewellry is hardly ever taken off since he gave it to her. In return, she gifted him a chain with a tiny pendant with her initial etched into the back of it. The front of it is an arrowhead. He wears it so often now, that when it’s off, he feels a little incomplete. It’s an easy gesture to carry her everywhere with him.

“Okay we gotta decide what to eat for lunch like now or I’m going to get hangry,” she states.

Calum glances up from his phone, to see her still scrolling on hers. “Oh no. Not hangry,” he teases. But he knows she means it. Her warnings have about a thirty minute window, just enough for a delivery if they get something simple. Or if they want something more complicated, they need to find a snack now while the main course is cooking. “What do you want? Thai? Mexican?”

“Would you hate me if I said I really just wanted nuggets from McDonalds?”

The pout on her lips makes him laugh, “No, I could never. Usual then?”

“Yes, please.”

Stretching across the length of her, Calum pushes his lips together, trying to ask for a kiss. She laughs in return and squeezes his cheeks. “Be lucky you’re cute,” she states before lifting up slightly to meet his lips. “And squishy.”

“Ain’t nothing on me squishy,” he huffs, straightening back up to put her order into the app.

She sets her phone down on her stomach, gazing up over the sharp line of his jaw that his plump cheeks sit atop. And while it’d be easy to return with a poke and a verbal jab about his cheeks, she just watches him. His fingers deftly work over the screen. The white tank sits as a stark contrast to the depth and glow of his skin. “I think all the right things on you are squishy.”

“Yeah, what are those?”

“Your cheeks. And as much as you and your trainer kick your ass, I know happy weight when I see it.”

Calum grins, a chuckle shaking through him as he sets his phone down on the arm of the couch--the order completed on his end. He pinches at her thighs. “Take that back.”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think I will. I like it--just like I like my cookies. Hard on the edges gooey in the middle.”

Standing for just a moment to let her legs fall onto the couch, Calum kneels onto the cushion, hovering above her. Her eyes glitter just a little as she talks and the soft easy smile on her face lets him know that it’s all out of love--what’s she’s saying. The pads of his fingers run along the side of her thigh. “Be lucky I love you.”

“I am already lucky, so say what you gotta say. Roast me, my love. It’s not like we don’t do that anyways.”

And truth be told, Calum had no response. Not when he looks at her, because God all he sees is the person that’s been with him on his bad mental days. She’s been there when Calum was sure there was no lower low or higher high. And what do you say to that person that’s been there, seen all of you that there is to see? With a gentle and chaste kiss, Calum settles for silence.

“Cat got your tongue now, huh?”

This--this Calum can respond too. It’s all too easy. “I know what else my tongue can have.”

“I know something your tongue can have too.”

“Really now?” Calum asks, dragging his fingers over the top of her thigh and tracing the line of her lounge shorts. “Food will be here in fifteen minutes though. So that’s up to you.”

“Not nearly enough time to savor it. Besides,” she starts and takes a pause. Her lips pull into a side smile and Calum knows what that means. One brow quirks in anticipation and Calum watches her. The silence settles for a little too long.

“Besides what?” he prompts again.

“Besides, I need the mail to be delivered first.”

“What did you buy?”

“You’ll see later. I promise. It’s really not even supposed to be used for lingerie. But I’ve wanted these for a long time and I specifically have a set I’m trying to complete.”

There’s the black mesh set that she’s slowly been building out. The main piece came in weeks ago, at this point it might even be months ago that that came in. He was privy to it then and gave it the christening that it deserved. But there wasn’t any other lingerie set that needed expansion. Not at least to his recalling. “Which one is it?”

“I’m not saying.”

“Oh please,” he whines, dropping his head into her neck. His lips softly and slowly seal kisses into her warm skin.

“No, Calum. I’ve been waiting on this package for weeks. It got held up in customs and I-” she sighs at his lips sucking at her skin. Not hard enough to cause a bruise, but just enough to make her spine tingle. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Calum pushes up, with a huff, sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch. “This is killing me, you know?”

“Well, you ain’t dead yet. So I think you can tough it out for a little bit longer.”

“Begrudgingly--I want you to know that.”

She sits up, swinging her feet to the floor. “Your sacrifice will be duly noted. The mail will be here before you know it.” The couch releases her weight and Calum watches her pad into the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” she calls.

“I’m good,” he returns, knowing that he will be counting down the seconds until the mail comes. She returns with a glass of water, sitting back down on the couch, but bringing her feet up underneath her as she motions to the TV. “You watching that?”

Calum answers with a shrug. He wasn’t anymore. He originally turned it on mostly for the weather and some news. He found himself bored and flipping through channels before settling on the sports channel while he took care of Duke in the morning. Noise to fill the space since his brain needed the distraction. He hadn’t slept all that great the last few nights, decent sleep. The closer and closer the band got to putting out music the more his nerves kicked in--sometimes they were sneaky. The nerves come up faster than Calum had anticipated. And right now, they won the first round. But Calum was working hard to combat them so he could get about his daily life.

“Go crazy,” he finally verbally responds. And she picks up the remote, changing channels too fast for Calum to even understand how you could process what was on before decking it was a no. She eventually settles for HGTV--not quite caring what show was on.

The first knock that comes to the door is the food that Calum ordered for the two of them. He answers it, popping up in the hopes it’s the mail. When it’s not, he sighs just a little but places the bag down onto the coffee table. “Your nugs, my queen,” he teases.

“Thank you, my good sir,” she returns with a grin, opening before divvying out what is for who. “You wouldn’t have happened to shot up like a bat outta hell because you wanted that to be the mail?”

Calum feels the heat in his cheeks, but bumps her shoulder gently. “No, why would I ever want that?”

“Oh I don’t know,” she scoffs in return, dunking a nugget into the sweet and sour sauce. They share a soft bout of laughter before turning their gaze back to the TV. Duke’s paws click as he ventures into the kitchen for a drink of water from his bowl. The lapping and splash of his tongue echoing just slightly as the screen goes dark between the show and the commercial break.

Calum lifts his gaze, taking in the soft angle of her jaw. She curls up around the carton of fries, eyes glued to the screen. Does she even have the slightest clue what she does to him? It’s not even the involved things like dressing up for him, or comforting him. It’s just her, when she’s munching on fries. Or when she sleepily walks behind Duke in the mornings. It’s when she hums as she cooks. It’s the dancing she does when she’s cleaning. It’s the pouts when she messes up on something and her brow furrows in as the determination settles onto her face.

It’s when she fucked up a birthday cake for him once--not greasing the sides of the pan enough and then adding a tad too much milk--called him crying about it and then in a minute flat resolved to make him brownies instead. Because she said she’d be damned if she didn’t make him something sweet to nibble on or pass along to the guys. And Calum’s not even that much of a sweets guy, which she knew, so she only settled on giving him half the batch she made. She, of course, saved the other half for her and her friends.

And it’s just the moments that she’s not even trying that makes Calum melt. Like when she paints her nails, she offers to do his first. Or when she lays down next to Duke, and in their shared silence, they seem to communicate everything with each other.

“I love you,” he states.

She turns, eyes widening for a second before grinning around her sip of iced tea. “I love you.” Her brows furrow just a little. “You okay? You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“If you didn’t want McDonalds, I could’ve done something else. Literally anything else,” she continues on almost as if she hadn’t heard him.

“It’s not the food,” he giggles. Calum reaches out to caress her cheek. “I’m okay.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“I just love you, that’s all. Wanted to share it with you.”

Her grin is soft as it lifts her lips. “Good because you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of getting rid of you.”

Another silence envelopes them. Calum finishes his food and takes the empty containers to the trash. Another episode starts up from the speakers and just above it, he hears the chime of his phone. “Do you want me to screen it for you?”

“Yes please!” If it’s one of the guys, they won’t mind her answering. If it’s someone important, he doesn’t want to miss the call.

“Calum’s phone,” she answers but he can already hear her feet shuffling to him in the kitchen. “Okay, Ash. I’ll keep that in mind.” Her voice comes closer and Calum shakes his hands just a little to get rid of the excess water before drying them. “No, I can’t say what it is without taking a look. Did you use the soil I recommended last time?” Another pause comes from her and when Calum turns, he finds her leaning up the kitchen counter, phone halfway pulled down but not fully away from her ear. “Yeah, I definitely think you should consider changing soils. But I can take a better look tomorrow for you. I’m going to pass along the phone now.”

She hands the phone over. “He said it was important.”

“Thank you,” Calum says in a whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then placing the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Ash?”

Calum’s not even sure how long the conversation goes on. At first, it is important information that Ashton’s trying to confirm--a date and time for a meeting that they had later in the week. He says he wrote it down where he writes down all their meetings but it’s not there. And Ashton’s trying to make sure that he doesn’t miss it. So Calum shuffles to his office and verifies in his calendar the time for the meeting.

But then the conversation diverges--they start talking about everything and anything. So much so, they’re laughing. Calum doesn’t even hear the knock at the front door. But he does notice her scurrying off into the bedroom. The door closes with a soft click. Duke comes trailing after her but notices the closer door and then keeps down the hall to the office. Calum reclines back in his seat trying to get another angle at the door. But it’s closed fully.

“You okay, gramps?” Calum asks Duke.

“Oh fuck off, mate!” Ashton laughs.

“Not you, you fucking egg. Duke--I was talking to Duke.”

“Oh!” Ashton giggles. “Sorry, I thought you was trying to talk shit.”

“I don’t have to try and do that to you.”

“Oi, don’t start something bro.” The two of them laugh and Calum bends down to scratch behind Duke’s ears. “Alright, thanks for confirming that meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow in the studio?”

“Yeah--bright and early. Talk to you later.” The call ends and when Calum spins around in his desk chair, his jaw drops as she steps out from the bedroom. It’s not exactly something new--as in something that she’s never worn before. But it doesn’t mean he ever gets tired of seeing her like this.

The white bustier pushes her breasts up and almost over the cups. And he travels the look down, taking in the baby blue skirt, fishnet knee highs. And he goes back up, taking in a black strap wrapping around her thighs. She notes the lustful gaze and steps right on the line of the threshold to the door.

“So,” Calum starts, trailing his gaze down and then back up to her face. “Not the black lingerie I was anticipating.”

“No, I’m waiting for the heels I want for that lingerie to go on sale. Besides, you didn’t like the collar I liked so I’m still searching.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. It’s just too similar to one we already bought.”

“You’re right, but still.”

Calum cracks a smile at the reluctant confession. “But enough about that. This--this is a cute outfit.”

She nods, smoothing out the pleated mini skirt. “It’s less about the outfit and more about these,” she says, tapping at the thin black band.

“And those are?” Calum asks. It’s one step closer into the room and Calum think he can make out a heart shaped metal loop in the middle of it. She takes a second step closer and Calum can see clearly it’s some sort of thigh garter--leather or something related as the material. “Oh,” he breathes.

She continues slowly to approach Calum and when she’s just in arms reach, she lifts the skirt up. It goes up inch by inch and Calum’s entranced. Watching more of her thighs revealed to him. And soon it’s black panties--mesh and if Calum remembers correctly crotchless. But wrapped around her waist is another band of leather. Two pieces hook to another metal hoop right on her hip bones and then one trip connects the top piece to the bottom.

“A harness garter belt--what do you think?” she asks in a whisper.

Calum exhales, desire stirring in the pit of his stomach. He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around her thighs and pulling her into him. He kisses in the spaces between the leather, gingerly, lips hardly touching her skin. “I think you look beautiful,” he hums, dropping his head on his neck to look up at her.

Her eyes are still closed and Calum softly runs the tips of his fingers up her thigh, tracing the lines of the harness. With a deep exhale, she finally blinks back to reality. “Not too silly?”

His brows meet in the middle of his face. Why would she think it’s too silly? There’s nothing silly about her standing in front of him, clearly excited about her own purchase. “Angel--I’ll be damned if I ever think this is silly.”

Swinging her leg over and settling onto his lap, she grins. “Thank you, love.”

Calum holds onto her hips, rubbing his palms down to her ass. “So you said this technically isn’t lingerie?”

“No--I don’t think so. But I think they could be--a small accessory to something I already have.”

They share a kiss, much too quick for Calum’s liking so he pulls her back in for more. And her arms wind around his neck as he continues to palm her ass. Here, he doesn’t really care what it is technically or not. She looks absolutely amazing. “I like it. In fact,” Calum starts, moving to grip her thighs before housing them both up and then plopping her down on the desk. “I really like them.”

Calum stands between her legs, nose brushing and bumping against hers. Here, she can feel her core aching as Calum’s fingers trail closer and closer to her heat. It’s feather light--his touch, but it makes her feel electric all the same. “Cal,” she hums.

“Yes baby?”

There’s nothing that comes out of her mouth but a small huff, a rushed and harsh exhale at the feeling of his fingers dancing across her skin. He grins pulling back just a little to see the way her face goes slack, almost as if she’s at peace with him between her legs.

“Was there something you wanted to say, darlin’?” Calum tries again, taking just a half step back away from her.

With her eyes still closed, she smiles. “I want to know,” she starts, exhaling softly to counter the thud of her heart in her chest, “if you’d so kindly want to make love to me?”

Calum can’t help his own small tuft of laughter. “Darlin’, I’d do so happily.” They don’t always wind up in bed like this--but it’s nice, to be comfortable even to be this forward with this and this open.

Calum takes her hand as she hops down from the desk. “Give me a twirl,” he asks. She obliges, turning in a circle for Calum, punctuating the back view by lifting her skirt up. “Silly girl,” Calum laughs, giving a firm but playful tap to her ass.

Facing Calum again, she wraps her arms around his torso. “But you love it.”

“I do. I love you.”

They share another kiss and she slowly walks backwards out of the room. They get lost in each other--Calum in the way she fits against him and her in the way Calum holds her, palms spanning across her back and tight enough that she wonders if he thinks she’s going to disappear but gently enough at the same time that she’d love nothing more than staying here forever in his hold.

Calum finds the zipper to the top and slowly drags it down. The material exhales, slowly falling away from her body and when it falls to the floor, he kisses her neck, down to the swell of her breast. Her moans are soft, just above a hum that makes just enough noise for him to hear. And it goes right to his gut.

Here there's very little need for words. When Calum gives, she takes happily. But when she tugs at his hair, Calum knows to step back, lets her give something to him. Her kisses are soft against his skin, but make him feel like it’s being set on fire. One that he’d happily stay in, let the blaze consume every inch of him, if it meant that she was always the one to take him.

His shirt goes to join hers. Her mouth teases his nipples as she descends further down on him. Calum thinks he sighs, all he can do is just shut his eyes and let go into the feeling of her teasing the cut of his hips beneath the sweatpants. She’s always like this, teasing him. At first, it used to annoy him. But now he loves it, loves just how close she’s willing to push him to the edge, push his buttons but always delivering at the end of it.

Her meticulous work, to watch him jump at every scratch of her nails and nip of her teeth, is enjoyable. But Calum blinks open his eyes to cup her jaw, which stops her. When her gaze lifts, Calum motions for her to stand. “Yes?” she grins standing to her full height.

Calum presses their foreheads together. “I missed you.”

“Well how dare I keep a man like you waiting?” With a slow kiss, tongues just barely dancing, Calum walks the two of them to the bed. The back of her knees hit the edge of it and she buckles just a little. Calum catches her from falling. “Turn around,” he whispers into her ear, “please.”

The instruction is obeyed and she spins to face the bed. Calum finds the zipper to the powder blue skirt and almost doesn’t want to take it off her. In the end, he does-- Calum lets the skirt fall onto a pool at their feet. Without even prompting she falls to her hands, ass grinding against his hips. He traces her spine with the pads of his fingers, following all the way down, over the curve of her ass and down to the opening in the panties. His fingers gather a bit of her arousal.

“Oh,” he groans. “So wet for me,” he hums with approval.

“Always for you,” she sighs. Calum teases her clit--a featherlight touch as he dances over her core. She lets herself fall a little bit more into the mattress--another moan leaving her lips when Calum takes one finger down from her clit to teasing her entrance.

Calum pulls away, bring his wet fingers to his lips and sucking them clean. “Taste just like heaven,” he hums. He gingerly guides her back to standing and uses her hips to get her to face him again.

More kisses are shared before they fall onto the mattress. Calum takes hold of one of the straps around her thigh and tugs her down, closer to him and she laughs. It gets caught off and morphed into a moan as Calum’s tongue licks a wide stripe up her. He’s careful of the mesh material of her panties, but knows that carefulness won’t last long. Not when her arousal coats his tongue. Not when her nails scratch over the muscles of his shoulders or tangle into the curls on his head.

She melts under the work of his mouth. The mattress merely becoming the vessel to hold the mess she’s bound to make and become. The room echoes the moans and slurps. Fingers gripping at the sheet, she chants Calum’s name. His tongue working magic over her core and just when she thinks she couldn’t possibly handle anything more, she notices the stretch at the addition of his fingers.

“Fuck,” she whines, lifiting one leg and he slips in even deeper, curling his fingers and hitting just the right spot.

Calum hungers for her pleasure--the high-pitched whine and groan as she releases. Some days it’s just the sound he needs to ground him. She gives short and breathless huffs, and quivers underneath him. “Gonna be a good girl?” Calum asks, fingers still pumping at her.

“Yes, oh yes, I will.”

“Gonna cum for me?”

“I want to, yes I’ll come for you. Make me your good girl.” Her voice sounds far away, as if she’s not fully cognizant of what she’s saying. Not quite babbling, but definitely talking so fast words bump into each other and slur together.

Calum grins, sucking at her clit again and she groans, head throwing back against the pillows. Her toes are curling--her whole body growing warmer with the passing second. The heat coils in her lower gut and she’s pleading. Though, she’s not sure who she is really meaning to plead to, but she wants to cum so badly.

Then it finally happens, one moment she’s sure she’s nearly in tears and the next, the coil snaps. She squeezes, hips raising off the bed and Calum continues to ride out her orgasm, gently pressing her back down into the bed. She hisses and starts to push at his shoulders, the signal that it’s too much. So Calum places one last kiss to her clit before pulling away from her glistening core.

Beneath him, eyes fluttering close, she looks angelic. Calum holds himself up above her and just watches the way she tries to collect her breath. “You’re beautiful, you know?” he whispers, not wanting to shatter the silence.

“No kidding?” she teases, winding her arms around his neck. The necklace dangles just a little in her face and she takes one hand to trace the chain. Hooking her fingers into it, she tugs Calum down to her. The taste of her arousal on Calum’s tongue makes her head spin. Calum caresses her side and stomach as the kiss deepens. Here is all they need--the soft and deep kisses, the moans that they swallow from each other.

Her hands leave from around his neck and begin to push down his sweatpants and underwear. And he lets her, even pulls back to kneel on his knees as she sits up. Their kiss hardly breaks and she’s quick to tug the cotton material down, hands wrapping around his length.

He groans at the squeeze--nothing too hard just enough pressure to make his whole body ignite. Her hand pumps him, once, then twice slowly and teasing him. “Baby,” he sighs, relishing the feeling of her hands working over him. The stay like that only for a minute or two before Calum pauses her to step down and full disrobe.

When he climbs back onto the bed, he crawls over her. “Welcome back, handsome,” she greets.

“Oh, it’s so good to be back,” he returns, grinning.

She runs her fingers over the tattoos decorating his chest, out of habit, out of something to ground her for a moment. There’s no way he’s real and it shouldn’t ever shock her like this. But sometimes it sneaks up on her and the realization of how madly in love she is with his man hits her all over again.

“What are you thinking about?” Calum asks.

“How much I love you,” she answers softly.

“I love you too,” he returns, bending down to kiss her. It’s soft and sweet--the kiss. For a moment, they just inhale the breaths of the other. It’s a tender moment, one that neither one wants to interrupt, so they let it linger, smiling at each other. She stretches up to kiss him, one hand trailing between their bodies and Calum catches the hint all too quickly when she traces along his length.

“I haven’t forgotten, love,” he exhales in a breathy laugh. “Trust me, I could never forget.” Once lined up, Calum’s slow to sink into her. One, he wants to drag this out, enjoy every inch of him that she grips of him. And two, because he wants to make sure that even in the lull that she’s ready to take him.

Her head falls back, hair pushing into the pillow and neck exposing itself to him. A tempting sight but Calum loses himself in the feeling of her wetness. He’s slow, pulling out just a bit before sinking further back into her. Her sighs and words of encouragement are soft from beneath him but they fuel him.

The pace quickens and both of them groan at the ecstasy. Out of reflex, she lifts one leg to readjust her hip flexor and Calum brings it up, resting her ankle on his shoulder. He kisses over the joint and the anklet, savoring just how much of her he can feel like this.

The chain dangles in her face, brushing in the valley of her breast and she revels in the feeling of Calum reaching the full depths of her body. She digs her nails into his flesh, more curses falling from her lip. But some of them get lost in the groans that win out. “God,” she huffs. “You’re everywhere.” And though it’s a bit of strain to get the words out because Calum’s pace is relentless as he snaps his hips into hers, she pushes the words out.

“You always take me so well,” he praises, watching the way her face contorts. “Oh, so soon, love? You’re going to cum again for me so fucking soon, like a good girl.”

Her whine slips out first but she nods, feeling the coil tightening yet again in her lower abdomen. Her body is hot, and she can already feel the prickle of sweat on her forehead. “Please, baby, please,” she begs.

“As you wish,” he hums, his own orgasm approaching faster than he anticipated. His body humming as the warmth spreads. The bed rocks just a little, hitting the wall and the sounds echo around them as they sigh and moan to each other. But the only thing that really matters to them, is each other.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, voice straining as she orgasms. No noise comes from her, but her mouth opens like if she had the breath she’d definitely be screaming his name. This time the quakes last longer, her whole body shaking. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he hums, bumping his nose against her jaw, still riding through her orgasm.

“Shit, oh my god,” she shudders, wrapping her arms around his neck.

There’s a slight hiss when Calum moves again, and he kisses over her face, starting with her nose and then moving to her cheeks. Another quake takes her and Calum, not anticipating it, groans-- his orgasm now right on the edge. It won’t be much longer, but she nibbles at his earlobe. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Made me feel so fucking good. I want you to cum in me. So fucking deep,” she hums.

And while Calum’s trying to get his own rebuttal to the tip of his tongue, she squeezes around him. “Fuck,” he yelps just a little, his body erupting with his orgasm. His body shudders and he’s so blindsided by the feeling, his slips just a little, more of his weight settling onto her than usual.

She doesn’t say anything, just hums at the feeling of him succumbing to the pleasure. “Oh, that’s what I wanted,” she encourages. It leaves her throat like a purr and Calum shivers again at the sound.

They lay together, for a moment, her nails scratching lightly at the muscles in his back. Calum sinks into her, body going heavy. Her slight shift squeezes around him and he groans, sensitive. “Don’t--I can’t,” he laughs.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” Even her own voice sounds heavy and slurred. She kisses his temple and Calum pushes up. He’s slow to pull out, enjoying the drips that follow of his own release spilling out of her. With one finger he gently scopes it back up and into her. The familiar twinge of desire pulls at his lower gut and it’s almost enough. She even shivers, but Calum watches the way her eyes stay closed.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Sleepy now,” she returns.

“Let’s get cleaned up first and then we can nap.” His voice sounds farther away towards the end of the sentence and she assumes he went to the attached bathroom. The rush of water from the sink confirms it. Something wet and warm presses against her--no doubt Calum with a warm washcloth.

The clean up is swift as both of them share a shower and then under the sheets, they curl up around each other. Calum kisses the top of her head as she nuzzles in closely. “I want pancakes after our nap,” she mutters.

“I think we still have some blueberries.”

She pops up onto her elbow and grins a little. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

Calum laughs. “Maybe just a little bit.”

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imtooscaredforthis · 3 years

Text

Fixation

Chap 4- Following

Mentions of: Stalking, Paranoia, Uncomfortable themes

Letting out a small sigh, you walked down the aisle, browsing through the cereals. It was about ten in the evening, and you were out grocery shopping. You knew that going out past dark was breaking one of your rules, but you were just at the post office, mailing one of your papers, so you figured now was a good time.

You had been putting it off, buying takeout and going to fast-food restaurants, and that started getting expensive pretty fast. So, here you were now, in the almost empty store, going to the checkout.

Once you got all your groceries scanned and paid, you left the store, bags in hand. You should really get a car, instead of having to walk everywhere, and possibly getting noticed by a serial killer.

It was pitch black outside, the only thing lighting up the road being the dim lampposts and streetlights. You made sure to keep close to lights, using them to guide you back home, and as a small sense of security you still had. In a way, it was kind of like a night light for you, showing any monsters that were possibly waiting in the dark.

Still, there was a skin-crawling feeling gnawing at you that you couldn’t shake. One that felt as if you were being watched. As if you were being followed.

You were too scared to look over your shoulder, and when you did, you felt your heart sink into your stomach. That feeling you had was right.

At the end of the street behind you, there was a hooded figure, slowly walking. They were too far away for you to make out any features. The only thing you could see was their black hood, and that they were following you.

This all didn’t feel real. It felt like one of those shitty horror movies you used to watch with your friends. But it was real, and you could feel your instincts kick in.

The next thing you knew, you were sprinting off, clutching your bags tightly and going through your purse, searching for your pepper spray. You were too distracted with getting away and defending yourself, that you didn’t even notice some rocks on the sidewalk, which caused you to trip and fall, your groceries and the contents to your purse flying everywhere.

You groaned, hurriedly going on your now skinned knees and collecting your things. You looked over your shoulder, seeing how far ahead you were. You must’ve ran two blocks without stopping. And you were suddenly very thankful for forcing yourself to run almost every morning.

The person who was following you was now nowhere in sight, so you let yourself relax a bit, getting all your things together and wanting to get home before they saw where you lived.

You then heard a car pull up, a low, charming voice following along with it. “You okay there, miss? I saw you running and taking quite a fall.”

When you looked up, you saw a police officer, sitting in his car. He was quite handsome, with short brown hair, a clean shave, and a nice muscular build, from what you could see.

“Oh yes, I’m fine, thank you. I just thought I saw someone following me.” You said that second part a lot more quietly, looking over your shoulder, checking if you were still being followed.

There was no one there, and while a part of you was relieved, another part was telling you that you were just being paranoid and seeing things. You could’ve sworn there was a person following you. You saw them, you did.

“You think someone is following you? I don’t see anyone. Why don’t I drive you home? I’ll make sure you get there safe.” He offered, which you chuckled at. “But I don’t even know your name.”

He laughed a bit, rubbing the back of his head. “Oh, right. I’m Jackson Lankster. Sherrif’s Deputy.”

“(Y/n) (l/n). It’s a pleasure.” You shook his hand, and he opened the door for you, having you sit in the passenger’s seat. After telling him your address, he began to drive over, making some small talk with you.

“You didn’t have to do this, really. I know you’re probably busy on patrol or something, so thanks for taking the time out of your day to do this.” You said with a smile, cringing at how much of a kiss ass you sounded like right now.

“Oh, it was no problem. Just doing my duty.” He grinned, drumming his fingers against the wheel as he pulled up to a stop sign. “I haven’t seen you around, you knew in town?”

“Yeah, I just moved here a month or two ago.” You answered.

“Well, it’s nice to see a fresh, pretty face.” He complimented, making your cheeks flush ever so slightly.

Soon enough, he was in your driveway, pulling up. But before you could get out of the car, he placed a hand on the edge of your thigh, stopping you. “If you ever need anything, just give me a call, okay?”

“Okay, thanks.” You cringed at his touch, putting your hand underneath his and pushing it away from your leg. It was disappointing that the people who seemed the most honorable had the worst behavior. Just when you thought you had someone that could help you feel safe and protect you, they turn out to be a total creep.

Maybe he just doesn’t understand personal boundaries. You told yourself, but deep down, you knew that was a lie.

You watched as the deputy drove off, sighing in disappointment. But before you could even get inside, there was a small squishing sound coming from the back of your house.

Setting down the groceries at your front door and grabbing your pepper spray, you carefully walked out to the back of your home, preparing to attack whoever was trespassing your home. Rounding the side, you saw them. A stranger egging your house, wearing a black hoodie that was similar to the one you saw earlier.

Feeling your anger get the best out of you, you dropped the pepper spray, grabbing them by their shoulders, flipping them around, and slamming them into the wall. “You think this is funny, huh? That this is some sort of game to you? Stalking me, calling my phone, and now vandalizing my house? What is wrong with you?”

“What are you talking about, lady? My friends dared me to egg your house, and they ditched when they saw the cop car.” You looked at him closer, realizing he was just some stupid teenager.

You sighed, letting him go. “Scram, kid.” Doing as told, the boy stumbled to his feet, running off into the night.

If he wasn’t the one who was following you and making those calls, then who could it be?

#dbd #dead by deadlight #dbd x reader #dbd killer #ghostface x reader #ghostface dbd #dbd ghostface #danny johnson dbd #dbd danny #dbd jed olsen #dbd danny johnson #danny johnson #ghostface #jed olsen

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sweetkingdomstarlight-blog · 3 years

Text

they were roommates

Warnings - non consensual sex, anal sex, somnophilia, forced drug use

Pairings - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words - over 2k

A/N - READ THE WARNINGS - I can’t stress this enough. Also if you are under 18 just shoo, bugger off. I wrote this from a prompt on @darkficsyouneveraskedfor stalker writing challenge, the prompt was your roommate isn’t who you thought they were. I’m still super new to writing and this is new territory for me, as always a huge massive thankyou to my beautiful wife @buckyownsmylife she helped me a lot and continues to hype me up.

It’s been six weeks since your friend got a new job upstate and moved out,. You’ve had an advert out for a new roommate but so far everyone who’s applied has either been rude or hasn’t shown up. You’re running low on your savings and would probably accept Satan himself if he could pay his fair share. That’s when your latest applicant knocked on your door.

James was polite and charming, he offered to pay a month up front to secure the room and could move in as soon as possible. You felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders when he moved in later that week, it was a bit odd that he had no friends to help him but he didn’t seem to have a lot of stuff and had himself sorted while you worked in your home office.

The first night he offered to buy pizza and beers so you could get to know each other better, it turns out you two had a lot of things in common and he was easy to get along with. You must have had a few too many beers because your head felt fuzzy, deciding it was time to go to bed. You said goodnight to James and stood up but felt so dizzy you had to immediately sit back down. James was so sweet though, looking after you, he actually picked you up and put you to bed so you didn't have to walk the short distance to your room.

Waking up the next morning you realised you were wearing a t-shirt you didn’t recognise but you didn’t remember getting changed, your mouth felt strangely dry so you got up for a drink. That’s when the soreness hit you, in between your legs, rushing to the bathroom you were confused that you weren’t getting your period and nothing seemed to be different. You assumed you were getting sick and went for hot tea to soothe yourself.

Sitting at the kitchen counter drinking and nibbling on some dry toast, James walks in looking like he’s just been for a run. He grabs a bottle of water and walks over to you giggling “you can’t possibly be hungover you only had three drinks last night” you look up at him smirking and sarcastically respond, “yeah, well, maybe I’m just a lightweight”.

As you get up to clear away your mess he clears his throat making you turn. “Should we have a system for when we have people over in the future?” You look at him confused. “I’m sorry what do you mean? Do you want to bring someone over tonight?”

He chuckles at you, “Well no, not tonight but if you want your friend from last night to come back I can make sure you have some privacy,” he offers you, smirking at the confused look on your face.

“I’m sorry, I don't understand, I went to sleep last night. I didn’t have anyone over.” Taking a step closer, he leans on the counter separating you both. “Then who did I hear you with last night and who did I kick out this morning?” You stare at him open mouthed and scurry off to your room to check your phone for some clues, you feel your chest tighten when you see that you matched with someone last night and invited him over. How could you not remember? You were absolutely mortified, what is James going to think of you now?

Sitting in your home office talking to idiot customers on the phone all day, you try to take your mind off what happened last night. How can you have invited someone over, had sex and apparently stolen his t-shirt without even knowing? You vow there and then you aren’t drinking ever again. However, the end of the week rolls by and it's been the absolute worst, your boss is a dick, your customers are all idiots and to top it off your best friend hasn’t responded to your calls all week and you don’t know why.

You have a quick shower and decide to spend the night binge watching whatever you can find on Netflix when James sits next to you handing you a gin and tonic. “Thanks but I’m not drinking for a little while.” You go to put the drink down but he pushes it up to your mouth

“Don’t be silly, you’ve had a hard week. One drink won’t hurt” smiling at him you take a sip and he’s right, you instantly relax and get cosy on the sofa, ordering chinese and laughing at the show you both decide on. Waking up in the middle of the night with a dry mouth again, you find yourself laying on your bed but this time you have your own clothes on which is a relief. Standing up, you feel a bit weird round the back like you’ve been stretched out with one of your plugs but that’s not possible, they’re hidden in your box under the bed.

You drink a big glass of water and sit on the kitchen counter, a little uncomfortably, but quietly and relax. Something has been off the last week and you can’t put your finger on it, it's always weird when you get a new roommate and you’ve put it down to that but you just sense something isn’t quite right. You lean your head back on the wall behind you and get a surprise when James walks round the corner. “Hey doll, you feeling ok? You looked a bit sickly earlier and went to bed. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

You nod at how sweet he was and drink some more water before hopping down. “I’m fine just going to sleep it off.” He takes your glass for you, offering to wash it and says goodnight, watching you walk away very closely and licking his lips as his eyes roam over your body.

It’s been a few weeks now since James moved in, he’s got to be the best roommate you’ve ever had. He pays his bills on time, keeps the place spotless and he’s such a good cook, always making food and drinks for you. It's lucky that he’s so kind because none of your friends seem to be in touch anymore, you message them and even try calling them but no one ever replies.

You sit watching your usual Friday night film with drinks and Chinese takeout, talking to James about both your weeks, tonight though he sits closer than usual and his face seems to light up when you talk to him. He’s possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in real life, you’ve never looked at him that way before because not only is he your roommate but he’s so far out of your league it's laughable. You tell one of your stupid jokes and he laughs with his whole body, his arm goes around the back of the sofa and he pulls you in close, hugging into him, you relax biting your lip when he kisses the top of your head.

That was the beginning of it for you both. You had daily movie nights, he cooked for you every day, listened when you got upset that your friends seemed to have dropped you and even encouraged you to start running with him. Everything felt perfect, you still occasionally woke up sore with a dry mouth but James told you it was just your body getting used to all the exercise you were now doing. Both of you had really found each other, loners who just needed someone to listen.

You went down to collect your mail one day and stood talking to your elderly neighbour when she told you how familiar James looked, she couldn’t work out where she knew him from but she praised you on finding such a nice young man who apparently had carried her groceries up the stairs for her when the elevator was broken. Smiling at her you told her to have a good morning and went back to your apartment looking at the thick brown envelope addressed to you, you never really got anything in the post except the occasional leaflet. James had made you a coffee and you smiled at him taking the package in your room to open while you got ready to have a shower.

In the shower you decided tonight would be the night with James, you shaved yourself from head to toe and used your best lotions. Winking at him as you walked to your room, he had a weird look on his face and couldn’t seem to look at you. In your room the envelope had been moved, it looked like it was open too. Bending down to pick it up you hear James behind you but before you can turn around you feel a pain in your neck and everything goes dark.

You wake up with a blinding headache and go to move but your body feels too heavy. “Ssshh sweetheart, don’t move, I had to tie you up for your own safety.” You look at him confused, trying to pull on your wrists but you can’t move.

“James, what’s happening?” Sitting next to you he slips some ice chips in your mouth to ease your dry throat and takes a deep breath.

“You can blame your friend, we were so happy and she had to try and take you away from me.” A tear runs down your cheek, you’ve never heard him talk like this and it’s terrifying. “I told your little friends to leave you alone or I’d take care of them all but they just didn’t listen.” He throws the envelope down and slowly shows you the newspaper clippings and articles they had sent you, apparently he was on the run and considered dangerous, something to do with what happened with the helicarriers that crashed a few months ago.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” he says with a smirk, wiping your tears away and tutting. “Don’t be scared of me, I’m doing this for you, for us!” Pulling on the restraints on your feet and arms again he shouts, “Enough!” You stop immediately, scared of what he‘ll do if you don’t. “You were so nice to me on the phone when I first got free, you helped me hire that car that brought me to New York. I hacked into your company's database and found you. Your roommate was easy to convince with a little bit of money and I hired all those people to come and see you so when I finally got my chance you’d want me as much as I’ve wanted you”

“Why didn’t you just ask me out like a normal person?” You managed to stutter out, trying not to sound too pathetic.

“You never leave the house, you stay home all day working then sit watching TV all night, I saw you through the webcam. You really should be more careful.” He smirks before running his fingers over your naked body. Feeling how smooth and soft your skin is he smiles. “Did you do all this for me? Sweetheart, I’ve already had all of you, you don’t have to do anything special for me. I love you just the way you are”.

The realisation hits you and you sob loudly. “Have you been touching me while I sleep?” He tilts his head to the side and looks at you with so much admiration.

“You’re so smart, I’ve been preparing you to be mine. I didn’t know how long it's been since you’ve been with a real man, not those silly little toys under your bed and I wanted our first time to be special. I even set up that fake dating account so you would think you had a guy over on that first night.” He strokes your cheek and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying.

“James I’m cold, can you untie me and we can talk properly, please.” He studies your face for a brief moment before leaning forward and chuckling in your ear.

“You can’t think I’m that stupid baby, oh and you can call me Bucky now. If you’re going to be mine forever we need to get better acquainted.” He drops his sweatpants and straddles your hips. “We’re going to have so much fun”.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #Winter Soldier

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causeiwanttoandican · 3 years

Text

Harry, Meghan and me: my truth as a royal reporter

I've covered elections and extremism, but nothing compares to the vitriol I've received since I started writing about the Sussexes

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor27 March 2021 • 6:00am

It is probably worth mentioning from the outset that I never, ever, planned to become a royal reporter. I mean, who does? It’s one of those ridiculous jobs most people fall into completely by accident.

I certainly wasn’t coveting the position when I first found out how bonkers the beat could be after covering Charles and Camilla’s wedding in 2005. Desperate for ‘a line’ on what went on at the reception, journalists were reduced to flagging down passing cars in Windsor High Street and interrogating the likes of Stephen Fry about whether they’d had the salmon or the chicken.

Watergate, this wasn’t.

Yet when my former editor called me into his office shortly afterwards and offered me the royal job ‘because you’re called Camilla and you dress nicely’, who was I to refuse?

Having planned to get married myself that summer, and start a family soon afterwards, I looked to the likes of Jennie Bond and Penny Junor and figured it would be a good patch for a working mother as well as being one I could grow old with. Unlike show business, when celebrities are ‘in’ one minute and ‘out’ the next, the royals would stay the same, making it easier to build – and keep – contacts.

So if you’d told me that 16 years later, I would find myself at the centre of a media storm over a royal interview with Oprah Winfrey, I’d have probably laughed in your face. First of all, only royals like Fergie do interviews with Oprah. And since when did journalists become the story?

Yet as I have experienced since the arrival of Meghan Markle on the royal scene in 2016 – a move that roughly coincided with Twitter doubling its 140-character limitation to 280 – royal reporters like me now find themselves in the line of fire like never before.

We are used to the likes of Kate Adie coming under attack in the Middle East, but now it is the correspondents who write up events like Trooping the Colour and the Royal Windsor Horse Show having to take cover from the keyboard warriors supposedly defending the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s ‘truth’.

Accusations of racism have long been levelled against anyone who has dared to write less than undiluted praise of Harry and Meghan. But even I have been taken aback by the vitriol on social media in the wake of the couple’s televised two-hour talk-a-thon, in which they branded both the Royal family and the British press racist while complaining about their ‘almost unsurvivable’ multimillionaire lives at the hands of the evil monarchy. And all while the rest of the UK were losing their loved ones and livelihoods in a global pandemic.

Having covered Brexit, general elections and stories about Islamic extremism, I’ve grown used to being sprayed with viral vomit on a fairly regular basis, but when you’ve got complete strangers trolling your best friend’s Instagram feed by association? That’s Britney Spears levels of toxic.

Having a hind thicker than a rhino’s, it wasn’t the repeated references to my being ‘a total c—’ that particularly bothered me, nor even the suggestion that I should have my three children put up for adoption. At one point someone even said it would be a good idea for me to drink myself to death like my mother, about whose chronic alcoholism I have written extensively.

No, what really got me was the appalling spelling and grammar. I mean, if you’re going to hurl insults, at least have the decency to get my name right.

Yet in order to understand just how it has come to pass that so-called #SussexSquaders think nothing of branding all royal correspondents ‘white supremacists’ regardless of who they write for, or sending hate mail to our email addresses, offices – and in some cases, even our homes – it’s worth briefly going to back to when I first broke the story that Prince Harry was dating an American actor in the Sunday Express on 31 October 2016. Headlined: ‘Royal world exclusive: Harry’s secret romance with TV star’, the splash revealed how the popular prince was ‘secretly dating a stunning US actress, model and human rights campaigner’.

Despite my now apparently being on a par with the Ku Klux Klan for failing to acknowledge Meghan as the next messiah, it was actually not until the fifteenth paragraph of that original article that the ‘confident and intelligent’ Northwestern University graduate was described as ‘the daughter of an African-American mother and a father of Dutch and Irish descent’.

Call me superficial, but I was genuinely far more interested in the fact that Harry ‘I-come-with-baggage’ Wales was dating a former ‘briefcase girl’ from the US version of Deal or No Deal than the colour of her skin. A ginger prince punching well above his weight? This was the stuff of tabloid dreams. Little did I know then that covering the trials and tribulations of these two lovebirds would turn into such a nightmare.

The online hostility began bubbling up about eight days after that first story, when Harry’s then communications secretary Jason Knauf issued an ‘unprecedented’ statement accusing the media of ‘crossing a line’.

‘His girlfriend, Meghan Markle, has been subject to a wave of abuse and harassment’, it read, referencing a ‘smear on the front page of a national newspaper; the racial undertones of comment pieces; and the outright sexism and racism of social media trolls and web article comments’. Meghan’s mother, Doria Ragland, had apparently been besieged by photographers, while bribes had been offered to Meghan’s ex-boyfriend along with ‘the bombardment of nearly every friend, coworker, and loved one in her life’.

Suffice to say, I did feel a bit guilty. Although I hadn’t written anything remotely racist or sexist, I had started the ball rolling for headlines like the MailOnline’s ‘(Almost) straight outta Compton’ (referencing a song by hip-hop group NWA about gang violence and Meghan’s upbringing in the nearby LA district of Crenshaw), along with her ‘exotic’ DNA (which I subsequently called out, including on This Morning in the wake of ‘Megxit’ in January last year).

Omid Scobie, co-author of Finding Freedom, a highly favourable account of the Sussexes’ departure from the Royal family, written with their cooperation last summer, would later insist that the couple knew the story of their relationship was coming out and were well prepared for it.

I can tell you categorically that they weren’t, since I did not even put a call into Kensington Palace before we went to press for fear of it being leaked. (I did later discuss this with Harry, when I covered his trip to the Caribbean in November 2016, and to be fair he was pretty philosophical, agreeing it would have come out sooner or later. But that was before the former Army Captain decided to well and truly shoot the messenger, latterly telling journalists covering the newly-weds’ tax-payer-funded October 2018 tour of Australia and the south Pacific: ‘Thanks for coming, even though you weren’t invited.’)

The royal press pack is the group of dedicated writers who cover all the official engagements and tours on a rota system, in exchange for not bothering the royals as they go about their private business. It was a shame this ragtag bunch, of which I am an associate member, was never personally introduced to Meghan when the couple got engaged in November 2017.

I still have fond memories of a then Kate Middleton, upon her engagement to Prince William in November 2010, showing me her huge sapphire and diamond ring following a press conference at St James’s Palace with the words, ‘It was William’s mother’s so it is very special.’

I replied that she might want to consider buying ‘one of those expanding accordion style file holders’ to organise all her wedding paperwork. (Reader, I had given birth to my second child less than four months earlier and was still lactating.)

Not meeting Meghan did not stop royal commentators like me writing reams about her being ‘a breath of fresh air’ and telling practically every TV show I appeared on that she was the ‘best thing to have happened to the Royal Family in years’.

As the world followed the joyous news of the Windsors’ resident strip billiards star having finally found ‘the one’, the couple enjoyed overwhelmingly positive press culminating in their fairy-tale wedding in May 2018, which we headlined ‘So in love’ above a picture of the bride and groom kissing. I tweeted the wedding front page, along with the original story breaking the news of their relationship with the words, ‘Job done’. Yet, as Meghan would later point out in a glossy Santa Barbara garden, that was by far the end of the story.

According to the Duchess’s testimony before a global audience of millions, the seeds for their royal departure were actually sown by an article I wrote in November 2018 suggesting she made Kate cry during a bridesmaid’s dress fitting for Princess Charlotte.

Claiming the ‘reverse happened’, the former Suits star railed, ‘A few days before the wedding she was upset about something, pertaining to, yes, the issue was correct, about flower-girl dresses, and it made me cry, and it really hurt my feelings.’

She then went on to criticise the palace for failing to correct the story – suggesting that royal aides had hung her out to dry to protect the Duchess of Cambridge.

All of which left me in a bit of a sticky situation. As I told Phillip Schofield on This Morning the following day, ‘I don’t write things I don’t believe to be true and that haven’t been really well sourced.’

Having seemingly been completely bowled over by Meghan’s version of events, Schofe then went for the jugular: ‘I have to say, though, that’s all addressed in that interview, isn’t it, because she [Meghan] couldn’t understand why nobody stood up for her?’

Yet someone had stood up for her, on that very same This Morning sofa: me.

As I told Phil and Holly on 14 January 2019, as more reports of ‘Duchess Difficult’ started to emerge, ‘I think she [Meghan] is doing really well, she looks amazing, she speaks well. She has played a blinder.’

So you’ll forgive me if I can’t quite understand why Meghan didn’t feel the need to correct this supposedly glaring error once she had her own dedicated head of communications from March 2019 – or indeed when she ‘collaborated’ with Scobie, who concluded in his bestselling hagiography that ‘no one cried’?

Moreover, how did the Duchess know a postnatal Kate wasn’t ‘left in tears’? And if she doesn’t know, what hope has the average troll observing events through the prism of their own deep-rooted insecurities?

It appears the actual truth ceases to matter once sides have been taken in the unedifying Team Meghan versus Team Kate battle that has divided the internet.

Make no mistake, there are abject morons at both extremes spewing the sort of bile that, ironically, makes most of the media coverage of Harry and Meghan look like a 1970s edition of Jackie magazine.

It perhaps didn’t help my case that the day before the interview was aired in the US, I had written a lengthy piece carefully weighing up the evidence behind allegations of ‘outrageous bullying’ that had been levelled against Meghan during what proved to be a miserable 20 months in the Royal family for all concerned.

The messages – to my Twitter feed, my email, my website and official Facebook page – ranged from the threatening, to the typical tropes about media ‘scum’ and the downright bizarre. Some accused me of being in cahoots with Carole Middleton, with whom I have never interacted, unless you count a last-minute Party Pieces purchase in a desperate moment of poor parental planning.

Another frequent barb was questioning why the press wasn’t writing about that ‘pedo’ [sic] Prince Andrew instead – seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one would know about the Duke of York’s links to Jeffrey Epstein if it wasn’t for the acres of coverage devoted to the story by us royal hacks over recent years.

It didn’t matter that I had repeatedly torn the Queen’s second, and, some say, favourite son to pieces for everything from his propensity to take his golf clubs on foreign tours to that disastrous Newsnight interview.

Contrary to the ‘invisible contract’ Harry claims the palace has with the press, royal coverage works roughly like this: good royal deeds = good publicity. Bad royal deeds = bad publicity. We effectively act as a critical friend, working on behalf of a public that rightly expects the royals to take the work – but not themselves – seriously.

So when a royal couple preaches about climate change before taking four private jets in 11 days, it is par for the course for a royal scribe to point out the inconsistency of that message. None of it is ever personal, as evidenced by the fact that practically every member of the monarchy has come in for flak over the years.

If Oprah wasn’t willing to point out the discrepancies in Harry and Meghan’s testimony, surely it is beholden on royal reporters to question how the Duchess had managed to undertake four foreign holidays in the six months after her wedding, in addition to official tours to Italy, Canada, and Amsterdam, as well as embarking on a lengthy honeymoon, if she had ‘turned over’ her passport?

While no one would wish to undermine the extent of her mental health problems, could it really be true that she only left the house twice in four months when she managed to cram in 73 days’ worth of engagements, according to the Court Circular, in the 17 months between her wedding and the couple’s departure to Canada?

And what of the ‘racist’ headlines flashed up during the interview purporting to be from the British press, when more than a third were actually taken from independent blogs and the foreign media? The UK media abides by the Independent Press Standards Organisation’s Code of Conduct ‘to avoid prejudicial or pejorative reference to an individual’s race’, as well as by rigorous defamation laws. And rightly so – the British press doesn’t always get it right. But social media is the Wild West by comparison, publishing vile slurs on a daily basis with impunity.

Some therefore find it strange that such a litigious couple would claim to have been ‘silenced’ when they have made so many complaints, including resorting to legal action, over stories they claim not to have even read. There is something similarly contradictory about a couple accusing the tabloids of lacking self-reflection while refusing to take any blame at all – for anything.

In any normal world, informed writing on such matters would be classed as fair comment, but not, seemingly, on Twitter where those completely lacking any objectivity whatsoever are only too willing to virtue signal and manoeuvre.

As the trolling reached fever pitch in the aftermath of the interview, veteran royal reporter Robert Jobson of the Evening Standard called me. ‘Don’t respond to these freaks,’ he advised. ‘It’s getting nasty out there. Watch your back!’

Yet despite my general sense of bewilderment at the menacing Megbots, I can’t say it didn’t appal me to discover a close friend had received online abuse, purely by dint of being my mate. After discussing the lengths the troll must have gone to to track her down, she asked me, ‘Do you ever worry someone might do something awful to you?’ Er, not until now, no.

Of course it’s upsetting, even for a cynical old-timer like me. Worse still are people who actually know me casting aspersions on my profession on social media. Often these are the same charlatans who would think nothing of sidling up to me for the latest gossip on the Royal family, while publicly pretending that reading any such coverage is completely beneath them.

Most pernicious of all though – not least after Piers Morgan’s departure from Good Morning Britain following a complaint to ITV and Ofcom from the Duchess – is the corrosive effect this whole hullabaloo is having on freedom of speech. When you’ve got a former actor effectively editing a British breakfast show from an £11 million Montecito mansion, what next?

I cannot help but think we are in danger of setting race relations back 30 years if people are seriously suggesting that any criticism of Meghan is racially motivated. It’s the hypocrisy that gets me. When Priti Patel was accused of bullying, the very same people who willingly hung the Home Secretary out to dry are now the ones defending Meghan against such claims, saying they have been levelled at her simply because she is ‘a strong woman of colour’.

Of course journalists should take responsibility for everything they report and be held to account for it – but Harry and Meghan do not have a monopoly on the truth simply because the close friend and neighbour who interviewed them in return for £7 million from CBS took what they said as gospel.

If she isn’t willing to probe the disparity between Meghan saying someone questioned the colour of Archie’s skin when she was pregnant, and Harry suggesting it happened before they were even married, then someone must. There’s a name for such scrutiny. It’s called journalism.

The public reserves the right to make up its own mind – with the help of the watchful eye of a free and fair press. But that press can never be free or fair if journalists do not feel they can report without fear or favour. I’m lucky that a lot of the criticism I face is more than balanced out by hugely supportive members of the public and online community who either agree – or respect the right to disagree. Along with the hate mail, I have had many thoughtful and eloquent missives, including those that good naturedly challenge what I have written in the paper or said on TV, which have genuinely given me pause for thought.

I am more than happy to enter into constructive discourse with these correspondents, who are frankly sometimes the only people who keep me on Twitter. I mean, let’s face it, I wouldn’t be anywhere near the bloody thing if this wasn’t my day job.

With the National Union of Journalists this month declaring that harassment and abuse had ‘become normalised’ within the industry, never have members of Britain’s press needed more courage. As Winston Churchill famously said, ‘You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.’

Who would have thought that the preservation of the fundamental freedoms that we hold so dear should partially rest on the shoulders of those who follow around a 94-year-old woman and her family for a living?

If I’d known then what I know now, would I still have written the bridesmaid’s dress story?

Yes – doubtlessly reflecting sisterly sobs all round. But after two decades in this business, I am clear-eyed enough to know this for certain: whatever I had written, it would still have ended in tears.

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darkisrising · 3 years

Note

81 and 14 for din/boba/luke?

Hello anon! Sorry for the delay! As requested, here's a little trope mash-up for you, I hope you like it! Thanks for playing :-) Prompt: Bobadinluke 81. The Missus and the Ex 14. Bodyguard AU

Death threats start piling up for Leia, though it isn’t a surprise. Not with a senatorial campaign announced and the Organa name back in the news for the first time since “The Incident."

"The Incident" which had somehow, indelibly, publicly linked the Organa name with a Skywalker secret twin. "The Incident" which had ended with Leia’s then-boyfriend, now-husband knocking— throwing? depending on what conspiratorial corners of the internet you frequent and what angle of the cell footage you’re partial to linking to— Luke’s then-boyfriend into a thirty-foot pit.

The boyfriend had lived, but it was a near thing, or so Din had been told. Their relationship hadn’t lasted much longer after that.

“But now there’s you,” Luke said one time when the subject had come up. Crawling into Din’s lap, wrapping his arms around Din’s neck, he'd smiled. “Just don’t go around uncovered pits with Han and you should be fine.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Din rumbled between kisses as he’d splayed Luke’s lower back with one palm and pulled him in closer.

Since Din stays away from both the news and social media religiously, he'd mostly put the ex and the pit out of his mind after that. Life went on. He and Luke get serious, and then after six months of fitting their lives around each other— weekend lunches at the garage where Din eats with greased-up overalls while Luke steals his fries, morning coffees sipped together as a bleary Luke collects his spill of graded papers from the kitchen table— they get serious.

Din buys a ring and Luke cries with happiness. They pick a date— after the election, but before the new school year starts up again— and after that the biggest drama is whether the dry cleaner will find Din’s lost suit before Leia’s fundraising dinner or whether he’ll be forced to buy a new one.

That is until the day Din goes to grab the mail expecting bills and finds instead a note that's been painstakingly assembled with tiny magazine letters to read: “YouLL b DeAd B4 yOuR iN THe piT skYwLkR.”

For Din’s money, he’s betting it’s the ex. Luke doesn’t agree.

“How can you be sure?”

“For one thing, Boba knows the difference between possessive your and you-are you’re.” Luke smirks, amused, and it’s like he isn’t even worried about threatening letters being sent to their home. “I’m sure it’s the same person harassing Leia. Now that everyone knows I’m her brother, it’s probably connected.”

“Hm,” Din says, unconvinced, and Luke takes his hand between both of his and gives it a squeeze.

“But if it’ll make you feel better I can ask around. Find out what Boba’s up to these days. If I hear he’s got photos of me all over his walls with the eyes cut out or something we can start to worry.”

Which is how it happens that Din comes down the stairs in his new, sharp-edged suit, as ready as he can be for this fundraiser of Leia’s, to find a very large, scarred, bald man in their living room. A very large, scarred, bald man that is also wearing a suit, and Luke smiles over at Din, nice and sunny and says “You look amazing,” before introducing him to Boba.

They shake their greeting and Din half expects the ex to try some kind of macho, dominance move and squeeze the shit out of his hand but he doesn’t. His brown eyes take in Din with an open, frank assessment and when Boba says “Good to meet you,” they both know he’s lying.

“Boba’s got a bodyguarding business now!”

“Personal protective services. But, yeah, amounts to the same thing.” The smile he throws over his shoulder to Luke is unbearably fond and Din, who has never once had a possessive or jealous thought about a lover in his life, feels his hands curl into fists at his side. “When I heard about the death threats I offered my professional services.”

“Death threat. Singular,” Din finds himself correcting, even though up until this moment he’d been the one complaining that Luke wasn’t taking it seriously enough. “That’s kind of you but I’m sure you have more important people to—”

“More important than Sunshine? Nah,” he says and Luke beams, as devastatingly bright as his ex’s nickname for him and Din frowns. “Anyway, I thought I’d tag along at this fundraiser, see if anyone suspicious shows.”

“I’m sure all you’ll find there is dry chicken and even drier politicians, but I know Din will be glad to know there’s someone keeping an eye on me.”

“Oh, I won’t take my eyes off you all night,” Boba assures, and yet he’s looking at Din when he says it. “Especially in this suit. You look good, Sunshine.”

“And you don’t look so bad yourself.” Luke doesn’t sound like he’s flirting. He sounds exactly like he’s talking to Han or Leia or anyone else that he’d rather die than make a pass at, and yet Din can’t help but read more into that friendly, bantering tone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit before.”

Boba snorts. “This suit? It’s so old it might have belonged to my father.”

“Well you wear it well,” Luke says and then turns to Din. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Din says and he lets Luke take his hand and lead him out to the car.

He’s all-too aware of Boba’s steady, dark eyes on them as they walk on ahead, and Din’s now not sure he’s the one sending death threats, but he is sure of one thing: if Boba’s not planning on killing Luke, he’s planning on fucking him.

Either way, Din’s going to have to stay vigilant since it’s becoming clear that, when it comes down to it, Luke has a blind spot the size of Boba-fucking-Fett on his radar.

#darkisrising fic #bobadinluke #eventual bobadinluke #dinluke #bobaluke #prompt fill #tumblr games #ask game #ask box

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randomshyperson · 3 years

Text

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Land of Thieves #ChapterTwo

Western/ Red Dead Redemption AU / Slow Burn / childhood best friends to lovers

AO3 (English)

Chapter warnings: explicit language, explicit violence.

Summary: When you were a child, you swore that no matter how high the reward in your head, she could always count on you. Life as an outlaw in the west is not easy, but you believe that train robberies are still easier than asking a pretty girl to dance. Land of Thieves, also know as your love story with Wanda Maximoff in the Wild West

Marks: @mionemymind

You wished you could sleep longer when you felt the first rays of sunlight invade your tent through the tarp, the light making you instinctively raise your hand against your face to avoid the glare. You grumbled, but forced yourself to get up. You didn't bother to put on your boots, or fasten your suspenders around your shoulders, letting them fall against your waist. You stretched, walking toward the fire with the intention of making some coffee.

- Good morning, kiddo. - You heard Steve greet you, and you just nodded to him, yawning. He walked toward you, pouring himself some of the coffee you had just brewed. - I have an assignment for you.

You took a sip of the coffee, frowning at the bitter taste. You walked over to the supply wagon, looking for some milk, while Steve waited for you at the campfire, which was only a few feet away.

- What do you need, Captain? - you asked as you poured some milk into your drink. Steve smiled at the nickname. Only the early members of the gang called him that, in reference to his former position as an army captain.

- We need to restock a few things. And we haven't picked up our mail in a few days. - He says to you, reaching into something in his left pocket. He raises his hand and offers you a few dollars. - I need you to buy the items on Pepper's list from the warehouse and go to the post office.

You signal him to put the money away, finishing your coffee.

- Don't worry, I will sell the panther skin I got yesterday. - You explain. - It's worth enough to buy the necessities, and if we need more, I still have some change left.

Steve smiled at you, grateful for your kindness in paying for the groceries. You exchanged one last glance with him before returning to your stall, looking for your clothes.

Suitably dressed, you decided to detour your way for a moment, thinking about something. You walked toward Wanda and Pietro's stall, your gaze slipping inside when you caught a glimpse of the redheaded girl's sleeping figure, the image racing your heart. You looked down uncomfortably, and thought about coming back later, but the next second Pietro stumbled out, smiling at you.

- Hey Y/N, good morning! - He greeted you while buttoning up his wool shirt.

- Good morning, gambler. - You greet him with a teasing tease that elicits a smile and a roll of the eyes from the boy. - You still haven't told me if you won anything at poker.

You followed Pietro toward the campfire, waving to Pepper as you passed the supply wagon, and she handed you the list with a grateful look as she hurried off in Peggy's company, you had no idea what they were doing. Pietro stretched as he grabbed a tangerine from a crate in the supply wagon and gave you a wicked smile.

- Of course I won at poker. - He announces and you laugh before giving him a suspicious look. - I don't understand why you doubt me; you're a great teacher.

- Of course. And that has nothing to do with you being a light-handed cheater, does it?

Pietro laughed at the insinuation, taking a bite of the fruit he was holding. You switched the weight of your feet, and he looked at you curiously.

- I wanted to ask you something. - You began, looking down at the floor. - Something about your sister.

He looks at you with a suspicious expression, but with an amused smile threatening to escape his lips. He gestures for you to ask. You hesitate for a second, then take a deep breath to gather your courage.

-Do you know if she's seeing anyone? - you ask, looking intently at Pietro. He frowns, and you hasten to add, "Romantically, I say. If there are suitors

Pietro finishes chewing the fruit slowly, increasing your anxiety considerably. And then he lets out a loud laugh.

- You've got to be kidding me. - he says between laughs. - You two are a total disaster, I can't believe it.

You looked at him with confusion and impatience, not understanding what it all meant. Was he laughing because Wanda had so many suitors that the question was ridiculous? Or maybe he was laughing at you, stupid enough to think that someone like Wanda would look at you.

Pietro dried the tears of laughter, panting breathlessly. Before he could clarify what he had said, you heard a familiar hiss. Steve caught your eye, gesturing to his watch, signaling you to hurry.

- You can tease me later. - You grumbled to Pietro before walking towards the camp exit. Your gaze lingered on Wanda's tent, you pushed the feeling of shame to the back of your mind.

Valentine was crowded today, you thought as you took a few steps to the side of the warehouse door allowing a lady to walk past you. You greeted the shopkeeper with a nod, pulling Pepper's list from your pocket as you ran your eyes along the shelves. You decided to hand the list to the shopkeeper, knowing that he would ensure that no items were missing with the intention of charging every cent.

- Do you have a cart? - asked the man, looking up at you from the list.

- Yes, it's parked across the street. - You informed him with your hands in your pockets.

- I'll sort it out and my boy will carry the items for you. - Said the man with a smile, you knew that kindness very well, and were not surprised when he added - A young woman can't carry that much weight alone.

With no intention of arguing, you just looked at him without smiling, which seemed to embarrass him slightly. The man made a noise in his throat, and went back to reading the list. You walked over to the newspaper section and were slightly distracted by the horse racing headlines, when you heard the shopkeeper's voice again.

- You're new to Valentine, right? - he asked, stooping to the counter to pick up a package, which you recognized as coffee. A red-haired, muscular boy entered the place through the back door, and began to carry in his arms some of the items the shopkeeper had put on the counter before leaving.

- Yes, I came from the South. - You simply say. Steve always taught not to give too much information to strangers.

- Not exactly much to do around here, if you ask me. - Said the man, you just grumbled in agreement, but he seemed willing to hold a conversation. You considered just walking out the door and waiting outside, but you didn't want to be rude. - Nothing happens in Valentine.

- That's fine, I appreciate the quiet. - You grumbled, but he didn't seem to pay any attention.

- We only have brutes in this town in my opinion. - The man continued his monologue, and you went back to looking at the magazines. - And when they're not brutes, they're weirdos. Even the town doctor hides out in your house, nobody knows what he's doing there.

Now you have some relevant information. You blinked intently, but the man seemed to be just complaining, and you understood that he wouldn't have any more information about this, and that it was worth your while to check with the local doctor. A few minutes passed, until the red-haired boy returned, waving to you and telling you that the wagon was loaded. You handed the shopkeeper a few dollars, and seeing the bruises on the red-haired boy's hands, you decided to give him a small tip.

You walked over to the wagon, stroking the horses before climbing on, guiding the vehicle toward the post office, which was at the other end of town. You would return to Valentine at another time to investigate the doctor.

When you arrived at the post office, you grabbed two apples from the crates behind the wagon, and handed them to each of the horses. Your boots got muddy when you climbed down, but you didn't care much.

-Hello, good morning! - greeted a man when you arrived at the booth. You smiled.

- Good morning. Do you have any mail for any of these people? - you asked, handing him a list of aliases created for the gang to receive orders. The man frowned, and took the paper and started looking through the shelves.

- You live in some kind of commune, do you? - He asked in an amused tone, given the number of names.

- Big family. - You grumbled in an almost ironic tone, and he didn't seem to notice, smiling in agreement.

After a moment, he had separated two package boxes and about five letters for you. You smiled in appreciation as he handed you the items.

-I couldn't find anything for "Carol Marvel" and "Natasha Black. - He announces as he hands you the list. You nod your head. It was common for Carol and Nat to have nothing to receive, both of them had no other family members, or friends that you knew of. And as for you, you didn't even put your name on the list anymore, the gang being the only people you had.

- All right, thank you very much. - You thanked them before you left. Stowing the packages in the cart, you kept the letters in your jacket pocket so they wouldn't get crushed.

You climbed into the vehicle again, whistling slowly as you rode back to camp. You stopped only when you heard a whistle that was not yours. Feeling a sharp pain in your shoulder, you turned your head to notice the arrow pierced through your left shoulder, and then the wagon was surrounded by about ten men, you guessed there were others within the forest around you.

Gritting your teeth in pain you stared at the man in front of the wagon.

- You're not from around here, stranger. - He began, stroking the horses that were quite agitated.

- What do you want? - you grumbled, feeling the sweat dripping down your face from the bleeding.

- Heartlands is O'Driscoll territory and we don't share it. - The man spoke in a warning tone. - Tell your leader that there is no room for another gang in the region.

- Fuck you. - You retorted through gritted teeth. The man let out a hoarse laugh, raising his gun at you.

- Or maybe I'll shoot you now and that will be warning enough.

You were so tired of all this shit. You couldn't even buy food without some asshole wanting to shoot you. Rolling your eyes, you raise your hands, thinking that Steve wouldn't be happy to see you die.

- I'll tell him. - You grumble. It takes him a moment to put the gun down, but when he does, he has a satisfied smile on his face.

- Yeah, yeah, be a good girl. - The man says, and signals to the others to let go of the horses' reins. He takes a few steps to the side, allowing the cart to move.

As you ride a few yards, you hear him shout in an ironic tone to wash the wound, and you just ignore the urge to shoot the fellow in the face.

Climbing down with difficulty from the wagon, you groan in pain as you feel the arrow still stuck against your flesh. You walk around the vehicle, unfastening the straps of the tarp that covered the cargo compartment. You groan again, feeling the wound throbbing a little. Looking around the camp, you look around for someone. When you notice the figure of Bucky a few feet away from you, you call out to him and wave for him to come closer. He smiles as he walks over to you, but his expression turns to concern as he notices the arrow in your shoulder.

- Girl, what is it? - He hurries worriedly raising his hands to touch it, you take a step towards peace, smiling helplessly.

- It's okay, I just need help unloading the wagon. - You say and Bucky looks at you with a mixture of concern and surprise, but nods frantically.

- Of course I'll help, now go treat that wound, for God's sake. - He says looking at you. You let out a breathless laugh before you leave.

Walking toward your hut, you grab some alcohol to clean the bruise, but before you can sit down, Pepper comes up to you with a worried look.

- Oh my god, Y/N, what happened? - She questions, and you mutter "ambush" but she's not paying attention. Pepper drags you into her own hut, while letting out exclamations of concern, complaining that you should have taken someone, and that you should be careful, and that the gang was in a dangerous place now, attracting the attention of several people in the camp who look at you with curiosity.

-It's okay, Potts, really. - You speak as you feel her push you down on the bed. She reaches over to grab a makeshift medical kit. You feel embarrassed by the attention, but still appreciate the care.

- Take a deep breath, okay? - She asks, and you know what's coming. Closing your eyes, you obey, feeling her break the arrow, the movement hurts nothing compared to feeling her push the rest of it away, seconds later. You groan in pain. - There, now I'll just clean it up.

You nod with tears in your eyes. Pepper smiles tenderly at you, and you look away from her to the rest of the camp, noticing that Steve and Peggy are walking toward you.

-What the hell happened? - Steve blurts out in a mixed tone of anger and concern, he would probably already be wanting to cause a war against whoever had attacked you.

- I made some friends. - You joked, but shut up with a mumble as you felt an intense burning sensation when Pepper poured the alcohol on your wound.

- Who did this to you? - Peggy asked, stepping closer as she watched Pepper clean the wound.

- They surrounded me a few meters from town, on that stretch of road covered with trees. - You explained, looking at Peggy. - About ten men, maybe more hiding. They said that this is O'Driscoll territory and that they won't share it.

Peggy and Steve exchanged a look, until Steve assumed a thoughtful pose, turning away.

- They could become a problem in the bank's job. - He says simply, and you frown.

- They are already a problem now. - rebuts Pepper, looking away from your wound. - If they attack our people in the streets!

- That was just an idle threat. - Steve retorted without looking at Pepper. You hated it when he assumed this posture of being the owner of the truth. - If they were going to kill someone they would have done it. Maybe they think that we want to take Heartlands from their domain, we just need to warn them that we have no interest and that we will only be here for a while.

- Steve, we can't risk everyone's safety. - Peggy said looking at the man, and he offered her a tender smile.

- I'll talk to them, Peggy. - He explained. - If they don't accept, then we will fight.

You let out a surprised exclamation.

- A gang war before a bank robbery? You've got to be kidding. - You retorted and felt the three of them stare at you. - And who do you intend to take to these two services? The last time I checked, half of the shooters were wounded.

-I don't understand your attitude. - scolded Steve, causing you to swallow dryly. - I'm trying to do what's best for the gang.

- How is putting us at risk the best thing for the gang?

Steve looked really shocked, and even hurt by your words. But he straightened his posture before he spoke.

- Treat your wound first and rest. We will talk after that.

And he left. Peggy gave you a tender look, as if to wish you to get better, before following Steve to his tent. Pepper patted your thigh as she finished dressing your shoulder. You sighed, looking at the ground.

- Y/N, get some rest, okay. - She said to you in a calm tone. - We are all nervous lately, and I know that you hate fighting with Steve as much as he hates fighting with you.

You shook your head in agreement, a sad smile on your lips.

- Thanks for the bandage, Potts. - You said softly, and she smiled, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. You smiled.

Leaving the tent, you walked around the camp toward the stream, feeling quite thirsty. It took three seconds for Pietro to surround you.

- I can't believe you got an arrow shot through you while buying coffee. - He announced in an amused tone, but his eyes showed his concern. You laughed softly, and continued walking toward the creek, being accompanied by him.

- You know how rival gangs are. They shoot first and ask questions later.

- I saw Steve coming out of the hut with a scowl on his face. Did you fight?

You groaned.

- Oh yes. I was being an unfair jerk and he was being a hardhead. - You grumbled, stooping down to drink some water.

- Damn it, I'm sorry. But you'll figure it out. It's not like Steve's going to be mad at you for very long.

- I hope so. - You say, sitting down at the edge of the stream, and enjoying some of the breeze. Pietro looks unnerved. - What's the matter with you, anyway? You're nervous.

He is silent for a moment, and then sits down next to you.

- Promise me you won't get angry?

The sentence makes you look at him suspiciously.

- What did you do?

He hesitates a moment, looking away from you to the stream as he drums his fingers on his knee.

- Look, I know you warned me to stop cheating, but it seemed so easy...

- Pietro... - You interrupted in a warning tone, looking at him with concern.

- Damn, I screwed up everything, okay? - He spoke in a tone of guilt and despair. - I thought that there were only peons with me at the table, but then one of them saw me stealing and the next second two brutes appeared and I almost got shot.

You blinked a few times, frowning. Feeling a slight headache coming on, you signaled for him to continue explaining.

- I don't know who they are, but they're staying in Limpany. - He said, looking back at you.

- You're an idiot. - You grumbled, looking back at the creek. - How many men did you say?

- I played with one of them, and there were two more as security. - He explained, you started planning. - I guess it's a small group, since they're all at the brothel.

You nodded, lifting your knees to rest your arms and head against them. You closed your eyes for a second.

- I imagine that you have no intention of paying off the bets. - You said in an ironic tone.

- Well, I don't have two thousand. - He replied in the same tone, and you let out a surprised exclamation.

- What the hell were you doing at a two thousand table? - you exclaimed, and Pietro shrugged, causing you to roll your eyes. - I told you to only play with what you can cover, idiot.

- And what's the fun in that? - He grinned back, and you grinned back at him, it was true after all. You took one last look at the stream, and sighed wearily.

- Five minutes. I had five minutes of peace. - You grumbled, and Pietro laughed.

- You're getting crankier every day, you know. - He teased, and you gave him the middle finger, which made him laugh. You both stood up, and Pietro pushed his shoulder lightly against yours several times on the way to the horses.

Limpany was so small, you were surprised they even considered it a town. It was in the middle of nowhere, in front of the same river that flowed into the camp. You guessed that the main income from that place came from the town's brothel, which was probably visited by the citizens of Valentine as well as Rhodes, and of course by the many travelers passing through.

You warned Pietro not to attract attention, and he rode silently beside you, following your lead. You left your horses at the entrance to town, and walked together toward the saloon, which was buzzing with the noise of music and voices.

But then the place fell silent the moment you stepped through the door. Even the pianist looked at you angrily. What the hell had Pietro done in this place, you thought. Two tall, stout men stepped out of the crowd, signaling to the bartender that all was well, and the music resumed. The brothel girls laughed again, and everyone focused on their drinks and games. You swallowed dryly as you watched the man approach, and Pietro took a step beside you.

- The little thief decided to show up. - Said the bigger man in an ironic tone - Do you have my money, boy?

- How about I bet the money back? - You suggest to the man and he looks you up and down, a mischievous smile on his face.

- Sweetie, you can pay me back another way. - He says, and Pietro gets angry enough to push him away. The two men are as quick as you are to draw their revolvers.

- Hey, Louis, please. No guns in the saloon. - says the bartender in a fearful tone, you imagine it took a lot of courage for him to give some kind of order around here. The taller man laughs lightly and then points his revolver at the bartender, who raises his trembling hands. Seeing the man's desperation, the man named Louis lets out a laugh and lowers his revolver, nudging his friend by the shoulders to do the same. You only holster your gun when he holsters his. - I'm just messing with you, Charles. - Mocks Louis, and then he turns to you.

Pietro continues with a defensive posture around you, and you almost laugh at the thought that it was him in the first place who will ask for your help. But any thoughts of amusement are quickly interrupted when the man suddenly punches Pietro in the face. You widen your eyes in surprise, and hold your friend back from advancing on the man again. You notice the worried and curious looks at you, and you also see two other angry looking men standing up, which suggests that they might be members of the group. You wouldn't stand a chance to fight them all off.

- I suggest you only come back here with my money. - The man grunts and turns to walk toward the bar.

You raise Pietro's face with both hands, noting the damage from the punch. His nose was bleeding but not broken. He looked irritated. You sighed, and gave him a short smile as you said softly.

- There are five men in total. Two at the bar, one on the stairs, and two more at the back. Can you see them?

- Yes. - mumbled Pietro, running his eyes around the saloon.

- Can you aim?

He nodded, and you patted him on the cheek before turning around. Taking a deep breath, you quickly drew your revolver, three shots echoed through the room, and were followed by two more. Screams echoed along with the sound of bodies falling to the ground. The vast majority of the people were too shocked to react, but many ran out of the saloon. You walked over to the body of the man who had punched Pietro.

- If we have any luck, it's just these. - You said checking to see if he had anything of value.

And then you heard shots outside, and someone shouted:

- The bastards are in the saloon!

- I think you spoke too soon. - joked Pietro, and you ran to use the door frame as cover.

At this point, the vast majority of the people ran out of the saloon through the back door, desperate with the commotion and afraid of being shot.

- Steve had said that bar fights were forbidden, right? - You joked, and Pietro laughed as he loaded his revolver. Someone shot at the door and you turned your face to the right.

- I think he just said that you were forbidden to fight. - Pietro replied in the same tone, putting his arm out to the side and firing twice. You started exchanging fire with the men outside, but it wasn't easy to aim correctly. - In fact, I am surprised.

- At what? - you asked as you finally hit someone. You hid your whole body against the doorframe to reload your revolver.

- You still haven't asked where Wanda is. - He teased, and you felt your cheeks heat up, but you laughed. He wasn't lying after all.

You managed to hit two more shots, but they were not accurate, and the men continued to fire, although with less precision. You let out an impatient grunt.

- You know, I think you should give up poker. - you commented, drawing a laugh from Pietro.

- And I think you should propose to my sister. - He hits back and you almost get shot, stumbling back in surprise. Pietro laughs but looks at you, worried that you've been shot. You assure him that you are fine with a nod.

- Don't say things like that to me in the middle of a gunfight, please.

Pietro laughs and then puts the body out, firing three more shots. The noises finally stop.

- Now that this is over, can we talk about it then? - He asked in a provocative tone, you blush and look at the floor as you walk him out of the saloon.

- You're very annoying, you know. - You grumble, and then you look around, but identify no one else wanting to shoot at you.

Quickly checking the bodies for anything of value, you feel Pietro tap you on the shoulder signaling you to get up, and when you look up you see the town sheriff walking towards you.

- Murder and pillaging is punishable by hanging. - He comments while holding a stick between his teeth. It doesn't sound like a threat.

- Not interfering with the shooting is punishable by what, officer? - Pietro retorts, and the man smiles slightly.

Ignoring the provocation, he walks toward the body of one of the men you have killed. He kicks the body slightly to the right, showing his face bloodied from the bullet in his forehead.

- See the scar? - He asks and Pietro nods in agreement, you just stare at the body intently. - These bastards are Lemonye's raiders. They took over the town weeks ago. - The sheriff looks around for a moment, observing the curious looks of the inhabitants who were hiding in the few establishments in Limpany. - We have no gunslingers around here, no one strong enough to stop domains like these. And well, the state has no interest in protecting a place that has no cattle, gold or oil.

- We are not gunslingers. - Pietro tried to lie, and the sheriff just let out a laugh.

- Of course. - He spoke in a slightly ironic tone. - Just good friends from the neighborhood. - And then he assumed a serious posture. - Anyway, I have to thank you for what you've done here.

- Why don't you make a deal with Valentine's sheriff? - you asked after a moment. Neither you nor Pietro felt exactly honored to have helped the town, killing was not exactly something you enjoyed doing, although it was almost always indispensable in the life you led. The sheriff let out a dry laugh at your statement.

- That man is too concerned about the married ladies of his town to help me. - He replied simply. - Don't worry about the bodies, I'll get the boys from the brothel to help me with it. I won't report you to the state either.

Pietro smiled but you just nodded, nudging his arm to let him follow you. You waved your hats lightly in farewell to the sheriff before you left.

You rode off in silence, and you told Pietro that you should ride in the opposite direction, because one should never ride straight back to camp after conflicts like these. He nodded, and you both rode in silence.

- Wanda went to Saint Denis.

Pietro's voice startled you. Blinking in confusion, you were very distracted and had to look at him to be sure that he had really said something. Noticing his insinuating smile, you confirmed that he had.

- I didn't ask. - You grumbled stubbornly, and Pietro chuckled.

You spent a moment in silence, before you gave in to the urge to know more.

- Not that I have any interest in that. - You started without looking at the man riding beside you. - But why did she go to Saint Denis?

- Work. - He answered, hiding a smile, and you squeezed your hammock slightly at the vague answer. And then Pietro let out a chuckle. - Didn't you just say you have no interest in knowing? - he teased, and you let out a lame laugh.

- Screw you, Pietro. - You mumbled, and you continued in silence for a moment.

- I really can't tell you. - He said after a while, and you frowned. - If you ask me, I think she went to buy you a present.

- What? - you exclaimed in a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. Pietro laughed at your expression.

- Have you forgotten that it's your birthday the day after tomorrow? - he teased. - I already bought your present too, by the way.

- You didn't have to buy anything. - You said, looking forward, your cheeks flushed. - But I'm sure I'll love it.

Pietro smiled, and you were silent. You really had a tendency to forget your birthday, and this was probably because it wasn't really your birthday. The date had been chosen by Steve, as the day he adopted you as part of the gang, but you had no idea if it was even close to your actual birth. You were too small to remember what day it really was, and besides, you didn't have any documents. So you just accepted the chosen date. And in outlaw life, it wasn't really your priority. Almost every year you forgot, and were always pleasantly surprised by the other gang members with cake and music. Unlike the twins' birthdays, where you always took time out of your day to do some activity with them, you didn't feel very comfortable with all the attention, so you always spent your birthdays inside the camp, helping out with chores like a normal day. You were lost in your own thoughts, when you heard Pietro whistle softly for you to stop, and you looked at him confused. He got off his horse, stretching his body.

- You're bleeding, miss. - he warned as if it were obvious. You blinked and then looked down at your shoulder, the cotton bandage completely red. - Come here, I'll clean it for you.

You dismounted the Horseman carefully, and now that the adrenaline had left your body, you felt your shoulder ache. Unbuttoning your shirt, you walked over to Pietro as you took it off. He gave you a playful look and whistled.

- Wanda is going to lose her mind on her wedding night. - he teased, and you felt your face heat up.

- Are you willing to get punched in the face again? - You retorted angrily and awkwardly.

He just laughed and made a motion with his hand to the water in the lake, making you wet. You let out an irritated grunt, feeling the cold liquid against your body.

- I'm really going to punch you, Pietro.

- Shush, stop being grumpy. Sit here. - He said, pointing to the rock beside the lake.

You sat down and he began to change the bandage in silence. You looked at him while you waited, and he made a few faces that made you laugh.

- There you go. - He announced after a while

- Thank you.

When you thanked him, he looked at you seriously, and you didn't get up.

- You won't hurt my sister, right? - he asked, looking straight at you. Feeling your heart race a little, you swallowed hard.

- I have no intention of doing that. - You confess sincerely, and Pietro shakes his head.

- I know we are like family, but I won't forgive you if you hurt Wanda. - Pietro says in the same tone, his gaze wavering between you and the lake beside you. You sigh

- I won't forgive myself if I hurt her either. - You confess with your head down, and Pietro puts a hand on your healthy shoulder.

- I think it will be fun to be your brother-in-law. - He jokes and you laugh, pushing him lightly. - I'm hungry, can we stop at a saloon before we head back to the camp?

- Sure, Pietro. - You say, getting up. - Rhodes is closer, and they have great rooms. We can spend the night.

- Any chance we could play poker? - He jokes, and you tell him to shut up, nudging him with your shoulder as he lets out a laugh.

When you finally get back to the camp, it is almost lunchtime for the next day. Pietro sleeps a lot when he drinks, and you saw him with a bottle of beer being escorted by a pretty girl toward his room in the Saloon in Rhodes, both of them stumbling slightly while you laughed and played with your set of cards. Then it took a while for you both to leave town for the camp.

You nodded to him as you walked toward your own tent, while you unbuckled your belt and holster to throw them on the bed. You were changing into more comfortable clothes when you heard someone calling you.

- Can we talk, kid? - Steve's deep voice came into your tent. You looked away, closing the trunk of clothes on the floor of your bed.

-Sure, Steve. - You said and followed him toward the camp trail, and you walked side by side in silence for a few minutes.

- Do you think I'm putting everyone in danger? - he asked after a while, his tone slightly concerned.

You felt your cheeks heat with guilt.

- I'm sorry I said that. - You mumbled. - It wasn't fair.

- We don't apologize for telling the truth. - He retorted, making you smile.

- The truth is that we all chose this outlaw life, Steve. - You said, stopping walking to look at him. - I guess I was just trying to pin my frustration on someone. Things have been going wrong ever since we left Armadillo.

Steve lets out a sigh.

- Yes, I had that feeling too. - He confesses, looking away to his surroundings. - But I'm optimistic about everything. We've been through worse, right? We just need to get back to our normal rhythm.

- I think so. - You grumble. - Things will get better when we're all here.

- Oh, sure. - Steve seems to remember something and you look at him curiously. - Maria and Monica came back yesterday while you were away. They must be packing up.

You felt a wave of excitement rush through your body, but then you took on an almost disappointed expression, and Steve added:

- Natasha will show up soon, don't overthink it. - He tried to reassure you, and you looked down at the floor.

- It's been two weeks since she left for Tumbleweed. - You grumbled, and Steve laughed lightly.

- Which happens to be on the other side of the country. - He pointed in a playful tone. - Nat will still have to decipher Peggy's letter to find us. And the trip from Tumbleweed to the Heartlands is not a short one. Relax a bit.

You shrugged, knowing he was right. Steve came over and ruffled your hair after a while, laughing tenderly and earning a grumble from you.

- How's your shoulder? - he asked, watching you try to fix your own hair with a grimace.

- Sore. - you said, and he nodded.

- Do you think you'll be able to shoot it during the robbery?

You chose not to mention that you had been involved in a shooting less than twenty hours ago, so you just nodded. Steve smiled and looked straight ahead. You followed his gaze, feeling your heart race a little as you saw Wanda, at the moment laughing as she helped Bucky carry some wood and he made faces as if he was trying too hard to lift the weight.

- You'll be eighteen tomorrow, won't you? - Steve asked in a gentle tone, and you agreed softly, without looking away from Wanda. - At that age, it is common for young women to be courted.

You almost choked at the insinuation, and turned your head very quickly to the side, watching Steve stare ahead, a playful smile threatening to escape.

- What are you talking about now? - You asked awkwardly, and he let out a little laugh.

- I'm just trying to say that it's perfectly normal at this age...

- God, I'm not talking about this with you. - You grumbled, your cheeks flushed, making him laugh. You looked forward, staring at your feet.

- Now, don't be so grumpy. - He teased, If we were like those families in the city, I'd have married you to some magnate about five years ago.

You let out an indignant sigh.

- If my father had tried to marry me off by force, I would have fled the country. - You started - And then I would have ended up as an outlaw, just like now.

Steve laughed, and you looked around again.

- I'm only saying that because you and Pietro have been riding together a lot. - And ignoring the look of absolute horror on your face, Steve continued. - And he's a decent guy, he'd be a good choice.

- I have to admit that it is brave of you to assume that I would marry any of the guys we met. - You countered, and Steve laughed heartily. - Although Pietro is a good man, we are just friends. I've never seen him like this.

- If none of the guys catch your eye, what about the girls? - Steve asks and you feel your stomach sink with nervousness, he continues talking however, not expecting your answer. - I know you're missing Natasha terribly.

My dear God. - You grumble with reddened cheeks, bringing your hand to your face to cover it in embarrassment. You laugh nervously. - You really do get everything wrong. - You say, staring at him after a moment, you decide to tease him. - Not everyone is in love with their best friends, you know?

Steve chokes in surprise, but laughs at your teasing. He looks away, and replies:

- I know, I know, especially since Wanda isn't your best friend, is she?

You blush profusely, and mumble something like "mind your own business" before leaving in a huff. Steve laughs as he walks with you, and you walk back to your tent and he says goodbye, ruffling your hair again, making you let out a dissatisfied exclamation.

Back in your tent, you try to fix your hair as you look in the half-broken mirror that hangs from one of the canvas's timbers, and you blush when you see Wanda through the reflection standing at the entrance to your room.

- Hi. - She greeted you with a smile, and you turned around, feeling warm, and smiled back.

- Hi Wanda. - Trying to hide your complete lack of posture, you kept your hands in your pockets, pressing your fingers against the fabric. - I haven't seen you for a while, everything okay?

- I should be the one asking you that. - She comments, stepping closer. You hold your breath when you feel her inches from your face. She shifts her gaze from yours to your shoulder, pulling your shirt aside to see the bandage. - Does it still hurt?

You ignore the uneven beating of your heart as you deny it with your head. She smiles at you, without turning away.

- Knowing you and Pietro, I'm sure he's already told you what I went to Saint Denis for. - She comments with a slight smile, and you think she is going to pull away, but she brings her face closer to your ear. You feel something in your stomach clench as you hear her whisper, her breath tickling your skin. - I went to get your present.

Holy fucking God, you think, closing your eyes for a moment. Your body becomes hypersensitive to Wanda, but she pulls away in the next moment. Her cheeks are slightly reddened, but she has a falsely innocent look on her face that makes you realize she knows exactly the effect she has on you.

- You're not going to tell me what it is, are you? - you ask, relaxing your body slightly, which attracts the attention of Wanda, who looks at you with her pupils slightly dilated. - Not even a hint?

You joke in a playful tone, pouting, and watch Wanda look down at your mouth. She smiles and grabs your belt and holster from the bed, only to approach you again, causing you to lose all relaxed posture. Without saying anything, she lifts the belt, and to slip it behind your back she comes even closer, her breasts bouncing against yours, making you hold your breath. She closes the belt in front of you and gives you a mischievous smile.

- That's your cue. - She whispers, and you can't think of anything with her so close.

-R-right. - You say breathlessly, Wanda bites her lips, a smile threatening to escape. She gives you one last look before turning away. You let out a breath you hadn't even realized you were holding.

- Let's get some lunch before Bucky comes to grab us by the hair. - She says in a playful tone, pulling you by the hand out of the tent.

- I want to hear about what you found along the road, Wands. - You told her, honestly, you just wanted to hear her talk to you, even if it was to say that she had ridden in silence for twelve hours. Wanda smiled in agreement with a nod of her head. She only let go of your hand when she needed to grab the quilt from the soaking, and you tried not to miss the feeling so much.

#wanda maximoff x reader #marvel reader insert #western au #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #marvel imagines #red dead redemption au #Land of Thieves #wandaxreader

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retvenkos · 3 years

Text

“i am this close to dropkicking all of you into oblivion”

i have one sibling in every hogwarts house, so here’s some weird things each of them does...

gryffindor

will walk up the stairs, stare at you for a minute straight, and then make a random animal sound (usually a pterodactyl screech) before laughing and leaving again

unironically blasts “all i want for christmas is you” at 8 o’clock in the morning on black friday

will call you at really inopportune moments only to breathe heavily into the phone, laugh after a minute or so, and ask you if mom is home (after she just told them she was leaving.)

if they get take out they always offer to get you something and then pay for it, but then they hold it over your head, later

never has cash on them, despite always being able to buy you take out

which means they never tip the doordasher, rip

honestly doesn’t care if they’re left out of family things™ but brings up all the times you did something without them randomly, just to guilt trip you

always makes plans for when they will come into money but never does

plans to get really expensive gifts for birthdays or holidays but then doesn’t have money when the time comes

impulsively sells their electronics (like playstations and xboxes) for money only to buy new electronics

and then eventually buy back the same model of the one they sold

actually stays out of a lot of family drama by just never leaving their room

needs “background noise” to sleep so they end up hogging netflix all night despite not actually watching it

yells loudly when playing video games, much to ravenclaw’s annoyance

stays up until 5 o’clock in the morning playing video games then doesn’t wake up until noon

only sings to annoy others

put a nylon on their head and had a cousin (an enablist ravenclaw) pour cereal and milk into their covered mouth

ravenclaw filmed and encouraged this

stole the microwave in the kitchen to put in their room

aLWAYS HAS THE TV ON BUT NEVER WATCHES IT

constantly deletes and recreates their instagram account

unironically likes riverdale

watched the entirety of the clone wars and then made fun of me and hufflepuff when they saw us watching it.

absolutely did not care what i put on this post

ravenclaw

will mutter a joke under their breath, and then when no one laughs, will say “wow. guess i’m not loved.”

went through a pirate, ancient egypt, ancient greek, and dinosaur phase at various points in their life

for the most part you would never guess but occasionally they will hit you with a bit of obscure knowledge that makes you go ???

planned a scavenger hunt based on the meme of ted cruz being the zodiac killer

enlisted the help of their sibling, a slytherin, to create an ottendorf cipher to make it interesting

gets enraged by the fact that gryffindor never tips doordashers

doesn’t want to be left out of family things™ but also doesn’t want to do them

doesn’t let their financial status known and will just suffer™ in dignified silence

will float gryffindor money to buy electronics, only to get hella upset when gryffindor inevitably sells them

needs a special pillow and a sleep mask to sleep

is dead silent 80% of the time but will break out into song in the middle of the kitchen, completely unprompted

will be completely silent and then say “they ask you how you are, and you just have to say you’re fine when you’re not really fine, but you just can’t get into it, because they would never understand.”

films gryffindor’s antics

used the microwave in gryffindor’s room without passing judgement

randomly deletes or renames everyone’s accounts on netflix

or will troll others, making a second account identical to their own

mostly to annoy gryffindor or hufflepuff

has zero posts on instagram. obscure stories only.

reinvents their entire style every three years or so.

has zero consistency when it comes to music taste

likes to think they’re better than gryffindor because they watch scandal and how to get away with murder instead of riverdale

begged me to make this post (specifically to roast gryffindor) and then got very offended by what i put here

hufflepuff

will interrupt you in the middle of a conversation, and then when you finally turn to them, will go, “uhh..... i forgot.”

has a complete inability to finish their food, no matter how hungry they are. even if they finish their first plate they will get a second or third and fail to finish it in the end.

is constantly binging tv - is keeping up with 5 shows at any given moment

if you ask them to do something they don’t want to do, they either do it anyway or pretend they didn’t hear your request

this combined with them pretending to be asleep to avoid work

they never want to be left out of family things™ but only want to do half of it or one very specific job (usually doing the place setting for dinner or something equally as effortless)

is strangely good at getting other people to give them money but is also willing to give you some if you need it

encourages gryffindor to sell their electronics but then backs up ravenclaw when they get angry about it

never sleeps but when they do it can be anywhere at any time

sings while doing homework

also sings when they hear you coming toward them and can sense you need something (then they pretend they can’t hear you because they are singing and if you get louder so do they)

is very confused by gryffindor’s antics

was visibly upset when gryffindor put the microwave in their room and refused to use it for four months after it had been returned to the kitchen because it was “tainted”

has an ungodly amount of tabs open on google chrome at all times

they have zero storage in their phone because it’s full of really blurry photos they refuse to delete

also refuses to delete photos on instagram - even the cringey ones - because they “die like men”

is rightfully horrified by gritty reboots like riverdale

rewatches cartoons and disney channel only

has an inexplicable hatred for anakin skywalker and jar jar binks

i haven’t told them about this post because i fear they will go feral once they know of it’s existence

slytherin

will ghost you for two months and then do an instagram story about missing their family and always wanting to be there for you

used to be such a people pleaser that they did a sport that they actually hated for four years

buys scarily accurate gifts but then never tell you how they know

says they don’t care if they’re left out of family things™ but actually does

either has lots of money that no one was aware of or is hella broke but can play it off really well

tells gryffindor not to sell their electronics but also tells them the place to get the best price

manages to stay out of a lot of minor family drama but is at the center of larger debates

can sleep anywhere and can sleep through literal earthquakes but wakens at the sound of footsteps and someone opening their door

they can also tell who is walking around by the sound of their footsteps alone

is quiet 80% of the time but has the decency to break out into song only when behind closed doors

big shower singer

is never present for gryffindor’s antics but laughs and says to do it again (with suggestions for them) when they see the video

reprimanded gryffindor for putting the microwave in their room but frequently used it.

a morning person

(there are 3 slytherins in my house and all of them are morning people, explain that.)

will keep their icon for netflix and other accounts (like their g-mail, instagram, or even myspace) recent, but the photo is never actually their face - just a weird aesthetic photo

unironically loves instagram stories

makes then religiously, too

has never seen gritty reboots like riverdale but watches youtube videos that hate on them

loved hayden christensen as anakin skywalker and will die defending him

laughed while reading this post - especially at their own idiocy

AND FLUFF ENSUES.

#hp #hogwarts #hogwarts houses #headcanons #hp headcanons #slytherin #gryffindor #ravenclaw #hufflepuff #slytherin headcanons #gryffindor headcanons #ravenclaw headcanons #hufflepuff headcanons #siblings

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firstfullmoon · 4 years

Note

Do you have favorite quotes related about the importance of small details?

“The precious intimacy of little things.”

— Daphné du Maurier, I Will Never Be Young Again

“On my windowsill when I got home, there was a tumbler with pink jelly in it, and embedded in the jelly, sliced strawberries and bananas… [my neighbour] cooks at odd hours. She must have made the strawberry jelly this morning. When I buy baklava, which is not often because I eat too many, I leave a few for her on her windowsill, with a headscarf over them so the wasps don’t come. For these little gifts we don’t thank each other with words. They are commas of care.”

— John Berger, From A to X: A Story in Letters

“I suppose I could spend time theorizing how it is that people are not bad to each other, but that’s really not the point. The point is that in almost every instance of our lives, our social lives, we are, if we pay attention, in the midst of an almost constant, if subtle, caretaking. Holding open doors. Offering elbows at crosswalks. Letting someone else go first. Helping with the heavy bags. Reaching what’s too high, or what’s been dropped. Pulling someone back to their feet. Stopping at the car wreck, at the struck dog. The alternating merge, also known as the zipper. This caretaking is our default mode and it’s always a lie that convinces us to act or believe otherwise. Always.”

“One of the woman was gently arranging an older woman’s collar beneath her sweater, freeing it from the cardigan’s neck, using both of her hands to jostle it free but also seeming to spend a little more time than necessary, creasing the fold of the collar, the other hand kind of resting on her shoulder, the two of them chatting the whole time, sitting there holding each other, nodding, my head twisting toward them like a sunflower as I finished the stairs and walked by, so in love was I with this common flourish of love, this everyday human light.”

“but her need to share the photo with me [...] smiling and looking at it, smiling and looking at me looking at it, me smiling and looking at her looking at it, which is simply called sharing what we love, what we find beautiful, which is an ethics.”

— Ross Gay, The Book of Delights

“He’s got a fever. He’s all alone. So I’m gonna buy him something to eat.” “The congee downstairs is quite good.” “He doesn’t want congee.” “What does he want?” “Can’t taste anything so he wants sesame syrup.” [...] “What are you cooking?” “I had a sudden craving for sesame syrup.”

“Why did you call me at the office today?” “I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice.”

— In the Mood for Love, dir. Wong Kar-Wai

— Danusha Laméris, “Small Kindnesses”

“It all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing. What is most beautiful is least acknowledged. What is worth dying for is barely noticed.”

— Laura McBride, We Are Called to Rise

“I’ve never told you this,” she said. “But there’s something about taking the cart back instead of leaving it in the parking lot. I don’t know when this came to me; it was a few years ago. There’s a difference between leaving it where you empty it and taking it back to the front of the store. It’s significant.” “Because somebody has to take them in.” “Yes. And if you know that, and you do it for that one guy, you do something else. You join the world…You move out of your isolation and become universal.”

— Andre Dubus, “Out of the Snow”

“It’s true that, in Vietnamese, we rarely say I love you, and when we do, it is almost always in English. Care and love, for us, are pronounced clearest through service: plucking white hairs, pressing yourself on your son to absorb a plane’s turbulence and, therefore, his fear. Or now—as Lan called to me, “Little Dog, get over here and help me help your mother.” And we knelt on each side of you, rolling out the hardened cords in your upper arms, then down to your wrists, your fingers. For a moment almost too brief to matter, this made sense—that three people on the floor, connected to each other by touch, made something like the word family.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel

— Ada Limón, from “The Great Blue Heron of Dunbar Road”

“I’m doing a balancing act with a stack of fresh fruit in my basket. I love you. I want us both to eat well.”

— Christopher Citro, from “Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled WIth Shrieks”

“One of the primary ways we connect with each other is by eating together. Some of the connection happens simply by being in the same place at the same time and sharing the same food, but we also connect through specific actions, such as serving food to one another or making toasts: ‘May I offer you some potatoes?’ ‘Here’s to your health and happiness.’ Much of our fundamental well-being comes from the basic reassurance that there is a place for us at the table. We belong here. Here we are served and we serve others. Here we give and receive sustenance.”

— Edward Espe Brown, Tomato Blessings and Radish Teaching

“Attention is the beginning of devotion.”

“Now in the spring I kneel, I put my face into the packets of violets, the dampness, the freshness, the sense of ever-ness. Something is wrong, I know it, if I don’t keep my attention on eternity. May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful. May I stay forever in the stream. May I look down upon the windflower and the bull thistle and the coreopsis with the greatest respect.”

“it is a serious thing

just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”

— Mary Oliver, Upstream: Selected Essays / from “Invitation”

— Wendy Cope, “The Orange”

“After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: if anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother until we got on the plane and would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—non-alcoholic—and the two little girls from our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade, and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye, “Gate A4″

“Then there are the things, if you are particularly lucky, that this person has done for you while you’re away: how in the pantry, in the freezer, in the refrigerator will be all the food you like to eat, the scotch you like to drink. There will be the sweater you thought you lost the previous year at the theater, clean and folded and back on its shelf. There will be the shirt with its dangling buttons, but the buttons will be sewn back in place. There will be your mail stacked on one side of his desk; there will be a contract for an advertising campaign you’re going to do in Germany for an Austrian beer, with his notes in the margin to discuss with your lawyer. And there will be no mention of it, and you will know that it was done with genuine pleasure, and you will know that part of the reason—a small part, but a part—you love being in this apartment and in this relationship is because this other person is always making a home for you, and that when you tell him this, he won’t be offended but pleased, and you’ll be glad, because you meant it with gratitude.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

#this is a mim supremacy account #w #compilation #the precious intimacy of little things #john berger #hanya yanagihara #naomi shihab nye #wendy cope #mary oliver #ada limón #ocean vuong #danusha laméris #ross gay

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cafedanslanuit · 4 years

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♡ f l u f f v e m b e r 2 0 2 0 ♡

♡ week one — kageyama tobio | long-distance relationship

♡ summary — getting into a relationship with kageyama was close to impossible, that you knew. nevertheless, that didn’t stop you from developing feelings for him and eventually becoming more than friends. he was constantly training and didn’t have a lot of time to spend by your side, but once kageyama found himself remembering your laugh on his way home, he decided to do whatever it took to make the relationship work.

♡ playlist

the moon song - beabadoobee & oscar lang home - bruno major blueberry eyes - max & suga

♡ masterlist ♡

Every morning, Kageyama wakes up at the same hour. He puts on his running shoes, grabs his phone, keys and earphones and hits the streets. It’s been his routine since he started playing volleyball. While he ran, Kageyama preferred to keep his mind focused in his steps, the weight he was putting on his heels and toes, his heart rhythm and his mind replaying the sets he had done the day before. He didn’t see running as something he did before he trained, but as part of the training itself. Kageyama was very adamant against listening to music or a podcast during his morning runs.

Everything changed after he met you.

Kageyama puts on his earphones and goes through his mail inbox. Like most days, he sees your name on his most recent unopened email. He downloads the audio attachment and presses play before shoving his phone back to his pocket.

“Good morning Tobio!”

His lip twitches upward.

“So, you must be sleeping right now. Which sucks! Because I just got home from work. Yes, I got safe, don’t worry. Mika and her boyfriend dropped me at my place right now. Remember Mika, my coworker? Yeah. Hey boyfriend always picks her up when we have shifts until one in the morning and they drive me home. I’m kind of tired right now.”

Kageyama hears a long yawn on your side, followed by a thud that he imagines it’s you laying on your bed.

“Let me put on some music,” you say, and a few seconds later he listens to a tune he thinks he’s heard before. “Today’s classes were just okay. I got a grade back but it wasn’t what I expected.”

“But, what can you do?” Kageyama mouths along with your voice.

“Work was also okay. Mika and I spent most of the night talking, she had had a small fight with her boyfriend and asked me for advice. It wasn’t really a big thing, you see…”

The next few minutes, Kageyama listens to you ramble about your friend and her boyfriend, but he has to admit he is paying more attention to your voice than what you were saying. He imagines himself watching you talk and the expressions he had seen you make the first time he had seen you. The tip of your tongue sticking out between your teeth after you laughed at something you shouldn’t have laughed about, the slight pout on your lips as you talked about something you didn’t like or the attentive way your eyes fixated on him while he talked about volleyball.

“Anyway, I know you don’t really care about this,” you say. “But it’s really nice to imagine you listening to me talk during your morning runs. Is it already cold there? I hope you put something on if it is. Not trying to tell you what to do. I know you, more than anyone, take your health very seriously, but I guess I can’t help but worry,” you chuckle. You stay quiet for a moment, and Kageyama basks in the comfort your silence provides.

His mind goes back to those Sunday nights when he’s watching past games on his laptop while he’s face timing with you. You are usually taking a cup of coffee, trying to forget you’ve only slept five hours after getting home from your shift at the bar. You know he has to get to bed in a couple of hours so he can get enough rest for this Monday practice, so you treasure those small moments when the time difference and both your busy schedules let you share a moment. Kageyama’s eyes are fixated on his laptop and you take the opportunity to revise some of your lessons, most of the time finding out there was a paper due next week you had forgotten about.

Every once in a while you take a look at your phone and see Kageyama’s dark eyes glued to his laptop. You bury your nose on the Schweiden Adlers hoodie he sent you last month and even if your boyfriend’s smell has almost completely worn off, you still find comfort in wearing his clothes.

When Kageyama comes back to his house to get ready for training, your voice is no longer in his ears. You always made sure not to surpass the usual time he spends running. He takes a look at the dual clock on his phone and realizes you must be still in class, so he refrains from sending a text and hops on the shower.

The fourteen hour difference between the both of you had seemed like a wall impossible to climb. Not only that but his intense training schedule plus your uni classes and your part time job also took most of your energy and it was a rare occurrence that you could sit in front of a computer at the same time.

But the connection was something he had never experienced before. He had been invited to a foreign university overseas for a tournament. The day before it started, the team had gone to the campus to get to know the facilities, and after they were done, Kageyama had left them to buy something to drink from a vending machine. Not being able to find any, he asked for directions and took the elevator to the cafeteria, not noticing someone carrying a couple of books under their arms standing next to him.

Now it seemed almost fate to remember how the elevator malfunctioned and he had to spend the next two hours with you. After pressing the Emergency button and being told it would be a while, you introduced yourself with a smile. He wasn’t really enthusiastic about getting to know each other but it all changed after he mentioned he was there because of a volleyball tournament. Kageyama can still remember your eyes widening and the questions that followed, all centered about his true passion. A few minutes later, you were sitting on the floor of the elevator, while he explained in broken English every position in volleyball and what they were supposed to do. Even though you hadn’t played any sports seriously outside of school, the fact this guy was talented enough to get invited overseas to play had spiked your attention, and you asked question after question so you could understand more about volleyball.

“So the setter is basically the key player, right?” you had asked, while he scribbled on the notebook you had lent him so he could explain.

Kageyama tried not to smile. He really did.

After you asked him about the tournament schedule and wrote down the name of his team, you promised you would do your best to make it to the game. Kageyama had never really cared about people coming to his games to watch but, once he had won the first game as was leaving the court, his eyes unexpectedly met yours and he saw you waving at him for the bleachers with a smile. He nodded at you and as he disappeared through the gym door he thought maybe someone going to see his games wasn’t so bad.

One week later, Kageyama’s team had won the tournament, and since you had asked for his number while waiting inside the elevator, you offered to buy him something from the cafeteria after the final match. This time, he took the time to listen to you ramble about your career, and how enthusiastic you were about it. He didn’t understand most of the things you talked about, most of your words sounding foreign and new to him. But the one detail he did recognize at first glance was the way your pupils dilated while you spoke. Your hands moved faster than usual as you tried to explain, and you even used the salt shaker on the table as a prop to help you out. The glimmer in your eyes was the same nature as the burn he used to feel in his chest whenever he talked about volleyball. You promised to stay in contact and gave him a small but tight hug when it was his time to leave. He hoped you didn’t notice the pink tint on his cheeks before you went away.

Your love confession came two months after he was back in Japan, followed by the longest and hardest conversation the two of you had ever had. He explained his strict training schedule and you talked about your university increasing the hardness of the classes you took and how little time you had left. A long silence filled the room, and you realized maybe you should have kept the confession to yourself. It was never going to work. There were too many impediments so maybe it would have been better to push down whatever you felt. In the end, you two weren’t supposed to meet and--

“I’d like to try it.”

You can still remember the blush on his cheeks and furrowed eyebrows after blurting out those words. You smiled brightly at him and nodded, enthusiastically.

“I’d like to try too.”

It had been one year and six months since then. To find someone who not only understood his crazy schedule but was passionate about their own work felt surreal to Kageyama. Your plan was to finish your career in your home country and then move to Japan. You had been auditing the Japanese classes at your uni and taking a part time job to be able to support yourself as you settled in a new country. All of those changes meant less time to be able to talk with Kageyama as much as you did before. He assured you he understood, even if he would never admit out loud he missed you as well.

The situation prompted you to find other ways to feel close to him, hence why Kageyama woke up almost every day with a new audio file from you. You went from talking about your day to making him listen to music and even took the chance to practice your japanese. His English listening skills had also gotten better in the past year, all thanks to talking with you and how you would slow down your pace and repeat yourself if he ever needed to. While you recorded your audios after work, he usually recorded his after practice while he walked home from practice. Even if he was always a little worried about the length, you always made sure to send him messages about how happy you were to hear his voice while you ate your lunch or walked to your job after your classes.

Kageyama finishes his shower and comes back to his room. He gets ready in less than ten minutes in silence, knowing he doesn’t have any time to spare if he wants to get to the practice in time. Winter break is a month away, and he wants to give his best before he’s forced to step away for a couple of weeks. He has never liked holidays stepping in his routine, but he knows there was nothing he could do but endure and wait for his training to resume.

Before he leaves, Kageyama checks his phone again and opens the newest email.

Congratulations! Your flight booking is confirmed.

Okay, maybe he is looking forward to winter break after all.

#kageyama x reader #haikyuu x reader #fluffvember #fluffvember 2020 #kageyama tobio #kageyama tobio x reader #hq x reader #hq kageyama #kageyama #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq!!

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writingletterstothefire · 3 years

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She Loves Me

Chapter 1

A/N: Hi guys. It’s been a minute. Here is the long awaited (by no one) She Loves Me AU. I’m putting chapter 1 out here in the hopes that people waiting for updates will spark some creativity in me again. I’m sorry it’s short. If you enjoy, let me know

Word Count: 1703

Warnings: not proof read.

The sun was blazing down on you as you scurried down the busy New York sidewalk. The summer had decided to be blazing hot this wonderful morning, and you had decided to be extraordinarily late for work. Well, perhaps ‘decided’ isn’t the right word— you’d overslept on account of staying up extra late to finish a letter to your Special Friend.

There was no shame in using a dating service, you knew that, yet for some reason the very thought of joining one was something that you had scoffed at for so many years. “I want to meet someone organically,” you’d complain to your friends, “those services are full of strangers who have the weirdest quirks.” To be fair, that had been true in your brief experience using a dating service in college. It was definitely an odd time, figuring out exactly what ‘watersports’ meant. Needless to say, it had taken one single date for you to decide to withdraw your application and swear off dating services.

But you were getting older. And men seemed to just get more and more picky, the older they got. So, when you stumbled across an advertisement in your Sunday newspaper for a matchmaking service called ‘Special Friends’, you jumped at the opportunity. The directions were simple; you filled out the survey in the paper, mailed it to the listed address, and then your answers were compared with other submissions to find the best match for you. Once you received your match, you were to write a letter to them introducing yourself and signing off under the title of ‘Special Friend’. The two of you were given a specific P.O. box to drop your letters off to, provided by the matchmaking service. The only real rules were that the letter had to be handwritten, and you were only allowed to give real names if both parties agreed on it.

Your Special Friend was a true kindred spirit. It had been six months of trading letters back and forth, and the two of you spoke about everything, from your childhoods to your favorite books, from dream destinations to worst fears. About three months into this correspondence, you knew that, whoever this Special Friend was, you loved them. You stayed up until all hours of the night writing draft after draft until you formed the perfect letter. Because of this, you were often late for work in the morning.

Late. That’s right. You were very late. You willed your feet to move you as fast as they possibly could, cursing yourself for choosing this morning to wear heels. Finally, you managed to burst through the door just minutes before opening, scurrying to the back to drop off your bag. You made a mental note to yourself to start carrying flats in your purse, in case of emergency.

You’d just finished touching up your makeup in the small staff room mirror, when you felt someone sidle up beside you. You didn’t have to turn your head to know who it was. The smug energy emanating from his every pore was enough to confirm your suspicions of who was next to you. Santiago Garcia. Your worst nightmare in human form.

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Garcia?” You didn’t even spare him a glance as you finger-combed your hair, which was now windswept from your impromptu jog.

“Not at all, Miss Y/L/N,” Santiago flashed you a smile that, in any other circumstance, would have been charming. You, however, knew that pure contempt lurked behind those pearly white teeth. “I was just marveling at the rare sight of you, here, on time!”

“And why would that be something to marvel at, Mr. Garcia?” you scowled.

“Well, simply because it’s never happened before!” Santiago leaned against the wall, charming smile morphing into the smirk that often adorned his chiseled face. “You know, Miss Y/L/N, you may want to stop frowning so adamantly. At your age, those frown lines tend to stick around.”

“At my age?!” you nearly shrieked at him. “Mr. Garcia, need I remind you that you are older than I am!”

His smirk only widened. “Yes, but you seem to forget that one of us is ageing with grace, Miss Y/L/N.”

Your scowl deepened, and you shoved past him, making your way to the front of the store. You never did understand why Santiago didn’t like you. From the first moment you stepped into the department store, it seemed like he was trying to usher you out. Sure, when he thought you were a customer, he was the most charming man you’d ever spoken to. But once he had realized that you were trying to apply for the new salesperson position, he wanted nothing to do with you. He had insisted that there were no positions available, but Frankie Morales, his friend and co-worker, was quick to usher you to the owner’s office. Mr. Bailey had been a hard man to charm, but when you made your first sale to a woman who was insistent that she was just browsing, he hired you on the spot. After all, you’d gotten her to buy not one, not two, but five jars of various creams and lotions. None of Mr. Bailey’s workers had ever managed to sell that much in one go, not even his prized Mr. Garcia.

Making your way to the front of the store, you said hello and gave a kiss on the cheek to Frankie and each of the Miller brothers, Will and Benny. All three of the boys were quick to welcome you, despite Santi being the unspoken leader of the pack. They quickly became your protective band of brothers, something you’d long wished for as a young child.

“Good morning Frankie! How’s Elisa doing this morning?” You asked Frankie, your tone surprisingly chipper after dealing with Santi in the staff room.

“Round as ever!” Frankie exclaimed, a wide grin on his face. “The doctors estimate that the baby will be here in about a month, and Mr. Bailey’s been so kind as to let me have a month off after the baby arrives. I know it’s going to take a toll on Elisa, and I want to be there for her as much as I can.”

Sometimes, Frankie just melted your heart. It was so plain to see how much he loved his wife and their incoming baby. Their little family was everything you wanted. You only hoped that one day someone would love you just as much as Frankie and Elisa loved each other.

It was beginning to seem as though your Special Friend was never going to reveal himself to you. You had offered to meet for dinner on a few occasions, and each time he insisted that he had prior appointments. You didn’t want to assume anything, of course, but you were getting worried. Surely he wouldn’t lie to you about having a prior engagement, would he? But then, if he was so eager to meet you, as he claimed to be, then why did he never offer an alternative date?

On your way home from work, you stopped at the P.O. box. Your Special Friend had forgotten— or, well, neglected, you supposed— to write you the past two days, but you were adamant about writing at least every other day. You knew how much the letters meant to you, and if they brought him even half as much joy, you wanted to be sure he got it. Perhaps, if you hadn’t been so caught up in your own head, you would have looked up and seen the figure walking away from the wall of P.O. boxes.

To your surprise and delight, there was a letter waiting for you in the box when you finally opened it. If you hadn’t been so excited to read it, perhaps you’d have noticed the flash of a coat turning the corner as they walked away from the wall of boxes.

You hurried to open the letter.

Dear Friend,

I am so sorry to have not been able to write these past few days. Work has been an absolute train wreck, what with the most irritating co-worker constantly fumbling about. Somehow, the boss claims it’s my fault. Could you believe it? My fault that my imbecile of a co-worker is incapable of doing the simplest task that doesn’t involve talking a mile per minute?

But enough about that mess. I am supposed to be apologizing to you, my dear, sweet friend.

I know that you have been wanting to meet me. I am so sorry that I haven’t been able to make any of our appointments. As I’ve told you before, I was once in the army. An experience in war is one that I don’t wish on anyone. It takes a toll on you, emotionally, mentally, and physically. Because of my experience, I’ve decided to counsel other veterans and help them through their traumatic memories. On the nights you had wished to meet me, I’d had previously arranged counseling sessions, as well as one doctors appointment, a check up to see how I am recovering after all of my surgeries that I’ve told you about.

All of this to say, dear friend, that I’ve cleared my schedule for the night of the 27th. If you are available, I would love to meet you at the Ambrosia Garden down on the corner of 12th Avenue. I’ve made a reservation for two under the name Elizabeth Bennett, after you expressed how much you loved Jane Austen’s ‘Pride & Prejudice’. If you show, I will be wearing a purple rose on my lapel. I will look for you, where you will be holding a copy of ‘Pride & Prejudice’, with a purple rose tucked between the pages.

I sincerely hope to see you on the 27the, dear friend. I’ve been longing to meet you since we first exchanged letters, so many months ago.

Sincerely,

Your Special Friend

You had to meet him. You would get to the Ambrosia Garden on the 27th, no matter the cost. You’d find out who your Special Friend was if it was the last thing you did.

#santi garcia x reader #santiago garcia x y/n #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia fanfiction #santiago garcia #santiago x reader #santiago garcia x reader #she loves me au

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secretshinigami · 3 years

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Late Night Show

Title: Late Night Show Author: @complicatedmerary For: @fogspecs Pairings/Characters: Misa/Takada tease, Kiyomi Takada, Misa Amane, Hitoshi Demegawa (cameo), Light Yagami (mentioned only) Rating/Warnings: Teen and Up, alcohol mention, Demegawa being a gross boss, tabloid gossip nonsense, mean girl behavior, mild language, mild violence Prompt: Misa and Takada have romantic tension between them. Author’s notes: Misa and Takada, you say? Don’t mind if I do! As I was drafting ideas for the offered prompts, it occurred to me that the only time Misa and Takada met in canon was when Misa had no memories of being Kira. If we are being honest, that was a missed opportunity. Then, I thought, what if Misa has her memories intact, but Takada is not Kira’s spokeswoman? How will their dynamic change? Hope you enjoy!

______________________________________

“I’m telling you, Miss Takada, with your great assets and even greater personality, you will have my audience eating at the palm of our hands. My show has been craving a female perspective on scandalous gossip, you have no idea how much hate mail I receive for being unfair to these airheaded celebrities. If we get this right, no one will ever accuse me of having no substance, we are respectable journalists, dammit!”

Kiyomi Takada had barely started her first day of work and she already regretted every second of it. Truth be told, it was not a regular job, it was a weird hybrid of an internship that she had to fight to be eligible for credit and an arduous job that guaranteed humiliating tasks and low pay. The real reward is experience, she kept telling herself over and over as she reluctantly took this opportunity after being rejected by reputable news network stations. She had the nagging suspicion that Hitoshi Demegawa only chose her based on her looks rather than her impeccable academic record, but at this point it was too late to challenge this. No, she had to swallow her pride if she wanted to prove herself to be worthy of broadcasting intellectual journalism in the next few years.

“Hey, hey, what’s with the gloomy face?” Demegawa snapped his fingers close to Takada’s nose, startling her. “Celebrity gossip is supposed to be fun! Well, unless I report the usual actor breakdown, but that’s just show business, no one is truly getting hurt anyway.” He chuckled, holding himself by his belly.

Takada barely flinched.

“Come on, I’m just joking, don’t be so serious. We have something juicy coming up in thirty minutes and I need you to familiarize yourself with the news that has happened this morning.” Demegawa stopped speaking, gave Takada a nefarious grin, then patted her cheek as if she were a kid. “How about smiling for once? You will fit right in when people don’t see you as an ice queen.” He turned to the side and snapped his fingers repeatedly. “Everyone should be getting their makeup done, don’t you dare step out if your face is a mess!”

She took note of scrubbing her cheek raw until there was no trace of his dirty hand.

~~~

Takada looked over her script as her makeup artist fluffed some blush across her cheekbones. She wasn’t the type to focus on such frivolous things, but if she had to play the role of the tabloid host darling, she will gladly do so to keep Demegawa satisfied. Her credit and career depended on it.

She flipped the page with a lack of interest; Hideki Ryuga was out of the country for the third time this month? It wouldn’t surprise her if he ended up caught in a money laundering scheme, he seemed to be just that dumb. Next up, was A-list actress, Suki Aragaki, marrying his longtime beau, movie director, Kenji Ozu, after enduring a nasty love triangle that ended Ozu’s decade-long marriage. Congratulations, I guess, Kiyomi snorted, rolling her eyes at the absurdity.

She continued flipping until a familiar name made her stop on her tracks. Misa Amane. Without realizing it, her knuckles turned white as she gripped the script, and her jaw clenched painfully.

“Are you alright, Miss Takada?” The makeup artist placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Of course,” Takada let out a deep breath as her anger simmered down. “I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

The makeup artist nodded. “I understand. Don’t let Demegawa intimidate you, he is quite sweet once you get to know him.”

That was doubtful, but she was not about to argue, her attention was somewhere else. Misa Amane. The same silly model who appeared on campus and snatched Light Yagami away from her. To make matters worse, Amane randomly texted her out of nowhere months ago to let her and all of Light’s “other girls” know (which came as a disturbing revelation to her) that Light asked her to move in together and to back off. Why did Light love such an insecure, clingy woman? What could they possibly have in common besides good looks? And her classmates dared to call her superficial, how laughable.

As she kept reading the script, the gloom evaporated like a burst bubble. Misa Amane has been caught buying a pregnancy test despite declaring over the weekend at the premiere of her latest movie that she and her private boyfriend were waiting till marriage. Are we expecting wedding bells for the lovely couple, or did they marry in secret already to avoid the ire of her rabid fanboys? Unless there is something more sinister going on and her boyfriend is not the father of that baby. Perhaps that’s why Hideki Ryuga is out of the country, he is running away from his duty as a father! Those two have been fighting the persistent rumors of romance on set and that might settle it once and for all. Whoever the baby’s father is, congratulations to Misa Amane and her bundle of joy. We can’t wait to have more single mothers in the entertainment industry, such an underrepresented group in our society!

Takada tried to stifle her giggles between her fingers, but her amusement couldn’t be contained. For once Demegawa’s brutal commentary came in handy, there was no way Misa Amane could recover from this scandal. If there was anything juicier than an affair, it was a pregnancy resulting from the affair!

Oh, tonight’s show was going to be so much fun.

~~~

“It just does not make any sense, Miss Takada,” Teppei, her co-host, shook his head. “How can this movie be such a critical success when every review I have seen declared it the worst movie of the year even though we are halfway there? Who is bribing the industry to keep promoting it on television when no one wanted this movie to be made in the first place? It is a conspiracy; I am so sure of it.”

Takada pretended to act interested in the topic and simply smiled widely. She barely met Teppei today and she finally had the confirmation that she was dreading: He was a certified spoiled brat who assumed himself to be the greatest thing that has ever happened to comedy. The son of a politician, he got far enough to step into movies and television because his father left him a bottomless pit of money. He wasn’t good looking, so he relied on his short stature and misogynistic jokes to compensate for the lack of attention he never received in the spotlight. It worked perfectly enough to be perceived as harmless and now he got to hang out with late night show comedians and tour around the country. Takada wondered for how long mediocrity was going to be standard. If he were someone else, Demegawa would have no doubt chewed him out, but money and publicity ruled in his greedy heart.

“The real conspiracy is,” Takada pointed at the screen, a photo of Hideki Ryuga and Misa Amane on set, holding hands. “What is up with these two? They keep stating over and over that there is no romance, but I have yet to see her publicly with her supposed boyfriend. What exactly is she hiding?” The next slide showed a paparazzi shot of Misa Amane allegedly going to the pharmacy for a pregnancy test.

The audience gasped loudly, as expected, thanks to the teleprompter.

“Woah,” Teppei spun around dramatically. “Didn’t she say she was waiting till marriage?”

“It makes you wonder why Hideki Ryuga is out of the country for the third time this week,” Takada gasped. “What are the odds that he found out about her pregnancy and is panicking about the possibility of being a father?”

“If that’s not the case, then she married her boyfriend in secret to keep up with her indiscretion and avoid the ire of her fans.” Teppei covered his mouth and giggled like a schoolboy. “Sucks for him because if they were supposed to be celibate, then that’s Ryuga’s baby! Man, things are not going well for Misa Amane!”

“Congratulations to Misa Amane and her bundle of joy,” Takada recited the script with unnecessary enthusiasm. “We can’t wait to have more single mothers in the entertainment industry, such an underrepresented group in our society!”

The phone rang on the set, which meant that a fan of the show had the opportunity to give their perspective on the topic. This was Demegawa’s idea to encourage “respectful dialogue” on live television, but Takada knew better: It was to enforce the trashiness of the show with inflammatory controversy, and there was no doubt one of Misa’s fanboys was calling to defend her “honor and dignity.”

Yeah, you cannot defend something that never existed, Takada thought bitterly.

“Looks like we struck a nerve,” She hummed and picked up the phone, setting it to onset speaker. “Yes, how can we help you?”

“YOU DISGUSTING, UGLY BITCH!” A shrill voice echoed around the studio, creating some feedback on the boom microphones. “I ought to sue every single of you for defamation of character! I would never cheat on my boyfriend, especially not with Hideki Ryuga! You are all sick in the head for lying this bad!”

Takada couldn’t help the grin that was plastered on her face … No one could mistake that voice to someone else. So, Misa Amane was the type of celebrity who watched gossip shows to hear if she was relevant? This was just too hilarious and unsurprising for her.

“Sorry, Miss Amane, we are just reporting the news,” she said coolly. “We are not fond of frivolous lawsuits, so I ask you to respect the press.”

“YOU ARE NOT REPORTING ‘NEWS’, YOU ARE SPREADING GARBAGE!” There was a brief silence on the other line, and then the sound of chugging down a liquid echoed on the speaker. “You are just jealous that I’m in a committed relationship and you are stuck with your misery,” Misa’s words were slurred. “How about spreading some good news? Whatever happened to being kind?”

“With all due respect, Miss Amane,” Teppei had a smug grin on his face. “You are in the entertainment industry; we don’t owe you kindness. If you can’t handle criticism, maybe being a celebrity is not the job for you.”

Takada covered her mouth, hiding the twitch on her lips that she couldn’t contain any longer. Was this truly the end for Misa Amane? No one seemed to be on Misa’s side, and she was humiliating herself on live television. Things were finally looking up for her.

“Oh, shut up, Teppei, no one likes you, you are only relevant because of your daddy,” Misa shot back. “And as for you, Kiyomi Takada, my boyfriend will never be with you, he prefers me, he said so himself, so knock it off.”

The bombshell caused a murmur amongst the audience and Takada stiffened on the spot. No, she was not going to let Misa Amane win this fight, not now, not ever.

“Wow, Miss Amane, are you having a mental breakdown?” She chuckled. “Jealousy is not part of a healthy relationship, it’s not good that you are projecting your insecurities on me. We don’t even know each other.”

“That’s it! I’m going down to Sakura TV, find you, and kick your butt! You’ll be sorry for messing with me—”

“Like that’s ever going to happen.” And with that, she slammed the phone and there was nothing but the dial and laughter from the audience.

She wondered if she ruined her chances of ever being taken seriously, but one glance at Demegawa’s blissful face told her everything she needed to know: This episode was one for the books.

~~~

It was close to midnight when the show finally ended, and Takada stayed overtime to talk to Demegawa about the possibility of hosting the show by herself. He said he would think about it, but he couldn’t guarantee anything despite the reception. That was good enough for her. For now.

As she approached the parking lot, she heard footsteps to her left, but there were so light that for a second, she thought she imagined it in her head. She was tired and it had been a long and overexciting night, she couldn’t wait to go home and sleep on her bed.

“There you are!”

Takada turned around and she couldn’t believe what she saw: Staring at her with malice was Misa Amane, standing up straight with her legs apart, and clenched fists.

“I told you I was going to find you and kick your butt! Now, don’t you dare move!” Misa sprinted forward with so much velocity on her direction, her gaze still focused.

Takada panicked for a few moments, darting her head back and forth, looking for a way out. Instinctively, she raised her arms across her face to defend it and swung her leg on any direction her adrenaline asked her to do, her eyes closed.

It all happened so fast: As Misa aimed to kick Takada on the shin, she tripped on Takada’s swinging foot, and she landed on the concrete, stomach down.

Takada opened her eyes when she heard the agonizing whines below her and gasped at the sight of Misa laying flatly in the middle of the parking lot. Oh, God, I didn’t hurt her that bad, did I?

“Are you alright?” She felt pathetic; of course, she was not alright, she just tripped her with her foot, what a terrible question!

“Here, let me help you—”

“Don’t touch me!” Misa shrugged her off as she managed to stand on her own. Well, just barely, she couldn’t maintain her balance as she tried to step away towards the street.

Despite hating that woman with a burning intensity, she was not going to let Misa walk by herself with injuries all over her, especially in such a shady area. No, if she drove away and Misa ended up missing (or worse, dead) because she was alone, she could no longer call herself a virtuous person.

“You are not going anywhere. Come on, I need to take you home.” Takada dragged Misa roughly by the arm towards her car.

“Let me go!” Misa tried to resist her, but her balance betrayed her. “I’m not going to tell you where I live, you are going to stalk Light if you know!”

God, would she stop being so freaking loud?

“Either you tell me where you live, or you have no choice but to spend the night in this parking lot,” She pushed Misa inside the car and dropped her legs on the passenger seat. She then held her arms as she put the seatbelt over her body.

“I don’t have time for this, you are a grown woman, act like it—” She caught a whiff of cheap wine on Misa’s breath. “Ugh, so you are drunk. That’s it, I’m going to drive all around the city until you tell me where I should drop you. I’m not stopping until you get over yourself.”

~~~

The drive did go longer than expected; it was one in the morning and Misa refused to speak one word to her. Two could play the game, Takada did not say one word either. The only sound filling out the silence was the pop radio station playing the same song for the third time. At this point, she wondered if she will ever get peace for at least trying to help another woman out.

“I did mean what I said on the phone,” Misa murmured quietly. “Light does not want you, he never did.”

Why was she bringing that up now? Why did it matter after she ignored her this time entire time?

“I don’t care,” Takada rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to do this, you have him, why isn’t that enough for you?”

“It’s easy for you to say,” Misa snorted. “He dumps you and you act like it never happened. If Light were to dump me, I don’t think I would want to continue living.”

Good lord, this woman is insane.

“You want to know what the worst part is?” Tears suddenly rolled down her eyes. “The reason why I don’t want you to drop me to my apartment is because you will not find him there. He has been acting so weird since—” She shook her head. “No, he is a man, this is a man thing. It’s normal for your boyfriend to not spend every night together, right?”

Takada really wanted to say, no, it was not normal, but she didn’t know what she could possibly say that could make this situation better. She didn’t ask for this personal information, this was none of her business. And yet, why did she want to hear more about Light’s inability to keep his own girlfriend happy? What the hell was wrong with him?

“I’m not pregnant, you know,” Misa whispered, and Takada’s glanced at her, confused. “We have tried—Well, I tried my best to let that happen. I’ve been so hopeful that maybe if we have a baby together, we will be bonded for life. That, maybe, just maybe, he would look at me differently. Yes, I did buy that pregnancy test, and yes, the photos are real, but I’m not pregnant. Are you happy now? You got your little revenge by making fun of me, now I’m asking the media to do the same.”

It was hard to swallow, her throat was so dry. She couldn’t believe this, but she felt guilt. Guilt for even entertaining the idea of messing up someone’s life in such a public manner. Guilt for doing that in the first place for the sake of ratings!

Sorry was not going to be enough, she wasn’t even sure what was she apologizing for. Sorry I tripped you with my foot? Sorry I bullied you so badly that you had to get drunk to deal with the pain on live television? Sorry Light Yagami is not a perfect man? She felt nothing, anything that she could possibly say was going to be in vain if she didn’t mean it.

She suddenly stopped her car and parked on the side of the road. She turned off the radio and breathed out slowly, attempting to calm herself. Screw this, she had to do the right for once.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea that you are left drunk in your apartment.”

“What?” Misa’s eyes widened.

“If Light is not there to keep an eye on you, then—”

“What are you trying to say?” Misa was instantly furious. “I can take care of myself, I’m not a child. When Light comes back in the morning, he won’t even notice I was drunk, it’s like it never happened, we are back to being a normal couple. If you are suggesting that I would do something drastic … I’m not stupid! What do you take me for?”

“Please listen to me,” Takada pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed in and out slowly again. “I’m not saying you are stupid; I’m just trying to say that you are not in control of your emotions, and I don’t trust you to be by yourself for now.”

“I am in control of my emotions.”

“You literally cried to me that Light is not spending every night with you.”

Misa kept her mouth shut.

“All I’m saying is that I need to keep an eye you.” She regretted the words once they left her lips. Was it the guilt talking? Was she considering taking care of Misa until she got over her drunkenness? What the hell was going on here?

“I know what to do now,” She restarted the engine and shifted to drive.

“Where are we going?” Misa asked with suspicion.

“I’m taking you to my apartment and give you the chance to rest there.”

“YAY!” Misa hugged her suddenly and kissed her cheek, almost causing Takada to let go of the steering wheel. “We are going to have a girls’ night, we could stay up all night, tell each other stories—”

“Not happening,” She cut her off, but she smiled despite herself.

Misa giggled. “You know, your numbers just switched, it’s like they moved up.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing that you should ever worry about.” She said in a sing-song voice.

Takada rolled her eyes. It was going to be a longer night than anticipated.

#fanfiction #death note #submission #misa amane #kiyomi takada #hitoshi demegawa #complicatedmerary #fogspecs #Near's Bday Finale 2k21 #ratings: teen

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whenihaveyouromione · 3 years

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 41

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3.

If you want to talk about books, join my Discord server.

----

Chapter 41

Ron clutched the final envelope in his hand. He didn’t want to open it. What if there was a reason that one had arrived last? What if they’d given him false hope with all of the other parts, and then this was the big letdown?

He was reminded of the time the OWL results had arrived and how sick he’d felt. He’d been convinced he’d failed everything back then, because during every exam, it was as if his mind had gone blank of information, almost as if he was three years old again and didn’t know how to perform a single spell.

But that worked out, he reminded himself. He’d gotten seven OWLs in the end, which was extremely impressive.

And so far, he’d passed every single aptitude test in the three years of his Auror training, including the final ones. It was the theory component that worried him.

He wasn’t good at theory. He couldn’t look at a book and absorb the information. That was Hermione’s area of expertise, and he admired her for it. But… at least he’d remembered some of the stuff this time round.

He’d taken the final tests two weeks prior, and those two weeks of waiting had certainly been the worst of Ron’s life. He’d checked multiple times a day for any Ministry owls making their way through the windows to the point that Hermione had forbidden him from getting the mail. Now it was her job to check it, and if anything arrived, she’d let him know.

It wasn’t helped by the fact that the two week wait had him at home by himself while Hermione worked. There was no more training left, and he couldn’t become a fully licensed Auror until his results were in.

Thankfully, Harry was in the same boat, so Ron had spent most of his time at Grimmauld Place helping Harry prepare to sell the house.

It had been all over the Prophet the moment Harry put it on the market, receiving a lot of interest from people who, Ron was sure, were more interested in coming to see where the Harry Potter lived than buying the actual house.

Who would want to buy a house owned by a Dark wizarding family for most of its existence? Especially one that was unplottable.

Still, Harry was adamant that he couldn’t live there anymore, and he wanted to be done with the whole thing.

“Maybe you should just hold onto it,” Ron had said as they packed up a room used as a storage space for the Blacks and Harry. “Keep it for the future.”

“Can’t anymore, even if I wanted to,” Harry had replied. “I’ve given half the wizarding population the address now. I’m moving.”

Two weeks had passed since that conversation. The two weeks Ron needed to get through in order for the final exam results to arrive. Hermione had left for work at seven that morning, and Ron had Floo’d over almost instantly to see Harry. Together they waited for midday, when the results were due to arrive.

Harry was already tearing into his, scanning the letter. Ron stared at his name on the front. He wished Hermione was here. She would be able to comfort him, probably assure him that he needed to stop being an idiot and that he would do just fine. But she was at work, blissfully unaware of his turmoil.

“Er, I passed!” Harry said, looking at Ron. “How’d you —” He noticed Ron’s unopened letter and rolled his eyes. “Oh, go on. You passed, I know you did.”

Ron swallowed. Harry just didn’t get it. He was probably going to pass even if he’d gotten every question wrong, because he was Harry, and they wanted him in the Aurors. But Ron wasn’t Harry. Neville wasn’t Harry. The rest would have to work for their results.

“You did just fine,” Harry said, almost irritated. “Want me to open it for you?”

“No,” Ron said. “I’ll… do it.” He broke the Ministry seal on the envelope and took out the letter.

This wasn’t like getting his OWLs at all. This was ten times worse. He’d dedicated three years to training, he had no alternative plan if this didn’t work out. What was he supposed to do if he didn’t pass the test?

He slowly unfolded the letter that would seal his fate.

“Oh,” he said.

“What?” Harry asked.

Ron looked up, his whole face burning red.

Harry’s smile faltered a little. “You, er, did —”

“Ninety-five percent,” Ron said.

“What?” Harry asked. “That’s… really good!” He folded up his own letter.

“What did you get?” Ron asked.

“Ninety-four,” Harry said.

“I beat you?” Ron asked, surprised. He’d never beaten Harry at a test before. They’d received identical results often, but Ron had never beaten Harry. And he’d not expected it in Auror training either.

“Was never good at multiple choice questions,” Harry said, shrugging and then smiling. “I guess drinks are in order, then?”

“Yeah, alright,” Ron said, air being let out of his lungs like a balloon.

“Ginny’s idea. She said once we got the remaining results, she’ll organise a celebration.” He paused, his smile turning into a grin suddenly. “Hey! This means we’re fully trained Aurors now. We’re Aurors.”

“It’s all I wanted to do!” Ron said, a grin spreading on his own face as the realisation hit him. He was an Auror. Finally. He’d never really thought it was something he could achieve. It usually required higher marks, Outstanding NEWT results and better wand ability than Ron ever could achieve under normal circumstances.

It had just been a dream, but that dream had just become a reality for him.

He sat down in the armchair, clutching the letter still.

He was an Auror.

“Ginny’ll be home tonight,” Harry said. “This afternoon, actually. Once Hermione finishes work, I think we should go out. Me, Ginny, you and Hermione. Neville, too. We should ask Neville. I’ll send him an owl now to see.”

Ron nodded, still not sure he believed it.

He was an Auror.

Harry vanished into another room to find a quill and some parchment and returned, sitting in an armchair beside Ron.

As he was scribbling the note for Neville, he said, head still down, “Hey, I never actually asked officially.”

“Asked what?” Ron asked, vaguely.

“You’ll be my best man at my wedding, won’t you? We’ve set a date. August twenty-fourth this year.”

Ron came to then. He looked at Harry. “Y-yeah, of course,” he said. “Of course I will. And you’ll, of course, be mine?”

“Would be an honour,” Harry said, folding the note up. “The biggest honour to be at the wedding of my two best friends. You guys set a date yet?”

“No,” Ron said. “We’ve not really discussed it. With all the tests, and then waiting for results… hasn’t been the best time to make any clear-cut decisions about something so important. For me, anyway.” In the six weeks they’d been engaged, he knew Hermione had been going through books, reading up on traditions, considering some places, some dates, looking at wedding dresses, and doing a lot of other things to do with the wedding.

But Ron had been too stressed to think clearly about something that seemed a while away, and then after he’d taken his tests, too nervous about the results to plan.

He wanted to be able to make clear decisions about what would be the most important and special day of his life, and while he awaited the results of his future, he couldn’t.

Hermione had understood and said she’d keep some things aside so they could talk about it when he was ready.

“Well, after today you’ll have more time.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, and some of his shock about becoming an Auror dissipated. Now he could anticipate something much more exciting than test results.

…

“I knew you’d both do it!” Hermione said, giving Harry a hug. She then turned to Ron and kissed him. “I’m so happy and proud of both of you.”

“And those test results are amazing!” Ginny added. “One hundred percent on all your final aptitude tests, and almost one hundred percent on the theory. The pair of you are going to make formidable Aurors. Dark witches and wizards have no chance. I think Tonks told me once that she scored ninety on her theory.”

“Don’t give us a reputation before we’ve started, Gin,” Harry said.

Ginny smiled. “You deserve it.”

“We still need our formal offers into the Auror department,” Ron said. “Can’t start a job when we don’t have one.”

“As if Kingsley wouldn’t offer you actual jobs,” Hermione said. “Apart from being very depleted, he needs people like you.”

Ron thought she was right. Now that they’d passed, Kingsley would be sure to offer them actual jobs. And with that came a decent pay rise, which meant a nicer wedding than before.

“Hey, guys.”

Everyone turned. They were standing out in front of the Three Broomsticks, waiting for Neville to arrive, who’d graciously accepted Harry’s invitation to celebrate with them.

“Hey, Neville,” they all said together.

“How’d you go, mate?” Ron asked.

Neville nodded. “I passed. I did well. Eighty-nine percent on the theory, one hundred percent on two of the aptitude tests, and ninety-seven on the rest.”

“That’s great, Neville,” Hermione said, and she stepped forward to hug him. Ginny did the same. Harry and Ron clapped him on the back.

“We should go in then now that we’re all here,” Ginny said, her hand resting on the entrance to the pub.

“I’m still waiting on… someone,” Neville said suddenly, and under the pale moonlight, Ron saw his cheeks tinge pink.

“Who?” Ron asked.

“... someone,” Neville muttered.

“As in… a date?” Ron pressed. Hermione elbowed him as a warning to not pry.

Neville nodded, his blush deepening.

“Who?” Ron said again. “Is this new?”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded. “Stop being so nosy.”

“A few months,” Neville said quietly.

“Thanks for letting us — your friends — know,” Ron said, but he smiled. “They on their way?”

Neville nodded again. “She’ll be here in a moment.”

Ginny took up a conversation with Hermione about Ginny’s Quidditch team and how she was going, while Ron, Harry and Neville stood in silence.

After a moment, Ron said, “Seriously, who is she? You’ve been seeing someone, Nev?”

“Someone from school,” Neville said. But before he could elaborate, a woman who looked vaguely familiar to Ron approached them, albeit not without a little hesitation.

It took Ron a moment, but he placed her as Hannah Abbott. Ron didn’t think he’d ever spoken to her in his whole time at Hogwarts, though it wasn’t because he had any strong opinions about her. They just… never interacted. Not even during their time in Dumbledore’s Army together.

“Hi, Hannah!” Hermione said before Neville could even introduce them. Of course Hermione would be on more friendly terms with her. She seemed to have spoken to everyone during their time at Hogwarts. “How are you?”

“I’m great, thanks!” Hannah said. “How are you…” She looked around at everyone standing there. “How are you all? Thanks for inviting me.”

“That’s quite alright,” Ginny said before anyone could share an uncomfortable look that they actually hadn’t invited her. Until a moment ago, they hadn’t even known she was coming. But, to be fair, if they had known Neville was seeing her, she would have been invited.

“Let’s go in, shall we?” Ginny then said. “I had a table reserved as there’s a few of us and it’s become a popular night time spot for more than just the creeps of Hogsmeade. Sorry, Hannah, I organised this a while back and Neville only told us today you were coming. I’m sure an extra chair won’t be a bother.”

“Thank you,” Hannah said.

“Just over there,” Rosmerta said when she spotted them. She pointed to a table at the back in a corner that was out of the way of everyone else.

“Do you have a spare chair, Rosmerta?” Ginny asked.

“If you can find one,” Rosmerta said, waving a hand in the general direction of other tables, clearly distracted by her customers.

“You seem awfully friendly with her,” Ron said as he picked up a vacant chair and carried it over to their table.

“The Harpies like to come here after a game sometimes,” Ginny said. “Would anyone like a Butterbeer? Firewhisky? I’ll get them.”

While Ginny disappeared to get the drinks, everyone else arranged themselves around the table. It was a little squishy, but they all somehow fit. Ron found himself squished into the corner of the booth with Hermione (which he didn’t mind one bit).

“It’s nice of you guys to organise something,” Neville said. “And to invite me.”

“You’ve been through the three years with us, Nev,” Ron said. “You’re always invited.”

Neville flushed with pleasure, and Ron felt a wave of affection for him.

“How are you going, Hannah?” Hermione said, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table. Ron shifted to give them a little more room and placed his arm around her waist. “I heard that you’re at St Mungo’s?”

How she knew that, Ron had no idea, but that was one of the many things he loved about Hermione. She knew everything.

“Yes, there’s a few from our year who’re doing Healing too,” Hannah said. “Seamus Finnigan… you probably know that, he said he’s still in contact with all of you. And Padma Patil.”

“Yes, I heard she was, too,” Hermione said.

“How is it?” Harry asked. “Healing, I mean?”

“Oh, I love it,” Hannah said. “It’s so rewarding. Tiring, but still rewarding. I’m working in the long-term resident ward. Do you remember Professor Lockhart? He’s still there!”

No one said anything to that. Ron assumed the others were of the same mind as he was — they had seen him there a few years ago, still as mad as ever. Thankfully, Ginny chose that moment to return with the drinks, so no one had to. She had two in her hands, and was levitating the others with her wand. She slid into the booth next to Harry.

“Have you and Neville been in contact all this time?” Ginny asked, looking at Hannah.

“Oh, no,” Hannah said, and she laughed slightly. “Through Seamus, really. We went out one evening after a rough day — me, Seamus and Padma — and he invited Neville and Dean along too. We got talking, reminiscing on a lot of Herbology lessons, and we kind of just clicked.”

Neville flushed, but Ron saw a smile hidden within his red face.

“That’s so good,” Ginny said, grinning at Neville. “What a nice story.”

“Yeah,” Hannah said, also smiling. She then looked at the others with more focus. “And Neville told me about you all getting married.” Her eyes flicked to Harry and Ginny first. “Congratulations.” She then looked to Ron and Hermione. “And to you two as well. Such lovely news. Have you set any dates?”

“We have,” Ginny said. “When we send an invitation out, we’ll be sure to send yours with Neville’s. Guests are welcome, of course, we’re just putting secrecy charms on the invitations to stop any unwelcome guests showing up.”

By unwelcome guests, Ron knew she meant the media. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley would be a wedding that gossip magazines and the Prophet would love to get a story on. High profile weddings such as theirs were not a common thing in the wizarding world.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Neville said, sounding impressed.

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “It sounds mean, but… we just want family and friends there, not snooping journalists trying to get in. So all stuff will be revealed on the invitation and once people read it, they’ll not be able to speak any of it out loud.”

“That’s a bit insulting to your brother, don’t you think?” Ron asked her. “You don’t trust even me?”

“Knowing you and your big mouth, you’ll let it slip by accident somewhere,” Ginny said, and Harry and Neville chuckled.

Ron scowled at both of them and sunk back into the booth.

“Well, we aren’t telling you ours either,” he said, knowing he was pouting.

“Because you don’t have one,” Ginny said.

Ron shot her a glaring look, to which she only rolled her eyes. “By the time you bother to even choose a date, people will have forgotten you’re even engaged. You are the definition of taking things slow.”

Everyone bar Hannah nodded in agreement, including Hermione. Ron looked at her.

“It doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing,” she said kindly.

Ron folded his arms across his chest, leaning on the table again. He said nothing more on the subject.

The evening ended up being a pleasant one, the conversation going on until near midnight. Hannah, who Ron had always considered rather quiet, talked a lot and asked lots of questions about everything.

“Are you really selling your godfather’s house, Harry?”

“Why did you choose to live in Nottingham? That’s where I grew up. I live in London now.”

“How do you think the Harpies will fare against the Magpies next week, Ginny? My brother supports the Magpies.”

She was nice, though, and if Neville wasn’t Neville, who acted shy in many social situations, Ron would have thought he was quite pleased with himself.

“When do you think we’ll be able to start our actual jobs as Aurors?” Ron asked as the clock now ticked past midnight. There were still a few people left in the pub. Though, the later it got, the shadier the people became.

“I’d think very soon,” Hermione said. “They need more Aurors, and now that all the first lot of trainees since the war have finished, I’m sure Kingsley will want you all in as soon as possible. You probably all know what you’re doing more than half the Aurors already there anyway.”

“Flattering, Hermione,” Harry said with a tired smile.

“The truth,” she said firmly.

Hannah stifled a yawn, and truthfully, Ron didn’t blame her. He’d enjoyed the night, but he was starting to think about his bed more than the people he was spending time with.

Ginny and Hannah were still chatting when he fell into a peaceful stupor that had his mind wandering to what was to come for him. Starting a real job, getting married…

He was startled when he felt a hand on his leg. He turned to see Hermione smiling at him. “Do you want to go?”

“Do you?” he asked. “If you want to stay, we can stay. I’ll just… nap in the booth.”

“I haven’t even been home,” Hermione said. “Only to change from work clothes. I think we’re all going anyway.”

Ron looked around to see everyone else grabbing coats, getting to their feet as the conversation died down. Ron took Hermione’s hand as they all exited the pub.

“I don’t know how many times I went there in school,” Hannah said. “But now that we’re out, we mostly go to the Leaky Cauldron. My great uncle is the owner there.”

“Tom’s your uncle?” Hermione asked.

“Great uncle,” Hannah said with a nod.

“I never knew,” Hermione replied.

“Yeah, it doesn’t always come up in conversation.”

They were standing outside now. The temperature had significantly dropped while they’d been inside. Now that he was on his feet, Ron could feel the four Butterbeers and two Firewhiskys he’d drank going through him. No wonder he’d been falling asleep inside.

“Thanks for inviting me again,” Hannah said brightly. “I had fun.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Ginny said. She then looked between Harry, Ron and Hermione. “Or see you again.”

Neville and Hannah left, heading up the main street of Hogsmeade hand-in-hand.

“How nice.” Hermione sighed. “I’m happy for them.”

“Neville with a girlfriend is… strange,” Ron mused, watching their disappearing figures step into the night. He gripped Hermione’s hand tighter, then dug into his pocket to retrieve his wand.

Hermione’s hand covered it.

“Maybe I’ll Disapparate?” she suggested. “I don’t want any unnecessary Splinchings.”

Ron hesitated for a moment, trying to count how many drinks he’d seen her have but couldn’t recall. His brain was a little foggy on the details.

He didn’t even feel drunk, just… heavy-headed.

“Yeah, alright,” he said and stowed his wand back into his pocket.

“You’ll be at the Burrow tomorrow night?” Ginny asked.

“I guess?” Hermione said, sounding confused. “Is there a special reason?”

“Nope, Mum just asked me to ask you. I think she’s a bit upset over the fact that we all only seem to come over for ‘special occasions’ these days. You know, with us having jobs, our own homes, and all that. Kids, for some of us.”

“We’ll be there then,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, count us in,” Ron added, only realising since Ginny had said it that his presence at the Burrow really had dropped off in the last three months or so. They still visited, of course, but he’d spent more time at Grimmauld Place than he did there.

The flat had been comfortable, but it had never been ‘home.’ To a point, the Burrow had still felt like home to him while he and Hermione navigated apartment living. But the Nottingham house had changed his perspective. That was home now, and he felt the same warmth he’d always felt at the Burrow every time he set foot in his house.

There was just so much potential there, so many things that felt right about living there, and so many things he could envision for the future.

“Great, see you tomorrow night then.” Ginny beamed at both of them, and then she and Harry Disapparated from right in front of them.

Ron flinched at the sound, his hearing suddenly oversensitive.

“Come on,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand tightly and taking out her wand with her free one. “Let’s go to bed. I’m so tired.”

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years

Note

Do you accept requests for Merasmus? If you do, can I get some fluffy domestic Merasmus headcanons? If you don't take requests for him that's okay too❤️❤️

Of course I do! Merasmus is one of my favorite characters! Let’s see...domestic...

Buying the cottage:

Merasmus is prone to depression, especially during times of meticulous, unchanging routine.

So, of course, he looks to get away for a while.

He finds a beautiful villa, but it’s suddenly closed for repairs the day before he leaves.

Not wanting waste his vacation, he decides to just pick a random cottage near the same town.

He arrives, and, unsurprisingly, finds it a mess - cobwebs, dust, and several rat traps that still have decaying bodies of mice.

Merasmus decides that this simply won’t do.

He puts down his suitcase on the table - the least dirty surface - and begins writing a shopping list with his owl feather quill (owl for business, bluebird for personal, cardinal for love and poems)

He sends his shopping list and a few gold coins to the nearest shop via hawk.

The hawk is soon back with the supplies, as well as a wide-eyed, silver-haired young man.

“I’m sorry, sir, I just had to see this for myself! I needed to know the face to this beautiful bird!”

Merasmus is taken aback, but still keeps his manners.

“Well, you have seen it. Merasmus hopes you are not too disappointed.”

“Oh no, of course not! In fact, I’m even more intrigued.”

The man’s name ends up being Flint, and he’s the grocer of the village.

He says if Merasmus needs anything, to send the hawk with a list.

Merasmus just brushes him off and keeps cleaning

Renovations:

Merasmus notices that there’s more wrong than just dust - a lot of utilities are broken, the wood is decaying, and half of the windows are broken.

Luckily, when you have magic, you can simply will tools to do what you need.

After getting some supplies - and a good luck note from Flint - Merasmus begins renovation.

He repairs the windows, which are the easiest, and then starts on the bedroom. Imagine a dungeon, but cozier.

Now, the thing about magic is that even if you’re not physically lifting a finger, it takes a lot of energy.

Merasmus keeps the tools working for about a week, all day and all night. He figures that a simple animation spell won’t do much harm if left working.

By the time next Monday rolls around, the house is refurbished and the spell is retracted, but Merasmus can barely get out of bed. His sleep is not restful, and every movement is a Herculean task.

However, Merasmus is not one for what he calls “laziness.” He still needs to paint the outside of the house.

He tried to animate a few paint brushes, but ends up passing out from exhaustion.

Merasmus wakes up in his own bed and with Flint in the doorway.

“It seems you bit off a little more than you could chew.”

Merasmus gets up, feeling a little better since he actually slept.

“How did you...where...?”

“Your hawk flew to my shop without a list and wouldn’t stop squawking until I followed them. I could scarcely believe it was the same house, you’ve done so much...no wonder you’re tired!”

Flint offered his services, and Merasmus wasn’t in a position to refuse. The shopkeeper ended up painting his entire house in the span of a few days.

When Merasmus felt better, he offered to pay Flint for his services, but he refused.

“Call it a friend doing a friend a favor!”

The garden:

Once the house was completed, Merasmus felt a little empty.

He didn’t feel like being stared at, so he mostly just walked around the house, making sure everything was in check.

One day, a packet of seeds came through his mail slot.

It had a note from Flint attached to it.

“I have heard that the more you tend to your plants, the more you tend to your soul. That may or may not be true, but I know one thing: your soul needs some tending to. Why don’t you give it a try?”

Merasmus lasted about a day being stubborn. However, his boredom was much stronger than his pride.

He planted the seeds in his backyard, though he wasn’t exactly sure what they grew.

Within minutes, they began to poke out of the soil.

Just around then, Flint came by.

“Ah, aren’t they beautiful? Even when they haven’t any blooms, they just...glisten, don’t they?”

Merasmus was a bit surprised.

“They’re growing rather fast.”

“Oh, it’s just all the good, nutritious soil they’re in! Put any seed in some good soil and they’ll be off to the races.”

Somehow, Merasmus wasn’t convinced.

The plants continued to grow until, one morning, they bloomed into beautiful rainbow flowers. They shimmered in the light, making little rainbows in the air as the morning dew fell off of them.

Even as he just stood there looking at them, Merasmus felt his heart swell.

Flint swung by yet again, as if on cue.

“Aren’t they gorgeous? Oh, they’ve been my favorite flowers ever since I was a kid. My mother proposed to my father with one of those flowers.”

Merasmus couldn’t help but agree on their stunning beauty.

He now waters them every day with a green watering can. When he was recovering from his exhaustion, it gave him something to look forward to every day.

The reveal:

Merasmus was trying to bake his own bread when he heard his door slam.

He peeked around the corner to see Flint absolutely fuming - cursing, stomping his feet, yelling at an imaginary foe.

Merasmus was shocked...but not because of Flint’s change in humor.

A small, thick storm cloud - a literal cloud - hung over Flint’s head, crackling with small bouts of lightning.

Flint turned around suddenly, almost bumping right into Merasmus. He cried out, sputtering for an explanation.

“Oh...I...was so angry I thought...I had walked into my house. Deepest apologies, Mu.”

Merasmus blinked, then started to laugh. Flint’s cloud began to form again with new vigor before he bit it back.

“And what exactly is so funny?!”

“Merasmus should have known! Silver hair, odd plants, glowing features...you’re a wizard as well!”

“‘As well?’ You mean...”

“Merasmus doesn’t wear a skull on his head for decoration!”

Flint seems both relieved and embarrassed.

He explained that his father had died a few years ago, and his mother’s health was declining - his mother was a Storm-Sweller, and they live considerably shorter lives than wizards - so he moved here and started a shop.

When his mother died, he didn’t have it in him to leave.

The reason he was so angry was because it was Mother’s Day a few days ago, and someone had let their child trample and break everything on his mother’s ofrenda (a Spanish/Mexican shrine or offering to those that have passed; it is usually only made during Dia De Los Muertos, but wizards of Spanish descent tend to set them up more frequently due to how much they value and how many connections they have with the spirit world).

Flint tried to get him to stop, but the mother got in his face and said that the whole thing was a tripping hazard anyway, and that her little boy was doing him a favor.

He had to bite his tongue, but anger was rumbling within him for the rest of the day.

When he could finally release all his fury, he hadn’t realized he was in Merasmus’s house.

Merasmus brushed off Flint’s apology and said he had every right to feel angry.

“If Merasmus was there, he would have cursed them to eternal damnation!”

Merasmus offered a piece of lumpy dough, which Flint gratefully pounded and squeezed until his storm cloud subsided.

“Would you like me to show you how to actually make bread?”

“Please.”

A stronger bond:

Merasmus and Flint became best friends over the following weeks.

Flint taught Merasmus how to garden, cook, and do other pleasant activities, and Merasmus gave the wizarding experience the man never had.

Merasmus became more and more cheerful, and did not think of his vacation time drawing short.

But, finally, it was time to leave.

Every time Merasmus tried to pack, it was all he could do to not burst into tears.

Finally, he made up his mind.

“Flint. Before Merasmus came here, he was miserable. His life was only filled with boring, soul-sucking tasks. Merasmus’s house reflects that. He cannot return there without my heart breaking. But there is so much to be found here...more than Merasmus could find in any magical realm. Merasmus must, for his health, stay here.”

Merasmus still lives there to this day, but occasionally goes on business excursions to find lost relics. Once Flint learns enough spells, he will accompany him.

Ooooh, I want this to be a common thing. That’s my problem - I make characters that are meant fit one story and I like them so much I want to keep them.

#tf2 #tf2 headcanon #tf2 headcanons #tf2 ask blog #tf2 merasmus #tf2 fic

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