#everything about them being caught by Devon

[kitxvoss]

kitbell in every episode / 5x22

#theresidentedit #the resident #kit voss #randolph bell #kitbell #kb: 5x22 #kitbell by ep #god this episode #I am also freaking out we own this shirt of hers from this scene now #and it is all I can think of when I watch this lmao #everything about them being caught by Devon #is fucking adorable #mom and dad making out in the CEO office #they're stupid cute and I love them #mine tr #kb mine

[storiesforallfandoms]

favoritism ~ pete davidson

word count: 2171

request?: yes!

@absstark​ “Hi! Ik your requests are closed atm but if u are able to, would you please be able to write me a Pete Davidson x female reader where they are dating and she’s a writer at SNL? Thank you 😊”

description: in which he’s dating one of the writers of his show, so the cast often jokes about her favoritism for him

pairing: pete davidson x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two, three)

It was actually quite ironic how everything started.

Pete was out at a bar with a couple of his SNL friends when he noticed a pretty girl sat by herself. He didn’t want to seem like a weird guy by just staring at her, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

He felt someone nudge him and he looked up to see they were all looking at him. “Sorry, what were you guys saying?”

Colin smirked at him. “Go talk to her/”

“What? No, I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” Michael asked. “She’s alone over there.”

“For one, we don’t know if she’s actually here alone. She might have a date who’s in the bathroom, or she’s waiting for him to show up. She might even have a boyfriend who’s not here. And two, girls don’t like being approached by strange men in bars. She’ll probably think I’m a fucking creep.”

They were all giving him a similar look before Devon grabbed his shoulders, turned him towards the bar, and gave him a shove. He stumbled slightly, almost bumping into another person along the way. He regained his footing and glanced over at the woman to make sure she hadn’t seen. With the encouragement of his friends, he took a deep breath and made his way across the bar.

“Hey,” he started, very lamely. She looked up and gave him a polite smile. “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, but my buddies kind of peer pressured me to come talk to you and I’m mainly doing this to get them off my back. If you just want to reject me, I’ll happily back off.”

She chuckled and glanced over Pete’s shoulder. “Are they the group very obviously staring at us right now?”

Pete followed her gaze to see his friends watching them like a pack of hawks. They didn’t even have the decency to look away when they were caught. Colin even smiled and waved his fingers at them.

“Yeah, those are my asshole friends,” Pete confirmed.

She smiled and waved at the group before turning back to Pete. “Here, sit with me. Give them something to talk about.”

Pete pulled up a stool next to her. He extended a hand towards her. “I’m Pete.”

“(Y/N). Nice to meet you.”

They talked at the bar for hours. They hardly noticed the other patrons starting to clear out or the blaring music starting to die down as the bar did its last call. Pete didn’t even notice his friends had left until the bartender had come to give them the last warning before closing. Before they parted ways, (Y/N) gave Pete  her number and told him to text her the next day.

“Just so I know you’re actually interested,” she had said before walking away.

And he had. The moment he woke up, he texted her, “Hope texting you this soon doesn’t seem to desperate, but I’m very interested - Pete.”

Near seconds later, he got a response. “I’d be a hypocrite if I called you desperate. I’ve been waiting for you to text me since I woke up.”

They texted back and forth all day. Pete was almost late to work because he was too busy texting to realize the time. When he arrived on set he was radiating with happiness. He hadn’t felt hits way in a long time. He had a really good feeling about this one. A strong feeling he hadn’t had before in any of his relationships. There was no doubts this time around.

His castmates noticed his good mood and asked what was up, but he just responded with a shrug and played it off. The guys who had been out the night before knew exactly where his good mood was coming from, but Pete decided to keep it to himself. He didn’t want to get too ahead of himself and tell everyone about (Y/N) just yet.

“Hey, Pete!” Lorne called as he spotted Pete making his way to set.

“Hey Lorne,” Pete said. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to introduce you to our new writer. She’s starting today, so try not to scare her away just yet.”

Pete chuckled, but it died off when Lorne stepped aside and gestured to the newbie. “(Y/N)?”

Her eyes widened, too. “Pete?”

“You two know each other?” Lorne asked.

“We met last night,” (Y/N) responded.

Lorne looked between the two of them. “You...met last night?”

“Not like that,” Pete assured him. “We met at a bar and just talked all night. We exchanged numbers, that’s it.”

Lorne had a skeptical look on his face that made Pete’s heart drop to his stomach. He knew how this was about to go: he would have to delete (Y/N)’s number and their messages, and he’d have to forget their would be romance before it even started. It was a HR issue, one that they would definitely not be allowed to explore.

This was the quickest broken heart he had ever gotten.

“You know, technically I should be sending you to HR to discuss this,” Lorne started. Both (Y/N) and Pete winced at the idea. “But that’s a lot of time and paperwork, and all that bullshit. So, I’m going to take both of your vocal promises that whatever this is will not interfere with either of your jobs.”

The two of them happily agreed. Lorne nodded and muttered something about leaving before he witnessed something he shouldn’t. That left (Y/N) and Pete alone, a slightly awkward tension in the air.

“You didn’t mention that you’re working for SNL,” Pete said. He meant it to come out lighthearted, but he winced when he realized how accusatory it actually sounded.

“I...actually didn’t know you were on the show,” she admitted. “You never mentioned it. You just said you were an actor.”

Pete chuckled. “Okay, we were both a little untruthful. Maybe we start over on the introductions.” He held his hand out to her. “Hi, I’m Pete. I’m a main actor on  Saturday Night Live.”

(Y/N) giggled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Pete. I’m (Y/N), and I just got hired to write for Saturday Night Live.”

“Well, congratulations. And good luck on it. I heard the cast are all assholes, except for that Pete guy. So make sure you give all the funniest jokes to him.”

(Y/N) giggled again, looking down at the ground between them shyly.

It was the start to an amazing relationship. Pete could honestly say he hadn’t felt this happy in a very long time. They kept their personal lives separate from their work lives, which seemed to be the big key to making things work. Nothing was ever discussed about the show unless they were on set, and the minute they walked on the lost their relationship was put on the back burner until they left.

But the moments they had outside of work were some of the best moments of his life. He loved being with (Y/N) and spending most of his free time with her. He was trying not to go too fast with their relationship the way he had in past relationships, but it was hard not to be a bit optimistic with how well things were going.

Of course, dating a co-worker came with some teasing from other co-workers; especially when the other co-workers were fellow comedians. The main joke that the cast liked to tell was that Pete was getting favoritism from (Y/N) when it came to being given the best jokes.

It started during the table read for a skit. They were about halfway through when Punkie cut Pete off mid-joke to proclaim, “No fair, he’s getting the best jokes!”

Everyone stopped to look at her in confusion. They couldn’t tell if the look on her face was serious or not, so Pete asked, “Excuse me?”

“Your jokes here are so much better than mine,” Punkie said. “Must be nice sleeping with one of the writers.”

Punkie laughed, but Pete looked horrified by her “joke”.

“(Y/N) didn’t even write this sketch,” Kenan pointed out.

“That’s a very serious accusation, Punkie,” one of the producers commented.

“Come on, guys, it’s just a joke,” Punkie said. “I’m not mad. Just keep reading.”

Once they finished the table read, Pete decided to approach Punkie himself. “Hey, Punkie, listen. I know what you said was a joke, but...can you maybe be mindful of the way you say it? You could get (Y/N) into a lot of trouble if the wrong people heard what you said.”

“Pete, I didn’t mean it. Everyone knows (Y/N) isn’t actually giving you favoritism in the sketches.”

“I know, I’m just saying to work on your delivery. I really don’t want to have to deal with HR.”

“Okay, I get it. I’ll try to be more funny about it next time.”

And that was truly the wrong thing for Pete to say; for him to agree that if it was clearly said as a joke, that it was fine to say that (Y/N) favorited him. Because once he made the distinction that it was okay to do it in a joking matter, it was like the entire cast had decided they wanted to joke about Pete and (Y/N). It wasn’t anything new for the cast, they joked around with each other all the time. They were all friends, and you had to have a sense of humor if you were gonna be on SNL.

But man, after some time, Pete found it so much more annoying than his castmates meant it to be. He was trying so hard to separate his work life from his personal life, like Lorne had wanted, but now it was like his personal life was open season for all of his friends.

And it was definitely something (Y/N) had noticed. The jokes were never made to her face the same way they were to Pete’s, but she heard the whisperings or the aftermath of certain jokes when approaching Pete. She never said anything at first, which made Pete hope that maybe it didn’t bother her as much as it bothered him.

But one night, as they were leaving set, Pete noticed that (Y/N) seemed distracted. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him as they walked through the doors onto the lot.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asked.

(Y/N) nibbled on the inside of her cheek before she spoke, “Do your castmates really think I favorite you when writing?”

Pete stopped walking suddenly, causing (Y/N) to stumble a little. He turned to face her and she did the same.

“Baby, of course not. They’re only joking when they say that shit. No one actually believes it,” he assured her.

She shrugged. “I guess, but they say it so much. I’m starting to worry that they actually mean it but don’t want to say it, which could get us both in a lot of trouble if it ever comes back to HR.”

Pete put his hands on her shoulders. “Baby, I promise they do not mean it. If it ever got to HR, they would all swear up and down that they’re joking. They just like to poke fun at me because I had to fall in love with a new writer on set, out of all people. But it’s not serious, I can promise you that.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You fell in love with me, huh?”

Pete couldn’t help but smile too as his hands ran down her arms to take hers. “I would think that’s pretty obvious by now.”

“You haven’t said the big L word before,” she said. “So, I don’t know, I thought maybe this was all just for fun.”

He chuckled, knowing that she was joking about the last part. They both knew they were in this relationship for the long run. There was nothing “just for fun” about it.

But she was right in saying that he hadn’t said the big three words to her yet. Although he knew deep in his heart that he did love (Y/N), he hadn’t been ready to say the words to her just yet.

That big L word was out there now, though. So, realisitically, he was part way there.

“I love you,” he said.

He didn’t think the smile on (Y/N)’s face could get any wider, but it did. She lit up like Times Square and leaned closer to him.

“I love you, too.”

They closed the gap between them to kiss. It was meant to be a sweet, romantic moment for the two of them, but it was quickly cut off by someone calling, “Get a room you two!”

They pulled apart, chuckling at the reaction, before deciding to go home and do just that.

#pete davidson #pete davidson imagine #pete davidson x reader #imagine #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom #one shot

[mysilaan]

Hi!! I just saw you're accepting requests for new gen😃. Could you write Roy hcs for when he is starting to fall in love? Like staring at Candy when she is working and everybody noticing but her, getting closer to her, etc? Thanks if you do it!

Hi Anon !! Thank you for being my very first request !!

I love Roy sm, it’s with great pleasure that I’m writing this⭐ __

ROY MCL NEW GEN HEADCANON🍒

⭐

Roy always thought he wasn’t interested in dating, that he could never fall in love so easily, but since you joined the company, you can’t seem to stop messing with his brain. You get him so flustered all the time… By the way you smile, the way you talk. Your laugh… So airy, so beautiful… He caught himself staring at you across his desk and turned bright red before going back to what he was doing. Damn… Why was he like that? Nevertheless, he landed his gaze on you one more time while you were focused on your work. He noticed this little twitch on your nose when you were focusing on something, it made him smile slightly. You felt the pressuring gaze of someone on you after a moment, and when you raised your head, you saw Roy staring. Your eyes met for a moment and he panicked making you even more confused. “Is something the matter?” You asked. You stared at him with worry while he was searching for something to say. “Hum… I wanted to try a new restaurant in town. Do you want to come with me?” Thomas, beside the two of you, was staring at his colleague with a suspicious look, even Amanda who was just passing by couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene. Roy was ignoring them with all his might. “Oh yes, I’d love to! Let me just finish this and we can go.” Roy was half delighted, half distraught by your answer, he didn’t know any restaurant that just opened actually… “Thomas, are you coming with us?” But he politely declined your proposition saying he still had work to do. While you were finishing your own things, Roy was desperately searching for any restaurant that just opened but couldn’t find anything. He quickly went to Devon’s office to ask him if he knew any, and, of course, he did. During the whole dinner, he was trying to stay as natural as possible with you, but it never felt so unnatural for him to do so. When he was with you, he felt a bond he never had with anyone before : you understood him so well and never judged him for anything. Your two personalities blended in so perfectly he never felt anything this strong before. Once the two of you finished your dinner, he proposed to walk you home. It was quite a walk from the restaurant, but after how much you ate, it couldn’t harm you. Thankfully you weren’t wearing heels that day… “It reminds me of the walk we made to the beach when I just joined the company. We should do it more often.” You said, breaking the silence. Roy smiled fondly at the memory. It wasn’t that long ago but it felt like you’ve always been here.  During the way to your home, you two spoke about nothing and everything at the same time. While you were watching straight in front of you, talking about a movie you watched the day before, Roy was looking at you absently; that’s when he noticed you shivering a little. “Here, take my jacket.” “Again? I should start paying you for this jacket.” You laughed. But he didn’t mind because it was you, though he could never say it out loud. Once in front of your house, you wanted to give him his jacket back but he pressed his hands on your shoulders telling you to keep it. “But I’m right in front of my house, I don’t need it!” “No, I insist, keep it. You’ll give it back to me another time.” “You’ll catch a cold like that Roy.” He smiled, hoping you couldn’t see his flushed cheeks in the dark. “I’ll run home. It’ll keep me warm, don't worry.” You sighed in capitulation. “Fine… For this time.” He returned your grin and then waved off once you safely entered your house. As he said, he ran on his way home to try to calm his thoughts.  He tried real hard not to think about it the whole evening but now it was all over his mind. You were all over his mind. He couldn’t deny it anymore : he was in love.

#mcl new gen #my candy love #beemoov #mcl ng #roy aquino #mcl ng roy #mcl new gen roy #my candy love new gen #amour sucre #my candy love new gen roy #my candy love roy #mcl new gen headcanons #mcl ng oc #mcl ng headcanon #mcl ng roy x reader #my writing #writing #fanfiction #headcanon #mysilaan mcl ng headcanons #mysilaan headcanons #chinomiko #MY BOOOY #i love him

[nerice]

holding out hands. do you want to talk about any oc couples you have. or polycules or situationships or anything of that ilk.

ask answer time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! at long last. linking my oc page at the top bc i will throw out some names w/ varying context :3

also prefacing this by saying that the ultimate oc ship of all time is qs (queenshipping) aka jumie/reina alas i talk abt them all the fkcin time so let's gearshift and do smth else for once ! let me introduce you 2

[the polycule] tm. relationship for the ages, mostly bc it takes an age to reach its final form lol. details under the cut >>>

noah/garvith

dragon god x serpent deity in all their beastly glory (this is before noah acquires a human form) during the war, they spend most of their off-duty time curled into ridiculous shapes having deep talks abt nothing and everything. goes bad when garvith flees a crucial battle, leaving reina to die & noah swears 2 put him 2 death over this act of cowardice. garvith spends the next century in hiding until he meets avery nd takes refuge in her body; which is all good and well until noah runs into avery during an unrelated mission and can't keep his eyes off her for. some reason >:) enter:

noah(avery?)garvith, messy tag here!

avery is ur average angry teen caught up in the middle of the fallout of whatever fucking romance those two had going on. esp bc noah+garvith, now both in human bodies (noah's held together by duct tape nd garvith thru avery) ARE NOT IMMUNE TO PHYSICAL DESIRE AS IT TURNS OUT nd avery (aro) sits in the crossfire like????? What!! Is Going On when she starts blushing like a schoolgirl over noah lmfao. sorry prince. usually she nd garvith are amiable w/ their body sharing but garvith does sleepwalk pilot her a few times to steal kisses from noah who is victim 2 his bad vein of hypocrisy regarding duty vs. desire lol. all of this ends winningly ofc when he stabs avery/garvith mid-kiss. amazing, everybody was hurt in the process of making this joint. let's take a detour

devon

local wolf guy who has fuckall 2 do with anyones god business. simply falls in love at first bite (bitten) with avery, who has so many other problems at that point, including inheriting a thousand years worth of memories from garvith & going thru a little ego death bc she cannot cope with the grief of it all. might selfishly have kissed devon at one point in an attempt to be someone she's not which cements his crush & dooms them all to drag out this stupid little charade into another book, where we get to >

noah/devon

who start out on the worst terms (romantic rivals for avery/garvith. who is simply Done With It on both ends f) but in the little space of reefair where avery has dropped off the map completely, noah+devon end up living in the same house & get pretty buddy buddy. devon is the first person noah trusts with the secret that he is a god, and devon has a phd in being a whore instead of going 2 therapy so they have a good time, as we say on this main blog where content restrictions apply. :)

anwy let's bring this baby home. ive talked abt court of the dragon before but the tldr is; noah dukes it out with his vengeful other ex that until now ive omitted. which is a shame bc damia is my fav oc, but the endgame is this:

noah+damia end up in a dual body consciousness situation a la pandora hearts, with one body stuck at the bottom of the ocean in dead world space & the other able to move freely, with the two of them having 2 play real nicey with each other taking turns who controls which body. by then avery has sort of rejoined the polycule (when she's not out adventuring across verses w/ lucie) but in an all members present scenario u get:

the polycule [tm]

avery, more or less serpent at times, trading affection & bite marks w noah/devon except like. sometimes noah is damia and damia doesn't rly fuck with the polycule situation bc he hates everyone involved but also loves to fuck with the polycule bc he is a goddamn bastard. i don't know what's going on here either but it's extremely funny send tweet

((((((bonus. ask jumie how she feels about her son sometimes giving damia head by association LOL)))))))))9 revolutionary vectors of psychological dmg here

#[i was born to meet you] but instead it's [this verse was born 2 own jumie in this very specific way] sorry lmao #ngl with u i touched procreate in the first time in months to draw those lines and cried a lil #anwy this entire mess takes place over like.. 5 books??? #noah/garvith are roa territory and go bad by lhnh #the n/v/g mess happens prior to shadow revenge which is where devon+avery meet #the noah/devon roommate situation is due 2 devon moving out to the countryside with his sister nd noah being homeless at the time #(spiritually homeless anwy. palace is.... difficult territory during reefair nd he's trying to escape it) #court of the dragon finale is late dream game & then FINALLY. in long lost flame we get the resolution which is literally the final book w #THANK UUUU for asking this was so fun ive been gunning 2 spell out their situation for a while but it's SO COMPLICATED lmao #askbox #corvus-rose #oc asks

[ringtownrangerlark]

[@walkingbugencyclopedia]

Hi there my name is Bugsy we talked Once about Cereal and I’m a Gym Leader in Johto and I’d like to politely disagree with you about the League and Pokeballs.

As you can probably guess from the everything about me I’m an expert in Bug-Types. I’m a specialist in both battling with them and research of them (though not yet qualified for the Professor title, something I want to be in the future). I discovered the move Fury Cutter, which, while not as impressive as a lot of things a lot of other people have done, is pretty rare for someone who was (at the time) 12 years old.

I’ve been involved in my region’s Pokemon League… pretty much since. And I might go so far as to say that these people are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. (Better than most of the people I’d been friends with before that point, at least.) We’re flawed. So’s everything else ever created in the history of everything. Humans aren’t, can’t be, perfect. You and others make some fair points. (Technically the Johtonian Pokemon School is entirely independent of the League and I’d call Unova an exception along with Paldea, but that’s tangential.)

The League aside, Silph and Devon are FAR from the only people making Pokeballs. While the modern mass-produced Pokeball is mostly made by corporations, they’ve been almost an art form for CENTURIES. Not that something being older makes it better by the very principle of it, but people have been hand-making Pokeballs using apricorns and ingenuity long before the styler was a twinkle in its inventor’s eyes. I live a few doors down from a man who’s been making traditional Pokeballs since long before I was even born. The Pokeball, in itself, is not new, not in the same way the styler appears to have been popularized within the lifetime of some still-active Rangers. Also Kalos has its own entirely independent Pokeball factory but that’s a minor factual error on your part at worst.

On a related point, the only Pokeball that can be bought for, quote, “pocket change” without any league badges (which, I may note, are given out at the Gym Leader’s discretion, even disregarding the battle outcome; so that Trainers who are abusive towards Pokemon or similarly not deserving of a Badge don’t get it) are the standard ones (and the Premier Ball, but that’s just standard with a fancy coat of paint). The standard Pokeball is not designed to capture Pokemon efficiently. The other Pokeballs that can be obtained with no League Badges are often a) situational and/or b) sold by private individuals who have the right to refuse to sell their Pokeballs to those that may misuse them.

Claiming that being older makes the Pokeball objectively better would be an appeal to tradition, though, so that’s not really reason enough. What is, in my opinion, reason enough, is the actual value of the more concrete and compact capture that a Pokeball provides. It allows for the entire existence of Pokemon Training as a sport, and the modern idea of living in harmony with Pokemon. Now, while training Pokemon without Pokeballs is possible, it’s a whole lot less practical for everyone involved, up to and including the Pokemon. Pokeballs don’t inherently take away a Pokemon’s free will any more than a styler. After the moment of capture itself, a Pokemon in a Pokeball isn’t “trapped” in any meaningful sense of the word. While it’s registered to you, and many Pokemon often do become more docile (due to the fact that they’re often intelligent enough to know that human means food and safety), others don’t, and those Pokemon are just as aggressive as before they’re caught. The Pokeball, while it can be released and recalled on the command of the Trainer, also allows the Pokemon to do the same things, and while the Trainer can try and counteract those actions, sometimes it’s a losing battle. If that Pokemon doesn’t want to be captured I can assure you that one way or another, it won’t be. (The only exception being the Master Ball but that’s controversial at best and even now only given out to the most trusted of Trainers and authorities.) Pokeballs are also relatively easy to break, which, while it may sound like a negative, is actually a very positive thing all considered. A broken Pokeball deregisters the Pokemon that had been contained within it. This is great because breaking a Pokeball is an easy way to get a Pokemon deregistered if it has been registered to someone that it shouldn’t be. As has been mentioned, Pokeballs are inherently single use, which means that while not all-encompassing, budget is a strong limiting factor.

I’d also like to mention that jamming technology for Pokeballs exists and its lack of widespread use by the authorities is an issue on their part, not on the Pokeballs themselves. Perhaps the adoption of such technology could solve some of the issues you have with Pokeballs in their modern state.

Finally, I’d like to emphasize that no malice is intended in this argument. You, sir, have the correct views on cereal, and that makes you pretty damn cool in my book.

Signed,

Bugsy, Azalea Town Gym Leader

Hello!

I really appreciate this thorough and thoughtful reply. I will be the first to admit that I'm not immune to bias. I come from a region where pokeballs are relatively new and rare, and there is no league, so I have an outsider's perspective on these things, and don't really "get" some aspects of league and trainer culture. I'll try to address your points one by one:

First of all, congratulations! I certainly wasn't doing anything close to that impressive at age 12. And from what I've seen, your bug expertise is top-notch.

I'm really glad the League has been such a positive experience for you. It was never my intention to imply the league itself was evil. I suspect your feelings are similar to mine about the rangers- I started volunteering as a teenager and rangers haven't just been my coworkers, they are family members and good friends. The Union still has it's flaws and inefficiencies, and is far from perfect.

I did not know much about the history of pokeballs! I am also very glad to hear that gym badges are not handed out by battle victory alone. That was a concern for possible abuse. To your point about standard pokeballs not being designed to capture efficiently- I feel like that would just encourage a person to buy and use more pokeballs, rather than addressing the root issues of care, goodness-of-fit, and motivation.

I also feel the need to clarify that I never believed a pokemon caught via ball was trapped, or that registering a pokemon was inherently harmful. And as I have said elsewhere, I am not actually against pokemon capture, training, or battling (or other uses of registered pokemon, such as construction). These practices have existed for centuries and have been often to the betterment of pokemon and humans alike.

I think the primary flaw in my argument was that I focused on pokeballs vs. stylers, when a lot of my concerns boil down really to what I am going to call "trainer culture" for lack of a better word. By this I mean things like:

Trainers not being expected to learn ecology or pokemon biology

Battling being seen as the be-all-end-all of handling situations, even outside of the league and sports battles. For example, the notion that criminal organizations can be managed by vigilantes or citizens fighting with their own pokemon.

Catching a pokemon being seen as synonymous to knowing/learning about/understanding it

Being a battle champion being seen as the peak or 'mastery' of Pokemon

"Gotta catch em all" mentality

Valuing a pokemon's moves and utility in battle as the most important features

Thinking all pokemon must battle, or that evolution (via battle) is necessary for all pokemon

Assuming everyone battles, knows about battling, or follows battling as a sport

Assuming someone who doesn't battle regularly doesn't know about pokemon

I'm not saying all trainers believe these things. But I have encountered these beliefs as basic, unquestioned assumptions in many trainers. And it isn't even typically malicious- just a widespread cultural norm. And you must also remember that I'm coming at this from my position as a ranger. Which means in my day-to-day job I am constantly dealing with things like:

People randomly releasing pokemon they no longer want, often in inappropriate environments or after too much training for wild release (e.g. just dumping an anorith in the ocean).

Mass trafficking of pokemon.

Trainers using wild pokemon as battle practice (rather than gyms or fellow trainers) which can result in widespread damage (e.g. a trainer training their charmander by battling dozens of oddish, who would not normally encounter charmander, and to a degree greater than normal loss through predation. Or someone bringing an elektrike to knock-out multiple magikarp in a region where there are no water electric types, and ocean pokemon are not adapted to that kind of encounter.)

Trainers doing dangerous or disruptive things in the name of catching or battling (e.g. putting honey on trees which fed wild pokemon, in a region without honey trees or wild aipom).

I agree that pokeballs have their benefits for safe capture of pokemon intended to be kept/trained rather than wild. A capture styler is tailored for rangers and wouldn't meet the needs of most others. But I would like more people to recognize

The way modern pokeballs make certains kinds of harm very easy to perpetuate and very hard to stop and

Maybe question a bit more the effects their typical assumptions, behaviors or practices with pokemon, and whether some of these things are actually necessary.

A lot of my job would be much safer and easier if people weren't encouraged to catch and battle as much as possible, while being under-encouraged to actually learn about pokemon and the environment. I hope that has made my position more clear.

With warm regards,

Lark, Ranger (Ringtown, currently Paldea Crater Base)

#quests #walkingbugencyclopedia #pokeballs #long post #//hi! this was very very cool

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My website

Chapter 52: June 1996

If this is what most primary schools are like, Gerard thinks, he’s astonishingly grateful to his mother for teaching him at home. For a given degree of “teaching”, anyway.

Martin insists it isn’t, and he’s told Gerard about the school he went to in Devon before he and his mother moved to London—he actually seems to miss it—but Gerard isn’t convinced. The whole building seems tired and sagging, but it’s also extremely clinical and impersonal. Everything is cinderblock and grey tile and plain doors with mesh in the glass. Bells bristle on the walls like boils, and all in all it seems more like a prison than a place of learning. Of course, Gerard isn’t entirely certain they’re all that different anyway.

The actual meeting takes place in the gymnasium, which has a wooden floor but is otherwise made of the same depressing cinderblocks as the rest of the building, and there is an almost coyly twee sign reading Support for Parents Alone Raising Kids, the capitalized letters obvious and adorned in glitter to make the SPARK stand out. The parents in question, mostly mothers, sit on metal folding chairs in only slightly better shape than the gymnasium. The kids in question, however, are currently being shooed outside.

Gerard does not want to go outside. He caught a glimpse of the playground on the way in, thank you very much, and it looks like a tetanus shot waiting to happen. Rust and concrete and sand and nothing particularly exciting. He’d much rather stay inside and listen to the meeting, or go hole up in the library—surely this place has a library. But Martin is tugging him outside, and, okay, he’ll play along.

Gerard’s a bit surprised, but he really likes this kid. Part of it is that he’s not immune to a bit of hero-worship and Martin tends to look at him like he’s some kind of minor god, but mostly it’s just that…well, Martin is a genuinely nice person. He’s amazingly brilliant for a seven-year-old, a fast and voracious reader—he’s read even more books than Gerard has—and he’s got, so Gerard thinks, the voice of an angel. His fondness for poetry is a bit of an irritation, but again, he’s seven, he’ll probably grow out of sentimental nonsense like that. Anyway, if Martin thinks they should go outside with the other children, Gerard will let him take the lead. After all, this is his first time being here; Mrs. Blackwood has been attending, and bringing Martin, for several weeks now.

Gerard isn’t sure why his mother agreed to come, actually, since his dad’s been gone at least five years now and she definitely doesn’t need any support in raising him, but she did and he already knows better than to question her actions.

There are about a dozen kids that spill out onto the playground and scatter to the corners. Several of the girls run over to pick up skipping ropes; most of the boys begin kicking a ball around. Others race for the climbing structure or the rickety slide. None of it appeals to Gerard.

“What do you usually do?” Gerard asks Martin, who hasn’t run to join any of the groups. He assumes Martin is waiting for him to choose what they’ll do, but surely Martin has a favorite activity.

Martin scuffs his shoe against the concrete, a bit shyly, and doesn’t look up at Gerard when he answers. “I, um, I like the swings.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Gerard lies. Like everything else on the playground, the swing set seems to be comprised of metal and rust, and he isn’t entirely sure what the point of them is either. Just to sit on them? It doesn’t sound like his idea of fun, but if Martin likes them…

There was a bit of a drizzle this morning, but it’s cleared up now; still, the pavement is damp in places and there are a few undeniable puddles where the yard sags and dips. Gerard is thankful for the new—well, new to him anyway—boots he bought at the secondhand shop last week; though worn, they still have deep treads that keep him from slipping as they head across the playground. He’s still wearing a three-piece suit, which he hates, but…baby steps. Sooner or later he’ll be able to save up enough of his pocket money to buy the clothes he wants to wear, and maybe eventually his mother will get the hint and stop dressing him like a small professor. They’re not upper class, whatever she says about her ancestors, and Gerard is pretty sure that the rich assholes who come to buy rare books from his mother can see through his outfits clearly enough. They know he’s trash. He might as well dress like it.

Martin rounds a teeter-totter that looks even more unsafe than the rest of the playground equipment and stutters to a halt, nearly making Gerard trip over him. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when he sees it, too. Someone else got to the swings first.

Someone else is a girl who’s either very young or very small for her age. Gerard finds himself envious of her outfit, not because he wants to wear that exactly—he can’t imagine anyone wanting to wear that many colors at the same time—but because she very obviously picked it out herself, because no way would her mother (he assumes it’s her mother) select something like this for her. She’s wearing a shirt with orange and white horizontal stripes, bright purple dungarees with tiny pale lilac flower buds printed all over them, and hot pink high-top sneakers with glittery laces, and her hair is pulled into two bunches on either side of her head and secured with something with bright, slightly translucent blue balls on the ends. She has a puffy gold star sticker under each eye like some kind of war paint, and she’s staring at the swing with narrowed eyes and her hands on her hips like she’s challenging it to something.

Gerard assumes they’ll be moving on to find something else to do, but to his surprise, Martin clears his throat. “Um, hi.”

The girl starts and whirls on them. Her scowl somehow deepens, and her fists come up in front of her. It would be intimidating if she wasn’t so tiny, but as it is, Gerard isn’t impressed.

“What?” she demands.

Martin gives her a smile that seems a bit shaky and indicates the swings. “Um, can—can we join you? O-on the swings?”

The girl considers this for a minute, then eyes the swings before looking back at Martin. “There are only two.”

“That’s okay, you two can have them,” Gerard says quickly before Martin can offer. “I’ll just watch or something.”

He’ll watch, all right. He’ll watch long enough for Martin to make friends with this new girl and forget he’s there, and then he can slip off inside. He’ll probably feel bad about that later, but at least he’s not abandoning Martin with no one to play with if he and Miss Thing here get on.

“Well…okay.” The girl lifts her chin almost defiantly and sticks out a hand towards them. “I’m Melanie.”

“I’m Martin, and this is Gerard,” Martin says, taking her hand and shaking it. “It’s nice to meet you, Melanie.”

“Uh…yeah…hi,” Gerard says. He, too, shakes her hand when she offers it.

Martin smiles, a bit more confidently this time. Melanie doesn’t exactly smile back, but at least she’s not scowling. “You can have that swing. I’m going to get on this one.”

“Okay.”

Martin goes over to the swing indicated and circles it for a moment, then leans forward to snag the chain. Gerard isn’t sure why until he notices the twin puddles directly under both swings. He realizes that generations of feet scuffing at the ground have worn a bit of a dip that allows water to collect, and Martin is worried—most likely rightly—that his mother will have kittens if he gets his shoes muddy. Once Martin has the swing in hand, he maneuvers himself so he’s facing away from it, takes a deep breath, and gives a little hop. Somehow he settles into the seat correctly without falling; it immediately swings backwards, and Martin holds on desperately and tries to kick his feet to straighten himself out and keep from swinging over onto Melanie’s side of the swings.

Melanie tries to do the same, but Gerard realizes very quickly that it won’t work. Apart from the fact that she’s shorter than Martin, the seat is somehow higher than the other side. If she leans forward without stepping into the puddle, she’s going to fall face-first into it. Gerard tries to figure out how to tell her that without making it look like he’s being a bully. Then, as Martin finally gets his trajectory more or less under control, Gerard notices that the swing has been wrapped over the top bar of the swing set.

“Well, duh,” Melanie says when he points this out. “Otherwise your feet get wet.”

“Yeah, but you can’t reach it. Hang on.” Gerard manages to plant his feet on either side of the puddle and tosses the swing a few times until he manages to get it over the top, with a rattle and a clank. Once it settles, he pulls it back and hands it to Melanie. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Melanie eyes him suspiciously for a minute, but takes the chains in either hand. She tries several times to haul herself up into the seat, but doesn’t quite manage it, and on her final try nearly gets dragged into the puddle. She manages to brake herself and backs up, then looks over at Gerard. “Can you hold it steady for me while I get on? Please?”

The please is clearly an afterthought, but Gerard doesn’t care all that much about politeness, and he’s a bit surprised to be asked anyway. He takes the chain and holds the swing as requested.

It still takes Melanie two or three tries, but she finally manages to get herself settled. Gerard holds on for just a second, until Martin swings out of the way, then lets go and steps to one side. As an afterthought, watching Martin’s still-wobbly swing, he catches his chain and manages to stop him, then straightens him out before pulling him back and letting him go as well.

“Thanks, Gerard,” Martin says happily, kicking his feet in their battered trainers forward.

“Thanks, Gerard,” Melanie echoes.

Gerard blinks. “Uh, yeah, sure, no problem.”

He watches for a few moments. They seem happy enough, and he’s about ready to try to slink off when Melanie asks, “Is this your first time coming here?”

“Not mine. Mum’s been coming for a few weeks,” Martin answers, his sentence punctuated with the tiniest of pauses every time he reaches the acme of his swing and pumps himself backwards or forwards. “It’s Gerard’s first time, though.”

“Oh.” Melanie twists her head to study Gerard with a frown. The action makes her swing start twisting slightly, and she hurriedly turns to face forward again. “But aren’t you brothers?”

“No.” Gerard tries not to sound appalled at the idea. It’s not that he doesn’t like Martin, he does, but he wouldn’t want Mrs. Blackwood as a mum any more than he would wish his mother on another child. He comes around and catches Melanie’s swing to stop it twisting before it slams into Martin and straightens it out, then gives her a little push when he lets go. “My mother is friends with his.”

“Oh,” Melanie says again. She doesn’t tuck her feet as far under herself this time when she reaches the top of her arc, and Gerard instinctively takes a step back and gives her another little push when she comes close enough. “So you don’t have a dad? Either of you?”

Martin shakes his head, but doesn’t elaborate. Gerard’s not surprised. He’s only known Martin about six weeks, and in that whole time, he’s never heard him mention his dad once. He gives Martin a push as well—it’s only fair—and tells Melanie, “Haven’t for a while. Mine died when I was about your age. I don’t remember him too well, really.”

“How old are you?” Melanie asks suspiciously.

“Ten.”

“I’m seven,” Martin interjects. “But I’ll be eight in August.”

“I’m seven, too,” Melanie says. “My birthday’s not until November, though.”

Martin kicks his feet out to push himself backwards. “‘Not yesterday I learned to know / The love of bare November days…’”

“Robert Browning?” Gerard hazards, catching Martin lightly and pushing him forward, then shifting to do the same for Melanie.

“Frost.”

“Who’s that?” Melanie asks. She tips her head back to look at Gerard, then squeaks as the chain momentarily goes slack and nearly topples her backwards. Gerard instinctively starts forward to catch her, but she manages to correct herself.

“Robert Frost? He was a poet,” Martin explains. “He wrote lots of really great poems about nature, especially winter and autumn and all that. He was American, but he lived in a pretty part. Mrs. Dooley taught me about him.”

“Oh—you go to school here too?”

“Yup. I just started this term. I was in Mrs. Tisdale’s class.”

“I was in Mrs. Brown’s. Maybe we’ll both be in the same class next year.” Melanie glances at Gerard as she reaches the end of her swing. “Whose class were you in?”

“My mother teaches me at home.” Gerard tries not to sound superior.

Melanie grunts. “Figures.”

Gerard decides to turn the tables a bit. “What about your dad? How long has he been gone?”

“He isn’t. He’s inside.” Melanie stops kicking her feet, and Gerard notices her hands tighten around the chains, even as her chin drops to her chest. “Mama just died.”

Okay, now Gerard feels like a little bit of a jerk. Martin stops kicking his feet, too, and his face, when he looks at Melanie, is creased in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Melanie.”

Melanie looks up as she begins to slow, and there’s an almost angry look in her eyes. “I’m not going to forget her. Not when I’m ten and not when I’m ten hundred.”

Gerard almost corrects her that “ten hundred” is a thousand, but one look at the reproachful expression on Martin’s face and he swallows that. “I, um, I thought you were younger than seven, actually. It’s been five years almost. And he worked a lot before that, so I never really got to know him all that well. I’m sure you’ll remember your mother better.”

Melanie sniffs. She clearly means it to be defiant, but it sounds more like she’s about to cry. “She’s worth remembering.”

Martin gives her an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you tell us about her?”

Gerard grabs Melanie’s swing again and pulls her clear of the puddle. “Why don’t we go inside first?”

“We’re supposed to be outside,” Martin protests.

“I’m big enough to be responsible,” Gerard boasts. “We can go sit in the library.”

Melanie slips out of the swing and hops to one side. “If Mrs. Dooley is there, she’ll let us.”

“Well…” Martin wavers.

Gerard tugs Martin away from the puddle under his swing. “C’mon, Martin, don’t you trust me?”

It’s maybe a little bit unfair, but it works. Martin’s eyes widen briefly, and he slips out of the swing instantly. “Of course I trust you!”

“Come on then.” Gerard takes Martin’s hand and reaches for Melanie’s, too; she eyes him suspiciously, but accepts it.

The teenager who’s supposed to be watching them doesn’t notice them slipping inside, which is just fine with Gerard. They tiptoe down the hallway—the doors to the gymnasium are open and they don’t want to get caught—and to the only other set of double doors, with a brass plaque on the left one reading LIBRARY. There’s a light on inside, and when they pull it open, they’re met with a plump, matronly woman who greets them with a smile and open arms. She seems pleased to meet Gerard, and she readily directs them to a tiny cluster of chairs.

“There’s no one else here,” she says, her Scottish accent thick and heavy, “so you can be as loud as you like. I’ll let your parents know they can find you here after the meeting, but meantime, you three just settle down and enjoy yourselves, you hear?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Dooley,” Martin and Melanie say in unison with matching smiles. Mrs. Dooley laughs and bustles away.

Gerard looks at the two kids he’s inexplicably saddled himself with and wonders, for a fleeting moment, how he let things get this far. He wanted to be alone.

By the time his mother comes to collect all three of them, with the explanation that Mrs. Blackwood and Mr. King are in deep conversation and will meet them out front, he wonders why he ever thought that would be the better option.

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) #tma fanfic #tma #gerard keay #martin blackwood #melanie king #mention of death of a parent #implied/referenced classism

[aparticularbandit]

IDK how you’d feel about this for the physical affection prompts but…7, 9, 15 (feel free to choose one or mutiple) for Lionel and Claire (Post-movie. Platonically? Romantically? Something in-between?)?

physical affection prompts! 7) squishing their cheeks 9) wiping away someone’s tears 15) the biggest, warmest hugs

I combined them all into one longer thing, so I hope that's okay! Sorry it took so long for me to finish!

It has been the most harrowing three days of Claire’s life.

Actually, that’s not entirely true.  Claire has had a lot of singularly harrowing days, and while she wants to say these particular three are the most harrowing she’s ever had in sequence, that’s not really true either.  The trial was.  She couldn’t numb out the trial.  She couldn’t numb out—

     Look me in the eye, Claire!

Claire shivers, rubs one of her arms, and turns away from the window.

Devon hasn’t been able to join them in Greece because the kids haven’t been able to join them in Greece.  They’d decided this together; an international murder investigation didn’t seem like something Rowena or Mark should be involved with.  Besides, they were perfectly happy to stay cozied up at the house, perfectly happy to see their mom in Zoom meetings when they happen to all be awake at the same time (the eight hour time difference is horrible, but they can get around it if they try hard enough).  She’d needed to see them, after.  Needed to see their smiling, happy, enthusiastic faces.

Helen still thought they were all shitheads, but she’d…oddly warmed when she caught Claire with her kids.  She had, of course, assured her that she still didn’t like Claire one bit and insisted that it was just the kids she liked, but that was fine.  Is fine.  Claire hasn’t – isn’t – trying to patch things up with Helen.  She doesn’t deserve her forgiveness and won’t try to get it.

     If we’d only gotten there earlier, she thinks to herself sometimes.  If I’d only let Duke pound the door in.  If we hadn’t—

But regrets and wishing couldn’t bring Andi back.

Regrets and wishing couldn’t—

Claire and Lionel don’t share a room.

For a lot of reasons, really, one of which being that it doesn’t matter exactly how open her marriage with Devon is, they still need to keep some protocol.  They’re all under investigation, even with the truth coming to light, because that’s how these sorts of things work, especially with Miles’s team of lawyers, none of whom any of them can use now like they had during Andi’s—

     She’d just needed oxygen—

But they can’t forbid them from going to see each other.

Sometimes, the three of them who are left – and Peg, of course, because Peg should always have been included with them, even when Miles pretended she shouldn’t, and Whiskey, too, who was turning out to be much better of a woman than Claire had assumed based on how Duke treated her, which really just reminded her that she shouldn’t assume anything about anyone and maybe if she hadn’t—

     Which really just goes down the regrets and wishing train again—

They gather around the hotel pool sometimes.  They don’t go swimming, probably because they all think of the last time they were swimming, when Duke had been so blatant about something and they’d all just missed it, but they stand and stare at the pool and then sometimes go back to one of their rooms for drinks, except that it’s hard to drink now because all of their favorite drinks have been ruined by that last party, by what Miles had used Duke’s drink to do, by…by everything—

     Maybe, if they’d gotten there earlier, if they hadn’t turned on Andi, maybe they would still all be there—

Birdie and Peg share a room.  Whiskey spends a lot of time with them.  Spends a lot of time with Peg, spends a lot of time with Helen.

     She hadn’t thought Andi could actually die.

They have a community room they all share sometimes.  It’s less sharing and more they’re all there at the same time.  Every now and again, Claire thinks she should go talk to Helen, but every time she gets that thought Benoit is there, and she just…doesn’t.  That’s not the worst thing (although Birdie would say it was, Duke would say it was, in that aggravating streamer way of knocking the actual worst thing for something lesser as a sort of joke (and she tries not to think about how he will never, never, never be able to do that again)), but she’d spent so long following Benoit’s cases – particularly after he’d gotten married to Phillip (that, too, had made the news, and she’d thrilled because he was, he was like her, and she’d thought he was and Devon wouldn’t fucking believe her, he was like them) – that she’d built him up as someone who would understand her, who would look at her and know and say, “Guhvanuh Debella, you are uhn uhmazing womuhn,” in that wonderful southern accent of his, and to be honest, he probably does know, given how easily he’d read that shitty murder mystery game Miles set up, given how he’d figured out everything Miles was doing when none of them had even—

She wants to talk to Helen, not to apologize, but just to…to talk.

But Helen terrifies her.

Benoit does even more, the way he sits next to her like the cutest little Pomeranian guard dog with ascot (a different color every day because he’d planned for this, hadn’t he, while the rest of them were still trying to figure out how to get everything clean.  Claire is able to use the hotel’s washer because she has children and everything she has needs to be able to go straight into the washer without worry because Devon isn’t going to pay attention and neither are the children, but Birdie….  Birdie’s just sending someone out to buy her new clothes every day.  It’s going to get old.  She’s going to run out of money.  They’ll be gone before that happens).  His eyes always seem kinder when he notices Claire, but part of her is convinced that’s just a lie.  Once, out of the corner of her eye, she catches him keeping an eye on her chess game with Lionel.  She bites her lower lip and stares at the board and thinks maybe – maybe – she will impress him.

It is the only time Benoit places a hand on her shoulder, and Claire freezes, expecting him to offer a word of advice or the potential next best move.  Instead, he says, in that adorable accent of his, “If you really want to challenge your mind, you should play Go.”

Claire flinches, freezes, unable to speak, but Lionel looks up, leans on his hand where his elbow rests on the table, and asks, “Do you have a board handy?  We haven’t been able to play in months.”

“Why don’t you ask your benefactor—”

Helen’s voice, then, cutting through their idle conversation, and Claire’s phone vibrates with the call from Devon that led to speaking with her children, that led to Helen peeking in and meeting them.

(Andi’s sister might hate all of them, but she loves children, and like Lionel, she peeks in every now and again and, crossing her arms, barks out a correction when Claire teaches them something wrong.  It’s a small thing, but it’s…but it’s something, maybe.)

Three days of feeling sick and horrible and the worst of the world only made worse because she is the worst of the world, isn’t she, aren’t they all, because if they hadn’t—

     Andi could still be—

And Claire finds herself alone in Lionel’s room.  It isn’t that she’d gone there alone; Birdie had been there, too, briefly, because Peg invited Whiskey to their room, and she hadn’t been particularly comfortable with all of that.  But she’d barely been with them ten minutes before heaving a huge, disappointed sigh and storming out of the room, leaving them both there, alone, while she stomped back to her room.  Lionel stared at her through the window, let out a huff of a laugh, and let the curtains slide shut again as he turned back, “Looks like someone doesn’t like to share—”

But it’s the weight of it all, crushing into Claire’s chest, and suddenly she can’t breathe.  Tears prick at the corners of her eyes.  She sits down hard on the edge of Lionel’s mattress, unable to look at him, unable to look out the window, unable to look at the shitty hotel artwork that’s hanging on either side of the flat-screen tv because every time she does, she just thinks about the stupid college poster Mona Lisa that Miles hadn’t had in his fucked up Glass Onion, unable to look at anything, really, and so she looks down at her thighs where they’re brushed together because her hands are clenching the mattress on either side of her.

“Claire, Claire, hey—”

It’s only a second, and Lionel is crouching in front of her with those knees that he always complains really can’t do this anymore (and yet always, always he still kneels before her), one hand reaching up to gently wipe away her tears with the soft pad of his right thumb.  “It’s okay—”

“It’s not okay, Lionel; she’s dead.”

Claire can’t help the way that she spits it out – she shouldn’t be spitting it out at him because Lionel certainly doesn’t deserve her vitriol – Miles does, but she couldn’t spit at him the way that she can spit now – and, really, she isn’t mad at Lionel, she’s mad at herself.  “She’s dead, and Helen was right – we killed her.”

“No,” Lionel counters, voice as gentle as he can make it.  “No, Claire.  We didn’t kill any—”

“We killed her when lied for Miles over—”

“Miles killed Andi, Claire.”  Lionel’s hands move to her knees, and he gives them a gentle squeeze.  “We couldn’t have known that he would—”

Claire pushes herself off of the bed, away from Lionel’s touch, and starts to pace, arms crossed.  “He wouldn’t have even known that she’d found it if you hadn’t—”

Lionel’s face contorts.  “Now, Claire, be reasonable.  None of us could have guessed that—”

“We shouldn’t have had to guess!” Claire hisses out, turning back to him, arms spread wide, tears streaming down her face.  “We should have stuck with—”

     Look me in the eye, Claire!

The words lump in her throat, choking her, and Claire can’t get them out.  She wraps her arms around herself, and her gaze drops, head lowering.  She feels like a child again, only when she was a child everyone loved her because they didn’t know who wrong she felt in her own skin.  How wrong she feels now, but for an entirely different reason.

Lionel crosses the distance between them again and brushes her tears back with both thumbs at once.  “It’s okay to be mad, Claire,” he says as soothingly as he can.  “It’s okay to try and think of things we could have done, but we didn’t know, Claire.  We were trying to—”

“—to save ourselves,” Claire finishes for him, and she rubs at her tears with the back of one hand.  “It’s exactly like Helen said.  We’re all shits.  All of us.”

“I think the term is shitheads—”

Claire punches Lionel’s shoulder.  Then she leans forward, rests her forehead on his shoulder.  “We fucked up.”

“Then we need to do our best to make it better.”  Lionel shifts again, lifts Claire’s head, squeezes her cheeks.  “You’re allowed to be cute while we try to save the world, Claire.”

“We’re not saving anything, Lionel,” Claire says, although with her cheeks squeezed like they are, her words sound muffled, wrong, and she laughs at the sound before pulling herself away.  “We’re just saving ourselves.”

Lionel offers her the gentlest of smiles.  “Sometimes saving the world starts with saving ourselves.”  He reaches forward and boops her nose with the tip of one finger.  “So we stood up to Miles too late.  We learn.  We do better next time.  And maybe nobody dies.”

“Nobody should have died this time—”

But before she can finish, Lionel wraps his arms around her.  He always was good at giving hugs, and this time is no different.  She crumples in his embrace, buries her head against his chest, and lets herself cry – glad that he apparently brought trashy clothes with him so that when she gets snot all over his shirt, it won’t be a problem.  He strokes her hair gently, and when she’s finished enough, she murmurs into his chest, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lionel doesn’t ask her to stay with him because with the police and journalists who are likely to be swarming the place and waiting for something like that, she can’t risk the further blow to her reputation.  But she stays for as long as she believes she is reasonably able, curled up against him, letting herself rest.

#theartsianpoint #bandit fic #glass onion #glass onion fam #claire debella #lionel toussaint #claionel #claire debella x lionel toussaint #lionel toussaint x claire debella #bandit answers questions

[wisepena74]

Colored Tights Tumblr - Calm down, It is Perform Time!

Pendleton Ward's Cartoon Tumblr. I, Much too, Am Harvard is a marketing campaign largely expressed as a assortment of images that has been posted on Tumblr to illustrate the particular activities of black college students at Harvard College. Oijen, M.J.P. van: A limited record of the Siebold collection of Japanese Fishes in the Countrywide Museum of Organic Record, Leiden, The Netherlands. In 2020, the singer released a type edit collection with ASOS, a British manner retailer. She despatched her samurai to struggle him, but he launched a vivid flash of gentle that broke her spell about them. As the few battle above their romance, they uncover on their own caught in a demon's scheme to demolish the Electrical power of 3. Weaver's debut criminal offense thriller Chasing the Useless was at last unveiled in February of 2010, right after ten a long time of attempting to discover a publisher. fifteen April 2021, Weaver launched his first standalone novel, Lacking Parts. Formal announcements detailing the miniseries have been ultimately launched on December 12, 2016 by way of a push release distributed to numerous media outlets. Nonetheless, informational interviews expose that these buyers rely on currently being knowledgeable through social media. Dependent on the e book, "The Accidental Billionaire"s by Ben Mizrich, "The Social Network" is a motion picture based on Facebook's creation.

These social media professionals can investigation efficient ways on how to marketplace the manufacturer as a result of social media platforms like Fb, Twitter, LinkedIn, Instagram, and TikTok, alongside with other social media platforms. His will work can be located in museums in Japan (about a hundred works) and in the Netherlands (about a thousand), amongst many others. Don Taylor attempts spherical-the-environment vacation in his homebuilt Thorp T-18, finished by a spate of truly poor weather concerning northern Japan and the Aleutian Islands. For other works he also painted on silk and wood, like his paintings on the ceilings of various temples in Japan. In 1829, he was imprisoned by the Tokugawa shogunate for involvement in a spying incident of Siebold, who was subsequently expelled from Japan. Animal Crossing: New Horizons A unique beaver villager who visits the player's town weekly to purchase the player's fish and consider fish model fee requests. Andy Milonakis voices N.E.P.T.R., a sentient robot who makes and throws pies. Raker is a previous journalist, who gave up his profession in newspapers to treatment for his wife just after she was identified with terminal most cancers. Coulier is a private pilot who owns and flies a B35 Bonanza. For TheDownvideo of the pilot episode, she breaks cost-free just after a thousand a long time and returns to Equestria on the longest day of the 12 months, intent on carrying out her strategy again.

Co Signed Fall three Scorching Young and coming rapper out of Tulsa Oklahoma In 2017 Jackson signed with Todd Moscowitz's Alamo Documents for around a million-greenback contract. For the reason that "Betty" was by now "jam packed", everything "non-vital" experienced to be reduce out of the storyboard, which still left Moynihan "heartbroken". Club awarded it an "A" and called it a "large episode for the Ice King", for the reason that it marked "a major shift in the character's potential by reconnecting with his past lover", Betty. In September 2015, Weaver wrote and introduced an 8-part podcast series referred to as Missing, on the lookout into how and why individuals disappear. Sava mentioned that it was made to "jump-get started the momentum by introducing new figures and storylines for long run episodes", and that its premise opens up various storytelling avenues for the long term of the sequence. His fourth reserve, In no way Coming Back again, is the to start with in the collection to move fully away from London, and is established in Devon and Las Vegas. It was not feasible to research this in South Africa, so she moved to College of St Andrews, where she was the to start with South African PhD scholar in the willpower. Prior to publication of his first e book, Weaver was a videogames journalist.

On a BBC Radio Somerset interview, when asked about Raker's qualifications, Weaver explained how he drew on his possess traumatic fight to have a kid. From 1823 to 1829, Kawahara drew and coloured thorough photographs of Japanese flora and fauna, at the behest of Dejima commander, physician and botanist Philipp Franz von Siebold. Wikimedia Commons has media associated to Kawahara Keiga. Kawahara Keiga (Japanese: 川原慶賀, also known as Taguchi Takumi or Toyosuke, Nagasaki, 1786-1860?) was a late Edo period Japanese painter of vegetation, fishes, birds, reptiles, crustaceans, social scenes, landscapes and portraits at the Dutch Manufacturing unit of Dejima, and at Edo, Kyoto and Nagasaki. As a consequence, Keiga introduced Western techniques in traditional Japanese portray. Oscar enters his painting (a uncomplicated photo of a puppy sniffing a flower in a eco-friendly subject) into the local art gallery. Textual content in inexperienced is the % big difference from previous day's near. Nielsen ratings are viewers measurement programs that establish the viewers size and composition of tv programming in the United States, which usually means that the episode was viewed by one. two % of all households at the time of the broadcast.

#tumblr video downloader #tumblr #video #video downloader

[the-tummy-closet]

A Shared Family Meal

((Author's Note: I wrote this as a self-care project and uh🔥🔥…this story got away from me in the best way possible. This is a very self-indulgent story and one of the longest stories I've ever written, so enjoy my fellow fiends - RaccoonInk 🦝))

Devon woke up with a start as the afternoon sun burned their eyes. They brought their hands and rubbed their face, blinking a couple times so their eyes could adjust to the new light. As Devon sat up in their bed, the fuzzy memories started to flood back into their mind. It was spring break and most of the students went out or home for the time being. Devon stayed on campus since they weren't really wanted at home and there was food and activities on campus. That all changed when their roommate busted into the room, took all of the food that Devon bought for themself, argued with Devon for 15 minutes and stormed off. She won't be back until the break ends which means that Devon won't have to deal with her but would have no food for the whole break. Devon groaned as they flopped back onto their bed. They stared at the ceiling, wondering what they would do today. 

Before Devon could get comfortable, a stabbing cramp seized their stomach as they groaned in pain into their pillow. A deafening groan sounded in the empty room and left an uncomfortable empty feeling in their stomach. Devon returned a groan, placing a hand on their stomach and flopping an arm over their eyes. Another hungry grumble made Devon rub their belly, trying in vain to calm it down. A sudden ping from their phone caught their attention as they grabbed their phone. Devon's heart jumped into their throat when they saw who sent the message.

The message read, "Hey, are you busy right now?"

Devon knocked on the door and smooth a hand over the button-up shirt. Although Devon has only heard about Tabbitha’s family, they've never seen any of them in person. They made sure to wear something nice to make a good first impression for both Tabbitha and her family. They felt their heart flutter in their chest and their stomach contract painfully. Devon grimaced as they put a hand on the hungry organ. "Please don't embarrass me while I'm here." Devon thought to themself, feeling more cramps forming underneath their hand. They jumped slightly as they watched the door open to Tabbitha standing in the door, smiling happily.

"My oh stars!" Tabbitha squealed. "Good to see you Devon, come on in." She grabbed Devon’s hand and led them into the house.

"Thanks for inviting me over Tabbitha," Devon said, closing the door behind them and taking off their shoes. "sorry for-"

"Hush darlin' none of that." Tabbitha beamed, "It’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you out of a classroom so I’m happy you’re here with me, means a lot to me.” She smiled and hugged Devon around their waist, resting their short frame against Devon’s body. Devon returned a warm smile, resting a hand on the top of Tabbitha’s head. A painful cramp seized Devon's stomach as their guts twisted and threatened to make their hunger known. They internally begged their stomach to not be too loud as Devon looked down at Tabbitha.

Wait. 

Her head is right on my stomach.

A hollow, angry grumble roared from their stomach as it was replaced by an aching emptiness. Both of them jump in surprise at the sound as they make eye contact with each other. Tabbitha folded her arms and gave Devon an annoyed, yet sympathetic glare while Devon wrapped their arms over their hungry stomach.

"Devon?" Tabbitha leaned in closer to them causing them to shrink a bit. "What happened to the food that you got? All four of us went food shopping with you and everything!"

"I um…" Devon mumbled, shuffling in their socks. "I-It's all gone."

Tabbitha tilted her head in confusion. "What? Why? How did all of it-"

"My roommate, Holly." Devon blurted out, looking at the ground clearly embarrassed. "Holly took all the food I got and left for the break with it. I tried to stop her but…she didn't listen to me."

Tabbitha sighed, swallowing her anger to comfort her friend. "It's ok darlin' we'll deal with that problem later. Let's get some food in you, ok?"

"Well I mean, I don't want to make a glutton out of myself in front of you or your family. Plus I don't want to eat the majority…" Devon suddenly stopped in their tracks as their eyes widened. The sounds of overlapping conversations filled Devon’s ears as their eyes scanned the large crowd of people. Then, their eyes stopped on a glorious sight. A whole 2 tables worth of food was laid out in the back of the room, making Devon swallow thickly. 

"God that's a lot of food," Devon said, staring longingly at the food. "It looks really good too."

"Well, I'm glad you brought a plus one Tabbitha!" A tall, older woman embraced Devon and Tabbitha tightly.

"Momma please!" Tabbitha chuckled. "You're gonna scare Devon off!"

"Oh? So this is the world-famous Devon I've heard so much about?" Tabbitha’s mother stepped away from her daughter and put a hand on Devon's shoulder.

"Y-Yes ma'am," said Devon, slightly bowing their head respectively. "It's nice to finally meet you and-"

"No need to be so formal, sugar." Tabbitha’s mom waved Devon off, pulling Devon closer to her. "If Tabbitha considers you a friend, you're part of the family. You sure are taller than she said you are…and thinner. I know this might be personal to ask but you eatin' alright? You're thinner than a bean pole and I heard you havin' roommate troubles?"

All eyes on the room fell on Devon as they felt their hunger create painful pangs in their stomach. Devon put on a fake smile, raking their mind for a believable lie. "Me? I-I'm fine! I'm totally fine. Sure me and my roommate have some small disagreements, but we work it out eventually. And don't you worry, I eat well. It's just that I'm not currently hungry at the-"

Devon’s stomach chose this time to interrupt with a loud, gurgly roar that could be heard over the general murmur of conversation. Devon tightened their arms around their stomach as they hung their head. "...moment. P-Pardon me."

"Hush, you poor thing." Tabbitha’s mother walked with both Tabbitha and Devon. "There's no need to be so modest sugar. There's no shame in indulgin' here, you won't be judged here. You are loved after all." Devon opened their mouth to argue but was silenced again by a deep, starved growl from their stomach. They sat down at a table as they saw Tabbitha sit down next to them, gently putting her hand on theirs. Tabbitha leaned over toward Devon and spoke in a hushed tone. “Sorry about all the attention but my momma is right you know. Your belly’s doin' more complaining than you, which means you're neglecting it.” Her statement was confirmed by Devon’s stomach growling, longingly to be fed. “See? We’re about to say grace but after that…just eat. Please?" Devon looked into Tabbitha’s eyes, gave a heavy sigh and nodded. 

The rest of the family took their places around the table and started to say their grace over the food. Devon's stomach gurgled and groaned all while Tabbitha’s mother said grace, gaining some sympathetic glances from family members. After grace is done, everyone gets up to make their own plate. As Devon got up, a pair of hands stopped them and softly pushed them back into the seat. Devon looked up to see Tabbitha’s mom kindly smiling down at them.

"Let me make your plate since you're a guest 'n all." She smirked, walking toward the line for food. She returned back to Devon with an overflowing plate of various foods. Devon's eyes practically bulged out of their head as they looked between their place and Tabbitha’s mother. "Go on sugar, you deserve it."

Devon began to dig into their plate, struggling to keep eating at a reasonable pace. The food was beyond delicious, there was so much of it and felt so warm in their hollow stomach. Their plate was finished in minutes and Devon looked up for Tabbitha’s mother to thank her for the meal. Devon watched as Tabbitha’s mother replaced their empty plate with a full one. Devon grinned, mouthed a "Thank you" and dug into their second plate. Tabbitha looked up from her plate to see Devon wolfing down food at a fast pace, enough to surely give them indigestion.

"Devon," Tabbitha said worriedly as she put a gentle hand on Devon's arm. "I think you should-"

With an abrupt stop, Devon looked at Tabbitha with a hint of curiosity in their eyes. Devon still held their fork full of food as they looked at her. Tabbitha bit her lip, not wanting to deprive Devon of a good meal.

"...you should try the fried zucchini and the cornbread." Tabbitha said, pointing to certain foods on Devon's plate. "It's really good." Devon nodded excitedly as they went back to eating their food while Tabbitha kept glancing over to make sure they were ok. She watched as Devon finished off their second plate and began eating their third, thankfully slowing down a bit. Tabbitha could faintly hear Devon’s stomach groaning irritability, desperately trying to digest all the food they were eating. She looked down and blushed slightly, seeing Devon’s stomach pushing against the fabric of their shirt more as Devon ate. They finished their third plate, Devon brought a fist to their mouth to stifle some burps that had snuck upon them. Tabbitha’s mother walked up to Devon’s seat and took their empty plate away.

"Did you enjoy dinner?" Tabbitha’s mother asked cheerfully. 

"Yes, it was really, really good,'' Devon nodded.

"I'm glad! That means you'll love the family made desserts." As Tabbitha’s mother walked away to set out, Devon smiled nervously as they looked at Tabbitha's mother while their stomach churned and whined loudly.

"G-Great, can't wait for dessert!" Devon said hesitantly.

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

Devon flopped onto a bed, making their stomach groan loudly at the sudden jolt of movement. They clutched their stomach as they returned their own pained groan. Devon slowly unbuckled their belt and began putting on more comfortable sweatpants. After a great effort, they laid back on the bed and sighed deeply. They looked down at the swollen curve of their belly pressing up against their button-up shirt.

"Sounds like you enjoyed the whole meal." Tabbitha smirked, closing the door behind her. "Sorry my momma was so pushy about you eatin', she just wanted to make sure you ate well. And judging by the looks of it, you ate really well."

Devon winced at every shallow breath as they could feel their overstuffed stomach desperately trying to digest. They wearily put a hand on the crest of their belly and lazily turned to Tabbitha. "Ugh, my stomach," Devon complained quietly, "I ate way too much, but the food was so good…I think I'm going to burst."

The fluttering in Tabbitha’s chest grew as she sympathetically smiled at Devon's state. Tabbitha tenderly unbuttoned Devon’s shirt as they groaned in a mix of pain and relief, giving their heavy stomach room to stretch. She tenderly pressed her fingertips against Devon’s stomach as her face turned a pinkish hue. "My god, you're packed tight. I knew I should've said something while you were eatin', I do apologize for that. Don't worry though, I'll get some medicine and a heating pad to help your tummy." 

Devon whined as Tabbitha shifted to get off the bed. They reached out and grabbed Tabbitha's hand, looking up at Tabbitha with pleading eyes. 

"Tabby," Devon muttered, "please don't go. I need you here. Can you just…stay?" 

A big sympathetic smile grew on Tabbitha’s face and she returned to Devon’s side. As she let Devon pull her closer to them, Devon put Tabbitha’s hand on the upper part of their belly, both Devon and their stomach let out a soft, yet pitifully pained whine. "Let's see what we can do about this tummy ache." 

Tabbitha put both hands on Devon's packed belly, pressed her palms into it, and thoroughly in broad circles. Devon squirmed under Tabbitha's touch and buried their face into Tabbitha's side. They could feel the food they ate being moved around, making their stomach rumble and bubble loudly. "You poor thing, no wonder your tummy's achin' since nothing's movin'. Everything's sittin' in there like a bump on a log." Tabbitha applied a bit more pressure behind her palms, earning a muffled moan from Devon. 

"I hope these belly rubs are helping you since you'll get some sorta-" Devon abruptly whined followed by a sudden burp as Tabbitha dislodged an air pocket in Devon’s stomach. "There we go- hey, hey, don't be embarrassed, it's ok! C'mon Devon, you have nothing to be ashamed of since that stuff doesn't bother me. You feel better now, don't you?" Devon slowly looked at Tabbitha and nodded, bringing their fist up to muffle another burp. "See, this is helping you. Now just let me help you feel better ok?" 

Tabbitha smoothed her hands under Devon’s ribs, applying pressure with her palms to soothe the tight spots. Devon melted at Tabbthia’s touch and tried to stifle all their burps as the air pockets were massaged out, mostly failing. Eventually, Devon felt their stomach grumble productively as the belly rubs helped relieve the cramps in their stomach. They sighed in relief and pushed their stomach into their friend's hands, letting out quiet groans and grunts. As their eyes flutter momentarily closed, Devon struggles to keep their eyes open as they look at Tabbitha. "Oooooh, Tabby?" Devon said in a strained groan. "That's…you have…ooooh…thank you." 

Tabbitha chuckled softly in sympathetic amusement as she shook her head. "You're welcome but you seem tired. Sleep."

"No…I'm not…sleepy."

"You know it's not good to fight sleep, not to mention you're fighting a losing battle. C'mon, I'll be right here. Ok?"

Devon slowly nods and lets their heavy eyelids close, drifting to sleep with a full, cared-for tummy.

#from the mod: sorry about taking so long to get this re-formatted and posted #I'll post your new one in a couple days to space them out if that's okay with you #starving to stuffed #stuffing #cw exploding metaphor #belly rubs #hurt/comfort #hunger #tummy noises #raccoonink

[dean-samw67]

This is Hell Headcanons

(This is something I am only doing for tumblr. I thought it would be fun to write up headcanons for This is Hell. Give you all a little look into some smaller details I may have not added, you missed or I added but didn't go into detail about)

Warnings: Mentions of attempt at suicide, death, sex

Season 1

Merle wasted no time trying to flirt with Harper as soon as she got there

Harper hated it and always would turn him down

Though once she did fuck with him by acting like she was into it for just a moment

Daryl’s face was priceless

But she quickly humbled Merle by telling him off and calling him a slew of names

Which in turn pissed Merle off but Daryl found it amusing

“I didn’t want you anyway ya ugly prude!”

“I’m ugly? Have you seen yourself lately? You definitely aren’t the attractive brother, I can tell you that much.” 

Daryl definitely blushed at that comment but he hoped no one noticed

Daryl 100% showed his sexual attraction toward Harper through his aggression and arguing with her

But Harper didn’t notice and just wanted to argue

“For someone so good looking, ya have a bad attitude on ya!” 

“My attitude? Your whole personality is attitude!” 

Daryl would get annoyed that he would be woken up by Harper having a nightmare but would still go to check on her if no one else did

Though he was kinda rude about it

“Hey, girl. Wake up, you are keepin everyone awake.” 

She would wake up from the aggressive shaking

“I’m awake, asshole. You can stop shaking me.” 

Daryl was the only one who could see Harper struggling deep down

He never would say anything though

After he found her trying to kill herself, he kept a close eye on her

Harper knew about Lori and Shane without even needing to ask

Harper never blamed Lori for doing it, but the fact that she hid it from Rick pissed Harper off

For a while after she showed up, she would hold onto her locket whenever she was trying to fall asleep

Amy and Harper weren’t close but she was the first girl that Harper saw as a little sister figure

Seeing Carol with Sophia made Harper jealous

As much as Harper was struggling and wanted to die she knew deep down that she could never actually go through with it

For Carl and Lori

She always has blamed herself for Devon and Jill’s death

Daryl only called Harper ‘princess’ when he was mad at her or arguing with her

Along with that name he would name her after many of the well known princesses 

Sleeping beauty, little mermaid, ect.

I definitely believe he would call her Snow White once when he caught her up close with some type of wildlife

He shot it after

Daryl hated never understanding what this girl did to him

Lori saw the small interactions between the two of them from the start

Of course, she never approved

Rick probably told her multiple times to stay out of it

“Harper is a grown adult. She can do what she wants.” 

“That Dixon is bad news. He is the type of guy who would get her pregnant and then disappear.” 

“Lori…” 

When Lori heard that Harper would be riding alone with Daryl on the way to the CDC Rick practically had to force her into the car and leave them alone

When they got to the CDC, while they were drinking, Harper had a real smile for the first time since she met the group

And Daryl was practically smitten as soon as he saw it

The way her face lit up and her eyes would squint as she laughed made his heart jump

But Daryl being Daryl was too hard headed to admit it

The first time they had sex, they went multiple rounds because they both were drunk as hell and both wanted to forget everything

Daryl believes the only reason he stayed all night was because she asked him for the night and he gave that to her

Most of the others could tell there was sexual tension between them the next morning

Harper refused to even look at Daryl after he had saved her from the CDC

(Let me know what you guys think. I think I'll do this for every season)

#daryl x oc #fan fiction #fanfic #fandom #fan fic ideas #fanfiction #writing #fan fic stuff #fan fiction writing #fanfic writing #writers #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x reader #daryldixon #daryl fanfiction #daryl smut #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl twd #daryl dixon twd #twd spoilers #twd fanfiction #twd #the walking dead #thewalkingdead #daryl the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction

[shadowsinger11]

Inspiration

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Requested by anon: Could you do a Fred Weasley imagine where he falls in love with Harry’s younger sister. (Maybe a after the war where he lives)

Word Count: 3.3k (my hand slipped oops)

Genre: Fluff, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining etc.

Warnings: Slight innuendo, Fred being cute and hot simultaneously

Tags: @self-ship-love @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii @jenniweasley @elf-punk @heart-of-tempered-steel @itseatyourdamnapples

Message me if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England, July 16, 2000

It was a chilly Sunday evening. The summer air buzzed with excitement and the tender aroma of magnolia as tiny white and pink petals were gracefully falling from the huge cherry trees, carried by the light breeze. Twilight painted the horizon in liquid gold and fiery red, soon followed by mellow shades of dark blue that brought countless sparkling stars.

It was getting the slightest bit colder, but it did not matter; nothing else mattered but the loud cheers and cheerful music, celebrating the official bond between a Potter and a Weasley under the wide night sky.

You couldn't have been happier for your older brother, Harry, who was currently dancing with Ginny, his now wife - now and for the rest of his, hopefully, but not really likely, peaceful life. For the longest time you've been wondering how he'd always manage to get into trouble even as a small First year with no experience in the wizarding world whatsoever. Or, perhaps, that was the exact reason as to why evil-battling and rule-breaking were such common practices when hanging out with him.

However, there was no fighting that day. There was no room for worry and fear when the entire Weasley family and their loved ones were gathered on the clearing in front of the Burrow, chatting, laughing, dancing, singing, drinking, celebrating and living for what seemed to be the first time since Lord Voldemort's fall. Danger was practically nonexistent in that blissful moment which was frozen in time, once having looked agonizingly distant and impossible to hope for. But that dream was no longer just a foolish fantasy to heal wounded hearts. It was there, and it was happening in the most beautiful way imaginable.

And suddenly, all those clichés of a married life weren't even clichés. They were simply humble wishes of people who had witnessed far too many horrors in such a short period of time, and only craved stability among the massive chaos. So when you glanced at Ginny, a twirling blur of flaming red hair and a gorgeous wedding dress, you didn't feel the need to comment on how banal the color white was. You genuinely smiled, admiring the pure, exuberant joy, visible in her eyes and scarlet cheeks. Harry looked just as, if not even happier than his wife, dancing in the ridiculous but wholehearted way that only he could, and old memories of him winning the golden egg, training Dumbledore's Army and kissing Ginny in the common room for the very first time flooded into your mind.

It had truly been a long time since you had seen Harry careless and free like that.

You yourself had spent an ungodly amount of hours preparing the yard for the ceremony all day; rearranging chairs, decorating, making sure everything was going by schedule, only to then dance your tired feet off, and though you wanted to continue having fun with Hermione, Luna and the rest of the girls waiting for you, you really needed a break. And a drink.

Excusing yourself to leave the particularly interesting conversation you were having with distant Weasley relatives, you slipped off your black flats that, despite looking absolutely stunning, hurt your feet terribly after an entire day of fussing over the color of napkins and flower bouquets. Barefoot on the grass, you walked over to a chair next to a table which seemed to have been occupied, but judging by the mostly empty glasses and plates, the guests weren't coming back anytime soon.

You tossed your shoes aside with a sigh and rushed to rub your aching toes, hissing from how sore they were.

How has Ginny been dancing like that for hours?

"Enjoying the party, I see?" a familiar deep, slightly husky voice commented, causing you to look up.

It was none other than Fred Weasley, dear friend from childhood, staring down at you, his ever-present charming smirk resting on features and hands shoved into the pockets of his dragonskin suit. But it was his flaming red hair that made your eyes widen - it was carefully smoothed back, shining under the moonlight like liquid iron.

Fred's eyes still contained their famous, loveable mischief, except now slightly tamer and calmer. His firm biceps had visibly grown in size, stretching out the fabric of his coat just a bit to give you a prominent silhouette that caught you off guard.

It had been two years; he had changed so much.

And you were afraid to admit you had too.

You blinked in surprise, processing his uncharacteristically sophisticated appearance before realizing what he had asked you.

"Would've enjoyed it far more if my legs weren't killing me," you groaned half-heartedly and leaned back on your chair. "What's with your hair?"

"What's with your feet?"

"I asked you first," you cut him off. "I bet Ginny is responsible for this."

"Actually…" Fred trailed off, and, whether on purpose or not, ran a hand through the ginger locks to keep them in place, unaware of how you suddenly wished the hand doing the graceful motion wasn't his. "Mum insisted that I looked my best. What can I say, it's not like George and I usually listen to her, but we thought we'd make an exception this time; our sister doesn't get married every day. But honestly, Ginny couldn't care less about how we looked as long we showed up."

"So like usual, you mean?" you giggled. "Showing up is an achievement for you even if you're underdressed?"

Fred beamed, pearly white smile complementing his formal outfit. You wondered if he used that exact smile to effortlessly allure costumers and business partners at work.

He rested an elbow on the table as he leaned forward.

"Come on now, darling. I know you find my messy hair irresistible either way."

His cockiness only caused you to laugh, though Fred was quick to spot the flash of nervousness in your eyes; it brought him immense pride to know he was the one to turn you from confident to adorably bashful and flustered in the matter of seconds.

He was looking at you intensely, expectantly waiting for you to deny his flirty accusation despite your shyness.

"Nah, Weasley. It only reminds me that even at twenty-two you still do not know how to use a comb."

Fred's eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline, mouth agape. For the first time, he actually needed a second to form a reply.

"Didn't see that coming, I give you that. Courageous one, you are."

Your heart fluttered with joy and you openly grinned, shrugging in half-hearted humbleness.

"Perhaps I am."

Speaking to him felt unusually energizing, as though you had jumped headfirst into a chilly lake. It was unfamiliar and it set your nerves on fire, causing your stomach to twist and turn with sensations that left you dizzy, but unbelievably thrilled. And you wanted more of it, you wanted more of him.

"Fancy a drink?" Fred offered, already pouring champagne into a glass before handing it to you, and you keenly took it.

"Thanks, I've been thirsty with all the preparations I was doing."

"Is that why your legs are killing you?"

"Exactly, I've been running around all day, making sure everything was in order… you know, a lot of organizing and the like."

"It must hurt quite a bit then," Fred commented with a pained grimace. "But I absolutely get you, Georgie and I are just like that when it comes to the shop. It's a lot of accounting if I'm being honest, though I admit he's way better at it. We need to be completely precise; we can't allow any mistakes."

"Woah," you laughed. "Control freak much?"

He wettened his lips, never breaking eye contact.

"Perhaps I am."

You tilted your head to the side, gaze piercing into his in hopes of finding out what those gorgeous brown eyes were hiding. The tiny playful flames in them were eloquent.

Shifting slightly in your seat, you smoothed out your bridesmaid dress and raised your glass, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips.

"Cheers to us control freaks then."

Fred mirrored your smug expression and your glasses met with a clink. The bubbly liquid tingled your throat, undoubtedly refreshing you and cooling you off. You glanced at the people dancing in the centre of the clearing and giggled - Ginny had apparently thrown away her white shoes long ago, bare feet stepping elegantly on the grass.

"You see, I'd like to chat a bit more with you, but I'm afraid it's a bit too loud here. What about we go to the pond across the field?" Fred suggested, pointing at the woods behind his back. You had visited them countless times when staying with Harry at the Burrow during holidays years ago; the tall trees and the glistening waters had never ceased to bring you comfort.

The noise started to become bothersome, and you felt it even more necessary to continue your conversation somewhere private, the unknown causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Fred's presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, or the sensation of anticipating a tidal wave to crash into you in less than a second. It was wild and the tiniest bit terrifying, but oh so tempting as it pulled you in.

"I'd love that, but… you know," you grinned and playfully swang your sore feet. "Can't really walk."

But this didn't at all seem like a problem to Fred Weasley who only shrugged and stood up, "You don't have to. I'll carry you."

"Merlin, no! Please, it's not necessary."

Fred frowned, but his confused expression was soon replaced by an amused one.

"You said it yourself that your feet hurt like hell. And even if carrying you around isn't necessary, it doesn't mean I don't want to."

You attempted to tame the butterflies.

"No, no! You seriously don't have to, I promise," you frantically protested as you held up your hands in front of you to reassure him, but he only gave you a weird look. "I can walk on my own. I'll be too heavy for you."

"There's only one way to find out."

Fred walked over to you and leaned down, one hand sneaking around your waist and the other slipping under your knees. You shrieked in terror, arms flying to clutch at his shoulders, and heat rose to your cheeks from the abrupt contact. Your chests were pressed together, and you were afraid he'd be able to feel your racing heart. His skin was warmer than you had thought, and it successfully fought off the night summer chill.

"Are we going?" Fred whispered down at you, lips so close to yours that you recognized the nuance of champagne in his breath, mixing unbelievably well with the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood of his cologne.

Not only is he sinfully attractive, but he smells heavenly too?

"Yes," you breathed and let Fred effortlessly walk across the meadow with you in his arms. They brought this new, odd, yet familiar sense of security, and you allowed your head to rest against his chest, nervous gaze wandering off into the distance in hopes of not meeting his. Nevertheless, curiosity eventually took the best of you, and your eyes would occasionally flicker to his, which were now completely black under the night sky. They could swallow you whole, you swore.

Minutes later, you found yourselves in the company of old, enormous willows which surrounded the pond you so vividly remembered from your teenage years. You thanked Fred as he carefully let you down, and took a few steps forward to look around and drench in the misty moonlight that enveloped the area. The waters were crystal clear and completely still, reflecting the moon and its majestic silver glow. The bushes had grown significantly over the time you were away, and you fondly looked back at the moments when you would pick up colorful wildflowers in the summer before your fourth year.

"Shall we sit?" Fred asked quietly from right behind your shoulder, and you followed him with a nod. You found a comfortable spot on the fresh grass to sit, a few feet away from where the water met the soil and moved back and forth ever so slightly.

"It's more beautiful than I remember," you noted, lips curled up in a barely visible smile. Fred hummed in agreement.

"That's why I always make sure to come here every chance I get when I return. But, unfortunately, that's very rare in my case."

For a moment, there was only the chirping of crickets and the soft bubbling of water.

Fred turned to you.

"Remember when mum used to call for us to de-gnome the garden and we'd hide here? We could stay in the bushes for hours before we eventually came back," he recalled, seeming deep in thought. It was an extraordinary sight; for once the playful spark in his eyes was more mellow, there was no cockiness seeping into the way he was holding himself. He was just Fred, the man who was currently thinking with so much adoration and love about his childhood, the most significant memories of it being marked by you.

You wondered, given you ever had the chance to spend with Fred as much time as your older brother did, if the charismatic prankster would have fallen for you like you had done. You wondered, given the chance you had let Fred get to know you better all those summers ago, if his heart would have belonged to you by now just like yours did to him.

Had you possibly missed your chance?

"Oh, I do," you sighed, the tension in your chest vanishing as warm nostalgia crept in like an old friend. "I also remember when I got this really bad nightmare that night. I was so terrified that you took me on a ride with your broom in the middle of the night to cheer me up."

"That's true! My parents don't know about it to this day," he replied smugly. "I can still hear you screaming like a lunatic."

You jokingly smacked his arm, "I was twelve!"

Fred's grin grew wider.

"Excuses…"

This only caused you to stare at him in disbelief and cross your arms, managing your most serious expression, but Fred was aware you were on the verge of failing to keep your stern facade. He squinted his eyes as a teasing attempt to provoke you, smile threatening to split his face in two.

"Alright then, that's enough about me," you announced, and Fred nodded in mock agreement as he studied your playful pretence. "If you're so much better than me, Mr Darcy, what else do you do aside from stealing ladies away?"

"Stealing their hearts," he said confidently, flashing you a seductive smirk, reserved only for special girls back in your Hogwarts days. You giggled, finding his antic utterly ridiculous, but you hated to admit that it still turned your blood into liquid fire. Fred apparently saw right through you, because when your eyes landed on his, they appeared completely dark once again, but, you suspected, for a reason other than the lack of light.

Your throat went dry, and you found it hard to swallow down the lump that cut your breath short.

He ran a hand through his ginger hair as he began to explain, "I'm kidding, you know. But to answer your question, George and I have been working on this potion that should be able to change the color of the eyes and hair. Fun for those who enjoy experimenting with their appearance, but it can also be useful to the Ministry. They're actually going to send a team of a couple of aurors to visit us next month so we can update them on our progress and negotiate the details."

"Wow! That's certainly exciting!"

"Is it? I mean, it probably is, but I've been having second thoughts lately if I'm being honest." He scratched the back of his neck, and you realised you had only witnessed him being anxious when it came to his greatest passion. "I'm afraid we might not be done on time, there's still plenty left to improve."

You put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, and said, "I'm sure you'll figure it all out eventually. Keep working as you normally do, try not to stress too much over the deadline, and even if things go wrong at some point, don't go too hard on yourself. It wouldn't take away any progress you've made so far."

Fred's body relaxed just a bit and he looked down at you. He couldn't deny the sense of serenity that he felt only when he was with you. Even as a careless young boy, he was able to pinpoint the way his midriff would clench every time you'd laugh at his jokes or ask him to play with you, without knowing what it all meant.

But now, as a grown man, he had a word to describe the bittersweet fire within.

"You know what?" He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I could really benefit from having someone like you around to give me motivation."

"Motivation, huh?" you raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. Fred sneaked a hand around your waist and pulled you closer.

"Yes, motivation."

"Motivation for what?"

"Marketing strategies, work projects…" he shrugged nonchalantly, "...among other things."

You quickly caught on, suddenly becoming way too self-aware of the way you were practically cuddled into Fred's side, hand resting on his shoulder while his were wrapped around your waist. But his shining confidence seemed to rub off on you, because you asked.

"What's with you offering me a job all of a sudden?"

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth as he took his sweet time devouring you with his darkened gaze. You didn't know whether you wanted to hide from it, or expose yourself even further to the way it burned its way straight to your core.

"Well…" Fred dragged out in his low, hoarse voice, and caressed your cheek with his thumb before slipping it under your chin to guide it towards his face. You could nearly taste the remaining flavour of champagne on his lips. "I've certainly been feeling…"

Fred went quiet as he got lost in the way you fit so perfectly in his arms; you had always meant to be there, he realised. His mouth crashed into yours, hands tightly gripping your waist, and you let out a gasp. Fred's lips were soft, although slightly chapped, and they moved gently but firmly against yours, turning you into their slave. Your palms naturally slid up his chest and he closed any remaining distance between your bodies by placing you to straddle his lap. The kiss was a dance of pushing forward and pulling back, two lovers having finally found their rhythm after years of living in fearful desire. You were positively drunk on his taste, on him, and you wished to never become sober.

When your need for air overcame the one for physical contact, you pulled away. Your chests were heaving with rapid, shallow breaths, hearts beating in synch like they had always done. You let a finger tenderly trace his cheekbone down to his jawline, then it came back up to draw different affectionate patterns on his face.

"What were you saying?" you asked, clearly out of breath. "How were you feeling?"

He fondly took your hand that was caressing his skin, and lifted it up to press feather-light kisses on your knuckles. His lips retraced their path until they reached the tips of your fingers, and he kissed those with the gentlest of touch.

You heart ached pleasurably from the way he was handling you with such care, much more than you ever believed he was capable of.

After minutes of worshipping you by the moonlit lake, Fred looked back at you as though you were his entire world. And replied with a smile.

"Inspired."

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader fluff #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley oneshot #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins #fred and george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagines #james phelps #oliver phelps

[spencers-renaissance]

I turn and reach for you

Summary: Three months after Hankel, Spencer starts getting terrible nightmares that keep him up at night. He tries desperately to keep his secret until one day when it's all too much to bear anymore. Luckily, Derek Morgan is there to hold him together as he falls apart.

Tags: nightmares, hurt/comfort, ptsd, angst with a happy ending, fluff, literal sleeping together, getting together, post-revelations TW: past non-con drug use mentioned once in passing

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This feels the "Nightmares" square on my Bad Things Happen bingo card, and was written for this prompt by @i-write-whump. Title from a poem by Devon Strang.

After Spencer is kidnapped by Tobias Hankel, he stays with Derek. Nobody on the team wants him to be alone, and he’s always felt the most comfortable with him, so it makes sense. Besides, he’s got the space.

Spencer sometimes wonders whether the team pushed so hard for it because they genuinely believed that, logistically, Derek was the best option, or because they could also see the slow-burning romance simmering under the surface of their relationship. They’ve always had a special friendship, but Spencer can feel the growing tension: the deep and intense looks they share mid-case, the lingering touches on backs and arms, the affection leaking into each ‘pretty boy’ and every ‘Der’.

Perhaps if Hankel never came into the picture they’d already be together — it really had felt like they were on the precipice of something special — but it’s three months later and Spencer’s still sleeping in the spare room; there’s still just as much will they, won’t they lingering in the air between them.

He tries not to mind too much. After all, he’s never had so much free access to the man he’s pined after for years now, and they’re living in each other’s pockets. Almost every waking hour is spent in one another’s company: they cook together, eat together, watch films together, and neither of them are showing any sign of getting sick of it. But every time they’re cooking pasta and Derek says something ridiculous, Spencer wishes he was allowed to lean in and kiss the tip of his nose; every time they sit down to watch something together, he wishes he could burrow into his side and rest his head in the crook of his neck.

(Sometimes, Spencer wishes he could rewind to the weeks immediately after the Hankel incident when Derek would carry him around the flat to keep him off his broken feet; when he could press his face into his shoulder and inhale the scent of complete and utter safety.)

It’s almost torturous, being so close yet so far.

He isn’t quite sure why the nightmares start so late. The nights during the first couple of months are blissfully dreamless, so exhausted from the physical and emotional trauma that sleep was a tantalising escape, but once he’s back in the field, once normal life resumes, everything changes.

The first time he wakes up sweating and panting, heart pounding as he tries to convince himself that he’s no longer in Hankel’s clutches but is safe and sound in Derek’s apartment, he dismisses it as a one-off. He hasn’t had nightmares yet, so why should they start now? He doesn’t go back to sleep that night, too shaken to relax back into the comforting embrace of sleep, too afraid of deception: that he wouldn’t sleep dreamlessly but that the nightmare would be waiting for him once again.

The second time worries him. He gets up this time and gets a glass of water as quietly as possible, leaning with his back against the kitchen counter as he ponders what this could mean for him. The thing is, they’re so incredibly vivid. It really feels like he’s back at the mercy of a three-in-one torturer armed with drugs and belts and guns, genuinely unsure of whether he’ll ever see his family again. He doesn’t go back to sleep this time, either, instead pacing around the living room until Derek wakes up. He lies that he’s only been up for half an hour, and Derek believes him.

The third time solidifies for Spencer the fact that this is a problem. Three is a pattern, everybody knows that, and Spencer spends the rest of the night scouring the internet for studies conducted around delayed trauma responses and discovers the prevalence of delayed-onset PTSD. He’s tempted to contact a professor he met during his third PhD who specialised in the psychology of trauma, but he thinks better of it. Admitting these nightmares would be admitting defeat.

This is something he has to deal with alone.

(He ignores the truth that it’s more fear than anything else that keeps him from telling anyone: fear of being seen as weak, fear of nothing changing, fear of voicing his trauma out loud. It’s easier to pretend it’s about independent agency.)

It doesn’t affect him too much at first. Sure, he’s scared to go to sleep and he sweats so profusely that it soaks through his bedsheets almost every night, but he’s managing. He’s okay. He contributes just as much to their profiles and takes down unsubs without flinching. He dances around Derek like they have done for over a year, and he sits through Dr Who marathons with Penelope just fine. So what if he’s a bit tired? He’s stared down some of America’s Most Wanted and interviewed famous serial killers, he can cope with a little fatigue.

It doesn’t stay that easy for long.

Soon everybody’s asking about the bags under his eyes, his slower reaction times when they visit the gun range, his twitchiness around the team.

“Are you sleeping okay, Spencer?” Penelope asks him one day, brushing a curly lock of hair behind his ears as they sit side by side on the sofa next to a conked out Derek.

He can’t nod his head quick enough. “Yeah! Yes, uh. Yes, Penelope, I’m sleeping fine, I promise,” he says as convincingly as he can, flashing her a smile. He hates lying to her, but he can’t let anyone find out, he just can’t.

Slowly, he begins losing his grip on reality. He’s almost delusional from the sleep deprivation, and he starts seeing Hankel everywhere he goes. He’s stood behind the fridge door, in the foyer of the FBI Headquarters, in the toilets of a local police station, stood right behind the unsub they’re currently trying to talk down, goddamnit.

He’s beyond exhausted, but some nights he still refuses to sleep, too afraid of what awaits him in his dreams, too afraid of the fear he knows he’ll carry into the next day, too afraid of feeling weak again. Helpless. Completely and utterly without agency.

He sits up with his back against the headboard, the main light off but the lamp switched on, scrolling through as many scholarly articles as he can read in a night, drinking cup after cup of steaming black coffee. Most nights he makes it through till morning without sleeping a wink, but sometimes he can’t stop himself from drifting off The nightmares on those nights are the worst.

He isn’t okay and people are starting to notice. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him right now, but he knows it won’t be long before Penelope organises an intervention that Hotch hosts and Derek directs. The worst part about it is that he feels like a trainwreck waiting to happen. He’s headed straight for complete and utter collapse, and the only possible way to stop the train in its tracks is to reach out and get help, the one thing he can’t get himself to do.

And he isn’t even really sure why.

It all comes to a head on a warm night in July. He’d fallen into bed that night deliberately, actually intending to sleep for once. The bone-deep tiredness had finally caught up to him and he didn’t even care that he was walking straight into the arms of Tobias Hankel, if it meant he got even an iota of refreshing sleep, then it would be worth it.

But he isn’t quite of the same mind when he wakes up at two in the morning like he does almost every night: soaked in sweat with his heart going a million beats per minute, with only one difference. Tonight, he’s crying.

Maybe it’s the emotional turmoil of the last few months catching up to him, or maybe it’s just the severity of this particular dream, but whatever it is, he can’t seem to stop even once he’s awake. Sobs wrack his shoulders as he cries miserably into the pillow, finally letting out the emotions he’s kept bottled up so tightly, and he’s almost wailing after a couple of minutes of anguish.

All he can think as he cries helplessly is how badly he wants Derek. He wants to be wrapped up in his strong and safe embrace, he wants to feel the movement of his soft goatee against his cheek, he wants to inhale the comforting scent of his sleep t-shirts, he wants the warmth and solace that only Derek Morgan can give him, and in that moment, emotionally distraught and so incredibly sleep-deprived, he decides to get it.

He stumbles out of his bedroom and down the hall, stopping once he reaches Derek’s door. He hesitates for only a second before he pushes it open slowly, allowing the light from the lamp they keep switched on in the hallway to gently illuminate the shadows of his bedroom.

“Spencer?” Derek asks groggily, immediately sitting up and wiping his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

At the acknowledgement of his tears, Spencer starts to cry harder, and as embarrassed as he feels, he can’t slow the steady stream of tears rolling down his face as he stands in the doorway like a child in their parents’ room.

“Spence,” Derek says again, gentle and sympathetic, “come here.” He lifts the duvet up and scooches over slightly as if to make room for him in his already spacious king-size bed.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, though, and he stumbles forward, collapsing into bed and wrapping himself around Derek instantly. His arms come up to circle Spencer’s waist, caressing him gently as he holds him close to his body, shushing him quietly.

“It’s okay, Spence,” he murmurs. “I’m here now, alright? We’re gonna fix whatever it is, I promise you. We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this.”

He lets himself cry and cry and cry until his tears are dried up and he’s hiccupping from the force of his sobs. He would feel terrible about the damp spot left on Derek’s t-shirt, but he simply doesn’t have the energy. Instead, he continues to lie there on Derek’s chest, listening to his softly spoken assurances and losing himself in the sensation of Derek’s fingertips caressing the skin of his waist.

After a couple of minutes of silence, interrupted only by the odd hiccup from Spencer’s tired lungs, Derek finally asks the question. “What was that all about, pretty boy?” he asks with a tenderness Spencer isn’t sure he’s ever heard before. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Been having nightmares,” Spencer whispers, keeping his eyes closed against Derek’s imploring gaze.

He feels Derek tense beneath him, his fingers briefly pausing before resuming their comforting patterns on his waist, and a heavy breath escapes his lips. “For how long?”

“Last couple of months,” he mumbles, and somehow another tear manages to escape Spencer’s screwed up eyes.

“Well,” Derek sighs, “I suppose that explains a lot. We’ve been so worried about you, Spencer. We had no idea what was going on but we could all see you withdrawing, and it wasn’t exactly a secret how exhausted you were.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Derek says sadly. “I should’ve pushed harder to figure out what was going on with you. I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this all alone.”

“I didn’t know how to tell anyone,” Spencer says, suddenly desperate to explain as he shifts slightly to look Derek in the eye. “I was so scared and I didn’t want anyone to think that I was weak or I couldn’t do my job anymore, and I just didn’t know what to do.”

“I know, Spence,” Derek says soothingly, “but you’ve told me now, haven’t you? And I’m going to do everything I can to get you some help. We’ll fix this, baby. I promise you, I’m going to make sure you’re happy and healthy again if it’s the last thing I do, okay?”

Spencer sniffs a little, wiping tiredly at his eyes as he blinks up at the sincerity on Derek’s face. For the first time in far too long he manages a smile. “Okay.”

Derek runs a hand through his hair before dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

Spencer’s smile widens and he buries his face in Derek’s chest again as his cheeks flush red. “Please.”

Months later, they’ll realise they never officially asked one another to be in an actual, exclusive relationship. Months later, they’ll know instinctively and with absolute certainty that this night was the night that changed everything for them, and exactly one year later, they’ll celebrate their first anniversary on that date.

Tonight, though, they sleep curled up next to one another in Derek’s bed, and although Spencer doesn’t fall into the same dreamless sleep he grew used to immediately after Hankel, for once he isn’t haunted by nightmares, but dreams inflected with hope for what the future holds for them, and he’ll take that over dreamlessness any day.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @ @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds (add yourself to my taglist)

#my writing #moreid #derek #spencer #derek morgan #criminal minds #spencer reid #moreid fic #moreid fanfic #moreid fanfiction #cm #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #userpenemily

[euovennia]

Mate

Summary: In which Carlisle finds his mate with the subtle guidance of Alice.

Pairing: fem!reader x Carlisle Cullen

Word Count: 1,860

"Slow down, Alice! There's no need to be this excited, it's just skating." Rosalie remarked with a bored expression as she and the rest of the Cullen family struggled to keep up with the tiny woman.

"Maybe it is just skating, but we haven't had a family outing like this in forever, Rose! Trust me when I say this is good for us, it'll be unforgettable." Alice spoke, a mix of mischief and excitement glimmering in her golden eyes. Jasper came towering beside her and wrapped an arm around her small frame, "Just what are you planning, darlin'?" Alice only smiled before quickly escaping his grasp and continuing bouncing her way toward the entrance of the skating rink as the small group attempted to rid themselves of the uncomfortable nagging feeling in the back of their minds.

Something was going to happen, but no one knew what.

With the door held open by Alice, the family quickly filed into the building before being dragged over to the check-out counter where an older man stood hunched over the counter as he kept his eyes trained on a small TV in the corner of the counter. His calm exterior fumbled momentarily as the sound of the entrance door slamming shut behind the rather large group snapped him out of his focus. He quickly straightened himself out as he painted a warm smile onto his face, "Well hello there folks, what can I do for you?"

At this, Alice quickly pushed a surprised Carlisle to the front of the group. Feeling awkward, he quickly clasped his hands in front of him as he looked directly at the man who was patiently awaiting a response, "Hello. My family and I were interested in doing some skating. Perhaps for an hour or two."

The man turned to look down at his wristwatch before changing his attention to Carlisle once again, "Of course, but I have to say that there's gonna be about a ten-minute wait. I can get you all situated with your skates and take you down to the observation room while you wait. If that's alright, of course."

Carlisle glanced back at his family and upon receiving one enthusiastic reply from Alice and a shrug from Edward before he turned to the man, "Yes, that'll work out fine."

With their skates in hand, the Cullen clan followed the man down a long, brightly lit hallway before reaching a set of worn-in blue metal doors. The doors let out a loud creak as they were pushed open by the man. As the group filed inside the cold room, they were met with an intensely fast-paced tune composed of numerous cellos. They glanced at one another, the uncomfortable feeling slowly beginning to blossom in their bodies further with the exception of Alice who stood there with a large, expectant grin on her pale face. Realization dawned on Rosalie as she caught sight of her sister's face and she harshly grabbed her wrist as she spoke in a low tone, "What the hell are we doing here, Alice?" Ignoring her harsh, venom-filled tone Alice only shrugged. Huffing, Rosalie returned to Emmett's side as she crossed her arms. Sensing the tension that was growing between his adoptive children, Carlisle turned to the old man who was looking out a window that was faced outward toward the skating rink. "Is there a specific reason for the music?"

The man looked back at Carlisle and wordlessly motioned him to stand by his side. Carlisle furrowed his brows together in slight confusion but walked over by the man as requested. Eyes focused on the glass window in front of him, Carlisle watched as a woman feverishly skated around the rink with a heightened sense of grace and elegance that could rival that of his own family. He found himself enthralled with the precise and quick movements coming from the mysterious woman and found himself letting out an unnecessary breath as he asked, "Who is that?"

The old man kept his eyes trained on the woman's skating figure as he answered, "I don't know much about her if I'm being honest. All I know is that she's a pro skater and that her coach is pretty strict." Carlisle reluctantly tore his gaze away from the woman and glued them to the man beside him, "Coach?" The man nodded as he turned to face Carlisle fully, "Yeah. That guy over there." He spoke as he lamely motioned to the left side of the rather large rink. Carlisle's gaze settled on a well-built man with medium brown hair that was immaculately styled with calculating and judgmental eyes that seemed to rake over every movement of the female skater.

As Carlisle's gaze went to settle on the woman once again, he was pulled from his thoughts as his adoptive children had grown an apparent interest in Carlisle's overly observant attitude. "What're you looking at, pops?" Emmett spoke loudly causing Carlisle to cringe at both the nickname and volume of his voice. "Nothing, Emmett. Just looking around the rink is all." Rosalie scoffed, "Seems to me like you were checking out something special," Her gaze quickly turned to the woman who was effortlessly gliding across the ice, "Or someone." It was at this moment where Carlisle knew that if he was still capable of blushing, his face would be on fire. "She seems to be very talented, it's eye-catching." Esme gently defended. "Well, the music is a bit obnoxious." Rosalie muttered. "A flair for the dramatics never hurt anyone." Edward mused. "Oh please, all you know how to do is be dramatic." Rosalie fired back, her annoyance growing with each passing second.

Carlisle watched the scene unfold in front of him with weariness in his eyes as he gave a small nod toward Jasper who then unleashed a subtle calming effect on everyone present. Unable to fight back the sudden wave of calmness she felt, Rosalie let out a deep breath before walking away with Emmett trailing behind her, ready to calm her down further if needed. Relaxing his posture slightly, he turned to face the old man. "I apologize. My family, unfortunately, do not see eye to eye on everything." The man simply waved off his apology. "I used to be a family man myself. No worries. Anyhow, I best be getting back to the front desk. As soon as those two get out, feel free to hop on in." He said before giving the family a departing wave and walking away.

Carlisle watched him disappear behind the rusty blue doors before directing his attention back to the now-empty ice rink. He felt his undead heart fall to the pit of his stomach as one question raced through his mind: Where did she go?

His question was quickly answered as the doors leading to the rink opened and the man and woman walked in speaking in what Carlisle could make out to be French-based on his rather limited knowledge. He watched with great interest as the man and woman went back and forth with their conversation.

"Vous vous déplacez trop lentement dans certains domaines. Vous devez l'accélérer." (tr: You move too slow in some areas. You need to speed it up.) The man spoke, his tone a bit rough and body language that gave off the impression that he was annoyed. The woman seemed a bit exasperated as she responded, "Je sais que oui, mais je me sens épuisé. Donnez-moi juste un jour de repos, c'est tout ce dont j'ai besoin. Je serai mieux après, je te le promets!" (tr: I know I do, but I feel exhausted. Just give me one rest day, that's all I need. I'll be better after, I promise!) Once finished speaking, the man turned to her and shoved a finger in her face as he spoke quickly and sternly, an annoyed expression present on his face. "Non. Vous ne vous améliorez qu'avec une pratique constante. Pas de jours de repos pour vous. Arrête de demander." (tr: No. You only get better with consistent practice. No rest days for you. Stop asking.) The woman seemed disheartened by his attitude as she crossed her arms and simply nodded. The man let out a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair, "Pardon. Juste ... Habillez-vous. Nous devons partir." (tr: Sorry. Just...Get dressed. We need to leave.) The man tore his gaze from the woman in front of him and was surprised to see a large group of pale people awkwardly trying to pretend as though they weren't just eavesdropping. A light pink color dusted his cheeks as he pulled his jacket closer to his frame. "My apologies. Just a small disagreement. Have fun on the ice." He said, an awkward smile on his face as he walked out of the cold room.

With the door slamming shut behind him, the woman looked up at the family, her eyes quickly moving over the appearance of all of them, her gaze lingering on a certain blonde doctor for a second longer before speaking, "Sorry to take up all the ice. It's just that people normally don't come here." At the sound of her soft voice, Carlisle looked away from the door where the man had once gone through and fixed his eyes on the beauty in front of him.

She had dark brown hair that was thrown up to an elegantly messy bun with two fallen wisps of hair that worked to frame her face perfectly. Her eyes were a few shades lighter than her hair whereas her perfectly arched eyebrows matched her hair color perfectly. He found himself admiring her long eyelashes that beautifully fluttered with every blink and her long, slim nose that sat perfectly on her face. He admired the light pink color that stained her lips and cheeks, a glorious reminder for Carlisle of the humanity that remained within the woman before him.

"Dad!"

Carlisle looked over at Alice who had a knowing grin on her face as she motioned with her head toward the woman. He looked back at her, "I just wanted to know if you were alright. You seemed a little...Out of it."

At the sound of her melodic voice, Carlisle gave her a warm smile. "Yes. I do that sometimes. Sorry to concern you." The woman returned his smile as she spoke, "It's fine. We all have our moments." Carlisle nodded as his smile stayed painted on his face. After a few moments, the woman spoke again, "It was nice seeing you all, but I must get going. Have fun." Carlisle's face fell at her admission and he nearly reached out to stop her but restrained himself from doing so. "Of course. Have a wonderful day." With a final smile, she gave the group a nod of acknowledgment before taking her leave.

"What was that?" Jasper spoke once the doors shut behind the woman. Carlisle could feel his undead heart clench as he uttered the next two words,

"My mate."

#twilight #carlisle #imagine #twilight imagine #breaking dawn #bella swan #edward cullen #jasper hale #esme cullen #rosalie cullen #emmett cullen #carlisle cullen #twilight imagines #new moon #eclipse #fanfiction #fanfic #cullen #it's the way it's 2021 and i'm sitting here writing a fanfic for carlisle bc there's not enough for him

[helnjk]

If I Could Tell Her - H.P.

Harry Potter x reader

this is my next installment of my showtunes fic list. this is based on the song If I Could Tell Her from the musical Dear Evan Hansen. this is also the first fic i’ve posted for harry on here ! 

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: nearly a year after the final battle, harry is still struggling to gain his bearings in the world. luckily she’s there to hold his hand along the way.

Warnings: mentions of food, & just a whole lot of mutual pining

lyrics are bolded & italicized

–

He just seemed so far away

Y/N took a deep breath.

With one foot in front of the other, she took a step and twisted to the right, feeling the familiar tightness that came with apparition. In the blink of an eye she found herself in front of the home that she and her friends had spent their summer before 5th year in. 

She chose to skip the knock on the door, opting instead to just let herself in. Many changes had been made to the house since it was the Order headquarters. The biggest and most obvious one being Harry taking up permanent residence in it. 

“Harry, love?” She called out, despite knowing that he would be where he always was. 

“In here!” A disembodied voice replied, coming from towards the end of the house. 

Like so many times before, Y/N found the dark haired boy in the kitchen. He was sat at the dining table, a few parchments spread messily in front of him and detailing the plans he had yet to accomplish for the renovations. 

The war had taken a toll on Harry, it had taken a toll on everyone really, but no one could blame him for wanting some time by himself for a while. They all knew how much he deserved to rest and recover.

But now, nearly a year after the final battle, Harry found himself less and less willing to venture out into the world again. It was as if everyone had started moving on and making progress with their lives without him. And in some ways, they were, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was able to live a life without the looming threat of war on his shoulders. 

Instead, he focused his attention on the house left to him by his late godfather, and vowed to make a home in it. 

While most people left him to his own devices, Y/N knew that he craved companionship most days. Having been friends with him from the moment she stepped into the train compartment nearly eight years ago, she understood him more than most. So began the habit of popping by every so often to have a cup of tea and a chat. 

“Been hard at work, have you?” She smiled, taking a seat across from him. 

“Just trying to figure out what to do with the drawing room on the second floor,” He said and she noticed how his brows furrowed ever so slightly at the puzzle in front of him. 

“You mean the problem you’ve been ‘figuring out’” She used her fingers to make quotation marks, “For the last three weeks?” 

Harry didn’t answer, but she noticed him roll his eyes playfully. Y/N knew that this meant he was in a relatively good mood today, and he could take the barrage of news from the outside world that she had brought with her. 

So, she took a seat across from him and began her recount of the stories she heard throughout the week.

“So Bill and Fleur announced that they’re having a baby,” She began. 

–

The pair of them continued on with their regular routine, Harry would busy himself with his plans for Grimmauld Place while Y/N brought him up to date with the events of the outside world. Every so often, he would risk a glance up at her and the edges of her lips would curl up in a smile.

It was during these moments that Y/N always had to pause. It only took one look from Harry for her to become a puddle of unexplainable emotions. During the war, when they had gone on their horcrux hunt, there wasn’t any time to dwell on these things. Survival was always the top priority. But now, now she had months and months of these little interactions and her heart was finding it hard to ignore. 

She often found herself shaking her head and trying to clear her daydreams of the two of them. Too often she would fall asleep to images of her and Harry going on dates and pressing soft kisses on each other’s lips. But she knew in her heart that that was all they were, daydreams and fantasies. 

Harry needed her as a friend, and she could give him that. 

As the afternoon wore on, she remembered the main reason for her visit that day. 

Harry was in the process of clearing up the cluttered table and she took the opportunity to bring it up, “So there’s going to be lunch at the Burrow this Sunday.” 

His movements paused. She continued, “And I was hoping that you would come with me. Molly always has loads of food and I’m sure you’d enjoy it more if it were fresh and not leftovers like I usually bring over.” 

There was another lull in the air. 

Y/N opened her mouth to try and convince him further but he cut her off, “Sure.” 

“What?” 

His eyes met hers and he gave her a small smile, “I reckon it’s been too long since I’ve last had Molly’s amazing cooking.” 

A slow smile stretched across Y/N’s face. This was the most he had agreed to in nearly a year and she was hopeful about slowly reintroducing his loved ones back into his life. 

“Perfect.” 

There's nothing like your smile

Sort of subtle and perfect and real

The Burrow hadn’t changed much since Harry last saw it. 

The peculiar house still stood tall and proud in the Devon landscape, held together undoubtedly by magic. The smoke billowing from its chimney reminded him of cozy Christmases spent together with everyone he held close to his heart, and the lively chatter filtering through the open windows made his heart stutter in anticipation. 

Y/N took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. Her smile was gentle, letting him know that she was there if he needed it. He could tell that she was nervous too, not for herself, but for how he would react to being surrounded by so many people again after so long. 

He couldn’t tell how he knew, he just saw it in the way she smiled. But he was grateful for it, because without her steady grasp on his hand, he probably would have disapparated before he even got through the threshold of the place he used to call a second home. 

“Come on then,” She urged, beginning to take steps towards the entrance, “Let’s see who’s already here!” 

“Oh Y/N, you made it!” Molly’s voice exclaimed as they entered the home, “I was wondering when you’d get here–”

The Weasley family matriarch paused at the door between the kitchen and the living room, her eyes set upon the boy she considered her son.

“I can’t say no to a gorgeous meal of yours can I, Molly?” She joked, slightly tugging on Harry’s hand to bring him into the room, “And I brought a guest with me today.” 

Molly seemed to gain her bearings once again as a radiant smile crossed her face, she knew not to make too much of a fuss about Harry being over after months of hiding away. Instead, she simply patted his cheek, “Lovely to see you again, Harry dear. Now come on, there’s enough food to go around!” 

The kitchen of the Burrow was alive with conversation. Most of the Weasleys and their significant others were gathered around the magically enlarged table, chatting over steaming dishes of wonderful smelling food. 

Their entrance garnered many beaming smiles, but everyone knew not to pay them too much attention. Harry chose to take a seat next to Ron, who nudged him with a small smile on his face. He returned the gesture, already feeling more at ease. Since his hand was still connected with hers, Y/N chose to take the seat right next to him. 

Throughout the meal, Harry hadn’t spoken much, only nodding to whatever the person he was in conversation with said or sometimes adding a little quip here and there. He took comfort in Y/N’s steady presence beside him, once in a while squeezing his thigh or patting his arm. 

“–and he wouldn’t tell me how to turn it back to normal!” 

Ron’s particular way of storytelling brought him out of his stupor. He was in the middle of an exciting story on the twins’ latest prank on him, and Y/N had let out a snort of laughter. 

Harry’s heart seemed to stop as he watched her and he couldn’t take his eyes off her as he noticed the smile on her face. Of course he knew that she was beautiful, it was something so obvious to him as they grew up together. But there was something in the way her smile lit up her face at that moment.

It was like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long. To him, her smile was refreshing, invigorating, and all-consuming. Harry looked at Y/N and felt as if he could never get enough of her. A spark ignited in him and suddenly he was determined to keep her in his life as long as possible. 

Y/N caught onto his stare as her laughter tapered off and she raised an eyebrow, “Everything alright?” 

As quickly as it had come, the spell she had on him vanished as he nodded, “Yep. Brilliant.” 

The conversation flowed around them, merry laughter filling the air once again from different areas of the room, but Harry only had eyes for Y/N. 

But he kept it all inside his head 

What he thought he left unsaid

“Y/N-” He cut her off. 

Her eyes darted to him confused. He could feel his pulse in his neck and blood rushed to his ears. Suddenly he couldn’t help but wring his hands together nervously, unable to explain his actions. 

“Yeah, Harry?” She asked, fully turning her body to face him, “You okay?” 

“I’m brilliant,” He mumbled, heart pounding in his chest, “I just have something I want to tell you.” 

Anxiety bubbled in his chest and up his throat as the words came out of his mouth. He hadn’t even planned on telling her anything as she arrived that day, yet here he was. She just looked so beautiful, the soft candlelight almost glowing on her skin and highlighting her features. Harry was sure he had never felt more in love with her than he was in that moment, and she hadn't even been doing anything. 

Her eyes shined with concern and her attention was fully on him now. He hadn’t been known to interrupt her when she went on her long spiels of updates. Sensing his nervousness, Y/N placed a reassuring hand on his arm. 

Unbeknownst to him, her own heart pounded in her chest. Against better judgement, she had imagined a scenario exactly like this wherein Harry would spontaneously profess his undying love for her too many times. And secretly, she hoped that this would be the moment her daydreams would come true, nearly holding her breath in anticipation. 

It wasn’t. 

“I’m thinking about asking McGonagall about how I can become a professor.” 

It took Y/N a few seconds of blinking at him to completely process what he had just said. Despite the slight twinge of disappointment in her chest, she knew that this was such a big step for him that she couldn’t feel bad about it. 

“Oh love that’s wonderful!” She nearly yelled, throwing her hands up and wrapping them around him, “You were such a good teacher in fifth year, I know you’ll do great!” 

A soft blush formed on his cheeks at her praise, but he happily accepted the hug, “Thank you. I figured it’s about time I started focusing on myself and what I want to do, instead of just this damn house. Being a teacher just feels right.” 

Despite all appearances, Harry berated himself silently. He had completely chickened out. Of course, he really had been thinking about sending an owl to his old head of house, but that was not what he planned on saying at all. 

He didn’t know what happened. His mouth just blurted out the first thing that came to mind, but he couldn’t take it back now. The moment was ruined. 

If I could tell her

Tell her everything I see

If I could tell her 

How she’s everything to me 

Y/N could tell Harry was nervous. 

He was hosting a dinner at Grimmauld Place with the Weasleys and a few of his friends from school to announce his plans to get accredited to be a professor. He also wanted to show them how the renovations of the house had been going. She had arrived at his place early, as she always had, to help him prepare but he was a bundle of nerves and couldn’t sit still. 

So, she did what she always does whenever he got into a little bit of a panic. As plates and cutlery floated to their designated places and the table set itself, Y/N kept the conversation flowing. Although, it might have been more of a  monologue with the way he was only responding to her in hums or soft grunts. 

She was unaware of the inner turmoil raging in Harry. He had decided that he would finally tell her exactly what he felt about her. To hell if she didn’t feel the same, he thought recklessly, as long as he got to finally tell her what he had been feeling for nearly a year. 

During a lull, he finally plucked up enough courage to speak. 

“Listen Y/N–” 

“Harry–” 

The pair stared at each other, amused. This had always happened to them when they were still in school, as if their wavelengths were always on the same page. 

“You go ahead, Haz.” She smiled at him. 

He took a deep breath, “Alright.” 

Plucking up whatever was left of his Gryffindor courage, he turned to face her, a fierce sort of determination in his eyes. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He spoke clearly despite the ball of uncertainty in his chest.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, her eyes shining with something he couldn’t place. He stopped her, though, placing a hand on her arm, “Just let me get this off my chest, alright? Then you can say what you want to say.” 

She nodded. 

“Looking back at what my life’s been like this past year, and honestly the years we spent at Hogwarts too, you were the only constant thing I had. And I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for me to figure out what I was feeling, especially when you were being so patient with me. But, yeah, I-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” 

For once in her life, she was left speechless. In all of her daydreams, Y/N always had a witty quip up her sleeve after Harry confessed his feelings, but now they seemed to just escape her. 

“I love you too,” Was all she could choke out, a small laugh tumbling out of her lips. 

The two shared a dopey smile as their bodies gravitated towards each other. Their lips met in a soft kiss, with a certain slowness attached to the relief and exhalation that came from their confession. Y/N couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, arms slowly snaking around his neck, as Harry pecked her lips over and over. 

A soft ‘oh’ echoed through the silent room and the pair of them broke apart. Molly Weasley was stood at the door, holding a roast in her hands and blinking furiously at what she had just witnessed. Behind her, most of the Weasley clan stood eyes slightly widened and small smirks on their lips. 

Ron was the first to speak up, “It’s about bloody time.” 

As he spoke, the silent spell cast over the lot of them was broken. Hermione rolled her eyes at the lack of tact her boyfriend had, but she was secretly thrilled. 

“Well, now that that’s finally settled, I think it’s time for dinner!” Molly bustled in, looking for a place to put her food down and the rest of them clambered through the door.

Harry spared an embarrassed glance at Y/N, but she was grinning from ear to ear. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze before going to help set up. 

#kai's showtunes fics #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter fics #harry potter fic #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #tw food #tw food mention

[dnsbarbie]

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬┃𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

chapter one

warnings: cursing, mentions of death, season 4/manga spoilers ??? (that’s about it, think!)

word count: 2,705

notes: this is the first installment of wistful irises !!! i guess it would be a slow-burn fic that would contain 5 or more chapters. i wrote this to cope with the tragedy of AOT manga chapter 138 — that’s just fucked up tbh.  please give this one a like/reblog/feedback so i know whether or not you liked it !!

NEXT CHAPTER: H E R E

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

It was quiet — so eerily quiet, a hand came up to soothe her ears bitten by the cold wind. Devon’s palm felt at the rough rubbles on the surface of which she was sat on. Everything she laid eyes on tugged at her heart, scanning at her surroundings as if she looked one more time, her vision would change. 

Alas, she gazed upon the damaged cities from her place atop Wall Rose, with no success. Devon threw her head back, opting to find comfort at the stars that laid peacefully on the sky. 

“They’re dead.” She asserted, nearly winced at the wave of overwhelming devastation rushing at her heart. 

However, she was unsure who or what she was alluding to. Was it the people of Paradis? Those she lost? Or even — the stars?

Nothing was clear, at the moment. Only hurt and confusion clouded her devices. She found her palms closing in on the small rubbles she had caught, clutching them tightly in her fist.

It had been four years since everything went into a complete spiral. Perhaps it was for her alone, considering a massive part of her died along with the hundreds of comrades who sacrificed themselves for the sake of the truth. 

She remembered the day they found out about the life that existed beyond these walls. The walls she had known all her life, was quite literally, made to imprison its people. It was unclear whether she was angry or sad that there was a whole world out there that hated their existence so much that they’d created monsters to attack them. 

“It’s late, Devon.” 

She recognized that sweet-tuned voice instantly but didn’t turn to look his way as she spoke. “It’s awfully cold, too.” Her voice came in a whisper.

Her new companions footsteps grew closer, making her glance to her right. “Are you here to wallow in despair with me, Armin?” 

The blonde simply sat down beside his friend, looking ahead the dark path. “No,” He answered. “I was just looking for you.”

The silence returned after that. Chilly air wafting at the night, Devon laid her hands on her lap, inspecting how they’ve gotten small cuts from the sharp stone she had held. Her ears felt blocked as her hands began to tremble. She clenched her teeth in the hopes to ebb away her impending emotions. She exhaled a shattered breath, pressing her hands against the skin of her face. 

Armin’s hand that intended to ease Devon’s cries, seem to have worsen them the moment it touched her. However, he continued on, rubbing small circles at the column of her back. 

“I — “ Devon started, her voice failing her as another ripple of pain pounded at her chest. 

An encouraging hand reached up against her own, gently coaxing her into a state of solace, just enough for her to be able to convey her emotions.

With a breath, Devon began once more. “I thought we’ll be close to peace, once we discovered what was in that goddamn basement,” She laughed, lacking humor. The back of her palm wiping at the tears that had fallen on her cheeks. “But — it was just another door to one more disaster.” 

“That’s true,” Armin agreed, but still mulled over her words. “It is a big step from freedom, though.”

She gritted her teeth, baring the headache that came with it. There was a part of her that knew it was the exact idea Armin had in mind. Regardless of her understanding, she couldn’t help but feel a whistle of displeasure crawling against her lips.

With a swing of her head, she finally flashed her attention to Armin. Devon gave him a once-over, noticing how his once shoulder-length hair, had been cut shorter, lips curled into a frown, dragging down a creases on his forehead. The main thing that always saddened Devon was the look in his eyes.

Armin was the last person Devon thought she’d see with those haunting wisp. He was the last shred of hope she had in this world, even before everything came tumbling down, Devon saw Armin as a beacon, that she could run to whenever it all became horrifyingly dark— staring at him now, Devon felt extremely helpless, loneliness grasping at her throat, catching herself reaching for Armin’s hand that was placed on her back, snatching it on her own.

“We’ve lost so much,” She mumbled, compressing her grip on his hand. “I can’t afford to lose anything anymore— Armin—”

“You won’t—”

“— If we go tomorrow, I will—”

“Devon—”

“No— we’re going into a lion’s den! Every single person in that goddamn land wants us dead!” She stressed, leaning in closer to Arnim as if it’s bound to improve his comprehension.

Armin halted, observing the panic flood in Devon’s sunken eyes. The usual brilliance of its green hue had faded over time. In it’s place were tired, dull irises staring back at him.

He swallowed the lump building up his throat, nodding in understanding. “I know— but we have to bring him home, Devon.”

With a quick dark chuckle, Devon faced the sky, leaning her head back. “I don’t even know if I want to see him,”

Huffing out a breath Armin was holding, he abruptly got on his feet, pulling his hands from Devon’s freezing ones.

The latter flashed him a confused glance, awaiting his next move. She watched as Armin shook off his Survey Corps jacket, soon hanging it on her shoulders.

Maybe it was the topic of discussion that made them neglect the air that had been a lot chillier than before. Devon felt warmth seeping back into her skin as she hugged the material tighter against her body.

“You don’t seem to have a choice for the matter,” Armin muttered, gazing down at her. “Whether or not you’re in good terms with him, Eren still belong with us.”

Devon grimaced, as if Armin had said something completely ridiculous— in her eyes, it was.

She recalled that painful night, about three months ago. The night Eren decided to sneak out and leave Paradis. He had been babbling about it for weeks prior to his escape. Devon made the mistake of thinking it was all that— mindless babbling.

She was wrong, of course. Eren had actually planned everything. He was going to see through his stupid plan.

“Are being fucking serious right now?” Devon hissed, distressed eyes were scanning Eren’s face, hoping this was some sick prank he’d gotten everyone in.

Eren cringed at the volume of her voice, hands putting up immediately to cup her mouth. “Devon— Please— Listen, yeah?”

His pleas were met by deaf ears, as Devon slapped his plams away from his mouth, glaring at him with the outmost disbelief.

“You’re being stupid,” She scoffed. “This is stupid— Eren— You want to go there?” Her furrowed eyebrows deepened the more she thought about it.

Eren bit his lip, nodding slowly, standing rigid in front of her, frozen at the fire in her eyes. He examined her, sitting on her bed, contemplating the information he threw at her face.

The light of the single candle in the room, illuminated the left side of her face as she turned to him again. “What ever you think is going to fix this, it’ll only call for another war—”

“That’s nothing new.”

“You selfish—” She had lunged at him, limbs acting before her brain. “—little brat—!” An echo deafening resounded in the small enclosed space, rearing on the silence it followed. Devon’s palm stung, eyes raging and barely seeing anything beyond her seething anger.

Before she had the mind to process anything, her head banged against a solid surface, a groan leaving her lips from the impact.

Everything was fuzzy, scarcely making out anything at sight. Only cloudy images filled her vision, almost not feeling the bruising grip pressing her down by the wrists.

The searing breath near her ear, felt uncomfortably cold, a pair of lips grazing at the tip, making her shudder.

“For your own protection— all of you— remember that . . .”

The words echoed, but she could barely hear the last ones, as her breath turned calmer, the last thing she saw were those turquoise orbs, looking back at her with an emotion she couldn’t quite read.

Devon shook herself out of the memory. There was more to it, she knew that — but she couldn’t seem to remember. When she tries, a huge headache always came crashing down on her. A sick wave slapped her as she thought about the dreadful possibility of Eren, messing with her memories. 

She hated the big gapping wall in her mind. It was always incomplete, left her nothing but empty guesses about what else he could have said to her that night before he left her hanging with a missing piece in her heart. 

He left them — and just like that, he gets to come home in the most unnecessarily brutal way possible. Eren was asking for a bloodbath, and unfortunately, that was what most likely going to happen tomorrow.

“He’s going to get us killed.” She muttered, voice thinning at the thought of her fallen comrades — endless blood — fire — explosions — “We’ll be lucky if we all make it out in one piece.” 

This time, Armin didn’t contract her declaration, having her look down. He was frighteningly aware of the fact that any of them could die at any given moment. It brought him peril at how Devon had smacked him in the face with the reality he was trying to avoid. A part of him wanted to believe it was all going to go smoothly, but the logical part of him had mulled over the dreadful alternative for a long time now.

He sympathized with the hostile feelings Devon had grown for Eren. Perhaps it was due to the puzzling relationship they possessed. If he was to base it on his observations alone, it was painfully obvious that they cared deeply for one another but never had the time or courage to say it. 

No one has ever pried about their relationship, since they both dismissed it as nonsense. It was perplexing yet as clear as day what they had for each other. 

They would always be found bicker when they were younger, Devon calling Eren an ugly airhead then Eren shooting back that they were the same. Back then, it was true. They were kids who thought they could do everything themselves. Armin could say, Devon grew out of that attitude as time passed by when he got to know Devon a little better. 

After the battle with Zeke, Reiner and Bertholdt, the amount of trauma everyone endured was terrible. The bloody aftermath of Paradis was engraved into their minds, never fading until their last breath. 

The guilt ate at Armin when he found out how he came to be alive. He often wondered why it was him. Why did Captain Levi give him the chance to live over Commander Erwin. 

On the other hand, remorse gripped at Devon’s throat at the unintentional betrayal that crossed her mind that day. She found herself opening her mouth before she could hide it away. 

“I was so desperate for peace . . .” She whispered, yanking down Armin by his hands, his behind slamming against the hard concrete as he was forced to sit down in front of her. “That I . . . For a long time — I believed that only Erwin could lead us there —”

“It’s alright — “

“It isn’t — it was meant to make me happy, for goodness sake — you came back from the dead after I stood there and watch you get burned alive . . .” She failed to realize she was crying until she felt droplets of her tears falling on her hands, intertwined with Armin’s.

Looking away, she continued, Armin watching her carefully. “Mikasa and Eren were desperately convincing Captain Levi to resurrect you — while I stared at both yours and Commander Erwin’s body , absolutely loathing the choice that had to be made.” 

Devon could no longer hold in her heavy sobs, as it broke through her completely. “I get why you thought that, and you weren’t selfish for doing it, were you?” She listened to Armin’s reassuring voice. “You thought Erwin should’ve had it because you believed people would follow him and would avoid getting hurt — “

“ — you’d be able to do that too, though . . .” Devon countered, sniffling as she glanced back at Armin’s oceanic orbs. “I was just blinded by fear to think straight back then.”

Armin smiled at Devon in a silent gratitude. “I thought about everything you did, too, and maybe you’re right, maybe I’m too blinded by my own fears to face another life that was given to me — but I promised Captain Levi and Commander Hanji I’ll do everything it takes to bring us the peace we’ve been seeking out for years.”

Devon winced at the sudden touch on her head, chestnut locks swishing from one side after the other as Armin ruffled her hair. 

“Regretting could only get you so far,” Armin stated, a small smile gracing his face. “What’s important is what you decide to do about it.”

Warmth flooded at Devon’s core, nearly bursting into tears at Armin’s comforting words. Her mind went back to Eren, his circumstances and living conditions on that island were mostly unknown. But seeing as he had the facilities to send a letter, hints that it must be at the least safe.

She started to fly over the scattered thoughts inside her head, mulling over how mentally drained she has been, yet the noise and dull of her heart seem to only worsen. The countless times she had to convince herself of the good things left in the world to bask the gift of life, but lately, she found herself sitting by the windowsill of her room. Eyes always glancing up the sky whether or not they were painted with shining stars. 

Devon often clutched her chest when the uncontrollable pangs in her heart refuses to remain still. Some days, the rejection of waking up rattles her tremendously, and the refusal to face the day ahead was stronger than anything. 

She wanted nothing more than to take a few steps back and reverse time to relish the tranquility of it all. It sounded ridiculously selfish, but she’d trade anything if it means she would awake to Eren and Jean’s loud voices arguing or to see Sasha pocket goods she had stolen from the kitchen while being chased down by Armin. And oh — what she wouldn’t give to replay the day they’ve all bonded together after Keith Shadis made Sasha run until she was in the brink of insanity. 

It’s those little things that made her nostalgic, bringing a sad smile on her lips that she wasn’t sure if she wanted those thoughts randomly popping up her mind. Sometimes, disbelief hits her harder than anything whenever she’d allow herself to scan the faces of what’s left of her teammates. 

When Erwin had told them, he knows “they’d one day go far and achieve great things”, if he was still here, Devon would surely make him look at what had become of them. 

Everyone was preparing for the expedition in Marley tomorrow. Devon had exited the room when she had heard the severity of the situation. Eren was going to wreck havoc in that foreign island and he gave them no other choice than to lend him aid. 

It was rather conflicting, Devon was worried for him but nonetheless, despised his living-breathing self. She often wondered about his whole motive, considering his adamant proclamation that it wasn’t for his own self-indulgence. 

It felt like it was, as she began to feel the shuddering screams of the impending battle that was set to take place. 

If another life of her loved one’s taken from her tomorrow, she fears that it might throw her in an unstable state and she had every right to blame it all on Eren.

#eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x oc #eren jeager x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #armin arlert x reader #levi ackerman x reader #mikasa ackerman x reader #erwin smith x reader #eremika #reiner braun x reader #hange zoe #hanji zoe #historia reiss #eren smut #jean kirschstein #armin arlert smut #aot headcanons #attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi ackerman smut #yelena #connie springer #erwin smith #survey corps #sasha blouse #sasha braus #mikasa ackerman #eren yeager #armin artlert

[wisepena74]

Coloured Tights Tumblr - Relax, It is Play Time!

Pendleton Ward's Cartoon Tumblr. I, Much too, Am Harvard is a marketing campaign largely expressed as a assortment of images that has been posted on Tumblr to illustrate the particular activities of black college students at Harvard College. Oijen, M.J.P. van: A limited record of the Siebold collection of Japanese Fishes in the Countrywide Museum of Organic Record, Leiden, The Netherlands. In 2020, the singer released a type edit collection with ASOS, a British manner retailer. She despatched her samurai to struggle him, but he launched a vivid flash of gentle that broke her spell about them. As the few battle above their romance, they uncover on their own caught in a demon's scheme to demolish the Electrical power of 3. Weaver's debut criminal offense thriller Chasing the Useless was at last unveiled in February of 2010, right after ten a long time of attempting to discover a publisher. fifteen April 2021, Weaver launched his first standalone novel, Lacking Parts. Formal announcements detailing the miniseries have been ultimately launched on December 12, 2016 by way of a push release distributed to numerous media outlets. Nonetheless, informational interviews expose that these buyers rely on currently being knowledgeable through social media. Dependent on the e book, "The Accidental Billionaire"s by Ben Mizrich, "The Social Network" is a motion picture based on Facebook's creation.

These social media professionals can investigation efficient ways on how to marketplace the manufacturer as a result of social media platforms like Fb, Twitter, LinkedIn, Instagram, and TikTok, alongside with other social media platforms. His will work can be located in museums in Japan (about a hundred works) and in the Netherlands (about a thousand), amongst many others. Don Taylor attempts spherical-the-environment vacation in his homebuilt Thorp T-18, finished by a spate of truly poor weather concerning northern Japan and the Aleutian Islands. For other works he also painted on silk and wood, like his paintings on the ceilings of various temples in Japan. In 1829, he was imprisoned by the Tokugawa shogunate for involvement in a spying incident of Siebold, who was subsequently expelled from Japan. Animal Crossing: New Horizons A unique beaver villager who visits the player's town weekly to purchase the player's fish and consider fish model fee requests. Andy Milonakis voices N.E.P.T.R., a sentient robot who makes and throws pies. Raker is a previous journalist, who gave up his profession in newspapers to treatment for his wife just after she was identified with terminal most cancers. Coulier is a private pilot who owns and flies a B35 Bonanza. For TheDownvideo of the pilot episode, she breaks cost-free just after a thousand a long time and returns to Equestria on the longest day of the 12 months, intent on carrying out her strategy again.

Co Signed Fall three Scorching Young and coming rapper out of Tulsa Oklahoma In 2017 Jackson signed with Todd Moscowitz's Alamo Documents for around a million-greenback contract. For the reason that "Betty" was by now "jam packed", everything "non-vital" experienced to be reduce out of the storyboard, which still left Moynihan "heartbroken". Club awarded it an "A" and called it a "large episode for the Ice King", for the reason that it marked "a major shift in the character's potential by reconnecting with his past lover", Betty. In September 2015, Weaver wrote and introduced an 8-part podcast series referred to as Missing, on the lookout into how and why individuals disappear. Sava mentioned that it was made to "jump-get started the momentum by introducing new figures and storylines for long run episodes", and that its premise opens up various storytelling avenues for the long term of the sequence. His fourth reserve, In no way Coming Back again, is the to start with in the collection to move fully away from London, and is established in Devon and Las Vegas. It was not feasible to research this in South Africa, so she moved to College of St Andrews, where she was the to start with South African PhD scholar in the willpower. Prior to publication of his first e book, Weaver was a videogames journalist.

On a BBC Radio Somerset interview, when asked about Raker's qualifications, Weaver explained how he drew on his possess traumatic fight to have a kid. From 1823 to 1829, Kawahara drew and coloured thorough photographs of Japanese flora and fauna, at the behest of Dejima commander, physician and botanist Philipp Franz von Siebold. Wikimedia Commons has media associated to Kawahara Keiga. Kawahara Keiga (Japanese: 川原慶賀, also known as Taguchi Takumi or Toyosuke, Nagasaki, 1786-1860?) was a late Edo period Japanese painter of vegetation, fishes, birds, reptiles, crustaceans, social scenes, landscapes and portraits at the Dutch Manufacturing unit of Dejima, and at Edo, Kyoto and Nagasaki. As a consequence, Keiga introduced Western techniques in traditional Japanese portray. Oscar enters his painting (a uncomplicated photo of a puppy sniffing a flower in a eco-friendly subject) into the local art gallery. Textual content in inexperienced is the % big difference from previous day's near. Nielsen ratings are viewers measurement programs that establish the viewers size and composition of tv programming in the United States, which usually means that the episode was viewed by one. two % of all households at the time of the broadcast.

#tumblr video downloader #tumblr #video #video downloader