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imnotobsessedwfictionalchracters · 1 year

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Chapter 7 Revenge

I do not own Harry Potter or the Characters created by Rowling

So...when I first wrote this...I don’t even know how long ago, it was low *cough* highkey crappily written and the chapters were much shorter. This was originally 2,343 words. Now it is 3,031 words. That means I wrote an extra 688 words.

Anyways, this is also posted onto my Tumblr account imnotobsessedwfictionalchracters and my Wattpad somekindofmagic1 so you can check it out on there too!

But anywho, hope you enjoy!

Love Z <3

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The last couple days of break went by in a flash. Albus assumed it was because he and James hardly saw one another. And he spent most of his time talking with Lily. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was staying in his room, placing some small things that he could in it in order to make it more...him and less what he thought he would be.

He had even brought the subject of repainting and changing up his room to his parents. Both of them told him that if it was what he wanted, they could do it this summer. So that was something that he knew would help it get through this second half of the year.

He just hoped that it would go by faster and without many incidents, but he knew the likelihood of that happening was slim to none.

Albus sighed as he listened to Professor Patil drone on about the duel between Albus Dumbledore and Gerrit Grindelwald. He didn’t really care about something that happened over a hundred years ago. Especially when it had to do with one of his namesakes. He felt Annie nudge his side. When he looked over to her, throwing a ‘what-the-hell?’ look, she tilted her head to Professor Patil, who was looking at him expectantly. “Mr. Potter, are you going to answer my question?”

“May you repeat the question?”

She sighed, “20 points from Slytherin due to Mr. Potter not paying attention in class.”

He held back the eyeroll, “Can you please just repeat the question?”

She crossed her arms, “I said, what year did the duel happen?”

He smirked, ever so happy that Lily was once obsessed with this time in Wizard History. “It depends on which duel you are speaking about. The one that ended with Dumbledore's sister’s death, then the answer is 1900. However, if it was only involving Dumbledore and Grindelwald/the one that landed Grindelwald in jail, then it is 1945.”

She gave a look of surprise over the fact that not only did he know the answer, he gave two different ones. He continued to resist the urge to roll his eyes, “Well...I guess I will take those points back, 20 points back to Slytherin.” Now he did roll his eyes as he heard the obvious annoyance in her voice. “This marks the end of class for today. I will see you all on Thursday, have a good rest of your day.”

Everyone got up and left the room. “Everything okay, Al? You never look so out of it in class.”

Albus looked over at Scorpius, “I guess I’m just tired, y’know? And besides, History of Magic is boring and Professor Patil hates me because, apparently, she’s bitter over how my dad treated her at the Yule Ball back in the 4th year.” He sighed, “Or at least that’s what James always said. And we all know that we need to take everything he says with a grain of salt.”

“Well one, that’s pitiful. And two, are we supposed to believe what James Potter says?”

He nodded, “I know, but hey, better than hating me for a real reason, isn’t it?”

“True there Albus.”

Annie shook her head and muttered a simple, “Boys.” As they entered the greenhouse for Herbology.

“--Well maybe you shouldn’t be such a dick James Sirius Potter!”

Albus stopped walking back to his common room when he heard a girl's voice yell his brother's name. “I’m just being honest! You’re a lousy and horrible kisser!”

He heard the girl scoff, “And that gives you the right to cheat on me?”

“That’s not what I meant?!”

“Then what is it?!”

Before he allowed it to go any further Albus walked over to where he heard their voices. In a mocking voice he spoke, “Yeah Jamie, what was it?”

Jame’s head snapped towards Albus, “Stay out of this you snake!”

The girl only glared at James, “And is that any way to speak to your brother? I have a sister in Slytherin! They aren’t as bad as you think!”

James turned to the girl, “He’s friends with Malfoy and Green! They’re horrible people!”

The girl scoffed, “My sister is dating a Green and he is nothing but nice to her!” She crossed her arms, “And that girl your brother is friends with? I’ve met her and she is the sweetest kid ever!” Albus held back a scoff with that. He wouldn’t deny saying Annie was sweet, but the sweetest? That was stretching it a bit. “And as for him being friends with a Malfoy? So fucking what? Why does it matter? At least he isn’t a dick to everyone who isn’t in his house!” She turned on her heel and started to walk, but before she disappeared from behind the corner she turned back to James, “We’re through Potter. And I never want to see you anywhere off of the Quidditch Field.”

After she was gone and out of sight, James turned back to Albus, his face was red with fury. And Albus began to walk back slowly. “How dare you! How dare you get into business that didn’t involve you! How dare-”

Albus stopped for a second, anger filling him as James got angry at him. “How dare I what James? How dare I be a Slytherin? How dare I make friends with my housemates? How dare I agree with a girl that you’re a horrible person? How dare I be different from my brother? How dare I be me?”

James shook his head, “No. I say how dare you call me your brother. Because as far as I’m concerned, all I have is a little sister.” James turned and began to walk away.

And Albus just stood there, unable to move, unsure of what to say. He couldn’t move. He didn’t dare to. Scared to move his legs. Scared to do anything. He wasn’t even sure how long he just...stood there. But soon he heard the familiar voice of the Headboy and Annie’s older brother, Aidan Green. “Potter! Curfew for you is in 10 minutes. Get back to the common room.” Albus slowly looked over at Aidan. Albus didn’t know what his face looked like, but from the way that Aidan’s face went from looking like an authority figure to looking like a concerned brother, he knew it probably betrayed his thoughts. “Hey kid, everything okay?” Albus nodded and started to walk towards the dungeons, “Hang on, just in case you’re late, lemme walk with you.” He didn’t say anything and just continued to walk to the common room.

The entire walk was silent. Neither one said a thing, so when they reached the wall that let them enter their common room, Albus nearly jumped at Aidan’s nearly booming voice. “Quidditch.” As he began to walk into the room, Aidan stopped Albus and spoke, “Are you sure you’re alright?” Albus nodded silently before throwing Aidan his best fake smile and slipped into the common room.

But, almost as soon as he did he heard the ever worried voice of Annie, “Albus? What happened? Why was Aidan walking you in?”

“Nothing, honestly.”

“Okay,” He knew she was unconvinced, “I guess if you're sure.” She sighed, “You were late, imagine if you ran into Dominick or another house prefect? Imagine what could’ve happened. You really are lucky it was Aidan that you ran into.”

Albus just shrugged, “I probably would have earned a detention and lost us some points.”

“Yeah Potter, how ‘bout you don’t do that-”

“-We do it enough.”

Annie rolled her eyes at Liam and Randolph, “With how often the two of you get caught, I’m surprised that you haven’t gotten suspended or worse, expelled.”

“We just haven’t laid the correct prank yet.” Randolph nodded at his twins’ statement.

She scoffed, “No, you’re just lucky that for your whole time at school that at least the Headboy or Headgirl has been a Slytherin.”

Liam smirked, “That to sis.”

But instead of listening to the conversation the siblings were getting themselves into like he usually would, Albus walked over to the stairs to his dorm room. Opening the door he walked over to his bed and fell face forward onto it. Without changing out of his uniform, he soon felt the comfort of sleep wrapping around him.

When Albus awoke, he was surprised that his curtains were closed. He however, wasn’t surprised that he woke up sore. After both of them were up, he asked Scorpius why his curtains were closed and he just shrugged and replied saying, “You passed out and I figured that you would feel better with them closed.”

He wasn’t surprised, however, when he saw his parents' owl that morning too. ‘Cause even though she didn’t directly say, he knew Professor Patil was going to write to them. That was how she was. She wrote to your parents if she had taken points away or she had given you a detention, which she did. Often. Especially to Slytherins. If he was to be honest, sometimes Albus questioned who hated Slytherins more, her or James.

And with James on his mind, he never told Scorpius or Annie what happened that night. But he knew that they noticed how there was so much more tension between him and James. But neither commented on it. The girl, who had learned was Amy Way, Castanova Way’s younger sister, a 4th year Ravenclaw, had begun to make up this wild story about how James had attacked her. She even got away with it as she went to Professor Patil with fake injuries. Albus suspected that she either gave them to herself or had used something from Weasley Wizards Wheezes. No one commented on it and besides, James was on thin ice after getting in a fight with a group of Slytherins while on the train back to Hogwarts after break.

Albus groaned and laid his head on his Transfiguration textbook, “Why are teachers loading us with so much homework? Exams aren’t until another...4 months!”

Annie rolled her eyes, “It’s not that bad Al, lemme see what you’re doing.” She grabbed the textbook from under him, causing him to slam his head down onto the table. “Albus Severus Potter! This was due today! It’ll be late when you turn it in!”

He threw his hands up in defense, “It’s not my fault you got sick and couldn’t help me!” He wasn’t wrong, she had gotten sick and had to stay in the Hospital Wing for a few days.

“I’m not your mother! I don’t have to do anything for you!”

“But you do! And I’m not complaining.” He joked.

She scoffed, “Well it’s not my fault you’re bloody stupid!” She angrily slammed her book close and got up, beginning to walk away.

“Where’re you going?”

She turned back to the two boys, glaring at Albus, “Somewhere away from you!”

She stormed out of the room and the two boys looked at each other. “She needs to sort out her priorities.”

Scorpius hit Albus over the head with his Potions book, “No, you need to not be a git.”

Albus raised an eyebrow at Scorpius. He didn’t get it. He was joking. What happened? What did he say wrong?

Anne ignored Albus and Scorpius for about a week. When they were asked why she was, they said that she and Albus got into an argument and to talk to her about it. And she just said Albus was being a stupid git. Only talking to them again after Albus talked to her and apologized (even though he didn’t fully know what he was apologizing for).

However, as it was nearing March, the temperatures were rising and so the three 1st years were just chilling outside. Most of the 3rd years and above were out at Hogsmeade, so most of the students were first and second years. The boys were laying on the grass near the black lake. Under an old tree. While Anne was laying in the tree. She had a copy of Quidditch Through The Ages in her hand while Albus and Scorpius were talking about the Arrows last quidditch game. “He caught the snitch way too early. They should’ve waited until they were at least 100 points ahead. They barely even won!”

Scorpius nodded at Albus’s comment, “Honestly though, I think he caught it so they wouldn’t embarrass themselves any further.”

They saw the upside down head of their friend before she spoke, “Are they having a bad season or something?”

Scorpius scoffed, “They haven’t had a good season since Baley became the manager.” She nodded and flipped herself out of the tree. “And since Baley makes the plans, he also controls who can join the team. Then he added Johnson and my god, Johnson is the worst Seeker ever! Even you could play better than him, Anne!”

She laughed as she sat down next to the boys, “That says a lot if you believe I would be a better player than him.”

“Exactly!”

“Hey snakes!” The three kids looked over and saw Jason Bell-Wood, Fred Weasley II, and of course, James Sirius Potter stomping over to them. The three 1st years stood up and got ready to grab their wands. Even though they all knew that it would be useless as the three Slytherins didn’t know half as much as the three Gryffindors did. “Go tell that Way girl to give us our points back!”

Anne scoffed, “You assholes deserved it! You beat up a 12 year old who did nothing!”

----

Everyone in the Slytherin common room ran over to the young Avery girl. Her strawberry blonde hair was clinging to her face most likely due to the obvious amount of blood trickling down her face. She was limping in, clutching her side, Blood, not only seeping through her fingers and onto the floor from her side, but from her nose too. Her elder siblings, Oliver and Olivia, reached their sister quickly. Headgirl and 7th year Prefect, Castanova, not far behind them.

Murmurs began to go around, people asking for what happened, others asking if she was okay. She didn’t say anything besides three last names. Bell-Wood, Weasley, and Potter. Castanova looked to the Avery girl's siblings, “Take her to the Hospital Wing, I’m going to pay those Gryffindors a little visit.” She turned to Aidan, “Go tell Professors Slughorn, Longbottom, and McGonagall that those three students beat up a first year.” He nodded and ran out the door after the Avery’s left with their sister.

Albus and Scorpius were just coming down the stairs and saw the hoard of Slytherins near the door. Anne ran over to them, “Holly, got beat up by Bell-wood, Potter, and Weasley.”

“Jason, Fred, and James?” Scorpius inquired.

“I guess, obviously yes for Potter, but for Bell-Wood and Weasley, I assume. He hangs around them the most.” She looked at Albus, this time he knew he had a dazed look on his face, “Al? You okay?”

He nodded. He knew James was a horrible person, but he never thought he would beat up a defenseless kid.

----

“She’s a snake just like you three! She didn’t have to do anything for us to have a reason!”

“You beat up a kid who is now too terrified to speak to anyone!”

“Oh how about you shut up Green! You’re just like your brother! You don’t know how to shut your mouth!”

“That’s rich coming from you Weasley.”

“Oh yeah? Well, how about this, Langlock!”

When she tried to speak, she couldn’t as her tongue was glued to the top of her mouth. “What the hell did you just do Fred?!”

Fred didn’t say anything, instead it was James. “You should know that spell. After all, it was created by the person you’re named after. Severus Snape.”

Albus clenched his fists before raising his wand, “Slugulus Eructo!” A jet of green light hit Fred and soon after he began to vomit slugs.

James glared at Albus, “You’ll pay for that!” He turned back to Fred and helped him up, “C’mon let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey.” The two 3rd years carried their friend up to the hospital wing. Some students were watching in wonder, others in disgust.

Albus turned to his friend, “Let’s take her to one of the older students, I don’t want Pomfrey to ask any questions.” They nodded and walked down to the dungeons, stopping at the opening to the common room, “Salazar Slytherin.” The wall opened and they walked into the room, immediately seeing a group of 7th years sitting at a table. “Castanova?”

The blonde haired girl looked over and smiled, “Hey kiddos, what’s up?”

“Do you know the counterspell to Langlock?”

“Langlock? I’ve never heard of it. You guys?” The other 7th years shook their heads, “What does it do? Maybe I can use a different counterspell.”

“Her tongue is glued to the top of her mouth.”

“Okay, Anne, come here.” The younger girl walked over, “Now you understand that if this doesn’t work it could cause you some severe damage?” She nodded, “Okay.” She muttered a counterspell, “Now try.”

“That was rather uncomfortable.” The other students smiled, “It worked! Thanks Cassy!”

“No problem, always glad to help you out darling.” She brushed some of her hair out of her face, “Now do you three have anything else to ask?” When they all shook their heads no, she nodded, “Good, now you kids go and run along.”

The three first years nodded and walked away. “That was exhilarating, wasn’t it?”

“Exhilarating?” Scorpius breathed out, “I was scared you’d never be able to speak!”

Anne rolled her eyes, “Oh please Scorp, do you really think that would have happened?”

Albus shrugged, “I won't deny, I was a little nervous too.”

She scoffed, “You two are hopeless.”

Albus laughed softly and wrapped his arm around her, “Excuse me for actually caring about you.”

“Oh wow, who knew that was possible. Someone should alert the papers. Albus Potter cares about Anneliese Green.”

Albus rolled his eyes and pushed her to the side slightly. Merlin did he love his friends.

#harry #potter #harry potter #next #gen #next gen #harry potter next gen #harry potter next gen fic #harry potter oc #harry potter next gen oc #oc #albus potter #scorpius malfoy #easy to hate #easy to hate chapter 7

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thecreepiestcarrie · 3 years

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I was tagged by the iconic @thottiehardy and yay, I love doing shit like this ✨

1. Why did you choose your url?

Tribute to my namesake, creepy Carrie White the prom queen, but I definitely strive to be the creepiest

2. Any side blogs?

No. I did have one for my cat but I lost the password

3. How long have you been on tumblr?

I think about 9 years?

4. Do you have a queue tag?

Literally never queued a single post.

5. Why did you start this blog in the first place?

Wanted somewhere to archive my original short stories and I liked looking at pretty gifs, mainly of Lady Gaga, which was the style at the time

6. Why did you choose your icon?

It's Pride month and Picrew makers are an easy way to kill time and with the body dysmorphia it's easier to exist as a cartoon head

7. Why did you choose your header?

My gf made it for me 🥰 it's Conchita Wurst during a Live reacting to my query of whether it was overwhelming seeing her face tattooed on my dumb arm

8. How many mutuals do you have?

I'm supposed to count that up? More than in the past and I'm v happy and fond of my mutuals

9. How many followers do you have?

Less than I follow

10. How many do you follow?

267

11. Have you ever made a shitpost?

I am mad for a good shitpost, I've made lots and will continue to do so, you're all welcome

12. How often do you use tumblr a day?

Yikes, a lot, especially coz I've been sick for the past 3 weeks and I have barely had the energy to get out of bed and haven't had the attention span for writing or any other endeavours

13. Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

I think the closest I've come is that person who got hella butthurt over me not caring that Prince Philip had died so I told them to get away from what I'm reblogging and they reblogged to say 'no', after 'calling out' my morals. So then I blocked and I wish them a very pleasant mourning a colonist cunt

14. How do you feel about 'you need to reblog this' posts?

It's like when people on Tiktok say 'STOP SCROLLING', I scroll faster out of spite

15. Do you like tag games?

Hell yeah

16. Do you like ask games?

I think my ask is closed...? Potentially I did that when I started posting my #JusticeforJohnnyDepp deep dives and didn't want anons giving me their pro-abuser hot takes

17. Which mutuals do you think are tumblr famous?

Anyone who gets more notes than me is a famous mutual

18. Do you have a crush on a mutual?

No. But after my gf and I met a couple of times in real life, we added each other on here and I was crushing hard on her gay ass

And I'm tagging: @tisziny @zandel645 @peanutbuttaz @helvaffen @vkm11 @the-glow-show @lanaelectraheart2019 @blackcatanna

#tag game #about me

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athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit · 3 years

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Feral Fatality

(Part 1)

So this has been in my works for a week now. You see, it was a typical day for me scrolling through Tumblr and visiting some....tags, and then a short drabble inspired me to write about a feral reader totally not because I was craving violence and murder no, which reached more than 4k words on the first draft so here we are! Shitty title, I know. The proofread work went over 7k, and it's not even finished yet. Once I'm done posting this and my main orc fic, I will get into the requests so please be patient!

Pairing: Jason Voorhees x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Brief blood and violence at the end of the first part

Contains: Swearing, mentions of neglect and abuse (not graphic)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Screams slit through the twilight as the frigid autumn wind blew harshly through the trees of Camp Crystal Lake. The rustling of bushes and cracking of twigs echoed as foolish teenagers attempted to escape, running for their lives when they were the ones who dared step foot in the place, tarnishing it with their sins.

Jason Voorhees, the innocent kid who died several years ago; pushed to the lake by his bullies and left to drown for being different and unsightly— all because the counselors were busy with their fucking business—, returned as an undead killing machine right after his mother murdered them and died. His sole purpose: to protect the land and purge the people who had no right to be here, sentencing them to a horrendous death.

One by one, they struck the ground, lifeless, either chopped into pieces, beheaded, or stabbed countless times by his trusty machete.

Limbs...ripped off with his bare hands.

The muffled snapping of branches reached your ears as the vehicle's wheels ran over them, stirring you from your nap. You rubbed your chilled skin under your clothes as you looked out of the window, thumping your forehead on the glass when you leaned forward the moment you saw the scenery. Trees, both ancient and young, their leaves varying in hues of green, orange and red, filled your line of sight. It was still early in autumn, your favorite time of the year, not hot but not too cold either. You watched in awe as the warm-colored leaves cascaded down from the branches and down to the ground, some carried by the wind farther from their origin.

The view did its best to distract you from a couple in session a seat before yours. They always seem to do that all the time, regardless of place or occasion.

This was a week-long getaway after graduation, they said.

Nothing but a white lie.

An excuse for the girls to hook up with their campus crushes, a week of fucking and smoking drugs.

You, however, just got invited —forced— by your "friend" Eloiza, the self-proclaimed hottest girl in the entire school, typical captain of the cheerleading squad; blonde and curvy. Her words were much too sugar-coated that even a deaf person could tell she had ulterior motives.

She only planned to use you as a tool to raise her fame. A stepping stone for her own gain.

That wasn't the only reason though.

Everyone knew who you were, but only by your name. News and rumors alike spread like wildfire through gossipy mouths. Your deeds were known throughout campus.

(Y/N)(L/N), top academic competitor and multiple-award winner, a straight-A student for five years in succession. Some believed you were a genius, the rest called you insane.

You wouldn't call yourself a genius though, you did not possess the obsessive need to acquire eternal knowledge and discover the secrets of the universe as most of them do, to effortlessly solve every problem that comes their way.

If that were the case, then you wouldn't be here in the first place.

You only love learning and indulging in the beauty of Mother Nature, plus a handful of hyper-fixations.

Fine, a buttload of hyper-fixations. And such came in handy in various situations.

You were unrivaled, not one of your peers could come close to your level of wit. Many people wished to have a brain like yours, and just as many hated you for even having one, praised you just as much as slandered your name and judged you.

Despite your reputation, the poor school didn't broadcast it, at least every time. The staff probably got tired of repeating the same phrase over and over again. Which caused more than half of the whole campus to never believe you to be the one behind all of that, laughing at your face when you said your name.

"You? The (Y/N) (L/N)? Ha! As if I'd fall for that! Everyone knows how she looks. You're the absolute opposite!"

"You got to be kidding me."

"You're a joker, aren't you? Is this a prank? If so please stop it, don't pretend like you're her."

Yep, and it goes on and on and on. They were right, you didn't look like someone who would win contests or excel in class.

You constantly wore clothes that hid your form, silent unless spoken to or asked to answer, distant and reserved, you preferred the company of books and nature to the rowdiness and prying hands of humans. A sociopath they deemed you. Quite an extreme word to use when you simply wanted to enjoy the only things that made you happy in this living hell.

You only know a handful of people who approached you first-hand and praised you genuinely, even asking for an autograph, which really surprised you.

Yet, they would never understand you even if you explained, because you can't, words evade you when it comes down to voice out what you feel. Even if you can, no one would care. And even if they did? You doubt it was real. Everyone wants to use you, and they seem to believe you'd let them. You didn't trust anyone. The last time you did only left you sobbing on the dirt.

You wanted to be left alone.

To connect with nature and get as far away as possible from your parents. Parents who kept shouting profanities at each other, the main cause for your depression and anxiety levels to skyrocket, the shaking turning into trembling, 7 hours of sleep to barely a blink.

That's why you agreed to go in the first place.

You hated your household—despised it— a mess of broken shards of bottles and ceramics littered your kitchen floor more often than not. You didn't bother cleaning it up anymore, your mother would just waste away her money on more things to break and throw them at your joke of a father when they fought anyway.

Not only that, you thought...No, you believed if you worked hard to be the best and win countless competitions, your parents would give you recognition and reconcile for your sake, but no, no, no. They didn't care one bit about you or your medals, it was as if you were never even included in their lives at all. Even birthday celebrations ceased to exist in everyone's books after your 13th.

So you gave up.

Down into the void, your wishful thinking went, that they'll become better people over time, that the attention and love you deserve will be given one day. Instead, you wallowed yourself in your studies, besting everyone in everything academic. Oh, but you weren't athletic. Far from it. Damn, you were getting thin and sleep-deprived from being neglected, dark circles under your eyes every time you looked at your reflection. People hating your existence wasn't helping, some teachers even suspected you of cheating.

There's no way in hell you'd let yourself get dragged down to end up like them! You were of legal age now, a fresh graduate from high school, you doubt your parents even knew that since they didn't fucking show up on your graduation day. You were moving out of that shithole of a town. Anywhere is better than where they breathed and spat their poison.

And so here you are. Standing in this breath-taking and mysterious place. Camp Crystal Lake, it is named, secluded, barely touched by modernization as it is hidden between mountains and trees as far as the eye could see. Not to mention its namesake, the lake, you imagined it would mirror the sky, be it day or night. You loved it, you adored the fresh, breathable air that went through you the moment you stepped out of the van.

You also knew about him.

Resolved to never go back to that goddamned house, you took everything you had and needed; the special little trinkets you've collected through the years shoved into a box, the few clothes you had, art materials, and your precious books carefully packed inside a big travel bag, along with your stocked up canned goods, convenience food, snacks, and toiletries.

And other, important things.

You hauled your baggage out of the van and got off, immediately moving to the side and away from everyone.

You got used to people ignoring you that you didn't care anymore.

Why waste your time with them when you can have all of it to yourself?

Eloiza led the group into the larger cabins, the others went straight into the lake for a swim. You even notice some teens disappear into the trees, most likely for a quickie.

In return, you stayed out of their way, fully satisfied being invisible and with your own company as you trudged to a cabin, the one you caught a glimpse of earlier in the van. It was a long way's separated from the rest, closest to the forest and hidden behind a few trees.

You were panting when you finally stopped in front of it, clearly not used to walking long distances and carrying stuff near as heavy as your weight.

Upon closer inspection, you found yourself gaping at its appearance. The wooden walls lost their color as they aged, white and brown mushrooms grew on the ground along with green moss sticking to the beams, and a few vines crawling their way up and on the roof. Despite all of that, the cabin looked sturdy still.

There's this "one with nature" vibe that drew you to it, like a string pulling you closer and inviting you. Ominous most would say, but you almost cried when the rich scent of earth and oxygen filled your lungs as you took one big inhale, sighing in content for once. It was a lot smaller compared to the others, but you didn't care. As long as you were left alone with your stuff you were a-okay.

Perfect.

You turned the knob and peeked inside, letting out a small gasp and opening the door wider to see the whole thing.

Old as it is, it was proper and neat, regardless of the tiny cobwebs on the upper corners. A small, square dining table sat in the middle of the first part of the place, two wooden stools placed underneath. There were cupboards on the wall and a simple sink with an empty space to the side. You went to the next room, doorless and separated with but a wall of thick plywood. It had a single bed in the corner, off-white cotton sheets sitting atop, not a wrinkle in sight. No pillow though. There's a decent-sized closet along with a small table on one side of the bed. One of the windows had a hole in the middle, a ray of sunlight streaming in through the cracks. It was too big for the size of a gunshot, so maybe a rock.

A bit hesitant, your fingers traced the wood, feeling the inconsistent texture. When you went through the back door, your smile reached your ears when trunks of trees and bushes greeted you...

Wait, is that what you think it is?

Stepping closer to the treeline, your jaw dropped when you spotted a thicket of fruit-bearing plants past them, gathered in a tiny clearing.

Blueberries.

Purple little cuties poked out of the green shrubs, sporting a vibrant hue that caught your eye. The sun shone overhead and providing the energy they needed. Blueberries managed to grow in the area despite the trees fencing them.

Tempted and suspicious, you crouched down, inspecting the shrub if it really was a blueberry plant and not a deadly doppelganger. Once you were sure it was, (it would be hilarious if you simply died from nighshade poisoning), you plucked one and brought it to your mouth. It was sweeter than you expected, with a slightly bitter aftertaste. You hummed in delight, wiping the juice with your thumb when it dribbled out, staining your finger and lips.

You didn't want to anger anybody. Hell, coming here was already trespassing, so you didn't push your luck and left it alone, hoping they'd forgive you for picking one. They surely didn't look wild with the way they lined up.

You scanned the rest of the area, eventually going back inside to unpack after your little evaluation.

The sun was a hand's away from setting when you finished. Pride swelled in your chest at the work you did, your things stocked and organized with care inside the cabinets and drawers. You won't have to worry about your food for now as cupboards were filled to the brim with them. You also had a decent amount of money left from your savings account that your parents weren't aware of. Prize money, allowance, and the salary you got from doing online jobs all went into it. The camp was a few miles off the road, and a couple more to the nearest gas station with a convenience store. Very far yes, but it's better than living with the people who made you do this in the first place.

You just hoped you wouldn't die walking.

Everything was worth it, anyways. You were free now, at least that's what you think.

You trudged to the bed, eyeing the cushions, wary and a little scared to touch the sheets that appeared to be cleaned just recently, you didn't even lay a finger on them ever since you got inside. Oh, but your tired muscles were screaming to just flump down and relax.

So you did.

You dumped yourself face first and inhaled. It wasn't smelly nor fragrant, just the simple freshness on the cotton fabric. You felt beat but ain't sleepy, yet, so you reached to the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a book to pass the time as you waited for the sun to go down and give way for the moon. Its spine and pages had creases, worn out and yellow-stained from age and use. It was a horror-mystery novel told through a first-person narrative, a story of a middle-aged detective and her Maine coon in their attempts to solve a murder case of a young European lady named Cassandra Chase.

You dozed off in the middle of chapter 21, the part where Dinnie, the cat, discovers a valuable clue to the crime, a rotten limb in the dried basement well.

—

Jason settled down on the stairs of his porch; shoulders relaxed and hunched as he leisurely sharpened his machete with a small whetstone. Lines of sunlight kissed him through the leaves of trees, the birds in the area chirped on their perches, and the grass swayed, gentle, as a cool wind passed by.

His day be so fine. No troublemakers to deal wi—

The alarm rang, announcing unwelcomed arrival. As if a switch flipped inside, he's already on his feet, making his way swiftly to their location.

A new batch of wretched youngsters, another day ruined. Hunting them down makes his blood thrum in his veins, yes, but they soured his mood, just when he was at peace. He's dead set on slaughtering them in the most gruesome ways possible, only then he could go back and enjoy the serenity the nature around him brings.

He surveyed the area, camouflaging with the wilderness, silent as he watched and counted the soon-to-be corpses, his mother's voice at the back of his mind, guiding him.

They decided to go either to the main cabins, or the lake...even into the trees.

All but one.

Jason already planned to cut down the couple later as they lose themselves in the forest, doing nasty, dirty things to his camp. The killer shifted his attention to you, curious as to why you didn't join the lot. Instead, you walked back down the road. He followed and saw you approach the small cabin, separated from the rest, your eyes widened...

Adoration?

You were quiet— except for the little gasps of awe you let out in between pants—as you looked around and over the place. The ones you came with were rowdy and destructive, a complete opposite. He hid as he observed you from afar, moving around to adjust his vision on you. You smiled every time you looked to the trees, he noticed.

Why were you smiling like that? Why did you pick this cabin? Were you planning on defiling it?

The last question in his mind made his blood boil. He'll kill you first if that was the case. That cabin you chose was special, it was where he and his mother used to stay. He occasionally visits that one to keep it clean and free of dust. If you even think of—

Jason, sweetie...look closer. She does not have such intentions.

His mother's words rang in his head. Even from where he stood, he could see what you did inside. You looked a little hesitant, touching and drawing back your hand before letting your fingers feel the wood as if it was something delicate. Despite the initial...shyness? You proceeded to make it your home, somewhat, dropping the large duffel bags you carried on your front and back, and a similarly large roller case on your left. It was as if you planned to stay for a long time.

Jason hears you take a long breath and sigh as you went out the backdoor. You grinned wider when you saw the nature around you. You stepped forward, straight in his direction...

For a moment he thought you saw him, seeing your jaw drop. You moved closer, and he just froze there, until you crouched down.

Oh, his plants.

He watched you as you gently picked a fruit, your gaze...soft. You brought it to your mouth, some of the juice spilling on the side and you wiped it with your thumb.

Cute.

You went back inside and continued to unpack your things, carefully maneuvering around the cabin.

Maybe he'll spare you if you continue to be good. You didn't do anything dirty, yet. It's only a matter of time before the camp is shrouded in darkness and his hunt will begin.

Let's see what you'll do before that happens.

Jason tracked down the three that went into the forest. He knew the place like the back of his hand, and it was easier to pinpoint them as he heard moans.

What he saw was utmost disgusting, two girls pleasuring a male with their mouths in broad daylight.

Kill them, my boy! Such foul beings need to die! Kill them, kill!

He circled them, steps soundless. Jason gripped his machete and brought it down the guy's neck, embedding the weapon into the bark, the head rolled down, oozing with blood, and fell against the women, drenching them in red. Not a single cry left from their mouths as he sliced both with one swing, blood pouring out of their throats and staining the ground. Jason dragged their bodies and tossed them into a pit he dug beforehand, making quick work in burying them.

A swift end. Now he waits.

#jason voorhees x reader #jason x reader #friday the 13th #blood #violence #slatra #lmao #my writing #fiction #horror #slasher x reader #feral reader #slasher x fem!reader #reader insert #slasher fic #slasher x reader fic #jason voorhees #friday the 13th fic

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soldrawss · 3 years

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Ok, this morning I opened Tumblr, found your blog, started checking all your rottmnt tagged posts, found your big brother Mikey AU, CRIED FOR ALMOST AN HOUR as I red every post about it, drooled all over your gorgeous art, smiled like a crazy person reading all your Human AU posts, got up with the sun in my chest and more energy than I know what to do with and have been productive since then. I don’t know what to ask (or if you take asks) but I crave more infos about your big brother Mikey AU❤️

WOAH OK this was such an incredibly sweet ask and I’m SO HAPPY that my BBM au could bring you so much joy and ahhhh!!! Just thank you so much, this ask made my night <3 Here’s one of the many little stories I’ve written for the AU that I’ve sent to my friend @zacharandom (thanks for always reading my little emotional blurbs about these kiddos Zach~) Enjoy!

(I haven’t gotten into it yet (I will, it’s a separate ask I’m working on) But Leatherhead is a BIG part of the BBM au. Zach had asked if any of the kiddos had ever been to LH’s place, since LH always stays over at the Hamato’s, and I said yes, but only Donnie, and then this mini fic was born.) Donnie and Mikey get into a 'fight'. And I say 'fight' because Donnie doesn't really know what else to call it. Because he doesn't pick fights, not really, not with Mikey. He doesn't go looking for them with Mikey like he does with Leo. Leo, who can take the worst of Donnie’s shitty teenage attitude and come out of it alright, wearing the worst of Donnie’s temper and anger like a bulletproof vest. Donnie can afford to hurt Leo cause Leo won't break because of it. He's safe to hurt. But it's different with Mikey. Mikey, who's so tired he can barely stand straight most days. Who has bags under his eyes like dark stickers, that not even doe-eyed and ever adoring Raph can peel away. And Donnie KNOWS better than to pick a fight with Mikey about it, it was mostly why he was trying to avoid the conversation altogether. Why he had hidden all the school letters and hacked into Mikey's phone to block all the emails and texts and phone calls from the school about it. He didn't expect Mikey to run into one of his teachers after work and basically blow everything Donnies worked so hard to avoid. He didn't want to skip a few grades. He didn't care what his teachers or his GPA said. He didn't CARE if they thought he was ‘wasting his potential’. He wasn't, and they had no right to complain about it to his big brother like they did. Donnie had TOLD Mikey that he didn't want to. Had gone all the extra lengths to take as many of the AP classes the adjacent high school offered, bargained and pleaded and BEGGED them. He’d do whatever it took, but he didn't want to move grades. He didn't want to quit the robotics club. He didn't want to go to school with a bunch of kids older than him and be the butt end of every baby freshmen joke in the book. He didn't want to be separated from Leo. He really, really, really didn't. And he had explained this all to Mikey. And he knew that Mikey KNEW this. But the teachers wouldn't stop hounding him, and Mikey was already so tired anyway, the weight of the world always seemed to be a weighted pressure on his shoulders that looked physical, with the way Mikey’s whole body sagged. Like every move he made was a conscious effort and pain. Donnie knew this, and he still yelled at Mikey about it anyway. And Mikey didn't yell back, cause Mikey never yelled back at them, but his voice was stern and tired and it just begged Donnie to at least consider talking about it. But Donnie’s 13, and the biggest jerk in the world because he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. And Mikey didn't deserve the one sided shouting match that was all Donnie, he didn't deserve the pointed "I can't believe you would take THEIR side, you NEVER listen to me!" And Mikey DEFINITELY didn't deserve the front door slamming in his face, the last words Donnie said hanging in the air behind him. "I HATE IT HERE!" It wasn't raining, but there was a misty cold hanging in the November air as Donnie sat at an empty park bench, somewhere in Flushing, feeling like the biggest loser in the world the second he ran away and oh,,, oh God. He ran AWAY. How could he run away? He didn't want to run away! He didn't want to run away from anything, especially if it was away from Mikey. Mikey, who deserved more than Donnie’s cold shoulder and heated words, but took it anyway, and he didn't even flinch as Donnie practically screamed at him. He just looked tired. More tired than ever. And accepted Donnie’s temper tantrum like he accepted every other bad thing that has ever happened to him. Like he thought he deserved it. And he was sad. Sad in a way that made Donnie want to throw up. Because he was one of the people who were NEVER supposed to hurt Mikey like that. But he did. He did and he ran away like a little kid and he felt so STUPID about it, jumping on the first bus he could and taking it to God knows what neighborhood and now he was sitting alone on some random park bench, the November cold sinking into his skin and thin shirt cause he didn't have the mind to grab a jacket on his way out and GOD what was he doing? He was cold and alone and probably lost and Mikey probably hated him and now- "Donatello?" Came a voice from behind Donnie, and Donnie whirled around on the park bench because he'd recognize that low and gentle voice anywhere and... Yup. There he was. Lieven Heather, or Leatherhead as Mikey always affectionately called him, standing tall and curious like. His long black hair pulled into a low bun, his green eyes leaf-like and bright, piercing through the dark park like fireflies, looking at Donnie like he was searching for an answer before he got the chance to ask the question and WOAH was Donnie not the emotional type, but he could have cried when he saw the familiar face.

Actually, he was already crying before, but crying because you’re happy to see someone and crying because you’re a jerk to your big brother are two completely different types of emotions, and Donnie tried to hide it either way by rubbing at his face with the back of his wrist. LH’s namesake leather jacket is HUGE on Donnie, but the 12 year old takes it without a fight because LH does NOT look like he's willing to negotiate, as he holds a bag of groceries in one hand and holds an umbrella over the both of them in the other, saying that his apartment is just a few blocks away, and it'd be best to get out of the cold. The tall man doesn't press Donnie for details, doesn't ask why his friend's kid brother is out at 8pm on a school night, all the way on the other side of the city, eyes red with something between tempered anger and grief and skin pale with November cold. Donnie is thankful for it. He doesn't feel like explaining himself quite yet. The second hand hurt from before is still raw in his chest, and even though he knows he's the one at fault, he can't really shake off the sinking black hole feeling in his chest. So the 10-minute walk is mostly silent. LH lives in a grey bricked building, on the third floor, and his apartment is exactly what Donnie would expect if he really thought hard about it. It was a simple studio, minimalist and uncluttered, but that seemed more because the place felt untouched rather than because LH was a particularly clean guy. All the electronics on in the kitchen where stainless steel and spotless, Donnie half suspected they were untouched because of the garbage can filled with dollar store Ramen noodle cups and forks in the sink. His grey walls were bare, and he didn't have a TV, but there was a large bookshelf that covered the expanse of one wall, filled to the brim with thick books that looked like they belonged in the reference section of a library. There was a little queen-sized bed shoved in the corner, neatly made, and looked rarely slept in. The only sign of life in the little apartment that felt much too small for the nearly 7-foot man was the little desk that sat beside the bed, which was covered in astrophysics textbooks, notebooks filled with scribbled notes and a few orange study note cards that had Donnie's older brother written (metaphorically) all over them. Lh motioned to the chair at the desk with a nodded, "you can sit there if you want. I'll make some Valerian tea." "Valerian tea?" "Helps with stress." "I'm not stressed." "Right, of course not. Still tastes good." And Donnie doesn't really like tea, he'd much prefer coffee, or one of the energy drinks Leo sneaks him during school lunches because Mikey doesn’t buy them, but he knows better than to ask for that. He knew about LH’s anxiety disorder and underlying PTSD, from a past that Donnie didn't know any details about except from snippets he'd overhear here and there from the hushed late-night conversations LH and Mikey would have when they thought that Leo and Donnie and Raph were asleep, and he knew that caffeine wasn't something LH indulged in often because of it. The tea tastes fine though. It's hot, and burns his throat a little, but Donnie doesn't care enough to wait for it to cool down to enjoy it. Because it hurts, and Donnie figures he kinda deserves the pain. It's after a few quiet minutes, Donnie sitting at LH’s desk while LH leans against his kitchen counter, that Donnie reaches for a courage he doesn't usually possess and tells LH everything.

About the extra AP classes, and the nosey teachers, and the way it feels a bit too suffocating trying to be everything everyone wants him to be.

And how it all feels too lonely. He barely remembers his mom. He’s starting to forget dad. Mikey works all the time and Raph goes to a completely different school. If he moves up a few grades, then he loses Leo too. And he just can’t deal with that. He can’t deal with everyone, some way or another, leaving him. And how in some, backward, twisted way, it sometimes feels like people are trying to get rid of him. And he just can’t take it anymore. Donnie likes LH. He's smart and collective and cool and he's super nice to Mikey and he’s pretty much everything that Donnie wants to be when he grows up. And he's friends with LH. LH gives him pointers on his science projects and he teaches Leo how to punch a bully like its nothing and he's patient and understanding and helpful with Raph's temper and he's a godsend of a friend the Hamato clan didn't know they could afford after April had came into their lives and Donnie LIKES Lh. But he didn't think they were good enough friends for Donnie to deserve THIS. LH listened to him patiently and quietly. Nodding at the appropriate moments in Donnie’s tearful and half-hysterical rambling about his school and his GPA and how he didn't mean to take it out on Mikey and he didn't mean to run away but GOD he was so sick of everyone looking down on him like a little kid and like HE didn't know what was best for him and didn't have a choice in deciding HIS future. And he expects LH to get mad at him too, cause he was Mikey’s friend first before Donnie’s, and Donnie YELLED at Mikey, and Donnie WASNT going to sob like a child about it, but his head lowers and there's a stupid stinging in his eyes and he sniffs once or twice anyway when he mutters "God, I'm so stupid. Mikey probably hates me right now and is so mad at me." And he can hear LH sigh, and put his own cup of tea down, before walking over to where Donnie sat and crouching before his chair. "That's funny you think that, because when I texted him earlier, he sounded nothing short of scared out of his mind and relieved." "You texted him???" "Well yeah, of course. He called me shortly after you ran out, singing the same tune you are about how you're so mad at him and he didn’t mean to fight with you and that you probably hate him. That’s probably the only reason I even saw you, I wouldn't have known to look out for you if he hadn't told me to keep a lookout for you." And that, woah, Donnie felt a million times worse now because of COURSE, he didn't hate Mikey! Donnie wasn't even MAD at him. He was just being a stupid stubborn teen who took out all his frustrations and insecurities on the last person in the world who deserved it and boy oh boy, this whole thing was so stupid anyway.

“How about he finish our tea, wait for you to get a little bit warmed up first, and then get you back home so that you can tell everything you just told me to your brother. Because I think we both know how much he’d want to hear how you truly felt about this situation.”

And that... that sounded good. Because after his entire mini-rant, it felt like a shadow had been cleared from over Donnie’s heart, and now he wanted nothing more than to go home and hug his big brother for all his worth and apologize about a million and half times. Maybe more. Donnie hadn’t decided yet.

After they had finished their cup of tea, and LH had given Donnie one of his warmer college sweaters to wear before they took the subway back to the Hamato residence, where Mikey stood in front of the building, red-cheeked and shivering from the cold in a giant puff jacket and pajama bottoms, waiting for them.

Donnie didn't even wait, he ran the second he saw the familiar orange jacket that belonged to one of his favorite people on the planet and broke into a breakneck sprint, colliding into his older brother’s chest and waiting arms, and breaking into a choked cough when Mikey’s arms instantly wrapped around him like he always belonged there.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to run away!" Donnie rushed to say because he didn't want a second to go by without Mikey knowing that, but Mikey was already running a gentle hand through his hair and hushing into the crown of his head.

"Shhhh, shhhh it's ok, buddy. I know. I'm just glad you're home." And Mikey still had bags like bruises under his eyes, and looked on the point of breaking if Donnie hugged him too tightly, but he still smiled at Donnie with all the affection and warmth of the world when they pulled away, and Donnie couldn't fight the urge to spit out, "I don't hate it here! And I don't hate you. Ever! I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry Mikey." And Mikey replied with a soft smile and an "I know, kiddo. It’s ok." But there was relief like a balloon losing helium in his eyes and shoulders, like he would have believed differently if Donnie hadn't said anything, and Donnie made the promise there and then that he’d do everything in his power to make sure Mikey never thought that way, even for a second, again. LH hadn't stayed over for the pizza movie night that Mikey offered as a silent ‘thanks for bringing my kid home’, so Mikey and Donnie saw him off at the subway station, and made the few blocks back to their waiting apartment and waiting little brothers with their arms around each other in a side hug. Neither one of them wanting to let each other out of their grasps. And there had been a promise to talk about it later, because Donnie was feeling a little more up for negotiation even though Mikey swore up and down that he’d back whatever Donnie decided to do 110%, but it could wait till another day, when both of their nerves and hearts weren't so tender and raw with emotion. Tonight, they would just sink into the weathered old couch that was softened by a million quilts, and out on a Mothra vs Godzilla movie, and squeeze themselves between an over-excited Raph, who couldn't stay still and just HAD to act out all the Godzilla fight scenes, and a relaxed Leo, who sprawled his legs over Donnie's lap despite Donnie complaining about it, but Donnie didn't make any effort to push him away because Leo kept keeping a wary and watchful eye on his two older brothers, probably knowing more about both sides than either one of them, and keeping his legs over Donnie was half for familiarity and half to keep him from jumping up and running out again and huh, maybe he wasn’t so relaxed after all. Guess Donnie had more than a million and a half apologies to make. Better round it off to a good 2 million, just to be safe. Because Donnie couldn't rightly blame him for keeping a careful eye out, but Donnie had learned his lesson. He wasn't running away again. He wasn't running anywhere if it was away from his brothers. Away from the only family he’s ever had. Because donnie was stubborn and stuck in his ways. And he wasn't going to quit the robotics club, and he wasn't going to skip grades and he wasn't going to leave Leo behind and he wasn't going to be left behind. Donnie wasn’t going to run away. Because Donnie wasnt going anywhere.

(one of the doodles I did for this particular story)

#my fic #big brother mikey au #bbm au #rottmnt human #rottmnt human au #rottmnt #tmnt #tmnt human #i have like 10 stories already written that i've shown zach about this au #and i'm just waiting for the excuse to post them because I don't want to spam you all #unless asked to #but anyway yeah #donnie's the one one who's ever ran away or has seen lh's place #and it's a tiiiiime

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paandreablack · 2 years

Text

I posted 106 times in 2021

49 posts created (46%)

57 posts reblogged (54%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 1.2 posts.

I added 231 tags in 2021

#bhthk - 30 posts

#bring him to his knees - 29 posts

#traduccion al español - 28 posts

#pdr - 26 posts

#wattpad - 25 posts

#ponlo de rodillas - 23 posts

#dramione - 20 posts

#dramionetraducción - 19 posts

#ao3 en español - 17 posts

#traducción - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 26 characters

#С апельсинами на карантине

My Top Posts in 2021

¡Es el momento! ¡ÚLTIMA actualización!

¡"Ponlo de Rodillas/ Bring Him To His Knees" está completa!

¿Estabas esperando a que estuviese terminada para comenzar a leer? ¡Es hoy!

Disponible en AO3 y Wattpad

Thank you so much for all the outreach, support and charisma you gave to the Spanish translation, you are amazing @willhavetheirtrinkets.

All my love for you.

Draco está en un caso de un asesino, pero para investigarlo, necesita una relación falsa… y una compañera de juegos para un club kinky. Cuando Hermione se ofrece como voluntaria para asumir el papel, ambos hacen su mejor esfuerzo para mantener la mentira sin que el otro sepa la verdad: no están actuando.

23 notes • Posted 2021-06-27 07:15:15 GMT

Time to love the Dramione.

A little fanart made by me 'cause I can. Inspired by mi Fanfic "Arréglame o Destrúyeme: Nuestro Secreto"

Hermione no sabe en qué parte Draco comenzó a formar parte de su vida y Malfoy no sabe cómo Granger dejó de ser Doña Perfecta para convertirse en la chica que más quiere enredarse de Hogwarts y... a la que más quiere, en general, pero ¿eso será suficiente para una guerra inminente, conflictos y la vida que transmuta? Dramione: Es o no es una historia de amor.

Disponible en FF y Wattpad.

Idioma: Español

24 notes • Posted 2021-03-17 18:26:21 GMT

Hi @willhavetheirtrinkets, sorry, I’m a crazy groupie... And I made you this cover, almost twin with its cover in Spanish, but with your ideal cast... I have to thank you for all the hours I spent researching -not to mention drooling- about Jeremy. <3 <3

Yeah, that’s my favorite picture, too!! Thank you for bringing him into my life.

I hope you like it a little. A hug as far as you are, Paola

27 notes • Posted 2021-01-22 00:52:57 GMT

Bring Him to His Knees Chapter 10 by Musyc @willhavetheirtrinkets

He cleared his throat and gave her a quick smile. "That's seven," he said. "Mark, numbers, constellation, serpent, narcissus, mask, crest. One more above the waist."

She scanned up his arm, across his chest, and down the other arm, then her eyes narrowed. "All that's left is your back," she said.

"Brace yourself," he said with a grin. "This one tends to get attention."

He turned around.

Hermione made a high-pitched squeak.

Draco pressed his lips tight to keep from laughing. Most people swore, some whistled in disbelief, but no one else had made that sound in response to seeing his second namesake tattoo. A black dragon covered his entire back, sitting upright along his spine, wings spread across his shoulderblades and lats, tail coiled to one side of his waist. "Pet his muzzle," he said, looking over his shoulder.

Hermione's hand shook as she reached up. She started high, between the dragon's standing spikes, and dragged her fingers down to its nose. She yelped and snatched her hand back.

Thank you Jeremy Dufour for existing

Sólo dejaré esta manipulación by me por aquí sobre cierta traducción del capítulo #10 de "Ponlo de Rodillas/ Bring Him to His Knees" que acabo de adelantar nada más porque sí...Y me iré en silencio. Es el único spoiler que necesitan. AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28884885/chapters/73121154 Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1032547608-ponlo-de-rodillas-traducci%C3%B3n-bring-him-to-his

51 notes • Posted 2021-02-27 06:21:14 GMT

I did this photomanipulation imagining Hermione wearing Draco’s quidditch jersey in chapter 7 of Bring Him To His Knees by Musyc @willhavetheirtrinkets

I’m sorry I’m such a sticky fan.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

98 notes • Posted 2021-02-14 20:41:23 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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targentis · 3 years

Text

first impressions: tumblr recommendations

Cells at Work

recommended by @missrainbowsheep (and @professor-glasses, technically)! now, before i watch this episode, i must disclose that i have Personal Beef with this anime. mainly, when i was really young and first learned what blood cells were, i 100% made my own version of this. and as far as i know, that was BEFORE Cells at Work came out. which means that i think they stole my idea. and thus, since everyone LOVES this show, they owe me hefty royalties. but perhaps i will come around after giving it a try. without further ado, i give you...what i think of episode 1. ok. ok. i forgive them now. this show is very cute and silly. and i would be lying if i didn't love the little educational popups that appear. if i watched this back when i was attending that biomedical magnet school, i might have cried less over my biology exams. i was originally not very impressed by the art style, but the rest of it is charming enough that i forgive the animation. this first episode has a VERY good plot. excellent introduction of the premise, excellent way for the main characters to meet and work together for the first time, all around the kind of thoughtful and soulful execution i adore and find so little of in most anime. also, the humor is great. it's very...cute. this whole anime is just. Cute. and i'm LEARNING!!! will i continue watching? YES!! the writing is fantastic and i care about these little cells so much. it is exactly as dramatic and fun as my 7-year-old attempt to personify immune system processes. plus, it doesn't look like it's too long of a series, so i can see myself watching this to the end. i see why everyone loves this one DFKJNFG

Bungou Stray Dogs

ok. i've been meaning to watch this anime for ages, because the art style is my idea of the Perfect Anime Style (well, maybe not anymore now that i've seen Little Witch Academia, but...i still like it). when @professor-glasses got into it, i thought i'd get into it sooner, but uhhhh...i got hung up about how much it reminds me of H/etalia but with literary figures instead of countries. anyway, whatever. they recommended it to me, so now i HAVE to watch the first episode. at least. so maybe i WILL like it as much as i originally thought i would. my "first impressions" are gonna be weird, because like...my friends watch this show and i've gained knowledge about it through dashboard osmosis. like, i've already drawn akutagawa, i've got one foot in the fandom already. somehow i have the feeling that this anime is gonna trigger me. Dazai is beloved and all, but his character worries me FKJNDFJKGN (that's probably another reason why i haven't watched this sooner. trying to make sure my mental health isn't in a ditch, on fire, while one of the main characters is a "suicidal maniac") i will say this, though. the premise is very cool, the animation is exactly as good as i've always thought it was, and the music rules. the fact that their abilities are named after the author's works? delicious. i feel a little less weird about their namesakes...a little? like, they're not representing the authors they're named after, necessarily, but their characters reflect their opus...idk. still rubs me a little the wrong way, but not enough that it actively prevents me from watching. what actively prevents me from watching is um...the way Dazai is. and Nakajima's little flashbacks. though i'm not expecting the latter to appear much later in the series (at least not as much as in the first episode), so as far as i'm concerned it's only the former that i have to worry about moving forward (of the things that have appeared so far -- according to some meta i've read on tumblr, there is probably more that i have to worry about with regards to certain sensitive topics). will i continue watching? not until i'm in therapy. but yes, once i feel stable, i'll probably return to this anime. i smell a delicious ensemble cast.

#tief talks #there this is what my dreamwidth posts look like #thank you for the recommendations!!!#extremely stoked to watch cells at work honestly #and. if someone could give me a complete list of content warnings for bsd that would be amazing id like to know what im getting into because #im not sure and presently i am quite scared KDFGNJKDNGF

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kakairu-rocks · 3 years

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We are excited to introduce our next shining star for the Creator Spotlight... @t-m-o! This is a member's only activity where we reach out to one of the talented people in our community each month to find out all about them and their kakairu creations, and then show them off to the world!

We hope you enjoy learning about Tmo & her creations as much as we did. Please give her some love ❤️

Pronouns: No preference (She/ Her, He/ Him, They/ Them)

Type of Creator (artist, writer, both, etc.): Writer

Where to find them:

Twitter

Tumblr

AO3

Read the exciting interview below the cut, or on the forum!

If you would like a chance to be in the spotlight too, the only thing you have to do is be a member of the kakairu rocks forum, and be a creator; and we will contact you, ourselves!

1. How long have you been creating KakaIru fanworks?

According to FF.net, my first fic I posted was back in October of 2011. I’d been writing it for months and was so nervous to post but it was so worth it and if there’s anyone out there who needs that sign to post what you’ve been working on, this is it!

2. What are you working on right now?

I’ve got a lot of fics in the works like my Bing Bang fic, my Shrek-inspired series and the Game of Thorns was a series I started a few years ago will be getting a sequel in the next few months so that should be fun! In non-KakaIru things, I’ve got a Kakashi-centric fic that’s supposed to be a calming, chill kind of fic that focuses more on friendship and introspection. The KakaIru Mini Bang is also happening soon too so I’m working on some sweet slice of life!

3. What is your favourite trope to create for?

If you’ve ever read my stuff, you’d know AUs of all kinds are definitely my favourite since it gives the writer so much room to play with when it comes to storytelling. Other than AUs though, I adore fluff and slow burns because I’ve got a nasty sweet tooth.

4. Which of your creations is your favourite, and why?

So, many of my stories are about love and adventure; universally easy concepts to read about. Back in 2017, the news broke that the lead singer of one of my favourite bands had ended his life after struggling with depression and substance abuse, one of those things I know very well myself. So, when the Kakairu Fest Summer Round and The Time-Traveler’s Wife prompt came up, it gave me a space to deal with those emotions so I’d have to say One More Light is my favourite even though I know it’s not conventionally likeable.

5. Do you have any WIPs you’re excited about?

KakaIru Month is happening so I’m taking the same route as Valentine’s Week and writing up some drabbles which are always fun to write because it’s like a puzzle to try and figure out how to get so many ideas into such little space. And, of course, my Big Bang fic!

6. Do you have any original characters? If so, tell us about them!

None that I’ve used for stories. Mainly, I make OCs for dnd campaigns and original stuff but maybe I’ll pepper in an OC or two in the future!

7. What was your hardest piece to create, and why?

Fifty Shades of Grey. A hundred percent. This was such a rough story not because of the plot but because of the nuance. My whole goal was to do the complete opposite of its namesake which meant learning about NSFW things I wasn’t familiar with and really trying to paint a picture of a healthy adult relationship with consent and emotional awareness. It still may be quite safe to some readers but that might also stem from my own boundaries, something I think all creators should feel comfortable with and maybe even a bit curious about.

8. Do you have any favourite scenes from something you’ve created?

Typically, I don’t look back at my writing because of embarrassment but this year I’ve taken a hard look at my work. I actually have two scenes I can’t get out of my head as my favourite. One is at the beginning of the last chapter of A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…. where Kakashi and Iruka are just pining over each other in a flashback. The second is Sunday Morning which is just a whole scene of a fluffy slice of life.

9. Where does your inspiration come from?

Usually, movies and music, as you can probably tell from all the non-canon stories I’ve got 😂 I’ll usually binge-listen to music when I’m trying to get into the writing mood, mainly playlists that have the vibes I’m looking to write for (I highly suggest jazz btw).

10. Which of your creations is the most meaningful to you, and why?

Not How I Imagined Starting Senior Year - This one means a lot to me in the grand scheme of my writing. Rather than being meaningful in terms of the plot though, this story changed how I wrote. It was a fic that I didn’t rush out and took a lot of care into writing. Before then, I’d write a chapter without planning ahead and let it run wherever it wanted to as long as it got to the ending I had in mind. While that’s useful for some stories, it’s also useful for others to know at least vaguely what you want to do in a chapter to be able to focus on foreshadowing and flow especially for longer stories where those elements make for a better read and may have readers coming back.

Since writing it, I’m so much more confident no matter how I choose to write something. You can always make something and save it for later. Sure, you may have taken the wrong route and accidentally got lost. Take out what doesn’t work and start over. Even if you don’t use it, you still created something. And what a happy accident it is.

#creator spotlight #kakairu.rocks #creator interview #talented creator #kakairu fanfic #kakairu #kkir #kakashi x iruka #hatake kakashi #umino iruka

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apparitionism · 5 years

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Mercury 11

This is basically just one scene. It was going to be more (and this scene was going to be better), but I’m being fussy about what follows it, so I figured some content, sooner, was better than more later. (Some previous content: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, and part 10.) I was additionally having a little hiccup of trouble figuring out exactly how to start this part... but “in the middle of things” is usually a good rule, particularly when the “things” in question are important, so “in medias pie” it is!

(P.S. to anon who asked about a masterpost: That’s too much housekeeping for me. But you’ll find I’m diligent with tags, plus my tumblr has search and an archive, so you shouldn’t have to scroll too much. Also, much of my stuff can indeed be found on AO3, where I move it after posting on Tumblr, usually with copy and/or content edits, depending on what seems warranted. Thanks for asking!)

Mercury 11

“But this pie,” Myka said with her mouth full.

“Has rendered you ill-mannered and inarticulate,” Helena said. “Interesting.”

“And here I thought demolishing cars was gonna be the entertainment,” Pete added.

They all had to work hard to be heard over the soundtrack provided by the derby: the roar of engines, the sharp bang and crunch of metal colliding with metal at speed, the shouts of extremely invested spectators. Myka had been paying some attention to it before she embarked on this trip to pastry-girded key-lime paradise. She hadn’t had any idea that bliss was in fact a combination of citrus and... whatever other things it was combined with, here in this very-nearly-literal slice-of-heaven pie, but Pete was right: this had been a really educational trip.

Ida said, “This is closer to what I’d call a show.”

“Here in Wisconsin?” Pete asked.

“Anywhere. Is she always like this about pie?”

“I’ve only known her five years,” Pete said, “but I think it’s safe to go with ‘never in her life has she been like this about pie.’ Or maybe anything.”

“Well,” Helena began.

“Don’t say it,” Pete advised.

Ida temporized, “She doesn’t need to. Everyone understands innuendo. And subtext.”

Myka didn’t care, not even a little—not about the kind of show she was putting on, not about how innuendo-y and subtext-y Helena was getting with regard to what Myka might find heavenly in other contexts—as long as nobody took this miracle of a pie away.

She certainly hadn’t expected this to be the outcome when she, Helena, and Pete had taken the lengthy walk—thankfully, in their normal configuration, with Myka reclaiming her “run interference” slot between Helena and Pete—to the site of the demolition derby, some distance away from the fairgrounds proper, accompanied by what had seemed like an additional fair’s worth of people. Were these things really so popular? Maybe Pete was right, maybe “the IRS” should sponsor one in Univille. For purposes of general sociability, because for all Myka didn’t like the place, she did still care what its denizens thought of her, and if—“Bet these’re cow pastures in real life,” Pete had said, interrupting her speculation. That prompted Myka to start taking careful note of where she was placing her feet during that long walk along not a path as such, but rather through grass that had been marked at irregular intervals with spray-painted arrows.

“You’re so prissy,” Pete said.

Myka shrugged that off. “Maybe. But cows. Or rabbits. Nobody with sense in their head want to walk in anything they leave behind.”

Helena said, to Pete, “Are you as unnerved by bovines as you are by lagomorphs?”

As a dig, it seemed mild, even polite, but Pete reacted as if she’d reached across Myka and slapped him. “Leave me alone! I’m not scared of anything unless it’s freakishly huge!”

They were passing the cars’ inspection area: the same spray paint had been applied to a piece of plywood, leaning against a fence enclosing those cars, to spell “INSP AREA.” It could have meant “inspiration area,” Myka supposed, but people with clipboards had seemed to be inspecting rather than inspiring, or being inspired... she tried to think of another word that began with “insp.” Nothing came to her.

“Size-wise,” she told Pete, “the bumpers on that Sable over there must be giving you nightmares already.”

Pete looked where she’d indicated. He did a cartoon double-take. “Are those even legal? I think I just found my horse.”

“I like the Pinto next to it,” Myka said.

He scoffed, “Nobody likes a Pinto.”

“The ponies enjoyed a brief vogue when I was a girl,” Helena mused, as if to herself. “Would that the car were painted like those...it’s a shame that a pinto—and, in fact, a sable—shouldn’t resemble their namesake animals in some way.”

Myka said, “I guess we can call my Pinto a Palomino, then. The color’s why I like it.”

“That’s not a good reason,” Pete said. “Not for a demo derby.”

“It’s a great reason. Look.” Myka pointed toward a corral ringed with bleachers. “There’s a lot of mud over there, where I assume they’ll do the demolishing, right?”

Pete nodded. “Mud slows ’em down. Safer, plus it’s a better show. Upset it’s gonna be such a messy show, Miss Prissy?”

“My point is, the Pinto’s yellow, so I’ll be able to keep track of it through the muck, while it does its demo-ing. Or gets demo-ed. As I watch it happen, because I’ve got a horse—almost literally—too. Do you want me interested or not?”

He glanced at the Pinto, then looked back at Myka. “Not sure,” he said, like he thought she was trying to trick him.

“You wanted us here so bad you won it,” she reminded him.

“Mostly wanted to make you suffer.”

“Then I think your win is more of a ‘win,’ because I refuse to suffer,” Myka told him. “Not about this.”

She was holding Helena’s hand. She had been, for the entire walk, “because I didn’t get to on the Ferris wheel,” she’d said when she first reached for the contact, her voiced reason in response to Helena’s questioning did-you-not-recently-express-objection-to-public-displays eyebrow, and it was true as far as it went. But what had compelled Myka to make the small display, really, was that she’d needed something, and this was simple. Uncomplicated. Something to bank against whatever was going to happen later, in the hotel room. Which she was, she had to admit to herself, doing some pre-suffering about. Because she didn’t know.

Helena declared, as if to assure Myka that she too felt both the simplicity and the need for it, “I’m not suffering either. Not about this.”

She gripped Myka’s hand tighter. It did feel good. Myka echoed the pressure, and one corner of Helena’s mouth curved up.

Pete rolled his eyes. “You two are gonna wish so hard that Myka won that duck bet.”

“It was a bet that concerned ducks?” Helena asked.

Myka grimaced. “I’ll tell you later.”

“I wonder,” Helena said, jauntily, “whether the poultry competition might include a Rouen or two.”

“I’m gonna regret this, but: okay. That’s a...?” Pete prompted.

“Giant mallard,” Helena said, with even greater cheer. Pete groaned, and Myka found herself wanting to kiss Helena: for being clever, but also as yet another instance of that bankable, uncomplicated touch. She almost said that out loud—“I want to kiss you,” simple, like that—but she understood that if she did, she’d have to deal with Pete about it. Because of ducks.

“Well, I don’t see any of your probably-made-up freak-ducks around,” Pete said. He added a taunt of, “I do see the two of you practically sittin’ in a tree, though.”

“Mature,” Myka said.

“Water off a Rouen’s back!” Helena announced.

Her insouciance made Myka again want contact, like a kiss, but more than that—but still simple. Basic. The most basic.

Pete must have seen and read that thought as it crossed Myka’s mind, crossed her face, for he said, “Jesus, Mykes, just jump her and get it over with. Get yourselves behind the bleachers and take care of business.”

Nobody had taken care of any behind-the-bleachers business, of course, but Myka had kept on holding Helena’s hand, even as they sat on the uncomfortable aluminum of those bleachers and listened to engines rev in preparation for entering the corral. Pete had taken it upon himself to explain the derby’s rules to Helena: “...and they all go in and they have to hit another car every minute, or maybe it’s every two, but anyway if your engine bonks out you get a little while to try to restart it but if you can’t you’re out, and they break that piece of wood by your window to show that you...” Myka listened with one ear, but mostly she concentrated on not finding a reason to loosen her clasp. The interlacing of their fingers had moved from “this feels good” to Helena’s barely fleshed bones pressing too solid against Myka’s, giving rise to an uncomfortable ache... but that ache was no reason to let go; rather, it was a reminder not to. Bodies, real ones, felt pain. So Myka sat on aluminum, listening to engines rev, not letting go. Banking it.

She’d been banking it, still, when Ida arrived, asking, “How did we ever live without the ability to text?” (Pete had said, as they sat down, that he would text Ida to join them, “because maybe she’s done with judgy-judge-judge and can bring us some leftovers.”) She’d looked at Myka and Helena—specifically, looked at their joined hands. “Well,” she said. “Another distraction?”

“Maybe,” Myka acknowledged. From something freakishly huge...

“How are you?” Ida asked Helena. “Did your summit go well?”

Helena smiled at the word. “As well as such a thing could. I suppose one might call the outcome détente,” she said. Myka, too, had smiled a little at “summit,” but as for “détente”... well, there was a lot to be said for that in the relations between several of her nearest and dearest. But she wasn’t sure how she felt about the idea of any relaxing of tensions between Helena and Emily Lake’s girlfriend. “It’s been a very strange two days,” Helena went on to say.

“That isn’t news to me,” Ida said, which prompted in Myka another Amen, sister. Ida added, “But I’ve got something that will make everything better.”

“Fruit spreads?” Pete asked, with great hope. He pointed at the small hamper she held. “That looks like something.”

Ida nodded. “Something. But better than fruit spreads.” From the hamper, she produced—with a “ta-da!”—the key lime pie. Pete gave a gasp that Myka judged both overdramatic and unwarranted; it was just a pie, albeit one that nearly matched her Pinto for color; if she’d thrown it at the car, no one would have noticed the spatter, not that she was in the habit of throwing pies at cars. This one hadn’t been thrown at anything, but it did look a little the worse for having traveled in close quarters: not show quality anymore. Given the crumbled edges of its crust and slightly dented surface, it might have been any pie at all. Ida then handed out plastic forks and paper plates, and if anyone near them in the stands around the fenced patch of mud recognized the picnic as larcenous, they kept it to themselves.

Pete took his fork up with his usual enthusiasm, dug in, took a bite, then closed his eyes. “This pie is freaking awesome. In an ‘I could literally die now’ way.”

“I told you, you literally can’t beat it,” Ida said.

While Myka had respected that particular “literally” when Ida said it yesterday, she wasn’t sure she believed it today in any kind of existential sense. Hence her astonishment when she found her own first bite to be... was “rapturous” outsize, as a word or an idea, to apply to the experience of eating pie? It didn’t matter what word she used, though; she wielded her fork with even more gusto than Pete, and she felt a niggling worry that this was, for her, unseemly, yet the combination of the unprecedented pie and the certainty that it was nutritious was irresistible. The mouthfeel alone was enough to knock her out—unctuous, yet with a sharp slash of lime-presence tanging on the tongue... she’d noticed Helena ignoring her own serving so as to watch Myka. “What?” Myka had asked. “It’s good for me.”

“I am prepared to offer to any and all attending deities,” Helena had said, amusement animating her face, “my prayer that your recently espoused belief does not wear off.”

“I’m prepared to livestream it so everybody on the planet can testify later that it happened,” Pete had enthused. “Also so Claud’s head explodes when she sees it.”

And so it was that the only words Myka had managed to come up with in her own defense, “But this pie,” had caused everyone to express even more opinions in the matter.

Fortunately, however, they let her keep eating. “I feel like I’m somebody else, how much I’m enjoying this,” she now said, not bothering to pause before scooping up another forkful.

“Interesting,” Helena said again, and her tone told Myka that something was waiting to be interrogated there... but she was extremely unwilling to turn her attention away from the pie.

Meanwhile, the cars destroyed each other. None of it mattered to pie-intoxicated Myka, except the Pinto, a little, because she could in fact keep track of it in the muck. It was surprisingly agile, “her” Pinto. Or Palomino. And if the derby had engaged only her eyes, that would have been fine, but exhaust and mud and the crowd’s sweaty enthusiasm hung heavy in the air, congesting her nose and clogging her lungs; she resented that it interfered with her experience of the pie. Its rich citrus viscosity was similarly condensed, on her tongue, but far more pleasurable... but wait, she thought, thickness... a dictionary-page memory... “fr. L in- + spissus slow, dense”: “Inspissate!” she exclaimed.

Pete and Ida both said “What?” and Myka looked up from her plate, ready to explain about “insp” and areas—but her neon pony caught her eye at just the right, or wrong, instant for her to witness its driver’s failure to recognize a danger for what it was: it received in that moment a dramatic T-boning from a seemingly unthreatening even-more-compact car. She yelped and upended her plate, which landed face down on the aluminum at her feet. It had held one last bit of inspissated key lime and... whatever else it was combined with, a last bit that she’d told herself she wanted to savor, but that she’d in all honesty been about to shovel into her mouth with abandon. She made a decision that was really no decision: she lifted the plate, scraped the spattered filling up with her fork, and willed herself not to think about dirt.

“Not one word,” she said, her mouth again full, to Pete and Helena. “Not one word out of either of you.”

Neither said anything. Myka chose to ignore their thunderstruck expressions, because she still had that precious morsel of pie in her mouth.

“Good choices,” Myka told them once she’d swallowed. She licked her fork. She took note of Helena’s expression as it shifted from shock to avid appreciation of her licking her fork.

TBC

Again, minimal tags, but here, an essay might mention things like strongly held beliefs, and how our strongly held beliefs shape our behavior, and why we so strongly hold the beliefs that shape our behavior, and that it is indeed interesting when a shift in belief (about anything: from sugar’s nutritional value to who we actually are) leads us to engage in behaviors that make us strangers to ourselves—regardless of whether we know of that estrangement at the time it’s occurring. When you think about it, in terms of selfhood, each of us might be said to be a cult with exactly one member. (I realize that doesn’t entirely hold up, but I’ve spent a little while thinking about it.)

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Mercury #part 11

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let-it-raines · 5 years

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Second in Command (Epilogue - Part 5)

Summary: Life as the "spare to the heir" isn't all that it's cracked up to be when you're the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don't know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature

A/N: I’m splitting this chapter up into two parts if only because I didn’t want it to be crazy long, and I didn’t want you guys to have to wait weeks when I had the first half finished! But I hope you like this new addition to the sequel that’s not a sequel but totally a sequel :)

Also, I just ask that everyone be kind to each other. Whether that be online (which is still real people with real feelings) or in real life. Life is so much better that way, and why wouldn’t we want to make the world a better place?

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr Chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14| 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Epilogue Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @a-faekindagirl@mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @kristi555 @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @alys07 @andiirivera

“Wait,” Graham laughs, his lips twitching up into a smile while Ruby turns as red as her namesake and the highlights she has in her hair, “you guys met how?”

“Emma, please don’t tell him this story,” Ruby begs, clasping her hands together and resting her forehead against her knuckles.

“Oh no, Rubes,” she chuckles before taking a sip of her water and adjusting herself in the restaurant booth, “you have embarrassed me in front of Killian for years. Actual years. Graham needs to hear this. It’s, like, basic boyfriend initiation.”

“We’ve been dating for almost a year. He doesn’t need to be initiated. Granny already gave him a hell of a time.”

Graham looks absolutely besotted with Ruby, like this is the best conversation he’s ever been a part of, and Emma can’t help her amusement at his laughter and Ruby’s displeasure. “Please tell me, lass. It’s got to be better than Killian and I meeting in school.”

“Oh it is,” she promises before setting her glass on the table and clasping her hands over her stomach. “So, I’m eighteen and have just moved here from Maine. I kind of hate the world at this point in time. And because I’m an angsty teenager, I take these weird long walks into different parts of the city to learn about my new home. And on one of these walks, I run into your lovely girlfriend.”

“Emma, I beg of you, stop.”

“And I run across this girl,” she continues, completely ignoring Ruby, “walking down the street as confidently as anyone I’ve ever seen can walk down a cobblestone street in heels. She’s very obviously flirting with this guy who is selling some sort of homemade necklace, and as she’s propping her boobs up, her heel gets stuck in the ground and she busts it, falling onto her ass right then and there.”

Graham looks almost perplexed, like he’s not quite sure why this is an epic story, but then Ruby sighs, cupping her cheeks in her hands. “Tell him the rest, Ems. And be thankful that you’re five months pregnant so I can’t kick your ass.”

Well, at least the having to pee all the time is worth one thing.

“And when she gets up, the back of her jeans are absolutely ripped apart. That’s why we met, actually. She’s exposed to the world and to this guy she obviously likes, so girl code being girl code, I jog over there and offer her my sweatshirt to tie around her waist.”

“And we’ve been best friends ever since,” Ruby rushes out, the words almost sounding like they are one with the way she doesn’t take a breath in between them. “So let’s talk about something else. You experiencing any farts, preggo?”

“Oh my God,” Emma snickers, placing her head in her hands and shaking her head back and forth. “Seriously? That’s how you’re going to get payback?”

“That was a pretty low blow, darling,” Graham laughs, reaching over and rubbing his hand over Ruby’s back. “I mean, I think the story of how you two met is endearing. And it’s not like I’ve never seen your ass.”

Emma snorts while Ruby’s face continues to grow red. Ruby is never this embarrassed, and as bad as it is, Emma is living for it. It’s like payback for everything Ruby has ever put her through, and she’s really starting to like Graham. He’s always been nice when she met him through Killian, but he really comes out of his shell when he’s with Ruby, which is good. She needs someone who can match her wit.

Or come close. No one can truly match Ruby.

“I hate both of you. Seriously. I’m going to find a new best friend and a new boyfriend.”

“Ah no, Rubes,” Emma laughs as movement happens in her peripheral vision, Killian coming into focus as he steps into the restaurant with Thomas behind him. “You can’t replace me and Graham. We are irreplaceable. The Beyoncé song is not about us.”

“Hey,” Killian greets her, leaning and down and kissing her forehead before turning and clapping Graham on the back and kissing Ruby’s cheek. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was like hell from dad’s.” He slides into the seat next to her, his thigh hitting hers while his hand grabs onto her jean-covered knee. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” Ruby blurts out while Emma and Graham break out into laughter.

“Ah, so something to embarrass you then. Sounds like payback from when I was dragged into a restaurant to meet you.”

“Hey, I know things about you that very few other people do, mister. I’d watch yourself and that curved dick that you may or may not have. And it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. Just saying.”

God, she’s so glad she has Ruby in her life no matter how ridiculous and outgoing she is. Actually, she’s damn glad she has her because of all of those things.

She’s totally lying about the curved dick thing, though. Just for the record.

They finally order food, which she thought was never going to happen with Killian being nearly an hour late. She’d already eaten half of a bread basket before he got there. But the four of them finally settle into a rhythm, mortifying stories left behind for lighter conversation. It’s not often that she and Killian get to go out and do something normal like having lunch with their friends, so she really appreciates this. She appreciates it more when her pasta salad arrives and Ruby moves on from her earlier embarrassment and is back to her normal teasing self.

When the lunch is over, everyone leaves, saying their goodbyes before loading up into separate cars and avoiding the few people that are gathered outside of the restaurant. It irks her to no end that people follow she and Killian around trying to take pictures. Really, what could be so interesting about them walking out of a restaurant? They’re literally just walking to the car with the possibility of food crumbs on their shirts.

She and Killian are meeting her parents at their new house that they finally closed on. She thought that they would never find a new place after so many years of debating it, but they found a small house a few miles outside of London. She already knows they’re going to hate the commute between home and work, but if all else fails, they will still have the apartment upstairs to crash in when needed unless they decide to rent out the place to Will so he can take up more responsibility.

“You take a left up here,” she tells Killian when he’s looking down at his phone for directions since he hates looking the navigation up on the screen in the car for some unknown reason that she doesn’t think she’ll ever understand. “It’s near the back of the neighborhood.”

Killian nods before taking the left and turning onto her parents’ street, their car sitting in the driveway with a moving van out front. She loves this house. It reminds her of the ones that they lived in back at home, a two-story brick home with a mint green front door and fenced in back yard. Of course, they’re not minutes away from the ocean, and there’s no eclectic neighbor who has a million lawn ornaments in the front yard.

Maybe they’re eclectic in other ways or the lawn ornaments will come out soon.

“This is nice,” Killian compliments as he turns off the car, getting out while she does the same. “Do I need to carry in anything from the truck?”

“Yeah, we can get a few boxes.”

Killian raises his eyebrows and looks down at her. “Do you just forget that you’re pregnant?”

“When I don’t have to pee, yes.” She walks past him and lifts the door to the truck, stepping inside and going through her parents’ boxes until she finds one marked for throw pillows and grabs onto it. “There’s a box of their books that you should get so they don’t have to carry them in, okay?”

“Got it, love. Should we ask Thomas to help?”

“Nah, let him sit in the car and eat his sandwich in peace until he decides we’re in the all clear. You know that’s what he’s doing.”

She and Killian transport a few boxes to the front door, leaving them by the doorstep so that they’ll be easier to get inside, before she rings the doorbell and waits for her parents. Her dad opens the door with a smile before hugging her, cupping the back of her head and ushering her inside.

“Wait, dad, we have boxes.” She turns around and grabs one, lifting it and carrying it inside while she hears Killian close the truck door. “Just so we’re not totally useless coming to visit while you guys are moving in. Where’s mom?”

“She is on the phone with Allison. I’ve got no idea what they’re talking about, but your mom gets infinitely more British when talking to her. Just saying.”

“Well, you get infinitely more American when we go home to visit your family.”

“Hush,” David laughs, nudging her to go inside while he follows her in. “You can put that in the living room, okay? And I’ll go get the rest of the stuff. Have you guys eaten lunch yet?”

“Before we got here, yeah.”

She puts the box down in the living room, their old couch looking almost out of place in the new room, but she likes it. She likes that they’re doing this and making themselves finally be at a home of their own after uprooting their lives to move to London. She hears her mom’s voice somewhere else in the house, and after running her hand along the built-in bookcase, she listens out for her mother until she finds her in the dining room standing on the table messing around with the light fixtures all while her phone is on speaker strapped under her bra.

“Yeah?” Mary Margaret questions, unscrewing a light bulb.

“Absolutely,” Allison promises through the speaker. “We’ll have to bring Alex and Lizzie over. They’re a surefire way to break in a new home. I swear to you, Mary Margaret, they can get scuff marks on the wall without us even seeing them near it. It’s insane.”

“Hey, Mom,” Emma interrupts before standing in the archway long enough for her to be officially eavesdropping. “Hi, Allison.”

“Oh hello dear,” the both say at the same time, which is about weird as it gets. Her mother and mother-in-law should not be that in sync. “Allison, I’m going to let you go. Emma and Killian are here.”

Mary Margaret hangs up the phone before squatting down and sitting on the table, her small legs dangling off the table until she’s standing on the floor and walking over to her, hugging her waist in greeting. “Hi, sweetie. I didn’t expect you guys here so soon.”

“We’re technically late. Why the hell are you standing on a table adjusting lights that are brand new?”

“Because I always have to have my hands busy. How are you today?”

“Good,” she promises, instinctively cupping her stomach. She’s not very large for someone who’s almost six months pregnant, but it’s a weight she’s not used to carrying. She doesn’t know how people do this when they’re further along, but she guesses she’ll find out. “Oh,” she gasps, standing perfectly still to see if the movement she just felt will happen again. It was a small movement, like a small flickering sensation, and she wants to feel it again. She hasn’t felt the baby at all, and Dr. Hudson tells her that’s normal because it’s her first pregnancy, but she wants to feel him to know that everything is okay. It feels like a slight fluttering in her stomach, almost like a fish is flopping around in there. Maybe Alex was onto something when he suggested they name the baby fish. Not that she’s going to do that.

“What?” Mary Margaret questions, her eyes full of concern. “Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she promises, running her hand up and down her stomach again, trying to coax movement out of him. “I just felt him move for the first time, and I’ve been waiting for that forever. I was starting to get really freaked out.”

Her mom looks glassy eyed, always more emotional than her about literally everything, so she’s not surprised she’s crying while Emma isn’t. “You’re having a boy?”

Oh shit. She just messed up, didn’t she? That lasted for a whole of three weeks, and she really thought Killian would be the one to mess it up too. He nearly slips up every time they’re around other people. They probably shouldn’t have found out, but she doesn’t think she could take the anticipation of waiting. There’s already enough to deal with when it comes to this.

“No,” she lies, looking up at the ceiling until she realizes that’s a dead giveaway. Her mom might be oblivious to a lot of things, but she knows when Emma’s lying. When she looks back at her mom, she’s got one eyebrow raised while her lips tick up into a smirk, the cat very obviously out of the bag…which is a ridiculous phrase when she really thinks about it. Why was the cat in a bag to begin with? She kind of feels like that’s inhumane. “Okay, so it’s a boy, but you can’t tell anyone, mom. Dad can know, but that’s it. No one at the pub. None of your friends. Literally no one, do you understand?”

“Of course,” Mary Margaret nods her head before hugging Emma again, squeezing a bit too tight. “I’m just so excited. I think you may be the first person on my side of the family to have a boy. We’ve all been girls. Do you have a name yet?”

“No, we haven’t talked about it yet. But enough about me. Show me the house. It already looks so different than when I saw it online.”

Her mom shows are around the house, giving a much too long-winded tour of every room like they’re walking through a museum, but this is a big deal to her parents so she listens intently. Her dad and Killian must have decided to bring the rest of the boxes inside because she doesn’t see them and only hears them coming in and out of the house with muffled curses and loud thuds. They’re both going to throw out their backs, and she absolutely can’t wait for Killian to complain about it for the next few days.

After she’s seen everything inside, her mom takes her outside. They’ve already got the patio furniture from the pub’s roof set up out back, and it almost looks the same…just with grass instead of concrete.

“This is nice. Your fence is kind of short, though.”

“Well criticize it why don’t you, sweetie?”

She chuckles before walking over the wooden fence and standing next to it, the wood not even coming up to her head. “It’s too short. I’m not saying you guys need to do it now, but when he’s older, you’re going to need more of a privacy fence if the baby is going to stay here sometimes. Maybe some trees too. I can talk to Killian about us paying for it since it’s our fault you’ll have to get the new fence when this one is fine.”

“It’s not your fault.” Her mom squeezes her shoulder before rubbing up and down her back, her nails tracing in patterns like she used to do when Emma was a kid. “I didn’t even think about that.”

Emma shrugs, not really sure what to say. “I am an expert in privacy now. I could probably write a book about it.”

They head back inside to find her dad and Killian slumped down on the couch with sweaty foreheads and an entire room full of boxes stacked up by the front window. They look ridiculous, like they’ve just run a marathon or something, and when she suggests that Killian go help put together the crib when they get home later, she thinks he might start whining at new levels.

Men are impossible sometimes no matter how much you love them.

They stay at her parents’ house until after dinner, stopping their unpacking to eat, but as much as she doesn’t like admitting it, she doesn’t have as much energy as she used to, so they leave to go home. As much as she loves spending time with Ruby and her parents, it’s been a day full of it, and she wants to settle into bed and not talk to anyone or wear pants that have a button.

So that’s exactly what she does when they get home, letting Indy in from the garden and feeding her before heading upstairs and getting ready for bed before eight even if all she’s really going to do is watch TV and scroll through Pinterest looking at nursery ideas. It’s currently the only thing that doesn’t freak her out about giving birth (the more she knows, the less she wants to know), so it’s kind of soothing. Plus, people do absolutely ridiculous things for rooms that the baby doesn’t even really spend time in for the first few months, and it’s the tiniest bit entertaining.

Maybe she’s a bit sadistic.

Maybe she’s also kind of excited to finish building the nursery.

Killian walks into their room with Indy at his heels an hour after she settled down and after changing into his sweatpants and stripping off his shirt, he settles down next to her, crossing his legs at the ankles and scrolling through his phone as well. She feels the baby move again, and it’s then that she remembers that she never told Killian. It was such a big moment, and she completely forgot.

“Hey, so I have two things to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“First, I accidentally told mom we’re having a boy.”

“Oh thank God. I told Liam last week, and I’ve been waiting for you to mess up too.”

“Hey,” she laughs, reaching over and slapping his shoulder, “you messed up before me. There was no guarantee I was going to screw up.”

“Eh, debatable.” Killian leans over and brushes a kiss against the corner of her lips while Indy begins rearranging her blanket on the floor, dragging it across the floor until she finds an acceptable place. “What was your second thing, love?”

“I felt the baby move for the first time today.”

His eyes blow wide, the light blue shade that she loves the most showing up, and his lips stretch into a smile that reaches his ears and makes his eyes crinkle. She loves that too. “You did?” he questions, shuffling over to her and propping himself up on his knees so that his sweatpants tug down and expose his hip bone. That’s not distracting at all. “Darling, that’s wonderful. When was this?”

“At the exact same time I told mom that I’m having a boy.”

“Ah,” he sighs, reaching down and lifting her shirt to expose her skin to the cool air conditioning before he places his warm hand over it. “Is he moving now?”

“A little bit, but if I just felt him, and I don’t think you’re going to yet.”

“Pity. Hey, my little love,” he speaks to her stomach, leaning down and giving her perfect access to run her hands through his hair. She loves his new haircut, but she kind of misses the flippy ends that she could easily run her hands through. “You want to let me feel you? You’re letting mummy have all of the fun, and that’s just not okay when we’re supposed to be best buds.”

Oh God, she’s going to cry. She does not want to cry right now, hating the way her eyes get puffy and her throat feels like it’s constricting. These hormones are not her. They are, but they’re not. She’s not ashamed of crying. She understands that it doesn’t make her weak or insecure. It simply makes her human. But sometimes she does feel a little ridiculous.

But as she watches Killian very animatedly have a conversation with her stomach, she reminds herself that it’s okay to be ridiculous. Following standards have their time and their place, but she’s never been one to always do what’s expected of her. So if she wants to cry, she can damn well cry.

“Love?”

“Huh? Yeah?” She looks to see Killian smiling up at her, his lips thinned to into a sympathetic smile.

“Did you not hear me?”

“Uhhh…no. No I didn’t.”

“I asked what it feels like when he moves.”

“Oh,” she chuckles, leaning back and scooting down in bed until she can find a comfortable position, a pillow stuck under her ass finally making it cozy, “the only way I can describe it is like a fish moving around in there. It’s not super hard, just, like, a light fluttering. Abigail told me that it’ll feel like I’m being punched later on.”

“Sounds pleasant.”

“Yes, well, I always knew that the product of your sperm would be evil.”

“Ha ha,” Killian deadpans, pinching her thigh underneath the covers until she smacks it away. “You keep talking like that, and I really will be his best buddy.”

She hums before grabbing his hand and pulling him closer, his eyes fluttering closed before she leans in and glides her lips over his. Her hands stay wrapped around his wrists, thumbs tracing over his knuckles, while his thread into her hair. She sighs into it, her breath intermingling with his, and for a few minutes she forgets everything but the feel of Killian’s lips on hers and how after all of this time he still makes her feel like she’s twenty years old and has the beginnings of a new crush.

When she needs air, she pulls back only for Killian to bite at her top lip, tugging her back toward him with a low growl.

“I love you,” she breathes, her chest heaving while her heart begins to calm.

“Aye, and I you.” He quickly brushes his lips against hers again and rests his forehead against her, his warmth invading her. “You are consistently the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be upstaged.”

“That is a possibility. I had a great time with Graham today, and I have known him longer than you.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, moving away from him and scooting down in the bed until she’s turned on her side, her constant companion of a pillow moving with her and resting underneath her stomach.

Killian moves with her, settling down behind her and burying his face in her hair while his legs tangle with hers and his hand finds its way under her t-shirt, resting on her stomach but occasionally moving to run his fingers on the underside of her breasts. They talk occasionally, small comments and laughs, and she snuggles into him, pushing her ass back against him. She can feel his length pressing into her, how much he still wants her evident, but he doesn’t make any move for more. She’s exhausted, and she kind of has to pee, so she’s not sure she would even have it in her if she did. So she’s grateful for them to just rest, the day catching up to the both of them.

“I like you a lot better than I like Graham. For the record and all that.”

She snickers under her breath, grabbing onto his hand and resting it in between her breasts. “Oh good, I was worried about that. I thought Ruby and I were about to have a Grace and Frankie situation on our hands.”

“I know that you’re referencing something, but I’ve never seen that show so I don’t know what that means. But okay.”

“Never change, babe,” she sighs, patting his hand and squeezing. “Never change.”

“We need to talk names.”

“What?”

“For the tiny human that pushes down on my bladder five times a night.”

“A name?”

“Goddammit, Killian, yes, a name. He can’t go around nameless.”

“Well, I know that.”

“Then why do you seem so confused about the concept?”

“Because we were not talking about anything related to names two seconds ago.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been making a list. We can name him whatever, right?”

“I’ve never heard of a child with the name ‘Whatever’ but sure.Whatever you want, my love.”

“Shut up,” Emma giggles, slapping his chest from her spot next to him at the kitchen counter. “I’m being serious. We don’t have any restrictions on the names, right?”

“Nope,” Killian answers, taking a bite of his oatmeal while she becomes acutely aware of how much more freedom she and Killian have compared to Liam and Abigail in the small things, “another perk to being the spare to the heir. Dad doesn’t have any regulations. Though I’m sure we can’t name him Apple or something like that.”

“Okay,” she sighs, fumbling with her hands and twisting her wedding band on her finger before grabbing her phone off the counter and pulling up the notes on her phone where she’s been jotting down baby names every time she hears one or reads ones she likes. “So obviously the name might not be on this list. It’s kind of small, and I want you to have the ones you like too.”

Killian reaches over and rubs his hand up and down her back in soothing circles. “Show me, love. I’m sure they’re all bloody brilliant.”

She hands over her phone, biting down on her lip in nervous anticipation all while Killian’s gaze is trained on her phone screen, seemingly studying each and every letter on there.

“Jones?” he questions, looking over at her with a quirked eyebrow.

She shrugs, her cheeks flushing a bit in embarrassment. “It’s your mom’s maiden name. I also did mine and all of your middle names. I’m not huge on naming kids after other people, but I know that’s tradition with you family.”

Killian leans to the side and presses a lingering kiss to her temple while he continues to rub her back up and down. “Thank you, love. That’s so thoughtful of you, but I agree. Maybe we can do one for a middle name, though.” His eyes trail away from her and back to her phone. “I like Oliver, Andrew, and Brody. Knowing you, though, I bet you have a favorite.”

“I do.” She’s practically jumping up and down on her stool, the giddiness over Killian picking the name she likes as one of his three making her feel like it’s just right. Naming a human being feels like some kind of giant responsibility. She obviously knows raising one is too, but they’re not there yet. The name thing is enough. “I like Andrew. Andy for short. I think it…fits.”

Killian hums beside her, and she wonders what’s going through his head. He’s always thought things through more than her, used his logical thinking to reason through things instead of her rashly jumping into decisions, so she’s sure he’s thinking of every possible pro and con that goes with it.

“Andrew,” he mutters, seemingly testing the weight of the name on his tongue. “Andy. Killian, Emma, and Andrew. I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He dips his head and quickly slides his lips over hers. “It’s perfect. And now we can call you stomach something.”

“Correction. We can call what’s inside my stomach something. I don’t think we need to name my stomach.”

“Well why not?”

“Because that’s weird. We don’t name your stomach, Hugh Jackman.”

“Why the bloody hell would we name my stomach Hugh Jackman?”

“Because it’s hairy like wolverine.”

“Oi,” he chuckles, getting up from his stool and wrapping his arms around her neck, “you are a minx, and you’ve never complained about my chest hair before.”

She leans her head back and nips underneath his chin, kissing his stubble. “If only because it gives me something to hold onto.”

“Sweetheart, you are one of a kind. What do you want for breakfast? We’ve got to leave in an hour and a half, and we’ve still got to shower.”

“I think I’m good with toast or something with some fruit. I don’t need something big since we’re going to be moving all over the place today. Also, was that a hint for me to go shower while you cook?”

He ruffles her hair likes she’s their dog. “You’re so smart.”

She huffs before rising from her stool and walking out of the kitchen and down the hall to walk up the stairs and shower. She knows they’re going to be late, especially with how long it’ll take her hair to dry. But she takes her shower, rubbing her body wash over her skin and shaving her legs. It’s already a bit of a struggle to do it now, and she’s already dreading when she’s not going to be able to bend over and shave her own legs or put on her own shoes. But hey, Killian doesn’t have to suffer through this, so if she needs help, he knows how to work a razor and she’s pretty sure he’s been putting on his own shoes for nearly thirty years.

Or at least she hopes. That would be strange if he hasn’t been, and it does not bode well for Andy’s chances at being as normal as possible.

Andy.

By the times she’s finished, her phone says they don’t have long, so she hurriedly pulls on a pair of yoga pants and a pullover that covers her ass. Kidding A Goal does a hell of a lot of good, but she’s allowed to wear pants with no zippers when visiting the facilities, so it’s honestly at the top of her list for the good things about them right now. Killian comes into the bathroom with her breakfast twenty minutes later, placing it on her vanity and brushing his lips over the crown of her head before hopping in the shower.

She drives them to the facility when they’re finished getting ready, and as she’s pulling into the parking lot, she sees that they’ve managed to make it with two minutes to spare. So suck it, Killian. She’s not always late.

She really does love her husband, but damn sometimes he can be annoying about things like that.

They’re ushered out to the main outdoor facility where kids are running on the track while others are kicking a soccer (or as she’s supposed to say football) ball. There are supposed to be coaches out here today since Killian wanted to observe the day-to-day proceedings. Really, he should have just shown up unannounced for that, but he probably didn’t think that through.

She feels Killian’s fingers brush against hers as they walk toward the track, and she interlaces their fingers, his palm warm in the slight chill that’s still pervasive in May in the early mornings. It’s like a physical comfort for them to be connected like this. She’s not nervous to spend time with the children or the coaches, but it’s been a habit for the two of them to stay connected in some way during most events. She wasn’t born to do something like this as her job. She was born to tend a bar or do something that keeps her mind and body engaged at all times, and while sometimes this job is something she loves, there are times when she’s uncomfortable in it.

But you make sacrifices for the people you love just as they do the same for you, and so if she’s had to learn how to be a public servant who always says the right thing instead of a bartender who curses at her patrons for spilling beer all over the floor, she doesn’t mind too much.

“Bloody hell,” Killian mutters under his breath, “this looks fantastic.”

“It really does. You’re doing a good thing here, babe.”

His cheeks redden, and he shakes his head back and forth. “I come here a few times a year. I’m not doing anything.” She stops walking, tightening her grip on his hand so that he pulls back when he realizes she’s stopped. Killian quirks an eyebrow while his eyes scan her, obviously trying to figure out why she stopped. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”

“How could you possibly think that you’re not doing anything?”

His face scrunches up, and he uses his free hand to scratch behind his ear while his hair moves in the wind. He clicks his tongue, the self-deprecating side of Killian obviously showing up a bit today. “Because I’m not, Emma. You know that. We’re figureheads, and yeah, sometimes I feel like we’re doing good, but it’s not…we’re not…we’re pretty faces.”

She releases his hand and reaches up to cup his face, her thumbs stroking over the apples of his cheek. She knows everyone is watching them, but for this moment, she doesn’t care. “While you do have a very pretty face, my love, if I remember correctly, you spent years creating this foundation. There were days when you spent hour upon hour sitting on the floor of my room answering emails and drawing out this facility. You’ve made such a difference in these kids’ lives.”

“I know but – ”

“No buts. You’re the man who talked me up while crying over my jeans not fitting and helped turn that into the beginnings of me doing something I’m passionate about to help other people. You make a difference even if we have the weirdest job in the world.”

Killian closes his eyes and nods his head up and down before turning his cheek and kissing her palm, almost sighing into it. She knows that their lives are ridiculous and that they are basically figureheads, but for Killian to think he’s not doing good in the world is ridiculous.

“Thank you, love.” He smiles then, his lips twitching up and his eyes crinkling. “Now let’s go have a bunch of kids show us how much more athletic they are.”

She and Killian are walked through the facility and shown all of the different drills and practices that everyone is doing. All of the kids are in one of the uniforms they’ve provided. She’s never been a big fan of uniforms personally, but Killian pointed out that since most of the children are from poorer families, it makes them all feel the same. No one is showing up with sneakers with holes in them or shirts that are too small. They all get the equipment they need for whatever sport they’re signed up to play. It’s a wonderful touch, something she would have completely overlooked, and yet Killian still thought he wasn’t making a difference.

After talking to some of the coaches and a few of the older children, Killian agrees to participate in a race on the track. He’s fast, but she’s been watching some of these older kids run, and they are absolutely insane. But then the lineup ends up being a group of children who can be no older than five and six, and she knows this is about to be something else.

Sure enough, when Coach Blevins blows the whistle, Killian takes off full speed ahead while lots of little legs follow him at a slower pace. She laughs as he keeps looking back over his shoulder as if they’re about to catch him, and when he slows down to an almost turtle-like pace while the children sprint past him, all she can do is shake her head from side to side while he huffs and puffs over the finish line…as the last person over the finish line.

She sticks her fingers in her mouth and wolf whistles at him, and while he’s high fiving all of the children, he looks back at her and winks.

Ridiculous.

Killian races again and again with all of the age groups, changing up his speed and pace to be competitive with teenagers and playful with the young kids. If she wasn’t six months pregnant, she’d be out there with them. She could run, has been going to the park and running with Indy some mornings, but it’s a comfortable pace and not a race with kids who might accidentally trip her up.

When he’s finished with all of the races, actually huffing and puffing from the quick stops and starts, he makes his way over to her. Before she realizes what he’s doing, he wraps his arms around her waist and rubs his sweaty hair into her neck.

“Gross,” she groans as his sweat begins to stick to her, but she can’t even move with the way he’s holding her. “Killian, now I’m going to smell bad for the rest of the day.”

“Mhm,” he hums, laughing into her neck before pulling back and separating the two of them as if he’s just remembered they’re in public. “Now you have to shower again later, and we can do that together.”

“Ah, yes, because that’s such a comfortable thing to do.”

He chuckles before pecking her on the cheek and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “Come on, love. Let’s go talk to all of these future gold medalists. We can say we knew them when.”

She pats his chest. “I think you may have a future in track as well, babe.”

“I’m simply going to pretend you’re not teasing. I’ll have you know that I let all of these kids win.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“It’s sure as hell not you and your fidgety legs and tossing and turning.”

Her head recoils while she slaps his chest again. “You are walking on thin ice, my man.”

“No, darling, I’m running on it.”

#second in command #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic

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