#mellie grant imagine

[lethalchiralium]

Fearless | Happiness Series

a/n: RRRRR SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG I HATE EVERYTHING I WRITE NOW HAHA

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

warnings: babies, mentions of simon’s trauma

summary: With Simon's new deployment comes a surprise guest, Kate Laswell, and some very unwanted company knocks at the door.

NOTE: This is the start of what I’m dubbing the “Simon kind of isn’t in the next 5-7 parts, only in flashbacks” part. I’m a sucker for character development. And angst.

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“It’s too early.”

Simon laughed a little, your arm draped over your eyes as he moved to turn off his bedside lamp. His alarm had gone off ten minutes ago and he was already in his fatigues, his rucksack packed last night and left next to the front door. He was ready physically, just not mentally. Not when his daughters were asleep down the hall, not when he knows their cries will break your heart - not when there’s a new little life in your belly. A little thing that he hoped to watch grow inside you, he hoped to be the second person to ever hold it - right after you.

He moved around to your side of the bed, sliding his hand all the way up your leg to settle on your sternum, your arm moved from off your face to meet his eyes.

“Don’t go.”

He just leaned forwards, placing a kiss on your lips. He moved downwards, placing a kiss on your stomach and whispering something you couldn’t hear. He returned to your face, another kiss on your lips. “I’m sorry, love.”

Your hand found the side of his face, feeling the distinct texture of his war paint near his eye. “Stay safe. Our girls need their dad.”

Another kiss to your lips. “I will. Keep them safe too, yeah?”

A nod. “I will. I love you.”

He smiled, placing a kiss to your forehead. “Love you.”

With that and the sound of his heavy boots, Simon had left. It wasn’t hard for you to guess that he had kissed both of your girls’ heads after he left the bedroom, whispering that he loved them and that he would be home soon. You waited until you heard the front door close and lock before closing your eyes again, rolling over into the middle of the bed to grab his pillow and bury your face in it. You grew drowsy when you imagined him running back into the house, having forgot something and coming back to give you one last kiss on your cheek before he left for good.

It was only an hour later before you heard Mellie’s crying through the baby monitor. Like a well oiled machine, you rose from your slumber to grab one of Simon’s sweatshirts from off the chair in the corner of the room, slipped it on, and dragged your feet to your daughter’s room. Granted, you would be chipper if you had gotten some rest, but waiting for Simon’s departure made you on edge; you barely slept. Your footsteps were as soft as cotton on your hardwood floors, ones you’ve scrubbed clean from years of when it was just Simon. Men had such an affinity for not cleaning any floors, but at least he had taken over once your fingers were sore.

“Mellie baby,” You spoke gently as you opened her door with a flat palm, the moving stars on her ceiling came from a little projector on a table, something that Simon always turned on since he was convinced it helped her sleep better. You knew that the only thing that helped your daughter sleep was her father - so when you took her into your arms, she was screaming, fresh tears running down her face. Her little brown eyes were red, it wasn’t hard to tell that she didn’t want you. Her little arms pushed her away from you, screeching out, “Dada! Dada!” and looking towards the doorway, hoping her call would beckon her father to take her away from you.

“Oh baby, c’mon,” You moved towards her changing table, taking a wipe to gently wipe away her snot and tears; she only cried harder. “Let’s get you changed, sweetheart.”

With her struggling against you, it took you double the time to change her nappy and little onesie, her round face still stained with tears and her cries a little quieter. You felt bad for Winnie, but she was a heavy sleeper - something she must have gotten from her mother, because Simon could wake from a feather falling to the ground. You picked up your child again, her cries still piercing and her little hands gripped onto the sweatshirt that smelled so much like Simon. You empathized with her, you were a crying mess when Simon left the first time. What you couldn’t understand was just how Mellie knew that he wouldn’t be back for a while, but their bond was strong. Sensing something was going to happen, him going to leave - Mellie was clinging to him day and night until she fell asleep.

Bouncing the almost one year old on your hip, you yawned as you moved out of her nursery, quickly darting down the stairs to avoid waking Winnie as Mellie still shrieked out cries. You ducked into the kitchen, settling her in her high chair before moving to wash your hands. Mellie’s little hands hit the flat surface, shrill cries escaped her lips. She was almost never a shrieker, unlike her sister as a toddler, but you could never blame her. When the one person you want isn’t the one to come pick you up, cradle you, and love on you can be rough. That’s what happens most nights when you try to pick her up and hold her, all she wants is her dad - and Simon would swoop in, taking his daughter into his hold and pressing sweet kisses to her head.

In a fatigued haze, you settled a handful of little baby puff cereal on her tray and moved to make a bottle. The shrieking almost immediately stopped, her whimpers still loud as you watched her for a moment - she took one piece in her fingers before putting it in her mouth, just like Winnie when she was younger. You were quick to make a bottle, it would be normality until she finally liked to eat her soft foods again. Such a picky baby, just like her father.

“Mama.”

You jumped when a little hand settled on your leg, you looked down to see Winnie.

Her eyes were sleepy, one hand rubbed one eye as she whispered, “Will she stop crying?”

“She’s upset, Honeybee.” Your hand came to brush her curls with your fingers, your daughter rested her face into the side of your leg. “This is her first time having Dad go on a trip.”

“I didn’t want Daddy to go.” Her voice was muffled, you looked to the bottle on the counter you had just made. You shook it again, making sure it was mixed and then settled it on Mellie’s tray. She immediately grabbed it and put it in her mouth - you looked back to Winnie, kneeling in front of her so you could be eye level with her.

“My love, I know you didn’t want him to go. I never want him to go because it makes the little girl I love so much so sad.” You brushed the little curls that gathered around her face, her mousy eyes glassy with tears. “I want him to stay here forever so you’re never sad again.”

“Mellie only likes Daddy, is she gonna be upset forever?” Winnie scooted a little closer to you, her hands rested on your arms.

“I don’t know, baby. She likes us, just not as much. You love your daddy just as much as she does, right?”

“Mhmm.”

You kissed her nose, petting her head as you continued, “And he knows that. He keeps all our love in his heart. You know what that does?”

She sniffled. “What?”

“All the love you love him with means he’ll stay safe and come home. The more you love him, the faster he’ll be back home.” One of your fingers poked where her heart was on her chest, she giggled a little.

“So if I love him thiiiiis much,” She held out her arms. “he’ll come home right now?!”

“Good job, baby!” You smiled at her. “That means he’ll find the bad guys faster, so everyday, you’ve got to send him this much love,” You took your daughter’s hands in your own, stretching out her arms as far as they could go. “so he can share with Uncle John, Uncle Soap, and Uncle Gaz.”

“But, I thought he would come home faster if I love Daddy more?” Her little lip quivered.

You pet back her hair, running your hair through her curls. “He still has to be a superhero, baby. It takes a little time before he can find the bad guys and take them to the good guys.” You patted her cheek a little, she just stared up at you.

She looked back down at her feet, “Oh.”

“Uncle John and Uncle Soap and Uncle Gaz do the same, they’re superheroes too.”

“Okay…”

“C’mon, let’s get breakfast going. Auntie Kate is gonna be here soon.”

Your daughters were fed by 8, Winnie taking forever to decide what she wanted and Mellie only wanting to be held now that she realized Simon wasn’t home. It was hard to figure out what Cheerio pancakes were while holding a screaming Mellie on your hip, but you figured it out. She would not stop screeching, “Dada!” at the top of her lungs like she was calling out for him, for him to hear her call and come running.

But instead of him, a woman you’ve only met a handful of times now occupied your front room, placing bags upon boxes of wrapped presents. Winnie had her syrupy little hands on the big box covered in at least two rolls of pink wrapping paper, Mellie tugging on Winnie’s shirt to try and pull her big sister to her.

You shut the front door after the blonde woman, fussing, “Kate, you didn’t have to bring all this-“

“Well, I’ve got to one up all of those Brits, don’t I?” The Station Chief gave you a smile as she placed two more boxes on the floor.

“Kate, I mean it! You didn’t need to spend-“

“As soon as I heard that commander wouldn’t let your calls get through to either me or John, my wife was so furious that she bought anything she thought would make up for you not having your husband during your pregnancy.” She huffed then, crossing her arms before rolling one of her hands and mumbling, “And I may have picked some things too.”

“Thank you so so much. I didn’t realize that I was able to call you instead.” You murmured, moving to set some of the gifts on the front room couch. Winnie stared at you as you did, you knew she was going to ask permission to open the gifts but her little sister was ahead of her - with a smack of her baby hand, she gripped and pulled on the wrapping paper of the big box.

Winnie looked at her sister and gasped. “Mama, she’s opening it!”

“Go ahead and help her, Winnie.” You answered, hands moving to your hips as your five year old giggled in delight. It was being ripped quicker than before, Mellie had fell to her bottom as she squealed with laughter, watching her sister tear off the paper. Mellie clapped her little hands as Winnie ran around the box, tearing off huge chunks as you looked back to Laswell. “Thank you. Really.”

She shrugged. “I meant to bring them sooner, but I haven’t had the time.” She also watched as the two girls screeched in delight at the big photo underneath the wrapping paper of a huge teddy bear.

Winnie smacked the box, a huge smile on her face. “Auntie Kate is the best!”

You looked to the box, smirking. “She is, Duckling. What do you say?”

“Thank you!” The chestnut haired girl laughed as she bounded over to Laswell, wrapping her little arms around her legs.

The woman looked pleasantly surprised. “Didn’t expect Ghost’s daughter to be a hugger.”

“They’re everything he wasn’t able to be.” You murmured to yourself, watching Mellie turn herself around to look at her sister, but her gaze found you. She giggled again and began to crawl towards you - to which you scooped her up into your arms. “You happy to see Auntie Kate?”

“Dada!” Mellie cooed, patting your face.

“Mama, baby. I’m Mama.” You smiled at the girl, she only giggled back.

“Well, she’s a happy girl,” Laswell moved just a little bit, showing her hand to the baby - the little one then gazed at it. “Aren’t you, Mel-“

There was a heavy knock at the door, Laswell’s head whipped around towards it. Your eyes glanced towards it. It was the middle of the day, the mailman doesn’t knock on the account of Simon sternly alerting them about Mellie. There’s no one either you or Simon know that would appear unannounced, so this was a stranger. And knowing that the 141 was staying in England for a mission, that meant this could be dangerous. But Laswell’s important - a Station Chief. You had to protect your kids and keep her safe too, whether she liked it or not.

Damn Simon Riley for rubbing off his intense protectiveness on you.

You handed Kate Mellie. The baby cooed a little, curious of Kate and confused as to why Mom wasn’t holding her anymore. “I’ll go answer it.” There was a feeling that began to settle in your sternum like sludgy ink, waterfalling through your rib cage and coating your bones in its heavy feeling. “Take them upstairs, please.”

“Y/N, let me-“

You looked to Laswell, a stern stare in your eye. “Go.”

The woman nodded quickly, reaching her hand down to Winnie saying, “C’mon, honey, let’s go upstairs.”

Winnie instantly took Laswell’s hand, there really wasn’t much she would argue about with you - plus, she began to drag Laswell towards the stairs, Mellie giggled as she watched her sister. You carefully walked towards the front door, another knock sounded. Blood running hot as your hand turned the knob, and you opened the door.

It was like God had punched you right in the stomach.

The man stood tall in a black leather jacket, blue jeans, light blond hair combed back with a smile that was familiar to you. The Crow’s Feet of the man’s eyes, and the wrinkles on your forehead gave you a good guess as to that the man who stood in front of you wasn’t Simon’s brother. The man in front of you looked so much like your husband. There was just something about this man’s blue eyes, and how void of any emotion they were. This man was dangerous, that you were sure of.

“Uh, can I help you?” You spoke, your hand held the door handle with a concrete grip. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched the man’s eyebrow rise in surprise.

“‘ello,” His smile was fake, it wasn’t hard to tell. “I know it’s not polite to just knock on a lady’s door, but my name is Lloyd Riley, and the last address for my son was ‘ere.” He crossed his arms, trying to peer into your home from above you. You shut the door just a little bit on yourself, he glared down at you.

A red hot spike rammed into your chest, shattering you into several pieces. The first thing you could feel was anger, anger that this piece of fucking shit made Simon scared of love. Made him scared to be loved. The second thing you could feel was fear, almost as shocking as an ice cube sliding down your back. This was the man who sent his own child into the hospital seven times in four years. Simon was just a kid, he was Winnie’s age when that started. It made you violently ill.

“I’m lookin’ for Riley. Is he home?”

You could hear Laswell’s footsteps come down the stairs, you needed to stall. “So your son’s name is Riley Riley?”

The man’s dark eyebrows furrowed, a gaze of annoyance in his eye that was quickly covered over with a friendly glare. “His name is Simon.”

You glanced behind yourself, seeing Laswell walking towards you with a hand on the gun on her hip. You looked back to the man immediately. “My wife’s name is Simone Riley.” The lie was easy, protecting your children sleeping upstairs like a lioness. If you had to fight Simon’s father, so be it.

Laswell opened the door more, appearing at your side as she sweetly smiled, “How can we help you?”

The man looked a little shaken then angered, upset that he must have been wrong. “Ah. Sorry to disturb you then.” He turned then, taking the two steps off your porch as you began to close the door. He turned then, calling, “Do you know a Simon Riley?”

You stared at him. “No.” And slammed the door.

Laswell had you in her arms instantly, the breath in your chest escaped shakily, your hands shook. Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and irritating.

That was the man Simon told you stories of, not often yet still enough. It was still enough to make you scared, make you want to leave the house right that second. You pulled away from Laswell, placing your hands on her arms. “I-I don’t want Simon to know. He’ll freak out, he’ll get so worried and that will effect him out there-“

Laswell immediately nodded. “Okay, I won’t tell him.”

“Promise me you won’t tell him until he come back?” You kept your gaze with the woman, hoping she knew why. You couldn’t let the knowledge of his father cloud his judgement; that would get him killed. And you could never live with yourself.

“I promise.”

taglist (ignore that tagging hates me): @sigynxlokiwifelover @lumpypoll @multitargaryen @chloeforde @blueoorchid @vir-tual @lolis-pikt @theverycelestialgemini @simpingforleoandnico @prodyng @royalty-purple @projectdreamwalker @tiredweeb7 @thychuvaluswife

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

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[deltablitz]

↷ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - [Pokémon x Reader]

↳ Before Requesting;

     Please note the following;

Please don’t request NSFW (smut, lemons, limes, etc.) of any kind, thank you.

 I write these in my free time, so I apologize for any sort of delay when releasing any content.

Please specify if you want an imagine / headcanons / one-shot (or more).

Don’t be afraid to mention another character / request for another character that’s not on the list. Keep in mind I only write for Pokémon people!

I mostly write for in-game characters, but feel free to request any characters from the anime!

I do not own Pokémon nor any of the characters by any means. All rights go towards Nintendo, Creatures, Game Freak & Satoshi Tajiri- as well as their amazing teams that brought us Pokémon!

↳ Characters I Write For;

     KANTO; Gary, Blue, Red, Ash, Misty, Brock, James, Jessie, Lance, Erika, Koga, & Sabrina

    JOHTO; Silver, Falkner, Clair, & Will

     HOENN; Brendan, May, Roxanne, Brawly, Flannery, Winona, Wallace, Steven Stone & Wally

     SINNOH; Lucas, Dawn, Barry, Gardenia, Fantina, Volkner, Cynthia, Mars, Jupiter & Saturn

     HISUI; Akari, Rei, Cyllene, Laventon, Kamado, Adaman, Arezu, Mai, Melli, Irida, Palina, Ingo, Volo & Cogita

     UNOVA; Hilbert, Hilda, Nate, Rosa, Cheren, Bianca, N, Hugh, Cilan, Chili, Cress, Lenora, Elesa, Skyla, Drayden, Iris, Marlon, Grimsley, Alder, Ingo & Emmet

     KALOS; Calem, Serena, Alain, Shauna, Tierno, Trevor, Viola, Grant, Korrina, Clemont, Valerie, Olympia, Siebold, Malva, Diantha, Sycamore & Alexa

     ALOLA; Elio, Selene, Hau, Lillie, Gladion, Kukui, Burnet, Lana, Kiawe, Mallow, Olivia, Kahili, Guzma, Nanu & Lusamine

     GALAR; Victor, Gloria, Hop, Bede, Leon, Sonia, Milo, Nessa, Kabu, Oleana, Marnie, Piers, Bea, Allister, Gordie, Melony, Raihan, Peony, Klara & Avery

     PALDEA; Florian, Juliana, Nemona, Arven, Atticus, Brassius, Eri, Giacomo, Grusha, Iono, Jacq, Katy, Larry, Mela, Ortega, Penny, Sada, Turo, Ryme & Tulip

↷ What I Write

     Forms Of Writing; Imagines, Textfic, Crack, One-Shots, Headcanons, & Songfics

     Relationships; Romantic ( s/o, crush, etc. ), Platonic ( friend, family member, rival, enemy, etc.)

     Genres / Types; Fluff, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Rivalry, Character x Reader x Character, Jealousy, Isekai, Forbidden Love, Crossover, Darkfic, Alternate Universes, Unrequited Love, & Hurt/Comfort

          ↳Note; Other types of genre may be unlisted.

↳ Work(s);

     KANTO; None Yet

     JOHTO; None Yet

     HOENN; None Yet

     SINNOH; None Yet

     HISUI; None Yet

     UNOVA; None Yet

     KALOS; None Yet

     ALOLA; None Yet

     GALAR; None Yet

     PALDEA; None Yet

↷ ‘ ‘ Now get on out there, trainer! ’ ’

#pokémon #pokémon x reader #x reader #masterlist #x reader masterlist #Pokémon x reader Masterlist #deltablitz Masterlist

[cdyssey]

Wreck

Summary: When Melissa's nana dies, Barbara is there for her.

CW: Death Discussion; Heavy Grief

AO3 Link

Melissa smooths her to-do list across her kitchen island with trembling fingers. Having been folded and unfolded several times over, marked upon profusely, tossed into her purse, crammed into her back pocket, unceremoniously stuffed into her bra at least twice, and probably stained with some cheap Chardonnay that her kid cousin picked up from Dollar General, the tear-out from a yellow legal pad has certainly seen better days.

But, hey, that’s nothin’ special.

She guesses she looks like a shit piece of paper too, all crinkled and creased, smudged and barely fit for perusal anymore.

Someone load her ass in a garbage truck and cart her off to the dump because she’s a wreck: fucked up, overwhelmed, annihilated, undone.

She doesn’t even feel like a human anymore.

Her nana died just around two days ago now, passing from the world about as peacefully as one could dare to imagine for a woman who’d been sick for the last ten months of her life. It was quiet in the end, as simple and as easy as falling asleep after a long, hard day. And the doctor-on-call promised that the sedative he was giving her would ensure that it was painless, which was a relief perhaps only because everything else leading up to that day had been so goddamn painful: the sickness, the waiting, the wrenching, bone-heavy grief.

(It was entirely possible to grieve someone who was still alive—to look at their utterly wasted body and understand that what was left was just a tangible echo, a breathing ghost.)

Melissa held her bony hand during that last hour and told her that it was okay to go—she’d be fine—and it was the first and only lie she’d ever told that saint of a woman in the entirety of her life.

She didn’t exactly ask forgiveness for doing so either.

She thought that if God knew anything about mercy, He’d understand and grant her this one sin: comforting that comfortless woman.

Nana had been ready to go, of course—sure, yeah, absolutely—she had known that it was her time for far longer than any of her headstrong relatives had been willing to admit. But she was so scared too: scared of leaving all her loved ones without their resilient matriarch, scared of their eventual (and perhaps inevitable) in-fighting, scared of a fractious future that she wouldn’t be around to mend with a homemade ziti dish and warm, jam-filled pie. She made Melissa promise—over and over again, ad infinitum—that she’d keep the Schemmenti clan together long after she was gone.

“Family’s all that we’ve got, Melly,” she once said. In the same way that Joe was the only person to call her Lissa, Nana was the only one to ever know her as Melly. It was a bit childish, maybe, but Melissa didn't mind. She always felt like she was twelve again when she was in her grandmother's presence: gap-toothed, impertinent, a hellion in patched overalls. “You gotta swear to me, on your Papa’s grave, that you’ll always remember that—no matter how balorde some of your aunts and uncles can be.”

“Nana!”She’d belly laughed at the time, bracing her hands on the edge of Nana’s steel-basin sink. They’d been in the kitchen together, as they so often were, peeling russet potatoes for her famous gnocchi recipe. This was at the very beginning of those long ten months when they both thought she just was just having bad arthritis flare-ups, perhaps. Her doctor was supposed to call sometime in the next few days with the results from her most recent labs...

“Those are your kids. You can’t just call ‘em stupid.”

(Even if it was expressly true.)

“Yeah, I can! I pushed them outta me, every one of ‘em eight or nine pounds a pop! Apple doesn’t fall far from the bush is what I say!”

It was the kind of statement that only her grandmother could pull off, something that made her want to snort and cry at the exact same time. She was outrageously funny, that stout, little woman, but she never seemed to think much of herself, especially when it came to education. She had to drop out of high school to work and help her parents raise their endless passel of kids, and then, before she knew it, she was poppin’ out little redheaded Sicilian Catholics of her own—Melissa’s own ma included.

Nana was so proud of her for making it through college and becoming a teacher, telling her as much every opportunity that she got, and constantly bragging about her accomplishments to her canasta group. She’d known how hard it was for Melissa at times.

Reading had always been a little challenging for her.

Taking exams could be a goddamn nightmare.

“Would you quit flippin’ saying that?” Melissa had rebutted, both exasperated and fond all at once, attempting to discipline her smirk into a reproving frown. “You’re not dumb either, Nana. Alright? Capito?"

She was the smartest person Melissa knew, high school diploma or not, for education was far from the same as intelligence in her book. There were plenty of eggheads out there with degrees coming out of their asses who didn't know how to haggle for the best cuts of beef or stay clear of certain Philly streets at night or change a flat with a crying kid on one hip and three more bouncin' around in the car. Before she had ever decided to become an elementary school teacher, those sorts of things were her only measures of how clever a person really was, and her grandmother had been the golden standard of them all—competent in a world that could be so arbitrary, needlessly complicated, and cruel.

At this, her sweet nana suddenly smiled, her dark eyes warmed by the golden light leaning in from the window above the sink. It was a sad smile and a profound one—the kind that little, old ladies always gave in the movies before they up and died, kickstarting the next act. It was accompanied by a slow shake of the head. She had her green rollers in; they shivered in time with the movement.

“Good God, I love you, Melissa,” she had murmured softly, each syllable laden with a certain gravity, as though she already suspected something about her health that Melissa didn’t, as though she had an inkling of what awaited her in the coming days, weeks, and months upon godawful, medicine and machine-filled months. Maybe Melissa should have known then herself—by that rare usage of her Christian name, by the way her stubborn-as-hell grandmother didn’t argue back—that something was horribly wrong.

But she hadn't.

Just ten months and some spare change ago, it was impossible for her to fathom a world where her nana wasn't in it.

She just accepted that love, basked in it, took it for granted even, and now, a little less than a year later, as she pores over a checklist of all the shit she’s gotta do to bury that precious lady—(so much, too flipping much)—she racks her exhausted brain and wonders if she’d said it back that time.

I love you too, Nana. 

Of course, she’s said it about a gazillion times since then. Never left a conversation with the woman without doing so in case it was their last. But all the times she didn’t reciprocate those three words and every other missed or botched opportunity besides tangibly aches her chest, pounds upon it, like fists against an awful drum. Missed calls. Canceled lunch dates. Squandered chances to ask her about her storied life. The endless thank you she didn’t give that woman for practically raising her.

It’s irrational, of course, so goddamn stupid; she loved that woman endlessly and proved it in a thousand different ways.

But even still, what she wouldn’t give for one last tomorrow with her to tell her again and again.

Unbidden, unwanted, totally out-of-line and out-of-the-blue, tears threaten to spill over Melissa’s lashes and onto that yellow paper that’s already been to hell and back. She furiously swipes them away with the heel of her hand, doesn’t have the time to cry.

She’s still gotta call the Social Security Office and get Nana’s checks to stop comin’ through the mail. And after that, she has to take Joe’s suit to the dry cleaner ‘cuz her useless lump of a husband keeps forgetting. And when she gets back home—at who knows what time because she’s really gotta stop at the store and grab a few necessities—she desperately needs to go through Nana’s files again to see if she’s got that damn burial policy in there somewhere. Otherwise, they’re gonna have to pay for the service and the cremation out of pocket, even if she knows a guy who knows a guy who knows the funeral director, who can only get them an okay deal, which is fine.

It'll help, or at the very least, it won't hurt, but the crux of the sordid matter—the bottom line at the end of the shitty day—is that dying is so freakin' expensive.

“Fuck,” she groans, sliding her hand down until she’s palming her mouth. “Shit.”

No one ever talks about how the aftermath of death is just one cold bureaucracy after another: files, papers, tasks, and duties.

It’s unbearable.

Melissa alone has to bear it.

Her ma’s gone. Her remaining aunts and uncles are fragile. Her cousins aren’t any good with this kind of organizational crap. Her own goddamn sister’s been AWOL ever since the diagnosis, and the rest of her younger siblings haven’t done jack squat either.

It’s up to Melissa.

It always is.

That doesn't change just because someone she loved died.

The responsibilities simply take up the same air as the grief.

Just as she’s about to get started, though, reaching for her phone to start looking up numbers, her one saving grace walks in through the arched entranceway of the kitchen. Elegant as ever in a floral print blouse and black slacks, a plastic bag hanging off one arm, her comically huge purse on the other, is none other than—

“Barb,” she croaks, overwhelmed and overcome, weak-kneed with a relief that she just as immediately tries to hide. Vulnerability utterly terrifies her; it is one of the few house guests that she doesn’t know how to capably entertain.

“You don’t… y’know, you don’t have to come every day.”

But her best friend unfailingly has, bringing over various dishes and groceries, helping Melissa keep track of all the shit she needs to do, and oftentimes, just sitting next to her on her plastic-covered couch and holding her hand, palm-to-palm, their ten fingers intertwined. If Melissa has known any modicum of peace in this hellish last week, it’s only because Barbara Howard has deigned to carve out some for her, offering it to her like an alm. 

God bless her—she even showed up before her nana passed away, when family and friends were just congregating in Melissa’s house, filtering in and out of the guest bedroom where Nana’s hospital bed was to say their goodbyes. And when death finally lifted Nana away—arriving as gently as a mother carrying her child to bed—Barbara’s warm arms were the first around Melissa, holding her so tightly, her lone defenses against collapsing into a million goddamn pieces on the floor.

Barbara would never let that happen, though.

She had her.

She would cradle all her shrapnel; she would salvage her from abyssal ruins.

“And you,sweetheart, know better than to think that’ll stop me,” Barbara laughs kindly, setting her purse and plastic bag on the kitchen island. There’s a twinkle in her dark eyes, a lovely playfulness curving her plum-colored lips. “I do as I please.”

“Stubborn fool,” Melissa chuckles hoarsely, a sudden thickness in the column of her throat. She’s always on the verge of crying over nothing nowadays: spilled wine on the counter, a sad headline on the news, smelling something in the kitchen that reminds her of her grandmother, being joked with, having companionship, being loved.

She knows that she’s been caught, too, by the way her friend gingerly skims her fingertips against her forearm.

It’s the lightest touch imaginable.

It nearly shatters her where she stands.

“Yes,” Barbara hums in gentle agreement, “that’s why we get along like two peas in an unshelled pod.”

“Hah,” she tries to smile. Her entire mouth feels like concrete. “Some pod.”

“Extraordinary peas, though, if I do say so myself,” the older woman declares with an air of finality as she starts to busy herself, pulling out a white takeout container and some utensils from the plastic bag. Even before she sees the familiar logo of a happy chef wedged in-between some blocky lettering, Melissa knows the rich, homely smell of fried chicken.

And not just any fried chicken, but—

“Danny's Wok?” Her eyebrows lift at least three inches from their exhausted lids. “Jesus, Barb, that’s all the way across town. You didn’t have to—“

But Barbara cuts her off with a raised hand, a familiar teacher pose. “But I wanted to and so I did. Now park your fine derrière on a stool and tell me what you would like to drink, girlfriend.”

“I’ve got things to do,” she protests weakly, gesturing at the to-do list still laying pathetically on the counter. She doesn't know why she's being so obstinate. Maybe it's just instinct; her immediate reaction to people offering help has always been a deep, gut-felt shame: shame that she can't do something by herself; shame that she's so weak, and someone else is stronger; shame that she isn't enough. (One of her deepest fears is that she's never been enough) Or maybe it's because she just doesn't want to think about the way that Barbara saying she had a nice ass made the contents of her stomach do a loop de loop.

“I can eat later.”

It’s not a sentence she’s said very often in her lifetime, and Barbara peers at her skeptically, damn well knowing this.

“But when’s the last time you did have a bite, Melissa? You look pale.”

“I had a piece of toast this morning,” she grunts uncomfortably, more than aware that it’s not sufficient by either of their standards. That was hours ago. According to the digital clock on her oven, it’s nearly five o’clock now.

But all truth being told, she hasn’t been particularly hungry in a while, not since the hospice worker sat her down a few days before Nana died and said that it’d be soon.Food has lost a lot of its flavor. Nausea is constantly doing laps around her digestive tract. She doesn’t know how to care about eating when this grief is taking up so much real estate in her body and never paying any of the rent.

“Hardly enough,” Barbara scolds predictably, first pushing the styrofoam tray in her direction, now shuffling towards the stainless steel fridge, no nonsense and all productivity. It's how she shows her love. “You need to put something substantial in your stomach, sweetheart. You'll be of no use to your list if you keel over on top of it."

“Okay, Ma,” she huffs, but it doesn’t have any real bite to it because she obediently unlatches the box anyway. She knows that Barbara is right, as she usually—(sometimes annoyingly)—is. 

“Ma is correct,” the older woman hums, undeterred. “Someone needs to be responsible for you.”

It's hard not to feel chastised by such a statement, as though she's being patronized—a little kid in her own damn home; she attempts a weak smile anyway. It wobbles like a tricycle across the chapped line of her mouth.

“‘Cause I’m doing a shit job at it, yeah?”

Of course she is; she's a disaster with good hair.

“Absolutely not,” comes an exceedingly gentle reply, thrown over the other teacher's shoulder, landing as gently as a kiss. “It’s just that you seem to think it’s your God-given duty to be responsible for everyone else in this world except for yourself. Let me—no, wait, I insist upon—doing the same for you, Melissa."

A new lump surfaces to Melissa’s throat as she digests this unadulterated tenderness; it’s unfamiliar to her, even after so many years of receiving it from the angelic woman standing in her kitchen. She doesn’t know what to do with it. She holds it in her like a rain cloud, just waiting for it to pour.

“It’s scary that you have my number like this,” she finally says, and it’s the type of thing that she’s not supposed to mention aloud—she knows. She’s well aware. She’s spent an entire lifetime avoiding emotional honesty like it’s a summons for jury duty. But sometimes—if only sometimes, and usually only when a hell of a lot of booze is involved—she and Barbara can transcend their mutual understanding to never talk about the way they secretly look at each other when they think no one is watching and arrive at the undoctored truth of their shared experiences.

They know each other.

They love each other.

Far more intimately than should be allowed.

Barbara freezes where she stands, shoulders squared, hand gripping one of the fridge handles; she doesn’t turn around, possibly can't.

“Well... that’s what friends are for,” she returns in a stilted voice, picking her way around each individual phoneme like it's a landmine. It’s a warning tone even, begging Melissa not to press, and so Melissa doesn’t, swallowing painfully—just as submissive as a dog and far more devoted.

The sticky moment passes—it always does. Barbara retrieves a half-empty jug of sweet tea from the fridge, and Melissa slowly legs herself onto a stool next to the island. Her feet ache—her head, her chest, her entire goddamn body—but when Barbara joins her a few moments later, having poured them glasses of tea and grabbed napkins and condiments, both of them proceed as though nothing happened at all. Melissa picks at the chicken in an exercise of politeness, tearing off a little piece here or there and trying to chew it in slow, methodical bites.

It tastes like burnt rubber.

She attempts to wash it down with her drink, but the sickly sweetness of the tea just as quickly nauseates her.

Barbara can’t keep up the ruse of not paying attention to this sad ritual for very long.

“I can make you soup,” she offers pleadingly, already halfway off her own stool. "Potato? Broccoli-and-cheese? Vegetable?" Melissa places a hand on her leg to force her to sit down again.

“Nah, you’ve done enough,” she says firmly. “I... just don’t have it in me right now, Barb.”

And without flinching or glancing away, though every nerve in her body itches to bundle her present fragility away from view, she allows the other woman to search her face and confirm this unsavory truth. She bares every line and gaunt shadow; they surely adorn the curvature of her face like bruises.

“You can only do what you can do,” the older woman replies reluctantly, as though it’s the thing she knows she’s supposedto say and not necessarily what she actually believes. Melissa almost smiles at that assessment, smug in her assurance that it's the correct one. Barbara’s never been exceptionally good at hiding her feelings. People think that she is. Hell, even Barbara herself thinks she has others fooled.

But Melissa can see right through her, all those hundreds of things that she doesn’t say, that she entraps behind those tightly pursed lips for fear of being construed as ungodly. She thumbs through the Book of Barbara almost daily—with all the reverence that such a project deserves—and her diligence has rewarded her with all the beautiful fine print.

“Advice you gotta listen to yourself, hon,” she muses fondly, patting Barbara’s leg again before finally withdrawing her hand. “You’ve gone above and beyond for me these past few days. It’s not your fault I’ve got a sick stomach right now.”

“I know,” she admits in that same grudging tone, “but still, I’d do anything to make things better for you, Melissa, to relieve the burden on your shoulders even the tiniest bit.”

She gestures emphatically at the to-do list between them with one of her manicured friends.

“It’s far from fair that you’re in charge of all this when I know for a fact that you have other family members who are perfectly capable of helping to lighten the load. For instance”—she picks the paper up, scanning it briefly—”Joseph’s dry-cleaning! Why in God’s precious name isn’t your husband doing his own dry-cleaning?”

“He’s busy,” Melissa says in a clipped voice, less offended that Barbara is criticizing her husband than she is annoyed that her friend arrived at the same question that she did so easily. “At work. Fightin’ fires.”

Spending his paychecks on booze and scratchers and God only knows what else. Sometimes, he comes home smelling like strange perfume.

The kindergarten teacher emphatically shakes her head. “That doesn’t abscond him of his duty of being a responsible adult in a time of crisis.”

“Yeah, well—” She starts to defend him and then just as abruptly stops, suddenly cornered and violently choked.

Melissa doesn’t know what to fucking say to that, if there's anything to be said at all. If she argues, she’d just be lying to herself, to Barbara, and to almighty God—an unholy trinity of delusion and willing deceit. There’s just no excusing the inexcusable, no dressing it up in rouge and calling it pretty.

She’s alone.

Oh, God—her nana died and left her.

She's got a husband and he sleeps in the same bed as her, but somehow and nevertheless, she’s all alone.

Her eyes begin to water, her breathing quickly turning shallow, as everything inside of her falls apart and implodes.

Barbara quickly places the list down again and exchanges it for a tissue that she plucks from a nearby box, reaching up to wipe the tears away. Her cool palm skims the side of Melissa’s feverish face, and the contact is so tender that it’s almost too painful to bear. Melissa reaches up and curls her fingers around her friend’s wrist like it’s a lifeline, unable to form any words, her throat throttled with vile, her stomach sick with it. And the tears continue to well, no matter how many Barbara capably catches.

She heaves out one ugly sob and then another, covering her mouth with her free hand as though that would help with the inconvenience and the noise.

(She's spent most of her adulthood trying not to be inconvenient to make up for all her loudness and her noise.)

“Oh, Melissa—” Barbara exhales, her own dark eyes filling. She continues to stroke the side of her face, holding her cheek, cradling it, cradling her. “Oh, baby—it’s okay that you’re hurting. It’s okay to feel this pain.”

“I-it’s freakin’ not, though,” she moans, the sound muffled behind her hand, the unspeakable anguish leaking through anyway. Her nails curl into her lower lip. “I… I gotta keep it together, Barb! I can’t just—Jesus—I can’t just fall apart. I don’t, I can’t, fuck, I can’t—”

She can’t breathe. Surely, there’s a vice in her chest, squeezing her ribcage into mere molecules and skeletal dust. Surely, her lungs have burst, her veins, her bleeding heart, one massive supernova of flesh and gory tissue, and this moment's all she’s got left. Minutes. Seconds. Nanoseconds. She’s going to die right here and right now, while Nana is unburied, and her to-do list is still unfinished, and—

“You can, Melissa Schemmenti,” comes an authoritative voice from above, shaking but somehow utterly unshaken, ringing like a decree from the Lord God on High. And then Barbara’s warm arms are around her, filling the encroaching darkness with all the flowers on her shirt: sunflowers, poppies, lillies, and roses. Petals everywhere. A garden of beauty and impossible delight. “You cando this because I’m here, and I’m not going to let you go under. You hear me, sweetheart? That’s my promise to you, my solemn, unbreakable oath.”

It’s the loveliest combination of words Melissa has probably ever been told in her life; she cries all the harder, weeping her horror, half-vomiting it. Her mouth tastes like tea and salt.

“Breathe,”Barbara instructs her, pressing a gentle kiss against the crown of her head. One of her hands finds its way to the hollow of Melissa’s constricted throat; she splays her fingers against it, palm resting on her chest where the divot of her shirt exposes some of her skin. “You have to breathe, Melissa.”

But it's hard.

It's so fucking hard.

Every hitched breath still becomes a sob, and every sob reverberates through her beaten body like a shock wave. But Barbara is patient where she isn't, a sturdy monolith when all of her vertices have become undone. She begins to rub slow, methodical circles into Melissa's sternum, perhaps modeling a rhythm that she can pattern her breathing against. As the seconds limp past, every bit as injured as she is, she learns to inhale on one revolution and exhale on another, doing this until her heart rate begins to slow again, until the tightness in her chest recedes long enough for her to rationally confirm that she’s not, in fact, dying. 

She's living.

(And after someone dies, that's one of the bravest damn things that anyone can ever do.)

Even after her pulse somewhat returns to normal, she and Barbara remain tangled together for what feels like hours, even though it’s surely only a handful of minutes.

Melissa finally lowers her hand from her mouth and twists it somewhere in the paradise of Barbara’s blouse.

Barbara kisses her head again, a little lower this time, near the peak of her red hairline.

Neither of them makes any move to extricate themselves from each other. Melissa doesn’t have the strength, every ligament in her body wrung with incalculable exhaustion. (She’s not exactly sure what Barbara’s excuse is. As secure as she is in her companion's embrace, she currently can't bring herself to care.)

“... I shouldn’t be this weak,” she eventually rasps, and it’s a confession. She’s glad she can’t see her priest’s scandalized face. “I had plenty of time to prepare for this. I’ve known forever she was gonna go.”

“As though that means a hill of beans when you loved her so much,” Barbara murmurs, now running slender fingers through her hair, the motion soothing and rhythmic, reminding Melissa of all the times that Nana had done the same when she was a small child. She briefly closes her eyes, simultaneously endeared by the memories and made sick by them. “You can’t prepare your way through grief. Believe me, girl—I’ve been there, tried that, and it went about as well as can be expected, which is to say not even remotely well at all.”

Melissa chuckles at the convoluted explanation; they both do; they laugh so hard that it almost sounds like they’re crying. She finally pulls back, wanting to look her friend in the eye, but Barbara still grips her by the arms, refusing to let her go.

And they simply drink each other in, mesmerized, tears standing in their eyes, an interwoven statue unto their own: locked limbs, glassy eyes, and a hushed silence that descends upon them like snow.

Maybe they would have stayed like that forever had one of their phones not chimed: her own, laying face-up on the counter. She sees that it's a reminder letting her know that she can take another Prozac in an hour if she needs one. If Barbara sees it—(and with the angle of the phone being the way that it is, she absolutely does)—she's kind; she doesn't say anything; there isn't really anything that needs to be said.

“Shit." She tries to wipe her face on the sleeve of her shirt. It's not a successful endeavor. “I’m a wreck.”

“Maybe so," Barbara agrees, grabbing more tissues for them both. She mops Melissa's face up before delicately attending to her own. "But you won't be forever, you know. it's a transition, not a permanent way of being."

"Doesn't feel that way," she hears herself grouse. It's petulant, a little childish even in her low voice, but it's what she feels; it's her personal nightmare of a lived-in reality.

"I know." The older woman reaches up to thumb away a new tear that has formed at the corner of Melissa's left eye. "But grief rarely ever does."

It's not an especially comforting thought, but Barbara clearly knows her well enough to understand that comforting isn't exactly what she needs right now.

She needs the truth, however ugly it happens to be, however unkind, and the ugly truth is that grief is far from fucking pretty too; it is certainly not kind.

"I love you, Melissa Schemmenti," Barbara adds quietly—in the same hushed cadence that all of their unutterable truths seem to be encased in.

It's dirty, this confession, this boundless and eternal love.

It can't ever be spoken in a normal way and tone.

"You know that, don't you?"

The pad of her thumb is still pressed against Melissa's skin, and there is such little space between them, mere inches and other inconsequential measurements besides; temptation has never been a shorter bridge to indecorously cross and just as deliciously burn. This isn't simply a tender moment between bosom friends, she innately knows, and yet, by the virtue of who they are and their relationships with other people, it can't be anything more than that either, she implicitly understands. She's married. Barbara's married. God is watching. Society is judging. Neither of them will make a move that that they can't just as quickly take back.

"I love ya too, Barb," she replies anyway, leaning very slightly into the intimate touch, as though she could pretend for a moment that they don't have to play that awful game.

Just this one evening.

Just this singular time.

They inevitably will, of course—no doubt about that.

One of them will certainly pull away, and the other will instinctively follow, and together, they will tango themselves out of this senseless mess that they have made; they will offer each other plausible deniability as their highest and most sacred form of love. But for now and until that unwelcome moment, in this fractional sliver of a shared existence and eternity, Melissa dares to rest her tired cheek against Barbara's hand as though she's allowed, and Barbara doesn't flinch like she's been burned.

Silently, they construct a mutual fantasy where they can hold each other without hurting.

Or maybe more accurately still, where they can hurt together and not have been each other's sole and ruinous cause.

"Don't ever leave me," Melissa demands a little unfairly.

It's an unkeepable stipulation.

People leave all the time—by necessity, by choice, by coffin, or in Nana's case, urn.

But nonetheless and all the same—

"Wouldn't dream of it," Barbara promises softly, and Melissa chooses to believe her.

#work wives #reginianwrites #I wrote this for myself because it's been a long damn week #and I'm so sorry for your loss if it ends up being for you too #s: abbott elementary

[murkyhazed]

LIKED : character specific starter call / @foxtaeil

featuring: negan smith and mellie grant

               ❝   well   ho-ly   shit!      bestill   my   beating   heart,   it   is   the   goddamn   president!   ❞      well…      used   to   be   president.      don’t   know   if   one   could   really   consider   her   to   be   that   anymore.      there   were   no   more   politics,   no   governments,   it   was   all   just   pure   chaos   now.      survival   of   the   fittest,   that’s   about   it.      as   far   as   negan   was   concerned,   the   saviors   were   the   most   motherfucking   fit   of   them   all!      now   just   imagine   it,   having   the   former   president   as   a   savior!      not   to   be   crass   but   that   image   was   hot   as   shit!      he’d   always   thought   she   was   smoking,   even   before   all   of   this.      maybe   now   he   had   a   chance.      the   idea   of   being   able   to   say   he’d   banged   a   president?      well   now   that   was   a   high   honor!

               he’s   getting   ahead   of   himself   though,   letting   his   imagination   run   wild.      ❝   now   i’ve   gotta   say   ma’am,   the   fact   that   you   are   alone   has   got   me   kinda   pissed!      i   mean,   what   kind   of   secret   service   did   we   have?      clearly   a   fucking   bad   one!   ❞

#foxtaeil #* &. negan smith.

[energons]

i was going to post a comic with our au of starscream and melly, where starscream realizes they're being a massive jerk for taking kindness for granted. then i spilled coffee all over it. im not redrawing it so you'll just have to imagine it

#on second thought i might redraw it but considering im working OT and am exhausted it's not happening right now

[mqcknbrd]

FILM  AND  TELEVISION  INSPIRATION  :  BOBBI MORSE.  

     OLIVIA POPE,  SCANDAL. you taught me that the only constant worth holding onto is the republic !  you made me in your own image.  i am just as you made me.

     ELIZABETH  KEEN,  THE BLACKLIST. i read people. i tell people exactly what they need to hear in order to do what i need them to do.

     JENNIFER JAREAU,  CRIMINAL MINDS. give me a word. a term, a label, something that explains what i have. i can’t let this go.  i can’t.  what is the word for that ?  

   THE PROTAGONIST,  TENET. T: i’m the protagonist of this operation. P: you are a part. did you think you were the only one capable of saving the world ? T: no. but i am.

     MARJAN MARWANI,  9-1-1 : LONE STAR. O: you’ve racked up eleven reprimands in one year. that has to be a record. M: i’m allergic to poor leadership.

     RUTH,  FAST COLOR. don’t be in such a hurry to leave.

     JOSIE,  ANNIHILATION. imagine dying frightened and in pain, and having that as the only part of you that survives. i wouldn’t like that at all.  ventress wants to fight it.  you want to face it.  but i don’t think i want either of those things.

     MELLIE GRANT,  SCANDAL. i will go nuclear. i will bury him, and i will dance on his grave.

    MINA OKAFOR,  THE RESIDENT. i am not interested in being in your line of giants. i am the first of my own line. an ancestor.

#character study. #edits.

[little-puku]

More kids for the au I am making!! this time a girl named Hazel!

more of her under the cut:

Hazel is a very peppy girl, loves the color pink, romance stories and helping those around her, she is from the Galar region

She gets along with all the other kids but she is like a “big sister” to Rosie

Before falling in Hisui she was a huge fan of the Gigantamax and Dynamax Pokémon, but because of memory loss, she doesn't remember why she knows about these GIGANTIC Pokémons that are not Alphas but bigger than those. Because of that she aways share that info to those she knows mighty find it important

She and Melli get along pretty well, the reason is she admires Melli quite a lot and in some way he reminder him to the things she was able to do with her brother (even tho she doesn't remember her brother’s name and he has a complete different personality from Melli, she remember the things she used to do with him) 

Melli actually cares deeply for her but he just doesn't want people to know that the Great Melli cares for someone specially a kid!! but Hazel actually knows about it (which she loves and find it cute), she keeps it as a secret tho to “protect” the Great Melli’s “reputation”

She loves taking photos with her friends so when she asked Melli to get one and he told her that getting a picture with him will grant her protections she was way more excited about it. 

She took the photo with him, Rosie and Skuntank. Even if it was real or not to what Melli told her is her favorite picture since is with both of her best friends

She has a full album of photos of her and her friends, is her most precious item right now

Hazel loves cute Pokemon but she believes that any Pokemon can be cute so is a very “weird” concept to what is actually cute to her, since she believes that any Pokemon can be pretty, strong and cute

Because she is from Galar and remember cooking curry with her brother a lot in the wild she is always trying to cook it to everyone, she has even been trying to teach Beni how to do it

She tells Beni that other important step is to add a secret ingredient, to which Beni ask “what kind of secret ingredient?” for Beni surprise the secret ingredient can be anything he can imagine, from sweet, to cream, to potato mochi! it can be anything!! but most importantly always put love while making the curry 

Hazel and Melli spend a lot of time together when she is not doing surveys corps job, because of that Melli has given her a “special mission” to be his “assistant” since Melli knows a particular couple has feeling for each other (Warden Ingo and Sugi) and the Great Melli needs to help them, he always is giving Hazel crazy ideas how to set them up in “romantic situations” (he actually does it to entertain himself but he admires Hazel determination and the excitement she has for the tiny lil tasks he gives her)  

She has a lot of conflict when she get anxious about if she will be able to go back and remember what she lost, her family and all that, but at the same time she doesn't want to leave Hisui because she doesn't want to leave Melli behind and the new friends she has meet there. 

She is also afraid that once she returns home none of the other fallen kids she has made friends with can keep as close as they are now (they assure her that no matter where they are or the distance they will be always be together and friends)

She is pretty good at making super effective Potion and healing items because of that she has taken the responsibility to make a lot for everyone so no one gets injured in the wild

Since Hazel love romantic things a lot, she considers herself “an expert” she knows who has feeling for who

Because of that, she and the other kids play “house” when they are bored, Hazel has created a whole different story every time they play and each one been more dramatic than the last one, sometimes some of the adults or Akari and Rei are involved depending of what they will do and what drama the story will have 

#pokemon #Pokemon Trainer #Pokemon Legends #pokemon legends arceus #pla #pokémon #pokémon legends arceus #Pokemon fan art #pokemon trainer oc #trainer hazel #warden ingo #warden melli #subway boss nobori #pokemon beni #beni #papa ingo au #found family au #pokemon oc #trainer oc

[youngeditor1999]

Favorite crackships?

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS ANON!!!!!! 🤩🔥💯💥

Crackships are silly but also super fun!! (: 💓

Alright, so the very first one that came to mind was Kono Kalakaua/Danny Williams from the 2010 reboot of Hawaii Five-0.

Now, I am definitely a very loyal McDanno (Steve McGarrett/Danny Williams) girlie through and through. I also really enjoy(ed) Kono's relationship with Adam!!

That being said...

Kono and Danny had some flirtations during the very first few season one episodes. They for sure would have been cute together and really would have made an excellent couple overall. 🥰

Speaking of Hawaii Five-0...

Steve McGarrett and Dean Winchester is also a fave.

They feel so right to me in a way that truly doesn't make a lot of sense, which is how I know that this is an excellent crackship.

Perhaps they are too similar to each other, but then again, that's what would be fun about watching and reading about them!!

Next on this list, I'm gonna say Troy/Kelsi from High School Musical.

They are only a crackship because of how iconic Troy/Gabriella are...if Troy/Gabriella weren't the main romantic couple of the trilogy (Chad and Ryan aside of course because they definitely count, even if they weren't canon-canon! 💓), then I fully believe that they would have had more potential.

Troy complimented her song writing/composition abilities in the first movie and then at the end of HSM 1, literally gave her the championship basketball because she was "the playmaker". 🥺🥲😩💞

Also, all of the most romantic songs that Kelsi wrote for Troy and Gabriella...there was always just a little something extra there that made me think that she was moreso thinking about Troy and herself when she was writing them. 🤷🏻‍♀️

It's hard to explain exactly what I mean because of course Kelsi was always super respectful to Gabriella and Troy and Gabriella's relationship in general.

But I just feel that there was so much potential for them!! They definitely could have worked out and lasted way past high school. 💗

But yeah, they are also a major crackship because Troy was always hella smitten with Gabriella, even when he maybe shouldn't have been. 👀

Moving on, I have to mention Olivia Pope/Mellie Grant from Scandal.

They have so much history and moments together that really solidified them into the Crackship Hall of Fame. Maybe they aren't as cracky as what some crackships are, but they would have probably raised more than a few eyebrows if they had ever been real.

And for the record, Fitz didn't deserve either of them!!!!! 😤

Onto Law and Order: SVU...

Olivia Benson/Nick Amaro is a hardcore crackship.

There's no way Liv would have ever hooked up with Nick for realisies, but it's still hella fun to imagine what that would look like (:

I am also counting Elliot Stabler/Alex Cabot as a crackship!!!

They have just as much energy and chemistry as what Benson/Stabler and Benson/Cabot do.

It's easy to forget about them because of these factors, but it's also what makes them so nice to consider from time to time. (:

Next, I'd be amiss of I didn't mention Megan Calvet-Draper/Joan (Holloway) Harris from Mad Men!!

This is a pairing that literally doesn't make sense at all for many reasons. I still like to think about them together anyway though because it's fun and crazy!!

Finally, last but not least, I must mention all of my NFL RPF ships. (Tom/Rob, Tom/Jules, Jules/Danny, Joe/Ja'Marr etc.)

These are all crackships because they of course focus on real, living people who, no matter how damn obvious they are, have never confirmed real relationships with any of the people I ship them with. 🥴🫣😶‍🌫️😔

Ok!!

...I think that's all of 'em for now. 🙂

That was way more than what I was first thinking when I originally received this ask!! 😱🤯😵‍💫

At the end of the day, though I have my set OTPs, it's cool to think about different fandom pairings in way that isn't usually seen. 🥰

I hope that you have enjoyed reading all of my crazy and random answers, anon!!!

Thank you again for sending this in; I had a lot of fun working on it!!!!! 🌟

#asks #askbox #asked and answered #anon #crackships #favorites #fandom #fandom life #Kono Kalakaua #Danny Williams #Steve McGarrett #Dean Winchester #Kelsi Nielsen #Troy Bolton #Gabriella Montez #Chad Danforth #Ryan Evans #Mellie Grant #Olivia Pope #Olivia Benson #Elliot Stabler #Nick Amaro #Alex Cabot #Megan Draper #Megan Calvet #Joan Harris #Joan Holloway #Tom Brady #Rob Gronkowski #Julian Edelman

[spynorth]

@foxtaeil : 😘 // it was international kissing day, mates ! 

There’s a poignant ache that settles like a rock behind his rib cage, neck constricted by the tie so effortlessly wrapped around it while blue eyes flicker across the slowly enlarging crowd. They stand in small circles, talking in hushed whispers like birds preening their feathers - flashes of color accompanied with the sharp sound of carefully perfected laughter that Lucas is fairly certain was rehearsed in with a bathroom mirror in anticipation of the main event. 

Hm. Could have used a bit more work.

The atmosphere weaves itself around guests and hosts alike, a heavy pattern akin to a choreographed dance inside a gilded cage and for a moment he wonders if anyone other than himself is aware of how fragile their play is,  imagines a single chess piece toppling off the board, shattering the illusion like a glass of wine falling across a plush carpet and leaving it’s red stain behind. Countries rest inside their perfectly manicured fingers, promises of better futures delivered with fake smiles - but the mi5 agent has long since lost belief in such things. His tie grows tighter, fingers tugging impatiently where it rests against his neck, and Lucas decides he’s had enough of standing in corners. Long strides take him in a slow walk through the center of the room, lithe form avoiding white clothed tables set in a way that he is almost certain would put Buckingham Palace to shame and ears attuned for any snippet of conversation that might be useful, any whisper that carries the fate of the free world upon it. 

He doesn’t notice the leader of said free world until he’s almost on top of her - maybe it’s dumb luck, or maybe it’s years of learning to turn any situation to his advantage, to ensure that any attention drawn can only help his attempts to blend in - but whatever the reason, his palms land instinctively at her waist, steadying Mellie Grant where she stands and lips tugging into a small, crooked grin of an apology. “Sorry. I’m a bit out of my element here, I’m afraid.” One palm leaves the curve of her side, fingers wrapping around the woman’s own in order to brush soft kisses across the sensitive place along the backs of her knuckles. He frees his hold, blue eyes moving slowly over her expression as if drinking it in, flashes of what might be flittering before him.

Hands grab at the lapels of his coat, a soft gasp carried to his ear as her back hits the wall in some shadowed corner and lips that press against his with a hunger that’s well matched, that frenzied need to devour, that need to anchor himself (body and soul) in a warmth that reminds him he’s still alive. 

But all Lucas offers of such a fantasy is a blink, corner of his mouth tugging up slightly yet again and words a low rumble between them. “Enjoy the party .. Mrs. President.”

#foxtaeil #verse tbd ; #hello yes i got carried away. welcome to writing with me #i hate him :|| #anyways this was - oof. i don't hate it. #i was vibing. #idk if we're close enough for writing this but !! i just knocked that door down mate. #do they know each other? is he just checking her out for the first time? who knows. not me.

[multifandomfix]

Imagine getting jealous when Mellie spends too much time with Fitz.

You knew it was only to keep up appearances, but still you seethed every time Fitz was able to take Mellie away from you. She loathed the man most of the time, but she was so good at playing her part of doting wife that sometimes it still stung.

After she’d come home from an official appearance with him, she found you curled up in a corner of the couch. "Why the long face? Something happen while I was gone," she asked. You could tell it was genuine concern in her tone.

"The usual," you said with a sigh. "I hate having to share you with Fitz. I know you don’t love him anymore, but it all looks so real sometimes that I can’t help but feel like everything we have is a lie."

"Baby, no," Mellie said, coming to sit next to you on the couch. She brought a hand up to your face, lightly caressing it. "Every minute I spend with the man I spend thinking of you. It’s the only thing that gets me through it all anymore. To know I have someone who really loves me waiting at home," Mellie paused, taking your chin in her hand and turning your head so you were making eye contact with her. "You’re my strength. And it won’t always be like this, I promise." You let out another sigh. You knew she was right, but sometimes you just needed to hear it.

For anon

#mellie grant #mellie grant imagine #mellie grant x reader #scandal #scandal imagine #request #send requests #requests open

[bruised-benson]

PLEASE ANYONE OUT THERE

if someone would write a fluffy or angsty bellamy young x reader imagine/fic or a mellie grant x reader i would be forever grateful. i can give you a prompt or something, i just need this in my life.

#writing #writers #fanfic #prompt #promt list #idea #bellamy young #fic #bellamy young x reader #bellamy young imagine #bellamy #young #mellie grant #scandal #mellie #grant #melody grant #mellie grant imagine #mellie grant x reader #inspo #ideas #prompt ideas #write #writer

[wlw-with-reader]

Masterlist 2 (Updated as of March 23, 2021)

Works grouped together by series

♥ Smut

☀ Dark Themes - READ THE TAGS

Criminal Minds

Emily Prentiss x Female Reader

It's Time To Move Our Dance Somewhere Else

In Meetings

There's Beauty In The Storm

Jennifer "JJ" Jareau x Female Reader

Not Up For Debate ♥

Her Hunger For You ♥

Backed Against The Mirrors ♥

Something About You

Never Mess With The Queen☀

And That's Why The House Always Wins♥☀

Fleur Delacour x Female Reader

For Her, It Was Instant

Ginny Weasley x Female Reader

Tell Them The Story Of A Field That Was The Beginning Of It All

Kim Possible

Shego x Female Reader

Yes, Ms. Go ♥☀

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

To One, You May Be A Fleck of Space But To Another, You Are The Universe

Kiss It All Away ♥

Right Here

It's Hard To Not Go Back To You

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Those Two

Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

Only Hers ♥☀

No Longer Needed ♥☀

Scandal

Mellie Grant x Female Reader

Why You Can't Love The President

Supergirl

Alex Danvers x Female Reader x Lena Luthor

A Place For You

Lena Luthor x Female Reader

Her Love

Daddy Reigncorp x Female Reader

Life With Daddy ♥

It's Not Teasing ♥

Wonder Woman x Supergirl

Daddy Wondercorp x Female Reader

Married Life With A CEO And A Goddess ♥

It's Like Our Souls Were Meeting For The First Time In So Long

A Much Needed Week ♥

Can't Keep Their Hands To Themselves ♥

Just A Quick Stop ♥

The Flash

Iris West x Female Reader

Wait And See

#masterlist #emily prentiss x female reader #jennifer jareau x female reader #fleur delacour x female reader #ginny weasley x female reader #shego x female reader #mellie grant x female reader #iris west x female reader #diana prince x female reader #lena luthor x female reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #wlw imagines #women love women imagines #dc imagine #supergirl imagine #marvel imagine #lena luthor imagine #plus sized reader

[laufire]

sometimes I have this urge to make a list of Crimes TM that fictional characters (specifically those I relate to somehow, imagining myself in their situation) have forgiven that I would’ve considered Ultimate Dealbreakes lmao.

the first item is “literally everything Fitz Grant pulled on Scandal“, because if I was Olivia I would have stopped speaking to him after the pilot at the latest, when he made a fool of me and my Instinct TM and used me as an attack dog while he was at it.

(and that’s only because it’s been waaaaaay too long since I watched most of their flashbacks. actually, you know what, I remember the one in the elevator scene before Mellie interrupts them. THAT would’ve been it for me ñaldsfkjasf).

#it always amused me when people here accused me (it's been a while) of shit because of my problematique ships or faves or whatever #because obviously that showed lose morals or something #when irl everyone considers me one unforgiving sob lmfao (aaaaaaand they're right xD) #if someone crossed a line that was IT. maybe the particular situation forced me to keep interacting with them for one reason or another #but the relationship itself whatever it was; it was over for good. and only #genuine change could theoretically make me change my mind but welp. i have yet to encounter that in anybody who's wronged me lmfao #talking to the void #my thoughts #me me me #scandal thoughts #antifiztgrant for ts #olivia pope #scandal abc #lol #antiolitz for ts

[thistlecatfics]

Helllloooooo. Let's see 1, 3, 25!

Hello! <3

1. What was your first OTP? 

I am the biggest multishipper so I’ll read anything and everything, but Wolfstar was my first OTP and always has my heart. There’s just enough of them in canon to create incredible art without being constrained by the text. Sirius Black <3 <3 <3

3. Do you have any OT3/OT+ ships? What are your favorites?

If you can think of an OT3 ship, I’m probably into it. 

I love a postwar Harry/Ginny/Luna domesticity & healing from trauma together. (I think Luna would help make their relationship so much more stable, and Harry and Ginny both love her in canon.) (I just imagine Harry and Ginny have so much shared and individual trauma and little by way of coping skills after the 7th book and I think Luna would handle her own trauma in such a different way which would help all three of them heal.) 

I'm a big believer in a threesome to solve any sexual rivalry stuff going on. Zuko/Aang/Katara is also wonderful. 

Also... Sense8. Perfect. Amazing. Everything about it. 

I just read this Teddy/Draco/Harry fic by @lqtraintracks, which was so hot it turned my brain into a puddle, and so let’s add that trio to the list too. 

25. What are your favorite ships from a dead fandom?

What is a dead fandom? I feel like the internet can stir up the oldest, most buried bit of media and thrust it back into the conversation in some bizarre little corner of the internet. I love it!

But... 

Olivia Pope/Mellie Grant in Scandal. The fixer who is having an affair with the president? With the president’s wife? just amazing. formative

Blair/Chuck in Gossip Girl. Marissa/Ryan in the OC. House/Wilson in House, MD. 

And... um... umm... [apologies] [apologies for my lack of taste] [sorry again]

Justin Foley/Jessica Davis & Winston/Monty in 13 Reasons Why

Thank you for asking <3

Shipping Asks

[maybe-your-left]

Cowboy Blues: Its a Date, Or Is It?

Settling into a new routine has always been hard. You were so happy back in North Carolina. Well, happy was kind of a stretch, but you were comfortable. Everything was familiar and felt like home. Even after the falling out with Josh… boy was he someone you didn’t miss. The long nights of tears and screams followed by hours of pain and suffering. You cried tears of relief and unrelenting joy when the judge granted your restraining order. The next day you packed up all that was left of your life and got a new job at a clinic in West Virginia. 

Your alarm clock woke you from your thoughts, sighing before swinging your legs outta bed and making your way to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror was so different nowadays. No longer did you have to hide your face with layers of concealer to hide the shame from others, your (Y/E/C) eyes weren’t obscured by the burst blood vessels from repeated abuse. You could finally have your hair in whatever style you liked, not having to follow Josh’s rules of how a “lady was supposed to look and act”. Quickly washing your face from all the grime on your pillow you pulled your hair back into a messy braid with a bun atop your head. Throwing on some new scrubs, you grabbed an apple from the kitchen counter and rushed out to your car. Earl had gotten it all fixed up in a couple of days and dropped it off so you didn’t have to take the bus to work anymore. It took you all but fifteen minutes to arrive in front of the clinic, the head vet tech was there smiling at you when you walked up. 

“Morning Doctor (Y/L/N)!” 

“Good morning Shelby, you’re here early today. I’m usually the only one who gets in at 7.”

Shelby let out a breath you didn’t know she was holding and opened the door for you. Waltzing in you started flipping on lights to begin opening up. 

“Well, I got a phone call from the emergency pet line while I was getting ready for work so I just let him know to get here at 7 when you showed up” her voice trailed off while she stared out the front windows. You walked over to Shelby and stared out the window to see what she was looking at. Suddenly a car pulled into the parking lot and a man rushed out of the driver’s side. He crossed over the front of the vehicle and picked up something rather large and rushed to the front door. 

“He got here fast didn’t he?” Shelby spoke up. 

Turning towards the back entrance you let Shelby check in the man. You were setting down your bag in your office, getting your supplies ready for whatever emergency he was bringing with him. 

“Sure thing, can you tell me again what happened to him? I need to make sure Dr. (Y/L/N) knows before we take him from you.” Shelby said as calmly as she could. It was clear that the man was panicked, his voice was strained like he had been crying for some time. Walking back into the lobby you stopped dead in your tracks. Before you stood none other than Clyde Logan. Your knight in shining armor, your rescuer from weeks ago.  You cracked a smile, eyes searching his pained expression. He seemed to be at a loss for words, or he didn’t remember who you were. That thought stung since this wasn’t the first time you had thought about him since you departed. You thought about the embarrassing moment where you caught him coming out of the shower. If you were bolder you would’ve ripped that towel right off of him and rode him instead of El Wood. You had spent many nights in bed sweating up a storm thinking about his rough hands massaging and caressing you while whispering in your ear what a pretty cowgirl you were. Imagining how his muscular arms would hold you up against the wall while you chanted his name over and over and over again. You let out an audible whimper when you were shoved back into reality when Shelby spoke up again. 

Like throwing a cold bucket of water over you, you realized he was here for an emergency and the only dog you saw on that property was Leroy. You rushed over to Clyde’s side and peeked under the blanket that was cradling the poor thing. Clyde’s chest rose in shallow breaths as you looked over Leroy. It appeared he was still breathing but like his owner, he was only getting in shallow breaths, his fur was matted and spots of blood were visible through the patches of fur around his neck. 

“H-he got out this mornin’ an I found him fightin’ with a snake… I got it off a him but…” Clyde trailed off and looked at you with tears in his eyes. He choked back what seemed like a sob when you motioned for him to follow you to the back rooms. 

-----

Clyde left the clinic at about 10, the nurses assured him that Leroy was doing okay and that Dr. (Y/N) would make sure to call him when it was time to pick him up. He had spent all morning in the lobby pacing, panicking, dreaming of the worst possible scenario for his lil’ buddy. He had gotten Leroy when he moved out of Jimmy’s place to the family ranch. His sole companion that was with him day and night was now hurt because Clyde hadn’t checked for snakes before lettin’ him out. 

He left his number at the front desk along with the number for Duck Tape in case he didn’t answer at home when they called. He wasn’t sure where he was headed but he mindlessly made it to Mellie’s salon. Maybe a haircut would calm his nerves, after the traumatic moment with Leroy, he also had seen that girl again. He wasn’t sure why he was blessed that day to come upon such a fine young lady but he was thanking his lucky stars every night for the moments they shared. Being a southern gentleman and all he tried to keep his “unsuitable” thoughts outta his mind but there was something about her. 

Walkin’ into the salon Mellie smiled at him and motioned for him to sit in the chair. Draping him in the cloth and brushing his hair Clyde finally started to relax. 

“I didn’t know you were gonna come in today Clyde”

“Wasn’ plannin’ on it Mel,” Clyde said barely above a whisper, “I was in town already and needed a trim.” 

After a long pause, Mellie brought Clyde to the sink to wash his hair. Heatin’ up the water to a warm sudsy temp, using the tea tree shampoo as he likes. 

“Leroy’s at the vet. Got caught by a snake this mornin’.” Clyde finally said, “Got him there until they call n’ say it s’okay to bring him home”. 

Mellie hummed in response, she never pushed Clyde to talk more than he needed to, unlike Jimmy. She was truly just there to listen and support him whenever he needed it. 

Finishing up at the sink he got up and sank back down in front of Mellie’s mirror as she started trimming away. Clyde had finally begun to relax after telling Mellie about Leroy when she piped up. 

“Earl said you had a girl at the house the other day”. 

Clyde's eyes nearly popped outta his head. Earl knew better than to be tellin’ Mellie bout’ girls, Clyde was never one to hold a secret but Mellie always tried to work her “Mellie Magic '', which usually ended in him gettin’ his heartbroken. 

“He said she was quite a looker, want to tell me where you found her? Or should I just keep cutting hair until you talk?” her smirk on her face was evident even if Clyde wasn’t making full eye contact. The scissors she held were dangerously close to his ear, threatening to cut the hair coverin’ em too short. “I don’ know what yer talkin’ bout”. 

“Is that your final answer Clyde?”

Eyes darting between Mellie and her scissors he knew he would have to cave or else he would suffer having a bowl cut for the next few months. “Her car broke down outside the house, I couldn’ jus let her walk off”.

“And what’s her name?”

“(Y/N)”

“That’s a pretty name, never heard of her. Is she new?”

“Not sure, she didn’ say. But she works as a vet where Leroy’s at.”

“Have you made a move on her?”

Clyde pauses before answering, he wasn’t sure he wanted to share with his little sister about how (Y/N) barged in on him naked after a shower. She would get the wrong impression. The last thing Clyde needed was Mellie thinkin’ bout’ him and (Y/N) naked, not that he would mind it.

“Clyde, don’t go all moony-eyed on me, have you asked her out yet?

“O’ course not” Clyde spit out. He couldn’ imagine doin’ that, what if she said no? He wasn’ sure he could take her rejection. 

“Why don’t you ask her to the bar? Get her a couple of drinks so she meets people in town.” 

Clyde swallowed, it did seem like a good idea in theory. Nothin’ could go wrong at his

bar. He would be in control of the situation. Not saying another word Mellie finished his hair cut n’ he left to get the bar ready to open. 

-----

The rest of your morning was uneventful after the Leroy emergency. Taking him from Clyde had been heartbreaking, to say the least. The man looked like he was going to pass out when he told him he couldn’t stay back while you worked on Leroy. Apparently he had been pacing the lobby and wouldn’t sit still for longer than ten minutes. The nurses told you he came up to the counter and asked about Leroy every time he sat back up from his seat. It was cute how much he cared about his dog, not many pet owners stay when they drop off their animals, but Clyde stayed until finally, Shelby convinced him to go stretch his legs. 

At about 3 you checked in on Leroy and he was happy as can be, you could hardly believe he was bitten by a snake near hours ago. He was so glad to see you, he clearly remembered you, unlike his owner. It was time to call Clyde and let him know he could come pick him up. You also got to go home and rest after a long day's work once Leroy was sent on his way. 

Dialing the house number you waited… “This s’ the Logan Ranch leaves a message.” Beep. 

Ugh, you guessed you had to try the second number, whatever Duck Tape was you had heard it many times to know that Clyde was a regular. 

Ring, Ring, Ring… ugh come on pick up. 

“Duck Tape bar, this s’ Clyde.”

Clearing your throat you replied, “Hey Clyde it’s (Y/N) at Community Animal Hospital, I just wanted to let you know Leroy is here and ready to go home.” Smile beaming through the phone you hoped that by saying your first name Clyde would remember you. 

“Thank y’ very much. I’ll be there soon I’m jus’ down the road' ' Clyde blurted out and hung up quickly. 

Sighing you went back and got Leroy ready to be discharged. Letting the nurses and other staff members go home while you waited for Clyde. Sitting behind the front desk you waited with Leroy sitting between your knees while you scratched and pet his head. 

No more than five minutes had passed before Clyde strode through the door. You hadn’t been able to get a good look at him this morning but now here he was in all his glory. A dark-gray button-up smartly tucked into denim wranglers adorned his broad chest. His beard seemed better cleaned up compared to this morning and his hair seemed a little shorter, not that you paid that much attention to his ebony locks. 

“Hi again sunshine”. 

His words melted your bones, the sickly sweet nickname he called you echoed in your ears each time you fell asleep. Shaking yourself out of the trance he put you in you spoke up, “Hey Clyde, I got Leroy right here for you. Let me just walk you through the medicine he will be on for a few days”. You walked your way around the counter and stood to his right. You immediately noticed how much bigger he was up close, your eyes barely reaching to his shoulders. You had to strain your neck to look at his face. And what a face it was, covered in little freckles and moles you resisted the urge to touch them all. His eyes bored holes into your soul, stealing the air out of your lungs. It was like two perfect pools of brown amber were right there for you to dive into. 

“What’ll I be givin’ him now?” Clyde’s voice jerked you from his face back to the paperwork in front of you. 

“Oh yeah, he just will be taking a couple of these” you lifted the green pill bottle towards Clyde “Twice a day for 3 days until the swelling goes down. After that just use sparingly if he starts itching at it. There is also some gel to put on the sores that need to be done every night before he goes to sleep and that won’t stop until they go away”. Clyde nodding in response to your instructions. A smile pulled at his lips when you finished. 

“I can’t thank y’ enough fer helpin’ Leroy. I don’ know how I can repay y’.” 

“Well I’m a doctor, it’s in my job description” you smiled up at him. After what felt like hours he spoke again. 

“Well’m a bartender so why don’ I get you a couple a rounds on the house tonight?” 

You were intrigued, you hadn’t planned on going out but it was a Friday and all you were going to do at home was watch Netflix and possibly touch yourself to the thought of Clyde. Now you had the chance to, maybe, touch him for real. 

“Uh sure, I’d love to come by”. 

“See y’ at 10?” 

“It’s a date” you blurted out without realizing what you said, not wanting to take it back you just gave him a nervous smile. He said nothing as he gathered up Leroy’s supplies and called him out to his car. 

TAGLIST: @finn-ray-nal-beads @morby @kirah36

authors note: I am having so much fun writing this you guys have no idea. Also be ready for smut *saddles up* 

#adam driver #Clyde logan #clyde x reader #cowboy

[talos1guestservices]

Title: my future in your hands

Pairing: Olivia Pope/Mellie Grant

Rating: General

Summary: Set during 1x6 “The Trail” – Canon Divergence. Olivia raises one perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “Mrs. Grant, I’m just here to offer my congratulations on your win in the primary today. New Hampshire made the right choice.”

Read on [FFN] or [AO3]

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

The campaign bus rolls down the highway, blurring trees and mountains of rock and dirt until it all becomes the same green-brown streaks that fade into the darkness.

Inside the bus it is almost silent, save for the sound of tires on pavement and the occasional tapping on keyboards and sometimes even an unexpected snore from a journalist or a staffer who has finally drifted off to sleep.

Olivia balls up her jacket and presses it into the crevice between her headrest and the window, intent on getting an hour of shuteye before she has to be up and moving again. But that plan is foiled as soon as Mellie walks into view.

Mellie stops at Olivia’s seat, just for a second, and looks at her like she has something on her mind, head cocked a bit to the side. Olivia looks up at her and their eyes meet and then Mellie is gone, taking her seat at the rear of the bus, as far away from any journalists as she can possibly get.

Olivia’s brow furrows and she only waits thirty seconds before following after her. She sits in the seat next to Mellie’s, privately relishing in Mellie’s gasp when she realizes Olivia is there.

“You shouldn’t be back here,” Mellie whispers harshly. She clears her throat and straightens her back, looking out over the tops of the seats to make sure no one has turned around. “Go back to your own seat.”

Olivia raises one perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “Mrs. Grant, I’m just here to offer my congratulations on your win in the primary today. New Hampshire made the right choice.”

Mellie sighs. She searches Olivia’s face for any sign that she is lying, but there is nothing but earnestness there. Leaning back in her seat, she rubs at tired eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Thank you. God knows we couldn’t have done it without you.”

“No,” Olivia says, relaxing into her seat, “probably not.”

Mellie drops her hands into her lap and tries to glare at Olivia but she’s grinning too hard for it to be believable.

They’re sitting close now – too close, for sure, to be inconspicuous – their bodies aligned and touching from knee to hip to shoulder. It would be easy, so easy, for them to just lace their fingers together and lapse into comfortable silence.

But that doesn’t seem to be in their cards.

“Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn’t married him,” Mellie says. She has a dreamy look in her eyes, like she’s imagining herself on top of the world, rather than standing beside the man who very nearly is. “If I had waited for someone…else. Someone I loved and who loved me. Someone who encouraged my aspirations and didn’t expect me to give everything up my life for them.”

“You’re going to do great things as First Lady, Mrs. Grant.”

“Of course I am,” Mellie snaps. She takes a shuddering breath, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is what if I had waited…for you?” Her heart is hammering in her chest and she bites her bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood, but she refuses to look at Olivia, doesn’t want to risk seeing the rejection on her face.

“Mrs. Grant, I–”

“Don’t, Olivia. We’re so beyond formalities now, I think.”

Olivia stares at Mellie, replaying her confession over and over in her mind. It feels like a punch to the gut every time. This is exactly what she’s wanted for months, what she’s dreamed of during every stolen moment and every glance across a crowded room. It’s right here in front of her and it’s completely unattainable. In another universe or at another time, maybe it would work out. But in this one, at this time, Mellie is married to the man who is about to become the Leader of the Free World.

“Say my name,” Mellie whispers.

“That would be crossing the line,” Olivia says, nodding more to reassure herself than anything else. “It would be inappropriate.”

“Just say my name,” Mellie says, finally looking at Olivia.

Olivia chuckles, looking down at her hands. She’s quiet for a long minute and then faintly, “Mellie.” She lets out a breathless laugh.

Mellie smiles, resting her head back against the headrest.

This time, Mellie doesn’t hesitate. Her hand snakes across into the space atop their touching knees, entwining her fingers with Olivia’s. It’s like they’ve been doing this for their whole lives; leg against leg against hip, hand upon hand, head upon shoulder, heart upon heart. It’s a moment that could last forever, that could stretch beyond time itself and outlive the universe.

#scandal #scandal fic #mellivia #mellivia fic