#reminding me of the time a cat I used to own stole a whole chicken tender from my plate

[ratcandy]

To the person who sent in the cilantro ask I have a funny story

My mom bought a cilantro plant a few years ago. A few days later the plant was GONE. Down to the roots. Who did it?

My cat. He ate the whole cilantro plant. And apparently my dad thought it was catnip and let him eat it.

I still think about this to this day.

Sometimes u get a little hongry, and sometimes there is cilantro within reach, and sometimes u are but a little cat,

#ask #clamchat #sdhgDSHKG #reminding me of the time a cat I used to own stole a whole chicken tender from my plate #in front of me #didn't even try to be sneaky. just waltzed right up #snatched. ran

[new-tella-us]

The Child

Alright! This is a story I’m currently making on Archive Of Our Own. I might as well try to promote the story here.

If you wanna see past Chapter 1 (I’ve done 3 chapters) click the link

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27550474/chapters/67383730

It was just another normal day; well... as normal as it can be. The group was sitting in the cafeteria, just waiting; waiting for Teruteru and Hajime to finish cooking. As the Ultimate Cooks, they often insist on cooking. Today though, they’re taking a bit longer than usual. The group wasn’t particularly worried but, it did get their attention.

“I wonder what’s taking Hajime-chan and Teruteru-chan so long” Ibuki mentioned.

“Maybe they are preparing a feast for us” Sonia said.

As if on cue, the cooks finally reappeared in the cafeteria with food in hands. A very normal amount of food. So that eliminates Sonia’s suggestion.

“My apologizes for the delay, folks. Perfection takes a long time” Teruteru said in his usual cocky attitude.

“He means some of the cooking utensils were missing, he freaked out for five minutes then, we had to make do with the rest of the supplies left” Hajime corrected. He was already done with Teruteru’s bs. Teruteru looked back and gave Hajime an exaggerated glare, Hajime just smirked back. They set the food down on the table and before they could even set down the utensils, Akane got up and ran towards the food; Imposter, or so they called ‘him’, quickly followed.

“Akane, wait! You know I must always test the food to see if anything is amiss.” Imposter scolded.

“Ah shut it! We all know the food is safe, plus I’m hungry!”  

Teruteru tried to get the food away from the greedy girl but, it was already too late, the chicken had been torn into and the Impostor went for the soup.

“ALESSIA CARA! What are you two doing?! Stop acting like heathens and take a serving like the rest of the class! This food is a work of art and should be treated and eaten as such!”

This soon became a game of cat and mouse as Teruteru ran away with the food and Akane chased him. Hajime sighed and the rest of the class laughed. Nagito and Hajime decided to serve the rest of the food. Grabbing plates and utensils, they gave every student their own serving and saved two servings for Teruteru and Akane. Hajime got the last two servings for himself and Nagito and put them on the last table to the end; they usually ate together, mostly because the class insists they do, now that they’re officially a thing.

“Hajime, help me! I can’t outrun this beast forever!” Teruteru pleaded from the hallway. Hajime facepalmed before walking towards the hallways. Nagito giggled before going to take a seat but, when he got to his chair, he noticed that Hajime’s plate was gone.  

“What? Impostor, did you steal Hajime’s food again? Haven’t we said that the food was safe?” Nagito asked.

“What?” Impostor seemed confused, “No, I didn’t. I was right here the whole time.”

Nagito looked at Impostor then back at the missing food, “That’s strange. Then who took it? It wasn’t Akane, she’s chasing Teruteru.”

“Oh OH! We have a food thief on the island!” Ibuki said a little too excitedly, “We gotta be detectives and find out who dunnit!”

“Can that happen after breakfast?” Kazuichi whined, “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“You guys can eat, I’m going to search,” Nagito offered.

“Nagito, you know Hajime isn’t going to like that, you’re probably the one that needs to eat the most,” Of course, Mahiru is right but, Nagito didn’t feel comfortable with that. Guess that comes with caring about someone. Besides, Nagito wasn’t hungry.

“It’ll be fine,” is all Nagito said before leaving the cafeteria to search. If they have a thief, it would be the person without an alibi but, everyone was in the cafeteria. That means, it’s possibly someone that shouldn’t even be on the island. As Nagito looks around the first island to find anything, he instead sees a ship docked on the main island, this often means Makoto and company had arrived.  

Nagito went to the main island to greet them. When he got near their ship, he saw Makoto and security, they seemed to be looking for something or someone. He approached Makoto and tapped him on the shoulder. Makoto yelped. Right...he doesn’t like being approached from behind.

“Oh, Komaeda! It’s just you. Uhm...could you not do that?” Makoto asked, still a little shaken up.

“Sorry”

“It’s fine, actually, I’m glad you’re here! Have you seen anything or anyone strange?”

“Actually, yes.” Nagito confirmed, “Someone stole Hajime’s food. I’ve been looking for any evidence that could show me who it is.”

“That could be her.” Makoto mumbled to himself.

“Who?” Nagito questioned.

Makoto didn’t answer, he seems to be deep in thought about something. When he snapped out of thought, he looked at Nagito and asked, “Can you help me find her?”

“Uhh...sure?” Nagito responded confused.

Makoto smiled and started to search around the main island again. Nagito decided to search a different island. Something was telling him to search the fourth island and so he did. The once carnival themed island was now turned into another eatery. Nagito searched the booths to see if someone was there. By the time he made it to the last booth, he heard scuttering; as if someone was running away. He followed the noise, trying be as quiet as possible, until he heard rustling. He looked behind him to see a little girl with an empty plate in one hand and a teddy bear in the other.

The little girl had dark brown skin and bushy near-black hair up in two puffs on the sides of her head. She was wearing a baggy, plain white t-shirt with a dusty pink skirt and dark pink shoes and an out of place, purple bow but, her most noticeable feature was her deep red eyes and her dead stare; it reminded Nagito of Izuru. He, slowly, approached the young girl and kneeled down to her eye level.  

“Hello, my name is Nagito Komaeda, what’s your name?”

She didn’t respond. She just continued to stare at him. It was kind of creepy, though Nagito of all people had no right to judge.  

“Were you the one that stole the food?” Nagito asked while pointing to the plate.

The girl didn’t answer but looked at the plate in her hand. She then held out the plate to Nagito as if she was giving it to him. Nagito took that as a confession and took the plate. He got back to his feet and started heading back. The girl didn’t follow.

“Come one,” he said, waving his hand in a gesture that meant follow.

When he noticed her walking towards him, he started to leave once more. He made sure to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t fall behind, she didn’t. He made his way to the main land where now everyone was, including Makoto.

“Ah! There they are.” Makoto said, relieved, “I told you he was fine.”

“Nagito! Where were you?” Hajime asked. It seemed he was worried. “And who is this?”

Nagito gestured to the girl now hiding behind him. “She’s the food thief. I don’t know what her name is. She won’t talk to me. I was hoping Naegi-kun would know.”

Makoto sighed, “Sadly, I don’t. She won’t talk to any of us.”

Akane told one good look at the girl and laughed.

“Akane, what might be so funny. I do not believe this is a situation to L O L about.” Sonia commented.

“Y’all are idiots! Look at the girl, she’s not Asian. She’s not even Afro-Asian! Of course, the girl was silent, she probably doesn’t speak Japanese!”

Akane walked up to the girl and spoke a different language. The girl’s eyes lit up and she started to talk back. Everyone else seemed confused expect Hajime and Sonia. But that made sense, Hajime was the Ultimate Everything and thus the Ultimate Linguist and Sonia is a princess that knew thirty different languages. Nagito could somewhat understand but, wasn’t as great at translation. He could only tell that the two were speaking English.

“What are they saying?” Kazuichi asked, completely lost.

“Introductions. Akane is introducing herself and the rest of us to girl.” Sonia responded a little coldly.

Akane then turned to the group again.

“Okay, pretty much; the girl speaks English, she’s from an island named ‘Dominica’, she’s 10 and her name is Anna spelled A-n-n-a.”

Makoto piped up, “So she speaks English...I wouldn’t know that since we found her just wandering around Tokyo. We actually brought her here to see if you guys could take care of her. I, unfortunately, don’t have the time to.”

The group fell silent, did they actually want to take care of a random child that they don’t know?  

“Why not?” Akane said, confidently, “It’s be nice to get some kids around here for once. Plus, she got nowhere to go.”

“It does seem like the right thing to do,” Hajime said, “But, are all of you fine with it?”

One by one the group slowly nodded their heads; no one objected, surprisingly.

Akane spoke to Anna in English, Hajime translated for the rest of the group.

English is in Bold, Japanese is not.

“Do you want to stay with us Anna?”

Anna replied, “...Are they nice people?”

“Of course.” Akane said, chipper as ever.

“...Sure then. I trust you.” Anna smile.

“Yay!”

Akane looked back at the group and started speaking Japanese again.

“Well, I do have a mission soon but, Sonia and Hajime understand English so, it should be fine. We can set her up with one of you.”

“Would you wanna stay with the Blonde girl or the Brown spikey haired boy?”

“Why can’t I stay with you?” Anna asked?

“Cause I’m going on a mission soon and I won’t be here to talk to you.” Akane points to Hajime and Sonia, “Those two also know English.”

“Oh.” Anna took a look at Hajime and Sonia and pointed at Hajime, “He seems nice.”

Hajime smiled. Kazuichi snickered.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard someone say that Hajime seems nice”  

Hajime didn’t even need to glare at Kazuichi because Nagito did it for him. Kazuichi rose up his hands in defense.

“Really? The girl doesn’t seem nice?”

Anna paused, “A blonde lady took me away from my mommy...”

Silence.

Sonia and surprisingly, Hiyoko seems pretty uncomfortable after hearing that.

“Oh... well, I promise, Sonia is not a bad person. She’s a very nice blonde lady!” Akane reassured, “But, if you feel uncomfortable with her then, Hajime it is.”

With the living arrangements settled they all went home to bask, in wonder, at this very interesting day.

#danganronpa #danganronpa2 #fanfic #OC #Hajime Hinata #Nagito Komaeda #akane owari #sdr2 nagito #SDR2 Hajime #sdr2 akane #hinakoma #komahina #archive of our own

[thepulta]

Part 1

For @lettuce-shoes. This just brained me when she mentioned Adult Finds a Child because I wanted their friendship to happen in the storyline but it never really did and there is a WHOLE AU that could definitely happen around it if Skyfarer-Proper never happened. Skyfarer could happen maybe and the dynamic would have been completely different. But mostly I don’t see Skyfarer happening, it just would have been this catastrophe of three sisters and that’s this Listlie AU. 

-=-

Arthur’s instructions had been very simple. Go to Port Prosper, organize the Fairweather offices, meet Morgan, and escort her home to London.

Morgan had bitched about it because she “was seventeen and wasn’t a fucking baby thank you very much” but there’d been some light platitudes about separate cabins and travelling together finally and she’d fucked off to Leadbeater several months previously, mollified.

That was all fine. The offices were fine too at this point. It’d only taken a day to get the paperwork in order; some missing ledgers were behind the bookshelf. What the instructions did NOT include, however, were how to deal with getting framed as a parent.

The first red flag was the child that burst through the crowd. She must have seen the red hair, Westlie’s casual This is my Day Off because I’m not in London and Arthur can shove it look and beelined towards her. The second red flag was the constable that shoved over a man in pursuit. He looked angry.

The third red flag was the child screaming, “Mother!” with tears in her eyes, which was less of a red flag and more of a mobile red brick wall smacking Westlie in the face, which, coincidentally stopped her walking in stunned silence and the child slammed into her legs.

She was about six or seven with curly black hair pulled into a ponytail and big brown eyes. She had a very rough cotton dress on. It was questionably clean, but extremely untidy. Her sniffles threatened to overwhelm her as she looked up and a tear ran down her cheek. “H-he’s trying to arrest me!”

Trying to-

“EXCUSE ME.” The constable shoved past another person in the throng to reach them. He was huge, at least six foot with beefy hands and a well-oiled mustache. “SHE-” He reached them and Westlie instinctively felt something tighten in her as he loomed, pulling herself to her full height. “Excuse me, ma’am. You can turn that child over.”

“This is my mother!”

Westlie looked down at the child, brain reeling. She stared back up at Westlie with enormous frightened eyes.

She looked back up at the constable and somehow managed to clear her throat. “Why are you chasing her?”

He looked aghast. “She’s an orphan! Look at her! She stole a purse and needs to be returned to the orphanage immediately to be punished!”

The constable scowled and reached out his hands. “I’m not an orphan!” The child pushed back against Westlie’s legs, almost hiding behind them. “She’s my mother! Tell him to go away!”

“I- I-” The constable smelled like garlic and Westlie instinctively smacked his hand edging away from him as well when he edged closer. “Back off.” She stared down at the child. “Did you- did you take something?”

The child’s lip quivered. “I- I didn’t mean to.” The child paused. “-Mum.”

I hate this. Was Westlie’s instinctive thought. I am never going to be called mum. God, have I ever called Relia ‘mum’? I should apologize.

“Give it back.”

The child was already shaking a little bit when she huddled against Westlie’s skirts, but she started shaking in earnest at that point, but she obeyed. After a few seconds, tears started streaming down her cheeks and she produced a little coin purse that couldn’t have held more than 3 sovereigns at most. She held it up to Westlie who gently took it and offered it to the constable.

The constable snatched it, scowling. “I appreciate the cooperation, ma’am, but that’s proof she’s a fucking thief.” He sneered down at the child who shook harder. “You need to be in jail you little picker.”

He was getting pleasure out of scaring her, Westlie could see it on his face. He slid the purse into his jacket in a way that wasn’t entirely honest either and she had to wonder if those three sovereigns were going to get back to their owner. The whole exchange- him leering over the child who was terrified and scared witless and very clearly didn’t want to go back from wherever she had come from- so much that she would cling to an utter stranger for help- struck a chord with Westlie. Being out of London was like a breath of fresh air from Arthur’s looming and who was she to send this child back to whatever fucking hellhole she’d run from. Maybe the money had been to eat. It certainly didn’t look like she’d been fed well.

“Oh, fuck off.”

Westlie almost blinked in surprise at the venom in the tone. The constable certainly did.

“She is my-” Westlie barely managed to get the word out without choking. “-daughter and I appreciate your willingness to bring justice with the purse. Now kindly fuck off.”

He scowled harder and the leer pivoted to Westlie. She felt the usual ball of anger inside herself begin to flame and she instinctively puffed herself up to meet him, scowling back and tucking the child behind her. “Ma’am,” he spat the word. “The place she needs is a cell to know what she’s done.”

Westlie’s tone dripped sarcasm. “With every possible respect, Sir, she is under my supervision and I will discipline her myself for the trouble she’s caused Port Prosper. Come on-” she realized as she snatched the child’s hand she didn’t even know her name. “-girl.”

She stomped away from the constable, the girl stumbling after her a bit. She didn’t stop until they were away from the docks and a few streets closer to the offices. When it seemed safe enough, she ducked into a quiet alleyway and glanced back down at the girl. She was crying again. Westlie realized abruptly she’d been clutching her hand too tight. “I’m- I’m- I’m so sorry. Um-”

Westlie leaned down, cleared her throat, and offered the girl and handkerchief. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pull you like that. I’m so sorry. I-” she cleared her throat again, completely at a loss. “I’m sorry.”

The girl sniffed and scrubbed a bit fruitlessly at her tears. Westlie could get a better look at her face. “Where…. Where is your home?”

“Please don’t take me back!” There was another wail and burst of tears. The girl cringed away from her and Westlie felt something in her heart twist. “Please, please, please! I’ll do anything. Don’t take me back to the orphanage!”

“Hey- hey-” Westlie cleared her throat and shoved her hand in her pocket, wondering if there was going to be anything useful. A pencil and a five-pence. Not useful. “I- I’m not taking you back. Don’t worry. Are you ok? You look… are you hungry?”

The girl didn’t respond, she was looking at the dirty handkerchief in shock. “… I dirtied it. I’m sorry. I dirtied it.”

Westlie gently took it from her and the girl’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Hey, it’s ok. I’m not mad.”

She just stared at her with scared wide eyes.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“… food?”

“Right.” It came out a bit more impatient than Westlie expected and she reminded herself why she was never, ever going to have children. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.” The girl sniffed and looked back down at the ground, her voice dropping low. “They don’t feed us dinner there… and I missed breakfast, and I thought-”

Westlie found herself straightening up, and somewhat returning to her normal self, trying to deal with things in a no-nonsense manner because that was what was expected and productive and reasonable. “Let’s get street buns.”

She strolled back out of the alleyway, not holding the child’s hand. She stumbled when the child ran and smacked into the back of her legs. She grabbed her skirt and clung to the side of it. “Hey- what are you-” Oh, she was scared. Westlie felt her heart soften a little again and she slowed down so the child could keep pace, literally holding onto her by one edge of the skirt.

It worked out well. The made their way to the office section where pushcarts lined the sides of the streets. There were more extravagant ones for sitting down; some with chicken being grilled with steam-spits that grilled and turned the chicken at the same time. The steamed buns cart was close to Fairweather though. Easy, simple, and cheap. Westlie tossed him the five-pence and ordered two pork buns.

They sat on the edge of the street outside of the office with the multitude of other office workers hurrying past. The child tore into her bun while Westlie munched appreciatively at it. When she looked over a few minutes later, the child’s whole bun was gone and she was staring awkwardly at the street. Her own was only half-finished. Fuck. Well. She had more money in her room above the office. There would be more pork buns. Westlie gently nudged the child who jumped. “Do you want the rest?”

The child looked scared. “N-no, I’m fine.”

“You can have mine. I don’t want it.”

Still the scared look. It reminded Westlie of Morgan tempting little dogs out or tossing feral cats bits of cheese until she could cuddle them and sneak them into the house. She held out the bun a little farther. “It’s ok.”

The child gave her one more worried look, then snatched the bun and hurriedly tore into it like it wouldn’t last a second longer. That was gone in under a minute.

Westlie cleared her throat after another minute. The girl looked like she was scared, but staying put because it seemed safe and she didn’t have anywhere else to go. “Do you have a name…?”

“’course I have a name.” The girl sniffed. “’m Lizzie.”

“Elizabeth?”

“My friends call me Lizzie.”

I’m not your friend, Westlie thought sullenly.

“Did you… live in the orphanage? -Lizzie?”

The girl recoiled into herself at the question like she was scared Westlie might send her back, or maybe if she thought she was judging her.

“I- I just want to know where you’re from. Do you have a family…?”

“… no family. Ran away from the orphanage.”

“Where… did you want to go, Lizzie?” And that question was genuine, because… Westlie couldn’t really summon the words. It was obvious she was terrified of the orphanage, but she was still brave enough to run away. Maybe not even running to something – and Westlie felt like if she ever ran away from Arthur, if it ever got really bad she would want to be running to something. And was it bad enough with Arthur to run away? When was bad enough? Not getting fed? Being punished? Was she frightened enough now?

Westlie jerked herself back to the present when Lizzie shifted to hug her knees. “… nowhere. I thought- I thought maybe I could ride on a train to New Winchester. But I don’t have money for a ticket.”

“Do you… have a place to spend the night…?”

“No.”

Part of her wanted to yell at the girl for being so unreasonable as to just run out on the streets without food, without money. What if she’d been kidnapped or anything worse that could happen to small girls. Westlie’s heart twisted a bit again. What could she do about it? What could she do about it? She didn’t know orphanages and obviously the one here wouldn’t do. She couldn’t send her back. That would be cruel. Were there people who could take her…? Maybe the workers….?

Westlie glanced over her shoulder at Fairweather. There were two workers on staff. One was just a boy younger than her and the other was the incompetent woman who’d dropped the ledge behind the shelf. She glanced back at Lizzie. She looked so small, clutching her knees to her chest, so unsure.

There was-

Westlie hated herself for thinking it.

There was her room.

It wasn’t large. It was just basic necessities. Arthur- and by extension, herself weren’t frivolous. But even if she slept on the floor, Lizzie would have a roof over her head. It’d be alright for the night. It’d buy her time to figure out what to do. Maybe the solution was just giving her money to head to New Winchester. That was a safe solution, wasn’t it?

Right.

Westlie stared at Lizzie and she suddenly found herself unable to talk. ‘Come home with me…?’ Fuck, that was so creepy. What was she trying to do? Lure her to a grave? Westlie cleared her throat. ‘Stay with me for the night?’ No-no, too pensive.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and struggled with it for a full minute before Lizzie looked up at her and the words finally came out. “I- If you want to stay. I mean. Stay with me. For the night that is. If you want. And we can figure out something in the morning. That seems like a good idea. You can’t go out there. You shouldn’t anyway. And we can- I don’t know. There’s dinner. More dinner- I mean, anyway. If you want dinner.”

Lizzie just watched her with wide eyes, but she didn’t say no.

Westlie stared back.

This was such a bad idea. Holy shit it was such a bad idea. Fuck. Goddamn. Why.

She shoved all the thoughts aside and stood up, staring down at the very small, very wide-eyed child. I’m a very small, very wide-eyed child, her mind grumbled. She held out her hand.

Lizzie hesitated for a very long minute, then her hand slowly crept up, ever so slowly. One second, two seconds. It almost touched Westlie’s fingertips. They both stared at each other, equally scared and uncertain, and then Lizzie grabbed it and held on, letting Westlie gently pull her to her feet.

#no edits we die like fitzroy #the crew of the pyrrhus #Liztlie AU

[prvntcessa]

listen up 10s a 4 is speaking! shdlaskhd what’s up sluts i’m cherry, i’m 21, use she/her pronouns and live in PST! this is mischa, princess of the russian mafia. she wears black lipstick, is massive scammer, laughs at videos of people falling down the stairs. here is a shorter sparknotes version of her bio and some fun and fresh headcannons

please enjoy this gif of mischa cosplaying indie xoxo

SPARKNOTES BIO! 

skeleton: the career criminal

name: mischa dostoyevsky ( formally xia han)

age: 25

gender: female

pronouns: she/her

fc: natasha liu bordizzo

born as xia to a dirt poor family of literal SCAM artists. we luv a scamily babey! her parents basically sold fraudulent anti-aging serum to dumb, white new york tourists everyday ( with the added bonus of her older brother dressed up like an OLD ASS MAN doing cartwheels n backflips like woooow this stuff really works! ) her job was basically sneaking through the crowd of people while they were distracted and pick-pocketing their money, valuables, shiny shit etc.  

that white savior guilt money was paying the bills until one of the karens they conned got hives from the allergic reaction to the red food dye they used in the fake serum and her brothers literal Old Man disguise flew off like 90s rapper fly away pants when it was windy as fuck one day so basically The Authorities Have Been Called Luv, the police showed up and xia didn’t know what to do bc she was a kid so she just BOLTED AND RAN ... does not know what happened to her family to this day

grew up on the street, continued the family business of being a fcking scammer and basically bought tampons by telling power walking, baby backpacking ladies that she was gonna have to feed little timmy cockroaches if they didn’t pay off, slept with crooked stock brokers, seduced old guys, cleaned out their apartments, stole all their money, jewels, watches, credit cards, priceless antiques -- THE WORLD WAS HER SUGAR DADDI BB

all of this changed on day when she making her nightly run by the alibi, a bar she called Dumb Rich Guy Bar and saw a weird old guy come out looooaded with what looked expensive shit,  but she really wanted his pocketwatch which from her experience was mad expensive. so she did her lil routine and THOUGHT she stole the watch but LOL SPIDERMAN MEME, he stole the watch back and the ring she was wearing AND HIS BODY GUARD HAD A GUN PLACED ON HER. MMM WHATCHA SAY

so turns out the weird old guy she tried to steal from was VLADIMIR DOSTOYEVSKY!!!! THE HEAD OF THE RUSSIAN FUCKING MAFIA. yiiiiikes! lmao she was like cool im gonna die but he was like hold up, u chose the pocket watch, the only real and valuable thing i was wearing ... i like u ur smart u have fire, u remind me of my dead wife  YOU WILL BE MY SUCCESSOR ur name is now mischa for my unborn son and i will teach u the ropes

so there is no more xia, only mischa, basically adopted by vladimir who she calls dad/nana and who calls her rabbit as a nickname (they play monopoly every night and VLAD CHEATS EVERY TIME BRO). she is the only girl in the bratva aka The Brotherhood which is what the russian mafia is called. shes kind of their wendy. shes worshipped outwardly but theres probably a lot of people that hate her ... which leads me to ........PAPA DYING! BIG RIP OG PAPA! he was poisoned at dinner and people say it was the italians but mischa is sure it was an inside job

bc of vlad dying *pour one out for vladdy daddy* mischa is head of the bratva aka russian mafia they call her PAPA bc thats how people refer to the mob boss SO SDHLLKDSH

ALSO PLOT TWIST! originally the plate that killed her dad was the plate she was given but he switched with her bc his piece of chicken was bigger and he wanted her to have it :((((( SO THE POISON PLATE WAS HER PLATE SO SOMEONE WAS TRYNA KILL HER DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN

ok here are HCS they are from the bottom of my app xx

nicknames include who’s your papa, big papa and daddy purely because it’s iconic. but also she is probably that gifset where rihanna is talking abt how shes a bad bitch w top energy but is a massive bottom ahdlaks

mischa i think has to look a certain way of looking when dealing w the mob ( sort of girl boss, designer clothes, femme fatale ) but i think she is relatively unlady-like and prefers ratty jeans, plaid skirts, flannels, black combat boots, messy ponytails and the like when she’s relaxing. reminds her of life before.

practices makeup on dmitri and boris (her body guards) who complain a lot but also love her xoxo 

owns a very big fluffy, luxurious cat named perogi, he’s her son, a gift from dear old dad. 

has a pretty severe drinking problem ( vodka on the rocks is the poison ) after her father died and sleeps with a gun ( although i think she's better with a knife )

thus can drink you under the table also swears like an old sailor man ( is working on it, the whole mob sighs when she calls japanese businessmen idiot douche canoe fuckbags to their faces during monthly debt collections )

mischa can speak 5 languages in order to speak to people all over the world: madarin ( from her childhood ), english, russian ( mob ), spanish and french. 

pansexual queen and i want to say scorpio 

she’s grateful obviously to папа doing more off the grid, low quality criminal stuff without supervision because she is a truant, tramp, scam artist cat burglar klepto at heart <3

cinnamon roll meme: looks like she could kill you and would probably kill you

so i want to say she probably met the star of the show doing something where she snuck out at night with her bodyguards not knowing, wore her civilian clothes, blended in kept her head down because she missed freedom and accidentally met them out there like that under a pseudonym to hide her mafia life/continued to sneak out to see them like that before being exposed. very double life stuff angsty secret mafia princess stuff. we love hannah mon-mafia.

scared her parents will resurface/past will resurface ( supposedly папа bribed the police but . . . karma is a bitch )

has A LOT of suitors meant to strengthen The Empire and bridge conflicts between mobs but cares little, them: 💕, her: hocks a loogie and wipes on pants … she SUCSKSSKSS

has burped at important business dinners before and simultaneously has brought massive mafiosos to their knees. literally will have your dick cut off if you say something misogynistic, racist or something about her father :) she has a collection. ( its a big collection, but still quite little if you know what i mean )

rumored to have killed a man with the sharp end of her louboutin.

has a slight accent just from being surrounded by it constantly and word switches

smells like cinnamon and scraped knees

#heistintro #i hate her #pretends like she doesnt like being called princess also...luvs it #ur scary scorpio girlfriend

[artificialqueens]

Overpowered Part 7 [FINAL] (Branjie)- athena2

A/N: Well, the last chapter is here and I’m in my feelings. Three months ago, I was looking at Brooke’s superhero runway look and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I decided I really wanted to write it even if no one would read it. The response this fic has gotten has blown my mind. Every comment, like, reblog, etc. has given me such joy and it honestly means the world to me; the sequel definitely wouldn’t have happened without your support. I’ve put my heart and soul into this for 3 months, and I’m really happy with the ending. Thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone that read, commented, liked, shared, etc. If I could thank each one of you, I would. I’ve got some exciting new works planned, and I hope you’ll stick around to read them!

Also, thank you @writworm42 for helping me get the final scene together

Brooke’s fingers constantly drift to her ring, like she needs to touch it just to prove that it’s real.

To prove that her entire life is real.

When the worries break through and threaten to consume her, when she struggles to see herself as anything other than a burden weighing Vanessa down, Vanessa’s promise to love her forever and always be there for her echoes in Brooke’s brain and forms a protective shield over her, fears and doubts ricocheting off and banished from her mind.

Her vows in return extend the same protection, and she hopes it makes Vanessa feel safe when she struggles herself. She hopes Vanessa knows that Brooke will always love her no matter what.

She rubs the smooth ring in their hotel that morning, trying to calm the bouncing in her leg as Vanessa sleeps. Vanessa had been too excited to sleep much on the train, and Brooke is so grateful Vanessa didn’t even mention flying down to Florida, that she was willing to spend a whole day on a train for her, that she’ll let Vanessa sleep all day if she needs to.

She pulls out her notebook and flips through the pages Vanessa had written her for Valentine’s Day, all her favorite memories the two of them made. Brooke giggles to herself as she reads about when she and Vanessa made pizza, and Vanessa tossed the dough in the air and got it stuck to the ceiling. She’s reading about the time they were on patrol and took a break to play in the snow when Vanessa’s phone blares. Brooke jumps, papers scattering over her lap, and Vanessa rolls over with a groan.

“This hoe can’t even leave us alone on our honeymoon,” Vanessa grumbles as she puts the phone on speaker.

“I have exciting news I think you’ll like to hear,” Silk announces grandly.

“The last time you had exciting news, it was about the crunch wrap at Taco Bell, so-”

“Quake and Shockwave are going away for life in the Pacific Prison. They’re gone, and I mean it this time,” Silk cuts Vanessa off.

Neither of them speaks. The Pacific Prison, on the other side of the country, was reserved for the worst criminals.

Vanessa ends the call, and Brooke turns to her, wetness in the corners of her eyes. “We’re really safe, Brooke,” Vanessa says. “They can’t touch us again.”

They embrace in the bed and Brooke holds on to Vanessa and this moment, completely wrapped up in the security like a blanket.

They break apart, and Vanessa pushes tangled hair out of her eyes and pulls her clothes on. “You could have woken me earlier,” she insists.

“I wanted to let you sleep. Besides, we have time. We have the whole week.”

We have our whole lives, she thinks, and today is just the beginning. —

They decided on Disney for their honeymoon. Vanessa hasn’t been since she was a kid, and Brooke is pretty sure she went before, but can’t remember it that well.

They talked and laughed and pointed out all the animals and weird billboards they saw out the window on their train ride, which Vanessa had booked without hesitating over the 24-hour journey; she knew without question that flying wasn’t an option.

They run through the gates at Magic Kingdom and Brooke is bouncing up and down, and Vanessa couldn’t stop smiling if she wanted to. She feels like a kid again, the sky bright and a perfect day blooming in front of her. They approach the castle and Brooke gasps.

“I’ve been here before!” she exclaims. “I think I was 9, maybe?” She rubs hard at her temples, trying to force the memories to come, and Vanessa is about to ease her hands away and tell her it’s alright if she can’t remember when Brooke claps. “The train ride! There’s a roller coaster like a train! Can we go on it?”

“Of course we can,” Vanessa laughs. “You’ll like Splash Mountain too. That one was my favorite. It’s a water ride.”

“You go in the giant log!” Brooke shrieks. “I remember!” And she grabs Vanessa’s hand and they wade through old memories as they make new ones.

They get matching ears and stuff themselves with so many mouse-shaped foods that Vanessa almost hurls on Thunder Mountain, which Brooke drags her on three times in a row.

They have to dial back their strength before they break the wheel on the teacup ride, and Vanessa may or may not speed past some screaming 5-year-olds to get a front row seat on Splash Mountain, a decision she regrets slightly after the mammoth order of chili cheese fries she and Brooke split.

She can’t remember the last time she felt so carefree, so weightless. She thinks she could actually float away. Brooke is by her side, slurping at her second ice cream cone (sometimes Vanessa thought the ice powers were scarily accurate), and there’s nowhere she’d rather be, no one whose arm she’d rather have around her shoulders on the It’s a Small World ride.

That night she kisses Brooke as red and blue fireworks soar and fizzle in the black sky over the castle, and just like on their wedding day, the explosions of joy inside her rival any in the sky. —

They come back home and resettle into life as a married couple. It’s honestly not that much different than it was before. They volunteer at the animal shelter together again, cats and dogs licking at their hands. They make dinner together, looking for any excuse to bump shoulders or brush arms as garlic is chopped and spaghetti boils. They wedge themselves into the couch with all three pets, Vanessa flicking through channels while Brooke flips through cookbooks. They go to bed with limbs intertwined, difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins.

They fulfill their vows everyday. Brooke insists on patrolling when she isn’t feeling well, and Vanessa tucks her into bed that night and spends the next day swirling honey into tea to soothe her throat, simmering chicken soup, and laying cold washcloths on her sweaty forehead. Vanessa gets deep into it with a villain going after a young girl, fists flying and rage burning, and Brooke cleans all her cuts and spreads cream on her bruises and massages her aching muscles, helping the anger ease out on a wave of gratitude that the girl wasn’t harmed.

They each go to Nina, and Brooke dutifully takes her medication every morning. Progress takes time and isn’t always in one direction, Nina reminds them both as they continue to heal.

They zip through damp spring air, Frost maintaining her death grip on the handle, Yvie with her legs draped across Scarlet’s lap in the backseat while they hold hands, Vanjie howling out the window on their way to another crime.

People come up to them and deliver sincere thank you’s thick with tears, two young kids throw their arms around all four of them in turn, and for all the joking and griping, for all the fears and doubts, they know that keeping people safe makes it all worth it.

That battling supervillains and battling your personal villains equally make you a hero. —

Brooke reads her file again, piece by piece. She knows to do it with Vanessa or Nina, after she read it alone one day and wound up on the bedroom floor, knees to her chest, the tide of panic so strong and swift she couldn’t fight as it overtook her and stole the air from her lungs.

She learns that she was an only child and that her parents died when she was 20, a few months before she began dancing professionally. She started in on the business side of the company six years later, working her way up, and was the youngest co-director in the company’s history, her heart filling with disbelief and a long-ago pride as she reads, Vanessa’s steady hand on her shoulder grounding her.

The nightmares aren’t as frequent, and she gets occasional flashes of her life pre-lab, sometimes just a random image, like a photograph floating through her mind. Sitting at a desk doing homework, her tiny hand clutching a stuffed monkey, a glittering gold dance trophy, smiling in her black graduation robe.

She still gets big ones, flashbacks that feel like they last for days, depleting her energy while the horror of memory traps her in its grasp, helpless until it ends. She manages them easier now, knows to lie down afterwards and let her body and mind rest.

She decides to tell Yvie and Scarlet what happened. Nina said it was her information to share, and she wants to share it. Brooke trusts them, and she’s pretty positive they won’t pity her or think any less of her, and they don’t. They both shed tears and give her big hugs and say how happy they are that she’s healing now.

Ra’jah said that with all the complicated drugs the lab gave her, most of them advanced and untested, it’s likely she won’t regain all her memories, and Brooke is genuinely okay with it. After over a year of being locked in a cage she didn’t know was a cage, not knowing the happiness she was being denied, not even knowing her own name, any memories at all are special and enough for her. She writes down her flashes and dreams and revisits them, focuses on the memories and the delight, or sorrow, or nerves she might have felt at the time.

And every day, she makes new memories. Memories of blowing flour at Vanessa across the kitchen. Memories of slow-dancing in the living room at midnight, heartbeats replacing words. Memories of Vanessa tripping over Apollo after said slow-dance, both of them laughing till they cried, sharing crinkly-eyed grins.

Just like Nina told her to do in one of their first sessions, she lists things she does know.

She knows that she is in a much better place than she was a year ago, both mentally and physically.

She knows her parents loved her in the flashes she gets, even if she doesn’t remember completely.

She knows she has friends that love and support her.

She knows she loves Vanessa, and Vanessa loves her.

She knows that she will continue to do the best she can. —

Vanessa knows something’s up when Brooke picks at her food and excuses herself right after dinner, but she’s not sure what until Brooke emerges from the bedroom with her pointe shoes on, brow furrowed and teeth digging into her bottom lip.

“Vanessa, I…I want to show you. I want to dance for you.”

Vanessa has wanted to see Brooke dance since Christmas, but she didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to put that pressure on her.

They move the coffee table and Vanessa seats herself on the couch while Brooke stands, eyes on her feet. Her shoulders rise up and down twice, then she nods to herself, and starts to move.

Vanessa remembers when they used to fight, when Brooke’s fighting techniques were so graceful and elegant that Vanessa thought she seemed out of place as a fighter, like her body should be doing something else. Now, she knows exactly what that something is.

Brooke spins and twirls and jumps and Vanessa’s eyes are wide, forcing herself not to blink because she doesn’t want to miss a second. Brooke moves so exquisitely, so beautifully, that their living room transforms into a stage and her leggings and T-shirt become a delicately sewn costume. Vanessa is lucky just to take her beauty in.

Whatever nerves Brooke was showing melt away. Her eyes are bright and focused, not a hint of hesitation in her movements. It’s the most confident Vanessa has ever seen her.

She makes it look so natural, so easy, though Vanessa knows if she tried it she’d be flat on her ass with a broken ankle.

Her eyes have the same sparkle as when they went to the ballet last week: like a missing part of her had been found again. —

Brooke’s not sure when, but at some point while she dances, she stops thinking and simply lives. There’s no couch, no walls, no ceiling to box her in or imprison her. Even Vanessa fades into the background. There’s no thought of what move is next, no consideration of what criminals she’ll stop later; it’s just the air flowing around her, existing solely to whoosh past her limbs as she goes up on her toes and spins around, and it feels like flying.

She’s been practicing in their room, studying YouTube videos and observing herself in the mirror, but out here is different. She has the space to roam, and she’s not going cross-eyed staring into the mirror looking for her flaws.

She just lets herself go, lets herself be.

Nina was right. Even though she’s not perfect, it doesn’t matter; she feels each stretch in her muscles, mind quiet and calm as her body takes over, every atom of her being alight with pleasure. She didn’t need to be perfect. She just needed to be free.

She finishes with a flourish and a deep breath, oxygen going in and intensifying the good ache deep in her muscles, and Vanessa bursts into applause.

Heat floods her cheeks. “You liked it?”

“Liked it?” Vanessa scoffs. “That was incredible, Mary!”

“I just-” A sob swallows Brooke’s response, cheeks damp without warning. She can’t explain it, wouldn’t even know how to start. There truly aren’t any words; the closest she can manage is a bird spreading its wings for the first time, nothing to hold it back.

Vanessa rubs her back in understanding. “You don’t gotta talk. Just let yourself feel it.” She takes Brooke’s hand. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Seriously, Brooke.”

It’s like the lab’s chains never even bound her.

It’s like a part of her she thought gone forever has come back to her. —

“I’ve been thinking of working with A’Keria,” Vanessa admits one night, head on Brooke’s chest and arm around her waist, stroking her hip.

“Instead of at the base, you mean?” Brooke questions.

She nods against Brooke’s skin. “She said the woman who owns the salon is looking for someone to do make-up, and that’s what I used to do, you know? I mean, working at the base is great, but I think I need a bit of a change.”

The base is calm, and predictable, and she had needed that stability when she first got her powers and was readjusting to the world. But now she’s ready for more, something besides reviewing case records and running daytime city monitors.

“I think that’s a great idea.”

“You do?” Vanessa had thought so herself, but it also seemed like too big of an idea to think was good on your own; the kind of idea where you wanted to see what someone else thought of it.

“Yeah. If you want to do it, I think you should.” Brooke’s voice is enthusiastic, fingers twirling Vanessa’s hair.

“I think I will.” She pauses before her mouth opens again. “Have you thought about leaving the base, doing a different day job? Maybe you could work at a ballet studio or something?”

Brooke is silent and Vanessa holds her breath. Brooke’s been doing great lately, especially with her meds, but changing jobs is a big deal for anyone and maybe she shouldn’t have asked.

“I’ve talked about it with Nina before,” Brooke answers right as Vanessa is about to tell her she doesn’t have to. “I…I think I’d like to. Eventually. I know I’d have to work on it with Nina. I mean, the last job I had was 2 years ago and I barely remember it, and I’d have to do interviews and stuff and just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt-”

“Hey, hey, just breathe,” Vanessa soothes, feeling Brooke’s chest tighten and her heart take off beneath her. “I know that would be hard for you. You don’t have to be in any rush. You just be you. If you decide to change, I’ll be here to help you. If not, I’m here too. I’ll always be here.”

Brooke’s lips are soft against her temple. They fall asleep quickly, and she calls the salon the next morning. —

“Are you sure you want Vanessa to teach you to drive?” Yvie asks, fixing Brooke a pointed stare as she sips orange juice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vanessa demands across the table.

Scarlet pipes up. “Well, we drive around with you in that death trap of a car every night-”

“I know how to drive,” Brooke insists. “I just haven’t done it in a while.”

The lab gave her a motorcycle to use on her missions and to go to her appointments, though they sometimes drove her home in a security car depending on how out of it she was after the drugs hit.

“Vanessa’s a decent driver,” A’Keria starts.

“Thank y-”

“If your only other option is walking,” A’Keria finishes around a mouthful of toast.

“Hey!”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Brooke cuts in. “I mean, I just want to go to the grocery store, not-”

“Drive for NASCAR?” Silk snorts.

Vanessa takes her to an empty lot that afternoon. Brooke keeps readjusting her sweaty hands on the wheel. The last time she’d driven had been in a downpour, her worried focus enabling her to see through raindrops and her own teary, bloodshot eyes, to get Vanessa from the cemetery Brooke knew she went to when she was upset.

“You gotta take your foot off the brake,” Vanessa instructs softly.

“I know, I know. I’m just…nervous.”

“Nothing to be nervous for, baby. I won’t let anything bad happen.”

Brooke nods and eases onto the gas. She breathes in and out as the car glides across the pavement. It’s…okay. Sure, they’re going about 15 miles an hour, but she finds her grip loosening as she makes easy turns and changes directions.

“You’re doing great!” Vanessa encourages. “Maybe I’ll open up a driving school!” —-

“We really do have cake for everything, don’t we?” Scarlet muses. “Brooke’s like a lesbian Martha Stewart.”

“Bold of you to assume Martha Stewart isn’t already a lesbian,” Yvie murmurs thoughtfully.

“I didn’t see you complaining over those tree cupcakes for Arbor Day,” Silk states.

Vanessa digs into the chocolate cake, her leg nestling against Brooke’s under the table. She just started at the salon that day and Brooke wanted to have pizza and cake for her, spending the afternoon on caramel filling and cream cheese frosting.

It’s only been a day, but she already knows she loves it there, feels some of the old Vanessa peeking through, delighting in the salon gossip with A’Keria and the other girls and helping her clients feel good. And the best part is, she’s just Vanessa. No one knows about Vanjie, and she can focus on powders and lipsticks instead of weapons and fighting tactics.

It’s comforting to know the old Vanessa isn’t entirely gone. —

“There’s, um, there’s a job opening at this ballet studio. The same one that did the show Vanessa and I went to,” Brooke explains.

“And you’re interested in it?” Nina prompts.

“Well, maybe I could- I mean,” she sighs and starts again. “I want to. I-I think I might be able to, but I would need some help. Is that okay?”

“Brooke, that’s wonderful! I do think you could take on something like this, and we can talk about anything you’re fearful of or think you need help with. This is a big step and I’m proud of you. I want to tell you that again, Brooke. I’m very proud of the progress you’ve made. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, but you’ve worked so hard and you deserve to be proud of yourself.” Nina’s voice washes over Brooke and her insides heat up.

“You really think so?” Brooke asks, grin breaking free.

“I know so,” Nina affirms. “Think of how far you’ve come. Remember our first session?”

Brooke did, face flushing at the memory. Even though she knew Nina wasn’t that kind of doctor and Vanessa promised Nina wouldn’t hurt her, Brooke sunk into the chair with her knees against her chest and her head down, and Vanessa had stayed outside the door just in case. But Nina had been kind, and told Brooke to use her first name instead of Dr. West, and by the end of the hour, Brooke was at least able to lift her head up.

“Yeah.”

Nina smiles. “You hardly talked. But look how much more comfortable you are now. I know you still have days that don’t go as well as you’d like, but you’re still here, and you keep working. Have pride in that, okay?”

Brooke nods because she can’t speak around the lump in her throat. Brooke has felt the changes in herself, but to have someone else, someone like Nina, notice and tell her she’s doing well, is a kind of pride Brooke can’t describe.

“Oh, and Brooke?”

“Yeah?”

“Speaking of progress, do you remember when I asked you to try not to apologize when you’re here?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, it’s been an hour, and you didn’t apologize once.”

Brooke’s eyes narrow and all she can do is stare at Nina in disbelief, rifling through her words from the past hour. Sure enough, she can’t remember an apology passing her lips.

For just a second, Brooke almost apologizes for not apologizing, I’m sorry’s second nature to her.

Brooke closes her mouth, suppressing the reflex, as Nina’s words sink in. It may have taken over 6 months from when Nina asked, but she did it.

Progress takes time, Nina always said, and while some small part of Brooke thinks something like this shouldn’t have taken so long, she knows not to measure herself with shoulds and shouldn’ts. Her progress is her progress.

Her face spreads into a wide smile. “That’s, um, that’s good then,” Brooke manages.

Nina smiles back. “It sure is.” —

Vanessa’s been at the salon a month now, thriving like a summer flower after a cold winter. Her body is strong and focused, and with Nina’s blessing, she starts doing monthly therapy sessions instead of weekly ones.

She nuzzles against Brooke one night and cautiously slips her hand under Brooke’s shirt. Usually Brooke would go rigid when Vanessa got too close to her scars. One time she even pushed her hand away, like she was ashamed of them.

But tonight, she doesn’t. She tenses the tiniest bit, but then the muscles relax again. “It’s okay,” Brooke murmurs, and Vanessa sets her fingers, warm with love, over Brooke’s icy skin.

Her fingers brush over the tiny one between her ribs, then the one below it, the one Vanessa stitched herself after Brooke took a bullet for her on the night that they- and the life they have- began. She warms the one just above her waist, where the doctor shot her.

And then her hand roams up to the big one, the thick, raised line that starts at the hollow of Brooke’s chest and runs to her abdomen; based on her file, this is how they’d repaired the internal damage she sustained in the crash.

She knows Brooke has always been torn about her scars, much like Vanessa is about the one she got from the lightning strike. They are permanent reminders, etched on skin, that they suffered through things no one ever should. But they’re also signs that they survived those things, that they’re still living.

She rests her hand over Brooke’s heart, the gentle beat calming beneath her hand. Instead of telling Brooke that the scars make no difference to her, that they don’t make her any less worthy of love, she lets her hand speak as it warms Brooke’s body, hoping Brooke understands that Vanessa loves her no matter what.

The knowing look in her green eyes says that she does, and Brooke slides her hand up Vanessa’s shirt, stopping at her hip. Vanessa nods, and goosebumps form as Brooke’s hand smooths over the small pink scar on her chest before settling on her heart.

They just lay there, arms tangled up, hands on each other’s hearts, pulsing against their touches.

It reminds her of their first night together, no need to talk as their touches exuded more love than words could ever describe, as their hands delicately explored each other’s faces, unaware that the lips and noses and cheeks they were touching would soon become familiar terrain.

Unaware that they would soon come to recognize the sound of each other’s breathing.

Unaware how big a space they would soon occupy in each other’s hearts. —

The July night is warm, and they had looked at the calendar that morning and realized it was one year. One year since Brooke was released from her hospital bed after being shot, one year since Vanessa took her home and they began their new lives together, free from the lab.

One year, and things are still changing. Vanessa got promoted to head make-up artist at the salon, and in two weeks Brooke starts assisting the director of a ballet company, taking the first step to get where she would like to be someday. Silk took care of the paperwork, replaced all her personal documents the lab had stolen; Nina spent weeks with her practicing interview skills and ensuring she felt ready to work outside the base; and Vanessa supported her the whole way, rubbing her back when she threw up from nerves the morning of her interview and insisting on a pizza party when Brooke got the job.

The city shines below, bright lights beaming, so dazzling they almost made you forget the crimes occurring below. Crimes they were going to stop.

They settle on the blanket Vanessa’s laid on the rooftop, suits on but masks off, still Brooke and Vanessa, as she unpacks the basket, laying out marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers.

“S’mores?” Brooke asks uncertainly.

“S’mores, baby!”

“But there’s no fi-ohhh.”

Vanessa winks. “This is one of the best perks of fire powers. I kept forgetting to show you.” She dangles a marshmallow above the small flame flickering in her hand, watching as the skin crackles to a crisp golden brown before laying it on top of the chocolate and forming a perfect s’more.

Brooke takes it in her eager hands as Vanessa whips up another for herself, arranging potato chips on top, and they laugh as marshmallow clings to their lips, trading sugary kisses to get it off.

“Vanessa, I love you,” Brooke says. “I love you so much, and I don’t know if I told you today, so I want to say it now and make sure you know.”

Vanessa reaches over and takes her hand. “I love you too, baby. So, so much. And you better know it too.”

Their lips meet again, Brooke’s hands resting on Vanessa’s hips and Vanessa’s hands stroking Brooke’s back, love bursting off them in sparks. No matter how many times they’ve kissed, each one is special in its own way, like a snowflake.

“Got a report of breaking and entering at the department store on 13th,” comes the voice in their ears.

“What’s a kiss without Silk to interrupt it?” Vanessa mumbles.

They reach in one for one last kiss, one last blend of sweet chocolate and sticky marshmallow, of fire and ice, before reaching for their masks.

They traipse down the ladder and Vanjie revs up Bertha. Frost extends her arm and they lock hands over the center console.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Vanjie tears away from the curb and they head deeper into the city, chasing the moonlight that shines on them both, each of them thinking how beautiful the other looks with the moon in her hair.

They both know they won’t be able to do this forever, that eventually a day will come when they have to hang up the masks. And when they do, they might pick up the phone and call a child adoption agency. Hopefully by then they’ll have the cozy little house they’re saving for, with flowers and a vegetable garden in the back.

But that’s the future. A future neither thought they could have, but one they can make happen.

Together.

For now, they have lives to live and memories to make.

They have each other.

And they’ve got a city to save. —

Post-Credits Scene Years Later

“These are the flowers we’re gonna give Mommy,” Vanessa instructs Lily, wiping frosting from the cupcakes Brooke made off her lip. “It’s her first show as the director and we want it to be special, right?”

“Right!” Lily agrees. “Wanna hold ‘em! I a big girl, Mama.” She flashes the brilliant grin Vanessa has seen every day since they adopted her three years ago, and Vanessa knows she’ll never tire of it.

Vanessa smiles. “You are a big girl, huh? You can hold them.” She bends down and puts the bright bouquet in her daughter’s tiny hands. “I’m gonna get Mommy, okay?”

“Okay!”

Vanessa knows exactly where Brooke is going to be: their bedroom, staring out the window at the garden. Her favorite place to think.

Brooke’s shoulders rise up and down evenly, and Vanessa knows she’s doing her breathing techniques. The sun shines off her short blonde hair, and she fills out her black suit so well it should be illegal. The sight of her still makes Vanessa’s body warm and her heart flutter, even years later.

“You okay?” Vanessa asks, taking Brooke’s hand. “You were quiet during dinner.”

Brooke nods, and her eyes are damp. “Yeah. Just…thinking about how lucky we are. You and A’Keria running the salon now, and me directing the company, and Lily…we’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

“We sure have.” It hasn’t been an easy road for either of them, but it’s taken them places they never thought they could go, given them things they never thought they could have.

“Have I told you today how much I love you?” Brooke asks.

Vanessa nods. “You sure did, baby. And I love you too. Don’t you forget it.”

Vanessa stretches up and kisses Brooke, and it still feels like the first time.

The kiss is interrupted by Lily’s hand tugging on Vanessa’s dress. She thrusts the flowers at Brooke, whose tears fall harder as she accepts them.

“Are you sad, Mommy?” Lily asks.

“No, baby, I’m not sad. I’m really, really happy.” Brooke scoops Lily up, and the little girl is sandwiched between Brooke and Vanessa in a hug.

“A’Keria and the others are gonna meet us,” Vanessa reminds Brooke. “You ready?”

“Ready.” Brooke nods.

“Ready!” Lily shouts.

They pile in the car, and this time, they’re not racing to stop a criminal. This time, they’re riding to live their lives.

And it is every bit as heroic.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #akeria davenport #silky nutmeg ganache #nina west #branjie #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst #lesbian au #superhero au #overpowered #athena2 #s11 #tw therapy #concrit welcome #submission

[timeisacephalopod]

Ironbat

Just a little Bruce Wayne/ Tony Stark thing because I felt like it lol. (Also Fun Fact about this: Bruce and Tony accidentally end up with like 6 kids in 2 years because they keep bringing home strays though, in Tony’s slight defense, Peter still has May so he’s only half adopted). Also ignore the hella uncreative name of this D:

Natasha considers Tony for a long moment and its fucking creepy, she doesn’t even blink. It probably doesn’t help that when she first came to America she told him if anyone smiled as much as Americans in Russia she’d punch them in the face but since everyone here does it she keeps that urge to herself. Tony honestly thought smiling was polite but okay.

“What’s he like?” she asks finally.

Oh, she wants to know about Bruce of not the Banner variety. Because they all know what Banner is like. He sighs and Rhodey’s soul dies, Tony sees it, because he knows Tony well enough to know he’s going to say something stupid. “I’m going to give a description and I need you all not to laugh or judge him, okay?” Because Bruce is sweet, and generous, and yeah he’s so dramatic he makes Tony look like an unseasoned chicken breast in comparison but he’s a great guy. He shouldn’t be judged for his dramatics. They don’t judge Tony for his dramatics.

Actually Stephen told him last week that his cars were ostentatious and if Stephen is talking about Tony’s cars being ostentatious they really must be something.

“He’s a damn furry, isn’t he?” Rhodey says and Tony resents that. Mostly because he wonders if the Batman thing constitutes as being a furry but he doesn’t think so. It is, as far as he knows, just a LARPing thing and its fucking hilarious because no one knows its Bruce Wayne under that dramatic ass cape.

“No he isn’t a furry, T’Challa is a furry,” he throws out there just to make Rhodey cringe. Sam and Rhodey basically worshiped the guy only to find out the dude dresses up like a panther on the regular.

“That is a religious thing, it’s exempt,” Sam says, throwing out his shitty rationalization that they all know is fake. 

Tony rolls his eyes, “sure, bud. Anyways, Bruce. Don’t judge him okay, he’s a great guy,” he starts but Rhodey cuts him off.

“If you need to preface this with so much ‘don’t judge him’ he probably sucks,” he points out.

Pepper frowns, “we preface Tony with a lot more than this,” she says.

Tony is offended, truly. “Okay you know what, Bruce is the kind of guy who would say ‘hello darkness my old friend’ unironically and yeah that’s needlessly dramatic but we’re all needlessly dramatic here so no one should judge him for it,” he tells them all.

They all start laughing immediately like a bunch of twats. “What the hell, Stark?” Bucky asks and Tony squints at him.

“You texted everyone in our group chat ‘I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory’ when your cat stole your garlic bread. Rhodey, you drove a whole ass tank into a military bunker as a fuck you to your superiors. Stephen had that weird ‘sorcerer supreme’ phase and forced us all to call his cape a cloak. Natasha got memes banned in Russia and North Korea. Steve has told half the members of congress to fuck off to their faces and Sam made an AI he named Redwing because Bucky refused to let him get a falcon. Not a single one of you have a place to judge Bruce,” he tells them.

They all look properly shamed except Pepper, who grins. “I am not needlessly dramatic like the rest of you so I have all the right in the world to judge,” she tells them and Tony snorts.

“Oh hell no you do not. You’ve decided you hate fellow CEOs so much that you refuse to address them, only their wives. You once told Justin Hammer that you would rather drink paint thinner than spend another second with him. You punched Aldrich Killian into a pool because he made me uncomfortable. You once told a reporter that people fear you because you have the energy of a Lovecraftian monster. You are not exempt,” he tells her.

Sam laughs, “I remember the Lovecraft thing. You ended up being a lesbian meme for awhile after that,” he says.

Tony remembers that too, it had been around when the Babadook was a gay meme. Monsters were a thing that week.

“Is Bruce seriously that dramatic? I thought he mostly read to kids and whatever,” Rhodey says and yeah, he does that too. And a lot of charity work in orphanages. It’d been how they met- sometimes when Tony is sad he goes to hospitals and holds babies and Bruce happened o be donating money to that particular hospital and found him crying over a small premie that was so sweet and precious. They hit it off pretty easily but yes, Bruce is so dramatic he may give Stephen a run for his money.

“Yeah, he is one hundred percent that dramatic. You’ll find out,” he says. Granted most of Bruce’s dramatics went to his Batman character- Tony struggled not to laugh out loud when he heard Bruce unironically say ‘I am the night’ but he’s dramatic elsewhere too.

“Find out what?” Bruce asks, coming up behind them, smiling. Tony has never had a thing for classic Hollywood hot- too fifties for his tastes, but Bruce makes it feel different. Maybe its because nothing about him aside from his classic looks remind Tony of the past or maybe its something else, he doesn’t know.

“Holy Christ, are you even in there anymore?” Bucky asks, jabbing him in the side with his finger. Tony smacks his hand away after jumping a little.

“Yes, now keep your fingers away from me,” he tells him. “We were talking about you being dramatic,” he tells Bruce for reference.

Bruce’s eyebrows draw together, “I’m dramatic?” he asks. “Don’t you have a friend who insisted you called him ‘sorcerer supreme’?” he asks.

Right, Tony forgot about that too. “Yeah, Stephen got a little in character and none of us knew what the character was for but he’s mostly okay now, he’s chilled out a little. Come sit,” he says, shooing at Bucky to get out of the spot beside Tony. Bruce tries to move towards the only empty seat that is, for some damn reason, beside Sam but Tony pulls him back and continues to pester Bucky to go sit beside his damn boyfriend.

When he discovers they’re currently in the middle of an argument he’s not surprised, he’s watched the two of them get into it over Steve’s cat that died when he was ten of all things, but he’s damn annoyed to discover that this particular fight is about Sam not finding bats cute. Bruce lets out a small shiver and Tony holds onto him a little tighter, knowing about his fear of bats.

Honestly that only makes Batman that much more dramatic because Bruce fucking dresses up as his worst fear. Jesus, he really does have a talent for finding people who are so dramatic they could blend into a comic book easily. Bucky moves his ass finally and Bruce sits next to him and looks around. He pinpoints Rhodey as the most important at the table easily and Tony will never understand how he does that. It takes him ten seconds flat to find the person at the top of any food chain and he can figure out how to exploit them in another ten seconds. Its actually useful in business and Tony is surprised that Bruce’s success comes from reading people so well. But then Bruce thought he could do that too and had been surprised that Tony was just following math no one else saw. Pepper can do it now too so that’s neat, usually he can’t teach for shit.

“Tony has told me about your military career, you recently got promoted, didn’t you?” Bruce asks and Rhodey leans into it easily, going off on a tangent about his recent promotion and how he got it. Bruce smiles and listens easily, asking all the right questions because he’s freakishly good at people if they weren’t in a relationship with him. If they were, well, Alfred told Tony he has a fear of being close to people thanks to that time his parents got shot right in front of him as a kid. Tony thinks he deals with it well, or at least well enough that Alfred gives him advice and he’s seen how protective the old man is of Bruce. He’d chase Tony out of the mansion without a second thought if he thought he was a bad choice on Bruce’s behalf.

Natasha watches Bruce’s exchanges keenly because she’s as good at people as he is but when he gets to addressing her- right after congratulating Pepper on her recent multimillion dollar deal that no one else thought was a good idea but Bruce did for the exact reasons she did- he manages to find her soft spot too. “I’ve read about your rat rescue- I had no idea you could buy rescue rats but I suppose they might need it more than most. Its not like people care if rats are mistreated- people mostly want them dead,” he says.

She perks up, “and they’re very clean contrary to popular belief,” she says.

Bruce nods, “I used to have rats as a child. They’re smart as hell too, probably a little too smart for their own good actually. They were both escape artists and Alfred, my butler, was not impressed to find them in the kitchen more often than not,” he says and Natasha laughs. With that he somehow manages to win her over too despite the fact that she’s impossible to please and probably wants to punch him because he smiles.

And Bruce thought this was going to go badly.

*

Bruce is sure he’s managed to screw everything up given how utterly silent Tony has been through the whole dinner. Tony isn’t normally silent- he errs more on the side of dominating the conversation if only by accident but through this entire thing he’s said next to nothing. So by the time they leave he’s worried he’s somehow managed to say something wrong but he can’t for the life of him figure out what it is. He did his research- all of Tony’s friends are as impressive as he is in their own right and he made sure to acknowledge that- the fastest way to impress Tony was to recognize worth in others and Bruce finds it both telling and strange. 

He’s never met someone who’s so attracted to the ability to recognize talent in others but Tony has a clear... thing for it. Maybe because he recognizes potential in the strangest of ways and in odd areas too- its just part of the way his mind works- and Bruce seems to be the only one who picks up on this aspect of Tony’s personality. And the potential Tony sees. Tony thinks he’s bad at people but he isn’t, he just sees them differently and this isn’t really odd considering he sees everything differently. What Tony is bad at is finding conventional ways to relate to people and Bruce likes that about him. It makes him feel less dangerous, somehow, like maybe if he’s different this relationship will be different too. He’s never been good at relationships, Selena knows that better than most.

“How the hell do you manage to do that?” Tony asks when they leave. 

Bruce has no idea what he means and his gut twists a little, worried that he’s managed to botch this too. For the first time since... he hasn’t felt like running and he doesn’t want to do something to make it end. “Do what?” he asks.

Tony frowns, “win people over like that. I’ve never met anyone who managed to make Natasha go from suspicious to smitten like that ever,” he says.

Well, it might help him to know Natasha isn’t smitten, she’s just convinced that Bruce isn’t horrible. Its the best she’ll ever think of him most likely, she’s not the kind of person who would ever fully trust another person, but Bruce already knew that when they met. But he does at least relax because he hasn’t done something wrong, Tony is just impressed with his people skills again. Its an odd trait to hone in on, but its that, his generosity, his love of children, and his ability to disagree with Tony that draws him in. That’s probably the strangest combination Bruce has run into but he doesn’t dislike it either. Those happen to be the traits, minus his ability to manipulate people, that he finds most admirable about himself too.

“I just did my research, Tony,” he says. Its all he’s ever needed to do.

Tony smiles and leans into his side, “yeah well, was ready to write you off and now he thinks I’m lying about how dramatic you are so obviously your research paid off,” he says.

Bruce wraps an arm around Tony’s waist, “Tony he doesn’t think I’m dramatic because he doesn’t know about Batman and you’re not going to tell him. If Cobblepot finds out who I am he’ll use it against me,” he says and Tony bursts out laughing.

“I love you, but this LARPing thing is ridiculous. Endearing, but ridiculous. You do know Cobblepot works in a bank, right? He’s not nearly as impressive as The Penguin even if he sucks at names,” Tony says.

Yes, Bruce knows that already. “I’m aware of all my foes, thank you. Harley Quinn is a psychiatrist who’s real name is Harleen Quinzel and her girlfriend is Poison Ivy,” he says. Pamela a botanist and a very well known environmental activist too, Tony has read her work when considering his green energy projects, actually.

“Jesus Christ, this is so dramatic. How the hell did you get half of Gotham involved in a LARP?” Tony asks.

Well, that’s just an exaggeration. There’s certainly not that many people in the game and frankly Bruce doesn’t care if he’s winning.

#bruce wayne x tony stark #ironbat #fanfiction #alternate universe #writing

[docholligay]

Aino’s 8: Chapter 3--Rolling Start

Aino’s 8, as sponsored by the amazing @yamadara87! All of the chapters are here. This has 2,350 words! I hope you enjoy. YOu can find my patreon and my ko-fi here. 

Haruka Tenoh kept her world small, at this stage in her life, and mostly, she liked it.

She owned a small garage on the edge of the city where she mostly worked on imports and supercars, she employed a small crew of young guys (and a girl) that reminded her mostly of her, and most of whom also had felony charges to their name, and she lived in the tiny house out behind the shop. She had a soft, warm bed, the sports package on her cable, and a loving grey cat who had slight amounts of attitude regarding her choices in wet food.

It was a little life, but it was hers, and after the tumult of her youth, and the high rolling and grand downfall of her prison stint, she was done living any sort of wild life, and the most excitement she had was her weekly lunches with Mina. Any could live a wild life through Mina, she lived enough for at least three people.

But they had been friends since they were both hardscrabble kids living with sirens whirring by them that they seemed to hear more than the voices of their parents, and Mina had learned to cut hair to keep Haruka’s clipped, and Haruka had learned mechanics to fix Mina’s bike and her toys, and the two of them had cobbled together a family in the midst of nothing, and that, Haruka thought, was something to be proud of, even if she was on two of her three strikes in the “justice” system.

Charging a sixteen year old car thief who’d barely be able to eat otherwise as an adult isn’t justice, no matter the value of the cars she stole or how skilled she was,and no matter how she’d barked at the judge, her fear becoming anger in ways she still had to quiet, even 15 years later. But Haruka had neither the political pull nor the natural eloquence to express this, so she scowled at parole officers and hired kids out of prison, and this was her rebellion.

The light in the garage always seemed to change when Mina entered it, taking on a sparkle and a brightness that Haruka would have thought couldn’t be contained within the concrete walls, but somehow seemed to.

She smiled brightly in return, cleaning off her tools as the sun dipped below the horizon in the west.

“Mina!” She went to offer a hug, and then thought better of it, looking at Mina’s neat cotton shirt.

But Mina paid no mind to whatever oil stains might be the result, and drew Haruka into an embrace.

“What the hell’s going on with you, Ruka?” She slapped her on the back good-naturedly.

“Just closing up shop for the night. Didn’t expect you to come by. I have a frozen lasagna we could split no problem. I’ll just end up eating it for three days otherwise.”

Haruka’s eyes flicked up to the street, where a gleaming Maserati sat, tinted windows dark as the light dimmed.

She looked back at Mina. “You working for a new dealership?”

“Haruka my love,” Mina put her hand on Haruka’s shoulder, “you’re my best friend. My confidant. The one who’s been there for me my entire life, and I owe you something.”

Haruka looked at her. “Is the car for me?”

“Better.” Mina clasped her other shoulder and faced her. “Buddy, I have an idea.”

Haruka’s eyes widened in response to the bright glitter of Mina’s. She knew this look all too well, the same look Mina had since she was five years old and had stolen a pocketful of candy from the corner grocery. The same look that she had when the eight year old con had helped her get a dozen doughnuts from the store. The same look that had convinced her to start hot-wiring cars.

“I’m trying to go straight!” Haruka whirled around and marched across the garage, Mina at her heels.

Mina scoffed, in hot pursuit. “Good luck bud, I think we both know that’s not happening.”

“I HAVE BEEN–” She pointed a finger in Mina’s face, “Oh, oh, aha, very funny.” She picked up a rag and went back to the bench behind her, furiously scrubbing at an imagined blemish on a wrench.

Mina hopped up on the stool and wrapped an arm around Haruka’s shoulders. “Think of it, Haruka, one last heist, and you and I go off and live on the shores of Montenegro together! Eating shrimp by day, romancing women by night…”

“Where’s Montenegro?” She asked, half imagining that Mina had made it up.

“That’s on a need to know basis, I’ll tell you on the way. Buddy,” She looked at Haruka sorrowfully, “there is no one on earth that has the mechanical sense you do. There’s nothing you can’t fix, or break. Break in subtle ways! There’s no way I can do this without you, and the take is fucking VAST, trust me. Your share would be enough to keep you for decades.”

Mina seemed sincere, and Haruka was sure that she was, in her own way. Mina did care about her, Haruka had never doubted that for a moment, but Mina was a skilled liar and con, and she knew Haruka would never give her up, and she would never give up Haruka, but what she constantly forgot was that Haruka’s gifts lay in the physical world, and her tongue was more iron than silver.

Haruka shook her head and scowled. “I like NOT being in prison!”

Mina shrugged. “So we won’t get caught.”

“I ALWAYS get caught, ever since we were kids, you manage to slip away–”

“Well, not always.”

“and I end up in trouble. I hate prison, Mina!” She dramatically thumped her hand against her chest, “The beds are hard, there’s never any chicken nuggets, and they won’t let me wear boxer shorts. And I always get caught, always, every time.”

Mina stared at her a moment. “So what I’m hearing is we need to work on your cover story.”

“Mina.”

“As lovely as this has been, lingering about as you chat in this idyllic location,” there was a voice from the door, and Haruka turned to it as Mina rolled her eyes.

The light coming through the door of garage illuminated her like a halo, the edge of her pink dress fluttering slightly in the breeze. Her teal hair curled delicately about her shoulders, bright against the petal pink, her face pale as the moon in the night.

But what Haruka noticed the most were her eyes. The sea echoed in them, neither blue nor green nor aqua, but all of those colors at once, washing in and out like the tide. She blinked as she looked at Haruka, her eyelashes brushing against her cheeks and revealing the watercolor of her eyes again.

“Oh, I apologize, how rude of me.” She smiled at Haruka, the soft blush of her lips pinking Haruka’s cheeks. “We haven’t been introduced.”

“This is Haruka, we’re known each other since we were kids,” Mina gestured disinterestedly, “Haruka, this is Michiru Kaioh, heiress and part of my master plan.”

“A pleasure,” Michiru walked across the garage, the delicate tapping of her heels matching every beat of Haruka’s heart, “I am delighted to find that we’ll be working together.”

“Kaioh.” Haruka mouthed the word softly. “Like the TVs.”

Michiru gave a giggle that rang like the bright ringing of a crystal glass. “I suppose so, though I’d hardly call that among my own gifts.”

“So…” Haruka said, not taking her eyes from Michiru, “What do you need, Mina?”

Mina sighed. “If I’d fucking known this was all it took, I would have brought her in years ago.”

Michiru smiled her eel’s smile and touched Haruka’s arm gently. “I have heard that you have a particular capacity for machinery. We will most assuredly need it, if we’re to be successful.”

“Oh I’m,” she withdrew her arm, “I’m dirty, you don’t want to--”

“You gonna invite us to your house or what, Ruka?” Mina crossed her arms and looked up at Haruka expectantly.

Haruka looked at Mina, then at Michiru, and back at Mina, with her eyes wide, and then scowled. “No, I don’t want to invite you in my house! We can go to a cafe, there’s one just down the--”

“We all know it’ll be easier to talk in your, you know, private house,” She blew by Haruka, entirely unimpressed by her bluster, and opened the back door of the garage, “Shut this place up and come on.”

Haruka looked over at Michiru and let her scowl drop, just for a moment, to a look of pleading.

Michiru flipped her her hair, and Haruka was intoxicated by the scent of roses and jasmine that emanated off of her. Mina had always told her that she was a sucker for a pretty girl, whatever she needed, and as much as Haruka was loathe to admit it, it certainly seemed true now.

“If we are too much an imposition, we can certainly leave,” she tilted her head at Haruka just so, ‘I wouldn’t dream of putting you out.”

“It’s not that--I mean--it’s just”

“It’s just that she’s a bachelor and pretty much lives that way,” Mina was leaning against the doorframe, rolling her eyes, “a little more Friskies than Fancy Feast if you get my drift.”

“Mina, my house is fine! Just--” Haruka barked back, and then apologetically turned to Michiru. “Just give me a few minutes, I’ll be right back to let you in.”

Haruka bolted toward the small house, reminded of every time she had to run from the cops, blowing by Mina so quickly she almost ran her down. She burst through the door and gathered up the magazines and dishes on the coffee table, throwing the dishes into the dishwasher in a pile and shutting it quickly, the magazines in the pot cabinet. The kitchen was, gratefully, pretty clean, and for one Haruka was glad that she’d spent the whole last week lazily ordering Ubereats. She rushed back out into the living room and tried to fluff her few pillows and fold her thick afghan, tossing the clothes she’d taken off there into her bedroom. She stood back for a moment, and then turned on her wax warmer for ambiance.

Her couch was well-worn and didn’t match her chair, and she had never realized quite how inelegant the entire effect of her living room was, however nice the vinyl wood floors she’d laid in it were, or how nice she found the print of the old muscle cars above the couch.

A small grey cat came out of the bedroom, protesting loudly about the fact that one of Haruka’s plaid shirts had narrowly missed him from his napping spot on the bed.

“Oh my god, Mouse, you’re right! I forgot all about the bathroom.”

She headed into the bathroom, mind whirring, thinking as she hurriedly stashed all of her personal items. This was stupid. This whole thing was classically stupid in a way only Haruka Tenoh could be. She was about to enter into another one of Mina’s cons, for the look of a girl she didn’t even know and was an honest to god heiress who wouldn’t even look twice at a girl like Haruka. There was no reason to do this. Mina ran plenty of jobs without her, and Haruka enjoyed her life now, and this was so dumb.

She looked up at herself in the mirror, and quickly tore off the snap shirt with her name embroidered on the chest. She turned on the shower and took off her jeans.. How long had it been since she told them it would just be a minute? God, she smelled like oil and dirt. She threw herself into the shower, still a bit cold, and scrubbed her skin with her orange soap, hoping the grit would take off some of the stain of the day.

Mouse poked his head inside the curtain and meowed irritatedly.

“I’ll just be a minute, Mouse,” she tossed the shampoo into her hair, “I’ll feed you as soon as I’m done.”

“Heeeeey buddy!” There was a call from the living room, “We’ve been waiting twenty minutes, so--”

“OH MY GOD MINA!” Haruka howled, “I’ll just be a second, just--”

She quickly washed the shampoo out of her hair and turned off the water, drawing a towel around herself and dashing into her bedroom all in one solid motion. What would do? Nothing. It didn’t matter. She was being stupid and she was going to go back to prison for being stupid but she couldn’t stop being stupid. She put on a pair of dark jeans and tucked a plaid shirt into them, rolling up the sleeves in the once more stupid hope that Michiru might notice her nicely muscled forearms.

She brushed through her hair and wandered out into the living room in what she hoped was a casual way.

Mina was sitting in the chair, Mouse on her lap. “Do you ever chill? Like, for one day? Anyway, let’s talk plans.”

Haruka did not answer, just scowled, and then saw Mina had left her the spot next to Michiru on the couch. Michiru favored her with a smile.

“Your home has a lovely sort of earthy charm.” She leaned forward in a way that seemed slow but effortless, a feather drifting to the floor.

Haruka was an idiot. She was an idiot and a fool and this girl was going to take her back to all the things she’d tried so hard to leave behind. But somehow, it didn’t matter. If there was a chance to sail, Haruka’d happily drown.

“Can I, um, get you some wine?” Haruka said, forgetting that all she had was something in a box on the counter that she’d generally describe as ‘blackberry jelly, but alcohol.’

“Why, that would be absolutely lovely.”

She padded into the kitchen, carried by the siren’s song, and waited for the little ship she had built to be dashed on the waves.

[readonline]

https://nyti.ms/34FebC6 8, 2020 at 09:27PM

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Modern Love

If grief is the price of love, I am unable to pay.

Credit...Brian Rea

By Jared Misner

On the day I knew Alison would die, I called my two dogs into bed with me and wrapped all three of us in a quilt that’s hand stitched with my wedding vows.

This being such a custom item, it’s curious that three of them exist.

For my wedding two years ago, Alison had commissioned the hand stitching of this quilt — 1,420 words across 42 square feet. But the quilter kept messing it up with errant commas and misspelled words, so Alison made her start over, twice. She wasn’t about to be responsible for giving a less-than-perfect gift to me and my future husband, Nate. Still, the quilter had us keep the first two because there was no sense in returning them.

Before the doctors unplugged Alison in late April — one more body claimed by the coronavirus, lost amid the zeros and statistics to become a footnote in our sordid history — that’s who she was at her core: dedicated to perfection and superior gift-giving.

More than that, she was my best friend for 12 years, and even though I’m now married to a wonderful man, I’m not sure I’ll ever love someone like I loved Alison.

I suppose it’s fitting that this gift — the most perfect my husband and I received at our wedding, the gift we use more than any other, the gift I now find myself clinging to in Alison’s absence — came from the woman who was my first, and I suppose only, Facebook-official wife.

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Smitten with ourselves at the satirical shade we threw at others who lived for the drama and gossip of online relationship statuses at a time when Facebook had walls instead of feeds and when people still wrote on their friends’ walls, we made the digital declaration to one another and began our first marriage.

It was the most successful fictitious marriage I’ve had in my life, full of artisanal jams from roadside stands and dreams of one day living in a cabin in Vermont with a dozen dogs and a shed devoted to Halloween decorations.

Given that I’ve only been married to my husband for two years, I suppose you could say that my relationship with Alison was the most successful, long-lasting marriage I have had, period.

But now, at 29, she is dead, the ventilator no longer breathing for her, moved on to the next victim of Covid-19.

To die from this plague is a tragedy. To witness a loved one do so is a merciless, unrelenting kind of sadness — prolonged and filled with false hope. It is a faraway, forced mourning, her body a vector of contagion. It is a unique grief overridden by a forced education in a vocabulary I never wanted to learn: hydroxychloroquine, extubation, Remdesivir.

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And to die in the year of our lord 2020 is to die in so many places with deluging notifications, incessantly pinging you to remind you that your best friend is dead.

Texts from her father, Rich, an accountant from New York who now lives in West Palm Beach but still sounds like a New Yorker, and who once described my skinny jeans in college as “hot pants,” go off on my phone like bombs.

I think: Is this the one that tells me my best friend is dead?

Facebook posts from her mother, Robin (who once stole three mini cast-iron pans from a tapas restaurant in Gainesville, Fla., which still hang in my kitchen 12 years later), are an unpunctuated stream of terror, anger and fear. People “react” to her posts with digital tears. Instagram posts implore Alison to wake up, then shift to digital memorials, ephemeral stories that tag Alison, which she, despite the notifications, is unable to add to her own “story” because, again, she is dead.

To die amid this pandemic is to die over Zoom, your loved ones reduced to Hollywood Squares and requests to mute. Sharing stories about yesteryear with a video lag while your best friend is sedated. And while your friend dies in her hospital bed, hundreds of miles away, the process also involves rolling your eyes at the baby boomers on the call who insist on holding their phones below their chins rather than at eye level.

And then there are my own posts that I felt so obligated to birth into existence. To mourn your best friend in the 21st century is to do so publicly or risk others wondering why you haven’t already.

So I uploaded a 17-page letter Alison had written me in 2012, as we prepared to graduate from journalism school and begin our adult lives. It earned some 300 views, so I guess people liked it. How does one measure the support of digital grief anyway? Would I have loved her more if my “story” had received 400 views? Would our friendship mean more if a few more people had sent crying emojis in response?

On pages six and seven of the letter, Alison wrote, “I’m overwhelmed with clichés right now as I try to label our relationship. Best friends? Family? Soul mates? Soon-to-be newlyweds? Nothing feels right.”

“Nothing feels right” has a more macabre tinge to it these days because, well, nothing feels right.

In college at the University of Florida, and then continuing for the next eight years, Alison and I would say to each other, “Thank you for ruining me.” It was our way of telling the other: You’re so perfect, your understanding of me so nuanced and deep, that no man could ever match you.

By being all of these things, by accompanying me on another fruit-themed fall festival somewhere in north-central Florida, by sitting in a Czech restaurant in Ontario, and making me laugh even in the memo section of Venmo, “Thank you for ruining me” was to say “No one will ever know me or love me like you.”

Now that I’m actually married (the legal kind), I can say I love my husband very much. He is pragmatic, kind and handsome.

But he does not pull over for garage sales. He does not smuggle bags of dog costumes and treats out of press events to later give to my dogs and my parents’ dogs. He does not bring friendship bracelet crafts or design-your-own hats to our annual Labor Day trip and does not understand my references to the Beehive. He has no idea why Alison and I, eight years later, still laugh at the thought of when the chickens finally came to roost.

He does not speak in the Voice, a high-pitched apology-laced tone that came from who knows where but which we spoke in almost always.

He is, simply, not Alison. He could never be. It is (was?) a different kind of love. And nothing feels right now.

What happens to our inside jokes that litter the filing cabinets of my mind? Do they die along with her? Do I laugh to myself? What happens to her Facebook wall, the only record of our marriage, my first, her only?

One night while I wept in bed, my husband said to me, “Grief is the price of love.”

It was a typical thing for Nate to say: stoic New England pragmatism, the opposite of what I wanted to hear, the last thing Alison would have said. Yet it was everything I needed to hear.

He’s right, of course. He always is. One of the many reasons I married him.

But that love was expensive, a jumbo-size mortgage on my heart that I fear I won’t ever be able to repay.

Alison and I, both phone-call-averse millennials, would commonly talk on the phone for two hours at a time. Nate knew to go upstairs, don’t wait up when Alison called, the picture of her dressed as a cat for Halloween in 2012 appearing on my phone.

Do I keep her in my contact favorites now? Do I delete her? Do I unfriend her?

To die in 2020 is a messy amalgamation of digital business.

At my wedding, I asked Alison to read a passage from “The Velveteen Rabbit.” It’s a paragraph I have hanging in my home about what it means to be “real.”

The rabbit asks if becoming real hurts. The skin horse tells him yes, sometimes, it does. Sometimes your eyes will get rubbed off in the process and you’ll lose some of your shine. But that’s how you know you’re real. Nothing real can ever remain untouched.

The whole time they’re talking about love, of course.

I didn’t make the connection when I asked Alison to read that passage at my wedding, but it also describes us. Alison made me real. Alison ruined me. And I am better because of it.

Jared Misner is a writer in Charlotte, N.C.

Modern Love can be reached at [email protected].

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From Modern Love

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[my-dark-words]

My Mistake...

The roads were dangerous. Storm water coated the asphalt, deep puddles that obscured the lane markings and rose in a spray under my car tyres. Heavy raindrops on the windscreen conspired with fog from my own breath to obscure my vision. The time was so late that it was practically early, so there were blessed few other cars on the road. This was a bad night to be driving. This was the sort of night where mistakes would be made and people would die. I arrived home in one piece, so to speak. Work had been both physically and mentally exhausting, and the drive home had used up the last of my concentration. I waited in the car for a moment, hoping in vain that the storm would let up briefly enough for my sprint to my front door, thoughts of the day crowding my exhausted brain. Faces of patients and their frightened or grieving families drifted though my mind. Crying, screaming or sometimes completely blank. The worst ones were the faces full of desperate hope, hope that my team and I might find a solution that I knew just didn’t exist. The storm refused to relent, and I resigned myself to getting wet. Gathering my belongings I dashed out of the car, but only ran a few steps before running out of energy and walking the rest of the path. I was already soaked, the extra few seconds would make little difference. The yard was a mess. I hadn’t weeded in months and badly needed to get someone to mow the tiny lawn, but it was not my priority at the time. The dead heads of the roses shed brown petals under the raindrops, and thorny branches scraped the windows. My home was cold. I hadn’t bothered to leave the heater on that morning, it seemed a waste to heat the whole place when nobody was in it. I didn’t bother to turn it on now either, knowing I’d be in bed soon. There was precious little time for me to sleep before tomorrow’s shift at the hospital. I found my way carefully to the kitchen, switching on the solitary light I needed to find my way around. Dinner was destined to be a frozen microwave meal for one. It wasn’t fancy, truthfully they didn’t taste very good, but they claimed to be healthy and it was one less thing my busy mind needed to think about. They tasted a little better if heated in the oven, but I had neither the patience nor the motivation for that. The hum of the microwave did little to warm my thoughts. There was always so much I needed to do, and so much I never quite managed to get done. All those tasks would have to wait though, I just needed to eat, sleep, and go back to work tomorrow. Life was always that way. The electronic ding jolted me from my thoughts. The plastic tray of the so-called honey soy chicken was hot to touch. Steam drifted upwards from the open packet. I opened a kitchen drawer to gather cutlery, a single knife and fork. All my others were waiting patiently in the sink to be cleaned. Sudden movement from the couch demanded my attention. Nothing should be moving in my house except me. “Good evening,” said a man in a suit, sitting far too casually on my couch. My shoulders tensed, and my fists clenched. “I highly doubt that,” I grumbled. A dozen questions raced through my mind, but it didn’t occur to me to be frightened.

I was only angry, insulted even, that someone had the nerve to bother me here, especially after the day I’d had. “How did you get in here?” I demanded. He stood up, rolling his shoulders and fixing his tie before walking towards me in the kitchen. I didn’t know how long he’d been waiting, only that his suit was completely dry, while I was still soaked from my sprint through the storm. “Is that really your most important question?” he mused, head tilting to one side as he advanced. I racked my brain, trying to recall if he was someone I recognised. It was no use, I’d seen so many people today, so many people every day, that I could barely keep track of who was who. I didn’t know what I must have done to anger someone so much that they break into my home. He must have come in the back door. I hadn’t seen any signs of an intruder at the front. “No, I suppose not,” I conceded, eyes fixed upon him, “The more important question is: How do I make you leave?” He paused and smiled. This was not reassuring in any way. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at, but in my home, at this time of night, I couldn’t shake a profound sense of wrongness. But I was still not afraid. “Now, where’s the fun in answering that?” He practically purred. The voice was deep, and oddly familiar, even though I couldn’t quite place it. “Do you always answer every question with a question?” I snapped. I had no patience, or time, for a game of cat and mouse in my own house tonight. His reply was brief. “No.” He smiled menacingly, gesturing to the space between us as he advanced. “Since we’re here, I thought we’d take the opportunity to understand each other. Get to know each other.” I tensed, flush with rage, but didn’t move from beside the kitchen bench. “What do you want, exactly?” I demanded curtly. He feigned innocence. “Just to talk.” “There’s a telephone,” I said. I reached slowly into the kitchen drawer, taking care to keep my eyes fixed on his. He never blinked. He laughed, a deep, insincere chuckle that echoed through my house, and head. “That would be… Inadequate. We need to do more than talk. We need to… Understand each other. I want to help you, all you need to do is invite me in.” He stroked his tie absent mindedly. “Why would I do that? You found your way in here without an invitation.” Lightning flashed in the window, revealing the rest of the room for the briefest moment. In that flash, his smile flickered to a scowl. A creeping, nagging pain settled around my head like a band. I badly needed to rest. The last thing I needed was… whatever this was. He paused in his advance. Pale hands gestured around my home, cold and empty as it was. I was suddenly embarrassed by my own disorganisation. There were dishes in the sink, mostly cutlery to be fair, that had been waiting for days. A pile on unopened and unattended mail lay on my little dining table. Drying racks half full of laundry filled the open space of the lounge, lately I hadn’t been bothering to put my clothes away, I just washed what I needed and wore it straight off the rack. “You’ve been drowning in life, my dear,” he said, gesturing to one housekeeping failure after another. “You were better than this. You are better than this. I understand life can get difficult, but I can made everything easy again.” I silently scolded myself for letting my home get into such a state. He was at least partially right, I had let this state continue far too long. My home was in no condition to host a guest. Not a guest, I reminded myself, an intruder. “Work gets us all down at times,” he continued, “but you bear those burdens more than most. They don’t leave you, do they? You give so much of yourself that you don’t have anything left to be yourself. Always on the edge, always thinking. Decisions, decisions with the stakes so high. And so much simply unnecessary uncertainty.” He stopped scrutinising the room and slowly stepped towards me again, his back straight and arms open. “I can make everything so very easy. No fear. No worries. No doubts. No… difficult decisions.” He smiled in such a way that he probably thought was warmly, but to me with my aching head only served to make me feel uneasy. “Just certainty,” he offered. I sneered despite myself. “There’s exactly one certainty in life,” I said. He scowled, dropping the act for a moment. “And that is?” he said with a jerk of his head to one side. “Not you.” The smile returned. Collected. Calm. Predatory. He was only one step away now. I tensed, but did not move. “How curious,” he mused, his dark eyes searching my face, for what though I’m not sure. “You do seem to lack a certain…” He hesitated, hands drifting through the small space between us as though literally clutching at words, “A certain self preservation instinct.” “And why is that so curious?” His smile widened, baring more teeth than he probably intended to. “Because everyone else is wise enough to be afraid by now.” I smiled this time. Not the warm, understanding smile I wore most of the day at work, but the cold, angry smile I grew when I’d run out of patience. “Oh I’m so sorry,” I mocked, “but it’s rather difficult to be afraid of you, when you’re standing here is such a well fitting suit, and I’m standing here with a very sturdy kitchen knife and the knowledge about where every single vein runs in your body.” He raised one eyebrow in response. “Now, I believe you were leaving?” I continued. His expression went blank and he straightened his shoulders. “No,” he said softly, the corners of his lips twitching upwards in the faintest hint of a grin, “I’m not leaving, and I doubt very much that you could shed a single drop of my blood, even if you had the will to do so, good doctor.” He chuckled to himself, bringing one hand to his lips to conceal a smirk. “Besides, your trusty blade appears to be inaccessible at present.” I frowned and stole a glance down at my hand. The knife under my palm was visible, but looked like three different versions of itself, all overlaid one on top of the other. They were all the same knife, but all wrong somehow. Too blue, too red, or devoid of colour at all. And my hand passed through all of them. Now I was worried. “Give it back,” I said. He shook his head. “Not yet,” he practically purred. The man turned away from me and stepped towards my little dining table. It was really only big enough for two, but cluttered with assorted mail and documents that I just hadn’t gotten around to dealing with. With one casual gesture the clutter glided off the table and thumped to the floor, and a chair slid out for me. “Come. You mustn’t let your dinner get cold on my behalf,” he said, standing behind the other chair. I stepped out of the kitchen, but hesitated before approaching the table. “I’m not really hungry,” I said softly. That was true, my headache was getting much worse and I swore I could hear a high pitched ringing. He chuckled again, the sound cutting through the ringing in my ears. “Of course not, your current dinner is quite pathetic. You deserve something much better than that.” He stroked his chin in contemplation. “Perhaps you would allow me to tempt you with something more worthy?” He gestured across the empty dining table like a magician. As I blinked a meal appeared, welcoming and extravagant. A pair of steaming hot steaks surrounded by vegetables, two glasses and a bottle of red wine. No, not quite red wine. The colour was off. It was grey, I realised, I’d only mistaken it for red. All the food was greyer than it should have been, as was the man himself now I bothered to notice. It was like looking through a migraine aura where all the colours of the world were different in one eye, and I couldn’t match them up. “Sit,” he said, opening the bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. I’d often wondered if demons were real, in an abstract or metaphorical sense. Medicine tended to expose you to the murky depths of human nature, and I had encountered more than my fair share of people I would have described as having broken souls. Many patients had their own demons, some knew them better than others. I’d often wondered idly about what it was that would tempt someone to fall, to lose their resolve. I used to wonder what would tempt me. It certainly wasn’t going to be dinner. “I’m vegetarian,�� I quipped. Both wine glasses now full, he replaced the bottle on the table. “Sure you are, my dear, that’s why it’s chicken in that pathetic microwave meal beside you,” he sneered. He stared up at me, intense eyes shadowed by a lock of black hair. “Your attempt is adorable, but ill advised. Don’t lie to me, and I wont lie to you,” he warned. He stood up straight again, rolling his shoulders. For such a well fitting suit, it didn’t seem to be very comfortable. “I promise,” he added. “I don’t believe you,” I replied. The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Your belief is irrelevant.” He gestured again to the waiting chair. He was easy on the eyes now, in a quite literal sense. His features were smoother, almost stylised, but still greyer than they should have been, even with the dim light from the kitchen. “What are you?” I wondered. “What do you hope I am?” he crooned through a charming smile. “Are you going to answer every question with a question again?” I quipped. My headache was getting difficult to bear. Could I risk turning my back to take some pain killers? Was there anything I could do to worsen the danger I was probably in? “No,” he said simply. I stayed silent. I didn’t know what game was going on, but doing what this guest, intruder, wanted me to do was unlikely to be for my advantage. After a few moments he rapped his fingers against the back of his chair and gestured again to mine. I still declined to sit. The room, previously so chilly, felt warmer now, the air heavy with humidity. The storm still raged outside, and my head pounded distractedly, but I refused to move. I didn’t know how to play his game, but I suspected if I played at all, then I would lose. Besides, I was really in no mood to even entertain the concept. I had work tomorrow. I needed to sleep. A growl escaped from the man in the suit. For a moment I thought I was seeing double, two echoes of the man stood in the same place, one calm and collected, the other roaring with rage. It lasted only a few seconds, enough to make me question my own sanity again. “Is this really what you want?” he snarled, turning to gesture around the room. “Is this the life you really want to have? Alone, overworked and under appreciated?” He stepped towards me, glowering at everything. He seemed bigger, and once again I thought I could see two, or maybe three, versions of the same man in the same place, but not quite identical. It was hard to focus on, like my kitchen knife had been. “You could be so much more!” he roared, pointing at me with one accusatory finger. “You’re wasting, withering away here in the shadows. You, the good doctor, are capable of much greater things. You deserve greater things.” He calmed a little, the three visions of him coalescing back into one, still tremoring with rage. “You could achieve so much more, be so much more, if you’d only dare to ask,” he continued, stepping towards me again. “I can help you get it, to have anything you desire.” Lightning flashed through the window, exaggerating his features for the briefest of moments. I suddenly felt like having a table between us was a wise idea. I stepped towards the waiting chair, and immediately his posture changed. He no longer loomed in the room, instead of gesturing around he calmly clasped his hands behind his back. He waited with new patience as I sat warily in the chair. I hesitated, but he didn’t move. He only stared, the calm facade betraying nothing. I pulled in my chair, and placed my hands on the table. “That’s a pretty strange offer from a home invader,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I looked. Why was it so hard to concentrate? He sat down gracefully in the other chair, smiling smugly. “I would prefer the term ‘surprise guest’ if you don’t mind,” he practically purred. He folded his hands in front of himself, resting his elbows on the table. The room felt abruptly cold again, I was unsure how it had ever felt warm. “What do you want?” I asked. Whatever game he was playing, I was so sick and tired of it. I was so unbelievably tired, yet underneath it all still angry that this person had dared come into my house. “You already asked me that,” he replied, one eyebrow lifting. His smug smile was getting irritating. “And you lied,” I said. “I did not,” he insisted, leaning back in his chair and drawing a cross over his heart with one finger. “I promise.” Unsure what to say, I managed only an angry glare. The wind howled outside and the rain never ceased, a real killer storm. The offered meal of steak had vanished from the table. He sighed, reaching across the table for my hand. “I want to help you, to know you.” I drew back quickly. I didn’t know what would happen if he touched me, I wasn’t even sure whether he could, like I had been unable to touch my kitchen knife. “I want you to leave so I can sleep,” I said, keeping my hands out of reach. His face flickered, scowling as my hands had been pulled away. The scowl was suddenly replaced by another smile, a new smile. This one was different, softer. For a moment I almost mistook it for kindness, before recognising it. It was a smile of pity. “It’s unlikely you’re going to get any sleep tonight, my dear,” he said. “Look around. Be a realist.” he placed one hand flat against the table in front of him again, and gestured around my home with the other. “Life is overrunning you, and you simply haven’t been able to keep up. There’s just so much to do, too much to think about. Trust me, I understand.” He made an attempt at a warm smile and offered a hand, palm up. I stared at it. There was not a single thing about this situation that I could trust. “I can fix this,” he continued, “I can help you get back on your feet, if that’s what you want.” “What’s the catch?” I asked coldly, making no move for the outstretched hand and refusing to break eye contact. “The catch?” he asked innocently, tilting his head to one side. “If I’m being offered a deal by the devil,” I explained tiredly, though I didn’t think I should have needed to, “I need to know what’s the catch.” The offered hand closed into a fist and withdrew. “Is that what you think I am?” he asked smoothly, straightening his suit jacket once again. “Am I right?” I asked. “Would it excite you if you are?” he said softly, leaning back with a smirk to comb his fingers through his black hair. “Are we seriously back on the endless cycle of questions again?” I snapped. He paused, sitting up straight once more. “No.” I waited. I really had nothing more to say in this situation and simply feeling too drained to come up with anything clever. If he was setting some kind of trap, then I figured the least he could do was throw me some bait. “Very well,” he said at last. “No catch. Just stay, talk. Simply get to know each other, come to understand each other.” The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I began to really wish I’d turned on more lights when I’d come home. “Why would you want to get to know me?” The smile shifted from pity to interest. His focus was intense and disconcerting. “That’s not the most important question,” he smirked, “The better question is what can you learn from me? If I am what you think I am.” They say curiosity is a more powerful motivator than fear. They’re not wrong. “Honestly?” I wondered. “Always,” he said, nodding slowly. Part of me had to admit, the smile was charming. Another part of me knew from experience that everyone could be charming when they wanted something. “You’ll answer every question with the truth?” I asked again. “Yes,” he replied, excitement rising in his voice, “Everything you’ve ever wondered, and my dear I know you’ve wondered.” He began to list things on his fingers. “Life. Death. Souls. Anything you’ve ever wondered about, I will answer with the truth.” This, at last, was tempting. I had wondered too often about factors beyond my control. Were souls real? What happened after death? Could we find peace after it? Is there justice in the afterlife? So much I wanted to know, for the sake of my patients past and present. Yet I hesitated still. I knew from experience that knowledge brought power, and while I wouldn’t give away all the knowledge I’d spent years studying to acquire, but it also changed your view of the world. It tainted you. Knowledge was truly a double edged sword. And this offer, this was knowledge that no human was supposed to have. Not this side of death, in any case. But it was so tempting. “I…” I stammered, “I’m afraid I must decline.” I knew, in my heart, that I couldn’t allow forbidden knowledge to change the way I practised medicine. I might get to know what happens after we die, but none of my patients were keen to find out for themselves if I could help it. He froze in place, almost. His visage flickered, but I could only catch a glimpse of the other emotions he struggled to keep under control. They weren’t good. “What?” he snarled. “I have to decline,” I said again, quickly this time. “I mustn’t learn these things.” I waited for a reaction, a knot forming in my stomach and expecting the worst. He said only one word. “Why?” I took a deep breath and chose my words carefully. “I can’t ethically allow your answers to change my actions. It’s still my job to save lives, no matter what may or may not be waiting for those souls if I fail. I have to go to work tomorrow and try just as hard as I did today. Now I need to sleep. Perhaps we can talk some other time.” He slammed his hands down onto the table. I jumped to my feet. My chair tumbled behind me. “There is no other time,” he hissed at the table, “This is a one time offer.” He glared up at me, not moving. “Ask anything,” he urged. “Ask everything.” “But everything is so big,” I whispered, my mouth dry. “I’m not supposed to know those answers. I’m going to work tomorrow and I’m going to try to save lives, and there’s nothing you can tell me that can, or should, change that.” “Always with the work in the morning,” he grumbled, staring down at the table.”But what if you don’t have a morning to wake up to?” I thought of the storm, rain still pelting down outside. I knew it was a dangerous night to be driving. I knew there’d be terrible accidents on the road tonight. Was I already dead? I took a deep, slow breath. I could feel my panicked heart beating in my chest. I didn’t think I was deceased, but it struck me as unwise to ask. “I can give you everything you need,” he said, looking up at me, eyes as dark at the storm outside. “I can make all your struggles easy. Care and comfort. Removing all life’s tiresome details and difficult decisions.” He stood up, stepping rapidly around the little table. “Even knowledge beyond mortal comprehension isn’t enough to tempt the good doctor, it seems.” Slow, deliberate steps brought him closer to me, but there was nothing deliberate about his shape. Shimmering, twitching, slightly different versions all occupying the same space as he advanced, all but one screaming with rage, reaching for me. “I was going to make your life easy,” he said, the deep voice emanating from the version of himself not currently screaming, the one that seemed to be barely in control, “but I assure you my dear I can also make it very… difficult.” I stepped backwards, unwilling to tear my gaze away. My mind raced for any idea of escape, of defense, but it was too slow even in panic. I jumped as I backed into the wall behind me. He was so close, and I had nowhere to run. He reached towards me, one hand either side of my head, fingers extending like claws. His face was close enough to feel his breath, as hot as I’d imagined hell would be. His expression flickered, jolting between different versions of himself a mere breath away from me. I dared not move. I couldn’t actually move, only stared in wide eyed fear. His eyes were dark like the space between stars. They didn’t look like eyes at all, more like pits of nothingness as they drew me in.

He blinked.

He withdrew.

I dared to breathe again. “My mistake,” he murmured, taking a step back, fixing his suit. “Mistake?” I wondered out loud before thinking. The storm still roared outside, but I noticed my headache was suddenly gone. “Yes, I must apologise,” he said stiffly, as though the words were foreign to him. “It appears your soul is not here.” He combed his fingers through his ruffled hair, his visage converging into a single version of himself, once more looking human. “I will take my leave.” He gave a small nod and turned away, walking towards my front door. I slumped back against the wall as he left I was relieved, but unsure what had happened. Or rather, what had nearly happened. A sudden, burning concern gripped me as I heard the front door open. I raced to the entrance. “Wait!” I called out to the man in the dark. He hesitated by the garden gate. “You said my soul isn’t here. Where is it?” He straightened, a darker silhouette in the gloomy night and pelting rain. He said something, but the sound was drowned in the roar of the storm. “Come back inside!” I shouted, switching on the light. The man, or whatever he was, turned and walked back down the garden path towards me. He raised one had to his ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” “Then come back inside,” I shouted again as the wind picked up pace. “Tell me where my soul is.” He smiled on the threshold of my home. It was not a kind smile. I noticed, far too late, that he was still completely dry. A broad grin crept across his lips, and my stomach twisted with dread as he stepped back into my home. “I accept your… invitation.”

The Mistake Series

#fiction #darkiplier #horror #devil #4600 words #demon #deal with the devil

[the-scot-blog1]

Scrolling through Twitter one afternoon, I stumbled upon an amazing little feature by blogger Liam McNally – he had posted a text post with a number of different film titles from each year of his life. Bloody brilliant.

So I’ve decided to give it a go. I’ve been on this wonderful planet for almost 19 years now, and although I wasn’t alive for the release of Jurassic Park, there have been a fair few phenomenal films in my lifetime.

This is my longest post to date – I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. (2730 words – bloody hell).

  1998: Pleasantville

Oh my God. I didn’t realise how difficult this post was until I searched ‘1998 films’ into Google. The Trueman Show, Saving Private Ryan and The Wedding Singer all in the one year? God, anyone alive and kicking back then must have been having the best year of their lives.

But despite the 10 minute long decision process, I’ve decided on Pleasantville. I watched it when I was very young and hadn’t ever worn a bra, much less watched anything like that bath scene. Despite my mortified eyes however, the film will always be one of my favourites. I remember seeing the main character for the first time and just constantly thinking god, this is a weird film for Spiderman and Elle Woods to be in.

  1999: 10 Things I Hate About You

Again, this year is bloody difficult. The Iron Giant, The Mummy and Toy Story 2 – they just don’t make films like them anymore. Although I wasn’t a fan of Star Wars Episode 1 – it has to be one of my least favourites. Anyway.

10 Things I Hate About You was one of the first chick-flicks I ever watched. I knew Heath Ledger as ‘the strangely cute singing guy from that movie’ before I knew him as the Joker. I felt like I related to Kat – I wasn’t big on getting a boyfriend, and I was pretty much destined to be a wee bit strange since birth. Plus her name is so cool.

  2000: X-Men

At the time of watching, I was right into Harry Potter. I loved the idea of special schools dedicated to supernatural people – it made my own secondary school even more boring. I’d often just sit in class and daydream about being able to fly or have the ability to imitate people.

But in all honesty, the one person I was most envious of was Quicksilver. And not because I wanted to save the world or any of that pish. No. When I sat in my third year physics class, the smells from the cafeteria always decided to sneak up the vent and attack my nostrils. I would get so unbelievably hungry, and my stomach would always tell my classmates just that. So I used to daydream about running faster than time, sprinting down into the dining hall, grabbing a steaming hot spicy chicken panini (and maybe some soup, if I could manage) and munching it before heading back up to class. Yeah – I wanted superpowers so I could eat my lunch early.

  2001: The Princess Diaries

AH. I’ve got a feeling film directors are deliberately messing with me right now. Legit, I had a look at the films from 2001, and I was floored. What an amazing year. The first Harry Potter movie came out this year – the beginning of an absolute era. Shrek debuted as well – but I was always slightly offended when people heard my Scottish accent and compared me to a giant green ogre when I travelled abroad. The first Lord of the Rings film came out as well – see what I mean about them messing with me?

But despite all of my favourite film franchises beginning in this year, I gotta say, the Anne Hathaway/Julie Andrews combo that is The Princess Diaries absolutely stole my heart. I had never related to a character more – I had frizzy hair, buck teeth, oversized glasses and a tendency to prioritise spending time with my cat over hanging out with real-life friends. So when she went through her beautiful princess transformation, I was floored. I mean, I’m still waiting for that to officially happen, but I’m still holding out hope that I have a long lost relative that’s gonna tell me I’m a princess (no, not you mum).

  2002: The Pianist

Originally, I had written the first Spiderman as my favourite film of 2002. But that quickly changed.

The first time I watched The Pianist, I was 13 years old in a stuffy history classroom. I still hold the belief that this was definitely not the right time to watch this film. It felt as though my teacher didn’t have any material to convey how horrific the Holocaust really was, and so instead she stuck on one of the most distressing and hauntingly beautiful films of all time. I didn’t fully appreciate it back then – I cried when I watched the horrors that took place in the ghettos, and got even more upset when immature people around me started to laugh.

But I watched it for a second time a few years later. Although I cried again, I gained a much deeper understanding of the film. I still listen to the soundtrack when I want to write a particularly moving or sad chapter of a book. The film has such a disgusting beauty to it, it is astounding – it makes me question my morals when I say it is one of my favourite films.

  2003: Peter Pan

Again, there were so many amazing films this year – I can’t explain my guilt at not choosing Finding Nemo or the last instalment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

But I found my first love in the live-action remake of Peter Pan. Just a few years after it was released, I found myself watching it time and time again. I was young, and there was a boy with messy hair and a fairy to keep him company. Honestly, I was head over heels. I grew to absolutely despise Wendy Darling. How dare she take away my Peter, with her stupid bow and annoying accent. And the fact that Lucius Malfoy was Captain Hook just made it that little bit better.

  2004: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

You’re lying if you say that this isn’t one of your favourite films.

Again, it was tricky not choosing The Incredibles or Mean Girls – even The Notebook made it to my shortlist. But the way the Weasley twin’s hair sat and the introduction of the marauders just made my life complete. Except for Pettigrew. Fuck you, Pettigrew. I’d read the book before I saw the film, and while I was slightly disappointed with the previous two, I didn’t stop talking about PoA for months. In fact, I still talk about it. It’s great.

  2005: Sky High

This year was going to be beautifully simple – I absolutely love Star Wars Episode III. In fact, it was possibly the only film I was certain of when I started this post. But, never the less, I looked at the list of 2005 films anyway, and was reminded of the best thing I’ve ever watched. Ever.

Remember earlier in the post when I said that I frickin LOVE schools for supernatural people? WELL HERE WE GO AGAIN. I watched Sky High recently with my friend Ross, and even although the acting was abysmal and my cringe levels were off the chart, I couldn’t help but smile. As if the flying school bus wasn’t enough, the euphoria I felt when Will and Warren won Save the Citizen was something I don’t think I’ll ever feel again.

  2006: Pan’s Labyrinth

I feel like if I choose any film other than this, my Spanish teacher would kill me. Again, it’s another film that we watched at way too young an age in my opinion. Sure, it looks all mystical with fairies and creepy monsters with eyeball hands, but it has this underlying story-line of the horrors of war and escapism that you can’t fully understand until you’re a bit older.

I watched it again when I was 17 and studying Advanced Higher Spanish, and knew the film as ‘El Laberinto del Fauno’. I could go on for 20 minutes about this film and its director (which I did by the way, in the final exam).

  2007: Ratatouille

WHAT A FILM BTW. I’ve always loved Disney – my sister and I would spend nights staying up way past our 8pm bedtime watching Aladdin and Peter Pan, with a fair few stolen After Eight mints from my mum’s bedroom too. This film just completely blew me away – the animation was new and cool and it was set in PARIS.

Even now, ten years later (omg ten years wtf) I still think about the scene where Remy combines the cheese and grapes, and little fireworks and swirls form in his mind. I once ate a McDonald’s chip and then took a sip of my strawberry milkshake, and legit I’m pretty sure that’s what happened in my mind.

  2008: The Chronicles of Narnia – Prince Caspian

Enter stage left – my second love. At the age of nine, Prince Caspian had everything I could ever want in a guy (or so I thought). He had a sword, long hair, an accent I had never heard before and he fought Peter Pevensie (I seem to hate a whole lot of Peters).

I thought it was the coolest combination of Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, and it was while watching this that I began to have a crisis about my true Hogwarts house. I had always thought myself a Gryffindor – I had the scarf, the pens and the egotistical ‘I’m-better-than-you’ attitude that all young Gryffs seem to adopt. But I found myself siding with Edmund Pevensie about a whole lot of things. I didn’t fully accept Slytherin as my true house till a good few years later.

  2009: Star Trek

I watched Star Trek before I even touched Star Wars, and I was absolutely hooked. It was what introduced me to science fiction, really. After Star Trek, I moved onto Doctor Who, and although I couldn’t really get into the Star Trek TV series, I found my love of sci-fi growing.

It was my love of Star Trek that caused me to accidentally find Star Wars. My brother would constantly go on about C3PO and lightsabers, and I decided very early on that it wasn’t for me. But after trying (and failing) to find Star Trek online, I accidentally found Star Wars instead, and thus began my love of the Skywalkers and giant wookies named Chewy.

  2010: How To Train Your Dragon

Other than Aladdin, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was one of my first (of many) cartoon crushes. I thought he was the most adorable lil guy ever – he was clumsy, dorky, and absolutely loved animals. He was perfect. I thought the animation was absolutely incredible, and the Scottish accents were just a bonus. I much preferred being compared to Gerard Butler than a green ogre, in all honesty.

And don’t even get me started on how he looked in How To Train Your Dragon 2 – oaft.

  2011: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two

HPDHP2 is right up there with the Prisoner of Azkaban. I remember heading to the midnight release of the last Harry Potter book – I was decked out in a Scream robe that we’d stitched a Gryffindor badge onto, with curly hair that reached my shoulders. And yes, I won the costume contest. But I remember staying up that night and reading the book until 7am, and having to head to school the next day without a wink of sleep. And yet I didn’t care – I had just finished the last book in a series that completely shaped my childhood.

So when the movie hit the cinema screens, I was praying that I wouldn’t be disappointed like I was with some of the others. And apparently, my prayers were answered. Even although the Deathly Hallows is split into two parts, I always consider them the one film. And it’s most certainly my favourite.

  2012: The Perks of Being a Wallflower

This film really got to me. I bundled up in warm clothes to see it in the cinema with my friend Ailish, and it was the first ever film I had cried at. I’d read the book before hand and cried my eyes out, but the severity and meaning of the story didn’t hit me until I watched the film. Logan Lerman and Emma Watson were two of my favourite stars at the time: I knew Emma from Harry Potter obviously, whilst Logan stole my heart as Percy Jackson.

But what struck me most was the way I related to these characters. I often found myself standing next to the wall in school dances, watching people having a good time but being physically incapable of joining in – it was as if my feet were constantly glued to the floor. It was comforting to know that I wasn’t alone in this, and it lead to me being able to open up to my guidance teacher about my struggles with anxiety.

I also wrote about the original book in my piece ’13 books to help get over a break up’ – check it out.

2013: The Hobbit – The Desolation of Smaug

When the making of the Hobbit was first announced, I was ecstatic. But my excitement somewhat wavered when I heard they were turning into three films. It was a small book – tiny in comparison to the three Lord of the Rings texts – how on earth would they stretch this wonderfully small work into three different films?

And yet somehow, they managed it, and subsequently made one of my favourite films of all time. Why, you ask? The barrel scene. 

2014: Guardians of the Galaxy

Not gonna lie, this one was a toss up between the hilarious Chris Pratt and the absolutely adorable Baymax. But, as much as I love Disney’s tale of superpowers and love therapy in Big Hero 6, it didn’t win this year for me. The best thing about the film is without a doubt the soundtrack – even four years later, I still listen to it when I wanna get psyched.

I wanted to cosplay as Gamora for last year’s MCM Comic Con in Glasgow so bad, but then I realised that I’d more than likely sweat off the green body paint and the leather would more than likely get quite uncomfortable.

2015: Star Wars – The Force Awakens

Up until 2015, I was losing interest in Star Wars. I’d watched the films countless times, but as much as I adored them, I couldn’t stop thinking about the shabby effects. So when Finn, Poe and Rey lit up my local cinema screen in December 2015, it was as if I was born again. I suddenly dived back into the world of lightsabers and gun-wielding Wookies, and I genuinely haven’t looked back since.

And although I cried my eyes out when that thing happened, I agreed with it – it was about time.

2016: Finding Dory

I actually travelled Australia for a month last year – I left school and just decided to get away from everything and everyone for a little while. So after I met my brother and we began to explore Sydney, we decided what better place to watch the latest instalment in Finding Nemo than the place where it’s set??

I was slightly disappointed to find out that Nemo and Dory did not, in fact, stay in Sydney for the duration of the film, but even so – it was just amazing.

I was going to write a segment for 2017 but then I realised – I legit haven’t watched any new releases yet. I’ve simply not had any time. And yes, that means that I haven’t even watched the new Beauty and the Beast. For shame.

But even although I haven’t watched anything yet, there are tonnes of films that I’m looking forward to – Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2, Spiderman Homecoming, and Star Wars: The Last Jedi to name a few.

Hey, maybe I’ll revisit this post at the end of the year and add in my favourite film.

I’m tagging the fantastic Emily and Lucie in the ‘Film for every year of my life’ tag.

What are your most loved films from these years? Do we share any favourites? Or do you think my choices are just downright wrong? Let me know!

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18 films in 18 years: My favourite stories since I was born was originally published on Ellan

#Ellan blog #Elle Duffy #Scottish bloggers #Scottish blog #Travel blog #Lifestyle blog #Scottish travel #Personal blog #Scottish girl

[sharonisantisocialimagines]

I Am Human - Part VI

Pairing: Jared x reader Summary: He’s one of the two main actors. He’s 28, sexy, charming and funny. She’s the new girl on set. The new assistent from a foreign country. And she is only 20 years old. She is also the one who stole his heart in milliseconds, just by being herself.  Jared Padalecki and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) are what you like to call starcrossed lovers, two fitting pieces of a puzzle. But we all know love is not easy. So what happens if their age difference becomes a problem? Can (Y/N) keep working for Jared when feelings get involved? And what secret is she hiding from him? Warning: None

I Am Human Masterlist

He hugged her. He pulled her in the tightest embrace she had ever experienced. His arms clung to her as if she was his source of life as she buried her head in his warm chest. His scent was comforting. She felt safe. For the first time since her move she felt as if there was someone who really cared. 

Sure, she had Emily. Emily had become her best friend, but she was just that. Her best friend. There was a feeling of safety only family members and your own four walls could provide. But with Jared, with Jared she felt as if she could feel at home again. 

“Thank you for trusting me.” 

He whispered in her hair and squeezed her impossibly closer. She inhaled his scent and calmed her nerves, the butterflies in her stomach going absolutely nuts at the closeness. 

“Thank you for staying.” 

It was such an intimate moment, Jared thought about kissing her. He knew he could either make the moment perfect, or ruin everything he’d built up over the last few weeks. He didn’t want to seem as if he waited for a weak moment, so he decided to put his feelings in the background one more time. Their embrace was interrupted by Jared’s phone going off. She mentally cursed the device as Jared parted from her to pick it up. 

It was Jensen. 

“Dude, where the fuck were you last night? I woke up with a hangover that could’ve killed me!” 

Jared swallowed empty. How could he possibly explain to his friend why he spent the night at (Y/N) without making him think something dirty?

“(Y/N) and I decided to watch the latest Harry Potter and I fell asleep.” 

“When we got back? It was already past midnight!” 

“And? I wasn’t drunk and couldn’t sleep! She lives just four floors beneath us, it’s no big deal!”

Jensen had completely forgotten about their encounter yesterday, so Jared explained how you had met in the staircase and how things continued from there. He wasn’t exactly lying to his friend - he just didn’t tell him the whole truth. 

“Listen, I don’t want to know about your Harry Potter sex games. That’s not why I called. Danneel texted me earlier and asked if we wanted to come over for dinner. She’s invited some friends and told me to come and bring you.” 

Jared thought about the offer for a moment. Their shoot would end around six, they could drive straight to Danneel then. Thanks to her shooting a movie in Vancouver she had a temporary apartment, where Jensen slept 90% at the time.

“Sure, sounds great. And tell her I bring (Y/N).”

(Y/N) head snapped up at the mention of her name and she shook her head furiously. She knew, whatever Jared had just agreed to wasn’t something she would like.

“You guys together now?”

Jared smiled almost dreamingly at (Y/N) who scooped Luna up into her arms as she tried to attack Jared’s feet.

“We’ll talk later, alright?”

He could almost see Jensen smile as he hung up. Even if he couldn’t understand Jared’s emotions, he supported his friend and only wanted to see him happy. As expected, (Y/N) was the opposite of happy as Jared told her about their plans.

“Jared! I’m not famous, I don’t belong there! I’d be totally left out!”

“I’d never let you be left out. Danneel said I could bring someone with me, and I really want to bring you! You’ll love her!”

It looked as if he couldn’t stop the little safety lies today. But he knew Danneel wouldn’t mind him bringing someone. Especially not someone as likeable as (Y/N).

“Okay, I’m not stressing out. Totally not stressing out. Luna, how do I look. Can I go like this?”

Luna didn’t even move from the spot on (Y/N) bed, even as she did a little twirl for the cat. After the third mention of her name, she let out a high meow which was the best she would get out of her. The high waisted jeans and the tight blouse complimented her curves, and the boots seemed to make her legs even longer than they already were.

Jared picked her up right on time, complimenting her on her outfit. He couldn’t exactly tell her how the skin-tight jeans drove him almost crazy and how her cleavage was to kill for, so he hoped the word ‘beautiful’ was a good enough description for how she looked.

Jensen was already with Danneel as they arrived, and he introduced her as his girlfriend. She was absolutely gorgeous and so so nice! She instantly grabbed (Y/N) arm and showed her the whole apartment, introduced her to her other friends (there were only three others) and pushed a glass of juice in her hand. She happily started telling you about her movie and how she met Jensen on set of Ten Inch Hero. She’d never admit it to Jensen, but she loved this movie way more than she probably should.

“So, are you and Jared dating? He’s never brought a girl with him when we hung out.”

(Y/N) cheeks turned red as she took a long gulp of juice, as if this would save her from answering the question. She almost choked as Jared appeared behind her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Are you scaring (Y/N) away already, Danni?”

“No, I was just wondering if the two of you were dating!”

Definitely not afraid to say what she thinks. Danneel owned a confidence (Y/N) could only dream off. Jared only laughed at Danni’s words and pulled (Y/N) closer to his side, his fingers caressing her upper arm almost as if he wanted to calm her down. He could feel her tense shoulders and her wary expression that told him she really didn’t feel comfortable here.

“No, we actually aren’t. I’d be lucky to call her my girlfriend, though.”

Jared was definitely not helping with his words. He wanted to calm her down? That was definitely not the right way. He should stop talking and take a step back, that was the only thing that would calm her down now.

“She looks like a keeper, I agree!” 

She winked and off Danneel went, leaving you alone in the awkward position to say something to Jared. Thanks. 

Danneel and one of her friends had prepared tacos with chicken, beef and vegetables for everyone. All in one, it was a wonderful (and awkward) evening, and Jared stayed true to his word. Not once did he leave her side (only when Danneel ran off with her), whereas he also rarely removed his arm from her. He either held onto her waist, guided her along with a hand on her back or put his arm around her shoulder. Her heart had no chance to calm down, not even as they left Danneel’s apartment.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

Jared said, grabbing onto (Y/N) hand. Jared watched her reaction, ready for any kind of rejection to follow. But she only sent him a surprised look before looking at his hand. He spread his fingers, and as if it was the most normal thing, their fingers intertwined with each other as they walked down the flight of stairs to the exit. A warm shiver ran up her arm and throug her body as the butterflies went crazy in her stomach. Snow had begun to fall outside and both smiled wide as they noticed the dark streets slowly getting covered in the white powder.

For a moment, (Y/N) forgot who she was with and parted her hand from Jared’s before twirling in the snow and trying to catch some of the flakes on her tongue. She laughed and giggled like a little girl, and Jared watched her, totally captivated. Snowflakes stuck in her long hair and her cheeks turned a beautiful pink from the cold as he walked closer to her.

“It reminds me of home, you know. I love snow.”

She grinned and Jared couldn’t help it but smile, too. She was beautiful.

Without thinking, he softly grabbed onto her waist and pulled her closer. A look of determination ran over his features as he looked into her eyes before closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to hers.

Fireworks exploded in Jared’s body and his body heated up at the sensation of finally being able to kiss her. Her lips were even softer and fuller than he had expected, and he already missed them as the thought of pulling away from her crossed his mind. Before the kiss could get any further, (Y/N) carefully pulled away from him, dropping her head but leaving her eyes closed. She slowly drew her tongue over her lips and then sighed. She sighed as if the next words she was about to say pained her more than a knife ever could. The moment she raised her head and Jared got to look in her deep eyes, he knew he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say. She bit her lip before she started speaking. 

“I… uh…” A dry chuckle left her lips. “I can’t do this. I… I mean…” she struggled with her words as her eyes looked at everything but his face. “Look, I-I’ve been played with enough over the last few months, I really don’t need this right now.”

“What?" 

What was she talking about? He had waited for the longest time to kiss her and even though he tried to prepare himself for every kind of reaction - anger, rejection, disgust, fun - he had not expected this. 

"Jared, you’re what? 28?" 

Jared nodded his head, not knowing where (Y/N) was going with this. 

"I’m so much younger. Why would you even look at someone like me? You’re an actor, women lie to your feet. You could have everyone you want, so this is obviously just some kind of joke to you." 

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry right now. Did she really think so little of herself, that she thought Jared was playing with her? What had happened to her for her to expect something like this? He had no idea how to react to her words, but the only thing he seemed to be able to do was to laugh. A deep, hoarse laugh left his throat as he cupped her jaw again and pulled her lips to his. He kissed her as if she was made out of glass. Soft, slow - putting as much emotion in it as he could. He parted the kiss after just a few seconds. His free hand wrapped around (Y/N) waist as he leaned his forehead against hers. 

"You really need to change the way you look at yourself.”

#Jared x reader #jared padalecki x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #jared padamoose #Jared Padalecki #jared padalecki fanfiction #jared padalecki imagines #jared padalecki one shots #jared padalecki one shot #jared padalecki imagine #jared padalecki drabble #jared padalecki au #jared padalecki series #jared padalecki fanfic #sam winchester imagines #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester drabbles #sam winchester series #sam winchester drabble #Sam Winchester reader insert #sam winchester one shots #sam winchester one shot #Sammy Winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester spn #Sam Winchester #sam one shots #sam and dean #dean and sam

[kevinmoyer]

Fun Modern Wedding in New Orleans :: Alicia & Mathew

Photography by G. Chapin Studios.

Let me start by saying, this is not your average wedding! Alicia & Mathew’s day included plenty of unique touches and was relaxed, cool and seriously fun. From stylish Alicia’s bridal looks (oh yes, she donned both a jumpsuit and a cape!), to semi-gothic twists (the groom’s ring inlaid with a skeleton, those romantic blood red florals), to a brass band, food trucks and a never-empty dance floor, this is a classic New Orleans good time. And how do you top off a day like that? With most everyone ending up in the pool, of course!

If you had it to do over again, is there anything you would do differently? We really can’t think of anything we would do differently. Perhaps similar to what other people say, slow down and take it all in. But we were both too excited to slow down!

Did you have a first look? Why or why not? We did, but not in my wedding look! Instead, I wore a jumpsuit with my hair down. Since we did our cocktail hour before the ceremony I didn’t want our guests to see me in my wedding dress. So our planner, Brooke Casey Weddings, who was magical, made a perfect timeline for us. We did a first look before everyone arrived, had a drink with our guests, then I quickly changed into my wedding dress and cape for the ceremony. My hairdresser was so sweet and put my hair up in a matter of five seconds, and just like that it was a new look. Our planner really convinced us to do a first look and I am so glad we did. It’s nice to say hello, hi, I love you, before things turn into a crazy love fest with everyone else.

Why did you choose this location for your wedding? We currently live in New York City, but being from Louisiana Mathew and I knew we had to get married in New Orleans. When planning our wedding we wanted a more laidback, less formal venue. Race and Religious had everything. Every inch of the building screams New Orleans, plus it has a cozy yet romantic vibe, and a beautiful, inviting outdoor space that wasn’t stuffy.

Are there any DIY details you’d like to tell us about? I have to mention our cat coozies! We had the cutest coozies with our cat’s face on them. And we had thank you bags made with the traditional Chinese double happiness symbol, filled with tea bags.

Do you have any budget tips for other brides? Hire a wedding planner. They can help you save money! Our wedding planner Brooke Casey Weddings pointed us in the right direction every time. She recommended vendors in our price range and made sure we never splurged on things that weren’t needed.

The Ceremony

Your ceremony in three words. Non-traditional, emotional, fun-spirited.

How did you go about planning your ceremony? I used Snippet & Ink! I also spoke to friends who were officiants or had used friends as officiants. Getting everyone’s advice really helped us settle on the style, and most importantly how we wanted to share our love story with our friends and family.

What was your ceremony music? We had the awesome Kinfolk Brass Band play In My Life by The Beatles for the wedding party. Then they switched to La Vie en Rose for my dad and I to enter. It’s such a beautiful song, and it immediately reminded me of my childhood watching old movies with Audrey Hepburn and Louis Armstrong. It totally did the trick in calming my nerves.

Who officiated your ceremony? My dear friend from graduate school, Rachel.

How did you choose him/her?  First of all, she has a great speaking voice and knows how to use a microphone! Also, she is so eloquent and knows us so well that we knew she would be the perfect person to perform the ceremony and to keep us both calm.

Did you include any traditions in your ceremony? I wanted to make the statement that Mathew and I were in this together; that together, we decided on this union. Rachel did a great job with the wording to make it less patriarchal, and added feminist touches here and there.

What were your ceremony readings? We searched high and low and found two that we both have never heard before – To My Valentine By Ogden Nash  and an excerpt from The Irrational Season by Madeleine L’Engle.

What were your vows like? We wrote our own and when it was time to say them, it got very emotional. Mathew is an excellent writer and wrote his alone in thirty minutes. I took a whole month and had multiple friends read and edit them. I again used Snippet & Ink and found a few vows that emulated the flow we were after and the love I wanted to convey. I also stole a line or two from an episode of Grace and Frankie!

What was your favorite thing about your wedding ceremony? That it was the perfect representation of our personalities and our relationship. If you didn’t know us before, just listening to our vows you could get a clear picture of what makes us tick and why we operate well together.

Is there anything else that you’d like to share about your wedding ceremony? We wanted our friends and family to be a part of our ceremony.  At one point our officiant asked us to turn around and look at all our friends and family. Seeing everyone’s faces and taking a moment to acknowledge the love around us is something I will never forget.

Did you include any other traditions in your wedding? We really didn’t follow any rules or traditions. Whatever felt right we did it. If it was a tradition that was simply a wedding tradition with no meaning behind it for us, we tried to avoid it. But one classic New Orleans tradition that we had to do was the second line. A second line parade has two parts. The first line is the couple and the brass band, and second line are the guests. It was so fun to dance in the streets right after the ceremony. All the locals get into it, honking and waving from their cars. I think our out of town guests especially got a kick out of it.

Is there anything else that helps tell the story of your wedding? A photographer! I think this is one of the most important things to do your research on. With so many great wedding photographers out there, we really focused on the photographer and their personality. We wanted to find someone that was like us, and who felt like a friend. After looking at so many photography websites, we ended up choosing G. Chapin Studios. As soon as I talked to her on Skype and read her blog I knew we had found the one. Finding someone that can make you comfortable and feel like yourself I really think is the formula to getting the best pictures.

The Reception

Why did you choose this location for your reception? We loved that our ceremony and reception could be at the same venue. We knew we wanted a fun laidback vibe, and we knew with our group of friends people would end up in the pool!

What inspired you when you were planning your wedding?  Following the spirit of the Big Easy, our goal was to keep it relaxed, no fuss, and not pretentious or sterile. I kept telling our vendors to picture a fun laidback tailgate or backyard party!

What was your wedding menu? We had two food trucks!

Rue Chow served Louisiana staples: Chicken and sausage jambalaya / Chicken and waffles / Truffle bacon mac n’ cheese / Roast beef sandwiches / Roasted vegetable bruschetta.

And the second truck served our favorite food, tacos! Taceaux Loceaux offered three types of tacos (vegetarian, beef, and pork) and gazpacho salad.

What was your first dance song? Father/daughter or mother/son dance? I am going to be honest – I did not want to do a first dance. I hate being the center of attention, slow dancing in front of everyone! Forget it! But Mathew put his foot down and begged me to dance with him for ninety seconds (up from the original one minute I agreed to!) I feel like there has to be other brides out there that feel this way!?

Our first dance was Louis Armstrong’s A Kiss to Build A Dream On. Thankfully my dad and I are likeminded when it comes to dancing, so we skipped the father/daughter dance. Mathew and his mother danced to Forever Young by Joan Baez.

What type of cake or dessert did you serve? We had three cakes from The Sweet Life Bakery. They were buttercream with vanilla icing, chocolate peanut butter with chocolate icing, and my favorite, red velvet with cream cheese icing. We also had local coffee provided by the Petite Rouge coffee truck.

What advice do you have for other couples in the midst of planning a wedding?  Think about weddings you have attended. What did you remember and what can’t you remember? If you can’t remember if you had glass or plastic cups then maybe don’t worry about paying extra for the finest china. If you loved getting in the photo booth at that one wedding, then don’t even think twice: get the photo booth! And if you can afford it, hire a wedding planner!

What was your favorite moment or part of the reception? It may be very cliché, but seeing all our friends from childhood to adulthood dancing together. And also turning around and realizing half of our guests were dancing in the pool.

What was the best advice you received as a bride? It’s just one night so don’t sweat the small stuff. Focus on the love and marriage. And don’t forget to eat!

Please tell us about any other special details or moments from your reception. Watching a guest strip down to his red swimsuit and get in the pool.

How would you describe your reception overall? One huge, sweaty, dance-and-pool party!

The post Fun Modern Wedding in New Orleans :: Alicia & Mathew appeared first on Snippet & Ink.