Hey I loved your Mother's Day fic, I was just wondering if you would do a second chapter that follows immediately after when Mrs Shepherd discovers Amelia is pregnant?? I love you writing and would love to read this!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Hello! Thank you for being so sweet! You made my day SO much better. ❤️
A/N: Thank you for the lovely comments! You do not have to read part two if you do not want (“A Mother’s Love” is complete on its own), but if you choose to read this chapter, please make sure you read the first!
By the time Owen gets back to the house, two bags of food in tow, it’s already eight o’clock. He shakes his head as the door slips open, left unlocked. “You know, you really should lock this,” he says, head tilted, eyebrows teasing her. “I reminded you before I left.”
“Oh, we’re fine, O,” Amelia says, moving her arm up and down as if shooing the suggestion away.
“I could have been an ax murderer.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not,” Amelia says, moving a few steps closer to him and pecking his lips once they’re breathing the same air. Pulling back, she chuckles. “Though it’s more probable you’re a lumberjack.” She steps back, her eyes roaming from his eyes to his red flannel shirt to his worn blue jeans.
He pinches her side in retaliation, muttering a, “You didn’t seem to mind when you stole this shirt last week.” He catches the blush rushing up her chest and cheeks, and only smiles in response. He looks ahead, by chance, meeting Mrs. Shepherd’s eyes, and he sees the happiness radiating back at him. “Who’s hungry?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“Me,” Amelia says, raising her hand like a third-grader. “I’ll get plates.” She heads into their kitchen, then pulls a few ceramic dishes from the top shelf, standing on her tiptoes to reach them. He smirks, the skin of her low back revealed as she stretches, before tracing his fingers over the exposed flesh. He smiles as goosebumps materialize under his hand, holding his hand there–barely touching–as he uses his right to grab a few glasses. Once he’s grabbed them, he pours them all sparkling water with lime, squeezing a little lemon into his wife’s glass as he knows she likes. Amelia pecks his cheek in response, grabbing her glass and the plates on her way to their small, round table. Owen carries the other glasses out, setting one in front of his mother and one next to his wife. Mrs. Shepherd has already begun to set out their food containers, snacking on a fried wonton as she does so.
“Oh, I’ll take one of those,” Amelia says to her mother, reaching her hand in the container.
“I’m not surprised.” Mrs. Shepherd laughs, light and free, placing her hand atop her daughter’s for a few seconds, squeezing lightly. “You used to devour them when you were a kid. The only toddler I know who ate fried wontons like candy.”
Amelia smiles, her dimple prominent, as she grabs another. “I was a weird kid,” she says with a shrug, scooping her dinner onto her plate.
“Were?” her mother jokes, taking her first bite of food. “You’re still weird.”
Owen chuckles, surprised at her mother’s candor, only for Amelia to hit his upper arm. “Ow,” he whines.
“Oh, shush, you big baby.” Amelia sends him her patented puppy-dog eyes. “I didn’t even hit you that hard.”
“You’re tiny,” he says, shaking his head, “but strong.” She smirks, popping her right shoulder higher than her left, and then turns back to her Pad Kra Tiem, mixing the brown sauce with her garlic shrimp.
They eat quietly, save for a few words here and there, each hungry and content with their dinners. “I’ll be right back,” Amelia excuses herself ten minutes later. She heads to the bathroom, silently cursing her hormones. She has been to the bathroom three times since she got home. Apparently her surgical bladder of steel isn’t going to be sticking around this pregnancy.
Back at the table, Carolyn Shepherd begins to ask Owen about his job and interests, having realized she knows very little about him personally. “I’m a trauma surgeon,” Owen says, smiling with pride. “I really enjoy it. It’s a challenge, but one I love.”
“I would guess so, Major.” Her eyes crinkle with her smile, the lines permanent after years’ worth of experiences. “Are you still Chief of Surgery?”
“No. I resigned last year.” He shrugs, chewing another bite of beef, then swallowing. “It was time for someone else to step in. Besides, I now have fewer managerial duties, which means more time for surgery.”
She nods in understanding. “A surgeon always wants more time,” she says wisely, a little sparkle in her eyes. He nods, turning his head slightly at the sound of Amelia making her way back down the hall.
Amelia sits quickly, shooting both family members a smile before diving back into her dinner. After a few bites in relative silence, she looks up with furrowed brows. “When’s your flight, Mom?”
“I cancelled it after you asked me to stay.” Mrs. Shepherd pats her mouth with her napkin. “I figured I’d reschedule it after we talked. I hope that’s okay.” Her blue orbs meet her daughter’s matching ones, her smile tender, but unsure.
“Of course it is,” Amelia says, voice low and confident.
“You’re welcome any time,” Owen adds.
“Thank you,” Carolyn murmurs, cheeks stretched tight with a smile, eyes downturned in quiet gratefulness. She lets out a little breath, taking a moment to appreciate the amends she has made with her youngest daughter, before she turns her eyes upward. Her eyes are alight with mischief as she looked between her children. “So when were you going to tell me?”
Amelia shovels another bite into her mouth, frowning slightly. “Tell you what?”
Mrs. Shepherd chuckles at her daughter’s denseness–for someone so observant and wise, she is often trapped in her own world–and reached her hand out to cup Amelia’s cheek. She meets Owen’s eyes briefly, internally laughing at his shocked expression, before saying the words. “When were you going to tell me that I’m going to be a grandma again?”
“Um,” Amelia says, eyes widening in disbelief. In lieu of answering, Amelia asks,“How’d you know?”
She rubs her thumb over Amelia’s cheekbone, her smile tender. “I’m your mom. I know everything.” She pulls back, settling back against her seat. “And I’ve been here before,” she says in mention to her older daughters. “You learn things.”
Amelia’s chest reddens as the heat spreads beneath her skin. A quick look to her left shows that Owen’s not doing much better. “We were going to tell you,” Owen begins. Mrs. Shepherd raises an eyebrow, rejoicing in the tiny shift toward cowering that Owen takes.
“Surprise?” Amelia says, voice raising in question, as she holds both hands next to her face, moving them like jazz hands. When her mother only continues to smirk, Amelia drops the act. “It’s still early. About eight weeks,” Amelia supplies.
Mrs. Shepherd gasps, a few tears springing to her eyes. Her daughter, her wild-child-hurricane, is growing up. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispers, her eyes dancing with Amelia’s. “I wish I had,” her voice catches on her words. “I wish I didn’t,” she pauses once more.
Amelia shifts in her seat to face her mother more directly. Reaching out her hand, she sets it on top of her mother’s clasped ones. “I was always going to tell you,” she confides. “After the first trimester.” She squeezes her hand over her mother’s worn knuckles. “I love you, Mom,” she says, tears in her voice. “I wouldn’t keep our baby away from you.” She leans forward, wrapping her mother in a tight embrace.
“I love you, too, Sweetheart.” Amelia smiles, relaxing into the comfort of her mother’s arms, before pulling back. As soon as she is seated, Owen wraps his arm around her shoulders, tugging her in his direction for a soft kiss.
“Do you want to see a picture?” Owen asks, his grin permeating the hard lines of his face. When Mrs. Shepherd nods, he quickly pulls the folded black and white image out of his wallet, smoothing the creases. He passes it across the table, his pride radiating so strongly that Amelia has to bury her lovestruck smile in his neck.
“Oh, isn’t she precious?” Carolyn’s hand is at her chest, taking in the soft, blurry edges of their baby.
“I told you it’s going to be a girl,” Amelia mumbles against the tender skin of his neck.
He rolls his eyes, but hugs her tighter to his side. “Whatever you say, Mia.” He crosses his left hand over to twirl a few strands of her hair and she smiles at his (slight) obsession with her silky tresses. Then, looking over to his mother-in-law, Owen says, “The baby’s the size of a raspberry this week.”
Mrs. Shepherd grins, bringing her hand to cover her mouth. “You know,” she begins softly, “Amelia’s dad used to do that. He used to track her size each week and tell me all these random facts about my pregnancy.” She lets out a tiny sigh. “You remind me so much of him.”
Stunned, Owen breathes a grateful, “Thanks, Mom.”
Amelia moves her head, disentangling herself from his arms, only to grab his hands in hers. “You’re a good man, Owen,” she says seriously. Leaning forward, she grabs his lips with hers, gently sucking his lower lip into his mouth. She then smoothes her tongue over his lips before pulling back and cupping his cheeks. “And you’re going to be a great dad.” She smiles, the two lost in the words of their eyes. “I can’t wait,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper.
And while this is happening, all Carolyn Shepherd can think is how lucky she is to have her daughter. To have her wonderful, weird, all-encompassing-love of a daughter. And how lucky her daughter is to have found such a husband, such a father. They’re her family. And she couldn’t be more proud.
“Motherhood is a choice you make everyday, to put someone else’s happiness and well-being ahead of your own, to teach the hard lessons, to do the right thing even when you’re not sure what the right thing is…and to forgive yourself, over and over again, for doing everything wrong.”
Thanks for reading! I’d love your feedback! Prompts are always welcome. 😉
but he’s a firecracker, that boy.
crackling spitfire mouth over freckled porcelain, shows up
piss drunk to a fight and leaves with knuckles worn red,
happiness violent-smeared across his face and you think, beautiful, you think, destructive, and you think
he is invincible.
he holds his chin high, teeth sharp.
head cocked just so, eyes hard like bullets.
bandages wrapped like a promise.
fists like a prayer.
it is not until you see the fuse stamped out,
not until the fight comes to him and he’s too sober for it,
not until you have to teach him how to cry, to spill sorrow
without shaking apart that you realize not everyone
has the luxury
of being vulnerable.
so slot your mouth against his, that boy you love.
smoke the unfurling terror out from inside his gut.
wrap your arms around him and think, like a promise, think, like a prayer, think,
be safe be safe be safe.
it is hard to live in this town, don’t you know?
it is easy to survive.
see, that boy,
he holds his chin high as though treading water.
HEY! could you do a preference for the 100 boys about how they decided you were the one for them including Bellamy, Jasper, Monty and Murphy. Thank you cutiepie!
Bellamy: Day 3 on the ground and things were finally becoming organised. People were organising things and putting up tents. Bellamy went around assigning jobs to different people when he eventually reached you.
“Hey Bell.” You smiled at him.
“Alright half pint.” He chuckled. He’d always mocked you for being a lot shorter than him.
“What do you want?” You asked playfully punching his chest.
“Well I’ve assigned you to be on cleaning duty, you start tomorrow. I just thought I’d let you know.”
"Hell no. I’m not doing that.” You protested.
“And why not?” He asked.
“I’m a hunter.” You replied picking up your knife and running off to join Miller and the others. You may have been stubborn but, damn he liked it.
Jasper: You and Jasper had made good friends since landing on the ground. Everyone had become so serious since the grounder attack and had treated Jasper so differently since his recovery. Little did they know, he hated it. You, on the other hand were always up for a joke and to mess around with him whenever. You were the only one that could take his mind off the danger that lay ahead. It was then that he realised it was you that made him truly happy and if coming to the ground and being attacked by God knows what was what it took to have met you then it was so so worth it.
Monty: Mount Weather had been traumatic to say the least. You had been given an apprenticeship in electronics and computers on the Ark so knew as much as Monty when it came to disabling doors and rearranging wires to work your way through Mount Weather. It was only after being caged with you in Dr Singh’s office saving Harper did he notice he was finally falling for you. Your bravery to step in in place of Harper and your courage to survive was the only thing getting him through this hell and he didn’t plan on letting you go. Ever.
Murphy: You were definitely outspoken compared to everyone else. You and some of the other boys got into argument a lot of the time and you were always patched up by your two friends Jasper and Monty who looked after you and stopped you getting too ahead of yourself. One day after a particularly nasty fight, you were left with a bloody nose and worn knuckles. You headed to the drop ship in search of Jasper or Monty but couldn’t find either of them so started haphazardly patching yourself up muttering swear words under your breath.
“Need any help?” You heard someone chuckle as Murphy came into the drop ship. He’d always admired your ability to speak out against others and had been looking for a excuse exactly like this to introduce himself to you.
“Here, pass me those bandages. I’m Murphy by the way."
AN: hello! Hope this is okay! I am currently taking requests for any type of preference so feel free to request them as I really enjoy writing them :)
Could you maybe do an imagine where Kakashi is in love with Naruto's guardian/mother figure? Fluff or smut, I'd be happy with whatever you do! Just do whatever you'd like with the story. Keep up the great work! You're doing amazing! Thank you! ❤️
Sorry for the wait, anon! Kakashi is a very complex character and I wanted to do him justice. I don’t know if I really achieved that but I hope you like your 3000+ word story despite any short comings.
I might expand on this story line should we get more requests that fit its criteria as its a fun topic to explore!
Now that there’s been a surge of minimalist aesthetics taking the fashion industry by storm, we thought we’d share some basic ideas with our readers on how to bring the perfect minimalist outfit together with some simple pieces of jewellery.
Back to your regularly scheduled NALU hell. We’ve knocked Chy and Alisha off the list. Time to knock off Philine.
Blood spread out from his side, soaking his tunic and making him dizzy. The demon was so dazed by the wound to his abdomen; he didn’t notice the sluggish trail of blood from his throat. Ebony wings folded into his back and disappeared, unable to support their weight any longer.
Spiraling tattoos from his demonic form faded away, drifting under his skin and leaving him looking human. Horns receded into cherry-pink hair, his chest heaving with the effort it took to keep walking.
He wasn’t done yet.
Unfocused eyes caught sight of a small human temple, just beyond the tree line. The demon wasn’t used to hoping, but he was certain he just found his salvation from the dragon hunting him.
His only comfort was he had done just as much damage to the fire-breathing lizard. He would be delayed.
rey is the rasp of knuckles against a punching bag. she is loosed hair blowing in the wind and breathlessness at the top of the stairs. she is the smirk of confidence in a knife fight; lithe and feral, a wolf girl battling for her life. she is plants growing on windowsills, doodles in the corners of notebooks, the last whisper before falling asleep. she is cold water running down your throat and the scent of earth after rain. bared teeth, bruised knuckles, worn down boots. the abandoned petals of a forget-me-not, the ache of leaving home.
finn is courage resting at the back of your throat; unspoken and lethal, a silence more dangerous than fists. he is handwritten love notes and the laughter at the end of a story. he is bravery at the beginning of a battle; straight-backed with aching arms raised for inevitability. he is ocean tides warmed by the sun, squeezing a hand in reassurance, the wanting before the break of dawn. haunted brown eyes and pious self-sacrifice, calloused hands, a crooked smile.
poe is heart-wrenching loyalty; pure and unfaltering in the face of adversity. he is coming home to someone you love and sweater sleeves that are too long. he is a shout of victory at the end of war; shoulders slumped in relief, left-over adrenaline filling veins. he is feet splashing through rain puddles, unplanned road trips at midnight, hands kissing skin in dark corners. careworn leather jackets, bitten lips, sleepy smiles. the warmth of being surrounded by friends, the witty comeback thought of just in time.
his lips can speak to me more than his words can.
When he kisses me slowly and sweetly I can feel him absorbing the feel of my lips so he can bring out the memory while he’s gone.
He can also be sad when he kisses like that, his pillow like lips barley touching mine. A kiss to stop the tears, a kiss to say “thank you for not leaving me.”
He kisses me gently because he knows I’m made of glass that has been glued back together so many times and one more drop could break me for good.
When he kisses me deeply it’s high emotion.
Angry kisses, “I missed you” kisses, white dress kisses.
When his lips kiss my stomach and trace my
neck I know he’s up to no good.
his sweet lips make my body feel like a sinner but we all know that nothing good came from playing by the rules.
when he pecks me lightly it’s a joy that I can feel through my toes.
“I was thinking of you” “good morning”
or because there’s a ton of people around and he knows how I can get.
and finally when he kisses the tip of my nose, the middle of my forehead, my worn down knuckles, my scars, or the top of my head I know he’s in love with me.
These are the smallest gestures of reassurance but mean the most.
he breathes in when he kisses me goodbye and when he does I can only think in the form of his name. Nothing else matters when he kisses me, because I can’t focus or think of anything else.
If you have played Diablo 3 and started out as a Monk then you will recognize these. I didn’t put a brown wrapped handle on it, because I couldn’t do it exactly like it is from the game. People get mad about stuff like that.
I’m sure you guys have figured this out already, but just to be sure, I looked into it further…
This is the hand from the video:
Notice how the pointer fingernail is quite rounded at the tip? It’s almost pointed in the quick instead of the other way around. It is only on one of the fingers like that. The knuckles are worn and wrinkled, but not too terribly. Wrinkles form certain ways in people’s hands.
Here is Amanda Abbington’s left hand, zoomed in (sorry about the quality):
The same wrinkle pattern. The same fingernail shape on her pointer finger. Even her pinky nail seems rather small for her hand, just like the top photograph.
I think it’s safe to say that it is Mary’s hand, in the video. Notice something else? She’s not wearing her wedding ring. They take jewelry off for surgeries, and sometimes for childbirth… but they also take it off after a patient has died. Her hand is not tense, so I highly doubt she’s in labor (at that moment). That leaves two things.
Either something has happened to our beloved Mary Morstan-Watson that she has to have medical attention for, or this is our first view of her lifeless body.
Edit: Her finger is moving slightly, so this suggest she’s alive, but weak.
So here’s my contribution to day 1 of ereri canonverse week!
Eren leaned against the window frame of the old survey corps headquarters, peering out over the crowd that gathered on the grass in front of the castle. He traced the sill with his finger and left a trail in a thin layer of dust. Guess I was the last person to clean this, he thought, remembering the first time he was within these walls. He never guessed that he would return here a changed man and without the threat of the titans. The survey corps get-up was an awkward fit, after all, it had been a couple years since the last need to wear them. He bent down to adjust his boots as the door creaked open.
Eren jerked his head up and smiled.
“Been awhile since we’ve been in this room, huh, Captain?”
Levi let a chuckle escape and strolled over to Eren. “Don’t call me ‘captain’ anymore. Shitty brat.” He stretched up onto his toes to peck Eren’s cheek.
“Not much of a brat now, am I?” Eren rested his hands on Levi’s waist and pulled him close.
“Mm, guess not.” Levi admitted, looking right into Eren’s green eyes. They were just as energetic and lively as they were when they met. “You ready for this?”
“I’ve been ready to marry you since you saved me, Armin, and Mikasa from that titan back in Trost.”
“Seriously? From then?”
“Of course,” Eren said while he adjusted Levi’s collar and cravat. “You were our hero.”
“I put you through hell after that though. I’m pretty sure Mikasa still hates me for beating the absolute shit out of you.”
“She’ll have to get over it” Eren pulled Levi in for a kiss. He could feel Levi rise back onto his toes to keep kissing him and his arms wrapped around Eren’s neck. Eren pulled him in close and held him tight. Levi broke first. “We should save this for later,” he breathed.
“I guess,” Eren whispered back. “But what about you. What was your first impression of me?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Come on, Levi. Tell me!” Suddenly, he was the young, rambunctious titan-shifter Levi remembered.
“Fine, fine. I thought you were an absolute idiot. And honestly? I was a little scared of you.”
“You? Scared of me?”
“Shocking, I know. But true.” Levi sat on the sill and leaned back against the thick glass. He peered out over the restless crowd. “You were this wild…thing that no one knew how to control. You could change into a titan just by piercing your skin. You remember that fuckin’ spoon incident. Happened right there,” he gestured outside. “Pretty sure that’s Historia standing on the exact spot.” Levi sighed. Eren took his hands and ran his olive thumbs over Levi’s weathered and worn alabaster knuckles.
“You know, you were the reason I was able to control myself.”
“Damn right I was. I was gonna kill you if you were out of line,” he said through a laugh. “But the thing I feared the most? You losing control and getting yourself killed. Eren, I couldn’t bear losing you.”
“And I couldn’t bear losing you.” Eren wiped a tear from his eyes.
“C’mon. Let’s do this so we can get out of these clothes. Stupid military customs.” Levi made his way to the door, shifting uncomfortably in his old uniform.
“Hm?” Levi turned around in the doorway to find Eren still standing by the window.
“I love you.”
Levi extended his hand for Eren to take. “I love you, too.”